#worst vampire in history

[iizuumi]

slides in 2 hours past midnight happy halloween friends!! <3

[allegoryofthebeast]

I am so tickled by the thought of Daniel’s family seeing him at almost 80 branch out into a new social circle comprised of beautiful men in their 20s and 30s that are also the most intense and bizarre people anyone’s ever met and worse now Dad is acting Exactly Like Them

[skunkes]

[arcadianambivalence]

Just saw the "He's Coming" clip from the next episode. I feel sick.

You know a show is good if you already know the ending, but you're still distraught about how it'll get there.

[thegreatyin]

i think the scoundrel mostly uses their bat privileges to get random things they want. like they're arguing with someone over having something they absolutely should not be permitted to have and after awhile they finally HUFF and stomp away and then two minutes later mr cards coincidentally rounds the corner and demands they have that exact same thing or else the full wrath of the bazaar comes upon the other guy's person. they are fully convinced this is a flawless and incomprehensibly subtle scheme that nobody could possibly pick up on or outwit. they think they're a genius. they think they're batman.

[n0isy-gh0st]

Making myself unbearably sad with AIDS epidemic research

[buldakdealer]

Elena telling other people to “think things through” when she’s never used her brain once in 6 seasons, be fucking serious.

[aspiringhorrorauthor]

Skyrim’s dawnguard DLC is literally the worst dlc I’ve ever played fuck that shit. And I’ve bought the Oblivion horse armour dlc ffs.

[invisible-pink-toast]

#to answer my own question: nobody talks about it because it happened in season five of angel#and nobody watched that far

why does nobody ever talk about angel and spike fighting over the shanshu prophecy?

when spike points out that angel views his soul as a curse, as punishment, as being forced to live with the guilt of everything he's done, whereas spike fought for his soul. nearly died for it. the demon with no soul still wanted to do the right thing, to be a good man, so desperately he would destroy himself for the chance.

and then angel says something VERY interesting to spike. spike says he thinks angel hates him because he's a living reminder of his evil. "cause every time you look at me, you see every dirty little thing i've done. all the lives i've taken. because of you. drusilla sired me, but you made me a monster."

and angel, the man who, without his soul, tortures and kills people sadistically for fun and feasting, the man who insists he is not angelus, says, "i didn’t make you, spike. i just opened up the door and let the real you out."

SUCH an interesting thing to say, angel! let's talk about this. no, please—go on. explain how you are better than spike in any way. i'm fascinated. i'd love to hear how you and angelus are different people but the demon who possessed william the poet is somehow the same as the man.

you can't have it both ways, you horrifically catholic man. you aren't a better person just because you've suffered more.

[fictiongods]

The problem is Buffy’s taste is absolutely atrocious but she’s right. Like look at this man he’s supposed to be some stealthy vampire guy but he’s tripping when he walks in the door. He can’t fucking stand correctly. He has social anxiety so bad he hates to talk to everybody but his girlfriends. Oh look at this other guy he’s supposed to be evil and monstrous but he’s crying to your mom about his ex and asking for marshmallows in his coco. He has one dream about a girl and that doesn’t make him think he’s just attracted to said girl, he immediately thinks he’s in love and becomes obsessed. He has to dye his hair every so often and he chooses a neon white for some reason. Oh take a look at this girl she’s supposed to be cool girl tough girl who is down and good with everything but she sits alone all the time in one of the worst parts of town. She’ll only ever tell you that she’s five by five and you or anyone else has no idea what that even means. She’ll lie about stuff that didn’t happen to sound cool, all while walking around saying she has no friends. And here’s the kicker - they all mirror each other, have a history of violent murders, look good in leather and somehow all give off pathetic wet rat and babygirl vibes at the exact same time and no one has any idea where the line is. Plus they’re all some kind of gay and in kahoots with each other.

[smalldicksantiago]

the fact that armand let louis, madeline and claudia be kidnapped so they could be tortured and subjected to the whims of a bunch of theater kids for killing the worst bisexual in history, one of which had literally nothing to do with the murder, is CRAZY. the fact that louis had to watch as his newly made fledging and daughter/sister being murdered by the worst vampire coven ever, only to have his lover watching from the sidelines knowing damn well he could've stopped this, is CRAZY. but the fact that louis de pointe du lac still stayed with armand for another 77 yrs after all of this is INSANE. don't fucking play with me wtf is going on

[cryptfile]

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches, [ logan howlett x vampire!reader au ]

summary — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper). 8k+

warnings — 18+ mdni, fem!reader implied, blood kink (keep in mind you’re a vampire! not twilight but more of a true blood kind?) downright filth im sorry, dead dove do not eat, smoker!reader, endless tension, manhandling, praise kink, kind of porn without plot (LIES CAUSE IT HAS ONE THO??) my boy's into paaaaaain can't help it it's canon, age-gap at first (reader is her 20's but again, vampire), public sex (it just happened), daily reminder to wrap it before you tap it, p in v, choking, filthy mouth, pet names.

side notes — thought this could take place after days of the future past? au cause why nottttt ,,currently on ovulation season so bare with me,,, been a little mia cause i’m surviving aka going through the worst semester of my life at uni? internships are breaking my ass currently so well, here i am just existing, also, english’s not my first language and everyday i’m grateful for it, so any mistakes i’m not sorry in advance lol i’m also too lazy to correct once published,, feel free to send more logan requests since i've basically been a slut for him for a while now (i'm rotting in hell).

He could swear the mansion got ten degrees hotter when you came in.

It’s inevitable. It’s this thing you carry, the way you move — Graceful, elegant, almost compelling as the air fills the room. It’s not public knowledge that you’re not a mutant itself, yet you’re presented like one, like you have healing factors and age painfully slow, but human after all, a subtle lie, one that can harm no one.

It’s safe to say you catch his attention in the most annoying way: How couldn’t you? All you do is this weird seduction he’s appealed to, whether you’re conscious or not it’s just captivating, an invisible force that even when you ignore it is there, there waiting for the perfect moment to flood every time you happen to be in the same room.

Captivating. That’s the word.

The room becomes smaller after, the air grows thicker, and it’s almost like a ticking bomb, the way you wouldn’t even look at his face while he’s noticeable pinning after Jean Grey, the mystery that surrounds you and he cannot seem to resolve no matter how much time he puts into it.

It’s like he's the plague. You don’t really try to exchange more than just a few words, only when it's needed and you cannot avoid him any longer, and he didn’t say anything at first, keeping his distance too cause he don’t see how you’d become friends, cause after all, what he could have in common with a girl that doesn't surpass the twenty years?

But soon he's upset about it, even when he doesn't really say anything out loud, it's a spike he cannot reach under his skin. You seem to become friends with anyone but him, mutant kids in your history lessons, the rest of the team, even the damn mailman when he delivered a package — You'd say hello like it's a long time lover or so, greeting people like they mean the world to you.

He has students now that are asking for a transfer from his class to yours cause it seems you're fun to be around, more like he is, and he fucking hates it.

It's fair to say it's been getting into his mind lately. That thing you do with your hair, twisting it in your index finger on a lock as you speak, the subtle red glow in your eyes he always catches by mistake, not enough fast to stop looking at you, pretending he didn't even see in your direction at first.

Tension. Logan just happens to hate tension.

In fact. He's almost sure your problem is personal, that you might hate him enough to act like he didn't exist at all, enough to avoid him like he was not there.

That's why it's just so weird.

When he finds himself walking down the hallway to the kitchen and he smells this cherry-scented aroma that settles under his nostrils, he changes the direction he's walking to, to instead, follow the path to the person that was silently smoking outside. Hiding. Maybe, a student he'll have to scold like the old man he was turning into.

No smoking in the mansion!

However, as the night is just settling, he doesn't recognize a little mutant, but instead happens to recognize you in the middle of the gardens of the mansion, close to the maze; escaping the comfort of the inside to enjoy a self-rolled cherry tobacco he has smelled before in the air. He's a victim mostly, cause his legs move on it's own as his mouth go dry, approaching you in silence.

"What do you want?" you ask when he's halfway there. And your tone is just cold as ever, not an ounce of feeling as he contemplates your side profile, the way the tobacco sticks out of your parted lips, seated on a bench hidden between bushes and trees — "Is Scott bitching about the smell going into the mansion already?"

No. He's not. But he doesn't have enough reasons to explain exactly why he's outside if you asked, why, all of sudden, he followed the scent of cherry knowing it was you the only one who carried a colts package in the pocket of every single jacket you wore, constantly asking Storm if she could hold on to the bag of filters for you while you rolled in the worst moments.

It's distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah," he quickly says, lying cause in reality he hasn't seen the guy in the whole day, yet it sounds like something he would say. "Do you happen to have another one of those to share?"

You don't talk much, hand reaching his as you offered him from your tobacco without a single word, the same that was placed between your lips and now was on his in what seemed to be something more intimate than what he'd like to admit, the cherry taste filling his lungs as they weirdly enough, shared a cig.

"Aren't you too young to be smoking?"

You laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine cause he has never heard a sound quite like it, nothing that resembles that throaty, raspy sound that came out of your lips in amusement thanks to his words. He, out of all people, has never seen you like that — "And how old you think I am?"

He seems to think about it for a second, carefully picking his next words. Logan knows that women and their age are a tricky thing, you cannot say a number that's too compromising, nor act stupid and say something that's clearly not correct — "Not a day over twenty-two."

The answer pleases you, and he just knows he's wrong, but you don't seem bothered by it, instead, you nod pretending he's right, like he just got the answer right away.

He can see why everyone's switching classes now. Cheeky bastards.

"Twenty-two is not young at all, but i'm twenty-seven though," you say, and he scoffs at the statement, seeking for any change in your heartbeat, any sign of a lie. The strange thing happens when he cannot pick any heart at all, any sign of pulse.

"You are pretty young still," he says, against his age, you’re just starting out living—. "You don't look like you are twenty-seven at all."

"Cause I age slower than the rest," it's a practiced lie. One you know from repeating the same explanation over and over again, the priced answer of why you haven't changed a single bit in the past few years and made you a mutant — "I never looked my age."

Such a fucking liar. He doesn't need any heartbeats to confirm it cause deep down you are a terrible actress, he can see it so clear, how you're calculating every answer, thinking about the correct thing to say, the normal thing to say.

"Is that your thing?" he asks, playing pretend almost as bad as you do. Tilting his head to the side as he questions you — "Age slowly?"

"I have healing powers," you explain as he tossed you the joint once again. "My saliva kinds of help healing wounds. It's pretty boring."

"Boring" Logan repeats. The word itself sounds so damn fun in your lips it's contradicting. "That doesn’t sound really boring."

There's a moment of silence after that. Where you smoke in silence taking in the taste of the cherry, and he is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that your lips also touched the side of the cigar he was smoking before, the plain lies you've been repeating over and over the last ten minutes.

It's almost infuriating. Makes his blood boil without question, he surely endures your treatment of silence, but being lied to? That's a whole different level.

“How old are you, kid?”

Your brows furrow in response, a clueless face. You are pulling out this show once again Logan don’t buy for a damn second. Something about the scrunch in your nose, the way you dismissed your own powers as if they weren’t enough. He knows it’s all a lie. He knows it even when he doesn’t really know you at all, when it’s the first time you’re truly speaking to him after your arrival to the mansion almost a year ago.

“How old you really are?”

You laugh at the question once again, and he just knows it, knows it when he sees you barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon, the act you always keep up, a web of tangled lies you have to be into— “Told you i'm twenty-seven already, didn't you hear?”

“Is it now?” he asks, amused by the sass, exhaling the smoke of the low-quality tobacco he doesn't understand why you're so invested in when passed it to him—. “Cause you don’t seem very convinced, it really sounds like bullshit to me.”

You're almost offended. By the look you give it's like the worst mistake he could ever make, yet you remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of an honest answer yet. Testing his patience like he did have one to begin with.

"Is that why I can’t hear your heartbeats, darlin'? Cause you age so slowly?”

The nickname scratches a part of your brain, and you hate him for it. The word rolls out of his tongue with an accent, smoking your cherry tobacco cause you happen to be nice.

“You can’t?” you’re good at faking it suddenly, at least, that's what he thinks when your brows furrow in alleged curiosity, stiffening your back, uncomfortable. “How weird.”

“Damn right it is” that's when you realize he knows you are lying. Even when you don’t talk much, even when you act all stiff and bothered when he’s close, he knows that you are fully invested in lying. In whatever twisted little lie you've planned, like it was your real life and not something you made up. “Are you going to tell me truth, then or do I have to find out? Does the professor know that you're lying?”

The smoke lingers in the air.

“How old are you?” he asks once again, demanding an honest answer this time — "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

You find his questions annoying, mostly cause he won't stop until he gets an answer, one that pleases him enough to leave you alone, the other part cause you happen to like the playful banter you two keep going, dangerously much. You don't hate attention it's clear, what you do hate it's the way he seemed to see pass the lie, to demand more even when he has no right to.

He enjoys being the one who's right though, Logan cannot help it. He's pleased to catch that look on your face who says everything but nothing at once, to have you where he wanted, almost at the edge of admitting a truth.

Is it payback because you've been stealing all of the little mutants from his class? He's jealous cause kids like being around you? It does not make much sense, but he is fully invested. Questioning all.

Even when you're outside, it seems like the air grows thicker. And Logan finds himself seeking for your breathing, cause he don't know nothing, nothing about you more than the fact you don't seem to have a heartbeat, or pulse and now, breathing.

“If you really are that eager to know, i'm a hundred and twenty-seven” the words float in the air for a while, and he's sure you're just messing with him, cause there's no way a pretty little face like yours had endured a century. “I've been alive for quite a while.”

He doesn't fully believe it first. Of course he doesn't. Logan's sure you're messing with him also, distracting him about your real age.

“And I supposed this do come from you slow aging powers” He tries to give you a point there, but it's difficult to be serious when you're just playing with him—. "How so?"

To be honest, you do have a little temper yourself, you've learned to stand up for yourself most of the time, so when you happen to notice he's teasing you, that he doesn't really believe you, you adopt this attitude of defense he notices as you shift over the wood you're seated in.

"No, it doesn't" you steal the joint from his hands to have a smoke yourself. "You really aren't as smart as I thought you were, huh?"

Do you happen to have a dead wish? His muscles tense beneath his shirt, and in contrast of his problem, you can hear it all. All the sounds his body makes when he's all bothered just by the beat of his heart, that annoying sound his bones make each time he moves.

"What are you?"

"That's it," the praising goes directly into his chest, the tone you use to tell him he's going in the right direction it feels just so right he forgets why he got mad in the first place—. "That's what you should be asking right there."

It's almost a shame having to admit he would also switch classes. That he would also go through all the paperwork himself without a second thought and that right there, is pathetic, but you're smiling at him as if you're encouraging the man to try harder, to find the answer himself, and fuck — He's old, too old, he's tired, he's in a bad mood as fucking usual, and he happens to dig a drink in the quiet of his own room, but he's pulled by something as equal as devastating as the gravity force, shoot towards you in pure need to have some answers even if he has to make you spit them.

"I find it strange, cause when you don't have a heartbeat, you aren't usually alive" Deep down he's fascinated, hazel eyes glues on your face trying to understand. He feels like he has it in the tip of his tongue waiting to leave his mouth as a catastrophic answer, but he doesn't find the right words.

"That's cause i'm not," you state it like it's something obvious. And just as he knows you're lying, this time, he knows you're telling the truth, blowing the smoke in his direction just to bother him — "Why do you think i'm teaching history after all huh?"

He hasn't seen it all, it seems.

Yeah.

He's losing it after that night.

It’s known that Logan has sleeping problems, but that night specifically he thinks about something else rather than what usually torments him, a truth he also has to keep a secret now that he's learned more about it.

See, Logan doesn't expect you to be really dead. Much less to hear what you are and have been hiding this whole time from the rest of the people in the mansion — He also learns that you feed on blood, that vampires are a common thing in the world and that he shouldn't, at least, be that surprised when he's a mutant in a world full of humans himself.

You are a folklore myth on small villages, stories in Rumania and horror character in films, so you don't blame him when as you spoke, he finally understands why you're so damn attractive, so damn seductive as you explained more about your way of living, some memories you've been keeping to yourself since being a vampire was so damn solitary, memories he listens to cause he knows what it's like, to be misunderstood, to be eternal, to be alone as well.

It makes the two of you grow closer by the next weeks. You now talked during broad daylight about random shit at first, about the war sometimes, about your condition as he refers to when people is around, eaves-dropping on what you two are talking so invested in. Friends.

Simple as that.

And it's safe to admit also that in the course of the next days, Logan Howlett is a fucking mess, and he knows it, but he won't do anything about it.

He won't flirt cause he knows you're a hell of a woman, in every good sense of the word, that he's way too damaged for a vampire even, for all kinds of people out there, and as much as he'd like to say anything, he values your attention, how you switched the attitude of acting like he didn't exist to be a friend, one that you came to share secrets with a cherry aroma glued in their skin.

It gets him insane, to the point he's no longer spending much time with Jean and people start to pick up on it as if he didn't have enough headaches already. He doesn't care. Shit you are not bothered by what people say, and to be honest, he cannot seem to care either.

At first, he's reluctant of keep on talking to you as normal as it is. He's not really invested in religious themes, but he sure admits you're a sin by all meanings, a religious experience of some kind if anyone asked him — He agrees with what he has heard also in the hallways. Innocent conversations of teens and their platonic crush on their teachers. You are pretty hot.

He's so interested in knowing more about you, about the nights you spend in Rumania, when you leave to Canada, the different lives you've lived across the years. He finds himself looking forward to share his stories too, weird enough, cause he's over two centuries himself and he just craves to talk about it with someone who also gets him in a deeper level, that weariness that fills your body when you age so long.

