#Vampire!Reader

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love

pairing | young aemond x vampire!reader

word count | 4.1k words

summary | aemond becomes obsessed with his mother's newest lady-in-waiting. he seeks her comfort after aegon takes him to the brothel.

tags | AFAB reader, older woman/younger man (more like older girl/younger boy), delusional aemond, angst/comfort, aemond pov.

note | my first time posting, also I really wanted to see what it would be like with a vampire in hotd, PART 2 coming soon.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

He was ten and two when Aemond Targaryen first laid eyes upon your bewitching figure. At first, he was convinced it was a mere trick of his own mind, a mere mirage conjured forth by imagination and longing.

Clad in a resplendent gown of deep wine red, you appeared nothing short of ethereal, your skin seeming to glow beneath the vibrant hue of her attire. Your hair, intricately braided into an elaborate updo, lent an air of regal sophistication to your youthful appearance. It was no wonder that you had swiftly ascended to the ranks of his mother's most esteemed ladies in waiting.

Despite his tender age, Aemond was keenly aware of the profound allure that you exuded. You could not have been more than eight and ten, and yet you possessed a rare and ineffable grace that captured his young heart with an instantaneous and profound intensity.

In that fleeting moment of their initial encounter, he became resolutely certain that, when he came of age, you would be the one he would take as his wife.

He despised them. The sheer sight of Aegon and his nephews filled Aemond with deep-seated resentment. It was a reminder of the injustice he felt deep in his bones. Aegon and those bastards, useless and undeserving, had been gifted with dragons, while Aemond, a true warrior, was left without one. As if to add insult to injury, they had gifted him a lowly pig, a cruel mockery of his situation.

Consumed by anger and grief, Aemond could not contain his rage any longer. He stormed into the Dragon Pit, the heat and fury of the dragons surrounding him. In the chaos, he narrowly escaped being burnt alive, only to find himself scolded by his mother.

And then he was seeking solace in her arms. Rare as it was for her to offer comfort, Aemond clung to her, desperate for any shred of comfort in the face of his overwhelming emotions.

Before their moment could fully settle, a soft, melodic voice filled the room. "Your Grace - Oh, I apologize for interrupting," your voice wafted into the chamber, causing Aemond to hastily pull away from his mother, his back turned as he hastily wiped away the traces of dirt and tears from his face.

Aemond straightened his posture and steadied his breath, turning to find you standing in the doorway, your eyes filled with genuine concern and compassion. He felt a pang of embarrassment as he realized he had been caught in such a vulnerable moment.

"It's alright, My Lady," his mother, Alicent, reassured you as you approached them. Aemond couldn't help but notice the weariness in his mother's expression. Did comforting her son take such a toll on her?

Alicent gave Aemond a brief, tightening look before turning to her lady-in-waiting. "Perhaps you could see my son back to his chambers," she suggested, her tone laced with a hint of exasperation.

It was clear that his mother was eager to pass him off to her lady in waiting, but Aemond couldn't bring himself to feel too upset. Since his lady love happened to be the one assigned to escort him, he had no complaints. Despite their six-year age difference, Aemond was confident that once he reached his maturity, their age gap would no longer matter.

"Of course, Your Grace," you said with a respectful bow of your head. Your gaze slowly shifted to the prince, and he nodded as he made his way out the door, with you following close behind.

"You're wondering about my appearance," Aemond murmured softly, his focus fixed straight ahead as the two of you strolled through the corridors of the Red Keep.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, and Aemond savored the sound, filled with pride knowing he had elicited it. "Tis not my place to ask questions, My Prince," your warm voice filled his ears, "But judging by the ash and dirt on your fair skin, I would venture that you were likely at the dragon pit."

"It's unfair," Aemond grumbled indignantly, feeling an unjust injustice in the situation. Immediately, he wished he could take back his words, realizing that he had unintentionally come across as childish when he was supposed to be displaying to you his maturity and wisdom.

"The world can be cruel and unjust, My Prince," you replied with a saccharine sweetness in your voice, "But that is why it is imperative for you to assert your authority and take command of your destiny."

Aemond angled his head to catch a glimpse of your elegant profile, admiring not just your physical beauty but also the astuteness of your words. "And how can I accomplish that?" he inquired.

You turned to meet his gaze, your eyes locking and causing his heart to skip a beat. You bestowed him with a subtle yet meaningful smile before you said, "By refusing to accept a life you do not deserve."

"And what of you," Aemond inquired, "What do you believe you deserve, My Lady?" If you were to marry him, you would lack nothing; he was prepared to grant you any request you might make.

"It’s difficult to say," you murmured, tilting your head thoughtfully. Even that Aemond found endearing, "Some individuals believe they are worthy of the entire world, whereas I value simplicity."

Aemond raised an inquisitive silver brow, "Simplicity?"

"Stability and security. A serene life," you explained. Then you glanced down and offered him a warm smile, "Perhaps we can continue our discussion another time, your grace."

Aemond was scarred. Left disfigured and crippled, condemned to a life of one-eyed hardship due to the foolish actions of his bastard nephew. He had once thought it a fair exchange, an eye for a dragon, but now, lying in his chamber chambers, sedated by the potent poppy milk, he questioned his own judgement.

Aemond frowned as he noticed they had reached the doors to his chambers. Before he could utter another word, you nodded courteously and departed. He was determined to offer you a serene life. As his wife, he would spare no effort in providing for you. And in turn you would be his serenity.

As he lay there, disabled and near death, he longed for your presence. Perhaps that was why he willingly surrendered to the effects of the poppy milk, for it allowed him to see you in his dreams. He took solace in slumber, for it was there that he could find you, if only in his mind.

But despite his yearning to see you in waking life, a part of him hesitated. He did not want you to witness the repulsive scar that marred his once-perfect face, especially the swollen and oozing scar where his left eye once was.

The pain from his injuries radiated through his body, a burning fire within him that consumed all other emotions. Aemond's thoughts turned to vengeance, as he vowed to take back what was stolen from him. His mind was set on becoming the best warrior in the Seven Kingdoms, one to surpass even his uncle, Daemon Targaryen, and he would not rest until he had retribution.

He would not accept a life he did not deserve, as his lady love had told him. With the biggest dragon in the world by his side, Aemond was determined to become even better than his past self. And then, you would be his. His lady love would be his wife, and together, you and him would rule with fire and blood.

He longed to shed his skin. The scorching heat in the chamber had become unbearable. The wine she had offered him churned in his gut, causing him to fight the urge to expel it.

Following the feast of Aemond's thirteenth nameday, Aegon had hinted at a surprise for him. Little did Aemond know that his elder brother would lead him into the depths of a pleasure house. Without a chance to protest, Aegon vanished into a sea of bodies and silks.

Next, Aemond found himself ensconced in a chamber bathed in the soft glow of flickering candles. Obscene tapestries adorned the walls, depicting the most intimate of acts between man and woman. And then, a woman entered. She was of an age exceeding even that of his own mother.

She cooed at him, showering him with soft words and adulation. Soon, she was touching him, disrobing him. Aemond wanted to protest, to scream for her to stop, but his vocal cords betrayed him. His body quivered as she caressed him, whispering into his ear.

Once it was over, Aemond was left in a daze. His body no longer felt like his own. Swiftly, he scrambled to dress himself, fleeing the brothel in a disheveled state, He didn't care where Aegon was, all he could think about was reaching you.

His heart pounded in his chest as he raced through the secret passageways of Maegor's Holdfast, his lungs burning with each desperate breath and tears falling down his pale cheeks. He bypassed his own chambers and his mother's, instead making a beeline for the guest wing where he had roamed many times in an attempt to get a glimpse of you.

Finally, he reached her door and pounded on it frantically, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to compose himself. He had to see you. He needed you.

As the door creaked open, his eye widened with the realization that you and him had not spoken since he had lost his eye, and he had carelessly left his eye patch behind in the brothel. He feared that you would see his disfigurement. Before he could flee, however, the door swung open.

You stood before him, ethereal and captivating. Your locks cascaded down, some strands delicately tucked behind your ears. Cloaked in a deep crimson silk robe, which accentuated your graceful form.

Though your initial expression seemed perturbed by the intrusion, it quickly softened as your gaze fell upon Aemond. Your eyes wandered over his disheveled appearance and his one glassy eye, and a wave of concern washed over your features.

And without a second thought, he threw himself into your soft body, wrapping his arms around your waist as he laid his head against your stomach. Almost instantly his tears returned and after a moment, your arms came around him hesitantly, offering him your comfort.

Gently, you extracted yourself from his arms and offered your hand to him and without hesitation, he took it. Your skin was soft, yet cold, providing relief to his overheated body. You led him into your chambers which was simple and minimalistic, but all Aemond could focus on was the coolness of your touch.

Guiding him to the chaise in your chamber, you gently urged him to take a seat. As you walked away, Aemond mourned the loss of your touch, but you soon returned with a goblet in hand, offering it to him.

With a hint of wariness, Aemond took a tentative sip, finding the water refreshing. He greedily drank, while your worried eyes remained fixed on him.

As he finished the water, you placed a hand on his wrist, your concern evident in your touch. "You must tell me what happened, my prince," you urged, your voice soft but determined.

Aemond’s gaze turned away, a tempest brewing in his heart. “Shall I summon your mother, then?” you suggested, your tone a mere whisper laced with concern.

At the mention of his mother, Aemond’s eye snapped back to yours, desperation flickering in his gaze. “No. No, please don’t do that,” he pleaded, his voice a hushed urgency.

Swallowing hard, Aemond felt the weight of his brother's casual cruelty descend upon him. “Aegon,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, “he said it was a surprise. A rite of passage, he called it. He told me it was time to… get it wet.” He faltered, the memory crashing over him like waves against a rocky shore. Closing his eye, he inhaled sharply as his pulse quickened, “I can still feel it. Her hands were everywhere, warm and suffocating. I didn’t know how to make it stop... so I just waited until it was done.” Pain and confusion tangled in his chest, threatening to spill over.

He felt your gentle touch then, your hand gliding from his wrist to envelop his own in a tender squeeze. “Oh,” you murmured softly, your voice a balm against the chaos within him

But as you slowly withdrew your hand, a wave of panic surged through Aemond, tightening his grip on yours. “No…” he breathed, desperation creeping into his tone. You hushed him gently, your grip reassuring as you leaned closer. “Calm yourself, my prince. I intend to run you a warm bath, to cleanse you of the filth from that place.”

He nodded, though a nervous knot twisted in his stomach, and watched as you glided away into the adjoining bathing chamber. As Aemond took in the chamber surrounding him, he noted its unadorned simplicity. No treasures adorned the walls, no personal tokens to lend a semblance of warmth or familiarity. Yet, a heavy goblet rested on the table before him, catching his eye. The reddish liquid within gleamed like blood in the dim light, causing a shiver to race down his spine. He forced his gaze away, willing himself to ignore the unsettling thought as he waited for your return.

Moments later, you reemerged, the soft fabric of your robe trailing behind you. “Your bath is ready, my prince,” you said gently, cradling in your arms a neatly folded bundle of his clean clothing.

“How did you retrieve my clothes so swiftly?” Aemond asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

You averted your eyes, but he caught the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Your chambers lie but a breath away from mine."

But his chambers were on the other side of the castle?

Aemond's heart raced, not out of insecurity concerning his form — for he considered himself a Targaryen, and his lineage was his strength. Yet, the hole of his left eye gnawed at his pride. You met his gaze with an equal measure of courage, undeterred by the scar that marred what once was a handsome countenance. It was still the body of a boy, and though he was thirteen, he could not shake the flicker of embarrassment that flared in his chest.

