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oepionie · 1 year

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— "HIS COMPLETE DEVOTION" malleus draconia

SYNOPSIS: "Don't touch me! I have a lover!" - After accidentally getting hit in the head with a powerful spell, Malleus is left delirious and confused. You try to help him but he doesn't seem to recognize you.

Character/s: Malleus Draconia x GN! Reader

Tags: Fluff, Established relationship, Malleus is a loyal dragon, Reader is part of the gargoyle appreciation club, Mentions of nausea, He keeps a locket of you aww

A/N: This prompt/idea was requested by a friend!

WordCount: 800+ | 💌Masterlist | PART II HERE

Green lightning began to strike and forsake the grey sky. Every student on campus could hear the wind howling through the thick dripping rain, a sinking feeling of dread permanating through the atmosphere.

The aged concrete walls shook from a shrill scream, the anguished cry echoing out through the hundred chambers in the castle.

"YOUNG MASTER!" Sebek drove his fingers into his scalp, screaming as thick tears dribbled down his flushed face. From his reaction, you'd think he was the one who got hurt instead.

Lilia tutted and carefully inspected Malleus' head. The young prince was laying on the ground writhing in pain. Lillia pressed his thumb against the dragon's temple, examining the Fae's reaction.

Sebek and Silver surrounded the two, ensuring that no one could get past them. Malleus was in a vulnerable state right now, he had to be protected at all costs.

"The spell was quite powerful however it's not serious. Other than some temporary mental confusion, he should be fine." Lilia muttered, helping Malleus stand up. The young prince stumbled around for a bit, almost as if he was intoxicated.

"Malleus!" You threw the doors to the dorm open, running over to the group. It's only when you got closer did you notice your lover's spinning eyes, glazed over as he blinks at the blank concrete floors. Worried out of your mind, you rushed over to him.

"Tsunotarou! I heard what happened…are you okay?" The fae appeared a little puzzled. You stood before him and he fixed his gaze on you, confused and...disgusted?

With a hint of hesitance, you reached your hands up to cup his cheeks. Only to gasp when Malleus glowered and grasped onto your wrists, ripping your hands off of his face.

Silence fell over the room as he dropped his grip on your arms, allowing them to hang limply by your sides. Everyone gawked at Malleus as if he had just grown two heads.

Malleus? Malleus rejected your affection? The Malleus who waits outside your dorm an hour before classes just to walk you to school? The Malleus who once caused a week-long storm just because he couldn't sit next to you in class? Your Malleus?

You felt your heart sink. They say drunk words were sober thoughts. Did Malleus secretly despise you?

"Listen here-" Malleus snarled, his unfocused eyes flashing a luminous emerald green. The radiance and illumination hypnotizes you for a while. A kaleidoscope of green and blue swirling around the gems that were his eyes.

"No matter how alluring you look-you can't tempt me. I-" Malleus lurched forward, nearly falling over. You ran to catch him but he pushed you away, stepping back blindly. He raised a finger at you. "I-I already have a lover!"

"Yes-That's…me?" You blinked, confused out of your mind.

Malleus only scoffs at you, shakily taking a few steps towards the entrance. It was clear that his head still shook and ached from the spell's blow. Sebek was quick to stop him, holding Malleus steady. "Young Master! Where are you going?!"

"To my-my treasure. My darling prefect." Malleus slurred, leaning against Sebek for support. He continued his rambling. "It's Thursday- We have a club meeting."

"Tsuno-I mean-Malleus, today is Tuesday." You piped up, pressing a hand against his back. With shaky legs, he pushed Sebek off and turned to glare at you.

"Silence. It is not."

Lilia laughs hysterically, doubling over and grabbing onto his knees. Oh, this was comedy gold for him. Shaking his head at his father, Silver strode up to Malleus and placed his hand on the young prince's shoulder.

"Malleus, you're still delirious. Why don't you sit down."

Both Silver and Sebek started to guide the woozy fae onto the couch. You followed suit, taking a pillow and placing it under his head. He turned to face you, his head spinning, a loopy snarl and glare on his face.

"I...I already told you- I have a lover." He groans into his hands, nausea washing over him like waves.

The fae begins frantically rummaging through his pocket. He yanks out a little locket in the form of a heart, holding it up for you to look at. He hands it to you with an arrogant smirk on his face.

"See?"

"O-Oh?"Gently taking it into your hands, you flipped the metal cover over to see a picture of you inside.

It was a photo from your very first anniversary. You were wearing a flower crown made with roses Malleus grew himself, it was one of the many gifts he gave you that day.

Though only your head and neck could be seen in the picture since his coat had almost completely engulfed you. It was a chilly day and Malleus graciously lent you his coat after you had forgotten to wear one.

You stared at the photo fondly, shutting it close before handing the necklace back to the fae.

"Your partner must be lovely." You whisper softly and Malleus sighs, lolling his head back to stare at the ceiling lovingly.

"Oh. They are much more than that."

PART II | Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

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theminecraftbee · 8 months

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"You know, I kind of get it now," Gem says to Impulse.

"What?" Impulse says. He's nervously playing with a frozen shard in his hands. Come on, Impulse, head into the dungeon, don't be shy, you can do it. Keep hyping yourself up, you didn't die horribly last time. Ugh, he wishes he were a little less into the game, or maybe more uncomplicatedly addicted, like Gem; it would make everything easier if he thought he could either just leave or play.

"I get it now!" Gem says. "Oh, stop debating if you'll go in like that, either do it or don't."

"I'm trying, Gem!"

"Yeah, but if you aren't gonna do it, I want a go."

"You used all your shards."

"In principle!" Gem says. "It's the principle! You wouldn't get it. You don't hang out here nearly as much as I do. You don't understand, understand the vibes." She sticks out her tongue at him for good measure.

"Well, inform me of the vibes, and maybe I'll work up the nerve," Impulse says.

"It's like--I get it now," she says. "When you were complaining earlier this season about Tango not going outside, I was like, aw man, you redstoners and your caves. I'm a sunshine girl. I like trees. And bloodshed."

"Don't see how those things are related but continue," Impulse says.

"I thought you were complaining because Tango is equally lame as you are about stuff like 'going outside' and 'talking to people who don't drag him into it'," Gem clarifies.

"I go outside!" Impulse says. "I go outside all the time! I ran a rebellion! I pranked you and Pearl! I yelled at Grian! I helped cover the perimeter! I have a whole island and a giant shop! I got a job with Scar! I even went through the Rift! I don't know what you want from me, here. It's not like I'm Tango. I did things that weren't my base from time to time."

"The lady doth protest too much," Gem says.

Impulse sighs. Gem laughs and hops into the air and squeezes herself into a gap between the walls near the entrance to the dungeon. Impulse has seen her in there a lot recently; it's almost like she's a gargoyle, or an inlaid relief for the dungeon. Weird thing to think about his friends, but--

"Besides," Gem continues. "Besides. I just said I get it now."

And something about that makes the hairs on Impulse's arm stand on-end.

"You get why we have to work so hard on circuit design?" Impulse asks hopefully.

"No, I don't get the redstone stuff, that's all still stupid nerd stuff," Gem says cheerfully.

"Jock," Impulse says.

Gem smirks meanly. "Script kiddie."

"Ow, that hurts. And it's not even true. Where did you even learn that one, you just admitted you hate that stuff!"

"Lady never tells her secrets," Gem says.

"Well, if you don't understand the redstone, what do you understand?" Impulse asks.

"Just--you really could stay in here forever, couldn't you? It'd be fun while you did it! I even built a tree and everything. Not much I have to leave for anymore, is there?"

Impulse swallows. Ah.

"Except when you run out of shards," he says, after a painful long several seconds in which there's a rock in his throat and he can't breathe and he has to try very hard to find an excuse to refute that.

"Yeah, except for that. Why did Tango have to go and limit how many times we can go in, huh? If I didn't get bored halfway through the week I think I could just move in!"

And Impulse--

Impulse thinks of Tango.

"Yeah," he says. He plays with the frozen shard in his hands. It feels very cold. "I wonder why."

"So? Are you gonna run or not? I want to mock you when you die," Gem says.

"...I might as well spend them all sooner rather than later," Impulse says, and he puts the shard in the barrel. His heart skips a beat as the door opens. Gem cheers. He shakes his whole body to shake off the conversation as he goes inside. It never does, after all, to try to run the dungeon while distracted.

#hermitcraft #a bee fic #decked out 2 #impulsesv #geminitay #SO GEM BASICALLY LIVES IN DECKED OUT HUH.#staring at the 'tango gets eaten by his base' continuity. that's not concerning at all.#...i have no idea why i thought i was done with this continuity BEFORE decked out opened i should have known better

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valsdelulucorner · 9 days

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Malleus head cannons<3

Malleus is isolated a lot due to his status and his reputation. He is the next ruler of the Briar valley, one of the most powerful mages in all of the land, of course people who have heard of him would be intimidated. When he met you, he was surprised to find out you had no idea who he was, so he took this to his advantage. It was refreshing to just talk with someone freely that wasn't Lillia and his family, having fun with someone who wasn't afraid of saying what's on their mind.

When you found out Tsunotaro actually Malleus draconia, he was quite surprised to find you still treating him like how you did before. He was glad to still have a friend after his identity was discovered by you, it was so refreshing to have someone treat him like a friend and not the next prince of briar valley

I love the idea that Malleus doesn't really know how to use a phone, and the only reason he got a phone was to talk with you and his Diasomnia family. He will randomly use you as google, sending random questions to you such as; "different gargoyle types?" "how to make friends?" "what do humans like to do for fun?" "Does Yuu like Gargoyles?" "Malleus, this isnt google" "How to google"

Malleus sneaks into ramshackle sometimes when he wants to see you, easily walking through the front door or going through one of the broken walls that Crowley refused to fix (I'm so generous my ass). He sometimes scares you when he sneaks in, his footsteps barely make any noise so if your cooking or studying with grim, he can just walk up behind you and scare you. He doesn't mean to but he finds it amusing how you jump

If you invite him over for a sleepover or a study date at ramshackle, he will be ecstatic! He's never had a sleepover with a friend before so he will do research on human sleepovers, even asking Lillia for advice and knowledge about this. He will show up with his sleeping bag, bag of clothes, and even some snacks Lillia said humans like best during sleepovers. If its a study date and a sleepover, he will help you with anything you need while you eat snacks and chill in your pjamas. Grim will sit on your lap or your shoulders the entire time, getting abit protective of you while you and Malleus talk the night away.

He had the best time with you! When will be the next sleep over child of man? He had alot of fun just hanging out with you, getting to know you better and getting a better learning about what humans do during these sleep overs. He will 100% bring some games over for you guys to play, teaching you about the games he played in the briar valley while you teach him about games you played from your world. He would even let you do his hair if you ask nicely, it was such a nice break for him to just be around you and not have to worry about his duties for a night. He will defiantly ask you over for a sleepover at Diasomnia, just be careful not to run into sebek

Imagine if the boys didn't find out that you both were friends after Vil overblotted but during a lunch break or during class. While sitting with your group, Malleus comes over to your table and sits down with you, happily starting a conversation with you while everyone on and around your table freaks out about how your so calm. Or during a Gym class, malleus spots you out on the field struggling with your broom so he comes over and helps you, teaching you how to properly ride it while the students around you fly all the way to the other side of the field, shocked your speaking so freely with the Diasomnia dorm head

If you guys ever start dating, he will be very happy but nervous. God forbid you tell the first years, Sebek would be screaming in your ear for a few hours straight while Ace shakes your shoulders. Deuce and epel will be worried, asking if you know what your in for and jack will just be quietly staring at you with worry in the background, trying to tune out the shrill screams of grim. If Malleus randomly appears behind you while this goes down, ace immediately lets you go and scatters back with the rest while Sebek will be asking Malleus if he's sure he wants to be with a human like you. He and sebek are in for a long talk after that

If you guys get to the point where you both physically affectionate, he loves to lay his head in your lap while you play with his hair, softly talking about his day, gargoyles, his family, his history and everything with you. He enjoys these quite moments with you when you both can just be yourselves with each other, holding each other softly while you both speak about anything that comes to mind

If you come to twisted wonderland as a sculptor or a artist, lord he can see the wedding. He absolutely loves watching you work and seeing the fruits of your labor come to fruition. He will ask you if you can make gargoyles for him, even if you are a beginner artist he will still love to see you make one. If you make him a miny gargoyle keychain out of clay or resin, he will love you forever. He will never be without his little keychain, he keeps it in perfect condition and will be absolutely devastated if it breaks

Will call you "my thorn" "Child of man" "darling" "my muse" "my rose"

When I tell you this man would get so protective over you is a understatement, he will use his status to scare off anyone that tries to bully you or make a move on you. Someone confesses to you? Suddenly they are avoiding you like the plague but don't worry child of man, he is there to wipe your tears. Someone is bullying you? Don't question why they moved schools, maybe they weren't cut out for such a prestigious school

"I know you, i walked with you once apon a dream" "I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar agleam"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I Love malleus but this was the first time I've ever written for him so this was a lot more difficult then I expected. He was alot of fun to write for though, please excuse my writing, im still trying to improve

Who should I do next?

