#female vampire reader

[davinawritings]

Monster stalker that wants his scent on you so bad that he cums in your hair products.

He knows you always use leave in conditioner after your shower so obviously that is his main target. It is already a thick, white, and creamy consistency anyway.

He waits outside your home until he sees you leave before he breaks in. He dumps half of the product down the sink, making sure no trace is left behind.

He spends hours just cumming over and over again into the bottle. He mixes it up well so you don’t notice. Your human nose can only smell the scent of the synthetic fragrance.

His scent may not be noticeable to humans but other monsters will be able to smell his claim on you.

He only needs to keep the other monsters away a little longer. He has almost finished renovating his house, making everything perfect for his little human. Once that’s done he’ll be able to take you and claim you as his own. Then he can fill your cunt with his cum and truly claim you.

Until then, this will have to do.

❤️🖤💕💕🖤❤️

[wingedfuncomputer]

The Outskirs of Town

Remmick x fem!reader

Summary: Living far from town with a father who treats you more like a maid instead of a daughter proves itself exhausting. Secluded like a bird in a cage, a boring cycle life becomes until a random man shows up one night striking up an innocent deal. In name of your chicken coop you accept letting him in. Though as time passes & whispers of violence roughing a sweet couple up around town has you rethinking this weird relationship you have created with the Irish stranger who seemed to come out of thin air.

WarningsNSFW: slow-burnish, naive!reader, if you squint fluff, racist undertones, racism, reader has a mean father, manipulative! Remmick, blood, dub-con, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), corruption kink?, somnophilia, No actual P in V, violence, vampirism, death!, nightmares, injury!, biting, Angst, spit, !reader is not black due to family dynamic

Word count: 14.6k Fic playlist!

From a far his eyes locked on her. Right as the sun set tending the little chickens, ushering them into the coop. Softly, she tried her hardest to close the door as if not wanting to scare them. A regular passer by wouldn't glance an eye she was a normal little thing, but not to him, not to Remmick.

It was primal how he always found himself being dragged back to her every time the sun decided to hide behind the horizon. Her sweat, her skin, her pulsing blood enticed him as if he'd known her before. She was too sweet to ravish like all those ol' people he had left a mess of before. He let himself get enveloped in the idea that his human mind,what little of it remained had.Affection. With that utterly disgusting revelation he decided to knock on her door to put an end to the feeling once and for all. Heavy, knuckles contacting the chipping paint of the wood.

You had been sweeping the floor when you heard a noise coming from the front door. A little startled you had halted confused by who would be visiting your father so late at night. Most people weren't out after sun down. "The floors ain't gon' sweep themselves keep at it girl". His gruffy voice made you grip the wooden stick tighter negating the fact it caused splinters to get stuck to your skin. It was old, long due to be thrown away but your voice was nonexistent in this house. With a small creak a hesitant humble very male voice spoke, "good afternoon... sir". You whipped your head around intrigued but found your father's body blocking the man behind the door. "State your business". He had never learnt kindness, it was a foreign thing to him. "I'm just a lowly traveler going on by, was wonderin' if you could offer some hospitality". A huff emitted from your father as the man continued. "My wife she's no longer with us.. I must find myself across the state but the sun is beating and unforgiving". Your heart ached for him, he sounded defeated. Your father surely would say mean ol' things to him and get violent. But suprisingly he laughed barking your name then orders at you, "fetch this man a cup of water". Only for a split second when he turned were you able to capture a glimpse, the man already looking directly at you. His features resembled your father's, except for his frame he looked thinner his face covered in what seemed to be a mix of dirt and sweat. You nod and quickly keep your eyes down. Whilst you grab a tin cup and fill it with water by the sink you hear the small hushing of their conversation asking where he was headed to and why. Your steps are weary making sure you don't spill the water.

"The Catholics did a number on my people kindness is hard to come by. Could you let me in don't want to bother the young lady ?" His first comment is what makes your father's demeanor change, you see it from a few feet away as his back tenses. He ignores the man's request, "Where you from boy?". Once only a few inches away you decide to lay down the cup by a piece of furniture near by. Eyes creeping behind your father's shoulders it was obvious to see the man was not a boy. There's a glint of a smirk in the strangers lips as he glances at you, "Ireland". That's when your heart drops, with poison your father spits "get your filthy Irish ass off my f*cking property". 

"I don't mean no disrespect, I'd still appreciate that water" he takes a step forward which makes your father push him. You yelp afraid they'd have a full brawl and the innocent man would end up in his grave. "You won't get nothin' here ! Leave my property". Your hands goes up to your fathers arm as you can see his anger exalted, his fist itching to make contact with the Irish man's face. "Father please..." his face full of anger weighs in on yours before shoving your hand away and instead drags you inside once more. "It's best if you learn to keep away from men like that ." He speaks as if the man wasn't there, you can't help but take a look once more offering a look of apology.

That whole night you couldn't bring yourself to sleep tossing and turning, imagining what that poor man was going through. You didn't hear about him the following day or day after that until you found yourself reluctantly putting yet another dead bird into a sack. They were being ripped to shreds, you made sure the coop was secured each night so what could be killing them? It was sundown, the night air hitting your skin in a way that made your hairs stick up. " 'coyote... or fox" your body jolts hearing someone break the silent spell in the air. Immediately letting the bag fall and taking steps back as you twist to see who the voice belonged to. "Apologies I didn't mean to scare ya". It was hard to see in the darkness but the moonlight along with your small lamp on the ground allowed you to see enough to say, "your the man from a few days ago". He was standing behind the fence that surrounded your chicken coop. "Guilty as charged" you couldn't help but laugh along with him. "I'm Remmick" he extends his hand towards you which you can only just stare at. It would've been appropriate to say your name and envelope his hand but you don't. Remmick. "My Irish hands too dirty" he murmurs to himself which makes you start to ramble in apologies insuring his heritage nothing to do with your lack of a response. " of course not It's just that, no offense sir your a- your a...." Your stuttering makes heat flood your cheeks. "A stranger?" He says it so casually no anger laced in between his words just light heartedness. You both stare at each other in an awkward pregnant pause before you find the courage to nod. Guilt weighs in your soul after reflecting "I'm truly ashamed about what happened last time... that is no way to be treated". He just smiles a little huff of air being exhaled as he leaned into the fence, "it happens more than you know darlin' nothin' personal". His deep voice grumbles nicely when he calls you by that little pet name making your stomach flutter. It must've been as clear as the night sky you weren't allowed around men often let alone other people.

Remmick seems intrigued by you growing quiet, tilting his head to the side as he quirks , "the way across the state ain't an easy one.. staying around these parts is easier. would help if I had a place to rest... ". You would offer him your home in a heartbeat but you knew how your pops wasn't fond of him, let alone yourself. He could barely tolerate you. The strangers eyes are trained on your every twitch, chest constricting and trembling hands playing with the loose fabric of your skirt. It was quite nice really it felt like you were a lil' rabbit troubled by your surroundings. Yet You were unaware that the greatest danger wasn't your father, no not your father. It was the devil himself looming over you in this instant.

He smacks his lips making you look back at him once more. His pointer finger is near his mouth faking thought, "well I might just got a deal that could work for both 'f us". Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you still hear the poor man out. "I can help ya with the lil' chicken problem... in exchange I get a piece of shelter". His eyes nudge at the forgotten sack beneath you then trail up your frame to your face. Your teeth grind trying to thinking If he helped manage the death of these chickens father would probably lay off my back, let me go back out in town for food or what not for he farm.

"So what da ya, say? You gon' let me in?"

You still hear it even after many days of accepting. The way his finger nail clicked on the fence doors metal handle, his words not menacing or inviting just there looming behind your brain and the stillness that overtook the night. He was your secret, like a little frog you hid beneath your bed covers from your father when you were younger. Except he took cover in the coop with the chickens and he was no frog... just a man with everything he'd lost weighing on top of his shoulders. And like those slimy little animals you gave him food and water usually late at night when your father wouldn't suspect a thing, not that he cared much for your safety.

The arrangement went well the chicken massacre was over in just short of days. You were given permission to go back in town and here you found yourself in the shop owned by colored folk. Your pops would be yelling at you through the top of his lungs but he wasn't here who would scold you then? He couldn't tell the difference between the white peoples and the not so white peoples food. It was all the same. You got a few stares here and there but didn't pay much mind your eyes were encapsulated by a nice pocket watch. Not too big to cost lots of money but still a good size your sure Remmick would benefit from this for his travels. "Well well don't tell me the fine lady got a man now?" You clutch the fine piece of metal in your hands but relax once you realize it's Genevieve a worker of the shop you've grown fond of. You shake your head trying to fight the blush surging on your face, "oh no nothin' of the sort just for a friend!". Her arms cross in front of her chest giving you that look of suspicion. "That's how it starts then next thing ya' know you'll be popping those babies out like a damn industrial machine". She speaks with a reminiscent tone. She was a mother of a new born with a doting husband they didn’t have much they were all she ever needed.You can't help but stifle your giggle, the idea of being that way with the Irish man hiding in your barn seeming much too far. Not that it hadn't cross your mind you were just a woman after all and he was a handsome man. "I barely even know him, just a  few days n' countin". Her eyes widen with a smirk, "so there is someone!". You both walk towards the register that seemed to be isolated from the other part of the establishment. "He must be real handsome to be worth all this money. A real dream," she says sarcastically while she has the watch in her hand. You lay the rest of your groceries on the isle next to the register. It was pretty but out of your tax bracket maybe not your fathers but You're sure he'd notice right away on your big spending when the plentiful groceries were baren when you'd bring them back. "...your right, I'm dreamin' far too big " you let out self deprecatingly

"Aint nothin' wrong with dreamin' big, though I have to admit this gift is more of a husband typa gift. Unless... he be your husband?". "No...". She can see you grow a bit ashamed so she puts the watch back in a secure place before she brings out a straw cowboy hat. "You don't see these round here much, but very good for hard workin' men. Keep the sun out their face n' everythin'. Less than the watch... I'll even give ya a deal". If Remmick was traveling by foot your sure the sun would be unforgiving, could be easier to disguise the buy for yourself. Pops wouldn't bat an eye. "You make a good bargain I can't resist Genevieve".  Well most bargains you fell victim to. As you pay for your  things she puts the food in your home bag and places the hat a bit too big for your size on your head, flicking the edge. "Now go tell your man he'll have to make you a wife after this gift" you both laugh as you start walking away until her voice calls out to you right as your a few inches from the door. Turning around she gives you a tight hug which you try your best to return, "stay safe alright people goin' missing round here don't be one of 'em".

Her voice was soft and dripping with concern you thought about her warning as you walked back home. Still an hour or two till sun down which meant your father would be home soon. So quickly you got to cookin' dinner, a potato soup with corn on the side. Not the most cohesive plate but enough to fill the stomach up. With a rumble of an engine coming to a halt you knew he was home. Not so long after dragged in your father with no words exchanged sitting down to eat, you joined him in silence. Your heart was palpating as the sun finally set, in excitement of being able to see Remmick and giving him the hat you had bought him currently tucked away in your room. "Serve me 'nother plate" gruff cut and dry. "Yes sir" you got up going to the too small to even be considered pot with his bowl serving him more. As you placed it on the table there was no gratitude so you went back to your own bowl which you ate slowly. Once he was finished he left his plate deserted going upstairs to the washroom, the trickling of water alerted you to pass by the same room he was in to grab his clothes. The cold bucket of water outside was a perfect contrast to the slight humidity in the air. You tugged the large pants and shirt against the makeshift slab of wood and metal that helped scrape the clothes new. Even with the hair tie a few pieces of hair got in front of your face which you tried your best to shoulder out of the way. Maybe one day you'd run far from these grounds and start living not just slaving away doing chores. You squish the clothes riding them of the water extending them before laying them up in the clotheslines. With a deep breath you take a chance to intake the sweet oxygen. the small sweat building up proving the job was just a bit harder than it seemed

He was watching from the darkness in the trees, the adrenaline once fresh in his veins now soothing and left nothing but a linger. It became a ritual he could never get enough of. Having kept you alive was fun. Not something that only lasted a few minutes but could be dragged on for as long as he liked. He was the reason you were standing there right now tired from your chores. Your pulse seeming to call him like some sort of siren in the ocean. His feet silent beneath the summer grass.

You pondered of what Genevieve had said earlier about the towns folk going missing. The hollowness in the air along with the hanged clothes obstructing your view of the forest surrounding your house urged you to go back inside. With a quick turn you didn't expect for Remmick to be at your side. Automatically you slapped your hands over your mouth successfully hiding your yelp. "You gotta stop doin that!" You try your best to whisper. His creeping was perfect no evidence of sounds being heard as if he were some sort of ghost, maybe a warlock with witchcraft tricks. He tries his hardest to bury his small laugh inside the depthless of his chest throwing his hands up in surrender noticing your frustration. "Ya must know I can't help myself doll". You notice the sweat buildup on his forehead and the little dirt on his face. Swiftly you take the cloth wrapped around your waist dipping it in the clean water remaining then stepped closer to him, wiping it across his skin. "I know you can't seem to keep yourself clean either" you expected him to sass back but instead he just stares adoringly at you as you finish up focusing on his sweaty bangs.  "Why would I? It'll probably be the only time you put your hands on me willingly, I'm trynna cherish it". his hand lifts up to your face caressing your cheek lightly before tucking that stray hair behind your ear. "That's not true.." your words died with his touch. His fingers on your skin make your heart skip a beat, body freeze and your throat run dry. He was being a flirt purposefully. Right? I mean he was usually this way just never so straight forward and touchy. As if knowing you were having a revelation he can't help but tilt his head and let his eyebrows raise.

"-your soup" you blurt out retracting your hand. Trying to unakwardfy the moment you clear your throat as you slowly walk away, "I'll bring you your soup, you must be real hungry n' I don't wanna make it grow colder". You don't give him enough time to respond shutting the door behind you, back pressed against the firm wood. Your hands come up to your chest, finally letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Uncertainty was growing in your head along with the small tingles that ran through your back from being do close to him .... Being able to see every pore, feel his touch his eyes and lips you'd bet he'd kissed many women in his life and you knew they had enjoyed it...how would it feel- enough! You push yourself off the door and get to pouring Remmick a bowl in a hastily manner. Your father's weight creaks under the wood floors but he pays you no mind instead goin' to sit on the small couch with his radio and newspaper in hand. The small grumbling of the static of voices was oddly comforting allowing you to carefully wrap a piece of corn on the cob around a rag. Before going outside you go upstairs to your room scouring for your knitted cardigan. It was a pretty shade of dirt brown with little specs of beige. As you slipped it on your eyes catch a glimpse of the cowboy hat you picked out for the ol' Irish man but decided against removing it from the edge of your bed. He’s just a stranger the voice in your head reminded you.

By the time you go outside once more you expect him to be waiting for you, in that same stance resting against the fence you've grown fond of but to no surprise it seemed he'd gone into the chicken coop early. You weren't sure why it made your heart weigh down on your chest. Though disappointed you don't let yourself fret, placing the bowl and corn right ontop the fence knowing he'd come out whenever possible. Maybe you should knock never know what if he just forgot. Your knuckles softly tapped on the wood not the one that belonged to the chicken coop but the fence. It wasn't to signal for him it was to merely trying to build courage for yourself to actually do so. Ultimately though you retreated back into your home.

Had he taken your abrupt leave as rejection? Was he bothered? Worse what if he no longer wanted to speak to you! Were the thoughts plaguing your mind throughout the day after. Juvenile ones you were ashamed to admit. "Tell me I'm a fool. Tell me I'm doomed please Genevieve" you whined to the woman you always came to bother. She was just a few years older but there was a certain maturity to her you loved like a mother. "Who's not when it comes to love, though I'd push back on the doomed.". "I wouldn't even say love, he's a complete stranger not even from here..". She halts the clothes she was folding completely, turning to look at you, "ya said he was your friend what do ya mean complete stranger n' not from 'round here ? ". It was stern as if the little small details you had mentioned about his appearance, sweet gestures and his "nightly visits" held no validity now. "Well he's not exactly my friend I've known for ages that's why I said stranger". But your poor excuse of a lie didn't faze her, immediately you cracked. "Alright I lied! I only know this man for a little less than 2 weeks he was just so sweet n' needed help but my papa don't like him so he's been staying in the coop where I keep all my chickens!". It was as if she was the one trying to catch her breath at your confession. "Before ya judge he's a very honorable man, he ain't do nothin' weird yet he helps keep the predators away from my small feathered friends n' I just provide him food, water ya know the basic necessities-" That's how you start telling her the whole story from start to finish of how that night when you met went down. All the nitty gritty and the pointless details.

"Oh child may the lord bless ya heart". You were unsure on how to react to her words, an akward smile hanging on your lips. "Is that meant in a good way or-?"  She cuts you off before you can finish. "What in the world ya thinking'! You must wanna visit your grave early girl". You try to scratch the nervousness away behind your neck as you dash your eyes around the store. "It's not as bad as it seems Gene I swear".  "Let me get this straight a man who came begging at your door, which your father kicked out, is now living in your barn house because he caught you late at night offered to help you protect your chickens so now your bending over backwards for him?". Even though you're afraid to you just nod. She sighs deeply, "I swear with the crimes appearin' round town I'd wish you'd be more careful". There's real sincerity in her voice which makes your tone turn a bit defensive. "I live on the outskirts news like that don't reach me so easily..". Theres a bit of silence in the air to make the gears in your head turn. "what exactly happened anyway?"

" some lady n' her husband near the outskirts aswell, don't know exactly where she lives.. or lived. No sign left of 'em  just blood n' their baby. Many said it was a Horrible horrible sight wouldn't wish it on anybody" your body can't help but let out a small tinge of sweat afraid of exactly what fate the babe had met . "So are both of 'em alive?". "No one knows.. as I said lots of blood but yet no bodies" there was a linger of thick air between the both of you, unspoken yet very heavy. "Should probably get home then, I'll keep myself safe". You both said your goodbyes and off you were right as the sun met the edge of the horizon. The walk back had been nothing but peaceful, a weird ambiance of sorts seeming to loom, even the quiet of the house had grown intimidating. Though rinse repeat of the previous days as you made dinner and your father came in the door, eating then leaving you be busied you away such thoughts. While your pops went to sleep earlier, you on the other hand find your place outside once more leavin' Remmicks food out on top the fence like you always did. You were collecting the hens eggs when you noticed the grid near the top of their little home was slowly but surely ripping off. While you stood up to inspect the spot you caught glimpse of Remmick far away walking towards you. You lift a hand up and he does as-well It makes you notice something wrapped around his back. Throughout his stay he would busy himself in the day, you never pushed yourself to ask. You didn't think it would be quite appropriate to know his day schedule, he never asked yours... well not that he had to ask, you always told him the night before.

"Busying yourself with the hens now are ya". You smile at his introduction to starting a conversation. He joined you inside the fenced perimeter. After just a day or two you had grown to miss his voice. "You may protect 'em but I still gotta clean 'em n'  their small home aswell. What's that you got?" You can't help but let your curiosity get the best of you especially when it came to something that looks like an instrument. He swiftly tilts whatever he has around so what looked like a guitar is now In front of him. With a small lean towards you he professes as if he were about to tell you something sacred, "this ol' thing is called a banjo, keeps me company late at night". Your eyes light up, repeating the instruments name in your head and the fact he hadn't lost his spark from a few days prior. Pops never allowed these kinda things here he told you a home was meant for quiet not to be filled with loud yapping and music. "Well you must play somethin' for me now". His fingers tap the edge of the banjo eyes locked onto yours before his voice grows husky. " beg real nicely n' I might just do it" your breath hitches at his words, eyes trailing down to where he was slowly rubbing small circles on the surface of the banjo. This minuscule action had you in a trance. What was he doing to you? What was this you were feeling growing deep in your bones at the depthness of your belly?

You did end up asking him, begging so sweetly he just couldn't resist to let you hear him play . A sweet tune you can't even remember the rhythm to, or his humming he offered. The only thing you were able to remember was the way his fingers strummed softly as you lay in bed. It was the last thing on your mind before the night gently coaxed you to sleep.

It was a fever that overtook your senses as you shifted back and forth in bed, sweat accumulating on your neck and forehead. An unexplainable throb growing between your legs while something wet slithered between yourself like the slits of a book. A plunge invading your most intimate part made you cry, head thrown back as your hips and hands tried to wrestle with this new feeling. It felt sinful, violating, a light sting causing pain, yet addicting. You didn't want it to stop, you didn't want the attack on your folds to end. A rumble, like a laugh made vibrations, shocks travel through your cunt inching that tightness in your stomach close to absolute destruction. You didn't want whatever was happening to stop. That's when you looked down, hands digging into a full set of sweaty hair, pulling to at least reveal the object of your greatest pleasure. Those ice cold eyes, toothy grin with a peculiar fang, his nose bridge. "Beg real nicely f’ me " he hushed his fingers still working overtime. But that's all you needed the puff of hot air on the place he had just been feasting right over your pearl. His eyes never leaving yours. Your moans grow, his name dying on your lips as all you can let out is strings of abnormal sounds as you feel your peak finally falling over.

A loud bang immediately has you sitting straight up in your small bed. "Sleepin' in is for the f*cking birds. Are you a bird?" You rub your eyes, still dazed from what your mind had just made you experience. Yet you know better than prioritizing regaining yourself quickly you groggily speak, "no.. no, I'm not sir". "Right your not so get your ass out the bed and start cleanin'!"  He mumbles out strings of insults as he finally leaves the confines of your room. From the way the sun is blaring you were sure it was closer to noon than your regular wake up time.

You do what he orders ignoring the wetness between your thighs. He leaves and you were sure he wouldn't come back till next morning or next days midnight. He always had the habit of leavin' when the weekend came. Who knows where, all you knew is when he'd come back he'd be drunk out his mind n' rage enough to feed a whole herd of cows with his hands... you find yourself with infinite amount of free time finishing with cleaning the whole house in records time. So you sit near a window gazing at the sunlight, the birds, grass and faint butterflies here n there. It was quite odd really you had never gone past the perimeters of your house grounds only sticking to your home, the trail leading to the town and the town itself. The woods surrounding your home were quite dark, the trees even from where you were sitting seemed to have claws for twigs, all sorts of poisonous plants were just a few distance away and the wild animals.. the ones who had killed 1/4 of your chickens. All danger, you didn't have to put yourself in front of. The chickens invaded your view making you realize you hadn't treated the hens to a proper clean. With a small groan you lift yourself off the window ledge grabbing the cowboy hat you had bought a few days ago. You still hadn't found the courage to give it to him, even though a bit loose around your head it had really proved itself useful with blocking out the sun just as Gene had promised. Especially like now that you were grabbing buckets of water back n' forth, cleaning with rags the outside of the house along with the old broom. Even with the shade created on your face it didn't stop the relentless rays from causing unexplainable heat.

"That darn metal wire" you huff out, mouth dry. When you had believed to be done you took notice of the even wired fence on the top of the hens coop looking in worse condition than before. Did I not take care of this? Before your anger can get the best out of you, shame takes over it instead trickling in big waves. Remmick and his banjo... that's what got me distracted.  You bite your lip scouring for pliers your father kept in a tool box near the coop. The sun was going down soon you told yourself you could catch a drink after you finish this last job. You have to really force your eyes to focus when extending yourself to try and reach the metallic fence. I won't replace it completely just wrap it around itself to keep any unwanted creatures out. Then I'll rest..

Your hands start to shake a bit and your calf's hurt due to you being on your tiptoes. Focus it's not that hard. Successfully you close 3 out of 4 wires needing one left. But then you hear a snap then a sharp sting running down your finger. You hiss in response and let the pliers go abruptly, which causes them to land on your foot. The overwhelming situation makes your breath lose evenness not helping the fight of lack of oxygen your lungs had already been dealing with. Your vision stars to be invaded by growing black splotches. "Sit.. I've gotta, do that..." so you do, hand tightly wrapped around your thumb both covered in that red essence. The sight of your not so little cut makes you grow even more light headed. Before you can even protest the darkness envelops you, too weak to even fight it your eyes gently flutter shut.

You feel it before seeing it. There's a huge pounding in your head that forces your lids to be no more than one centimeter open and a throb. Not a painful one, no one that expresses want on the southern side of your body. It's familiar, like the feeling you had freshly in the morning except unlike in your dream you clench on nothing. Only tingles you can grasp onto but it doesn't create satisfaction. what makes you drift your dazed eyes downward is the pressure felt on your thumb. It was hard to focus, everything was a blur you just catch the sound of wetness. Something holding your hand, it was draining you not just emotionally but physically. Subconsciously you moan it's soft and covered in the many layers of your throat yet this makes whatever is beneath you stop. As it looks up your corneas put in the work even if it's for just a split second. You see the silhouette of a man, unrecognizable with bright red eyes, mouth lightly covered in your dark essence and sharp teeth. It was human n' monster combined n' it was staring straight at you. Your system was beyond exhausted shutting you forcefully down again.

Your left in darkness for a while till you start stirring awake, something cold running across your forehead. "C'mon gotta see you wake up" that voice delights your soul a light murmur of his name under your breath. It earns you a warm grumbly laugh from the depths of his chest, "the one n' only darlin" . You identify the object pressing against your cheek as his hand you can't help but lean into it. Though you did not find absolute warmth you still enjoyed it. He brings a small cup up to your lips urging you to drink which you do. Your dry throat rejoices in the new source of water to quench your thirst. The slight flex to your hand which alerts you of a slight sting sends flashes of faux memories through your brain. The animal the thing sucking your hand or your thumb whatever it had been made you involuntarily jolt subsequently some water spilling on you from the cup. "Sorry, sorry" you quickly say between breaths your low energy not equipping fast reflexes. He quickly puts the cup down comforting you by rubbing his hands down the side of your shoulders. "Are you alright what happened?" You try to cough to hide the embarrassing way your voice wobbled. "I'm good 'just- I'm skittish remember?" You try to laugh it off but you can tell he doesn't buy it. He plays along though. This moment of silence allows you to completely regain your senses to see you were still outside, next to the coop in the last position you remember being in.

"I wrapped your thumb real good, shouldn't bleed no more ... what happened to ya? I swear when I walked up I thought ya were just bein' silly with me" ,you pull your injured hand closer to you at its mention. The pliers not so far from you push you to speak, "I was trynna fix some part of the chicken coop, cut myself, must've lost track of time given I've been out all day in the glazing sun..." the cancerous rays, the heat that seemed to be burning you from inside out. Your healthy hand slaps at your head finding it empty the ground at your sides makes contact with your hand aswell. "Lookin' for this sweet old cowboy hat?" His voice is cocky once you look up you realize why. The straw you bought for was on his head. Fits him perfectly not just around his skull but the way it also frames his face makes you believe it was made specifically for him in mind and he knows this. He can't miss an opportunity to tease,  "Might keep it suits me well, your little brain don't fill it" now it's your turn to not laugh at his attempt to bring light heartedness into the air. You were still disturbed by the weird dream like nightmare you had experienced, adding on your injury aswell both weren't a good combo. Yet even with this you try not to dwell on the way the edges of his mouth tilt downward at your lack of enthusiasm. "That's actually for you.. I was meant to give to ya some time ago 'just was a coward". His mouth does a whole 180 his frown no more instead plastered on is a bashful smile. One that didn't have arrogance, teasing or any ulterior motives behind it. "Well aren't you just the sweetest doll face". You can't help but let the blush roam freely at his praise until that warmth in your belly returns along with a headache. "I should get to bed" as you try to stand a light whince leaves your lips the fact your foot was aching due to the heavy metal pliers that fell on them earlier coming to your attention. Remmick aids you in order to walk out the fence. The chickens were locked in the coop already, his plate of food gone. You don't realize any of this since having your body pressing onto his makes your brain mush.

"I can take it from here, I had just forgot those stupid pliers fell on my foot"  you say as you finally reach the houses back door. He lets you go, "don't forget to clean that wound up tomorrow should help without your pops nagging early mornin'" you laugh and say goodnight the weakness in your bones catching up to you.

The next day right as the sun rises you sit in the kitchen table in silence. A news article from town you had collected left at your door and Alcohol from your father's stash on the table as you stare at the oddly physically pleasant gash infront of you. Something was odd, you've received your own fair share of cuts, scrapes and injuries none of them compared to this one. It was as if where the skin broke was just an illusion, no blood left to clean or seep out just your pink flesh beneath your skin. You shift in your seat recounting the lapping at your finger that sent tingles down to your feet. It was all so weird, you never had vivid dreams like those and you could still feel its presence around you. It's hunger, need to suck you dry... but was it your blood it wanted or your soul? You sound like a kid overanalyzing your nightmares. It was just a nightmare that was all, you told yourself. Plus if any weird animal had been near you Remmick would've of noticed. He would've done something. Would he?

Your brain seems to be enjoying playing devils advocate forcing you to shake your head and stand from the chair in disagreement. Though you connected that the newspaper you had read. 'Couple missing child dead' was who Genevieve must've been talking about. No longer wanting to let your brain to spiral out of control you decide a shower would probably serve you well. So you do just that letting the comforting hands of the water caress your naked body while the wound on your hand isn't affected by the soap. You hum to yourself a tune one you've never heard of before, didn't even know the words to yet your brain simultaneously did. Something so normal you did everyday made you wonder back to the couple from town. 'Bert and Joan' the article of their tragedy had mentioned their names. Were they vigilant knowing something would happen or were they doing their daily tasks like you were right now? They were probably enjoying day until someone decided to make a mess of their lives let alone a baby. Whoever had done that deserved the worst penalty a judge could offer. It sadness your heart too much that you push the subject to the back of your brain. After you brush your hair out and put a new pair of fresh clothes on you decide to take a look at the small box you kept hidden away in your closet. It was your mother's. The only thing you had left of her.

There's few letters you read over too many times to count while growing up, miscellaneous objects and a photograph. It was in black n' white starting to peel right over her face. This photograph had been the only thing that connected you to your mother. now all that was left was a still picture of her beautifully clothed frame and one quarter of her face. Maybe it was for the best, you didn't know much about her and your pops said she just up n' left one day. You still held onto hope. The way she wrote, expressing her emotions just didn't seem to coincide with the woman your father portrayed her to be. What catches your attention though is this book, very dusty n' old. The secrets of the past, your hands trail over the title indented on the cover. Looking at the table of contents it seems to be an explanation book for medicinal recipes, herbs, then towards the end of the book you see "creatures". While trying to flip the pages over to that section you go downstairs. It's past mid day, the sun still strong so you lay down on the couch. With the book in your hand you start reading about wendigos and skin walkers of the sort. Their stalking abilities, ways to manipulate their prey, sharp teeth, their need for human flesh. That specific part was underlined, someone had read this book with passion, little notes on the side, phrases circled. Maybe your mother or a familiar... while you continue your investigation somewhere along the way you knock out. Cold and surrounded by darkness there’s Voices that start to whisper in your ear. They're indescribable except for the way it sounds like they're reciting a prayer. There's no fear just tranquility their hushness proving comforting. You can't relish in it long until they start getting louder a tone of desperation infecting them. Then your name being repeated. You try to move, stir yourself awake but nothing works. Your heart beat rings in your ears taunting you along with their cries, blood curling screams. A voice overtakes all of them in screaming your name.

You sit straight up gasping for air, chest rising and falling dramatically. It felt too real the vibrations of their voices still living deeply inside your ear drums. There's no time left to help yourself focus on calming your tremors down until a knock echos through the living room. Your blood pressure spikes from the sound but you force yourself up. It was dark out making you realize your nap took more than what you believed. The floor creaks underneath your bare feet with every step you take. Once you reach the door you hesitate. What if I'm going insane with stress and you're just hearing things? It was dark out, you were alone with no way to defend yourself... you decide on the next best course of action. Peaking through the medium sized window the door had your fingers pushed the drapes aside eyes coming in contact with a man facing away but you knew that sweaty hair anywhere and the banjo strapped on his back.

Quickly you open the door relieved to see Remmick as he turns around the cowboy hat you'd given him in hand. "Hey sweetheart" but you don't give him a response. He notices your eyes darting left and right the way you fidget with your fingers as if trying to tie a rope. Due to the lack of communication back he speaks again, "you alright 'seem on edge?". You try to brush it off but he moves forward on the little steps located at the front of the door. "I'm here for ya, 'can tell me anythin' ". He was at your doorstep, close to your house something he never did because he was overly cautious of your father catching a glimpse at him. An unspoken rule. "don't forget to clean that wound up tomorrow should help without your pops nagging early mornin'"

"Should help without your pops nagging early mornin'"

"How'd ya know?" You ask before thinking. He's a bit taken back by the out of the context question. "What da ya mean?". "How'd ya know my pops wasn't here?" You can see the warmth in his eyes falter for only a split second subconsciously you stopped leaning towards him. He laughs in your face making you rethink the sudden hostility on your end. "Cars gone, got hurt yesterday with no one to help, he'd done somethin' similar last week? 'Don't know darlin' don't take a genius to figure this one out". You sigh in disappointment at yourself joining him in a chuckle. He was the only one who cared for you, never hurt you, someone you considered a confidant sort of like Genevieve back in town. "Sorry, don't know what's wrong with me   I've just been havin' these nightmares must be the stress.." you rub your temples dragging your hair away from your face. He quiets down his voice more cut dry and for the first time since you met him you heard him sound unsure "What these nightmares about... if you don't mind me askin' ". You look up at him once more eyebrows scrunching trying to recall. "I'm not sure.. uhh monsters, voices or somethin' it's odd" it's not that you didn't want to tell him, you just weren't so sure of it yourself."Well good things they're just nightmares" he hums as he seems to be analyzing you. His gaze made you surprisingly uneasy but this feeling dwindles as he chirps . "There's this place over by the forest, it's where I find myself more often than not ... throughout the day of course. It's real sweet with a stream, nice little area to sit n' sing where the air hits nicely. Would love to share my place of paradise with ya if ya'd want to f'course".

It seemed enticing, intimate, but the crickets in the air and darkness that seeped from the forest haunting the background made you shake your head softly, "sorry.. not today". You had never been one to deny him you were always so eager to please. He forces a smile, "I understand, im a man here asking a lady to take a stroll along the concealed forest alone in the late of the night" you can see him take a few steps down the small flight of stairs. "It's not that Remmick, I really would love to it's just..." you can't find the words, the excuse, because it didn't exist. "... just can't" The last string of events had scrambled your brain like eggs in the morning. You weren't sure what to put faith in. With this rejections you can feel the disappointment In the way his shoulders drop. "It's alright.. I'll be, heading to sleep then, go catch your own z's ". His poor excuse for a laugh following his words was awkward. You should reach out to him, grab his hand before he goes too far for you bare feet could reach. But you never do watching as he settles inside the fence you can only murmur a small "goodnight" that doesn't even reach his ears. the small click back from the door signifies your end of the night as you lock it. You don't glance at the clock just dragging your feet on the floor all the way up to your room. Unlike before where you would just knock your self out with boredom instead you are subjected to torture by your lack of a dormant brain. The inability to succumb to sleep being the perpetrator. You wasn’t insomnia just the fleeting thought of danger being near never leaving, it was like you knew something was bound to happen something terrible, but couldn't pin point exactly when. Your father hadn't come home, the stressful nightmares, remmicks odd behavior or was it yours? This was all too much to digest. You sit up from your bed abruptly standing no longer being able to force your eyes shut to pretend sleep. Hours have already gone by. A glass of warm milk would ease the nerves.

You didn't want to waste anymore time putting a small metal pot over the kitchen stove and fetched the milk pouring no more than a cup and putting the white gallon back in its designated space. With a repetitive tick the flames came to life putting in the work to heat up the milk. You sigh, the nightgown you had on was very weightless, soft and borderline sheer but breathable. It allowed the air from your bedroom fan to save your overheating skin in the night. The sudden feeling of your hairs sticking up from your arms and neck have you holding yourself in a hug. Face darting left and right to find anything to explain the cause but only the endless darkness is to find. You grumble turning off the stove not caring if the milk was treading the fine line between cold and warm. You chug it, big gulps no complains, it wasn't that usual warm feeling that traveled through your intestines just bland mildness. You slam the cup down having to drag your forearm to remove some of the excess. Sleep. Now go to sleep, your bedroom. You take steps to go back, the lights being right before the stairs working in your favor. Once you you hear the click your vision returns to being useless. Mind set on one goal finally catching sleep but a shuffle very soft that could be easily missed if not paying attention makes you freeze in place. There's an urge to turn but you tell yourself to keep going on your way for your own sake. Eyes forward move forward. You don't though, instead you slowly twist your head behind you out of curiosity. It was the same sentiment as being adamant on seeing a spider hiding below your bed instead of living in blissful ignorance and pretending its presence wasn’t there. Except this wasn’t a 8 legged friend. You were seeing eyes glowing back at you as clear as the stars in the night sky. They weren't a beautiful shinny white, odd green or blue like a wild animal.. no a menacing blood red. This should've sent you flying up the stairs but they're hypnotizing persuading you to stay a little longer. It doesn't move making sure you know that it sees you too. With the obscurity of the lack of light you can't make up much apart from its eyes, too far away near a window to even see if the creature was inside the 4 walls of your home or outside. A light breath leaves your soft lips, you could feel the blood rushing in your veins the way your pulse beats. Hesitantly you turn yourself back towards the stairs. This time you do what you told yourself, what you should’ve done in the beginning. Walking up you forbid yourself from looking back, making your way back to your bedroom you finally crawl back into the cold sheets. Your Dazed, staring at the ceiling while pinching your own arm to make sure you weren't in a dream. You were convinced you had officially gone insane. Nightmares are one thing, hallucinations are another. Must be the lack of sleep. You landed on that excuse and finally after a few long dragged minutes you felt the heaviness of your eyelids stars to weigh themselves down. You let it consume you but peace didn't follow.

There's a thud making shuffle but it doesn't sound loud enough to make your eyes open wide. Just squint until inevitably you groan, choosing slumber over worrying. Sleep.

A whisper tingles the shell of your ear . A breeze makes you shiver subconsciously clutching the sheets to keep you warm. That masculine voice around your ear is back again wrapping around your brain like a blanket of safety and security. Something slithers inside your inner thigh, caressing, teasing the supple skin making your breath hitch. It was soft and felt so right. You craved more, opening your body and soul up to the feeling letting it climb up and take as it pleased. No hesitation just need. An offering is what you were, letting it build a home inside, beneath your skin, allowing it the privilege to consume you. And it did, a sharp sting your mind can't even process correctly develops somewhere in your body. A sound comes from your mouth but was it from pleasure or pain?

Your eyes scrunched, a groggy moan ripping from your throat out of frustration. The bright day light hitting your cornea forcing you to wake. Whilst sitting up you crane your neck back and to the side feeling a temporary relief. You shut your eyes, smiling from feeling so free. Even if you were sleep deprived there was some sort of energy helping you feel content. Opening your eyes you pulled the covers off, standing, it isn't till your changing clothes you feel a cold sweat invade your body. While lifting the weightless satin dress you see two bigger than normal bites on your wrist. You could've brushed it off as a bug bite, some spider but you knew that for it to hold validity the spider would've had to been a huge tarantula and craving human flesh or blood. You feel your eyes water, this wasn't caused by a human or animal. So like some afraid child you quickly make haste putting on the necessities skipping brushing your hair and run out of your room ignoring a light stench in the air because your father was of greater concern . It wasn't long till mid day surely he'd be downstairs. "Papa..?" You hesitantly speak once in the living room but only silence greets you. In desperation you go to grab the back door to check outside and you find it unlocked. It was already a weekday today you had forgotten, he was probably at work probably came home and left, that would explain the unlocked door. But he if made it home he would've woke you up early. He hates when you oversleep. There's many thoughts racing in your head as you pace back and forth. You'd just go to the last place you knew he had probably visited, the town.

The roads hug your shoes as you walk by the side walk. As each person passes by you ask if they have seen your father describing him even trying to show them a a picture from home but they all either ignore you or seem far too uninterested. You had wrapped your arm tightly with a bandage to cover your bite which you couldn't help but tug on. It was creating an uncomfortable friction. There was a familiar sign across the street the likes of the people were much kinder there, Genevieve was a great example. But you knew you father wouldn't be caught dead on the other side of the road let alone in a shop full of "foreign useless people". So You go inside the white owned shop instead knowing he'd surely buy his liquor here. While going in you hold the door open for a woman and her child, the child mutters a cute thank you which you try to reciprocate with a 'your welcome' but the mother gives you a nasty look tugging them away.

