Hang on, I have an interesting (to me at least lol) thought about vamp! Rhys.
What the hell would he do with reader being on her period when she’s still human??
Am I asking this because I am on my period reading your vampire! Rhys fics… possibly… he’s just so hot 🫠and I wanna bite him affectionately lol💀
It’s a really good question in my opinion lol
This has been sitting half finished in my drafts and now I'm on my period and asking the same questions! But don't worry, I have some answers for you ;)
You should have known something was up when Rhys had woken you up every morning for the last week with his fangs nipping at your throat, his sleep thick voice murmuring how good you smelled into your skin before taking the faintest of tastes. You write it off as him finally coming to terms with how he feels about you being human and embracing this new comfortability in your relationship, at first. But then you randomly catch him staring at you throughout the day, his gaze dark, pupils blown wide. He wouldn't do anything about it either. Usually, when he looks like that you find yourself flush against a wall, but these last few days he's just staring. Like he's waiting for something.
Then one night he asks you if you're in the mood for chocolate and comes back with a whole tray of ice cream and cookies and expensive looking candies and you're absolutely sure he's lost his mind.
You have half a mind to ask Mor if there's some weird dating ritual vampires have that you don't know about, because there's suddenly a lot more pillows and comfy blankets in your bed the morning after that. Along with a tray of some weird tea you've never seen before, and more boxes of chocolate things you can't name. But you don't even make it to Mor's wing of the house before Rhys waltzes into the bedroom you share with his arms full of towels and you simply cannot take it anymore.
"Rhys what are you doing?"
He takes his time folding them, studying each towel like it holds the mysteries of the universe within it. "Preparing."
"For what?" You ask incredulously, because he's clearly in on some secret you've never heard of.
He cocks his head to the side, looking very confused as to why you're asking. "Is it not almost your time of the month?"
That doesn't make his behavior any less confusing, but you run a hand through your hair in thought. It should be starting any day now, now that you think about it. "You've been keeping track of my period?"
He takes the perfectly folded towels and puts them under the bathroom sink for safe keeping as he says, "Of course. What kind of partner would I be if I didn't?"
You follow after him, still wildly confused. It's not like he can get you pregnant, there's no need for him to be keeping track. "But why?"
He frowns at that. "You were in a lot of pain last time, I wanted to help make it easier this time around."
Your heart clenches in your chest and you step forward to place a gentle kiss on his lips. "That's really sweet of you."
"I hate to see you in pain," he says, catching your face in his hands. "I don't really remember how the human body works, but I found some books in the library about what might help, since my blood didn't work last time."
He'd been very concerned about the amount of cramping you endured last month, even more so when it turned out Vampire blood was not in fact a cure all for every human ailment. It could fix a cold, but for some reason, it hadn't worked so well on your cramps.
Maybe it's your hormones, but you tear up a little at the thought of him rifling through the library trying to find the right book to help you. "That would explain all the chocolate and the tea."
"The books said they helped," he sweeps you up into his arms so he can hold you.
"What else did they say?" You ask as you kiss the tip of his nose.
He grins at that, eyes once again dark and hungry. "Ask me again in a few days."
That's never a good sign, but you'd be a liar if you said you weren't intrigued. He'd checked most of the boxes for your needs already, what else had he managed to find?
By the time you actually start bleeding, he's wrangled up every heating pad and pain reliever he can get his hands on. There's always a hot bath waiting to help you relax, and no shortage of pads stashed throughout the estate. He's hidden some in every desk and drawer he can think of, which pretty much means you'll never have to worry about it for the rest of your mortal life because he's not exactly sure how many of them you need, but it's the thought that counts.
By the second day, your cramps are so intense you can barely get out of bed and he stays dutifully curled up next to you, holding a heating pad at the base of you spine and massaging your tender hips like your own personal masseuse.
"Maybe today's the day, Rhys," you grumble into his bare chest. "I think I've had just about enough of this human thing."
He chuckles softly into your shoulder as his expert fingers loosen the tight muscles at the base of your spine. "That's not a very fun turning story."
"You've never experienced the pain of being a woman," you counter. "I think Mor would find it funny at least."
He kisses your shoulder, clad in one of his oversized shirts. "We still have a few things we can try before we resort to that."
"Such as?" You counter.
Rhys rolls you over onto your back, body sliding in between your legs. "I read that orgasms can help." His eyes are back to that dark, hungry look you've seen a dozen times in that couple weeks and it suddenly clicks in your head why he's been looking at you like that.
"That explains the towels," you say.
He kisses you gently at first, "Only if you want to, of course."
"At this point, I'll try anything," though you can't help the blush that works its way up your neck and face. You'd be a liar to say you hadn't thought about it, but you'd assumed this was too taboo a subject to discuss with someone so... old.
He's gone in a flash to grab the towels he'd stashed under the sink and back just as quick to lie them out across the bed, just so you don't ruin the sheet set that might just be older than you.
"You're sure you don't mind?" You inquire and he stills at the edge of the bed, giving you the same look he gives Cass when he says something out of pocket.
"I'm a vampire, Darling," he says, running his tongue over his canines so you get the point. "You should know by now how much I enjoy blood. Yours especially."
"Yeah, but this is-" You freeze as he kneels between your legs and starts placing soft kisses along the inside of your thighs. "Different."
One of his hands reaches up to push your shirt up your body, the other holds your legs open so he can move further up your thighs. "How so?" Fangs scrape over your skin in teasing strokes as he kisses higher and higher.
"You're not drinking from me," you start but a shiver works its way down your spine and steals the thought from your head as he brushes his nose over your clothed center. It is easy to forget how sensitive your body is during your period, and there is no denying how turned on you get when Rhys gets between your legs, but this time it feels different. This time, having him this close makes your body tremble, heat licking deep in the pit of your stomach. It usually takes some of his venom to feel this worked up, but there's none in your system yet.
"Aren't I?" He purrs, hands hooking in the waistband of your underwear.
You don't have time to ask before he starts pulling the material down your legs, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the heat that flushes your skin. There is no beat in time between him baring you to him and him pulling a towel beneath you, his inhumane speed making it feel like you blinked and were suddenly bare. It's not even a breath later that he's licking a stripe up your center and all rational thought eddies from your mind.
"Rhys!" You should want to pull away, should feel some sort of mortification when he looks up at you, eyes so lust blown they're almost all pupil despite the slight flush of red on his lips, but you can't find it in you to do so.
"Relax," he orders mind to mind as his tongue slides easily through your folds. "Let me take care of you."
Your eyes squeeze shut as he licks another long stripe up your center, canines scraping gently, teasingly against you. It's too much already and he hasn't done anything yet. Your hands reach for the sheets, trying to hold onto something, to ground yourself from rocking your hips into his mouth in desperation.
"Feels good?"
Your legs instinctively spread for him, body begging for more as you whimper for him. "More, please, more!"
He guides one of your legs over his shoulder, giving him a better angle to dive into you and feast, tongue pushing deeper inside you.
Stars swim across your vision, breath rasping out of you in panting gasps as your hands fly from the sheets to his hair to pull him closer. Your body is white hot, muscles tightening around his head as the pleasure builds deeper and deeper inside you.
When he slides a finger inside you, you can't help but buck your hips into his face, writhing against the pleasure that's too much and somehow not enough. His name is a prayer on your lips, pleasure making you delirious as he drags you closer and closer to the edge.
He has to keep an arm over your waist to keep you from writhing too far away, the strength of him only serving to fuel the fire in your belly more. This is about you and your pleasure, and gods is he good at it, but knowing you can't squirm away from him, can't do anything but accept what he gives you makes your thighs clench around his head.
He moans into your center as you tighten around him, letting you know he's enjoying this just as much as you are, despite the wetness you feel dripping down onto the towel beneath you. At least he had planned ahead for the mess.
"Rhys," the whole house can probably hear you screaming for him as he slides a second finger inside you, stretching you out and chasing the motion with his tongue.
"Just like that, Little One," he coos. "Cum for me."
You're aware you're babbling, thighs shaking around his head as pleasure sweeps through you, but you can't stop. Can't do anything but float on the waves of white hot pleasure that crest and fall down your spine. He doesn't stop his ministrations either, not even as you fight to catch your breath. His fingers and tongue still move through your sensitive folds, still curl against that same, spongy spot over and over again.
"Too much," you whimper, trying to wiggle out from beneath him.
His large hand flattens over your stomach, pushing you down hard enough to feel the mattress bow beneath you. You aren't going anywhere until he's done with you, 'til he's had his fill.
"Look at me," he orders, tongue swirling in a new pattern, teeth lightly nibbling on your skin.
There's blood on the tip of his nose, on his cheeks and chin; all traces of violet are gone from his eyes, only lust and hunger in its place. Usually Cassian is the messy one, but tonight, he lets a little of the monster slip.
"I want you to watch as you come apart on my tongue again."
You're pretty sure it's his powers that pin you in place, holding you upright as he speeds up his movements, gaze pinned on the way he devours you like a male starved. He has eaten you out plenty of times in the past, but the sounds he makes, the reverberations of his moans only amplify your pleasure.
The edge rises to meet you again, the over-stimulation cresting between pleasure and pain, the lines blurring as he suckles on your clit.
Stars once again blur across your vision as every muscle in your body tightens. The grip you have on his hair has to be painful, even for an immortal, but he makes no complaint as he nips and sucks and twists his fingers in a way that makes you think you might die if you don't cum soon. Tears make your vision cloudy, all your heightened emotions amplified further by how good he's capable of making you feel.
"So pretty like this," he purrs. "Love those sounds you make for me, when you moan my name like a prayer."
It's taking everything in you to not squeeze your eyes shut as you buck your hips as best you can against the hand pinning you in place. Just a little more. Just a little harder. You're so close to the edge again, so close to that sweet, sweet bliss.
"We should have done this sooner, don't you think, Darling?"
"Yes!" You practically scream it as he flicks his tongue at the same time he curls his fingers and your release barrels through you so hard and fast your body shakes against it.
You're absolutely boneless as he works you through it, dragging your orgasm out as long as possible with his fingers. Only when your ragged breathing finally calms does he remove himself from your core. He leans back on his haunches, face an absolute mess of blood and your release.
Despite the fact that he'd just been between your legs, you still find yourself blushing as he slides the fingers that had been inside you into his mouth for one final taste. "You really are my favorite meal, you know that?" His voice is still deliciously husky, the clear sign of his own arousal fighting the confines of his pants.
