#livywolf

HAHA JOKES ON ME YOU I DID FLUFF because I didn't read the whole ask before writing it

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Prompt: “How long have you been standing there?”

He didn’t know why he’d fallen asleep or when, but there he was: cheek pressed to hard wood, sleep still pulling at the edges of his consciousness. He cracked open his eyes only to immediately squeeze them shut again as the sunlight spilling through his office window blinded him.

“Gah,” he muttered, and forced his aching body into a sitting position, scattering half a dozen papers in the process. “What happened? Where am I?”

“Your office.” The voice made him startle, then relax when he realized who it was; his trusted District Attorney stood idly in the doorway, a mug of coffee in their hand and a slight smile on their face. “You fell asleep again,” they explained. “I told you not to do that.”

“Not like I could help it.” Damien made a face. “How long have you been standing there?”

The DA beamed. “Since I got here--” they held out the mug- “Want some coffee?”

Combined this with another in my inbox.

Trigger warnings for blood and vampirism.

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Prompt 3/7: “Your pulse is weak.” / “My chest hurts.”

The grandfather clock in the hallway had long ago left midnight behind, spitting out hours like change. The Manor was silent, with even Cook having retired earlier in the night.

“Are you sure?” It had to be the sixth time he’d asked, and the sixth time they’d answered.

“Yes, I’m sure.” They loosened the top buttons of their dress shirt, pulling it back to reveal a swathe of bare flesh; neck and shoulder.

Damien sat up and his eyes-- a dull red instead of their usual cool brown-- immediately shot to the proffered skin, which seemed to emit a faint light under the dull silver of the moonlight that spilled through the open window, dappling the bedspread. His fangs slid from under his top lip, gleaming and ivory, and he clapped his hand over his mouth as if embarrassed.

The Attorney carefully pried his hand away, bringing it to their mouth and pressing kisses to his pale, cold knuckles. “You can’t starve yourself any longer.”

“But why should it be you?” The faintest of whispers, garbled by teeth.

The answer was immediate: “You won’t hurt me.”

If it were anyone else, Damien might not have the control to refrain from draining them dry. But they knew he would not dare hurt them.

This knowledge was further confirmed when he met their gaze and said, “I feel a deep ache in my chest at the mere notion of causing you harm.”

Without another word, they offered him their throat.

Slowly, he reached over and began to undo the rest of the buttons of their dress shirt, stripping it off them with utmost tenderness. He took their hand and kissed their knuckles, their palm, the inside of their wrist, fangs pricking their skin but not breaking it. He trailed kisses up their arm, across their collarbone, pulling them to his chest.

When he sank into their neck they gave an audible gasp, heart pounding a staccato rhythm that forced blood through the twin cuts and into Damien’s hungry mouth.

Time must have blurred. Maybe they passed out. Because the next thing they knew, Damien was gently laying them down on the bed, cushioning them against the fluffy pillows, voice heavy and slurring as he whispered, “your pulse is weak, dear. If I take more I might kill you. Rest now.”

Egotober Day 6 - Music

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Prompt 19: “I can’t control it.”

Moonlight spilled through the open windows, untouched save for the occasional rustling of the drapes under the light, cool breeze.

Winter was coming; he could smell it. Could smell the sharp tinge of rotting things and the sharper crisp of frost with his newly enhanced senses. It helped calm him, somewhat, and he sank deeper into the flow of piano notes as his fingers danced across the gleaming keys.

Until he heard the Manor door creak open, and a tentative presence creep inside.

“Damien?” He heard, but he didn’t reply; he was too inundated with the fresh scent of blood to do anything but focus entirely on the notes. He closed his ruby-tinted eyes and inhaled deeply as his fangs slid out, pricking his bottom lip.

The presence settled onto the bench next to him, warm to his cold. One hand grasped his arm, gently.

“I’d hoped to find you here,” his District Attorney whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

“You need to leave.” It came out harsher than intended, and jarred the music. The Attorney flinched. Damien sighed. “I can’t control it. Not well. I don’t want to hurt you--” he paused-- “Again.”

They touched their neck. “I don’t want you to hurt me either. But,” they sighed, pressing themselves against his side. “I want to listen to you play.”

Is Damien truly dead?

“You need to get over that.” Scowling, Dark whirled on them. “Damien’s been dead for a long time.”

They frowned, stepped closer to the man-- no, the thing-- that could just as easily tear them apart as it did leave them in the mirror. They reached up and gently, so gently, touched his chest with their spectral fingers. But I still see so much of him in you.

