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argumentativantitheticaldream · 7 months ago

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𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔲𝔩𝔞 𝔗𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔥 || 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫

"ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯, 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔶 𝔰𝔲𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔰"

-𝔅𝔯𝔞𝔪 𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔯

Warnings: blood-sucking? and fingering

I could see something in his demeanour had switched, his eyes more bloodshot and hungry. If I wasn't scared before I was now. My heart thudded in my chest, faster than usual, but it wasn’t just fear it was something else. My hand stung, where the paper had sliced my skin earlier. A thin bead of blood welled up, and I couldn’t stop staring at it, the tiny red droplet reflecting the candlelight in the dark. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto my hand, and I felt a strange pull, as if he could already taste it. My pulse quickened. I wanted to hide it, press my hand against my side. “Don’t,” He whispered, his voice was husky and strained as if he was trying so hard to resist.

I stepped back, my heart pounding in my chest. “I'll just clean it-” I whispered, trying to steady my voice. “You don’t have to do this.”

His eyes were heavy and dark, and his lips parted to reveal two white teeth drawn to a sharp point, he spoke as though the words hurt him. “I… I can’t stop,” he rasped, his voice low and strained. “Let me, Darling.” He reached out, his fingers twitching like they were drawn to me, but he hesitated. “I don't want to but it’s so loud, I can hear it rushing through your veins.”

I open my palm and inspect the cut. My eyes fluttering up to meet his, he looked starved and relentless.

“Please,” he cut me off, his voice thick with desperation. “I need it. I can’t—” He closed his eyes, as though trying to resist, but his face twisted with a hunger I could feel in the air. “I’m begging you. Just a drop.”

I nod in slight admission, my chin dipping only slightly as I was still hesitant. But before I had time to second guess his hand wrapped around my ankle, his white-knuckle grip was painful almost filled with unspoken desperation in it, something raw and frantic, as if he’s holding on to the last thread of control. The way his fingers dig into my skin sends a shiver through me, not just from fear, but from the weight of his unspoken need.

He tugs once and pulls me forward, my dress had bunched up at my waist from the friction against the woolen rug. His eyes dipped to the sight between my thighs but they drew hungrily back to my hand. Swiping the blood once with his thumb, the sting echoed through my palm and an involuntary wince slipped into the stagnant air. "Is it enough?" My voice came out mumbled and weary as if the blood that seeped through my hand wasnt enough to satisfy the hunger burning in his eyes.

He tilted his head, dark strands of hair falling across his face, shadowing the sharp line of his jaw. The faint, metallic scent of blood seemed to tether his focus to me, his gaze flickering to the crimson streak trailing along his thumb. Slowly, deliberately, he brought it to his lips, his movements carrying an unspoken restraint that only heightened the palpable tension between us.

The silence stretched, heavy and unrelenting, save for the soft inhale he took when the blood met his tongue. His eyes closed, lashes brushing his pale cheeks, and when they opened again, they burned with something both primal and restrained.

"No," he finally said, voice low and gravelly. His words were measured, but his gaze stayed locked on my hand, on the fresh wound still glistening in the dim light. "Not enough."

My breath hitched as he reached for my wrist, his grip surprisingly gentle but unyielding. The coolness of his skin was a jarring contrast to the heat pulsing from the cut. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over my knuckles as his lips hovered a fraction above the wound. The moment stretched, every nerve in my body screaming at the anticipation.

"Then take it," I whispered, though the words quivered with a mix of defiance and fear. The room seemed to shrink, the world narrowing to the sharp press of his fangs just before they pierced my skin.

The initial pain subsided and was replaced by an unfamiliar pleasure, the feeling shot through my veins and I watched his expression through my lashes that fluttered from the sensation. His eyes grew heavier but were less bloodshot.

His grip on my wrist slowly softened, the bruising pressure turning into something oddly tender, his thumb brushing against my pulse in time with the rhythm he drew from me. A shiver rolled down my spine as I watched his lips, parted and stained with crimson, move with restrained hunger.

"You taste..." he murmured, his voice rough, almost reverent, before trailing off, his gaze flicking to mine with a dangerous intensity. My heart skipped, and I couldn't tell if it was fear, exhilaration, or both that made me feel as though I was falling into him.

His words hung in the air, unfinished but heavy with meaning, pulling me further into the strange, intimate thrall of this moment. I should have been terrified, repulsed even, but instead, a deep, inexplicable curiosity bloomed within me. My skin felt feverish under his touch, every nerve ignited as though my body had forgotten the difference between pleasure and pain.

His lips left my skin, and I gasped softly at the cool air replacing the heat of his mouth. A faint trickle of blood lingered on my hand, catching the dim light, but he didn’t move to wipe it away. Instead, he stared at me, his breathing uneven, his chest rising and falling as though he had just come up for air after drowning.

