#spitecarved

‘I am, in fact, a proud as a fuckin' peacock twink. Tragic for my enemies, delightful for me, and frankly obvious to anyone with functioning eyes.’

INBOX PROMPTS ╱ 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.

Will gives a small tilt of his eyebrows, the question clearly appearing on his face as he offers a lazy shrug. He does not seem as fazed as he should be, nor particularly invested in the notion of it. His gaze is pointed, as curiosity blooms, barely concealed in the cerulean depths. Some people were far more honest about their self-indulgent desires than he was. Will was accustomed to denial, not allowing himself reckless indiscretions — certainly not with strangers.

And especially not with one who looked like trouble.

she was barely awake, katherine was not a morning person. head foggy, eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to rid them of sleep. his voice immediately doing the trick, her body going rigid as he spoke. memories of last night came flooding back, crashing into her so hard that she had to fight the gasp that wanted to escape. maybe if she pretended she didn't hear him, he'd go away. what had she done? what had they done?

"we can pretend it never happened." she finally spoke, fingers moving to bring the sheet up to cover her body. katherine couldn't even remember if she was naked or not. right now all she could think about was how close he was. head turning in his direction, finally focusing on him. "we can pretend that it never happened." she repeated. gripping the sheets tighter.

If he wanted her dead, she'd be dead, right? he would kill her -- why toy with her like this? yes, they both enjoyed making each other suffer, but this would be too far, wouldn't it? spending the night, doing the things they did, just to rip out her heart? that was cruel, even for him. "klaus.. last night -- we were drinking, we weren't thinking. you spent the night, which means you were invited in." she was now mumbling to herself, as she tried to figure out how to fix this.

| ℒ | ~ @spitecarved

Twigs snapped beneath his feet as he moved deeper into the thicket, the moon high and sharp above, bathing the woods in a cold, silvery glow. Lucien had been trailing fragmented stories for days now, half-formed whispers of another man who wore his bloody face and thrived on blood. ( Damon Salvatore. A name that stirred something in his chest, though he couldn’t decide if it was recognition or revulsion. ) Every lead kept circling back to this place, to this forest soaked in old magic and bad decisions. Something had happened here, once. Several somethings, if the radiating power in the air was any damn indication.

He wasn’t subtle in his search, nor did he care to be. What passed for subtlety in his universe usually came with a high body count and zero answers. The way the earth shifted beneath his feet, the scent of ash clinging to the bark, the pulsing residue of spilled blood, Lucien knew he was close. Close to what, he wasn’t sure. But his gut rarely lied. His eyes narrowed as he crouched by a patch of disturbed soil, fingertips brushing dried blood beneath the leaves, still iron-rich and fresh.

[ And of course, that was when someone decided to be dramatic. ]

There was no growl of warning, no smug quip. Just movement, fast and vicious, as a figure burst from the trees with the grace of someone who thought they were the apex predator. The stake landed dead centre in his chest with a sickening crunch, splintering on impact against something far denser than bone. ( For a tad, the world held still. Then Lucien exhaled slowly, not so much in pain as in complete, exhausted irritation. ) He looked down at the splintered mess lodged just beneath his sternum, then up at the werewolf standing there, all snarling defiance and poorly masked confusion. His fingers curled around the shaft, tugging it free with an audible crack, the wood hissing as it burned in his palm before he dropped it to the dirt.

‘I assume,’ he murmured coolly, brushing ash from his shirt, ‘that was meant for someone else. Unless, of course, you simply enjoy fucking up introductions.’ The woods had fallen quiet. Too quiet. He could feel the presence of other wolves now, eyes in the dark, drawn by the sound and scent. Whatever this place was, he’d just announced himself loud and clear.

Brilliant.

send ♡ to see what my muse thinks of yours. @spitecarved

@spitecarved