#vampire x you
Text
vampire x reader one-shot | 16.1k
story summary; you're a crime scene cleaner who happens across an advertisement for a mansion housekeeper in exchange for room and board. it's close to work, close to your university, and an easy job. the ultimate package. right away, you notice the owner's beauty as well as his eccentricities, but decide to commit to it. the spiral into depravity and debauchery begins when you're tasked with cleaning the site of a savage murder, solidifying you as a irreplaceable treasure.
story warnings; bloodplay, extreme dubcon, explicit noncon, cigarette burns, wounds inflicted on mc, implied masochism, extreme sexual sadism, hypnotism, graphic violence, gun violence, body gore, graphic details, heavy prose, unreliable narrator, religious themes, exploration of morality, obsessive + possessive behaviors, implied stalking, choking, murder, graphic depictions of crime scenes, manipulation/emotional manipulation, this entire oneshot is an allegory.
read the warnings! mdni under any circumstances! the events within this one-shot are not indicative of my personal viewpoints
thank you, @ceruleansol for the excellent proofreading.
this is a repost from my deleted blog, cardeneiv. please reblog/interact with this piece!
Another internet search bore fruit.
The image bouncing back at you from your phone had been hastily taken with a tremble in your hand, all the while launching a few too many cautious looks across your shoulder to either end of the dim, long hallway making up part of the second floor. There wasn't any particular rationale for your apprehension and busy eyes but the belief the mansion owner wouldn't be too pleased to see you taking pictures of his valuables rather than cleaning them.
That fear hadn't stopped you from reverse image searching a good couple of curiosities over the widening gap of time you had been living there.
Tonight was a Chalmette table vase displayed on a pedestal in the hall; brassy gold gilding cradled a somewhat drab white bloom that reached high and sprouted open to a hollow inside. Similar surviving articles went for thousands.
You totaled the prices of everything so far as enough to outright buy a house on the more modest side of town.
There was a daring thought that loomed in the back of your mind, an ugly little thing that told you one or two missing antiques wasn't any big deal. He wouldn't miss them, let alone even notice they were gone, because he was the strangest man you had ever met.
Four months ago, he had only ever introduced himself by the name Montague, letting an anticipatory stillness hang in the air while you waited for him to finish. He never did, handsome features lifting as his dark eyes thinned and smile inched higher. He had you in a tight handshake.
"I enjoyed reading the resume you sent in with your response to my advertisement." He had traces of an accent intact but had cleverly adapted to one more common to the area. "You're the first person I've come across wanting the room who's done that. It really stood out to me. A crime scene cleaner? Must be a difficult job."
"I know it was probably overkill, but I think this will be perfect for me." You were led to a suede armchair, his hand anchoring onto your shoulder to lower you into the seat. He sat across from you in something similar, one leg crossing. "I recently had to move out of my other place, and the university will be about an hour closer. My work won't be as far of a drive, either. I—I, uh, clean some gross stuff, so taking care of your house won't be anything."
Even after that spiel, Montague never let his smile slip. Rather, it seemed to widen as though delighted by your oversharing. He looked like a man basking in glee over a rare find, an offer he couldn't possibly turn away.
"All amenities in the house are yours." This was after he showed you to one of the rooms on the second floor: a capacious, well-dressed space behind a red door at the end of the hall. "As long as you listen to a few rules and keep things clean, we should have a very amicable... cohabitation."
You thought it was an odd choice of wording. "Okay. Well, what do I need to know?"
"No guests." It was immediate, his tone suddenly a touch edgy, razored, unyielding. "Not unless I give you explicit permission beforehand. I keep many important valuables; they're very dear to me. Also, do not invite anyone in unless I am there."
Again, odd, but it was his house.
"Sure," you said agreeably, having half the thought to write down these peculiarities of his. "What next?"
He was set on your shoulder, reaching out to pull a thin, frayed thread off of your jumper. "The downstairs—as in, the basement—is my personal space. If I need you down there, I will ask you for you to go down. You can go anywhere else in the house, on the property. None of it concerns me."
"Why the basement, though?" It felt damaging to press a question like that so early on, but you figured it was innocent enough. "This house is so big that we could be on the same floor and hardly see each other."
The muscles around his mouth twitched slightly, only once. You still noticed it. Noted: he didn't like to be questioned. "Sorry, I'm not trying to-"
"It's cold downstairs." he injected, shifting to look around the room as though taking in the newness of it as well. "I make sure it stays comfortable all year, all throughout the house, but the cold suits me best."
With how downright frosty his skin felt in that handshake earlier—on a mild day in mid-spring—you thought that explanation checked out. He must have only just come up to greet you at the front entrance.
You tried to forget the feeling. "Alright. Next?"
"Oh," he restrained an unseemly laugh, using one hand to crowd into a pocket on his dark blazer, "there is nothing else, at least nothing pertinent. It's my understanding that we're both quite busy, so this would be the current arrangement unless something changes."
What changes? You wanted to ask, thwarted to silence when he revealed some sort of silver thing pinched between his fingers with a thick handkerchief. It was a dainty-seeming contraption with chains linking several old skeleton keys at the end. The fabric he used to hold the clip concealed all of the elegant tracery that made up its shape.
"Traditionally, this is called a chatelaine. It’s something I’ve modified for you to get around the house. It’ll be easier to clean." Montague said, fast to force the mess of cold silver and chains into your palm, rubbing down his fingers with the handkerchief afterward. "The smallest key is to your room. The largest one opens the doors to go outside, so don't lose that. One of them is meant for doors in the basement—can't recall which."
He could see the wariness behind your eyes, a worrying crease forming in your brow. "This house has been around for a long time. I've just never gotten around to modernizing the locks."
Other questions came to you, but he hardly acted interested in entertaining them. You let him swivel on black soles, stopping him just as he reached the doorway.
"Why haven't other housekeepers worked out?"
Montague let his fingers rest on glazed woodwork framing the threshold, drumming out a soothing rhythm while considering an answer for all of two seconds. "In short? They couldn't follow the rules. Now, let me show you to the yard."
Afterward, the so-called cohabitation had become a seamless blend for you both. You had learned right away that Montague wasn't one for idle chatter and niceties without purpose. He had deviated from it once, on move-in day, to reassure you that the mysterious nature of your life schedule and odd hours you were called to a clean scene wouldn’t be a source of concern.
Shortly after settling your things around the house, the reason for his amenable attitude was a little more apparent. Several times a month, you would be pulled from your forensics projects to the landing at the end of the hall, piqued by fresh voices always indistinguishable at first, and folded your waist over the railing to see down.
The top of his head, hair short, impeccably styled, and ash-brown, was the first thing you noticed, followed by someone on his arm. Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man—always conventionally attractive, always utterly enraptured by him. It struck a nerve with you once or twice, finding your thoughts swimming bitterly: Of course a man who looked like him would go for types like that!
Why did he act so much differently with them than you?
He wasn't nearly as friendly and affable as he was making himself out to be.
You stopped peeking down on him after an instance where his eyes shot straight up, pinning you where you stood. He simpered at you before leading his companion away to the basement, and that was it. You never saw them leave and never bothered to ask.
Tonight was different, however, both in the way you nearly toppled the two-figure Chalmette vase off its pedestal with flighty fingers and a duster, and the echo of a scream piercing the hollow halls to you. It stayed in one spot on the first floor, luring you down the center staircase with your duster clutched to you like a sword. At that point, your heart bursting in your ears was louder than the agonized cries resonating around the corner.
You looked around, spine wrapped in dread as another scream, weak, garbled, and wet, came from the basement, and then nothing at all. It was soundless in the house. Distantly, one of the clocks mounted in the kitchen archway toned onward. You followed its beat with the shuffle of your feet.
Hello, hello? Those words clung tightly in your throat, yet you were too afraid to announce yourself like that. Still, nothing came as you slowly pulled at the basement doorknob, brass and freezing and unlocked. The stairway plunging down inside was filled with inky black, so dark you couldn't get your eyes to adjust to it.
Is everything okay down there? Hello? Hello? You ran the imaginary chatter through your mind, lips sealed but trembling during your slow descent, the path now illuminated by white glow from your phone. At the bottom, the stone stairs turned into seamless gray marble and red wetness crawling toward the soles of your slippers.
"What–" You gasped, taking a step back while flicking the flashlight higher, deeper into the basement. The vivid red puddle glistened in your light, widening around a motionless figure with pale skin—a blonde woman you didn't know. Her face pointed up at the ceiling, twisted in terror, black tracks of mascara curving along her cheeks.
She was naked on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, something you didn't have to look at twice. Your breaths grew harsh, taking in the sight of her neck, or lack thereof; there wasn't much left of it. Only a few stringy bits of sinew and muscle kept it from a full decapitation, and blood still pulsed out in spurts from mangled arteries and veins.
A motion nearby made your nape prickle. It was like feet padding across wet pavement after a fresh rain, except this smell carried the malodor of rust and something sour under your nose.
You settled a pillar of light on the source, capturing the view of Montague standing amid the bloodbath, sickly skin bare and saturated in rich crimson.
Something was wrong with him, came an instantaneous, instinctual reaction the moment his head spun toward you, catching pale eyeshine in the white light.
The bones in his jaw cracked as the length of it began to recede into the semblance of something more man to you, rows of jagged teeth retracting into the depths of his throat until only a pair of long incisors remained.
Montague skimmed the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, smiling at you affectedly, saying as though it were some trife thing, "She started screaming."
You were gone and out of the basement after that, clearing the woman's body and kicking away the slippers on your feet when they squelched with blood. Montague said something after you when shrieks ripped out of your lungs and reverberated through the house. You winced as the basement door let out a hollow rattle when he collided with it, heart matching the rhythm of the skin on your feet slapping against old marble, thoughts disarrayed, frantic the closer you got to the front door.
Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! You were panting in unison with the vicious chants.
The doorknob was in your hand. The door was open—and it was thrown shut with the force of your body thrust against it, fingers wrenched off of the handle and enveloped in Montague's cold fingers as he pushed himself flush into you.
You felt his palm clamp around your mouth, whittling your screams into panicked whimpers, nostrils flaring with your ragged breaths.
"Ah, no, no." He had to stoop his neck to talk into your ears. "Shh, shh, shhh. Far too loud. I don't like screaming. Shh, shh, shhhh."
Tears seared red behind your eyes, making you think you could follow the warmth down your face as they filled the crevices in his hand. "It's really, truly a pity. She was a pretty one but far too smart. I'm usually decent at picking out the ones who wouldn't suspect anything or, at least, catching them before they try to scream.
"You'll have to forgive me. I swear to you I'm not ordinarily that messy. I prefer to keep everything tidy, especially so you don't have to go down there. After all, you're already so busy. You're already doing so much. I can't recall when I last saw you relax."
The weight of his palm softened, a wordless agreement that you honored with continued silence as he used that arm to lean against the door. His voice shifted around your head to your other ear. "That's it. Just wonderful. There's no need for screaming, is there? It's only the two of us."
"Are—are..." You couldn't get it out, lips and throat suddenly sucked dry. "Don't kill me, please. Please. Please."
His chest quaked while a subdued, eerily delighted laugh hissed through his lips. "Kill you? Oh, no, no, no. Never. How could I ever kill you when you're so remarkable? My home has never looked so beautiful and lived in. I'm enjoying how it looks with you in it."
You wilted away from his lips sinking to a spot below your ear, now taking far too much notice of his erection curving up along your lower back. It felt disgustingly wrong to wonder whether the violence and blood turned him on, or it was you and your fear. The man wasn't even human; that much was clear.
"What are you?" There was no shortage of daring questions in your arsenal. Montague was beginning to find the charm in them.
"That's quite difficult for me to answer." He let his chin lay on your shoulder. "I've been called many things over the centuries. I suppose the closest anyone has ever gotten is vampire, but even that's not quite right. You're free to guess as much as you'd like, though."
He was satisfied when you didn't, freeing the weight off of his arm to slide his hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips still slick with that woman's blood as he explored your navel. You were too aware of the roundness of his fingernails stepping across your flesh, sometimes pressing deep, and other times a light touch you needed to scratch. His throat vibrated against your shoulder.
"What are you thinking? I'd love to hear it." He wanted to devour your fear in more ways than just feeling you wince. "Well? Tell me."
"I want to go." Go? Where could you possibly go that he couldn’t find you? If he ripped out the side of a woman's neck, he could track you down.
He leaned his cheek into your ear again, relishing the warmth that spread into him. "Where would you go? Who would you tell? Humor me, where is the first place you'd go?"
"The police," you said.
Montague let out a pleased hum. "Of course. It only makes sense to report a terrible scene such as that to them. Forensics and the police play together often, don't they?"
Your nod was weak.
"I know how hard you've been studying, how much stress you're under to commit to your degree, your work—to me." His hand crept along to your stomach, fingers splaying wide across the protective layer of skin and fat. "Let's say they were to find something I left behind. Who becomes a suspect in their eyes when they learn that I have someone who tidies up after me? Who knows the dirty insides of cleaning up anything and everything?"
You were starting to panic, fitfully struggling against his body. It's like he was made of stone. "They wouldn't accuse me of murdering anyone."
"Haven't you seen the news lately? Are you so sure?" he said derisively. "No, perhaps you're right. Maybe you'd be fortunate, and they wouldn't have your head for murder, but they would certainly try to peg you with something else. As an accomplice, maybe? And that's assuming that I don't disappear and let rip you apart.
"Can you imagine it? Can you feel your heart break at the very thought of losing it all? Your degree? Your job? Safety? The world is cruel, darling. You'd never have another moment of peace or anonymity. Anywhere you'd go, you'd be found, every alias sullied with your sins. All because you decided to speak up about it."
You knew he meant to send you downstairs to do something about the mess, spend hours scrubbing and mopping until what had once been there was a secret that thickened your tongue and made it hard to swallow.
No one would ever find out, but you would carry it in every waking thought until, one morning, the cute barista on Market Street had an eerie semblance to that dead woman, and the light roast in your hand suddenly looked so red.
"Thump. Thump. Thump." Montague mocked the heavy thrum of your heart behind your ribs, his cold fingers skimming your nipples before resting over your sternum. "You can go if you'd like, but I'll find you. I'll hear your little heart until it bursts and drag you right back here. You're mine."
The push of his body gradually faded away, giving your chest the room to expand, leaving you to gulp quivering, greedy breaths that didn't stop even as the pads of his feet grew distant.
He called back to you, "Give me ten minutes or so, and then come down."
You were already partway through the front door with your car keys to pop the trunk when, floating like a spectre's moans in still night air, his voice reached out once more, "You may want to clean up yourself first. You have blood all over your face."
༺ ♰ ༻
A damp towel came before your descent back into the basement. In tow on your shoulders were three bags of absorbent, the fancy stuff hospitals liked to use to throw on puke and piss and anything else they just lazily wanted to sweep around. It worked for blood in smaller quantities, blood that was still wet, anyway.
The woman hadn't been dead long enough for her body fluids to dry, so you didn't anticipate needing anything except the basics stowed in your car trunk.
You weren't sure what you expected to see down there, noticing the lights were turned on high, fully illuminating the gray marble, the furthest reaches of the blood puddle with your slippers saturated dark red and ruined. What came as a shock was the woman's dead eyes and shredded neck being nowhere in sight.
Montague had moved her body but to where?
For some reason, you were drawn to ridiculous spots like the walls, ceiling, and tiny cramped corners that he could have feasibly stuffed her in. There was no sickly trail of blood leading any which way, droplets only reaching as far as the stairs and first landing where you had been pursued—nothing else.
Where did he take her?
Part of you was ready to turn a blind eye to all of this because you knew you would have to in order to keep everything. If you kept your head low and groveled a little bit, maybe he'd get bored and leave you alone, biding you the time you needed to finish your degree. But, that'd be two years of this.
You weren't sure you could stomach it.
As you moved granules of absorbent through blood with coarse bristles from the kitchen broomstick—shifting the puddle more than the actual absorbent—you wondered if he could hear your heart now from wherever he was.
You thought about a lot of things while letting your eyes roam the space. It was enormous, taking up the entire underside of the house, outfitted impressively with mahogany accents, sprawling bookshelves, armchairs, and loveseats pulled tight in leather and velvet. Across the room was a disheveled bed, creamy sateen sheets in a luscious heap but otherwise undisturbed.
To the adjacent end of this expanse were two doors you didn't notice at first, one a little taller than yourself in height, about as wide as any normal arm span, and looked old, so old that everything else was too new. Even from where you stood, you knew it'd take a skeleton key. The other door was more coherent with the rest of the basement, cleaner but certainly still part of the house's original construction.
By the time Montague had returned, you already had much of the ordeal pitched into a biohazard bag with some trace remnants putting you on your knees to scrub away. You hadn't realized he was even there until the tips of his shoes—brown leather loafers with a scalloped tassel near the toes—appeared in your peripheral, sending you launching back onto your hocks.
"This work is spectacular. I knew I had a good feeling giving that room to you." he said with a beguiling smile. All of the blood was gone; he was clean in a dark dressing robe with black trousers, a look you hated that you saw as alluring. "Don't forget to clean the floors upstairs. We made quite a mess there as well."
"What happened to that woman?" You were asking your pesky questions again. Montague wasn't so sure he found them as charming now, but you were still a prize.
You leaned away as he crouched in front of you, nearly risking the soles of his shoes in the blood and hydrogen peroxide. For the first time since meeting, you kept eye contact and saw that his reached a depth you didn't think could be possible for a human. He wasn't touching you, yet it felt like he had you caged, trapped in a vise that held you tight.
He did touch you then, grazing the side of your face with a thumb. Suddenly, he brought it to his lips and licked it as he rose to full height.
"You still had some blood just there on your cheek." There was an armchair a few feet away that he dropped into, withdrawing a gold compact from a chest pocket on his way down. "Don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to carry away the bodies. I'm not that Roman."
"That's not what I asked." you rejoined.
Montague tucked a cigarette between his lips, igniting it with a match he kept inside the compact. His first few puffs looked like they calmed him as he crossed a leg and settled deeper into the leather. "You shouldn’t expect answers to things you don’t need to know—or want to.”
But he humored you with a slight lean of his head towards the old door far away. "The original owner of this house was ingenious and built tunnels that were used to shuffle people in and out. Mistresses. Servants. More unsavory things—you must remember the era. At any rate, it stretches beyond the house and some ways off. I do not recommend ever going inside."
You understood now why you never saw any of the dates he brought home leave. And you believed every bit of his warning.