You stand there at the entrance a bit weary as you finally have to face the many side eyes people were giving you. A particular man stands out who was walking your way, a smile comes up to your lips, rehearsing your lines in your head but he makes contact with your shoulder roughly instead. There's a slight clench of your heart at this, but he goes on as if nothing, paying the cashier for his booze and leaving. Your left there looking stupid and lost. The past days had been miserable leaving you with little will. Should've gone home-should've just waited and stayed home. As you're beating yourself up you don't notice the cashier coming from his side of the counter to you. His kind eyes looking at you snap you out of your thoughts realizing he greeted you, even with a stutter you greet him back. "Is there someway I can help you?". The first person to ask, you try your best to not let your voice wobble, "I- yes.. I'm trynna find my father he's missin' ". He's listening to you muttering out a small, "that's terrible". " it is haven't seen him for days n' I've gotten concerned. But he's usually along these parts of town especially durin' the weekends so I'm sure someone has spoken to or atleast caught sight of him" while your rambling you don't see how he's luring you outside, using the fact you were following him to his advantage. His expression is one of understanding or so you thought, "look I'd really love to help you just can't be bothering the people in there". "I wasn't- that wasn't my intention I.." you realize what he's doing now, feeling the heat of the sun once more. There's a pause in the conversation both of you staring at each other. He simply tilts his head in 'I don't care what you got to say just leave I'm trying to be nice'. Then someone calls out to you from behind with cheerfulness, it isn't till you turn you see finally who it is. "Haven't seen you round' no more how has your chicken coop been?". Her warm voice provides some instant relief from the stress. You allow Genevieve to envelop you in her arms. You even squeeze a little tighter. "Don't come back near my store again or it won't be pretty" the sudden hostile voice of the once delightful cashier leaves you a bit angry but you don't voice it.

"It be best if we go back to mines," she grabs your hand leading you to the other side of the road but you dig your feet in the ground not letting her. Whatever it was inside you or around you it was always following not so behind form your last step. You didn't even know if whatever had bit you was contagious so even with her oh so soothing hand consoling yours you abruptly let go. "I can't.." she turns confused, "what do ya mean you can't?". The top of your teeth catch your bottom lip in a nice grip. For once in your life you wished she wouldn't be so caring so tender and concerned for your well being. "What's wrong?" Yet another question of hers that meets no answer instead you slowly add space even if it's a just a few centimeters. She sees the picture of your father in your hand and the way your eyes were on the brink of tears something was undoubtedly wrong.  "Girl don't be silly with me now n' answer me" she grew loud frustrated with your silence garnering attention from the townsfolk. Your hand fumbles with the edges of the band around your wrist. If she just knew maybe she could help me I wouldn't have to deal with this alone. It happened so fast her hand tugging the cloth , you pulling away in attempt to prevent it from slipping away revealing the two puncture wounds that were now accompanied with purple and yellow hues. You can't help but gasp slapping the skin, covering it with your hand desperately looking around.

Genevieve's eyes were wide a look of disbelief or was it fear overtaking her face? She had heard the murmurs of creatures far beyond the physical realm from her ancestors. When the two people from town went missing it was all the people around her could talk about . The creature with sharp teeth, serpent split tongue Who's diet consisted of consuming human blood.�� It seemed far fetched but it was all true and now one of her dearest friends have come in contact with the being and bitten. Under her breath she whispered, "vampire".

You felt exposed like Eve had felt under the gaze of the lord in the garden of Eden; Shame, guilt and Alienation all in one. When you feel the cold tear run down your hot cheek is the moment you start running ignoring the calls for you to stay. The adrenaline pumping from your heart makes you run miles, with no brakes just your legs pushing till they finally make it to the only place that seemed to cause all these problems. Your home, but you don't go inside. Instead you go to your chicken coop wanting to be enveloped in its darkness, the constant patter of the chickens feet simulating a tune and the smell of pleasant must. It reminded you of Remmick. He'd surely come home soon and rid you of your worries, destroy the chaos. You sniffled into your shoulder, cowering like defenseless animal in the corner of the chicken coop. The small gurgles of the chickens offer you an environment to be able to sleep even if it was just pretend. You lose track of time, sun finally setting and wake up when you can't catch a break from the chickens pecking at your skin. The stiff chips of wood stick to your skin but you don't mind releasing them as you stand. With the small creak you stumble outside praying to find your pops car out front and his harsh voice reprimanding you for not having cleaned the house so you could erase the anxiety running rapid through your body as a terrible dream. There's no sight of any of those things though just the lousy cicadas in the night air.

Psst. The noise made you whip around only the darkness present. "Hello?" You speak daringly into the void of the night, heart thumping. "Still gotta work on the not jumping like a little rabbit every time ya'r scared" you can let out the trapped breath in your chest as you see a very care free remmick walk up to you from the outside of your fence. You would've gone to him in an instant if it weren't for the two people behind him. Noticing your hesitance to get closer he experimentally spoke, "brought some friends with me too if you don't mind". They were smiling warmly at you but it felt so empty, their faces reflecting that of the nullified night surrounding them. "Remmick-" you were about to tell him to make them go away, that you just needed a moment alone with him. The whole day you had been waiting. Though picking up on your distress he caught you off guard asking a rhetorical question, "is it the nightmares again?" . You foolishly try to answer "yes but-". "Well your in luck that's why I brought my good ol' couple from in town to try n' cheer ya up" as if on que the 3 of them readied their instruments ignoring your protest and they started playing. It was harmonic very beautiful but to you in this moment it sounded like sharp metal scratching on another metal surface. Undoubtedly Irking your soul. "I picked poor robin clean" the 3 of them sang at the same time but in 3 different tones that came together skillfully. "Picked poor robin clean". You bit your lip in bubbling anger their voices becoming more irritating than their instruments by the second. Certainly you'd explode into a fit of rage, we'll that was until the next line, "picked his head, I picked his feet, I woulda picked his body but it wasn't fit to eat". Their joy, their genuine smirks especially Remmicks when singing those words unnerved you. A jolly tone with odd words that traveled down your spine "oh I picked poor robin clean...

they continue, their words fade out in your head eyes unfocusing as you get sucked into the back of your mind where your thoughts remained. You didn't want to believe it or even consider the very fact that the young couple in-front of you could be who the towns people had whispered about like some sort of myth. If they were what was Remmick doing with them? Was he the one who terrorized them and their babe? your mind recalled many of the times you had found his behavior odd. He only met you in the darkness of night, disappeared during the day, he was the only one who had access to your home. The bruise on your arm he hadn't even pointed it out. He was innocent you pushed back against your thoughts. And you would prove it.

As their song comes to an end stillness hangs in the air. Remmick stands there waiting for you next move. Realizing how guilty you looked you tried to cough the hesitance stuck in your throat. "I never caught y'all's names". Having all 3 of their eyes on you felt like you were back in the town. Except this time it was much more carnal like predators surrounding their prey.  You shift on your feet, remmicks demeanor changing as he leans into the fence form the outside. The couple doesn’t answer just staring ahead as you hear Remmick chuckle, "well.. this right here is Joan and he, he's Bert". You feel your heart drop to the earths core at this revelation, face full of alarm. you try changing it but God knows it's far too late. He notices and knows that you know.

"Took ya so long" your confused at his words but he doesn't waste a beat to quickly diminish your doubt. "I was startin' to think that little brain of yours wasn't good for much". You're unsure if to be offended and hurl a venomous insult back or cower away . His body defies gravity for a second as he lifts himself over the fence standing between the both of you far too easily. "W-what did you do?" There's still hope inside you that this was just a big understanding. "What I do to them .. or to you?" He nudges his head behind him then to you. His eyes trailing up and down your frame until getting stuck on your wrist. This time you don't cover your wound unlike back in town. When his eyes finally lift themselves to yours you see them shine a deep red. The same deep red that tournamented you yesterday night and dreamed about belonging to that creature who sucked your thumb feverishly while his mouth was covered in your blood. A dream. you can't help the way your chest starts to constrict, eyes stinging. He lets out a cold laugh faux concern, "oh please don't cry doll I'll love it too much n' I'll just be forced to make more pretty tears come out of ya." As he takes a step forward you take a step back. It becomes a twisted game he enjoys while teasing your desperation. The sadistic way he showed worry yet loved your helplessness left you disheartened with the idea of this going back to normal. The way things had been when you met him"Stay away.." your voice is weak and wobbly, hands coming up to signal his halt. He doesn't listen leaving you back to the fence as your hand touches his chest. Remmick wasn't a tall man just average but when he got this close to you it made him feel giant. "Thats not what you wanted last night" his empty breath hits your face, an act you may have yearned for before but not anymore. There's a shudder running through you as he presses his body into yours, his leg between your thighs inching your skirt up. You turn your head in shame, knowing exactly what he meant. Despite the mental acknowledgement of the danger this man posed your body still desired him responding eagerly.

He thrived seeing you like this the woman so poised and respectful he had met in tears from her own disgusting desires. An infection he grew to become, corrupting not just your thoughts but body, mind and soul. Nothing could sadate his carnal lust just like you but he wouldn't get ahead of himself yet.

His hand drags your sight back to him with only a finger on your chin. Your pliant submission was back but out of fright not real trust. This time you notice his appearance change again apart from his peculiar eyes. The clear, thick liquid seeping from the right of his mouth. Spit. And the sharp fangs his k-9's became as he smiles at you. It clicks in your head the last words Genevieve had muttered out to you "vampire". You expect him to take a bite to end your life but instead he takes a step back leaving you to fend your weight against gravity. "Should go see if daddy's all good upstairs, haven't seen him out here all day" his voice drips with sarcasm. You take a step back expecting him to play with you more but he doesn't. While you slowly walk away, opening the fence door you take one final look behind him. The couple he had came with was still behind the fence sitting idly by as if they were hypnotized.

When your a good feet apart you dash inside and up the stairs having to fight the growing stink in the house especially when you reach the second floor. "Papa!" You call out to him , the hall seeming too dark and longer than usual. There was the adrenaline rushing through your veins that urged you to be faster . As your warm hands grab the handle of your father's room opening it wide the stench of death hits you before the sight. You have to cover you mouth from the smell and absolute horror. There was blood all over the walls, bed his body and his head... it didn't seem quite attached to the rest of him. Eyes wide in shock staring directly at you as if he had kept the face from probably seeing the monster Remmick was. You didn't let yourself see the specifics of the plethora of wounds on his body slamming the door shut. You have to fight the gag trying to push its way out from the bottom of your stomach. A light headedness winds you as your walking away hand over your stomach from the unsettling scene you had witness forever engraved in your brain. One wrong step as your going down the stairs has you tumbling down. You grunt and let the tears you have kept at bay finally spill rushing down with no limit. You weakly get up close to the kitchen table where the liquor from the morning still laid. Your heart clenched at the reminder of this bottle always being around your dad's hand along with his pestering. He may had grown rude and absent for most of your life but he would always be your father. The man who once was a child who did wrong but was still half of you. You bite you hand in an attempt to get rid of the overstimulation of your lymphatic system. Not caring if it drew blood. "The sadness will subside, will weaken with time. sacrifices must be made for freedom".

Your mood soured hearing his voice. He sounded like a fucking preacher what was he now your savior? Is that what he tought. That he had been doing you a service murdering your father like some wild animal with no dignity? There was an unexplainable fire starting to build in your chest. "I can offer freedom that never dwindles, never ceases to exist. Ya won't be anyone's caged bird anymore-". With not another thought you let your instincts take over swiftly grabbing the almost empty liquor bottle and swinging it behind you. He doesn't for see your sudden action not moving out of the way fast enough all you hear is a big thud. The bottle still gripped tightly your hand with no crack. His head is turned toward the direction of your swing, eyelids twitching as he seemed to be taking in the hit. You stand fiercely a mere a feet or two away. You expect anger a violent action back in response but instead he chuckles condescendingly. "you’re letting anger cloud your judgement doll" . You wished you would’ve never been nice to him, never let him in your home and watched him rot out in the wilderness. “Let that go” he commands seeing the way your grip on the bottle doesn’t lessen. “No..” your eyebrows furrow “ya just don’t get ta decide things for me, y-ya can’t just do this ‘didn’t ask for any of this! ” even through the sadness is still evident in your body, you still find your voice. His words your genuine protest made him displeased . He had seen you marble at utterly anything normal, his instrument, himself and the way you responded so sweetly to his touches. You were a bird in a cage. Your father had willingly created your life to revolve around him and he had simply given you the choice now to be with him instead. Were you just plain ol’ stupid? “Ya needed this, I saved you from your helpless nights, the endless chores, the boring ol’ cycle of your insignificant’ life became”. This is when you see him start stomping over to you with a glint of fire behind his eyes. “I didn’t need no saving” you spit out while your lower back was pressed on the floor able. He calms down before grabbing a hold of your jaw before uttering out, “oh my sweet little dumb thing, you do”. Those crimson eyes slice through your wrath realizing no matter how much you protested there was no way out of your predicament. No matter the many ways you sliced it he couldn’t be moved, like some heavy boulder restricting your path. “You all do..” his sharp nails dig into the skin of your cheeks making them sting. There’s a small but heavy knock at the front door that doesn’t make him react just letting your calmly go. Retracting himself from you he watches as you wrestle with the choice of opening the door or not. His look was forbidding but would require trust from you which he had run out of. It was ultimatum that hung in the air without being said , ‘open the door and your reject him or leave it be then open your arms to the sweetness of “salvation” ‘

Another heavy knock seeming more desperate had you turning and directly heading to the door not caring for Remmick any longer. You weren’t sure who you were quite expecting maybe a passer by, another stranger. “You had me stressing’ girl why’d ya not answer fast enough?” Her honeyed voice and her careful glance was such a contrast to the way you looked now. “My lords heaven’ what happened to you!” Genevieve tries to come inside and grab your cheeks now decorated with little droplets of blood streaming down. But you semi close the door on her not completely but just enough to stop her from coming in. “Gene you have to leave- you can’t be here” your hands shakes on the door knob. You didn’t want her to be affected by the consequences of your own actions. Seeing how far it got you father you didn’t want her to meet his same fate but she didn’t listen. “Look I know what I did back in town was horrid I truly apologize for that.” Every time you try to open you mouth to interject she elongated her sentence. “ I came here to make things right to make sure you okay and to say I can help you I know-“ she’s caught off being pounced on like animal by something or someone out of your line of sight with a thud. You were about to react until a hard hand comes to the door from your side slamming it loudly closed. All you are left to do is be willfully tormented by her screams of agony as Remmick locks the front door. “Promised my ol’ couple some food, they were just hungry as dogs” he says this sentiment with sort of lightness, even letting out a small ‘woof woof’. Your stomach twists in disgust and terror having to create distance between the both of you.

He tsk'ed in disappointment at your choice. Noticing your desire to push him aside he doesn't shy away from twitching his upper lip to show you his gnarly fangs. "What a shame I really did like Genevieve" he mocks you slowly moving forward. Another blow to the muscle pumping in your chest called your heart wetting your dry cheeks once more in tears. What would you say to her husband and her kid if you walked away alive. You wouldn't have the courage to look them in the eye and tell them about your cowardliness. How you watched their mother die whilst you were inside in the comforts of your home.

With a scream you rely on instincts jumping on Remmick . This time he expects your fit of violence being able to take your arms in his grasps. You try pushing and pulling to break free but nothing budges. He wasn't a big man so why in the hell could you not be strong enough to fight his hands? It looked like a dance you both were having with your twisting and turning making you really live out the ambiance of a juke joint wild but free. It isn't until your able to kick him that your able to make him loosen his grip to break away. His rough voice calls out as you dart to the kitchen trying to find something to arm yourself with,"All this fightin' wont end up pretty for ya" you ignore him now scowering the plethora of eating utensils in the cabinet. "givin' ya a warnin' you should really heed darlin' " his cockiness, the pet names is what you wanted to wipe clear from his face forcing his mouth to never speak again. You turn to face him standing in the middle of the room with a knife. Shiny and anything but dull. His eyes seem to light up at the thought of you wielding such a dangerous object. Not a spec of fear in his nonexistent soul as you walk up to him eyebrows furrowed, a scowl on your face and all. "Don't be silly and give me that thing" He had played this game before long ago. Your genuine hatred was being conveyed in one single long look, fingers clenching in dire need to cause damage. He extends his hand up for you to lay the knife in his hand to submit.

Instead once you're close enough with no hesitation you pierce his hand not just slashing but digging it in until you could see it from the other side. With haste you twist it back at him so the sharp metal is now threatening his chest. With a burn in your thighs and all your might you push forward successfully overtaking any attempt of a protest to your attack. There's a loud grunt from him as the fact the knife dug deeply into his upper chest. It's quickly overtaken by the fact he loses his balance, back against the small sofa sending him backward into it and taking you along with him. Somewhere while taking the fall you let go of the knife to protect yourself instead.  Winded you try to catch your breath looking over to the side you realized you had missed the edge of the coffee table by an inch. What terrifies you is seeing Remmick stand up, his unwounded hand grabbing the knife handle twisting out of his chest and hand simultaneously with a squelch. You think this is when he’ll get his comeback digging the knife into your heart as he stands above you. Bracing yourself your eyes close but instead you hear the cling from the knife being thrown aside. His Hands coming to the collar of your blouse lifting you up with no difficulty and harshly sending you crashing into the coffee table. The glass breaks instantly some of the wood creating a hard surface to simulate a hard punch to your gut. “Thought you’d be different but you’ve got a fire that never dies just like your mother”. He’s out of breath as he speaks and when he mentions the woman you have never met you wish nothing more than to commit cold blooded murder. Your hands extend in-front of you carefully to attempt to lift yourself up but his foot comes to press down on the skin on the other side of your palm. “she wanted nothin’ more than to desperately live that’s what made it so much more excitin’ to snuff her out”. You cry out in agony as the pressure of his foot causes specs of glass to carve a home into your palm. He decides it’s enough when you pathetically paw at his shoe. You’re able to take a glance at the disgusting wound before you’re being dragged from your collar again. No care for the way the destroyed table poked and burns your knees or body. He brings you all the way up to the wall facing the front door and forcing you on your feet. Your knees are giving out but he makes sure to hold you in place steadily by your neck

“What do ya desperately want hmm?” He teases with a tap to your cheek as he watches you became the defenseless rabbit he knew once again. Red teary eyes defeated just accepting what would be made of you just like your father and Genevieve. This sight arouses him inching his face closer he breathes onto you obnoxiously, “could’ve had so many delicious nights with ya stuck on my mouth oh do I miss your heavenly taste” you spit at him for talking about you as some sort of object. Realizing all those “dreams” you believed to have had were nothing of the sort. Just your mind trying to make sense of events happening to your sleeping body to warn you of the violating creature you’re ashamed to call a man infront of you at your wake. His wet muscle slides out from his mouth, tongue split in two like some sort of serpent to lick it up from the side of his cheek. A big grumble of satisfaction form his chest. “Now I need me some more”. His lips come to yours not in the doting way you expected your first kiss to be but hungry and lustful. You fight against him the sloppy kiss making spit smear all over your lips. Your teeth chomp down in order to make him stop biting his lip , hard.

he curses letting your neck go sending your sliding down. You thought of fighting again or fleeing but your body was far too tired. So instead You're stuck in place fighting the heaviness of your eyelids and tasting the irony substance in your mouth. He squats down infront of you with a lip decorated in red.

Forced you are to look at the man before you that you once considered a friend, dare you say lover, finding him to be completely unrecognizable. He fixes your sweaty blood specs covered hair whilst grazing your cheek tenderly like he had done a few happy summer days ago. "Every time you wake up in the mornin n' take a breath of fresh air, maybe even while looking at the sun setting with a child on your hip" he starts. The once gentle hands griping the back of your head, hair and all, harshly craning your neck back. You can't even let out a whine properly without your lungs hurting . " 'want ya to remember ya don't get to do that because ya were brave or strong enough" he can't help but grumble at the sentiment of you believing these things about yourself. His tone grows dark as he hushes the final dialogue onto you like something sacred only for you and his ears only.

"no ....it's because I allowed you to"

he licks a long stripe up your cheek relishing your sweet blood before he abruptly lets go of your head and leaves you helplessly on the ground. His light steps barely even leaving a track of sound in your ear drums as he opens the once closed door. He walks over your dead friends body only her legs visible from your spot. His body isn't tense, instead he strolls away with a pep in his step, the hat you had given him on his head and you can faintly hear him hum that song. Pick poor robin clean. As if it were a regular Monday night. As if he hadn't turned your life upside down just for fun. The couple from earlier appear from the sides of the door covered in blood Bert taking a hold of one of Genevieve’s weightless legs. Joan give you a smile and a wave with her sharp canines before they start walking away your friend dragged in the dirt along with them. You reap the consequences while Remmick was walking away Scot free. Your heart burns, skin boils, face scorns, mustering up all of your strength you let out a scream of pain, anger and agony all at once. Not caring if it scratched your throat painfully. He keeps moving unfazed until his body is a mere spec in your vision. Your Pathetically Left behind feeling the ache in your bones deep inside, the blood oozing out of your body the stinging tears trailing down your sliced skin. Choosing the mortal cage called your human flesh.

You knew he'd always be hiding in the shadows of the night, waiting, and in some twisted way that brought you comfort.

Authors note: this was so long in the making! I I tried my best to interpret the character of Remmick to the best of my abilities without having seen the movie. I apologize for any spelling mistakes and if you asked to be tagged but weren’t it’s probably because your acc didn’t show up when I tried tagging you. Apart from that I enjoyed writing this and I hope y’all enjoyed it too! :)

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Tags: @duckyhowls @seashelleseashellsbytheseashore @thecutestaaakawaii @akumazwrld

[bunnis-monsters]

Different monsters reactions to your period

warning: lots of period sex, pussy eating, and blood. You have been warned!

A/N: I’m on my period and wanted to write something horny and comforting…

Werecreatures/hybrids are already going insane when you ovulate, but once you start bleeding they can’t resist properly mounting and mating you. You’re their sweet mate, and they both want to breed you and help with the pain by fucking you and eating you out until you’re too tired to think.

Vampires of course are immediately drawn to your pussy, the smell of your blood making them drool. Some are pushing your panties to the side the second you start your period, knowing before you do. They become attached to your pussy, and possibly save some of your blood for later once they’ve had their fill. They especially love to save your cum that’s mixed with period blood, finding the taste exquisite.

Mermen get extremely protective during this time, afraid you’ll attract some underwater predator that thinks you’re easy prey becuase you’re bleeding. They’ll get horny, but are more focused on protecting than procreating. They will slip into you and sing to you as they fill you will cum, though!

Androids are immediately worried, fussing over you as they scan your body to check your health status. They give you medicine, keep you in bed, and fuck their fingers into you to help soothe your bloody cunt. They sink their synthetic cock into you, claiming it’s to help with your pain, but really they just want to fuck that pretty pussy of yours and hear you mewl like never before.

Nagas stay coiled around you, struggling to understand your strange body and why they feel so horny and protective over you during this time. It makes them anxious, and they’re extra clingy as you keep their cock warm. They’re strangely fascinated by the way blood oozes from your pussy while they bounce you lightly, and definitely end up tasting it. They get addicted to it, now you have a needy, pussy drunk naga on your hands. At least it makes you feel better to cum while you’re cramping…

Incubi/demons of course become sex crazed, and you don’t get much rest while they’re keeping you pinned down. Your pussy is always puffy and abused during this time, and they lick up every last drop of your blood, seeing it as a sign that you’re healthy and ready to make love and produce offspring. After your period they become the clingiest, most doting partners ever and feel kind of bad that they went insane while you were menstruating.

[monstersholygrail]

Vampire bf spooning you in the middle of the night, nuzzling into you so roughly that it causes you to slowly wake up. As soon as he senses you’re not completely asleep, his arms curl around you and he bury’s his face in your neck. Groggily you bare your throat to him, thinking he might be hungry.

But instead he simply whines and cuddles in closer. It’s only then that you notice he’s shivering. A soft “What’s wrong, darling?” croaks past your lips. He doesn’t respond, letting his actions speak louder as his hands slip under your shirt and brush along your soft stomach as if trying to steal up all your warmth. You hiss at his touch, his usually cold skin even colder for some reason. “You’re freezing,” you can’t help but exclaim the obvious.

Your vampire bf whimpers, nodding his head within the warm fold of your neck. “Need your warmth. Need your heat, baby please,” he says in a soft whine, one hand tugging at the seam of your shorts and giving you an idea of what he means.

As soon as you’ve pulled your panties down, he’s sliding himself between the warm supple flesh of your thighs. He hisses in the space of her neck, his body shuddering with pleasure.

Your lips part, feeling his throbbing cock push its way through your legs, so close to where you need him. His tip bumping up against your clit with every snap of his hips. Arousal pools within you till it drips onto his cock. Your bf growls, hips moving faster.

“Ah, fuck! More. Please,” you beg, baring your neck once again. Your hips tilt, craving the feeling of being filled by him.

“My heart, I could devour you whole and still crave more," he rumbles, his hips bucking to catch every drop of your essence on his length.

His hand tenderly cups the underside of your neck and brings it to his lips. You sense the heat of his breath and goosebumps rise along your arms a second before you feel the sharp prick of pleasure caused by his fangs. You shiver as he slowly sinks them all the way in.

The combination of his fangs inside you and the way he slows down the rocking of his hips causes your eyes to droop as you begin to drift back to sleep. His hand massages your plush thigh, gently shifting it back over his own, legs intertwining.

With your thighs open, your bf has easy access to slide his length inside your eager and dripping walls. You both moan as he pushes past your entrance, his girth carefully stretching your precious pussy as he takes his time stuffing you full of him. Bringing a delicious dull ache to the apex of your thighs.

He settles in once he’s buried his length to the hilt, your hips fitting together like two puzzle pieces. He relaxes against your body and wraps every limb that he can around you. Cocooning your being in his protective embrace. Making you feel exactly as treasured as you are.

“That’s better,” he slurs contently in an attempt to speak with his fangs in your neck. Soon after you start to feel his skin warming back up against your own. You smile softly, finally falling back asleep and happy you were able to help him.

Never finding out that Vampires have full control over their body temperature.

[taintandviolent]

be my woman, girl ; Remmick x reader

summary: As a lonely woman whose prayers are going unanswered, you prayed for something to take away your hurt. This time, something answers.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 2.6K | female reader, vampires, brief religious themes (praying, mention of God), spit kink, spit as a major aphrodisiac, dub-con if you tilt your head and look at it the right way, vampire sex, monsterfucking, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, biting, blood mention, blood drinking and loss, I guess it's implied virgin!reader (though it isn't focused on).

a/n: just a quick lil somethin' somethin', but it is HEAVILY inspired by Nosferatu, and the vibe of this song. sorry that - spoiler alert - the vampire bites reader in every fic I write about them, I literally cannot stop myself from doing it. not beta-read, as per usual. dividers by @/v6que and @/adornedwithlight! PS: Thank you so much for all the love on my previous Remmick fic, you guys are such darlings!

↓ fic under cut! ↓ / 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!

The house is quiet aside from the occassional creak or whine; wood panels shift against each other, moaning low like your grandparents as they sat in a chair. Houses breathed every now and then — never scared you any.

Unlike everyone else, you're wide awake. Though your room is dark, the dreams haven't come for you. Pale, blue moonlight washes your features as you stand in front of the window, looking out into the front yard. There's nothing, no one.

That's just it… no one.

Your head hangs heavy, burdened by the aching, stinging loneliness that you felt.

No one for you, ever.

Hell, even your sister had found someone this past spring. Everyone always said you'd get married first 'cause you were the pretty one of the two. But you hadn't. Men didn't flirt with you, they just passed you by, as casual as can be. People shushed your worries by saying that God works in mysterious ways, when the time is right, can't rush love, and so on. None of those trivial phrases helped you any, you were still alone at the close of every night. So you'd pray. Just like you did every night. You looked up into that sky and prayed your heart out, prayed until you were blue in the face.

You thumb the latch to unlock it and with a small vocalization, push the window up. The sheer curtains flutter delicately, like ghosts in the breeze. The night air floods in, bathing your face and neck in it and you sink softly to your knees, resting your elbows on the wood of the sill. Your hands are clasped tightly together — as tight as you can — and you press your fists against your mouth for a moment as the tears well up in your eyes.

"Please," you beg, speaking against your own fingers. "I am so lonely. I can't bear it any longer. My heart aches somethin' awful..."

You sniff, and lift your eyes to the moon in all her luminous glory, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. "If there's anyone out there… take away my sufferin', take away my pain. I am beggin' you."

You hold your breath, waiting. You're acutely aware of all the sounds; a breeze flutters through the tall grasses and the old trees on your daddy's property, the branches creak loudly against each other, a twig snaps somewhere in the distance. Pricks of light flitter across the forest. An animal, probably. You see them every night.

"Please, come to me." Spoken through tears and snot. "I'm beggin'."

Still shrouded in the shadows of the forest, two of the pinpricks of light stop in the foot-trodden pathway to your front door. You clumsily wipe your tears away with the back of your hand and lean forward out of the window, trying to focus on the fuzzy darkness. They look like eyes, of a coyote or something similar, but you didn't notice until now that the figure seems taller than that, on account of where the eyes are.

You blink.

They blink back before they grow closer, carried on upright steps.

You gasp. Shocked by your own noise, your hand flies to your mouth as though it'll muffle the breathing. You duck back inside the window and fall backwards, catching yourself on your hands. There's a funny feeling roiling in your stomach, like a pit of wet snakes, slippin' and slidin' around in your gut.

From this angle, you can't see the reflective gaze anymore, but the curtains still flutter, seeming to whisper to you, calling your name in a tone that only you can hear. You scoot back, dragging your body along the floorboards until your back hits the bed post, and keeping your gaze locked on the window, you awkwardly crawl up into the bed, twisting your body in a way that doesn't disrupt your line of sight. You slither underneath the covers, pulling them up to your neck like a frightened child.

The window's still open… but you're too afraid to get up again, 'cause maybe those eyes would still be staring right at you. So, you nestle yourself deeper under the covers and stare at that window until your lids get heavy. Eventually, though you don't know how long it takes, you drift off to sleep.

The dreams start as soon as your body settles, as soon as your limp hand falls off the side of the bed, fingertips pointing towards the floor. A shadowed figure stands at the edge of your bed, his hand extended. His fingers are long, tipped by claws that reach out to you and cast terrifying shadows on your bedsheets. Those same reflective eyes stare down at you, watching you tremble. He moves closer, the shadows crawling up the length of your bed until they're pressed down against you. There's nothing on top of you but shadows, and yet, you can't move, pinned in place by some unseen force.

You awake with a heave, a strangled cry that dies in your throat as soon as you're upright. Beads of sweat decorate your chest, and ribbon down into the confines of your nightgown, disappearing into the fabric. Your room is dark and cool, but that does little to bring down the temperature of your feverish body.

Downstairs, you think. It felt natural, like you'd thought it. You throw the covers off your body, and tiptoe to your bedroom door, careful of each barefoot step. You bite your lip and with a gentle pull, you twist the knob and pull it open, praying it doesn't squeak. It doesn't.

You pad carefully down the steps, avoiding the one that creaks, and make your way to the front door. Again, the night air greets you like an old, forgotten friend and you inhale.

Those reflective eyes are staring right at you through the screen door. You can see 'em, clear as day. A moth flutters past your line of sight. As you turn on the porch light, your bare toes tease the edge of the threshold.

"What… what do you want?" Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You make a fist in your nightgown, digging your nails into the soft fabric. He takes another step and leaves the shadows behind, allowing the light to illuminate his handsome features. His head tilts slightly as he considers your question, and an assured smile crosses his face.

"Aww, darlin'. You. I'm here for you…" he says, sweet like honey.

His accent is heavy and Southern, but something hides underneath it. You grip your nightgown tighter, suppressing a shudder that threatens to rip through your core. Something about him makes you wanna' step forward into the night, into his arms, but you resist. You shake your head, dislodging the lustful thoughts that try to take root in your brain.

He looks you up and down a few times before clicking his tongue in a disapproving way. You look down at yourself; sweat-soaked and dissheveled, your hair probably a mess, eyes swollen with sleep… God knows what else this man saw. Smelled. Understood.

"You poor thing… Ain't you tired, baby? Tired of screamin' and cryin' for a God that don't listen?"

You were.

"You called," he drawls. "I came."

He did.

He shoulders the door frame, leaning against it, peering at you through the mesh screen. You take a step back, and shake your head again, like a child shaking off her bad dreams. He runs a single finger along the edge of the screen, sharp nail scraping across the mesh with a barely audible tick tick tick. You understand now.

Quickly, but quietly, you push the door shut with a flattened palm. Maybe you were still dreaming. There. All better. Because really… what kinda' prayer is answered in the middle of the night? You hurry back through the darkened house, up the stairs and back into your room. For a moment, you listen in the hallway for sounds of stirring.

Satisfied that everyone's still sleeping, you turn around, leaning your back into the door gently. As soon as your eyes focus again, your muscles tense up and go rigid like steel. You slap your hand over your mouth, muffling the yelp that claws its way up your throat. You reel back, pressing yourself tightly against the door, like you could melt back through it.

Your eyes scrape tenatively along the floorboards, crawling up the elongated shadow of a man until you get to the figure that owns it. That same man leans against your window in a casual, relaxed position.

Be brave, girl.

"How'd you get in here?" You hiss, looking back at your bedroom door. "I ain't said you could—"

He lifts up a single finger, waving it back and forth, effectively shushing you. "Ohhh, you sure did, darlin'."

Remmick clears his throat theatrically, and falls forward to his knees. All at once, his nonchalant expression contorts into one of pain, of longing, of desperation, as he crawls towards you, frowning. "Please come to me…" he mocks in a higher tone, clutching his hands at his chest. "I'm beggin'…"

The realization feels heavy, your jaw hanging slack as you hear him. The world seems to lose its color around you, the floor drags you down by the hem of your gown. You sink to the wood, your ass hitting it with a soft thud. I called him.

His hands drops away from his chest as he knee-walks closer to you, reaching out to sweep your hair away from your temple. "Don't you fret now, ain't no sense in that. Remmick's gonna' make that hurt go away."

Remmick? Was that his name? When you give a devil a name, does it make him less terrifying?

As Remmick crawls over your body, you flatten against the floor, trying to shrink yourself away from him. He throws one knee up and over your hips, pinning you in place with his own. The sensation is intoxicating, and you feel damp heat pool between your thighs. He smiles, savoring the look of you beneath him, soft and supple, pretty and vulnerable.

Somewhere, you were scared. That somewhere that was too far away because your cunt, hot and aching, betrays you, clenching deeply at the feeling of a man on top of you — his weight felt like a blessing, like the long-awaited answer to a prayer. You writhe out of instinct though, clinging to some pure ideal, one that makes the corner of Remmick's lip hitch up in a snarl like he's smelled something foul. His teeth glint in the moonlight, pricks of jagged white amongst the darkness of his mouth.

"Y'got whatcha' asked fer'… don't go and be ungrateful now."

Lightning fast, Remmick's hand lurches out, pinching the sides of your mouth, forcing it open. He holds it there, while his own mouth opens, a stream of thick saliva stretching from his tongue. As it descends, you want to convulse and rip your head away, but with a clawed grip, he holds your head in place. It hits your tongue, dripping towards your throat. A warmth, a comfort, settles over your body, like the rays of sun kissing your body on a summer day, or slipping into a warm bath on a cool night. It's an all-enveloping feeling and you shudder, relaxing into the floor. Your body is no longer rigid, no longer fighting against him. Your legs part, hitching your nightgown up around your thighs in the process.

All you can do is look up into his glowing eyes, watching as the corners of his mouth curl up into a smile. Your back arches against his touch, his thumb brushing over the plumpness of your bottom lip. He smears his own saliva across your mouth. Onto your cheek. You smile lazily, and he nods encouragingly. "That's a-girl…"

With a little maneuvering, he slots himself between your thighs and his hands come down on either side of your neck. You feel his proximity, and whimper, angling your hips upward to grind against a rigidness you know is there, and Remmick lurches forward, sealing his lips to your neck.

He sucks at the skin, sucks until the flesh reddens, until it aches. The ache is a dull one, and even though you ought to stop him, you don't. Your hands find the nape of his neck, fingers sliding up through his dark hair, pulling him closer. He draws one hand down to free himself, and yank your panties to the side. You're no longer lonely, no longer sad. Lust claims your senses, without a care in the world.

Two fingers prod your entrance and you hitch your leg higher, allowing him more room. He sinks them in, breaching her, his thumb bumping into your swollen clit. Satisfied, he exhales above you, enamoured with the way your body sings back to him. With no hesitation, Remmick curves them deep within your cunt a few times, sending stars across your vision. As soon as you moan against the shell of his ear, he withdraws them and you feel him line himself up, the thick, velvet head pressing against the slit.

He's met with no resistance from your eager body, so Remmick sheaths himself inside your slick, waiting walls in one thrust. At first, there's heat as his cock stretches you wide, but your cunt adjusts, hungrily clenching around the shaft. His body undulates against yours, pressing tightly against your sweet, womanly figure as he thrusts, driving himself as deep as he can.

For a good few minutes, there's nothing but the sound of skin slapping against skin, feverish breaths and hushed moans. Remmick hums suddenly into your neck, pressing one tender kiss to the bruised flesh, reverently. He's still buried inside you, cock twitching with an impending release.

Breathily, he speaks as he strokes the side of your sweat-streaked face. "You asked fer' someone to take yer' sufferin' away and I'm gonna' do just that. I'm gonna' take away that hurt."

You whimper below him, a semblance of understanding of what's about to happen flashing across your darling features. "Shhh, this ain't gonna' sting but a second."

He leans in again, and you feel a flash of searing pain as fangs pierce your tender skin, drawing a gush of your sweet, cerise nectar out onto his tongue. Remmick groans at the coppery taste of your blood as it floods his mouth, and begins hungrily suckling at your neck, swallowing against the bleeding flesh. His hips find a new rhythm, and you feel your heartbeat pounding through your body — every inch of you seems to have a pulse — but he's right. It only hurts for a moment before you ease into the feeling, your body's natural defenses numbing the pain.

Now, the feeling drives you over the edge. Your vision darkens around the edges, throbbing between focused and blurry. You give a hard shiver as you spasm around his cock, coating him in slick arousal, and Remmick bucks his hips hard into your clenches, chasing his own release. With your hot blood clogging his throat, he asks of eternity, and you nod sleepily.

When he crashes down from that electric peak of pleasure, you feel dizzy. The sensation of being full claims you, wraps you up, and coddles you. Though, in your last moments, you can't mourn the loss of your precious life, you can't be sad… you'd asked for someone to take away your pain, your suffering, and for someone to come to you.

He'd heard you.

"Remmick," you say, drowsily.

He shushes you again with a clawed fingertip. You hear the dull thud of knuckles against a door. Your head lolls to the side, and Remmick straightens it out, leaving crimson fingerprints on your cheek before his weight leaves you.

The last thought you have is daddy, don't open that door.

But he does anyway.

Remmick is there to meet him.

[fckwritersblock]

I Never Told You (part 1 )

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x black reader

Description: ( unedited af ) You and Stack have been in love for what feels like forever, but neither of you has had the courage to speak up. Stack is convinced that your heart belongs to Smoke, and as for Smoke? He’s exhausted from trying to show you both that the love you seek is right in front of you.

Word count.: 3,852

A/n: this was originally one part, but I thought it’s a break it up into two because when I tell you, it’s getting a longer and longer 😭 I don’t wanna rush the way I want it to end but the way I’m craving these Sinners fic and I know some of y’all are too. I thought it would be nice to drop it now. Couldn’t contain my own excitement 😂

Part 2 - What I Should’ve Said

Enjoy ! 🩷

As soon as you stepped off the train, a smile broke across your face. The familiar sights and sounds of home wrapped around you like a warm embrace. You were excited to finally be back, but a flutter of nerves danced in your stomach at the thought of seeing your sister for the first time in ages. Yes, you guys had written to each other, and she had tore your ass a new one in a few of them letters back home bout to running off with the twins without a word. Nevertheless, you knew regardless of how upset she may be with you, she’d always welcome you home with open arms. You missed your sister. You also missed the twins, who you were eager to reunite with. It had been almost a year since you’d all been together, and just thinkin' about Stack made your pulse quicken.

