#what if he was a vampire that could never satiate his hunger | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chososdiscordkitten · 1 month

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Bite me.

Synopsis:Choso tastes readers blood for the first time >ᵥ_ᵥ<

Pairing: Vampire!Choso x fem!reader Content: porn w/plot, established relationship, blood (duh), biting, missionary, spit stuff, blood stuff, cream pie

MDNI

The little secret Choso had was supposed to stay just that- a secret. A secret pushed to the back of his mind- too shamed and fearful of what could happen had you found out.

But there were times Choso swore you knew. When you’d carelessly brush your hair onto one side, giving his teeth full access to the tastiest part of you. Even if to the bare eye it wasn’t noticeable, he could see the thick stream of blood in your jugular pulse whenever he looked at it.

As though you were begging him to sink his teeth into your skin without words.

His suspicions only grew when you would ask questions in an insinuating tone. Why the brown of his eyes had a sprinkle of crimson in them, why at times he would show up to your apartment- his lips lightly stained in a distant red. And why he had a metallic scent to him every now and then.

And most of all- why he would look at you like you were a meal to be had.

And with the blooming relationship between you and him, you simply blamed it on something all humans feel—something a man would feel when looking at a person he had an interest in.

But to him, Choso never picked apart the reasons why he wanted to drink from you. The only way he could describe it was starvation that couldn’t be satiated even with stolen blood bags. A hunger that Choso felt rumble his very soul when he looked at you.

And he would push that feeling down- too fearful of the risk of tasting you and the inability to stop, making him wish he was never plagued with such a disease.

That hunger roused in his heart the very first time you kissed him. Along with the itching feeling of a new kind of hunger. Desperately chasing the warmth your lips pressed onto his cold skin.

That very same warmth that reminded him that you were filled with the cerise liquid he dreamt of.

You had your own suspicions. Sure, Choso was a little strange at times. Specific phrases indicating he had claimed you, at once even saying how fucking good you smelled first thing in the morning. It made you squint- and tilt your head in the slightest.

But maybe he just couldn’t formulate ‘normal compliments’ that you had heard before. Instead of strange, you saw it as endearing when he would say those kinds of things.

But when Choso spoke as though he were from another time, his brown eyes blotted with deep red spots. How his pupils would pulse when you looked a little too closely into them. He could go in the sun, but rare were the times he would.

The time you nicked yourself while mincing vegetables- he ran up to help. At first, with all the urgency of the world- grabbing your finger and scolding you for being so careless.

And holding your lightly oozing digit in his hand, he would watch the cherry blood seep from your tissue. And god- your scent stuck in his nose the longer he held you. And when the smell flooded his brain- hazing any reservations he had.

Choso lifted the tip of your finger to his lips- flashing them up at you only for you to snatch your hand away from him- muttering something about how it would get infected before wrapping it up.

How his cold hands would cling to you and feel the humanity pulse through your veins. The overwhelming urge to have you, have you moved into his place- far too precious to leave you on your own.

If he, himself- your boyfriend was having these carnal urges to do these things to you- to taste you. What would another person do to you?

And Choso, when the realization that you would be sleeping beside him- thick thighs bare and your neck exposed, along with the pulse in your wrist. In deep sleep- unaware of the starved creature lying beside you.

That’s when Choso realized just how masochistic he was being.

He loved you more than enough to endure the rowling thoughts in his mind- enough to stay awake and watch you. Even if he closed his eyes and tried to ignore it- he could hear the liters of blood pulse beneath your skin. Choso endured it as much as he could.

And with you moving in, it made it harder to hide that secret. Why there was a mini fridge with a lock on it, stuffed full of blood bags—Choso was sure you would find any day now.

So when it came to the late-night activities only done in the bedroom- as though your bare skin begged for his teeth all over your body. Choso could feel two kinds of hunger pulse beneath his skin when he first touched you.

Even more so when your bare body was pressed against his- unknowing of the torment the act inflicted onto him. The plush warmth that would surround his member, reminding him that you were filled with the tantalizing red liquid everytime he pushed himself into you.

It ate away at him. It felt like a lie- the idea that you’d look at him as a monster had he told you plagued him.

But he feared you finding the bags and seeing him as a serial killer- or a madman, and losing you before he could explain what he was.

So he sat you down- hoping you’d have an open mind when he dared say the words.

Sitting on the couch, his cold hands holding yours. You found it odd—rare were the times Choso held that much severity in his eyes when he spoke to you.

You smiled genuinely, unknowing what he had to be so serious about.

His thumbs lightly caressed the tops of your hands. “Do you remember when he watched that movie—with the strange girl and the man who played Batman?”

You squint your eyes. “Twilight?” His cold thumbs halt their caresses, looking at you seriously with a soft nod.

Choso started stuttering over his words- saying that he was like that man, but it was different. Words were spewed from his throat, throwing them at you and hoping you would understand. Confessing this greatest sin that had eaten away at him from the moment of meeting you.

You only raised your eyebrows- hearing the blathering go on and on. Only for your eyes to squint, “Are you trying to tell me you’re a….” hesitating, knowing how insane it would have sounded.

Choso only nodded, looking down at your hands with a little laugh falling from your lips. “Is this some kind of roleplay you wanted to try?” You joked, watching his face fall from its severity and mumble a small ‘no.’

“First of all- if you were, you wouldn’t be living with me. You’d be off in Rome living in a castle-” Leaning back onto the couch with an unbelieving smile. “And your teeth aren’t pointy.” you giggled, watching the man before you look at you with sorry eyes.

He parted his lips to speak- “And? I’ve literally seen you go into the sun.” pulling your hands from his and crossing them across your chest.

“I don’t know how to explain it to you—I can barely comprehend it myself,” he defended, watching your face wear an unamused look.

You pursed your lips, sarcastically saying, “Start with proof—how ’bout that?” Bored of this larping Choso decided to start.

Choso pulled his lips to the side, thinking of his least jarring approach. Proof- there was a lot of, but he tried finding the least callous one to show you.

He parted his lips, lightly bearing his top row of teeth with a little huff falling from your throat- seeing the unsharpened canines look back at you.

Choso thought back to you- closing his eyes and recalling your blood’s metallic scent when he almost lost himself in it. He could hear your steady heartbeat quicken when the pearly canines grew slightly- pointed downwards with a sharp end.

You scoffed- refusing to believe his attempts at a joke. And as though he could hear your thoughts- claims that this had to be some parlor trick. He reached from your hand, placing it onto his chin and urging you to touch.

Gulping lightly when his voice rumbled from his throat, “Touch them- they’re real.”

And as your thumb lightly grazed his bottom lip, you leaned in closer with squinted eyes. Lightly pressing the pad of your thumb against the pointy tooth, unknowing how hard Choso’s heart was beating in that moment.

You slid your thumb down the tooth, pressing up into the pointed edge with a wince. Pulling away, you looked at the little prick on your thumb.

You parted your lips to speak, only for Choso to beat you to it. “And-” he muttered, placing his hands on the side of your head and pulling you close to him- looking into your eyes. Far too close and watching the little pupils dilate- the color around them slightly swirling with splotches of red.

Choso pressed his lips against yours- knowing he had drunk earlier. Pulling away from you and watching your smug expression fade- “Taste it-” he muttered, pressing his lips onto yours again.

And as you allowed his tongue to press against yours- you could taste what he was referring to. The light flavor of metal mixed with his spit. Pulling away from you and holding your head with urge- “Do you taste it?” he muttered, his lips lightly brushing against yours with every word.

Too in awe and bordering on fear- you only looked into his eyes with a hint of suspicion.

Standing up and taking your hand- guiding you to that little locked mini fridge and yanking off the lock. Too much urgency and frustration to go find the key.

He showed you another form of proof he was, as he claimed—his strength. Sure, you knew he was strong—able to manhandle you with ease, leaving light bruises on your skin whenever he would get too rough, able to bring in all the groceries in one trip. You blamed it on his physique, knowing he was beautifully sculpted beneath his loose-fitting clothing.

But this—pulling a metal lock from a metal hinge without any resistance or even a grunt of struggle leaving his lips. Made you wonder just how strong he was—and how much he was holding back before now.

All of that was proof enough- but the sight of neatly stacked blood bags confirmed it. You stood there for a second- looking at the crimson bags of plastic and feeling Choso’s gaze on your skin. Suddenly, too aware of how vulturous it felt. Before, it felt admiration-filled. It felt like a gaze full of love.

But now it felt like he was looking at you with appetite.

Your heartbeat beating quickly made Choso realize you took this seriously now. You looked over at him- face deadpan with your eyes hinting to fear. “You don’t- eat people, right?” you muttered, a scared tone infiltrating his ears.

Choso looked down to the ground, “Not currently, no.” he confessed, hearing your hand lightly close the little door of the minifridge and gulp.

“Are you gonna eat me?” you asked, causing his eyes to flash back up to you in fear.

He knit his eyebrows and took your hands in his again, “I would never eat you.” he vowed, looking into your eyes.

“Have you thought about it?” you murmured, watching his eyebrows pinch in shame.

“it’s hard not to,” he confessed, watching your head lightly nod.

And with a light inhale- you walked back onto the couch, watching him sit on the other end as you stared at him. A million questions whirring in your mind as he shifted in your gaze. Wishing he could hear what you were thinking.

Somehow, still trying to justify the proof you asked for; just more larping, he’s a weirdo- or a psychopath. But that softness in his eyes- gave you a reason to try and ignore the proof.

You stared at him for a few minutes, trying to find the words to say- or an excuse to leave the apartment and run.

And when you were finally able to conjure the words, “Can I ask questions?” you peered, your face stoic and unshowing how hard your heart was beating. Choso nodded his head ‘yes’- knowing the truth of what he just confessed must feel like a lie.

In a world of fictional demons and countless books written with blood sucking people- it was fair that you had your suspicions.

Choso knew—he watched those very movies with you, holding back comments like ‘that’s not true’ whenever an incorrect fact was spoken in the films.

Even if you held a deadpan expression, your heartbeat gave away how you truly felt, “For how long have you been,” stopping your sentence short and thinking on what word to use.

“Since the 1870’s.” he spoke honestly.

You peeked your eyebrows- mentally doing the math and taking a long blink. “That would make you-”

“175 years old.”

You lightly grimaced, thinking back on every time he would say some timely word you had only heard in the black-and-white movies you’d watch with him. “Why are you here—with me?” you reiterated, watching his avoidant eyes look down at his hands.

“I mean, it must be torture,” you muttered, thinking of the difficulty shown in every movie with this exact plot line.

Choso looked up at you. “At times, it can be.” He lightly nodded, being able to hear your heartbeat slow in the slightest. “But I know I would never hurt you.”

After a handful more questions; if he preferred a specific kind of blood, what kind of people tasted better. Your heartbeat fell back into its normal state.

There was an adjustment period- asking if you could sleep on the couch rather than next to him. Not scared- but nervous to sleep next to him. And Choso being the man he was- he took that responsibility and slept on the couch for as long as you asked.

But then came the moment of acceptance- and Choso swore you started doing these things on purpose. Pulling your hair back and giving him a complete view of your neck. As controlled as his bloodlust was- it was still obscene how thirsty he got looking at you. And something carnal threatened to control his actions rather than his head.

And times when he would hug you- getting a nose full of that sweet scent that seeped from your skin. Or when you started sleeping in tank tops- exposing more of your skin to him as you slept. Helpless and too tired to notice his heavy gaze on your collarbones.

It also didn’t help when you realized that Choso was turned when he was a few years older than you— it hit you like a truck.

Fearing to get older than the age he was when he was turned. Then came the talk of if he would turn you.

When Choso thought about it- he wasn’t like any other protagonist in any vampire media. Choso was selfish and afraid of the day when you’d die- leaving him to roam the earth alone again.

“It isn’t as simple as just turning you,” he muttered, knowing what it meant when someone like him turned their partner. That’s the only part the stupid films got correct.

Sat on the kitchen counter and watching him patter through the kitchen- cooking you a meal as you pestered him with the same question. “You mean the whole- once I turn, we’re supposed to stay together forever?” you asked, unamused with the doubt he held.

“That- and technically, you’d be soulless,” he muttered as you let out a small laugh.

“Of all people- you are the last one I would describe as soulless, Choso.”

You scoffed, pulling your hair to the side and watching his shoulders tense up. Slightly tilting your neck and looking at him- “Is it not tempting?” You whispered in a taunt, watching his eyes flash to the smooth skin you displayed for him.

Thinking the way it worked was the same as the Twilight movies- one bite and you’d be turned, right?

Only your offerings meant nothing but a way of tasting you. Choso knew you wouldn’t become as he was from one bite. But christ- it was tempting.

It made his brain throb in his skull, being able to hear every little pulse your neck pumped with crimson. “It doesn’t work like that.” he muttered, stepping away from the stove and taking a step towards you.

“Still, you never wanted to taste it-” his hips easing between your thighs, placing his cold hands against the sides of your thighs. “You never wanted to taste me?” you whispered, his eyes blinking down to the exposed skin of your neck and gulping.

Choso’s hands gripped lightly at your thighs, almost bracing for what he was about to say- “I don’t want to hurt you.” he breathed, his eyes dark and full of want.

“You can control yourself, right?” you whispered, his head nodding softly. “Think about it- once I turn, you’ll never be able to taste me.” tone full of feigned pity, knowing he would turn you- even if he hadn’t said it yet.

Choso’s lips parted slightly and his mouth went dry. The thought pained his heart- knowing you had a point. “‘Lemme think about it.” he muttered, kissing your cheek quickly before turning back to the pan on the stove.

You sighed a drawn-out breath, “Dunno how you do it,” you muttered, watching his shoulders fall from tension. “If you were begging me to bite you- to taste you.” you exhaled sharply, “I wouldn’t have made you ask twice.”

And he did think about it- weighing out the options in his brain. How bad it would actually be if he tasted you- ’cause that’s all you offered. Just a taste, but with how sweet you smelled- Choso wasn’t sure that 'ust a taste' would be enough for him.

That paired with the pain you would feel, two sharp teeth sinking into your skin- Choso had no idea why you would keep offering. Why you kept provoking him to hurt you.

So one late night, your hands drawing searing touches onto Choso’s skin with your lips softly peppering kisses onto his cheek.

Most of the time, it was you who would instigate these activities. Too afraid to hurt you had Choso not kept his hands to himself.

However, this was the first time you instigated these acts after he confessed his secret to you. And still- Choso tried keeping his hands to himself, even if your own were daring to slip past the band of his sweats.

Topless and on your back, legs spread with his hips daring to rut into your clothed core. You raised a hand beneath the hem of his t-shirt, lightly grazing his back with your nails and kissing his ear lightly.

“Touch me-” you whispered into his ear, intent and urge soaking your words as his hands roam up your thighs.

A soft whimper left his lips at your words- his mind reeling at the fact that you were aware of the kind of monster he was, and you still wanted his touch.

His lips lightly pressed kisses onto your jugular- holding all the restraint he could as he felt the pulse of life beneath your skin. Your hands tugging at the fabric on his back in desperation- his hips responding by bucking into the clothing separating him from your warmth.

Taking a hand from your hip and placing it onto the band of your bottoms- sinking his fingers beneath the layers and to your soaked cunt. Showing him just how negligent he had been since he confessed to you.

A light whimper left your lips as he pulled his own from your neck, too tempted by the vulnerability to keep himself there.

The tips of his middle and ring fingers sink down to the source of your slick- lightly circling at your entrance and coating them before trailing them to the puffy bud atop.

Placing your lips on his again- desperate to relieve the ache between your legs as your tongue swirled against his. The distant taste of metal in his mouth as your eyebrows knitted together. His eager fingers started small circles against you, his hips mindlessly bucking into the air between you as your moans rumbled onto his lips.

It was agonizing the pace Choso tried keeping- your walls so desperate to pull him between them and feel him thrust.

The light touch his fingers kept only made your hips buck into his hand- gasping between every other kiss at the pressure. The grip his other hand held on your side- bordering on bruising from how frustrated he was starting to feel.

Beneath the layers of fabric- throbbing tears soiling his bottoms with every light roll his hips made to relieve the yearning his cock felt.

You tried holding out- suffered sighs of frustrations leaving your lips as his hand continued its snail pace.

But the ache you felt- Choso’s fingers only taunted it. So as you pulled away from him- looking into the mix of brown and red eyes staring back at you, “Need you inside-” you murmured with need, your words filling the air between your lips and his as your hands pushed down the band of his sweats.

The tips of your fingers pressing against the side of his thigh- almost as a plea.

And as you asked of him, Choso clashed his lips back to yours as he removed his hand from your bottoms- his hands full of desire as they pulled your pj bottoms off. Far too eager and desperate to grant your wish with the sweet scent of your skin filling the air- muddying his mind as your hands assisted in removing his bottoms.

Tugging at the hem of his shirt with his chest heaving- watching his hands remove the useless fabric and toss it aside. A small groan of appeasement left your lips as you got an eyeful of his sculpted torso.

Wasting no time in placing your hands on his hips, guiding him to ease himself back where he was before. Choso’s cockhead bordered on turning a violent shade of red as his hands found their place on your hips.

Your hand reaching for is base- urging him to sink into you as you had asked. Choso’s mind was hazy, unable to think as he looked down to the millimeters of space separating his cock from your entrance.

Your bare skin secreting the aroma the cause of the misty state his brain was in. Feeling the light pang of his canines that threatened to grow- a telltale sign he wanted to feed.

His hips followed the guidance your hand led him to, sucking air sharply through his teeth as your warmth surrounded the tip of his aching cock. The alarming rate of your heartbeat causes his eyes to blink back at you.

Wearing a desperate expression and a trembling lip- your mouth whispering muddy words in a silent plea.

