#vampire the masquerade smut

[ma1dmer]

Vampire the Masquerade - Cuthbert Beckett NSFW

i am gonna impregnate this man

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): he'll run his claws through your hair ,press a kiss to your forehead and probably return to his research , wouldn't mind you joining him even if its just to nap next to him, he’ll keep a hand in your hair as he reads through various texts and books while you rest before he probably has to rest as well, his body forcing him at that point to join you

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): he knows he is a handsome man, he knows people want him but thinking of something specific for his body, or anyone's body if we are being honest, seems so pointless to him, vanity is such a mortal matter after all and beauty is flitting, he says with a sharp and knowing grin, since he knows he is immortal and very much considered hot. he likes different things on different partners. Different things that have his eyes wandering ,and provide some sort of distraction in his day to day.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): out of sight out of mind, hates having to clean up everything after he is done

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): he is definitely a switch, depends on the person he is with of course and what they bring out in him, its always exciting to see how things will go, he likes to be surprised

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): he has spent so many years on this earth ,of course he has quite the experience, and it shows, whore

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): he loves taking you from behind, while he is doing his research he beckons you over before bending you over his desk ,scolding you if you crumple any paper or spill ink on his precious books

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): he seems like someone who would be very intense, but if you can't enjoy and be light-hearted with someone you bed whats the point, that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy teasing you if you get overwhelmed and unable to keep up

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): he doesn't care to trim or shave, especially considering he is a gangrel

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): he is both incredibly smooth and all types of romantic interactions fly right over his head, it really depends on the mood he is and how deep he is lost in his books, he could have you wrapped around his finger with poetry from aeons ago , and promises of the most delicious things, but also you could stand in front of him entirely naked and he’d get frustrated at you only raising his head from some ancient scroll and asking you what you want

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): enjoys being given a show, he likes knowing how much you want him, wants to watch you pleasure yourself, his only help his hand rubbing your knee as he keeps his eyes fixed on you memorising every detail of your expressions and body

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): voyeurism, maybe one(1) daddy here and there but nothing more, some minor roleplaying , naughty librarian? desperate ghoul etc etc

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): he prefers to keep such matters behind closed doors 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): being challenged, he likes people that run their mouths as much as he does, he does get frustrated at first and annoyed meeting someone his equal, but he would be bored otherwise, and all that frustration does make for delicious tension that bleeds into his more carnal needs

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): he hates being pulled away from important work, he’ll tell you once, that he is busy and does not want to be disturbed and expects you to listen, if he hasn’t told you so , he is open to being distracted but you can tell when he wants you to fuck off somewhere else, of course in kinder terms

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): he loves both, he is very very very thorough when he gives, knows how to keep his claws and teeth out of the way , or not if its the danger you like, and he definitely won’t say no to a pretty little thing on their knees for him

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): it depends ,he loves simply taking his pleasure from you fast and rough, but also simply having you spread out for him ,taking his time with you until you tremble

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): not a big fan, hates being taken away from his research will click his tongue in annoyance if you bother him

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): he is a naturally curious man that thirsts for knowledge so it comes to reason to assume that extends to his more private matters as well

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): considering what he is and the fact he is pretty powerful i would say his stamina is unparalleld, it takes him a while to get in the mood but once he is , he tends to lose time, and can go for honestly far too long ,you’ll be crying before he pulls away confused like , what happened, check the clock and see its the next day or something, those damn vampires

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): he can definitely appreciate them, he is slightly too old fashioned to truly enjoy them for himself, but he does enjoy the fantasy of stuffing you with a toy before letting you walk away, however the idea of you potentially getting in danger or being humiliated stops him 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he is quite the tease, likes holding you down by the scruff of your neck, using your body while teasing you with his words, speaking almost matter of factly about how desperate you are for him

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): besides his teasing words he is so quite, sometimes you forget he is behind you when he has you bent over and you turn to make sure he hasnt simply left the room but he'll press your head back down and tell you he was just admiring you

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): absolutely uses nicknames when he addresses you teasingly, pet or darling depending on the mood

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): knot? knot! 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): quite low, he is very in control of his needs, he likes when you want him and he chooses when he allows himself to want you, when he can afford the time to indulge both of your interest

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): if he could never sleep he’d probably be a happy man , so much work to do, so much research 

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Super excited for this crossover series! I’ll try to keep a regular update schedule on Wednesdays. I might take some liberties with VtM lore and mechanics to fit the story, but hope to stay as true as I can to the source material. Finally, I imagined RE2R Leon (my favorite!) in this role 🫶

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: RC By Night

You first saw him in summer, when the days were long and the nights were short, and the streets came to life again. There was the heady smell of pollen in the air and the humidity was sweltering. Just a couple of months after you and a bunch of idealistic friends from your theater school days had taken the plunge, and opened an all-night cafe in one of the cheaper, grittier areas of town, east of the river of Raccoon City.

It had been a scrappy little project, one you didn’t expect to receive a cult following and gain in popularity amongst the intellectuals and counterculture crowd. But then again, there was also the City College nearby and the events program you’d lined up each week drew them in. From comedy nights and disco fevers to site-specific and performance art, you knew what people liked and how they wanted to be entertained. A bit of kitsch, a sprinkle of avant-garde and a generous dose of unpretentious social drinking. It pulled him in too.

Him. You didn’t even know his name. The first thing you had noticed were his striking blue eyes that seemed to glow from the shadows of the dimly lit space, peering out at you. Always observing, always watching, never speaking. Sometimes he’d glance over across the opposite end of the room at another pair of companions — a rugged, broad-shouldered man with a dark crew cut bumping shoulders with a younger, spunky redhead in a matching biker jacket. They’d exchange subtle looks of recognition and mild suspicion before returning to whatever they were doing. Though they never uttered a single word to each other.

He came back week after week, ordering the same drink each time, but never touching it. One Manhattan, please. You obliged. A waitress you had sent over to pry on your behalf told you he enjoyed the cocktail, but couldn’t tolerate much alcohol. You saw him lift the drink to his nose, sniffing it as the corners of his mouth turned upwards, silently smiling to himself before he placed it back down on the table again. Strange. You shook your head and prepared a cup of black coffee, taking it over to him as his eyes lit up in surprise with your approach.

“On the house,” you explained, plonking it down on the table. He raised an eyebrow but remained tight-lipped.

Maybe he didn’t like coffee? Or how did he usually take it? “Uh—” you turned back towards the service area, as if to check that the condiments were still in place. “Would you like some creamer or sugar to go with it?”

He raised his hand to indicate it wasn’t necessary and his jaw clenched, before fixing it into an awkward smile. “Thank you.”

Those were the first words he had spoken to you. It rolled off his tongue like a swirl of mist, a sliver of a dream you couldn’t quite remember when waking up. You took another step forward to get a better look at him. He had a baby face, angelic almost, with that typical, boy next door charm your mom would have gushed at, and you imagined he couldn’t be older than his early twenties. Upon closer inspection, he seemed slightly pale, faint dark circles around his eyes that had seen more than his fair share for his age. There was a sense of weariness and jadedness behind them that made him appear older than he was.

Bringing the cup to his lips, he sipped a small mouthful, letting it sit for a moment, before swallowing it down languidly. You admired the curve of his Adam’s apple, bobbing as the liquid poured down his throat, littered with freckles and specks of moles. Something about his very presence mesmerized you, even more so than earlier. It was hard to place a finger on what it was exactly, and why this feeling seemed to grow with every second you were lingering near him.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping it on the table before offering one to you. Why not? You were a social smoker and took it as a sign to join him. In fact, there was no other place you’d rather be at the moment. You were confused, but did not question it as you took a seat beside him, noticing that he flinched each time he flicked open his lighter to ignite a flame.

His fingertips brushed across your wrist as he lit your cigarette, causing you to shiver in response, while his jaw tensed again, as if trying to rein something in. Licking his lips, he took a puff from his own, exhaling the smoke as it billowed around him and for a second you thought you’d lost him to a wall of fog. Both of you continued smoking in silence, checking in with each other through furtive glances, even though there was nothing to be ashamed about.

At some point, you followed the direction of his gaze and saw that same pair of companions he often regarded from the corner of his eye. They were frowning, giving him dirty looks as he shrugged nonchalantly in return.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” you broke through the thick stillness of the air that surrounded the both of you like a bubble, separated from the rest of the evening revelers.

“You’re observant,” he teased, his eyes crinkling as he stubbed out the leftovers of his cigarette in the ashtray. You followed suit.

“So, what brings you here?” you asked, gesturing to the suit attire sans tie that he was wearing. “Don’t get me wrong, but this place doesn’t exactly seem like the kind you types hang out at.”

“Hm,” he huffed, though your question didn’t phase him. “And what exactly is my type?”

“I’d say you were a yuppie,” you blurted out, your mouth rarely had a filter on these days. “But I can’t be sure, something about you seems…”

“Off?” he offered, smirking, yet his expression carried a hint of somberness.

“Different,” you corrected, but mumbled out a quick apology nonetheless soon after.

“Don’t be,” he grazed your hand again as he adjusted himself in his chair, and you felt like he was doing this on purpose. “At least you’re honest. It’s a rare quality to find these days.” Though the way he said the last sentence sounded loaded with a double meaning.

“These days?” you guffawed. “You’re speaking like an old man.”

He joined in your laughter though that was the end of your conversation for that night. The rest of the evening went by in a blind haze, and you found yourself in a dazed state later on in the wee hours of the morning, still sitting at the same table, but your newfound friend gone without a trace. None of your colleagues had noticed a thing. You didn’t even get his name, but you shook yourself, commanding your limbs to get back to business and clean up after the customers that had left.

The next time you saw him was when you were hosting the karaoke night of the month. Decked out in a shimmery mermaid glitter jumpsuit, hair tied up in pigtails and face caked with extravagant make up, you hopped onto the stage, only to nearly stumble on your flimsy heels when those piercing blue eyes landed on you from the all the way back. Of all the nights he could have dropped in, he chose this one.

You suppressed your embarrassment and warmed up the audience with a couple of well-placed jokes before kicking the event off with those who had registered to participate. It appeared to be a tough crowd as you only had a handful of sign ups, and would need to potentially seek out volunteers when they were done. You hoped the rackety sound system would hold up till then too.

Fortunately, when it came to the crunch — which it did — you always had an ace up your sleeve. “You there,” you called out, pointing towards the back of the room. “Yeah, blue eyes, you.” Crooking your finger, you beckoned him over, waiting in anticipation to see what he would do.

To your surprise, he bowed his head, accepting the challenge, before slowly weaving his way through the crowd, who were cheering him on with your prompting, towards the stage. He flashed you his pearly whites as he climbed up the short stairs, his floppy bangs bouncing with each step. For a moment, you thought you caught something feral in his gaze, but it dissipated when he reached out for the mic from you, his hands sweeping over yours with an electric touch.

You were in awe of him, like almost everyone else in the cafe, when he broke out in a rich tenor voice, effortlessly floating through the notes of the gentle melody, that you felt as though you were being wrapped in a serene, velvet cocoon. Enthusiastic claps and hoots filled the space when he finished. The only two people in the room who were scowling were the same pair of companions he knew from before.

“Will you join me after the show?” he whispered in your ear as he handed you back the mic. Nodding was the only appropriate response.

You were rushed off your feet for the next couple of hours and it was late by the time you called the event to a close, but he was still there, by his usual table, waiting patiently for you.

“So you decided to push me into the spotlight,” he accused with a wry smile.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it,” you shot back. “Here.” You set a cup of black coffee down in front of him. “My treat.”

“You’re too kind.” It sounded flat, like a game that had become routine between the two of you. He took a sip from it, nothing more, nothing less.

That was all you could recall from your conversation. You didn’t get his name until a few nights after.

“Hey, blue eyes,” you acknowledged as he strolled in.

“Leon,” he disclosed sharply. “It’s Leon.”

That was the night of exchanging introductions. You named all the nights you’d spent with him under various labels, so you wouldn’t forget.

Another night, he had whipped out a flip phone and you nearly choked on your drink. “They still make those?” You stared in disbelief.

He turned to face you in amusement.

“Bet you don’t have a—”

You didn’t even need to finish your sentence for him to fish out his pager, dangling it in front of you like a toy.

“Fuck off,” you laughed. “No fucking way.”

He grinned at your outburst and it was one of those times, few and far between, where you experienced a glimpse of that youthful energy he often hid behind a calm, matured facade.

“You’re still living in the 90s dude?” you jested, grabbing the pager as you flipped it over, trying to determine if it was real. It was.

His lips curled up into a playful smirk. “Something like that.”

“Healthcare,” you guessed, squinting at him. “I heard people there still have them. You’re a doctor?”

“I wish.” He coughed out a self-deprecating laugh, before rummaging through his wallet for a sleek white card, sliding over to you. “P.I., actually.”

“Private Investigator Leon S. Kennedy,” you read the title out loud, deliberately emphasizing each word.

“Go ahead, shout it from the rooftops,” he joked.

“Don’t tempt me.” You gave what you hoped was a cheeky wink, not flirty, definitely not flirty.

A lopsided smile spread across his face, and you wondered if you were finally beginning to unravel the mystery of this man, one that he seemed to carry around like a burden.

“Well, now you know where to find me.” He winked back, taking a tiny sip of his free coffee.

That was the night of P.I. Kennedy. Soon, these nights blurred into each other. You felt like you were getting a step closer, but yet you weren’t. He always had you at an arm’s length for some reason, even though he seemed to want more. Why did he keep coming back?

He also appeared to care about what you thought of him. At some point forth, he started dressing down, exchanging his usual formal attire for a shirt with no blazer, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A fine gold chain necklace peeked out from underneath his top collar, which was left unbuttoned. “Better like this?” he asked with no context. You had to pause and consider what he meant for a while before you understood.

“If you’d like to fit in.” You shrugged indifferently. “But I don’t think you want to.”

“You know me well,” he murmured fondly. The back of his fingers caressed the side of your neck, just under your jawline, along a pulse point. You closed your eyes and sighed. It felt sensitive and tender.

“And how well do you know me?” you asked. 

There was no reply, but somehow you already knew the answer.

Another thing you were vaguely aware of was that you kept missing the tail end of your interactions with him. It was as though after a certain point in the night, you would come to, like waking up from a daydream, and he would have disappeared by then.

Your colleagues asked if you were seeing each other. Were you? You were only chatting, you surmised. Nothing had gone that far yet, at least from what you had gathered. But you liked him more than you would’ve liked to admit.

He walked you home one night, and when you reached your doorstep, you were about to invite him in, but he interrupted you. “There’s something I need to tell you…”

Guilt clouded his eyes, unmistakable and heavy. But as he was about to say more, he held back, as if pulled by an invisible thread. Then, you felt yourself overcome with tiredness, but it was pleasant and comforting. “Can you help me to bed?” Your voice sounded far away.

All at once, you felt yourself being propped up under his arm and your weight shifting under your feet, until your head touched a feather-soft pillow. He draped a blanket over your unmoving body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never should have—” Even in your state, you could tell it pained him.

“I won’t do it again, unless you let me.” 

That was the last you heard from him for a while.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Leon couldn’t get enough of you. Believe him, he tried countless times, but it didn’t work. From the moment he had set foot into that establishment, he had damned himself. He knew it when he spotted you and smelled your sanguine resonance from afar. It was the humor of your blood, and it was stronger and more consistent than he was used to. You were just so full of life, and enjoying it to the point where he was envious. You signified all the hopes and dreams that had been dashed spectacularly to the ground, ever since becoming… what he was now.

He had to have a taste of you. A little drop wouldn’t hurt, would it? He’d been taught ages ago, by Ada, his sire, that he needed people like you to survive. If one ignored their hunger for too long, things would get worse, so much worse, and not just for himself, but for everyone else around him. It was simply the lesser of two evils to feed, and he’d never actually killed anyone by doing so. Then, why did it feel so wrong? He had gotten good at pushing down these thoughts, until they were reduced to an inaudible hum at the back of his mind. Just like many other things, he learnt to compromise. But compromising meant that sometimes, he’d lose a piece of himself. If there was an equivalent of a soul within the monster he had become, then it was fragmented, and he’d never get back the ones that had dissolved into the ether, due to the bad decisions he had made. Like the ones he would soon make with you.

Taste. Taste was something he had acquired since young. In his human life, he always had an eye for detail, an eye for what fit, what worked, and what didn’t. It certainly helped when he became a cold case detective with the police force, filled with unbridled potential, only to have that overturned, when he decided to chase after love instead of missing people and puzzle pieces. For years, he would’ve done anything for her, only for it to amount to wasted time and regret when the inevitable boredom that came with time struck, and he was tossed aside over something exciting and new. Still, he knew a delicious vessel when he saw one. You were just meant to be a special curiosity that he could pass on to the older vampire for a favor or two. At least, that was what he told himself, when you took the initial bait and he beckoned you to stay through unnatural means. That was the first lie.