Steppin' aside so other boarding the train would have access to the front door, you made your way toward the center of the station, your eyes scanning the crowd. You were sure Stack knew you was comin' at this time, so you had a feelin' he’d be lurkin' around here somewhere. Just then, you heard it—a voice that sent a thrill of nostalgia through you. You turned around, curiosity piqued, and there he was, front and center.

But your heart sank a little when you noticed the woman standin’ in front of him. Fair-skinned and confident, she had that undeniable charm—Mary. Of course she would find him, you thought bitterly.

You watched as Stack’s gaze followed her, a solemn look crossing his face as she walked away. You should’ve known he’d seek her out the moment he arrived. You’d bet money he could find her in a crowed room, without fail.

You loathed Mary.

It wasn’t a secret. You couldn’t stand her presence and that gnawed at you deep down. It wasn’t just jealousy; it was that gut-wrenching belief that Stack cared for her more than he did for you. He looked out for her in a way that was different from how he looked out for you. The attention he gave her was the kind you had secretly longed for, and judging by the way he stood there, it seemed nothin' had changed.

Oh, how wrong you were.

“Old habits die hard, huh, Stack?” you snarked from behind him, the playful edge in your voice barely masking the hurt you felt.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes in resignation. He knew he was caught.

He didn’t even have to turn around to know it was you. Stack could tell by the sound of your voice that you was pissed, especially with the faux sugary sweet smile you wore when he finally faced you. That, and when you were at him, it was the only time you called him Stack and not Elias.

Turning around to face you he could barely contain the smile that wanted to break out.

It had been a year since the two of you had seen each other, but for him, it felt like a lifetime. For six years, y’all had traveled the world together. You had taken care of him and Smoke, watchin' their backs, makin' sure he stayed outta trouble. You had put up with his antics for so long, and he’d never understood why you stuck by his side. That was until you decided it was time to carve out your own path, to prove you could stand on your own.

So you left them. You left him. You promised to return within a year or come runnin' if he called.

But Stack didn’t call.

He figured you didn’t want him to. Not really. A part of him was upset with you for abandoning him. He knew Smoke had written to you a few times, and he tried not to let the green-eyed monster show. Smoke would tell him when he received a letter, sometimes even havin' one for him too. Stack never wrote back, but he always read the ones you sent for him. Several times in fact. He wanted to know how you were, what you had been up to, even if he fronted like he didn’t care. You were miles away and all he wanted was you near..

And now you were back, standing right in front of him, looking as breathtaking as ever. The sun-kissed brown skin of yours practically glowed in the light. The apples of your cheeks rounded as you smiled, dimples showing, and the curves of your hips called out to him as he admired your frame in the flowy yellow dress you wore. It reminded him of your favorite flower, magnolias, and coincidentally, yellow was his favorite color on you too.

You were home for him, and you didn’t even know it.

“It wasn’t even like that, Bam,” he said, tryin' to brush off the tension and butter you up with the nickname he gave you.

“It never is, is it, Stack?” you shot back, crossin' your arms, though a smile tugged at your lips.

“Come on now, after all this time, that’s the mood you wanna get off on?” He hand taken a few steps toward you and grabbed your hand.

“A brotha can’t get no love first?” He flashed you a smile he knew you couldn’t resist.

Despite yourself, your smile grew bigger as you felt the warmth of his presence pulling you in. You wrapped your arms around his neck, sinking into the comfort of his embrace.

“I missed you,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper as you melted against him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he replied, his words a gentle way of sayin', 'I missed you too.'

“Who’s this?” you asked, eyeing the guitar-totin' boy standin' next to them after you two finally pulled apart.

“The boy,” Stack replied, nodding in his direction.

“The boy—Little Sammie, is that you?!” you exclaimed, shocked.

“Miss Y/n?” he said, his eyes wide with disbelief.

You laughed, pulling him into a warm hug. God, he was all grown up. You used to help his ma look after him and his siblings sometimes, and you even sang in his daddy’s church for a while. That was until you started hangin' out with Smoke and Stack more and stopped goin' to church. You didn’t want to hear no sermons about how the devil had his hands on you and how you needed to come back to the Lord.

It was a bittersweet feeling, thinking about how much you missed them and how much Sammie had grown. You could see he still had to get his head on straight, but it warmed your heart that he was still playing the guitar Stack had given him.

“Well then, there will be plenty of time to catch up later. You boys finish up here. I’ll be in the car,” you announced a beat after pullin' away. You knew they was up to no good.

“Little Sammie, help Stack with my bags, will ya?” You pinched one of his cheeks playfully before giving the other a quick kiss, treating him like the youngin' he still was in your eyes.

“Oh and drop the ‘Miss’.” He stared after you, bewildered, as you walked past Stack, givin' him a wink while you patted his chest slowly, draggin' your hand away.

“That’s really Y/n,” Sammie said, still in disbelief, causing Stack to chuckle.

He hadn’t seen you since he was a boy, and he couldn’t believe how different you were now. You were just a teen girl girl in his eyes back then, but now you were a grown woman—an extremely attractive one, at that.

“She’s—”

“Way too much woman for you to handle, lil nigga,” Stack stated matter-of-factly, a smirk playin' on his lips.

Not too much for me, though, he thought to himself, wordlessly pickin' up both suitcases and handing his little cousin one. You would probably fit real pretty in the front seat of his ride right about now, knowin' you and those pretty pick pocketing hands of yours had already snatched the keys from his coat pocket.

“Well, are you?” Sammie quizzed.

“Am I what?” Stack frowned slightly.

“Handling it?” The corner of Preacher Boy’s mouth twitched just a little, and Stack knew the younger man could tell you were vexed with him, and he wasn’t handling shit.

“Bring yo ass on, smart ass.”

As a result of those endless hours of travel, you were exhausted. You hadn’t gotten much sleep on the train, not wantin' to doze off around strange white folks. Your father had raised you and your sister to always be aware of your surroundings. After hearin' Delta’s wild stories about the men he knew from the side of the road, you needed a moment to decompress. So, you let the sounds of Sammie’s guitar and the rhythm of the car rockin' gently lull you into a well-deserved rest.

You weren’t sure how long you had been asleep, but soon you felt somethin' soft brush against the side of your face.

“Bam,” you heard softly as you began to stir.

“Bam.” This time you felt a poke to your cheek.

With a soft groan, you opened your eyes to see Stack standin' outside of the car, looking at you with that soft smile that always made your heart race.

“There’s my girl.” He smiled down at you.

“What you want, Elias?” You tried not to blush at his words.

“We made it. Come on.” He extended his hand for you to take.

You took it, pullin' yourself up to stand. Prepared to jump over, he surprised you by lifting you up in the air out of the back of the car.

You squealed, caught off guard as he held you slightly above him. You looked down at him for a minute, and he slowly set you back down, your body sliding against his.

“Thank you,” you said bashfully, pretendin' to fix your hair in the mirror.

He stood directly behind you, just close enough for you to catch a glimpse of his smirk in the car mirror.

“Anytime.”

“I—” you began, but were cut off by another car pullin' ahead. Once you noticed it was the truck Stack had said Smoke was in, you started walking quickly toward it. Stack told you the two of them had to split the work and that Smoke had a few stops and you knew it wouldn’t be anywhere else, but to see Annie. It was one thing for Smoke to be gone; of course then, he and Annie couldn’t be together. But while he was home, he wouldnt go anywhere without her.

“Annie!” You called as soon as your older sister came into view.

“Y/n?” Annie couldn’t believe her eyes as you ran toward her the biggest smile on your face.

“Surprise.” You spoke tearfully, as you slowed down taking the last few steps before crashing' into your big sister. You embraced her tightly, the two of you holding onto one another as if the other would disappear if you let go.

“Look at you.” She ran her hand up and around your face, cuppin' it affectionately.

“Look at you.” You repeated, mesmerized by your sister’s loving eyes.

Eyes that always looked at you with understanding, compassion, love, and support. Annie didn’t always agree with the choices you made, but she always supported you in choosin' your own destiny.

“Don’t you ever leave me like that again,” she fussed, swattin' lightly at your butt.

“Stop, girl, I’m grown,” you laughed, spinning around in a circle to dodge her playful swats.

“Girl, I don’t give a damn.” Annie fixed you with a stern look. “You’re still my baby sister. You don’t just run off and leave me without notice like that. You scared me half to death.”

“I’m sorry, Annie. It’s not that I wanted to; I just—” you paused, searchin' for the right words.

After a moment, you realized you didn’t need to say much. Annie would understand.

“Mine doesn’t have a mojo bag; he just has me,” you said, your voice wavering, knowin' she would know you was referring to the more reckless twin.

She smiled and nodded in understanding. You stood there for a little while longer, embracing each other, tryin' to wipe the tears from each other’s eyes, gigglin' like school girls as you did so.

“We’ll take more later ya hear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Pullin' away, you angled your body a little more to the left to finally get a good look at Smoke.

“My girl!” he said with a small smile of his own, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hey Smoke.” The two of you wrapped your arms around one another.

You missed the way Stack’s jaw clenched as you embraced Smoke. The latter didn’t as he grinned at his twin. It was an asshole thing to do, but he couldn’t help it. He had been watching the two of you pine after one another for years. If Smoke had a dime for every time he tried to convince his brother that you felt the same way about him that he felt about you—or to get Stack to confess his feelings for you—boy, he’d be rich.

It was your last night in town, and the three of you went out. You were currently dancin' with some random nigga from round the way. Stack watched you like a hawk, grillin' the hell outta the man who had your attention. Smoke couldn’t do anything but laugh at his brother’s expense.

“Nigga you got it bad,” he said with a chuckle.

“Shut up, bitch. You got it just as bad for her sister,” Stack shot back.

“Sho’ll fuck do. Don’t give a fuck who knows either.” Smoke shrugged blowing a cloud in Stack’s direction.

“Yeah, whatever.” Stack muttered, takin' a sip of his beer.

“Mmhmm, whatever shit, nigga. Could be you out there dancin' with her, tryna cop a feel. Instead, you’re here,” Smoke teased.

“It ain’t like that with us, Smoke.” He denied.

For the life of him, Smoke couldn’t understand why Stack was in denial about you. It was like he was purposely standing in his own way, unwilling to accept a good thing.

“Have I ever been wrong about a woman tryna throw her pussy at you?”

“Nah,” Stack grumbled, his defenses slowly crumbling.

“Aight then, nigga. Listen for once.” Smoke said, playfully mushing the side of Stack’s head as he stood up to head to the bar.

“Aye, watch out.”

“Girl follows you around the world, and you still questionin' shit,” Smoke called over his shoulder.

He could only shake his head at the memory. Smoke swore dealin' with y’all shit was gonna put him in an early grave.

Once the two of you released one another from the hug, you walked back toward your sibling, and Smoke did the same.

“You good, man?” Smoke asked, knowing full well he wasn’t. He just wanted to see if he was ready to be honest with himself.

“Yeah, uh, I’m good.” Stack cleared his throat before repeatin', “I’m good.”

“Good.” He patted his brother on the back. “Now let’s get to work.”

Now, you knew you was comin' to work, but you ain't expectin' to be put through the wringer! As much as y’all got on each other’s last nerves during the setup, it was all part of the charm. Smoke being the bossy one, always puffin’ up his chest like everybody ain’t already know he ran the place; Cornbread, with his big ass, ain’t stop complainin' 'bout how heavy them boxes was; Delta always droppin' “back in my day” stories like they was gospel every five minutes. And Stack? He was slick, finessin' Preacher Boy into doin' part of his work in the name of “respectin' your elders.”

Not to mention you, Grace, and Annie, makin' one little complaint 'bout the heat, which led to Bo shakin’ up a bottle of beer and lettin' it spray all over y’all like a makeshift sprinkler system to “cool y’all off.” But this? This was the stuff you cherished. These were the moments you missed. After hours of busting your backs, the grand opening was here, and the party was in full swing.

You found yourself wrapped up in Stack’s arms, your back pressed against his solid front. The sweet sound of southern blues wrapped around you like a warm embrace. Ain’t nothing like live music from home, and tonight, the air was thick with rhythm. Effortlessly, your body flowed with the beat, swayin' in a circle until you found yourself once again meetin' Stack's chest. One of his arms hung loosely around your waist, his fingers barely grazing your skin, followin' the pace of your movements like it was second nature.

“So, this is new,” you teased, glancing back at him.

“What’s that?” Stack’s voice was low, his eyes glued to the way your hips moved, like he was tryin' to memorize every curve.

Stack thought you was downright gorgeous, and it drove him crazy. He wished he could tell you every single day how beautiful you were. Your body? It made his heart race. Big hips, thick thighs, and those legs that seemed to go on for days. That dress you wore? It gave him a perfect view of your curves, and he found himself lost in thoughts he shouldn’t be havin’.

“You dancin' with me,” you said louder, breakin' him outta his daydream.

“I’ve danced with you before,” he replied, a hint of challenge in his tone.

You leaned your head back further, givin' him a smirk. “Not like this.”

Stack’s grip around your waist tightened, the two of you still swayin’ to the music. “What’s this?” His breath brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine that you tried your best to ignore.

“Like you tryna work your way into my drawls,” you shot back, playful but with a hint of seriousness.

“And if I am?” he shot back, spinning you around so you faced him, his gaze intense.

You were momentarily stunned, your eyes searchin’ his for any signs of this bein' a joke, you arms now loosely around his shoulders.

“Smoke told you.” you said, his words heavy like a weight on your chest, but it felt more like a statement than a question.

You knew Smoke couldn’t keep his mouth shut when it came to his brother. Stack had ditched you and Smoke for the night to run off with some floozy and you were hurting bad. Especially after the way he had been flirting with you day after day. After an attempt at drowning your feeling in a bottle of whiskey, you had confessed your undying love for Elias Moore to his other half after the world became a bit too blurry. The truth came spillin' out like vomit, then afterwards, literal vomit. You could curse the ground Smoke walked on for lettin' it slip.

Stack watched as the gears turned in your head, his eyes dropping to your bottom lip, which you had pulled between your teeth. He chuckled softly, still swayin' with you, but the tension was thick.

“Smoke been tryna tell me for years,” he confessed, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again.

He wasn’t sure if he was talkin' 'bout Smoke tryin' to get him to accept his own feelings or the ones you held for him.

It was the way you cared for him. In every way. You checked on his well being constantly. The effects of the war on smoke were clear. He had his issues and one of them Stack always took care of. Rolling his cigarettes, making certain shit easier for Smoke every chance he got. Stack was the suffer in silence type. No I didn’t know the trauma he had suffered. He preferred everybody think he was OK. But you saw right through him. You seem to be able to tell every time something took him back there the lifeline you’d reach out of your hand, holding his gentle caresses to the top of his hand, which is the tiniest of squeezes that will bring him back and remind him that he was here and safe and with you. Stack was the type to suffer in silence, keepin' his struggles close to his chest. But you? You saw right through him. You could tell when something haunted him, and each time, you’d reach out, holdin' his hand, givin' him that gentle squeeze to remind him he was safe with you.

You were everything to Stack.

The air between you two shifted, thickening with unspoken words and feelings.

“When did it click?” Your heart raced, the world around you fading away.

Y’all had stopped movin’, probably the only two still in the crowd of people dancing and signing having a time.

“The one you left.” Stack admitted, feeling a bit guilty for only realizing how deep his feelings and love for you really were.

Speechless you pulled away from him completely, mouth opening and closing as you stuttered trying to find the right words to say. Overwhelmed with emotion and not quite sure what to do with yourself you turned around to scurry away when he grabbed your hand and pulled you back to him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on now. Why you runnin'?” He was holding you again, bobbing his head around trying to catch you eye as you avoided his.

“Elias, you drunk,” you said, your voice shaky.

“Baby, I ain’t had a sip of liquor,” he replied, his grip on your chin gentle, forcing you to look at him.

Big brown eyes searched yours, filled with a truth that made your heart swell with love.

“Y/n,” he started, but just then—

“Stack!” Smoke’s voice cut through the moment like a hot knife through butter.

You two pulled apart at the sound of his brother calling.

“Let me holla at you for a minute,” Smoke beckoned, clearly oblivious to the tension hangin' in the air.

You could see Stack was ready to protest, but you stopped him, gently cupping the side of his face in your hands. Stack might not have been running off liquid courage, but you had dug deep for some courage and found enough bravery to push through.

You pressed a soft kiss to the side of his cheek, and then another right next to the corner of his mouth, lettin' your lips linger just a moment longer.

“Go. We’ll talk later,” you assured him, pulling away with a grin as you turned to find a seat at the bar y’all had been swayin’ next to.

It wasn’t long before Stack's arms wrapped around you from behind.

“Count on it,” he whispered, kissing the side of your neck, sending warmth flooding through you.

You flushed at the feeling of his lips on your skin, that deep baritone voice igniting a fire you didn’t know you had.

You couldn’t wait until later. But unfortunately, later never came.

[be-xkyy]

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑉𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝐹𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐ℎ

Warning: sexual content (mentioned), forced transformation, murder (mentioned), isolation, child abduction, blood, violence.

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★ @minshookie29 ★ @rosey1981 ★ @thejadevvitch ★ @jellystar-star ★

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

Son name: Alexandre

Husband name: Louis

Masterlist

Yandere Vampire who doesn't understand why you're so cold toward him; yes, maybe he killed all your friends and locked you in his castle, but he only did it because it was necessary.

Yandere Vampire who thinks you're being overly dramatic; he's already made up for his mistakes, turning you into a vampire, HIS mate, HIS wife, HIS duchess. Don't you see that he did the best for you by freeing you from your pathetic mortality? He gave you the greatest gift of all: eternal life.

Yandere Vampire who, despite his best attempts to make you happy, you're always melancholic. He gives you precious jewels that are over a century old. He makes sure his servants take care of everything and follow your every command so you don't have to lift a finger. He makes passionate love to you every night, giving you so many orgasms and love that in the end, you can't even form a coherent word. So why aren't you happy?

Yandere Vampire who after a long time decides to stop trying to figure out what you need to be happy and asks you directly (which is what he should have done from the start). One night, when you're both in your shared chambers, he decides to ask you the blessed question.

“I see that during these long months, my hard work to bring you happiness and joy has been a complete failure, so tell me, my dear, what do you need to be happy?”

“I want to be free. I no longer want to be confined within the walls of this castle. I don't want to be with you.”

“...”

Yandere Vampire who falls silent upon hearing your cold response; it almost seems as if your words didn't affect him, but his red eyes, which seem to glow, betray his anger. That, coupled with the lover/creator bond that unites your souls and betrays his anger, which seems to burn your body from the inside with a blazing fire, makes you shudder.

Yandere Vampire who decides to be merciful and forget this conversation, but not before threatening you. He approaches you, grabbing your jaw firmly. His elegant, ringed fingers grip your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes, which shine with a burning and terrifying fury.

“Never, EVER say something like that again, my dear, or I'll show you what it means to truly feel miserable and unhappy.”

Yandere Vampire who becomes more distinct and rougher in the months following your small talk. He makes love to you more roughly, leaving your body aching and your neck and chest covered in bites and love marks. In retaliation, you leave his pale back covered in deep, bloody scratches (which only feed his ego).

Yandere Vampire who one day while looking for his next dinner date in a nearby town sees a smiling happy woman in a house who reminds him of you when he first met you. She's sitting in front of the fire in the fireplace, which illuminates her with a yellow and golden glow; she's cooing to a baby who's laughing and gurgling happily; a light bulb goes on in his head when he sees this scene. Maybe that's what you need to be happy, a baby. Little brats always bring joy and happiness, right? Maybe you two can't have a baby biologically, but he can take someone else's baby... right?

Yandere Vampire who decides to take matters into his own hands. He sneaks inside the house, ignoring the pain in his throat and yearning to suck the woman's blood dry. After all, he can't alert the town of his presence (there are already many suspicions of vampires in the area). So, he decides to be subtle and snaps the woman's neck, which he does. He sneaks up behind her when she notices his presence; it's too late. He hears the woman's heart race as he grabs her jaw from behind and twists her head with an ugly "crack." The woman's heartbeat stops, and her body goes limp.

Yandere vampire who drops the woman's body to the ground and focuses all his attention on the baby lying on the floor on a worn, old floral blanket. The baby's lower lip trembles as if he can understand the cruel fate of his only parent. His eyes water, and high-pitched sobs soon follow.

“Waah-Waah!!!”

“Hey brat, don't cry. You have no idea what a favor I'm doing you! Now you'll have a beautiful and loving new mother. No more old or worn-out blankets, just the finest clothes and silks for you.”

Yandere Vampire who takes the child in his arms, rocking him a little, but he doesn't stop crying; on the contrary, he cries even more. Frustrated, he covers the baby's mouth, slightly muffling his sobs, and slips out of the house, quickly heading for his castle.

Yandere Vampire who enters the castle through the extensive gardens filled with red roses. He ignores the curious servants who stare at him curiously as he enters with the sobbing baby in his arms and, without wasting any time, heads to his chambers, where he knows for sure you'll be. He pushes open the wooden door and enters. Your eyes immediately look at him, or rather, at the child in his arms.

“My dear! Look at the gift I brought you.”

“From where? Where are his parents?”

“The mother is dead, and there was no sign of the father anywhere, so now he's all yours!”

Yandere Vampire who smiles proudly when you approach and take the baby from his arms. His eyes soften when he sees you cooing at the baby, gently rocking him in your arms, and the child soon calms down. You head to the bed, placing the baby on the soft silk sheets, protecting him from the cold. He can't help but notice the child's resemblance to you, but he snaps out of his thoughts when he hears your annoyed voice.

“You carried him all over the frozen forest in just pajamas? A baby is very delicate and could get seriously ill, you stupid man.”

“I didn't think of that at the time, my dear. I just thought of bringing him to you, and now he's here with you. That's better than nothing, right?”

Yandere Vampire who happily notices how you become someone much more energetic and happy since the arrival of the baby; although he won't deny that he's a little jealous of the fact that you spend more time with the baby (whom you named Alexandre) than with him; you take Alexandre for walks in the garden, you bathe him, you dress him and you even read to him to put him to sleep; the baby quickly became very attached to you.

“Mother! Mother, look at this!”

“I'm seeing you, my love.”

Your voice comes out lovingly as you look at the now five-year-old boy running through the rosebushes adored with vibrant red roses. You walk slowly, following your little boy. Louis, your husband, walks beside you. Your arm is intertwined with his, though you ignore him most of the time. But that doesn't make him talk any less.

“He grew up so fast, don't you think? I remember when I brought him here, and he was just a baby.”

“I remember.”

“I honestly didn't expect him to make it past the week, you know, given the fact that he was cold and malnourished, but your love seems to be able to cure anything, my dear.”

“...”

Your red eyes glare at him in annoyance, and he just smiles, revealing his white teeth and sharp fangs. You want to wipe that smile off your face and slap him for saying something so out of place, but you hold back as Alexandre runs up to you both.

“Mother! Father! I want to see the roses up close! Lift me up, father!”

“Yes, sir! As Your Highness commands!”

You can't help but let out a laugh as your son reaches out for his father, bouncing slightly before Louis finally picks him up and places him on his hip. Alexandre stares at the roses (which he's seen a million times before) with fascination before pouting.

“Roses have the same color as her eyes! I want my eyes to be red too, father!”

“I think your eyes are beautiful—”

“Don't worry, my son, soon your eyes will be red too.”

“Louis—!”

