#vampire Rhys

[honeybeefae]

Hi!!! Hope you feel better soon🩷🩷! I know that getting dental work done sucks ass every time. I have a little idea that I couldn’t get out of my head and needed to tell someone lol

I’ve seen people talk about Vampire! Rhys and it’s doing things to me. He tastes your blood once and now he can’t have another person’s blood because you just taste too damn good. He wants to turn you but doesn’t want to stop tasting you at the same time.

He makes sure to be careful when feeding off of you so he doesn’t hurt you too much. After he’s done, he takes care of you by cleaning you up and making sure you eat and drink water then rewards you and thanks you by fucking until you can’t walk for days afterwards.

He becomes super fucking possessive over you and basically ruins you for any other male. Every time he goes down on you he bites your inner thighs. He goes after any male that tries to make a move on you.

I could go on longer but it would get kinda dark pretty quickly lol. I just had to tell someone that because it was just sitting in my head.

ANON?!!! STOP??

I’m writing this. Multi chapter. Smut. Dark. I hope you don’t mind but that’s hot as FUCK and needs to be written.

Brb 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ok I just saw your Vamp!Rhys brain rot headcanons post and I'm letting you know right now if you do not develop them into full blown chapters for Vamp!Rhys I'll literally sue for emotional damages ok thank you <3

lol I suppose I can make that happen ;)

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Ancient Recipes

The bed is, surprisingly, empty when you awaken, the last rays of evening light filtering in through a crack in the curtains. Your hands brush absently through the cold sheets as if they could tell you where he’d disappeared off to. He’s not usually up this early.

With a yawn, you slide out of bed and yank on one of his discarded shirts, leaving the silky button down open down the middle in a half-hearted attempt at decency before padding off in search of him. 

The library and game room is empty, the curtains pulled tight, the air a little stuffy. You can hear Cassian snoring from behind his closed door and a tendril of shadow still guard’s Azriel’s door handle, telling you that he’s not off with either of them this early.

Eventually, you find yourself wandering down into the kitchen, expecting it to be empty too, but figuring it’s worth a shot. You’re surprised to find Rhys bent over the stove, shirtless, sleep pants slung low over his hips as he carefully chops a mix of vegetables. His ears twitch as you walk towards him, a sure sign that he hears your approach. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he says without turning. You can hear the pout in his voice without seeing the purse of those full lips you love so much.

“Missed you,” you say as you slide your arms around his waist and bury your head between his shoulder blades.

He sets the knife down long enough to run a hand over where yours hold his waist. “I was coming right back.”

You place a kiss against his spine before leaning around him to get a better view of what he’s doing. “I didn’t know you could cook?”

“I am a thousand years old, Darling,” he purrs. “That’s a long time to not learn how to prepare a meal.”

There’s an old, hand written book propped up against the stone wall, the swirling script fading under the cruel hands of time in a language long forgotten. The pages are brittle and yellow now, the date written in the corner nearly illegible. 

“What are you making?”

Skilled hands throw in diced vegetables and dried herbs into a pot simmering with some sort of red sauce. “Something my mother used to make me,” he says softly. “These are her recipes.”

Your chest tightens. He’d told you about the hunters that had killed his mother and sister not long after that night when those hunters had come for you. He’d, understandably, been on edge since, the encounter bringing up a lot of old memories he hadn’t touched. It’s little surprise that he would try and find some solace here.

“Smells good,” you say. 

He twists and pulls you in front of him, so you can watch as he works. “Can’t find all the right ingredients,” he frowns. “Some of these spices have been lost to time. I think these will work instead. Hopefully.”

Rhys dips a wooden spoon into the bubbling liquid and brings it to your lips, “Try this for me?”

You give it a second to cool before taking a taste, the mixture both earthy and spicy, but deliciously warm. “It’s good!”

“Yes, but is it right?” He insists.

You tilt your head up to look at him, brows raised, “How would I know, Rhysand? By the sound of it, most of the things you’re missing were lost to the world before my parents were even born.”

You think if he was capable of it he might have blushed against the mistake. Instead, he kisses the top of your head. “I suppose I could ask Az.” He licks a bit of the mixture, frowning as he goes, before putting the spoon directly back into the pot. Apparently a key ingredient in ancient recipes is a little bit of saliva. 

A moment later, the shadowy vampire emerges, summoned for this oh so important errand. Azriel’s dark hair is sleep tousled, shadows swirling lazily around his bare shoulders. Any other morning with the two males looking like this you would have climbed them like a tree, but this morning is apparently for other things, as Rhys nearly flings the spoon in Azriel’s direction. 

“What am I missing?” He demands.

Az takes a taste and spits it into the sink. “What did you do?!” He all but shoves the two of you out of the way to reach for the spice rack in the cupboards above your head. “Your mother would have beat you with that spoon.”

“I know!” Rhys huffs. “What did I forget?”

Azriel starts opening old jars of dried herbs and adding them into the pot. “Egg and thyme for one thing, dumbass.”

Rhys grabs the book off the counter and looks more closely at the recipe, keeping one arm around your shoulders to have you close even so. “Oh, yeah I did forget the egg.”

Azriel cracks four of them into the mixture, before throwing in more herbs. “You’re cooking it too high too.”

Rhys brushes his lips over your hair. “Wanted to bring it to you in bed before you woke up.”

You twist and lean up on your toes to give him a proper good morning kiss. “I would have loved it anyway.”

“Human taste buds are disgusting,” Azriel huffs.

You hear Cassian’s footsteps before you see the half-awake vampire stumble into the kitchen. “Are we cooking what I think we are?”

“Not if Rhys has anything to do with it,” Azriel huffs.

“It was for Y/N!” Rhys returns. “I didn’t make enough for everyone.”

“But she’s so good at sharing,” Cassian says with a wink, his sleep thick voice enough to make heat pool between your legs. 

Rhys lifts you up and places you on the counter, beside where Azriel still chops more ingredients, so he can kiss you deeper this time. “Mine.” 

“Not with your cooking she’s not,” Azriel quips. 

Cassian tuts as he comes over to Azriel’s other side and dips a finger into the now simmering pot. Azriel smacks his hand with the back of the wooden spoon and Rhys hisses, fangs glinting in the candlelight.

“How are you supposed to take care of the little human if you can’t even cook her a decent meal?” He brings his fingers to his mouth for a taste, then frowns. “Do neither of you own any peppers at all? What is this, baby food?”

“I added the aleppo, just as the recipe said!” Rhys retorts. 

“You definitely didn’t! Your mother never made anything this bland!” Cassian insists.

“I’m following the recipe!”

Azriel snatches the book, scarred hands thumbing quickly through the pages. “I remember it being spicier.”

Rhys frowns. “Maybe we’re thinking of that other recipe she used to make?”

“No that one was for dinner,” Cassian returns. “I definitely remember a spicy breakfast dish. Especially on cold winter mornings.”

“He’s right,” Azriel chimes in, eyes still glued to the pages. 

“I mean, our tastes did change when we turned, maybe we’re the problem?” Cassian asks, running a hand over his face in thought. 

“Your tastes change when you turn?” You ask.

“A little,” Rhys says with a frown, violet eyes on the dish. “Maybe you’re right, Cass. Did you think it was spicy, Darling?” 

“A little,” you reply. “It could use more, I think, but again, I’ve never tried it before so I’m not exactly an expert.”

Cass peers into the pot. “It looks right.”

Azriel sets the book back on the counter with nothing short of reverence. “Guess it is us.”

