Aways an Angel... @archerofthemists - Tumblr Blog

Feb 2, 2021

My own personal headcanons and theories for Tyrian's childhood. No he doesn't NEED a tragic backstory but damn it I'm gonna give him one

Warnings: death/hate crime/faunus racism

(I love how the theory that Tyrian was in a faunus circus as a kid is so wide spread. Maybe we'll get lucky and get it in cannon)

Tyrian was born in the poor outskirts of Vacuo. It unfortunately was a very racist and hostile place to grow up.

Tyrians mother Iris Callows was a single mother. Tyrian never knew his father, a huntsman who had died before he was born.

Iris was a scorpion faunus as well. When Tyrian was first born, she carried him on her back in a cloth baby sack the majority of the time, including while she worked in hot fields, miserable work that was typically done by faunus who desperately needed the money.

Iris loved her little scorpling dearly. He was always a little ball of excitement and energy, the sunlight in her dark and lonely world.

They were poor, but she gave Tyrian the best life she could provide. She did her best to protect him from the outside world where she knew all too well the horrible things that could be said and done to her child.

Due to little money Iris did her best to homeschool her son, however as a young and single mother with no one to turn to, and working a full time job to keep food on the table, it was hard and Tyrian's education was spotty.

Despite this, Tyrian was a very happy child. He had a good imagination and kept himself entertained by playing in the desert that surrounded their small home.

Tyrian was six years old when his mother left him. Or, at least that's what he believed.

When harvest seasons were over, Iris would work odd jobs in the kingdom, trying to make ends meet.

Tyrian had entered a very bratty phase, growing to an age where he wanted other friends, real people. Iris didn't know how to explain to him how dangerous the world was. She wanted to shield him from its ugliness, but deep down she knew she couldn't do that forever. Even other faunus had shunned her due to her dangerous trait. Faunus with their own venom were almost unheard of. There was the occasional snake faunus that happened to be venomous, gifted with a lethal set of fangs, but certainly nothing as obvious as a powerful tail, tipped with poison.

To this day Tyrian can't quite remember what sparked the fight. All he remembered was he and his mother were yelling at each other and in a fit of anger his tail had swung out and broken something. It had been something made of porcelain and had been precious to Iris. It was one of her few possessions that her husband had given her before his untimely death.

Tyrian still remembers the pained look in his mother's eyes, the tears that welled and eventually streamed down her pale cheeks.

He immediately began apologizing as his mother scooped up the broken pieces, shaking her head.

"Please don't be mad…"

"I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed."

Tyrian watched her leave. She had to get to work and being faunus she was already on thin ice. Being late at all would surely result in being fired.

Tyrian felt guilty and gross. He'd never seen his mother cry before. He didn't like it. He spent most of the evening scrounging the house for glue and desperately piecing the figure back together. He was sure that it would make his mother happy when she came home from work late that night.

Only she never returned. As far as Tyrian knew she had abandoned him. He had been a bad child, a bad son and his mother had left him alone because of it. He waited for days but eventually the little food in the house ran out and Tyrian knew he would have to leave at some point. Maybe someone in the kingdome could help him? But no, his mother had warned him all his life about how dangerous humans could be towards their kind.

However, she had left him no choice, had she?

Wandering around the edges of the kingdome, he slipped food from vendors and went mostly unnoticed. His tail was wrapped snugly around his waist and looked like a belt, no one gave him a second glance.

However, a vendor's large dog had smelled him and recognized the smell of a faunus. Tyrian had unknowingly wandered into a humans only section of the markets. The dog, trained to attack at the smell of faunus did not hesitate to lunge at the small child and Tyrian responded quickly. Almost without thinking he struck the dog dead, his stinger buried in its furry chest.

Of course this gave away his cover and the vendor began screaming at Tyrian for killing his dog.

Out of nowhere a tall man came up behind Tyrian and gently placed his hands on the child's shoulders. "I'm sorry sir, my boy here still isn't used to the great kingdoms. I'll happily pay for your dog."

The man had a rugged looking top hat and goatee with intense eyes. Tyrian quickly felt terrified of the man but he was in no position to run either.

"There are no faunus allowed here!" The vendor yelled. "Get that little killer shit out of here! Screw your money!"

The man didn't hesitate to lead Tyrian away from the market and soon found himself in the desert where a big red tent was set up.

"You have family, son?" The man asked.

"I haven't seen my mother in a few days." Tyrian admitted. "I was bad and she left me."