“You shouldn’t let me do this,” he said finally, his voice low and hoarse, yet tinged with something that almost sounded like regret.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. What could I possibly say? That I had wanted him to? That the rush, the heat, the heady pull of his presence had stripped away any semblance of reason?

“Why...?” I managed to whisper, unsure if I was asking why he stopped or why he had started in the first place.

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the mark he had left on my skin. The faint trace of his fangs still lingered there, twin crescents of crimson against the pale backdrop of my hand. He lifted his fingers to hover over it but didn’t touch.

“Because I might not stop next time.” he said, his tone dark and warning.

"What happens if you can't stop?" My voice held naive curiosity, but I needed to know. The question lingered in the cold air between us, sharp as the pain biting at my skin. His eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them before he looked away, his jaw tightening.

"You don't want to know." he said finally, his voice low, almost a growl.

"I do," I pressed, moving closer despite the warning edge in his tone. "Tell me. Please."

His shoulders tensed, the air around him crackling with a tension that made me regret asking. He turned to face me then, and the storm in his gaze stole my breath. "Stop pressing." He demanded, his voice stern and final.

Slowly ans tenderly, his calloused fingertips traced a line up my forearm and his voice softened to a deep mumble. "Sorry," He paused "Darling" The sorrow in his tone was evident, an indicator that he knew he'd lost his temper but I didn't dare ask again. Afraid of the consequences.

His hand wraps around my upper arm, firm yet cautious, as if pushing the boundaries of restraint. His cold touch sends a shiver down my spine, and for a moment, my breath catches. He leans in closer, his eyes dark, unreadable, yet magnetic. The air between us feels charged, thick with unspoken tension.

"Come here." he says, his voice a low, velvety murmur that seems to echo in the stillness of his chateau.

I hesitate, rooted in place, unsure if I’m captivated by fear or need. The pull is undeniable, like the tide yielding to the moon, and yet my heart pounds in defiance.

"Why?" I manage to whisper, though my voice trembles.

His lips curve into the faintest hint of a smile, enigmatic, predatory. "Because you want to."

The words coil around me, unsettlingly true, and before I can think to argue, his grip tightens ever so slightly, guiding me forward.

His arm slides from my upper arm to wrap around my back, pulling me into him. The movement is fluid, almost too smooth, as though he’s done this countless times before. His other arm follows, encircling me completely. I’m struck by the contradiction of his touch cold as ice, yet somehow comforting, like the frost that blossoms at nightfall. His embrace isn’t forceful, but there’s a strength there, a quiet dominance that makes me feel both trapped and safe all at once.

My head tilts slightly, brushing against the firm plane of his chest. His scent surrounds me, faint but intoxicating a mix of something earthy, like cedar, and something sweetly metallic. Blood.

I don’t know why I don’t pull away. My instincts scream that I should, but the steady rhythm of his breathing, so measured and calm, anchors me.

"Is this what you wanted?" he murmurs into my hair, the low vibration of his voice sending a jolt through me. "Comfort?"

His fingers thread into my hair and brushing through the strands, combing through the knots and the worries. I instinctively lean in, the magnetic pull not allowing me to do anything else.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, his words soft and muffled against my hair. His head dips closer, and I can feel the subtle press of his lips as they find the tender spot just behind my ear. A shiver races down my spine, unbidden, as he lingers there, his lips brushing with deliberate gentleness.

"So sweet," he whispers, the words grazing my skin like velvet. His voice is low, intimate, a tone that feels like it was meant to be heard by me and no one else. Each syllable seems to settle over me, wrapping around my senses and pulling me deeper into the moment.

My breath catches, barely audible, but he notices. I feel his lips curve into the faintest smile against my skin, a knowing gesture that makes my pulse quicken. His hand slides up the curve of my arm, fingers tracing a path that feels both delicate and deliberate, as if he's memorizing every inch.

"You have no idea, do you?" he murmurs, his voice like honey dripped in shadow. The words hang between us, heavy with meaning I can't quite grasp, or maybe I'm afraid to. His lips graze me again, this time slower, lingering as though savoring the moment, and I can feel the heat blooming where his breath lingers, spreading through me in waves.

His other hand, strong yet gentle, brushes my cheek, tilting my face ever so slightly toward him. My eyes flutter shut on instinct, my body betraying the tension that coils in my lower stomach. "I mean it," he says, his voice soft but commanding, as though daring me to question him. "You're perfect."

The words are a gentle reverence, but there’s something raw beneath them, something primal that sparks an ache in the space between us. I don't move, barely breathing, caught between the push and pull of his presence.

His words hang in the air, charged with an electricity I can’t name, and before I can respond, he shifts. His lips leave their place behind my ear, trailing a path down the curve of my neck. Each kiss is light, like the brush of feathers, but it leaves a burn in its wake, a tingling warmth that makes my pulse thrum against his mouth.

