Premise: When a mission goes wrong, young John “Jardani” Wick is dragged into the dark by something ancient and monstrous, leaving his partner behind to return to the ballet company alone, bloodied and broken. Branded a failure and a liar, she’s forced to dance through her grief under The Director’s cold eye, haunted by the loss no one believes was real. But John isn’t dead. Changed into something unholy, he watches her from the shadows, starving for the taste of her blood, the comfort of her body, and the memory of who he used to be. To return to her without destroying her, he’ll have to master a hunger stronger than death itself.
CW/Tags: vampire!john wick, young!john wick, ballerina!reader, john and reader are partners, intense yearning, bloodlust, horror/drama, soulmates, grief, eventual smut, slowburn.
Words: 2.6k
A/N: reply to this post to be added to the taglist for the next chapter!
Dust ebbs and flows through two ever searching streams of light, your boots crunching on years of built up debris in the run down mansion. You’ve been on missions before, this isn’t close to your first time going out with your partner and hunting down your target as instructed. That thought only barely quells the hairs standing up on the back of your neck and the chill that follows down your back in a hot, cold flash.
Crunch…
“John?” You whisper in the darkness, knowing you shouldn’t talk right now, but not being able to stop yourself, the feeling of danger increasing.
“…yeah?” It takes him a moment to reply, and you imagine his face as he walks behind you, serious as always and searching for any sign of who you’re looking for.
“Something feels…not right…” you try to drop your voice as low as possible, for his ears only.
Crunch…
He doesn’t respond, and you feel your stomach drop as you worry you’re alone in this, trying to calculate in your head just what seems so wrong about this place.
Crunch.
The long, grey dilapidated hallway holds harsh shadows, and your feet try to freeze as your beam of light from your handgun drifts over long, gouged scratch marks on the wall. They end toward the bottom of the wall, where thick black blood is slowly becoming abundant in pools that mix with the grit of the ground.
Crunch…
You can’t help yourself, you turn to John, and you can just barely see his thin, dark brows furrowing together. Your eyes scream at him as if to translate just how much fear is beginning to set in your body.
“Something is wrong here, John…” you plead with him, softly padding closer to him, afraid to be to far away. “Those marks don’t look…”
“…human.” He finishes your sentence, looking away from the deep claw marks and back to you.
His nostrils flare as he tries to assess what to do. He knows if he returns home without the target dead The Director’s punishment will be brutal, and the level of trust they have in him and you will be wavered, setting both of you back, taking on lesser missions from now on.
Crash.
He doesn’t have time to decide. Something from the open doorway to his right sends his partner flying down the hall, your body tossed so easily. You skid through the dirt and blood you saw earlier, scratches and scrapes forming before the later bruises you’ll see later.
If there is a later.
Your mouth falls open in a wordless scream as you watch John being pinned against the hallways wall, and just what exactly is pinning him you can’t comprehend.
It looks human.
Or maybe once human.
Faking being human.
But those claws, that distended jaw that opens and leaves trails of spit between razor sharp teeth. The naked, twisted body, bones not where they should be under grey translucent skin.
Oh god.
The eyes.
They’re looking at you now and you realize the screaming finally broke free from your body, guttural and ancient, a primal scream you had no idea would even come out of you. True fear.
John’s struggling under the creatures grip, his hands gripping the oversized claw that threatens his neck, his face red and breaths spitting between gritted teeth as he fights with all his might.
“Run!” He yells as he connects his boot with the torso of the thing, not helping himself, but attempting to give you time to flee.
The thing recovers its attention to John, and you stumble to your feet, fear making you fumble with your handgun, trying to aim in a way that doesn’t hit John.
You fire.
It hits into Its shoulders.
It doesn’t care.
It’s already driving its fangs deep into John’s tender neck.
It’s slurping.
John screams in agony.
You fire again hitting it in the back, and It growls.
Faster than you can understand it drags John screaming back down the hallway until your flashlight only captures the dust swirling in the dark once again.
