Summary: Your boyfriend Stack refuses to turn you into a vampire, but that doesn’t mean you can’t nibble on him…
Pairing: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black fem!reader
Warnings: smutty smut, explicit language, teeth kink, riding, use of n-word, creampie
Word count: 762
Kinktober 2025 Masterlist
The movie played low on the TV, mostly background noise. You were curled against Stack, one leg draped over his, a ceramic bowl of fruit balanced precariously in your lap. The scent of it filled the air. Mango, pineapple, blueberries, and a little lime.
“You ever miss it?” you asked around a bite, licking the acidic juice from your thumb.
He tilted his head, eyes half-lidded. “Miss what, baby?”
“Food,” you clarified. “You know, chewing, tasting, swallowing, all the normal human stuff.”
Stack smiled, slow and lazy. “Nah, not really. I guess I got used to other…flavors.”
You laughed, giving him the sharpest side-eye. “What—O-negative and AB-positive?”
“Ain’t wrong though,” he said, leaning in close enough for you to feel the ghost of his breath on your neck. “You smell better than anything I ever ate when I was alive.”
You rolled your eyes, but your pulse betrayed you, thumping beneath your skin. He sensed it, of course, and his grin deepened, his fangs flashing for just a second.
“Watch out,” you murmured. “You lookin’ at me like I’m dinner.”
“Maybe dessert,” he said, voice dropping an octave. “But I promised I wouldn’t bite.”
You popped another piece of fruit into your mouth, chewed slowly, then said through a smirk, “What if I bite you instead?”
That pulled a rough laugh from his chest. “Yo ass play too damn much.”
“No,” you said, shifting to face him fully. “I think you like it when I do.”
He went very still. You could see the muscle in his jaw flex and the faint quiver at the corner of his mouth, the kind that meant he was this close to losing that distinguished vampire fortitude.
You leaned closer after placing the bowl on the table. His shining eyes followed every slow inch of your movement. When your mouth brushed the base of his throat, he let out a low, involuntary sound, half growl, half sigh.
“You really wanna test a nigga, huh?” he murmured.
“You said you won’t bite me,” you whispered back. “So what happens if I bite you?”
He laughed softly, though the sound came out a little shaky. “You think imma stop you?”
You caught his lower lip between your teeth, just hard enough to make him tense. The air between you changed; that faint, metallic note you’d come to recognize slid through the space.
“Damn,” he breathed, voice gone low. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
Oh, but you definitely did.
Your teeth grazed his skin again, this time at the curve where his neck met his shoulder. His hands tightened around your waist, just anchoring you there. He didn’t breathe for a long second.
“Stack?”
“I’m good,” he said quickly, voice shaking with restraint. “Just… keep doin’ whatever you’re doin’ while you sit on this dick.”
You giggled against his skin as you straddled him properly, the heat of his body contrasting with the unnatural cool that lingered beneath. It only took him three seconds to pull himself free from his sweatpants, already hard and aching. You hiked your skirt up and pushed your panties to the side before sinking on him. As always, the stretch stung so good.
Every small bite drew a different sound out of him—a sigh, a grunt, a low curse. Between your teeth scraping his skin and your pussy squeezing his dick he was closer and closer to losing all his composure. Still, he never once pulled away, just gripped your waist tighter.
“I like when you trust me,” you panted softly as you bounced a little harder.
“Ain’t all about trust,” he rasped, planting his feet against the rug as he bucked his hips, meeting your bounces. “It’s about how you make a nigga feel like I’m alive again.”
When your orgasm finally ripped through you, you sank your teeth into his shoulder, biting down harder than usual. He groaned deeply as he spilled inside you.
When you finally pulled back, there were teeth marks, deep and perfect against his skin.
“You’re bruisin’, baby,” you gasped curiously. Usually a mark or scratch never stayed longer than a few seconds before he healed supernaturally.
Stack brushed it with his fingertips, grinning like it didn’t even hurt. “Good. I want it to stay for a minute.”
“Why?”
“So I remember what it’s like to be human.”