"That's no way for a mother to treat her child." The man cooed as he leaned down to Tyrians level. "Come with my circus. I promise, we'll never abandon you."

Tyrian quickly learned that the Ringleader was not as kind a man as he pretended to be. Years of performing on the high wires (with no net below if you fell) onlookers laughing and always throwing things. Yanking his tail and Tyrian wasn't allowed to even say anything, no matter how much it might hurt.

Whippings, no food for days and being locked in a tiny cage if you did something wrong. No one could blame Tyrian when he finally snapped. The circus had been near Mistral when he finally killed the Ringleader and Brothers it felt good.

As for Iris, of course she never would have abandoned her precious boy.

It was after her shift had ended and she was walking home she was attacked by a group of faunus hating humans. They caught her off guard, and had brought an axe down on her tail, cutting off the better half of it. Iris was no huntress, she did not fight. She kept a blade on her for protection, but against five bigger opponents, it hadn't done her much good. (Although she did manage to drive it into one of their thighs, and he died of blood loss.) But it didn't keep her from getting killed herself.

As a faunus, her death was not investigated. No one bothered to find out if she had family. There was no one to tell Tyrian the truth.

#rwby #tyrian callows #rwby tyrian #rwby headcanons #might fuck around and write out some tragic shit #iris callows #my oc #new oc?

archerofthemists

Jul 28

honeyynymphh

you're so handsome when i'm all over your mouth

|| Dr. Victor Gideon x Fem!Reader || Rating: E Words: 6.9k Warnings: many...Snake-Like Victor Gideon, Graphic Description, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Menstrual Sex, Dub Con, Medical Procedures. Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Please check Ao3 for full list. 18+ MDNI ao3 link

When I would come out of Isolation, he would be standing there. The red light of the ward flashing and glinting off him as he stood, large and imposing with his hands behind his back. He wouldn't say anything, just nod approvingly and I would follow, hating how that sliver of approval would make me smile. I clung to it, this tiny scrap of acknowledgement from a monster. I was as foolish as the frog, hoping the scorpion wouldn't sting me but he was already upon me—under my skin, ready and poised to deliver a fatal drop of poison. So I kept going, letting myself want his trust and his approval, hungering for it. An assistant nurse who finds herself fascinated by the director of Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Centre. Can be read as reader or an OC, no name or overly descriptive features

I watched his hands, large and rough, as they slowly sloughed off the dead cells along the patient's arm. It was a precise and meticulous procedure, nobody dared to breathe as the doctor worked—we were never to interrupt. For such a large and imposing man, his movements were always so careful and deliberate—a tenderness tended to linger, even as his pulled back layers of skin and tissue. Every one of us wore gloves, face masks and scrubs that had once been white but were stained pink and grey no matter how thoroughly they were cleaned. At most he wore a lab coat, but his hands were always bare, the only thing on his face was that strange visor—for his damaged sight, the lead researcher, Doctor Richardson, had said. His mouth, split and cracked was always in a thin line as he concentrated, taking skin and blood samples back to the lab to study before he returned to his private office up on the third floor.

Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Centre was not the place to work if you were faint of heart. A sanatorium posing as a long-term care facility for those with physical injuries and psychological disorders—I knew it was posing. Nobody ever seemed to improve, I'd been here six months and not a single person had been discharged yet people had disappeared. The Head Nurse had shrugged, saying the Director had them relocated. I'd been sent here as a trainee nurse as part of my placement, shadowing the Head Nurse in daily tasks until one day she'd told me to take over for the surgical assistant—she was ill, she said.

That assistant never came back.

I'd been given clearance to access Security Level 1 areas, mostly so I could access patient files. I had to help prep for surgery, I'd been told, and had to assist the surgeon while he worked. For what type of surgery? I didn't ask. I didn't want to know. The things I had already seen had made my stomach twist with unease but nothing had prepared me for Doctor Victor Gideon.

At first I had recoiled, glad that my expression had been partially covered by the mask over my face when he had come in with the Lead Researcher, towering over the other man and his hulking frame barely fitting through the operating room door. My breath had hitched and his head had turned toward me ever so slightly before he had held a large hand out, requesting a scalpel. I had been repulsed then, as his large fingers slid through tissue, the blood leaving traces on the rings he wore before the other hand was using the sharp blade to slice deeper and remove whatever sample he had wanted. I'd watch him wash the blood off his hands after, as if it were merely dirt and not the bodily fluids of another human but I wasn't even sure if I could call Victor Gideon human.

