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bump1nthen1ght · 1 day ago

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The Family Jewels (Pt. 4/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Chapter Summary: Edric finally takes what he wants.

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Non-Con, Abuse/Torture (not towards Reader), Light Bondage, Light Blood Play, Blood Drinking, Drugging, Forced Exhibitionism, Forced Voyeurism, Cuckolding, Forced Relationship

A/N: ITS FINALLY HERE! Coming out almost twice the length of the other chapters, this one is also twice as spicy and twice as dark. Heed the warnings! Hope y'all enjoy the debauchery 🥰

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Another night in his miserable life, and Caleb is spending it indoors.

His feet tap on the floor, his hands threaded in his hair. Restlessness consumes him, a kind he thought was forgotten long ago when he threw his inhibitions to the wind.

What is he doing wrong?

He knew some women were shy, wilting under attention where others flourished, but Caleb figured he could push past that. You had been living together for months now, surely you’d longed for him for even a little bit, right? Even just at the beginning, when he had spurned you, hadn’t your heart wanted for this exact thing? Wanted him?

Your silence has made things crystal clear. The sheer displeasure on your face when he is near, compared to the content you show when alone.

Or with his creator.

Caleb bats that thought away, ashamed by its ridiculousness.

You had scurried off from dinner, quicker than usual. When he saw you were absent from the garden for the second night in a row, Caleb found himself tearing apart the cellar for the true last bottle of his stash. He was sure his father had missed some, desperate for something to replace his usual fix. Sulking back to his own room, he was too upset to rejoice when he finally found one tucked surreptitiously away. He must have hidden it after his creator scolded him the first time and had threatened to burn the whole lot, a promise he had made good upon.

It doesn’t matter, it’s as foul tasting as the rest, doing nothing to settle the aching in his belly. At the very least it's particularly strong, its dizzying effects compensating for the poor taste. Wine rarely got him this drunk anymore, not with his superior digestion burning off the alcohol before it could settle too long. He has to down drink after drink to stay pleasantly buzzed, as annoying as it was useful in impressing simple humans with his ‘tolerance’

So now he sits, drunk and alone at his vanity, no one there to admire his beauty except himself. Caleb looks at his solemn reflection, no sign of his distress in the fine contours of his face. Perfectly polished, as always.

Caleb takes another swig, pushing himself up from his seat with a sigh. Perhaps he’ll look for you. You’re probably in your room, either asleep or preparing for it. Either way Caleb could watch, be entertained by your human mannerisms.

He hardly makes it one step away from his vanity before he’s falling, his knees banging against the carpeted floor. His vision swirls, the bottle falling out of his now loose grip.

Gods, how drunk am I?

The twirling patterns of the carpet dizzy him, his hand trying its best to get the bottle, but his body isn’t responding how he wants it too. His face hits the carpet next, his muscles surprisingly weak and no longer able to hold him up.

What’s…happening?

Those are the last sluggish thoughts in Caleb’s mind, before everything goes to black.

—

Edric thinks you have never looked more beautiful.

He wonders why he hasn’t watched you sleep before. As much as he enjoys your conversations, here he can admire you uninterrupted, no sense of propriety or shame holding him back. He can let his eyes wander down your neck, down your chest, down your sumptuous thighs, all the way to your toes.

He lets himself brush the back of his knuckles against your cheek, knowing you won’t wake. He had brewed the tea himself, made sure the dose was strong enough to knock you out cold. It needed to be for his work to be done.

He draws his hand up your inner arm and to your palm, fiddling with the knots around your wrists. He hopes they do not burn your skin, hating to hurt you in any way. But he knows it's better for you this way. It will be confusing and painful, as it always is, your body will fight it. You will claw at him, at your own skin, trying to resist it. He had learned from his first experience, seeing Caleb nearly rip his own face off in panic and terror. Edric sympathizes, knows the new and incredible can seem so scary at first. Knows you might not understand at first why, but that you’ll learn to love all that he is giving you.

He kisses your nose.

He knows he is doing the right thing.

—

Caleb had almost forgotten what pain feels like.

His last memories of the sensation was the last day of his human life and the first of his immortal one. The mortal kind had been short, his body so fragile and easily breakable under his master’s claws. The immortal kind had been agonizing, the slow transformation of Edric’s blood changing every inch of his body, inside and out.

This pain is different, far less intense, though enough to thrust him out of unconsciousness. That and the stinking smell of burning flesh, his burning flesh, rubbing against the chains tightly secured around his arms and stomach.

He thrashes around, a mistake that presses the chains into his sides. It heals as quickly as it burns, but the silver plating is like a hot poker being dragged across his abdomen, leaving red agitated trails beneath. Just a flesh wound, but deeply uncomfortable. Enough to sap him of his energy, to leave him panting and shaking.