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theredofoctober · 22 days

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MANNA- CHAPTER FOURTEEN: TRIPE

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, child abuse and more (check the tags)

Read after the cut

By some sense of duty, or else an undug tendril of guilt, Will volunteers himself to oversee your evening routine alone. You allow him this, being in scant possession of what slim tolerance has borne you through Hannibal’s accompaniment thus far.

Will proves himself to be far less involved than the other man would have been in his stead. He leans against a wall with the nonchalance of a prison warden as you shower blood and spend alike down the receiving drain, allows you to pad into your bedroom, towel-wrapped, to select a clean nightdress and sanitary products with his head turned nobly aside.

You cannot determine if his distance from you is through respect for your condition or some lasting dislike of you, neither of which holds entirely true.

More likely it is that he does not see you as his child, yet, nor quite with the equality of a lover.

Still, as you get into bed he cannot help but come to you, uncertain as he his of his purpose.

“Will you give me a goodnight kiss?” you ask, part in bitter jest, and part in annoyance with his indecision.

That a man can fuck and beat you in throes of black delight and still skulk about like a repentant sinner would have confounded you in the days before you became accustomed to such duality. To what end, and upon what strength the latter side subsists is now the greater puzzle, for it is this that drags its heels and restrains Will from his full devilry.

“Well?” you say, brusquely. “What are you waiting for? Dad’s permission?”

Will gives a hard laugh, one hand kneading the back of his neck.

“I admire your commitment to the part, but you don’t have to keep it up so seriously when it’s just you and me.”

“I promised I would,” you remind him. “Why can’t you? You had no issue kissing me in front of Hannibal. I don’t see why it’s a problem now.”

You see Will’s fingers go to the bridge of his nose, wanting the guard of the eyeglasses he’s neglected to wear.

“It’s not genuine,” he says, flatly. “The only reason you’re asking is to manipulate me.”

“So what?” you say. “Scared that it’ll work?”

“Not scared, no.”

“Sure you’re not.”

There is something hysterical in your tone, the cut string of a trapped and weary madness.

Will examines you, aware of the power play you’re attempting over him, intrigued by it, despite himself. Attracted, even.

His gaze is like a stone in the sun, all heat, all black, all blue.

He knows what revulsion you must push past to test him like this, still slightly high from the forced euphoria of fucking, and the drugs. You’re beyond consideration of the consequences, irrational, barely attached to the tongue and teeth that bite at the air in their ire.

Still Will hangs from your words like a pilgrim knelt before an oracle, dependent on your answer.

“Haven’t you had enough of me kissing you tonight?” he asks.

Sniffing, you turn to face his gargoyle shadow on the wall.

“So it’s a no. You’d make a really terrible father.”

“One...”

“Not my name.”

So Will says it, gently, and you roll back towards him, your heart quick and high behind a rail of bone with the thrill of his appeasement.

Your truce, the union of flesh: they’ve altered Will, for as he looks at you a second time his pupils are the chasms between worlds, wild and deep.

Kneeling up on the bed, you make a trellis of both hands through his curls and clutch him to you in an ungainly kiss. Will stumbles in the force of it, his arms spilling about your back so as not to fall upon you with all his weight.

You gasp against his lips with eagerness to take what he has taken, to fallow the rose flesh of his inner mouth, the lathe of your tongue churning. Will is too surprised to kiss you in return, but as you hitch one leg after the other upon his hips you feel the vine of him against your groin, wanting you again, as always.

You think of him fucking you now, pinning your wicked hands with the nail of his fist as he thrusts through a sheen of blood. Though you despise him still, your loins smart with interest in engineering the act rather than merely suffering it as ever before.

At last Will returns your kiss, but briefly, and with a knowing restraint before he lays you back upon the bed again.

You grasp at his face in an attempt to reclaim his lips. He pushes you lightly away.

“Hey,” he grins. “You made your point.”

“Oh?” you say, coolly. “And what is my point?”

“That I like kissing you. That I want to kiss you, whether Hannibal’s here or not.”

“Right,” you say, twisting a corner of your quilt around one finger for something to do with your hands. “But you never would have picked me. Like, if I was in one of your FBI classes. If I was your student. Would you even have noticed me?”

Will laughs again, with a startled unease, as though the notion is foreign to him.

“Starting affairs with students isn’t exactly my style. I turn up, I teach. That’s it. I don’t get personally involved. Or didn’t, till now. Letting people get close is... uncomfortable for me.”

He glances down at the bunch of quilt in your closed knuckles. Unlike the ever-tactile Dr Lecter, he makes no attempt to take it away.

“So how come you got so close to Hannibal?” you ask. “Didn’t you say you had reservations about him?”

“He saw me even when I was making an effort to turn away. He and I have commonalities I can’t ignore, and enough differences to keep me wondering who he really is. There’s a lot even I don’t know about him, and there are times I wonder what I’m doing letting him in.”

You’re on the verge of another question as Will steps sharply back from the bed.

“We can talk more tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll still be here in the morning. But if you want my thoughts about Hannibal then it’s only fair that you tell me a little about you in return. If this is going to work long-term I need to know who you are.”

Then he goes over to the light switch and closes you in behind a shutter of night.

You’re roused from the saccharine heat of your bedcovers the following morning by Will rapping on your bedroom door. His face appears in the crevice between it and the frame as though wary to trespass, the broken spell of your desperation in his eyes.

“It’s so early,” you whine, noting the bare line of sunlight beneath the curtains. “And I feel like death, thanks to you and Dad. Can’t I stay in bed?”

“Hannibal just rushed out to an emergency appointment,” says Will. “One of his patients is having some kind of crisis, so it’ll be just you and me for a while. You want coffee? I was about to make some.”

An apology, you think, something to alleviate the swaddled and perspiring misery of your comedown.

“Sure,” you say, weakly. “Black, please. Sweetener, if there is any. The low calorie version.”

Will’s brows rise.

“You think Hannibal keeps that around?”

Reflecting on the little paper sachets that had been favoured throughout high school you say, “Ha. I guess not.”

Within twenty minutes you’re sitting up against your pillows, one hand gripping a delicate, steaming cup, the other soothing your stomach through which bites the first monthly cramp.

Will takes a nearby chair, eyeing the bars on your window as though assuming your daily view through the glass.

Though you loathe him still in his unpredictable oddities, you’re keen to make closer yet the allyship you’ve struck up with him, watchful though he is of that very attempt. If he will not help you escape, then a friendship at least may fortify the sanity you fear will leave you in this quasi childhood.

Will doesn’t seek your regression quite as Hannibal does— a cantankerous teenager is as young as he perceives you, the sick girl that never grew up. This house, then, is a Neverland in reverse, a sumptuous den of brutal sex.

Closing your eyes against such thoughts, you take in your coffee, each dark mouthful a long-acquired taste. You remember forcing back cup after cup of it, trusting it over plain water in the belief that it would burn calories as you drank.

Suddenly you’re acutely nostalgic for the days spent in your childhood room, scrolling through online threads of ailing young women in a community of mutual suffering.

It occurs to you that you may never feel so entirely comprehended without judgement as you were there again. You understand Will rather more through the thought, his convergence with Hannibal a relief to so lonely a monster.

“Tell me about ‘Dad’,” you say, into the silence. “You said you would, last night. Like, who even is he? Where did he come from?”

Will blinks, stirred up from his own brooding thoughts. In the dreary daylight he has the face of a beautiful invalid, all its angles skirted in shade.

“Hannibal’s from Lithuania, originally,” he says. “He had a younger sister, Mischa. She died a long time ago. I don’t know the finer details of what happened to her. She’s the only family he’s ever talked about, and even then it’s been bare bones.”

You sit up straighter, envisioning a young girl with Hannibal’s eyes, and none of his appetite.

“Huh,” you say. “That makes a lot of sense.”

"Hannibal would disagree. He doesn’t put much stock in the past making him who he is.”

“Seems kind of a weird thing for a therapist to say. He’s always digging into mine.”

Will looks at the floor, as though distinguishing some new pattern from the grains in the carpet.

“Hannibal views himself as... separate from other people. Being that he acts outside of ethics and the law in his own profession, I’d guess that what’s between us isn’t his only secret.”

“I’ve tried to tell you,” you say, tapping your coffee cup with bitten fingertips for emphasis. “I’ve known this for so long. But since you’re going along with his games how can you even judge him for whatever horrible things he’s doing?”

“Without knowing what he has or hasn’t done,” says Will, slowly, “I can’t say that I do.”

He gets up from his seat and paces before the window, his hands gesticulating like pigeons frenzied into startled flight.

“You assume that what I’m trying to learn about Hannibal—the core of who he is—is something ugly. But that isn’t what I’m afraid of. It’s the possibility of him lying to me. I don’t know if I could forgive him for that after the bond we’ve made. After what he encouraged me start with you.”

“You shouldn’t trust him,” you say, urgently. “Don’t. You don’t need him.”

Scoffing, Will says, “Jack seems to think I do. Alana— she’s convinced I’m one nudge away from disappearing so far into a case that I kill someone without even knowing it. Hannibal's the only one that doesn’t think of me as broken.”

You consider informing him of his suspected encephalitis, that Hannibal surely withholds this truth and more so as to keep his favour.

In the end you retain your silence; better that Will discovers the manipulation alone and behold how he has been misled upon this trail of darkness.

“Enough about me,” says Will, abruptly. “I know that someone hurt you, long before Hannibal. Before me. Someone you've never forgotten.”

Alarmed by the twist in conversation, you stammer, “I— I already told him some of it. I said I didn’t remember. But I was lying about that. I just don’t know if it was only one, long night, or it happened other times. I don’t know which is worse.”

You pause, slightly breathless. Like a portent from the white lips of some phantom you know that you must tell Will the truth, adhere him to your weeping heart with empathy for you.

“I was just a little kid,” you say. “And he was an adult. Nearly family— I used to call him Uncle Lee. Hannibal probably told you that. Anyway, I got my ‘wrong’ feeling about him way before he did what he did. Like I knew it was coming. Then he came into my room alone one night and... it happened.”

You put down your coffee cup, almost knocking it from the bedside table with the shaking of your hand. Will comes away from the window at once, dragging his chair to your bedside to listen. He neither speaks nor looks into your eyes, aware that you can bear neither without faltering.

“He touched me,” you say, “and the whole time I couldn’t even face him. I don’t even remember what I felt. Maybe I didn’t feel anything at all. Just stared at the ceiling or whatever. He did stuff to me that changed me forever. I felt like a tiny old person in a kid’s body, after that, knowing about things I wasn’t supposed to know.

“And the worst of it was still having to see him after. My parents— I tried to tell them, but I couldn’t get the words out. They just thought I didn’t like him. So he came back to the house, now and then. Never saw any consequences.

“I’ve always wondered if I was the only one, or if there were others. He was a plumber, or something; he could have access to people’s daughters anytime he wanted. Just walk into their room and... you know. I think maybe he did do that, a couple of times. Who knows.”

Your restless fingers pick at the gold embroidery on your bedspread, working it loose from the velvet. One of Will’s hands folds over yours, gently holding them still.

“What I always think about is how he treated me, afterwards,” you say. “I tried avoiding him, but it didn’t always work. One day he cornered me at the top of the stairs— my parents were in the kitchen, so it was just me and him.

“I must have been maybe twelve or so. Not far off thirteen. My body was changing. I was growing up. He said, ‘you’re getting a little chubby, you know. You ought to do something about that before you look like your mother.’

