#Vampire Au

[kingprinceleo]

Vampire au- I like the top sketch a lot ouh,,, he's got shadow on his mind fnfnfnfndj

[mihii-i]

silver bullet.

Pairings: jinx x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, vampire jinx, vampire hunter reader, graphic violence, blood, reader fucking HATES jinx in the beginning, but this ho has a crush on her implied, I use more foul language than usual uh oh, jinx is too silly for reader’s gloomy ass, my girl gets lowk messy with drinking blood cause whys it getting everywhere, part 2 (pending), collab fic, I was leaping up and down like a baby writing this god, proud of this one, the way I want to give isha another sibling holy shit, licking up the green tea today, not proofread.

A/N: now playing touchin’ me by chandler leighton—oh yall KNOW I have to do another collab fic with her come on @kadriss-loves-gifflars anyway I loev jinx so yes this woman makes me a total 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴 also lowkey this kinda works cause silco reminded me of a vampire when I first saw him and post shimmer jinx? Yeah definitely 🕯️

Heavy onslaughts of rain poured in a fervent wash of deafening white noise circling you as your drenched form stood upright in the frigid shower, droplets dribbling down the protruding jugular veins of your throat with your teeth bared in a rugged scrape against each other. Days. Weeks. Months. You don’t know how long you’d feel the numbing shivers crawling up your spine as a product of your unending weariness, head swerving weakly from side to side in caution to make sure that a pair of fangs didn’t tear away at your flesh from behind.

The torture was unbearable for you. Countless nights of lost sleep lingered in the fury of your sanity slipping past the fingertips of any ground of stability, fingers buried deep into the plush of the pillow to crease as it sank under the weight of your thumb pressured upon it. How long had you truly spent hunting down this blood sucking demon? How many more lives had to be lost for you to finally put an end to her advances chewing up the city you resided in?

Every awful detail of her face was etched into your mind, sticking in like a leech as you memorized those deep, pink eyes flaring with their sights set on you, stray strands of turquoise blue locks framing her face whenever she poked out from the engulfing darkness of a hallway. Much worse, she didn’t even take the potential of you ending her life seriously at all. Likely taunting you further at the prospect of her dying at your hands, as if it was an absurd idea. Occasionally even throwing up a finger gun with that shit eating grin on her face to mock you, the same grin she had on her face when she devoured another innocent soul with specks of blood decorating the corner of her lip.

Heavy breaths rumbled out of your throat in accordance with your twitching eyelids, jerking with each descending droplet over water plinking against the metallic nub lodged between your bare fingers, peeking out from the bumps of fabric crowned with dark leather sheathing the palm and dorsal side of your hand. Sharply inhaling through your nose, you idly dragged your thumb along the intricate carvings scratched into the steel bullet hemmed in the grasp of your fingers slowly rotating it like the digits of a combination lock.

This would be the time. You swore. You’d bury that bullet in her skull and wipe that grin off her face if it was the last thing you’d ever fucking do.

You’d murder Jinx if it was the last thing you’d do.

You carefully drew in another breath of the pungent air sided, with the specks of rain landing onto the black leather coat draped over your shoulders, the foul stench of dried blood dissolved into rainwater stung your nostrils in a near assault as your shoes imprinted an outline of blocky lines into the thick mud. The rusted brass of your pistol rested against your hip with your hand hovering over the drenched gunmetal, rapidly yanking it out and slamming the bullet to load into it as if you were resolute on a definite decision to put down this killer.

What a shame. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself weakly in the midst of your pathway to Jinx, teeth dragging up your bottom lip to bite off the loose skin chapped along the soaked, dull tint of your lips. Even through this endless cycle of hunting her and losing her, braids falling behind her every time she shot you a glance upon emerging victorious, you couldn’t help but grow fond of this particular undefeated vampire.

The lingering status as a supposed ‘mortal enemy,’ if that’s what you could call it, only resulted in a bond stemming from this constant interaction that pumped streams of adrenaline across the tensed veins of your body. And strangely enough, you found yourself attached to the very person you hate, gaining a peculiar thrill from the rush of hunting her down. Relishing in the way her sharp, painted nails would lightly tap the barrel of your gun with a smile of feigned innocence, before spiraling past you at a speed you couldn’t keep up with.

Well, looks like you’ve grown attached to the vamp after all. You’ll miss her after you’ve buried that fancy silver bullet in her cranium.

Choking up at the diffusing clouds of dust sealing your airways, you firmly planted your palm against the drenched, slippery leather clothed over your left breast, avoiding the familiar shiver that racked your body as the familiar scenery unfolded before you for the umpteenth time. As you caught sight of the dark, extravagant mansion unfolded before you, a whirlwind of determination seared up within you as you took in the stygian architecture towering over you.

Of course. The countless number of times you could roll your eyes at the fact that this unkempt vampire had such an opulent living space, with the furnished decor seeming like it was left to rot for eternity, probably because she wouldn’t even bother to clean it. It was ridiculous at how this sloppy ass vampire could have everything in the world, and still prefer to toss it aside like a spoiled child. Personally, you couldn’t help but scoff internally at the immaturity exhibited by the very woman who had mauled hundreds, the only vampire you couldn’t kill so far.

A quiet cough was expelled from your lungs as the sole of your glossed boot tapped against the creak of the dusted floorboards, the dim glow of writhing candlelight flooding your vision as slivers of melted wax skipped along the little bowls that held them. Waves of apprehensive caution locked you into place as your vision wavered in the unusually dim sights of the mansion, breath coming out in shallow, rapid expulsions of air forcing their way out of your chest. It was the same as usual you could handle it. You wouldn’t let this stupid girl have her way this time.

Your expression contorted into a scrunched up picture of repulsion painted across your features as that sinister giggle bellowed in your ears in a dreadful reverberation, the frequencies of her voice cutting through any possible sense of tranquility you had left. The lingering vibrations soon faded into the pits of shadowy darkness swallowing the hallways and crevices of the area, the near colorless candlelight seeming like the only safe space that would hold you from dissolving into the belly of nothingness.

“Gotta hand it to you. You’re still chasin’ after me for what? Millions of years now?”

A swift click echoed across the confined of the enclosure, accompanied by the tiny flames burning along the candle wicks inclining in a lean to the side as if perfectly matching your every move. Jinx’s piercing eyes were practically illuminated by the little candlelight there was in a deathly glow of reddish pink, eyeing the smallest jerk of your body with a petrifying precision.

“I know you’ve got that damn grin plastered across your face even in those shadows like a coward.” You spat, your hand ghosting along the wavering, cold trigger as you rose the gun to aim into the lurking depth of pitch black.

You were aiming at nothing, the anxious lump lodged in your throat refusing to go down at your limited periphery fogging up your senses with a lurch of unusual panic.

“You won’t be running around like a moron once I rip your heart out and blow your brain out.” You added, attempting to calm your nerves with any ounce of confidence.

Jinx merely rolled her eyes, emerging into a sliver of light briefly illuminating a thin strip along her pale complexion where that messy side bang fell over her face.

“Oo. Scary.”

Her mocking tone only aggravated you further, using the remaining sanity you had bottled up left to keep yourself from folding your index finger like a trigger happy maniac.

“Come onn! Lighten up! I wore something special for our thousandth anniversary!”

“Oh? You wanna die fancy? I can respect that.”

“By dying you mean you ending up on the floor with that little gun of yours unable to clicky-clicky?”

“Shut your mouth. We’ll see who’s laughing when I squeeze your heart in my fucking hands.”

“Huh. That sounds romantic. You like me trying to chomp down on you this bad?”

You breathed out exasperated sigh, cracking your voice as your eyes flitted along every corner of the mansion hall, gripping along the swirled carvings of the worn brass tighter as to not let it clatter to the ground from the sweat of your palm mixing with the slippery drops of rainwater. Your sigh was quickly substituted with a dry laugh of choked back loathing, seething across your tensed forearms in an attempt to keep your cool in case she hurls another one of her cheap tricks at you.

“Mm. I’ll admit. I’ll miss that rush I get when I try to tear you apart with the stake, Jinx.” You mention, earning an equally amused laugh from Jinx, a flash of her faux sweet demeanor splayed along her features.

Suddenly, a swift wave seared across the blank air in an incomprehensible speed, gentle waves of a synthetic breeze caressing the exposed skin of your face as that unmistakable chill shot along the rigid column of your spine once more.

“Yeah. ‘Ts been tempting to kill you too. But hey, looks like you hit the jackpot. I’m having too much fun to drain you dry.”

Her warm breath fanned across the shell of your ear as your chest heaved up and down, blurry vision finally adjusting back into focus within the span of a split second as you realized she was right behind you, hands dug into your leather coat as the fun blue and pink of her nails contrasted the gloomy black. She wasn’t wearing her usual clothes. It was more..formal. A white button up and black pants like you initially thought vampires dressed when you were a child.

“See? Told ya’ I wanted to dress nice. I wanna see how your blood looks all over this shirt.” She muses, gesturing to the clean white fabric clinging to her stature.

Cringing at the thought of deep red stains dirtying the white shirt without even a speck of dust, you couldn’t even have a moment to yourself in thought as Jinx slowly walked in front of you, lengthy braids trailing behind her like streaks of blue lightning emanating off of the vampire before you. Her eyes transfixed onto your fear laced pupils momentarily flickering down to her muted lips before losing yourself in the deep pools of violet red.

The silence of her staring dead through the window to your soul overtook the clearing, the only noise being the little squeaks of mice, or the howl of air fostered in the tension of the clearing.

Was this it? Was she actually going to kill you now-?

“Catch me if you can.”

Her whisper hushed past her her pointed fangs barely registered through your cloudy thoughts as she disappeared into the engulfing shadows surrounding you, gaze shifting over periodically to every time you saw the small pinkish glow faintly peeking through the void.

You fired a bullet.

Nothing.

Three rounds left.

You held your hitching breath as you frantically scanned the clearing for any hint of Jinx appearing in any way shape or form. Setting your aim against the little glow once more, you could make out the slight outline of a person’s silhouette, firing your pistol once more. Only to be met with a drawn out clatter of metal rolling along the floor.

Two rounds.

“Too slow.”

