#the vague shapes of things are trapped in my head and i feel so sick | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aetherarf · 3 years

Note

You should write that Scaramouche story, hehe! I'm sorry but imagining him being a sobbing mess is just.. [drools]

Decided to write it and just attach it to this ask because reasons

[[ WARNING: N. SFW CONTENT, BONDAGE, OVERSTIM ]] [[ Summary: Scaramouche loves taking care of you, but sometimes even he needs to relax... even if he's not very good at it, you figure tying him up and filling him up, forcing him to cum until he's too exhausted to be stressed, is the best course of action.

Word Count: 2'387 ]] Scaramouche looked at the long, slick ribbon of silk. He rubbed his fingertips on it, it was gentle enough that it wouldn't hurt his scarred skin, but he still seemed so suspicious of it, almost angry, as though this long strip of fabric had personally offended him. "It's just silk," you said, as he examined it intensely, "It won't kill you."

"How do I know you won't?" He asked, not meaning it in the slightest. He balled up much of the silk, tossing it onto the bed he sat on, "Are you sure this is a great idea?" "Absolutely," you said, full of confidence and conviction. After all, everyone needs a break... No matter how it comes about. Scaramouche sighed, "Right, right. I just..." "Do you not want to?" You asked, knowing you and Scaramouche had talked about it several times already, but with how slow Scaramouche was to accept new things...

"I do," He sighed, "Dread of change is worse than change itself."

"So wise," you teased, "About getting--"

"Say it and I'm changing my mind."

It was an empty promise, but you decided to be kind. "Right. Well, I do have somewhere to be," you teased, grabbing the cloth and swinging it in a small circle.

He knew, you both knew that if he really wasn't okay with this, you'd stay with him and reassure him, but this little song and dance was a part of the whole play.

"Fine, fine, did you get everything?" He asked, grabbing his hat and setting it off to the side before he began to undo the rest of his clothes, setting them off to the side in a, relatively, neat pile. Just as he was finishing, you didn't give him a spare second to breathe, already holding the silk rope, looping it around his neck, and grabbing his arm to pull it behind his back, tugging on the rope like a leash, to get better leverage, watching how perfectly his back arched.

"You're eager," He hissed, voice low and irritated.

"Your friend is eager, too," you teased, only for him to huff,

"Don't tie my wrists too tight."

"I know, I know, you can get out if you fight enough." You tie a knot around one of his wrists, sticking two fingers under it, "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine, it's fine."

You quickly tied another knot, and again, it was loose enough to pull off with some effort, but not too easy. His hands clenched into fists as you went about continuing to tie him up, a few more loops around his arms, a little star design over his chest, and his legs... but the ribbon was long enough for a bit more.

For a good reason.

"Stay still," you whisper, and he huffed,

"I couldn't really move if I wanted to."

In your hands, you toyed with a much smaller ribbon... a cutting from the original, since it was more than long enough, but you had a specific idea in mind for its purpose.

"Before we... you know, do anything, do you want to be gagged? Just a ribbon over your mouth."

"Why? You won't hear me." He huffed,

"Because I feel like you enjoy having your mouth stuffed. So, do you?"

He just muttered, a little flustered as he looked away...

"Scara?"

He refused to even look at the ribbon you wanted to tie over his mouth.

"Scara, I need a clear answer."

"Yes! Archons, take a hint."

"Sometimes the hints you give me are very very vague," you mention, "Say ah..."

He didn't make any noise, but he did open his mouth, the ribbon set between his teeth, and he clenched his jaw on it, as though he couldn't help it.

You tied a knot at the back of his head, "Say something?"

He just muffled against the silk, likely an insult or a witty comment like I can't exactly talk, now can I?

You pressed a gag over his clothed mouth, onto his lips, and he almost chases... but stops, knowing he can't really kiss you back, not with how he couldn't even completely seal his lips anymore.

"Snap your fingers once if no, twice if yes, are you ready?"

He hesitated, then in quick succession, he snapped twice. You shoved him inbetween the shoulder blades, to be pushed onto his chest, and he groaned, hissed at this treatment, but you didn't mind. He prepared himself before hand, but, oh, how pretty he looked, tied up and forced to do whatever you want...

You just had one desire. To push him. You reached back over to the small box of supplies, pulling out a bottle and a device.... a toy.

A vibrator, it didn't have many ridges or curves, but it was large, and just shaped well enough that once inserted... it wouldn't be easy to get out without hands. The bottle only had lubricant, to make it easier and less painful, hopefully not painful at all.

Liberally, you poured it over the top, and you noticed Scaramouche staring... he looked... nearly hungry. You wonder if Scaramouche could fit this device, as large as it was, inside of his mouth... maybe even his other end couldn't take it. A disappointment, but you were about to find out.

You pressed it against his hole, that was shiny and slick, "Relax," you coo, and he exhales through his nose... and relaxes. Just as he does, you finally shift your palm to the end of the toy, pressing on it with some force--it slips barely an inch in before it stops, and he groans.

"Scara," you whisper, "You need to relax... or do you want to stop?"

He snapped his fingers once... which meant no. You assumed it was in response to the latter. Then, he took a deep breath, exhaled... and relaxed again.

You pushed it in, slower this time, a little amazed a man as little as him could take it... at all, really. Eventually, there was a soft pop, and all but the end that was meant to stick out, the end with a switch with a few numbers tacked to the side, was left. You looked down at Scaramouche, tears in his eyes, breathing heavily, and his legs shook, until he couldn't stabilize himself, and he fell onto his side, the landing soft and cushy by the bed.

"Sca-oh."

You saw his tummy, a little bulge. You reached down, rubbing it. If it wasn't for how familiar you were with him, and his arched back, you wouldn't have noticed, oh, but you did... He whined softly as you even touched it, and as you looked further down, you saw his dick leaking little drops of liquid. You grabbed the end of the silk rope, and tied it so it pressed on the toy, just to make sure it stayed in place... like adding insult to injury.

"Here... Let's just get into it," you cooed, and he made a low moan, but it turned into a shout as the device turned on--3, you decided was a low enough number to not overwhelm him, but not so low that he couldn't enjoy himself, too. Out of 10, that could seem pathetic... but you'd rather understimulate him than overstimulate.

For now, at least. You wanted him frustrated, not destroyed.

"Is that okay?" You asked, tilting your head to the side--His eyelashes fluttering as he was struggling to adjust, "Snap twice to tell me you're okay."

There was a second of silence... Then he snapped, once, then twice, nodding as well. You gently brush his bangs out of his face, and he sighs through his nose...

"Well, I'll see you later, Scara." You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "Unless you don't want me to?"

You, really, were just going out for a short amount of time, likely no more than an hour. But, that was the point, to leave him alone, trapped... but in a good way.

He didn't say anything, but he hid his face away from you, unwilling to admit, even silently, that he was enjoying this already.

"See you later, Scara!" You left, leaving the door to the bedroom cracked open... but you'd make sure to leave the front door shut and locked, just so only you could see him in this state. No one else should, after all.

And Scaramouche was...alone. For a few long moments, he laid there, just trying to rationalize his breathing, but eventually, he was able to calm down a decent amount. But as soon as he was calm, he was disappointed. There was pleasure, but it wasn't... enough. If it was just, maybe, a little more, he wouldn't still be able to think.

I don't want you to think, you had said, in response to how he was chronic overthinker, driving himself to paranoia, but this wasn't working.

With how his legs were tied, if he was sitting up he'd be sitting on his knees... he could probably buck his foot enough to either turn it off--so it wasn't infuriatingly enticing, or turn it up, which was what he wanted... Sure, he could undo the silk, just by determination to wiggle out of it, but he didn't want to do this a second time, he couldn't tie himself up...

A few tries, and he failed. He managed to jostle it within him, causing him to cry out, but it wasn't enough.

One last try, and...

He all but screamed a low, desperate moan, as the device was turned to max power, his insides burned like they were being forced to mush, and he came, shooting his load further than he thought his body was possible--But his hips were bucking, unable to move from the ribbon that bound him, thighs desperately clenching and unclenching as he felt tears pour from his eyes, realizing he was sobbing, screaming from the sensation.

With how his body buckled, he could only sob and cry out, unable to gather himself enough with each orgasm wracking him, to undo the rope, to try and flick the device down to a lower power...

and, a sick, twisted part of his mind loved this abuse.

...

You were holding a few things you bought. A few things you've been needing for awhile, a cute little bracelet you thought Scaramouche might like, since it was subtle but still nice, things like that... When you looked at the time, you realized you were gone far longer than intended, but... well, what was an hour compared to three?

Walking in, you shut the door behind you quickly, and then you froze, hearing Scaramouche moan so... so whorishly. You turned and looked to the hallway, did he get bored of it, undo it and begin riding the toy for his own amusement? He sounded like he was muffled, and he didn't seem like he'd ever keep on a gag if he could 'help' it, or at least, pretend he couldn't.

You set down everything on the table, resolving to deal with it later, as you rushed to the bedroom, knocking the door open.

He was still on his side, breathing heavily... Tied completely, but he was moaning so much, so... endlessly. He looked the same before you left, but...

You walked over--he seemed so dazed, he didn't even notice you. The first problem was the mess--he seemed to have came over and over again, and even as you watched, his spent dick, barely even hard at all, spewed out a few clear drops of liquid, unable to muster anything else. You were suddenly very thankful for the towels you had set down. You looked back to the toy, and your face dropped--

It was at max. You, immediately reached over, turning it off. The sound of buzzing stopped, one you only now noticed, and his moans immediately ceased. You half wanted to take it out now, but... oh, the rope, that wouldn't let you. It was fine, you set this up to fall off him as soon as a single knot was removed.

Gently, you reached up to the back of his neck and tugged on the end of the rope that hung out, and it all loosened. Scaramouche wasn't moving, but he was breathing... how exhausted must he be?

You finally removed the ribbons, deciding to show a little extra mercy and to untie his mouth, and he took ragged gasps.

With a steady hand, you grabbed onto the end... and gently, you tugged, and he moaned, prompting you to stop... was it best to leave it in? No, no, it wasn't a wound, it was a vibrator up his ass, of course it was better to get it out.

It was hard to ignore how he moaned, with each little movement, as you tried to be as gentle as possible when removing it... until it finally flopped onto the bed, his hole oozing with the excess lube, gaped from the massive size, clenching and loosening...

Oh, how destroyed he looked. He was beautiful, but you were still worried, gathering him up in your arms, not minding how he was coated in sweat and drool.

"Scara, talk to me," You half-pleaded, wondering if there was something wrong.

"Tuh.. tie...rd..."

"... Tired?"

He grunted weakly, of course he would be... you should probably get him water. But, you were distracted, as he weakly lifted his hand, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his stomach...

Oh, despite everything, he was hard... his poor little cock, red and oozing, covered in mess.

"Pleah..." He whined desperately. Slowly, you moved your hand, wrapping around him, and he moaned, nodding as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, mouthing at it... likely his attempt at kissing.

It only took a few strokes for him to cum one last time, a pathetic mess of liquid that looked no thicker than water, and just as clear.

"Are you okay?" You asked, not minding the mess... there was potential for something bad happening, but...

"Yeh... yes..." he weakly forced out, "Stay..." He whined, the first fully coherent word he could muster.

Well... You could hold him for a few moments. You'd deal with his sweatiness, and getting him water, soon... just after he's gotten the affection he, clearly, so desperately needs...

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche x reader #// this is so bad #// am sorry #naughty bark #anonymous

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wolftraps · 3 years

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Hey, what if Martin meets The Archivist because it’s been Watching him from a distance since it came, but then Jane Prentiss trapped Martin in his apartment, and the Archivist couldn’t have that, so it appeared to smite her. Martin’s stuck in his apartment when he hears Jon’s voice going “Ceaseless Watcher-“ and then Jane starts screaming. Once the screaming stopped, Martin peeked out of his apartment, worried about Jon, and saw the Archivist. Martin: Jon?! Archivist: I AM THE ARCHIVIST

(Cont) Anyway, Martin thinks that something has happened to Jon and takes the Archivist with him back to the Institute in the hopes that Tim and Sasha can help him reverse Jon back to normal. Only, when he gets there, Jon is already there. Cue shock and confusion from everyone. Elias, Seeing the Archivist and wondering if this means his Ritual works, drops in for a visit: hello :). Archivist, only seeing another Avatar near Martin: (bristles). Elias, realising that he’s in danger: goodbye

[this AU is going to devour me]

The knocking stops so abruptly it actually takes Martin a minute to notice, the phantom echoes of it still rattling in his mind. It’s the voices that make him realize something has changed. They’re muffled, indistinct, and he’s wary of getting too close to the door still. But after a moment of silence, he can’t resist anymore, pressing an ear to the wood.

The sound of the worms is still there, but it’s different now. More spasm than writhe. And beyond them, a man is not so much speaking as... as intoning.

“- the agony of all your noxious devotion. Ceaseless Watcher, see this parasite in all its pitiful, writhing forms. Hear its sour song, feel its ravenous love. It. is. yours.”

Martin can only describe the sound that follows as a shriek because he has no stronger words. It’s a distorted, agonized scream that stabs through him and rattles his bones, and for all he’d been terrified by Prentiss lurking outside his door, the idea of something that could make her make a sound like that is paralyzing. For minutes, or maybe hours, he stands frozen with a hand hovering over the door knob petrified of what he might find on the other side. And for that entire time, not a single sound filters through from the hall.

Finally, he can’t take it any longer. Bracing himself, Martin eases the door open. He wants to breathe a sigh of relief when no worms flood in, but he can’t, because there’s still something standing in his hall, staring straight at him. Something that looks like-

“Jon?” Martin asks, perturbed and shaken and maybe a bit irritated. “What- what are you doing here? Where- Did you see Prentiss? What happened to her? What happened to you?”

“Martin Blackwood,” Jon says- because it is Jon, right? He sounds like Jon. He looks like Jon... mostly. Except now that Martin is looking, there are several scars that he doesn’t remember Jon having, that he could almost swear were closing eyes just a moment ago. His hair is longer than Jon’s should be. His face is gaunter. He’s... shaking. “Are you afraid?”

“I- I mean, yeah? I’ve been pretty well terrified out of my mind since yesterday, thanks.” The man continues to stare and Martin knows he isn’t asking about Prentiss. “Sh- should I be?

“It would be wise.” Martin wants to be indignant at the vague pseudo-threat, but the shiver running up his spine cuts the feeling short. Jon- probably Jon?- maybe-Jon tilts his head and still doesn’t blink. Has Martin seen him blink at all? “I have discomforted you.”

“A- a bit, yeah. You’re being... kind of creepy.”

“Yes. I... I’m meant to apologize now.” He says it like he’s going through a checklist or a flow-chart of social rules. This is what happened, so this is what you should do. “I’m... sorry.”

“S-sure. Er, look, Jon. I think maybe we should- go back to the Archives? And maybe talk to the others about this?” And hopefully one of them will have some idea what the hell is wrong with their boss. Jon somehow gives off the impression of looking into space and considering the suggestion while never actually taking his eyes off Martin.

“Will accompanying you be a more sufficient apology?” What kind of question is that?

“It’s not really... I’d be more comfortable than I am here?” Jon nods.

“Then I will accompany you. You should gather your things.”

The trip to the Institute is passed mostly in silence. Jon watches the people around them intently, unblinkingly, but even when his face is turned away, it still somehow feels like he’s staring straight at Martin. Sometimes, when Jon is mostly a dark shape in his peripheral vision, Martin could almost swear he sees eyes open in places where none should be.

“Look, Jon-” Martin starts as they near the Institute and the silence has gotten too heavy for him to take.

“You shouldn’t call me that,” Jon cuts him off, though his tone is casual.

“S-sorry, what? I shouldn’t call you Jon? Why?”

“It will... discomfort him.”

“Who?” Martin already knows he’s going to hate the answer.

“Jonathan Sims.” Yep. He hates it.

“Al-alright. What should I call you then?”

The man who is not Jonathan Sims stands before the Magnus Institute and studies its façade. There’s something in his face, something like nostalgia, but also like disdain. He doesn’t look away from the building, but still he looks at Martin.

“I am the Archivist.”

Martin had hoped it would be more of a relief, when they finally made it into the archives. Instead he’s uncomfortably aware of the tension building inside him.

Tim looks up and seems surprised. “Martin! I thought you were sick. What are you... What the fuck.” He gapes at the Archivist, who takes in the archive while staring back and still somehow has not looked away from Martin. “Jon?!”

Whether it’s a summons or an incredulous question, the answer comes not from the man behind Martin but from the one exiting the office behind Tim.

“Yes, Tim? What-” Jon- the one Martin knows- the familiar one that makes Martin nervous but has never left him so terrifyingly unnerved- freezes.

“No,” the Archivist says in response to questions not asked. “I am not any of those things. What I am will not exist for a very long time and has both always and never existed before. None of those questions would help you understand.”

“Why-” Jon chokes, but can’t seem to finish the thought. After a few more false starts, he finally says, “You’re the Archivist, aren’t you? The one we’ve been getting statements about.”

“Yes.” In the long silence that follows, the sound of someone descending the basement stairs should have been clear, but the only reason Martin isn’t startled by Elias suddenly speaking directly behind him is because the Archivist turns to face him before he ever makes a noise.

“I see we have a guest,” Elias says, staring at the Archivist with a perturbingly hungry fascination. “Martin, wh-”

Martin stumbles back to his desk under the sudden weight of being Seen. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tim drop into his own chair and Jon, the real Jon, press himself against the wall. Elias doesn’t so much as sway, but he still seems off-balance.

“You don’t want to know the things I know,” the Archivist tells him.

Elias glares. “I rather think I do. Te-”

A second set of eyes snaps open on the Archivist’s cheeks. Then another. And another. Over its face, its neck, its hands. The sense of a hundred, a thousand, piercing eyes hovers in the air around it.

“You can try to steal or blind or destroy as many of my eyes as you can perceive,” the Archivist says. “But I will always have more.”

When Elias leaves and the weight lifts and most of the eyes close, the Archivist is still watching Martin, but it unnerves him now in an entirely different way. And when Sasha comes in with a coffee, frantically apologizing for being late, and freezes at the sight of two Jons, there’s something bone-chilling about hearing the Archivist ask,

“Who are you?”

#the magnus archives #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #tma #tma au #my tma fic #my writing #jane prentiss #elias bouchard #time travel au #the archivist #am i going to write this au?#unclear #will this scene be part of it if i do?#who knows #but i've been thinking about it for like three days straight #Anonymous #you asked #archivist time travel au

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monstersandmaw · 3 years

Text

Male vampire x male character (nsfw) Part Four

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Sorry for taking 84yrs to post this. I thought I had shared it. Sorry. Hope you enjoy all the same.

Wordcount: 10,904 (story total: 23,704)

Heads up in this part for continued, but easing, tense familial relations, some angst/heartache (not heartbreak though), and some (consensual) blood drinking.

Part One (sfw), Part Two (nsfw), Part Three (nsfw)

Alec let out a shaky breath and crossed to the sofa, sinking down onto it as his legs finally gave out. “Vampires,” he said, hardly daring to believe the word he was uttering.

“Yes.”

“And you’re one?”

“… Yes.”

“And my family…?”

Sebastien’s voice was tight on the other end of the line as he said, “Hunts my kind. Well, those of us who aren’t registered with the ‘Guild of Hunters’ —” his tone turned acrid as he spat the words out, though he kept his voice low and quiet.

“What does that even mean? I don’t know what any of this means… And did you know about my family? I mean, before? When you started dating me?”

Sebastien took another deep breath. “Yes. I knew. And it was a long time before I fully convinced myself that you did not.”

If Sebastien had thought it was some kind of trap, that would explain his reticence at the beginning for sure.

“And were you planning on telling me any of this?” Alec snarled. God, his chest hurt so much. The deception was like Jeremy cheating on him all over again, only this time the betrayal was coming from two fronts at once: from his love life and from his family. Not that he’d had all that solid a relationship with the latter to start with. Perhaps this explained why.

“I hadn’t planned on becoming your boyfriend at all,” Sebastien snapped.

“So, what, I was just a quick diversion? A casual fuck you kept coming back for because I’m such a fucking chump? Is that it?”

“No,” Sebastien sighed. “Not at all. I fell for you. Like the horrid cliche I am, the vampire fell for the hunter, and by then I had no idea how to tell you. I’ve not been with a human before, so this is all very new to me.”

Alec ran his fingers through his dark hair to buy himself a moment. “You… You haven’t?”

“No.”

“How… How old are you?”

“Do you really want the answer to that?”

“Yes!” His phone was slippery in his fingers now from the sweat on his palm but he couldn’t bring it away from his ear long enough to put it on speaker. He needed answers.

With another cavernous sigh, Sebastien said hurriedly, “Very well. I was born in 1897 and turned on the battlefields of the Great War — World War I, that is. I was dying, and a vampire named Felicity who had been working as a field nurse turned me. My first run-in with your family was not long after I moved from France to America. They were working with the American Hunters’ Guild on a case which had nothing to do with me.” He let out a shaky breath and said, “I got in the way and I nearly died. Those were the days before the treaty, of course, and before I moved to England.”