“Then he smiled at me, and just walked into the bathroom like there was nothing wrong with what had just come out of his mouth, or what he’d done to me all those years ago.”

Inhaling an unsteady breath, you try, with dubious success, to smile.

“So now you get why I’m like this. And knowing it wasn’t my fault, that Leland Frost is just a predator... it doesn’t fix anything. Like, where do I go from there?”

“He injured you,” says Will, softly. “And it may never stop hurting. But you can recover. No matter what you believe, it is possible. His shallow cruelty is not your compass. You don’t have to live on the basis of an insult.”

Scowling, you pull away from Will, trapping your hands under your armpits.

“How can I change when I’m reliving what I went through every day? Why does Hannibal think this’ll heal me? Why do you? Oh, yeah. You don’t.”

“I want it to,” says Will.

You snort dismissively.

“Yeah, yeah. Not so long ago you would have punched the air to see the back of me. You don’t want to share Hannibal with anybody.”

Will leans back in his seat, arms folded; it takes a moment for you to register that he is, by some subconscious impulse, copying your posture.

“I’m not sharing Hannibal with you,” says Will. “I’m sharing you with him. And I want to do that. You knew it before I did.”

His gaze snaps to yours, more arresting than his hands on you had been.

“You’re more like me than I cared to admit. Hannibal was right about that. And though everything about you should repulse his sensibilities he finds you adorable. You clearly don’t appreciate it, but there it is.”

You yearn to deny him, to condemn this speech as sophistry, but you are silent, as much a congregant to him as he has been to you.

“Leland Frost tore you down because he saw that you were growing up and away from him,” says Will. “He knew that one day you’d have a life, and achievements, and people that really cared about you. He was going to fade out of your world, and he couldn’t stand not leaving a mark.”

“I just don’t get it,” you whisper. “He loved me. Why did he do it?”

Will shifts his chair even closer to the bed so as to lean into you, his expression tender, tragic, sombre with a father’s sympathy.

“Leland never loved you, and that’s no reflection on you or your worth. It makes him weak, that he could throw away the relationship he had with you over an urge.”

You don’t have the strength to rage against the whited sepulchre in Will, not when he speaks the truth you’ve always yearned to hear from another. Pain winds through your body, throat to gut, great, twisting pulses, as though eviscerated on a blade of past.

What advice would Will give for you to survive what he and Hannibal have done, and will do?

Nothing. Not a word. He knows that the structure of the home, even comfort from those that afflict you has changed you in so short a time. Your desperation to be gone from him he senses, too, and with it your lust to be loved.

Will holds your hand for a long time before he speaks again, on another subject quite as dreary as the last.

“When you said it’d been years since you...”

“Since I last had my period?” you ask, touching your stomach through the sheets. “Yeah. It has been.”

Your body, the betrayer, making a scarlet banner of your betterment through cruelty.

“I never wanted it to come back. Having it again means I’m not as sick anymore, and that’s like... messing up for me.”

Will's head tilts, his face carved up by the shadows thrown from your barred window into a lattice of snow.

“Failing to die is barely a failure at all,” he comments.

You shrug yourself further under your bedcovers.

“It is if what’s happening to you is something worse,”

“Is it always so bad, being here with us?”

Will’s hand rises. Doesn’t quite touch your face. You turn your head away, but not cruelly; he’s not a bad man, you decide, only contorted so utterly from the ways of his fellows that he is some creature other, or from before, the flint-armed hunter of the caves.

And like such a creature, he seeks your answering affection for want of some warmth in the dark beginning of the earth.

You allow him to kiss your forehead, clumsily, inclined towards him as though you were not both aware of the fiction that allows this contact.

He can only guess how far you’d run from this, had you your chance. How readily you’d betray him.

You’re much recovered by the time Dr Lecter returns, having been hydrated and energised by a selection of unnamed supplements Will had you take with lunch; there is a cure for every ailment in the makeshift laboratory of the kitchen, it seems.

Hannibal discovers you at your usual perch of the parlour couch, writing in your journal with a blanket tucked loosely around you against the October cool.

Will stands to greet his companion, setting aside a book you’d offered him from your shelf to peruse, its cover depicting the bloody half-brain of the sun on a desert horizon.

“I didn’t expect our charge to be in such high spirits,” says Hannibal, with unmasked surprise. “Thank you for caring for her this morning, Will. I’m aware that whatever time you can spare for us in the midst of an investigation is very precious.”

Likely aware of your eyes on him, Will says, “I’m glad I stayed. I appreciated the company. How’s the other patient?”

“Suitably quieted. I doubt that I’ll be called away again on her behalf. Still, I made the most of the journey home.”

Hannibal reaches into a shopping bag looped over one arm and produces from it a wrapped package of fresh meat, marbling the paper with blood.

Grimacing, you say, “Ew. What is that? Looks like an organ.”

“It is. I’ll be making trippa alla romana tonight. It’s an Italian dish made from cow stomach. Don’t turn your nose up till you’ve tried it. Have I served anything to you yet that you haven’t enjoyed?”

After dinner, all three of the household recline, full and talking lazily before the fire. Had your company been any other than your abusers you would almost be content, for having been allowed to leave the table after a valiant half plate you are not so guilt-soaked as you’d have been had you finished it all.

You had, in fact, disliked the meal, a first in Hannibal’s house. The thought of the organ, plucked from the rib of a butcher’s shelf, had struck bile to the back of your mouth from the first bite.

A cup of chocolate, warmed to a froth and unadorned with cream is set in your hands instead, which you drink in feline licks to make it last.

Will’s phone shrills abruptly in his pocket. Frowning, he glances at the lighted oblong of its screen and starts at a familiar name.

“It’s Jack,” he says. “I’d better take this.”

He promptly exits the room, speaking with clipped tones into the device.

Alone with Hannibal, you become acutely aware of him looking at you, not quite with suspicion, but not so far from that.

"I see that you and Will are becoming close,” he says, at last. “I’m glad to see it.”

Humming vaguely, you snatch up the journal again and weave your pen about in a pretence of writing.

Hannibal says, "Still, it saddens me that—for all your pretty words of promise—you display a lesser willingness to befriend me.”

You do not answer, pressing your pen so hard against a page that it blots through to the other side.

"Put your journal down a moment, Little One,” says Hannibal. “I’m speaking to you."

Without looking up, you answer, "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You needn't say anything at all. It's your behaviour I wish to change."

In a flounce of irritation you throw the journal upon the floor, its spine creasing.

“I do what you say, and I don't fight you anymore,” you say. “Isn't that daughterly enough?"

"For the purposes of your treatment,” says Hannibal, “it is not. You remain closed to me, parted only by narcotic aid. I'd prefer you to open to me of your own volition. With Will, you prove yourself increasingly capable of that.

“I’ve given you all you’ve asked for, and more, and yet you show little gratitude. I wouldn’t wish to remove these luxuries for you to appreciate my endeavours.”

You look at him, then, this man both jealous and performing jealousy to groom you into his concubine, and in looking see that he will deconstruct your room into the barest cell, should he not have his way.

"I do appreciate what you’ve given me," you hastily protest. "I do, Daddy. You don’t have to take anything away. But I— I just don’t know you the way I know Will.”

“But you do,” says Hannibal, rising to sit beside you, a dangerous proximity. “That’s why you are so afraid of me, is it not?”

You begin to object, trailing off at the sound of approaching footfalls as the younger of your captors returns, listing in the churning swell of stress.

“It's the investigation,” says Will. “Another doll’s been found. Savannah Belmont. It’s too soon to be the Lover’s kill. He has a cool off point between each abduction.”

Hannibal straightens in his seat, rapidly alert.

“A copycat, then.”

Will nods, his throat tightening. His eyes touch your face briefly, and you offer him a small, close-lipped smile, an extension of comfort from across the room. His shoulders drop from their rigid line, and when he speaks again the frantic note in his voice is tempered slightly.

“Definitely a copycat,” he says. “The Lover disposes of the dolls by throwing them into rivers like garbage. No attempt to lay them to rest. Savannah was put on display, placed in a chair on a dirt bank as though she was waiting to be found.

“Both killers meant to degrade their victims, but only the copycat’s is implied to understand and accept that humiliation. Savannah Belmont died aware of her inferiority in the eyes of her murderer.”

You find yourself sitting on your hands to prevent them from betraying your agitation with their unsteadiness. Your leg, however, you cannot control, the right foot gyring an inch above the floor.

Hannibal eyes it without speaking, folding your reaction into the lengthy tome of his mind.

“The victim’s stomach was missing,” says Will, turning to pluck a bottle of whiskey from a nearby cabinet like some bronze fruit. “That’s new. The Lover’s mutilations are all with the purpose of fitting the bodies of his victims inside their silicone casings. He has no surgical skills.

“This new killer obviously has expertise. Savannah’s stomach was cut precisely from her body with the clear intent of taking it as a trophy.”

“Her stomach?” you repeat.

You feel the heaviness of meat within you and are chilled by the coincidence.

Hannibal could not have known what the copycat would take to reference it, could not have known of his existence to begin with, and yet as you glance at him under your lashes you don’t quite trust the seriousness of his expression, his eyes gleaming dimly as tarmac in the rain.

“You mustn’t worry, Little One,” says Hannibal, turning to lift you up onto his lap. “The Lover can’t hurt you. We will protect you, always.”

He settles your head against his chest, which resounds with the slow beat of his heart and the machinery of organs digesting his own rich meal.

The monster knows of your renewed distrust and is unthreatened by it, declawed and tooth-filed as you are by his influence over you and all the passageways of the world you’d otherwise cross in your escape.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Daddy,” you mutter, against his shirt, and the warmth of Hannibal’s palm cups your buttocks with a tormenting friction, both threat and tease at once.

While you hate him—are in terror of him, always—your form is increasingly enamoured by his touch as though it knows that it must be so, or die.

“No need to thank me for performing my duty to you, Little One,” says Hannibal, into your ear. “For you belong to me, and to Will, and you must never forget it.”

#manna fic #hannibal fic #tw noncon #tw csa #tw abuse #tw drugs #tw captivity #dead dove do not eat #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #darkfic

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bettyfrommars · 11 months

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My Goyle Fiend Part 3: Don't Bother Knocking

gargoyle!Eddie x fem!Reader

WARNING: 18+ONLY

No minors for smut, but also a moment of graphic violence and mention of blood. gargoyle!Eddie, demon!Eddie, Size kink, demon cock, unprotected p in v, mutual masturbation, squirting, monster fucking, creampie, fingering, breeding, possessiveness, demon jealousy. Word count: 1.8k

Part 3.5

Masterlist

-------

You stayed at your aunt’s house for a week, giving yourself over to Goyle; every night he came, and came again. While you were there, a lawyer called to let you know the house had been left to you in the will, which was a bit of a shock, considering you hadn’t visited or stayed in contact with her for almost a decade.

Well, you weren’t her first choice to leave it to, you found out. It was intended for her only son, but he’d recently passed away from unknown causes.

Goyle never stayed with you all night, and you wondered where he flew off to during the day, but you were starting to believe that he could read your thoughts. He couldn’t speak your language, but he could understand your feelings and your needs.

The ex-boyfriend you had recently parted ways with found out where you were and called the house one morning.

“You can’t stay way out in the country in that big house all by yourself. I’m going come out there and make sure you’re okay.” He demanded. Your ex had always been a bully, and when he wanted to pull you back into his life, he masked the emotional abuse as concern for you.

“That’s really not necessary,” you told him, thinking about what Goyle would do if another man showed up. “It’s not a good idea.”

You hoped that was the end of it; but you knew better.

That night, you were naked on the bed, touching yourself to the thought of Goyle while the flames crackled in the fireplace. You knew he was coming for you because your nipples ached, and your cunt prepared that natural slick as his body called to yours.

You planted your feet on the bed, sticking three fingers in your hole as you arched up, missing how his demon cock filled you, fucking yourself, moaning his name, while your other hand swiped at your clit. You were pounding your fingers into the last knuckle when he appeared on the balcony and came through, an evil smile lifting one side of his mouth.

“Baby,” you mewed, turning your head to look at him as you bit your lip, sliding your fingers up through your swollen, wet folds as your legs fell open, begging for him.