Immune, Doctor Richardson had told me that first day in the operating room when Doctor Gideon had left and I had given the researcher a questioning look. There had been an understanding that I did not talk about what happened. I kept quiet and did as I was told. But I wondered, immune to what exactly?

My horrified fascination led me to always watch Doctor Gideon's hands when he performed any surgery or even while he worked in the Blood Lab. I wondered if he was responsible for his own scars—had he tested on himself? No, I thought. He was skilled but the extent of the incision that ran from his neck down his torso was certainly too large to have been done himself, surely. I wondered what it was, it reminded me of an autopsy incision. I tried to never look at him too long but I couldn't help myself. It was a strange fixation that manifested over time. I couldn't help watching him or listening to his quiet words as he carefully sliced open the cranium of some poor patient.

Occasionally there would be other students that would come to the centre. To learn. To study. Doctor Gideon would shadow us sometimes, from afar. I now had access to Security Level 2 and had seen far more gruesome experiments than I could dream of. I was a permanent hire now and I guided them through the facility, showing them the patient wards and theatre rooms. I always felt Doctor Gideon watching as I led them through the charade of medical care we were trying to perpetuate. The students rarely noticed the looming shadow but I did. I could always feel the weight of his presence, the vibration of his footsteps as he lingered somewhere nearby—perhaps watching through the one-way mirror in the large operating room, or otherwise lingering in a dark corner. If anyone noticed him, there was always that audible gasp, the quick suck of air through their nose and a stuttering sound. I did not blame them, he was terrifying. Grey skin, grey hair and the lenses on his visor glowing red as they homed in on you, assessing and cataloguing each movement and breath from his great height.

They would huddle together then, like sheep. Thinking that were safe in numbers.

They were not.They needed to be smart, to not balk at the task at hand—they needed to not ask questions they didn't want an answer to. You didn't last in the sanatorium if you asked too many questions. If they did, Doctor Richardson would have me take them into the Isolation Ward. Like a Judas goat I would lead them through and I would be the only one to come back out. Their endless bleating used to carry over into my dreams, I would see them with their red eyes and pleading, bleeding mouths. I barely dream now.

I was as sick as any of the patients I tended to, I thought. But it was my way of surviving. In those early weeks I had thought of never returning but something kept bringing me back, this terrifying siren call of horror and fascination. And there was something about Victor Gideon, something that told me I would be found if I didn't come back of my own free will.

Perhaps my days would have continued to the same if I hadn't been for my morbid curiosity and the way he made my skin crawl with a sort of horrified arousal. I felt attuned to him whenever he was nearby but during an operation I could never tear myself away from him.

It was a rainy day in November when something changed. That morning I had prepped the operating room for an operation on one of the hysterical patients. When he walked into the brightly lit theatre, I tried to contain my grotesque excitement. Fingers parted skin, gliding through tissue and I watched, avidly, as he did so. It was macabre, yet I stood there, silent and obedient, passing across surgical instruments without being prompted all the while watching his fingers. My feet shifted as I felt my body cramp and felt the wetness of my monthly suffering, earlier than anticipated. I bit my lip and shifted again, trying to ignore it. The doctor paused then and turned, passing me a bloodied scalpel though his many eyes fixed on me. I could hear the slight hum of the visor as it zoomed in and I looked down at the tray I held in my hands a moment, feeling my heart begin to pick up as my cunt throbbed with another cramp but also something else that I tried to ignore. I looked back up as he plucked the hemostat from my tray, his gaze still watching me. I swallowed, feeling stuck to the cold floor of the room, the lights feeling far too bright. His tongue flicked out, the forked muscle tasting the air quickly before it was gone and he was turning back to the patient tied and sedated on the operating table. I made myself breathe, and I squeezed my thighs together before I focused back on the doctor, watching and wondering what those fingers would feel like between my legs, parting my folds and slipping into my bloodied heat.

I tried to not let me thoughts stray any further, part of me feared that he could hear them, the other part—the part that did not dream and cherished any bit of praise—hoped that he could.

Squeezing my thighs again, I busied myself with cleaning the dirty instruments, knowing that I wouldn't be needed for a while. He would be done soon and then I would have to clean the rest of the room and monitor the patient until he was stable enough to move back down into the Rehabilitation Ward. Perhaps I let myself think these perverse thoughts as a distraction to what it was we were doing. I did not question the strange behaviour of the patients, nor that they disappeared frequently; staff too, like the nurse I had replaced. I let this fascination with Victor Gideon fester, constantly scratching at it so it would never heal. I was always watching him whenever I saw him within the main part of the centre. I would busy myself nearby, listening to the sound of his voice as he spoke in that careful tone of his to someone else. I would make myself useful if he came into the Blood Lab to request another document and I would offer to take reports to him if the Lead Researcher was busy—delivering them to his office with the reverence of an apostle surrendering some slaughtered creature to the altar of the Gods.