Caleb’s wild eyes fly around, conscious brain catching up to his nervous system as he tries to make sense of what's going on. He is gagged and bound to a chair and only in his underclothes, that he is quick enough to realize. What’s harder to figure out is where he is; The fine decorations reveal that he must still be on the estate, yet in a room he does not recognize. Not his own, not his wife’s, so where-

“You finally wake.” Says his creator, standing unusually bare in just an undershirt and drawers. “You always did have a habit of sleeping in. It’s quite immature, Caleb.” Claws tap on hardwood, Edric clicking his teeth in a sign of disappointment.

This must be his room.

Caleb thinks, unable to snap back at the insult. It makes sense, the space every bit as gaudish as Edric; Collections of old books and ancient artifacts fill a numerous of shelves, larger than life portraits and landscape paintings decorate the walls, and a bed fit for a king, lined with a plush bedding and encircled by a saphenous curtain. But it still does not explain what he is doing here, bound with silver plated chains.

“But I suppose I am to blame for that, aren’t I?” Caleb snaps his eyes back to his creator, his neck bobbing with unneeded breaths, an old stress response from his human days. “I’ve been far too lax with you, son. I see that now. I let you run wild like an animal, and expected you to snap quickly back into being a man.” His creator strides over to Caleb, that disappointed look that has Caleb’s stomach twisting. A long sleeping fear of being the prey, not the predator, awakens in his chest. “It is my fault for not being more disciplined. For not having a firmer hand when I guided you. Spare the rod-” Edric’s hand shoots out like a venomous viper, wrapping around a covered part of the chain and yanking, making it cut even deeper into Caleb’s ribs. He collapses forward, a pained scream muffled by his gag, tears bubbling up at the side of his eyes. “-Spoil the child.”

Caleb’s chest heaves, anger and fear all melding together. His teeth clank against each other in his mouth, eyes bulging as he leaves them planted on the carpeted floor. The embroidered patterns are the only swirling thing he can make sense of, the only thing grounding him to reality. Keeping him far away from the searing pain and the sizzling of his flesh.

“A young man like yourself needs a strict enforcer, something to curb his appetite and slap him out of his delusions.” His master keeps one hand wrapped tight around the chain, not pulling just yet, but the threat of doing so still lingering. The other pats the top of Caleb’s head. “I do not want to be cruel to you, Caleb. I understand that children need love and affection as well as discipline. It was my fault for confusing the two, for trying to have it all and failing at both. ”

A shiver wracks down Caleb’s spine, finally able to lift himself to sit upward, though his eyes stay locked on the floor. He fears any sign of disrespect will cause another burn. It is not until claws come under his jaw and tilt his face up that he is forced to look the monster in the eyes.

“But do not worry, my son.” Edric says, a sick sort of affection in his voice. The same affection that dug itself into Caleb’s stomach that terrible summer night, that ripped out his guts and forced blood down his throat. “I have found our solution.”

Relief falls down his spine as his creator walks away, the fear of more pain assuaged. But it’s quickly tampered when his master whips back the curtain on his bed, revealing you, unconscious and tied to the bed posts. Still in your nightgown, unaware of the monsters that linger nearby. A terrifying realization comes to Caleb’s mind, and he thinks he might vomit.

Fuck.

—

You’re hot, too hot, boiling hot. The kind of heat that wakes you from the deepest of slumbers, throwing off pillows and clothes and whatever you can for some sort of relief. But you can’t. You’re not sure why, still lost in the haze of awakening, body on fire.

Your recollection comes back to you slowly, yet muddied. The last thing you remember was an invitation from Edric to have tea with him in his study, received by a servant as you read in your bedroom. You vaguely remember walking down the halls, being nearly giddy with excitement, but absolutely nothing after that. You do not remember changing into your nightgown, nor going to bed.

Where…am I?

Your eyes and ears feel like they are underwater, a sudden burst of light only blotting and confusing your senses. You only recognize Edric once he’s right above you, his hand caressing your jaw.

“Good morning, my sweet.”

Then, he kisses you.

It’s almost enough of a surprise to knock you out of your stupor. The feeling of his lips on yours, the passionate way he tilts back your jaw and devours you, has your body jerking away on instinct. But it can’t, the strain in your wrists and shoulders revealing that your hands are bound by a rope. The rest of you is covered by your father-in-law's body, pressed against your scandalously undressed form. Heat explodes across your chest and neck, embarrassment at being seen in something so risque. No man has ever seen you like this before. You furiously wiggle underneath him, half-convinced this is a dream you need waking up from.

