Request: Chubby reader x werewolf gangbang, Knotting, breeding and lots of cum???
The pack breeder
Werewolves x chubby fem!reader || free use, breeding, sharing is caring
When you entered the pack, you already knew what would be your new status as the alpha’s mate. You were warned it would be ever more intense than you expected, but you weren’t sure exactly why. It was rapidly answered when you arrived at pack-lands, in the middle of the forest, and there were at least five other werewolves waiting for you.
Your alpha hugged you closer, his arm possessive around your shoulders for a total of three seconds before his grin became wolfish, and he released you to hug his pack-mates. They hugged him back, but nobody was really paying attention to him, not when you were there.
Every single wolf in front of you was staring in your direction, licking their fangs and rubbing softly the bulges in their pants. You couldn’t avoid looking right back, heat pooling in your lower abdomen at their hungry gazes on your body. They all were so… wild. And you craved that, you loved their wildness and the way they were devouring you with their eyes.
“I found her,” was all your alpha said as they cheered, approaching you and hugging you between their bodies.
Suddenly you were the filling in a werewolf circle as you giggled, but your giggles rapidly turned into sighs of pleasure when multiple hands started touching you all over. You were dizzy with desire as they groped your luscious body, squeezing your rolls, and your ass, your boobs, and every inch of your body they could reach.
You felt tiny in the middle of them all, so many hands on your body… You moaned, so loud they all stopped, staring at you.
“It seems like our new queen is ready to be claimed,” your alpha said, approaching you and lifting your chin with his claw. “Aren’t you, my queen?” You nodded, unable to part your eyes from his as he leaned down and claimed your mouth in a kiss that made your knees give up under your body.
He caught you, or maybe one of the others did. You weren’t sure. Their hands were back on your body and you couldn’t hold back your moans. Your clothes were ripped from your body right there, in the middle of the forest as they howled and growled, their movements frantic over your body.
Their clothes flew all over as you heard ripping fabric, and then they were on you. There were hands everywhere, and your brain didn’t know where to focus. There were fingers pinching your nipples, claws marking your thighs, hands squeezing every roll and soft spot on your body… You begged for more, and they happily complied.
Your alpha was the first, helping you to the ground and throwing your legs over his shoulders. You didn’t have time to feel self-conscious about your rolls before he was teasing your entrance with his fingers, stretching you fast and hard until you were coming.
And in the middle of your climax, he positioned himself and entered you in one hard thrust. From that point on, the debauchery was on. He pounded into you, his dick rubbing over your G-spot with each thrust as he lost himself in your warm heat. Someone’s dick was right next to your face, and you took him in your mouth, savoring his precum as he fucked your throat shallowly.
They were mumbling praises, but you were too focused on the pleasure to comprehend. It took them very little to get on their knees around you and start groping you again. You cried out as another orgasm ripped through your body, your alpha howling to the moon as thrust into you as hard as he could.
His knot slipped inside of you as you squeezed him so tight you thought he must be in pain. But he was groaning, moaning and grunting over you as he rolled his hip and fucked shot after shot of come into you. The one in front of you shot down your throat, but it was rapidly replaced with another cock, equally yummy.
You didn’t know how much time your alpha’s knot was inside of you, but you came two more times before he released you. The hands of the others were playing with every sensitive point on your body until you were a mess. Come dripping down your chin and getting sticky on your back where someone jerked off.
The alpha pulled out just to be replaced by another werewolf, who and gripped your hips unceremoniously until you could feel the tip of his claws on your soft flesh. Your alpha gave a warning grown in his direction and he apologized, softly kissing the back of your neck as he plunged inside of you and started pounding your pussy like a madman.
The time melted in your brain, knot after knot filled your hungry pussy as you groaned and moaned, your body becoming more and more tired, just to be supported by one of your wolves as he sat in front of you and fed you his cock. They give you no break, fucking you over and over. The one behind you was pounding you so hard you couldn’t hold your weight on your arms, face pressed to the shirt someone put on the floor as you drooled uncontrollably.
“She’s perfect for us, she’s going to take each one of our knots and give us a litter, aren’t you, my queen?” You were beyond arousal at that point, you didn’t even know who said it, but you didn’t care. You arched your back and asked for more. And they complied, another knot stretched you from behind as you fell apart around it.
You were lost in the pleasure as they fucked their cum into your abused hole over and over. You mewled and moaned softly as another one pulled out, just to be replaced again, completely and utterly fucked by your new pack. It went on for hours, maybe even days, you lost track of space and time as you came and came and came again, being filled over and over.
They warned you it was going to be more intense than expected… and they were right, but you wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.
the lighting is quite shit so I decided to brighten it a bit... and....
OMG THAT'S STEVE. BRO. OH MY GOD, THAT'S STEVE. THAT'S SOME LONG FUCKING HAIR THAT STEVE HAS. OH MY GOD, THAT'S STEVE ROGERS. STANDING IN FRONT OF SAM AND BUCKY. AFTER HE LEFT THEM. AFTER HE LEFT BUCKY. OH MY GOD.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Disgustingly loving sex (sorry). Soft dom!Simon Talks You Through It™️ Creampie. Brief mention of Reader’s insecurities w sex
Note: I’m on Instagram now (kinda), come say hi :-)
Word count: 2.1k
It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried before.
You’d had your fair share of lovers and experienced more than a good deal of fun. With everyone in the past, climax came the same way, every single time: clitoral stimulation, and clitoral stimulation alone.
By this point in your life, you suspected your g-spot was probably just a figment of your imagination, no more real than Atlantis, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.
That was, until, you met your boyfriend, Simon.
And things had only been official for a week.
You and him had fooled around a handful of times—made love, as he called it, and kissed and cuddled and occasionally dry-humped until the two of you were both panting, groaning messes—but all of this was new. Simon was still learning you, as you were him.
He finished between your tits. You came on his tongue. He fingered you to the point of tears, and you learned how to touch his sac just right to get him to blow his load in seconds. On this night in particular, you were fucking missionary, and holding hands while you did.
Lovesick puppies, Price would say. Neither one of you seemed able to unglue your lips or unlace your fingers or keep your hips from colliding again and again and again in frantic search of the other’s furthest depths. You were perfectly wrapped up, with no desire to move
Except, you needed to reach down between your bodies to actually get off. That was a minor detail.
You didn’t think the man above you would mind if you moved your touch from his, but then that grip tightened the second you tried pulling away.
“Keep it there, lovie. Like holding you like this,” he said.
You enjoyed it, too. It was intimate, and sweet, and with your hands pinned on either side of you, locked securely in his, you felt safe. You just couldn’t finish.
“But I…I need to come,” you whispered against him. You rolled your hips and felt his cock twitch inside you.
Simon grunted, then swallowed. Nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I’ll get you there. Feel this?”
He slid deeper for emphasis.
You didn’t.
You rarely did, or at least not in the way you figured you were supposed to get when something pressed there.
“I think…sort of, yeah,” you hedged your answer.
Don’t bruise his ego, don’t hurt his feelings.
This is all on me, Si, I promise it’s not you.
Cutting in over your thoughts, Simon moved swiftly. Took your hips in his big, strong hands, lifted up, and plunged his cock to the hilt. The girth of him was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, and you felt your walls stretch, sting, and weep sweet liquid warmth around that intrusion. You moaned.
“Better?” The man’s question was simple.
Before you could answer it, he was sliding a pillow underneath your backside. Sawing his long, thick, leaking cock in and out of you, he reached a new spot.
You made a face, feeling good from that but…strange.
Simon snatched your hands up again and planted them beside your head on the mattress. He thrusted steadily. He peppered kisses all over your face and your neck while the bed frame squeaked in time, and you had to dig your heels into his ass to ground yourself.
“Talk to me, baby. Can’t make it better if you don’t.”
“I—I know, I just can’t—”
At the same time, Simon tilted your hips slightly once more, and the tip of his cock kissed something soft and wet and dizzyingly pleasurable inside your body. A loud, embarrassing cry slipped out between your lips.
You wanted to clap a hand over your mouth, hating the way you’d just sounded, but your fingers were stuck to his. Simon grinned down at you, toothy and approving.
“Can’t do what, now, darlin’?”
The warm, bulbous head of his cock had found its mark, and he just kept prodding that spot, like it entertained him to do it. The fingers laced between your own constricted their grip even more, and Simon leaned down to kiss you while his cock carved a mind-numbing path. In between kisses, he praised you.
“That’s my girl. She’s likin’ it now, isn’t she?”
“Feel good when my cock hits that spot?”
“Your pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby.”
But still, somehow, it just wasn’t quite enough.
Maybe you’d never found that place after all.
This was where most men gave up—after a few good minutes of fucking when their balls had gotten to be as swollen as stones and their bodies were aching for release, more often than not, they’d go off chasing their own high. That was when you usually started rubbing your clit, or waited for your partner to finish so they could get you off with their tongue or something.
You hated to feel like a burden, and you really despised the thought of being the reason your sweet Simon couldn’t get to orgasm. So you squirmed again.
Straining to reach down, to try and touch yourself, you whimpered, “Si, please, it just—it takes me too long—”
“Good thing we’ve got all night,” Simon replied bluntly.
Then, once again, he twisted your bodies like you were as soft and malleable as putty in his hands, and this time, he hitched one of your legs around his hip, high.
With one slow-rolling thrust and an audibly squelching sound, Simon’s cock stretched your hole to maximum capacity, and then a little more. Your juices leaked down his shaft, aiding the slide, and he stabbed in a few shallow strokes. Probing. Testing the waters, as if he were trying to find something hidden inside you.
You sucked in a breath. Simon’s gaze slid to yours.
“Let’s find that precious spot, lovie. Easy, now.”
Gently coaxing your body open, he drove a slow, measured pace. He split your cunt like it was the easiest thing in the world, delving within your wet, velvety heat to tease every contour and crevice of your pussy. His tip leaked precome. His balls glistened in your arousal and landed with the gentlest plap, plap, plaps while he explored your insides with his member.
It really was as simple as that, nothing more and nothing less than poking around. Having patience.
“S-Si,” you stammered, nose wrinkling slightly.
“What’s’at, baby? Got something to tell me?”
Like a teacher, almost, he pressed for more.
Like his cock was showing you something new about your body but he needed your help to tell him just how and where to find it, Simon took care to be kind. He smoothed a hand over the crown of your head and then cradled the back of it, one massive set of fingers splayed out against your skull and engulfing it wholly.
He still held onto your other hand tight.
Your cunt pulsed. Ached. Fluttered around him.
Stuffed to the brim, you had only to feel, and murmur:
“Higher.”
