Trope: Haunted Houses.
Pairing: Yandere!Cullen Coven x Reader (Twilight).
Word Count: 3.6k.
TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Blood Drinking, Orgies, Slight Pseudo-Incest, Implied Kidnapping, Prolonged Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Breeding Kinks, and Drug Use.
The Cullen house had sat empty for the last six months.
It’d felt longer than it sounded. Days seemed to turn into years when you were trapped in a small town that’d just lost the only family worth gossiping about, hours into centuries after the only practicing doctor abandoned Fork’s sole hospital without so much as two weeks’ notice – leaving you and the other nurses in a desperate scramble to pick up the slack while looking for a half-decent replacement. Their house seemed to reflect your skewed perception of time, the weeds that’d usurped their garden having grown just a little too tall, the dense forest that pressed in from all sides having encroached just a little too far. Time had never really seemed to pass for the Cullens, whether it was their collective marble-statue beauty or the way they seemed to float above the rest of you, never fully making contact. Now that they were gone, it seemed to come flooding in all at once.
Even the building itself seemed to have stagnated to the point of agelessness, its many windows reflecting a darkness so thick and so impenetrable, you could only imagine that it had been eons since light had ever graced its halls. It was ancient and unchanged. A lifeless husk, made immortal through the preservation of its corpse.
Your grip tightened around your flashlight, your shoes scuffing against the driveway. You wanted to turn around. You wanted to get back in your car and go home, to your trashy reality television and fleece blankets and locked doors. You wanted to laugh at yourself for driving all the way out here and nearly (key word, nearly) breaking into your old coworker’s previous home. You wanted to do anything but go through with it, and yet…
And yet.
They’d left the front door unlocked. With your sleeve pulled over your hand, you eased the door open, sweeping your flashlight once, twice over the entryway before stepping inside.
You’d had the misfortune of visiting twice before they left town – once when Carlisle asked you to drop off a patient’s file and again on a personal errand, to request that he stop sending flower bouquets and baked goods to your apartment. The first, you’d been unlucky enough to run into him, to be forced to answer his questions about your admittedly poor off-the-clock habits. The second, one of his college-aged daughters had answered the door, and had told you with the brightest smile and the easiest confidence that even if she did relay your message, it wasn’t going to stop. You’d taken her word for it.
Both visits had been brief, but as far as you could tell, they’d left everything behind. Framed pictures and frustratingly abstract art still hung from the blindly white walls, their agonizingly post-modernist furniture standing tall and unaffected by the absence of its users. A fruit bowl reigned proudly on their dining room table, its contents unnaturally fresh. Plastic, you discovered as you stole an apple off the top, turning it over in your palm. At least they had the decency not to leave rotting produce out for the next tenant.
You gravitated toward the kitchen on instinct, running your fingertips over the dustless countertop and opening cabinets at random. This had always been what Carlisle tried to draw you in with – the idea of domesticity, a warm meal after a long shift. Let me treat you to something, and then, when you reminded him that he was a married man, Don’t worry. My wife would love to have you for dinner.
Something caught in the back of your throat, anger and fear and humiliation boiling over all at once. You caught the handle of a drawer and tore it out of its socket, letting silverware clatter to the floor. The island was next, a knife block and baking tray and stack of forgotten paperback books, all swept to the ground before you could think better of it. You grabbed for the first heavy thing you saw – some decorative porcelain monstrosity, misshapen and heavy in your hand. It didn’t take long to find the nearest window, to line up your shot and—
Something wrapped around your wrist, cold stone against warm flesh. You startled, dropping the figurine and cringing into yourself as it broke into more pieces than you could ever hope to count. There was a slight hum, a disappointed click of the tongue. “That’s too bad,” he sighed, letting go of your wrist. Instantly, you could picture him clear as day – shaking his head, a faint smile tugging at pale lips. “That was one of Esme’s favorites. Brought it all the way from Spain. I’m sure she’ll forgive you, though.”
Clotted, choking silence followed dull ring of his voice. It took a moment for you to realize you were supposed to respond, and another to remember how to speak. “Dr. Cullen, I—”
“Carlisle, dear. You know that.” And then, less exasperated, more amused, “Aren’t you going to turn around?”
You shouldn’t have. You needed to get out of here. You needed to run. Fuck going home – you needed to get in your car and drive until you hit the border.
But, you didn’t. And honestly, you should’ve known you were never going to.
