Weeks of tension finally snap when Cassidy and Jesse’s younger sister find themselves alone in the church storeroom. But the moment is shattered when Jesse opens the door and finds them together, blood on her throat and no way to pretend this was ever just harmless flirting.
Warnings: smut, blood play, caught in the act, unprotected sex, creampie
Jesse had been wrong all evening.
Not in the usual way, where he was stubborn and self-righteous and halfway to trouble before anybody else had even caught the scent of it. This was different. Quieter. Meaner. He moved through the church like a man listening for something only he could hear, coffee gone cold in his hand, sermon notes abandoned on the altar rail, jaw set so hard it looked painful.
You knew that look.
It meant he had already decided to do something foolish and was now beyond argument.
Cassidy had clocked it too. Of course he had. Cassidy noticed everything that mattered, then pretended he hadn’t.
He noticed Jesse.
He noticed you.
That second thing had become a problem.
It had started small. A look held one beat too long. His hand at your waist in the corridor when there’d been no real need for it. A grin from the back pew that turned hotter the moment Jesse looked away. Nothing you could call him on without sounding mad. Nothing you could point to and say, There. That. That’s where this became dangerous.
Then there’d been the church steps three nights ago. Moonlight, whiskey, and Cassidy beside you, shoulder to shoulder, saying in that low, rough murmur of his, You keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’, I’m liable to do somethin’ stupid.
You hadn’t forgotten it.
Judging by the way he kept looking at you tonight, neither had he.
Jesse drained the last of his coffee and set the mug down with a little too much force. “I’m headin’ out.”
You looked up from the stack of hymnals in your arms. “At this hour?”
From the back pew, Cassidy tipped his head against the wood and sighed like a put-upon husband. “Tell me you’re not off to chase those two weird little corporate eejits again.”
Jesse cut him a look. “I ain’t askin’ permission.”
“No,” Cassidy said. “That’d imply manners.”
“You got somethin’ useful to say?”
“Aye. Men in matching suits popping up wherever you go is rarely the start of a lovely evening.”
“That seems obvious,” Jesse said.
“And yet,” Cassidy replied, spreading one hand, “you continue to behave like a fella who’d follow a lit match into a dynamite shed.”
You set the hymnals down. “Jesse.”
He looked at you, and there it was again. That mule-stubborn certainty. “I’m going.”
“You don’t even know what they want.”
“That’s why I’m going.”
“That is an awful reason.”
“It’s the one I’ve got.”
You folded your arms. “And what exactly am I supposed to do while you go wandering around Annville after dark chasing mystery men?”
“Lock up.”
You stared. “That’s your whole plan?”
“Seems sufficient.”
Cassidy let out a short laugh. “Christ, you’re romantic.”
Jesse ignored him, grabbed his keys, and headed for the side door. At the threshold he paused and looked back once, taking in the dim sanctuary, the stained-glass windows gone dark, the two of you standing too close to one another without yet being close at all.
“Don’t wait up.”
Then he was gone.
The silence he left behind spread quickly.
Somewhere out in the sanctuary the church gave one of its old familiar creaks, the kind that always sounded after dark like someone shifting in the pews when no one was there. You bent to gather the rest of the hymnals, because standing still seemed like the worst possible idea.
“You should go too,” you said.
Cassidy didn’t answer.
When you glanced up, he was watching the door Jesse had gone through with an expression you couldn’t quite read.
“Cassidy?”
He blinked and looked at you. “What?”
“I said you should go.”
A faint smile touched his mouth, but it didn’t soften his eyes. “You trying to get rid of me, love?”
“Maybe.”
“That stings.”
“You’ll live.”
He pushed himself up from the pew. “Debatable.”
You snorted despite yourself and carried the hymnals into the side room. The storeroom smelled like dust, old paper, candle wax, and floor polish. It also smelled like him the second he stepped into the doorway behind you. Whiskey. Night air. Smoke still caught in his clothes. Something darker under all of it that had nothing to do with cigarettes and everything to do with Cassidy being Cassidy.
You set the hymnals on the shelf and tried very hard not to notice that your pulse had gone stupid.
“You’re quiet,” you said.
He leaned a shoulder against the frame. “Thought I was unbearable.”
“You are.”
“Mm.” His gaze didn’t leave your face. “Funny you keep me around, then.”
You reached up for a box of candles and missed it on the first try, because you could feel him watching you. When you got it down properly, Cassidy crossed the room, took it from your hands, and set it aside without looking away.
The space between you wasn’t large to begin with. Now it felt charged. Drawn tight.
“What’s wrong?” you asked.
A flicker moved through his expression. “Why d’you think somethin’s wrong?”
“Because you’ve made half the usual number of jokes.”
“That serious, is it?”
“Yes.”
His smile tilted crooked. “You keep count?”
Heat brushed your face. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Too late.”
You should have rolled your eyes. Instead you found yourself studying him. He looked the same as ever at first glance. Loose-limbed. Easy. Mouth made for trouble. But the ease wasn’t quite reaching the rest of him tonight. There was strain under it. Something taut. Something hungry.
“You’re worried about Jesse,” you said.
Cassidy looked down once, then back up. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“There you are.”
“That’s not all.”
He let out a breath through his nose. “No.”
The answer hung between you.
From Jesse’s office came the faint tick of the clock. Outside, leaves scratched softly at the window. Your heartbeat had become an embarrassment.
Cassidy took one step closer.
“Truth is,” he said, voice low and roughening, “I’ve been trying to keep away from you.”
Your throat tightened. “I noticed.”
“Didn’t do me much good.”
“Why?”
At that, he laughed once, but there was nothing bright in it. “Because you’re Jesse’s sister.”
“That never stopped you flirting.”
“Flirting’s one thing.” His eyes stayed on yours. “This isn’t that.”
Something deep in your chest tipped over.
You went for steady and almost managed it. “Then what is it?”
He came close enough that the front of his shirt nearly brushed your dress. “A terrible idea.”
You should have stepped back.
Instead your eyes dropped to his mouth.
When you looked up again, he’d seen it.
“Darlin’,” he said softly, “you’ve got to stop lookin’ at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re deciding whether to kiss me or slap me.”
You huffed a laugh. “Maybe I haven’t decided.”
“That so?”
He lifted a hand slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop him. His knuckles brushed a strand of hair back from your face. The backs of his tattooed fingers skimmed your cheek so lightly it was almost nothing.
That gentleness did more damage than anything else could have.
“Tell me to get out of here,” he murmured. “And I’m gone.”
You searched his face.
No grin. No wink. No swaggering filth to hide behind. Just Cassidy standing very still, like the effort of holding himself there was costing him.
You touched the front of his shirt.
He inhaled.
“I don’t want you to go.”
The restraint in him snapped.
He was on you before either of you could think better of it.
The first press of him was fierce and overdue, all the patience he’d been faking for weeks finally giving out. His mouth slanted over yours with bruising intent, warm from whiskey, edged with smoke. Your hands landed on his shoulders automatically. His found your waist and dragged you in until there was no space left to pretend with.
One of his palms struck the shelf beside your head, caging you in, while the other stayed firm at your waist. Then he angled his head and took more, drawing you into something slower and dirtier than that first desperate clash. He knew exactly how to do it too, how to work your mouth open until your breathing went shallow, how to drag the kiss out until it turned warm and wet and almost dizzying.
You made a small sound into him.
Cassidy gave a crooked little hum like he approved.
“Jesus,” he breathed. “You taste good.”
Your fingers tightened over the fabric of his shirt.