“Higher?”
“Um, to the…to the left.”
Simon tilted his hips left.
Yes.
That was just it. So close.
Almost…
Or, maybe…
“Maybe it just…isn’t there,” you huffed out, deflating. “Know you’re trying so hard, baby, but I think I can’t—”
Then Simon hit the same spot as before, only higher.
Just like you’d told him: to the left, and then…
“Oh, fuck,” you cursed. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck.”
The grin above you stretched even wider.
“There, lovie?” Simon goaded you on.
“Right there.” You nodded furiously.
A wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, from your core down to the soles of your feet. Your toes curled, and you squeaked, feeling Simon’s cock graze that soft, spongy, sensitive place—except he’d pushed in deeper. The sensation made your eyes roll back.
“Little dove doesn’t mind my pokin’ after all, huh?” Simon’s words were a tease, but you heard a strain in them, too. The second you were caught in the throes of real pleasure, your cunt must’ve clamped like a vice.
“Keep…keep pokin’, Si,” you choked out. “I like it.”
Your lover kept at it—poking from the inside.
The routine almost felt like losing your virginity all over again, together. Simon cradled your head, told you how good you were doing, how sweet you were for him, and you whimpered under his hold. Squirmed and clung to him for dear life, then kissed him feverishly.
Simon’s mouth was hard and hungry, his thrusts deep. His cock throbbed within the wet, clenching confines of your pussy, and he seemed to be going wild at the feeling. With the idea that he was driving you wild, too.
You realized as much when he whispered it to you.
“Could lose my bloody mind when you’re like this—” Another sharp, labored breath. Another shudder passing through his body when your insides squeezed. “—so why didn’t you talk? Ask for what you needed?”
Your voice was small. “Didn’t wanna be a bother.”
Your eyes were locked with Simon’s, and in his irises, you caught a shade of concern. It flared, hot as anything, then mixed with disbelief. Disappointment.
“Don’t be angry, Si, I—” you started, hurried.
“‘M’not.” Simon blinked. But he gritted his teeth, and he withdrew his cock until the head was bumping and teasing between your folds, then he shook his head. “It’s those fuckin’ pricks who should be sorry, yeah?”
The ones that you’d been with before.
You wanted to protest, insist that you were at least partly to blame, but you never got the opportunity.
Simon was back inside you in a blink.
Hitting that same spot again, and again, and again.
He grinned, the tic of a muscle in his jaw telling you that he was less amused this time around, but proud.
Vindicated.
“Well. It’s not like they’re ever gettin’ a chance in between these pretty legs again, are they, lovie?”
You nodded in agreement.
You smiled back at him, only to have that gentle curve falter a little when you felt Simon’s thrusts accelerate.
“Only thing that’s gonna touch this spot other’n my cock is my seed, splatterin’ all over your walls, right?”
When he gave a playful nip to your lower lip and squeezed your hand tighter, you knew that he meant it. The man had plunged so deep inside you that his pubic bone was now grinding against your skin, and the rest of him was buried. His balls, all full and warm and heavy with his release, rested firmly in your cleft.
And the steady, measured strokes of his cock landed with near-surgical precision on the G-spot you’d convinced yourself up until tonight didn’t exist.
Simon beamed. You were overcome with ecstasy.
“This it, lovie? This spot right ‘ere?” he cooed.
His cock bobbed against that gummy and indescribably dizzying place, causing your last moan to morph into something more akin to a shriek.
You nodded your head: “Y-Yes. Yes.”
“Feel good when I hit it?”
“Fucking perfect, Si.”
You sighed when the man bottomed out for what felt like the millionth time, and the pleasure never waned. He felt just as good now as he did when he first got in.
“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock then, pretty girl?”
“Yeah. I’m— I’m so close.”
“Go on then, love.”
And, shortly, you did.
Maybe three, four, five more stabs of his cock to your most precious, intimate place and you were unraveling beneath him, stars bursting in your line of vision. It seemed dramatic to say, but that was really what it came to—your mouth hanging open, eyes wide, gaze peering into Simon’s while he fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. You clung to him, and your walls spasmed again and again and again, milking the man’s release in the next few seconds. Simon shuddered and grit his teeth as he unloaded a thick, gooey load inside, dousing that spongy, body-numbing spot and then some. The two of you moaned in unison.
Your body was boneless, your head a hazy mess.
It took several seconds for your conscious mind to come back online fully, and when it did, Simon was leaning in again and planting kisses along your face.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, breath fanning hot across your skin. “My perfect girl. You did so good.”
You smiled and caught his mouth for a proper kiss.
“Thank you,” you murmured against him.
Then Simon squeezed your hand—the one he’d been holding this entire time. He lifted it gently, like he was afraid too rough of a movement might split you in two.
He turned your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours and expression soft while he did.
or: Trucker!Price does you a solid, you return the favor
cw: 2.5k wrds, 18+ mdni, plot and smut, dad bod Price! mentions of sèx work, hooker!reader, mentions of violence, power imbalance (?), age gap (40s John, mid 20s!reader), heavy praise kïnk,
inspo song: be like a woman by Chris rainbow
How could such a pretty girl like you, all dolled up for the middle of no where, end up staggering into the close to empty diner with a bloody nose and a few other bruises on your face.
Your tight crop top had a few droplets of blood on it, you were holding your head back the best you could, curls on your hair just a little bit messy, the waiter came from the back. His eyes widened at the state of you.
“Can I get some napkins please?”
How kind of you, John thought. To ask in this shitty place when most people would just take and go. You stuffed the napkins up your nostril, unknowingly passing the older bearded man sitting in the booth right next to you. You leaned back on the red cushion of the seat, letting out a shaky inhale and exhale. And John’s so attentive, listening so closely to how you soothe yourself right under the 60s pop hits that play from the radio. He waits to see if you end up moving again, but you don’t. The man catches wind of your hushed snores and your stilled feet.
Price shifts in his seat, just so see enough of your sleeping face, long lashes closed, your chest rising and falling as you held your tattered purse to your chest. Clearly you were exhausted from, whatever the hell you just experienced. But John doesn’t intend on leaving you alone like this. Not in the dead of night in this empty diner where anything could happen. So he stays, two hours, three hours, finishes his meal and waits. The few stragglers not bothering to come near the large brute of a man sitting just on the other side of you.
Your body is aching when you wake back up, eyes adjusting to the poor fluorescence. Using the table to stand, you stumble out the door, heavy foot steps soon to follow. You’re bent over cleaning your nose of the body mess with a half empty water bottle and the napkins you stashed with John sets eyes on you again. Just at the end of the restaurant’s parking lot, as if this will revive you in some way. The nights still young.
“You alright?” John asks that makes you slightly jump. You take a deep breath out, wiping the blood from your nose with a damp napkin, you give him a nod, “Yeah, thanks.”
A few moments pass but John doesn’t leave, keeps his eyes on you, his surroundings, hearing the cars fly by on the highway.
You fix your posture, using the glass of the diner as a mirror. Fixing your hair, pulling your cropped shirt down so your cleavage shoes.
“Do you need something?” You look over at him, eyeing the middle aged man up and down, before you shift in your heels, eyebrow cocking, “or do you want something?”
John doesn’t know how to answer. no, no that’s not what he wanted. It was to make sure you were alright, that no one would give you hell. Atleast for the rest of the night. But the man couldnt deny you were attractive. Even with you mascara smudged, slightly irritated look on your face.
The man clears his throat, “Just checkin t’see you weren’t lying.”
“About?”
“You want the truth or should be beat around the bush all night?”
He’s got you there, with a huff, you turn on your heal, “‘Ve had a shit night, as you can see.”
“A little scuffle?”
“Little considering how quickly it ended. Not the reason.”
“And that being?”
It might as well been an interrogation, you could be police for all you knew and what do you look like running from police at a time like this in the middle of fuck ass no where. But tonight, just for tonight, less than 30 minutes you’ll let this beared stranger be your therapist.
You cross your arms over your chest, letting out a dry laugh, “About money. It’s always about money around these parts though right?”
“I’m really not a hard girl to pay, really. I can be sweet if someone wants me sweet, or mean if they want me mean. But that son of a bitch— why do you gotta be such an asshat and a stingy fuck for a pinky sized dick?! Makes no fuckin sense! And then fight me about it? Fight fuckin lady about paying?!”
You didn’t realize how loud you were getting, your voice booming with anger, resentment you’d been holding on for so long. Working constantly for a living, to get the fuck out this shitty town in no man’s land. But you’re stuck. In a sink hole, how many other girls have disappeared from your line of sight out here and never to be seen again, how many street walkers end up on drugs out here.
This wasn’t even you plan, to be living like this, day to day. You were supposed to be in Hollywood— lights the cameras, writing some tv show. Or some fucking intern for a shitty pay— not- not like this.
You sniffle, hold yourself tighter, “I- I’m talking too fuckin much, I gotta get home. Call it a night.”
John hates it, the thought of it, of you going. Of you goin back to that life. Even if he’s only known you for less than a couple hours, he’s got tattoos and beard hairs older than you. But it’s something about you, that’s him dead set on you. The way you’re talking to him, your walls, rightfully, miles and miles high.
If he knew what was best for him, he’d be casual. Leave you alone. Knows better than to get too deep.
“Don’t you wanna get outta here?”
You look back at him, confused, but shake your head, “I wouldn’t even know how if I tried. Where would I even go?”
And there’s a silence from the man, still but strong look on his face, one that has you wanting more answers to unrealistic questions. “With you?”
“It’s an option better than being stuck here.” He starts, watching you scuff and walk towards the motel. Heals clicking against the pavement, with John hot on your tail, the flickering sign buzzing as you get closer, crickets singing.
“Don’t follow me.”
“Give me a ‘no’ and I will.”
You let out a frustrated noise, squeezing your eyes shut, “Sir, I really will do better without the hopeful shit you and everyone else who comes through here thinks I’m willin to fuckin buy!”
“I’m not sellin you shit for fucks sake, ‘m givin you a chance.” Price griped, jaw tightening, “You come for a day, even a fuckin hour and you if you like it, we’ll go. Give yourself a chance to think about what you wanna do. You hate it, I’ll get you on the first flight back to this shit hole, you hear me?”
You look around, the near silence of this cool summer. Music coming from someone’s room, cars passing by, blue ocean eyes glued to you. In a dry desert, he was a drop of rain.
You rock on your heels, biting your lip, you stare at your feet, “Where are you goin?”
“North.”
He’s a liar.
This man you’ve just met is a god damn liar.
And you’re aiming to get yourself killed.
“Do you wanna get outta here, or not?”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Trucker!Johns semi truck is nice.