It became an obsession.

Doctor Richardson was pleased with my work, recommending that I move over to their Research Labs. I was dedicated and thorough, and not squeamish. I had never considered research before, it had sounded dull and I had wanted to help people. Ha. Those idealistic values I once had were gone, I didn't care about anyone else but myself. And him.

I'd been working more in the labs than with the patients for the last several weeks. I saw Doctor Gideon more often, watching him out of the corner of my eye as I noted down blood tests results from the patients in the Rehabilitation Ward while in the lab. The back of my neck would prickle but I would keep on working, trying to focus on what I was doing. Sometimes I could feel him approach and then see the glint of his visor in the shiny metal of the microscope I was working at. He always stood so close, looming over me. I would squeeze my thighs together under the desk and try to focus on my work.

Today was no different. Surgery had been hours ago and my shift was nearly over. There were no windows in the Blood Lab but I could tell the time by the ache in my feet and shoulders. And I was desperate to get home and shower. I had done my best earlier to clean myself in the bathroom, trying to wash away the menstrual blood and hastily shove a pad onto my spare pair of knickers. I felt irritable and my entire body ached but I would continue on.

I didn't want to disappoint Doctor Gideon.

I heard a hum from him as he picked up a report next to me, the only sound the whirring of the hematology analyser and the flick of pages being turned carefully. I only faltered a moment before I continued typing on the computer, trying to focus on the data. My body cramped and I shifted in my chair, trying to will it away. When he was so close to me it was hard to concentrate, he carried with him a heavy scent of patchouli but it didn't quite mask the strange metallic, chemical scent he seemed to exude.

"Hmm." Another flick of the page before he settled it back down on the counter next to me. "Come bring this to my office when you are done."

"Yes, Doctor."

The heavy footsteps signalled his departure and I strained to hear them until there was nothing but silence as the analyser finished processing. It beeped at me and I flinched.

Had I done something wrong? I hadn't been able to tell whether he was satisfied with my report or not. I didn't want to rush but I also didn't want to keep him waiting too long, there was hardly anyone else except the overnight shift in the clinic now. I had no idea what hours Doctor Gideon kept and was not brave enough to ask anyone. The thought of him staying back and waiting for me had me working as quickly as I could.

I ran the machine again on another sample from the same patient, wanting to check it across the data it had just spat out at me. Cross-examining it and meticulously typing it out, my eyes blurred as I stared at the screen. Usually, I would leave it for Doctor Richardson to check over before it was given to Doctor Gideon but I couldn't do that now, not when he had requested it. I didn't want to waste anymore time, I could feel my heart starting to race with a restless anxious energy as my foot tapped against the floor, waiting for it to print out. If it was wrong, I would do it again until he was happy with it, I told myself, as I took the warm pages out of the printer and carefully stapled them together.

Carefully placed in a manila folder, I turned the hematology analyser off along with the lab lights and locked the door with my security pass. I made my way towards the West Wing, ignoring the sound of Selena Corey singing as I passed the bar lounge and headed for the third floor. Someone else could take her back to her room, I had more important things to do. Besides, I wasn't a regular nurse anymore. I was a research assistant. I'd bought myself a nice new pencil skirt and a matching jacket, trying to affect an air of professionalism. I was irritated that I'd had to throw my bloodied stockings in the bathroom bin and the skirt chaffed against my thighs as I walked. When I reached the third floor, I briefly paused outside the door, checking my reflection in the mirror to make sure I looked presentable and that my jacket was straight before heading inside.

There was usually a table in the lounge area of the Director's office where I would leave reports, this is what I had been instructed to do by my team lead so I had never ventured very far into the room before. The main office was always shut and the one window that peered inside usually had the blinds partially closed so I could only catch hints of the doctor while he sat at his desk. The blinds were completely drawn today however the door was partially open. My heels clicked loudly against the tiled floor and I paused at the door to his office before gently knocking. Unlike the rest of the care centre, the Director's office was lit with lamps that emitted only gentle orange light.

"Come in."

