I sent a couple requests/whatever a few days ago but I think tumblr might’ve eaten them? It’s been doing that. But Dirkjake and reverse demonstuck?

(Heya! I always have a couple dozen requests in my inbox at any given time that I choose on random/whatever I’m in the mood to write. I’m a very sporadic person lol.)

“Little dove,” he calls you. Because petnames apparently line the path to hell. “Baby,” he adds. “Angel.”

He runs his fingers through the fluffy down where your wings sprout from your back. You flap them a bit, the large things shooing him away from you.

“Back again so soon?” he asks. His eyes are a vibrant, electric green. The kind found in toxic sludge and sour candy. Your teeth clench.

“I had business on the surface,” you tell him.

“So I’m a professional arrangement, am I? I didn’t think your boss would go for such things, Strider.”

“I had business,” you repeat, eyes darting away from his gaze. “The kind that doesn’t concern you.”

The shift is subtle, but you feel it. He changes gears—tactics—and you witness the slide and clunk of them. His shoulders drop. His smile grows wide, grateful, and deceptively innocent.

“You came to visit me,” he says. “You came for me, you sweet thing.”

“You slunk over here first,” you spit. “I could sense you casing me from a block away.”

“You found me,” he whispers. Leans in close, tilts his head, like he might bare his neck for the fangs you don’t have. He hasn’t dropped his bright smile. Your body shudders enough to ruffle your wingtips. You pray that it’s in disgust.

In the morning, when you wake up in a musty hotel room, several feathers lesser and striped by sunlight through cheap blinds, you feel incredibly alone. They say that’s what he feeds on—Isolation. Loneliness. Abandonment. Desperation.

You must be a feast.