Jan 2, 2025
not to be a slut or anything but i want to be passed around by these two. either taking turns or both at the same time, whatever they want honestly.
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Australia
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Philippines
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
seen from Germany
seen from Singapore
seen from Singapore
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
not to be a slut or anything but i want to be passed around by these two. either taking turns or both at the same time, whatever they want honestly.
Y’all mfs watched Nosferatu and are like “Nicholas Hoult” is kinda fine. I HAVE BEEN SAYING THAT FOR YEARS. Did y’all see him in The Great????
𝕴 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖍𝖆𝖉
(Also desperate for smut about this man)
(Moved to: @ceme1eryg1rl)
The Freedom of Senselessness
Thomas Hutter x fem!vampire!Reader
A/n: Hello, hi. I saw Nosferatu on new years and yeah #needthat here’s some Thomas Hutter fan-fiction. Comms are closed, I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me.
Summary: Thomas is visited by the Count’s servant in the middle of the night.
Contains: Use of fem pronouns, reader is wearing a dress, Thomas lowkey cheating on Ellen like emotionally (sorry not sorry), nightmares, reader bites Thomas, blood, Thomas is scared out of his mind of the count, reader is depressed as shit about being a vampire and alludes to killing herself for like half a second, reader blames herself for her misfortunes, sub behavior from Thomas because I’m a self indulgent FREAK. Let me know if I missed anything
Thomas woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air as his hands balled into fists in the sheets. He could hear his own heart pounding in his ears and he clenched at his heart, fingers brushing over the puncture wounds in his chest.
What was happening to him?
He felt like he was living in a constant nightmare, constantly on edge, constantly terrified.
He shouldn’t have ever agreed to come here. But, it was all for her. For Ellen.
His fingers shakily brushed over the locket she’d given him before he left and he let out a soft sigh.
“You’re unwell.” A voice spoke up from the darkness and he jolted up with a gasp. Standing a few feet away from his bed was the Count’s servant whom he’d met the day he arrived at this god forsaken place. The woman was far less intimidating than her master, her presence bringing a sort of comfort to Thomas.
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She said, stepping closer to him, into the moonlight that streamed into the room through a large window.
“How long have you been here?” Thomas asked breathlessly.
“I’ve just come in.” Y/n replied. Thomas questioned to himself for a moment if that was true. He hadn’t heard her enter the room. “I heard you from my bedroom and you sounded distressed. I thought I’d come check on you.” She looked him over and Thomas found himself shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. “You’re having nightmares.” She stated.
“I—“ Thomas nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am…. How did you….?”
“All of our guests tend to have similar troubles.” She says. “Nightmares, restlessness, paranoia. A general unease.”
Thomas didn’t reply for a moment. His thoughts were jumbled and frantic, and he had to collect himself before he could speak again.
“I need to leave this place.” He finally said. “As soon as possible.” He realized how rude he must’ve sounded and quickly added on. “My wife, I haven’t been able to write to her. She must be worried for me.”
Y/n seemed to take in his words, eyes drifting to the floor before going back to him. “Leave when the sun rises.” She said. “That would be best.”
Thomas’ thoughts were still in a frenzy. But, he knew he had to tell this woman about his suspicions regarding her master. “Y/n,” He began. “You must forgive me for…. How manic I must seem. But,” He slowly got out of bed and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “From the moment I arrived here, your employer has…. Deeply unsettled me. He’s appeared in every one of my dreams, terrorizing me, and…. I know it sounds quite fantastical. But, I think he may be….” Thomas couldn’t even bring himself to say it. “He may be a-“
“Vampire.” Y/n finished, voice coming out almost in a whisper.
Thomas’ eyes widened. “I…. Yes.” He furrowed his brows. “You knew?”
“I’ve known for a long time.” She confirmed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Thomas’ brows creased and he opened his mouth to ask another question before Y/n began to explain. “I was young and foolish when I agreed to work for him. He’d promised me so much. Power, protection, acceptance. I signed my life away to him. I did all of his bidding, waited on him hand and foot, anything, everything he asked. I wish to god I’d never agreed to it all, it became unbearable. One day, I tried to leave, to run away and….” She shook her head, chest rising and falling slowly.
“And….?” Thomas urged her on, taking a step closer to her.
“It upset him. Infuriated him. He cursed me for it.” She continued.
“Cursed you?”
“To be the same monster that he is. To never step into the sun again, to starve for a hunger that I cannot bring myself to satiate.” Her voice shook with each word that she uttered.
Thomas was admittedly a bit frightened at that. The same monster that he is. A vampire. But, there was something else that stirred in him. Part of it was sympathy, a voice inside of his mind telling him to comfort her. But, another part of it was a strange intrigue, an allure despite it all. Before he could think not to, he was sitting next to her in the bed.
“I’m sorry.” He said.
“No, it’s my own fault.” Y/n sighed. “If I only hadn’t been so foolish, things might’ve gone differently.”
“It’s still a fate that you don’t deserve”. Thomas assured her, reaching for her hand before he thought better of it and pulled back.
“It’s a fate that I don’t think I can endure for much longer.” She said softly. “Whenever I sleep, I have nightmares of becoming like him. My flesh rots away. My body dies, but my mind ceases to, and I rip into the flesh of innocent people like an animal.”
Thomas frowned. He couldn’t picture her like that, like him. “They’re only dreams.”
“They’re my future.” Her voice was unstable now, her eyes watery.
Thomas’ fingers twitched at his sides, itching to soothe her. But, he only offered a few soft reassuring words as the woman collected herself.
She took a deep breath and wiped at the corners of her eyes. “Forgive me. I’ve never told another soul about all of this…. Misfortune. I didn’t know I’d become so hysterical speaking about it.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
Y/n sighed softly. “Your kindness is admirable. Most men would drive a stake through my heart if they were given the chance.”
“I’d never do that to you.” Thomas said softly. “Er— I’d never do that to anyone, I mean.” He tried quickly to change the subject. “I…. I think the Count has been…. Biting me.” When Y/n didn’t immediately reply, he began to unbutton his shirt, showing her the punctures in his chest. She stared for a moment before she silently reached out and brushed her fingers over the wounds. Thomas hoped to god that she didn’t notice the shiver that ran down his spine in response to her touch.
“Yes. He used to do the same to me.” She spoke softly and her gaze never left his chest, almost as if she were in a daze.
“….Y/n?”
She blinked a few times before exhaling softly. She took her hand away from his chest. “I’m so sorry, I…. Lost myself for a moment.” Y/n said as she brought her gaze back up to meet his.
“It’s alright. It’s in your nature.” Thomas said, buttoning his shirt back up. “Um, your appetite for blood, I mean.”
“I wish it weren’t.” She sighed. “It makes me feel awful…. Disgusting-“
“You aren’t.” He interrupts. “Not a monster, not disgusting. You’re….” He trailed off. Y/n waited for him to continue and when he didn’t, she spoke again.
“I just can’t…. I have to force myself to do it, and even then the guilt of it all makes me sick.”
Thomas was quiet for a moment. The words he wanted to say seemed to get stuck in his throat, slowly edging to the tip of his tongue until he mustered up the courage to speak. “Is there anyway that I can help?”
That seemed to stun Y/n for a moment. Thomas knew what he was implying with his words and she seemed to know too. And, though it was a foolish thing to hope for, he wanted her to accept his offer.
“Help?” She repeated.
“Yes,” Thomas replied a bit too quickly. “Anything that I can do, anything.”
Y/n was silent for another moment, eyes dropping to his throat before snapping back to meet his unwavering gaze. “No.” She said softly.
A pang of disappointment hit Thomas. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” He said sincerely, deciding to leave out the fact that he wouldn’t mind her hurting him if it meant he could help her. “And I know you need this.” He added.
He heard her breath quiver as she sighed. “I can’t.”
Thomas thought carefully about his next words. Every logical part of him was telling him to hold his tongue. But, in the end, the irrational side of him let the words spill from his lips. “Would you reconsider if I told you I wanted you to?”