God, you wanted to shut her up. As pretty as she fucking looked, as excited as she made you with the chase each time. As absolutely ravishing as she was whenever her slender fingers ran along the small of your back whenever she sped past you.

You clicked the trigger again in a chain of a loud bang, resulting in a worse shot than the last as the bullet couldn’t even penetrate whatever you shot at, fearful gaze running across the nugget of silver rolling in an echo of your trepidation before ceasing its momentum at your feet.

One round. One shot.

“Come on, (Name). What was all that blabbing about you ripping my heart out? Shooting me in the head with a silver bullet?”

Carefully, your fingers coiled against the brass handle once more, teeth grit together as you took full focus on the sights of the vampire flashing in rapid movements through you.

Bang.

A choking noise suddenly rang in your ears, accompanied by the oozing squelch of a substance dripping onto the floor. Your eyes widened at the sight of the little stream of red pooling from the shadows to trickle in a branched line to the tips of your feet, your heavy breathing more ecstatic at the realization that you have in fact, finally killed Jinx. Elated, you slowly slid your now empty pistol back into the respective loop of your utility belt, a maniac grin crossing your face.

Seriously, did you think it would be that easy?

A hand suddenly brushed along you from behind, a wash of despair, enveloping you as the familar strands of blue tickling your cheek hummed alongside the familiar cracking veins sprouted from her eyelids resided behind you.

Fuck. Had you shot a bloodbag instead? Her cheap trick of fake choking playing out?

“Gotcha.”

It was too quick before you could even think. All you could feel was the side of your neck breaking under the pressure of her fangs abruptly sinking into your throat as a splatter of crimson adorned your cheek, seeping in little red tears along the two holes Jinx had just stabbed into your skin. The messy streaks of her usual sloppy eating habits were evident as you caught sight of the vermillion splatters panned out across the once perfectly clean white of her shirt—you swore you felt her smile against your throat while keeping those fangs buried inside you to lap up the saccharine of your blood.

“Hah. What do you know? Your blood does look pretty all over my shirt.”

—

A/N: oh my fucking goodness you don’t know how much fun I had writing this giggling kicking my feet crawling up the wall I apologize for the excessive foul language I don’t want to be a vivziepop episode

Also, part 2 is going to be nsfw and I contemplated putting nsfw for this one, but that would be like tumblr clickbait so i didn’t BUT I entrust my collab monkey (friend guys I can call her a monkey) to feed you guys the nsfw.

ANYWAY YIPPEE part 2 is pending because of this goldfish sooo @kadriss-loves-gifflars

I want to save hex with her.

…I mean save the hextech gemstone from going back to piltover.

[hellinistical]

Priest! Vampire! Rafayel x Nun! Reader synopsis: when a charming new priest is sent to your convent amidst the winter freeze, you're naturally untrusting. unfortunately, he's more knowledgeable of the faith, and you could learn a thing or two, especially if you want to protect yourself from the recent vampire attacks. trigger warnings: (heavy plot!). minor and major character death, blood, dubious consent, sacrilegious themes (Not Christianity or Catholicism; made up religion but using synonymous terms), gore, porn with plot, fingering (fem. receiving), hand jobs, piv, non-consensual vampire transformation, bodily horror, drinking blood, playing with blood, human consumption, unwilling cannibalism, afab reader- usage of female anatomy (though not descriptive of size/skin markings). fem. reader- she/her used. biting. choking. manipulation. blasphemy. overstimulation. virgin reader. corruption. monster fucking. slight belly bulge, bondage. incorrect use of holy water. wax play. this list may expand and/or altered. trigger warnings: (for this chapter.) afab. fem reader. implied pregnancy. period sex. piv. wax play. incorrect use of holy water. fingering (fem receiving), biting. overstimulation. corruption. virgin reader. non-con. dubious consent. hate sex. vampire transformation (though not explicit, just implied, and not in standard means; I took creative liberty). blood. slight belly buldge. major character deaths. spit. a:/n:this piece holds no actual religious scripture or quotes, I just needed those terms as they were synonymous. This is in NO WAY a jab at those faiths nor is it meant to spread hate or harm to them. It is also not an insult to those who practice. I tried to write with care, which yeah may be hypocritical of what I have here, so I apologize. Additionally, thank you to everyone who voted in the poll. While it was originally intended to be a one-shot, I felt it would be better to break it into chunks as this is very plot-heavy. Thank you for your support! Reblogs are highly appreciated. word count: 6.1k masterlist | prev.

V. Trasformazione

“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark"

It’s all-consuming, how he seems to swallow the oxygen before you can breathe. Like he’s taking it straight from your lungs, leaving you lightheaded, weak. His hands are everywhere, mapping you, learning you, claiming you in ways you don’t know if you should allow—but you do.

The tree digs into your back, rough and unyielding, but his body is just as unrelenting. His lips drag along your jaw, down your throat, his breath hot against your skin. A shudder wracks through you as his teeth graze your pulse, and he lingers there, as if tasting your heartbeat.

His fingers tighten their grip. "You’re mine," he murmurs against your skin, voice low and raw. It’s not a question. It’s not a request. It’s a vow.

Your stomach hurts, the cramps from your cycle gnawing at you, twisting in sharp, unforgiving waves. Your body burns, the feverish heat meeting his coldness in a clash that sends a shiver up your spine—a mess of sensation, of discomfort, of something deeper you refuse to name.

You turn your head away, not because you want to, but because you can’t bear to look. His breath ghosts over your exposed throat, his grip firm, possessive, unrelenting. You feel his lips press there, lingering, and it only makes the ache inside you worse, different.

A breath shudders from you, and you hate how weak it sounds. His fingers flex against your skin, and you feel the sharp edge of his teeth as he hums in something like satisfaction.

“You’re burning up,” he murmurs against your throat, his tone almost gentle. Almost. “Poor thing.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You hate him.

His fangs graze your skin but never sink in, lingering like a silent threat—or maybe a promise. His breath is cool against the feverish heat of your neck, sending a shudder through your already trembling body.

Then, his hands are on you, pulling your leg up and around his waist, pressing you closer until there’s no space left between you. The motion is seamless, practiced, like he’s done it a thousand times before. Like he’s meant to hold you like this.

And it’s humiliating.

Your nightgown is thin, ruined, sticky with blood, the fabric barely clinging to your form. You’re exposed—more than you’ve ever been, more than you should be. And yet, the very sight of you like this seems to draw him in more.

His fingers press into the flesh of your thigh, his breath hitching. "Messy little thing," he murmurs, voice rough, reverent. His lips trail the line of your jaw, slow, deliberate. "Do you know what you do to me?"

You don't want to know. You don’t want to feel the way your body reacts, the way the fever in your veins has nothing to do with your cycle anymore.

You press your hands against his chest—whether to push him away or pull him closer, you don’t even know.

His lips press against your collarbone, soft yet insistent, his breath cool against your heated skin. The way he inhales deeply, savoring your scent, makes your stomach twist—not just in fear, but something else, something raw and unfamiliar.

"Wait—wait, Rafayel—I don’t—I don’t get it." Your voice trembles, caught between confusion and something dangerously close to surrender.

He shushes you gently, his hands smoothing over your waist, his touch both possessive and reverent. "You don’t have to," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with something deeper than want. "You just need to feel it."

You shudder, your fingers twitching against his chest. He’s cold, so unbearably cold, yet his presence is suffocatingly warm. Every nerve in your body is on fire, your pulse hammering, your breaths short and uneven.

You should push him away.

You should run.

But Astra above, you can’t move.

His eyes flicker down to the deep crimson staining your nightgown, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow the color of his irises. His chest rises and falls sharply, unsteady, his fingers twitching where they grip your waist.

And yet—his expression twists. Something raw flickers across his face, something tangled between hunger and revulsion.

Not at you.

At himself.

He looks away, jaw tightening, his grip faltering for just a second. His breath comes sharp through his nose, as if he’s trying to will himself into control.

A muscle jumps in his jaw. "Damn it," he mutters, voice tight, nearly shaking. His fingers flex against you like he’s about to let go—like he should let go.

But he doesn’t.

You barely have time to react before his grip tightens—hard.

“Jump.”

Your breath catches. “Jump?”

“Jump, damn it.” His voice is sharp, urgent, commanding.

His hands slide down, gripping the backs of your thighs. He hoists you up with inhuman ease, your legs scrambling for balance around his waist. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs.

He presses you hard against the tree, the rough bark biting into your back. His face is so close now, too close, his breath mingling with yours, cool and sharp. His hands flex against your legs, his grip possessive, unyielding.

Rafayel's hands are ironclad around your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, pinning you where he wants you. The pressure is bruising, possessive. He isn’t just holding you; he’s claiming you.

The air is thick, damp with the scent of earth and blood. Your blood. It clings to you, drying into the fabric of your nightgown, and you can feel how his eyes linger on the stains. His pupils are blown wide, black nearly swallowing the eerie glow of his irises. His breath fans against your jaw, cool and sharp, but his body is burning.

"Tree or the grass." His voice is low, firm. Not a question. A command. "Hurry up."

You grip his shoulders, nails biting into the fabric of his robe. The tree behind you is rough, its bark scraping against your spine as you shift in his grasp, trying to steady yourself. But it’s useless. He’s already made the choice

He holds you up with one hand, your legs around his waist as he undoes the zipper of your nightgown, pulling it down swiftly. 

The nightgown pools around your hips, the weight of it dragging against your thighs as Rafayel's cold fingers skim over your ribs. Your breasts free, the cold air on your exposed nipples makes them harden. His touch is reverent, but there’s nothing holy about it. The moonlight barely reaches through the dense canopy above, casting fractured beams of silver across his face. His expression is unreadable—somewhere between hunger and hesitation, worship and possession.

“You look divine like this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, almost awed. His thumb presses into the dip of your waist as if to test the reality of you. As if he doesn’t believe you’re real.

The night air chills your exposed skin, but you burn beneath it, a fever licking at your spine. Your blood, your scent—it’s making him tremble. You can feel it in the way his grip falters for a moment before he steadies himself, locking you tighter against him.

His grip tightens as the scent thickens, as the warmth of it seeps into the fabric of his trousers. He shudders, a groan tearing from deep within his throat, something raw and starved.