Stealing a furtive glance towards you, Aemond found comfort in the fact that your eyes were cast downward, filled with allocation rather than scrutiny. With a swift motion, he shed the last vestiges of his clothing, and with that, slipped into the warmth of the steaming bath. As the water enveloped him, a sense of relief washed over him, mingled with surprise. The oils that swirled within the bath carried your fragrance, soothing and familiar, reminiscent of sunlit fields and the gentle sway of blossoms in the breeze.

"Shall I fetch a maid, my prince?" You asked, your voice soft and gentle. Your eyes finally settled upon him, he could detect an undercurrent of genuine concern.

"No," he replied curtly, his tone sharper than intended, the remnants of his pride still gnawing at him.

Aemond could hear you hum softly as you came to kneel by the edge of the bath, your fingers trailing in the water as you offered him a placating smile, radiating warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill of the world outside. Aemond’s gaze remained fixed on you as you began to scrub away the remnants of what had happened just before.

“Does it still hurt?” you asked softly, your eyes momentarily flitting from his face to the scar that bisected it before you continued your ministrations, your cloth gently gliding over his skin as if to erase the memories of that night.

“Stings sometimes,” Aemond replied, a shadow of shame dancing across his features.

You nodded, your hands deftly working to cleanse his face, but your gaze lingered on his empty eye socket—an echo of loss and pain that pierced deeper than any physical wound.

He cast his gaze downward, feeling the familiar pang of discomfort rise. “It’s… ugly,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

With an unexpected tenderness, you cupped his face in her hands, guiding him back to meet your gaze. “No, my prince,” you countered softly. “Not ugly. Merely different, a testament to your strength. You might even adorn it, you know.”

Adorn it? Aemond raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued despite the prickling pride that flared. “With what?” he asked, fixing his single violet eye upon you, momentarily captivated.

A gentle smile danced on your lips, a flash of mischief flickering in your expression, illuminating your features in the dim light. “Why not place a jewel in it, perhaps? What’s your favorite jewel?”

He shrugged, a habitual defense against showing too much of himself. “I don’t know,” he replied, his voice low.

The question hung in the air as you added, “Mine are sapphires."

Aemond’s thoughts drifted momentarily, recalling the dresses you had worn, swirling fabrics in hues that bespoke your grace. A pang struck him; “I’ve never seen you in blue.”

You shook your head dismissively, your eyes averted, as you responded, “It does not suit me, my prince."

“Impossible,” he mumbled, the word escaping in a barely audible whisper. He found it hard to believe you could not wear something so exquisite and innocent as blue, just as he found it hard to believe himself worthy of your affection. You were a jewel in your own right, far surpassing the treasures of the crown and the markets.

Once Aemond was freshly scrubbed clean and clad in his simple garments, the flickering torchlight cast shadows upon the stone walls of the Red Keep. You regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Are you ready to retire to your chambers now, my prince?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond's heart sank at the thought of leaving your presence. The heavy weight of what had occurred a few hours ago felt more burdensome than ever. He cleared his throat, struggling to imbue his tone with the command expected of a Targaryen, "I wish to stay here."

Your brow furrowed slightly, and he could see the hesitation in your eyes, but you nodded nonetheless, leading him back toward your bed where you made to arrange the bedding around him. His lone eye followed your every movement, drawn to the curves of your form and the gentle way you tended to him. As you turned to leave, Aemond’s instincts took hold. With a swift motion, he grasped your wrist, his grip tighter than he intended. "Stay with me."

Your expression shifted to a sternness reminiscent of his mother, a reminder of the propriety and decorum that governed your lives. "That would be most inappropriate." Your tone was firm.

"Please," he murmured, his voice dropping to a near pleading softness.

With a heavy sigh that betrayed your weariness, you succumbed to his request, moving to the far side of your bed and, to his joy, sliding beneath the sheets. Aemond felt a rush of daring coursing through him like wildfire; he subtly shifted closer, resting his head on your chest. For a brief moment, he feared rejection, his thoughts racing to the taunts of his nephews and the ache of the void left by his lost eye. But then, as if sensing his need for solace, your arms enveloped him, warmth flooding through the cold shadows of the brothel.

In that cocoon of stolen intimacy, Aemond found refuge. The bitter weight of Aegon’s taunts, the pain of his injury, and the disquiet of the brothel faded away like whispers in the wind. He was no longer Aemond, the one-eyed prince; he was simply a man seeking comfort from the woman he loved.

Weeks after, Aemond strode into his chambers with the weight of the day's demands heavy upon him, only to halt in his tracks at the sight of a delicate gift-wrapped parcel resting atop his oaken table. Unease prickled at the edges of his mind as he approached, an unfamiliar crested insignia embossed on the fine paper hinting at its sender. With practiced grace, he unwrapped the offering, and there within gleamed a sapphire so vivid it whispered of the sea’s depths, glinting alluringly in the candlelight.

A smile unbidden flickered across his features, for he knew—knew it was from you. A token of your affection, bright as the glory of House Targaryen itself. It swelled his heart, igniting a warmth that had grown chill. He could envision your soft gaze as you selected the gem, the way your laughter danced through the air like the sweetest song.

Determined to express his gratitude, he spent the day scouring the halls of the Red Keep, threading his way through the throngs of courtiers and servants, all the while searching for your familiar figure. But fate, it seemed, had conspired against him. The hours slipped by like sand through his fingers, and as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows throughout the stone halls, bitterness sank into his bones.

After the evening meal, his resolve led him to seek his mother. With a furrowed brow, he pushed the door ajar and entered, expecting to find answers from her. But the sight that greeted him was far from comforting. Alicent sat hunched over a letter, the wax seal shattered beside her, her expression dark and heavy with unspoken words that lingered in the air like the scent of damp earth before a storm.

“Aemond?” she murmured, as if startled from a reverie, her voice a mere whisper, laden with melancholy.

He watched her for a moment, his previous thrill of joy eclipsed by her obvious distress. “What troubles you, Mother?” he ventured, stepping closer.

Alicent lifted her head, her expression a fragile mask that crumbled the moment she met his gaze. A semblance of a smile teased her lips, but the sorrow beneath was palpable. “All is well, my son,” she lied.

He knew the bond his mother shared with you, the girl who had nestled herself in the depths of his mother’s affection, unlike the numerous ladies-in-waiting who flitted about like storm-dodging sparrows. To Alicent, you were not merely a servant but a girl she cherished as if you were her own blood.

But Aemond’s sharp eye caught the glimmer of distress that lingered in her tone. He advanced further into the room, his gaze honing in on the parchment that lay forgotten in her delicate grasp. “What is it?” he pressed, his heart beginning to thrum in his chest, sensing the foreboding weight of something unsaid.

Alicent's voice was tinged with sorrow, a shade that unsettled Aemond's heart as she whispered the name of his beloved, “It is from her.” The chill of her words struck him like winter's breath. “She has decided to leave the Keep."

In that moment, it felt as though the very foundations of King's Landing trembled, the walls echoing his anguish. Aemond's heart tightened painfully, a dragon's fang sinking into his chest, yet Alicent remained blissfully unaware of her son’s turmoil as she set the letter down upon the polished mahogany table before turning away, her silhouette retreating into the shadows of her room.

Stinging tears threatened to spill from the corners of his eye. You could not have forsaken him; you would never abandon the bond the two of you shared, so why had you departed? Aemond seized the letter, his hand shaking with urgency, his eye darting across the elegant script. You had spoken of a deep homesickness, a yearning to reconnect with your family. You graciously thanked his mother for her kindness during your stay.

Yet, amidst your carefully penned words lay an abyss of uncertainty. No mention of where you had gone, nor any promise of when—or if—you would return. Only your name, signed with elegant flourish and the seal of your house—a sigil that felt as foreign to Aemond as a stranger’s face.

— Mikaelson

[nosyrobin]

DARK AGES

★ ; 🦇🍷. . ♱ BATFAMILY X VAMPIRE!READER

Summary: a dark shadowy figure runs around Gotham. But as the bat and birds try to figure out who they are, they don’t even know themselves.

Lights flicker around a dark figure, blood stains stained the carpet floor of two lovers who met their demise not too long ago. The dark figure wore black converses that were now bloodied, a black jacket and black denim jeans. The hood covered their entire face, only darkness was their face. It was clear they mostly wore black to hide the crimson blood. But the stench of fresh and old blood hung weary in the air. The figure disappeared into the shadows as their footsteps were heard on the creaky and wooden floors.

As they go to exit through the front door, something was thrown at them. They effortlessly dodged in a swift move. There was a boy who held ninja stars in between his fingers and a mean scowl amongst the tan face of his. The figure started to bounce against the walls, the new boy wonder tensed as it was like watching the exorcist. The way the person bounced against the walls his skin crawls oddly. Robin threw another round of ninja stars about bouncing against the walls along with you.

Dancing, that’s what it felt like between the figures. The figure clawed onto the wall. Their sharp nails pierced the wall before moving one leg quickly. Kicking the oncoming boy who went head first at them. Robin got up quickly, unsheathed his katana. With a warrior roar, he slashed down at the dark shadow. The shadow dodged each slash, grabbing the katana and pulling it towards them. Robin’s eyes widened he felt a fist connect to his throat. He dropped to his knees. Clutching his attacked throat. He tried to shake off the burning and painful sensation of that punch. But it was too strong.

And the figure was already gone.

The figure leaped against building to building. They already sensed four other people chasing them. One was certainly close behind, seeing blue and black on them as they flipped across roofs. Nightwing flipped in front of the running shadow, but the figure already turned around to only to be met with a person with a red helmet and gun.

“Surrender, and maybe I won’t put a bullet in you kid..” the low voice said as the figure stood still. Making it seem they were going to surrender as Nightwing walks up cautiously to apprehend the suspicious person. Before Nightwing can even touch them, the figure elbowed the vigilante in the rib. Nightwing groaned as the shadow grabbed the hero’s arm, pulling and pushing them in front of them. Red hood pointed his gun at the shadow, ready to take it down before he paused. He paused at the scene he was seeing as red glowing eyes emitted from the darkness within their hood. A chilling atmosphere arose the moment as Nightwing hissed at the pressure point in his arm getting pressed on. Nightwing was on his knees with the figure’s sharp nails against his neck.

Definitely a hostage situation, red hood slowly pressed a button on his helmet to alert the big bat about the situation that came too quick for him to progress. But before he can speak to the big man, the figure got impatient. Lifting up the adult man they held hostage and throwing him like a rag doll. Redhood fell to the ground with Nightwing on him, redhood pushed the man off him. Ready to shoot the bastard that dare throw his partner of this mission at him.

But of course the figure was gone without a trace.

[looseyjuicy]

“You’re married?!” Is the hot topic of the room as everyone shows varying expressions of despair, panic, incredulousness and encouragement.

thanks, Lyds.

“E’yup!” He elongates the first syllable as he flips open a wallet that seemingly appears out of thin air, unraveling a couple feet worth of pictures. “A real keeper, if I do say so myself.”

They’re all taken at different locations with multiple poses, some risqué enough that prompts Barbara into shielding Lydia’s eyes with a scowl directed at the giddy demon.

outside of a few random ghouls, there’s only two repeating subjects. Beetlejuice, in all his disgusting, decomposed glory.

and You.

an undead man’s dream all wrapped up in various outfits that do well to accentuate your assets. upon further inspection, you don’t seem to be in any distress or making any attempts to flee.

