#thomas hutter x reader

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Devourable (Thomas Hutter x fem!vampire!reader)

-> Thomas offers himself to you, but he’s not the only one blinded by desire

Warnings: some manhandling (by reader), hair pulling, smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, tease and denial, sub!Thomas (with a hint of cheeky though), dom!reader (but kind of soft for him) (even when she’s mean), shadow sex? sex with shadows? whatever you wanna call it, mentions of blood craving/drinking, lying in a coffin

*Written in the same vein (ha) as Moonlight. Consider it a sequel if you like.

Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!

He comes to you willingly. Eagerly. Even knowing what you are and all that you could take from him with barely a lift of your ancient, beautiful finger… he offers so much more. A predator you may be, but this sweet surrender of his nearly feels as though it is you being ensnared, so intoxicated by his desire that your own grows blinding.

“The gates are open,” you remind him, standing next to your coffin as he stops a mere few paces away from you. “The wolves have left.”

His throat bobs as he swallows—his fear, or pride, or both. “I know.”

In a moment of… weakness, you suppose, you had decided to spare him. You called the shadow of dread you had cast upon him back into yourself, cleared his path, offered him freedom. In truth, there was still a chance you might send the wolves who so dutifully served you to track him down and drag him straight back to your castle. Part of you so longed to keep him in your greedy clutches. Another fought against it. Now, you would never know which would have won, but of one thing, you are certain: this is not your doing. His choice to stay, despite the chance he was given to flee this horrid place and never look back, is exactly that—his own.

“You seek me out of your own free will, then?”

You know the answer, but you need to hear it out loud. You want to drink the words from his lips like you would his blood, savour the taste of them. And though his eyes are loud enough, he can’t seem to say it outright at first.

“I wanted to leave,” he confesses, voice wavering with raw emotion. “The moment I knew escape was possible, I ran faster than I can remember my feet ever carrying me. Yet with each step I took farther from these walls, it wasn’t relief that I felt. It wasn’t the forest or the snow I saw before my eyes. It was your face. Lit by the fire, bathed in moonlight. Each word we exchanged as we talked late into the night, each lingering gaze. The hunger in your eyes which so terrified me, even as I… as I longed to be the one to sate it,” his eyes fall shut as he speaks the words, struggling to let them out. “And though I knew, in my heart, that you were not of this world, though I saw your marks upon my skin and understood that you held my very life in your grasp, I couldn’t help but wish for more. To know you better, to see and understand every single part of you. Even if it brought my utter ruin. I knew that, if I left you behind, never to see you again… my every waking thought for as long as I live would be of you. Not a day would pass that I would not feel the urge to make the journey back and look upon your face, if only one last time. So, yes,” he admits, nearly breathless, “I come to you of my own will, seeking relief… from the torment of wanting you.”

It’s torment, indeed, which laces his every word and breath. A decent man such as him, wanting nothing more than to make himself respectable in society, to secure the good living a potential future bride would deserve, stripped of everything he had ever known about truth and fable, about his own fears and cravings. Baring his soul to the one who had made it unravel. You should find it pathetic, mock his foolishness.

You don’t quite find it in yourself to do so.

“I am not a person for you to want,” you remind him, a dangerous edge to your voice as you approach him slowly. “I am craving itself. Insatiable. Pitiless. I would devour you.”

“If that were true, you would have done so already,” he claims still. “Pitiless, you say, yet—here I stand. Had you not spared my life, I could not have returned to lay it at your feet.”

Oh, what a sweet romantic. When you stop, he takes the last few steps towards you, careful yet bold, coming to stand before you within perilous reach.

“How long has it been,” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, “since someone chose to stay? When were you last offered something more than blood?”

“Offered?” you scoff. “I am not offered blood. I take it.”

Thomas clenches his jaw, frustrated, and a decision is made. With quick, determined fingers, he undoes his buttons, pulling open the top half of his shirt.

“Take it, then,” he dares you.

It’s bait you shouldn’t take—but you can’t help your eyes falling to his flesh the moment it’s been bared. Your bite marks are still there, puncture wounds begging to be reopened. You fight back an animalistic hiss. If you do as he says… you would be doing as he says. Acting on his terms, even when fulfilling your own cravings. That thought alone might dissolve you more quickly and painfully than the first ray of dawn.

So fixated you are on his heart, you hardly notice Thomas reaching for your face. His fingers graze your cheek, hesitant at first, then more securely cradling it as you lift your gaze to his. His expression is as soft as his touch, hopeful and compassionate. He is taking your hesitance to feed off him as confirmation that he was right. That his willing presence is some kind of balm for what he believes to be a deep longing of yours.

There is only one thing you can do in the face of such a pure sentiment.

You bring your hand to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his soft curls. Still damp from running away, then straight back to you. He lets you pull him closer, even closer, until your lips are nearly brushing, your breaths mingling. It’s him who means to close the distance once and for all, but you plant your hand onto his chest to keep him at bay the moment his mouth begins to graze yours.

“Do you truly believe,” your voice begins soft, then grows into a growl, “that I am some wounded soul in need of deliverance?”

Your long nails drag against his scalp as you pull at the roots—hard, down, forcing him to his knees. Thomas gives a hoarse cry as they hit the cold ground.

“Do you wish to save me, Thomas?” you spit the word like it’s rotten in your mouth. “To ease my pain? My loneliness? Do you truly believe I can feel such things?”

Your words echo harshly against the stone walls, charged with blinding rage. How dare he look at you with such pity in his eyes? How dare he presume to know your heart, when it has been lost to you for centuries—

Thomas grabs your waist and, before you can even begin to push him away, buries his face in your stomach.

“My soul weeps for you,” he persists hoarsely, shaking his head against the fabric of your dress. “I cannot help it.”

You release his hair, quite frankly stunned by the feeling of him so desperately clinging to you. You are still angry, and you could untangle him from your body with ease, but…

“You are a fool with a death wish,” you say, more softly than you had intended.

“I wish for you,” Thomas counters heatedly. Something wild, downright feral burns in his eyes as he looks up at you. “Let me prove it.” His hands leave your waist only to plant themselves on the back of your thighs—creeping ever so daringly upwards. “Let me taste you. As you have tasted of me. Please.”

You know very well what he means, but still: “You lack the teeth,” you taunt.

“But not the tongue,” Thomas insists, somehow pleading and stubborn at the same time. “May I please you?”

Blood is what pleases you. The hunting. The haunting. The biting.

But right now… you want this.

“You may try.”

The moment your permission has been given, Thomas hastens to lift the skirts of your dress. You don’t move a muscle, standing above him like an unfeeling goddess as he frantically works to move past any layer of fabric standing between him and your bare flesh. But you do feel, and it’s odd, so odd, to let yourself be worshipped rather than feared for the first time in what feels like an immeasurable amount of years. He kisses your knees with reverence, his lips ascending your thighs as though heaven itself might be waiting where they meet. His mouth is so hot on your skin, so sweetly arousing. If you were still human, you’d be trembling with want.

Yet when Thomas lifts his eyes to yours, silently pleading to see so much as a spark of his desire reflected in them, you deny him. Your pride demands that your gaze remain cold and expectant, as though you are unimpressed by his efforts so far.

That only seems to spur him on. He must make do with the little access granted, but your closed legs do not deter him. Determined to elicit a response, he plunges his tongue into the folds of your sex with vigour, seeking—and finding—that bundle of nerves which remains as sensitive in death as it had been in life.

For so long, your lust had been reserved for blood, you had forgotten how it felt to have it pool low in your belly, producing slickness and a delicious ache between your thighs rather than a compulsion to sink your teeth into a fresh vein. You certainly remember now, as Thomas licks and sucks at your clit, stoking the ache into a blazing fire spreading throughout your body.

He eats you out like his life depends on it—which it very well might. Though you don’t feel much like the ruthless predator your kind is supposed to be at the moment. A sound, foreign and breathless, reaches your ears, and you are shocked to realize you had produced it. Thomas groans in turn, satisfied with his feat. You grip his hair, pull at the roots in retaliation, but that only fuels the lust consuming you as much as it does him. When you feel him attempting to work his fingers into the space between his mouth and your cunt, you finally part your legs slightly, to better allow it. The bunched up fabric of your skirts obscures his face, so you pull it back to look him in the eye as he slides his fingers into you, two at once. He holds your gaze, brazen and feverish, and the sight combined with the stretch and curl of his fingers inside you are a strange kind of torment, endlessly frustrating and frustratingly addictive. You should be above such human afflictions, but it seems you are not after all. Your body still seeks pleasure, still weakens with it, now that you have Thomas kneeling at your feet with his tongue between your legs.

Thomas. Your beautiful Thomas. You’d have allowed no other soul such intimate caresses. It’s even worse to know that he alone could stir these emotions within you, from the pity that had led you to free him to the vexingly human lust which strips you of control over your breath under his touch. Relentless, his tongue strokes you to madness, his fingers find impossibly sweet places within you, and when a small whine from his throat reaches your ears, the dam breaks and you are coming, lost to rapture without a drop of blood on your tongue. You gasp, crush his face against your core, and in turn his nails dig into the back of your thigh as if he could pull you any closer than you already are. For once, you are being devoured rather than devourer. It’s freeing. It’s infuriating.

Even when you are done clenching around his fingers and the pleasure begins to subside, he doesn’t stop. His tongue drags almost unbearably against your sensitive clit, over and over, threatening to pull cries from your throat which would be dangerously close to whimpers, and that is when you use your grip on his hair to throw him away, rasping out, “Enough!”

Thomas falls on his back with a short cry. He scrambles to sit up, but remains there, looking up at you as he touches his glistening lips—glistening with the proof of his success in pleasing you, just as he had claimed he would. Certainly, that is why the faintest trace of a smile tugs at his mouth.

“Pleased with yourself, are you?” Your tone is biting, despite your lingering breathlessness. Thomas lowers his hand from his face, but not his gaze from yours.

“Do I not have reason to be?”

Here he is, offering himself to a vampire like a lamb to the slaughter, and yet his pride has not entirely left him.

To your chagrin, you must admit he is not wrong. Your chest still heaves after your climax, you still ache for more. For too much, in truth. Thomas is straining against his trousers, quite visibly so, and though you would rather have his cock buried between your legs than shredded in your teeth, you are excruciatingly aware of the blood that has rushed to fill it into hardness, pumped there by the heart you can hear pounding in his chest.

You are far from sated.

“That is enough for tonight,” you deadpan. You are too close to losing the last sliver of control you still possess, and that is as corrosive to your pride as it is potentially deadly for him. It’s a miracle, frankly, that you muster the will to walk away.

Thomas doesn’t see that line of reasoning. Looking as though you have struck him across the face, he catches your hand as you pass by him. “Wait. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Still on his knees, he shifts closer to you so he has to crane his neck even further up for his pleading gaze to meet yours. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Your hand is still in his. Once again, you allow more than you ought to and leave it there as he brings it to his lips, pressing a most delicate kiss to your knuckles. “Bite me,” he murmurs. “Take me. Anything. Just… don’t go.”

“Take heed what you ask for, Thomas,” you warn, though your voice lacks the bite he ought to be warned against. Your chest is tight with longing, warm with… affection. When you pull your hand from his grasp, it’s only so you can cup his chin, let your fingers tenderly graze his pale, damp skin. “If I were to lay myself upon you now,” you all but whisper, leaning down so your breath ghosts his mouth, “when I’m done with you, it will be your corpse I dismount.”

His lips part, letting past a trembling breath. Before he can protest as his face shows he means to, you stand back to your full height. “Sunrise is but an hour away,” you say sternly. “Not nearly enough for me to feed elsewhere and enjoy you properly. I shall join you in bed tomorrow night.”

Your tone leaves no room for argument, and you don’t wait for an answer. In the last glimpse you catch of him as you leave, Thomas breathes out a curse, eyes lowering to the straining bulge at his crotch as if it were an open wound.

If you remain much longer, it might be.

“Eat well yourself,” you order without looking back. “You’ll need your strength.”

***

Only after Thomas has returned to his bed do you return to your coffin, mildly but far from fully satisfied. The animals you had drained in this last hour before dawn were poor substitutes for the blood that beckons you from your lover’s veins.

Lover.

The meaning of the word had been all but lost to you before him. And though ‘love’ is a part of it, you doubt you are capable of such a feeling. What you feel for Thomas is nothing but a new, strange kind of appetite. You want his heart in your teeth, but not for so long it stops beating. You want to make him last. Perhaps… forever. If he were to offer himself willingly. For the first time, you feel you would not mind sharing some of your power with what you know to be called a ‘familiar’.

But any such thoughts must wait. The sky was already infused with a rosy hue when you retreated to the comforting darkness of your resting place, and soon enough your consciousness will awaken to yet another night, the hours of daylight passed as if in a blink of your immortal eye.

Thomas, on the other hand, has a long day ahead of him. The sleep he seeks, unlike you, will not claim him. You can feel as much even without reaching out to his mind with your power.

Which you are unable to refrain from doing, if only for the last few moments of the night. Eyes closed, you let your darkness stretch out, slithering along the stone walls of the castle, corridor after corridor and room after room, as though you are yourself making your way to the chamber where Thomas lies in bed. Soon enough, the darkness before your eyes is replaced with the image of him, skin glistening with perspiration, brow pinched in discomfort. A sight you have admired for many nights before. Only, it’s not a sense of inexplicable dread which plagues him now, but rather the torment of unfulfilled desire.

He tries to fight it, truly. Forcing his eyes to remain shut, his body to lie still. But the desire remains, a constant, maddening companion. Ever so often, his hips give a gentle roll, as if the softest friction against his trousers would bring him any modicum of relief. You may not have explicitly forbidden it, but he knew better than to relieve himself after you left him.