But this is about you, and making you feel better. So instead of doing something about it, he takes one of the towels you didn't absolutely ruin and starts to clean you up. When he's satisfied that you're clean, he disappears into the bathroom to start the tub.
He'd taken that time to clean up his face too, so there's no blood on his lips when he leans over the bed to place a gentle kiss on your lips. "Feel better?"
You'd managed to forget for the entirety of it that you had been cramping in the first place. "Much better."
He sweeps you up into his arms gently, like you're something fragile and breakable and it makes your heart clench in your chest. He has always been good at taking care of you, but it really hits you in this moment.
"I love you," you whisper as you lean up to kiss his cheek.
The water of the tub is deliciously hot, easing any lingering tension in your muscles as he gets both of you in the tub.
Rhys settles you against his chest, pressing gentle kisses against your forehead. "Still thinking about turning?"
You lean your head back against his shoulder so you can look up at him, eyes twinkling mischievously. "I think I want a little more mind blowing period sex first."
He chuckles as he settles back against the tub. "Good, 'cause those books had a few more suggestions we can try out."
A/N: I meant to write this for October since it sounded spooky, but honestly I’m happy I didn’t because now I get to write something supernatural in the lead up to Christmas!
You’ve always had a strange fixation with the phantasmal night of all hallows eve. Something particular about the thought of ghastly apparitions being freed to sew discord and chaos through the monotony of everyday life entices your pulse to spike dangerously. Blood thrumming in your veins.
Clouds seal the full moon to the sky, casting shadows throughout the already dense and dark woodland. Twigs snap and crackle beneath your feet as you continue along the path through the ancient forest. Gnarled branches reach into your way, like talons of some malignant beast stretching to grasp you in its claws. Heart bumps against its cage, pale robes swishing provocatively in your wake, a pale glow of white contained within the darkness of night.
Before you, the abandoned castle looms, cutting a towering silhouette as it’s lit by a crack of lightening, splitting the heavens in two. Ravens caw and crow, taking sudden flight to the stormy skies, wind picking up as it whips the leaves from branches, thunder and rain coming on in an abrupt onslaught, seemingly out of nowhere. The water lashes at your skin, thoroughly soaking your robes, slicking the thin fabric to your skin.
Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to follow the tug toward the old castle site, a chill running up your spine as you’re lured closer, path quickly muddying beneath your feet as you stumble through the howling wind and screaming rain, reaching the base of the entry way. Hurriedly trample up the carved steps, passing by the large carved gargoyles hunched either side of the case. Lightening crackles again, bursting across the thundery sky and you dive for the cover of the hewn-rock archway, seeking shelter from the torrent of heavy droplets.
Plaster yourself to the looming door, the skull knocker digging into your shoulder as you rest against it. The wood gives way, and you yelp as you stumble back, tripping up over your feet, cloak getting caught as you’re sent falling onto your ass. A stray wind whips through the interior, door slamming shut before your very eyes, locked in darkness. Tendrils of hot breath curl before your face in the low temperature of the castle, and you hurry to your feet.
Flinch as the room comes alight, allowing your eyes to sweep across the grand entrance: rich, polished floorboards bathed with blood-red rugs, a glass chandelier hanging like an abnormal spider above the room, the two sets of large winding staircases, and the dark figure at their peak. Candle light warms the castle hall, and you press back into the locked door, breathing heavily.
“My, my,” the character calls softly, “what has the storm brought in?”
Blink quickly, returning to your senses as reason and rationality are returned. You hadn’t known the castle was occupied… “I’m so sorry, Lord,” you call, hoping your voice carries to his looming perch. “I was out in the forest when the rain came on out of nowhere,” you explain, “I came seeking shelter, but the door wasn’t closed properly, and I fell in.” Heat flushes your cheeks, and you self-consciously step back from the rich rugs, trying to keep the mud from the spotless fabric.
“Fell in?” He echoes, and you could swear you hear the faintest laugh. “There’s been many a grand entrance in these halls, and yet none quite as theatrical as your own.” Suck in a quiet inhale of embarrassment, smoothing down the cloak in attempts to look vaguely presentable for the young aristocrat. “If it’s not too much to ask,” you call out, thankful for the evenness of your voice. “I would like to request shelter until the storm passes, then I promise I will be on my way.”
“Of course,” he replies, “be my guest.” His arm sweeps across the grand hall, encompassing the room with a deliberately relaxed gesture. “What’s mine is yours. Stay as long as it pleases you.”
Almost immediately, your shoulders lose their tension, relieved to not be forced back out into the horrific storm—it really had broken out of nowhere. You dip into a light curtsey, the least you can do to demonstrate your gratitude. “My deepest thanks, lord…?”
“Rhysand,” he calls, voice smooth as velvet, sinful as silk. “You may call me Rhysand.”
————
Strangely, you hadn’t seen another soul since you had arrived, which can’t be right, since the place was clean enough you might have thought it unlived in. Missing the mess of life, a strange deathlessness stalking the flame-lit halls.
Perplexities aside, the lord—Rhysand, as he’d informed you with that strange smile—had been more than welcoming, offering a spare bedroom larger than your home, with clothes to change into. You’d had to fight to keep your mouth from parting in awe from the decadent luxury at his fingertips, the sheer mass of wealth he’s shrouded in. How blasé he is about the display of opulence, immune to the shock and wonder of it all.
“You are free to stay as long as you please,” he’d reminded, glancing over to you from where he stands on the threshold. “Dinner will be served at eight. I’d be delighted if you joined me,” he says, offering the invitation graciously. Brows raise on your forehead, grateful for your stroke of luck. Dip your head in confirmation. “That would be wonderful,” you answer sincerely, “I can’t thank you enough for your generosity, my lord.” He waves his hand dismissively, yet it comes across as charming rather than arrogant. “Rhysand will suffice perfectly,” he replies, sharp eyes cutting to you, lips fashioning themselves into a distinctly feline smile. “Rhys if you feel otherwise inclined.” There’s a suggestive lilt to his honeyed voice that has your hairs standing on end, toes curling in spare slippers.
Dip your head again. “Thank you, Rhysand.”
Something pleasured passes through the darkness of his gaze, but it’s quickly covered as he nods, turning to leave, but pausing. “Feel free to adorn yourself as you please,” he adds on, framing it as an after-thought, despite embodying the antithesis of someone who would speak without thinking. He inclines his head toward the vanity, various sparkling gems strung together, contained within the jewellery armoire. Lips part to politely refuse—he’s already offered so much, it would feel wrong to take advantage of such an opportunity.
But he beats you to it, giving you a smile that suggests he knows exactly what you were about to say. “God turns a blind eye to my castle,” he purrs, lips sinfully curved. “Indulge as you like.”
Then he’s gone, striding away down the blood-red corridors, disappearing out of sight and leaving you alone in the offered room. Completely out of your depth, on unfamiliar ground.
Glance at the grandfather clock—you have a quarter hour to swiftly change into clothes of his taste. You waste no time, hastily closing the door before heading to the armoire provided. He’d told you everything was already prepared, which had initially drawn some questions, but you suppose someone with such a vastness of wealth would always have his doors open to passersby—a different way of displaying opulence.
You settle on the simplest gown you can find, still obscenely intricate, with tiny detailed patches of embroidered lacing the hem and sides. The bodice fits nicely, easy to change into and resting comfortably over your now-dry skin. The skirts are held up by an in-built petty-coat, giving the illusion of shape by flaring out past your waist, grazing your ankles. While the rest of you has been ridden of the lasting effects of rain, your hair remains damp, so you decide to allow it to hang at your back—you’d hate to sleep on the crisp pillows with wet hair.
A single look to the clock reveals you have five minutes before dinner is served, so you decide to peer at the jewellery, making sure to leave time for finding the dining hall. Within the small armoire are a menagerie of necklaces, but you pick out a small string of pearls, the clasps rendered in gold to match with the cream of your gown. Heart beats with infantile excitement at getting to adorn yourself in such expensive clothing, enjoying the cool brush against your skin, the weight of the pearls as they skim your breasts—plumped by the front of the bodice.
The clock ticks, and you turn for the door, leaving no time to change from the slippers that had been offered as you swish out into the hallway, returning the way you had come. Surely the dining hall would be located upon the ground floor…
You head for the swirl of stairs, pausing at their peak—where the sharp-featured lord had stood, surveying his lonely kingdom. The glass pendants suspended from the chandelier glitter and gleam like diamonds, and you span your hands delicately across the polished wood of the banister, taking the time to drink in and admire the antique beauty of his home.
Startle when a palm slides around your waist, spinning fully upon turning to see who’s approached. The banister presses to the base of your spine as you lean to it, his hands lightly holding your sides, resting without squeezing. “I’m glad you were able to find your way,” he says lowly, no need for volume with the proximity you are to one another. “I had worried you might find yourself lost in my halls, and I would have to go searching.”
A polite smile plays on your lips, attempting to calm the flush his silken words inspire beneath your features. “I was admiring your home,” you murmur, one hand pressing atop your breast to calm your heart—maybe also to direct his attention to the softness of cleavage. “The chandelier is wonderful, with how it catches the light. For a moment I thought it was winking at me,” you laugh quietly, demurely ducking your head, casting your gaze away from the sharpness of his own.
Rhysand chuckles lowly, “you have the eyes of a magpie.” Hand lightly raises to the set of shining beads at your throat. “Seemingly the taste of one, too.” He threads his fingers with those atop your breast, bringing your knuckles to the softness of his lips. “May I say, you look positively regal,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to your skin. You’re surprisingly relieved at the coolness of his mouth, soothing the fire that’s thrumming wildly in response to the delightful liberties he’s taking.
This time you can’t bring yourself to look away. Enchanted by the swirling depths of violet.
“If I look regal,” you breathe softly, “it is thanks to your exquisite taste in dress.” He raises a single, neatly groomed brow, and you’re rather glad to have the banister to lean back on. “A raw gem is beautiful even before it’s refined,” he purrs, cool lips skimming your knuckles with each word. “The clothing merely enhances what was already there.”
Open your mouth to deny his flattery, but once again he beats you to it, as if able to read minds. “Now,” he says, standing to his full height, “shall we?” He guides your arm to link with his own, hand pressing to the firmness of muscle beneath the fine fabric of his jacket. All you can manage is a dip of your head in acquiescence before he’s gracefully guiding you to the stairs, leading the way to the dining hall.