When he bit into you, he was met with a burst of color, vibrant shades of all kinds of red. The flavor saturated his mouth: sweet roses, his favorite kind, their scent carried on a gentle zephyr; warm light that enveloped him but didn’t hurt; traces of nicotine coursing through your veins; and the familiar iron tang that gave it its kick. Your face, your voice, your very essence haunted him in that taste. He could see you like a will-o'-the-wisp performing on stage in one of your many plays across a lifetime, laughing with your friends in the back of a car speeding down the highway, crying into a pillow when you had your heart broken by your first love… How was this possible? Your memories came flooding through him and you were blissfully unaware of it all. He felt like a spy, listening in to all your secrets and desires, and his blatant invasion of your privacy disgusted him.

This was wrong. He shouldn’t have gotten so close. He should’ve heeded the warning glances the Redfield siblings were throwing his way. So, he tried his best to stay away, but like an addict, he kept crawling back, seeking you out like a dog with its tail between its legs. How could a mere mortal have such an effect on him? Did he taste this way to Ada when she turned him? He laughed sardonically. If only she could see him now, being so torn up over a woman he had just met.

He tried to erase you from his mind, but you were always meant to be something more. You reminded him of all the things he missed when he was living. You were the best he had ever tasted, but he didn’t want to turn you over to her, not yet. After all, he could afford to enjoy you for just one more time. The second lie had spun its thick, dark webs throughout his head. Truth be told, he would never share you with anyone else.

The third lie came when he resolved to tell you what he really was. He couldn’t keep going on like this and deceiving you, but his sire’s words bore down on him. “You don’t get attached to a vessel,” she scoffed. Wait, wasn’t he one too at some point? Her contradictory words replayed in his ears like a broken record. In any case, he wasn’t attached. He was being brave and honest, which was how he liked to think of himself. But when it came to the crunch outside your doorstep, he was a coward, finding himself unable to breach the rules of the Masquerade and gave in to his urges instead. It was then that he realized deep down, he was truly a despicable and hateful low-life.

Thump! He felt his body slam against a solid wall, as he entered a secluded alleyway round the corner from your apartment. A dull ache bloomed across his skin. After the events that had happened that night, he didn’t even bother putting up a fight. He slumped down until the brawny, older male sibling, Chris, lifted him by his collar and pinned him in place. At the same time, the slender redhead, Claire, Chris’ female counterpart, spoke, “Where the hell are you going with this, Leon?”

“Why do you care?” he spat, blood coating his teeth. “The cafe’s in neutral ground, no one’s claimed domain over it yet. I can feed on whoever I like.”

“Listen, you’re Cam scum, but you saved my brother back then, and you used to hang with us,” she hissed, jabbing her finger into his shoulder to emphasize each point. “So, I’m gonna give you a tip, but just this once.”

She brought her mouth to his ear. “There’s interest in the domain… and you’re not the only suitor vying for her attention.”

His eyes widened at the threat.

“Whatever you do, do it fast.”

[viccerys]

Vtm sketchdump

Sketches of my babygirl that I did during Christmas

[kabr0ztrousers]

hiya it's🦋anon again can I request a fem reader x male vampire, while reader and the vampire have sex he ends up putting his fangs in her neck and he turns her into a vampire.

Today's been busy again so I'm letting this one jump the queue a little because it's a little shorter. After this I've still got about a week's backlog so if you've asked for anything please don't feel put out, it's coming (pun intended(yes even you, Clown Fucker))

Kabr0z Writes episode 40: Sanguinare Vampiris

Also entitled: You have contracted Hemolytic Porphyria

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: death (kinda); blood play; vampires; blood mention; this list expands if you're familiar with Vampire: the Masquerade to include ghoulification; intox; loss of agency/control; possessive/obsessive relationships;

A/N: I am again reminding you all, you can submit any requests, ideas, verbal abuse, et cetera in my asks and DMs, it will most likely get written.

Even that thing you're thinking of.

Especially that.

###################################

Winter time was a blessing. The sun setting so soon meant your lover was able to come around sooner, and didn't have to wake you in the small hours of the morning to escape the scorching rays. In summer you had to go to his Haven, waiting for dusk before he'd wake up, normally in the small hours in the morning, and only until dawn.

A knock came on your door. He couldn't enter without permission, apparently something to do with the specific kind of vampire he is? He was always pretty vague about it, apparently the less you knew the safer you were. Vampire society seemed pretty cutthroat, you weren't sure you wanted to know more about it.

You answered the door. Nobody was there, but you knew better "come in, then" you said to the empty street

He didn't appear, exactly, you more just realised he was stood there. The deep kiss drawing snapping his illusion as he pressed his body to yours, closing the door behind him.

He was cold, almost clammy, he could mimic being alive if he wanted to, the warmth, the breathing, the heartbeat, but it drained him when he did, so you didn't want him exerting himself if he didn't need to. You were with him because you liked him, not just for the sex. Although, the sex was damn good.

He smiled at you "You eaten yet?"

You shook your head and he pulled out his phone, dialling up a takeout "I'll get you something, my treat"

He ordered a Chinese, and you watched a movie as you ate, him just watching. Vampires can't stomach actual food. He tried when you were first dating, but it didn't stay down and wasn't pretty when it came back up.

So your night together drew on, him asking about your day, your work, your friends, then hanging on every word as you told him.

Being an immortal member of the living dead must get lonely.

The film wasn't very good, some action flick without any real plot or substance. You found yourself staring at him as he absentmindedly watched. He dressed casually, a button down and jeans, a nice watch, a pair of practical boots left by your door. He only became a vampire in the 90's, and he's looked like a 20-something ever since. It made it easier for you to explain to your friends, and the age gap didn't really bother you, even though he was turned before you were even born.

He noticed you watching him, eyeing his sharp jawline, his mouth twisted to a smile and he took a breath. You watched as colour flooded his face, the greyish pallor of his skin turning rosy, his eyes moistening and starting to blink. He kissed you again.

It was warm this time, his breath hot against your face. You touched his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your hand. You knew what it cost him to do this.

You rolled on top of him, pushing your hips against his, feeling his cock start to grow and harden. You opened your shirt and one of his hands slid around your waist. He bit the other, holding the wound to your lips. You sucked out a mouthful of his Vitae, feeling the strength and vigour it gave you blossom in your chest, making your skin flush and your pussy moisten.

You slipped off his lap onto the floor, unfastening his jeans and slipping his cock out, licking it up and down as it twitched under your attention, coating it with your spit.

Your pants were already on the floor next to you as you fingered yourself, keeping his cock in your mouth and two fingers in your cunt. The way he stroked your hair as you sucked his cock always just made you wetter and needier, your pussy already clenching around your fingers as you toyed with yourself, teasing out a small orgasm before the main event, just enough to quicken your heart.

His breath quickened as he watched you cum, the little noises escaping you making his cock twitch in your mouth but you knew he wouldn't cum too soon.

You pulled yourself back up to his lap, moving his hands to your tits as you lowered yourself onto his cock. He gasped as it slid into you, your spit only helping it into your soaking pussy. He squeezed and rubbed your breasts as you started to ride him. He always managed to hit the best spots inside you, making you whine and whimper with every roll of your hips. He cradled your face, turning you to look into his wine-dark eyes

"You love this" his voice was even, it made your head spin

"I love this" you echoed to him

"You love me" came his voice again, echoing through the corners of your mind

"I love you" you responded, the only things in the world were his eyes and his cock, each one driving you wild

"Cum"

You came. Still transfixed by him, your body jolted and squirmed as you squirted around the cock skewering you, still rolling and bucking your hips, wringing out every drop of pleasure he was giving you

"Again"

You screamed, your pussy clenching and squirting. Your body pulsing in sync with it, white knuckles gripping his shoulders as he pulled you in to him.

The bite was ecstasy. You came again as soon as his fangs pierced your skin, arms dropping to your sides and brain clouding. You felt your legs twitching and shivering. Your fingertips tingling.

Your head spun faster and faster as your breathing got faster and lighter.

The room got cold, and darker, maybe the power was on the fritz?

The sound of the TV was distant, quiet, as though heard from the next room

It's getting colder.

It's dark.

You can't feel your legs.

A kiss.

Your mind explodes. You spasm and twitch as every vein in your body fills with fire. You try to scream, pain searing through you. You can see. You can hear. You can smell.

You hear the sounds of your neighbours snoring, you can see everything in the room as though the lights were on, but the only light is the TV. You can smell... Blood. Yours, your neighbours', carried on the wind. You're so hungry.

He's stood there, licking his lip, sealing the wound.

You get up, strength coursing through you.

He smiles at you. "Welcome to the rest of your life. We can go over the formalities later. For now, let's get you someone to eat"

#################################

Postscript: Wow, that was another fun one to write! Massive thanks to the folks at White Wolf/Onyx Path for the Vampire: the Masquerade system which I couched this in.

If you can correctly identify the clan Vamp!BF belongs to, you get your request fast-tracked, contest closes when the first winner's story is published! Guess early, guess often, send me your requests!

[lylailaeth]

Little sketch of my girl Zorya, as a treat

[morgantheblue]

City of Light: Domina. A Vampire the Masquerade Short Story.

Rating: R/M/18+

Minors DNI

CW: Blood, Dehumanization, BDSM, Discussions of Death, Lasombra attitudes toward Ghouls. Shadow-Play. Choking Dubcon. World of Darkness

This is the first part of a project I'm calling "City of Light." A Series of VtM short stories set in and around Paris in the year 2025. Some, like this first one, will be Horror. Some will be smutty. Some will be both. Some won't be either. I will endeavour to tag everything I can. But these stories will not be for everyone.

I will be posting these to Ao3 as well.

This first story features a Lasombra punishing one of her ghouls. It features heavy themes of dehumanisation, BDSM and also a scene involving rotten food. If any of that is too much for you, please move on.

City of Light: Domina

In which, a Lasombra punishes her Ghoul.

She looks down at the mud tracked in through the door. A tiny brown smear on the white marble, less than an inch from the mat. It is almost imperceptible. Almost. She sees it and her hands curl against her side. She turns her head, slowly. Her eyes track along the entry hall. The flicking tongues of flame that dance in their glass prisons cast strange shadows over everything, but she sees it, on hands and knees, scrubbing the floor with a black handle brush. She sees it’s naked arms shake with the effort of the task. She sees it shivering against the cold of her haven. She sees it keep its head bowed low. Obedient. Servile. Her eyes track back to the speck of mud. Imperfect.

It has no name; It lost the right to one years before. It has no face, its head is hidden behind a latex mask. It is locked with a heavy padlock at the back of its head. It has no voice unless she permits it. It toils in silence. It has only one mark of identification. An intricate number tattooed down the length of its naked back. It is number Three.

Her name is Flavia. But to Three, she is the Domina. And the Domina is displeased.

She relaxes her hands and takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes and feels the beast rouse, feels the gnawing unending hunger grow yet deeper. She feels the beast’s eyes in her mind. Feels its teeth at her ear. In her mind she almost sees it. A creature of shadow and blood snarling and snapping and, for now, forced back. The Beast retreats to the shadowy miasma at the edge of her soul.

She opens her eyes as her shadow convulses. It jitters. It fits. It bursts. She stands as still as stone as her erupting shadow curls into tendrils of inky black. She watches as the tendrils creep along the floor, she smiles as they climb lizard-like up the walls. She licks her lips as they slither forward. One after another the flames die. One after another the lights go out. Her eyes close again. When they reopen they are abyssal in depth and colour. She sees clearly. The darkness holds nothing from her.

She sees Three still scrubbing the floor. She wonders if it knows it has displeased the Domina. That its continued work is a feeble attempt to avoid what is to come. Or perhaps it is simply well trained. That it knows it has not been given the privilege of rest. She wonders how long it will scrub and clean and toil for her. She licks her lips and decides to test the theory another night.

The shadow tendrils retreat to her. Her eviscerated shade knits itself back together. She walks toward Three. Her footsteps ring on the marble, sharp and clear against the scraping of the brush. She stands two paces behind the naked Ghoul. She speaks.

“Stop.”

Its hands cease their work in an instant.

“Kneel”

It rises to its knees. It places its hands palm down on pale thighs. The brush between their parted legs.

She steps closer. She leans down over it. She whispers ice into its ear.

“Do you know why I snuffed out the lights, Three?”

“No, Domina” It said, in a voice louder and yet infinetly smaller than hers.

“In the dark I can hide your failure” She hisses. “You don’t even know you had failed me, do you?”

“No, Domina” It shakes as it speaks.

“Ignorance is no excuse, but don’t worry, you will learn.”

Before Three can reply, her arm wraps around its throat. Her elbow squeezes, she feels it go rigid. She hears it choke. She shushes, she coos. She fixes her black eyes on the bulging vein in its neck. It throbs against the skin.

She reaches down and picks up the brush. She turns it over in her hand, presses it against the smooth skin of Three’s stomach. The bristles are made of coarse hair, for scouring stains from the expensive marble. In Her hands they carve deep scratches that bubble with crimson rivulets. The scent hits her nose, she feels the beast lick its lips. Three shakes in her grasp.

“Stay still, or I’ll break your pretty neck.” She speaks with a voice as smooth as silk.

She squeezes with her elbow, it stops shaking. It locks up. She can smell its sweat, she can smell its blood as she drags the brush up toward its chest, slowly. Slowly. It lets out a strangled whimper, she runs her tongue over her teeth and feels the sharpness of her fangs. Her eyes fix on the bulging vein.

“I could feed, I could sink my fangs into you, drink deep of your blood. It would be so easy, so easy to drain you. Let those little thoughts slip away, let whatever remains of you fade into sweet oblivion…But even that would be too good for you. You failed me, tonight and before. That moment of perfect ecstasy will forever be beyond your reach, Three…”

“Please…Mercy…Mercy Domina…” It chokes out. Spittle runs down its mask, drips down onto the marble, pooling with the blood from its scratches.

“Mercy? I am Lasombra. I am the Abyss. Mercy is not a word I know…”

“Please” It gurgles pathetically.

She can hear it struggle for each breath. Struggle to stay still. Struggle not to cry out as the brush makes a carven mess of its torso. She presses deeper, blood weeps down its stomach, stains its skin. A canvas for the Domina. She lets the brush fall from her hands, it clatters to the floor.

What relief it brings is short lived, her fingers dig deep into the scratches. Sharp nails rake the Ghoul.

It can’t help itself. It Screams.

The Domina laughs.

She feels its warm blood coat her hand. She rips it back, crimson arcs into the dark, splatters on the ground with small, wet sounds. She releases her grip on it’s throat, but seizes its arm, drags it back.

It gasps, it whimpers, it squeezes its eyes shut. But there is no release. No freedom.

Not over. Not yet.

Her bloody hand traces a line down its bleeding torso, down to the crux of its legs. Dips between stained thighs. Stops.

She begins to laugh.

She raises her bloody hand to Three’s nose.

She lets them smell its blood.

She lets them smell its arousal.

“Was it the brush? The choking? The fear?”

Its words die in its throat. It just whimpers. She places a hand on its back, shoves it away from her and smirks as it cries out. She watches it whimper in the darkness. She stands over it and licks its shame from her hand.

The Beast purrs.

“Clean yourself up, then find me in the kitchen. You have twenty minutes. Do not disappoint me again.”

She walks away, tasting the blood on her lips. Stopping only once. Only when she hears two words, like the bleating of a sheep, in the darkness behind her.

“Yes, Domina…”

*********

The Domina places the apple amid the cornucopia of fruit in the bowl. It stands like the magnificent centerpiece of a gallery. It is surrounded by the bounty of her estate. They are the culmination of a decade of work. Tended to by loving, yet fearful hands. Her orchards and groves would make a Toreador blush given their beauty.

Apples and strawberries of beautiful ruby red, shining and ripe. Oranges that remind her of breakfasts in a life lived by another woman. Grapes that could make the finest vintages. Plums and peaches that make even her dead mouth water.

It almost makes her sad, knowing what she is about to do to them. Almost.

She stands, naked, in front of the counter. Her back to the door. She wants Three to see her as it enters. Wants it so see what she so often denies it. An eternal reminder. What it could have had, had it not fallen so short.

She hears the bell attached to the white door ring and allows herself a smirk. She hears two footsteps, a small gasp. A stop. She doesn’t turn to look.

“You may look, Three.”

“Thank you, Domina.”

She says nothing, picks up the bowl and turns. Three stands in the door, it is still naked save for its mask. Its body has been cleaned, its wounds no longer bleed, but the marks are clear. They will not fade for some time yet. Good. Let it wear them as a badge of shame. Let it remember the price of failure.