Y/n didn’t say anything. She was silent for what felt like an eternity, her gaze had shifted to her hands that nervously fidgeted in her lap. The silence lingered long enough for Thomas to begin regretting his words. He thought himself a fool for being so bold. He was about to apologize when Y/n finally spoke up.
“On your neck?” She asked in almost a whisper as if she were afraid someone would hear.
Thomas faltered for a moment before replying. “Anywhere you’d like.”
She took a deep breath before turning to him, her gaze searching for any signs of insincerity. Thomas held her gaze, anticipating her next move.
“I’ll hurt you.” She told him.
“I’ll heal.” He replied. “You need this.”
She stared for another moment, gaze slowly shifting to something more vulnerable. And finally, she moved closer. She was slow and cautious with her movements; whether the reason was for fear of hurting him or fear that he’d hurt her, Thomas wasn’t sure. One of her hands came up to the back of his neck, fingers gently brushing against Thomas’ nape. His eyes fluttered shut briefly and his head tilted back. Y/n leaned in and Thomas felt her cold breath hit his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. The moment lingered before Y/n spoke.
“Make me stop if I hurt you.” She said softly.
“Yes.” Thomas replied, voice barely above a whisper.
She finally leaned in and placed her mouth on his neck, teeth grazing against his throat before sinking into the side of his neck. The first thing he noticed was how cold the feeling was, like ice piercing into his skin and flowing through his entire body. His breath hitched, another shiver ran down his spine. His hands almost instinctively moved to pull her closer, body aching for her warmth (or maybe just for her).
Next, the pain hit him, stinging pain in his neck that made him whimper and gasp, hands now balling into her dress to anchor himself.
And finally, he felt wonderfully numb. Thomas sighed softly, the sound coming out more like a moan when it fell from his lips. His grip on her dress loosened and moved to gently hold her waist, head leaning back as his eyes became half lidded. His jaw was slack, soft pants spilling out of his mouth along with occasional mutterings.
“Y-you need this—“ He’d say, words slurring together as if he were drunk off of the sensation of being bitten. “Need this….” He repeated and it was unclear to the both of you if he was referring to you again or to himself. “Take it…. From me- god….” He seemed to be completely blissed out, all sense and shame no longer concerning him.
He almost didn’t even realize when Y/n had pulled away. He blinked a few times, breath coming in and out quickly. He gazed at her and her blood stained lips and only then seemed to realize how undignified he’d been. His cheeks flushed and he brought a hand up to his neck, feeling the punctures her teeth had left. He wondered if they’d turn into scars. Parts of this night that would stay with him forever.
“I….” Y/n broke the silence. “Hope I didn’t take this too far.” She stood from her spot on the bed, brushing her thumb over her lips to wipe away the blood that remained there.
“Er, no. No, of course not.” Thomas stammered.
She nodded. “Good.” Another silence fell over them. The tension between the two was palpable and hard to ignore. Perhaps Y/n realized this and decided to end things right then. “…. Well, if our…. Transaction is complete, then I should be going. It’ll be daylight soon.”
He wanted to ask her to stay. He felt safer with her in this place. But, another part of him, perhaps the more sensible part, told him that it wasn’t a good idea. He’d just allowed her bite and drink from him without needing any persuasion. He was the one to suggest it, actually. He was becoming irrational around her, indulging in the thoughts in his mind that he’d normally never even dare to speak aloud. Asking her to stay with him was another one of those thoughts.
So, he swallowed down his words and nodded his head. “Yes. I’ll….” He almost told her he’d see her in the morning. But, then he remembered her suggestion to leave the castle when the sun was risen. A hopeful part of him thought that maybe she’d leave with him. He’d bring her back to Wisborg where she could live a normal life, one that she deserved. But, the rational part of him knew that if she was able to leave, she would’ve done so long ago.
So, he uttered what would most likely be his last words to her. “Goodbye.”
Y/n paused before repeating. “Goodbye.” She walked toward the door and turned back to him to say one last thing before leaving him on his own.
“Thank you.”
♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ Request list!
Yellowjackets!
Lottie Matthews ꩜ Misty Quigley ꩜ Akilah
The 100!
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What I’ll write: x readers, smut, fluff, angst, Poly x readers, AU x readers
!!WARNING!!: you can ask for anything but I won’t write everything, don’t feel judged if I don’t!
Monster Among Men
You pray for salvation—only to awaken something far darker. Now, as his love turns to obsession and the shadows whisper your name, you must ask yourself, which fate is worse?
tags: smutty, rated 18+ extreme non-consensual themes, dark!thomas hutter, manipulation, breeding kink, possessive thomas, nosferatu (2024)
word count: 7,700+
this was self indulgent. i love this man so much and there was an extreme drought in fics about him! i might consider writing one or a few more fics if u guys are up for sending dark thomas requests! :)
Fate had a strange way of revealing itself—not in grand gestures, but in the quiet offer of a warm hand on a rain-swept night. It was not the storm that chilled you then, but the thought of how easily a single moment could change the course of a life. He was, in every sense, the love of your life, and you could swear that love had taken root the very moment your eyes first met. It had been a night of relentless storm, the heavens split open with rain, and you, shivering beneath the narrow shelter of an alley’s eaves, had all but resigned yourself to the cold.
Then came him. A man of uncommon kindness, he had not hesitated—upon seeing your drenched and trembling form—to offer you refuge. With a voice steady yet gentle, he beckoned you inside, the flickering lantern in his hand casting golden light against the darkness. His was a heart unburdened by hesitation, unclouded by selfishness. And in that moment, as the thunder roared beyond the walls that now sheltered you both, you knew your fate had been sealed… or so you thought.
He had not only offered shelter and a warm bed, but also a drink that thawed the chill of your bones and a change of clothes to rid you of the soaked, clinging fabric. His kindness extended beyond what you’d expected from a stranger. His voice, like a balm, whispered, “You seem to have lost your way in the rain, Madam. Might I offer my assistance to see you safely home come morning?”
From that moment on, you found yourself drawn to the man in ways that you couldn’t really describe why. It wasn’t just his kindness or the warmth of his voice. There was a connection between it that felt like it was reaching deeper, as though his presence had quietly begun to fill the spaces you hadn’t realized were empty.
Yet, as the first light of dawn crept through the window, the reality of the morning settled upon you. The storm had passed, and with it, the fleeting shelter of the night. It was time to return home.
But before you could gather your things, Thomas greeted you once more with a soft, warm smile. His voice was gentle, almost a whisper, as he spoke, "Would you care for something to eat before you head out?"
You glanced down at the modest table a few meters from you, where there prepared some simple provisions from the man. It included bread, fresh fruit, and a pot of warm tea—nothing extravagant, but enough to make you grateful. "I’m sorry it’s nothing grand," he continued, his eyes meeting yours with a glint of sincerity, "but I couldn’t bear the thought of a beautiful woman leaving without something to sustain her."
His words, though simple, sent a flush to your cheeks, his compliment lingering in the quiet space between you.
"I...I also failed to introduce myself properly," he added with a slight chuckle, as if embarrassed by his own forgetfulness. "Where are my manners? My name is Thomas…"
Thomas seemed to choke on his words at first, as if hesitant to let them pass his lips. But after a brief pause, he finally gathered his courage and, in a voice soft yet sincere, murmured, “Pray, allow me the courtesy of knowing your name?”
You gave a smile, appreciating the quiet efforts the young man had made throughout the night and up until this present moment. His kindness, gentle yet unwavering, spoke volumes—he surely knew how to treat a woman, or perhaps it was simply the way he treated every guest. You didn't want to assume anything more, as perhaps his mother had merely raised a kind gentleman who extended his hospitality to all. Still, his attentiveness lingered with you, and you couldn't help but feel a certain warmth in your chest as you spoke your name and offered your thanks.