Rhys’s face falls, it’s like watching him lose a piece of the past. You take his face in your hands and kiss the tip of his nose. “I think any mother would be proud to know that you loved something so much that you put all this effort into sharing it, whether is tastes the same or not.”

His grin is soft, like the kiss he plants on your lips, taking his time to pull out of it.

“Thank you for sharing a piece of you with me,” you say.

Azriel scoops it up into four small portions, the wooden dishes old and reminiscent of a time long passed. Not the formal dining ware they bring out at parties, but a little piece of home that managed to survive the passage of time. 

It’s delicious, Az had been right about needing the egg and thyme, it brings a more rounded flavor to the dish. But it would have been equally fine if Rhys had brought the first attempt to you in bed, simply because he loved you enough to try and make something for you even when he could not fully enjoy it himself. It tastes all the better because it’s something the four of you can share, can make new memories out of. You certainly will not forget it, not even in the coming change of your mortality. 

“Well now you’ve got me curious for what other ancient recipes you’ve been hiding,” you say as the meal comes to a close. 

“You make us sound like we’re old as dirt,” Cassian huffs. 

You wink up at Rhys as he kisses your temple. “A thousand years is a long time. What else can you make for me?”

[azziesbattybaddie]

Lady in red

Kinktober day 1 - First time/blood play

Vamp!Rhysand x reader

Rhys is always carful with you and absolutely never drinks from you, but when you finally decided to spend your first night together Rhys has some trouble controlling his hunger for you.

Word count: 1.2k

Requested: no

Warnings: smut(obviously), P in V, no protection(wrap it before you tap it guys), blood play, language, insinuated oral F receiving, vampire Rhysand(he is his own warning)

Content: 🔥

Author's note: so I've decided that I will be participating in kinktober this year but make it solely Acotar. This is day 1 so I'm super excited to start this year! Enjoy!

AN #2: oh look at that I'm already late posting, fyi I am in the middle of moving right now so if I miss a day or Im late posting I apologize but Imma try my best.

"you always look beautiful, y/n darling, but cauldron do you look absolutely radiant right now..."

Rhys stood at the doorway his hand nestled in his pockets as he leaned on the frame and simply admired your barley covered figure. You had waited for him upstairs laying under the sheets naked and waiting. you were still a virgin and you wanted your first time to be special so you decided to wait until you were really feeling the mood.

You had went with Rhys and his brothers to the gym today which is the reason you decided that tonight would be the night after seeing your boyfriend shirtless and dripping sweat as he sparred with his younger brother. The whole day you couldn't keep your mind off of wanting to lick your way from his distinct V-line to his neck. Obviously you hadn't realized that being immortal, means extended stamina and shit if I wasn't hot as fuck seeing Rhys keep moving for so damn long.

You laid under the thin sheets of your boyfriend's bed, laying bare as you waited for him to cross the room. He stalked forward as his eyes looked down your barley covered form as if he could see straight through the thin material. You leaned back on your hands and pushed your chest out with false confidence as the white fabric fell away from your chest.

Rhysand's eyes darked and stared at your exposed breasts and before taking a deep breath, dragging his eyes up to yours and lifting a knee to the bed as he crawled to you, his large frame coming to hover over you.

"as much as I want to absolutely devour you at the moment," he took a deep breath and closed his eyes taking a large inhale through his nose. "I haven't eaten in a few days and the last thing I want to do is lose control with you..."

Even though he was trying to talk himself out of taking you right then and there his body betrayed him. His hands found your waist, pulling the sheet down you expose more of your body to him. His eyes roamed over you as if he were thinking of all the things he wanted to to to you before twining his hand in the back of your hair and pulling your lips to his. His mouth was hot on yours and he pulled your body up to straddle his kneeling thighs, your lips still tangled with his. His scent filled your nose. He smells like old books and spices and leather.

"Rhys please, I trust you." You wrap your arms around his neck and grind yourself down on his lap desperately. Rhys growls as he looks down at your naked self. Gripping your waist as he guides your hips to rock against him again. The zipper of his pants, strained against his hardening cock, rubs deliciously against your clit.

You rake your hands down his chest and start trying to tear at his buttons. As soon as the honey tan skin of his stomach is revealed you shove him onto his back lightly and straddle his hips properly. You lean over him and cup his face in both hands before kissing him as tenderly as you can.

"I trust you..." You innunciante each word in hopes of convincing him to take your and stop worrying about his control. You felt his hands run up your skin and settle on your waist before your flipped on your back at an inhuman speed that made your head spin. You felt it before you registered what he had done exactly but you felt the head of him running over your slit gently.

"Look at me, darling I need you to promise me that if it hurts your going to tell me. Do you understand?" You nod your head furiously as your eyes are locked on the top of his cock barely dipping into your heat before returning. You felt like you were on fire watching but a hand gripped your chin firmly and tilted your head up to meet purple eyes. "Words, my love. I need you to use your words. Do you understand?"

"Yes Rhys, I understand ah-" you were cut off, barely getting the words out before you felt him start to sink into you. He buried his face in your neck and you felt the tiniest pricks of something sharp as he left open mouthed kisses in his wake, trying to distract you from any discomfort.

You bury your fingers in his hair tussling the locks and you feel him scratching you out. It bordered on pain but it felt so good at the same time that you hardly noticed. After a moment he bottomed out with a growl and withdrew himself before burying himself to the hilt again and licking a stripe from the valley of your breasts to your ear, nibbling on the lobe.

Rhys could feel and hear your heartbeat start to thunder in your veins and he picked up the pace. You could feel him, running your hands over his tense muscles as he thrusted unto you at a fast but gentle pace. You lock your ankles behind his back and arch your chest into him as he starts to hit a new angle.

You were lost in him. His smell, the feel of his skin, just the feel of him, it was all too much and not enough at the same time. You were begging for him too keep going, every thrust of his cock set fire to you body and you could feel a somewhat familiar burn starting to consume your stomach. That tugging in your abdomen every time the ridge of his cock rubbed against your clit as he pulled out to the top only to sink in again was maddening.

You were starting to teater on the edge your orgasm approaching at a startling pace. You tried to rock your hips against his, the bedframe creaking from your effort. The feeling of fire burning it's way through you was about to burst and you heard rhys mutter a curse to himself before a sharp pain radiated in the side of your neck. He pushed your hips down on the bed so he could drill into you as his fangs sank deep into your soft flesh, the taste of salt and sweet copper flooding his mouth as he let out a sinful groan at the taste.

"Ah- Rhys!" Yelling his name out as you came hard around him, the sickly sweet burn of his teeth in your neck throwing you head first over the edge. Rhys let your ride out your high for a few minutes before lapping at your neck to get the bleeding to stop and pulling his still rock hard cock out from you. He looked down as he did seeing a small trail of blood lacing his shaft.

"Rhys why did you stop, you didn't eve-" you didn't finish your sentence as he quickly kissed his way down your body and settled himself with his head between your legs.

"If you think I'm going to waste this little treat or that I even close to done with you tonight, than you are very much mistaken..."

[erandraws]

Something something about being best friends irl but also kissing eachother on screen??

[tadpolesonalgae]

Vampire!Rhysand x reader: Mercy, Devil

A/N: I meant to write this for October since it sounded spooky, but honestly I’m happy I didn’t because now I get to write something supernatural in the lead up to Christmas!

