Im actually going crazy at the suggestion of vampire!mike after how dorky and cute he was in the epilogue, but i need him so badly eating r out while she’s on her period, with him not caring at all about the blood. like, either him vampire or not, but that man would still be HUNGRY 🤭🤭 especially if it helps her feel better UGHHH
starved | vampire!mike wheeler x reader
summary: Mike is starving. Luckily, you make for a pretty good meal.
word count: 3.4k
warnings: cursing, smut, oral (f!receiving), mentions and graphic descriptions of blood, descriptions of menstrual blood, menstrual cramps, vampirism, biting, consumption of blood, period head, dark-ish themes, slight ooc!mike, mike's a simp (i cant write him as anything else he JUST IS), no use of y/n, & please let me know if i missed anything!
a/n: all characters engaging in sexual acts are 18+! guys this shit is nasty. i have serious issues and it clearly showed here- beware okay, dont say i didn't warn you. ik i'm supposed to be working on tmo p.2 but this came across my desk and i simply couldn't contain myself. thank you anon- ur mind is a gorgeous place. i took some inspo from brimstone for some of the parts below (iykyk), ty callie hart! this is just porn btw, there ain't a plot in sight!
this was not beta read, so please ignore any grammatical or structural typos!
[divider credit @soukuna]
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Mike was hungry. The kind of hunger which emphasized the emptiness inside his stomach, how it clawed in at itself, hollow and aching. Starved. It had begun to consume him, seeing as it'd been more than a week since last he'd fed.
He didn't need to feed much to survive, always making sure to only drink the bare minimum required to satiate his hunger. Usually, hunger wouldn't deter him. He'd ignore the pull in his stomach, placing it in the back of his mind as he focused on other tasks.
The longer he went between feeds, however, the worse he felt. Understandably, just as humans required sustenance to survive, Mike could only prolong his feeds as much as his body would allow.
It had been long enough now, long enough for the pang in his stomach to pair with an undeniable thirst in his throat. It felt like he was swallowing sand paper, his throat dry and scratchy, a tell-tale sign that his next feed was rapidly approaching.
There were other signs, too, of his present hunger. His eyes, usually a deep chocolate brown, began to shift red. Not much at first, but more clearly the longer he waited. Perhaps the largest sign, the most pressing and unavoidable, was his primal urge, this deep-rooted need, to sink his teeth into something soft, something warm, and fill his mouth with saccharine sweet blood. Your blood.
Thankfully, you'd let him drink from you, so long as you received something from him in return. Preferably in the form of an orgasm or two.
Your routine with Mike was relatively simple- you were horny and he was hungry. While the feed was pleasurable for Mike too, his main call to action was the never-ending toll of hunger, which he had to satiate before he could feel any real pleasure.
So that's why, lately, around once a week or so, Mike found himself in his basement, or the back seat of his car, or in your bedroom, generously working you open with his fingers while his mouth sucked greedily on your neck, filling himself with the dark red nectar.
Most recently, Mike found himself in his bedroom, lying over you as he kissed you lazily, right knee pressed up against your aching core. Mike preferred not to rush his feedings, believing that working you up allowed him to taste the adrenaline in your blood, which added a hint of tartness to it that made you taste absolutely divine.
It was certainly not like that at the beginning, when Mike came to you practically on his knees, begging for just a small taste, not knowing who else to trust. Hell, he didn’t even fully trust himself. Regardless, you trusted him enough to know he would never intentionally hurt you. It was hard to grasp, at the beginning, but everything became easier once you felt what he could do to you.
You were moaning sweetly into his mouth, hands tangled in his hair as you ran your fingers through his dark locks. Mike could smell how ready and willing you were for him right through your panties, and the sweetness of you only made him hungrier.
As impatient as you always were during these sessions, you bucked against his knee restlessly, hoping for him to speed things along. You were so pent up from just a couple of kisses, knowing very well what was coming for you.
Mike ignored your petulant request, choosing instead to kiss softly down the side of your neck, his lips brushing delicately over your carotid artery. He liked to tease you, to make you wait for what was coming, but he sometimes ended up teasing himself, the sweet smell of your blood clouding his senses as it thumped lowly through your pulse point.
He grazed his teeth against it, pulling a low whine from your lips.
"Mike, c'mon, please? Don't be a tease," you pouted.
He huffed a laugh into your neck, finding it humorous that you thought you were the only one getting teased. His lips returned to yours, melting you against him, pliant and satiated for the time being.
While the kiss progressed, you suddenly pulled away, wincing and shutting your eyes in pain. You turned your head to the side, face scrunched and your hand gripping his hair tightly on accident.
Mike abruptly pulled away to get a better look at you, face full of worry and desperate to find out what was wrong.
"You okay?" he mumbled, searching your face for any inclination of what had happened.
You nodded curtly, "yeah, sorry, jus' cramps. Got my period yesterday." The dull ache in your abdomen was about to finish it's wave, the pain slowly ebbing and weakening. However, you knew another round would start sooner than you'd like.
Now that piqued his interest.
You loved when Mike fed from you on your period. Your cramps were shit and nothing alleviated the pain like a vampire-induced orgasm. He made you feel invincible with the way he practically melted over a chance to play between your blood-soaked folds, licking your juices off his fingers or his lips at whatever chance he got.
While he couldn't feed off your juicy cunt, he surely acted like he could. He could stay between your legs for hours, lapping against you with his skilled tongue, alternating from light flicks on your clit to broad licks from the bottom of your pussy to the top, smearing your blood against you like his own personal painting. The sweetness of your blood surrounded him, as he quite literally savored your taste without ever getting full. It was a win-win for you both.
Mike kissed your temple softly, before making his way back to your lips, capturing your mouth in another soft, slow kiss.
"You want," he murmured against your mouth between kisses, "help with that?"
Never one to deny Mike's advances, you nodded slightly against his mouth, rolling your hips once again against his knee.
He released your mouth with a pop, adjusting his weight and reaching down to grab both your clothed tits in his hands, kneading and squeezing them together through your bra while he slowly kissed his way down your neck and chest, nipping lightly in his wake.
The knowledge of your bleedings made him needier, desperate to get between your thighs to take your pain away, to taste you. In his haste, he didn't bother removing your top nor your bra, choosing instead to kiss and bite your pillowy breasts through the fabric, leaving small wet patches where he bit, canines poking tiny holes through your shirt.
Once his lips reached your shorts, he slowed. You stared down at him while resting up on your elbows, red eyes watching you as he placed one long, sinful kiss to your core. You couldn't help but whimper at the sight, Mike's hands ready at your waist, waiting for his most primal urge to overtake him so he could rip them off you.
But he didn't. He was calm again, eyes a touch darker. He had so much to be grateful for when it came to you- your trust, your silence, your willingness, and he had no other way to repay you than during these moments. While he fed out of necessity, he would never let you know that, although you'd probably already figured it out. During his feeds, Mike showed you how grateful he was by taking care of you, putting your pleasure before his most urgent biological calling. Without you, he was nothing- a monster. You made him human.
As such, Mike continued to work you up, slowly pulling down the waistband of your cotton shorts, leaving you in nothing but your cotton panties, which were marred by a little spot of dark red.
Mike's mouth began to water, gripping your thighs apart once your shorts had been discarded. From there, he could get the perfect view of your wet cunt, the slick of your arousal mixing with the blood to create this mouth-watering, enticing scent that was completely and utterly you.
To prolong his cruel game, Mike moved close enough to your core for you to feel his breath on you, then turned his head at the last minute to place wet, sharp kisses along the inside of your thigh. His canines were out, as they usually were this close to a feed. They grazed sharply along your legs, not hard enough to cause you harm, but enough to provide a hiss of pain alongside your pleasure.
"Mike, fuck, please, just-ngh," you half-begged. Halfway through you'd given up, realizing that just like all the times before, Mike wouldn't listen. It was worth it in the end.
"Relax," he mumbled against your thighs, dark hair covering his eyes. He ran his tongue lightly across your femoral artery, leaving a cool sensation in his wake. Mike could feel the blood rushing through it, he could hear the way your heart sped up at the thought of his incoming bite. Unfortunately for you, Mike was nowhere near that point yet. He was more of an appetizer before dinner kinda guy.
You could feel another round of cramps approaching. Preparing for a shift in mood, you grabbed Mike by the hair, forcing him to meet your eyes a bit more roughly than you would've liked.
"Michael Wheeler, if you don't cut the shit right no-ow," you hissed in pain mid-insult. Effective.