It doesn’t matter how small the failure is. How tiny the speck of dirt on their record. She has been tested just the same and she has excelled. She has gained all that she denies to her servants. There can be no second chances among the Magisters. Three and its companions will pay for their failure until she finally tires of them. It is lucky she finds scars beastly. It is lucky she does not decorate its face with more than a mask.

“Hands and knees.” She says and gestures with her head.

It obeys.

She snaps her fingers, points to a spot in front of her and watches it crawl. A half smile forms on her red-wine lips. It crawls toward her thinking what, she wonders? That all is forgiven? That she will treat it to the fruits of the estate? To the taste of her body? To pleasure? To bliss?

Foolish.

She holds the bowl out in front of her, fingers curled over the edges, brushing against the fruit. Moonlight spills through the windows, her shadow fractures into four. She smiles a smile so sweet it can rot teeth. She looks down, Three stares up. Its eyes visible through the mask. They are wet with fear, exhaustion, need. The teeth of its mouth zipper press into its trembling lips.

“Are you hungry?”

It nods.

“Your words, use them.” Ice edges her voice.

“Yes, Domina.”

She closes her eyes and once more the beast stirs, but this time she feels its gaze and nothing more. Her divided shadow splits yet further. It curls around her in thick ropes of darkness. She lets a sigh escape her lips and a shiver run up her spine. They crawl up her legs, they tickle. They tease. She feels a heat, she feels sparks across her deadened nerves. She lets the shadows play. She lets herself moan. She knows the torment it must bring, to watch and be denied.

She opens her eyes, they are black as the shadows embracing her. Her grin widens, widens, her mouth hangs open and her slick tongue plays over her bottom lip. The shadows slither and crawl down her arms. They dance over her fingers, they swarm over the bowl.

They touch the fruit.

She laughs.

Red fades to brown, orange rots to green. Skins shrivel, dry and crack open. Mold blooms The sickly sweet miasma of decay hangs in the air. She knows the scent and knows it well.

She places the bowl down, the beautiful display a rotten half-soup now. As her shadows pleasure her, she watches the hope die in Three’s eyes. She pushes the bowl toward them with her left foot.

“Eat” She orders.

It obeys.

It dips its head into the fetid soup. It slurps filth and chews rot. It chokes on mold and gags on decay. Its hands squeeze closed. She can smell when its nails break the skin. She places her foot on the back of its head, presses its head down into the bowl. Its cry is drowned out by the muck.

“You are a failure. You were a failure the day you said you’d never betray me. You’d never be strong enough to survive. You are a Ghoul. Your only job is to serve and survive on the refuse of your betters.”

She lets out another long moan as a shadow finds a deliciously sensitive spot.

“I’m sure you lie to yourself, you say this is for your own good. That you will be happy like this. Free from choice. Free from hunger. A fiction. You exist because I find you amusing, Three. But one day? One day I shall tire of you, and you will feed my orchards.”

She presses down further. It squeals like a stuck pig. She leans down. She can smell its fear, above the stench of decay and rot.

“You aren’t a pet, you aren’t a workhorse. You’re a toy. My Rose? She is something to be treasured. You? You are to be used then discarded. And if you fail me again? You’ll find out just how quickly toys can be broken.”

She lifts her foot from its head and steps back. She watches.

It keeps eating.

She smiles.

The shadows dance.

When the meal is done, it raises its head from the bowl, but it does not look at her.

“Thank you, Domina.”

“What for, Three?”

“For the meal and for the lesson. I won’t fail you again Domina.” Its voice is weak, nauseous.

“Yes you will. But you are welcome.”

Before she can speak again, the bell rings once more. She turns her gaze to the kitchen door. Another Ghoul stands there. She has no idea which one it is. It is also naked. Also masked. It clutches a sheet of paper in its hands. It shakes with fear.

“Domina, please forgive the intrusion…” It stops. Only now seeing the shadows pleasing its Domina.

“Continue.” She hisses.

“Your Rose, she sends a message, something terrible is happening in the city. Infernalism, Domina.”

She sighs. She snaps her fingers. She feels the shadows retreat. So it seems the City of Light had more on its plate than Thin Bloods and Hunters. She glares at the trembling Three, then at the Ghoul in the door.

“Have Five prepare my outfit, have Twelve bring the car. Lock this one in the Cage, then clean up the mess. And when I return? If I find a speck of filth anywhere in this house, you’ll all be punished.”

She steps past Three. She strides through the door.

Behind her, two voices echo the same words.

“Yes, Domina.”

[viskarenvisla]

Vampire: the Requiem Fanfic Chapter: Her Terrible Thirst [thought blurb at the bottom]

This is from the third chapter of my flagship story - it's about a young Vampire leading a proto-Bolshevik style revolution against a cadre of old, powerful undead Elders. This chapter takes place after a meeting where she had to give a large blood tithe in order to bring her demands... https://archiveofourown.org/works/60669973/chapters/154926403#workskin

That night, when the troughs were opened to the Common Bloods…

Monroe had never enjoyed beer. Or wine, or spirits for that matter. She’d always viewed alcohol as something of a lubricant, a tool to make things go her way but the danger had always been in the imbibing and loss of her own judgment. While sober-Monroe was the savvy sort whose gilded tongue had whispered revolt from waking dream to lockstep unity, inebriation brought out the very worst parts of her impulsive personality.

She lifted the curved glass, to her mouth, musing how its shape reminded her of some cartoonish version of a buff man. Smacking her lips at the bitter, watery flavor of pilsner, Monroe Carter found herself disliking booze as much in death as in life. Fortunately for her, the Requiem’s stipulations meant her body didn’t process it, and it was only with an investment of her dwindling vitae that she could mimic the Blush of Life and burn it away within her. As with wine so with bread, should she choose to, but the Damned were as Tantalus and found no satisfaction in food.

Such fleshly desires had long fled her with the last breath she ever took. Like a nightmare that had been forgotten once she’d awakened from death, like moths scattering at a disturbance. The murky part of her mind where dwelled the Beast and her own conscious Ego became blurry at times of hunger. For her to appear as something more than an animated corpse, leering with golden eyes she had to utilize what blood the Overseers had left her.

“Would you fuckin’ throw already?” came a tobacco scarred, Gulf-State accented growl from nearby, before a subdued -thnk- from a dart flung into the circular board near her perch. She traced its path through space and time backwards to the one who'd cast it…appraising him and turning her nose up at his lumpen aspect, same with his drinking buddies. Monroe was running on red fumes, but she'd not reached the point where she’d throw herself at someone whose blood would make her wretch. These poor people and their overworked, injured bodies were poisoned by unclean food and metal-contaminated drinking water, making them low-rate fare that left her feeling vaguely ill after feeding.

Like eating a greasy, bottom-grade burger to do away with a hangover, both the feeding itself and the digestion afterwards left her belly roiling at the thought, and yet…she curled forward in pain as a starvation pang shot squeezed her guts, dignity and will faltering before her Beast's internal shriek. Monroe’s teeth itched, her tongue felt covered in some sort of flavorless icing that could only be washed away by the syrupy warmth of a living being’s vitality.

There had been a point to what she’d been through, however - she hadn’t allowed Isidoro, Shira, Clementia and the others to dig their tombstone-cold fangs into her wrists, throat, and thighs just so she could drink behind the alleys of dive bars. An eternity of one night stands with truckers and factory workers who thought they were getting lucky, a twenty slipped to a prostitute for a sip at her throat wasn’t tolerable.

Neither, however, were starvation and the consequences of letting the Beast rise to the surface. Monroe was already entertaining the possibility of quitting the bar, taking her hunt behind one of the ramshackle factories where shipwrights smoked, ate their midnight lunch, or sought comfort with working girls on their breaks or after the third shift. Humiliating…maybe she was too proud for this existence.

Seated alone at a small wooden table tucked in a corner booth at Radcliffe’s Tavern, the amber-eyed Brujah was already digging around for her wallet when she noticed activity - the piss-weak lighting dimmed ever further, and bleary eyes were turning toward the makeshift stage near the back. Senses attuned for the humid night brought the confines of this little concrete hole into bright relief. Radcliffe’s sometimes had live music playing, usually one of the regulars who was sober enough to scrape together enough tips to dash said sobriety against the bartop afterwards.

This was different. A short, broad fellow whose fingertips reached slightly past his knees was dutifully unpacking a drum set on stage. A blonde mohawk punctuated his forehead to the back of his skull like a row of exclamation marks. His honest face made her think of a grumpy dinosaur, a leather vest worn over a band T-shirt whose sigil she didn’t recognize; a swirling firestorm centered around a wolf’s skull, biting through chains.

Her appetite piqued, Monroe decided she’d at least stay to listen, since Radcliffe himself had dragged his ponderous form onstage to introduce them. “Alright alright, everyone keep your knickers on…so these guys’re from outta town, don’t remember where, don’t care.”

“Chicago, asshole,” someone shouted from somewhere off stage. A low chuckle rose in her throat as starvation coiled within her.

“Yeah yeah like I said, don’t care. I didn’t pay for ‘em, so put your hands together - or don’t - for…” he squinted at the notecard in his hand. “What kinda name is this…? Instrument - ”

“You have to say it in capital letters,” spike-mohawk admonished him from behind his snare drums.

“For fuck’s sakes…INSTRUMENT OF AGGRESSION, fuck you,” he crumpled the notecard up and hauled himself back to his bartop. A pair of folks who definitely didn’t come from around here got up from their seats and ascended the stage, bringing their instruments with them. Monroe's eyes tracked what she saw with almost mechanical smoothness…the bloodthirsty thing in her dweomered, vitae burning heart stopped its pacing, its atavist eyes leering through her own.

The bass guitarist was a beanpole of a woman, taller than Monroe by a few inches…her skin a shade lighter than her own, more akin to latte. Bass-girl had let her locks solidify into dreads that dangled down her back like cords. She wore the same kind of T-shirt as Mohawk-boy. Her bluejeans were a few sizes too large, and she wasn’t shy about revealing she was going commando either. Her eyes were bloodshot and red; Monroe could practically taste the THC winding through her brain stem. She both admired and disdained her bravery.

The lead guitarist and singer, however, hooked her attention like nobody else in this hole. Her lips parted slightly, and she felt her fangs prick the tip of her tongue in anticipation. Putting her glass to her mouth, sharp teeth clinking on the edge, she scrutinized him. He was also tall, cresting his bassist by centimeters, bristly black hair worn short and styled in loose spikes. Rocker-boy was deeply tanned, the light glinting off his tight skin. The aquiline hook of his nose, the almond shape of his eyes and that wide mouth reminded her of some roguish prince from a desert land, filled with onion-dome towers, flying carpets, ensorcelled animals. She chided herself for her overactive imagination. 

He shucked a stud-shouldered leather jacket, revealing the same T-shirt as the others wore, the sleeves torn off. His body was, clearly, warrior-hard, almost devoid of fat to her detail-hungry gaze. Her attention danced along the shape of his biceps, his deltoids, the cords of his forearms beneath leather bracers. “Fuuuck,” she muttered, pushing her braids back from her eyes and running her nails along her almond-dark skin. Monroe resisted the urge to let her gaze travel downward from his studded belt, holding up a pair of fitted black jeans, to his bulge…she looked anyway, pursing her lips as she admired the convex shape of his fly.

Introspective, self-aware creature she was, she briefly wondered just why she saw him in such a different light than his bassist; she was certainly attractive, her type really, though something about him was otherworldly. Like a dream, or a dark subconscious impulse given form.

Monroe’s chin rested in her hand. That cocky grin on his face just screamed ‘I’m a bastard, live with it’, and she once again found herself cast between competing sentiments of desire and contempt. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you’re rockin’ a pacemaker, or using hearing aids I suggest you put in some ear plugs or turn the volume down cuz it’s about to get loud .” His voice was a deep baritone, velvety smooth in some places but bearing the telltale scarring of cigarette smoke and a lot of screaming in others…absent a local accent. Monroe’s tongue ran furtively, like a shy, pink thing, under her top lip.

“One, two, THREE!”

She doubted anybody in this place expected, much less appreciated, his brand of rock, like a cobra hooked by a mongoose’s dance, the twin magnetism of his body and presence hooked her. Monroe had witnessed artistic refinement developed over decades, centuries among her own kind that eclipsed his, but she found herself taken away by his genuine passion. LOOK AT ME screamed his aura; the stomp of his boot on an amplifier, such a ridiculous power flex, dredged forth a smile. Thrash metal, power metal, whatever metal he was bringing wasn’t normally her thing at all but god damn if it wasn’t hard to get swept away in his vortex.

Mohawk on the drums and that skinny, stoned chick on the bass were good enough to keep up with him, but he owned this show. His voice made her body tingle, and in the depths of her bloodthirst she couldn’t recall exactly what he’d sung about other than it had something to do with everything burning down, swallowed by waves that smash the earth. 

This one, whispered the crow-eyed thing behind her ribcage.

Three songs in and she’d moved closer to the bar. Heartened by the prospect of a meal, Monroe found a second wind, prowling at the edges of his firelight like a hungry jackal. When the moment came for her to work her magic, she made sure to have a strategically emptied beer glass at hand, resting an elbow on the counter, wearing her midriff jacket off her shoulders. She didn’t show much with that dark green tanktop, but just enough to make sure he could see the curve of her strong body and the shape of an eight-pack underneath. When they made eye-contact…

A thrill ran through her. She almost forgot herself, giddy grin tugging at the corner of her lips but the edge of an expected feeding-frenzy pulled her firmly into hunting-mode. She let his black eyes linger on hers, glancing with casual strategy at his chest and then back into his pupils. Enfolding his warm, vibrant mind in the grip of her Majesty was as easy as blowing a kiss, sinking soft barbed hooks into his brain to make sure he didn’t look away before she did. The Vampire’s night-tainted allure worked subtly upon him.

When she was sure he was staring, she allowed her full lips to push forward, eyes hooding slightly with feigned boredom. She offered a silent challenge that could potentially be interpreted as flirtatious before she let her gaze pass elsewhere, reeling him in on the line of her dismissal. As expected, she heard the rhythm of his combat boots on the beer-and-puke stained wooden floor, barstool creaking as he took the seat next to her. Calmly punching down that damn fool’s grin, she raised an eyebrow and favored him another second of her attention.

Again she was momentarily robbed of the power of speech by the warmth of his expression. The set of his wrist on his knee was terribly cocky. Arrogant, almost, like he was the one playing the game here. Poor, stupid boy…you’re the one tugging the strings more often than not, aren’t you? “Your first time hearing us play?” he purred easily, like he was hot shit and he knew it.

Carter shrugged noncommittally, admiring the rows of rail-line booze instead of him, catching his reflection watching her in the distorting curve of a handle of Gordon’s. “Dunno. If I heard ya’ll before, it ain’t ringin’ a bell.”

“That’s a yes, I saw the way you were watching us, and you liked what you heard.” She inferred from his tone that he knew she’d been checking him out, which was only slightly infuriating. Before she could respond with something appropriately sharp-tongued he gestured vaguely at the bartender when she came by. “Get my friend a Sally’s Red, she looks like she could use something with a bit of chutzpah.”

“Oh we friends already is we,” she challenged him further, finally turning herself toward him fully and crossing a BDU-clad leg over the other, a spare motion of her head more like a cobra than a girl showing she was hard. He was leaning his elbow on the countertop such that his deltoid stood out, and admittedly she wanted to reach out and touch it…but it was too soon for that. “Hope you don’t assume I go makin’ friends with any dude that thinks he’s something just cuz he’s buying me drinks.”

“I’m Mizrah. You’re Monroe Carter - no no, don’t go looking at me like I’m a creepo, relax. I saw you leading that March Against Prosecutor Corruption last winter, you’re not exactly some anon.” He pushed her drink toward her, which she accepted slowly. She was actually flattered that he recognized her…was he involved in that type of thing? She hadn’t seen him around here, or at the protests downtown, but Radcliffe had mentioned they were from out of town. “Now we got each other’s names at least.” He raised his own beer, and finding herself warming to him more than she’d expected, she clinked her glass against his and rewarded him with the suggestion of a smile...shrewdly distributed in the face of his charming hubris.

“Yeah, a’right. We got that far at least. Cheers…Mizrah.” She sipped it and let her gaze linger on his, glancing at the shape of his collarbone under his shirt. Monroe allowed the glass to hover near her lips, waiting to see what he’d say before she grew tired of the game and laid her net over him.

“So, professional shit-stirrer and rabble rouser Monroe Carter is found out here with the proles who voted for ‘tough-on-crime’ Tannser…and she’s hanging out with them no less. Not where I would have expected to find you.” He was poking at her, teasing but also…there was a challenge, answering her own. 