He smiled against your mouth, not kind, not cruel, just pleased in a way that made your knees feel unsteady.
Your hip struck the shelf behind you. Something rattled overhead.
Neither of you paid it the slightest bit of mind.
He only crowded closer, his chest hard against yours, his breath coming warmer each time he broke away for the barest second before going back in. There was nothing hesitant in him anymore. No teasing distance. No room for one more almost. He kissed like he’d finally run out of reasons not to, and every pass of his mouth seemed meant to leave you softer than the last.
When you gasped, he caught it, swallowed it, then dragged his mouth along the corner of yours and down to your jaw.
“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured there.
You dipped your head toward him without thinking, chasing his mouth again, and that earned you a breathless laugh.
“Shut up,” you whispered, though it came out weaker than you meant it to.
He went back to your lips at once, but there was a grin in it now, a flash of that idiot, impossible Cassidy still alive somewhere inside all this heat. His chin grazed your skin as he shifted, the warmth of his mouth and the low sounds he kept making every time you kissed him back properly had your pulse tripping all over itself.
Then he broke from your mouth just enough to look at you.
His eyes dropped to your swollen lips, then lifted again, fixed.
“You’ve been thinkin’ about this,” he said softly.
It wasn’t really a question.
You tried for something clever and got nowhere.
Cassidy’s expression shifted into something hungrier, more satisfied.
“Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “Thought so.”
His hand spread over your waist, thumb dragging once over your side before beginning a slow descent.
He took his time with it.
Down from your waist to your hip. From your hip to the outside of your thigh. His touch stayed broad at first, almost casual if not for the way his breathing had changed. Then his fingers curved more deliberately, sliding beneath the hem of your dress inch by inch, as though he meant for you to feel every second of it.
Your breath caught.
His hand moved higher.
Not rushing. Not fumbling. Just a slow, certain glide up the inside of your thigh until he reached the damp heat gathered there and stopped.
The pause was maddening.
He finally lifted his head then, murky green eyes meeting your own, fingers resting over the dampness between your legs through the thin barrier of your underwear.
“Tell me,” he said, voice gone rough. “Tell me I can.”
His hand stayed exactly where it was, warm and heavy over the wet fabric, resting just enough to make you clench without giving you what you wanted. The restraint of it was almost worse than if he’d simply done it.
“Darlin’,” he said softly, thumb dragging once over the thin material, enough to make you jolt. “Need you to say it. Don’t want to guess with you.”
You swallowed. “Yes.”
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “That’s not what I asked.”
Heat rushed straight to your face. “Cass—”
He leaned in, mouth brushing the corner of yours, voice dropping lower. “Tell me I can put me hand on you proper, and I will. Tell me no, and I’ll behave meself.” A beat. “Well. I’ll try.”
That nearly pulled a laugh out of you, but it died the second his thumb pressed a little more firmly and your hips betrayed you by shifting toward him.
“Ah,” he murmured. “That’s it.”
You gripped his shoulders. “Touch me.”
“Yeah?”
“Please.”
He let out a rough little breath, forehead dropping briefly to yours as though he needed the contact to steady himself. Then his hand moved, slow and deliberate, slipping beneath your underwear at last and finding you already warm and wanting for him.
“Christ,” he muttered, voice catching ever so slightly. “You’re soaked.”
The words should have embarrassed you. Instead they only made the heat in your body surge harder.
He stepped in closer without withdrawing his hand from your slick mound, lifting one of your legs over his free arm as he pressed your back against the wall. The angle left you open to him, your thighs spread wide, pinned exactly where he wanted you, and the sheer confidence of it made your stomach coil.
“There now,” he murmured, voice low with satisfaction.
His touch moved with slow, deliberate confidence as he slid two long fingers into your tight heat, curling just right to stroke that sensitive spot inside. The sudden intimacy of it stole the breath from your lungs, and a helpless moan slipped out before you could stop it as your walls clenched around his invading digits. Cassidy’s gaze lifted at once.
There was hunger there, plain and unmistakable, but something gentler too, a kind of startled awe, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. More than either of those, though, there was focus. He watched you closely, reading every breath, every flinch, every shift of your body as carefully as if your reactions were the only thing in the room that mattered - the flush creeping up your neck, the quiver in your raised thigh.
When you didn’t pull away, his mouth twitched into a faint, knowing smile.
He eased his hand back just enough to make you feel the loss of his fingers, then settled into a steady rhythm, thrusting them in and out with precise, unhurried strokes. Each measured movement dragged another broken sound from you, your body clenching helplessly around the skilled curl of his fingers as they grazed your g-spot, building that aching pressure deep in your core.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.
The word hit low.
Cassidy's lips had fallen apart around his breathing, chest rising faster now. The lean, tattooed muscle of his forearm tightened with every movement of his hand, veins standing out as he pumped his fingers into your soaking entrance, his control showing only in how carefully he held himself together while he watched you come apart beneath his hand - your hips bucking involuntarily, your juices coating his knuckles, your gasps turning to whimpers as the tension coiled tighter.
He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to your jaw, his fingers never losing their rhythm as they plunged steadily into you.
“Easy, love,” he said, though he sounded anything but, his voice ragged. “I’ve got you.”
The words should have steadied you. Instead they only made the tension inside you pull tighter, your clit pulsing under the pressure of his palm. Your breath kept catching on the way out, and every time it did, Cassidy’s mouth lingered a little lower, his kisses drifting to the side of your throat, lips parting to suck gently at the sensitive skin.
At first it was only warmth. The brush of his lips. The scrape of stubble against your neck. Then his mouth settled over the frantic flutter of your pulse, and the whole room seemed to sharpen around that one point of contact.
Any sensible person would have stopped him there.
Any sensible person would have remembered what he was.
Not just Cassidy with his wicked mouth, mismatched tattoos, and ruined grin, but Cassidy the vampire, Cassidy with his face buried in the softest, most vulnerable part of you. A man at your throat was already dangerous. Cassidy at your throat ought to have sent every survival instinct you had into a panic.
Instead your head tipped back against the shelf and gave him more room, your body arching to press your throat closer to his hungry mouth.
He felt it.
His hand slowed for the first time since slipping beneath your underwear, not stopping, only easing, as though the moment had caught him off guard.
“Christ,” he murmured, almost to himself.
When he looked up to meet you gaze, his eyes had grown darker. Not cruel. Not wild. Just terribly intent, like he was looking at you and trying very hard to remember how not to want too much, his pupils blown wide with the effort of not devouring you whole.
His thumb stroked once, absently, over your swollen clit, and your hips betrayed you by shifting toward his hand, grinding down to take his fingers deeper into your clenching heat.
That did not help.
“Darlin’,” he said softly, and there was something strained in it now, something thinner and rougher than before. “Can I ask you somethin’?”
You swallowed. “That depends.”
A faint, breathless smile touched his mouth, gone almost as soon as it appeared. His gaze flicked to your throat, then back to your face, lingering on the way your chest heaved with each pant.
“Are you gonna make me beg?” he asked, voice gone low as sin, his fingers twisting inside you ever so slightly to hit that spot that made your knees buckle.
You should have come back with something clever. Something sharp. Instead all that came out was his name, thin and unsteady, a plea that made your walls flutter.
Cassidy shut his eyes for the briefest second before he caught himself. When he looked at you again, the crooked humor had thinned into something rougher, his jaw clenched tight.
“Ah, don’t do that,” he murmured. “Not when I’m already barely holdin’ it together.”
His mouth hovered near your throat, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath at your pulse, the faint prickle of his fangs.
“I want a taste,” he said, quieter now. “Just a little. I’ll mind meself. Promise.”