Goyle seemed to understand and like what you were doing, and his heavy footfalls shook the room as he came up next to the bed, fisting his shaft. Some of the features in his face had softened to resemble a human man; they were small changes, but you noticed them all the same.

He bucked his pointed chin at you, urging you to continue with a grunt as he rolled his clawed hand around the tip of his cock.

“You like watching me?” You whimpered as you buried your fingers inside your sopping wet hole again, spread your knees wide so he could see what he was doing to you.

Goyle wet his lips with his long, forked tongue, golden brown eyes widening as his hips bucked his veiny cock into his hand, wetting it with his own precum, growling as he watched you. His long dark hair hanging down his curved horns, along his face, over his shoulders.

Your pussy rippled around your fingers, and your arousal foamed at your entrance from all of the friction; your toes curling into the mattress. Goyle barked a few words in a foreign language, coming closer so that his shins hit the bed, aiming the head of his cock at your belly.

You whined, watching him work his cock faster, closing in on his release just as you felt the walls crash around your fingers, and you babbled, letting the coil unravel and bend you back, quivering. “Fuck, baby I’m cumming so hard…”

And then Goyle bellowed a dark growl and worked the tip with purpose, milking hot ropes of cum from your breasts to your belly. You picked his spend up with your fingers, sliding it up to your mouth to taste it, sucking your fingers clean, and then rubbed the rest of it all over your tits and down into your tender folds as your orgasm ebbed.

But Goyle could never go a day without finishing inside of you. That night, for the first time, he held you in his arms, and you clung to his neck as he flew you down to the garden where you’d first made love. It was a warm night, and you were naked, but there was no one on the property for miles. If someone were to show up and see you naked? You didn’t know what Goyle would do.

He sat on the stone bench near the roses and had you straddle his lap, facing him, and he spread your cheeks wide so you could sit down on his cock.

Even though you should’ve been used to it, you shivered at the girth of his tip yet again. “You’re so big, baby,” you whined.

The bright stars and the crescent moon were the only witnesses as your eager juices dripped down his cock to his stone-smooth balls. He braced his huge hands on your hips, claws digging into your flesh, as you held on to his shoulders and kissed his soft, growling mouth. He inched you down his shaft and you whimpered his name over and over, eagerly stretching out to take all of him again.

You were halfway down his engorged cock, flats of your feet on the stone bench, when he coaxed your torso back to rub your bundle of nerves with his thumb, eager to pull another orgasm out of you.

“Baby...fuck!” you cried out as you bottomed out in his lap, bobbing up and down to ride him, tossing your head, frothing at the cunt. You tried to lean forward and kiss him, but he held you there so he could watch your face as he worked your pleasure button. His other hand was at your back, holding you in place. You plucked at your nipple as you rode him, and you could tell Goyle liked it by the way he tilted his pelvis up to buck against you, barking words you were familiar with now, but still did not understand.

He replaced his thumb with the pads of two of his thick fingers and he swiped faster, once again somehow listening to your thoughts or instinctively knowing what you needed. “Yes baby yes!” you coaxed as you slammed down against him over and over, wet and messy, making juicy noises, the tip of his cock dialing into your g-spot like a hammer.

At the moment you could feel your orgasm approaching, there was also another feeling, like a sudden pressure; a violent release about to happen. Your breath hitched as you pushed up from the balls of your feet to fuck fast on his cock a few more times as Goyle worked your clit, “Oh my god! Baby just like that...fuck! I think I’m going to…”

You were screaming as your pussy exploded around him and your cum sprayed out. Goyle grunted, and you sat down, burying him deep, more cum squirting over his cock and his chiseled stomach, and a blinding orgasm wrecked you, making you spasm and wail, losing your mind for how ever long it carried you.

With his cock still inside, Goyle took you to the grass so he could finish there, his wings making a mighty swooping sound behind him. You held the back of your knees up, spreading yourself open for him as he leaned forward to pound his demon cock into you with alien force. He took one of your nipples into his mouth and sucked there while he jack-hammered his hips, his dark hair brushing your shoulders. You could feel yourself scooting along the ground from the impact as he worked you like a rag doll.

He liked to look into your eyes when he filled you up, and that is what he did, choking a bit on guttural noises of his release, rocking so that his seed went as deep in as possible. When he was finished, he sat back to take his length out to see how full he made you, and then he pressed the head of his cock up through your folds, mingling his cum with yours.

You fell asleep with your head on his chest in the garden, and you woke up to the sound of car wheels on the gravel in front of the house.

You snapped awake to find that Goyle was gone, but you were still naked with demon cum dripping out of your hole, and there was, indeed a car that had just pulled up the driveway between the house and the gardens. You figured you’d just hide until they left, but it was too late---you’d already been spotted. You frantically looked around for Goyle, but he wasn’t in the garden or perched on the rafters of the house.

Your ex boyfriend entered the archway of the garden and crossed his arms. “What the hell are you doing out here? Why don’t you have any clothes on?”

You got to your feet, trying to cover your private parts with your hands, but it was no use. “You need to leave,” you told him. It was for his own good, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t listen; he’d never been a fan of boundaries or consent.

He dropped his arms and started toward you at a fast pace. “I’m not going anywhere until…”

His next words were garbled as his whole body rose up off the ground, lifted by a sharp object that had pierced through his back to the front of his chest, turning the front of his shirt dark red. His eyes went wide as his mouth filled with blood and he choked, limbs quivering as he was impaled right before your eyes.

It was Goyle’s spade tail that had ripped through your ex’s stomach like a long, thick sword, and Goyle said a few ancient, demonic words to him as he watched the human die, before he retracted his tail like a whip and let the other man’s body slump to the ground. Before Goyle, you might’ve looked away as your demon lover bent over the body to rip your ex’s throat out with his claws, but you didn’t mind watching this time.

You warned him not to show up. He should’ve listened.

#gargoyle eddie #my goyle fiend #monster fucking #monster smut #Eddie munson #oneshot #smut #gargoyles

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mxnsterbabe · 18 days

Text

Male Vampire/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 3,656 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You've been told never to invite Beau inside the Halfway House, and you don't plan to. Except, he finds a way inside anyway - and he might not be all that you thought.

The chill of the winter evening bit at your skin as you stepped off the final leg of your journey, the quaint silhouette of Esmeralda's Halfway House emerging through the mist. Your day had been a mess of minor misfortunes; trains delayed by the winter weather, connections missed by mere moments. Now, well past dinner, the glow from the windows of the halfway house promised a sanctuary from the cold.

Miss Esmeralda, upon opening the door, was like a burst of summer in the heart of winter. Her welcoming smile, wide and genuine, immediately enveloped you in a warmth that the evening's frost could not penetrate. "You must be frozen," she exclaimed, her concern palpable as she ushered you inside, the door closing with a reassuring thud behind you.

The interior of the house was a contrast to the bleakness outside. Warm light bathed the walls, casting long, comforting shadows that danced gently in the periphery. Esmeralda led you through the hallway, her steps confident and inviting, to a room that she announced would be yours. It was a modest space, but the attention to comfort was evident in every detail—from the plush quilt on the bed to the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp.

"I'll have someone bring your bags up shortly," Esmeralda promised, her voice carrying the cadence of someone who had spent a lifetime caring for others. "You settle in. Make yourself at home."

Despite the lateness of the hour, Esmeralda insisted on introducing you to a few of the residents who lingered in the communal areas, their night not yet drawn to a close. First were the twin gargoyles, Olivier and Laurent. They perched on the edge of a sturdy oak table, their forms more fluid than one might expect from creatures of stone. Their greeting was a chorus of nods, their expressions carved into gentle smirks that hinted at a playful nature beneath their statuesque exteriors.

Then there was Camilla, the dryad, who seemed almost a part of the house itself as she shyly hid in the shadows. She was reserved, her demeanour as delicate as the frost patterns on a windowpane, yet her smile towards you was warm, inviting—a silent welcome into this eclectic family.

Esmeralda explained that the other residents had already retired for the evening. The house, she shared, was a refuge not just for those who found themselves at the mercy of circumstance but also for those seeking redemption.

As Esmeralda guided you through the house, she pointed out the key areas with a sense of pride. The kitchen, she explained, was the heart of the home, where you'd spend most of your time crafting meals that brought everyone together. It was spacious and well-equipped, with pots hanging like metallic fruit from the ceiling and herbs lining the windowsill, their scents mingling in the warm air.

Next was the library, a cosy room lined with shelves that reached towards the high ceiling, filled with books of every imaginable genre. "A place for quiet reflection," Esmeralda remarked, her voice softening with reverence for the written word.

As you admired the library's stained glass window, a sudden noise from outside momentarily distracted you.

Esmeralda's expression tightened, a rare frown crossing her features. "That's only Beau," she said, her tone carrying a hint of discomfort. "An old guest who's no longer welcome here. Just don't invite him in or speak to him, and you'll be fine."

The warning piqued your curiosity, but before you could inquire further, your gaze was drawn to a fleeting image outside the library window—a figure with long white hair that caught the moonlight, creating an almost ethereal glow.

Miss Esmeralda, perhaps sensing your lingering curiosity about the figure outside, quickly steered the tour towards the living room and game room. The living area was spacious yet cosy, with plush sofas and a crackling fireplace that seemed to invite long, comfortable evenings. The game room boasted an eclectic mix of entertainment, from vintage board games to a well-worn pool table, clearly designed to bring joy and relaxation to its inhabitants.

As she showed you around, Esmeralda shared a bit of the house's history. "This was originally my grandmother's home, then it passed to my mother. My parents transformed it into this halfway house about fifty years ago, and now... it's mine," she explained, her voice tinged with a mixture of pride and nostalgia.

The warmth in her words prompted you to ask, "Are you human, Miss Esmeralda?" The question had been dancing on the tip of your tongue since you'd arrived, given the unique nature of the halfway house's residents.

With a playful twinkle in her eye, Esmeralda winked and replied, "You'll have to stay long enough to find out."

Feeling the conversation shift away from the enigmatic Beau, you found yourself smiling, the tension eased by Esmeralda's charm and the homely feel of the house.

After Esmeralda excused herself to attend to other matters, promising to let you settle in, you wandered back to the library, drawn by the promise of losing yourself in a good book. The room, with its walls of stories and the gentle hush that filled the air, felt like a refuge.

As you browsed the shelves, the sight of an open window caught your attention, the night breeze causing the curtains to flutter softly. A shiver ran down your spine, not from the cold, but from the reminder of the white-haired figure.

As you reached for the window to close it, a voice drifted in from the darkness, its tone laced with a quiet desperation. "Please, may I come in?"

The owner of the voice was just a slender silhouette against the blackness, elusive and barely discernible. Your heart raced, Esmeralda's warning echoing in your mind. With a steadiness you didn't feel, you responded, "I'm sorry, I can't let you in."

The figure outside seemed undeterred, their plea softening. "I only wish to apologise to Miss Esmeralda, you understand. She won't listen."

Despite the sincerity in the voice, your anxiety held firm, a tight knot in your stomach. "No, I really can't let you in." you repeated, your voice firmer this time, even as you reached to close the window fully.

The soft glow from the library's lamp illuminated slender fingers and manicured nails resting against the window sill, adorned with a single silver ring that caught the light. The sight of such human-like hands made your stomach flutter.

Before they could say anything else, your shaking hands slammed the window closed. Then you turned heel and ran, the idea of choosing a book now abandoned in the wake of your frayed nerves.

Retreating to the sanctuary of your room, you changed into pyjamas, unwilling to let yourself think about the man outside for too long. If you did, then you’d start to over think, and that never ended well. It was difficult not to think about those strange, elongated fingers though, or the soft voice that asked may I come in?

Crawling into bed, the quiet of the house enveloped you; but the peace you wanted remained elusive.

As sleep finally claimed you, you wondered if there was more to all of this than Miss Esmeralda was letting on.

***

Waking early the next morning, you felt a sense of purpose as you made your way to the kitchen, determined to start your day on a positive note by preparing breakfast for the house.

Camilla, the dryad with sparkling skin, joined you silently as you were looking for the seasonings. Without words, she guided you through the kitchen, her delicate hands pointing out where the essentials were stored, her silent efficiency easing your way.