You run.
————
It’s like a black hole.
Like the photographs of your memories of that night have been burned in the middle, leaving only the most horrific, over exposed snapshots to haunt you when you least expect it.
A whisper of snowflakes take nest in your hair, the rest dancing around in street lights, the road desolate and quiet save for your whimpering and limping down the sidewalk.
You don’t even know how you stumbled home, the Belarusian cold numbing every part of you. Your tears are frozen against your cheeks as you fling open the doors to the ballet company.
Those on watch have guns on you before you can blink, trying to figure out who and what and why.
They let up when they realize it’s you.
Only you.
You feel them shaking your shoulders, your body seizing in pain and your mouth blubbering a cry.
“Where is he?” They demand.
“Where is John?”
You can hardly make out who exactly is even talking to you, the world too bright and the faces simple shadows that shout questions and give orders.
Another shake.
“Answer me!”
You open your mouth, and your lips tremble, your whole body trembles.
“It…It got him…”
————
It’s been days.
You’ve hardly seen the outside of your room.
They’re treating cuts, the chunk of skin missing on your knee and your swollen ankle, the mild frostbite on your fingers. You hardly even notice when they enter and when they leave.
You’re not sure why you haven’t been punished.
You know The Director doesn’t take failed missions lightly, but you wonder if it has to do with what happened to John.
John.
You just keep hearing his screams bouncing off the walls ringing in your ears. You blame yourself. You blame how you didn’t do anything to stop it, how you didn’t run towards him, try to fight. You also know deep down that if you had, you’d be as good as dead.
Just like him…
Your heart aches so deeply you don’t know what to do with it.
They teach you here not to form relationships with one another for a reason, and you suppose you know why now.
This pain was unimaginable.
You don’t even know how to explain what you and John had. It was moments of softness when all eyes were closed. It was breaths in the cold as you share a secret cigarette on the fire escape outside your window. It was hands exploring just what one another had in the dark beneath your bedsheets.
You aren’t sure if you could call it love. If you deserve to call it love. But the pain of never having it again doesn’t lie.
Your days continue with cooling bowls of soup outside your door, and the covers over your head while your mourn.
————
“Tell me again what happened.”
The Director’s voice has no emotion. She sits back in her chair, her office lush and extravagant, rich smells of incense fill your nose as smoke from their fragrance and her cigarette billow in the room. The fireplace roars and cracks in your silence, your eyes unfocused on the floor.
“It came out of nowhere,” you speak slow, concise about what happened, too many details bringing too much hurt.
“It targeted Jardani, and it bit him. I shot It, but it didn’t matter, It already had him, and It dragged him away.”
“And ’it‘ looked like…?”
“I already told you… It wasn’t like us, it was something else. Something too tall, too skinny, too many teeth…”
“You expect me to believe that пачвара, that a…monster, took Jardani?” Doubt was one of her specialities.
“You can believe what you want. I know what I saw. It was not human.” You grit your teeth, the pain of having to relieve what happened combined with her probing and doubt leaving you short-toned.
Your almost surprised in yourself with how you’re talking to her, but losing all will to care.
She says nothing, mulling over what you’ve said.
The fire sizzles and snaps loudly.
“There still must be a punishment for failing to complete your assigned task.”
“There is no punishment that could hold a flame to what I’ve just experienced.”
—————
You’ve been stripped of everything.
No one is allowed to glance your way. No one shall speak to you.
You take the stage nightly after everyone else has run their routine.
You’ve lost The Director her most prized weapon, her most cherished son. For that, you must pay.
“You are not dismissed. You are reclaimed. You will dance every set he ever touched. Alone. Night after night, until the ghost of him is burned into your muscle memory.” Her voice echoes in your head as you begin, the stage silent except for your breathing.
“No name. No partners. No contact.”
A pause. Her voice softened for just a moment, sickly sweet.
“Perhaps, in your silence, he’ll hear you calling. And if not…”
She turned her back on you like you were already buried.