He took pity on you immediately, realizing that maybe now wasn't the best time to put on a show. "Sorry," he mumbled, pressing one last kiss to your abdomen, "just try to relax."
He was so fucking stupid sometimes. Not only was he a man, but he was a vampire-man. Men didn't understand the severity of menstrual cramps on a regular day, and vampires don't feel pain regardless. Imagine that combination of a creature, one blessed with double the ignorance, telling you to relax.
You rolled your eyes, "I'll fucking relax once you get your mouth on my-oh, fuck."
Mike shut you up quick with one long lick against the front of your panties. His mouth was surprisingly warm, something that you've had a hard time coming to terms with given that he should technically be dead, but a nice perk, nonetheless.
The groan Mike let out at the taste of you was downright sinful. He chastised himself for not feeding earlier than then, for he was getting exceedingly close to his breaking point and he'd barely even started.
"Fuck," he huffed, dragging your panties down your legs as you lifted your hips for him, "you always taste this good?"
"I don't know," you responded innocently, "you're the one who keeps coming back."
Your smile said a thousand words. You both knew he wasn't just coming back for the flavor. You were connected, bonded now. It was this reciprocal give-and-take that had solidified itself into your daily routines. It was so simple an arrangement, yet it was everything. Mike couldn't even fathom doing this with anyone else, not when all he needed was you.
Mike nearly keeled at the sight of your glistening cunt, mouth open, offering space for his canines to peek out slightly from beneath his top lip.
He licked his lips slightly before ducking his head into you, his warm tongue making contact just where you needed him most. His eyes fluttered closed as he took his first unobstructed taste.
You hummed in relief, lying back against his bed, hand still entangled in his hair.
The pain in Mike's stomach was growing stronger as the taste of you overwhelmed his senses and set him into overdrive. He was rabid, desperate to sink his teeth into you, but nothing could pry him from between your legs.
"S'pretty, so good," he mumbled against you between short sucks on your clit.
The feeling on your clit was white-hot. It felt like he just didn't miss, either flicking against it with his tongue or nudging it with his nose as he buried his tongue inside you, thirsty for more. Either way, he had to know that his actions were turning you into a mindless, spineless mess atop his bed.
Mike was in a blissful trance. Your soft mewls were music to his ears. He became consumed by your taste, his hips rutting gently into the mattress. His face was covered in blood and your slick, eyes red and canines out. He looked feral, and he was so fucking hot.
It was so sinful, so raw. The sounds of his mouth on your wet cunt filled the room and buzzing in your head. It was getting hard to sit still, the evidence of that being how your legs inadvertently twitching around his head. You moved senselessly, unable to stop yourself from rolling your hips into his mouth. His head probably hurt from how hard you were gripping onto his hair, but if anything, it only made him hungrier.
“Fu-, Mike so-God, don’t s-fuckfuckfuck, please,” you couldn’t process anything but the cord tightening in your cord, let alone words coming out of your mouth. It was a mess of curse words and moans at this point, your head piecing together incomprehensible sentences in an attempt to voice how you felt.
Mike needed you to come. All that bullshit about dragging it out felt like a disservice to both of you, as he could smell how badly you wanted it, how hard you were fighting to get his mouth in just the right spot. Truthfully, he needed you to come for purely selfish reasons. Mike was on the brink of snapping- the sound of your beating heart and the warm, fresh blood pumping through your delicate skin was tempting him severely. Better men than him would’ve succumbed much faster.
He focused his efforts directly on your clit. No longer was he toying with you, exploring and tasting. He needed you to break for him. You already tasted like the closest to heaven he’d ever get to, but he knew you’d taste better broken.
"Mike, pleasedontstop, 'm so close," you were gripping the sheets now, hips bucking up into Mike's mouth as he swirled his tongue around your swollen nub.
Mike could sense that your orgasm was forthcoming by the way your heartbeat quickened and your breathing became shallow. You were twitching against him, your body seconds away from hurling into an abyss of pleasure.
Mike sucked lightly on your nub, and the tight cord in your core finally snapped, throwing your head back and scrunching your eyes closed. Your mouth was frozen open in a silent moan, the waves of static starting down at your toes and shocking every limb as they traveled across your body.
Mike quickly replaced his mouth with his middle and pointer fingers, rubbing your sweet clit in stiff circles through the start. Your legs had tightened against him in the chaos, and he pushed them aside to finally sink his teeth into the soft skin of your inner thigh.
The pain cut through your orgasm briefly, the sharp, needle-like sting of his bite pairing deliciously with how hard you were coming. It only lasted a few seconds- just long enough for the venom from his bite to infiltrate your veins and give you exactly what you were craving.
It was stronger than an orgasm. You felt as if you were floating, your body lifting from Mike's bed and soaring high above the clouds. You'd thought you'd be used to it by now, given the amount of times he'd bitten you, but it was always different when he bit you during an orgasm- so much more intense, so vibrant.
There were colors swirling behind your shut eyes, spirals of reds and blues that you could somehow feel all over your body. You felt as though you had no choice but to take it all, as your legs shook and your head turned from side to side. Everything was involuntary. You had no control of your senses. You could barely open your eyes, and when you managed to peek, the view of Mike feeding off your thigh sent you right back into a spiral.
It felt like your orgasm would never end. You were stuck in an endless loop where time was meaningless. Seconds blurred to hours which blurred to minutes, leaving you with no way to grasp how long you'd been coming for.
The pleasure was strong enough to knock you out. You'd found that out the hard way the first couple times, but you didn't care. It was so addictive. You'd crave this forever, and while the physical aspects of the bite were mind blowing, the intimacy of the whole situation, how Mike needed you in order to feed, to survive, intensified your experience tenfold.
Mike groaned into your thigh as he drank, your warm blood filling his greedy mouth and quenching his thirst. His fingers never let up, working you through your orgasm and fueling your high the longer he drank from you. He knew you were in complete bliss, and it would only take a bit longer for him to drink his fill.
You tasted so fucking sweet, and he swore he'd never tasted anything better- and he never would.
He had to be careful not to drink too much at once, for the combination of the blood loss, the venom, and your prolonged orgasm would inevitably cause you to lose consciousness. It took everything in him to pry himself off your thigh, licking the small pearls of blood that trickled from his lips and down his chin.
He released his fingers from your core and licked one last time over the two punctures on your thigh, his spit clotting the incisions and hastening the healing process.
Once he'd licked off the last of his meal, he glanced over at your fucked-out state, eyes closed and chest moving with relaxed, long breaths.
He slowly made his way up to you, careful not to disturb your position.
"You okay?" He mumbled, moving your head softly onto his lap.
There was a stupid smile on your face as you nodded your head in agreement. You usually didn't talk much after, not until you'd had some time to regulate your feelings and come back down to earth.
“And the cramps?”
You have him a half-hearted thumbs up, still too blissful to make any real conveyance.
Mike couldn’t ignore his worry. He feared this every time. He was afraid that one day, he’ll go too far, drink too much. Humans were fragile, as he once remembered himself being, and no matter how well you took it, or how strong you were for him, there was always a risk. He was putting you at risk.
“Y-you’d tell me right, yeah? If it was too much?”
The anxiety in his voice brought you back down, eyes fluttering open to meet Mike’s face above you. Slowly you sat up, cupping his face, moving him closer towards you.
“Mike, like I’ve told you. I’m okay. I trust you, right? You don’t need to worry about me.” You offered him a small smile as you thumbed his cheek.
Mike always gets reflective after he feeds. The severity of it all usually becomes a lot clearer once he no longer needs to concentrate on the pain of hunger. He dotes after you every time, and every time you remind him that you’re okay.
“It’s not you I’m worried about. I’m…not thinking clearly, during this-”
“I know.”
“And what if one day, I- I snap, and I take too much an-”
“You won’t,” you cut him off sternly, “stay out of your head, Mike. I am not doing anything I don’t want to, and I was very much aware of the risks before I said ‘yes’ to you- to any of this. So please, don’t beat yourself up.”
He looked at you with sad eyes, but didn’t say anything. A small nod in acknowledgement was all he was willing to give you, still unnerved about what could’ve been.
“Besides, your lack of restraint compliments me. It means I’m just too irresistible,” you joked, whispering in his hear with a faux seduction. You'd always understood him, adept in knowing just what he needed, whether it be a quick joke or a soft touch.
He would be forever grateful to you.
