18+ only. Minors DNI. Clover Down. she/her. Writing fanfics on ao3 and sharing some own work free here. I also publish my own romance novellas. Recovering wallflower. Aspiring space pirate. I love prompts so feel free to ask!
Adult stuff. Between the angst, violence, and steam, just always assume what I’m writing is adult stuff. Feel free to check the tags, even on the novellas!
My fics over on AO3. Mostly Redacted ASMR, 19 Days, and Old Guard, along with some older Covenant and Nightwing fics.
My novellas on amazon and smashwords, equally romantic and prone to hurt/comfort. I’ve got some contemporary and some sci-fi because I can’t resist a little ride or die in space.
Goodreads.
The audioscripts: Slasher 101, Car Crash Meet Cute, First Tattoo, Stardust and Cosmic
House of Teeth Series - Modern Fantasy Romances
Ruby and the Wolf. Ruby/Liang - short story. published
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He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, turning his head just a little.
There.
Her heart beat against his senses, fluttering in his chest alongside his own heart. She was holding her breath. Hoping he hadn’t noticed her?
Ever opened his eyes, the shadowy silhouette of her in the far corner of his vision, almost behind him and almost to the cabin. She had made it far without him sensing her. That should have been more disturbing than exhilarating.
And then, like a spooked deer, she ran, and it took everything he had not to turn and chase her—not to at least get a look at her.
Her heart pounded in his skull and her fear thinned the air.
It was her fear above all else that kept Ever planted where he was, back to the house while the porch creaked. The door pulled open and then slammed shut.
She was afraid of being seen and he didn’t have the heart to look.
A latch flicked into place. Had his father installed that when they built the house? Maybe… Likely. She was all alone in the woods. The least they could do was give her some flimsy lock.
Ever turned when she was securely inside and let his gaze fall on the front of her cabin. “I don’t suppose you know something about that shadow that came out of the woods?” he called conversationally, surprising even himself. He hadn’t tried to talk to her in over sixteen years—not since before the blood fever that almost killed Sunny.
The house didn’t answer, but he knew she was listening.
He picked up another piece of wood and settled it on the stump. “It’s interesting how they never seem to come around your meadow…” he continued.
He lifted the axe and brought it down with a satisfying crack.
He tossed the smaller piece to the side, into the growing pile, and took another swing at the larger piece. She might not talk to him, but he could keep talking to her.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, turning his head just a little.
There.
Her heart beat against his senses, fluttering in his chest alongside his own heart. She was holding her breath. Hoping he hadn’t noticed her?
Ever opened his eyes, the shadowy silhouette of her in the far corner of his vision, almost behind him and almost to the cabin. She had made it far without him sensing her. That should have been more disturbing than exhilarating.
And then, like a spooked deer, she ran, and it took everything he had not to turn and chase her—not to at least get a look at her.
Her heart pounded in his skull and her fear thinned the air.
It was her fear above all else that kept Ever planted where he was, back to the house while the porch creaked. The door pulled open and then slammed shut.
She was afraid of being seen and he didn’t have the heart to look.
A latch flicked into place. Had his father installed that when they built the house? Maybe… Likely. She was all alone in the woods. The least they could do was give her some flimsy lock.
Ever turned when she was securely inside and let his gaze fall on the front of her cabin. “I don’t suppose you know something about that shadow that came out of the woods?” he called conversationally, surprising even himself. He hadn’t tried to talk to her in over sixteen years—not since before the blood fever that almost killed Sunny.
The house didn’t answer, but he knew she was listening.
He picked up another piece of wood and settled it on the stump. “It’s interesting how they never seem to come around your meadow…” he continued.
He lifted the axe and brought it down with a satisfying crack.
He tossed the smaller piece to the side, into the growing pile, and took another swing at the larger piece. She might not talk to him, but he could keep talking to her.
Felix practically held his breath from the moment he walked away from her on the couch, until he was in the hallway, closing her front door behind him.
He exhaled hard, giving himself a second to just lean back against that door and collect himself.
Not having sex right now had been the right choice, he had no doubts about that, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard to walk away. Eyes closed, he reveled in what just happened. He sucked his lower lip, imagining that he could still taste her there. The feel of her skin was scorched into his memory forever, her gasps, her moans, the way her fingers curled in his hair…
Felix pushed off the door and opened his eyes, actually shaking his head to cast those thoughts away. He was already hard. He needed to calm the fuck down.
Pulling on his hoodie, he gave her door a quick check. Locked.
It was nice, this illusion of security in this place. It wasn’t nothing. It was like bike gear–it would protect against blunt trauma but it wouldn’t stop a bullet. With the way Vera had been worried today, he wondered if it was enough.
That thought was enough to dampen his lust.
He noted the security cameras, the subtly placed one in the hallway, focused on the elevator, and then the individual ones angled from the corner of each apartment door. There were only four on this level. Jesus, this place must cost a fortune.
He walked over to the elevator but passed it, going for the stairwell instead. His gaze dragged down the long hallway around the corner, spotting what he suspected was the subtly placed service door. They had to have a different way for cleaners and movers to get up to these floors. He’d put money on there being another elevator back there.
There was always a service entrance in a place like this. No one who paid what these people paid in rent wanted to wait on the elevator while someone else moved boxes.
He took the stairs down. There were cameras in the stairwell too.
It was a good set up, but it wasn’t perfect. Nothing was perfect.
When he stepped out onto the lobby floor, the doorman was waiting. Felix couldn’t tell if the guy was disapproving or just suspicious of him. He flashed him a smile all the same, twirling his keys on his finger and walking out the front door.
It wasn’t even ten in the morning yet. He could pick up donuts and still shock Pearl with how early he would be rolling into the shop today.
He unlocked the truck on his way to it, but slowed down when he neared. The nerves on the back of his neck tightened with that sense of being watched. He glanced around as subtly as he could, and then outright when all he saw was an old woman walking her tiny dog and a family making their way into the park across the street.
Felix lingered beside the vehicle for another few seconds.
He clocked another jogger in the park and a couple of cyclists.
If he was being honest, he’d had that being watched feeling a lot the last couple of days. Vera having a legitimate reason to be nervous was probably just spiking his own paranoia.