The day wore on, and soon he helped you return home. He didn't offer to walk you the entire way, yet there was a certain gravity to his steps, as if he could sense the uncertainty in your heart. “I’ll accompany you to the edge of the town,”he’d said softly, his words almost as if he were offering more than a simple escort—he was providing the comfort of knowing someone cared. His pace was measured, slow, as though mindful of the rough cobblestones beneath your feet and the distance between the world you both occupied. When you reached the edge of town, the mist from the river lingering in the air, he nodded politely, his eyes briefly meeting yours with something that resembled understanding.
"Take care of yourself, Madam," he had said, his voice quiet yet sure, before retreating back into the shadows of the city.
But that would not be the last you would see of his presence.
From that moment on, you found yourself wandering the old, dim-lit streets more frequently, seeking out the winding alleys, the familiar corners where you might catch another glimpse of him. Perhaps it was the pull of hope, or maybe the loneliness that clung to you like the mist, but you found yourself more drawn to the quiet places of the city. You didn’t have much else—only the promise of those stolen moments with him.
It wasn’t a conscious decision to look for him, but more of an instinct, a silent hope that fate would nudge you together once more.
As the days passed, the rhythm of your life returned to its usual pace—slow, almost mechanical. The streets were familiar, yet they seemed to close in on you more each day, as if the world itself had grown narrower with time. There was a quiet repetition to your life now, but the emptiness lingered like the shadows in the alleys you walked. It was in these moments, when the bustling sounds of the town became distant, that your thoughts returned to the past—back to the orphanage, to those early years when you were sheltered from the harshness of the world.
No one ever had to tell you what to do there. You had learned to survive on your own, to blend into ordinary life, to anticipate needs and stay out of the way. You often felt as though you were one step behind, always catching up with the others who seemed so sure of themselves, their places in the world. There was a hint of envy in you towards those people.
The orphanage had been a place of warmth in its own way, but it was a transient warmth—flickering, never stable. It was home only because it had to be. Yet now, as you stand and are trying to face the reality of adulthood, the world outside has revealed itself to be much larger, and far less forgiving. The nonexistent structure became worse as no guiding hand to tell you where to go or what to do, it felt like your world came crashing down. You were left with only your own instincts, and sometimes, that felt like too little.
You had walked these streets aimlessly more than once, feeling the weight of uncertainty on your shoulders. It wasn’t a loneliness that could be fixed by simple companionship, but a deeper sense of being untethered. The world seemed vast, stretching endlessly, and yet you had no anchor.
But in the back of your mind, there was one place you kept returning to—the memory of that night with Thomas. His kindness had been a rare warmth, and in a world where you had learned to keep your distance from others or know that everything might be temporary, it had stirred something in you. Something you couldn’t quite explain.
You had never been one to believe in fate or signs, but there was something about him—his demure courteousness, his gentle ways of speaking—that made you wonder if perhaps, for the first time, someone truly saw you. Not as a stranger, visitor, or even as someone passing through, but as someone of their time worth knowing.
And so, each time you walked through the streets now, you found yourself hoping, almost unconsciously, for another encounter with him. Obviously this feeling was something new and so you didn’t know what it meant yet or how to navigate through these emotions, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this, whatever it was, was somehow different. And you were liking that feeling for whatever reason it why.
Quick visits to the market or running simple errands were no longer tiresome tasks that you didn’t care of. They had become opportunities—small, fleeting chances for fate to intervene, for your paths to cross again. You found yourself wandering the aisles with a quiet hope, praying, almost, that the universe might favor you today, that you might once again find yourself near him, the man with the striking blue eyes.
There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled at your heart whenever you thought of him. The brief exchange that night in the storm had been just that—a fleeting moment. Yet, it had sparked something deeper within you, something that hadn’t been satisfied by the mundane interactions of your daily life. You wanted to know more about him, beyond the kindness he had shown you that rainy night. What did he do with his days? What brought him joy? What dreams did he hold, if any?
Days may pass yet you found yourself, once again, between the swarming townspeople who didn’t pay attention to anything but their own business. Meanwhile for you, it involved pretending to be focused on your task while your mind wandered, imagining the sound of his voice, wondering if you would ever have the chance to speak with him again.
It was a prayer whispered into the busy world, a wish that echoed through the crowds.
And, perhaps, the heavens had finally listened.
A few meters away, you spotted him—Thomas, unmistakable in his simple attire, standing in conversation with a man you did not recognize. The stranger was dressed far more opulently than Thomas—his clothes rich, his appearance polished with a wealth that was immediately apparent. He had a mustache, and his curly hazel locks framed his face with a certain confidence that only money seemed to afford.
You stood there, heart thudding in your chest, waiting, hoping that Thomas would look your way. You didn’t want to be too forward, but a part of you yearned for him to notice you, to recognize you, to remember that night in the rain. You lingered longer than you should have, pretending to be absorbed in your shopping as your eyes never left him.
The minutes stretched on, time slowing as you stood in that sea of people. Your breath caught in your throat each time he turned his head in your direction, only to look past you. He seemed distracted by the conversation, the man beside him far more commanding of his attention. You felt an odd sensation of longing mixed with a pinch of frustration, as if your presence wasn’t enough to pull him away from the company of this wealthy stranger.
It was only when your patience had nearly run out that you saw his eyes finally catch yours. For a moment, he seemed baffled upon seeing the figure in front of him, as though he couldn’t quite place your identity but seemed familiar with it. His eyebrows furrowed.
It was as if he were trying to decide if you were someone he knew—or if, perhaps, you were simply another figure in the crowd. A small thrill of anticipation ran through you as his gaze lingered a moment longer, and then, almost imperceptibly, his lips parted, as though he were about to speak your name but only molded into a small smile.
As Thomas’s eyes met yours, a strange current seemed to pass between you. The moment stretched longer than it should have, the crowded market around you fading into the background. He remained, his expression thoughtful, but there was no mistaking the spark of recognition that flickered in his eyes.
The rich man beside him continued speaking, but his words seemed distant now, drowned out by the unspoken tension between you and Thomas. The stranger, sensing something in the air, took a step back, as if he had no place in this growing connection. It was as though the space around you and Thomas had become an intimate world of its own.
You didn’t move. You stood your ground, but a strange anticipation coiled inside you, as if you were waiting for something to unfold. And then, as if he could no longer stay apart from you, Thomas took deliberate steps forward, his gaze never wavering from yours.
“You know,” he said, his voice low, almost private, “I must admit, I did not expect to see you again so soon. But I find myself quite pleased by the coincidence.”
Your lips curved slightly, a smile playing at the edges of your mouth as you responded, “Strange how the world seems to align when least expected.”
Thomas’s smile grew, but it was more than just polite. You felt his expressions were genuine as though he might also have been thinking of you. “Indeed. And I must confess,” he said, his voice growing quieter, “I’ve found it difficult to focus on anything else since that night. It’s not every day that one meets someone with such... presence.”
Your breath caught at his words, and a warm flush spread through you. His words were straightforward and was unlike what you were accustomed to. But you couldn’t deny that you were even the least bit enjoying it as if the weight of his words matched the gravity of the connection you both started to share.
For a moment, there was a pause between you two as your eyes simply looked at each other. His eyes tracing your face as if committing every detail to memory. His hands awkward at his sides as though he were gathering the courage to say something more.
“I’m not one for... grand gestures,” he continued, his tone still warm but now with a hint of earnestness, “but I would be honored, if you would allow me, to take you to a place where the noise of the world does not drown out the simplicity of two people’s conversation.”
The invitation hung in the air between you, his words heavy with meaning. He was no longer just offering you a dinner; he was offering you an escape—an invitation into a quieter, more intimate world, one where only the two of you existed for a while.
“You needn’t say yes right away,” he added softly, almost as an afterthought, as though he didn’t want to pressure you.
His sincerity was undeniable and charming. You could see it in the way he held himself, how his posture seemed to lean toward you, as though everything in him was drawn to you without hesitation.