“Then we dance for the dead.”
Your feet strike the stage with precision. Your muscles tight and controlled, your hands trying to achieve the same strength, the same flow, as that of what John had. You twirl into his signature pose, leg wobbling and forcing you to give up on landing it, and you know it will take weeks before you’ll even come close to being what Jardani was.
You start his routine again.
And again.
And again.
The ghost of him your only partner in this hell.
—————
The days pass, and your body aches nightly, you try to keep your bloody feet from failing you with cloth bandages wrapped around them tight. It feels as if you haven’t slept since that night. You simply lie awake until the hours pass, facing the plain aging wall of your tiny bedroom made for one.
You hold your pillow, eyes following the cracks in the wall when you hear a creaking on the rusty fire escape outside your window.
Instinct takes over and you’ve instantly sat up, head swerving around to monitor just where the sound has emerged from, a shadow crossing your bedroom floor as something moves out of sight from the window.
You jump out of bed, flinging the window open and squinting as the icy night air quickly chills you to the bone. You scan the dark alleyway outside, looking for any sign of movement or life, your body cold in your skivvies.
The night is just as lonely as you are out there.
—————
He watches from the shadows as you close the window, your scent hanging heavy in the freezing night air. His gums are throbbing, and the pit in his stomach aches with want just from smelling you. It’s delicious, sharp and sweet to his senses, a fine liquor mixed with the smell of dark cherries and almond. A shaky hand has to wipe the drool from his chin as his tongue lusts for you.
He doesn’t even know why he’s come.
He knows what kind of monster he is now.
Something that can never be trusted.
Something that can never be safe.
And yet, he’s crawled his way back to you.
His eyes shine animal-bright in passing car lights, fangs extending longer from bloodlust.
Jardani knows he must do what he does best if he’s to ever have a chance of coming face to face with you again.
If he can want you, but not taste you, then he may still be some semblance of a man.
He must learn control.
——————
No human blood. No animal blood. Nothing. Jardani trains in front of mirrors that do not see him, goes through the motions of routines he knows the memory of deep in his muscles. He focuses on how long he can last without breaking, each attempt longer than the other.
“I once learned to throw a knife through a man’s eye without blinking. I can learn this too.”
He repeats this to himself between push ups, keeping his body busy and moving as much as possible.
When he does break, he does so without carnage, without killing and draining his prey dry like a beast. He controls his kill. Leaves no drop of blood undrank, returns back to his chosen hovel, an abandoned warehouse near the studio, without a mess of blood on him.
His first kill, instinct.
His second, survival.
His third, choice.
———————
It wasn’t easy sneaking into the studio, but Jardani knew of the most secret ins and outs of this place. He moves like a wolf in the shadows, slipping across the grid above the catwalk with ease.
He narrows his eyes, zoning in on just who’s below on the stage, carefully studying a few of his former fellow students as they finish up their routine for the night. There’s a few minutes of pause, some chatter backstage as most of the students head back to their rooms for the night. Finally, even The Director leaves and the studio falls silent.
That’s when you float out onto the stage, ballet slippers en pointe, holding all of your pain in the perfect precision of your body. You’re shroud in flowing white, a ghost that dances alone and for no one. His breath is held.
You begin Adagio, slow and fluid, an extension of yourself, before working your way into an Arabesque, arms held out, searching, reaching for someone who’s not there. You twist and flip, having to catch yourself, when you should be dancing with a partner who shares the burden of the dance, who guides your weight to where it should be. You move as if you may fall any minute, as if he may still be there to catch you.
Jardani can smell your scent wafting up into the rafters, the sweat and the rosin on your slippers, that sweet swirling scent of your blood that threatens to drive him mad. He grips the metal of the grid, gritting his teeth and trying to stop the hunger that grows within him.
“You must resist her. You must not give into the temptation of her blood.”
But oh, how he wants.
He wants not only your blood.
But you.
Your body, your warmth, your fingertips on his chest as you moan in pleasure underneath him. He wants to hear you say his name like a prayer in the dark.