Despite his still-spinning mind, Alec managed to croak, “What treaty?”

“Those of us who get our blood from sanctioned blood banks and do not live-feed are exempt from being hunted like animals.” He spoke like he was quoting from a law code; cold and clinical; detached.

God, the way he said it made Alec’s skin crawl. It was as if he were being permitted to exist on the grounds of good behaviour and, he supposed, that was exactly the case. Even so, Alec couldn’t help the next words that just fell out of his mouth. “So you weren’t planning on feeding from me?”

“Of course not,” Sebastien retorted but then appeared to rein himself in with yet another steadying inhale. “No. It’s been decades since I’ve fed from a human directly. I didn’t plan on starting with you.”

Alec slumped back into the sofa cushions and stared up at the ceiling of his tiny apartment. “Fuck.”

After a long silence, Sebastien’s gentle tenor sounded in his ear. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he said. “I’ve never been close to my family - my dad was always an arsehole, but… I can’t believe Theo’s involved in all this. He was such a sweet kid, and we were really close until…” he swallowed thickly around the rising lump in his throat.

“Until?” Sebastien prompted when he stalled again.

“I can’t believe this is all real,” he muttered. “Until he turned sixteen and started to ‘work out’ with dad. I was at uni by then, getting my fine art degree, but whenever I came home he was just… different. Harder. Sharper. More focused. Guess it makes sense now… Well, as much as… you know…” he gestured vaguely to the empty apartment with his hands, “… as much as all this can make sense. Fucking… vampires…”

After a heartbeat, Sebastien added softly, “Quite literally.”

Despite himself, Alec snorted. “So… where does this leave us?”

Now it was Sebastien’s turn to feel clearly uncomfortable. Eventually he said, “Alec, I don’t think it’s wise for me to see you currently. Not with your family being what they are.”

His heart twisted, even though he’d been half expecting it. “You still think they’d… what, stake you, or whatever it is that vampire hunters actually do to you lot?”

“There are many ways to kill a vampire,” he said flatly. “And your family knows all of them, probably more. You need to work this out with them first as well. Talk to your brother. He seems the more reasonable…”

“I can’t believe Ellie’s in on it as well. And my mother? Fuck…”

“Talk to them.”

“Will I still see you at work at least?”

The awkward silence told him all he needed to know, even before Sebastien said, “I just sent in my letter of resignation.”

“That was quick,” he hissed, stomach dropping. “You only just left.”

“Supernatural speed,” he replied bitterly. “Comes in useful for typing papers and getting out of awkward situations…”

That sparked another question in him. “Supernatural powers, huh? Can you turn into a bat too?”

“No.”

Then he thought of Sebastien’s Halloween outfit. “Wolf?”

He thought he detected a faint smirk in Sebastien’s response. “No, sadly. No shape-shifting for me. Felicity is not of any extraordinary bloodline, and thus, neither am I.”

“Right,” he grunted. “Of course. Is she… is she still around?”

“Felicity? Yes. We meet every now and again. She and her wife spend most of their time in Venice these days.”

“Her wife? She a vampire too?”

Sebastien swallowed audibly. “Yes.”

“Did Felicity turn her too? Would that make her wife your sister?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Did she know her as a human though?”

“Yes.”

After a moment of spinning thoughts, Alec asked, “Did… you turn her?”

“One doesn’t tend to turn one’s own intended. Between a sire and their turned, there can grow… tension. Not always, but it can be enough to ruin a relationship that was seemingly solid before. Something about exchanging blood changes the soul… or so we think, anyway. It was an honour to be asked to sire her.”

“Right.” Alec felt slightly sick. “Will I at least see you before you leave?”

“I think it best if we don’t. Not while your family is still… ‘investigating’ me.”

“Are you really in danger from them?”

“Quite possibly. My name is on the treaty, but…”

Something twanged painfully again in his chest, swiftly followed by the fizzle of fear through his veins. “But what?”

“But vampires and hunters are not supposed to sleep together, Alec…”

“Don’t bang the enemy? How very Romeo and Juliet,” he snorted. “Fuck. Why does every good relationship I have turn to shit?” he asked, not of Sebastien but of the universe itself. “What did I do?”

“Alec —”

“—Don’t. Don’t make it worse by apologising or something. It’s fine. We were only together a month. I’ll get over it. You’ll move on. Heck, you’ll fucking live forever, right? What’s a month to you anyway? Nothing, right?”

The bitterness in his own voice nearly choked him, and without thinking, or even saying goodbye, he just hung up and let his phone lie in his limp fingers on the sofa cushions. It lit up and rang a moment later, but he didn’t answer it. Six more times Sebastien tried before finally giving up.

Kay was an absolute blessing in the next few days.

He didn’t tell her immediately about the whole vampire thing, but after he’d calmed down enough to be able to look at Theo without immediately busting a vein in his forehead, he hashed the basics out with him, and then told her everything. Alec told her about his newly-discovered, secret family occupation which, apparently, stretched back centuries. He told her about the fact that his eldest sister and younger brother were monster hunters in their spare time, and he told her the real reason Sebastien why had vanished overnight without a trace — yes, Alec had gone to his apartment building, only to be politely informed by the doorman that Dr. Dulac was no longer in residence and did not leave so much as a forwarding address.

That, above almost everything else, shattered Alec’s hopes of seeing him again. Like thistledown in the wind, Sebastien had simply flitted away somewhere else.

She took it about as well as he had to start with, but when she saw the seriousness in his eyes, and when, three weekends later, she came to his apartment for a definitely-not-awkward dinner with Theo, she saw video footage that Theo and his father had captured from various hunts of supernatural creatures beyond only beautiful vampires. Then she believed him. Ghouls, ghosts, reanimated corpses, demons… you name it and Theo could tell you about it.

Alec spent Christmas with Kay’s family, and Theo met him for New Year drinks in the city, joined by Ellie. It wasn’t anything like the family dynamic he’d always longed for, but the new degree of openness between them went some way to mending his still bruised heart. Slowly. Gradually. Piece by tentative, honest piece. He never joined in, but Theo started to tell him a bit about what they did. It still sounded barbaric to him, but at least it was true.

He had no word from Sebastien, and the number he had saved in his phone had been disconnected.

With the arrival of spring, Alec found himself more than usually dissatisfied with his job. He was a good teacher, and he enjoyed seeing his students’ talents evolve and grow, but the ever-increasing admin ground him down, and the politics of the faculty and the university as a whole wore on him.

“Have you seen this?” Kay asked one afternoon as they shared a takeaway coffee beneath the drifting cherry blossoms. Petals spiralled down like pastel pink and white wedding confetti, and he watched with an absent smile as a terrier snapped and sprung around on his hind legs trying to catch them while his owner stood and talked with her friend nearby. “Oi!” Kay asked, digging him in the ribs.

“Hmm?”

“Have you seen this?” she asked, shoving her phone under his nose.

He blinked, refocusing his eyes, and read the article’s headline aloud. “Council offers artists the chance to win a sponsored exhibition in the town hall with this unique competition.” He blinked. “So?”

“So?” she gawped. “You can’t be serious?”

“Send me the link. I’ll forward it to my students. They might like that.” That earned him a smack upside the head, and he scowled. “What was that for?”

“Alec, you might be the dumbest smart guy I know,” she said. “I showed it to you so that you could enter it, you giant idiot.”

He blinked. “Me?”

“I saw those charcoals you did the other week of the cathedral! They were amazing!! And the abstracts too… I still want one, by the way.”

“It’s already wrapped up for your birthday,” he groused. “You really think I should do it?”

She rolled her eyes and drained the last of her coffee without gracing him with an answer. Of course she thought he should.

“When’s the deadline?”

“Next Thursday,” she said without looking at him.

Alec licked his lips and swallowed. “Will you help me pick some images to submit?”

Her answering grin was feral.

In all honesty, Alec forgot about having even entered the competition until the letter dropped through his door six weeks later announcing that, to his utter astonishment, he had been selected as the winner. Tears blurred his eyes and he sat down heavily at the tiny kitchen table. He’d never entered any of his own art into anything like this in his whole life, and the first time he does, he gets a whole fucking public exhibition out of it?

“Maybe this year won’t be so bad after all,” he murmured. “New year, new start…” His chest still ached when he thought about Sebastien, and he hoped he was doing alright, wherever he was.

Theo had been searching for him, probably by way of apology for lying to his big brother for all these years, but he’d turned up very little. Sebastien had gone to Venice first, it seemed, presumably to spend time with Felicity and her wife, but had disappeared completely after that, with only rumours flickering here and there that he was in Paris, St. Petersburg, Prague, and then potentially Florence. Maybe.

“Venice seems like a pretty sunny place for a pair of vampires to live,” Alec commented, but Theo shrugged.

“They don’t burn up immediately in sunlight, or your professor would never have been able to take a day-job at the university. They’re sensitive to it, some more than others, but it takes a full day of constant sunlight beating down for them to burn properly.” The callousness of his brother’s response shook him, even after all these months, and Theo must have seen it on his face because he sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, and then added, “You really loved him, didn’t you?”

Alec shrugged. Yes, he wanted to say. I thought so. “I only knew him for a month or so,” was what he said carefully instead. “And even then… turned out I didn’t know him anyway.”

Theo, who had been lounging on Alec’s sofa with his legs spread and his head tipped back into the cushions while Alec made supper, asked quietly, “Did he seem… normal to you?”

“Normal?” Alec asked, not sure he’d heard his brother correctly.

“Yeah… like… did you ever suspect he wasn’t… you know…?”

“Human?”

Theo grunted and nodded his head. “Yeah. I guess.”

“No. Obviously not. Never crossed my mind. Why would it have?”

Theo scowled and turned his eyes to regard him. Alec knew that Theo looked like a younger version of himself, if maybe in better shape, and he wondered if he’d have the same steely look in his eyes if he’d been deemed ‘man enough’ to become a hunter, or whatever bullshit criteria their arsehole father had used to select which members of his family were to become soldiers and which would live normal lives.

“What?” Alec demanded.

“But you slept with him, right?”

“I’m not talking about that with you,” he said, briefly brandishing the wooden spoon at him.

Theo pulled a face. “I’m not asking about your sex life. Gross. No, I mean…”

In that moment, Alec spotted a flash of something in his brother’s blue eyes that softened him to the kid. He turned off the gas and went over to where Theo was now sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair. When he looked up at Alec’s approach, his face showed open vulnerability in a way he’d not seen since they were young children and Theo had got himself into trouble at school.

“What’s going on?” Alec asked, seating himself next to his little brother.

Theo bobbed his knee like a deprived caffeine addict and bit his lip. With glassy eyes, he croaked, “I keep asking myself if we did the right thing…”

“What do you mean?”

The bravado of Theo’s early twenties melted away to become a worried, frightened, guilty little boy again and he said, “I mean… if what we do is right…”

“You mean… hunting?”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“What set this off?”

His brother quirked him a humourless smirk and said, “You always did know when something was bothering me.”

Alec remained quiet, just watching him.

“We teamed up with some hunters from Edinburgh for a ‘vamp gone rogue’ case and we finally found her yesterday. She… She’d been turning people; trying to amass some kind of small army to take over from another vampire further up north. She was insane… like, completely, sociopathically insane, but… the people she turned… they were just…” he blinked, and Alec saw with a jolt that his eyes were full of unshed tears. “They were still just people.”

He feared he already knew where this was going. Still, he asked, “What happened?”

“Father wanted to put them down. They were terrified, chained up… still on the point of lashing out…”

Bile rose in his throat. “Oh god…”

“One of the hunters said she knew of a vampire who could help rehabilitate them; help them adjust to their new lives. One of them didn’t want to live as a vampire though, so father just…”

Theo didn’t need to finish that for Alec to know that father had ended the newly-turned vampire’s life in a heartbeat. “And the rest?”

“The other three went with the hunter. I don’t know what happened, but… I trust her. It’s just… father taught me and Ellie that vampires are mindless killers when they feed… that you can’t get close to them, that all they want at the end of the day is blood no matter what they tell you… but…” he looked up at Alec. “You’ve been fucking miserable since the whole Sebastien shit-fest. I know you’ve been trying to hide it, and you’ve got the exhibition coming up next weekend, and that’s great, but… I know you’ve stopped putting yourself out there. And we did that. We fucked it all up for you. I just…” he ran his hands through his hair and sent it into wild disarray. “I just wonder if you could really have been happy with him after all.”

Alec pulled his brother close and hugged him. “I’m not going to lie,” he murmured into his brother’s dark hair. “I’m furious with father for keeping everything from me, and for making you and mum and Ellie lie to me and Angie about it as well, but… if I hadn’t seen Sebastien’s eyes go red — yeah, I thought it was just a reflection or something — and if I hadn’t seen the way he sleeps literally like the dead… I’m not sure I would have believed you anyway. I don’t forgive him for it either, but…” he sighed deeply. “I forgive you, Theo. And Ellie.”

“And mum?”

“I’m still working on that.”

Theo went slack beneath him and snaked his arms around his brother’s waist for a moment. “Thanks,” he mumbled into Alec’s shirt.

“You’re still coming to the exhibition?” Alec asked as he pulled back and went back to the stove, giving Theo a moment of privacy to pull himself together.

In truth, Alec was a little shaken too. Their relationship had been slowly patched over the intervening months, but it still wasn’t particularly close, and the matter of Sebastien had been a permanent, proverbial elephant in the room. That Theo was questioning their father’s teaching came as an immense relief to Alec though. He poured them each a glass of wine, and the two spent the rest of the evening in a quieter kind of closeness than they’d yet shared.

When the evening of the exhibition drew round, Alec was quite frankly, a bit of a mess.

“C’mon,” Theo grinned, patting the lapels of his jacket down for him and grinning up at him. “Where’s that Twayblade hunter courage, huh?”

“Must have skipped me and all gone to you,” he quipped back. “Fuck. I’m so nervous. Why am I so nervous?”

“No fucking clue,” Theo chuckled. “You’re awesome and they’re gonna fucking love you.”

“Language,” Alec said instinctively and Theo’s laughter redoubled.

“You’re a big fucking hypocrite, you know that?” Theo laughed just as Kay sidled up with three glasses of champagne awkwardly held between her hands.

“Help a girl out here, would you, boys?” she asked, proffering the glasses to them.

Alec resisted the urge to down it in one — he’d probably only choke on the bubbles anyway — and filled his lungs instead with a big gulp of air. He tried to send all his nerves into the air and then blow it out of his body in one heaving sigh to leave him calmer, but it just gave him a head rush, so he sipped the wine and turned to look around the gallery from the corner where he’d been lurking.

“What if no one shows up?” he blurted, earning him a scowl from Theo and a pout-and-eyebrow-raise combo from Kay.

He needn't have worried in the end. The marketing team had done their work, and within an hour the place was heaving and all but three of his pieces had been reserved. Scratch that. Two.

The fact that almost all of his students had turned up as well to cheer him on and trade high fives, and scrounge free alcohol and food from the canape trays, warmed him in ways he didn’t know were possible.

Overwhelmed and a little bit tearful, he stepped out of the town hall’s main exhibition space and into the small corridor that led to a fire exit and a grotty back car park beyond, letting the flush die down from his cheeks. This was what he’d really wanted right from the moment he’d graduated all those years ago; to be an artist in his own right, with people buying his work at exhibitions… It almost made him giddy to think that he had a chance to do this full time now. It seemed that Sebastien had been right when he’d said he could really make something of himself.

Ah, there was the crash in his mood that he’d been waiting for. Nothing good lasts forever, right?

Would Sebastien have been proud of him if he knew about this? Would he have been there that night, by his side? Would they even have lasted that long anyway, even without his family’s interference?

The noise in the room was gradually dying down when he gathered enough courage to step back into the echoing hall. The pale wooden floors gleamed in the low light, the white of the temporary exhibition walls almost glowing, in stark contrast to the black and grey of his charcoals. He’d chosen mostly charcoals for the show, with a few acrylic abstracts for flavour, and apparently people loved them. Every single one had a red ‘sold’ dot beneath the label now, he noted as he cast his eyes around the room.

Then his gaze snagged on someone standing with their back to him, hands clasped loosely behind them, a long, silver-blond ponytail hanging down their back. And Alec’ vision slipped sideways.

Sebastien.

It had to be him.

No one else stood with posture like that. No one else was so tall and lean and elegant and god-damned graceful, even when just standing still. And no one else stood quite as still as that.

He let out a ragged breath and swayed slightly, glancing around. There was no sign of Theo or Kay just then, and only one or two couples meandered admiringly around the room. And there, fixated by one piece in particular, stood Sebastien.

Inhaling for courage, Alec approached and came to an unsteady halt a few feet away from him. He didn’t look real, somehow. His beauty had always been striking, but now in the low light he seemed like a mirage, with his warm olive skin and contrastingly pale hair, that cut-glass jawline and —

— He turned and met Alec’s gaze with dark brown eyes alight and glassy.

“You’re here,” Alec breathed, at a loss for anything else.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Sebastien said, and the sound of his voice sent a wild tingling through Alec’s whole nervous system. The man — vampire — looked uncharacteristically shy, uncertain, as he half turned to face him.

“Gotta say,” Alec said, scratching the back of his head, “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

“Should I leave?”

He chewed his lower lip for a second and Sebastien’s eyes tracked the movement before he blinked and looked back at the charcoal in front of him. It was of the Lady Chapel of the cathedral; one of the most tranquil places Alec had ever been. A shaft of light lanced down from a Gothic window high on the right, scattering fractured shards of light onto the stone floor, and behind it, just barely visible as a grey, misty outline, sat the small altar.

“You’re religious?” Alec asked.

“Mm,” Sebastien nodded. “Surprising, I know, given my ‘condition’, but there you have it.”

All the smalltalk then suddenly boiled up into thick irritation inside Alec and he scowled. “Where have you been? And why now? Why come back now? What do you want?”

He must have raised his voice fractionally because the couple admiring the seascape to their left shot them slightly scandalised looks, as if he’d started swearing in a sanctuary, and he bit back the wave of anger, halting it in its tracks.

“Shall we step outside for a moment?” Sebastien asked and Alec nodded tersely.

Passing Kay and Theo who were sitting in the chairs near the drinks table, Alec cast his eyes at them and watched Theo tense visibly. Kay laid her hand on his thigh and shook her head, at which Theo nodded and sat back, eyes hard, mouth set, but at least he didn’t appear to be on the point of leaping out and staking Sebastien on the spot.

Alec mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ at them both, and followed Sebastien out on to the street.

“You’ve patched things up with your family then?” Sebastien began, standing perfectly still beside the brick wall of the Victorian building while Alec paced.

“Mostly just with Theo, but yeah. Why are you here?” he asked again.

“Honestly? I missed you. Couldn't get you out of my head. I went all over Europe, and even to Asia briefly, and nothing I did distracted me from you, from leaving you. I had to come back.”

“You could have called,” he said, instantly regretting the way it came out like a petulant teenager’s sulking.

“And what would that have achieved?” Sebastien asked evenly. “I was hundreds of miles away.”

“You could have come back sooner? Talked to me in person?”

Sebastien sighed. “I was afraid that your family would come after me. I needed to disappear.”

“Theo convinced father to let you go. As you said yourself, your name was on the treaty, and you didn’t hurt me or hypnotise me, or whatever… did you?”

“No,” he said, pale brows pinching with evident distaste.

“Could you have?”

Sebastien levelled him with a dark look. “Yes, but… that’s not something I enjoy doing. It’s a survival mechanism — to make people forget what they’ve seen — it’s not something to be used lightly.”

“Ok, but you could have, and you didn’t, so that was another reason to let you go,” he said. God he wanted to kiss him. The realisation hit him like a gut punch and he turned away. Alec ached inside and out for those lips, those hands, those eyes… “Fuck,” he whispered, barely audible. “Are you staying?”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Alec rounded on him, frustration pouring out of him again. “Don’t answer my question with one of your own. Are you staying or not?”

Sebastien remained eerily calm, but a heartbeat later Alec saw that it wasn’t serenity in his eyes but sadness. “If you want me to, I’ll stay. I want to try again, Alec. I want… I want to be with you. I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you.”

“Feel? As in… present tense?”

“Yes. It hasn’t faded. Not with all the days and distance between us.”

“God, you sound like a shitty romance novel hero…” he scoffed. “I almost believe it.”

Sebastien spread his hands and said, “I am who — and what — I am. You know me, Alec, in a way that no one else ever has. I was utterly myself with you, except for the fact that I kept my nature from you. I hope you can at least understand why, if not forgive me. Everything else was genuine. I have never done that — been that open, that vulnerable — with anyone.”

“Even knowing what my family are?”

“Even then.”

Alec looked up at him and saw his own reflection in those dark, rich brown eyes. “Show me.”