In fact, minus the ones where you’re.. unfocused, you’re grinning from ear to ear with an arm wrapped around your ‘husband’s’ shoulders. among those are a few of you in a wedding dress and him in some ratty tux in what seems to be a Las Vegas style wedding chapel; there’s even an Elvis officiating.

it would seem that, for once, he wasn’t lying. the ghost with the most actually did get married. however, one small detail still has the Maitlands unconvinced.

“But you’re still.. you?” Adam motions to his entire form; still not alive and with even more moss that seemed to have grown on him.

Beetlejuice snickers, as if it were an inside joke only he was in on, “it wasn’t the most ‘holiest’ of unions, if you catch my drift.”

Barbara gives him a grossed-out look, mumbling a ‘really wish we didn’t.’ under her breath.

“Where’s the missus?” Lydia pipes up after prying off the cold hands still covering her face.

“Gettin’ a snack. Said she was feelin’ a bit peckish.”

the teen looks at him questionably, “we probably could’ve given her something here.”

“‘preciate the warm hospitality, kid,” he ruffles her already messy hair, earning him a smack on the hand as she tries to bat him away, “but trust me, you would not want her to eat something here.”

“What does that mean?” Barbara questions him, already sensing a trick about to unfold.

Beetlejuice just grins, answering with a simple, “she has a slight aversion to food.”

all this does is confuse the couple even more. deciding that the demon was an unreliable source, they take a closer look at the pictures to get any sort of hint.

which comes alarmingly fast when they narrow in on one with your widest smile.

a pair of sharp, pearly white fangs somehow glimmers right back at them.

[barbies1shots]

☆- slow - rough sex, featuring GETO SUGURU, whiny geto, pathetic geto, slight feral geto, overstimulation, condescending reader, werewolf!geto x vampire!reader, implied fem reader but anyone can read, use of pretty girl, biting, riding - mating press

werewolf geto who ran most of your little errands. grabbing your clothing from the dry cleaners, picking up your shoes from the polishers, grabbing your supplied bloodbags from the bank. even with the crude way the other vampires look at him. the only thing on mind is pleasing you.

you looked at him from the corner of your eyes when he said he wanted a reward. that he deserved something since he was a good boy.

you, of course indulged in him and gave him what he wanted. a kiss. he nudged you to lay down on the couch, wanting you to be comfortable before he leaned down and kissed your lips. incredibly greedy for any affection. he pulled you impossibly closer from the waist and he moaned into the kiss. his tongue pushes into your mouth, licking everything. not even caring if it was a proper kiss now.

he whines once he trials his lips down your jaw and on your neck. he whines that he wants to finally mark you as his. that all the disgusting vampire smells were making his head hurt.

"What did you do to deserve more than a kiss, huh, pup?"

you giggled at his blunt answer, nothing but i want it. Want my pretty girl so bad. he didnt even know what he was saying. just babbling along with what his heart wants. you granted him permission, and he hurried to find the junction between your neck and your shoulder and sunk his teeth in. his canines hurting the most but he soothed it over with his rough tongue.

you let him strip you out of your clothing, helping him with the straps that his bigger fingers couldnt properly hold. see, he wasnt a virgin, no where close but your cunt makes him feel like one. the tightness, softness and warmness felt like he could come at any moment once he pushed in. with his head tilted back, he let out a groan from the back of his throat, his hold on your hips tightening so much that there will be brusies in the morning.

he leaned down to your neck, licking at the bite mark before he jerked his hips back and pushed them in. easily pressing into your g-spot and making you quiver. he reeled his hips back untill just the tip was grazing the outside muscle and snapped his hips, sending a horrid crashing wave of pleasure through your bones. yet suguru was already on the edge of tipping over, he couldnt keep his breathless moans to himself as he hid himself in your neck.

but as time grew on, his thrusts began to falter. the pleasure, for him, growing too much as he just focused on grinding into you.

"Are you struggling? Do you need my help? Its okay to cry for help, puppy,"

yet he just whined and pitifully nodded his head. he let you switch positions, your pillowy thighs caging his hips in and you lifted yourself up and sunk down onto him. this position takes him deeper, deeper into your tummy where it feels like hes in your throat.

a loud whimper escaped his lips once the back of your thighs met his hips, his chest was rising and falling incredibily. he placed his hands on your hips and you started to ride him. lifting yourself up and dropping yourself down. pressing down and grinding against him. your clit catching the dark hairs resting on his pelvis.

with every movement his thighs jerked and trembled as he struggled to keep his composure. he would gasp, his eyes fluttering shut, Damn, pretty girl, yesyes- please, just like that!-

with every movement it felt like you were riding him for his literal life. that he had to grasp onto his very soul so you couldnt fuck it out of him. your cunt felt like heaven itself, something so precious that should be taken for granted. he arched his back, feeling his canines grow with the sudden need to be even closer to you. a strong wave of possessiveness that reeled him in, a primal instinct.

every movement had him gritting his teeth as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. every movement of your slutty hips-

suddenly you were on your back, flipped over and pinned under the large mass of your werewolf lover, with him growling visicously down into your face. he didnt let you catch your breath or even ask questions before he filled you up again. the pace brutal and unfeeling as he just rutted into you like a filthy dog off the street.

he pressed his dick so deep, that there was a bulge in your tummy, the action forcing a sob to escape from your throat.

he hoisted your thighs onto his arms and he pressed down untill his head rested in your neck, and your thighs are pressed into your tummy, his lips brushing your mark as he fucked you. every rut felt like someone was taking a rock and smashing it into your lungs before purposly taking their finger and stabbing your g-spot. he fucked you and it hurt.

it hurt so good.

he growled possessivly when you ran your fingers through his hair to calm him down, he growled when you pressed your lips into the side of his neck, by his ear. he growled- no he howled when you sinked your fangs into his neck, far deeper than anything has ever gone before and he whimpered patheically as he came. the bite suprising him but feeling so good where he saw white spots scattering his vision as he came.

the pup filled you up so good and just continued to rut into your body like a mindless doll, not knowing when to stop or even how to stop. he didnt hear your distant voice crying out for him to get ahold of himself when he leaned down to bite into the opposite side of your neck. his muzzle now smered with your blood. all he felt was a blinding white pleasure and not your hands slapping at his chest and pelvis to give up.

poor puppy..:(

@aizawasbarb

[hisokamywaifu]

Welcome to my Kinktober 2024! All fics will be drabbles (taking a break from last year's debacle) and will be posted every three days. All fics will be dom!reader, of course. Without further ado, here is the list:

Day 1: Vampire!reader - Shota Aizawa

Day 4: Flustered - Doppo Kunikida

Day 7: Needy - Denki Kaminari

Day 10: Exhibitionism - Mori Ougai

Day 13: Omegaverse - Tomura Shigaraki

~ break hehe ~

Day 19: Use your words - Takami Amajiki

Day 22: Stuck in a wall - Ranpo Edogawa

Day 25: Tentacles - Neito Monoma

Day 28: Priest - Douma

Day 31: Knife play - Hisoka Morow (feat. yandere!reader)

[lowkeyrobin]

hear me out. five hargreeves w/ a vampire!reader who keeps forgetting their umbrella/sunscreen whenever they go out w/ him.

could i be 🦇 anon too? :3

STOP THIS IS SO CUTE UGHHHH i can always get behind a vampire au/reader ; and yes hello 🦇! enjoy your stay at the hotel 🫶 ; also just a hc thing bc I had no idea how to make this a full oneshot ; thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy!

FIVE HARGREEVES ; vampire

summary ; hcs of being a vampire and also being fives s/o when you forget that you're allergic to the sun

warnings ; language, the sun is like an allergy so hives + burning on the skin

word count ; 201

masterlist

you'd think because you're literally allergic to the sun that you'd remember an umbrella / a thick coat of sunscreen

nope

five is always left to make sure you do 😭

he's gotten tired of watching you break out into itching, burning hives as you walk outside

"five..."

"hm?" he looks over at you, eyes quickly widening slightly. "jesus- y/n!"

you quickly begin itching at your arms, trying to use your cool hands to apply some non-heat to the burning parts

like your skin is literally frying

he quickly shoves you into some shade under a tree and frantically looks around for anything

a random lady nearby had an umbrella, so he blips to her, steals said umbrella, and blips back to you

safe to say that you had to get a lot of bandages on your arms when you got home..

"did you get some sunscreen on?"

your face drops as you slowly turn around and head back to the bathroom to grab sunscreen

you then bring it back because you couldn't reach some spots by yourself

"we ran out of sunscreen"

he tosses you an umbrella that sat by the door, which you catch

"this is klaus'-"

"he'll live without an umbrella on a sunny day, y/n"

"fine"

[godsfavdarling]

Vampire in the corner

my masterlist

+18

pairing: Spencer Reid x vampire!fem!reader words: 3,3k summary: You pay a late-night visit to your human boyfriend. warnings: smut - unprotected vampire x human sex, biting, blood drinking, blood obviously, i don't know anything about chess, AND if I had a vampire gf i'd let her bite me. just saying, no y/n a/n: surprise! happy kinktober and halloween to all my spencer reid bitches! AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY HUSBAND BOYFRIEND WIFE LOVER THE LOVE OF MY LIFE THE FATHER OF MY CHILDREN! this is everything you could have asked for - vampire gf, halloween, smut, chess, love, lust, sharp teeth, birthday spence (if you want to fight in the comments about his bday date pls do but I'm not fighting with anybody. I know my truth.) also this is 1000th post on my blog. happy 1000 posts to me! there's so much to celebrate omg!!!

The night draped itself around the room, thick and quiet, broken only by the deep, uneven breaths coming from Spencer as he lay on the leather couch. 

His face, usually so composed, was twisted in sleep, his chest rising and falling faster than usual.

You could hear the subtle hitch in his breathing, the rapid thrum of his pulse as it raced through his veins. The nightmare had its claws sunk deep into him, gripping and torturing him with no mercy. 

Your poor Spencer. 

If you could pull his nightmares into yourself, taking them into your mind just so he could get some rest, you would do it without a second thought.

Anything to grant him a night of peace. 

But you couldn’t. You were left watching.

The notion lingered in your mind, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had the pleasure of a dream—or a nightmare. The release of sleep had been lost to you long ago, and so, too, the comfort it offered. It was a need you no longer possessed. 

But if you could make it yours for just a night, you’d take his burden without question.

You clung to those thoughts, using them as a fragile distraction, but the pull was impossible to ignore. 

Your senses flared, every inch of you attuned to the sharp, tantalizing scent of his elevated heartbeat. 

It tugged at something deep and primal, stirring a hunger that made your fangs press against your gums, threatening to emerge. 

Your mouth felt heavy, a bead of saliva pooling as the instinct to feed sharpened with each beat of his pulse, loud and insistent.

The temptation to move closer—to soothe him and to taste the warm blood rushing just beneath his skin—scratched at the edges of your self-control. 

But you held back, swallowing hard, anchoring yourself to the cool corner of his apartment. 

Instead, you stayed there, simply watching, willing yourself to be his silent guardian rather than the predator your body begged you to be.

You’d gone away to feed, filling yourself as much as possible, hoping it would dull the ache that his presence always stirred in you. 

Yet, what was the use? You could have drained the whole neighborhood, and still, the warm, honeyed scent of him would seep into your senses, making your mouth water.