Felix flicked the keys in his hand again. There was no one lurking or even sitting in any of the parked cars to watch the building. He laughed at himself and got into the truck, heading to work.
-
Vera had slept until nearly four in the afternoon. She woke up more naked than not and definitely in a better mood than she had any right to.
Getting dressed, she replied to a few texts and called Philippa.
Her best friend answered on the second ring, sounding a little out of breath.
Vera smiled. “Are you at the gym or fucking?”
Philippa worked on catching her breath on the other end of the line. “I can fuck at the gym, Vera. Don’t be ridiculous.”
She laughed, putting her phone on speaker and on the bathroom counter. “My apologies. You want me to call back?”
“No.”
Gym.
“You made it home.”
“I did.”
“You sound good.”
“I feel good.”
“But you’re home early,” she prompted. She knew something had gone wrong.
“How much do you want to know?” Vera asked, brushing out her hair.
“As your friend or as your attorney?” she asked, rustling on her side suggesting she was either still on the treadmill or heading to the locker rooms.
“You’ve never been my lawyer,” she reminded.
“Then tell me everything.”
For a few seconds she didn’t. It always took a moment to convince herself to give up that information, like she needed to double check this was someone she trusted first. “Mr. Hunt found me.”
Philippa’s side went quiet, like she’d stopped moving.
“I’m okay. He just wanted to scare me. He wants another piece…”
“Do you have what he wants?”
“I’m not brokering anything for him,” Vera hissed, putting her hairbrush down.
“So you do.”
Vera didn’t answer.
“How hard was he trying to scare you?”
Vera’s fingers paused in her hair, her reflection meeting her gaze. “For him? Minimally.” She was in one piece. No one had hit her or dangled her off a rooftop. She was fine. Really, she was probably making too big a deal out of it. She had literally fled to the other side of the country. He’d forget about her in a day.
But what if he didn’t?
“Do you have the painting he wants?” Philippa asked again, her tone casual like they were talking about borrowing a bag.
“Yes.”
“Good. If he shows up you have options.”
Vera exhaled a laugh. “And what are my options, counselor?”
Philippa was moving again. The familiar blip of her wristband opening her locker sounded off on the other end of the call. “As your friend, I would suggest selling him the painting. If you really wanted to, you could insist that you don’t have it and can’t get it. Maybe he’ll accept that, but it doesn’t sound like it worked in New Dinah.”
“Any other options?”
“As your friend?”
“Yes.”
“If I’m thinking purely of you–I’d suggest you run if he shows up. Cross an ocean and change your name again. But if I was being selfish?”
Vera held her breath, looking at herself in the mirror when Philippa spoke.
“If that fucker shows up again and presses you? Kill him. Buy a gun and call it self defense.”
Vera exhaled.
For a minute they just sat there on the phone together. Vera didn’t know what she’d done to deserve finding Philippa. She understood parts of her that it felt like no one ever should or could without even seeming to try. “You work for too many criminals,” she chided softly.
Philippa smiled around the other end, “Allegedly.”
“If I get caught, would you be my lawyer then?”
“You would never get caught.”
Vera scrubbed a hand over her face. “I got arrested before…”
She huffed on her end of the call. “That’s because you were set up. If you’d wanted to steal from that museum, no one would have ever realized it was you.”
“I can’t decide if this is the worst or best pep talk, Philippa…”
After a beat, they both said at the same time, “Best.”
Vera turned and moved back through her bedroom. “Are you coming over tonight?”
“Yeah. I’ll pick up dinner from that Italian place you can’t go to anymore.”
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tw: reference to domestic violence, aftermath of violence, drunk idiots, bffs
Practice Makes Perfect - 17
Asher had Darlin by the wrist as soon as they were in the apartment, hauling them toward the bathroom. “Start the waffles!” He pointed back at David who flipped him off but went into the kitchen.
“Why are we going away from the waffles?” Darlin asked, still drunk.
“Your shirt is wrecked. We're cleaning up.” Chances were good if they settled into the living room to eat waffles they'd end up passing out there. Best to clean up and change clothes first.
He pushed into the bathroom and turned Darlin to lean against the counter. “I’m sorry I knocked you over,” Asher said, grabbing a washcloth and getting it wet.
Darlin sat on the counter. “I think I knocked you over.”
“No you didn't.” Asher pulled their shirt up, deciding to clean Darlin up first and then himself. Darlin lifted their arms, the one on their hurt side only going halfway up. Asher was careful getting the shirt off and then tossed it into the corner near the tub.
Darlin frowned down at themself, sticky with bloodsmears but for the area around the bandaged wound the paramedic had cleaned up. “Should I just get in the shower?”
“And fuck up the patch job?” Asher was aghast. He turned on the sink and let the water warm up before soaking the washcloth. They cleaned Darlin up, quickly earning a drink smile and a couple remarks about spongebaths.
Asher was extra careful on the side around the injury, not that Darlin winced or complained.
“So, you know the hot paramedic?”
Asher blinked and then smiled. “Yeah, kinda. I mean we met once.”
“A one night stand?”
Asher snorted, moving to their other side. He was about to reply when he noticed that deep bruises splotching their ribs. They were sallow, not unlike that bruise under their eye. He pretended not to notice, to buy himself a little more time to look at them and figure out what to say. He cleaned their arm from shoulder to wrist and then their hand and fingers–looking at the scabs on their knuckles. Darlin always fought back.
Asher wasn’t new to fights or bruises. This looked like someone had jabbed a couple punches into their side. The only problem was, he hadn’t heard about Darlin getting into any fights recently. Since when did Darlin hide fights from them? They were usually with them.
He was about to ask outright, when he saw it. His gaze slid past their shoulder, landing on their reflection in the mirror. More bruises on their back and there, between their shoulder and their neck, was a nasty looking bite. It had broken skin. “Darlin…” He curled a hand around the back of their neck, pulling them forward into him to get a look at the injury. “What the actual fuck–”
Darlin tensed and jerked back, but he could still see it in the mirror. “It’s nothing.”
“Who did that?”
Darlin’s face screwed up. They took the washcloth from him and gave their face a scrub before tossing it into the corner with the ruined shirt. “I’mma borrow something from David’s room…” they trailed, going for the open doorway.