And as your hand eased off his cock- Choso’s hips moved forwards, nuzzling his tip further into you as he closed his lips. Avoiding your gaze with his eyes shut tight- trying to hold back every urge that pulsed in his head.

His hips started slow strokes, easing himself out of you with a sigh of desperation. And your cunt tried with all its might to suck him back in, and Choso- not knowing how much longer he could keep his urges at bay, was so fucking close to rutting into you again- quicker and without hesitation.

Your hands clawed at his biceps, drawing him from the focus he tried holding. Soft moans escaped your plush lips when the tip of his cockhead nudged against the most sensitive spot inside of you.

Choso raised his head to face you- his mouth parted and his eyebrows pinched tightly. Your eyes caught onto the glistening peaks of white that Choso’s lips tried hiding, eyes full of hunger and thirst.

His hand rose from your hip and landed on your neck, feeling the warmth course beneath his grasp. Some way of bracing himself as he fought off the impulse.

Your hand trailed up his shoulder, landing on his nape and lightly pulling his ear to your lips. With a tone that sounded like the very gates of heaven to his ears, “Bite me.” you whispered, your hand guiding his head down to your neck where his lips previously kissed.

Choso’s mind was too foggy to even focus on his past reservations. The hand at his back clawing gently, your cunt surrounding his cock, the light hold your hand held on his scalp; made Choso yield the very last of his will over to you.

Closing his eyes as his nose engulfed the scent of your skin, his hips losing pattern in the slow strokes he held. Parting his lips and placing a wet kiss onto the place his teeth ached for.

The light moans leaving your lips were heard as an urgency to his ears, bearing his teeth and lightly grazing the sharp canines against your skin. A shiver settling in your spine at the feather-like scratch.

Choso’s teeth sinking into your skin with a wince mixed with a gasp falling from your lips. The groan Choso rumbled against the punctures made your hand lightly pull on his hair, tucking your lip between your teeth at the sting, losing the feeling of it as it mixed with the pleasure from his cock.

Choso almost came when your taste waved into his mouth. His thrusts sloppy as the saccharine taste of you trickled down his throat- warm, unlike the countless blood bags he had sustained himself on. And sweet- so fucking sweet.

Eyes closed and bordering on rolling to the back of his head with his hips quickening.

Then the reminder of, ‘just a taste’ rumbled in his mind. Unsheathing his sharp teeth from your skin and opening his eyes. Looking back to you- small trickles of blood on his lip with a look of fear in his eyes. His breathing labored and trying to hold back the throaty whines that dared leave his lips.

You moaned lightly- pulling his lips back to yours and tasting yourself on him. Uncaring of the strong taste of metal, you slathered your tongue against his, sloppy and inconsistent. Mostly sharp teeth clashing against your own as your essence laced his spit.

Your hold on his hair strengthened, a mess forming between your lips and his. Your eyes squinting tightly as his thrusts became rougher, the warmth in your tummy pooling at the action.

The hand on the opposite side of your neck lightly squeezed in desperation, your orgasm building as his tip bullied your gspot. Pulling away from him in a hymn-like moan, unable to keep the attempts of a kiss with every strong thrust he made.

Choso’s eyes blinked at your lips, lightly glazed in your essence with a small smudge at the corner of your mouth. He couldn’t help the mumbled words of, ‘M’sorry-’ that left his throat, connecting his lips with yours again and feeling the walls of your cunt flutter around him.

His eyes rolling back with the evident taste on your tongue. Thrusts sloppy and fast- pounding into you as your hands tugged at whatever they could find. Clawing at the broad of his back, and grasping a handful of brown hair in the other.

Soft whines lacing your exhales as you come undone, a low guttural moan separating your lips from his. Choso’s teeth clenched at the sudden vice-like grasp your cunt held around him.

The hand on your hip held a mean grip as he worked himself to orgasm. His chest caving against yours with every sharp exhale he made.

Your hand trailed from his hair and down to his jaw, placing your thumb on his lower cheek and curling your fingers beneath his chin. Angling his face for you to see, his scarlet-tinted lips trembling, his dark hairline dampened with a light veil of sweat, your low eyes watched with soft grunts leaving your lips.

Choso parted his eyes as he felt the grip you held his lower face with, watching an expression of desire form on your face as he felt the wave of his orgasm crash through him with a low grunt.

Thick and heavy pumps of his essence filled you, watching his peaked eyebrows wiggle with the slowing thrusts his hips made.

Huffing heavily as he nuzzled his cock further into you- as deep as he could. Lowering his forehead to yours and batting his eyes closed, pressing down a lazy kiss to your plush lips.

Steadying his breathing as your hands eased their grip. Lifting himself slightly, blinking his eyes open in a hazy afterglow- darting his eyes to the holes he punched into your skin.

Regret filling his stomach as he lightly tilts your head to the side, to give him a better view of the wounds. Mentally scolding himself for losing control and doing as you asked, even if the light trickling of your blood enticed him for more- the love he felt in his heart overrode his primal urges.

Easing himself out of you with a wince, sitting on his knees as you followed him. Pulling a sheet from the side of the bed over your bare body.

Sitting up and feeling his hand hold your neck in a curve, you grinned, peering into his worried expression. "It's okay." you declared.

You reached up to his hand, holding it in yours and looking at him straight on. “I liked it.” you whispered, watching his eyes blink in confusion. The corners of his mouth stained with your blood, parting his lips as you lightly caressed his cold hand.

Furrowing his eyebrows in disappointment in himself, “I can't-” Choso whispered, bordering on a whimper.

Just seeing the scabbing wounds was more painful to him than to you.

Knowing he was the one that did it- hurt just as much. And yet you asked for more. Continuously offering yourself as his own personal blood bag- warmed to the perfect temperature and laced with the sweetest flavor that he had ever tasted.

And he tried—Choso tried with everything in him not to let your words convince him otherwise. But the taste of you couldn’t be washed out from his tongue—not even with a hundred bags of cold blood from strangers.

So convinced that it was only because it came from someone he loved- that he found such addiction in it. That and how you would allow him to drink the liquid from your skin knowing it would satiate his hunger.

And everytime you would offer your body to him- he would always look at your eyes, asking for your sanction.

Even if the hunger pulsed in his stomach, that’s what he would wait for- the clear permission he was allowed to sink himself into you again.

(a.n) how I only used the word 'vampire' once? I have no idea.

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aisclosed · 10 months

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love bites - y. jungwon x reader

vampirism comes with unusual cravings and unique solutions

PAIRING: vampire! y. jungwon x vampire! reader GENRE: vampire au , established relationship, fluff | WORDCOUNT: 2.2 k WARNINGS: slightly suggestive , mentions of blood n bites

You do your best to ignore it, the aching sensation radiating from your teeth. But the pain is insistent, throbbing twinges extending from your gums down into your jaw.

The feeling is almost enough to make you cave, to call your boyfriend and whine for any sort of relief. Almost. Instead you sigh, eyes flickering out the large windows looking at the expanse of the city, the light of the stars competing with the fluorescent buildings and signs.

It had been weeks since you'd last left your apartment, you weren't ready, not fully turned or prepared to navigate the world in your new form. Jungwon’s words, not your own, and as much as you missed walking the bustling streets with him, you knew he was right.

There's a faint hunger in the back of your mind, one that had become all too familiar these past weeks. Your brain supplies memories of warm tteokbokki, noodles and dumplings despite knowing that none of the former options could satiate your appetite. As your skin lost its warmth, your heart slowing in its cavity, you had lost your palate for real food, instead craving something that you currently had no way to get on your own.

Wincing as another stab of pain steals your attention. you run your tongue gingerly running across the edge of your teeth, feeling out the sharp edge of the unfamiliar fangs that had begun to protrude.

“I thought I told you to tell me if it hurts,” a low voice cuts through the silence, your heart jumping at the disruption. Even after years of dating, you could never get used to your boyfriend appearing abruptly from the shadows. You snap your mouth shut, glancing over to meet narrowed feline eyes with poorly feigned nonchalance.

“It doesn't hurt, I’m fine,” you say breezily, drawing a scoff from Jungwon. He stalks forward, reaching out to cradle your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. The icy temperature of his skin is a welcome sensation, and you lean into his palm letting it soothe the flaring ache in your jaw.

“And you expect me to believe you when you're acting like this?” Jungwon mutters unamusedly. You crack your eyes open from where they had fluttered close, sweeping over his furrowed brows. Despite his best attempts at maintaining his stern expression, he was given away easily by the way his eyes softened upon making contact with yours.

Jungwon knew your stubborn mannerisms well, that you would rather suffer than admit to him that you needed his help. Which is how he knew that once you had set your mind to joining him as a vampire you wouldn't relent until your wish was granted. Yet that hadn’t stopped him from trying for several weeks to convince you that it wasn't a necessary change. Promises that he would still love you regardless of how you aged and no he didn’t mind that one day you might be mistaken for his sugar mommy rather than his centuries younger girlfriend. His last comment had earned him an indignant scoff rather than an enamored smile like he had been expecting, and he had spent the rest of the day sucking up to you for your forgiveness.

It had taken many arguments, tears, warnings, pleading kisses and long conversations on what exactly eternity together detailed before Jungwon had surrendered. His coven had been ecstatic at the news, congratulating him with hearty claps on the shoulder and teasing ‘about time’s.

In all honesty, the pair of you both knew that when it came down to it, Jungwon would much rather have you by his side forever than let you wither away. You were his, and he was yours, and when he thought about an eternal lifetime with you his happiness was poorly concealed. Jungwon only wished that it wasn't at the cost of your own humanity. You would no longer be able to enjoy your favorite foods, your cheeks wouldn’t redden to the same degree when he teased you, you’d have to see your loved ones leave this earth, one by one.

The guilt ate at him more than the pain ate at you, and that was your main motivation to hide the truth. So you did your best to swallow back the complaints and whines that threatened to spill from your lips, unwilling to see guilt swimming in his red tinted eyes. It’s a futile attempt, given that Jungwon could pick up on the waves of pain through your newly formed blood bond, his attentive eyes catching each wince.

Sighing in exasperation, Jungwon grasps your chin, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb, ”Open up for me baby, let me take a look at your fangs.” You consider insisting you’re fine, that his examination is entirely unnecessary, but the thought is dismissed by the firm look Jungwon gives you, and you comply baring your teeth as best as you could.

You wait patiently as Jungwon inspects your teeth, tilting your chin up to grant him a better view. Instead you take the opportunity to admire your boyfriend's handsome features, the slope of his nose and the angle of his jawline. Your eyes trail down the expanse of his neck, decorated with traces of your lips and two faint puncture marks, long healed to where they looked more akin to moles than scars.

From his close proximity you can smell an enticing fragrance wafting from his body. Jungwon always smelled good, of warm amber and clean linen sheets, but there was another underlying scent that caught your attention. There's blood pumping through his veins, fresh blood, Jungwon had recently hunted and fed. The thought causes your vision to cloud, hunger prickling at the edges of your mind.

“Baby,” Jungwon calls out softly, and your eyes drag away from his neck, struggling to find his own in your dazed state. “You're literally drooling,” he chuckles, tucking your hair behind your ear and tugging on the lobe affectionately.

He had noticed your wandering attention, the way your stare locked onto his neck, a red tint slowly creeping into your eyes and your fangs fully extending against the pads of his prodding fingers. It was a good sign, your instincts were getting stronger and your senses sharper. Soon, you'd be a full fledged vampire.

A slight flush spreads across your cheeks, the best it can with the limited blood flowing through your system. “Sorry,” you apologize meekly, embarrassed at the prospect of being caught openly salivating over him.

Jungwon only coos at you teasingly, leaning down to peck your pink cheeks, and then grazing his lips against the slightly raw puncture wounds on your neck. Unlike other injuries which would quickly be remedied by their healing abilities, the initial bite, meant to turn you into a vampire, required much more patience, only closing when the transformation was complete.

The skin on your neck was still broken and bruised but as much as it pained Jungwon to know he had caused you hurt, it also gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction to see the mark he had left on you. He always loved littering your skin with love bites but seeing them fade was his least favorite part. His bite mark would forever remain, a testament to the vows you had made to each other the day he had turned you.

“Nothing to apologize for my love, I drank extra today because I knew you'd be hungry. C’mere.” He tugs you towards the couch, sitting down on the plush seat then pulling you unceremoniously onto his lap.

The minuscule distance makes your fangs push uncomfortably against your lips, unable to deny the alluring scent wafting from your boyfriend. You wait for Jungwon to bite into his wrist and present it to you, the way he had fed you each time these past few weeks.

Instead Jungwon just smirks at you, a mischievous glint in his eye as he leans back against the cushions. “Well? I thought you were hungry baby, come kiss me and bite me.” You splutter, panicking at the mere mention of having to bite him, but Jungwon merely laughs in response, rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back.

“Don’t be nervous, your fangs are more than ready to do the job and I’ll stop you if anything goes wrong. Remember darling, you bite firmly, sink your teeth in to make a clean wound instead of ripping tissue. As soon as it's secure, you release some venom to alleviate the pain, make it feel nice for everyone and only then do you start to drink. The hardest part is stopping before you do too much damage but I’ll let you know if you're getting to that point okay?”

“Wonnie, I don't want to accidentally hurt you-,” you start to protest but Jungwon cuts you off with a firm kiss to your lips.

“You’ll be fine. I promise. If you don’t trust yourself, trust in me, hm? You need to drink so you can feel better and who better to practice on than me? Come on love, I promise I don’t bite,” he murmurs cheekily against your lips, inciting a roll of your eyes, a derisive laugh escaping from your chest at the irony.

Shaking your head in mock exasperation, you concede, leaning in to plant a peck against Jungwon’s smirking mouth. You trail kisses lower until you've reached the hollow of his neck, ears pricking as soft satisfied sighs escape from his parted lips.

Angling your head, you finally sink your teeth into his skin, your hands finding his shoulders for support. Jungwon's grip on your waist tightens for a split second until you release your venom, relaxing as the pain subsides and gives way to pleasure.

A metallic flavor floods your mouth, relief washing over you as the pain and hunger ebb away. Instead you focus on the taste against your tongue and the way Jungwon strokes your hair tenderly, pressing mumbled praises and groans against the side of your head.

It's when you begin to feel nearly intoxicated at the feeling of feeding that Jungwon whispers into the hollow of your ear softly, “Alright sweetheart, it's time to stop drinking. Let the last of your venom out and then retract your fangs, help the wound close up, you're doing so good for me baby.” You follow his instructions as best you can given the foggy state of your mind, finally pulling away to look into Jungwon’s eyes.

He rests his forehead against yours, cupping your jaw fondly, “You did perfectly darling, I'm so proud of you,” Jungwon tilts his face, slotting your lips together, fingers tangling into your hair to bring you closer. You loop your arms around his broad shoulders melting into his embrace. He sighs into your mouth, humming contently at the faint taste before reluctantly pulling away.

“You were so good baby, soon you'll be able to go out and hunt for yourself no problem,” Jungwon beams at you. Still dizzy from the rush that drinking gave you, blood rushing in your ears, you settle into his arms, burying into the crook of his neck..

“I’d rather just have you hunt enough for the both of us and just let me drink from you,” you bat your eyes at Jungwon sweetly and he snorts in response.

“You must really be blood drunk if you expect me to act as your personal Uber eats for the rest of millenia,” he teases, pinching your cheek.

You huff petulantly, “Considering I’ve been your walking bloodbag for the past few years I think you owe me at least a year or two of the same.”

“Not my fault you smell so yummy,” Jungwon noses at the column of your neck, his fangs grazing the skin, “how could you expect me to want anything else?”

You try to push his face away from your neck to little avail. Jungwon held you tightly in his grasp, knowing you were just being difficult to mess with him. “Well your pickiness and lack of self control is the reason all my neighbors think I get my neck mauled by a bear every night. I refuse to start hunting, you’re just gonna make me into your personal juicebox again,” you grumble, giving in and letting Jungwon continue his ministrations. Vampire my ass, if anything he was more akin to an overgrown kitten, always nuzzling and nipping at your neck.

Jungwon leans back far enough to knock his head into yours playfully, “Yeah right, you love when I give you love bites.” You go to protest but Jungwon cocks his head challengingly, his eyes daring you to try and deny it. The words die in the base of your throat, and you swallow harshly, your face heating as you look away, muttering half hearted insults under your breath.

“Did you say something sweetheart?” Jungwon asks teasingly, and you widen your eyes in mock horror, knowing that with his heightened senses he had very clearly heard every word.

“Just saying how much I love you darling,” you blink up at him, with a saccharine smile.

Jungwon laughs, his dimple on full display, pressing a sweet kiss on your lips. “I love you more baby, even if that means I have to hunt for two for the rest of my very long life.” You give a satisfied hum and cuddle happily into his hold. Forever seemed a lot less daunting in Jungwon’s arms.

a/n: ,,,,,idk what to say about this one. I wanted to give you guys something bc MTM is taking so long and I'm about to leave for vacation,,, and this ended up being the product of my 2am thoughts.... hope u enjoy :)

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softlyspector · 5 months

Text

sated

Summary: Joel just wants you to eat well.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!vampire!Reader

Word count: ~5.2k

Warnings: love as being consumed, blood drinking, smut from start to finish (piv, f!receiving oral, fingering), Joel's praise kink, talk of eating, consuming, drinking, hunger, etc, vampires you get it.

A/N: This came of an abandoned work I posted, which you can find here. Thank you all for always being encoraging and lovely. I hope you enjoy my vamp and please let me know what you think! Thank you for reading! 💕

Devotion comes naturally to him, maybe that’s why this is so easy.