Much nicer than you expected it to be.
Tattered and worn books stacked in crates, his clothes stored in drawers of the small bed, bed neatly made, rustic, plaids and brown bedding, cross dangling from the sun visor. John takes your duffle bags and puts them in the overhead.
“You can sit upfront or go to sleep, ‘s your pick.”
You meekly take a seat in the passages side, watching as John ignites the truck to life, lettting a hand wipe down his beard with a incoherent grumble, checking his mirrors.
You’re already down the road by the time you’re able to say anything, the sign of the motel getting smaller and smaller as you drive away. Your heart threatening to leap out of your chest. Everything you’ve known for the last couple of years suddenly now gone. And your alone.
In a truck.
With a Mr. John Price who you just do not know other than he drives this truck and that he’s getting you out of the country for a change of scenery.
“How am I gonna pay you back?”
It catches the older man off guard for a moment, it never crossed his mind. All he knew was that he wanted you. Call it naive for his age. John leans back in his seat, one hand on the wheel, takes a glance over at you, “Didn’t ask you to luv, think of this as my good deeds to the world. Helpin an angel out.”
An Angel? You want to roll your eyes but you don’t, biting the inside of your lip, “but I don’t have enough money to give anything to you, unless you want my stash— I- how can I be useful to you Price?”
“Sit there and be pretty.”
“But-“
“—You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you that doll?” He interjects, ends of his lips curving upward. Handsome face going in and out of the glow of the highways few lights.
John puts out his hand for you to take. You hesitate but slip yout hand in his. Letting his thumb go over your knuckles, he sighs, “Not expecting much ‘f you. But you do what you want, ‘s your trip too. All I ask if you keep the place clean, just as you see it. And don’t ask what’s in the back.”
Should be simple of enough. No- it is simple enough. You’re good at not asking questions that can lead to bad answers.
You’re free living, easy living.
For the first time in years.
It’s early in the morning when John wakes you up to go to bed with him. You’d shoo’ed him away the first couple of times he tried to get you to go to bed alone. Made sure his warm calloused hand was rested on your thigh, yours atop of his like it was instinct.
It’s what you really liked about Price so far, how warm he ran with small touches. How he made you feel like you didn’t always have to be on edge.
The old man tried to be good, really he did.
Instructed you to sleep on the inside and John would basically sleep on the edge of the cramped bed. But you slipped you hand onto the plush roundness of his torso, fingers tiptoeing up his chest to cup his face, you straddled his hips, beard hair prickling your hand. “Can I- lemme repay you, Price.” His voice so hushed, sultry, your manicured thumb going over his bottom lip, “please.”
Trucker!John is bigger than any man you’ve ever been with. To the point it shows on your face, lips full lips slightly parted, it’s fat and girthy, large and slapping against your stomach when you pull it out. Crown of his length leaking down every vein.
“Not too late to back our love.” He lets out low rumble of laughter.
You gulp down, shaking your head, “Can handle it, just- hah- just need a second.”
Right? All you needed to do was stretch yourself out for it!
And that would be the perfect thing to say after the old man lazily finger fucked you, lips brushing against each other every time the both of your fingers, all messy in your juices, fucked into your heat. Had your lower half shaking just from three of his thick digits paired with a slow kiss, wrapping your tongue around yours, swapping saliva till you came and hard.
But even with some fingering, it only made you dizzy just from the way his tip was stretching you out. The sweet burn that had you choking up as you eased yourself down on him, your jaw slack, and head thrown back. Covering your mouth to try to hide the scream you so desperately want to let out.
“Eaasssy luv, you’ve got it. Can take it for me.” John croons, large hands firm on your hips. Guiding them up just enough so you slowly rock more and more of him inside.
Your pussy so throbs, mewling at his words, your mind already hazy, “I- can- shit- I can take it. Aaangh! god its so good. Feels so gooood Price.”
His blushing cockhead is probing your insides, only reaching higher and higher as your thighs smack against his with every thrust. Your hands lay flat on his hairy chest, bouncing yourself up till just the tip is in, and down, hiccuping on a moan, “Fuck- wanna move f-faster. Wanna make you feel good.”
John lets out a low grunt, loving just how warm and soaking you are even through the thin condom that’s just barely fitting him. Threatening to break with every sleazy drop of your hips onto him. “No baby, gotta let you feel every bit of my cock, get your cunt nice ‘nd used to me. Doin so good fuckin me slow.”
John must be a miracle worker, getting you all worked up, hushed moans as his hands travel down to your supple ass, spreading them apart and squeezing the globes of your ass while you gyrate your hips on him. So hipnotic, sensual, desperate to meet every sledgehammer of his member up into you. His Pubic hairs damp with your slick with every squealch of your greedy and tight pussy brushing against your g-spot. The little bed is creaking, unsure if the truck itself is moving along with it.
Price’s hand wraps around the back of your neck, bringing you down closer to him, your nipples hard and brushing against him through your shirt, “Bloody good at this aren’t you hun, atta girl.”
You whimper as rolls your hips, lashes flirting shut, “Wanna hear you Price, nngh- please, need it.”
“‘F course you do baby, wanna hear juuust how gorgeous you look all fucked out on me. How you tremble and pull me away when you feel too good. Hck- How good you make me feel, How your cunt chokes me out every time i press, right here,” he thrusts up with a heavy thwack, pushing against your sweet spot that makes you keen out in pleasure. “Desperate fuckin thing, wanna hear how I could stay deep inside you all day. Wrapped up this all fuckin day-“
“Yes!” You gasp, head falling against his shoulder, clawing at his broad shoulder. Your fingers going through his greying brunette locks, lips weaving together is a wet and steamy French kiss, his beard tickling your face. Hushed groans and moans filling up the space. Meeting each other half way with each grind of your hips till you’re feeling every shockwave rush through you to the tips of your finger tips.
“Good work lovie.” He coos, slipping his cock out after filling the condom with his cum, it’s heavy and creamy. Price kisses your forehead, both of you exhausted from the long day, his hands patting you back to soothe you in his beefy arms, “We’ll make perfect partners from now on won’t we sweetheart?”
a/n: so much shit plot for shit smut that took too long to write. Sorry all.
Summary — It’s your first night as Walt’s new wife.
Warnings & Other Tags
➳ Potential spoilers for The Invitation; literally just pure fucking smut because I’m a slut for this man; mentions of vampirism (including smoking hot Thomas Doherty fangs, biting, blood, etc.); themes of ‘Predator vs Prey’; cursing; far too much usage of ‘my love’; Evie is stronger than me because I would have agreed to be Walter’s wife in a heartbeat, no questions asked.
Notes
➳ Word Count is 4,333.
➳ Reader uses feminine pronouns (she/her).
Your beloved had always had some… animalistic tendencies.
It was rather obvious to everyone that you were Walt’s favorite bride. Or, now that you were finally married, his favorite wife.
His sharp gaze had been watching you all evening. He was similar to a predator admiring a fresh kill. Despite being surrounded by an endless number of wedding guests, Walt had no intention of taking his attention away from you.
As you thanked Lucy and Viktoria for their compliments and well-wishes, a shiver traveled along your spine as Walt’s clawed fingers slowly ran along your arm. You could sense his satisfied grin when he noticed the effect he had on you.
Walt was getting restless with the desire to take you away from your demanding audience. Bringing your hand to him, he pressed your palm against his cheek before leaning into your touch. You were trying your best to keep up your conversation with your two beautiful friends, ignoring his desperate call for attention.
His lips pressed gently kisses to each of your fingertips before moving on to your palm. Continuing his affection, his kisses trailed along to the back of your hand as well. He dragged his claws up and down your arm as your hand was returned to his cheek, burrowing his nose against your flesh.
His gaze fluttered back to you. He rolled his eyes when you refused to look at him. You were always doing this sort of thing, always letting him know that he couldn’t have everything.
He was fine with your antics. It thrilled him to no end whenever he had to chase after your attention. It gave him time to worship you.
The hand that had been dragging along your arm paused on your wrist. The other splayed out your palm against his face. If sweet, doting admiration wouldn’t catch your attention, perhaps a little pain would.
You yelped as your husband tore a wound into your wrist. Lucy’s eyes widened while Viktoria could only smirk in sick amusement. Turning your attention to him, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes.
With his fangs buried deep within your flesh, his hooded gaze stared back at you with a certain glimmer of arrogance. You could practically hear his thoughts as he indulged himself on your metallic nectar.
Have I gotten your attention yet, my love?
You scoffed with an amused smile, shaking your head at Walt’s desperation. He closed his eyes as he continued tasting you. He roughly shoved your wrist closer to him with a tight grip.
“I think our husband wishes to leave his own reception,” smirked Viktoria, staring intently as Walt slowly pulled away.
With a wink and a knowing smile, Lucy whispered, “Have fun!”
You bid the two women farewell, watching as they disappeared into the crowd of guests. Once they were gone, your eyes drifted back to your husband.
Walt was solely focused on your wrist. His fangs had finally left your flesh. Now, his tongue ran along your skin, greedily claiming any blood he may have left behind. He glared fiercely when you attempted to pull your hand away. His grip tightened and his claws threatened to pierce your skin.
You slowly began to lean towards him. His eyes darkened and he immediately tugged at your arm to pull you closer. He made an advance towards your neck, groaning loudly when you forced him to pause in his movements.
He had been just shy of his goal. He cursed under his breath, stretching as far as he could, practically leaning over your entire body, in an attempt to reach you. You let out a quiet laugh as his sharp fangs barely grazed against your flesh. He complained once more when you finally gained enough strength to shove him away.
You ran your fingers through his dark hair in an attempt to sooth him. His eyes trailed over your figure with dark intent. He bit his lip harshly as he took you in. You looked ravishing. He met you in the middle for a soft kiss.
Placing his hand on the back of your neck, he muttered against your lips, “My love—”
“Later,” you quietly interrupted.
He groaned, hooded eyes still wandering, “Now.”
“We can’t leave yet—”
“Then perhaps I should just take you here,” he whispered, and then he grinned mischievously as a surprised gasp escaped you. “Oh? Do you like that idea? Do you wish to be fucked in front of everyone like some common whore?”
Your eyes narrowed while his smile only widened. He winked at you and flashed his fangs in an attempt to get your annoyed façade to break. All he received in return, however, was an unamused scoff, “I want a divorce.”
He chuckled, giving you a quick kiss before he muttered, “Not. Happening.”
You smiled when he brought your wrist to his lips once more. He repeatedly pressed kisses against the area where he had bitten you, effortlessly soothing your wounded skin.
“Do you really want to leave?”