You were no longer just an image to him—he was seeing you in this moment, this very real moment, and the warmth between you was undeniable.
And so, the days passed in a delicate dance of stolen moments and whispered words, the connection between you deepening with each encounter. It seemed as though fate had woven a perfect tapestry for the two of you—one of shared glances, tender conversations, and the slow, inevitable pull toward each other. The world outside felt distant, irrelevant, as you found comfort in his presence.
You could almost believe that the rest was history—that the love you had found was destined, unshakeable, eternal. But reality has a way of revealing itself when least expected. Just as the two of you neared the edge of something more—a promise of forever—the world outside your little bubble began to break through, and the weight of the unspoken truths could no longer be ignored.
It was then that you understood—love, no matter how deeply it had taken root, was never quite as simple as it seemed.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆｡ﾟ☆: ♱*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺
The candlelight swayed as though it, too, felt the weight of the silence. The air in the room was thick with unspoken thoughts, the walls seeming to feel like they are closing or locking you in with every passing second. It was a silence that made your body quiver while your heart had thumped faster in your chest. The silence between you two that signaled something far darker than mere disagreement.
The evening in the town always seemed long, but tonight it felt dragged-out as with it, the shadows had deepened into dark pools at the corners of the room. The once tender warmth between you and Thomas had begun to feel like something colder, more dangerous. There was no longer the soft caress of his presence—no longer the calm of his hand reaching out to yours. The man standing before you now was a stranger, a creature of need, of desire, his once-gentle tone now edged with impatience.
“You speak of time,” Thomas said, his voice low, measured—almost like a growl. “You think that choice is a luxury, don’t you? As if we can buy or have all the time in the world. But time… time is fleeting. And you squander it, as if it will wait for us.” His gaze narrowed, his lips curling in a way that sent a chill down your spine.
You could feel the sting through his words that fell out of his mouth, all the while darkness from outside inching over more into the room like a fog. He took a step toward you, slow, deliberate, as though the very air was thick with the tension between you. The once warm, kind man was slipping away, replaced by something more urgent, something almost desperate.
“Why do you fear it so?” His words were almost a whisper now, though they hit you harder than any shout.
“Why do you fear the future we could have? The family we could build? Why do you fear something so... so natural?” He moved another step closer, his gaze locking with yours, unyielding, unblinking. “Is it the money that binds you? The lack of it, the chains of our circumstances? Or is it that you fear me? Fear what I could become? What we could become?”
You recoiled, not from him, but from the weight of his questions. You had known this moment would come. You had known it was inevitable—there could be no peace between two souls that might be different, so driven by separate desires.
“I fear nothing of you, Thomas,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I fear us. I fear the madness of rushing into things before the time is right. I fear bringing a child into a world we can’t even provide for. What would we offer them?” Your words trembled in the air, hanging between you like fragile glass. “What will we give them when we have so little?”
He moved again, his presence now engulfing you, suffocating the space between you. “We have everything,” he spat, his voice now sharper, more biting.
He adds, “We have the strength to build. The love to nurture. I have the strength to provide. To protect. And yet you look at me as though I were weak—as though my love, my intentions, are not enough for you. You will wait forever for the perfect moment. But there is no perfect moment. There is only now.”
He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, or that it was maybe the tension between the two of you that was obviously seen also in his posture with raw hunger in his eyes. “I will not wait,” he said, his words like a command. “I will not stand idle while time slips through my fingers. I will not be a man who regrets. You will be mine, and we will have a future. Even if I must drag you there.”
Your heart hammered in your chest, not from love but from a deep, creeping fear that now gripped you. You had not expected this side of him. Not like this.
“Thomas, this is madness,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of his presence. “We are not ready. Do you not see how foolish it is? How dangerous? I—”
“Dangerous?” His laugh was grating and dark. It was not a laugh based on amusement, but of something more terrible, something lowly foreshadowing like an omen. “You call love dangerous? You call life dangerous? I am offering you everything, and you call it madness? You wish to deny it all? You wish to deny me?”
He stepped closer again, until there was barely any space between you, his breath warm on your skin, the weight of his presence unbearable.
“You will have a child, and you will have it now or anytime soon… with me. I will not be refused,” he hissed, his tone low and chilling. “You will see, in time, how right I am. You will understand.”
A shudder ran all over and down to your body, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his words— more so threats— from the promise that lingered in the air between you. It was no longer a matter of love. It was a matter of control.
At first, rather the earliest of times that you were bonding with Thomas, seemed nothing wrong.
You convinced yourself that the house was warm, the bed was soft, and Thomas was well, you could say… attentive. Protective. Maybe too much so. But after everything, you tried to ease your thoughts and assure it by thinking it was just his way of caring. He provided for you, ensured you wanted for nothing.
You could say that it wasn’t really a prison if the doors were open, if the windows weren’t locked. It wasn’t control if he only wanted to keep you safe. Right?
But then, little by little things began to shift. The small, obvious details that eventually build up into something bigger than it was, or should be. Truthfully, time really has its way of revealing the truth.
The evident shift with his actions started with the way his grip lingered too long around your wrists. The fingers of his hand tightening just enough to remind you who had more of the strength between the two of you. Who had more power. The way his gaze, once filled with a captivating tone of longing, became something else—darker, heavier, like shackles you could not see but could feel tightening around your throat, wrists, and even ankles.
And don’t get started about the nights. The nights were the worst.
There were moments, just before sleep, when you felt his breath against your skin. But it was not with a hint of candied affection, rather it was like a reminder of possession. Moments when you awoke to find him watching you, unmoving. His eyes creepily gleaming under the dim candlelight of your shared room, his expression hard to decipher what might be filling in his thoughts.
And then came the threats amongst other nights. The first threat of the many more you didn’t know were coming.
Both of you were laying in bed. The quietness of the room contrasted to the endless thoughts that were spinning negatively around your mind. You tried to force yourself into complacency in the situation right now, acknowledging that making a scene wouldn’t help if you didn’t have any concrete plans. Yet as if Thomas had the power to read your thoughts, he simply interjects while you were close to zoning out,
"If you ever think about leaving this place… our place," he murmured. You could feel the mattress of the bed sink with his weight shifting, with him moving from laying on his back to the side facing where you slept. A finger of his trailed cooly and idly along your arm, "Just know… I would find you. No matter where you ran."
"Your existence belongs to me even if we may have not wed yet." The tone of his voice was soft past his lips but his words stung like venom. He says such phrases like he was cursing upon you,. "Where would you go? There is nothing for you beyond these walls—only cold, only hunger, only ruin."
"Why would you even say something like that, my love?" you asked, but in a tone that didn’t intend on fighting back. Your response leaned more towards trying to lighten up the atmosphere and tension. As if the very notion was absurd. As if your hands weren’t trembling nor as if you sucked in to bite down on the insides of your cheek to prevent your jaw from showing evident signs of agitation.
Thomas exhaled. The sound of it being like it was half amusement and half of whatever something else. But you assumed it was cold. His head tilted, eyes drinking you in with the slow indulgence of a predator toying with its prey.
"Do not insult me with such fragile deceptions, my dove,” he whispered. His fingers escalated past the skin of your arm and ghosted along your jaw, a caress at war with the iron beneath his touch. "I have seen the way your gaze lingers at the door, the windows. I know the weight of a mind that plots in secret. A bird does not glance at the sky unless it yearns to fly."
With the same hand toying around your skin, his thumb pressed down onto one side of your cheek while the other fingers on another side. It was just enough to remind you of his strength, that he could break you if he wished. Like a porcelain doll in the hands of something ancient and unmerciful.
"You think yourself devious, but your thoughts are glass to me. Every flicker of hesitation, every pause before you speak… I can see them all…"
It was honestly talented of him to have his words remain subtle, yet his intentions behind each word were far more sinister.. "And yet, you persist in this little charade."
"Tell me, dearest… do you truly believe you can outwit me?" Again, his voice, low and chilling that was filled with ridicule towards you.