“Really, Father?! I'm so happy my eyes will be like yours and my mother!”

~~~

“Have you lost your mind?! Why are you telling my son he'll also have red eyes?! He's not going to turn into a vampire!”

You yell in annoyance as you pace around your chambers, your furious eyes glaring at him accusingly as he lies in bed, propped up against the pillows. He smiles at you with a shrug before getting up from the bed and walking over to you.

“Why not? I mean, our son could live forever as a five-year-old. Is that really so bad, my dear?”

“That's selfish! You killed his parents, forced him to live confined here in this castle, and now you also want to force him to be five forever?! You are truly a horrible man!”

“His mother.”

“What...?”

“I killed his mother. I already told you there was no father anywhere, and I confined him here because it's safer for him... besides, I know the idea of ​​him being five forever doesn't bother you, my dear.”

“That's not true—!”

“Oh, you can deny it all you want, but I can feel in our bond that you don't mind the idea at all. It almost seems like you'd like him to be your baby forever... so tell me, my dear, who is the really horrible person here, huh?”

You don't know how to respond, because it's true, everything he says is true. You don't want your son to grow up and leave here, leaving you with the pain and agony of your lost life tormenting your soul again. Just thinking about it sends a feeling of pain to your dead heart. Even though you hate yourself for being so selfish, you can't deny what he's saying, so you duck your head and remain silent.

He lets out a playful laugh, moving closer to you. He runs his ringed hands down the front of your dress's corset, tracing the soft fabric with his fingers. His hands slide back, playing with the laces of the corset, untying the knot and loosening the bodice. He rubs his nose against your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses up to your ear. You shudder when his cold breath hits your skin. He murmurs playfully against your ear.

“Don't be ashamed, my dear. After all, being selfish is in our blood. Just let yourself go~”

[solefi]

To Be Devoured

𓂃𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

| 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢'𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

〻(muse.) park sunghoon

〻(wc.) 15.1k

〻(genre.) vampire au! smut. dark romance.

〻(cont.) fem! reader. description of female anatomy. unprotected sex. making out. soft dom! hoon, but he turns into hard dom! hoon. virginity loss. fingering. cunnilingus. multiple positions. overstimulation. squirting. mentions of cum. mentions of blood. hoonie feeding. basically porn with no plot.

She is already limp under him, but Sunghoon is a man of his world. His beloved begged to be used, claimed, broken—and he's going to deliver.

You lie beneath him, your breath feathering the air between you, shallow and trembling. The room is lit only by the silver wash of moonlight through velvet curtains, painting your skin in soft shadows he traces with his eyes—eyes that have seen centuries pass, but have never lingered like this. Never stayed.

His touch comes slow, deliberate. Fingers that once crushed bone and wielded power like a god now ghost along your waist, reverent. As though he’s afraid to break you. As though you’re made of something more fragile than glass and more precious than anything he’s ever known.

He exhales softly through his nose as his hands travel upward, brushing the dip just beneath your ribs. You flinch slightly, more from the intimacy than surprise, though the coldness of his skin also plays a part. He notices. Of course he does.

“You’re trembling, my love,” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-rich. 

Then his hands shift again, climbing higher, until they find your breasts. He cups them with both hands, gently—thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks, slowly, like he’s learning you by memory. As though this moment could stretch on forever, and it still wouldn’t be long enough for him.

He leans down, lips hovering just over your collarbone. You can feel the coolness of his breath. Hear the restraint in it.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” he whispers, the words sinking into your skin. “It’s so loud… like it’s calling out to me.”

He doesn’t move to take more—not yet. He just holds you, listens, worships with touch alone. His thumbs stroke you, coaxing soft gasps from your lips. You feel the tension building in the pit of your stomach, slow and warm. It’s not overwhelming, not yet. But he’s not rushing.

He’s savoring.

Because tonight, he’s not just going to take your purity. He’s going to earn it—inch by inch, breath by breath.

He doesn’t move up or down, not right away. He just stays, thumbing your nipples with careful strokes until your back begins to arch beneath him, and your breath trembles again, this time from want. 

“Patience,” he says, soft but firm, a smile in his voice. “Let me love you slowly.”

His hands slide back down, fingers splaying over your stomach. He traces the soft plane there, dipping into the gentle curve of your navel, brushing featherlight over the sensitive skin just below it. Your hips twitch instinctively, but he hushes you with a press of his lips to your shoulder.

Then he begins to move—lower, but not where you ache. Not yet. His mouth follows the path of his hands, scattering kisses along your ribs, your side, the curve of your waist. His fangs don’t touch you—only his lips, plush and cool, searing heat in their wake.

He shifts, nudging your thighs apart with one knee, settling between them without pressing forward. His palms wrap around the outside of your thighs, slowly sliding down until he’s at your knees.

And then he does something simple—he kisses the inside of your knee.

You hadn’t expected it to feel that intimate. But it did. You felt it high in your chest and low in your belly. That place between your thighs pulsed with sudden, aching heat, as though your body understood before your mind could. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim.

He stays there a moment, as though your knees, your thighs, deserve the same worship as your lips or breasts. Then another kiss, a little higher. Then again. And again.

He kisses the hollow of your ankle, the tender dip where shin meets foot, then moves back up—taking his time. You feel his lips on the swell of your calf, soft and lingering. You didn’t know that part of you could be so sensitive. But under his mouth, it’s like your skin has bloomed—become something fragile and new.

Each time he lifts his mouth from you, the air feels cold. Each return is a blessing.

By the time his mouth reaches the softest part of your inner thigh, your fingers are clutching the sheets.

He chuckles softly, eyes flicking up. “Even here, you taste like devotion.”

He doesn’t go further. Instead, he shifts to your other leg, starting over—kissing the outside of your knee, your calf, even your ankle, before trailing back up. You feel every breath, every brush of his lips as if it’s branding you.

Only when he’s kissed both thighs, both hips, and every inch between does he rest his cheek gently on your lower belly, just below your navel. His arms encircle your waist, holding you like something irreplaceable.

“I could stay here forever,” he murmurs. “Do you understand that? Your body… It’s not just beautiful, it means so much more. And by the end of tonight, it will belong to me.”

Then he kisses just above your mound, achingly slow. Not quite where you want him—but close. His lips hover, teasing.

Your skin is aflame, not with fire, but with something slower—thicker. Every kiss Sunghoon lays on your body leaves behind a pulse, like an echo that ripples through your nerves long after his lips have moved on.

He shifts slightly and presses a kiss just below your hipbone. Then another, on the opposite side. His hands stroke your thighs, smoothing down the tension, murmuring something low in a language you don’t recognize. It sounds ancient. Reverent.

Your breathing comes faster now. You feel open. Not just your body, but something deeper. Your chest feels exposed, your heart trembling inside your ribs. You don’t feel afraid. Just… vulnerable. Raw. Like you’re giving yourself away, piece by piece, and every piece matters.

Then he moves higher.

His mouth finds the underside of your breast—a place untouched, unnoticed. And he lingers. He kisses there softly, then drags his lips to the side of your ribcage, and then to the curve of your breast, never quite reaching your nipple. It’s maddening. And exquisite.

Every brush of his lips pulls a new sound from you—a gasp, a whimper, a whispered plea that you don’t even realize you’ve made.

You feel like you’re floating. Like your body is unraveling in slow motion.

He’s doing this. With just his mouth, his hands, and that impossibly calm voice that cuts through your haze like silk.

“I can feel you surrendering,” he says, lifting his head to look at you. “It’s beautiful.”

And it is. You’ve never felt so seen before. So known. Not just your body, but the hidden parts of you. The secret hunger you never voiced. The craving to be touched not just with lust, but with purpose.

And he gives it to you.

His hand slides back up your chest, palm warm now from your skin. He cups your breast again, this time brushing his thumb slowly over your nipple, watching how your lips part.

You feel everything: the rush of heat between your thighs, the fluttering in your stomach, the way your toes curl into the sheets. It’s overwhelming—but not too much. It’s just enough to make you ache.

He leans down again and kisses the top of your breast, then just beneath your throat, and finally, your lips—slow, deep, like he’s drinking from you.

You taste yourself in his mouth. Want. Wonder. Need.

And still… he’s holding back. Worshipping you with lips and hands, teaching you the art of desire—before he even thinks of taking what you’ve offered.

His hand begins its descent.

You feel it, even before he moves—just the intent in his posture makes your thighs tighten, your breath catch. One hand stays on your waist, holding you steady, grounding you as the other travels lower, fingertips tracing that familiar path over your navel, your belly… until it hovers just above the place where your heat has been building for what feels like hours.

You can feel yourself clenching—wanting, waiting.

He watches your face as his fingers finally brush down, between your thighs. His touch is light at first, barely there, but even that sends a jolt through your entire body. And then he finds you.

Two fingers slip between your folds, slow, precise. He parts you gently, stroking down the center until he finds the source of your wetness. He doesn’t push in. He simply lingers there, sliding his fingers through the slick arousal pooling at your core.

His breath catches faintly, and his eyes darken.

“My love…” he murmurs, his voice hushed and reverent, “You’re drenched.”

The words shouldn’t make you blush as hard as they do—but they do. He’s not mocking. He’s marveling. Like your body has given him a secret, and he’s honored just to witness it.

He brings those fingers up, just slightly, and spreads the wetness across your folds with practiced gentleness. Each movement is slow, exploratory, like he’s studying the way your body reacts—how you twitch when he brushes your clit too lightly, how your hips rise when he glides lower again.

“You ache for more,” he says softly, kissing your temple. “I can feel it in the way your body pulses under my hand.”

Then, without asking—because your body has already answered—he slides two fingers down again. This time, he presses inward. Just enough to feel the resistance.

You tense, instinctively. You never imagined it would feel like this. The stretch is foreign, but his voice, his hand on your leg, the warmth in his gaze… they guide you through it.

“Shhh…” he whispers, stroking your thigh with his free hand. “Let me in slowly. Let me prepare you. You’re so tight, sweetheart. So perfect.”

He draws back just a little, circling your entrance, gathering more of your wetness before trying again, pushing his fingers in with agonizing care. 

The moment his fingers breach you—even just a little—your entire body seems to fold inward around the sensation. It’s not pain. It’s not even discomfort. It’s pressure—a firm, stretching fullness that sends a ripple of awareness from your core to the edges of your limbs.

Your breath catches. Your thighs tense. Your walls clench around him instinctively, like your body is trying to hold him there, to make sense of the invasion.

You feel impossibly full, and he’s barely inside you. The realization sends a dizzying heat through your belly—tight and low—and your body pulses around his fingers again, your entrance fluttering.

“You’re doing beautifully,” he breathes, now buried just the first knuckle deep. “You feel like heaven. You don’t even know how badly I want to lose myself in you.”

But he doesn’t.

He’s still patient. Still gentle. His fingers move in slow, shallow thrusts, coaxing your body open inch by inch. Preparing you. Worshipping you with every stroke.

And all the while, your heart beats wildly against your ribs. Your skin burns. Your thoughts dissolve into a haze of need.

Because you know what’s coming.

And the thought of him replacing those fingers with something deeper, something more—it’s enough to make your body tighten around the digits already inside you, your hips rising greedily to meet them.

And he feels it.

You’re soaking.

You didn’t know you could be this wet. But you are. You feel the slick heat coating his fingers, easing their path as he slowly presses deeper—just a little more, pausing again as your walls tighten reflexively.

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “Let your body open for me.”

You try. You let your lungs fill, and as you exhale, your body gives just enough. He sinks in a little farther, and your jaw drops, a soft moan slipping from you before you can stop it.

His fingers curve gently inside you, stroking the tender walls—not rough or fast, just steady, exploratory. You can feel the ridges of your inner muscles reacting to him, gripping him, trying to memorize the shape of him.

And god, the stretch.

It’s not overwhelming—but it feels. You feel everything. Every inch he moves, every subtle shift in angle, sends a cascade of sensation up your spine.

Your thighs tremble. Your stomach tightens. Your lips part around a breathless gasp as he curls his fingers ever so slightly—and that… that makes your entire body jolt.

A spike of pleasure blooms inside you—quick, sharp, then slowly unraveling. Your inner walls clench around him in response, and your wetness gushes, coating his hand.

You hear the soft sound of it—your arousal—and it makes your cheeks burn, but also… something else.

Need.

Raw, consuming need.

Because now that you’ve felt this, now that your body is giving way to him, you want more. Deeper. Harder. You want to be taken. Not carelessly—but like this. Like you matter. Like your pleasure is everything.

And he knows. Of course he knows.

“You’re gripping me so tightly,” he says, voice low and warm against your ear. “Your body wants this. It’s begging.”

His fingers slide out slowly, and you whimper at the loss—but then he pushes back in, deeper this time. Your walls stretch again, fluttering around him, and it’s almost too much.

Almost.

But not quite.

He begins to move in a rhythm now—slow thrusts, each one sending a new wave of sensation through your lower body. It’s not just your core that reacts. Your nipples tighten, your thighs quake, your mouth opens around soft, helpless moans that echo in the quiet room.

And you can feel the tension building.

It coils low in your belly, a warm, tight knot of pressure that grows with each stroke of his fingers, each brush of his knuckle, each shift in angle as he curls just right.

Your hips begin to rock into his hand without thought. You’re chasing it now. The pressure. The high.

And Sunghoon watches, his gaze dark, hungry, but still so unbearably gentle.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Let go. Let me feel you cum around my fingers.”

And you know he will keep going. Keep working your body until it shatters around him. Because this isn’t just sex. It’s worship. And you’re the altar.

Your hips have taken on a rhythm of their own now, rolling against his hand in small, desperate movements. You’re not thinking anymore. You can’t. The pressure coiling deep inside you is too tight, too fierce. It’s all-consuming, every nerve in your body trained on the place where his fingers slide in and out of you with reverent precision.

Sunghoon stays focused—never speeding up, never slowing, just holding you there on the edge, perfectly balanced between madness and release.

And then he curls his fingers again.

There.

You cry out—sharp and breathless—your back arching as that spot inside you explodes with pleasure, the wave hitting so hard it steals the air from your lungs.

“Oh—” The sound tears from your throat, ragged and raw.

Your walls clamp around him, fluttering wildly. You can feel the gush of wetness pouring out of you, soaking his fingers, your thighs, the sheets beneath. But there’s no room for embarrassment. There’s no room for anything.

Because the climax crashes over you in a rush of heat and light, white-hot and unrelenting.

Your hands clutch at the sheets. Your thighs close in around his wrist, trembling violently as the pleasure crests, then crests again, pulsing through you in waves that don’t stop. Your breath comes in sharp, broken gasps. Your heart hammers against your ribs, loud and frantic.

And through it all, he never stops.

His fingers keep moving, slow but firm, dragging every last drop of sensation from your shuddering body. You can feel yourself pulsing around him, squeezing, trying to milk the pleasure for all it’s worth. Your core clenches with each aftershock, your body not ready to let him go.

You’ve lost control. Completely.

Your lips part in a silent moan, your neck arched, your whole body stretched tight around the center of that pleasure like a string pulled to breaking.

And still… he doesn’t stop.

He watches your face, drinking in every twitch, every helpless sound you make. His free hand strokes your hair back from your damp forehead, his voice a low murmur, threading through the haze:

“That’s it, sweetheart… Look at how beautifully you fall apart for me. You were made for this. For me.”

The words only send another shiver through your spine. You didn’t think you could cum harder. But you do. Your body convulses, hips jerking uncontrollably as another wave seizes you. You gasp—sob, almost—your voice cracking from the intensity.

You don’t know how long it lasts.

All you know is the weightlessness. The loss of yourself. The way your mind blanks, drowned under the sheer power of your own pleasure. You can’t speak. Can’t think. You can only feel—and it feels like you’re being remade from the inside out.

When the wave finally begins to ease, you collapse into the mattress, boneless. As he withdraws his fingers, your body clenches around the absence. And from that perfect, trembling space between your thighs, a glistening string of arousal stretches—clinging to his fingertips, to your folds, like your body refuses to let him go.

The sight alone is obscene.

Delicate. Vivid. Sacred.

His gaze darkens. His cock throbs, twitching with need—restrained only by the years he’s mastered his own control. But this… this is different. No kingdom has ever made him feel like this. No blood. No war. No century.

Only you.

Your scent is rich now—intimate, warm, laced with the raw edge of climax. It clings to his fingers, to the air, to him. He lifts his hand, the one slick with your arousal, and parts his lips.

And then he tastes you.

Slowly.

His tongue glides along the length of his index finger, savoring the silken wetness, letting the flavor bloom on his tongue. Salty-sweet. Earthy. Utterly you.

His eyes flutter closed for just a moment.

It’s not just the taste—it’s the meaning of it. The fact that this wetness came from you, from the body he worshipped, from the pleasure he coaxed out of your untouched core. You gave him this. Not through pain or force, but through the softest surrender.

And now you’re lying there, boneless and glowing, your thighs still parted, your chest rising and falling like you’ve run miles through a dream.

He opens his eyes again and stares at you. There’s reverence in his gaze—but also something darker now. Hungrier. Deeper.

“I’ve tasted many things in my life,” he says, his voice low, tight with restraint. “But none have ever stayed with me.”

He slips the second finger into his mouth. Slower this time. Watching you.

“But you,” he murmurs around it, his eyes heavy with desire, “You linger. You ruin me.”

He swallows slowly, and for the first time tonight, his composure falters. He shifts—his body hard and aching, the press of his arousal unmistakable. He’s still holding back. But only barely.

Your pleasure has marked him.

Not just your arousal on his tongue, but your trust. Your body, so soft and willing beneath his. Your moans. Your trembling thighs. Your first orgasm given entirely to him.

And now—he wants more.

He wants to take you fully. To feel that wet, trembling heat stretch around the full length of him. To bury centuries of restraint between your thighs and lose himself in the warmth of your purity.

But not yet.

He leans over you, brushing his lips along your throat, and whispers:

“Do you feel what you’ve done to me?”

His hips press down—just enough for you to feel the weight of him against your entrance. Still clothed. Still restrained. But solid. Throbbing.

You’re still trembling, your body soft and spent, slick and open. But he doesn’t let you fall into the haze of afterglow. Not yet.

Not when he is trembling, too.

“I haven’t even claimed you yet,” he says, his breath hot against your skin, “and already… I belong to you.”

There’s something in the air. It feels changed. Charged. You feel it before he moves, like a storm building beneath the surface of his skin. He looks at you, and his expression is… ravenous. But not wild. No. This is the kind of hunger born from centuries of control finally cracking.

You’ve woken something inside him.

His hand slides back down between your thighs, gentle but insistent, spreading you once more. And you don’t resist. You can’t. Not when your body is still aching, your core still pulsing faintly, needy even in its sensitivity.

He settles between your legs again, lowering himself slowly, as if in reverence to something sacred.

And then you feel it.

His breath.

Warm and steady, ghosting over your already-wet folds. It makes you shiver. Your thighs twitch, instinctively trying to close, but he places a firm, commanding hand on your hip to keep you open.

You glance down, and his eyes are locked on your center like a starving man denied too long.

“I need to taste you again,” he says, voice like gravel softened by silk. “I haven’t felt this kind of hunger since the night I was turned.”

You open your mouth to speak, to say yes, to tell him to take what he wants—but the words catch in your throat.

Because he doesn’t wait.

His mouth descends, and this time… he doesn’t hold back.

The first stroke of his tongue is broad and slow, dragging from your entrance to your clit in a single, devastating pass. The contact steals your breath. Your hips lift off the bed, and a broken sound escapes you—half-moan, half-shock.

He groans against you. Deep. Like a man drinking ambrosia. Like he’s been dying for this.

And then he dives in again.

His tongue works you open with expert pressure—circling, flicking, then flattening again. He laps at your folds like a man possessed, the soft sounds of his mouth against your soaked heat sending heat racing up your spine.

You can feel the wet slide of his tongue parting you, dipping just inside your entrance, then dragging upward to swirl around your clit. Every motion is deliberate. No hesitation. No mercy.

Your legs start to shake.

You reach for something—anything—hands scrambling until they find his hair, soft and thick between your fingers. You clutch at it, not pulling him away, but closer.

“Sunghoon—” His name spills from your lips, cracked and desperate.

He hums in response, the vibration rippling through your entire pelvis. You cry out, your body jolting.

He doesn’t stop.

He devours you.

He alternates between slow, languid licks and short, fast flicks of his tongue directly over your clit—each one sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through your core. And just when you think you might fall apart again, he flattens his tongue and sucks gently, then harder.

Your whole body locks, and it is on fire.

Your vision goes white at the edges.

The tension that had only just begun to fade is rebuilding with terrifying speed, the coil snapping back into place, tighter and hotter. 

And through it all, he holds you open with one hand on your thigh, the other wrapped around your hip, anchoring you to the bed, to him.

You’re soaked, breathless, legs trembling around his head. His mouth is relentless—each swipe of his tongue building pressure deeper in your core, making your clit ache with hypersensitivity. You can feel it growing again—that hot, maddening tension—but it’s just out of reach. You’re teetering, clutching the edge with fingers made of smoke.

You need something.

And then you feel it.

His fingers.

They return without warning—slick and sure, sliding back into you with the same reverence as before, but now paired with the hunger of a man who wants to feel you cum hard.

He groans against your clit as your walls stretch to take him again, two fingers plunging into your heat with a wet, obscene sound that only makes your stomach clench tighter.

You cry out—sharp and loud—your hands fisting the sheets now. The stretch is deeper this time, the sensation more intense. Your inner muscles flutter around him, soaking his hand as he begins to move in rhythm.

He matches the thrust of his fingers with the rhythm of his tongue—sucking your clit into his mouth, then releasing, licking with rapid flicks before diving deep again.

It’s too much. It’s perfect.

Your body locks up, thighs squeezing around his head, your hips rolling up helplessly into every thrust. You feel your orgasm approaching fast now, sharp and violent, like a wave you can’t outrun.

And he knows.

He feels the way your cunt clenches down on his fingers, how your moans break apart, how your stomach tightens like you’re trying to hold it in.

He pulls his mouth away for just a second—just enough to murmur into your wetness:

“Don’t fight it. Let it take you.”

Then he curls his fingers just right—pressing into that perfect spot inside you with precision that no mortal lover could ever match.

And your world shatters.

Your orgasm slams into you without warning, without mercy. Your body bows off the bed, your mouth falling open in a silent scream before sound finally tears free—raw and high-pitched.

Your cunt pulses wildly around his fingers, sucking them in with every clench, gushing wetness in a flood of release that spills over his hand, your thighs, the bed.

You can’t stop shaking.

Your legs are convulsing, your chest heaving, your vision going dark at the edges. You’re sobbing now—not from pain, but from the intensity. You didn’t know your body could feel this much. Could give this much.

And through it all, Sunghoon stays between your legs, holding you through the storm. His fingers keep stroking you, drawing out every wave, prolonging it until you’re gasping for breath, trying to pull away—but your body won’t let go. It wants more. He gives you more.

Only when you collapse back against the sheets, utterly spent, does he finally withdraw his fingers—slowly, carefully, watching the way your soaked walls twitch at the loss.

Another string of your arousal follows his hand, glistening between his fingers. He looks at it like a man holding something holy.

Then he brings it to his mouth and sucks each digit clean—eyes fixed on you.

Your body is still twitching, trembling, flooded with the aftershocks of your second climax, but Sunghoon isn’t done.

Not even close.

He lifts his head for a moment, mouth wet with you, lips glistening, eyes burning with something wild and unrelenting. And then, slowly—deliberately—he slides his hand back between your thighs and spreads you open with two fingers.

The cool air hits your soaked, swollen folds, and you gasp. You can feel how wet you are—see it in his eyes as he gazes down at your cunt like it’s the most sacred thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

He spreads you further, opening you completely.

And he stares.

There’s awe in his face. Hunger, too. But deeper than that—devotion. Like your slick, twitching little hole is the center of his universe.

“Look at you…” He breathes, voice rough, reverent. “So wet, so perfect… your body still quivering from the pleasure I gave you, and yet you’re begging for more without a word.”

He leans closer. His breath skates over your exposed folds. Your thighs twitch.

And then—he dives back in.

But this time, he doesn’t just lick you. He enters you with his tongue.

You cry out—shocked by the depth, the invasion, the heat. His tongue pushes inside you, wet and thick, writhing as it seeks every inch of your soft, sensitive walls. It’s not a flick. It’s not gentle.

It’s devouring.

Your back arches as he fucks you with his mouth—tongue plunging in and out of your dripping hole, working you open again from the inside. The sounds are obscene—slick and wet, your arousal smeared across his lips, dripping from you onto his chin.

And just when the sensation starts to push you toward madness—he adds his fingers.

His free hand slides up, two fingers finding your clit with terrifying accuracy. He doesn’t start slow. He knows you’re ready. He circles it firmly, rhythmically, matching the thrust of his tongue with the press of his fingers.

The dual stimulation is too much.

You scream—sharp and breathless—your thighs trying to close around his head again, but his shoulders hold you wide open. Helpless. Exposed. Completely at his mercy.

Your cunt clenches around his tongue, your body dripping wet, your clit throbbing under his touch.

You can’t think.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t do anything but feel.

Every flick of his fingers sends electric pleasure shooting through your core. Every thrust of his tongue floods you with a deeper, wetter ache. Your hips move without you, chasing the rhythm, grinding against his face.

And he growls against you—low and deep, the vibration sending a shock straight through your clit.

You nearly cum again right there.

Your voice breaks into whimpers. Your hands clutch his hair, desperate for something to hold onto. Your body is unraveling, piece by piece, soaked and pulsing and begging for release.

And Sunghoon?

He’s in ecstasy.

Buried between your legs, his tongue deep inside your cunt, his fingers sliding slick and fast across your clit—he’s feasting like a man starved for centuries.

The sounds between your legs are soaked and obscene—his tongue plunging deep inside your cunt, his lips suctioned around you like he’s drinking your soul, his fingers working your clit with practiced urgency. He’s relentless. Unstoppable.

And you’re breaking.

The pleasure is no longer a slow build—it’s a current now. An unstoppable wave rising, rising, rising, and this time… it doesn’t crest gently.

It snaps.

It starts right there—right where his tongue is buried inside your dripping core. A sharp, crackling bolt of sensation that ignites your womb and then spreads, fast and wild.

Like electricity.

It surges outward, up your spine, down through your thighs, wrapping around your nerves like fire in your blood. Your toes curl. Your calves lock. Your back arches violently off the bed, your muscles seizing as the orgasm detonates through you.

You scream—raw and breathless—your voice splintering in the air.

Your cunt clamps down on his tongue, convulsing in rhythmic spasms, so tight it nearly traps him there. Your walls pulse with frantic contractions, milking him for something he can’t give—but he stays inside you, fucking you with his mouth as your body floods his lips with your release.

You gush.

Soaked and helpless, your climax pours out of you in waves, wet and hot, coating his mouth, his chin, your inner thighs. And he moans into you—moans, like the taste of your orgasm is a drug, and he needs every drop.

The sensation only intensifies—his fingers don’t stop, circling your clit with wet, rapid precision that sends aftershocks tearing through your already-oversensitive flesh. Your legs shake. Your stomach tightens. Your hands slap at the sheets, grasping for something solid in a world that’s crumbled beneath the weight of your pleasure.

You can’t speak.

You can’t think.

You are nothing but pleasure now. A body undone. A girl trembling at the hands—and tongue—of a creature who was made to worship you.

And he takes everything.

He holds you open as your orgasm ravages you. He lets you ride it, scream through it, sob against the air as your body pulses again and again, your clit aching, your core soaked and twitching, until finally—finally—the wave begins to pull back.

And even then… he doesn’t stop.

He slows. Softens. Gently licks the mess from your folds, savoring every drip, every shiver of your exhausted body. He kisses your inner thighs, your mound, your belly. Worships you in the aftermath of your own destruction.

You’re panting. Trembling. Every nerve still echoing with the ghost of your climax.

He moves up, hovering above you, his lips swollen, his face slick with your arousal, his eyes dark with awe.

“You broke so beautifully for me,” he whispers, voice rough, reverent. “And you’ll do it again.”

Your chest rises and falls with the weight of three climaxes, each more devastating than the last. Your thighs are limp, your skin flushed and damp, your core still twitching with little aftershocks that ripple through you like echoes.

And still… Sunghoon doesn’t move to take what you’ve offered him.

He lifts his head from between your legs, lips glistening with your essence, and just looks at you—gaze heavy with something older than time, something more primal than lust.

And then… he leans in again.

But not to your core. Not yet.

His mouth finds your belly, just beneath your navel. He kisses you there softly, lips slow and deliberate, as though the skin there matters more than anything else in the world.

He presses another kiss—lower, deeper. Right over the space where your womb rests.

His hands stroke your sides as he kisses you there again. Slower. More lingering this time.

“You carry your pleasure here,” he whispers, voice like dark velvet, warm against your skin. “It blooms behind this soft flesh. I can feel it… It calls to me.”

Another kiss. Then another. His mouth moves in lazy, worshipful patterns across your lower abdomen, marking the center of you—the place from which your desire poured, the space that will soon take all of him.

Your breath hitches.

The attention there—over your womb—feels different. Intimate in a way that sex alone never could be. It makes something flutter in your chest. Something deep. Something tender.

But then he shifts again.

His mouth trails down your hips, then slowly, sensually to the insides of your thighs—those trembling, well-used muscles that still bear the proof of how thoroughly he’s taken you apart.

He kisses just above your knee, where the skin is soft and delicate. Then higher.

And higher.

His hands stroke along your thighs as his mouth works its way upward, pausing to press his lips into the sensitive junction where thigh meets hip. He lingers there, lips and tongue working slow circles, as though tasting the memory of your climax from your very skin.

You twitch.

Your legs part a little wider—reflex, invitation, surrender.

He smiles into your skin.

“Even after everything I’ve given you… Your body still calls for more.”

It’s true.

Though you’re weak, breathless, flooded with warmth, there’s still a glow beneath your skin—a need that never truly dulled. The ache is deeper now, quieter, but it’s there. Nestled low in your belly, where he kissed. Where he’ll soon be.

And he knows.

Which is why he kisses the inside of your other thigh, just as slowly. Just as soft. His fangs brush the skin, not biting, just grazing. A reminder. A promise.

Your body shivers in response.

And you realize: this is still foreplay to him.

Not because he wants to draw it out… but because you deserve to be unraveled, adored, prepared like a temple before he dares to step inside.

His breath fans against your soaked folds, warm and intimate, and then you hear it—his voice, low and rough, nearly a growl veiled in silk.

“But you need rest, my love…”

You inhale sharply.

“…because once I start…”

His lips brush your entrance, and your hips jump.

“…I might not be able to stop.”

The words land on your flesh like a touch—hot, possessive, deep.

And your body responds.

A pulse starts low in your belly, tight and hot. Your core clenches—clenches—around nothing, a fluttering, instinctive reaction to the promise in his voice. Your clit throbs, still tender from the climax he stole from you moments ago, but already aching again.

You’re wet. Wetter. Soaking in response to just a handful of whispered words.

Because it’s not just what he says—it’s how he says it.

The reverence.

The restraint.

And beneath it, the quiet, throbbing threat that once he takes you—once he lets go of the centuries of control holding him back—there’ll be no turning back.

You moan. Soft. Breathless.

Your thighs fall open farther on instinct, exposing your spent, glistening cunt to his mouth, as if your body is answering for you: I don’t want you to stop.

But still, he doesn’t move.

He simply hovers there, letting the heat of his breath kiss your folds, letting his words sink into your core like silk-wrapped daggers.

And you feel it—your womb fluttering with anticipation, your slick walls spasming lightly, the ache between your thighs transforming from soreness to craving.

You should be spent.

But you’re not.

You’re awakening again—set aflame by nothing more than the promise of what he’s holding back.

And he knows it.

He smiles softly, eyes hooded with desire.

“You see?” he whispers, his lips grazing your swollen clit. “Even exhausted, your body begs to be claimed.”

When he rises over you, you’re still gasping in the afterglow of that last orgasm—every breath shallow, your chest rising and falling in soft tremors. Your skin is flushed, damp, and hypersensitive. Even the sheets brushing your thighs feel like fire.

And then he kisses you.

Really kisses you.

It’s not a gentle press of lips this time—it’s hot and wet, all tongue and teeth and heat. He takes your mouth like he owns it. Like he’s been starving for the taste of your moans. His tongue parts your lips, sliding deep with confidence, exploring you with a hunger that makes your toes curl.

You let him. You want him to. That’s the truth you’ve been holding inside this whole time.

You don’t just want to be touched.

You don’t just want to be loved.

You want to be used.

And he knows it.

Your mouth opens wider under his, letting him in, letting him take. His tongue tangles with yours, slow but deliberate, tasting you, marking you. His lips are plush and firm, but then you feel something sharper—fangs, grazing your bottom lip, teasing without piercing. A soft whimper escapes you.

The kiss alone sends a jolt straight down your spine, right to your already aching core. It clenches instinctively—empty, fluttering, wanting. Your thighs twitch. Your nipples harden again, oversensitive but alive. Even the softest brush of his fingers along your waist makes your muscles seize and flutter beneath the surface.

You can’t keep still.

Your body writhes beneath him—subtle shifts of your hips, your thighs spreading wider, your hands clutching the sheets and then relaxing, only to tense again. You’re trembling in waves now. His kiss is too much. But it’s also not enough.

Everything feels tripled.

Your mouth feels like it’s burning. Your lips are swollen from the pressure of his. Your tongue aches to follow his own. And when he growls low into your mouth—low and possessive—it vibrates through your whole skull, down your throat, right into your chest like a shockwave.

You moan into his mouth, and your hips roll upward without thought, trying to find friction against the press of him above you. There’s nothing there yet—not his cock, not even his hand—but your body wants it. Your cunt clenches around the emptiness, slick and pulsing with new need.

You feel tears at the corners of your eyes—not from pain, not even from pleasure—but from how much you want. From how deeply the need runs now.

You’re unraveling all over again, just from the pressure of his mouth on yours.

He pulls back slightly, and your lips chase his—needy, shameless. You’re panting now, open and wet and trembling beneath him.

He smirks, lips shiny with your spit. His voice is ragged when he speaks.

“You’re shaking again,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your jaw. “And I haven’t even touched your cunt this time.”

You whimper at the word. The way he says it—low, vulgar, reverent—makes your walls flutter again.

“I think you like being ruined,” he says. “You want to be used, don’t you, little one?”

His voice is low, taunting—but soaked in reverence. Every syllable curls around your skin like smoke, warm and thick and inescapable.

You nod.

It’s the only thing you can do. Your body won’t let you speak. Your lips are parted, swollen from his kiss. Your chest is rising in sharp, shallow gasps. Your heart pounds like it’s trying to escape your ribs.

And then the word spills out of you—yes—fragile, broken, desperate.

You feel it tremble out of your throat.

His expression shifts instantly. The tension he’s held back for what feels like hours—the centuries of restraint braided into his every breath—begins to unravel.

His lips curve into a smile, but it’s not soft this time.

It’s sharp. Dangerous.

A glimpse of his true nature blooms behind that smile—his long, perfect fangs gleaming faintly in the low light. It should make you flinch. It doesn’t. It makes your thighs twitch.

Then he leans in—so close his lips nearly brush your ear—and he promises it:

“Oh, my love…”

A kiss to your jaw, wet and slow.

“I’m going to break you.”

The words don’t just make your breath stutter—they reach inside you and pull. Your core clenches hard, slick and aching. Your back arches. Your nipples tighten painfully, every nerve lit up in response.

You feel everything.

The ache. The hunger. The pulse between your thighs, louder than your heartbeat. You’re still trembling, still soaked, still wrecked from the orgasms he’s already given you… But now, your body craves destruction.

Not violence. Not carelessness.

Ruin.

The kind that’s slow. Deep. Intentional. The kind only he can give.

And he knows it.

He gazes down at you like a god at his offering—his lips parted, his fangs glinting, his body ready. His hips press forward, not fully, but enough that you feel the weight of him now—heavy, hot, restrained no longer.

And you… You don’t flinch.

You open your legs wider. You tilt your hips upward. You offer yourself with a breathless gasp and eyes half-lidded in submission.

Because this is what you’ve wanted all along.

To be undone. To be remade.

To be ruined by him.

You can still feel the echo of your last orgasm humming in your thighs, soft tremors that haven’t quite let go. Your body is stretched open, slick and sensitive, every nerve along your skin tuned to the soft drag of the sheets, to the warm air kissing your swollen core.

And then he descends again.

You gasp.

You’d thought he might press forward—finally, finally fill the emptiness inside you—but instead, his hands return to your thighs, gently parting them again, spreading you wide like you’re something delicate… delicate, but his.

Then his mouth lowers.

And he begins to kiss you there.

Not just a lick. Not a flick. Not teasing.

Wet kisses. Messy. Open-mouthed. Devotional.

He kisses your cunt like it’s your lips—no, deeper than that—like it’s the center of your being. The place he’s been waiting to worship for centuries.

You can hear the sounds—his tongue dragging over your folds, the faint, obscene smack of his lips pressing into your slick entrance. He groans into you as he kisses low, then higher, then right at your clit—just a soft, swollen brush, and your body jerks.

He doesn’t pause.

He kisses you again.

Another open-mouthed press right against your folds, and this time, he lingers. His tongue flattens against your entrance, then slides up slowly—slow, wet, deliberate—before pulling back and pressing another kiss lower, right at the spot where his tongue had been buried moments ago.

Your thighs tremble.

You feel your cunt clench helplessly, empty, aching, fluttering at the lips just from the kiss.

And it feels like a kiss—not licking, not oral technique—but intimacy. Pressure and mouth and breath. He’s making out with your pussy, and it’s not just pleasure—it’s too deep for that. It’s possession.

You moan, broken and quiet, your hips rocking into his face, but he doesn’t speed up.

He’s patient.

Each kiss is a statement.

Each press of his lips says mine.

He groans softly against you, and the vibration sparks a fresh jolt through your core. You can feel your arousal thickening again—smeared across your thighs, dripping down your folds, warm and endless.

And still, he keeps kissing you.

His tongue pushes between your lips, dipping just inside your fluttering entrance before pulling out to swirl around your clit, then lower again. You’re not sure how long he stays there, mouth locked to your cunt, lips wet and moving, tongue sliding and tasting and worshipping—but it’s long enough that you lose the ability to think.

You melt.

You float.

Your body is trembling again, that same raw, desperate sensitivity tightening back into something dangerous. Another orgasm? No—something else. Deeper. Slower. A fullness that hasn’t even happened yet, and still your body prepares for it.

He moans softly into you.

You hear him whisper something, but it’s muffled by the slick sounds of his tongue against your cunt. You feel the hot puff of his breath against your swollen lips, and it sends another twitch through your thighs.

And all the while, your mind whispers: He’s making love to me with his mouth. Not for show. Not for dominance. Because he wants to. Because he needs to.

Because this is part of the ruin—breaking me not just with force, but with unbearable devotion.

His mouth is still locked to your cunt, lips slick with your arousal, his tongue moving in slow, reverent circles like it’s his only language. He licks and kisses and breathes into you like your body alone is keeping him alive.

You’re whimpering again, legs trembling, your back arching off the bed in small, uncontrolled pulses. Every time he presses his lips to your entrance—slow, wet, aching kisses—you feel the tension building again, the need winding tighter in your belly.

And then he pauses—just barely, lips still ghosting your folds—and speaks.

His voice is low and shaking now, rough with want, thick with centuries of hunger he’s barely kept chained.

“Will you let me take everything from you, my love?”

He kisses your clit, tender and slow.

“Will you let me satiate my hunger with your body?”

The words hit like lightning.

You cry out—your voice sharp, a moan twisted with desperation. Your thighs clamp around his head, hips rolling upward into his mouth, your hands fisting the sheets as your answer tears from your throat:

“Yes!”

It’s not polite. Not soft. Not whispered.

It’s screamed, breathless, raw and aching, your entire body echoing the word. Every pulse of your core, every twitch of your oversensitive clit, every wet contraction of your cunt—all of it screams yes.

Yes, take me. Yes, ruin me. Yes, I’m yours.

He moans—moans into your cunt—and the vibration sends another shudder rolling through you. His tongue dives back between your folds, kissing you deeper, hungrier, like your answer finally unshackled him.

He devours you now, tongue pushing deep into your entrance, his nose brushing your clit with every movement. His kisses become wetter, messier, more desperate. You can feel his mouth sealing over your core, as if he’s trying to drink the sounds from your throat, the tremors from your thighs, the heat from your womb.

And you give it to him.

Your body rolls, rocks, offers. You sob his name like a prayer. You beg without words, every breath a plea for more.

And he gives you everything.

Because that yes wasn’t just permission—it was submission.

And he’s waited centuries to be given someone like you.

You’re gasping, soaked, trembling, your legs still parted wantonly as he finally pulls back from the mess he’s made between your thighs. His mouth, chin, and cheeks are slick with you—glossed in the raw, intimate proof of your pleasure. Your arousal shines on him like a mark of devotion.

He rises slowly, crawling up your body with the grace of a predator… and the gaze of a lover.

Your skin burns beneath him—everywhere he kissed, everywhere he touched. You feel open, split wide by sensation, and yet not taken. Not fully. Not in the way your body now aches for.

And then he leans down—not between your legs, but higher.

To your face.

You expect heat again. Fire. Teeth. Tongue.

But instead…

He kisses your lips.

Soft. Slow. Chaste.

His mouth brushes yours with the barest pressure, a whisper of contact. No urgency. No devouring.

Just him.

His lips are warm and slightly sticky from where he tasted you, but the kiss is gentle, reverent. Like he’s sealing something sacred.

And it wrecks you.

Your heart stutters in your chest. Your face flushes hot. After all he’s done to your body—spreading you, tasting you, worshipping and wrecking you—this is what makes you blush.

This innocent kiss.

Because it’s not about possession.

It’s about love.

His fingers cradle your jaw as his lips hover for a heartbeat longer, and you feel tears sting the corners of your eyes—not from pain, or even overwhelming pleasure—but from how deeply you are seen.

Owned. Yes. Used. Yes. But also… cherished.

You gasp quietly into his mouth, and he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.

His eyes are soft now. Still dark. Still dangerous. But softened around the edges, like velvet stretched over steel.

“You are everything,” he whispers. “And soon you’ll also belong to me.”

And you nod again, this time without shame. Without fear.

Blushing. Trembling. Ready.

You watch him rise over you, the heat of his body sinking into yours even before he touches you. His eyes roam slowly down your form—your parted legs, your glistening thighs, your flushed chest—and then they lift again, meeting your gaze.

Silent.

Heavy.

And then he begins to undress.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t tease. He simply removes—button by button, layer by layer—and with every inch of pale skin revealed, the warmth in your face spreads like wildfire.

You’ve felt his mouth between your legs. You’ve screamed for him. You’ve begged him to take everything from you.

And yet, watching him bare himself—watching centuries of composed elegance stripped away before your eyes—it undoes you in an entirely new way.

His shirt falls from his shoulders, revealing sculpted muscle beneath porcelain skin, lean and powerful, lined with strength earned across lifetimes. His pants come next, slow and fluid, and then—he stands before you, naked.

And beautiful.

God, he’s beautiful.

The lines of his body are impossibly perfect—his chest broad, his waist narrow, his thighs strong and commanding. And his cock…

Your breath catches.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy. Already hard, flushed at the tip, arousal pulsing down the length. And all you can think is—that’s going inside me.

Your face erupts in heat.

You cover it with both hands, a helpless squeak catching in your throat, your thighs pressing together on instinct. Your body still aches to be filled, still throbs between your legs—but your embarrassment blooms too fast, too real to hide.

And for a moment… It’s quiet.

You hear nothing but your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then you hear him chuckle.

Soft. Warm. Disbelieving.

You peek between your fingers, and he’s staring down at you with his head tilted slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

And his voice—his voice is full of something deep:

“How,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “can you be so adorable?”

There’s wonder in his tone. Not mockery. Not pride. Awe.

As if, after everything he’s done to your body—after hearing you moan and beg and scream his name—he’s still stunned by the softness in you. The blush. The shyness. The contrast of your purity, even now, when you’ve given him everything.