It inspired you to move away from the grim reality dwelling beyond that old door. You hovered over the same spot, drenching the floor with more of the disinfectant, grasping for a distraction. "I didn't know vampires could smoke. Isn't blood enough for you?”
Montague flicked his cigarette over an ashtray beside his chair. "Well, we all have our vices. Mine just happens to be five or six of these a day. Keeps enough of the edge off so you get to sleep at night."
Something about that comment made the entire stretch of the basement feel so confining—claustrophobic, even. Your back was wide open to it, to his ravening gaze and leather toe turning fluid circles as though to pace himself before lunging.
"I have class in six hours." You finished the job by tying off the bag. "I'd like to get the upstairs done and take a shower."
"Of course. Try to get some sleep, you've had quite a night." He didn't move to see you out. "Oh, and leave the bag. I'll dispose of it."
༺ ♰ ༻
Meredith Nimu died approximately twenty-three days ago after a stroke left her immobilized in her favorite armchair. Her body wasn't peeled away from the murky-green polyester until day twenty-four, following enough neighbor complaints about a bunch of rats dying in the vents.
Getting rid of the chair was half the battle in this case, something that Meredith's overzealous, recently divorced daughter spouted off as sacrilegious. She insisted that the carpet cleaner she used for her obese dogs with raw patches on their legs could do it all. Your supervisor had been inflectionless when telling her it didn't work like that.
One of your teammates, a middle-aged black man affectionately nicknamed “Hoss” had unceremoniously slammed the apartment door shut and flipped the lock so the daughter's rancorous eruptions were somewhat contained outside. The other half of the duo responsible for pitching the chair, T.J., a white man who could never tan, wheezed out a laugh as he labored a hard bristle brush through the gunk left behind from Meredith's decay.
"Boss ain't gonna be happy about that." T.J. couldn't commit to the act of a brownnoser even if he wanted to. A couple more chortles rattled through his respirator. They were infectious, ridiculous sounds that coaxed similar from Hoss when he rejoined the effort to get the job done and over with.
You could still hear the daughter on the other side of the door, never once allowing your supervisor a word in edgewise. A part of you wanted to pity her, perhaps conjure up a shred of empathy for someone so completely enmeshed in the throes of grief and anger. She was clearly spiraling, her entire life yanked out from under her—and she was free-falling with nothing to catch her, no thin wire she could snag in the bend of her fingers and watch as the velocity of that cruelly, cleanly severed white tendon and bone.
Where would she fall after that? You didn't know. You didn't care. She could regain control over her life even without fingers, but what about you? No one understood how disconcerting it was to know that your survival depended on a vampire's good mood.
An old woman was meant to expire, but you were young and had aspirations—yet that could be stolen from you just as quickly as a clot could kill the brain.
It wasn't fucking fair.
Hoss had called out to you repeatedly until the hard brushes stopped scratching the floor, and he and T.J. were settled back on their heels, staring at you. You were used to leveraging your commitments in life as a means to get them off your case, but even they could tell this was different.
"You've been real spacey lately." It was enough to gently reel you back to the moment, eyes unstuck from remnants of putrid matter hidden under a deluge of chemicals and soap. Now you were thinking that the landlord would probably have to replace this entire spot in the flooring. It would be an expensive fix.
"Everything okay at home?" Hoss tried again, emulating fatherly concern in his tone and sidelong stare. It was something he couldn't help since you were so similar in age to his adult kids. "I don't think I've seen you eat today. We oughta finish up here up and grab somethin' quick on the way back.”
"Sorry, yeah, it's just the usual things." They didn't know what that meant to you, but readily accepted with dour expressions masked by their respirators. "I think I saw a gyro truck down the street."
As many times as you had regurgitated the same thing when they pried into your well-being, you were surprised they still asked at all. That made it hard to wave after them as you pulled the lever to the trunk, waiting to be left alone once the job was done to stack half your weight in absorbent until the back bowed to it.
It was just past two in the morning when you were locking the front door of Montague's sprawling estate behind you. Every time you did, a part of you hesitated to seal it the whole way, as though if you did, your final traces of freedom would be stripped away entirely.
"Welcome home!" Montague came out from prowling somewhere in the shadows, seeming to materialize from the darkest parts your eyes couldn't adapt to. He was in a dressing robe again, this one forest green with gold embroidery and a burgundy handkerchief tucked away nicely in his breast pocket.
He already had a cigarette lit between his knuckles, fussing with the little stick as he went to an open window, sucked in, and expelled pungent gray smoke. "I apologize. There's a bit of a mess for you tonight. It's unlike me to be so untidy, but it shouldn't take you too long—oh, darling, don't make that face."
"Why can't you get blood from other sources, like a blood bank?" It's been on your mind for a while, but Montague had a habit of turning petulant if you asked him too much.
He was in good shape tonight, though, despite still puffing away antsily. "Where's the satisfaction in simply being given what I want? Blood banks are a finite supply, but out there"—he gestured through the open window—"there is an infinite supply from any walk of life that I so choose. Did you know that not all blood is equal?"
You sensed him at your back, awash with that same vulnerability as the night on your knees in the basement. He strolled along with you while you collected your things, examined his leftovers, which fortunately wasn't as sensational as before. It looked like a Rorschach inkblot almost, purple-red and pristine, obviously untouched for some time.
Just like that dead blonde woman, there was nothing left behind of the victim except what Montague was too careless to handle himself.
"The worst blood is what you find in hospitals or on the streets. It doesn't matter their type; it all tastes like shit." he continued, even while you worked. Just like before, he sat himself nearby and observed your process with gross fascination. "In a pinch, though, I do what I must. It doesn't matter if a man is homeless or a woman is looking for a night out. When I hear their hearts dance, that thump, thump, thump—oh, I have to have it. I can taste them through their skin, even before I sink my teeth in.
"The fear in their eyes. The ragged breaths I see in their chests, watching their bellies pulse. I like to think in those moments they know exactly what's going to happen, like little flies in a spider's web."
Montague let more smoke slither out from his lips in skinny, swirling wisps that dissipated once it touched the air. The haze of it remained, just traceable to your eye. "I always find it interesting that they all struggle, even as they're writhing in their own blood. Sometimes I'll count how long it takes for them to die."
These weren't confessions of a madman because that would imply he was human. He was treating you akin to the way an old man recounted the fondness of his flawed, flickering memories. There were sensations of joy and affection in the work he did, a true love and visceral desire for carnage and suffering that made it hard for you to stomach.
A few times throughout his soliloquy, you needed to bear your weight on the kitchen broom to keep yourself from toppling from nausea.
You shouldn't have been curious. "Has anyone ever survived?"
The surrounding space grew darker, not from loss of light but from the way his lower face sunk behind the hand wielding the cigarette. You saw his smile widen through sickly appendages and faint smoke.
His response pierced straight through you. "I'm looking right at it."
Suddenly, the urge to run rushed forefront in your mind, an instinctual reaction that you had trouble wrestling over with logic. The broomstick was easily pulled from your fingers and discarded onto the floor with a reverberating clatter that made your spine race with cold needles as Montague stepped into your proximity.
You shivered against the hands slowly climbing your neck to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face as he lifted it to meet his eyes. Something was so wrong with how black they were; you didn't see a pupil, nor did your reflection stare back at you in them. It's almost as though there was nothing there at all, the dark of them growing into an abysmal chasm that made your vision cross and blur, eyelids weighing like lead when you felt him kiss you.
His lips were the same kind of cold as the rest of him but full and unrelenting, never granting you the chance to mold the kiss in any other way. Surprisingly, the taste of stale smoke on his breath was just slight, a mediocre vexation you overlooked the moment his hands started groping you under your clothes.
And you didn't think much of it when your back settled into the clean linens on your bed, skin flushed with the crisp evening air and lips mapping their way south across your stomach and navel, delving lower to your core. It was too dark in your room to see down your body at the top of Montague's head, but you felt him with your fingers, coiling pieces of his ash-brown hair to your knuckles while he pushed your thighs wide open for him.
An anxious patter swelled in your chest, a vague understanding that something was horrible about this, but you were too wrapped up in a dreamy fog to think about it. More than the resounding boom of your heart, you heard your own breaths dissolve into lewd moans and slurred pleas for him to do more, more, more.
It didn't sound like you.
It didn't feel like you despite knowing that build-up in your abdomen better than most things in your body.
The hands in his hair, the back bending off of the mattress like an archway, the shaking limbs, and the cries begging for more were someone else entirely up until the very moment rapture fluttered behind your eyes in searing white, body deluged in hot release that left your scalp tingling and toes curling and spend on your sheets.
"Give me more." You tasted him again, his tongue pushing hard into your mouth where those salty notes of yourself lingered on your cheeks. His silhouette melded with the rest of the room, tangible only in the way he roamed every surface of you.
Montague had shucked the clothes from both your bodies earlier, preferring to lean into the flush of heat you radiated. Everything was only skin-deep away from him; he could feel your pulse throb on his lips when he teased himself against your carotid, your radial, trailing all the way to the powerful beat of your femoral nestled there in your groin.
His teeth came close many times to piercing you, allowing him a sliver of a taste like a parched king waiting for a drop of golden wine. But half the thrill of having you around was denying himself of you, knowing well that if he were to start, then he'd never be able to stop, and he'd fully hamper your dreams of escaping.
The air smelled like you now, heavy and like damp skin and your fluids soaking into the linens. He watched your face bunch and fall apart when he split you open with his cock, hips colliding, your skin sure to bruise as his thrusts turned savage. There wasn't much left in his heart anymore. Most of it had atrophied over the centuries, and yet the sound of yours spurred him on.
He could follow the path of your blood through your body, an extensive subject he had studied and dissected at length in his lifetime. The most vulnerable spots were gorged and worked the hardest, almost glowing red through your skin for him. When he thrust a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and felt your fingertips pushing against his chest, he heard your heart be the loudest it ever had been.
"That's it. That's it. That's it." His own breaths were ragged now. The sheer exhilaration of pushing his lips deeper, hot sweat leaving a slick layer on them, and that one big artery in your neck pounding out was doing everything for him.
Your frantic pants were a close second. He could feel you unraveling, tightening around his cock until you were soundlessly writhing on the mattress, clutching anything you could bunch together. The final few thrusts he made were purposeful; they were forceful and jolted your body, a show to make sure you wouldn't forget the feeling of him inside of you.
The clean linens were sodden with cum, some still dripping out of you while you lay there, legs splayed enough so you wouldn't feel it stick to your thighs. Whatever haze had been hanging over your eyes before lifted away, leaving you ruined and exhausted on the sheets but not alone.
"You've got class in a few hours, don't you?" Montague said from above, shoulders nestled in your headboard while one leg hung off the side of the bed. He was smoking again, acting the calmest you had witnessed him. "I don't really think you're in any shape for that. Why don't you stay home today?"
You were too spent to respond to him, somehow using the occasional breaths he blew out into the vast room to lull you into a dreamless sleep.
༺ ♰ ༻
Shin Nakamura had been a selfish man in life. Mid-fifties, thinning hair, and twice divorced from women who knew better—his tenants did not. He had built a reputation on the north side of town for hidden costs and faulty appliances that were never fixed. Once or twice in the past four years you had cleaned up scenes, they came out of Nakamura's buildings in the summertime, stuck to the floor and infested with maggots and flies in different orifices.
Everyone had asked at one point, yourself included, how he was able to get away with that level of blatant cruelty and disregard—and the answer was as simultaneously simple, complex, and terrible as poverty. The north end was an area notorious for local crime and violence, but more than that, it was forgotten in favor of gentrifying other areas of the city—pretty little boutiques that'd make a splash on social media and a couple of upscale dining spots, all of those meant to change the online scales deeming an area's walkability, and therefore, profitability.
The blind eye most city commissioners turned to the north end made it an easy life for Shin to do as he pleased without many consequences despite living in the area himself. Most of everyone found it an odd sort of justice when he was discovered in his office, unrecognizable from how badly the dozens of stab wounds had disfigured his face and body. One look was enough to know that it was personal, a tenant who had received their condemnation via a neon-pink eviction letter hastily taped to an off-white door.
Only, this time, Shin chose a person backed into a corner at their breaking point. There wasn't much left to lose, yet Shin had ultimately lost it all. Rumor had it that no one sold out the tenant who committed the crime, something even the more moralistic part of yourself could fathom.
These were the cases that painted a grim picture of your future in forensics and often speared to the front of your mind at the worst of times—could you really be part of the reason why a person shattered by the powers of society goes to jail?
Shin Nakamura was a terrible man, but were his crimes punishable by that sort of torture? What about the tenants who probably heard Shin screaming for help, crying in agony—were they any better than murderers themselves?
What did that mean for you? An accomplice who quietly scrubbed clean murders at a monster's behest, you allowed those people to be swallowed up by Montague under a guise of fear, or was it selfishness?
That discomfort lasted you your entire shift, like an incredibly nauseating pill with a bad smell that sat in your nose for hours. You couldn't wipe away the thoughts like you could dried blood on smoke-stained walls or lumps of serrated flesh and fat wedged between slabs of wood on the floor.
"Man, he coulda been cleaner about this." T.J. had his feet planted solidly on the middle step of a ladder, well at work with a long-handled brush pushed flat to the ceiling. The splatter had gone that far, earning a few awestruck coos from him and Hoss earlier. "It would've made our lives easier."
It was a normal joke.
You'd laughed at the exact same one many times before, even finessed your own commentary in there on occasion because the dead can't sue, and a murderer had no rights—but now, you thought it'd taste bad on your tongue.
The two hulking men noticed, far sharper than you gave them credit for. Or maybe you were just worse at hiding things than you thought. They didn't allude to anything until everyone was packed up in the van, dried from the sweaty protective suits and summer heat by the AC.
"Listen, it ain't my business, and I swear I've been trying my best not to ask." There was a furtive look linked between Hoss and T.J.; it was something they had talked about when you weren't around. "That guy you're living with. He isn't doing anything to you, right? You used to talk about him all the time in the beginning. Haven’t heard a peep about him in ages. God, you're not living in your car, are you?"
From the outside in, you weren't doing much to try to embellish fancy stories and reasons onto your drastic change over the months. You simply let it be and navigated every day with the hope you'd remember where you were going with your head down. It probably didn't look too good to a paternal man like Hoss, and to T.J., who had several younger siblings.
"No, it's not him—" But, of course, it really was and everything surrounding his cruelty, everything he made you do, and what you never refuted. "I'm just perpetually exhausted. I'm sure you've heard that from Sylvie and Deshaun while they've been in uni."
"All the damn time." Hoss beamed, chest perked a little higher with the mention of his children. It wasn't enough to diffuse the tension lingering in the van, however. "Just know, I'd do for you what I'd do for my babies—put the fear of God in that man. If he puts a finger on you, you let me know."
T.J. gave an agreeable hum, fingers sticking to the steering wheel as he moved them around, making a turn down some street. "We'll catch him by surprise and everything. I'll call in a couple favors, grab a few shovels and bags of cement from my dad's place. It's all good."
For some reason, their entire spiel only spiked your uneasiness, and suddenly you were far too aware of your bladder. It was enough initiative for T.J. to floor the gas and get back to headquarters, giving you the chance to break away and race the remnants of daylight all the way home.
༺ ♰ ༻
It had never happened before, but you managed to catch Montague by surprise when he walked through the front door to find you standing there in the foyer. The kitchen broom wrapped in your hands was a nasty ploy, along with the look you cast between him and a young man not any older than yourself.
Again, just like all the others, you didn't recognize him. Montague's victims were fast, fleeting fixations for him, none worthy of names or an identity in his eyes. You suspected this guy was much the same.
Montague's bewilderment was swept away by a smile and laxing posture. He had settled back into his element. "You're home early today. I didn't expect to see you until much later. Not much to the scene, I assume?"
"It was pretty bad." A certain stiffness trailed on the end of your words, letting them echo through the hall and hang in the cool evening air.
The young man was fast to perceive that tension: the tightness in your shoulders, fingers subtly wringing against the cracked wooden broom. Montague's anticipative smile climbed higher the longer he looked at you.
Would it be such a bad thing to turn around and pretend you had never seen him come home with that other man? You considered doing it, hiding upstairs and using your headphones until everything seeping through turned into an amalgamation of ambient noise that meant nothing to you, and you willed away the guilt like you'd always done.
In that moment, you thought about Meredith Nimu's apoplectic daughter, a woman so embittered by her own suffering that she was foul and relentless to anyone she crossed paths with. You thought about Shin Nakamura, a greedy, pitiless man who'd rather let coroners scrape up his tenant's remains rather than grant them mercy while they were alive and had been left in pieces because of it.
You thought of them and all their wickedness and edged your gaze towards the young man still standing in the doorway with his hand holding it ajar, clean fingernails picking at chipping paint, just steps from outside. "I think you should leave."
Run! Run! You'd better run away as fast as you can! Nothing would stop Montague from keeping his prey there, if that's what he chose to do.
He did the opposite of that, and that was, simply, nothing at all. No pretty blandishments, nor a mouthful of teeth. Rather, now, he was particularly piqued by what you were trying to do.
To the young man, he had meddled into something rather egregious, probably convinced it was extramarital. You battled a surge of pride blooming inside you, shifting your chest a little higher, anchoring your spine back into your body.
"Don't come back here." You didn't need to say anything else. He was gone after pinching out a look of disgust towards Montague, tutting at him with his upper teeth showing through a curled lip.
Nothing happened for a while, not until the front door was secured after his departure. You were left to that responsibility, triple-checking the lock, while Montague ambled deeper into the house, but not too far away as you could follow the leisurely path by his heel strike. There was a rhythm in how he moved. It was deliberate, as though mimicking something.
It took you five paces to figure out he was miming your heartbeat, and he only stopped once it quickened in your chest. He appeared from around the corner, still taking his time reaching you, toying with some trinkets displayed on shelves built into alcoves throughout the lower floor.
You couldn't explain what you were feeling at that moment. Of the thousands—maybe millions—of victims Montague had taken in the previous times, you had just deprived him of one. That man would continue living, and he would tell his friends tomorrow about the weird night he had, and he would never have to be grateful that you saved him from a hellish death.
Yes, oh yes. Even as Montague approached you, carried by his deft gait with both halves of his gold compact open in his palm, you couldn't help but be in complete awe of yourself.
A life continued outside of this mausoleum, and it was all because of you. You were entirely different from Meredith Nimu's daughter and Shin Nakamura, and, for once, your hands weren't sullied by bleach, blood, and body matter.