At the very least, he has managed to resist the temptation until now. With a sigh which spells defeat, he opens his eyes, taking in the softly lit sky. He can’t see that the sun itself has yet to emerge over the horizon, thinks himself already out of your reach for the following day. He only hesitates for a few moments before he reaches down, and the guilt in his gaze dissipates into a moan as he finally grants himself the pressure for which his cock has been aching. He palms it firmly, hips bucking into his own hand, before reaching inside his trousers and grasping his length fully. Perhaps you will not mind, you feel him think. He will confess it to you, yes. Beg for forgiveness if he must. Part of him hopes he’ll have to, his cock throbbing even more intensely at the thought, his rhythm quickening—

His wrist is snatched away by an unseen hand—by a shadow—and pinned to the pillow beside his head, right along with his other hand as well. He gasps in fright, then the loss of the blissful friction pulls a whine from his throat. Your voice is a disembodied hiss, crawling through his mind like a serpent.

“You asked to be taken. So this,” his chest heaves as your shadowy grip engulfs his swollen length, the feeling nothing short of devastatingly real, “is no longer yours to do with as you please. I alone shall grant your pleasure, and only when I see fit. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” he breathes out. “Yes.”

The latter is a wanton moan rather than a promise. He is all but thrusting into the air now, into your unseen touch, his head thrown back, his neck beautifully exposed. You wonder if he has the faintest idea how utterly devourable he makes himself for you.

“If you touch yourself,” your voice purrs in his ear, “I will know.”

Perhaps he won’t need to, at least for a while. If you keep stroking him this way, even from afar, even just for a few moments more, he may yet find the relief he so direly needs. He is close, you can tell, and you almost—almost—want to feel him reach it.

“Oh, my dear Thomas,” you caress his name with your tongue. “I fear I shall never have enough of you.”

Even without him gasping out the words as he writhes against the sheets, you know he feels the same. It’s not enough. You are selfish by nature, ravenous, vindictive. You want his desire to eat away at his veins as cruelly as yours has stripped you of your power over yourself, denting your ancient pride.

When he is on the precipice, ready to reach his peak, it’s gone. Your voice, your touch—melted away the moment that the sun is no longer obscured by the earth. Thomas has never resented its warmth as he does now. His heart may as well have dropped into his cock, the way it throbs with each pump of his blood, desperately unsatisfied, and what’s worse is he knows you intended it this way. That you revel in his torment.

But even worse still is—he, too, revels in it.

Next part -> More

[m00nchi16]

𝕴 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖍𝖆𝖉

(Also desperate for smut about this man)

(Moved to: @ceme1eryg1rl)

[comically-callous]

The Freedom of Senselessness

Thomas Hutter x fem!vampire!Reader

A/n: Hello, hi. I saw Nosferatu on new years and yeah #needthat here’s some Thomas Hutter fan-fiction. Comms are closed, I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me.

Summary: Thomas is visited by the Count’s servant in the middle of the night.

Contains: Use of fem pronouns, reader is wearing a dress, Thomas lowkey cheating on Ellen like emotionally (sorry not sorry), nightmares, reader bites Thomas, blood, Thomas is scared out of his mind of the count, reader is depressed as shit about being a vampire and alludes to killing herself for like half a second, reader blames herself for her misfortunes, sub behavior from Thomas because I’m a self indulgent FREAK. Let me know if I missed anything

Thomas woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air as his hands balled into fists in the sheets. He could hear his own heart pounding in his ears and he clenched at his heart, fingers brushing over the puncture wounds in his chest.

What was happening to him?

He felt like he was living in a constant nightmare, constantly on edge, constantly terrified.

He shouldn’t have ever agreed to come here. But, it was all for her. For Ellen.

His fingers shakily brushed over the locket she’d given him before he left and he let out a soft sigh.

“You’re unwell.” A voice spoke up from the darkness and he jolted up with a gasp. Standing a few feet away from his bed was the Count’s servant whom he’d met the day he arrived at this god forsaken place. The woman was far less intimidating than her master, her presence bringing a sort of comfort to Thomas.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She said, stepping closer to him, into the moonlight that streamed into the room through a large window.

“How long have you been here?” Thomas asked breathlessly.

“I’ve just come in.” Y/n replied. Thomas questioned to himself for a moment if that was true. He hadn’t heard her enter the room. “I heard you from my bedroom and you sounded distressed. I thought I’d come check on you.” She looked him over and Thomas found himself shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. “You’re having nightmares.” She stated.

“I—“ Thomas nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am…. How did you….?”

“All of our guests tend to have similar troubles.” She says. “Nightmares, restlessness, paranoia. A general unease.”

Thomas didn’t reply for a moment. His thoughts were jumbled and frantic, and he had to collect himself before he could speak again.

“I need to leave this place.” He finally said. “As soon as possible.” He realized how rude he must’ve sounded and quickly added on. “My wife, I haven’t been able to write to her. She must be worried for me.”

Y/n seemed to take in his words, eyes drifting to the floor before going back to him. “Leave when the sun rises.” She said. “That would be best.”

Thomas’ thoughts were still in a frenzy. But, he knew he had to tell this woman about his suspicions regarding her master. “Y/n,” He began. “You must forgive me for…. How manic I must seem. But,” He slowly got out of bed and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “From the moment I arrived here, your employer has…. Deeply unsettled me. He’s appeared in every one of my dreams, terrorizing me, and…. I know it sounds quite fantastical. But, I think he may be….” Thomas couldn’t even bring himself to say it. “He may be a-“

“Vampire.” Y/n finished, voice coming out almost in a whisper.

Thomas’ eyes widened. “I…. Yes.” He furrowed his brows. “You knew?”

“I’ve known for a long time.” She confirmed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Thomas’ brows creased and he opened his mouth to ask another question before Y/n began to explain. “I was young and foolish when I agreed to work for him. He’d promised me so much. Power, protection, acceptance. I signed my life away to him. I did all of his bidding, waited on him hand and foot, anything, everything he asked. I wish to god I’d never agreed to it all, it became unbearable. One day, I tried to leave, to run away and….” She shook her head, chest rising and falling slowly.

“And….?” Thomas urged her on, taking a step closer to her.

“It upset him. Infuriated him. He cursed me for it.” She continued.

“Cursed you?”

“To be the same monster that he is. To never step into the sun again, to starve for a hunger that I cannot bring myself to satiate.” Her voice shook with each word that she uttered.

Thomas was admittedly a bit frightened at that. The same monster that he is. A vampire. But, there was something else that stirred in him. Part of it was sympathy, a voice inside of his mind telling him to comfort her. But, another part of it was a strange intrigue, an allure despite it all. Before he could think not to, he was sitting next to her in the bed.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

“No, it’s my own fault.” Y/n sighed. “If I only hadn’t been so foolish, things might’ve gone differently.”

“It’s still a fate that you don’t deserve”. Thomas assured her, reaching for her hand before he thought better of it and pulled back.

“It’s a fate that I don’t think I can endure for much longer.” She said softly. “Whenever I sleep, I have nightmares of becoming like him. My flesh rots away. My body dies, but my mind ceases to, and I rip into the flesh of innocent people like an animal.”

Thomas frowned. He couldn’t picture her like that, like him. “They’re only dreams.”

“They’re my future.” Her voice was unstable now, her eyes watery.

Thomas’ fingers twitched at his sides, itching to soothe her. But, he only offered a few soft reassuring words as the woman collected herself.

She took a deep breath and wiped at the corners of her eyes. “Forgive me. I’ve never told another soul about all of this…. Misfortune. I didn’t know I’d become so hysterical speaking about it.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Y/n sighed softly. “Your kindness is admirable. Most men would drive a stake through my heart if they were given the chance.”

“I’d never do that to you.” Thomas said softly. “Er— I’d never do that to anyone, I mean.” He tried quickly to change the subject. “I…. I think the Count has been…. Biting me.” When Y/n didn’t immediately reply, he began to unbutton his shirt, showing her the punctures in his chest. She stared for a moment before she silently reached out and brushed her fingers over the wounds. Thomas hoped to god that she didn’t notice the shiver that ran down his spine in response to her touch.

“Yes. He used to do the same to me.” She spoke softly and her gaze never left his chest, almost as if she were in a daze.

“….Y/n?”

She blinked a few times before exhaling softly. She took her hand away from his chest. “I’m so sorry, I…. Lost myself for a moment.” Y/n said as she brought her gaze back up to meet his.

“It’s alright. It’s in your nature.” Thomas said, buttoning his shirt back up. “Um, your appetite for blood, I mean.”

“I wish it weren’t.” She sighed. “It makes me feel awful…. Disgusting-“

“You aren’t.” He interrupts. “Not a monster, not disgusting. You’re….” He trailed off. Y/n waited for him to continue and when he didn’t, she spoke again.

“I just can’t…. I have to force myself to do it, and even then the guilt of it all makes me sick.”

Thomas was quiet for a moment. The words he wanted to say seemed to get stuck in his throat, slowly edging to the tip of his tongue until he mustered up the courage to speak. “Is there anyway that I can help?”

That seemed to stun Y/n for a moment. Thomas knew what he was implying with his words and she seemed to know too. And, though it was a foolish thing to hope for, he wanted her to accept his offer.

“Help?” She repeated.

“Yes,” Thomas replied a bit too quickly. “Anything that I can do, anything.”

Y/n was silent for another moment, eyes dropping to his throat before snapping back to meet his unwavering gaze. “No.” She said softly.

A pang of disappointment hit Thomas. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” He said sincerely, deciding to leave out the fact that he wouldn’t mind her hurting him if it meant he could help her. “And I know you need this.” He added.

He heard her breath quiver as she sighed. “I can’t.”

Thomas thought carefully about his next words. Every logical part of him was telling him to hold his tongue. But, in the end, the irrational side of him let the words spill from his lips. “Would you reconsider if I told you I wanted you to?”

Y/n didn’t say anything. She was silent for what felt like an eternity, her gaze had shifted to her hands that nervously fidgeted in her lap. The silence lingered long enough for Thomas to begin regretting his words. He thought himself a fool for being so bold. He was about to apologize when Y/n finally spoke up.

“On your neck?” She asked in almost a whisper as if she were afraid someone would hear.

Thomas faltered for a moment before replying. “Anywhere you’d like.”

She took a deep breath before turning to him, her gaze searching for any signs of insincerity. Thomas held her gaze, anticipating her next move.

“I’ll hurt you.” She told him.

“I’ll heal.” He replied. “You need this.”

She stared for another moment, gaze slowly shifting to something more vulnerable. And finally, she moved closer. She was slow and cautious with her movements; whether the reason was for fear of hurting him or fear that he’d hurt her, Thomas wasn’t sure. One of her hands came up to the back of his neck, fingers gently brushing against Thomas’ nape. His eyes fluttered shut briefly and his head tilted back. Y/n leaned in and Thomas felt her cold breath hit his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. The moment lingered before Y/n spoke.

“Make me stop if I hurt you.” She said softly.

“Yes.” Thomas replied, voice barely above a whisper.

She finally leaned in and placed her mouth on his neck, teeth grazing against his throat before sinking into the side of his neck. The first thing he noticed was how cold the feeling was, like ice piercing into his skin and flowing through his entire body. His breath hitched, another shiver ran down his spine. His hands almost instinctively moved to pull her closer, body aching for her warmth (or maybe just for her).

Next, the pain hit him, stinging pain in his neck that made him whimper and gasp, hands now balling into her dress to anchor himself.

And finally, he felt wonderfully numb. Thomas sighed softly, the sound coming out more like a moan when it fell from his lips. His grip on her dress loosened and moved to gently hold her waist, head leaning back as his eyes became half lidded. His jaw was slack, soft pants spilling out of his mouth along with occasional mutterings.

“Y-you need this—“ He’d say, words slurring together as if he were drunk off of the sensation of being bitten. “Need this….” He repeated and it was unclear to the both of you if he was referring to you again or to himself. “Take it…. From me- god….” He seemed to be completely blissed out, all sense and shame no longer concerning him.

He almost didn’t even realize when Y/n had pulled away. He blinked a few times, breath coming in and out quickly. He gazed at her and her blood stained lips and only then seemed to realize how undignified he’d been. His cheeks flushed and he brought a hand up to his neck, feeling the punctures her teeth had left. He wondered if they’d turn into scars. Parts of this night that would stay with him forever.

“I….” Y/n broke the silence. “Hope I didn’t take this too far.” She stood from her spot on the bed, brushing her thumb over her lips to wipe away the blood that remained there.

“Er, no. No, of course not.” Thomas stammered.

She nodded. “Good.” Another silence fell over them. The tension between the two was palpable and hard to ignore. Perhaps Y/n realized this and decided to end things right then. “…. Well, if our…. Transaction is complete, then I should be going. It’ll be daylight soon.”

He wanted to ask her to stay. He felt safer with her in this place. But, another part of him, perhaps the more sensible part, told him that it wasn’t a good idea. He’d just allowed her bite and drink from him without needing any persuasion. He was the one to suggest it, actually. He was becoming irrational around her, indulging in the thoughts in his mind that he’d normally never even dare to speak aloud. Asking her to stay with him was another one of those thoughts.

So, he swallowed down his words and nodded his head. “Yes. I’ll….” He almost told her he’d see her in the morning. But, then he remembered her suggestion to leave the castle when the sun was risen. A hopeful part of him thought that maybe she’d leave with him. He’d bring her back to Wisborg where she could live a normal life, one that she deserved. But, the rational part of him knew that if she was able to leave, she would’ve done so long ago.

So, he uttered what would most likely be his last words to her. “Goodbye.”

Y/n paused before repeating. “Goodbye.” She walked toward the door and turned back to him to say one last thing before leaving him on his own.

“Thank you.”

[redroses07]

Y’all mfs watched Nosferatu and are like “Nicholas Hoult” is kinda fine. I HAVE BEEN SAYING THAT FOR YEARS. Did y’all see him in The Great????

[inadreamgirl]

not to be a slut or anything but i want to be passed around by these two. either taking turns or both at the same time, whatever they want honestly.

