#bill skarsgård x you

[marquisedegramont]

Lighting Vincent’s cigarette for him

-🧸

eeeeeeeee quick drabble before i go back 2 working on my artfight refs | MENTIONED : established relationship between reader & vin, kinda idk but its implied vincent cant keep a bitch before hopping onto another

VINCENT stared out the window as drops of rain pelted towards the floor of the city of Paris. It was a gloomy night like any other, with the bright, warm light of the buildings that lined the Paris skyline often flickering from dark windows in the morning to their sunlight-like dots that shined in the night.

You open the door to his bedroom where he’s sitting on a chair, overlooking Paris in a penthouse high above common people. His hair is a mess, probably just woke up when you went to get a glass of water.

“Why are you awake, love?” Vincent glances up at you when you walk towards him, hand on the base of his neck, gently ruffling with the strands of brunette hair.

“Je ne dors pas,” I can’t sleep, Vincent says to you. “I have been restless for a while.”

“How come?” You ask him before taking your seat at the corner of his bed. While dating, you and Vincent didn’t really share the same bed. Vincent felt…. uncomfortable when it came to exposure to someone for a long time. People circulated in his life, changed; left and went, came back and stayed, got pushed away.

The Marquis doesn’t reply to you, he stares at you for a second or two, silence hanging in the air. Before his gaze turns back to the city.

“Stress?”

Vincent gives a half-assed sound.

“Perhaps.”

Your eyes flicker from the window, to the shape of Vincent as the lights outside frame his silhouette. It was well past midnight when you checked the clock in the room, each second ticked with utmost insanity. A sluggish second passed. And still, Paris didn’t sleep. Outside were cars, and here inside was both you, and the Marquis de Gramont.

“You know,” You say to break the silence. The silence wasn’t peaceful, neither was it tense. It was a strange in between of both peacefulness and tension. Something compelled you to speak, something to fill the air that wasn’t the smell of the Paris penthouse and the perfume you wore. “I never really believed in this whole ‘counting sheep’ thing.”

Vincent shifts in his seat, almost hunched over but really not at all. He looks over towards you. The faint glow of the light that comes from the vintage window barely even lighting one side of his face.

“Me neither.” Vincent replies. “It gets boring, and I don’t drift off to sleep. Instead, I lay awake, just counting. Hoping that I do.”

“Me too.” You answer back with. “My mum used to… read fairytales to me.” You say. “I guess it always worked.”

Vincent goes silent immediately afterwards. You don’t know wether he’s thinking or just refusing to reply. He was a confusing man. He never made intentions clear, unless you were smart and knew how to dissect him from skin to his bones, maybe his soul. But you don’t know his soul yet. You don’t think you’ve seen his heart. Well you’ve seen it.

To you, Vincent was art. A piece. Beautiful to look at, something that carried vicious history, yet cradled beautiful memories. But to be art, was to be looked at. Vincent was looked at, admired and feared. You don’t think anyone has come close to this before.

You blinked, there was a stick in between Vincent’s slender fingers that have never seen the work of the poor. A cigarette. There wasn’t a lighter anywhere.

Corpse silent, it was like a graveyard in the bedroom. A pretty, vintage bedroom fit for a noble such as the Marquis. Unable to contain your words and actions any longer, you stood up from your place on the corner of the bed. You scoured through your purse for something, then you felt the shiny, flat material on the pad of your fingers.

You held the lighter up near Vincent; he slips the cigarette, now pressed in between his lips. “Can I light it?”

“Oui.” He says.

You flick the lighter and the soft hiss and flicker of flame cuts through the previously quiet air. The match flared to life, casting a warm glow on Vincent’s face open with his gaze flickering over onto you, a hint of…something tender flashing in his eyes before a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

He takes a drag of smoke, dissipating into the cold air of Paris in the night.

[hoteldreamss]

Bill Skarsgård || imagine

Метки: AU напарники детективы; дружба со скрытой влюблённость; мизофобия - (общая характеристика) навязчивое состояние болезненной боязни грязи.

Слов: 623

Тебе не нравилось посещать подобные учреждения. Как бы ты не хотела успокаивать себя тем, что уборщики хорошо выполняли свою работу, ты всё равно была ужасно брезглива, стоило тебе перейти порог здания. Но может, тебе сегодня особенно повезло, потому что не ты открыла дверь. Твой напарник пропускает тебя внутрь первой.

Билл стоял рядом, когда охрана проверяла ваши документы, сверяясь с расписанием. Конечно, вы со Скарсгардом заранее позвонили в больницу для психически больных в основном преступников, чтобы не было никаких проблем навестить одного пациента ради продвижения дела, над кото��ом вы с Биллом работали вместе уже ни один месяц. И сегодняшняя встреча должна вам помочь продвинуться. Хотя тебе не хотелось сюда ехать, ты также не хотела ничего упустить.

— Вас проводят, — произносит охранник, отдавая вам ваши удостоверения и вызывая врача.

Женщина средних лет идёт впереди вас, пока ты и Билл следуете за ней.

Залезая в карман своего пальто, ты достаёшь антисептик, небальная баночка с распылителем. Брызнув пару раз на каждую ладонь, ты растираешь резко пахнущее средство по ним. Скарсгард косится на тебя, но ты не собираешься реагировать на это.

Голые белые стены и холодный свет от ламп на потолке только усугубляли депрессивную атмосферу вокруг вас. Звук ваших шагов утопает в шуме больнице.

— Я работаю с тобой почти пять лет, но до сих пор удивляюсь тому, что ты делаешь, — произносит Скарсгард.

— Что в этом такого? — Ты хмуришься, не понимая, почему Билл так реагирует. — Это безопасность, тебе тоже не помешало бы быть более... — Ты замолкаешь, когда вас заводят в комнату для свиданий с пациентами.

Она похожа на комнату в тюрьме, с решётками и даже где-то есть ручки на столах для наручников. Пока пациента, ради которого вы пришли нет, и врач говорит, что сейчас его приведёт медбрат. Она уходит, оставляя вас наедине.

— Тебе стоит быть внимательнее.

— Внимательнее? — Билл усмехается, когда садится рядом с тобой за стол.

— Да. Сейчас много, где есть микробы. — Ты пожимаешь плечами. — Ты понятия не имеешь сколько заразы вокруг.

— Это не значит, что ты должна мыть руки каждые пять секунд.

Скарсгард получает твой хмурый взгляд. Он тянется за магнитофоном в кармане куртки, чтобы включить его и снова спрятать.

— Я не мою руки каждые пять секунд. — Ты всё ещё немного недовольна тем, что твой напарник тебя критикует. — Я хотя бы знаю, как это делать, а не думаю, что можно просто вытереть их влажными салфетками.

Билл усмехается, замечая, так же как и ты, что к вам уже ведут мужчину, ради которого вы здесь.

— Это не сексуально, быть мизофобом. — Он усмехается заметив твоё недовольство и немного гневный взгляд, хотя сам он не может сдержать ухмылку.

***

Билл не любит лето, не только из-за удушающей жары, но и из-за тебя. Ты становишься более параноидальной и это отражается на нём, как бы он не хотел это игнорировать. Иногда ему кажется, что ты специально делаешь это. Проникаешь ему в мозг, пускаешь корни своих страхов, заставляя его думать, что он сам пришёл к этому уже давно.

Ты выходишь из машины, захлопнув дверь и заблокировав её, направляешься к участнику. Билл следит за тобой.

— Доброе утро! — ты в отличие от него счастливо улыбаешься, это почему-то не раздражает его. Он скорее рад видеть тебя в таком состоянии.

— Доброе, — ворчит Билл, выкидывая бычок сигареты в ближайшую урну.

— Твой кофе, — произносишь ты протягивая картонный стаканчик.

Он берёт его снизу, чтобы не касаться твоей руки. Ты не любишь лишних прикосновений к твоей открытой кожи, через ткань одежды ты ещё можешь это стерпеть.

— Спасибо.

Билл идёт с тобой к входу в участок.

— С чего вдруг кофе? И почему ты такая радостная? — Билл делает глоток, осознавая, что это тот заказ, который он всегда берёт в ближайшем кафе.

— Почему нет? — интересуешься ты. — Солнечно, тепло, мы почти раскрыли дело, почему бы не быть радостной?

Билл может согласиться с тобой. Но почему-то понимает, что твоё хорошее настроение слишком заразительно. Должно быть он на самом деле влюбился.

[rapturously]

𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡, 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.

┊ count orlok x fem!reader.

✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: intended to be a sacrifice for the strigoi haunting your village, your escape brings you face-to-face with death incarnate.

read part 2 here.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.4K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, dubious consent (mild hypnosis/dreamlike state), loss of virginity, monsterfucking, vampire antics (scent kink, bloodplay), stockholm syndrome, mild title kink (heavy use of my lord), shadow sex/fingering, female masturbation, voyeurism, extreme possessive/obsessive behavior.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is arguably the most enjoyment I’ve had writing a fic in a long time. I really hope that you love it as much as I loved writing it! any support is greatly appreciated! I would absolutely love to write more Count Orlok after this, for sure!

ICE-LADEN GALES NIPPED AT BARE FLESH, LIKE THE COLD PRICK OF A KNIFE — ONLY TENFOLD. ROPE CHAFED RAGGED AGAINST SOFT SKIN, AND YOUR FEET SEEMED TO CARRY YOU FAR AWAY, INTO THE DESOLATE HILLSIDES OF TRANSYLVANIA.

A sacrifice — a sweet, mourning lamb, given to the butcher, bound together to keep the darkness from devouring your village. That was what you were, some pious creature to be torn apart by a wolf that prowled through shadow.

Only the cruor of a virgin would expunge the evil that lay within the mountains, your blood, offered to the devil.

Many girls had come before you, maidens that willingly succumbed to their fate, screams snuffed out with the trees as their witness. There was not an ounce of subservience within you, no desire to meet your end alone, to become another notch on the post.

Tears stained your cheeks, liquid salt chilled as it settled upon your features, now steeped in dirt as you stumbled through forested wilderness. Winters were dangerous — the biting ice gnawed at your bones, threatening to rip away your extremities.

Before your fellow villagers could put you to the blade, you fled — naked, bitten by frost, alone with only monsters to nip at your heels.

Their desperate cries echoed into the night, the sound of begging — pleading to be spared without their tribute. Groomed to become an inevitable feast for the creature that tormented your village, you could no longer sit idly by and wait to die.

Beneath your breast, your heart clenched, pounding like that of a drum as it howled within your ears. The whiplike scratch of the wind raked across your body, leaving you heaving, fighting against encroaching exhaustion.

In the distance, torchlight grew dim — those who knew of Nosferatu did not dare venture into the woods or the nearby mountainside. Strands of garlic and crucifixes shrouded the borders of your village, superstitions workings to keep the creature at-bay.

Twigs and undergrowth beneath the snow scraped across your feet as you continued to blindly stumble through the forest, emerging onto the other side, where the bridge rested. Beside it, an obelisk — holy relics, strands of garlic, a sign.

‘TURN BACK, OR MEET DEATH’, it read, the script having weathered with the passage of time. The bridge led to a winding path, a path that could only lead to your inevitable demise. Blood began to ooze from your soles, flesh agitated, lips becoming chapped by the wind.

The Carpathian Mountains stood vigil, an impenetrable wall of ancient rock that kept you from the castle that lay between snow-laden peaks. Wisps of snow fluttered from dusky skies, illuminated only by silvery slats of moonlight.

A haze surrounded your vision — exhaustion coupled with the inevitable shroud of frostbite, and yet, something propelled your forward. Respite awaited you in the form of cold earth and maggots if you continued, the spectre of death hovering above you.

With weak steps, you crossed the bridge, hands still bound together, rope having ripped away at the velvety flesh around your wrists. Shadows became listless, alive, as if something moved within the forest, and still, you wandered forth.

There were worse creatures than wolves and bears in the forests, mere fodder to something archaic, an ancient evil feared by your village for decades. Old maids whispered tales of the Castle Orava, home to a den of monsters considered to be servants of the devil, a harbinger of hell.

Foul magic was at-work, they claimed — and yet, you felt drawn for reasons unexplainable. It was as if you were being lured into open waters, dark and treacherous, as black as a bottomless pit. Despite the heaviness of your body, you carried on, bare and blistered.

The path became even, a seemingly-endless stretch of black woodland that broke away to reveal a gate, as ancient as the landscape itself. Even through your blurred vision, shapes danced within darkness, as if they were grinning.

A wheeze of exhaustion bubbled up within your throat, parched and hoarse, flesh beginning to submit to the earth below. You could not recall when you had fallen, crawling toward the gate as if it would be your salvation.

Hoofbeats crackled against the dirt, a distant dream, like the wisp of a memory that soon dissipated — only, it was reality.

Before your body gave way to the blissful kiss of death, a shadow approached, casting its oppressive hand across you. It was veiled by darkness, a presence most enigmatic, something that you hadn’t experienced before.

Nails as sharp as talons ghosted above your satiny flesh, now marred by bruises and by nature’s cruel sting. Your breathing became shallow, strained by a sudden wave of nauseating terror as this shadow swallowed you whole, blanketing you in what you believed to be eternal darkness.

Oh, how you longed for it — for death’s final caress.

Dreams muddled themselves with waking nightmares — and you were trapped, the lamb screaming in the woods, unable to run free. It was the same stretch of dark forest, eyes following you from penumbra, a gloom so dour and terrifying that it rattled your spine.

Running, running, running — it was all you could remember, falling to your knees in the chilled earth, stone biting at your flesh, bones begging for rest. The gleam of torchlight and the shimmer of the blade still haunted you, the executioner preparing to give your blood to protect your village.

In the howl of your terror, the wood seemed to close in around you, like a wrought-iron cage, its thorns drawing blood from your ragged skin. You wanted to scream, to cry out, beg for a savior — and yet, no sound emerged, only ash.

There, in the endless obscurity of a long night, was he — the creature.

Claws that extended from ashen digits reached for you, took hold, and you felt his grasp close in around your throat. No pleas of mercy escaped your tongue, now turned to stone. Death was what you expected in the maw of this shadow — and it never came.

Its hands did not squeeze, with no intent to snuff the air from your lungs. It wasn’t the hold of one desiring death, like that of strangulation, but the embrace of lust. It was unfamiliar — cold, exhilarating, unyielding — and yet, you never wanted anything more.

No visage ever emerged, only the sheen of crimson-stained fangs that sought your breast, the stench of something foul permeating your surroundings. There was no pain — his bite was akin to the caress of a lover, lacking maliciousness, lacking the gnash and tear of a predator.

Hunger — you could feel it burning like an open flame within your throat, his famine. A creature that starved, with an appetite so unorthodox that it was your blood he craved.

With a strangled gasp, you awoke.

Woodlands were exchanged for the frigid, stone interior of an ancient castle, fixtures remarkably old, possessing macabre decor. Your gaze flickered to the ghoulish countenance of a gargoyle hanging above a roaring hearth, heart nearly leaping from your chest.

Whatever dream you awoke from, you could not discern it from reality, a thought that frightened you to no end. Surrounded by the thick, cured hide of a grizzly, you found yourself bare, still lacking a scrap of clothing. The hide was large enough to preserve your modesty, if you had any left.

The rope that had shackled your wrists together was no more, nonexistent — only raw wounds remained. This castle was cursed, a place of horrors beyond your imagination; you could not explain the semblance of reprieve that you felt.

Licks of comforting heat soothed your icy bones, the simmering fire bringing you a semblance of peace, no matter how threadbare. This newfound environment seemed haunted, decrepit — the furnishings were covered in a layer of dust.

It was luxurious, fixtures fit for that of nobility, a lifestyle that eclipsed your own existence back in the village. Now, you belonged to nothing, with no home to return to. Your traitorous actions would be met with punishment, if you were to return.

The floor beneath you was crafted of stone, covered in a layer of dust. Tangles of cobwebs stretched across the mantle above the hearth, roused only by the ghost of a draft that fluttered throughout the room.

Beside the hearth, sat a tub — the gold had tarnished, making it appear dilapidated, as if it were weathered by the elements. Steam rose from the water inside, as still as a silent pond.

A soft groan escaped you, body wracked with the frigid sting of agony, one that made your stomach turn as you approached the bath. It was unusual, the placement — your desire for cleanliness outweighed your skepticism.

Wobbling legs trembled like leaves upon a windswept branch as you sank into steaming water, causing you to hiss at the intrusion against your wounds. The heat did wonders, offering relief from the stab of ice, from the cruelty of the Carpathian cliffsides.

It was still dusk, the hour of the bat, a night that left you with a constant presence of dread. The creature, the man you saw — his shadow had not left you, as if pieces still lingered within your heart as you scrubbed yourself free of grime.

The groan of withered hinges gave way to the weight of the cast-iron doors, adorned with the heads of snarling hounds. Light pooled in from the crack in the door, causing gooseflesh to rake along your spine, followed by a shiver.

Something pulled you — like a puppeteer orchestrating a show, strings that bound you to some medieval presence beyond the doors. The flames within the hearth began to flicker, their light diminishing, waning to little more than smoldering embers.

Fear took root within your heart, its tendrils seizing within you, filling you with a wave of disquiet. Despite the warmth of the water, your flesh screams with an icy chill, throat growing thick as you reached for the bear’s hide.

Shame rippled through you, still bare and exposed beneath the mountain of fur. Firelight illuminated the next room, far more vast than the one you awoke in. Shuffling forward, you grasped at the edge of the door, benumbed iron firm beneath your palm.

A dining hall stretched before you, an ornate table lined with tall chairs that were made from the finest of pelts, yet worn by time. In another lifetime, this castle might’ve been beautiful — instead, it was a mausoleum of the damned.

An ornate candelabra sat atop the table, wisps of smoke drifting from extinguished wicks. A sizable pitcher sat beside a pair of wine glasses, glass contained within some metallic design that twisted around the base.

Two chairs had faced the roaring fireplace, a hearth that dwarfed the size of the one in your quarters. Your footsteps were feather-light as you crossed the threshold, carrying yourself closer to the table.

“Hello?” Whispers to an empty room stirred something within the shadows, accompanied by the garish bark of hounds. Icy dread coalesced within the pit of your stomach as you looked around, fearful of your intrusion.

A door opposite of you opened, moved by a nameless shadow, whose frame eclipsed all slivers of light — an ominous void, as black as pitch. Two hounds snarled at the spectre’s heels, leering through the corridor’s darkness.

Strigoi — the revenant of pestilence, now standing before you. You should’ve been terrified, thrown yourself at its mercy, but instead, you remained petrified where you stood.

For the briefest of moments, your eyes fluttered, and the shadow no longer occupied the space within the hallway. The door slammed shut, the thunderous crack of iron reverberating throughout the room.

The hounds paced forth, growling at you as they settled somewhere along the fringes, laying down alongside scaling stone columns. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

Flames shuddered in the wake of an archaic presence, akin to an icy gale, and with it, the aura of something horribly foreboding. The shadow appeared at the head of the table, each ragged breath evoking a low, guttural growl.

“Sit.”

It was inhuman, his voice — akin to thunder shaking the mountains, like the roll of a dark tide, dragging sailors into its unforgiving seas. He spoke your native tongue, Dacian, and yet it sounded harsher from his lips, wrought with blades.

Through pools of dim firelight, you caught a glimpse of his visage — sharp and pointed, stone-faced and garish. His features, whilst gaunt, possessed all of the markings of a nobleman, attire bearing sigils of royalty, crafted of fine pelts.

With trembling hands, you lowered yourself into your seat, shrouded by the warmth of the grizzly’s hide, ensuring that you were concealed from his view. That pang of hunger you felt in your dream, a ravenous appetite — you could feel it again.

The plate placed before you is nothing more than a generous portion of bread, somewhat stale from constant exposure to acrid air. Your stomach gnashes with hunger, the sting of starvation — you dared not touch it.

“Eat,” His command reverberates throughout the hall, enough to cause a wave of gooseflesh to permeate your skin, dancing along your spine. “Thou shall refer to me as thy lordship.” You had not yet extended your gratitude — he must’ve plucked you from the snow.

Without an ounce of hesitation, your teeth greedily sank into bread, pulling it apart with the fervor of some wild animal. You were not a noblewoman, nor a maiden with any title or dowry — merely the daughter of a carpenter.

“My Lord,” What did one say to a creature that once terrorized your home, to a myth now manifested into flesh? “I — I must thank you, for your hospitality.” Reduced to a mere shrew in his presence, you chewed whatever piece of bread lingered in your mouth.

It was you, his lamb — intended to be his sacrifice, his sated hunger, sparing your village from the terror of his curse.

Another snarl emerged from him, accompanied by each rasp of his breathing, a noise that perplexed you to no end. Strigoi were dangerous — servants of hell itself, creatures born of dark sorcery, ones that had no place in the natural world.

Akin to a mere wisp of shadow, he manifested at your side, pouring a goblet of wine for you, the liquid a dusky crimson. Your gaze never dared to look him in the eyes, feeling the ghost of his finger dance across your cheek.

Such warmth, such feebleness — the beating of your heart only seemed to race with a pang of exhilaration. His flesh was akin to an endless winter, as cold as ice, like roughened leather, decaying beneath the earth.

“Drink.”

Your lips had not tasted wine as lavish as the chalice he presented you with, and it felt saccharine upon your tongue. Greed consumed you, prompting you to drink as if it were your lifeblood.

Long had this castle stood, many centuries of history contained within walls as old as time. A Count, a nobleman he had been in life, a black sorcerer. You, this enchantress, maiden of nothing — you would be his bride, his obsession, his unmaker.

From the rotten gloom of his fortress, he had preyed upon your village for years — years spent in-fear of this serpent, feeding upon the young and old. Blood was blood, and it did not matter the age, so long as his appetite was satiated.

“What do you intend for me?” Your voice was little more than a trembling mewl, expecting to be submitted to dark magics or something far worse. A low grunt stirred within his throat, nail dragging along the curve of your jaw.

With great restraint, his hand recoiled, leaving your warmth as he considered your inquiry in silence. You were intended for him — not as a sacrifice, but as something more, if you were willing.

Centuries spent in his eternal tomb, centuries spent waiting for you — Orlok had crossed oceans of time, wading through endless night to find you.

“Thou must rest — no blade shall find you here.” He rumbled, looming like some dark cloud above your head. It was your scent that drove him to madness, drowned within the concoction of oils placed into the bath. It was a scent he would covet fervently.

A hitch formed within your throat, and your terror had diminished, but only enough to keep you from shaking with dread. You did not understand what he wanted from you, why he did not tear you limb from limb, the fate that had befallen many of your kin.

No blade that wasn’t his own, you pondered, chewing at the inside of your cheek until the flesh was raw. Blood coalesced, sanguine drops attracting the sudden, sharp ire of your host, whose black eyes glittered with bewilderment.

“My Lord, I — I do not understand …” Uncertainty began to permeate your tone, cadence wrought with a newfound fright. Your blood ran cold, heart leaping into your throat as your chest tightened with a great and terrible worry.

“Rest.” His growl ripped through him, reverberating from his chest like the snarl of a feral beast. You skittered from the chair, still swathed in bearskin as you retreated to the room you came from.

Perhaps, he had mistaken your fear as something ungrateful. He had not slaughtered you yet, making you an unwitting guest within his home — you should’ve been offering your gratitude without protest.

The flame within the hearth had dissipated in one fell swoop, as if some storming gale had swept throughout the hall, stealing all light with it. Darkness swallowed your surroundings, and the Count had disappeared entirely, as if he had manifested into shadow.

A shudder coursed along your spine, sending you clamoring into the false comfort of your chambers. The door had shut before you, as if propelled by some unseen force, prompting you to move towards the bed behind you.