Hunger clawed up his throat. His fangs throbbed with want and pressed down against his tongue.
He imagined descending the ropes like a phantom, pressing his mouth to the hollow of your neck, inhaling that sweet scent from the source and feeling your pulse flit against his lips.
Not biting.
Not yet.
Just having you.
He wanted to bury himself in you, take everything with greed. Bury in your scent, your heat, your pain.
But he couldn’t.
Couldn’t touch you without unraveling. He could barely be this close now without thoughts of himself drinking deeply from you creating fuzz of noise in his head he could hardly ignore.
Instead, he steadied himself as much as he could, attempting to hold on as long as possible, to prove to himself that he could stand it, he could be in the same room as you, someone made so perfectly for his new, monstrous tastes.
He crouches in the rafter, shaking with want and salivating at the thought of letting go.
Wanting to hold you.
Wanting to feed.
Wanting to take all that pain away.
But the dead don’t get love stories.
Only hunger. Only distance. Only you, on stage, dancing for the ghost he’d become.
Premise: Vampire!John Wick has caught your scent, and now there's nothing that will stop him from obtaining what he craves. You on the other hand, are enjoying a night on the town dressed as an angel for Halloween. You don't realize what a mistake you've made walking into a real vampire's path.
Tags/CW: DARK FIC, Vampire!JW, Being hunted, pred/prey, innocent!reader, angel coded!reader, bimbo!reader, dumb!reader, blood drinking, regular alcohol drinking, john is an evil vampire, dub-con, dead dove don't eat, hypnotism/hypnotized!reader, reader has a secret kidnapping!kink, reader has secret dark desires, knife kink in the form of claws, biting, teasing teasing teasing !!!, mind reading, reader who is a secret slut, reader who wants to be sacrificed, major character death mentions/teased, blood doll!reader, readers fate undetermined.
A/N: I've always had a thing for vampires. In this fic, I explore some of my favorite naughty kinks, and give you an extremely long and kinky sex scene between John and reader. Hope y'all like it, be sure to heed the content warnings ʚ♥︎ɞ
He has hunted your scent for miles. That sweet, delicious blood of yours calling to him in even the faintest amount. You poor, pretty little thing, that doesn't even know she's being hunted. You laugh with friends after dark, walking in groups for safety as you enjoy the Halloween festivities. You have no idea that it doesn't matter where you go tonight. That John has already decided your blood will be his, and so it shall be. You look so dolled up too, in your tiny miniskirt and frilly, barely-there white top. On your back, two perfect, tiny fake angel wings float along your figure, a costume halo atop your head. You look pristine, and John can only imagine what all that white will look like when he's done with you. It's as if you decided to serve yourself up on a silver platter for him, unknowingly.
As you walk about the city in wobbly, chunky platforms, you giggle into the night air with friends, the mist of your breath pooling in the sky above you. You don't notice in the sea of people that is New York, that you're being stalked. You don't see the man, moving silently from building to dark alleyway, inhaling your scent as deep as he can. You don't see the fangs, that glint under street lamps as he passes. They've grown so long from desire he can hardly keep them hidden behind his lips. Luckily for John, costumed Halloween goers flood the streets. A perfect time for a creature of the night like him to be so bold in public. Tonight, he will go unnoticed.
You however go into the next club on your bar hopping adventure without a care in the world. You don't see the dark figure slipping in behind you at a speed you can't even comprehend. You walk with an air of innocence and wide-eyed wonder. You gawk at spooky displays and laugh at slasher costumes as you walk by. You know that underneath that scary mask is just some greasy twenty-something who would love to get you in bed. As if.
The lights and music blare, and you are pulled by your friends to the dance floor. You're already feeling the heat of the cocktails you've had tonight in your body, and when you move to the rhythmic music, you feel your legs wobble along lazily. Your friends pass you another drink, you don't know from where, and you consume it happily. It's sweet, bitter aftertaste goes down easily, and you enjoy your night of being young and free.
