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frostironfudge · 1 year

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Just A While - Tony Stark

Summary: Your boss Tony Stark absolutely hates insubordination or disrespect.

Pairing: CEO!Vampire!Tony Stark x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: main kink: authority, not canon compliant, smut, p in v, oral fem receiving, blood drinking, vampire stuff, d/s dynamics, nicknames - pet, kitten, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, cockwarming, edging, praise kink, mild degradation kink?, MINORS DNI.

A.N: tony stark, ceo tony stark, ceo vampire tony stark, ceo vampire tony stark with an authority kink 🫠

Main Masterlist || AO3 || Kinktober Materlist

Your feet are killing you, the damn heels are painful and if one more time anyone questions you about the xeroxes you’re going to lose every ounce of self-control.

“Hey, where are we on those xeroxes?” The words grate on your being.

“Oh my fucking hell, they’ll get to the conference room when their done.” You snap, “It’s taking the copy machine ages it isn’t my fucking—,” you pause, swallowing down the remainder of the sentence.

“By all means complete that thought, kitten.” Tony’s voice is devoid of its usual teasing.

“I um, T-Tony—,” You fumble.

“Ah, ah, ah, Sir.” Tony steps closer, holding up his index finger for emphasis.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” you look down at the floor.

He tsks, stepping closer, grasping your chin in the gentlest of ways.

“You will be sorry, pet. My office, assign an intern for the task.” Tony brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, “Shame, I didn’t think I’d have to punish you this week.”

“Sir I’m sorry—,”

“No, pet, you’re going to apologise in the way I know you would have learned your lesson.” He cuts you off, moving away and heading to his office.

You scurry past the interns desk, quickly instructing them and leaving a hasty email with probably incoherent instructions.

Knocking on Tony’s door hearing his voice beckoning you inside, you open the frosted glass door, he stands with his back to you gazing out at the city that never sleeps. He turns, undoing his cufflinks one by one. Rolling up the sleeves of his blue shirt.

You swallow as his flesh is exposed, those arms that have cradled you as well as pinned you down. Fingers that have brushed the hair out of your eyes, and been wrapped around your throat.

Tony licks his lips, sitting on the couch, arms across the back, legs spread.

“Take a seat, pet. I’m very hungry.” He smirks, then you see the fangs exposed, your thighs clench. Tony chuckles, “Such an eager little pet.” two fingers gesture for you to walk towards him.

“Clothes off, only want those pretty maroon panties on your body.” He instructs, “Oh and crawl.”

Your cheeks heat, you begin to undo your clothing while taking steps to him, then as your clothes drop you crawl to him, kneeling by his feet. His palm grasps your chin making you meet his eyes, red tinged.

“Such capabilities to be a good little pet, but you want to talk back, delay my meeting, and then have the audacity to complain about your job?” He tuts, his grip tightens you whimper.

“Aw does that hurt?” He questions, soon your core is flush against his thigh, his strength making you weightless.

Head tilted his nose brushes along the column of your neck, you shudder when he hums appreciatively.

“A creature of the night wants a taste of you and you’re getting slick. Oh little pet.” Tony chuckles, one hand on your hip making you grind on his thigh, your thighs clench, as your clit pulses in response to the stimulation.

“S-Sir—,” you whine when he lets you continue without his hold, circling your hips you moan, Tony’s nose brushes over your sternum, over your breasts, hands cupping them and tugging on your nipples as they harden for him.

You jolt when his fangs sink into your skin, the sensation leaves a slight buzz, thrumming under your skin.

“Sir, please.” You beg, your hips moving as he drinks, you can feel yourself draw closer to the edge. The smack on your hip has you rub harder against his thigh. You whine, Tony pulls away licking the puncture wounds.

Another smack to your left cheek, you shift, the fabric rubbing deliciously over your clit.

“Cup your tits pet, play with those nipples.” Tony smirks as your lips part, he spanks you again.