Sebastien’s angelic face soured into a confused frown. “Show you what?”

“Your eyes. Your fangs. Show me what you are.”

“Now?”

He looked around. The street was empty on either side, with the only people around gathered outside a bar further up the street.

When he turned back to say yes to Sebastien, he found blood red eyes glowing in the man’s face. “Holy fuck,” he hissed. Every already-chiselled line on Sebastien’s face had sharpened somehow, his cheeks hollowing a little, perhaps to account for the additional hardware he now sported in his mouth, and his eyes seemed a touch more sunken. And they glowed as if lit from within.

Heartbeat thrumming out a wild tattoo, he stepped closer and Sebastien went utterly still. His chest ceased to rise and fall, and he didn’t even blink as Alec raised his fingers to his left cheek. “Show me.”

Sebastien swallowed and parted his lips. Angling his jaw a little to one side, he showed Alec the elongated canines, three quarters of an inch long. “Careful,” he murmured as Alec made to touch them. “Vampire venom is potent, even in small doses.”

“Does it really do what the hunters say it does?”

Sebastien’s red eyes glittered almost playfully. “I don’t know,” he smiled, seeming to relax a fraction. “What do they say it does?”

“Drives your victims wild, acts like a date rape drug, makes humans lose their will and their inhibitions…”

At that, a hardness returned to his features and his lip twitched in a lopsided snarl, like a wolf backed into a corner. “That’s certainly one take on it,” he said. “It creates a rush of euphoria. It’s supposed to make feeding a pleasant experience for all concerned. Endorphins in the blood make the taste sweeter, and the human feels no pain or fear.”

“Right. Gotta say I like that one better,” Alec said with a shaky smile. “But I’m not gonna risk it right here… And fuck me, your eyes are incredible.”

“They’re still red, hmm?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Closing his eyes and tilting his face upwards a little more towards the cloudy night sky, he inhaled deeply. His features softened again, and Alec watched, fascinated, as the slight bumps behind his closed upper lip slid away into nothing, presumably as his canines retracted into his gums. When he opened his eyes, they were their usual, endlessly dark brown once more.

“Better?” Sebastien asked, oddly self-conscious.

“No,” he said. “Just different.”

Something prickled on the back of his neck and he turned to find a woman silhouetted against the light of street lamp halfway up the road. “Friend of yours?” he asked, tense.

“Felicity. She came with me.”

“Why? Surely you don’t need a wingman… or, you know, woman.”

With a tiny smile, Sebastien said, “You make me more vulnerable than you realise, in more ways than one. And we weren’t sure if your family would be here.”

“Or whether they’d want to flambé you…”

“Precisely.” He inclined his head and the woman did the same, turning and vanishing even as Alec blinked.

“Can you do that too?” he asked, still gawping after her.

When he turned back, he found that Sebastien had stepped in close to him - close enough that his faint, woody cologne wafted gently around them and he felt his knees wobble slightly. He’d missed this. Oh god, he’d missed this. “Mmhmm,” Sebastien hummed. “I can.”

“Kiss me,” Alec whispered. “Please…”

Sebastien didn’t need telling twice. He took Alec’s face in both his hands and crushed a passionate kiss to his lips so hard that Alec’s mind went perfectly blank for a few beautiful seconds. When he came to, he grabbed Sebastien’s narrow hips and tugged him close, making the vampire grunt as their bodies connected.

This time, he took Sebastien’s ponytail in one hand and began to pull on it gently. Sebastien yielded at the pressure and tipped his face back, exposing the entire column of his throat to Alec without resistance. The gesture left Alec stunned and breathless. In his research with Theo over the past months, he had learned that for a vampire to expose their throat to another implied absolute trust. Overwhelmed, he pressed his lips to the bare skin and felt Sebastien gasp, grabbing at his shoulders suddenly to keep himself upright.

Over and over, the vampire shuddered tangibly beneath his touch and gasped sharply again, panting. As he shifted his hips against him, Alec felt Sebastien’s growing hardness, and at the same time, Sebastien drew back, eyes screwed shut. “Stop,” he laughed. “Not here.”

“I want you,” Alec moaned, one hand on Sebastien’s chest. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I want you too,” Sebastien smiled, opening his eyes. They glowed scarlet again. “And because of that, this —” he said, gesturing to his red eyes, “— isn’t going to go away quickly this time.”

“This too?” Alec said, boldly cupping the obvious bulge in Sebastien’s smart black trousers gently with his hand and making the vampire groan.

“Yeah, that too.”

“Your place or mine?” Alec asked with a dizzy grin.

“You decide. I’m booked into a hotel one street over for the next two days,” he said. “If that affects your decision in any way.”

“Yours,” he said. “I… I’ll just…” he looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the exhibition banner dangling by the door. “I should…”

Sebastien nodded slowly. “I’ll be here.”

“You’d better be,” he snarled as he adjusted himself and prayed no one would notice. He took a few steadying breaths on the threshold of the town hall and then disappeared inside.

Kay raised her eyebrows at him when he reappeared.

“Not a word,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Your hair’s a mess,” she said conversationally. “Is it windy outside?”

“Fuck off,” he grimaced and she laughed. “Where’s Theo?”

“He left out the back way,” she said. “But he told me to tell you to enjoy yourself tonight, and that he’ll stand by whatever makes you happy.”

Unexpected tears prickled his eyes and he tugged her into a hug that was probably meant for his brother.

“You can thank us later,” she said, shoving him off her. “Go be with your Prince of Darkness…”

“I’m not sure how much he’d like you calling him that,” he said as he stepped back. “I’ll have to wrap things up here first…”

It seemed to take forever, but he finally found the events coordinator and after an interminable conversation full of congratulations, agreed to stop by the next day to take down the exhibition and sort the sales out. His heart was thudding when he stepped back outside, but he let out a huge sigh when he saw Sebastien leaning against the brick building, face tilted towards the moon that was just peeking out from behind a bank of cloud.

“It’s like one of your charcoals,” Sebastien said without tearing his eyes from the sky.

Alec crossed to him and smiled when Sebastien met his gaze, red meeting blue. Alec slid his fingers into Sebastien’s where his hand hung quietly by his side.

“Ready?” the vampire asked.

Alec nodded, and let Sebastien lead him back to his hotel.

They barely made it into the lift before Alec was kissing him, backing him into the mirrored sides of the lift with a thud before the doors had even closed. He stopped suddenly, drew back and laughed, and Sebastien — who looked like he’d just got whiplash — asked, “What?”

“Vampires do have reflections after all…”

Sebastien rolled his eyes and gave an indecorous snort-laugh. The sound was rich and warm and it filled Alec’s whole consciousness for a moment. “It’s only the antique ones with genuine silver backing that don’t show our reflections. Technology has evolved, thank goodness. Now, if you don’t mind, you were kissing me senseless…”

“Sorry,” he laughed, grabbing Sebastien’s white shirt collar and tugging him down again. They nearly didn’t get out of the lift at Sebastien’s floor, but as the doors began to close again, Sebastien slid his foot into the path of the doors and dragged Alec out.

Clothes landed in a steady line on the carpet between the door of his hotel room and Sebastien’s bed, ending with them both in only their boxer-briefs on the pristine white surface of the bed. Alec was tipped back onto the duvet and lay there staring up at Sebastien who was now no longer hiding his nature from him at all. Red eyes blazed in his face and as he opened his mouth to breath heavily, the tips of his fangs were just visible. There was no denying that he was a vampire.

“Was it like this before?” Alec asked hoarsely. “I mean… did I just not see it?”

“I had to work very hard to rein all this in,” he said, kneeling on the bed and crawling a little way up it. His own boxer briefs strained at the crotch where his erection tented the fabric, and Alec’s own black ones were stained with a little spot of wetness where his cock twitched with eager interest. “I only let it slip once or twice, but you were distracted at the time.”

Alec smirked and then moaned as Sebastien’s palm skimmed up over his groin and over his stomach. He’d always been a bit self-conscious about the softer parts of him, but Sebastien worshipped him like he was some kind of immortal god, lavishing attention on him over and over until he was shaking and gasping and sweating. “Please!” he begged after what felt like hours. “Oh god, please…”

Sebastien slid off the bed and deftly removed his own underwear before encouraging Alec to lift his hips for him and drawing his boxer-briefs down too. Before Alec could think or process what was happening, Sebastien was between his legs again and had swallowed the entire length of his cock to the back of his throat in one.

“Oh fuck,” he hissed, mind whiting out.

Sparks of pleasure shot up his spine as Sebastien worked him alternately with his mouth and his hand.

He teased him, licking the slit at the tip where pre-come beaded profusely now, teasing the delicate folds of skin until Alec thought he was going to shatter apart with want. Just before it got too much to bear, Sebastien would take him back into the wet heat of his mouth and work the underside of his cock with his tongue, swallowing occasionally and making Alec’s head spin all over again.

His balls tightened and he spread his legs wider, instinctively opening himself to Sebastien.

The vampire moaned against his cock and Alec whimpered. Pulling off him, an obscenely inviting thread of saliva and pre-come connecting them briefly, Sebastien sat up and reached for the top drawer of the bedside table. “Vampires neither catch nor transmit diseases,” he said, “But if you still wish to use protection —”

“— I haven’t been with anyone since you,” he rasped. “And I’m clean anyway…”

“As you wish,” Sebastien smiled, withdrawing an almost-new bottle of lube and sitting back down between his legs. Alec eyed it and Sebastien laughed shyly. “I opened it last night…” he admitted and Alec grinned.

That smirk shattered into an open-mouthed groan as Sebastien’s finger slid inside him and he began to prepare him. There was nothing perfunctory about it either. Sebastien took his time to work him open, his fingers fucking into him slowly, almost reverently, until he crooked them and Alec yelled as white-hot pleasure shot through him.

“Still so sensitive,” Sebastien crooned and Alec just shivered in response. His thighs were quivering too now from the effort of not bucking upwards into the empty air, his cock drooling freely over his slightly soft stomach with each futile twitch. He knew he was a wanton mess, and he couldn’t quite find it within himself to care. It seem to drive Sebastien wild anyway.

When Sebastien added a third finger, still stroking up and down his thigh with his other hand, Alec broke.

“Please, please, please,” he whimpered, out of breath and desperate. He cracked his eyes open and looked down at Sebastien to find that his red eyes had been almost eclipsed by his blown pupils. He gave a weak buck of his hips to try and encourage Sebastien to get on with it, but the vampire seemed utterly transfixed by him. He worked his fingers over Alec’s prostate gently but with absolute precision, and it was going to make Alec lose his mind altogether.

“Pleasepleaseplease, I need you, please…” he wailed as Sebastien’s mercifully short and blunt fingernail caught him just so and sent another jolt through him.

Finally the vampire moved, but as he withdrew completely, the loss almost shattered him. “Shh,” he smiled, stroking a soothing circle at Alec’s hipbone. “I’m still here…”

Alec whimpered like a wounded animal but his foggy brain accepted that the loss was only temporary, and he watched as Sebastien took his own flushed cock in his hands and slicked lube up the length of it in a couple of efficient strokes, head bowing under the attention it was receiving at last. He’d focused solely, completely, on Alec’s pleasure for all that time, and the realisation sent a fresh wave of lust rolling through Alec’s entire body.

He spread his legs, but Sebastien caught Alec under his left thigh and raised his leg easily, exposing Alec completely. Before Alec could process anything, his tip was nudging at Alec’s entrance, and then he had sunk all the way in to the hilt.

Sebastien froze then, bowed forwards over Alec like a supplicant, canines openly bared, eyes screwed shut, not even breathing.

“Sebastien… please…” Alec grunted. He’d never felt as full and whole as he had with Sebastien inside him, and yet this wasn’t enough. He’d ached for this. For months, he’d ached for it, and still it wasn’t enough. “Bast, please…”

Finally, the vampire opened his searing red eyes and began to move.

Slowly at first, he picked up his pace until Alec’s back was arching and his fingers clawed great furrows in the sheet beneath him. With each thrust, Alec saw stars at let out little fractured, broken gasps. Sebastien was quiet, almost silent, while Alec himself was unable to stop the sounds from tumbling out of him. He moaned and whimpered, gasped and cursed and begged until Sebastien yanked him further down the bed and lifted his hips a little way off the mattress entirely.

From this new angle, it was so blindingly good that Alec went alternately taut and limp with ecstasy. “I’m close,” he gasped over the slap of Sebastien’s hips meeting his skin.

The vampire snarled then; an inhuman sound that sent the hairs prickling all down Alec’s body.

“Come for me,” Alec begged in a whisper, opening his eyes and watching as Sebastien chased his release with a ferocity he’d never shown before. He wasn’t careless with his strength, but he was certainly forceful. Had Alec wanted to grunt ‘stop’, he knew the vampire would halt, but that was the furthest thing from his mind as he watched the flawless perfection of this man above him. “God you’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Come for me, Bast…”

And at the sound of his name, uttered in little more than an abbreviated wheeze, Sebastien went still, hips spasming as his spine arched back like a bow at full draw, mouth open, head thrown back, fangs bared, eyes rammed shut, a sheen of sweat covering his perfect, bronze chest, his silver hair falling around him like a veil.

The sight of him like that wrenched Alec’s orgasm from him with such sudden force that he almost blacked out, and he clenched around Sebastien’s still-twitching cock as he spilled all over himself. Vaguely, he felt Sebastien trying to withdraw, but he grunted, “Don't… not yet… please… I… unngghh…” Unable to finish the sentence as the last shock waves fluttered through him, Alec went limp against the bed, breathing hard, his blood roaring in his ears.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Sebastien did finally move, but eventually he slid his softening cock out of him and Alec grunted at the cool slide of the vampire’s release down his thigh. He was too spent and exhausted to care about the mess though, and as Sebastien collapsed onto the bed beside him, he cracked one eye open.

Sebastien lay on his left side with his cheek pillowed on his bicep, facing Alec with his eyes closed, and he didn’t seem to be breathing. Tentatively, clumsily in the daze of his recent, mind-blowing orgasm, Alec reached out and touched the delicate skin on the inside of his arm. Sebastien jolted like he’d received an electric shock, and opened his eyes. They still burned bright red, but the rest of his face seemed a little softer somehow.

“You alright?” Alec asked.

Sebastien nodded.

“Been a while too, huh?” Alec grinned, flopping back down to stare at the ceiling where little points of light still sparkled across his vision every now and again.

“Not since that last night with you,” he said, words slurred with exhaustion. “Unless you count my rather pathetic climax alone last night, which I certainly don’t.”

“Not at all?”

He shook his head but didn’t speak again. The vampire lay perfectly still — perfectly undead — and perfectly vulnerable beside him without even a sheet to cover him. His cock now lay soft across the top of his right thigh, still drooling a little and making a mess on his olive skin. Not half as much mess as Alec was currently sporting over his torso, he mused with another smile.

With Sebastien showing no sign of stirring, Alec rolled carefully off the bed and headed on shaky legs to the shower. When he returned, Sebastien hadn’t moved, and he slid in beside him, drawing the sheets up around them and lying there to stare at him in the dimness of the unlit room, processing everything. Sebastien was back, and apparently wanted to stay. He could hardly believe how well that day had gone.

Waking the next morning with a cool, lean body pressed against him, Alec sighed, relieved that it hadn’t all been some kind of fever dream brought on by the stress of the exhibition.

The fact that the man next to him was an undead vampire who didn’t breathe in his sleep was a bit unnerving, and the way he had his cheek now resting on Alec’s collarbone and his nose pressed against his neck should also probably have been a bit of a warning, but Alec couldn’t bring himself to move, except to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

Suddenly, as if surfacing from boundless depths, Sebastien’s body heaved and he drew in a great, sucking, rasping inhale through his mouth. His lips brushed against Alec’s pulse and Sebastien began breathing heavily there for a moment.

“That will never not be weird,” Alec murmured.

“Apologies,” Sebastien muttered, trying to roll away. He paused, freezing, and then whispered, “I fell asleep…” as if that was something miraculous.

“Yeah, you passed out almost as soon as we both finished,” he snickered.

Sebastien turned his big, dark, doe eyes on Alec and said, “No, you don’t understand. Vampires don’t just shut down like that the way humans do. We only sleep somewhere we know is secure and safe…”

“Oh,” Alec said significantly as the realisation plunged through him. He tucked his arm under Sebastien’s head and tugged him closer so that their bodies were once again flush with one another. “I’m glad you felt safe…”

Sebastien sighed, trailing his fingertips across Alec’s chest in absent circles. His cock twitched too, and Alec shot him a look.

With a bashful smile, Sebastien said, “I can’t help that I find you attractive, Alec…”

“Wasn't complaining,” he grinned.

It was a long time before they rolled off each other that morning, with the sun well up and the sheets damp with sweat and tangled around their ankles. Vampires, it seemed, had a longer refractory period than humans, but Sebastien also came so big when he did that Alec wasn’t surprised. He gave everything to Alec when he came that Alec could quite happily lie there all day just staring at him as he came down afterwards.

The room was chilly, however, and when Sebastien seemed to have dozed off again around ten o’clock, he headed to clean up. Again.

As the steam billowed around him, he tipped his head back into the stream of searing water and nearly yelped as the shower door opened and let in a rush of cold air as Sebastien stepped into the stall as well. Cool hands found his waist and then strong fingers kneaded his arse appreciatively before Sebastien kissed and nibbled up his shoulder and traps to his neck. Instinctively, Alec tilted his head to one side and Sebastien moaned, pressing open-mouthed kisses there over and over as the hot water coursed around his lips.

The sensation must have been too much for him because he pulled back sharply with a hiss and Alec turned to face him, water still streaming down around them. Sebastien stood frozen, eyes red, staring at Alec’s neck. “I shouldn’t…” he began. “That was stupid of me… I…”

“What happens to the treaty if the human is willing?” Alec found himself asking. He’d thought about it a lot before drifting off the previous night. If Sebastien had wanted to drink from him, to feed on him, what would happen to the tenuous peace between hunters and vampires like him.

“Don’t,” Sebastien said through gritted teeth. His canines were elongated, Alec noted.

“What happens?”

“The only way it’s permitted is if the human agrees by written contract to become the vampire’s source.”

“‘Source’?” he asked. “That sounds like an official title.”

“It is,” Sebastien said, relaxing a fraction and putting his hands back on Alec’s hips. His cock stirred with interest and Sebastien smiled. He leaned back in, as if proving to both of them that he could do this, and kissed down Alec’s neck again from the junction of his jaw all the way to his collarbones. He ground his hips against Alec and they both began to harden again.

Alec’s hand went to Sebastien’s cock and he started to stroke him gently, knowing he was still sensitive from their last round. Sebastien let out a ragged exhale, the cool breath making Alec shiver slightly in the heat of the water.

“So…” Alec pressed gently, thumbing across the top of Sebastien’s flushed cock.

“Hmm?” he asked, a little stunned.

“What is a source?”

“A human becoming a vampire’s source means that the vampire drinks only from that human. It’s… an ancient - ah - custom,” he said, gripping Alec’s shoulders as Alec upped the speed and adjusted his grip to tighten just a little around his now fully hard cock. “Rarely used today, but still… nngh…”

“Mmm?” Alec grinned, loving that the vampire’s thoughts were unravelling under his touch. “Go on.”

“You’re a menace,” he laughed breathily, nipping playfully at his neck and then kissing him hard. Alec’s back suddenly hit the icy tiles behind him and he yelped, rearing into Sebastien who wasn’t all that much warmer, though the heat of the water was raising his body temperature from the ambient temperature of the room.

“So if…” Alec began, somewhat distracted as Sebastien’s kisses continued and the vampire raked his fingers through Alec’s wet hair, scraping luxuriantly across his scalp hard enough to make him break off and groan. “If… if I wanted to become your…”

“Don’t,” Sebastien whispered. “Not yet. Not so soon after… all this time.”

The subtext was clear. Let’s see if this is going to last before I risk my life with the hunters guild and your family, shall we?

“Fair enough. Nothing to say I can’t suck you off now though, right?”

“Nothing at all,” he whispered and then immediately cursed as Alec sank to his knees and did just that.

It was only as he was handing in his own letter of resignation that the truth really sank in for Alec. He’d gone from post-grad assistant in the department to a full lecturer, where he’d stayed for six years, and now he was moving a little way out of the city, and moving in with his boyfriend of a year. A vampire, nonetheless. His life had gone from miserable to wonderful in that relatively short time.

Sebastien met him at the edge of campus after he’d handed the letter personally to the head of department. Standing under the verdant cherry trees, Sebastien looked like a vision. He wore tight, dark jeans and a loose shirt, half untucked, with his long hair tied back in a loose plait, fly-aways wisping around his head like mist. Alec walked straight up to him as the vampire opened his arms, flung his own arms around Sebastien’s neck, and hugged him.

“All done?” Sebastien asked without pulling back.

He nodded and popped back down from his toes. They were both tall men, but Sebastien had a few inches on him still. With a slightly doe-eyed expression, Sebastien smiled and kissed him gently. “I love you,” he said softly between kisses.