All that heaviness you had been carrying was suddenly so much lighter, and you felt like your chest could open up as wide as the room where you stood. The breaths you took were dry and cold in your throat, yet fresh as though you were walking outside in wintertime.
Montague must've seen something he didn't like on your face because he sucked down on his cigarette for a while, winding his wrist with it at his side once he was adequately calm.
"Did it feel good? I've only seen you this happy while I was fucking your brains out." It was jarring to hear him talk like that. He took another quick drag and let it out slowly as he rounded you. "Truthfully, darling, I didn't think you were the type to break the rules—on purpose, anyway. But I suppose we all get a little wound up every now and then, right? I've already forgiven you."
And then, you watched him drop the cigarette to the marble and snuff it underfoot until the weak ember was turned to soot. A black smear was left behind when he took his foot away. His stare into you was unwavering.
"Clean it up."
You figured this was how a frightened animal felt when it wanted something within reach of an observant predator because you were trying to think of all the ways to get close without getting too close. It was a pitiful, humorous sight to him, seeing your steps forward so light and on the verge of bolting. But he showed no intention of doing anything more.
Still with the broom in hand, your knuckles turned stark around the handle while sweeping the remains towards you. It would take more elbow grease to get up that smudge, and he knew that just as well.
He reached for the broom and snapped it to a halt, making you jump, jaw clenching. A noiseless gasp lurched in your throat, his fingers wound tight into the hair at your crown as he yanked your head back to show all the fleshiness of your neck.
"What will you do about it, darling?" His lips were already cold and flush to the artery dancing in the curvature built of skin, muscle, and tendon.
Your teeth chattered as the wetness of his tongue followed that intricate, breathtaking network inside of you as far as the neckline of your shirt would let him.
"A man has to eat. Have you ever seen it? A man near starvation and the sorts of things he'll do to survive? Why, I've heard stories of desperate, little men eating their own lovers—their children—themselves just to claw around for a little longer. It's inspiring, I think."
He dragged you away then, up the stairs and through the hallway on the second floor to your bedroom, fingers still nested your hair until the moment you were shoved down onto fresh linens. There wasn't anywhere for you to go once he joined you on the mattress, feeling it bend towards his weight.
"Don't be afraid." he said this with all the fond familiarity of a lover, blunt fingernails digging crescents into your thigh through your clothes. In the waning moonlight that filtered through the dusty window over your bed, his pale eyeshine snared you like roots bursting from somewhere within your busy sheets to keep you there—keep you tame. "That's right. Come to me. Come to me."
There was a new drowsiness behind your eyes, one you couldn't stave by blinking. Montague's face was closer now, and you were struck with just how beautiful he actually was. The longer your gaze lasted, tips of your fingers exploring every shape and edge of his exquisite features, the less you were convinced he was a threat to you—that he couldn't have possibly been all that you'd feared up until now.
"I want you." His lips inched up like he expected you to say it. He felt your hands rest on the sides of his face, guiding him down into a soft kiss that he returned, that he kept clean and let you command until he was bored with it. You chased after him, lower lip pulled between both of yours and eventually out of reach. "Don't you want me too?"
"I wish you could understand just how much I do." He rummaged his pocket for the gold compact, losing it somewhere in the sheets, and then busied himself with stripping himself and you of clothes.
Each piece discarded showed a greater expanse of your skin, a delight in his eyes because he could see that gorgeous webbing of arteries and veins throughout you, even in the darkness, through every defense your body created to protect you from every bacteria, virus, infection—from him.
He didn't need the breath, but he took one and held it anyway.
You withered against his touch, those freezing, lithe fingertips traveling down all the areas where he wished his teeth could be, clear down to your groin. His smile stretched, feeling you search eagerly for a fistful of his hair with his lips smoothing across your inner thigh and then going higher.
There was warmth between your legs, a colorless glisten that leaked out onto the thin sheets, darkening a spot on them that tempted his tongue out for a taste. He came close to entertaining the notion of giving you that glimpse of heaven, allured by your hips leaping off the mattress and against his face.
"You really do think this is all about you." Montague kept you still by pressing down into your abdomen as he rose onto his knees, erection fitting tight between your bodies in the moments before he guided himself lower and hitched up into you.
The sharp motion knocked a startled gasp out of your throat, where it quickly dissolved into a slew of filth and breathy panting. Your nails clawed into your palms, a sight he thought to make worse by digging himself deeper into you.
Montague had no issues biding his time this way, looming over the sprawl of your body beneath him, manipulating parts of you until he saw your face flinch and the first moans of discomfort shake all the way from your chest, up, and through your teeth. They matched the pace of his hard thrusts, smothered by sharp slaps of skin that carried in the inky air.
Indeed, I can wait. That thought of his unsatiated hunger melted in the back of his mind with the precedence of arranging the course of blood in your body. The drum of your heartbeat was deafening to him, but it wasn't enough.
It wasn't loud enough.
He wanted to be able to envision the arteries and veins bursting in his teeth, saturating the sheets and walls and both your bodies in hot red. He wanted it to paint his skin while he fucked you to absolution.
"It really, truly, is all about you in the end, isn't it?" He could still speak clearly, despite you being unable to utter noise beyond the air being forced out of your lungs. "You really are magnificent. How could I ever think to let you go? Not after everything you've done for me, how beautiful you look next to all of my things."
His hand shifted away from your abdomen at last, tracking across the soft span of your stomach and the muscles spasming there under his fingertips.
All he would have to do is dig through you a little bit, and he could bury himself in those twitching fibers and insides. But he continued on his path to your pert nipples that he rolled against his palm a few times, higher still to fold his fingers together against your sternum where he felt your heart thundering there against your ribs.
"Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump," came his mocking chant that cracked into raspy moans as he lingered there. It had been a long time since something had made him feel this good. He had forgotten what bliss was truly like.
He reached your neck before long, trapping the underside of your jaw against his knuckles, forcing you to see him as his weight bore down on your throat. You both heard the cartilage and muscle in your neck shift, a subtle crack that sent your limbs flailing. You were thrown out of the rhythm of his thrusts in an attempt to grab at him.
"You really are despicable, aren't you?" He let out a gleeful laugh, letting your fingers turn ashen while you wrung his wrist. You weren't able to do much with your legs except use them to plant your heels into the mattress, vaulting your hips in the air to try to wrench yourself free. His cock slipped out of you, but he was hardly bothered by that.
"Does it feel good that you chased off my guest? I could get him back, you know. You're aware of this. I know you are. But righteousness just feels so… rewarding, doesn't it? You couldn't resist. Desperation must've been eating you alive."
Strings of saliva glistened in your mouth, breaking apart the further your jaws spread. You were convinced, in that moment, that you would die like that in a silent scream. None of the words that Montague spoke truly reached you, not as your chest quivered and lungs burned as though swallowed in an inferno.
"Every misdeed in life vastly outweighs the good, you know? The scales have never been leaned in our favor—not I, and especially not for you. If that's the sort of thing you believe in. Isn't that what you're taught? Goodness for the sake of salvation at the end of a short life of inhibitions? How miserable." Montague took his hand off of you and let you breathe.
You sucked in crisp air, gasping from your side through wet coughs and the sourness of vomit spat out on the floor.
Your respite was brief, weight on the mattress shifting as the hair on your scalp was used to lever you to your knees, body suspended upright only by his fingers tangled at your roots.
"This is all I can see." Montague loosened his hand from your head, moving south along your spine to your ass. He kneaded the bruised parts of your hips for a while after, lips ghosting their way along your neck up to the ear. "All I can see is what's right in front of me. And how it tastes. All that matters is that I have my fill—and that I feel good."
He smeared slick into the heel of his palm, rolling the head of his cock in that mess as he instructed you with every bit of lewdness how he wanted you to bend against the headboard, how far apart for you to spread your legs for him.
Every bit of it was humiliating for you, while he wished he could memorialize that moment of sinking back inside of you as your breaths broke into stifled sobs, face warped by anguish.
"Does it hurt? Tell me, I have to know, what does it feel like?" He enjoyed the suspense of not receiving an answer, listening as your fingernails dug tracks into the wood headboard and the dark room filled with obscene wetness that grew louder as his thrusts turned wild.
"Mmm—" He hinged forward, bracing his weight on top of your hands with his own. You shied from the surge of coolness that came with his cheek pressing yours. "You and I aren't so different. It makes me wonder if you actually like this. Isn't there something so freeing about it?"
"Mer—mercy, please." It was a coarse whisper from your dry throat, so much of your time having been spent with your mouth agape. The idea of having you that way was as tantalizing as all the others he thought up. "Montague, please—mercy."
Oh, now you were begging.
This was more than what he deserved. He managed a few more thrusts, spilling over into you by the third with a moan that he felt no shame to leave ringing in your ear. "Every part of you, every single part—I'll burn myself into your skin and your bones. You'll feel me in your veins, your blood. I'll make for certain that I'm all you remember—forever."
The vastness of your bedroom had grown warmer, permeated with the thickness of sweat and salt that left your palms slick against the headboard. You let your body slump against it, skin sticking to the wood. It didn't offer you the relief you wanted at that moment: a glass of ice water, all the tenderness of a soft bed to lull you into a blank dream—you just wanted to rest.
Montague knew this just as well, fishing his compact out from a muddled heap of linens and clothes. He checked inside to grab one of the two cigarettes left, making a mental note he'd need to replenish again tomorrow before lighting it and savoring it. At this rate, he anticipated he'd be empty before the end of the night.
For a while, he sat there cushioned on his haunches, admiring the way the smoke coiled towards the ceiling in dainty wisps and mingled with the stench of sex.
"It's not enough." he said, barely eliciting more than a glance from you. His current cigarette was already burnt to the filter, forcing him to pull the last and light that one too. "This is my last one. Such a shame."
You smelled the smoke strongly now, just seconds passing before you were yanked across the bed onto your back, the soreness in your scalp near excruciating as you yelped. Montague made a place for himself between your thighs again, leering down the length of his nose at you.
If he wanted to, he could trace the dread etched in your features with a finger, feeling all along your hot skin, into all the cavernous lines he wished he could preserve—right there, just like that. There had never been a more gorgeous visage than the one you wore right now. Only your gleaming, glowing, pink insides were more beautiful.
He watched your lips twitch while he teased a fistful of his hard cock against your sorest spot. You were swollen and bruised, and he could only imagine what it felt like when he bottomed out in you again.
The curve of your spine arched off the mattress, fingers frantically raking the air at him, reaching for any part you could sink into to get him out. Even your body seemed determined for the same, wonderfully stimulating walls squeezing around him.
It made a shiver roll all along his spine to his tailbone, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling, with his first thrusts feeling positively divine. Especially when you jolted, an almost exaggerated response amplified by jagged cries and wet gasps you couldn't seem to swallow back down into your chest.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You sputtered around the mucus piled in your throat. "Montague, I'm sorry. Please, stop."
He had burned away half of his last cigarette when he leaned over you, his body eclipsing what poor light had managed to illuminate the room for you. You could only follow the dainty mesmerizing glow that worked away from his mouth—his exhale barely masking a moan that he blew away with the smoke—and towards you.
"Keep doing it." His other hand was crawling up your neck, forcing you to suck in a hard breath. "Beg me again. Keep doing it."
All sound but the steady pulse of the headboard striking the wall had deadened, lasting well until the moment the cigarette touched your skin—and you screamed. Your throat vibrated, suddenly stopping when his palm closed around you again, silencing all your noise, his thrusts sloppy and rough while you thrashed under him.
This time, he kept you pinned by his chest, letting your feet dig for traction and slip and slide on the sheets. The bright smolder turned dark as he twisted it into your neck, taking all the remnants of restraint he had not to drill into you as far as it could go. He curled his tongue behind his jaws, keeping them tight.
Montague let go of your throat to allow you the grace of a stifled wail before that same hand sealed your lips. "Ah, ah. You know better than to scream. Shh, shhh, shhh. It's such an ugly sound."
He rubbed the cigarette into your skin until it crumpled, leaving him to lament for a moment once flicking it away to the floor. For him, it left behind a beautiful burn: raw, mad, red, and enticing. As his hand fell off of your mouth, daring you to do more than whimper and cry, his tongue was already flat against your wound.
"Oh, God," you wheezed, voice hoarse and jarring with the force of his hips knocking into you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Stop, stop, stop! I swear I'll never do it again! I swear. I swear!"
Montague caught the wrist you swung at his head, giving the taste of your seared flesh time to settle on his palate before turning towards the pulse in your thumb. He tried to match how he was fucking you out to how it throbbed on his lips.
"Oh, I'm well aware that you won't do it again. That much is a given." His strokes into you were suddenly languid and intentional, so achingly deep that your eyes rolled back. "I've already said that you're forgiven, haven't I?"
You could barely speak over the depth he reached. It didn't feel right. "Th-then, why?"
A smile flourished across his face, but your eyes couldn't pierce that dark veil to see it. You could feel the damp path he left on your wrist, how the muscle writhed all around the sprawl of your veins, going as far as to wind your fingertips before it receded back behind his lips.
"Because I'm enjoying myself." There was a weight of finality to those words before his mouth engulfed the side of your wrist, away from your fragile network of bluish-purplish channels. And when he bit into you, it was the incisors that sank through.
You didn't know what it was. A clamp seized you by the neck like his fist, steeling itself there and robbing you of a scream. The pain was unlike anything else—paralyzing and deep, like a pair of sharpened, narrow skewers made of molten fire piercing you with such an agonizing ache that you could do nothing but lay there.
But you still felt everything he was doing.
His thrusts had grown truly vicious, chasing a high that came as the warmth of your blood seeped from a pair of punctures he had created. The steady flow he fed from was something he lapped on at his leisure. Enough of it streaked the length of your arm and dripped onto your bedding, onto your naked, warm skin when he guided the fall over your neck and chest, south to your stomach and abdomen. He let it fill and pool the seams of his fingers while smearing it with the fluids between your bodies.
At last, breaking the trance to speak, feebly, in between intermittent pockets of pain and numbness rolling through you, you asked with some hopefulness, "Are you going to kill me?"
"You? Kill you?" Montague dropped your wrist. It felt like a limp, dead thing that didn't belong to you. He dove at your neck for those drops he teased himself with, nudging your chin high with his nose to reach it all. "Death would mean letting you go. You're all mine, darling. Whatever other existence waits beyond death will never have you."
His tongue wet a trail to your chin, collecting a watery essence of blood and spit that he pushed into your mouth. Your lips were sealed by his ravenous kiss, relenting to the thickness of his tongue swirling the taste into your cheeks and down your throat, a nauseating intermix of iron and stale smoke that lingered and made you pucker.
And then, you heard him back in your ear, craning his neck only as far as to aggravate the cigarette burn with his breath. It gave several angry throbs. The weight of his body was almost flush on you, spreading the blood around as though your skin together was a single canvas.
To his eyes, it bloomed breathtakingly, seeping into every crevice, pore, and scratch that made up your design, an impermanent stain that he could saturate you in again and again and again. The things he whispered in your ear were vile and wicked, all on unlabored breaths while his strokes turned sluggish and stayed seated deep inside you until the final hitch of his hips left you full of him.
"I don't think you should go to work today."
You were only scarcely coherent of him—or anything for that matter—eyes unmoving from the black void above and unfeeling of how he chose to manipulate your body, still, hours later. All you could think about was the flutter of your lashes weighing down heavily over your eyes and how this world only survived on suffering such as yours.
༺ ♰ ༻
A small pile of things was arranged fussily in a duffle bag Hoss had given the day you returned to work after an impromptu leave of absence. It had only lasted three days, just enough time to acclimate to the pain that seemed to synchronize to every part of your body, throbbing everywhere, all at once, and at times with sharpness so great it toppled you to the ground. You could only lay there—wherever you dropped, on whatever cold slab of marble or concrete until it dissipated, unfurling from your limbs and organs to a rapturous wave of relief that melted the tension out of you.
It had only happened once while at work on a scene amidst a balmy summer night and came out of nowhere like an electric shock surging to your fingertips and toes, a hammer landing on your bones and leveling you on the sidewalk leading back to the company van. And that was all it took to incur a ruinous sort of anger in the two hulking men.
"You're going to take this bag, pack some shit, and you're leaving. Tonight." Hoss had to shake out the dust on the old duffle bag he pulled from somewhere in his car. "You ain't gonna tell me the reason, but I know he did something to you. T.J.'s calling in a favor."
"No. Don't—don't do anything. Don't try to come to the house—" There was a bandage around your wrist that you couldn't stop fiddling with. "I don't know what'll happen if you do. Just fucking don't."
"Nah, not us." T.J. slapped his phone back into the clip on his belt loop, eyeing the motions of your fingers on your wrist uneasily. "One of my old buddies—name's Roscoe—said he wants to handle it. Apparently, he and your guy have a history of some kind. He says to be ready to go by three."
The meaning behind what he said was left nebulous and concerning to you, even after you returned home with the duffle bag and started pulling things from your closet. Some ways across your room, high up on the wall and out of your reach was a clock. Its monotonous ticking brought your eyes over to it.
It was just after one-thirty, still enough time to change your mind if you wanted to. There was something so effortlessly easy about following along to the whims of other people. It felt safe, reassuring—their confidence was infallible. Not once in four years had T.J. or Hoss given you a reason to doubt their intentions, but right now, it boiled over in your mind.
But where will I go? What am I going to do? He'll find me. He'll find me. Montague would find you, but he wouldn't stop you from leaving. You could see it with clarity—him perched on the armrest of a chair, watching you walk through the door. He'd give you a headstart, a few days, maybe a few weeks.
You weren't sure you knew what to do without him. There was nowhere else in the world you could go, no one you could confide in that wouldn't be destroyed. He would keep your heart beating all the while breaking you apart until he had his fill, reminding you that this was how it was meant to be. This was how he showed you how you belonged.
And you—silly little you with your consciousness floating on the fringes of inscrutable ecstasy and some personal purgatory built on agony in your bones and blood—would believe him.
"Going on a trip?" His voice drifted to you from the doorway, far sweeter than it usually was. "I wish you would've told me. I can't imagine what it'll be like without you here in this house. You breathe life into it."
He was lured over by your silence, fitting his fingers between your shoulder blades to push along your spine, easing away the discomfort that had settled there. It was hard not to lean into that relief, a misstep that shattered any lasting hold of willpower when he stooped his neck to sweep you into a kiss.
"Why don't you stay instead?" He knew you wouldn't be coming back, not without dragging you back himself. "Stay with me instead. Right here. In this bed."