His breathing quickened, his brow glistening with sweat as the dream tightened its grip on him. You felt the tension coiling in your muscles, the craving gnawing at you, but you stayed rooted, waiting. 

You wouldn’t wake him. Not like this.

Suddenly, Spencer gasped, his eyes snapping open, wide, and clouded with fear. He bolted upright, his hands trembling as he rubbed at his eyes, lost in the remnants of the nightmare. 

He didn’t see you. 

He just sat there, breathing, his chest rising and falling in shallow waves. 

You felt a pang of doubt—maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe he didn’t want to see you tonight. But you needed to.

“Spence…” you said softly.

His head whipped toward the sound, eyes wide with surprise as they landed on you in the corner of the room, near the open window. The one he always left cracked just a bit, so you could slip in whenever you wanted.

“Hi. Sorry… have you been here long?” His voice was rough, edged with lingering panic. He blinked, processing your sudden appearance, and you could see a flicker of fear before something softer settled in as he took you in.

Stepping forward from the shadows, you softened your gaze, a faint smile curling at your lips. “Are you okay?”

Spencer rubbed his eyes, still trying to shake what was left of his nightmare, but the fear clung to him like a fog. 

His pulse had slowed, though not entirely back to normal. He glanced at you again, the dim light catching your eyes as you stepped closer.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you asked gently, your voice low and soothing.

He shook his head, his lips pressing into a tight line. "No," he mumbled, his tone making it clear he didn’t want to revisit whatever had plagued his sleep.

You watched him for a moment, a soft sigh escaping your lips. "Um… Happy Halloween," you said, a playful note in your voice as you tried to shift the mood. "It’s past midnight, and… it’s your favorite holiday."

A small, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"And… happy belated birthday," you added, softer this time, your gaze dropping for a moment. "I’m sorry I wasn’t here."

He tilted his head slightly, curious but not pressing as you trailed off, leaving your apology unfinished. 

The truth was, it had been too sunny lately. Those bright days always left you weaker, and hungrier, and each one had chipped away at your control bit by bit. 

You hadn’t fed properly in days—it had been too risky to stay close to him, not with your hunger simmering just beneath the surface, ready to snap. You needed to leave, find solitude, and regain your balance before the temptation grew too strong to resist. 

To resist him.

"I had to go for a bit," you continued after a pause, your voice carrying a hint of something unspoken, "but I’m here now."

Spencer nodded a flicker of understanding in his eyes. Though you could sense his quiet curiosity, he didn't push for more. 

Instead, he glanced at you, his body slowly unwinding, the tension softening from his shoulders. 

“Thanks… for the birthday wishes,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. “And for being here.” His gaze drifted to your hands, clasped behind your back, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“Oh… this is for you,” you said, noticing his furrowed brows.

From behind your back, you pulled out a neatly wrapped package and handed it to him. “I got you something,” you added softly.

Spencer looked surprised, his brow lifting slightly as he took the gift from your hands. His fingers brushed the wrapping, hesitantly and carefully, before gently peeling it open. 

When he saw the chess set nestled inside, a genuine smile broke across his face, softening his features.

“A new set,” he murmured, clearly pleased. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

The pieces and board glistened under the dim light, beautifully crafted. One set of pieces was clear and entirely transparent, like glass, while the other was foggy, milky white—elegant and striking in their contrast, each piece glinting with a subtle shimmer.

You returned his smile, a flicker of warmth rising in your chest. “Do you want to play?” you asked gently, knowing it might help calm him after the nightmare.

His face lit up even more at the suggestion. “Absolutely! I’d love to!” he replied eagerly, his earlier tension melting away.

With a huge grin spreading across your face, you took the chess set from his hands and finished unwrapping it, satisfaction bubbling inside you as you realized your plan had worked. It wasn’t complicated; all you wanted was to see him tonight, for him to like the gift, and to share just one game. 

You didn’t ask for much, especially since you knew you were putting him in danger. He might not fully understand the risks, yet he still seemed to want to be with you for some reason.

Deep down, a twinge of guilt gnawed at you. It always did. Burden and comfort simultaneously—that’s what he was to you.

You felt so deeply for him, even as you knew it didn’t make sense. This couldn’t last—not with your world and his being so different.

If you were any smarter, you would have disappeared from his life long ago. But how could you? You understood each other so well, and the thought of letting that go felt unbearable. 

Not now, at least.

You knew you would have to leave and never come back someday, but for now, all you wanted was this game of chess.

Spencer rubbed his face with his hands, pushing his hair back in a familiar gesture. He was still dressed in his button-up shirt and suit pants, the remnants of a long day he must have had.

He settled onto the couch in front of the coffee table, and you took a seat on the opposite side, on the floor, keeping your distance, carefully moving a few books to make space for the chessboard. 

As you began to gracefully arrange the pieces, a mix of excitement and sorrow washed over you. You loved him and these moments so much, but they were fleeting, it would all be over soon.

Spencer watched you intently, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. “You start,” he said, his voice low and inviting.

“Okay.” You quickly made your move, pushing a pawn forward with a sense of purpose.

“Opening with the pawns, huh?” he remarked, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Gotta start somewhere,” you replied, leaning in slightly, feeling the familiar thrill of competition.

He took a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then, with a graceful motion, he moved his knight.

You tilted your head, examining his choice. “Using your knight so soon?” you teased, fingers hovering over a piece. 

“Sometimes, it's good to make unexpected moves,” he replied, glancing up at you with that curious glint in his eye.

You smirked, nudging another pawn forward. “Oh, I’m unpredictable, too, don’t worry.”

The game stretched on until, finally, the inevitable checkmate descended. Spencer’s triumphant smile faded as he glanced from the board to you, sensing the end not just of the game.

You let out a soft sigh, letting the moment linger before standing. “Well, I should probably get going,” you murmured, already feeling the tug to stay just a little longer.

He met your gaze, a flicker of something in his eyes, “You don’t have to leave yet,” he said softly, almost as if hoping to halt time.

You stood up, feeling a mix of reluctance and responsibility. ”Spencer…”

He rose with you, his expression shifting from playful to earnest. 

He reached out, gently grasping your hand, his touch sending a warm shiver through you. “Can you stay a little longer? It’s still a long time until dawn.”

You hesitated, caught in the depths of his gaze. “I don’t know, Spence. It’s better if I—”

Before you could finish, he stepped closer, capturing your lips with his. 

You felt his warm lips on yours and then his tongue between your lips. Your own must feel so cold, you thought, pulling back instinctively.

“Sorry,” you murmured, unable to meet his gaze. 

You’d kissed before, but you still couldn’t shake the thought of how strange it must feel for him—your cool skin, so different from his warmth.

“What are you sorry for? I kissed you,” he replied, his voice soft but steady.

“I just… I must feel so cold, so unpleasant to touch.”

He persistently searched and held your gaze as he reached up, cupping your face in his hands. “You’re the most pleasant thing I’ve ever touched,” he said, sincerity lighting his eyes.

A soft laugh escaped you, and you looked away, feeling vulnerable under his intense eyes.

“I mean it,” he whispered, guiding your gaze back to him.

Before you could think of a reply, he kissed you again, his lips gentle but insistent, stealing away any protests that lingered on the edge of your mind. 

You knew you shouldn’t, that maybe you should pull away. 

But maybe just for a moment, you could allow him to make you feel good. Allow yourself to be held by him. Allow him to have you.

“Could we at least try? I trust you,” he murmured against your lips as he slowly guided you both toward the couch.

“You shouldn’t…” you whispered between kisses, even as he sat down and pulled you onto his lap.

“But I do,” he said, his voice filled with certainty. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing your body close against his chest, his lips trailing from your cheek down to your neck, kissing softly again and again.

His hands traveled up your back, slipping beneath your shirt, fingers pressing into your skin. 

You buried your hands in his hair and leaned your head against his. Careful though not to bring your face too close to his neck. You could still smell him very well, too well. 

You had to move away.

You dropped your head back, unable to stifle the moan that escaped you as his lips found the other side of your throat, leaving slow, heated kisses, each one like a spark against your cool skin. 

You could smell him—his blood coursing just beneath the surface, its pulse throbbing under your palms. You could practically feel it moving through his veins.

You closed your eyes, reminding yourself you didn’t have to breathe. 

You could handle this, you told yourself. You would handle this if it meant giving him what he needed. 

You’d give him anything.

With determination equal to the tide returning to shore, you stopped your breathing and brought your hands to his face, kissing him deeply. 

Your lips met his again and again, his summer-warm mouth against your winter-cold one. His rosy pink, blushing skin contrasted with your own.

His hands moved up to cup your breast, fingers gentle yet firm, and you gasped into his mouth, a new surge of desire spiraling through you. 

You dreamt about this. 

You needed this—sometimes, it felt like you needed him even more than blood itself. Nights were spent wanting him, aching for what you knew could never, and should never, happen.

Every time his warm hands found yours, your dead heart seemed to beat again, pulsing with something that should be forgotten. 

For these past few months, that desire had coiled tighter within you, growing.

And it felt like the same was true for him, both of you caught in a spiral of longing—desperate, demanding, on the verge of breaking.

His fingers continued exploring beneath your shirt, his touch warm and insistent, and you let yourself lean into it, your hands slipping down to the buttons of his dress shirt. 

One by one, you undid them, your fingers brushing against his chest, feeling his heartbeat unsteady and strong beneath your touch.

Spencer’s hands left your back briefly to help you, sliding the shirt from his shoulders and tossing it aside before his hands found you again, this time tugging your shirt up over your head. 

He took in the sight of you, his gaze trailing over every inch as his hands followed, gentle but reverent. 

His lips found your shoulder, pressing kisses down along your collarbone, igniting shivers you have not felt in years.

You let your fingers drift to his belt, undoing it slowly, deliberately, as his hands roamed up your sides, tracing over every curve, sending your dead pulse racing. 

He leaned back slightly, watching you, his breath a little unsteady as he helped slide the belt free. 

The pull between you both was intense and undeniable, and you wanted him more than words could say.

You stood up, slipping out of the last of your clothes and letting them fall to the floor, baring yourself completely before him. 

Spencer’s gaze traveled slowly over your body, studying every inch with quiet admiration. 

His eyes softened and his voice was almost a whisper as he said, “You’re beautiful… so incredibly beautiful.”

A thrill ran through you at his words, and you returned to him, straddling his lap again, feeling the heat of his skin against yours. 

His breathing quickened as you reached between you both, freeing him from his pants. 

His cock, hard and ready, brushed against you, and you guided him to your entrance, sinking onto him slowly, already wet and done. 

His head fell back, a deep groan escaping him, and you began to move, setting a rhythm that made both of you shudder with each slow, intense movement.

As you rode him, lost in the rhythm and warmth of his body, you found yourself leaning in, your lips grazing the curve of his neck. 

Just one inhale.

Just one. 

Unintentional but all-consuming.

The rush of his scent, his blood beneath the surface, hit you like a shock. 

You pushed against his chest, pushing him back just enough to keep the warmth of his heart at arm’s length, your palm firm against his skin to hold him there as you continued moving, keeping that tantalizing closeness but staying just far enough away.

He looked at you, a flicker of confusion, and then something darker, more intense. “Bite me,” he whispered, eyes heavy-lidded, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you kept riding him, a playful deflection. 

But his hand came up, covering yours against his chest, his gaze steady. “I’m serious,” he murmured, his voice low and certain—an invitation and a plea.

“It’s my birthday,” he added softly, almost as if admitting it to himself.

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not anymore,” you murmured.