He was still working, writing something in what looked like a diary as I entered. The desk he sat at was massive, made of dark wood panelling that matched the walls and shelves of the rest of the office. It had to have been custom built, I thought, to accommodate for his size, along with the chair he sat in. He didn't even glance at me as I entered and I was grateful, he was not wearing his usual visor and some of his grey hair fallen forward across his scarred face as he worked.

"Shut the door."

I did as I was told, the gentle click of the door closing very loud in the office. There was an old gramophone in the corner and it was lightly playing some classical music, and there was also the smell of cigarettes—the butt of one gently smoking on a glass tray that was filled with ash. I moved deeper into the room, my footsteps silenced against a thick rug. I placed the report on the desk, in what I hoped was not a meek manner, trying to retain a semblance of formality—as if I had done it a hundred times before. Nervously I smoothed down the front of my skirt.

"Please," he said, still not looking up at me but gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his large desk. "Take a seat."

I sat, ankles crossed and my eyes flicked around the room taking in the green leather couch, many books that lined the shelves and the medical illustrations on the walls. It was warm in here and I itched to take my jacket off but the doctor was still wearing his usual snakeskin coat, clearly unbothered by the warm room. So I didn't move. It felt like an age that I sat there in that dim room, waiting for him with my stomach twisting in to knots. When he clicked the pen he was using and looked up at me I swallowed. The corner of his lips quirked at he closed his journal and dragged the file I'd brought toward him and opened it, flicking through it.

"Hmm."

My anxiety spiked again as he read through the document. Though I could see his face I couldn't discern his expression. He didn't spend much time on it before dropping it back on the desk.I kept my hands in my lap, trying not to fidget. I felt like a rabbit, paralysed in front of his gaze and not wanting to make a sudden movement lest he strike at me. I'd never seen his eyes before, they glittered in the low light. It was hypnotic.

"You've shown great promise."

Soft words. I let them wash over my skin and revelled in the pleasure they gave, some of the apprehension sliding away at his praise.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Victor."

I hesitated a moment but then managed to reply, "Victor."

Victor.

I savoured the name like it was the finest wine. It tasted like victory an the feeling spread though me immediately. It made me feel special, better than the rest. He could trust me and I would be worthy of his trust. My heart raced and I couldn't help the flush that bloomed across my cheeks and that my lips quirked into a smile. I tried to not let it affect me, to stay objective and sensible. But I was a silly little rabbit.

He smiled back at me, his large hands clasped together on the desk as he leant forward. The lamplight caught on the gold of his teeth—I'd never been able to study his face so openly before and only now noted the additional incisors. I shivered.

"You are very observant," he said. "I've not had an assistant nurse last this long, nor one be recommended for promotion so swiftly." He smiled again, though it wasn't a particularly reassuring expression, it was a lot to have the full intensity of his attention on me and I subconsciously shifted in my seat. His tongue darted out then, so briefly sliding across his lips before disappearing. "You seem to anticipate my every need."

"Thank you," I said and added, "Victor." My breath shuddered out of me as I went on, "It's a pleasure to work with you."

"A pleasure?" The tongue flicked out again. "It is, isn't it."He stood then, the chair sliding back against the rug. Moving with deliberate slowness he came toward me. I didn't dare move, swallowing my nervousness and ignoring the ache deep within me. How I despised that my body was making me suffer when I was alone with him. But I wouldn't be rude, I would not say anything. The satisfaction I felt from his praise was enough to ignore my clenching cunt and the way my lower back ached. I didn't need an opioid injector, I just needed him to tell me again that I had done a good job.

I clasped my hands tighter as he came to stand behind my chair and I felt him place both large hands on the top of it, his knuckles barely brushing the back of my shoulders.

"The thing about being very observant," he said, his words floating down to me and sliding down my spine, "is that you need to be subtle. You are not the only one who is watching."

I heard him take a deep and slow breath as one of his hands gently came to rest on my shoulder. It engulfed it completely. His thumb touched the side of my neck. It was cool as it slid slowly against my skin, my pulse thundering under it like a raging fire. I licked my lips, they were dry and I bit at my bottom lip in an effort to rein myself in. Had I fallen asleep in the lab? I must have. Or the drugs I had taken earlier had not been inflammatory relief but some hallucinatory substance.

But the heavy scent of patchouli mixed with cigarettes and that peculiar underlying scent of his was more than enough for me to know it was real. It filled my nose and I tried to breathe, it was cloying but I wanted to breathe in more of it. I wanted to cling to the smell and memorise it.