When you lean over his proffered wrist and sink your teeth into his skin, pleasure fists itself around his spine. The gratification is instant and complete. There’s no wondering if it’s right, if he’s giving you something you really need.

A desperately hungry moan rumbles in the back of your throat, grip tightening on him like you’re worried he might pull away. Already, everything is hazy.

Your hand curls around his forearm, while the other grips his fingers tight, locked between his.

There’s nothing prettier in the world than the way you look when you lift your head after a moment or an eternity passes, eyes full and satiated. Mouth a red slash of his blood. “Stop letting me.” Desperation, pain.

“No.”

He doesn’t want you to have to hunt, or fight, or seduce, your way to what you need. You have him now. You have his blood and body and him and he doesn’t want you with anyone else anyway, even if it’s just to eat.

Even if it’s for nothing more than food.

“Joel—”

The room is dark, lit by the glow of a lamp too far away to cast much light on either of you. Your expression is clouded with want, with lust, pupils blown so wide your eyes appear entirely black.

His blood is leaking in little rivulets down his wrist, over your fingers. It stains the white, satin sheets. The headboard of your bed digs into his spine where he leans against it, still in his jeans but removed of everything else.

Everything is bloody, everything is you and him, stained and caressed and creased, brined, torn into. It would be butchery if it weren’t so beautiful.

Each time you pull away from him, he expects to see flesh in your teeth, his heart on your tongue still beating.

You kiss him instead, his own blood in his mouth. To him, it’s just iron and salt, like sucking on a penny. A little bit gross on its own.

You tell him, sometimes, that he tastes sweet. Like candy? He’d asked one, a joke, a haze of pleasure pulled like wool over his eyes.

No, you’d said, not that strong. Like fruit, I guess, if I remember right.

He doesn’t know how old you are, how long it’s been since you tasted fruit. Doesn’t matter, will never matter.

His blood on your mouth, though, is intoxicating. He’s already woozy with the loss of it, with the quiet injection of something that makes everything go foggy and needy. It’s a reminder that you are a predator choosing not to kill him, that whatever poison came with your bite was meant to make him easy to slaughter.

Joel pulls you in tight, slides his tongue into your mouth. It’s sticky. Blood dries quick and tacky, it pulls at his skin where you fit yourselves together. It’s messy on your mouth, stains your hands and his.

He pulls you into his lap and you move easily with the tug of his hands. Knees fitted to either side of his hips, you pull away to lick up the blood on his forearm, the slide of your tongue causing an ache to open up in the pit of his belly.

Joel asked you, once, what being hungry felt like.

You’d hummed and stroked his cheek, eyes considering and far away. You’d told him it didn’t feel much like the human hunger you remembered, but like pain. It hurt, burned in your chest like a hurtful fire that could not be put out.

And maybe that had been your mistake. Admitting to the pain.

Maybe he wouldn’t be so keen on sacrificing himself if he wasn’t aware of how much it hurt you to be hungry.

Joel pulls your head up, away from his arm, and tilts his own back, exposing his throat.

The tip of your tongue runs over your lips instead, something desperate and famished in your eyes.

It’s not so much an offering as a welcoming, a demand. He wants you to. He wants you to feed until you can’t take anymore, until that bright burning finally fades away and you aren’t hungry anymore.

“No,” you say and shake your head, voice despairing, want fading from your gaze. “I can’t, Joel, I—” Your eyes flick to his open invitation, his throat, his collarbone. You wince and glance away. Guilt eats away at your expression. His throat is purple with bruising from the night before when you had refused to take more than one tiny drink. Starving yourself for reasons he won’t make himself understand.

It bothers you, the bruise, he knows it does, but it shouldn’t. It’s just evidence that you’re eating good.

“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse. “If y’need it.”

“I don’t,” you snap suddenly, the snarl in your voice another reminder. You could decide he wasn’t worth the trouble anymore and drain him dry, snap his neck. It’s an odd feeling. He’s not used to being at someone else’s mercy, not used to being so obviously the weaker of a pair. “I used to go months without,” your voice hitches, like you might cry. “I’m fine.”

“Y’don’t have to go without anymore.”

He feels frenzied about it. He needs you to believe it, that he can be useful to you.

You do this all the time. You do this every time. Fret about him when he knows he can take it, he knows that he can give you this.

He moves, curls over you, presses you flat back onto the sheets and you let him. Mouth nestled against the hollow of your throat where no pulse beats. There is only slightly cooler than normal skin under his lips, smooth and perfect and firm. Joel curls his fingers around your wrist, pins your hand to the bed.

“I can’t, Joel,” you moan. The sound vibrates against his lips. You might not have a heart that beats, but your lungs still fill with air, the desperate pump of them more than enough to know how badly you’re affected by him, how much you want and how much he can give you. “I can’t. I’ll. . .I’ve taken too much already.”

He doesn’t get to answer, your mouth is already at his throat, the sharp, sweet pang of your bite sliding into muscle and sinew. You suck harshlyand his vision goes blurry, eyes rolling back at the pleasure that chases the pain. He just manages to catch himself on his other hand before he can collapse fully against you.

Maybe he’s just a little selfish with it, with the need to give mixed up with how fucking good it feels. That’s the pure awful truth of it. It feels good. Every feeling, every sensation is heightened.

He’s letting you eat but it's for him, too. And that’s just fucking shameful but he can’t stop either.

You’re wearing something silk, something with lots of skin showing, something pretty and now stained with his blood. Your skin is soft and impossibly smooth beneath his hands, the plush curve of your thighs parting to let him nestle against you, the bowl of your hips accommodating him.

Joel presses his hips against yours, slowly ruts against your core, the heat that bleeds out of your body. Heat that will fade over the next few hours, heat that he’s given you with the blood from his veins, that you still take from his body with needy swallows, and pleased whimpers.

He works at his jeans with one hand, fingers clumsy with the black that encroaches at the edge of his vision as you feed. You thread your fingers through his hair, keeping him tucked close, hips chasing his, rolling up to meet his.

You pull away from his throat with a pained groan, and the ache returns immediately.

He wants you to keep going. He could survive, he thinks, with just one drop. That’s all he needs.

“No,” you say. But your eyes are glutted, satiated. You sound drunk and maybe that’s what makes him realize he’s a poison to you too, something you have to try very hard not to sink your teeth into and rip, tear. “No more, Joel. Please.”

He can be good for you, give you everything you need so you never want again. That makes him delusional with giving.

Your fingers wrap loosely around the base of his cock, guiding him to your entrance, dripping with need and want of a different kind. He slides into you slow, the hug of your body around him addictive, until you’ve taken him to the hilt and there’s nothing but you. “Christ, darlin’,” he mutters, vision going properly black now, consciousness fading. “Feel ‘s good.”

“Hey.” Concern in your voice, knee pressed to his hip, the strength of your body turning him onto his back. “You did good,” you praise, gentle, blood soaked fingers against his bare chest, the underside of his jaw where the flesh is soft. “So good. Take a second.”

Your hand is pressed delicately to his cheek; you’re beautiful and sleek above him and he has the sense that some time has passed when he’s able to focus on you. “Hey,” you say again, the cushion of your voice soft. You cradle his bloody hands in yours, fingers stroking his wrists slowly, before you press them to your waist, hips moving slowly against his again.

The tight clench of your cunt around him is nearly painful, the rock of your hips so slow, like you’re testing the waters of him.

He’s good, he wants to say. Fine. But your praise is ringing in his ears. Your mouth is red with blood, teeth stained when your lips pull back. “Good,” he echoes, the word settling heavily in his chest. You think he did good.

“Yeah. Really good,” you say. “That’s what you wanna hear isn’t it? That you did good for me?”

The tangle of pleasure coursing through weak limbs only curls more firmly around his spine and knots in his belly when you lift his wrist to your lips again, mouthing away the blood, but not biting. “I’m so full,” you murmur against his skin, eyes flickering closed. “You’ve fed me so well.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, watching you suck the blood from his skin, eyes closed, body never faltering in the pace you set grinding against him. The tension has faded from your shoulders, your skin is warm with the glow of life, so he knows you’re telling the truth. When you bite him this time, wrist cradled to your mouth, the pain is dull and far away.

There’s no hunger as you take this time, no desperate pull; you eat because you can, lazily and slowly; tasting.

He drags his free hand up your side, cups the weight of your breast in his hand, before he tugs the strap of the silken gown down your arm. You release his hand, so he can pull the fabric slowly down your body until it pools around your hips.

Blood smears across your skin in shiny streaks, his open palm pressed flat against your chest dripping red again.

Your body reacts to his, supple and soft, moving with him when he cants his hips up, chasing something just out of reach.

He thought you’d be hard, the first time. That your skin would be solid, like nipping into stone. But it’s not, and right now you’re flush with warmth he gave you, shiny and bright. The curves of you are soft in his hands.

Joel wants you to say it again. Wants to hear that you’re satisfied, that he gave enough for you to feel full. His vision wavers and tunnels again. You rub his wrist between your fingers, gently staunching the flow of blood.

“You gave enough.” Fingers planted on his chest, hips lifting and falling, pleasure like a tide, like the salt of the ocean. His mouth tastes like the blood you put there, the venom that leaches from your teeth, saccharine sweet.

You lean over him, one hand on the headboard, the other beside his head. “Good for me,” you murmur, mouth pressing hungrily to his, the point of your tongue laving against the seam of his lips. He groans into you, fucks up into you so you gasp into his mouth.

He’d let you take a chunk of his heart out, wrap his veins around your fingers and tug them out of his body one by one, gnaw on a rib, if it meant you weren’t hungry anymore, if it meant you were never in pain.

There’s no pain in your face now, nothing wan or drawn about you. No hollows beneath your eyes or distance in your gaze. The clench of your expression is undeniably pleasure. He leaves bloody fingerprints behind on your skin, cups your breasts in his hands, thumbs stroking the taut peaks of your nipples until you whine.

The weakness that comes with the loss of blood is a drug all its own. He feels closer to you, further away from his own body, the thrum of need a sensation that doesn’t belong to him, that curls firm and hard in his belly and spreads slowly out into the rest of him, like lazy vines of an invasive species.

“Joel,” you say against his mouth, all copper and iron, like the touch of a blade to his throat.

It’s better, for both of you, when you’re feeding. He wants you to bite him again. Just one more time.

He pushes you back, rolls until you’re on your back.

“Joel—”

And this time your voice is sharp and reproving. You think he’s too weak with the blood loss, he knows it.

He thrusts into you and your mouth pockets into a little o, fingers scrabbling at his biceps. He sets a brutal pace, makes you forget whatever protest you might have had.

You’re so good for him, tight and wet, thighs slick against him when you hook your knee against his hip. Joel slows, drags his cock slowly out of you, just to push back in all at once, right to the root.

“Feel s’good,” he mutters against you, mouth lowered to your chest to sucks one tight nipple into his mouth. You jolt and arch into him, a moan tearing out of your throat. “Shit,” he thrusts again and again, pushing you up the bed before he curls his forearm over the top of your head, his other hand cupping the back of your neck, gently turning your head. “Bite, baby,” he says, desperate. “Bite.”

You shake your head, hips rolling up to meet his. “No.”

“Yes. One more time.” The sound of you is sloppy, his cock soaked in your needy cunt. His vision is blurring again, the effort to keep fucking you killing him, figuratively and maybe literally.

His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his fucking chest, a warning from every instinct a person should have warning him danger danger danger predator predator predator.

He doesn’t heed it, doesn’t have the good sense to run away. Danger and predator sounds like understanding, sounds like kin and home and acceptance, to him.

“Makes it better, y’know it does. You’re so good for me. Give it here, honey. Just this. Just bite, nothin’ else.” He sounds delirious and deranged but you whine and he’s reminded again, has that thought again, he’s as much a drug to you as you are to him. You just need a little coaxing. “C’mon, baby. Please, darlin’.”

He urges your head closer, feels the brush of your mouth, the prick of your teeth, and then finally that wonderful fucking rush of your incisors sinking deep into his skin.

There’s pleasure, and there’s sex, and then there’s this.

And he knows you know it too, blurred vision going white from how hard he comes inside you, the fist of your pussy clenching around him as you follow him over the edge. You cry out against his skin, a sound he’s never heard before, the points of your nails digging into his shoulders until he’s sure he’s bleeding there, too.

He feels the release of your teeth from his bicep, the gasp of your mouth, and then he collapses against you and kisses his own hot blood away from your mouth, open wounded vein spilling red across both of you.

Joel sleeps and when he wakes, he knows he isn’t done with you. You consume him, he wants to do the same to you.

He slides his tongue through your soaked folds, the mess of himself leaking from you. He presses his nose against your heat and then your thigh.

It must be some predator thing, the way you smell, to attract that which you should kill. If he could, he’d bite you there, the vein that runs under the skin of your thigh. He’d sink his teeth into you there, and drink. If he was like you, that is where he’d take from you. But he’s not, and if he was, he would not take from you.

He’d starve first.

“You don’t want that,” you say, hands in his hair. “You don’t want this.”

He doesn’t answer.

“It’s terrible, Joel,” you murmur. “To be this lonely.”

“I’m lonesome anyway,” he presses his teeth against your skin again. “And gettin’ older and lonelier every minute.”

He doesn’t want to be like you, not really. But he doesn’t want you to leave him either, and he doesn’t want to die one day and leave you alone. He wants to tangle his fingers inside your chest, bring the beat of your heart back to life. He wants to dig two graves, yours and his, next to each other.

Joel doesn’t say any of that, and before you can say anything, he shoves your legs back toward your chest, spreads you open wide. The muscle in the back of your thigh twitches, a lazy moan slips past your lips when he repositions on aching knees to suction his mouth to your pussy.

He closes his eyes and presses his hands against the backs of your knees. Your fingers dig into his hair, drag him closer, push him further into you. A broken groan slices through the air when he pushes his tongue into you.

He thinks about your teeth locked around his throat, like a wolf with prey. His scalp smarts with how hard you’re tugging at his hair. It’s good to be at your mercy.

“Joel.”

There’s a drag in the vowels of his name, a desperation, a burning in his chest with the sound of it. He pulls back to look at you, to skim his fingers along the backs of your thighs.

“Hm?”

“What do I taste like?”

He lowers your hips to the bed, presses his fingers inside you instead.

Before he can answer, you look at him with big, thirst slaked eyes. “Do you like it? The way I taste?”

“Mm,” he hums. Your cunt clenches around his fingers. He fucks you like that laguidly, feeling every part of you, the inside of you soft against he pads of his fingers. “Yeah. I like it.”

Joel leans down, presses his forehead to yours, eyes never leaving your gaze. The essence of you is caught in his beard, and it’s only when he rubs his chin against yours, that your eyes slide closed. This close, everything smells red. Like blood and come and sex; your breath is cool and sweet, like fresh air against his mouth.

He wants to drink the air from your lungs. Instead, he kisses you long and soft, pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy, rubs his thumb across your messy clit.

You still taste like life, but he hopes you can taste yourself, too. A gasp catches in your throat, fingers hooking against the back of his neck, twisting up into his hair.

“Tell me. I want you to tell me.”

It’s different to anyone else he’s ever tasted, probably another predator-prey thing. Intoxicating, addicting. “Bitter,” he replies. “N’ sweet.”

Your mouth opens against his, and he pulls away to slide down your body again, tongue against the bitter-sweet of your slick. “Like you, then,” you mumble. “We taste the same.”

Wouldn’t that be something? “Ain’t like that, most like.”

You are more bitter than sweet, he’d say, opposite to how his blood is for you. Opposite to how he’d describe you and him, if pressed. For a self described monster, you are sweet.

He feels when you come against his tongue, the pulse and clench of your pussy, dripping against his lips. He likes it too much, how you taste like him, too, that his come leaks from you with the second and third waves of pleasure that arch your hips from the bed

The exhaustion sneaks up on him, sudden and painfully demanding, real. And all at once, he feels like a man that’s lost too much blood.

He feels your hands maneuvering him, limbs readjusted gently, pushed onto his back, sheets and a blanket pulled up around him. Your hands pressing across his chest and neck and cheeks, like you’re trying to assess something and he guesses you are because you whisper. “Joel? Baby, stay awake for a minute. Are you warm? I can’t tell. I—”

You’re worried about him.

Ferocious predator. Monster then could end his life in a split second, but that he chose to feed instead. That makes you his vicious monster, he would guess. And you’re worried. Worried. About him.

He folds his hand around yours, holds your still warm fingers against his chest. “‘M fine.”

Joel is dedicated to you in a way that frightens you. He is so willing to lie down and open his own throat.

That had so surprised you, the first time. You’d picked him out because he was big and strong, protective and swollen with a kind of love you couldn’t put your finger on. You had just wanted a fight and a little taste, not to take anything more. No, not this one.

You’d thought his blood might be bitter and biting, like poison with age, but it hadn’t been. Everything about Joel had surprised you. How quickly he had offered himself up, addicted to your monstrousness in a way you still don’t quite understand.

It makes you feel guilty, shameful.

He doesn’t know how he jolts in your arms when you bite him, doesn’t know how his muscle twitches in pained little starts when you’ve taken too much, doesn’t know how far away his eyes can go.

You’re hungry, baby, he always says, like that’s enough. It’s enough that you’re hungry and he can feed you.

And you are hungry, and it feels good to have someone give to you so freely, and so you take what he wants to give you. There’s some part of you that knows it satisfies him, too, to be able to give, and to be able to give something so tangible and physical, that he feels it afterwards, the labor of his giving.

You worry all the time, that it’s too much, that in the mornings the haze of desire and need to give would fade and he’d look around and see the blood and the bruises and your teeth coated in his life, and he would finally understand and finally leave you behind.