A few men try to dance with you, but when you size them up, they're so not your type. They're just too young for you, even if they are likely the same age as you. You've always loved a more mature man, someone bigger and wiser than you who can really put you in your place. Half of you fantasizes about a man like that taking you from this hedonist pit of a club, pulling you into his car and driving away. You imagine he would take you back to his house just to tie you up and keep you kidnapped there against your will. The idea has always turned you on, but none of the men in this club tonight could ever give you something like that. You continue to dance with your friends, ignoring any drunkards who try to make a pass at you with an up turned nose.
The night continues on, and more drinks find their way into your hands. You happily take them, not caring how beyond drunk you are. As you're dancing, you slowly realize how seperated you are from your friends. You glance around, looking for them in the crowd, but see no one. Instead you feel the hair on the back of your neck raise. You feel as if you're the one being watched.
When you finally find the pair of eyes on you, you see the face of a handsome, older man in the crowd. You're surprised to see a man like him in a crowd like this. He seems so suave, so opulent, and through your drunken eyes, he also seems expensive, if not rich. You saunter over, slowly dancing through the crowd, until you're close enough to the staring stranger to see how intense his eyes really are. For a moment, fear washes over you, but you shake your head, deciding yourself silly for being afraid.
John can hardly hide his delight that he has caught you, his pretty little prey angel. He hears your thoughts about a man like him taking you away, tying you up, and using you like the hole you are. John has to laugh under his breath. You could never guess how true that sentiment really is. John can imagine doing more than just tying you up, though.
He watches as you walk right over to him, he can sense the fear rising up in you. You have every right to be afraid, but you still come, like the fly to the spider. You know it, in your heart, that John is a predator. Your own senses tell you, but like the silly human you are, you ignore them. Human's have lost all superstitions for creatures like John, it almost makes it too easy to trick you into letting him in.
John pulls you in when you get close enough, he has to hide how sharp his nails are, be gentle with your fragile body, but he still senses how rough he's pulled you in. In your drunkeness, you assume you've just tripped into him.
John feels your warm, tiny body against his, and you move like a siren, obviously not as angelic as you seem. Your body ungulates on his, rubbing your backside straight into John's cock. To your surprise, he's already hard, and you blush thinking it was so easy to do such a thing to him. You don't know that it's not just your body that's turning him on. No, it's what he's imagining doing to you after he's had his fun toying with you like this. It's that sweet blood that pumps in your veins so temptingly.
He let's his hands move up your body, caressing every curve, feeling your hips and gripping them into himself, imagining how he would take you later on. His hands continue up, pressing and playing with your breasts, and for a moment, you reach up for his hands, startled by how forward this strange man is being in public. He relents, his hands moving up to caress that pretty neck of yours. In your intoxicated state, you continue to allow him to play with you.
What you don't notice is John has slowly pulled you from the crowd, isolating you from the rest of the humans having a fun Halloween weekend. You don't even realize it until John is starting to move you through a back door of the club, the night air suddenly chilling you and ruffling the feathers of your wings. You turn to face him, and he smiles so sweetly. As he smiles you notice the sharpness of his teeth, and your mind tries to explain it away as a costume, but they look so real, and so sharp. Your instincts once again tell you to run, but with the way he's looking at you, you feel a pull to him you can't explain.
It's as if everything in your brain is telling you how dangerous this man is, but your body can't get enough of him. Even being so close now, his husky, earthy scent, similar to pine trees and steel, draws you in. You feel your body tingling where he touches you on your waist and back, his finger tips freezing. He reminds you of winter itself, cold and unmoving. But you are moving aren't you? When you notice your surroundings outside his intense, dark eyes, you see you've been drawn to a dark corner of the alleyway.
You look about and notice how quiet it is, how it's as if everyone else has been banished from the area, not even the rustle of wind is making a sound. No, the only sound right now you hear is of your increasingly alarmed breath. You look back to the strange man to see he has bent you backwards, your wings now barely brushing the dirty alley, your hair swept from your neck.