As the house slowly woke and the residents gathered to eat, the kitchen became a hub of quiet activity, the sounds of morning routines weaving together in a symphony of new beginnings. With your own plate in hand, you decided to use the opportunity to explore.

Wandering the halls with a sense of curiosity, you stumbled upon a little side room, its door slightly ajar, inviting exploration. Pushing it open, you discovered a small living room, much smaller than the other rooms you’d seen.

The room was bathed in soft, natural light from a skylight above, casting gentle shadows across the plush armchairs. A small bookshelf lined one wall, its shelves filled with well-thumbed novels and worn poetry collections, the scent of old paper and whispered stories filling the air. In the corner, a small fireplace, dusty with misuse.

Above the fireplace, a painting caught your eye, its figures rendered with such lifelike precision they seemed almost ready to step out of the frame. There was an older man and woman — she in a gown with wide, voluminous skirts, a bodice laced tight, and he in a coat with elaborate cuffs and a waistcoat richly embroidered.

They were both smiling.

Beside them stood a curly-haired girl, her face eerily similar to Esmeralda. She even had the same mole beneath her left eye, the same quirk to her lips.

A boy, no more than ten, stood beside her, his pale blond hair falling over his eyes. His pose was casual, a hint of mischief in his smile.

As you stared up at the painting, a voice startled you. "That was my family, centuries ago," Esmeralda’s voice said, and you spun to see her smile tinged with sadness as she joined you in front of the painting.

You turned to her, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to fit together in your mind. "Centuries?" you echoed, the implications slowly dawning on you.

"Yes, my brother and I were turned into vampires when we were still quite young. Our parents, however, remained human... They grew old and passed away, leaving us with this legacy."

You swallowed thickly. You were at a halfway house for monsters, you reminded yourself. It made sense that the host was one, too.

"And the house?” You asked. “You mentioned it was your grandmother's."

A soft laugh escaped her, tinged with memories. "Indeed, it was. Just... a bit more long ago than you might think. This house has been in our family since it was built in the sixteenth century, until it became the refuge it is today."

Your shock must have mirrored on your face, because Esmeralda laughed softly.

"It all makes sense now," you murmured, suddenly too aware of the shaking in your hands. Your plate rattled when you set it down.

Hesitantly, you pointed to the boy in the painting, the one with the pale blond hair and piercing blue eyes. "Him? I have a feeling I know who that might be..."

Esmeralda's expression darkened slightly, a shadow passing over her features. "Yes, that's Beau," she confirmed, her voice heavy. "He was part of this family, once. I had to make the difficult decision to ask him to leave. He... he started feeding on some of the guests in their sleep."

You shivered.

"He was found out because one of the guests was a werewolf. The blood made Beau violently ill, and that's when we discovered what he had been doing."

You were beginning to wonder what you’d gotten yourself into. "When I spoke to him, “you said, “he seemed genuinely regretful.”

Esmeralda's eyes widened, lips parted in a gasp. "You've been speaking to him?" The idea seemed to alarm her more than it should have "Please, I must insist—Beau is not to be trusted. His regret, while it may seem genuine, comes after too much harm has been done. It's best to keep your distance, for your own safety."

"What harm can talking do?" you pressed. "Don't vampires need an invitation to come in? I haven't invited him in."

Esmeralda nodded, her expression grave. "Yes, they must be invited; but you must understand, an invitation, once given, can only be revoked by the owner of the house. If you, even unknowingly, invite him in… I won’t necessarily be there to help."

The weight of her words settled heavily between you. "So, I shouldn’t even risk it?” you asked softly.

"Exactly," Esmeralda confirmed, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Keep the windows closed at all times, and do not venture outside after dark. You’re the only human here; it's for your safety as much as it is for the safety of everyone in this house."

Despite your protests, your inclination to see the good in others, Esmeralda remained insistent. She gently but firmly steered you out of the room, back towards the kitchen, her protective stance unwavering.

The conversation was clearly over, the warning issued with a finality that left coldness creeping into your bones.

***

Several days passed before curiosity and a longing for the library overcame your apprehension. The space, with its endless rows of books, eventually beckoned you back.

It seemed the library wasn't a popular haunt among the residents; Olivier and Laurent preferred the game room, while Camilla, with her gentle nature, kept mostly to herself.

So, you found yourself alone, the quiet of the room wrapping around you like a familiar blanket. You browsed the shelves, deliberately avoiding the windows, still mindful of Esmeralda's warnings.

However, as you moved through the room, you noticed the curtains at one window were tangled. Compelled to fix them, you approached, your hands reaching out to untangle the fabric. That's when you heard it—a soft tap, barely audible, at the window.

Your first instinct was to ignore it, to listen to Esmeralda's warnings and walk away. Yet, curiosity gnawed at you, coupled with a sliver of hope that perhaps Esmeralda was wrong. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for understanding.

You opened the window just enough to speak, cautious yet driven by a desire to understand. Beau, standing just beyond the reach of the library's soft light, seemed to exhale a sigh of relief at the small concession.

"I appreciate this... truly," Beau began, his voice smooth yet tinged with sincerity. "It's been a long time since anyone at Esmeralda's has been willing to hear me out."

You hesitated before replying, "Esmeralda did mention you, but it was more a warning to stay away from you than anything else." The words felt harsh even as they hung in the air, but you felt compelled to be honest.

His shadow flinched. "That makes sense," he conceded. "I suppose I can't blame her. I did things I'm not proud of. Continue to do things I’m not proud of."

You said nothing, even as your pulse thundered in your ears.

He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts before continuing. "There was a reason for it all, I assure you. Esmeralda thought we could... wean ourselves off human blood. She managed, somewhat, to control her urges. For me, it was never that simple."

You leaned closer to the crack in the window, maintaining a cautious distance, pulse thudding. "What do you mean?"

His pale eyes flashed in the darkness. They were almost iridescent, pearly and beautiful.

Captivated, you leaned in closer, elbows resting on the windowsill.

"For Esmeralda, being turned was a gift," he began, his voice carrying a hint of both admiration and envy. "It gave her a chance to be more, to escape the confines of what society expected of her. She's flourished over the centuries, becoming... well, more than I think even she anticipated."

He paused, and you just barely saw sharp teeth and a gleaming, albeit humourless, smile. "For me, it wasn't the same. I've always been in her shadow, struggling to find my place, to define who I am beyond this... condition."

The vulnerability in his confession made you shiver, longing to reach out and take his hand. To apologise for all that had happened to him.

"My bloodlust is stronger than hers, it always has been. Drinking from the residents in their sleep—it was a way to cope, to stave off the hunger without losing myself to it. I was terrified of what might happen if I let the hunger control me, though thankfully, it never came to that."

Sympathy tugged at your heart, tears prickling the corner of your eyes. It seemed to you that Beau was a product of his creation, not somebody who wanted to cause harm.

"If only I could tell her in person,” he said, “speak to Esmeralda face to face, and tell her I'm sorry.”

You bit the inside of your lip, knowing how futile that was. “Esmeralda won’t speak to you. You’d have to come in and hunt her down yourself—”

His eyes flashed, and too late you realised what you’d done. Cold dread filled you. “Wait! No, I wasn’t asking you to actually do that!”

Too late. Suddenly the window, previously only cracked open, swung wider, the cold night air rushing in. Before you could react, a figure gracefully manoeuvred through the opening, long coat billowing in the breeze.

Standing before you was Beau, in the flesh. He was tall and willowy, his pale skin almost luminescent in the dim light of the library. His white-blond hair was braided, falling over one shoulder in a cascade of pale silk. It was his eyes that truly captivated you, though; pale to the point of being almost purple, his pupils black against the soft lilac.

"Thank you for letting me in," Beau said with a smirk. “It was so kind of you.”

You stepped back with a jolt, knees buckling; but before you could retreat further, Beau closed the distance with a single, fluid motion, wrapping his long arms and pulling you flush against his strong chest.

In that moment, every cautionary tale, every warning about vampires you'd ever heard, flashed through your mind. You braced yourself for the sharp pain of fangs, for the sensation of being drained.

It never came. Instead, there was only the warmth of his embrace, the softness of his hair brushing against your cheek, and the steady beat of a heart you hadn't expected him to possess.

"I've been staying in a cottage further down the road," Beau murmured into the embrace, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "Finally, I'm home."

Hesitantly, your arms lifted to return the embrace, wrapping around Beau in a tentative gesture. It was clear from the tension that slowly ebbed away from his frame that he needed this little moment to gather himself.

Then, without warning, Beau's lips found yours in a kiss that took your breath away. For a moment, you were frozen, shock coursing through you; but as the kiss deepened, the initial astonishment gave way to a warmth that unfurled in you, your body responding to his with a warmth that left you baffled.

The kiss was gentle even as his fangs clicked against your own duller teeth. There was no taste of blood, no hint of the predator in the way he kissed you. Instead, there was the delicate flavour of herbal tea and sugar, sweet and perfumed.

When he finally pulled away, there was a smug satisfaction in his smirk, a playful glint in his pale eyes. "Just a little thank you," he murmured, brushing hair from your face. “For letting me inside.”

"You do realise I didn't mean to invite you in," you managed to say, half-hearted irritation mingling with the lingering warmth from his kiss.

Beau's response came with a sly, teasing edge. "Consider it a warning, then. Not all vampires are as charming and handsome as I am."

Your laughter broke the tension, a sound that seemed to delight him. His hand came up to cup your jaw gently, a gesture that was both tender and possessive. The cool touch of his fingers sent a shiver down your spine, not from fear, but from the electricity that seemed to spark between you.

"Won't you talk to Esmeralda now?" you asked, hoping to steer the conversation back to safer grounds, to the apology he had insisted he needed to make.

"No, that can wait," Beau replied, his gaze locked with yours. "What I really wanted was to get a good look at you. I must say, I like what I see."

The boldness of his words, the unabashed way he admired you, stirred something deep within you—it wasn’t something you could name, but it had warmth spreading through you.

Before you could voice a protest, he leaned in for another kiss. This time, you were ready for it, the anticipation sending a flush across your skin.

The kiss deepened, Beau's lips pressing against yours with a fervour that was absent in the first. Although his hands were gentle, he gripped you with a purpose, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The sensation was heady, intoxicating, the kind of kiss that made you forget where you were, that there was a world beyond the two of you.

When you finally came up for air, you were breathless, a sheen of sweat on your skin despite the cool air of the library.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a kiss quite that good.”

Laughter spilled from your lips, as you pressed into his chest to avoid meeting his gaze. “Really?”

“Really.”

There was a pause, long enough that you glanced up to see if Beau was all right. He looked down at you, gaze soft, and confessed, "I don't know if I can make things right with Esmeralda... but I want to try."

The vulnerability tugged at something deep within you. "I'll help you," you said. "But only If I can keep kissing you like that."

Beau's laughter was rich and carefree, dispelling any lingering tension. "Of course," he promised, his smile both wicked and tender. "There will be plenty more kisses like that, I assure you."

“Good. Then how about we start now?”

Without hesitation, he dove in for another kiss.