“In the mean time,” he says casually, “why don’t you tell me what you were doing, traipsing through the woods on such a morbid night?” Clasp your skirts in one hand, descending the case on his arm, quietly enjoying the gentlemanly mannerisms even if you’re undeserving of them. “It’s all hallows eve,” you answer, honestly, “I found myself yearning the company of the forest.”
“So you decided to play at red-riding hood,” he drawls, mirth coating his teasing words. You manage to shoot him what you hope is a playful glance. “There are no wolves in these forests, Rhysand,” you smile, returning your gaze to the steps. “Besides, these robes are white, not red.”
The two of you reach the base, and he moves to escort you through the archway on your right, leading away from the entrance hall. “That’s the lovely thing about white though, isn’t it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So open to change.” Your brow dips in a subtle show of confusion, narrowing. “What do you mean by that?” Lips carve themself into something distinctly vulpine, sharp canines gleaming beneath the warm light. But he shakes his head, murmuring a “never mind” before continuing through the ornamented room.
“Tell me more about this so-called yearning for the forest,” he goads, drawing you through yet another exquisitely decorated hall, rugs a shade darker now you’ve strayed from the entrance. It’s your turn to shake your head, unsure how to describe it without sounding utterly off your rocker. “It’s hard to say really,” you say truthfully. “The temperature was crisp but not biting, and the sky was overcast without promising a storm— well, I had thought not, though I was clearly mistaken,” you smile, though there’s an intensity to his gaze you hadn’t noticed before. You quickly avert your eyes, peering instead at the large banquet table you’re swiftly approaching.
“I think, if I’m being quite plain, the quiet suited me in that moment,” you admit softly. “I didn’t know those forests were capable of being quiet,” he mutters, “they must like you.” You shoot him a questioning look, but he simply smiles, again shaking his head. “I was merely thinking out loud,” he clarifies, pulling out your chair. You politely take the seat, smoothing out your skirts as he tucks you in. “I’d be interested in hearing more of your inner thoughts,” you say, “they sound quite intriguing.”
Rhysand pauses, hands resting atop the back of your chair, “would you now?” Spine stiffens when you feel icy air brush your temple, tilting your head to figure where the stray breeze came from. Freeze when his lips graze the shell of your ear, fingers halting in your lap. “Would you like to know what I’m thinking right now?” He inquires lowly, startling heat simmering in your lower abdomen. Manage a slight dip of your chin in tense confirmation. Lips trail lower, ghosting below your ear, brushing your neck. But then he pulls away, standing straight, offering a charming smile. “I’m thinking it would be a shame to be seated so far apart from you, and that I will have to move to be at your side.” Then he’s striding to the end to retrieve the crockery laid out, cutlery held in his free hand.
While his back is turned, you take the moment to try and calm your racing heart, startled by the vivacious beat being drummed against your ribs. You should be better equipped to face him, yet he’s seamlessly pulling you apart, stitch by stitch. All effortless charm and debonair grace. By the time he’s returned, you’ve managed to reach a state of near relaxation, just an edge of tension still gnawing at your spine.
“So, Rhysand,” you say quietly, nervous to intrude too deeply into the air of the castle. “Does your family live with you?” When he begins taking food to his plate, you follow suit, assuming the dinner has commenced, and that it will be fine for you to now start on the delicious meal laid before you. “Occasionally they fly by,” he answers with that playful smile, its reflection mirrored upon your lips. “I have two brothers who will visit from time to time, though they have their own hunting grounds to preside over.”
He hunts? You would have thought someone dressed as finely as he is would have little interest in such a superficial task. Particularly if there’s no one to converse with during the process. An image of him dressed in hunting leathers flashes through your mind, as if put there by an encouraging hand. “Preside over?” You ask, raising a forkful of food to your mouth.
Rhysand nods, smiling faintly as he watches you. “Indeed. They require a surprising amount of attention. Making sure the game are well-kept so none are driven from the lands,” he elaborates, and you nod along, surprised to find yourself interested in the subject. “What counts as being well-kept?” You ask once done with the food in your mouth, eagerly moving to the next piece. “Making sure they are well-fed,” he answers with a playful smile, “that generally keeps them happy.”
You blink, then smile. It’s nice to know he takes care of the animals on his land. That they’re looked after before their death. More humane than some of the things you’ve seen in your small hamlet. “I take it you hunt for pleasure?” You asks, eager to learn more about the charming lord. But he shakes his head, “not regularly. Or rather, not as regularly as some others I know.” A frown seems to dip his brows, and you wish to change the subject. His knife slices through the meat on his plate, carving it up into neat little squares for polite, bite-sized snacks. “Besides, I fear if my game notices it’s being picked off, it will run for the hills.”
Laughter bubbles across your breast-bone with his little quirks. The idea that his prey would be at all self-aware is rather amusing, while also strangely heart-warming. “If hunting is not a hobby of yours, how do you spend your time?” You ask, relaxing into the pleasantly stimulating conversation. “Welcoming rain-soaked women into my castle, of course,” he drawls, a wide smile spreading across your lips, quickly raising your hand to cover your mirth-filled grin. “You’ve given me no reason to doubt, yet I haven’t laid eyes on a single other soul here,” you reply, peering at him.
Lips quirk, and he reaches for his glass of red wine, thoroughly opaque, darkened in the flame light. “Everyone else has gone home for the night,” he answers, sipping at the thick liquid. “It’s just us, my lady.” Flush at the title, returning to concentrate on the meal. “I am no lady, Rhysand,” you respond softly, cutting into the rich meat on your plate. “And yet if I were to walk through those doors and find you dining alone, I would not think you looked even a spot out of place in my home,” he says, equally hushed.
Cutlery stills in your hands, raising your eyes to swirling violet. It strikes you then what a spectacular colour it is. Manage a shy smile, “your flattery is outrageous.” He’s quiet for a short spell, before also lowering his cutlery. “Do I look like I’m lying to you?” You’re surprised by the sincerity of his tone. Throat rolls as you observe him, head still lowered shyly. “I’ve known you for not even a night,” you murmur, unable to quite pull your focus from him. “You could,” he answers lowly, voice pitched down a few keys.
Blink, taken aback. You must be misunderstanding. Swallow thickly, making to return to your plate, but— “Don’t look away,” he instructs softly, coaxing your eyes back to his. Mind swims through heat, the world dimming around him, as if blanketed by a thick fog. “I…I couldn’t say,” you manage, a strange wariness prickling at the nape of your neck. Hairs rising with the intensity of his gaze.
The lord is quiet again, watching you with those strange, wonderful eyes. But then he pulls away, spearing a sectioned piece of meat with his fork. “Forgive me,” he says, “I shouldn’t have been so crass with you. I find myself so rarely with civilised company my manners are often forgotten.”
You shift in your seat, a bout of cold icing your skin in the absence of his attention. “No, it’s fine,” you say, finished with your meal, gently setting down the knife and fork. “I was simply caught off guard. The truth is I would feel as though I was taking advantage of your generosity, Rhysand.” You notice he’s also finished, but are unable to recall at what point. “What’s mine is yours,” he reminds lowly, eyes glinting.
Pulse spikes in response, something dark in that look that has you urging to run. The question is: in what direction?
“You seem tired,” he observes, glancing at the grandfather clock. Brows raise as he reads the time. “Appropriately. It’s nearing midnight,” he drawls. Lips part in surprise, how has it been that long? It feels like you sat down to eat less than an hour ago, yet it’s already beginning the ascent into morning. “Nearly midnight?” You echo, following his gaze. The clock indeed reads twelve, the hour hand raised as if poised to strike down.
Rhysand stands from his chair, refolding the napkin before stretching out his hand. “I would hate for you to sleep poorly because of me. Allow me escort you back to your room,” he asks quietly, all traces of previous heat removed, replaced by well-mannered charm. You manage a nod, arm once again overlapping with his own, making to follow him through the labyrinthine halls.
It hits you then, the vastness of his castle—how desolate the space must be. Especially with how rarely he apparently gets to meet with anyone he cares for. “You know, before tonight I had thought your castle was abandoned,” you say absently, taking in the elaborate decorations with more appreciation. “I’ll admit, it sometimes feels that way,” he replies, deep voice tracing down your spine. Push the heat aside for the moment, turning to glance at him. “Do you ever get lonely?” You ask quietly, aware of the ice you’re treading.
He hesitates, momentarily meeting your gaze before continuing onward, reaching the stairs. “Quite possibly,” he answers, “it would certainly be reason for my appalling lapse in manners earlier tonight.” His lips are lifted at their edges, yet you can’t quite manage to return the smile. It must be difficult, having all this space with only his self to fill it. Then again, with the intensity he’s occasionally pinned you with, that doesn’t seem like a particularly hard task.
“Tell me about your own hobbies,” he requests, breaking from your inner thoughts. “I feel as though I’ve spoken more than enough for tonight.” But you’re shaking your head before you can help it, speaking before you can stop it. “I like the sound of your voice,” you admit quietly. Violet eyes flick to you, weighing on your cheek…your neck. “It’s soothing. Like a lullaby.”
You don’t know what’s gotten into you.
He stares, and heat blossoms beneath your skin. That was incredibly uncalled for on your part.
“I hope not,” he says at last, humiliation burning at your insides as you hastily look away. But then he comes to a stop, hand reaching for your jaw, drawing your helpless gaze to lock with his own. “Because putting you to sleep right now is the last thing on my mind,” he breathes lowly.
Oh.
Chest rises and falls steadily, becoming aware of how breathless you feel, how utterly bare you are beneath that look of his. Tongue flicks out over your lower lip, mouth parched. “Tell me…what’s the first thing on your mind then, Rhys.” Attention pierces to the plushness of your lips, and you’re suddenly in need of that banister from earlier. “You want to know what I’d do with you if you let me?” He asks, voice rougher than it was moments before. Pulse spikes beneath that intensity, breath shallowing, but you manage a nod.
He groans lowly, hand dropping to your waist, lightly resting along the seam of the bodice. Cool fingers stroke away a lock of hair, pads grazing the heat of your cheek as he stares down at you. “I’m not sure such things are for your ears, magpie,” he grits out, applying a light bit of force to your waist. “Tell me anyway,” you breathe, hands raising to the fine lapels of his jacket, more eager to put them in his hair.
A rough sound of conflicted pleasure rumbles in his chest. “Such lovely things,” he promises, violet darkening with desire, swirling and dancing as he drinks you in. “So lovely you wouldn’t be able to pull away once I’d started.”