"You seemed a little tense today," he said and though I could not see his face I hear the lilt behind his words that made me know that he was smirking at me. His thumb brushed behind my ear and touched a sensitive spot that made me shiver with pleasure and I subconsciously squeezed my thighs together, my own fingers clasping my hands tighter. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Yes.

"No," I said. "Thank you for your concern," I added with sincerity, "It's nothing. I will try not to let it interfere with the work."

His fingers had crawled across my shoulder and were on my neck, idly stroking my hair like I was some sort of pet. The music softly playing from the gramophone came to a stop and Victor's fingers paused before they slowly retreated from me and he was walking towards it and carefully flipping the vinyl over. The notes filled the room again and I reminded myself to breathe. I hadn't been dismissed, I knew this, so I stayed seated with the anticipatory feeling in my chest while I stared at his back. It was so broad and the top of his head was only a foot away from the ceiling. I had often wondered what the rest of him looked like, his hands were large—I was certain one would have easily been able to wrap around my neck. My eyes briefly flicked to his leather pants when he turned before I looked away, mortified with myself. It was one thing to think about his cock in the privacy of my own apartment but another to do so right in front of him.

I had daydreamed about holding his full attention but now that I had it I didn't know what to do with it. I felt too small in his presence, scared I would say or do the wrong thing and I would be the lamb led to the Isolation Ward, never to be seen again. I recognised there was something twisted within me, that I didn't just want his approval but all of him. But he still scared me.

Victor moved back to me then and I briefly caught the smile on his cracked lips. He didn't seem angry—I had only ever witnessed his displeasure once, at a junior researcher that had contaminated a blood sample. It had been an icy sort of rage and I had never wanted to hear it again.

He was holding something out to me, it was a wine glass filled with a dark red liquid. I took it, my fingers briefly touching his. Still cool despite how warm the room was. I sniffed it, it was a very rich wine. I was no sommelier but there was something about it that reminded me of Victor and I glanced at him.

"I found that in a little village in Eastern Europe," said Victor pleasantly, coming to stand behind me again. "It will help you relax."I sipped at it, it sat heavy on my tongue but I would drink it all anyway. At least it gave me something to do and a reason to not speak, I did not trust myself and was worried I would say something stupid. I sipped at the wine again, it made my head swim a little though I hadn't had much of it. My muscles cramped again and I grimaced, covering the action by mindlessly taking another sip of the wine.

Sweat was starting to bead on my forehead and I wiped at it without thinking. My arm felt heavy and it dropped with an ungracious thump at my side.I blinked sluggishly. Was I that tired that half a glass of wine but causing me to feel like I'd drunk half a bottle instead? Surely not. My grip slackened on the wine, the glass slipping from my hands but it didn't fall. The doctor was catching it and placing it on his desk. I went to move forward but I felt the world around me spin with the movement and leant back, a gasp leaving my lips in my confusion.

"Shh, shh, shh…" I heard him say.

All of a sudden his hands were under my arms and pulling me up to stand with such ease it took my breath away. I felt like a child's doll and I swayed on my feet. All my thoughts were feeling slow.

"This room is quite warm, I do apologise."

He didn't sound apologetic at all. His fingers undid the two buttons holding my jacket closed and was pushing it off me, leaving it forgotten on the ground. It was a slight relief to have it gone but I still felt overly warm in the room, I knew he'd put something in that wine he'd given me. I wasn't stupid. It must have been some kind of sedative. I felt like a puppet with half of its strings cut so my movements were clumsy and awkward. Those larges hands of his were on my blouse then and I couldn't look away as he undid them, fingers brushing against my skin as he did so. They felt rough and still so cool, it felt delicious against my own heated flesh. My heart was fluttering like a mad bird in my chest as he parted the fabric with the same ease and precision he did to a patient's chest cavity. I madly wondered if he'd rip out my heart and eat it, and if I would mind.

The shirt hung loosely on my shoulders, exposing my bra clad breasts to him, his hands ghosted over the skin and my nipples hardened in response. It was such a feather light touch, and I couldn't help but moan when his hand delved into one of cups and caressed one breast, thumb running over my nipple to make me moan again. I felt dizzy with the sedative but also with want, feeling wetness flood my knickers in response. I heard his slow hiss of breath before he picked me up again, walking over to his side of the desk to sit me on it and push me back.