“What do you say?” he chastises.

Fangs sinking into your neck,

“Th-thank you, Sir.” your voice breaks into a moan, he spanks you yet again, he contracts the muscles of his thigh, feeling the way your clit rubs over him, he knows you’re close the way your breath quickens, on the fifth spank,

“Sir, please, please, Sir,—,” your orgasm shatters through you.

“Such a messy little pet. So pretty though, so pretty when you beg.”

Tony lays you back on the couch, legs hooked over his shoulders, teeth ripping the soaking fabric, he nips at your clit, lapping at your entrance, then his lips move to your inner thighs fangs sinking into the flesh, he hums, thumb rubbing at your clit as he takes his fill.

You begin to thrash in his grip as the second orgasm comes barrelling into you, Tony’s tongue now lapping at your entrance. He groans, kissing his way up your body.

“Now you’re going to be a good pet, and sit on my cock while I feed from you.” He chuckles when your eyes widen, he knows you don’t last when he’s inside you and drinking, it makes you every bit eager and needy.

“But, but Sir, Sir please—,”

“Oh pet you thought the spanks were your punishment?” He coos, brushing your hair back, tracing his knuckles from your temple to your neck. Then his fingers wrap around your throat, he undoes his pants with fluid movements, you moan at the stretch.

“For, for how long, Sir?”

“Just a while, my pet.”

“That’s it pet, take it like a good little girl, fuck such a tight bratty little cunt.”

“Yes, Sir.” You pant, his thrusts gain momentum, your walls clench around him, pulling him back in, Tony angles his hips stars dance in your vision, he nips at your sweat sheened flesh.

“Sir, please, Sir, Sir, Sir—,” You preen he stops, carrying you still inside you, each step has you feel him deeper, your hands move to his hair, tugging on it nails leaving scraps along his neck and chest, they tinge pink already healing.

“Oh pet,” he caresses your cheek, slowly easing out of you then thrusting inside you again, he places you on his desk, each time you’re at the brink he stops, you’re gaze is hazy.

Facing his desk you can see him scroll through spreadsheets on his laptop.

“Sir,” you plead, he shifts, cock brushing over your walls.

“No can do pet,” his fangs sink into your flesh again, you clench around him, “you need to learn your lesson.” he pinches your clit.

Every few minutes he either shifts or drinks from you, one hand gripping your hips so you don’t move, you’re whimpering, preening, pleading yet nothing works.

Through glassy eyes you see it’s been an hour, Tony finally shuts the laptop, you hold your breath.

“What do you want kitten?” he rubs a soothing hand along your back.

“Want you, Sir,” you sniffle.

“My kitten wants me?” He repeats, you nod.

His index and middle finger rub at your clit, you moan head thrown back, eyes rolling as the sensations take over, he watches your mouth part, every fibre of your being alit, you don’t last long and cum all over his cock.

Tony pushes you down against the table, thrusting into you, chasing his own orgasm, the cold glass soothing your heated skin, but your nipples hardened rub agains the glass.

Stomach tightening as Tony groans your name, “Fuck Kitten, such a pretty cunt, gonna stay buried in it all night.” he spills his seed inside you, your walls spasm as you cum undone for him yet again.”

He pulls you towards the couch again, snug against his chest. You rub your face against his chest, seeking more of his intimacy.

“Rest kitten, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.” He presses his lips to your forehead as your eyes flutter closed.

-x-

#tony stark smut #iron man #iron man smut #vampire tony stark #tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark x plus size reader #tony stark x you #iron man x reader #iron man x female reader #i am iron man #tony stark has a heart #frostironfudge #tony stark fluff #tony stark imagine #tony x reader #tony x you #marvel

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Blood Moon

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, bloodplay, mental illness/sleep disorder, slight medical abuse, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You struggle to find a peaceful night’s rest but your therapist has a particular treatment in mind. (Vampire AU)

Characters: Tony Stark

Prompts: There is only safety in sunlight, and like safety, sunlight is fleeting. + “How many times have I hungered for you, darling?”