“It’s alright.” Edric shushes, pulling away so his lips are only an inch from yours. “Everything is alright, dearest. You need not panic.”

His lips pepper around the side of your mouth, moving up to the apple of your cheeks and nipping where skin meets bone. It makes your heart beat impossibly faster. Your head jerks as much as it can away, body still sluggish and in a haze of delirium.

The sound of wood thudding against carpet draws what little strands of your attention are left, and that's when you notice Caleb. Your hands uselessly yank again on the rope, shame leaving a sour taste in your mouth. You want to plead that this was not your idea, that you don’t know what's going on, when you realize he too is bound. His entire upper half is chained to a chair, tear tracks running down his cheeks and his face ruby red, a mixture of shock and the gag pulling taut against his cheeks. His night shirt is torn between his bonds, enough to make you realize that the smoky scent is coming from him, of something searing through the fabric and into his skin.

Your mind finally wraps around every little detail, finally fires the orders to your mouth to scream. Edric is quicker, slapping his hand over your jaw and forcing your attention back to him. He shushes you like one would a newborn, broken up by reassuring kisses to your jaw.

“Just ignore the boy.” Edric whispers in your ear, tugging on your lobe with another nip of his teeth. “He is only here to learn a lesson in adulthood.” Edric’s hand crawls onto your hip, his thumb pressing into your plush stomach. You gasp and gingerly buck away from it, but that only brings you closer to Edric, a warmth he greatly enjoys. “He is here to see what it really takes to be a husband.”

Edric devours you in another kiss, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. His hand moves up your hip, charting a dangerous path until his thumb presses right below your breast. You jump once again, right into Edric’s eager mouth. Something briefly stings, and an irony taste on your tongue tells you that you’ve somehow cut open your lip. Were Edric’s teeth always that sharp? His body shudders above in a moan, his fervent tongue quick to lap at the bubbling blood. You can hear a similar, animalistic grunt come from Caleb, followed by another bursting sound of sizzling as he seizes forward. Even with the gag you can hear his pained moans.

You want to pull away, to bite Edric back, to kick and scream at the top of your lungs. But Edric’s hand lights a flame across your body, leaving you a melted puddle in his bed. Each kiss only intensifies it, as if every nerve has been turned on in your body. The faint traces of your mind think of Eros, with his piercing bolts that could strike anyone into a lustful frenzy. Of potions and elixirs that could turn even a nun into a debauched whore.

Edric finally forces himself away from your mouth, blood smeared across his lips and tongue. They leave crimson kiss marks as he moves his way down your body, stopping occasionally to nip at the skin, savoring the way you yelp. A sinful moan escapes your lips once he reaches your chest, your head throwing back in ecstasy once Edric’s lips wrap around one of your nipples. He sucks on it through the fabric, soaking it through.

“Need a taste.” He sighs, and Caleb thumps again in the corner. But you can’t focus on him, not when Edric’s canines are pulling at your nightgown and-

Rip!

You chest pebbles despite the overwhelming heat, bare as the day you were born. You gasp, a mix of embarrassment and lust, Edric wasting no time to taste the sweat of your skin. His tongue laps up between your two breasts before he quickly returns to your sensitive nipples, moaning between long sucks.

“Sweet ambrosia.” He sighs into your sternum, nuzzled in your cleavage. “Dionysian delight.”

After deeming it sufficiently lavished, Edric moves down your chest and onto your stomach, his peppered kisses ticklish as he reaches below your navel. But once he reaches your mound your more sensible mind kicks back in, thighs snapping together, feet kicking fruitlessly. This is no obstacle for Edric, who easily pulls open your legs and slots himself in between, mouth never leaving your skin. He at least has the decency to not rip apart the bottom half of the gown as he did your top, but not enough to stop from pushing it up your thighs and over your hips, his head disappearing under the fabric.

You don’t have time to wonder what he is doing, a moan ripping from your chest as his tongue licks a long stripe up your womanhood. You’re shocked just as much by the filthy action as you are by how rapturously good it feels.

“Edric!” Your voice cries, not sounding at all like yourself. It is too sensual, too indulgent, too much like a whore.

Said man moans directly into your entrance, the vibrations rewarding him with gushes of your essence. Like before Edric does not falter in his pace, mouth quickly devouring you like a peach on a hot summer day. His lips suck on your womanhood, tongue pressing and writhing against your entrance. Your juices run down his jaw as he worships you, nuzzling his face impossible deeper, the tip of his tongue pressing past your maidenhead and searching your walls for sensitivity. Your toes curl into the comforter, hips bucking into Edric’s face. It feels too good, you think you might pass out.

