#Fangtober 2024

[lady-phasma]

Fangtober Day 3 - post ejaculation

[houserautha]

Pain & Pleasure

Summary: Based off this ask. Your husband only wants to protect you.

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x f!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: MDNI. Most of my warnings fall under the prompts given for Fangtober. Also, spanking. In the wise words of Cloud Guy, “A little slappy, make daddy happy.”

A/N: This is my submission for @lady-phasma’s Fangtober!! I kept writing and rewriting until I saw this ask and then was inspired. Prompts: blood, ejaculation, bondage, dominance, S&M, some humiliation and discipline, and tears.

The spice-laden wine goes straight to your head, blurring the harsh edges of the Harkonnen party. It's certainly more tolerable this way. You float through the throng of courtiers as if pulled along by a slow moving current, smiling and offering platitudes when necessary.

Distantly, you're aware of Feyd's eyes on you.

They never really leave — a constant, watchful presence that burns between the blades of your shoulders. He likes to keep you within view, preside over every interaction and conversation. And when you complain about this, he always tells you, "You are my jewel. You do not leave precious treasure unguarded."

Precious treasure, you muse, sipping the dredges of your drink.

If you tried hard enough you would surely find Feyd in the crowd, dark gaze trained on you. He would be charming the courtiers all while keeping you in his sights, somehow straddling the line between host and careful guard. You, on the other hand, struggle with the act of entertaining your guests. Not from lack of trying.

And thus, when one of the courtiers presses his hand to your lower back as he passes by, you don't threaten to cut it off. Hopefully the smile on your face doesn't resemble a grimace. The courtier, a man dressed in a trim suit, removes his hand but does not leave.

"na-Baroness," he says, feigning surprise. He's a terrible actor. "I didn't realize it was you. My humble apologies."

"You're forgiven."

Why do all of your smiles feel as if you're baring your teeth?

"May I get you another drink?" The man asks.

Before letting you answer, he waves down one of the servants and thrusts another glass into your hand. His fingers graze yours in the process, in such a fashion that cannot be mistaken as an accident. There's no spark of attraction, no pinch of arousal in your lower belly that a touch from your husband would usually incite, but you let this go too. Not only because you need to develop repertoire with the courtiers, because usually people are too frightened to speak to you.

This man might be a brash idiot but at least he doesn’t shy away from you.

"You look magnificent," the man says, his mouth close to your ear. The music isn't really that loud, and you recognize this as a ploy to get closer to you. "The na-Baron is a fortunate man indeed."

You swirl the spice-wine coyly. "That's what I tell him."

“You shouldn’t need to remind him.”

“Mm. Why’s that?”

"He should know to take care of such a beautiful woman, lest someone start to covet her." He adds boldly, "There are more things a man can offer you than prestige and wealth."

"And what would that be?" You peer up at him from beneath your lashes.

Feyd has given you quite literally anything you could ask for — a home, a protector, an equal. And more orgasms than you can count, which you understand is what this man before you is implying the na-Baron cannot provide.

The man steps closer to you. "I would be more than willing to show you, na-Baroness, if you would let me."

“You are very bold," you counter.

“Among other things.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

"Don't be." He flashes you a winning smile that does absolutely nothing to you. You might as well have been speaking to a rotting corpse. "You can ask me anything and I will answer as truthfully as I can."

You study him, considering, tapping your nails on the stem of your glass. "Do you truly think I will stray from my husband for you?"

"Yes," he says. "Next."

"Do you truly think you can best him in pursuit of my...pleasures?"

"If you come with me, you might answer that question yourself," the man says in way of reply, hand lingering over your elbow.

"Go with you where?"

Feyd appears nonchalantly at your side. A part of you sighs in relief, as it always does when you're together. But there's an underlying current of danger in his voice, double-edged and pointed at both you and this courtier, who apparently does not sense it or does not care.

"I was going to let her choose," the man answers coolly.

Feyd's jaw feathers. "How quaint."

"Excuse me?" The man's brow furrows and you almost feel bad for him, this stupid, arrogant courtier.

"My wife goes where I tell her. She quite likes a...strong hand." Feyd curls a possessive hand at your waist and, without breaking eye contact with the man, orders, "Go to our room and kneel on the bed, naked, and wait for me to join you."

Desire pulses deep within you. You shoot the man an apologetic, slightly triumphant look, knowing that his demise is eminent, and disappear into the crowd. Anticipation carries you all of the way to your shared quarters with the na-Baron, where you undress and then arrange yourself at the foot of the bed. An inordinate amount of time passes before the door finally opens and your husband steps through it, a phantom in the shadows.

Feyd prowls toward you. Only once he's in reach of the light do you realize that his hands, the front of his tunic, are drenched in blood.

You breathe out, "You killed him."

Not that you're shocked, necessarily; it's the quantity of blood that disturbs you, painting him in a study of crimson. Goosebumps pimple over your skin.

Feyd does not deign you with a response.

When he comes to you, you flinch away reflexively from his blooded hands. A growl rips from his chest and you don't even have time to regret your decision when he's grabbing you by the jaw and squeezing. "You did this to him."

"I didn't make him do anything," you hiss. Feyd's grip tightens. The pressure becomes nearly too much for you to handle, fingers digging into your flesh, pouting your lips.

"You didn't stop him either, did you?" Feyd looms dangerously close to you, fury radiating off him. The brunt of his anger comes when he releases you, roughly shoving you away.

You're then aware, vaguely, that the man's blood is now smeared on your face in the shape of your husband's hand, inviting a coppery smell that invades your senses and churns your stomach. The weight of Feyd dips the mattress as he sits down then pats his thigh. "Lie down on my lap."

You hesitate. Another stupid, reckless decision.

Feyd grabs the hair at the base of your skull. A squeal escapes you as he forces you down over his knees, exposing you entirely to him. Liquid embarrassment floods over you and a protest begins to form on your tongue — you are the na-Baroness, after all, not a child to be ridiculed.

Like he can hear this particular train of thought, Feyd snatches your wrists with one hand and secures them behind your back. When he leans in, discomfort sprouts from the awkward position, your back bowing to keep your arms from snapping. "If you're going to act like a whore, then I'm going to treat you as one. Do you understand?"

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes, who?”

Your face burns. “Yes, na-Baron.”

“Good girl.”

You’re perched over his lap now, ass up, cunt exposed to the coolness of the room. It’s shameful how wet you already are. There’s a moment of jostling as Feyd removes his belt and snakes it over your wrists to keep you bound.

Now that both of his hands are free, Feyd drags his fingers through your slick folds. He continues up, up, up, circling your wetness over the tight ring of muscles of your ass. Your breath hitches as he then palms one cheek and gives it an experimental squeeze.

A dull roar consumes your mind. The inevitability of his punishment ratchets —

White-hot pain explodes over the surface of your ass. You gasp but there’s barely any time to recover before he’s striking you again, open-palmed, the contact of skin on skin ringing out. A sob builds in your throat. No matter how you tense or prepare, his hand collides with your backside in a sear of blinding heat.

And, worst of all, your traitorous cunt clenches with anticipation.

Feyd ceases long enough to snarl in your ear, “I know what men think when they look at you. Look at my wife.”

His palm cracks against you. You try to jerk away but he keeps you in place. Beneath you, his hardening cock nudges against your belly.

“I know —” smack, “—what—” smack, “—men—” smack, “are capable of.”

Tears spring to your eyes. The memory of his hand prickles as you attempt to collect yourself, only to yowl out as he spanks you again. The repeated action robs you of any thought or rationality, any plea that you might be able to summon. And he seems to be enjoying it as much as you are, bucking his hips as you thrash and squirm. Everything burns.

Pain lances through you, fiery and sharp. You feel your backside blistering from his touch, feel the welts raise. And you’re completely helpless to stop this. The leather of his belt bites into your wrists, scrapes against you as you writhe, trying to escape his hand while also dripping wet at the promise of being dealt another strike.

“It’s for your own good, you know,” Feyd murmurs almost lovingly, large hand brushing over your ass. The reprieve has you sputtering and gasping for air, aware that your front — and likely your backside — is covered with sticky, dried blood. Feyd strokes your hair as you whimper. “I just want to protect you, jewel.”

The sentiment is punctuated by another bone-rattling smack. You howl out and in reply he snaps his hips up, grinding into you.

“And that’s why I have to punish you.” He cracks his hand down again. There’s a tremor of emotion in his voice. “So I can protect you.”

Feyd spanks you again and again until you’re freely sobbing. He’s managed to unravel you completely, cast you adrift in a sea of pleasure and pain. You barely know who you are anymore, wave after wave of burning heat making you somehow both deliriously empty and wanting.

“You are mine, jewel,” he rasps finally.

“I-I am yours, na-Baron.”

He murmurs his approval, setting to work removing his pants. “Now get up and take this cock.”

You wince. “Feyd, I —”

“You can and you will.”

He wrenches you up by your hair again, tossing you to the side as he rises to his feet. You fall awkwardly to your side and Feyd takes advantage of your stumble, whipping you around so that your front is now pressed to the mattress. Another bought of embarrassment grips you as you realize how easily it will be for him to see your arousal — how ruined you must look, skin flaring with welts and bruises and blood.