He pretended to pout, though his true feelings were given away by his excited eyes, “Please?”
You sighed dramatically, which he knew meant ‘yes’ since you allowed another smile to spread across your lips. He quickly stood, gained the attention of the guests, and announced that the two of you would be retiring for the evening while Lucy and Viktoria took over as hosts.
‘Retiring’, you thought. Yeah, right.
Walt held out his arm for you to take before slowly leading you through the crowd. You smiled at those who offered another round of congratulations, feeling excitement build within you as Walt led you through the manor gardens.
His grip on you tightened. Plucking a rose, his lips pressed against yours before he placed the flower in your free hand.
Inside, the manor was dark, which was normal. Your husband preferred it so, claiming that it ‘improved the hunt’. Everyone, including the staff, were outside, leaving you alone with your eager husband.
The two of you paused in front of the grand, stone staircase. Walt circled you slowly, eyeing you up and down with darkened eyes. His pupils were blown wide. He came to a stop behind you.
His overwhelming presence sent shivers throughout your entire being. You were sure he could hear your heart pounding furiously.
His claws traced along your figure. The feeling began at your shoulders, trailed down your arms, and then finally came to a stop at your hips.
Your eyes closed. You tilted your head, allowing him access to the soft skin of your neck. You couldn’t stop yourself from relishing in the feeling of your husband leaning in to trace his nose along your profile. Occasionally, he’d paused to leave a kiss or two, fangs threatening to pierce you once more.
He sighed against you, digging his sharp claws into your sides, nearly breaking the skin of your hips through your clothing. His teeth ran over your ear before he paused to whisper, “Shall we play a game, my love?”
Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure of where he was going with such a question, “What sort of game?”
He chuckled deeply, “One of predator… and prey.”
You inhaled sharply as one of his hands slowly traveled along the length of your torso. His large palm found its new home upon your throat.
“Do you know what a predator does when it captures its prey?”
“What?”
He kissed your temple gently between each of his words, “Whatever. It. Wants.”
You shuddered at his response. Slowly, his tight hold loosened. The sound of a ticking clock echoed throughout the room. His lips hovered closely over your ear. Your heart felt as though it planned to leap out of your chest.
“Run.”
You bolted, using the stone edge of the staircase to help you along. You could feel his eyes burning into you, carefully watching as you disappeared around a dark corner.
To anyone else, this would probably seem twisted. To you, however, it was exhilarating and left you quietly gasping for air with a wild grin on your face. You wandered further into the manor, deciding to leave your clicking shoes behind in an effort to throw him off.
With every shadow in the corner of your eye or each creak of the floor, you’d feel your heart race. Hand clasped over your chest, you paused at the sound of slow footsteps. You could see the light of a match approaching from the other end of the corridor. Quickly pressing yourself into a dark corner, you held your breath as he began to close in on you…
No.
No. He passed you by.
You shivered at the sight of him. He had stripped himself of his jacket and tie. His left hand was hidden within his pocket while the other held a flickering match between his fingertips. Slow, easy footsteps, almost as though he knew you had no chance.
Peeking around the corner, you watched the muscles of his back shift beneath his white shirt. You grimaced as you tripped over your feet due to the distraction, tumbling clumsily to the floor.
Walt paused. You could almost see the widening grin on his face as he contemplated your mistake. Slowly, he turned, tilted his head, and allowed his eyes to wander over your fallen figure.
He barely had time to flash his fangs at you. In seconds, you had stood and took off in the opposite direction. His sinister chuckles echoed off the walls as he quickly followed.
You rounded yet another corner and reached out for the first doorknob in sight. Closing the door, you pushed your way into the room. His room.
Of course.
His shoes tapped against the floors in the corridor, taking you out of your realization. Just as the doorknob began to rattle, you opened up his wardrobe in the corner and hid away inside.
The door shut once more. The action was then followed by the click of the lock, trapping you within the four dark walls with no one but your husband for company. Perhaps, if he was far away enough, you could make another escape.
He approached his bedside table. Knowing you had little chance of getting away, he took his time removing his watch before sliding off his shoes as well. His back was turned to you.
You tried your best to be quiet as you eased the wardrobe door open. Luck seemed to be on your side when it made little noise. The lock that had trapped you inside, however, gave you away.
The rustling of his movements stopped when he heard the click of his bedroom door. You pulled at the door to no avail. It was shoved closed once more by the force of his splayed hand. His other was tightly wrapped around your chest and shoulders, roughly pulling you against him.
He slowly turned the lock back into place. He then allowed that hand to wrap around your waist, though it felt eager to venture elsewhere.
Fangs tracing over your skin, he ran his lips from your neck to your ear before he whispered, “Caught you.”
Your head fell back against him in surprise. You couldn’t contain the sharp, startled gasp that escaped you. Your eyes widened at the feeling of his fangs sinking into your neck. Your mouth fell open in pleasure as he ravaged your soft skin.
One of his hands traveled along your body until it found itself roughly cupping your jawline. His claws nearly impaled themselves into your flesh due to his tight grip. Walt held you in place against him as he enjoyed the perfect, bittersweet taste of your blood.
You were tugged back into his dark embrace, falling further into the deep shadows of his room. He turned, shoving you onto his bed with a sinister glimmer in his eyes.
You smiled up at him, shaking your head as you balanced on one of your arms. Your free hand reached out for him, but he pushed it away with a wild grin.
His lustful eyes raked over your clothed figure. Leaning forward, he crawled upwards along the length of your body, easily making you lie on your back as he hovered above you.
His thumbs traced slow circles on your cheeks and temples. Though they still contained that same dark intent, his eyes softened slightly when they met your gaze.
He leaned into your touch as you began running your hands through his thick hair. He pressed a soft kiss to your wrist, and then quietly muttered against your skin, “May I have you?”
His eyes closed at the feeling of your thumbs gently tracing over his eyebrows. You then did the same beneath his eyes, examining every feature of him as he waited for your reply.
“Yes.”
His hand was beneath your chin in a matter of seconds. You encased his wrist tightly in one of your palms. He pushed your head back, digging his immortal bite into your neck once more. His weight was pressed against you, which allowed you to feel every crevice of his strong body.
You could feel blood cascading along your skin as he shifted his position. He lifted you just enough to move each of you further onto the bed. You reached back with one hand to tightly grip a soft pillow. The other wrapped itself within Walt’s hair as he traveled downwards.
You were forced to release him when he decided to kneel between your legs. He smirked down at you. Your body trembled as his tall, shadowy figure overwhelmed you.
Walt was thankful that you had chosen a different dress for the reception. The fabric draped perfectly over your body. He could feel you beneath the dark ensemble as his hands traced along your figure.
You watched in anticipation as his head turned to eye your ankle. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around it. You raised your eyebrows at him, though he paid you no mind as he lifted your leg until your ankle could rest against his shoulder.
Before you could react, your grip on the pillow had tightened exponentially. The other wrapped itself within the sheet. Your back arched at the feeling of his fangs sinking into the flesh of your ankle.
He groaned loudly. Wrapping his free arm around your thigh, completely encasing your limb, he forced you against him as he tightly closed his eyes. He couldn’t get enough of you. Fortunately for him, the night was only beginning.
He allowed your ankle to fall back onto the bed, swallowing deeply and running his tongue over his stained lips. He quickly shoved his hands beneath your dress, pushing the fabric upwards until he could tug it over your head.
His lips met yours in a rough kiss. As you embraced him, he used his clawed fingertips to rip open the bra that covered your breasts. He wasted no time, immediately indulging himself.
As his hand busied itself with your left breast, thumb working against your nipple, his mouth found refuge on the right. He repeatedly kissed your warm flesh. Quickly, he decided to latch onto you with his mouth, tongue swirling.
His dark hair found itself within your grip once more. You bit your lip harshly at the pleasurable feeling, unable to think properly.
But things only felt better when you realized his free hand had slowly wandered downwards. His long fingers shoved their way beneath the lace fabric that shielded your heat. He cupped your warmth, grinning against you.
“Did you wear these for me?” he muttered, not waiting for an answer as he began making his way down your body, kissing every inch of your skin.
“For Viktoria.”
He paused in his affection to glare up at you. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate your fine sense of humor. With an amused grin, you sharply tugged at his hair, causing him to grunt, and then continued, “Get to work, Mr. DeVille.”
He slowly shook his head, quietly scoffing at your antics. Both of his hands drifted to your hips and wrapped around the edge of the black lace. Running his tongue over his sharp teeth, he smirked, “As my mistress commands.”
Your laughter was cut off by a gasp rising in your throat. Walt turned his head from side to side, repeatedly biting along each of your thighs until he finally made his way to your center.
Over the lace fabric, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss against your warmth. You tugged his hair again at the feeling. Heat pooled within you as he slowly pulled away the lace. Grinning, he tossed it aside.
He swallowed deeply before delving into you. You cried out, fingers digging into his scalp. Walt paid your actions no mind. His tongue rushed across your opening, flicking your clit.
His claws dug into your thighs, pulling your legs over his shoulders to keep you still. It wasn’t an easy feat. Your back was arched and your mouth had fallen into a silent scream.
Walt shoved his tongue into you, feasting on your essence as though it were his last meal. His thumb joined his mouth in a perfect duet of pleasure. He roughly slapped your clit and smiled against you when another cry escaped your throat.
His pants felt tight and he moved his hips against the bed in an effort to gain some relief. Trailing kisses along your torso, he pushed his fingers in and out of you at lightning speed. He stroked one of your thighs, finally lowering your legs with your knees bent as they rested on either side of his hips, encasing him against you.
He pressed his forehead to yours, but refused to kiss you despite your pleas. Instead, he watched as your face collapsed into an expression of sinful pleasure.
Your orgasm drenched his hand and he pulled his fingers out of you. You slowly opened your eyes, watching as he held his wet fingers to your lips.
“So soon? You really should clean up your mess, my love.”
He leaned in, returning his attention to your neck, biting a new wound into your flesh. The action made you gasp openly, which, in turn, allowed him to shove his soaked fingers into your mouth.
He pressed his lips against your temple, smearing fresh blood against your soft skin. He rolled his hips into you, biting his lip as he felt your tongue swirl around his fingertips, tasting yourself on him.
He groaned at the sight of you. Your bare skin was aglow beneath him. He could feel himself straining against his clothes. He focused his attention on your shoulder, sinking his teeth into you once more. You knew you’d be absolutely covered in bite marks by the time this was over.
Not that you minded, of course.
As he lost himself in you, he used his hands to bring yours to his shirt, letting you know that he wanted you to rid him of the fabric. You busied yourself with the buttons, turning your head to plant kisses against his profile.