He huffed out a laugh beside you, wrapping his lean arms around you and pulling you close to him. He leaned you both against his pillows, laying your head on his chest before continuing,
“Good enough to eat.”
i feel like i always reuse the same ending style but whatever, lmk what you think! <3
you were sure your formula 1 romance would be the next booktok hit. you had everything: exclusive paddock access, a one-on-one interview with a driver (you were very specific about which one), and more than enough inspiration. what you didn’t plan for was not getting your first choice, developing a questionable emotional attachment, and the growing suspicion that he isn’t exactly… alive.
warnings: vampire, one suspiciously calm driver, blood & drinking blood references, falling for the worst possible option, references to death and immortality, this is just research (it isn’t), questionable survival instincts.
synopsis: A creature like you was destined for solitude. A creature like you was destined to live out your long and wretched life alone. A creature like you could never have a mate.
a/n: title comes from cancelled! by taylor swift, but really no other inspo came from the song except this lyric :)
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~ ~ ~
Darkness had followed you since you were a babe.
Onyx whispers dragged kisses across your skin since you took your first breath, reminding you of where you truly belonged—and where you never would.
You were an abomination.
A product of a heinous act between wretched faeries desperate for power. Faeries that wielded tainted magic in the hopes of creating a child more powerful than either of their bloodlines could sire. Two inconsequential lunatics that likely still dwelled in that underworld they called Hewn City.
You wondered if they ever thought about you.
Did they ever ask themselves where you had wandered off to? Did they wonder if you were still alive? Did they regret banishing you from their home at the mere age of fifteen? Did they even care if you were alive?
You knew it was unlikely.
Most days you hoped that they had forgotten your existence entirely, an unsettling version of peace washing over you when you thought about truly being free of the monsters that made you. Some days, though, a sad and pitiful shard stabbed at your heart, reminding you that you were truly all alone, and they were the closest thing you ever knew to a family.
Another sick and twisted part of you hoped that they feared you. They inevitably heard the stories about the creature of the night, the one that lurks amongst the tree tops in the forests of the Night Court, lying in wait for her next victim.
You had certainly created a name for yourself.
Lamia.
The name whispered amongst the Night Court fae, perhaps even across Prythian these days.
The she demon.
Bloodsucker.
All true, you supposed. What else would you call a creature that survived off the blood of the living? A female with fangs so sharp they sliced skin with the slightest nip?
You had tried to live amongst the fae. You technically were a fae—pointed ears and all—but they never saw you as one of them. You were a threat. A monster. A predator.
Above all, you were more powerful than them, and they hated you for it. It didn’t matter that you had never hurt a soul—you lived off the animal blood from a local butcher, much to your parents’ dismay. As if they had not been the architects of your grotesque nature.
Sometimes, as a child, you would starve yourself until the world started spinning and your limbs gave out. Until your nursemaid found you in a hall or the bath or your bed unresponsive, and forced her own blood to your lips.
She was the only one that never feared you.
She was a diamond amongst the roughly carved walls of Hewn City. A flower amongst the thorny and poisonous faeries that occupied it. Talia was likely the reason you survived in that underworld as long as you did—but not even Talia could save you when you wrapped that first tendril of shadow around the throat of another girl in your class.
It didn’t matter that she had held you by your hair, that she had kicked you to the ground so your tights tore on the rocks beneath you—you were the monster. You were supposed to be more powerful. She was threatened by you, and then you tried to kill her.
As if you knew you could control the shadows.
You would never forget the stunned silence that followed, and then the cacophony of frantic murmurs, everyone muttering the same word in fear: shadowsinger.
Your time in Hewn City was limited after that. It was bad enough you could rip their throats out with your teeth (as if they could not do the same to you, should they really want to), but now you wielded the darkness against them as well. Your parents could not let such an abomination live in their home, in their city. So they gave you to Kier, and Kier sneered at the darkness that undulated around you, and then dropped you in the woods.
You were fifteen when your parents abandoned you. You wandered those forests for days before you decided you were still on Night Court territory. Only now there was soil beneath your feet instead of stone. Stars above your head instead of roughly hewn rocks. Clean air moving through your lungs in place of stale and stagnant air.
You were free.
You traveled the Night Court forests with no end in sight, walking through brush and trees for months on end, sleeping on the forest floor with only the stars and crickets as your company—and your shadows, you supposed. You missed Talia. You missed the comfort of a bed that smelled like you, even if it was in such a despicable place.
Then one day you heard a scream. A blood-curdling, terror-stricken scream that turned your stomach inside out, and you ran.
You ran faster than you ever knew was possible.
Some of your peers had the enhanced speed of High Fae, and sometimes you managed to keep pace with them, but this speed was entirely preternatural. One second you were standing beneath an ageing pine tree, and the next you were at a campsite, where a winged male held a female by her hair, a knife at her throat.
The mirth in his eyes when you screamed at him to let her go still played clearly in your head. The satisfaction you felt when that mirth soured into terror as you bared your fangs, your eyes undoubtedly turning bloodshot as you fell into the primal lust that always danced beneath your skin. The taste of his fear on your tongue was bitter and electrifying as you made him feel the way that poor girl felt—the way everyone your entire life had made you feel, just for existing.
The thud of his body on the leaf covered dirt still rang in your head, and the fear mixed with awe on the female’s face beside you still flashed through your mind.
She didn’t wait around to find out if she was next. You didn’t forget the twist in your stomach as you watched her run from you, and as you looked back down at the carnage you had created.
At the names and stories and rumors you had finally lived up to.
That was when you decided if they were going to hate you so much they cast you from society, you would give them something to hate. You would give them a reason to fear you.
You spent the next decade honing your abilities, fine-tuning your strength and speed, learning how to follow scent trails and listen for unnatural rustles of the leaves. You traipsed up and down the forests of the Night Court, sometimes even venturing so far as the Illyrian Steppes, where you learned there were plenty of abusive bastards ripe for the picking.
It was exhilarating. You held the power, and no one even knew who you were. No one had ever truly seen the face of Lamia, except for a few females you had saved along the way. You were certain the denizens of Hewn City remembered you, you were certain some of them had pieced together the loose threads between your time there and your life now, but no one knew for certain.
You liked it that way.
It was better that way.
You may not kill innocent males, but you had blood on your hands nonetheless. You had embraced the nature your younger self had recoiled from, and you knew if she saw you now she would be ashamed. You didn’t belong with the rest of civilization—so you kept to yourself, lurking amongst tree tops and playing vigilante, hopping between abandoned cabins you had claimed for yourself.
No one had seen your face—no one had heard your voice—in a decade and lived to tell the tale.
Of course, until he came along.
What were the odds that an abomination of nature like yourself would have a mate?
It was surely just another consequence of the dark magic your parents had toiled and tinkered with to create you—and yet, it felt a little too arrogant, even for you, to think someone as foolish as your parents could bend the Mother’s will. It also felt foolish to think an abomination like yourself would ever be gifted something as sacred as a mate.
And yet, there he was on the forest floor below, weaving between bushes and trees, undoubtedly searching for you—again.
~ ~ ~
“Lamia, I presume.”
The voice that spoke behind you was silk woven with shadows. A caress chilled by an onyx night, that left goosebumps in its wake.
It had been…so long since you had spoken to another person.
You couldn’t understand how he had crept up on you.
You frantically grasped for your shadows, panic sluicing through you that they might have finally abandoned you too, only for them to curl around you gently. You swallowed hard, taking in a single steadying breath before turning to face the male.
An Illyrian.
His body was decorated in glowing cobalt gemstones, similar to ones you had seen on others when you spent time in their mountains. Their glow cast his face in sharp shadows, a sharp contrast to the dim forest, now that the sun had just sunk beneath the horizon.
“Lamia is a story,” you said slowly, your voice low and smooth. You spoke with a perfect lull, a refined grace and elegance that you had honed over the years to contrast so greatly with the monster inside you.
His chin dipped ever so slightly, his eyes raking down your body, pausing on their way up when he noticed the dark tendrils slithering around your arms. You smirked, your lips curving upward at his surprise—only for you to falter when you saw a perfect stoic mask on the male’s face.
Then another tendril of shadow slithered toward you, this one heavier, more opaque than your own, and your heart stuttered. Your shadows flitted behind you, peering over your shoulders as you hissed at the male, your fangs bared. “Keep your shadows on a leash.”
The male’s lips slowly morphed into a smirk—a self-satisfied, infuriating turn of his lips that made your own clamp shut.
You had just revealed exactly who you were to him.