Feyd keeps your head pushed against the mattress as he forces his cock inside you. He buries himself deeply without giving you time to adjust, and with your arms bound behind your back you can do nothing but squirm.

Saliva gathers in the corners of your mouth. You struggle to breathe against the mattress, breathe through the combined waves of pain and pleasure. Each snap of his hips sends a jolt through you as he comes in contact with your ass, reigniting the burn. He ruts into you as if he knows this and your whole body jostles with his thrusts, growing more fervent as you choke out sob after sob, muffled into the bed.

“Maybe next time you’ll remember to be a good wife,” Feyd all but seethes.

He claws his hands over your hips and ass, fingers digging into the reddened flesh. Blood and your own juices mingle, filling the air with wet noises — sending you over the edge with the reminder of you and the courtier’s punishments.

The mattress muffles your scream as you come, a loud, cathartic release. Feyd bucks into you until you’ve finished, and even then, wringing out every drop of your pleasure until he reaches the peak of his own. He pulls out at the last second, deriving you of his cum, and you howl. Warm splashes of his seed spill on your ass, agitating the already raw skin, and your cunt clenches in displeasure of not being filled.

Feyd lingers in you until his cock softens and slips out. You’re sniveling and crying still as he disappears from behind you — you’re half afraid he’s going to come back and continue his punishment.

But when he returns, it’s to gently wipe away the mess of blood and cum with a towel, taking precaution not to hurt you more than he already did. His hands replace the towel next, massaging a soothing balm over each cheek. You’re still sniffing by the time he unties the belt from your wrists and pulls you further up onto the bed, cradling you against himself.

“Shh, now, jewel,” he breathes into your hair. “I will always keep you safe.”

[kameasorrells]

"Vamp" 1986 🧛🏾♥️

My next Vamptober art piece featuring Thee Grace Jones in her role in "Vamp" With pictures of Keith Haring painting her 🦇

[zaldritzosrose]

Just a little companion creation and sort of a submission post to @lady-phasma and her Fangtober event! This connects to her Day 4 Bondage fic with The Vampire Armand (a truly beautiful man).

Find the fic here!

[psycheetamore]

Desert game, or when the hunter becomes the hunted

Summary: our lord encounters a Fremen warrior, and she will not leave his mind. After she has an intimate encounter with him, he hunts her down.

Tags: MDNI, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen Is His Own Warning, anticipation of smut (thanks to talkative Feyd), predator/prey, scarring - the author regrets nothing

Part 1 of 6 of my contribution to the predator/prey thrope for Kinktober of @lady-phasma - nr 1-4 are chapters of 1 story (1-3 Feyd/OC hunt related, nr 4 is the reward for our lord), and nr 5-6 is me sharing my favourite chapter that I have written to date with the hunt between Rabban/OC. The 6 bits will be posted through daily posts.

Word count: 3.8k

Somewhat based on: chapter 7 and 8 of Choosing to Follow Destiny

After the unannounced visit to his chambers in Arrakeen, she tried to seek sleep in caves on several hours of walking distance. Yet, there were thoughts that would not leave her mind and kept her awake. She relived every bulge of muscles she had touched on his body. The soft warm skin that would involuntarily contract acknowledging her touch. His breathing was controlled, countering his brisk heartbeat. His eyes that saw everything she tried to hide. His vile words. She couldn’t help but feel his longing. It woke something up in her. Never before had a man looked at her like that. Made her crumble within mere moments. 

She had heard the description that the lord na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was physically imposing. This description did not do him any justice. He was imposing even when rendered harmless and kneeling in front of her.

After their visit, Feyd-Rautha could not find sleep either. He would recall the unexpected encounter. He remembered the vulnerability. Having his arms tied behind his back, and being bound to his couch, he felt hands roam his body to dislocate his weapons, starting with the bottom of his legs and working their way up. He noticed they paused shortly after they started. As if they were startled by what they had found. They continued slow, very slow. Deliberate. As if they were not seeking to find weapons but mapping his body. He was used to having hands explore his physic, but never uncalled for. Never had he encountered something like this. A level of vulnerability he inflicted on others, without ever having undergone it himself. He knew what these hands would feel. The weapons they would find. The bodily shapes the cold hands would touch while they combed every centimetre of his frame. The hands that slowly explored him, while also disarming him, from a slender and fairly small person with almond shaped eyes that only held a hint of spice induced blue within a sea of black.  

He had managed to find these eyes and pierce right through them. After another startle, now reflected in these gorgeous eyes growing rapidly in size, they looked down. As if in shame. As if he had caught them in a devious act, or thought. 

His assailants said they were three men strong. But he knew a woman when he saw one. They were there with two men and one woman strong. There must have been a reason they referred to her as a man, as it was common that women also participated in raids and fights. He concluded that they did not know she was a woman. And would he be the one to spill that secret? It could only be to his benefit. 

While she was kneeling between his legs, he could not help but close them to press on her while he tried to lean forward. Not to frighten her; this predicament he would not be able to overcome easily. But to reflect the longing he recognised. The adoration. The interest. Again, he noticed the faintest of startles. She knew what he was doing, and she accepted it. As she leaned in to finalise her check on the back of his shoulders and his neck, something she could have also done by standing behind him, he whispered “do you like what you see? What you feel? Smell?” He heard a faint gasp and continued “it will be my turn soon.” 

While he stared straight at her, penetrating her with his hard blue eyes, he was met with a blow to his head. After he woke up, they were gone, leaving him laying bound on the ground. 

It was a new experience. It enticed him. It excited him, mentally and physically. He wondered whether his assailant noticed that during her observations. Perhaps she even felt his blossoming groin, as her frisk was well performed. He craved for more. He craved for the person that touched him. 

+++ 

With not enough information to go on, he was left with no other choice than to go hunt her down. Feyd-Rautha decided that he would be respond to all upcoming attacks on his harvesters.  

+++ 

Several days later, he responded to yet another attack. Feyd-Rautha and his guard leaped out of their ornithopter and started running. In the golden hue of the evening light, Feyd-Rautha surged. His body was nearly fully covered in black leather, with protective yet form emphasising padding over his shoulders, arms and groin, while leaving his neck uncovered. His cape flowed, giving the illusion that he was flying. Contrary to his guard he did not carry a mask or a machete. He only held a sword, next to the daggers in his belt. Despite his many tries, he was not growing tired. He was growing angry and impatient.  

He would find her. Teach her this was no way to treat a lord. Teach her how he should actually be approached. Punish her for their insolence. Over the last days, his fantasies had grown wilder and wilder. Every day his urges were not answered, they turned darker. He longed to have her begging on her knees in front of him. To end her suffering. To start her pleasure. How he was looking forward to breaking her into his new pet. 

While slaughtering guards under the belly of the crawler, she suddenly noticed Feyd-Rautha's looming figure at the other side of the harvester. She slit the throat of the soldier she was fighting and started to run for the nearby rock formation.  

Feyd-Rautha looked at the sudden disperse of Fremen warriors. He noticed this happened almost immediately after he came in eyesight of the fighters. It could only mean that he was recognised by an uninvited guest.

With new energy flowing through his mind, he decided to follow the smallest one, running towards the rocks. He was so close. He could smell victory. 

Soon he reached the rocks, not long after his targets, his guard following suit. Despite sweat flowing down his back, he was not even panting. He was exhilarated with the prospect. He couldn’t wait any longer. He shouted: “Come to your lord!” But no response came. 

He started to trail the route they were following. He was aware of the risks, but felt confident. He was chasing them, not the other way around. They saw him and they fled. He loved being a hunter, reward always being so sweet. His longing caused his blood flow to be redirected. He did not know if he could control himself if he would find her here.  

After having climbed quite a few rocks, he lost all trails. Frustrated, Feyd-Rautha called a nearby ornithopter, and received confirmation no-one had left the rock formation. That meant they were still here. His hope increased again. He felt he was close.  

Driving on this knowledge, he continued to scout the surroundings. Every corner, every cave, he hoped to find her. Putting up a fight, but laying her weapons down eventually. While his mind roamed freely, seeing himself ravish her on these very stones, he landed in an ambush in a narrow strait between high rocks. One Fremen warrior stood on the top of the rocks, with the smaller one in front of him. Within the blink of an eye he was back again in this world. But rather than being scared, he was still on the hunt, so he tried to look in their eyes to recognise whether this was the woman he was looking for. But he wasn’t sure, just yet. 

“You wanted us. Here we are. Kneel and drop your weapons!” a nervous voice said, trying to mask itself with determination. 

“Why?” he replied tauntingly. His mind told him to pay attention, to not underestimate the seriousness of the situation. But he couldn’t. He was on a quest. 

“Kneel and drop your weapons, NOW.” 

Feyd-Rautha knew the guard that followed him would be here any moment now. That would throw the Fremen off, and would shuffle the cards in his favour. He needed to buy time though, so he decided to provoke a conversation. 

“You are standing here with two. I am just by myself. You should not fear me”, he said as sweet as possible, while he taunted his adversaries by switching his sword between his hands. 