You got the best of immortality, and instead of feeling envious, Logan finds himself attracted to you so much like he's never been in his whole existence. Not at the point it happened with you at least.

By the end of the first month he knows your little treats. You use a lot of sunscreen, and avoid activities outside as much as you possibly can with those classic, tiny black sunglasses that hided you from the rays of the sun, always in the shadow so unapproachable; how you'd usually dismiss food offerings from anyone who's kind enough to even offer you something, and when you haven't fed well during the course of the week, you'd become the most maddening woman he'd ever met.

Maddening.

"What wrong with you, Leech?" Leech. You've been in such a bad mood lately that when he's seating next to you in another random smoking session outside, your fingers twitch, clearly pissed at the nickname after saying multiple times you don't like it.

"I'm not in the mood for plays now."

He can tell from before. When you talked to him that very morning and stared at the collar of his flannel for what it seemed a good, nice minute, he realizes the same moment that you were staring at that pulse point in his neck, where the flesh blood was pumping in his blood flow: You're hungry, as any living creature would be and at your own manner, in constant control as you fight the sense of hunger.

So instead, the mutant ask, like he always does when he’s curious about something that involves you:

"When did you last feed?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That would explain it. You don't talk much about your meal plan, he knows the professor is in charge of all of that. You've told him about blood bags and hospitals, but he's not really aware of how constant you need to eat, how the blood supplies most of your energy, makes you stronger, gives you vitality, so Logan at first, don't really know what its like to not drink any blood in the course of two weeks.

"What happened with the blood bags from the Hospital?"

The mention of blood out loud seems to triggers you. A groan escaping your lips as you can swear you feel the taste in your mouth — "Don't know. Haven't seen a single one this week, Charles said something about next week, problems in the bank I guess."

You're clearly worked up. It's a new look he hasn't registered before, your hair is tangled in a less-composed look, and there's a slight shake in your hands as if you're going through withdrawal, deprived for what you needed the most.

"And animals?" he questions, trying to find a solution. “Can’t you eat a cat or something?”

"Like shit i'm going to feed from a fucking animal," you're almost immediately grossed out, scrunching your nose at the idea. "I can barely handle being so close to a damn human but animals? I'd rather fucking die this time for real, no waking up."

"That bad huh?" the mutant asks, taking a sip from the beer he sneaked outside, chucking lightly afterwards. "So you're a leech with elegant taste, huh? Of course you are."

"Clean blood is rare," you explain, rolling your eyes. It's inevitable. He knows you hate the nickname so much that he insists to keep on calling you that way just to get a reaction—. "Humans nowadays taste like dirt. They consume drugs among other substances, pills, food supplements, even damn vitamins, don’t get me started about blood diseases cause it gets me in a bad temper. Every single thing affects on your taste, even what you eat. It's all registered there. Clean, good blood is rare to find. Call me elegant, call me picky. It's a damn fact."

"And what about mutant blood?" he questions. And it seems like a mere phrase at first, one with no subtle tones, he’s usually curious about your nature so you don’t pay much attention as he spoke—. “You’re picky about mutants too?”

“No, i’ve never had a mutant before.” The truth is, you hate feeding from people, the act being something so intimate, so damn personal, you refrain yourself. Killing humans, picking a next victim to fed on, is considered now a treat you don't appreciate from your kind, making you steal from hospitals and any kind of blood bank before Charles offered you help. You haven't fed from a mutant, cause you avoided everyone equally, but you don't want to be rude about it. “You all smell different, but i’d be lying. Maybe yes, i’d be picky about it too, feeding is something intimate.”

It's an undeniable admission, and now that he's trying to be in your position, he would also be picky about someone's blood. Logan remains stoic cause he’s suddenly filled by the thought of something else, a glimpse of his own weird creativity he forces himself to push aside, to really suppress now that it's not the time or the moment.

“How do I smell?” It's too late to stop the words from coming out of his mouth when he asks her. And at first, is out of pure curiosity. He has never encountered a vampire in his life until you, let alone had someone talking about the subtle tastes of the blood being undead, so he doesn't want to let the opportunity slip — Of course he wants to know if an over two hundred mutant like himself would be as remotely good as a fresh, clean bag from the hospital.

"You stink like wet dog," he surely deserves it after all the times he’s been calling you a leech — "Like those cigars you tend to smoke, alcohol, and musk. It's similar as wood. That smell you got when you're in a forest and it's not raining but straight pouring."

"Is this a way of telling me i'd taste bad, peach?"

You make a mental note to let him know after you like peach way more than leech.

"If i'd found a human smelling like that, you won't be hearing from me anytime soon" you're just messing with him. A playful banter you enjoy more than ever, the distraction you needed to think in something else rather than the blood bags you craved so deeply — "Hell, i've would just walked the other way."

"So i'm taking you won't be feeding from me anytime soon."

It all takes a dark turn there. You're very aware of the tension the last month now that you talk to him in daily basis, but it’s just mere tension, nothing that ever goes beyond the limit. Logan has never said something to flirt with you despite the million chances he got, and he always remained like a friend, one that you enjoy spending time with now. Cannot be blamed when you're taken aback.

“Cat got your tongue, kiddo?” Man. You're about to whine about the name before you remember he is indeed, older than you are. Vampire or mutant.

"You want me to feed from you?"

He seems so willing when you ask. Even when you teased about his smell calling him a wet dog. He just seems so eager to let you just do it, try a mutant for the first time.

"Yeah," he dismisses it like it's not something so deep — "I doubt Charles is going to let you take a bite since you could clearly kill him, and I'm not sure the others would be pleased with the idea of you sinking your teeth in them, so yes. Me, leech."

Logan Howlett doesn't really smell bad. And you don't know why cause he has all the ingredients to fucking stink, yet, you'd call him interesting. That's what you thought when you find his pulse point again, the vein in his neck you looked earlier in the morning, thinking just as the same you were thinking now.

Of course you would feed from him. Is it a good thing to do? No, in any other circumstances you'd decline. He's your friend.

Now? You’re having a hard time.

"So I'm guessing that you're pleased with the idea, then," Real talk?, you just want to hear him say it. He doesn't talk much usually, but now that he's very vocal about what's on his mind, you have to take advantage of it—. "I'm not sure either. But I do think Storm may be interested too."

He seems content with the response, taking a long sip from his beer before adding — "Please, go and ask her so you're less annoying."

You're almost completely sure he doesn't find you annoying. You also don't care about Storm. And maybe he knows you're not going anywhere, that you're not moving.

"You really want me to bite you?"

"I dunno now, princess" he looks at you pleased now cause he got you where he wanted to, cause he managed to awake all the interest now that you're looking at him "Are you going to pull a Dracula on me?"

"No, i'm not going to suck you dry if that's what you're asking."

Logan chuckles. He's a damn masochist. It's been like that as long as he can remember. It may have to be with his healing powers cause he likes it more than usual, but the idea gets to his head soon enough, all falling so damn fast: Your breathing would be against his neck and he'd take the bite like a damn champ.

"Yeah I can handle you," he says, aroused. "You're not gonna hurt me if you take some blood. I'll be fine and you won't be a pain in the ass."

He acts so gruff about it but you hear the sound of his heartbeat already high enough to wake the entire mansion, his labored breathing since he suggested the idea himself. He digs it, strange enough. Thrives on the idea.

He's a grown man already, and he can take a little leech like yourself.

It's clear you're hungry, cause it doesn't take much for you to accept, nodding like you're defeated, like you just lost the war entirely, cause there's no many options here to take and even if it were, you are now interested in have him more than any other blood bag. In fact. To hell with the hospital.

"Okay."

It's a simple answer, and it sure works with him as you get close to him, the bench you always used to sit now seeming so small as you look around confirming you guys really are alone—. "You won't tell anyone?"

It's something stupid to ask, cause after all that time he has never said anything, keeping your secrets as if they were his own, saving you from weird questions people get sometimes as they didn't know much about you. He's clearly not going to say nothing at all.

"Are you going to stop whining for a second and just eat darlin'? Cause I might change my mind here."

He's feeling overload soon after.

You don’t need a formal invitation to lean closer to his neck.

There's no way to describe it also cause he has never seen something like that, never felt a similar sensation more than when he's fucking, the cold touch of your fingers in his chest, taunting the vein in his neck without a previous warning before leaning in even closer than before—. "Stay still" you demand, face close against his bare skin, only one goal in mind. "Don't move for a minute. Just-"

You cannot finish the sentence, and Logan can experience the sporadic pain of the bite first hand when your teeth finally sink in his neck, piercing the flesh so easily as you let the blood fill your mouth. He grunts at the sharp pain, his face contracting momentarily before it's replaced by a nice wave of pleasure, one that hits him right in the guts as he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you against him, almost demanding you to be closer, to keep on taking what you want, what you've been craving for two weeks.

When did he turned into this perverted sick? Getting off by something so primal as the fact you're feasting on him.