“Come on, you big sap,” Alec said. “I’ve got to be out of my apartment at four.”

“Such a romantic,” Sebastien sighed melodramatically.

With Sebastien’s supernatural strength, loading up the little van they’d hired for his stuff didn’t take long, and after giving his keys back to the landlord and signing the final bits and bobs, they were on the road.

The old farmhouse had been a find of Sebastien’s, and it needed some work. “Well, what else am I going to do on long, impossibly sunny summer days while you’re running your own business from the little art studio at the bottom of the garden?” Sebastien had laughed when they’d first viewed it, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead in a terribly ‘put upon’ gesture. “I might as well spruce the place up.”

“It needs more than a light ‘sprucing up’,” Alec had said, brows raised at the rotten wooden beam and the tired 1950’s kitchen. “And don’t tell me you made your wealth flipping houses back in the day.”

“Would you rather I told you I robbed the Bank of England and they still haven’t noticed?” he replied archly before planting a kiss squarely on Alec’s scratchy, stubble-darkened cheek.

With a scowl, Alec had shot him a look. “I honestly don’t know whether that’s a lie or not…”

“It’s a lie,” Sebastien snorted. “I can’t believe you think I’m a criminal.”

“You’re a vampire,” he’d retorted. “You could probably have just walked in there and demanded a small fortune in gold ingots and they wouldn’t have objected…”

“Please. I do have some scruples. And besides, I only use my charms on poor, miserable artists to get into their pants…”

“And their hearts too, apparently,” he’d scoffed as they’d left the dilapidated house with Sebastien’s hand in Alec’s back pocket, fingers firmly cupped around his arse.

It took another six months for the work to be completed, and even with Sebastien’s not inconsiderable talents in the DIY and home improvement departments, they still had to call in a team of builders to fix the pointing in one wall and to sort out a few other structural issues. But by the end of the work, the farmhouse was quite frankly the most stunning place Alec could ever have dreamed of living. Exposed oak beams and a fireplace big enough to park a tractor in were only half of the best features of the place.

One clear, frosty evening in late October, the pair sat outside on the recently finished patio, a small cast iron fire-pit crackling away and sending sparks and heat twisting up into the night sky, a glass of wine each in one hand and their free hand clasped around the other’s.

“Bastien…?” Alec said, not taking his eyes from the mother-of-pearl points of light in the sky above.

“Mmm?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately about… about becoming your source.” He didn’t miss the sharp inhale from his partner, nor the way Sebastien went completely still in the wooden chair beside him. He also didn’t say anything. “I’d… I’d like to ask how often you’d need to feed from me, and… what the repercussions would be for me as the human…”

Still Sebastien didn’t speak for a long time, and Alec worried he’d spoilt the serenity of their evening with the sensitive question. Finally, the vampire cleared his throat and Alec realised with a jolt that he was near tears.

“Bast?”

At the sound of the pet-name, Sebastien blinked rapidly and two mirroring tears tracked down his cheeks in perfect synchrony. “I thought you’d forgotten all about it,” he said in a hoarse croak. “I didn’t want to bring it up again.”

“You should have done, silly,” Alec groused, and he was met with a watery smile that didn’t meet his eyes at all.

“Well, to answer your questions,” he said, trying to sound unaffected even if he clearly was. “Every three months is safe enough, so long as you take an iron supplement. If you don’t, you might feel a little more tired right afterwards. We generally take slightly less than a person would give at a blood donation, if that helps put it into context.”

Alec turned and frowned at him.

“What?”

“You’ve gone all clinical,” he said, shuffling a little and setting his wine glass down on the edge of the stone fire pit. “Do you not want this anymore?”

Sebastien swallowed thickly and looked away. In the ochre and copper flicker of the flames before them, his suddenly red eyes seemed to glow like coals. “More than you know…” he rasped.

“Then what’s the problem?”

He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before turning back to face Alec with glassy eyes. “I’m frightened.”

Alec’s scowl deepened and he rose from his chair to straddle and sink down into Sebastien’s lap. Settled in his new position, he kissed Bast’s lips and stroked his loose, white-blond hair out of his eyes. “Of what?”

“Losing control. It’s been… decades since… If I hurt you, Alec… it would break me.”

“How about we start small? Just a taste?”

Sebastien looked so young then in the firelight. He suddenly looked like the twenty year old man he had been when he’d been conscripted into the army and sent out to battle to die, only to be turned at the eleventh hour by a nurse in a field hospital who’d seen something special in him. Thank god she had, Alec mused.

Alec leaned back a little and brought his index finger slowly to Sebastien’s lips. The vampire swallowed, red gaze drifting down to watch its approach before looking back at Alec’s face, searching, questioning, doubting.

Alec nodded and slid his fingertip a few millimetres into Sebastien’s mouth. The vampire inhaled, closed his eyes, and then opened his mouth properly. Alec brought the pad of his fingertip to the underside of his right canine, and pressed.

After a moment, the pressure gave way and a prick of pain like a needle pierced his skin. A bead of blood welled there instantly and he withdrew to let it swell. Sebastien clearly smelled the blood because his pupils dilated and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Easy,” Alec said. “It’s only a drop.” And with that, he turned his finger over and held it above the tip of Sebastien’s tongue.

Paralysed in a heartbeat of terror, Sebastien sat rigid, frozen, wide eyed, but Alec lowered his finger to meet the slight roughness of his tongue, and Sebastien’s eyes rolled. He moaned and let his tongue play across the tiny pinprick wound, fingers digging into Alec’s hips. The tiny wound had already stopped bleeding, but he sucked gently, drawing a little taste more. Then he released Alec and stared at him, a look of stunned awe on his beautiful face.

“How was that?” Alec asked, briefly thumbing a fond arc across Sebastien’s cheekbone before dropping his hand.

“Manageable,” Sebastien murmured.

“Ok, I have to ask, do I taste good?”

The tense spell that encapsulated both of them broke and Sebastien cracked a smile, fangs and all. “Yes,” he rasped.

“So… I can become your source?”

“If you wish it, yes. You can withdraw the honour at any time. I won’t hold you to it.”

“Good to know,” he said, only half laughing. A moment later, he said, “When… When do you want to start… you know… properly. Formally?”

Sebastien’s eyes had drifted to the rabbiting pulse in his neck.

“Now?” he asked. “It’s only been a few weeks since you went to the blood bank though…”

“That’s…” he said, hands finding Alec’s waist and holding him gently. “That probably works in my favour this time. Are you sure you want this?”

“To be ‘yours’ on your terms as well as mine? Of course,” he smiled, and watched as another tear rolled down his perfect olive cheek. He tilted his head to one side, feeling a little sheepish, and said in barely a whisper, “Whenever you like.”

“Really? Now?” Sebastien hissed, chest suddenly heaving. “Just like that?”

Alec laughed quietly. “It’s not as if we’ve just met. I know you, Bast. I trust you. I wouldn’t offer this to just any old vampire, you know?”

Unable to stop the smile from twisting his lips, Sebastien finally relented with a nod. “Alright. But not here. You’re going to want to be more comfortable.”

“But I’m already comfortable here,” he whined playfully, wiggling his hips in Sebastien’s lap, eliciting a deep, rumbling groan.

With a roll of his red eyes, Sebastien sighed. “Stubborn arse,” he grumbled without sting.

“You love my arse.”

“Yes, you’re right. I do,” he said.

Tenderly he ran his thumb down the line of Alec’s carotid and inhaled deeply. “I love you,” he whispered. And then he leaned close. He took his time kissing Alec’s neck until he was gasping and rocking his hips against Sebastien.

“Please…”

“Last chance,” Sebastien said against the skin of his throat.

Alec shook his head. “I want this. I’m yours.”

So the vampire sank his fangs into the artery. After the initial surprise and sting, Alec’s whole body lit up as the venom hit his bloodstream, and he bucked into Sebastien who held him still with what should have been frightening ease. There was no fear behind the gesture, only longing and love and sweet, aching, rolling, unending pleasure.

“Oh fuck,” Alec moaned, going limp in his arms as Sebastien began to feed, withdrawing his fangs to draw more deeply on him while he held him easily in his arms. The vampire moaned, lips locked against his skin so as not to spill anything. The motion of his throat suddenly fascinated Alec as he swallowed down his own life-force, but before he could raise his hand to touch fingertips to his Adam’s apple, pleasure exploded in his mind and he forgot everything.

When he came back to himself, he was inside, lying on their bed, with a small, soft dressing over his neck, and Sebastien sitting quietly on the bed beside him, staring down at him and holding his hand. As he blinked his eyes, he frowned. “What…?”

“It’s intense the first time,” Sebastien murmured fondly. “I did say you’d want to be somewhere more comfortable.”

“ S’perfect,” he slurred. “Fuck me…” he added, more curse than command.

“Maybe later, hmm?” Sebastien smiled. There was a flush to his cheeks that Alec had never seen before, and a brightness to his eyes.

“C’mere,” Alec said, patting the bed beside him. With Sebastien lying silently next to him, Alec rolled over and hooked one leg over Bast’s thigh. “Love you,” he mumbled, sinking into a deep and exhausted sleep, even as Sebastien’s hand came up to cradle his head.

The vampire smiled, kissing his forehead. “I love you too.”

___

Hope you've enjoyed this 23,700k story! Looking forward to your comments as always. Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

#vampire #exophilia #male vampire #male vampire x human #male vampire x male human #vampire x human

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cozyenigma · 3 years

Text

A Normal Adventure

Had the inspiration to write something for Illinois this time and I’m pretty happy with how this turned out!

Pairing- Illinois/Reader

Word Count- 1,349

Request?- Nope!

Summary- Though you joked sometimes about wanting a normal adventure, your rarely got your wish. That’s the nature of the job really. This time, however, seemed like smooth sailing. At least on the surface...

Tag List- @cookielover0001010

"Should be right around... here!" With a triumphant note, Illinois felt the stone underneath his hand shift. A low grinding sound filled the cavern as a large, oval slab fell aside. The chamber within was pitch black and smelling of stale air. You swung the flashlight beam into it, revealing the passage went in further than the dead end the two of you were currently in. Turning to him you shake your head.

"Okay, that one was definitely luck."

He smiled, standing and waltzing forward. "I do have my fair share of luck but you wound me, sweetheart. That was entirely skill."

It was a routine at this point. You rolled your eyes and followed him in, coughing a bit at the dust he kicked up. "Skillfully guessing then. Anyone would get it if they pressed on enough stones."

"Suppose I just know what to do with my hands," he stole a glance back just in time for you to whack his shoulder. Enough time had passed that you'd stopped blushing at his more forward flirting, much to his disappointment. Still, Illinois bet he could get a reaction if he tried hard enough. For now though he chuckled and kept walking.

The sounds of their footsteps echoed off the walls as they progressed. Illinois was used to it by now. Eventually, though, even those started to get muffled.

The two of you stopped, shared a glance, and then you stomped on the ground. What should've echoed for a few seconds at least barely made a sound at all. You looked back up at him, clutching the flashlight a bit tighter.

"That's not normal," you said.

"No," Illinois stared forward, thinking. The artifact the two of you were after was rumoured to have power of some sort, as most of them were really. He shot you a reassuring smile. "Then again, when is anything we do normal?"

You huffed. "I'd take normal for once. A nice, normal, totally not dangerous adventure. Just grab the thing and get out."

The tension eased, you started forward again.

"Now where's the fun in that?" Illinois grinned.

"Says the man who didn't get stuck in a net trap last time."

"Oh come now. And I even caught you in my arms," he argued, remembering the feeling of panic from watching as the rotten net had broken with you still in it.

"I landed on top of you," you jab the flashlight at him, "big difference."

Illinois blocked the light with his hand. "You've got me there. Still, the trip wasn't all bad. Well, unless you don't want to label going out on the town as normal."

That had been days after you both ventured back to town. Treasure in hand and spirits riding high, you had practically dragged him out of the hotel room. The moon had been shining, the air warm and filled with music. He remembered you laughing, eyes shining as you danced with him. Illinois didn't mention he treasured that more than the bauble he'd brought back.

You hummed, a little smile on your face. "You owed me that one though. I'm keeping count."

Illinois whistled. "Guess my tab's getting a little out of hand. I'd better get to work on that."

The only response he got was another huff. Figuring the trek was unnerving you still, he let it drop. Luckily it wasn't much further that the passage began to widen. The walls opened up and curved around to form a circular room and yet another dead end. This one, however, was much more promising.

Sat atop a roughly carved, square pedestal was what they were after. A gem lay innocently in the middle. What might've been a deep green color decades before was covered in layers of dust and grime. It didn't have any purposeful shape but lacked the sharp edges of an uncut jewel. Illinois grinned and jogged the rest of the way to it.

"What did you say this was called again?" You were following slowly behind.

"The titan emerald," Illinois said, crouching a bit to get a better look at the gem and the pedestal. "Estimated at a healthy 700 carats and some change. But more importantly," he looked back with a grin, "rumor has it that it has the power to grant whatever the owner desires."

Like most times, you looked at the relic with a good dose of skepticism. "It grants wishes?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Illinois waved a hand. "Say that a man got his hands on this and he dreams of having power. Well this is just supposed to make it happen. They say the right things, do the things and just like that- anything is possible."

You hummed. "Sounds like that could get dangerous."

"Well it's not like it's going to wreak much havoc in a museum," Illinois straightened and, satisfied the pedestal wasn't trapped, reached out and grabbed the emerald-

Only to immediately seize up. Vaguely he registered the smooth surface of the gem in his hand and your voice, saying something. All at once he got the sensation of being boxed in. A desperate fear clawed it's way up his throat as he felt the need to run. There was no room here. Not in this cave and not even in his own body. A headache spiked its way into his head and then- nothing.

No more pain, no more fear. There and gone in a moment, they left Illinois standing there with his heart beating out of his chest.

"Illinois? Hey, are you okay?" You asked again, closer now than you were before.

He wanted to say yes. Wanted to reassure you and say something teasing about how you worried for him. But he didn't. Because Illinois suddenly found he couldn't.

Like a puppet on strings, Illinois turned with his usual grin in place. "Of course," he said, sounding normal as ever, "did I have you worried, sweetheart?"

Slow, creeping horror dawned on Illinois that this wasn't him speaking. There was a reason people said and did the right things when they had the gem but it wasn't by choice. Illinois was trapped in his own body with something foreign in the driver's seat.

You didn't notice. He watched as you rolled your eyes and didn't deign him with a response. Despite his inner pleading for help you took a step back.

"Alright," you said, giving the room once last look over, "guess that's it then? Seems a little anticlimactic after all this."

It was an uncomfortable feeling to have his muscles move and his body walk without his input. No matter how hard he tried, Illinois couldn't so much as twitch a pinky.

"And here I remember you wanting a normal adventure for once," Illinois felt his lips stretch into a smirk and felt sick. "Change your mind?"

"You and I have way different definitions of normal, Illinois," you started to walk back out the way you came and Illinois felt his body moving.

His arm slipped easily around you to settle on your waist. Illinois found he was still able to feel you stiffen in surprise. Whatever was in control leaned in a bit and asked, "Maybe we find another bar and dance the night away then if you'd rather?"

This, or maybe just the proximity, finally got a bit of a blush out of you.

"Uh," your eyes slid to where his hand was still resting, "sure."

"Great!" He said cheerfully, pulling away and continuing on. "It's a date then."

You were a little shell shocked still and Illinois was forced to keep going. No matter how hard he rattled the bars of his cage there was no give. Illinois was trapped in his own head, thanks to the overpriced hunk of rock still in his hand.

"Get out!" He yelled at whatever it was, thought it so hard he was liable to give himself a headache. "Get out of my head!"

But his body kept walking like nothing happened. Eventually you followed after him, unaware that your partner had even changed at all.

#Illinois x Reader #Illinois the adventurer #Illinois ahwm #writersofmark #youtuber ego #reader insert #markiplier ego x reader #ego fanfic #My writing

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avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

It’s You and Me - Chapter 14

It’s You and Me: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 2591

Rating: E

Warnings: smut (FM, light d/s, vaginal sex. Mentions of things like spitting and choking), mentions of ptsd

Synopsis: You and Clint Barton go way back. Since you joined the circus as a child, he took it upon himself to keep you away from the people who really wanted to hurt you. For years the two of you danced a line between dark and light.

When he chooses light the two of you go your separate ways.

Fifteen years later he tracks you down. Those feelings the two of you shared never went away, but now he is not only an Avengers but a single father. Can the two of you make it work after all this time when your lives have gone in such different directions?

A series told in flashbacks and current day.

Chapter 14: Then

Clint kept close to you as the two of you crawled through the ventilation shaft. He was pressing himself so close to you and while he was sure he wasn’t breathing that heavily, every time he inhaled he was sure he was going to set off some kind of alarm.

It was stupid really. Yeah, he’d always tried to avoid all the underground shit with the circus, but that didn’t mean he’d been able to avoid all of it. He’d broken into a few houses and once helped them hold up a bank. It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of, but it was something he was good at.

This job would be the first big hit for the two of you. Pulling it off meant that you could pay the rent in an actual apartment upfront for about three months and buy new equipment. It would mean that for a while all the two of you would have to worry about was each other and the show. And who knew? Maybe he’d be discovered and never have to do this again.

“You’re sure that they’re bad dudes?” Clint whispered. It was a question he’d asked a lot. You’d been planning this job, but he’d set some rules. The main one was not hurting innocent people.

You sighed. It was the kind of sigh that was reserved for people whose patience was being tested. The ones that wanted to remain calm but were getting a little sick of repeating themselves. He was used to hearing it - well from everyone really - and he had asked that exact question a lot. “I promise,” you said. “They import drugs and… people from what I can tell. All these stores are just fronts.” You turned back to look at him. You looked completely calm considering where you were. He on the other hand had sweat clinging to his brow that was furrowed with worry. “Besides, what we’re taking… they probably won’t even notice.”

“I’m worried about that probably,” Clint said. The absolute last thing he wanted now was to be hunted down by some drug cartel.

“Well, they definitely won’t know it was us,” you added. “There’s zero connection. And I’m really good.”

He nodded and you continued through the vents. When you reached the room you seemed to be looking for, he shifted the grill out of the way so you could peer down. The room was very dark - the only real light coming in through the cracks in the door and curtain. “Okay,” you whispered. “Make sure you’re ready to pull me back up.”

He nodded and helped lower you carefully to the ground. This wasn’t one of those break-and-enters like you see in the movies. There was no laser grid for you to somersault through and no pressure pads on the ground. From the intel you’d gotten, the safe was just the old turn and click type.

Still - watching you move through the room was like watching art. You were light on your feet and you moved silently through the room. You went straight to the painting on the wall and after quickly checking it for tripwire you moved it back and began working on the safe. You held a small device up to it and pressed your ear against it as you turned the dial on the safe.

It clicked open and you began putting wads of cash into your bag and taking wads of paper out of your bag and pushing them up the back. You’d had the idea to not empty the safe and to try to make it look like nothing had been removed. The money inside was still waiting to be laundered and who knew when they’d even get to the stuff in the back. By then, all the security footage of tonight would have been overwritten and they wouldn’t even know to look for someone the vague size and shape as you, let alone you specifically.

When you seemed happy, you closed the safe and relocked it. You carefully slid the painting back in place and returned to the vent. Clint reached down and grabbed your arm and you pulled yourself gracefully back up, closing the grate behind you. “Alright, not totally out of the woods. Now to get out of here.”

Clint nodded and the two of you carefully but quickly returned from the way you came, first heading through the vents to the elevator shaft, and then out through the service tunnels, avoiding detection from the security guards on duty.

It was surprisingly easy. Clint had been working at this kind of thing his whole life and you seemed to have a second sense for avoiding people. When you were finally well away from the building, you both took off your balaclavas and gloves, and shoved them in your pockets before getting on the first bus you could find. Neither of you said a thing for the whole trip home. And it was a long one. Not just because you had decided to hit a business nowhere near your usual haunts, but because the bus you’d gotten on went in the wrong direction, and you’d both needed to get out and double back, this time flagging down a cab and dishing out the seventy bucks it had cost you in cab fare.

Clint was buzzing on adrenalin as the two of you ran upstairs into the room you shared in the hostel and when he finally locked the door behind you the two of you couldn’t contain your excitement anymore. He turned to see you staring at him and at once the two of you squealed. “Oh my god!” You yelped, running at him and wrapping your arms around his neck. He circled his arms around your waist and pulled you close, kissing you deeply - completely caught up in the excitement of it.

When you pulled back you looked at him with your eyes twinkling. “Let’s see what we got.”

He nodded and you grabbed your backpack and dumped the contents on the bed. Along with the rope, lockpicks, and flashlight wads and wads of cash fell out in a pile. You moved everything that wasn’t cash off the bed as Clint picked up one of the wads and flicked his fingers through it. “Holy shit,” he said. “I thought we’d get ten grand. There has to be at least fifty here.”