Fighting not to trip over your own feet, you did as you were told and turned to face him. You knew what you were going to find – Carlisle, pale blonde hair ever so slightly disheveled, expression sympathetic and unnervingly golden eyes so condescendingly soft.
The only part that caught you off-guard was the smudge of red at the corner of his lips, dark and still wet. Well, that, and the fact that he was naked. Naked and hard. You tried not to look, but it was hard to ignore.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, staring at him as the seconds crawled by. Carlisle didn’t seem to be in a rush, bringing a hand to your face and running his thumb over your cheek. His skin was deathly cold. You wished he would stop touching you. You wished you knew how to ask him to.
Eventually, something else caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder as if someone had called his name, letting out a thin sigh as he took you by the wrist. “Children can be so impatient. I’m sure you know.” He tugged you forward gently. “Come. Please, excuse the mess – we’re usually much more civil.”
Without a word, you let him guide you deeper into the house, to a door underneath their staircase and down, down the largest cellar you’d ever seen. Like the rest of their terrible house, their basement seemed to have taken equal inspiration from overly manicured luxury real estate listings and the worst, most uncanny nightmare you’d ever had. The walls were lined with a deep red velvet, the furniture a mix of dark leather and cruel titanium. The only source of lighting came from a few lit torches mounted on each wall, all burnt too low to be helpful. That might explain why it took you so long to notice the rest of the Cullens.
Dotted around the room, divided yet so obviously part of the same whole, the same pack. Assigning names to faces was difficult, but not impossible. You recognized Jasper near the bottom of the staircase, kneeling in front of a metal pole with his hands cuffed behind it. A wire muzzle covered the lower half of his face, a chain-link slip leash wrapped taut around his neck. The other end was held by Alice, lying on her stomach in front of him, cheek resting against his thigh. Esme was lingering nearby, tending to a large crystal bowl sitting on a podium that’d been decisively placed in the center of the room, mixing herbs into its dark contents – a tray of which were politely being held by a towering Emmett. Finally, in the darkest corner, was Rosalie, wearing a floor-length black robe and keeping her arms crossed over her chest, all pursed lips and hunched shoulders. She might’ve looked bored, had those golden eyes not been so intensely focused on you.
…they were all looking at you, actually. Alice and Esme were smiling. Somehow, that didn’t make you feel any better.
Carlisle brought you to the bottom of the staircase, keeping one hand curled around your wrist and bringing the other to the small of your back. Alice was the first one to react, all-but floating to her feet and approaching her adoptive father. “I told you she would come.” She caught your arm, pointed nails digging into flesh. “Can we play with her, daddy? Please?”
Esme sent you an apologetic look. Emmett laughed and spoke up. “Don’t break the poor girl’s heart, daddy.”
You felt Carlisle’s hand flex against your back. He hesitated, but not for very long. “You’re sure it’s safe?”
“It’s all I’ve been watching for.” She tried to keep her voice even, but her over-eagerness betrayed her, lilting the edges of her tone into a melodic whine. “We won’t leave a scratch, I promise.”
“Fine. But be careful.”
“When are we ever not?” And then, without so much as glancing away from you, “Jasper, honey – fetch.”
There was a low, guttural sound, followed immediately by the sound of metal links being wrenched apart. Carlisle stepped away from you a moment before two arms wrapped around your waist.
It was the strangest thing. You were aware of your chest hitting the velvet-lined floor, of Jasper’s too-solid body on top of yours, but you weren’t scared. Dull confusion played underneath a thick curtain of placid curiosity and mild annoyance. You could only grimace as his wire muzzle pressed into your shoulder, then your spine, his tongue lapping over what his teeth couldn’t reach. He was draped over your back, hips bucking frantically into your thigh with enough force to draw out a pitchy, frustrated whine from somewhere deep in his throat. You were aware, distantly, that you ought to be clawing at him, that you ought to be terrified. The most you could manage to make yourself feel was pity, if only at seeing such a beautiful creature in such a sorry state.
“Dr. Cullen, I—” Jasper’s hands shot for your neck at the sound of your voice, but shoved into the floor at the last possible second. Something seemed to buckle beneath you – concrete shattering under unthinkable force. “I think I need to leave.”
Carlisle didn’t answer. Instead, there was a feather-light giggle, a hand suddenly petting through your hair. Alice. “But we’ve been waiting so long for this. Jazz, especially. Had to promise we wouldn’t let him take a bite out of you.” She straightened, eyes darting away. “Esme, could you bring over the—”
Rosalie cut in. “No. That’s too dangerous.”