Asher caught their arm. “Tell me who,” he said.
Darlin wrinkled their nose. “Drop it. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“It was a one time thing.”
“What was the thing?” Asher’s heart squeezed.
Darlin hesitated, the answer seemingly caught in their throat.
Asher waited.
“It was just a fight.”
Asher wasn’t sure he believed that. “With your roommate?”
Darlin sucked air through their teeth and shook off his hold. “Seriously? Don’t worry about it.” They crossed the hall for David’s room.
“Are you shitting me? Someone bit you!” He followed, looking at that damn bite. If it wasn’t for the bruises, he might have been able to consider this was some sort of roleplay that had gotten out of hand. He could even back off if Darlin said it was what they were into and not his business…but they’d clearly been beaten up.
“Fucking shut up before–”
“What are you talking about?” David was down the hall, brow creased when he followed them into his own room.
“Was it the roommate?” Asher pressed again, attention fixed on Darlin.
Darlin turned around to face them both. “Back off!” Asher was having flashback to when they were teens–and when Darlin had tried to hide that their dad had been knocking them around.
David groaned. “Jesus. You’re both drunk. Calm down and–” He must have noticed the bruises too because his words cut off and Asher could feel his peace-keeper mode snap over to protective. “What happened?”
Darlin rolled their eyes but they were glassy now, looking anywhere but at the two of them.
Asher realized then that they were between Darlin and the exit. It hadn’t been his plan, but he’d cornered them. Swearing under his breath, Ash moved forward, opening a drawer and pulling out a piece of clothing. He slammed it shut and held the shirt out.
Darlin took it, pulling it on.
“The roommate?” he asked again, almost a whisper but plenty loud in the hush of that room.
Darlin’s jaw ticked but they didn’t say anything. They never did. They never had to.
Asher waited until they finally met his gaze. “We’ll get your stuff tomorrow.” And they would talk about this more when they were both sober.
Darlin looked away again. “I can get my own–”
“We’ll get your stuff tomorrow,” Asher said again. “But tonight we’ll eat waffles until you barf and then camp out in the living room.”
Darlin tried to cross their arms only to remember they had fresh stitches in their side and wince. “Fuck…”
“Yeah.” Asher turned, leading the way back out of the room past David and into the bathroom to clean up. He was trying real hard not to think about teeth in Darlin’s skin and how that could have happened and why Darlin hadn’t told them.
-
Darlin scrubbed a hand over their face, still feeling numb and tipsy, but also warm and overwhelmed.
Asher knew and now David knew.
“I can just crash on the couch and you guys–” they said, shame creeping up to choke them just like always.
David frowned. “Why would you get the couch? We pull the cushions off and make a pile on the floor…”
Like always. Like they’d been doing since they were in highschool. Darlin looked away again, feeling raw. Why were they always in the worst situations? “I’m so–”
“Don’t.” David shook his head. “If you’re sorry your roommate is an asshole, then I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”
Their face pinched. “That doesn’t even make sense. It’s not your responsibility–”
“It’s not yours either.” David took a step closer and reached out, his hand curling around the back of their neck to pull them in. Their heads thumped together once and then his arm slung over their shoulder, leading them out of the room and down the hall. “Whatever is happening, it’s going to be okay.”
Darlin raised a curious eyebrow. “You’re drunk…”
He raised an eyebrow and looked back at them. “Am I?”
Fuck. He was such a good drunk they couldn’t tell.
David let them go when they reached the living room. He pointed at the couch and chairs. “You’re on fort duty while I make pancakes.”
“Waffles!” Asher called from the open bathroom.
Darlin sighed, grateful for the liquor still swimming in their veins, the promise of carbs and sugar, and their friends. They were also really grateful not to have to go back to that apartment tonight. Quinn was scary and Darlin was way too soft when tipsy to deal with that.
I’m never gonna be rid of her! Never gonna get her teeth out of my skin!
Sam & Darlin' // angst // 2.5k words
(TW: nonconsensual turning and feeding, violence/assault, blood/gore, self harm, panic attack, nightmare, PTSD/flashbacks, car accident)
(I hc Tank with a stutter. You can read more abt that here and at the end of this post.)
——————————————
His vision has blacked out from the blood loss, but he can still hear her muffled voice:
“Drink.”
Fingers wrench open his teeth like unforgiving jaws of life, fracturing the bones of his face in the process. His pained moans of protest, gargled by the trance, are smothered as she pushes the fresh gash on her wrist to his mouth. Scalding blood gushes down his throat and he has no choice but to follow her command.
He swallows. The blood is sharp with desperation. Her desperation. Sam manages to gag at the realization—he can taste her emotions through her blood.
Any fight he has left dissipates.
He’d been clinging onto the slimmest of hopes that it wouldn’t happen. That a stranger would pull over and help. That he’d die before the turning took hold. That Alexis would take pity on him and stop.
It’s too late for any of that now.
This is worse than dying. His body feeds drinks out of his control with a voraciousness he’s never known. He’s trapped between her and the door in his side as her blood ravages through his body like molten metal. He writhes soundlessly, his core contorting into something horrifying. Something jagged and freezing and ravenous.
Suddenly, the blood thins and changes flavor. He still can’t see, but he recognizes the taste of Fredrick, bitter with dread and determination. Sam’s draining him and it makes him sick to his stomach with how natural it feels, how his body knows just how to do it. He knows it’s what Fredrick wants, but it feels so wrong, so disgustingly wrong.
The blood changes again and now it’s Darlin’s tang on his tongue—acrid with terror. Sam screams into their skin, trying to pry himself off but he can’t. Stricken, he wonders if it’s really because he can’t or because he won’t. Why won’t he just stop? He feeds and feeds and feeds, tearing the life from their body like the monster he is, and oh, doesn’t he just love the rush their blood brings—
Sam’s eyes snap open.
It’s not as dark as before. There’s a soft glow to his right.
He looks over, heartbeat hammering in his head.
It’s a moon-shaped night light plugged into the wall.
The wall.
His wall.
He’s at home.