#monster fucker #monster x reader #monster romance #monster boyfriend #exophilia fiction #exophilia #tag: mxf #tag: male monster #tag: female reader #tag: vampire #tag: sfw

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dreamofjoys · 2 years

Text

twst character having sex with their s/o in school cause they are horny and can't resist

characters involved: malleus draconia, lilia vanrouge x fem s/o

genre: smut

tw: public sex

vil and rook ver.

he fucks you in the gargoyle research club room

man has been feeling horny for the whole day, so he promptly invited you to do some “activities” with him for his club

he bends you over the table, unties his tie and shove it into your mouth, gagging you

your skirt was lifted up by the dragon as his mouth waters over your cute ass

giving your ass a few squeezes, before sliding your panties to the side, revealing your slick cunt to him

plays with your folds, tracing his fingers up and down, rubbing and flicking, but his fingers never once enter

you whine, wanting to feel something, or really anything, inside you

malleus knows what you want, but he just enjoys seeing your cute little reactions, so he proceeds to tease you more

but he is not that mean, he eventually gives you what you want

he flips you over, with your back now facing the table

swiftly ungagging you, he kisses your lips and whispers, “make those cute little noise for me, i want to hear it”

with your leg over his shoulders, he dives into your cunt, sucking and lapping on your juice

you arched your back and moaned out loud, hands grabbing onto his horns

malleus showed no mercy and fucks you with his tongue

his tongue entering your cunt in and out, wiggling it inside of you, finding your sweet spot and abusing it

when he was finally done, he looks up to you and sees your fucked out expression, eyes half lidded, drools coming off, moaning his name in ecstasy, begging for more

of course, he gives you more. anything for his cute little darling

after all, club activities ends at 6pm, and is only 2pm right now

don’t worry about anyone hearing you, he has already sound proofed the walls with magic

lilia fucks you in an empty classroom, 10mins before the class starts

he knows your body well, so it was relatively easy to get you soaking wet

you were cornered against the wall, skirt being lifted up and panties hanging on your thighs as lilia thrust his fingers inside you, abusing that sweet spot that he knows too well

he had you cumming within a minute, but how could you not? his fingers was literally going at an incredible fast pace, hands groping at your breast

it had you seeing white, sending you to a bliss

lilia observes your slick on his fingers, and proceeds to lick it, letting out a moan

you were embarrassed by his actions but you know that he just enjoys teasing you

tik tokkk....5mins left till class starts!

man just inserts his cock into you fully, going at an insane speed

one hand playing with your breast, while the other plays with your clit

this time, you covered your mouth, not wanting to attract anyone’s attention

when he is done, he doesn’t cum inside you... he cums on your panties instead

pulling your panties up, he smirks at your flushed face and kissed your cheek

“let’s go to class now! i can’t wait to see how you deal with those on your folds.....doesn’t it makes you want more? eheh”

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #lilia headcanons #Lilia Vanrouge #diasomnia #malleus x mc #twst smut #Smut #dreamofjoystwst

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quillsareswords · 2 years

Note

Ok but now we need Damian in a ghostface mask content 😩

DAMIAN WAYNE X READER

WARNINGS: suggestive, language

MASTER LIST in BIO

It's one of your favorite movies. You've rewatched the first one three times this month. At least three, anyway. There's a decent chance you've had it running in the background when he wasn't around.

That's to say: he recognizes the mask as soon as he sees it. Hanging there on a peg wall, among dozens of others in various colors with extra features, he picks it out immediately. Shiny white plastic, cheap black fabric.

"Don't kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel!"

How many times have you sang along to that line? How many times have you thrown it into everyday life to get a laugh out of him?

Mari is cheering further up the isle, apparently having found a mask she likes. Todd is laughing, so he'd better go investigate. God help him if it's something Jason is laughing at.

He grabs the first one in the row and tucks it under his arm.

(Of course Mari Grayson would pick out the most ghoulish latex gargoyle mask she could find.)

You get to his place later than usual due some accident on the subway track you didn't pay much attention to. You zoned out after you heard non-fatal. Your shoes get pried off and left by the door, you jacket abandoned over the back of the couch with your backpack.

"Damian?" you call, raking a hand through your hair on the way to the kitchen. "Are you home yet?"

No response. You lug the refrigerator door open. "Guess not." Let's see...grapes, guacamole, apples, caramel dip, tofu stir fry from last night...

You grab the guacamole dish. Where does he keep the chips, again? Same cabinet as the bread, right?

You close the refrigerator door, and there's a black shadow inches from your face. "Surprise, Sidney."

A scream rips out of your throat as you stumble sideways, hurling the plastic Tupperware with everything you've got.

In one motion, Damian yanks the mask off and narrowly ducks out of the way. The shit-eating grin whitening his teeth melts a little when he turns at the horrific sound behind him.

His poor guacamole, splattered against the wall like a gory scene straight out of a horror movie, and the plastic container rolling pathetically on the floor, cracked in three places.

He turns back toward you, leaning all your weight against the counter with your face in your hands. "I think you almost killed me with a bowl of guacamole."

The fingers on your left hand inch apart to reveal your glare. "You're such a dick."

He's grinning again. "I thought you liked Ghostface."

You drop your hands and cross your arms to scowl at him. "I do like Ghostface. I live Ghostface. If Ghostface asked me to marry him, I'd leave you in a heartbeat."

He chuckles, deep in his chest, and moves forward. "Oh, come on. I'm sorry, Beloved. I couldn't resist." He opens his arms before he's reached you, just in case you really are angry with him and decide to stop him.

You don't. You let him step into your space, rubbing his warm palms up and down your arms, mask abandoned on the counter behind you. "Well maybe I just won't be able to resist dying all your fancy white shirts bright pink." You glance down at the one he's wearing now for emphasis, but it's not a nice white one. It's the black t-shirt he yanked on this morning to wear under that nice new jacket. The one that hugs his torso about as tightly as you do when he leaves for patrol.

His grin fades into a much kinder smile. "Orange. I'll wear them for Halloween."

Your glare is wavering the longer he looks at you. You hum noncommittally. "I'm trying to say that you've got a lot of grovelling to do, Mr. Ghostface."

He leans a little closer. "Oh? What kind of grovelling do you have in mind, Dearest?"

You hum again, drawn out and low to stall while your hand reaches awkwardly backwards. Your fingers brush cheap fabric. "I don't know about you, but I'm thinking Morticia and Gomez Addams kind of grovelling," you pause, lifting the mask between you to hold it in front of his face, "but you put this back on first."

Kind smile becomes devious as you lower it again to gauge his reaction. His eyes spark as green as fresh moss, cradling the growing black of his pupils like gemstones. "Well, if that's what it takes to earn forgiveness..." He takes the mask from you gently and slides it on. "Whatever you wish, Cara Mia."

The door bell chimes.

Crisp and loud.

Ignore it, is on the tip of your tongue, but it dies when you hear your phone buzz with what is undoubtedly an I'm here text message. You sigh. You'd completely forgotten about offering to loan your friend some clothes for her Halloween costume.

He goes still in front of you, one hand once again pressing into your bicep, the other planted on the counter beside you. Immediately, he's debating whether or not to leave whoever it is standing in the hall and make up some excuse later. But then...

"I'm going to answer the door like this."

You look again to his tight shirt, black jeans, mask. Doesn't matter who is at the door, this image of Damian is all yours. "No the fuck you aren't."

There's immediate jealousy in your tone, a knee-jerk reaction. It must be somebody you know.

Even better.

"Yes, the fuck I am."

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne blurb #quillshalloweencollection #yall went feral shen i brought this up. shesh

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kippykasey · 7 months

Text

Double Trouble

Summary: Who knew a vampire, Freddie Kruger, and Ghost face could have so much fun?

Word Count: 1021

Characters: Sam and Colby and Reader

More spoops from Kippy's Spoopy Saturdays

Halloween parties aren’t normally a thing you normally do. At lease not since you were younger. Now you are dragged along with your friend to not only a party but a block wide event. One house had a haunted ‘barn’ maze set up in the large side lawn. There was a whole garage decked out as a witch hut where the drinks were being stored and handed out. There was one house specifically set up to entertain the teens. A projector was set up playing the horror classics. Lights, music, smoke effects where everywhere. Which is probably how you lost your friend with in the first hour of arriving.

Your hand clutched onto your drink of choice as you slowly walked around trying to find your unaccounted for friend. You admired the different themes and the fancy technical displays. Every time you thought you seen them it just ended up being a stranger. After a while of looking you just gave up and sat on the edge of a stone wall between the projector set up and the road that was packed with people dancing.

Someone dressed in the black gown and hooded mask of Ghostface, calmly leaned against the wall next to you. “Waiting for someone?” The deep voice confirmed that this was most definitely a male.

Your head tilts to look over at him. “Nah I lost my friend already. Not really used to all this.” You gestured to the surrounding area with the hand holding your drink, the liquid swirling around.

“Well we can’t just let you sit on a wall all night like some kind of gargoyle. Colby.” He stands up straight, his arm draping over your shoulders as he holds up his hand.

You shook his hand and introduced yourself before Colby gives you a nudge to get off the wall. You get off your perch and were instantly guided through the crowd and towards the witch hut where you run into a blonde wearing a signature stripped shirt the recognizable burn scar mask tucked under his arm as he got himself a drink. “Sam I adopted a vampire.” Colby jokes making the blonde turn to look over with a smile.

You introduce yourself to Sam and he passes a drink to Colby who stepped away from you to remove his mask. With both of them not wearing a mask you recognized the two from their ghost hunting youtube channel. “I see why you’re wearing the masks.” You comment looking between them. They looked at each other before turning back to you.

The three of you head off to the side where some picnic tables were set up for the food that was available earlier. You sat around one of the tables each with your own drink. “So you recognized us huh?” Sam looked up at you as he sips his drink.

“Honestly now that I know its you I would have known Colby by his name and face alone but I thought it was a voice changer or something. Not to mention I don’t really know too many people with the name Colby. Realistically I would have overlooked what you guys but I was watching your videos while getting ready to come.”

Colby chuckled and you three talked for a while before agreeing to walk through the fake barn maze. There was a small line which allowed small groups no larger than 6 in at a time. Colby and Sam put their masks into the drawstring bag that was hidden under Sam’s costume as you waited and you all were able to toss your empty drinks in a garbage right before entering into near darkness.

A winding path greeted you three where between the two and a half winding corridors were four automated animatronics that provided a good jump scare before opening up into the first room. The red and yellow lit room was decorated with fake hanging body limbs with the center having a table with delimbed torso. Just as you got around the corner a female whimper drew your attention to a caged area where a disheveled girl was locked inside pleading for you to help her. As you moved closer a chainsaw roared to life behind you as a leather face dressed man charged out of the hidden corner chasing the three of you out of the room and into the next section.

As you made your way through the last 3 rooms you have been positioned somewhere between the two. You swear Sam jumped a foot off the ground when he was caught off guard at the last jump scare. Your thoughts were confirmed when you left and Colby began to laugh and called Sam out on it. From there the three of you bumped into each other as you walked on to the next thing you were off to do, which was carve some pumpkins which really just became a but if a mess of pumpkin guts that was tossed about your table until your group was asked to leave.

The two put back on their masks and you gladly took videos of them going around scaring poor people passing by. When your friend finally texts to meet up, you took a group picture with the two who were enjoying making trouble scaring people and sent it with the location to meet up. Sam and Colby hid them selves and waited until your friend arrived popping out and gave your friend a good scare before the three of you exchanged numbers agreeing to join them on a future ghost hunt before you left with your friend.

“Told you, you would have fun.” Your friend walks backwards, their phone out and up.

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes seconds before your head is bunched between your shoulders from the flinching reaction of two ‘Boos’ on either side of you accompanies by a Freddy Kruger and Ghost Face masks.

You turn playfully hitting the laughing guys on the shoulders as the turn to scurry away.

“Trouble I tell you. They are trouble.” You comment turning to your friend with a large smile.

#sam and colby #sam x reader #colbyxreader #colby brock #sam golbach #kippys spoopy saturdays

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maythearo · 4 months

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AOHUBCOEWHBVOU I love your Malleus design!!! Also, question. Is MH Malleus protective/territorial of this AU’s MC? If there even is one, or if there were one. I’m imagining an entire “fae kidnaps human from their world but human was miserable in their world and is happy to stay and is accurate to TWST lore that human is his first real friend cuz they’re not scared or somthing brainworm” wkehvbowehbvfowbvhbr!!!! There’s so much more I have in my head but can’t add in because I don’t know how to continue to articulate it. Also bcuz of the Howl’s Moving Castle it had me thinking and my brain went harbhejdbfvowhbv 😩😩😩

I'm a big fan of MC + Malleus dynamic in canon, and I'd like to keep these two on similar circumstances in this AU!

I'm getting two possible ideas here, one is if MC/Yuu were to be a monster in this AU as well, and another if they were just a human who somehow ended up in a monster school!

For the first possibility, for starters, I think Malleus in this AU wouldn't be as feared as he used to be in canon. Every monster got their own individualities, I imagine it wouldn't be uncommon for mysterious figures like Malleus to study in MH!NRC, so in the eyes of most students, he's just another quiet monster- perhaps he's shy, who knows? He does seem unapproachable, but on the other hand, we got plenty of folks who like to stay in the shadows as well! And maybe this change of how he's perceived can change how he interacts with others and with MC/Yuu?