Heat numbs rationality, mind melting as the words warmly splash over your bones, sinking into marrow as you become soft and supple beneath his touch. Step into the lines of his body, feeling as his fingers press to your sides with tension. “Do it,” you breathe, quietly. “Please.”
Cunning satisfaction releases through the male, pleased with how quickly you changed your mind once he applied himself to the task. He’d gotten a sense of your taste before dinner, when he’d pushed you in, and it had been enough to convince him even though he’d fed not even a week ago, he would have to sample you. Now here you are, head tilted, eyes having fluttered shut, offering yourself to him for an entirely different set of wants. Maybe he will indulge your desires—if you satisfy his, that is.
You’ll be on the floor colder than ice if you fail to do so.
He moves in, hand cupping the nape of your neck as he lowers his mouth to yours. Lamb had been served over dinner, and he finds the taste pleasant on your tongue, stoking the embers of his hunger as he presses himself against the soft shape of you, partially hidden by the blasted dress and pearls. A small sound gets caught in your throat, and he revels in the feeling of your fingers tightening on the lapels of his jacket. As if you’re experiencing even a fraction of the hunger he has for you.
Works his way down your jaw, taking his time as he descends to your neck. Nosing at the pronounced pulse, liking how you tilt your head to one side, freely gifting him access. Lips graze the spot he’s chosen, tongue flicking out to drag along hot skin—so hot it practically burns.
Razor-sharp canines scrape, and he feels the exact moment you go rigid in his arms. But by then it’s too late, his teeth piercing your throat, injecting his philtre-laced venom into your bloodstream. The familiar taste of adrenaline and arousal spills on his tongue, bursting from the small puncture marks he’s made, quick to heal over with the aid of saliva. Drinks you down, savouring the richness of your blood, sealing his lips over the incisions, taking more, and more, and more—
He forcefully drags himself away, vision turning hazy, the scent of your life-force spinning his mind. Breathes heavily, the rich and spicy tang still prominent in his mouth, sapid and hot. Tongue darts out to wet his lips, gathering up faint traces that remain there, and then he’s being pulled back, already so deeply enamoured.
Canines re-pierce that same spot, reopening the incisions as your blood burns his throat, inspiring heat in his long-dead body. It’s as if he’s returning to life, having it shot through his veins, snaring him in the addicting flavour. Lips seal over the puncture marks, drinking deeply, swallowing down more and more.
He should stop.
He knows he should stop—he’ll bleed you dry, and then he’ll never have another taste. Arousal coats his tongue, and heat spreads across his skin, bone-deep aches making themselves apparent, as if forcefully dragging him to you. Your hands have dropped from his jacket, instead weakly rubbing at his shoulder and chest, unable to do much more than hold yourself up.
But the taste—the sheer heaven you’ve put into him again. If he stops drinking, it will pass, and he’ll return to that permanent state of death, cold and solitary. But you’re bleeding sunlight into him, sunlight that’s dappled and controlled instead of the unrestricted blaze that would incinerate him in the blink of an eye.
A quiet gasp slips from your lips, fingers losing their grip on his clothing, beginning to slip, but just a little more…one more gulp…one more sip…
“Mercy, devil,” he breathes onto your neck, as if in pain. “What God-damning angel are you?” He growls, trembling hands cupping your cheeks, sharp violet eyes locked on the small marks to your throat. “You’ve bewitched me. I must…” Then he’s surging forward, slamming you against the wall with inhuman force, hand gripping your jaw as he roughly tilts your head to the side. Groans, hot tongue licking over the soft skin, elongated incisors pricking as they again pierce.
Pulse spikes beneath his grip, growing dizzy as he drinks deeply, hands pressed to your shoulders to pin you still. Vision blurs, lips parting as you raise your arms in attempt to push him away, but end up desperately clinging to the finely spun fabric cloaking his back. Limbs go weak, turning limp in his hold as he feeds, a pleasurable spin overcoming your mind, turning pliable beneath his teeth.
He groans, pulling away only in favour of going lower, suctioning now-hot lips over a new, unmarked patch of skin. Blood bursts on his tongue, rich and spicy, not yet too ripe but void of the sour bite that’s present in the young. Heaven and hell blend together in his mouth, mixing so appetisingly he could never—
“Rhys…” you whisper, pleading. Less than a breath left before you—
Your body slumps, and his is trembling so violently the best he can do is go with you as you slide down the wall, blood trickling down onto the pure, white pearls. He knew they’d get in the way.
He hauls himself away, shocked at the utter lack of control you had subjected him to. How his discipline shudders in your presence, practically brought to its knees for a single drop more.
Earlier he had considered making a bottle or two out of you to send off to his brothers, ready for consumption.
Looking at you now, he can hardly stand the thought.
What’s mine is yours…and what’s yours is mine.
Your blood is his, and his only.
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general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks
Summary: Anon Request: For the vampire Rhys.. you choose 🫣
Warnings: Descriptions of blood.
Word Count: 1,603
Notes: Why vamp!Rhys kinda...🥵
_________________________________________
“You,” he prowls, caging you in. Hands planted on either side of your head, his biceps strain against the tight fabric of his finely pressed shirt. You can feel the chill radiating off him, cutting through the already cool night like a blade made of ice. Goosebumps break out across your flesh, but you will your body still as the spider-like shivers claw up your spine. Your heart stutters in your chest and you catch the gleam of his elongated canines glinting in the bright moonlight. “Don’t smell like the Night court, and you must not be from here because if you were, you’d know better than to walk alone at night.”
He trails a finger down your cheek, and you flinch at how frozen it feels against your hot cheeks. Your breath hitches in your throat and you press your palms into the building behind you to ground yourself, gaze slipping away from his intense violet eyes to stare at the embroidered collar of his shirt instead.
The Night Court insignia stares straight back at you.
Vampire. You want to cry, to knee him in the balls and run screaming up the streets, all the way back into the inn. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll make it. The lock will slide shut and you can hide underneath the thick quilt, far, far away from the monster before you, from the ones lurking in the night.
The corner of his mouth pulls into a smirk, and he nods, dropping the arm keeping you before him. “Go ahead and run, darling. Let’s see how far it gets you.”
You gulp, eyes flickering up on a moment of their own will to look at him again. He’s devastatingly handsome, straight features and dark hair pristinely cut and styled. His skin lacks the tan glow of life but if you squint you might just be able to make out the barely there color of his lips, the fangs peeking out at you.
But those eyes, rich violet and glowing with excitement. He looks ready for a hunt, as if it would be an absolute honor to chase you through the streets and hold you down as he takes what he wants from you. It makes you wonder how he might look afterwards, disheveled hair and pupils blown wide. How he’d hold you and the sounds he might make when he gets that first taste of the heating blood running through your veins.
You just wish your blood wasn’t the only thing he was after.
It all comes tumbling back to you in an instant. The thick crimson drinks at the bar, thickly coating the lips of the face drinking them. That unnatural grace they all seemed to have, twisting their hips and beckoning you towards them with shimmering eyes and tight-lipped smiles. All to hide their fangs, you realize now, knees shaking.
The smell of metal hung heavy in the air, lustful and heady, and you realize that the far couple you’d seen on your way out of the bathroom hadn’t been making out, but she’d been feeding off him, sucking the blood straight from his neck.
Your stomach roils as you try to swallow back the acid creeping up your throat.
“The people in the clubs,” you breathe. Your dress is too tight around your chest, you can hardly breathe.
“Yes,” he encourages, smile growing as you seem to be realizing just how much danger you’re in. Vampires rule the court, but he’s aware that you don’t truly understand the extent of the situation you find yourself in right now. “All vampires.”
Your brows knit together as your startled gaze meets his. He looms over you, shifting closer as your heart races in your chest. You think you hear the soft inhale he makes, know that he’s breathing in the scent of your blood by the way his lips part and he flicks his tongue against his teeth like a viper.
“But the ones in the cafes,” you stutter, mind racing, “They were eating.”
“Vampires,” he confirms, his hands sliding down the wall an inch.
“What about the ones–”
“Let me save you the time, darling. All of my people are vampires.”
“Oh,” your response is a defeated exhale. You don’t know what to do, how to get out of this situation. Surely if you were able to get away from the tall, handsome male before you, you’d wind up someone else’s dinner if all his people are– “Oh.”
He hums, grin going wicked. You watch his sharpened teeth press lightly into the stretched skin of his lower lip. “That’s right,” he drawls, “I’m Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court.”
This is so much worse than you thought.
“Rhysand,” you can’t help but breathe, eyes locked on his. His name tastes like the stars, fresh and bright and it makes you want to wish.
The slip of his name from your lips makes him still, pupils dilate as something within your own chest stirs. The feelings pull the breath from your chest in a gasp. It nearly hurts, feels like your heart is being tugged from the confines of your bone and flesh. You feel like you can almost see it, the stardust he’s made from intertwining with the shimmering gold of the entity of your soul given form. They weave together like light and dark, shadows weaving themselves between rays of silken sun, tying together in an intricate pattern, his soul filling all the holes of yours and yours, his.
Rhys stumbles into you as the strings pull taut, heaving chest to heaving chest as the feeling in your chest dies down. It stings like icicles are running through your veins and this time when you shudder, it’s against his firm front, and his hands fall from the wall you’re pressed up against to your arms, steadying you.
He can’t look away from you. He’ll never be able to again, and all of the instincts that were telling him to sink his fangs into your neck and taste the warm blood against his lips are raging at him to protect. Protect his mate, looking so small before him, not a vampire, but an ethereal fae that had intrigued him from the very start. Even if it weren’t for the blood running through your veins, there had been a pull that had made him want to follow you, made him want to sink to his knees and use those fangs to pleasure you instead of taking from you. He had wanted to give, and the High Lord was usually one to receive, all the vampires he let entertain him had been nothing compared to this very moment. Rhys has been waiting for this for long enough.
“My mate.” His voice is a whisper, one of disbelief. He can’t seem to force himself to step away not because his body will not physically allow him to, but because he doesn't want to part from you. He feels like he’s been away from you for far too long, like he can breathe at full capacity again even though he doesn’t need to. For the first time in forever he finally feels warm. It has been so long that he’d forgotten it, like early morning rays of sunshine shining down on him, touching his soul.