As he looked to the person standing before him, he felt his knees being kicked in, and his hands slammed to the ground. The person that was standing on top of the rocks had jumped down and removed his sword.  

The person before him continued to speak: “you should not be here.” He could hear a slight tremble in the voice.  

Cockily, the na-Baron said: “I rule over this planet. Everywhere is mine to go” as he tilted his head, trying to look at the person behind him. Talking means no killing. 

“You are so stupid. Why would you be here? All by yourself? I could have already killed you and leave your corpse here to rot.” 

A knife was pushed under his chin by the person standing before him, forcing him to move his head up high, back to the person in front of him. He complied and saw black almond shaped eyes under the face covers. Eyes surrounded by long lashes. Butterflies wrapped around his abdomen. He had found her. He could not contain his smile as he seductively said: “why fear me? You know why I am here. We know why you did not kill me, again.” 

He was beautiful, in his own unorthodox way. Enticing. Mysterious. Despite his body being nearly entirely covered, she could see his face, his neck, part of his shoulders, his hands. It was all so powerful. This man did not know fear, only focus, only desire and creed. Everything about him craved to be touched. Touched by her. She recalled their encounter the other night. His despicable words. She knew he was dangerous, yet she could not contain the urge to learn what he had to offer. 

A gasp was audible, as he saw the eyes caressing his body and briefly closing. A small hum came from behind the face coverings.  

His pupils widened. The ends of his mouth started to create a small smile showing familiarity. He knew she wanted him. And she knew he wanted her. His mouth opened and with a menacing purr he said, for only her to hear: “I found you. Yet, here again, I am on my knees.” He heard a small sigh as he continued: “you are intoxicated in my presence. Don't hide it, my darling. There is no need.”  

She stopped breathing, as she felt a flutter in her core. He had recognised her desire. He had noticed the smallest cues that she had believed she could hide. How could a brute like this pick up on those details? 

He breathed in loudly and bit his lip before finishing: “hmm. You like me like this. I can see the blush on your cheeks. I am even more entertaining once the roles are reversed.” 

“Shut up!” she shouted as she slapped his face. More meant as a slap to herself. 

His head was flung to the side as a response. He licked and smacked his lips, as he tilted his head to slowly look up to her again. She could see the delight in his face, how his body reacted to her attention. He was excited about what she did, and she could not help but start to think about other responses he could give.  

As if he wanted to provoke her to take more actions: “you want me to shut up? I am just voicing your own thoughts.”  

She slapped him again. 

“But what I do not understand: why did you hide from me? Forcing me through all this trouble to bring you back to where we met last time. While we both know you will come with me.” If his clothing would have been any other colour than black, she would have seen his growing bulge as proof of how she enchanted him. 

He saw their eyes open widely and was sure he had heard a gasp. He indulged in the fear that he clearly installed. The confusion. Clearly, he had unveiled something never meant to reach the surface. He wanted to spill more threats, cause more reactions, but abruptly eye contact was broken, as something heavy fell next to him. He looked to his right and saw the body of the other Fremen lying on his belly, with his guard standing behind him.  

This changed their dynamics. 

While he tried to get up, she had leaped over him, kicking him to the ground, and started to fight his guard.  

As she was occupied, he collected his sword and simply waited. Either his guard would succumb, and he would drag her, now tired, away. Or his guard would gain the upper hand, allowing him to take over. He would win in each situation, so he decided to observe. And for some kind of reason, she felt safe enough to fight his guard, without too much consideration of him being behind her. 

He saw his Fremen prey fighting. He heard her grunt and pant while she was slowly gaining ground towards his guard. His guard was strong, but not agile nor quick, and she managed to utilise her surroundings better than him. She would provide for a delightful treat once he had dragged her to the safe environment of his palace.  

He noticed that his breathing and his enticement both increased. He started to remember everything he was planning to do. His pay-back for the humiliation earlier, which was delicious nonetheless. How he would strip his new Fremen pet, let his knife roam her body as her hands had roamed his frame, get her to beg for mercy, get her to beg to offer him everything he demanded in exchange for her life, get her to inflict pain on him, get her to taunt him. Mould her. This could be so much fun. 

His guard has sustained several injuries, while not being able to land any substantial blows. Feyd-Rautha's guard was clearly limited by his helmet, yet strong enough to stay standing. But still, it took too long.

Softly, he creeped up behind his little Fremen warrior to make an end to this nonsense. Leaping in, he covered her mouth with one hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist to pick her off the ground, ordering his guard to disarm her.  

She felt a boost of adrenaline as he had grabbed her. His strong frame pushing against her back. Knowing what he was planning on doing, she needed to get out of here. She did not know how she would react and how long she would be able to maintain her dignity. Get away from him as far as possible.

Once he placed her back on the ground, she tried to get him to let her go by thrashing herself, but his grip was too strong. Frantically, she managed to turn around to face him and decided to throw herself on the ground. He would either follow her to the ground, allowing her to wrestle him while his length would be less of an advantage to him, or he would let her go.  

He did not let her go, joining her on the ground. In the fall she managed to push her feet against his hips, keeping him at bay. She tried to keep him under control and kick him away, but he knew what she was doing. With the rocks scratching her back, he grabbed her feet to push her legs to one side, allowing him to lunge at her on her other side. She underestimated him as he managed to mount her from the side in the process while also grounding her arm that held her weapon. The Harkonnen she had fought before were not so well trained as him. 

She started to buck and tried getting him higher up her torso, so she could use her legs as leverage or in any case free her arm. But he sat as a rock, and with a knife in his hand he focussed on was he was set to do: see her. As anxious she became, he became calm. “Don't make this harder on yourself than it needs to be. Just succumb.” He took the knife and digged into her stillsuit around her bellybutton, ripping it open up straight up. As if he was skinning an animal. 

A golden skin of her belly became unearthed, littered with scars yet soft. “You are holding many secrets from me, Fremen. But I will learn who you are.”  

She became increasingly distressed. She was outnumbered, and he had ruined her suit. Getting out here alive would already be a challenge. With insufficient gear surviving the night would be equally complicated. But what could she say or do to get her out of this predicament?  

As he leaned on her shoulder with one hand to put leverage to proceed to cut to her neck, his knife hooked into a band around her chest. “What do we have here?” he said with a smoky voice, as he tilted his head and looked her in the eye. “I suspected you were a woman. With this confirmation you just became incredibly more interesting” he sighed. He saw her breathing became heavier and heavier, while she had stopped resisting him. He grabbed her chin to look in her eyes, only to see them averted. “No no no. You have not yet given up, have you? There is no fun in that. I was hoping for a longer hunt” he taunted. 

He continued the destruction of the suit until his prey's torso lay bare in front of him. 

How he was delighted. This was everything and more. A perfect present.  

Placing his nose into her neck to inhale her scent, while his hand touched her chest, he growled. Speaking to himself, more than to her: “you will bring me so much enjoyment.” A hand moved up to wrap around her neck: “and you will enjoy all of it.” He wanted to taste her fear there, on the warm rocks of the planet he now owned.  

She shivered at the thought, while something also bubbled up deep in her core. Her brain took over and told her this man was ruthless. Without any morals. With the dead body of her friend next to her, she knew she needed to get out. But how? She knew that if she were to be dragged into his lair, it would be the end of it. 

However, he also remembered his plans. He wanted to break her. And for that, he needed to create more tension, have more surprises. Make her scared. Taking her here, in front of his guard, would only prepare her for what was to come.

He seemed to ease up a bit, as she had stopped bucking. He released his hands from her shoulder and neck, and sat up a bit straighter while shifting a bit back to see the scene in front of him. Her bare skin, littered with scars, as well as goose bumps from what was happening and the coldness of the night. Tummy swiftly moving up and down to replenish the body with fresh oxygen. For unclear reasons he had left her face covered, but she knew he would also remove that any moment now.  

His rough hands roamed over her stomach, up to the middle of her chest, going sideways to fully uncover her breasts. Feeling the curves, touching the scars. He had warm hands. She shivered at his touch. His hands knew what they were doing, and knew the reactions they were inflicting on her body, but she could not allow that. She had not allowed any man to come this nearby, and he would not be an exception. “You are a little fighter I see. You know you have a debt to pay me for what you did. And with your friends not being here to save you, you have triple the debt to pay, as he tapped in the middle of her midriff.” Moaningly he continued, pressing on some fresher wounds: “receiving my scars would be a good way to start repaying. That way you will always remember me. And our pleasant times.” 

“Fuck you” she spat at him. A jolt ran over his back. “Feisty. I like them feisty. More of a challenge, more to break down” as he crouched over her again and bit her neck that he pushed up high. “I will teach you how to address me. You will learn to yearn for me. Although, I believe you already do that” as he shoved his hand under her suit, between her legs. “I can feel it”. He drew his tongue over to the other side of her neck as he continued “but don't learn too quick. I like game. It tastes better if it has been hunted, if it has experienced fear.” 