He kneels back between your legs, his hands finding your wrists.

Slowly, gently, he pulls your hands from your face and leans in close, brushing his lips against your temple.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he whispers. “You’ve never been more beautiful than you are right now.”

And you believe him.

Even as the blush lingers, even as your chest flutters wildly, you believe him. Because the way he looks at you isn’t just hungry anymore, it’s devoted.

He doesn’t move right away.

He takes you in with one last look—your flushed skin, your parted lips, the way your legs fall open for him like a flower blooming under moonlight. Your cunt is glistening, folds swollen, the evidence of your pleasure coating your thighs, your heat radiating up into his hands.

He exhales softly, then shifts—settling between your legs with the same care one would show a sacred relic. And then you feel it.

The press of his cock.

Heavy. Hot. Smooth against your slick folds.

Your breath stutters.

He doesn’t push in yet—no. He slides it up first. Slowly. His shaft drags through your wetness, collecting it, slicking himself in the mess of your arousal.

And your body responds.

The thick ridge of him glides along your entrance, up through your folds, and then—there. His tip bumps against your clit.

You gasp.

Your legs twitch.

The contact is light, but after everything he’s done to you, it sends a jolt straight through your belly. Your clit pulses, oversensitive and needy, and you shivers beneath him.

He does it again.

Another long, slow stroke of his cock through your folds, bumping your clit at the top, then sliding back down to your soaked entrance.

You moan this time—a soft, broken sound—and he groans above you, the sound low and guttural.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your cunt as his length glides through you again. “Your body wants me so badly.”

You can’t speak. Your breath is caught, hands gripping the sheets, hips lifting slightly to meet the next stroke.

And then he stops.

The head of his cock nestles at your entrance.

Right there. Poised. Waiting.

He leans over you, bracing himself with one hand beside your head, the other guiding his cock to your core.

His forehead brushes against yours.

“This is it,” he whispers. “I’m going to feel you for the first time. Every inch.”

You nods. Your eyes shimmer. Your legs open wider.

You're ready.

And then—he pushes.

The tip breaches you.

And your world changes.

It’s not fast. It’s not brutal. It’s deep. Stretching. You can feel every ridge, every vein, every impossible inch of him pressing into you, and your body, tight and untouched, yields around him.

Your breath catches in your throat.

It’s not pain. It’s fullness.

Unbearable fullness.

He groans again—sharp this time, as your slick heat wraps around his cock like a vice, tight and hot and pulsing with life.

“God,” he breathes. “You feel… incredible.”

You clutch at his shoulders, your eyes fluttering closed, your mouth open in a soft, helpless moan.

It feels like he’s opening you from the inside.

Stretching you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

Your walls flutter around him, trying to adjust, your body trembling as he sinks deeper—inch by inch—holding your eyes, holding your hips, murmuring soft, steady praise as your virgin cunt welcomes him inside.

Emotion swells behind the pleasure.

He’s inside you.

Truly inside.

Your first and only.

And he’s not just taking your body—he’s claiming the hidden, aching part of you that always longed to be known. To be seen. To be used and loved in the same breath.

Tears prick your eyes—not from pain, but from the depth of it all.

You feel filled. Not just physically, but emotionally. Spiritually. Like something inside you has finally been answered.

And then… he bottoms out.

Fully sheathed.

Pressed to the hilt.

His hips nestle against your ass, his chest against yours, his cock deep in the clutch of your heat.

They both freeze for a moment.

Breathless. Wide-eyed.

“I’m inside you,” he whispers, voice thick with awe, his breath shaking against your lips. “Finally.”

You feel it—all of him, every inch of him stretching your virgin walls, pressing into places that make your toes curl, your stomach flip, your chest ache with the weight of something too big to name. He’s deep. So deep. You feel the throb of him inside you like a heartbeat not your own.

And yet—

It’s not enough.

Your body is on fire. Every inch of your skin is vibrating with overstimulation, your cunt fluttering around his cock, struggling to adjust to the girth, the length, the impossible fullness—but beneath the stretch, beneath the overwhelming tightness…

There’s hunger.

The kind that makes your mouth open on instinct. The kind that comes from the marrow of your bones. The kind that demands.

“Hoonie…”

Your voice is breathless, trembling.

He looks down at you instantly, his eyes wide, his mouth parted, sweat clinging to his temples. He thinks you’re overwhelmed. He thinks you need gentleness.

He doesn’t know that what you need is more.

You reach up, grab his face in both hands. Your fingers shake, but your grip is firm. You hold his jaw—force his gaze to see you.

And then you speak.

Not meek. Not blushing.

“I want you to fuck me.”

His breath catches.

“I want you to use me.”

His pupils dilate.

“I want you to ruin me, Hoonie. Break me. Breed me. Fuck me like you’re in heat—like your life depends on it.”

He goes still.

Frozen.

Your nails dig into his cheeks, your legs wrapping around his waist, locking him inside you. You arch your hips up, grinding your soaked cunt around his cock, still stretched, still adjusting—but your mind doesn’t care. Your body doesn’t care.

You’re already wet. You’re already split wide. You’re already his.

Now you want to be wrecked.

“Please,” you whisper. “Take me. Don’t hold back. I want to be fucked like you’re losing your mind.”

And that’s when you see it.

The snap.

The worship flickers. The restraint uncoils. And something else fills his eyes now.

Possession.

Raw. Unfiltered. Ferocious.

He growls—growls, low and deep in his chest—and then his hands are gripping your thighs, spreading you wider, locking your hips to the bed.

“Oh, fuck, my love…”

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing hard through his nose, trying to hold the last thread of control.

But you feel it trembling.

“You want to be fucked like you’re mine?” he breathes, his voice a rasp of barely-contained need. “You want to be bred like a filthy little thing in heat?”

You moan—yes, yes, that’s exactly what you want—and your hips try to rise again, but he slams them back down.

“Then don’t take it back,” he warns, his voice low, feral. “Because once I start… I will not stop until I’ve emptied every last drop inside you.”

And then he pulls back.

His cock slides out slowly, dragging against your soaked, stretched walls, and you feel every inch leaving you. You gasp, your core clenching, already aching from the loss.

Then—he slams back in.

The first thrust knocks the air from your lungs.

Not because it hurts—but because it’s too much.

Too deep.

Too fast.

Sunghoon doesn’t ease into it. Doesn’t hold back. The second you gave him permission—begged for it—he became something else entirely. Something darker. Something real.

And your scream echoes through the room, your nails raking down his back as he begins to fuck you exactly how you asked—like an animal, like a beast in heat, like a man finally giving into the hunger you unleashed in him.

He’s still Sunghoon. Still your lover. But now he’s a creature of need, and you are the only thing that can satisfy it.

His hips slam into yours again, and your entire body bounces beneath the force of it. The impact sends another pulse of heat through your core, your cunt clenching desperately around him, still trying to adjust to the girth of his cock, still fluttering from the stretch of your virgin walls.

But he doesn’t slow.

He thrusts again.

And again.

The rhythm builds, brutal and fast, and your body is struggling to keep up. You feel it—your slick squelching around his length, dripping from where he’s pounding into you, your clit catching friction with every push of his hips, overstimulated and screaming in silence.

Your mouth falls open.

But nothing comes out.

You want to cry his name, but it’s like your brain can’t form the shape of it. All you can feel is the stretch. The impact. The hot ache of his cock splitting you open and owning you.

Your walls try to grip him with every thrust, but he’s too big, too fast, and the fullness becomes unbearable. Your core is clenching—a desperate, fluttering attempt to take him deeper, to hold him in place, but he just keeps fucking into you, your cunt squeezing and sucking and dripping as your body tries to survive the assault it begged for.

You’re burning.

Sweating.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes—not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelm.

Your legs twitch around his hips, your hands scrabbling at his back, your head tilting to the side as you gasp brokenly��

“Sunghoon—ah—too much—”

He growls, fucking into you even harder, his hands pinning your wrists to the bed as he leans in and whispers:

“You said you wanted to be used. You said you wanted to be broken.”

And gods help you—your cunt tightens at those words.

Because it’s true.

You wanted this. You need this. And now your body is being reformed around him. Every thrust reshapes you. Every wet slap of skin against skin writes a new truth into your womb: you are his now.

Your nipples are painfully hard, your clit swollen and throbbing, your voice reduced to mewling little moans that barely make it past your throat.

You’re losing control.

Losing yourself.

And deep down, beneath the shock and overstimulation and unbearable fullness…

You love it.

Because this is what you asked for. Not to be loved sweetly. Not to be kissed like a flower. But to be fucked—like prey caught beneath something ancient and starved.

And Sunghoon?

He’s just getting started.

You don’t even realize what he’s doing at first. One moment you’re pinned to the bed, your body jolting with every brutal thrust, your vision swimming, mouth open around moans that don’t even sound human anymore—

And then his grip tightens.

Rough hands grip your hips—no longer soft, no longer careful—and he pulls. Your lower back lifts off the bed, and your ass rises with it, dragging your slick body higher into his lap.

You cry out—loud, raw, uncontrolled—as your legs fall wider, your spine arching as he holds you there, suspended in the air.

And then he thrusts.

Deeper.

The change is instant.

His cock drives into you at a new angle, hitting a place so deep, so unforgiving, that your whole body seizes. Your head jerks back into the pillow. Your thighs shake violently around his waist. Your cunt clamps down around him like it’s trying to keep him in that spot.

You scream.

You can’t help it.

It’s not pain—it’s too full, too much, the angle making every thrust feel like he’s punching the air out of your lungs. His cock grinds against your womb now, thick and unrelenting, and your body reacts like it’s been bred for this.

Your hips are no longer yours. They’re his, suspended in the air, pulled into every brutal, rutting thrust.

He’s fucking up into you now, hard and fast, his cock slamming into your cunt with wet, obscene sounds that echo louder than your moans. Your slick is smeared across his thighs, dripping down his balls, everywhere.

Your body is twitching uncontrollably—your stomach tightening, your nipples stiff, your cunt gushing.

And your mind?

It’s shattering.

You’re not thinking anymore.

Your thoughts have been reduced to three desperate truths:

He’s inside me. He won’t stop. I need this.

You can’t form words. You can barely see. Your hands claw at the sheets, at his arms, at nothing. Your mouth opens around a choked cry—his name, maybe, or just a noise that lives where language fails.

The stretch is unbearable. The depth is devastating.

And still he fucks you—grunting, panting, growling into the air like a beast finally allowed to rut. His hands grip your hips so tightly you’ll have bruises. You want them. You want the proof.

He leans over you, your legs still high, still folded open, his cock buried deep in your cunt as he thrusts again, again, again, and it feels like he’s not just inside you.

It feels like he’s inside your soul.

You feel broken.

Beautifully, brutally broken.

And there’s only one thought left in your mind now, floating through the haze:

‘He’s going to break me open and fill me.’

And gods… You want him to.

He’s still fucking you like he’s in heat. Like there’s no one else in the world but your soaked, trembling body clinging around his cock. His grip on your hips is bruising, your thighs suspended in the air, your back arched off the bed—his thrusts punching into you with brutal precision, again and again, deeper than your body should be able to take.

Your cunt is soaked, stretched, pulsing, overflowing—but somehow it still wants more.

And then he throws his head back.

It’s sudden. A snap of the spine. His chest expands, his cock buried to the hilt inside your womb, and for a moment, everything freezes—except him.

His mouth opens.

His fangs drop.

And he moans.

Not a groan. Not a growl.

A moan—thick, hoarse, pornographic. It’s so raw, so deeply broken, it sounds like his soul is being pulled from his body through your cunt.

It fills the room like thunder.

And that’s it.

That sound—that is what takes you under.

Your orgasm detonates with no warning. It doesn’t build. It erupts.

Your entire body locks—arms stiff, legs trembling, back arched like a bow. Your mouth opens around a silent scream, and your cunt clamps down on his cock so violently it’s like your body’s trying to milk the pleasure straight out of him.

Your vision goes white.

Your ears ring.

Your stomach clenches. Your thighs shake. Your hands claw at the sheets as wave after wave of brutal, blinding pleasure floods you—sharp, hot pulses radiating from your core, all the way to your fingertips.

It’s your fourth. Or maybe your fifth. You don’t even know anymore.

You just know that this one breaks you.

You sob.

A ragged, breathless, desperate sob—half pleasure, half surrender—as your cunt gushes around him, slick pouring out of you, soaking everything. You can hear it—wet, obscene, like a flood of need pouring down his cock and onto the sheets.

And he feels it.

His head snaps forward. His fangs glint. His eyes are wild.

He growls—deep and low, like your orgasm is a trigger inside him, too—and he thrusts harder, chasing his own edge now, fucking you through your orgasm, into the madness beyond it.

And your body?

It’s done.

You’re twitching. Gasping. A tear slips from the corner of your eye as your cunt continues to pulse helplessly around him, every nerve lit up, every breath a struggle.

But inside all that—inside the shattered pieces of you—there’s one glowing truth:

You wanted to be broken.

And he is. Beautifully and completely.

You’re still coming. Still twitching, still clenching, your cunt fluttering in frantic, helpless pulses around his cock. Your back is arched, your throat raw from your cries, your mind barely holding on—

And then he strikes.

His head snaps down, and his mouth crashes against your chest—your right breast, lips closing around the soft swell of flesh just above your nipple.

And then—the bite.

Fangs pierce your skin with a sharp, sudden pressure that steals your breath.

You gasp—a choked, high-pitched sob that turns into a moan as your nerves catch fire. The pain is brief, bright, but it melts into something hotter, something deeper.

Because the moment his fangs sink in—he feeds.

You feel it. The suction. The pull.

Not just blood—you.

He’s taking something from you with every pulse of his mouth. Not just your body, not just your cunt, but your essence. Your life.

And you give it.

Your hand flies to the back of his head, fingers sinking into his hair, holding him there, pulling him tighter against your chest as he drinks. You need it. You need him to feed from you like this—desperate and starved and yours.

And gods, your body responds.

You clench again around his cock—harder this time, tighter, impossibly so. Your walls grip him like a fist, like your body is trying to milk him in rhythm with his feeding.

And he moans.

Mouth full of you, blood slicking his lips, his cock buried inside your gushing cunt—he moans into your chest, and the vibration rolls straight through your ribcage like a second heartbeat.

It’s too much.

It’s everything.

Your thoughts stutter, scatter, and dissolve into primal, burning instinct.

All you can feel is:

He’s drinking me. He’s inside me. He’s mine. I’m his.

There’s something dizzying in it—the pull of blood, the rush of endorphins, the painful pleasure blooming behind your nipple. Your skin is buzzing, hypersensitive, your clit still throbbing, your cunt still soaked and stretched wide around his cock.

Your body starts to float.

A high beyond orgasms. Beyond touch.

You’re not even sure if you’re crying or laughing or moaning anymore.

It’s all too much.

And still, you hold him to your breast, cradling him like a lover, like a monster, like a god, your legs wrapped around his waist, your body arched to give him everything.

Because you want it.

You want to be emptied.

Ruined.

Fed from.

And in this moment, you don’t care if it kills you. Because you’ve never felt more alive.

His mouth is sealed to your breast, his fangs sunk deep into your tender flesh, the pull of his feeding strong, rhythmic, relentless. Each draw from your veins is slow, greedy, intimate. You feel it—your blood flowing into him, your warmth feeding his cold hunger.

And it turns you on.

More than it should.

Your head tips back, lips parted in a soundless cry. Your hand stays tangled in his hair, clutching him to you as if you’re afraid he’ll stop. As if your body needs to be emptied by him, drop by drop.

And then—

His other hand moves.

It slides between your bodies, down your trembling stomach, over your slick mound.

You barely register the movement—until his fingers find your clit.

And press.

You scream.

There’s no other word for it.

His touch is firm, deliberate, circling your swollen clit with practiced ease, and your body jerks, helpless and oversensitive, the shock of pleasure blending with the strange, blissful drain of his feeding.

You don’t know where the sensations begin or end anymore.

Your nipple is hard against his cheek. Your cunt is still stretched wide around his cock. Your clit is throbbing under his fingers. Your blood is flowing into his mouth.

And you’re losing yourself.

Your thighs try to close. Your hips jerk up. Your cunt clenches around him, milking his cock with desperate, fluttering pulses, your slick soaking the sheets beneath you.

And he moans into your chest.

The sound is low and vibrating, and it echoes through your breast, down your spine, into your womb.

His mouth sucks harder.

His fingers move faster.

And your body gives in.

Your back arches.

Your toes curl.

Your entire body tightens like a wire about to snap—

And you shatter.

Your orgasm hits like a storm.

You cry out—raw and wrecked, tears spilling down your cheeks as your body convulses under him. Your cunt pulses violently around his cock, tighter than ever, soaking him in another flood of release. Your clit throbs against his fingers, your breast aches beneath his mouth, and your chest heaves with every broken sob of pleasure.

You’re gushing. Trembling. Clawing at him like you’ll fall apart if he ever stops.

And he doesn’t.

He feeds.

He rubs.

He fucks you through it—still buried inside you, still drinking from you, still pulling every last drop of pleasure from your ruined, sensitive, offered body.

It feels endless.

It is endless.

And when it finally begins to fade—when your limbs go slack, your eyes heavy, your lips parted in soft, stunned whimpers—he finally slows.

His mouth lifts from your chest.

His tongue licks the wound—soft, reverent—closing it with a kiss, sealing the mark that will never fade.

And he looks down at you.

Blood on his lips.

Eyes blown wide with something beyond hunger.

And he says, voice rough, hoarse, ruined:

“Now you’re mine.”

You’re so gone, you only notice him slipping out of you when your cunt twitches at the loss, empty and aching, still fluttering in the aftermath of your orgasm. Your limbs are heavy, useless, your chest rising and falling with ragged, open-mouthed breaths. You feel like liquid—spread across the bed, broken in the most beautiful way.

But he’s not finished.

You hear the shift of the mattress. Feel his hands curl around your waist—tight, intentional.

And then—he moves you.

In one smooth, effortless pull, he flips you onto your stomach, your cheek pressed against the sweat-dampened pillow, your mouth parting with a soft, surprised gasp. You try to lift yourself, but your arms buckle, too weak.

And he doesn’t let you recover.

He grabs your hips and raises you.

Your ass lifts high, your knees pressed into the sheets, your thighs spread open by the positioning of his hands. You’re bent perfectly—spine arched, ass exposed, your soaked, swollen pussy on full display, still dripping with the mess of your last climax.

You can feel how open you are. How wrecked. How used.

And yet—your body reacts.

Your cunt clenches at the exposure, the cool air hitting your wet skin, the knowledge that he’s behind you now, staring. Silent. Waiting.

He hasn’t touched you.

Not yet.

But you feel his eyes—burning into you.

Sunghoon kneels behind you, his cock thick and slick, heavy in his hand, still glistening with your juices and desperate for release. But he doesn’t thrust back inside. Not yet.

He watches.

His eyes trace the curve of your spine, the lift of your ass, the wet gleam of your slit as it twitches with overstimulated need.

You’re breathing hard. Twitching. But you don’t move.

You can’t.

And he still doesn’t touch you.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

Because he does.

Too much.

You feel the tension in the air—coiled like a beast between you. His hunger. His need. His possession.

And then you hear it—his voice, low and reverent, almost in awe:

“Look at you…”

His hand slides over your ass—slow, reverent—just one palm smoothing over the soft flesh, watching how your body twitches at the touch.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers. “And still offering yourself.”

He grips your ass, spreading you slightly, and groans when your folds part for him—wet, raw, open.

“You asked me to fuck you like an animal,” he breathes. “And now you’re here… trembling… leaking… mine.”

He leans forward, one hand pressing down between your shoulder blades, making your back arch more, your cheek sinking deeper into the pillow, your ass lifting higher in response.

You barely register the shift behind you—his weight adjusting on the mattress, his thighs sliding between yours—until you feel it:

The blunt, hot press of his cock at your entrance.

You whimper, your fingers tightening into the sheets, your cheek mashed into the pillow, ass lifted high as your swollen, twitching cunt flutters around nothing. You’re already so wet, so open, so used, but that thick head stretching your folds again pulls a sharp, broken gasp from your lips.

He slides the tip up and down your slit once—coating himself in your slick, collecting it like the precious thing it is—and then—

He slams into you.

In one brutal, wet thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, forcing your body to take him, stretch again for his impossible girth, your walls clamping down like they’re trying to refuse—but they don’t. They yield. Barely. Desperately.

You scream.

Your vision flashes white. Your knees nearly buckle beneath you.

The stretch is excruciatingly perfect—a mix of pain and pleasure so intense it steals your breath. Your cunt flutters violently around him, juices flooding down your thighs, soaking the bed beneath.

And he doesn’t give you a second.

He fucks into you.

Hard. Brutal. Deep.

His hips slap against your ass with wet, punishing sounds, cock driving into you over and over again, spearing through the tight grip of your cunt like it’s nothing. His hands hold your hips so tight your skin burns, pulling you back into every thrust, using your body like he owns it.

Because he does.

Your back stays arched, your ass bouncing with every impact, your moans turning to cries, to sobs, to broken little pleads that mean nothing—because you don’t want him to stop.

You want this.

You need this.

Your cunt is gushing, soaked beyond logic, pulsing around him in chaotic spasms that only drive him faster.

He groans behind you, filthy and low, his breath ragged, sweat dripping onto your back as he fucks you like you were meant to be taken from behind.

“Fucking—perfect—” he growls, each word punctuated by another violent thrust. “So tight—so wet—so ready to be bred.”

Your orgasm builds again—somehow. You don’t even know how your body has anything left, but it does. You feel it like a rising scream, coiling in your belly, dragging you toward another edge you swore you’d already fallen from.

And he knows.

He feels it in your cunt—how it tightens, how it pulses.

And he chases it.

He fucks you harder, the sound of skin slapping skin wet and lewd and endless, your moans turning into screams again, your vision gone to stars as he ruins you from behind.

His hands find your shoulders now—gripping them, slamming you back onto his cock with every thrust, using your body like a toy, like a vessel, like a whore who asked to be ruined.

You did.

And now, he’s delivering.

The world doesn’t feel real anymore. Everything is rhythm, motion, heat. His cock driving into you over and over—deep and brutal, dragging across every hypersensitive inch of your walls. Your body is already ruined, already wrung out, but he doesn’t stop. His pace is punishing, merciless, and your mind can’t keep up.

You’re drooling into the pillow. Eyes glassy, lips parted, breath sobbing from your lungs in short, frantic gasps. Your cunt is a mess—gushing slick with every thrust, stretched to its limit, used.

And your voice?

It’s gone.

Replaced by incoherent babble.

“Mmm—ah! Hoonie—fuck—so deep—please—too much, I—ah!, I can’t—I—”

He doesn’t slow. Doesn’t even falter. His grip on your hips is brutal, fingertips digging into your flesh, slamming you back onto his cock with a force that makes your ass bounce and your body jolt. He’s growling behind you now, panting like an animal in rut, his cock so hard inside you it feels like he’s splitting you in half.

And your brain breaks.

The pleasure is too much. The fullness is too much. The sound of him, the feel of him, the need building in your chest—it all breaks open into one singular thought:

“Fuck—feed from me!” you scream.

It rips from your throat—sudden, raw, desperate.

“Hoonie—please—bite me—feed from me again, drink from me—fuck!, I need it, please, please, please, please—!”

Your hands claw at the sheets. Your body arches, thighs trembling, cunt clenching around his cock like you’re trying to pull the bite from him.

And behind you—you feel him freeze.

Just for a breath.

Then his voice, low and wrecked:

“You want me to feed again?”

You nod wildly, tears in your eyes, your body twitching and shivering under him. Your voice cracks into sobs:

“Yes! I need you to—I-I need to feel it, Hoonie please, I can’t—I need it—drink from me while you fuck me, I-I want to give you everything—please take everything, please—!”

His hand slides from your hip to your throat, tilting your head back and exposing your neck. He growls against your throat. Not the cold, controlled sound of a predator.

It’s giddy.

Almost playful.

“God,” he pants. “Listen to you… begging for my bite like a good little toy.”

You whimper, breath catching. Your hands scrabble against the mattress, nails clawing for something to ground you, anything to hold on to as he keeps you right on the edge of unraveling.

He’s still inside you.

So deep.

His cock is throbbing, thick, soaked in your slick, buried to the hilt inside your wrecked, overstimulated cunt. Without slipping out, he moves.

One of his hands grips your waist. The other slides beneath your stomach, pulling you up slightly. And then—

He shifts position.

Still behind you, still connected, but now he plants one foot on the mattress, rising into a half-kneel, half-squat.

And the angle—gods—

Your mouth drops open.

His cock grinds deeper now, dragging against your front wall with every thrust, hitting something dangerous, something brutal. His new position gives him total leverage—power and angle and reach—and he uses it.

He thrusts.

Hard.

Sharp.

Deep.

And you shriek.

Your vision swims. Your mouth trembles. Your legs go limp beneath you, your back forced into an even deeper arch. Every nerve in your cunt fires at once—blazing—as his cock spears into you with obscene precision.

He moans now—high and shameless, the sound of a man with a woman wrapped perfectly around him, wet and ruined and his.

“Fuck, you feel that?” he gasps, his voice cracking with laughter, feral delight in every word. “This little cunt’s never letting me go again.”

You babble something—words melted into moans—but he doesn’t slow. Doesn’t care.

His foot plants harder, thrusts sharper, slamming into you from beneath. Your body jolts with every impact. Your breasts sway. Your back arches perfectly, your neck still exposed to his mouth, waiting.

And he revels in it.

He hovers there for a moment, mouth open just over your skin, his fangs dragging along your throat, not biting yet—teasing. The tension of his breath, the heat of his cock, the stretch—it all blends into something unbearable.

“You begged for it,” he says. “So tell me again, love…”

His hips grind forward, cock grinding into your soaked walls.

“Tell me whose girl you are.”

His thrusts grow crueler.

Deeper. Sharper.

Each one lands with a wet slap, your ass slamming back into his hips as he drives himself into you from below, one foot planted firm on the bed, the other knee grounded for leverage. Your body jolts with every impact, breasts swaying, skin slick with sweat, your moans turning into broken sobs of overstimulation.

And still—he doesn’t bite.

Not yet.

He’s waiting.

Hovering over your throat, fangs dragging along your pulse like he’s tasting your fear, your surrender, your worship.

“You begged me to feed,” he growls into your skin, his cock grinding in deeper with the next thrust. “So say it. Say who you belong to.”

You’re sobbing now, cunt clenching, your legs trembling.

But you speak.

“Yours—I’m yours—Hoonie, I’m yours, I’ve always been—”

He grunts, fucking you harder.

“Say it again.”

You scream.

“I’m your girl!” you cry. “I’m your—fuck—I’m your toy, your meal, your whore—please! Please bite me—feed from me again, I’m yours, I’m yours—!”

That’s all it takes.

He snaps.

With a growl that’s half lust, half unholy hunger, his fangs pierce your throat in a single, savage motion. No warning. No gentleness. Just teeth sinking in right where your pulse pounds the loudest.

You wail.

Your back arches impossibly tight. Your cunt explodes around him—clenching, pulsing, gushing as your orgasm detonates in the same instant his fangs break your skin. The pleasure is blinding—a burst of white-hot light behind your eyes, your walls fluttering wildly around his cock, milking him, soaking him, screaming for him.

And he drinks.

Gods, he drinks—deep and steady, groaning against your throat as your blood pours into his mouth, as your body twitches and clenches and gives.

You feel the pull. You feel the bond—the ache in your womb, the twist in your soul, the devotion that burns like fire beneath your skin.

He’s not fucking you anymore.

He’s using you.

Feeding and fucking and owning you all at once, your body trembling, overstimulated, your breath stuttering through parted lips as you try to survive the dual invasion.

Your body is in chaos—shaking, clenching, gushing. Your cunt contracts around his cock in wild, erratic pulses, and then—like a dam breaking—you squirt. A sudden, hot release rushes from deep inside you, soaking his thighs, splashing against his stomach, dripping down the insides of your legs.

And that’s when he loses it.

You feel it before he even moves—his entire body tensing, his cock twitching violently inside you, so deep, so thick, so full—

Then he groans.

A deep, guttural, wrecked sound that vibrates against your throat as his hips slam into you one last time.

He buries himself to the hilt.

And he cums.

You feel it—hot and thick, a flood of heat spilling into your womb, wave after wave as his cock throbs and empties inside you. It’s not a release. It’s a claim.

You gasp—sharp and high—as his seed fills you, stretching the already ruined ache inside you wider, deeper, hotter. Your cunt is still spasming, milked dry and still milking him for more. Every pulse from him matches a pulse in your clit, every twitch of his cock pressing more heat inside you.

And gods—there’s so much.

You feel it flooding you. Dripping back out around the base of his cock, running down your thighs, mixing with your slick and sweat and scent. You’re overflowing with him.

And through it all—he’s still drinking.

His fangs are still deep in your throat, his lips sealed tight, your blood sliding down his tongue, into his chest, into the very core of him.

It feeds him.

It connects you.

And in that moment—flesh locked to flesh, blood flowing, his cum flooding your cunt—you don’t just feel taken.

You feel chosen.

He growls again—quieter now, weaker, spent—and finally, finally, his mouth releases your neck.

He licks the wound slowly, reverently, sealing it with a kiss, then rests his forehead against your back, both of you panting, trembling, wrecked.

He’s still inside you.

Still leaking into you.

And all you can feel is this:

You are full. You are claimed. You are his.

You can’t move.

You’re limp beneath him, your body trembling with aftershocks, every muscle twitching from the inside out. Your skin is wet—sweat, slick, blood, his release. Your thighs ache from how wide he forced you open. Your cunt is throbbing—raw and filled and fluttering around his cock, still buried so deep it feels like he’s part of your body now.

And he’s still inside you.

You feel him—hard still, thick, even softened just slightly, he’s overwhelming. He’s not pulling out. He’s not letting anything go. His hands still grip your hips, now gentler, but firm. Holding you there. Holding you in place.

And then—

He shifts his weight, leans over your back.

You whimper, a fragile noise, and his body presses against yours, skin on skin, cock lodged deep inside your twitching cunt. He drapes over you like a blanket of heat, fangs brushing your shoulder now, his voice low, thick, dripping with the afterglow of pleasure and pride.

“Perfect,” he murmurs.

You shiver beneath him.

“Look at you,” he whispers against your ear. “Still clenching. Still dripping. So full of me.”

You moan, weak and broken, your body twitching with the reminder—his cum leaking out around his cock, sliding down your thighs, your pussy fluttering in soft aftershocks that just won’t stop.

He rolls his hips once—just a slow grind, not even a thrust—and you sob into the pillow.

“Sensitive?” he teases gently. “You wanted to be fucked like an animal in heat, didn’t you?”

You nod, breath caught in your throat, tears slipping down your cheeks—not from pain, but from sheer overwhelm.

His hand slides to your stomach, palm resting over the low curve just above your womb. He presses there, firm, possessive.

“You’re holding so much of me,” he whispers, almost in awe. “My girl.”

Another slow roll of his hips.

Another broken cry from your lips.

And he moans softly, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he feels your cunt squeeze around him again.

“Keep me inside,” he breathes. “Let me stay here. Let me watch what I’ve made you.”

And you do.

You stay just like that—cunt stuffed full, body limp, back arched, cheek to the pillow—his. His cock still pulsing inside you, his hands resting on your trembling skin, his voice low and reverent.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs. “Inside and out.”

He doesn’t move for a long time.

He stays there—cock still buried inside your ruined, pulsing cunt—his weight pressed over your back, his hands gentle now, resting on your hips, stroking lazy, reverent circles into your damp skin.

You’re still trembling.

Your body is sore. Sensitive. Soaked in sweat and slick, and him. His cum leaks from your stretched hole in thick, slow drips, pooling between your thighs, seeping into the sheets—but he doesn’t pull out.

He won’t.

Not yet.

He groans low in his chest, head dipped between your shoulder blades, voice breathless and awed.

“Still so warm,” he murmurs, hips giving a subtle, instinctive roll that makes your breath catch. “Still milking me like you want every last drop.”

You whimper, weak, your fingers twitching against the sheets.

And he smiles.

Not cruel. Not mocking.

Proud.

His hand moves up, over your back, then down again—slow, soft, possessive.

“Mine,” he breathes again. “Every inch of you.”

He finally shifts—gently this time—pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he slowly lowers you both down, careful not to slip out. You whimper as he brings your bodies down together, side by side now, his cock still buried deep as he wraps himself around you.

You feel caged. Kept. Held.

And you’ve never felt safer.

He nuzzles into your neck, brushing a kiss to the healing bite mark on your throat, then another to your jaw, your temple, your sweat-damp hair.

You’re still trembling in his arms, cunt fluttering faintly around him, overstimulation fading into a full-body hum.

And he adores it.

“Shh,” he whispers, one hand sliding to your stomach, resting possessively over your womb. “You did so well for me, little one.”

You sigh—tired, bliss-heavy, floating.

“You let me break you,” he murmurs against your ear, “and you’re still here. Letting me stay inside you. Letting me hold you.”

His voice cracks slightly, fangs gone, his hunger sated.

“You’re everything.”

His hand strokes your thigh, sticky and wet and trembling beneath his touch. You feel the mess between your legs—the slick of your orgasms, his seed still leaking out in hot pulses around his cock—and you don’t flinch.

You love it.

You love him.

And in the soft silence that follows, he whispers one last thing—low and reverent, meant only for you:

“I’ll never take from anyone else again.”

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

young ladies shouldn’t waltz with vampires

a/n: happy halloween!!! here's the fic you guys voted on and shaped a few weeks ago

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

summary: “so, here’s the thing,” his ocean eyes then flickered in the same manner Steve’s had, mystically bending your mind to his will, “you’re gonna come with us, be ours to play with for the night. You can go home when the sun comes up, but without remembering the time we shared…” 

warnings: vampire!bucky barnes x innocent!reader x vampire!steve rogers, smut, dark content, dubcon/noncon, historical au (1840s), mind control/vampire compulsion, blood, biting, age gap, ball, dancing, polyamory, threesome, first kiss, kissing, loss of virginity, somno, cockwarming, dirty talk, size kink, pain kink, pussyjob, overstimulation, penetrative sex, anal, double penetration, unprotected sex

word count: 3511

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“I have to admit, out of every rose here, you’re the most breathtaking.” 

Glancing up from the table before you, cluttered with crystal glasses brimming with refreshments, your eyes flickered to the man now standing beside you, his own piercing blue stare firmly directed at you and no one else in the buzzing ballroom. 

Your stunned lips parted slightly before the gentleman boldly spoke up again, “how come I’ve never seen you before?” 

Feeling your breath hitch, you managed to babble, “oh, it’s probably because this is my first time at a proper ball. I haven’t really previously been allowed to come stay at my family’s London estate and–, I’m sorry…” you swiftly stopped yourself, sensing the heat that had ridden in your cheeks, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this…”

“Well, lucky us that you got let out of your cage and the rest of us finally get to gaze upon your beauty,” he flashed you a dazzling smile before his eyes flickered to someone behind you, “if you’ll excuse me, I see someone I recognise, but would you perhaps grant me the pleasure of a dance a little later?” 

Averting your gaze, a smile tugged at your lips as you uttered, “you’d have to ask my brother.” 

“But I’m asking you,” he dipped down to catch your vision, “would you care to dance with me?” 

Blinking back at him, you couldn’t help but let out the truth.

“Y-yes.” 

As a smile swiftly tilted his lips, the gentleman then bowed slightly before you as he plucked up your gloved hand and pressed his lips to the back of it before disappearing into the merry crowd. 

Feeling slightly dizzy, you finally snatched up the drink you’d originally wandered to this corner of the chamber to fetch. 

Though as you granted yourself a small sip, fingers suddenly grasped your arm and yanked you deeper into a corner. 

“Sister!” you blinked up into your brother’s eyes as he’d evidently spotted you from across the ballroom and, judging by his tone, not approved of what he’d seen, “what in the world do you think you’re doing?”

Ripping your arm free, you furrowed your brows, “what are you talking about? I was just getting some punch.”

“No,” he hissed at a hushed volume, “why were you talking to him?”

A confused scoff then bubbled out past your lips, “I’ve talked to plenty of men at this party, with and without you at my side, so why is he any different?”

“Because, sister,” he leaned down a bit further, “he’s not a man. He’s one of them,” his eyes scanned your own before he spelled it out, “a vampire.” 

Though you’d never previously encountered one yourself, you still weren’t so naive to not be aware of the known influential status such creatures of the night had in the society you lived in. Them being in attendance at a fine ball was nothing compared to the other privileges they had achieved over the centuries. 

“Really?” you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder, though didn’t spot the bloodsucker again. 

“God,” your brother groaned quietly, “I know mother and papa have kept you rather sheltered compared to myself, but trust me, you have to stay away from them. They’re monsters, killing is in their nature,” with a hand on your cheek, he guided your gaze back to his, “promise me you won’t speak to one ever again.”

Blinking back at him, you then uttered sincerely, “I promise.”

“Good,” a visible weight then faded from his shoulders as he let go of you and straightened back up to his full height. 

As you stayed on the outskirts of the party, one of your fingers curved to trace the lines of the fine glass still clutched in your grasp. 

Soon your eyes flickered up from the liquid remaining in the goblet and landed on the other guests. Elegant crinoline gowns swooshed and swayed to the music emanating from the small string quartet in the corner, acting as a heartbeat for the lords and ladies of London as they danced the night away. 

“Well, as I live and breathe,” a voice then found not only your brother’s ears, but yours as well. 

Twisting slightly, you watched as a wide grin swiftly stretched your brother’s lips, “Thomas!” he spread his arms out for the redheaded man nearly within his reach. 

As they pulled each other into a tight hug, your brother’s friend chimed in his ear, “how you doing, old chap?” before withdrawing from the embrace, though still kept one palm fast on your sibling’s shoulder. 

“Not bad, not bad–, oh, Tommy,” your brother then suddenly glanced back at you, “this is my little sister,” gesturing betwixt you both, “sister, this is Thomas, we went to boarding school together.”

Extending a hand, you smiled politely, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he shook your palm before casting his gaze back upon your chaperone, “would you mind if I stole your brother for a moment?”

“Uhm,” you glanced to your sibling before uttering, “no, of course not. Go, have fun, catch up.”

And before the pair slipped away, your brother leaned down to whisper in your ear, “be good till I get back,” to which you offered him a nod in return right before they both vanished from your sight and left you alone at the edge of the dance floor. 

Though as you slowly began to wander along the perimeter, your gaze once again affixed upon the sea of swaying pairs in the centre of the ballroom, your gentle stride then abruptly halted as a bulky figure shifted to pass you, though as the stranger attempted to, the two of you collided and the remainder of the drink in your hand splashed across his jacket.

You both froze as you slowly peeled your wide eyes up from the stain of your drink, that lightly dripped from his clothing, and instead flickered up to find the stare of the aristocrat you’d accidentally bumped into. 

“Oh god…” your heartbeat swiftly hammered in your ears, deafening out the elegant music that filled the chamber, “sir, I am so sorry, I-I wasn’t looking at where I was going and–”

“It’s alright,” he hastily put an end to your blubbering as he eyed the soaked patch, “it’ll dry,” he uttered, running a broad palm down over the wetness. Though as his gaze flickered back up to find yours, a slight smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he then said, “well, spilling your drink on me, the least you can do is offer me your name so that I know who to warn about to the people who actually are precious about their attire.”

“Lady Y/n Y/l/n,” you averted your gaze as your knees bent in a gentle curtsy, “delighted to make your acquaintance, even under the circumstances–, again, I am so incredibly sorry…”

“You’re a lady but with such lack of grace? Well, now I understand why you aren’t on the floor dancing with someone,” he jested in a teasing tone. 

The heat that had already crept up in your cheeks fiercely worsened, “I am a great dancer, I’ll have you know!”

“Oh really?” a smile dazzled his features, “I think I’ll have to see that to believe it,” he spoke as the current song came to an end and he extended a hand out to you, “shall we?”

For a moment, you let your glance flicker about the chamber in search of your brother, though when you couldn’t spot him, you found your own palm thinking for itself and gliding into the man’s standing tall before you. 

Once he’d led you out onto the floor, the palm he slid across your waist, and used to guide you a smidge closer to his own frame, caused a shy gasp to slip past your lips long before your feet began to shift below your poofy plum coloured gown. 

“Well, I guess you weren’t lying after all,” you soon heard him note after you’d danced for a minute, your movements having been nothing short of perfection since the very first step. 

Blinking up at the blonde man holding onto you tight, you finally asked, “what is your name, sir?”

“Lord Steven Rogers,” the title rolled off his tongue as his own gaze kept yours captive, “at your service, my lady.”

“Are you from here? You don’t sound it,” you commented on his accent, “but are you?”

“That’s a good question,” a slight tilt found his head, “London is one of my favourite places and I have spent many of my years here, but it’s not where I’m from, no.”

“So, you’ve travelled a lot?” you asked as he spun you an arm’s length away from himself. 

“You could say that…” he smirked as he twirled you back into his hold, “are you?”

“Am I what?” you found yourself slightly dizzy, though not from the dancing. 

“From London?”

“Well, my family does have a place here, but I haven’t spent much of my time in the city. At least not yet, I’m hoping I can begin to now that I’m grown, though to be quite frank, I have no idea where to start.”

“I could be your guide,” his offer caught you off guard, “it might have been a few years since I last called this city my home, but I still know it like the back of my hand.”

Mouth shyly agape, you simply blinked back at him a second before uttering, “perhaps if my brother came along as a chaperone.”

“I thought you said you were grown,” the tone he used to deliver his teasing seeped directly into your bones and made you thankful of his firm grip on you as the pair of you continued to sway to the music, “a girl asks for permission and can’t be trusted on her own, but a woman however, takes exactly what she desires and doesn’t let anyone or anything stand in her way…” his smouldering stare then briefly dipped before you heard him murmur, “so, what are you? A little girl or a woman?”

“I–…” you blinked back at him, struggling to navigate the exhilaratingly foreign situation you found yourself in. However, before you could stammer any further, the song came to a close and the surrounding couples parted ways. 

Though before you could take even one step back, his hand kept you close a moment longer as he dipped down for his breath to tickle the shell of your ear. 

“Meet me in the garden,” he whispered, causing even more goosebumps to erupt across your skin, “then you can give me your answer...” 

The cool night air kissed your cheeks as your glance flickered away from the candlelit terrace you’d abandoned only moments prior in order to stand beside the bushy mouth of the dark hedge maze further down the expanse of the estate’s garden. Faint music still found your ears as it echoed out the open windows of the grand manor where the ball still boomed. 

Then suddenly, as you were lost in your thoughts of disbelief at what you were doing, just before you could talk yourself into returning to the party, you felt your hand be grabbed before your eyes fluttered up to find the lord you’d been awaiting, his arrival haven been so sudden that it nearly caused you to jump straight out of your skin. 

Without a single word, Steve began to drag you into the maze, far away from any prying eyes and where the darkness could swallow you both whole.

“Where are you taking me–,” you attempted to ask, though as the man then abruptly stopped, what he did next stunned you to your very core. 

Pulling you close, closer than you’d ever been to any man before, he then pressed his lips to your own, sufficiently shutting you up before you could elaborate your question any further. 

The kiss was abrupt, fevered and entirely your first, leaving you dazed and reeling to catch up to the reality, to the dream you were finally expecting.

When Steve finally felt you relax into him, his feet began to shuffle and shift you back till your spine was pressed up against the denseness of the hedge behind you. 

But just as a shy whimper from you vibrated against his tongue and your fingers drifted up to whisper around his silky necktie, the snapping of a twig suddenly found your ears and caused you to jump away from your dance partner. 

Casting your glance over Steve’s broad shoulder, you spotted as the dark-haired gentleman, that your brother had so fiercely warmed you about, slithered out from the embrace of the shadows. 

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” the man smirked, folding his arms across his wide chest as he continued to stare. 

Eyes wide, you then began to stammer, “Steve,” lightly patting your partner’s arm as he hadn’t yet shifted to protect you with an air of understanding, “h-he’s a–” 

“A vampire?” the aristocratic creature raised an eyebrow, “how about you take another look at the lord that just had his tongue down your throat.” 

Your panicked glare then fluttered back to Steve in front of you, however, before you could manage to push him away, his hands flew up to either side of your face and he dipped down to stare into your eyes with an intense you’d never witnessed before, somehow locking you up in his gaze as he then compelled you, “don’t scream,” and under the moonlight, you swore you saw his pupils briefly dilate as his wish slithered into your soul, “stay calm.” 

Continuing to cup your cheeks, Steve then kissed you once again. Even though his previous words had turned you completely docile in his hold, the sensation of his lips as they soon pecked away from your own, on a determined journey down over your jaw, caused you to melt away that much further.

The neckline of your deep purple gown was so wide that it exposed not only your shoulders, but also crept down scandalously low on your chest. 

Your eyes fluttered shut once more as his kisses tickled in their path down your neck, the sensation shooting straight down between your thighs. However, as soon as Steve’s lips were devouring the tender spot where the base of your throat blossomed into your shoulder, a sharp pain suddenly caused your eyes to snap back open as the vampire had sunk his teeth into you. 