You froze where you lay on your side of the bed. The weight of his words sank into your bones. Even with barely any hint of light in the dim room, his indistinct gaze bore into your skin, reading every flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. His fingers were lingering near your throat, playing with both your own body and thoughts almost as if he could feel your pulse rapidly increasing with each beat.
You could not tear your gaze away from his, though every part of you screamed to look away. This was a small yet defining moment where you almost and completely realized that he had you. And you knew it.
"No," you whispered, voice trembling, barely audible in the suffocating silence that stretched between you. The words felt foreign on your tongue, soaked with fear and submission. "I... I would never think or do such a thing like that."
You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the chill of the air in the room seep past your body and straight into your very soul. There was no escape.
You tugged on the edge of the blankets tightly up and around your body as if to shield yourself from the fictitious dark energy that loomed in the room. Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it felt restless. Your dreams for that night were wildly taken over by some haunting nightmares. It was filled with wickedness and gloom that flashed within the corners of your mind waiting to terrify you like a figure creeping from behind.
Eventually the sun had to finally rise again and you woke up to the sound of the faint ticking of the clock, along with the light peeking through the small cracks in the curtains. You forced yourself from the bed, body feeling heavy alongside your very soul unwilling to rise. You went through the motions. You prepared food. You cleaned. You tried to speak to Thomas as if nothing had changed, as if his cruel words hadn’t dug into your mind and left their mark there, invisible to anyone but you.
You were still trapped within these walls. Wrapped around his grasp. And you wore a mask portraying an illusion of nonchalance, just to survive another day. But it honestly didn’t fool anyone other than yourself
By the time the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, a crushing weight settled upon your chest. Thomas was preparing to leave, his work for tonight had him assigned for the night shift. His presence began to fade from the house, but your heart ached with the hollowness of your own captivity.
Once he had gone, you found yourself retreating into the room that you shared with him, the one where you just had an argument from the night before. You closed the door behind to seal yourself away from the world. The emptiness echoed through the walls as the silence deafening, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness inside of you. It felt like your insides had twisted and left a bad feeling in your gut, a constant reminder that you were apparently being locked in a cage and could not escape.
Your body fell to your knees by the side of the bed. Your hands clutched the edge of the sheets, the fabric crumpled under your fist. Your breath hitched as you fought a sob clawing its way from your throat. You held it back for a moment, just long enough to whisper, as if there were anyone left to hear.
You intertwined both of your hands together, forming a prayer, “Please.”
Your voice started to tear down as it was filled with desperation. “Please, hear my plea. I can’t take this anymore. Save me… Please, save me…”
But it was impossible to expect something while knowing that your cries will be thrown into nothingness, into the void. Consequently, you weren’t entirely aware of the dangers that you were inviting, especially at these times of the night, with whatever wandering spirit there was. There was a faint whisper, like a cold breeze passing through. Something ancient and hungry seemed to respond to your plea, its presence barely noticeable at first, but growing.
Eventually you continued to weep harder, without a care that no one was there for you at your side to comfort you. They were for something else entirely—something that would come to claim you, whether you realized it or not. You had unwittingly opened a door that should have remained sealed.
But for now everything that centered around you was your utter desperation. You felt as if your chest was about to burst under the heavy weight of your own torment. It felt as though the world had sloped and you were falling into it, unable to grasp anything solid, not even your own faith. As you knelt there, hands trembling, your voice still calling out for help, the very walls around you seemed to pulse with something far darker—something that could never save you, only draw you further into the shadows.
You wouldn’t know it then, but this was the moment that would begin your unraveling. And as your tears fell.
The call had been answered. But not by the heavens you were so despairingly pleading to. Not by anything you could have ever imagined.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆｡ﾟ☆: ♱*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺
The darkness of the sky eventually became your only refuge
During the daylight, you tried to play the part of being the obedient wife. Merely drifting through the halls of the house that you didn’t feel you belong in anymore. Then you carried out the necessary duties as if there were no invisible shackles forcing you in.
But when nightfall came, you looked forward to your usual routine of salvation. When the house and the bedroom was filled with nothingness and your lover, Thomas, lay sleeping, you would slip from out and under the covers. Your feet fell flat and bare against the cold wooden floor first, and then you kneel before the window which was your only source of dim lighting. The moonlight shines through it. It became a ritual. A sacred act of defiance wrapped in the guise of prayer.
Your voice would waver, no more than something softer than a whisper. “Please…”
Between other nights, it was nothing more than that plea. It consisted of a single word that got lost within the beauty of the gloomy moonlight. But other nights, you weep to the heavens as if confident that someone, or something, might take pity on you. The more you prayed, the more fervent you became.
Of course to your foolishness, you never noticed the way the air in the room thickened. How the shadows crept deeper in the corners. You never noticed the way the walls enclosed further, as if it was breathing, as if something was listening. Something patient, something waiting.
And you never noticed the way a pair of blue eyes began to watch you. Thomas began to watch you.
At first, he said nothing. He would wake to find you on your knees, speaking softly to the heavens, and merely observe from the bed, his eyes unreadable in the dim candlelight. He was always watching, always waiting.
Then eventually one night, the bed was cold when you returned. The side of his bed was as empty as when you left yours.
A sharp chill ran down your spine. The room felt too wrong. Too silent, too still. Then a whisper, a shift in the atmosphere.
“You pray so sweetly, little one.”
Your breath caught. You turned, slowly, to find him standing in the doorway, barely visible in the darkness.
His gaze was unreadable, still dressed in the clothes he used for sleeping. There was something in the way he stood. Something rigid, something restrained and it all felt too terrible, leaving a wrench in your gut.
"Tell me,” he murmured, stepping closer, “who is it you call for so desperately?"
Your lips parted instinctively, but no words came out.
His fingers trailed along the edge of the table. Slow, deliberate, as he took another step forward. "Tell me, my dearest… What answer are you expecting? Who are you expecting?”
You swallowed hard. Your hands tremble at your sides as it falls on either side of your body. “I—”
"You do it every night.” His voice remained soft, yet there was an edge beneath it. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t hear?”
He was standing in front of you now near the edge of the bed. So close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He lifted one hand, brushing away a strand of hair from your face. It should have been a loving gesture. It was not.
"You kneel there by the window,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, "and you beg. You plead. For what? For mercy?" His fingers trailed down your jaw, pausing at your throat. "For deliverance?"
You shuddered beneath his touch, your breath shaky. "I—"
He lets out a low simulated chuckle. "You pray to something that does not answer you, and yet you ignore the only thing that holds you in its hands."
His grip tightened. But terrifyingly it was not enough to hurt, not yet, but enough to remind you. Enough to make your heart thump faster and pulse around that area pound beneath his touch.
"Enough of this, my love,” he spat. “You insult me. After all I have given you."
Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips softly grazing against the skin of your ear. "If you run, I will find you. I will drag you back by your pretty little throat and remind you why you should never have tried."
Slowly he pulls back a little with a cruel smile, one that did not reach his eyes. The tone of his voice remains the same, "You could throw yourself into the ocean, and I would still retrieve you from its depths. You could beg the wind to carry you far away, and I would tear it apart with my bare hands."
Your knees nearly quivered.
"I would burn this house to the ground before I let you walk away. You, and everything in it…” Again, his fingers found a way and tightened ever so slightly around your throat, not enough to choke, but enough to remind you of his strength, his control.
His eyes filled with darkness were unfathomable. He held you captive, drinking in the flickers of fear you could not hide. He tilted his head, studying you with a cruel, measured patience, as if savoring the weight of his next words before letting them fall like a death knell.
"...If I can’t have you, then no one will. Not even the earth to bury you in."
There was a pause that stretched between the two of you. The silence weaved with it had suffocated you aside from the weight of his hands. Then, Thomas sighed with a slow, measured breath. One that sent an unspoken warning through the stale air. His grip on you slackened, just slightly enough for you to breathe again. But you knew better than to think it was mercy.