Rhys lifts a hand like he wants to touch your cheek, but he draws away at the last second. The hungry glint in his eye has been replaced by a soft look, transforming his face completely, leaving him looking even more handsome than before, like you’re the one turned predator and can break him at any moment.
He’d let you.
Tentatively, you find his hand, taking it in your own. It’s cold and his fingers stick to your skin the way ice does in the winter. You lead him towards your cheek, brushing his knuckles softly across your rosy cheeks as Rhys watches, unblinking.
Rhys draws in a sharp breath at the gentleness in which you move. He’d wanted to ravage you before, when the bond had made its mark known, but he’d forgotten just how fragile fae beings can be. Having been surrounded by vampires and fae that had thrived off his harsh nature, it had simply slipped his mind that he was capable of such things.
“My mate,” you echo. The sweetness of your voice has him growling in response, hand slipping from yours to place over your throat, brushing his thumb against the bob of your throat in a rough, yet tentative gesture.
Your mate leans down, nosing his way across your throat, scenting the luscious blood that rushes in response to the graze of his teeth.
“Let me take you home, where I can show you how much finding my mate means to me.” He tilts his head to look up at you, violet eyes wild with desire. It turns your insides molten, heat blossoming between your legs. He’s so close that if he needed to breathe, you’d be sharing the same air. If you nod your agreement, you’ll be able to taste his lips.
That gorgeous smile reappears as he catches the flicker of your gaze to his lips and back. Rhys brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, smirking at the scent when not just your blood consumes his senses.
“Or we can stay right here and let the entire court know that I’ve finally found you?” He questions and you breathe a shaky laugh that he swallows whole.
“Take me home, High Lord,” you answer, sliding your hand into his. “Take me home, my mate.”
I’m the anon that sent in that idea with vampire! Rhys. When you had posted the blurb about incubus! Rhys I was like, “I need to talk to you about vampire! Rhys lol.” I’m not a writer at all so I ran to your asks to see your opinion about it. I kinda just come up with blurbs. I’m not the best with plot lol.
Also I would like to be “🌙” if that’s alright with you.
Of course that’s okay with me! I’m happy to call you whatever you like!
Also if you’re not a writer you should definitely look into it! You’ve got the creativity for it for sure and it was very well written! I’m definitely going to write it (I may have already started) and I’m like 100% sure it’s about to send me back into my vampire phase. Thank you so much lovely 🌙! ❤️
The bartender grunted in acknowledgement as a pale, slim hand trailed along the lacquered counter next to Jack. The hunter’s eyes fell upon it, taking in the pretty, electric blue nail polish that matched the tattoos crawling up and down the forearm in intricate patterns.
Jack turned around in his chair, eyes widening at the attractive young man sitting at the bar right besides him. He blinked, not remembering hearing someone come up behind him.
“Uh.”
“I’ll take that as a thank you, handsome,” the young man winked, his bright blue eye glowing with interest. Jack openly ogled him, from the fluffy, pushed back auburn hair to the slimly tailored dress shirt, and down to long legs shaped attractively from a pair of dark blue skinny jeans.
“Uh….sure….you’re welcome.”
Another Patreon fic from a few months back. Request was for a vampire!Rhys and hunter!Jack but but I put my own twist on it. Enjoy!
There were only two things in Jack’s life that he was completely sure of.
One, was that he was definitely one of the most ridiculously charismatic and handsome men that had even graced this wretched earth with his presence. Seriously, he managed to look good even when deep in the woods miles from civilization, or after two days of staying up all night keeping watch.
And two, was that vampires were complete, irredeemable scum. Which was why he had so valiantly put aside any career that could capitalize on his own devilish charisma and chiseled body and instead dedicated himself to eradicated these servants of hell from the face of the earth.
In his years of hunting, he’d gotten pretty damn good at it, able to surreptitiously track these monsters back to their lairs, then surprise them with a good old-fashioned stake through the heart or a searing faceful of all-natural Vitamin Sunlight. He didn’t always make it out of his encounters completely unscathed, but so far he’d never had to use the garlic capsules and spring-loaded cedar knife he carried on his person in case he ever ended up bitten.
Back in the States, it was harder to track down vampires than it was in Asia or Europe. They tended to blend in better with urban and suburban environments, and the local forests were full of more werewolves and wendigos and sasquatches than vampires. They adapted better, hiding themselves amongst everyday people with ease.
It surely was a challenge. But Jack was always up for something that put his skills to the test.
San Francisco was both a big and small city. It was densely populated but squashed into a tiny thumbnail of land. On the one hand, he had far less ground to search, but on the other there were millions of people he needed to narrow it down to the vampire he’d been hearing rumors about for his entire road trip up the California coast.
He rented out a small, squashed apartment for the short term, reluctantly using his fake name as he set up shop inside of the sparsely decorated space. He did his best not to raise much attention, as if he were to be investigated, the local authorities wouldn’t react well to a man whose room was filled with weapons and what would look to an outsider perspective as odd and obscene paraphernalia.
He did most of his serious investigations at night, where he was less likely to be harassed or suspected, though he had to go out in the daytime to grab some groceries or innocuous supplies.
Over the next couple days after he settled in, Jack followed a couple of his initial leads, the majority of them running into dead ends. Every night, he would trudge back to his apartment, often with less information than he had started out with. He’d usually spend the rest of the night bingeing on a garlic pizza and watching crappy comedy videos on his phone until he fell asleep, ready to try again when he awoke.
Jack had a vague suspicion about the owner of a local club, a blonde, pierced young man by the name of August Vale. He figured he could track down a potential lead and get himself a nice drink to ease the burn of his current frustrations.
He paid the cover with little fuss, sliding into the fancy lights and thumping music of the club like a shadow. He quickly wound through the crowds of grinding, laughing bodies before taking a seat at the bar and ordering himself a jack and coke.
He kept his eyes peeled for August, even as the alcohol started to fuzz the hunter’s senses. He swayed slightly in his seat to the rhythm of the music, humming softly to himself as he relaxed enough to enjoy the energy of the club.
He was just about to turn around and order another drink, when a sudden voice chimed next to him:
“I’ll cover his next one, Brick.”
The bartender grunted in acknowledgement as a pale, slim hand trailed along the lacquered counter next to Jack. The hunter’s eyes fell upon it, taking in the pretty, electric blue nail polish that matched the tattoos crawling up and down the forearm in intricate patterns.
Jack turned around in his chair, eyes widening at the attractive young man sitting at the bar right besides him. He blinked, not remembering hearing someone come up behind him.
“Uh.”
“I’ll take that as a thank you, handsome,” the young man winked, his bright blue eye glowing with interest. Jack openly ogled him, from the fluffy, pushed back auburn hair to the slimly tailored dress shirt, and down to long legs shaped attractively from a pair of dark blue skinny jeans.
“Uh….sure….you’re welcome.”
The young man laughed.
“One drink, and you’re already gone…would have expected something better from such a strapping guy like yourself.”
Jack shook his head, trying to clear his head. This kid was right—what was wrong with him? He wasn’t some lightweight, after all. He patted his chest, letting out a burp.
“Pfft, nah, not me….uh, sorry ‘bout that, kid, you just took me by surprise yanno?” Jack deflected, shooting an acknowledgement to the bartender as he slid the new drink into Jack’s waiting hand.
“Right, sorry. I’ve been told that I tend to walk too quietly…” The young man laughed, finger tracing in an idle circle as he rested his elbows against the slightly damp bar.
“Name’s Rhys,” he slid his fingers over Jack’s free hand, rubbing over the hunter’s leather gloves, “what’s yours?”
Jack worked his lips together for a moment.
“J…John,” he lied fairly smoothly, still accustomed to throwing around his fake name.
“Haven’t seen you around here before, John, and I’m here almost every night I have free…you just move here?” Rhys asked, thanking the bartender as he slid a bright blue drink towards him. Jack smiled softly to himself. The drink matched Rhys’ eye and tattoos in a way that was pretty attractive. Jack wondered if he did it on purpose.
“Just a few days ago, yeah. Not planning to stay long, though.”
“Awww, why not? We’re a good group.” Rhys winked. “If you stick around, I can really show ya a good time.”
“Heh. Yeah? Maybe I’ll take you up on that.” Jack couldn’t help but be distracted by the young man that had showed a sudden interest in him. He’d stopped even keeping an eye out for August, his attention entirely levied upon the cutie who was now petting his arm up and down and scooting even closer.
They flirted idly for a bit longer, with Rhys ordering Jack a fresh drink once he’d downed his old one. The older man’s head had long grown foggy with alcohol, shoulders swaying slightly as Rhys pressed closer.
“Nice tattoo,” Rhys mumbled, stroking over the dark blue inked into Jack’s wrist. His skin prickled with a chill, but his head and belly were so warmed by drink and affection that he paid it little mind.
“Same to you,” Jack tilted his near-empty drink towards Rhys’ decorated arm, “how much did that hurt, pumpkin? You got some balls on you…”
“Well, it didn’t get done all at once,” Rhys tittered, slurping down his drink before thunking it against the bar, “and it hurt a little but….don’t worry, I like pain.”
“Heh….is…is that so,” Jack slurred, sliding his arm boldly around Rhys’ waist. The young man let out a faux little gasp, an excited smile flittering on his lips. Jack grinned at him, inhibitions knocked out as he leaned in closer, slight stubble on his chin brushing up against Rhys’ cheek as he brazenly kissed the young man’s temple.
Rhys snickered, those pretty clear eyes flashing.
“So forward.”
Jack’s head was feeling heavy, his neck like wet string unable to hold it up. He flopped forward, forehead rubbing up against Rhys’ shoulder and sighing at the brush of fabric against his warm skin. His vision blurred, and he closed his eyes.
“Don’t worry, Jack,” Rhys purred, cold fingers running up and down Jack’s spine like rivulets of water.
“We’re gonna have fun together.”
Jack grunted as he woke up, the flesh between his temples throbbing as his vision swum back into clarity. He narrowed his eyes, trying to usher away the last clinging fog of unconsciousness and focus on where exactly he’d been dragged off to.
It was undoubtedly a standard apartment, but had been done up and draped in a ostentatious, almost Halloween-like aesthetic. The table in the middle was draped in velvety black fabric and scattered with ornate candle holders and even one large, painted candelabra. The former were obviously lit by fake, flickering tea lights, while the candelabra itself was actually topped with dripping, red candles. A huge, frosted mirror rimmed in inlaid gold hung directly opposite from him, showing off his struggling form despite the gauzy black material attempting to cover it up. He could make out, vaguely, that he was bound into a high-backed, plush chair, iron chains tight around his chest and wrists.