Not even the velvet curtains could offer you security, as if they were transparent, or nonexistent. You could still feel the chill of his breath against your cheek, the sensation of his claw tracing along your jaw — you should’ve been repulsed.

Instead of abhorrence, you felt a deep-seated yearning — a blistering desire that you hadn’t experienced before, a tether that anchored you to this being. You feared yourself, the amalgamation of sensations rousing within you as you crawled beneath the sheets.

Sleep would not find you — not here.

Your dreams were no longer yours, bound to him — whatever slumber you could find, you were subject to these visions, lascivious in nature. Whatever rest you could find was disjointed, interrupted by dreams so real that you were convinced of their tangibility, as if you could reach out and touch.

It was him you dreamt of, coming to you at an ungodly hour, claws raking across your bare flesh as he unraveled your sheets. The constant penumbra kept him concealed from you, and yet, you burned to see him fully.

He touched you in your dreams, appearing between your legs as you bared your soul to him, a figure so impossibly large and intimidating. It was guilt and trepidation you should’ve felt, laying with the scourge of your people, a baneful serpent.

Instead, it was euphoria — a desire to bind yourself to him, to cage yourself within his grasp. Spindly digits caressed along your body, nails ghosting above your breasts, traveling to the plane of your stomach.

Unclean — that was what you were, piety now stained in his shadow. Even that did not perturb you as you reached for him, wisps of air being stolen from your lungs as he leaned closer, teeth scraping against your sternum.

“Please,” You had begged him to continue, to bring you a pleasure that you had not yet experienced. “Do not stop.” Whatever pleas fell from your mouth had been for naught — and you awoke with sweat-slick skin and startlement.

As your eyes fluttered open, you were flustered to find the heavy warmth of arousal between your thighs, sheets tangled around your body. Embarrassment turned to frustration, throat dry as you adjusted yourself to the darkness of your chambers.

“Thine body yearns, starved for embrace,” Like the clash of thunder, his voice shook the room, emerging from the pitch surrounding you. You did not know where he was, but he was here with you — physically. “A lamb seeking the shepherd.”

An icy breeze fluttered throughout your quarters, moonlight glistening along the curtains surrounding the bed — and you saw his shadow beside you. Exposed, you drew the sheets around you, with a shame so sharp, and yet your skin gave so easily.

That familiar knot of dread bubbled within your stomach, gooseflesh crawling along your body as you wrapped your arms around you. “I feel your shadow upon me — I should not want you.” You whispered into the gloom.

A growl stirred from the strigoi, and he burrowed into your shame, settling into your bones. “Thine will is your own — it is in your nature,” He rumbled, and that was when you saw him, lingering at the foot of the bed. “Give thyself to me.”

It was your agonizing shame that kept you from crawling to him on all fours like some beast, starving for any scrap of touch. You wanted him, in your own twisted way — wanted him to shield you from your kin, to take you, to live within your ribs.

There was no life left for you in the village — the kin that amassed to put you to the blade, left in the woods for him were not your friends. Perhaps, that was what drove you all along, pushing you into his embrace.

His tendrils wrapped themselves around your mind, no thoughts left untouched, each crevice now surrendered to the Count. He could taste your burning lust, your desire to belong, to belong to him — and he craved such sentiments.

“What little life you had, now belongs to me. Give thyself, willingly — I shall satisfy this craving, and your flesh will be mine alone.”

In the slim fade of silver, you saw him — gaunt and pale, like that of an apparition. In life, he might’ve been called handsome, comely — your disgust should’ve kept you away, made you flee. You were rooted to the bed, able to meet his stare.

Hues as black as pitch, swirling with a hunger unending, an eternal appetite that demanded to be sated by you. He watched you hawkishly, his shadow descending upon you, the phantom sensation of fingers dancing across your collarbone.

Enraptured by the Count, your enticement only seemed to blossom, unfurling from your chest with a wave of want. Instead of hiding yourself from him, you sluggishly allowed the sheets to drop, breasts pebbling from the chilled air.

“I am yours — and only yours, my Lord.”

With a breathy declaration of your devotion, a snarl bubbled from his throat, a sound that sent shivers cascading down your body. Your legs untangled themselves from the sheets altogether, nakedness now exhilarating instead of humiliating.

It was as if you were eased down by some unseen presence, as clawed, shadowed hands bid you to recline into the feathered bed beneath you. The Count did not move from the foot of the frame, leering at you with an ugly obsession.

“Think only of me.”

Whatever supernatural abilities he possessed, he used them, as if you were placed back into the vision you’d had before. His tone rattles your insides, a booming timbre wrought with something dark and enigmatic.

Phantom sensations drift along your body, the touch of another foreign to you. You have used your own hand before, but this feels exhilarating, like a gale of frigid wind ghosting across your frame.

Arousal coalesces between your legs, a slick heat that oozes onto the sheets. It is your scent that vexes him so, the scent of a siren, the call of your sanguine soul.

Without a thought, your hand shyly drifts to your chest, kneading into one of your breasts. Your skin prickles when he makes a sharp, throaty growl of satisfaction. His ghostly claws rake along the supple flesh of your thighs.

A moan escapes you, one of delight as you begin to sink into his presence. For now, he is content to observe, his shadow partaking instead of his physical being — it will not be that way for long.

Soon, your flesh would join — you would become bound to him, and he to you, a union abhorred by many. He reveled at the thought of you, flesh eternal, revealing yourself to him like the unfurling petals of a flower.

No longer shrewd beneath his covetous glower, you freely touch yourself, squeaking out a myriad of sounds from your throat. “Take all of me, beloved.” You exhale, the pad of your thumb flicking across your swollen nipple.

The use of such an intimate title evokes a ragged, strained exhale from your paramour, whose obsession rages like that of a tempest. His phantom claws trace along your body, circling your unattended breast.

It kneads just as you do, sharp talons continuing to tease the pebbled bud, drawing out a mewl from your sweet lips. Gooseflesh erupts across the back of your neck, another wave of arousal flushing through your frame.

A heated ardor burned between your thighs, soon to be soothed by the ghost of gnarled digits. Spectral claws continue to revel in your velvety flesh, seeking your arousal as the shadow traces across your cunt. It makes you writhe, one hand grasping desperately at the sheets.

A strangled whimper emerges from you, back beginning to arch into his salacious embrace. He continues to watch from his place at the foot of the bed, breathing unnaturally hoarse, strained with a wanton need.

Warmth exhumes from you like the lick of an open fire, extinguishing his gravely chill. The Count’s gaze greedily consumes your contorting form, able to hear the erratic beating of your heart, your mouth torn open, his name upon your lips.

No curse had befallen you, save that of devotion.

Phantom digits find the pearl of your cunt, teasing the clutch of nerves before vigorously circling it. Your knees buckle, eyes fluttering shut as you succumbed to such unholy appetites.

“Give in to thine own desires.”

That gravelly purr coaxes you to seek your satisfaction, and you mechanically obey, as if transfixed by his voice alone. A sharp exhale splits your ribs, and the hand that once grasped the sheets soon finds its way between your legs.

An unnatural sheen permeates his black hues, one that seems appeased with your subservience. No dead heart could beat — his skeletal frame had not felt such fervor for centuries.

Again, you look to him, as if wanting him to witness your lust, fingers dancing along your swollen folds. Your digits seek to roll across your slit, eliciting a whine from you as you begin to touch yourself.

Dragging your legs against the sheets, you keep them parted, two fingers sluggishly rutting against your nethers. A phantom hand caresses along your stomach, nails raking from navel to sternum, and then to your throat.

The pressure sends a spike of adrenaline through your body, the sensation unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. You think of him in an untoward manner, unbecoming of a maiden, lascivious fantasies that make you sigh.

Ghostly caresses layer themselves across your chest, and you swear you hear him shift throughout the room, drawing closer to you. Your thumb languidly circles your pearl, teeth gnashing at your lower lip.

A throaty moan rips from your diaphragm, wrought with ecstasy as you pleasure yourself, one palm kneading at your breast. The other is spirited, ministrations laced with desire as your digits find your entrance.

His shadow is oppressive, a force that blankets itself across your body, and for a moment, you see a vision of him, crawling over your flesh. Your thoughts are molded to him, able to be toyed with — your Lord makes you see his own whims.

It became difficult to discern dreams from reality, imagining his hands roaming your form, claws sinking into your flesh, his brand. You call out to him, a whimpering plea that begs him for release.

Arousal mounts, burning heavy within the pit of your stomach as you squirm, pushing two fingers into the tight heat of your cunt. The noises are sinful, a myriad of strained moans intermingled with crass strokes of your digits.

The Count’s phantom hand continues to squeeze at your throat, nails digging into the silken flesh of your neck. A sharp exhale emerges from your lips, toes beginning to curl at the concoction of sensations assaulting your body.

You alone had grown intimately acquainted with your own body, and yet he handled you as if you had been lovers for centuries. Ghostly digits begin to toy with the pearl of your cunt, causing your muscles to twitch.

“Please,” A supplication to the shadows, wanting some release for your overwhelming pleasure. It swarms you from all around, senses invaded with his dominating presence. “My Lord, please!” Your cunt clenches around your fingers.

A growl erupts from the pitch, his gaze fixated upon you as he looms closer, hovering above your writhing frame. The scent of your cruor ensnares him like a wolf to a rabbit, and he finally moves to perch beside you.

His garb only makes him seem impossibly statuesque, hand hovering above you as his sorcery intensifies. Your back arches, feeling his shadow purse around your pearl, enough to make you fist at the sheets.

Ecstatic digits piston themselves in and out of your nethers, coated in a thin layer of slick, thighs shifting together in an attempt to relieve any ounce of friction.

Higher — you climb toward your release, chasing after it with a thinly-veiled desperation. Shadowy sensations move across your body like liquid smoke, squeezing beneath your jaw, continuing to circle around your clit.

You are temptation incarnate — his devotion to you is a powerful thing, just as yours is to him. Sharp, jagged teeth hover above your breast, and the Count succumbs to his hunger, at last.

Pain blossoms throughout your breast, and yet you hadn’t felt an ecstasy quite like this. It was blinding, white-hot as it consumed you whole, swallowing you within the abyss of lust. Teeth break flesh, tasting your cruor upon his tongue.

No drink could compare to that of your sanguine ichor, no sensation — the Count drank from your breast, a possessive snarl ripping through his chest. He bristled at the feeling of your warm palm cupping the nape of his neck.

A crescendo of moans tore through you as you approached your peak, digits continuing to dip inward, curling within your cunt. It became strained, body trembling with an onslaught of ecstasy.

Claws begin to stroke along your tresses, as if easing you into submission, coaxing forth a release that makes you scream. Your body curls toward him, cunt slick with your mess as you find your satisfaction, at last.

A warm rush of your essence soaks the sheets, the scent enough to drive your paramour to madness. It furthers his bloodlust in a way that entices you, another wheezing exhale leaving him.

A rough tongue slithers against your sternum, stained in crimson as he openly feasts from you, and you do not recoil. Your peak seems to work in-tandem with his appetite, feeling his claws ghost above your breast.

Muscles ache with spasmodic twitches, chest flourishing with the sting of agony as it spreads throughout your sternum. Instead, you invite him closer, digits stroking at the greying, decayed flesh, allowing him to sup upon you.

His gravelly voice seems to intensify within the recesses of your mind, speaking to you through a distant haze. “Thine flesh belongs to me,” He rumbles, and you hold him closer. “As this flesh belongs to thee.”

He does not touch you, leaving you with some aching void that can only be filled by him — he alone will satisfy the craving.

[taintandviolent]

sin creeps in ; Nosferatu x Reader

summary: You're plagued by heinous nightmares of a mysterious monster, but you can't help but feel drawn to he who plagues you.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.5K | female reader, monster fucking, vampires, vampire sex, bloodplay, biting, drinking blood / blood loss, mentions of death, making out, smut, unprotected sex, mentions of accents, shadow play (fingering)????.

a/n: MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR NOSFERATU 2024! this is just.... listen, I'm not even going to try to justisfy myself. rack up yet another hear me out moment for me. you either understand or you don't. shorter than I wanted it to be, but I needed to get this out and sate my hunger. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

You awake with a strangled gasp, your hands flying to your throat as your breath gradually returns. The nightmares had roused you, as they had every night, but this time, something lingered. Your room was frigid; the gauzy curtains fluttered in front of the open window like misplaced ghosts, allowing the chill of the night to penetrate your quarters. Everything looks terrifying at night; familiar shapes are transformed into horrible spectres, and your very room feels unknown. Unsafe. 

He is here. For the first time in several nights, you weren’t dreaming – he has come for you.

“I know that you are here with me,” you bravely whisper into the emptiness of your own bedroom. The wind whistled, a familiar sound, but something growled – growled in a language you didn’t speak, but understood. The voice was low, gravelly, and heavily accented. 

Hurriedly, you kick the sheets from your legs. The moonlight pales your skin, washing you in its blanch, bluish tone. Gripping your gown with both hands, you gather it up your thighs, exposing them to the cold. The chill of the wind hits your center, and you hiss through your teeth. Your head drops to your chest, and so does your gaze, watching patiently. At the edge of your bed, a large, slender shadow manifests. Him. 

You dare not look up. The feeling of his presence petrifies you, but also arouses you – letting a slick warmth pool deeply between your legs. 

The shadows continue to creep further up your bed, until they reach your feet, which twitch in response. Up, up, up… along your shins. Your skin prickles, and you shiver, doing your best to remain calm. Though he doesn’t touch you, you feel him. You feel every pass of his large hand as it makes its way up your body. His shadow glides over your hip, to your stomach and finally between your plump breasts, coming to a stop over your beating heart. It thumps away like a rabbit’s heart underneath the blackness of his form, and you hear a ragged, strained groan.

Then, with no warning, it moves down, leaving a cold, lifeless chill in its path like a gust of winter wind. You pant, desperately clinging to what breath you have. All at once, the shadow envelopes the soft, warm mound between your legs and your hands fall to the bed, bracing yourself. You have felt his ghostly touches for countless nights, tasting your body as a lover would, but each time your body climbed the peak, the sensations disappeared.  He comes to you in dreams, always leaving you unsatisfied. Your chest heaves in the night, cold droplets of sweat peppering your decollete and breasts. Your hands claw the sheets while you dream, but never reach euphoria.

Tonight, there are new sensations. The phantom wisp of his middle finger runs along the length of your slit. Grazing it. Somehow, you feel his finger part your wet folds, toying with your most sensitive areas. The nonexistent pads of his fingers sweep back and forth over your swelling clit, bringing a spasmodic twitch from each of your muscles. Wanting. Craving. While the sensation lacks the familiar warmth of a living man, it is bountiful with pleasurable feelings – your body responds embarrassingly; your shoulders shudder violently. 

He inhales, a deeply hollow sound. “You desire this… thine own body craves it….” 

The accent seems to fill his entire mouth, rumbling in his throat as he speaks slowly, drawing out each word like an incantation. You let out a plaintive moan, throwing your head back against the pillows, the down feathers crackling underneath you. As though he’s still pleasuring you, your hips writhe back and forth, practically convulsing with need. The shadow of his hand is gone from your body, replaced by the looming darkness of his physical form. After a moment of trepidation, you finally lift your head, and stare into the dark, terrifying eyes that watch you. 

You swallow hard. “I do.” 

A moment passes before you continue. “Take me as you will, for I am yours.” You consent again, desperate to convey your own insatiable hunger, your unimaginable need. 

Another intake of breath from him – it almost sounds labored, painful. His footsteps are dreadful as he moves around to the side of your bed. He’s tall, his form stretching towards the ceilings and towering over you, consuming your atmosphere as he had in your nightmares. His silhouette is large; enhanced by the countless furs he has on.

Weightlessly, his lithe, ghastly fingers reach for you and make contact with your form. They are cold, and the icy feeling of them penetrate the thin fabric of your nightgown. He moves gradually, but hungrily, feeling the curves of your body beneath the cotton. As he moves southward, his fingers skim over the peak of your breast, a nail catching on the swollen nipple. It hurts, but your chest jerks forward still, craving more of his touch. 

Pulling a breathy moan from deep within your throat, his long, sharp nails rake across the tender flesh of your thigh. It’s bathed in the silvery moonlight, which casts horrible, elongated shadows of his fingers down towards your center. He scrapes downward, his middle finger digging into the flesh enough to leave a reddened streak behind, but not so much to break the skin.

“P-please…” you mewl, looking up into his horrifying visage. The sight of him fills you with dread and disgust, but like a single drop of blood in water, it’s tainted with something else, something else that has been lingering in your system for days. 

He’s above you now, though you don’t remember seeing him move atop of you. Still, he’s there. The bed creaks as you push yourself into the mattress, whimpering underneath him. He lowers himself down onto you, the brush of his mustache tickles your face as he lingers above you. A second passes and his waiting mouth envelops yours. He tastes damp and cold, faintly of ash and earth. His tongue slips out and it too is cold, slipping wetly along your own and along your bottom lip. His kiss is dreadful, but possessive, and he inhales each time you exhale, as though he’s trying to suck the very warmth out of you. No man has kissed you the way Count Orlok kisses you, and the chill of the room disappears, snuffed out by the fire that rages in your lower abdomen. 

Your tongues collide with each other; you tasting his lifelessness, and him tasting your utterly intoxicating, vibrant liveliness. For a moment, the two of you stay intertwined at the mouth until he separates himself, smearing his mouth over the warmth of your neck. He hovers, pausing over your pulse. It thrums under his lips, and his hips urge into yours, indicating his hunger.

There is a shuffle, a rustling of clothing. You try to lift your head up to gaze between your bodies, but his hand holds you fast, pressing you against the pillow. The size of his hand is staggering; his palm underneath your chin, while the fingertips extend past your hairline, into the strands. You shudder again and whisper his name. He inhales as though he plans to speak, but doesn’t. 

The front of your nightgown falls apart, revealing your chest to him. With one hand covetously clutching your breast, his mouth opens between your breasts, the slithery coolness of his tongue gliding down along the length of your sternum. As the teeth puncture your flesh, your hands make fists on either side of your body, pulling the sheets into the confines of your palms. He enters you, in more ways than one, and you feel the steady tug of his mouth as he sucks the blood from your veins. Warmth pools in the cave of your stomach.

The fingers of his other hand crawl up your shoulder, and like a quill in ink, he dips the pads of his fingers into the hollow of your chest, coating them in your crimson essence. He smears the blood along your decollete, along the hem of your nightgown, tugging it harshly over your shoulder. The blood coats you in a flash of warmth, and then chill as it meets the cold air. 

His hips rut against yours as he drinks, the pulse of your blood matching the thrust of his hips. An ache starts in your neck, a slow pulling sensation that has your eyelids fluttering. He moves within you, his length penetrating as deeply as his sharpened teeth have. Your release is found amongst blood and groans and that same language which you understand, but do not speak. His tongue scrubs at your soft skin, lapping up the blood as it comes… as you do. 

The darkness is ever-looming, and as your aching cunt ebbs its throbbing, it settles down upon you. You let yourself fall backwards into the abyss, freely. It takes you, wrapping its arms around your tiny frame which is dwarfed by his stature. His mouth breaks free of your bloodied skin with a slick pop.  Into the softness of your skin, you hear him growl, ‘Mine.’ The feeling vibrates against your neck, and your lids flutter shut.

[bloodibambiidoll]

⟡˖ ࣪ A Dripping Inconvenience ⟡˖

✬ Kinktober Day 3 ⟢ Eric Draven ⟢ Squirting/Overstim ✬

Warnings: Brother’s bestfriend troupe, size difference, fingering, pussy eating, pet names, choking, overstimulation, squirting, cock piercings, hickies, possessiveness, AU(no Shelly/crow), biting, a tiny bit of blood, reader has nipple piercings 18+MDNI

You spent most of the day cleaning your brother’s dirty ass apartment while he was out of town so you had absolutely no reservations about helping yourself to a fat plate of nachos from his kitchen and a blunt, or two, from his stash. You were one blunt, half a plate of nachos, and two episodes into your show when abrupt banging on the door ripped you from your chill evening. You practically jump out of your skin at the amount of force behind the knocks, the weed in your system making you slightly paranoid until you hear the voice behind the door.

“Chance, come on, man!! I really need your fucking help!” You’d recognize your brother’s best friend’s voice anywhere. Considering you were just a little bit obsessed with him. And he sounds extremely stressed. Another round of knocks pulls you from your thoughts and has you shooting to your feet so you can walk the short distance between the couch and the door. You hastily unlock and open it to reveal a disheveled looking Eric Draven. His black mullet is even messier than usual and dripping wet from the storm raging outside. Which makes the fact that all he’s wearing is a distressed black tee and even more distressed black jeans borderline insane as the cloth covering his body drips onto the carpet in the hallway. He’s panting heavily and the look in his eyes is the one of someone running from something. Fear and urgency. “Oh, fuck. What’re you doing here? Where’s your brother?”

You’re not taken back by his brash tone, Eric had always been short and avoidant with you. You’re his best friend’s annoying little, kid sister that used to beg to play with them and that’s all you’ll ever be to him. Fucking unfortunately. But the way he towers over you makes you suddenly acutely aware of the fact that all you’re wearing is a tiny, white, Hello Kitty tank top, even tinier pink panties that hardly cover your hips or ass, and your black platform Uggs with white ruffle socks. You took a shower after you finished cleaning and despite the amount of time you spent vacuuming, your brother's floors were perpetually disgusting so you refused to walk around in his house without some kind of shoes.

“He’s out of town, I’m house sitting and watching the dogs.” You scoff and roll your eyes before tipping your head over your shoulder to gesture inside toward your brother’s two dogs standing guard behind you. If they hadn’t known Eric their whole lives they’d probably be barking their heads off right now. “What are you doing here? Are you good?”

“Not fucking really, no.” Eric sighs and throws his head back while running his tattooed hands down his face. He drops them to his side before locking eyes with you and you have to physically stop yourself from clenching your thighs from the way he is glowering down at you. When you were kids he was shorter than most of the other boys and now his body fills the entire length of the doorway he’s standing in. He was just so big. “I just really needed to talk to your brother, alright? And it’s just really inconvenient that you’re here right now.”

“Seriously? What is your fucking problem with me, Eric? We aren’t little kids anymore. It’s just immature at this point.” You stomp your foot for emphasis and glare up at him with your lips set into an ironic pout considering you just called him immature.

“My problem?” Eric crowds your space even further and you can nearly feel the dampness of his clothes against your body from his proximity. He leans down until his face is mere inches from yours, his green eyes ablaze as he breathes out deep through his nostrils. “Is that I’m in some deep shit. I have some fucked people after me. You being here, near me, puts you in harm's way and that isn’t going to work for me.”

“That isn’t going to work for you? You’re joking, right? You don’t give a fuck about me.” You laugh dryly and shake your head at the irony of this entire situation.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Eric closes the remaining distance between you, pressing his wet body against your barely covered skin. “I give too many fucks about you and now you’re here, looking up at me in that annoyed way you always do.” He chuckles and one of his large hands reaches up to cup the side of your face. “You think it hides how badly you want me, but it doesn’t.”

“W- What?” You gasp at the feeling of his skin on yours. He’s been close to you before, but never like this. “I don’t -“

“Shh. Let’s not waste time denying it. The fact that you want me is as clear as the sky being blue.” Eric’s thumb reaches out to trace along your bottom limp and you have to hold in a whimper. “It's only ever made it harder for me to be a good friend to your brother and stay away from you. I think my final restraint might be slipping. Fucking look at you.”

