I don’t know but I feel like Comte and Faust are both very similar. They are both extremely emotionally constipated, to a degree that is actually painful to watch.. Also they have a similar energy - when they are playing their persona, Comte in high society and Faust as a priest, but then in private they are actually both little freaks.. 😅 Comte was originally the one who came up with the plan to build the door and revive talented people, but he let them make the final decision if they want to live on as a vampire, Faust does experiments and digs up dead people, but he does not go as far as to actually kill them for his research and most of his experiments he does on himself (as far as I know) he also watches over the children in his church like Comte watches over ‚his children‘ (but to honest it is quite weird to me when he refers to those grown as man as his children😂) Also both are sectretly little horny pervs! 🤣 Did I forget something? Anyway they are both pretty similar to me!
Hello! I saw prompts were open, and figured I'd shoot my shot, and if you don't get to it it's fine! I don't suppose you could do the prompt "late night trysts" with Ikevamp Faust? It can be fluff or spicy, up to you! Thank you so much :)
A/N: I haven't written Faust in a long time but I saw this and immediately knew what I wanted to do. Here you go @almond-lebkuchen 💜 Vielen Dank für die Anfrage!
Faust x Reader
Prompt: Late Night Trysts, an entry for my and @lorei-writes Sunshine and Starlight CC; I went with spicy for this one.
WC: 750
It’s not a night anyone should be out. The blackened clouds tremble as they hurl piercing drops of cold water down onto the earth, battering the streets and buildings. Thunder throttles the sky, shaking loose more rain than the town has seen in a decade. It sluices between the cobblestones and clings to rattled windowpanes. Lightning angrily cracks its blinding whip across the heavens as trees bend to the will of the furious winds. Your dark cloak billows around you, fluttering angrily against the storm as it wraps itself around your legs. A hard yank sets you free as you continue hurrying across the wet stones and up the wide, slippery steps of the church. After all, you agreed to meet him, come hell or high water.
Tonight both are here.
The inside of the church is mercifully dry and quiet, a sanctuary from the muffled howling of the summer storm outside. The gray stone walls and dark wooden pews are bathed in the pale light of hundreds of small candles, placed at various spots around the inside. Shadows flicker, stretching and shrinking with the dancing of the tiny flames. They crawl along the pews and glide down the aisles. You push back your hood and then with chilled fingers, slowly remove your rain-sodden cloak. Your eyes need a moment to adjust to the dim light and your body stills as you appreciate the warmth that is slowly combating the cold on your skin. Your cloak drips as you step cautiously away from the doorway and step further into the building, leaving a dark trail of drops in your wake.
“Johann?”
How small your voice seems in comparison to the orchestra of sound raging outside.
When he steps out of the shadows, you can’t help but gasp. He’s like an apparition come alive, a shadow that has willed itself into flesh and blood. His green eyes burn even now, brighter than the small army of flickering golden flames. Wordlessly, he reaches out, taking your heavy cloak and fastidiously hangs it across one of the pews. You watch his hands as they spread out the damp material, the long fingers as they smooth out every crease. Something hot ignites inside you at the memory of those fingertips trailing ribbons of heat across your bare body.
As if he is able to read your sinful thoughts, he looks up and smiles slowly. “Liebling,” he murmurs in a voice smooth as honeyed wine, “You must forgive me. Had I known the weather would be this…..vicious, I would not have asked you to meet me.”
There is no looking away from the gravity of his gaze, the celestial pull of those poison-green eyes. Your heart beats a wild rhythm in your chest, aching with longing, drumming with anticipation.
“I would brave any weather, Johann, if it meant I could see you–”
Those words thunder in his ears and send an instant blitz of hunger through his veins. You’re still talking even as he moves towards you, his priestly robes swaying with the motion. He draws you to him, finally, finally, and swallows your words, drinking them down like the sweetest ambrosia. His kiss is crushing, his mouth demanding. You welcome it, sliding your arms around his neck as you yield to him, your body curving into his, softening to his demands. You never expected to fall for this man, this complicated being with his brilliant mind and ravenous appetite.
Yet here you are, locked in his arms, trapped, stumbling your way across the aisle to one of the pews, your hand pushing through the dark sky of his hair. He sits, pulling you onto his lap, your skirt hiked up around your thighs.
His hands are possessed, roaming impatiently over every bit of exposed skin.
His hands are possessive, fingers digging into your flesh like a predator subduing its prey.
You revel in the power of his grip, the devotion of his tongue as it meets yours again and again. Outside, the night swells with the apex of the storm, the dark summer sky flashing pure white.
Inside the stone church, Faust growls your name....
....as you tug at his robes.
....as he pushes you onto the pew, skirt shoved out of the way, and sinks to his knees before you.
....as his sharp fangs bite into the soft skin of your thigh and his strong hands hold you in place.
....as the storm within suddenly howls, louder and more ferocious than anything happening outside.