[the-fiction-witch]

Thank You

Media - Nosferatu Character - Thomas Hutter Couple - Thomas Hutter X Reader Reader - Y/n Y/l/n Rating - 12 Word Count - 1424

Ellen slowly crawled across the soft wooden floor. She reached Thomas’ feet, and wrapped her arms around his sturdy knees, felt the fabric of his britches against her skin. She began to climb up his body, her fingers grazed his thighs as she sought him. Each movement felt deliberate as she finally nestled her head against his crotch, Her tongue slipped from her lips to lick up his britches, never once parting her eyes from his own. Before finally she uttered the words,

“You could never please me as he could,”

Those words ignited a furious blaze deep within his soul and unleashed a torrent of emotions that surged like molten lava through his veins. Rage boiled in his stomach, hot and all-consuming, as he felt every muscle tense. His hands clenched into tight fists, and trembled at his sides, a physical manifestation of the storm that brewed inside him. His gaze locked onto her, his eyes wide and unblinking, unable to tear away from the intensity of her presence, The words fell from his lips without thought, without mercy.

“Get out.”

“Wha-what…” Ellen asked taken back by his words,

Thomas never thought he would utter those painful words to the woman he loved with all his heart, to his wife, to Ellen, whose love once filled him with warmth and joy. But as he looked into her eyes once vibrant, now clouded and distant. He felt a deep, unsettling reaY/Ntion wash over him. Part of him knew this was not his Ellen… not anymore. The spark that had ignited their passion had dulled, replaced with a cold silence that echoed through the memories they once cherished together. With a heavy heart, he spoke, and those words shattered what little remained of his devotion, leaving behind only a hollow ache. “Get. Out,” he commanded,

“You- You don’t mean that thomas…” her eyes welled with tears,

“Get! Out!” He shouted, before his voice fell weak at the sight of her, “After all I have done for you…” He muttered, “I have bled for you. I have suffered for you. I have been cast out because of you. I have kept a roof over your head, I have loved you, and you repay me with this?”

“He is beyond-”

“He is a monster!” He yelled, “And if you desire that monster more than me, then he can keep you.” he spat,

“Thomas…” she pleaded,

“I said get out!” He yelled, his voice filled with urgency, as he gripped her by the arm, wrenching her up to her feet. The sharp tug jolted her, and with a rough shove, he propelled her towards the door. In one hand, he thrust the frightened cat into her arms., With the other hand, he carelessly flung a tattered bag of her belongings at her feet, the contents spilling out—a jumble of clothes and personal items tumbling onto the floor.

“Wh-where shall I go?”

“That is not my concern.” He shook his head,

She cursed him under her breath, the words sharp and laced with bitterness, before grabbing her worn leather bag and the small gray cat that purred softly in her arms. The moon hung high, casting a silvery glow over the desolate street as she stepped out into the cool night air, her silhouette disappearing into the darkness.

Inside, Thomas stood frozen for a moment, a wave of guilt washing over him. Yet, deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his actions had been justified. He poured himself a stiff drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass, and took a deep sip, letting the warmth spread through him. With a heavy sigh, he began to tidy up the scattered remnants of their argument,

Only a few moments later, a sharp knock echoed through the quiet room, pulling Thomas from his troubled thoughts. He grunted to himself, half-expecting it to be Ellen, returning once again to plead for his forgiveness. He didn’t want to open it, knowing it would only cause more trouble.

But the knock came again, more insistent this time, breaking the tense silence.

With a heavy sigh, Thomas reluctantly accepted that he would have to answer it. He steeled himself to turn her away once more, no matter how heartfelt her excuses might be. He marched to the door, irritation pulsing in his chest, and pulled it open, already launching into his preemptive statement: “I told—” But he stopped short, his words caught in his throat, as he found not Ellen standing on his doorstep, but a figure he hadn’t expected at all.

On his doorstep, stood Miss Y/N Y/L/N. Y/N lived next door with her older brother, who’d come to live with her a few months ago after her husband past in a terrible accident. She stood on his doorstep, wearing a gentle deep green dress. The dress was obviously nothing more than a house dress, not something she would be seen in outside her home by anyone of importance, her hair in a rushed bun.

“Miss Y/L/N…”

“Evening, herr Hutter. I… I hope I am not intruding.” she said, “But I heard such a commotion, I wanted to check you were alright.”

He felt a little warm at her words, that she had heard the shouting, breaking and general commotion of He and Ellen’s argument and had come to check on him. It did help him feel a little better, “That- that is kind of you Miss Y/L/N, I… I am well. In body at least.”

She nodded, “Did you need any help?” she asked glancing at the mess across the floor from Ellen shattering their things,

Thomas pondered for a moment unsure if he should, “I- ughh I… Yes. Please. If it’s not too much to ask.”

“Of course,” She smiled softly stepping inside,

“Thank you, Y/N…” he nodded shutting the door with a sigh, “Not sure I want to be alone right now anyway.”

“Can’t imagine you would.” She nodded with a determined look, grabbing the worn wooden broom from the corner of the room and immediately beginning to sweep the scattered debris from the floor.

As they worked together, a comfortable silence enveloped them, punctuated only by the gentle whoosh of the broom bristles against the floorboards.

Once the house was tidied and the air felt lighter, Y/N made him a cup of tea. With a content smile, she carried the cup back to Thomas, who had settled into a comfortable chair, grateful for the moment of respite. “Here,” she said gently, handing him the warm cup while encouraging him to take a few moments to relax.

“Thank you.” He nodded taking a long sip, “Thank you very much for all your help,”

“You’re welcome.”

“I am sorry for disturbing you…”

“It’s alright, I was reading anyway.” she softly smiled as she sat down beside him,

“I take it you… heard?” he sighed sitting his cup down,

“I didn’t hear anything more than you want me to.”

“Y/N.” He playfully glared,

“I heard everything.”

“So you know what she said to me?”

“I do…”

“Go on, tell me I overreacted.” he cursed, “Tell me I’m the cunt for tossing my wife out into the night.”

“I think…” she said, “You have every right to be angry, every right to be frustrated, I am not sure how I’d feel if I was told that.” she nodded,

“But?” he sighed,

“No but.” she smiled softly sliding her hand into his own, “This was your decision, and if it is truly what you want, then know that I will be here to support you in it.”

He softly smiled, “Thank you, Y/N.” He squeezed her hand,

“You’re welcome Thomas,” she smiled back, “And for the record… I share a wall with you, I’m pretty sure she was pleased. If not I feel rather enraged she kept me up so many nights.”

He chuckled, “You, Miss Y/L/N astound me.”

“I do?”

“That you can be so sweet to me,” he smiled, “Even after you have had such sadness.”

“Funny thing about sadness,” she nodded, “It passes. It takes time but… it does. And once you’ve been down in the darkness, the light… seems so much brighter than ever before.”

Thomas smiled and nodded rubbing his thumb on her hand, he couldn’t help but feel warm in her presence, happy and comforted. He knew what he wanted to do, yet he was unsure if he even should think about it. But without warning, he closed the gap and pressed his lips against hers.

Y/N gasped, her eyes wide. She blinked quickly a few times before her let eyes fluttered shut and and softly kissed back.

[ameidala]

Monster Among Men

You pray for salvation—only to awaken something far darker. Now, as his love turns to obsession and the shadows whisper your name, you must ask yourself, which fate is worse?

tags: smutty, rated 18+ extreme non-consensual themes, dark!thomas hutter, manipulation, breeding kink, possessive thomas, nosferatu (2024)

word count: 7,700+

this was self indulgent. i love this man so much and there was an extreme drought in fics about him! i might consider writing one or a few more fics if u guys are up for sending dark thomas requests! :)

Fate had a strange way of revealing itself—not in grand gestures, but in the quiet offer of a warm hand on a rain-swept night. It was not the storm that chilled you then, but the thought of how easily a single moment could change the course of a life. He was, in every sense, the love of your life, and you could swear that love had taken root the very moment your eyes first met. It had been a night of relentless storm, the heavens split open with rain, and you, shivering beneath the narrow shelter of an alley’s eaves, had all but resigned yourself to the cold.

Then came him. A man of uncommon kindness, he had not hesitated—upon seeing your drenched and trembling form���to offer you refuge. With a voice steady yet gentle, he beckoned you inside, the flickering lantern in his hand casting golden light against the darkness. His was a heart unburdened by hesitation, unclouded by selfishness. And in that moment, as the thunder roared beyond the walls that now sheltered you both, you knew your fate had been sealed… or so you thought.

He had not only offered shelter and a warm bed, but also a drink that thawed the chill of your bones and a change of clothes to rid you of the soaked, clinging fabric. His kindness extended beyond what you’d expected from a stranger. His voice, like a balm, whispered, “You seem to have lost your way in the rain, Madam. Might I offer my assistance to see you safely home come morning?”

From that moment on, you found yourself drawn to the man in ways that you couldn’t really describe why. It wasn’t just his kindness or the warmth of his voice. There was a connection between it that felt like it was reaching deeper, as though his presence had quietly begun to fill the spaces you hadn’t realized were empty.

Yet, as the first light of dawn crept through the window, the reality of the morning settled upon you. The storm had passed, and with it, the fleeting shelter of the night. It was time to return home.

But before you could gather your things, Thomas greeted you once more with a soft, warm smile. His voice was gentle, almost a whisper, as he spoke, "Would you care for something to eat before you head out?"

You glanced down at the modest table a few meters from you, where there prepared some simple provisions from the man. It included bread, fresh fruit, and a pot of warm tea—nothing extravagant, but enough to make you grateful. "I’m sorry it’s nothing grand," he continued, his eyes meeting yours with a glint of sincerity, "but I couldn’t bear the thought of a beautiful woman leaving without something to sustain her."

His words, though simple, sent a flush to your cheeks, his compliment lingering in the quiet space between you.

"I...I also failed to introduce myself properly," he added with a slight chuckle, as if embarrassed by his own forgetfulness. "Where are my manners? My name is Thomas…"

Thomas seemed to choke on his words at first, as if hesitant to let them pass his lips. But after a brief pause, he finally gathered his courage and, in a voice soft yet sincere, murmured, “Pray, allow me the courtesy of knowing your name?”

You gave a smile, appreciating the quiet efforts the young man had made throughout the night and up until this present moment. His kindness, gentle yet unwavering, spoke volumes—he surely knew how to treat a woman, or perhaps it was simply the way he treated every guest. You didn't want to assume anything more, as perhaps his mother had merely raised a kind gentleman who extended his hospitality to all. Still, his attentiveness lingered with you, and you couldn't help but feel a certain warmth in your chest as you spoke your name and offered your thanks.

The day wore on, and soon he helped you return home. He didn't offer to walk you the entire way, yet there was a certain gravity to his steps, as if he could sense the uncertainty in your heart. “I’ll accompany you to the edge of the town,”he’d said softly, his words almost as if he were offering more than a simple escort—he was providing the comfort of knowing someone cared. His pace was measured, slow, as though mindful of the rough cobblestones beneath your feet and the distance between the world you both occupied. When you reached the edge of town, the mist from the river lingering in the air, he nodded politely, his eyes briefly meeting yours with something that resembled understanding.

"Take care of yourself, Madam," he had said, his voice quiet yet sure, before retreating back into the shadows of the city.

But that would not be the last you would see of his presence.

From that moment on, you found yourself wandering the old, dim-lit streets more frequently, seeking out the winding alleys, the familiar corners where you might catch another glimpse of him. Perhaps it was the pull of hope, or maybe the loneliness that clung to you like the mist, but you found yourself more drawn to the quiet places of the city. You didn’t have much else—only the promise of those stolen moments with him.

It wasn’t a conscious decision to look for him, but more of an instinct, a silent hope that fate would nudge you together once more.

As the days passed, the rhythm of your life returned to its usual pace—slow, almost mechanical. The streets were familiar, yet they seemed to close in on you more each day, as if the world itself had grown narrower with time. There was a quiet repetition to your life now, but the emptiness lingered like the shadows in the alleys you walked. It was in these moments, when the bustling sounds of the town became distant, that your thoughts returned to the past—back to the orphanage, to those early years when you were sheltered from the harshness of the world.

No one ever had to tell you what to do there. You had learned to survive on your own, to blend into ordinary life, to anticipate needs and stay out of the way. You often felt as though you were one step behind, always catching up with the others who seemed so sure of themselves, their places in the world. There was a hint of envy in you towards those people.

The orphanage had been a place of warmth in its own way, but it was a transient warmth—flickering, never stable. It was home only because it had to be. Yet now, as you stand and are trying to face the reality of adulthood, the world outside has revealed itself to be much larger, and far less forgiving. The nonexistent structure became worse as no guiding hand to tell you where to go or what to do, it felt like your world came crashing down. You were left with only your own instincts, and sometimes, that felt like too little.

You had walked these streets aimlessly more than once, feeling the weight of uncertainty on your shoulders. It wasn’t a loneliness that could be fixed by simple companionship, but a deeper sense of being untethered. The world seemed vast, stretching endlessly, and yet you had no anchor.

But in the back of your mind, there was one place you kept returning to—the memory of that night with Thomas. His kindness had been a rare warmth, and in a world where you had learned to keep your distance from others or know that everything might be temporary, it had stirred something in you. Something you couldn’t quite explain.

You had never been one to believe in fate or signs, but there was something about him—his demure courteousness, his gentle ways of speaking—that made you wonder if perhaps, for the first time, someone truly saw you. Not as a stranger, visitor, or even as someone passing through, but as someone of their time worth knowing.

And so, each time you walked through the streets now, you found yourself hoping, almost unconsciously, for another encounter with him. Obviously this feeling was something new and so you didn’t know what it meant yet or how to navigate through these emotions, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this, whatever it was, was somehow different. And you were liking that feeling for whatever reason it why.

Quick visits to the market or running simple errands were no longer tiresome tasks that you didn’t care of. They had become opportunities—small, fleeting chances for fate to intervene, for your paths to cross again. You found yourself wandering the aisles with a quiet hope, praying, almost, that the universe might favor you today, that you might once again find yourself near him, the man with the striking blue eyes.