I fell back slowly as if in a dream as I felt him push my skirt up my legs so it bunched around my waist.My head lolled to the side and through half lidded eyes I watched his large hands wrap around my thighs and slowly open them. I tried to shy away, not because I was repulsed—I should have been—but because I was embarrassed that I was bleeding.

"Victor…" I tried to speak but he shushed me again, squeezing my thighs before sliding up them to my knickers.

His hands rested there a moment and my gaze flicked to his, I felt pinned by it and it alone. He sat in his chair and drew close, leaning over me and pressing his face against my clothed cunt. I both heard and felt the deep breath he took alongside the flick of what could only have been his tongue as it pressed against me. I shuddered at the contact unable to help the way my hips bucked in response.

"I can smell it," he murmured against me, once of his hands releasing their grip to grab something I couldn't see. I felt something cold against the skin of my hip. It was a blade. I tensed but all he did was slide it underneath the fabric of my underwear. He leant back slightly so I could see his face, his strange tongue darting out again as the blade slid under the other side of my knickers until the became loose. A clink as the blade was discarded and he was pulling my ruined underwear away and shoving it into a coat pocket. I instinctively went to close my legs but he held me open, studying me like something under a microscope. He breathed in again and smiled at me. "I can also smell you when watch me work." He sucked at his terrifying teeth in a mocking but amused fashion as he looked at me. "Naughty."

I flushed at his words. Of course he had noticed, how stupid I had been to think he wouldn't have. But he had smelt me? I was mortified at the thought but not much, my deranged obsession made swell with pleasure for it had clearly pleased him.

"I've wondered what you taste like…"

The grip on my thighs tightened, not that it needed to. I could barely move with the sedative in my veins, and even then, I wouldn't have wanted to—not when his mouth was upon my cunt. The slide of his tongue had me keening and my clumsy arms knocked something off the desk—I think it was my wine—but he didn't care. His mouth was too busy devouring me, the wet sound of his tongue sliding through my bloody folds, lapping at it like a starved beast. There would be imprints from his fingers on my skin, bruises left like lingering kisses. I didn't care, there was no room for it—just like there was no room for my disgust. I should have been appalled at the way he supped greedily from my cunt, not missing any of my shed blood. It felt too overwhelming good, my entire body shuddering and sweating, my back was drenched and the fabric of my blouse clung to both me and the desk. He groaned against me, his diabolical tongue slipping into me, searching for more and I pushed my hips up against his face so his nose was pressing against my clit making me moan.

He gave me one last lick and leant back in the chair, though he still had his hands on my legs, keeping me there in place. I lifted my sweaty face to look at him, his mouth was covered in blood and I watched his tongue slide out and lick as much of it as he could.

"Divine." His voice had taken on a darker quality that sent a fresh wave of shudders down my spine and made the space between my legs throb. "Certainly the most enjoyable meal I've had in a long time."I didn't know what that meant and I didn't really want to know. But I could hazard a terrible guess. My body tensed at the thought but he was standing then, hands sliding up my legs and holding my waist where my skirt was bunched up around it. He towered over me and I was once more hypnotised by his reptilian gaze. One of his hands smoothed down across my chest and over my cunt, the heel of his large palm pushing against my clit. I keened at the contact.

"There you go, little rabbit," he said, voice as captivating as his gaze, "I won't hurt you."

It was foolish to latch onto those words but I did. I was greedy for survival but also his touch, I wanted more of it. And I received it, when a large finger flirted at the my entrance before sliding in, teasing and searching within me before another joined, stretching me open. My eyes closed at the feel of it and my hands reached out, gripping at the arm that still had its hand on my waist. My fingers dug into his coat sleeve as his fingers thrust into me; stretching and filling me as his thumb circled my clit, drawing out the threads of pleasure until it was knotting together deep in my gut. I writhed under it, my arms flinging to my sides and fingers digging into the wood of the desk with sluggish movements as I arched my back.

I could feel the pleasure about to burst, my walls clinging to his thick fingers before the knot was unravelling and threads snapping. I felt the gush of warm blood and my release, the slick sound of it filling the room as he kept thrusting his fingers within me. My body went lip, the rush of endorphins slicing through my body like lightening while I lay there, half-lidded eyes watching as Victor removed his fingers from me and licked them, fork tongue darting over his grey skin. I sighed, eyes closing as the gramophone continued to play. There was a clink and a rustling sound, something thudding lightly to the ground. I opened my eyes again and focused, trying to push myself up on my elbows but I was easily pushed back down by one large hand.