He sat up straight again and looked at her, while tracing his wet finger across the middle of her chest. “So pretty. So strong, yet... so fragile.” His finger wandered north, to stop just beIow her chin and tilt her head to an uncomfortable position to force her to look at him: “I need to see your face.” 

He leaned over to uncover her face, moving slowly and turning up his gaze to her with an equally leisurely pace. As his dark eyes pierced hers, she tightly grabbed the left side of his uniform, bucked explosively and rolled him to her right side. This gave her just enough room to escape from under him and get up. He fell with his head on the ground, causing his lip and skin on his jaw to chap on a piece of stone. Clenching his skull, he shouted “grab her!” to his guard. She knew she needed to dodge him, and feinted some moves, to get him to open room for her to make a run for it. But he simply lunged at her, grabbed her shoulders to smash her against the walls of the rock formation. Her body came to a stop with a punch, causing her head to bobble.  

As the na-Baron wiped the blood of his lips and chin, he walked to her to remove her face covering forcefully. She looked at him with wide eyes, a slightly open mouth, while being held against the wall, largely uncovered yet trying to protect her modesty. With her chest rising and falling rapidly, and still dizzy from the blow, she oozed fear and discomfort. He was delighted.  

He rubbed his blood laced thumb over her lips, as if to mark her, and smiled to her. "You do not disappoint. You will taste just perfect.” She saw bad thoughts in his eyes, menace, cruelty and yearning combined. His knife lingering over her body and face, indecisive of where to cut and leave his mark.

Suddenly she felt the blade carve the side of her neck in a vertical line, from jaw to collar bone, followed by a near-immediate lightness in her head.

As she fell in his arms, losing all support and control of her body, he instructed his guard: “this one will do. Get her in the ornithopter and bring her to my chambers. I want her cleaned up.” Looking up to his guard he said: “don’t touch her. She is mine to defile.”

Slowly passing out she was dragged away. 

+++

Next parts listed on my pinned post

Also posted on AO3

[allthemonsterhighdolls]

c. 2024

Finally fully unboxed my Fang Vote Rochelle. Promptly had too much fun with backlighting.

[softest-butch]

equilibrium (e)

armand/daniel / 2.5k

pwp / temperature play / predator/prey

'I suppose - you could make yourself warm again for me. I could fast for a period. Grow cooler. And you could feast.'

Daniel didn't respond. He licked a stripe along the wound he'd left in Armand's wrist, watching it close.

'Would you do it?'

Armand blinked. 'Would I -'

'Feast. Eat. Make yourself hot. Then let me -' He paused. 'Would you?'

ao3

[asherquazar]

Barnes and Nobel chose the weirdest photos of J to post to their official page, and he's so upset!!! I'm just over here dying and he's big mad 🤣🤣🤣

Should this be our new cover image? I mean, that's a face that'll move some copies for this 99¢ sale 😩👌

[bowbel]

Happy Halloween!! 🍭🎃🍬

I've been getting back in to doll collecting, specifically Monster High. I've been collecting the current IDW comic serie and wanted to draw something to send to the editors. It's my fav ghoul and childhood me!

Call it a bit of childhood wish fulfillment XD I love Draculara and I can't believe this is the first time I've ever drawn her. She's soo freaking cute!!

I dressed up as her when I was little and I'll dress up as her this year as well. Younger me couldn't find any official Draculara costume, so me and my mom made one our selves.

Enjoy little me dressed as my #1 ghoul under the cut!

Gotta find that shirt someday. Would of been perfect for Clawdeen!

Me 2024:

[bellacardoza16]

I am joining @lady-phasma who created this fun prompt for fangtober 2024!

Day 19: hypnosis.

Santiago X female!reader X Thèâtre des vampires.

Summary: Reader is an actress that was turned by Santiago and the rest of The Thèâtre des Vampires. Later on, Santiago decides to take matters into their own hands by messing with them.

As you slammed the coffin tight, Armand knew that you were angry and took it as a sign not to bother you but Santiago and the other vampires had more plans in mind.

*time skip*

As Armand gave you permission to blow off steam, you spring up from your coffin, got dressed and decided to hunt on your own while Santiago, Eglee, Gustave, Sam, Tuan, and Quang Pham were watching from a dark alley way.

“Maître, are you sure about this?” Gustave asked in concern as the others were watching from afar.

“Yes Gustave. I’m confident because while all of you can play with (Y/N), I can later have them all to myself.” Santiago snorted as he was telling everyone his plans to hypnotize (Y/N).

*time skip*

“Excuse me Madame, you can’t go in there.” You warned as you were getting ready to sharpen your claws when all of a sudden the old lady revealed herself to be Eglee using her Galmouring abilities.

“Surprise!” Eglee grinned evilly as she signaled for Gustave to come out of the shadows and to carry you back into the theater.

“Hey let go of me, what are you doing!?” You yelled as you were brought back to Santiago’s quarters.

“Bonsoir mon amour! Did you miss me? I sure missed you!” Santiago grinned theatrically as he strutted towards you.

“Santiago what do you and your minions want?” You asked as you weren’t in the mood for any games.

“Tsk, tsk, watch your tongue mon ami, we’re just trying to help you!” Santiago scolded playfully as he was getting a kick out of seeing be scared.

“Yeah right, I rather throw myself into the seine!” You scoffed as Gustave was tying your hands behind your back.

All of a sudden you felt Santiago mutter a spell and you found yourself trapped underneath his iron fist.

“No, let go of me!” You grunted as you were trying not to fall under his spell.

“Just give in, don’t fight it, You know you want to.” Santiago purred as his claws were tracing your jawline and your lips.

“No, please, I-,” you begged as your eyes started to get heavy.

“As I remove the ropes, you will not say a word unless I instruct you to. Do you understand?” Santiago asked as you stared at him.

“Yes.” You sighed heavily.

“Yes what?” Santiago asked as he grinned toothily.

“Yes Maître.” You replied as the lights in the room were touching your entire body.

“Good girl.” Santiago purred in an almost dream like tone as he used his cat like nails to play with strands of your long (H/C) hair.

“Sit up please.” Santiago said as you later sat up from the table.

“Now (Y/N), ever since your outburst yesterday you really hurt my feelings along with the other coven members and that made us very sad.” Santiago sighed theatrically as he feigned sadness.

“I’m sorry for being a bad girl maître.” You said in a sad tone until Santiago caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“Apology accepted (Y/N). I knew you would come around!” Santiago smiled toothily as he later nipped at your chin seductively.

Later on, Santiago decided to carry you like a rag-doll to the auditorium of the vampires where you met up with the other members of the coven like Gustave, Celeste, Sam, Estelle, Eglee, Planche, Basilic, Merd’em, Romaine, Luchenbaum, Tuan, and Quang Pham.

“You know ma Cherie, me and the others have been thinking that it’s time for you to get a starring role in our new play!” Santiago grinned maniacally as Gustave and Sam Carried a box onto the stage and as they opened the box it was revealed to be a ballerina costume with wrist ribbons and puffy sleeves.

“You’ll be playing our beautiful ballerina doll and I will be playing the dashing toy soldier!” Santiago declared as Estelle later placed your tiara on your head.

“Don’t you like it?” Santiago asked as he and the rest of the coven glared at you looking for answers.

As you stood there entranced, you opened your mouth and revealed your answer.

“Yes master, I love my role, and I am very grateful.” You declared emotionlessly as you bowed your head to him.

“That’s my girl, Now smile for me and the coven who are being so kind to you.” Santiago said as you smiled at him and the other vampires as you were under his influence.

*time skip*

“Oh please Monsieur soldier, save me from the evil fairy Queen!” You screamed theatrically as Estelle in a black dress with wings and chasing you around on the stage..

“Never fear dear! I will kill the dark fairy and Ava you from her wrath!” Santiago declared in a deep voice as he got his prop gun as Estelle pretended to fall from the stage to the ground as dark clouds were projected onto the screen.

Later on, Santiago ripped off your tutu and lead you in a twisted waltz as you proceeded to throw yourself at him under his influence. As the show ended, Santiago decided to unleash you from his hypnosis and bite you on the neck as you gasped in surprise.

“Hello my ballerina.” He drawled seductively.

“W-what am I wearing?” You asked as you saw that your face was painted white with big eyelashes.

“My dear, you just made your debut on the stage of the Thèâtre des vampires!” Santiago declared as he kissed you deeply.

“Did you hypnotize me?” You asked as you saw how he was kissing your hand and caressing your eyes with his thumbs.

“Yes and It will be the only thing that I can use to make you do the things that I want, unless you give into my commands.” Santiago drawled as he removed your bun and let your hair fall down to your back.

“Okay I accept.” You muttered.

“I’m sorry what did you say?” Santiago asked theatrically.

“I ACCEPT!” You shouted as he was clearly satisfied with your answer.

“Good girl.” Santiago said as he gave you a kiss on the cheek as you were later left on your own.

[afedericocomics]

If I were to draw a 4-panel style webcomic ;) ;) *wink wink* featuring Draculaura and Frankie, this is probably (most likely) how they would look in my style.