Too ashamed of your own voice, of unleashing that debaucherous sound again, your teeth clamp down on your lip. You ignore the sting of the cut, the drips of blood now running down your jaw. But it can’t be ignored by Edric and Caleb, feather’s flying as Edric’s nails dig into the comforter, Caleb’s chair’s feet being dug into the floor.

While his tongue traces patterns into your center Edric’s nose presses against your sensitive button, shockwaves being sent up your belly. It’s far more intense than the few times in your life you’ve touched it yourself, whether when riding or in the shameful moments of night. Now it is as if every rub and press resets your brains; Making it hard for you to remember what exactly is happening, where you are, who is currently in between your legs.

When Edric finally pulls away, dewy strings connecting his jaw to your lips, the whine you let out is instinctual. Your ankles cross behind his shoulder, body jerking, trying to find that sensation again. He chuckles with this, kissing at your inner thigh.

“Be patient, dearest.” Edric whispers. “My son did not properly consummate his marriage, so I must be thorough.”

Another sizzling of flesh as Caleb seethes in the corner, his whines not unlike a dog being whipped for it’s disobedience.

The words fall on your deaf ears, still recovering from the feeling of Edric’s mouth on your pussy. Before they can even attempt to enter your mind they’re shot out, two fingers pushing into your wet heat.

“Ah!” Your body arches, the foreign feeling of being full not nearly as painful as you had been led to believe. Edric’s fingers sink into your hole like a hot knife through butter, tingles shooting up your stomach as the pads press against your walls. Your hips roll into Edric’s hand, abdomen clenching when Edric’s palm presses against your button.

“Does that feel good, dearest?” Edric’s fingers pull out, then slowly push back in until his knuckles are soaked by your dew, your body convulsing. He does it again, faster, making sure to grind the heel of his palm against your button.

“Ngh!” You sigh, biting down again on your lip. The taste of blood in your mouth is foul, tangy.

“Tell me how it feels.” Edric’s voice takes a deeper tone, dangerous and dark in the way it rolls your stomach.

“G-good!” You finally pant out, struggling to put the most basic of syllables together.

A soft kiss presses into your thigh, Edric chuckling against your skin.

There is no warning as his fingers start to bully in and out of you. Each press goes deeper and deeper, his fingers desperately searching for that spongy part inside you. Each press against your button has stars shooting out from behind your eyelids, your mouth gone dry. Your moans have become raspy and even more desperate, your body that of an animal, rutting and trying to chase the pleasure. The scent of burned flesh still lingers in your nostrils but is ignored, whimpers falling to the wayside in your own bubble of decadence. It feels so good.

“E-dric~!” Your whorish voice whines, not sure what it's pleading for. Your skin has started to go numb, your lower half burning and aching, on the precipice of something you do not understand. Edric hums, and if you had the thought to look at him, you’d see a devilish smile full of far too many sharp teeth. If you had the energy to turn your head, you’d see Caleb, slack-jawed around his gag. You’d see his own hips jerking, a sizeable bulge in his pants as his eyes rove over you in starved fascination. “I’m-I’m-” Your voice pilters out.

“Cum for me, ___.”

His voice is what sends you over the edge, the voice of your companion, your friend, your Edric. Your entire body convulses on his palm, reduced to jelly in his hands.

It takes several moments for your mind to come back to you. Still numb, you barely register when Edric kisses the side of your cheek, realizing he’s once again laid atop of you. Now no fabric separates your bare chests, your dress ripped open and his shirt quickly discarded. But the strongest sensation is something hot and heavy slotted against your aching maidenhood. It rubs against your button, stoking the flame once more.

“You’re ready, my love.” Edric says, before forcing you into another kiss. He sucks on your bottom lip, a rumbling groan pulsing from his mouth into yours. The taste of your blood lingers on his tongue, forced down your own throat.

Edric’s palm lies flat on your chest, rubbing down your body. It isn’t still something hot and weeping presses against your entrance that you realize what is happening.

“Wait-” Your words are cut off by Edric’s kiss, you shout muffled once he finally pushes inside you, stealing your virginity as he did your pleasure.

This fullness is more uncomfortable, but still not accompanied by the sharp pain you had always heard of. It’s vulnerable, the way you can feel him pulsing from within you. Your lower half clenches on instinct, which only digs Edric’s claws into the headboard.

“Divinity.” Edric sighs into your lips, forehead rested against yours. He’s still icy cold, and if it weren’t such a blessing against your scalding heat, you’d question it further.

It’s several breathless moments before you feel normal, your body relaxing into the sheets. It's then that Edric first moves his hips; A microscopic movement, but the dragging sensation against your walls still steals the breath from your lungs. A mewling sound comes from your lips, which only emboldens Edric. He moves again, pulling out further and seating himself back in harder. Another thrust has your legs clamping shut, thighs pressing into Edric’s side. He chuckles into your ear, though it’s less composed than you’re used to.