You sat down on the bed and began to unbundle it. “Clint,” you said looking up at him. “Let’s leave. We have enough to go to New York. We can do our show there.”

“You don’t wanna stay here?” He asked.

You shrugged. “I don’t mind too much. Just… in case … you know?”

“Aww, man. But there’s In and Out Burger here,” Clint whined.

“There’s good pizza in New York,” you said grabbing his belt and tugging him closer to you.

“Hmm…” he mused. “You do have a point.”

You looked up at him and began to unbuckle his belt. “You know what I think we should do first?”

“I think I have a slight idea,” he teased.

The two of you still hadn’t had sex. You were getting closer but you’d often end up shying away when things got too hot and heavy. Clint didn’t mind being patient though. He loved sex, but he wasn’t above jacking off in the shower if it meant you weren’t rushing into something you weren’t ready for. If it took rolling around in a big pile of cash for you to get there, he was down for it.

“We should get food delivered. Something fresh,” you said. “Sushi. And tacos.”

“Sounds good, sugar,” he said as you pushed his pants down. “Do I need to be pantsless for that?”

“After, silly,” you said, pulling your shirt off and flopping back on the bed. You grabbed one of the bundles of cash and threw them up into the air, giggling excitedly as the bills floated down around you.

Clint smiled as he watched you and grabbed the waistband of your pants and dragged them down, nearly pulling you off the bed with them. You squealed and braced your foot on his chest to keep you on the bed and grabbed more of the money to throw above you all.

“You’re having way too much fun there,” Clint teased, pulling off his shirt.

“Get down here will you!” You said and dragged him down on top of you.

Clint kissed you hungrily, grinding down on you as the two of you rolled around in the bed. His cock hardened and pressed against you through the fabric of his underwear. He could feel your wetness seeping through your underwear and onto his cock.

He wanted you but kept his expectations low. He knew how hard this was for you and he knew if he started to expect anything, it would make you feel like there was something wrong with you.

You wrapped your leg around his waist and pulled him closer to you. Clint rolled you, so you were pressed down on top of him and broke the kiss. “You’re in charge,” he whispered.

You looked down at him, startled at first, and slowly you ran your tongue over your lips. “Yeah?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “I’m all yours. You can do whatever you want with me.”

You slowly caressed your hands down his chest as you seemed to consider what that meant and if you liked it. A smile gradually spread over your face and you pushed his hands up over his head. “Yeah,” you said and he wrapped his fingers around the head of the bed. “I’m in charge.”

You began to grind down on his cock as you looked into his eyes. He didn’t fight you - he just gazed up at you, rolling his hips to add to the friction against your cunt. Your eyes were darkened with lust and you moved one hand down pushing his pants down enough to free his cock and wrapping your fingers around it. The other hand you kept pressed on his wrists. He wasn’t sure if having his hands trapped made you feel more comfortable, or if it was just a turn-on for you to have him helpless for you, but he played along regardless. If he was being honest with himself, he was really into it. He loved seeing you take control. He loved submitting to you. His cock jumped and began to leak down his shaft and over your knuckles.

“God you look sexy like this,” you hummed as you jerked him off. “Like you’re mine.”

“I am,” he groaned, bucking up under you. “All yours.”

You hummed and ran your fingers over his hand, closing them around the frame of the bedhead. “Keep your hands right there. Don’t make me tie you up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint said quickly, though the idea of you tying him down was a turn-on in itself. You had the rope to do it right there.

You got off him and pulled his pants all the way off and removed the rest of your clothes before grabbing a condom from the packet he kept in the side table that had thus far not been used. You placed it on his chest, obviously not quite ready for it, but wanting it nearby. Clint groaned and hoped that it was a sign that this was working for you in a way that nothing else had done.

Straddling his lap again, you brushed your thumb over his lips and pushed it into his mouth. He sucked on it, moaning softly as your soaking cunt began to slide up and down his shaft, coating it in your arousal. As you watched him sucking on your thumb you began to finger your clit, making yourself wetter if it was at all possible. His cock ached to enter you and pulsed under your hot core.

You pulled your thumb from his mouth and gripped his chin, forcing him to look up into your eyes. ‘Thank you,’ you mouthed, and let him go, grabbing the condom and tearing it open, before carefully rolling it down his length. He held his breath as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft once more and painfully slowly you guided him inside you.

Your face was screwed up in concentration, but Clint couldn’t tear his eyes away from his cock and the way it slowly disappeared inside you, your hot walls clamping down around it. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck you’re sexy.”

You smiled a little but didn’t say anything. Clint’s instinct was to reach up and cradle your jaw and make sure you were okay. He didn’t move though. He kept his hands on the bed head and he held his body still, waiting for you to decide if you were okay with this or not.

“We can stop,” he assured you. “You’re in control.”

You took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. “You feel so good inside me,” you hummed. “Fuck, Clint.”

He smiled and arched his back a little, pushing himself deeper into you. You gasped and let out a long moan before starting to bounce.

You started slowly, just testing out how it felt and what you liked, but it wasn’t long until you were leaning over him and riding him like you were competing in a race. You returned one hand to his wrists, and the other went to his throat. He couldn’t help but picture you getting rough with him. Slapping his face, spitting in his mouth, having your fingers tighten around his throat until he couldn’t pull in air and just when he was starting to worry them relaxing again. The images only served to turn him on more, and he wondered if you might want to try those things at some point. He wanted to try it all with you.

He began to buck his hips up under you erratically as he got closer to his release. You seemed to sense his climax and you shook your head. “Hold it,” you warned and began to rub your clit fast as you bounced on his cock.

Clint grit his teeth, willing himself to hold back. Your cunt began to pulse and flutter and you threw your head back, your eyes closed and your lips parted as your orgasm it's poised to hit. He bucked up under you, making your body slap against his, and with a loud cry you came, your whole body quaking with it.

He groaned and his hips began to stutter as he held himself back. “Oh god,” he begged. “Please, sugar. I’m gonna…”

“Come for me, Clint,” you moan. “I want to feel it.”

He jerked up hard into you with a grunt, coming as he fully seated himself inside you. “Fuck,” he groaned.

You let his arms go, and he took it as permission to move them. He wrapped you in his arms and rolled onto his side as he held you close. “You okay?” He asked.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaking a little. “I was starting to think I’d never be okay with that. Thank you.”

He shook his head and nuzzled at your cheek. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

You looked like you were going to argue but instead, you slipped off his cock and nuzzled into him. “I feel some way about you, Clint,” you whispered.

He chuckled. “I feel some way about you too,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

// NEXT

#clint barton #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #it's you and me

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redstainedsocks · 3 years

Text

Human Again

For @amonthofwhump’s March Madness for the whump trope: choking

Here’s my whumpee Zach having a very bad wake up call. I know the previous four Zach pieces have been post-escape but, and hear me out here, he was just in need of some whumping. So have some out of context, out of order, pain. (Read more high up the piece for vaguely referenced thoughts of noncon)

Warnings: Forced nudity, implied torture, implied past noncon, choking, noncon kissing, shotgunning cigarette smoke, smoking, cigarette burns, manhandling, antagonistic language, blindfolds, captive whumpee, nausea mention, food mention, prisoner denied food

Zach woke up naked. He woke up stiff and sore, and though he knew he was on the thin mattress that was granted as his bed—he could smell the musty stink of it—he had no idea how or when he got there.

The two things combined were enough to turn his stomach, and bile crawled up his throat. There were fuzzy memories, blurred indistinct ones of beatings and being bent over a table… but was that the last thing that had happened? Or was there more? Was that even yesterday, or two days ago? It all mixed up together, and he couldn’t work out what had happened when, or which thing it was that had made him lose consciousness. Was it drugs again? An electric shock? Or just the accumulation of pain and fatigue and he’d passed out naturally?

He only knew he must have been out a while to have been brought back to his cell. Not knowing if anything more had happened while he was unawares he shivered and curled up, wishing for a blanket to cover himself with. As he moved he felt the protest in his bruised ribs and moaned as he clutched his side.

“Ah, he lives,” came a smarmy, grunt of a voice.

Great, Mack, of all people, was here.

Zach opened his eyes to better defend himself against whatever Mack had in mind and found something still blocked his sight. He groped for his face, arm numb from his own dead weight crushing it.

“Leave that,” Mack said. “Don’t you fucking dare touch it, that’s your first rule of the day.”

Zach swallowed, groaned again and pushed himself to sit up, hyper aware of every inch of skin on display. He smelled Mack’s cigarettes before he heard the man move, felt the stale smoke waft over his face and another roil of nausea that it brought with it. He lifted a hand to rub his nose and coughed onto the back of his hand to try and rid the smell and the almost-taste of it from his body.

Mack’s hand—probably, unless someone else was here too—caught his wrist and squeezed painfully. “You deaf today or some shit, I said don’t touch your fucking face.” Mack twisted his hand until the skin pinched beneath his grip, and the joint protested. Zach hissed in pain and lurched into action to try and grapple his hand free, digging nails into the back of Mack’s hand.

Mack held on for a few more long moments before he shoved Zach, freeing his wrist, and he scooted further away from where he thought Mack was crouching.

“Actually you said not to touch the blindfold,” he replied tersely. “Try thinking before you speak it might help you get your point across.”

Mack grabbed the back of his neck, fingers curling into the ends of his hair and yanked his head back. Zach hadn’t known to brace for it and the jerk sent a wave of pain that ricocheted down his neck and jarred something in his aching hip. “Far too mouthy you little shit. If it were up to me I’d sew that mouth of yours shut.”

“But then how would we have these little chats I know you love so much?”

Another puff of smoke rolled over his face and he wrinkled his nose, stomach churning. He needed food, water... he needed proper rest, not just to pass out after some torment or other and wake up bruised and sore. Resigned to not getting enough of any of those things he focused on the slight sense of satisfaction of irritating Mack instead.

He heard the hiss of the cigarette being dragged on and hoped it was nearly gone. It was fruitless hoping when fingers gripped his jaw until his lips puckered, the heat of the cigarette sizzling far too close to his skin, held in the fingers that gripped him. Then Mack’s lips were on his and he sucked in a breath of surprise only to inhale a mouthful of smoke.

He sucked it down, drawing it into his lungs in surprise, hoping and hoping for clean air to come on the back of it. Mack’s lips were a seal over his own that breathed the filthy, cloying stuff from his own mouth—expelled it forcefully right to the back of Zach’s throat.

Zach’s lungs grew tight and full and he needed to exhale but Mack’s mouth was still smacked over his own and his tongue was in Zach’s mouth too, invading and claiming and bitterly acrid. Zach grew dizzy, swayed forward as his lungs tried to force the shotgunned smoke back out, he coughed and wheezed and batted at Mack weakly. Over the sound of his own hacking coughs he heard Mack’s laughter. Why was it always funny to these pricks? Why did they have to delight in making him suffer or making him ill?

The weight of it all was enough to drive him flat back onto the mattress, gasping for breath, aware he wasn’t going to catch a break here. Not even given a moment to try and process and remember the previous day’s horrors before the current day’s began.

“Your mouth has other uses too, I guess. Wouldn’t want to miss out on those,” Mack’s shoe nudged him.

He was about to respond when Mack’s heavy weight descended on top of him, driving more air from his lungs. The hand was back and it caressed his jaw as he grew tight as a bow string, muscles locked like he could fight this, change whatever was about to happen by being ready. Mack’s calloused hand slipped lower and closed around his throat... and squeezed.

It trapped the air in his lungs, stopped the coughing in its tracks and he arched up, kicking his legs looking for the pressure to lessen. Mack held him on the knife edge of breathlessness until he went limp, allowed him a precious few wheezing breaths and then closed his hand again while he blew another round of smoke into Zach’s gasping mouth.

Zach squirmed as his chest failed to expand and his lungs didn’t fill, the black behind the blindfold going haywire with flashes of light and colour and then fading to grey. There wasn’t room for breathing or thinking, he was only animal—desperate, hungry and directionless with the fear that came hot on the heels of being pinned down and choked out.

He clawed and kicked, begged with soundless words as he tried to make the shapes and couldn’t find enough air to give them voice.

Mack pressed tighter one more time and then released. Just as Zach thought it was over a burning, blinding pain sparked to life on his shoulder. He writhed, still sputtering inhaled smoke while a scream—half surprise as well as pain—was forced out of his throat. He smelled his singed flesh as well as the ashes of a cigarette on his shoulder. With a heavy hand he blindly flicked the hot ash from his skin, feeling it smear on his fingers with intense heat. He knew the scent would linger on his hands for a while, like some sick sort of reminder of the mornings activities.

“I’d miss that scream too, oooh man, you’re like a little girl sometimes. Can’t handle a little ciggy?”

Zach grit his teeth while tears swelled hotly behind his eyes and he only hoped to keep them at bay. He felt sluggish, no idea if it was from whatever knocked him out, or the lack of breath in his body, or just the general exhaustion and constant suffering. He almost began to laugh, and caught it before it turned into a pitiful whine. Drawing more attention to himself for being strange wouldn’t help him now.

“Think fast,” Mack said and a thud of something heavy landed on his chest with a slosh and a thud. “Drink up. Boss wants you in the training rooms today.”

Grateful for the fresh bottle of water, and hating that he was, Zach fumbled to screw the cap loose. The water soothed his abused throat, settled his stomach a little. Made him feel, briefly, more human.

Mack pulled him off the mattress and to his feet and shoved a pair of loose trousers into his hands, holding him steady with a thumb pressed firmly on the spot Zach had just been burned. Zach steeled himself and ignored the sharp pain. He stepped one foot and then the other into the trouser legs, leaning on Mack for balance while he couldn’t see.

“Now you’ve got your modesty let’s fuckin’ get on with it, step to it Griffin, time to go see what else you’re good for today.”

With tired, heavy feet Zach followed where Mack steered him. Whatever dregs of human decency he was given were always taken away sooner or later. He wondered if today would be a day he remembered, or if it would fade and be lost to some indescribable pain like the day before. He shuddered, unsettled by the idea that maybe it was kinder if he forgot; if the memory was choked out of him into oblivion so he could sleep deeply and soundlessly. If all the days bled into one, would he really be living them? Or could he float through them like the moments he drifted, lacking in oxygen, somewhere between consciousness and sleep.

He hated that that seemed appealing and wrapped a tentative hand around the bruises forming on his throat and pressed down, just because he could, just to feel the pain because he chose to for once; just to remind himself he was still very much alive, awake, and human, and that was worth fighting for.

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ssfghfrrggf · 3 years

Text

In Your Arms part 2

the continuation of the fic for @adamruz , there might be a part 3 but i’ve got some other fic ideas that begging to be written first.

Her head is pounding when she finally comes to, and everything hurts like she’s been hit by a truck.

“Adam?” Kim chokes and opens her eyes, everything around her is a spinning blur of color and vague shapes that she can’t quite make out. She tries to lift her head off the hard ground, but she can’t seem to make her body do what she wants it to. It’s like she’s trapped in her body.

“Adam!” She cries louder. She can’t make him out anywhere in the dim room with her. The last thing she remembers is seeing him collapse on the pavement in front of her just as a needle got stabbed into her neck, but it’s all so fuzzy. She can’t remember why he collapsed, maybe he got drugged too.

“Sounds like she wants her partner,” a harsh voice says as a door opens, letting in a stream of blinding light that stabs at her eyes and makes her flinch in pain.

“What did you do to him?” she growls and manages to clamor upright to face the two men who have just come into the room. She knows their faces but can’t place names to them, she’s pretty sure they’re two of their suspects. “Where’s Adam?”

The two men glance at each other, and one of them laughs, it’s a harsh and bitter laugh that makes her blood run cold.

“I assume he’s still lying dead in that alley where we left him,” the taller of the two men says with an evil chuckle. His words hit her like a kick to the stomach, but she refuses to give these two animals the satisfaction of seeing her pain, so she forces back the lump of panic rising in her throat and the wave of grief trying to crash over her. Adam can’t be dead, she can’t lose him.

“What did you do to him?” she chokes, glaring up at them, trying to focus her spinning vision. She can’t believe what they’ve just told her. She has to believe Adam is okay or she’ll never make it out of here. She has to fight to get back to him.

“You’re not the one asking questions here, honey,” one of the men says and crouches down in front of her. “We need the name of the guy you were talking to.”

She spits in his face. “Go to hell.”

Her harsh remark is met with a hard slap to the face that knocks her to the ground and makes her face sting until tears into her eyes.

“Answer my question, bitch!”

Kim clenches her jaw and tucks in on herself. She’s not telling these bastards anything, if she talks she dies. She just has to hang on until Adam can find her, and she knows he will. He always does.

A boot slams into her back and it takes everything in her to stop herself from crying out in pain.

“Okay, we’ve got security footage from outside the alley where we found the blood,” Jay reports, skipping stairs to get up to the bullpen. They’d found blood in an alley down the road from where Adam wrecked, and by some miracle there’d been a camera close to the entrance.

“Was there anything usable?” Kevin asks, sitting up straighter in his desk. Jay can’t imagine what he’s going through, both of his partners are in danger. Kim is missing and Adam… From the sound of Trudy’s phone call to them, it’ll be a miracle if he makes it through surgery.

“We can’t see anything inside the alley, but there's still a lot.” Jay says and pulls up the footage on the tv. “Adam was parked here,” he points out Adam’s jeep on the screen. “Then this van pulls up.” he narrates as a white van pulls up and blocks the entrance to the alley to the board. “Five guys get out with guns and disappear into the alley. A couple minutes later they come out with Kim.” He can’t help but notice Kevin ducking his head as the video shows the guys hauling Kim’s limp form into the van. “They speed away, and then Ruz comes out of the alley.” It’s easy to tell he’s hurt badly from the way he’s stumbling and barely manages to get into his car. “And he gives chase.”

“That’s why he ran the light,” Kevin sighs. “He was trying to get Kim.”

“Yeah, techs managed to track the van down to the south loop, but lost it. We already have boots on the ground looking for it,” Jay finishes. “We’ll find her, Kevin.”

“I know we will,” he says and stands up. “Do we know where the CI they were meeting is? We can’t sit around here and wait for patrol to find that van, and that guy seems like our best connection right now.”

“We had uniforms stop by his house, but he’s not home,” Hailey says, shaking her head. “I’m going to start digging into his known associates. It’s possible he heard or saw what happened and maybe thought his cover was blown.”

“Or he had something to do with it,” Kevin mutters.

“If he did, we’ll get him,” Voight says, looking around the room at each of them. “No one involved is getting away with it.”

As he finishes speaking, his phone rings.

“It’s Trudy,” He says solemnly, and the room goes dead still.

***

“Adam!” Kim's scream is chilling, and cuts deeper than the burning pain tearing through his body.

He’s never heard her scream like that. Why would she scream like that?

He hits the pavement. Numb. So numb. The world spinning. Blinding lights coming straight for him. Pain. deafening beeping matching the pounding of his heart… blackness.... Nothing.

“Adam.”

It’s not Kim. It should be Kim.

“Adam.”

Adam opens his eyes slowly as awareness creeps slowly over him, and feeling returns to his body.

“Kim?” He mumbles and looks around the room, struggling to move his head and barely managing to keep his eyes open. Everything hurts, breathing, moving, even the feeling of his own heart beat, all of it hurts, but he has to find Kim. Someone took her, and he has to find her even if the pain of simply being awake kills him.

“Shhh, we’re going to find her. I promise.” It’s Trudy’s voice that soothes him, and urges him to relax, and it’s her hand that gently slides into his.

“They took Kim,” he rasps, struggling to breathe, let alone form words.

“We’re looking for her, I promise. Everything is going to be okay,” Trudy replies, giving his hand a small squeeze.

“She’s not here,” he gasps, and his lungs seem to give out. He tries to breathe in but nothing happens; his chest gets tight as he struggles and fales to bing in air. Everything around him starts blurring together and spinning out of focus, and the distant beeping that used to be steady speeds up.

“Adam?!”

Trudy lets go of his hand and he feels completely alone as darkness folds over him like an all consuming wave. He tries to fight it, he has to stay awake, he has to survive so he can find Kim, so he can be there for her. No matter what, he has to be there for her.

***

“Hey, Kev,” Jay stops Kevin as he tries to walk to his car. This is the third house they’ve been to in search of Darrel, and the third house that has turned up empty. “I just got off the phone with Voight.”

“He got another address for us?” Kevin asks. He’s trying hard to stay positive, but it’s not working. Ruz is dying and Kim is missing. He’d gladly take either of their places, hell he’d gladly take both their places. He’d do anything for them, and yet, right now he can’t seem to do a single thing to help them- to save them.

“No, he said you should go to Med,” Jay replies quietly. “Ruz just got out of a secondary surgery, but he’s still taking a turn for the worse.”

The detective’s words hang in the air. Kevin hears them, but he doesn’t really process them. The idea that Adam might actually die is something Kevin can’t wrap his mind around. Ruz will be fine, he has to be. Right now Kevin needs to be out searching for Kim, it’s where Kim needs him to be, and it’s where Adam would want him to be. “I need to keep working the case.”