There was no swagger in him now, no grin to soften the edge of what he was asking. Just hunger, honesty, and that strange, impossible care he kept showing you at the worst moments.
You nodded once.
Cassidy did not move.
“Use your words, pet.”
“Yes,” you whispered shakily. “But please, be careful.”
The sound that left him was low and abrupt, startling in the tight little storeroom. It came from deep in his chest, rougher than a groan and far darker, like the warning rumble of an animal trying not to lunge. It made the fine hairs at the back of your neck rise.
Then he slid his hand out from under your dress and brought it to your jaw, grasping it with firm intent, the slick warmth he’d pulled from you cooling quickly against your cheek as he smeared your own juices along your skin. His other arm stayed hooked beneath your knee, holding you open, holding you exactly where he wanted you. The hand at your face was gentler than it had any right to be, thumb catching lightly at your chin as he tipped your head back and bared more of your throat to him.
His fangs glinted faintly in the dim light. Another of those low, throttled noises rolled out of him, softer this time but no less feral, like a starving thing pacing at the end of its chain. It should have frightened you. Instead it sent heat through you so fast it left your knees weak, your hips twitching involuntarily against the arm propping you up.
“Easy, love,” he growled.
His words did not match the sound of him. Neither did the care. He held your face as though it might shatter under his touch, even while that rough, animal hunger kept slipping loose in his throat, vibrating through his chest. His mouth brushed the line of your neck once, twice, warm and open, not yet biting, only testing, breathing you in deeply, his tongue darting out to lap at the salt of your sweat.
Then he latched on.
You inhaled sharply, and Cassidy answered with a broken, guttural sound against your throat, low and possessive and nearly impossible to mistake for anything civilized. Even then, he kept control of himself. One hand held your face steady while the other kept you lifted and open against the wall as he pressed the hard length of himself, still trapped beneath his jeans, against the soaked fabric of your underwear. Each swallow was edged with those rough, involuntary rumbles that made it impossible to forget what he was.
“Still with me, darlin’?” he asked, voice ground down to gravel.
“Y-yes,” you managed.
That was all the answer he needed.
He hooked your other leg up with a sudden, effortless strength that pulled a startled squeal from you, and your legs locked around his waist on instinct.
For one split second the feral edge in him slipped, and Cassidy, gloriously, maddeningly, became Cassidy again.
“Right,” he said, fumbling between your bodies for his belt buckle. “Hang on. This bit’s less sexy than I’d hoped.”
Metal clicked. Leather caught. He swore under his breath and dropped his forehead briefly to your shoulder.
“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”
A helpless giggle broke from you.
His head snapped up. “Don’t. Don’t you start.”
That only made it worse.
You laughed again, still breathless, and his mouth twitched despite everything, that crooked flash of idiot charm breaking through the heat. For half a heartbeat he was just the swaggering disaster from the church pews again, caught mid-seduction by his own belt.
Then the buckle gave.
Cassidy didn't waste another second. His fingers dug into the soft swell of your ass, yanking you flush against him with a grunt, his length springing free and slapping heavy against your thigh. The blunt head nudged insistently at the drenched fabric covering your arousal. All traces of amusement vanished from his features, swallowed by that blazing, predatory gaze - raw and craving mixed with a fierce, adoring intensity - as he hooked his fingers into the edge of your underwear and pushed it aside, he notched his swollen tip at your entrance.
“Christ,” he breathed, staring at you. “Look at you.”
The initial thrust of his thick cock stretching your slick folds stole the breath from your chest in a sharp gasp.
Your fingers clawed into the taut muscles at the nape of his neck without thinking, and Cassidy responded with a breathless moan as he buried his face into your heaving chest. He kept you pinned, one strong arm hooked beneath your knee to spread you wide, the other splayed across your spine for support, savoring the pause just enough to etch the reality into your bones. Not the teasing banter. Not the building ache. This raw truth: Cassidy buried at your core, lips smeared with your blood.
“You good, sweetheart?” he rasped, his voice cracking with barely leashed strain.
You jerked your head in a quick nod.
“Good girl.”
The words sank into you like heat, pooling low in your belly.
Each deliberate slide of his thick length into you shoved you back against the wall, the aged plaster thudding rhythmically behind your shoulders. An item overhead wobbled, tipped, and crashed down nearby, but neither of you spared it a thought.
Cassidy raised his gaze. “Look at me,” he gasped.
You obeyed, meeting his stare, and the blatant desperation in your parted lips, the sharp inhale through your teeth, clenched his jaw. His fingers clamped deeper into the flesh of your thigh.
“Just like that,” he groaned, picking up to a firmer, more insistent pace. “Just like that, darlin’. Fuck.”
What started measured began to unravel bit by bit. The hold he kept didn’t shatter in one go. It eroded in the crush of his hands as he lifted you even higher. In the harsh, uneven pants fanning your neck. In the way every plunge of his hips slammed you solidly against the wall.
He adjusted his stance, grinding deeper, and the shift ripped a broken moan from your throat.
Cassidy let out a matching noise, a deep rumble from the beast inside him surging forward. He buried it in a kiss, sloppy and urgent, the metallic taste of your blood lingering on both your tongues.
From there, the last of his restraint snapped clean.
His pace shifted to brutal, savage, unyielding. The wall creaked under the impact. Another crate toppled free and shattered on the ground. Cassidy ignored it completely. He gripped you firmer and pounded on, slamming his length into your dripping pussy with wild, untamed hunger that turned the act into something sacred and profane all at once.
His lips returned to your neck, not sinking fangs this time, just pressing wet sucks and laps over the puncture wounds, rough and absentminded while his breaths came scorching against your flesh. Every so often, one of those broken noises escaped him, part snarl, part moan, as if he couldn't choose between tending the mark or unraveling completely because of it.
"So pretty," he rasped.
Your hands knotted tighter in his hair and yanked sharp enough to draw a sharp inhale from him.
Cassidy chuckled once against your skin, winded and feral. He was utterly disheveled by now. Shirt gaping open. Torso gleaming with perspiration. Belt dangling slack around his waist. Strands of hair sticking up in every direction. Each snap of his hips rammed you back harder, old beams creaking in protest.
"You're right there, yeah? So tight. Fuck, love…" He crushed his mouth to yours, devouring the whimper you let out, then trailed back to your neck, huffing there.
“That’s it,” he muttered. “That’s it, come apart for me. Let me feel it.”
The command, the scrape of his tongue over the bite, the relentless drive of his cock burying deep inside you - it all crashed together.
You shattered, crying out his name, quaking in his arms.
Cassidy responded with a raw, inhuman rumble as your walls throttled his length. He didn't pause. He fucked you straight through the peak, prolonging every spasm, keeping you trapped against the wall as your entire frame shuddered around his pistoning member.
Beyond that, the shreds of his composure frayed to nothing. His strokes grew erratic, fiercer, every plunge like he aimed to fuse himself inside you, lost in the chaotic frenzy of it all. His brow pressed to yours. His hands clamped vise-like on your thighs.
“Gonna finish in you,” he said, voice gone to gravel. “God help me, love, I’m gonna-"
When the release hit him, it wrecked him. Cassidy loosed a shattered, beastly groan against your lips and shoved in to the hilt, locking there as his body seized and jerked. His cock throbbed deep inside you, pulsing with each spurt of hot desire that flooded you. The sensation was overwhelming - your walls clenched around him, milking out every last drop. He remained glued to you, breaths heaving, lips brushing your neck, your chin, any skin he could claim, unwilling to separate just yet.