There’s no blood, no blaring car alarm, no grating whispers in his ear to ‘hold still’. Everything is calm and safe.
Still, his heart is thumping like he’s hunting being hunted, so he untangles himself from his blankets and scrambles out of his bedroom.
The old hardwood awakes in creaks under his weight as he barrels downstairs. He briefly considers grabbing his boots but decides against it. His hands are shaking so bad, he’s not sure he’d manage to get them on. Besides, it’ll feel good to run barefoot through the soft grass. That’s all he needs, a wide open space to sprint through until he calms the fuck down.
He yanks open the front door and stumbles back as bright light floods his vision.
“Damn it!” he shouts as he blindly slams the door shut, stomach turning and head reeling from the indirect, mid-day sunlight.
His breathing picks up. He can’t get out. He’s trapped, unable to even leave his house and go on a damn run to clear his head. Panic tightens around his neck like an invisible hand that feels like Alexis’s.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it” he gasps, nails scraping at his throat. His feet carry him mindlessly through the house, searching for a way out. He tries to remind himself that he’s home, but his body is caught in a memory, interpreting everything as if it is happening again. The nausea inching up his throat isn’t from a bad dream but from blood loss. His vision is spinning, not from the sun, but from hitting his head on the steering wheel. And the walls of his home are closing in like the door of his old truck…
Racing into the living room—the largest room in the house—Sam begins frantically shoving the furniture away. He just needs space. Enough space to let his lungs expand. His chest aches, like there’s a knee pressing into the middle of his sternum. Alexis’s knee.
He shoves the side table into a corner, knocking the lamp on top of it to the ground. The sound of it shattering sends Sam collapsing to the floor in fear. His skin convinces him there’s shards of the lamp in his side and he tears his sleep shirt off.
There’s no blood, nothing broken or pierced, but he can feel it cleaving into his abdomen. Right there. It’s right there! Fuck! Why can he feel it if it’s not happening?!? He’s there, he’s in the car, and the door is in him, if he could just get it out! and he has the magic to do it but her teeth are already sinking in and he can’t and his ears are ringing and his heart is pounding and the room is spinning and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe! and he knows he doesn’t actually need to and he doesn’t know what’s worse, not being able to breathe or knowing why he doesn’t need to in the first place, and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe and he can’t think, can’t stop, can’t breathe, can’t do anything, anything! as he cowers on his knees—paralyzed like he’s been tranced.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Darlin’ pulls up to the house, parking their bike next to Sam’s truck. Their tired hands fish out their keys as they trudge up the porch steps. Work was mind-numbingly frustrating, but with just a few dozen more steps they can sink into bed next to their mate and pass out. Darlin’ eases the heavy oak door open and steps silently inside, locking the door behind them. They shuck off their helmet, riding jacket, and gloves before finally slipping out of their work boots.
The thick blackout curtains are all drawn per usual, leaving the house in pitch darkness. Darlin’ doesn’t mind. They shift just enough to increase their night vision and move towards the stairs with ease.
They’ve made it a few steps up when something stops them in their tracks. There’s a sound, strange and harsh, coming from deeper in the house. They creep back down the stairs and follow it through the hallway toward the living room. As they draw closer, the sound clarifies into something more discernible: breathing. Fast breathing. Terribly fast breathing.
The end of the hallway is blocked by an overturned armchair. Darlin' moves to climb over it but stops abruptly at the state of the living room beyond.
The stench of fear and sweat stifles the space like a ghost. Every piece of furniture has been slammed against the walls, deep gouges in the lacquered floor revealing the erratic paths they’d taken. Broken ceramic shards are scattered across the hardwood. And in the center of the cleared room is Sam, doubled over on his knees, his ripped blue sleep shirt balled up in his hands. The vibrations of his panicked core are like a live current in the air, making Darlin's hair stand on end. And the sound that led them there—it’s coming from him. Sam is breathing so fast Darlin’ can hardly distinguish one breath from the next, vampirism allowing his lungs to hyperventilate at a frightening speed.
Panic clambers up Darlin’s spine, but they chase it back down with a shudder. Taking a deep breath, they clamber over the armchair and crouch down at the edge of the room.
“SSam?” they ask, their voice quiet.
He flinches but otherwise leaves them unacknowledged.
“SSam, it’s okay. I’m here,” Darlin’ assures him softly. “WWhat's going on? WWhat do you nnneed?”
“…
…make it stop,” Sam gasps, “please.”
Eyes stinging at the broken plea, Darlin' rises slowly to their feet. “O-okay,” they say. “I’ll b-be right b-b-back. I p-promise.”
Darlin’ climbs back over the armchair and hurries down the hallway, mentally going over the grounding techniques their therapist has been trying to get them to do. Senses. They remember that senses help with panic attacks. Well, they hope it’s a panic attack and not some magical or vampiric affliction they know nothing about. Shit. They’re not a healer. What if they’re wrong? What if they make things worse? What if they—no. This is a panic attack. They’ve only ever seen Sam have one before this and it hadn’t been nearly as bad, but Darlin’ has had plenty of their own. If they’re wrong, they’ll deal with that then. But for now, this is a panic attack. Alright. Senses. Touch, taste, sight, sound, smell.
Smell. That seems the least invasive, the least overstimulating. They can work with that. They rush into the kitchen and grab a bag of coffee grounds, spilling some on themself in their haste as they head back to the living room.
“Hey, uh, I b-brought something that mmmight help,” they say as they climb back over the chair. “C-Can I t-t-touch?”
Sam’s muscles tighten as if he expects a fight, the sight of which rips a hole in Darlin’s heart. Only after the Inversion had they seen him so scared. Or so small. And even then…
They take his response as a no.
“Hey, hey, that’s okay. I’ll just mmmove this a b-b-bit c-closer,” they murmur, inching the bag of grounds across the floor, “b-but I wwwon’t t-touch.”
Darlin’ pushes the bag as close as it seems Sam will allow as he shrinks slightly away at the approaching sound. Sweat drips down his body. His skin interprets the feeling as blood. A strangled sound gurgles up his throat as he lets go of his torn shirt and frantically scrubs his hands over his face and chest. Darlin’ backs away at the sudden movement, controlling their own breathing to keep from panicking themself.