“Don’t be a killjoy.” And then, a pleading lisp to her tone. “Please?”
There was a shuffle of movement, a silent acquiescence. Already, you could tell that what Alice wanted, she tended to get.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Esme kneel at your free side, a bronze goblet in her hand. She handed it to Alice, tapped Jasper’s cheek affectionately, then smiled at you. “It’s very fresh,” she said, like you were supposed to know what she was talking about. Like you were supposed to find it comforting. “You’ll get used to the taste, with time.”
You didn’t get a chance to ask what she meant. She was already retreating, joining her husband on the far side of the room. Even worse, Alice was already downing the goblet and, with just as much care, crashing her mouth into yours.
Heady iron and bitter herbs overwhelmed your senses. There was too much of it and it was too warm and whatever fugue state you were in broke open as soon as her tongue laved over yours, razor-sharp teeth gazing over your bottom lip and threatening to break skin. Her hand found the back of your head, keeping you pinned against her while its twin danced over your chest, your body, a single nail catching the collar of your skirt and tearing downward.
Cold air fanned over your skin, made worse by the trails of thick blood that escaped the corners of your mouth - staining your chin, your throat. You felt Jasper growl into your skin, his muzzle slotting awkwardly between your jaw and your shoulder. He was grabbing the rags your clothes had been reduced to, tearing them away in less of an effort to undress you and more of a pursuit to reach what he seemed to think he needed – a wolf, tearing at the entrails of an elk. You tried to shut your legs, to thrash underneath him, but Jasper’s body was stone, unwilling to give and impossible to move. It wasn’t long before you felt his cock press into your ass, something cold dripping onto your skin. You screamed, but the sound was swallowed up by Alice, still grinning against your lips. When she did draw back, it was only to string her thighs over your shoulders and force your head—
Her hands were torn away from you, her body disappearing a second later. When you thought to look up, you found Emmett standing above you, hands hooked underneath Alice’s arms. She pouted, but he held strong. “Nuh-uh. Me and Jasper have the first call.”
“But you picked a luck-based game, it wasn’t fair.”
“Life’s not fair.” He set Alice down at a measured distance. “Go keep Rose company.”
There were a few more grumbled complaints, but Alice eventually retreated to lick her wounds. Jasper bared his teeth, but Emmett only flicked his forehead. “Keep it in your pants.” And then, to you, “You ever been to Paris, baby?”
You hadn’t. Slowly, more confused than anything, you shook your head. Emmett’s laugh was nearly deafening.
It wasn’t until he started to kneel in front of you that you realized what he meant. The repulsion was quick and hot and reflexive, your body rejecting what your mind couldn’t seem to grasp. You opened your mouth, ready to scream, to beg, but Rosalie’s voice cut through the cellar before you had a chance to say anything at all.
“Not like that.”
Alice sighed. “It’s not going to take, Rose.”
“I didn’t ask,” she snapped. “Emmett, Jasper – switch.”
There was no protest from Emmett. Jasper bristled, his anger wordless and ferine, but Emmett was able to wrestle him into place, and you were only granted a few precious moments to brace yourself before Emmett’s hulking body settled between your thighs and Jasper fell to his knees in front of you, shaking hands tentatively latching on to your shoulders. Despite everything, you were grateful for the trade off. Jasper was incoherent – unable to talk, let alone think about your comfort, your pleasure. Emmett, as terrifying as he was, seemed more willing to drag this out, to rub a few teasing circles into your clit with a calloused thumb, to slip two thick fingers into you and smile when your body proved willing to give.
Something was wrong. A lot of things were wrong, really, but something was wrong with you. Blood coated the roof of your mouth, more viscous than it should’ve been. Your body felt too hot, your skin too thin, your head too full. You didn’t want this. You would’ve given anything to make it stop, and yet, as his fingers curled inside of you, you found yourself jolting back against him, a pained whimper bubbling up from your chest. You were wet. You could feel it dripping down your thighs, hear it was he pumped lazily into you. There was sound of padded footsteps, then something being laid down next to you. Alice, on her back, grinning up at Rosalie, now straddling her thigh – their cunts messily slotted together. Emmett didn’t so much as glance up, his gaze meeting yours as he pulled out of you and offered his slick-soaked fingers to Rosalie. Without a word, she took them into her mouth, eyes falling shut as she savored the taste.
“What do you think, babe? Is she ready?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“I love it when she gets mean,” Emmett sighed. His hand found its way to your hip, holding you steady as he aligned himself with your entrance. “You’ll learn to like it, too.”