If the MC was a monster too, then I think it would be cool for them to be the type of monster who could connect with him in a thematic sort of way, if we're talking in terms of keeping this classic Malleus + MC/Yuu dynamic. Maybe they're a ghost, and Malleus' stare couldn't turn them to stone because they're incorporeal! Maybe they're a gargoyle! Maybe they're like, an invisible monster who also can't be turned to stone because idk, they're built different and the stone stare bounces away from their body somehow lol

But if MC is a human like you said, maybe Malleus would be a bit intrigued by that. I don't think he ever got into much contact with non monsters. What is this? What do humans even do? If they can't walk through walls, fly, be a walking taser, breathe under water, then what the heck do they do? Stand there and be spooked? That is so whimsical, Malleus found out about the concept of being #just a little guy. It's true some monsters describe Malleus as having somewhat of an unapproachable aura, but can human!MC see that? Not really, since they'd probably feel disconnected to any and all NRC students to a degree anyway. So hey, they should hang out! And if Malleus is protective or territorial, that's likely from this dragon side of him.

But those are just some possibilities I could think of from the top of my head, since this AU is still slowly being built in my mind, there could be so many more ideas of how this could play out in the future!

#.the ghostly gossip #i forgot how to tag #ask

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teejaystumbles · 9 months

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Sandmanniversary Day 2 - "Hunt"

(fantasy human AU)

Dream falls against the weathered stone wall with a gasp and sinks to his knees. He cannot run anymore. He knows he has lost. Wherever he goes, wherever he hides, the Hound finds him. He has chased him for days and nights, through dark streets and back alleys, cellars and abandoned houses, under bridges and over rooftops, through the belfry of churches and finally here, up onto the highest tower of the cathedral.

Dream is bleeding from uncountable nicks and scrapes, his black silk and linen garments, made to hide him in the darkness and grant him swiftness, ripped and torn in several places. His mask is hanging in shreds off his face and is no longer doing its job of hiding his face. He suspects his identity hasn't been a secret for a while but he had felt safer with the mask. Now he pulls its pieces off, still panting from exertion. He looks down and sees the red and white coat of the Hound billowing in the wind. He is almost upon him.

[AO3] or under the cut

Dream looks out over the city - his city. His people. The people who don't believe in him anymore. Wherever he has tried to hide, they have shut their doors in his face, too afraid of Lord Burgess' wrath to shelter the famous "Dream", leading figure of the rebellion. Would they have let him in if they knew who he was? Or would they have called on the usurper's men that much faster? They would be handsomely rewarded for handing over the missing Crown Prince Morpheus. Dream scoffs and leans back against the rough limestone, wrapping his fingers around the claws of the gargoyle next to him for support. He watches the edge of the roof for his pursuer to pull himself up. He could try and kick him off. He could... Dream gulps.

No. He couldn't. He can't kill anybody, that's not who he is. And he doesn't want to kill the Hound. He wants...

A hand appears on the edge and grabs onto it hard, before a man pulls himself up and over the edge with a grunt. The Hound, clad in his typical red and white ensemble, now similarly torn and dirtied as Dream's, stares back at him. His breath is fast and his brown eyes are wide. He stills and remains silent for several moments, as if afraid he might startle his prey into running again. But Dream is done. He has wrenched his ankle with the last jump from a roof and this is as far as he goes.

Dream gives a wry smile and rasps, "You got me."

The Hound stares, panting. "I got you," he whispers. With trembling fingers he reaches out and touches Dream's jaw. Dream flinches and shivers violently. He wants to lean into the touch but instead he tries to lean back further into the wall. "Finally," the Hound says, and Dream lets out a wet sigh that sounds more like a sob and closes his eyes, feeling tears spill over his cheeks.

"Yes. I'm done. It's over. Do what you want."

He feels calloused fingers gently cradle his face and he waits for the pain of the killing blow or for these hands to choke him, but then there are lips upon his and he opens his eyes with a startled moan. He surges up but the Hound grabs his wrists and presses him back against the wall. Is this how it's going to go?

He tears himself away from the mouth on his and gasps, "What are you-"

The Hound's eyes are wide and pleading and his grip is strong but not painful. His brown hair is falling into his face, the wind pulling at it. Dream can't help but stare at the handsome face he has seen so many times from afar and only once closer, from across a dining table. Robert Gadling, personal guard of Lord Burgess, and his most skilled assassin, called The Hound, is looking at him like he wants to-

Dream gulps and blushes, feeling his heart thunder in his ears. If this man wants to have his way with him before he kills him... he closes his eyes again and bares his neck, his heart clenching painfully. "Go on then," he whispers, but his captor pulls him into a hug and puts his nose under Dream's ear, making him shiver again. The words mouthed against his neck have Dream go rigid.

"Please, Dream. Let me help."

He pulls back and looks Dream in the eyes again, bringing his hand to his lips, kissing it slowly, with intent. "Let me help you. Your majesty."

Dream raises an eyebrow and stares in surprise, his breath still coming fast, still feeling flushed by the proximity and the prospect of being ravished by the man he has pined over from afar for months. When he finally finds his words he pulls his hand free and pushes a strand of his hair out of his face, tracing Gadling's jaw reverently.

"Has the Hound forsaken its master?"

The man hums and gives him a smile Dream already knows he will become addicted to.

"It has found a better one," he says, his words a vow, and Dream pulls him in for another desperate kiss.

#I had a dream and this is what came out of it #thanks Morpheus for inspiring me #sandmanniversary #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dreamling #the sandman fanfiction #teejay writes #sft

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fairy-writes · 1 year

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Vampire!Viktor x Female!Reader 01

i’ve been having brain rot about vampire!viktor and a female!reader, and just—

this is now a series i’ve dubbed cryptid!viktor! here’s a little blurb about merman!viktor :) linked HERE

you first meet him when you go to explore a decrepit old mansion on the hill of your little village in the middle of the night. the year is 18th century something, and you hike your skirts up as you scale the tall wrought iron fence surrounding the estate. except as you climb the wall, you realize it’s basically rusted steel.

why was that? wasn’t steel more expensive than iron?

this was a bad idea, but you were always curious and liked old things. they made you sad. but in a good way.

the estate is just as drab and creepy up close as it was far away. but you are astounded by the detail. gargoyles and griffons positioned at the tops of the corners keep watch over the massive house, and their stone eyes seem to follow you as you approach the large front door.

the door is made of wood, and there is a large cast iron (again, you realize it’s steel) knocker in the shape of what looks like a demon with horns. is it a bad omen? you clutch your necklace tight in your fist as you reach for the door knocker and knock twice.

nothing.

the door is unlocked, and you have to put your entire body weight against it in order to open the beast of a door. inside is almost pitch black, and you hoist your bag that’s been strapped against your torso until now, and pull out a packet of matches. then feeling along the wall, you find a candelabra and use the match to light the dusty candles.

the room is illuminated by the warm glow, and you swear you see glowing golden eyes in the corner. but as you look closer, they simply disappear.

talk about spooky.

cobwebs hang from the chandelier, and the air is thick with dust, making you sneeze and almost blow your candles out. a breeze comes through the open door, and the flames flicker and go out.

suddenly you get a very, very bad feeling.

“who are you?” comes an accented voice, and you jump, whirling and feeling your skirts swish against your heeled boots as you look up to the top of the massive staircase.

the man is dressed immaculately in a cravat, a pristine white long-sleeved shirt with puffy sleeves, a wine-red vest, and slim trousers that hug his legs all the way down to his shined shoes. his hair is a dark chocolate brown, and his eyes are that glowing golden color.

the eyes from before.

“i did knock,” you say hastily, and he scoffs,

“i heard you. now who are you?” is all he says in return, and you spin on a heel, dropping the candelabra and sprinting for the door.

only for it to slam shut, leaving you beating against the wood.

“let me out!” you shriek and turn back to face the man. he’s descended the stairs now and is but a few paces away. somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize he’s beautiful. with porcelain skin and two beauty marks dotting his cheeks. his eyes aren’t exactly gold, but a pretty amber that seemingly glows gold with unnatural power.

“no, i don’t think i will. what is your name?” he says, and you swallow as he gets closer, stuttering out your name.

but there’s something on his face that you can’t quite define.

“what are you going to do to me?” you whisper, and he tilts his head,

“that i am not sure of yet. but seeing as you trespassed on my property, i think i’ll figure out something,” he says and reaches for your throat.

only to recoil with a cry of pain and clutching his steaming hand.

you look down to see your silver necklace in the shape of a cross steaming as well. you weren’t particularly religious, but it was given to you by your father on his deathbed, and you had promised never to take it off.

it looks like even now; he’s watching over you.

but then the dots connect, and everything makes sense.

“are you a vampire?” you ask, and he glares with bared teeth. the sharpened incisors are proof of your claim.

but instead of fear, you feel curious.

but you don’t get the chance to ask any more questions as he turns and disappears without another word. literally, one second, he’s there, and the next, he’s simply gone in a wisp of the wind. mysteriously, the door opens, and you are let out without any more trouble. you all but run to the steel gates but turn back at the last second.

and see the man in the window, watching you as you scurry away like a mouse running from a cat.

as soon as you get home, the sun begins to rise, and your mother descends on you like the worried parent she is.

“where were you?! i was worried sick!” she all but shouts, and you flinch at the noise. you had scarcely opened the door when she had been up from her chair and across the dirt floor to grasp your elbows, scanning you up and down for any injuries.

which save for a minor burn mark against your skin from the necklace; you are just covered in dirt and minor scratches from running through the brush surrounding the mansion.

“i’m fine mother, i just went on a walk to the mansion up on the hill,” you say and realize quickly it was a mistake.

her face morphs into one of terror and anger. her grip on your arms loosens, and she frantically holds your face in her calloused hands. they’re worn with years of washing laundry in lye. she was a servant in baron silco’s estate as a laundry maid. you were a seamstress and tailoress who made clothing for noblemen and women who traveled through baron silco’s land.

but your job was beside the point. your mother looked like she was about to pass out from fear.

“you know that a monster haunts the mansion! you mustn't go up there ever again! promise me!” she chastises, and you nod in a daze.

for some reason, you can’t get that man out of your head.

and realize why as you sew the clothing of a noblewoman named caitlyn kiramman.

he looked old and lonely and oh so sad.

you resolve to yourself that you are going to visit again and try not to get killed.

you manage to sneak out a week later when your mother is fast asleep. it’s always been just the two of you ever since your father died, so at least you don’t have to worry about siblings or grandparents like many of the other peasants in your village. the trek up to the mansion is shorter than you remember, the worn dirt leading the way as your eyes adjust in the bright moonlight.

again, the door is unlocked, and the windows are empty. you ease it open, wincing at the squealing hinges echoing into the night. if he didn’t know you were coming, he certainly did now.

he’s waiting for you at the top of the stairs. his eyes widen almost imperceptibly when he recognizes it’s you.

“what are you doing here? here to kill me?” he asks, and you stop in your tracks.

“what? no! i’m here… well… i’m here because you looked sad.” you say, trailing off at the end, realizing how ridiculous you sounded. your skirts are clenched in your fists, and your apron is rough against your fingertips.

“you’re here… because i looked… sad?” his tone is colored with shades of confusion and curiosity. but he didn’t seem angry, and that was good. so you nod,

“it sounds stupid i know—”

“it is stupid. leave now,” the man commands, and you freeze at the commanding tone in his voice. it booms through the large room, making you feel as small as a dust mite in his presence. he turns to ascend the rest of the stairs toward one of the mansion’s many corridors, and you panic. you didn’t want to come all this way for nothing.

“wait!” you cry and hurry up the steps after him, hiking your skirts up and scurrying up the stairs after the retreating man. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, if anything, he speeds up slightly. the halls are dark and filled with more cobwebs, but you find as you get closer to the heart of the mansion, they grow less prominent, and the torches are actually lit. the man shuts a door behind him, and you open it before he can lock it.

“i just want to talk!” you say, and he turns to look at you. before he can say anything, you get a good look around the room.

it’s lit by oil lamps and candelabras. papers are strewn about between two desks, and they’re also covered in various gears and gadgets. you spy a few handkerchiefs covered in grease in under a few papers. a bed is in the corner and neatly made blood-red bedsheets are spread over the mattress. it looks comfier than anything you have ever seen.

abruptly, you realize he’s started talking.

“—want you to leave,” he says curtly, and you bite your cheek.