There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled at your heart whenever you thought of him. The brief exchange that night in the storm had been just that—a fleeting moment. Yet, it had sparked something deeper within you, something that hadn’t been satisfied by the mundane interactions of your daily life. You wanted to know more about him, beyond the kindness he had shown you that rainy night. What did he do with his days? What brought him joy? What dreams did he hold, if any?

Days may pass yet you found yourself, once again, between the swarming townspeople who didn’t pay attention to anything but their own business. Meanwhile for you, it involved pretending to be focused on your task while your mind wandered, imagining the sound of his voice, wondering if you would ever have the chance to speak with him again.

It was a prayer whispered into the busy world, a wish that echoed through the crowds.

And, perhaps, the heavens had finally listened.

A few meters away, you spotted him—Thomas, unmistakable in his simple attire, standing in conversation with a man you did not recognize. The stranger was dressed far more opulently than Thomas—his clothes rich, his appearance polished with a wealth that was immediately apparent. He had a mustache, and his curly hazel locks framed his face with a certain confidence that only money seemed to afford.

You stood there, heart thudding in your chest, waiting, hoping that Thomas would look your way. You didn’t want to be too forward, but a part of you yearned for him to notice you, to recognize you, to remember that night in the rain. You lingered longer than you should have, pretending to be absorbed in your shopping as your eyes never left him.

The minutes stretched on, time slowing as you stood in that sea of people. Your breath caught in your throat each time he turned his head in your direction, only to look past you. He seemed distracted by the conversation, the man beside him far more commanding of his attention. You felt an odd sensation of longing mixed with a pinch of frustration, as if your presence wasn’t enough to pull him away from the company of this wealthy stranger.

It was only when your patience had nearly run out that you saw his eyes finally catch yours. For a moment, he seemed baffled upon seeing the figure in front of him, as though he couldn’t quite place your identity but seemed familiar with it. His eyebrows furrowed.

It was as if he were trying to decide if you were someone he knew—or if, perhaps, you were simply another figure in the crowd. A small thrill of anticipation ran through you as his gaze lingered a moment longer, and then, almost imperceptibly, his lips parted, as though he were about to speak your name but only molded into a small smile.

As Thomas’s eyes met yours, a strange current seemed to pass between you. The moment stretched longer than it should have, the crowded market around you fading into the background. He remained, his expression thoughtful, but there was no mistaking the spark of recognition that flickered in his eyes.

The rich man beside him continued speaking, but his words seemed distant now, drowned out by the unspoken tension between you and Thomas. The stranger, sensing something in the air, took a step back, as if he had no place in this growing connection. It was as though the space around you and Thomas had become an intimate world of its own.

You didn’t move. You stood your ground, but a strange anticipation coiled inside you, as if you were waiting for something to unfold. And then, as if he could no longer stay apart from you, Thomas took deliberate steps forward, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, almost private, “I must admit, I did not expect to see you again so soon. But I find myself quite pleased by the coincidence.”

Your lips curved slightly, a smile playing at the edges of your mouth as you responded, “Strange how the world seems to align when least expected.”

Thomas’s smile grew, but it was more than just polite. You felt his expressions were genuine as though he might also have been thinking of you. “Indeed. And I must confess,” he said, his voice growing quieter, “I’ve found it difficult to focus on anything else since that night. It’s not every day that one meets someone with such... presence.”

Your breath caught at his words, and a warm flush spread through you. His words were straightforward and was unlike what you were accustomed to. But you couldn’t deny that you were even the least bit enjoying it as if the weight of his words matched the gravity of the connection you both started to share.

For a moment, there was a pause between you two as your eyes simply looked at each other. His eyes tracing your face as if committing every detail to memory. His hands awkward at his sides as though he were gathering the courage to say something more.

“I’m not one for... grand gestures,” he continued, his tone still warm but now with a hint of earnestness, “but I would be honored, if you would allow me, to take you to a place where the noise of the world does not drown out the simplicity of two people’s conversation.”

The invitation hung in the air between you, his words heavy with meaning. He was no longer just offering you a dinner; he was offering you an escape—an invitation into a quieter, more intimate world, one where only the two of you existed for a while.

“You needn’t say yes right away,” he added softly, almost as an afterthought, as though he didn’t want to pressure you.

His sincerity was undeniable and charming. You could see it in the way he held himself, how his posture seemed to lean toward you, as though everything in him was drawn to you without hesitation.

You were no longer just an image to him—he was seeing you in this moment, this very real moment, and the warmth between you was undeniable.

And so, the days passed in a delicate dance of stolen moments and whispered words, the connection between you deepening with each encounter. It seemed as though fate had woven a perfect tapestry for the two of you—one of shared glances, tender conversations, and the slow, inevitable pull toward each other. The world outside felt distant, irrelevant, as you found comfort in his presence.

You could almost believe that the rest was history—that the love you had found was destined, unshakeable, eternal. But reality has a way of revealing itself when least expected. Just as the two of you neared the edge of something more—a promise of forever—the world outside your little bubble began to break through, and the weight of the unspoken truths could no longer be ignored.

It was then that you understood—love, no matter how deeply it had taken root, was never quite as simple as it seemed.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆｡ﾟ☆: ♱*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The candlelight swayed as though it, too, felt the weight of the silence. The air in the room was thick with unspoken thoughts, the walls seeming to feel like they are closing or locking you in with every passing second. It was a silence that made your body quiver while your heart had thumped faster in your chest. The silence between you two that signaled something far darker than mere disagreement.

The evening in the town always seemed long, but tonight it felt dragged-out as with it, the shadows had deepened into dark pools at the corners of the room. The once tender warmth between you and Thomas had begun to feel like something colder, more dangerous. There was no longer the soft caress of his presence—no longer the calm of his hand reaching out to yours. The man standing before you now was a stranger, a creature of need, of desire, his once-gentle tone now edged with impatience.

“You speak of time,” Thomas said, his voice low, measured—almost like a growl. “You think that choice is a luxury, don’t you? As if we can buy or have all the time in the world. But time… time is fleeting. And you squander it, as if it will wait for us.” His gaze narrowed, his lips curling in a way that sent a chill down your spine.

You could feel the sting through his words that fell out of his mouth, all the while darkness from outside inching over more into the room like a fog. He took a step toward you, slow, deliberate, as though the very air was thick with the tension between you. The once warm, kind man was slipping away, replaced by something more urgent, something almost desperate.

“Why do you fear it so?” His words were almost a whisper now, though they hit you harder than any shout.

“Why do you fear the future we could have? The family we could build? Why do you fear something so... so natural?” He moved another step closer, his gaze locking with yours, unyielding, unblinking. “Is it the money that binds you? The lack of it, the chains of our circumstances? Or is it that you fear me? Fear what I could become? What we could become?”

You recoiled, not from him, but from the weight of his questions. You had known this moment would come. You had known it was inevitable—there could be no peace between two souls that might be different, so driven by separate desires.

“I fear nothing of you, Thomas,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I fear us. I fear the madness of rushing into things before the time is right. I fear bringing a child into a world we can’t even provide for. What would we offer them?” Your words trembled in the air, hanging between you like fragile glass. “What will we give them when we have so little?”

He moved again, his presence now engulfing you, suffocating the space between you. “We have everything,” he spat, his voice now sharper, more biting.

He adds, “We have the strength to build. The love to nurture. I have the strength to provide. To protect. And yet you look at me as though I were weak—as though my love, my intentions, are not enough for you. You will wait forever for the perfect moment. But there is no perfect moment. There is only now.”

He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, or that it was maybe the tension between the two of you that was obviously seen also in his posture with raw hunger in his eyes. “I will not wait,” he said, his words like a command. “I will not stand idle while time slips through my fingers. I will not be a man who regrets. You will be mine, and we will have a future. Even if I must drag you there.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, not from love but from a deep, creeping fear that now gripped you. You had not expected this side of him. Not like this.

“Thomas, this is madness,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of his presence. “We are not ready. Do you not see how foolish it is? How dangerous? I—”

“Dangerous?” His laugh was grating and dark. It was not a laugh based on amusement, but of something more terrible, something lowly foreshadowing like an omen. “You call love dangerous? You call life dangerous? I am offering you everything, and you call it madness? You wish to deny it all? You wish to deny me?”

He stepped closer again, until there was barely any space between you, his breath warm on your skin, the weight of his presence unbearable.

“You will have a child, and you will have it now or anytime soon… with me. I will not be refused,” he hissed, his tone low and chilling. “You will see, in time, how right I am. You will understand.”

A shudder ran all over and down to your body, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his words— more so threats— from the promise that lingered in the air between you. It was no longer a matter of love. It was a matter of control.

At first, rather the earliest of times that you were bonding with Thomas, seemed nothing wrong.

You convinced yourself that the house was warm, the bed was soft, and Thomas was well, you could say… attentive. Protective. Maybe too much so. But after everything, you tried to ease your thoughts and assure it by thinking it was just his way of caring. He provided for you, ensured you wanted for nothing.

You could say that it wasn’t really a prison if the doors were open, if the windows weren’t locked. It wasn’t control if he only wanted to keep you safe. Right?

But then, little by little things began to shift. The small, obvious details that eventually build up into something bigger than it was, or should be. Truthfully, time really has its way of revealing the truth.

The evident shift with his actions started with the way his grip lingered too long around your wrists. The fingers of his hand tightening just enough to remind you who had more of the strength between the two of you. Who had more power. The way his gaze, once filled with a captivating tone of longing, became something else—darker, heavier, like shackles you could not see but could feel tightening around your throat, wrists, and even ankles.

And don’t get started about the nights. The nights were the worst.

There were moments, just before sleep, when you felt his breath against your skin. But it was not with a hint of candied affection, rather it was like a reminder of possession. Moments when you awoke to find him watching you, unmoving. His eyes creepily gleaming under the dim candlelight of your shared room, his expression hard to decipher what might be filling in his thoughts.

And then came the threats amongst other nights. The first threat of the many more you didn’t know were coming.

Both of you were laying in bed. The quietness of the room contrasted to the endless thoughts that were spinning negatively around your mind. You tried to force yourself into complacency in the situation right now, acknowledging that making a scene wouldn’t help if you didn’t have any concrete plans. Yet as if Thomas had the power to read your thoughts, he simply interjects while you were close to zoning out,

"If you ever think about leaving this place… our place," he murmured. You could feel the mattress of the bed sink with his weight shifting, with him moving from laying on his back to the side facing where you slept. A finger of his trailed cooly and idly along your arm, "Just know… I would find you. No matter where you ran."

"Your existence belongs to me even if we may have not wed yet." The tone of his voice was soft past his lips but his words stung like venom. He says such phrases like he was cursing upon you,. "Where would you go? There is nothing for you beyond these walls—only cold, only hunger, only ruin."

"Why would you even say something like that, my love?" you asked, but in a tone that didn’t intend on fighting back. Your response leaned more towards trying to lighten up the atmosphere and tension. As if the very notion was absurd. As if your hands weren’t trembling nor as if you sucked in to bite down on the insides of your cheek to prevent your jaw from showing evident signs of agitation.

Thomas exhaled. The sound of it being like it was half amusement and half of whatever something else. But you assumed it was cold. His head tilted, eyes drinking you in with the slow indulgence of a predator toying with its prey.

"Do not insult me with such fragile deceptions, my dove,” he whispered. His fingers escalated past the skin of your arm and ghosted along your jaw, a caress at war with the iron beneath his touch. "I have seen the way your gaze lingers at the door, the windows. I know the weight of a mind that plots in secret. A bird does not glance at the sky unless it yearns to fly."

With the same hand toying around your skin, his thumb pressed down onto one side of your cheek while the other fingers on another side. It was just enough to remind you of his strength, that he could break you if he wished. Like a porcelain doll in the hands of something ancient and unmerciful.

"You think yourself devious, but your thoughts are glass to me. Every flicker of hesitation, every pause before you speak… I can see them all…"

It was honestly talented of him to have his words remain subtle, yet his intentions behind each word were far more sinister.. "And yet, you persist in this little charade."

"Tell me, dearest… do you truly believe you can outwit me?" Again, his voice, low and chilling that was filled with ridicule towards you.

You froze where you lay on your side of the bed. The weight of his words sank into your bones. Even with barely any hint of light in the dim room, his indistinct gaze bore into your skin, reading every flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. His fingers were lingering near your throat, playing with both your own body and thoughts almost as if he could feel your pulse rapidly increasing with each beat.

You could not tear your gaze away from his, though every part of you screamed to look away. This was a small yet defining moment where you almost and completely realized that he had you. And you knew it.

"No," you whispered, voice trembling, barely audible in the suffocating silence that stretched between you. The words felt foreign on your tongue, soaked with fear and submission. "I... I would never think or do such a thing like that."

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the chill of the air in the room seep past your body and straight into your very soul. There was no escape.

You tugged on the edge of the blankets tightly up and around your body as if to shield yourself from the fictitious dark energy that loomed in the room. Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it felt restless. Your dreams for that night were wildly taken over by some haunting nightmares. It was filled with wickedness and gloom that flashed within the corners of your mind waiting to terrify you like a figure creeping from behind.

Eventually the sun had to finally rise again and you woke up to the sound of the faint ticking of the clock, along with the light peeking through the small cracks in the curtains. You forced yourself from the bed, body feeling heavy alongside your very soul unwilling to rise. You went through the motions. You prepared food. You cleaned. You tried to speak to Thomas as if nothing had changed, as if his cruel words hadn’t dug into your mind and left their mark there, invisible to anyone but you.

You were still trapped within these walls. Wrapped around his grasp. And you wore a mask portraying an illusion of nonchalance, just to survive another day. But it honestly didn’t fool anyone other than yourself

By the time the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, a crushing weight settled upon your chest. Thomas was preparing to leave, his work for tonight had him assigned for the night shift. His presence began to fade from the house, but your heart ached with the hollowness of your own captivity.

Once he had gone, you found yourself retreating into the room that you shared with him, the one where you just had an argument from the night before. You closed the door behind to seal yourself away from the world. The emptiness echoed through the walls as the silence deafening, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness inside of you. It felt like your insides had twisted and left a bad feeling in your gut, a constant reminder that you were apparently being locked in a cage and could not escape.