And that's when the storeroom door swung open.
Jesse stopped dead on the threshold.
For one impossible beat, nobody moved.
You were still in Cassidy’s arms, dress rumpled, throat marked, blood drying in a dark trail over your skin. Cassidy was still pressed close, breathing hard against your neck, one hand at your back and the other hooked beneath your thigh.
Jesse took in all of it.
His face went blank in the most dangerous possible way.
“No,” he said.
Nobody answered.
“No.”
Cassidy lifted his head very slowly.
Then Jesse saw the bite properly.
Saw the blood.
Everything in him sharpened.
Cassidy barely had time to straighten himself before Jesse caught him by the collar and slammed him back into the shelf hard enough to make the candle boxes jump.
“What did you do?”
“Jesse,” you snapped, dropping your legs and dragging your dress back into place.
Cassidy, astonishingly, did not shove him off. He caught the shelf, steadied himself, and said, voice still rough, “She said yes.”
Jesse rounded on you. “You’re bleeding.”
“I know.”
“You let him do that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
That question sat in the room like live wire.
You fixed your dress with shaking hands, still breathless, too exhausted to lie. “Because I wanted him to.”
Jesse stared at you as if the sentence had physically offended him.
Behind him, Cassidy stayed silent for once. There was still heat in his face, still blood at the corner of his mouth, but now there was something else too. Wariness. Concern. He knew exactly how bad this looked, and exactly how dangerous Jesse could be.
Jesse shoved him once more before letting go. “This is insane.”
“A bit,” Cassidy said.
Jesse wheeled on him. “Do not speak.”
Cassidy shut his mouth.
You might have laughed if the whole room hadn’t been one wrong word away from violence.
Jesse looked from the bite to the blood on your chest, then to Cassidy’s undone belt and wrecked hair, then back to your face. Fury and fear warred openly in him.
“He didn’t take too much?”
“No.”
The answer came from both of you at once.
Jesse hated that instantly.
He pointed at the door. “You. Out.”
Cassidy hesitated only because he was looking at you.
You saw the question there. Are you alright? Do you want me gone? Am I making this worse?
You gave the smallest nod.
That settled it.
He pushed off the shelf, straightened the worst of his clothes, and headed for the door. At the threshold he paused just long enough to mutter, “This is going to go very badly for me, isn’t it, Padre?”
Jesse looked ready to put him through a wall. “Yes.”
Cassidy glanced back at you, and despite the blood, the shouting, and the complete catastrophe of the moment, the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Worth it.”
“Cassidy,” Jesse barked.
He vanished into the hall before Jesse could get his hands on him again.
The silence he left behind was somehow worse.
Jesse turned to you slowly. “Sit down.”
That surprised you enough to obey.
He grabbed a clean cloth, ran it under the tap in the little sink, and came back looking like a man whose night had taken a turn for the biblical. When he touched the cloth to your throat, the gentleness of it caught you off guard.
He was still furious.
He was also scared.
Neither cancelled out the other.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
“A little.”
He shot you a look that said now was not the time. You wisely said nothing else.
He cleaned the worst of the blood away, then stopped to inspect the bite. Fresh anger flared across his face, then faded into something more tired.
“You like him.”
It wasn’t a question.
You looked toward the open doorway where Cassidy had disappeared.
“Yes.”
Jesse closed his eyes for one beat. When he opened them again, the fury hadn’t gone, but it had changed shape. Less murder. More resignation.
“Of course you do.”
Outside, thunder rolled low over Annville.
And out in the hall, just beyond the reach of the light, Cassidy had stopped dead the second he heard your answer.
He stood there very still, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, eyes shut.
Then, because he was Cassidy and apparently incapable of feeling one thing at a time, he smiled to himself like an idiot before schooling his face into something halfway respectable and stepping out into the dark to wait for whatever fresh hell Jesse had planned for him.
summary: Adam chases reader through the forest after she saves Victor from the monster, until Adam decides he's done playing with Victor and wants to play with her, instead.
pairing: the creature x reader
word count: 5,913 words
themes: dubcon, light non-con, this is a dark fic, unprotected sex, oral, monster sex, talk of murder and death, violence, cat and mouse, alludes to reader being a virgin, victor being a bitch, fear, stalking, 18+ ONLY MDNI
author's note: this adam makes me fear for my life and i love it i wish this was me and my therapist will be hearing about this
You grew up on stories about the monsters in the woods.
Shadows that walked. Voices that mimicked. Eyes that gleamed between the trees, watching from the treeline whenever a light burned too late in a cottage window.
Parents told those stories to keep their children close.
The monster, they said, would take you if you wandered.
You believed them, of course, until you got older. Until you saw what real monsters looked like.
The monsters weren't ugly and uncivilized, the monsters were men. Men with polite smiles and cold hands. Men who drank too much and laughed when you said no. Men who looked at you like a prize instead of a person.
Compared to them, the thing in the forest felt almost… honest.
At least monsters didn’t pretend to be anything else.
You might have gone your whole life never knowing whether the tales were real, if not for the night Victor Frankenstein staggered through your front door drenched in rain and pure terror.
You found him on the road, mud splattered up his coat, eyes wide and bloodshot. You thought he was drunk at first, or maybe sick. Then, he clutched at your wrist when you reached for him.
“He’s coming,” Victor rasped. “Please. Please. I’ll pay anything. Just let me in. He’s coming.”
You should have turned him away, stranger ranting about some unseen threat—nothing good could follow. But the urgency and fear in his voice compelled you to open your door to him.
So you let him in anyway.
You always were too soft-hearted, as your father reminded. Too curious, too easily hooked by disaster or a firing gun.
He sat by the fire and shook like he was freezing from the inside out. As the hours passed and the wind howled outside, pieces of the story slipped out between trembling lips.
He was a doctor. No, more than that. A genius, he said. Brilliant. Visionary.
Arrogant. Pompous. Vain.
He spoke of graveyards and lightning and blasphemy dressed up as science. He told you he had built something, a man, almost, stitched from death and dragged screaming into life.
You would have laughed if he hadn’t looked so utterly, irrevocably haunted.
“He hates me,” Victor whispered, staring into the flames as if he saw something else there. “He should. I made him…and then I left him. I ran. I thought—I thought time would dull his rage.”
“How long has it been?” you asked.
He swallowed. “Years.”
“And now?”
Victor’s jaw clenched. “Now he’s found me again.”
There it was. The monster in flesh and blood, no longer a myth, but a man-made nightmare. You should have told Victor to leave, yet you didn’t.
You let him stay and sleep in your spare room. You tried to convince yourself the heaviness in the air was just a storm rolling in, not fate tightening its grip around your throat.
On the third night, the trees began to whisper.
You woke to a sound outside your window. Not an animal and certainly not the wind.
A footstep. Heavy. Measured. Terrifyingly calculated.
You crept to the glass as quietly as you could. The forest beyond your cottage was a dark mass of trunks and shadows, the moon a blurred coin behind clouds.
At first, you saw nothing.
Then the world shifted, and you realized the “tree” you’d been staring at…was breathing deeply and unevenly.
He stepped forward into the moonlight and every story you’d ever heard about monsters felt like a children’s rhyme compared to what stood before you.
Tall didn’t even begin to cover it. He towered. Massive shoulders, heavy arms, hands that could probably crush bone without effort. Scars crisscrossed his face and throat, some puckered, some clean like old surgical work. His hair was dark and tangled, dishevelled to match his ghastly appearance.
He was grotesque. He was beautiful. He was wrong.
His eyes found your window with unnatural precision and you froze. He just stared, standing motionless.