“You still don’t understand it. Why don’t you?” His voice was quieter. The sharp edge of rage tempered into something even worse—certainty. “I don’t make threats, dove. I tell you what is.”
His hands were rough as they cupped your face. The calloused palms scraped against your skin and the way he held you was almost… gentle. Like a man admiring something fragile. Something he had no intention of breaking—not yet.
“You’re mine,” he said, as if the words alone could bind you in chains. “You always have been. And soon, there won’t be any question left of it.”
The pit in your stomach churned violently. The dread crawling up your throat like bile that you want to vomit out. You knew what was coming before he even spoke of it. He had already spoken about it before. But now… now it wasn’t just a suggestion.
His thumbs traced along your cheekbones, down to your lips, pressing there for a moment before he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin.
"You will carry my child," he murmured in between kisses. His voice as sure as the walls around you, as unyielding as the locked door you knew you had no key for. He pulls back with a breath, "And then, maybe… maybe you’ll finally stop pretending there’s a way out of this."
Your breath hitched as one of his hands drifted lower past your nightgown. It stops to settle over your stomach. The tips of his fingers pressed there, not cruelly, not harshly, but with intent. Possessive. As if there already was life he spoke of existing beneath his the area of where he touched.
"There will be no running," he continued, his voice still calm. Terrifying in its conviction. "No more foolish prayers to a god who’s long since stopped listening. No more pretending you have a choice."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, to imbibe in the terror you couldn’t hide. And then he smiled, a small, almost satisfied smile before leaning forward and securing to pin you down to the bed. “Shh,” he hushes against your soft skin.
Your arms at first try to push him away, palms pushing against his chest. However, your size was considerably in contrast with Thomas. His figure was huge and you were no match with his mass alone. And so you tried to stretch out your arms in hopes of reaching for anything, any object that you could use in defense.
The weight in the bed shifts as Thomas tries to position himself better above you. So that he could pin you down better to his advantage. With one hand, he flawlessly gets to put weight around both your wrists, successfully further trapping you underneath him as he continues to indulge between your kisses.
“Don’t be so obstinate, my love,” he says while using his other hand to scrunch up a segment of your nightgown under his fist so that he could steadily lift it up while still forcing you down. “You will be alright. I’ll take good care of you. I- I won’t hurt you.”
An impatient hand of his slips under your clothing that makes you pull your knees back and try to use your feet to kick against him. But you are further pushed down onto the bed in opposition to you trying to get away.
You feel one of his fingers tug against the fabric underneath, slipping past in order to access the skin of your cunt. He brazenly toys with each layer, indulging and acknowledging the growing wetness that made the cheeks of your face flush in embarrassment. Embarrassed that your body was reacting this way so which for sure Thomas would impose on.
Your lower back slightly arches at his cold touch. The tips of his finger finding its way inside, slowly and teasingly which as essentially a torture. But he doesn’t continue all the way, which you would rather prefer as it could just end already.
No. He makes sure to do it in a devious way. He plays with you so gently, making sure to soak the entire face of your cunt covered in your own wetness. Dragging along the fingers that he used to push inside and outside, he glazes over your clit as well which sends shivers across your body.
As he continues to be curious about exploring your lower body, you try to push your thighs together with the goal to cease his attempt on making events escalate into something more. But you were unsuccessful and this measure that you did had honestly provoked Thomas into advancing more.
He continues. Your strength was no match against him. You couldn’t prevent him from doing what he wants. He was so certain of what he wanted.
“T-Thomas,” you trembled underneath his touch. You look up directly to meet his eyes, “Please, no.”
It was no use and you weren’t sure if the man feeds onto everything in contradiction of what you’re crying out. As you were too distracted from all the worries that you were giving out to him, you had not realized how fast he had undone your clothes and that your flesh was left nothing but your thin gown.
Your skin was bare and completely naked underneath, and it didn’t help that it was scrunched up to reveal and expose your entirety for Thomas. Your body shakes intensely due to the coldness of the night and the darkness that came from him. It was not the same man you fell in love with at first. How did such completely change over the course of time?
Or were you just foolish enough to not see it from the start?
“I’ll make love to you all night, my dove,” he moans as he tries to undo his own clothes. His grip loosened for a short moment but you were so shocked that it left you paralyzed. He continues, “Let me carve my claim into your very blood...”
"...You will swell with my child.” He says but for you it comes off more as an intimidation. “Proof of what we are, what you cannot run from. I will make certain of it. You will carry me within you, bound by flesh and fate alike."
While you try to deny everything and shake, enough to show contest but not enough to force him away, he continues. And within the next moment Thomas gets in between the insides of your thighs, positioning himself before sinking deep and slowly into you. He lets out a deep groan, almost animalistic.
Then he continues to thrust, heavily jerking his hips while your mind fights to stay focused on what you were really feeling. It wasn’t the first time you had shared a moment like this, like any other couple would. But this time was different. There was a strong desire and immorality behind the intent.
As he spreads your legs apart to welcome himself in between your cunt, Thomas leans his body further forward. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. His weight further trapping you down as he drinks in the pleasure of fucking you senseless. “Need not resist, my love,” he murmurs, "I-I won’t harm you. I’ll… tend to you, cherish you, as only I know how."
The moment was an act of deep intimacy, entangled deep within the darkness of the room and night. It screamed and whispered both salvation and ruin. The warmth of his words was suffocating with promises that should have been comforting but instead invoked fear.
The closeness was only something you have seen and gotten from Thomas. He was right for that as you have never known it from anywhere in the cruel world.
Eventually his movements became unkempt and his rhythm was nowhere near steady. He threw his head back, the skin of his face covered in sweat as his hand trembled and lost within the sheets of the bed. He lets out a louder groan, and you knew from then how your fate would be sealed.
The intimacy shared was both tether and binding, suffocating and consuming. You couldn’t help but think this was another level of closeness shared with Thomas, the closest your souls have ever been.
Then his hands hurriedly find a way to snake and pin you down from your stomach. He grips on your body firmly with each thrust he does deliberately. With each of his last few thrusts, his moans were loud as the pleasure mixed with greed while steadily filling your bare cunt with his own seed.
He breathes our raggedly, "I won’t hurt you, darling. But I will care for you, in ways that will bind you to me forever."
“I adore you.”
i discovered i love writing gothic settings. the dialogues were immaculate and i hope u guys enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing! fell free to send in prompts of dark thomas or leave feedback :)
Friedrich Harding x fem!reader
Mini-Series Summary: Paris 1889. You're just starting as the new Étoile at the Palais Garnier Opéra. Everything is going smoothly until your sponsor, the mysterious man who haunts box number 5, makes himself known. (with mentions of Thomas Hutter x fem!reader)
Chapter Summary: You meet your sponsor for the first time.
Chapter Warnings: sensual touching, mentions of fire, allusions to prostitution
~ author note at the end ~
SERIES MASTERLIST
Applause erupts around the room, spectators standing from their chairs as the chandelier glistens, the flames burning a bright orange. Your hands shake, skimming over the silk of your tutu, feet trembling, as you walk up to the audience. Your chest is heaving from exhaustion but you hold your head high, blinded by the light and deafened by the applause around you.
You grin, curtseying as white roses hit the stage all around you. Lifting your gaze, you catch a glimpse of your husband standing up in his box, a proud smile tugs his lips, and feel warmth flood your cheeks.
Once the curtains fall closed, you collapse onto the ground.
"Y/n!" The other dancers, including your best friend; Annabelle Landry, rush over and kneel by your side. You're holding your ankle, the pain in your toes unbearable but you're still smiling as you laugh.
"You did marvelously!" Annabelle holds your cheeks and kisses your forehead, her voice still hushed even as the music from the orchestra still plays. "Maman will be proud," she adds, glancing down at your ballet shoes. Crimson liquid seeps through the shoes and Annabelle gasps. "Oh my, you need to ask Thomas if he would buy you some new ones," she says, her voice stern.