Warnings: blood, vampirism, eventual poly relationship

Word Count: 5,064

-Part 2-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

You’ve always had a strange fixation with the phantasmal night of all hallows eve. Something particular about the thought of ghastly apparitions being freed to sew discord and chaos through the monotony of everyday life entices your pulse to spike dangerously. Blood thrumming in your veins.

Clouds seal the full moon to the sky, casting shadows throughout the already dense and dark woodland. Twigs snap and crackle beneath your feet as you continue along the path through the ancient forest. Gnarled branches reach into your way, like talons of some malignant beast stretching to grasp you in its claws. Heart bumps against its cage, pale robes swishing provocatively in your wake, a pale glow of white contained within the darkness of night.

Before you, the abandoned castle looms, cutting a towering silhouette as it’s lit by a crack of lightening, splitting the heavens in two. Ravens caw and crow, taking sudden flight to the stormy skies, wind picking up as it whips the leaves from branches, thunder and rain coming on in an abrupt onslaught, seemingly out of nowhere. The water lashes at your skin, thoroughly soaking your robes, slicking the thin fabric to your skin.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to follow the tug toward the old castle site, a chill running up your spine as you’re lured closer, path quickly muddying beneath your feet as you stumble through the howling wind and screaming rain, reaching the base of the entry way. Hurriedly trample up the carved steps, passing by the large carved gargoyles hunched either side of the case. Lightening crackles again, bursting across the thundery sky and you dive for the cover of the hewn-rock archway, seeking shelter from the torrent of heavy droplets.

Plaster yourself to the looming door, the skull knocker digging into your shoulder as you rest against it. The wood gives way, and you yelp as you stumble back, tripping up over your feet, cloak getting caught as you’re sent falling onto your ass. A stray wind whips through the interior, door slamming shut before your very eyes, locked in darkness. Tendrils of hot breath curl before your face in the low temperature of the castle, and you hurry to your feet.

Flinch as the room comes alight, allowing your eyes to sweep across the grand entrance: rich, polished floorboards bathed with blood-red rugs, a glass chandelier hanging like an abnormal spider above the room, the two sets of large winding staircases, and the dark figure at their peak. Candle light warms the castle hall, and you press back into the locked door, breathing heavily.

“My, my,” the character calls softly, “what has the storm brought in?”

Blink quickly, returning to your senses as reason and rationality are returned. You hadn’t known the castle was occupied… “I’m so sorry, Lord,” you call, hoping your voice carries to his looming perch. “I was out in the forest when the rain came on out of nowhere,” you explain, “I came seeking shelter, but the door wasn’t closed properly, and I fell in.” Heat flushes your cheeks, and you self-consciously step back from the rich rugs, trying to keep the mud from the spotless fabric.

“Fell in?” He echoes, and you could swear you hear the faintest laugh. “There’s been many a grand entrance in these halls, and yet none quite as theatrical as your own.” Suck in a quiet inhale of embarrassment, smoothing down the cloak in attempts to look vaguely presentable for the young aristocrat. “If it’s not too much to ask,” you call out, thankful for the evenness of your voice. “I would like to request shelter until the storm passes, then I promise I will be on my way.”

“Of course,” he replies, “be my guest.” His arm sweeps across the grand hall, encompassing the room with a deliberately relaxed gesture. “What’s mine is yours. Stay as long as it pleases you.”

Almost immediately, your shoulders lose their tension, relieved to not be forced back out into the horrific storm—it really had broken out of nowhere. You dip into a light curtsey, the least you can do to demonstrate your gratitude. “My deepest thanks, lord…?”

“Rhysand,” he calls, voice smooth as velvet, sinful as silk. “You may call me Rhysand.”

————

Strangely, you hadn’t seen another soul since you had arrived, which can’t be right, since the place was clean enough you might have thought it unlived in. Missing the mess of life, a strange deathlessness stalking the flame-lit halls.

Perplexities aside, the lord—Rhysand, as he’d informed you with that strange smile—had been more than welcoming, offering a spare bedroom larger than your home, with clothes to change into. You’d had to fight to keep your mouth from parting in awe from the decadent luxury at his fingertips, the sheer mass of wealth he’s shrouded in. How blasé he is about the display of opulence, immune to the shock and wonder of it all.

“You are free to stay as long as you please,” he’d reminded, glancing over to you from where he stands on the threshold. “Dinner will be served at eight. I’d be delighted if you joined me,” he says, offering the invitation graciously. Brows raise on your forehead, grateful for your stroke of luck. Dip your head in confirmation. “That would be wonderful,” you answer sincerely, “I can’t thank you enough for your generosity, my lord.” He waves his hand dismissively, yet it comes across as charming rather than arrogant. “Rhysand will suffice perfectly,” he replies, sharp eyes cutting to you, lips fashioning themselves into a distinctly feline smile. “Rhys if you feel otherwise inclined.” There’s a suggestive lilt to his honeyed voice that has your hairs standing on end, toes curling in spare slippers.

Dip your head again. “Thank you, Rhysand.”

Something pleasured passes through the darkness of his gaze, but it’s quickly covered as he nods, turning to leave, but pausing. “Feel free to adorn yourself as you please,” he adds on, framing it as an after-thought, despite embodying the antithesis of someone who would speak without thinking. He inclines his head toward the vanity, various sparkling gems strung together, contained within the jewellery armoire. Lips part to politely refuse—he’s already offered so much, it would feel wrong to take advantage of such an opportunity.

But he beats you to it, giving you a smile that suggests he knows exactly what you were about to say. “God turns a blind eye to my castle,” he purrs, lips sinfully curved. “Indulge as you like.”

Then he’s gone, striding away down the blood-red corridors, disappearing out of sight and leaving you alone in the offered room. Completely out of your depth, on unfamiliar ground.

Glance at the grandfather clock—you have a quarter hour to swiftly change into clothes of his taste. You waste no time, hastily closing the door before heading to the armoire provided. He’d told you everything was already prepared, which had initially drawn some questions, but you suppose someone with such a vastness of wealth would always have his doors open to passersby—a different way of displaying opulence.

You settle on the simplest gown you can find, still obscenely intricate, with tiny detailed patches of embroidered lacing the hem and sides. The bodice fits nicely, easy to change into and resting comfortably over your now-dry skin. The skirts are held up by an in-built petty-coat, giving the illusion of shape by flaring out past your waist, grazing your ankles. While the rest of you has been ridden of the lasting effects of rain, your hair remains damp, so you decide to allow it to hang at your back—you’d hate to sleep on the crisp pillows with wet hair.

A single look to the clock reveals you have five minutes before dinner is served, so you decide to peer at the jewellery, making sure to leave time for finding the dining hall. Within the small armoire are a menagerie of necklaces, but you pick out a small string of pearls, the clasps rendered in gold to match with the cream of your gown. Heart beats with infantile excitement at getting to adorn yourself in such expensive clothing, enjoying the cool brush against your skin, the weight of the pearls as they skim your breasts—plumped by the front of the bodice.

The clock ticks, and you turn for the door, leaving no time to change from the slippers that had been offered as you swish out into the hallway, returning the way you had come. Surely the dining hall would be located upon the ground floor…

You head for the swirl of stairs, pausing at their peak—where the sharp-featured lord had stood, surveying his lonely kingdom. The glass pendants suspended from the chandelier glitter and gleam like diamonds, and you span your hands delicately across the polished wood of the banister, taking the time to drink in and admire the antique beauty of his home.