You winced slightly as blood began to trickle free, your gaze locked with the other man’s as he took a step forward and closed the gap. Standing directly behind Steve, his hand then raised up to stroke your hair.

“So, here’s the thing,” his ocean eyes then flickered in the same manner Steve’s had, mystically bending your mind to his will, “you’re gonna come with us, be ours to play with for the night. You can go home when the sun comes up, but without remembering the time we shared…” 

Though you’d barely gotten to sleep an hour, you began to stir as the vampire sprawled out in front of your slumbering form kissed down your neck and swiftly sank his fangs into your shoulder. 

Wincing awake and still weak from the blood the two lords had already drained you off, your hiss soon faded into a mumble, “Buck…”

Tilting his chin back a bit, Bucky lapped up the crimson that trickled down from the bite before he whispered, “shh, you can just stay asleep…” and you noticed his hardness straining against you below the covers, “it’s okay, I don’t mind…”

You couldn’t fathom how the vampire still wasn’t satiated after everything that had happened that night, things a lady such as yourself had never dared to even imagine possible. Even now, you were still slotted in between the two naked men under the canopy of a bed in the grand estate they’d taken you to, your virgin blood still staining the sheets, or the little of it that they hadn’t lapped up for themselves to savour. 

Though the restless one before you had stirred you for another taste, Steve was still sleeping like a rock. He was laying directly behind you, his burly chest still pressed up against your spine as earlier, when he’d impulsively tried to stretch out your ass, made the decision to do something about that impossible tightness and have that little hole warm his intimidating girth while he slumbered. It made it difficult, to say the least, for rest to come to you as the sensation of his fat cock plugging you up was nearly too much for you to bear. 

“Oh, what is it?” Bucky chuckled lowly at the wince you let out as he began to nudge his dick against your puffy pussy, “are you sore?” he asked in a mocking tone, grinning wider as you nodded hazily in response, “but you like it, don’t you?” he torturously tapped the weight of his length against the creamy mess between your thighs, the sensation causing both your holes to throb and clench, making Steve’s cock still embedded deep within you seem that much more enormous, “you like it when it hurts, when the sting of pain mixes with pleasure…” he then caught your eye and compelled you, “tell me that you like it.”

“I like it,” you hear the desperate word flow out your lungs, “please don’t stop, please keep hurting me, keep biting me, drink every drop of my blood, use me however you wish, it all feels so good–, ah!” the pleas he’d made you utter were then cut off by a rippling moan as his bulbous tip suddenly caught your entrance and greedily slid back into your warmth. 

The fierce rhythm Bucky swiftly found rocked you so roughly that the movements didn’t just split your poor pussy open as he bucked up into you, but it also caused your frame to shift back against Steve and sink you down that much further on his cock, letting his heavy sack nuzzle tightly against your slick skin. 

As your whimpers filled the room and mingled with Bucky’s own grunts of pleasure, you felt the girth in your ass twitch and rapidly grow painfully hard before the arm the slumbering bloodsucker had slumped around your waist tightened as he stirred with a low rumble directly in your ear. 

“Mmm… having a little midnight snack, are we?” Steve groggily hummed from behind you as he nuzzled his nose into your tousled hair, “you know she’ll pass out soon if we keep drinking like this.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Bucky then slid his palm down the length of your arm, plucking up your hand till his lips ghosted against it. However, just as you let yourself hope that he’d just plant a peck upon your palm, his teeth instead pierced the flesh, right below your thumb. Although, the vampire did show some restraint as he only offered you a little nip before ripping your hand away from his mouth and holding it out for his partner to grasp, “here, you look parched,” blood already began to pool like a little puddle in your palm from how it slowly oozes out of the wound. 

Accepting the delicacy, Steve first dragged his silky tongue over the bite, before he let his fangs sink into you with a deep groan, the taste of you only making him harder. As he began to drink from your palm, his hips greedily began to rock, making you tremble between the two lords of the night from the dizzying manner they both now fucked you. 

As your moans filled the night air, Bucky’s fingers found your face in a caress before he leaned in to snuff out your sounds and let you taste the tangy iron of yourself on his tongue. Soon, his kisses began to dance down over the column of your neck, till his face was buried in your heaving tits, leaving a blossoming trail of hickeys to mark his path as he moved down to capture your nipple between his lips.  

“I know we usually only keep our dinner till the morning comes,” Bucky muttered as he nipped at your boobs, only pausing to briefly glance over your shoulder at the man behind you, “but there’s something different about this one, don’t you agree, Steve?” 

“She’s fucking delicious…” you heard him purr in your ear, “maybe you could be more than just a quick bite to eat…” both of their cocks continued to rock in harmony, filling your holes up to more than the brim, “maybe you can be our girl…” 

Sucking in a shaky breath, you tilted your head to catch both of their eyes, “for how long?” 

Keeping his neck tilted, Bucky blinked up at you and uttered, “…forever,” before he buried his teeth into the soft peak of your tit.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[cherryxhaze]

You Gotta Earn It First

Professor!Remmick x Fem!Reader

Fic Playlist & AO3 Link

Summary: The new Irish Folklore professor seems to have it out for you. Constant critiques and unfair grades. There's a strange air to him, beyond the passionate lectures and the other students who seem to adore him. As much as you'd like to deny it, you too find yourself under his spell. WC: ~14.2k Tags/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI 18+ ONLY. heavy dubcon: somnophilia (f!receiving oral), power imbalance & manipulation. modern day professor AU. no use of y/n. dom!remmick, brat tamer!remmick, cheating/infidelity (reader cheats on bf w/ remmick), hive mind plot device, semi-public masturbation & sex, panty stealing, panty sniffing, blood kink, marking, spanking, degradation, praise, oral sex (f! & m!receiving), anilingus/rimming (m!receiving), unprotected vaginal & anal sex (f!receiving), classroom sex, hair-pulling, creampie, possessive language, obsession, rough and soft sex, jealousy. A/N: I could not have written this without the support, help & ideas from these lovelies: @confetti-cakemix @weavingduck @madkingcrowley @fuckoffbard @remmicks-salvation with a special thanks to my love @eternalstrigoii for beta reading! Credit to @cafekitsune for dividers.

When you first signed up for the Irish Folklore course this semester, you never imagined it’d turn out like this. Every student is required to take a Humanities course for their degree and this one seemed to be the perfect fit. It piqued your interest, fit into your schedule with work and other classes with a meeting time in the evenings, and you (foolishly) figured it’d be easy enough to pass without much effort. 

You were very wrong.

It’s a Tuesday night when class convenes, a handful of students scattered about at their desks in the small room stationed on the first floor in one of the oldest academic buildings on campus. You preferred small classes like this, it was more intimate, helped you be immersed, and provided better opportunities to connect with the professor. If only this Professor didn’t seem to have some personal vendetta against you, targeting you every chance he got. Professor Remmick, he insisted you all call him. Not Dr. O’Brien or Professor O’Brien, just Professor Remmick. 

“Alright, now. Before we pick up where we last left off on the discussion of Filidh, I’m returnin’ your last graded assignment.” Remmick peers down at the stack of papers in hand through the clear lenses of the glasses fixed on the bridge of his nose before he shifts, standing from his spot leaning against his desk to begin walking down the aisles. “Most of y’all did well.”

Most.

The word echoes in your ears and a heavy weight settles in your gut, churning with each appraising comment he gives to the other students upon returning their graded work.

Nice work, Chris. 

Good job, Jess.

Your teeth begin to nervously chew on the inside of your lip as he draws nearer, hoping for the string of praises to continue but dreading for more of the endless criticism you’ve received since the start of the semester.

Polished black cap toe shoes scuff against the linoleum as he stops by your desk. You chance peering up at him, but he doesn’t even glance your way before sliding the paper onto the desk like it’s a discreet, dirty secret.

A silence passes, quiet but resoundingly loud, before he moves on to the next student. He doesn’t say a word and that’s somehow worse than if he had told you it’s the worst work he’s ever seen in front of the entire class. Your eyes immediately search for the damage, landing on the C- circled and written in red ink at the top of the paper.

Disappointment floods through you before frustration, and finally anger. You’ve never gotten a C in any college courses until this class, until this Professor. If someone had told you before that the hardest class you’d take in college would be an Irish Folklore course, you would’ve laughed and looked at them like they grew two heads. 

Your eyes trail down the paper, glancing over every note written in red. 

Grammar.

You’re rambling a bit much here. 

Not quite. 

?

There is room for improvement. I expect better on the next assignment.

You don’t get it. You could’ve sworn you did everything right and had all the correct information. Hell, you probably could’ve spent hours working on it and he still wouldn’t give you an ‘A’. A heavy exhale huffs out through your nostrils as you lean back into the hard plastic seat, arms crossing over your waist. 

This class is shaping up to be more trouble than it’s worth, and you can’t help but wonder how you’d have fared with the original professor, Dr. Hughes.

It was only a few months ago when Remmick found himself in this little college town. He didn’t seek it out intentionally, only meaning to pass through on his journey to an undesignated destination. He’d been wandering for so long, he couldn’t tell you a specific number of years. After so many failed attempts to find connection to his old home, he’d begun to lose hope. That was until that December night when he found himself strolling across the quiet, concrete paths and grassy patches of your campus. When the familiar words of the legend of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and the Giant’s Causeway floated through the night air and to his ears, it stopped Remmick in his tracks. He followed it to an open window in one of the campus buildings where he lingered in the shadows, watching and listening as this Dr. Hughes butchered the retellings of the legends and myths from Remmick’s homeland, the stories near and dear to his heart. What else could he have expected from a damn Englishman. Worst of all, these students were victims of it. 

And Remmick… Well, he just couldn’t have that.

So he continued watching Dr. Hughes’ flimsy lecture until the class adjourned, waiting as the students filtered out of the old building until finally, the professor emerged. Remmick followed him as he made the walk to the Faculty parking lot, oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows. By the looks of the dark and quiet campus there didn’t seem to be many night classes, and after that night the college would lose one of its professors.

After that, all it took was a forged degree and resume, which along with his vast knowledge on the course subject landed Remmick a position as an adjunct professor. 

He’d finally found something to give him purpose.

Remmick, oblivious or uncaring to the anger simmering within your body, continues on with class as usual, picking up where he last left off in the discussion of Irish filidh and traditional music. Palpable enthusiasm and confidence ooze from him as he lectures with an undisputable knowledge on the subject. Qualities that initially sparked excitement at the beginning of the semester, that now annoy you like an itch under your skin you just can’t scratch.

Remmick leans back against his desk as the oldest recording of The Rocky Road to Dublin plays through the computer speakers, the only time he elects to utilize electronics in class. You should be paying attention, immersing yourself in the tune, but your mind wanders elsewhere. 

Still ruminating on your bad grade, on your workday, other classes, upcoming exams, your boyfriend, James. 

At the thought of your boyfriend, your eyes fall to the Claddagh ring fixed on your right ring finger. A soft smile graces your lips, briefly remembering the moment James had gifted it to you on your birthday, telling you it symbolized love and loyalty with two hands holding a crowned heart. 

You’re distracted as you admire the ring before the hairs on the back of your neck rise with the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Slowly, your eyes lift to seek out the culprit of the discomforting sensation in the surrounding classroom. A look to the left toward your classmate Chris makes you pause, catching his eyes slowly trail up your legs to the curve of your ass and up to your breasts, until they finally lock with yours. He catches your look of disgust and before he can even react Professor Remmick clears his throat, loud and abrupt from the front of the classroom. Chris’s head snaps forward like an obedient dog following a command before it lowers, whether from shame or embarrassment, you aren’t sure.

Remmick doesn’t look at you, only exhales sharply and licks his lips before delving back into the lecture as the song comes to a close. The distraction of catching Chris undressing you with his eyes pulls your focus back to the lecture for a moment, but as Remmick discusses the significance of the traditional ballad, your mind drifts once again. This time, it isn’t toward thoughts of your boyfriend, work, or your other courses. It’s solely focused on your professor. Your frustration with him is still tangible and simmering in your body, but it begins to mix and fuse with another emotion.

Your eyes follow Remmick’s movements as he slowly paces at the front of the class. 

The way he talks with his hands.

Thick, calloused fingers. You imagine they’d feel both rough and soft dragging along your bare skin.  

The gold chain hanging from his neck. You wonder how it would catch the light as it swings back and forth above you.

That crooked, almost boyish yet calculating smile. 

The soft curve of his cupid’s bow, plump bottom lip shining under the overhead lights as his tongue darts out to lick them once more.

The way those lips wrap around each word, moving in a way that seems downright vulgar.

Biceps outlined by a light blue button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. You imagine how much strength is harbored within them.

The ego that earlier wrought your irritation now mixes with admiration for his passion and knowledge.

Your mouth grows dry as the heat rises in your body with the wavering thoughts. Remmick’s eyes catch yours briefly with what you perceive to be a heavy weight of unspoken words within them, and it’s enough to send a tingle right between your clenched thighs. His eyes leave yours just as quickly as they met, but the undeniable signs of arousal pulse through you, a wet warmth resonating at your core.

A glance at the clock on the wall. 9pm. Still another hour left.

With each passing minute the hunger residing in your body only grows, becoming harder to ignore. You can’t make it another hour like this.

“-explores the mostly misfortunate adventures of a man on his journey to-”

“May I go to the bathroom?” You blurt out with a raised hand, too impatient to wait for him to call on you.

The classroom falls silent as Remmick takes a deep inhale, his lips forming into a thin line from exasperation at your interruption. His gaze meets yours before he reluctantly gives a curt nod, freeing your thrumming body from the seat. Your feet quickly follow the path to the door at the front classroom, only for his voice to stop you.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

You can’t help but roll your eyes before turning to face him. A fiddle bow turned bathroom pass sits in his outstretched hand, though his gaze remains cast forward to the rest of the class. You huff under your breath at the ridiculousness of it, no one else is even in the goddamn building. Nevertheless, you cross the short distance to retrieve the bow from his hands, but he doesn’t release it.

A sharp tug jerks your body toward him, close enough to feel his breath fan over your skin as his eyes finally meet yours.

“Don’t take too long.” He murmurs a low and gravely warning that practically sets your body ablaze, flames licking at your most sensitive, aching parts.

As soon as his hand drops from the bow and eyes shift back toward the other students, you turn and exit the classroom as quickly as your feet can carry you.

One of the advantages of taking a night class was having the entire academic building to yourself. Something you’re grateful for as your fingers part your slick pussy lips in the bathroom stall. You’re so goddamn worked up and throbbing for release with the confusing mix of anger and arousal.

You can’t decide if you hate Professor Remmick or want to fuck him, but it’s becoming painfully obvious that it’s both.

Who the hell decided to hire him in the first place? He’s far too hot to be a professor, let alone a hard-assed one. 

You sigh softly with a jerk of your hips, a finger finding the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your thoughts drift to wonder how his tongue might feel instead of your fingers, imagining he knows just the right places to lick and suck, since he seems to know everything.

“Fuck” The soft moan fills the empty bathroom, mixing with heavy breaths as you rub your clit in tight, slow circles.

You can’t decide if you want more of his punishment or to take your anger out on him.

If you want him to bend you over that mahogany desk and spank your bare ass until you give him the correct answers,

Or if you want to straddle him in that desk chair and ride that cocky grin off his pretty, plump lips.

Your walls pulse and squeeze, body vibrating with waves of pleasure as your fingers move faster, teeth biting your bottom lip to muffle the whimpers.

He’s big and thick, stretching you wider than any other man has, but the way you wrap around him would have him a whimpering mess beneath you, suddenly devoid of arrogance as his hands grip onto your body like it’s the only thing keeping him from blowing his load inside you.

The pleasure builds in your core, a single thread on the brink of snapping. 

You’re so goddamn close.

His calloused hands would soothe your reddened, sore flesh before moving to the wet patch of your panties. “How badly do you want that ‘A’?”

With a stutter of your hips and a muffled cry, the thread finally snaps, granting the release of intense pleasure to course through your shaking body. The tight, fast circles on your clit slow and loosen as you ride out the high until your breaths finally even out. 

It isn’t long before guilt replaces lust. You have a boyfriend for god sakes and here you are, in the bathroom of the lecture hall masturbating to your professor. With a groan, you pull out your phone and open the Messages app.

Are you coming over after class?

You hit send before setting to clean up the evidence of the escapades between your thighs and head back to class, unsure if you’ve been gone long enough to raise suspicion. Head down and gaze averted, you hope not to draw attention to yourself as you slip the bow back onto Remmick’s desk and return to yours with a silly worry that everyone knows exactly what you just did.

And he does.

Remmick takes note of the flush of your skin, the shame written all over you, the smell radiating from between your thighs and into his flared nostrils. He’s unable to stop the small smirk that tugs at his lips before steeling his mask and resuming the lecture as if he wasn’t aware of your very presence or absence.

The cool night air is a welcomed respite against your still warm skin as you step out of the building and onto the concrete pathways of campus. You love walking around at this time of night, sidewalks and roads devoid of the daytime bustle of bodies and cars. A few straggling students camping out in the library until closing time and the small group of your classmates being the only signs of life.

“So, what did you think of tonight’s lecture?” The cheery sound of your classmate Sarah’s voice pulls you from your thoughts as she comes into step at your side. You cock an eyebrow at her with an exasperated, scoffed laugh.

“What?” She questions with an oblivious but amused tone, to which you sigh.

“I mean… the subject matter is interesting.” 

“Okay…? What, you don’t like Professor Remmick?”

“Like? I think he’s a bit of an asshole, actually. I had an easier time in Chemistry, for christ’s sake.” The bitterness for what you perceive as unfair treatment seeps into your voice.

In the solitude of the now empty classroom, Remmick listens in through Sarah, letting out an amused chuckle at your crass retort.

“Yeah, I guess he can be a hard grader. At least he’s kinda cute though, right?” Sarah counters with a shrug and a coy smirk. Your eyes widen slightly and you’re caught off guard for a moment before quickly brushing it off with a laugh.

“I have a boyfriend, remember? I’m not worried about how cute a professor is.” It’s a flimsy lie, you know it is, but it’s all you can conjure up in the moment. You can hardly handle the confusing feelings the professor provokes in you, let alone admit them outloud. 

Remmick rolls his eyes. 

“Okay.” Sarah murmurs, sounding unconvinced. “How are you and James doing anyway?”

Your phone vibrates at that moment, the screen illuminating with a new text.

Not tonight, babe. Me and the boys are watching the game.

That stupid goddamn fraternity. You fight back the urge to let the irritation reflect in your expression before dimming the screen and turning your attention back to Sarah, just as the lights from the dorms begin to come into view.

“Oh, you know. We’re both busy with classes and work but we’re good.” 

Not for much longer. 

You give Sarah a tight-lipped smile, unsure how effective it is, but she returns it and nods nonetheless.

A bid good night sends the two of you parting ways where the sidewalk splits, leading to your respective buildings. Under Remmick’s selfish influence, Sarah’s eyes follow your movements. Watching the way your hair flows with the wind, the bounce of your ass with each step until your form disappears through the glass doors of the dormitory.

It turns out turning a few students had its advantages. At first, it was merely for information, inserting a few spies into the web of the college. It didn’t take long for Remmick to lose himself in the role of a professor, and even a centuries old vampire like himself wasn’t immune to falling into the allure of petty professional rivalries. Particularly that bastard of an English professor Dr. Michaels, who seemed to turn every compliment Remmick received into a boast about himself.

That was until you. Until he first saw your pretty face and that tempting body strut into his classroom. Everything Remmick’s done since then has been with tunnel vision. 

And boy, has he learned a lot about you and that boyfriend of yours.

It doesn’t take long for exhaustion to overtake you upon returning to your room and stripping off the clothes carrying the weight of the day. A few hours later, you’re deep in the throes of sleep. Campus is dead silent at this time at night with the exception of a few students pulling an all nighter for one reason or another. That meant no witnesses as Remmick helps himself through the window you conveniently left open in an attempt to seek the cool night air to aid in your slumber. Remmick just can’t help himself as it becomes increasingly harder to stay away from you. And after what he knows you did in that bathroom tonight, he needs more. He needs something to hold him over until he can have you completely. 

Upon entering, his eyes immediately fall to your sleeping form scantily clad with the covers thrown about. Restless sleeper, it seems. An oversized shirt hands loosely around your body, the hem ending dangerously close to the curve of your ass, leaving your bare legs on full display. A deep, shaky inhale passes through him in an attempt to offset the onslaught of raging emotions and desires seeing you like this spurs within him. He forces his focus to shift to the surroundings of your room, to soak up the opportunity to be in your space.

He takes everything in, from the trinkets that line the desk and shelves, to books housing stories of romance and mystery, fingers running along them as if to commit every memento that is you to his memory.

Posters of musicians and movies line the painted brick walls, along with pictures of you with friends, family… that loser boyfriend. Remmick scoffs lightly at the photograph, knowing soon enough he’d be out of the picture. He’d make sure of it.

His exploration continues until his eyes land on the laundry hamper by the foot of the bed, a discarded pair of underwear lying on top. The faint smell hits him as soon as he sees it, beckoning him closer step by step.

Hands grasp the flimsy lace material before lifting it to his face. A deep inhale of the unmistakable scent that was wafting off of you earlier fills his nostrils. The smell of pure, lustful desire. He can’t help but groan softly, the sound of satisfaction and hunger rumbling in his chest. His hand curls, balling your underwear in his fist before slipping the fabric into his pocket. He’s not leaving without a token of yours and this is just what he was looking for.

Just as he considers it’s time to leave, Remmick’s eyes fall to your sleeping form once more and his feet draw him closer to the side of the bed. You could only look more beautiful than you do now whilst in the throes of pleasure, he imagines. A sight he aims to see for himself very soon.

His breathing slows as his hand gently clasps around your ankle, warmth radiating off your body and into his palm, a sensation that both balms and ignites the restless desire for you residing in his chest. Even as his heart hammers against his ribcage, his fingers trail up your skin leisurely but with full intent. Intent to memorize the feeling of this, your warm, soft skin beneath his hands at last. The touch is tender, ghosting, and reverent.

“Rem-”

The movement stills over the plush flesh of your thigh, eyes darting up to your closed ones at the sound of the muffled groan. You’re still sleeping soundly, eyes moving behind the closed lids. His heart stills, breath catching at the realization he hadn’t imagined the beautiful sound.

“You dreamin’ about me, doll?” A low and raspy whisper leaves his dry throat. Teeth digging into the plump flesh of his bottom lip, his hand presses more firmly against your skin, caressing the meat of your thigh and inching higher and higher to the hem of your shirt.

“Remmick…”

There it is. The airy, needy murmur of his name from your parted lips goes right to his hardening cock. You put on a good front in class, but even in the depths of sleep he is the one you want, the one you desire. The one you call out to within the realm of filthy dreams, fueled by unbridled lust. There’s no denying it now.

And fuck, look at you. So tempting. Laid out like a platter of ripe fruit, begging to be tasted, to be savored. And who is he to deny you, to deny himself? He only came for a token to keep with him while you’re gone but now, he’ll have the memory and lingering taste of you on his tongue. Just a little taste, right from the source. 

The path of his hand continues traveling up the back of your thigh until reaching the hem of your shirt where he pushes past, hiking the fabric up to reveal the bare globes of your ass.

“Fuck…” Remmick mutters under his breath, mouth salivating at the sight of your juicy ass and pussy completely bare with no panties on. A wicked smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, “Always hoped you were a naughty girl.”

Carefully, his body lowers onto the bed between your parted thighs, one leg bent and hiked up. Your swollen lips aren’t even parted yet and he can still see the wetness held within them, seeping out of the glistening folds. His hands gently squeeze the fat of your ass, eyes fixed on the way it makes your puffy lips spread to give him a glimpse of the paradise held within- like digging into a succulent, juicy peach.

“So wet for me…”

He leans closer, the tip of his nose nudging along the slit before taking a deep inhale that sends a wave of shivers down his body, filling his mind with a hungry, lustful haze. Parting your slit with a flat tongue and a breathy moan, he collects the juices from your clit to your throbbing hole,  taking a moment to savor the flavor spreading along his tongue, like a man dying of thirst cherishing that first sip of water. 

You’re magnificent.

With a groan, he dips back in for more. Curled tongue delving into your tight, wet channel, licking up every drop of your sweet nectar he can. Remmick moans at the taste, the feeling of your walls squeezing around his tongue, the soft, breathy moan that slips past your lips. He’s drunk on you, on your taste, the sounds you make. He needs more.

Satisfied he’s licked up every drop, his mouth lowers to your swollen clit. With a glance up toward your sleeping, blissful face, his tongue flicks against the bundle of nerves teasingly, eyes watching for any reaction. Satisfied you won’t stir, he presses the muscle more firmly against you, swirling around and licking the sensitive bud. A mix between a sigh and moan rises from your throat, like beautiful, sinful music to his ears. It spurs him on, eliciting his lips to seal around your clit and gently suckle it into his mouth.

Your pussy pulses against his nose with a slight jerk of your hips, the movement pushing your cunt firmly against his face. He obliges your unspoken plea, fingers digging into the meat of your ass as he sucks harder on your tender clit. Within the confines of his pants, his cock strains and throbs against the material, pre-cum no doubt staining them.

“Remmick…” The words slip from your lips so quickly in a stifled, high-pitched moan, but he hears it, the sound sinking in and echoing in his ears. Even in your slumber, your body and mind associate pleasure with him and it only strengthens his raging desire for you, the resolve to make you cum on his tongue before he leaves.

A low groan rises from deep in his chest, muffled against your slick folds as his mouth continues to work your throbbing clit to a heightened bliss. Until he hears your breath hitch, your body tense beneath him, and a shaky gasp burst from your mouth. Remmick’s eyes roll back behind closed lids, moaning softly as you cum with a buck of your hips. He softens his attack on your clit as the waves of pleasure course through your lush body, and only when you relax and fall slack against the sheets does his tongue return to your still spasming channel, lapping up your release like a reward. 

With a sigh, his face turns to rest against the delicate flesh of your inner thigh as the haze of lust in his mind and body calm to a low thrum, one he won’t be able to ignore for much longer. He can take care of that later, for now he knows he needs to depart with your token stored in his pocket and lingering on his taste buds. But, not before he leaves you with a token of his own. Remmick’s lips kiss your tender skin before latching onto it, sucking gently to leave behind a small bruise to form overnight, effectively marking you as his.

Reluctantly and with one last kiss along your skin, Remmick carefully rises and slips off the bed, pulling your shirt back down to its previous position. With your arousal stained panties in his pocket and one last look over your peaceful form, he leaves the way he came, through your window and out into the dark depths of the night.

It isn’t until hours later with the sun risen above the treeline, the chirping song of birds flowing into your open window that you finally awaken to the obnoxious alarm on your phone. You silence the nagging sound with a tired groan before sitting up, legs lazily shifting to hang over the edge of the bed. As the full depth of your senses slowly return, you’re unable to ignore the slick, wet feeling between your thighs. You can’t usually remember your dreams beyond small details and flickers of images, but you know last night’s sleep consisted of another ‘wet dream’ involving your professor. 

Only when your vision drops to your legs do you see something purple and part them to reveal a small bruise on your inner thigh. Your brows furrow in confusion regarding its creation. Was it from the last time you and James had sex and you just didn’t notice until now? Maybe you need to get your iron levels checked at your next doctor’s appointment…

Regardless, you don’t linger on questioning the source of your new bruise for long as the reality of your day full of work and exams comes to the forefront of your mind.

The following night, you return to the old, cracking stone building for your next Irish Folklore class. Your movements are sluggish upon entering the classroom and taking your seat, brain exhausted but anxious as your eyes mindlessly survey the antiqued items and posters reflecting Irish culture hanging along the walls. You’d already had a number of exams today with more scheduled tomorrow, not to mention the one you’d be taking in the next few minutes.

You hadn’t studied as much as you probably should’ve for this exam with your other classes taking priority, and it leaves you with a growing pit in your stomach. You fool yourself into believing you can still perform well on it, all while knowing Professor Remmick would no doubt slap that hope down just as quickly as it bloomed. The thought beckons a restless bouncing of your leg under the desk as class convenes and Remmick begins to walk down the aisles, handing out the exam to each student. With a nervous gulp, you don’t dare to meet his eyes as he passes your desk, wordlessly sliding the multi-paged, stapled test on top.

You close your eyes and take a deep inhale that does little to unravel the knot residing in your stomach before diving in. There’s no turning back now. As you begin, the questions seem easy enough, mind readily recalling the information from previous classes. Then there’s the questions you have no recollection whatsoever of going over, and with it a wave of embarrassment passes through, realizing you may have missed those moments while daydreaming about fucking your professor. Then, there’s the questions that are worded in a misleading way. The kind of question that you think you immediately know the answer to, only for there to be another very similar answer… fucker. It prompts you to begin second-guessing all your other answers thus far, eyes tracking over every single word until you feel an ache begin to form in your temple. He’s gotten in your head, making you doubt yourself even when you were so sure. 

Your hand moves to your forehead, supporting the weight as your fingers massage your temples. Your mind is foggy and exhausted, frazzled from lack of sleep, hours of studying, classes, and work on top of the very specific stress of this course you just can’t seem to function in. Suddenly, a crimson drop splatters onto the test beneath you, dark red staining and spreading into the white paper.

Remmick’s nostrils flare and eyes squeeze shut as the scent hits him like a wave. By connection and nature, the other students can smell it too, but as Remmick’s eyes open to land on you, he directs them to focus elsewhere. With brows furrow in confusion, your fingers seek out the source at the opening of your nostrils where the slickness of blood quickly coats them. 

One second, you’re staring down at the drops of blood along the pads of your fingers and in the next, Remmick is standing before you, expression concerned as his hand gently curls around your bicep.

“Let’s step outside,” His tone is soft and hushed with a cocking of his head toward the classroom door.

You nod absentmindedly, standing from the desk to follow behind him with fingers pressed against your bleeding nose.

The empty silence of the hallway engulfs the two of you, the classroom door shutting behind to leave you truly alone. Your eyes catch sight of a white tissue in his hand as it lifts toward your face. 

“Oh, thank-” You attempt to take the tissue from Remmick’s hand only to be immediately cut off by an “aht” as he shakes your hand away, raising his own to dab the tissue against your nose.

Your eyes widen, staring up at him dumbfounded and confused by the seemingly tender gesture, a stark contrast to the treatment you’ve received from him thus far. You hate the way your body reacts to it, the flip in your stomach, the breathless hitch in your throat, the flutter in your chest. 

He notices your confused expression and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, “What? It’s just blood.” 

Just as your vision flickers down to admire the plumpness of his lips, he gently tilts your head back, pressing the tissue gently against your nose.

“Didn’t know I was workin’ you hard enough to bleed.” He murmurs, but you can hear the subtle amusement in the words. Your face twists up with a weak scoff, a mixture of bewilderment and frustration flaring at the weak concern, but it fizzles out just as quickly with his close proximity and caring touch. 

Does he not know how much of a pain in the ass he is to you?? Surely he does, there’s no way it’s not intentional.

“It’s just been a stressful week is all.” You manage to reply, earning a soft hum in response.

He pulls the tissue from your nose and you sniffle in response, tilting your head back down to meet his eyes.

“Well, you need to take better care of yourself then, darlin’.” The pet name stuns you, spurring a warmth to bloom and grow inside you. Still stunned as you watch his fingers close around the bloodied tissue before it disappears into his pocket, not thinking anything strange of it.

His nostrils flare with a deep inhale, squaring his broad shoulders and expression growing stern. “I’ll have to mark your exam as incomplete. You’ll just have to come back tomorrow night and make it up.”

Taken aback, your head shakes side to side at the directive.

“Seriously? On a Friday night?” You blurt out, anger flaring by what you perceive to be yet another set back personally handed to you by Professor Remmick.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have more important plans to attend to?” He feigns concern, leaning closer and daring you to argue further, effectively fizzling out the protest that was dancing on your tongue.

“No…” With a quiet mumble and deep sigh, your shoulders slump in defeat.

“Good.” A flicker of that cocky grin flashes across his lips before it disappears. “Now, go collect your things and head home. Ya need to get some rest.” He leaves no room for argument, reaching for the handle and holding the door open for you to reenter the classroom.

Even with stubborn reluctance you follow his instructions, collecting your bag and now blood-stained exam, returning the latter to his desk where he stands.

“Tomorrow at 8. Don’t be late.” Remmick’s low voice stops you just as you’re about to depart the classroom, eyes locked from over the rim of his glasses.

You nod curtly before stepping out and back onto the cement pathways leading to your dorm room, a nervous excitement bubbling in your gut at the prospect of being completely alone with Remmick in the empty classroom tomorrow night. James won’t be happy about your delayed Friday night plans, but part of you that you’re afraid to acknowledge doesn’t really care.

Given your spectacle in class, you know you should be in bed, likely mindlessly scrolling through social media while trying to fall asleep. But instead, you’re sat in the desk chair, laptop open and idly sitting on the google home screen as your professor permeates your thoughts once again. Your thumb nail has found a temporary home amongst teeth as your mind tries to make sense of the confusing mix of emotions he’s brought onto you, trying to make sense of him. This feels beyond the scope of a standard crush, and there’s something… off about him.

Within the solitude of the now empty classroom, Remmick sits at his desk replaying the events and images of you over the last few days in his mind. Your now dried and bloody tissue rests in his palm before he lifts it to his nose, taking a deep inhale of the intoxicating, coppery scent. A groan rumbles in his chest, the smell sending an electrifying frenzy through his body all the way to his already hardening cock. He palms it as his mouth begins to salivate and fill with thick drool, bringing the tissue to his lips and sucking, trying to taste the little bit of your blood that’s trapped within the fibers.

You can’t quite put your finger on what it is about him. He looks rather young for a professor, especially compared to the others at your university. Despite this, there’s an older, wiser air to him in the way he speaks and runs the class. Old-fashioned, for sure. No electronic assignments, a stark contrast to what’s been the standard for as long as you can remember, instead insisting that everything be hand-written and physically turned in. Then, there’s the way he speaks during lectures. You’ve always appreciated professors that are passionate in their taught subjects, but Remmick seems to be on another level. He speaks of the Irish folklore myths and legends with such reverent fondness and innate knowledge, knowing the information like the back of his hand.

The hints of your blood spread across his taste buds, making his cock throb and strain against the tight fabric of his slacks. Hands make quick work of the button and zipper to free his hard, red cock from its confines, the swollen head leaking as he sucks the last little bit of your blood from the tissue. It tastes just as divine as your cunt. He hums, reaching for the panties kept within his back pocket with his free hand. He wraps the fabric stained with your juices around his leaking tip, letting his own arousal mix with the evidence of yours.

Then there’s the somewhat off-putting love all the other students in class seem to have for him, the kind of power he seems to hold. Like Chris. The way he ripped his eyes from ogling your body the second Remmick seemed to notice, like a dog heeding its owner’s command. The Google search bar reflects back to your blank stare, questions and suspicions looming in your mind. You need to know more. With a sharp breath, your fingers land on the keyboard and type out “Remmick O’Brien” into the bar and hit search. Within seconds only 2 results are presented back, both of which are from your university’s website. One from an article welcoming him to the department, another from the department’s staff listing page. Your brows furrow and brain short-circuits for a brief moment of bewilderment. Everyone has some kind of digital footprint bigger than this. Shouldn’t there at least be some kind of result from whatever college he attended?

Remmick’s head falls back as the fabric slides down his thick, throbbing shaft, his hand guiding the slow, stroking movement. He imagines it’s your tight, wet cunt wrapped around his girth instead, squeezing and pulsing around him. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, tongue darting out to wet dry lips, low groans slipping out as he squeezes the flimsy fabric around the base of his cock. 

You think, searching for any memories where Remmick might’ve shared where he got his degree, surely he mentioned it during your first class. Boston, that’s it. “Remmick O’Brien Boston”. Search. 0 results. You huff, crossing your arms and leaning against the back of the chair. There’s just no way. No social media, you can understand. But not even a Dean’s List or Commencement article? Shit, did your university even verify his degree? Surely, they’d have had to… right? Teeth dig into your bottom lip, chewing on the cushioned flesh as your thoughts race with confusion. 

Remmick’s hand moves faster, jerking himself off with your panties and the lingering taste of your blood dancing on his tongue. The swollen tip continuously leaks and soaks into the fabric as his mind is filled with images of you in every goddamn position imaginable, remembering the way you called for him in your sleep, the way your cunt tasted, the sight of your doe eyes, the way your cheeks burn with a heady mix of frustration and desire for him. It’s just enough to get him there, to hold him over until tomorrow night, when this little game you’ve been playing finally comes to a head. When he can finally have you all alone and make you his.

You’re left with no answers to your questions, your lack of findings only fueling the conflicting emotions swirling inside you, adding to the nervousness residing in your gut ahead of tomorrow’s ‘make-up exam’ all alone with him. Sure that you can’t possibly get anywhere farther tonight along with the exhaustion weighing heavily in your body, you slam the laptop shut before standing from the desk, cutting out the lights and crawling into bed. It’s another in a string of recent nights where your professor has overtaken your thoughts and dreams, and as much as part of him is unsettlingly mysterious and frustrates you to no end… you don’t object to his residence there in your mind and fantasies, with an undeniable craving for more growing hungrier every day.

A choked groan of your name, a stutter of his hips, and a hard squeeze of his cock sends Remmick barrelling over the edge, his seed seeping into your panties. A dazed, sloppy smile adorns his lips at the sight before using the fabric to clean himself up as the high slowly wanes. Only one more day and he’ll have you fully within his grasp.

There’s an anxious gnawing in your stomach, a quickening of breaths with every step toward the old stone building that houses the Folklore class. It’s quiet. Not a soul in sight wandering the buildings this time of night on a Friday. You can hear the distant buzzing of cars, people in town just down the street starting their festivities for the night. Festivities you’d otherwise be partaking in, likely at your boyfriend’s frat house. Another sweaty party filled with drunk college kids, loud music, and meaningless conversations. Your boyfriend surprisingly didn’t seem too upset about your absence for the first part of the night, and you yourself aren’t too upset about it either.

The creaking of the building’s glass entrance doors echo down the empty hall, followed by your singular footsteps. You chew on your bottom lip as your feet bring you closer to the classroom door, taking a deep breath before entering. He’s the first thing you see, sitting at the desk fashioned at the front of the classroom grading papers. At the sound of your steps, his gaze rises from the collection of papers, meeting your eyes over the brim of dark framed glasses with the flicker of a smile and a murmur of your name.

“I do hope you’re feeling better tonight.” Remmick leans back into the leather chair, gaze slipping to taking in your form.

You step closer toward the edge of the desk, skin tingling under his probing gaze.

“I am, thanks.” A beat of silence. “So um, am I just finishing yesterday’s exam?”

“Oh, no. Of course not.” He chuckles as if you cracked a joke. “I made a new exam entirely for you. Can’t trust that one of your classmates didn’t give you the answers.”

There’s that cocky grin again, a playful gleam in his eyes. You stifle the scoff bubbling up your throat, eyes closing with a deep inhale at the insinuation you’d cheat. “Okay…”

Another stretch of silence hangs heavy in the air as you survey on another.

“You know,” He speaks up just before you can try to break the tension. “I suppose I’m glad things worked out this way. I’ve been meanin’ to have a talk with you.”

“Okay. A talk about what?” You ask, despite already knowing it must be about your ‘performance’. Preparing for the onslaught, you stand before him confidently, arms crossing as your hip leans against the edge of his desk..

“About your grades. Should come as no surprise to you that you- well… you’re not doin’ well.” His fingers interlock, hovering above his chest as if contemplating. “Lackluster papers, missin’ assignments, often distracted in class… Quite frankly, I don’t think you’re puttin’ in the effort.”

You sigh, briefly looking away to collect your thoughts. Confrontation has never been one of your strong suits, let alone being put on the spot like this.

“Look, I know I’ve missed some assignments or turned them in late but it’s just… I’m busy-” You regret the words as soon as they come out and in turn, word vomit the rest. “I’m taking a lot of classes. I work. I have club meetings. Sometimes I just forget or I’m too tired to-”

“Well,” A scoff cuts you off, shaking his head with a smirk at your excuse. Your body grows fidgety with a wave of frustration at his interruption and dismissive gesture. “Your classmates have the same responsibilities and still manage this class just fine.”

His eyes bore into yours as he stands, sliding one hand into the pocket of his slacks as the other plants onto the desk, propping up his leaning body. “In fact, I’ve spoken to a few of the other professors and they all speak very highly of you. You seem to excel in their courses. A star student.” His words are almost mocking as he takes another step closer.

“So tell me… why is that?” His gaze is scrutinizing all the while that soft smile plays on his lips. He’s enjoying this.

You falter for a moment, mind racing as you contemplate what to say.

“I just… sometimes I don’t have time to do everything and I have to decide what’s more important to work on…”

“Oh. So what you’re saying is this class isn’t a priority for you, is that it?” 

“No, that’s not-”

“That just because this class isn’t in your major, it’s not just as important and worthy of the same attention?” 

It feels like the walls are closing in around you, like he is closing in around you. Judging and critiquing, pushing your buttons to get a rise. 

“No.” The word comes out weakly as your mouth goes dry, a lump forming in your throat as your heartbeat quickens.

“What is it then, hm? Does all the intelligence in that pretty lil head of yours just dissipate the moment you cross that threshold?” He motions dramatically with the words, tilting his head to survey you, waiting expectantly for whatever grand explanation you’ll give.

Your eyes widen with a scoff, mouth falling open in shock before resentment replaces it with the furrow of your brows.

“You’ve got some nerve…” You bite back with a little surge of confidence, even as his face softens in amusement. In that moment, your mind flutters back to your findings, or lack thereof, on his background and credentials online. 

“It’s funny how hard you’re hounding me right now, considering it’s unclear if you’re even a real professor. Yeah, I looked you up and there was nothing to be found. Nothing from the college you attended, no Dean’s List or Commencement mentions, no social media. In fact, if you hadn’t started working here, there’d be no evidence you even existed!” The volume and confidence in your voice rises with anger at the disrespect that tainted his words, reflecting his own scrutinization back onto him as you place your hands on your hips.

You watch his expression, looking for any signs of panic or his smirk faltering. But it doesn’t. The lines around his eyes crinkle as a rumbling snicker slips past his lips that pull into a wide grin. He nods, almost out of respect at your little outburst before leaning in closer.

“Ya know, if you put this much effort into your classwork, you wouldn’t be failin’ miserably… maybe think about that.” He mutters lowly, eyes trailing over your faltering expression before he steps back and turns away, leaving you to stand there dumbfounded.

You’ve always known yourself to be a little sensitive at times and you can’t deny the way his words sting.

“You don’t have to be so mean about it!” Your voice has lost its edge despite you, faltering along with your resolve.

“Aw, sensitive lil thing aren’t ya?” A low hum as he looks toward you again, tone lacking any actual sympathy or concern. “In more ways than one I bet…” His voice lowers, gaze faltering to trail down the curves of your body.