"Montague, stop—" He pressed down harder on your lips so those words withered into guttural frustration in your throat.
The duffle bag was flung far away, opening space on your bed for him to lay you out and begin to unravel the bandages around your wrist. Once he had access, his mouth was already full against the two puncture sites.
"Stay." He wasn't playing coy now. "I'll take care of you. It wasn't enough before. I can see that now. What can I do? It'd be too easy to break your legs. What if I chained you to this bed? What if I locked you up in this room? I wouldn't mind keeping you downstairs with me, but it would be too cold for you, I think."
"I want to leave." you said, mustering your composure through tight lips while he teased the infected purple holes with his flatter teeth. "Let me go."
He smiled derisively. "I don't think you know what you want."
"I—" You balked at him, reiterating with a stumble, "I—I just want to leave. Get off."
"How will you ever survive without me?" You didn't know if you'd be able to. "You'll be all alone, all alone in a world that's just ready to tear you open and spit you back out. I've told you before: Society doesn't reward virtue over vice—only those who play along. You won't last, not after you've known and tasted me."
You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, whereas he swelled like a man who had salvaged a victory, lying himself down to kiss you again—
And then, the doorbell rang with an immense melancholic echo that you could feel vibrate up your arms and legs. Nearly a year later, you were hearing it for the first time and grasping onto the lapels of his suit vest, keeping him still when you remembered T.J.'s promise.
"Ignore it." you said.
"We have a guest—" Something in his tone made your stomach clench. "It's not polite to leave them waiting, especially at this hour."
Montague had untangled himself from you and was gone before you could stop him. Another wave of pain put you on the floor when you moved. Drool piled from your mouth. An ache so unreal pounded in the wrist he had played with. The crawl to your duffle bag was far, arduous in that every inch felt like carrying stones on your back.
I'm going to die. I might as well already be dead. You didn't have any more time to wait, so you slung the strap over your shoulder and used the wall to guide you along the quiet hallway, bumping into every pedestal and display where Montague's most treasured things had stayed undisturbed.
You were one of them, something he could keep on the second floor with the rest of his stuff, but unlike brittle porcelain and fraying embroidery—he could break you as much as he wanted, again and again and again, and fit you back whole. He could do it forever while you wasted, longing for an end he would never give you.
But as you crept along the bleak wallpaper and all of his curios, you were so gentle with them, steadying any wobbling base or piece as you went. The central staircase was close, voices at the bottom of it faint and unintelligible, drifting alongside you as though part of the house—
The air exploded.
Just once.
A single gunshot brought back all the alertness to your body, neck and shoulders at full length, pain dulled to where you could shuffle faster and look off the bannister at the landing below.
Montague was staring back up at you from the floor, entirely still and soundless. His jaw was unhinged, askew, frozen in a position that should've been impossible. A black hole gaped between his eyes, but didn't bleed.
"If you're not ready, that's going to be bad news." Another man stood nearby sheathing a gun, unfamiliar and yet with sameness in the way his gaze felt hollow and reached through you. "I'm repaying my debts. I'd like to make good on this one."
You were slow descending the stairs, even slower while you rounded Montague's body and denied yourself the chance to stop. Something invisible wanted to pull you to him, plow your knees into hard marble and weep over his chest. However, your insides bending in disgust and twinges in your bones kept you onward.
This man, Roscoe, was just as sickly-seeming and gray as the other, every slot of space on his arms and neck filled with images of religious iconography and portraits of saints—Mary being the only one you recognized with just a glance. It was tempting to touch him, something he noticed and stepped out of your reach.
"Is there another way out of here?" He made a weak motion towards the front door just ajar, but his eyes were stuck on the wrist wounded and unusable to you now. "We need to go. Now."
You were racking your brain for an answer, turning half-circles in place before pointing to the archway with a clock. "There's a backdoor, but the yard is fenced in and there's nothing but forest for three miles. There's also—"
Roscoe waited expectantly, ushering you to continue when he went for the gun in its holster. "Start moving, we'll figure it out." He unloaded another round into Montague's head, a near indecipherable twitch in the fingers made the hair on your neck shoot straight out. "Silver only keeps him down. It won't kill him. Go!"
"Th—there's, there's the basement." You smacked your lips, trying to swallow around a bulge in your throat. "There's an old door. He said there are tunnels, but I don't know where they go. I don't know if he was telling the truth. I don't—"
He threw a hand into your back, thrusting you forward at least three feet. You almost didn't catch your footing. "Then that's where we're going."
"Not a friend of yours then, I assume, darling?" Montague's voice from the floor was as much of a relief as it was terrible. The silent gaps of air all around were disturbed by sharp snaps and cracking bones as his jaw moved back into place and he sat upright over his thighs. You were transfixed by the silver bullets being sucked into his skull, holes shrinking until they closed completely. "I'm not surprised you're still fraternizing with the wrong crowds, Roscoe. You and that entire Society have always been a fucking eyesore."
Roscoe readied his aim. "Parasite."
Montague laughed all the way to his feet, tugging at the edge of his vest to make it neat again. He opened his mouth just enough to let his tongue roll out, shards of silver bullets tinkling as they hit marble underfoot. "You can't take what's mine."
He looked to you, stepping closer every time Roscoe moved you back with his arm. "Come here. Come back to me, darling. This is where you belong. This is your home. You belong here with me, here with everything that you know."
"He doesn't mean that."
Another gunshot snapped you to attention, blinking out of a stupor you hadn't realized you were in.
The bullet landed in Montague's forehead, teetering his balance in such a way that his back curved towards the floor, arms hanging like useless instruments, yet he still somehow kept his soles planted. "Time to go. Get to the basement."
Roscoe didn't fail to reach you this time, running tight on your heels through the house to the basement floor. He stopped partway to the old door to help you scour the duffle bag for a key—one attached to the chatelaine Montague had given you the day you accepted to move in.
Your breaths were ragged, heart ablaze and beating against your ribs. In that moment, as you flipped through the assortment of keys with an unsteady, slippery grip, you wondered if Montague heard your blood racing in your veins, if he could follow the suffocating drumbeat your heart made in your ears.
Just above, fast approaching the locked basement door, came a thunderous roar so inhuman and reverberating that it scared the clip of keys out of your hands into a clattering heap on the floor. Time was up.
"Move!" Roscoe shoved you aside, illuminated by the hectic flare of your phone as he fit his fingers through a gap in the door and ripped the entire thing off its hinges. He pulled you by the scruff of your shirt and heaved you inside the tunnel. "Go! Go! Go!"
The first thing to hit you was a putrid smell intimately known but always through protective equipment and a respirator. And as you went deeper into the tunnel, led by a single route and the light off your phone, the dirt packed under your feet turned soft, sinking to the tops of your shoes.
And then, you saw bodies.
Numerous—countless corpses in varying stages of decay with twisted faces reflected your terror and pain right back at you. Most were intact with missing limbs or dark red chasms in their abdomens that had been scraped hollow and dry under the white light.
A few had been fully decapitated, briefly reminding you of the dead blonde woman from that night, but most of what lay stacked against the tunnel walls were emaciated figures with skin pulled so taut to their bones you could still make out their faces.
You were doubled over your knees, sucking in fetid mouthfuls of air and retching them back out on the ground. It burned in your throat, in your nostrils, and behind your eyes, but stifled your sobs as Roscoe dragged you alongside him.
"What did he do? What did he do?" You were crying, wheezing out those words on every shallow breath you took all the way to an end just ahead.
The more you thought about it, the more you smelled the rot, tasted the bitterness of your own vomit, the more came out. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"
Roscoe had to let you rest in the grass once you both surfaced. One of the exits turned out to be near the house, less than half a mile. But the tunnels kept going and so did the bodies. You suspected that there wouldn't be any reach of that underground labyrinth that didn't have some form of decay along it.
The thought brought the tears back, but now you could relish the sticky summer night humidity and touch dewy tendrils of grass under your hands.
"Can you drive?" Roscoe had a pair of keys hanging from his index finger, giving you a long moment to take them. He saw confusion in your watery stare. "I'll tell you where to go, just drive."
That's how it had been for hours at this point. You kept your hands locked around the steering wheel, one stronger than the other, gnawing the inside of your cheek while ruminating everything—tonight, the night Montague had bitten you, every other night before that, and your decision to have ever trusted him.
"How long ago did he bite you?" Roscoe had the seat reclined, arms over his eyes to shield them from oncoming headlights. "It doesn't look good."
You tested your grip on the steering wheel, but you couldn't do much without a sharp sting in your wrist. "I don't know—a couple weeks ago? I've tried everything short of going to the emergency room."
"That won't help," he said. "Modern medicine can fix a dog bite, antibiotics can kill an infection, a vaccine can protect you from a virus. Those aren't going to do any good."
Solemnly, you asked, "Am I going to die?"
Roscoe didn't sit up but had your wrist in his hands, turning it in little ways that didn't aggravate you. Besides the occasional glare from passing vehicles, there was no light in the car, and the holes in your skin were hardly distinguishable, though they had gotten darker. You weren't able to move it with any ease now.
"What you need to know right now is that he's never going to stop following you." He put your hand back on the steering wheel, careful as he enclosed your fingers around it. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, what you do, where you go—a parasite finds a host, and it latches on. And it doesn't let go."
You glanced between him and the road several times, tongue wetting the dry parts of your lips. "He's a vampire—you're a vampire. There's got to be something—"
Roscoe finally sat up in his seat, now cramped sideways with his shoulders flat to the window. The car veered a bit into the other lane. "You need to understand something. What you're saying would imply he ever had any humanity. Vampires are created." He paused for a beat, waiting for the realization to strike you. "Montague was never created."
"What—what the hell is he, then?" A horn abruptly blared by, prompting you to yank the car back onto the correct side. "He drinks blood. He has teeth. He—he hunts. He doesn't like silver. His eyes are the same as yours."
Roscoe lowered his gaze, but remained in that uncomfortable position. "There's a story I heard about him once. I don't remember the details except for one: ‘If the devil exists, they're one in the same.’"
You kept your eyes on the road, counting every car that flitted on past. They were probably going to work at this hour—green numbers on the dashboard showed it just after four—and they'd be able to have a place to return to at the end of the day. Now, you didn't belong anywhere, and twenty-four hours from now you still wouldn't.
The town where you had lived with Montague for a year was long behind you, backtracking would take hours, and you wouldn't know how to get back from the direction that Roscoe had told you to go. Dim streetlamps and cozy houses with spruced yards had morphed into an endless network of concrete, signs, and off-ramps to places you'd never heard of.
It was scary how everything could change in one night, and how it did. The only semblance of normalcy to you right now were the aches throughout your body, which had returned the moment you fully comprehended that you had escaped that house.
"Why…" Roscoe looked up at you, seeing your lips shake and eyes turn red. "Why do I want to go back to him?"
He fixed himself right in the seat, tousling a hand through his hair while looking out through the windshield. "You shouldn't do that. But you'll never be able to stop running."
You never saw Roscoe again once the car ride ended several thousands of miles later, mentioning something about how he repaid his debt to T.J. and had disappeared from a restaurant you both walked into. When that happened, you sat paralyzed at your little table for most of the day with a soul-crushing realization that you were truly alone with nobody in the world—
Just like Montague said you would be.
And, for the sake of others, you'd never be able to have anyone else in your world.
It stayed that way for close to two years. The hardest part hadn't been the homelessness or constant vigilance, not the door revolving each person to come into your life since, but the fact that you still yearned for what you once had. Everything so awful about what you experienced sometimes looked like heaven when you thought about it, like soft, cloudy nostalgia from a time where the throes of agony were all you had ever known.
You were capable of thinking soberly as well, and with that came the understanding that a part of you would always want that time back—want him back. He had left you with a permanent scar and neurological damage that could never be corrected. It was anticipated you'd lose that wrist at some point in the future, but for now, you could still hold a cup and brush your teeth with enough conscious effort.
The pain never went away either, but you refused to let it impede your work in the field. And your two roommates were a couple of engineering geniuses who'd managed to make the flat more accommodating to your needs. They'd been patient with you during every step of your transition into a new life, calling you an enigma because you had nothing to your name except a dusty duffle bag and a "strange-looking dog bite" on your wrist when you first met them.
Sometimes, especially on the weekends after clinking together enough shot glasses, they tried to probe your brain for some clue as to who you were, who you had been historically. You had decided it was better that they—that no one—knew about it or what actually existed out there in the world.
And when you returned home from the lab late that Saturday night, you were surprised to find the lights off and the flat immersed in the kind of soundlessness that made your ears feel clogged with cotton.
You were slow in lowering your backpack to the floor, keeping the front door slightly ajar so a slither of light from the residential corridor slipped inside. "Jordan? Felix?"
No answer. You didn't hear anything from their bedrooms upstairs either.
"Jordan?" The nearest light switch didn't work, neither did the one after that, or any others you hunted down with the diffused beam from your phone screen. "Jordan? Felix? Are you guys home?"
It was possible they had gone out somewhere for the night and just hadn't mentioned anything to you, as unsound as that logic actually was, considering it simply wasn't their personality. But as you wandered through different rooms checking the switches, you knew you were rationalizing to keep yourself in check.
The light from the hallway still piled inside like a narrow pillar, raising all the hairs on your neck and arms, knowing that it wasn't a building-wide outage. They had never left you in a situation like this before. Something was wrong.
"Jordan! Felix! Whe—" Your foot nearly shot out from under you when you slid through something slick on the laminate. After a moment to fix yourself, bracing the edge of the countertop with a clammy palm, you steadied the white glow of your phone at the floor.
There, glistening back at you, was the vast richness of blood in a tall puddle that spread like long winding tendrils through grout in the flooring. It looked almost black under your light at a certain angle, estimating it had been there for several hours—untouched.
You held in a breath and grit your jaws together as the more you moved, the more you saw. And when the top of a head came into view, silky hair shining like fine thread before clumping together at the base where the blood had pooled the most, it was everything you could to keep yourself from hitting the floor.
Both of them were there, perfectly out of sight of the front door and completely unrecognizable. Their bodies had been left in one piece, though where their faces had once been were cavernous holes with pale, pink ribbons of flesh and fat left behind. The roundness of their skulls let blood fill inside it like a vessel. What little pieces of brain matter remained had floated to the surface.
You staggered back from them, phone loosening from your weak hand and returning them to the maw of darkness, while groping the wall behind you as far as your arm could reach. This wasn't a result of crude knife work or even bludgeoning; no, it was a slow kill, one meant to steep someone in torment so immense that you prayed to whatever was out there that they succumbed immediately.
"Help…" Your voice was trapped in your throat, barely registering as a whisper even to yourself as you sidled along the wall. "Someone—anyone, please help."
The patter of your heartbeat was torturous. Your every step back to the entrance was leaden with fear. You couldn't get your legs to move fast enough, and the light reaching in through the gap seemed to stretch on forever—further, further, and further still.
You thought back to that day you met Montague and shook his hand, noting how unnaturally cold it had been despite it being a nice day in spring. You remembered the dead blonde woman with mascara tears, and the bodies he used to decorate the tunnels, and the young man who was able to walk away that night believing it was all some shallow quarrel—never knowing he had sealed your fate.
You regretted all of it.
The door was in your reach now, and you could get out, call for help, and go back to running. This time, you wouldn't be tricked into false satiety or let anyone too close. You would see mountains and forests and oceans a thousand times over before you stopped again.
Two years hadn't been enough time for you to accumulate many things, you thought. It wouldn't be hard to leave most of it behind, just like you had before. You would unpack that old duffle bag from the back of your closet, fill it to the brink, and that would be enough.
You had your hand over smooth metal, but that cold reached greater depths in you as the door was pushed shut from behind, light shrinking away through the slot until you were swallowed whole in the dark.
"Hello, darling. I've missed you." He sounded the same against your ear. For a split second, you felt relieved. "Don't worry about cleaning up. We're not staying long."
He clamped damp fingers over your mouth before you could scream.
a/n; I hope this scratched some awful itch for you. onto the story notes:
on montague: what he is exactly is open to interpretation. tell me your theories! his character has been around in my arsenal for a very long time, but as a human cannibal in those days. he's been resurrected into something worse imo. he exists in my vampire universe more as a side-character, and, surprisingly, is not the central antagonist. he is meant to more or less be the embodiment of depravity and the consequence of a being without internal moral compass.
on mc: represents the fallacy of man and how unreliable the narrative of morality actually is, and how we as people have tendencies to twist and turn the meaning of it for our own benefit. mc in this story is not meant to be a good person, but did they deserve condemnation to a personal purgatory?
so, while this is a monster story, I wanted to parallel the treatment mc endures + mindset to the horrors of trying to escape abuse. I wanted to explore this through the lens of a monster story, though. if you suspect you are in an abusive relationship, please reach out to people to help get you out.
what's funny is that this story was originally supposed to be a dark comedy that moved towards something a little darker, and eventually turned into this. montague was initially going to just be a nuisance to mc by inserting himself into friend hangouts because "it's my house".
divider by; @/anlian-aishang
dc divider by; @/benkei-bear
if you read and enjoyed it, please share your thoughts and reblog!!
#vampire#vampire romance#vampire story#vampire x reader#vampire x you#vampire x human#monster x reader#monster fiction#monster fic#monster x human#monster story#tw monsterfucking#monsterfkr#monster fucker#eldrich horror#origonal character#original writing#original work#2k writes#monsterfucking nsft#monster romance
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could you ever try writing a poly between 3 vampires and male reader? like, reader is a painter and the vampires ask him to paint them something while in their house, and is just.. evolves. sorry if it doesn't make sense
Love Bites
Poly!Vampires x Male!Painter!Reader
CW: implied kidnapping, murder, implied vampirism
holy shit this is like one of the chillest fics ive made so far :0 anyways enjoy the funny vampire men !!
🌙 You always had a knack for finding beauty in everything, from the calming dance of raindrops amongst the smell of petrichor or the lovely reds and oranges of the fall when the leaves withered.
🌙 It was very handy considering what you did for fun.
🌙 You loved to paint, anything and everything you saw was inspiration for you. After a long day of delivering bread and pastries to the people in your village from your bakery, you would run up to your room and continue on the latest masterpiece you were working on.
🌙 Everyone in the village loved your work, many of them paying you for a painting of their own.
🌙 Life was simple and calm, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
🌙 But life decided fuck that bullshit.
🌙 Rumors and whispers filled the streets of the town, it wasn't like the usual talk like someone's daughter getting married or the like, it was much more...unusual.