“aren’t you lonely?” you ask quietly, and he freezes, his back to you.

you seize your chance and ask another question,

“what’s your name?” you ask, and he turns his head slightly, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“it’s viktor.”

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #viktor arcane x y/n #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #arcane viktor x y/n #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane x reader #female reader #reader insert #arcane fanfic #fairy writes #cryptid!viktor

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vamp-domme · 4 months

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Choose Your Own Gothic Horror Adventure, Part XIII

You turn down the hall and head for the office, trying to move as quietly as you can. You try the door, and find the old, brass handle agreeable, opening the door with a dense click.

Inside, barely discernible in the torchlight, you can see a small room, a heavy desk at its other end, the surface covered in dusty ledgers, a ring of keys hanging on a hook behind it, next to a painting you cant make out, save for the image of a demon crouching over what appears to be a weeping woman. On the right hand wall is a large wardrobe, its handles shaped like crouching gargoyles, while on the left countless torture implements hang on the walls. You espy several riding crops, some ending in cruel, downward-pointing spikes, whips and flails ending in cruel barbs, along with rods and iron pokers, some stained with blood. You shudder at the thought of how long some of these tools have been used at this purpose, your mind thinking of poor Olivia at their mercy.

Hearing the footsteps grow closer, you carefully open the wardrobe and slip inside. Hanging within are a number of aprons, thick affairs heavy with the scent of musk and blood. You press between them, coarse leather wrapped around you as you do your best to still your breathing.

You hear a sigh, almost like a deep intake of breath.

"Stand up." Lady Midnight's voice is cold as ice, same as it was with Mathilda.

You hear a deep, wracking sob in reply.

"Who else?"

"There was no one!" Olivia's voice breaks under the weight of her confession, trying to hold back the tears you know she wants to shed.

"I have been gentle with you, because I am aware just how fragile you are," Lady Midnight replies. "But that ends tonight."

"Please! I was scared, I didn't know what to do! I would never hurt you!"

Lady Midnight sighs. "Such a waste of good blood."

You hear the sound of heels clicking on stone as the door to the office opens. You clap your hands to your mouth, your breath hitching in your chest.

She walks slowly into the room, and you can see her shadow pass by the crack in the dresser doors. You feel your heart thud in your chest, realizing where you are, where she is, and the absolute horror of what could happen to you.

Lady Midnight runs her fingers across a cruel whip coiled on one of the wall hooks, hooked barbs pitted along its length, metal glinting in the torchlight.

She takes the whip off the wall, coiling it in her hands. "Do you recall the tenets of Castle Midnight?"

"Treat well your siblings, and serve your betters!" Olivia's voice rings out, hoarse from sobbing but positively electric with hope, and the desire to please her Mistress.

"Remain within the grounds unless given leave!" She stammers slightly, tripping over her words with all the grace of a child learning to waltz. You feel your lungs beginning to cry out for lack of air.

"Treat the castle's secrets as your own! Do not pry, nor reveal!" Olivia's words fall out of her mouth like a torrent. You bite down harder, forcing yourself not to breathe, not to move.

"Bleed for your Mistress!" You hear the bars rattle as Olivia presses against them, manic in her desire to please the woman holding her life, delicate and fragile, within her hands. You feel yourself growing lightheaded as your body screams for air, Lady Midnight still standing in the office, whip in hand, her piercing gaze barely visible through the tiny slit which you see the world. One more moment and she'll leave, you think, you hope, you pray.

"I was not asking you."

She turns, and in one fluid motion opens the wardrobe.

"Collaborator." Her hand closes around your throat like an iron vice, dragging you out from within. "Someone has been prying where they ought not be. "Did you think I couldn't hear your heart beating?"

She places the whip back on the rack, grabbing the key ring from the wall, ignoring your struggling hands grasping at her, the cold leather of her gloves pressing into your throat. Stars dance at the edge of your vision, and you cannot seem to blink them back. Dimly, you realize she is dragging you back out to the cells.

"You sent them within to break you free, didn't you?" Lady Midnight's voice sounds distant, so far away you can barely catch it. You hear Olivia shout something back, but it's just a toneless buzzing in your ears. Somewhere behind you, a cell door squeals open, and suddenly you are inside, your breath coming in strangled gasps. The door slams closed, and in front of it, inside it, with you - stands Lady Midnight, her eyes cold fire, muscles taut, fangs prepared to strike.

"That one will not admit her conspiracy," she says, flicking a finger toward Olivia. "But now... I have a new wretch to break."

THE END

Previous entries:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX

Part X

Part XI

Part XII

#vampirecore #cyogha #my post

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2btheanswertothequestion · 10 months

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Hobie Brown can fall asleep anywhere.

This is something they all find out within weeks of knowing him. And it's not just anywhere, but also at any time and in any place, and even in any position. Be it in an alleyway at dusk, tires screeching and horns blaring nearby, or on a rooftop at dawn, the emerging sunrays prickling their eyes; be it while sitting or standing or perched against a wall, Hobie can and likely will fall asleep.

(And that is against the wall, by the way. Not on top of it – against it vertically, his spider powers keeping his feet and back stuck to the brick like a gargoyle.

Miles has only seen that particular position once, but it'll rent a space in his mind forever. Hobie had been completely silent and still, his slackened jaw and deep breaths the only hints of his unwakefulness.

It hadn't lasted long, a noise in the distance soon waking him up, his head snapping toward it as he blinked the bleariness from his eyes. Miles was as awed as he was annoyed with how impressive it looked.)

So, yes. They've all seen Hobie sleep, though never deeply or for long.

Until now.

They didn't notice it right away, because it started as subtly and silently as always. Also, they have a pretty good movie playing and several bowls of snacks to gorge on. That's why it takes a soft snore for them to realize Hobie is sprawled out on the couch behind them, fast asleep. He's too big to fit, his feet hanging out past the armrest and one arm dangling over the edge, his hand resting on the carpet. His mouth is wide open, drool pooling in the folds of the throw pillow next to his cheek, which is pressed against the patterned fabric – he's going to wake up with lines all over his face.

The three of them share an amused look; Pavitr giggles and Gwen coos, only slightly condescendingly. Then they turn back to the movie, intending to let Hobie sleep. None of them want to sit on the couch anyway, and the snores aren't loud enough to be a bother.

At least, not at first. At first, they're but gentle kitten snores mixed with the occasional grumble. But then the volume increases.

And increases.

Soon, they may as well have a chainsaw felling trees behind them. They turn around again, incredulous. Hobie is as peaceful as when they last looked, the size of the drool puddle the only change. And, of course, the snoring. It rumbles, it roars, it rattles the windows.

One particularly loud snort has Pavitr guffawing; he smacks a hand to his mouth while Miles and Gwen shush him. Hobie remains undisturbed. Apparently, faint back alley noises wake him but loud laughter doesn't.

(Pav's laughter doesn't.)

They catch each other's eyes, crinkling at the corners, and come to a silent agreement. Hobie's thundering drowns out even the action scenes and it is way past midnight; they turn off the TV. Pavitr climbs up first, wedging himself between Hobie and the couch's backrest, sort of spooning Hobie from the side. Hobie doesn't react, so Gwen goes next. She plops on top of him, putting her head between his shoulder blades and gripping the sleeves of his t-shirt. Pavitr tangles their legs together and slings his arm over Gwen's back, connecting them like a weighted blanket around Hobie. They whisper and titter before settling.

Miles stays on the floor, scooting over to where Hobie's head rests. He curls up and leans against the couch, his and Hobie's faces inches apart, and holy cow. The noise. It sends tremors through him! Miles isn't like Hobie – he needs a semblance of quiet to rest. He can't possibly fall asleep like this.

He reaches for Hobie's hand on the carpet; grabs it. Hobie's fingers curl into Mile's palm. The nails are short ("better for fretting," Hobie once told him) and the pads are calloused.

Miles laces their fingers together and closes his eyes.

#this was inspired by a headcanon post that I can't seem to find again #first thing I finish in weeks and it's not even st #I doubt I'll write anything else for this fandom so if you follow me for something else – don't worry #if you want to follow me for more of this – maybe don't #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #hobie brown #miles morales #pavitr prabhakar #gwen stacy #my writing

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dailyadventureprompts · 2 years

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Dungeon: The Flooded Foundations

One never knows what they’ll find once they peer beneath the surface

Hooks:

While hanging out around the lake, either on their way to some other adventure or for some well deserved rest, the party spots a crumbling structure out on the water. Scaring up a small boat and Letting curiosity take them where it may, the party paddle out to discover that though the structure’s outer edifice is liable to fall into the water any minute, the central stone construction is both sturdy and far, far larger than first expected.

The party is in need of a saint’s relic, a staff wielded by a holywoman said to have been lost at the site of a temple “ In the battle of the lake”, most serious scholars will point out the fact that wherever the temple was, it was lost long ago, but careful research will reveal survey maps from the old kingdom which shows not only the temple’s existence, but that the lake it once bordered has migrated several miles in reference to nearby landmarks. A cargotrapher’s mystery if ever there was one.

It seemed like an easy monster hunt at first, track down the chimera that was rampaging through the riverlands and bring its head(s) back to the marquess as proof. When their quarry breaks free however and starts a desperate flight for safety, the party must engage in a frantic chase before the chimera manages to give them the slip and lick its wounds. What a surprise then when the beast drops from the sky, exhausted from its wounds, and ends up striking an old ruined tower and getting buried in the rubble

Setup: What appears to at first be little more than a tumbledown tower in the centre of a lake is in fact the remnant of an ancient temple, lost beneath the waters after a battle with a primordial elemental but saved from complete destruction by the lingering effects of a divine miracle.

After venturing down what was once the temple’s central spire, the party find themselves in a network of vaulted halls and holy chambers that have been long abandoned to time and neglect. The faltering nature of the miracle means that while the central chambers merely have water flowing through them, others are half flooded, while some especially in the lower chambers are completely submerged. What’s more, these rooms exist in a crude and chaotic patchwrok, with some bone-dry hallways cut off with walls of standing water, while progress between un-flooded levels might require holding one’s breath while traversing the intermediate floor. It is a glorious and surreal gauntlet where treasures and holy relics wait for those with hearts brave enough and lungs strong enough to claim them.

Challenges & Complications

The most obvious hurdle the party needs to cross is the water, which seals off much of the temple’s lower levels. Unless the party has a means of breathing water they’ll need to take things slow, scouting out dark, flooded chambers and mapping which paths have airbubbles and which are fit only for the drowned. In this way the temple is two dungeons in one, the hollow airspace at its core to be explored by a lower level party, and the watery labyrinth to be returned to a party with more means of traversing the blocked off chambers.

A strange mix of inhabitants fill this dungeon, ranging from riverlife that’s managed to find a home in the once sanctified grottoes to those holy protectors unable to escape during the temple’s evacuation. Giant watersnails, the drowned revenants of priests, the occasional bullywug, and some gargoyles who breathlessly still patroll their now sunken home. Strangest of all these guardians is a rogue celestial that’s taken up stewardship of the now abandoned altars and the secondhand faith that lingers there. Convinced of it’s duty to “morally inform” the temple’s inhabitants, this sodden angel has begun inducting the remnants and the bottomfeeders into a cult, instructing them in a crude set of ethics that it hopes will elevate their spirits to a state of grace. This wouldn’t be so bad, save for several of the precepts of this bastard’s philosophy require the forceful capture and induction of other sentient creatures, like the party themselves.

At the base of the temple, locked away in its own air pocket there is a corpse in priest’s robes mummified with age, sat in the centre of a mosaic floor, it rests on its knees in prayer hands holding a staff of gold-flecked wood shoved so violently into the ground beneath that it’s sent cracks throughout the entire chamber. This is the saint that the party might’ve come looking for, and in her hands is the relic, channelling the miracle of her divine patron and holding the waters back. It’d take a tremendous strength to remove the artifact, or breaking a handful the load-bearing altars scattered throughout the temple that act to reinforce her postmortem casting, though that would doubtlessly bring the lake crashing down upon their heads and finally collapse the temple in the process. Worse yet, removing the relic might free the angry elemental it’s held at bay for so long, unleashing a new threat upon the waterways.

#temple #dungeon #river #dungeon delve #cleric #treasure hunt #monster hunt #exploration #dare #undead #celestial #low level #mid level #mountain #highlands

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