Startle when a palm slides around your waist, spinning fully upon turning to see who’s approached. The banister presses to the base of your spine as you lean to it, his hands lightly holding your sides, resting without squeezing. “I’m glad you were able to find your way,” he says lowly, no need for volume with the proximity you are to one another. “I had worried you might find yourself lost in my halls, and I would have to go searching.”

A polite smile plays on your lips, attempting to calm the flush his silken words inspire beneath your features. “I was admiring your home,” you murmur, one hand pressing atop your breast to calm your heart—maybe also to direct his attention to the softness of cleavage. “The chandelier is wonderful, with how it catches the light. For a moment I thought it was winking at me,” you laugh quietly, demurely ducking your head, casting your gaze away from the sharpness of his own.

Rhysand chuckles lowly, “you have the eyes of a magpie.” Hand lightly raises to the set of shining beads at your throat. “Seemingly the taste of one, too.” He threads his fingers with those atop your breast, bringing your knuckles to the softness of his lips. “May I say, you look positively regal,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to your skin. You’re surprisingly relieved at the coolness of his mouth, soothing the fire that’s thrumming wildly in response to the delightful liberties he’s taking.

This time you can’t bring yourself to look away. Enchanted by the swirling depths of violet.

“If I look regal,” you breathe softly, “it is thanks to your exquisite taste in dress.” He raises a single, neatly groomed brow, and you’re rather glad to have the banister to lean back on. “A raw gem is beautiful even before it’s refined,” he purrs, cool lips skimming your knuckles with each word. “The clothing merely enhances what was already there.”

Open your mouth to deny his flattery, but once again he beats you to it, as if able to read minds. “Now,” he says, standing to his full height, “shall we?” He guides your arm to link with his own, hand pressing to the firmness of muscle beneath the fine fabric of his jacket. All you can manage is a dip of your head in acquiescence before he’s gracefully guiding you to the stairs, leading the way to the dining hall.

“In the mean time,” he says casually, “why don’t you tell me what you were doing, traipsing through the woods on such a morbid night?” Clasp your skirts in one hand, descending the case on his arm, quietly enjoying the gentlemanly mannerisms even if you’re undeserving of them. “It’s all hallows eve,” you answer, honestly, “I found myself yearning the company of the forest.”

“So you decided to play at red-riding hood,” he drawls, mirth coating his teasing words. You manage to shoot him what you hope is a playful glance. “There are no wolves in these forests, Rhysand,” you smile, returning your gaze to the steps. “Besides, these robes are white, not red.”

The two of you reach the base, and he moves to escort you through the archway on your right, leading away from the entrance hall. “That’s the lovely thing about white though, isn’t it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So open to change.” Your brow dips in a subtle show of confusion, narrowing. “What do you mean by that?” Lips carve themself into something distinctly vulpine, sharp canines gleaming beneath the warm light. But he shakes his head, murmuring a “never mind” before continuing through the ornamented room.

“Tell me more about this so-called yearning for the forest,” he goads, drawing you through yet another exquisitely decorated hall, rugs a shade darker now you’ve strayed from the entrance. It’s your turn to shake your head, unsure how to describe it without sounding utterly off your rocker. “It’s hard to say really,” you say truthfully. “The temperature was crisp but not biting, and the sky was overcast without promising a storm— well, I had thought not, though I was clearly mistaken,” you smile, though there’s an intensity to his gaze you hadn’t noticed before. You quickly avert your eyes, peering instead at the large banquet table you’re swiftly approaching.

“I think, if I’m being quite plain, the quiet suited me in that moment,” you admit softly. “I didn’t know those forests were capable of being quiet,” he mutters, “they must like you.” You shoot him a questioning look, but he simply smiles, again shaking his head. “I was merely thinking out loud,” he clarifies, pulling out your chair. You politely take the seat, smoothing out your skirts as he tucks you in. “I’d be interested in hearing more of your inner thoughts,” you say, “they sound quite intriguing.”

Rhysand pauses, hands resting atop the back of your chair, “would you now?” Spine stiffens when you feel icy air brush your temple, tilting your head to figure where the stray breeze came from. Freeze when his lips graze the shell of your ear, fingers halting in your lap. “Would you like to know what I’m thinking right now?” He inquires lowly, startling heat simmering in your lower abdomen. Manage a slight dip of your chin in tense confirmation. Lips trail lower, ghosting below your ear, brushing your neck. But then he pulls away, standing straight, offering a charming smile. “I’m thinking it would be a shame to be seated so far apart from you, and that I will have to move to be at your side.” Then he’s striding to the end to retrieve the crockery laid out, cutlery held in his free hand.

While his back is turned, you take the moment to try and calm your racing heart, startled by the vivacious beat being drummed against your ribs. You should be better equipped to face him, yet he’s seamlessly pulling you apart, stitch by stitch. All effortless charm and debonair grace. By the time he’s returned, you’ve managed to reach a state of near relaxation, just an edge of tension still gnawing at your spine.

“So, Rhysand,” you say quietly, nervous to intrude too deeply into the air of the castle. “Does your family live with you?” When he begins taking food to his plate, you follow suit, assuming the dinner has commenced, and that it will be fine for you to now start on the delicious meal laid before you. “Occasionally they fly by,” he answers with that playful smile, its reflection mirrored upon your lips. “I have two brothers who will visit from time to time, though they have their own hunting grounds to preside over.”

He hunts? You would have thought someone dressed as finely as he is would have little interest in such a superficial task. Particularly if there’s no one to converse with during the process. An image of him dressed in hunting leathers flashes through your mind, as if put there by an encouraging hand. “Preside over?” You ask, raising a forkful of food to your mouth.

Rhysand nods, smiling faintly as he watches you. “Indeed. They require a surprising amount of attention. Making sure the game are well-kept so none are driven from the lands,” he elaborates, and you nod along, surprised to find yourself interested in the subject. “What counts as being well-kept?” You ask once done with the food in your mouth, eagerly moving to the next piece. “Making sure they are well-fed,” he answers with a playful smile, “that generally keeps them happy.”

You blink, then smile. It’s nice to know he takes care of the animals on his land. That they’re looked after before their death. More humane than some of the things you’ve seen in your small hamlet. “I take it you hunt for pleasure?” You asks, eager to learn more about the charming lord. But he shakes his head, “not regularly. Or rather, not as regularly as some others I know.” A frown seems to dip his brows, and you wish to change the subject. His knife slices through the meat on his plate, carving it up into neat little squares for polite, bite-sized snacks. “Besides, I fear if my game notices it’s being picked off, it will run for the hills.”

Laughter bubbles across your breast-bone with his little quirks. The idea that his prey would be at all self-aware is rather amusing, while also strangely heart-warming. “If hunting is not a hobby of yours, how do you spend your time?” You ask, relaxing into the pleasantly stimulating conversation. “Welcoming rain-soaked women into my castle, of course,” he drawls, a wide smile spreading across your lips, quickly raising your hand to cover your mirth-filled grin. “You’ve given me no reason to doubt, yet I haven’t laid eyes on a single other soul here,” you reply, peering at him.

Lips quirk, and he reaches for his glass of red wine, thoroughly opaque, darkened in the flame light. “Everyone else has gone home for the night,” he answers, sipping at the thick liquid. “It’s just us, my lady.” Flush at the title, returning to concentrate on the meal. “I am no lady, Rhysand,” you respond softly, cutting into the rich meat on your plate. “And yet if I were to walk through those doors and find you dining alone, I would not think you looked even a spot out of place in my home,” he says, equally hushed.