You shake your head, taking her hand and standing on your bleeding feet. "Papa gifted me those shoes before he passed. I shall not be rid of them." You smile. Annabelle sends you a strained smile as he helps you limp backstage.
The familiar chaos greets you as you're congratulated on your phenomenal performance. Madame Landry walks up, her cane supporting her weight as she smiles. "Ma chérie (My darling), you were beautiful," she says, "he will be proud."
Hearing this, your chest tightens and you nod. Your sponsor, the mysterious man who always sits and watches in box number 5, has been with you since the beginning of your journey as an upcoming Étoile. When you were beginning, Thomas did not have enough money to sponsor you, but this generous stranger had taken a liking to you. He has never demanded to meet with you, nor did he ask for the usual favors a sponsor normally asks for— which, you are eternally grateful for because you surely would have refused his advances.
After all, you have your Thomas.
"He wants to congratulate you himself, up in his box," Madame Landry adds, "You should change."
Your stomach twists and Annabelle sends you a nervous look. "Maman (Mom)—"
"Shush, child, you need to practice. Now, shoo," Madame Landry waves her daughter away, turning her attention to you as she squeezes your arm. "It shall be alright," she promises but your stomach still sinks. You nod, rushing up the stairs to your changing room. Just as you unpin your tiara, a knock sounds on the wooden door.
"Come in," you call.
When the door opens, Thomas enters with a bouquet of pink roses. Your fear vanishes and you gasp, running into his arms. He twirls you around, pressing kiss after kiss to your burning cheeks. "Mon amour (My love)," he says, smiling against your hair, "You did so well. You looked beautiful. I was so proud."
"Thank you, my Thomas," you whisper, smiling widely, all your worries melting away.
Thomas has always been supportive of your passion. His enthusiasm made up for his lack of money in that department. You'd been married for almost six years now, having married young. Your parents, being upper middle class, had disapproved of the wedding and your career choice; but Thomas has always been there. It didn't matter if he was a commoner, the son of the town's hatmaker.
He was yours and you loved him. He made you feel safe.
"You must be exhausted," your husband says, stroking your cheekbone. He looks down, seeing as you haven't yet changed. His cheeks flush pink.
"Oh, my apologies, darling. I shall come by later and bring you home. Some of thegentlemen demand my attention—most likely to congratulate me on your performance, although it was all you." He presses a chaste kiss to your lips. You smile softly, watching him leave and touch your lips.
It was rare for a married man to allow his wife to occupy such careers, and it was especially rare for one to do so without claiming credit for her success.
You turn to the mirror again, smoothing a hand over your tutu. You touch the tiara, smiling as you unpin the white feather in your hair. Undressing happens in a blur, the costume now hanging from the wardrobe as you brush your hair, fingers tangling in your curls. You're humming the melody of Le Lac Des Cygnes as your conversation with Thomas lingers in your mind. The delicate fabric of your white robe feels soothing over the rashes from the coarse costume. The feathers had been digging into your skin.
Just as you stand to dress again, ready to return home, Madame Landry's words echo in your mind and your blood runs cold.
"He wants to congratulate you himself, up in his box."
Fear strikes you and you don't hesitate as you slip on your shoes, rushing to the door. It's been almost half an hour. Surely, he wouldn't have waited for you. You open the door to your dressing room, peeking outside. Luckily, Thomas is still preoccupied with the other gentleman because he doesn't seem to be around. You hold your breath, rushing through the back corridors of the theater as you look for the back entrance to box number 5.
You twist and turn, finally making it to the entrance and you halt in your tracks. The box is dark and there is no sign of anyone ever being inside. You slow, clutching your robe around yourself as your hands tremble.
You mustn't despair, you remind yourself, he has no sign of cruelty. Maybe he'll have mercy and not withdraw his sponsorship.
Madame Landry has never given you his name, only that he is a wealthy gentleman who came from Germany in his ownship. You wonder if Madame Landry is more acquainted with him than she leads on. You never dare ask.
"Hello?" you try your luck, wondering if he could be hiding in the shadows.
You walk towards the plush crimson chair, trailing the golden rim, as you walk around it to the edge. Your gaze downcasts at the shimmer of red from the corner of your eye and you see a red rose, a black ribbon tied around the steam, sitting promptly on the chair. Leaning forward, you pick up the rose and hold it delicately in your hands.
"It didn't seem like you would come," a hoarse, stern, voice resounds from behind you and you jump. Just as you spin around, some of the oil lamps lighting the theater pop and dim the lights even more. You let out a strangled squeal, your gaze stuck on the man now standing much too close.
The rose falls from your hands.
His face is plunged into darkness, his curly hair falling over his sharp blue eyes. The blue is the only thing you can really see as half of his face appears to be hidden by a white mask that covers up to his chin.
You squint, seemingly frozen in place, as the man looks you over.
You feel exposed, standing in only your robe. You wish you hadn't been in such a hurry. You've heard stories from the other dancers of their sponsors, and if this man is anything like them, that wasn't a wise choice.
You drop to the ground, picking up the rose. When you stand, you let out a breathy gasp as the man's hand gently touches your jaw. He's closer, and still, he remains in the shadows. You hold your breath, gathering your wits to thank him like you assume he'd called you in here for. Still, you don't move his hand as you stare into his eyes.
You clutch the ends of your robe, diverting your gaze to curtsey. "Thank you, my lord. I appreciate all your generous donations over these years. I am forever in your debt," you say, steading your voice so it doesn't tremble.
The man remains silent as you stand again, clutching the rose in hand. You look at the flower and then up at him again. "And this rose is beautiful—"
"You deserve every beautiful thing this world has to offer," his voice is smooth and strong "Every last diamond deserves to lay on your neck, and every shimmering sapphire should adorn your hair. You are the most radiant creature I have ever cast my eyes on."
You feel dizzy as the man walks behind you, his hand skimming yours and brushing over your stomach. You tense, knowing this touch is inappropriate but he hasn't done enough to warrant your protest. Plus, his kind words hinder your ability to think rationally.
"You shine on that stage. No other dancer compares to you. You are beautiful," he finishes, his lips almost near your ear.
You shiver, your mind is fuzzy from his compliments. Even Thomas has never complimented you so lavishly. "T-thank you, my lord."
Strong hands press against your stomach, the touch sending a spark inside you. You clasp your smaller hand on his, unsure if you wish to savor his touch or pull his hand away. You seem to have fallen under a spell, your breathing coming out in sharp gasps.
"You shall be mine, I guarantee that," he whispers, his hand trailing up to cup your jaw. You turn your head, squeezing your eyes shut as a familiar, and yet unfamiliar, feeling arises in your stomach.
"My Lord—I have—"
The words barely leave your mouth before he disappears, his touch foreign. You're left standing in the dimly lit box, your chest rising and falling with emotions you can't quite place.
Even back in your home as you lay comfortably next to your husband, Thomas's arms holding you close, you can barely sleep.
All you see when you close your eyes is that man's gaze behind the pearly white mask, his touch on your skin igniting feelings you didn't know you could feel.
You squeeze your eyes shut, willing those thoughts away.
But as you drift into a restless sleep, nightmares plague your mind—the smell of burning plaster and satin as warm flames threaten to engulf you whole. Millions of rats scurry across the cobblestones, tails burning, as you run barefooted from a shadow in the darkness.
And in the end, there is nothing you can do but allow the fire to overwhelm you.
~ * ~
~ thank you for reading! just another content warning! i am basing this on snippet of what the Paris dance world was like at the time—most ballerinas were doing sexual favors for the patrons of the Ballet and their wealthy sponsors however apart from this being mentioned, there will be no smut or explicit sexual themes in this story! ~
Uhhh maybe something something with werewolf!mreader and count orlok?🥰
Count Byron Orlok x Werewolf male reader
Ficlet
I spent way too long reading about old werewolf mythos to write this. Reader’s kind of a mix of the different myths I found, and my own cooking. I took mild inspo from the Neuri people, and the myth of Lycaon, and what I could find about Mount Lykaion.