Jay shakes his head, and locks gazes with him before rephrasing what he said. “Kevin, you need to go see Adam. It’s bad, and Voight said you might not get another chance.”

“But Kim needs as many people as possible working this case,” Kevin tries to argue. He’s not sure why he’s arguing; he knows Jay is right. If Voight is trying to pull him off the case to go see Adam then it has to be bad. Part of him doesn’t want to go because he doesn’t want it to become real.

***

Kim keeps still. She has no idea how long it’s been since her last beating or even how long it’s been since she woke up in this horrible gloomy place. Things are starting to come back to her though, things about the case, things about the attack in the alley, and finally what happened to Adam. They’d shot him, and as she screamed his name a needle was shoved into her neck and she was pumped full of drugs. And that’s one thing she can’t figure out, why would they shoot him and take her. Do they have plans to use her like they did those other girls. Pump her so full of drugs that she loses her will to fight, loses herself and her life, forgets the faces of the people she loves… forgets Adam. She presses her eyes closed and leans into the cool floor. She could never forget him, no matter what these people do to her she’ll never let him go, never lose his memory.

She remembers now that they shot him and left him in a pool of blood in that alley, she can remember it vividly, the pain that flooded across his face as the bullets tore through his vest. It was real and horrible and as much as she wishes it were just some horrible nightmare, she knows it not. And yet some part of her is still holding out for him, waiting for him to bust through the door and save her, carry her away and wrap her in the warm comforting safety of his arms. She knows it’s silly, but she’s still waiting for him.

Kim sits up as two of her captors enter the room yet again. She refuses to face them laying down, to submit to them.

“Have you decided to tell us what we want to know yet?” one of them asks, stepping close to her.

“Why shoot him? And take me. He knew more about the person you want. They’re his CI,” Kim questions without answering their question.

“Because we couldn’t use him after we got the information we needed.”

Kim feels sick. She was right. They have more plans for her than just using her for information.

“Then you should kill me, too. I’m not telling you anything, and you won’t break me.”

“Everyone breaks.” and before she can fight back, one of the men grabs her by the hair and yanks her head to the side, exposing her neck. She twists and tries to get free, but before she can do anything, a needle is jabbed into her neck and some horrible poison is pushed into her body. She can feel it spread through her as she goes limp and falls to the ground. A fog sets in over brain, she loses her grip on reality, but she can still feel everything.

***

“Hey Trudy,” Kevin says quietly and shuffles into Adam’s hospital room. He can’t bring himself to look at her or his partner. He’d seen the blood in the alley and in his mangled car, and that had been enough. He doesn’t need to see how injured and weak he is now and he doesn’t need to see Platt’s fear and worry, so he keeps his gaze training on the smooth white floor tiles below his feet. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s hanging in there,” Trudy says quietly, her voice wavering slightly. “He keeps asking for Kim.”

Kevin steps closer to the bed, and finally finds it in himself to look up at Adam. He’s pale and still, for a second it doesn’t even look like he’s breathing; there’s dots of red soaking through the bandage wrapped around his head, and his left arm is in a sling and rested across his abdomen. He looks like hell.

“Hey, Ruz,” Kevin whispers and gives his partner a reassuring pat on the hand. “You’re gonna be okay, and we’re gonna find Kim, I promise.”

“Kev?” Adam mumbles, his lips barely moving as his eyes flutter open just a crack. He’s too weak to open them all the way.

“Yeah, I’m here man, I’m here,” Kevin promises and grabs Adam’s hand.

“You gotta find her,” Adam replies, his eyes closing again. “She has to be okay.”

“She will be,” Kevin says, trying to sound confident. “She will be, Ruz. But look I gotta go, they need me on the case. I just wanted to check in on you.”

Adam doesn’t reply.

Kevin looks up at Trudy, who shakes her head.

“I should go,” Kevin chokes and takes a step back. “I’ll be back later…”

“Kevin, he’ll be okay,” Trudy says confidently. “You just focus on getting Burgess back.”

Kevin nods. “I will. I’ll get her back.”

He’s on his way out of the room when Jay calls him.

“Did you guys get something?” He asks, casting one last glance back at Adam.

“Yeah, we got the CI, and he thinks he knows where they took Kim.”

***

The dark grey stone sealing above Kim seems to be spinning dizzyingly, like when you stare up at the sky after spinning in circles. She still can’t move, she can’t communicate to her body what to do, she can’t even stop the tears trickling slowly down her cheeks as she lays on her back staring up at the stark emptiness above her. Everything hurts, she feels broken, like they’ve kicked and beaten and shattered every part of her. Deep down in the core of her being, it hurts.

There’s a numbness slowly creeping up her body and bringing with it waves of exhaustion. She can feel herself slipping away, losing her grip on the present and drifting off into old memories. Long nights with Adam; the joy that bubbled up inside of her filling her up and making her feel whole and loved when he proposed; the hollowness, the empty pit that opened up inside of her when she left him; and the comfort of him holding her in his arms. She never feels safer than she does when she’s wrapped in his arms, leaning close to him and being able to hear his steady heart beat in her ear.

She doesn’t even flinch as the sound of gunfire rings through the air. It’s muffled by the haze surrounding her, trapping her in some distant uncaring state of consciousness.

“Burgess!” a familiar voice cries out to her as light floods what might as well be her tomb. She knows the voice, but it could be anyone, and for all she cares it could be no one, because it’s not Adam.

“Kim! Kim, we got you,” A second voice joins in and bodies surround her and touch her. Part of her wants to reach out to them and cling to them for dear life, but she doesn’t. Adam is missing. He should be there, he’s always there. No matter what he’s always there for her, he’s always there to pull her into his arms and keep her safe.

“Where’s Adam?” she manages to whisper as her head falls against someone’s shoulder. Dark spots are beginning to spread across her vision and she’s quickly losing her grip on consciousness. “Adam…”

“We got you, Kim.”

She finally slips into the welcoming blackness tugging at her.

***

“She’s gonna be okay.” Kevin stands up as Will comes into the waiting room to share the good news. “They drugged her with some heavy stuff, but we’re giving her some medication to help her come down from it.”

“You’re sure?” Kevin asks, glancing at Jay and Hailey who are both letting out sighs of relief.

“Yes I’m sure. She’s got some cuts and bruises but she’s responding well to the medication we have her on,” Will reasures him.

“And they only beat her up? They didn’t do anything else?” Kevin asks, lowering his voice. He knows he’s not the only one who has that thought running through his mind.

“There wasn’t any evidence of sexual assault. They didn’t do any of that to her,” Will promises, and gives him a pat on the shoulder. “She’s not awake yet, but you can go see her if you want to.”

“Thank you,” Kevin breathes, relief flooding over him. For the first time since getting the call about Adam’s wreck he feels like he can breathe easy. Kim and Adam are safe now.

***

“Where’s Adam?” Kim asks. Looking around the room trying to find him. He should be here, he’s always there for her when she wakes up, holding her hand, promising her it will be okay, and making sure she knows he’s there and that he won’t leave her. The room feels empty without him, she feels empty without him.

Kevin purses his lips and takes her hand in his.

“Kevin, what happened? Where is Adam?” She chokes, searching his gaze for answers. His expression is grave. “Kevin?”

“Kim, he’s in ICU,” Kevin says gently. “He’s hurt pretty bad.”

Kim shakes her head and squeezes her eyes closed. “No, no, no…”

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Kevin tries to console her, but she can’t find comfort in his words. She needs Adam here with her, she needs him to tell her everything’s going to be okay, everything always feels okay when he’s there with her.

“What happened?” Kim asks, taking in a deep breath and reminding herself to breathe.

“He got shot, but tried to go after you anyway,” Kevin starts.

Kim shakes her head miserably.

“He ran a redlight and got hit,” Kevin finishes. “It was bad, but he’ll be okay. He’s too stubborn to die.”

***

It’s late when Kim wakes up next, the clock on the wall says it’s well past 3:00 A.M. Her room is empty and the hallway outside her room is quiet. Really the only sounds she can hear is the quiet beep of the monitor next to her and the night sounds of the city outside her window. It’s peaceful and… lonely. She’s never woken up in the hospital before, Adam is always there. He always makes sure she’s not alone, that she knows someone is there with her.

Her muscles are still sore, and her scrapes and bruises hurt despite the medication they have her on, but she makes herself sit up anyway. She knows she’s not supposed to do it, but she doesn’t care, she peels the monitor leads off her skin and swings her legs out of bed. She’s going to go find Adam. She’s not going to let him wake up alone. She wasn’t able to pry many details out of Kevin about his condition, but she knows it’s bad, and she knows he needs her there with him.

It’s a painful walk from her room to the ICU, and the tile floor is cold under bare feet, but she keeps going, checking each room until she finally finds him. Trudy is asleep in the chair next to his bed, and he’s asleep too, but that doesn’t stop her from slipping quietly into the room. He looks to be in worse shape than she’d been expecting; Kevin had said it was bad, she didn’t think it’d be this bad. He looks dead; all the color is gone from his face and he’s cut and bruised. The only sign that he’s still alive is his shallow breaths that seem to be hurting him. There’s a blanket pulled up over his chest that she’s sure is concealing the worst of his injuries.

“Hey, Adam,” Kim breathes as she climbs slowly into the bed next to him, being careful not to bump him. She’s sure he can’t hear her, he’s out cold, but she doesn’t care. She needs him to know she’s there. “I’m right here with you.”

She settles in close to him and slides one arm under his neck, so his head is leaned against her body.

“Kim?” His soft mumble takes her by surprise. Between the amount of blood he lost and the amount of painkillers they must have her on she hadn’t been expecting him to wake up anytime soon.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here with you,” she whispers and kisses the top of his head.

“I’m sorry… I should’ve been there for you…”

“Adam, it’s not your fault. You have nothing to apologize for,” Kim soothes.

“I thought I lost you,” he replies softly and leans his head a little closer to her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Kim promises. “Now get some rest.”

#chicago pd fic #burzek fic #adam ruzek #kim burgess

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bonesthebeloved · 3 years

Text

Over the body of a fallen god

Summary: Tommy and Tubbo make it into the prison to kill Dream. Things don't go as planned. Wordcount: 1560 CW/TW: Blood and injury, vague description of a dead body, mention of manipulation, trauma, being trapped. AN: New hyperfixation go brrr. This is about the characters only. However is any of the CC that are mentioned here express discomfort with anything in this work I’ll take it down immediately.

They’d gotten in. He really doesn’t know how they managed to get this far but they’d gotten in.

Realistically he knew from the start that this plan was doomed to fail; the prison was inescapable. Sam and Dream himself had made sure of that. Layers and layers of practically unbreakable stone and obsidian with a lava riddled middle. Nothing should be able to go in and out without the warden knowing.

This is why Tommy was so baffled that they were stood here: The giant staircase leading up to the main cell behind them, fire resistance, and netherite sword in hand.

They were going to do this. Dream would finally be dead and they’d never have to worry about him or Wilbur or (gods forbid) Schlatt, ever again.

Maybe- he thought- Maybe Sam had stopped caring about if Dream was kept safe. Maybe he’d stopped checking in on him except to give him his food. Maybe Tommy dying had something to do with that.

Not that he cared. Why would he care? It wasn’t like Sam was there for him when he’d needed him the most!

Tommy shook his head to try and clear it a bit, Looking at his friend stood next to him, waiting patiently for him to give the sign for them to continue.

So, after a moment, Tommy took a deep breath, downing the potion and feeling its effects settle in. Throwing the bottle to the side to grab his friend's hand, his other one clutching a netherite sword as he gave a nod.

And with that, the switch was flipped and the platform ascended into the lava.

He closed his eyes tightly. Focusing on Tubbo’s hand in his as they moved through the deadly wall of heat.

He and lava didn’t mix too well you see? Dreams voice echoing vaguely in his head with all the lies he’d fed him. Flashes of memories of just how far the man had pushed him flickering under his eyelids like the bright swirling orange of the lava around them. The slight tingling feeling of it on his protected skin far easier to handle than the scorching heat of the nether had been when he’d stood on that edge. When he’d been in the prison, back to the deadly wall they were now moving through as if it was nothing.

A slight pulling on his arm, let him know to step off the platform, Tubbo leading him into the prison-cell. He could hear heavy breathing. He could hear the barrier between them being put down. He could feel the potion effect wearing off and the heat from the lava starting to heat up his back. He could feel Tubbo squeezing his hand even tighter than before.

“Tommy...?” His friend said. Sounding awfully unsure suddenly.

“Just give me a moment Tubs.”

“-No Tommy I think you really should-”

“Hello, there you two.” Said a voice that he’d hoped he’d never have to hear again.

His head shot up and his eyes flew open as he felt himself freeze in place. Finally taking in the scene before him.

Dream was...on the floor. Dream was on the floor and his mask was off, shattered into pieces laying a little further off. His mask was off and his eyes were staring blankly at a spot in front of him. Unseeing. Grey.

Dead.

There was blood on the wall to their right. Splattered and trickling down. The same blood that was in a pool that seemed to be steadily growing around Dream’s head. The wound that it must be flowing from mercifully on the side of his head that was facing the floor. Hiding it from sight.

His clothes were bloodied as were his knuckles. His nose seemed broken and he was...

Dead.

Dream was dead.

And the figure above him was casually wiping the blood off of his hands and onto his long brown coat.

“Good to see you again Tommy. We never finished that round of solitaire,” Wilbur said, smiling in a way that Tommy had come to assume meant danger as he casually stepped over the corpse of their enemy-turned-god and moving closer to the two kids that stood in front of him.

Both of them took a step back. Now inches away from the lava and Tommy suddenly became painfully aware that they’d not brought any more potions with them.

The plan had been to wait it out until Sam would come to check on the prisoner and then be led out.

In hindsight, they should have thought this through some more.

Tubbo seemed to recover from it all slightly faster.

“You’re- but you’re”

“Dead? supposed to be rotting in hell? Oh, I’m well aware Tubbo.” Wilbur said. A laugh in his voice made Tommy’s skin crawl.

“But Dream over here was so kind to revive me. So I thought, why not make it everyone’s problem.”

“Why would he- you killed him. He revived you and you killed him.”

“You’re stating the obvious there, big man,” Wilbur said. His tone mocking as he said the last bit.

“Dream might be smart. But he’s a bit of an idiot sometimes,” he said, sitting down crisscross as if he wasn’t partly leaning against the dead body of the most powerful person on the server.

No way in hell Tommy was going to sit down and get comfortable with that man.

“He thought I’d help him escape. Fella still doesn’t seem to realize that I have my own agenda. Had to resort to the only language the people here seem to understand.” he motioned to the blood on the walls and his bruised knuckles and Tommy saw Tubbo’s grip on his sword tighten.

“You’re not getting out of here Wil. Sam is just gonna keep you locked in here instead of Dream. We’re never letting you out of here big man and you can go FUCK YOURSELF if you think you’ll ever have an ounce of power again.” Tommy said. Feeling the rage finally fizzle to life. The rage of all the wrong Wilbur had done to him during their stay in limbo. The rage of the only chance of getting closure, of plunging his sword into that green bastard's chest and seeing the light leave those cold eyes being taken from him.

The rage of his best friend standing beside him now. In danger again because of him.

“Hmmm. Maybe. But unless you lot want to stay here forever as well, the cell is going to have to open up someday. And no way in hell that I’m not coming with you when it does.”

That’s the moment when Tubbo seemed to suddenly perk up. His eyes widening as he began to rummage through his inventory. Placing down an enderchest and frantically searching for something before he, with a silent ‘yesss’ fished out a potion bottle.

“Oh, he’s leaving alright?” Tubbo said, pressing the potion into Tommy’s hand and giving him a nod. Tommy, suddenly incredibly glad that he’d decided to take Tubbo with him after all, was about to down the potion when he realized something. Slowly lowering the bottle again and looking over at his friend. Sword pointed towards Wilbur to keep him at bay as he hungrily eyed the little flask of freedom.

“You only have one of these, don’t you Tubs?”

Tubbo nodded at that and gave Tommy a sad smile. One that seemed way and way too reminiscent of the one he’d given him in the artifact room then Tommy was comfortable with.

“I’ve been willing to do this before and I’ll do it again Tommy. Go. You’ve been through enough in this room as it is.”

Tommy was shaking his head as soon as Tubbo had opened his mouth. A decision slowly taking shape in his head. One clad in iron and crystal clear.

“No. No way. I can handle this, Tubs. You’ve got a kid now. And a platonic husband, weird as it is and how much I don’t like em put aside.” They both laughed at that quietly. Wilbur looking on from his spot on the floor patiently. Curious to see how this would play out. A sick sort of fascination at their struggle in his eyes as he scanned their faces.

“You’re building a nation. You just got a new mansion. I’m not letting you get all messed up in the head because of your stupid selfless morals. Not this time and not ever.” Tommy said, the decision made as he held out the bottle to Tubbo and after his friend had reluctantly taken it, sitting down on the floor in front of Wilbur. Staring the man down.

“Tommy I don’t-”

“Go Tubbo. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be back as soon as posib-”

“Go.”

“See you soon Toms.”

And with that, Tubbo downed the bottle. stepping on the platform again and disappearing into the lava.

Leaving the two men in the cell. Staring each other down over the dead body of a fallen god. One with curiosity and a barely hidden madness behind his eyes. The other with grim determination. He wasn’t going to break. Not this time. Not again.

“I’m not going to let you manipulate me Wil. I’ve had enough of that shit to last me a lifetime.”

“Good. Makes it more fun that way.”

“...”

“So, about that solitaire match...”

#dream smp #mcyt fandom #c!wilbur #c!tommy #c!tubbo #tommy dream smp #tubbo dream smp #wilbur dream smp #vilbur supremacy #villain wilbur #c!dream #dream is dead pog #long post #story #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp fandom #fanfiction #fanfic #we writing for yet another fandom boys

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digitalcirce · 4 years

Photo

Squealer Originally posted on DeviantArt on Aug 19 2020 (woman to pig transformation)

Brianna had some inclination that Tony was in the mob when she started dating him, but he was so sexy, and so gregarious, that she had tried to ignore his business as long as she could. That, unfortunately, ended when an FBI agent cornered her and forcibly drafted her into becoming an informant.

She didn’t like snitching on her boyfriend any more than she liked Big Tony’s business, and knew he had a reputation for dealing harshly with disloyalty. She did it anyway, constantly feeling like she was on a dangerous tightrope; but Brianna was unwilling to abandon her life and friends in a possibly useless attempt to flee. She didn’t know which side would do her worse for betraying them.

It turned out, she would never know. But what Tony did would have been pretty hard for the FBI to beat.

Brianna came to groggily. Had there been something in her margarita? She didn’t used to be a day drinker, and wanted to quit, but with all the stress of… her trivial thoughts evaporated instantly as she took notice of her surroundings, and she quickly realized she was tied to a chair. Some of Big Tony’s goons were in the darkened room, and they looked pissed. She recognized one, vaguely, but didn’t know the other at all.

“She’s awake,” said the one she hadn’t seen before.

“Then it’s time to show the slut what Tony does to squealers in this organization,” his friend growled.

“Please! I’m sorry!” she begged. “I was forced into it. I could work as a double agent! I swear! I love Tony, I promise! My days of squealing are over!”

He just laughed, a harsh barking sound, and reached into his jacket. Brianna knew a big fat Desert Eagle was going to come out, and then he’d press it to her head, or maybe even into her mouth, and pull the trigger. Supposing they didn’t bother clean up the scene, there still wouldn’t even be enough of her head left to identify her by dental records. It was all she could do not to pee herself in fear.

So she was surprised when he just pulled out a hypodermic needle, uncapped it, and squirted out any air bubbles. He took her arm – fairly gently, all things considered – and gave her a quick shot. It was over almost before she understood that her head wasn’t going to get blown off, and with her adrenaline pumping she hadn’t even felt it go in.

“There, Squealer,” he said triumphantly. “Now you can do what comes naturally.”

Brianna was glad that she wasn’t dead, but the cryptic words made her feel uneasy. What were they planning to do to her? She was vaguely aware that when Tony disappeared his enemies, they typically weren’t found afterwards. Was that going to happen to her? And what in that needle would make her disappear, more than a huge slug to the head?

Brianna was beginning to realize that she felt hot – hotter than the dingy little cellar they had her in should warrant. Was she running a fever? In fact, she was kind of feeling sick. A little nauseous in her tummy. So this was what it was, she thought, depressed. Poison. I’m going to die here of poison. Everything I still wanted to do in life… it’s all over. I’m never standing up out of this chair again. Two fat tears formed in her eyes, and slid down her cheeks. Her bound body shook with sobs that were more physical than audible.

“Please. Please. If there’s any antidote… I’ll never squeal again…” she blubbered.

That harsh laughter, again. “You can squeal all you want, Bri,” the first guy snorted. “Squeal until the cows come home.”