“What a bl-blessing it is to be your first.” Edric’s words tumble with his stuttering hips, now moving faster and faster, hitting deeper and deeper. “You hold me like a vice, dearest. So warm and t-tight.” Edric‘s words are punctuated by a hard thrust, one that tears another moan from your throat. Wood begins to creak from underneath you, the movement of your two bodies causing the curtain to flutter. His spine rolls with each hump of his hips, something hot brewing between you two. It’s enough to get lost in, until a thump of a chair being scooted across the floor reminds you of your guest, of your husband.

Your eyes clench shut, too overwhelmed by every possible feeling to keep them open. You don’t know if it's ecstasy or shame, the reminder of the sin you’re indulging in. Your husband at least had the decency to keep his adultery away, to relegate it to outside your shared home and never speak of it so openly, even though you obviously were aware. And here you are, being ravished in front of him, by his own father.

“A-ah!” You cry, Edric’s sharp hip bones now slamming into your plush belly, his grunts more like that of an animal than a man. His cock pounds against the deepest part of you like a sledgehammer now, no sense of restraint. The headboard slams against the wall, shaking the many paintings nearly off their hangings. The slapping of skin is louder than the heartbeat resonating in your ears, a wet and sticky sound.

“Hmmph!” Edric groans in your ear, laying his full weight behind every sharp dig of his pelvis. Your body has scooted up to the bed, face nestled into the pillows, a cushiony barrier between you and the wooden headboard. A headboard currently taking a beating, between being repeatedly slammed and clawed at by Edric’s outstretched hand. It finally hits its limit, the wood creaking and bursting into pieces. Chunks fall onto your hair and forehead, finally forcing you to open your eyes. But what you see when they do is heart stopping, too terrifying for you to even scream.

Above you is not Edric, or at least that Edric that you know of. He is no longer the handsome, older gentleman who you confided in. His skin has become an inky black collage of fur, dark and shaggy. His finely shaped nose has been pushed out and upright into a snout, and his kind smile is wider and bursting with fangs. No longer a man, instead he is a monstrous man-sized bat, giant ears and muzzle and all. The only thing that remains like before his eyes, adoring and obsessive, swirling patterns of red amidst dark pools of black.

Your head jerks to the side, trying to escape from the nightmare right in front of you. They claw towards Caleb, a strange new beacon of normalcy, before you realize that he too is gone. His own golden locks have morphed into a honeyed fur, chains cutting into this large, muscular form, his clothing having bursted at the seams. His beautiful, adonis-esque face has also been twisted into the shape of a bat. He ruts and whines against his bindings like a beast in heat, tongue lolled out and drool dripping down his jaw.

Your eyes force shut, like when you were a child afraid of the dark, convinced the covers would save you. But you can’t ignore the long tongue that now laps at your neck, the sharp pin pricks of Edric’s teeth on your neck. Fur clings to your sweaty skin, hips burning as they stretch around Edric’s uncomfortable new size. Even his cock feels bigger, thicker and hot as it fucks you open.

The worst of it all is how good it feels. How your body still longs for Edric’s touch, how it craves each press against that spongy spot, rolls into his thrusts. You’ve lost control, mind split in two, desperate for this to be over yet also desperate to finish.

“Ha-aah!” You whine, the same rush from before twisting your insides, faster and more blinding than earlier. Edric purrs in your ear, his snout nuzzled into your collar.

“Yes, yes, yes.” The beast pants, legs beginning to shake as he also closes near to his end. A paw reaches in between you both and deftly pinpoints your sensitive spot, rubbing it roughly and making your vision go white.

Edric roars into the night, his head tossed back as both of you reach your peak, exploding around each other. Hot floods of his seed fill you up, leaking from out the sides and onto the sheets. He stays locked with you, hips still flush with yours, a frightening smile on his beastial face.

When you finally regain your breath, a terrifying thought of you, pregnant with the antichrist, has you nearly vomiting. Voices ring in your ear but you barely understand them, heart thumping as the fear of bearing a demon catches up to you. The Earl is whispers directly in your ear, close enough that you can actually process what he says.

“I’m so sorry, my dearest. I promise, the pain will last only for a moment.”

It doesn’t take long to figure out what he means. Not when his fangs are plunging into your neck and ripping it open, the pain immediately exploding until there is nothing left. As the light fades from your eyes, you hear a distant sound of someone screaming.

—

It is warm in the drawing room.