“SSam…SSam, it’s okay. You’re safe. Just…f-focus on wwhat you smell, okay?” Darlin’ says, “WWhat do you smell?”
Sam slams his hands on the ground, nails digging into the wood. He squeezes his eyes shut, desperately trying to focus on their words as pins and needles prickle through his heaving body. Darlin’ sounds like they’re underwater. What did they say? What can he...smell?
He can smell his own sickly sweat. He can smell Darlin’s anxiety, sour like battery acid. Like melting plastic. Like his truck burning. But he can…he can smell something…earthy? Warm. Something that tugs up memories like a blanket.
His breathing slows slightly. Cracking his eyes open, Sam spots the bag about a foot away. When he reaches for it, his shaking hand knocks it over, scattering the grounds across the floor. He grasps wildly at a handful, feels the familiar grit.
“There you - - go,” Darlin’ breathes, “just f-focus on that. You’re doing great, b-baby.”
Sam clenches the grounds in his hands. Between labored breaths, he rasps, “I had a nightmare.”
They wince. “I’m so sorry b-baby. Seems lllike it wwas a b-bad one.”
“Fuck! I’m never gonna be rid of her!” Sam cries, chest burning, “Never gonna get her teeth out of my skin!”
Darlin’s face hardens into something cold and dangerous. “- - Alexis,” they mutter, her name rancid in their mouth.
His head nods furiously. He begins to lose any small control he’d gained over his breathing as the words tumble out: “I was back there. It was happenin’ again. I couldn’t stop her. I tried and I couldn’t stop her and her blood was in my mouth and I couldn’t stop her and I couldn’t stop myself! I couldn’t stop and then it was Fredrick-it was Fredrick and I didn’t stop and then it was-it was you and I didn’t stop. I didn’t fuckin’ stop! I just kept feedin’ and feedin’ and I wouldn’t stop! Fuck! I-I can’t-I can’t-I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe. I can’t-fuck, it’s like I’m disappearin’. I can’t feel anything-it’s all-it’s all numb—Tank, please, I-I-I can’t stop-can’t-can’t—”
“T-T-Touch? C-Can I t-t-touch?” Darlin’ pleads.
“No! I don’t-I don’t want to hurt you!” Sam shrieks, tearing at his skin to keep himself from reaching out for them.
“You wwon’t, SSam,” Darlin’ says, confidence steeling their voice despite the hurt his words bring. “I knnow you wwon’t. Trust mme.”
He sobs against the urge to run. He’s trapped and he’s terrified to hurt them, but he’s hurting and they’re so close, they’re right there and he trusts them more than he trusts himself, more than anyone, and he wants nothing more than to be held by them. Breathless, he shakes his head yes and Darlin’s arms are around him in an instant. He won’t dare let himself touch them back, but he allows Darlin’ to cradle him, their fingers rubbing gentle circles into his skin like he’s fragile. Like he’s not dangerous. Like he’s not deadly.
“Aren’t you scared?” he gasps.
“Of wwhat?”
“Me!”
Shock steals their words away for a moment.
“...of you?”
Tremors wrack his body as he nods. Darlin’ tries to look at his face, but he turns it away.
“Of what I am…what I’ve done…what’s been done to me.” He wants to flay off his skin, wants them to see how corrupted his very foundation is. He’s been fooling them and he’s been fooling himself, thinking he could ever be normal, be safe.
Grief threatens to overtake Darlin’ like a rising river threatens a levee. But they stay strong against it, arms tightening around him as they state firmly, “NNo. NNNever. I’m nnot scared of you.”
“How can you say that?” Sam asks incredulously. He can feel his vampirism knitting his torn skin back together and the sensation makes him want to tear himself apart all over again.
“Easily. I c-can say it easily. It’s llllike saying I lllove you. There’s nno fight in it. It t-takes nnothing at all,” they assure him.
“But how? After what you went through—”
“You’re nnot Q-Q-Quinn.”
There’s fire in their voice now. Not scorching, there’s not enough heat to burn. But it’s bright and fierce; they don’t know how else to be when they’re protecting him, even from himself.
“You’re nnot him. And you’re nnot - - Alexis. You’re nnothing lllike them. You’re k-kind and gentle and good. B-Being a v-vampire doesn’t t-take that away.
I lllove you, SSam. NNo, I don’t lllove wwhat happened to you. I fucking wwish that nnever happened to you. I wwwish you’d nnever b-b-been hurt. B-B-But I lllove you, and that mmeans I lllove all of you. In-Including the p-p-parts of you that you hate.”
Sam knows those words. They’re the same words he’s told Darlin’ when the roles are reversed, when Darlin’ is panicking and he’s the one trying to convince them that everything is okay, that he still loves them.
He finally allows himself to face Darlin’, bracing for pity or deceit. Instead, he’s greeted with a gaze that rivals the sun in its warmth.
Darlin’ smiles at him, soft and gentle, and the ache in his chest fades. “That’s it,” they murmur, leaning their forehead against his, “just b-breathe.”
Sam realizes his breathing has slowed. It’s still fast but it’s not racing out of his control. He manages to wrangle it further, forcing his lungs to push and pull the air slower and slower. He matches Darlin’s breathing, letting their rhythm become his own, and it feels like coming home.
“You’re safe,” Darlin’ exhales.
Sam breathes the words in and allows himself for a moment to believe they're true.
——————————————
taglist: @sunsickcrab @lookitseddie @viperx5
**In Tank's dialogue, ... represents an intentional pause, - - represents a block in sound caused by their stutter, and — represents an interruption caused by something other than their stutter. I'm always open to feedback on how to better represent/write stutters. <3**
Hi!! I'm obsessed with your redacted audio fics, and I was wondering if I could use some ideas from one of them for some fics I'm working on.
Specifically, I'm interested in using the idea that Darlin' was in the car with Gabe when his car got hit and rolled, from your fic "Scars That Remind". I think it's a brilliant hc and I've adopted it into my own personal hc's.
If you're okay with me using this idea, I will absolutely tag you and your fic in anything I write that uses/references it. I also will completely understand and respect if you say no! No pressure at all!
Thanks!!