You didn’t know how long you stood there, locked in his gaze. Long enough for your breath to slow instead of quicken. Long enough to understand instinctively: he could see you. Really see you. Not just as another warm body in a lit room.
As you.
Then he turned his head slightly, like he heard something in the distance. You watched as his lips peeled back in a humourless hint of what you could only describe as a smile.
Without a word, he disappeared back into the trees. That night, you didn’t sleep.
Victor insisted in the morning you must have dreamt it. But you saw the way his hands shook when you mentioned a figure in the dark and you saw the sweat bead at his hairline.
“He won’t come near you,” Victor said too quickly. “He wants me. Only me.”
You weren’t sure if that was meant to comfort or reassure himself. It did neither.
The next day, the villagers spoke of deep footprints at the forest edge. Broken branches and trunks. A cow had gone missing from its pasture.
By sunset, the sky bruised purple and black, and you felt it—like something in the air shifted, the tension drawn tighter.
You knew he was close.
You just didn’t expect him to walk straight out of the trees before your eyes under the darkening sky.
It happened near the clearing beyond your garden after Victor insisted on “getting some fresh air.” He nearly jumped out of his skin when a crow flapped its wings too close to him.
“Maybe we should go back insi—” The words died in his throat.
Because something was stepping out of the tree line. Not hurried. Not stealthy. Certain.
You recognized him.
That impossible body, that scar-drawn face, those eyes that looked less like an animal’s and more like a god who’d been dragged face-first through hell.
Adam.
You didn’t know how you knew his name. No one had spoken it. Maybe it was the way he carried it in his bones.
Victor stumbled backward. “No—no, no, no—”
Adam’s gaze slid right over him and landed on you.
This time, there was no glass between you. No safety. No distance. Just cold air, damp earth, and the weight of a creature whose existence should have been impossible staring at you like you’d been placed here for him.
“Victor,” Adam said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in your ribs. “You ran.”
Victor’s breath hitched. “Please...don’t—”
“I gave you time,” Adam went on, ignoring his plea. “Years. I learned. I watched. I waited. I asked myself if I could forgive you.” His eyes didn’t leave your face. “The answer was no.”
Victor shook his head, stepping between the two of you. “She has nothing to do with this.”
Adam tilted his head slightly, eyes glittering. “Is that so?”
He took one step closer.
You should have moved back, but you couldn't find the will to do so. Your body felt carved from stone and adrenaline, sown to the ground you were standing on.
Adam’s attention dropped, just for a heartbeat, to Victor’s hand where it hovered near you.
You saw how his jaw ticked and worked.
“Funny,” he said coldly. “He said the same thing about me once. ‘Nothing to do with this.’ A side effect. A mistake.”
He took another step.
Victor’s voice rose in pitch. “Please...if you must kill someone, kill me—”
Adam still didn’t look at him. “What’s your name?” he asked you, calm and low.
You swallowed, your mouth dry. You told him. He repeated it, like he was testing how it tasted in his mouth. You felt that more than you should have.
“Pretty,” he murmured. “Does he own you, too?”
“No,” you snapped before you could think. “No one owns me.”
Something flickered behind his eyes. “Good,” he said softly.
Victor grabbed your wrist. “Get inside. Now.”
Adam’s gaze dropped to where Victor touched you and the air changed immediately.
Slow and deliberate, he stepped around Victor like he was a piece of furniture and not a man. Victor tried to block him again, but Adam merely placed one large hand on his shoulder and pushed.
Victor flew.
He hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of him. Adam didn’t spare him even a flicker of a glance.
He stopped in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look up at him. Close enough that you could see the stitches at the edge of his jaw, the small irregularity in his left pupil, the faint scent of rain and forest and something metallic clinging to him.
Up close, the “monster” was less a horror and more…a collision of contradictions. Rage and restraint. Power and precision. Violence and, somehow, a thread of aching loneliness wound tightly beneath it all.
You realized, in that moment, that Victor hadn’t just created a monster. He’d created a man and then abandoned him.
Adam looked down at you like you were an equation he was solving.
“You let him stay in your home,” he said quietly. “You fixed his wounds. Fed him. Kept him warm.”
Your lips parted. How did he know?
“You watched me from your window,” he added calmly. “You didn’t scream.” His eyes searched yours. “You should have.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” you lied, watching as his mouth twitched.
“You were,” he said. “Just not the way you think.”
Your heart stuttered as Victor coughed behind you. “Please...leave her out—”
Adam’s expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped, dangerous and soft.
“Get up again,” he said without looking at Victor, “and I will break something in your precious body.”
Victor stayed on the ground while Adam’s attention shifted entirely to you.
“I’ve been watching him for a long time,” he murmured. “Running. Hiding. Lying.” His gaze dragged slowly down your body, then back up, not lecherous, not polite, just…assessing. Claiming. “And then I saw you.”
You swallowed. “So what, I’m a witness?”
His pupils thinned. “No,” he said. “You’re a variable.”
You didn’t know whether to shiver or scoff. “What do you want?”
A slow, dark smile ghosted across his lips. “I want to see something.”
You don’t know why that scared you more than any threat could have.
He took a step back from you, just enough that you could move if you wanted to. The forest loomed at his back, every tree suddenly feeling like part of him.
His eyes gleamed.
“Run,” he said.
Your stomach dropped. “What?”
He nodded toward the trees. “Run.”
Victor wheezed, “Don’t you touch her—”
Adam’s hand twitched once, annoyance flickering across his features. “This isn’t about you anymore,” he said flatly, still looking at you. “It’s about her.”
Your voice came out quiet. “Why?”
“Because I want to know,” he murmured, “what you do when you’re afraid.”
His tone was almost gentle and that made it worse, but still, you didn’t move.
You stood there, heart hammering, while every instinct screamed at you to obey and bolt—but there was something else, too. Something traitorous. A spark of heat in your chest that had nothing to do with fear.
He watched you, patient.
“Run,” he said again, this time softer, more dangerous. “Before I change my mind and skip straight to the part where I catch you.”
That got you moving.
You turned and sprinted toward the tree line, lungs seizing with cold air, skirts tangling around your legs. The forest swallowed you fast that the cottage vanished from sight, the world shrinking down to your beating heart, cracking twigs, and the rush of your own breath.
For a few fierce seconds, you could almost pretend this was just another late-night dash through the woods like you’d done as a child. You knew these trees, you knew these paths and if you could reach the creek, the old oak, the slope.
A low laugh rolled through the darkness behind you. You risked a glance over your shoulder. He was there. Of course he was there.
Not right behind you—no. That would have been mercy. He walked.
Effortless. Unhurried. His long strides ate up the ground with terrifying ease, but he didn’t run. He was holding back.
He was letting you widen the gap. Letting you think you were doing something. You simply pushed harder.
Branches whipped your face, roots lurked like traps beneath the leaves. The cold cut your lungs raw, causing a deep ache. Still, you ran. Because if you stopped, if you let yourself feel the way his gaze burned between your shoulder blades, you didn’t know what would happen.
“You’re fast,” his voice drifted through the trees. “For someone who’s never been hunted before.”
You nearly tripped at the sound. It was closer than it had any right to be.
“How—” you gasped, putting all your weight into climbing a small hill, “—are you...still talking?”
He chuckled and the sound was dark and almost joyful.
“You’re the one running,” he said. “I’m just enjoying my view.”
Heat flared in your chest. Anger. Embarrassment. A reluctant, unwanted thrill you didn’t have time to unpack. “You’re insane!” you shouted.