Suddenly, in the moonlight, those glinting fangs don't seem so fake. In fact, they seem so real you're shaking from it. Your rabbit heart thumps relentlessly, and suddenly adrenaline floods your body. You move to run, to jump out of his grip like a frightened doe, but his hands hold you like steel.
"Who--?" You begin to say, trying to muster a scream for help that doesn't come.
"My sweet angel," John speaks for the first time to you tonight, and your entire body goes cold. "You will be so delicious..."
John doesn't care to hide it anymore, the fear has overcome all else inside you, and you know that he is dangerous.
John takes his hands to your throat, turning your head so that he may look into your eyes. You look into them, those two dark orbs, and you feel that fear wash over you again as you realize how red they are getting. You must be imagining things, it must be the lack of light, but no, you're sure of it. This mans eyes are truly, deeply, darkly red. And just when you had mustered enough sense to want to run away, he's hypnotized you. His vampiric powers of manipulation wash over your mind, over your body. You feel a false sense of calm, and your mind tries to scream for your body to run, but you can't. You're stuck there, transfixed and mouth agape, your body wanting John more than anything.
Now that he has you in such a vulnerable state, he simply picks you up, carrying you bridal style to a spot he's already picked out. He takes you to a nearby apartment, abandoned and high up enough no one will hear you scream. He has outfitted the bedroom here as the perfect vampire nest. The windows are boarded from all light, the room is adorned with candles, and he's even brought in some tools to use on you. He will take his time with you, that much was certain. You want to struggle as he sets you down on the bed, but your body doesn't move. You look up at him like a lamb to the slaughter, waiting for him to break your pretty little neck.
"Hands." He says roughly, and before you can think to deny him, you're lifting your hands I front of you, doe eyes looking at him so pitifully full of tears that won't fall.
He ties your hands skillfully together, tight and inescapable. Then he ties your hands to the bedframe above you, and you look up from there, asking for some miracle to save you.
"There will be no miracles tonight. Not for you, angel." You glance at him, wondering how he read your mind. He laughs when he sees the confusion in your eyes, his fangs yellowed by the candle light.
"Don't worry, my sweet. Being able to experience all that you have in that pretty head of yours is just half the fun..." John pets your hair before he begins to undress you.
When it's time to focus on your clothes, he has an easy answer for that. He runs his claw along your body, so sharp that even the slightest bit of pressure would surely slit your delicate skin. You can feel the hypnotism waning, but suspect that he has done this on purpose.
"Yes... I have." John answers your thought. "Now, let's hear those lovely moans of yours."
You try to scream, and it comes out as a soft murmur, something akin to being strangled. You feel tears fall down your cheeks, and gasp as you feel John apply just enough pressure to slice through your mini skirt. He plucks it off of you the way one might pluck a petal from a flower. You watch as he tosses it away, feeling the cold air on your almost nude bottom half.
He works his way back up your body, still allowing his claws to glide against your baby soft skin. He reaches your top, and snaps the straps easily, pulling the top off to reveal your breasts to him. Despite everything, you can't help how easily wet your cunt is getting.
"You may try to deny me," John says, again pulling your feelings straight from your head. "But I know you've always wanted this. That's what drew me to your blood. You have the blood of someone who knows they're prey."
"N-no..." You attempt to say, but the words barely find their way out.
"Don't lie, I can see those dark thoughts at the back of your head. How you used to touch yourself to the thought of being kidnapped. How you wished someone would tie you up, just like this. Even just tonight, you thought of this. Don't start being a brat for me now, angel. Show me how badly you've wanted this." The last sentence is a command you must follow, and when John's hands have reached up to your glossy mouth, you have no choice but to open.
You feel him place two fingers so deeply inside your mouth, your pussy trembles at the thought that he might cut you there. It's as if he's placed a knife in your mouth, so gentle, but so deadly. You close your warm mouth around his cool fingers, sucking lightly. The thoughts you've had about scenarios like this before flash in your mind, no doubt John's influence.