The honesty in his voice made your throat tighten. You kissed his nose and then pressed a soft kiss over the bite. Already thinking of where you were going to bite him next.
Summary: Jason has pulled you from the pit, but the growing pains makes your rehabilitation harder than he thought. (Jason Todd x reader)
Word Count: 2.5K
Notes: I looked at my notes, and the fic I had originally written out for yesterday and was promising to write? Yeah. Turns out I reworked the concept so it was today's. Funny how that worked. I'm glad everyone's the last few days! It's made my heart warm knowing my angst is causing some real tear jerks.
Now, it has been a year. This one had a demand for part 2's at the time, but I hadn't been able to work it into my schedule. So, part two comes a year later, for the same angst challenge! One more fic in this will make it a finsihed storyline, but only if people actually want that of course.
Link to part one is here!
Warning for minor language use.
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It had been a week since he had dragged you home from the pit, still dripping acid green over the backseat of his car. He hadn't cared, not for the side eyes from Tim and his worried prattling, nor for the threats Thalia left him with, a sinister smile curling on er lips as she whispered the conditions of her request to him. The second the three of you prepared to land in the backyard of the manor, Tim sitting beside you in the helicopter and making sure the blanket on your shoulders stayed tightly wrapped, Jason knew he was in for it.
The tiny figure of Bruce, dressed in his regular business clothes instead of the cowl and mask, stood crossed armed on the helipad in the back. Alfred was next to him, the old man hurrying forward to help him out the second the blades whirred to a stop. "I'm fine. Help Tim." he had said, brushing off the fussing of the worried elder and making eye contact with his father.
He had seen Bruce angry before, seen him rage, but it was nothing like this. The way blue irises stared into his own, lit like hellfire and narrowed with surgical precision. The older man didn’t say anything, not even when Jason brushed past him, you and Tim in tow. He stood on the landing pad; arms crossed for a few moments before turning and following you all in.
When you had reached the living room, that's when hell broke loose.
"What the hell were you thinking!?" Bruce roared, lips pulled back almost animalistically, glaring at his two sons. Tim shrunk under the gaze, muttering to himself, while Jason stared past him to you. You were dressed in clothes from the league, loose fitting but better than nothing. Your hair had dried but your face was still sickly, hands clenching and twitching in small spasms as you looked around the room. Like you had never seen it before.
"I was doing what I had to do." Jason responded back curtly, stepping forward to go talk to you, but Bruce blocked his way, forcing him to take a step back. "We don't mess with this kind of thing. We don't go and ask them for help either." he snarled down at Jason, rage making his veins pop under his shirt collar.
"What was I supposed to do?" Jason snapped back. "I was brought back, and I'm fine now. I'm making the most of life-"
"You did not come back the same." Bruce hissed, jabbing a finger to his chest. "You really think they're going to come back the same way? They won't be. They never will be."
Bruce sighs for a moment before swallowing and stepping back, fists dropping back to his side. "Fine. Can't take this back now, just-" he grits out, barely able to comprehend the situation right now. "What strings did this come with? What did you do to make them agree to this?"
"Nothing." Jason shot back, making Tim's eyes flit to him worriedly, opening his mouth to say something but shutting it under Jason's glare.
"Well, that's a lie." pops a voice from the hallway, and Damian strolls in casually, ignoring the heat of the argument and the quiet calls from Alfred not to interfere. "Mother wouldn’t do something like this for free, she's surely asked you something. If she hasn't, she'll ask you soon."
Bruce's eyes flick back to Jason, and he feels the beginning of sweat o creep down the back of his neck.
"I hope you're happy with this." Bruce hisses, biting his lip as if to hold himself back from saying more. The older man turns on his heel, storming for the door. His fingers grip around it, white with stress, before he tosses his head over his shoulder. "Nothing good can come from the pit."
"Even me?" Jason shoots back, shoulders tensed and hackles raised. He knew that he shouldn’t be asking this right now, he was only in this argument to protect you, but there was a selfish part of him that had been waiting for this grievance to air for a long, long time. "I came back Jason Todd."