The feeling of your lips and the clear suck you gave when feeding are sending him into a spiral, and to be honest, he didn't expect to be so devastated by you, by the way your fingers stay against his chest to prevent him from moving, pinning the mutant between the wood bench and yourself so he won’t move, won’t do anything unless you want him to,pressing on the wound to draw more blood out.

"You heal so damn fast," you complain, looking at the traces of your bite with an unpleased face as they disappeared on his skin as fast as you created them.

"Then bite me again. I don't care."

You chuckle before leaning once again, and you can feel how the air grows hotter than how it was usually, the shift on his breathing as you bite him again, pressing on the wounds once again just to suck.

And you’re hungry, it’s the whole deal. His taste differs from what you believe at first, a huge change from what humans taste like, from what you’re used to deal with in hospitals. There’s a subtle taste of alcohol yes, but it mixes good with the sweet taste of honey, the weird taste you cannot put into words. It must be a mutant thing for sure cause it’s thicker than usual, a mix of flavors that explode in your tongue.

The headache you suffered from the whole week seems to dissapear as you drink in, feeding the monster you responded to in your stomach, demanding you to make him bleed more, to satisfy yourself until you can’t have any more.

Logan, on the other hand, is really fighting against his very own war.

You’re already close enough, but he just wants you damn closer, as much as he possibly can. It’s clear that well, it hurts slightly, but he has endured much worse, means nothing when it’s the pleasure that comes with it who strikes on his body, the light sucking, the idea you’re full of his blood, that you are not on trouble as you were before thanks to him. All because of him.

He's not used to acts on his impulses, but he does it anyway.

"C'mere" he says in a strangled voice, Logan's having no trouble moving you around, grabbing you by the hips to make you straddle him, keeping you glued to his neck as he doesn't want to disturb you—. "You really are a pretty leech, huh?”

You hum against his skin, pleased at the contact, and when he realizes you’re not complaining about his actions, he let his fingers grip your tights, keeping you against him.

You can hear him making this sound, quite like a moan but not exactly when you’re licking the holes you left in his skin, he does heal fast and don’t need any of your help when you’re done, but you coat his skin with your saliva anyway just to speed up the process, cause you want to do it, looking down to him after to check if he’s pale or nearly dead. You never really know.

And Logan himself is just fine cause his fingers gather the blood under your lip when he takes the sight of you sitting in his lap as the pearly white rays of moonlight makes your skin shine, and he pushes them inside your mouth so you don't waste any drop of what it can be considered food.

"So what's the final verdict?" he asks as his hands are now grabbing your tights, there's something so intimate about the moment, so personal, hot as he presses his fingers against the flesh of your muscles, he understand what you said before—. "Do I taste like utter shit?"

"Well, i’d need another taste to have my final decision" he laughs, and he don't really laugh often so the unexpected sound sends a shiver down your spine now that you’ve heard the sound quite a while now—. "Not much, just a little."

“Have you fill then, peach” He encourages you. “I want you full so you don’t whine the rest of the week.”

You don’t have any heartbeat, but if you did, it would be ragging in your ears at his words. At the warmth he’s spreading like a disease on her body that, despite being dead and cold, you can feel more than ever.

“I like peach,” you admit, this time pressing a soft kiss before directly hurt him—. “Leech is annoying.”

He’s going to say something, tease you about it maybe but he’s interrupted by the nice feeling of what he considers are your fangs tearing his skin apart, familiarity hitting him all sudden as he moans, a rough sound that comes from the deep of his throat, hands coming down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp against his neck when you experience the aching need physically forming in his pants.

“Still,” you say, concentrated on not allowing the wounds to close. But at the lack of complaints on what he's doing, Logan’s hands kept wandering around, making you move against his now clearly stiffed cock—. “Fuck’s sake I said still.”

“Stop being a damn brat. You can eat while I move you,” he grunts annoyed, shoving you against him, the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your shorts is enough to keep you quiet: Feeding from a stranger and feeding from a person you’re attracted to are two different things, especially in the position you find yourself in. “You don’t have to do anything. Quit whining about it.”

In response, your fingers press against the wound, not caring if it hurts or if it bothers him, but just enough to get him to bleed more and prevent the cut from closing, lapping at the blood that gathered over his collarbone, staining his white tank before you could even avoid it.

Your fingers grab the fabric just to pull it slightly down so it won't bother you, and the deep sound his chest make when he mocks about your desperation is stuck on your brain for the next couple of minutes, indulging in his taste, shutting up the rest of the world.

A moan comes out of your lips, muffling it against his skin. You're too zoomed out to hear it, but he's on a hell of a ride too, moaning as he demands more. It's been a while since the last time you did something like that, combine the pleasure of something as primal as eating with a mundane activity like sex, so you kind of forgot how good it felt, blaming yourself from depriving from something so needed.

"Do you always get this turned on when someone bites you?"

"No" Logan answers as you finish. He's rock hard beneath you, and he lets you know it when he's controlling the movement of your hips, working you against him at a slow pace—. "See, the woman i'm trying to seduce don't usually bite me, nor make me their main dinner plate."

You whine at the friction.

He looks down to the cause of all his damn problems just to notice his pants being damped with nothing but a physical form of need, soothing the uncomfortable fabric of his blue jeans — "So wet for me already, you’re making a damn mess, do you always get this turned on when feeding?"

Cheeky bastard.

He's using your own words against you, and you cannot be less bothered as you laugh softly, licking your lips only cause you know there's dried blood in them, drowned in his smell, the honey taste that lingered in your mouth.

“No, I don’t.”

At the sight, Logan's hand grabs your jaw in a rough movement, making you look at him before making you kiss him, deepening the contact as fast as you give him the chance. His tongue is soon invading your bucal cavity as he takes control of it, slow, intense and needy, as if he was holding on so much time before giving in to his own desires.

It is something like that.

You don't need to breathe in daily basis, but there's a burning sensation in your chest of wanting, of infinite lust you've been also experiencing by yourself.

The old mutant can taste his own blood in your mouth, a metallic taste as he keeps on kissing you until your lips are pink and puffed. He has thought so much about it that now that he has the opportunity, he devours as if he's a starved man having his first meal in what seems are ages.

"You didn't tell me if I tasted bad."

You think about it for a second.

"I'm afraid you're a rare breed cause it doesn't make any sense" You don't need any help now moving, cause you're rolling your hips on top of him at your own pace, allowing him to use his hands for something else—. “You have all the ingredients to taste like shit, but it's nothing but the contrary, even better than the fucking blood bags.”

“Sounds like your going to make me your meal plan, darlin. I’m here offering you a hand and you just take everything,” — “Such a greedy little vampire.”

He doesn't seem to care though, same as before he's nothing but willing to let you take everything as much as he tries to bark about it. He's more worried about his hands now that they're sliding down your oversized shirt, tracing patterns over your stomach, his touch so hot against your usually cold temperature.

"Logan," you whine,— "Someone can see us out here."

"Now you care about that?" his hazel eyes are a shade darker when he speaks. "After you're nice and full of my blood?"

His hands are big enough to take your whole cunt, allowing his digits to roam over the fabric of your underwear, almost thanking you for using those loosened pajama shorts he has seen before that very night as he just takes the fabric and pull it to the side.

"Nobody is going to see us. It's late and everyone's sleeping, leech" he teases you, and you cannot bring yourself to care about the nickname at the feeling of his hand taunting you from over the fabric—. "If you can bite me here outside, you might as well take my cock here too."

You cannot battle against that. You're deep in whatever spell he puts you into, giving in to the attraction and the tension that now needs to be taken care of. Logan's fingers touch you in nothing but experience, cause he knows how to please after so much time alive, how much pressure he needs to apply to leave you plain dumb, pliable for him.

"D'you think I need to stretch you out before fucking you?" he asks against your neck after leaving a reasonable-sized hickey in the zone, he likes the idea of people finding out about what you've been doing with him the next morning. "Or you're a big girl and can take me all by yourself?"

He'd like to take your time with you. Thoroughly enjoy you as much as he wants to, let everyone know you're his now, that you're shuddering thanks to him only, but he's too needy for that, too deprived of you to take his time.

"I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and talk to me," he demands, coming up to look at your face while torturing you, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit from over the underwear—. "I'm not properly touching you yet and you're losing it already, peach. C'mon, you can talk to me still."

"I can take you," you say in a strangled voice. "Please Logan, please."

It's the plea of your tone that gets him, the soft begging of an ache he can only soothe, your face while you ask for more, not aware of anything else but him.

"Please what?"

"Please just fuck me already," you ask in frustration—. "I just need you to fill me up for a damn while."

You are starting to love the sound of his laugh. The deep sound he makes when he’s really enjoying something, his voice in damn general.

"Be a good little vampire" He says in a gentle tone. Logan’s trying to be kind even when his touch is so rough. "Unbuckle my pants and take my cock out. My hands are busy now, and you can do it yourself."

He is busy indeed. Toying with your underwear being the only thing that’s keeping him from the direct contact, pushing the fabric against your hole as it works as a barrier, preventing his digits to fuck you as he’d like to. He’s busy keeping you in place, preventing you from downright melt as your hands came up to unbuckle his belt first, the sound of the metal as it moves filling the air for a couple of seconds before you put all your attention in the button of his jeans, the zipper coming down with the force you’re using.