He looks peaceful in the sunshine that curls in through the window. It’s unfortunate, the bruises on either side of his throat, on his wrist and bicep. He looks pale, and you know that you will not be able to take from him again for a while, no matter how much you might want to.

And Joel needs time to recover, whether he wants that or not.

Your favorite little human, who decided to love a monster, who decided he would like to see one happy and sated.

The burn of hunger is satiated so well, the burn and ache in your chest gone for the time being.

You worry it might have been too much but he breathes evenly, deeply, soundly. Rust red streaks coat his skin, the palms of his hands and his chest, the space above his heart.

How you’d like to wriggle your nails carefully between his ribs, feel the slick beat of his heart in your hand. If you could figure out a way to do it without killing him, you would. You’d hold his heart in the light, watch the pulse of it like the breath of a sleeping pet.

He sleeps, and doesn’t know how hard it is for you not to drain him dry, not to suck the very marrow from his bones, to pick him clean like the carrion bird, the vulture, you are.

Before Joel, even draining a body down to nothing, exsanguinating them, wouldn’t have been enough to ease the visceral burn in your chest. You always seemed to need more and more. More bodies, more blood, more human lives. Not with him.

Maybe his blood is better for you, more nutritious, saturated with something that’s better at satiating you. His blood is always enough even if you have to fight not to take it all.

Perhaps it's just that the edge of your loneliness isn’t so sharp, that you wake not in a guilty, terrible haze next to a corpse, but next to someone who cares for you enough to feed you pieces of himself.

You touch his bearded jaw and a muscle in his cheek twitches, the sleep he’s in an exhausted one. Still, he sucks in a sharp breath, eyes flicking open. The warmth of his skin clouds around you, scent changing with his wakefulness.

Joel smells nice, always.

He smells nice in the morning sunlight spilling through the bay window. Humans have a way of absorbing smells. Things they shouldn’t be able to smell like—sunshine, storms, city streets. They smell sleepy and tired and happy and everything in between.

Joel smells warm like the sun he lies half in a patch of, the cotton sheets, the lavender detergent. He smells sleepy and content and that makes another kind of ache curl around your heart. More visceral, perhaps, than any thirst ever could be.

Beneath that, the other smells, the ones that make your mouth water—beautifully warm blood, subtly sweet and bitter, salt, come. He smells like you, your blood and come, and that’s something you inexplicably like.

His eyes are pretty in the sun, his lashes lowered, casting shadows over his warm brown irises, his cheeks, as he watches you. “Mornin’,” he says and his voice grates. It’s like you can hear every single stretched scratch of it in his throat.

You can see each fine line and hair and wrinkle on his face. Each tiny mark, every scar and pinch of skin. He’s painfully, beautifully human. It’s nice though, you like looking at those things. They make him interesting. They make you ache for something out of your reach. He’s so pretty, the thick, corded muscle in his arms twisting when he stretches, veins a prominent blue-green.

It’s unfortunate, so unfortunate, that this one, the one you like so well, will die so sooner than the others you used to feed on.

Grief punches you in the chest, debilitating in its sudden awfulness.

But you force it down and smile. “Good morning, Joel.”

You reach for him and curl your hand around his wrist. The beat of his heart is steady against your palm. It thrums, strong and so full of life, it makes the mourning surge in the back of your throat. It feels like holding his heart in your hand.

There is a game you’ve been playing for years, decades. One where you must struggle and kill to get what you need. You try not to kill them, if you can help it, but sometimes it just can’t be helped.

It’s a lonely existence, with connections that last a minute. No family, no friends. Just those precious few minutes with your teeth sunk into soft skin. Sometimes, they’d pull you closer, inadvertently.

Joel is dangerous for you. He pulls you so close, so often, and offers himself to you. There is no fight, no hunt, no seducing. It’s almost the other way around. He’s so desperate for you to take from him, to take care of you.

“Y’good?”

“Yes. You?”

“‘M good. Tired, a bit.”

“Okay.” You nod. “You need to eat. And I will not feed from you again until you recover. Your red blood cells need to replenish,” you chatter. “Or you’ll become anemic.”

He smiles. “All right. How d’ya know all a’ that?”

“Google.”

“Mm. Worried?”

“Always.”

“How long’s that take? Replenishin’. . .whatever?”

You bring his hand to your lips, press a kiss there and watch his chest hitch. “Four to six weeks. I’ll be okay in that time,” you add before he can comment.

“Christ,” he mutters, like he’s cursing his own body for doing what bodies do. “I don’t like that.”

You kiss his bruised wrist and lower it to the bed. You feel so full there is no urge to drink, to bite, that you have to fight. “Let me get you something to eat,” you say, brushing a hand through his peppered hair, trailing your fingers down his cheek. “Get this blood off you.”

It’s dried in patches on his skin, sloughing off in russet flakes.

You make him pick out something to eat and then call for takeout. And maybe it’s a testament to how tired he is that he lets you urge him into the adjoining bathroom while you wait, that he lets you take care of his clearly spent body. He’s unbelievably pale beneath his beard, the little tangles of hair at the back of his neck. His whole throat is purple, and you hear in his voice how it must ache.

“I don’t mean to bite you that hard,” you murmur, white washcloth pink with his blood in your hand. You smooth it down the curve of his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“S’ just a little sore,” he dismisses. A beat of silence passes, and then he adds, “Feels good. When y’do it. Don’t hurt then.”

“It feels good?”

“Mm. Swear it does.”

You finish with his face and think you should just let him shower while you wait for his food, but you like taking care of him like this, wiping away the evidence of your brutality. “Describe it.”

“What’s it feel like to you?”

Ecstasy, you think. “A little bit like coming,” you say to hear him laugh, feel the blush of his manners stain his skin pink beneath your hands.

“Yeah, I’d say that’s about right.”

You lean in to kiss him, the warmth of his mouth against your cool lips, cheeks cradled in palms that never mean to hurt, teeth that never mean to bite so hard.

“Good,” he says, “So, it’s good all around.”

“Good,” you echo.

And maybe it is.

💕 Whew! Thank you for reading! I would love to hear any thoughts you might have! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #posting and running away

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koqabear · 7 months

Text

Just A Taste

♫: 28 Reasons, Seulgi // Sacrifice, Enhypen // Hush, Ari Abdul // Oh my god, (G)I-DLE

“Sometimes, the best things are hidden in plain sight; all you need to do is give in to the chase."

vampire!soobin x fem!reader

Genre: supernatural au, office au, smut. pwp.

Word count: 9.8k

Warnings (for both the story and smut, it all blends together idk): barely edited. power imbalance oou… soobin’s a little evil and manipulative. And obsessive (severely). They have a bit of a predator/prey relationship idk how to explain it 😭😭 mentions of blood/drinking blood, soobin has like. inhuman strength. dom!soobin, sub!reader, bit of a fear kink? for both of them? dubcon, also scent kink for soobin, pet names, (bunny, bun, pet) humiliation kink ig, manhandling, dacryphilia, biting (whaaat??), implied aphrodisiacs, thigh riding, dumbification, praise, subspace…? multiple orgasms, degrading, strength kink, begging, use of restraints, breast play, fingering, orgasm control, cum eating, finger sucking, pain kink for the mc tbh… brief male masturbation? Soobin is big mwuah, unprotected sex, possessiveness, claiming/mating?, overstimulation, creampie, mc briefly blacks out lol, lmk if i missed anything..

notes: starting october with this absolute banger that was sent in quite a while ago. this story is teetering on the darker side, so please read the warnings carefully before you read!

Soobin, who is alluring and intimidating yet strange all at once— a bit standoffish yet charismatic, a total enigma to his coworkers. There’s something off about him, yet no one can really pinpoint what it is; he’s just too good at acting normal— at acting human.

Soobin, who immediately takes an interest in his meek and evasive coworker who just transferred into his department, who always seems to be tense and even afraid when he enters the same room— naturally, his curiosity wants him to find out why.

You’re smarter than Soobin gives you credit for; because the moment you stepped into the office for the first time, taking in the new environment and its people, you immediately knew there was something wrong about the head of the department— but, instead of brushing it aside like everyone else, you stood by your gut feelings.

A terrible choice, really.

Because after a particularly busy evening for you, you quickly found yourself staying after hours in the office, glued to your chair and zoned out as you finished the countless tasks that were suddenly piled onto you— little did you know, it had all been on purpose.

From the privacy of his office, Soobin watched you carefully; could it be possible you caught on? Was there a reason you never wanted to be alone with him, never afraid to show the skeptic look in your eyes the moment he tried to be friendly and approach you? It’s not that Soobin hadn’t tried to dissuade your clear distrust in him— but it never worked, and most times he found that it only made things worse for him in the end.

Normally, he would let it be— so what if you find him strange? Everyone in this office does; though he pretends otherwise, he’s fully aware of the comments they’ve all made of him— yet it never fazes him.

You however, seem to be a completely different case; he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way about a human, never the type to give into his carnal desires unless absolutely necessary— even then, he’s always sure to give his prey mercy before feasting, only taking enough to satiate his hunger.

Maybe it has to do with the way your heart seems to beat a little faster around him, your eyes stricken with a subconscious fear that sharply contrasts your cold and indifferent attitude toward him, never batting an eye yet trying to hide the way your hands seem to shake when he gets even slightly close.

Poor little thing— in your attempts to distance yourself from him, you’ve only piqued his interest further.

Because as Soobin sneaks yet another glance at you, watching your every mannerism with hungry eyes, he’s found himself realizing that your fear is quite addicting.

With one last reassurance that the office is empty, Soobin makes his move.

You don’t hear his office door open; you don’t hear his footsteps approaching you, don’t even feel his presence as he stands behind you, quietly watching the way your fingers fly across your keyboard in an eager attempt to finish your last task of the day.

“Shouldn’t you be home by now,” Soobin fights the urge to smile as he watches the way you practically jump out of your seat, twisting around violently to look at him— the way you curl into yourself slightly isn’t lost upon him, “___?”

The way your name rolls off his tongue is dangerous; it’s perfect and addicting, just like the quick beating of your heart and your eyes that widen slightly as you realize who is currently towering over you— you seem unsure of what to say as you stutter your response to him, and Soobin has to resist the urge to coo softly at the way your hands grip onto your seat a bit tighter, your eyes glued to an unknown point behind him as you speak.

“I’m almost done, I’ll be leaving soon.” you say, biting your lip as you wait anxiously for his response; though you’ve always tried to seem flippant and indifferent in front of him, you can’t control the way your weakness leaks through you as you realize where you are— in the office, alone, cornered.

A moment passes. Soobin has yet to say anything, and despite your instincts telling you not to, you’re nervous enough to look up at him, trying to gauge his reaction through his expression.

His eyes lock onto yours immediately.

You’ve never gotten a good look at his face before; every time he’d walk into the same room as you, you’d make it a point to avoid him entirely— but now, as you really begin to take him in, you realize with a slight dread that he’s incredibly handsome— you think you know why your coworkers were so eager to dismiss any strange behavior from him now.

“There we go,” he smiles, his plump lips stretching into a smile; his teeth are perfect and shine even under the old lights of the office, and you can feel yourself shrinking slightly as you take in his smile— oddly dangerous, your eyes falling onto his sharp, fang-like teeth that glint at you, the expression more warning than welcoming— and you will yourself to meet his gaze once more, his eyes scrunching up in a way you would’ve considered endearing— but the way his eyes flash isn’t lost upon you, and you can practically feel your heart stopping at the sight.

“You’re finally looking at me.”

That wasn’t normal. Normal people can’t do what he just did— they can’t make their pupils glint with the same, sharp crimson that Soobin’s just did, taking in your reaction with a dark desire— no, if it weren’t for the fact that Soobin’s mere presence was already enough to make your hair raise like a frightened cats, you would’ve had half the mind to blame it on your tired brain.

“What was that?” you ask quietly, not trusting your voice to be any louder as you scoot your chair away from him slightly— a horrible choice on your part, leaving you more pressed into the desk and as a result, more trapped.

You think you might have lost your mind as you watch Soobin tilt his head, eyes almost transforming and turning into something more sweet and innocent, round and sparkling under the old office lights as he pouts slightly; a total change from the man seconds before, and you would almost begin to wonder if your mind really was playing tricks on you, if not for the subtle twitch of his lips as he takes in your befuddled expression.

“What are you hiding,” you say, your voice becoming stern as you finally decide to take a leap of faith; you’ve had enough of cowering in suspicion, beliefs that only grow stronger as you stand, taking in Soobin’s amused expression as he watches your brave front.

“What do you mean?” he asks, still pretending to be clueless as he takes in your accusatory tone with a raise of his brow.

“You… you’re not normal,” you feel a bit ridiculous the moment you say it out loud, but the way the man before you only begins to smile blatantly spurs you on, “You don’t have to hide from me— I’m not stupid.”

“And what will you do about it?” He asks, and it’s only then that you feel your streak of courage begin to fade; he’s taken slow, deliberate steps toward you, and before you can stop it, he’s got you pressed against the desk— hands on either side of you, arms caging you in as he looms over you dangerously, “Will you tell the others?”

You freeze as he begins to lean towards you— you’ve gone in total panic mode, unsure of what to say or do as you merely stand helpless to him, feeling a primal fear take over you as your poor heart beats harder against your chest— Soobin’s lips are near your ear, the soft huff he lets out in amusement defeating to you.

Slowly, he begins to lean down lower— you don’t know what his intentions are or what he may do, but all you know is that you can’t remain still any longer— his breath fans across the exposed skin of your neck, and your eyes widen as you feel his teeth graze the sensitive flesh, razor sharp and threatening as he threatens to carve a path down the column of your neck; like instinct, your fists come up to push against his chest, using your full strength to push him away in a rush of adrenaline.

Except, it doesn’t work.

Soobin remains still. Entirely. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t move an inch, even when you continue to punch at him, even beginning to kick at him when that doesn’t work— still, he remains unfazed, still as stone as you continue to try and get him off you.

Before you can even process it, his hands fly up to catch your own; his grip is bruising, and you can’t control the pained yelp that escapes you from how tightly he’s got you in his grasp. His strength… is inhuman. Helplessly, you meet his eyes.

“How cute.”

He smiles, and there they are again— his sharp fangs, his eyes that seem to glow threateningly at you, and his bruising strength that makes you wonder if he’ll shatter your hands— except, this time, it all seems to piece together, your mouth falling open as you begin to conclude the impossible.

“Your heart might explode at this point,” he mutters indifferently, eyes darting down to your chest that rises and falls with rapid, panicked breaths, “What’s going on in that darling brain of yours? You seem so, so afraid.”

“What…” Your words seem to die on your tongue as you thrash weakly in his grip, attempting one last time to escape before you finally give up, discouraged as you try to continue to seem brave, even if Soobin sees right through it, “What are you…?”

Soobin grins.

“Now you’re asking the right questions.”

♡♡♡

Your requests to transfer departments have been denied. All of them.

Not a day has gone by where you feel safe in the office since then. Of course, there’s no way Soobin would do anything— not in such a public setting at least, where he’s vulnerable to exposing his real identity.

That still didn’t stop you from avoiding him— if anything, your attitude toward him only became more blatant ever since that fateful night— and though you wish you could say it worked out well for you, you know that’s a lie. All it got you was more questions from your coworkers and rumors that stirred up about the two of you— whether it was a secret vendetta or a soured relationship, you think you’ve heard it all.

“What is it about him that you just don’t like?” they would ask, nosy as ever as you simply tried to laugh it off and deny your behavior— if you told them the truth, what would they even say? How would they react?

“Why… are you telling me this?” you had asked him, sitting back against the desk in order to not fall— your legs were weak and you’re sure they would buckle the moment you tried to stand, eyes teary and giving away your fear as you stared up at Soobin.

“Because,” he laughed, the sound soft and breathy as he looked down at you, his tongue running along the top row of his perfect, razor sharp teeth; the sight was enough to make you shiver.

“No one will believe you.”

You haven’t allowed yourself near Soobin’s presence since then. Haven’t looked in his direction, haven’t gone near him, always sure to give him a wide berth whenever he’s in the same room as you, eager to show him that you don’t tolerate his presence and that you refuse to acknowledge him, no matter how… terrifying and threatening he might be.

Throughout the time that has passed since his confession and now, he’s taken every subtle change of yours with great interest— any change of expression, change of behavior, change of feelings, he’s taken note of it all.

Recently, he’s taken note of your heartbeat. The sound is usually very jarring to him the moment he senses you; always rapid and panicked, even more so once you realize he’s nearby— and he’s found himself searching for the sound more often than not, beginning to seek you out even if you may not realize it.

Though Soobin has noticed something different these days— at first, he thought he was imagining it, that it was just his deprived brain coming to conclusions that simply weren’t there, but the more he paid attention to it, the more he noticed it.

Your heartbeat has changed. It was miniscule at first, something so minute and subtle that if Soobin hadn’t spent most of his working hours paying attention to the sound of your heart, he could have missed it. But he didn’t, and the sound only became more and more blatant to him the more time passed.

Your heartbeat wasn’t the only thing that changed. Slowly, you changed as well. He wasn’t stupid; he wasn’t ignorant to the way you began sneaking glances at him, observing him when you thought he was unaware— but when it comes to you, he pays more attention than he lets on— and if were to say that he didn’t notice the way you’ve began to study him with a subtle curiosity, that would be a downright lie.

Soobin finds your act of bravery very cute.

So, when the news is delivered that you would be presenting the monthly report of the company’s revenue to the higher ups, you think you felt your legs give out on you— Soobin could only watch with amusement from his office as you sat at your desk, a troubled expression on your face and your lips stuck in a pout as you chewed on your bottom lip like a habit— a habit Soobin had come to be jealous of, slowly finding himself craving to be the one to sink his teeth into you.