Note: Okay, I’m the first to say my supernatural fics aren’t my go to but this was fun and is the first of my sleepover drabble/fics. This turned out pretty long and my intent is to have an overarching vampire au with a few other characters getting their own installments.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.

Love you all like my dog loves pets. Take care. 💖

You pull the curtain shut and stagger back, tripping on your own feet and landing on your ass. You squeak as you fumble with your phone, the screen glaring in the dark and bringing tears to your eyes. You push yourself back into the corner, hiding behind the dresser as you hear the crisp friction against the window pane.

The shadow looms behind the thin barrier of fabric, as if he can see you still. You dial the emergency number, breaths shallow as fear swells in your chest. You curl your fingers into your cheek as the panic blooms, beating in your heart, and some unknown force bids you to hang up, to go and open the window.

But you won't. You can't.

"Hello, he's here again," you whisper into the phone, too frantic to think.

"Miss, please, who's there?"

"The man. The man," you quaver as the tapping begins. "Please, he's here again!"

"Miss, I need you to calm down. Tell me where you are."

"I'm... in my room. I'm hiding but he can see me! I can feel it--" You know you sound crazy. You hear yourself and the fragility in your voice. You recognise the words and how they must sound but you can't stop, you're terrified.

"Miss," the operator repeats firmly, "what's your address?"

You tremble and let out an 'oh'. Of course that's what they meant. You struggle to think. You can't remember. You don't know, you don't know! The line clicks and you look down at screen. You hit the button but it doesn't light up.

You shiver as you desperately try to turn on your phone. You toss it as it refuses to respond and you drop your head into your hands. The tapping is louder, a knocking, steady and maddening.

You clutch your head and let out a holler, "stop! Go away!"

But they don't listen. Him. It. Whatever. Tap, tap, tap... even and unending.

You wail as your skull thrums and your body tingles in terror. Will it please stop? Stop!

You fling yourself forward and crawl across the floor. Your knees hit the floor heavily, your body clumsy with adrenaline. Who is he? What is it?

You stand, shaking, feet slipping as your legs threaten to fold. You hit the light switch but nothing happens. You flip it up and down, up and down, and nothing. You collapse and let out another pathetic cry.

"Go away! Leave me alone!" You writhe on the floor as you cover your ears, trying to block out the steady beating. "No, no, no..."

You repeat the word over and over, every breath comes out with your refusal. "No, no, no, no," until that syllable smears to a drone and blackness speckles in your vision, a hovering shadow outside your window, the tapping, the tapping, tapping–

🩸

You wake with a start. The floor is cold as the stiffness settles in your bones. You blink, a memory vague in your mind, like a dream. It had to be a dream, a nightmare, like those before. They come more often and more clearly.

How did you get on the floor? You sit up but can't recall.

You get a foot under you and stand, catching yourself against the foot of your bed. You step on the corner of your phone and look down. You bend to take it, turning it over as suddenly your alarm blares from the speaker.

You silence the head-spinning siren and drop your phone. You feel dizzy. Like you don't know this place and yet you know it all too well. It's home so why does it feel so strange?

You shudder as your head aches, shutting out the memories tugging at your nerves. You go to the window and look out through the square panes trimmed in iron. The city smokes and steams in response, grey and heartless.

Your vision skews as you try to see into the distance then suddenly you're drawn back, by something closer. A smear on the glass, five long digits you barely notice, the scant outline of a hand pressed there. You back away as a frigid breath blows down your nape and spin to face the empty room.

You're alone.

You frown and your phone buzzes again. A reminder dinging with a persistent chime. Damn it, it's Tuesday.

🩸

You chew your thumb, ankles crossed as you rock in the chair, your anxiety mounting with the incessant tick of the clock. The waiting is always the worst part. You could combust from the erratic energy boiling under your skin.