“Yeah baby,” he praises—. “You’re doing so good, keep going.”

When you pull the fabric of his briefs down, he’s already leaking for you, pink head, slightly curved to the side, moaning, erratically how much he needs your hands on him, how you're wet and ready for his cock. You close your fist around him, stroking slowly as your hips lift up enough to position yourself on top of him.

He’s big. Damn fucking right he is, you’d expected it from before cause sometimes you swear you can see his full length in his jeans, but taking him in your hand is a struggle but itself.

“Are you going to take me yourself or do you need my help? I know you can.”

Despite his words, he does help. Grabbing the black fabric of your underwear to finally make it to the side, the tip of his dick pushing against your clit before he's the one to place it in your leaky hole, forcing himself slowly, giving you time to take him in, inch by inch.

“Good girl," he says, head rolling backwards for a brief moment as he experiences the warm sensation of your walls surrounding him, clenching against his cock as he keeps one hand on your hip, helping you as you lower yourself over him. "Let me look at you.”

His fingers grab your jaw, squeezing you as he makes you look back at him, pushing you once again as you holded a loud moan. He's stretching you at his need.

"One more time," he begs. "One more time and you got it, peach. You're almost there."

Jesus fuck. You can feel yourself getting dizzy. You've drank a lot of blood and you're now overwhelmed by this intense pleasure that formed in your lower stomach, gathering there and waiting for the perfect moment to explode—. "Fuck I-"

Logan's pampering you with kisses as a mere distraction, his lips travelling through your neck to your collarbone before you're finally seated on top of him, a muffled moan you need to shut filling the calm of the night.

"Fuck you're tight," he exhales, and he's lost in the sensation, the way your velvety walls welcome him inside. He stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, to make you the one who starts moving on top of him.

You can see his veins popping up. All over his chest and coming down to his shoulders and his arms, and god gracious — He smells so fucking good you’re tempted to ask if you can have a bite again.

The moment feels longer than usual, the seconds pass slowly as you stay there. Logan’s hands are just touching your skin from under your oversized t-shirt, taking in the low moans you gave him, the almost perceptible whispers as you get used to him, to his size.

He likes the intimacy of it, the bliss. Man you look so pretty in his lap when the light of the moon is stripping you all to his eyes, even if you’re fully dressed an he’s seated in a damn bench, he cannot enjoy it more, pulling you in for a needy kiss, one that is rougher than the first one and leads you to move inevitably.

His cock pushes past that nice spot inside, and the friction is enough to make you move again, rocking your hips at a slow pace for a few seconds. The sound of your moans is silenced by his demanding kisses, and now that he knows you can handle him, his grip on your hips turn more firm now, squeezing the skin there so he can control your speed, the rythm of your movements now faster than before.

“Shh, don’t whine” what he lacks of vocal usually, he pours it all in just fucking, talking you through it when he feels you’re being too loud—. “Do you want to wake the others? We can’t have them seeing you like this, all fed up and cock-drunk.”

“Let me bite you again,” you ask soon enough. And it takes a lot to do it, cause you’re doing it out of pure greed, cause you can’t have enough.

“Take whatever you want, leech, just don’t make me faint” he jokes, his panted breathing betraying him as he moans, incredibly interested in the idea—. “Want to be conscious when you cum all over my dick.”

Logan’s sure your eyes glisten in a red color as you lean over his neck. And this time is less affectionate, much less gentle as you finally bite him again, teeth piercing the flesh so easily his hips jolts against you in response of the sharp pain your fangs create, the warm sensation of his blood in contrast of your cold touch, tongue-licking all you get from him.

And fuck it feels good.

He shrudders beneath you, shaking his head just slightly at reflex of pain before continue working his way with you, placing his hand between your tights as he lets his fingers rub on your sensitive clit, just enough to make you bite on his neck harder, the lewd sounds of your cunt taking him between holded moans as you suck on his neck.

“That’s it taking me so good,” He praises — “You like that, princess? Like how you’re full of me?”

You hum against his skin. The blood coates your chin as it goes down through his chest, staining his white tank for a couple of seconds before the holes your teeth made finally closes on their own.

It’s pure ecstasy. He can feel it when you clenching around his cock, cheeks red from his blood going now through your system, his vitality, his energy.

You can feel him fucking everywhere. So when you kiss him it’s all teeth, bite and his blood.

The pleasure’s taking control of you now, and Logan’s dizzy from the blood loss, his body covered now in sweat as his words slur together, not threading any coherent thought.

“That’s it,” he says, making you bounce of his cock. “Gonna’ have you in my room then, all spread out f’me.”

His hand wrap around your neck tightly, keeping the direct contact as he chokes you. Shit. You don’t need to say a word. Logan already got you.

“James-” he’s too deep to question why you’re using that name with him. How you facade is crushing down now as you let go.

When your body trembles on top of him he’s already cumming too, the squeeze on his cock sufficent to fuck him up personally, his bruising grip on your hips shoving you as deep as he possibly can as his release hits him like a brick falling from the damn sky.

He lets you work for it, ride each second of your high, milk him dry as a white circle of his own cum mixed with your juices coated the base of his cock, his underwear now slick with your orgasm.

He’s struggling to breathe, to properly say something as you’re finally coming down from your peak, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“Did you called me James?” he questions, and you’re a damn bad liar, cause he knows imediately you’re hidding something cause of the look on your face—. “Do we know each other? From before.”

You don’t know how to respond at first, at least, cause you cannot lie in a position like that now.

“Well uh. It’s quite a long story here.”

Before you can continue he gets up, making you wrap your legs around his hips before stsrting to walk to the mansion.

“Logan-” you say in a strangled moan yourself, still sensitive as he’s balls-deep inside you.

“It will be less than two minutes, leech” he responds gruffily,— “Need to get you into my room so I can enjoy you the rest of the night, and you can tell me all of it.”

He don’t care if he’s bloody or a damn mess as he squeezes your ass climbing up the stairs, much less if anyone see the two of you in that state.

“I want to hear all the details, Cause I have a weird feeling that this has happened before.”

You cannot find a reasonable excuse to say no as the man’s already reaching the second floor.

Logan’s fucked after that night. When he learned about all that you were before, weirdly connected to you through the decades.

It must be the bite isn’t? Shit. He’s more in sync than ever now that you’ve been feeding from him a lot the last few weeks.

Ah. You fucking leech.

my masterlist

[prickly-paprikash]

My favorite thing about every single Belmont in Netflix's Castlevania and Nocturne?

Every single initial appearance radiates sad, pathetic energy.

Trevor's bar fight scene was equal parts hilarious and disheartening. This is the Last Belmont? A legendary clan of Vampire Hunters, reduced to a drunken brawler who gets his nuts kicked in so many times?

Julia Belmont? Bodied by hot, gay Dragon Daddy Olrox while her son watches. He brings the direct Belmont line down to two, and traumatizes the kid so hard he has ED—Enchantment Dysfunction until he becomes an adult.

Richter? Yeah! Literally has to have his first true core memory be his mom be fucking owned by the sexiest god damn bloodsucker in history. Little bro's canon event was to watch his mama be crushed.

Juste? Sure his entrance is cool, but then we realize he's also suffering from ED, he sucks at this whole grandfather thing, his wife and bestie killed, and he could never even confront his own blood over the death of his fucking daughter.

I love the fact that every single Belmont makes the worst first impressions. Regardless of sex or gender or age. They just fucking suck when introduced.

[betterbooksandthings]

Best Fantasy Anime (with mostly female leads)

Listen, I love fantasy anime. They are fun and I love a fight scene as much as the next girl. I am relatively uninterested in male leads mostly because of the *cough, cough* excessive fan service. So, without further adu, if you are interested in some fantasy with women at the helm here's what I got.

Frieren: Beyond Journey's End

Yona of the Dawn

Inuyasha

Wandering Witch: The Journey of Elaina

Villainess Level 99: I May Be the Hidden Boss But I'm Not the Demon Lord

7th Time Loop: The Villainess Enjoys a Carefree Life Married to Her Worst Enemy!

Fluffy Paradise

Ascendance of a Bookworm

I Shall Survive Using Potions!

The Saint's Magic Power is Omnipotent

Tearmoon Empire

My Daughter Left the Nest and Returned an S-Rank Adventurer

My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom!

Sacrificial Princess and the King of Beasts

Saving 80,000 Gold in Another World for my Retirement

Kuma Kuma Kuma Bear

I'm the Villainess, So I'm Taming the Final Boss

Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle

Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid

Reincarnated as a Sword

Dahlia in Bloom: Crafting a Fresh Start with Magical Tools

Kakuriyo -Bed & Breakfast for Spirits-

The Vexations of a Shut-In Vampire Princess

Didn't I Say to Make My Abilities Average in the Next Life?!