“Well, until the pigs come home,” the other guy corrected mirthfully. Dumbass, Brianna thought. The first guy got the saying right.

But as her body shook, things started to feel… different. As she pressed back against the chair, it felt like there was something trapped between her and the seat. A wad of her shirt, wrinkled up? But no… it felt… felt like it were her, a part of her, which was trapped. She shimmied in her bonds uncomfortably, trying to relieve the pressure. And then… then something flopped out, over the waist of her low-rise jeans that seemed to be riding lower all the time. And out of her much looser denim shirt. But it was still connected to her. And then it moved, jerking on her back, and brushing against unforgiving wood and her denim-clad butt. She could feel through the thing.

It was a tail.

Brianna had a tail.

Her head spun. She wriggled, and her tail moved with her, twitching and coiling around. She could feel her squirmy tail squished against the chair. It didn’t seem like there were any bones in it; just flesh and nerves and muscle. Some bizarre, alien appendage growing out over her butt. She scooted forward as far as she could, and her tail twitched around, getting as free as it was going to get as it curled around her side, each brush against something sending disorienting new sensory information up to her confused and frightened brain. But the men noticed it, and laughed at it boisterously. They had been expecting it…

Brianna tried to put it together. Her punishment for squealing was to be poisoned. But not a poison that killed her; rather, it caused her to grow a disgusting, subhuman tail. She sniffled. Or rather, tried to sniffle. It actually sounded more like a grunt.

“What did you do?” she snorted, fighting her bonds.

“Her hands and feet are changing, too!” the one guy said, pointing, to both of their mirth. Brianna glanced down, seeing they were right. Her middle fingers were swelling, capped with a hard, unfeeling surface at the ends, and her outer fingers were getting smaller and stubbier. Her thumbs were just shrinking – although not enough to pull them loose from the ropes. Something similar was happening below, and her feet pushed free of her pumps. What the hell?

She grunted again, distressed, and felt her nostrils flare. So much so that she actually saw the end of her nose in front of her eyes. And it stayed at the bottom of her line of sight, getting bigger and wrinkles forming along the bridge of it. Brianna gasped, her mouth dropping open, and felt her hair tickle her ears. Or rather, her ears tickle her hair, because they were getting longer and pushing free of her soft dirty blonde tresses.

The unsettled feeling in her tummy suddenly burst across the whole of her midsection, feeling hot and fruitful. Points of flesh rubbed against the fabric of her clothes, giving off sensations like her boobs when she didn’t have a bra on. In fact, as she thought about it, it felt exactly like she’d added a half dozen or so nipples under her boobs.

She breathed heavily, her mind swimming. Brianna felt overwhelmed. A snout, a curly tail, lots of extra nipples – she was definitely becoming something subhuman. Something… that could <i>squeal</i>.

She looked back down, past her growing muzzle, at the mess of her hands. But she didn’t have hands anymore. Instead, her hands were little more than a pair of pig trotters. Her waistband and the ropes seemed to tighten, as her belly grew. She was beginning to get a little porky, and her tormentors decided to rub it in.

“How about that, Squealer? You still want to squeal on us? Go ahead, let’s hear you! Squeal!” So the poor, pathetic sow opened her snout, oinking loudly in her new dialect. They laughed hard and raucously. As she snorted and oinked, her throat thickened, and she could feel the tenor of her voice deepen. She cried, her squeals mixed with sobs.

“Please… spare me… I don’t wanna be a pig…” she managed, amidst her oinking. Her ears were getting quite big, flopping over under their own weight. And her snout was starting to project forward, carrying her mouth along with it. Inside, she could feel her tongue and teeth reshape; becoming more porcine. She knew they would lead to a piggish stomach, as well, designed to process slop instead of caviar.

The ropes were getting tighter around Brianna’s once-svelte body. She wasn’t just growing teats; she was getting fat, like a sow. Her shoulders and hips creaked, protesting their bonds, as they started to resettle. Her head tilted up a bit, moving towards its new orientation.

“PLE-EEEE-EAAA-SE!” she squealed, no longer able to articulate complete sentences. And it wasn’t just her voice that was going. The language centers of her brain were giving way to larger olfactory bulbs, and the whole thing flattening as her skull warped, bringing her eye sockets to either side of her growing, moistening snout. Her jaw worked, grunting, as her massive rooter swelled to dominate her head, and the blue orbs in her sockets dulled to a muddy, beady brown. Brianna leaned forward as best as she was able, deeply uncomfortable.

The men laughed at her, and the one she vaguely knew stepped forward and held her chin, getting a good look at her much less desirable face. Except for her hair, her head and neck were entirely those of a pig, and she knew that she must be a sight. He spat in her face, but then had mercy and cut her free of her bonds as her limbs twisted, changing position to be a fat quadruped's legs. She swayed and fell out of the chair, on her forehooves and knees. Her body was closer in shape to a barrel than an hourglass, and she felt him slap her ass and yank down her pants and panties around her knees. Her top was more stubborn, and he ended up cutting it off like the ropes. Soon she was left only with her bra and earrings.

They laughed some more as she waddled drunkenly, squealing in fear and unable to process the cacophony of strange sensations her new body was feeling. At last the unreasoning fear of a pig took hold of her, and she peed on the ground, managing to befoul her own pants in the process. It was horrifying, but what could she do? They roughly snatched them away, and unclasped her bra, too. Her melons flopped free, hanging much lower than her other dugs, and they were quickly groped and slapped by the boors. All Brianna could do was squeal.

As they took her pants away, the first guy was close to her rear, and he quickly drew the other man’s attention. Apparently her pussy and butthole were almost totally porcine, and they wanted to mock them. One pushed a finger into her wider butthole, frigging her uncomfortably, and the other spat on his fingers and yanked on her grossly swollen clit. The poor pig struggled to get away, but her new body was definitely not optimized for speed.

Brianna knew that she was nearing the end, and with a tickling feeling, her hair finally regressed entirely. She continued to add weight, her now barrel-shaped body fat and taut, and her squat hind legs finally pulled up enough to put her on all fours, instead of on her knees. All traces of her sexy butt were lost in her new swine rump, which her springy tail whipped in a bestial drumbeat. The pig waddled around, unable to escape her fate, feeling her flopping breasts shrink under her. Soon, she was the proud owner of fourteen rosy pig teats, and no more human features at all. The reluctant informant was now a true pig. A genuine, literal squealer.

“What do you think? You can squeal all you want, now,” the first man sneered.

“Yeah. Go ahead, squeal… Squeal as long and loud as you want, to anyone who will listen…” the other added.

The sow snuffled pathetically. Her days of squealing weren’t over. In fact, they had just begun.

The next steps were professional, all things considered. Her earrings were removed and she was given a little yellow ear tag, with a barcode on it. Her clothes and possessions were taken to an incinerator – except for whatever Tony wanted for a trophy – and she was loaded onto a truck. Soon she was dumped in a pigsty with a hundred other pigs, in a barn that contained thousands. Brianna was now part of a huge herd of swine. She wondered how many of her fellow pigs were other informants like her. Suddenly, it was clear why those who crossed her ex-boyfriend were never heard from or discovered again.

The sow wanted to resist, but she was famished after her exhausting transformation. Daintily, with as much class as she could manage on her hooves, she waddled over to the trough and satisfied her hunger. Then she laid down, and drifted off to a fretful slumber. It would not get better the next morning, as she integrated fully into the sty. Her new home.

She discovered that she was a breeding sow, and thus not destined to become bacon anytime soon. For the most part, she hated being a pig. But the sex was incredible, and she had never orgasmed harder than when she was with the boars. Big Tony would have been embarrassed to learn that he was just a second-class lover by comparison. In four months, she had her first litter of piglets, and learned how to be a mother.

Eventually, the squealer adapted to her new low-stakes world, without the constant stress-filled tightrope walk between law and crime. She wondered sometimes how much she was remembered or missed; what her friends or her FBI handlers thought about her disappearance. But such things didn’t matter much in the life of a squealing sow.

Stock image used available from Depositphotos at https://depositphotos.com/145280607/stock-photo-man-saying-terrible-things-to.html

#pig #piggirl #pig transformation #pig tf #transformation #tf #hog #sow #swine #digital circe #digital #circe

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laur-rants · 3 years

Text

Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 4

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Daud/The Outsider, but I’ll heavily focus on the Daud and his Whalers relationship

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. Origin Story, pre-canon. Centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the Outsider and his formulation of the Whalers. Notes: There probably won’t be nsfw content in this fic, but it WILL be… violent. I want to play with my own boundaries of written violence and also Daud’s start wasn’t nearly as clean as Corvo’s. Their contrast on dealing with the werewolf transformation is one of the things I want to really explore, and Daud gets very close to falling off the wagon.

CHAPTER TAGS: His hands do violence, but there is a different dream in his heart. Alternatively, Daud talks to the Outsider, saves a girl, frightens a medic. AO3 link

Previous :: First :: Next

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Midnight, ???

The Month of Songs -- 1820

Daud drew breath and it burned cold in his lungs. He checked himself; somehow, his clothes remained intact, untouched by… whatever had just happened to him. He lifted his gaze and when he inhaled again, it felt like gaseous seawater at the back of his throat.

Where there once stood the Fink Manor, the house was now splintered, cracked, and floating into a vast, sky blue expanse. Though he was still standing in the pantry, the shrine humming next to him, the other two walls and the roof were destroyed as if by a bomb. A whale breached next to the stone platform this all stood on; it's massive eye met his briefly before disappearing down again. Daud felt his heart lurch.

His hands flexed. He whirled back to the figure still watching him so adoringly.

"What kind of game is this?" Daud asked, his chest still fighting to find air, still unsure if he was breathing water or not. The atmosphere was thicker here than it ever was in the waking world; not even the Serkonan summer had settled so heavily in his chest. Daud met those black eyes and refused to flinch. "Who are you?"

The entity just frowned, and something about that disappointment hit him like a carriage. He immediately regretted saying anything at all, especially something so pitiable, and he bowed his head in apology. A cold hand lifted his chin, forcing him to look back up into those glassy eyes.

"Oh, Daud, you know who I am. Even if you never were the worshipping type…" A slender thumb ran over those wounds on his cheek and he shivered. "No, you're the gambling kind instead, aren't you? Betting with your life instead of coin. You've always been like this. Perhaps that's why I took such a liking to you in the first place."

"I don't understand," Daud said, his head feeling clouded under the touch of such an ancient being. "The Outsider is just a myth, a fantasy to keep children at home, to give nobles something to jerk off to, or to give the Abbey a scapegoat while they piss on the Strictures." He shrugged out of the Leviathan's hold, grabbing at the hand with his own. The Outsider watched the motion, his face full of glee at the contact.

"Oh? It's not that complicated with me, Daud. You had a bet, remember? And I so wanted you to keep it."

Daud frowned. He racked his brain, searching for the memory. As he did so, the Void around them warped, unbidden, and the Outsider smiled as a forgotten vision burst forth. Daud's eyes widened, looking up at two massive monsters fighting in a sewer. One was grey and malnourished, covered in boils and scars. And the other was a snarling mass of black fur, it's face glistening with dark blood that poured from fresh wounds that looked exactly like--

"What the fuck?" Daud's lip curled and he mirrored the black, wolflike creature of his memory. His tongue touched his teeth and found them sharp. The Outsider just grinned all the more.

"I needed to save your life, or I would lose you before your story even began. So, I gave you the gift of your power a little earlier than others who have had the misfortune of being attacked by such a void-touched creature. Yes; you were cursed the moment those claws broke your jaw and split your throat, but I knew your tale wasn't so easily finished." The Outsider gave him a once-over, the gaze was so hungry it made Daud squirm. "You do not know your own importance and it is so splendid to behold."

There was a reverence there that Daud didn't trust, but it stirred something in his soul. "I'm just an assassin," he managed, taking a step away from the god of the Void. The Outsider just watched, but made no move to follow.

"You will move the tides of the entire Isles, Daud."

"You sure about that," he sneered, his fists clenching. "I am cursed now, you said it yourself. Cursed. I am doomed to go mad, just like the beast before me."

The Outsider held out his left hand. The smile he held was deadly.

"Will you be worth my time, Daud?"

Daud's lip twitched, wanting to refuse, but in the end, curiosity won. He relented.

"Bet," he growled, then gave his hand over to the Outsider to shake. As soon as he did, the back of his hand burned, seared as if branded with an iron. He hissed, not breaking his grip even as he turned his palm to see the back of it. There, glowing bright and smoking with arcane magic, a Mark appeared, one of an intricate arrow-and circle design. He stared at it, transfixed, as a new sort of power flowed through him.

"My Mark," the Outsider said casually, running his hand over Daud's soothingly. "It will keep the beast of you at bay, give you the control you so desperately seek." He grinned, his eyes glittering maliciously. "But how long can you keep up that control? I wonder…"

The god pulled Daud closer, dragging him in like the riptide. The Outsider smirked against his ear and Daud felt the shiver all the way down his spine.

"Can you shape the world to your will, Daud?" He whispered, holding the statement between them like a secret. "Or will you be ruined by it?"

The Outsider pulled away, his smile far too knowing.

"Until we see each other again."

Then, as suddenly as he appeared, the Outsider was gone. His cold, suffocating presence fled from Daud and when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the Void. Instead, he was in the very real Fink Manor, the weight of reality far heavier than the pressures of the deep. Daud swallowed, first retrieving the runes from the shrine before stepping back across the pantry threshold.

The house was in ruins. The rampage he had caused nearly razed the building; a pipe from the kitchen was spitting water, the pantry wall was burst and the dog and handler were lying dead at his feet. Down the hall, he could see evidence of his huge body crashing through doorways with little remorse and forethought. Blood splattered the walls and limbs settled in places far and away from their original owners.

It was the sight of a massacre, one of Daud's own making. He choked on the bile clawing up his throat.

This wasn't his handiwork. It couldn't be. Assassins were meant to be clean, quick, quiet. A good assassin left no trace of themselves behind; a great assassin could even clean and dispose of the body before someone found the scene of the crime. The City Watch was founded to try and protect the streets, but they could do nothing against men and women like him. The best of them were, in all ways, untraceable.

If anyone saw this house, they wouldn't see the work of a trained killer. They would see a contained storm, or perhaps a Tyvian fanged bear set loose on a dare.

They would see the work of a monster.

Daud silently stepped through the wreckage, spotting a woman -- a maid, by the clothing -- with her throat ripped open, the lines jagged and unclean from where her trachea was bitten into. A wolfhound, ripped in two; the other half, he could not find, no matter how hard he searched for it. It left him light-headed, slightly nauseous, considering he vaguely remembered Eustace's arm in his mouth, the blood in his jaws --

He retched dryly. He fought the sick that threatened to come up, not really wishing to repeat what happened on the roof earlier. Certainly, he didn't want to know or see what would come up if he succeeded in vomiting. With a monumental effort he kept it down, gasping for breath and running a shaking hand over his face.

The fingers of his left hand traced over the new scars on his cheek and the sensation sent an intense shiver down his face and neck, all through his arm. He jerked his hand back away from his face, hissing in discomfort. The Mark on his hand burned for a moment, reminding him of his newest annoyance. He flexed his hand; the Mark lit up, itching, begging to be used.

He pulled curiously at the power beckoning to him. His fingers immediately morphed into long, black claws; he yelped, shaking his hand out in surprise. The claws disappeared-- but the power remained. He frowned, trying again. He focused on one spot near the stairs; the Void grabbed him at his request, pulling him forward in a rush and leaving a trail of ash in his wake.

Daud's eyes went wide and his mouth hung open. He had traversed 10 meters in just a moment, the Void whispering in his ear as he did so. It was heady, thrilling; he grinned, feral, and tried the power again.

He landed in a nearby living room where he had ripped a couch in half and knocked a woman in fine jewelry into a wall, breaking her neck. He was about to jump through space again when he heard a squeak, a yelp; he froze, looking to the sound.

What he saw brought a vice around his heart. A child, a girl, trapped under some fallen wood and plaster from the ceiling above. She caught sight of Daud and when Daud caught sight of her, her eyes shone with tears, threatening to spill over.

"Sir…" she said weakly, her voice bubbling up, full of pain and fear. He rushed over, pulling his glove back over his left hand. She squirmed, choking in sobs. "Is it gone? Is-is...where did it go? That beast…"

Daud shushed her gently, trying not to let shock set into his features even as his limbs ran cold. Of course the child didn't recognize him as the monster she witnessed slaughtering her whole family. "Don't use too much energy now, I'll get you out of there." He gently moved some plaster and she squealed in pain; he shifted a joist to the side and clenched his jaw tight.

A large nail had impaled her tiny calf, the wound covered in blood, the color of it darkening her slacks. He looked at her carefully; she was staring at her leg and when she went to grab it, he caught her hand in his.

"Do not touch it," he told her quietly. "You'll make it worse. How long have you been injured?" She just gripped his hand tight and shook her head as her chest heaved with swallowed cries. Void, she couldn't be older than eight.

"I don't know… it just hurts," she wept, her hands bloodied, her face pale. "My mother, she-she…" the child gulped, fighting for air.

She was spiraling. Daud put a hand on her head, trying to ground her. "Hey, I'm here, okay? You aren't going to die. Did--" his mouth went dry, and he tried again. "Did the monster touch you?" As he asked the question, he dug through a pouch on his hip, his eyes darting down to look for a familiar lime-green vial.

"No, I got trapped and then the dogs came and then…" her face screwed up in agony, and Daud had a feeling not all of it was physical.

Did it have to be a child? He hated this, hated thinking he had let a kid see something so needlessly brutal. "It's going to be alright. I'm going to get you out of here. I'm not going to leave you to die on this nail."

Her eyes met his for the first time all night, searching for the truth. He didn't waver, opting instead to hold her little hand tighter. He swallowed, and when he saw the returning trust in her eyes, he pulled out a small dart and showed it to her.

"This is a sleep dart," he told her, holding it out for her to see. "It will put you to sleep for an hour or so. It will sting a little, but it will help lessen the pain, and it will help me get you off the nail without it hurting. Do you trust me with this?"

What other options did she have? He knew she had very few, and there was nothing she could do on her own. She would die of infection here.

She nodded, but grabbed his hand before he could administer the dose. "Wait," she said. "What is your name first?"

He blinked. "Daud."

She smiled. "Daud, like Dad." That settled very unpleasantly in his stomach, but he did not correct her. "I'm Emma, it's nice to meet you."

He nodded. "Likewise. Now, are you ready?"

She let go and nodded. He adjusted the dose in the dart and then stuck it in her arm. Her eyes drooped; in the next few seconds she was asleep, and completely unaware.

Daud moved as quickly as he could. He had some bandages on him, as well as a few rags for quick wound wrapping, but nothing sustainable. He got up, using the Void to rush through the house and find the bathroom. He looted it swiftly; the first aid kit would have to do for now. He transversed back to where she lay, still stuck to the nail. He breathed, then got to work.

Daud had a very strict policy on children when it came to assassination jobs, one that put him at odds sometimes with his colleagues in the business. Other assassins would happily off a whole family to prevent leaks or future loose ends. In a way, it was self-preserving more than anything; a dead child could not speak of what they witnessed. Sometimes, the hit was on the child itself; easy to poison an unwanted heir, for example.

But Daud… he wasn't in this line of work to slaughter kids. He left kids alive; he took parents away from the home if he had to, so that it looked like an accident. He had even dropped a child off at an orphanage, an unfortunate leftover from a hit he and Rulfio once conducted. Rulfio had argued with him about it, but they both decided it was better than ending up dead, abused, or in the Golden Cat.

Never kill the kids. Not if he could help it. Whenever he saw a child, he saw a young Daud, stolen from his home, made to kill and perform for coin until he finally roused the courage to off his own abuser.

Then Daud had run off to become a killer of bastards just like the one who abducted him.

He frowned as he tightened the tourniquet and eased Emma's leg off the nail. The wound spurted with blood and Daud quickly staunched the flow as much as he could, before quickly wrapping the leg with bandages soaked in disinfectant. Through it all, the girl slept, and Daud sighed. This would not be enough, he knew; he worked his jaw, the scent of the blood and rubbing alcohol strong in his nose. He packed back up, lifting the girl carefully before shifting her so she was cradled in his right arm. His left fist clenched and he ignored the claws itching their way free as he jumped through the Void once again. He traveled back up the stairs, back to Eustace's room; the whole time, Emma slept. He kept a bead on her heart, the beat of it steady in his ears.

The bedroom was even worse than the rest of the house. Eustace Fink's body was wretched apart, nearly unidentifiable. Daud neared the pile of human viscera, trying not to think of how he had lost control, bursting forth and slaughtering the man.

Never again, he thought to himself, but even as he held the girl tight, he did not know the long-term validity of those words.

He spotted his whaler blade and mask; he grabbed both, carefully sheathing the sword, then, after a moment of hesitation, he clipped the mask to his belt. He then pulled the audiograph from Fink's remains and carefully swept the room for anything else of value.