Your body fell to your knees by the side of the bed. Your hands clutched the edge of the sheets, the fabric crumpled under your fist. Your breath hitched as you fought a sob clawing its way from your throat. You held it back for a moment, just long enough to whisper, as if there were anyone left to hear.

You intertwined both of your hands together, forming a prayer, “Please.”

Your voice started to tear down as it was filled with desperation. “Please, hear my plea. I can’t take this anymore. Save me… Please, save me…”

But it was impossible to expect something while knowing that your cries will be thrown into nothingness, into the void. Consequently, you weren’t entirely aware of the dangers that you were inviting, especially at these times of the night, with whatever wandering spirit there was. There was a faint whisper, like a cold breeze passing through. Something ancient and hungry seemed to respond to your plea, its presence barely noticeable at first, but growing.

Eventually you continued to weep harder, without a care that no one was there for you at your side to comfort you. They were for something else entirely—something that would come to claim you, whether you realized it or not. You had unwittingly opened a door that should have remained sealed.

But for now everything that centered around you was your utter desperation. You felt as if your chest was about to burst under the heavy weight of your own torment. It felt as though the world had sloped and you were falling into it, unable to grasp anything solid, not even your own faith. As you knelt there, hands trembling, your voice still calling out for help, the very walls around you seemed to pulse with something far darker—something that could never save you, only draw you further into the shadows.

You wouldn’t know it then, but this was the moment that would begin your unraveling. And as your tears fell.

The call had been answered. But not by the heavens you were so despairingly pleading to. Not by anything you could have ever imagined.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆｡ﾟ☆: ♱*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The darkness of the sky eventually became your only refuge

During the daylight, you tried to play the part of being the obedient wife. Merely drifting through the halls of the house that you didn’t feel you belong in anymore. Then you carried out the necessary duties as if there were no invisible shackles forcing you in.

But when nightfall came, you looked forward to your usual routine of salvation. When the house and the bedroom was filled with nothingness and your lover, Thomas, lay sleeping, you would slip from out and under the covers. Your feet fell flat and bare against the cold wooden floor first, and then you kneel before the window which was your only source of dim lighting. The moonlight shines through it. It became a ritual. A sacred act of defiance wrapped in the guise of prayer.

Your voice would waver, no more than something softer than a whisper. “Please…”

Between other nights, it was nothing more than that plea. It consisted of a single word that got lost within the beauty of the gloomy moonlight. But other nights, you weep to the heavens as if confident that someone, or something, might take pity on you. The more you prayed, the more fervent you became.

Of course to your foolishness, you never noticed the way the air in the room thickened. How the shadows crept deeper in the corners. You never noticed the way the walls enclosed further, as if it was breathing, as if something was listening. Something patient, something waiting.

And you never noticed the way a pair of blue eyes began to watch you. Thomas began to watch you.

At first, he said nothing. He would wake to find you on your knees, speaking softly to the heavens, and merely observe from the bed, his eyes unreadable in the dim candlelight. He was always watching, always waiting.

Then eventually one night, the bed was cold when you returned. The side of his bed was as empty as when you left yours.

A sharp chill ran down your spine. The room felt too wrong. Too silent, too still. Then a whisper, a shift in the atmosphere.

“You pray so sweetly, little one.”

Your breath caught. You turned, slowly, to find him standing in the doorway, barely visible in the darkness.

His gaze was unreadable, still dressed in the clothes he used for sleeping. There was something in the way he stood. Something rigid, something restrained and it all felt too terrible, leaving a wrench in your gut.

"Tell me,” he murmured, stepping closer, “who is it you call for so desperately?"

Your lips parted instinctively, but no words came out.

His fingers trailed along the edge of the table. Slow, deliberate, as he took another step forward. "Tell me, my dearest… What answer are you expecting? Who are you expecting?”

You swallowed hard. Your hands tremble at your sides as it falls on either side of your body. “I—”

"You do it every night.” His voice remained soft, yet there was an edge beneath it. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t hear?”

He was standing in front of you now near the edge of the bed. So close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He lifted one hand, brushing away a strand of hair from your face. It should have been a loving gesture. It was not.

"You kneel there by the window,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, "and you beg. You plead. For what? For mercy?" His fingers trailed down your jaw, pausing at your throat. "For deliverance?"

You shuddered beneath his touch, your breath shaky. "I—"

He lets out a low simulated chuckle. "You pray to something that does not answer you, and yet you ignore the only thing that holds you in its hands."

His grip tightened. But terrifyingly it was not enough to hurt, not yet, but enough to remind you. Enough to make your heart thump faster and pulse around that area pound beneath his touch.

"Enough of this, my love,” he spat. “You insult me. After all I have given you."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips softly grazing against the skin of your ear. "If you run, I will find you. I will drag you back by your pretty little throat and remind you why you should never have tried."

Slowly he pulls back a little with a cruel smile, one that did not reach his eyes. The tone of his voice remains the same, "You could throw yourself into the ocean, and I would still retrieve you from its depths. You could beg the wind to carry you far away, and I would tear it apart with my bare hands."

Your knees nearly quivered.

"I would burn this house to the ground before I let you walk away. You, and everything in it…” Again, his fingers found a way and tightened ever so slightly around your throat, not enough to choke, but enough to remind you of his strength, his control.

His eyes filled with darkness were unfathomable. He held you captive, drinking in the flickers of fear you could not hide. He tilted his head, studying you with a cruel, measured patience, as if savoring the weight of his next words before letting them fall like a death knell.

"...If I can’t have you, then no one will. Not even the earth to bury you in."

There was a pause that stretched between the two of you. The silence weaved with it had suffocated you aside from the weight of his hands. Then, Thomas sighed with a slow, measured breath. One that sent an unspoken warning through the stale air. His grip on you slackened, just slightly enough for you to breathe again. But you knew better than to think it was mercy.

“You still don’t understand it. Why don’t you?” His voice was quieter. The sharp edge of rage tempered into something even worse—certainty. “I don’t make threats, dove. I tell you what is.”

His hands were rough as they cupped your face. The calloused palms scraped against your skin and the way he held you was almost… gentle. Like a man admiring something fragile. Something he had no intention of breaking—not yet.

“You’re mine,” he said, as if the words alone could bind you in chains. “You always have been. And soon, there won’t be any question left of it.”

The pit in your stomach churned violently. The dread crawling up your throat like bile that you want to vomit out. You knew what was coming before he even spoke of it. He had already spoken about it before. But now… now it wasn’t just a suggestion.

His thumbs traced along your cheekbones, down to your lips, pressing there for a moment before he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin.

"You will carry my child," he murmured in between kisses. His voice as sure as the walls around you, as unyielding as the locked door you knew you had no key for. He pulls back with a breath, "And then, maybe… maybe you’ll finally stop pretending there’s a way out of this."

Your breath hitched as one of his hands drifted lower past your nightgown. It stops to settle over your stomach. The tips of his fingers pressed there, not cruelly, not harshly, but with intent. Possessive. As if there already was life he spoke of existing beneath his the area of where he touched.

"There will be no running," he continued, his voice still calm. Terrifying in its conviction. "No more foolish prayers to a god who’s long since stopped listening. No more pretending you have a choice."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, to imbibe in the terror you couldn’t hide. And then he smiled, a small, almost satisfied smile before leaning forward and securing to pin you down to the bed. “Shh,” he hushes against your soft skin.

Your arms at first try to push him away, palms pushing against his chest. However, your size was considerably in contrast with Thomas. His figure was huge and you were no match with his mass alone. And so you tried to stretch out your arms in hopes of reaching for anything, any object that you could use in defense.

The weight in the bed shifts as Thomas tries to position himself better above you. So that he could pin you down better to his advantage. With one hand, he flawlessly gets to put weight around both your wrists, successfully further trapping you underneath him as he continues to indulge between your kisses.

“Don’t be so obstinate, my love,” he says while using his other hand to scrunch up a segment of your nightgown under his fist so that he could steadily lift it up while still forcing you down. “You will be alright. I’ll take good care of you. I- I won’t hurt you.”

An impatient hand of his slips under your clothing that makes you pull your knees back and try to use your feet to kick against him. But you are further pushed down onto the bed in opposition to you trying to get away.

You feel one of his fingers tug against the fabric underneath, slipping past in order to access the skin of your cunt. He brazenly toys with each layer, indulging and acknowledging the growing wetness that made the cheeks of your face flush in embarrassment. Embarrassed that your body was reacting this way so which for sure Thomas would impose on.

Your lower back slightly arches at his cold touch. The tips of his finger finding its way inside, slowly and teasingly which as essentially a torture. But he doesn’t continue all the way, which you would rather prefer as it could just end already.

No. He makes sure to do it in a devious way. He plays with you so gently, making sure to soak the entire face of your cunt covered in your own wetness. Dragging along the fingers that he used to push inside and outside, he glazes over your clit as well which sends shivers across your body.

As he continues to be curious about exploring your lower body, you try to push your thighs together with the goal to cease his attempt on making events escalate into something more. But you were unsuccessful and this measure that you did had honestly provoked Thomas into advancing more.

He continues. Your strength was no match against him. You couldn’t prevent him from doing what he wants. He was so certain of what he wanted.

“T-Thomas,” you trembled underneath his touch. You look up directly to meet his eyes, “Please, no.”

It was no use and you weren’t sure if the man feeds onto everything in contradiction of what you’re crying out. As you were too distracted from all the worries that you were giving out to him, you had not realized how fast he had undone your clothes and that your flesh was left nothing but your thin gown.

Your skin was bare and completely naked underneath, and it didn’t help that it was scrunched up to reveal and expose your entirety for Thomas. Your body shakes intensely due to the coldness of the night and the darkness that came from him. It was not the same man you fell in love with at first. How did such completely change over the course of time?

Or were you just foolish enough to not see it from the start?

“I’ll make love to you all night, my dove,” he moans as he tries to undo his own clothes. His grip loosened for a short moment but you were so shocked that it left you paralyzed. He continues, “Let me carve my claim into your very blood...”

"...You will swell with my child.” He says but for you it comes off more as an intimidation. “Proof of what we are, what you cannot run from. I will make certain of it. You will carry me within you, bound by flesh and fate alike."

While you try to deny everything and shake, enough to show contest but not enough to force him away, he continues. And within the next moment Thomas gets in between the insides of your thighs, positioning himself before sinking deep and slowly into you. He lets out a deep groan, almost animalistic.

Then he continues to thrust, heavily jerking his hips while your mind fights to stay focused on what you were really feeling. It wasn’t the first time you had shared a moment like this, like any other couple would. But this time was different. There was a strong desire and immorality behind the intent.

As he spreads your legs apart to welcome himself in between your cunt, Thomas leans his body further forward. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. His weight further trapping you down as he drinks in the pleasure of fucking you senseless. “Need not resist, my love,” he murmurs, "I-I won’t harm you. I’ll… tend to you, cherish you, as only I know how."

The moment was an act of deep intimacy, entangled deep within the darkness of the room and night. It screamed and whispered both salvation and ruin. The warmth of his words was suffocating with promises that should have been comforting but instead invoked fear.

The closeness was only something you have seen and gotten from Thomas. He was right for that as you have never known it from anywhere in the cruel world.

Eventually his movements became unkempt and his rhythm was nowhere near steady. He threw his head back, the skin of his face covered in sweat as his hand trembled and lost within the sheets of the bed. He lets out a louder groan, and you knew from then how your fate would be sealed.

The intimacy shared was both tether and binding, suffocating and consuming. You couldn’t help but think this was another level of closeness shared with Thomas, the closest your souls have ever been.

Then his hands hurriedly find a way to snake and pin you down from your stomach. He grips on your body firmly with each thrust he does deliberately. With each of his last few thrusts, his moans were loud as the pleasure mixed with greed while steadily filling your bare cunt with his own seed.

He breathes our raggedly, "I won’t hurt you, darling. But I will care for you, in ways that will bind you to me forever."

“I adore you.”

i discovered i love writing gothic settings. the dialogues were immaculate and i hope u guys enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing! fell free to send in prompts of dark thomas or leave feedback :)

[pretty-little-mind33]

Friedrich Harding x fem!reader

Mini-Series Summary: Paris 1889. You're just starting as the new Étoile at the Palais Garnier Opéra. Everything is going smoothly until your sponsor, the mysterious man who haunts box number 5, makes himself known. (with mentions of Thomas Hutter x fem!reader)

Chapter Summary: You meet your sponsor for the first time.

Chapter Warnings: sensual touching, mentions of fire, allusions to prostitution

~ author note at the end ~

SERIES MASTERLIST

Applause erupts around the room, spectators standing from their chairs as the chandelier glistens, the flames burning a bright orange. Your hands shake, skimming over the silk of your tutu, feet trembling, as you walk up to the audience. Your chest is heaving from exhaustion but you hold your head high, blinded by the light and deafened by the applause around you.

You grin, curtseying as white roses hit the stage all around you. Lifting your gaze, you catch a glimpse of your husband standing up in his box, a proud smile tugs his lips, and feel warmth flood your cheeks. 

Once the curtains fall closed, you collapse onto the ground.

"Y/n!" The other dancers, including your best friend; Annabelle Landry, rush over and kneel by your side. You're holding your ankle, the pain in your toes unbearable but you're still smiling as you laugh. 

"You did marvelously!" Annabelle holds your cheeks and kisses your forehead, her voice still hushed even as the music from the orchestra still plays. "Maman will be proud," she adds, glancing down at your ballet shoes. Crimson liquid seeps through the shoes and Annabelle gasps. "Oh my, you need to ask Thomas if he would buy you some new ones," she says, her voice stern. 

You shake your head, taking her hand and standing on your bleeding feet. "Papa gifted me those shoes before he passed. I shall not be rid of them." You smile. Annabelle sends you a strained smile as he helps you limp backstage. 