Cutlery stills in your hands, raising your eyes to swirling violet. It strikes you then what a spectacular colour it is. Manage a shy smile, “your flattery is outrageous.” He’s quiet for a short spell, before also lowering his cutlery. “Do I look like I’m lying to you?” You’re surprised by the sincerity of his tone. Throat rolls as you observe him, head still lowered shyly. “I’ve known you for not even a night,” you murmur, unable to quite pull your focus from him. “You could,” he answers lowly, voice pitched down a few keys.

Blink, taken aback. You must be misunderstanding. Swallow thickly, making to return to your plate, but— “Don’t look away,” he instructs softly, coaxing your eyes back to his. Mind swims through heat, the world dimming around him, as if blanketed by a thick fog. “I…I couldn’t say,” you manage, a strange wariness prickling at the nape of your neck. Hairs rising with the intensity of his gaze.

The lord is quiet again, watching you with those strange, wonderful eyes. But then he pulls away, spearing a sectioned piece of meat with his fork. “Forgive me,” he says, “I shouldn’t have been so crass with you. I find myself so rarely with civilised company my manners are often forgotten.”

You shift in your seat, a bout of cold icing your skin in the absence of his attention. “No, it’s fine,” you say, finished with your meal, gently setting down the knife and fork. “I was simply caught off guard. The truth is I would feel as though I was taking advantage of your generosity, Rhysand.” You notice he’s also finished, but are unable to recall at what point. “What’s mine is yours,” he reminds lowly, eyes glinting.

Pulse spikes in response, something dark in that look that has you urging to run. The question is: in what direction?

“You seem tired,” he observes, glancing at the grandfather clock. Brows raise as he reads the time. “Appropriately. It’s nearing midnight,” he drawls. Lips part in surprise, how has it been that long? It feels like you sat down to eat less than an hour ago, yet it’s already beginning the ascent into morning. “Nearly midnight?” You echo, following his gaze. The clock indeed reads twelve, the hour hand raised as if poised to strike down.

Rhysand stands from his chair, refolding the napkin before stretching out his hand. “I would hate for you to sleep poorly because of me. Allow me escort you back to your room,” he asks quietly, all traces of previous heat removed, replaced by well-mannered charm. You manage a nod, arm once again overlapping with his own, making to follow him through the labyrinthine halls.

It hits you then, the vastness of his castle—how desolate the space must be. Especially with how rarely he apparently gets to meet with anyone he cares for. “You know, before tonight I had thought your castle was abandoned,” you say absently, taking in the elaborate decorations with more appreciation. “I’ll admit, it sometimes feels that way,” he replies, deep voice tracing down your spine. Push the heat aside for the moment, turning to glance at him. “Do you ever get lonely?” You ask quietly, aware of the ice you’re treading.

He hesitates, momentarily meeting your gaze before continuing onward, reaching the stairs. “Quite possibly,” he answers, “it would certainly be reason for my appalling lapse in manners earlier tonight.” His lips are lifted at their edges, yet you can’t quite manage to return the smile. It must be difficult, having all this space with only his self to fill it. Then again, with the intensity he’s occasionally pinned you with, that doesn’t seem like a particularly hard task.

“Tell me about your own hobbies,” he requests, breaking from your inner thoughts. “I feel as though I’ve spoken more than enough for tonight.” But you’re shaking your head before you can help it, speaking before you can stop it. “I like the sound of your voice,” you admit quietly. Violet eyes flick to you, weighing on your cheek…your neck. “It’s soothing. Like a lullaby.”

You don’t know what’s gotten into you.

He stares, and heat blossoms beneath your skin. That was incredibly uncalled for on your part.

“I hope not,” he says at last, humiliation burning at your insides as you hastily look away. But then he comes to a stop, hand reaching for your jaw, drawing your helpless gaze to lock with his own. “Because putting you to sleep right now is the last thing on my mind,” he breathes lowly.

Oh.

Chest rises and falls steadily, becoming aware of how breathless you feel, how utterly bare you are beneath that look of his. Tongue flicks out over your lower lip, mouth parched. “Tell me…what’s the first thing on your mind then, Rhys.” Attention pierces to the plushness of your lips, and you’re suddenly in need of that banister from earlier. “You want to know what I’d do with you if you let me?” He asks, voice rougher than it was moments before. Pulse spikes beneath that intensity, breath shallowing, but you manage a nod.

He groans lowly, hand dropping to your waist, lightly resting along the seam of the bodice. Cool fingers stroke away a lock of hair, pads grazing the heat of your cheek as he stares down at you. “I’m not sure such things are for your ears, magpie,” he grits out, applying a light bit of force to your waist. “Tell me anyway,” you breathe, hands raising to the fine lapels of his jacket, more eager to put them in his hair.

A rough sound of conflicted pleasure rumbles in his chest. “Such lovely things,” he promises, violet darkening with desire, swirling and dancing as he drinks you in. “So lovely you wouldn’t be able to pull away once I’d started.”

Heat numbs rationality, mind melting as the words warmly splash over your bones, sinking into marrow as you become soft and supple beneath his touch. Step into the lines of his body, feeling as his fingers press to your sides with tension. “Do it,” you breathe, quietly. “Please.”

Cunning satisfaction releases through the male, pleased with how quickly you changed your mind once he applied himself to the task. He’d gotten a sense of your taste before dinner, when he’d pushed you in, and it had been enough to convince him even though he’d fed not even a week ago, he would have to sample you. Now here you are, head tilted, eyes having fluttered shut, offering yourself to him for an entirely different set of wants. Maybe he will indulge your desires—if you satisfy his, that is.

You’ll be on the floor colder than ice if you fail to do so.

He moves in, hand cupping the nape of your neck as he lowers his mouth to yours. Lamb had been served over dinner, and he finds the taste pleasant on your tongue, stoking the embers of his hunger as he presses himself against the soft shape of you, partially hidden by the blasted dress and pearls. A small sound gets caught in your throat, and he revels in the feeling of your fingers tightening on the lapels of his jacket. As if you’re experiencing even a fraction of the hunger he has for you.

Works his way down your jaw, taking his time as he descends to your neck. Nosing at the pronounced pulse, liking how you tilt your head to one side, freely gifting him access. Lips graze the spot he’s chosen, tongue flicking out to drag along hot skin—so hot it practically burns.

Razor-sharp canines scrape, and he feels the exact moment you go rigid in his arms. But by then it’s too late, his teeth piercing your throat, injecting his philtre-laced venom into your bloodstream. The familiar taste of adrenaline and arousal spills on his tongue, bursting from the small puncture marks he’s made, quick to heal over with the aid of saliva. Drinks you down, savouring the richness of your blood, sealing his lips over the incisions, taking more, and more, and more—

He forcefully drags himself away, vision turning hazy, the scent of your life-force spinning his mind. Breathes heavily, the rich and spicy tang still prominent in his mouth, sapid and hot. Tongue darts out to wet his lips, gathering up faint traces that remain there, and then he’s being pulled back, already so deeply enamoured.

Canines re-pierce that same spot, reopening the incisions as your blood burns his throat, inspiring heat in his long-dead body. It’s as if he’s returning to life, having it shot through his veins, snaring him in the addicting flavour. Lips seal over the puncture marks, drinking deeply, swallowing down more and more.

He should stop.

He knows he should stop—he’ll bleed you dry, and then he’ll never have another taste. Arousal coats his tongue, and heat spreads across his skin, bone-deep aches making themselves apparent, as if forcefully dragging him to you. Your hands have dropped from his jacket, instead weakly rubbing at his shoulder and chest, unable to do much more than hold yourself up.