“What?” The question comes out in a shocked whisper, brows furrowing as you question if you actually heard him right.

“Maybe it’s somethin’ else that’s affectin’ your performance in class… maybe it’s this boyfriend of yours.” His eyes fall to the inaccurately placed Claddagh ring on your finger. “Or maybe it’s just me…”

You roll your eyes at the first suggestion before they narrow with the second. Of course it’s him. 

“Uh, yeah. I’d say it’s you.” You retort matter of factly. “You’re the one being an ass and critiquing every little thing I do-”

“No, no…” Remmick shakes his head softly, his voice a breathy rasp. “I’ve seen the looks you give me, even when you think I’m not lookin’. Not to mention those long bathroom breaks you take. Ya think I don’t know what you’re doin’ in there?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, had you really been so foolish to think he wouldn’t notice? You didn’t think you were that obvious, but you’re definitely not about to admit it to him.

“You’re crazy. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You hope your words are more convincing than you feel. 

He grins at you, seemingly unconvinced by your proclamation. Despite your words, you feel your body ignite with his close proximity and unwavering gaze from your eyes and body, prompting the return of that familiar pulsing between your thighs that he always seems to awaken.

“Well, let’s just see about that then, hm? If that’s the case, you should be able to pass this oral exam no problem.” 

Oral exam? 

The words send a spike of anxiety through you. Written exams are enough of a pain in the ass, but being expected to verbally recall the answers on the spot with no time to contemplate? You grimace, watching as he steps back to return to the leather chair like he’s settling in for a show.

“Please,” Remmick gestures. “Both palms on my desk.”

“W-What?” Your body stills, staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“Both. Palms.” The deep timbre of his words sends an electric charge through your immediately flushing body.

With a gulp and lick of your dry lips, you obey. Stepping closer, you turn to face the desk, your back facing toward him merely a foot behind you and lay your palms flat against the cool, polished wood surface.

You mentally chastise and thank yourself for wearing a skirt tonight, the slight lean forward of your body causing the fabric to hike up just a fraction, enough to feel the air hit the tender flesh of your upper thighs. You can only imagine the view from his seated position behind you, heat spreading up your neck and across your face at the thought.

“Let’s start with something easy, hmm?” Remmick’s eyes glide up your bare legs to where the hem of your skirt rests dangerously close to the curve of your ass. 

“Name 5 of the ancient Celtic gods.”

A brief moment of silence passes as your brain catches up to your ears, recalling the names repeatedly mentioned throughout class.

“Rhiannon, Morrigan, Lugh… Dagda… Bridgid.”

No praise or criticism, he simply moves on.

“And the four cycles?”

“Mythological, Ulst-” You stutter, feeling the sudden touch of calloused fingers gently caressing the back of your knee, a ticklish sensation that shoots up your thigh and throughout your body.

“Ulster… Fenian… Cycle of Kings.” Your voice and breaths waver as his touch, feathery light and painfully slow, glides up the back of your thigh, leaving a trail of rising goosebumps behind.

“Good.”

“Profes-”

“When is St. Brigid’s Day?” A swift cut off, moving onto the next question.

“The first day of spring?”

“Which is?” The dancing of his fingers along your thigh ceases, waiting as you hesitate and struggle to recall the answer. You’re almost ashamed of the way your body reacts to his halted touch, spurring a flicker of panic and racing heartbeat. 

“Um, February… 1st?” It’s a guess you’re only half-confident in, but a lucky one nonetheless as his touch resumes, hand moving under your skirt to caress the bare skin of your ass.

A shaky exhale escapes your parted lips, eyes fluttering closed as the stroke of his fingers turns the kindling fire flickering in your core into a wild blaze. Your body automatically reacts by bending forward slightly to lean into the touch, the meat of your ass pressing fully against his palm. You hear his hum of approval, the palpable hunger in his low, breathy voice.

“The mother goddess of Tuatha Dé Danann?” Remmick pushes the fabric up, fully revealing the round globes. No panties… He groans at the sight of wetness already slicking your puffy folds and the sound goes right to your core, a shiver running up your spine as the air hits your bare cunt. You can’t think straight, mind focused solely on your professor’s groping and caressing hand, your most private regions exposed to his ravenous gaze.

Remmick himself is distracted until a moment passes and he realizes you haven’t answered the question. “Oh, don’t disappoint me now, darlin’. You’re doin’ so good.”

The soft creak of leather hits your ears, his presence shifting behind you until the fabric of his clothes brushes along your skin, mouth hovering by your ear.

“Fuck,” You mutter under a breath, palms growing sweaty against the polished wood. Think. “Morrigan?”

The tsk hits your ears as a disappointed chide, all movement stalling before his gravelly voice whispers, “Lay your chest against the desk.” Breath fanning over your ear, a sick and anxious thrill shoots through you with the command.

You obey and bend over fully, upper body flush against his desk. The coolness of the polished wood is a welcomed shock, a stark contrast to your blazing, flushed skin. He makes you wait, only just for a moment to make you antsy and anxious, fidgeting with anticipation for what you know will inevitably come. 

Knowing doesn’t prepare you.

Remmick’s hand collides with your bare ass, a smacking sound that echoes off the walls of the empty classroom, pulling a broken gasp from your parted lips pressed against the desk. 

“One more chance. Try again.”

He’s trying to utterly wreck and humiliate you. You try your best to think of the correct answer, at this point you’ve nearly forgotten the damn question.

“Fuck. Eriu? I don’t know!” He grins at how pathetically desperate you sound, returning the incorrect answer with another resounding smack against the tender, already reddening skin of your rear. 

Your body jerks against the desk with a whimper and then a yelp when he spanks you again, unexpectedly and hard. He’s not sure he wants to stop, seeing the way his handprint is beginning to mark the flesh, watching the way it jiggles with each smack. “That one was for being a mouthy little brat.”

Another smack. 

The pain bleeds into pleasure, reverberating throughout your body and spreading right to your soaking cunt. You don’t think you’ve ever been so wet in your entire life. Remmick seems to take notice too as his calloused hand soothes the red, beaten flesh.

“I think I’ve found the root of your problem, sweetheart.” He hums before his hand trails down and two digits slowly part your puffy, slick lips. The two of you moan softly in tandem, body trembling with the touch as your pussy throbs with want, with need.

“Too busy thinkin’ with this,” A flinch and a gasp as his hand spanks your cunt. “instead of your brain. Isn’t that right?”

You can barely nod, too focused on the way his fingers soothe your pussy just as they’d done with your ass.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, Professor.” You answer obediently, voice thick with barely restrained desperation that mirrors your restless body, unable to resist the impulse to rock your folds back against his hand.

“Poor thing. ‘Course you can’t pay attention when all the blood in your body is between your legs.” The outline of his hard cock nudges along your thigh, breath hot against your ear. “I could give you what you need, darlin’. If you want me to fuck you, all you have to do is ask…”

His touch stalls, waiting for you to obey, to beg him for what you both know you want. But even in the haze of arousal, a moment of clarity passes through as you remember your supposed commitment, the loyalty you’ve already broken.

“I shouldn’t… I- I have a boyfriend.” Your protest is shamefully weak and your cunt, well she has a mind of her own, pulsing pathetically in protest from the lack of your professor’s touch. Remmick knows it too, can hear it in your voice, can see it in your eyes.

“Ah, yes. James…” A breathy laugh and devious smirk. “Quite a flirt from what I hear.”

Your eyes widen, visibly taken aback. “Excuse me?” You question despite knowing you have no ground to stand on to be hurt or upset, given you yourself have already crossed the line.

And Remmick, well, he’s more than heard that James is a flirt. He happens to know that in this very moment under the guidance of that powerful little hivemind, James is currently tangled up with his spawn and your classmate, Sarah. It hadn’t taken much convincing at all. 

He won’t tell you that part, though. You don’t need to know. You’ve already let Remmick in, let him touch you in your most intimate area and now, all you need is a little push.

“You heard me, darlin’. Your little ‘relationship’ clearly isn’t serious to him… and judgin’ by the way you’re soakin’ my fingers right now, I’d say it’s not serious for you either.”

A muffled gasp slips past your lips with a flick of his calloused fingers stroking your throbbing, needy clit.

“This pretty lil pussy is all wound up. She needs a man to take care of her… all you gotta do is beg me for it.” He practically growls, hunger lacing the filthy words as his lips brush against your ear.

The little voice reminding you of your commitment to James grows quieter until fizzling out all together, leaving just the raw arousal for your professor behind. Your body is trembling and aching for it, to give into your forbidden carnal desires.

“Yes,” The words slip eagerly from your tongue with a languid nod. “Please.”

The pad of his thumb continues its ministrations against your clit as his other hand grabs your jaw, not enough to hurt but enough to exert his power. His fingers flex against your soft skin, grip forcing your lips into a pout that you’re sure looks as pathetic as it feels, even as a newly discovered part of yourself loves it.

“Please what? You’re gonna need to get more specific, darlin’.” Remmick taunts, lips moving to the blazing skin of your cheek.

“I want you to fuck me. Please, Sir.”

Remmick’s cock aches behind the confines of his slacks at the pure, unbridled need in your voice. He could push you further, make you beg and edge you until tears stain those pretty blushing cheeks. Hell, maybe he will later.  But for now, even he can’t hold back anymore.

Remmick uses his grip to turn your head to face him, the rest of your body quickly following suit as his lips crash against yours in a demanding kiss. It’s wet, sloppy, and full of ravenous hunger as you readily return it, lips moving in a frenzied, passionate dance. There isn’t an inch of space between your bodies pressing flush together, his hands greedily roaming your backside as your own grip onto his biceps to ground yourself amidst the dizzying sensations of his touch.

As soon as your lips part, his tongue delves in to explore and claim the depths of your mouth. He swallows your wanton moan at the feeling of his tongue against yours, licking and tangling together as one of your hands trails up his arm to thread your fingers into his short, curled strands of hair. Rumbling groans rise from his throat with the mixing of your spit and you’re too lost in a daze of arousal to question the thick, viscous consistency of his. You readily lap it up as the throbbing between your legs intensifies with every brush of his tongue against yours, every breath that presses your chests closer together.

With a shuddering gasp, Remmick pulls his lips from yours, a thick string of saliva still connecting your lips. He sees the same glazed over look in his eyes reflected in yours. With his hand cupping the side of your jaw, the calloused pad of his thumb slowly rubs along your now swollen bottom lip, breaking the chain of spit and collecting the rest off the plump skin. 

A grin appears as he pushes his slick thumb into your mouth, eyes locked in an intense gaze as you softly suck the remnants of the kiss from his finger. 

“Good girl” The raspy praise washes over you in a wave of sweet relief, settling into your knees that wobble under the weight of it. His praise is a refreshing drop of water down your parched throat, a substantial load off your shoulders that leaves you stumbling after weeks of persistent criticism.

A soft smacking sound leaves your lips with a slow pull of his thumb, dragging down to your chin before his palm leaves your face entirely. His body follows, eyes locked onto one another as he steps back, watching in amusement when your brows furrow in confusion from the loss of touch.

Your eyes follow as he casually sits back into the leather cushioned desk chair before you, thick fingers working the button and zipper of his slacks with practiced ease. “You wanna pass this class? Want me to fuck you? I can give you everything you want, baby, but you gotta earn it first. On your knees.”

All it takes is a slight push down of the waistband for Remmick’s aching cock to spring free and stand at attention in all its engorged glory, the swollen head red and leaking. Your eyes take in every detail, following the pulsing veins that run the length of his thick girth, mouth watering at the sight alone. It feels like you’re in a trance as your body slowly lowers until your knees land on the cold tiled floor, lips parted with every heavy breath flowing freely. On hands and knees you crawl toward him and his waiting cock, his own eyes flickering between your hungry expression and the sway of that sinful ass with each shift of your hips.

The movement halts once your shoulders become caged between his knees. A tentative glance up to those eyes staring back, shadowed by the overhead light behind him. There’s a light twinkling within them. It flickers, the white glimmer shifting to crimson before it disappears just as quickly. It should scare you, should send a shiver of fear down your arched spine… but it doesn’t. The heat radiating throughout your body, the hunger residing in your core only grows. The moment only adds to the looming mystery around your professor, but also, his intoxicating allure and pull.

Your gaze settles back onto Remmick’s leaking cock before you, watching as it twitches in anticipation before you can no longer deprive the both of you. With your tongue sticking out flat, it slowly drags along from the base to the tip, gathering a taste before curling to flick at the cleft marking the underside of his swollen head. A swirl to collect the drops of dripping pre-cum onto your tastebuds sends a shudder through his heaving chest, eyes falling half-lidded as he watches your pursed lips pepper kisses between kitten licks along his throbbing shaft.

“That’s it.” He breathes out, fingers anchoring into the hair on the back of your head when your lips finally wrap around him. The warm, wet cavern of your mouth feels better than he could’ve imagined, hot saliva engulfing his length with the teasing wiggle of your tongue that makes his breath hitch. 

The grip on your hair tightens with each inch that disappears past the plump curve of your lips, testing just how much of him you can take before a gag, pop, and a gasp bursts from your lips with the incessant nudging of his head deep down your throat. He smirks, tongue darting out to wet his lips when you do. But if anything, you’re determined and already craving more of the salty, heady taste of him.

A deep satisfaction settles into his bones, mixing with the sparks of toe-curling pleasure your mouth ignites throughout him. “Look at that,” A breathy chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Turns out you are good at somethin’ besides runnin’ your mouth.” He comments as his fingers work to undo the buttons of his shirt, voice beginning to strain when your tongue swirls around the tip with each bob of your head.

His words only spur you on more, prompting your fingers to reach for the waistband of his slacks and impatiently push them all the way down and off until there’s no barrier, no resistance to keep you from fully sliding yourself between his legs. Your arms straddle his strong, thick thighs, hand joining your mouth to move in sync stroking up and down the thick girth, eliciting a deep groan of approval.

Despite his fingers remaining tangled in your hair, he doesn’t try to guide or force your movements. He can tell by your closed eyes, the moans that vibrate through his length, the deeper you take him, the faster your mouth moves, the harder you suck, that you’re enjoying this as much as he is. So he lets you, reveling in the most pleasure he’s had in a long time, so long that the past pales in comparison to this, to you.

Then, you open your gorgeous eyes to lock onto his just as your free hand falls to cradle and rub his heavy, aching balls. All the strength in his body can’t stop the drawn-out moan that leaves his mouth or keep his eyes from rolling back. “Fuck… so good, darlin’.” The shaky guttural praise only heightens your resolve and hunger to a degree you’ve never felt before. You’ve been horny and aroused, but this, this is a different level entirely. 

Your lips pull from his cock with a wet pop while your hand continues to pump him, body lowering and back arching as your mouth moves down to his heavy sack. Your hot, heavy breath surrounds his balls before your mouth does, licking and swirling before gently sucking them into your mouth. Remmick practically growls at the intense stimulation and your eyes watch as his head falls back against the cushioned headrest. His jaw tenses, chest shaking with every exhale, veins protruding along the thick column of his throat.

You lather his sensitive sacks with attention amid the dripping arousal between your legs. You crave more, you need more. More of him, every inch you can get, every depraved sound and moan you can pull from those plush lips. You’re lost in the throes of hunger, with the desire to please him, to taste every inch of his alluring body you can. 

With a mind of its own, your tongue slips lower in hopes of exploring more of him and his pleasure, moaning as it lavishes the stretch of skin below his balls. An experimental zigzag of your tongue against it elicits a shaky moan, Remmick’s eyes opening to watch you sink lower and lower. Your own eyes lock onto his as your tongue flicks out, giving a testing lick against his puckered hole. It’s uncharted territory for you, but you can’t resist the intoxicating urge to keep going, especially with the way his breath hitches.

“Fuck, I knew you were a filthy girl.” He groans as the feeling of your mouth becomes dizzying, his cock rock hard in your still stroking hand. His grip on your hair tightens as he spreads his legs wider, shifting lower on the seat to grant easier access as your tongue presses firmer with another lick and swirl against his asshole. 

“Oh god,” Remmick’s head begins to fall back before he catches himself, forcing his eyes to focus on the dirty, sinful sight of you. On all fours, back arched with that perfect ass in the air, glazed eyes fluttering up at him with your mouth buried beneath his balls. “You eat your boyfriend’s ass like this?” His breathy, strained voice reflects his quickly crumbling composure, only furthered by the way he can practically feel your smile in response.

“Uh uh,” You gasp, only pulling from his core enough for him to hear you. “Just you, Sir.” He groans as you waste no time diving back in, your tongue incessantly licking and prodding at the sensitive hole with a one-track minded hunger that reflects his own.

Fuck, you’re going to be his unravelling. Body, flesh, soul… his entire being.  

The pleasure coursing through him builds at a rapid pace, balls drawing up tight with the coil in his lower stomach with each lewd lick and moan muffled against him.

Using the leverage of his fingers in your hair, he pulls your mouth from him with a guttural curse, almost busting right there on the spot upon seeing your expression. You gaze up at him like a newborn dazed and drunk off their first taste of blood. His cock aches and twitches at the sight before his lips collide against yours with a swift speed.

Strong arms lift your body with his as he stands from the chair, tongue invading your mouth to taste himself from you. A few stumbling steps and the cool surface of the desk presses against your backside. “Bend that ass over the desk again, now.” Long gone is the cool, snarky and collected persona from earlier, stripped away to leave only the primal, feral lust behind.

There’s no time wasted on stripping off the remainder of your clothes, the impatient need to be connected on the most carnal level taking precedence. With your body resuming its previous position bent over his desk, Remmick settles behind you and flips up the flimsy fabric of your skirt. His cock slots between your puffy lips, thrusting slightly to coat the length with your slick. 

“Tell me you want it,” He pleads, rasping your name against your ear with his last bit of restraint, your sweet, depraved begging the last thing he needs to hear before he fully lets go. You swear you’ve never heard your name sound so beautiful and with such desperation before.

“Yes. God, yes! Please, Professor. I need you.” Your bottom lip trembles as you beg, your entire body thrumming with need, hips rocking back in an attempt to chase the promise of what you both know only he can give you. Ecstasy beyond your comprehension, beyond what you’ve ever experienced. 

The swollen head of Remmick’s cock breaches your cunt with a shuddering exhale before slowly sinking deeper. He leans back to watch his length disappear inside you, the tight, wet warmth of your pussy surrounding him inch by inch until he’s fully hilted inside. Your gasping whimpers are like music to his ears, tight walls fluttering as they attempt to accommodate his thick girth. So thick it makes your eyes roll back, stretching you farther than anyone before ever has, filling your walls with an intoxicating ache that borders on painful.

“So fucking tight.” He grits out through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the fat cushioning your hips. His eyes follow the slow unsheathing of his cock from your cunt before a roll of his hips sends him plunging back into you with a deep, hard thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.

Remmick doesn’t give you time to catch it, setting a rough and fast pace as one hand slides up the curve of your spine to land at the nape of your neck, curling his fingers around the tender skin with a tight grip.

“Oh, fuck!” A high-pitched whine bursts from your lips, body jerking against the desk with every sharp thrust that sends your fingers searching for purchase along the cool, smooth wood. His body brackets you against the solid furniture, forcing you to take the full brunt of his relentless pounding.

The desk begins to shake, sending pens, papers, and books clattering to the floor. The sound joins the echoing symphony of your combined, debauched moans and the slapping of skin against skin.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Remmick’s hand moves from your neck to collect your hair, gripping and tugging it back. “For me to fuck you and put you in your place, hm?” His voice takes on a unrestrained, feral quality that matches the way he’s fucking you, juxtaposing your choked, wanton cries.

“Yes, Sir!” The way your words jumble with each thrust only makes his cock twitch and pulse inside you, you’re already so fucking wrecked and drunk off him.

“Yeah? You wanna be my good little pet?”

“Oh god, yes!”

“Yes what?” A harsh tug on your hair and a sharp smack against the bouncing meat of your ass. “Yes, Professor!” Actual tears begin to brim your eyes with the overwhelming sensations, your pussy throbbing from the unrelenting abuse of his cock while aching for more.

A near animalistic growl rises from his throat, sweat beading and slipping down his forehead. His eyes are locked onto the way your ass recoils with each stroke, the sight of his length repeatedly disappearing inside you, the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him like it never wants to let go.

A shift in angle sends your hands grasping at the edge of the desk with a high-pitched gasp, stars beginning to bloom behind your eyes. Remmick’s length rubs against that spongy spot inside you that James could never find, sending radiating waves of intense, hot pleasure through you. It rapidly builds, walls fluttering with a deep throb.

“Fuck, harder!” You beg, craving more of that intoxicating feeling that already has your body trembling.

“Louder!” He demands, not caring if anyone left on this side of campus at this time of night hears the utterly depraved sounds he’s pulling from you.

“Please! Harder, Sir!” You use all your breath to raise your voice into a desperate cry, one that seems to satisfy as his cock hits that sweet spot even harder. It’s nearly too much to handle as your nails dig into the wood, feeling yourself begin to slip. “I-I think I’m gonna-”

“Let it out. Give it to me. Now.” 

Your body immediately reacts by obeying his command, releasing a flood of pure, blinding ecstasy with a scream of carnal rapture. Remmick’s guttural groan joins you at the feeling of your juices flooding his shaft, walls spasming around him with a vice grip. He fully hilts himself inside you as his own release crashes over him, cock twitching as it fills up your cunt with his seed, possessive satisfaction mixing with pleasure.

The sounds of your heavy breaths fill the room, chests heaving and cores pulsing together, still joined. Remmick slowly pulls his now drenched cock from your pussy, smirking at the way it clenches around nothing from the loss. Despite the intense orgasm and his seed stuffed deep in your cunt, he’s not done with you yet as desire still simmers between your bodies.

He tears off the already unbuttoned shirt hanging off his arms, one hand rubbing along the arched curve of your back as the other grips the base of his cock. His tip slides up and down your soaking slit, collecting your combined juices before teasingly rubbing the swollen head against your puckered, unused hole.

“Ya ever let your boyfriend fuck you here?” The raspy question meets your still ringing ears with the feeling of his tip teasing your asshole.

“No, Sir…” Teeth dig into your bottom lip and even as your body tenses with the unfamiliar territory, a thrill shivers down your spine with the prospect.

A grin pulls at his lips, muffling a short, rumbling chuckle before he lets the thick saliva pooling in his mouth drip out onto his cock and your unused hole.

“Good…” His voice hits your ears like honey laced whiskey, twinged with an undeniable dark, defiling possessiveness. 

He braces a hand on the desk next to your waist as the other guides his cock, steadily pushing forward until the head breaches your opening. A grunt and heavy breath escapes him at the feeling, your ass is even tighter than your pussy, the walls resisting his exploration. 

“Just relax, baby. Let me in.” The cooing of his voice combined with the soothing touch along your spine sends sparks fluttering throughout your body. You try to focus on steadying your breaths, relaxing your muscles to ease his way inside.

With each inch he sinks deeper, his body lowers until he’s fully hilted inside your pulsing walls and his chest is flush against your back. The uncomfortability slowly fades as he holds himself there, waiting for your breaths to even out until all that remains is a foreign ache and you fully relax around him.

“There you go.” Remmick praises as he withdraws and thrusts back in at a leisurely pace with less resistance, hearing the soft gasps that begin to leave your lips. “You’re takin’ me so well, baby.”

The praise goes right to your head, already spinning and hazy from the stark shift in his disposition, from rough and feral to the now slow and tender that makes your stomach flutter. This, it’s just as charged with hunger and desire, but far more intimate. 

His hips set a steady rocking rhythm, thick cock stretching your virgin ass with long and deep strokes. You feel every heavy breath tickle the sensitive skin along your neck and ear, making your walls squeeze around him, rewarding you with another wrecked moan from his lips.

Soon, the shift in your moans and body is palpable, eyes fluttering as waves of pleasure flow through you with each plunge of his dick inside you. “Yeah… you like that, darlin’?” A breathy whisper fans across your cheek with a tilt of Remmick’s face, pressing his forehead to rest against the side of yours.

“Yes. You feel so good, Sir.” You answer with a needy whimper, turning your face slightly to lean into him. A shuddering sigh passes through him in response and despite already being inside your tight ass and feeling the parts of your body flush with his, he still needs more, needs to be even closer, needs you to feel absolutely surrounded by him.

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He murmurs, lips brushing against the flushed skin of your cheek as one hand searches for more, reaching around to grasp at the low neckline of your shirt. A slight tug is all it takes for the soft mounds of your bare breasts to fall free, his hand immediately moving to grab and massage the tender flesh.

“Yes, Professor.” You practically purr for him, the added stimulation of his fingers tweaking your sensitive nipples making your eyes roll back.

“Say it, baby. Tell me who you are.” Remmick pushes further, shifting his other hand to cover yours that’s holding onto the edge of the desk. He flinches as the silver of your Claddaghs ring burns, but he doesn’t pull away, instead slotting his fingers into the spaces between yours.

“Oh, god. I’m your good girl, Sir.” You answer with a broken, breathy moan, eyes opening to meet his half-lidded ones.

They gaze back at you with affection and desire, his lips parted for every breath and groan to slip freely. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.” The blissed out expression on your face, the glazed look in your eyes, put there by him. 

There’s no time to respond before his lips capture yours in a deep, passionate kiss. The speed of his thrusts picks up slightly, spurred on by your moans that muffle against his lips. You part them, tongue freely and languidly sliding in to tangle with his. That familiar blinding heat begins to bloom in your core once again, heightened and building with each added layer of stimulation.

The full, pleasureful ache of his cock in your ass. The feeling of his body and skin flush against yours. His hand fondling your breast, teasing your hard, sensitive nipples. The other covering yours, fingers laced together. Mouths swallowing each other's moans as your tongues engage in a dance as old as time.

The forbidden filth and yet intimacy of it all.

Remmick can tell you’re getting closer, can feel it in his own tightening coil. Your breaths quicken, tight walls squeeze rhythmically around him, your sweet, muffled sounds growing higher-pitched.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, waves of pleasure crashing over your trembling body. Remmick holds you through it as he cums with you, the tight grip of your ass around his thick girth spurring on new heights of ecstasy. Your moans and heavy breaths mingle, chests heaving in sync as he pumps you full, laying claim to both of your holes with his seed. 

You remain there together joined over the desk, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms until it eventually wades. Remmick presses a soft kiss to your lips before easing his length out of your sensitive, still pulsing hole. You remain there on the desk, catching your breath and waiting for the haze of ecstasy to clear from your mind amidst the sound of shuffling clothes, the buckling of Remmick’s belt. 

When you lift your chest from the desk to stand straight and turn around, Remmick’s stepping back toward you. His slacks are back on, shirt pulled back over his arms but still unbuttoned. His hands quickly return to your body, moving to adjust and fix the neckline of your shirt as you look at him with those doe-eyes.

“Now, given our… discussion, I’m willin’ to look past those missing assignments.” A wide, bashful smile pulls at your lips, matching his own grin as his hands drag down your sides.

“And my exam? Do I get an A?”

“Greedy now, are we?” He chuckles at the tilt of your head, the innocent batting of your eyelashes. “I’ll give you an A… but you’re still gonna run home and do your reading for the next class like a good girl, aren’t you?” His voice grows deeper, hands sliding to smooth the now wrinkled fabric of your skirt back down over the curve of your ass.

“Yes, Sir.” You answer with a dazed smile, heart still pounding against your ribcage.

Remmick’s gaze shifts down as his hand moves to take yours in his palm. His expression falters for a moment upon seeing the Claddagh ring gifted to you by James before a smug grin returns.

“Ya know, the way you’re wearin’ this ring… it means you’re single.” Your eyes shift down to watch as he reaches for it, already prepared for the burning sting once he grasps and slowly pulls the silver band off the column of your finger. He turns it so that the heart is facing inward and slides it back onto your right ring finger. “That means you’re in a relationship.”

You blink in confusion, unaware there was a significant meaning in the ring’s placement, James had surely never told you so either. The feeling of your professor’s fingers along your jawline snaps you from your thoughts as he gently lifts your face to meet his once more.

“And don’t be mistaken. It’s not with that boy, either… You’re mine now, ya understand?”

[dmitriene]

cw: blood

vampire simon riley feeding from you while you sit on his cock, without even squirming, calm with his sharp canines sunken deep in the thin skin of your neck, the beady, crimson liquid of your blood flooding his mouth, smudging along his pale lips, cock throbbing rapidly at the taste, making you whimper, gummy walls of your gooey cunt squeezing tight, rippling in response, chasing the feeling.

you card your fingers through the short, buzz cut hairs at his nape, tugging when he readjusts his mouth, opening wide, fangs moving in the deep, rounded notches he indented deep in your flesh, fresh, aching and swelling the more simon feeds, tongue darting out and lapping over the marks, suckling in between his almost aching teeth greedily, drunk on your taste to the point his eyes, deep ebony that gleam ruby under the right angle, flutter shut heavily.

simon tries to be as gentle as possible with you, heavy, calloused hand looped around the slope of your waist, supporting your back, knowing that if he won't, you can accidentally fall, with your body, boneless and weakened, leaning on the sinewy hardness of his chest, eyes blinking slowly, your forehead knocking against the side of his head, sliding aside until you nudge in his temple, while you let him eat, your hole warm and viscous, your blood sweet and nourishing.

he fucks you slowly then, with short, rutting bucks of his hips, breaching his engorged, pulsing cock deeper inside your taut, fluttering hole, folds messy with glistening strings of slick, spread wide around his length, as you keen and babble simon's name almost feverishly, nosing in the wrist of his hand that brushes, covers delicately at the throbbing wounds on your neck, and it's enough to make him cum, biting down a throaty growl.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[wandaverse]

meet me in the pale moonlight.

vampire countess!wanda x human painter!reader

summary: In the early 1870s, the young and renowned Y/N arrives in the bustling New York City looking for a new start. Little does she know that a creature of the night lurks in the shadows and that there’s something sinister about the woman she’s become enamoured of, the elusive Countess Maximoff.

warnings/tags: dom!wanda, fem sub!reader, smut, oral, cunniIingus, fingering, mas0chism, blood klnk, hints of humiliation and praise klnk, thigh and foot riding, age gap if you squint, wanda calls r pet, 18+ / MINORS DNI

word count: 10,284

moodboard

Clipping your bag safely back onto your belt, you bid the kind dressmaker farewell and motion to leave her Madison Avenue boutique.

Several days ago and after a rather lengthy trip aboard a steamship across the Atlantic, you finally arrived in the hustling and bustling New York City, the city of dreams in the land of opportunity.

Over the years, you have developed quite a respectable reputation as a commissioned portrait artist for the wealthy with an admired talent that both boosts their egos as well as your own wealth. After a lifetime of travelling across the European continent, you decided to migrate to the Americas in search of a new opportunity, or rather a muse to reignite your inspiration and maybe for a little fun on the side too.

The dressmaker quickly assures you that she’ll have your clothes ready by the end of the week, a welcome relief since you’re still waiting for your remaining belongings to arrive by sea.

On your way out of the boutique, you thank her one last time, not paying attention to your surroundings and distractedly bumping into another woman with a fright.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry! Are you quite alright?” the esteemed lady apologises profusely.

You swiftly regain your bearings and brush her off. “It is no problem at all. I apologise as well for not watching where I was going,” you say guiltily.

The instant you both glance up though, she seemingly forgets about the entire ordeal. You recognise immediately the starstruck look on her face that can only mean that she somehow knows who you are, that word of your talents has already travelled across the seas through migrated aristocrats and the like.

“My word! You’re Y/N Y/L/N, aren’t you?” she asks breathlessly.

With a smirk that you try your best to mask as humble, you can’t deny the pride of being so quickly recognised in this new city.

“Indeed I am, a pleasure to make your acquaintance Ms…?”

“Agatha Harkness, dear, but my friends call me Agnes. It’s lovely to meet you,” she introduces with a shake of your extended hand. “Say, I don’t believe I heard word that you were in our fine city. And I assure you, I would have if it were known. No news gets past me. If anything, I’m always the first to know.”

You bet she is, you nod overwhelmed, quietly taking in the words of someone who is clearly a gossip.

There’s an odd and rather manic intensity about her, you notice. You brush it off as the typical artificial friendliness of the elite and especially of the nouveau riche, which you suspect Agnes is.

And yet, it still feels like something is off about her, like she’s not quite herself, a peculiar strain in her smile and an emptiness behind her eyes. How odd.

“I only arrived a few days ago, is why. All my luggage hasn’t even arrived yet.”

“I see… if that’s the case, why I don’t suppose I could commission you then? Be the first American to have their very own Y/L/N painting?” she requests giddily.

Her excitement rubs off on you, no matter how eerie, and you can’t deny her. “Well, I don’t see why not. I’ll have my people be in contact with you to sort out the details soon.”

“My, I can’t believe my luck!” she celebrates. “Oh! You must attend my gala tonight. Please, be my guest of the evening. Let me have the honour of being the one to introduce you to our society here.”

Once again, you’re charmed by her fierce enthusiasm. “Of course, the honour shall be mine.”

Frankly, you don’t really think it’ll be any different from the circles you traversed in Europe, but who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone intriguing.

—

Later that evening, long after the sun has already set, you step out of your personal carriage at Harkness Hall, located in the newer district of the Upper East Side.

Politely being escorted through the manor, you finally arrive at the ballroom and when the grand doors open, all eyes instantly land on you as you are faced with similar expressions of recognition as Agnes’. Said woman speedily and yet somehow elegantly races up the steps, rushing to your side.

Delicately tapping a fork against the side of her champagne glass, she easily silences the commotion in the crowd below. “Might I have your attention, my friends, to introduce you to my esteemed guest of the evening, the wonderfully talented Miss Y/N Y/L/N.”

As soon as she finishes, a rush of wealthy men and women alike gasp and rush to the foot of the stairs. Agnes proudly links her arm around yours, as if you were childhood friends instead of mere acquaintances, and leads you down the stairs into the pit that awaits you. For a second, and only a second, a rush of anxiety ambushes you but you mask it with some well-practiced charm.

For the next while, Agnes personally introduces you to all the socialites interested in portraits of their own, showing off the fact that she is your first client.

You quickly tire of their suffocating attention and it’s only when you peer past the crowd that you notice that one lone woman hasn’t so much as flinched at your presence, instead remaining in the shadows along the walls and gracing you with only a mere glance.

As the night rages on, you curiously observe the intriguing woman from across the ballroom. With a keen eye, you take note of her every detail. Of her deep burgundy gown so dark it almost resembles blood when illuminated in the light, of her thin black birdcage veil that covers her eyes behind the intricate lace, and committing it all to memory.

She moves with a certain refined grace you’ve only seen few nobles possess and despite primarily keeping to herself, exudes an intimidating and rather domineering aura felt throughout the hall. Only a few dare to approach her, some men who don’t know any better and a few attendants who don’t have any other choice. Every so often, she catches your gaze and you almost feel the air leave your lungs.

When the crowd eventually disperses, you pull at the link between your and Agnes’ arms and inquire about your newest interest. “Agnes, might I ask, that woman over there standing alone by the fireplace, who is she?”

“Ahh, why that would be the elusive Countess Maximoff. Our Lady Wanda hails from a distant European kingdom, or so she says. Frankly, she could be anyone from anywhere in the world considering how little we all know about her,” she briefly explains.

Countess Wanda Maximoff, you recite in your mind. A fascinating yet beautiful name for an equally as alluring woman.

“She’s a well-known and respected socialite in this city. In fact, she might even be the richest of all of us, but no one knows for sure, just as no one knows exactly what she is a Countess of,” Agnes continues, unprompted. Internally, you thank her for being so nosy.

“I must apologise, unfortunately that is really all I know about her. She was already residing in New York when I arrived from Salem many months ago,” she admits. “I do know, however, that she has no husband or family of her own. The rumours are that she had a husband once and that he either died or simply disappeared. Either way, she isn’t a typical woman of our society.”

Lost in thought, you take in her words, all serving to only interest you more and more in the stunning yet seemingly solitary woman.

“Miss Y/N,” Agnes calls, breaking you out of your intense trance as you stare at the mysterious woman. “I must tell you, Lady Maximoff is actually currently staying as a guest at Harkness Hall. For a few days now actually, and for the next while when you complete my portrait.”

Oh?

Why doesn’t that make things all the more interesting…

“Y/N, it’s best that you stay away from her. Trust me, there’s something unusual about her that one must not associate themselves with,” Agnes warns you seriously, a stark contrast from the enthusiastic and bubbly person you’ve become familiar with today.

You turn to her and look in her eyes again. For the first time today, you detect a clarity in them, a genuineness that only confuses you more.

“Agnes, may I ask, why did you accept her as a guest if you dislike her so?” you question.

“No one says no to Wanda Maximoff,” Agnes replies ominously. “Every so often, she requests to stay with one of her ‘friends’ for a short while. It turns out that this time I drew the short straw. She always has some sort of excuse, she told me that her estate is undergoing works, but I’m certain she has other properties. All I know is you don’t disobey a woman like her.”

You give some thought to Agnes’ words, to her warnings and the seeping fear that comes through. And yet, the idea of such a strange woman, defiant to the strict norms of high society, who you don’t disobey, only intrigues you more and more.

You regard the woman in red and decide in the moment that no matter what, you’re going to solve the mystery of the elusive Wanda Maximoff, even if it kills you.

Dismissing Agnes’ warnings and brushing off her arm that attempts to pull you back, you waltz across the room and beeline toward Wanda. In the corner of your eye, you spot horrified looks from the other socialites around the room, but ignore them all the same and focus only on the woman in front of you watching you approach her with an amused yet impressed eye.

And you’re glad you do because up close, the Lady Maximoff is absolutely and entirely striking, breathtaking and enchanting and every other word you would use if you were a poet instead of an artist staring at her new muse.

Her milky skin is notably pale and perfectly contrasts against her chocolate brown hair, so soft you almost want to run your hands through the layered strands. Studying her bone structure, you note that it’s incredibly sharp and accentuated by the shadows, making her resemble a sculpture carved from marble come to life. Even under the lace veil, her eyes are enchanting, a clear sage green that complements her dark maroon dress.

For the first second or two, you find yourself rather speechless, the entire English language suddenly disappearing from your vocabulary as you take in her beauty.

In the same second, you notice offhandedly that she too rakes her eyes up and down your form. Feeling a shiver run down your spine under the weight of her gaze, you hope she appreciates the sight as much as you appreciate yours.

“Hello, Y/N Y/L/N, my lady,” you manage to say and extend your hand towards her.

“I know,” she replies with a smirk, seemingly entertained by your courage (or stupidity). “You’ve been quite popular tonight, among the ladies especially. The woman of the evening I hear.”

A part of you is secretly delighted. That means she’s noticed you just as much as you’ve noticed her. The other part is dazedly captivated by the deep lilt in her accent, hinting at whichever secretive European land she originates from, a part of the mystery you seek to soon unravel.

“And whose company do I have the pleasure of being graced with, might I ask?” you tease.

In response, she simply smirks at your charming attempts and finally accepts your hand. “Countess Wanda Maximoff,” she formally introduces, “but I’m sure you already knew that too.”

Delicately, you clasp her gloved hand in yours and place an innocent kiss below the back of her silk-covered knuckles. Proudly, you earn another smile from her at the endearing impropriety of a young girl pressing a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand.

“You’re awfully bold, aren’t you?” she remarks with a cock of her head.

“Artists love beautiful things,” you smirk. “It just so happens I’ve found the most beautiful of all.”

She scrunches her nose as she cringes at your flirtatious attempt. You don’t regret your words though when you mean it so sincerely.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Y/L/N?” she asks, skipping the pretenses. “I’m sure you’ve already heard all the things they say about me.”

“I don’t care about them and what they have to say. I’d rather hear it all from you instead,” you profess.

Peering down at her wine glass, she smiles again at your attempts to charm her. This one seems a little more genuine though, a sign that your persistence (and perhaps, foolishness) is slowly piercing through her walls.

She looks back up at you and seemingly ponders your unsaid request as she pensively sips her wine. At last, she says, “Alright then, what would you like to know?”

You grin cheekily at having so easily won her favour. “Well for starters, pray tell me, which land do you come from?”

“Europe,” she answers simply.

You both know that you already knew that, both because Agnes already told you as well as the evident hints of Slavic you identify in her accent.

“Where might one find your county of ownership though, my Countess?” you attempt to press.

“I’m sure you’d like to know,” she teases with another smirk, just as mysterious and secretive as Agnes described.

You’ve spent your entire life travelling through Europe’s High Societies, from the Parisian aristocracy to Florence’s art scene, and yet you’ve never heard of or seen her before this night. And you’d certainly remember if you did, she’s not a face one forgets.

“So, we’re playing this game, are we?”

“You started it, Miss Y/L/N,” she matches your teasing tone.

You’ve noticed that she only calls you by your name formally, keeping a distance between the two of you despite having let you in more than anyone else tonight.

You’re even more aware of all the eyes on you, watching like hawks as your interaction plays out. How odd of a pair you must be, a sight to behold you’re sure. You’re keenly aware of how you’re likely equally as intriguing and alien as she is. How your existence defies the rigid social norms; a girl of your standing able to dance through high society while working to accumulate your own wealth and remaining single at a less than conventional age. You wonder if perchance, in this way, you interest her as much as she interests you.

Clearing your throat, you decide to accept that this is as much as you’ll learn about her tonight. “Agnes tells me you’re staying as a guest at Harkness Hall,” you segue instead.

Tilting her head once again, she lifts an eyebrow in curiosity. “That would be correct.”

“As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, I have been commissioned to paint a portrait for Ms Harkness.” Gently, you once again place a kiss on the back of her resting hand. “I suppose we’ll be seeing more of each other then,” you quietly bid farewell before walking away, not turning back although you know she’s following you with a curious eye.

Later throughout the night, the other cautious elites approach you one by one, all warning you to stay away from Wanda. There’s a certain look in their eyes that you can’t quite decipher yet, resembling that of Agnes’ expression if you really think about it. Something akin to fear or intimidation or something in between and like they’re trying to tell you something they can’t say with words. Their warnings only serve to further interest you in the Countess and the mystery that surrounds her though.

Returning your gaze to the woman before you depart for the evening, you find her already staring fervently at you with a smile you can only describe as devilish. Her pearly white teeth seem to sparkle under the chandelier’s light and you swear that from this side of the ballroom, you spot a glimmer of red in her eyes under the veil.

But, when you remember her beautiful green eyes, you suppose it’s simply a trick of the light.

—

The day after the next, you return to Harkness Hall for your first session with Agnes.

The moment you step foot through the doors, you instantly search for Wanda but are dismayed to fail in your pursuit, not even hearing word of her throughout the entire day. From morning to night, while you’re painting in Agnes’ drawing room or enjoying lunch with her in the garden, you never see Wanda even once.

You suppose it’s a large estate so it’s not hard to believe that your paths wouldn’t cross, but the thought does nothing to dispel the persistent pout on your face.

You honestly try your very hardest to focus on the woman posing in front of you, but the task is near impossible. You almost want to ask Agnes about Wanda, where she is and what she’s doing, but you suppose that would be highly improper. Not that you would typically care, you’d just rather not let it be known how taken you’ve become with her.

It’s only later that evening when you walk through the estate to take your leave, around the eleventh hour after the sun has already set and the hustle and bustle of Harkness Hall has come to a standstill, that your eyes once again find the Countess’ solitary form.

Bathed in the moonlight, the Lady sits by herself in the courtyard facing away from you. You’re once again struck by her beauty. In this pure light and under the night sky, her ivory skin almost glows. You briefly ponder the idea that she could be an angel descended from the heavens above.