“Please,” he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, the weight of his plea stirring something deep within you. 

His words sent a thrill through you, and though you kept your rhythm steady, you couldn’t deny the pull of his request, the way it made your dead heart somehow pound.

“What if I can’t stop?” you asked, the question trembling on your lips.

He met your gaze, unwavering. “I don’t care. And I trust you. I know you’ll stop,” he replied, his voice thick with sincerity, a quiet confidence. 

You could see it in his eyes—how serious he was, how much he wanted this. 

The hunger you felt mingled with a deep longing, and you took a deep breath just to taste him again on your tongue. 

Just his smell - so intense, so delicious. 

It filled your senses, intoxicating and overwhelming. 

Just one bite, you thought. 

Just one gulp from his beautiful neck.

Just one. He offered. 

How could you say no? 

Just one.

You leaned in, tilting your head to the side of his throat, your lips brushing against his warm skin. 

The world around you faded, leaving only the thundering of his heart and the fast pulse beneath your lips. 

You could taste him already, your senses heightened as you studied the soft skin of his neck, your fingers grazing it gently. 

His hair fell across it gracefully, and you tucked the strands behind his ear with one hand, tilting his head slightly to expose more of his throat with the other

You leaned in closer, your fangs barely grazing his skin, lingering there as a silent promise. 

You could stop. 

You would stop.

You could feel his breath hitch as you bit down gently at first, savoring the moment, but soon sank your teeth in deeper, taking two swift gulps. 

The metallic richness flooded your mouth, a heady mix of sweetness and warmth that sent a jolt of pleasure through your entire dead being. 

You pulled away, blood glistening on your lips and covering his skin.

He kept staring at you, but your eyes were fixed on the red streaming slowly down his neck, covering the small punctures you’d left in the perfect spot. 

His blood still lingered in your mouth, and you savored it, licking your lips and teeth, gathering every last bit before swallowing.

A low, involuntary moan escaped as the taste stayed on your tongue, the richness of him filling you in more ways than one.

Without thinking, you leaned down, your lips tracing his chest, shoulder, and neck as you licked the blood from his skin, savoring every last drop of him.

[naffeclipse]

Cryptid Eclipse takes his little hunter, now cursed to be a vampire, to pumpkin patches after hours when all the little children have gone home and no adult is around to pull the tractor with the haybales or sell popcorn or cotton candy. They encourage their sweet heart to pick their favorite gourd—one with warts, one that's pale as the moon, or one that's bright red—to fight the gloom clinging to their darling undead's edges.

Gently, they guide their little hunter through haunted houses the kids can walk through and a large sandbox full of corn kernels that are spilled everywhere on the ground, and they tell their little hunter it's alright. They can enjoy this still. Their sweet heart loves Halloween and spooky bats hanging along banners and scary faces painted onto silos—but they'll avoid the corn maze for now.

Go on. Have fun.

And their little hunter will struggle when they catch the stray sense of drying blood on an old bandage left discarded on the lid of a trashcan. They'll weep and their shoulders will shake but no tears will fall out of their blood-red eyes. The little hunter now vampire will long for the people that should be here, laughing, and watching children toss corn kernels at each other, and they'll wish it wasn't so dark anymore.

Cryptid Eclipse will stop and hold them among the pumpkin patch. They'll whisper and gently nuzzle their pale and ashen face until their little hunter remembers that they are still good. They can protect all the people who were here from the monsters stalking through the tall corn and lurking along the skirts of forests, and they will see that despite their thirst and their inhuman complexion, they are still their little hunter.

Their sweet heart looks up at them, hiding their fangs behind their lips, and nods. They point to an orange pumpkin with green warts all over its skin. Cryptid Eclipse gladly helps them carve a little jack-o-lantern face. They set it on a little picnic table where little children can see, and the demonic cryptid and the vampire retreat back to the safety of the airstream trailer before the sun rises.

Their little hunter sees.

There’s a lot of livin’ to do.

[lilacgaby]

‧₊˚ to kiss or kill.. a vampire?‧₊˚

you've been a vampire for as long as you can remember. you were going through your day, or night, routine as normal when a noise startles you. a man, katsuki bakugo to be exact, was standing at your door. though, he can't seem to remember whether he's supposed to kill or kiss you...

★pair. knight(?)katsuki x vampire!reader. tags. fem!reader, fantasy!au, vampire!au, amnesia trope, memories, kissing, hugging, dates kinda, blood, daggers, stakes. wc. 2k.

noteღ. i love the memory loss trope but its hard to write it in a way that doesn't seem like lazy(???) idk how to say it, also happy halloween to all who celebrate!

embedded deep in the forest, vines growing over the bark of the trees, the sun not visible from the impressive manor you called home.

a lake so deep you couldn't see the bottom, the moonlight the only thing reflecting off the darkness of the water.

it was quiet, quaint. only the animals as company for such a faraway place.

you roamed freely around your garden, tending to the black rose bushes and cutting the thorns to an appropriate length. feeding carrots you only grew for the deer and bunnies that had grown used to your presence, seeing the generations of them rest and birth, a consequence of being immortal.

your outfit was dark, camouflaging you against the night sky, the only time you were able to go out. you'd grown used to it, comforted by the night sky and sleeping critters around you.

but a crunch of grass snapped you out of your relaxation. the tuft of blond hair you'd spotted alarming you.

your pot of water was now splashed onto the floor, your red eyes were widened and pupils like a cat as you moved out of vision. vision of whoever was trampling into your long uncivilized manor.

it was a man, donning expensive yet ripped up fabrics and cloths, a beaten up satchel, and bright hair that stood out against the night sky.

you couldn't help but notice though, that he had red eyes just like yours.

he must be a vampire, you reasoned, moving closer to investigate the man who was unmoving at your door. you popped out from behind him. “who are you and why are you here?”

he jumped, seemingly not expecting you to be behind him. “i'm.. lost. i can't seem to find my way. or.. remember what i was doing here.” he turned to face you, his figure towering over yours, his eyes on you. “you don't remember anything? is it possible that you've been hit with a strong spell?”

you kept talking while looking over at his complete attire now, noting the royal emblem on his chest.

“it's possible.. i don't remember what i do exactly.” his red eyes kept boring into you, striking you with a sense of familiarity, though you couldn't place from where. “well, you can stay here for the night. i have spare rooms.”

his eyes widened slightly, his eyebrows raising. “really, you're inviting me in? what if i was a vampire?”

“well, no need to fear one of my own.”

his mouth went agape when he realized. “you're a vampire.”

“yes. does that change anything?”

“i.. guess not.” a hand went to the back of his neck, his eyes averting as he looked up in thought. “it's just surprising. i think.. i feel a connection to the word. to its meaning. i must have been- sorry be- a vampire. don't you agree?”

“let's talk more inside. if you are a vampire as you believe, we'll die if we're outside another hour...” you left it open ended as to ask for his name.

“katsuki. call me katsuki.”

“well katsuki. welcome in, don't suck my blood or something.” you joked.

as he followed you inside, he awed internally at the extravagance of your mansion. it definitely was the home of a vampire, as all the windows were closed and barricaded.

“i haven't had many guests over for a while.. so. excuse the mess.” he followed you as you showed him the different parts of your home. he passed by the kitchen, so gorgeous that he felt upset when you noted how you only used it to make food for the animals outside. you showed him your bedroom, which only housed a single, heavily padded coffin.

you went upstairs finally, your mansion was huge so he began to notice the ache in his feet. when you arrived in your lounge area though, he felt a pang in his head as he eyed a dagger. a silver one.

memories flooded into his head at once, making him hold his head in discomfort.

words. so many replayed in his mind though they were incoherent. sights of blood, of one of those very daggers in his hand, a stake in the other.

“ėřīdɯǎʌ ħ ʇ ľļ ʞ”

he couldn't understand it at all, the visions in his mind were playing and flashing right after another.

training, studying vitals, the word vampire. why did it seem so familiar?

“katsuki. are you okay?” your hands were on his shoulders now, your face of concern went unnoticed by him, his eyes were only laser focused on the sharp fangs of your mouth.

“i–. i– um. i don't know what the fuck happened to me.” he admitted, he still felt weak from the confusion revelations that had unfolded in his mind.

“maybe.. you should head to bed for the day. i have a bed for you in here.”

you took his hand, he almost pulled away, he didn't know why it still felt so bloody. why it felt like he was holding an unseen weapon in his palm. but he let you comfort him slightly anyways.

you laid a towel onto his forehead, closing the door with a, “goodnight.”

you left him resting with his thoughts as you continued your chores outside.

it was obvious he wasn't a vampire like he thought. he wasn't nocturnal like you. the sight of the blood bags you had left cooling in a safe him feel queasy, and he could touch metal just fine. he found himself tracing the details of the dagger in your living room mindlessly, enthralled with it. it felt just as familiar as your eyes did. he was sure it would feel just as right in his hand, he moved to pick it up when-

“what are you doing?” you asked sleepily. your attire from yesterday was gone, replaced with casual clothes that didn't seem to fit you. “..i just got curious.”

he stared at you. the crimson of his eyes confusing you to no end, but you let it go with a sigh. “well, stop messing with that stuff. like seriously.”

he took your warning. but the strange memories never went away. though, he noticed that they'd only really pop up around you.

he'd gotten to know you in the couple hours of the first day he spent with you. your favorite color, food before you turned, your true age, your favorite flower.

and you'd gotten to know the vague things he remembered about himself in exchange. how he grew up in a village, how he remembers training hard everyday to become a knight, how he grew up with the next in line for the throne.

you'd traveled around the forest with him, showing him some of your favorite spots. pointing to nearby towns and taverns, warning him to stay away from spots where werewolves would roam frequently.

you'd gotten him a new wardrobe of clothing that happened to match yours. black button downs and slacks with red accents, something that suited him perfectly, was what you had gifted him.

he tried to gift you things as well. it was unfortunate that his gift for cuisine went wasted on you, who couldn't eat food. he picked you flowers from different regions of the forest you wouldn't venture to. dandelions that he insisted you'd blow out together, red roses that paired perfectly with your black ones, and baby’s breath sprinkled tastefully in between.

the words grew less scrambled over the days of which he spent with you. it'd been a month of living with him at this point, and your life together had become routine. the pangs where he'd keel over for seconds in real time, but hours in his mind happened more frequently too. the same visions of blood on his hands, a dagger identical to the one displayed in your home would always be there. but additions of a torch in his hand and a dagger would change. the memory would change, which confused him.

he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the calm nature of your life together. the tranquil feeling of feeding the bunnies and deers alongside you, the rushing sound of the lake as you sat side by side admiring it.

the feeling of your skin, cold to the touch, on his body that seemed to run too hot.

your open-minded nature, the lingering loss of your presence he'd feel when you were gone.

though, he now could hear some parts of the sentence quite clearly.

“k– the vampire.”

as he laid around on one of the many couches of your manor, petting a black cat, he pondered on what the last word could be. he knew it could only be one of two words, he wasn't dumb.

to kiss or to kill. but what reason was he given to kill you? you'd been nothing but amazing to him, welcome and open when he was vulnerable. the only thing you'd been strange about– the only thing he felt he wanted.

was to hold the dagger in his hand.

he laid the cat onto the side of the couch before standing up. it was like an invisible force was leading him away, taking him right to his object of interest that he had been so hyper aware of since the day he arrived.

every step he took was like a piece of the puzzle being put into place.

he was hit by a memory loss potion while he was out on patrol.

patrol for the kingdom, where he served as a knight. however, after many vampire hunters had gone missing in this part of the forest..

he had been sent out here.

he opened his satchel that he'd thrown into the corner. affirming his thoughts, a dagger, identical to the one on the stand was in it.

next to it was a stake, and a torch with an ignition next to that.

he stood up, the final words given to him. but it didn't feel as good as he thought it would.