His fingers flex against your hips, betraying his restraint, the barely-contained need that trembles beneath the surface. He exhales sharply, like he's forcing himself to remember something—like he's fighting the very nature that compels him to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of your throat.

"Mine."

The word isn’t spoken, but you feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his fingers dig just a little too hard into your sides, like he’s trying to brand himself into you. His breath is uneven now, and you realize—with something close to horror, close to exhilaration—that he’s shaking.

His head dips lower, mouth pressing just beneath your ear. “You’re going to ruin me,” he murmurs, almost reverent. His lips are cold, but his voice burns.

Your hands are firm on his chest, trying to push him off, 

“Stop- stop, I’m dirty,”

He doesn’t budge. If anything, your resistance only seems to ignite something deeper in him, something far more desperate.

His hands trace your thighs, smearing warmth into your skin, fingers painting patterns in the mess of crimson and sweat. His grip is firm but reverent, like he's touching something sacred, something he refuses to let slip through his fingers.

"You don't get to be ashamed," he breathes against your jaw, his voice shaking with something dark and unspoken. "Not from me."

You shudder, your fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. “Rafayel—”

“I don’t care.” His lips brush your temple, your cheek, his breath fanning hot over your ear. His voice lowers, dark and hushed, almost mournful. “I would bathe in you if you'd let me.”

He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to make eye contact. He looks utterly feral. “I want to be in you. I need it. In your skin. In your very soul.”

His lips crash against yours, not with brutal force, but with a yearning so deep it feels like he’s trying to devour something unseen, something hidden inside you. The kiss is desperate, frantic. It’s not just want—it’s need. A need that claws at him, that shakes his very foundation.

His grip tightens, fingers digging into your flesh with an urgency that borders on bruising. His palm presses into the small of your back, pulling you flush against him—your soft warmth clashing against the hard, unyielding chill of his body. His breath, cool and fanning across your lips, mingles with your own, the contrast dizzying.

His mouth moves against yours with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation, lips parting just enough for his teeth to graze your lower lip—sharp, teasing, just barely holding back from drawing blood. The press of his fangs sends a shiver down your spine.

Your nightgown slips further  down and bunches up more as he tugs at the fabric, his fingers tracing up the length of your spine, nails dragging lightly, leaving a tingling trail of sensation. His free hand moves down, skimming over your thigh before gripping it, pulling your leg higher against his waist. The rough friction of his clothes against your bare skin sends a jolt of sensation up your body.

He shifts, pressing forward, pinning you against the tree with his body weight. The bark bites into your back, a stark contrast to the way his hands explore your skin, cold and burning all at once.

"I—" A kiss, deep and forceful, swallowing any protest you might have had.

"Hate—" His hands tighten, fingers bruising against your skin, as if trying to mold you into him, make you stay, make you his.

"You—" He bites your lip this time, just enough to sting, and you gasp into his mouth.

And despite everything—the fear, the confusion, the war between sense and something darker—you kiss him back.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, slow and deliberate, tasting the remnants of your breath. His grip tightens around your waist, pressing you flush against him. The rough bark of the tree digs into your back, but you barely register the sting—your senses drown in the feeling of him.

Rafayel’s tongue pushes past your lips, hot and insistent, swirling against yours in a messy, feverish dance. He doesn’t kiss with precision—he kisses with hunger, his movements uncoordinated yet consuming, like a man starved.

Saliva slicks your lips, the wet sounds of your mouths moving together filling the night air. He groans into the kiss, a deep, guttural noise vibrating against your tongue as he sucks at it, pulling you deeper into him. His teeth graze against your lower lip, nipping and tugging before soothing the sting with another deep, open-mouthed kiss.

Your breaths are ragged, mingling with his as he swallows every gasp, every whimper. His fingers dig into your hips, keeping you locked against him, refusing to let you pull away. His tongue moves greedily, exploring, claiming, savoring every inch of your mouth. The kiss is hot, messy, intoxicating—his spit coats your lips, mixing with your own, leaving you breathless and lightheaded.

When he finally pulls back, a thin string of saliva connects your mouths, breaking only when he licks his lips, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.

“Gods-” His palm is firm, pressing against your lips as his eyes darken. "Don’t," he repeats, voice low, almost dangerous. His fingers linger against your cheek, the coolness of his skin a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your own.

His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you—he is in control. His breath is heavy, ragged, his pupils blown wide as he watches you, drinking in every detail of your flushed face.

For a moment, there’s only silence, the weight of his hand against your mouth the only thing grounding you. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leans in, his lips just ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"Do not speak of them here."

The weight of his body against yours is suffocating, his grip unrelenting. His thumb brushes over your cheek, deceptively gentle, a stark contrast to the feral hunger in his gaze. "You’re mine now," he breathes, his lips hovering just above your skin. "No gods. No saints. Just me."

His teeth graze your jaw, sharp but restrained, a warning and a promise all at once. His grip tightens at your waist, pressing you further into the rough bark of the tree, as if he could mold you into the very world around him—an extension of his own being.

"You feel that?" he murmurs against your skin, his breath cool but his presence searing. "That’s the only thing that’s real now. Me. Us."

His fingers trace along the dip of your spine, slow, deliberate, memorizing every shudder, every unwilling response he draws from you. He’s reveling in it, in the way your body betrays you, in the way your heartbeat hammers against his own.

"Say it," he demands, his lips brushing just below your ear. His voice is steady, but there’s something almost desperate beneath it. "Tell me you understand."

His mouth finds the pulse at your throat, lingering there, savoring, but never quite sinking in. His hands roam, gripping, kneading, learning the shape of you as if carving it into memory.

You try to focus—on his words, on his demand—but it’s impossible when his teeth drag along your skin, when his hands press you tighter against him, when every touch pulls you deeper into something dark and inescapable.

"Rafayel—" you manage, but it’s breathless, barely a whisper.

He chuckles against your skin, the sound low, wicked. "You can’t even think, can you?" His fingers slide up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so you're forced to meet his eyes. They gleam with something unhinged, something hungry. "Good."

He lays you down before you realize. 

The earth is rough beneath you, twigs and dead leaves pressing into your skin, but it barely registers over the sensation of him. His lips ghost over your sternum, his breath warm despite the unnatural chill of his body.

His hands slide down your sides, slow, deliberate, as if savoring every inch of you. The contrast between his cold fingers and the feverish heat of your skin makes you shiver.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with something unreadable. Reverence? Possession? It’s all the same with him. "You belong to me."

He presses a lingering kiss to your ribs, just above where your heartbeat pounds wildly against your bones. He exhales, and his lips curve against your skin in something dangerously close to a smile.

But you remember you’re technically free bleeding, and your pulse spikes, a rush of panic coursing through your veins as you instinctively try to close your legs. But his hand is there, swift and firm, stopping you. His grip is too strong, his presence too consuming.

He doesn't let go, his fingers brushing over the inner parts of your thighs, his breath shallow and erratic as he drinks in the sight of you. His pupils are blown wide, almost black, utterly lost in something feral and primal. He’s staring at you like he’s found something sacred, something far darker and deeper than just physicality.

"Don’t hide it," he murmurs, his voice raw and low. His gaze flickers down to the blood, and there's something almost reverent in his eyes. "This—this is perfect."

He throws your leg over his shoulder, and your face burns. 

Your breath catches as his lips linger against your calf, the warmth of his mouth searing against your skin. Your face burns, a flush creeping down your neck, spreading like wildfire. His touch is reverent—too intimate, too consuming.

He watches you through lidded eyes, something unreadable flickering behind them. "Look at you," he murmurs, dragging his lips higher. "Divine."

The forest around you is silent, as if holding its breath, as if bearing witness. Your pulse pounds in your ears, the rhythm syncing with his own quiet, shuddering breaths. You don’t know what’s more terrifying—the way he touches you like you’re something sacred or the way you’re starting to believe it.

Divine.

He did not want you to utter a word of the gods, and yet here he was, revering you as though you were made of stardust and prayer. His lips traced blessings into your skin, his hands mapping out every fragile piece of you with something dangerously close to devotion.

Your breath shuddered, caught between fear and something deeper, something you couldn’t name. He worshipped you in contradiction—loathing, needing, aching.

His voice was a rasp against your skin. "You don’t even see it, do you?" His fingers ghosted over your thigh, his grip tightening as though you might disappear. "You are holy in a way the heavens could never understand."

He pulls the nightgown off you completely, throwing it aside. The ruined nightgown lands in a crumpled heap, forgotten the moment it leaves his hands.

His gaze devours you, tracing every inch of exposed skin like a man starved, like something sacred has been laid bare before him. His fingers, cool against the heat of your body, press into your waist, lingering, memorizing.

"You were never meant for them," he murmurs, almost to himself. His touch drags up, slow, reverent, mapping out the curve of your ribs, the plane of your stomach. "Never meant for their rules. Their prayers."

His lips follow the path his hands have taken, pressing against you like whispered blasphemy.

His devotion was feverish, a worship not of saints or gods, but of you.

Your body was his temple, and he knelt before it without shame, lips pressing against every inch of exposed skin as though engraving his reverence into you. His hands roamed—possessive, greedy, desperate—as if afraid you might vanish between his fingers like mist at dawn.

“You were made for me,” he murmured against your hip, his voice rough with something deeper than hunger. His teeth grazed your skin, a silent vow. “No holy book, no doctrine—only this. Only us.”

The forest bore witness to the sacrilege, the rustling leaves whispering secrets to the wind. But he did not care. And, Astra help you, neither did you.

“Rafayel, that blood-” “It’s precious. Don’t you dare say otherwise.”

His words came like a command, hard and unyielding. His fingers gripped your wrists, holding you still as if your very body was his to claim, to savor. There was something in his eyes—intensity, obsession, an almost maddening hunger as he traced the lines of your skin.

The blood, your blood, had already stained him, and yet it seemed to hold him captive. It wasn’t just an act of possession—it was reverence, as though your very essence was sacred, and he couldn’t bear to waste a drop of it.

"Every part of you," he whispered, eyes now fixed on the path of blood trickling along your skin, "is mine." His voice was raw, desperate. "And I’ll cherish every bit of it, even if the gods themselves would frown upon us."