Sensing your desires, he reluctantly pulled his attention away from your shoulder. He soothed your newest wound with his tongue, lapping at any leftover blood. His stained lips met yours just as you began pushing the white fabric off his shoulders. Walt helped with the process and tossed the shirt aside.
He rose to his knees, removing his belt. His pants quickly followed, but not without incident. You grunted when he tumbled on top of you, barely catching himself to keep from knocking the wind out of you.
“Why did you make me wear these?” he grumbled, though his grin gave his amusement away.
You giggled, trying your best to help him, “Because they looked nice.”
He rolled his eyes with a smile when you gently kissed his cheek. He then pushed himself off your body. You shifted onto your elbows, watching as he sat on the edge of the bed. Once the pants reached his ankles, he yanked them off, threw them across the room, and then grinned at you over his shoulder.
You scoffed with a teasing smile, “You’re so dramatic!”
He chuckled, “C’mere.”
You allowed him to tug at your hand. You moved on the bed to kneel behind him. He tightly clasped both of your hands and draped them over his chest, but not before pressing a kiss to each one.
He then reached and tugged at the top of his briefs. You repeatedly kissed the top of his head and temples, watching intently as the fabric disappeared from his body and joined his shirt on the floor.
He turned his head to meet your lips. His hand tightly gripped your wrist and dragged your palm downwards along his chest.
His brows furrowed. He broke your kiss with a groan, breathing heavily against you. He trembled at the feeling of your nimble fingers working the length of his thick cock. He tucked his head into your shoulder, hiding away as moans escaped him.
You pressed your lips against his temple in light kisses. You used your free hand to rake your fingers through his dark hair, gently scratching his scalp as you did so. Through his gasps and grunts of pleasure, Walt placed open-mouthed kisses against your skin.
You traced your thumb over the head of his member. Beads of pre-cum made themselves known. His cock hardened further beneath your touch, if such a thing was even possible. Each stroke sent shivers along his spine and quiet murmurs tumbled from his lips against your skin.
Gently, he wrapped his hand around yours, stopping your movements. He kissed you deeply, nudging you back into your former position of lying on your back. He crawled up the expanse of your body. His hands ran up and down your sides, occasionally giving you a tight squeeze whenever he caressed your hips.
Returning his passionate affection, your arms draped over his shoulders, allowing your fingertips to trace shapes against his bare, muscular back. He sighed peacefully at the sensation.
He only broke the kiss to reach down and grab his length. Your gaze followed, hands weaving into his hair once more. He wasted no time in pressing the head of his cock against your slick folds.
Your grip on him tightened and your head fell backwards. He took the opportunity to lean his slack-jawed face against your neck, breathing against you heavily.
He was so big inside you. And no matter how many times you had taken him in the past, his cock always left you stunned at its size. Tugging at your ear with his teeth, he breathed, “So sweet for me.”
“Walt,” you sighed, “please—! Oh!”
His hips dug into you repeatedly and he grunted loudly with each thrust. You could hardly breathe as he pounded into you.
As you tightened your grip on him, pulling him closer by his hair, he sank his sharp fangs into you once more with a quiet apology, “Sorry, my love. Your taste is impossible to resist.”
“It feels good.”
Your murmured response made him groan against you. As he indulged himself on you, his thrusts sped up. You couldn’t stop yourself from crying out in pleasure with every hard thrust of his cock.
The sound of skin against skin echoed throughout the room. Walt hissed and growled as your blood flowed into his throat. It was almost as though your taste would be his last meal.
He shoved his arms beneath you and pulled you flush against his bare flesh. Hunched over your body, he moved at an inhuman pace, reminding you of what he truly was.
You placed your hand against his throat. With blood on his lips, he bared his fangs with a grimace. You pulled him into a deep kiss as warmth grew within you.
Eventually, he couldn’t keep up with your affection. He pulled away from the kiss and leaned his forehead against yours. He panted as his thrusts became uneven. Moving one hand to your center, he stroked your clit.
You took his bottom lip between your teeth with a pleasured moan. His pace faltered as his climax drew closer. His skin was glowing with sweat as his hips stuttered.
“Cum with me, my love,” he panted. “Let go.”
As his hand continued its ministrations against your clit, the other quickly wrapped around your throat. You followed his movements, placing your own hands atop his, which was sure to leave your neck bruised the next morning.
“Walt…”
He silenced you with a kiss. You could feel his cock inside you, pulsing and writhing with the need for a release. The thought of him gaining pleasure from you struck a chord within you.
Your back arched, pressing your front against his. Walt didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he tightened his hold on you and tugged you impossibly close. Your hands shot around his shoulders. One dug into his strong back while the other yanked at his hair as the two of you rocked back and forth against the bedspread.
A wave of pleasure washed over you. Another orgasm overwhelmed your body. Walt’s thrusts stuttered, trying to bring himself to completion. He continued rubbing your bundle of nerves. Your body writhed with overstimulation until he joined you in ecstasy.
With a final grunt, his hips landed against yours. He shuddered, mouth agape, as he climaxed. His weight all but collapsed on top of you. When he pulled out, you could feel his release venturing out of you.
He collapsed next to you. Both of you struggled for breath. Walt reached out to gently caress your skin. His skin was aglow. Grasping your hand, he kissed each of your fingertips gently.
You could feel tiredness taking over your body. Walt smiled at you with soft eyes. Tugging you close to him, he muttered, “Sleep, my love. I’ll wake you in the morning for more.”
Summary: (Y/n) begins to find roses sitting on their doorstep. When their given the opportunity to meet the man behind the small gifts, they immediately accept. Maybe they should have offered the idea more thought before making such a quick decision.
Author's Note: I have thought about this idea for weeks. I just wasn't sure how I wanted it to end.
Also, this got so out of hand.
--------------------
When the first rose appeared on my doorstep, I assumed it was some weird kind of accident.
A mistaken delivery or something of that nature.
It was a lovely rose.
I even grabbed it and placed it in a little cup of water before I headed out for the day.
I shrugged, smiled at it, and went about my business.
And then, there was another rose the next day. I was heading to work, and I stepped out to find another flower.
I furrowed my eyebrows and grabbed it.
Once was easy enough to write off. Twice was harder to explain away.
Still, I placed the flower in the cup and went to work.
This pattern kept going. I would find a flower on my doorstep, I would place it in my small cup, and then I would move on with my day. I would usually try to come up with some reason for this all happening, but it was becoming more difficult as time went on.
It all came to a head on my day off a few days later.
I had decided to take most of the day to clean. A nice and normal task.
In all honesty, I found little joy in cleaning. I knew it was necessary for my safety and well-being, but I would give anything to just snap my fingers and have the entire thing done. Even with music blasting in my headphones, I had trouble finding an ounce of the task enjoyable.
I thought that I could find much better ways to spend my time.
But still, it needed to be done, so I was going to do it.
At the time, I was going to take out the trash.
I pulled the door open but didn't get much further.
"Oh, what the fuck is this?"
I froze in my doorway and stared at the huge bouquet of roses. It was even in a vase already. All of this commitment from a person that I had yet to even see, never mind meet.
It felt like an eternity before the shock finally wore off.
"Oh, that is just... obnoxiously dramatic," I muttered.
I picked up the vase and went back inside.
As I placed it on the table, a note caught my eye.
I was stunned. A note. After all this time and secrecy, the mysterious admirer left a note. It felt like a trick.
It wasn't a long note, by any means.
You have been invited to join Walter De Ville for dinner at his estate tomorrow night. If you are to accept, you will have transportation provided to you. They will arrive at five p.m.
"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding," I mumbled. "This can't... This can't be real. 'At his estate,' who says shit like that anymore?"
The only good thing that came out of it at the time was a name.
Walter De Ville.
It sounded like a name of old money. Dipped in oil, coated in coal from the mines. An old man sneering from behind his cigar that made the entire house stink, but he would be damned if he had to smoke on the patio. That kind of name.
I never thought that I would be one to allow my curiosity to cloud my better judgment. But here I was, getting ready to meet whatever transportation was meant to pick me up and bring me to the De Ville estate.
I stood outside at about four-fifty. I watched cars roll by for a while before one finally stopped in front of my home.
"(Y/n) (Y/l/n)," an older man called from the sidewalk.
My heart froze. That couldn't be Walter. Could it?
"Yeah," I called back, slowly walking forward. The man pulled the door to the backseat open.
"Mr. De Ville is anxiously awaiting your arrival."
I nodded. "Thank you."
I sat in the seat and buckled my seatbelt. The older man sat in the back next to me as the driver took off.
It took me a moment to speak up again, "What's your name?"
"Everyone calls me Mr. Fields," he explained. "I have worked for the De Ville family for many years."
"Oh," I replied. "May I ask what Mr. De Ville wants with me?"
"He has seemingly become intrigued by you," he said. "I would explain his feelings if I could."
I nodded again.
I watched the scenery pass by us. I made some comment about the trees being lovely. Mr. Fields didn't respond to it. I fell into an uneasy silence after that.
It was a beautiful house. A mansion. There were intricate details along the walls. Stone walls that looked like they were attempting to reach into the sky. It was breathtaking.
What would someone from a place like this want with me?
How would they even know about me? This place was in the middle of nowhere.
I only had a few moments to admire the outside of the mansion before I was ushered inside.
"Mr. De Ville is waiting in the dining room," Mr. Fields explained.
I nodded and followed him there.
The walls were a dark red while the table and chairs were a dark wood. I was immediately overwhelmed by the grandiosity of it all.
"(Y/n)."
I looked at the other person in the room. A man, around my age, stood from his seat and stepped over. There was a sickeningly charming smile on his face. He reached out his hand.
"Walter," I greeted.
"Walt," he corrected.
"Right... well, it's a pleasure to meet you," I said, going to shake his hand.
He pulled my hand up and pressed a kiss to the back of it. I took a deep breath as some kind of instinctual response.
"The pleasure is all mine," he replied. He stepped back and walked to the table, pulling out a chair. "Please, sit."
I nodded and walked to the seat, letting him push the chair in for me.
"I feel a need to apologize for how long it took me to invite you here," he continued as someone came in to pour us each a glass of wine.
"I wasn't expecting an invitation in the first place," I explained. "The roses gave the impression of a secret admirer, so I didn't truly expect to know who you were."
"I am sorry for being so secretive. I believed that it would be a way to flatter you."
I nodded.
"I can't quite explain it, but I found you... entrancing. You captured my attention immediately. I have been infatuated with you."
"Oh," I muttered. I had never truly had someone talk about me like that. I was not the one that people got crushes on. I had grown used to that.