But the taste—the sheer heaven you’ve put into him again. If he stops drinking, it will pass, and he’ll return to that permanent state of death, cold and solitary. But you’re bleeding sunlight into him, sunlight that’s dappled and controlled instead of the unrestricted blaze that would incinerate him in the blink of an eye.

A quiet gasp slips from your lips, fingers losing their grip on his clothing, beginning to slip, but just a little more…one more gulp…one more sip…

“Mercy, devil,” he breathes onto your neck, as if in pain. “What God-damning angel are you?” He growls, trembling hands cupping your cheeks, sharp violet eyes locked on the small marks to your throat. “You’ve bewitched me. I must…” Then he’s surging forward, slamming you against the wall with inhuman force, hand gripping your jaw as he roughly tilts your head to the side. Groans, hot tongue licking over the soft skin, elongated incisors pricking as they again pierce.

Pulse spikes beneath his grip, growing dizzy as he drinks deeply, hands pressed to your shoulders to pin you still. Vision blurs, lips parting as you raise your arms in attempt to push him away, but end up desperately clinging to the finely spun fabric cloaking his back. Limbs go weak, turning limp in his hold as he feeds, a pleasurable spin overcoming your mind, turning pliable beneath his teeth.

He groans, pulling away only in favour of going lower, suctioning now-hot lips over a new, unmarked patch of skin. Blood bursts on his tongue, rich and spicy, not yet too ripe but void of the sour bite that’s present in the young. Heaven and hell blend together in his mouth, mixing so appetisingly he could never—

“Rhys…” you whisper, pleading. Less than a breath left before you—

Your body slumps, and his is trembling so violently the best he can do is go with you as you slide down the wall, blood trickling down onto the pure, white pearls. He knew they’d get in the way.

He hauls himself away, shocked at the utter lack of control you had subjected him to. How his discipline shudders in your presence, practically brought to its knees for a single drop more.

Earlier he had considered making a bottle or two out of you to send off to his brothers, ready for consumption.

Looking at you now, he can hardly stand the thought.

What’s mine is yours…and what’s yours is mine.

Your blood is his, and his only.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[golyadkin]

Would you believe me if I said I have more of these

[queercontrarian]

@officialrhysandweek Day 7: Free Day

AU: Interview with the Vampire

POV: you could not prevent it (the scheme you cooked up yourself)

i literally failed to finish even a single one of my rhys week fics so drawing something was my last way to even contribute anything and @separatist-apologist's idea of armand!rhys has not left my head since the moment i read it

also second transparent version under the cut

[azsazz]

Run Baby Run

Summary: Anon Request: For the vampire Rhys.. you choose 🫣

Warnings: Descriptions of blood.

Word Count: 1,603

Notes: Why vamp!Rhys kinda...🥵

_________________________________________

“You,” he prowls, caging you in. Hands planted on either side of your head, his biceps strain against the tight fabric of his finely pressed shirt. You can feel the chill radiating off him, cutting through the already cool night like a blade made of ice. Goosebumps break out across your flesh, but you will your body still as the spider-like shivers claw up your spine. Your heart stutters in your chest and you catch the gleam of his elongated canines glinting in the bright moonlight. “Don’t smell like the Night court, and you must not be from here because if you were, you’d know better than to walk alone at night.”

He trails a finger down your cheek, and you flinch at how frozen it feels against your hot cheeks. Your breath hitches in your throat and you press your palms into the building behind you to ground yourself, gaze slipping away from his intense violet eyes to stare at the embroidered collar of his shirt instead.

The Night Court insignia stares straight back at you.

Vampire. You want to cry, to knee him in the balls and run screaming up the streets, all the way back into the inn. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll make it. The lock will slide shut and you can hide underneath the thick quilt, far, far away from the monster before you, from the ones lurking in the night.

The corner of his mouth pulls into a smirk, and he nods, dropping the arm keeping you before him. “Go ahead and run, darling. Let’s see how far it gets you.”

You gulp, eyes flickering up on a moment of their own will to look at him again. He’s devastatingly handsome, straight features and dark hair pristinely cut and styled. His skin lacks the tan glow of life but if you squint you might just be able to make out the barely there color of his lips, the fangs peeking out at you.

But those eyes, rich violet and glowing with excitement. He looks ready for a hunt, as if it would be an absolute honor to chase you through the streets and hold you down as he takes what he wants from you. It makes you wonder how he might look afterwards, disheveled hair and pupils blown wide. How he’d hold you and the sounds he might make when he gets that first taste of the heating blood running through your veins.

You just wish your blood wasn’t the only thing he was after.

It all comes tumbling back to you in an instant. The thick crimson drinks at the bar, thickly coating the lips of the face drinking them. That unnatural grace they all seemed to have, twisting their hips and beckoning you towards them with shimmering eyes and tight-lipped smiles. All to hide their fangs, you realize now, knees shaking.

The smell of metal hung heavy in the air, lustful and heady, and you realize that the far couple you’d seen on your way out of the bathroom hadn’t been making out, but she’d been feeding off him, sucking the blood straight from his neck.

Your stomach roils as you try to swallow back the acid creeping up your throat.

“The people in the clubs,” you breathe. Your dress is too tight around your chest, you can hardly breathe.

“Yes,” he encourages, smile growing as you seem to be realizing just how much danger you’re in. Vampires rule the court, but he’s aware that you don’t truly understand the extent of the situation you find yourself in right now. “All vampires.”

Your brows knit together as your startled gaze meets his. He looms over you, shifting closer as your heart races in your chest. You think you hear the soft inhale he makes, know that he’s breathing in the scent of your blood by the way his lips part and he flicks his tongue against his teeth like a viper.

“But the ones in the cafes,” you stutter, mind racing, “They were eating.”

“Vampires,” he confirms, his hands sliding down the wall an inch.

“What about the ones–”

“Let me save you the time, darling. All of my people are vampires.”

“Oh,” your response is a defeated exhale. You don’t know what to do, how to get out of this situation. Surely if you were able to get away from the tall, handsome male before you, you’d wind up someone else’s dinner if all his people are– “Oh.”

He hums, grin going wicked. You watch his sharpened teeth press lightly into the stretched skin of his lower lip. “That’s right,” he drawls, “I’m Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court.”

This is so much worse than you thought.

“Rhysand,” you can’t help but breathe, eyes locked on his. His name tastes like the stars, fresh and bright and it makes you want to wish.

The slip of his name from your lips makes him still, pupils dilate as something within your own chest stirs. The feelings pull the breath from your chest in a gasp. It nearly hurts, feels like your heart is being tugged from the confines of your bone and flesh. You feel like you can almost see it, the stardust he’s made from intertwining with the shimmering gold of the entity of your soul given form. They weave together like light and dark, shadows weaving themselves between rays of silken sun, tying together in an intricate pattern, his soul filling all the holes of yours and yours, his.

Rhys stumbles into you as the strings pull taut, heaving chest to heaving chest as the feeling in your chest dies down. It stings like icicles are running through your veins and this time when you shudder, it’s against his firm front, and his hands fall from the wall you’re pressed up against to your arms, steadying you.

He can’t look away from you. He’ll never be able to again, and all of the instincts that were telling him to sink his fangs into your neck and taste the warm blood against his lips are raging at him to protect. Protect his mate, looking so small before him, not a vampire, but an ethereal fae that had intrigued him from the very start. Even if it weren’t for the blood running through your veins, there had been a pull that had made him want to follow you, made him want to sink to his knees and use those fangs to pleasure you instead of taking from you. He had wanted to give, and the High Lord was usually one to receive, all the vampires he let entertain him had been nothing compared to this very moment. Rhys has been waiting for this for long enough.