Lil bit of Thomas x reader, but its not really important.
Nosferatu 2024 spoilers ig?
For many years you have wandered and existed, whether you could claim to be alive or not was something you had dismissed many years ago. You remembered being born to a nomadic people who wandered from one place to another, passing their tales verbally and through song, never staying in one place for long. You remember the older men leaving for days at a time, only to return to your people, battered, bruised and exhausted, but the usual hunger in their eyes sated.
Memories of your first transformation were blurry at best, only weak memories of pain, blood, hunger, hopelessness. There wasn’t much need to remember your younger years, just that your father had been a beast amongst beasts, and so had you. When you came too after the first shift, you awoke naked and bloody, the camp of the people that were yours, destroyed.
Mixtures of flesh, fur and gore lay scattered, the tents and makeshift homes torn apart, from what looked like a wild animal trying to break in to devour whoever was inside. The taste of blood in your mouth and meat stuck between your teeth, was all you needed to know. You were that beast, and you had devoured them all. Man, woman, child and wolf, all torn apart by your hunger.
You remember stumbling away from what remained of your family, friends and near, naked as the day you were born. The cold feeling of falling into a stream, of all the blood washing off your body, washing away your sins. Memories of stumbling along, uncaring of your naked nature, so full of regret and horror of yourself and what you were.
Not much could be remembered from that time, only flashes of pain as you transformed once more, and devoured, be it human or animal. Everything only became clear in a mountain, where a cult worshipping wolves and those who could transform had found you. You learned that they were cursed by a god to be what they were, but you? You were born this way, gifted.
Their chants and magic taught you control of your inner beast. Where before there had been two beings inside you, wolf and man, there now was one. In the end you wandered from this group, leaving them to their whims of cannibalism and human sacrifice.
With control of your inner hunger, of your lack of humanity and beastly desires, you wandered. You slept when you needed to, and ate when you were hungry. You could even take part in humanity at times, joining celebrations, or sleeping in a real bed every now and then. Where raw flesh and blood tasted divine, their dishes and spices were enough to keep you sated for longer.
You never kept track of your age, but you watched as the old gods fell, and was replaced by another. A pantheon of gods, with so many duties and whims, replaced by one who became three, yet were still one. You watched as their influence grew, as their one god became the one most worshipped.
You watched as many were killed in cold blood for not worshipping their one god, or were tortured for going against the word of their holy book. It was during this holy period that you discovered your weakness to silver as well, but you being naturally born this way, let you survive it, unlike those cursed to be like you.
Your long wandering took you to somewhere in the Romanian mountains, where superstition and beliefs were as strong as ever, where a count ruled over the land, a count who yearned for immortality. Maybe it was the way you dressed when he saw you for the first time that caught his interest. He wore a cape of sheepskin, where yours was that of a wolf, the head thrown over your own almost like a mask or a hood.
Byron Orlok was his name. And he was handsome, as handsome as the men of this era could be, even if his eyes were dark and hungered for something beyond mortality, even as he buried himself in the occult to seek it. The tales of your own long life, what little you told him, only fueled him. If you could live from before the very creation of Christianity, then he too could become immortal. Unageing.
Your wolf form lingered around his home, a large building far beyond anything you could have ever seen in your youth. The sounds of his transformation, the reek of sulfur and acid, like the bile of a stomach, was so powerful that you felt that even the wandering natives would smell it. and yet as he screamed and wailed, you lay still, your massive wolf head resting on top of your paws. It was not your duty to save him or stop him, his demons and gods were not connected to you.
In his death, Byron Orlok did not cease moving. His corpse and body still moved and spoke during the night, before the sun rose and the first rooster’s crow. and you, you stayed. Over your many years of life you had met many beasts and monsters like yourself, or warlocks and alchemists who were bound to the otherworld, even priests and priestesses who could communicate with their gods of choice. But none intrigued you like Byron.
As something beyond human, the idea that only a man and a woman could bond was beyond you. It was a belief that had never existed in you, as the people you had been around in your youth never carried it, but for Byron it was new and strange. Even as his body changed and altered, looking more like a corpse than a man, his passion persisted.
The locals built temples or stands to keep him away, filling them with crosses and hunting others like him, Nosferatu. You, they feared, less than Byron, but feared, nonetheless. Where Byron devoured human flesh and blood to keep moving, you had persisted on nothing but will for many years, and only devoured when you needed too.
Byron was not the most physically affectionate, you had a feeling he simply couldn’t be. But his possessive nature and yearning for you, spoke of his innermost feelings. His kisses would have made any normal human vomit from the taste of blood, gore, and corpse, but you were no human. Anyone else would have died from being fed on by him, but you lived. Your heart beat and would beat on, for how long you did not know.
Your inhuman blood and flesh, which regenerated like the leaves of a tree, kept Byron fed when the human flesh could not. It wasn’t what he was meant to eat, that much was clear, as you were not human and that was what he needed, but it changed him. He still was death itself, but your wolflike insides made him at least a little more pleasant to look at.
What you two were, was not a married couple, but he was yours and you were his, though he yours more than you his. Being older, stronger, able to go where and when you pleased, made you the more dangerous of you two. The most powerful, but you had no need to use this against him.
Until he bonded with that human, one you would learn was named Ellen who begged for company from anything, anyone. You were tempted to tear Byrons head off his body when you learned of this, having only been gone for two years which was nothing in your shared centuries, and here he went, finding another.
After this betrayal, you left once more, after tearing apart the wolves you had given him as servants. He would not thrive off your gifts and flesh if he could not respect you. It was not that he had bonded with a human girl, but more the dismissal of you and disregard of what you wanted. What if you had wanted a little human plaything as well?
When you returned once more, years later, you observed a man on his way towards Byron Orloks home, which looked as decrepit as you were used too. He was almost adorable, in his modern clothing and satchel bag. So intriguing was he, that you followed him from the shadows in your wolf form, observed as he rested with the locals, saw their execution of a Nosferatu, and how the locals left him behind.
Byron must have felt your presence, as the carriage that picked the human man up had the motif of a wolf on the side. You could feel his magic reach for you, but yours was stronger, and still being mad at him, you turned it away.
Your lover, partner, other being, was enraged, you could tell, when he smelled your interest in this man, Thomas Hutter, but he could not say anything, as he was drawn to this Thomas Hutters wife. Thomas Hutter was tormented and haunted as he slept and was awake in the old castle, he almost passed out when he saw you in your wolf form for the first time.
Maybe it was more that you wanted to make Byron feel what you felt, when he bonded to that girl, and it didn’t hurt that Thomas Hutter was as adorable as a rabbit, with his frightened eyes and heady scent. The lack of sleep drove him mad enough to sleep curled up against your furry side, and your hairy chest when you transformed back into a man.
It was enough to make Byron gnash his teeth and growl, his magic attempting to squeeze the very life out of Thomas only to be blocked by your own. There was no reason for you to stop his plans, you were much too old to involve yourself in such things, but you did make sure Thomas survived long enough to be found by the nun and for him to return to Wisborg.
Your massive paws dragged groves in the first as you followed the scent of Thomas, as Byron you could sense was across the sea where you could not follow without spending unnecessary magic.
Your maw salivated at the sight of Ellen, not from the same desire that Thomas or Byron carried for her which was carnal in the way animals in spring desired, but from a long-forgotten hunger for human flesh. To rip and tear, to destroy and break. You wanted to kill her, for taking your Orlok’s attention, the same hate Byron felt for Thomas, even if your attention was nothing more than a mild interest.
Time would tell, as the first night fell and the rats invaded the city. When Byron would end up tricked by these mortals, you would step in and scold him. He was so young compared to you, centuries compared to your millennia. Punish him, you must, make him weep and beg for your forgiveness for betraying you so. But for now, you would gobble up the corpses of the citizens as they piled up, to satisfy your growing hunger for Ellen and her putrid flesh.