"I hope that I haven't made you too nervous."
I shook my head. "No, no. Not at all."
"Not at all," he asked, raising an eyebrow at me with a smirk.
"That wasn't as nice as I wanted it to be," I chuckled, shaking my head. "I meant that you're not making me uncomfortable."
"Good," he nodded.
Just as he said that two more people bustled in with plates. I stared down at the dish set in front of me. It looked like a dish on a cooking show. Too fancy to be eaten. What kind of monster would I be if I ruined the equivalent of a piece of art?
"Please, enjoy, I ensured that the best would be made," Walt pushed.
I slowly nodded, reaching for my utensils.
I wish that I had looked a little closer. If I had, then I would have noticed that Walt didn't partake in the dinner. He made it appear like he did. He carefully pushed his food along the plate. It must have been a convincing enough performance for me to never ask about it.
"Tell me about yourself," Walt said after a moment.
I paused for a moment. "After the flowers that you sent, I assumed you knew everything there was to know."
"Nothing like hearing it from the source," he replied. "Please."
"What do you want to know?"
"What do you spend your time doing?"
"Well, I'm usually working," I shrugged. "Just a boring little job. It's only meant to pay the bills. But I have met very good people there."
Walt's eyes stayed trained on me as I spoke. To be certain that I didn't get overwhelmed by the intensity just below the surface, I had to switch between looking back at him and looking at the plate in front of me.
"When I'm not doing that, I'm usually making art of some form," I continued. "An old love. Very calming."
"You don't wish to pursue it as a career?"
"I would love to," I corrected. "But, as of right now, I will settle for stress relief."
"Well, I like to see myself as having a great appreciation for the arts," he explained. "I hope that one day I'll get to see your work."
"I would like that."
How had one person made me feel so comfortable in such a short amount of time?
The dinner was full of conversation just like that. Small talk about hobbies and interests and small habits. Most of it was about me. Not because I didn't ask, but because he seemed very good at steering the conversation in any direction away from him. He didn't seem interested in telling me much about himself.
Once dinner had come and gone, Walt stood from his seat and held out his hand.
"I understand that it has been a long evening already, but I would like to give you a tour of the estate if you're interested," he offered.
I grinned and placed my hand in his, letting him help me up. "Lead the way."
His hand left mine as we walked out of the dining room.
He told me some of the history and about the artwork. It was the closest that Walt had gotten to talking about himself.
He led me through rooms and hallways, telling me all about how much he adored each room. Like each one held a place in his heart like a family member or loved one would.
He froze outside of a room upstairs.
There was a pair of dark doors with golden doorknobs. He placed his hands over one of them, pausing to look at me with this small, knowing smirk. He knew very well that whatever was behind that door was going to take my breath away.
"You mentioned a love for art," Walt said. I nodded. "You will feel very at home here."
He opened the door and held it open for me. I barely noticed it closing behind me when I saw the room.
"Wow," I mumbled.
It was perfectly messy. Canvases and paints. I could see all mediums of art. It was all so distracting and amazing. The walls themselves were a dark green. They matched the dark wood floors and furniture. The windows along the far wall were tall. There were bars over them, but there was still enough room to allow sunlight to cascade through. At least, that's what I imagined would happen if it were still light outside.
"This is beautiful," I looked over at Walt, who was simply grinning at me.
"I would hope so," he nodded. Like he had been waiting for my reaction. I shook off that thought.
"Is it all yours," I asked. "I know you mentioned an appreciation for the arts, but you didn't mention making any?"
"Oh, if only," he chuckled. "Sadly, I am only an artistic genius when considering stick figures."
That made me furrow my eyebrows as I laughed lightly. Why would he have this room then?
"I did try, but nothing ever clicked."
"Oh," I mumbled.
"Maybe you could teach me," he suggested.
"Trying to tempt me into another visit, Walt," I asked.
A smirk pulled at his lips. "Is that what I'm doing?"
I scoffed.
"Would you?"
"I could be convinced," I replied.
There was a pause in our conversation. Walt took the moment to clear some of the distance between us.
I couldn't help the nervous laugh that escaped me as he stepped closer. I looked down as his hand brushed mine. He wrapped his fingers around my hand. I looked back at him, trying to calm my breathing a bit.
"I do make you nervous," Walt teased me.
"Any person is more intimidating when they get closer to someone else," I explained, ignoring my racing heart.
"Oh, of course," he nodded. "How foolish of me to assume anything more than that."
"You truly should get better at examining things from all angles. It will help you with your art."
His smirk widened for a moment before he let his eyes scan down my body. "How tempting that idea is."
I scoffed at the boldness of his statement.
He chuckled a bit as his eyes met mine again.
He slowly leaned forward. I felt a chill run up my spine as his breath brushed over the surface of my skin.
He froze just before his lips could meet mine. "Can I kiss you?"
I took a deep breath through my nose. "Yes."
When he kissed me, I felt time stop. My skin was covered in goosebumps. My mind was racing at the same speed as my heart. I had never experienced a kiss that felt quite like this one. I had never had a kiss make me feel so desirable. I adored that feeling.
I tried to savor that feeling for as long as possible.
However, my enjoyment came to an abrupt end when I felt something sharp dig into the skin of my wrist.
I hissed as I pulled away and looked down.
I let out something similar to a yelp when I saw that it was Walt's nails, now long and sharp and dark. Claws. That was the best word for them.
"Oh dear," he whispered. "Seems like you made me lose control of myself."
He let go of my arm just as I pulled it away from him.
I held it close to my body, staring at him in shock.
"I am so sorry, my love," he continued. "I will not let such an accident happen again."
"Listen," I said. "I... I don't know what this is, but I have no interest in being any part of it."
I walked away from him, going toward the door. Mr. Fields walked in just as I did. I felt a wave of hope at the sight of his grumpy face.
"Please, take me home-"
My words trailed off as he turned and locked the doors.
"What are you doing?"
He didn't answer me.
"I want to go home-"
I tried to push past him, but I was grabbed and shoved back roughly. I stumbled a bit, finding myself closer to Walt than I desired to be. I moved backward, getting as close to the far wall as I could.
"No need to be scared," Walt said.
"The claw marks on my arm and the locked door beg to differ," I snapped.
He shook his head and chuckled. "As witty as they are gorgeous, aren't they, Mr. Fields?"
Mr. Fields merely nodded in agreement.
"Let me go home," I ignored the comment. "I... I won't tell anyone about this. I promise. Just let me go and you'll never see or hear from me ever again. You can live in peace-"
Walt started to shush me as I rambled. "Why would I never want to see you again?"
My words died on my tongue.
"Do you think that I plan to kill you," he asked. "No, no, no, my love..."
I furrowed my eyebrows.
"I plan to make this your home," he explained. "You are going to stay with me. Forever."
"I just met you."
"And yet, I've known you for so long," he replied. "I have given this considerable thought. I want you here. With me. To love and take care of. Imagine it... a life with none of those things that could weigh so heavily on your mind."
I stepped further back when he tried to step closer to me.
"You'll be very happy here, I promise."
"You don't believe that I would genuinely just stay put because you want me to, do you?"
"I would hate to have to find a way to restrain you, but I will if need be."
I ran my hands over my face.
"This is your home now. With me. I would accept that now and make it easier on everyone."
"What about work," I asked, trying to ignore how much my hands were shaking. "And my family? I have co-workers, I have siblings. Someone will wonder where I am. What will you do then?"
"A letter of resignation has already found its way to your boss's desk," Walt explained. "And you'll get to see your family. I'm not a monster."
"Do you want to re-think that sentence?"
An amused huff escaped him. "Oh, my love, I can be a monster if it's required, but I would rather not entertain that side of myself if I don't need to."
I felt that sickening feeling in my stomach only getting worse.
"All I ask is that you behave yourself," he continued. "After a while, I would be delighted to invite your family. To show them the beautiful life that you live with me."
He walked closer to me. I didn't move away from him this time. I knew that I had no hope of escaping him. I wasn't giving up hope. I was trying to play my cards right.
His hand reached up and cupped the side of my face. That charming smile that enchanted me earlier that evening now made my heart sink.
"Why me," I asked, voice no more than a whisper. It had been on my mind all night, but now, it felt like essential knowledge.
"My love, is it not obvious to you?"
I bit my lip to stop my tears from falling.
"No need to worry," he mumbled, leaning forward to press a kiss to my cheek. I flinched when his lips found my skin. "I will ensure that you eventually see exactly what I do."
I took a shaky breath.
"I think we should retire for the evening," he said. He guided me away from the wall and to the door. A kiss was laid on my shoulder as he did. "You will be so happy here, my love."
The Flower and The Serpent : a Walt De Ville x reader FF : one
You were with your friends when the time came, unbidden, to say goodbye. You had known it was on its way, this day in particular, but it still managed to creep up on you, as did the older man dressed in old fashioned butler clothing. The first notions you had of his presence were the hairs standing up on your arms and nape of your neck, and the sudden silence of your friends, where before there had been nothing but lively chatter.
Summary: You've felt watched for days, eyes following your every step. One eerie night, everything changes as a dangerous chase through shadowed streets shows you that not all threats are as they seem. But who is hunting you, and why?
Warnings: 18+ SMUT (towards the end), creepy men, blood, stalking, violence, lemme know if I missed anything.
A/N: This man is SO UNDERRATED and it pains me. This fic does not follow the movie's plot, and you don't need to have seen it; you just have to fw vampires. After this fic I'm writing a Jude Bellingham fic someone requested, but I forgot who, I'm so sorry. If that was you, pls lemme know so I can tag you. 🫶 Please comment or like if you enjoy, it really helps :)
MASTERLIST - REQUESTS
WC: 4.7k
You are responsible for your own data consumption <3
You’d felt the eyes on you for days now, even though you weren’t sure where they came from. Everywhere you went, you felt stalked, watched, hunted.
At first, you told yourself it was nothing, that it was just paranoia creeping in after too many late nights. But the feeling never faded. If anything, it grew stronger with each passing day.
Now, as you walk down the dimly lit street, you feel the eyes again. The city around you has calmed, the usual distant sound of traffic and people seeming quieter than usual—an eerie silence. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, resisting the urge to look over your shoulder.
But then you hear it. A footstep.
It is soft, almost unnoticeable, but it is definitely there. And worse, it is in time with yours.
Your pace quickens.
So do the steps behind you.
A shiver runs down your spine. Your breath hitches as you try to keep your movements natural, to convince yourself that it is just a coincidence, that someone else is merely walking in the same direction as you. After all, you are walking down a street.