“Probably,” he called back. “Keep going. I want to see how far you think you can get.”
Your legs burned.
You veered left, deeper into the forest where the undergrowth grew thicker. You could hear water nearby, it was the stream. If you crossed it, maybe you could mask your scent, hide under the overhang near the rocks like you did as a child. You half-slid, half-stumbled down the incline toward the rushing sound.
The stream appeared in front of you, black and fast. You didn’t hesitate.
You splashed through, cold water biting into your boots, soaking your skirts. You reached the other side and scrambled up the muddy bank, fingers digging into damp earth. Your lungs screamed and your heart battered at your ribs.
You tucked yourself into the hollow under a large, tangled root system, the earth cool against your back. You stifled your breathing as best you could, pressing a hand over your mouth to muffle the gasps.
Silence.
Then, a footstep.
On the other side of the water.
Your entire body went still.
You couldn’t see him from where you hid, you could only hear him. The deliberate slosh of boots through water, the slow crunch of leaves on your side of the stream.
He knew. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that would help. His voice came from far too close.
“Clever.”
You flinched.
“Most people run in a straight line,” he mused aloud, as if chatting with himself. “They don’t bother with cover. They think speed is enough.” A pause. “You broke my sightline. You crossed the water. You hid.”
Dry leaves shifted just beyond your hiding place.
“Very clever,” he repeated softly. “But you’re shaking the ground with your heartbeat, do you know that?”
You clamped your teeth down on your hand, hard enough to sting. He stopped right in front of your hiding spot. You didn’t breathe, couldn't breathe.
Time stretched. Hung. Trembled. Stopped altogether.
Then, with infuriating casualness, he crouched down and flipped the dangling roots aside like a curtain.
"Found you." He sang.
You stared up at him, chest heaving. He filled the entry, blocking the faint moonlight behind him. For a moment, neither of you dared to move.
His eyes roamed over you, taking in your damp clothes, mud-streaked knees, trembling fingers digging into the earth.
You expected mockery. Instead, he looked…pleased.
“You made it farther than he would have,” Adam said quietly. You didn’t have to ask who he meant, Victor probably already halfway to the next town over.
Coward.
“Let me go,” you managed, your voice hoarse. “You’ve proven your point.”
His head tilted. “Have I?”
“My heart is pounding, I’m filthy, I’m terrified. Congratulations.”
“Are you?” he asked. You frowned. “Am I what?”
“Terrified.”
Your throat tightened. “Yes.”
He reached in. You tried to kick, lash out, claw at him. It didn’t matter because his hand closed around your ankle with an unyielding grip, warm and solid.
He only had to tug once.
You slid straight out of your hiding place like prey dragged from a den.
You hit the ground on your back, air punching out from your lungs. Before you could scramble away, a shadow moved over you, and then he was there. One hand braced beside your head, the other still wrapped around your ankle, pinning you down with a fraction of his strength.
You could feel how careful that fraction was.
He leaned over you, his body heat seeping through your soaked clothes, the scent of damp earth and something electric clinging to his skin.
“Look at you,” he murmured.
You glared up at him. “Get off—”
“You’re shaking,” he cut in. “Breathing like you’ve swallowed the storm. Skin flushed. Eyes blown wide.” His gaze darkened. “You call it fear.”
Your chest rose and fell too fast and too uneven. “What else would you call it?”
His hand slid from your ankle to your calf, then to your knee, his touch slow, deliberate, never fully gentle. You felt every inch of contact like a spark.
“I’ve seen fear,” he said. “Real fear. The kind that stinks of sweat and piss and desperation.” His eyes burned into yours. “This isn’t that.”
You fought the urge to squirm. “Stop pretending I want this,” you snapped. “I didn’t ask—”
A harsh, humorless sound escaped him. “You didn’t say no either.”
Your breath stalled. “You told me to run.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “And you did. But not the way they do.” His eyes flicked down to your parted lips, then back up. “You looked back three times. Do you know that?”
You said nothing.
“You wanted to see me,” he murmured. “You wanted to know how close I was.”
“Because you’re hunting me,” you spat.
His mouth curved in a sinister way.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But tell me the truth.” His face lowered, his nose brushing the side of yours, his voice dropping to a rasp. “Did you really want me far away?”
Your heart slammed so hard it hurt.
You hated that he could read you. Hated that you couldn’t lie convincingly right now. Hated that somewhere beneath the panic and adrenaline there was a twisted, burning thrill at being seen like this by something so utterly, terrifyingly focused on you.
“Even if I did,” you whispered, “what difference does it make?”
Everything in his expression shifted.
He loosened his grip on your leg, only to slide his hand to your hip, fingers spreading as if measuring how much of you he could hold in his palm.
“It makes,” he said softly, “all the difference in the world.”
He lowered his head to your throat and you froze.
His nose brushed your skin, his breath warm against the rapid pulse hammering under the surface. He inhaled slowly, deeply, like he was committing your scent to memory.
A shiver tore through you. You couldn’t help it. He felt it too.
A low, pleased sound rumbled in his chest. “There,” he murmured. “That’s the truth.”
Your voice trembled. “You said you wanted Victor. Not me.”
“I wanted revenge,” he corrected, his lips ghosting over the hollow at the base of your throat without ever really touching you. “That’s different.” His grip on your hip tightened. “You, I want for something else.”
“Like what?” you asked, though part of you already knew.
His head lifted, his eyes locking onto yours.
“You really don’t know?” he asked, almost amused.
“I want to hear you say it,” you shot back, surprising even yourself with the challenge in your tone.
For a heartbeat, he just stared at you. Then the corner of his mouth lifted, not kindly. Dark. Wicked. Dangerous.
“Dangerous,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re dangerous.”
He shifted, his body settling more fully over yours, bracing his weight on his arms so he didn’t crush you but kept you pinned between him and the unyielding forest floor.
You were trapped.
“I’ve spent years alone,” he said, his voice growing rougher with every word. “Hiding in shadows. Watching life happen to everyone but me. Listening to their laughter, their pleasure, their cries.” His eyes flared. “Wanting. Always wanting. Never allowed to have.”
His hand slid up your side, fingers splaying against your ribs, the heat of his touch burning away some of the chill from the stream.
“And now…” He swallowed once, thickly. “Now you stand in front of me and tell me I should pretend I don’t want you?”
Your breath hitched.
“I didn’t—”
“But you didn’t tell me to stop,” he said. “You didn’t tell me to let you go. Even now,” he added softly, “you’re not telling me to get off you. You’re asking me questions.”
He leaned down until his lips hovered a breath away from yours.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, “and I will.”
The forest held its breath with you.
You stared up at him, every nerve lit, every rational thought drowned under the weight of his body, his voice, his attention. The world had shrunk to the space between his mouth and yours.
You could say it.
You could end this.
You could turn away from the cliff edge.
You parted your lips.
“…Don’t...don't stop,” you whispered.
His eyes flashed and for a moment, he looked almost startled. Then, slowly, something unmistakably feral slid into place behind his gaze.
“You are going to ruin me,” he said hoarsely.
His hand at your hip flexed, pulling you against him. His other braced by your head, fingers biting into the earth.
“Or I’m going to ruin you,” he added. “Maybe both.”
His forehead dropped to yours, the contact almost jarringly intimate.
“Say it again,” he murmured. “Tell me not to stop.”
You swallowed. “Don’t stop.” His jaw clenched.
“Once I start,” he said, voice shaking with a cocktail of hunger and warning, “I won’t want to stop. I won’t want to be gentle. I’ve never been given anything gently. Everything I’ve ever had, I’ve had to take.”