🌙 News spread from neighboring towns of coffins being found unearthed and opened, shadowy figures roaming around in the late hours of the night, and bodies being found in the morning, drained from their blood.
🌙 It was a terrifying thought, but you didn't dwell upon it, you weren't the type to believe such rumors so easily, and yet a feeling of uneasiness lingered within your soul.
🌙 Your town was no longer the vibrant, happy place it once was before. Windows that once had lovely flowers and laundry lines hung on them were shut day and night, the busy streets you once traversed were covered in a gloomy fog. It really was like an evil has brought itself to your home.
🌙 Or should I say evils?
🌙 In the midst of all the tension, 3 men came to your town. Eccentric was an understatement when describing them, it was like the horrors and whispers of death and murder didn't faze them a bit.
🌙 Even so, you were happy to see something other than terrified faces and panicked expressions.
🌙 You greeted them politely during a cloudy day and noticed how covered they were. One had a large hat on, the other draped in a black cloak and the last holding a parasol that shrouded him in darkness.
🌙 "Good afternoon to you too, me and my friends here are just visiting this quaint little village, how uhm...calm..it is here..hah.."
🌙 The cloaked one chuckled whilst looking to the empty streets.
🌙 "My, my! Aren't you that famous painter I've been hearing about! I'd love to get a painting done from you, but it seems everyone here is quite busy with other things.." says the one in the hat.
🌙 "Oh no! I'd love to paint for you! Come, let's talk more in my bakery. Painting is more of a secondary job for me." You guide the men to your home as you hear the cawing of crows overhead.
🌙 Days pass and you grow closer to the men. You learned that their names were Viktor, Garrick and Silas.
🌙 Viktor had long, silky hair the color of raven's feathers. His eyes shone like two rubies in the dim light of the lanterns you lit around the house. He wore a black cape which hid a wine-red vest.
🌙 He was a gentleman and had a love for poetry. He would recite his favorites to you as you painted next to him. One interesting thing you learned was that he's scared of mice. 'Dreadful things' he calls them, you found it quite adorable once when you two were talking and he suddenly squealed and pulled his feet up at the sight of a small mouse crawling passed your floors. His face, although still as pale as the moon, turned into a light red.
🌙 Garrick had messy, dark hair. His fingers were always adorned with golden rings, and he wore a somewhat stained white, ruffled shirt, you can't tell what it's stained with though. His eyes were a deep purple, one of them covered by his locks. He was unusually flirtatious with you. You joked how he should be courting women, not a baker's son such as yourself, but he whined and cooed how irresistible you were to him, why wouldn't he be interested in a boy like you!
🌙 Silas is a bit darker skinned than the others, who were unusually pale. he had round black glasses and silver hair under a dark hat. Over his shoulders draped a coat, you weren't able to decipher what he kept under it, only that they were vials of strange substances. His eyes were the color of amber, like the hues of leaves that fell in the autumn. Rather shy, he was, always looking away from your eyes whenever he talked with you. He had an interest in flowers, always handing you one whenever he visited for inspiration purposes of course...
🌙 You wouldn't notice it at first, but they've gotten quite a liking to you, protective even. They would always check up on you, if you've been eating, who you've talked to today, things like that.
🌙 It was only until they scared off a young lady for making small talk with you that you started to notice something was off about them.
🌙 When you heard the next day her body was found dead with bite marks on her neck and drained of her blood, you started to worry.
🌙 You started avoided them after that, making excuses to not invite them over to your bakery, walking the other way the moment you see them down the street. They noticed your strange behavior towards them and knew something was wrong with you.
🌙 They didn't buy your silly act at all...
🌙 "You just had to leave the body there, didn't you?!"
🌙 "What? It's fun seeing them all scared and panicky!"
🌙 "Hahah yes but uhm...there's no food out anymore..."
🌙 You heard their voices by your door during the late hours of the night. The feeling that your new friends were not what they seem festered in your mind, but your kind nature overrode your fear and you opened your door.
🌙 "Hey! It's dangerous out there! Do you want to be gutted or something?"
🌙 The 3 of them were walking along the moonlit streets when they heard your voice.
🌙 "A-Ah! Yes! Uhm...of course, excuse us, we just came back from uh..."
🌙 "A pub-"
🌙 "A pub! Yes! And we've somehow lost our way! Could you, by chance, let us stay the night? Our inn is particularly far you see.."
🌙 You unlocked your door and let the 3 gentlemen in, going to the kitchen to warm up some bread and tea for them.
🌙 "Make yourselves at home! Apologies for the mess, I been really busy lately..." you say sweetly. Viktor nods with a smile and they all sit down, whispering softly amongst one another.
🌙 As you wait for the tea to warm, you get a good look at the 3 men.
🌙 Pale skin, pointed ears, not to mention their eyes, they have to be. You had to stop yourself from gasping when Garrick laughed, revealing his sharp fangs. Fear bubbled in your stomach once more until you heard the whistle of your kettle.
🌙 After giving them their tea, you feigned a yawn and told them you were off to bed, giving directions to the spare quarters before going in your room and waiting by your door for any sounds, grabbing a broken paintbrush you accidentally snapped, a makeshift wooden stake..
🌙 You then hear the men climbing the stairs, a conversation being exchanged between them.
🌙 "Shame we must drink from him now, he was such a darling though.."
🌙 "Oh, but I believe I'm quite well off with those wonderful treats he offered us. It's a mystery how someone as wonderful as him isn' married yet..."
🌙 "Unfortunate as it is, I don't think it would be in our best interest if the boy lives.."
🌙 Your heart pounded faster as you heard them talk about you. Your hunch was true, these men are the demons that have ravaged your town. You scrambled to your bed as you hear them walk to your room.
🌙 Your door creaks open as you grip your blanket tight. Footsteps approach you as you feel a dip in the bed.
🌙 "I can hear your cute little heartbeat darling~ I know you're awake~" You hear Viktor purr, tears start to well up in your eyes as they open.
🌙 A hand caresses your cheek and brushes your hair away from your face. You brace yourself as you feel Viktor's cold breath near your neck. You dare not move lest the beast lying next to you devour you whole.
🌙 "Do we have to Viktor?" You hear Silas say in a sorrowful tone.
🌙 "I'm with Silas with this one, why can't we just..I don't know, bring him with us?"
🌙 Viktor pulls back as he pauses for a moment. You could hear the smirk on his face when he chuckles. "Actually, that's not a bad idea Garrick.."
🌙 The next morning, the townspeople saw that your front door was wide open, a window or two was broken and paintings that hung on every wall was gone. There was no sign of you. The only thing that remained was a stain of blood on your bed and claw marks on the walls of your bedroom...
oOOoOooooOo cliffhanger or whatever :00000 part 2 soon !! sorry this one took so long, i had a hard time with the story and such..
And as usual, gay men doodles <3
#yandere#yandere x gn reader#yandere x reader#male yandere#yandere oc#yandere male#oc yandere#yandere x male reader#tw yandere#monster#monster fucker#monster boyfriend#monster lover#monster x you#monster x human#monster x reader#vampire#vampire x reader#vampire x you#opossumdoodles
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lil drabbley thing :P with a vampire bf :P a bit of nsfw towards the middle
vampire bf who so longingly holds you in his arms, as if you'd slip away with the lightest movement.. wrapped up in your embrace threatening never to let you go, perhaps even whispering sweet nothings into your ear
vampire bf who treats you like royalty, like you were made to be worshipped by his hands, something so fragile was never meant to be treated roughly..
vampire bf who spoils you rotten, his riches all for you to spend. any luxury you want, he'll buy, he'll give you anything.
vampire bf who'd happily cook for you if you wanted, didn't you say you wanted that complicated meal but were too tired to make it?
vampire bf who cares only for your pleasure. you have all the power even if he's in 'control', just beg him with that honey sweet voice of yours and he'll do just about anything. he lives to pleasure you in all the ways you've ever wanted, just please please please don't make him stop, you sound so pretty calling his name.
vampire bf who has the best aftercare, even if you're spent where you can't even function on your own, he'll take care of you. give you all the loving and cuddles you deserve, after a good bath and massage to soothe your body.
vampire bf who rarely indulges in your sweet blood, saying he could "never feed off of someone so magnificent", fearing he lose control the moment he finally, finally gets a taste... though hearing your blood coursing through your veins, your heart pumping your pretty, warm, body with its nectar, it was such a temptation. though, if you really begged and gave him puppy eyes, he would. how could he possibly resist?
vampire bf who is eternally yours, who could never see a future without you even in death, you're his one and only. why would he dare to live past the day your light leaves this earth?
#sonder writes#vampire x human#vampire x reader#vampire x you#vampire fanfiction#vampire fic#vampire writing#teratophillia
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Good afternoon mi amor✨ I hope you're having a wonderful Friday.. could you possibly write a fanfic of vampire Michael Myers with a plus size reader who gets caught by him and falls for him.. btw love your blog❤️
Hello beauté <3 And thank you so so much for this wonderful request!!! (I mean Michael as a vampire makes total sense and explains why he doesn't die, he is only active at night, his strenght, and the fact Corey didn't need glasses after he met him and turned him into a murderer (aka into a vampire) but I'm disgressing)
I really hope you'll enjoy this <3
FALLING FOR THE DARKNESS
Warnings: no proof reading, plus size female reader, mentions of blood and death, reader is kidnapped, possessive!Michael, coffin.
You heard rumours around town saying that Michael Myers couldn’t be killed, because he was a shape in the darkness, the shadow of death. You weren’t too sure what that meant, but you weren’t really afraid either. You didn’t believe that someone like you could be killed by Michael, because nothing special ever happened to you. Plus, because people weren’t always nice to you - they often bullied you because of your appearance and weight- you preferred to stay on your own most of the time. So really, what were the chances for you to even face Michael?
You were coming back home a little bit later than you had wanted to. It was already dark outside, and even the street lights weren’t comforting you that much. You met almost no one on your way back, and a fresh breeze made you shiver. You tried your best to not be paranoid, but you swore you felt someone was following you. But whenever you would turn around, there was no one. You shook your head. You were being an idiot. You needed to stop believing whatever the journalists and people were saying in town. You still started to walk a little bit faster, happy you had put on comfortable sneakers. You were almost home now, so you relaxed a little, smiling at how silly you could be sometimes.
What happened to you then was like in movies. You turned your head around to check one last time behind you, and when you looked back in front of you, Michael was there. You only had the time to recognise his mask, before he grabbed you and roughly brought you against him. Your bag fell on the ground and your phone too. You were paralysed in fear, you couldn’t even beg for your life. You couldn’t fight back either. He moved his head closer to your neck, removed enough of his mask to free his mouth from it, and suddenly you felt sharp teeth piercing through your skin. You wanted to cry but the fear and the pain made you faint and you collapsed into his arms.
Before you knew it, Michael brought you to his home. He handcuffed you to a bed in his basement, where he usually kept his food alive for an extra few days when he had enjoyed their blood enough for that. And your blood was the most delicious of things he ever tasted. He wasn’t too sure he could find another meal like you, so he was starting to think of keeping you there as long as possible. If he wasn’t too greedy and was feeding you well, he could hope to keep you alive for months, maybe even for years. While you were still unconscious, Michael came back to watch you. You were so pretty he thought, not that he usually cared about what his snacks looked like. And he almost smiled under his mask, thinking that now he would be the only one to ever look at you, because you were all his. Forever his. Well, at least until he would decide to kill you.
You opened your eyes, thinking you were in your bed and that you simply had an awful nightmare. You wanted to move around when you found out your right wrist was chained to a bed frame you didn’t know. You started to panic and you tugged on the handcuff with great strength, to the point you were hurting yourself. Michael didn’t want any of your blood to get to waste so he moved closer to you and placed his hand over yours to make you stop. Your attention was instantly drawn to him and your eyes widened. You didn’t dream. You had been attacked and kidnapped by Michael Myers. Your free hand moved to your neck and you found dry blood on it but no mark. Michael healed you with his blood while you were sleeping. Now his blood was in your system, he could know where you were wherever he was. He didn’t want to lose track of you that easily.
You stared at him, you couldn’t believe that it was happening to you. You watched the mask, hoping it was a copycat but the aura coming from the man made you shiver in fear. You also realised how cold his hand was against your skin. Once he was certain you weren’t going to hurt yourself anymore, he removed his hand and fully stood up in front of you.
Your eyes moved down his body. You had heard a lot of things about Michael. But you never heard he was so good looking. Beneath the dark blue outfit, you could guess the muscles and the strength of the man. You licked at your dry lips. You weren’t afraid. If Michael had wanted you dead, you already were.
“Can I have a glass of water?” you asked in a little voice. You couldn’t see what was going on underneath the mask and it was quite strange to not be able to read his expressions. In a flash, he disappeared and appeared once again in front of you, but with a glass of fresh water in one hand. You blinked.
“I can’t drink if I’m laying down… I clearly can’t escape you, so maybe you could untie me?” you tried, almost certain it wouldn’t work. But Michael did agree: you were just a little human, you couldn’t escape him. He had tied you up in case you would go insane or he would have to leave you alone in the house. He leaned again and freed you. He impatiently waited for you to sit up before giving you the glass of water.
“Thank you,” you whispered to him. You drank before massaging the wrist you had hurt in your panic. He didn’t like how red and damaged it was so he moved his thumb beneath the mask and punctured his finger before putting the blood on your wrist. You instantly felt better and when you watched at your wrist, it was as if nothing had happened.
Alright, you had tried to pretend that everything was normal but you couldn’t keep doing that. You have watched and read enough movies and books to know everything about vampires. Michael had every “symptom” of one.
But vampires don’t exist, right?
“Hungry?” he asked you. His voice was deep and rich, and helding so much power. You almost felt like you were hypnotised.
“I… Well, yes” you admitted. You were about to go home and cook yourself something. Michael disappeared once again.
You didn’t dare get up from the bed, and you simply looked around. Even if the water helped you feel better, you were still a little bit weak from the blood loss. The room was dark and you guessed you were in his basement, in the Myers house. You wondered when the police would find you.
They were going to find you, right?
After a little moment, Michael came back with food. You didn’t remember the last time you saw such an appetising meal in front of you. You took the plate and started to eat on your lap. You closed your eyes at how amazing it was. Michael never stopped watching you and when you sent him a little glance, he tilted his head to the side in curiosity.
You instantly looked back down at your food. It wasn’t the moment to find your kidnapper cute.
You finished your meal and shyly gave him back the empty glass and plate. He took everything and left you alone once again. And you realised you hoped he was going to come back soon.
He did come back. He came back every night to feed on you and then to take care of you. He was never saying more than one or two words, generally to ask you if you needed something. You had been very afraid of him the first times he took blood from you, but now you even started to enjoy it. Because he was so good to you. You realised that when you were relaxing yourself and not trying to fight back, it wasn’t hurting that much and he was even a little bit more gentle because he didn’t need to force you. Sometimes he was taking a little too much and you would feel dizzy. Even if he never apologised, he always tried his best to make it up to you in a way or another. It was often with food or by giving you a new book to read or some paper to draw or write on. He even came back one day with a beautiful notebook and a pen made of gold. It looked old and very expensive.
You weren’t allowed to leave the basement most of the time, except to grab a shower. You had the best shampoo and hair conditioner you ever had in your whole existence, same for the soap and the cream you put on your skin. After your shower, he was often having a closer look at your body to make sure you were feeling alright. He didn’t want to damage his most favourite prey. He was always pleased with you.
You also realised that the more obedient you were, and the “nicer” he was to you. He even started to give you jewels and nice outfits for special occasions. The outfits were always the perfect size and they made you feel good about yourself. During the full moon, you were allowed upstairs and you were listening to music with him, in silence. Sometimes, when you would feel brave enough, you would dance a little for him. At first, you got worried he would find you stupid or… unattractive. But he always seemed to watch you with great interest. One night, he even got up. You instantly stopped dancing, thinking he was fed up with you and wanted you to go back to the basement. But instead, he took one of your hands in his and placed his free hand on your hip, and started to dance with you. He followed your rhythm and tilted his head at how fast your heart was beating in your chest. It was pumping even more blood in your veins, and he clearly couldn’t find you any more desirable than in this moment. You danced with him all night long.
When the morning came, he gave you a choice. He gestured toward the door leading into the basement and then gestured toward another door. You didn’t know where it was leading because you only knew where the kitchen, living room and bathroom were. You bit your lips and finally gestured toward the door you didn’t know. He nodded and grabbed your hand to lead you toward his own room.
As a conservative vampire, he was sleeping in a coffin during the day. But he enjoyed having a lot of space so it was taking up half of the room and you could easily settle in there by his side. He opened the coffin and waited for you to come in. You hesitated. But at the same time, you were feeling quite safe by his side now. You finally came inside and he followed you before closing the coffin on the two of you. It was really comfy inside.
You didn’t know what to do now though. He put his hand over your eyes.
“Sleep” he ordered you and you nodded. You were afraid to do something wrong but you moved closer to him and you placed your head on his chest. He let you do it. He didn’t wrap his arms around you, because he wasn’t the affectionate kind of man… vampire. But he didn’t push you away and you both slept the day that way.
When you woke up, you were alone in the coffin that was wide open. The empty place next to you made you realise something. Something terrible.
You were in love.
No one ever treated you so well in your whole life. Michael might have kidnapped you and was feeding on your blood, he never hurt you, he was taking care of your physical and mental well being, he made you feel good about yourself with little gifts and by dancing with you all night… He was making you feel special. You didn’t know why he chose to keep you, but you were happy he did. And you hoped to never upset him so he would continue to enjoy you like he seemed to.
And more importantly, you hoped that the police - or anyone else - would never find you.
#halloween x reader#michael myers imagine#michael myers x reader#michael myers x y/n#michael myers x you#michael myers x s/o#halloween imagine#slasher x s/o#slasher x you#slasher x reader#slasher x y/n#vampire x you#vampire x reader#vampire x human#vampire x y/n#vampire x s/o
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Vampire Dean who’s so addicted to you he follows you around without you knowing. Vamp Dean who’s SO addicted to you he either wants your blood or your body at all times 🤭 vamp Dean who you fight with cause he’s constantly making you feel weak and dizzy with how much he’s sucking at your neck, vamp Dean who apologises by eating you out 🤭.
it’s annoying because come on, this isn’t fixing the problems, but at the same time he’s so good with his tongue 😞 the way he licks at your neck to sooth the pain after he bites at you as well.