“Yeah well professional rabble-rousing doesn’t exactly pay good so I rent where it’s affordable is all, and y’know. Radcliffe’s?” She glanced around her at the ill-lit, stinking bar and gave a nerveless shrug. “Kinda got that shithole-in-the-wall charm to it I think. ‘Sides you just some out-of-townie, the hell you know about Ashland?”

Despite her hunger, even though the Beast was hissing that she’d bandied enough pointless words it didn’t understand and that the time to feed was ripe, Monroe found herself actually enjoying his presence. Here was someone who knew more than just revolutionary slogans or memorized Ramones lyrics to get in her pants, and she found herself rather enjoying the argument she was having with him.

They quarreled over the particulars of the city’s semi-public, all-chaotic healthcare system; she favored a complete public structural reform, he called for its complete dismantling and its replacement with some crazy fragmented, independent cooperative system. They quibbled over the virtue of an armed, militant populace; Monroe saw virtue in officers (she) appointed to maintain the pace, while Mizrah seemed to believe every man, woman and child should fend for themselves.

To him, she was an outdated Leninist, herself four steps ahead of a populace which had lost all sense of unity. To her, he was a demented accelerationist, someone who’d rather burn it all down than give up even a fraction of his ‘liberty’ as he called it. The chance to bicker with someone whose opinions were passionate and informed was intoxicating for them both, long adrift in the flotsam of the ignorant.

Their fingers had drifted closer in the midst of their impassioned debate…the back of his hand was warm, his touch surprisingly gentle. The way his thumb brushed along the vein in her wrist made her shiver pleasantly. Her belly growled with hunger, and to hide her fangs she brought her glass up, pretending to sip the pilsner, never letting her attention wander from his startling warmth.

Finally she stood up, breaking contact as she slid a pack of Marbs out of her rear right pocket, motioning with a casual jerk of her head toward the back door. “Come on, Mister ‘Miz-er-rah’. Spark a bogie with me out back?” She slid one into his hand, tugging lightly on his fingers.

Follow if you want to kiss me, her eyes told him, and as she placed her hand on the doorknob, she smiled a vixen's little smile when she heard his boots behind her.

Radcliffe’s was set between an abandoned shoe factory and an auto shop called Wrigley’s. The ‘y’ and ‘s’ had fallen off so it just read ‘Wrigle’, which she always found funny but her vision was tinged red with savage need. In the darkness of the night, a gentle sprinkling of spring rain gave rise to obscuring mist, city lights casting strange shadows against the tangle of fire escapes and wires above them. Monroe let herself stare into his eyes as the door creaked shut.

They were black like coal, smoldering around the edges with a color that reminded her of the flames she dreaded. Before she made the mistake of getting lost in them, and of being near the unwelcome, if tiny, spark of fire from a lighter, she plucked his cigarette from between his lips. 

They were alone…perfect .

Monroe’s palm started at his heart, curling her fingers slightly and running them up the impression of his pectoral muscle, over his clavicle and to the back of his neck as she pulled his lips toward hers. His own hands found her waist, one sliding around her back and running up the links of her spinal cord pleasantly as he drew her closer. “Come here,” she whispered, her mouth finding his.

The electricity of the moment defied her expectations, and the kiss lasted longer than she’d meant. It was soft, affectionate, and when he bit her bottom lip she found herself liking it more than she ought. The -tk-tak- of a little steel bead through the end of his tongue dredged up some…irrelevant thoughts, since she wasn’t planning on taking him into a hotel room. Not planning to anyway, but…Monroe found her heel dragging up the back of his calf as her leg ringed around his. She broke the kiss, closing her eyes as she reestablished focus in the face of base lusts that threatened to flit away with her better judgment.

“You okay?” he whispered against her lips, his hand surprisingly gentle as he tipped her visage upward to look at it. She was actually kind of touched by his concern. Monroe responded with a ‘tsh’, playfully pushing at his face and finding herself regarding him a little dreamily…without the Blush of Life she knew she’d be leering like a hungry fucking raven, lashing her tongue at his throat.

“Don’t you go worryin’ about me big guy,” Monroe crooned. Pity, he actually seemed kind of nice…but she was here for one thing and one thing only. She tugged his shirt to bring him closer, kissing the top of his chest. “I’m just enjoyin’ myself.” Her breath cold against his clavicle as her canines sharpened and grew; in her head it sounded like icicles forming.

His arms around her soothed drove away the clammy chill of the night air, and his fingers sliding up the back of her thigh threatened to melt her into something less than coherent. Rather than dignifying it with further thought, or risking a descent into the moment, she reached the base of his neck and dug her fangs in. A moment of resistance, then the warm, expected rush -

The world exploded in color and sensation. His moan was quiet but it might as well have been shouted into her ear; colors became incredibly vivid, and even the muted grays and browns became vibrant and rich shades of blue sky and living earth. The taste of his blood was like none other, heady and thick, richer than any she’d fed on - any mortal, any living creature she’d drunk from prior to this experience may as well have been filled with straw and dust.

Strength flooded Monroe’s veins as she forgot her name, pinning him roughly up against a wall as she pulled her fangs forth, a wordless, animal’s groan upon her lips as her eyes rolled up into the back of her head. She licked her lips clean, tracing over his neck as she gulped down the ruby torrent. She felt his palm stroke her face, and she kissed his fingers, nipping gently at them before she reached his wrist and dug in again. Time lost its meaning as she swallowed him down, crimson mouthful after mouthful…

…and when he began to slump in her arms, she pulled her teeth forth, blinking as consciousness came to the forefront. There was no avalanche, no sense of reality crashing down upon her, just a sudden transition from ravening to incredible satiety, and the consequences.

Her chin was soaked with red, like the juice of a peach, dripping hot onto the curve of her chest. Her right hand hung limply at her side, while the left was still holding Yusuf’s, fingers intertwined…only he had fallen back against the wall of the bar. Twin holes at the base of his neck, two more at his wrist still pulsed rich scarlet weakly in time with his heart, but his once tawny complexion had been rendered sickly and corpse-pale.

“Shit,” she whispered. Not the first time this had happened, but it always went down when she was really hungry and took too much. There’d been something otherworldly about his blood, it left her heart racing in her chest. The night had shifted from a muted thing to a vibrant throw of contrasting colors, like her atrophied, dead organs were lit up neon bright; she could practically see the way her veins filled up with him, and it banished the clamminess that almost always clung to her.

She wasn't quite sure what she was feeling at this moment as she placed her fingers at his wrist, finding the dying-bird flutter of a pulse. She could hear him breathing shallowly, but he was rapidly cooling. As puzzled by herself as she'd ever been, Monroe leaned in and pressed her lips softly to his, finding them cold and wet.

"What's…happening…?" He whispered against her mouth, but she kissed him again and held it, running her fingers through his hair and letting herself feel whatever she felt for this dying, pretty man…she'd hate herself later, but for now, this was a nice, bittersweet reprieve from it all.

"Shhhhh. I'm sorry…it's my fault," the young, blood-flushed Brujah breathed against his lips. "You were too good, you tasted too sweet, honey. I wish I could have known you more, I really do…but I just couldn’t help myself and I drank too deep.”

You killed him. Another one…and this might have been one of the good ones. Not that it matters, you can’t have the good ones for anything but this. Her muted internal reaction disturbed her, a reminder of just how much the night and the Blood had taken from her…then there was what she’d taken from him. She’d killed this intelligent young man, brimming with vitality and art, someone who had his whole life ahead of him. She’d stolen his future, plunged him into oblivion to satisfy her parasite’s thirst for what, exactly? A rush of sensation and a full belly? Another week of perilous night, if she didn’t feed again?

Tears didn’t come naturally to the Damned, even if they felt the full heft of feelings early on in their Requiem. Her eyes stung, and it felt like she should mourn but she couldn’t anymore, so instead she wrapped her slender arms around his dying form and rocked him back and forth. Only those who weren't long for this mortal coil had ever experienced this side of her, stroking his stubbled cheek as his shallow breathing brushed her chin, misty rain soaking them both.

“You seemed like a great guy…” She carefully released him, laying him back against the brick wall and standing, sliding her hands into the pockets of her coat. Monroe looked upon him with greater clarity than before. This…didn’t seem right. She didn’t know his whole name - as if that secret would somehow render just her bloodthirsty murder - so she knelt back down next to him, fishing around in his pocket for his wallet. Flipping it open, she looked over his driver’s license.

Out of state…Illinois. Good picture of him too, that same warm smile that was gone forever now. “Yusuf Avimalek Mizrah…April fourth, 1998. Eye color…black. Hair color…black. Height…six feet one inch,” she read off numbly. Not really understanding why, she slipped his driver’s license in her pocket. Stupid, maybe, but more internal mystery drove her to keep something of him. She’d had her fair share of lovers, blood dolls and…whatever else they were in the past, but what she’d felt with this Mizrah guy was unusual. She’d keep this memory as a souvenir of what she’d been, a reminder of her descent.

Monroe stopped near the mouth of the alley, and turned to look at him once more. She may not have felt hunger, but there was a pang in her heart that went far deeper.

-------

So I decided I needed to rewrite my 'flagship' Werewolf / Vampire Forbidden Romance story for a number of reasons:

I think that it became too focused on smut and that cheapened the political drama surrounding the main character; that is interesting, how she wrangles her life, and that makes the smut more interesting because of who she is

I shouldn't have put chapters in there from Mizrah's (the male love interest) perspective, I should have just left it all with Monroe. Again, it cheapened the character and I have stories with Mizrah as a focus already

The story needed cohesion and more political stuff happening. It needs to be a Vampire: the Requiem story

With that in mind, I decided to take my best chapter and use it as a tantalizer; it's light on the politics, more focused on the forbidden romance. If you're interested in reading the political stuff, that can be found here in the first couple of chapters and a lot onward; I decided the third chapter is a little easier to sink your teeth into.

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 87 - A Dance Until Death

(Sadly any captures I make won't do justice to the sheer *vibes* of a masquerade ball. :') Loved writing this though! I hope you enjoy!)

Chapter Summary: In hopes of disrupting his ritual, Church, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Karlach infiltrate Cazador Szarr's masquerade ball.

Pairing: Astarion x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 464K+ words; Chapters 87/95 (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

Church hovers anxiously around the food tables as he watches the next song, envious of the couples prancing around and laughing together. Damn it, how much of a scandal would it be if he walked up and joined in…?

Oh for fuck’s sake. That’s not why they’re here. He has to focus…

“Not one for dancing, my lady?” asks a mellow voice.

Church startles, blinking up at the tall figure. 

Shit — he’s supposed to be keeping an eye out for Dufay, but instead he’s looking up at another man with long, auburn hair. With a chill he recognizes that it’s none other than the vampire spawn Leon. Even with half his face obscured by a Luna moth — a green mask trimmed with gold — he looks worlds more cleaned-up compared to his last disastrous visit to their camp.

“Alas,” Church chuckles in Ori’s light, musical voice. “I am no lady, and I have my duties.”

“Oh!” Leon smiles pleasantly. “Forgive me, I mistook you for one of the debutantes of the court.”

Church raises an eyebrow behind his mask. Oh yes, he should have expected the flattery.

“How kind of you to say,” he replies blithely.

“Hey!” Karlach calls abruptly into their minds. “Dufay’s left the ballroom. Should I follow him?”

“Wait!” Shadowheart warns her. “Not by yourself!”

Leon, meanwhile, has sidled close to Ori under the pretense of hearing her better. “And you are here with…?”

“Lord and Lady Tamm,” Church answers shortly, eyes flicking to find his companions — but Lord and Lady Tamm are nowhere in sight. Even Karlach with Tark’s height cannot be immediately spotted.

“The Tamms? Truly?” Leon asks curiously. “Ah, then that must make you Miss Ori Truvic?”

Church’s stomach squirms, and alarmingly, Leon seems to sense that.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Leon chuckles. “It is my job to know all of those in court — along with those adjacent to court. I, too, am no lord.” He sighs, “Yet here I am, left to mingle among the weeds.”

He smirks at Church.

“Fortunately, I found a flower amongst them.”

Church tries his damndest not to roll his eyes behind his mask. Instead he forces a shy giggle as he slowly begins to creep away.

“You are too kind, my lord,” he simpers. 

Leon swiftly lunges out to take Ori’s hand, bending down to kiss it with a small smile.

“My name is Leon, Lady Ori,” he murmurs. “I’m one of Lord Szarr’s advisors on the Weave.” He tilts his head. “It seems that sorcery is an innate gift we both share, judging by your aura.”

Church desperately wishes Cazador had gone after a far duller spawn. 

“Ah,” Leon hums sympathetically, drifting closer. “I take it your lady and lordship do not know of your talents?”

“No,” Church manages, wondering whether it would be more convincing at this point to flee or hold his ground. 

“I understand,” Leon says gently, his gaze steady. “You know, your lord and lady seem quite occupied. If you would like to speak in confidence, perhaps we could take a walk along the promenade? I would love to hear all about—”

The vampire spawn freezes, still holding Church’s hand. Leon’s face grows impossibly paler behind his mask, his mouth shuddering.

“Victoria,” Leon utters in quiet horror.

“...who?” Church replies meekly.

“N-no,” Leon utters, dropping Ori’s hand and stumbling away. “Forgive me, my lady. I have to… I must…”

He retreats without a second look, pushing his way through the crowd and leaving a bemused Church behind. As relieved as he is to be left alone, he’s still intrigued.

“Astarion,” he calls to the elf, wherever the hells he is. “Do you know anyone named ‘Victoria?’”

“Oh,” Astarion replies disdainfully. “Leon’s brat. What, don’t tell me she’s here too?”

“‘Leon’s…?’ He has a child?” Church asks incredulously. “You never told me about a child!”

Nor did he see any children in Astarion’s shared memories except for the Gur’s.

“Yes, well, she’s not a spawn,” Astarion says impatiently. “Merely one of Cazador’s bargaining chips to keep our ‘youngest’ sibling in check. She was always kept somewhere else away from us, and I’ve only ever seen her a handful of times. She keeps to normal, mortal waking hours, after all.” 

Church sees Lady Tamm give her husband a fleeting, reproving look. 

“Please tell me this damned song is ending soon,” she groans to them. “Otherwise I’ll be begging for death by vampire.”

The musicians seem to have mercy on her, and as soon as they finish the piece Astarion and Shadowheart bow hastily to each other, hurrying off the dance floor. 

“Why did you ask, darling?” Astarion asks, pushing through the crowd with a question on his face. 

“Leon and I were chatting,” Church says, relieved to see him. “But he got spooked by something. He said that name — Victoria.”

Lord Tamm looks somewhat troubled as he and Lady Tamm approach Ori. But before they can reach Church, a figure steps in Astarion’s way. 

“Lord Tamm,” the red-skinned tiefling smiles behind a black lace mask, secured with a gold filigree that winds up her horns. “May I have this next dance?”

Astarion hesitates. 

“How… unorthodox of you,” he utters carefully. “And forward.”

Aurelia laughs lightly, her smile remaining frozen upon her face. 

“Please, milord,” she says, slipping her arm in his. “I insist.”

—

Astarion considers breaking his sister’s arm then and there. It wouldn’t have been the first time for either of them. 

But that would be very unbecoming of Lord Tamm. 

“Astarion?” Church calls warily. “Should we intervene?”

“No, darling,” Astarion replies curtly, arm tense as it links in Aurelia’s. “But I’ll be in touch.”

Church joins Lady Tamm’s side as a dutiful lady in waiting, making a show of tidying her dress and fanning her flushed skin. 

“I don’t like this,” Shadowheart says to her party. “Shouldn’t I at least act offended?”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Fangs,” Karlach says, drifting closer to her companions from the other side of the floor. 

“Something on your mind, milord?” Aurelia asks, her voice soft on top of the lute’s jubilant melody. 

Astarion forces a chuckle, “Oh, only the ire of a spurned wife as you can imagine. I imagine I owe her a new pair of shoes after this…”

“Indeed,” Aurelia hums. “Perhaps you should consider buying them from somewhere far away. Calimshan or Amn, perhaps. In fact…” she spins herself beneath Astarion’s arm. “…why don’t you go tonight?” she suggests lightly. “Take your wife. Your servants. And leave immediately.”

Astarion flicks his eyes over to her, and beneath the veil of black lace he sees the other vampire spawn’s eyes — glowing red above a wooden smile. 

“I cannot do that, I’m afraid,” Astarion replies blithely. “We have been looking forward to this party for quite some time now. It’s the event of the season, I hear. A once in a lifetime experience…”

“You’re a damned fool,” Aurelia utters through gritted teeth as she floats along in step beside him. “He knows you’re coming. It was a trap. I thought I made it obvious for you.”

“Lord Szarr already knows I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Astarion shrugs. “I received several invitations, after all.”

Aurelia turns back into his arms, leaning scandalously closer to his ear. But her words are far from coy. 