His lips hovered just above the blood, as if he was waiting for permission, the tension between you both palpable, thickening the air.

His lips hovered, teasing, just barely brushing against your skin as he waited, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. Without thinking, you pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, pressing his mouth to your blood-streaked skin.

It was an act of surrender. You were no longer the person who feared him, who resisted his touch. Now, you were simply a part of the chaos between you, caught in the storm of his desire and your own.

His breath hitched as his mouth met your skin, his hands roaming to claim you further. Every inch of him was pressed against you, his body marking you as his, as he whispered your name—like a prayer, like an obsession, like a promise.

If he was going to damn you, it may as well be worth it. 

His tongue laped at the blood on your thighs, his grip bruising on your hips as he cleans you up. Nipping and kissing up, up, up, his breath fans over your cunt, abd you can’t help but shiver. 

“And Astra said do not be wasteful, so thank you for this meal.”

His lips were on you, drinking your blood. "I could spend an eternity feasting on you,”

His words sent a thrill of excitement through you as he continued to lavish attention to your sensitive flesh, a cold hand coming to press down on your stomach, cool to the touch. Rafayels tongue traced patterns along your folds, your breath hitching as waves of pleasure rippled through your body, conflicting with the apprehension that still lingered in your mind. You let go of his hair, grasping at the dirt, clawing at whatever could ground you, fighting to maintain control over your desires. But with each flick of Rafayels tongue, each gentle suckle, your resolve waned, your resistance crumbling like sand beneath a relentless tide. 

Despite yourself, you arched your back, offering yourself more fully to his ministrations, your moans mingling with the soft sounds of his fervent attentions. Lips parting to taste the blood that came from your core, he teased and taunted with each languid stroke. 

Rafayel savored you like a forbidden fruit, movements deliberate and precise as he explored every inch of your trembling form. Eliciting gasps and moans from your lips, he threatened to consume you. 

His hands, strong and commanding, roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and thighs as he held you in place, ensuring you remained at his mercy. 

"Please," you begged, your voice a breathless whisper. "I can't... I can't take anymore..."

Of course, the faux priest ignored you. 

His lips were bloody- so bloody, smearing across his chin and mingling with the spit that connected him to your cunt. 

“You- you’re beautiful.”

He licks it away, groaning at the taste as he reluctantly pulls himself away, sitting up, keeping your legs apart as he undoes his buttoned shirt, pulling it over his head and-

As if your cheeks couldnt burn any more. 

It was as if Astra had carved him himself, and he probably did. 

No clay was made to make his form, no. 

He was made from fire and starlight.

Two fingers replaced his mouth, inching their way. Your eyes threaten to roll at the intensity of it all, and the feeling of shame was ever present in its advancements. 

Rafayel made his way up your body, lips trailing along the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake as he moved towards your breasts. Capturing one of your nipples between his lips, he sucked and nipped at the sensitive flesh, his fangs nearly breaking the skin. 

“Divine.”

It was said like a mantra, a prayer on your skin, an obsession with the salvation he so desperately craved. His free hand grabbed one of your own, interlocking your fingers and holding it about your head. Worshipping your breasts with a sense of reverence, he nearly whined. 

"I could spend an eternity feasting on you,”

The words send a thrill of excitement through you.

But the ins and outs of his fingers, his mouth on your tits, and the utter act of it all-

You don’t know whether to cry or beg. 

Beg for it to be done?

It’s too much- and he knows this. Of course he does. 

Father Rafayel always knows. 

He lets your nipple go with a lewd pop, taking his fingers out of you before grabbing your face. If you weren't so overwhelmed, you might have gagged. 

Until he spits in your mouth and pushes your head back down. 

“Stay down.”

His hands go to his pants, and you watch. Watch him take himself out. 

Astra above. 

He was pretty just about everywhere. Endowed, leaking, his skin tinged the faintest of blues up until his tip, an aggressive deep red-almost purple. 

And there's so much cum. 

He lines himself up with your quivering hole, breathing hard as if he needed the oxygen. Maybe he did now. “I- hah- I’m taking you. You understand, don’t you? I need this.”

But your gaze is too focused on his member, too distracted. 

“He’d probably marry a book,”

Oh, Yvonne, you sweet ignorant soul. 

Your blood smears across his tip, and he hisses. “So hot- too hot,”

Breathe in. 

Breathe out. 

Breathe in. 

Breathe ou-

You cry out, the push too uncomfortable, too harsh, too mean. And finally- finally- closes his eyes, long lashes giving his cheeks butterfly kisses as he damn near growls. 

He leans over you, his forehead meeting yours as he presses his lips to yours, whether just for the sake of kissing or to not look foolish, you don’t know. Don’t have time to think as he goes to your throat. 

He bites. 

Not enough to break skin, but it hurts. 

Hurts more when you gaze at his hands, how they are fisted in the damp soil beneath you, nails caked with blood and dirt, holding himself back. 

He moves his hips, pushing in, and your arms scramble around his bare back, nails gifting crescents into his skin. A bulge in your tummy- he presses down on it. 

“Here. Here is where I’ll be. Where we will be. Do you understand?”

“What?”

“Miseal. It’s already decided.”

His thrusts are deep- rough, and something feels off as he takes you. Though you’re not sure what.

Almost as if you’re being watched. 

And he feels it too.

“Damn him,”

A rush, a rush as he tries to make you both finish, no longer worried about the pleasure of it all, so long as it was done. You whine, legs wrapping around him, keeping him in as he rocks into you. 

Soon enough, he spills. 

But it's strange, how he pulls away fast, grabbing his pants.

You watch as he pulls out a candle, a muted red wax of a long shaft and a packet of matches. 

“You move, and you’re getting burned. Do you understand?”

What?

He lights it. 

Panicking, you try to get up- 

His hand is on your throat, keeping you down. “Stay. Still.”

He holds it over your body, letting the wax melt and then-

When it drops onto your skin, it burns.

You bite back a yelp, throwing your head back and gritting your teeth. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

His gaze is hard as he lets it fall onto your body, watching it roll down the curves and valleys and dips of your body. Tears pool in your eyes, and all sense of warmth he had in his gaze is gone. Why was he so hard to understand?

He brings a hand to your stomach, smearing the wax before it solidified. 

It hits you. 

He was drawing something on you. Swirls of roses and vines, stars and something else you can't quite see. 

“Rafayel, what’s wrong-” “Quiet.”

His tone is sharp, cold. And then- 

Holy water?

He splashes it onto you. 

“Rafayel, wha-”

“Stop- Just stop it! Let me finish what I need to do!”

Rafayel’s breath came fast and uneven, his hands shaking even as they held you firm. His panic bled into you like ink in water, spreading thick and inescapable.

No—no, no, no. This was wrong.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else. 

He jerked back as if burned, his expression twisting. Regret? Shame? Desire? It all mixed together, unreadable.

"Astra," you whispered, your throat tightening. "Astra is going to punish us."

Rafayel's face darkened, his pupils blown wide, his grip on you tightening like a noose.

Then, before you could utter another breath, he shoved his hand over your mouth, pressing you into the earth.

"Shut. Up." His voice was a raw, desperate growl. His body caged you in, his hand firm against your lips, his eyes blazing with something almost wild.

The wind only grew stronger. The trees groaned. The stars above flickered—then vanished.

Astra was watching.

Your chest heaved, but no air came. His hand was firm, unyielding, stealing the breath from your lungs as the wind raged around you. Your fingers clawed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin, but he wouldn’t budge.

Your vision blurred at the edges, a ringing building in your ears. Above you, the sky churned—inky black swallowing every trace of light, the heavens convulsing in silent fury.

Rafayel’s eyes bore into yours, his grip trembling. His own breath was ragged, his expression torn between panic and something darker.

Then, just as your limbs began to weaken, he let go.

You gasped, choking on the rush of air, your lungs burning. The moment your breath returned, you shoved him away, scrambling backward across the damp forest floor.

"What have you done?" Your voice was raw, torn.

Rafayel didn’t answer. His lips parted, but his eyes weren’t on you anymore. They were locked onto the abyss above, where the sky had fractured.

A sob clawed up your throat, raw and broken. You could feel it—like something had been ripped from you, something sacred and irreplaceable.

Your soul.

The weight of it hit you all at once. A terrible, hollow emptiness where divinity had once dwelled. The connection to Astra, the light you had clung to in your darkest moments—it was gone. Torn away by his hands.

You curled in on yourself, fingers digging into the damp earth as if you could anchor yourself, as if the ground would not reject you like the heavens had. You had been forsaken.

A gust of wind howled through the trees, the sky above still shuddering, the heavens themselves mourning you.

And he—he only stood there. Watching.

"You’ve ruined me," you whispered, voice shaking, eyes wet with grief.

Rafayel flinched as if struck. But he didn’t deny it. Didn’t apologize. He only took a step closer, the shadows curling around him like a crown, his expression unreadable.

"You were never theirs to begin with." His voice was low, reverent, filled with something close to adoration.

You hated him. You hated that you wanted to believe him.

A breeze flows through your hair, comfortable on your scalp. 

A field of golden wheat. The stalks sway, whispering secrets in the wind. The sky is endless, a soft, hazy blue, and the sun is warm on your skin.

And then you see it.

Her.

Your body—mangled, broken, wrong. Blood seeps into the dirt beneath, soaking the golden earth in deep crimson. Your eyes are open, clouded and lifeless, staring at nothing. The wind does not touch you. The sun does not warm you.

You are dead.

But you are also here, standing above yourself, barefoot in the soft earth, small hands trembling at your sides. You are a child again.

A shadow looms over your corpse. You look up.

Astra?

No.

A hand grabs yours. You turn, blinking in confusion. There, standing beside you, is a younger version of Rafayel, his eyes wide, full of an unspoken fear. The wheat sways gently around him, but the warmth of the sun, which once bathed you, now feels distant, cold, almost unreal.

“Are you scared?” you ask softly, your voice trembling, not sure if the words are meant for him or for you.

He doesn’t answer at first, his gaze fixed on the mangled body lying in the dirt, still and lifeless. Slowly, he nods. His expression is tense, strained, haunted. The faint trace of a tear glimmers in his eye, but he refuses to look away from the vision of death that lies before you.