Then, you hear something else—quieter this time, but closer. It is not just following. It is closing the distance. You start to run, your feet colliding with the cobbled road, footsteps echoing off the walls.
All of a sudden, from somewhere behind you comes a sharp whistle through the air, too fast, too precise, and then it is gone.
And so are the steps.
You slow, looking behind you, but there is nothing. Or at least, nothing you can see.
Then comes the sound.
A gasp. A struggle, brief and frantic. A choked-off noise, cut short like a thread being severed. And then nothing. Silence envelops the street again.
Your chest heaves, your heart pounding with every shallow breath. The only sound is the thumping of your own blood, but you can feel it. Something looming in the shadows.
You turn and come face to face with a man, so close your nose nearly brushes against his chest. He’s tall, so impossibly tall, and cold, like the night itself. His eyes are dark but steady, watching you with an unsettling calm, a sort of curiosity.
"Are you alright?" He places his hands on your shoulders to steady your trembling body.
His voice is softer than you expect, like he’s trying not to startle you. It cuts through the air, smoother than silk, but there’s something underneath it, something sharp. Your breath is still uneven as your gaze flickers over him, drawn—despite yourself—to the glint of his teeth. His canines catch the light, just a little too sharp.
You’re still breathing hard, too overwhelmed to process. "You... You were chasing me."
His eyes flicker, just for a moment, like he's trying to measure your reaction. "I wasn’t chasing you." His gaze sharpens. "I was keeping you safe."
Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The man's presence settled like a weight in the pit of your stomach.
"Safe?" You barely recognise your own voice, it’s so shaky, so small, “From who?”
"From him." His hand gestures behind him, toward the empty space behind them. "I’m afraid he's no longer a concern."
You don’t know what to say. Part of you wants to run, to question everything about this night, but you can’t move. You can only stand there, trembling, wondering if you’re even safe at all.
"I'm sorry, I'm being terribly rude" he takes a step back. "My name is Walter, Walter De Ville."
"I think," he continues, his tone softer now, but no less intense, "you’ll find comfort inside. You’ve had enough excitement for one evening."
You feel conflicted, you don't know this man, he's a stranger. "Okay..." your voice shaky. "I live about 5 minutes away." You start walking down the street, your legs feel as if they might give out, but Walter makes no move to follow you. Instead, before you can take two steps, his hand grasps your wrist, harshly.
"I know, but I am not sure I would forgive myself if I let you go home and spend the night alone. Someone could still be out there." His eyes look into yours, icy and blue. "Please, stay at mine tonight, there's plenty of space."
You stand there, you know you shouldn't agree, there is no rational reason for you to go to his house. Yet, at the same time, you feel safe. Safe in a way you cannot explain. His presence comforts you, it feels strong and sturdy. So when your voice comes out quiet, almost silent you, decide just to go with it.
"Are you sure? I really wouldn't want to impose or-."
"I insist."
Walter smiles down at you, placing a strong hand on the small of your back, leading you down the street. "I've called a car, should just be around the corner."
As you round the corner, you see the car, you can tell its expensive, with its sleek and black exterior. The man standing beside it nods at you as you approach.
"That's Mr Field, the butler," Walter explains. "We'll take very good care of you. You mustn't worry about anything."
But before you reach the car, your eyes find a huddled shape in the alleyway, and you recognise it as the same alley you ran through mere minutes ago. As you step closer, the shape becomes clear. A body. A pool of blood spreading around it.
Walter follows your gaze, his voice as even as ever. "As I told you," he says, "the man who was following you is no longer of any concern."
He leaves no room for conversation, opening the car door and ushering you inside. You follow him with your gaze as he rounds the car, sliding in next to you and leaning forward to Mr Field. "Home, thank you."
You feel the car start to pull away.
You must have fallen asleep, because you wake to the sensation of movement beneath you. A slow, steady rise and fall. Your head is resting against something firm.
Then the realisation sets in.
Your eyes open just enough to take in the dim, leather interior of the car. It’s no longer moving, and you can make out the shape of Mr Field walking away. Walter’s dark, rich, scent surrounds you, and as your mind clears, you become painfully aware that you’re not just leaning against him. You’re curled against him, tucked neatly into his side.
Your body stiffens slightly, and before you can pull away, his voice breaks the silence.
"Comfortable?" There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, making you want to disappear. You've known this man for maybe an hour and you're sleeping on him.
Heat creeps up your neck as you shift, sitting up far too quickly. "I wasn’t—"
Walter chuckles softly, turning to look at you. "You were," he corrects smoothly. "Quite soundly, in fact. It was... endearing." His gaze flickers over you.
You open your mouth to argue, but he’s already reaching over, unbuckling your seatbelt effortlessly. Before you can process what’s happening, his arms slide beneath you, lifting you bridal style as if you weigh nothing at all.
"Walter—"
"Please, call me Walt."
"Ok, Walt—"
"You’re exhausted," he states simply, stepping out of the car taking you with him. "And I did promise to take care of you, didn't I?"
You exhale, relaxing just enough to let yourself slowly doze off in his arms. Trusting him just enough.
Just a little.
You wake up slowly, wrapped in the warmth of the duvet. For a moment, you forget where you are, until your eyes flutter open, taking in the grand bedroom, the heavy drapes filtering in only the softest traces of light.
Right.
You sit up, stretching the stiffness from your limbs. On the bedside table, you see a note, folded neatly beside a dress he's laid out for you.
I’ll return by evening. Make yourself comfortable. Mrs Swift will be there if you need anything.
There’s no signature, but he doesn’t need one. Your eyes drift to the clothes he’s left for you.
You reach for the dress, your fingers brushing over the fabric, so soft it barely feels real. It’s delicate, impossibly so, as if it belongs to another era entirely. The bodice is fitted, the sheer lace hugs your skin just right. The sleeves, if they can even be called that, are wisps of mesh and the skirt flows over your body like liquid, pooling in gentle waves around your feet.
It’s the kind of dress meant to be admired rather than simply worn. And somehow, you have no doubt that was exactly his intention. Another quiet reminder that, despite everything that feels wrong, he intends to take care of you.
And yet, beneath that, there’s the lingering truth you’re trying not to think about too hard.
Walter isn’t normal.
And whether you admit it or not, you’re about to spend the day in the home of a man who you're pretty sure isn't quite human.
You decide to explore, if you're to be alone until Walter returns, you may as well familiarise yourself with the estate. The mansion is eerily quiet as you wander through its corridors. The architecture is stunning. The dark wood, the intricate carvings, the bookshelves that seem to stretch endlessly.
What captures your attention though is the lack of any personal touches. No photographs. No clutter, no sign of life beyond the perfectly arranged furniture and candlelight, even in the middle of the day.
Pushing open a door to what looks like a study, your eyes scan over the neatly stacked papers, the antique desk, the massive fireplace. And then, you notice something.
A wine glass, still half-full.
You step closer, expecting to find deep red wine, but the liquid is thicker, darker. Your stomach twists.
"Ah, you’re awake."
The voice startles you, and you turn quickly to find a woman standing in the doorway, her expression warm. She’s older, dressed neatly, with sharp eyes that seem to assess you in a single glance, despite that, you feel no threat from her.
"You must be Mrs. Swift," you say, remembering the name Walter had mentioned in the note.
She nods, stepping inside. "And you must be her," she muses, as if that alone explains something. She glances at the glass on the desk but says nothing about it. Instead, she smiles, folding her hands neatly in front of her. "I imagine you have questions."
You swallow. You should be afraid. You should. But the fear doesn’t settle, not fully. Instead, there’s a strange sort of inevitability to it. You already know the answers, even if you haven’t spoken them aloud.
Still, you meet her gaze and say, "He’s not human, is he?"
Mrs. Swift exhales, her smile tilting just slightly. "Do I really need to answer that miss?." You look at her, slowly shaking your head.
"No."
The admission should terrify you, but somehow, it doesn’t. Maybe because you’ve felt it all along.
Maybe because, despite everything, you’re still here.
She smiles, turning to leave. "Do wear the dress," she muses, a knowing glint in her eyes. "It’s a favorite of his, and I’m sure he’d love to see you in it."
The dining room is ridiculously grand, the candles flickering around you and reflecting off the polished silver. The place setting before you is pristine, the cutlery and plates are set out perfectly. It’s clear that everything has been prepared for you.
Walter sits across from you, watching with an easy, unreadable expression. He picks up his glass, the deep red liquid swirls inside, catching the glow of the candlelight in a way that makes your stomach twist.
"You’ve barely touched your food," he says, voice smooth as ever. There’s no teasing in it, he's simply observing you.
You shift slightly, pushing a bite around with your fork before finally taking it. He watches, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, clearly satisfied.
"I still can't really believe this is happening," you admit. "Last night, I thought I was going to die. And now I’m having dinner in a mansion with—” You stop yourself, not sure how to finish that sentence.
His lips curve just slightly. "With a monster?"
You hesitate, your fork hovering over your plate. "I was going to say ‘a man I don’t know.’"
Walter chuckles, the sound low, quiet, and undeniably amused.
"Ah, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? You know me, at least you do now. You know what I am. What I’m capable of." He tilts his head slightly, studying you intently.
"And yet, here you are."
For a moment the room goes silent. He’s right. You could have left. You could have run. And yet, for some reason, you stayed.
"I suppose I should be thanking you," you say, nearly whispering, finally meeting his gaze fully. "For last night, I mean."
Walter lifts his glass in a slow, almost theatrical motion. "It was my pleasure," he says. "I do try to keep my guests from harm."
It should be unsettling, the way he says it, so smooth, so undeniably charming, but it isn’t. Not to you anyways.
Walter watches as you take another sip of wine. The rich taste lingers on your tongue, though you’re not sure if it’s the drink or the way he’s looking at you that’s making your head feel so light.
"You don’t seem as afraid of me anymore," he muses, leaning forward slightly. His voice is still flawlessly smooth, but there’s something else in it now, something that makes your cheeks heat up.
"Should I be?" you counter.
His lips twitch, amusement flickering across his face. "Well, that depends, darling," he murmurs, the nickname rolling off his tongue, sending a shiver down your spine. "Are you the kind of person who enjoys a little danger?"
You roll your eyes, but the increasing warmth creeping up your neck betrays you. "That sounds like something a very dangerous man would say."
He exhales a soft chuckle, tilting his head. "And here you are, dining with him. What does that say about you?"
The air shifts. This time though, it's not fear. It’s something else entirely, something that tightens in your stomach when he slowly traces his finger along the rim of his glass, his icy blue eyes never leaving yours.
"You stayed," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now, more intimate. "Even after understanding what I am. I find that... intriguing."