Jack wriggled against his restraints, eyes quickly searching out any possible escape routes, when the sleek black door to the living room suddenly creaked open, the ominous noise rippling through the air and sending a chill down Jack’s spine.
Firm, sleek soles clicked against the hardwood floor. A shadow cast against the wall, flickering in the changeable candlelight as Rhys entered the room.
He had shed the typical club-going attire for something that ended up being even more stereotypical, something that almost had Jack rolling his eyes. He now wore an elaborate black suit with a cravat pinned by a garnet brooch, a velvety red cape trailing heavily from his shoulders and fluttering about his ankles as he strode forward, arm held out dramatically. Jack glowered back at his captor as Rhys’ smiled at him, long fangs peeking out over his bottom lip.
Wow. Even vampires in Eastern Europe didn’t dress this way anymore.
“….Gotta tell ya, kitten, you weren’t even on my radar…” Jack grunted, shifting in his bonds.
“Oh, I know. I planted the clues to lead you to August, to throw you off my scent, but well….looks like you didn’t even have it in the first place,” Rhys laughed.
“…Guess I should have kept my eyes out for hot, flirty little guys moonlighting as agents of the undead,” Jack spat, heart thumping as the vampire reached out, sliding a cool finger underneath Jack’s chin.
“Guess so. Too bad you already fell for my trap, hunter.” Rhys tilted the human’s jaw upwards, exposing more of Jack’s pulsing throat. He swallowed.
A sinister aura gleamed in Rhys’ cool, mis-matched eyes.
“Now…it’s time for me to feed.”
Jack tensed, his fists clenching against the arms of the chair as Rhys’ cold breath blasted against the juncture between his shoulder and neck. Jack shut his eyes tight, expecting to feel the prick of Rhys’ fangs against his neck, the flood of dread through his body as his blood was sucked away.
But no pain came. Jack held tense for a couple more seconds until he carefully opened his eyes, looking down to see that Rhys had pulled away, cradling something glowing and metallic in his palm.
It was his….his cloaking device?
“What….what are you doing with that?” Jack raised his eyebrow as Rhys leaned in close to the lightly pulsing service of the device, opening his mouth wider, his fangs extending out over the glowing surface.
Before Jack’s confused eyes, wispy, blueish energy started to mist up from the cloaking device, billowing freely for a brief moment before it funneled towards the vampire’s bared fangs. The energy sucked up into the tips, like a vacuum drawing up dust.
Rhys gasped, suckling up the last of the energy, smacking and licking his lips with a dreamy smile. The screen of the cloaking device flickered one last time, before going completely blank.
“Oooh, yes, yes, I knew it would taste just as good as I thought,” Rhys purred, tossing the now-busted cloaking device to the floor. Jack stared, dumbstruck.
“You….you’ve gotta be kidding me…”
“What was that, big guy?” Rhys swayed up to his feet, rubbing his hand over his lips. Jack chuckled, shaking his head up at his captor.
“You’re….you’re not even a real vampire!”
“Not a real vampire?” Rhys looked scandalized as he threw his arm wide. “Look at where you’re being held! Look at me! Does this not look like….real vampire to you?”
Jack rolled his eyes.
“I mean, yeah, you got like the aesthetics down and stuff but….you don’t drink blood. You drink data.”
“I’m just as cool as all the others! Vampires don’t have to drink blood to be badass!” Rhys insisted, firmly crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at Jack. The vampire hunter scoffed, a grin steadily crawling over his lips at his captor’s frustration. It was kind of…cute.
Jack wouldn’t have ever thought he would find a vampire cute. As far as he was concerned they were all monstrous, damned vermin to be destroyed, but this guy…
Maybe it was because of their brief flirtation in the club—drugged or otherwise brainwashed as it might have been—or the fact that Rhys was the least threatening vampire he’d ever witnessed, despite all the trappings.
“You know you could’ve just…taken my cloaking device while you had me knocked out, right? You didn’t have to do all this…bring me back to your place, tie me up, put on your little outfit—“
Despite his pale, cool skin, Rhys actually managed to blush, cheeks tinging an ashy pink. He fangs peeked out from under his upper lip like a kitten trying to close its mouth, and Jack had been up close and personal with many a pair of fangs in his life and this was the first that he would dream to call adorable.
“Well…I was just going to strip you down, take all your devices, and leave you off lying somewhere but….well I don’t get to use all my decor very often, and you were….you were kind of…sexy.”
Jack snickered.
“So that flirting back there….that was all you, kitten?”
“You are pretty attractive. For a hunter,” Rhys admitted. His long fingers stroked and cupped Jack’s face, trailing through the patches of stubble. For once, the chill of un-death was less unnerving, and more enticing.
Rhys’ velvet cape swirled about him as he clambered up into Jack’s lap, his hands sliding to brace against the hunter’s shoulders. Jack felt his loins tingle as the attractive young man sat against his thighs, bringing them intimately close together.
“I may be a vampire, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have other needs….or can’t appreciate attractive humans.” Rhys’ finger’s curled into Jack’s hair, tilting his head to the side to again expose his throat. This time, however, arousal filled the hunter instead of dread.
“So even if I don’t drink blood…” Rhys hissed, his breath cold against Jack’s neck. “I still wanna bite you…make you feel a little pain.”
“So…you’re like my ex-girlfriends, then?” Jack joked, though his voice wavered slightly as Rhys’ fangs pricked at his skin. Now that there was no threat behind the fangs, his body started to tingle pleasantly as Rhys pressed his teeth up against his warm, human flesh.
Jack had never actually been bitten by a vampire. He’d always been fairly lucky, dodging any attempts to suck his body dry or transform him into one of the vile undead. But with the knowledge that Rhys’ fangs were harmless to him, he merely relaxed, enjoying the feeling as the young vampire’s teeth sunk into his flesh, sending chills up and down the hunter’s spine.
“Heh….oh, if my older master w-would see me now…” Jack shivered as Rhys’ fangs pierced into his throat, sensual warmth twining in his groin.
“Well, I mean…If I hadn’t broken his neck,” Jack chuckled tightly as Rhys’ groin rutted against his stomach, grinding their bodies together in the confines of the chair.
“You’re pretty talkative for a hunter, John,” Rhys whispered as he licked the bite mark against Jack’s neck, before trailing his mouth up to the hunter’s lips. Jack willingly pressed forward to kiss them, the contrast of hot and cool between them sending delicious, forbidden pleasure ringing throughout his entire body.
“C…Call me Jack, kiddo…ya think…think you can loosen these chains a little bit?” Jack gasped as their lips parted. Blueish saliva dripped from Rhys’ fangs as he licked them.
“As long as you promise not to run away,” Rhys purred, sliding his hands up and down Jack’s arms, feelings the bulge of the hunter’s biceps underneath his clothes, “or try to kill me.”
Honestly, Rhys was far too amusing and harmless to warrant any kind of immediate termination. As long as Jack kept him away from any computer stores or tech offices, he would probably do little harm. He smiled at the vampire, wiggling his fingers.
“Cross my heart, pumpkin,” Jack swore as Rhys fiddled with the chains around his wrists until they vanished into vapor, leaving the ones around his chest for now, which wasn’t ideal but Jack could live with it.
“If you end up pleasing me enough, I’ll get rid of those ones too,” Rhys poked the remaining bonds before cupping Jack’s face and leaning in for another kiss. This time, Jack’s hands reached up and grabbed at the vampire’s slim waist, brushing aside his cape.
“Next time you wanna hook-up, maybe ditch the layers huh?” Jack mused as he slipped his hands underneath the vampire’s suit, grabbing at the waistband of his dress pants. Rhys purred, rocking forward into Jack’s hands as the human fiddled with his crotch.
“Could say the same to you.” Rhys hands pulled at the buttons of Jack’s yellow shirt, yanking them apart to expose the hunter’s tanned chest. The vampire licked his lips at the sight, before diving it with tongue and fangs out.
Jack almost couldn’t believe that he’d been put in such a situation, but with Rhys’ actual threat fairly low and his sexiness relatively high, the hunter was more than open to breaking a few taboos.
A Vampire!Rhys x Reader Fic (because I am a SLUT for him) based on this post.
Content Warnings: Smut and blood, you know, typical vampire things.
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How you ended up on the dance floor in the middle of the Velaris Estate, being spun in dizzying circles by masked males as stringed instruments swell on a phantom wind, is anybody's guess. You think it might have been Nesta’s idea, but whatever schemes landed you in this dark, shadowy world is lost under the swell of music and rustling of skirts. You’re sure your friend is here somewhere, dancing her heart out, but the bodies clustered around you in a sea of dark lace and velvet make distinguishing anybody hard. She’ll find you by the end of the night, once she’s ditched her shoes and had a little too much to drink, for now, you’ll have to keep yourself entertained in one of the many options the party of the recently returned lord of the estate has to offer.
You don’t know much about Rhysand, other than the rumors that he came from very, very old money and had been away on the Continent while the Vampire Queen Amarantha’s reign of terror had ravaged the courts. He’s something of a local legend, always throwing these extravagant masquerade balls, the doors of this sprawling, gothic estate open until the sun begins to rise in the morning, without ever showing his face. He has to be here somewhere, directing the staff and making sure there’s no mischief happening in the locked rooms on the upper floors, but no one can tell you what he looks like, how old he is, any defining details. Honestly, realizing this was where you’d be spending the evening had been nothing short of a thrill. The war against the vampires had taken your father and left your older brother as heir of the Spring estate, he hadn’t let you out much to explore since.
Gloved hands twirl you around the dance floor again, the candlelight from the iron chandeliers overhead glittering like a thousand stars as you throw your head back and embrace the sheer weightlessness of the dance. It’s exhilarating and freeing, and you find yourself wishing that every night was like this. You’d thrive in this kind of freedom, no locked doors in empty mansions, no guards just to walk you through the gardens, only your wits and your whims dictating where you’ll go next.
The dance requires you to change partners often, so it is no surprise that a different, stronger set of hands settles on your hips as you come out of a spin and move into a more complicated three step. However, the tall stranger, with eyes so blue they’re almost violet beneath a mask shaped like a bat, is far better sight than the last male.
“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, and his voice is a lover’s purr, made for the darkness of a bedroom.