“kill the vampire.”

because the order was to hurt someone who'd grown so dear to him.

…

was it wrong for him to continue acting like nothing was wrong? maybe. but he couldn't help but still continue to be enamored by you, even if it was wrong.

the stereotypes, the horror stories he'd been fed of vampires. as he held you close to him in the comfort of your coffin, he didn't know what to do anymore.

as he guided you to the lake, he wasn't sure of what he would do. he had his satchel with him now, yet he still held your hand in his.

“are you leaving?” you asked, unknowing of the war taking place in his mind.

“no. i just, wanted to bring it along.”

“oh. okay.” you'd shrugged, unfazed by his words. he felt his heart bleed, bleed because you trusted him so much, but also tugged towards his sense of duty.

you'd sat together again, his body facing the same lake that had guided him to you. he felt your gaze on his face, he squeezed his palm into a fist.

“what's wrong?” you asked, your voice low, you held the long sleeves of your black outfit as your eyebrows scrunched in concern. “you've been acting weird.”

“i.. my memory. it came back.”

your eyes shot up, before a small smile came over your face. “really, that's great katsuki. so,

what were you doing out here?”

the words lingered in the air, his eye painstakingly moving to look at you. his mouth was held open for a second, seemingly speechless as he tried to tell you. he finally, just let it slip. “i was supposed to kill you, [name].”

you stilled, he continued to explain. “it all happened once i saw the dagger. it eyed me, and i eyed it. it seemed so familiar, your eyes did too. until it all came back.” he took a sharp breath and continued.

“men, vampire hunters of the kingdom specifically, went missing around these parts. i was sent here to find the vampire and kill them. but i was ambushed along the way by a witch who hit me with a spell.” his hand moved to his satchel, you stayed unmoving as you absorbed his words.

he held the stake and dagger in his hands respectively, the materials that would kill you if pierced glistening ominously in the moonlight. the same moonlight that encapsulated you two.

“i thought it over. a lot. thought about what i wanted, no. what i thought was right.” he gripped them tightly, holding them up.

you closed your eyes, as you heard the words, “goodbye.”

but death, the feeling of wood piercing your heart never came. the splash of the water was the only sound heart by you, who had tearfully looked to face him.

“what?” was all you could helplessly utter, as he kneeled to sit in front of you:

“..i don't want to kill you [name].” he moved to hold your hand, cold as ever, against the beating heart of his chest. “but i'd like to kiss you, honestly.”

you let out a shaky laugh, a tear falling down your face as you sighed in relief. “i think i'd like that too.”

as the last bubbles burst at the surface of the lake, he tilted your head forward, holding your chin in between his fingertips as he gently kissed you. only the grass between your bodies bore witness to the newly born relationship forged by trust ignited.

the full moon now faced you two. he held your hand tightly, encaging you with the broad of his body.

he saw the moon start to slip away and picked you up, taking you to the bedroom you'd gifted him and laying you by his side.

he'd turned practically nocturnal too from these past weeks, the desire to be by your side fueling him.

so as he laid with his eyes half lidded, looking at you in the dim candlelight of the room, he held you impossibly closer.

he wanted to spend an eternity with you. maybe he'd truly cast his old life aside and become a vampire alongside you.

that thought rocked him to sleep that night, your body like a puzzle piece next to his.

who knew all you'd have to do to kiss a vampire is cast your old life aside?

tags. @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @exoticrasin @lavendarstarz @hisonlyobsession @i-the-fluffo @uy242c @cookielovesbook-akie @frosted-flakes @irenne-stans @kemziicore

[deadghosy]

🪓 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑|| 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐗 𝐆𝐍! 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Diagnosis: fearing to harm your lover, you drink blood from another. Making the riddle himself feel jealous and angry at how you could think he can’t take it.

Warning: possessive behavior, possessive!mattheo, death/blood/killing mentions, slight maybe, suggestive.

Being a vampire in Hogwarts was and is a dangerous game to play. Especially when you had fallen inlove with a mortal human from a rich Slytherin family. The Riddles. Mattheo Riddle was a Slytherin boy who had taken a liken to your “cold” & “loner” personality. He liked how you kept to yourself when really you were trying not to hurt people.

Mattheo did a slow, and friendly approach. Which slowly but surely turned into flirting banter between you two. Gaining your heart, and gaining your trust after almost a year of dating each other. You finally told him that you’re a vampire. You thought the worst, the worst being that he would tell everyone and break up with you. Only for you to gain the opposite of your imagination. He was supportive and didn’t tell a soul.

But he mostly definitely asked a lot of questions.

But last night, you killed a student. Hungry. You were so hungry you lost control and killed a former Hogwarts student that happened to run into your clutches for it to be a death trap. You were lost in a daze, sinking your fangs into their neck and draining them dry til their life and blood source was destroyed. And gone. You could’ve drunk from Mattheo, he had told you to drink his blood if it was serious. But the thought of harming him made you wanna throw up. You felt terrible, so terrible you didn’t talk at all today. Gaining attention from some students and mostly Mattheo. He walked into your dorm seeing pacing back and forth until you seen him. He stared seeing your slight baggy eyes.

“What’s wrong? You look like you had a crazy night or somthin'” he said jokingly. You stayed quiet before nervously laughing. “Yeah…” Mattheo stopped laughing hearing that laughter. He heard that laughter enough to know something actually did happen. “What happened?” You immediately tried to walk past him. You felt scared, you didn’t want him to know you lost control and killed a student.

He pulls you by your arm, gripping it slightly as his eyes darken at your nervous gaze. He hated how he can tell that you’re lying. “The fuck happened last night?” You kept avoiding eye contact making him pull your face close to his with his other hand. “What. Happened.” Breaking the last thread that held you in, you started to ramble from the events. Closing your eyes shut you spilled it, “I drunk another person’s blood and accidentally killed them because I didn’t think you could handle me sucking your own blood, and I’m so sorry!”

Mattheo let out a deep breath and let your arm and face go. Feeling a bit guilty at how he grabbed your arm and stated to massage the arm he held. Worried it might bruise. “Darling…it’s okay. I’m a Riddle for a reason. I can handle you sucking my blood. Plus killing someone isn’t a shock to me much.” You smiled at his words. “But.” Your smile dropped looking at his darkened eyes. It was like an empty void as he tilts his head at you. “But I’m yours, and you’re mine. I can’t let you drink some filthy blood that’s not mine.” You gulped as he moved his hand towards your lips.

He uses his thumb to pull your lower lip down, showing your bottom sharp fangs. There was emotion hidden behind mattheo eyes. You felt fear for a little before he leaned into your ear. “Drink my blood baby. Drink it til it make us dizzy together.” And there goes that crazed smile you fell in love with as he withdraws from your ear and looks at you. Completely towering over you. Your heart felt it was going to leap.

“Cmon. Don’t be scared love. I promise I can take it.” He smiles again, but this time his eyes are different. They soften as he undo his tie while keeping eye contact with you. With one hand it came undone. You felt your mouth water at the sight of his naked neck. Mattheo smirked seeing your eyes dilate. He knew that you were now hungry. You inch closer, and closer. Leaning your head, but your consciousness kept telling you that you were gonna hurt him.

“I..I can’t—” “but you can.” Mattheo quickly interrupts you. “I know you can. I know you’re strong enough to know you can’t hurt me. I can handle it.” Bringing his hand and caressing your cheek. You nodded, you trusted Mattheo to tell you if you are hurting him. You bit into his neck.

With a hiss, Mattheo puts his hand on your waist. Bring you closer as you sink your teeth in deeper. Breaking the flesh and sucking in his blood. You could hear Mattheo chuckle lowly, but what you didn’t see was the light blush and euphoric look he had on his face. His low eyes as he grips the side of your waist. You hummed at the delicious iron taste. Filling your mouth while Mattheo let out a small moan. “That’s right baby…drink as much as you can. Drink it all..” he whispers as he lowers his eyes at you. You hummed and finished the last drop you could drink.

Your eyes were glossy when you pulled back from his neck. Licking the bites that threaten to spill more from Mattheo. “Sorry if I hurt you…” you say lowly, embarrassed at how you also feel on cloud nine from drinking his blood. “You didn’t hurt me.” He kissed the temple of your head then wipes your red stained lips. “Didn’t even feel a pinch.” He smiled while you just roll your eyes. “Whatever…”

At least you knew how he feels if you don’t drink his blood.

[renfieldsheart]

Mafia!Husband x Vampire!Reader thoughts…

Depictions of: violence, guns, blood, fluff? (Is that possible?), dark yet wholesome?, slight suggestion at end but idk it’s pretty tame.

Vampire!Reader who gets restlessly jealous whenever they smell a stranger’s blood on their husband, but can’t bring it up without exposing their own vampirism.

Mafia!Husband who doesn’t understand how you always know he’s home before he opens the front door, or how you know where he’s been that day just by ‘guessing.’

Vampire!Reader who can smell the smoke from gunfire on their husband’s clothing when he comes home and tries not to show their concern.

Mafia!Husband who hid his job from you for months, scared you’d resent him, only to be completely dumbfounded by your obvious excitement when you finally find out.

Vampire!Reader who begged him to take them with him to his job one day, to which he firmly refused.

Vampire!Reader who confesses their vampirism to their husband, expecting an argument or at least fear, only to be met with pure fascination and curiosity.

Mafia!Husband who now takes you with him to work sometimes, letting you feed on the casualties.

Mafia!Husband who lets you take the wheel for torturing victims, your infectious bites being the perfect threat.

Mafia!Husband who doesn’t bother washing his bloody hands before coming home because he knows you’d lick him clean without a second thought.

Mafia!Husband who makes out with you in the middle of a shootout, lips interlocked and tongues intertwined as blood spatters and sprays through the air, mangled remains of what was once human beings tossed around like confetti.

Match made in hell ♥️

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love —Masterlist

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | if you'd like to be added to the tag list just fill out the following DOC ✨✨✨

summary | to escape your cursed lineage, you sail away to the ends of the world, where you discover a new world, one with only two continents instead of seven. you make a life for yourself in the court of kings landing, where you catch the eye of a certain targaryen prince.

warnings | violence, blood, death, vampire powers, SMUT (18+ MDNI!), fluff, hurt/comfort, trying to follow canon plotline (major changes for some stuff), he falls hard, she falls harder but he's still the one obsessed.

i do not own any character from the book "fire and blood" or the following shows "the house of the dragon" or "the originals" except the reader (which is you)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 1 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 2 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 3 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 4

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 5 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 6 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 7 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 8

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 9 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 10 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 11 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 12

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 13 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 14 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 15 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 16

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Claws and Curses

Werewolf!Jason and Vampire!Reader. They’re best friends, your honor, even when Gotham gets weird. ~1.6k words

Being a vampire is hard. Seriously, five days of trying to adjust to sharpened fangs and claws has not been fun. You’re hungry almost constantly, and you can only take eating raw meat and draining the blood bags the GCPD has been giving out for so much longer.

On top of all that, you broke your bedroom door just by opening it. It hangs limply by its hinges now, and you haven’t gotten around to fixing it. You have no idea how metas with super strength deal with it.