The door opens and you slide closer to the edge of the chair. Dr. Stark appears in the frame as he gives a lazy scratch to his trimmed goatee. He sees you and smirks.

"Come in," he beckons to you with two fingers, "I've been waiting."

The greeting is almost ominous but he always has a way of being blunt. You get up and give a sheepish smile to his secretary but she's more interested in her long nails.

Tony waits and you pass him to enter, brushing him as he holds the door open. He shuts it with a snap and you nearly gasp, reminded of a similar noise, the tapping on glass. You go to the leather chaise and put your purse on the cushion beside you as you sit.

He takes his usual seat, an armchair beside a round side table with a recorder and a mug of dubious contents beside it. He hits the button and the light glows.

His dark eyes meet your, devouring you and he slides the pen from his pocket and presses the end to his lip. He hums as he considers you. He has a casual manner, unlike any therapist you've been to.

"So, sweetheart, how are you today?" He asks in his rocky voice.

You shift and notice how his eyes follow the flutter of your fingers and your leg as you hook it over the other. You fold your hands over your knees and slump your shoulders.

"Good," you lie.

He tisks and wiggles the pen in the air as he tilts his head, a thoughtful stroke to his chin as he watches you, "you look tired."

You gulp. How is it that one person can both put you on edge and at ease? It's like you can't decide if you like him or hate him. Yet, his timbre calms you, the deep tone floods you with a sensation akin to drowsiness.

"I am," you answer honestly.

"How long did you sleep?"

You chew your cheek guiltily, "a few hours."

His cheek dimples and he sucks his teeth. He puts the pen down beside the recorder and leans forward. "Not well?"

You avoid his gaze. He see right through you but there's no judgment, only concern.

"Have you eaten?" He moves on. Again your non-answer is telling.

"You were doing so well," he stands, his hand dragging off the arm of the chair, slowly, deliberately, the gesture making you shiver as if you could feel his touch on your own skin, "what's changed?"

You swing your foot nervously and scrunch your nose as you think. The shadow like a ghost outside your curtains and the tapping that made you itch.

"I'm having dreams," you look up at him as he strides around the chair, gripping the back as he turns to face you, "I woke up on the floor."

He gives a thoughtful hum, bending his elbows against the chair back and steepling his fingers, "what was the dream?"

You shake your head. It's foggy. Your heart races as you focus, trying to draw out the scene. All you recall is the frantic fear coursing through you.

"Someone's at the window…" you utter softly. Your eyes shut without your permission and you search your dark eye lids.

"Who?" He prompts.

You quiver, "I don't know."

"You don't know," he repeats calmly and your blood slows as a sort of trance clouds in your head, body locked as your head falls forward.

"No, but I'm scared and he keeps knocking."

"He?"

"It?"

"What do– does it look like?" His voice scratches out.

"I don't know. I won't look. I can't–"

"Why don't you open the window?" His tone deepens.

"I'm scared–"

"Scared of what?" His voice distorts.

"Because I feel it. It wants me. It wants to…" your eyes roll back and you wobble dizzily.

"Wants to what?" You hear his soles scuff and sense him come close.

"I don't know," you rasp as your chest constricts.

He's quiet as you tremble. When he speaks, his lips brush your ear, "to consume you? To devour you? To taste the sweet nectar that flows from your veins?"

He sounds demonic and your lashes flutter in horror. You raise your head and fall backwards, drawn down into the dark as it swallows you up. You hit the bottom and wake, your cheek against the leather as Dr. Stark sits lazily sipping from his mug.

"So, you didn't eat," he says coolly as you look around in confusion, "that's not good."

"I…" you push yourself up weakly as your eyelids droop, "no, I guess..."

"I want you to go out and have a nice big meal after this," he insists tersely, "you need to eat with your meds. Understood?"