Soobin isn’t one to feed whenever a craving arises; he only does it when absolutely necessary, finding perfect victims before he swoops in and takes his fill— always enough to satisfy himself, but never enough to hurt.

His methods had been enough to have him survive and live a normal life, unlike those who jumped at the chance to fill a simple craving like beasts. So, being around you was both thrilling and dangerous— he found himself unable to control his thoughts the longer he remained around you, wondering what it would be like when he finally got his hands on you, wondering if you’d be willing to submit to him and let him use you as necessary.

For a second, he even ponders keeping you for himself.

♡♡♡

It’s late at night when you’re finally forced to present, the timing odd and unfortunate as you were told by your supervisors that “it was the only time that worked best.” The sentence was enough to have you irritated by the time the hour came along, forced to stay in your office long after everyone else had left before you finally made your way towards the presentation room on the top floor.

It was eerily quiet and empty as you made your way up, save for a janitor here and there or another employee that was finally leaving after their overtime; you had five minutes left before you had to present, and you could feel anxiety building up inside you as you shifted your weight on your uncomfortable heels— you had been wearing the uniform for so long that you couldn’t wait for the second you could go home and change.

Your heels clicked against the tiles of the floor, your hands gripping tightly onto the papers and laptop in your arms as you took in how many people were in the room; it wasn’t as much as you expected, but their power and positions had been enough to scare you straight as you enter slowly, closing the door behind you with a soft click as you greet them politely.

Your smile falters as you spot Soobin at the end of the meeting table, leaning back against his seat with a bored expression.

The meeting room feels a lot smaller than it did before; you feel suffocated and on edge as your eyes meet his, feeling stiff as you slowly make your way to the podium. You’re quick to look away, eyes glued to the floor as you clear your throat nervously; even now, you can feel his eyes burning into your skin.

Soobin can feel his desire burning stronger the longer he looks at you; he’s able to take you in properly, no longer able to hide or run away as you push through the presentation, the polite smile you keep on your face professional despite the rapid beating of your heart. Soobin can feel it all— he’s trying so hard to keep his instincts under control, but you make it so difficult as you remain nervous and skittish before him, eyes meeting his as he becomes unable to hold back the smile that spreads on his face.

You feel oddly cornered; you’re surrounded by people, but it feels like it’s just you and Soobin as you watch him flash you a smile, dangerous and terrifying as you take in the way his sharp teeth manage to stick out, even at a distance— you can’t help but feel as though you need to run away and hide.

It’s always expected to stay back and wait for everyone to leave after you’ve presented; so that’s exactly what you do, head ducked down as you pretend as though the idle screen of your computer is much more interesting than your supervisors that file out and chat amongst themselves. Biting your lip, you try to ignore the way you can practically feel Soobin’s presence as he comes closer— you’re eerily aware of the way it’s just the two of you now, the heavy door clicking shut after the last person that left.

Your attempt to ignore him until the very end is almost cute to Soobin. He can’t help but let out a breathy laugh as he watches the way you flinch, figure becoming tense as you take in the way he comes up behind you, looking over your shoulder to see what could possibly be taking up your attention like this.

“Well done,” Soobin says, his voice smooth as ever as he takes in the way you shiver slightly, “your presentation was quite impressive.”

All you can do is let out a soft thank you, hoping your uninterested tone and closed off posture is enough to shake him off— but of course it’s not, and you’re practically scared to breathe as you hear the man take a step closer to you, your jaw clenching as you feel his head hovering over your shoulder.

“Is something wrong? You look a little… tense.”

You’re shutting your laptop and ready to exit in the blink of an eye— but before you can even take a step towards the exit, you’re being pulled back, pushed against the podium and shrinking against it as you meet Soobin’s gaze.

“Please, leave me alone.”

There it is— the look Soobin has desperately been craving, eyes darkening at the way you stare up at him, meekly masked with a brave front as your eyes give away your true emotions; he inhales slowly, and he can practically drown in the way your scent changes at his proximity, the once sweet and alluring smell now intense and intoxicating, the twinge of something new piquing his interest as he finds himself stuck on it, unsure of what it may be.

“Have I done something wrong? It seems that you didn’t like me from the very start,” Soobin’s act of innocence is far from amusing to you. You’re unsure of what response he could possibly be looking for as he stares at you expectantly, pouty lips and round eyes a contrast to the true identity he revealed to you long ago.

“You know what it is,” you say, finding yourself unable to make space between you and Soobin as you press yourself further against the podium, “You— you’re not… human. You’re dangerous, I don’t want you near me.”

Your words are enough to have Soobin’s brows raising in surprise— the sudden confrontational tone you’ve taken on is quite surprising, and he finds himself oddly satisfied with the way your heart rate slowly begins to change, your scent going from something more panicked and sharp to something that practically makes Soobin dizzy— he has to hold himself back from getting lost in it as he smiles softly at you.

“Dangerous?” he repeats, though he doesn’t seem to be offended by the word as he slowly begins to lean in; of course, you lean away in response, but it only gives you so much space before you’re craning your neck back awkwardly, leaving you in a vulnerable position as Soobin eyes it carefully.

“Have I… done anything… dangerous, to you?”

Soobin’s voice is barely above a whisper; if you weren’t so focused on his every word, you could have missed it.

You gulp; Soobin’s eyes flicker down from yours, and you can feel yourself shiver at the realization that he’s staring at your neck. His words ring out in your head again, and you feel yourself tensing from a threat that seems to be hidden behind it all.

“You know I wouldn’t hurt you...” Your eyes are widening at his confession. There’s an unknown emotion swimming in Soobin’s eyes, and you can feel your hands cramping from how hard you’ve been gripping the edges of the podium behind you.

His eyes flicker back up.

You can feel yourself get transported back to the lonely day at the office, the scene eerily familiar as you take in the way his pupils become dilated, an intense glow of crimson swimming within as you find yourself unable to look away; the sight is almost alluring, and you realize with a heavy dread that Soobin is holding back— from what exactly, you’re unsure.

“You think I don’t notice the way you look at me?” he asks softly; you’re brought back to your senses as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear as he speaks, the deep rumble of his voice sending shivers through your spine, “I’ve noticed it all— especially the way your heart and body reacts to me now. Was it fun, pretending to hate me?”

Everything is so overwhelming. It feels as though your head is underwater as your mouth parts, unsure of what Soobin is going on about— you practically jump at the feeling of his hand landing on your waist, cold and big as his thumb gently caresses the spot.

“Aren’t you curious, bunny?” he asks, and you don’t realize that your eyes have been shut tight until you feel him pull away, confused by the sudden absence of his presence.

He seems to be lost in thought; his chest heaves with a deep breath— once, twice, his eyes fluttering shut in concentration— then he sighs, eyes slowly opening and a smile twitching at his mouth, lips slowly being stretched into a grin. He looks at you, at your cowering figure, your pounding heart, and your scent infused with a certain twinge he realizes he’s very familiar with— just, not familiar smelling it from you.

“You’re enjoying this,” your scent is thick and heavy, settling deep into his head and leaving him intoxicated from the realization that you’re aroused, face heating up and expression dropping with horror at his words; it’s no question, especially with the way your lips press together to withhold a weak whimper, “aren’t you?”

When you push Soobin off this time, he lets you; he stumbles back and watches the way you shake your head frantically, as if that could deny the way the way you have yet to run away, the way your scent only grows tenfold at the way he takes slow, deliberate steps towards you— your face is flushed and your legs tremble pathetically as you step back from him, walking along the long table as he only steps towards you in response.

“I’m— I’m not, you’re—” you can’t even seem to finish your words, mind blanking and eyes becoming glassy as he realizes that you’re embarrassed; he coos softly at the realization, reaching out teasingly to grab you, laughing heartily at the way you yelp and flinch away— as though he were something you should be guilty of being attracted to, as if the way you were feeling was dangerous.

And maybe it was.

“Are you embarrassed?” he coos softly, lips pouting as he looks at you with pity; you’re running out of room, about to go around the table and inevitably make your way back around to the exit— but not if Soobin can help it, eager to not let you out of his clutches this time as he rushes over to you; he’s grabbing your waist and pinning you against the windows of the meeting room in the blink of an eye, taking in the way you squeal in surprise and brace your hands against his chest— your heart is pounding at a harsh pace, a stark contrast to the way you feel nothing at all under your palms that press against the firm muscles of Soobin’s chest.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he sighs, pressing you flush against the windows and watching the way your eyes screw shut, attempting to curl in on yourself as you press your thighs together tightly; the sound of your tights rubbing together is almost deafening to Soobin, and his fingers dig just a bit deeper into the flesh of your hips, as though he were holding himself back.

“It’s normal to feel this way, you know,” he coaxes you softly, whispering soft reassurances as he runs his hands up and down your sides, smoothing the fabric of your clothes and running down your tight mini-skirt; feeling the way your thighs tremble as his fingers skirt along the material that covers it, blunt nails scratching your flesh and pulling the sheer cloth along.

“You’re so tense, bunny,” he mourns, feeling the way your breath hitches as his hands move— one pressing against the small of your back harshly, the other grabbing at the back of your thigh in attempts to press you closer against him, caging you in entirely; your back is arching and your head is involuntarily tilting back as your neck is bared to him; through wet lashes and wide, doe eyes, you finally look up at him.

“Don’t be scared,” he breathes out, his hand trailing up your thigh, cold palm smoothing the material of your tights, ruthless against the cloth of your skirt as he drags it along— hand hitching on your shirt and tugging it up slightly, your chest rising sharply with the breath you take as he brushes up, up the delicate column of your neck until he’s got your chin in his palm— fingers digging into the plush of your cheeks, forcing you to keep your eyes on him as he smiles— it’s sweet, it’s dark, it’s predatory, and it sends a lick of fire down your body.

“I’ll take good care of you.”

When Soobin begins to lean closer, you don’t flinch away; your mind blanks and your lips part expectantly, pulse still quick and afraid under Soobin’s fingers that press against your neck, just under your jawline— and your eyes flutter shut, delicate lashes decorated with tears that wet your skin, a dark facade that only spurs Soobin on more— he’s finally got you under him, and it’s just as thrilling as he imagined.

When he kisses you, it’s gentle. He’s treating you like a fragile thing, testing the waters, waiting for you to respond to the way his plush lips press against yours, sighing in content the moment you do; your hands still shake against him though, unsure of what to do with them, only making Soobin hold back a groan at the way you grab onto the clean, pressed shirt the moment he slips his tongue past your lips, tasting you with such eagerness that you’re left breathless.

You’re shocked stiff when you feel it; his teeth, razor sharp and cautious, grazing along your bottom lip. The whimper you let out does nothing to distract Soobin from sensing the way your scent spikes, dense and rushing to his head as he does the only thing he knows how to do; his teeth sink into your swollen bottom lip, ripping a pained moan from you as your hands panic and press against his chest— but he stays there, feeling his fangs sink into the flesh, feeling the way blood pools around the wound and onto your mouth, on his teeth— he’s just as quick to pull them out, his hand that was once on your jaw traveling to the back of your head in a haste; eager to keep you close, tilting your head up and keeping your mouth parted as you simply allow him to lick and suck at the blood, to kiss you as though he could die any moment now.

It doesn’t hurt after a moment— that much surprises you, the only pain you feel coming from your burning lungs, from the need to be parted and breathe— but Soobin has deemed you his oxygen, his life force, reluctant to part even as you whine and plead quietly under him; after a moment, he finally gives in to your weak cries.

The string of saliva that connects you two is stained red; just like Soobin’s lips, and undoubtedly your own as well. His teeth are stained and your blood continues to fill your mouth, the taste metallic and strong as you try to regain your breath— slowly, your lip begins to feel strange, a tingling sensation running from your wound to your tongue, through the blood you swallow and into your system; your eyes widen, and Soobin merely looks at you with a knowing smile.

“What’s happening to me?” you ask softly, hands trailing up his chest to get purchase on his shoulders, broad and stable as you hold onto them like a lifeline— your body feels warm, your head is fogging, and your wound no longer stings— but the blood still dribbles out of it, far too much for you to keep up with it as you swallow continuously— and the feeling only worsens, until your thighs shake and Soobin’s touch suddenly feels much, much warmer.

“I feel— I feel…” you’re not sure how to describe this feeling; all you know is that you’re pulling Soobin back in for a kiss, fingers threading into his soft hair and tugging desperately to feel his tongue against yours again; to feel the way it runs along your bites soothingly, whimpering softly and being met with a soft groan in response; your taste, something Soobin once thought would be the thing to finally satiate him, is something he simply cannot get enough of.

“Feel weird, bun?” he asks softly, pulling away and cooing at the way you cry at the loss of him, “I know, I know— let me make it feel better, okay?”

Your form is no longer curled up in a desperate attempt to close yourself off; you’re no longer trying to hide the way your panties stick to you and your stomach burns with a strong desire, the window suddenly cold against you as you allow Soobin to press more against you, to place a thigh in between your legs, firm and thick as he goes up, up, and against your cunt— you practically keen at the feeling.

“It’s okay bunny, you’re okay,” Soobin says softly, both his hands finding themselves on your hips as he presses you against him; cute skirt now ruffled just under his hands, showcasing your sheer tights and your lace panties that are completely soaked; soft cunt grinding against his thigh, leaving a mess of slick arousal that only serves to spur the both of you more— your scent invading Soobin’s senses shamelessly, just as shameless as the sounds you let out, hips angling so that your clit can rub against the harsh muscle of his thighs.

He clenches and jolts the muscle against you. You’re left to weakly hold onto him, a hand on his forearm while the other is placed on top of his own hand, gaze going down to watch the way you rut against him stupidly— harsh pants leaving you as you watch your panties become soiled, your tights suddenly a lot thicker as they impede you from really feeling him— but you push the thought aside in favor of looking back up at him, unable to hide the shiver that wracks through you at the realization that he was already watching your face intently.

“Feels good?” he asks, tilting his head as he narrows his eyes, gauging your expression carefully— you nod frantically, attempting to say something, only for it to be cut off by a choked moan— Soobin has pressed your cunt flush against his thigh, forcing you to a slow grind that threatens your folds to spill out your underwear, the dirty sounds of your tights rubbing against the fabric of his pristine, smooth dress pants enough to have your face burning— and Soobin revels in the shame that it brings you, taking in the subtle, acidic changes of your scent with a deep inhale— he’s fascinated, and he refuses to let you go until his curiosity is satiated.

“What do you want, bunny?” The nickname affects you, that much he can tell— he holds you tighter, leans in to whisper in your ear, already feeling the way his close proximity is enough to have your heart rate spike, even if just for a second.

“How do you like it, hmmm? Want me to go harder?” his thigh tightens in a truly cruel way, angling it so that you can truly feel the contours of his every muscle— “faster?” and suddenly, you’re nothing but a pretty doll in his arms, his hands guiding your pace so that you’re riding him as recklessly as you want; the mewl you let out is enough to give him the answer he wants, changing his rhythm until he gets a particularly pathetic sound out of you.

“Like this?” He continues his set pace. And you’re shivering, unable to do nothing more than chant yes, yesyesyes, breathless and practically inaudible as you focus on the hot pleasure that you feel; Soobin is busying himself by whispering sweet nothings into your ear, things that would have you gasping and turning into a flustered mess any other day— but here, in these lonely, dark hours, with no one else around, you allow yourself to indulge; allow yourself to nod along to the way he asks if you’ll be a good little pet for him, if you’ll let him use you until he’s satisfied— and it all goes straight to your cunt, bringing a fresh wave of soaking arousal and making the pleasure in your stomach tighten until it’s unbearable.

You’re so close— and you’re quick to let Soobin know, watching your frantic attempts to take over the pace he’s set for you, whining and whimpering weakly as you search for that one thing that will set you off— and Soobin abandons whispering into your ear to place delicate kisses behind it, plush lips trailing down the column as his fingers dig into your hips, pressing you down against him, just like the way his lips trail lower, pressing kiss after kiss until his mouth opens and—

A cry is all you can muster as you fall apart on him. His teeth that grazed the sensitive spot of your neck have since then retreated, and Soobin is quick to sweep back in to steal your lips, pulling you in for a kiss you don’t have the mind to reciprocate; mind emptied, cunt clenching and soaking his pants as you allow him help you to continue riding out your high, whimpering weakly at the way he breaks the kiss to coo soft praise at you.

Come on bunny, let go sweet thing, that’s it, so perfect for me.

You’re not fully there by the time your orgasm has subsided; your mind is just as tingly and foggy as the rest of your body, your movements lethargic as you grab desperately at Soobin— craving nothing else but him, feeling as though the burning of your body can only be cooled by his touch— your eyes are glassy and fucked out as you stare at him, hips moving without you realizing as you silently beg him for more.

Soobin feels as though he could make you cum like this a few more times; entranced with the way your brows furrow and your mouth drops the moment you fall apart, the way your moans become choked and breathless as you ride out your peak— but he’s also undeniably greedy to be inside you, a desire he knows you share, judging by the way your hand has begun to trail down his chest slowly, eyes drifting down to the outline of his hardened cock against his smooth dress pants.

“Please…” you whisper out weakly, looking back at him with a face so pretty and undeniably pathetic that he refuses to hold back any longer— grabbing your hips and turning you two around quickly, forcing you to stumble back until you’re pressed against the table— and it doesn’t end there, letting out a whimper as Soobin hoists you up, the wood cool under your ass as Soobin continues to hover over you with need; you shrink under the intensity of his gaze, feeling your body buzz with a slight fear— and a slight adrenaline.