Management of Novice Alchemist

I'll Become a Villainess Who Goes Down in History

Nina the Starry Bride

Snow White with the Red Hair

These ones I am keeping an eye on but signs point to a favorable outcome.

The Do-Over Damsel Conquers the Dragon Emperor

Promise of Wizard

ZENSHU

[callieisto]

HAPPY (LATE!) BIRTHDAY RO MY LOVE!!! Have some of the softest birthday sex with Sam I could cook up <33 @ivysangel

⊹˚₊‧꒰ა𓆩✧𓆪໒꒱ ‧₊˚⊹

Usually, Hunters didn’t have partners. Hunters didn’t live long enough or safe enough to love someone properly, maintain anything the way a relationship needed to be maintained.

Clearly, Sam never got the memo.

“Missed you,” Sam said breathlessly, kissing you as soon as you opened the door to your apartment. Long distance was hell, especially when he was away for your birthday. It just made him feel like the shittiest boyfriend ever, just the worst. He could save you from a stalker vampire, but he couldn’t convince Dean to leave him in a town the week of your birthday.

To be fair to Sam- in many, many ways, dealing with a stalker vampire was much easier than dealing with his brother.

But Sam would find his way to you if the world was ending, if the sky was spitting fire and the seas turned to lava. He would crawl over broken glass to see you smile. He loved you more than he loved the idea of saving the world.

He pulled away to study your face, to just soak you in. God, you were the most beautiful woman in the world. He leaned in again to nuzzle against your nose, the smile on his face infectious.

“You got your hair done,” he whispered, taking one of the braids between his fingers and twisting it slightly. “It looks good. You look good. God, I missed you.”

He kisses you again, crowding you back into your apartment, cradling your face in his hands. To say he’s desperate would be an understatement. He’s starving for you, he’s been going through withdrawals, and the simple feeling of your mouth on his feels like coming home.

He always wanted a normal life. And meeting you had been just the most amazing thing in the world. Falling into bed with you the first time had felt like… god, like something had clicked in his brain. Like the universe had finally righted itself. He’d been so lost, been living outside his body since uprooting his entire life, and you brought him right back.

Right now, though, he needed you so bad it hurt.

Curling over you- god, you’re so small in comparison to him, so beautiful- he smiles that crooked little smile down at you, hands moving from your face to your hips.

“Let me make it up to you,” he begs plainly, because Sam Winchester is not above begging for the woman he loves. “Please?”

“Okay,” you giggle, and he nearly cries with relief because god, he just loves you so much.

He picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, his hands supporting your thighs, and carries you down the hall to your bedroom. It’s cute, it’s so you, and he can’t help but remember the first night he ended up tangled in your sheets. You had just moved in, and there were boxes everywhere, and you had been so scared when the brothers broke your door down and basically camped out in your living room until that scummy vampire had showed his face.

Dean, who had apparently met another girl in the same city, decided to spend the night with her. Which left Sam without a car, and, well…

It was history.

He crawled over you when he softly dropped you on the bed, trailing his hands up and down and up and down- just feeling you, because it’s been so long, because he loves you, because he wants to be close to you in a way he never wants to be close with anyone else again.

“Happy late birthday, baby.” He whispered, kissing down your throat. Your giggle makes him smile, makes his cheeks flush. God, he’s so whipped for you it’s embarrassing.

Pretty soon, you’re naked. And he’s naked too, but he’s using your thighs as earmuffs as he presses sweet kisses to your clit.

“Missed this pretty pussy,” he murmured like a prayer, licking a stripe up your folds. He moans, trying not to rut his cock against the bed like a loser. He sucks on your clit, pulling you further down on the bed and laughing when you squeak out in surprise.

“Sam!” You chide breathlessly, propping yourself up on your elbows with an affectionate look on your face.

He just smiles, and shrugs, and goes back to eating you out like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do.

“C’mon baby,” he murmurs against you, hitching your legs higher so he can tongue fuck you deeper, can slurp at you like you’re a fucking soup, his nose bumping against your clit all the while. “You’re so fucking pretty, taste so good, lemme have it, give it to me please…”

When your legs tremble around his head and you buck your hips into his mouth, cumming with a little cry of his name, he swears he’s never tasted anything sweeter. He could spend hours between your legs, and has, but the way you’re squirming makes him think that maybe, just maybe, you missed him just as much as he missed you.

So he leans back once you’re limp on the bed, kissing his way up your body until he reaches your mouth. “You’re so perfect.” He said, his voice tight. “God, you’re so perfect baby, I missed you so much.”

He kissed you slow, soft, big hand cupping your breast in his hand, tweaking the nipple just to hear you squeak.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting his tongue to yours. He lets go of your boob, reaching for the bedside table to dig around for a condom. He found one, sitting back on his haunches to tear the little foil packing open with his teeth.

It is unfairly sexy, especially considering how you’re pretty sure you look like a mess. He rolls the condom on, running two fingers through your wetness to lube up his cock a little bit. He leans back over you, carefully, kissing your forehead.

“God, you’re so pretty.” He whispered, notching his tip at your entrance very carefully. “I missed you so much, baby, god… love you, love you s’much…”

He groans when he pushes in almost annoyingly carefully, like you might break, like he’s been away for so long that you might have forgotten what he feels like inside you.

He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours when his hips are flush with yours. “Hi pretty girl.” He crooned, peppering your face with kisses. “Oh, you look so pretty, all full of me. Good god.”

You squirm under his careful kisses, whining impatiently. “Sam,” you whimper, trying to kick at him to knock him out of the little lovey dovey haze he’s in. “Sam, move! Mnh-”

The little sound you make drives him crazy, and he starts moving, slowly, carefully. He picks up the pace when you let little moans slip out, because that has got to be his favorite sound in the world. The little whimpers, the way your eyes flutter, the way your lips part sweetly.

His hand snakes down your body to rub at your clit, because when you seize up with a cry of his name and soak his cock, he wants to cry because he’s so happy.

He keeps working at it, thrusts getting faster and harder as you squeal out a little “Sam, sensitive!”

“Just one more,” he croons down at you, his voice tight. “Just give me one more, sweetheart, one more, please, ‘s your birthday present, gonna make you cum at least one more time…”

And, true to his words, he makes you cum again. You cling to his bicep, manicured nails digging into his skin, crying out weakly as tears of pleasure smudge your makeup and trail down your cheeks. He groans as his hips stutter to a stop, the condom filling as he leaned over her, panting weakly.

He kissed your tears from your face, smiling softly. “Hey, pretty girl. You did so good. You made me feel so good, baby, god, I missed you.”

The two of you lie like that for a while, sweaty and sated. After a few minutes of gentle kisses and sweet praise, he pulled out, chuckling when you whimper at the empty feeling. He took the condom off, tying it before he tossed it into the trashcan by your bedside table. He grabbed his boxers, hiking them back up before crawling into bed with you.

“I missed you.” He whispered again, while you busied yourself settling against his chest. “I’m in town for the week. What do you say we go out and get you some birthday presents tomorrow?”

Your hum makes him smile. He kisses your forehead, gets comfortable, and the two of you fall asleep tangled in your sheets.

[ilovejeongintoo]

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕄𝕖

!WARNING NSFW Content ahead! !MDNI!

Genre: Fantasy Werewolf San x Vampire Reader Warnings: sex p in v, biting/marking, mirror Wordcount: 4480 Not proofread at all

People think San is so cat coded, which I obviously agree to but... I think a big black puppy would suit him just as much. -> Puppy Eyes

Summary: If there was one thing you hated more than the boring lessons, it was the smell of dog. Especially one that seemed way too interested in your business.

The boredom of attending all these lessons without even knowing what you wanted to do afterward was hell. Being surrounded by people you didn’t connect with and studying subjects that should never have been part of the school system in the first place only made it worse.

Everything about this place was torture, but the worst was the smell of wet dog that constantly permeated the air. Those damn werewolves—a bunch of dogs. They didn’t just smell like one but also behaved as such, with loud shouts that resembled barks and hyper energy that no one could handle except themselves.

The only reason you were still attending the academy was because your parents threatened to take away your things if you didn’t go. Each year, you contemplated whether the time you spent here was really worth the mental torture of being a student, especially lately, when the whole situation became even worse in the form of a loud, nosy, and most annoying busybody.

He bothered you to no end. He just would not leave you alone. You hurled the usual insults you’d throw at any one of those dogs at him. You’d blatantly ignore him and move spots any time he approached, but he would just follow behind, babbling about his day to you—like you knew each other, or even worse, were friends.

This all started after you helped him pick up his books when he tripped and fell backward. His books were strewn across the dark marble floor, and you just happened to be passing by. You were in a hurry but still helped him, probably why you didn’t notice the scent of a werewolf that clung to him. If you had, you wouldn’t have helped.

You guessed you were suffering the consequences of your actions. Now he was trailing behind you, going on about his day, what he learned, and what he ate. If he had a tail, you were sure it would be wagging like the happy puppy he was.