You nod and rub your temples. Did you pass out? Was it all a dream? He doesn’t seem bothered at all.

"The side effects can include hallucinations and vivid dreaming," his irises look bottomless as they cling to you, "sleepwalking…'

"Oh," you cross your arms, a frigid ripple spreading through you, "I guess that makes sense, then."

"You should keep a sleep journal. Write down your dreams and any sleep movement," he advises, "we might have to adjust your dosage."

"Alright," you nod dumbly.

"Well," he checks his watch, his veins look black beneath his pale skin, "that's the hour."

"Already?" You frown.

"We had a good session, I think."

"Oh?" A good session? You were unconscious for most of it.

"I mean it," he points at you sternly, "go get lunch and send me a picture. That's your homework."

You stare and slowly rise in unison with him. He offers his hand as he always does and you shake it. It's cold and smooth, like marble. A chill crawls over you as he grips you firmly.

"It's a full moon tonight," he says, "you should leave the curtains open."

You blanch as he releases you, pulling your hand back as if bitten, "what?"

"They say moonlight is cleansing," he shrugs, "guess that's just some old wives’ tale."

"Uh, oh, yeah," you sling your purse on your arm, "I think you're right. I need to eat."

"You must keep care of yourself, sweetheart," he gestures towards the door and follows you, "keep yourself fed and… plump."

He opens the door ahead of you and you look at him, his words pricking your ears. "I will."

"Good girl," he winks and dismisses you with a nod.

You walk through the empty waiting room and by the secretary and her talon like manicure. The place is static and cold. You didn't notice before but you never saw any other patients there, not coming or going. Just you.

🩸

You bend your fingers around the corner of the dresser and sob. He's there, the shadow, lurking, looming, driving you mad. The curtains are wide open but you don't remember opening them before you laid down. You barely remember going to bed.

It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream... you tell yourself as you huddle back and hide behind the shadow of the old wooden furniture.

Then it begins, the tapping, the tapping! The tempo is different, methodical and musical. You bury your face in your arms and heave. A deep sonourous voice begins, in tune with the beat of fingertips on glass.

‘There was a farmer's son, Kept sheep all on the hill; And he walk'd out one May morning To see what he could kill.’

The lyrics waft through the silence, filling the cadence of fingertips, of nails edging on the window. You tremble as your tears slow and your ears feel fuzzy from the timbre. Deep and dreary.

‘And sing blow away the morning dew The dew, and the dew. Blow away the morning dew, How sweet the winds do blow.’

Taunting, mocking, the thought of the morning so far away. The promise of what might never come.

‘He looked high, he looked low, He cast an under look; And there he saw a fair pretty maid Beside the wat'ry brook.’

He goes back into the course as your body moves without bidding. You peek out from behind the dresser as the shadow remains, lounging across the outside of the pane as he beats his melody against the window frame. You see his eyes, the pale white and deep crimson shining as the moon limns silver behind him.

‘Cast over me my mantle fair And pin it o'er my gown; And, if you will, take hold my hand, And I will be your own.’

He continues with only his voice, letting his hand slide down the glass as he moves closer. You put one hand down, then a knee, then the next, and another. You crawl across the floor as the temptation of his tones draws you into him, mysterious and entrancing.

‘If you come down to my father's house Which is walled all around, And, you shall have a kiss from me And twenty thousand pound.’

He stills his hand, pressed to the window as he leans in, smiling as his ivory teeth gleam pale in the grim darkness that shrouds his face. You stop before the ledge and peer up at him, tears evaporating as a chill floods your chest. You sway to the tune of his lyric, like a snake to a flute.

‘He mounted on a milk white steed And she upon another; And then they rode along the lane Like sister and like brother.’

The fear tugs at the nape of your neck but you cannot stop yourself. You cannot resist the creature on the other side. You raise your hand, shaking as you unlatch the the lock. A great gust pushes the window open and his song carries with the night breeze, surrounding you, strangling you as you kneel before him.