“My mate.” His voice is a whisper, one of disbelief. He can’t seem to force himself to step away not because his body will not physically allow him to, but because he doesn't want to part from you. He feels like he’s been away from you for far too long, like he can breathe at full capacity again even though he doesn’t need to. For the first time in forever he finally feels warm. It has been so long that he’d forgotten it, like early morning rays of sunshine shining down on him, touching his soul. 

Rhys lifts a hand like he wants to touch your cheek, but he draws away at the last second. The hungry glint in his eye has been replaced by a soft look, transforming his face completely, leaving him looking even more handsome than before, like you’re the one turned predator and can break him at any moment.

He’d let you.

Tentatively, you find his hand, taking it in your own. It’s cold and his fingers stick to your skin the way ice does in the winter. You lead him towards your cheek, brushing his knuckles softly across your rosy cheeks as Rhys watches, unblinking.

Rhys draws in a sharp breath at the gentleness in which you move. He’d wanted to ravage you before, when the bond had made its mark known, but he’d forgotten just how fragile fae beings can be. Having been surrounded by vampires and fae that had thrived off his harsh nature, it had simply slipped his mind that he was capable of such things.

“My mate,” you echo. The sweetness of your voice has him growling in response, hand slipping from yours to place over your throat, brushing his thumb against the bob of your throat in a rough, yet tentative gesture.

Your mate leans down, nosing his way across your throat, scenting the luscious blood that rushes in response to the graze of his teeth. 

“Let me take you home, where I can show you how much finding my mate means to me.” He tilts his head to look up at you, violet eyes wild with desire. It turns your insides molten, heat blossoming between your legs. He’s so close that if he needed to breathe, you’d be sharing the same air. If you nod your agreement, you’ll be able to taste his lips.

That gorgeous smile reappears as he catches the flicker of your gaze to his lips and back. Rhys brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, smirking at the scent when not just your blood consumes his senses. 

“Or we can stay right here and let the entire court know that I’ve finally found you?” He questions and you breathe a shaky laugh that he swallows whole.

“Take me home, High Lord,” you answer, sliding your hand into his. “Take me home, my mate.”

[haflacky]

Your orders are ready to be shipped!

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[bardbreakfast]

they have such a fucked up relationship (jealous)

[poison-into-positivity]

i ADORE that vianton has garnered a sort of cult following. like they’re two characters from a nearly decade-old movie, one of which only has like seven minutes of screentime, that interacted twice. then we saw ofmd and were like you know what, these men need to kiss in every universe. and we were right

[vivalaems]

Stede bonnet 🤝 Aziraphale

Being killer queen's

Blackbeard 🤝 Crowley

Being good ol' fashioned loverboys

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Hang on, I have an interesting (to me at least lol) thought about vamp! Rhys.

What the hell would he do with reader being on her period when she’s still human??

Am I asking this because I am on my period reading your vampire! Rhys fics… possibly… he’s just so hot 🫠and I wanna bite him affectionately lol💀

It’s a really good question in my opinion lol

This has been sitting half finished in my drafts and now I'm on my period and asking the same questions! But don't worry, I have some answers for you ;)

----------

Messy

Content Warnings: Fluff-SMUT-more fluff; Period Sex, Blood Play, Oral (fem receiving)

--------

You should have known something was up when Rhys had woken you up every morning for the last week with his fangs nipping at your throat, his sleep thick voice murmuring how good you smelled into your skin before taking the faintest of tastes. You write it off as him finally coming to terms with how he feels about you being human and embracing this new comfortability in your relationship, at first. But then you randomly catch him staring at you throughout the day, his gaze dark, pupils blown wide. He wouldn't do anything about it either. Usually, when he looks like that you find yourself flush against a wall, but these last few days he's just staring. Like he's waiting for something.

Then one night he asks you if you're in the mood for chocolate and comes back with a whole tray of ice cream and cookies and expensive looking candies and you're absolutely sure he's lost his mind.

You have half a mind to ask Mor if there's some weird dating ritual vampires have that you don't know about, because there's suddenly a lot more pillows and comfy blankets in your bed the morning after that. Along with a tray of some weird tea you've never seen before, and more boxes of chocolate things you can't name. But you don't even make it to Mor's wing of the house before Rhys waltzes into the bedroom you share with his arms full of towels and you simply cannot take it anymore.

"Rhys what are you doing?"

He takes his time folding them, studying each towel like it holds the mysteries of the universe within it. "Preparing."

"For what?" You ask incredulously, because he's clearly in on some secret you've never heard of.

He cocks his head to the side, looking very confused as to why you're asking. "Is it not almost your time of the month?"

That doesn't make his behavior any less confusing, but you run a hand through your hair in thought. It should be starting any day now, now that you think about it. "You've been keeping track of my period?"

He takes the perfectly folded towels and puts them under the bathroom sink for safe keeping as he says, "Of course. What kind of partner would I be if I didn't?"

You follow after him, still wildly confused. It's not like he can get you pregnant, there's no need for him to be keeping track. "But why?"

He frowns at that. "You were in a lot of pain last time, I wanted to help make it easier this time around."

Your heart clenches in your chest and you step forward to place a gentle kiss on his lips. "That's really sweet of you."

"I hate to see you in pain," he says, catching your face in his hands. "I don't really remember how the human body works, but I found some books in the library about what might help, since my blood didn't work last time."

He'd been very concerned about the amount of cramping you endured last month, even more so when it turned out Vampire blood was not in fact a cure all for every human ailment. It could fix a cold, but for some reason, it hadn't worked so well on your cramps.

Maybe it's your hormones, but you tear up a little at the thought of him rifling through the library trying to find the right book to help you. "That would explain all the chocolate and the tea."

"The books said they helped," he sweeps you up into his arms so he can hold you.

"What else did they say?" You ask as you kiss the tip of his nose.

He grins at that, eyes once again dark and hungry. "Ask me again in a few days."

That's never a good sign, but you'd be a liar if you said you weren't intrigued. He'd checked most of the boxes for your needs already, what else had he managed to find?

By the time you actually start bleeding, he's wrangled up every heating pad and pain reliever he can get his hands on. There's always a hot bath waiting to help you relax, and no shortage of pads stashed throughout the estate. He's hidden some in every desk and drawer he can think of, which pretty much means you'll never have to worry about it for the rest of your mortal life because he's not exactly sure how many of them you need, but it's the thought that counts.

By the second day, your cramps are so intense you can barely get out of bed and he stays dutifully curled up next to you, holding a heating pad at the base of you spine and massaging your tender hips like your own personal masseuse.

"Maybe today's the day, Rhys," you grumble into his bare chest. "I think I've had just about enough of this human thing."

He chuckles softly into your shoulder as his expert fingers loosen the tight muscles at the base of your spine. "That's not a very fun turning story."

"You've never experienced the pain of being a woman," you counter. "I think Mor would find it funny at least."

He kisses your shoulder, clad in one of his oversized shirts. "We still have a few things we can try before we resort to that."

"Such as?" You counter.

Rhys rolls you over onto your back, body sliding in between your legs. "I read that orgasms can help." His eyes are back to that dark, hungry look you've seen a dozen times in that couple weeks and it suddenly clicks in your head why he's been looking at you like that.