“We are all going to die, brother,” Aurelia whispers, barely perceptible over the music. “All of us. You. Me. Our siblings. These people. Your plaything.”

Astarion’s eyes glower at her beneath his mask, his smile tightening. 

“It’s not a threat,” Aurelia says wearily. “It’s a warning. A fact, if you do not leave here immediately.”

“…how immediately?” Astarion asks after a beat. 

“The doors will be sealed on the hour,” Aurelia replies, stepping away from him. “Get out, brother — if you ever wish to see the sun again.”

She curtsies, and only then does Astarion realize that the song has already ended. 

“I’m not going,” he hisses to her as they depart the dance floor together. “Not until he’s dead.”

Aurelia bows her head slightly, looking from side to side. 

“Then…” she utters, gazing up at him through her mask. “Do what you must. Do all that we could not.”

[mortifying-macaroni]

I'm rereading my fic for the first time and I can't help but either laugh or go "oooh" at some of the things I've put out..

They're so fucking stupid and stubborn and in love I can't-

[ma1dmer]

hello, you can call me billy (18+)

welcome to my mind palace, i sometimes share headcanons about books, shows, games, movies, ttrpgs etc and sometimes i write about my own and my friends' original characters, stay and chat or request something! tag:(.writing , .oc talk , .love notes)

this is an 18+ blog sometimes with triggering or problematic media

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether - Series Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14 ... on hiatus!

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death

RE ensemble: Chris Redfield, Claire Redfield, Ada Wong, Albert Wesker, Jill Valentine, Sherry Birkin, Ingrid Hunnigan, Rebecca Chambers, Baker Family, Merchant, Patrick (Infinite Darkness), Luis Serra, Glenn Arias, Kevin Ryman, Karl Heisenberg

VtM concepts: Camarilla, Anarch, Sabbat, Second Inquisition, Toreador, Ventrue, Brujah, Gangrel, Nosferatu, Malkavian, Tremere, Ghouls

navigation 🧭 | leon's masterlist 🔮 | ao3 💖

[smuttyfang]

Beckett, An Intimate Night Together

"Can you please do some Beckett/female reader smut? Please."

Words: 1,124

"Have you found anything yet?" Beckett asked while searching the shelves for anything of interest. Your eyes scanned the book you held in your hands. It's leather bound pages were long worn and torn. Your body felt stiff from sitting on the hard floor for so long now.

"Mm, not really. Nothing too special in this one." Gently placing it back on the shelf, you sighed, picking up another beside it. You and Beckett had been traveling together and found an old library that had long been abandoned. It was in Scotland, hidden deep beneath an abandoned castle.

You were sure it must have been a lovely castle in it's better days. It was gigantic, gargoyles adorned the front doors and the peaks at the very top. It's towers seemed to stretch into the sky itself. You both felt it entirely possible that a vampire lived here at one point in time. Flipping through the last few pages of the second book, you placed it back where you found it.

"You know something Beckett?" You stretched out your legs and turned your attention to him.

"Quite a few somethings." He smirked. "Yes?" His voice always sounded a little seductive, without him even realizing it or trying.

"This would be a perfect place for us to stay together. It's beautiful, it just needs some work. And there's still a ton of knowledge to be found, I'm sure." He smirked at you. You always suggested things like this, but he would never give up on his search for Kindred knowledge.

"What, you think we will find another abandoned library hidden behind another bookshelf?" He teased.

"Well, it's entirely possible. This place is huge. We just have to take out all of these books and see which one makes a clicking sound." He smiled now, putting down his book and picking up another.

"What would be the odds of that happening again? I suppose it's always possible." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Nothing is impossible, Beckett. But.. can I ask you for a favor?"

"Of course, dear." Your stomach knotted when he said that. In a good way.

"Can we just.. stay here for a while? Please? We have all of eternity to look for these things. I want to spend time with you." His eyes met with yours. His emotions were incredibly hard to read. "Just a few nights. Please?" A sigh escaped his lips.

"Just gather some books to take with us, anything that looks interesting. We will find a room to stay in for the night." You could have squealed with excitement, he never agreed to spend time in one place or another unless it was daytime and you were both unable to leave. You stood up and dusted yourself off, walking over to him and giving him a small peck on the cheek.

"Thank you, Beckett." You gave him one more, before you scanned the room for anything interesting. You picked up a few that had strange symbols or languages, and you both set off to search for a decent room.

After an hour or two, you managed to find a room that didn't seem to be as disheveled as the rest of the castle. It had a large regal bed, an odd green color, covered with a canopy. The room had a fireplace and plenty of candles to use. You both set your books down near the fireplace.

"I think this will do." You pulled some matches from your pocket and lit some of the candles. You opened the curtains and pushed the window open. It creaked and groaned from the time it spent untouched, but still came open nonetheless. The full moon was out, and the cool breeze felt nice against your skin. You heard something creak behind you. Turning around, you realized Beckett had gotten a clean blanket from your bag and covered the dusty bed in it.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to bring one of these. I would hate to get you covered in dust." He laid down on the bed, resting his eyes. You wiggled your eyebrows to yourself.

"Are you saying you want to roll me all over this dusty old bed?" You smiled and crawled into bed beside of him. You snuggled up close to him. Even though he was cold to the touch, he made you feel so safe and secure.

"As a matter of fact, I might be saying just that." You perked up immediately, hearing his words. He wasn't often in the mood, but when he was, it was fantastic.

"Then please, indulge me." You loved it when he got like this. It was almost like a bestial side of him came forth when he wanted to make love. His lips enveloped yours in a cold kiss. Your tongue danced along the inside of his mouth, rubbing over his teeth. That was always your dead giveaway. You gazed into his eyes with passion. "I want your bite." He gave you his signature smirk again.

"Anything for you, dear." Although he drank from you often, when it was during sex, it was even more intense and pleasurable. His mouth trailed down your chin and traveled to your neck while he tore away at your clothing, pulling his own bottoms away.

"You always tear my clothes.." You said in a daze. He didn't respond. He merely kept his lips against your skin while he pumped his blood to his cock, bringing it back to life once more. He readied himself at your hole. Letting his teeth graze your neck, he picked out his favorite spot of yours to bite. When he reached the perfect target, he slowly worked his way inside of you, inch by inch. His teeth dug into your skin at the same time, giving you the most perfect mixture of pain and pleasure. He moaned aginst your skin, sucking the blood from your body while he began pumping into you.

"Beckett, oh.. fuck.." He pulled away from your neck, looking up at you with blood and lust ridden eyes. Your blood dripped from the corners of his mouth. Pulling himself upward, he presses his kips to yours, letting you taste yourself. He kept his eyes locked on yours, breathing against your skin.

"Now that I've started, I'm not going to stop." He reached down to bite you once more.

AO3

[navybrat817]

Bucky Barnes Masterlist - 2

Welcome to my 2nd Bucky Barnes Masterlist, lovelies, and I hope you enjoy! Here you will find some of my darker fics. These may include triggers such as noncon, dubcon, violence, dark themes, etc. Please heed the warnings. Header and banner by @sgt-seabass​ and dividers by @firefly-graphics​. Check them out! ​

Main Masterlist | 1st Bucky Barnes Masterlist

I have discontinued my tag list. Please follow my sideblog @navybrat817-sideblog and turn on notifications to see new fics! I will only post fics, writing ideas and updates there.

🔥 smut 💓 fluff 💔 angst 💞 AU 🛑 dark content 💙 Navy's faves

Mini-Series and Universes

Soldat and Sparrow Universe (Ongoing)

Your fire burns for the Winter Soldier. And one day, you’ll be free. Both of you.

Winter and Fire  🔥💙

Summary: You didn’t choose to be with Hydra. Neither did the Winter Soldier. 

War and Peace 🔥

Summary: Your first mission together brings inner war...peace.

Soldat and Sparrow  

Summary: No one touches his Sparrow.

Night and Day  🔥

Summary: Will you be another one of the Soldat’s lost memories?

Dark and Light

Summary: You learn the real reason why Hydra wants to keep you.

Black and White

Moon and Sun

Past and Future

The Pakhan and the Printsessa - Mob Newlyweds Universe (Ongoing) 💞

You’re married to Bucky Barnes, one of the most powerful men in the world. And all he wants is you.

Harmonious  🔥

Summary: You may think you’re a pawn in Bucky’s life, but you are his queen.

Hollow  🔥

Summary: Bucky touches on memories from the past and wants to start a new tradition with you.

Husband and Wife  🔥💙

Summary: Bucky has to have you before you get to your wedding reception.

Honeymoon Suite 🔥

Summary: Bucky takes a call during your honeymoon, but you should know that you always come first.

Home Again  🔥

Summary: Your husband opens up to you about his past as you fall more in love.

Honesty and Lies

Honor and Obey

Hope, Faith and Love

Vampire Mob AU (Ongoing)

Power and money mean nothing to the powerful vampire ruler if you’re aren’t by his side.

Around Your Throat  🔥

Summary:  Bucky has the perfect accessory to go around your throat.

Lay Me Down  🔥💙

Summary: You look to the past and future on your last night as a human.

Disturbia - Dark Suburbia AU

You have a beautiful home and a loving partner. So, why does it feel like something is wrong with your neighborhood?

A Plum a Day  🔥🛑

Summary: You wake up beside Bucky, but you don't know how you got there.

Winter and Kisa - Mob AU 💞

The mobster doesn't care that you're an agent. He wants you to be his.

Give Me a Name

Summary: Someone put their hands on you and Bucky can't let it go.

Almost Like Home

Summary: Bucky told you his place would be your home one day. You see it firsthand with his closet.

Dark Club AU (Tagged as Turn It Up AU)

Hold You Tight  🔥🛑💞

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

There's Something in the Water - Coming Soon

One Shots and Imagines (over 1k) *Some fics may get additional parts

Run Like Hell  🔥🛑

Summary:  You weren’t supposed to see the Winter Soldier that day. So you ran. The Soldat loves a good chase though…and you’re not getting away from him that easily.

First and Last  🔥🛑 💞 (a/b/o)💙

Summary:  Masquerading as Beta was an easy choice. Too bad Bucky Barnes had other plans for you.

You’re My Obsession  🔥🛑💙

Summary: You’re the light in Bucky’s darkness. And he doesn’t want to share you with anyone, including Steve.

Best Man 🛑

Summary: Bucky found the girl of his dreams and Steve couldn’t be happier.

Remind Me  🔥💙

Summary: The apocalyptic world is crumbling around you and you need a reminder of who you belong to.

Push and Pull  (features Nick Fowler x Reader)🔥🛑💙💞 (Club)

Summary: Nick wants what Bucky has.

Prized Possession  🔥🛑 💞 (Librarian)

Summary: You’re Bucky’s rare treasure, his most prized possession.

A Debt to Pay  🔥💙💞 (Mob)

Summary: Bucky isn’t a man to be crossed.

What Goes Around  🔥💙 💞 (DBF/BFD)

Summary:  Bucky is your friend's dad and your dad's friend and nothing more. Until he isn't.

Send Me an Angel  🔥🛑 💞 (Bartender)

Summary: Bucky thinks you’re an angel.

Follow You Home (Stalker)

Summary: Bucky just wants to see you smile when he visits you at the flower shop.

Two Sides of the Same Coin🔥 (Bucky and the Winter Soldier)

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Secret Admirer Secret Admirer - Part 2 Secret Admirer - Part 3 Secret Admirer - Part 4 Forced Bond 🔥🛑 Last Call  🔥🛑 His Sparrow  🔥🛑 Stalked

[wholoveseggs]

Hey lovely, your latest story gave me an idea. How about Reader and Elijah have been together for a while, but he is the one to avoid sex. Every time he has been with a human, it overpowered them or hurt them. He can't keep Red Door Elijah in check, which is fine when he's with a supernatural being, but not when he's with a human. Reader knows his backstory but is determined to show him that their love is different.

Control

{I've officially run out of gifs I want to use, so I'm in my moodboard era now}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Plagued by nightmares of hurting you, Elijah avoids any form of intimacy, but you have had enough. You confront him about his rejection and Elijah finally learns how to let go and lose control.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @originals23, love love love red door elijah and his dark side ♡♡

6k words - Warnings: smut, fluff, lots of angst, red door Elijah, trauma, nightmares, visions of death, blood, blood drinking, rough sex, aggressive flirting, dom!elijah, jealously, masquerade ball, elevator vandalism...

Elijah needed control the way a drowning man needed air. It was as if it was a basic function, like oxygen, like blood. He had always been that way, even before he was turned, but it got worse when he was forced to take lives for food and to stay alive. His nature demanded he take what he wanted, when he wanted, but he was afraid of that, so he clung to rules, to discipline.

But no matter what he did, he was still plagued with the same nightmare. You, his perfect love, dead in his arms. Your body limp and lifeless, your eyes open but vacant. And all because he couldn't control himself. Your blood stained his skin, his clothes, his heart.

You knew better than to sneak up on a sleeping vampire, but it wasn't just any vampire. It was your Elijah, your sweet, loving, gentle Elijah.

All you wanted to do was surprise him with some coffee. It was going to be a long day, there was a huge party being hosted by Marcel. All of the factions were gathering for a masquerade ball, the first of its kind in centuries. There were rumors of a peace treaty in the works, and the festivities were the opening salvo.

You were beyond excited, you never experienced this sort of thing, and you were so happy that Elijah would be by your side. You picked out a matching set of masks for the two of you. For him, a sleek, black one with dark feathers at the tips. For yourself, a delicate, lace one in a deep crimson.

When you were younger, you had dreams of wearing beautiful, elaborate gowns, and dancing the night away with a handsome man. You couldn't help but feel giddy thinking about tonight.

You set the coffees down on a nearby table. Elijah's room was dim, only a small shaft of light peeking out from behind the curtains. He was curled up in the center of his large bed, his hair was disheveled and his lips were parted. The sheet was pooled around his hips, revealing his chiseled chest and toned arms.

He was beautiful, and you very much wanted to explore every bit of him. But he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't allow himself to lose control. He had told you about his darkness, the red door, the place where he put all of the sins he couldn't live with.

When his control was frayed and his mind was weak, it would whisper to him, tempt him. Because there, in that space, he didn't have to feel guilt or pain. He was free. Free to do as he wished. He would be able to take you, claim you, love you the way his darker instincts screamed at him to.

You pulled off your sweater and boots, leaving you in just a mini dress and socks. You padded over to the bed and carefully slid under the covers, trying not to disturb him. You cuddled up next to him, your hand resting on his chest. You wished he would let you in, let you experience all of him, the good, the bad, the ugly. You loved him, and that meant loving everything about him.

Elijah had sensed your presence from the moment you entered his room, but he remained still, feigning sleep. His sweet little love, so utterly defenseless and vulnerable, alone in a vampire's bed. His fingers itched to touch you, to pull you into his embrace and never let you go. He could hear your heartbeat, steady and strong, could smell the sweet perfume you had dabbed behind your ears, and could feel the heat radiating off of your body. He was acutely aware of every aspect of you. It was hard not to give in to temptation, to pull you into his arms and kiss you until your lips were swollen and pink.

"Elijah," you said softly, in a sing-song voice. You brushed your fingers along his jaw, the stubble rough against your soft skin. He stirred slightly, pretending to wake.

"Hmm, good morning, love." He rasped, his voice heavy with sleep.

You kissed him softly, smiling into it. "Good morning. I brought us coffee."

He hummed, "That's perfect. Thank you, sweetheart."

"I can't wait for tonight." You sighed, tracing your fingers down his throat and along his collar bones.

Elijah was torn between letting his eyes flutter shut at the contact or watching your movements. You had him entranced.

"I can't either," he agreed. "You'll be the most beautiful woman there, I have no doubt."

You blushed at his compliment and kissed him again, your lips lingering against his. He groaned and rolled onto his side, bringing his hands up to cup your face, his thumbs stroking along your cheekbones. He let himself give in just a little, let the control slip a fraction. You gasped into the kiss as his tongue swept along the seam of your lips. Your lips parted, allowing him entry. You melted against him, your hand coming up to rest on his bicep.

His hands slid down your body, mapping every dip and curve, memorizing the feel of you. Your skin was like silk, your body supple and soft. You had a slight tremor, nervous, or maybe excited. He wasn't sure, but he loved how your breath hitched as he moved his hands lower and lower, until his palms were flat on your backside, his fingers flexing as he pulled you flush against him.

You hummed, a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan. He drank it in, taking all of your little sounds and storing them in his memory. He rolled, pulling you with him so that you were under him. You moaned as he settled between your thighs, his weight a welcome comfort. He moved his mouth down, nipping at the skin of your throat and collarbone, careful not to let his fangs break the surface.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling gently. You had fantasized about being with him in this way for so long, dreamed about how his body would feel pressed against yours, how his hands would feel on your bare skin. You didn't know what caused this shift in him, this sudden willingness to be intimate, but you were glad for it.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, trying to tell him what you wanted. You were not a shy person, you wanted to experience what it was like to be with such a powerful creature, to feel his strength and passion.