"Not my Jason." Bruce says, eyes narrowing. If the fire of the argument had dissipated a bit, Bruce might not have said anything. Yet in the heat of it, it had slipped forth. Unfiltered, raw, and honest. "My Jason died that day, and he never came back."
The door slammed shut behind him, making Jason flinch and scrunch up his nose. Alfred quietly slips out on the pretence of getting you tea and some new clothes, while Tim scurries off pale as a ghost. Shooing Damian out of the room with a growl, he shoved the demon spawn back into the hallway and locked him from the sitting room. Heavy boots thudded against carpet as he knelt in front of you, heart breaking softly when you jerk away from his touch at first. He grips your hand in his, bringing the back of it to his lips.
"It's me." he says softly, eyes searching yours with a quiet desperation. "You're safe now. No one's gonna hurt you."
You stare back at him, but if you’re actually there, Jason can't tell. Neon green wraps around the usual colour of your irises like smoky tendrils, ebbing and flowing. Yet what he can see there is the rage, the pain, and the confusion. Even as Alfred brings a spare change of clothes and some tea, worry set into Jason's bones for the first time.
What if he really couldn’t save you?
It was followed by sleepless nights for the both of you, and not in the way that Jason would have preferred. Screaming, you'd shoot up out of bed in the middle of the night, wailing like you'd been stabbed and limbs thrashing. After the first few times of the family bursting into his room in a panic, they had stopped, getting used to your nightly episodes. He moved the both of you into a guest wing to get some distance, hoping that the less people might calm your terrors.
Yet you continued to scream and slap at him, eyes rolled back, and throat rubbed raw until you spat blood in the morning, only to do it all again the next night. You had finally begun to speak again, but it was like you had used your voice for the first time. And when you did speak? that was what broke his heart the most.
"Get away from me," and "Don’t touch me," was spat from your lips like poison, "Fuck off," replacing your usually kind greeting and "I hate you" making his heart shatter every time he heard it. He had tried to be gentle, tried to make you food and nurse you to health like you were sick. He took all the time off patrol, pausing his activities with the Outlaws in favour of taking care of you. He had tried to be stern when kindness failed, keeping you on a schedule and trying to get you active. He had tried everything from helping you expel your anger and rage, letting you destroy things in a controlled environment like it was the purge, and when that didn’t work? He let you take it out on him too.
The weeks were slipping past and the worry was beginning to gnaw deeper at his bones, even the kind hands of Alfred now batted away by your slaps and vitriol. If he couldn’t get a handle on you, if he couldn’t bring you back...
No.
Jason shook his head, running his hands through his hair. he refused to think about that. He had gone above and beyond to bring you back; to keep the smile he loved so much by his side, that he couldn’t afford to lose you again. Yet as you slept beside him in the bed, the only time that you seemed to tolerate his presence instead of acting as a feral demon, Jason cried softly into his palms.
Maybe Bruce had been right. Maybe he had been too desperate, too eager to bring you back that he didn’t know what pain it caused on the other side. He had lived with himself as the new Jason for so long, that he hadn’t thought about how much it hurt to lose the old one, the people who mourned who he was. He sniffled and tried to steel his resolve, to see the you that you were now, like how he wanted people to see him, but he just couldn’t. Not when you looked so peaceful next to him, a picture image of how you always looked, like you'd awake any moment with a sleepy stretch and a sparkle in your eye. Except he knew better, and in an hour or two you'd wake like you'd been struck, screaming and clawing at your face and skin.
The promise he had made Thalia rattled around his head as he leant over to you, heart splitting in two. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart." he mumbled softly, an apology just loud enough for you and him. His lips pressed to your head and he half expected you to startle yourself awake and give him another scratched cheek to match his left side from two nights ago. Yet you just slept silently, even as he pulled back, not waking even as tears slipped onto your head from above you. "I don’t know how to fix this. I don't know how to fix you." he sobbed quietly. "I just need you to come back to me, please, let me help. I only have a week. Please work with me here."