While he keeps you pacified, he runs his free hand down your exposed body, taking care to hold your breast, feeling your beating heart behind it. The smell of your fear and pleasure mixing in your blood has John beyond hard, he doesn't know how much longer he can contain himself before biting or fucking you. He holds back his throbbing fangs, for now.
You watch helplessly as he pulls his fingers from your mouth, moving his body down yours, until his head is lined up with your soaking cunt.
"I can smell how badly you've wanted this from here..." John teases, and you bite your lip, embarrassed of how your body betrays you.
John plays with your white, lacy panties, pulling them so taut that your pussy lips get caught around them. You moan despite yourself as John plays with your panties just so, your engorged clit getting some wanted attention.
"You're so human...denying yourself the ultimate pleasure you've been seeking, I would never dream of such a thing." John muses as you writhe against your restraints, even this slightest touch driving you mad. You think of kicking John away, but your legs just won't work for you. He has you perfectly spread for him, tied up like a present, and unable to resist.
"I'm sure all your fantasies consist of killing young, helpless women. I'm not sure that counts." Your voice whispers in a chiding tone, and by the look of John's dark eyes on you, you wish you'd held your tongue.
John pulls your panties so hard against your tender clit you let out a small scream. He moves his face to meet yours, speaking directly to you as you lay there fearful, mouth open to silent screams.
"Yes, angel. I do kill young, helpless girls. Let's see if you can be a good girl tonight and change my mind." He watches the fear pool in your eyes, breathing in the scent of it with a smirk.
You try to hold his eye contact, try to be the brave girl who fights her attacker. But that's just not you. That's never been you. You've always been soft, easily guided this way or that. You've never been particularly smart, or witty. You've gotten by on your beauty alone for so long, that you made yourself think you were more powerful than you were. Really, you're just a lost little lamb, looking to be herded, but finding the wolf instead.
John can see that, hear that in your thoughts, and he reaches up, cups your face in his hand, and pulls your eyes back to his.
"I think if you expand your mind a bit, little lamb, you may even really enjoy being drained to death..." The way his cold eyes fill with excitement at this statement makes your stomach flop. It takes everything in you to pull your chin away from his hand.
He let's you, pulling back down to your glistening cunt. John pulls your panties up and places a sharp claw under it, the soft side of his claw brushing against your clit. In one fell swoop, he cuts away your panties.
You squirm and try to make your legs close, your whining coming out between sharp breaths as you try to fight this power over you. He slowly brings his face to your quivering cunt, looking up at you with those dangerous onyx eyes.
"The sooner you realize you've always been meant to be someone's plaything, the sooner you'll find yourself loving this..." He whispers, prodding more of those sick fantasies to flash in your head.
John let's his fangs flash in the light before letting his tongue taste you. His tongue is surprisingly cool, making you recoil, but with more movement, you hate that your hips try to buck into his mouth. He's teasing your clit every so carefully, moving perfectly to keep you on edge. Your entire body floods with pleasure that you try to keep at bay.
"You know you want more...ask me..." His voice breathes against your pussy, leaving chills to run up your spin.
You hate how right he is. You want this, you want this man, no, this monster to fuck you senseless. You can't believe how sensitive you're getting even at the idea that he kills you, that you become nothing but a meal for such a powerful creature. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears as you try to ignore him down there, try to will your body not to be so sensitive to his touch, to his tongue lapping at your cunt ever so gently. You should be fighting him, screaming for your life, scheming at least for how to get yourself out of this, how to save your own life.
But when you look into his dark eyes, you know it's no use. Any plan you could come up with, he would hear. Any escape, if you somehow got out of your restraints, was futile. He was stronger, faster than you in every respect. All you could do was lay here, shuddering against the monster that's tempting you to let them make you cum. What were you supposed to do? What would the smart, cunning, witty girl do?
"P-please..." Your voice summons, and John's ears perk up at the sound.