You always request it to be, the hearth constantly attended, if not by the servants than by you. It’s fascinating watching the fire glow, seeing the wood crackle and burst as the heat becomes too much. You had never realized just how pleasant the sounds of it could be, how relaxing it is as background to your reading, to your thinking, or your embroidering. The only things that occupied you nowadays, frivolous things to pass the never-ending time. You still had yet to reach the end of the estate’s book collection, more often than not re-reading your favorites rather than treading into new territory. It is comforting, the old words you know so well.

“Long years had brought their fighting days to a halt, but they were eloquent speakers still, clear as cicadas settled on treetops, lifting their voices through the forest, rising softly, falling, dying away.” You read aloud, fingers twirling in Caleb’s hair, occasionally watching the way his spun-gold locks catch the light. It is simply unfair how silky it is, despite the little care he puts into maintaining it. He always forces you to comb it for him, insisting it's too much of a struggle to do it himself, that you do it better anyway. And yet it's hard to complain when it is one of the few solace you have left, the softness beneath your fingers, the familiarity of brushing another one's hair. As if you really did have a son, a family of your own. “So they waited, the old chiefs of Troy, as they sat aloft the tower.”

He’s unusually compliant tonight, Caleb. You think it must be the lack of sleep he got during the day. Usually when you read to him he is full of quips, judgements of the characters or the story you’ve chosen, often deriding their mortal foolishness. But tonight he is silent, head laying on your lap, curled at your feet in a way that must be uncomfortable. You’d offer to move to the chaise lounge instead, let him lay on his back in a more comfortable position, but you really don’t care how comfortable he is at this very moment. Or ever, really.

“And catching sight of Helen moving along the ramparts, they murmured one to another, gentle, winged words…” Your fingers still in Caleb’s thick locks, knotted into the baby hairs at the base of his skull. You do not tug, though a part of you wants to. That part is too numb, an unfortunately similar bout of hopelessness striking you as your eyes dance across the page. “ ‘Who on earth could blame them? Ah, no wonder the men of Troy and Argives under arms have suffered years of agony all for her, for such a woman. Beauty, terrible beauty. Deathless goddess – so she strikes our eyes’ "

You pause, finding yourself unable to continue. Tears well up in your eyes but you force them away. Not again. You thought you had moved past this. But the words still catch in your throat. Caleb’s ear twitches, then his head is turning, looking up at you with his inhuman eyes.

“Why did you-”

He stops, mid-word. The numbness goes away, replaced by the shock of a hand on your shoulder.

“Hello, dearest.” Edric bends down low to kiss your neck, right at the space behind your ear. You see Caleb’s eyebrows furrow, his head whip back around, a pout probably marring his beautiful face. “I missed you.”

“I-” your mouth feels dry, your own internal voice beating itself with a hammer. Shut up. Shut up, Shut up- “-I missed you too.”

You place your hand over his, no longer surprised by the chill of his skin. It’s just like yours.

Edric chuckles, kissing your temple.

“And hello to you Caleb.”

“Hello.” Caleb’s voice is muffled, his face now turned into the fabric of your skirt. Only you can feel the way his hand fists and tugs on the dress, the only acceptable expression of his frustration.

“Are you enjoying the Iliad?” Edric asks the both of you. You nod, a small and polite smile on your face.

“Oh yes, this translation is rather interesting.”

Caleb stays quiet. Edric’s brow turns down a bit.

“I asked you a question, son.”

You fight the feeling to flee, to cower. Caleb tenses against you, his claws almost digging into your skin.

“...It’s good. She reads it well.”

“Well, no surprise there.” Edric’s lips move down to your cheek. “You do have a beautiful voice, my love.”

You giggle, demure and false, whispering a small “thank you”. You wish you could just accept the compliment, take joy in the small wins.

“While I hate to pull you from your books, it is getting quite late.” The hand on your shoulder squeezes, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of how powerful Edric is. “I believe it's best we go to bed, dearest.”

Like an automaton, you close your book and stand up, Caleb’s head falling off your legs. He whips around, hand tightly coiled on your skirt, pulling it towards him. An argument brews in his eyes, lips curling back.

“But it's not even sunrise-”

“Now Caleb.” Edric’s voice is somehow both quiet and thunderous, snuffing out any dissent in the air. “Remember your decency. You spent all of yesterday with your mother, and tonight as well. It is not polite to be so greedy.”

Caleb shrinks back, thoroughly scolded, yet a dissatisfied look still lingering.

While you despise either option, Edric does seem the more tolerable of a bed companion. Caleb had kept you up all day, with his pawing hands and desperate hips, absolutely starving for your time. His father only deigned him worthy of sharing your bed when he was especially good, which seemed to be happening more and more lately. Caleb had yet to push it any farther than over your dress, but even with a layer of fabric between you his touch made you ill. Especially when he lathered your neck with his tongue, or threw your thighs over his hips and rutted like an animal for hours on end. Edric had waved away any complaints, reminding you that all the poor boy wanted was affection, that he was harmless. It was exhausting, being the carrot dangling on the stick.