“You should… come in?” Your voice comes out a squeaky whisper and it makes you want to crawl in a hole and die. A slow smile spreads across Eric’s face, he places his hands on your hips and starts to back step you into the apartment before kicking the door shut behind him. The minute it’s shut his lips are on yours in a kiss that makes your entire body ignite with fire. His grip on your hips tightens as he pulls your much smaller frame taunt against his own. His tongue explores your mouth and you moan into him while you start to subconsciously grind down on his thigh. Eric kisses you for what feels like an eternity before grabbing onto your hair at the nape of your neck and using it to pull your head back.

“I won’t be gentle. I’m really stressed the fuck out right now and I don’t have it in me to take my time with you.” Eric’s free hand grips onto your ass so tight his finger nails dig into your flesh as he continues to yank your hair. The stinging pains make you moan and grind down on him harder. “Oh? Is that how you like it, brat?” The condescending nickname he called you growing up held an entirely different meaning as it fell from his lips now. It makes your pussy clench around nothing as the wetness in your underwear grows. “Answer me.”

“Yes, fuck. I like it rough.” At that Eric circles an arm around your waist and throws you over his shoulder. He carries you over to the couch and tosses you down on it onto your back. He stands over you with an almost carnivorous look in his eyes as he takes you in. You’re so fucking perfect that he can’t stand it. Your brother told him around the time you all hit puberty to stay the absolute fuck away from you but looking down at you in your tiny pink thong and tight little hello kitty tank top has him practically forgetting who your brother even is. Especially when you throw one of your legs over the back of the couch, revealing the large wet spot between them. “Take your stress out on me, I can take it.”

“Oh, I don’t think you know what you’re asking for princess, but your wish is my command.” Eric licks his lips before leaning down between your legs to kiss you like a man starved. His mouth tastes like cigarettes and rain and something almost sweet that must be naturally Eric. It’s everything you ever dreamed of as his big hands travel all over your body. He yanks your hair, grips onto your throat, runs his hands down your chest and grabs your tits and squeezes your nipples while he ruts his hard Jean covered cock against you. He bites down on your lip so hard you feel when the skin breaks and you can taste the crimson drip into both your mouths. Eric licks across your lips and down your chin to your pulse point where he sucks over and over again until your neck is covered in pretty purple and red bruises that will soon turn green and blue.

“You’re fucking, mine. Your blood is mine, your body is mine.” Eric kisses down your chest and pushes your shirt up to reveal your pretty pierced tits that make him groan at the sight. He tells you how pretty they are as he licks and sucks across them, marking them up just like your neck. He continues down your body until he gets to the band of your panties and he licks across it before kissing down your mound and running the flat of his tongue along your lace covered slit. “This pussy is fucking mine. Say it.”

“Fuck, my pussy is yours, Eric. I’ve always been yours.” He practically growls at that before pushing your panties to the side and smacking his hand down on your sopping cunt. “Shit!”

“Your pussy is so fucking pretty.” He lands a second smack on your clit before pressing the heel of his palm down on it and toying at your entrance with two of his thick fingers. “You look so tight though, we’re going to have to stretch you out, if you’re going to be able to take me.”

“I think I can take it - oh fuck!” Eric plunges his fingers knuckle deep inside you and your wet walls suck him in. Your back arches off the couch but his knee comes up to pin your thigh so you can’t move. His free hand reaches for his belt and undoes his pants enough to pull his cock free, the sight of it makes your jaw drop. It’s fucking huge. Thick, long and slightly curved, the head is perfect and dripping with precum, and best of all? The entire fucking length of his shaft is pierced. Maybe you do need him to stretch you out after all.

“Yeah, not so cocky now, huh?” Eric chuckles as he curls his fingers inside you and continues to grind his palm against your aching clit. He caresses your g-spot and rubs the tips of fingers along your walls before thrusting them in and out of you brutally quick. Your pussy is so wet it squelches and your juices start to drip down your thighs. Eric leans down and takes your clit in his mouth and it has your eyes rolling back. Your entire body stiffens as pleasure overtakes you. He keeps sucking your clit hard until your orgasm finally wavers but he doesn’t stop. The flat of his tongue licks your bud firmly as he twists his wrist and scissors his fingers inside you causing you to come again immediately.

He finally pulls his mouth off of you and you feel like you can breathe for a moment. That is until you look down at him. His hair is a disaster from you yanking on it and the entire bottom half of his face is covered in your creamy juices. Eric leans in to kiss you, giving you a taste of yourself. “You’re such a good girl for me. Give me another one.” He doesn’t pull his fingers from you and fuck you like you’d hoped he would but he resumes thrusting them in and out of you at a brutal pace and your pussy juices drip down his wrist and onto the couch.

“Oh my fucking god! I don’t think I can - fuck I just - I need a minute-“ Your sentence is cut short when Eric’s hand flies out to grip onto your throat.

“Oh, baby, no. You’re going to come for me as many times as I say and then I’ll finally give you my cock and you’ll come on that too.” Eric chuckles as squeezes your throat as he fucks you with his long fingers. His thumb reaches out to caress your clit and euphoria washes over you again. “Yeah, that’s it, you’re so good for me, Angel.”

“I - it’s so good, too good, I don’t think I can come again - oh fuck!” Eric’s grip leaves your throat and grips under your ass to tilt your hips up off the couch making his fingers hit deeper inside you.

“Shhh, just come for me.” He spreads them and twists his wrist before going back to the quick drive of his digits inside you. He spits on your clit before pressing hard on it with his thumb and your walls pulse around him as cum floods from your pussy. You squirt around his fingers and he doesn’t stop his assault on your pussy until you squirt two more times for him. Your chest is heaving and your entire body is shaking by the time he finally pulls his fingers from inside you and uses your juices to lube up his fat cock. “You were such a good girl for me, now lay back and take my cock like the good little fuck doll I always wanted.”

Tagging some fellow Eric lovers: @babygorewhore @cxrrodedcoffin @myherometalhead @that-sarcastic-writer @ghoul-friendz @taintandviolent 🖤

[nerdy-novelist017]

Borrowed Bites (Eric Draven x Rebel!Reader pt 2)

Added another part since the last one was received so well! Thank you for the kind words and appreciation! I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts on this part! 💕

Eric Draven Masterlist

Word Count- 2.9k+

Summary- He just couldn't get away from you. You were corrupting his routine, his life, his thoughts.

Eric sought refuge in the library, a quiet sanctuary where the weight of the facility’s sterile air seemed to lift, just a little. The room was a cocoon of silence, the faint scent of old, yellowed books filtering through his senses. Here, amid the shelves of dusty volumes, he could be transported to somewhere else, somewhere where the walls were not closing in on him little by little every day. 

He was supposed to be assigned to cleaning the room for the next hour, but he was finished within the first 30 minutes, so now he sat in the aisle, leaning up against the shelf. He was lost in the pages of an old art book, the kind that made him ache for life outside of these walls. He was staring at a particular page of a charcoal drawing of a horse, the scene bringing back his own past in a swirl of paint strokes, charcoal lines, the delicate dance of light and dark. 

But that moment was shattered by the sound of the door opening and footsteps approaching him. His heart sank, a heavy stone sinking into the pit of his stomach. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The air around him seemed to buzz with a familiar energy, one he had been trying – and failing – to avoid. 

“You hiding out in here, artist boy?” your voice broke through the stillness of the room, a playful tone that underscored something sharper, something that pricked at his defenses. 

Eric’s eyes glanced up, catching just a brief look at your face above him before dropping back to the book in his lap. He knew by just the few times of your interactions since your arrival to the facility a week ago, that his disinterest would not be enough to make you go away. No, it seemed that you could not take a hint, no matter how obvious it was. 

“This place is a real snoozefest,” you said as you lowered yourself on the floor in front of him, sitting cross-legged. You leaned forward on your hands, trying to peer at his book. “I didn’t peg you for the library type.”

“It’s quiet here,” he muttered, his voice almost devoid of emotion. “That’s why I like it here.”

“And here I thought you came for the thrilling company,” you teased, your voice taking on a hint of something more – a curiosity perhaps, or an understanding that he didn’t want you to have. 

“Shouldn’t you be off trying to seduce the guards?” he bit back, referencing your words from his first unwanted interaction with you. 

You grinned mischievously as you brushed a strand of your unruly hair out of your face. “I’m still working on that, don’t you worry.”

“I’m not interested,” his fingers tightened around the edges of his book as he spoke with a certain level of finality, attempting to completely sever the connection you were trying to forge. 

“Not interested in what?” you pressed, tilting your head in a way that Eric came to understand as you attempting to figure him out, like you were trying to put together the puzzle pieces of his mind. 

He hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He didn’t know how to answer, how to articulate the mind-jumbling swirl of emotions inside him. He finally grumbled, “In whatever game you’re playing.”

A brief flash of hurt flickered across your face, so quick that he almost missed it. But then you recovered with that infuriating grin. “Who says I’m playing a game?”

Uncomfortable with that reaction, his gaze fell back down to his book, as if the words would allow him an escape of whatever trap you were setting. “Just leave me alone.”

But of course, that wasn’t enough to deter you. You weren’t the type to back down so easily. Instead, you leaned back against the opposite shelf from him, folding your arms as if preparing for a long conversation he had no interest in having. 

“You know,” you started, your voice a touch softer now, “you’re not as invisible as you might think.”

Eric’s jaw tightened, the words hitting him hard. He had spent so long trying to be just that – invisible, a ghost passing through unnoticed. But you saw him, and you wouldn’t look away. 

“I’m not hiding,” he retorted quietly, but the words sounded hollow even to himself. 

“Then why won’t you look at me?” Your question hung heavy in the air between you, a challenge he wasn't sure how to meet. 

He forced himself to look up at you, your direct gaze sending his heart to his stomach. He refused to admit it, refused, but something about you drew him in like a moth to a flame, something about your eyes that refused to look away. 

“What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice low. 

You didn’t answer immediately, your gaze evocative as you studied him silently, as if searching for something beneath the surface. “I want to know you,” you said finally, the simplicity of the words cutting through him. 

Eric stared at you, his mind racing to find a response to that strange statement, something that would push you away, make you see that there was nothing worth knowing in him. But all he could manage was, “Why?”

“Because,” you said as you leaned forward slightly, your voice barely above a whisper, “you’re different. I can tell.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to respond to the sincerity in your voice. The way you seemed to genuinely care unsettled him, the way you saw him and refused to let him fade into the background like he wanted. 

“You don’t know me,” he said after a moment, his words heavy with frustration and something else that he didn’t want to examine too closely. It was the same words he had told you a week ago when you first spoke to him and flipped his world upside down, but he couldn’t find anything else to say to you. You didn’t know him, that was true. But you definitely wanted to fit yourself into his life, to know him as he knew himself. 

“I think you’re worth figuring out.” A small smile tugged at your lips.

He wanted to scoff, to brush off your words as naive and misguided, but there was something in your tone, in the way you were looking not just at him but through him, made it impossible to miss. You were being sincere, and that shook him to his core.

“I’m not,” he retorted, his voice weaker than he intended. “I’m just another screw-up, just like everyone else in here.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so. I think you’re more than that.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, didn’t know how to process the unfamiliar warmth swirling in his chest. All he knew was you were getting way too close, digging too deep into feelings he’d locked away a long time ago. He reached for the book, flipping it open to a random page in a futile attempt to avoid your intense gaze. But the words on the page blurred, the images that had once brought him comfort now seemed distant, unreachable. 

Before you could say anything else, the sound of the door opening again startled both of you, shattering the temporary bubble you were enclosed in, and Eric looked up just in time to see a guard round the corner of the aisle, his heavy footsteps thudding on the worn carpet. He instantly sat up straighter, his heart racing slightly when the guard’s eyes caught sight of the two of you. 

“What are you doing in here?” The guard’s voice was a harsh intrusion, his gaze narrowing between you like a hawk sizing up its prey. 

Eric shot you a nervous glance your way. To anyone else, your expression would have looked completely neutral as you regarded the man nearing you both, but Eric could see the tension in your jaw, the way it ticked ever so slightly, betraying the anger brewing just beneath the surface. 

“I’m not doing anything,” you replied casually, almost dismissive. But the guard’s wasn’t in the mood for games. He cut you off before you could say anything more.

“You know the rules,” he barked, his voice echoing in the stillness of the library. “No fraternizing.”

You put your hands up in mock surrender, a gesture that might have seemed playful if not for the sarcasm dripping in your voice as you replied, “Yeah, right. God forbid anyone make any friends in here.”

The guard’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing to slits. Without warning, he grabbed your arm and yanked you to your feet with a roughness that made Eric flinch  “You’re not here to make friends. You’re here to get sober and stop being a burden and a piece of shit to society.” 

The harsh words hung in the air like poison, their words seeping into the cracks the moment. Eric felt a surge of panic in his chest as he snapped the book shut, the sound like a gunshot in the tense silence. He stood quickly, instinctively knowing it was best not to argue, not to escalate the situation further. Just follow the rules, he told himself, a mantra he clung to since he got here. But he knew you well enough now that you wouldn’t – couldn't – do that.

“Wow, tell me how you really feel about it,” you shot back, your voice clouded with defiance. 

“You think this is funny?” The guard hissed, his voice dropping to a menacing low. “Keep running that mouth and you’ll find out just how serious we are.”

For a brief moment, Eric saw a flicker of something in your eyes – a flicker of doubt, maybe even fear – but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same defiance that both worried and awed him. 

Eric felt the weight of the moment bearing down on the room, the oppressive atmosphere of the facility closing in. He knew he should say something, do something to alleviate the tension, but the fear of the repercussions, of going back to solitary confinement, held him back, rendering him silent and still. 

“Come on,” the guard snapped, pulling you towards the door. “We’re done here.”

As you were dragged away, you cast one last look over your shoulder to Eric, and he could see the mix of emotions in your eyes – anger, frustration and something that resembled regret. And Eric’s chest tightened at the sight because you weren’t just leaving as you always did. You were being taken away, and he was powerless to stop it. 

The door slammed shut behind you, and the silence that followed was deafening. Eric stood frozen, staring at the spot you occupied just moments before, his mind racing. He gripped the book in his hand with a white knuckle power as he realized he had let the guard take you without so much as lifting a finger, without saying a word. The realization twisted like a knife in his gut, a painful reminder of his own helplessness. 

*****

Eric didn’t see you for the rest of the day. He tried not to think about how he even noticed your lack of presence and especially how it made him feel. The day passed with the same level of dreadful monotony that he had been subjected to since the very first day he’d arrived in this hellhole. 

It wasn’t until lunchtime the next day until he saw you again. The cafeteria thrummed with the repeated sounds of everyday life here – the clatter of trays connecting, the gentle murmur of quiet conversation, the sporadic eruptions of laughter or from souls lost in their own struggles. Eric sat by himself at a table near the corner of the room, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of his tray as he picked at the array of bland, tasteless food before him. The harsh fluorescence above cast a stark, unforgiving light over everything, rendering the room devoid of any warmth. 

He was halfway through forcing another bite of the food when you suddenly materialized across the expanse of the bustling room. You slid into the seat across from him, a mirthful grin on your face. 

“Did you miss me, artist boy?” you asked with a tilt of your head, that signature smirk playing across your lips.

He wasn’t going to answer that, not even for himself. He averted his gaze to his tray instead, afraid that you would be able to read through his expressions as you so often did. That didn’t seem to bother you though because without hesitation (or permission) you reached over and swiped a roll from his tray, taking a bite as if it was casual. 

“Hey,” Eric protested softly, though his voice lacked any true anger, more like mild annoyance. In fact, he was actually relieved to see you, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. There was a brief moment last night as he lay awake in his bed going over the interaction of the library when he wondered if you had been locked in solitary for your actions. He didn’t think you had said or done anything to warrant such an offense, but you were unpredictable. He had no idea if you continued to fight, to mouth off after the guard dragged you away. Seeing you here in front of him was confirmation that, for once, you had refrained from doing anything to further your punishments here. 

“What?” you asked with a nonchalant shrug. “You weren’t eating it.”

Eric rolled his eyes, a silent gesture of exasperation. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You quipped as you leaned back in your seat, your gaze sweeping across the room as if you were just examining the scene before you, waiting patiently for something – anything – to disrupt the routine. 

He watched you for a moment, captivated by the restless energy that perpetually seemed to follow you. It was as though you were perched on the edge of some unseen cliff, ready to plunge off the side at any given moment. The near constant state of heightened alertness was both exhausting and irresistibly captivating for him, an anomaly that left him simultaneously drained and drawed in. 

“Why do you do that?” he asked suddenly, the question catching himself off guard, and he instantly wanted to take it back. 

“Do what?” you replied smoothly, not missing a beat. 

“Act like . . . I don’t know. Like nothing matters.”

You blinked at him, momentarily taken aback. Then you smiled and with a half shrug, responded, “Because it doesn’t. 

But Eric could see the flicker of something more profound, a bit sad even in your eyes, and it casted doubt in the authenticity of your words. 

“Right,” he muttered, his voice laced with skepticism. Your gaze left his and he took that as a sign of your wanting to drop the subject so he returned to his food, though his appetite was severely diminished. 

For a while, silence enveloped the two of you. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence, albeit still surrounded with the rest of the cafeteria buzz. When he glanced back up at you, he could see the sudden change in your eyes as you glanced about the room once again. He had witnessed that look before – one that usually preceded your reckless actions, the calm before the storm. 

“Don’t,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with caution.

You turned your attention back to him with a look of feigned innocence. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing,” Eric replied, his tone now carrying seriousness. 

A familiar spark of chaotic energy ignited in your eyes as you grinned. “What makes you think I’m planning something, Eric?”

“Because you always are.”

You giggled, clearly amused at his concern, and he tried to ignore the rush of butterflies that hit his chest at the sound of it. “Relax. I’m not about to blow up the place or anything.”

“That’s not comforting,” he muttered, though the faintest hint of a smile betrayed his true feelings. 

Before you could respond with yet another one of your signature quips, a guard ambled by, scanning the room with hawkish vigilance. You immediately straightened up, your playful grin fading as you donned a more neutral, guarded expression. 

As the guard continued his stroll, you leaned forward, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial low. “Meet me by the west wing storage closet after lunch.”

Your tone left no room for negotiation or refusal, but Eric hesitated, a storm of instincts battling within him, urging him to resist. But there was something in the way you looked at him – something that compelled him to nod reluctantly. 

You shot him a quick, satisfied smile before rising gracefully and sauntering away, leaving Eric alone once again with a whirlwind of emotions and a nagging feeling that he was about to be pulled into something he would regret. Yet, despite the better judgment that screamed caution, he knew he would go. Because as much as you exasperated him, left him bewildered, and sometimes even frightened him, there was a part of him that was irresistibly drawn to you. A part that yearned to unravel the mystery of why you were the way you were. 

"Fuck," he murmured under his breath.

-Tag List-

@redwitchbitch1 @marshm3770fluff @one-of-thewalkingdead @rubyfruitjungle @mrsvalbaker @m00npjm @maimai-0603 @at-midnight @fandom-fanatix @spoiled-bat13 @alinahdee @a-differentbrandof-jeans

[kingkat12]

fuck you (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, angry sex, oral sex, extremely foul language, angst, toxic relationship, accidental creampie, reader should run

summary: being in a relationship with Roman Godfrey has its perks, but is he really telling the truth?

word count: 5,304

a/n: this is part 2 of long legs (link here), enjoy!! wrote this over a span of three hours because this idea has been stuck in my head lol

I didn’t take Roman for a liar until recently. 

Because up until now, everything had been perfect these past few months; I’d spend every Saturday at his place, sleeping next to him, having breakfast with him, and then taking our routine stroll through Clifford Park just for the shits and giggles. I loved that more than anything in the world— At one point, I had to stand on the look-out for park patrols, holding my laugh while he etched our initials into the lamp we had stood beneath that night we became official. 

Our time together had been incredible so far. He had taken me out on elaborate dinners, and then refused to let me get out of bed the next morning before twelve because of his new ‘closeness-rule’; “I’m not detaching from you until noon,”

And who was I to say no? Especially not when it felt this good.

Now that I had his undivided attention, was the centre of all his affection and his designated person to call at midnight, I felt like I was floating. 

Up until last week.

Roman had showed up on my front door with his signature smirk to pick me up for dinner, dressed in his classic Armani suit, hair styled back. “Ready to go?”

I couldn’t help but smile, getting up on my tippy-toes to kiss his cheek— I was always so damn happy to see him. “Yeah, I just have to grab my shoes. Come in,”

A soft blush became apparent in Roman’s cheeks, stepping into my apartment as I disappeared back into my room. “The place is right around the corner, so don’t stress,” 

“Yeah, I know!” I said from the other room, rummaging through my collection of shoes. “We could stay at my place tonight, actually, so we don’t have to grab a cab to yours! Thoughts?”

Roman hummed, leaning against the wall in the hallway. Something told me he wasn’t so into that idea.

I stopped in my tracks, grabbing a pair of shoes before I came back out. "... No?”

Roman ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a slight chuckle. “I don’t know, I just… I like my bed,”

I couldn’t help but feel confused, but I brushed it off— maybe this was just a Roman quirk I hadn’t seen yet? It was probably not that deep. Right? Shrugging, I put on my shoes, grabbing my keys and my purse on the dresser. “Alright...? Cab fare’s on you, then, because I lent the rest of my spare cash to a friend earlier—“

In a swift motion, Roman snaked his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him as I yelped in surprise. He let out a warm chuckle at the look on my face, leaning down to capture my lips in a sweet kiss. “Either we get going now, or I eat you for dinner. I’m fucking starving,”

Giggling, I pulled him in for another kiss. “Fine. I’ll be dessert, then,”

Roman let out a satisfied sigh against my lips, excitement shimmering in his green eyes as he grabbed my hand, leading me out of the apartment.

However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something weird was going on. As he led me through the restaurant with a hand on my back, I realized this was the moment where the wheel in my head had started to turn. Even as we sat down to eat, the question of why he didn’t want to stay over at my place started gnawing at me. 

I had all my things at my place— My makeup, my shampoo against frizz, my clothes. I always had to walk around with my stuff if I was planning to sleep over at Roman’s place, feeling a bit like a nomad because... he hadn’t given me a drawer at his place yet. 

The mind-wheel continued to turn; why hadn’t he offered me a drawer? We had been official for months. For a man that was so damn adamant about being okay with a committed relationship, the more I thought about it, the more I started to see the cracks in the facade. Was he inadvertently telling me he didn't want to be in a commitment anymore?

Roman’s voice brought me back to reality; “What?”

Fuck. Had I been so swept up in my thoughts? “Pardon?”

“You’re not saying anything,” he said, putting his elbows on the table as he leaned forward. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

This is where my guilt started gnawing at me as well. Why was I even thinking these thoughts about the sweetest boyfriend I had ever had? “Oh, nothing, just...” And suddenly, it dawned on me that there was one thing that would ease my mind about this issue; “Just wondering if you’d want to meet my friends soon. I’ve met some of yours, but you’ve never met any of mine.”

Roman’s eyes widened slightly— I wouldn’t have caught it if I wasn’t watching his reaction like a hawk. With a chuckle, he pulled away from the table, wrapping his long, slender fingers around the cutlery once more; “I’ve met your friends,”

“Only in passing,” I mumbled, reaching out for my glass of water. “I’d like them to know the man I’ve been talking about for months. And I think you’d like them.”

Roman nodded, turning rather quiet. Something about it made my pulse quicken.

“Okay,” he eventually said. “I’ll meet your girls.”