Hi Mayhem!! Of course, you can use it! Go for it and please do tag me! I'd love to see what you do with it. <3
I'm really happy you liked the head canon. I think that fic is still the only time I've written Gabe. That car scene broke my heart!!
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can we take a second to remember that scene in D20 when Katja Cleaver is shown a vision of her childhood self waiting to be picked up by a father that never shows--recognizes that her childhood is gone and confronts that there will be no more opportunities for that parent to step up for that kid--and then, as the adult she now is, picks herself up and carries her own childhood the way someone else should have.
i have the lamest question... and maybe the dumbest question...
does anyone have a juicer? if i got a juicer...to turn shit into juice...can i do that in the afternoon and stick that in the fridge or is this like smoothies and you should be drinking it right away?
She was exhausted. She needed to sleep. But she didn’t want to.
Her fingers twisted in the collar of his hoodie and his mouth moved against hers. The low rumble of a moan pulled from his chest when she parted her lips to run her tongue against his. He opened and she kissed him deeper, her body arching up against his.
She suddenly wished she hadn’t worn leggings and a bralette. She should have gone for the classic t-shirt and underwear, because right now she wanted to wrap bare legs around him.
He was too good for her. She’d known it the moment she met him–the moment he jumped into a disaster to save her. She should have left it at that. She should have paid him for the rescue and never looked back. But she wasn’t a good person. She was selfish.
Vera had spent part of her life hiding, the other part working so hard for something good, and now? Now she was going to do whatever she wanted to get whatever she wanted. And, damn her, she wanted Felix. She’d never wanted anyone as much as she wanted him.
How would his hands feel on her skin? How would he fuck? What would he sound like when he came? How did he like it?
Maybe if they had sex she’d get him out of her system? Maybe it wouldn’t be good. Maybe he’d be an asshole? Maybe he’d pump and dump and the fantasy of him would break?
Vera almost laughed at herself for that pathetic, desperate thought–that somehow he would ruin this and she would be able to do the right thing and leave him. She was a fucking monster.
She kissed him harder, smothering herself on him.
His hands found her sides, fingers fanning against bare skin. The kiss broke, his eyes glassy and dark with lust, but he didn’t move first. There was a question in his gaze. There was always a question.
She pulled at his hoodie. “Take it off.”
Felix’s mouth curved and that smile alone sent a chill through her body.
He shifted up onto his knees on the couch, one leg still between her thighs. His hoodie came off and his t-shirt followed.
Her hand spread against his abdomen, her eyes taking in the ink splashed all over him. He had a large scar up his side, from below the hem of those sweatpants and curving up and around to his back. It disappeared and reappeared through tattoos laid over but never designed to cover up.
Vera leaned up, away from the couch, into his body, her head dropped all the way back to look up at him. His hand cradled the back of her head, his eyes fixed on her. It was that gaze that was always driving her crazy. No one had ever looked at her the way Felix did, like he didn’t want to blink, like he was taking her in and didn’t want to miss a second.
One hand still slithering up his chest, the other curled into the front of his sweats, dragging them down an inch. His smile grew, like that small motion had been the shot at the start of a race, releasing him from his stillness.
His fingers closed at the back of her head, gripping her wet hair. He drew her back from him so that he could bend and kiss her. She heard her coffee table resist the floor when he must have pushed it farther back from the couch. Her mind was slow to register why, until he had turned her to sit on the couch while he knelt in front of it, all while kissing her.
He was still towering over her, crowding her body into the soft cushions of her couch. His hands moved down her sides, squeezing her hips and pausing only for a sheer second at the top of her leggings. That pause was a question. Vera moaned into his kiss, nodding. She lifted her hips and he pulled her leggings off of her, leaving her in nothing but her bralette on her couch.
He kissed her throat, hands exploring her naked hips and thighs, lifting and spreading her legs at his sides.
She shuddered, dropping her head back when his mouth moved down her chest, lower and lower. “F-Felix…” she exhaled.
He was practically between her thighs when he looked up at her. “Vera?”
His eyes were so dark and his voice low. He turned his face into her thigh, dragging his tongue against her skin, making her muscles jump. “Fuck…”
He smiled against her skin. “Tell me what you want me to do,” he said.
She shivered again, all her nerves on fire. He had her spread open in front of him but he hadn’t looked, still holding her gaze like he could wait forever. “What?” she heard herself exhale the word. She sounded weak. She hated it. What was this? It wasn’t like she’d never had sex before, but it had never been anything like this. It was usually quick and rough. Sometimes it was good, most times it was disappointing.
Felix turned his face into her thigh, opening his mouth wide and biting down. It wasn’t just hard enough to make her gasp and arch, electricity sliding up her spine.
Her hand shot down to his hair, fingers threading the strands and twisting to pull his head back.
He moaned when she did, looking up at her with those hungry eyes again. He didn’t pull out of her grip–didn’t move at all–and she realized he was still waiting for her to say something.
Vera held that gaze, nodding down at him. “Make me come.”
His grin was wolfish and she thought of those teeth on her skin again, suddenly hoping that bite left a bruise.
His slid his attention down her body, to her spread thighs and exposed cunt.
She watched his face the whole tile, breathless at his reactions. They were familiar but she couldn’t place them at first. He seemed to study her before he ever touched her, hands sliding up her thighs, closer. He moaned low in his throat. “So fucking perfect…” And then he was leaning in. He kissed her cunt softly at first, making her gasp and tense when his lips brushed that sensitive bundle of nerves.
Her head dropped back, eyes to the ceiling when his tongue explored her. She still had a hand in his hair, holding on but not steering. He moaned again, right into her flesh, and the vibration made her whole body twitch. “Felix,” his name rolled up off her tongue, and he plunged his tongue into her in response.
“Oh! Fuck!” she gasped, thighs flexing. His hands held her spread for him.
He licked her clit, sucking at it, and she spasmed, one arm going up over her head to grip at the cushions of the couch. Her mind felt blank, her thoughts all fixed on the feel of his mouth and tongue against her. She was so close.
His fingertips stroked against her, brushing firmly against her wet slit.
Vera nodded, taking long seconds to remember she had to use her words. “Yes. Fuck. Yes. Inside.” She wasn’t even making sense. What was wrong with her?