A safe with gold ingots and 500 coin. A few choice books, stashed away. Notes from his brother-- Daud paused at these, frowning down at the ledgers.

Eustace,

Jerome changed last week; he will be ready for challengers soon, so get those hound fighters excited for our next event! The first week of the month of Clans will be best. I will test this brute against the others; as a former assassin, I cannot believe how strong his killer instinct is! Brimsley was right; the stronger the person turned, the more likely they are to survive to put on a show! I don't expect the others to fare so well, but now we know that we at least have a sure-fire way to lure Dunwall assassins into a trap.

Be careful if you come down to the ampitheatre to see this dog, however. I can hear it in my mind… it taunts me, hates me, tries to overpower me. I always just shock it back into submission; it's so weak it can't carry out it's bigger threats. But Eustace… please. Your mind is not as strong as mine. Do not be swayed. These monsters of the Outsider are no longer human, like you or I, no matter what it says to you.

Here is the list of the next possible brutes I have selected, and also the date for the next Hound Pits fight. Don't forget the fliers, we need the noble's coin to keep this up!

The snarl that ripped through Daud was so strong and loud it shocked even him. The girl stirred but did not wake; he looked to the body of Eustace Fink and no longer regretted his fate.

They truly had found some giant monster, one like him perhaps, that had attacked someone and then that person had turned. And then the next person, and then the next until they trapped an assassin -- Spirits. He knew Jerome, had seen him in passing; he was from Potterstead, was raised into the profession, was cleaner than all of them. Surgical, even.

And he had been tortured into blindness, forced to fight dogs, and then Daud himself had…

Daud bit down on his cheek until he tasted blood. He scoured the room once more, then pulled out a bolt from his satchel on his belt. Carefully, he set the girl down in a chair, then readied his wristbow. Three incendiary bolts flew through the room, igniting expensive fabrics, flammable wallpaper, the remaining useless documents on the table. He watched the fire spread, pulling a cigarette out and lighting it. He pulled the drag, then threw it into the growing flames.

Then, he secured his belt, carefully lifted Emma back into his arms, and left the burning wreckage of the home he single-handedly destroyed.

------

It was another late night, one that Misha knew he would not be walking home from. It was well past midnight and even with the Watch prowling about, the Hatter's were likely to jump anyone unsuspecting, stealing money for months rent, or worse. So instead, he just sighed and closed the downstairs shutters, pulling the curtains in and locking the door. The one lamp still illuminated the front desk where his assistant had been sorting paperwork earlier; end of month books, on top of end of year numbers. His numbers had seen better days. Between the gangs clogging up the streets and his brothers getting caught up in hound fight gambling, he had lost more than he had recuperated.

He missed his brothers. He did not miss them asking him for more coin every week of every month, effectively bleeding him dry.

He had tried a few times to dissuade them, but all in vain. They were his brothers, two versus his one. They knew how to guilt him, especially with the death of their mother hanging over the practice like a cloud. So he had given them what they asked for, knowingly enabling them like a bar enables a drunkard, and hoped everything would be okay in the end.

It wasn't okay. His brothers were presumed dead and he had no money for a dying practice. All he could do was try to set the remaining things right. Hiring the assassin gave him a grim sort of satisfaction, some twisted sense of justice. After the deed was done, he'd file with the Watch, see if their bodies couldn't be recovered. The hardest part was between step one and step two; waiting for the completed assassination.

As he headed up the stairs to retire to his office for the night, he stopped at the calendar on the way up. He looked at the final week of Clans-- then put an X over the 28th day, the last day of the month. Four other angry Xs precede the 28th, all counting down from when he and Daud had come to their agreement. He frowned, flipping the calendar to Songs.

Daud had said that his job took time, but gave no frame of reference to ease Misha's worries. He sulked for a bit at the calendar on the wall before finally moving on, entering the office and lighting the desk lamp easily. He then -- as he had done so every night for the past four nights -- went over to the terrace and moved to unlock it, just in case Daud returned with news and wished to enter the way he had initially done.

He didn't expect the man to suddenly appear before him in a swirl of ash and smoke. He also didn't expect the small, pale body Daud was carrying in his arms, either.

And he certainly didn't expect Daud's face to be visible, his eyes burning, long scars cutting valleys into his otherwise young face.

Misha gaped. He fumbled with the latch, pushing the door open to give Daud more access. The assassin pulled in a ragged, tired breath.

"Daud--" Misha started, following the other man as he swiftly entered the office. "What happened? Is Fink--"

"Dead," Daud said, the roughness of his voice contrasting how gingerly he handled the body in his arms. "I need your expertise. Do you have a table?"

Misha glanced towards the small figure and nodded, pushing open the far door; it led to a small operating room, separate from the others and one that he used for special cases. He turned on the light over the table as Daud placed a small child -- Void, a child -- down onto it. She was asleep but her breath was shallow, sweat beading on her brow. Her leg was bandaged, but it was already bleeding through, the blood dark and angry.

Misha immediately let himself still, evaluating this new, sudden patient. His emotions detached, and his brow furrowed in focus. He quickly grabbed gloves and sharply demanded, "Tell me what happened."

Daud hesitated, then, "Nail. She impaled her leg on a nail. Got trapped in the home."

"And you just took her?"

"Everyone else was dead." He said it softly, as if full of remorse. Misha knew the time for questions was now past. Instead, he got to work. He unraveled the leg and pulled over a bowl, cleaning solution, and a syringe.

"I used a sleep dart on her," Daud explained. "I don't know how much longer the sedative will last."

Assassin sleep darts, he knew, were usually sodium pentothal, and at the dose Daud probably used, the girl would still be down for a while. Still, a local anaesthetic wouldn't be a bad idea.

"Here, be useful. My usual assistant isn't here so I will need your help cleaning this." Daud complied, then began the task of fetching anything that Misha asked of him. Sutures, clamps, saline solution, scalpel, magnifier, light. The girl whined in her sleep, and Daud, surprisingly, was there for her, holding her hand in a heavy glove. It wasn't long before her leg was properly cleaned and closed, the sutures staying as he carefully bandaged the leg back up.

"If all goes well and the wound stays clean, her leg will survive," Misha sighed, pushing tiredly away from the girl and removing bloodied gloves. Daud just nodded, watching the girl carefully as she slept. A whisper tickled at the back of Misha's head and he grimaced, scratching at his hair. The movement made Daud's head jerk to look at him, inhuman and unnatural.

It was now that Misha was actually able to get a good look at the face of his hired hitman. He had short black hair, styled back and out of the way, though now it was tousled and out of place. His eyes were a striking blue, but not in the way that left him feeling flustered. Instead, they were like ice, splintering into his chest and making him feel as if a wild predator was evaluating his continued existence. The scars on his face tugged as he frowned; the longest line cut from his right forehead all the way down over his throat,a and the second longest also sliced through his cheek alongside the first. The last two sat partially hidden under his chin, over his throat, and Daud's frown deepened as he caught the doctor staring.

Misha's face flushed. He was never one to hide his feelings well, and definitely not as easily as a hardened assassin.

"Daud..." he started, trying to cover the intrusion. The assassin suddenly stood up, his hand flat on the table, challenging and threatening Misha to continue speaking.

"Go on, say it," Daud said, dangerously soft. "Others already have. They didn't have to be a doctor or an assassin to know I shouldn't have survived -- this." He waves at his neck, as if disgusted by the scars.

Upsetting an assassin seemed to be a poor life decision. Misha chose his next words carefully.

"You need to clean up, and you seem invested in the child. Would you like to stay the night, to at least be there when she wakes up?"

Daud's face immediately closed off. Again, something itched at the back of Misha's head, and he tried to rub it away. A whisper, almost… indecision? Misha had not expected an emotion to come forth. When he questioned it mentally, it disappeared, so still he shrugged it off as imagaination. He watched Daud as he pulled his face out of the lamplight and back into shadow, his eyes still bright in the gloom. His fist clenched.

"No, no, I'd rather not. I've already done enough to ruin her life." He looked around the office and then, finding what he was looking for, went to fetch it.

Misha almost missed it; Daud's left hand twitched and then suddenly, in a rush of ash, he was across the room, and then back. Misha gaped as Daud scrawled words over the paper he had fetched, then handed the paper to Misha.

"Outsider's eyes," he breathed out, but the look on Daud's face silenced him.

"This address; when she's well, take her there. Tell them Daud sends his regards, and hopes Jason is well. Also--"

He pulled a purse from his satchel, setting it down. "That's for the girl." Then he pulled out a whole gold ingot and handed it to Misha. "And this is for you."

Misha gaped. He'd never seen so much gold -- he shook his head, holding his hands up. "What--! I can't accept this-- Don't tell me that you are paying me for--"

"Don't worry, I have another," Daud assured. "I made sure I'd be paid well for this too. Besides, I told you, 'half now--'" he pushed the ingot to Misha more insistently. "'half later.' Here's your half, later."

Misha gulped. He had a feeling that Daud was not going to take no for an answer. He acquiesced, gently taking the gold, and the assassin relaxed. He stood back, giving Misha some space.

"Don't spend it all in one place," he suggested, a dry attempt at humor. Misha managed a tired smile in return.

"Am I allowed to offer my appreciation, now?"

Daud said nothing. He looked away.

"May we be blessed to never meet again, Misha Romanov."

Misha, personally, did not see that as a blessing-- but perhaps, given Daud's line of work, it was for the best. He nodded, not wishing to argue with a man who could so easily murder him.

"Regardless… Thank you, Daud."

Those prickled whispers returned, just as Daud met his eyes. There was something mildly astonished in his gaze, and Misha tried not to push away the foreign white noise that invaded his mind. Instead, somewhere in there, he thought -- imagined, he reminded himself -- that he caught the faintest expression of " You're welcome."

As quickly as it built up, the emotion was gone-- and so was Daud. Misha blinked, putting a hand to his ringing ear. He looked to the open terrace and was suddenly filled with the urge to follow, to rush out to the balcony so he did, throwing the doors apart in his wake. He breathed the night air and there he was, on the opposite rooftop, eyes and scars burning, even in the dark. Daud looked back at Misha; their eyes met.

Daud's left hand raised, smoking and black. His fist clenched.

And in a flurry of ash and wind, he was gone.

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mimiplaysgames · 3 years

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Terra Week Day 1 (Heart/Vacation)

Summary: Aqua needs to find her Keyblade, and Terra realizes he’s the only locked door left. He’s going to have to do something crazy to reunite them. After all, what’s the point of becoming a Master when all these loose ends need their closure? | Word Count: 1,909

Read on AO3

A/N: For Terra Week 2021! You can find that account on Twitter!

~*~*~*~*~

The Tenets of a Master, Ch. 1

For the Bearer to wield the Key, his mind shall not ache His will shall not yield, his Heart shall not break

Terra doesn’t understand why he’s re-reading this book. He knows why (a Yen-Sid-tasked-him-with-it type of why), but he’s already done his time. He’s already written essays and debated about it in classes long ago. He already spent a night in the Master’s office asking for something more useful. Aqua does not recommend it. Ven hates it.

And of course, Yen Sid is the one who assigned it for Terra’s second Mark of Mastery. A most vital book, he had said to Terra. How full of it.

Affairs of the Heart by the Master of Masters in its peeling leather glory, the dumbest book Terra has ever read (though Eraqus would have found offense to that). It’s muddled with archaic language, vague descriptions, and random limericks. It answers questions with questions, and couples answers with contradictions.The tiny nuggets of gold Terra could mine from it are hidden in four-hundred pages of grime.

A complete waste of time, but if Yen Sid tasked Terra with it, then he has reservations about the strength of Terra’s heart. And Terra isn’t sure if he disagrees.

Terra can’t help but think about The Adventures of Robin Hood when he’s supposed to be studying. The story of a fox and his bear sidekick out to humiliate a maneless lion. Their goal: return stolen money, bring light into homes that have been dark, and destroy the shackles that unjustly imprisoned the common folk. Robin Hood is always smart enough to avoid getting caught.

That, right there, is a hero. But when Terra suggested it as a book to study for Keyblade Master many years ago, the Master refused.

Perhaps Yen Sid will be more open-minded.

If he recalls correctly, Robin Hood sits on the same shelf, on the top floor. He enters the library on the third level, the foyer opening up to a U-shaped, five-story gala with forest green carpeting and windows that stretch to the ceiling. Aqua wanders through the bottom floor, carrying a conversation with herself.

She has her hand to her face—oh, she’s using her Gummiphone. Terra always forgets. He keeps his off, only carrying it in his pocket because she nags him to. That anyone can reach him in the blink of a thought sounds invasive.

Scuffling downstairs, he overhears her saying, “I appreciate it. Thank you,” before hanging up.

“Who was that?”

“Ienzo.” She double checks her phone to make sure she’s back at the menu and has, in fact, hung up. Gummiphones are not the easiest to use and Aqua has kept someone on the other line before only because she didn’t understand the use of the red button. Terra shrugs. She continues, “One of the scientists at Radiant Garden.”

Terra still can’t put a face to the name but the mention of scientist and Radiant Garden turns his stomach. It all means the same: people who’ve studied, worked under, and followed Xehanort. It’s not their fault, just like Aqua keeps telling him that it’s not his fault either, but how is Terra supposed to look at anyone who’s known his face for years without ever hearing his voice?

“What’s going on?”

Aqua is the kind of person who doesn’t mind looking anyone in the eye. When she is warm, it comes naturally. When she’s threatened, she wills it. She glances at the carpet for a moment. This is going to be another string of conversations he and Aqua will dance around. “I’m trying to find my Keyblade.”

“Oh.” Terra stares at his shoes. Affairs of the Heart sits under his arm, useless. “Are they any help?”

“They’ll try.” She smirks through her frustration. “No one knows where it is, if they remember it at all.” Hugging herself, Aqua shakes her head, her attempt at keeping her eyes dry. “I just want to lay the Master to rest. I want Rainfell back.”

“I know,” he says softly. Every time they spar, it becomes a spectacle when she summons the Defender, a Keyblade twice as long as Rainfell. She’s honestly more intimidating with it, but it’s like looking at a doctored image. The Master’s Keyblade, still alive. They’ve spoken about what to do with it: take it up the mountain so he can watch over them, or leave it outside the castle so he’s always near, or display it in the entrance hall above the thrones so he can be proud. Terra would like it on the terrace. There’s always a beautiful sunset there, even when it storms.

But without the Defender, Aqua is left weaponless. Terra’s been requested not to ask about it, and he wants to honor that. He wants to, but he doesn’t want to dance anymore. “Where did you last see it?”

She sighs. “If I don’t answer that, would you feel I was punishing you?”

“Most definitely.” Smile.

It unnerves her. Aqua says a lot more with facial expressions alone. This one tells him, I wish you weren’t so difficult. “I last saw it with you.” Realizing what she said, she jerks. “Well, not you.”

“Is that how we’re going to call it?” Terra pulls his lips to his ears. “You, but not you.”

“You don’t have to put on a brave face for me, Terra.”

“I’m not. Laughing about it just feels better.”

She grimaces. “I don’t think it’s funny.”

“I don’t either, but what else am I going to do?” Terra drops the book on a nearby table. “What’s the plan?”

“Well...” She wraps herself tighter. “I don’t know what I can do other than trace Xehanort’s steps. Ienzo mentioned several journals that he left behind.”

Terra swallows a lump in his throat, his fist balling into itself like a feral in defense.

“Aqua—”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be so bad.”

“Stars,” he curses.

“It will be fine.” Her arms are still crossed, and she lilts ‘fine’ to be an endnote, closing the conversation. Stepping by his side, she eyes the book and frowns. “I’ll talk to Yen Sid. I hardly think it’s necessary for you to reread that.”

While Terra appreciates her vote of confidence, she’s dodging. “Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

“I already think you’ve proven yourself—”

“Not that. With Rainfell.” And no, he hasn’t proven anything. Yen Sid clearly doesn’t think so, either. “I can help.”

“I’ll have to be brave, that’s all.” She offers a weak smile. “And if it gets bad… I like to think that the Master is with me. It’s nice.”

Sure, it’s nice, relative to other things. Relative to being imprisoned in Darkness and fighting not to fade away, it is nice. While your body is doing things without you, it is nice. When you’re trapped in hell all alone, it is nice. But it’s still a foreign Keyblade—not exactly comparable to a hug they’ll never feel again, nor does it speak for their own hearts. A part of Aqua is missing, out there, alone. She’d feel that, too.

“Anyway,” Aqua says (another endnote), hands cupping her elbows, “I think there are better ways to host your Mark of Mastery. Let me talk to Yen Sid. You deserve better.”

There’s something sick and twisted about Aqua following Xehanort’s history, a guttural laugh at your most humiliating memory. Worse if she’s going to read all the horrifying details of how he conducted his experiments. She’s the one who deserves better. She (always) deserves better.

Aqua is being Aqua when she prefers to look at a future when she has her Keyblade and he passes his Mark. Simply. A much-needed distraction for her but as Terra looks down at the cover of Affairs of the Heart, the title worn down so that the leather imprint bleeds out the letters, Terra realizes he simply doesn’t care right now.

May your heart be your guiding key is a phrase they all grew up with, but the heart is fickle. A growing part of his knows one thing: he has to do something about this.

His heart wouldn’t rest if he doesn’t try—it already barely takes a breath, what with remembering everything that’s happened twelve years ago. Aqua never pins it on him. Never, even when he asks if she blames him. What’s the point of accepting the title of Master if the honor of having it is empty?

Terra enters the kitchen to no one else but Ven, who has his feet propped up on the dining table next to a half-eaten piece of strawberry cake with a Gummiphone in his hands.

“Have you gotten Kairi’s message?” Ven asks.

“What message?”

Ven sighs exasperatedly. “What is it with you and Aqua never reading texts? You guys act like old people.” He waves his phone. “Kairi. She invited us to hang out at Destiny Islands with everyone else. It’d be cool to have fun. Like a vacation. Ever heard of that?”

“Everyone else?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice of her.”

Ven slaps his forehead and drags it down his face. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m thinking,” Terra says while he pulls a pitcher of water out of the fridge, “of helping Aqua find her Keyblade.”

It’s an obvious statement—Ven of course would want to help, too—but there’s something Ven hears that Terra isn’t saying. He’s smarter than people give him credit for. “What are you talking about?”

“Rainfell was last with me.” Terra chuckles something hoarse. “Well, not me.”

“And?”

“I think I can find it.”

“Are you nuts?” Ven leans forward on his chair with both hands on the armrests and whispers (as though Aqua is next door and not on the other side of the castle). “She’ll kill you.”

Terra sits at the marble countertop that separates the kitchen from the dining room. The Master used to say an open layout like this made it a more wholesome environment. “I have to. I’m the missing link in finding it, and she won’t recognize that.”

Ven meets Terra on the counter. “But what would happen to you?”

“Nothing. It’d be like reading memories.”

“Do you hear yourself? What if you see something disgusting?”

Disgusting as in what Xehanort has done to other people. Experiments. Torture. People Terra’s face has lied to and comforted and ridiculed, maybe secrets that no one knows. Would Terra relive them or would he watch them from afar like he’s spying? Will it hurt? Will he have control or is he going to be forced to watch whatever comes to mind and deal with the collateral damage later? Someone has to pay for these crimes. Xehanort never did and Robin Hood doesn’t exist.

Somewhere, deep in the gutters of his heart lives a thought he’d never voice to anyone: maybe a walk down someone else’s memory lane would let him relive memories of Master Eraqus. That sounds like a good exchange for everything else.

His heart can’t lead him astray, anyway. It can’t take him down a path to Darkness if he cares this much, if he’s this ready to throw himself into the fire and deal with the burns, so long as he keeps good company.

“I don’t think it’s fair that Aqua has to do anything regarding Xehanort. She deserves peace.”

Ven groans. There’s an unspoken pact of keeping this a secret between them. “You owe me a second vacation just for stressing me out.”

“Done deal.” Terra takes a swish. “Apparently the stars are really pretty at the beach.”

#terra #kh terra #terra week #kingdom hearts fanfic #kh fanfic #aqua #ventus #ahhhhhh i've been working on this for the last three weeks i swear #my fic

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

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Male vampire x male character - Part Four (final) (nsfw)

Wow. This part is 10,904 words, people. And in total this story now reaches 23,704 words in length!!

I hope you enjoy this part! Obviously, mlm exo(ish in this case) stories always flop on here no matter what, but some folks at least seemed to like it once it got going, and my Patrons seemed to enjoy it too. I really enjoyed getting to know these two boys, and their personalities, so at the end of the day I guess that’s what matters.

Last time, Alec learned that a few members of his immediate family are in fact vampire hunters, and he found out the truth about Sebastien too.

Heads up in this part for continued, but easing, tense familial relations, some angst/heartache (not heartbreak though), and some (consensual) blood drinking.

Thanks to those of you who have engaged with this story! And for being so supportive in general. You've been an absolute pleasure to write for.

Tumblr links to previous parts: Part One (sfw), Part Two (nsfw), Part Three (nsfw)