You didn’t even get turned into a vampire the fun way. No, it wasn’t a bite that has you treating everything like it's made of glass but a curse. A witch with some sort of vendetta against Gotham cast a spell, and it left civilians, rouges, and heroes alike running around as monsters.

At first, it was funny, a day off of work wasn’t so bad, and you figured if Batman, who apparently got turned into some kind of wraith, couldn’t fix it, Red Hood would.

But by day three? You hadn’t heard from Jason once, and your boss was insistent that you could come back to work.

Day four, you still had radio silence from Jason, and Gotham was carrying on like Vicki Vale wasn’t delivering the morning news with snakes instead of hair and thick, heavy sunglasses hiding her eyes.

Day five, you were growing increasingly worried about Jason, and you were starting to wonder if you were gonna be stuck as a vampire forever.

Yeah, you had gotten used to opening doors without breaking them, but you had spent almost your entire shift trying to help one of your coworkers, who had been unlucky enough to transform into a yeti, try to deal with shedding. You were still trying to get tufts of white fur off your coat, even on your walk home.

You were so wrapped up in wondering if it was possible to curse a witch back, that you fail to notice the flock of harpies starting to box you in, eagerly trying to corral you into an alley.

They snap their talons at you, and it’s only then your attention focuses on the four bird-like creatures leering at you. “This is our territory,” one of them croons at you, sharp teeth glinting in the street lights, “and there’s a price to be here.”

Your mouth works before your brain does, and you tell them exactly what you think of their little power play, “That’s stupid.”

If they’re put out by your lack of fear, none of them show it. One of them inches forward, gesturing for your pockets, “Wallet and phone, unless you’d like for things to get ugly?”

Your lips curl into a frown. It would be smart to just hand over your things. You’re not exactly a seasoned fighter, and you’re not completely sure how durable vampires are in the face of other monsters.

A part of you wants to find out, to test how capable your strength and fangs and claws can really be.

You don’t get the opportunity to decide. A threatening growl fills the air, and as you whip your head towards the noise, as a large, intimidating werewolf stalks out of the alley behind you.

The harpies didn’t scare you. Most of the monsters you’ve seen haven't shaken you. But this one? He’s terrifying. Teeth and nails meant for shredding skin. Dark, matted fur, and eyes that seemed to glow. Just the sight of him is enough to have all your nerves on edge.

The flock behind you seems to feel the same way, and the air almost crackles with tension.

You’re not sure who moves first, if the wolf takes a step forward, or if the harpies turn to run from a clear apex predator, but someone moves, and your would-be assailants make themselves scarce before you’ve even registered they’re gone.

You half expect the werewolf to pounce, to hunt down the harpies, but he does neither. He sits himself down in front of you and gives you the most disappointed look you’ve ever seen, You didn’t even know wolves could make that face.

It’s then that you notice the clothes he’s wearing, the red bat emblem, the distinctive hooded vest. “No way,” you breathe out, unable to fight the grin spreading across your face, “Jason?”

He rolls his eyes at you, letting out a huff as if to say ‘Duh’.

“You’re a dog,” You point out, trying to keep the laughter out of your voice. Relief spreads over your body when he glares at your words. It really is good to see him alive, and just as expressive, even under the curse.

You reach out to scratch his ears, and he leans into your touch. They’re surprisingly soft under your fingers. “Shouldn’t we be fighting, or something?”

He blinks once, then twice. Jason lets out another low, almost indignant huff at your question. He lifts his head, questioning eyes locking onto yours as he waits for you to elaborate.

Your grin wider at him, almost teasing as you run your hand lazily over the fur on his head, “It’s just, aren’t werewolves and vampires sworn enemies? Shouldn’t you be trying to bite my fingers instead of going all lapdog on me?”

Jason’s ears flatten slightly, and he lets out a quiet, frustrated growl. It's clear that he doesn't appreciate the implication that he would harm you.

You laugh, moving to scratch under his chin, “Yeah, I know. Who cares about centuries of fighting and stereotypes when we have trash TV to watch together.”

His ears perk up at your words, and his tail starts to wag. He offers your hand a slobbery lick, which you make a face at. He grins at the offended noise you make, all teeth and mischief.

You pull your hand away, wiping the drool onto your clothes, tone accusing and playful all at once, “Now, I know the curse didn’t take your manners.”

He shrugs at you, at least as much as a werewolf can shrug, and starts walking towards your building. He glances over his shoulder expectantly, like he expects you to follow.

“Shouldn’t you be looking for that witch? Instead of walking me home,” you ask curiously, quickly catching up to him.

He leans into you a little, huffing in a way that’s so familiar you know he finds your question ridiculous.

You delight in how warm he is against your side, you’ve been running cold since the curse turned you. “I’m just saying,” you murmur, going quiet as you take in the fact that he’s really here. Your next confession slips out thoughtlessly, “I missed talking to you.”

His steps falter, and he turns his head to look at like you’ve said something important.

“Plus, I need you to fix my door,” you say quickly, embarrassed by your slip up, “Broke it with my vampire powers.” You waggle your pointed nails at him, voice light and teasing as you try to mask how much you actually have missed him.

You’re not sure if you’ve managed to convince him, but he keeps walking all the same. You make a note to look into jinxes to curse the witch when you get home.

You really do miss his voice, and the easy conversation that usually flows between you. You find it almost cruel that it’s been taken from you.

It’s that feeling that drives you to keep talking as you near your apartment, “You know you could come over, right? Even if we’re all still cursed? I can turn on that show we’re watching and help you with your fur.”

He has the audacity to look offended, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he stares you down with faux hurt.

You have a stifle a giggle at his face, “C’mon, have you even had a bath since this whole thing started? At least let me brush it out if you’re still furry tomorrow. Deal?”

He’s reluctant about it, you tell by the way his ears flick back, but he nods anyway.

“Knew you’d see it my way,” you say happily, and reach out to pet his head. His eyes close when you do, and you bite back a fond noise at how his tail starts to wag contently.

You begrudgingly drop your hand from his fur, and you almost start scratching him again when he actually whines over it. You don’t know how he does it, but he gives you perfect puppy dog eyes that almost melt your heart.

“Don’t give me that look,” you whine right back, “Don’t you have to go save Gotham or something?”

He seems to contemplate your words for a moment, then gives in, nudging your side as if to say goodbye.

He nuzzles your side, almost long enough that you start to say something, before he pulls away to leave. It almost reminds you of how animals mark their territory with their scent, but you brush away that thought as quickly as it forms.

“Hey,” you call out, stopping him before he gets too far, “Make sure you come over, okay? Even if you still smell like dog.”

He grins at you and yips before disappearing into the Gotham night. You take it for the promise it is, and, as you head inside your apartment building, you wonder if he’ll be interested in the dog treats you keep around for Haley and Ace.

The idea makes you laugh, and for the first time since the curse took its hold on Gotham, you almost want to wake up as a vampire tomorrow, if only for the chance to tease your best friend.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

Hi! Hope this is ok and got a nsfw idea

What if werewolf steve x vampire reader x vampire bucky

Y/n was all alone ending up entering their turf. They dont wanna end her noo . They wanna keep her as their mate

a/n: you sent this yumminess to me last night literally minutes before i fell asleep, then i couldn't stop thinking about it so i wrote it while eating breakfast lol

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“Oh, honey…” you heard Bucky purr as he teasingly let his fangs graze across your neck, “I’m older and thereby stronger than you,” his cock throbbed against your bottom as he kept his hold tight, holding your wiggling frame up far above the ground, your back against his chest and keeping you in place for the lycanthrope before you, “so you might as well just stop struggling.”

Slick symphonies accompanied Steve’s movements as he attempted to stuff the big knot at the base of his already intimidating length inside your cunt. Each thrust of his hips gradually grew harsher as he tried needlessly to plug it inside, though still without success, your pussy only drooling from his ruthless efforts though still not able to let that part of him into your warmth. 

“Or not,” Steve then smirked as he lowered his fingers to smear more of your messy cream against his bulbous base he so fiercely desired to feel inside of you, “I think it’s kinda fun watching you try.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[rooksamoris]

💞 — 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒, 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄.

💞 — in which vil invites a vampire hunter to live in your castle as a guard. this hunter seems to enjoy pressing your buttons quite a bit.

💞 — vampire!vil schoenheit x vampire!reader x vampire hunter!rook hunt (implied poly)

💞 — warnings: SUGGESTIVE!! nothing crazy, but it is suggestive, hopefully in the gothic romantic sort of way. obvi, blood, mentions of gore. rook says "bon appetit" at some point. vil and reader are "married" but in the eternal partners thanks to immortality sort of way

💞 — 2.2k words. HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY @v-anrouge!!! when i was wondering what i should write, i remembered you were the one who gave me the thought of vampire hunter!rook which has completely haunted me since. i wish you a million more happy days <33 think imma do a whole au tagged as "𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄." bc wow i miss vampire stories

Vil could not have been serious about this.

You looked at him in disbelief as he sat at the luxurious table. He ignored your look of disbelief and continued to sip from his wine glass, the rid liquid sloshing to and fro. Any idiot would assume it was just wine or fruit cordial, but no, this was a bit too thick to be either. Your eyes then darted to the smiling blonde bowing at the both of you. That bastard hunter that you and your kind were constantly trying to get away from. He was grinning without a care as if he was not in the presence of one of the most feared vampires in all of the Twisted Wonderland. 

“You don’t look too pleased to see me, mon vampire,” he said, tilting his head to the side, smile ever present.

It took everything in you not to scrunch your nose, “What vampire would be pleased at the sight of a hunter?” you retorted, before looking back at Vil. You assumed he was bluffing when he told you he would employ a vampire hunter to keep watch over the castle. You knew why he did it—all that power came with enemies and artifacts that all manner of magical creatures wanted to steal for themselves. But come on, you hoped he would settle for a protective spell.

Vil finally sighed, “He won’t harm you, or me if he knows what’s best for him.”

“Oh, Roi du Poison, no need for worries. I could never dream of tarnishing such beauty,” he replied, standing straight again. Despite that smile of his, there was something sinister beneath it all. He was hiding something, that much was clear.

“Vil, darling, you can’t be serious—”

All the vampire did was stand and make his way over to you, standing behind your seat and placing one of his hands onto your shoulders, and then he used the other to cup your chin so that you were glancing over at him, “Stress ages the skin. Relax your brows,” he told you. Your immortality would keep you from aging just fine, yet he still insisted that you follow these human regiments with him.

After a moment, you sighed, letting your shoulders drop before sending a half-hearted glare at the hunter, “Fine,” 

“Good,” Vil moved away from you and to the blonde hunter, his hand quickly grasping his jaw, “And you,”

“Yes?” Rook asked, practically beaming over the fact that the poisonous vampire himself was touching him. He could barely keep himself from reaching out and embracing the vampire.

Before this, he had just been admiring you and your spouse. All of this was like something from one of his dreams. Here he was, in that gothic castle which he had only seen in paintings, with the famed vampires hiding in it. Rook could not wait till he was free to explore the place and uncover the magical secrets that were hidden there. Perhaps he would even get the chance to collect skeletons from the closets.

Your glares were exhilarating and Vil’s touch was just… arousing. This was the type of opportunity he would kill for. He probably did kill for it, no one could know when it came to him.

Vil’s lavender eyes traced over the hunter’s face, before narrowing in on his eyes, “You will be on your best behavior, yes?”

Rook nodded, placing a hand on his chest, “Of course, my queen.”