Elijah groaned and rocked his hips against yours, letting you feel how much he desired you. His control was slipping, and he didn't care. You wanted him, and he would have you. He leaned back to look at your beautiful face, wanting to etch this moment in his memory for all eternity. You were a vision, cheeks flushed and eyes dark with want.

Suddenly everything started to warp, your flushed skin turned cold, your warm eyes grew distant, and your heart slowed to a stop. His breath caught as a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of your mouth. He looked down at his hands and they were covered in your blood, the dark, rich liquid soaking the sheets and staining his skin.

"No, no, no, no, no." He chanted, trying to bring you back, willing the darkness to recede.

Your eyes were glassy, lifeless, bite marks all over your neck, your chest, your legs. You were covered in them, the evidence of his weakness, his inability to keep his desires in check.

Elijah threw himself from the bed, stumbling backwards. He clutched his head in his hands, a scream ripping from his throat. You were gone, dead, and it was his fault. He would never be able to look at your smiling face, never hear your soft laugh, or feel your lips on his again.

"Eli?" you said, stunned by his sudden departure. He was now across the room looking like a caged animal, his eyes wild and his hair a mess. You climbed out of the bed and slowly approached him. He looked like he was going to bolt, his muscles tense and his breath ragged.

"Are you alright?" you asked, reaching out to touch his arm.

"Don't!" he shouted, flinching away from your touch. "Don't touch me."

"Okay," you said, holding up your hands. "I won't."

He felt like he was losing his grip, the world was shifting around him, the ground threatening to give out beneath his feet. He felt like he was back there, back in that slaughterhouse that haunted him, the place that whispered his darkest desires, the place that taunted him with visions of what he truly was, no matter how much control he thought he had over it.

You reached out to him again, and he snapped. He grabbed your arm and pushed you against the wall, his eyes black and his fangs sharp. You gasped, but didn't struggle, trusting that he would never hurt you.

He released you at once, horrified by what he had done. He backed away, shaking his head. "No, no, no. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He sank to his knees, his eyes wild and frantic.

"It's okay, Eli." You said, kneeling in front of him.

"You need to leave, please." He begged, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm not going anywhere." You said firmly, reaching out to touch him again. He tensed, his breath hitching as you made contact.

"LEAVE," he roared, his eyes flashing. You jerked your hand back, surprised by his outburst.

Elijah regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, he watched you run out of the room and all he wanted was to chase after you, but his pride and fear kept him rooted in place. He couldn't let you be around him, look at what he did? If he couldn't control himself in a moment of passion, what would happen if he really let go?

Elijah stood in front of his mirror, adjusting and readjusting his tie. His hair was combed and his suit was tailored perfectly. But none of it felt right, the buttons on his shirt were too tight, the cufflinks too heavy, the material of his suit too coarse. He needed it all to go away.

He felt like a monster. A monster wearing a man's skin.

Elijah closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. He could get through this night. He didn't know if you were coming to the party, and he couldn't decide if he wanted you there or not. He hated the idea of you being away from him, but he also couldn't bear the thought of you seeing him like this, a man unraveling, barely keeping himself together.

He opened his eyes and forced himself to smile, but the sight was a mockery. His lips were pulled taut, and his teeth looked like daggers. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to tear down the entire city and start anew.

"Elijah! we are going to be late!" He heard Rebekah yell from the courtyard below.

"Be right there," he called, his voice hoarse. He gave himself one last look in the mirror before he walked out of the room and descended the stairs. He could see his siblings all gathered, dressed impeccably with their dates on their arms.

Klaus was talking with Camille, they were dressed in matching shades of blue. Freya and Keelin were standing close together, their hands entwined. Kol was whispering something in Davina's ear, making her laugh. Rebekah was on the phone with Marcel, telling him she was on her way. And Hayley was chatting with Jackson, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

"There you are." Freya said, noticing his presence. "Where is y/n? She was so excited about tonight."

The sound of your name made his chest ache, he was about to explain, or rather, come up with a plausible excuse when he heard a voice from behind him.

"I'm right here."

He turned around to see you walking down the stairs, dressed in an ornate black gown, matching his suit, your mask hanging in your hand.

"Y/n," he said, stunned by how beautiful you were.

You smiled slightly and approached him, your heels clicking on the stones. He took your hand, inspecting your arm. It was bruised and there were small scratches from where he had dug his nails into your skin. He brushed his fingers over the marks, regret and guilt filling him.

"It's fine," you said, squeezing his hand.

"No, it's not."

You leaned in and kissed him softly, the feeling of your lips on his caused him to relax a little. He kissed you back, the contact grounding him, reminding him why he needed to stay in control, for you.

"Let's go," Klaus said, gesturing for everyone to follow him out the door.

You took your mask and placed it on, the crimson filigree complimenting the dark silk of your gown. Elijah put on his mask, the bold design making his dark eyes stand out.

The group arrived at Marcel's penthouse, finding the place already crowded. People were drinking, dancing, and mingling. It was a lively atmosphere, filled with music and laughter.

"It's nice," you commented, holding Elijah's hand.

"It is," he agreed, looking around the room. "Shall we?"

He gestured to the dance floor and you nodded, taking his offered arm. He led you to the center of the room, where couples were already twirling and spinning.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice low and seductive.

"You may," you answered, giving him a shy smile.

He took your hand and placed his other on your hip, guiding you through the steps. The two of you swayed to the music, moving gracefully.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," you reassured him.

He wanted to argue, but you didn't give him a chance. You captured his lips in a kiss, the world around you melting away. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. The two of you stayed locked in the embrace, the music and the crowd fading into the background.

The two of you danced for a while, enjoying the feeling of being close to one another. The environment letting him relax a little. But when the music changed, becoming slow and sultry, his mind started to drift.

Elijah imagined pushing you against a wall, kissing your neck and leaving marks. He wanted to rip your dress off, and explore every inch of you. He wanted to bite you, to taste your blood. He wanted to claim you, to make you his.

He wanted to let go, to allow himself to give in. To experience the kind of pleasure and power that only came with a lack of control. But then he saw the blood again, the crimson of your mask, the ruby red of your lipstick, turned to the viscous liquid that both haunted and nourished him.

"What is it?" you asked, noticing the way his body tensed.

"Nothing," he said, his voice strained. "I just need a drink,"

He let go of you and headed to the bar, needing some strong alcohol to help calm his nerves. He ordered a scotch and downed it in one go, the liquid burning his throat. He ordered another, and another, until the world was pleasantly fuzzy and his thoughts were quiet.

"Mr. Mikaelson, so good to see you," a woman said, coming up to him.

"Madam," he replied, not looking up from his drink.

"How is business?" she asked, clearly wanting to engage in a conversation.

"Fine." He said shortly, hoping she would get the hint.

"The party is wonderful," she commented, sipping from a champagne flute, her mask was turquoise and silver, a few strands of her dark hair escaping her updo.

"Thank you, the decorations were my sister's doing," he replied, trying to be polite.

"Ah yes, your sister," the woman said, her eyes drifting over the crowd, landing on the blonde vampire. "She's almost as pretty as you," the woman added, a seductive smile on her lips.

"You're quite flattering, but I'm spoken for," Elijah told her, not unkindly.

The woman pouted. "So I heard, a human though? That must be...difficult," she said.

"How so?" He asked, not liking the direction the conversation was going.

"Humans are frail, their lives are fleeting," the woman replied, her hand coming to rest on his chest. He looked down at her hand touching him, her daylight ring a large sapphire. "And they are so easily broken," she added.

He clenched his jaw, trying not to let her words get to him. "That is why they are treasured," he replied, scanning the crowd in search for you.

"They are food. I thought an original vampire would know the difference," the woman grinned, enjoying getting a reaction out of him.

"Watch your tongue, Madam, or you might find it missing," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, feisty," the woman purred, her free hand went up and she ran her finger over the edge of his mask. "You could have any creature here, take them however you want. Break them in the best possible way," she purred, her pupils dilated.

"That's not how I operate, now if you will excuse me," he said, his anger starting to bubble.

"That's how you used to operate," the woman taunted, her fingers trailing over the buttons of his jacket. "I'm a little hurt that you don't recognize me," the woman pouted, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Should I?" He asked, trying to place her face.

"Paris, summer of 1783, you had me by the hair, bent over the side of a balcony, fucking me so hard that the cement cracked," she told him, licking her lips. "You were wild, rough, animalistic. And it was amazing," she breathed, her gaze unfocused as she remembered the night.

Elijah couldn't remember her, nor did he remember the event. It was amusing to him that this vampire thought she was special. She wasn't. He had bedded hundreds, maybe even thousands, of women. He only ever remembered the ones he loved.

"A shame you can't recall, I've thought about it many times over the years," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "That's a bit pathetic," he said bluntly.

She laughed, not taking offense. "Perhaps, but the sex was fantastic, I can still feel your bite," she smiled, her eyes falling to his mouth.

Elijah shook his head. "My dear, I'm sure there are plenty of willing participants here, if you truly wish to relive the past, you'll have no trouble finding someone to assist," he said dismissively.

"I would prefer you," the woman said, her tone changing. "No one here matches your power, no one can fuck me like you did."

"Maybe try Niklaus, ask him to bite you," he smirked, watching as his brother and Camille were laughing together.

"Both of you dating humans, what a complete and utter waste," she said, her eyes flicking to you. "I bet I could make you forget all about her," she cooed, pressing herself closer to him.

You could see this vampire all over Elijah, touching him and speaking in his ear. You weaved through the crowd, wanting to put an end to it.

Elijah's attention turned from the woman, a smile spreading across his face as he saw you walking towards him.

"I'm going to have to politely decline, thank you." he said, reaching his hand out for yours.

"Come now, surely you could use some relief," the woman cooed, her hands trailing over his body, ignoring your presence completely.

You didn't quite know what came over you, but you reached up and gently slapped her hand away from him.

The vampire turned her attention to you, her eyes going to the bruising on your arm. She let out a laugh. "Oh my, perhaps I was wrong, looks like your little plaything can handle you," the woman mocked, a smirk on her lips.

"Don't," Elijah growled, not appreciating her words.

She just laughed and shrugged, turning her attention back to him. "If you change your mind, I'll be here all night." the vampire winked at him and walked away, joining another group.

Elijah let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You gave Elijah a half-smile, hoping he wouldn't think you were stupid for hitting the vampire. She could have so easily crushed you, but you weren't afraid of her.

"Who was that?" you asked, annoyed by the exchange.

He shook his head. "An old lover, it seems," he told you, his lips pressed in a thin line.

"Oh," was all you said, sadness filling you. You weren't the overly jealous type, but knowing that vampire had Elijah in a way you hadn't made you envious and sad.

Elijah saw the change in your demeanor and realized he had not answered the question right. You misunderstood him.

"Not a recent lover," he explained. "It was a very long time ago, and I do not remember the night," he assured you, his hand cupping your cheek.

You sighed, his touch instantly easing the tension in your body.

He pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your waist. "That was very brave of you, that could have ended very badly" he said softly in your ear.

Your hands went to his shoulders, clinging to his jacket, the material warm from his body. "You make me feel brave, you make me feel safe," you murmured.

His heart constricted. He didn't deserve your faith or your trust. The bruise on your arm was proof enough of that. He should let you go, make you hate him and walk away from you before you get hurt anymore, but he couldn't. Not while you were looking up at him with all that trust and affection in your eyes. He loved you far too much to give up.

He leaned in and kissed you, the familiar spark of electricity passing between you. He deepened the kiss, his hand cupping the back of your neck. He was pouring everything he felt for you into it, hoping you could feel the depths of his love and devotion.

You returned the kiss, trying to convey all the things you couldn't say. You broke apart, panting slightly. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.

"Eli, I was hoping that we could...," you trailed off, biting your lip.

"What?" he asked, his eyes fluttering open.

"I want us to...you know," you whispered.

His eyes darkened, hunger and need filled him. All of the work he had done to push away his urges, to protect you, had unraveled in an instant. Now all he could focus on was the vision of your body beneath his, the feeling of skin against skin. The blood flowing through your veins singing a song to him that he could not deny, at least, not completely.

He pulled you a little closer, swaying you to the music playing, his other hand gripping your hip possessively. You watched his pupils dilate, saw the tension in his jaw and the bob of his Adam's apple.

"Not tonight," he murmured, trying his hardest to hide how much he wanted you, how much it would hurt to reject you again.

Your fingers curled around the lapels of his suit jacket, tugging on it a little harder than you meant to. He never wanted to give in, to allow himself a taste of pleasure. Even with his walls down, Elijah could never truly give himself to you completely.

His hands went to yours, prying your fingers from his jacket, his eyes dark and dangerous. "You do not understand how difficult it is," he hissed.

You pulled against his grip, anger bubbling up. "So, help me understand," you said in a soft tone, ignoring the fact that you were arguing in a room full of people and that you were both gripping each other hard enough to bruise.

"It feels like..." you started, shaking your head a little, "like, I am not enough. Do you not want me? Or have you realized that you need more and I cannot provide that to you?" You finished in a small voice.

His grip on your hands tightened, a warning look flashing in his eyes. "You are more than enough," he whispered, his eyes softening.

You took a steadying breath. "Then. Please. Fuck. Me," you said bluntly.

Elijah let go of you as if you had burned him. Your words cut him deeply.

You let out a frustrated sigh, his rejection stinging. "I... I'm going to go home," you said, blinking back tears.

He went to grab you but you moved out of his reach, his fingers barely grazing your arm. He watched you leave, his eyes following your figure until it disappeared into the crowd.

It was in that moment that he knew he had to make a decision, either he could keep trying to be gentle with you and risk losing you or he could give in and have you completely, but at the cost of hurting you.

Elijah drained his drink and placed the empty glass on the bar, his mind made up. He followed you, moving so fast that no one saw him leave.

You were upset, your feelings a tangled mess, waiting in a quiet hallway for the elevator to arrive. Your eyes were glazed with tears, your breathing shaky. You didn't know what to do, and you didn't know what you wanted from him.

You were lost in thought when the elevator dinged, announcing its arrival, but before the doors opened, hands were on your waist and you were pressed against the wall. His lips were on yours, hungry and demanding. You gasped and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth.

You melted into his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair. His hands were on your thighs, lifting you up and pushing your dress higher.

You wrapped your legs around him, pressing your body against his. The heat between you erupting, causing a soft moan to escape your lips.

He broke the kiss, his mouth going to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites. His hands were on your hips, pulling your body closer. He was rough and urgent, his nails digging into your skin. You gasped, arching into him, needing to feel more.

"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered in your ear, his voice low and husky. "I will," he promised, his lips ghosting over yours.

You clung to him, giving yourself over to the moment. He lifted you off the ground and carried you to the elevator. The doors slid open and he stepped inside, pressing you against the wall. His hands were all over your body, touching and teasing.

You were so caught up in his touch that you didn't notice the doors closing, trapping the two of you alone. He punched the panel, making the elevator come to a jerking stop. He kissed you, his hands finding their way under your dress, pushing the fabric out of the way.

He gripped your hips, grinding against you. The intensity and desperation in his touch was new, making your head spin. You wanted more, needed more. You moaned, the sound echoing off the walls. He groaned, his fingers digging into your skin.

He pushed your panties aside, sliding a finger into your wet heat. You gasped, arching into him. He pumped his finger in and out of you, curling it inside of you. He added a second finger, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit.

He groaned, the feeling of you tightening around him almost too much, his lips brushing your ear. "I want to hear you say my name when I make you come," he whispered, his hot breath tickling your skin.

All you could do was nod, your cheeks flushed and your eyes closed, it was all happening so fast and you couldn't get enough of it. He pressed his lips to your neck, nipping at your skin. He added a third finger, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit.

Your eyebrows arched, locking eyes with him, your mouth open and your hands clutching his jacket. The pressure was building and you felt like you were going to explode. You gasped, his fingers pumping in and out of you.

"Elijah," you said his name breathlessly.

"That's it," he encouraged, pulling on your earlobe with his teeth. "Say my name," he ordered.

"Elijah," you moaned, the pressure coiling tighter.

"Again," he demanded, his hand speeding up.

"Elijah," his name fell from your lips, your release crashing through you.

Your eyes slammed shut, your head thrown back, the muscles in your neck straining. You were trembling, a sheen of sweat coating your skin. He slowly withdrew his fingers, placing gentle kisses along your neck and jaw. You could feel his fangs graze your skin.

He was so hard, you could feel his erection pressing against you. You shifted your weight, trying to gain some friction, but he pulled away, his hands on your hips, pinning you in place.