Another figure steps forward, his presence almost ethereal amidst the vast expanse of the golden wheat.

He is a man—older, perhaps, though not by much—and yet, his features carry an odd resemblance to both you and Rafayel, as if the strands of your lives had intertwined in ways too complex to decipher. His face is solemn, filled with a quiet sadness that mirrors your own unease. He crouches by the mangled body, planting roses in the earth, the delicate flowers contrasting sharply with the harshness of death surrounding them.

When he finishes, his eyes slowly rise to meet yours, the sorrow in them palpable. "I can't wait to meet you," he murmurs, his voice tinged with a melancholy that feels out of place in this strange vision. There's a heaviness in his words, as though he’s already resigned to an inevitable fate that neither you nor he can escape.

You stand still, caught in the moment, unsure of what to make of him or what he means by his cryptic words. His gaze lingers for a moment longer before he turns away, his figure slowly dissolving into the wheat as if he were never there to begin with. 

The familiar sound of Gran's laughter fills the air, cutting through the tension of the dream and pulling you back to reality. You blink, suddenly disoriented as you stand in your kitchen, the smell of burnt soup wafting in the air. Tara, your younger cousin, stands at the stove, a guilty grin plastered across her face.

You roll your eyes and call out, annoyed, “Tara, did you burn the soup again?”

Gran chuckles from her rocking chair in the corner of the room, clearly entertained by the chaotic dynamic. She has seen this a thousand times before, but her amusement is unwavering. "Let her be, love. She’s learning."

Tara, red-faced and clearly embarrassed, scoops a ladle of the charred soup into a bowl, trying to salvage what she can. "It wasn’t that bad," she protests weakly, though the scorched smell says otherwise.

You sigh, but the irritation fades quickly as you watch Tara and Gran in the soft light of the kitchen. It’s a comforting scene, one you’ve known all your life. Still, that dream lingers at the back of your mind, its strange figure and cryptic words echoing through your thoughts, mixing with the mundane and ordinary.

"Gran, I had the strangest dream last night," you start, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling. She pauses, her hands stilling on her knitting as her sharp eyes meet yours.

“Did you now?” “I…yeah. I dreamed I was trying to be a nun…and there was a vampire.” Gran raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "A vampire, eh? Sounds like Astra's handiwork, that does."

You roll your eyes, but before you can speak, you hear a soft chuckle from the doorway. The voice is familiar, comforting, yet too smooth—too perfect. "Nightmares again, cutie?"

You freeze, instinctively glancing over your shoulder. There, standing in the doorway, is him. The man who doesn't quite fit, but is always somehow there, a shadow in the corner of your life. He wears the same smile as always—charming, relaxed, but with an undertone you can't quite place. His eyes gleam, mischievous with amusement. 

Gran raises a knowing eyebrow. “Rafayel, you causing my grandbaby nightmares again? You ought to be more gentle with her.”

“I can’t help it, Josephine. Gotta get it out of my system before the wedding.”

Gran snorts. You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “So what, you just had to torment me one last time before I walk down the aisle?”

Rafayel grins, lazy and wolfish. “Of course. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t haunt my bride’s dreams before the big day?” His voice is teasing,

Gran swats him lightly with a dish towel. “Enough of that nonsense. Go set the table if you’re gonna stand there running your mouth.”

Rafayel winks at you before grabbing the plates.

©hellinistical 2025 do not copy, translate, distribute, plagiarize, or reproduce in any form without permission, and do not share to any media outside of tumblr.

[mishim0]

A little more hell yeah

[irregularm4ngo]

might post the full thing on an nsfw account

[klemen-tine]

One of Us (Vampire AU!)

Batfam x Platonic!Male Reader.

Mainly Dick, Jason, and Bruce, but Part 2 will have more interaction.

I have no excuses, and I apologize.

Someone, very long ago, requested a Vampire AU! and I said "Hey! I'm actually working on that now!" A year later and it is up.

TW: Noncon body modification. You get turned into a vampire essentially when you wanted to be human.

Enjoy~

________________________________________________________

His body felt as though it was on fire, his throat dry and teeth aching. He hunched over himself, panting and trying to contain himself as he felt his body was going through hell. His breath coming pants and if he could sweat, he knows he would be. It feels like a fever, but he knows it is not. 

“Y/N.” He could barely hear the voice calling for him, but he can’t pinpoint on who it is. A hand carding through his oily hair and there it was. The sweet scent that made his throat burn and his teeth ache impossibly more. A pitiful whine left his throat and hands gently scratched his scalp, like someone petting a cat, “Shh, its okay.” The rim touched his lips and Y/N was gulping it down, ignoring how some of it spilled from the side or how a hot tongue licked it away. 

They nuzzled into the side of Y/N’s head, whispering sweet words and encouragement. 

“Its almost done, Y/N. You are so close.” A cry left Y/N’s lips, tears now racing down their cheeks. The cold hand cupped their cheek, and another set of arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders. The head nuzzled into the crook of their neck, and they could feel fangs nibble on their clammy skin. 

“Pl…please…” He gasped out, only for more liquid to be shoved down his throat. Tears continued to race down his cheeks and a hand gently brushed his cheek. A finger dipped past his lips and onto a now sensitive tooth. 

Y/N, in instinct he didn’t used to have, bit down and the sweet taste of blood filled his lips. No longer blood from a bag, but now from the source. 

“Good job.” 

“Our little brother is the best. Catching on so quickly.” Y/N sobbed around the digit. Upset with them for doing this, upset at himself for allowing this, and overall in so much pain. Every drop of blood felt like cold water on his burning throat, and with every swallow the fog in his mind cleared a bit more. 

“Good job, Y/N.” 

+++

Y/N is loved. Y/N is revered within the manor, hands always keeping a tight hold on his wrists, forearms, or sometimes a hand is always clamped to the back of his neck. Almost like the Wayne family is scared that someone, not of their own, is going to take a bite. 

He was kept from the public eyes, oftentimes staying behind in the manor with Alfred as the others went out. He is kept in the manor, only allowed outside as long as someone is with him and it has to be in the backyard. Thanks to that, however, the yard is now more beautiful than ever with the flower garden he has been working on with Alfred. 

He is the human amongst a clan of vampires. The dirty little secret. 

Y/N is- “You sure you don’t want to do it tonight?” -Not ready to stop being a human. He stared at Jason, Tim nuzzling into his chest, and Y/N found it hard to look away from the green eyes that he had grown up with. He knows they can hear his heart racing as his anxiety picked up, but Y/N tried to keep a straight face. 

“I’m sure, it doesn’t feel like the right time yet.” It's been the excuse for the past few years, and he knows that it is getting old. However, he also knows that it is a human that he wants to be. Y/N wants to die as a human, and he wants to live as a human. 

Y/N knows, just how a person knows they don’t want to be a parent, that he does not want to be a vampire. Yet, he couldn’t find it within himself to even voice it. How do you tell the people who raised you, expecting you to join them once you are ready, that you no longer want to be a vampire? 

He wasn’t sure what to do. What he did know however was that this family, their family, will  say no. They will not take no for an answer. This is because they are Waynes and they will always get what they want. 

Y/N, whether he likes it or not, is someone they want. It is the price one pays when they are revered and looked after as much as he is. Similar to the gold family watch everyone wants to wear, or the video gaming that everyone must have turns playing with. To be well loved means to be sought after, and to be sought after means there is little freedom. 

++++

Y/N was walking the long and gothic hallways of the manor, staring outside the window and watching how the rain pelted the glass. No lightning or thunder, only rain. Despite the darkness, Y/N wandered the halls with ease, knowing where each staircase was, which hallways led to where, and also which rooms were which. 

Despite this, the manor was creepy. The way the shadows were casted like things chasing you, or how parts of the old structure would creak for no reason other than the fact that it is old. 

It is why when Y/N saw Dick, it wasn’t fear that he felt but peace. Smiling widely at his oldest brother, he welcomed the other’s hug and buried his face into the cold chest. 

“Dickie, welcome home.” The man smiled, “It’s good to be home. What has you walking around so late at night?” Y/N grinned up at him, before looking out the window, “Just up. I couldn’t fall asleep.” The oldest brother hummed, “That’s unfortunate. Are you having nightmares?” A hand cupped his face gently, and Y/N smiled, “No. I can’t sleep. I was hoping that walking around would help.” 

Dick hummed, showing his understanding. He stared out the window alongside his brother, and sharp eyes watched the rain pelt the glass and the occasional lightning strike light up the sky. He can remember a younger Y/N, one who was terrified of everything, crying and running into one of their rooms whenever there was a thunderstorm. They were always awake, and once they found out whose room he had run into, everyone would congregate into that person’s room. It was typically Bruce’s room, and the man would wait with a book in hand a mug of warm hot chocolate. 

Dick looked at Y/N now, and he wondered just where the time had gone. Y/N is now 21, and those years have flown by for all of them. Dick can remember first holding Y/N as a baby, found in a closet at murder victim's apartment. He had been so tiny, and Dick had promised that nothing would ever hurt Y/N. 

Not even age. 

“I wonder… When did you grow out of your fear of thunderstorms?” Y/N smiled, “I think the moment I turned 9, but you guys seemed bummed that I stopped going to your rooms.” 

“Is that why you kept coming in?” Y/N, until he was 13, had continued to seek them out whenever there was thunder. Dick didn’t know it was because they all looked upset when Y/N stopped doing so. 

The human nodded, “Bruce seemed to be the most distraught to be honest.” Dick laughed, already able to picture Bruce’s face the first time Y/N didn’t come in. 

“You guys take such great care of me…” Y/N trailed off, his mind trying to think of a way to bring the conversation up. He could feel Dick’s piercing gaze, and it sent goosebumps down his spine. He scratched his ear, a nervous tic that he has never been able to grow out of. Dick brought him into a hug, and Y/N found himself relaxing as one of Dick’s hands caressed the back of his neck.  

“And what greater ‘thank you’ than joining us?” Y/N snapped his head to Dick’s direction. Long fangs peaked through Dick’s lips, catching the manor light in a menacing manner, and for the first time in his life, Y/N was terrified of his brother. The hand clasped on the back of his neck tightened. 