“Darling, quit your pouting already,” Vil said, glancing at you through the mirror as you tended to his hair. He never let anyone tend to his beauty process, but you. Who would not trust their eternal lover? He began to rub a serum into his skin, “I know you’re not happy, but you’re a vampire, not a toddler.”

You nearly tugged his hair at that, “You know how I feel about vampire hunters,” you told him, “And him? Of all the hunters to bring into our home, you have to bring the one with the most kills under his belt—if he tries anything, I’ll… I—”

“We’ll both feed off of him. Don’t worry,” he said, cutting you off as he turned around to face you. One of his hands reached for the brush and he set it at the vanity behind him while gazing up at you. His hands cupped your hips and forced you closer, “You worry too much. If he messes up, he’ll make for a great meal.”

His hands trailed up and down—hips, to thighs, hips, to waist—he had done this thousands of times before, “You’ve heard of his skill, his strength. A man with such endurance must have plenty of blood… all that running and fighting he does has to show in the health of his arteries. I’ll even let you use those fancy chalices you like,”

Oh, Sevens. He was so attractive when he went into his informative tangents.

A blush covered your cheeks and your hands reached to grab onto his shoulders so that you could balance yourself. Centuries later he still managed to make you blush like a rose. He claimed you were his spouse, but sometimes you felt more like a devout worshipper. His body was the shrine you bowed to, your love was the offerings you held out to him.

“I just ask that you play nice,” he said, his hand drifting from your hip, up to your cheek. A smirk came to his lips as he tugged your face towards him. He smirked when your eyes trailed over to his mouth, “You can do that, right?” 

All you could do was nod in response.

“Good,” And finally, he gave in and kissed you, teasingly dragging his fangs along your bottom lip. Vil knew how much you loved when he did that, he could feel it in the little shift you did as he held you close. He pulled away after a moment, just to let his hands dip down to the back of your legs and pull you into his lap, “Now, let me take care of you.”

Living in the castle with Rook was strange, but not completely horrible. He had so much to satisfy his curiosity, so most days you did not see him unless you were in places that he was monitoring. You caught him a few times in the secret tunnels beneath the castle, and the various hiding places that no one knew about.

He tried to get into your good graces with his… strange shows of affection. Last night, when he was walking you home from the opera, he told you how much he wished you would let your rage control so that you would sink your teeth into his pale freckled skin.

Strange, and yet your mind drifted back to the thought of it. Letting go of your control and pouncing onto the hunter, tearing the collar of his shirt, piercing that pretty skin of his. You forced the thoughts out of your mind when you began to imagine what his gasps and whimpers may have sounded like.

Vil seemed to be much more quick to let up when it came to Rook. He did not think the green-eyed hunter was a threat and just let him share his amorous and romantic poetry. At the dinner table, he would laud you and your Queen, comparing himself to the knights of yore, bound to protect and never to touch—and Vil did not interrupt him once. He looked pleased, instead, amused even.

Even more absurd was when Vil began letting Rook help him out with his clothes or his makeup. That had truly caught you off-guard, but you still did not seem to let up on your suspicions. He was just so unsettling sometimes, despite his sweet moments. You worried he would turn around and set a trap for you, or worse, for Vil. 

Vil could take care of himself, but you loved him too much to not worry.

“Ah, mon vampire!” 

You turned around when the hunter suddenly called out for you. Of course, he just happened to be in the gardens at the same time as you, “Rook,” you muttered, “Do you never sleep?”

He quickly took his spot at your side, his hand drifting to hover around the small of your back, “Now why would I tell a predator like you when I am most vulnerable?” he asked, this thumb sliding over your spine a bit. His green eyes looked a little more threatening for a moment, “That would make me a poor hunter, non?”

That look in his eyes made you shiver.

“I suppose you are right about that.” 

You were sure you could take him on in a fight, but you also wished Vil was out here too. Rook always seemed a little more behaved in the presence of Vil, since he was more of a threat than you were—or perhaps Rook just enjoyed toying with you more. When the two of you were alone, Rook seemed more like the bloodthirsty creature, except he thirsted for your ire. He was just begging to be your meal with the way he acted.

His touch grew firm, “Looking for an escape?” he asked, raising a brow, smiling at you. He looked quite pleased with himself.

“No,” you retorted, a little blush coloring your cheeks, “That’s what you should be doing.”

Rook laughed at that and his hand moved off your back and to your hand instead. Gently, he tugged you with him deeper into the gardens, “I would never want to escape from you. No matter how vicious you became,” he told you, affectionately.

You scoffed, “I don’t believe that for a minute,”

“You don’t?”

“Of course not. You’d run with your tail between your legs just as the other mortals do.”

He tugged you a bit harder once he came to a stop, forcing you to fall against him. The blonde nearly shivered as your hands met his chest to steady yourself, “Mon vampire,” he whispered, “You and I both know I would never run from those gorgeous fangs of yours,” he said as his free hand cupped your jaw.

The foolish hunter was guiding your face toward his pale neck. A soft growl came from the back of your throat, “Stupid hunter,” you muttered. That familiar bloodlust began to seep from your every pore.

“Go on,” he cooed, “bon appétit.”

You decided to give in—his blood just smelled too good. You brushed his blonde hair behind his ear before slipping a hand behind his neck to force him closer to you, causing him to place his hands on either side of your head, against one of the pillars in the gardens.

Fangs glittered beneath the night sky like swords on the battlefield, his neck was your enemy. All you wanted to do was suck him dry, and end that dull beating you could hear where his blood was rushing. Vil had told you athletic people carried more blood. He shivered as your tongue swiped against his neck.

“Ah—wetting my neck to make it easier? You are just so—”

Before he could finish with his teasing, you quickly and violently sunk your fangs into his neck, humming in satisfaction as his blood hit your tongue. His body tensed up for a moment and then he relaxed, leaning his body against you, pinning you to the pillar. He gasped a bit at your harsh sucking, but never once did his protest.

Instead, his fingers tenderly carded through your hair, “Mmm… Tu es merveilleux.”

You could not even bring yourself to pull away and reply to his compliments, instead opting to dig your fangs in even deeper. The blood began to drip down your chin, Vil would scold you for that, but you did not care. His blood was delicious.

“What have I told you about getting blood on your clothes when you’re feeding?”

Speak of the devil—erm, vampire.

Quickly, you pulled away from Rook’s neck and you were just about to wipe your face on your sleeve, until you felt Vil’s sharp glare and Rook’s hand grasp your arm in time. 

The hunter gave you a teasing smile, before turning his attention to Vil.

There was a frown on Vil’s face, “I can’t believe you managed to make such a mess in the five minutes that I have left you alone.”

“Merci, I do my best.”

“It wasn’t a compliment. Look what you have done to mein schätzelein,” he scolded, as he took out a handkerchief to wipe up your mouth for you. His attention was now on gently wiping away the blood that dripped down to your chin and onto your chest. He patted it down, careful not to rub too hard. A brief look of hunger flashed in his eyes as he wiped the blood. He nearly bent down to lick it off of you instead. “Such a mess... and I thought we promised we’d feed on him together? Greed is not a pretty look for you.”

The flush on your cheeks brightened, much to both of their amusement.

“Don’t scold them, Roi du Poison. It was my fault. I was teasing too much,” Rook interrupted before you could speak. One of his hands trailed down your back, while the other slipped around Vil’s waist, “But since you’re here now, you can have a taste as well.”

Vil rolled his eyes, “I am much better at controlling myself,”

That was a lie. His eyes kept drifting between the pierce marks on Rook’s neck and the little bit of blood stuck on the corner of your lips.

©rooksamoris 2024. do not steal or translate my work!

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[pasdasin]

Wicked Game

wolverine x vampire!reader

an: set in a timeline where Logan and Alex Summers have beef since i envision this with the days of future past casting!

ch 1

warnings: mentions of blood, needles, generic doctor stuff, cussing i think, angsty lol

ur at the start -- next

~~~~~

The mansion was always having a frenzy. The rotating door of constant students, the random federal agents that never seem to fully go away, and the weird brotherhood that seemed to always succeed in attacking the school and yet never actually hurt anyone. In other words, this was the most fun you have ever had in centuries. The latest fun you ran into at the school was right now. Watching the students frantically try to finish the book report they were assigned by Storm. Listening to their banter and recollection of the book made you giggle at them. Scott Summers, the most vocal of the group, turned to look at you with a scowl on his face.

“Oh like you know anything about, uh, what are we reading?” He said turning back to his friends.

“Dracula?” You inquired, bringing the drink up to your lips.”I was there when it was written.” You smiled. “But don’t expect my help okay? I promised Storm that I wouldn’t say a word.” You walked out of room with a small smirk on your face, listening to their arguing fade.

Humming to yourself, you observed the students on your walk back to your office. As the school nurse, you knew a lot of the students on a first name basis. Many repeat visitors had graced your office with superficial wounds just so they would see you, and your favorite?

Mr. Logan Howlett, the Wolverine himself. Who was sitting on the bench in your office, awaiting your return. Your eyes locked onto his own, and your smile grew, exposing your fangs slightly.

“Well if it isn’t my most needy patient.”

“Guilty as charged,” he muttered standing to greet you. Pulling you into a hug, he squeezed you tight.

“Another day, another blood test?” You inquired, already knowing the answer. Your oldest friend nodded, removing his jacket so you could start to prep his arm for the extraction. Pulling over a stool, you sat as you wrapped the tourniquet over his bicep. “This might hurt”

“You say that everytime.” Logan responded, rolling his eyes and inhaling as the needle entered his skin. “You should train with us again” It was your turn to roll your eyes at him.

“Now you say that everytime,” he huffed at you using his words against him. “I am not who I was a hundred and what? Fifty years ago? I am a doctor, I help people… I am not a vampire.” You muttered the last bit, removing the needle from his arm and taping down gauze. Even though he didn’t need it, it helped him feel human.

You had met Logan around 1899, in the streets of London on the way to America. You both had caused some havoc and needed to escape the city until you had “died”. You both instantly bonded over your mutations and the fact that you both couldn’t die. You certainly had tried, burned at the stake, drowned, stabbed, shot in the head, even a stake to your heart. Your mutation had cursed to you continuously walk to the ends of the earth every time you needed a new identity, and somehow Logan was the same. If it weren’t for the adamantium poisoning his blood.

Holding the vial up to the light, you closed your eyes and focuses on the blood inside. Listening to the way it flowed and coagulated. Reopening your eyes, you stared at the vial until finally, you unscrewed the cap and took a sip. Closing it up, you placed it inside a centrifuge and wiped your mouth of any remains.

“Its so freaky when you do that.” Your rolled your eyes at him. “Especially when you drink it, why don’t you just take it from the source at that point”

“Firstly, I can taste the bourbon you had at lunch. Don’t you know addiction is bad for you? Secondly, I can tell that the serum has been working. I don’t taste the metal as much anymore. You should only need to get three more shots and finish one more round of antibiotics.” You informed him as he put on his jacket. “I love you Lo, but for the love of god please eat a vegetable, I can feel the fat you’ve been consuming.” He chuckled at your request and patted your head. Placing a small kiss on the top of your head, he left your office and shut the door behind him.

Sighing, you turned to start the centrifuge and rested your head on your hand. You hated how he did that. Joked with you and kissed you like you were his world. You knew you weren’t even close to being the owner of his heart. You had tried once, back before the great depression, but he wasn’t interested. He always had his eye on another.

You closed your eyes and let yourself drift away from your thoughts. Enjoying the silence you rarely got.