“What is it?” he asks, voice apathetic as he places a firm hand on your chest; pushing you down slowly, until you’re laying on the table and Soobin has parted your legs with ease to stand in between them; you’re whimpering out half-hearted and incoherent requests that Soobin doesn’t bother paying attention to, the hand on your chest making quick work to unbutton your shirt; low-lidded eyes taking in the cute bra that was hidden beneath, just as lacy and pretty as your panties as he smiles at the sight— your mind sobers for a second as you attempt to cover yourself in embarrassment, but Soobin refuses to let you as he gathers your wrists in his hands and pins them above you. His face is dangerously close to yours as he glares at you.

“Tell me bunny,” he grits out, feeling his clothed bulge press against your warm cunt, tensing at the way your arousal already leaks through the clothing; his hold tightens around your wrists and you squirm, legs locking on his hips as you try to grind your cunt against him— the sight is both endearing and pathetic to him. “I won’t know what you need unless you tell me.”

“Need you, please please, wanna feel you,” you ramble, wrists fighting to get out his grasp as you hips buck under him; your mind has become foggy once more, nothing else but a deep desire in your head that you know only he can satiate— you’re desperate for his touch and he knows it, so to have him deny you like this is nothing short of cruel.

He’s not satisfied by your begging. His face remains stoic as he lets go of your wrists, eyes narrowing at the way you grab onto his sleeves, eyes glassy and fucked over as you cry for him not to leave you like this— your body feels weird, and you just don’t know how to make it go away— you’re trying desperately to tell him what he wants, but nothing seems to work as you run your mouth until you’ve finally pressed the right button.

“Soobin, I— please, feel so weird, just wanna feel you, please help me, please?” your body is restless and you feel as though your heart only beats for the man above you, hot tears spilling from your eyes and running down your face; Soobin is quick to brush them away with gentle hands, shushing you quietly as he pulls at his tie; it was practically suffocating him anyways, and he feels as though he can finally breathe as he finally takes it off— and begins to tie it around your wrists with deft hands, enough for it to restrain you but not enough to hurt— and he’s left with a bit of extra length that allows him to pull your wrists down and flush against your stomach, watching the way your fingers absentmindedly stretch toward him, furthering your attempts to touch him as your rambles continue seamlessly.

“Soobin…” you cry softly, your chest heaving softly, supple skin peeking from your undone shirt, “feels so hot, wan’ your help… need your cock…”

There’s a thin layer of sweat that covers your body; a light sheen that sparkles along your chest and abdomen, hidden by the white, neat shirt that Soobin simply pulls further apart with a rough hand, untucking it haphazardly from your mini-skirt— and you shudder, unable to do nothing more but lay there as you wait for Soobin to do something— a soft cry of his name has him shuddering, dark eyes flickering back to your face as you repeat the pitiful sound.

His name has never sounded sweeter. He’s leaving wet, sloppy kisses along your breasts, free hand shoving the rest of your skirt up and onto your waist roughly— your body jolts from the crude movements, thighs shaking at the way his cool fingers skirt around the inside, drifting closer to where you need him the most, a shuddered sigh escaping you once his cool palm is pressed onto your cunt.

The fire in your body burns brighter. His touch is addicting and the lust that courses through your blood is only amplified by the feeling of him teasingly biting your breasts— never enough to break the skin, but enough to remind you of who he is, of what he’s capable of.

His strength is something you will never be used to— he’s able to rip your tights with a single hand, not flinching at all before he’s moving onto your panties next; the sound of the fabric tearing is eliciting a soft gasp from you, only for it to be replaced with a broken whine as his fingers glide up and down your slit— feeling just how much of a mess you’ve made, soaking his fingers and dripping onto the table as you buck your hips at him desperately— his fingers are wet as they circle your clit slowly, needy whines escaping you at the small stimulation, quietly begging for more— but he simply teases you, dark eyes staring up at your face and drinking every change of your face eagerly.

His fingers slip in so smoothly it makes him let out a soft moan; you’re so wet and tight, needy walls pulsing and sucking him in desperately, your cries still broken as you try to grind your hips against his two fingers, long and calculated as he presses along your walls, curling curiously and searching for the spot that will have you weak beneath him— and he finds it in no time, a long moan escaping you the moment the pads of his fingers press against it, curling and uncurling, watching the way your legs shake and jump at the sensation with a wicked grin; he’s pumping his fingers into you, adding another finger in, stretching you out until you feel as though you can’t handle anymore— and he tugs at your restraints teasingly, looking down at the way your nails dig into your palm and your arms become stiff from the pleasure— it only takes the feeling of his palm pressing against your clit for your breaths to pick up and become frantic.

“Soobin— Soobin please, ah— so– so close, gonna cum, ngh—” you’re thrashing under him, the pleasure so intense that you’re fighting against his restraints, head turning to the side as though you could hide your face from him, “please, need it, need t’cum, fuck…!”

You’re breathless and on the verge of tears, and Soobin takes it all in eagerly; he watches the way your face twists with pleasure, the way your arousal has soaked his hand and leaves your tight-covered thighs slick, and he feels the way your walls begin to tighten around him, so close, so impossibly close— he just needs to grind his palm against your clit a little harder, harshen his thrust so that your sweet spot is abused and you’re left a wailing mess, maybe bite at your skin teasingly, a promise for what’s to come—

But he doesn’t. He does the exact opposite of that, watching as your eyes widen and a broken look of realization dawns on your lips, eyes cloudy and filled with tears that refuse to spill; your voice is defeated and breaks with every frantic plea, your hips bucking desperately to try and get that fleeting pleasure Soobin is now denying you.

“No, nononono,” you babble, hiccuping softly as you screw your eyes shut, tears finally escaping you at the action, “noooo, please don’t stop— close, was so close to….”

Your words are interrupted by a soft sob that escapes you, your mind and body so desperate for pleasure that you feel as though your whole life-force is being taken away; your soft pleas blend together as you stare up at Soobin with pathetic eyes, hands that were once closed shut now stretching out to try and reach for him— but he refuses, staring down at your broken form with a blank face.

Soobin is quick to shut up your slurred pleas; his fingers are slipping out your cunt, dripping and shining with your slick arousal as he brings them up to your face— slapping softly at your cheek, watching the way your cum smothers over the soft skin and your mouth opens without much of a thought— your lips are tempting and pretty as they wrap around his fingers, a shiver running through his body at the feeling of your warm tongue running along the soiled skin, tasting yourself and letting out a soft moan; hazy eyes staring up at him, ruined cunt still bucking up at him subtly, as though tempting him to finish what he started.

And that’s exactly what he’ll do— his fingers are slow to slip out of your mouth, watching the dumbed out expression on your face as he does so— and his hand is trailing back down your body, brushing over the exposed skin with your spit-soaked fingers, not stopping until he’s back down at your pretty cunt.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, bunny,” he says softly, his thumb going to rub gentle circles on your clit, his index and middle finger running up and down your folds— his other hand has abandoned your restraints, and you attempt to sit up slightly as you watch him undo his pants— unbuckling his belt and letting it and hang loose, undoing his jeans with haste and letting them lay low on his hips, his hand disappearing beneath the waistband of his boxers— and you can only let out a whimper at the sight of him finally pulling his cock out, long and thick with a flushed tip, leaking so much precum that you wish nothing more than to clean him up nicely with your tongue.

The pressure on your clit is becoming harsher; he’s building you up again, watching with apathetic eyes as your sounds begin to pick up again, still tense from your previous, ruined orgasm. You shake your head at the feeling, whining that it’s unfair, don’t wanna cum like this— need you inside, need your cock, pleaasee— god—

But he doesn’t stop— he’s stroking his cock at the same pace he’s set for you, the slick sounds of him fucking his fist going straight to your head, eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming sight before you, nimble fingers swiping over his tip to collect his leaking arousal— and you’re close again, you don’t think you’ll be able to stop it this time, even if he pulls away, even if he tells you not to—

Soobin lets you cum this time. He watches the way your eyes widen and your mouth falls open with shock, his face twisting into concentration as he lets you cum on the head of his cock, pressing it in and breaching your walls just before you hit your peak— and you feel stretched, you feel full, helpless cries escaping you as he begins to thrust the rest of his length into your clenching walls, hands unsure of what to hang onto before you’re able to grab a bit of his shirt— and you’re pulling much harder than expected, eyes widening as you watch a few of his buttons pop off, not able to focus too much on it due to the feeling of his thick, pulsing cock entering you with every clench of your walls.

Your chest heaves in attempts to calm yourself down— his shirt is twisted in your fingers, but it’s not enough to ground you as you feel the way his length curves into you, pressing against the abused and sensitive spot that has you keening and clenching around him, shaky legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer— and he’s hovering over you, supporting himself with a forearm by your head as the other holds onto your waist.

He begins to move— it’s slow and subtle, starting at nothing but a grind of his hips as he feels the way your hot walls adjust around him, squeezing and fluttering and expanding, all as you try to take in his impressive size— then he pulls out slowly, feeling the way your cunt attempts to protest the action, your eyes rolling back at the way you feel every detail of him, pulling all the way out until the only thing left is his tip that catches on your entrance, the rest of his length covered in your shared arousal.

Soobin remains there for a second; deep breaths fanning against your skin as he closes his eyes in concentration, willing himself to not cum at the feeling of you, the sight of you underneath him, the sounds that are panted and whined directly against the shell of his ear.

Without warning, his hips snap back against yours— the action is sudden and has your body sliding up the table slightly, only to be brought back down by Soobin, who wraps the length of his tie around his hand and pulls you back against him— burying himself deeper into you, feeling the way his cock practically splits you open— but you like it, your scent practically emptying his mind and your walls gripping him like a vice— it’s hard to move, but Soobin accepts this challenge eagerly as he begins to fuck you.

Slow, it’s so agonizingly slow. But it’s deep, and Soobin angles his hips so perfectly, grunting against your ear and letting out sighs with every pull of your restraints, the tie tightening around your wrists and sending you back down on his cock ruthlessly; you’re nothing but a doll for him to use and control, your sharp heels digging into his back as you try to hold onto him helplessly, treated like nothing but a ragdoll as Soobin slowly begins to pick up his pace.

Then his hips are slamming against yours. The sounds of skin against skin is echoing harshly into the meeting room, and his cockhead is mean and thick and heavy as it presses against your sweet spot, again and again until you’re hiccuping moans, unable to breathe, unable to fight against the overwhelming pleasure— and it’s just how you like it.

Your mind is racing, your mouth unable to spit out a coherent thought— but your body speaks for you, and Soobin watches as you begin to grow restless under him, the way your legs tense and your hands pull at his shirt, eyes rolling to the back of your head and fluttering shut as he retaliates by fucking you a little harder; your wrists ache and so does the rest of your body, but you don’t seem to care as you walk this tightrope of pain and pleasure, something Soobin is well versed in— he laughs softly at your fucked out expression, releasing a sharp breath before his lips are hovering right by your ear, sentences punctuated and broken up by the exertion of his body and the moans that your cunt rips out of him.

“That’s a good bunny— cunt so fucking tight– shit, just wanna make you mine, keep you to myself, claim you like you deserve—” he listens to the way you react to his words, feels it, your cries and nods not slipping past him as he lets out a breathy laugh, “you’d like that? Yeah? Fill— fill you up nice and full— fuckin’– take care of you like a good little pet— hah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You’re nodding, fuck, there’s drool building up in the corners of your mouth, tongue lolling and absentmindedly brushing past the bite marks on your lips, the dull sting only bringing about more shocks throughout your body, desperate to be satiated, a fire begging to be put out— and the idea of being nothing else but Soobin’s, his to use and claim, is absolute heaven in your mind.

The knot in your stomach is becoming impossibly tight; you’re on the verge of hitting your peak again, Soobin can tell, yet there’s something else your body seems to be begging for— and he knows exactly what it is, grinning wildly and practically stealing the thoughts from your head as he pulls the tie in his hands roughly; his inhuman strength sending you back down on his cock with ease, lips brushing against your ear and hot pants making you shiver as he speaks to you in that dangerous, low voice of his.

“Say it,” he growls, his pace not faltering even if your cunt is willing to hold him so tightly he’s unable to pull out at all, your head thrown back and your eyes screwing shut from the pleasure.

“Tell me you want it. Tell me you’ll take it– fuck– take it like a good pet— say it. Say it, use your words, bunny.”

Your words are coming back to you with a particularly unforgiving thrust of his— eyes widening as they search for Soobin’s frantically, only to be met with his head of blond hair and his face that’s tucked in the security of your bared neck— and you let go of any shame that was left inside you, a carnal and primal feeling overtaking you as you beg, and beg, and beg.

“Please– please please, I want it, I need it— Wanna be yours, wanna be claimed— fill me, use me I– need— need it, hnng– want it, want you to fill me, cum inside please— been so good, right? I’ll take it, I— ah! I— wan’ you to claim me, make me yours—!”

Soobin has never heard anything more perfect. He’s calculated as he thrusts right into your sweet spot, once, twice, three times— and he sinks his teeth into your pretty little neck, listening to the wanton squeal you let out, cunt immediately soaking and choking his cock— but he holds you down nicely, pressing his weight onto you and placing both hands at your hips, making sure you can’t squirm away from him or his cock that lets you ride out your orgasm, rutting his cock into you even after you’ve begun to shake from the sensitivity.

Your blood is heavenly. There’s no single word that could describe its taste, the way it makes his body shiver and his eyes roll back, finally setting him off the moment he swallows. And he cums inside you, fills you up good, the warm liquid squirting endlessly inside you, prolonging the feeling with the subtle rocks of his hips. It goes on longer than the two of you expected, filling you up with cum until it has no room to go, dripping out of your abused hole and leaving a ring around the base of Soobin’s length.

He listens to the way you cry and sniffle above him, lost in the pleasure— it doesn’t hurt. No, far from it. It makes you see stars and makes another weak wave crash over you, and you think your consciousness is slowly slipping out of you from the intensity of the pleasure you’ve received; Soobin’s lips are stuck on your neck for a few more seconds, warm tongue brushing over the sore punctures before he’s pulled away, your neck sensitive and bruised from the bite.

And it heals nicely the moment he’s pulled away. But there’s something different this time, something that shows up on your skin that he’s never seen before; two faded dots remain on your skin, and though it’ll remain inconspicuous to everyone else, Soobin immediately recognizes it with a soft shudder— he feels his cock twitch inside you.

It looks like his body has agreed with his mind; you’re the perfect fit for him, his to use and take care of until he can’t anymore— he rubs soft circles on your hips, straightening up and looking at the mess before him with fond, lustful eyes— a sheen of sweat covering your whole figure, your closed eyes and parted mouth, your shirt that’s been left open and mirrors his own torn one, your bound wrists and skirt that’s haphazardly bunched at your hips.

And his eyes wander lower, to take in the way your thighs continue to tremble and his cum leaks out, staining your tights and the table of the meeting room— you’re waking once more with a soft groan, looking up at Soobin through bleary, red-rimmed eyes.

He leans over, hovering above your face; pulling you in for a sweet kiss, smiling at the way you can’t even reciprocate it properly— and he nips at your bottom lip teasingly, feeling the way you immediately shiver in response.

“So good for me, bunny,” he smiles, continuing to trail kisses all along your face, on your jaw, traveling to your neck— and his eyes scan your faded bites with satisfaction, kissing it softly and feeling the way your body warms immediately.

“You’re all mine now, you know that?” your cunt clenches involuntarily at his words— and he’s slowly beginning to rut his cock into you again, already feeling a cruel thirst fester within.

“All mine.”

You can take another round, he’s sure of that— after all, you’re his good little pet.

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snowfolly · 3 months

Text

Devoured

Astarion has only known hunger, be it for gold or for blood in the two and a half centuries of his existence. He feels that he can never be satiated, at least not until he meets you.

Astarion x GN reader | 1,295 words

CW: References to Astarion’s past abuse, sexual content, cursing, vampire feeding, blood

(Thanks so much to @brabblesblog for doing such a stellar job beta’ing this for me! If anything’s still messed up that’s on me)

Read this on Ao3

It seemed to Astarion that all he had ever known was hunger. Before his death he had only been peckish though; he had gathered a taste for riches and glamour rising through the ranks of Baldurian society.

He had sampled the gilded crumbs of debauchery amongst the elite and he had found them quite to his liking. He had enrobed himself in silks and diamonds, had sipped wine from gold and crystal goblets, both of which cost more than most peasants would ever see in a lifetime. He had indulged in carnal pursuits, used to grandstand and garnish attention, and ultimately he had become a glutton for power — power which led to his famine.

(More under the cut)

Astarion has never known true hunger like the ever-unsatiated, unnatural emptiness that has taken over every shred of his being after his untimely death. He is voracious, animalistic; violently craving the blood of sentient creatures every single second of his pathetic undead existence.

But he had been denied that abundance every single one of those countless seconds.

He had been starved to the brink of madness for nearly two hundred years.

But he hasn’t been broken.

He had been fed cold, fetid rats when he yearned for the warmth of red blood coursing through sentient veins. Astarion longingly imagined the feeling of his fangs sinking through supple flesh as his victim panted below him, his teeth so tantalizingly close to their neck as they moaned in ecstasy, knowing that even if he lived another five hundred years he’d never experience anything other than the hands of countless strangers on his body as he starved.

He’d known nothing but humiliation as his body begged him to bite. Just fucking bite. Feed and feel satisfied for the first time in centuries…

But he could not obey his own urges, could obey nothing but his cruel master.

But he hasn’t been broken.

He would never forget those nightmarish years, never forget that starvation — not ever in his eternal lifetime , but he could dull that time of horror whenever he’s with you.

In his time on the road with you the vampire spawn has felt the ecstasy his fangs sinking through sentient flesh many times; not so many that he’d ever forget the endless years of desperation, of course, but he has tasted the blood of many sentient beings and has found it delectable. He relishes in their quickened pulse as he takes their lifeblood, panicked and struggling as they regret their choice to ambush your party.