“Don’t.” It was meant to be a warning; a threat, barely concealed. It came out cracked. Broken. “Don’t- don’t do that.”

They looked up at him, blank eyes unreadable. But there was something close to tenderness there. Something just short of love. Don’t have hope?

“Hope is a lie.”

How can I not have hope when I loved him so much?

“Because he’s dead!” Anger bubbled up in him suddenly, emerged in a wrangled snarl. “Stop pining over someone who isn’t coming back!”

Despite Dark’s rage, the Attorney didn’t waver. And when he raised a hand to bat theirs away, they grabbed it, bringing it to their lips to press cold kisses to his equally cold knuckles. Even your anger is the same, they murmured.

VAMPIRE DAMIEN @damn-the-dark

There’s a sequel now! Here.

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Prompt 99: “Don’t look at me like that.”

    Blood pounded through his head, feeling like a hammer against the inside of his skull. His thoughts raced– one after another, too fast for him to pick anything out of the jumble. His entire body seemed to jitter, like his skeleton was trying to erupt from beneath his cold, white skin.

    Despite this, Damien sat perfectly still on the edge of his bed, hands folded in his lap, spine straight as a rod. Still as a statue, he moved not a muscle. Still as death, he hardly dared to breathe the air he didn’t need anymore.

    He could hear their heartbeats: Mark’s downstairs, playing the piano; Celine’s sitting next to him on the bench, watching him play; Benjamin’s in the basement, dusting the wine bottles; the new, familiar presence’s opening the front door-

    Damien’s nostrils flared and his pupils dilated, all but engulfing the irises. He felt a sharp prick at his lower lip as his fangs emerged, and quickly clamped his hand over his mouth, barely noticing the stinging pain as razor-sharp incisors sliced into his palm. “No- no- no-”

    “Mr. Mayor?” There came a knock at his door, polite and tentative, before it creaked open, spilling light into the near-black room and revealing the worried face of his District Attorney. “Damien? I just wanted to check on you. You seemed rather out of sorts when you … are you bleeding?”

    Blood dripped from Damien’s cut palm to his lap, seeped from between his fingers, its hot, coppery taste making him dizzy with hunger, the thub-dub of the DA’s heartbeat weakening his already frayed self-control. 

    “You need to leave.” He choked out, voice muffled and half-garbed by his fangs. 

    Their eyebrows furrowed, emotions flitting across their face in rapid succession before settling on confusion. They stepped forward. “You look pale. Should I fetch a doctor?”

It took all of Damien’s willpower to stay where he was. All of his willpower to restrain himself from lunging for his friend’s exposed jugular.

Maybe the DA saw the animalistic gleam in his eyes. Maybe they saw the hunger that clawed at Damien’s insides. Whatever the reason, they stopped dead in their tracks.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Their voice wavered. “I don’t- please don’t look at me like that. Damie-”

His name cut off into perfect silence as Damien lunged, baring fangs that glinted in the hallway light as he tackled them to the floor, pressing his bleeding hand over their mouth while using the other to wrench their head to the side, exposing their smooth, pale neck.

He could feel them struggling beneath him– could faintly hear their cries, muffled by his hand– but even starving, he was far stronger, and the deep part of him that screamed that they were his friend was easily muffled.

Title: Until the End

“Damien?” They wandered the void, searching, searching, searching for someone. Anyone. “Celine?”

But there was only their voice, echoing back at them, long and slow and smooth and promising such wonderful things should they listen to it.

“Damien?” They called again, wondering how many times they’d done this. Wondering how many years had passed.

But then. But then! They spied a figure stumbling through the black. A familiar one.

“Damien!” They cried, jolting forward on a spurt of energy long forgotten to them. They threw their arms around the Mayor, burying their face in his strong, chest. “You came back for me!”

“Not for you.” The voice that spoke was Damien’s but not. They glanced up, their smile faltering when they were faced with features that were Damien’s, but not.

“Who are you?” They asked, hope flickering, hope dying. There was none of Damien’s kindness on this stranger’s face. None of his gentle love.

Only contempt and disgust faced them now.

“Not. Damien. Damien is dead.” Still, the stranger didn’t withdraw as their grip tightened and they began to sob.

“He said he would-” They choked on their tears. “I thought-”

“Quiet.” An icy cold hand cupped their face, tilting it up so foggy, white eyes met flinty, black ones. A pair of chilly lips touched their forehead. “Damien is dead, and there’s nothing you can do about it.