The familiar chaos greets you as you're congratulated on your phenomenal performance. Madame Landry walks up, her cane supporting her weight as she smiles. "Ma chérie (My darling), you were beautiful," she says, "he will be proud." 

Hearing this, your chest tightens and you nod. Your sponsor, the mysterious man who always sits and watches in box number 5, has been with you since the beginning of your journey as an upcoming Étoile. When you were beginning, Thomas did not have enough money to sponsor you, but this generous stranger had taken a liking to you. He has never demanded to meet with you, nor did he ask for the usual favors a sponsor normally asks for— which, you are eternally grateful for because you surely would have refused his advances. 

After all, you have your Thomas. 

"He wants to congratulate you himself, up in his box," Madame Landry adds, "You should change."

Your stomach twists and Annabelle sends you a nervous look. "Maman (Mom)—"

"Shush, child, you need to practice. Now, shoo," Madame Landry waves her daughter away, turning her attention to you as she squeezes your arm. "It shall be alright," she promises but your stomach still sinks. You nod, rushing up the stairs to your changing room. Just as you unpin your tiara, a knock sounds on the wooden door. 

"Come in," you call.

When the door opens, Thomas enters with a bouquet of pink roses. Your fear vanishes and you gasp, running into his arms. He twirls you around, pressing kiss after kiss to your burning cheeks. "Mon amour (My love)," he says, smiling against your hair, "You did so well. You looked beautiful. I was so proud."

"Thank you, my Thomas," you whisper, smiling widely, all your worries melting away. 

Thomas has always been supportive of your passion. His enthusiasm made up for his lack of money in that department. You'd been married for almost six years now, having married young. Your parents, being upper middle class, had disapproved of the wedding and your career choice; but Thomas has always been there. It didn't matter if he was a commoner, the son of the town's hatmaker.

He was yours and you loved him. He made you feel safe. 

"You must be exhausted," your husband says, stroking your cheekbone. He looks down, seeing as you haven't yet changed. His cheeks flush pink.

"Oh, my apologies, darling. I shall come by later and bring you home. Some of thegentlemen demand my attention—most likely to congratulate me on your performance, although it was all you." He presses a chaste kiss to your lips. You smile softly, watching him leave and touch your lips. 

It was rare for a married man to allow his wife to occupy such careers, and it was especially rare for one to do so without claiming credit for her success. 

You turn to the mirror again, smoothing a hand over your tutu. You touch the tiara, smiling as you unpin the white feather in your hair. Undressing happens in a blur, the costume now hanging from the wardrobe as you brush your hair, fingers tangling in your curls. You're humming the melody of Le Lac Des Cygnes as your conversation with Thomas lingers in your mind. The delicate fabric of your white robe feels soothing over the rashes from the coarse costume. The feathers had been digging into your skin. 

Just as you stand to dress again, ready to return home, Madame Landry's words echo in your mind and your blood runs cold. 

"He wants to congratulate you himself, up in his box."

Fear strikes you and you don't hesitate as you slip on your shoes, rushing to the door. It's been almost half an hour. Surely, he wouldn't have waited for you. You open the door to your dressing room, peeking outside. Luckily, Thomas is still preoccupied with the other gentleman because he doesn't seem to be around. You hold your breath, rushing through the back corridors of the theater as you look for the back entrance to box number 5. 

You twist and turn, finally making it to the entrance and you halt in your tracks. The box is dark and there is no sign of anyone ever being inside. You slow, clutching your robe around yourself as your hands tremble. 

You mustn't despair, you remind yourself, he has no sign of cruelty. Maybe he'll have mercy and not withdraw his sponsorship. 

Madame Landry has never given you his name, only that he is a wealthy gentleman who came from Germany in his ownship. You wonder if Madame Landry is more acquainted with him than she leads on. You never dare ask. 

"Hello?" you try your luck, wondering if he could be hiding in the shadows. 

You walk towards the plush crimson chair, trailing the golden rim, as you walk around it to the edge. Your gaze downcasts at the shimmer of red from the corner of your eye and you see a red rose, a black ribbon tied around the steam, sitting promptly on the chair. Leaning forward, you pick up the rose and hold it delicately in your hands. 

"It didn't seem like you would come," a hoarse, stern, voice resounds from behind you and you jump. Just as you spin around, some of the oil lamps lighting the theater pop and dim the lights even more. You let out a strangled squeal, your gaze stuck on the man now standing much too close.

The rose falls from your hands.

His face is plunged into darkness, his curly hair falling over his sharp blue eyes. The blue is the only thing you can really see as half of his face appears to be hidden by a white mask that covers up to his chin.

You squint, seemingly frozen in place, as the man looks you over. 

You feel exposed, standing in only your robe. You wish you hadn't been in such a hurry. You've heard stories from the other dancers of their sponsors, and if this man is anything like them, that wasn't a wise choice. 

You drop to the ground, picking up the rose. When you stand, you let out a breathy gasp as the man's hand gently touches your jaw. He's closer, and still, he remains in the shadows. You hold your breath, gathering your wits to thank him like you assume he'd called you in here for. Still, you don't move his hand as you stare into his eyes. 

You clutch the ends of your robe, diverting your gaze to curtsey. "Thank you, my lord. I appreciate all your generous donations over these years. I am forever in your debt," you say, steading your voice so it doesn't tremble. 

The man remains silent as you stand again, clutching the rose in hand. You look at the flower and then up at him again. "And this rose is beautiful—"

"You deserve every beautiful thing this world has to offer," his voice is smooth and strong "Every last diamond deserves to lay on your neck, and every shimmering sapphire should adorn your hair. You are the most radiant creature I have ever cast my eyes on."

You feel dizzy as the man walks behind you, his hand skimming yours and brushing over your stomach. You tense, knowing this touch is inappropriate but he hasn't done enough to warrant your protest. Plus, his kind words hinder your ability to think rationally.

"You shine on that stage. No other dancer compares to you. You are beautiful," he finishes, his lips almost near your ear.

You shiver, your mind is fuzzy from his compliments. Even Thomas has never complimented you so lavishly. "T-thank you, my lord." 

Strong hands press against your stomach, the touch sending a spark inside you. You clasp your smaller hand on his, unsure if you wish to savor his touch or pull his hand away. You seem to have fallen under a spell, your breathing coming out in sharp gasps. 

"You shall be mine, I guarantee that," he whispers, his hand trailing up to cup your jaw. You turn your head, squeezing your eyes shut as a familiar, and yet unfamiliar, feeling arises in your stomach. 

"My Lord—I have—"

The words barely leave your mouth before he disappears, his touch foreign. You're left standing in the dimly lit box, your chest rising and falling with emotions you can't quite place. 

Even back in your home as you lay comfortably next to your husband, Thomas's arms holding you close, you can barely sleep. 

All you see when you close your eyes is that man's gaze behind the pearly white mask, his touch on your skin igniting feelings you didn't know you could feel.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing those thoughts away. 

But as you drift into a restless sleep, nightmares plague your mind—the smell of burning plaster and satin as warm flames threaten to engulf you whole. Millions of rats scurry across the cobblestones, tails burning, as you run barefooted from a shadow in the darkness. 

And in the end, there is nothing you can do but allow the fire to overwhelm you. 

~ * ~

~ thank you for reading! just another content warning! i am basing this on snippet of what the Paris dance world was like at the time—most ballerinas were doing sexual favors for the patrons of the Ballet and their wealthy sponsors however apart from this being mentioned, there will be no smut or explicit sexual themes in this story! ~

[bambiblakee]

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What I’ll write: x readers, smut, fluff, angst, Poly x readers, AU x readers

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[qvrcll]

nsfw + afab r. ❀ thomas h.

just thinking out loud here about one last night of passion with thomas hutter and how utterly sweet, how overwhelming it would be. there is no pretence in how he almost, no definitely, worships you. he is far from pious, but kneels like a man at the foot of god by your bed side. he is so impossibly pale, so warm and shivering slightly, whilst knelt between your legs. his hands dig into your sides, as if you were made to be held by him. he’d kiss your hip, a noticeable blush forming at his nape when he can see your body beneath the fabric. can see your plush thighs, the whiter edge of your undergarments, the way you glow in the flickering candlelight.

he’d apologise, though it was not his fault, for having to leave. some business about a count, and his estate, and how he hopes it’s not as harrowing as his boss has made him to believe it is. but he is distracted. by you. your presence. how can you blame him? he is besotted with you. when you cup his cheeks, reassure him, he turns his face so he can better kiss the inside of your palm. his kisses don’t stop there. they trail up to your wrist, almost sucking at the skin. he would leave a mark if he wasn’t mapping your entire body so fervently and in such little time. in seconds, he crawls to you with both hands and feet, caging you completely. his body is broad, broader than yours. and his face is twisted in agony, in need. he is so desperate that he should be ashamed, but he isn’t.

“i do not know how long i can keep away from you,” he’ll mouth against your neck, trailing hot kisses against the thundering pulse there, “this trip will test me. i know it will.”

his hands will wander underneath your shift, broad, calloused and strong, spreading apart your thighs for room or massaging your hip, or sliding downward to grab your calf so he could better adjust between your legs. he’d be such a mess, not stuttering - not yet, atleast, there’d be more of that soon enough - but begging with his eyes alone. he would roll his hips into your own, chasing for friction, finding the restriction of clothing a blessing and a curse.

if you even begin to seduce him in the way that always sets him off like a habit, maybe a fluttering of your lashes or some begging or even the mere act of being so breathless, teary eyed and chasing his hips with your own, he would hold back no longer. he near pops the button off his dress shirt from yanking it off, revealing toned, pale muscle. his hands would feel up your sides, his lips too busy kissing your own till they bruised as his hands push up your shift, revealing your body to him. your tummy, your perky nipples, your undergarments barely clinging on - and when he gets them off, you’re so unbelievably warm down there, that he actually flushes. he says unintentionally teasing little things, like “it is so warm, and my fingers… they disappear completely…” that only spur you on.

and he’d make love to you. he is a lover, not a fighter. he’d give into you so easily that you could barely call it a fight. he’d push into you, warm and wet walls clinging onto his cock like a vice. he’d stutter - there it was - his head dropping pathetically against your collarbone, his hot lips dragging against the column of your neck. he’d try so, so hard to keep it together, to last a while longer. but the way you clench down on him is only short of torture, the rest being sweet, sweet pleasure.

if you’re thinking of giving, he wouldn’t be opposed. as your husband, and contrary to conventions of the time, your pleasure would be above anything else. his pleasure too, but he finds that in your sharp little gasps and the way your body writhes. his pleasure is yours. so he is a little surprised when you roll the both of you over, him pinned to the bed. a little disoriented, sure, and a bit conscious of what exactly you were getting at - but when he sees you almost hugging his hips, your cheek squished against his hip bone and so dangerously close to his hardened cock, his heart jumps.

maybe you let slip a “please – please, can i make you feel good too?” and he can barely breathe. his vision is swimmingly, and his cock twitches ever so slightly near your lips. his hand would come to tighten in your hair. not pulling nor pushing. just there. his voice would be so breathy, all guttural and raspy as he nods. he can’t hear the words but he is half sure that he responds with a yes, yes – please, my heart, please.

© 2024 qvrcll. do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[phefics]

𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮) contains: afab!reader, edging, fingering, oral, polyamory, threesomes

“ellen can make me finish much faster than you can,” you tell thomas, mischief twisted in your smile, having successfully broken the comfortable silence in the room.

thomas looks up from his book and narrows his eyes, clearly taking your words as a challenge. “is that so?” he asks.

you nod, playing into it. “she knows my body so well. it comes naturally to her, i suppose, as we share the same anatomy.”

thomas sets his book down on the table and stands.

you shoot a glace over to ellen, who is hiding a smile between her embroidery. you meet her gaze and grin.

thomas stalks over to where you are sitting on the couch, and gets on his knees in front of you. “how long would you say it takes ellen to please you?”

you hum. “i believe she has done it in eight or so minutes.”

there is a desperate wanting in his eyes and he lifts your skirts, like a starving man who has finally acquired a feast. he turns his attention to ellen. “would you say that that is accurate?”

she carefully sets down her embroidery, watching you two with excitement in her eyes. “i would say so.”

thomas pushes your knees apart with his hands. “if i can finish you off in eight minutes or less, perhaps you will learn to watch your mouth."

you doubt that you will ever learn to watch your mouth, but you smile and nod anyway. thomas also knows it's an empty promise, but that is a part of the game that the three of you play: an unconventional arrangement, where no rules are ever set in stone.

thomas brings his face between your thighs, his tongue licking clumsily at your pussy. you breathe out a sigh, looking over to ellen, who is watching the clock, her eyes occasionally darting over to watch you.

as thomas begins to find a rhythm, begins to locate the right spots to focus on, you moan, one hand moving to tangle into his hair, while the other reaches out and grips ellen's hand. she squeezes it, still watching the clock.

"six more minutes," she says softly. "is he doing well?"

truthfully, he is, but you know that thomas likes to be pushed, challenged. "not as well as you," you answer.

thomas practically growls from between your legs, the vibration of his lips a new sensation that sends your hips bucking up into his mouth. his hands roughly grab at one of your thighs, pushing it further to the side, while he other hand moves for your entrance, easily pushing a finger inside of your wet, wanting cunt.

you moan again, grabbing his hair harder. he is always so eager to please, so ready to rise to the occasion. he loves it when you tease him like this, testing his patience. he doesn't just want to be good for you, for ellen: he wants to be perfect.

ellen strokes her nails over the palm of your hand, up your wrist, a gentle and subtle way of including herself in the moment, as more than just the one keeping time. you welcome her touch, drink it in greedily, wanting to pull her close and have her kiss your throat, tear open your corset and touch you with a rougher hand, but in this little game, she would be interfering with thomas' attempts to prove himself.

perhaps after thomas has his way with you, ellen will join in on the fun. as if she can read your mind (and sometimes you think that she can), ellen says, "two more minutes."

thomas slips another finger inside of you, curling inside of you in the most incredible way, as his tongue still works at the most sensitive part of you, and you feel the waves building up inside of you, toes curling inside your shoes, your fingers tightening their grip on his curls.