I love the silhouette of their g3 core outfits, so I really wanted to keep those! Just had to figure out a way to simplify the outfits more so if I DID make a fanart comic, I could work a little faster ;) ;)

YES, I DO WANT TO DRAW MORE VAMPIRE COMICS.

[lady-phasma]

Fangtober Day 3 - Ejactulation

Rockstar!Lestat x fem!reader

Summary: Rockstar!Lestat picks you out of the crowd at his concert and smut ensues, plot if you squint. It isn’t exactly perfect for the Day 3 prompt, but it still works. 3.7k words.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, graphic sex, unprotected sex/creampie,

a/n: reader is afab but not described, I wrote this to fulfill this request and the amazing and wonderful @aemondsbabe collaborated with me and provided the scenario, ty ilysm! I may pick this up for a future prompt this month, we’ll see.

Lestat couldn’t stop looking at you. There, near the front row, not screaming and crying, but singing along and smiling. That smile… so utterly unselfconscious. He couldn’t resist. His glance returned to you time and time again until he finished the set and strutted off stage.

As you exited the venue, a young woman with a lanyard and shirt bearing STAFF across the back approached you.

“Miss?” She spoke softly, but loud enough for you to hear over the crowd. “Would you follow me?”

“Me?” Like a cliche, you pointed at yourself and looked around you.

“Yes miss, right this way.” She turned and started to walk toward the backstage area. Your heart thundered in your ears and sweat threatened your palms.

What the fuck have I done? you thought, assuming you were in trouble, but you couldn’t think of a thing. As she led you through a door and down a hallway, your mouth went dry. The rooms you passed looked suspiciously like dressing rooms.

The woman stopped at a door near the end of the hall and tapped her knuckles lightly against it.

“Monsieur de Lioncourt?” she paused, waiting for a reply.

“Entré.” How one word could sound so melodious, you weren’t sure, but that thought was fleeting as the door opened and the woman waved you inside.

Lestat sat on a sofa against the wall. The only light in the room was a floor lamp in the corner. A dim respite from the lights of the stage. But his eyes caught all of the low light in the room and shimmered a nearly translucent blue.

“Ah, I see they found you. Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. His movements were fluid and graceful, slower than his frenetic on-stage energy.

“Thank you,” you managed as you sat. You tried to get ahold of yourself when he asked your name and you replied with only a slight quaver in your voice.

“I would very much like for you to accompany me to my hôtel this evening. Would you be amenable to that, mademoiselle?” His accent was delightful and didn’t appear to be an affectation. Perhaps that part of his persona was genuine.

“I would be honored,” you never spoke so formally, but something about him brought it out in you. You smoothed your hands over your pants nervously, but you held his gaze.

“Bien.” The word was short and clipped and he stood up more abruptly than you had expected. You tried to do the same but your head swam, not just from the quick rise from your seat. Is this happening? I could pinch myself. Another cliche flew through your mind.

He flashed you a smile and beckoned you to follow him out of the room. You were hardly aware you were doing it at all and then you were outside the backstage exit amidst a crowd of fans. Lestat slid so effortlessly into the limo, one moment he was on the pavement with you, the next only an outstretched hand appeared from the open door. You took a deep breath and slipped your hand into his. Before you could exhale the din of the fans was gone and the door shut behind you. He sat opposite you, his back to the driver and absently gazed around him, seeming to be disinterested in this arrangement.

“So…” his voice was thick, oily, his tone slightly aloof. “You enjoyed the show.”

You swallowed and managed a nod. His eyes flicked up to yours, his dark, smudged makeup making the blue, which was somehow bright in the dim backseat. He leaned forward resting his forearms on his crossed legs.

“You know every word,” he whispered, causing you to lean forward slightly. “Do you sing along as you drive to work, go to the gym, or… in the shower?” Lestat’s smile was unsettling and you felt your entire body go hot. You instinctively crossed your legs. “Humans do so enjoy singing in the shower.”

“I… I, um,” you had never stuttered in your life. Get a grip! you thought. Lestat chuckled softly and you looked at him quickly then away.

“I listen to your music while I do a lot of things. The words just stick. I guess I sing along sometimes too.” You looked back up at him as he reclined back against the seat.

As if the universe saw fit to release you from your embarrassment, the limo slowed and stopped. When the door opened Lestat gestured for you to exit first. The hotel was sleek and modern at first glance. The building had a facelift at some point in the recent past, but the lobby was sumptuous and elegant.

You felt out of place and then froze mid-step when you remembered why you were here and who you were with. Lestat strode past you without stopping and you sped up to catch back up with him at the elevators. The doors slid open and you stepped in after him. A meticulously manicured finger pressed the penthouse button and he then did the most mundane thing possible: he tapped his room key against the panel. It seemed like a lot of work for him to keep up this vampire persona, especially when he was doing everyday things for himself.

You took a moment to look him up and down for the first time since the concert. He was lithe but not slim, his hips jutted seductively just at the waistband of his pants, which you could see because of the slightly too-short-to-be-practical shirt he was wearing. He was disheveled from the concert, possibly even sexier like this and this close. He glanced at you as the elevator neared his floor. He pushed off the wall of the elevator where he had been leaning and took a step toward you. You thought he might speak, but he didn’t. He turned and faced the elevator doors when they opened.

“Siri, play Alexis Ffrench,” Lestat commanded as you entered the penthouse suite. Delicate and entrancing piano music flowed from the speakers. He walked into the living room and sat on the couch. You followed, tentatively beginning to sit in an arm chair across from him.

“No, chère, here,” he gestured next to him. You accepted his offer and sat down. “Now, where were we?” He mused. He looked at you inscrutably now. You glanced around the room, taking in the opulence. There were bottles of water on the coffee table.

“Um, may I?” you asked as you reached for one.

“Of course,” he replied. “So…” he began as you opened the bottle and took a sip. “Are you suitably impressed?” His smile was sly, underlining his jest. He stretched an arm across the back of the couch and crossed his legs. He was so casual, at ease, the total opposite of your own posture.

“I honestly don’t know that I’ve ever been in a hotel room like this before.” You looked around again, then back to him. “Would you like one?” you asked holding up the bottle.

“Moi? Non, merci, I haven’t had a sip of water in a century.”

You furrowed your brow, put the lid back on the water bottle, and sat it on a coaster on the coffee table. You tried to get comfortable on the sofa but it was hard to look directly at him while sitting so close. You turned and sat on one of your legs, your foot behind your knee.

“Is that so?” you raised an eyebrow at him, taking the bait. “So you keep the act up as long as anyone is around?” You waved your hand in his general direction when you said ‘act,’ indicating his entire person.

“The act? Hmmm,” he smiled softly and examined the back of one hand and his nails. “Do you not find it appealing?” He dropped his hand to his lap and leaned slightly closer to you.

“Oh it definitely works for you.” You felt your face go hot and almost reached for the bottle of water, but Lestat moved closer to you on the sofa. It was impossible that he moved that fast, you swore you must just not have been paying attention.

“Ha! Oui, it has ‘worked’ for me for quite some time,” he laughed and his once-blue eyes looked almost pale lavender. You blinked at him. Maybe it’s a contact high from the concert, you told yourself.

“No,” Lestat reached his hand out and touched your jaw, holding your gaze with the lightest pressure of his fingertips. “You are not intoxicated by anything. You just refuse to see. May I show you?”

You nodded and swallowed. You felt entranced. This was more than physical attraction, he was magnetic. Before you had time to truly register what he had said and what he was doing, Lestat leaned toward you and kissed you softly. His fingers slid up your jaw to cradle your face in his hand. He lingered for just a moment before murmuring something that sounded like belle and then sat up straight again. His hand moved to your neck, his thumb stroking just below your ear. You watched with a mix of horror and arousal as fangs, actual fangs, appeared in his mouth.

“How…” you began, but the sound barely came out and you couldn’t have finished anyway before he was kissing you again. His lips were cool and hard against yours. He guided you closer to him, seeming to move you himself. Your knee pressed against his now, the inches that were between you completely gone. You felt yourself lean into his kiss, reaching out to rest your hand on his leg, as if to steady yourself. You felt momentarily dizzy and pulled back to catch your breath. Lestat began to cover your neck in kisses and you gasped.

“I…” you took a deep breath. “I don’t understand.” Your words came out almost as a sigh. You closed your eyes. You instinctively moved your hand to his arm as he pressed against you.

“’S’okay,” Lestat murmured against your neck. “Relax. Enjoy.” You groaned quietly as his lips and fangs grazed the skin just above the collar of your shirt. You arched your back when he moved a hand behind you, supporting you.

You began to give into the sensations, to suspend your disbelief, let him continue to play the vampire. Who cares? He’s hot and talented and crazy usually comes with the territory.

“We shall see about that,” Lestat said. He replied as if he has heard your thoughts. Not possible, but again, who cares?

“Fine, whatever, just don’t stop,” you moaned and ran your hand up his arm, over his shoulder to the nape of his neck.

Suddenly, startlingly, Lestat stood, guided you with him, and scooped you up, one hand behind your knees. Okay, he’s strong, you thought, trying nearly-futilely to make sense of him, but not caring all that much. You were in the bedroom before the thoughts were finished running through your mind.