“Immensely,” you say as you chase him through the steps, one hand on his firm shoulder, other atop his own against your waist. It is unlike you to keep your hands firmly planted on a male’s body, even while dancing, even with your brother’s watchful eye far away. Better to be cautious than be accused of having wandering hands, but you can make an exception. Forget you have ever done anything else, because the male wears a corset to accentuate every muscle in his lean body, dark shirt beneath left half open to show off a swirl of dark ink on his bronze chest. Every piece of clothing looks like an open invitation to touch. He knows it too, grinning when your hand slides a little lower on his chest.
“You dance beautifully,” he praises, perfect teeth biting at his lower lip as he drinks in the plunging neckline of your gown.
You’re thankful that your own mask hides the blush dusting your cheeks. “So do you.” He moves with inhumane grace, so fluidly you wouldn’t be able to track every step if he wasn’t pulling you along with him.
Three more steps, then a fourth before the music begins to slow and he’s dragging your body closer to his own, large hand sliding over your hip to your lower back.
“Will you dance another with me?” He asks, warm breath fanning your face as he leans in to be heard over the swell of a harp.
You nod eagerly, anything for a chance to have those hands on you a bit longer.
Two dances turn to four, then six, until you’ve lost count entirely, the night slipping away from you. At some point, he asks if you want to stop and get a drink, and you might have said no because this was just too good an opportunity to pass up, but the mischief in his violet eyes make you think better of it. You soon find yourself pulled through the swirling of bodies that hasn’t let up all night, and into a darker corner of the room, where couches and chairs and tables line the walls for people to observe the dancefloor with a little privacy. Quite a few of the couches are occupied with couples embracing in the shelter of the dark, where there are few candles to be observed under.
There’s a couch in the corner, beneath a large window, moonlight streaming over the dark cushions that’s empty and your companion leads you right to it. In your defense, you are expecting to be plied with a little wine before anything happens between the two of you, so you are unprepared for him to slide into the seat and pull you right into his lap!
Heat flares in your cheeks, body awkwardly tangled in your skirts as he pulls your hips forward to get you situated atop his powerful thighs.
“What happened to drinks?” You ask, a little breathless from dancing and trying not to stammer under the brazenness of the display. You’re no blushing virgin, but you’ve certainly never been in this compromising a position in front of an audience before.
He brushes his nose over the column of your throat and places his plush lips against your skin, making all thought eddie from your mind.
“I intend to,” he says into your skin before he nips gently at your sensitive flesh.
Your whole body shivers, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Rhys,” he says as he kisses his way up your jaw.
Rhys as in…
As if he can read your mind he chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin, “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”
“How did you know that’s what I was going to ask?”
He hums as he scrapes his teeth playfully over your throat. The edges of his mask tickling your skin as it brushes against you, the contrast between his warm breath and the rough fabric sending a thrill down your spine. You should be absolutely mortified that you’re perched in the lord of the estate’s lap, but you can’t find it in you to care, can’t find it in yourself to do anything but settle a little more firmly against his body and let him explore.
“Mind reading is one of my many talents,” he purrs as his gloved hands slide over your hips, skirts bunching up around your thighs as slender fingers need the soft flesh of your ass.
You instinctively rock your hips forward, clothed core scraping over the budding tent in his slacks. The contact makes your head spin, makes you tip your head back a little as he sucks a mark into your throat. You’ll have to wear a scarf tomorrow to hide it from Tamlin.
“And what other talents do you have, M’lord?” You tease, because you’ve never believed in such magic.
“I think I’d rather show you, Darling,” he says, but his mouth doesn’t form the words, they’re an echo inside your head, as if they’re your own thoughts in his voice.
You still your movements in his lap; this is not the magic of witches or mages, not some clever party trick of the traveling magicians that often pass through Prythian. They say only Vampires can possess talents like this.
Rhys grins at you as the realization clicks into place, and whatever glamor had been used to hide his fangs slides out of place, canine’s glinting in the moonlight. You put your hands on his chest, firm, but there’s no heartbeat beneath your palms, intending to push yourself off him before he can sink those fangs into your throat, but his grip on you tightens to the brink of pain. Your bones feel fragile, brittle under his supernatural grip.
“Relax, Darling,” he instructs and a shadow of sheer, undiluted power brushes over your mind, freezing you in place. “I promise this will be pleasant for the both of us.”
“Let go of me!” You squeak, still trying to push yourself free. “Or I’ll start screaming!”
He chuckles, the sound of it skittering over your bones, and the dim candles nearby flicker out, leaving you only visible in the moonlight. A few of the couples nearby cheer excitedly, as if that’s some sort of signal.
“Here’s the thing,” he explains as he brushes his nose against the column of your throat again. When you try to squirm away, he only pulls you closer, lips hungrily tracing the pulse pounding in your neck. “I could go out into the woods, feed on some vagrants nobody cares about, spend my nights hunting for a warm body to take my fill of. But after a thousand years, the chase gets a little boring.”
A thousand years. Rhysand is a thousand year old Vampire?
“Why waste my time and energy, when I can bring a meal right to my doorstep?”
“Please,” you whimper, body trembling. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anybody.”
“I know you won’t,” he says, kissing your throat far more gently than somebody holding this tightly to you should. “That’s why I picked you. I know you want an escape from your life of locked doors.”
You still as he drags his lips along the edge of your jaw until he meets your ear. “Let me show you a way out.”
Your skin is sensitive there, his breath makes you shiver in delight, goosebumps prickling your skin. He can’t possibly know all this just by looking at you, he had to have been rummaging around in your head, probably while you were dancing. It’s an invasion of your privacy, and you should keep fighting for any chance to escape him, but there’s a piece of you that wants this. Tamlin will never give you a way out, the more you beg for your freedom the more doors he locks in your face, and if you go home in the morning, if you let him pick a husband for you, it will never be any different. There will only be more locked doors, only keeping a stranger’s bed warm, his house run, tending boys that will have more freedom than you’ll ever get just because they’re boys. You will be lucky if you’ll get to keep to your books and your sketches, lucky if you get to keep any hobbies at all that don’t include tending a house. You’re trapped in a cage no one can save you from if you don’t take this one key.
His fangs scrape over your earlobe as he nips playfully at it. “It’s an even bargain,” he prompts. “You let me feed, and I’ll show you a world of nothing but open doors, hmm?”
You’re a fool, and you’re pretty sure an agreement will damn your soul forever.
“Will it hurt?”
“Only for a moment.”
A moment’s pain for an opportunity of unbridled freedom. “It’s a bargain,” you say, tipping your head back to fully expose your throat. You shut your eyes though, unable to watch it happen.
“Good girl,” Rhys purrs and there’s a little tingle, like electricity in your fingertips and palm that makes you crack an eye open for a second to look at the black whorls that now cover your fingertips, up your hand and over your wrist. Some sort of permanent bargain mark.
There’s no time to ask about it before Rhys sinks his fangs into your throat. The coppery scent of blood fills your senses, mind spinning to comprehend all that’s happening as pain flairs in the muscles in your neck.
“So sweet,” he purrs into your mind. “Just as I’d hoped.”
He’s not letting up, but the longer it takes, the less pain you feel. The longer his fangs are in your neck, the warmer your body becomes. Your muscles slowly relax, pliant in his iron grip. When he rocks his hips, slowly, testing, you can’t help the groan that escapes you. Even as the last little rational bit of your mind screams in protest, your hips once again work over the bulge in his pants, chasing the heat budding in your core.
When he removes his fangs from your throat, he laves over the wound with his tongue, not letting a single drop of your blood escape. “I’ve fed on a lot of humans,” he whispers, “but none as sweet as you.”
You can’t seem to stop moving, chasing after the pleasure building quicker and quicker as you rut your hips against his. “What’s happening to me?”
When he kisses you, it’s the coppery tang of your own blood on his lips. “Vampire venom is an aphrodisiac. Makes feeding a pleasurable experience for everybody, wouldn’t you agree?”
The scrape of his slacks is delicious, makes you squeeze your eyes shut and move without thinking about how brazen you look, but it’s not enough. You need more. Need him deeper. Need him moving inside you with the same fervor he had when feeding on you.
“Need you,” you whimper and he kisses you again, one hand tangling in your hair, absolutely ruining the updo you’d carefully constructed hours earlier. The other slides under your skirts to find the hem of your underthings and he gives the elastic band a testing pull before he rips it off entirely.
You gasp in surprise into his mouth at the sheer strength of him.
The leather of his gloves is a cool texture against your bare skin as he drags a thumb over you and you rock your hips into his touch, desperately seeking more. He’d been right, this was definitely a more pleasurable experience than you anticipated it being.
Rhys breaks the kiss as he slides a finger inside you, and you throw your head back and moan unabashedly. You don’t truly have the presence of mind to look at the other couples nearby, but judging by the sounds coming from around you, you’re not the only one partaking of this kind of pleasure tonight. The cover of darkness and music shields your activities well enough, but perhaps there are more than a few vampires in Rhys’s court, and they won’t risk their own hunts letting anybody look too close in your direction.
Plush lips move down your jaw again, like he just can’t stay away from your throat. You’re inclined to let him bite you again and again and again just to feel like this for a little while longer. Heat and pleasure builds at the base of your spine, burning white hot through you as he slides a second finger in your wetness, stretching you out.
“All this for me, Darling?” He scrapes his teeth over your skin, not biting but marking you as he searches for the collar of your gown. When he finds it, he starts dragging it away from your body with his teeth, deft fingers untying the laces at your back to let the excess fabric fall.
The cool air against your flushed skin has you whimpering, eyes screwed shut as you draw closer and closer to the edge.
His fingers curl, hitting a spot inside you that makes stars swim across your vision and you bite down so hard on your lower lip to keep from screaming you draw blood. Like a moth to flame, his lips leave where he’d been sucking a mark into your shoulder to lap the slight trickle of blood off your lower lip.
Maybe you’re wrong for it, but the sight is hot, makes you core tighten around his fingers, addicted to the way he craves you, as if you’re some sort of drug. You drag your hands down his chest, unclasping the last button you can reach before the corset gets in the way. You want to tear it off him and run your tongue over the firm planes of his chest, taste him just as he is you, but that will have to be another time. Your hands move lower, trying to find the laces of his pants around the bunched up frill of your skirts, needing more, unable to convey it around the white noise building in your head. It’s too much and not enough; the best you’ve ever had and you haven’t even cum yet. You’ve never felt so desperate for anything in your life.