"i'm close," you say. "oh, thomas, i'm close, yes—"

"time's up," ellen says, and you can hear the smirk in her voice.

just as you feel you're about to tip over the edge, thomas stops, and you whimper, your hole clenching around nothing as he pulls his fingers out. "wait, thomas, please—"

"oh, you wish for me to continue?" he asks, his lips shining with your wetness. "i assumed that if i could not perform to your standards, you wouldn't be interested in my attempts."

"i want you to finish me," you say, breathless. "you feel so good, my love, please."

thomas and ellen exchange looks, and before you can beg any further, ellen is at your neck, kissing your skin, her hands ravaging your waist and chest lovingly, and thomas is back between your legs.

"here is one thing that ellen cannot give you," he says, unbuttoning his pants and revealing his hard cock.

"yes, please, i want to feel you inside me," you plead.

he slips inside of you, arms wrapping around your legs to hold them apart as he thrusts into your warmth.

ellen kisses your lips sweetly, stroking your hair. "you are so beautiful. let us see you come undone," she whispers.

after he brought you so close to the edge and back down again, thomas is quick to bring you back to that precipice of pleasure, and you finish with a loud cry, your face buried in ellen's hair, breathing in her scent of lilacs.

if this is what you get for speaking so boldly, you will certainly not be watching your mouth any time soon.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

More (Thomas Hutter x fem!vampire!reader)

-> you finally put an end to Thomas’s torment and your own, claiming him once and for all

Warnings: smut, p in v, fingering, a pinch of somnophilia (reader kisses Thomas while he sleeps), dom!reader (mostly), teasing, no denial this time but reader is still a bit mean, blood drinking, potentially life-endangering loss of blood (no death)

*sequel to Devourable ‘cause I couldn’t leave you guys—and Thomas—like that

Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!

When Thomas wakes, your tongue is already upon him. It’s the slow, wet glide of it along his throat which rouses him, so similar to the heated touches with which you have been tormenting him in his dreams, he nearly believes himself to be asleep still.

But he truly is aware, and here, and so are you—lying at his side, already half atop him, luring his mind back to consciousness with your wicked mouth. Your teeth may be sharp, but it’s dangerously easy to forget that when his skin revels in the softness of your lips. Your leg is slotted between his, thigh nudging teasingly at the growing bulge in his pants whilst your fingers hold his neck in a loose grip which could tighten at any moment. Thomas opens his eyes with a quiet moan, reaching up to caress your cheek as you nip at his earlobe.

“Awake at last,” you whisper with a trace of amusement. Entertaining the silent plea in his touch, you lift your head to look Thomas in the eyes.

“I waited for you,” he confesses—so much like a child awaiting praise and hoping for reward.

In the hours after dawn, when you had left him hard and aching, he could scarcely think past the lust plaguing him. He had brought himself to eat as much as he could stomach, heeding your warning that he do so before you inevitably feast on his blood when you come back to claim him as he had begged you to. Only in late afternoon did he finally manage to fall into a fitful sleep, still taut with anticipation for that moment when you would finally be together, fully and without restraint. His hefty meal had done nothing to erase the taste of you on his tongue, and the sheer memory of your flesh tightening around his fingers as he licked an orgasm out of you was enough to send his blood rushing ever so torturously downward.

But he never once attempted to take himself in hand after you told him not to.

And, as you’d warned him you would, you know whether or not he speaks the truth. Your dear, dutiful Thomas. Of course he had obeyed. You’d known it the moment you had walked into his chamber, and felt his mind still reeling from the unsatisfied lust he had endured the entire passing day, even in his sleep. Without so much as an ounce of supernatural interference from you, your voice had filled his dreams, your imaginary touch had been enough to keep his cock hard and ready for you until now.

In truth, you found yourself in quite a similar state. Though you don’t dream, you had roused at sunset with a persisting ache between your thighs, your flesh as slick as though Thomas were there at that very moment, pleasuring you with that not-quite-so-polite-anymore tongue of his. It had taken all your willpower to ensure your lust for blood was slaked before you sought him out to at last quench the maddening desire which has bound the two of you against all odds.

“I fed,” is all the answer you give him, satisfied with the slight pinch in his brow as his obedience goes unmentioned and you withhold your praise—for now. “Even full,” you muse, eyes drifting to his chest, “my appetite for you is barely assuaged.”

You bring a finger to the hollow of his throat, his flesh dipping slightly beneath the tip of your nail as he swallows, then trail it slowly over his collarbones, before letting it wander down to the sparse hairs revealed by his shirt, idly tracing lines over his heart.

Thomas releases a deep breath, trying to relax under your touch. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment,” he jests softly. You could plunge your nail into his heart with but a press of your inhumanly strong finger, and he jests.

“It is a curse,” you rasp out, piercing him with a dark gaze. “I offered you freedom, and you laid your life and body at my feet instead.”

You wonder why you say such things, even as they leave your mouth. To taunt him, perhaps, though your words hold little bite for that. To offer him one last chance at escape? Would you even allow such a thing?

You need not decide. Thomas’s only response is to take hold of your hand and, eyes boring into yours with all the unspoken emotion of the gesture, flatten it against his chest.

You glance at your hands for a moment—yours over his heart, his over yours. What a hopeless romantic he is. He has answered the question already, but you ask it anyway.

“You would join me in flesh of your own will?”

He feels as though his heart has stopped—you feel it quicken beneath your fingers. “Yes.”

The word is as good as an open vein on your tongue. You’ll never tire of the eager breathlessness with which he offers himself to you, nor the quiver in his slightly parted lips right before you cover them with yours.

He moans as your tongue plunges into his mouth, responding to your kiss with equal fervour. He tastes of wine, and smells of the blood singing in his veins at your touch, and you are reminded how intoxicatingly desirable he has somehow become in your eyes. Be it his body or his mind, something he said or did, or even just the artful ways in which the moonlight paints the relief of his pretty cheeks, you crave his life too much to be the cause of his death. There are… options, of course, as there had been for you, but you want him just like this: humanly fragile within your grasp, kissing you to oblivion and striving to pull you impossibly close, hips rolling into nothing in despairing attempts to achieve even the slightest ounce of relief from the torment of needing you.

You find yourself catching his lower lip in your teeth, a primal urge too fierce to prevent from manifesting, and release the flesh a dangerously short moment before it splits open. Thomas winces, but reconnects your lips as soon as they are parted. He should know better by now than to tempt your vampiric lust when it has visibly flared, but he is a man painfully aroused and vexingly sentimental.

Perhaps to remind him of why the latter is a fool’s bargain when it comes to you, you hook your nail into the neck of his shirt and rip the piece of clothing open, neck to waist, in one aggressive cut.

“Fuck,” Thomas gasps, jerking up in surprise. “Don’t cut—Not the pants,” he says hurriedly when he notices where your lethal finger is next headed. Your lips tighten around a suppressed chuckle.

“Easy, Thomas,” you purr, lips brushing his as your nail lightly scrapes its downward way along the inviting trail of hair below his navel. “I would not risk injury to such a useful part of you.”

Your hand reaches and cups said part over the constraining fabric of his trousers, and Thomas is left without a trace of worry once again as his head falls back against the pillow, eyes closed with the mild relief you are finally providing him.

To his dismay, it ends after a short, teasing fondle. With a last, sensuous peck to his lips, you rise up and gracefully straddle his knees, keeping them firmly pinned beneath you. There is little he can do but lay back, chest heaving as he watches you meticulously undo the fastenings of his trousers. To his visible—and most delectable—frustration, you make no haste in your task, savouring the sight of his skin beginning to glisten with perspiration in the moonlight.

He groans when you finally free his length, swollen and wantonly red against his stomach. All that blood gathered in one, tantalizing organ… But you meant what you said. This particular part of him will not know the sharpness of your teeth.

That does not mean, however, that it shall be spared your wicked teasing. You run a single finger from the bottom to the weeping head of his cock, the sharp tip of your nail only just barely grazing his sensitive skin, and Thomas’s mouth falls open, eyes nearly rolling back into his skull.

“Oh, God—I can’t.” He grabs your wrist to still it, shaking his head. “I’m too close, I—I won’t last.”

With a devious curl of your lips, you begin to lean forward.

“And you think you will if I put you inside me this very moment?” you taunt as you drape yourself over him, his erection becoming snugly trapped between your stomachs. “You think you can keep this lovely cock hard long enough to satisfy me?”

The words alone have him quaking with a shudder beneath you. You barely even move—only the lightest roll of your belly over his swollen length, and his tortured whimper goes straight to the already creamy flesh between your thighs.

“I’ll try,” he vows breathlessly, wrapping his arms around you like you’re his only anchor in the world. “Let me try.”

Oh, you don’t doubt he would. He would truly steel himself, rebel against his own body with all his human might, only to fall apart the moment even so much as the tip of his cock would be met with your cunt’s tight embrace.

You don’t even let him get that far.

“You really are infuriatingly sweet, you know?” you murmur, your lips a breath away from his as you run your fingers through his hair. “My Thomas.” He gasps as you begin to move your hips, cruelly rubbing against his throbbing cock. “My sweet, obedient Thomas. So pretty. So good.”

Your praises go straight between his legs and wrench an agonizing whimper from his throat, fear rolling off him in waves—but not of you. He is genuinely terrified he’ll spill any second, and that you’ll make him wait another excruciatingly long day before you give him the chance to finally be inside you. His hands cling to your waist, then one drifts to your backside as he tries to no avail to better align your moving hips with his. “I want… I need you. My lady, please…”

Thomas moaning out your title… Oh, you like that. Not enough to give into his pleas, though. Your fingers clench in his hair, pulling his head back without mercy as you put your lips to his ear.

“No.”

Your denial is as sharp as your bite would be, and it ruins him in the most exquisite way. Thomas shudders violently beneath you, a pitiful sound bursting from his chest as his come soaks your nightgown at the stomach. He ruts into you helplessly until it begins to hurt, and only then does he try to push you off with trembling hands. Graciously, you lift your hips to allow his overly sensitive cock the space it begs for, but your condescending laugh might just be more painful than if you were pumping him with your fist.

“Oh, Thomas,” you coo mockingly, running a finger down his cheek as he frowns deeply up at you. “How do you expect to fulfil my appetites, when I have yet to fuck you and you are spent already?”

“You are not fair,” he protests, valiantly willing himself to sound firm despite his still laboured breathing.

You lift a brow. “Did you ever think I was?”

“You have been tormenting me for days.” He swallows thickly, trying to lower the desperate pitch of his voice. “Haunting my dreams, touching me only to leave me in despair. I tried, but there is only so much a man’s body can endure without… without….”

“Without spilling all over himself like an untouched pup of a boy?”

You are being cruel. You must be, if you are to remain the cold villain of the night you pride yourself upon being, despite this… this… weakness, as you must begrudgingly call it, that you feel for him. He must not think he holds more sway over you than he already knows of.

But Thomas holds fast himself. Something hardens in his gaze.

“Mock me all you want,” he says, hurt but not defeated. “I am not ashamed of my desire. And yours—” He cups you intimately. “—is quite evident as well.”

It takes you by surprise—his sudden, firm touch through your thin nightgown—and the jolt of pleasure he elicits from your clit combined with the bold kiss he plants on your lips without warning throws you sufficiently off balance that he manages to flip you over. It’s his body pinning yours to the mattress now, a confinement narrower than even that of your coffin, and a growl rips past your throat as your hand flies to his neck.

“Wait! Wait,” Thomas pleads frantically before you can throw him off or reverse your positions once again. “Just wait a moment, please.”

It’s precisely because of that pesky weakness that you do. You don’t crush his throat, or kick him off. Though your chest still heaves with the primal urge to do so, the softness in Thomas’s eyes stays your hand, his thoughts nearly as clear in your mind as they are in his. He knows it isn’t in your nature to be beneath another. He knows how it wounds your pride to admit you desire him as he does you. He relishes being held under your thumb, and he does not seek to do the same to you, only…

“I couldn’t hurt you if I wanted to,” he murmurs. Your hand may be slack, but it’s still ominously wrapped around his throat. He leans in anyway, nose brushing yours. “Please, just let me… Let me…”

And you do let him. You let him press his gentle, trembling lips to yours, and part them when he seeks to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours as if to tame its meanness, his unhurried kiss carrying a sort of innocence which grips your heart in a warm ache. Your hand leaves his throat to tangle in his hair, and—you’d all but forgotten his hand was between your legs until he begins to rub you through your nightgown again.

Perhaps he does seek retribution for the sensual torment you had inflicted upon him, if only by returning the smallest part of it. He touches you with unbearable slowness as his lips part from yours to drift to your neck, only slightly more vigorous in the way he licks and nips in worship at your skin. Soon enough, he is tugging at the shoulder of your nightgown, uncovering a soft breast, and at once leans to lavish it with adoring kisses. You can’t help how you arch into him as he takes your nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud whilst his fingers begin to quicken over your covered clit.

To hell with your pride. You make a sound, something between a growl and a whine, as you force a hand between you to interrupt his movements and pull away that damned fabric. Then, you grab his hand and put it to your bare cunt, all but pushing his fingers knuckle-deep inside you with your own.

“All right,” he breathes out in acquiescence, a glint of a smile in his eyes as he lifts them to yours briefly. “All right.”

His lips return to your breast, his fingers sink as deep as they can go into your heat, and control is the last thing on your mind. All you can feel is his thumb finding your clit, drawing circles over it as his fingers curl against those sensitive nerves from the inside.

“Is that good?” Thomas asks, only half-sure.

Your voice is somehow deadly and pleading at the same time. “I’ll kill you if you stop.”

He smiles, nearly, but knows better than to show such blatant smugness. Instead, he lowers his mouth to your neck, lavishing your skin with kisses as he keeps fucking you with his fingers, taking his time. You could prompt him to hasten in his movements again, but… there is an undeniable flavour of bliss in the act of simply writhing with the rhythm of your pleasure, basking in the adoration rolling off him in waves without attempting to bend him to your will. He cherishes each inch of skin you allow him to feel beneath his lips, thanks you silently for every moment you welcome his fingers within the intimate embrace of your flesh. For now, that is devotion enough.