Lestat sat you on the bed and looked at you for a moment, then he sat facing you. He slid your shirt up, his hands on your sides and you raised your arms to allow him to slip it over your head and off your arms. You were moving fast with him in a way that was exhilarating. You still felt half in a dream, but you wanted this, may have even allowed yourself to daydream about this before, a fantasy for millions of fans.

Immediately his mouth went to your breasts, kissing and nipping on them through the fabric of your bra. His hands moved quickly and effortlessly to your bra closure and unclasped it in one movement. You let him slide it off your shoulders. He exhaled softly before taking one of your nipples in his mouth. He held you still with his hands on your back and licked your nipple before grazing his teeth against it. He moved to the other and sucked it between his lips quickly and you gasped. The sensation made you clutch at him, trying to steady yourself. You ran a hand up the back of his neck into his silky hair. The pressure increased and you dug your fingers into his skin.

“Oh god, yes,” you moaned and let your head fall back as he sucked. Slowly he slid his a hand to your other breast and squeezed, not quite roughly. Every movement he made was elegant and deliberate. Before you realized it was happening, Lestat was laying you back on the bed. He slid one thigh between yours and pressed against you slightly. His strength made the movement effortless, his mouth never leaving your breast. You arched your back against him, feeling the wetness between your legs as you tried to grind against his leg. He pulled his other hand from behind your back and cupped both breasts in his hands. Moving from one to the other, he drug his lips along your chest. You felt the gentle scratch of his fangs on your skin.

“You taste fantastic ma petite,” he whispered against you. He ran his thumb over the nipple that wasn’t in his mouth. You pressed your chest up toward him. You wanted to touch him all over, but settled for reaching down to tug his shirt up, trying to get to bare skin. You grazed your fingertips up his sides and around to his back. He moaned around your nipple and goosebumps spread over your body. You dug your fingers into his back as he reached between you to unfasten your pants. Your heart raced and you squeezed your eyes shut at the overwhelming sensations. Suddenly Lestat pulled back and sat up to kneeling, both hands in the waistband of your pants. With no effort at all, he peeled them off and tossed them on the floor, taking your panties with them. A small chuckled had escaped your lips as you had lifted your legs to ‘assist.’ You covered your mouth with the back of one hand.

“Non, chère,” he murmured and moved your hand from your face. You opened your eyes at his touch. He kissed your lips gently then slid off the bed and stood next to it. You felt incredibly odd for a split second and then you were absorbed in his movements, nearly forgetting your own nakedness. He pulled his shirt off, shaking his blonde hair lightly as the shirt left his head. Far too slowly, he hooked his thumbs in his pants and began to slide them down. You involuntarily licked your lips as he revealed his hip bones. You shifted your hips on the bed, rubbing your thighs together slightly. His eyes darted from yours to your legs then back to meet your gaze. His pants hit the floor and he stepped out of them as he moved to get back on the bed. He slid a hand between your knees and opened your legs again, moving between them.

Your eyes were transfixed on his perfect cock. You noticed the V-shape of his torso, of course, but it only forced your eyes downward to the tidy curls of dusty-blonde hair and absolutely beautiful cock. You tore your eyes away and looked up at his face. He was smirking, completely vain and self-satisfied. You couldn’t care less. You spread your legs a fraction wider and smiled back at him. He looked down the full length of your body then leaned forward kissing your chest and stomach again.

Lestat’s hands roved everywhere. You lost track as he moved against you. You ran one hand into his hair, let the other touch every available inch of his skin. Gently you tugged him upward, encouraging him. His lips found yours and kissed you deeply, fangs grazing your lips. You moaned as his tongue slid between your lips. You tangled your fingers deeper into his hair. He propped himself up on one hand by your head and reached between you with the other. Still kissing you, he slid his cock between your wet folds. Something like a groan came from his lips, vibrating into your mouth. The head of his cock nudged your clit and you lifted your hips.

“So needy,” he muttered as he broke the kiss. You felt him move further back and press against your entrance. His hand slid up your side and grazed your breast as he slipped his hand under your shoulder. You looked at him, eyes almost glazed over with desire, and bit your bottom lip. His lips parted slightly and he exhaled as he began to slide into you. He took his time, savoring your wet heat.

“Mon dieu,” Lestat moaned softly. You moved the hand not in his hair to his lower back and urged him on. You tilted your head back and sighed as he pressed into you completely. Lestat stayed there, filling you up, for a brief moment, then he began to move in short strokes. He kissed down your jaw and neck as he moved. You gripped his hip and pulled him toward you. He lengthened his strokes and made the most delicious sounds next to your ear. You fingers neared the top of his buttocks as you lifted a leg to his hip.

“Yes, fuck, you feel amazing,” you rambled. Lestat slid his hand down your body and behind your thigh, guiding your leg higher. He tilted his hips to find a new angle and his cock rubbed against that spot deep inside you. The sounds you made were unintelligible. You clenched around him, perhaps trying to keep him in place, but he increased his pace, returning to that spot over and over again. You may have groaned his name, you weren’t sure, you couldn’t control the sounds that tumbled from you.

Still propped on one hand, Lestat slid his hand from behind your thigh, across your hip, and down to your belly. Your hips twitched against his. His fingers traveled lightly between you. He found his goal expertly and slid slowly over your clit. The pressure was too gentle and you whined, in truth, an embarrassing sort of sound, but he seemed to enjoy it. He drew the sound from your lips again with a couple more light strokes before increasing his pressure.

Lestat sped up the movement of his hips and didn’t quite match the rhythm with his fingers. He lifted his head and watched you through the curtain of his hair. Your fingernails grazed his scalp and he groaned. You rocked your hips as he made small circles on your clit, meeting his thrusts, chasing the friction and the overwhelming pleasure.

“Just like that that, chère,” Lestat whispered as he watched your face. You couldn’t continue to look into those blue-lilac eyes and squeezed yours shut as you felt your orgasm begin at his fingers. You wanted it desperately, but you also never wanted this to end. Your hand moved to his ass and on his next stroke pulled him as deep as you could. He moaned and dropped his forehead to yours. He never ceased his movements against your clit and your body shook as your climax started to wash over you. You weren’t sure you had ever felt so good. You would think about it later, but the twitch of your hips and ab muscles every time his fingers passed around your clit was a new experience. You thought you heard him chuckle.

His hips moved quicker now, not slowed by your clenched muscles around his cock. You tightened harder around him. Your body curled as you came and you threw your arm around his neck. Your forehead nearly rested on his shoulder, putting your ear next to his lips. He muttered delicate French words you didn’t understand. He finally moved his hand from you and slid it around your waist, holding you close to him. You cried out softly as he pounded into you and were so spent, so delirious from the intensity of your orgasm that you didn’t hear his question the first time.

“Where do you want it?” he repeated. You groaned. How could you answer that? You already knew what you were doing was risky, but your birth control flashed in your mind and you whispered your answer in his ear.

“Come inside me.” Those three little words were enough. Lestat’s hips never stuttered or faltered. He fucked you smoothly through his orgasm, moaning your name. You thought you might have been able to come again, but then you felt his hips stop and his release spill into you. He cursed and stroked into you a few more times before gently laying you back on the bed. He looked down at you, tilted his head, and tucked one side of his hair behind his ear. Then he stroked your cheek and moved back to kneeling. His movement inside you made you groan with the renewed stimulation, but he only smiled at you as he pulled out. It was a fond smile, not exactly taking pleasure in your soft whine as he left you empty, but not not enjoying it.

Lestat lay down on the bed next to you. He didn’t pull you close to him, but he put his arm out for you to lift your head. You lay back, head resting on his arm, your sides touching down the length of your bodies.

“Holy fuck,” you muttered as you caught your breath. “I mean it. Holy fuck.” Lestat chuckled at your exclamation.

“Perhaps that was not enough proof, but I think you might be more open-minded now, no?” His fingers trailed over your upper arm and shoulders, the fingernails grazing your skin.

“Honestly, does it matter?” You looked at him, but you weren’t sure you still had doubts. Your rational mind told you vampires couldn’t exist and he was insane or, at the very least, eccentric. Probably the only thing that would convince me would be him drinking my blood and I might be up for that. He’s a weirdo but he’s fucking gorgeous.

“That could be arranged.” Lestat’s soft laugh caused goosebumps to race over your skin. Your eyes were wide as he turned to lay on his side, propping himself on his elbow to look at you.

Fangtober 2024 prompt list • Main masterlist

[gerard-thegreat]

“Draculaura’s stealin’ my heart”

Draculaura Reel Drama 🎭

Art by: Gerard The Great, AKA: GeeDaGreat

[whatisbirds]

Souris De Poche

In his mind’s eye a multitude of scenes proposed themselves–a hateful old kine waiting with a warded shotgun. A pair of upstarts lying in wait at either side of the door frame. A pile of corpses.  A pile of sweet-smelling ashes. Anatol shoved the door open.

A one shot covering the aftermath of a second inquisition raid on Ana's pack. It can be read on Ao3 here or under the fold!

They had all been out drinking.