Seemingly sensing your presence, despite how stealthily you’d hidden yourself behind the doorway, she spins around faster than you can blink and catches you.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she remarks with a drawl and that sinisterness that makes you think that more accurately, she must be a fallen angel sent to this world by the devil himself.

Matching your intense gaze, she simply says, “Come,” beckoning you to her side.

And you obey without a single objection, padding across the courtyard and placing yourself in the seat beside her obediently.

“I heard you were here painting Agnes today,” she brings up cordially.

Your eyes drop down and you notice her drinking something in her glass that oddly looks a little too dark and thick to be wine, that leaves a deep cherry stain on her lips that would otherwise be an unusual lipstick shade. You equally notice that despite her attempts at pleasant small talk, she doesn’t make any attempts to offer you a glass of whatever it is she’s drinking.

“I was,” you affirm. “I was….” hoping to see you, you trail off and keep to yourself, not wanting to seem desperate in her eyes despite how desperate for her attention you truly are.

She smiles to herself, seemingly hearing your confession all the same. She has a way of reading you without you saying a word.

“And how are you finding it so far?”

“It’s going as well as it can. Agnes is a wonderful subject,” you share, hiding the fact that the only woman you wanted to paint today was her.

A beat of silence passes, only the soft breeze of winter heard in the space you share.

“Have you ever sat for a portrait before?” you ask.

Shaking her head thoughtfully, she answers “No, never.”

“Why, might I ask? Your beauty is one I’m sure hundreds would flock to capture on canvas and stone.”

Inwardly, she smirks at your unrelenting boldness. “Yes… be that as it may, it’s not one I’m happy to share with the world for all to see,” she answers just as cryptically as everything else she’s told you thus far.

You suspect there’s a deeper and very real reason to it, but don’t question further. You’re happy to take as much as she gives you, as little as it is.

“Would you let me paint you one day?” you ask honestly.

Wistfully, she turns to glance up at the scattered stars in the clear sky, musing on your offer. “Perhaps,” she finally turns to look at you again, “if you’re a good girl.”

A fierce blush rushes to your cheeks as she gets up and caresses your chin with her gloved hand before leaning down and placing a fleeting kiss on the very cheek reddened by her teasing. As she saunters away from you, you watch her go and dazedly wonder if whatever she was drinking left its own stain on your skin.

Only when she walks past a statement mirror in the hallway are you pulled out of your trance. You can’t see her reflection, you remark.

Confused, you give it little thought before reasoning that it must be your tired eyes playing a trick on you.

—

Over the coming days, you return to Harkness Hall for your work with Agnes and continue seeking Wanda’s company.

Every time though, you only ever locate her after the sun’s gone down or alone in some secluded space like the library or tea room with the windows shut.

This time, you lose the fight and ask Agnes about her peculiar behaviour. She tells you that the Countess typically goes out at night and only returns in the early hours of the morning. Otherwise, during the day she either slumbers until the early afternoon or rests indoors.

Agnes doesn’t quite understand it either, but she’s neither questioning it nor complaining when it makes it a little easier for her to avoid the Lady. You thank her for her explanation (gossip), but it only piques your curiosity more and more, as does everything else you learn about Wanda.

Every time you do cross her path though, she always invites you to sit with her. Most of the time, she nurses a glass of the too-dark-and-too-thick wine. You never ask for a glass of your own or a taste and she never offers.

And every time, you find yourself entranced by her beauty for at least a minute or two or typically, much more. At times, you think she must be from another world, one so delicate and divine that man cannot and must not touch it lest it be corrupted. Other times you think her beauty is simply not human and must be a form of corruption of its own. But maybe that’s just the dramatic artist in you.

You’re saddened to say that after all this time though, you still don’t know much more about her, the mystery still largely unsolved. You know that she’s rich, she’s alone, and she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on, which is essentially everything you already knew from the first night you met her.

She does occasionally share some stories with you though, of her life when she was younger in the foreign Slavic land you still haven’t identified. She tells you of growing up in a castle at the top of a mountain, of being bathed in the riches of love. “I’ve lost all the family I’ve ever known,” she confesses the next evening after you share stories of your own rough upbringing.

As always, she remains cryptically vague with every word she offers you, never giving you details and always leaving you wanting more.

Sometimes, she even reveals glimpses of her other facets like her interests and apparent appreciation for the theatre. “There’s a new musical on Broadway that I believe you’d enjoy,” she remarks offhandedly. Despite your attempts to suppress it, you feel a fluttering sensation within you at the prospect of seeing the Countess outside the walls of Harkness Hall, of even courting her if she allowed.

You’d like to think that you’re the only one honoured to hear these words from her, that you’re someone special to her as she is to you.

Other times when you come upon wherever she’s hiding and she doesn’t instantly detect you, you watch her quietly from the shadows, hiding away and observing her peaceful form. You fetch your pocket pad from the bag on your waist and roughly sketch her reading, birdwatching, embroidering or simply gazing at the night sky.

Then, you return home and paint her as accurately from memory as you can, attempting to capture her beauty with oil paints and canvas.

One day, you hope you’ll have a chance to show her how she’s become your muse and how you see her unlike anyone else.

—

Almost a week has passed since you started painting Agnes and you only know because you’ve been committing every encounter with the Lady Maximoff to memory.

Over the days, you’ve become comfortable and developed a routine of sorts for yourself. Around mid-morning, you arrive at Agnes’ manor and recommence work right away. Once noon comes, you have lunch with her in her expansive garden and enjoy tea with Wanda in the mid-afternoon if you can locate her, otherwise you greet her on your departure in the evening.

For the short while, you develop a new normal, which makes it all the weirder when a sense of unease overcomes the city and its inhabitants. From your own maids and coachmen to Agnes and the other elites you come across, everyone all of a sudden seems on edge. Almost like a blanket of doom and gloom has been laid over the city.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s only Wanda who seems normal and unperturbed when you find her in her usual lounge chair in the courtyard under the moonlit sky. Once again, you obediently take the seat beside her.

Tonight, you can’t help but notice that she’s not nursing her favoured drink and if it were possible, she appears more pale than ever. You want to ask if she is well, but instead of overstepping, you decide to ask why everyone seems so off.

Pensively, she oddly smiles at your question and peer up at the sky. You follow her line of sight and see that the moon tonight is full and bright.

“Be careful, Miss Y/L/N,” is all she says as you turn to her again. There’s an unsettling look in her eye, like she knows something you don’t.

“You never know what’s hiding in the shadows, what creatures of the night lurk in the dark,” she warns ominously before turning to you and flashing a blinding smile. “One wouldn’t want something to happen to a pretty young thing like you.”

You gulp at her forbidding words and sudden predatory appearance, left only more confused and unnerved than ever. Flustered, you avert your gaze and miss the flash of crimson in her eyes.

—

The following evening, you’re half asleep in your carriage home when you abruptly realise you forgot a broken easel that you wanted to have fixed at Harkness Hall. Having requested your coachman retrieve it for you, you now patiently wait in your carriage in front of the estate.

Leaning your cheek on the window with a pout, you’re a little saddened since you didn’t see Wanda at all today, the first time it’s happened all week.

When you asked one of Agnes’ maids where the Lady was, she said she hadn’t seen Wanda all day either which meant she must’ve still been asleep since she didn’t hear her return until just before dawn. But then even on your way out a few moments ago, you still couldn’t find her in any of her usual hiding spots to your dismay. 

Staring out solemnly at the Upper East Side streets, you notice that it’s a lot quieter than usual. This district is typically much busier, even at this late hour with the wealthy enjoying their night on the town. 

However, it seems everyone is as on edge as they were the previous day. Most people have opted to stay inside with the windows shut, leaving the streets mostly empty barring a few passersby and dimly lit lamp posts. Even your coachman seemed a little less willing than usual to fulfil your request, as if he just wanted to rush the both of you home to safety. From what, you’re not too sure.

Sleepily, you lift your gaze and stare at the moon, slightly fuller and even brighter than it was the night before, having just reached the peak of its cycle. 

You admire its alluring beauty for a brief second until something in the alley across the road from your carriage catches your eye; a lone man and woman hidden in the shadows. You think they must be one of the only people who don’t fear what everyone else does to be lingering in the darkness like this. 

Intrigued, you study the pair when something strikes you. The woman throws her head back laughing and you catch a glimpse of her canines, so pearly and sharp you’re almost sure they look like fangs.

It’s only when you narrow your eyes and the woman leans forward out of the shadows into the light that you realise with a start, it’s Wanda.

—

When the sun rises and morning comes, you wake up safe in your bed but just as shaken.

With the calming of your heart, you reason that the events of the night before must have been a dream or even a hallucination of your tired mind. But you’ve been making the same excuse a lot lately and the image is etched so realistically in your memory it must be real.

In a daze, you ready yourself for the day and go to the dining room for the breakfast awaiting you. Perhaps some food in your stomach will wake you up from whatever this is, you think.

You’re distractedly munching on some berries when your handmaiden enters the room with a boiled kettle for your morning tea. It seems that the water isn’t the only thing bubbling this morning though.

“Miss! Have you heard the news?” she asks worriedly.

“I can’t say I have,” you answer, shaking your head. “What appears to have happened?”

“My, there’s been a murder! In an alley near Harkness Hall!”

Your blood instantly runs cold and you freeze like a bucket of cold water has been thrown on you.

“W-what?”

“A young man in his early 20s, foolish enough to stay out late on a full moon. They say his body was otherwise unmarked except for two puncture wounds in his neck. The sheriffs think it’s the Moonlit Killer again!” she frantically explains, every word striking your shaky bones.

“The Moonlit Killer?” you whisper to yourself in thought. “Who is that?”

“The city, no the state’s, very own serial killer, miss! No one knows who it is and they haven’t been caught yet, but for over a year now there have been murders across New York every full moon,” she tells you, the kettle completely forgotten as well as your breakfast which you know for certain you can no longer stomach with the tightening of your throat.

“The victims always match each other too, always young men taken in dark alleys and left with only two punctures in their necks.”

Like fangs…, you piece together.

It all makes sense now, why everyone was so on edge with the arrival of the full moon.

Quietly, you think back to what you witnessed last night. You’re sure it was Wanda. You would recognise her anywhere, in a crowded ballroom or even a… dark alleyway.

An image forms in your mind and you quickly race to your studio, ignoring the concerned calls of your handmaiden. You pull out a fresh canvas and your brushes and you paint and paint and paint.

You paint Wanda’s unusually pale ivory skin. You paint her red irises that you’ve seen on occasion. And lastly, you paint the sharp fangs you saw last night that lie where any other person’s canines would.

Once you’ve finished, you step back to take in your rough portrait and drop your brush in shock.

It can’t be…

You’ve only heard tales of them during your travels when instances similar to last night’s rocked the cities you visited. You’ve only seen frightening drawings of them in books that told farfetched legends of the undead.

Creatures of the night, skin as pale as the moon, pearly white fangs as sharp as blades, and most of all, eyes the colour of scarlet.

Everything suddenly makes sense now, pieces fall into place as the mystery is finally solved.

The glasses she’s always drinking of some liquid that looks too dark and thick to be wine must have been blood all this time and her main source of sustenance since you’ve never seen her eat a single crumb.

The way she oddly sleeps during the day and always shies away from sunlight, because if she didn’t she would quite literally be burned.

How you’re sure you’ve never seen her reflection in mirrors or water or windows because she doesn’t in fact have a soul to reflect.

Why no matter how much you asked around or researched about the elusive Countess, you could never obtain any information dating back earlier than over a year ago, precisely when the Moonlit Killer started taking their victims.

And how you’re certain that if you matched the homes of the other aristocrats she stayed with to the locations of the killings, it would all line up perfectly.

Countess Maximoff is… a vampire.

With the realisation, you’re filled with frightening clarity, both proudly smug at having unearthed her secret and slightly fearful at the true nature of the woman you’ve become enamoured of. Foolishly, you thought it was your eyes playing tricks or simple coincidences, but it’s too much to be.

For a second, you even think you must be going crazy to be entertaining this thought. Wanda… the beautiful, alluring, and bewitching woman… is a vampire. A monster? How could someone so enchanting be so horrific, though? So cruel…

But then you remember the old wives’ tales about sirens and succubi and creatures of sin that seduce and corrupt with their otherworldly beauty and frankly, now you’re only more sure of your discovery.

And that’s when it hits you… there’s only one way to test your theory.

—

That evening, you put your plan into motion. You haven’t much time. You figure in a few days she’ll announce her departure from Harkness Hall and return to her estate until she has to hunt for the next full moon, so why wait to confirm something you’re already so sure of.

In the dead of night, you pad through her designated wing and sneak into her bedchambers, awaiting her eventual return in the early morning. Earlier, you sent your carriage home with a feigned excuse and listened carefully to confirm that Agnes had retired for the evening.

Making yourself comfortable on Wanda’s loveseat, you patiently survey the door and await her arrival, alone in the dark room lit only by a few ruby candles and the bright moonlight.

In the Winter night, you feel the cool breeze on your exposed skin and shiver, pulling your coat tighter around you. Beneath it, you wear nothing but a lace blood red nightgown that leaves your neck bare in hopes of enticing her.

As expected, she’s absent for most of the evening, you assume too preoccupied with hunting her prey. Tonight, the moon is at the absolute peak of its cycle. Her lust for blood must be uncontrollable, but the thought only excites you more.

You almost fall asleep against your hand propped up on the armrest when finally, sometime between the second and third hour, you hear a shuffle outside the door that instantly wakes you.

Creaking, the door opens to reveal the Countess you’ve been waiting for, clad in a black hooded cloak and dark burgundy dress. Dark enough to conceal any bloodstains, you realise.

You suspect the city will awake to news of another victim at the hand of the Moonlit Killer, but that’s for whatever awaits you after the sun rises. Right now, you have your mystery standing in front of you, surprised to say the least to see you in her bedchambers and especially at this hour.

In the dimly lit room, you can barely see her if it weren’t for her skin that seemingly glows under the moonlight and the fleeting glint of red in her eyes that show themselves when she lifts off her hood and removes her cloak.

She’s as beautiful to you now as she was before you knew what kind of creature she really is. The thought leaves you as breathless as the sight of her. You think you would have fallen for her no matter who, or rather what, she is.

Fully facing your standing figure now, she smirks, knowing that there is something different about you tonight and this encounter. A sense of pride fills you at her sinister expression.

“Miss Y/L/N, what a surprise to find you here. Have you gotten lost in the middle of the night, sweet thing? Sleepwalked from the other side of the city, perchance?” she asks playfully. There’s a hint of something new in her tone, something a little demeaning. You can’t say you hate it. No… not at all.

“No, my lady. There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

She simply lifts an eyebrow in response, signalling you to continue while she hangs up her cloak and only offers you part of her attention. You almost want to beg to have all of it.

“I’ve been watching you,” you admit.

“I know you have. And what have you so skillfully unearthed, Miss Y/L/N?”

With a nervous gulp, you confess, “I know your secret, what you hide from the others.” Her ears seem to perk up with interest at your admission, but she’s still unsettlingly calm about the revelation.

“I know why you sleep during the day and what you do during the night. I know why you avoid sunlight at all costs and why no one seems to know anything about you. I know what you are.”

At last, she turns to you and gives you her full and complete attention. As much as you previously desired it, you quickly find yourself wilting under the weight of her stare.

Crossing the room in three strides, she stands face-to-face before you. “Oh? And pray tell, what exactly am I?” she teases and finally unveils the true scarlet hue of her eyes with a tilt of her head, equally as stunning as the green if not more bewitching.

It leaves you in a state of vulnerable immobility like prey trapped in the clutch of its predator and you pull at the sleeves of your coat in an attempt to regain your courage. Distantly, you wonder if perhaps there’s more to her species that the myths don’t yet know about, that perhaps she wields sinister abilities to influence the mind which would explain the eerie nature of Agnes’ facade.

“You’re… you’re a…”

Intimidatingly, she stalks to you in a few weightless steps almost like a bat. Delicately pulling her satin gloves off and haphazardly tossing them to the wooden floor, she reveals her long sharp nails, claws really.

Getting closer in your space now, she takes your chin between her thumb and index finger and tilts your head up to face her, the chilled skin of a soulless body sends shivers through your bones.

Menacingly, she grins, no leers, at you and detracts her fangs, glistening in the moonlight and bared for you to see. Up close, it strikes you with an immediate fear, but also something equally as exciting that leaves a tightening sensation deep in your belly.

“Say it,” she whispers, her cool breath against your lips and sending a chill down your spine.

With a gulp, you finally bring yourself to say out loud, “You’re a vampire.”

If it were somehow possible, her grin grows even wider and more sinister and you briefly think that she might just eat you alive.

“Good girl, I knew you were a smart one the second I laid my eyes on you.” The term of praise, as proud as you are to have received it, only intensifies that feeling in your belly and for the first time this evening, you question if you’re actually capable of surviving a night with the vampire Countess.

Patting your cheek with her other hand and cocking her head amusedly, Wanda continues. “Although, you were foolish enough to have come here alone and approached me like this.”

Maybe she’s right…

“No one would know if I killed you right here and now. No one would even hear you scream before I sank my teeth in your neck.”

Or maybe, that’s exactly what you want from her.

In a heartbeat, you instantly regain all your confidence. You know her secret and you came here for a reason. It’s time to claim what you’re owed, what you came to this city searching for.

Hastily, you untie your coat and drop it to the floor, revealing your barely clothed body to her stunned eyes. A rush of excitement goes through your veins at the sight of her dilated pupils, a telling sign that she just might desire you as much as you desire her.

Placing your own hands atop the ones she still rests on your face, you confess, “I want to be yours.” She lifts her eyebrow in curiosity at your proposition. “You don’t need to feed on other people, or hunt when you’re desperate anymore… You can just feed on me.”

For the first time ever, you hear her laugh, throwing her head back with her imposing fangs on full display. A deep and maniacal sound that’s degrading and humiliating as you stand there before her exposed and yet, you decide you’d do anything to hear it again.

It takes a second or two for her to regain her composure and you think you spot tears in her eyes, only further reddening your blushing cheeks.

“You know,” she says in between huffed laughter. “I typically only drink animal blood, as I’m sure you’ve seen on occasion. It’s a lot more… convenient and certainly a lot less messy. But the real reason,” she confesses, whispering almost secretively as her ruby coloured irises stare into your blown out pupils, “is that blood from a human source is dangerously addictive. That’s why I only feed on humans on days like this when the moon’s pull is too strong. Because everyone I drink from ends up dead and somehow, I just know that if I drank yours… well I’d be addicted for eternity.”

But what if that’s exactly what you want?

Blindly reaching towards a nearby table, you grab what feels like a glass and smash it against the surface, successfully slicing your left palm and sending drops of blood rolling down your skin.

In the same heartbeat, Wanda instantly freezes, her enhanced sense of smell immediately picking up the intoxicating scent of your blood. Tightly closing her eyes and letting go of her hold on you, she takes two steps back from you, seemingly struggling to restrain herself.

Fearlessly, you take two steps towards her, crowding her space just as she crowded yours.

“Let go,” you tempt, lifting your bleeding hand in an attempt to flood her senses and lure her further into your trap. “Let me be yours,” you whisper teasingly into her ear.

In a second, her eyes burst open, now blazing scarlet and burning into you. Roughly, she wraps her hand around your throat and pushes you against the nearest wall, uncaring of how you wince at the strength with which she slams you.

Just as harshly, she finally kisses you, her icy lips meeting yours and moving against each other as one as she almost devours you in her eagerness. And just as eagerly, you let her, drowning in the rush of losing yourself in something so wrong that feels so right.

The cautiousness with which she treated you before has completely disappeared as she dangerously tightens her grip around your throat, claiming your lips over and over again.

In her lust-clouded haste, her sharp fangs faintly slice your bottom lip and you quickly start bleeding with a wince that’s promptly muffled by her soft lips. Her greedy tongue licks it all up and you’re blessed with her deep moans at the rich and teasing taste.

To your dismay, she pulls away and releases her grip on your throat. But when you look in her bloodshot eyes, pupils blown and glittering in the moonlight, you’re thrilled to see a complete lack of resistance, a surrender to the offer you’ve presented.

And yet, there’s a hidden question in them, if you’re really willing to cross this line with her. In the back of your mind, you wonder that perhaps you're the first person who’s ever shared this secret of hers, who's ever willingly given themselves to her.

You hope to be the only.

Without saying a word, you simply crane your awaiting neck towards her, offering the expanse of it to her on a golden platter.

“I’m yours,” you whisper into the night for only her to hear.

In the blink of an eye, she becomes a predator before you. Still trapped between her body and the wall, you watch in equal amounts of fear and lust as she bares her fangs and sinks them into your naked neck.

You scream in pain and tightly scrunch a hand in her hair until, almost like you're hearing yourself outside of your body, you realise that your screams have become moans, the pain in your neck abruptly replaced by pleasure racing through your bloodstream.

“Mine,” you hear her snarl in between your moans and you only barely manage to yell, “Yours”, back.

Wanda is equally disarmed as she buries her face in your neck. She drinks and drinks and drinks, and as predicted, loses herself in you. It’s a criminal understatement to say that your blood is the best she’s ever tasted in her centuries-long life and endless list of victims. It’s rich and thick and if you hadn’t already offered to become her pet for eternity, she would have stolen you away anyway.

She revels even more in the sounds of your very evident pleasure, which when mixed with her instant addiction to your taste leaves a tight sensation in her core.

As she continues feasting on you, she slots a knee between your open legs and tightly grips your waist in her hands, harshly thrusting you down on her leg and surely leaving bruises in her wake. Eagerly, you grind against her firm thigh, head lolling back and hitting the wall with a resounding thud.

Somehow, your unabashed moans get even louder as you feel your blood starting to drip across your chest. Distantly, you consider that maybe you should quieten yourself lest someone hear of your tryst, but that thought swiftly disappears when Wanda presses her knee against your core while pushing you down to grind against it and deepening her fangs in your neck.

She’s everywhere. Pressed against you, piercing you with her teeth, becoming one with you. Suddenly, the overwhelming sensations become too much and you come undone in her arms, climaxing unexpectedly from the equally consuming mix of pleasure and pain.

In a lust- and blood-drunk daze, Wanda takes little notice of your state and attempts to keep drinking every ounce of the red liquid left in your body. She feels you start to loosen your hold on her hair and slacken against her thigh though, so she reluctantly stops lest she loses her pet as quickly as she got her.

Regrettably, she pulls away from you but you’re glad she keeps her knee between your legs because you immediately slump against her from an exhaustive combination of the severe blood loss and intense climax.

Surprisingly tenderly, she captures you in her arms and holds you up against her and the wall. You take a second to regain your breath as your heart races to pump more blood through your veins.

“That was…” you trail off, dazed and half struggling to hold on to consciousness.

“Delicious,” she finishes for you.

You eventually manage to open your eyes and watch her sadly remove a hand from your waist to wipe your blood from her mouth with the pad of her thumb, serving to only spread it across her face even more.

The sight is more arousing than it should be and as you stare at her, you discover that with her porcelain moonlit skin, scarlet coloured eyes, snow white fangs, and mouth covered in your dark blood, she’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen.

In the haze of the afterglow, your gaze lowers to her bloody lips and you briefly wonder how you taste. Somehow reading your thoughts as she always does, she places a surprisingly soft kiss on your lips and you’re equally surprised by the taste of your blood on her lips. It’s different from what you expected, not as jarringly metallic as when you bite the inside of your cheek but rather smooth and rich like a well-aged wine.

As you deepen the kiss searching for more, she returns the eagerness by tracing the surface of your lips with her tongue, easily parting them and entering your mouth. Distracting you with the feel of your tongues swirling against each other, she sneakily reaches behind your back and unties the fragile bow tying your nightgown together.

Pulling away, she lets the sheer fabric fall in a heap to the floor and leaves you chasing her lips like a lovesick fool. You feel even more foolish when you look up and find her staring intensely at your entirely exposed body while she remains fully clothed, almost moving to wrap your arms around your bare chest in an attempt to hide yourself from her scrutiny.

Just as quickly though, she captures your wrists and traps them beside you against the wall. “Don’t hide from me. You’re mine now, pet,” she whispers in her criminally deep voice.

Not to mention her apparent assignment of a new title for you, a stark contrast from the formal way with which she has been regarding you until now. A fierce blush rises to your cheeks at her choice and when combined with the sound of her voice, you think you could come from the short sentence alone.

Softly and slowly with all the time in the world, or at least the few hours left before the sun awakes, she places delicate kisses across your shaking body. Her icy cold touch cools every inch of your burning skin that it contacts, along the curve of your jawline up to the space below your ear, down your neck and especially taking care to lick your puncture wounds clean before travelling across your chest and licking up any blood that previously escaped her.

Taking your left nipple in her awaiting mouth, she latches on and sucks greedily before switching to the right. You squirm and try to free your hands wanting to touch her, but her bruising grip around your wrists unrelenting keeps you trapped. If she notices you continue to painfully twist yourself in her grasp anyway in an attempt to amass more marks as proof of her ownership of you, she doesn’t utter a single word.

A second later, she withdraws from your body and sighs against your wet skin, which when coupled with her chilled touch and the cool winter night leaves you shuddering with goosebumps.

Stepping back from you entirely now, she reaches behind herself and undoes her own dress. When it falls to the floor, so does your jaw as you shamelessly stare at the pale expanse of her skin, almost completely unblemished and illuminated by the moonlight.

You carefully place your hands on the curves of her waist, hidden beneath her burgundy corset. For a brief moment, she lets you admire her body like an artist admires their muse before she gets impatient and turns around in your arms.

Pulling her hair to her front, she demands, “Won’t you lend me a hand, pet?”

Wordlessly and obediently, you unlace her corset while leaving delicate kisses behind her ear and along her neck. She buries her hand in your hair and you almost let out a moan from the way she tugs at it. Under your breath, you curse the corset for being so intricate as your shaking hands struggle against the detailed binds.

Luckily for you though, it finally becomes undone and drops to the floor with the rest of your clothes. With your hands returning to her waist again, now soft and bare, you turn her around to face you and almost collapse.

You’re not sure how it’s possible, but she continues to take your breath away. She’s more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen in your lifelong travels. More than any of the marble Grecian sculptures or oil paintings of Aphrodite.

Just as she did, you take your time peppering kisses over her ivory and cool skin. You gently kiss every inch from right under her jawline to the dips of her collarbones and down along her chest to the mole of her left breast, from the curve of her shoulder down to the edge of her fingers and even lightly sucking your blood off her thumb.

Delicately, you devote yourself to kissing her perfect skin marked only by a few moles littered across her body, mapping them like constellations, and licking away any of your blood that stains the porcelain surface of her chin and neck.

Here and there, when you get to a particularly sensitive spot like the space under her jawline, she writhes in your arms and lets out a breathless gasp. You continue sucking on the same spot lightly, proudly drawing pleasure out of her as she did with you, but only lightly and not harsh enough to mark her flawless skin.

Internally, you think you could spend an eternity worshipping her body if she let you. You wouldn’t mind all the pain if you had the pleasure of being hers.

As you take your time exploring her body, her thin patience finally runs out and she roughly wraps your hair around her hand, pushing you down to exactly where she needs you.

“On your knees, pet,” she demands breathlessly and you instantly obey, falling to your knees with a thud and ignoring the bruising pain, proudly collecting more evidence of your tryst.

Diligently, you continue trailing your kisses down between the centre of her chest and her taut stomach until you reach her core, which you brazenly pass in favour of nibbling her inner thigh.

Roughly yanking your hair though, Wanda makes her annoyance known. “Oh, don’t be like that now, sweetheart. I thought it was clear who’s in charge here,” she bends down and sneers in your face.

“‘Mm sorry…” you frantically nod and apologise while keeping the enticing idea of disobeying and testing her patience in the back of your mind for another time. Right now, though, you desperately want to taste her.

Lifting her leg over your shoulder, she increases your accessibility or rather traps you and pushes your head back towards her centre.

“Be a good pet now won’t you, darling?”

You don’t need to be told twice, swiftly diving in between her thighs. You’re pleasantly delighted to feel how wet for you she already is, probably since the moment she sank her teeth in your neck.

Burying yourself against her core, you greedily part her folds with your tongue and lap up all her juices. Immediately drunk on her taste, you moan against her and the resounding vibrations apparently stimulate her even more as she whimpers above you and tightens her grip on your hair.

As you eagerly stroke your tongue against her pussy and brush your nose against her clit, you decide that between her legs must be the best place on Earth. And if anything, you so quickly become addicted to her sweet essence just as she was with your rich blood.

Almost crazed, you both want her everywhere and to be all over her, meticulously switching between placing kitty licks between her folds and latching onto her bulb.

Losing herself in you, Wanda somehow pushes the back of your head even deeper against her and bucks against your face. “Good girl… just like that,” she murmurs.

If your mouth wasn’t so preoccupied, you would’ve begged her to pull your hair harder.

Glancing up as you devour her, you realise that she truly is a fallen angel sent from the depths of hell to corrupt you. As you stare at her lust hazed eyes and domineering form stalked over you, you find yourself getting pleasure just from her pleasure alone.

You think that whether she suffocated you between her thighs or sucked out all your blood with her fangs in your neck, you’d be honoured to die by her hand.

With her moans getting louder and her body writhing above you, you catch on to her rapidly increasing need for more and raise your right hand to rub her clit with the pads of two fingers.

Catching her off guard, you swiftly thrust the same two fingers between her folds and earn a blissed out scream. You fit perfectly inside her as she clenches around you, sending a tightening sensation to your own core.

Latching onto her clit with your mouth again while your fingers slide in and out of her, you proudly smile against her at the tightening grip on your hair.

“Faster,” she manages to demand and you once again obey, pistoning your fingers in and out of her even faster and setting a ruthless rhythm. Soon after, your fingertips locate her g-spot so you curl the ends of your two fingers, hitting the spot with every thrust.

As you watch her, you notice that her hands are preoccupied with gripping the back of your head in pleasure and her bedpost in an attempt to stay standing.

With so much of her immaculate body shamefully left unattended, you reach your sliced hand back up her still cool body and cup her breast. As you massage the supple mound, the pain of the fresh cut stings your skin but you hear yourself whimper in time with her own moans.

You’re everywhere and the stimulation of your touch starts to make Wanda go crazy. Releasing her hold on your hair, she glides it down your back and scratches the skin below your shoulders with her claws in an attempt to pull you even closer.

Shuddering against her, you wince at the pain but proudly add the scratches to your long list of scars from tonight.

With her hand on your back, she feels you pathetically grind down against nothing and decides to take pity on you, placing her foot below your core. Finally getting some much needed friction, you rub yourself against her in a frenzy and practically ride her foot.

In a daze, she peers down at you and is entranced by the sight of you on your knees for her, looking up obediently at her with doe-like eyes, your face covered in her juices and skin covered in bite marks and hickeys she placed haphazardly, all while servicing her every demand and devoting yourself to her every need.

Unable to hold herself back anymore, she climaxes. Feeling her clench around your fingers and hearing her scream, you quickly follow and come against her foot. Bewitched, you see her arch her back in satisfaction and let her ride out her high against your face.

Once she calms down, you greedily lick up all her cum and clean up her centre just as you did with your blood on her skin. When your mission is complete and she pushes you away, overstimulated by your persistent touch, you stare into her eyes as you slide the same two fingers that were just inside her mere second ago into your own mouth, sucking them clean and taking care to not leave even a single drop.

If it were possible, her already blown out pupils dilate even more as she watches the show you put on for her. Pulling you up with a strength that’s probably owed to her inhumane cells, she tugs you into a kiss once again, tasting her essence on your tongue just as you did with your blood on hers.

Fitting your waist in her hands again, she hastily throws you on her bed before straddling your hips and pressing you against the mattress. She wastes no time and leans down to reclaim your lips, carelessly letting her fangs nick your lips again.

In the corner of your sleepy eyes, you see the glowing moonlight illuminate the stars in the night sky outside, the sun still a lifetime away. For this next little while, all that matters is the cool feel of her touch against your scorched skin and the pleasure of the pain she brings.

For under the full moon, you are completely and irrevocably hers; a vampire’s pet for better or worse.

[sunnypopoki]

YANDERE X READER RECS ━━

ᴀ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀꜱ! ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪɴ ᴅᴇᴘᴛʜ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀꜱ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʀʏ ᴍʏ ʜᴀʀᴅᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ!

𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 ( yandere! mafia husband x female! reader)

Y/N fell in love with him in high school, married him after graduation, and moved in with him whenever she decided to go to college. But something about him was odd. Disappearing at night, being gone for days on end, answering suspicious unknown phone calls, being overly clingy... He's not cheating, right? Or was something worse going on?

• • • AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD, TUMBLR, QUOTEV

𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍 ( dark reverse harem x villainess! reader )

Y/N wanted her arranged husband dead. Who could blame her? After she was forced to marry the Grand Duke, she knew that she'd live a miserable life, especially if it meant being tethered to him til the end of her days. So she started to make a plan. A sinister plan to kill him, his close friends, and topple his empire of fame to the ground. If she wasn't allowed to have rights, why should they? But it was easier said than done... because unbeknownst to her, three men would do anything to appease her.

• • • AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD

𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 ( yandere! emperor x female! reader )

Emperor Cadmus Dimitriou. Whether people knew him by his title as emperor of Kiaba, or his cutthroat win in the war three years ago, they all knew that a man like him was destined for greatness. But Y/N? She was destined for the constant spray of blood, the roaring of the crowd, and the thud of bodies dropping. It wasn't like Gladiators had a choice. However, that all changed when she was bought for a cheap price by a cruel man who wanted to test her fame. And Emperor Cadmus wouldn't take no for an answer.

• • • NOT YET RELEASED (WILL BE SOON)

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒 ( yandere! vampire x male! reader )

The Devil stopped at the doorstep of Y/N's church with a charming smile. Business, he said, that was why he came by to visit. His touch left Y/N's skin in flames, his gaze made his stomach twist, and his voice made his head spin. This man, Linus Ambrose Wittherson, had to be Lucifer himself.

• • • AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 ( assassins! reverse harem x villainess! reader )

Everyone inside Fulminare Academy had secrets; the professors, the students, the scrappy dogs outside. Y/N was no different. However, she never thought those secrets would lead to her demise. Mysterious men were out for her head, or more specifically, the knowledge inside it. May curiosity kill these wicked cats.

• • • AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD & QUOTEV

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 ���𝐈𝐍𝐓 ( yandere! serial killer x male! reader )

Y/N knew there was something wrong with him but he couldn't help it. He was 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥. Who wouldn't be hooked onto someone like Micah Ariti? A transfer student from Greece who was perfect in every way; his athleticism, his creativity, his 'no-bullshit' type of personality. Even if he knew then about who he really was, he was already addicted. He would never let him go.

• • • NOT YET RELEASED (WILL BE SOON)

[bunnis-monsters]

Imagine being a surrogate for monsters that want a half human baby, or monsters that need your womb to keep their young safe.

Instead of being inseminated in a hospital, the monster fucks load after load into your fat pussy, insuring you’ll be swollen with their baby/babies by the end of it.

At first you did it to help monsters out, but now you do it because you just love the feeling of a monster cock stretching you out and filling you with its hot cum until you’re close to bursting. It’s almost worth the differing amount of time it takes to grow and then birth their child.

But honestly… you love it. You enjoy being pampered and spoiled by the monsters during your pregnancy, their instincts screaming at them to protect you and keep you to themself.

They always end up fucking you over and over, wanting to keep you on their cocks while you’re pregnant, feeding you right and keeping you full of cum~

And once the baby is born and you’ve recovered, you get to do it all over again…

[monstersholygrail]

Imagine Vampire bf and Werewolf bf fighting over your cunt while you’re on your period. Both pushing each other out of the way to get between your spread legs first.

Vampire bf wants to eat you out because any taste of your blood is enough to drive him feral. To think that your body is freely gushing it out has him panting as he struggles to control his fangs. He wishes he had the ability to breathe simply so that he could suffocate against your pussy as your sweet nectar slides down his tongue.

Werewolf bf wants to eat you out because your scent is so much more potent on your period and it makes him dizzy. He wants to be closer to it, he wants to bury himself in your folds and drown in your scent. He imagines that if your smell is stronger than your taste will be too. His cock drips with pre-cum imagining the taste of your pussy when it’s like this.

Eventually neither of them can take it a second longer when you whimper, your cramps flaring up. Their need to help you, to soothe you, overcoming the urge to get to you first. So they go at you together. Their tongues lapping along your slit before delving in deeper. You moan, back arching, but their hands hold you down and intertwine along your navel.

They make out with your pussy, not caring about the mess, their tongues swirling through your folds, messily dipping into your gushing cunt to soak up your fluids, and kissing each other in the midst of devouring your core. Your hands weave into their hair, drawing them deeper into you and taking the pleasure you so desperately need. Mirroring growls leave them as the scent of your arousal grows stronger, letting them know you’re close. You cum hard into their mouths and they both drink up every last drop. They don’t stop lapping up your release until you push them away. But they’re right back on you as they crawl up and sandwich your body between them for some cuddling.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Thinking about a yandere werewolf, but not just any werewolf… a bounty hunter. And he has it bad for his you. Cowboy Werewolf!

Yandere Shorts: Like I Love You

Yandere werewolf x fem reader

TW: obsession, delusional themes, abo dynamic, horror, gore (mentioned), death of characters, neglectful husband, betrayal, cheating husband, forced relationship, mention of baby trapping, and behavior that should not be romanticized

Rolfe was currently on a hunt… his target is a sickly preacher’s, one that should be easy enough. Her own husband had paid him quite the pretty penny to off her. Poor little lamb didn’t stand a chance in the wilderness of this world. Not when she had enemies close to her side such as an unfaithful husband and a conniving best friend. He almost felt sorry for his prey

He arrived a day later, his clawed fingers dragged through a lock of her hair as he inhaled her scent. She smelled… delicious. And she was so vulnerable too with her nape out that just begged for his teeth to be driven into…

Rolfe shook his head before he went back into a trance when she subconsciously leaned into his touch. His hand moved up and grazed her temple that felt as if it were ablaze. Poor woman had a fever…

“Darling? Did you finally come to me?” Her voice was a bit delirious with sickness as she kissed his hands. Each kiss made him feel as if he was her beloved. It took everything in him not to loudly whine like a dog. “I missed you so much James. I’m sorry I got sick again.”

Rolfe didn’t say a word before he continued to drag his rough palms through her hair. His heart hammered in his chest and his wolf clawed inside his brain to be released. It seemed this woman before him… was his fated mate.”

Rolfe bent down and buried his nose into the crook of her neck to deeply inhaled. Oh yes… this lassy was his for the takin.

Rolfe began to slowly nurse her back to health rather than off her. An action that made his employer question him. Why on earth would a monster nurse such a nuisance back to health? She was always near death’s door. What use was such a delicate woman in the Wild West?

“When are you going to off (your name)? She’s an easy target.”

“I have honor as a bounty hunter. It must be a hunt.” Rolfe snarled at (your name)’s husband, James, the man who dared to keep her sick due to his lack of care. Had that scrawny man have no pride as a man? The pastor made him sick.

“She’s easy to pick off right now. I’d really like this to be over and done with so I can marry Helen. This is why I hired a monster-“ Rolfe picked James up from the ground by his throat as James gasped for air.

“You are a foolish, greedy man. Are you sure you are truly a man of god?” Rolfe growled, showing his fangs. His dark, muscular form largely towered over James’s lithe frame. “You’re a pathetic man.”

Rolfe soon went back to the care of (your name). The werewolf rubbed his cheeks all over her bed and her body to scent her… he needed to get rid of James’s scent. Rolfe wouldn’t let another have her and hurt her again… he’d spirit her away.

Rolfe wondered how many pups she’d want. If they’d be pretty like her but strong like him… if she’d pepper him with nips and kisses everyday. If she’d beg him for his knot on the next full moon as he properly mated her?

“Darling?” (Your name) reached for his face and Rolfe was quick to put his face in them. A needy whine escaped his throat while he nuzzled her. She was his precious mate…

He snarled when he saw Helen enter. The woman scoffed at him in disgust.

“Ugh. James and I are tired of waiting. You have been here over a month! We want you gone beast. We’ll do it ourselves.”

“So you’re cancelling the contract?” He hummed while he continued to tenderly kiss (your name)‘a palms. “Are you sure? Did you read the fine print?”

“Yes. We don’t need your kind here, true love will prevail-“ Helen didn’t even have time to scream before a giant black wolf hybrid had dug it’s fangs into her throat and ripped it apart like wrapping paper. Blood splattered all over the floor and walls as Helen could only helplessly choke on her own blood.

“Yes… true love will prevail.” He muttered with a a satisfied hum. “My mate will be so happy.”

Meanwhile, James fled into the forest for dear life. That beast had gotten Helen! The two of them couldn’t believe the werewolf would turn on him.

James loudly leapt when he heard something large chase him through the underbrush on all fours. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and feel his sweat pool down his back in puddles. He needed to get to the church! A demon such as the bounty hunter couldn’t possibly enter there-

But James was knocked to the ground as an agonized shriek fell from his lips. The werewolf began to shake and mangle his leg like the bloodthirsty beast it was…

“Let me go! Let me go! I didn’t do anything-“

Rolfe chuckled darkly. The black werewolf dropped his legs and glanced his beastly head at James. “Oh but she never did anything either… all she did was foolishly love you.”

“W-what do you mean? Are you talking about-“ James’s words were muffled by the paw like hand that covered his mouth. Rolfe shushed him.

“Shhh. You may have failed to pay me and cancel my contract but I had gotten something far more valuable from this transaction. Something most werewolves dream to find in their lifetimes… a fated mate!” Rolfe sighed dreamily. “You may have failed as a protector and provider, but I surely won’t! You have given me something more valuable than any coin could offer… yet you were neglectful to her. Such a shame really.”

“I… I’ll do anything! Just take her and let me live.”

“Ah but I can’t do that. Not when she still calls for you at night. No… you have to be eliminated. Destroyed, really. You can no longer exist on the same planet as her! You are in the way of my love!”

Loud screams of terror ringed out throughout the crisp night air and then it was silence.

Rolfe returned hours later scrubbed clean of blood while he crawled into the bed with his darling mate. He sighed in contentment when she cuddled him. Yes… it may take time to train her properly, but he was sure he could do it. He could make her love him. Just like he loved her.