“Dickie?” His voice wobbled, and Dick just smiled so serenely and prettily. An arm wrapped around Y/N’s waist to pull him closer, and for the first time in his life, Y/N can feel just how cold Dick was. How different their bodies were. 

“We love you so, so much Y/N. So much that it eats at us when you are not within arms reach.” Y/N loves them too. It's just, Y/N also loves being a human. When he was younger, there was nothing he wanted more than to be a vampire with his family. Now that he is older, he can better see the beauty in life because life itself is short. 

Y/N no longer wishes to be a vampire.  

Dick leaned down, and nuzzled the skin that is pulled taut over Y/N’s collarbones. Y/N couldn’t stop the shiver that broke out on his skin or the way that the hairs on his arms now stood on end. He finally found the strength to move and gripped Dicks’s shoulders, trying to push him away. 

“Dickie, please I don’t- don’t want this.” There was a small nibble on his collarbone, and Y/N felt his heart rate spike. From the way Dick smiled, showing all teeth, he knew that his oldest brother could hear it. 

The blood in his ears began to roar and Y/N began to feel his breath pick up. He hated that this feeling was making him scared of his brother. That this feeling was making him see Dick, sweet and kind Dick, in a new and darker light. One that helped him see what others saw just before strong jaws clamped on fragile skin. He was looking at a monster in the shape of his brother. 

“Di-Dick?” 

“Master Richard, what are you doing?” The grip released and Y/N pushed himself off and ran to Alfred. The oldest vampire was staring down at Dick with a raised eyebrow. One that had many of Y/N’s brothers confessing what they were guilty about. All this did however, was make Dick smile with only the smallest traces of being guilty. 

“Sorry Alfie, I was only teasing.” From the look Alfred gave him and the furrowing in Y/N's own brows, the oldest child knows he’s not fooling anyone. Which wasn't the point. Staring down at his sibling, Dick could hear the blood racing underneath the skin, and the way his heartbeat continued to race in his chest. 

The grin increased in size, and his fangs remained elongated. Y/N gripped Alfred’s suit tighter, and the butler sighed at his ward, “Master Richard, if you continue to bully Y/N, I will need to bring in Master Bruce.” Dick’s grin got even wider at the threat, and Y/N knows that that is exactly what Dick wants. 

“It-its okay Alfie… Dick’s joke just went too far.” If Dick is doing this, then that means he has to go ahead from Bruce. It’s terrifying to realize that Bruce is done waiting. 

++++

Y/N knows he’s being watched. He knows that he’s being observed and that this plan was a failure from the start. Which was why when he walked in his room and saw Bruce standing amongst his packed bags, bags he knew he hid, Y/N knew that this game was over. Still, he tried to hold his composure, “I don’t remember saying you can come in.”

Bruce doesn’t even look at him, “When I believe one of my kids is in danger, your permission to enter a room in my manor is the last thing I need.” Y/N huffs, “I’m not in danger.” The old vampire narrowed his gaze, and Y/N wondered if maybe he should jump out the window. 

“I, and many others, highly disagree. Why are your bags packed?” 

“Am I not allowed to go on trips?” 

“Four bags to go on a trip? Must be a long one.” Y/N narrowed his eyes, “Just around Europe. Nothing too long.” Bruce strolled over, and cupped Y/N’s cheek, making E/C eyes meet blue. They were as cold as his skin, and Y/N can’t help but to wonder if they were always like that. 

“You’ve never been a good liar, Y/N.” He bit his lips, “It's because I’ve never had a reason to lie before.” Bruce had some decency to look guilty, “Y/N, I’ve been meaning to have this conversation with you for a while, and it’s my fault for putting it off.”

“Bruce, please,” Y/N whimpered, their fingers gripping into the silk fabric of the casual-wear and they stared into blue eyes. Those same eyes that they can remember being one of their first memories. 

“Please, I… I want to be human.” Bruce’s grip tightened and Y/N flinched. It was the wrong answer, but it was the answer that he needed to say. Tears now streaming down his face and his body shaking. His bags laid strewn across the floor, and Y/N wonders if they had all known from the start. 

“Tell me, Y/N. Did you really think there was a place on this earth where we wouldn’t find you?” Y/N bit the inside of their cheek. Of course not. Y/N knows that wherever he were to go, the Wayne’s would always be in his shadow. 

It was still nice to try. Then again, Y/N didn’t even get to try. The furthest he got was packing his bags. 

“I wasn’t going to hide from you all or anything! I just wanted to take a trip.” “Then why the secrecy?” Y/N scrunched his nose, “Because you guys would have never let me go.” Bruce sighed heavily and Y/N grit his teeth, “I wasn’t running away. I was only wanting to go on a trip.” Blue eyes narrowed on his form, his grip tightening, “You wanted to live there.” 

“Just for a bit! Everyone else got to do it.” 

“Y/N, you have been swaddled in the finest fabrics in the world, had the best food on your plate, and have always had money at your fingertips. Did you really think you would make it?” Y/N flinched, and the hold that Bruce had on him loosened. No longer gripping his shoulders as if Y/N would run, but now in a comforting manner. 

Bruce nuzzled Y/N’s hair, in a mocking sense of comfort, and he took a deep inhale, “I don’t mean to undermine you, Y/N. However, we do worry.

“If you were like us, the worry would lessen.” Y/N tensed, and Bruce pulled back to make eye contact with him again. He smiled down at his child, fangs protruding as he did so, “You could go anywhere, and we would fear little.” 

“But I would still need someone with me.” 

“Of course, you’d be a young vampire. New to the world and its wonders, it would be cruel to just let you go alone into this world.” Which isn’t what Y/N wants. He wants to see the world on his own, as a human. 

At least one trip. 

“The answer is no Y/N.” Bruce sighed heavily, and he gently pecked Y/N’s temple, “We will not be barbaric about it.” Long gone are the days when biting a future vampire was the only way to turn them. Too many deaths happened like that, due to the fangs becoming even longer to ensure the venom gets into the blood and accidentally nicking an artery or vein. 

Injecting venom through the bite to course through the bloodstream was the new way. 

Unfortunately the symptoms are longer and a bit harsher. 

“Please, Bruce.” 

“Goodnight Y/N.” His world faded to black and the last thing he saw were blue eyes now turning red. 

+++

He woke up to his body feeling as though he’s on fire. Rolling off the bed, he cried out as the freezing floor met his burning skin harshly. The coldness overriding the pain only momentarily, and acting as a sweet release, only for it all to come back. Y/N’s mouth opened in a silent scream, and his throat burned with an intensity he has never felt before. 

He reached forward, for what he’s not sure, but through the haze of his mind he could see that the nails on his fingers were longer, and the floor under them had cracked. His vision remained blurred with tinges of red around the edges. Panic rose in his chest, and Y/N wondered if this was all part of the process. Was this pain meant to strip his humanity so when the hunger kicks in, it would be all he is focused on? 

A scream broke free as another wave of pain coursed through him. His body felt even more feverish and sluggish, and his teeth were aching in a way that had him reaching towards his mouth in an attempt to remove the source of pain. 

“Let's not do that.” Another hand grabbed his wrist, and Y/N spasmed under the cool touch. Another hand reached down and gently picked him up, and held him tightly when he began to thrash around. Y/N did not want to be in this person’s hold, and they were taking away the coolness of the floor. 

The grip tightened, and when he was back on the scratchy sheets from earlier, Y/N let out a pitiful whimper. Each strand felt like small pins digging into his skin, and the smell caused his nose to wrinkle and feel like someone was swab as far back as they could. 

“Shh, I know Y/N. It’ll be over soon.” Something was presented in front of him, and the horrid smell from the sheets was replaced by the smell of something pleasant. It could be compared to smelling flowers for the first time, or Alfred’s baked goods. It smelt of something that promised only happiness, and the ache in his mouth only intensified. He had no control over his body as he lunged forward, and teeth punctured a thin film and that warmness burst past his lips and soothed his throat. 

Comparable to cold water on a hot day, relief flooded through his body. The feverish ache was gone, and his vision began clearing once more. There were fingers running through his hair, and they scratched his scalp lovingly. 

“Good job Y/N.” Dick. It’s Dick’s voice. Y/N’s mind cleared, and looking down his nose he could see the red that decorated the white sheets. He knew what was in his mouth, however, he couldn’t bring himself to stop gulping. Tears raced down his cheeks and the feeling of contentment forcefully burrowed itself in his chest. 

“Good job.” 

___________________________________________________________

LOL Now to disappear for like 8 months again and the only way you all know I'm alive is by my reblogs

@Rosecentury 

@Problematicreblogger

@Kurai-hono-blog 

@Lunaluz432

@findingjaxx 

if you want to be added please let me know. And Tumblr I think deleted some comments/messages so if you asked to be tagged and you're not, please let me know. KINDLY

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Nightfall (5)

Vampire! Billy Russo x Female Reader

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3// Part 4

Warnings: Smut, oral (f), orgasm denial, angst, brief mentions of torture and death.

A/N: Friendly reminder that if you want to see more of something you need to interact with it, and not in a detached way.

Shit, you were gonna beg him.

There was a twisting in your stomach, screaming for pleasure, quaking at the concept of his touch- of his fucking tongue.

You make an annoyed grunt, dropping your fork, hearing it clatter on the porcelain plate.

You press both hands to your face, trying to think about something else- anything else- other than him.

It doesn’t work, you try to think about escape, and the reminder of his teasing smile pops up in response.

Your hands move up, and into your hair, gripping it hard, trying to stop this burning, this heavy desire to submit to him, beg for him, come for him.

Him, him, him.

You pull on your hair harder when your mind jumps to thoughts of his cock, the way it looks as it’s slipping into you, filling every inch of you.

The reminder is so potent you almost cum from just the fucking memory.

This was it.

You were going to give in.

You stand, angry, turning to his room. He’d left you behind to have a shower while you ate breakfast, and you were going to get on your knees and beg for him the moment he stepped out.

A knock on the door stops you cold in your tracks.

You turn, wide eyed, staring at the door.

Another knock, calm and cool and perhaps a little impatient.

Do you open it? Definitely not.