I let out a shaky breath of relief, sipping my water with a bright smile on my face. Maybe I was just overthinking this, as always? “What do you say about next week?”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

And next week rolled along— today was the day. I had told my girls that Roman said yes to meeting them at our favourite bar downtown, and I was now checking my makeup in the elevator up to his penthouse. I couldn’t wait for them to finally get to know the man I was so crazy about, because honestly? I was dead tired of having to defend our relationship to them.

And I also didn’t like that it was starting to sound like they were right about him all along.

As the elevator doors opened and I knocked at the entrance, I held back a jump of excitement— I couldn’t wait. However, my excitement quickly died down when Roman opened the door, dressed in…

A white t-shirt and his pyjama pants?

At first, I let out a short chuckle, leaning up to give him a kiss. “Rome, get dressed! Silly man,” I made my way past him, putting away my stuff on the dresser nearby. “We’re supposed to meet my friends in, like, twenty minutes!”

The sigh Roman let out had my heart dropping in seconds. “Yeah, about that...” Something about the dead expression on his face gave me a hint about his next words; “Is it okay if we take a rain check? I don’t really feel like going anywhere tonight.”

My smile fell. “... Are you serious?”

Roman shrugged, reaching out to pull me into a hug, leaning his head on top of mine. “Well, they’re your friends, I think they’ll be fine if you just show up,"

I didn’t hug him back— I stood still, holding back the urge to push him off of me. “But... you didn't even have work today,”

“So?” Roman kissed the top of my head, stroking through my hair. Was he perhaps hoping that the affection would dull my disappointment? “It’s been a bit of a lazy day, sure. Everyone needs those. But don’t let me stop you from having fun with your friends, you should go!”

I put my hands on his shoulders, prying him off of me. It felt as though my heart had sunk all the way down into my heels. “You... said you’d meet them,” 

Had this been any other instance, I wouldn’t have cared— I’d have told him to stay in, that it was okay, but it was really bothering me now. Maybe Roman hadn’t changed after all? Had I deluded myself into thinking he had just for the sake of being with him?

“I know, but we can take it another time. Right?” With a sigh, Roman reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Why are you getting so upset about this?”

No— this was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you really asking me that?”

Roman didn’t even look confused, just... annoyed. “Yeah?”

I had to put a lot of energy into not letting my lower lip give in to a quiver. Standing in front of the man I loved, feeling shut down and upset, I finally let it out; “Do you know I don’t even have a key to your place?”

Roman furrowed his brows, clearly not expecting those words out of my mouth. “What does that have to do with anything?—"

“The one time I left a toothbrush here, you returned it to me!” I balled my fists, hating that this was making me feel like a whiny child. “You don’t want to sleep over at my place, you don’t want to meet my friends, and the one time we ran into your mother, you introduced me as your friend!” Saying it out loud only made it more clear to me. This was not okay, nor was it normal.

Roman’s eye twitched— it was obvious that he didn’t like to be confronted about this head-on. He shook his head, looking further annoyed and uncomfortable as his gaze wandered around the room, refusing to meet mine.

“The only thing that has changed, is that you’re no longer fucking those women with the ridiculously long legs!” I said, feeling my tears press up on me. 

This was it for Roman— he groaned, turning to me with a rather angry look on his face; “What the fuck is up with you and your hang-up on the long legs?—“

“Because, Roman, those women were beautiful!” I cried, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “And maybe you’d let them keep their toothbrushes here, because maybe it would be easier for you to embrace someone you think is on your level!” 

Seeing the stunned expression on his face, I angrily wiped away the tear that had rolled down my cheek, grabbing my stuff. I reached for the door, taking one last jab before making my leave; “I should’ve left with Peter when I had the chance,”

It was in this moment that Roman put his hand on the door, slamming it shut with all his might. The bang echoed through the apartment, making me jump and look back at him with wide eyes of shock; the look on his face made my heart threaten to beat out of my chest.

Roman’s breath came out in short, ragged motions, chest heaving with anger. The way his eyes widened with fury had me worried, and his lips shut tightly into a line as his jaw clenched— I had to take a step back. I should’ve known better than to provoke a man like this. 

“If you need a key to know that I’m crazy about you, then I might have to rethink what I’m doing here with you,” he said, his words coming out like a low growl. “Are you that fucking insecure?”

“You make me insecure!” I let in a big heave of air, flailing my arms around as I tried to find the right words. 

“Yeah?” Roman snarked. “Well, if I’m so fucking horrible, maybe you should go back to Peter! Go ahead!”

Had I not been so terrified, I would’ve cried all over again. “Fuck you,”

Roman’s eye twitched once more— “Fuck you, too,”

“Fuck you!” I couldn’t help but grow more and more agitated; I had never been this hurt in my life. “Fuck you and your snoring!”

Roman’s lips parted in confusion, quickly retaliating; “Oh, yeah? Fuck you and your incessant need to be late to everything!”

“Am not!” This was starting to make my blood boil. “Fuck you and your stupid suits!”

Roman seemed to be feeling the same; “Fuck you and your heels!”

“Fuck you and your hair!” 

Somehow, I felt like this fight was shifting into something else.

“Yeah? Well, fuck you and your short fuck-me dresses!” Roman took a step away from the door, nearing me with dangerous steps. “That’s just not appropriate to wear in my fucking office!”

It didn’t take long until this had turned into a screaming match. “Fine, I will wear nothing but baggy jeans and enormous sweaters, even during the summer! Would that make you happy, asshole?” 

Roman groaned; “You’re such a fucking bitch, do you know that?” he yelled, nearly hovering above me. “Of course it wouldn’t, you know that’s not what I meant!”

“What the fuck do you want me to wear, then?!—“

A beat. “What about nothing?”

It didn’t take long for the both of us to understand what was happening, our eyes widening at the same time as it dawned upon us. It also didn’t take long until I flung myself around his neck, our lips meeting in a fiery, angry kiss. Roman lifted me up in no time, my legs wrapping around him. 

“Fuck you,” I breathed in between kisses, feeling my heart beat against his as he carried me further into the apartment.

“Will do,” he said, reaching his bedroom in no time with his long steps. Roman laid me down on the bed, wasting no time crawling on top of me. 

I was still unbelievably angry at him— but somehow, those emotions had turned into flashes of passion. Something told me that our relationship wouldn’t last at this rate, and it only made me more desperate for him. With tears in both our eyes, we somehow managed to get out of our clothes in between hungry kisses, not wanting to be apart even for just a second.

I let out a tiny sob as he kissed down my stomach, feeling my anger simmer in my chest, raging through me like a storm. Roman was so damn infuriating, but I couldn’t bring myself to let him go. I really, really didn’t want to let him go— was this how we would end?

My back arched off the bed and I let out a soft gasp as I felt him lick a wet stripe up my sex; somehow, the pleasure was starting to feel like a relief from the tornado of feelings ravaging my insides. Feeling his tongue trace tight circles around my clit was way too damn overwhelming at this moment, making me want to cry out in more ways than one. “Rome—“ I breathed, feeling another sob bubble up in my chest.

However, it quickly died out as he sucked down on my clit, lapping me up, making me feel like I was on the brink of pure ecstasy. 

Roman knew how to dull down my brain. He knew, and he knew it very well. Right now, that was more of a blessing than a curse.

“Rome, come back here,” I breathed, reaching down to run my fingers through his soft hair. “I can’t— I want you close.”

Roman hummed, his wet lips never leaving me as he made his way back up my body with kisses along my stomach, my chest, my collarbones and my neck. “Thought you hated me,”

I looked up at him, meeting his hard gaze as his lips hovered inches above mine. “Not fully,” I whispered, reaching forward to touch his face. Sometimes, it was hard to believe someone so beautiful could be real. “Only a little.” My hands traced his brows, the curve of his nose, the hollow of his cheeks, touching him as though he was made of glass.

And something about my softness seemed to affect Roman— his green eyes rounded out, looking down at me with an unintelligible emotion I hadn’t seen in him before. Leaning back down, he kissed me once more, no longer able to hold back.

With his chest pressed against mine like this, I couldn’t help but feel soothed from the absolute agony coursing through my veins. I was so, so scared that this would be it, that this night would determine whether or not we stayed together or not— and right now, I put away all our differences, all our hiccups, everything that was damn right infuriating about him, because at the end of the day... I loved this man.

And I hated myself for it.

I let out a gasp as he entered me, giving in to a sigh of relief against his lips. Nothing could ever top this feeling, nothing and no one could ever make me feel this good, and I knew it.

“Fuck you,” Roman whispered against my lips, his breathing further challenged by the feeling of being engulfed by my wet heat in this moment, rolling his hips against mine. “Fuck you for driving me crazy like this.”

Feeling his cock deep inside of me like this was enough to make me submit, my fingers going into his hair as I let out a shaky moan. “Fuck you, too,” I wrapped my legs around him, wanting him closer, feeling my breath hitch in my throat as his thrusts soon enough grew more rough. 

Roman reached down to grab my hips, making me meet the harshness of his thrusts. It was clear that he wasn’t in the mood for being gentle— he wanted to take his anger out on me, and I was going to let him, whether I wanted to or not. 

A deeper, darker part of me loved this. Loved this feeling of having no control, knowing I had no say in what he was doing whatsoever. I could only tighten my fist in his hair, holding on as he continuously thrust his cock deep into me, letting out a string of breathy curses and moans. 

I could feel my legs getting sore as Roman suddenly said something that made my heart stop; “I love you,” he breathed, his grip on my hips tightening. “Stay with me.”

What? What was going on? I let out a cry, letting my body go limp to take his thrusts. My eyes widened as I realized that in this moment, I suddenly had power over our relationship, probably for the first time ever. I could decide whether or not I wanted to stay— he was begging me.

However, it was incredibly hard to make such an important decision when my legs were trembling and my whole lower body was in a state of the highest euphoric feeling on earth. “Liar,” I eventually said, my anger flaring up again at the memory of the events this past month. “You don’t love me, Rome... A-Aah—“

Angered, Roman pulled out of me without warning, flipping me over on my stomach. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, making me wince, as he used his other hand to prop me up to make it easier for him to enter me again. I let out another cry of both pleasure and anger, grabbing at the bedding beneath me as he spoke; “It’s you... For me, it’s only you... Shit,”

Roman let go of my hair, allowing my body to go limp beneath him. With the little power I had left, I instinctually moved my hips to meet his thrusts, wanting more. 

This was possibly the biggest mind-fuck I had ever been through, my brain shutting down as I felt his dick slide in and out of me continuously. My tears continued to press up on my eyes as I felt my orgasm building. “I loved you,” I breathed, feeling his hot, laboured breath against my shoulder and his hair brushing up against the crook of my neck. “I loved you, so, so much…”

It dawned on me that I really, truly did. I had loved him, but I couldn’t love him anymore. 

As Roman grabbed my hips, somehow shifting the angle of his thrusts, I let out a cry as he brushed up against my sweet spot— this was enough to drive me over the edge, coming harder than I probably ever had before. I muffled my string of moans against the bedding beneath me, feeling a tear roll down my cheek, completely spent and overwhelmed.

It didn’t take long before Roman came as well, the harshness of his thrusts coming to a halt as he spilled into me. My eyes widened at the feeling— we’d been so swept up in the moment that we forgot about the condom. Fuck.

I heard Roman’s breath hitch as he pulled out of me, taking in the sight of his cum slowly leaking out of me.

It made me shudder— crap. I rolled over on my back, feeling how much my thighs and hips ached. It was a strange feeling, accompanying the satisfaction of post-coital rapture. I also couldn't piece together whether I liked the feeling of his cum seeping out of me or not. Had the relationship not been in this state, I probably would've found it rather... hot. 

I watched Roman’s chest raise up and sink, his green eyes meeting mine. None of us knew what to say, the sound of our panting filling the room. 

As everything started to dawn on me, I wiped away my remaining tears, sitting up in the bed despite knowing the cum might stain his sheets. Fuck the sheets. “I should go,” I mumbled, not meeting his eyes anymore. “My friends are probably waiting...”

With a sigh, Roman shifted on the bed, laying down next to me. His fingers reached for my arm, hoping to pull me back down and into his embrace. “Stay,”

I looked back at him, unsure what to feel. I couldn’t believe what I was about to say; “No,”

Roman’s expression remained unchanged, possibly expecting that answer. “I’ll go with you, then,”

“No,” I got up, looking for my clothes that had been scattered somewhere on the floor. “I need to go the pharmacy, get a plan B, and then meet my friends. I don’t have time for you anymore.”

That was definitely something he hadn’t expected. Roman sat up, lips parted in confusion as he watched me get dressed; “What is that supposed to mean?”

I felt my lower lip tremble as I got hit with a newfound sense of clarity. “I’m not getting what I want in this relationship. This isn’t good for me. So until you get your priorities straight, I’m leaving you,” As I finished getting dressed, I turned to him. “Thanks for this, Rome... Have a good night.”

Leaving the bedroom with tears in my eyes, I did my best to hold back yet another sob. I quickly put my shoes on, not wanting to waste another second in his ridiculously big penthouse. I wiped away the mascara stains on my cheeks in the hallway mirror when Roman appeared, back in his clothes.

“Just... Let’s talk about this, okay? Let’s not make a rash decision,” he said, nearing me. “We can make this work. Give it some time.”

It was hard to look at him right now, especially when he looked this sexed-up. I didn’t even want to answer him, making my way to the door.

“Come on!” Roman was starting to sound more desperate, reaching out for my wrist. “This can work!—“

I turned around, my gaze hardening. It was so damn hard to resist him, and I needed to get my decision confirmed. “Say it again,” I said, knowing what would ensue.

Confused, Roman’s brows furrowed; “This can work...?”

“No,” This was it. This was the moment. “Tell me you love me, now that we’re not in bed. Mean it.”

Roman froze, and it was clear that his mind was working overtime. I held my breath, hoping that I would be proven wrong, that this was something we could overcome. However, with a shaky breath, Roman let go of my wrist, taking a step back. He lowered his head in newfound shame, giving me a silent approval to leave.

Sighing, I felt as though my heart had broken into a thousand tiny pieces.  How was it possible that I had let him disappoint me over and over? “Thought so,” I took one last look at him, feeling a sob build in my throat. “Bye, Roman.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It had been a week since I had seen Roman, and it had been a week of pure agony. I hadn't stopped crying, having to take a week off of work, buying takeaway dinners every day because I didn't have the energy to get out of bed most of the time. 

Agony. Pure agony. 

Quite frankly, it made me feel ridiculous. I couldn't believe that I had let myself fall apart because of a man. But this wasn't an ordinary man— This was Roman. The previous-love-of-my-life Roman. Man-of-my-dreams Roman. How could I expect myself to be okay after a breakup like that?

Waking up on Saturday was even worse. The day I would usually have to follow his ridiculously cute 'closeness-rule'. The day we would take our stroll in the park. 

However, a small voice in my head asked me; why can't you just do that yourself? And that was exactly how I ended up back in Clifford Park under that same lamp as usual. A small part of me hoped he would show up, but another part of me went into a tiny panic over that thought. 

I stretched out my hand to let my fingers run over the cold metal where Roman had etched in our initials. In truth, I had found it quite stupid when he had suggested to do it— it was something kids did, teenagers, not grown adults? However, in this moment, I couldn't help but realize how romantic it was. That we were eternally etched onto something, a tiny memory of us and what we used to be. 

The lamp was starting to feel like a tombstone for a beloved, and I wiped away the tear that rolled down my cheek, not necessarily loving the thought of crying in public. Forcing myself to leave, I lowered my head as I passed by a man with a rather familiar scent, trying not to think too much about it. But my curiosity got the best of me— I turned around, watching the man in the familiar coat turn back around. Had he looked at me too? Was that who I thought it was?

I immediately sped up. I shouldn't be here.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Another week had almost passed, and I was starting to feel better. I had found out that the ache in my heart could easily be subsided by a glass of wine or a day out with my friends, but nothing could fill the hole Roman had left in my soul.

However, I had hoped that I would feel better about the whole ordeal at this point. Who needed a man that couldn't commit? Definitely not me.

... Definitely not. 

It was a Friday now, and I had just gotten off of work. I was getting ready to leave for drinks with my friends once more, seeing as that was the best remedy. And when I heard a knock at my door, I opened it without a second thought— it was probably one of my girlfriends asking to borrow a pair of shoes, as always. 

Meaning, when I saw who it was, I completely froze as my lips parted in shock.

There he was; Roman let out a shaky breath as he met my gaze. His hair wasn't styled, lying in soft waves over his forehead, and he had ditched his usual suits for a casual, formal look. Typical Roman— he couldn't even show up looking like a normal human being. Ever. 

However, I wasn't about to complain. I held my breath, unsure what to say or do. 

And suddenly, he spoke up; “Did you know I failed math class?”

I couldn’t help but let my jaw fall, giving him a look. "... What?” Is this really what he chose to say right now? It was definitely not what I had expected. 

Roman shrugged, not meeting my gaze anymore. “I had to redo it over and over again, probably up to three times,” he mumbled, putting his hands into his pockets. "When it comes to important things, I usually fuck it up. Majorly. And it seems to apply with... this as well."

My knuckles were turning white by the sheer force I was holding onto the door. It felt as though I couldn't breathe, turning to stone. 

"I'm also bad at sharing," Roman continued, looking up from the floor. "Really bad. And I'm sort of legally not allowed to give out spare keys to anyone, because of security reasons my company has put in place. So I'm sorry that it didn't cross my mind. But, wait, hold on—" He pulled one hand out of his pockets, reaching out his palm to me. 

And there it was. A key. With a shaky hand, I took it into mine, trying not to pay too much attention to the feeling of his hand against mine after so much time apart. 

Roman let out a relieved sigh, nodding to himself. "The thing about the toothbrush... Fuck, I've been thinking about it endlessly, and I see how it looks now. I genuinely thought you'd probably want it back, it didn't even hit me that you might've wanted a toothbrush at my place, and I have nothing against that. It's... cute, actually,"

I let go of the door with my other hand, putting the keys into my front pocket. I did my best to steady my breathing; I hadn't been this overwhelmed in a while. "Roman, I didn't expect you here—"

"—And the thing about my mother," Roman was practically rambling on at this point. Was he nervous? "She's insane. I don't introduce her to anyone, actually. If she found out we were dating, she'd probably put you through hell and back to see if you'd be the right fit for the 'future of the company', as she says. I wanted to spare you. So, again, sorry. Should've cleared that up."

Another shaky breath escaped me, not knowing what to say. 

Roman nodded to himself, glancing around the hallway to check that we were still alone. "And... I freaked out about meeting your friends. I have an inkling that they hate me, which they sort of have all the right to do," 

"Oh, Roman," I took a step forward, mostly out of pure habit. I had to stop myself from reaching up to his face and stroke through his hair. "Why didn't you just... tell me?"

Roman shrugged, looking rather embarrassed. "You didn't tell me that it bothered you,"

I sighed— he was right. "I'm getting a deja vu. I thought we were supposed to better at communicating, now," 

"I know," Without being invited in, Roman stepped into my apartment, checking it out. It was so typical of him to assume that he would be welcome despite our fight, but I couldn't help but find it sort of... attractive. Arrogant man. I closed the door behind us as I watched him, crossing my arms over my chest. It looked like he wasn't planning on leaving any time soon, sticking out his hand to bump the lamp on my ceiling as though he was bored; "Did I ever tell you I love this place?"

Grimacing, I rolled my eyes. The time he didn't want to stay over at my place was still lingering in the back of my mind. "As if,"

"No, I do," He turned to me, a tiny hint of his signature smirk appearing on his lips. "It's just that your bed is ridiculously tiny. Did you ever notice that I'm longer than your bed?" 

I scoured my brain for that information, flustered. How was it possible for someone to be so charming? Giving up, I shook my head and admitted defeat. I wasn't going to win this mental battle against myself, and I knew it. I wanted him here, whether I admitted to it or not.

Allowing his smirk to grow, Roman's green eyes shimmered with hope. "It seems this will take a while.... Looks like I might have to spend the night,"

I bit back a smile— bastard.

[writermani4c]

Me and the Devil | Count Orlok x Reader

summary: You're a nun at an isolated convent. He is in your mind, eating away your mind bit by bit, soon destroying the pillars of your faith. Until you have no choice but to surrender to him, he will destroy all that is necessary.

warnings: He's a vampire. Of course he doesn't have to play fair, does he? There is mind control and there are some rather bloody deaths. I don't think I'm really good with that, I don't think it's too heavy, but it's good that there's a warning.

:: We girls can't bear to see a vampire who is completely obsessed with a woman, who will spill as much blood as it takes to get her, and who has already fallen in love with her. I'm completely obsessed by Nosferatu, even though I couldn't get a screening where I live. This is basically my brain being eaten away by Bill Skarsgard's hunger… I'm always hungry for Bill, but at this point in time I could be kept in a secluded castle to give birth to all of his babies, and I mean that. I hope you enjoy this. By the way, good luck in 2024!

The high-pitched squeak penetrated the stones of the convent, seeping like moss into the soft, bumpy cracks in the porosity, and imitated the soft voice of a wanderer saying a prayer in a dead language, older than time. His understanding was forgotten by men, but that didn't silence him. That voice was still preserved in the air that surrounded you like a thick mantle covering a thick cotton habit, as light as the coat of a holy lamb, which covered you from head to toe in a sacred enclosure. 

Through the narrow window of his room, all that showed were the orange Carpathian mountain ranges in the middle of a mild autumn, with the taste of hot tea and the smell of a fire burning in the evening, when the temperature dropped at night.

The mountain ranges and that stone fortress, far from the convent and yet terribly close.

Every day, the castle seemed to move. When you weren't watching it with your stoic expression, it seemed to grow tentacles over its foundation and creep up slowly. Depending on the day, it seemed further away, with only the tip of its towers appearing between the hills. But when you were getting ready for bed, tucked up in the modest comfort of your little room and wrapped in the soft blanket of your nightgown, the castle seemed terribly close to you, so close that you could feel its evil aura as you raised your hand in a vain attempt to touch it. 

He was calling you. A strength, a terror, a hungry longing.

Come to me, my eternal beloved. 

Tormented, you choked on your own breath. The deep, seductive sound of that voice crept under your blankets at night, and under the modest garments of your nightgown, finding your soft, easy-to-creep skin. His touch was physical, even if you often groped your skin in search of those hands and found nothing but loneliness, and intimacy. So intimate that not even the devil himself, cruel and cunning, could emulate such evil in his attempt to corrupt the Lord Jesus in his trial in the desert.

It scared you.

The feeling of intimacy that belongs to something, that is lost until it is regained. That invisible hand, as well as the voice that only you heard, shook your sense of self and made you feel the narrow mattress slipping off your back, the thin blanket sliding off your body and your fear of dissolving as you floated above the bed. A demonic, ghostly vision, with your eyes rolled back in a trance that nothing and no one could stop.

You felt it, more intimately than you felt anything else, and that was scarier than any of the other traps in hell.

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— My child — greeted the voice on the other side of the wooden confessional booth. The only voice you could turn to in times of extreme need. Father Lengyel was an elderly authority in the convent, as was Mother Superior Illés. If it hadn't been for that, you wouldn't have had the courage to confide in him your greatest fears, seeking the reassurance of his gentle voice. — In your praiseworthy stillness, I can see that something is troubling you. You owe me your ordeal, child.

— Father, help me! — Tired and sleepless after a night awake, with your knees against the floor praying to ward off the tentacles of evil, you felt your eyes grow heavy as you saw the low, hunchbacked shadow of the priest. — I'm cursed. I didn't do anything about it, but I know that the shadow that haunts me was born with me, wrapped around me like an umbilical cord that has never been amputated. I feel it and sometimes I hear its impatience calling my name.

— Fear not, my child. No shadow of a curse is stronger than our Lord's mercy on your spirit, waking you up every morning with a breath of life.