‘As they were riding on alone, They saw some pooks of hay. O is not this a very pretty place For girls and boys to play?’

He rises, and you notice how his feet hardly touch the pane, as he walks as if on air, angling in the window but not breaking the threshold. You twine your hands over your chest as your mouth parts in awe of his enchanting display.

‘But when they came to her father's gate, So nimble she popped in: And said: There is a fool without And here's a maid within.’

He bends and curls a finger, asking you closer, demanding you to come to him. You stand and stagger, your legs breaking the bonds of your reticence. You go to the window, just beyond his grasp and he sings lower, drawing out the notes.

‘We have a flower in our garden, We call it Marigold: And if you will not when you may, You shall not when you wolde.’

He quiets as he watches you, his song drifting off into the sky as it ends. Your hollow body seems to float, held up by unseen strings, like a puppet hanging, ready to be moved. Your hands creep up your neck and you grip your head as if your mind will split, as your fear swirls with desire.

"Might I come in?" Dr. Stark asks as he turns to let the moon illuminate his profile, "my darling, you are dreaming again... you do know it is only a dream, so let me in and I will see you to the dawn."

“Yes,” your welcome falls out without a thought, you don’t want to be alone. You never did, “yes, please, yes–”

He crosses the plane of the window, descending lightly, landing before you without a noise. It’s as if all air and sound has left the room, as if you’re suffocating on his presence. You bat your lashes, the world vague yet vivid.

His smirk grows and he presents his long teeth, the enamel shining in the shadows, two fangs overgrown and inhuman. You back away as you see him clearly, his dark eyes with tint of red, his pale skin like paper stretched thin, his dark hair lank and loose, the menacing point of his deadly teeth.

“No…” your breath escapes you, as if your ribs are being crushed, and you falter as you try to back away.

He catches you, so fast, his figure like smoke across the dim. His embrace is cold but gentle as he carries you to the bed, your feet dragging across the wood, the worn surface rough against your soles. He lays you down on the bed with a hush, like a hiss as he lingers near you.

His fingers trace your temple and cheek, sending a chill through you as he outlines the curve of your jaw. He inhales as if smelling you, his chest puffing out as his touch strays to your throat. Wake up, wake up, wake up.

“How many times have I hungered for you, darling?” He leans over you, another shiver rolls over you as he frames your neck with his hand, “how often have I smelled your blood and listened to the symphony of your heartbeat?” His grip is firmer as he speaks, “how often have I thought of this very moment and the taste of your flesh.”

You shudder and suck in a breath, a splash of icy water across your body as adrenaline courses through you. You’re paralysed even as you tell yourself to move. As you fight to lift a single finger against your bodily prison. His crimson eyes are like pits, eerie and endless, holding a fate you cannot see.

“Doctor…” you whisper weakly as he tilts your head up with two fingers.

“You smell like spring,” he purrs against your throat as you gulp, “you smell like sweet wine…” his teeth graze your skin as his nose touches your skin, “you smell like paradise.”

He tickles along your shoulder and a sudden pinch makes you squeak. He pierces your flesh, biting into the muscle beside your neck, the long draw tugging at you as he sucks. You groan as fear swells through you, rising and crashing like a tide as you can only twitch across the mattress.

“Pretty little pet,” he unhinges his jaw as a warm trickle of blood trails after his lips along the strap of your camisole, “do not be scared, I would keep a precious thing like you….”

His fingers brush along the thin strap and push it down your arm. He hovers over you as he guides the lace trim away from your chest and unveils your torso, goosebumps prickling over you. He bends again, kissing along the rise of your breasts, swirling his wet tongue around your tender nipples as they stiffen. He bites into a rigid bud and you whimper, your finger curling slightly.

Again, he drinks from you and the panic pulses through you. What is he? The question hardly matters as you feel him draining you.