For the first night, you didn't scream yourself awake, blissfully unaware as Jason bundled you into his arms and held you like a stuffed animal, arms wrapped around your back and face pressed to your hair. Weeks of sleepless nights culminating into one, the first time he had even been able to embrace you since you had returned from the pit, the first time his muscles had been able to relax under the weight of you pressed up against him.
He had hoped that the night had marked a change in the tide, but it was too little too late.
The screaming returned, the rage and the thrashing. The anger at anyone you came across, whether it be Dick, Alfred, or Steph. Bruce detest having you in the house and Jason felt shame bubble under his skin, keeping you away like you were some feral secret and not his partner. The week had sped past, and he sat quietly by the bed, fully dressed, while you slept.
"If in one month, their mind hasn't recovered from the pit, we take them back." Thalia had said cruelly, lips curved as she whispered in his ear. The wind of the mountaintop had whipped his hair and blurred his vision, but he had still heard her loud and clear. The words, her threat, made his feet cement themselves to the floor, only able to nod stiffly. Nodding with the foolish hope that he could bring you back, the false confidence that if it was him and you against the world, there was nothing that the two of you wouldn’t be able to overcome. "What will you do?" he had asked back roughly, voice hoarse as Thalia turned her back on him.
"Whatever we see fit. But we willclaim our property if the conditions haven’t been met."
Now he sat, head in his hands one month later, while the shell of his partner lay in the moonlight. Sleeping blissfully unaware as the window creaked open and shadows slipped inside, their work easy thanks to Jason momentarily disabling the Bat's security system.
"Don't feel so bad, Jason." Thalia had cooed, jabbing you with some dart to keep you sedated, while agents bound and wrapped you in your blanket. "Sometimes these things just happen. You gave it your best effort." she teased.
Jason stood, vision flashing red, but the metallic singing of a weapon filled the air, and a blade was at his throat before he could take another step. He sighed angrily through his nose but backed off. "That's better." she smiled, a hand of hers brushing your face as you were carried past. "They'll be much better off with us anyways." she says, tone dripping with false affection.
"What are you going to do?"
Thalia shrugs. "I'm sure we can find a use for a pit spawn. Not many of those exist." she grins, flashing him a smile. "Besides, you should be thankful. If the pit sickness got any worse, I'm not sure how you would have gone about with the disposing. At least we have the methods and the means."
Jason's heart drops to the floor and he steps forward towards you, ignoring the screeching of swords pointing his way. "Don't kill them. Please."
He gets to his knees, biting back his pride as he looks up at Thalia. She purrs low in her throat, eyes glimmering in a surprised satisfaction as she looks down at him. "Oh my~" she smiles, head tilting. "Since you asked so nicely, I'll keep it in mind." she says before waving him off. "Any last words you want to say?"
Jason bites back tears, refusing to cry in front of these, thugs, and drop further than he had already. "Just this," he says softly, standing and making his way to your bedside and pulling out a paper packet from the drawer. He chucks it at Thalia, and she pulls out the contents with fine fingers, moonlight catching the gems in the necklace as she rolled the chain around on her digits. He had gotten it for you, hoping it could be a gift when you woke from the effects of the pit, to show you that when you came back, he still loved you.
Now it was thrown back into the bag it came from and put in pocket, Thalia and you gone in the next blink. He wasn’t sure if you were ever going to get it, if he was ever going to see you again. He sniffled and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He might as well have killed you a second time, the thought that rolled around his head as he crawled back into bed, in your spot to feel the remnants of your warmth. You were here. You had come back from the doors of death and back into his bed and his arms, changed but here. As he curled into your lingering shape more, face buried to inhale the last traces of you, he wondered if Bruce was right. If he had lost the old version of you permanently and was chasing a far-off dream that was cruel to you and your quality of life, just for the sake of having you back.
He supposed none of it mattered now, moonlight reflecting shiny off his tears before they sunk into the pillow. Because he had you in his arms for those few brief seconds, and your pulse under his fingers to prove to him that you were more than just a memory, but not anymore.