He took a step closer to you, and then another, his boots crunching the dried leaves scattered across the forest floor. A gentle breeze coasted by you, and that was when you smelled it—he was bleeding.
Your eyes locked onto his thigh, the dark leathers hiding any obvious signs of injury, but you knew it was there. “You have a lot of nerve,” you crooned, taking your own step forward. “Wandering through my forests while blood paints your skin.”
Finally, a flash of surprise in his eyes—but still, there was no hint of fear from the male.
“Trust me,” he murmured, looking you up and down again. “It was not my intention.”
“No?”
“No.”
You hummed, stepping closer and closer to him, until the toes of your boots kicked against his. “Then why, pray tell, are you here?” You reached a hand up, dragging the tips of your fingers over the sharp line of his cheekbone. His skin was warm against your chilled skin, electricity crackling along your hand as your touch dragged against his cheek, crackling and snapping until your thumb reached the edge of his lip, and everything went still.
The electricity sizzling between you exploded, a force so strong it made the word tilt, and you briefly noticed the hand now on your waist, stabilizing you as the ground tried to crumble away. Until it stopped just as suddenly as it started, and you were left standing on solid ground that still felt like it had shifted a few degrees to the right.
And there was now a glowing thread curled around your core, reaching out—directly to the male in front of you. His eyes were wide as he watched you, his hand still rested gently on your hip, and your thumb still grazed his lower lip.
You dropped your hand, staggering backward. You shook your head, raking a shaky hand over your hair. “No,” you muttered to yourself. “This can’t be happening.”
“Lamia,” the male spoke, his voice rough and ragged, as if the shock of the moment had sucked the air from his lungs.
“That is not my name!” you snapped, your eyes burning and your fangs lengthening on instinct. Your shoulders heaved as you took in the male again, his Illyrian wings stretched wide behind him, his shadows slowly circling his feet in trepidation. Mother knows where yours had scampered off to.
Your heart pounded beneath your ribs, every beat reminding you of the golden thread now coiled next to it, a direct tether to this unfamiliar male now entwined with your very soul.
You had long ago come to the conclusion that you didn’t have a soul. You thought mates were a far fetched fairy tale whispered amongst naive children, a gift only those favored by the Mother would ever be granted.
A mate certainly was not in the cards for you, of all the faeries in Prythian. You were not even a true faerie.
The male had not moved an inch, his wide and blinking eyes never leaving your form either. This had to be a mistake. This was not possible.
You shook your head again, taking another step away from him.
Your eyes met his one last time, and you said roughly, “You should leave.”
And then you were gone.
~ ~ ~
It took the male a month before he found you again. In a deserted cabin nestled in the snow-covered Illyrian Steppes of all places. You had thought it would be the last place he would look—which, given you managed to disappear for a month, maybe it was.
You ran as soon as you saw him, knocking him on his ass as you pushed past him on the fragile doorstep. You ran as fast as you could manage in the snow, weaving in and out of the pine trees decorating the mountain.
Unfortunately for you, Illyria had just endured a long and unforgiving snow storm, locking you in your cabin for a week, and now a thick blanket of snow was left in its wake. It was impossible for you to run through the knee-high snow, so you resorted to skipping between tree tops, balancing precariously on snow-ladden tree limbs, praying they would support your additional weight in their already fragile state.
You didn’t hear him following you, but that didn’t mean anything. He had snuck up on you once, he could absolutely do it again. You were fast, but he could fly. He wielded shadows, and if they were anything like yours, they were likely whispering information in his ear at this very moment, trailing after your scent.
You landed hard on the next branch, your weight falling unevenly as you hit the wood, and your palm scraped against the rough bark as you tried to steady yourself. You took a deep breath when you regained your balance, but your heart stopped when you heard a creak beneath you.
The branch gave out beneath you before you could blink, and your body was sent toppling down to the forest floor. You reached for another branch, but the force of your fall only sent more branches and pine needles cascading down to the ground, until your body inevitably joined them in a plume of snow.
Your chest burned from the force of the impact, your entire body stiff. The snow burned against your face, sticking to your lashes and soaking through your clothes. The snow melted against your cheeks, leaving a wet sheen that froze as soon as you pushed yourself up and the wind whipped against you.
“Well done.”
You closed your eyes in defeat, hanging your head for the briefest moment before pushing yourself to your feet. You glanced at him, eyes catching on his wings that were more purple in the sunlight. “I see why your people need wings to survive in these mountains.”
Something shuttered in his eyes. “I don’t live here.” His wings folded in behind his back, and he took a step in the thick snow with practiced precision. “And the Illyrians are not my people.”
He moved through the snow with infuriating grace, easily stepping around fallen branches, until he reached the crater your landing had created. His eyes met yours, his irises a sharp and glowy hazel that you never would have imagined from your first encounter.
A sharp pain in your ankle made you stumble, your breath faltering as the adrenaline faded and the pain from your fall crept in. The male’s hand came out to stabilize you, his glove covered fingers wrapping around your arm. His touch was just as electrifying and addictive as the first time you felt it.
His touch was dangerous.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked, his voice soft. Not arrogant, like the question might have been from another male. It was genuine—almost concerned.
It was unsettling.
You looked him up and down, taking him in slowly, watching his shadows that weaved in and out of the folds of his wings. You wished you had any other answer than, “No.”
His face softened, and his hand slowly fell from your arm. “My name is Azriel.” Then, as if he had to taste the words before saying them, he finally said, “I work for the High Lord.”
You rocked back on your heels, his hand shooting out again to catch you, but this time you shoved his touch away.
Oh gods.
You knew exactly who he was. How could you not have figured it out?
His existence was the very reason the fae around you casted you out when you wielded your first shadow.
He was the Shadowsinger of Prythian.
He was the Spymaster of the Night Court.
He was the only other shadowsinger you had heard of. How could you not have realized?
You wanted to run—but there was no where to go. He would catch you before you could make it to the trees.
It didn’t matter that this male was supposedly your mate. You had heard plenty of stories of soured mating bonds, corrupted by the hands of evil males that forced the females to accept the bond.
You would not be one of those females.
Over your dead body would you become a weapon for the High Lord’s spy to yield.
You were your own weapon, and no one was going to touch you.
You couldn’t run, but you were still faster than him, and you still had your fangs.
You moved in the small space before Azriel could react. You kicked his legs from beneath him, dropping him to his knees, then laced your fingers through his hair to drag his head back. His neck was bared to you, his pulse visible beneath his skin, pounding only slightly faster from the unexpected ambush.
You brought your mouth down to his skin, the tips of your fangs barely grazing his skin, but it was enough to make his breath hitch. One fang pricked his skin, a tiny droplet of blood rolling down the expanse of his neck, melding into the neckline of his leathers.
You had not meant to actually draw blood—not unless you had to—but it made your point all the same. You brought your mouth up to his ear, your lips briefly brushing the outer shell. “You’re going to let me leave,” you said, voice low and steady, despite feeling anything but. Your grip tightened on his hair, pulling his head back further. “Or else, I will kill you.”
The sharp pain that lanced through your chest knocked the breath from your lungs.
You gave yourself a moment to compose yourself, dragging your teeth once more over his pulse. Then you murmured in his ear, “Do you understand?”
Azriel’s jaw clenched, and his chest heaved. Silence hung heavy between you, the sound of snow falling from heavy branches echoing around you. Then, finally, he gritted out, “Yes.”
You held onto him a second longer, inexplicable hesitation making your limbs heavy. You licked your lips, retracting your fangs. “Good,” you murmured.
Then you left him in the snow, speckled with your blood and his.
~ ~ ~
“I thought I told you I would kill you if I ever saw you again.”
Azriel turned around slowly, his wings flaring out. Once again he looked like death incarnate, his face barely illuminated by the light of the full moon. He took a step closer to the tree you were perched in, twigs snapping beneath his boots. “That’s not exactly how I remember it.”
You had migrated to the southern border of the Night Court, the opposite end of the damned court from where he found you last. You watched his eyes scan the forest floor, searching for you. You couldn’t help the upturn of your lips as he turned in a circle, his shadows fanning out around him.
Then he looked up, his eyes immediately locking on you. Your eyes narrowed, frustration muddling your brief amusement. He knew you were there all along.
You dropped down from the branch, landing silently in a crouch. You slowly rose up to face him, indignation and irritation warring with the undeniable relief you felt from seeing him again.
You dragged a finger down his throat, along the artery that pulsed with his blood. “How do you remember it then?”
His throat bobbed, but his voice was steady. “You said,” he spoke softly, “that you would kill me, if I didn’t let you go.”