Vamp Dean who lives for period sex, he loves your blood and he loves sex, combining both? he’s in heaven.
Vamp Dean who’s so in love with you that he hates when you aren’t near him. He constantly wants to be with you, buried deep inside you, cuddled up to you, he just NEEDS to be around you 🥴. Vamp Dean who practically stalks you, he'd text you something like "where are you" while watching you because he’s just SO in love.
Thank you to @luntothemoon for suppling half the ideas for this FIC KANFKAJAKJAJA 😩😩
#dean taylor smut#Dean Taylor#vampire x reader#vampire x human#vampire x you#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere Dean Taylor#vampire Dean Taylor#devon bostick#Devon Bostick characters#vampire smut#yandere smut#the entitled smut#the entitled#the entitled Dean Taylor
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vampire!bf with clingy reader (+ comfort hc)? Maybe reader came home from a rough day and was clingy lmaoo ty bestie✨
You're welcome bestie 😘 Here's the comfort for ya!
Pairing: Vampire!Boyfriend x Reader
Notes: Fluff, SFW, Hurt/Comfort
Getting home this late afternoon felt like a needed lifeline after the day you had; your boss was unfortunately in a foul mood, one that he decided to aim solely at you.
Yelling at every little thing you did "wrong", micromanaging your every step as you worked. He even forced you to work through your lunch since you "didn't deserve a break with the mistakes you've been making." You were only able to eat when you clocked out, shoving the sandwich down your gullet in the front seat of your car as your tried to fight back the tears.
Even now, as you pull up to your home which was way out of your budget thanks to a certain someone, does the back of your eyes burn and the lump in your throat made itself known.
The home was a gift from your boyfriend. Living forever tends to come with long term stock investments that pay off, making him from old money.
It was odd at first, dating a vampire: the difference of species was a big one, as well as the complex sleep and food patterns of his. But after some communication, your relationship just works.
However, you really hope he wasn't awake right now. Granted, you loved talking to him, adored when he would wake early just to great you when you came home, yet you didn't want him to see you this way.
And yet, you also really need him right now.
With these conflicting feelings, you walk towards the front door with a trembling sigh. Unlocking the door with a click and opening the front door.
And there he was.
He dressed prim and proper even when he didn't go out. Suit tailored to his body perfectly as he sat like a prince on the very modern couch. Out of place with the regale air arouns him, delicately holding a book in his hands. One that you've previously suggested.
You've been recommending him some new books to read and collect and he found himself very entrapped with the recent series about a woman living with demon princes. Despite the story seducing his attention with promised twist and turns, he still looked at you with this adoring look and small private smile just for you.
And that's when you shattered.
Dropping your stuff to the floor a sob wracked your form as you quickly stepped towards your vampire lover. Who in turn noticed the shift and immediately set his book aside to take you into his arms as your throw yourself into them. Clinging to his shoulders as you cried into the junction of his neck.
"Darling," he started - his voice a low raspy baritone with the smallest of a French accent. "What's the matter? Did something happened while at work, mon cher?"
Even as he asked this, he instinctively wrapped his arms around you and pulled you further into his lap. Petting your head and spine as he leaned into you. You've never been more thankful for him.
"I missed you," you chocked out. That wasn't what you meant to say but it was still true. If he was there with you the day would've been more bearable. Though, the boss would've had a different and more life threatening problem if the vampire was there at all to witness the mess you had to endure.
Clinging harder to the vampire, the sobs continued as you asked: "Stay with me?"
"Of course, darling," the vampire cooed. Moving your head from its hiding place so that he could get a better look at you. Wiping the tears from your eyes with his thumbs. "I will make you some Earl tea and run you a bath if you like, little one."
The idea of being pampered made your heart well with love as you nodded your head, before asking in a tiny voice; "Can you bathe with me?"
The vampire answered with a kiss to the tip of your nose before rubbing his own against yours in a gentle butterfly kiss.
"Darling, I'll only leave your side if you ask."
You don't think you'll ever ask him that, but for him to still respect if you need space made you love him even more. With a wobbly smile, you planted a chaste kiss to his much colder lips. Feeling him smile gently against your warmer ones as you whispered:
"I'll never tell you to leave."
You were glad to be home.
#monster lover#writers on tumblr#monster fudger#vampire boyfriend#vampire lover#vampire lover headcanons#vampire x reader#vampire x you#slight angst#vampire literature#literature
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concept- (if this is how that works--) two vampires who go after a chubby reader, who is quite oblivious to their acts??
—anonymous
—tw / tags: gn reader, chubby reader, implied maneating, implied murder / death, general yandere themes, sfw, long post, unedited
—featured character(s): vampire brothers(?)
Clangs of the washing machines rang loud throughout the laundromat. Bored, you skimmed through the local news on your phone. The news had been nothing but depressing as of late.
Serial Killers in Our Midst!?
Drained Dry, Four Bodies found in North Park!
A Strange Cult Forming??
They were too close to your home for personal comfort.
You shouldn't be out so late, washing your clothes in a downtrodden 24-hour laundromat several miles away from your apartment. Unfortunately, the complex's machines were broken from overuses and you had no clean clothes for your job tomorrow. Bad timing, this was.
Blowing a harsh burst of air from your lips, you readjusted your position on your bench. You checked the time remaining on your machine, and huffed. Joy, only fifteen minutes left to go, before you had to put your clothes in the dryer and suffer for one hour more.
"Eyyy, babe," a familiar voice reached your ears. One warm body at your left, shifted. "no need to look so frustrated. We'll be home before you know it!" He clapped your shoulder, his too-straight white teeth beaming.
You snorted, scrolling through your phone and pouting. "I'm ticked that I'm losing two hours of precious sleep because the landlady couldn't be arsed to replace the damn things." Thudding down the heels of your expensive boots on the laminated floor, you met your roommate's brilliant eyes and smiled back. "Still, appreciated you guys for giving me a ride here and keeping an eye out for me. God knows the boss'd give me hell if he catch a whiff of stink on my blouse again."
The other body on your right, flipped a page in his book and shrugged. "We had to wash our clothes anyway, so it's not a big deal." He hadn't lifted his eyes to you or his brother or even his noisy machine, causally reading his fraying book.
"Still, thanks. I owe you guys a dinner for sure." You nudged your other roommate, nearly flustering from his seemingly timeless beauty. You felt small between both handsome brothers, even though you were wider in your...girth and considered..."nonideal" in beauty standard. But, neither roomie had ever given you any flack for your appearance.
They had been nothing less than supportive and offered countless tips on makeup and fashion and encouraging self-confidence. You never felt so...ugly, when you're with them, that you had always been beautiful / handsome. They were good friends, though you were never sure if it's okay to be crushing on them.
Your perkier roommate laughed, prodding his long fingers with your hair. "We'll have to take you up on that soon, pretty thing!" His grin melted your insides.
The other roommate rolled his eyes, breaking away from his book to eye his brother. "Don't rush —, you know their schedule had been full." He scolded him over your shoulder.
"Nyehhh, then — need to ask for time off!"
"That will be on them to decide—"
"Yeah, but you do agree, right?"
"Don't be ridiculous—"
Hearing your name made your face pink. Shaking your head from the warming feeling deep inside your guts, you laughed and disrupted their brewing fight. "Guys, I still have to pay my bills."
"Oh, come on, we can just spot you for one or two months!" The noisy brother pouted.
Shutting his book on a thumb, your mature roommate sighed and palmed his forehead. "If that's what they want, they can talk to us. That said," he eyed you, "you had had no time off in months. Might be good to consider it."
You shrugged. "I'll think about it." You'd feel too guilty asking for their helps with the bills—even if they were trust fund babies (according to them).
"Please do." "Do it!" Their voices made you laugh.
"Peer pressure is a thing, you guys." You reminded, shuffling your feet forward to check on your clothes—and their clothes too, in the other machine. You still wonder how your overeager puppy-like roommate had dirtied his clothes so badly they were almost completely black and red. "Are you sure you're okay with...whatever it is you guys were doing?"
You try not to pry in your roommates' businesses too much.
"Yeah, I—!"
His brother interrupted and rolled his eyes. "He overdid it with his pranks and ruined his dresser. Again. That's what happened."
Sounds about right, as the bookworm hadn't needed to wash his clothes as badly as his goofy brother did. You nodded, accepting his explanation. "Ah, okay, as long as the dyes will come out—oh!" You jumped when your machine dinged and confirmed finished. "'bout dang time." Your clothes tossed into one of the closest dryers.
You quickly inserted all of your remaining quarters and cursed when you saw you were a few coins short. "Dammit, gonna get more coins. I'll be right back, guys." Peering back to your roomies, you inquired. "You good on your twenty-five's?"
Both brothers waved you off. "We're good."
"M'kay, be right back. Don't let weirdos steal my clothes." You scurried to the dead-eyed attendant.
The moment you left their earshot, both men exchanged a look with one other.
"Well," the calm brother drawled, running his tongue over his new teeth. "we've fooled — yet again. Precious thing."
His counterpart glinted a malicious grin with his fangs, snickering. "They're super cute," He stretched out his arms and made himself comfortable. "so do I need to ask who's on our next menu?"
"Hmm, of course—their boss had been overworking our —, after all."
#my writing#monster's writing. 👹#reader insert#long post#unedited#concept#vampire#reader x vampire#you x vampire#vampire x reader#vampire x you#yandere imagine#yandere imagines#sfw#vampire brothers#tw: death mention#[[meh with this one]]#[[super tame for my usual stuffs tho lol]]#yandere
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This is just a silly lil thought I had based off a dream i had the other night. This isn’t proof read at all so if it doesn’t make sense sorry. Maybe I’ll proofread it later
⚠️ blood vampire gn reader gn character imagine a bit suggestive ⚠️
Imagine fighting a vampire. Getting ready to kill them end their long immortal life. But they scratch you with their sharp nails and you start bleeding. Them licking what blood they have on their nails and loving the taste. Loving it so much that they need more. Eyes blown out filled with want and need. And you realize this. You see how their pupils are so big that you can barely see the iconic red ring that they have. They just stare at you and you stop for a second looking at them. And for a moment you consider this whole fight. Maybe they aren’t so bad…
Taking a step closer now you hold eye contact. Surprisingly they don’t step back instead staying in place the same look in their eyes. The closer you get the needier they becoming, until finally you’re almost chest to chest. But instead of grabbing you, taking advantage of you they kneel down. Their hands wondering your body as you now look down at them, a strong grip on the back of your thighs as they look up at you with puppy dog eyes. Pleading for something.
You slowly, painfully slow, caress their cheek finding their vulnerability musing. And they just sigh almost a whimper, almost, nuzzling their face into the warmth of your hand. You watch not saying a word as they start to kiss the palm of your hand closing their eyes happily. You ‘tsk’ already knowing what their trying to do. And they look up at you pleading for it. For the sweetness of your blood, because they’ll be damned if they don’t get more. They want more. They need more! And who are you to say no?
So sighing you gently nod your head and they look up at you with the most beautiful smile. Like a kid getting a puppy for Christmas. So slowly they open their mouth their fangs just barely grazing your palm. You can feel your heart pounding from the excitement, the nerves of the upcoming pain that’s about to come. But you don’t close your eyes. Instead you bite your lip and wait for it, wait for their sharp fangs to latch onto your hand. Wait for them lick your blood like it’s the sweetest of juices in their long immortal life that they’ve ever had.
They do, they enjoy every last drop that you give them. And once their done they’ll lick your hand with the flat of their tongue slowly while looking up at you. Gently giving your palm a kiss before they rise. Now looking down to you, a bit of blood on their cheek but they don’t care. Instead, they lean down, cupping your warm cheek with their cold dead hand so they can give you a kiss. As a thanks for the delicious blood you gave them.
#vampire#gn reader#imagine#gender neutral reader#vampire fantasy#vampire fiction#vampire fangs#b#vampire x reader#vampire x you
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Benjamin X Human!Reader Cute Prompt with light angst and a cute ending [Short Prompt]
!TW: Word ‘killed’, mention of heart break!
Benjamin noticed you looking at him strangely, and he would be confused, his eyes meeting your’s. “Stop looking at me like that,” he spoke quietly, a soft smile playing on his lips as his eyes lit up briefly.
“Like what?” You played dumb, nervous and embarrassed at yourself.
“Like I’m going to disappear,” he clarified, stepping closer to you.
You winced, bowing your head. “Well, are you? Because last time-” You remembered when he had just - gone, and didn’t come back until a couple of years had past.
Benjamin frowned, wrapping his arms around your lower back, his eyes meeting your’s. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise you,” he assured, shocked that you would think he would leave you again. “I spent too much time away from you, and it began to hurt me, so I had to return to you before it killed me.” You would rest your head beneath his chin, listening to his steady heartbeat whilst also wishing that the moment wouldn’t end. “I love you, Y/N - I’ll always be by your side. Even if I had to leave for a short time, I’d always come back.”
You would try to believe him, but you never wanted to feel the heart break you’d suffered again. “You promise?” You whispered, your voice weak.
“I promise,” he whispered back, gently kissing the top of your head to try and reassure you that he meant everything that he was saying.
~~~~~
Hope you enjoyed this prompt! ❤️
#rami malek#ramimalek#rami malek character#ramisaidmalek#twilight benjamin x you#twilight benjamin#twilight benjamin x reader#twilight benjamin x y/n#twilight benjamin x human#twilight#twilight breaking dawn part two#twilight fanfiction#fanfiction#writing prompts#love story#writing prompt#x reader#x you#vampire x you#x y/n#vampire x y/n#vampire x human#vampire x human!reader#vampire x reader#cute prompts#cute#cute ending#comfort prompts#angst with comfort#comfort
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I wanna do vampire cowboy x reader hc but i barely know what vampires do and im afraid im writing it wrong when it comes about vampires stuff😔
#vampire x reader#yandere#yandere vampire#yandere x reader#Probs not gonna make it or maybe i will#If i have motivation to write which i sometimes suck at it#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#Vampire x you#Vampire#Cowboy#yandere cowboy
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Please more poly vampires please😭🙏! I can hardly ever find x male/masc reader stuff especially about monsters😭. What happens when they take us back to their home. What's gonna happen to us? What will the townsfolk react?
Poly!Vampires x Reader Pt. 2
CW: kidnapping, silas is a freak for a brief moment
waaaaa !! so sorry this took so long !! thank you all for being so patient with me ! >w< <3
update: i mixed up garrick and silas' names im sorry im sorry its fixed now guys im so-
🌙 Its been a week since the townspeople found your house empty, your bedroom looking like something out of a mystery novel.
🌙 The bed was stained with blood and claw marks were dug deep into your bedframe with the moonlight illuminating your room through your broken window.
🌙 It looked as if you've been taken by a creature of the night, but weirdly enough, your luggage was nowhere to be found. Your closet and drawers had clothes missing and the painting you had just finished was gone.
🌙 Who could have done this?
🌙 "Garrick, it's your turn to drive!"
🌙 "Already?! Just one more minute Viktor~?"
🌙 You're being held hostage, no, hostage wasn't the right word..kidnapped? Enslaved maybe? who knows..All you know was that these..creatures..will never let you out of their sight.
🌙 You remember that night when you bore witness to their inhuman ways, they were at the foot of your bed when you took out the crucifix under your pillow and held it to Viktor, his eyes turning all red and he hissed at the holy figure.
🌙 "Ohoho! Our little mortal's smart!" Garrick grins, showing off his sharp fangs.
🌙 Silas tries to grab you but you dodge, but his long claws managed to cut your cheek, you couldn't say the same for your bedframe..
🌙 Viktor gets a hold of you and chuckles darkly at your cut, the red liquid bleeding out of it made his mouth water.
🌙 "My my~ What a fierce little minx you are my darling~" he coos with a raspy cold breath as he licks your wound. The feeling made your stomach churn and your spine shiver.
🌙 Garrick was busy making a mess of your room and stuffing your clothes in bags. Also stuffing a pair of your underwear in his shirt for himself.. "Come on you idiots! It's almost dawn!" He whisper-yells as he fiddles with the window's lock.
🌙 Silas rolls his eyes and kicks the window, breaking it and jumping through, with Garrick holding his hand.
🌙 You were confused beyond compare. Were they really gonna kidnap you?! What's gonna happen to you?! Should you scream for help?!
🌙 "I'm sorry for this Darling.." Viktor says softly before knocking you out.
🌙 Now back to the present, the 3 rode around in a caravan, a charming little wagon that doubled as a moving home of sorts. One went in front and drove while the other two looked after you or did other things.
🌙 Every escape attempt you had would end up in failure, their superhuman senses were no match for you.
🌙 "Garrick you said that 10 minutes ago!" Viktor growls at the younger vampire.
🌙 Garrick groans "Fiiiiiine!" He says before giving you one last hug and kiss and going out with a coat to shield him from the sun.
🌙 You had about 10 seconds to yourself before Viktor sits down next to you and pulls you onto his lap.
🌙 "Oh how I missed your warmth little mortal~" He purrs, kissing your neck which made you tense up in fear of his fangs. He feels your heart beat faster and smirks. "Am I making you nervous~?" He teases.
🌙 Silas comes over and smacks the dark-haired man on the head "Enough Viktor! Don't you think our precious little darling is frightened already?" he scolds before smiling down at you warmly. Viktor just rolls his eyes and buries his face into your neck.
🌙 He hands you a cup of tea and sits down across from you and Viktor "Drink up dear, mortals like you need to stay warm in the winter~"
🌙 Silas was the most respectful one out of the 3, he was always taking care of you and making sure the others didn't make you feel uncomfortable, but of course he was just as obsessive of you as they were.
🌙 Viktor is such a cuddle bug, always hugging you close every chance he gets. He'd even have the luxury to sleep with you, an activity he hasn't done in a while. He might not need to sleep, but just lying in bed with your adorable sleeping form was like being in heaven for him.
🌙 Garrick love love loves chatting with you. Rambling to you about people he's killed or jewelry he's looted off of his food weren't the best topics to talk about, but he's got no one else to talk to! And you are his darling after all!
🌙 And you could do nothing about any of it. You were treated like a glorified pet and there was no way to leave or escape of have any time for yourself..
🌙 It continued on like this until the caravan came to a stop by a small town. The weather was much colder now than it was in your hometown with rain softly pouring down from the sky.
🌙 Your heart drops, knowing what they're going to do here.
🌙 They all come off the caravan, Silas going to give the horses some food. You refused to leave the caravan in your anxiety-stricken state.