Again, you made the mistake of opening your mouth, of trying to spit something out. At the same time, Emmett thrust into you, and a pained cry replaced anything you might’ve said.
In some sick way, you were almost glad for Rosalie’s interference. You were sure that, if Emmett hadn’t been trying to pound a hole in your cervix, he most definitely would have succeeded in breaking your jaw.
There was too much of him in too many places. Your legs gave out immediately, but he caught you – a broad arm wrapping around your midriff and hauling you against his chest. You gasped, but that only gave Jasper a chance to surge forward, to plant a palm next to your head and shove his cock past your lips, your teeth. The blunt head hit the back of your throat with more force than should’ve been possible, his shaft weighing cold and heavy against your tongue. You were tempted to, but you didn’t try to bite down. You had a feeling that the only thing you would manage to hurt was yourself.
They were both unbearable. Jasper, rutting against your face, chasing warmth that wasn’t his, and Emmett behind you, hips constantly flush to your ass, his smug grin pressed into the back of your shoulder as he did his best to tear you open from the inside out. Distantly, you could hear Alice and Rosalie next to you, a few pained whimpers as the latter curled her hands around her partner’s neck, but you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about what they might be doing to each other. All your pity was saved for yourself. It was humiliating – just how quickly your body gave out, just how many terrible, half-smothered noises they were able to force out of you. You felt yourself clench around Emmett’s unforgiving length, heard him curse and buckle against you. His mouth seemed to find the blood still dripping down your chin on instinct, and there was the faintest ghost of unnaturally pointed teeth before he jerked away, one hand finding your waist while the other planted itself on the back of your head, forcing Jasper that much deeper into your throat.
Abruptly, you remembered something another nurse had said to you not long after the Cullen’s first came to town, following Rosalie and Emmett’s first visit to the hospital during one of his less eventful shifts. She’d pulled you aside and admitted that, when Rosalie had first stepped into the lobby, your coworker had somehow mistaken her for a wildcat, nearly pressed the panic button before taking another look. When you asked her if she’d made the same mistake with the boy, all hulking muscle and eat-you-alive intensity, her smile had faltered.
“No,” she’d said, slowly. “That one’s obviously a bear.”
…
There was probably a reason Carlisle had liked you, looking back on it. You were always the last to run from danger.
His pace changed, sped up. Your back arched as he railed into you, Jasper grinding into your mouth with just as much ferocity. Jasper slipped first – something too chilling and too sweet to have ever come from anything human flooded over your tongue, down your throat, mingling with blood and spit where you failed to choke it down. Cruelly, Emmett chose that exact moment to let a hand fall to your clit, to tip you over the ledge you were clinging to so desperately. You came around him as he pumped you full of the same terrible, ice-cold venom. You could practically hear Rosalie purring in delight.
Emmett didn’t pull out. You felt his palm against the back of your neck, his body brace above yours as he pinned you down and started to—
“That’s enough, son.”
Emmett didn’t whine, didn’t protest. He remained silent, still, and Alice groaned next to you. “But we haven’t even—”
“Patience, Alice.” Jasper and Emmett drew back, letting Carlisle pull you into his arms. You weren’t proud of the way you clung to him, but you didn’t have another choice. When your only other option was a pack of wild animals, even a hunter could seem like a comfort. “You’ll get what you’ve asked for.”
You hid your face in his shoulders as he carried you to a velveteen lounge, Esme perched delicately on the arm. She stroked the side of your face gingerly as Carlisle sat down. “I do worry, sometimes,” he sighed, rearranging you to better straddle his lap. “They can be so careless.”
“They have good hearts,” Esme countered. Behind you, Rosalie’s hold on Alice’s neck tightened until her skin splintered, cracks spreading in all directions like fractured stone. “And they love so fiercely.”
The blunt head of his cock pressed into your entrance. With a painstaking sort of tenderness, he guided you downward, spearing you on his length. There was no attempt at resistance on your part. Only a miserable whimper, dampened by his skin, and your nails driven into his back. “I want to go home.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you will.” Esme’s voice was soft, sweet. You would’ve given anything for the strength to scream loud enough to drown it out. “The boys built such a lovely cottage. It’s only a few minutes away, and you’ll just adore the—”
“I think she can worry about that tomorrow, dear.” You felt him pulse inside of you, his smile settling against the dip of your shoulder.
“It’s not as if we’re short on time.”