You swallow, pulse quickening. "Maybe I just wanted dinner."
His smile turns sharper, darker. "Mm. Or maybe," he says, his voice like velvet wrapping around you, he stands up from his chair, slowly rounding the table. You tense as he stops just behind you, the space between you vanishing in an instant. He leans down, you feel his breath ghosting against your skin, lips grazing the shell of your ear.
"You wanted something else."
The words linger between you. You should say something quick, something dismissive. But you don’t.
Because maybe he’s right.
"It's getting late," he whispers, hand reaching out to tilt your head towards his. "Perhaps it's time to retire for the night?"
His thumb brushes over your lower lip before you can answer. His touch warm despite the unsettling coolness of his skin. His eyes flicker down, watching the way you react.
He moves, placing a hand on the table beside your plate, caging you in. He's close enough now that you can feel the heat of his body, the way his breath fans over your cheek.
He picks up the delicate wine glass, turning it lazily in his fingers before taking a slow sip. His gaze never leaves yours as he lowers it again, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.
Instead of setting the glass down, he lifts it toward you.
Your fingers brush against his as you take it, and for a moment, you think that’s all it is. But then, just as you bring it to your lips, his other hand moves to your waist, steadying you as he leans in even closer. The sensation of him pressing against your side has you in a trance, his fingers tightening just slightly.
"Good?" he asks, his voice low.
You nod, though you're not entirely sure whether it’s in response to the wine or the way his lips have begun to ghost down the line of your jaw, barely touching, just enough to make your breath hitch.
All of a sudden you feel the air whoosh around you, and the next thing you know, your back meets the smooth surface of the table.
His weight hovers over you before his mouth finally claims yours. The kiss starts slow, teasing, but it deepens in an instant, his fingers gripping your waist, pulling you flush against his firm body. You run your hand over his chest, feeling the muscles working beneath his shirt.
A soft sound escapes you, and his restraint snaps. His hand slides down, fingertips pressing into your thigh as he shifts against you, lips trailing lower, over your throat, as if worshipping every inch of skin he can reach.
Just when you think he might push you further, he suddenly pulls back, breathing heavier than before. His eyes are darker now, the blue nearly completely hidden behind his blown pupils, but his lips curve with satisfaction at the way you lie beneath him, breathless.
"Not here," he murmurs, his voice rough. "I have far better places to ruin you."
Before you can respond, his arms slide beneath you, lifting you from the table. You barely have a moment to catch your breath before he carries you toward the grand staircase.
Walter’s grip is firm as he carries you. His pace is unhurried, teasing in itself, as if he’s savoring the anticipation.
The flickering candlelight barely reaches the long, shadowed hall he strides through, but you don’t need to see anything, you can feel the shift in the air, the quiet hush of the mansion pressing in around you. Then, with a slow creak, he pushes open a door, stepping inside.
The room is dark. Luxuriously so. Heavy velvet drapes block out the world beyond, and the vast bed made up with black silks dominates the space. Everything about it feels indulgent.
Walter doesn’t stop until your back meets the bed. He sets you down with deliberate care, but the moment his hands leave you, a shiver rolls through you at the loss of his touch.
He notices.
Well, of course he does, and a smirk finds its way to his face.
You raise yourself on your elbows, studying his features in the limited light. His face seems sharper now, the lines of his cheekbones and jawline more defined.
“Lie back,” he murmurs.
You hesitate for a moment before obeying, your pulse hammering in your throat, not wanting to provoke him. He watches, eyes dark with hunger.
Then he leans over you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other ghosts down your arm, fingertips barely skimming your skin.
“Keep your hands to yourself love,” he orders you and his free hand continues down the length of your torso.
It’s a test. One you already know you’re going to fail.
His lips trail over your jaw, nipping at the skin from time to time. His fingers trace the curve of your waist, his touch teasing and light, keeping you on edge. He takes his time, working his way down, his mouth grazing your throat, his hand slipping lower, and lower and lower.
You shift beneath him, body aching for more, for anything, for something to ground you. But when your fingers twitch, reaching for him, he’s faster.
His hand catches your wrists in an instant, pinning them above your head against the sheets.
Your breath hitches. You test his grip, but it’s useless. He doesn’t even strain to keep you still, it’s effortless, a quiet display of strength, of his unnatural power. The realisation sends a shudder through you, heat pooling deep in your stomach.
He chuckles, no doubt because it took you about two minutes before you failed your one simple instruction. “Impatient are we?”
He doesn’t give you a chance to answer. His lips return to your throat, trailing lower, slow and torturous. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your dress and move your flimsy underwear to the side. When he finally touches you where you need him the most, it’s agonizingly slow, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.
Walter watches, savoring the way you react to him.
“Let’s see how long you last, darling.”
Walter’s grip tightens just slightly around your wrists, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin. He doesn’t need to restrain you, you don't stand a chance against him, but he does it anyway. He loves the way your eyes beg for more, relishing in the way your pulse flutters against his lips when he places open-mouthed kisses to your neck.
His fingers work against you, and every touch sends sparks up your back. Every time you get too close to that release you've been craving, he pulls back to leave you aching for more.
When you finally whimper his name, "Walt please—" it happens.
His restraint snaps.
You barely have a moment to react before he releases your wrists, his hands shifting lower, gripping the delicate fabric of your dress.
And then—rip.
The sound of tearing fabric splits through the air.
Your breath catches as the ruined dress falls away in shreds, his hands trailing over the newly bared skin, entranced by the way the light reflects off you.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his gaze flickers back up, dark and ravenous, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“I suppose I should have warned you,” he says, voice dripping with amusement. “I never planned on being gentle.”
He pulls away, his gaze fixed on you like a predator watches its prey. His hands, still resting on your skin, now move to the buttons of his shirt.
One by one, they come undone.
He never breaks eye contact, and you feel every inch of his control and dominance; it's suffocating, as he slowly exposes more of his chest.
The moment the shirt hits the floor, his muscles seem to shift in the dim light, the strength beneath the surface no longer hidden.
He’s flawless.
His body is smooth, sculpted, you can’t look away. Every inch of him seems designed to make you need him more.
His fingers brush over your skin again, a fleeting touch, before he reaches for his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet room, the sound sharp, making your heart race with anticipation.
He pauses, just for a moment, like he’s savouring this, savouring the power he has over you, the way you’re looking up at him with wide eyes.
With a single fluid motion, the belt is gone. His pants follow quickly, sliding off his hips, revealing the tautness of his body. He steps out of them, his gaze still unwavering, watching you as he stands before you, tearing the boxers off his body, fully exposed to you now.
You swallow, mouth dry as you take him in. He doesn’t give you time to look away, stepping closer, his bare skin brushing against yours as he leans over you again. The heat of him is overwhelming, and you feel every inch of him pressing against you.
"You’re perfect," he whispers, low and full of hunger, just before his mouth claims yours again. His words linger in the air, the kiss hot, insistent, demanding.
The heat of him, the solid weight of his body pinning you down, only makes it worse, makes you needier. He knows it, too. The way he moves, the way he presses into you.
His hands skim over your skin, exploring, claiming, pressing into every inch of you as if he wants to memorise how you feel beneath him. He’s still taking his time, but there’s something different now. The patience and self-control he had before is slipping away with every gasp, every arch of your body against his.
You feel his breath at your throat before his lips follow, dragging over the sensitive skin there, his teeth grazing, threatening. He lingers at the pulse point, inhaling deeply, and for a moment, a moment that seems to drag on forever, he hesitates.
And then he bites.
A sharp gasp escapes you as his fangs sink into your neck, but the pain is fleeting, but it's drowned out almost instantly by a sudden, overwhelming rush of sensation. It crashes over you all at once, dizzying, intoxicating.
Your fingers dig into his arms, but you don’t push him away, you can’t. Even if you wanted to, there was no way you would be able to. If anything, you’re pulling him closer.
Walter groans against your skin, low and wrecked, his grip tightening on your waist. You can feel him shaking with the effort of holding back, of keeping himself from completely losing control.
He yanks you against him, pressing his thigh between yours, rolling his hips giving you some of that friction you'd been craving. His hands roam lower, gripping, kneading your body, setting fire to every inch of you he could reach.
When he finally pulls back to look at you, his lips are stained red, his pupils blown wide with hunger.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your kiss-swollen lips. His voice is rougher now, raw with something dark and unrestrained. He shifts between your legs, lining himself up.
"You ready?" He asks, holding eye contact.
You nod, and you suddenly feel just how much he’s been holding back. The stretch is inevitable, his size enough to make you hesitate, and for the first time tonight, Walter softens, just ever so slightly.
His hand moves to your jaw, making you look at him.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, his voice a deep, soothing command. “You can take it.”
The burn is real, but so is the pleasure that chases it, growing with every slow, deliberate thrust.
He watches you, drinking in every reaction, every sound. He waits just long enough for you to adjust before he moves—a slow, rolling motion that has you arching beneath him.
And then he really lets go.
His grip tightens, his thrusts grow deeper, harder, his breath coming ragged against your ear. He presses your wrists above your head, pinning you effortlessly, and when you try to again test his strength, trying to shift, to move, you find that you still can’t.
A wicked smirk crosses his lips.
“Trying to fight me now, darling?” His voice is pure sin, teasing, taunting. “You’ll lose.”
And you do.
Walter sets a brutal, unrelenting pace, overwhelming in the way he takes you, like he wants to consume you completely.
And the worst part? You want him to.
Pleasure coils tight in your stomach, building to something devastating, something inevitable. Walter can feel it—he knows. His fingers slip between your legs, teasing, pushing you closer, dragging you over the edge slowly.
And then, just when you think you can’t take any more, he presses his mouth to your neck again, tongue flicking over the wound he left earlier—
And bites.
The sensation sends you spiraling, the pleasure shattering through you in waves so intense it leaves you shaking, gasping.
Walter follows moments later, his grip tightening almost painfully as he groans into your skin, burying himself deep one final time before he stills, his entire body rigid with pleasure.
For a long moment, neither of you move. The only sound in the room is your heavy breathing, the occasional aftershock still pulsing through your limp body.
He doesn’t move away, doesn’t give you a chance to drift too far. Instead, his body shifts just enough to wrap around you and cage you in beneath him.
You’re spent, but he stays pressed against you, arm draped over your waist, anchoring you in place. He’s not holding you down anymore, not pinning you with that unrelenting strength, but you can still feel it. The power. The possession. The quiet, unspoken claim on you.
And for some reason, you love it.
“I told you,” he exhales softly, pressing a final kiss to the pulse point on your neck, right where he bit you.
“You were always going to lose.”
And he's right, neither of you are going anywhere.
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