🌙 Garrick notices your nervousness and smiles, sitting next to you and putting his forehead to yours "Darling, you miss home don't you~?" he coos softly.
🌙 You nod slightly as you refuse to look at him or even move.
🌙 The vampire sighs and rests his head on your shoulder and holds your hand. "I know honey...but we won't hurt you! And besides, you don't know these people anyway! You scared we'll kill them and stuff? It's fine! We do it all the time!" He laughs. He wasn't making anything better..
🌙 "You're shit at comforting people Silas." Viktor looks at the red head with a deadpanned expression. "Oh up yours Vik!" Garrick rolls his eyes at him.
🌙 At least that made you lighten up a bit..
🌙 Garrick pulls you up from your seat and you get out of the caravan, rain hitting your face before the vampire opens up an umbrella and holds you close to him so you don't get wet.
🌙 "Its fine dear, this is the last stop before we head back to our new home~" Silas walks over and places a kiss on your cheek.
🌙 Wait..home?..
🌙 "Now gentleman! Who's hungry~?"
sorry this is a bit short ! but feel free to request or ask anything about these blorbos! i love em a lot !
#yandere#yandere x gn reader#yandere x reader#male yandere#yandere oc#yandere male#oc yandere#yandere x male reader#tw yandere#monster#monster fucker#monster boyfriend#monster lover#monster x you#monster x human#monster x reader#vampire#vampire x reader#vampire x you#female reader#x reader#yandere x female reader#fem reader#female#trans male#x male reader#male reader
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dude like the urge to get fuckin ravished by a hungry vampire is so tempting
CW: dub-con, blood sucking, marking, implied sexual activity at the end-
forgive me if this is subpar I've literally never written like this before :P also gender is nonspecified for both reader and vampire so go wild babes <3
like, imagine. youre out in the woods on a little camping trip near a conveniently placed abandoned manor, and ... oh? there's a flock of bats? how weird... you sit outside by the campfire roasting some marshmallows when one of the seemingly harmless bats landed on your shoulder, and.. a with a slight, stingy prick of your neck, there's a tall figure standing behind you.
"where the hell did they come from??" you think, recalling the feeling of something grazing your shoulder.. you hadn't heard a footstep, a leaf crunching, not even the cool wind made a sensation on your skin. the long haired vampire could only stare. they confined you against their body with lightly trembling arms, so strong that no matter how much you fight, they'll get anything and everything that they want. you feel another quick prick at your neck, quickly going dizzy as your life's essence is sucked from you, soft whimpers echoing out from the pain. "so good and obedient..." you hear the deep, desperate voice praise, your nails digging into their flesh from just how tightly they were holding you. after a while of drinking, blood rushing down your neck and soaking into your shirt, they let up, panting like they'd just been drowning.
"what a rare specimen, a mortal with no sense of danger... perhaps, are you just too far gone?" they press soft, feather light kisses along your jaw, leaving a trail of crimson stains. you're so dizzy and lightheaded that your instincts don't even dare to kick in, the threat of being sucked dry still looming above you. "more," you plead, whining as they pull their mouth away from your flesh. "more?" they ask, incredulously. "my, my. you're quite bold, aren't you?" the vampire chuckles, grazing your neck with their fangs, leaving a few hickeys... daring not to taste your lips. oh, how much they desired to drink once more.
"not... not enough." you wanted more, you couldn't help it when it felt like your core was on fire, burning, aching for anything to help relieve it. was it a side effect from their fangs? "....perhaps this would better be suited to a... slight change of location." they sighed, taking you into your tent and onto your air mattress, once more being pinned down with those strong arms of theirs. it would've been preferrable to have you in their own bed, however, there was always the risk of being snapped out of your trance. "you're in for a long night... and, don't forget, my dear. you asked for this." they had an animalistic look in their eyes, and much to your delight, you could tell they weren't planning on letting you go until sunrise. a human, full of such sweet, potent, and high quality blood was so very rare to come by...let alone coming from someone so easily taken advantage of.
there was no escaping after that first bite.son
#monster fucker#monsterfucker#vampire x reader#vampire x human#vampire#vampire fucker#vampire fiction#vampire fanfiction#vampire fantasy#x reader fanfic#monster x human#monster x reader#vampire x you#monster x you#cw blood#cw dubcon#cw dubious consent#sonder writes
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Noé Archiviste X Black.FemReader
Breakfast
𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Friends to Lovers, Romance, Fluff.
𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Vampires, Vampire Bites, Broken up with, Toxic Ex relationship.
𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1,304k
𝗗𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁
𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗳𝗮𝘀𝘁: Here ♡
"Here you are My Lady~", Noé said playfully pulling you along to the dining room of his home. "Noé, you don't have to– The last thing I want you is to waste your time prioritizing it to me", You stated. Which in return only made Noé upset. You were experiencing hurt. It wasn't heartbreak at this point. More like shear embarrassment, being kicked out and thrown out of a home you shared with another. It was evident that you were embarrassed, and Noé wanted you to feel anything but embarrassed. "Y/n, please don't talk like that", he pleaded. "I thought, I've established that you could stay here as long as needed." You shyly noded,"Sleeping arrangements will be up to you, the last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable."
Your face flushed furiously, "N-Noé don't be ridiculous, we're already past that part of 'sleeping arrangements'", you said remembering last night. Noé was hesitant, he didn't want to do anything you didn't like. He was frightened it would look like he had allterior motives. You reassured him that you'd feel comfortable with him at your side. So Noé gave in. You asked Noé to hug you, and he did. His chin rests on the top of your head, your face in his chest with your arms around his neck. The two of you stays like this in silence for a bit. The calming feeling of Noé's hand rubbing your back, gently lulling you to sleep. Noé picked up on what you said, slightly blushing as a reaction. "You..Mean— but is that okay with you?"
"Im positive"
Noé couldn't hide nor wanted to, he like the Idea of keeping you safe at night. "Alright, we can alwaya change sleeping arrangements anytime, how you like. Ok?" You nodded. Noé cleared his throat spreading out cooking instruments infront of him,"Now then! What is it that you want for breakfast hm?" You don't even remember the last time you had something for breakfast- you never really ate breakfast to begin with. Stumped on what to ask for, Noé give a suggestion.
"Have you ever had a crêpe?" You shook your head,"No, I've heard of it before but never tried it." Your eyes widened, realizing that Noé intended to cook. "Wait are you going to cook?" Noé nodded, tilting his head in confusion. "H-How about I help you?"
"What? You're a guest, surely you're joking. I can't make you do that." Out of the last few years getting to know Noé. As much as a sweetheart he was, he didn't know how to cook. Somehow convincing himself that everything he made was delicious. "Please Noé? I promise I'll be of good assistance."
"Nope."
"Please Noé?", you ask again.
Once again, he turns down the offer,"Not a chance Y/n." Once done gathering baking items for breakfast he would soon be making he turned to you. Only to be caught up by those endearing, irresistible pupple dog eyes. "Please Noé? Just this once?" He turns away..."Fine, you win– grab an apron."
Once the both of you were ready, you and Noé had gotten the first few ingredients together and prepared to mix. Now handing Noé the large metal bowl, observing his actions to make sure he didn't mess up. Flour, sugar, salt and eggs- Noé took a whisk and began harshly mixing, in the proncess accidentally spilling some of the batter. You shook your head is displeasure,"Oh Noé..."
He smiled softly,"Whoops! Sorry Y/n."
"It's okay but..", you leaned in close to Noé, gently wrapping your arm around him. "Let me help, your whisking is a bit..uh—". Your hands on his, guiding him on the proper way to whisk. "See, Noé use your wrist instead of moving your arm- and go gentle."
Light laughter surfaces,"Whats so funny?", you asked Noé. You didn't realize you'd completely taken over the cooking. Noé was on the side of you leaning onto the counter watching you this time. You blush bashfuly,"O-Oh..I'm sorry Noé. When I get focused, I tend to—." Noé cuts in,"Don't apologize. Its endearing Chéri."
Your heart pounds vigorously, with his romantic gaze on you like that...You're heart was sure to fall out of your chest. He was so cute..fuck! You continued to help Noé and guide him, in the end you make perfect crêpes...In taste anyhow...
"Noé"
"Yes?"
"Um..Are they supposed to look like that?" He gasps, dramatically,"Chéri! Don't you know?"
"Know what?"
"Don't judge a book by its cover." You look at Noé raising your brow..
"Right..Im just saying because it doesn't look like the image on the recipe."
"Just take a bite! I promise its fine! Besides I helped make it." You sighed thinking to yourself, 'Thats the problem Noé..You were mainly the one trying to cook and you cannot do so.'
Noé held a knife and fork, cutting the monstrous creation the you helped make. Cutting it with the knife, he scooping it up and holding it up to your lips. Without hesitation your lips part taking in the food.
Surprisingly, It tasted fine. "Noé, you're right...it's really good!"
His grin follows him ear to ear. Once again he was so cute, you didn't want to tell him otherwise even if it was bad, the taste definitely made up for how bad it looked. Taking some whipped cream from your breakfast on your finger you lean over the table rubbing it on his nose.
"Well thats not nice Y/n.", he chuckled.
"Its a way of saying thanks for the breakfast."
"Of course ma belle chéri, anytime."
The two of you finished the breakfast, enjoying every bite of it. In the end the plate messy with whip cream. "I'll take this to the kitchen—".
"Wait, Noé..",your eyes shed their natural brown color. "I do apologize in advance, but—",you stopped mid-sentence grabbing the messy plate and setting it to the side. Your fingers getting a little left over whip cream,"I am a little thirsty."
Noé didn't expect this, you never drank from him before..you didn't need to. Being half vampire didn't require to survive off blood. You needed normal food. Nonetheless, he was always willing to provide. You swiped the whip cream from your fingers to his neck. He gave himself up to you. Placing around you, pulling you into a hug.
Your tongue tracing his tanned skin to where the whip cream was; biting him there. Little grunts are released from him. When you pulled away, your eyes met.
"Sorry for the sudden bite-", you apologized as your fingers touched the wound site.
"Don't apologize, It's only fair. I bit you this morning chéri.", he reassured with a smile,"Besides! I've offered myself to you many times and you've finally gave in. Take as much as you need. Okay?"
"Good..Im about to take a little more", you warned. Going to the opposite side of Noé's neck before bitting. One hand cups his cheek and the other on his shoulder. Noé yelps at the puncture, grasping your wrists.
Seems like for once, getting bit by a vampire..It hurt a bit. His breathing, heavy.."Hah...Y/n", a sigh escapes. His fingers slightly tighten around your wrists.
Once you're done with your feed, you pull away. Noé looks up at with crimson puppy eyes. "How does my blood taste?"
"Its beyond exquisite..I can't really find the words", you shyly scratch your chin. "That makes me happy. I'm glad you like it."
"I hope it didn't hurt too much?"
Noé leans to the side in dismay,"Noo of course not!" It was quite obvious you'd taken quite a bit of blood, he was a bit dizzy. So strange, he shows symptoms of humans when you take too much blood.
"Oh Noé, come on lets sit on the couch for a while. Let your dizziness subsidie."
"Yes ma'am!"
You sigh of relief, what would you do without this cutie?
Written December 15th
#noé x reader#anime scenarios#noé vanitas no carte#the case of vanitas#Noé Archiviste scenario#Noé Archiviste fanfic#Noe Archiviste scenarios#vanitas no carte#vanitas x noé#noé archiviste#Noé Archiviste x you#Noé Archiviste x y/n#Noé Archiviste x reader#anime vampire#vampire x reader#vampire x you#Vampire x y/n#Vampire reader#vanitas#vanitas smut#vanitas x reader#vanitas and noe#vanitas x jeanne#Vanitas x You#Vanitas X Y/n#jeanne x reader
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Vampire Lord [Dreven] x Female!Paladin!Reader
If he isn't hubby material when I'm done with him then what point is there in doing a vamp-
I'm kidding, I'm kidding. But yea, this was sooooo overdue, yannow?
Warning! Contains: Smut, blood drinking, tooth-rotting fluff.
CURTAINS!
Perhaps you've seen him, maybe in a dream.
Within a dark castle, erected in the heart of the otherwise serene heartlands, a fearsome vampire rests, as though willed to exist by the wives' tales and the deepest nightmares of every child. With a wave of his hand, he sent even the bravest knight to his knees, and spread his poison throughout the lands. Quickly he reduced the beloved monarchy to naught more than a glorious crypt of nothingness, and ruled the island with an iron fist.
But then she - ye, rather - was born.
In the pits of despair itself, a babe blessed by the gods grew into the next hope of the island. With a holy sword clenched tightly within her hands, she set out upon a snow white horse into the castle, as the hope of her people. As though sensing the defeat of the Lord, the flora came back alive, and the sun emerged from the murky clouds.
However, the hero was also said to have been killed in the fight, having laid down her life to stop him.
As though witnessing her sacrifice, the gods granted her a gift of immortality, and she rose again from the ashes. To protect her village, and stand against the Vampire Lord for the rest of his days - a blessed hero, a legend forevermore.
This is where you, "[Name] the Everlasting]", and your story began.
... Of course, legends change to match the stories writ, and thus many details and names are eventually forgotten, until you never died at all. Now, you are simply the Everlasting Hero, a living legend among the mortal humans whom die and leave their legacy and progeny to carry on.
Enough.
Rolled up scroll tightly held in your fist, you leave your cavalry behind, crossing the black iron bridge into the almost-fortress the castle has become. Like a theatre play the bats come flying out upon your entry, the horrified yelps of your men prompting them to stay away. You are used to it by now - the pleas for you to come back safely don't even faze you anymore.
Once your horse is safely hidden in the shadows you dismount, rubbing her chin with assurance of bringing her back safely to the stables of the kingdom. You say kingdom, because, well... We'll get to that.
The inside of the castle is a sight to behold, let it be known. It’s slowly evolving, maintaining its roots in gothic romantic architecture whilst embracing the machinery in various rooms. Elegant candlelight illuminates the pipes protecting electric wires as well as water, the occasional thumping of a distant steam hammer keeping everything functional not even an earthquake.
Paraphernalia of past heroes that attempted to take your role to ‘relieve you’ or something rests also on the walls collecting dust. This alone had been a lesson to those whom attempted to slay the Lord instead of you, as... pure as their intentions had been. All you yourself can hope for is that they learned, and no more souls have to be lost fulfilling a destiny that’s not their own.
Thankfully they have, only needing your blade to assure them they don’t have to try.
You know this layout like the back of your hand, having fought him basically all over. If he’s anything, he’s crafty, and so you’ve been ambushed here and there and wherever only to come out on top once again. A scourge like him could never overtake the forces of justice, after all, and his numerous defeats brought prosperous flowers to mark victory.
Seeing no more need, you unclasp your cape, and it glides graciously to the banister down below you upon your ascent the of oak stairs. At your back, the light of the foyer and main rooms fades to the wind, leaving only the flickering of the candles to keep you company. Outside, the wind howls as though in premature grieving, the clouds darkening, mimicking lighting of a theatre tragedy.
Your one hand falls to your blade as you ascend to the top, the grotesquely stretched awaiting hallway greeting you with the little flames slowly turning crimson. Clearing your throat, you progress, and eventually the two standing candelabras light a bright gold, illuminating the awaiting black doors. Intricate woodwork carved with love and dedication to the craft, portraying a figure blotting out the sun over a thorny glen.
Once you approach, they open, the moonlight shining through the increasing rift, and there stands the Lord himself.
Icy blue skin crinkles in delight, deep red eyes amidst dark sclera lighting up with glee as his lips stretch into an impossible grin showing indescribably ferocious fangs. A curtain of snow white hair billows in the night’s bitter breeze, creating a portrait of elegant evil. Dressed to the nines in a suit holding elements of death and ornate propriety, he is ready to receive you in this next encounter.
“So you’ve finally returned to me,” He purrs. “I must say, t’is such a shame I cannot come see you for a change of pace... You and me, tangled up in our beautiful bouts over your beautiful kingdom, t’would be a scene only a poet could hope to replicate.”
“I didn’t take you as one to enjoy poems and sonnets,” You retort, crookedly smirking. “Perhaps come by a tavern when you’ve the time, you’ll enjoy what the bards come up with for song, maybe.”
He palms his chest, eyes widening as though you’ve dealt a blow to him already. “Why, how you belittle yourself! You should know by now, I’d rather hear you sing of me, be it in battle, or...”
“Oh, would you shut up,” You snort, advancing, closing in on him like a shark.
And you wind your arms around his hips, him towering over many a man, as his cradle your shoulders. Leaning down, he places a kiss at your crown, before cupping your face and locking your lips into his. They’re cold, as the dead well are, but they taste of cider and raspberries, as though he had prepared for your return. Leaning back so he can lift you, you part your lips to welcome his surging tongue, arms winding around his neck to keep stable.
Snorting with amused impatience he strips you of your armor, leaving only the paladin’s tunic and pants underneath. Wrestling with your tongue as he carries you to his iron peacock bed, only breaking from you to drop you onto it, climbing over you to carry on once he’s sure you’re comfortable. Cradling your face, he purrs at your fingers combing through his hair, finally breaking the kiss truly so you’re able to breathe.
“You can’t keep prematurely withering nature just so you can see me sooner, you get that, right?” You tease, fiddling with his collar.
“Not in the slightest.” He accompanies the jeer with a grin of his own, leaning down and giving your jaw a nip. “But they won’t be able to tell - you’ll be spending another autumn and winter fighting the fearsome Lord.”
Leaning down, he gives you another kiss, laying down beside you and easing your hair from its braids, pulling a [h/c] tendril to his lips. Elegantly letting it fall, he tugs you closer to him, fitting nicely against you as he does. One hand resting on your stomach, he cradles your head with his free arm, peppering your forehead with kisses, unashamedly basking in you like you’re the most beautiful work of art this world has ever seen.
“Our time apart does seem to stretch into eternity, even though it truly doesn’t,” You admit, welcoming his knee between your legs. “I admit it, the spring and summer aren’t short enough.”
“And yet I must acknowledge they must be, and you must be allowed apart from me.” He gives your cheek another kiss. “My darling... Would it be so wrong for me to seek you in the nights of these seasons? You have said it would be...-”
“Shhh...” You reach up, kissing him. “You and I both know it’s a risk we can’t afford to take. If someone were to see you...”
“The kingdom has become lively, even at night,” He sighs. “And you’ll be noticed leaving and followed... Nettlesome, truly.”
“But that means we have to cherish the time we do have,” You assure, giving him a comforting smile. “We will always have enough time - you remember that, right?”