Cleaving from the side of the Rack with its cornucopia of low-hanging fruit had always been a relatively safe bet. A stones throw from their doorstep, swarmed with out of towners sunk into various depths of inebriation. 

It was only for a handful of hours.

Three, four max.

A pregame, a mixer to prop up Adalia before the celebration slated for later that same evening to show off a crowning achievement for Tzimisce– her Zulo. Long time coming, but warmly welcomed by the entire pack. Anatol had caught a glimpse of it a few nights before along with Mihal–her form was traditional, but expertly crafted. A Dragon well suited for the battlefields of old. Nothing to write home about in his opinion…but enough to leave him feeling a touch restless. He knew the anticipatory gaze of the bloodline, which had long rested on her shoulders, would soon shift to him. 

All the more reason to drink, and drink well.

The goal had been to get to a steady flush rather than wasted but they had landed somewhere between those two points. Happy, a bit clumsy, a bit reckless. The Dutchess led the pack, walking toe-to-heel backwards as she faced the trailing group. Despite her drunken sway and the steady stream of foot traffic passing by them, she navigated the walk perfectly. Extra eyes, obviously, but to her credit she concealed them so well even Anatol had trouble pinning down the where and the how. She picked at him as the walked like a kid brother, pinching and needling and loudly wondering when he was going to follow her lead and grow the fuck up. It wasn’t that hard, really. Not for anyone with a lick of imagination, a scrap of self-determination, a bit of spine.

Souris de poche. 

Mihal’s pocket mouse.

“Content to wile away the decades in the garden shade,” Adalia reached out, a drunken swipe at Ana’s nose which he side-stepped. She cackled as he nearly tripped over the curb in the dodge, kept steady by Del linking her elbow with his. “Only rousing when you hear Mihal’s bell, to which you go scampering. Honestly I’m starting to wonder if even that is enough to get you moving these nights.”

“What’s the rush?” Anatol traded a conspiratorial glance with Del. There was nothing to it, aside from layering on some artificial conspiracy atop Adalia’s barb. “I’ll fly when I wish. But I am happy to hear the anticipation is killing you, dear sister. How long do you think you have left in you until you finally croak? Ten years? Twenty? I want to see how long we can stretch this.”

“As if I’d embarrass myself by dying at the hands of a child.” Adalia scoffed.

“I think fifty would do it.” Del’s voice was a flatline which slid easily beneath the back-and-forth. She fished her cell from her coat pocket and popped open her alarm app. “Gonna set it for… this time tonight, 2063. How’s this?”

Alarm 49 years, 364 days, 23 hours and 59 minutes - Adalia greets sun because Ana refuses to scrape himself out of Mihal’s basement.

Kalisto snorted from where he trailed close behind the three, “I’ll save the date.”

“That’s not fair,” Anatol snickered, “We haven’t had a proper basement in nearly a decade.”

“Oh right.” Del updated ‘basement’ to ‘cutting room floor’. “Better?”

Anatol nodded. “Much better.”

As they rounded the block corner the Palace Estates rose into full view. A gem of the Fairhaven skyline, Adalia’s baby. Tonight its walls were bathed in a vibrant crimson light–to passers by, it was a beacon of color in an otherwise bright-white-LED-washed section of downtown. For them it was a promise of expansion–they painted Portside red so they could watch the crimson flow into and cling to Fairhaven like a blood infection.

Anatol pulled out a pack of Camels of which Del filched from without asking as usual, he lit hers and she his. Kalisto’s eyes never drifted away from the skyline, what little of the stars they could see in the light-choked canyon of downtown. Adalia, bored, turned to the Palace Estate doors as they approached. 

The glass doors clattered against the deadbolt when she pulled on them.

Locked.

The silence that rolled over the group was deafening.

Adalia yanked the door again to the same result. Ana peered past her into the lobby which was empty. Valeriy, who usually minded the front desk, was absent. 

Delphine snuffed out her cig on the doorframe, paler than usual. “Am I the only one smelling blood?”

Anatol tossed his own cig into the street and took a deep breath. It had originally been masked by the reek of tobacco but now it was unmistakable. It wasn’t exactly fresh, the sour sheen of coagulation lacing the usually appetizing scent. It was also potent, implying…

“Shit.” Kalisto muttered as Adalia fumbled with her key card. With a beep they were in, and the pool of blood behind the lobby counter became obvious as they entered. The toreador wasted no time in zipping over, Anatol close in step behind him. Behind the counter was grisly–a muddy mix of blood and dust covering the dead body of one of their recent hire ghouls. Shards of ancient bone were scattered in the mix. “Shit!”

“What?” Del jogged over. “Found Valeriy.” Ana’s voice was distant to his own ears. “And the new guy.”

“Who the fuck–?” Del cut herself off, her gaze snapping behind Anatol. He turned to see, slumped in the mail alcove, two more bodies. One of another young ghoul skewered through with a plain pine stake, the other a stranger with his throat cut.

“S.I.” Adalia hissed, hurrying to the elevators. “How? How did they even– don’t they have Ventrue in Seattle to skewer?”

Kalisto jammed his thumb on the elevator call button before, after a second of waiting, abandoning it for the stairs. Even with celerity it would be a beat before he made it to the penthouse, but that didn’t fucking matter. What fucking mattered was getting up there and finding out who even going to be there waiting for them. Anatol had half a mind to follow but…

He’s not… no. 

No. 

I would know, wouldn’t I?

If he’s…

The elevator doors parted, Del and Adalia rushed inside. Adalia shot him an exasperated– terrified–glare as he stood motionless in the lobby. “What the fuck are you waiting for Stamatin?”

Ana pushed himself forward and the doors shut behind him. He sat on the side railing as the car slowly started ticking up the floors. He felt a hand on his arm–Delphine–as he stared up at the counter with Adalia.

They were all thinking the same thing.

The scene was announced to them before they reached the penthouse.

Like a javelin shot, Kalisto’s mourning wail ripped through the elevator shaft, shrill and brutal. Every vein in Anatol’s body froze solid, he gripped Delphine’s hand so hard he could feel the bones begin to bend, threatening to break. She, a mirror, dug her nails deep into the meat of his forearm. A fetter. Don’t do anything stupid.

A ding.

The doors parted to a penthouse in total disarray.

Adalia was off like a shot, ripping through turned over furniture and picking through the mutilated remains of Inquisition agents. Slowly Del and Ana stepped out of the car, stepping over bodies as they cautiously moved deeper into the House. It was quiet, save for Kalisto’s weeping, Adalia’s desperate scraping of every corner she could reach. Ana’s ears sharpened past both commotions, alert to anything that could be scurrying between them.

Scraaaaape.

Pinpointed.

“Cockatrice.” Ana muttered.

“Yeah?”

“Second study, with the stuffed Cockatrice. Something moved.” He made an attempt to push forward but Del kept her grip tight. A blossom of anger. Raw. “What?”

Delphine’s expression was unreadable, her only point of communication becoming how viciously deep her nails embedded themselves into his muscle. The clamor of Adalia’s scramble had abruptly stopped somewhere along the south wing. “Nothing.” She relented her grip and wiped his vitae off on her jeans, “I’ll watch your back.”

With a wary nod, the two crept toward the study. The door was ajar and smeared with so much blood the Lord would spare it. A welling anxiety began to shake his bones, compress his chest as he reached to push it open. In his mind’s eye a multitude of scenes proposed themselves–a hateful old kine waiting with a warded shotgun. A pair of upstarts lying in wait at either side of the door frame. A pile of corpses. 

A pile of sweet-smelling ashes.

Anatol shoved the door open.

A figure lay sprawled at the center of the study. A rough mess of ripped plumage and exposed bone slowly reconstituting into the rough shape of a man perched atop the cracked-open corpse of an SI agent. In a feral twitch, its head snapped to face them.

Its eyes were bright, red, and wild.

“Mihal.”

Anatol collapsed beside him like a puppet cut loose of its strings. Relief and joy, weeping and agony-laden, yanked him down and under like a riptide. Reduced him crawling on jelly-boned limbs to his sire’s side, a wail of his own ripping through the penthouse when Mihal’s claws skewered cleanly through his shoulder like a fishhook, snapping his childe into a thorny embrace. Incisors several inches in length pierced through Anatol’s ear and threatened to crack past skull as Mihal nestled in close, teething. 

“Mihal, Mihal, Mihal.” He chanted his sire's name as if the second he stopped the mangled thing in his arms would decay into dust. The full claw of each of his fingerbones slotted deep between Mihal’s ribs, each engaged in a slow, committed rend to assure themselves that the other was there and feeling and alive. Or, at least as alive as they could be.

Not all was lost.

“What. Happened.”

Anatol could not see Kalisto from where he was folded into Mihal, but he didn’t need to to hear how his voice hung on a thread. Shrieked through. Helena. Where is Helena? Vratislav?“Is it not obvious?” The elder’s tzimisce’s voice was an alien rasp. Equally run through. Bitter. “We lost.”

[psycheetamore]

Another escape, another hunt 

Summary: Our lord has managed to get his Fremen prey into his palace. But she will not succumb to his desires so easily, even if her body wishes to do so. How he loves his game.