Once more, his teeth part and he smears a wet path down your stomach, pushing your shirt to your hips. He growls as he teases you with his fangs and you spasm as he bites into you again. You whine as he sinks into the soft fat of your stomach, again and again, a trail of punctures to the vee of your pelvis.

Tears roll out as you lay prone to his bloody descent. The tug of your shorts elicits a moan from you and he eases them down your legs. You flick your lashes as dread consumes you. His lips meet your thigh and you cry out as he digs his fangs into you.

He drinks greedily as his hand crawls up your other leg. Your body reacts before your mind can. His fingertips whisper along your folds and pet the patch of hair that trims your cunt. He dips between your lips and you gasp in shock, slickness warm against his cool touch.

He tickles you, stroking you up and down, circling your clit, flicking, fluttering, and prodding at your entrance. His teeth slide free of your flesh and he moves to nuzzle your cunt as he pokes a finger inside you. He breathes you in and presses his tongue against your bud, adding another finger as he sinks in deeper.

He pulls back, pushing back in, then out, fucking your slowly as he tastes you. He glides his thumb up to toy with your clit in tandem with his tongue. You drone in delight as you’re overcome by a drowsy sort of pleasure.

He coaxes you, curving his fingers until a tingling weight rests at the end of them. You close your eyes as your head lols and your back arches without thought. The sound of your walls clinging to him fills the room, wet and wanting.

His teeth graze along your unbitten thigh and he slowly breaks the skin. He bites you as he speeds up, pounding his hand against you until you think you’ll explode, thumb firm to your clit as he unravels you. You cum, spasming as you leak out around his mouth and hand, staining your bed with ecstasy and blood.

He slows with the thrumming of your nerves, soothing you down from your peak as you pant and and writhe. He pulls his fingers from you reluctantly and raises himself on his knees. You’re empty and cold without him, woozy and wild for more.

“Please…” you moan.

He strips away his dark jacket and the shadows of it flies away as he flings it. You watch him dizzily above you as the layers fall all around you, flapping like bat wings and disappearing onto the floor, into the unseen. There is only him and the needling desire that claws at your insides.

“Doctor…” you sigh.

“Anthony, darling, if you will,” he lowers himself over you, pushing the web of his thumb and index against your chin, “how delicious you are.”

He kisses you, staining your lips with the metallic taste of your blood. You murmur as his tongue slides into your mouth and he hungrily kisses you. His naked skin is frigid against you. His hand trails down your body, smearing the blood seeping from you from neck to stomach, navel to cunt. He pushes his hand between your legs, spreading your knees with his own.

He draws his hand away and his body rocks subtly as he strokes himself, pumping slowly as your blood slickens his length. He pulls his mouth away and shudders as he leans his head back, baring his fangs as he licks them clean. He snarls as he presses his tip along your cunt and inches into you.

He quakes as he gets deeper, impaling you as he hangs his head forward and groans. The hair along his chin tickles your cheek and his hand crawls back up your figure. He cradles your head and turns it to the side, rocking his hips smoothly, cloyingly as he awakens your core.

He growls and bites into your neck. As he devours you, he thrusts harder, growing impatient and desperate as your head spins. Your vision hazes as you feel your energy seeping away.

“Wake up,” you whisper as your eyes roll back, “wake up… wake up--”

The sunlight sears your eyes as they open. You stare at the white ceiling, painted by the morning as the curtains ripple before the open window. You furrow your brow as your head aches and grumble. It was only a dream. Just a dream.

Your body aches as you sit up and you touch the tenderness at your throat. You hiss at the pang in response and the sheet falls away from your chest. You look down at the dark smears all over your body and the bruised marks spattered all around, crusted over in dry blood as others weep still.

No, not a dream. Yet, how could it be real.

Your eyes wander back to the window, tears glistening as the day stares back brightly. There is only safety in sunlight, and like safety, sunlight is fleeting. The night will come and so will he.

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