One of his fingers pushed into her while his mouth was still devouring her clit. Vera arched off the couch, eyes wide and completely forgetting her fumbling of words. Who cared if she sounded incoherent? Who cared what she sounded like at all?
He pumped the finger in and out, his tongue swirling above.
Her fingers tightened in his hair and it only seemed to spur him on.
She tensed, shaking on the edge before the pleasure snapped and she curled forward, both hands in his hair now.
Her whole body twitched in aftershocks, her breath stuttering out of her.
Felix stayed pressed to her, slow motions until she was twitching. She was still catching her breath when she watched him slide his finger out of her and then slowly into his mouth, sucking it clean before looking up at her through the mess of his hair. He looked pleased with himself, which she supposed was fair since she felt pretty damn pleased too.
Vera had never felt more wrung out in a good way in her life. Everything that had happened in the last two days seemed far away and barely worth worrying about, let alone worth running to an airport in the middle of the night and catching a redeye home.
Felix smiled, leaning up to kiss her, like he would press that smile from his lips to hers.
He lifted her legs and turned her, laying her down on the couch cushions under him. Her limbs were pliable and her muscles still humming. Her eyelids were so heavy. She should have been asleep a day ago. But now she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted Felix. She pushed a thigh up along his legs, rising until she was pressed against his erection, just the soft fabric of his sweats between them.
He moaned into her kiss, but then he was pulling back.
Vera looked up at him, eyebrow raised curiously when he grabbed the blanket off the armrest. He shook it out and then laid it over her. “Are you tucking me in?” she asked through the shock.
His smile was a full grin now. He leaned over her, kissing the corner of her lips. “You’re going to fall asleep before I even get my shoes on.”
“Then don’t get your shoes on,” she suggested. She could barely keep her eyes open. She knew he was right, but she didn’t care. “You can fuck me even if I fall asleep…”
Felix’s face screwed up in disapproval. “Not my fantasy,” he admitted.
Vera shifted onto her side, getting comfortable in her defeat. “What is?”
“What?”
Her eyes closed. “What’s your fantasy, Felix?”
It felt like it took so long for him to answer that maybe she had fallen asleep and missed it, but then the couch dipped a little under his weight and his mouth brushed her temple. “You are my fantasy, Vera.”
A blog named "confirm-page" tagged my sideblog (and various other blogs) in the comments under its post claiming that a "minor anomaly" was detected with my account, telling me to verify my account within 48 hours by clicking a random link.
I did not click the link, of course; I reported the account for phishing and then blocked it. Just wanted to share what it looked like in case anyone else encounters it and isn't sure whether it's legit or not! :)
-------
Screenshots:
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Tumblr would NOT contact you through tagging you on a post like this (never will); they would contact you privately e.g. via email if there was an issue.
If you're unsure of if something is actually from Tumblr, either report it (my preferred method) or look up which email address to contact Tumblr though, and use that to ask them if it's legit or not!
Edit: seems like there are multiple different blogs doing this, so keep an eye out I guess
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this has officially gotten out of my control. i swear i'm trying to write smut and then they just...
porter/david
tags: steamy, bite, aftercare, intimacy negotiations, sex talk, longing, emotions
the vampire phase - 3
“K-Kitten…”
Porter stopped with the rich taste of David's blood on his tongue. He still had a hand to David’s chest, his pulse steady and his breaths deep. If he wanted to stop, they’d stop. He scratched gently at the shifter’s scalp, keeping him calm just in case. “Do you want to stop?” he asked, kissing his shoulder gently, smiling a little drunkenly. “You taste so good. I’ve got enough,” he promised.
David dragged another deep breath, shaking his head. He arched a little, pressing his ass back against Porter’s crotch. They both moaned. “Do you always get hard when you drink?” he asked.
Porter smiled against the side of his neck, licking the still bleeding wound. “Not always…”
David hummed, rubbing back against his hardon. “Do you want to do something about it?”
He shivered at the invitation. The wound had stopped bleeding. Shifters healed faster than humans, but he’d heal slower with less blood. “What are you suggesting?”
David turned his head a little to look back at him, eyebrow lifting. “You could fuck me while you bite me,” he said. And then his pulse jumped. “I mean…Unless that’s not how you…” He stumbled over his words.
Porter didn’t rush him. Blood loss had side effects. Even if he wasn’t trapped by the day, he wouldn’t be leaving David until he was totally recovered.
David scrubbed a hand over his face. “Give me a second, kitten.”
He kissed his neck, giving him all the seconds.
David hummed low in his chest and then, to Porter’s surprise, he moved. Not that exquisitely tempting rock of his hips or the roll of his shoulders back against his chest. No, he got up and turned around. It was as impressive as it was surprising. “Davey…” he started to warn, but the shifter grabbed him by the back of the neck and kissed him. Porter moaned into that mouth, his body already on fire from the new blood in his system and the way David had trusted him.
The hand slid from the back of his neck to the front, the way they both knew he liked, making Porter’s pulse race with excitement.
David’s pulse was fast too.
Porter broke the kiss to gasp, skin electric with want, but something in the back of his head still fighting to push forward. “Sweetheart…”
“Mhm?” David nuzzled the side of his head, one hand still around his throat while the other moved up his thigh.
Porter’s thoughts blanked again when the shifter slid a hand into his underwear, squeezing him. He bucked into that touch, blood raging through his whole body. But then why was there that warning bell going off? This was perfect. This was everything he wanted.
David pumped him in hand, rough and steady.
He moaned. “Squeeze,” he said, not even caring whether it was the hand on his neck or the one on his dick.
David did.
Porter groaned, eyes shut. He pushed his thigh up, between David’s, surprised out of his own reverie when he realized his partner was only semi-hard. Before he could wonder, he realized it was probably the bloodloss.
David’s heart was still beating fast.
Too fast.
Porter felt like he’d suddenly woken up. David was trying to get him off–trying to do what he knew Porter liked–and like the selfish fuck he was, Porter was going along with it. Shifters regenerated faster than humans but not that fast.