You held his gaze. “Then take me.”
Silence. Absolute, shattering silence. Then, something in him broke, quietly and completely.
“Gods,” he breathed. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
His mouth brushed your jaw, the corner of your lips, the edge of your throat. Each almost-touch made your body arch toward him of its own accord, seeking more.
His lips finally pressed firmly against your throat, not biting, but not soft either. His hand traveling your body drew your attention away from the cold, from the mud, from everything except the paths he traced.
The monster in the woods was worshiping you like a man starved.
The moment Adam caught the edge of your skirts, it was with a desperation that felt older than the grave. Fabric whispered and tore as he dragged it upward, his touch neither gentle nor hesitant, like a creature who had only just learned what wanting was.
Cold night air lashed your skin, raising gooseflesh that made you shiver. He noticed. Of course he noticed. There was nothing human left in his gaze now, only hunger, devotion, and something far more dangerous.
Moonlight broke through the clouds just long enough to illuminate the ruins of your clothes, scattered and ruined as he held you pinned between his body and the damp, trembling earth.
“This,” he growled, voice cracking like thunder, “was carved into my fate. I have earned it.”
He lowered his head, breathing in your arousal in like a man starved of warmth, starved of life itself. The air between you thickened, your own traitorous longing betraying every rational thought you’d ever clung to.
When your eyes met his, a crooked, sinful smile tugged at the edges of his mouth—too wicked for any mortal man.
“Scream,” he murmured. “No soul dares to wander far enough to save you from me.”
Then he claimed you, not with gentleness, but with the reverence of a worshipper kneeling before a forbidden altar. His touch was fevered, greedy, tasting, learning. His arm held you steady when your body tried to escape the intensity of him, though you no longer knew whether you wanted freedom or surrender.
Your breath hitched. Your voice broke. The world spun.
And yet it was not fear that hollowed you—it was something far sweeter, far more damning.
“I’ve decided,” he whispered against the tender skin of your thigh, breath uneven, “that I could spend eternity discovering you.”
He returned to your centre with slow, deliberate devotion, savouring every trembling moment. Your hands, dirt-streaked and shaking, flew to his hair, unsure if you meant to pull him closer or push him away.
Even you didn’t know.
“Harder,” he groaned, voice fraying at the edges. “If you wish to hurt me… then hurt me. I am yours to ruin.”
Stars burst behind your eyes like dying worlds, a pleasure you had never known until tonight. Adam rose in the moonlight, looking wild and starved and achingly alive. Hunger darkened his gaze as he captured your mouth with his, stealing whatever breath you had left.
This was wrong. This was sacrilege. You were betraying every law written for mortal souls.
“My creator,” Adam murmured against your throat, words sending a tremor through you, “must have shown me mercy.”
His weight shifted, his heat pressed to your hip, and your head tipped back with a gasp.
“I should have thanked him,” he said, lips curling into a wicked smile. “Because even after death, he left me the parts that make me a man.”
He didn’t let you answer, instead claiming you fully, and your body arched beneath him as the forest seemed to hold its breath. You clutched at his stitched, unholy skin, marking him with crescents of dirt and desperation, your claim etched into him like scripture.
The ground trembled. Birds erupted from their nests in panicked flight as Adam roared into the night, your bodies moving as though summoned by some ancient, terrible rhythm.
He pressed shuddering kisses along your neck, between gasped-out half-words, his voice a rough, reverent rasp in your ear.
“Mine.”
“Look at me.”
“Don’t hide from me.”
“Say my name.”
You didn’t know when you started saying it, but once you did, it didn’t stop.
“Adam.”
His body flinched the first time you whispered it.
No one had said it like that before. His breath hitched and his rhythm broke, but you didn’t care, you only clung to the dark, rising heat curling tight inside you, desperate now to chase it to its end.
You said his name again, and his control frayed further, his movements growing more desperate, more claiming. His hand tightened at your hip, his mouth hovering, then pressing, then dragging along your pulse.
You were both hanging off the edge by fingertips.
“You’re are mine,” he growled. “And I am yours.”
His hand closed around your throat with the helpless instinct of something made for ruin rather than tenderness. Through the blur of your tears, you managed only his name.
"Adam."
Then the two of you collided like storm-torn constellations, souls striking sparks in the dark as the sky twisted above you. His uneven breath tangled with yours, and an impossible, shattering pleasure unfurled between you as though the night itself had split open.
You didn’t know how long you stayed there, tangled in breath and heat and half touches under the watchful shadows of the trees. Time had no meaning in that hollow. There was only the rise and fall of his chest and the frantic rhythm of your heart.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he wanted to.
It was because he had to.
He stayed close, kneeling beside you in the leaves, one hand still on your waist as if to reassure himself you were real.
Your clothes were damp, your hair was a mess, your throat felt raw.
You couldn't have cared less in this moment. Adam watched you like he was memorizing the sight.
“What now?” you asked quietly.
He looked toward the direction of the village, where faint distant lantern lights flickered between trees.
“Now,” he said, “I finish what I came here for.”
Cold crept back into your chest. “Victor,” you whispered.
Adam’s jaw hardened. “I could break his neck with two fingers.”
“Will you?” You asked. He was quiet for a moment.
“I wanted to,” he said. “For years. I thought about it every night. About how his skull would feel in my hands. How easy it would be.”
He closed his eyes, jaw tense. When he opened them again, the anger was still there, but something else had joined it.
“You changed that,” he admitted.
You blinked, thrown. “Me?”
“You’re the first person who didn’t scream when they saw me,” he said. “The first who didn’t pretend I was invisible. The first who didn’t try to use me or run from me without looking back over their shoulder like they wanted me to follow.”
His gaze softened in a way that felt dangerous. Manipulative.
“You gave me something more interesting than revenge,” he said. “That’s… inconvenient.”
You almost laughed. “Sorry?”
“Don’t be,” he said. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be on my way back there right now to paint the trees with his blood.”
You shivered. Not entirely from fear. “What will you do instead?” you asked.
His fingers flexed on your waist. “I’ll let him live,” he said slowly. “For now.”
Relief and dread twisted together in your gut. “So you’ll leave?”
His hand tightened. “No.” The word dropped like a stone.
You stared. “Then what—” He leaned in again, his mouth hovering by your ear, his voice quiet and cruelly tender.
“I’m not leaving without you.” Your breath caught. “What?”
“You heard me.” You shook your head, trying to sit up fully. He let you, but stayed close, his presence a wall at your side.
“I can’t just disappear,” you said. “I have a life here. A home. People will—”
“Forget,” he said with a shrug. “They always do. Or they’ll tell stories about you the way they told stories about me. The woman the forest took.” His lips curled. “You’ll be a warning for children who think they can stray too far.”
“That’s not funny,” you snapped.
“I’m not joking.”
He cupped your face again, calloused thumb brushing the edge of your lip.
“I’ve spent years wandering alone,” he said. “I’m done.” His eyes burned. “You ran from me, and then you told me not to stop. You said my name like it meant something.”
“It does,” you said before you could stop yourself.
His breath hitched. "Then you understand,” he said. “I’m not leaving you here.”
“And if I say no?” you asked quietly.
He considered that, really considered it. You saw the war flicker across his expression.
“I don’t want to force you,” he said at last, voice raw. “I’ve had enough of being forced my entire existence.”
“But?” you pressed. He swallowed, his nostrils flaring.
“But if you stay,” he said, “they’ll hurt you. Not the villagers, the world. Men like him. Men worse than him.” He nodded vaguely toward where Victor might still lay. “They’ll see you, and they’ll want you, and they’ll try to take from you what you offered me freely.”