But maybe it's not our Lord, you thought bitterly. You almost disbelieved that God would even work in your cause, probably deciding to wash his hands of you and leave you alone on your ordeal. This thought angered you, wondering how God, your holy God to whom you dedicated your time and efforts to serve with blind devotion, could leave one of his daughters helpless when the claws of the nefarious one threatened to entangle her? 

And anger, even though it was blasphemy with your Father, was easier to manage in your restless spirit than the fear that perhaps God hadn't let go of your hand. Perhaps he was there, following in your footsteps not long ago, weeping blood for not being able to do anything to prevent the evils that awaited you. Maybe there were forces greater than the salvation you blindly tried to reach like a child afraid of the dark.

That thought you swept from your mind, because if that thing was stronger than the Savior you were turning to, there would be no reason to be reluctant in its evil call.

— I beg you, Father, with all the infinite goodness of your being, pray for my soul. 

— I will, my child. You too, pray for wisdom and that the Lord, in his infinite love, will bring you comfort. 

When you left the confessional, you got down on your knees in front of the proudly erected altar. The suffering face of that poor man in his moment of greatest difficulty never comforted you, but inspired you. If even he, the son and Messiah, found the purpose to remain firm on the narrow road of faith, you too would find the strength to stay in the light. You would have to pass through that tortuous valley to have your healing.

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You weren't the youngest in the convent, but you weren't the oldest either. When you arrived, with your only bag with a few belongings and a photo of the home you grew up in, the home that always seemed unworthy of your torments about the terror that was trying to get its claws into you, there were older girls who took you in as a younger sister, teaching you the trade so that you could also teach those who came to the convent after you. This was the mission: you didn't serve God's pure purpose alone, but learned from your sisters so that you could teach others in a cycle that stretched out like an infinite patchwork quilt. 

Among his protégés, the young Agnes was the most cherished. So young and intelligent, she was your faithful dog in the convent corridors. Agnes, who came from a poorer and more literate family than yours, found comfort in listening to you read the Psalms, the book they were given to study. Agnes' chubby cheeks and earthy brown eyes reminded you of the child you would never have, the one you could never run your hand through and love. The Lord was merciful to you in giving you a sister to fill that void and you gave her all the attention you could. Your beloved Agnes sat next to you while you ate your lunch in silence. The soup was thinner, to save supplies for the harsh winter, and the bread was smaller. All deposits were saved and all fasting was done in summer and fall, because in winter your bodies' strength was tested by the ice that seemed to be trying to infiltrate your bones. They would have to eat better to survive until spring.

Next to him, young Agnes choked on her bread.

— Eat slowly. 

— Pardon me, sister! — She stopped eating, lowering her head as if she expected to be punished. You smiled, running your hand over your protégé's head. 

— Don't be like that. I'm talking for your own good, chew better, it also helps to fill your stomach.

The girl turned her face towards you with a soft, youthful smile. 

A low, loud sound caught their attention. It was as if the ceiling had broken, so you looked up in doubt, but it seemed as firm as ever. Surprised gasps and the sound of footsteps moving across the stone floor made you stand up and look around, at the shocked faces of your sisters. 

— Stay behind me, Agnes. — You stood in front of the girl, shielding her with your body, while you searched for the cause of the commotion among the others. 

Another thud made you find the source of the terror. Your older sister, a girl so genuinely kind that she wouldn't mind giving up her own shoes and going barefoot if she had to. Olga. Olga, who was so generous that she always presented the others with little embroideries on old linen handkerchiefs, making them priceless pieces. Olga who hugged you as soon as you arrived, immensely happy as if you were a relative she hadn't seen for years and who was returning home. Your beloved sister Olga's nose was covered in blood and her front teeth were in an equally miserable state. Her blue eyes were completely covered by dark pupils, making them animalistic as she looked around at the familiar faces until she stopped at you. 

She gritted her teeth painfully, teasing the veins in her neck. Olga no longer knew you. She didn't look at you like her younger sister, but with anger.

— Ungrateful! Damn you! — She pointed her slender, cocked forefinger, the knuckles seeming to ache with the effort. — Ungrateful and  damned, unfortunate creature! Look what I do to what you love so much, look what I do to the object of your efforts!

Olga moved her face away from the table enough to almost fall backwards, gripping the edge of the table with her fingers tightly, before putting all her strength forward and, with a hollow sound of something breaking, smashing her nose against the wooden table. The noise tore you apart. Young Agnes' arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you pushed her back. 

Mother Illés rushed into the dining hall. 

She gave you an appeasing look and you understood. With agility, you gathered all the younger girls, totally terrified, and asked them to follow you out while Olga, surrounded and supported by her older sisters, screamed:

— Love me! Devote yourself to me! Command me if you wish, but don't ignore me, my beloved, don't deny me, for I am your lord and savior! I am the master of your pure and tormented soul, my beloved! 

But you, terrified, denied his call once again. You covered your ears as you led the girls into the courtyard outside. The dry autumn wind enveloped you, your voices, but did nothing to muffle the terror in your minds. Little Agnes was still wrapped tightly in your body and soon the others followed suit, seeking warmth in your shivering, freezing body. Concentrating on them, on reassuring them, took your mind off the torturous thought that, yes, he was impatient.

All those years of “tranquility” were his gift, his way of making you surrender voluntarily. But he was lonely. He was hungry. 

Now he controlled Olga's body. 

But not just her. 

That same night, while Olga was tied to her bed under the watchful eye of Mother Illés, Annabeth began to dance as she blew out the candles. You didn't see it, you were busy with your chores, but the others saw it and told you about it in sad, frightened voices. Annabeth, so young and playful, began to twirl around and the others thought she was just playing. The girl liked to play games, hiding pine cones under her pillows and little flowers in the sleeves of her habits. 

She spun around mesmerized, spinning faster and faster and more violently. Her feet seemed bewitched and she suffered without even being able to move her mouth to do so, her teeth clenched in a painful grind as her jaw unhinged. The candles on the altar grew, fueled by something supernatural and unworthy, dancing along with young Annabeth.

That macabre dance ended in a tableau and the flames touching the young woman's habit. The fire consumed her without anyone being able to put it out; no amount of water could stop the flames. They consumed Annabeth until there was nothing left. In her death, she said nothing, but tearing her clothes to get rid of the fire, her name was torn into the soft skin of my body. Her name was everywhere, written with love, sorrow and anger. Like a love-hate letter, he wrote to you through the skin of an innocent girl. 

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You hadn't slept a wink for three nights. 

At the slightest sign of unconsciousness, as you blinked your eyes a little more slowly, it was as if he was lurking there waiting to take you, and this made you resist even though your body could barely stand.

The mother didn't let you take part in the funeral, allowing you only a brief farewell before you were taken to your chambers to rest. 

You didn't want to rest.

Even so, you didn't have the strength to move. Perhaps it was tiredness or apathy, the feeling that all your efforts were useless.You lay there in your narrow bed, watching the day fade away through the shadows on the wall.

The night was his territory. 

Night was when he hid in the wind and entered his room.

Even though he wanted to, there was no voice in his throat to scream and a hot tear ran down his left eye. 

The door to his room opened and, to his relief, Father Lengyel entered his room. The black cloak swirled solemnly around him, like something divine coming to his rescue.

— What ails you, my dear!

— A large, slender hand, smelling of scrubbed earth, touched his face. There was a certain softness to it, even though the ice in your palms made you sigh with the thermal shock. — My poor little lamb! 

The man held your face lovingly, with such care that you simply let go, allowing yourself to cry in dismay at his attentive care. Father Lengyel, so small and twisted, sat on the edge of your bed. A candle burned on the chair on the other side of the room, the glow of the fire casting shadows on the wall next to your bed and leaving you cloaked in that lonely corner. Father Lengyel kissed your cheek, with those closed, dead lips, so cold they made you shiver.

— Father!

— Poor creature!

— My shadow is growing. — You confessed, leaning your face on the old man's hand. — My shadow consumed poor Olga and Annabeth, casting them into the valley of the storm. 

Father Lengyel pulled the blanket away from your body and, in the narrow space that barely fit a body, he lay down with you. Your eyes widened as the man pressed himself against your body. The man you had always seen as a loving and attentive father, a listener incapable of the slightest judgment, lay beside you with the warmth of a lover. 

— You curse us all, my sweet. — His mouth curved into a smile that only reflected darkness. — Everyone, everyone, everyone. My eyes, so blessed with the beauty of your soft skin and childish eyes, your sweet mouth and the shaggy strands of your eyebrows, became the object of his dark admirer's envy and, look, what he did to me.

In the short distance between your faces, that distance you wanted to increase at all costs, you could make out the old man's wrinkled features. His withered cheeks, the corners of his eyes creased by years and years of study and service to the church. His thinning hair was pearly white on his straight head, with little spots like freckles. The eyes, previously blue, weren't there. 

In their place, there was the emptiness of two hollow holes whose darkness seemed to feed with pleasure. 

The priest smiled in her direction.

— Smile, my dear. Who else in the world would be as adored and cherished as you? What other soul would be as worthy of all the fascination of eyes that have seen the rise and fall of empires as the rising and setting of the sun? There are worse ways to live. In complete ignorance, never seen and never remembered, gradually rotting away like this old man. 

In an unknown breath, you felt the instinct to fight with the same strength as the archangels as you sat up in bed, your body trembling from the effort. The priest continued to lie there, moaning with satisfaction as he enjoyed the smell of your hair against the pillow where you had shed your tears. 

He was totally possessed. The evil had taken hold of the most benevolent man you've ever had the pleasure of knowing, save only his own father, a man so generous that he gave up his beloved daughter to the care of a convent without ever doubting his desires to follow a holy life. All was lost.

You got out of bed, your legs wobbly as you dragged yourself out of the room. There were few lit candles and a long corridor. Carefully, you hugged your body and left your quarters, dreading the next demonic sight you would encounter on your way.

The convent seemed more alive than ever. A complete organism. The walls moved as it breathed and guided you in silence, the cold accompanying you like a guardian, a raven on your sullen shoulders. The moon was high in the sky, its pearly glow illuminating what not even candle flames could touch. And you walked, leaning on the walls, groping for balance. In the dining hall, where Olga's blood was embedded in the wood of one of the tables, you saw the shadows of the feet of all your beloved sisters and your devoted mother.

They all floated solemnly, with ropes around their necks. They all looked at you with pupils consumed by darkness and wide smiles, so big that they seemed to rejoice in your presence. 

— My beloved! — cried Clara. 

— Beacon of my darkness! — said Lucia. 

— Don't you see, my beloved? 

With dread, you walked around the tables, looking into their faces. Every single one of them. The rope wasn't taut, they were floating under the invisible force that kept them alive only for a brief moment. Just long enough for you to see them, to remember their names and their faces, their voices, their lives and their untouchable faith. Because they, like your Savior, had no power to stop the terrors you were cursed with at birth.

As soon as your cry marked his arrival in this rotten, petty and cheap world, he also felt the pain in his chest, where his lungs were supposed to work. Your soft cry marked the raw, lifeless gasp of the thing that woke up to take in its big, slender hands what was rightfully its: that poor soul, which had never found a single day's peace, shrouded in the melancholy of that fateful encounter. 

Nothing could stop her soul from touching him, much less his emptiness from possessing her soul.

It was a perfect fit, an unspoken agreement between heaven and hell. God, all merciful, gave you up for the greater good. You were eternally linked. 

And your sisters, mother and father paid the price for coming between the two of you, for taking you away from your true home and your true master. They filled your days with their miserable little lives, with miserable knowledge, with miserable privations for such... miserable glory. 

— I have set you free, my beloved. I have loosened the nails that bound you to your cross. — Murmured the mother, with jubilant eyes, cheeks streaked with sweet tears. Your stern and beneficent mother. — My obsession is the key to this filthy, worthless prison. Come, darling, and enjoy with me all the pleasures you've been denied. Come quickly, my beloved, put an end to my loneliness.

His shadow has grown over you, outside in the courtyard.

— Spare them! I beg you! — Her voice roared over the tearful smiles of her sisters. Young Agnes wiggled her legs, looking at you with that untouched childish gaze, as if she were throwing herself into dense fluffy clouds and not into the abyss of death, into the blackness of darkness. — Spare them and I'll follow you without looking back. I will never desire anything other than your company, nor will I follow any other path than the one your feet once trod.

Your sisters' laughter exploded through the high ceiling, laden with a mockery that didn't belong to them.

Bewitched, they all looked down at you with equal dark amusement, their voices blending together like a spiral that drained the strength from your legs. 

— Don't you understand yet, my holy lamb? — Smiled sweet Agnes. — There's no bargaining. Whether they live or die, you will still be mine.Even in death, I will pull you back and chain you to me. I myself have suffered many years of being bound to the prison of my desires for you, waiting for you for countless years, feeling the weight of your rejection, cruel lover. 

— But you love me, don't you?

— Every part of me to every part of you, my sweetness. 

— So give me these gifts. Spare my beloved sisters, my fellow human beings, those sweet women with pure hearts who have guarded me long enough for you to come and take your rightful possession. They are not guilty, but guardians. — On your knees, you clasped your hands to your chest, begging the devil for mercy. — I know I wasn't good to you, I was insensitive to your call, but they are not to blame.You'll have all my devotion if you spare them, but if you kill them, even though you have my body and my spirit, you'll never have a drop of my attention. 

The silence of the souls hanging from the ceiling of the convent refectory echoed their inconsolable weeping.Thick tears and a plea so strong that it could make the souls turn over in their graves. 

The doors opened in a rush, letting the cold wind enter the dining hall. 

For the first time, under the ethereal light of the moon, as if in a macabre mixture of dream and nightmare intertwined by the thin veil of unconsciousness, you saw it.Not its aura or its agonized call, you saw the creature with your own eyes. 

You, who know so little about men, had never seen such a figure. 

So tall that you had to stoop to pass through the door that you would walk through without any difficulty.Eyes so deep that no light could reach them. A face hardened by the spectre of death, with a long nose and a thick moustache of a deep shade of black.He entered the sacred ground with equal parts ease and pain, each step a necessary torture to reach the object of his desire. The soul he so coveted in his millennial solitude, forgotten by the world, completely abandoned under the promise of a single soul that the heavens did not claim, a soul he could corrupt at will. 

Yours to devour, he thought at first, perhaps resentful that he was also chained to a lowly mortal, a wandering and very basic creature. Yours to torment, he thought, when you were very young and saw his shadow in your room for the first time. Yours to worship, he realized now, pulling her by her bare arms to stand up.

The creature, hungry for something, for some compensation for its endless loneliness, brought its face close to his and, with a touch of malice, stuck out its tongue, licking the length of his tears with its cold, inhuman breath. 

— I thought you'd wait for me in your habit, my beloved.I was particularly looking forward to it. — He lowered his cold, vile gaze, delving into the shape of your body beneath the nightgown with which you were forced to rest, a fabric so thin of light cotton that it hung down your body, revealing through the worn nature of the fabric the color of your stiff nipples against the fabric. He gasped with pleasure. — But what unparalleled pleasure it is to see you in such intimate attire, my eternal obsession. 

His hands, holding her face, were huge, with large, aged nails. Nails that would have dug into the earth to escape the grave. Their coldness was uncomfortable, but, given the horrors in your mind, you found yourself accepting their touch as a shred of comfort.

It destroyed your sanity, that it would at least give you the soothing balm of a caress.

— Please! — you sighed with a breath, a breath as anguished as it was tired. 

Your hands touched his, your eyes full of life and fear threatened his darkness with such a benevolent request, something the creature had never witnessed. 

Those like you, mortals, used to beg for mercy on your own life, on your knees and with the greatest promises of riches and pleasures.And here you were, a soul who would never reach heaven, asking for mercy for others when it was your fate that was at stake.

How he loved you! How he hated you!

— Treating it as my personal gift and demonstration of my esteem, these women live by my ability to have mercy on the requests of your heart. — He approached your warmth, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, the salt of your feverish skin. All his vitality was more than banal desire, he was madly fissured by every cell of his anatomy, every rudimentary bit of his mortal Anatomy, and so doomed to the horrors of putrefaction. — My eternal living flame, how it tormented me not to be able to touch it. How it torments me right now to feel the softness of your skin. 

The creature's eyes mapped your face, his eyes so vivid and striking in color, the visage on your skin, the softness of his mouth as you breathed audibly, so bruised by fatigue that you didn't even budge when he wrapped you in his arms like a bruised little bird. Her soft sigh, nesting her head against his shoulder, was the fuel for him to release the women from their ropes, gently lowering them until their feet touched the ground.

— As long as you live, my ladies, be the witness of my triumph in having my sweet beloved in my arms for eternity.

He lowered his face in your direction, the ancient smell on his clothes made you scratch your nose. 

The texture of his mustache was thick. When his funeral lips touched yours, you tried to resist. Never before have you felt the pleasure of a passionate kiss or a love that took your breath away. But he knew what he'd been waiting for, holding you tightly by the back of your head, wrapping himself around you menacingly as his mustache scratched and skin immaculate from his face. His lips were hard, demanding and hungry.

His mouth ate you as his last hope, the last of pleasures and torments, a feast for a dying man.

The exchange, life and death, touching each other for the first time ignited an impulse in you. The impulse that matched his kiss, because that was the deal. You gave in, letting your lips submit to the kiss. Your body was surprised as you gasped with pleasure at corresponding with him, stimulated by the passion with which he held you. The human body is capable of many bargains to continue resisting.

And you, who had resisted for so long, gave in to that bittersweet feeling of surrender, feeling it take against your body.

Her body gradually sank into the feeling of being supported. As her dark lover's lips devoured hers, the world became a darker and darker place, the hiss of the wind seeping into her ears like spilled poison.  Between soft gasps, feeling the creature suck on his lips, unable to be completely satiated, his body gave in to the strain, falling into a powerful sleep. Realizing that you no longer corresponded with him, he walked away, looking at her with apprehension. His right hand, large and bony, rested on his chest. 

The beating of his heart was quiet, yet powerful. Each beat rumbling softly against the bones of his chest. 

Under the gaze of the bewitched nuns, he disappeared with the night, carrying with him the only one with whom he could share his eternal night.

♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰

[chadleys]

gallons of the stuff. | roman godfrey

›› pairing: roman godfrey x f!reader

›› wordcount: 3.2k

›› genre: smut, established relationship

›› rating: 18+, mdni

›› synopsis: you've recently stopped taking your birth control. roman has a problem with that.

›› warnings: period sex, bloodplay, oral sex, dirty talk, soft dom!roman, very explicit tampon scene, both characters are in high school but 18

›› misc: i haven't written in months, very out of practice. it's true - i'm back on my hemlock grove bullshit. if you're new here, we love bloodplay in this household. i wrote this in one sitting, and barely edited it. it's probably riddled with typos.

you had just gotten out of your last class for the day; you spied peter and roman talking near your locker. ❝ hi. ❞ you greeted peter with a wave, but roman you clung to and tried to grab a kiss on tip toes from.

roman, however, took a step back before you could make it. you tripped and almost landed right in front of him.

it was peter who stopped you from falling completely, as roman had moved back even further. he wasn't speaking, instead looking strangely at you, like you had grown a few extra heads in your couple hours apart.

❝ dude, what the hell? ❞ peter chastised his friend.

you stood there, hurt that your own boyfriend didn't want to kiss you, and when roman continued to just stare silently at you, you finally waved an impatient hand in front of his face. ❝ um, hello? ❞

❝ what happened? ❞ he asked quietly. ❝ what did you do? something's … different. ❞

you shrugged, looking to peter for help. he shrugged, too, looking between the two of you.

❝ i don't know, what could be different? i mean, what do you mean? ❞ roman wasn't making any sense.

roman's gaze flickered between you and peter, his mind racing as he seemingly tried to pinpoint what exactly felt off about you. was it your demeanor? your scent? it didn't seem he could put his finger on it, but something had definitely changed since he'd last seen you this morning.

❝ look, if you're not gonna answer me and just give me the silent treatment, i'll take myself home. ❞

❝ I'll give you a ride, ❞ peter offered, but roman chose that moment to reach out and grab your wrist, pulling you back to him.

❝ are you hurt? ❞ he finally asked. his eyes were moving a mile a minute over you, your face and body. ❝ you smell like … blood. ❞

you blushed from the tips of your toes all the way to your forehead. ❝ i mean, ❞ you said, speaking even more quietly than roman had, ❝ it is that time of the month … ❞

but roman had been around you countless times during your period. he liked it, as any vampire would, but he'd never acted this strange about it.

roman's expression softened slightly as he processed your words, but there was still a flicker of something else behind his eyes. ❝ I'm sorry, ❞ he murmured, his voice low. ❝ It's just different today. it's ... more. did something happen? ❞

❝ okay, i'm gonna take this as my cue to leave, ❞ peter said warily, backing away from the two of you.

as good of a friend as peter was, you hardly noticed him go. you were focused on roman, and moreso on his focus on you.

❝ roman, i'm sorry, i don't … know what could be different. ❞ maybe you were bleeding through your shorts? that would be embarrassing. but no, you had just checked in the bathroom mirror before last class. there was no way your flow had become so heavy within the last hour.

roman's intense gaze lingered on your face, his mind racing with possibilities. ❝ can we go home? i'm … it's dangerous for us to be here, together, right now. with you like that. ❞ he tugged at your hand, leading you to the front doors.

as you neared the school parking lot, you remembered something. about a month ago, just after your last period, you had made a change. something you'd been wanting to do for a while.

❝ roman. ❞ you stopped in your tracks, gazing at him. ❝ i remember … i had been wanting to for a while, just to see how i'd do without it, but … a little while back i stopped my birth control. ❞

roman's eyes widened, his grip on your hand tightening involuntarily. ❝ you … stopped? ❞ he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. ❝ why … why would you … do that? ❞

❝ i - i thought it might be causing some of my weight gain, plus i was always fucking hungry. and my mood swings … i thought it would help, ❞ you answered meekly. roman was clearly upset about this.

❝ are you insane? ❞ roman hissed, stepping close to you so that no other passing students would hear. ❝ that's so fucking dangerous. you're gonna be bleeding so much more without it. do you really have that much faith in my self-control? ❞

❝ i didn't think … ❞ was all you said. of course you didn't, fucking idiot that you were. your boyfriend was upir, and here you were giving your body more of a reason to tempt his hunger.

roman sighed, his anger melting away into concern as he pulled you closer to him. ❝ we need to get you home, now. i'll … i'll take care of you. ❞ he guided you toward the car; it seemed his mind was already racing thinking about what he was going to do with you.

how he was possibly planning to ' take care ' of you was anyone's guess. he probably wanted to devour you right now …

on the ride home, you sat with your legs clamped together, as if that would help. roman drove with a hand over his mouth and nose, as if that would help.