And as delightful as all that is, it is nothing compared to the blood you gave him freely, intimately.

When he had decided for himself that he wanted space to figure his life out and what he wished for himself, to rediscover what had been lost after so many years as an unwilling thrall, you had readily given him that space. It was a dark time in a dark and hollow land, and again he starved. Despite his revelation to you of how he manipulated you, you had readily offered your wrist to him so that it didn’t have to be as intimate as feeding from your neck if he didn’t want to.

And so Astarion took your offer; in the dark of his tent, he lapped at your wrist and took sustenance as you gently stroked his silver-white curls with your free hand, comforting him deeply as he fed. You had asked if you could touch him first, of course, and he had smiled at you, nodding, before kissing your wrist and biting as gently as he could;opening up a vein, allowing enough blood to flow.

During this time his mind was burdened with many regrets, especially at how your relationship had started. He had slept with you a few times as payment, in a way, for keeping him safe. You hadn’t known that, of course.

You had thought Astarion was attracted to you when he propositioned you, and he was , of course he was — but that wasn’t the reason he had sex with you in the first place. He had nothing else to give, and using his body as a bargaining chip yet again was something that he had grown to deeply regret as you spent more time together, laughing and telling stories, learning about one another while being faced with neverending horrors and the potential for the most horrifying of fates.

You helped him when he needed it, you shared with him what little you had, you gave him your promise that you’d destroy his former master — and of course in time you did. You actually listened to him, the first time anyone had ever truly done so in hundreds of years. And then you gave him space.

The spawn’s sluggish, undead heart hadn’t truly been his own for two centuries, but in his freedom he had plucked it back from Cazador’s icy grip and had learned what it meant to carry such a heavy, guilty thing beneath his ribs. It had been a grim host to the horrors that had been wrought against him and of those he had inflicted on others.

But it isn’t broken, and he made room in his heart for you.

He helps you when you need it, he shares with you what little he can, and he promises you that he’ll be by your side through all the horrors yet to come.

He has listened to you; after hundreds of years of tuning out the prattle of his victims and the vile words of his master, he has truly heard your voice. He has grown to care for you… to eventually love you. Gods, more than anything he loves you.

You are so much more than he feels he deserves, and when he had felt like being intimate with you once again it was so much different than all the years he had spent having uninterested sex with a stranger, some poor victim that he knew would be dead by the morning. He had been forced to use intimacy as a weapon for so long that he thought he’d had his fill of it for good, wasn’t sure that he could ever truly see it in a positive light again.

But with you, he did. On that night in the graveyard every kiss was thoughtful, every movement, breath and touch was with passion; at the first thrust into you it was pure pleasure, almost like it was truly the first time and you both only knew love, and love and love.

He had never imagined he would ever love and be loved in return, had never experienced it before death and had certainly thought he’d never do so in the hell of his undeath, but here you two were. Laying together on his grave under the moonlight, both fully clothed once again, your body heat warming him like a miniature sun.

In Astarion’s long life he had tasted riches and extravagance that had left him wanting ever more; had laid starving upon filthy damp stone, begging uncaring gods for just a taste of blood, just a drop. He knew that unless his curse was lifted he would never be free from this gnawing hunger - he could never in a million years devour enough blood to satiate that undead thirst.

But laying here with you, stroking your hair as you doze, he feels his reclaimed heart overflowing with warmth, better than anything that can ever flow from a golden chalice or an open vein. He can never recall a time before that he has ever felt so happy, so loved.

He gazes at you in awe, now sleeping peacefully at his side and Astarion realizes that he is truly satisfied for the first time in his life.

#astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion x gn reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #snowyfic

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spacebarbarianweird · 4 months

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Astarion x Drider!Tav

This was inspired by @necromosss and her art. It got me thinking what if Tav is condemned by Lolth being in relations with Astarion. Besides, I've already written Astarion x Drow!Tav so making a Drider part was only fair.

Masterlist

Headcanons

TW: angst and body horror

There is pain. Fear. The voice is so unnatural it destroys your sanity.

Did you really believe you could escape?

Lolth doesn't forget. Doesn't forgive.

Your skin breaks, and everything below the waistline disappears in the cobweb.

You are no longer a person, a drow, a woman.

You are a sexless drider, a Lolth's mindless pawn.

A monster.

There is nothing in your existence but the evil goddess's voice.

Bloodlust.

Hunger.

You murder to satiate yourself, but it's never enough.

Your teeth gnaw into your victims' flesh as you devour them alive.

Who were you? What was your name? Where were you from?

Who loved you?

You remember glimpses of sunshine. The blissful pain in your drow eyes.

The sound of ocean waves. The laughter. The kisses.

A silver-curled elf with crimson eyes.

Astarion.

His name is like a beacon of light in the ocean of madness and pain.

You don't remember yourself, but you remember him.

A vampire. A slave to his own bloodlust and hunger.

You grasp the pieces of memories.

He is so beautiful he can't be real.

His touches, his kisses, his words of love.

In the hours of silence, you think about him. But then the Lolth's voice destroys it all, and you return to the madness.

In madness, you crawl in the tunnels, searching for prey in the dark.

You see a stranger.

You attack him with all the cursed strength you have.

Your teeth gnaw into the flesh, and even your unsatiable stomach can't take the undead blood.

Astarion stands on his feet, holding a dagger.

"I found you," his voice trembles. "Ten years. Ten years, but I found you!"

He kneels, putting his daggers away.

You recognize him.

"A-astarion? Is that you?"

"I am here, my love, I am here." He stands up again and reaches out for your cheek.

"It hurts..." you whisper. "I can't... The bloodlust, hunger, pain. I can't..."

He hugs you. His embrace is strong and somehow warm in comparison with your monstrous body.

"I am not going anywhere. I love you. I am not letting you go, not again."

You stand like that in the darkness of the Underdark, condemned by evil forces to being monsters.

"I will find a cure, I will return you back," he keeps holding you. "There must be something to save you. Some spells, some rituals. I will find it."

You are being dragged back to the madness, but his gentle voice is returning you back.

He holds you above the abyss.

Never letting you fall.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

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thornsnvultures · 9 months

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loners and lovers

vampire!eddie munson x plus size!reader

cw: smut (18+ minors dni), biting, blood sucking, p in v sex, creampie, <1k w

a/n: for @mantorokk-writes 🖤

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Hot, breathy moans punctuated by the wet slapping of skin against skin echoes down an empty alleyway behind Eddie’s latest haunt. He’d picked this place specifically for its clientele. Transients, low lifes. Loners like himself looking for respite from their miserable lives.

Except for you. You stood out. Called to him in a way no one else had in a long time. He knew the moment he saw you that you weren’t the right pick. You looked like someone with family, with friends, if that constantly buzzing phone in your hand was anything to go by.

It was a mistake approaching you, even more so enthralling you into turning off that incessant device and following him out the back door. There was only so much his powers of persuasion could do. For the completely sober it was near impossible. It’s why he stuck to addicts, easier prey and a second hand high. You’d had maybe one drink? Eddie shouldn’t have been able to take you into an alley alone with a man you’d never met. Not someone like you. But you went like a moth to a flame. It would unsettle him if he had the heart to care.

No, part of you wanted him too. Wanted the danger and deadly seduction he offered. You arched and moaned when he pinned you to the dirty brick wall and kissed you like a man starved. And he was starved. It had been too long since the last time, but he had a willing victim in you. You, who leaned into his touch, his cold, dead fingers caressing your plump flesh.

His elongated nails dug into your hip. You only leaned into him more, craving the pain he inflicted. His dick twitched and filled at the thought of how you’d react when his fangs tore into your throat. Would you cry and scream? Would you moan and melt into his touch? He hoped you would. He may not have a heart but he knew what it was to crave and be craved. And he wanted you to want him with everything you had. Even for these few moments in the dark and dank.

Eddie spun you around, and pushed you up against the wall. With your front pressed to the bricks he nudged your feet apart with his boots. If he wasn't so starved, if he was anyone or anywhere else, he would fall to his knees and worship your cunt just like this, spread open and pushed out for for him to bury his face in and get lost for hours. But his hunger clawed at his throat, demanded it be satiated with your blood, not your juices.

He hurriedly knocked his belt out of the way and slid his pants down just enough to pull out his aching cock. It throbbed in his hand as Eddie pushed up the edge of your tight black dress. Your panties were easily torn off, like tissue paper against his claws, and in the next breath he was inside you. Eddie had to cover your shout of surprise with his hand over your mouth. He was in but you were so fucking tight, gripping his cock head like a vice. It took a few moments for you to adjust to his girth, panting around his fingers all the while.

"That's it, sweetheart. Take it. Take me in deep," he whispered in your ear. "Just wanna make you feel good. Let me in so I can make you feel good."

Your whines and the way your pussy fluttered around him let him know you were ready, you could take it. So he gave it to you, and hard. His hips slapping against your ass as he filled you over and over again.

Eddie couldn't wait any longer, the hot beat of your pulse was right there under your skin, calling to him like a beacon.

"I'm sorry, love," Eddie whispered and turned your head with his hand still on your mouth. With your neck exposed he lunged. Puncturing you at the same time he fucked into you, hitting that spot inside you with his cock that made you cry out. Only now you were crying from his fangs buried deep in your throat. Tears fell from your eyes as he drank but your moans didn't stop.

Eddie didn't stop either. His hips hammering into you at a brutal pace, the hand not on your face moved from your hip to your clit and, careful of his nails, rubbed you even further into a frenzy until you were coming around his cock, squeezing out the little bit of life he had left, until he was coming too.

Before he got greedy and took too much, Eddie pulled his fangs free. He pulled out his spent cock, admiring the way his come dribbled down your leg for a moment before righting your dress. He wanted to lick it clean, but your thrall would wear off soon and Eddie couldn't be around for that. He'd have to leave town sooner rather than later. As soon as he got you home safely. He'd make sure you forgot all about him. And hope he could do the same for you.

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🖤

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x plus size!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #vampire!eddie munson #modern!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson drabble #my fics

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nocturnesmoon · 4 months

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Bloodied Nutrition

Archaic Blood Masterlist: TF141 x Vampire!GN!Reader Callsign: Solis

-You learn about human's horrible eating habits, and you want to help-

Nutrition as a vampire is a simpler struggle in your eternally long life. It doesn't get simpler than needing the blood of creatures you find in your path. The closest thing you'd get to maintaining a supposed balanced diet, would be to drink a good amount of blood every two weeks so you didn't go mad.

It had been so incredibly long since you'd have to worry yourself on the matter of food. Most of the time you didn't even notice it in passing anymore, you knew that humans would eat at certain times a day now, but you'd never cared for what exactly.

At least that was until the group of four men you found yourself inconveniently attached to.

You had never expected to find yourself so observant of other beings’ behavioral pattern until now, well unless they were a target for you to hunt. You'd very quickly found out in your observations that humans are quite horrible with the things they put in their body.

You try to make sense of it but come up short, they have so much technology now compared to when you were a meek child, why wouldn't they take advantage and eat healthy?

It wasn't that the 141 were too bad in their eating patterns, but it is not a one-time occurrence that you would find them chugging the nearest nutritional meal because they forgot to eat due to rough workdays, and only noticed once their stomach screamed at them.

After witnessing such a thing a few times from each of them, you feel an instinctual kick in your brain. A drive to make sure that they are well taken care of, you're older than them by a long shot, arguably wiser by experience, it shouldn't be a problem, right?

Well, turns out that since you were a kid, things have changed a lot in all worlds, culinary too.

You couldn't remember the last time you made a meal for the taste or to satiate hunger, and it had been well over a few hundred years since you'd touched anything cooking related. You had never needed to so why would you.

It was a weird world to set yourself back into, a lot of the tools were foreign to you, the techniques you found on the internet made no sense to you.

It's how you found yourself in this predicament, trying to cook pasta for them, or for someone at least.

It wasn't going exactly how you planned it, you aren't sure how you managed it but the pot is smoking and the pasta is burnt. You tried everything you could think of, and now you're resorting to staring it down and hoping to intimidate it into working….

That's not really working either.

You were starting to get sick of the smell that was in the kitchen, your nose wrinkled for what felt like the hundred time as you did your best to withstand it. You had really wanted to do this for them, to show some sort of affection or appreciation, and maybe you could get them to eat better. They were soldiers, they needed their strength.

"Solis!" the sound of his voice almost made you squeal in surprise, "What in the bloody hell are you doing?!"

Price quickly moved over to you, moving you to take a few steps back while he took the burnt food off the heat. His panicked expression said it all, and you couldn't help but feel a little anxious that you had done something horribly wrong.

The sound of Gaz's laughing made you turn your head, his grin wide as he rushed past you to open the window and let in some fresh air. You quickly moved out of view of the window, despite being later evening the sun was still going strong.

You hated summers with a passion, there was even less you could enjoy in comfort, the nights were so much shorter, and the heat was not merciful on your sensitive skin.

"Wait were you trying to cook?" Gaz asked, clearly intrigued by your pot of nightmares that Price had pushed into the sink.

You grimaced, taking another step back only to be met with a warm flat surface. The amount of times in your life you had been sneaked up on by humans were few and far between. Except when it came to Ghost, the number of times he's almost made you scream out in surprise was too many.

"Oh my god what are you all doing in here!" you yell out, whipping your body around to look into Ghost's inquiring eyes. He gave you a pat on the back, having gotten used to scaring you far quicker than you had to getting scared, and walked over to sit by the small table.

"Just finished up a meeting," Price answers you, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest.

You sigh and walk over to him, standing on his right and mimicking him out of habit, having to follow him around most missions it tended to carry over so you wouldn't get in trouble for whatever dumb reason.

You look towards Gaz who is taking way more interest in the burnt pasta than needed. While you appreciated his curiosity in most areas, you'd prefer it if it wasn't in your failures. "You know you could've just told us if you needed…pasta…" he says and looks towards you, clearly suppressing another chuckle.

"Well, it wasn't for me…" you mumble, you would've begun to explain if you attention wasn't diverted by a frantic Soap joining in on the small ensemble that's apparently now happening in this kitchen.

He completely brushed past all of your questions to go almost rip the fridge door off, and search for something to eat. "Oh lord finally," he grumbles as he rips the plastic off a granola bar and almost eats it in one bite.

"Not gonna savor it?" Gaz comments, clearly enjoying the chaos this evening.

"Oh, don't tell me that's the only thing you've eaten today," you ask him annoyed, hoping that this wasn't another situation of you catching him in that. It hadn't happened a lot, but a few times were still too many in your humble opinion.

His movements turn suspiciously slow, a guilty person caught in the act. He closes the fridge and slowly turns to look at you, chewing the granola bar done before speaking.

"Solis….listen…"

"Oh, for fucks-"

"No no, hey!" he exclaims, stopping your assumptions before they run wild, "Look I ate a big breakfast, and then I meant to eat lunch, but the mountain of paperwork and meetings kept me busy, it’s not my fault."

"What kind of person nearly works themselves to collapse, then eats a granola bar and calls it a day!" you push yourself away from the counter, getting closer to Soap in an attempt of enunciating your seriousness.

"Says the person who eats a rat and calls it a meal," he retorts defensively, making his way to the cabinets to get himself a glass.

The gasp you let out in response has everyone turning heads, and yours turned to ghost. "Ghost i told you that in confidence!" you hiss out with a pointed finger towards him.

"I didn't say shit."

Soap turns back towards you after he gets his glass of water, a grin on his lips at seeing your pouted expression. "I've seen ye chase the rats on base like a madman during the night," he takes a sip of his water, almost speaking down into it because of his own eagerness.

"Well…they…are just fun to chase okay…"

"Aye, rat exterminator," Soap says with a chuckle, almost choking on the water he was trying to down.

"You're like a cat you know that" Gaz comments in again, crossing his arms over his chest and mimicking his captain’s stoic stance that hasn't changed in an almost eerily long time.

"I am not!"

Price clears his throat, and you almost forget about the whole debacle when you see his smile, you've told him before how it's your weakness and he definitely uses it to his advantage. "Well i for one appreciate your cat like behavior, our rat problem has never been lower than since you arrived," he mentioned teasingly.

You groaned in response, rubbing your hands over your face and trying to contain your own embarrassment, the last thing you needed was to be known as the vampire who chases rats. Well, the more likely scenario would be that you would be known as a human who chases rats….which is arguably worse.

"God, would you all just eat better! Fucking hell." you huff out leaving the matter be and taking a seat next to Ghost.

It doesn’t take long for them clear out of the kitchen once again, with all 5 of you in there it gets stuffy rather fast for the small kitchen. Most of them only came in there for a small objective either way, and once they were sure you weren't gonna try to continue cooking your burnt pasta, they left you be.

Everyone except Gaz.

"Would you actually like to learn how to cook?" he asks curiously, looking at you with a tilted head. He had waited till the others left, leaving enough space for you and to do said cooking should you agree.

You contemplated it for a few moments, considering the options of it all. If Gaz had offered then he had time to teach you, and it could be useful. You doubted the others would mind if you cooked them something every now and then, and then you didn't have to complain about them forgetting to eat.

"Yeah okay…that'd be nice."

His brown eyes glints in excitement at the prospect of being able to teach you. "Good…I was about to get something cooking out here anyway, it would be a good opportunity," he says cheerily and starts rummaging around, getting the different tools and ingredients he needed while you watched him intently.

"Oh, wait is that what you do out here all the time?" you ask curiously and walk closer to him, seeing him bring out the ingredients for something that could turn into a pretty good soup.

"Yeah?" he asked back a little confused, "What did you think I was doing?" He places down a cutting board along with some red pepper and instructing you to cut it.