He chuckles into your mouth at your neediness, hips rising off the couch to both tease you and give you the leverage you need to find the laces of his pants. You’re really not sure how you manage it around your skirts, how you can think about anything but the movement of his fingers inside you or all the filthy things he keeps whispering in your ear. It’s nothing short of a frenzy as you finally manage to get him free of his laces and guide him directly where you need him most.
He’s not your first by any means, but he’s definitely the biggest, and it takes a moment for you to adjust to his size. By then, the world around you could have been on fire and you wouldn’t have noticed anything but him. There is no orchestra playing, no music besides the sounds of his moans of pleasure as they mingle with yours, no thought but the two of you and how your bodies merge and join.
That white hot pleasure keeps building tighter and tighter with every thrust of his cock inside you, and you steady yourself against the back of the couch, chests brushing as you fight to remain steady. His fingertips will certainly leave bruises on your hips with the way he holds you.
You’re so close to the edge, dangling over the precipice, his name a prayer on your lips as he once again sinks his fangs into your neck for a taste. Release barrels through you as he moans into your bruised flesh, his own release not far behind as you slump exhausted against his chest.
“Holy shit,” you whimper, body trembling as you come down from your high.
Rhys strokes a gloved hand over your ruined hair as you catch your breath. “I was going to turn you tonight,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But I think I want a few more rounds of that first.”
You huff a laugh into his chest. You don’t hate the idea. No part of your bargain said he had to turn you immediately. “Is that all vampires do? Feed and fuck?”
Violet eyes gleam playfully in the dark as he says, “Darling, you’ll have all eternity to find out.”
(This is a separate universe from my Dancing with the Devil Vamp!Rhys and just a little blurb I made for my Spooky Season AU list)
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“Nece ne neceris”
The words are carved above the altar, painted in glittering gold. The congregation repeats them in a drowning, lifeless chant that echoes off the church’s ancient walls.
“Kill lest you be killed.”
Death is your family’s sacrement. Blood their offering. The wooden stake pressed into your shaking hands the tools for Holy Judgement this side of Eternity. They’ve inked the words into your flesh, hammered them into your soul. This is your purpose; this is your Divine Right.
“Nece ne neceris,” you repeat, loud enough to be heard over the chanting. For milenia the night has belonged to the Dead, to the damned and the wicked alike, but tonight, tonight it belongs to you. Your footsteps echo against the church’s worn floors, the doors creak open in a ghostly howl as you step out into the moonlight.
You are not prey.
You are not afraid.
The night belongs to the hunters. And you will be the best of them.
The congregation follows you only to the doorway, their sacred cowls obscuring their faces, though you feel their eyes all the same as you step out into the gravel walkway that leads to your crumbling parish. The empire of hunters died a long time ago. Time can only hold onto the mortal for a heartbeat before it loses its grip. Hunters are a dying breed, to be crowned one is to meet Death with open arms. Death who took your father, your brothers; Death who claimed your city and your home. This little steeple and the stake in your hands is all you have left. You’ll be damned if you don’t fight to keep it.
“Nece ne neceris,” you chant as their voices grow dim. “I will not die today.”
The path from the church leads into the woods, the dense, overgrown trees soon shrouding out the moonlight. From far off the hooting of an owl tells you that nothing hunts to the north. Your prey is downwind tonight, which means they already have your scent. The church often claimed hunters smelled different than normal humans, though you had never decided if you believed it. Although, you suppose, there is only one way to find out…
You walk deeper, until all light disappears within the forest canopy overhead. Then you take the sharpened tip of the stake and slide it across your palm. Crimson blooms from the shallow wound, pebbling off your skin into the rocky earth beneath you. You close your fist and squeeze, wincing slightly against the burn, as you draw more out.
“Come on out,” you whisper to the darkness.
It starts as a gust of wind, a rustling of leaves on branches, though there is no howl of the wind. The hair on the back of your neck rises as you spin to face it, stake raised and ready.
“Nece ne neceris,” you remind yourself as you crouch, ready to fight. There is nothing for you to see in the darkness, but you know that it is there. Eyes watch your every breath with the stillness of a lion tracking a wounded deer.
“What a brave little hunter,” a voice purrs in your head, the sound decidedly male.
The stake slips from shaking hands, clattering into the blood you’re still dripping into the earth. “What are you?”
“They didn’t warn you?” The voice purrs and there’s another gust of wind at your back, making you spin to face it, ready to meet the gaping maw of your enemy, but there is nothing there.
“I can do many things,” It says with a voice made for the gentle darkness of a bedroom. You can practically feel its hot breath on your neck. “I can be your greatest desire, your sweetest sin.”
To pick up your weapon, you have to bend down, take your eyes off the trees and pray you’re fast enough to grasp it before the thing lunges for your throat. Your training has been extensive, but you are no match for something of this speed, it’ll have your heart in its hands before you can blink.
“Or I can be your worst nightmare. What will it be, little hunter?”
Your heart hammers like the church bells in your ears. “Come here and find out!”
There’s not even time to blink, time to scream before an icy hand grabs you by the throat and slams you into the nearest tree. You reach out to claw at it, but your nails break against skin that might as well be solid adamant. Your lungs ache, constricting so tight dark spots start to swirl across your vision.
“Disappointing,” it purrs at you. Vampire eyes are supposed to be yellow. The church’s paintings depict them with dark veins twining around their gleaming eyes like streaks of lightning. Those marks are there, but these eyes are so blue they’re nearly violet.
You lash out with a booted foot, trying desperately to free yourself from the crushing grip on your windpipe, but even though the blow makes contact, the creature doesn’t flinch. He grins in fact, elongated canines gleaming past his full lips.
“I was hoping to have some fun,” he pouts.
The spots swirling across your vision grow bigger with each passing second his vice-like grip remains clamped down around your throat. No amount of kicking or punching will free you from your suffering.
“Your little parish sent you to die, you know that, don’t you?” He says.
You can only gasp for air, choking out every fleeing breath.
“Oh, right,” he releases you as quickly as he’d grabbed you and your body slides limply into the earth, air rushing into your lungs as you cough and sputter. “I forget how fragile you humans are.”
“Fuck you!” You snarl at him in between breaths.
He chuckles at your disdain. “You have spirit at least.”
Your stake is too far away, lying there in the mud, taunting you with your failure. “Just kill me and get it over with!”
He crouches, eyes gleaming in his tan face. For an Undead monster, he’s ridiculously handsome, the sharp angles of him clean enough to have been sculpted from marble. Dark hair falls in soft ways across his temples. He looks nothing like the horrific monsters you’ve been told about.
“Oh I don’t want to kill you, Little Hunter,” he purrs. “I have plans for you.”
Time slows as you watch him rip his fangs through his own palm, and then speeds up all too quickly as he leans forward and presses his hand against your lips. His other hand cradles the back of your head, holding you in place as he forces the copper tinted liquid down your throat. His strength is unparalleled, there was no way you were ever beating him with that pathetic little stake.
Only when he’s satisfied that you’ve taken enough down does he remove his hand. You spit it back out at him as best you can, but there is no denying that there was some that made it down the back of your throat. He only chuckles his amusement as his hands move to grip your head, and then twist, and the world goes black in an instant.
It might be hours later. Days. You awaken to find yourself lying on your back, nothing but glittering starlight above you. Your whole body aches, bones feeling like they’re trying to stretch right out of your skin. The slight flutter of the breeze against you feels like a thousand nails scratching across your skin. And your throat! It’s never been so dry!
You sit up slowly, groaning. Your neck hurts the worst, then your jaw, as if your teeth are suddenly too large in your mouth. When you raise a finger to poke at your tender gums, the sharp tips of your canines break open your skin.
“Finally! I was starting to think you were actually dead.”
You’re on your feet in an instant, hands twitching at your sides. That thing leans against a tree, arms crossed over his broad chest, violet eyes watching you intently. “What the fuck did you do to me?!”
He smirks as he pushes off the tree and stalks over to you, every move languid and powerful, like a large cat. “I saved you.” He purrs.
“You…” you run your hand over your teeth again, once again tearing skin over the two sets of fangs sitting in your mouth. This cannot be happening to you! “You ruined me! You made me like you!”
He shakes his head as he crowds into your space, face inches from yours. “Nece ne neceris.”
You are dead, there is no blood in your body to run cold, yet your limbs stiffen anyway.
“I was you, Little One,” he says, his voice a husky whisper. “They sent me out to die, just as they have you.”
“No!” You snarl, body moving with inhumane speed to swing at his head.
He catches you by the wrist and twists so that you're pinned with your back to his chest. He runs his lips over the shell over your ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you what you need to do to make them pay.”
The Vamp!Rhys brain rot is taking over; here are some headcanons I don't know what to do with:
Vamp!Rhys who cooks you dishes from his childhood, using recipe books written in the faded script of his mother's hand writing. He loves doing it because food no longer tastes the same to him and watching you enjoy something is as close to he can get in indulging in it. But times have changed and sometimes getting his hands on particular spices is damn near impossible so he improvises and then asks you, his very human, partner if it tastes right. You can only stare at him because how are you supposed to know what a thousand year old dish should taste like?
Vamp!Rhys who absolutely refuses to let you get sick. He's constantly making you ancient herbal teas to boost your immune system and making sure you eat all the right things. Mother forbid you even start to sniffle because he immediately tears his fangs through his wrist to feed you his blood so you're cured instantly. Sometimes you forget that he was turned in an age where a common cold could kill someone in a couple days. He's old, he doesn't really know how the human immune system works or evolves, he'd rather not take any chances with you.
Vamp!Rhys who is so used to his immortal strength that he's always putting the lids on things way too tight so you can never open anything in the house. You have to wake him up to open anything in a jar, which amuses him to no end. Some days you think he does it on purpose but you can't prove it.
Vamp!Rhys, who speaks a dozen different dead languages, sometimes can't remember what an item is called and will point at it and say what he thinks it is in each language until he finds the right word.
Vamp!Rhys who plans dinner dates, but you're still on a very human schedule so you're ready by 6 pm and he's still sound asleep in bed because a dinner date with a vampire is around 3 am.
Vamp!Rhys who gets very concerned that you keep asking him if you look ok when you get ready to go out so he goes out of his way to make sure you know how beautiful you are only to realize several months later that you've been asking because he doesn't have any mirrors, since he can't see himself in them and gave up on trying centuries ago (he's still somehow always impeccably put together despite this).