You hummed, heart pounding against your chest as you remembered those words falling from your lips, as you remembered the agony that lanced through you when you threatened his life, and the guilt that washed over you at the smallest taste of his blood. “My fault for not being more specific.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low.
Your eyes flicked to his, then quickly fell away. “What do you mean?” you asked quietly, demurely. “This is my home.”
“The forests of the Night Court are not fit to be a home,” he said softly.
You hated the pity in his voice. You pulled your hand away, letting it fall to your side as you took a step back. “Why are you here Azriel?”
His nostrils flared, and a few of his shadows darted out and away from him. He shook his head. “Don’t do that.”
You blinked. “Do what?”
“Act coy. Play dumb. You know exactly why I’m here.”
Your blood turned cold. “I’m not a novelty for you to leave at the feet of your High Lord,” you snapped.
Azriel blinked. “That’s not—” He shook his head, his genuine shock unnerving you. “I’ve never thought that. I would never do that.”
Your mouth was dry, your tongue heavy and rough as you grappled for control of this situation that had been spiraling around you for months. “Then why are you here?” you asked again, tone pitching just a bit higher, your voice just a bit louder.
“Because you are my mate!” he exclaimed, taking the smallest step toward you.
My mate.
The words made you dizzy. You had not—
You had not acknowledged the thread between you for what it was since the moment it snapped into place. You had convinced yourself it wasn’t real—a paranoid delusion, a fool’s dream, a cruel trick by the Mother to punish you for taking lives she had made.
Azriel looked unmoored, despite the darkness dulling his sharpest edges. Your vision in the night was unusually sharp—and you had a feeling his was as well. He could see the barely restrained panic creeping beneath your skin just as well as you could see the frantic pulse of his blood beneath his neck and the clench of his jaw as he took a breath.
“You are my mate,” he said again, his voice softer this time, as if that softened the blow those words delivered to your chest. “I cannot just leave you.”
And why were those words more jarring than his declaration of your bond?
You shook your head, fighting back the unwanted tears burning the back of your throat. “It’s not real,” you rasped.
Azriel looked like you slapped him. “What?” he rasped.
You sniffed, taking a step back. “It’s not real,” you said again, voice trembling. “It—it can’t be. I—I’m not—” You shook your head, eyes darting around the forest as if you could disappear somewhere so as to not face this heartbreaking humiliation.
“I’m an abomination,” you spat, anger washing over you. “I don’t get a mate.”
Azriel’s shoulders fell, and his eyes were impossibly soft. You had never met someone so genuine, so kind—not since Talia. You barely knew him, and yet he was showing you more grace than anyone else ever had before.
The two of you were shrouded in the darkness of the night, each of you moving your own tendrils of that darkness in anticipation of the other's move. You were never scared of the dark. You were never unnerved by it like others seemed to be, so when your shadows first came to you it made sense—it made sense that darkness would come to you if you called, because it had always been there.
Now there was another faerie, who also held darkness at his fingertips, and he didn’t balk at your shadows. Your teeth had been pressed to his neck and he came back for you.
“That’s not true,” he swore, a promise that swirled through the night air and up into the stars. “What is your name?”
A plea. A desperate request to let him know the female in the story of Lamia. To know the name you had not spoken in ten years.
“Y/N.”
His lips twitched ever so slightly, and your stomach did a somersault. “Y/N,” Azriel said, and goosebumps pebbled up your arms. “I know I do not know you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as he took another step closer. “But I do know this bond between us is very real, and if I, of all fae, was deigned worthy of a mate by the Mother—” Another step closer, close enough that you could smell only the cedar and salt scent of him— “I promise, you are are more than worthy of a mate as well.”
You started shaking your head, your ears buzzing and head spinning. “You were born with your power—”
“Were you not as well?”
“I—” you searched for the words, an explanation, anything to make this make sense. “My parents messed with dark magic, while my mother was pregnant with me.” You swallowed hard, your mouth dry and an old yet familiar shame creeping up your neck. “They made me this way,” you whispered.
You didn’t know you were crying until Azriel brought his thumb to your cheek, wiping away the errant tear with the quickest brush of his thumb. “There is nothing wrong with you,” he promised, voice resolute.
“You don’t know me!” you argued. “You don’t know the things I’ve done, the blood that soaks my hands—my mouth!”
“I know exactly which scum of the earth your parents are,” he volleyed back. “I know you grew up in the Court of Nightmares, until Kier kicked you out per your parents request. I know the stories they spread about you. I know the stories of Lamia—and I know the truth woven between the pages of them.”
He shifted his weight, his wings fluttering, and all the words in your brain seemed to have fallen to the ground. Azriel didn’t stop either. “I came searching for you after an Illyrian female told me another female saved her and her daughter from an abhorrent male in the forest—that Lamia saved her. She spoke the name with reverence, not fear, and I knew then that my suspicions about your actions were true. You were protecting others. You’re not a monster, Y/N. You’re not an abomination.”
He hesitated, then he brought his hand to your mouth—and you noticed for the first time his hands were once again covered with leather like the rest of him. Earlier, when he touched your cheek, you had been so consumed by him it escaped your notice. He brought his thumb to your upper lip, so slowly, as if waiting for you to run or kick him or just bite his finger clean off. Then he lifted your lip, gently, as if admiring, rather than prodding or inspecting, revealing your fangs. You fought the urge to extend them, to show off just how long and sharp they really were.
Then he said, voice so gentle and sure, “A monster would have killed me.”
Your stomach soured. “I hurt you.”
His thumb fell away, and he laughed. “You insult me.”
“I drew blood,” you argued.
He waved a hand. “It was barely a pin prick.”
“What’s your point, Azriel?”
He immediately sobered. “My point,” he said slowly, “Is that I’m not going to let you push this away—I’m not going to let you deny yourself this bond, because you think you're undeserving. If you don’t want me, that’s fine—but I’ll be damned if we both lose this because of the acrid voices of Hewn City scum.”
You bit your lip, digesting his words, considering this impossible fate that had been dropped in your lap. “I’ve been alone my entire life,” you warned him.
“That’s not entirely true,” he said softly, nodding toward the shadows now winding around your wrists.
You watched the dark tendrils with a fondness, and your breath caught when you noticed one of your shadows venturing out to meet his, the two tendrils blending seamlessly together and circling both you and Azriel.
“We’ve both found company in the darkness before, when there was no one else but our solitude.” His voice was warm, and when you met his eyes, your heart thawed just a bit. “I think we’re both capable of finding it again, with each other.”
~ ~ ~
a/n: planning on writing a part 2, let me know if you want to be added to a taglist for this fic!
and i whisper in your ear, "i want to fucking tear you apart."
dark vampire! stanford art donaldson x reader
warnings: blood, smut, kinda vaguely dubcon themes (he drinks her blood), violence, general vampirism idk, this is so freaked out, dacryphilia, voyeurism, stalking mention, art is a little freak, lowkey dom/sub dynamics but it's really just bc of the power imbalance, kinda not much plot, lowkey stockholm syndrome, soooo many pet names, mentions of murder (not reader) lmk if i missed anything!
wc: 1.2k
notes: this came to me in a vision (the fall menu at sbucks and the temp dropping to 70) twilight and challengers will never die
art didn’t mean to fall in love with you, really, honestly. you were just so sweet, so naive! you didn’t even notice, didn’t bat an eye, when he followed you between classes, or when he slipped between shadows on your walk home from the bars at night, your friends left behind. you slept too soundly to know when he perched at your window, eyes dark, mouth practically watering at the sight of your chest rising and falling, pulse thrumming in your neck as you dreamt. he didn’t want to hurt you. really, he’d never let anyone hurt you, wouldn’t even let them think of it. your ex, for example. he’d gotten a little too bold, a little comfortable dragging your name through the dirt. when he'd disappeared, turning up mauled by an animal (so insane for stanford!), you'd sobbed, all alone in your bedroom. the next day, though, it was as if nothing had happened. art wondered what that meant, if maybe you were over him, or maybe if you were over him you'd never have cried at all. he didn't know, really, but he knew you were at least moved on enough not to be hung up on it, and that was good enough for him.
soon enough, you were his girl, his love, his sweet, bright eyed angel, his salvation. he’d lured you in with a sharp tongue and cloying words, and you’d fallen for it, just like he knew you would. he knew everything he needed to, really; how you liked your coffee, how you cried when you thought no one was around to see it, how your good girl act fell apart when you were all alone at night, hands beneath your blankets. he knew the exact right thing to say and do, to get you to melt for him, to be his and his only. it was easy, like he knew it would be, and he couldn’t be happier. especially on nights like tonight, when you knew his appetite had been building, and his sweet girl would do anything to make him feel better. that’s how he got you in his favorite position, writhing around beneath him, pink cheeked and red lipped, alive, full of fresh, beating blood.