Immediately he brightens once more, nodding. “Yes. Listen to me, being so foolish. We have but eternity, as is our vow.” He leans in, nipping your ear. “Wife.”
Centuries ago - or an entire millennium? - you had a particularly ugly, theatrical duel. You must’ve thrown each other all over this castle, reshaping and even flattening some of the architecture in the strife. Ferocious as he always had been, he was determined to finally best you, and rid himself of this neverending squabble. At last, it seemed he would fulfill this dark desire, as he had you defenseless underneath him, his fangs prepared to drain you of your eternal blood.
But then, a question burned into his mind: the same that had tortured you even before that.
Is this worth it?
He exists as a foil to the king from way back when; the darkness that could never truly be purged. In his rage towards his undying fate he threw his might against the kingdom and slayed the king. However, tragically his abyssal hunger wasn’t quelled, and his anger led him to kill any hero that would rise to lay claim to his head.
When you were born, he only became even angrier. Not at you, never at a babe that bears no sin - at the knowledge he would never find rest. He himself was doomed, in his blackened heart; he would not know satiation, rest, or warmth, for he was a being meant only to suffer and inflict suffering in turn. All in that time he lived, he was only ever angry at his own existence, taking it out on those who tried to disturb the peace he tried so hard to make for himself.
What would he do after you were truly dead? Would he finally be satisfied, or would it be the king’s death played by a different actor? He would be waiting yet more centuries, millennia even, for another that could finally bring him to the rest he so desperately cried for. Not to mention, it wouldn’t make him the least bit happy to kill you.
Realizing this, he relented, but just as you began reaching for your holy blade, he wept. Wept that he was truly doomed, wept that you would share the misery of immortality even with your blessed existence. Once he calmed, he asked that you not end that bout the same as the last ones, but not in surrendering to him. When you asked what he meant... Well, even you don’t recall his answer, only that you put your animosity aside and just... talked.
This is where your being gone for autumn and winter began: you would simply start coming here to speak with him, or just keeping him company to muse over what comes next. Before long it was like you never fought at all, like you were born just to be together; like you weren’t meant to cross blades to begin with. Forgetting his hunger, perhaps even exiling it, he began to smile, laugh, and dance. Even you, who had once grown tired of acting happy and bright, grew to sing and twirl and find warmth even in this place.
But it wasn’t enough. Your hearts began to ache for more, until one winter’s night he held you close and kissed you.
“If you’ll no longer take me as your foe,” He said so tenderly into your ear. “Then please, embrace me as your husband.”
That was a good nine centuries ago - to the both of you it came and went in a blink. He put a crest on your heart, and you entrusted your blood to him, and you only parted when the flowers began to bloom once more, to keep up appearances with the legend and, more importantly, keep yourselves safe.
“Dreven.”
He raises his head, acting as though he hadn’t begun drifting away. “Hm?”
“I...” Your cheeks turn pink, and you turn onto your side to properly face him. “Have you ever... well...” Faltering like you are isn’t helping him understand, and it shows in how he looks at you with the eyes of a curious pup.
“Speak, sweetheart.” He comfortingly wraps his arms around you. “Centuries later, and you’re still so shy when you entrust me with your heart.”
“... Do you want me?” You ask after a moment of trying to unfreeze your tongue.
For a moment he’s visibly confused, trying to understand what you mean. He’d not thought about it, considering he’d asked about sex only once and mentioned it never again when you dismissed the very notion. Not to say you coldly refused him anything, but you were so uncertain that you even could have kids, let alone care for them. And he, being undead, has no hope of having them himself. This knowledge he’d long accepted, however; you’d just not known what to do.
Then it clicks, and he smiles.
“Of course I do. Do you want me as well?”
Not feeling as stable laying down you sit up, him following. Scooping up your hand, he gives it a squeeze.
Swallowing, you nod. “I... I love you so much,” You murmur. “I want to share not just this eternity with you, but every essence of who I am, so you can embrace me as I have you.”
It dawns on you. It isn’t sex for the sake of pleasure you long for, nor is it children just to feel some accomplishment - it’s the joining of your soul and his, an expression of your love so pure. The completion of your love, consummating your marriage, it’s all you really want.
You just want to be with him.
Just as your innate self-doubt can try and take it back, he leans in and kisses you, eyes holding a tenderness he only allows you to see.
“What a thing to say...” He whispers, cupping your face. “My sweet, I want you so badly that it pains me. But I would never disgrace you for acting without invitation. If you’ll let me, then I will happily hold you close, and make love to you.”
Your heart swells with adoration, and you tug him in, and as his arms wrap around you your body warms and cools with reassurance. Raising your arms above your head, you exhale with a soft smile as he unties and frees you of your tunic. Once your breasts are freed he cups them delicately, leaning down to knead them like dough. Just as gently he lies you down, laying between your legs to better access them.
“Mmm...” He purrs. “Oh, [Name]... Every inch of you is so perfect...”
His kisses are deep and bracing, his body melting into your every crevice. Even with all your clothes soon being on the floor, he doesn’t overstep and act without your permission. Even as his erect cock begs to be inside of you, and the carnal instinct to take gnaws at his mind, he is showing great care in responding in kind to your vulnerability.
“I love you...” He breathes between kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you...”
Breathing hitched from the arousal bubbling in your hips, you wrap your arms around his neck, spreading your legs. You jolt, if slightly, when his cock graces your clit.
“Please...” You whimper, feeling your wetness dribbling down your skin. “... I-I... Oh, Dreven, please...”
“Please what?” He purrs, nipping at your jaw. “What does my sweet wife want?”
You look up at him, vulnerable, pleading - and fuck are you sexy. “... Please, come inside...”
The unintentional joke towards him needing permission to enter a house has him chortling, kissing your lips as he readies himself. Ohh, he’s big, you can feel it already...
As though to assure you of his care for you, and his promised delicacy, he cradles your body sweetly, kissing you less with animalistic desire and instead with love stretching into the end of time. For a moment it feels as though something is shifting inside of him, but before you can ask if he’s alright he’s pushing slowly inside you.
“Gh-!” You arch up into him, hanging on as if for dear life, to which he pauses and peppers your cheek with kisses of assurance. “I-it’s so big...”
“I know,” He murmurs. One hand goes to your clit, rubbing it to prepare you some more. Like magic, he has the right pace, rubbing you all the right ways, and before you know it you’re moaning and mewling as he watches you completely engulf him.
For a moment he doesn’t move, giving your body time to adjust to his size. Holding you close with one hand on the bulge it creates, he nips at your neck, kissing you sweetly.
“You’re doing so good, darling.” He sweeps your hair behind your ear. “You... ha... You feel divine.” Is that a...?
“I love you...” You breathe. “Oh... Dreven, my love...”
Once you’ve adjusted, you nod, and he holds you tightly as he begins to thrust. Every time he glides back inside of you he swells, getting more aroused each time. His breathing grows labored with desire, eventually sounding like a caged beast, his restraint palpable despite it. Even you can feel it: he doesn’t want to risk hurting you and taint your memory of entrusting him with your virginity, traumatizing you out of ever opening up this way again. He loves you so much, and it’s killing him that he can’t unleash the animal and keep you safe at the same time.
Cool lips gracing your neck, he coils like a spring, soon sinking his teeth into you as he has before. The sensation sends a warmth through your skin, and a moan follows an uneven gasp from your throat. One hand going to the back of his head you arch, his drinking of your blood adding to the pleasure until you can think of nothing else but him. How he loves you, how he cares for you, how badly he wants to keep you close that nothing in this world can harm you, but at the same time trembling before the might you display. Every bit of you is perfection in his eyes, a limitless sea of beauty he will happily drown in.
Opening your legs more widely, you soon pull them up, hooking your knees in your hands. Letting his cock in even deeper, you mewl as he finally hits that sweet spot he’d been looking for. Belly stretching slightly to show how deep he is, your body happily pulls him deeper and deeper, and before long he’s letting go, both of your bodies unable to restrain any longer.
“A-aah!” You cry out, him finally ceasing drinking and licking your wounds until they heal. “O-ooohh! Aah! Y-yes-!” Your insides mold to his shape, intending to let no other dive into it. “Yes, yes, yes-! Aah!”
Cupping your face, he pulls you into a deep kiss. The taste of your blood doesn’t last long on his tongue, your mewling mixing perfectly with his growls and groans as he wholeheartedly claims you whilst professing his eternal love. It all fits together so well, until you can no longer live without each other. The very realization makes your heart swell with affection for your husband, and before you know it tears are pouring down your eyes.
He notices, and his eyes go wide in alarm as his pace comes to a screeching halt. “Sweetheart, are you alright?” Feeling around with his hands, he tries to find a wound or some way he had hurt you without realizing it.
Your hand delicately rests on his face. “C-Cum with me...” You whimper. “Please, Dreven, cum with me...”
He relaxes, smiling with a nod. Wiping your tears from your face he tugs you back into that kiss, continuing his pace. He grows hotter and hotter inside you, swelling until he almost can’t move, until-
His head raises up as though to let him roar, and yours falls back as you cry out in shared orgasm. Snapping his hips, he cums inside once, twice, thrice... four? Five, nay, six times with a driving thrust. Pulling out with an oddly comedic ‘pop’, he falls beside you and tugs you into himself, holding you delicately as though worried he’ll break you in your already fragile state.
“Are you alright, my sweet?” He whispers, brushing some hair from your face. “Did I hurt you at all? The bite?”
You smile. “You should know by now, my wounds will always heal.”
Chortling at his own ignorance, he nods, kissing you sweetly. “... Thank you.”
You tilt your head, a bit confused. “You mean, for the sex, or...?”
His tenderness surfaces once more, and he rolls back on top of you, slender fingers tracing your features in feigned interest.
“You’ve poured so much of yourself into me; given me so much of you in but a single night... My darling, I feel as though I’m going to overflow.” Tears begin welling in his eyes, the first time since that last battle, but now they’re of the purest joy. “Darling... [Name], my sweet, my eternal rose... I will love you and stay at your side, until eternity itself withers.”
Leaning down, he gives you a kiss, resting his forehead on yours. An indescribable emotion crosses his eyes, lighting them like the very stars.
“Ah... Such bliss...” He whispers. “I thought the abyss inside me unquenchable, insatiable... But now... Now, I am satisfied...”
Sitting up, he brings you with him, holding you so near and dear as the sky turns pink - to which he responds by telepathically drawing the drapes, casting you into the sweet veil of darkness.
“I love you so much...” He rests his face in the crook of your neck.
You smile, your own tears falling into his hair. “I love you too.”
Pulling back a bit, he cups your face, pulling you back into a kiss, eventually laying you down once more...
#monster x human#monster x y/n#monster x you#vampire#vampire x you#vampire x reader#vampire lord#monster fic#my writing
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Lol greaser vamp bf trying extra hard to look cool and not so anxious in front his crush/soon to be s/o but just comes off dorky
Lol I love that
Pairings: Greaser vampire x reader
Awkward Greaser Vampire!boyfriend Headcanons:
He would try his damnest to try and impress you
He would lean against the wall, vape heald in between his lips as he essentially posses in front of you as you walk by
(Which isn't a coincidence, he studied your schedule to try and talk to you but he ends up just posing cooly instead please help him)
Only for his vape to fall from his lips and scatter on the ground
Cut to him blushing in shame as he tries to pick it up only yo kick it further away
When he finally has the courage to, idk, speak to you, he comes off as really clingy poor boy
"Hey, you must've fell from heaven ;)"
"Excuse me-"
"I'm sorry let me try again--"
He would try to give off the playful nonchalant bad boy vibe when in reality he would cry over his jacket having a scuff or stain
In the beginning of courting you he would have nothing but cheesy pick-up lines and compliments
No seriously
He took thr time to look up pick-up lines that he thinks will specifically work better for you depending on your personality
After a while you started to find him endearingbdespite not knowing he was actually simping so hard and he does not know the meaning of correct flirting
You ask him to hangout one time and he stammered so hard
Blushing dn stutters galore as he covered his eyes with his sunglasses and said:
"Y-yeah! I- sure, my schedule is actually open haha...,"
He'd try to play it cool so hard only to fist pump thr air when you weren't looking because omg you asked to hangout!
For who asks who out, that's gonna be you
You both were in the library trying to study, trying as in he was zoning out with glazed over eyes at the text in front of him
And you simply just, asked
Effectively waking him and having him hit his knee under thr table with a loud bang
You guys were reprimanded for the noise and told to be quiet but he couldnt take his wide eyes off of you
Poor vampire was legit staring at you with stars in his eyes and mouth agap
Trust that he celebrated after trying to play Mr.Cool-Guy in front of you
Going around his room in his little bat form flying and squeaking in joy that his crush asked him out
Just an overall dork who looks intimidating from a glance and squint 😆
#monster lover#writers on tumblr#monster fudger#vampire boyfriend#vampire lover#vampire lover headcanons#vampire x reader#vampire x you
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🌌 give me something with vampire!selina ;)
Ooh okay let's go!! 😈
Chase Her Down
Pairing: vampire!Selina Kyle x gn!reader
Word Count: 1k
Warnings: 18+, MINORS DO NOT READ OR INTERACT, light smut (neck biting, licking, sucking, feeling), tw: noncon, tw: blood, tw: injury, tw: implied reader death (open to interpretation), chasing kink, vampires
A/N: Thankyou so much for this prompt Selene 🥰 sorry it took me so long!! But once I had an idea I couldn’t get it out fast enough. I hope you enjoy...
Divider ❊ Masterlist ❊ More Selina ❊ Taglist
Your feet fly on the pavement. "Shit shit shit!" Flinging the car door open, you leap inside.
Selina slams down the accelerator, the getaway car veering away from the curb, and shoots you an assessing glance. “You okay?”
A hiss of pain is your only response. You flip the sun visor down and turn your face to the side, looking at your chin. “Fuck.” One of the security guards got in a lucky shot - there’s a long line of red along your jaw, and its beginning to throb.
Selina glances at you again, and you see her grip tighten on the steering wheel. “Is that - ”
“Blood,” you confirm, trying to keep the shakiness out of your voice. “It’s nothing, I just need something to stop the bleeding.” All you have right now is the sleeve of your shirt, but it’ll have to do. You try to ignore the little voice in your mind reminding you that Selina is a vampire, that she probably caught the scent of your blood the moment you got in the car, that you might be in danger.
Not that you’ve ever seen her lose control before. Your partner-in-crime has been careful to keep her vampiric nature from you as much as possible. It’s a tense partnership, but you work well together.
“No tail,” she murmurs, glancing in the rear view mirror, her alto voice laced with a darkness you’re not used to hearing.
You lean back in your seat, keeping the sleeve of your shirt pressed against your wound. It’s almost soaked through. Fuck it, you’re both thinking about it, you’re just going to say it. “You gonna be okay?” you ask, gesturing to your cut with your free hand.
Her eyes flash in your direction, so fast you barely catch it. “Just keep it covered.”
You eye her. “I will.”
Selina has spent way too much time thinking about what you taste like.
It’s the sweetest kind of torture spending so much time with someone whose scent is so alluring, wafting in her direction every time you’re near, tantalising her acute predatory senses.
Why she keeps you around, she can’t explain. It’s a constant exercise in control, only she doesn’t seem to be getting any better. If anything, it's only gotten harder the longer she holds out.
She dreams of you, waking up with her fangs out, biting down into her pillow on the edge of orgasm.
And now you’re together, in a small car, and you’re bleeding.
Selina doesn’t care where she’s driving to now, whatever street she’s on, it doesn’t matter.
Her fangs are out, and she’s lost the ability to think clearly, her instincts all focused entirely on you. On the softness of your breath, the shifting of your legs, the beating of your heart. It’s an effort to keep her eyes forward on the road.
Then you let out a curse under your breath, and lift your sleeve off the wound to replace it with your other hand.
The moment the blood uncovered, a scent so tempting it makes her body clench with thirst reaches Selina’s senses. She almost lets out a growl, barely managing to slam on the brakes and pull to the side of the deserted road.
“What are you doing?” you cry out.
She finally allows herself to look at you, sizing you up in the way she does her prey. Unable to stop herself. And with the final remnants of her control, she forces herself to speak.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll run. Now.”
Your eyes widen, and your pulse begins to race, as you reach back for the door.
Selina closes her eyes, gripping the steering wheel even tighter, doing her best to fight off her instincts. But it’s so incredibly difficult to think over the thoughts racing through her mind.
The door opens, the car shifts as you get out, and all she can hear is the sound of your footsteps, fading fast.
Chase. Her. Down.
“Fuck!” she yells, slamming her hands on the steering wheel. You’re getting away.
It’s too much. She groans, her head falling back against the headrest, as she hears you turn a corner.
Then, her heightened sense locked in on you, she hears a sound - the tiniest whimper escaping your throat.
Control vanishes. Thirst takes over.
She lunges out of the car, racing after you.
The street blurs around her, and she vaguely recognises that she’s pulled over in a shifty area, downtown. Amidst the various scents, yours stands out, practically inviting her to give chase.
She follows it around a corner and finally sets her sights on you. The streetlights here are sparse and dim. Perfect for someone like her, who sees better in the dark.
She eats up the distance between you. You’re fast, but she’s a vampire; built to hunt down prey like you. Her footsteps barely touch the ground, gaze locked on your enticing form, and then she’s on you.
She snakes an arm around your neck and pulls you back into an alley, quickly dashing any hope you had of escaping. In the same movement she presses her mouth against your jaw and licks a stripe of your skin ravenously.
Her eyes roll back and she lets out an obscene groan, a wave of bliss washing over her as she finally tastes you for the first time.
“S-Selina - ” you pant.
“Shut up.”
The need for more of you is drowning out everything else. She twists you around in her arms so you’re facing her, her gaze locked on to your blood-stained neck. Her fangs ache with need.
Holding you in place with her grip on your chin, she lunges forward and buries her face in your neck, licking and sucking a path along your pulse. Your taste is divine, sending fire through her veins, calling to her very soul.
Around your waist, her grip tightens, crushing your body against hers as she lets her urges reign. The last thought that goes through her mind before her fangs sink into your neck, is that she could die happy.
#selina kyle x reader#selina kyle x you#catwoman x reader#catwoman x you#the batman#zoe kravitz#wlw#lesbian#bisexual#tw: blood#tw: injury#vampires#vampire x reader#vampire x you#dc#dc x reader#chasing kink#sil's writing#selina kyle x y/n#catwoman x y/n
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