"Please what? What changed your mind?" He looks at you curiously.
"Please...make me cum. I've..." You take a deep breath and hold it as John gives a longer lick. "I've never been the smart one, or the one who was going anywhere big in life. I'm only useful as a hole to fuck. Please fuck me and make my pitiful existence mean something."
"And if I kill you?" John teases your pussy by lightly gliding his claws across it, the feeling similar to that of a cool blade being used.
"Then I would be happy to be of use to you..." You can't believe you've said this, but you can feel John pulling the words from you with his eyes.
You close your eyes after the last word, unable to look into John's eyes any longer. After a moment, when you hear nothing, you peek at him. He looks at you like a cat presented with a shiny new toy. His interest in you is piqued more than even before.
"Maybe you will be more than a temporary plaything..." John raised his eyebrows with a hint of laughter, the sentiment didn't help much to relieve you of your fear.
Seeing you so willing to admit how much a girl like you was meant to be nothing more than fuck meat and a meal made John's cock struggle against his pants. He has grown tired of smart girls who try to escape, it always ended the same anyways. Now you, you who can admit that they are prey, that was much more interesting. The way you sacrifice yourself to him made John feel like a king, no, a God.
He could feel himself throbbing with want, wanting to take you here and now, but he was a man of his word. He would make you cum first.
He returns to your cunt, served up for him perfectly, and begins to devour you much more than before. He licks with purpose, using his tongue to give you so much attention your eyes almost roll back from the intensity. What surprises you more, leaves you gasping is when he sucks your clit into his mouth, his teeth ever so gently applying pressure and new sensitivity. You quiver and your legs seem to not be your own, muscles tensing and squirming under John's touch. You feel John's hand hold your thigh down in place, his claws knicking your skin just slightly. The pain mixed with the pleasure John gives begins to send you over the edge. When you see the small droplets of blood begin to leak from your thigh, you cum for him, moaning into the night air.
As you settle down, your heart rapidly getting away from you, your eyes lazily open and watching John, you see him move his mouth to your thigh, lapping up the blood that's been spilt there.
John licks the wounds, and the close up, but tasting your delicious blood has him unable to hold back anymore. He needs more of it. Now.
John sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, his fangs almost melting into your dainty skin. You cry out, and John bites deeper, his cock leaking from the sound of your despair, his mind reeling from how good you taste. Soon, he pulls his teeth back, sucking deeply of the blood that gushes into his mouth. As he begins to drink from you, an unimaginable wave of pleasure crashes over you.
You can barely contain yourself, your voice not your own, your moans of anguish and want, heedy and full of need. You've never felt such pleasure, not even from how well John made you cum moments before. You greedily relish in it as John drinks deeper, a free hand lifting to pet your sweet cunt, driving you mad with sensation. You feel yourself begin to cum again. Then again. And again as John continues to consume your precious blood.
John can feel your heart slowing, can sense your life force leaving you as he consumes your warmth. He has to force himself to stop, his muscles tightening and attempting to keep his jaw locked on your thigh. You're so high on pleasure you hardly notice how close to dying you really are right now. You feel yourself slipping away, as if falling into darkness and greeting it happily. Maybe he was right, maybe dying this way wasn't so bad...
John pulls his fangs from your thigh with great strength. He laps carefully at the two pinprick wounds, and watches as they slowly close, as if nothing at all had happened. You can barely hold your head up, your breath slow. You lay languidly, lolling about when John moves to get near your face.
He softly pets the side of your face and your eyes flutter open, looking up into his eyes the way Ophelia may have looked at the sky before succumbing to death. You watch, unable to process what's happening, as John slits open his own wrist, letting the blood there drop into your open mouth. The taste is sweet, bitter, and smoky, just like him. You swallow with great effort and John watches as your paleness slowly starts to perk up.
"You're going to be an interesting blood doll indeed..." He whispers as he pets your hair gently. "Now rest..." He commands and your world goes dark.