Tags: MDNI, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen Is His Own Warning, anticipation of smut, predator/prey - the author regrets nothing

Part 2 of 6 of my contribution to the predator/prey thrope for Kinktober of @lady-phasma - nr 1-4 are chapters of 1 story (1-3 Feyd/OC hunt related, nr 4 is the reward for our lord), and nr 5-6 is me sharing my favourite chapter that I have written to date with the hunt between Rabban/OC. The 6 bits will be posted through daily posts.

Word count: 1.8k

Losely based on chapter 11 of Choosing to Follow Destiny

His slaves were standing outside of his quarters, as the na-Baron sought entrance. 

“Is she readied?” 

“My Lord…” and the slave paused. “My lord, we could not get the cuffs on” as she fell to her knees and started to grovel asking for forgiveness.  

He kicked her to the floor and proceeded: “you are lucky. I am in a good mood.” 

Several minutes ago, the terrified slaves that had dressed the new interest of the lord Harkonnen, locked her up in a separate room in his quarters. It did not take a lot of effort to force the lock. She felt vulnerable, dressed in clothing that did not deserve that word considering how little of her frame it covered and that could be meant only for ladies of the Harkonnen night. Feeling the mark he had left on her neck, which seemed to have been treated. Her braids loosened to have her long black hear flow across her back. Horrible shackles the slaves tried to put on her. She could not allow herself to think what he was planning to do. For her sanity, and to keep control over her physical urges that seemed to long for him. She could still feel his strong fingers gracing her lips. Yet, it could not distract from the recognition that she needed to move. The longer she was in his vicinity, the more difficult it would be to escape.  

Feeling her heart throb in her throat, against the healing wound he had left, she surveyed his chambers for any weapons or other tools that could help her gain some leverage. But it did not come at a surprise that nothing was present. It could not be anything else than that he prepared for roaming around here. Fear started to seep into her bones as she started to understand the gravity of the situation she was facing. The second-best option was looking for heavy blunt objects. Something that could allow her to issue a blow and try to get away. As she was scouring as quickly as she could for such objects, she heard him arrive and talk on the other side of the door. She grabbed a plaid laying over his bed and scooted softly to hide in the darkness next to the door.  

She noticed a body drop and the door opening. This was her one chance. As he walked in, she threw the plaid over his head and pushed him, making room to run away.  

Surprisingly, he was disconnected for a blink of a moment, just enough. She did not wait for a second opportunity, and dashed.  

The hallways were as dark as his room, the night having fallen and scarcely lit. There was no distinction between the left and the right side of the hallway, so intuitively she took off to the left. 

From a distance she heard him shouting: “run. Run as far as you can. Challenge me. We both know you will end up chained to my bed.” Shivers flowed over her back. 

She ran and ran. She should find some light coming from the moons anytime now. That would give her guidance on where to go. It felt like she ran for hours, probably mere minutes. Corridors went up and down. What was this place other than a maze, she thought, completely lost and getting out of breath. Functioning on pure adrenalin she forgot her fatigue and anything else holding her back. She just ran. 

Suddenly she heard footsteps coming from a corridor she was running towards. With muted steps she backed up against the wall, carefully peaking around the corner. A chance to sip some air, and perhaps more. A guard, dressed in a black Harkonnen uniform, was paroling. He did not seem to be on high alert. Perhaps her escape did not yet reach everyone. She pressed herself against the wall, waiting for the guard to walk past, so she could overtake him. Completely oblivious the guard walked past her. It took her one well-placed kick to the backside of his knees to get him to fall on the ground. He fell on his hands and knees, but it still made a terrible noise. This would surely attract other guards or Feyd-Rautha himself, so she immediately started kicking him to the head, bruising her feet, adrenaline masking the pain it caused. It took a few kicks for him to lay flat on the ground, allowing her to grab the bat and dagger he was carrying. She started to run in the direction he came from. 

After yet another corner she took, she lost the little sense of direction that had remained. But there was no time to worry. 

She continued to run until she abruptly recognised an imposing figure in the shadows from afar. The stance, the body, the clothing: it could be no other than her captor who had spotted her, staring at her with a tilted head and black smile on his face. She stopped, froze for a second, turned around and started running the other way around. Even with her newly acquired weapons she was aware that she would hardly be a match for him in these circumstances. 

Feyd-Rautha chuckled. Feisty and spirited. He was happy to see that she lived up to his expectations. He did anticipate she would free herself from the first room, and try to make a run for it. There was a reason he did not bring guards. He had, however, imagined that he would be able to keep her in, as he had carefully removed all sharp and heavy objects. A true fighter he was dealing with. And, by god, she even managed to obtain some weapons. Lovely. She clearly had not given up just yet, just like he asked.

His hunter instinct was kick-started by seeing her flee away. How he loved a game like this. With his longer legs, boots, and overall better condition, it did not take too long before she was within an arm's reach of him. 

She heard him gaining distance on her. His footsteps grew closer and closer. She gave it her all. She needed to outrun him. Her heart was throbbing in her throat from exhaustion. She needed to push through. Or find a way out. But where? No tangible options presented themselves. A sudden ambush perhaps. Short term, but still. 

He was just steps away from her, she could hear it. She decided to push for a last final sprint, to get him to speed up as much as possible, allowing her to suddenly divert her track and use his momentum against him. In the process, she managed to dart around him, while brushing the dagger across his arm. Now standing behind him, he turned to face her. Wearing his evening clothing, but still with boots and a belt with weapons, he showed her the blood on his fingers, which came from the wound she inflicted. Yet another wound he would have her repay.

“It is a dangerous game you play, little one. I have killed for smaller offences” he said menacingly, although his face gave away the joy he felt. "How is my mark on your neck feeling?"

“Kill me” she taunted. “Let's get this over with.” 

“No” he answered. “We both know I won't do that. You are far too lovely to meet such an end. In any case not such a quick end” as he grabbed a knife from his belt in a leisurely pace. He started to walk towards her, shifting his head from left to right, seeing straight through hear face into the inner workings of her brain.

She tried to maintain their distance by moving back as he closed in on her. But there was only so much space, as she was backed against the wall.  

He tigered around her, managing to get her into a corner. “Your strike, lovely lady. I will give you one strike” as he invited her through a gesture to come at him.  

She looked in his eyes and saw darkness. This was a dangerous man, with dangerous games. He was in control. Her only way out would be to disarm him, and hold him hostage until she could get out.  

She decided to make a go for it. Holding the club in her right hand and the dagger in her left hand, her strategy would be to get him to focus on her left hand, lose the club, switch the dagger to her other hand and strike.  

But her eyes gave her away. As she tried to execute this plan, he knew what was coming. He had seen every step that she had anticipated, and before she knew it, his hard chest, just covered with an evening tunic, had pinned her against the wall. She could feel his heart beat through the nothings they both wore. She could feel the heat flowing from his body to hers, as he kept her legs in check by pushing one of his between hers. His growing groin pressed against her bottom. Her body started to respond involuntarily, creating the moisture he craved. Forcing her hand to open, he managed to release the remaining weapon and kick it away. Only now did he turn her to face him, while holding her shoulders with an iron grip. 

She tried to kick him, causing him to push his entire body against hers to keep her still. As response, she pushed her hands on his upper arms. His strength was felt as she was pinned against the wall. His solid arms, his muscular torso, the growing excitement in his nether regions. It caused a further growing excitement in her nether regions as well, the likes of which she had never encountered before.  

“Why do you resist me? You belong here. You want to be here. You want to kneel before me and take everything I have to give to you.” Vile, tainted words came out of his mouth as honey, while his lips touched her neck and ears. He started to kiss, nibbling on her ears, allowing his warm tongue to roam over the ridges of the wound that was sure to become a scar from her ear to her shoulder, claiming her, marking her as his, while holding her head still. “Don't resist” he said with a chanting voice, feeling how her breathing located to the top of her chest. With nearly nothing covering her, she started to fear he would feel the warmth and wetness radiating from her body onto the leg that he had positioned so strategically against her most sensitive area. He wrapped his arms around her back to press her against him, as he softly bit on her neck. “Don't resist. Succumb to me” he continued to chant. He felt she was slipping away, as if her legs were not providing support anymore. 

“I can't” a small voice said with a deep sigh. His mouth on these sensitive areas, his vicinity, all the vile words that had left his sculpted mouth; she started to loose control. Breathing more heavily and rapidly, which he could feel through his chest that still forced her against the wall. 

He knew she was starting to break. All it took was a bit of affection. It was quicker than he had anticipated.  

He softly replied: “you can. And you will” as he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. Pinching her bottom, awfully near her core with a mind of its own, he said: “you want to submit to me.” 

+++

Next parts listed on my pinned post

[allthemonsterhighdolls]

c. 2024

Valentina Bolt

Playing with light direction and lighter gels with this one. I lit her from the right and from above with one shot combining both light sources. For some I used white light, the others I ran the light through a single pink gel (for my stronger colours I use two gels). I enjoy the subtle variations you can get...

Really need to punch up some of her accessories, I've just never decided how...