"That explains the towels," you say.

He kisses you gently at first, "Only if you want to, of course."

"At this point, I'll try anything," though you can't help the blush that works its way up your neck and face. You'd be a liar to say you hadn't thought about it, but you'd assumed this was too taboo a subject to discuss with someone so... old.

He's gone in a flash to grab the towels he'd stashed under the sink and back just as quick to lie them out across the bed, just so you don't ruin the sheet set that might just be older than you.

"You're sure you don't mind?" You inquire and he stills at the edge of the bed, giving you the same look he gives Cass when he says something out of pocket.

"I'm a vampire, Darling," he says, running his tongue over his canines so you get the point. "You should know by now how much I enjoy blood. Yours especially."

"Yeah, but this is-" You freeze as he kneels between your legs and starts placing soft kisses along the inside of your thighs. "Different."

One of his hands reaches up to push your shirt up your body, the other holds your legs open so he can move further up your thighs. "How so?" Fangs scrape over your skin in teasing strokes as he kisses higher and higher.

"You're not drinking from me," you start but a shiver works its way down your spine and steals the thought from your head as he brushes his nose over your clothed center. It is easy to forget how sensitive your body is during your period, and there is no denying how turned on you get when Rhys gets between your legs, but this time it feels different. This time, having him this close makes your body tremble, heat licking deep in the pit of your stomach. It usually takes some of his venom to feel this worked up, but there's none in your system yet.

"Aren't I?" He purrs, hands hooking in the waistband of your underwear.

You don't have time to ask before he starts pulling the material down your legs, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the heat that flushes your skin. There is no beat in time between him baring you to him and him pulling a towel beneath you, his inhumane speed making it feel like you blinked and were suddenly bare. It's not even a breath later that he's licking a stripe up your center and all rational thought eddies from your mind.

"Rhys!" You should want to pull away, should feel some sort of mortification when he looks up at you, eyes so lust blown they're almost all pupil despite the slight flush of red on his lips, but you can't find it in you to do so.

"Relax," he orders mind to mind as his tongue slides easily through your folds. "Let me take care of you."

Your eyes squeeze shut as he licks another long stripe up your center, canines scraping gently, teasingly against you. It's too much already and he hasn't done anything yet. Your hands reach for the sheets, trying to hold onto something, to ground yourself from rocking your hips into his mouth in desperation.

"Feels good?"

Your legs instinctively spread for him, body begging for more as you whimper for him. "More, please, more!"

He guides one of your legs over his shoulder, giving him a better angle to dive into you and feast, tongue pushing deeper inside you.

Stars swim across your vision, breath rasping out of you in panting gasps as your hands fly from the sheets to his hair to pull him closer. Your body is white hot, muscles tightening around his head as the pleasure builds deeper and deeper inside you.

When he slides a finger inside you, you can't help but buck your hips into his face, writhing against the pleasure that's too much and somehow not enough. His name is a prayer on your lips, pleasure making you delirious as he drags you closer and closer to the edge.

He has to keep an arm over your waist to keep you from writhing too far away, the strength of him only serving to fuel the fire in your belly more. This is about you and your pleasure, and gods is he good at it, but knowing you can't squirm away from him, can't do anything but accept what he gives you makes your thighs clench around his head.

He moans into your center as you tighten around him, letting you know he's enjoying this just as much as you are, despite the wetness you feel dripping down onto the towel beneath you. At least he had planned ahead for the mess.

"Rhys," the whole house can probably hear you screaming for him as he slides a second finger inside you, stretching you out and chasing the motion with his tongue.

"Just like that, Little One," he coos. "Cum for me."

You're aware you're babbling, thighs shaking around his head as pleasure sweeps through you, but you can't stop. Can't do anything but float on the waves of white hot pleasure that crest and fall down your spine. He doesn't stop his ministrations either, not even as you fight to catch your breath. His fingers and tongue still move through your sensitive folds, still curl against that same, spongy spot over and over again.

"Too much," you whimper, trying to wiggle out from beneath him.

His large hand flattens over your stomach, pushing you down hard enough to feel the mattress bow beneath you. You aren't going anywhere until he's done with you, 'til he's had his fill.

"Look at me," he orders, tongue swirling in a new pattern, teeth lightly nibbling on your skin.

There's blood on the tip of his nose, on his cheeks and chin; all traces of violet are gone from his eyes, only lust and hunger in its place. Usually Cassian is the messy one, but tonight, he lets a little of the monster slip.

"I want you to watch as you come apart on my tongue again."

You're pretty sure it's his powers that pin you in place, holding you upright as he speeds up his movements, gaze pinned on the way he devours you like a male starved. He has eaten you out plenty of times in the past, but the sounds he makes, the reverberations of his moans only amplify your pleasure.

The edge rises to meet you again, the over-stimulation cresting between pleasure and pain, the lines blurring as he suckles on your clit.

Stars once again blur across your vision as every muscle in your body tightens. The grip you have on his hair has to be painful, even for an immortal, but he makes no complaint as he nips and sucks and twists his fingers in a way that makes you think you might die if you don't cum soon. Tears make your vision cloudy, all your heightened emotions amplified further by how good he's capable of making you feel.

"So pretty like this," he purrs. "Love those sounds you make for me, when you moan my name like a prayer."

It's taking everything in you to not squeeze your eyes shut as you buck your hips as best you can against the hand pinning you in place. Just a little more. Just a little harder. You're so close to the edge again, so close to that sweet, sweet bliss.

"We should have done this sooner, don't you think, Darling?"

"Yes!" You practically scream it as he flicks his tongue at the same time he curls his fingers and your release barrels through you so hard and fast your body shakes against it.

You're absolutely boneless as he works you through it, dragging your orgasm out as long as possible with his fingers. Only when your ragged breathing finally calms does he remove himself from your core. He leans back on his haunches, face an absolute mess of blood and your release.

Despite the fact that he'd just been between your legs, you still find yourself blushing as he slides the fingers that had been inside you into his mouth for one final taste. "You really are my favorite meal, you know that?" His voice is still deliciously husky, the clear sign of his own arousal fighting the confines of his pants.

But this is about you, and making you feel better. So instead of doing something about it, he takes one of the towels you didn't absolutely ruin and starts to clean you up. When he's satisfied that you're clean, he disappears into the bathroom to start the tub.

He'd taken that time to clean up his face too, so there's no blood on his lips when he leans over the bed to place a gentle kiss on your lips. "Feel better?"

You'd managed to forget for the entirety of it that you had been cramping in the first place. "Much better."

He sweeps you up into his arms gently, like you're something fragile and breakable and it makes your heart clench in your chest. He has always been good at taking care of you, but it really hits you in this moment.

"I love you," you whisper as you lean up to kiss his cheek.

The water of the tub is deliciously hot, easing any lingering tension in your muscles as he gets both of you in the tub.

Rhys settles you against his chest, pressing gentle kisses against your forehead. "Still thinking about turning?"

You lean your head back against his shoulder so you can look up at him, eyes twinkling mischievously. "I think I want a little more mind blowing period sex first."

He chuckles as he settles back against the tub. "Good, 'cause those books had a few more suggestions we can try out."

[heyitspizzaking]

One more Halloween fanart for the road…

[phenikas]

Happy (belated) Halloween! Or any other holiday you may be celebrating. And if you're not, happy end of October/beginning of November to you!

[cruelestpigeon]

Y'all don't understand how much I'm hoping for Anton and Viago to make a return in season six of WWDITS since OFMD was cancelled