❝ roman, i'm really sorry, ❞ you blurted. ❝ i didn't think about you, about how it would affect you, and i should have … ❞

roman's severe expression softened, and he reached over to take your hand in his own. ❝ it's okay, ❞ he reassured you gently. ❝ we'll figure it out. we just need to … be careful. ❞

he pulled into the driveway, escorting you gently inside with a hand at the small of your back. the two of you hurried up to roman's room.

you, however, were now afraid to even sit down anywhere. what if you bled through your tampon? bled on roman's sheets? that would really set him off.

so you stood awkwardly at roman's bedside table.

roman watched your discomfort with a mix of concern and frustration. ❝ baby, come here, ❞ he murmured, gesturing for you to sit on the edge of the bed. ❝ i promise, i won't let anything happen to you. just … relax. ❞

you took a seat, gingerly, making sure not to sit too close to him.

roman moved in closer, his gaze softening as he took your hand in his. ❝ i'm sorry if i scared you earlier, ❞ he said quietly. ❝ i just … worry about you. you know that. ❞ his thumb brushed soothingly over the back of your hand.

you nodded - roman typically treated you like you were some kind of treasure, one he had to make sure was safe, that he couldn't bear to lose. ❝ i know, and … i'm grateful. i promise i'll start taking it again and get back on my schedule tonight. ❞

roman kissed your knuckles, gazing up at you through his long lashes. he didn't say anything, and his expression was unreadable. slowly, his lips trailed back and forth over your knuckles. he seemed about to say something, but didn't. it seemed to you that his eyes had darkened.

you took over, flirting your fingers over roman's lips, loving how soft and perfect they were. ❝ roman? what're you thinking? ❞

roman's eyes darkened further as he gazed up at you, a flicker of desire dancing in their depths. ❝ just thinking … that it might be better if you stayed off of it. i mean … how selfish of me would it be to make you get back on, when you were having so many issues? ❞

his voice was quiet, but you heard a hint of something else. something dangerous.

your lips parted, and you slid your hand from his grasp, cradling his jaw. ❝ are you sure? i don't wanna make things awful for you or - ❞

roman's lips curved into a slow, sensual smile at your touch. ❝ darling, ❞ he murmured, his voice low and husky. ❝ you could never make things awful for me. ❞ his hand rose to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin softly. ❝ in fact, i think it might be rather … exciting. ❞

❝ exciting how? ❞ you squeezed your thighs together to try and quell your growing arousal. ❝ d - didn't you just say it'll be dangerous? ❞

roman's lips quirked into a mischievous grin. ❝ sure it will be, ❞ he purred, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. ❝ but, with you being off birth control, you're going to be bleeding a lot heavier. and with all that blood going south, you're gonna be so horny … why don't you let me help? ❞ as he spoke, his gaze darkened again, the hunger smoldering in his eyes now unmistakable.

an embarrassing little moan escaped you, and you shuffled closer to your boyfriend. ❝ i'm already horny for you, roman. it's not like i don't beg for your cock practically every chance i get … you really think it'll be worse now? ❞ it had been many years since you started birth control; you weren't sure what to expect being off of it.

roman's breath hitched at your words, his desire igniting like wildfire. ❝ oh, angel, ❞ he murmured, his voice rough with need. ❝ i think it'll be a whole lot worse. but don't worry, ❞ he added, one big hand sliding down to caress your thigh. ❝ i'll take care of you. i'll make sure you're properly satisfied. ❞ his gaze smoldered with primal hunger as he leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

those words - ' i'll take care of you ' … roman had spoken them to you many times before. they always had the desired effect; to make you spread your legs and ache for him to be between them, to be true to his word.

you did so now, leaning back as he kissed you, spreading your legs wide for him to settle between them. you were still worried about bleeding onto his expensive sheets, but knew roman would take care of it if you did.

roman groaned into the kiss as he settled between your legs, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he ground his growing erection against your core. ❝ god, baby, ❞ he muttered, his voice thick with desire. ❝ you smell so fucking good. i could smell it as soon as you got up this morning, but … i wasn't sure. i didn't know what it could be. ❞

he broke the kiss to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his tongue tracing teasing patterns over your skin. his hand slipped between your bodies, rubbing gently at your clit through the fabric of your shorts.

you let out a broken moan, clinging to his broad frame. ❝ i - it wasn't … i mean, it didn't properly start until after i got to school … ❞

your face was burning, and roman's insistent fingers pressing the rough cotton of your shorts down over your clit was making you see stars. ❝ r - roman … my clit … it's really sensitive … ❞

roman's lips curled into a wicked grin at your confession, his touch becoming more deliberate as he stroked your throbbing clit through the fabric of your shorts. ❝ sensitive, huh? ❞ he murmured, his voice husky with desire. ❝ i told you, all that blood down there … it's gonna make you crazy. i'll just have to be extra gentle with you, won't i? ❞ his fingers danced teasingly over your sensitive flesh, eliciting soft gasps and moans from your lips. ❝ but tell me, baby, ❞ he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. ❝ do you want me to be gentle? ❞

you loved when he was gentle with you. there was always a time and a place for a good, rough pounding, but you loved roman most when he made room for you, gave himself over to you completely and treated you like a princess.

you nodded with a soft pout. ❝ am i a total baby if i say yes … ? ❞

roman's lips curved into a tender smile as he brushed a strand of hair away from your flushed face. ❝ no, darling, ❞ he murmured, his voice laced with heavy affection. ❝ you're not a baby at all. you're my princess, and i'll treat you as such. ❞ his fingers continued their gentle ministrations, coaxing soft moans of pleasure from you. ❝ just relax, angel. let me take care of you. ❞

you held onto him, keeping him close as he touched you. the two of you kissed soft, deep, passionate kisses, and it wasn't long before roman was hooking his long fingers into the waist of your shorts, trying to drag them and your panties down at the same time.

❝ uh, roman. ❞ you grabbed his wrists, looking nervously at him. ❝ i still … have my tampon in. ❞

roman's eyes flickered with concern at your words, his fingers stilling in their attempt to pull down your shorts. ❝ mmm, ❞ he hummed, the timbre of his voice soft and soothing. ❝ you really think i care about that? ❞ he leaned back slightly, his gaze seeking yours. ❝ … can i take it out for you? ❞

it was so embarrassing, to have him asking you that right to your face. but you did, god you did. were you sick in the head?

you nodded, slowly, trembling hands half covering your face as roman stripped your shorts and underwear off.

roman's lips curved into a tender smile as he gently peeled off your shorts and underwear, exposing your naked bottom half to his hungry gaze. with delicate care, he reached between your thighs, his fingers deftly locating the string of your tampon.

❝ it's alright, baby, ❞ he murmured, his voice filled with reassurance. ❝ i've got you. ❞ one strong hand steadied itself on your belly as the other slid the tampon slowly out of you.

you moaned, against your will, as he took it and held it up. it was dripping, all over his bed.

❝ roman, stop! your bedding … ❞ you made to grab it, but roman held it just out of your reach.

❝ tsk, tsk, not yet. i still have business with this thing, ❞ he muttered with one of his signature cute, quirky smiles. you knew what he was going to do, but it still took you aback when he closed his pretty lips around it.

you sat and breathed heavily, watching as roman's cock twitched in his jeans the moment the tampon hit his tongue.

roman's eyes never left yours as he suckled your tampon, his tongue expertly lapping at the spongy material. he made soft, sensual noises of enjoyment as he savored the taste of your fluids, the scent of your arousal heady in the air.

you squirmed beneath him, unable to keep still as heat further pooled between your legs. you wanted him so badly, and the thought of him tasting you like this was driving you wild with desire.

as roman finished, he slowly withdrew the tampon from his mouth, a string of blood, saliva, and your juices connecting it to his lips before it snapped free. ❝ you taste divine, love, ❞ he murmured, his gaze smoldering with carnal desire. ❝ i'm sorry, i can't - ❞

with a feral growl, he dove down, pushing your legs back as he began to devour your bloody cunt.

the sight of roman between your legs, the lower half of his face all smeared with your blood and juices was enough to make you feel faint. ❝ oh god, roman … ❞ his bloodied nose nudged your clit and you sobbed, gripping the sheets.

roman was right - you were bleeding a lot more now that she were off the pill. you could feel it smeared along your inner thighs and dripping to the bed.

❝ touch me, ❞ roman murmured, as he added two long fingers into the mix. he slid them easily, hungrily, into your wetness. ❝ touch me - pull my hair, slap me, scratch my back, whatever you want. i'm yours. ❞

you could feel your wet, open, bloody pussy trying so hard to clamp down on his fingers. but everything down there was so wet and open, roman's fingers glided almost too easily in and out of you.

you did as you were told, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair.

roman groaned softly against you, his lips working fervently against your clit as he added a third finger to the mix, stretching you open even wider. he was relentless, his movements becoming more frenzied as he devoured you with unrestrained hunger.

your fingers tangled in his hair, your nails grazing lightly against his scalp as you tugged him closer, urging him on with desperate need. your body was on fire, every nerve ending electrified by the exquisite pleasure coursing through your veins.

as your climax approached, roman's fingers quickened their pace, driving you ever closer to the edge of ecstasy. ❝ do you wanna cum like this? or d'you want something else? ❞

that third finger was exactly what you needed. you nodded, tugging and pulling harshly at roman's hair. as much as you loved his cock, you didn't want even a second break from this, for him to whip it out. and you knew roman would give it to you any way you wanted it. ❝ just like this … please, roman, make me cum … ❞

roman's lips curved into a wicked grin as he redoubled his efforts, his fingers working feverishly inside you while his tongue danced skillfully over your sensitive clit. your entire body tensed beneath him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you teetered on the brink of release.

with a guttural groan, he applied just the right amount of pressure, his fingers curling inside of you as his lips closed around your swollen bud. he sucked and licked with abandon, driving you wild with pleasure until you'd had enough and shattered around him, your cries of ecstasy echoing in the air.

as your climax washed over you, roman didn't let up, continuing to lavish attention on your throbbing center, prolonging your pleasure until you were trembling with the intensity of your release. only then did he finally ease off, his lips trailing a path of fiery, bloody kisses up your trembling body.

you were still shaking as he reached your lips, a questioning look in his eye. you grabbed the back of his head and pulled him quickly down, kissing him deeply.

tasting your own blood was … odd. not unpleasant, but certainly not as pleasant as it had been to roman.

roman, who was panting, his mouth smeared with red, dripping onto you, your shoulders, your chest, the bed.

❝ we need a shower, ❞ you grunted, afraid to even close your legs with the slippery mess down there.

❝ i don't see what the problem is, ❞ roman laughed as he gave you another kiss.

[strangererotica]

When he’s jealous AND a killer clown… 🫦💦

[nyxvuxoa-writes]

Hello, my love... so okay... yes... would you kindly do.... Prompt #176. “I’m going to fuck you against the windows, i want everyone to see how good you are.” This prompt is for Roman Godfrey...

👉👈Thank you 👉👈

Imma go hide in a dark corner now...

Excited to finally write something for you that is tailored for you and not having you just appeal to my obsessions. I hope you like this.

𝑨 𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝑽𝒊𝒆𝒘

Roman Godfrey x Fem!Reader

#176. “I’m going to fuck you against the windows, i want everyone to see how good you are.”

◢ Genre: A touch of fluff, Kink, Smut ---- Suitable For Adults Only

◢ Warnings: PWP, dom!Roman, submissive!reader, exhibitionism, sort of window fetish, sort of public sex(?), some spanking, unprotected sex, p in v, sex from behind, hair pulling, biting, creampie, sexy time talk. slight praise kink, begging, mention of aftercare.

◢ Word Count: 2.6k

◢ A/N: Okay, so I have never written for Roman before, but I feel this will be pretty straightforward. I hope it hits all the right spots.

You have become accustom to how your relationship with Roman had grown. There was a sort of mutual understanding on how things are with him. He is in charge, and you had a 'place' to be in, for lack of better terms. In some small way you had control, but not in the normal sense of things; you had the control that a submissive in a bdsm relationship would have it.

This is your relationship with Roman. You are his submissive and he is your master. But when you are asked to strip down and stand in front of floor to ceiling windows, you hesitate slightly. Your eyes gaze to the window, watching as people walk past it. You would feel and be rather exposed to anyone who had possible wondering eyes.

After a moment though, and wanting to avoid correction, you slowly manage to strip down to nothing. Kicking your clothes to side, you look down at them like you had just lost your security blanket. Instinctually you want to cover yourself with your arms. It was natural for you to keep yourself covered, feeling rather unconfident, but you knew he would correct you. A part of you hated it.

Slowly you take in a deep breath through your nose, your fingers pressing into the palm of you hand. Roman was always one to push those boundaries with you. He like getting you to try something new, even if it made you a little scared or uncomfortable. He damn well knew this was going to make you uncomfortable. A part of him questioned if you would need to use your safe word. He hoped not.

Walking around you like an animal observing a cornered prey, he couldn't help but smirk slightly, a small chuckle escaping him. His finger reach over and the tips of them so gently graze your skin, moving from the side of your thigh and up around your body as he walked back around to stand in front of you. He fingers come to your nipple and he pinches and pulls at it slightly.

You tense a bit, feeling a small bit of pain. For a moment your lips push out and your brow furrows, almost as if you are pouting at him for doing that to you. At least he knows that he has your attention. You're focused and not zoned out, or withdrawing too much into yourself. This was going to be a big step for you.

“I’m going to fuck you against the windows, I want everyone to see how good you are.” He states, cutting straight to the point for the reason he had you here right now.

Your eyes go wide. "What?"

"I'm going to fuck you against the windows." He repeated, his tone slowing down slightly as he is allowing the sentence to sink into your brain for a moment. He licks at his lips as his hands reach up and he starts to take off his suit coat, laying it over the couch. He doesn't opt to take off his shirt, instead he loosens the tie and rolls up his sleeves to expose his forearms.

You could have used your safeword at that moment. You could have stopped him dead in his tracks and kept it from happening. The choice was right there and for a moment you considered it. But at the same time, there was something appealing about the idea. How many people would notice? How many people could stop to watch to see what was going on in the window.

Watching as Roman turned around and slid his hands into his pockets, watching you closely, you could feel as your heart started to pound in your chest. This wasn't how you were expecting your night to go. It was scary, but exciting. A small part of you remembered that you could stop this at any point if it became too much, and you mentally reminded yourself of that.

Letting your body relax, you looked at Roman with a small smile before you nodded your head, giving him that sort of consent that you were going to give it a shot. Roman smiles slightly, approaching you to cup your chin in his hand as he lifts your head to gaze up at him. He leans in and kisses you, pressing his lips roughly against yours before he spins you around to the window.

Gripping your arms, he brings your hands up to the window and presses your palms against it as he bends you over slightly. His hands move to your hips and he brings your hips out slightly, bringing you to that perfect level for him. His hand move gently over your lower back, grazing against your ass as he gently grips at your left cheek, his fingers pressing for a moment before brings his hand up and smacks it down against your flesh.

You tense and jump slightly. You had been expecting the motion, but it still had caught you off guard. This only caused your heart to pound in your chest a little more. Why did you have to face the window? Couldn't he have just lifted you up and pressed you against it? By his logic, sure, and maybe at some point he will. But this way people could see the faces you make as he presses his cock into the dewy folds between your legs. Bonus points if there happened to be an ex that walked by at that moment, but he doubt he would get that lucky.

A small chuckle escapes him as he steps back and takes a moment to observe you and the people that were already glancing into the window. This was going to be satisfying. His jaw clenches slightly, feeling himself starting to quickly stiffen in the restricting fabric of his pants. He starts to undo his belt, a sound that causes your ears to hyper-tune into it with clashing of the metal buckle. But he doesn't take it off, he simply starts to unbutton his pants, letting them drop just enough with his briefs to free his growing erect self.

Keeping his erect self in one hand, he reaches forward wit the other and bring his fingers to graze against your lower lips. Roman can feel the dampness spread as he presses his fingers into the folds slightly and runs them against your clit. This causes you to lift your hips slightly, a wave of excitement rushing over you with that feeling of anticipation and being nervous. It was a lot to feel at once and it caused goosebumps against your skin.

His finger press into your hole, as if he was preparing you to be ready for what would come right after them. He slowly pushes them deeply, reaching the full length of the fingers and starts to do a back and forth motion. You moan softly, your legs spreading a little bit as your juices start to coat them. Feeling satisfied with how wet you are becoming, Roman removes his fingers from you and positions himself behind you.

For a moment, your eyes glance up at the window and you can somewhat make out your reflections in it. Your lips part in a heavy breath as you watch, your vision going from his reflection and the people outside. A few stood by to watch, acting as though they were just leaning against something. Others simply shook their heads and walked on. This caused your heart to race further. Could you get in trouble for this? Technically speaking, yes.

Your toes curl slightly against the floor as you feel the head of Roman's cock pressing against your hole and then slowly sliding into you. He lets out a heavy groan, his hands quickly moving to your hips as he grips on and presses his entire length deeply into you. Your body grips at him, taking him deeply as your muscles felt around him slightly, almost as if to pull him in deeper.

Your slow moan and gasp for air felt louder than you intended, as if it bounced off the window in front of you and back at you. Your suck in your stomach a moment, feeling you body tense as his motions start in. First he moved slowly, bringing himself back to tip before he pressed his length into you again. He relished in the moment of how you felt around him. He was the reason you were tight. He was the reason you were wet. That is a satisfying feeling to him.

His hands travel against your body, moving from your hips up your side and resting against your ribs. For a moment his fingers dig into you, sending a little pain to mix with the feeling of pleasure, and that causes you to moan a little louder and press your hips back into his. When your ass met his somewhat open pants and flesh, he groaned, tensing slightly. You were letting that wall down, exploring something new, and he was eating it up.

Roman starts to pick up his pace as he grips at your ribs, allowing for just slightly quicker motions into your wet fold. He keeps himself buried a little more, no longer letting you feel the full length, but instead letting you feel the slightly faster, forceful nature of his hips. His breathing starts to pick up as he hears your moans and for a moment he leans forward slightly.

One hand reaches forward, gripping at your breast. He squeezes it in his hand as he presses his entire length into you, holding it for a moment as he allows his hand to fondle with your chest. His lips start to wonder against your shoulder-blade, kissing at your skin with a sense of passion. It hadn't been just a moment into hearing you moan more that Roman starts his motions again, pumping his hips into you.

"You feel so good." He mutters. "So wet. So tight. Are you my good girl?" He asks, while still leaning over slightly against your back.

You nod quickly, moaning and breathing heavily. You had forgotten what your hands were pressed against, the feeling of the glass more slick under your palms with sweat. He smirks against your skin slightly as he presses his teeth into your shoulder, biting at you a little, as his motions become more rough. Screaming out, your head drops a little more as your body tense out in both pain and pleasure.

Roman comes from the bite, lifting his lips and teeth off your shoulder-blade to see deeply purple markings and a faint bruise already starting to form. What's his, is his and he has no issues with marking his girl. Feeling pleased with himself, his cock twitches and hardens a little more inside you, which causes him to bring his hands back to your waist.

He started to give rougher, more forceful thrusts into you. Groaning and moaning loudly with you. The occasional fuck or oh god leaving someone's lips in a breathy moaned tone. The louder you became the rougher his motions started to get. Eventually, Roman's hands were in your hair and he was pulling on it. He pulled you back slightly, arching your back a bit, as his knees bent just enough to give himself a different angle.

He pressed himself into deeply, finding that right length to insert that would hit your sweet spot. He causes your legs to shake, trembling under you and you feel like your about to give way and lose your self of balance. He knew what that leg shaking meant, that tremble that ran through your body was something he had memorized. He learned how to work you, to help you achieve the finish that you craved from from.

"Good girl. My wonderful girl. Does that feel good?" He ask. "Y-yes Sir." You stammer, your fingers and palms red from how hard you were pressing them into the window. "Would you like to cum baby?" He coos at you, pressing his length in deeply as he says the word cum.

You moan and nod, hoping that he doesn't ask you to beg for it. But it was instinct, and before he could even say it, you were already begging for that sweet release.

"Please, can I cum? Please? I'm right there." You manage to get out between moans and heaving breaths. Roman looks amused, and rather proud of you.

"Ask me again." He mutters, almost growling as he's trying to contain his own moans for just a moment.

"Please. May I cum? Please let me cum." You insist. "Alright. Cum baby. Make a mess for me." He says, as both his hands go to grip at your sides.

You start to take some sort of small control as you rock your body back and forth a moment, starting to bounce yourself against Roman's length. He doesn't stop you and you cause his body to tense and the pressure to build more and more. "Oh fuck..." He manages to mutter. "Don't stop baby. Keep going. Keep going." He says, almost begging you. "You've got me right there baby."

You pick up the pace, feeling that release right on the edge there. And as he speaks, that begging and slightly needy tone coming from him, you find yourself trembling with a finish. Feeling like electricity was moving from head to toe, your body tenses and you start to have a heavy tremble work it's way through you. You cry out, moaning loudly as you keep yourself bouncing back and forth against him.

The feeling of your finish drove him. The way you tightened around him and moved against his length with desire and need, worked him to release that finish. He let go, his own legs trembling slightly as his fingers press into your skin. At first his head hung back in a moan before it drops down and he starts to give you short, hard thrusts, making sure to coat your insides with his seed.

For a moment, you both stood there, allowing yourselves to come down from the moment. He couldn't help but chuckle, feeling as you press back once more against him. Roman gives a small thwack at your ass and another grip at it for good measure, before he slowly pulls himself from you. It feels like you have lost your sense of legs, they shake under you with a heavy tremble and you wonder if you are even able to walk right now.

Roman smiles, helping you a moment as he turns you back to him and wraps his arms around your waist. His lips met yours and he kisses you deeply before pulling from it, allowing himself a moment to simply look at your features. This man adores you, with every fiber of his being.

"I'm proud of you." He comments. "Why?" You ask quietly, gazing up at him. "You didn't need to use your safe word. You went with it." He tells you honestly before he kisses you again. "How about we get you into a hot bath and I order some food?" He suggests, reaching up to touch the side of your face. You smile at him, feeling almost shy about being praised, but it felt good at the same time. Hearing that you have done good, that you have made him proud, it sort of drives you. It keeps you going. It gives you the motivation to care.

"A bath sound good." You state. It wasn't always easy to let someone take care of you, but right now, it felt right. It was going to be a good night and everything in your body told you that. Roman didn't hesitate, he takes your hand and helps you to the bathroom, making sure that you have fresh clothes and a big, clean, fluffy towel to dry off with. You are a good girl, and he was going to make sure you know it. After all, he's not the type of man to slack.

[ilongfor-the-arts]

Just read the museum marquis fic and I love it. I wonder what would a fanfic where the marquis de gramont met a ballerina reader?

Poetry in Motion

Pairing: Marquis de Gramont x fem! Reader

Warnings: mild language

Summary: A tall and handsome man has been watching you preform for a while. What will happen when he finally chooses to introduce himself?

Word Count: 2.5k

I got multiple reqs for this! So, here ya go! Enjoy!

“You’re late Y/N!”

I dashed into the locker room, tossing my bag atop the dressing room counter.

“I know! I know! I’m really sorry! My apartment door wouldn’t lock and there was traffic and then-”

My director held up a hand, silencing me.

“I don’t care. Please-just, be ready to go by showtime.”

I nodded vigorously.

“Yes, yes, of course. I will be ready, I promise.”

She quickly turned on her heels and began walking in the opposite direction. Her blue dress swayed gently as the dancers rushed around her. Her spine was straight, her posture rigid.

I don’t blame her. I'm just as nervous as everyone else to see how this performance goes. Unfortunately, I'm a dancer, so rigid posture isn't ideal. I'm forced to keep my anxiety bottled up inside my head.

“Y/N.”

My friend called my name, jolting me from my trance. She was fully dressed, with a full face of makeup. She stared at me, completely stunned.

“Y/N, you better hurry! Everyone else is ready to go!”

I moved rapidly, quickly opening my makeup bag, praying I had enough time.

“What took you so long?”

I slapped my palms against the table, annoyed.

“Oh, Clara, it’s been such an aggravating day.”

I stared at my reflection, watching as the foundation completely coated my face.

“Do tell.”

I took out my eye makeup.

“Well, first my apartment wouldn’t lock.”

I closed one eye and applied eyeshadow as quickly as I could.

“My key wouldn’t work! And of course I couldn’t just leave my apartment unlocked so I had to bother my neighbor to get the spare key I gave her.”

I moved on to the other eye.