So you pull at your skirts, gently so as to not offend, until Caleb lets go. You fall into Edric’s chest as he guides you both to your shared bedroom. You don’t look back at Caleb as he follows you like a shadow, ignoring his eyes burning down your silhouette. You don’t acknowledge when he whines and pleads with his eyes to Edric, who nevertheless forces him to leave you both at the door. Caleb stomps down the hallway, and you let out a sigh of relief.

The next movements are rehearsed and robotic. Edric helps you undress, you help him. You both step into your day clothes and slip under the covers, your body stiff as Edric wraps around you like a constrictor. He starts kissing your neck, breathing heavily against your non-existent pulse.

“I can’t wait to see the stars with you tomorrow.” He whispers.

You close your eyes, and pretend to sleep.

And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow….

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #female reader insert #x reader #vampire x reader #series #regency #gothic #vampires #love triangle #dark romance #historical

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bacchuschucklefuck · 7 months ago

Text

Riz has counted four casseroles this week alone. Five, if one goes by the method of cooking, but Yelen's scary when she's crossed, and calling her burek by its proper name is important to her, so Riz does her the courtesy and doesn't include it in his mental tally.

He holds the tupperware over his head to keep it out if the way as he takes careful steps over the piles of notes in his path. The dockman case just closed, relevant documentations handed over to relevant personnels, evidences dealt with as needed; all he has lying around now is just record of the process and traces of himself thinking through it. Unsurprisingly they still haven't invented a surface more convenient for people under five feet who like to pace to put pieces of paper on than the ground.

Actual records go into the case folder with the other documents. Anything else with at least one side still blank is going to the school kids in the block - they chew through an astounding amount of paper just learning arithmetic. The rest is for the recycling basket.

Later. It's his mandated lunch break right now.

Riz sits down in front of the corner file cabinet. In an office often overrun with papers and strings and sometimes even thumbtacks, he's never really managed to clutter up this exact square of surface like every other ones. Ever since the bottom drawer rattled for no discernible reason a day long past, his eyes have always just kinda decided to slide across the space without acknowledging it.

It's years out, now. Riz doesn't know why he thought it such a big deal anymore, back then. He wasn't scared, he doesn't think. Not anymore. Maybe just uncomfortable with the idea that certain things persist despite all efforts to change.

He opens the tupperware. Dame Carabelle's experiment greets him with enough spice in the aroma alone to knock out a small mammal. When he chopped the vegetables for this casserole he couldn't really imagine the eventual heft of it, evident even through just these few ladles' worth, maybe weighing heavier for being still warm. His folk eat more through the smell and the textures and the aftertastes than the taste itself. His folk's meal is really the cooking rather than the eating. The eating is the meal's end.

"Hey," he tells the file cabinet's bottom drawer. "Um."

It's the anniversary. Riz doesn't know the exact date of his dad's death; nobody currently alive does. He and Mom both use the date of the funeral, though as he moved out to Bastion and then got more directly involved with Interplanar he hasn't really been going to Dad's grave as much. Doesn't seem like very efficient use of his time, catching a train or borrowing a car or spending a whole spell slot on going somewhere he knows Dad isn't at. They're sorta coworkers now. They talk on and off every other week between missions. When he goes now, it's just to clean up the place, keeping the landmark tidy and respectable.

Without that work to mark the date he doesn't really know what it serves anymore. But he still remembers it. Still takes note, absently or not, when it comes around.

There's not really a good way to tell the drawer that. Riz looks for another way to start the... conversation, hopefully. The question at play, he'd guess, is why he's doing this. He's been pretty content ignoring all the rattlings and the knocks from inside and the times it sits slightly ajar without him ever opening it himself; hell, he still uses the three drawers on top of it. Space is fucking precious in Bastion.

Precious enough to finally fix this damn drawer so he gets his turn to use it? Riz asks himself. Is that what we're getting to? Then he dismisses the thought - he didn't manage to fix it the times he actually tried, let alone-- now. When he doesn't really care that much to.

That's probably a good place to start. "'s fine if you keep being in there, turns out," Riz says.

The lunch hours are quiet in the block, sleepy and bright with the brief window of sunlight that manages to break through roof overhangs and extended balconies and laundry lines and climbing vines. Riz's work isn't loud here (the loud parts happen away from his office, if everything goes right), but the fragment of early summer heat reflected in the steady warmth his meal still carries compels him to lower his voice even more. It makes the words feel intimate, in a way he's never been familiar with - if he says something he just says it. He doesn't whisper. If he gives his friends something, he gives it open-palm. He's found out, along the way, that people usually don't think of rituals and courtesies the way he does.