You looked at it a little skeptically, you were skilled with knives in your own opinion, but it wasn't often you were cutting up bell pepper. "I don't know…I kind of just thought you liked the kitchen," you mention, feeling heat rise in your cheeks at your own stupidity.

The hearty laughs he lets out warms both your face and your heart, even if it was at your expense, you were glad, he could enjoy himself in it. "Are you sure you were human once?" he asked teasingly, nudging your side before moving past you and getting a new pot out.

"Hey! it was a very different time back then," you say with a huff, wincing as you almost cut down into your finger, "I haven't had to pay attention to humans like that for a long time you know."

"Yeah, I bet" he chuckles, looking at you with a grin that brought out your own. You couldn't help but laugh at yourself too, it was all a bit ridiculous when you thought about it, but you did feel lucky to have someone like Gaz to help you along your way.

"C'mon, I’ll show you how to actually operate a stove."

I am actually very horrible at cooking and also very horrible at eating good, so this might be a little self projecting, but it's okay because aren't we all?

Right?

Right?!

Ahem anyways.

#Archaic Blood #NoctMoon Fics #tf141 x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #tf141 #tf141 x vampire!reader #vampire!reader #gn!reader #gender neutral!reader

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deathbxnny · 10 months

Note

hello!! may i request stelerron hunters with a teen!vampire reader? (reader around 14-16)

basically elio picked them up from a deserted planet, and they were the sole survivor on it,all of the population died due to lack of livestock, and elio found them alive, thirsty and hungry

though they dont have much problem eating or drinking their enemies, they will never hurt their teammates even if they saw them with scars/blood, and would hold themselves, sometimes even bite on their arm/wrist/hand so that they dont succumb to their thirst

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A/N: Ooh, I really like the idea! Kinda reminds me of "Seraph of the end" (I've been waiting on season 3 for years now and am losing hope-)! Thank you for the request and sorry for the wait!<33

Content: TW!Slight gore warning? (Just mentions, nothing descriptive), Platonic relationships, mentions of blood, mentions of battles/fights, Reader is a Teen and a vampire, questionable cannibalism?? (Idk if it counts-), angst if you squint, fluff

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not fully proofread))

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》Kafka

Kafka was instantly intrigued by you. She found it interesting, that your kind could only live off of blood, although she did also feel bad for your people. You were the only one to survive and thankfully strong enough to help the organisation out, which is why she was assigned to be your caretaker.

At first, she assumed that you'd drink anyone's blood indiscriminately, as your thirst and hunger was too strong to resist. The way you tore into your enemies for their blood was proof enough. It was a brutal, yet somewhat satisfying sight for Kafka, who already found it amusing, that a young kid like you could do so much harm.

But what she didn't expect, was your loyalty to her. The first time she got injured around you, you immideatly bit into your arm to stop yourself from succumbing to your urges. This surprised her greatly, but also caused her to appreciate you more. It also made her realise that she was wrong. You weren't just a mindless, blood drinking vampire after all.

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》Blade

Blade didn't think much of you at first. A creature that had to drink blood in order to survive was pathetic in his eyes. But seeing you in such a sad and lonely state made him begrudgingly accept to become your caretaker then. Besides, if you ever dared bite him, nothing would happen to him anyways.

With that said, he certainly trained you well for the battlefield. He wanted you to become strong and useful, a perfect weapon for the organisation. But he was much softer on you than he admitted to be. Every time you did well and satisfied your hunger during a battle against enemies, he'd nod his head and pat your head in acknowledgement.

He was surprised however, when you refused to succumb to your urges and bite him too. It took him aback, as he viewed it as a sign or respect and loyalty towards him he didn't know how to handle. And so he quietly thanked you by supplying you with more enemies to drink from.

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》Silver Wolf

Silver Wolf didn't really care that you were a vampire. In fact, she didn't bother questioning it and just casually took you in. Whether it was because she found you cool or because she actually felt bad, is something you'll never find out either.

Whatever the reason was, she definitely took good care of you and fed you well at that. You kept her safe whenever you were in highstake situations and enemies were closing in on you. She always counted on you covering her whilst she continued working, as it gave you the perfect opportunity to drink your fill.

She also always somehow knew, that you'd never dare attack her. She always made sure you drank enough to satiate your hunger and so she wasn't worried, when she got injured infront of you. You controlled yourself well and respected her enough not to dare it. And Silver Wolf definitely appreciated you for it.

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A/N: Alright, i hope this was okay! Thank you again for the request!<33

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr blade #hsr blade x reader #hsr kafka #hsr kafka x reader #hsr silver wolf #hsr silver wolf x reader #hsr

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fartistt · 6 months

Text

DRINK IT!

vampire au harbingers (signora, scaramouche, arlecchino, tartaglia, dottore) gender neutral reader content warning(s): blood, gore, pain stuff, death mention, some religious imagery a/n: happy halloween 🎃 i dont actually genshin so dont expect this regularly -🍝

if you enjoyed reading this fic, please consider donating to providing aid in palestine!

LA SIGNORA!

—La Signora feeds from the heart. She demands nothing but pure devotion, nothing but your undying loyalty promised from her. Does the heart not represent love and passion? Where else would a vampire like her feed from you? Her cold fingers would trail against the fabric covering your torso so carefully, her nails pressing with just enough pressure to make you shiver. And when she sinks her fangs into the left side of chest, the chill of her breath that settles on you feels like the only reminder of the fact that she’s an undead monster of the night rather than a human lover whispering sweet nothings to you. The pain subsides to nothing as her fangs tear and sink into your soft flesh, and when your blood stains the crevices of her lips, you can’t help but think that she looks the most beautiful when she ravishes you.

Your vision spins, and you’re only vaguely aware of the pressure bubbling up inside your throat. You know you should be more wary of your surroundings, more wary of the fact that you teeter dangerously on the precipice of life and death, but you know your captor too well. She adores you, equally to the point of which you worship her, and she could never punish someone like you with something as permanent as death.

“Does it hurt, little love?” She cradles you in her lap. Her dress billows like flames around her, pooling in waves of velvet and ember by her legs. Her fingers play with the outline of your face, and despite the coldness that prickles your skin, you feel warm.

You shake your head, unable to answer. Your own clothes are in tatters, ripped into small pieces on the floor and abandoned. Blood stains your chest, and a fresh pair of bite marks decorate the older ones on the left side of your ribcage. Through your hazy vision, you see La Signora looking down at you with a smile that she reserves only for you.

“Good.” Her fangs, dyed crimson, glisten like rubies. “I would hate to hurt you. But you wouldn’t mind. I know you wouldn’t. You love me too much.”

She’s right. Any pain might remind you of who you were before you became enamored with her. But everything outside of her embrace is unfeeling and unwelcome, and you feel happy when she holds you like this. She makes you feel needed, and in turn, you give the part of your body that befits your other half. It’s the only part she’s missing, but you have more than enough to sustain the two of you.

She leans down and presses her mouth against the top of your forehead. Her lips, always perfect and poised, are sticky and warm with your blood. A shiver trickles down your spine, and her thumb strokes the apple of your shuddering cheeks. The red drops of your blood spread across her mouth and your skin in a hauntingly twisted kiss, an oath and a reminder that you could never belong to anyone else.

“I love you,” she whispers.

SCARAMOUCHE!

—Scaramouche feeds from the neck. He hungers. Too monstrous to be human and too empathetic to be human, the vampire desires nothing more than the warmth and comfort of having his cravings satiated for once. There’s nothing that makes him feel more powerful than to hold you down and to take a bite out of your neck, to feel the vulnerable thrashing of your body as you cling to life. Spurts of your blood fills his mouth, and he drinks like he’s gone mad, taking in mouthful and mouthful, swallowing and sucking as if he’s a starved man devouring honey rather than a beast feasting on his kill. It’s only afterwards, when he sees your glassy eyes clinging to whatever strains of your consciousness that you can, does he realize the horror of what he’s done. But he can’t deny his nature, and for every step his human heart takes forward to give you the dignity you deserve, his vampiric instincts drag one back.

“Stay still! Stay fucking still!” A shrill voice invades your ears. You writhe against the hard floor, your limbs splaying out and struggling against whoever is pinning you down. He sits on top of you, his hips pressing down against your navel and his hands digging down on your shoulders.

Your throat burns. He takes bites of your neck like an animal, flesh and blood staining your skin and the air, the noxious scent of iron filling your nose. You scratch and kick at whoever is holding you down, and the boy sneers at you in between desperate mouthfuls of your blood. In between the adrenaline and the pain, you don’t know what your panicked mind can make out: is it fear that keeps you fighting?

His fangs are attached onto your jugular, buried into your flesh. He drinks, and his lips are pursed around your skin, determined to drain you until you’re nothing but a shell. In his eyes, it’s clear that your humanity means nothing. After all, what is morality to a depraved monster like him? The only thing he can feel is the hunger that gnaws and claws at his stomach, demanding that he be fed before any sense of clarity can kick into his body.

Your defenses only still when your mind nearly goes blank. The loss of blood makes you go almost limp, strength escaping your body as the dark-haired vampire steals it out of you. He gasps and wipes at his mouth, the warmth of your blood spreading inside of him before he shoves himself off of you, practically collapsing next to you.

The boy cries. He scratches at his mouth, his voice almost like a scream as he buries his head in his hands. Gone is the bravado of the outcast vampire, journeying alone like a lone ship, and his decorated shell is peeled back to reveal the emptiness that remains underneath.

“I’m sorry-,” he sobs, cowering next to your barely conscious form. “I’m so, so sorry.”

ARLECCHINO!

—Arlecchino feeds from the thighs. She prides herself on her wisdom and her power. A true hunter stays a step ahead of its prey. An apex predator remains on the top of the food chain not purely because of its might or power but because of its wits, and like any vampire worth their reputation, she has cultivated her place in the world through careful planning and preparation. The thing to fear most from her isn’t her outstretched claws or the razor-sharp fangs waiting to dig into your veins; it’s the head atop her shoulders, always waiting and always thinking. What an honor it must be to see a woman like that on her knees, her lips hovering above the bare skin of your thighs and just waiting for the right moment to feed. It’s a faux show of intimacy as her mouth moves up higher and higher. Her tongue swirls around the puncture wounds left by her teeth, making sure she drinks up every last drop of blood that comes from you. Nothing escapes a vampire like her.

You wonder if salvation remains for you. The place that Arlecchino calls home reminds you more of a gilded birdcage than that of a vampire’s rich castle, undoubtedly a Machiavellian reminder of what she’s capable of. You’re nothing more than a figurehead, seated atop a golden throne as she kneels before you, slotting herself in between your legs.

Sharp claws slide up your bare skin, and the cool air makes goosebumps prickle on the top side of your thighs. Your body feels weak, trapped in your own skin. Your strength has been sapped away by her feeding, and she looks up at you with unreadable eyes as the last of your blood disappears down her throat.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” She asks. It’s not a question she asks out of genuine concern for you. Everything she does is calculating and explicable only to her. But her intentions are clear this time around; you have to stay alive for her sake. Who else could give her the sweet blood she craves if something were to happen to you.

“Yes, Arlecchino.” Her name is like poison against your tongue, and yet you still let it linger anyway. You don’t have the strength to run away from her or to fight back. She’ll know the moment even the thought of rebellion enters your brain, probably faster than you’re aware of it yourself.

She rubs the sore spot on your thigh, right where she had bit you. The flesh is numb and swollen, your body desperately trying to heal itself after the wound she inflicted onto you. This is what a true predator-prey relationship is like, with her keeping you in her grasp, knowing that you exist only to give her the sustenance she requires.

Truly a cunning woman. Not entirely heartless, but in that perfectly measured middle ground of both fear and respect.

“Good. It wouldn’t do either of us any good if you were to grow weak.” She rises from her feet, and you watch with hazy eyes as her snow white hair emerges into your view. She stands with her back straight and her head raised, peering down at you as if she wasn’t the one staring up at you with a mock reverence just seconds before.

A hand reaches forward, and her frozen palm cups your face. This isn’t affection, nor is it a reward.

“Now rest,” Arlecchino commands unfeelingly, “Regain your strength so that you can sustain me.”

TARTAGLIA!

—Tartaglia feeds from the wrists. It’s wrong for a vampire to become fond of anyone, but that’s the predicament Childe finds himself in. You’re a human, vivacious with your own life and hope and dreams. You have likes and dislikes: things that make your eyes sparkle when you talk about them and things that make you scrunch your face up with scorn at the mere thought. How could he not be enraptured? He loves playing the role of a teasing gentleman. He loves the pursuit, winning over your trust bit-by-bit by seducing you with his well-timed charms. He finds it so endearing how easily you present him your hand when he bows before you, his once shiny eyes turning dark and sultry. Did you expect him to kiss your hand? No—that was never his plan. Not when he can sink his teeth into the veins in your wrists and drink to his heart’s content, the thrill of chasing you down just as sweet as the result itself.

The way the man in front of you steals your blood feels downright lewd. You’ve always known that there was more to Childe than he let on, more to him that the flirtatious young man that stuck to your side. You had constantly wondered what exactly he was after, but you could have never expected someone like him to have hid his fangs so expertly.

His tongue lathers and laps at your wrist. He sighs happily against your bloodied and torn flesh, like he’s laughing to himself and enjoying the gruesome sight of you frozen in your tracks, too terrified to yank your hand away from him or to even fend him off in any capacity.

“Don’t be shy,” he breathes. His exhales are like gusts of winter wind on your unassuming body, and it’s another horrifying reminder that the man you once trusted was never human to begin with. His true colors are showing now: a bloodlust-filled smile, an unforgiving grip on your arms, your very life force being shoved down his gullet.

“You’re very pretty when you smile. Don’t you remember all the times you’d smile at me? I’d tell you my dumb jokes, and you’d laugh in a way that made my heart skip.” He licks his lips, and his mouth turns an even messier shade of ruby red. “At least, it would have, had I been alive.”

You’re at a loss for words. Your response weighs like an anchor inside your cheeks. Your lips tremble with fear. Is this man going to kill you? No, he wouldn’t. Not so quickly, not when he seems to be enjoying your suffering this much.

His tongue slides against the two clean puncture wounds in your wrists again, and you wince at the stinging pain that shoots up your muscles. He smiles into the curve of your hands. “But I don’t think this expression is all that bad either. I’ve never seen you make a face like that at me. I forgot how much fun it is to hunt someone down. I bet you never saw this coming.”

Childe smacks his lips exaggeratedly, generous rivulets of your dark blood trickling from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. “I want to see everything you have. Show me all the other parts of you that I haven’t seen yet. Let me be selfish with you.”

DOTTORE!

—Dottore feeds from the mouth. He operates on the tangible, the real, the pain and the catharsis of it. To feed doesn’t simply mean to nourish himself. He wants a reminder of his place in the world, the power he holds over knowledge and his constant pursuit of it, and he wants to see the effects seared in his wake. It isn’t enough to steal your blood, he needs you to feel it just as much as he does: the strength leaving your body and into his, his tongue lapping selfishly at your life force, the stinging pain and the numbing sensation making your knees buckle. Maybe he fits the role of the traditional vampire most closely, making sure you understand your inferiority in every single way as a human, that your existence is to be his experiment and his prey, that he can snuff you out like a candle in the dark if he so much as chooses to do so.

There are bite marks on the bottom of your lips. Some have healed, the flesh scarring over into bumpy lumps, and others are still in the process. But the one tonight is fresh. They’re torn open, left there with a fury from Dottore’s pointed, jagged fangs. A strong hand grips your chin and keeps your face in place.

His mouth is on yours, tangled in a kind of mangled kiss. He sucks and sucks at your lips, your blood staining every inch of your tongue and the inside of your cheeks, as if he’s reminding you of how monstrous he can be. There’s no rhyme or reason to your mind in his way of feeding, but to Dottore, it’s a constant reminder that you have no way of fighting back against him. For someone so cold and so heartless, it’s ironic that he kisses you so passionately to drink your blood.

Tears well in your eyes when he pulls away, and a sticky mix of saliva and blood connects you to him momentarily before it snaps.

“Does it hurt?” His voice is firm, scary. Each syllable is poised like a viper baring its fangs, waiting for a single sign of weakness to finish off its catch. He enjoys your suffering, revels in it, finds different ways to draw it out of you, yet the only constant is his insistence on drinking from your lips.

Your voice trembles, and you nearly choke on your own blood. “‘t hurts- Hurts a lot.”

He smiles behind his mask, and you shudder at the sight of his perfectly lined pointy teeth. Each one sharpened, it’s a mark of a true predator.

And for a split second, you know why he drinks from your mouth. It’s his way of stealing every scrap of humanity from you, to steal something as primitive as the act of kissing from you, so that every part of himself is engraved deep into your own base instincts.

“Good.” Strong fingers grasp at the fat of your cheeks, and he lowers his head so that he’s eye-level with you. You can’t see anything, not with that unfeeling mask in place, but Dottore’s evidently pleased with whatever he sees. Your face hurts where his fingers dig into your flesh, but when he drags his tongue across his blood-stained teeth, you know that this is only the beginning. He’s only gotten a taste of your blood, and a sampling is far from the amount he needs to satisfy himself. It’s only when you’re cowering on the floor, wasted beyond salvation, begging him for mercy, that he might decide that he’s had enough of toying with you.

The cycle is always the same.

Your eyes shake violently at the mental vision, and your chest tightens with cold anticipation. It’s dread, and it’s your body yelling at you in order to preserve your survival. But it’s futile. Not when he’s so much more than you are: stronger, faster, smarter.

“I want it to hurt,” he mocks your horror-stricken form. “And I want it to always hurt.”

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#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #la signora #scaramouche #arlecchino #tartaglia #childe #dottore #x reader #🍝

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