His lips find a spot near the hollow of my throat, and he pauses, exhaling softly against my skin. "So completely perfect," he murmurs, his voice lower now, almost a growl. There’s an edge to it, something unspoken but undeniable, and it makes my stomach flutter. The words seem to hum in the space between us, wrapping around me like a cocoon of heat.

I tilt my head slightly, almost instinctively, giving him more room, and he takes it. His teeth graze my skin, a fleeting touch, barely there but enough to send a rush of heat through my body. His hand on my back tightens slightly, drawing me closer until there's barely any space left between us.

My hands, which had been hovering uncertainly, find their place on his chest. The solidness of him under my fingertips is both reassuring and exhilarating. His heart is racing now, and the realization sends a thrill through me, he’s as affected as I am.

He leans back just enough to catch my eyes, his lips parted, his breath uneven. The intensity in his gaze pins me in place, as though the rest of the world has fallen away and there’s only this moment, only us. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he admits, his voice barely more than a rasp. His hand brushes a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering on my cheek. "I've been watching you, you know?"

His words hold a dark tone but the way he looks at me makes me feel like the most extraordinary thing he’s ever seen, as though nothing else could ever compare. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and I can feel myself getting lost in it. His fingers find my thigh, sliding up them with deliberate tenderness. "Let me take care of you, love."

I nod once, my head dipping slightly. I part my lips to talk but the words get stuck in my throat, he pinches my flesh in acknowledgment and his voice comes out reassuring. "I know... I know, Sweetheart." My teeth catch my lower lip between them as to not risk making any noises too soon, not wanting to give him the satisfaction but as his knuckles brush against my panties I struggle to keep it that way.

His fingers brushed down the lace with a delicate reverence and his eyes met mine knowingly. "Look at you," He drawled, his voice low and dark. He moved over me, propping himself up with his arms so he didn't crush me. His fingers were still against me, the pressure filled me with unbearable torment. He slipped his calloused fingers under the fabric and glided them down, making me painfully aware of my wetness. A sharp gasp elicited from my lips and filled the space between us.

"Fuck-" He groans, the weight of his head dipped to brush my ear with his lips. The sound of his groan sent a shiver through me and when he nudged his fingers against my clit my head tilted back as a result of the shockwaves of pleasure.

My chest rose and fell rapidly as he teased and circled his fingers over my clit, eliciting a whine from my lips. "Shh, it's okay." His warm breath brushed my ear and he pushed my hair out of my face. "m'gonna take care of you" His words became lazy as he grew more hungry, the syllables blending together in a melodic string of sounds. Deep and low. He slowly pressed two fingers against my entrance allowing me to relax before pushing them forward roughly. His fingers curled inside me and a sharp moan spilled from my lips and hung in the air. I felt his lips curve against my ear and he started to pump his fingers in and out. His pace was relentless and unwavering as if he was determined to leave me trembling. Every stroke and curl of his fingers inside me pulled a gasp from my lips and he was revelling in it.

I could feel the familiar tension in my lower stomach, coiling tighter. A feeling I knew all too well. His pace didn't slow down when he'd noticed my legs starting to shake or my breath becoming faster. He kept up the relentless pumping of his fingers, the sound that filled the air was erotic; groans, gasps and the sound of his fingers moving in and out of me. My fingers curled around his arms and I dug my nails into it, a silent plea, a notice that I was close.

"You're so precious, Sweetheart" He groaned against my ear, seemingly more turned on than I was. I felt the wave of pleasure crash over me and my body shook with release, my eyes rolled back and when I'd managed to open them again he hovered over me, his fingers in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the glistening release.

“Jesus—” I breathed, my words stumbling over the weight of the moment. The air in my lungs caught as if snared in a vice, and my voice wavered, unsteady, trembling at the edges like fragile glass about to shatter.

Before I could say anything more, his voice sliced through the tension, sharp and certain, like the crack of a whip.

“I've got you, it's okay” he interrupted smoothly, each word rolling off his tongue with practiced ease.

His smile was a slow, deliberate thing, curling at the corners of his mouth like he was tasting a long-forgotten flavor. It wasn’t the kind of grin that came naturally; it bore the rust of disuse, a proud but faintly hollow gesture as if he’d unearthed it for the occasion. Yet, it still held power, sharp and disarming, like the glint of sunlight on a blade.

a/n: this was my first time writing smut 😬😬 i hope its okay not not rushed but i'll write more in the next part and hopefully it'll flow better i feel like the first half was so much better paced. anways, enjoy and give me suggestions because i'm running out of ideass

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #vampire!au #black and white #arctic monkeys #dracula #part 7 #smut #kinda sorta #pls interact #writing

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