Small voice for a diminished monster. "You know why I think so?" Riz asks. "Because almost two decades ago you kidnapped me and almost killed me, and now you rattle a drawer in my office."

It doesn't sound as much like a taunt as Riz wanted it to; the drawer has made a lot of noises again this morning when he checked the calendar, and he was definitely annoyed at it. Now, though, facing it like this after cooking the whole morning with more grandparents and peers from the block than he can count on both hands to cater for a tenant union meeting, he thinks the annoyance has morphed. Changed shape.

It has the shades of something like pity. Riz is not prone to pity, and especially not at these kinda matters. It's slightly maddening that he coheres perfectly outside of this one spot. That he commands his spaces, except for a drawer.

He puts the tupperware onto the floor between himself and the cabinet. "I know we're aware it's the anniversary," he says at the drawer. "You do this every year. You make a ruckus every time I decide to go do my job instead of mooching off my friends' aircon, and every time I get an invitation to some stupid social thing I want to turn down, and every time one of the old people tries to introduce me to a child or a nibling, because being a bachelor over thirty is weird," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have three fucking jobs. I love doing my fucking jobs. I'm forcing funds into infrastructures. You're never leaving, are you."

The drawer vibrates lightly. It's a very, very mild acknowledgement, considering the history of reactions Riz has gotten from this thing. Riz thinks it's emanating joyous agreement, or satisfaction.

It only sharpens the pity. Riz doesn't like that, but it's how it is. That's, ultimately, the lesson he's been taught over and over and over again, just by existing as himself, turned every which way by space after space that don't see him eye-to-eye: it's not like he'd quit living over any of it. It's not like any of it can sand off these fundamental pieces of him.

He's outgrown a lot of things, he's found out. Again, and again, and again. A childhood home, a yearly trip, a monster.

"'s probably scary for you, huh?" He asks. "Because I left."

He thinks he hears joints creak that sound like you did. Probably the way a scorned lover would say it, in a movie or a yellowback. He has no more connection to the idea than he did as a kid. Less, because it doesn't even scare him.

"That's what it is, right? That it's the anniversary, and I'll never be like Dad." He raises a knee from the floor, pulls it back closer to him. Slings an arm over it. "You love to remind me. The thing is, Dad also left. He loved Mom and he loved me, and none of us wanted it to happen, but it still did. Because love does fuckall to make anyone stay on its own."

He's long past being bitter about it. It's just the facts. Once upon a time he looked into the future and the specter of his friends' happily-ever-after casted lightless, fathomless shadow over him. Love, marriage, that kind of devotion, to a fifteen-year-old with more solved cases than friends seemed so eternal. Final.

But you can only watch your friends build up apps' worth of jilted lovers for so long before getting over it.

"You know what I learned?" Riz tells the drawer. "Love doesn't make anyone stay. Project management does."

He stands up, and picks up the tupperware of Dame Carabelle's casserole, that he helped make, that he helped share with a block's worth of neighbors and members of a community he's at home with, and goes sit at his desk to eat. "Last chance to get any," he drops an offer over his shoulder as he walks away.

He doesn't eat all of his share in one go. What he's spared he leaves on the desk when going outside for a smoke break. Baron looks the exact same as when he saw them last, when he catches a glimpse; they haven't grown at all. They aren't there when he comes back inside, but the leftover has gone days-old cold, like someone's sucked the future out of it.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #riz gukgak #baron from the baronies #this is set a Long time into the future. riz is like 32 in this one #''I will go to sleep'' so turns out that was a fucking lie #lmao I just needed to finally externalize this idea into Some kind of more final form #initially I aimed for a comic with this but ooughgoughhh I am. indisposed. unable to do that rn #and also I feel like there would just be too fucking much Riz Saying Words in that format for it to work. and I always go if theres so much #words in ur comic might as well make it a fic. and well. heeding my own advice perhaps #just been sitting on this sentiment of like. perceiving romantic relationships as uniquely permanent or conclusive #when the vast majority of people I know would hugely benefit from a divorce lmao #since watching fhjy at least. I think in a sense this is kind of my personal answer for that sticky note style comic I did way back thens #how much of that fear of being deprioritized comes from not being taken care of by the community you're in #I think that's the prettiest answer I can give for riz's deal. not one singular Special Person no matter the kind of flavour #but spaces that he's integrated in. that he has a hand in building even #okay NOW I sleep. everyone be quiet ok small voice for good sleep. it wont be a lie this time I prommy

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