The annoyed expression on your face was usually hidden behind a cold stare, but now you didn’t even bother. You wanted him to know how much you disliked his mere presence. You were sure onlookers could see the tick on your forehead; you were going to burst a blood vessel any day now. And to top it off, the last few exams were coming up. Making everything ten times worse and your shitty mood even more noticeable in the form of a constant glare.

Your shoes clicked along the floor until you reached the library and entered. This was the one place he hadn’t managed to find you yet. Not surprising, since there was no way he’d actually attempt to study. You sat down at a table more or less hidden by a few bookshelves. Half an hour into being completely immersed in Vampiric History, someone sat beside you. You thought nothing of it, not even sparing them a glance.

The person didn’t move, which caught your attention. It was almost like they were turned toward you, waiting. Your eyes caught sight of familiar brown ones immediately. An annoyed sigh escaped you, and your eyes returned to your textbook, intent on ignoring the constant presence of Choi San.

That didn’t last long because you could practically feel him staring holes into the side of your head. Aggressively closing your book, you looked at him again. “What?”

He had the same smile as always on his face, dimples forming. He wasn’t the least bothered by your reluctance to interact with him. His grin seemed to grow bigger by the second.

He just shrugged as if he didn’t understand what you were saying, his face resting on one of his hands, propped on the table, close.

“You know exactly what I mean: stop following me, stop talking to me, don’t even appear in the same room as me.” You listed off. He just nodded, not taking you seriously at all, it seemed.

You seriously had enough.

Enough of all of this.

Of him.

You grabbed him, pulled him up, and pushed him against the table, almost making him sit on it. Your hands slid to his shoulders, and you got closer. This was bound to get your point across.

He still had that infuriating grin plastered on his face, standing there amused.

“Will do.” What a fucking lie.

From this close, you could look at him closely, take him in, if you will. The chiseled jaw, the dark brown eyes, smooth skin, and pretty lips. Once you realized what you were doing, you locked your eyes back on his just before letting him go with a push.

You grabbed your book and bag and stormed out of the library, out to get some air, to get away from San.

There was no way you were starting to develop any feelings for the dog. Objectively speaking, he was handsome, attractive, whatever. But that was it. You must just be getting too used to him being around. Even the smell of him—your nose must be muted to the stench by now.

You didn’t even show up to the rest of your classes that day. The next day, however, you weren’t so lucky to avoid the menace. First lesson and you were met with his pretty face again.

“No, wait, truce, okay?” Your brows furrowed.

“What?”

“I know you told me not to follow. I mean, I did kinda follow you, but just— I wanted to… give you something back.”

His hands fished for something in his pockets, not finding it immediately. He pulled out a bracelet, a familiar one—yours.

You seized it from his grasp right away. Your eyes turned angrier, not believing he would steal something of yours.

He must have read your thoughts because he defended himself very quickly, arms up and all: “No, you left it yesterday in the library.” He continued before you could speak: “I just wanted to return it. I’ll stay away from you.” You could imagine his ears drooping at that.

Okay, you were wrong—just slightly—about San.

Guilt was already starting to form in your gut like you had actually kicked a puppy. That’s what he looked like, like you just told him he couldn’t have his favorite candy. You gnawed at your lip before sighing.

“No, it’s—thanks, I guess, for giving me back my bracelet. This one means a lot to me.” You dragged your eyes over said piece, then back to his form.

“Look, I just don't like werewolves. Not a single one of you. I’m not changing my mind because of this.”

He looked relieved even though you had just told him you didn’t like werewolves.

“Of course.”

You turned away, not willing to look and maybe rethink your decision of having a puppy follow you around all the time. Before you could get too far, you heard him yell.

“You might change your mind!”

You made sure not to look back and give strength to that statement.

The next few days went by quietly. You didn’t see San much, even in your shared classes. He must be doing some wolf thing. Sometimes, you missed it. You kind of realized what a loner you were. You didn’t even talk to any vampire students—not that you genuinely knew any as friends.

The next time you saw San, he only waved at you and walked off in a different direction. That left you frozen to the marble floor.

He just walked away.

No “Hello,” “How are you,” or anything of the sort. It had become such a routine to have San constantly around you that it felt extremely weird now like you lost something.

It was one thing for him not to come to school because of whatever—you could imagine all sorts of reasons. But seeing him walk off without much at all, right in front of you, left you speechless. Your eyes kept searching for him after that, trying to catch a glimpse of the puppy without much luck.

This is what you wanted, exactly what you told him to do. Despite that, you were coming to regret that decision rapidly.

Well, there was only one way to undo it: you had to bury your ugly pride and talk to him. But there was no way you could just do that—just go up to him and tell him you didn’t actually hate him that much? The thought made you shudder. And where would you even do this? Because there was no way you would willingly embarrass yourself in front of the whole student body.

There was only one place you could think of to have this talk: his dorm room. Admittedly, equally embarrassing, but without any eyes on the two of you. All you had to do was sneak into the wolf dormitory, find his room, wait, and then enter. Easy as pie.

You decided to go through with your scheme when he came back from his evening classes. At least you knew when those ended since he never stopped talking about them. (Something about how they make luminescent potions.)

Getting into the dorm was a struggle, involving climbing a window and almost ruining your pristine uniform. The wolf-printed doorstep carpet and the sign plastered with “Choi San” were hard to miss. The number 13 on the dark oak door made it one of the first rooms; you could even see the front desk down the dark hallway. You chose to hide around the next corner so as not to get caught if the resident assistant were to come by, and to avoid awkwardly standing in front of San's door. All of this was so weird—why were you even doing this? You were okay with being alone before, but now, not anymore.

You’d make San pay for giving you a taste of what friends were—after you became friends again, or whatever your relationship could have been considered before. It didn’t take long for the man of the hour to turn up. He was struggling with the key when you sneaked up. Right after he unlocked the troubling door, you pushed him in. Reaching back to snag the key and step in after him like you owned the damn place. 

His eyes were as wide as saucers. Okay, maybe you could have told him you wanted to talk with him privately. Whoops. “What the hell? What are you doing here? I already told you I won’t bother you anymore”

Oh god, you did not know how to start this. It looked like you broke into his room and were about to turn him into a winter coat by the look on his face.

You sighed. 

“I” and stopped. Fuck

“Alright this is going to sound extremely weird” His brows furrowed. “No I-mean not that kind of weird. I just, fuck this is difficult.” You turned around facing the door. You were not going to say this directly to his face. You took another deep breath to think and come up with an actual sentence this time.

“I might have been wrong about you, you’re not as much of a dog as I thought. And I don’t actually hate you,  and I know it sounds stupid coming from me now. But I…I liked the times that you were around, more than I realized.” 

Your eyes were shut tightly as if that would help you gather the strength to say all of this.

“I was hoping that we could start new and be friends?” You rushed to finish. Now you were waiting for him to say now, open that door and walk out.

It was quiet for a moment. Then you felt his hand pull you back until you had to move your legs to face him. Your head was hanging and your eyes were still shut at this point. 

“Hey, look at me.”

You lifted your head slowly and opened your eyes even slower too scared to find out what was going to happen next. Without the protective darkness, your closed lids brought you. Too scared to hear him reject you straight to your face, the irony really.

The only thing that you were met with was San, with a big smile. Just like you knew him. 

“You’re telling me that you don’t hate me, you honestly don’t? At all?” He looked at your eyes moving his head a little to search for any doubt in them.

“Because sure, I might have been a little pushy, maybe a lot. But I thought it wasn’t bad until you said you didn’t want me to hang around you anymore.”

He looked down at your intertwined hands, recalling the memory. 

“I should have stopped when you gave me the stink eye on the first day of talking to you.”

He looked back up, you noticed his flushed cheeks now just slightly pink. His eyes got bigger and his eyebrows raised a bit in an innocent expression. Hair falling slightly into his face. In that moment he undeniably seemed the most like a puppy, any anxiety from your nerves melted away.

Once the expression was one it disappeared just as fast. He leaned a tad a smug kind of smirk formed with those delicate lips.

His hands coming to rest 

“But now, now you’re telling me you essentially miss me?”

“No”

“You do”

“Say it and I’ll become your lapdog again okay? Easy as that” He had a dark look to him, challenging you but waiting expectantly. Like he knew he was right. 

He was.

“I miss it, I miss you San.” It came out more desperate than you wanted it to. You avoided his gaze out of embarrassment. but he kept turning his head to make you meet them again.

You pushed against his chest slightly in an effort to make him halt his movements.

“Alright Stop!”

His hands automatically found themselves on your elbows not letting go and even pulling you closer. When you noticed the little space left between the two of you, you seized your struggle and instead caught mid-breath. From this close, you could feel his breath and see the almost identical fangs to yours poke out.

“If you really want me to stop”

“Tell me you hate me, tell me how you want me to not even breathe the same air as you, just like before.” 

“And mean it” His grip tightened slightly. His eyes not once leaving yours, pupils blown out. There was no way you could do that anymore not with the discovery you had made, about yourself. You liked Choi San, a werewolf, more than you’d like to admit. Somewhere along all the annoying quips of his you grew attached.