You opened your eyes, looking at his face, his eyes completely black, the veins under them moving, his mouth open slightly, showing his fangs. You felt fear, but not the type of fear that made you want to run, but the kind of fear that sent a thrill through your body, the kind that made you crave danger.

You lightly traced your fingers over the veins, a smile on your lips. His chest rising and falling rapidly. You ran your finger over his lower lip, and he leaned in, his fangs scraping the pad of your finger. You could feel the sharp tips. He was so dangerous, so lethal, a perfect predator, yet here you were, trapped and wanting nothing more than to have him consume you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He pressed his body against yours, his erection grinding against you. You moaned, reaching between you, your fingers deftly working the button and zipper of his trousers. You tugged his boxers down, his hard cock springing free. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him.

"Fuck," he growled, his hips bucking, seeking more of your touch.

You tightened your grip, stroking him faster, twisting your wrist a little. He groaned, his hands on your thighs, his eyes hooded and his mouth parted slightly.

You released him and wrapped your arms back around his neck, grinding yourself against him. He growled, his hands cupping your ass, lifting you. You used the wall for support and wrapped your legs around him, angling yourself just right. You cried out as he pressed inside, stretching and filling you.

His breath was hot against your neck. "That's my girl," he said softly.

He paused a moment, giving you time to adjust. Then he started to thrust, his rhythm slow and measured, watching the way your expression changed as he fucked you. You moaned, your legs tightening around him, your ankles locking together, trying to pull him closer.

He pumped his hips, burying himself deep inside you. You tilted your head back, exposing the soft flesh of your neck.

It took every bit of control he had not to give in and bite you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, feeling your blood pump just below the surface of your skin. His hips snapped harder, driving into you, focused on fucking you, on drawing more delicious moans and whimpers from sweet lips.

The coil within you grew tighter, the pressure increasing with every movement of his hips. You clung to his jacket, needing something to anchor you, feeling as if you were spinning out of control. He grunted with each thrust, the sound of skin against skin almost drowned out by the blood pumping furiously in your ears.

His eyes never left yours, a predatory look crossing his features, his fingers gripping the swell of your ass, pounding into you with incredible force, your head hitting the wall with each powerful thrust.

It was intense and consuming and you couldn't get enough of him, and neither could he.

You lost track of how many times you'd come, all you knew was the sweet, aching tension was building again and you didn't know if you could handle another. He held you so tight, your body pressed so close to his, his fangs threatening to pierce the delicate skin of your neck. You couldn't stop, you didn't want it to stop.

Then his rhythm faltered, his breathing becoming labored, his hips pumping furiously. He needed a release. It had been a while since he'd experienced such raw, carnal lust.

He could no longer keep himself from drinking from you, he'd waited too long, denied his primal urges. With a snarl, he sunk his fangs into the side of your neck. A guttural cry fell from your lips, your back arching as you came undone, the sudden pain mixed with the pleasure so intense, you felt your vision darkening as you blacked out.

Elijah gripped your thighs, his lips pulling blood from your body, sending your pulse racing, your blood so hot and sweet that he thought he would combust. He let himself go, cumming deep inside of you, your blood in his mouth, the sweetness coating his tongue and rushing into his system. Your body went limp in his arms, your heartbeat slowing.

Sudden panic consumed him, what had he done? The guilt and fear crashed over him in waves. You looked so pale, you were dying in his arms and it was his fault. The rage and self-hatred he had tried so hard to keep in check ripped through him, his true nature unleashed.

But then you opened your eyes, smiling at him dreamily and something inside of him snapped back into place.

Elijah chuckled, still inside of you. He grinned, the edges of his lips curving upwards. He kissed you softly, reverently.

"Holy fuck Elijah," you chuckled, panting slightly, your heart beating erratically, but you felt alive and amazing, and loved.

"You scared me for a moment," he confessed, resting his forehead against yours.

"That was.. You are..," you struggled for words. "Just wow," you laughed.

You held on to him, wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He wrapped an arm around you, supporting you, the other stroking the side of your head. You breathed him in, savoring the moment, never wanting it to end. He smiled, nuzzling your cheek, his nose rubbing against your skin.

"Let's go home, I want you all to myself," you murmured, kissing his neck, the taste of him filling you.

He chuckled, his voice a deep rumble. "As you wish."

"We have a lot of catching up to do," you grinned, thinking of all the things you were going to do to him.

Elijah chuckled. "My sweet girl," he murmured, kissing you gently.

The elevator rattled, the emergency lights coming on. Elijah pulled away from you, adjusting your dress, smoothing the fabric. He zipped and buttoned his trousers, straightening his clothes. The panel was broken, slight electrical sparks coming from the metal. Elijah gripped the doors, forcing them open. He stepped out and helped you down. You smoothed your dress, looking at him shyly. He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, leading you out of the building.

"I like it when you lose control, perhaps that was the solution all along," you teased, walking along the street, your fingers intertwined with his.

Elijah laughed. "Perhaps, my darling, you may be right."

And with that, he swept you off your feet and into his arms, carrying you out into the night.

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[kitten4sannie]

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ

ᴏᴍᴇɢᴀᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ/ᴏʀɢᴀꜱᴍ ᴅᴇɴɪᴀʟ ➠ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ

pairing: vampire lord! seonghwa x human! reader (fem) feat. a two second cameo from vampire! san

genre: abo, kinda historical (think guilded era vibe but vampires and humans coexisting kinda), smut

summary: you decide to play with your master’s feelings during the annual masquerade ball held between vampires and occasionally their human counterparts.

w.c: 2.5k

warnings: alcohol usage, mentions of blood, general vampirism/hierarchies, dom! seonghwa, bratty! reader fucks around and finds out, dirty talk, ownership kink, exhibitionism/voyeurism, praise/degradation, possessiveness, pet names/name calling, manhandling, blood drinking, groping, rough blowjob, spit mentions, fingering, orgasm denial, facial, cum eating, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, l bombs

a/n: im obsessed with the idea of criminally insane cunty vampires so i sat hunched over like a damn shrimp and typed up a storm tyvm. also !!! this fic is dedicated to my dear friend orion @pluvialorion ilysmmmm ughh i hope you enjoy >< <33

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ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“Those two are always up to something, I swear. It’s so  troublesome,” one old age vampire muttered, complaining about you and your vampire Master to the person standing besides her outside of the ballroom circle. She adjusted her masquerade mask, put off by the sight of you downing a glass full of expensive wine. “Why the council ever decided to allow humans to attend our annual blood balls is beyond me.” 

“They always cause a scene,” the other old age vampire agreed, turning his head to watch as you whimsically made your way across the dance floor in your heavy laced dress, taking the hand of any vampire that wanted to dance with you, while your Master watched from the side with growing annoyance. “It’s unsightly.” 

“Yes, it’s completely inappropriate, the way they act like they’re the main characters inside some overdone fictional novel,” she scoffed, the vampiress getting herself worked up over nothing, her fingers clenching around her own wine glass filled with a blood blend. 

“You hit the nail on the head, or should I say the stake,” the undead gentleman chuckled, one hand on his hip, the other tilting his wine glass back to drink down its bloody contents, watching you trade one dance partner for another, surprised that you were letting a new age vampire get so handsy with you. “Oh, here we go.” 

Seonghwa reached up to brush at his flowy raven hair in a frustrated manner, his furrowed brows and scrunched-up face not doing much to dispel your current goal in pissing off your Master in hopes that he would chase you across the castle grounds and fuck you into oblivion. “You’re asking for it, little lamb…” he mumbled to himself, the bright red hue in his eyes growing brighter by the second. 

“I didn’t realize you were interested in me, Miss Y/N. Care to forget about your sour, old age counterpart over there and spend the night with me?” the charming, feline-like vampire you were using whispered into your ear, holding your body impossibly close to his as you both slowly rotated together in timed circles according to the flow of the orchestra music that was playing throughout the large ballroom. 

“Oh, Mr. Choi, try not to puff out your chest just yet,” you murmured back with faux pity, clasping your fingers around his cheeks, feeling his fingers inch closer and closer to your ass, able to feel the fiery gaze of your lover from afar. “You’re simply a puppet for my amusement.”

The vampire scoffed, still finding it inside himself to twirl you around and bring you back into his arms, his fingers clasping around your waist a little tighter than before, clearly irritated. “That’s quite rude of you, human. You could’ve lied.” 

“Does it matter? I’m not trying to impress you,” you huffed, eyeing Seonghwa out of the corner of your vision, noticing the way he clutched the edge of the aged mahogany table being used to showcase various blood-filled desserts. Just as the vampire was about to speak up, you shook your head, silencing him. “Just hurry up and grab my ass, will you? And grab it hard. I want Seonghwa to–Oh!”

The peeved vampire did indeed get a handful, his fingers sinking deep into your squishy flesh through your dress, leaning over your shoulder to make eye contact with Seonghwa, who was fuming, still having the gall to stick his tongue out at him. 

An intoxicating mix of anger and arousal coursed through Seonghwa to the point that it all spilled out of him at once, resulting in a short, aggressive shout, the other patrons looking over their own shoulders to see what was going on. Sadly, they weren’t very surprised to watch him lift up the side of the heavy dessert table and toss it across the room with a frightening amount of ease, narrowly missing the heads of the orchestra members. 

You let go of San who quickly scampered away, not wanting to feel the vampire lord’s intense wrath. You, however, took pride in seeing the way your lover was seething, how he pierced you with his dark crimson eyes and delightfully suffocating pheromones alone, his white, elongated fangs already on display for you, knowing he wished he could just sink them directly into the most delicate parts of your body. 

“Why are you so angry, my love?” you called out to him with faux naivety, giving him a pout, motioning to the mess that had spilled onto the sheer marble floor. “You ruined all those lovely desserts.” 

“And almost took the head off of a violin player, but I digress,” the older vampire from before murmured to her friend, the both of them chortling softly to themselves. 

“Oh, you know what you’ve done, darling,” Seonghwa tsked from across the room, taking slow, deliberate steps in your direction, his high-heeled shoes clacking lightly against the pristine floor, most of the other patrons stepping out of his way. “I have a question for you. Do you know what happens to pretty things that disobey their Masters?” 

You brought your hand up to lift off your masquerade mask just in time for Seonghwa to stand directly in front of you, his lean, elegant frame towering over yours. “I’m unaware of the answer, dearest. Do pray tell.” Your face twisted into something that could only be described as smug. Seonghwa wanted to wipe that expression off your face and turn it into something more worthwhile — flushed, contorted with a lovely mix of pain and pleasure, and painted in his cum.

“They get punished, my sweet. So, I suggest you hike up that lovely dress I bought you and get to running.” 

࿏࿏࿏

There was something so exhilarating about having the love of your life chase after you, knocking over furniture and pushing other vampires out of the way just to get his hands on you. You would look back occasionally, catching glimpses of the hazy blood-lust in Seonghwa’s eyes, resulting in a fresh wave of slick between your thighs. 

Somewhere along the line, you had ended up in the castle garden, your bare feet hitting the soft grass, having lost your heels during your chaotic trek there. Panting softly, your breath hitting the cold night air, you realized you were surrounded by chipping marble statues of vampires of the past, a maze of blood-red roses covered in thorns surrounding a sleek stone gazebo, and thousands of constellations sitting in the dark sky above you. 

“Caught you, little lamb…” you heard in a deep, gravelly voice, shivers making their way up your spine. Seonghwa took slow steps near you, finding it amusing how you trapped yourself in a corner, his entire being pulsing with sexually-charged aggression. “But you wanted this, didn’t you? You want me to have my way with you, don’t you, sweetheart?”  

Rather than replying verbally, you simply held up the front of your dress, showing off your plump, slicked-up cunt for his viewing pleasure, your lips twisted up into a perverted smile, lust practically emanating from your form. “What do you think, my love? Does my wet cunt give you any hints?” 

Before you knew it, Seonghwa had you pinned to the side of the gazebo, one hand on your shoulder to keep you still with his immense strength and the other underneath your hiked-up skirt, fucking you deep with two agile fingers, not concerned with the occasional passerby, some of them slowing down to witness the titillating sight of a vampire lord punishing his human counterpart.

“I can feel you squeezing around my fingers, sweet. Is my poor little lamb already falling apart for me?” he asked with faux pity against your neck, sucking your soft flesh into his mouth to leave a mark, piercing them lightly with his fangs. “Is it because anyone can come by and see the way I have my hand up your skirt and hear the pretty little moans that you’re making for your darling?”

“N-ooo, it’s because it’s you, Seonghwa,” you sighed out softly, a familiar heaviness filling your core until your legs went wobbly, moaning from the feeling of Seonghwa gulping down just enough of your life source to make you pleasantly dizzy, his fingers still slipping in and out of your leaking cunt.

“Mm, it’s a pity though. I wish Mr. Choi knew just how quick I can make your pretty cunt leak all these juices onto me,” he purred against your soft skin, slurping your arousal from his fingers before cupping his palm onto your hot cunt, lightly moving it over your clit, knowing he was pleasuring you just enough to make you squirm, but aware that your much-needed orgasm had faded away due to his control.

He brought his still dripping fingers up to your mouth, pleased that you obediently sucked your own slick off of them, his gaze flitting between your lips and love-struck eyes. “He’ll never see you like this. See the way you need me in every possible way I can have you…”

“It’s only for you to see, my love,” you replied lovingly, pressing your lips onto his, drawing Seonghwa into you like a moth to a blazing flame.

You shared a series of frenzied, heated kisses that consisted too much of tongue, teeth, and fangs, your hand slipping into Seonghwa’s loosened satin trousers to swiftly jerk him off, his abundant pre-cum squishing in between your closed fingers, your quick, unrelenting grip causing him to wobble a bit, the thick edges of his heeled shoes sinking further into the grass below. “Feels so good, doesn’t it, Hwa? You’re so hard for me, throbbing, leaking so much…”

“Fuck–I need you, darling, need you bare for me, need your pretty mouth around my cock,”Seonghwa groaned out onto your lips, nipping at it enough to get a small taste of iron on his own crimson stained ones. Without a word, he tore your dress from your body, pearls falling from your broken necklace and landing around your feet. You gasped. He clasped his hands around your corseted waist, bringing his face near your neck, his lips just barely touching your skin. “On your knees, my love.” 

You melted to the floor, reaching up to hold onto his hips, watching his cock spring out once his pants lowered past his v-line, eventually holding it in front of your drooling mouth. You studied him, your eyes traveling up his shiny, curved length to his pronounced pink head, sticking your tongue out to catch a drop of his pre-cum on your tongue. “It’s so pretty, Hwa…”

“I know it is, sweetheart. Now, open up,” he exhaled softly, slipping his slender fingers into your soft hair to clutch the sides of your head, plugging your mouth up with his thick cock. 

Seonghwa fucked your face so quickly, so sloppily, so desperately, he reached his end in a matter of minutes, bringing you down onto his cock until your nose pressed into his pelvis, feeling your throat contracting around him. “Fuck, you drive me mad, darling…I’m already about to cum….”

It was when he was able to smell the endless slick that dripped out of your needy cunt, that Seonghwa pulled out, rubbing his cockhead across your lips and smearing his pre-cum across your face, ruining the perfect state of your makeup. “You look so pretty, my love, but I know how to make you look even more divine for me…”

“Enlighten me, my dear,” you sighed lovingly, licking the warm saltiness from your lips.

“Watch closely. This is all for you, darling…” Seonghwa gazed down at you with his crimson, hooded eyes, his chest rising and lowering with shallow breaths, using his closed hand to milk his flushed cock, seemingly endless splashes of cum landing onto your face. “Mm, what do you think Mr. Choi would think of you now, little lamb? Think of your lovely face painted with my cum?” 

“He’d think I was a mess,” you mused, licking the bitter milkiness from your swollen lips, opening your mouth to take one last spurt of cum onto your tongue when Seonghwa moaned wantonly, his fingers squeezing near the pinkish tip. “He’d know I’m yours.” 

“My mess, my beautiful darling. Of course he’d know you’re mine. All mine,” Seonghwa sighed dreamily, lowering himself to his knees to pull you in for a deep kiss, your tongues and lips meeting with fervent need. 

“You think he’d enjoy watching you fuck me into ecstasy?” you asked in between heavy breaths and kisses, hooking your thighs around his bare waist, slipping your hands onto the bare skin of his chest past his loose blouse, your fingers grazing his nipples. 

“I’d take off his head, before I’d let him watch the way your cunt stretches open for me,” Seonghwa groaned, groping down your body, rubbing two fingers against your slippery folds, his fangs returning to your neck, this time indulging his instincts and slipping inside you, resulting in soft throes of pleasure from the both of you. “Speaking of, your little cunt needs my cock, doesn’t it? Is that why you’re so wet?” 

“Yes, please, I can’t stand being empty any longer, my love,” you whined to him, your squelching cunt already beginning to clench around his thrusting fingers, wishing his cock was filling you up instead. 