The doctor had removed his trousers and was grabbing my legs again, pulling me down the desk so my ass was nearly hanging off the edge of it. I'd caught a brief glimpse of his cock, monstrous in size and grey like the rest of him—though the surge of blood had it looking a pallid red. I tried to move back, there was no way that was going to fit inside of me.

He was hushing me again, like one would a frightened child scared of the monster under the bed—like I was being silly.

"You shouldn't be scared, don't be scared," he cooed at me and I could feel the large head against my cunt, wetting itself against my release and blood. "It'll only hurt if you're scared, little rabbit."

It did hurt. The monster wasn't under my bed, it was in it—in me. I couldn't help it, I tried to relax but the stretch burned me like I was being split open. His fingers were on my clit again, coaxing me open. The stretch of him had me opening my eyes in shock but I felt like I was going blind, that I was going to pass out. It was overwhelming. But then as quick as it had come the pain started to ease, probably due to whatever drug he'd given me and the pleasure was building again.

I was rising to meet him now and he leant over me, the smell of cigarettes and that strange metallic, chemical scent washing over me. It was not the sort of smell you'd find in a perfumery, but I breathed it in deeply as if it were the most intoxicating thing I'd ever smelt. And it was intoxicating, I couldn't explain it. I wanted more of it and I tried to wrap my legs around him to bring him closer but I struggled. I felt his soft laughter as his face loomed over mine before his mouth was on my neck, licking the sweat as his cock slid deeper into me. A mangled moan escaped me when I felt the sharp coldness of his golden teeth scraping against my skin and then I whimpered as I felt him bite at the soft skin.

Those teeth shouldn't have been able to pierce my skin without ripping me apart, I felt the sharp stab of them and I knew he'd drawn blood. It felt like the prick of two needles and something cool flooded my system. Still buried in me, he was then leaning back, the angle causing another moan to leave my lips and I saw his grin in the low light, watching the two fangs on either side of his additional incisors disappear back into the grey gums before his mouth was on me again. My head spun at the loss of blood and I felt like I was teetering on the edge of oblivion as he drank me in, fucking me harder as he did so, the desk protesting under the weight and force of his body colliding with mine.

I couldn't tell where the pain ended and the pleasure started, it was all blending together and making me feel like I was transcending anything my body had been built to feel. A flick of his tongue over the wound on my neck, the skin feeling tight and bruised before his mouth moved to claim my own. I could taste the blood as his tongue slid across my own, as well as the cigarettes. His mouth was the only warm part of him, his kiss burned me as it devoured. Teeth nipped at my bottom lip and his hips pounded erratically into me, I could feel he so close and my walls were clamping down on him at the thought.

"Good little rabbit," he whispered against my lips and the carnality of his tone had me shuddering beneath him as my vision teetered into blackness.

I felt the intensity of his seed spilling inside of me, his hands digging harshly into my hips as he leant back to furiously drive into me. My body felt shattered when he pulled himself from my shuddering cunt, I felt sated yet empty. Spasms still wrecked through my body as I twitched. I couldn't open my eyes, I felt like I'd been glued to the desk. A pitiful whimper escaped when I felt something sharp prick on the inside of my thigh.

A lifetime seemed to pass before my breathing started to even out and I managed to open my eyes, the blurry blackness slowly ebbing away from my vision. Victor was watching me carefully, his leather trousers back on. More life was flowing back into me and my head was starting to feel clearer. I managed to sit up on my elbows, awkwardly closing my legs—they ached, my entire body did. The doctor moved toward me again, fingers lightly pushing my hair out of my sweaty face.

"Very great promise," he said and pressed a cool hand against my forehead as I managed to sit up fully, my shirt hanging open and stained with blood. I saw he had an empty med injector in his hand, remnants of some unknown liquid still clinging inside it.

Awkwardly I nodded, sliding off the desk and teetering on my feet—one of my heels had fallen off. I felt like a newborn foal as I tried to walk but his hands were on me again, lifting me with ease as he placed me on a nearby leather couch.

"No, no, no," he said in that same sing-song voice that had me feeling like an errant puppy. "You can't leave just yet, we have to keep an eye on you."

An eye on me? I wondered what he meant but I didn't protest. I felt too tired. My entire body was exhausted and I felt an odd sort of hunger in my stomach. It niggled at me but ignored it for the moment, too focused on getting comfortable. I could feel him watching me carefully, not knowing that I would never leave the clinic again and the strange craving in my stomach was one that would irrevocably keep me at his side.

Because it was the sort of hunger that is never quite satiated.

Not even in death.

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