“just need a little bit, sweet girl,” he murmured, dragging his lips along your thrumming vein, “look so pretty for me. you’re close, aren’t you?” he had been plying you, getting you all worked up and vulnerable. your blood tasted so much sweeter when he’d gotten you excited and desperate, his fingers thrusting in and out of you, making a mess of his sheets. “ngh- yes, close,” you practically mewled, eyes rolled back, “can take what you need, ‘s okay,” “aw, baby,” his canines grazed your skin, “i know i can. just want my pretty thing to ask me, that’s all,” “please,” you managed, nearly falling apart, “want you to drink me, art, please,” “good girl,” he whispered, voice hoarse as his restraint finally snapped, his fangs piercing your neck. “oh!” you gasped, nails digging into his pale arms as you came, the pain from the bite only swirling with the pleasure, melting you into a delirious mess. he held you as he drank, only pulling himself away when he could hear your whimpers, tears staining your cheeks.
“was that too much, angel?” he cooed, pulling away, your blood painting the scene. it dripped from his lips, down his chin, covered his sheets and soaked into your neatly curled hair. “i’m okay,” you insisted, though you sniffled slightly. “so beautiful when you cry, my darling girl,” he murmured, lips trailing over your bare chest, biting just enough to draw tiny beads of blood to the surface. he leaned between your parted thighs, fingers dragging through the mess he made, bringing them to your lips, “have a taste, sweet girl,” you parted your lips, swirling your tongue around the crimson liquid, distracted as he pushed inside of you. you bit down on his finger in surprise, only slightly, but enough to make him scold you, even as his voice shook with pleasure. “so good,” your tears beaded up again, threatening to spill over, “love your cock so much, artie, you take such good care of me,”
“i know it, sweetheart,” he hummed, watching as you trembled, your blood drying slightly, “take it so good f’me. perfect, like you were made for it,” he knelt closer, thrusting slowly, hands trailing all over the planes of your skin. “can you give me some more, my love? be a good girl for me?” “yes,” you nodded, quick and frantic, “of course,” “that’s my girl,” he smiled, teasing and demeaning, light catching on his fangs. he buried his face in your neck, going straight back to the two pin prick bites he’d already left, moaning against you as he drank. you went weaker in his arms, gasping and whining, spasming around his cock as he drew another orgasm from you. “fuck,” he groaned into your skin, lapping at you, getting any last trace of blood he’d missed, “oh, baby. you have the sweetest pussy, y’know that? i should- fuck, i should turn you right now, keep you forever n ever,”
he pounded into you, his grip undoubtedly forming bruises on your hips, his name falling languidly from your lips as you clung to him. “you want that, hm? want me to make you like me?” he panted, watching as you nodded lazily, eyes meeting his, pupils swallowing your irises whole. “so close,” he groaned, eyes trained on your spit slick lips, “here, angel, here,” he brought his own wrist to his mouth, biting down hard, wincing just slightly as blood, mostly your own, flowed from the wound, “come on, sweet girl, quick. gotta drink f’me,” he moaned, hoarse and rough, as he felt you suck from the wound, greedy and desperate. “good girl,” he managed, teeth grit as he neared the edge, “oh- yeah, that’s it, take it,” he came with a strangled groan, fucking you full, your mouth still latched to him. “enough, angel,” he said after a moment, tapping your cheek with his free hand, “can’t give you too much, now,”
he pulled out, gentle and slow, collapsing beside you, chest heaving, “you feel good, my love? you feel my blood running through here?” he traced your vein down to your heart, tapping lightly, “so pretty, so good for me. gonna look even more beautiful after you change,” he kept such good watch over you as you turned, never leaving your side, never abandoning you. you were sick for a brief period, but he knew it would all be worth it eventually. you’d be strong, just like him. you’d live forever, side by side, just like he always wanted. he never strayed, never worried if it was worth it, never second guessed himself or the love the two of you shared. the fifth night, you woke with a start, lips parted and dry, and he was at your side in an instant. you grabbed for him, eyes shooting open, and he saw it then; red irises, still pulse. his pretty, perfect, undying girl.
Groaning loud, you moved your hand up. Stretching it over the man’s face, feeling his puckered up lips against your palm. Sighing loud, you settled your fingers deep into his face. Hearing him grunt in protest. Picking up your drink, you let the content swirl around.
Taking a good sip from it. Eyebrow quirking up when a message popped up. Setting your drink down, you picked up your phone. Still feeling the man squirm against your palm. Unable to pull away from your strength. You clicked your tongue at him, letting him know to wait his turn.
Unlocking your phone, you curled up a smile from your texter. An invitation at his house. A simple blood emoji sending a rush over you. – “I have better places to be.” – you spoke, shoving the man’s face back. The man got flung back, falling over barstools and ending up against the wall.
The man hazily lifted his head up, mangled up with chairs. You blew him a kiss before getting up. Laying a good tip for the barman to squeeze an eye shut. The barman came from around the counter with a sigh. Approaching the man. Helping him up. – “You shouldn’t have tried to kiss her.” – the barman said with your departure.
Smirking, you went to your car. Stepping up on the gas for you had an eager appointment. Salvatore residence to be precise. In a matter of minutes, you drove up their lane. Stepping up on the steps. Checking yourself a final time before knocking. Door opening by Damon Salvatore.
Smiling teasingly as he came leaning against the doorframe. – “You came early.” – he spoke, crossing his arms. – “Your brother still in?” – you questioned, pushing him aside to enter. Damon let himself fall back, catching himself with his step before closing the door.
“Good old Stefan is out.” – he spoke following your trail. Turning around, you gave Damon a flirtatious glance. Hearing him chuckle deep, he came from behind you. Settling his hands on your hip. Face over your neck, nose nuzzling your jaw.
“I thought we could start the fun.” – he breathed out, squeezing your hips tight. Moving your hand behind you, you moved it around his head. – “A girl needs to be flattered Damon.” – you reminded him. Releasing his grip off you in a matter of seconds.
“Where’s the blood you promised?” – going up to him, you pouted your lips. Finger trailing up his chest. – “You wouldn’t give me empty promises, right?” – grabbing his shirt firm, forcing him to look in your eyes. – “You? Never Y/n.” – came his response taking your hand off his shirt. Moving your hand up to give your knuckles a sweet kiss, eyes locked onto you.
You gave him a playful shove. Damon tapped his lips with his finger. Gazing with doe eyes at you. Wanting some satisfactory from you. Tilting your head, you tapped your cheek. Damon groaning loud for that was all he was getting from you.
Damon walked over to the kitchen as you followed him. – “So you are only here for the blood? Pains my heart a bit Y/n.” – he spoke. Resting your hands on the counter, you smiled mischievous back at him. – “I’ve been told you have none.” – responding with that extra taunt. Damon gasped dramatically, grasping for his chest. Groaning soft with a pull. – “You pain me again Y/n.” – acting it out. Hearing your laugh made him quirk up a smile as well.
From the fridge, he took out two blood bags. Emptying them in a glass, even adding a little umbrella with it for a fancy touch. When he presented it to you, you laughed. – “Almost like I’m on vacation.” – you outed accepting the glass from him.
Damon held his finger up to pause you. Opening some drawers to drop a straw in the glass before you could take a sip. Putting the straw between your lips, you sucked the blood through it. Humming satisfied at the taste. Damon was drinking too, watching you closely. You left the kitchen, Damon following you around.
Moving past him, you tapped his shoulder. Making him turn his head over his shoulder. Walking backwards, still sipping the blood, you lured him closer. Wanting him to follow you. Damon smirked. Letting himself fall a bit backwards before catching his step, following you, knowing of your intentions. You went up the stairs, laughing loud when Damon came running after you.
Speeding up to the upper level, you rushed to his bedroom. Damon shutting the door behind him. – “Caught you.” – he outed with a devilish grin. You placed the glass aside, sitting on his bed. Inviting him over. Damon happily obliged, coming to crawl on the bed with you. Making you move backwards up to the frame.