“You won’t be able to cum with just my fingers, will you, darling? Because your lovely body is only accustomed to my cock, isn’t it? Made for it, hm?” Seonghwa continued to tease you with his words, curling his digits inside you, resulting in increasingly heavy moans from his one and only, encouraging him to fuck you faster with them. “Fuck, you’re clenching so hard around me, darling. You’re so good for me…”

“Oh–my god, so close…” 

“Yeah? You want to spill your cum all over me, Y/N? Make a mess of me?” Seonghwa encouraged breathily, his forehead pressed to yours, pressing his lips against yours in between moans. 

“Y–esss…” 

Just as you were about to cum, you were suddenly filled with a devastatingly empty feeling, realizing he had pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth, sucking your vast amounts of slick off of them. “N-no, please, Seonghwa, I want to cum…!”

“You’ll have to cum on my cock, sweetheart. Now, be good and take it,” he replied softly, his voice devoid of pity, the ridged edge of his cock hooking onto your clit and making you jolt, before he slipped inside you inch by inch, sending you back into a pleasurable fog. “I’ll breed you until you’re full for me.” 

“So full, I’m so full, darling.” You hooked your arms around his neck, holding him impossibly close, his lips already attached to your neck again, shuddering against him as he drank down your life-source, his cock offering your cunt a delicious stretch each time he pounded into you. “So good, Hwa, it feels so good…” 

“Because we were made for each other, my love, our souls always intertwined, forever, you’ll always be mine,” Seonghwa reminded you in between pants and soft moans, his raven hair already plastered to his forehead with sweat, love and admiration seeping its way through his lust-struck gaze, kneading his hands into your thighs, your warm, sopping-wet cunt enveloping his cock so tightly, he couldn’t keep himself from unloading wave after wave of his hot cum inside you, so deeply it reached your womb. “Fuck, you’re milking my cock, darling, just take it all, take it all for me…”

You couldn’t say anything, only letting out a near soundless whine, clutching the back of Seonghwa’s head, never breaking eye contact as you experienced what could only be described as pure bliss, your bodies and hearts melting together. “I love you, Seonghwa, so much,” you finally got out, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“I love you too, Y/N, more than you’ll ever know,” he replied just as softly, carefully cupping your heated face with his cold hands, like he was afraid you would shatter into a thousand pieces and fall away from his grasp. Seonghwa was completely flushed, his long raven hair now a mess, sticking to his sweaty face, his plush lips a deep red. “Now do you see what you do to me, darling?”

You nuzzled into him, your heart beating against his quiet one, the cool night breeze gracing your warm, joined skin, knowing you wouldn’t have it any other way. “I think I have an idea.”

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[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Dancing With the Devil

A Vampire!Rhys x Reader Fic (because I am a SLUT for him) based on this post.

Content Warnings: Smut and blood, you know, typical vampire things.

___________________________

How you ended up on the dance floor in the middle of the Velaris Estate, being spun in dizzying circles by masked males as stringed instruments swell on a phantom wind, is anybody's guess. You think it might have been Nesta’s idea, but whatever schemes landed you in this dark, shadowy world is lost under the swell of music and rustling of skirts. You’re sure your friend is here somewhere, dancing her heart out, but the bodies clustered around you in a sea of dark lace and velvet make distinguishing anybody hard. She’ll find you by the end of the night, once she’s ditched her shoes and had a little too much to drink, for now, you’ll have to keep yourself entertained in one of the many options the party of the recently returned lord of the estate has to offer.

You don’t know much about Rhysand, other than the rumors that he came from very, very old money and had been away on the Continent while the Vampire Queen Amarantha’s reign of terror had ravaged the courts. He’s something of a local legend, always throwing these extravagant masquerade balls, the doors of this sprawling, gothic estate open until the sun begins to rise in the morning, without ever showing his face. He has to be here somewhere, directing the staff and making sure there’s no mischief happening in the locked rooms on the upper floors, but no one can tell you what he looks like, how old he is, any defining details. Honestly, realizing this was where you’d be spending the evening had been nothing short of a thrill. The war against the vampires had taken your father and left your older brother as heir of the Spring estate, he hadn’t let you out much to explore since.

Gloved hands twirl you around the dance floor again, the candlelight from the iron chandeliers overhead glittering like a thousand stars as you throw your head back and embrace the sheer weightlessness of the dance. It’s exhilarating and freeing, and you find yourself wishing that every night was like this. You’d thrive in this kind of freedom, no locked doors in empty mansions, no guards just to walk you through the gardens, only your wits and your whims dictating where you’ll go next.

The dance requires you to change partners often, so it is no surprise that a different, stronger set of hands settles on your hips as you come out of a spin and move into a more complicated three step. However, the tall stranger, with eyes so blue they’re almost violet beneath a mask shaped like a bat, is far better sight than the last male.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, and his voice is a lover’s purr, made for the darkness of a bedroom. 

“Immensely,” you say as you chase him through the steps, one hand on his firm shoulder, other atop his own against your waist. It is unlike you to keep your hands firmly planted on a male’s body, even while dancing, even with your brother’s watchful eye far away. Better to be cautious than be accused of having wandering hands, but you can make an exception. Forget you have ever done anything else, because the male wears a corset to accentuate every muscle in his lean body, dark shirt beneath left half open to show off a swirl of dark ink on his bronze chest. Every piece of clothing looks like an open invitation to touch. He knows it too, grinning when your hand slides a little lower on his chest.

“You dance beautifully,” he praises, perfect teeth biting at his lower lip as he drinks in the plunging neckline of your gown.

You’re thankful that your own mask hides the blush dusting your cheeks. “So do you.” He moves with inhumane grace, so fluidly you wouldn’t be able to track every step if he wasn’t pulling you along with him. 

Three more steps, then a fourth before the music begins to slow and he’s dragging your body closer to his own, large hand sliding over your hip to your lower back. 

“Will you dance another with me?” He asks, warm breath fanning your face as he leans in to be heard over the swell of a harp.

You nod eagerly, anything for a chance to have those hands on you a bit longer.

Two dances turn to four, then six, until you’ve lost count entirely, the night slipping away from you. At some point, he asks if you want to stop and get a drink, and you might have said no because this was just too good an opportunity to pass up, but the mischief in his violet eyes make you think better of it. You soon find yourself pulled through the swirling of bodies that hasn’t let up all night, and into a darker corner of the room, where couches and chairs and tables line the walls for people to observe the dancefloor with a little privacy. Quite a few of the couches are occupied with couples embracing in the shelter of the dark, where there are few candles to be observed under.

There’s a couch in the corner, beneath a large window, moonlight streaming over the dark cushions that’s empty and your companion leads you right to it. In your defense, you are expecting to be plied with a little wine before anything happens between the two of you, so you are unprepared for him to slide into the seat and pull you right into his lap!

Heat flares in your cheeks, body awkwardly tangled in your skirts as he pulls your hips forward to get you situated atop his powerful thighs. 

“What happened to drinks?” You ask, a little breathless from dancing and trying not to stammer under the brazenness of the display. You’re no blushing virgin, but you’ve certainly never been in this compromising a position in front of an audience before.

He brushes his nose over the column of your throat and places his plush lips against your skin, making all thought eddie from your mind.

“I intend to,” he says into your skin before he nips gently at your sensitive flesh.

Your whole body shivers, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Rhys,” he says as he kisses his way up your jaw.

Rhys as in… 

As if he can read your mind he chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin, “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“How did you know that’s what I was going to ask?”

He hums as he scrapes his teeth playfully over your throat. The edges of his mask tickling your skin as it brushes against you, the contrast between his warm breath and the rough fabric sending a thrill down your spine. You should be absolutely mortified that you’re perched in the lord of the estate’s lap, but you can’t find it in you to care, can’t find it in yourself to do anything but settle a little more firmly against his body and let him explore.

“Mind reading is one of my many talents,” he purrs as his gloved hands slide over your hips, skirts bunching up around your thighs as slender fingers need the soft flesh of your ass.

You instinctively rock your hips forward, clothed core scraping over the budding tent in his slacks. The contact makes your head spin, makes you tip your head back a little as he sucks a mark into your throat. You’ll have to wear a scarf tomorrow to hide it from Tamlin.

“And what other talents do you have, M’lord?” You tease, because you’ve never believed in such magic. 

“I think I’d rather show you, Darling,” he says, but his mouth doesn’t form the words, they’re an echo inside your head, as if they’re your own thoughts in his voice.

You still your movements in his lap; this is not the magic of witches or mages, not some clever party trick of the traveling magicians that often pass through Prythian. They say only Vampires can possess talents like this.

Rhys grins at you as the realization clicks into place, and whatever glamor had been used to hide his fangs slides out of place, canine’s glinting in the moonlight. You put your hands on his chest, firm, but there’s no heartbeat beneath your palms, intending to push yourself off him before he can sink those fangs into your throat, but his grip on you tightens to the brink of pain. Your bones feel fragile, brittle under his supernatural grip.

“Relax, Darling,” he instructs and a shadow of sheer, undiluted power brushes over your mind, freezing you in place. “I promise this will be pleasant for the both of us.”

“Let go of me!” You squeak, still trying to push yourself free. “Or I’ll start screaming!”

He chuckles, the sound of it skittering over your bones, and the dim candles nearby flicker out, leaving you only visible in the moonlight. A few of the couples nearby cheer excitedly, as if that’s some sort of signal. 

“Here’s the thing,” he explains as he brushes his nose against the column of your throat again. When you try to squirm away, he only pulls you closer, lips hungrily tracing the pulse pounding in your neck. “I could go out into the woods, feed on some vagrants nobody cares about, spend my nights hunting for a warm body to take my fill of. But after a thousand years, the chase gets a little boring.”

A thousand years. Rhysand is a thousand year old Vampire?

“Why waste my time and energy, when I can bring a meal right to my doorstep?”

“Please,” you whimper, body trembling. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anybody.”

“I know you won’t,” he says, kissing your throat far more gently than somebody holding this tightly to you should. “That’s why I picked you. I know you want an escape from your life of locked doors.”

You still as he drags his lips along the edge of your jaw until he meets your ear. “Let me show you a way out.”

Your skin is sensitive there, his breath makes you shiver in delight, goosebumps prickling your skin. He can’t possibly know all this just by looking at you, he had to have been rummaging around in your head, probably while you were dancing. It’s an invasion of your privacy, and you should keep fighting for any chance to escape him, but there’s a piece of you that wants this. Tamlin will never give you a way out, the more you beg for your freedom the more doors he locks in your face, and if you go home in the morning, if you let him pick a husband for you, it will never be any different. There will only be more locked doors, only keeping a stranger’s bed warm, his house run, tending boys that will have more freedom than you’ll ever get just because they’re boys. You will be lucky if you’ll get to keep to your books and your sketches, lucky if you get to keep any hobbies at all that don’t include tending a house. You’re trapped in a cage no one can save you from if you don’t take this one key.

His fangs scrape over your earlobe as he nips playfully at it. “It’s an even bargain,” he prompts. “You let me feed, and I’ll show you a world of nothing but open doors, hmm?”

You’re a fool, and you’re pretty sure an agreement will damn your soul forever. 

“Will it hurt?”

“Only for a moment.”

A moment’s pain for an opportunity of unbridled freedom. “It’s a bargain,” you say, tipping your head back to fully expose your throat. You shut your eyes though, unable to watch it happen.

“Good girl,” Rhys purrs and there’s a little tingle, like electricity in your fingertips and palm that makes you crack an eye open for a second to look at the black whorls that now cover your fingertips, up your hand and over your wrist. Some sort of permanent bargain mark.

There’s no time to ask about it before Rhys sinks his fangs into your throat. The coppery scent of blood fills your senses, mind spinning to comprehend all that’s happening as pain flairs in the muscles in your neck. 

“So sweet,” he purrs into your mind. “Just as I’d hoped.”

He’s not letting up, but the longer it takes, the less pain you feel. The longer his fangs are in your neck, the warmer your body becomes. Your muscles slowly relax, pliant in his iron grip. When he rocks his hips, slowly, testing, you can’t help the groan that escapes you. Even as the last little rational bit of your mind screams in protest, your hips once again work over the bulge in his pants, chasing the heat budding in your core. 

When he removes his fangs from your throat, he laves over the wound with his tongue, not letting a single drop of your blood escape. “I’ve fed on a lot of humans,” he whispers, “but none as sweet as you.”

You can’t seem to stop moving, chasing after the pleasure building quicker and quicker as you rut your hips against his. “What’s happening to me?”

When he kisses you, it’s the coppery tang of your own blood on his lips. “Vampire venom is an aphrodisiac. Makes feeding a pleasurable experience for everybody, wouldn’t you agree?”

The scrape of his slacks is delicious, makes you squeeze your eyes shut and move without thinking about how brazen you look, but it’s not enough. You need more. Need him deeper. Need him moving inside you with the same fervor he had when feeding on you.

“Need you,” you whimper and he kisses you again, one hand tangling in your hair, absolutely ruining the updo you’d carefully constructed hours earlier. The other slides under your skirts to find the hem of your underthings and he gives the elastic band a testing pull before he rips it off entirely. 

You gasp in surprise into his mouth at the sheer strength of him.

The leather of his gloves is a cool texture against your bare skin as he drags a thumb over you and you rock your hips into his touch, desperately seeking more. He’d been right, this was definitely a more pleasurable experience than you anticipated it being. 

Rhys breaks the kiss as he slides a finger inside you, and you throw your head back and moan unabashedly. You don’t truly have the presence of mind to look at the other couples nearby, but judging by the sounds coming from around you, you’re not the only one partaking of this kind of pleasure tonight. The cover of darkness and music shields your activities well enough, but perhaps there are more than a few vampires in Rhys’s court, and they won’t risk their own hunts letting anybody look too close in your direction.

Plush lips move down your jaw again, like he just can’t stay away from your throat. You’re inclined to let him bite you again and again and again just to feel like this for a little while longer. Heat and pleasure builds at the base of your spine, burning white hot through you as he slides a second finger in your wetness, stretching you out.

“All this for me, Darling?” He scrapes his teeth over your skin, not biting but marking you as he searches for the collar of your gown. When he finds it, he starts dragging it away from your body with his teeth, deft fingers untying the laces at your back to let the excess fabric fall.

The cool air against your flushed skin has you whimpering, eyes screwed shut as you draw closer and closer to the edge. 

His fingers curl, hitting a spot inside you that makes stars swim across your vision and you bite down so hard on your lower lip to keep from screaming you draw blood. Like a moth to flame, his lips leave where he’d been sucking a mark into your shoulder to lap the slight trickle of blood off your lower lip. 

Maybe you’re wrong for it, but the sight is hot, makes you core tighten around his fingers, addicted to the way he craves you, as if you’re some sort of drug. You drag your hands down his chest, unclasping the last button you can reach before the corset gets in the way. You want to tear it off him and run your tongue over the firm planes of his chest, taste him just as he is you, but that will have to be another time. Your hands move lower, trying to find the laces of his pants around the bunched up frill of your skirts, needing more, unable to convey it around the white noise building in your head. It’s too much and not enough; the best you’ve ever had and you haven’t even cum yet. You’ve never felt so desperate for anything in your life.

He chuckles into your mouth at your neediness, hips rising off the couch to both tease you and give you the leverage you need to find the laces of his pants. You’re really not sure how you manage it around your skirts, how you can think about anything but the movement of his fingers inside you or all the filthy things he keeps whispering in your ear. It’s nothing short of a frenzy as you finally manage to get him free of his laces and guide him directly where you need him most.

He’s not your first by any means, but he’s definitely the biggest, and it takes a moment for you to adjust to his size. By then, the world around you could have been on fire and you wouldn’t have noticed anything but him. There is no orchestra playing, no music besides the sounds of his moans of pleasure as they mingle with yours, no thought but the two of you and how your bodies merge and join. 

That white hot pleasure keeps building tighter and tighter with every thrust of his cock inside you, and you steady yourself against the back of the couch, chests brushing as you fight to remain steady. His fingertips will certainly leave bruises on your hips with the way he holds you. 

You’re so close to the edge, dangling over the precipice, his name a prayer on your lips as he once again sinks his fangs into your neck for a taste. Release barrels through you as he moans into your bruised flesh, his own release not far behind as you slump exhausted against his chest.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, body trembling as you come down from your high.

Rhys strokes a gloved hand over your ruined hair as you catch your breath. “I was going to turn you tonight,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But I think I want a few more rounds of that first.”

You huff a laugh into his chest. You don’t hate the idea. No part of your bargain said he had to turn you immediately. “Is that all vampires do? Feed and fuck?”

Violet eyes gleam playfully in the dark as he says, “Darling, you’ll have all eternity to find out.”