You hear Billy call out to you from the bedroom.

“Can you get that for me?” he asks.

“Okay.” You murmur softly, knowing that he hears you.

You unlock the door cautiously, pulling it open.

The first thing you see is a broad chest. Tilting your head up, you find a handsome man staring back at you. His nose is slightly crooked, probably having been broken one too many times.

Instinctively, your training kicks in, you wait a few moments, eyes locked on him in a silent challenge. He doesn't breathe, his body perfectly still, making a quiet assessment of you as you do him.

“You the hunter?” He finally says, his voice deep, an air of danger wrapped around him.

“Maybe.” You finally say, taking a step back, widening the door to let him step in.

Behind him, is a very beautiful woman. She's got flowing brown hair, that makes you think of hot chocolate on a cold night.

She smiles at you, and you feel a soft shock go through your body at how stunning she really is.

She introduces herself as Maria, with a hand outstretched you reach to shake it, subtly pressing your fingers to her wrist, feeling a pulse. 

You supply your own name, wondering if this was the paired couple Billy had told you about.

Billy walks in a second later, a towel on his shoulder, while he scrubs at his hair.

You blink, looking away for a second, remembering how just moments ago you were about to crawl begging to him.

Your ears hum, you realise there’s a silent conversation happening between the two supernaturals in the room. You press your teeth together, trying not to lash out at the rudeness before knowing anything.

Billy says your name, introducing his friend, Frank to you. You can’t help sizing him up.

You definitely could not take him in a fight.

There’s power to him, just like Billy, a charge in the air around him that warns you, he would not be messed with. Where Billy might toy with you playfully, he would exterminate you if you so much as moved in a way he didn’t like.

“I asked Maria to help you find some things for the event next week, and anything else you might want.” Billy explains smoothly looking at you.

You incline your head, looking at him. Petra, the vampire at the club, had told him of a date, time and place of an auction for vampires wanting to get high quality blood from humans.

You’d initially thought it would be similar to human trafficking, but Billy had informed you, that the method of gathering humans was something more coercive in nature.

If that many humans had actually gone missing, lots of people would notice, so instead, these organisations had found shady ways to force people into debt, just so that they would benefit from it. 

Learning that, had made you wonder whether your organisation knew about it. You think if they did know, they wouldn’t stand idly by.

.

You'd been very surprised that Billy had intended for you to go with Maria alone. You'd stared at him in quiet disbelief when he'd said it, and he'd met your gaze evenly.

This had to be a test, no doubt he would be following you from afar or something waiting for you to try escaping.

But as you swipe through gauzy lingerie, the absence of feeling watched puzzles you.

Some of these pieces were really cute, you pause to examine a gauzy soft blue set covered in little hearts. You give it a frown, thinking that it wasn’t too bad.

Billy had handed you his credit card before you’d left, not even saying a word to you about it. You’d been debating the right way to use it- should you just buy as much stuff as you could? Or barely buy anything but the essentials? 

In all honesty, you doubted he even cared. An immortal like him probably had more money than he knew what to do with.

Still, you stick to the essentials, your training demanding you pick functionality over anything you might really want.

When Maria watches you touch something gently for the fifth time, she finally speaks up about it.

“That’s cute.”

You blink, glancing at her before your eyes go back to the item in question- a sparkly red keychain in the shape of a heart. It would look nice with the tiny designer bag you’d been looking at earlier, one that was definitely not functional.

Shopping like this was unfamiliar to you, to desire something and be able to have it was definitely not an experience you’d had before.

“It’s a trinket.” You respond to her, moving on to look at something else.

“It might look pretty with that bag I saw earlier. The pink one.”

You make a hum of disinterest.

“How long have you and Frank been together?” You ask instead.

She tilts her head, turning away, and you acknowledge that your question might have come off rudely.

“Seventy years in November.” She answers, and you freeze, turning to study her with a look of confusion.

She doesn’t look up at you, examining a silk bra instead.

“How is that possible?” She couldn’t be older than thirty-two.

Maria’s gaze is kind as she finally looks at you, a little bit of amusement in the corners of her eyes.

“The bond prolongs my life.” She says, her eyes darting to study a woman walking by, “There are many things shared between us.”

“Like what?” You question, intrigued.

Maria smiles, turns back to look at you.

“That’s our secret, but it’s different for each bond anyway.”

You nod, turning away, a little miffed that you hadn’t gotten a straight answer from her.

“When did you find out… about him?”

“Um, maybe a few months into knowing each other? It did happen kind of fast. Frank had a… reputation… that sort of made me a target.”

You want to ask her what type of reputation, but you don’t think she'd be very forthcoming with the details. You assume it's related to whatever Billy’s involved in.

You study the silk robes, tracing your fingers over the soft material and sighing longingly.

“And… you don't have a problem with him being…”

“Different?” She finishes for you.

You hum in affirmation, trying not to argue with the word she chose. He wasn't just different, he was dangerous, deadly, bloodthirsty. It was like having a snake in bed beside you that could take you out at any given moment if you angered it just enough.

“I've seen throughout the years more humanity in him than in actual living people.”

Your first instinct is to disagree, yet there's a hope that spins inside of you, that maybe she was right.

You exhale, shaking your head, confused about what you wanted.

You put it out of your mind for now, deciding to focus on the mission at hand, and put your feelings aside the way you were trained to do.

It works up until you step through the doors of his apartment, and your eyes meet his.

Maria happily jumps into Frank’s arms, while Billy calmly approaches you.

You place some of your bags down, reaching into your back pocket for his credit card.

“Did you get everything you wanted?”

You nod, a swollen feeling in your throat as you extend the card to him.

He glances down at it, and then back at you.

“Keep it.” He murmurs, turning away.

You pause for a second, unsure of what to do, pocketing the card so that you can leave it on his nightstand or something.

“When is the rest coming?” Billy asks.

“The rest?” You question.

Maria looks over at Billy, having overheard the question.

“That's everything.” She says to him.

He pauses, turning to look at her. You watch the exchange, feeling very confused.

“That's it?”

Maria gives him a slow nod.

He pauses, before glancing at you. You get the feeling that you're missing something important, but you can't figure out what.

You glance away, pretending to study the microwave as if it’s just said something gravely important to you while you can feel his eyes on you.

“I appreciate your help, Frank, Maria.” Billy says, and in your peripherals, you see him approach them, patting Frank on the back, and leaning in to press a kiss to Maria’s temple.

It’s an amount of affection you weren’t expecting to see, and when Frank approaches you, you stiffen automatically.

He extends a hand, and though his gesture is friendly, his eyes are warning you not to make the wrong move.

You swallow, shaking his hand, returning his firm grip with one of your own, and then he slides right past you, allowing his arguably better half to bid you goodbye as well.

Maria is much warmer, despite the cold way you treated her today, and it makes you feel like a jerk, to have kept her at arm’s length.

“Goodbye.” You say softly, and she gives you a knowing smile, before she’s out the door.

You wait a beat, because you know Frank can probably still hear any words you decide to speak.

“I feel bad,” You finally say, “I wasn’t the nicest to her today.”

“Don’t worry,” Billy murmurs, “She understands.”

Your shoulders drop, in hopes that you would get another chance to be her friend, picking up your bags and taking them in the direction of the spare bedroom.

“No.” Billy says, his voice echoing clearly through the open room.

You stop in your tracks, rolling your eyes before adjusting your course for his room instead.

He follows behind, and stands at the doorway when you drop the bags in question onto the bed.

“Why didn’t you get more?” He asks, arms crossed studying you.

You glance up at him as you tug a short summer dress out of one bag, preparing to snip the tags off and make it more comfortable to wear.

“More what? I didn't need more.” You answer, feeling defensive all of a sudden.

“Do you have a scissors?” 

“Bathroom. Top drawer. You told me you got everything you wanted. Was that true?”

“What-” You let out a frustrated breath, dropping the dress on the bed, “What does that mean?”

“I wanted you to buy anything you liked, but I get the feeling that you held back a lot.”

You walk to the attached en suite bathroom, grabbing the scissors from where he said it was.

“Because I didn't have more bags?” You pick up the dress, clipping the tags, and any extra labeling that would stick you.

“I was hoping, that you'd try to make this place more like home.”

Your breath stalls in your chest.

“Well it isn't. My home is a secluded base, with four walls and a cot that fits just me, and the water is freezing on mornings but that's better for you anyway. My bed is lumpy and old and sometimes smells like someone died on it but that’s because all the funding goes into medicine for us when we get injured. I’m not some kept woman, that you can just send out and treat nicely whenever it suits you. I’m a soldier.”

You turn away to avoid his gaze. It feels as though he can see right through you in this moment. As if you’ve been pried apart and all the things that make you tick have been exposed.

Carefully, you tug his credit card out of your pocket, placing it onto the nightstand as if it’s a bomb that is going to go off at any given moment.

“I was a soldier too.” Billy finally says.

You blink, reaching for the next dress in the bag to snip the tags off. 

He comes around the bed, gripping your shoulders to turn you to him. You let the dark material fall to your feet as he grips your chin, raising your head to his.

“I was a killing machine long before I had fangs. I would have done anything to serve my cause. You know where that got me? These scars.”

You finally focus on his words, eager to soak in any ounce of himself that he’s willing to give.

“I was captured, tortured, dumped into a shallow grave and left for dead. I clawed my way out, crawled through the forest, bleeding and broken when I was found and changed. Turns out, they knew where I was the whole time and they just didn’t care. Wouldn’t even consider a rescue mission for me and other guys that were caught.”

He shakes his head.

“They don’t care about you. They never have. You’re just another body to them, useful until you’re not and then you’re replaceable.”

You already knew this.

“The cause-”

“-Fuck the cause!” He hisses, his teeth sharpening in anger, “Can’t you see that you matter more?”

You shake your head in denial. He cups your face with both hands, walking you back until you're pressed against his bedroom wall.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. I know you’ve never heard it before so I’ll say it to you now.” His eyes are dark, so human that you almost forget.

“You mean more to me than any fucking ideology. I would give everything up for you.”

“You don’t even know me.” You challenge.

He leans in, kissing you harshly, mouth tingling at the feeling of his lips on yours.

“I know enough.”