Snuggling between his pillows. Damon was over you, picking up your arm. Letting his mouth suck on your wrist. Leaning your head back in bliss. Moving your arm over his shoulder, you pulled yourself closer to him. Kissing his neck. Damon kissed your wrist a few times.
Gasping loud when he pinched his teeth into your wrist. Tensing your grip on him, you punctured his neck with your teeth. Sucking his blood. Tasting it with an epiphany. Eyes rolling back with pleasure till you pulled back. Lips stained with his blood. Damon gasped when he removed his mouth from your wrist. Stained with blood.
His eyes falling on your blood stained lips. Sucking in a breath, he moved closer to you. Settling his hands at your side. Licking your lips before kissing them forcefully. Getting more aggressive with each touch. Biting at your under lip till he tasted blood.
Damon retrieved his lips from you, gaze going down. Moving lower, he kissed your thigh. Leaving a bitemark there. He moved his hand up to you. You licked his palm before biting his wrist. Taking in the blood as he kept sucking blood from you thigh. Overstimulated with bliss and euphoria.
His hand gliding up your thigh to your hip. Inhaling deep, he moved higher once more to kiss you again. Tasting yours and his blood on each lips. Clenching your legs around him, you switched positions. Damon chuckling at you taking control. You took his shirt off. Brushing your hands down his chest.
He took your hand, kissing the inside of your palm. Lowering your head, you kissed his chest, before taking a bite. Damon humming satisfied, moving his hip up to you. Getting aroused by the touch. You kept teasing him with kisses and bites.
Till he no longer could take it. Switching positions again, sitting firmly on top of you. Tearing your shirt in two from the centre. Leaning down to kiss you forcefully. Hand going up your thigh, sliding to the middle.
Pulling the covers over him. Going to devour you with pleasure. Satisfying his pleasures and fantasies. Taking full control for he wasn’t going to let go until both were satisfied and breathless.
FIRST OF ALL. YEAH. NO YEEEEEAAAAAA. #needdatexpeditiously
headcanons for this. and i shall perhaps expand at a later date??
here’s a cig for you anon 🚬
muah muah muah
-mads xx
Vampire Gerard Headcanons
warning: blood, slightly nsfw
pairing: vampire!gerard x reader
Gerard is old. Not ancient to the point of being numb, but old enough to move with slow, deliberate confidence that comes from having nothing to fear.
His voice drops when he is hungry. It goes deeper and raspier, like he is speaking straight into your bloodstream.
He can smell you. Not just your scent, but changes in your pulse, your mood, and exactly when desire starts building in you. He knows without asking.
He is quietly possessive. He stands close behind you with one hand resting at your waist, a silent reminder to anyone watching that you belong to him.
He prefers your throat for everything. Feeding, kissing, breathing you in. His mouth lingers there, teeth grazing lightly before his tongue soothes the skin.
Feeding on you is intimate for him. Slow, careful, almost worshipful. He holds your jaw gently and says your name right before his fangs touch your skin. No one else gets to feed on you. You’re his own personal tap.
He gets drunk on you. His pupils go wide, his lips stain, and his breathing becomes unsteady even though he should not need to breathe at all.
He loves how small you feel next to him when he is starving. His grip grows stronger and his movements become more urgent, but he still waits for your permission before losing control.
He leaves marks that are not bites. Bruises on your hips, shoulders, and thighs. Signs that even a creature built for restraint can fall apart for you.
He whispers in foreign languages when he is deep in pleasure. More specifically, Latin. You cannot understand the words, but you can feel them vibrating through your ribs.
He hears your heart racing during sex. It drives him wild. Sometimes he presses his ear to your chest while he moves inside you, listening like it is the sweetest sound he has ever heard.
He is needy. He craves touch, warmth, and closeness. When he sleeps he pulls you into him, cold body wrapped around your heat as if he is afraid you might disappear
He would destroy the world for you. He would do it without hesitation, blood on his mouth, fangs still showing, smiling softly when he turns back to look at you.
summary: You grew up hearing tales of the creatures of the night— monsters said to be immortal, lurking in the dark and feeding on human blood. No one in your town dared to walk after sunset. You never believed the stories. At least not until the night you saw red eyes watching you from the trees.
Words: 2.8k
A/N: i love vampires. i love Aemond Targaryen. So it was only a matter of time until I combined the two <3 this obviously doesn't follow HOTD so do with that what you will! I am a sucker for writing au's so yeah!
warnings: brief mention of a drunken man trying to assault the reader (but nothing happens other than the reader being grabbed) & mentions of drinking blood which results in death :) y'know, just fun stuff!
You’d heard the stories almost as often as your mother’s prayers: the tales of the creatures of the night.
Tales your father and uncle would whisper as you and your siblings huddled around the hearth, the fire crackling beside you as you watched them speak. Moonlight cast long shadows along the walls, and you sat wide-eyed and terrified as they recounted the legends.
Pale, red-eyed monsters who lurked amongst the trees, waiting—willing—you to wander too far from the safety of the light. Their hunger was said to be endless, their desire singular: to drain any living man, woman, or child of their blood.
It frightened you, of course.
And yet, you could not help but wonder if these stories were simply that— tales meant to frighten children into obedience and faith.
As you grew older, transitioning from a small child to nearly a woman grown, your curiosity only deepened. The stories never truly changed, but they twisted when they needed to, reshaping themselves to explain anything unexplainable that befell your small town.
When livestock began to vanish, whispers spread quickly that it must be them. The creatures who roamed at night were said to have grown so desperate for warm blood that even beasts were no longer spared.
And when neighbors fell ill, the explanation was simple: the creatures must have gotten hold of them, infecting them with their sickness.
Fear took root. The townsfolk grew wary of the dark, reluctant to leave their homes unless the sun stood high in the sky. By dusk, doors were barred and shutters drawn tight, families huddled inside as they waited desperately for morning light.
You never fell for the hysteria the way everyone around you did. You were afraid, yes, how could you not be when you'd been fed the stories your entire life? But you had yet to see any real proof that creatures of the night truly existed at all.
By the time your mother fell ill and died during the harshest winter you could remember, you no longer paid much mind to the stories. Real life, you learned, was far crueler than any tale of pale men with red eyes.
Were there truly men who never died?
It was later than you'd intended, the sun quickly setting behind you as you walked along the familiar path you'd come to love. The night air was cold around you, and you pulled the fur around you tighter in an attempt to shield yourself from the howling wind. The sun was barely visible now, the only light coming from the full moon which was rising opposite to its bright counterpart, casting pale moonlight along the path in a way that was eerily calming.
The basket in your hand was heavy now, you'd carried it for quite some time and you could feel it weighing down your arms. It was filled with fresh breads, jars of jam and other things you had managed to purchase in a neighboring town. The town had the best freshly baked bread and it was nearing your youngest sibling's sixteenth name day. You wanted to surprise them with something nice this year.
You’d lingered longer than you meant to.
Now, you would finish the walk home after dark.
You knew it would be a while before you arrived home, but you enjoyed walking— though you normally did so during the day. You weren't exactly scared, the night was quiet and you knew there would be no one else around to bother you.
But with the quiet came the sounds of the night. The wind whistled around you, stirring the leaves of the surrounding trees, and somewhere nearby came the faint rustle of animals rummaging around.
A sudden noise came from the left, and your body tensed. Louder than the sounds from before. Taking a slow breath in, you looked towards the cluster of trees where the sound had erupted just seconds ago. It was too dark to make out anything but the shadows of the trees themselves.
It must be a raccoon or something, you thought to yourself, trying your best to steady the rapid beating of your heart as panic began to sink in. Don't start overthinking.
Sighing, you adjusted your basket and willed yourself to step forward. It took more strength than you liked to force your eyes back onto the path in front of you instead of the treeline looming on both sides.
The quiet from before settled back around you, yet you couldn't help the goosebumps littering your skin as you walked on. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched, and the thought alone had you moving faster than before.
Continuing to glance over at the trees, your eyes scanned the forest around you for anything out of place, yet you found nothing out of the ordinary. You couldn't tell if that made you feel better… or worse.
Refusing to stop, you quickened your pace and focused on the fact that your siblings were waiting at home for you and you had no choice but to return to them. You were alone and there was nothing more than animals within the forest around you.
Your mind wandered back to the stories and your father's voice echoed around you.
Cold blooded creatures of the night, always watching, waiting in the shadows for their next victim. They're fast, faster than any man on horseback. Some say they're so quick that you can't see them move at all. One minute you're breathing and the next they're sinking their teeth into your neck, drinking every ounce of blood from your body until you're nothing more than a corpse.