“Then there was so much traffic. Then I couldn’t find a good parking spot because I got here so late. Then I had to walk almost six blocks.”

My eye makeup looked... alright. Sure, if I had an extra hour, I could make it look fantastic. But, due to my unfortunate situation, I had to settle for average.

“Wow girl, that’s rough. I’m sorry.”

I pulled out my blush.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think that cute guy will be here tonight.”

I scoffed loudly.

“He’s always here. If he goes four days without seeing a ballet, just assume he’s dead.”

Oh my goodness, that blush color was really clashing with my eyeshadow. Shit! I didn't have time to remove it and start over. Perhaps I could just add another color to my eyes, creating a strange hybrid color that would blend well with the blush.

“I don’t know Y/N. I’ve been here longer than you, and he only started going regularly once you got here.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, right. It’s probably just a coincidence. I doubt he’d spend a shit ton of money on fancy ballet tickets just to see some pretty girl dance.”

I watched Clara shrug from the corner of my eye.

“I dunno. He always dresses like he’s ready to meet the queen, and he sits in a box. He doesn’t seem short on funds. He definitely could be the type to buy ballet tickets just to admire you.”

Okay, the blush and eyeshadow looked fine. I could handle "fine." I could work with "fine.”

“I don’t know Clara. You know, when you watch a performance, faces and names blend together because there are so many people on stage. I doubt he picked me out of the crowd and decided I was going to become the object of his affection.”

I put on some red lipstick, trying not to be distracted by the fact that all the dancers I saw in the mirror were fully prepared.

“Besides, a handsome man like that?... he probably has a girlfriend.”

Clara perked up.

“Oh, so you admit you think he’s handsome.”

I rolled my eyes for a second time.

“I mean, come on Clara, look at him!”

Clara let out a loud and obnoxious laugh. My face turned hot. Thankfully, the makeup covered most of the natural pink that had begun to appear on my cheeks.

“Oh my God you have a little crush on him, don’t you!”

I held up my hands in defense.

“I am not having this conversation right now!”

I stood, rushing over to the costume rack.

“I’ve never seen him with a girl Y/N! I think he’s single and ready to mingle!”

Clara’s loud voice drew some attention. I swiveled on my heels and placed a finger to my lips.

“Sh!”

-

The show was finished, and the final bows were taken.

The roar of the crowd washed over me like a wave. I was moved to know that they were all applauding for this performance. As the entire company gathered for one final bow, I observed the crowd's faces contort into bright smiles. I felt moved knowing that at least one person in the audience was thinking about what a wonderful job I did tonight.

I hoped it was the man whose appearance I had grown accustomed to over the past few weeks.

The gold theater sparkled. The red seats gradually vanished as people rose to pay their respects to the performers.

I was unable to avoid glancing around at the various people in the crowd. I started in the box seats, hoping to spot a tall man with a penchant for fashion.

No luck.

My gaze was drawn to the floor seats. I scanned them all as quickly as I could. Maybe he sat closer? If he truly came to see me, it wouldn't hurt to get the best view possible in the front row.

No luck.

I'm not sure why I was so desperate for him to be here. Nonetheless, I felt my heart sink slightly as I considered the possibility that he missed tonight's performance.

We finished with a company bow. We waved goodbye, and quickly scattered off the stage.

“Y/N!”

Clara exclaimed as we walked back to the dressing rooms.

“You did so well! Jesus, I thought for sure you’d be all scattered from coming in late, but you really pulled it off well!”

I didn't notice her hands cutting through the air as she spoke. I didn't even bother looking at her. I kept my head down, stuffing various cosmetics into my black backpack.

“Thanks Clara.”

I said flatly.

“Alright, what’s going on? Who’s got you bummed?”

I grit my teeth.

“He’s not here tonight.”

Clara leaned in.

“What did you say?”

“I said he’s not here tonight!”

I snapped involuntarily. Clara retreated.

“Woah woah, how do you know this?”

“I didn’t see him in the crowd.”

Clara furrowed her brow.

“Come on Y/N, there’s thousands of people in that crowd! There’s no way you could’ve checked every seat for him!”

My lips were pursed. Clara wrapped her hands around my shoulders, soothing me. She leaned into my ear, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“I bet he showed up tonight. And if he didn’t, it was his loss entirely.”

-

The cold Paris air bit at my exposed skin. The chill penetrated my tank top, chilling me to the bone. I drew the sides of my peacoat together, attempting to conceal my torso and thighs from the wind.

I began to stroll, trying to enjoy the lovely Paris evening despite the fact that so much was less than ideal.

After about thirty paces, I was struck by an uneasy sense that someone was watching me. I initially ignored it. There were numerous high-rise apartment buildings. I'm sure that feeling came from being a window away from someone's living space, and the possibility that someone was watching me inadvertently.

I couldn't shake the feeling even after another thirty paces. The buildings in this particular neighborhood were completely dark. That is, everyone was sleeping, and if anyone was watching me, it probably would go unnoticed by bystanders.

I took a peek over my shoulder to ensure my intuition was correct.

About thirty feet behind me was a tall, lanky man in a black coat.

Alright, probably just a coincidence-

Wait.

I did a double take.

Holy shit.

It was the guy from the ballet!

This all is just one big coincidence.

I kept my head down, trying to maintain my composure.

His footsteps became audible. I focused on them, noticing that they were becoming slightly louder with every step.

Shit.

Shit!

God, this guy is a total creep! How could I be so stupid?!

I’m about to get totally kidnapped!

I started to move faster, trying to appear calm despite being aware that my heart was pounding in my ears. My blood rushed to my heart, leaving my face pale and cold.

God, he’s getting closer!

Jesus my stomach is in knots!

“Don’t look so frightened, darling.”

The man’s velvety accent pierced the air like a knife. My heart jumped.

I’m fucked.

“Really, I just want to talk with you.”

No way in hell was I stopping. My calves burned. My eyes were wide. My hands trembled within my pockets.

My chest came into contact with something solid. I stumbled back, looking up.

Oh my goodness, he was right in front of me.

How did he get there without me hearing?

The heat left my body.

I stood, wide eyed and perplexed.

The man's neutral gaze softened as he noticed my anxiety.

“I am very sorry to have frightened you, madame. I am simply a fan wishing to pay my respects.”

He placed a hand on his chest.

“I promise, I mean no harm. There is no reason to be frightened.”

He was considerably taller than me. In two seconds, he could pick me up and throw me into the back of a shady white van.

Nonetheless, his luxurious accent and courteous eyes made me believe he was telling the truth. So I allowed myself to relax ever so slightly.

“Did you come and see the show tonight?”

A smirk played on the corners of his lips.

“But of course. It would be foolish of me to disregard the opportunity to observe such talent.”

Wow, I'm going to give credit where credit is due. He’s a smooth talker. He speaks with such elegance. I'm unable to ignore his words. With bated breath, I await each sentence.

“Well, that is very kind of you to say.”

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his black overcoat, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I only convey the complete truth. In my lifetime, I have seen hundreds of ballets, operas, and plays. It is uncommon to find such a passion for the arts in the hearts of the prefromers. Few people allow creativity to encompass every aspect of them. But, I have noticed fire within you.”

He glanced deeply into my eyes, as if he wanted to capture some of the "fire" within me and preserve it for himself.

“I can tell by the way you dance and command the stage.”

The gentle breeze rustled the end of his overcoat as his pale eyes shone in the pale moonlight. He exuded a sense of mystery that beckoned me to embrace the unknown.

“Your blood runs red with creativity.”

He came to a halt, his piercing gaze catching my lips before darting back to my eyes.

“And, your beauty is unmatched.”

Forget about my face being cold; it was now scorching hot. I just hope I kept enough blush on my cheeks to hide the natural pink.

He extends his leg, the buckle of his pricey loafer catching the moonlight. He steps closer, the wonderful aroma of whiskey and bergamot wafting into my nose. The scent cloud muffles my brain, making me dizzy with anticipation.

“How long have you been dancing for?”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Oh, well, my entire life. I started the moment I could walk and I’ve pretty much been in the dance studio everyday since.”

The enigmatic man nodded, pleased with my response. I took my hands from my pockets, as they were sweating despite the chill.

“And… Do you enjoy it?”

I nodded vigorously.

“Yes, I remember, um-.”

I took a deep breath, careful not to trip over my words and reveal that my heart was racing.

“I remember my first official dance class. I was- about four or five.”

I swallowed, a lump forming in my throat.

“All the kids were complaining. I mean, y’know, at that age it basically is just an excuse for the parents to get their obnoxious kids out of the house.”

He chuckled.

Yes!

“But I never complained, not once. I loved it from the start. And, it’s completely consumed my life since then.”

He took another step forward. The distance between us was almost non-existent now. To meet his gaze, I had to almost completely crane my neck back.

“I can tell. You don’t just dance, you float over the stage. It really is beautiful to watch.”

His voice dropped to a sultry whisper.

“You are beautiful to watch.”

My stomach flipped.

My breath caught in my throat as he cupped my face with his hand. His grip was gentle, as if he were coddling a baby bird.

My mind was empty, a void waiting to be filled by him.

He exhaled deeply, a breath fanning over my face. I instinctively leaned into him, craving his warmth, craving his scent, craving…

Him.

He ran his calloused thumb along my cheekbone. My face was burning. I knew he could feel it beneath his palm.

He grinned.

“You have a very bright future in the arts. Paris is only the beginning.”

I could sense the tension rising. I was on the edge of my seat, waiting for something magnificent to unfold.

A hug?

A proclamation of love?

A kiss?

“I hope and pray that you will allow me to be an integral component of your bright future.”

He slipped something into my empty pocket sneakily. He smiled broadly. My heart skipped a beat. His smile was enticing, so simple yet so effective.

“Call me, Ma chère.”

He took a step back, turned, and began to stroll away. My shoulders loosened. My chest gave way. My cheeks had lost their warmth. The tension had been released.

I could breathe.

I could think.

“Wait!”

I shouted. He glanced over his shoulder.

His figure looked very intriguing. Most of his ridges and curves were hidden by his long coat. It enticed one to venture into uncharted territories.

“What’s your name?”

He scoffed.

“When you call, I will tell you.”

[hoteldreamss]

Imagine || Bill Skarsgård

Предупреждение: момент 18+; связывание/бондаж.

Тебе ужасно хотелось вернуться поскорее домой. Твоя учёба сегодня затянулась, а затем ещё и твои дела, на которые ты потратила больше времени, чем хотела поэтому и была такой вымотанной.

— Привет. — Ты подходишь к Биллу, который продолжает играть в приставку сидя на диване. Оставив быстрый поцелуй на его макушке, направляешься в свою спальню.

— Привет. — Скарсгард не успевает ухватиться за тебя, ты слишком быстро отходишь. Он ставит игру на паузу, поднимаясь с дивана и направляясь за тобой. — Как прошёл день?

Зайдя в спальню, ты кидаешь сумку в её "личный угол", и начинаешь доставать свои домашние вещи из комода.

— Неплохо. — В твоём тоне слышится небольшое раздражение, что Билл сразу замечает.

—Уверенна? Ты кажешься расстроенной.

— Я не расстроена. Просто немного устала.

Скарсгард облокачивается на косяк, пока ты размышляешь и изучаешь своё нижнее бельё, думая, какое взять. Твой парень наблюдает за тобой, поджимает губы и думает над тем, стоит ли ему сделать то, что он планировал, или вечер пятницы стоило перенести на вечер субботы.

— Я в душ. Закажешь что-нибудь? — Взяв нижнее бельё, ты закрываешь ящик и смотришь на Билла.

— Я приготовил нам ужин, — произносит он. — Картошка с курицей. И ещё я купил вино. Сегодня пятница, и я подумал, мы могли бы немного выпить.

— Круто. Я быстро. — Ты уходишь в ванную, надеясь расслабиться под тёплым душем и смыть с себя этот ужасный день.

Тёплая вода и впрямь помогает тебе. Расслабляет твоё тело и успокаивает разум.

Билл надеялся, что всё пройдёт хорошо, в конце концов, вы уже говорили об этом раньше, несколько раз вскользь. Он решил, что ты желала того же, чего и он. Пока он жил у тебя, и его квартира восстанавливалась после небольшого потопа, вы сблизились ещё больше, и это заставило его думать о разнообразии в вашей сексуальной жизни. Выйдя из ванной, с мокрыми волосами и в домашней, удобной одежде, ты усаживаешься за стол. Еда пахнет прекрасно, а вино, кажется, ещё одним соблазнительным способом расслабиться.

— Выглядит вкусно, — произносишь ты, поправляя волосы и смотря на Билла уставшим взглядом.

— Я надеюсь тебе понравится. Это то вино, что мы пили на 14 февраля, я, наконец-то, нашёл его. Оно же понравилось тебе, верно?

— Да. — Ты кажешься совсем не в настроении.

Билл внимательно следит за тобой, немного расстроенный тем, что ты слегка грустная и злая. Поэтому он думает, что ваш ужин может пройти в тишине. Скарсгард уже знал, что лучше оставлять тебя в покое, когда ты в таком состоянии.

— Спасибо. Было вкусно, — произносишь ты. Встав со своего места, ты убираешь тарелку, а затем направляешься немного пьяная в спальню.

Ты быстро вырубаешься, пока Билл чувствует себя слегка обделённым. Но вымыв посуду, он возвращается к тебе, ложась рядом с тобой и слыша твоё тихое умиротворённое сопение во время сна.

***

Ты просыпаешься раньше Билла, чувствуя себя лучше, чем вчера вечером. Сходив в ванную, после ты направляешься на кухню, чтобы сделать завтрак для себя и Скарсгарда.

Он выглядит сонным, когда выползает на кухню.

— Доброе утро. — Тепло улыбаясь, ты быстро целуешь Билла, подходя к нему. — Я сделала завтрак.

— Ты сильно рано встала? — Билл обнимает тебя, и ты чувствуешь тепло его тела, ощущая уют рядом с ним. — Как ты сейчас?

— Хорошо. Может посмотрим сегодня что-нибудь? Не хочу никуда идти.

— Как скажешь, красавица.

Билл любил иногда лениво проводить время с тобой. Ему нравилось лежать на диване, обнимая тебя, обсуждать с тобой всё произошедшее на экране вашего телевизора. И сегодня к тому же был пасмурный день, планы Скарсгарда должны были воплотиться в жизнь. Он был уверен, что если ты расслабишься, то станешь немного податливее.

Поэтому, когда заканчивается очередная серия «Сообщества», Билл решается поднять одну тему. Он надеялся, что сможет сделать это правильно. Ему не хотелось давить на тебя, и он никогда бы не желал принуждать тебя к чем-либо.

— Знаешь, я тут подумал... Может мы попробуем что-нибудь новое? Немного разнообразим наши выходные?.. — Он чувствует себя слегка нелепо и неловко. Скарсгард понятия не имеет как подобраться к этой теме. Несмотря на ваше доверие в отношениях, уважение и принятие друг друга, Билл понимал, как может звучать.

— Например? — Ты кидаешь на него заинтересованный взгляд, пока тянешься за своей кружкой чая.

— Помнишь, мы говорили о разных вещах... Чтобы мы хотели попробовать друг с другом. — Скарсгард смотрит на тебя, внимательно стараясь изучить твои эмоции, но ты кажешься всё ещё спокойной. — И я тогда сказал про... — Билл думает о том, как назвать это, просто связыванием или более научным термином. — Связывание.

Ты явно задумываешься, Скарсгард пытается понять, как ты реагируешь на это и что думаешь. Но хотя бы ты не смотришь на него с испугом.

— Ты хочешь попробовать бондаж? — Твои брови слегка поднимаются, пока ты стараешься обдумать его слова. Билл кивает, на самом деле, чуть заметно, но ты всё равно это подмечаешь.

Теперь ты в лёгком замешательстве, раздумывая и анализируя свои мысли.

— Прости. Если я не должен был... — Скарсгард чувствует себя идиотом и даже немного извращенцем.

— Билл, — ты стараешься правильно сформировать свои мысли. — Я не против. — Меняя позу, ты накрываешь руку своего парня своей и ласково гладишь его. — Давай попробуем. — Поцеловав Билла, ты отрываешься от него с улыбкой и с явным предвкушением.

***

Билл, сидя на кровати, продолжает перевязывать твои запястья у тебя за спиной. Ты терпеливо ждёшь, слегка в предвкушении. Твоё тело сковано верёвкой, которая сковывает тебя почти везде.

— Не туго? — интересуется Билл, поднимая взгляд.

— Всё в порядке, — твои губы искажаются в милой улыбке, после чего ты тянешься к нему, немного отклоняясь назад, чуть не сталкиваясь спиной с грудью Скарсгарда, желая оставить быстрый поцелуй на его губах, но Билл отстраняется, отклонившись назад. Твои брови хмурятся, а в глазах мелькает непонимание и лёгкая обида.

— Мы закончили с верёвкой, а значит, теперь без разрешения... — Он смотрит на тебя немного строже, кажется, раньше ты видела этот взгляд всего пару раз за все ваши отношения. Хотя Билл всё ещё старается бы��ь мягким. — Ты не можешь вести себя так, как хочешь, ясно?

— Да.

—Да?

—Да, сэр? — Ты прищуриваешься, делая предположения о том, как он хочет, чтобы ты к нему обращалась. — Я не уверена, Билли. Это слишком резко, может оставим прозвища на следующий раз?

— Хорошо. — Он оставляет поцелуй у тебя на плесе, нежно и так заботливо. Ты чувствуешь его тёплую ладонь на своей талии.

Отстранившись, он помогает тебе лечь на живот, пока сам садится перед тобой. Кровать под тобой и Биллом прогибается. Ладонь твоего парня скользит по твоим ногам, он гладит твою кожу, наслаждаясь её бархатистостью, которая на самом деле была результатом твоего пребывания в ванной дольше нужного.

— Ты такая красивая. Ты знаешь это? Так прекрасна. — Голос Билла спокойный и чуть тише обычного, но ты всё равно чувствуешь прилив возбуждения из-за него. Жар между твоих ног начинает медленно растекаться, а узел возбуждения внизу твоего живота начинает затягиваться.

Лёгкий шлепок по одной из твоих яг��диц заставляет тебя вздрогнуть и вобрать в лёгкие больше воздуха. Теперь его тёплые ладони поглаживает твой зад, будто стараясь успокоить слегка раскрасневшуюся кожу.

Скарсгард не пробовал этого раньше, хотя он много прочитал и ещё больше просмотрел, второе было сделано на протяжение большей части его жизни скорее по желанию, нежели ради изучения.

— Блять. — Казалось, что теперь ему нужно немного времени, чтобы осознать то, что с ним происходит. Билл на самом деле, не сильно надеялся когда-то попробовать это и уж тем более с девушкой, которая так любима им и дарит столько любви в ответ. Поэтому он чувствует возбуждение и даже задумывается, не просто ли насладиться этим видом передёргивая на тебя. Хотя может это могло бы быть частью вашего «время провождения».

Ты чувствуешь, как Билл склоняется к твоему заду. И тогда происходит то, что ты не ожидала, зубы Билла впиваются в твою плоть, пока твоя попа вздёрнута вверх. Скарсгард слышит от тебя слабый звук, кажется, ты стараешься контролировать свои стоны и ему это никогда не нравилось, поэтому он решает, что его задачей является сделать всё, что он хотел долго и не решался.

Ты получаешь ещё один шлепок, и снова поглаживание. Это продолжается недолго, заставляя тебя слегка поскуливать. Но твоё возбуждение нарастает, а его похвала заставляет тебя становиться более влажной, и твоя сердцевина сжимается вокруг пустоты.

— Такая влажная, — Билл проводит пальцами по твоей обнажённой сердцевине. — Эта киска только моя, да?

— Да, — твой голос слегка ломается, когда пальцы Скарсгарда скользят по тебе, погружаясь внутрь. — Только твоя.

— Такая хорошенькая. Прелесть. — Билл склоняется к твоим влажные складочкам, и ты чувствуешь его тёплый язык, который заставляет тебя толкнуться бёдрами ему в лицо. Смешок Скарсгарда доносится до тебя и заставляет покраснеть, хотя из-за твоей позы кровь наверняка и так прилила к твоим щекам.

Билл умел доставлять тебе удовольствие. Поэтому ему не нужно много времени, чтобы ты брызнула. Теперь одеяло под вами слегка влажное из-за тебя.

— Как ты? — интересуется он, поглаживая твои бёдра, расставленные широко для твоего парня. Верёвки впиваются в твою кожу, что на самом деле нравится Биллу.

— Хорошо. — Скарсгард склоняется к твоему лицу, он берёт тебя за подбородок, заставляя слегка выгнуться, чтобы ему было удобнее тебя поцеловать. Это немного слюняво, но тебе нравится, и ты чувствуешь, как он гладит тебя по спине, а затем спускается к твоей попе, также поглаживая её для успокоения, и вот, его пальцы проскальзывают в тебя снова. Ты стонешь во время поцелуя, и Билл не собирается отрываться от тебя. Он помогает тебе подняться, теперь ты также сидишь на кровати, как и Скарсгард.

— Скажи, что ты моя девочка.

— Я твоя девочка. Только твоя. — Его пальцы погружаются в тебя глубже, пока он доводит тебя до очередного оргазма и заставляет скакать и тереться о его пальцы. И когда ты сжимаешься вокруг него, утыкаясь в его шею, чувствуя, как напряжение покидает тебя.

Твоё дыхание тяжёлое и глубокое, пока ты смотришь на Билла затуманенным взглядом. Его возбуждённый член упирается тебе в бедро, пока его рука поглаживает твой зад. Его губы расплываются в улыбке. Билл хотел бы продолжить тебя мучить оргазмами, слышать, как ты будешь умолять его перестать, но его возбуждение не утихает.

Он оставляет влажные поцелуи на твоей щеке, шее, он покусывает твою кожу, пока помогает тебе медленно перевернуться на спину.

— Ты в порядке? — интересуется Билл, устраиваясь между твоих ног. Он склоняется над тобой, внимательно следя за твоим слегка потерянным состоянием. Ты всё ещё не отошла от оргазмов, но Скарсгард не собирается делать тебе поблажки.

— Да. — Кивая, ты с трудом можешь собраться с мыслями, когда чувствуешь, как влажная головка члена Билла скользит по твоим складочкам и вздрагиваешь от излишней чувствительности. — Билл.

Ты стараешься отпрянуть назад, чтобы избавиться от контакта, но твоё положение с трудом позволяет тебе сдвинуться с места.

Скарсгард же проскальзывает в тебя без особого труда, благодаря твоей влажности и своему возбуждению. Его толчки быстрые и резкие, он тяжело дышит, утыкаясь носом в изгиб твоей шее. Твои стоны разносятся по всей комнате, пока Билл дотрагивается до твоего пучка нервов средним пальцем. Он гладит его, заставляя твоё тело снова натягиваться как струна из-за предстоящего оргазма. И ты сжимаешься внутри, вся напрягаясь, когда твоё освобождение вытекает из тебя.

Билл останавливается, испытывая свой кайф, погружённый глубоко в тебя. Его сознание постепенно освобождается от тумана возбуждения. Оторвавшись от тебя, он оглядывает твоё тело и оценивает твои эмоции. Но ты кажешься полностью довольной.

— Я люблю тебя, — Билл оставляет нежный поцелуй на твоих губах, поглаживая тебя по волосам. Его рука проскальзывает тебе под спину, к узлам верёвки, которые он намерен развязать.

Освободив тебя, его ладони проходятся по следам от верёвки, надеясь утешить твою кожу.

— Я тоже люблю тебя, — произносишь ты, положив свои руки на его щёки и даря жадный и долгий поцелуй.