He kisses you again, and again, moaning into your mouth, drinking your breathy sighs eagerly.

You raise a hand, hanging onto his shoulder, letting yourself surrender to this feeling… a wholeness that you can’t fathom.

“You don't know anything about me, you filthy, fanged bloodsucker.” You grunt between kisses.

He laughs into your mouth, his hand fisting a handful of your hair.

“I know you like warm blankets, and you mumble in your sleep, and what your cunt tastes like, and how wet you get for me anytime you so much as look in my direction.”

You bite down on his bottom lip in retaliation and he groans.

He spins you, the front of your body against the wall now, cheek pressed to the cold concrete, your hands pulled behind your back and held there by his hand on your wrists.

“I know that you like to stop and smell the flowers on display anytime you walk past a flower shop, and that you'd go out of your way to step on a crunchy leaf.”

“You know that cause you're a fucking stalker.” You grunt, feeling him lean in, delight spreading through you when he licks across your cheek.

He tugs at your shirt, exposing your neck, he kisses over your bite scar gently, and you shudder as bliss moves right through you, forcing your toes to curl.

“You know why you like it when I kiss you here?” He emphasizes his words by pressing his lips softly to the silvery scar in question. Your eyes roll back in your head, drawing in a breath, desperately searching for sanity.

“It's where we first connected, where you first let yourself be vulnerable for me.”

You grunt, feeling anger and desire roll inside of you.

“And when were you ever vulnerable?” You shoot back, opening your eyes to peer back at him.

He releases your wrists and you turn to face him, a smug look of satisfaction on your face for having made a decent argument.

You're taken aback a little when he pulls his shirt off, tossing it onto the bed behind him.

“Here.” He reaches for your hand, pressing it to the center of his chest.

Your eyebrows draw together, moving your hand a little to study the spot right in the center of his chest. Sure enough, there's a silvery mark, just like yours, in the shape of a star.

Where you stabbed him, you realise, back in your other apartment, when you’d pressed the stake to his chest and he’d pulled you closer. That, was his first vulnerable moment with you. 

You lean forward, wondering why you never noticed it until now, and it’s probably because you weren’t even looking, that all of his other scars, had done a good job at hiding this one.

You press your lips to it, you can feel the vibration of his long winded groan against your lips. For the first time, you not only feel like his, but he also feels like yours.

“You could have killed me then, and I might have died peacefully to escape the torment of wanting you.”

You reach up, pressing your hands to each side of his maddening face to pull him into a kiss, pressing your tongue into his mouth at the first moment you can.

Billy groans, picking you up easily, legs wrapped around his hips, walking you to the bed before he drops you into the middle, halfway on your bags.

He pulls your shirt up, and you let him, not wanting to be far from his mouth at all, the tips of your fingers tracing his scars as you feel your passion mirrored by him.

He kisses over your chest, gripping your wrists to pin them beside your head, before you know it, your hands are restrained by something else.

He’s used the scarf on the designer bag you’d bought to tie your wrists together above your head, the silk has no give, and he’s knotted the fabric so securely that there’s no hope of freeing yourself on your own.

Your jeans is unbuttoned next, tugged down your legs, and then he grips your delicate underwear with his teeth and tugs harshly until you hear it rip.

Thank god, you think, as he settles his body between your legs, his mouth leaving cool kisses on the inside of your thighs. You mewl, pressing your hips up, desperate to feel his magnificent tongue on you.

“God, you’re dripping.” He murmurs, almost too low for you to hear.

He’s careful, pressing his tongue to your clit, your breath catching in your throat as he moans against you.

You sigh his name, as he licks you, speeding up and slowing down to prolong the torment.

You can’t stop the little sounds, which only worsen when you feel him begin to slowly press a lone finger into you, the pace too slow and shallow to be of any real use.

A sob catches in your throat, trying to relax as best you could, unable to stop your hips from undulating against his fingers and tongue. 

He guides another finger into you, and you shudder, desperate to feel the bliss he’s capable of, after not having him for so long.

“Don’t come.” He orders, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking gently, before he pauses to watch you.

“I can’t-” You cry, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes with the way it stings to deny yourself. 

You can feel the mess you make, of yourself, approaching your high too slowly for your liking.

You gasp when he withdraws, body shaking as you watch him undo his belt, pushing his pants down to free his leaking cock.

He’s so thick, the reminder of what he can do with such a glorious appendage makes you clench with need.

He grips your thighs, pulling your body against his, and you gasp when he ruts his cock against your swollen bud.

“That’s it, baby, feel me.”

You nod eagerly as he lines himself up with your entrance.

You suck in a deep breath, and he smiles proudly down at you as he presses his cock in.

You’re quite loud, unintentionally so, and you maybe feel a little ashamed of sounding so desperate, but the very feeling of him pushing into you, filling you right up to the brim and holding himself there for a long, shaky moment, is enough to have you clenching around him, on the verge of orgasm.

Billy reaches for you, grips your jaw, giving you a proper shake to get your attention.

“Don’t.” He warns, his eyes are the colour of ruby gems, “Not tonight.”

You suck in a sharp breath. He wasn’t going to let you come tonight?!

You begin to wriggle in protest, he reaches down to pin your hips in place, sliding his cock out, to ease himself back in.

“You feel so good baby- fuck-” He leans in to press his mouth to yours, his tongue claiming you boldly.

“Suffer with me.” He begs against your mouth.

You’re not sure what he means, but you nod, forehead to forehead, his cock swollen and heavy inside of you, tears of want in your eyes and yet you nod like a fool when he tells you no.

You pant when he moves, barely able to control yourself, you breathe in his musky scent, letting everything about him overpower you.

He growls, delivering one harsh thrust that makes you cry out, holding himself there for long moments, making you wish he would just put you out of your misery.

You struggle, trying to tug your arms free, deciding instead to place your bound hands over his head, gripping his hair in your hands.

His hands tighten on your hips, the pain of his grip only adding to your pleasure.

He moves slowly, out of rhythm, keeping you balanced right on the edge of pleasure and torment. 

When the denial is too much, you pull his hair hard, hearing him grunt out a laugh, understanding the message you’re trying to convey.

He withdraws slowly, and you swear the emptiness will destroy you.

You pant, looking up into his dark eyes, demanding an explanation. 

He releases the hold on your hips, leaning in to kiss you softly.

He noses at your neck, and you tilt your head reflexively to give him the space he needs to feed from you.

You feel him shake his head against you, nose dragging softly.

“Please.” You whisper, wanting to feel his teeth pierce your skin.

His teeth settle on your neck, a low groan leaves him, before he bites.

He’s quick about it, your skin only starting to sting and throb when he’s two mouthfuls in.

He hums around a swallow, before withdrawing, pressing the fabric of his shirt into your wound.

“I can taste the frustration in your blood, poor thing.” He murmurs, lifting his shirt to lick at the open wounds.

“But god, you still taste so fucking good.”

.

.

.

[muftiys]

Vampire gritho 🤭

[angellilou-art]

We're 3400 on IG and 400 on Bsky! What about a Draw This In Your Style of our favorite vampire to celebrate?

Some infos about it :

- No deadline!

- Use #DTIYSvampireAU

- Tag me on your post so I can share your art!

- Cosplays and other kind of crafts are very welcome!

- You can change the clothes, the pose etc if you want to

Have fun!!

[poopylumpkins]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Cult of the Lamb (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: The Lamb/The One Who Waits | Narinder, Forneus/Heket (Cult of the Lamb) Characters: The Lamb (Cult of the Lamb), The One Who Waits | Narinder, Bishops of the Old Faith (Cult of the Lamb), Forneus (Cult of the Lamb), Original Cult of the Lamb Character(s) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Vampire hunter The Lamb, Vampire Narinder | The One Who Waits, The Bishops are a Vampire Council, T4T | Trans for Trans Narilamb, NB Author's thinly veiled excuse to project gender dysphoria onto The Lamb, The Lamb is Called Lambert (Cult of the Lamb), (eventually) - Freeform, Initial use of she/her pronouns for The Lamb, They/Them Pronouns for The Lamb (Cult of the Lamb), Title From a Crane Wives Song Summary:

Jasper, the oldest of her sisters, kept drilling warnings into her throughout her youth and even now, well into adulthood. “Do not go off the trail, Ewe,” always coupled with, “And never go out past sunset. Even if only for a moment.” Safe to say, this time, as the sun finally collapsed beneath the horizon, Ewe didn’t heed that warning. Her steps became wider, her breathing began to quicken.

She almost didn’t hear the constant footfalls coming from behind.

---

or: The Lamb is the youngest of four sisters, working as maidservants under the nobility, sworn to keep them safe from the growing vampire factions. When The Lamb grows careless, and goes out during sunset, The Lamb meets Lord Narinder, a former member of the vampire council and who.. doesn't seem half bad upon first meeting. And upon final meeting? The Lamb's well-versed in the art of hunting vampires.

FIRST CHAPTER VAMP AU UP !! 

[slaughterfield]

caitvi "iwtv"/vampire au plus mel x maddie...

[fridgrave2-0]

thinking of vampire!istvan was a mistake but i enjoy the misery 😋

[propertyofwhitney67]

How would LIs react when vampire!PC losing control of themselves due to lack of drinking blood for more than a week, start attacking them by biting their neck and start drinking from them desperately

Whitney is scared and angry, get the fuck off of him!

Kylar moans like a whore and lets you drink from him

Robin knows he has to stay calm, this isn't the first time this has happened, and let you finish before he gives you a talking too. You can't keep doing this

P!Sydney is terrified, get off and leave him alone! He might actually be able to get you off of him, he's got scary strength

C!Sydney isn't as scare but is still freaked out. He might let you finish or just push you off

Alex has no fucking idea what to do, he wants you to get off of him but he also doesn't want to anger you and make it worse

Avery is fucking pissed and scared, trying to push you off of him

Eden is caught off guard but is somehow able to get you off of him. He puts you in the cage till you calm down and he can get you some kind of blood

[kingprinceleo]

vampire au- post ive been thinking about for a while theyre so funny to me

[bl00dfroma-fairy]

[thym3y]

2 vamps 1 coffin 🤯

[COMMISSIONS OPEN]