You were grounding yourself a little with the grip on his shirt. “I can’t” Your voice came out more confident than it has been all day.

His lips were on yours so fast after. It was better than you could have ever imagined. There was this addicting smell coming off San now, it felt like you were being dragged into him. It made it feel like you weren’t close enough kissing like this. Your clothes were getting too hot, too suffocating. You took his cheeks into your hands and then up into his oreo-colored hair.

The kiss made the hidden feelings burst up like a broken dam. The push and pull between the two of you had strung up so much tension until this moment. To just release the frustration, sheer annoyance, and most surprisingly of all your denied feelings. You pulled him down further, closer. His grip was just as hard on your waist a possessive feeling to it.

The repulsive scent that used to choke you was now mixed with something else, making it so intoxicating, so San. You were pressing closer in hopes of smelling it more, it just seemed to increase the longer you kissed. The closer your bodies pressed against each other in an almost grind.

Your lips disconnected when San pulled back just enough that your foreheads were pressed against one another his warm breath hitting your swollen lips. 

“So you don’t hate me after all?” There was a smirk evident. A teasing lilt to his seductive voice.

“Shut up.” You pull him into you once again by his collar. Your hands roamed the expanse of his chest through his black button-up shirt. For a more deep and heated kiss. His response was his one hand slipping under your shirt, right below your chest.

You know this is reckless, maybe even foolish, probably the most impulsive thing that you’ve ever done. But in the moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the consequences for even a second. Not with him molding so perfectly into you. Your lips detached and you began placing kisses down his pretty neck. You felt a low, almost inaudible growl come from him. It made a pleasant shiver run through your body.

“Careful” He warned, voice deeper and rougher than before, “or I might start thinking you actually like me.” His teasing only made the fire within you burn more, like he was constantly adding gasoline to it. Your fangs lightly grazed the sensitive spot right below his ear, a bolder moan that ended in a low groan escaping him. His nails dig into you a little harder. But it’s not enough. You want him to lose it, to step over that boundary that you still had left, that you could still recover from, and pretend to hate each other again.

There was no way you would let him though. So with more want you dove in interlock your lips once more. Your tongues dragged along in such a sensual motion, it felt so rough and you loved it. His hand that had been buried under your shirt slipped down grazing your waistband. The sensation made another wave of heat course through you, leaving you wetter.

“Tell me to stop,” He murmurs, licking his lips in pause though his actions say the opposite. “Tell me you don’t want this and I will.”

To absolute hell with that. You roughly push him against his couch in answer.

And that's all the encouragement he needs, all hesitation out the window.

He pulls you down into his lap so fast. His hands making quick work of your pants and panties not bothering to unbutton your shirt, he plainly rips it open. A quiet gasp rips through you at the display of strength. He seemed less like a puppy and more like the wolf that you read in books about. Though his hands slow down when they feel the naked skin and his eyes drag along your figure. Like he wants to savor this moment.

Your hands kept tugging at his shirt in question for him to take it off, but he easily complied. Exposing hard taut muscles, smooth skin, and a thin layer of sweat to the desire-filled air around you. You're on him again, planning to get a taste of his skin everywhere. Following his collarbones and down his chest.

Noises leave him every second of the way and his hands move to return the favor. Your body stiffened, the slightest feeling of uncertainty flickering through you in the realization of what you were doing. You’re fighting between the instinct of pushing him away and getting out of here and the unmistakable desire of pulling him closer.

He picked up on it just as fast. A soft and slow hand reaching up towards your face making you meet his eyes. The teasing expression off of his face and replaced with a softer one.

“Hey,” he says low, his tone steady. “We don’t have to do any of this if you’re not sure. I wouldn’t want to if you weren’t.”

But you are sure— in fact you have never been more sure of anything. And maybe that’s what made you hesitate, the realization that this wasn’t going to be just a fleeting lust-filled spur of-the-moment-. It’s something so much deeper, the exact thing you’ve been trying to push to the back of your mind. You’re not sure you can keep denying it so desperately, not with the way he was holding on to you, with the way his eyes focused solely on you.

You shook your head “I want this, I’m sure.” your hand strokes his cheek “I’ve been wanting this for a while.”

This time when the two of you meet it’s more insistent more sure. Clearly over that invisible wall that was holding you back before. His hands cover every inch of your body, pulling your shirt over your head to feel and see your bare.

The next moments were a blur, clothes being thrown off his lips caressing your skin. It’s intoxicating how he moves his hands so smoothly over your skin, how hot just everything is. He’s studying you, memorizing your reactions to hopefully recreate them. Once you're prepped on your hands and knees you register his touches more as they are less rushed and more calculated.

You can feel the warm and big presence of San at your back and you wish you would have looked at what he was hiding under those pants to at least gauge how much you’d be able to take. You weren’t a virgin but you had never been with a werewolf. 

“It’s okay, I’ll make it fit don’t worry” He soothed, and you felt him pour some wet liquid on the curve of your ass and down to your core. You probably didn’t even need all that lube with how wet you felt. You barely responded to San with a whine.

His first finger slipped past your entrance satisfying that burn inside a little. But just after a while when his finger moved back and forth more easily, it burned up more. He entered another finger and shortly after another, they were long but not uncomfortable long and so thick, you felt sufficiently stretched after barely a few minutes.

You could hear San's heavy breathing—he was clearly affected by what he was witnessing. The air was thick with the scent of sex, dirty and potent, mingling with the pervasive smell of sweat. You felt San hover closer to you, his nose brushing against the nape of your neck. He nipped at your skin, leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake.

He mouthed at your neck more insistently, as if he wanted to bite down but hesitated. Fear held him back—fear of his own wolfish instincts in such a vulnerable moment. He wasn’t ready to face the possibility of you rejecting his mark. If you did, he wouldn’t know what to do. Not when the only mate he wanted was you—a vampire.

“San,” you murmured, reaching behind yourself to thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. You could sense the inner conflict consuming him.

“Don’t stop. I swear to God, if you stop, I will—”

That was all the permission he needed. His final restraint snapped like a thin thread. His fingers withdrew with a wet sound, and you felt him line up his length with your wet cunt before pushing in with one smooth motion. The sensation knocked the wind out of your lungs for a moment. He wasn’t small—not uncomfortably so, but enough to stretch you slightly, making you wiggle to adjust. His hands found your elbows, pulling you back and arching your spine, driving him deeper inside you. As he began thrusting, you couldn’t contain the unholy noises escaping your lips.

He wasn’t holding back at all.

“Oh my God, oh fuck, shit,” you gasped, barely able to keep it together. He felt so right inside you, and the sounds filling the room were nothing short of sinful.

“You’re fucking made for me, wrapping around me so perfectly,” he groaned, pumping harder, going deeper with each thrust. Suddenly, he released your arms, making you fall forward onto your elbows, your head buried in the sofa. One of his hands pressed down on the middle of your back while the other pulled you back onto his length by your ass. It felt like he was reaching up into your stomach.

You turned your head to the side for better air, and your gaze fell upon a mirror reflecting everything happening. The sight of yourself beneath San was as arousing as the act itself. Your hair was a mess, cheeks flushed as if with fever, and both your bodies shone with sweat. You gulped as you watched a drop of sweat slide down his face, hanging briefly at the peak of his chin before falling away. His eyes were locked onto your ass as he ran a hand through his hair for a better view.

San noticed your gaze fixed on the mirror and grabbed your chin, forcing you to keep watching. “See how pretty you are? Now I get to enjoy all of it—just me.” He made sure you wouldn’t look away, his eyes now locked onto yours. He kissed up your neck sensually, never ceasing his thrusts.

One of his hands moved down your stomach, pressing slightly above your pelvis, as if he could feel himself inside you. Your moans grew louder by the second, and San’s brows furrowed in pleasure. His hand moved further down, connecting with your clit and rubbing in slow circles. The stimulation was just enough to tip you over the edge. Your eyes squeezed shut, your legs reflexively clamping around his fingers.

That’s when San took the opportunity to bite down on your neck, his canine teeth sinking into your nape. You shook with overstimulation, the world around you completely blocked out. The roughness of the sofa and the stickiness of your bodies faded into the background. It felt like an electric current was rushing through you. San trembled for a moment, pressing deeply into you one last time before he came, gripping your ass with small thrusts to ride out his high.

It felt like only seconds had passed when San began soothing the small mark with gentle licks. He massaged your hips, anticipating the soreness you’d feel later. When his licks turned into soft pecks, you reached back again, searching for him. Your hand found his hair, smoothing over the damp strands.

“You okay, little doggie?” you asked, pushing the top of his head against your cheek, treating him like your pup. You liked how close the two of you still were, slipping back into teasing now that the intensity had faded.

Your question made him chuckle, his eyes crinkling into crescent moons. “I just fucked you into another universe, and you’re asking if I’m okay?”

He rubbed against you slightly.

“Next time, I’ll really make you rethink keeping me because—” he shifted to whisper directly into your ear—“I’ll fuck you on my knot, pretty girl.”