Porter put a hand to David’s chest. His heart was pounding, his breath uneven. He was on the verge of passing out. He pushed him back enough to look up at him, to see those dark, unfocused eyes trying to meet his gaze. Before he could even put a stop to this, David lost his grip on him. His eyes rolled and his body went slack.
Catching him wasn’t hard, he was literally on top of him. Porter turned them, laying David on his back and straddling his waist. “Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck,” he swore at himself.
In a matter of seconds David was blinking awake again, frowning in confusion. “What–”
Porter kept hands on him, trying to ground and reassure him through contact. “You’re okay. Just take a second.”
“What happened?” He tried to sit up and Porter easily held him down.
“You fainted.”
David’s brow crease was back and his mouth twisted in a smirk. “No I didn’t.”
“You did.” Porter was not smiling back. He couldn’t believe he’d let this happen. “I know you’re new to bloodloss sex but…what the fuck?”
David groaned, closing his eyes again and rubbing at the side of his head. “Well, I didn’t expect to pass out,” he countered.
Porter hissed at him once and then moved with vampiric speed, off the bed and to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and grabbed the whole bottle of juice, back to the bed before David had even opened his eyes again. “I can’t believe I let you do that,” he said more to himself than the shifter, uncapping the orange juice. Of course David bought the good stuff, not the watered down sugar water, but the actual pressed oranges. Porter would have poked fun if he wasn’t so preoccupied.
David sat up against the headboard, taking the bottle. “Sorry.”
That one word was like a kick to the chest. “Why did you…” he started and stopped, clicking his teeth in irritation at himself. He kept saying it wrong. He kept making it sound like David had been in the wrong. Porter was the one that knew better. He should have been the one taking care of his partner in that moment, not the other way around. It had been going so well. The bite had been good and David had been so relaxed, he’d even been asking for more and then…
He watched the shifter drain half the bottle of juice and take a few more breaths.
“Do you think I need to fuck like that?”
David’s eyes opened. He looked more focused and sharp than he had since the bite. His heartbeat sounded steady again too. Recovery time on shifters was amazing and he had never been more happy about it than now. “What?”
Porter was on the bed with him again. “You suggested I fuck you but then… Sweetheart, do you think I need you to pin me to get off?”
The pause was the answer. David was choosing words, or considering that he had in fact thought that and maybe it was wrong. “You like it how you like it… and I am very happy to give it to you,” he said.
Porter really fucked this up. David had pushed himself because he thought he had to play a certain role for him. “I definitely have my kinks,” he acknowledged. “But it doesn’t always have to be… We can do it differently.”
David huffed like Porter was making something out of nothing now. “I am a fan of how we do things. Don’t worry about it.” He drank more juice.
“Do you like being the one fucked sometimes?”
David coughed on his drink and gave Porter a deathstare like he’d timed it on purpose. He had.
Porter pressed. “It’s important to me that you don’t do anything you don’t want to do–”
“I wasn’t.”
He was pretty sure the memory of David trying to jerk him off while passing out would haunt him, and that was fucking saying something considering the shit Porter had seen and done.
“And I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do either. So, we’re good.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Porter pointed out.
David drained the last of the juice and put the empty bottle on the bedside table. “What question, kitten?”
“You know what question.”
David sighed. “I like a lot of things, but I don’t need them.”
Something about that sentence made him pause. Was he suggested he needed Porter? Enough to give up on some stuff he might like but think Porter wasn’t into?
He touched the side of David’s neck, the wound from his teeth healed over but still red. “In the future, I will take better care of you after I bite you,” he said quietly, like something just between them.
David huffed a laugh, his hand settling on Porter’s thighs. “I do not need you to take care of me.”
He watched him carefully. Their relationship had been built on casual sex–on a certain flavor of sex that might suggest David was the one in charge. Did he feel responsible to stay in that role all the time just because they fucked like that? Was there any aspect of his like where he wasn’t the one taking care of everyone else? “Just because when we fuck, I like you to pin me down and make it hurt…doesn’t mean you have to always be in control of everything.”
“I like how we fuck,” David said again, an edge to it now like he was having to defend it.
Porter slid his hand higher, to brush his thumb against David’s jaw, keeping contact and affection so that he’d know this wasn’t a fight. “I know. I’m saying it’s okay if you want to do things differently sometimes. Like… maybe if you want me to slowly fuck you into the mattress while I bite you next time?”
David held his breath, like he wasn’t sure how to respond. Did he think Porter was teasing him? Or bluffing?
“Or maybe if you want to ride me while you choke me…”
David blushed and looked away.
Porter felt himself growing hard again just at that surprising reaction. “I could bounce you on my–”
David forced a laugh. “Bounce me?” he asked, words dripping in doubt.
He blinked at his lover and then smiled slowly to flash his fangs. “Sweetheart, I think sometimes you forget what I am.”
“How can I forget? You just had your teeth in me.”
Porter stifled a moan at the memory, that blood still hot under his skin. “You know I can lift you, right?”
David scoffed, about to say something else–probably deflect again–when Porter moved. He switched their positions. David had to brace himself against Porter’s shoulders when the sudden shift made him dizzy. It wasn’t fair, of course. Porter was faster because he shifter blood in his veins while David was still dealing with blood loss. He should feel guilty, but he didn’t. He had his back to the headboard and David Shaw was sitting in his lap, looking very surprised to be there. “Porter… You don’t have to–”
Porter squeezed those thick thighs through the soft sweatpants, sliding his hands under them and then slowly lifting the other man. David’s eyes widened a fraction. Porter held his gaze, lowering him just as slowly, raising him up and and lowering again, this time bumping them together.
David’s breath caught, his dick hard. “Fuck…”
Porter grinned. “You like that?”
David blushed again, his heart beating faster.
Porter realized that David might have been fucked before, but it hadn’t been like this–he might never have even imagined this or how he’d feel about it. “We enjoy our favorite way of doing things together…but we can explore other ones too if we want.”
The shifter was quiet for long seconds, a low groan escaping him when Porter brought him down again, bumping their clothed erections together.
David visibly shivered.
To think, just a couple hours ago he'd been thinking how he needed to end things, needed to push him away for his own good.
But who would take care of his shifter if he did? Who would make sure his every fantasy came true? Who would see him blush?