You shivered at the memory of your father's tales. It was just a story, nothing more. No one lived forever, and it was ridiculous to believe in such barbaric tales meant to scare children. You were a woman now, and in no world did men with inhuman speed and an insatiable taste for human blood exist.
Right?
Relief washed over you as your eyes settled on the familiar sight of your house. You were nearly home now, just minutes away from the comfort of your warm home surrounded by your family, and most importantly behind a locked door.
You turned once more, desperate for one last look amongst the trees just to satisfy the curiosity and fear blooming in your chest. A gasp fell from your lips as your eyes fell upon what looked like two glowing red orbs in the distance. Heart pounding, you nearly tripped over your own feet in disbelief, but before you could register whether it was truly there or not, they disappeared into the dark night as if they'd never even been there at all.
Red eyes just like the devil. Always watching… waiting to drain you until you're nothing more than a corpse. Once a creature of the night has set their eyes on you, you're already dead.
He hadn’t meant for her to see him.
He was careful, ensuring he remained quiet enough to blend into the night and watch from afar. It was unusual for anyone to be out after dark, save for the occasional drunken man he had the pleasure of stumbling upon from time to time. The townsfolk were cautious, too afraid to wander beyond their doors the moment the sun vanished beneath the horizon.
He had been hunting when it hit him— the scent of warm, human blood.
So alive. So innocent.
The sweetness of it was nearly enough to bring him to his knees. The brief falter that followed cost him his prey, the deer escaping into the trees while his attention remained fixed on her.
His body moved on its own. The scent and sound of her blood rushing through her body like a magnet drawing him in without thought. Before he realized what he was doing he found himself nearing where the forest opened and met the cleared path which she walked along.
Aemond braced himself against a tree, his hand pressing hard enough against it to chip away part of the wood there. His fingers curled into the bark, nails digging into it as he struggled to fight the hunger that threatened to override his thoughts.
He took a sudden step forward and froze as her head turned towards him, her eyes widening as he felt her gaze linger on his hungry one.
No, he thought as he backed away quickly, disappearing from view in hopes she hadn't truly noticed him.
You'd never been so relieved to see the inside of your home as you were tonight. Your thoughts raced as you replayed what you believe you'd seen moments ago.
As soon as you stepped inside you turned, slamming the door closed and latching the locks so quick that your hands shook. Your chest rose quickly as fear washed over you, cold and undeniable.
Something had been glowing between the trees. No, not something, eyes. You were sure of it even if you couldn't explain it.
“Thank God you're home,” came the voice of your sister as she grabbed your arm, turning you around so she could look at you. Her eyes were furrowed with worry as she took in your shaken appearance.
“We were worried sick over you. It's not safe to be out after dark!”
You tried to smile, not wanting to upset her further by sharing what had just happened. Your sister was always afraid, and to tell her something you weren't even sure was real would do more harm than good.
“What's wrong?”
Shaking your head, you moved past her to set the basket down on the table nearby. You could still hear your heart pounding in your ears but you tried your best to ignore it.
“Nothing, everything is fine. Just a bit cold out tonight.”
She watched you still, and you could tell she wanted to press further but decided against it as curiosity of what you held in the basket overtook her worries.
“Oh,” she glanced down, “what did you get?”
A smile—a real one—tugged at your lips now. You shielded the basket from her view, pulling the cloth down over the items inside so she couldn't peak.
“Oh nothing. And you mustn't look, either. It's a surprise and I will be furious if you don't do as I say.”
She pouted but nodded. “Fine, I swear I won't look.”
Satisfied, you continued to move around the room. You found yourself looking towards the window, expecting to see the same red eyes looking in on you now but of course there was nothing there.
Maybe you truly had imagined it? The memory of your father's tales worming its way back in was enough to root panic back into you, causing you to see something that wasn't really there. That was the only explanation for it.
According to your father's stories, if the eyes had been real, if a creature of the night had truly been watching you… then you would have already been dead.
Days had passed since the eerie encounter on your walk back from town and nothing strange followed. You were grateful of course, yet you found the fear that had resided from that night slowly turned into curiosity and you no longer felt afraid. If anything you wanted more proof, whether it be to satisfy the not knowing or to prove you weren't losing your mind.
So when time came for you to head back to town, you felt excited at the idea instead of dreadful. Your sister made you promise to return before nightfall but little did she know you intended to do the opposite.
You wanted to walk the path again tonight. You needed to know if it would happen again.
You lingered around town until the sun fell further beneath the horizon, only heading back when you knew darkness would fall soon. Your sister would be worried but you were willing to take the fuss from her once you made it back home.
The path was darker than the last time you walked it, the moon no longer at its fullest. It was harder to see in front of you this time, but you could manage. The path was familiar enough by now that muscle memory kicked in as you bound forward.
Your eyes immediately found the treeline, watching with purpose as you walked on, your heart already racing with anticipation.
But so far, nothing.
The trees disappeared in the darkness, making it harder to really see anything. The longer you looked, the more the trees faded into the night. You blinked, trying to readjust your eyes so they weren't as adapted, hoping to see anything out of the ordinary.
You were so focused on watching that you failed to notice movement ahead of you— movement on the path you were currently walking on.
Finally, the mumbling ahead reached you and you jerked your head forward, eyes widening as you made out the figure of a man walking towards you. As he neared, the sight of him became clearer and you quickly noticed the glass bottle hanging loosely from his hands as he staggered on, his eyes still glued to the ground in front of him.
Your breath hitched as fear spiked.
He was clearly drunk, his swaying and incoherent mumbling confirmed it. He nearly tripped, dropping the glass bottle onto the stone path causing the glass to shatter loudly against the quiet surrounding you.
He looked up, anger already settling on his face as he realized what had happened.
“—fuck, Jesus Christ,” he muttered, freezing where he stood the moment his eyes found you. “Oh, ‘ello.”
His voice slurred and your stomach twisted. He smiled at you now, and your body trembled slightly under his drunken gaze.
“What's a fine little lady like you doin’ out here so late, hm? Your father never warn you ‘bout the dangers of the night?”
He stalked towards you, his eyes never leaving your own wide ones.
“Y-yes,” you breathed, voice lower than you meant for it to be. You tried your best to stand taller, showing you weren't afraid. “I'm just headed home after running some errands. It is getting late so I must be on my way.”
You stepped forward, planning to go around him and be on your way. Your heart pounded, ears ringing with fear as you prayed he would simply let you pass.
Please. I just want to get home. You thought to yourself.
As you moved to step around him he reached out, grabbing at your wrist in a way that immediately took your breath from your lungs. You jerked back on instinct, but he was a man even if he was a drunken one, and men were always stronger.
His grip only tightened around your wrist and he chuckled at your struggle.
“C’mon, sweetheart, it's not safe out here for a young lady like you. Let me walk you home.”
You shook your head, ready to protest. Ready to beg for him to please let you go.
But before you managed a single sound the hand that was gripping your wrist was suddenly gone. You blinked, gasping as your eyes fell upon the scene inches in front of you.
The man who had been holding you screamed as he watched you now, his eyes wide as they stared at you from where his neck was twisted in a way that seemed unbearably painful. Someone was holding him there as he wiggled around, unable to get away.
The person holding him towered over him and you watched as he stood there, bent over the drunken man with his face buried deep in his neck. The sounds coming from him were animalistic, reminding you of a wolf tearing into the flesh of its prey.
…creatures of the night… waiting to drain you of your blood…
You couldn't move. You were frozen there, forced to watch as the man's screams slowly died, the light from his eyes finally fading as his body went slack in the arms of whoever had just attacked him.
His body dropped to the ground with a thud, and you flinched as it hit. You could feel your lungs ache as you gasped for air, panic rising quicker than it ever had before.
Slowly, the silver haired man turned towards you. His movements weren't normal, too stiff and inhuman as he moved to face you. You couldn't look away even though every instinct in your body screamed at you to run. You knew you wouldn't be able to outrun him, but self preservation didn't care about logic when you were faced with death.
His skin was pale, even more so in the dull moonlight. The blood dripping from his mouth was thick as it moved down his chin and onto his dark clothing.
And his eyes, they were the same red orbs you had convinced yourself you hadn't seen nights ago on your walk back home.
His red eyes met yours and your vision blurred. You stumbled once, dropping the basket you somehow managed to hold onto through everything that had happened onto the ground. Your body swayed and the last thing you remembered was the feeling of ice cold hands wrapping around your waist as you fell backwards.