His eyes went black.
“I’ll feel it,” he whispered. “Even from miles away, I’ll feel it. And I’ll come back here and tear this place apart. I’ll kill them all.” His fingers dug into your jaw. “And it will be your fault.”
Your blood ran cold. “That’s not fair,” you said.
“I know,” he replied. “I never said I was fair.”
Silence hung between you, heavy and terrible.
“You’re asking me to choose,” you said. “Between my home and… you.”
“I’m not asking,” he said. “I’m telling you what happens either way.” Your chest hurt. “And if I go with you?”
His grip gentled and he stroked your cheek once, almost reverent.
“Then I’ll burn for you instead of the world,” he said simply. “I’ll be your monster. Your shield. Your ruin. I’ll give you every violent, ugly, precious part of me that no one else wanted.” His mouth hovered above yours again, close enough to feel the warmth. “And I won’t let anything touch you unless you ask for it.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs, bruising. “I don’t even know what that life looks like,” you whispered.
His smile was sharp and soft at once. “Neither do I,” he said. “We’ll find out.”
He straightened then, towering over you once more. He held out a hand as the forest watched.
The cottage stood somewhere behind you, full of fear and lies and the same grey days you’d always known.
In front of you, a monster who wanted you with unapologetic, terrifying clarity. A man stitched from rage and loneliness who’d decided you were the one thing he wouldn’t let the world keep from him.
He wouldn’t beg.
He wouldn’t promise you safety.
He wouldn’t promise you sanity.
What he offered instead was devotion sharpened into a weapon, and a life lived at the edge of the firelight.
You took a breath and you put your hand in his.
His fingers closed around yours, firm and absolute. Something like relief flickered across his face before he smothered it.
“Good,” he said, voice low. “Very good.”
He pulled you to your feet and didn’t let go.
You walked back through the trees together, his grip steady, his frame a shadow at your side. The cottage came into view, lantern light flickering weakly against the dark.
Victor still sat there, hunched and small on the ground near the clearing like a discarded marionette.
He looked up as you emerged. His eyes widened, darting from Adam’s hand around yours to your face.
“You can’t...” he croaked. “You can’t go with him. He’s a monster. He’ll...he’ll destroy you.”
You glanced at Adam as he watched Victor with the same sort of detached irritation one might reserve for a buzzing fly.
“You had your chance to care about what happened to me,” Adam said mildly. “You chose yourself.”
His gaze slid back to you.
“You’re sure?” he asked quietly enough that Victor couldn’t hear. “You can still say no.”
“And you’ll leave me alone?” you asked.
His jaw flexed once.
“No,” he said honestly. “I’ll just leave you. The rest of this place?” His eyes flicked to Victor. “I make no promises.”
You believed him as the weight of your choice settled in your bones like cold iron.
You squeezed his hand tighter. “I’m sure,” you said.
He nodded once. No smile. No grand display of joy. Just a small, precise shift in his posture, like something inside him finally unclenched.
He turned to Victor.
“You get to live,” Adam said. “You’ll tell them whatever story you like about what happened here. You always were good at lying.” He tilted his head. “But if I hear you’ve tried to chase us, to take her back, to drag her name through the dirt,”
He stepped forward, and Victor shrank back. “I won’t be nearly as merciful next time.”
Victor opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out, but Adam didn’t wait for one, instead he tugged your hand.
“Come,” he said. “Before I change my mind and kill him anyway.”
thinking about riding adrian so hard he stops babbling 🤭 disrupting every single train of thought that forms in his pretty head, watching closely as he battles with himself, opening his mouth constantly to try to speak but all that comes out are tortured gasps or pathetic croaking sounds, finally getting to admire his cute face contorting in pleasure without his incessant talking distracting you, moaning at him teasingly "you're so pretty like this baby, so quiet all of a sudden, is this all it takes?" and thats when adrian breaks his silence (or tries to), his words come out hilariously chopped in response to the snap of your hips, "uggh- sh-shut up- f-fuck! i hate yo-" adrian's breath runs out mid sentence when you swivel your hips a lil harder, mouth opening wide in shock at your meanness, you giggle at him when he drops his head back with a helpless groan and he mouths an angry curse
adrian chase showing off his strength while eating you out. munch adrian pt. 2
Adrian’s arms were tightly wrapped around your thighs, leaving small markings in their wake as his nails created small crescent moons on your skin. The hold he had on you was a stark difference to how soft, gentle, sweet he’d drag his tongue over your sweet spot. It was fucking killing you.
Currently, you were in a really weird spot—perched on top of a stack of hundred dollar bills, the protective plastic covering across the money was sure to leave some deep indents into your flesh. Adrian was knelt in front of you, his glasses crooked, the small babyhairs stuck to his hairline from the sweat. Slick ran down to his chin, his lips a swollen type of red.
You cursed underneath your breath, letting your eyes roll back as Adrian’s tongue lightly teased your entrance. “It’s good, yea? Tell me if it’s good. Fuck, you’re doing so perfect.” Adrian rambled, letting his eyes flutter shut. He wanted an ounce of validation—to be told that he was making you feel good. He wanted to have it cemented in your head that Adrian Chase can make his best friend feel fucking amazing.
His large hands snaked underneath your legs, the muscles on his back contracting as he picked you up off the money. Adrian rose from his knees, hunched over toward you, his face hovering inches from your cunt no matter how much he moved you. “There she is,” He said, flashing a sharp toothed smile. “So, so pretty. You’ll let me kiss her, right?” He said, referring to your most sensitive of parts.
You nodded, “Mhm.” “Thank you, thank you.” He mumbled, his breath hot against your clit. Adrian wasted no time. Why would he? You were right there, waiting, telling him yes. He’d call it temptation, but it wasn’t wrong to want this—to want you. It was always right.
18+ riding your nerdy bf till his glasses fall off ˚₊·͟͟͞͞♡
There’s something incredibly hot about riding your nerdy boyfriend until his glasses slide down his nose. He’s usually so composed, always in button-ups, always with those cute wire-rimmed glasses perched on his face, always muttering about formulas or code or whatever he’s nerding out about that day. But right now? He’s a complete mess.
You’re straddling his hips, knees planted firmly on the mattress, riding him to the hilt. Every roll of your hips makes his thick length slide perfectly inside you, hitting that spot that makes you moan softly. His hands are gripping your thighs, fingers digging in like he needs something to hold onto.
“Baby—” he stammers, voice cracking. His glasses are already slipping, sliding down the bridge of his nose as his head tips back against the pillow. His cheeks are flushed, hair messy, lips parted as he tries (and fails) to keep his breathing steady. You smile down at him, grinding your hips in a slow circle, watching the way his eyes flutter behind the fogging lenses.
“You look so cute like this,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss him. His glasses bump against your nose, but you don’t care. You just keep riding him, faster now, taking him deeper. He moans into your mouth, hips jerking up to meet yours. One of his hands slides up your back, the other stays on your hip, guiding you as you bounce up and down on him.
“God, you feel so good,” he breathes, voice shaky. “I can’t- I’m gonna—” His glasses finally slip off completely, landing somewhere on the pillow beside his head. His eyes, those pretty, unfocused eyes, lock onto yours, wide and desperate.
You ride him harder, chasing your own pleasure while watching him fall apart underneath you. When you come, clenching tight around him, he follows right after with a broken groan, hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you.
Afterward, he lies there panting, glasses askew on the pillow, looking completely wrecked and blissed out. You lean down and kiss him softly, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. He laughs breathlessly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down to his chest.
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