Влажные волосы Билла спадают ему на лоб, его губы чуть припухли от поцелуев, как и твои, его щёки раскраснелись от жара, который начинал постепенно спадать.

— Как насчёт ванны? — предлагаешь ты.

— Я наберу. — Билл подрывается с места и направляется в ванную комнату.

[hozierbabymomma]

Me when i reach the end of the oneshot/blurb/fanfic:

[taintandviolent]

that which terrifies ; Count Orlok x Reader

summary: You're a housemaid who is sent away by her employer to an estate nestled deep in the Carpathian mountains. On the first night, your dreams become very bizarre, and you are no longer so sure of your purpose at the Castle.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.7K | female reader, smut, period cunnilingus, vampire coercion, invasion of privacy, scent kink, technically dubious consent and somnophilia (cos Orlok likes to touch when reader is sleeping and it gets a little blurred there), blood mention, decay mention, monsters, vampires,, bloodplay, biting, drinking blood / blood loss, mentions of accents, shadow play (fingering), possession kink.

a/n: I feel like I should apologize in advance because this one feels weirder than my last one. again, you either get it you don't. nevertheless, I hope it is as good! thank you for reading if you do!!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR NOSFERATU 2024! banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

With a sharp crack of a whip and a high-pitched whinny, you are alone.

It’s snowing when you arrive. You look back down the pathway, unable to see the carriage any longer; the flurries obscure your vision. The coach that brought you to the looming doors of the entrance is long gone, as is the safety of it. The only sound that can be heard amongst the deafening silence of snow is the fading squeak of hinges and the clip clop of the horses’ hooves as they return home, wherever that may be… far away from this dreadful castle. As you gaze skywards, looking up at the castle, you wrap your shawl around your frail shoulders, shuddering. There is something that roils in your stomach like a malady, twisting and turning your insides until they ache so. Foreboding…

You had been sent here by your employer, a ruthless man who lacked any empathy, only possessed an insatiable greed for fortune. He had requested that you be sent away, to tend to a man who resided deep in the Carpathian Mountains. He had a large estate – a castle in every sense of the word – and needed it maintained. Your darling mother fretted the entire night, feeling as though it was an unwise and dangerous proposition; a young, unmarried woman going into the dark and cursed woods of Transylvania, forced so under the pretenses of mere employment. Though, you had been promised riches. This man, Count Orlok, would reward you handsomely for your duties. Or so it was said. 

At first glance, the looming castle provides no welcome, nor does it beckon you inside. Though, the longer you stare, shivering in the snow like a lost child, the more inviting it becomes. As fearsome and ominous as it is, you know that within those stone walls, lies a comfort, a warmth of some kind. Another person to provide company. 

With footsteps crunching down into the snow, you approach the doors. Your fist raises to the doors, poised to knock as hard as you can to alert the occupant that you’ve arrived. As you do, your knuckles pounding against the wood but once, both the doors swing open slowly, revealing a grand, but barren, courtyard. White blankets everything, obscuring any foliage that might have greeted you.

“Hello?” Your voice is swallowed up by the snow. 

All at once, you hear scampering beside you, accompanied by a huff of breath from something and quickly pivot around, clutching your breast. When you turn back around, you’re met with a startling visual; a tall, intriguing silhouette, stands near another entryway. He’s stock still, the only movement is that of the furs that he wears, which blow delicately in the wind. After a moment, he turns, and disappears into another open door. 

“Sir! Please, I beg of thee, wait for me!” Gripping your satchel in one hand and holding your shawl shut with the other, you hurry behind him, praying to get out of the biting cold. He does not wait for you. 

Once inside, the castle provides little reprieve. It, too, is bitterly cold; the stone walls have absorbed the chill of the winter and seem to radiate out onto anyone who dares pass by, like long fingers, reaching out to pilfer any warmth that passes. 

The staircase is dark, staggeringly so. It curls around a column, trailing ever upwards. He is gone from your line of sight, until you climb the last step, and enter the main room. It is dark, save for a robust fire that consumes the left hand side of the room, drenching it in warmth. Dropping your belongings, you hurry over to it and quickly stretch your palms towards the glow, the heat licking at your frigid fingertips. 

Casting your glance over your shoulder, he stands near the table. You hum quietly to yourself, and turn back to the fire. 

“Count Orlok…” you start, your voice feeble. You stare at him now, desperately trying to discern his features. Though he is unmoving as he watches you, the shadows which dance across his face obscure him. You swallow.  “Pardon my –” 

“Thy lord…!” he bellows, startling you. Despite the volume, his voice was low, deeper than any man’s voice. It was almost a growl, carnal and demanding obedience. You dare not defy him, not when he sounds as such. You furrow your brow to the fire, looking deep into the flames to hide your shame.  

“My lord,” you started again. “I mean not to offend. I was only going to ask you to pardon my urgency in coming to the fire, I fear I may have caught my death had I been out in the storm any longer.” 

“You,” he booms, his voice seeming to vibrate the air around you. He gestures, extending his long fingers towards the table. “...are weak with hunger… eat.” 

You glance apprehensively at the expansive feast behind you; fruits, roasted meats, breads. It was enough to satisfy several men. “Are you not… not joining me, my lord? Surely, this is too great for my appetite.” 

“…I shall sate myself… later….” 

His response serves as nothing but confusion to you, for it is nightfall. Perhaps, you think, you are not accustomed to the habits of the area. You turn your attention back to the table; you are unable to deny the gnawing in your belly, and the enticing aroma of the food calls to your hunger, seducing you with promises of a full stomach, and a delightful, food-induced sleep. You get to your feet and approach one the chair, carefully setting yourself down upon it, smoothing out your petticoats as you do.

Wordlessly, you reach forward, plucking a single piece of fruit from the plate. Its glossy skin glistens underneath the flickering candlelight, and as you bring the succulent fruit to your mouth, its sweet nectar coats your tongue. You hum happily, and savor the taste, rolling it around on your tongue before gnashing it up with your teeth. Next, you reach for the fork that sits at the plate’s edge, and pierce the flesh of a morsel of meat. It’s tender; the prongs of the fork giving way, and the intoxicating aroma of herbs and spices fill your nose. 

Though the food is delicious, it does little to distract you from the fact that you’re being watched. The Count sits across from you, his presence an ominous shadow that threatens to swallow you whole. You chew once, twice, and raise your gaze to his. It’s dark and envelops you like an embrace, one you cannot deny. 

“My lord,” You say, swallowing the remainder of the meat. “Pray tell, who cooked this delicious meal? I was told that you resided here by thineself, hence your need for a ma–.” 

Before you can finish speaking, his words slice through the space between you. “No… more questions. Eat.” 

“I was only –” 

“Hush now. You are too weary to have such… conversations.” 

His words rang true; you were exhausted from the journey and the food was only increasing your fatigue. Now, with a full belly, you felt the first, soothing touches of sleep running its fingers through your tresses, beckoning you closer. You stifle a yawn, not wanting to appear rude in your present company. 

“I long to become familiar with you, my lord. I have many questions… but perhaps, I’ll rest…” You say as you wander over to the fire, longing for its warmth once more. You fold yourself to the floor, resting your arms and head on the seat of the ornate wooden chair that sits in front of it. “If only just for a moment.” 

With the crackle of the fire lulling you away, it isn’t long before the drowsiness takes you, your form drooping slightly in the chair as you nod off. It is not a restful sleep, however; it is a disturbed slumber, filled with bizarre dreams that feel like waking nightmares. 

Shadows claim your body and soul as you sleep, drifting farther and farther away from your consciousness. Slender, phantom fingers graze over your heartbeat, feeling it, tasting it with physical touch, and they graze the fullness of your breasts. Lingering touches chill every inch of your flesh; your neck, between your legs, and along the length of your arms. You dream of being intertwined eternally, though if asked, you couldn’t explain what that meant. Pain, braided with throngs of indescribable pleasure. 

You aren’t sure how long you sleep, but awake when the sun’s rays reach through a nearby window. You stretch your limbs as far as they’ll go, the muscles shaking with exertion. Then, unexpectedly, your palm flattens atop a cotton pillowcase, the tips of your toes feel sheets beneath them. A bed. The fire, you think. I fell asleep at the fire. He must’ve carried you to bed in the night – a thought that, while somewhat comforting in its thoughtfulness, concerns you. You remember not the feelings of him cradling you in his arms, carrying you to bed like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. You remember not the feelings of being tucked in like a child, delicate and small. But you remember your dreams. 

Pleasures that capture your sleeping body, controlling it so that you thrash and turn on your bed. Long, slender fingers ghosting over your jawline, desperately twitching to pull your mouth into a bruising kiss. The overwhelming scent of Earth, the irony scent of blood, paired with a sickly scent that you can’t place. Stinging pains as the shadow in your room consumes you. Whispers of promises, of ownership, of eternities. Things that you cannot comprehend, but wish to agree to willingly.

Your eyes open fully, having now adjusted to the light. The realization dawns on you; your lewd dreams had been about your new employer, the mysterious man who had only insisted you eat. Knowing not what time it is, you quickly throw the covers from your form, and get to your feet. You’re still clothed, but the buttons on the front of you are peculiarly undone. Your fingers work fastidiously to redo them, before you cross the small room to the door. 

Hurrying down the stairs, you return to the once warm dining room, now flush with sunlight, but still freezing. The fire has burned itself out, and the table remains full of food. The meat has likely spoiled, but the fruit and bread… You eye them both hungrily. 

“My lord?” You call out into the emptiness as your heart pounds in your chest, a staccato rhythm against your ribcage. You wait… but nothing comes, no response, nor sound. Satisfied that you are alone, you rush to the table, hurriedly taking up a piece of bread and some of the fruit. You scarf it down in a very unladylike fashion, but no guilt taints your urgency; you’ll need energy to do your duties. 

As you chew, you decide to meander some, and still, fail to find the Count. Your exploration yields very little aside from the discovery that this castle looks all but abandoned in the daytime. At night, at least there is a fire in the hearth to tell stories of the living craving warmth, but during the day… It is nothing but emptiness. The castle itself is so vast, so decrepit, that you have a hard time navigating it without feeling like you’re running yourself in circles. Most everything looks the same, and frustratingly, most of the doors are locked, try as you may to enter them. How is one intended to clean if they do not have access? 

~

After several hours of cleaning to the best of your ability; sweeping up leaves and dusting away long abandoned cobwebs that hung in the recesses, you pause to wipe your brow, and in doing so, catch a glimpse of the setting sun. Like an overripe fruit, it hangs heavy atop the silhouette of the castle, and disappears, sinking into the horizon as you watch it. Has it been that long? Or had you originally slept much longer than you’d thought? 

Gradually, the castle is submerged in darkness. You hum to yourself, retrieving the rag from the floor and return to the main room. The visual before is laid out as it was the night prior and you are equally as perplexed. 

The fire roars once again, and the Count, with his tall, menacing silhouette, stands in front of it. As soon as your foot hits the last step, he turns, gripping his fur coat at the side. His fingers seem to go on forever, only lengthened by his sharp, pointed nails. You bring your hands to your lap, shifting nervously.

“You have been hard at work, I see…” 

“I… yes, my lord. Though, most of the rooms are locked. Might I have access –” 

“No.” He says lowly, curtly. There is an unsaid warning, discouraging any persistence.

“My lord…” You quiver, fighting against your own nerves. “Might I ask… what is my purpose here then? If not to clean thy castle… why for?”

He is suddenly beside you, his tall frame dwarfing yours. “You will… provide me… company.” 

Your heart squeezes within your chest, tight, as though his hand had reached through your skin and gripped it with all his might. The rag drops from your grasp, falling to the stone floor silently.

“I’m afraid I don’t… I don’t understand.” 

But you do. You understand that you were sent here under a falsehood, an arrangement disguised as employment. As you recollect, the terms in which you were sent away were very sudden, very demanding and very specific – he had requested a young unmarried woman. You thought it to avoid any incessant mail, perhaps, but realize, the reason is far more personal. 

“Fret not,” he says, his fingers reaching up to brush across the warmth of your cheek. They are cold to the touch, frigid even, and you shudder underneath the gesture. His dark eyes suddenly seem to widen, his nostrils flaring. As he inhales sharply, he dips closer to you, his claws reaching towards your clothed hips. 

All at once, his long arms wrap around you, seizing you, pulling you into a desperate, hunger-driven embrace. He tastes your flesh, licking from the nape of your neck to the hollow between your full breasts. It is not tender, nor is it heartfelt. It is insatiable, it is dark, yet… your supple frame melts into his grip, allowing him to support your wilting body in his grasp. 

You feel the edge of his nails gently caress your body, fingers wrapping around the flesh of your arm with their length. Your lids flutter as his mouth nears your ear, his labored breathing hissing into the tight space between the two of you.

Deep between your legs, an incessant want pools. It is hot, greedy, and coils in your stomach like a venomous serpent. Your lids grow heavy with need. Above you, Orlok nears ever closer, dipping down until the bridge of his nose presses into your sternum. He inhales deeply, as though inhaling your very essence. He makes a sound akin to the low, warning growl of a wolf, though it’s tinged with something far more satisfied.

“That which terrifies you….” his full-bodied voice snarls above you, consuming you. “....pleases you.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as you realize what he’s just done, what provoked such a bold claim from his lips. He had smelled your blossoming state, your throbbing arousal and inhaled deep into the confines of his very lungs. No man has ever done such a thing, and the thought leaves you reeling, shuddering in his grip. Because, you know… he is no man. 

“My lord,” you whisper. “I… I…” 

“Speak,” he urges, his voice thickened with lust, with hunger. You can feel his breath upon your breast, upon the exposed column of your neck. He nears closer. 

“I cannot! My words fail me, my lord… I know not what I speak of… what I feel deep within my chest.” 

He growls, considering that for a brief moment, before speaking again. “Your body speaks loud enough.”                                                                                                              

With your breath catching in your mouth, you quickly utter your next words. “I think I may retire… early this evening, my lord. I feel faint.” 

“If you are… unwell, it would be in your best interest to do so.” His words are strung together so laboriously, punctuated by wheezing breaths and his heavy accent. You swallow again, looking up into his unimaginably dark eyes. There is a hunger there, a flash of something that frightens, but moreso, arouses you, and you gasp, turning quickly on your heels, heading back up the nearby steps. “I bid thee goodnight!”  

You run down the corridors as though he is pursuing you. Hunting you. And as soon as you are in the safety of the room that he once carried you into, you shut the door, collapsing against the back of it. You pant, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but you cannot ignore the clawing lust that you feel.

You dress yourself in your nightgown, and quickly get into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin as though that is some ward, some protection from the shadows which plague you. As before, it is not long before the warmth carries you off to sleep, the comfort of the bed acting as a tranquilizer for your nerves.

The dreams come again, wrapping themselves around your body and cradling you in their enticing embrace. They are heavy, like the weight of a lover atop of you, and they ghost along your legs, trailing along the curve of your thigh. You whimper, taking fistfuls of the sheets.

“I beg of thee… please…” you murmur, sleepily. Still, it is a call, a beckoning, and the shadow in your dream heeds it. Immediately. 

You shift, kicking your legs and thrashing your head to the side, whimpering pitiably in your slumber. The sheets are cold and seem to cling to your thighs, bringing you no comfort and do not free themselves when you move your legs. There is a pressure, a pulling deep between your legs. You whine again, bucking your hips. Against something.

Your eyes snap open, your body jerking with unimaginable arousal. The first thing you see is the ceiling, decorated with shadows and uncertainty. The second thing is that your nightgown is pushed up to your waist, exposing your lower half to the chill of the room. The third, and perhaps the most startling, is that Count Orlok is nestled between your thighs, his lengthy fingers gripping your hips tightly, not fazed by the rocking of them as you feel, feel deeply, what he is doing. He pulls you closer, and you immediately feel his cool tongue as it laps at your center. He swallows loudly, wetly, and you immediately smell the harsh, irony scent of blood. As he gulps, you feel an ungodly pulling sensation, as though the essence is being drained from between your legs.

Realizing, you yelp and push your hips into the mattress, pulling his mouth from your cunt with a slick sound. His mouth chases you, but in the second in which the moonlight hits his angular face, you see that the lower half is coated in blood. You wince, and tighten your grip on the sheets. You had heard stories as a child of a mystical, monstrous creature… strigoi, nosferatu, vampyres… many names for one being you’d never thought you’d meet. And certainly not in this way. But you realize, as his mouth hovers over your core, his cool, wheezing breath washing over you, you do not want him to stop. The nerves, the anxiety, it had all been because his aura had captivated you, called out to you like a beacon in the storm. 

“Give thyself to me…”

You nod once, unable to hide your true nature. Your hand drifts to his bare, decaying shoulder, urging him back between your legs. Orlok’s tongue snakes out once again, delving deep into your entrance and lapping up the viscous fluid that leaks from it. You nestle back against the pillow, allowing yourself to feel everything, to drown in the sensations. It is unclean, monstrous but you cannot contain your cries, the lascivious sound echoing off the stone walls. Your hips continue bucking into his mouth, your hand gripping his aged flesh with all the power you have left.

He laps at your cunt, starved for the sanguine nectar mixed with your sweet arousal, and your body quivers and shudders with each pass of his tongue. You feel the sharp points of his fangs grazing your swollen clit, a teasing, dangerous feeling. You dig your nails into his cool flesh, pulling him closer still and you feel that serpent return, coiling around itself until it threatens to burst. 

“Pl-please… my lord…! I’m… I feel as though I might…!” But he does not relinquish his feasting, nor does he slow. 

Your body seizes up, muscles spasming as your back arches desperately, the fire of your orgasm reaches a peak, crashing over you like waves on a shore. Your hips buck violently up into his greedy, hungering mouth, crying out. 

Finally, as the pulsing subsides betwixt your thighs, he is above you, lowering himself down upon your breast. His lithe fingers spread apart the pieces of your nightgown, exposing your skin to his waiting mouth. A white, hot lance of pain erupts over your sternum as his teeth puncture the waiting flesh there, the ache sprawling its stinging tendrils down the length of your arms and to your fingertips.

You gasp, your pupils dilating. The feeling is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and you know, unlike anything you’ll ever experience again – a feeling, a craving that only he can sate. The room is filled with your weakening moans and the slick, gulping sound of Orlok as he drinks from you. Your menstruations were not enough, and yet, neither was a singular orgasm. Your hips writhe with a desperate plea, though he is too far buried between your breasts. 

A dark cloudiness rings the edge of your vision. No… not sleep. Not now…. I beg of thee…

The world fades from your grasp, like water through thine fingers, the only sensation is that of your skin chilling, paling as he drinks your sweet, warm blood. 

“M-my lord…”

[deafeningladyruins]

BLOOD TIES

In the quaint, brooding town of Wisborg, where shadows seemed to linger a moment longer and whispers of old secrets wove through the cobblestone streets, there lived a young woman named Eliza. She was a figure out of place, her heart and soul akin to a gothic novel, filled with yearning and an inexplicable attraction to the macabre. Her life, shrouded in a melancholic solitude, found an unexpected tether in Count Orlok, the mysterious nobleman whose presence exuded an aura of both dread and fascination.

One evening, as the moon cast its silvery, spectral glow over the town, Eliza made her way to the castle that loomed ominously over Wisborg. The chill of her rare illness had been creeping more persistently through her veins, and she knew she needed to confide in Orlok, the only soul who seemed to understand the dark recesses of her heart.

As she entered the grand, shadow-laden hall, her eyes met Orlok’s, filled with an intense, inscrutable depth. He stood like a figure from an ancient tragedy, his gaze penetrating yet tender.

"Eliza," he intoned softly, his voice a melodious whisper that echoed through the vast, empty space. "What burdens your soul?"

Eliza, her heart thrumming with a blend of fear and desperate hope, drew a shaky breath. "Count Orlok, I am afflicted with a rare and insidious disease of the blood. The physicians offer no hope, and I fear my time is slipping away like sand through an hourglass."

A shadow passed over Orlok’s gaunt, pallid face, and he stepped closer, his very presence a strange comfort in the cold expanse. "Tell me more," he urged, his voice a mix of sorrow and fierce determination.

Eliza recounted her condition, her voice a fragile wisp in the dimly lit hall. She spoke of the constant weariness, the relentless pain, and the creeping despair that had become her unwelcome companion. Orlok listened with rapt attention, his eyes never wavering from her face. When she finished, he took her hand in his, his touch cool but steadying.

"Eliza," he said, his voice imbued with a deep, unearthly resolve. "I will not allow you to fade into the abyss. There exists a way to save you, but it demands a grave sacrifice."

Eliza’s heart raced, a tumult of hope and terror. "What do you mean?"

Orlok’s gaze intensified, his eyes gleaming with a fervent light. "I can bestow upon you my blood. It will purge your affliction, yet it will bind you to me for eternity. You will become like me, a dweller of the night, forsaking the warmth of the sun."

Eliza’s mind was a tempest of conflicting emotions. The thought of becoming a vampire, a creature of darkness, filled her with dread, but the alternative—a slow, inevitable death—was far more harrowing. She looked into Orlok’s eyes, seeing the profound love and torment that lay within. He was offering her life, albeit a life steeped in shadows.

"I accept," she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet filled with a steely resolve. "I desire to live, and to remain by your side."

Orlok’s eyes softened, and he drew her into a gentle, yet firm embrace. "You are courageous, Eliza. Together, we shall navigate the darkness."

That night, Orlok guided Eliza to a hidden chamber deep within the labyrinthine castle. The room was a sanctuary of ancient relics and arcane symbols, a testament to Orlok’s enduring existence. In the center, an ornate bed draped in crimson silk awaited, its presence both inviting and foreboding.

"Lie down," Orlok instructed, his voice a mellifluous command that brooked no disobedience.

Eliza complied, her heart a symphony of anticipation and fear. Orlok knelt beside her, his eyes a complex tapestry of sorrow and adoration. He leaned closer, his breath a cool caress against her skin.

"This will only be a moment’s pain," he murmured, before sinking his fangs into her chest, near her heart.

Eliza gasped as a sharp pain lanced through her, followed swiftly by a tidal wave of warmth and a dizzying euphoria. She felt her mortal life ebbing away, supplanted by a powerful, vibrant force. Orlok’s blood coursed through her, healing and transforming her, binding her to him in a union of eternal night.

When Eliza awoke, she was reborn. An ethereal strength surged through her, her senses heightened to an almost painful clarity. Orlok stood beside her, his eyes alight with pride and an unwavering devotion.

"Welcome to your new existence, Eliza," he intoned, his voice a symphony of emotion. "You are no longer constrained by the ephemeral bounds of mortality."

Eliza rose, feeling the newfound power pulsing through her veins, the clarity of her thoughts a stark contrast to her former weakness. She looked upon Orlok with a gaze filled with profound gratitude and burgeoning love. "Thank you, Orlok. I am ready to embrace this new life, to face whatever darkness lies ahead, with you."

As the first tendrils of dawn began to creep across the sky, Orlok took Eliza’s hand and led her to a secluded alcove, away from the impending sunlight. They sat together in the penumbral stillness, their connection now an unbreakable bond forged in the crucible of shared sacrifice and enduring love. Eliza knew her life had irrevocably changed, but with Orlok beside her, she was prepared to embrace the eternal night and the boundless mysteries it promised.

In the dim light, Orlok leaned in, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of their shared destiny, of the love that had blossomed in the shadows and would endure through the ages. As their lips parted, Eliza felt a profound sense of belonging, knowing that she and Orlok were bound together, forever entwined in the darkness.

———

Good evening everyone, I just saw Nosferatu so I got an idea for this little story, hope you guys like it and feel free to give me ideas.