You have grown obscenely wet, each glide of his fingers into your cunt eliciting a soft, creamy sound. It’s nearly as arousing as the rush of blood in his veins, which fills your ears along with the heavy breaths he releases onto your skin. You lift his face and bring his lips crashing into yours, if only to muffle your increasingly high-pitched whimpers as you feel yourself nearing your end. He nods in encouragement, you think, but he is too busy kissing you, and his fingertips are hitting your sweetest spots with impeccable aim, and the heat is too blinding for you to protest you don’t need his permission before you shatter beneath him, all but sobbing into his mouth.

At the last moment, he pulls away, wishing to take you in. His eyes are filled with wonder as he watches your face soften in the wake of your climax, and you can feel how privileged as well as deeply satisfied he feels to know he has brought you in such a state, and that in doing so, he has so quickly managed to—

Oh, yes, you note, following his gaze to where he then lowers it with a needy pinch in his brow. He is quite hard again.

“Perhaps I’ve had enough for tonight,” you tease, though your voice is still airy with lingering bliss.

Thomas knows better by now. He gives you a look of firm disbelief, which wavers as he takes himself in hand and gives his erection a relieving stroke before boldly running his cocktip along your folds, soaking it in their wetness.

“Have you?” he whispers as your lips part in a silent gasp. He is hot and rigid as he bumps into your sensitized clit, and you hiss, once again put in the unsavoury position of admitting that you don’t hold much more control over your desire than he does with his own.

He doesn’t wait for you to say it—that would take much longer than either of you are willing to wait. “I would join you in flesh, of my own will,” he repeats the words he knows you so love to hear. “Let me in. I beg you.”

He positions his cock at your entrance, nudging without pushing, waiting, hoping. The soft crack in his pleading voice tugs at your undead heart in a way you could never admit out loud without shattering your pride. This damn man—he‘s already more in than anyone else has ever been.

“Go on, then,” you murmur. “Give yourself to me.”

With a breath of relief, he does—in one thrust, swift and deep, his cock fills you to the exquisite brim. Your gasp dies on his tongue as your mouths meet, and all at once you are moving together, writhing, panting, lost to the onslaught of sensation where his flesh is enveloped by yours, over and over.

He makes no further attempt to draw out your pleasure. Thomas buries himself inside you like he wants to make of your body his grave, to rest there until the flesh decays off his bones, leaving them in the eternal embrace of yours. Your skin, always cold, now burns against his, heated by the relentless friction of which you are both frantically seeking more, more, never enough. It’s so unlike you to allow another atop you, you could not have imagined it for what feels like—and probably have been—lifetimes. Yet here you are, laid back with Thomas in between your thighs and his face buried in your neck, deeply intertwined in a type of carnal bliss which has little to do with the only craving you thought you were capable of feeling any longer.

Little, but not nothing—and the longer Thomas moves on top of you, laboured breath heating your neck and skin flushed with exertion, the less easy it is to ignore what other pleasures his body has to offer one of your twisted kind. There is little grace to the way he ruts into you now, driven by pure bodily despair. He mouths at your skin sloppily, his moans all but delirious, wordless whimpers interspersed with gasps along the lines of ‘so good’, ‘all yours’ and even ‘thank you’. He is so warm. His pulse, so quick, throbbing in his veins. You can’t decide what you crave more—your teeth in his flesh or the peak of the pleasure he plants inside you with each eager thrust of his hips.

An inhuman sound leaves your throat as you push against him, flipping your entwined bodies so that his is beneath you. As it should be, at last—the lion standing proud above the lamb, claws at the jugular.

Thomas groans, wasting only the moment it takes to adjust to the new position before he drives his hips upwards, anxious to keep fucking you. You slam yours down, pinning him beneath you, your assertive growl nearly dissolving into a whimper as his cock lodges itself superbly deep inside you, hard and throbbing as you hold him still, an unforgiving hand planted onto his chest. His rampant heartbeat is so damn tempting.

You hate how pretty he is, looking up at you. Hate how his longing expression elicits something close to fear, deep in your bones. The wounds left by your teeth the previous nights are rough beneath your fingers, beckoning you to make them fresh once more, but those bites had been different. At the time, you hadn’t cared whether he lived or not. Hadn’t craved him so deeply, in more ways than one. Hadn’t been half mad with the feeling of him filling up your cunt.

“Do it,” Thomas whispers beneath you, taking hold of the hand pressed in a now hesitant threat against his chest. “Bite me. Please.”

Never has a man begged for his death so beautifully.

Not death, you remind yourself, as best you can. You want to keep him, just as he is—sweetly human, quivering with need as you slowly lean over him, and lay a lingering kiss onto his lips.

You begin to grind your hips into his once more, lips descending along his jaw and throat. Thomas quivers beneath you, but strives to keep still as you follow the tantalizing path of his jugular. Your teeth could pierce his skin at any moment, but if anything, that makes his cock throb even more desperately within you. He is already close enough to coming undone that he’s gripping your hips just to anchor himself against that urge, willing himself to hold out at least until he learns what it is for you to be opening each other up all at once, him sinking into you whilst you sup on his—

Thomas cries out when you finally bite his heart, ruthlessly drawing in the blood that rushes into your mouth. You’ve tasted him before, relished his heady flavour, but with his hand flying to the back of your head to keep you close and his hips bucking up into you, you are truly lost to raw, animalistic want. Nothing exists past the hunger and the lust. There is only him, only his taste, only his flesh joined with yours.

The air fills with the sound of long, grotesque drags of liquid into your mouth, along with Thomas’s frantic moans. He wails, pain and pleasure mingled in the sound, and his seed spills inside you barely moments after his blood had spilled onto your tongue. There is no describing the ecstasy that fills you as he writhes in your clutches, clinging to you for dear life through the onslaught of sensation. You can’t endure it for long before you fall over the edge yourself, pleasure like you had never known in life overtaking every inch of your undead body as you clench and suck and moan throughout your release.

It’s only long moments later, when your hips still and the orgasmic high has run its course, that you regain a sliver of clarity, barely enough to muster the thought that you have been feeding on Thomas for… well, therein lies the issue. You’ve lost track of time.

Not that he seems to mind. When at last you dislodge your teeth from his flesh, grunting with the effort to restrain yourself as blood drips down your chin, he tugs at the nape of your neck, feebly attempting to bring you back.

“More,” he murmurs, even as he struggles to keep his eyes open. “Take more.”

Something crumbles in your chest. He’s pale, even moreso than usual, and you fear you may have taken more than his body may handle.

Fear. A feeling you had been happy to forget after your death. It shouldn’t hold the sway on you that it does, but it leaves only one option. You put your index to your lower lip, and press until the skin splits open under your sharp nail. Thomas watches in morbid fascination as blood blooms at the centre of your already blood-smeared lip, but is eager to kiss you all the same when you lower your mouth to his.

He licks over your lips with fascinated languidness, groaning softly at the metallic taste of your combined blood. When you pull away, red stains his mouth as well. He is particularly handsome this way, you think as he brings his fingers to his reddened lips, frowning.

“Why?” he asks. Not appalled, simply curious—and deeply tired.

Your pretty Thomas. Perfect as he is, soft and adoring and human. You much prefer him this way, but should worst come to worst…

“If you die,” you murmur as you rest your head upon his chest, right above the wound you have left behind, “you shall be like me.”

His heart, already suffering from shortage of blood to pump, all but stills beneath your cheek. Yet, after a moment of silence, all he says is:

“Good.”

Peaceful. Content. Foolish, as usual. You are spent enough yourself that you lack the will to argue. What’s done is done.

Thomas drifts to sleep. For you, that is not possible. But you remain lying in his arms, for as long as is left of the night.

Next part -> Covenant

[gatorbites-imagines]

Uhhh maybe something something with werewolf!mreader and count orlok?🥰

Count Byron Orlok x Werewolf male reader

Ficlet

I spent way too long reading about old werewolf mythos to write this. Reader’s kind of a mix of the different myths I found, and my own cooking. I took mild inspo from the Neuri people, and the myth of Lycaon, and what I could find about Mount Lykaion.

Lil bit of Thomas x reader, but its not really important.

Nosferatu 2024 spoilers ig?

For many years you have wandered and existed, whether you could claim to be alive or not was something you had dismissed many years ago. You remembered being born to a nomadic people who wandered from one place to another, passing their tales verbally and through song, never staying in one place for long. You remember the older men leaving for days at a time, only to return to your people, battered, bruised and exhausted, but the usual hunger in their eyes sated.

Memories of your first transformation were blurry at best, only weak memories of pain, blood, hunger, hopelessness. There wasn’t much need to remember your younger years, just that your father had been a beast amongst beasts, and so had you. When you came too after the first shift, you awoke naked and bloody, the camp of the people that were yours, destroyed.

Mixtures of flesh, fur and gore lay scattered, the tents and makeshift homes torn apart, from what looked like a wild animal trying to break in to devour whoever was inside. The taste of blood in your mouth and meat stuck between your teeth, was all you needed to know. You were that beast, and you had devoured them all. Man, woman, child and wolf, all torn apart by your hunger.

You remember stumbling away from what remained of your family, friends and near, naked as the day you were born. The cold feeling of falling into a stream, of all the blood washing off your body, washing away your sins. Memories of stumbling along, uncaring of your naked nature, so full of regret and horror of yourself and what you were.

Not much could be remembered from that time, only flashes of pain as you transformed once more, and devoured, be it human or animal. Everything only became clear in a mountain, where a cult worshipping wolves and those who could transform had found you. You learned that they were cursed by a god to be what they were, but you? You were born this way, gifted.

Their chants and magic taught you control of your inner beast. Where before there had been two beings inside you, wolf and man, there now was one. In the end you wandered from this group, leaving them to their whims of cannibalism and human sacrifice.

With control of your inner hunger, of your lack of humanity and beastly desires, you wandered. You slept when you needed to, and ate when you were hungry. You could even take part in humanity at times, joining celebrations, or sleeping in a real bed every now and then. Where raw flesh and blood tasted divine, their dishes and spices were enough to keep you sated for longer.

You never kept track of your age, but you watched as the old gods fell, and was replaced by another. A pantheon of gods, with so many duties and whims, replaced by one who became three, yet were still one. You watched as their influence grew, as their one god became the one most worshipped.

You watched as many were killed in cold blood for not worshipping their one god, or were tortured for going against the word of their holy book. It was during this holy period that you discovered your weakness to silver as well, but you being naturally born this way, let you survive it, unlike those cursed to be like you.

Your long wandering took you to somewhere in the Romanian mountains, where superstition and beliefs were as strong as ever, where a count ruled over the land, a count who yearned for immortality. Maybe it was the way you dressed when he saw you for the first time that caught his interest. He wore a cape of sheepskin, where yours was that of a wolf, the head thrown over your own almost like a mask or a hood.

Byron Orlok was his name. And he was handsome, as handsome as the men of this era could be, even if his eyes were dark and hungered for something beyond mortality, even as he buried himself in the occult to seek it. The tales of your own long life, what little you told him, only fueled him. If you could live from before the very creation of Christianity, then he too could become immortal. Unageing.

Your wolf form lingered around his home, a large building far beyond anything you could have ever seen in your youth. The sounds of his transformation, the reek of sulfur and acid, like the bile of a stomach, was so powerful that you felt that even the wandering natives would smell it. and yet as he screamed and wailed, you lay still, your massive wolf head resting on top of your paws. It was not your duty to save him or stop him, his demons and gods were not connected to you.

In his death, Byron Orlok did not cease moving. His corpse and body still moved and spoke during the night, before the sun rose and the first rooster’s crow. and you, you stayed. Over your many years of life you had met many beasts and monsters like yourself, or warlocks and alchemists who were bound to the otherworld, even priests and priestesses who could communicate with their gods of choice. But none intrigued you like Byron.

As something beyond human, the idea that only a man and a woman could bond was beyond you. It was a belief that had never existed in you, as the people you had been around in your youth never carried it, but for Byron it was new and strange. Even as his body changed and altered, looking more like a corpse than a man, his passion persisted.

The locals built temples or stands to keep him away, filling them with crosses and hunting others like him, Nosferatu. You, they feared, less than Byron, but feared, nonetheless. Where Byron devoured human flesh and blood to keep moving, you had persisted on nothing but will for many years, and only devoured when you needed too.

Byron was not the most physically affectionate, you had a feeling he simply couldn’t be. But his possessive nature and yearning for you, spoke of his innermost feelings. His kisses would have made any normal human vomit from the taste of blood, gore, and corpse, but you were no human. Anyone else would have died from being fed on by him, but you lived. Your heart beat and would beat on, for how long you did not know.

Your inhuman blood and flesh, which regenerated like the leaves of a tree, kept Byron fed when the human flesh could not. It wasn’t what he was meant to eat, that much was clear, as you were not human and that was what he needed, but it changed him. He still was death itself, but your wolflike insides made him at least a little more pleasant to look at.

What you two were, was not a married couple, but he was yours and you were his, though he yours more than you his. Being older, stronger, able to go where and when you pleased, made you the more dangerous of you two. The most powerful, but you had no need to use this against him.

Until he bonded with that human, one you would learn was named Ellen who begged for company from anything, anyone. You were tempted to tear Byrons head off his body when you learned of this, having only been gone for two years which was nothing in your shared centuries, and here he went, finding another.

After this betrayal, you left once more, after tearing apart the wolves you had given him as servants. He would not thrive off your gifts and flesh if he could not respect you. It was not that he had bonded with a human girl, but more the dismissal of you and disregard of what you wanted. What if you had wanted a little human plaything as well?

When you returned once more, years later, you observed a man on his way towards Byron Orloks home, which looked as decrepit as you were used too. He was almost adorable, in his modern clothing and satchel bag. So intriguing was he, that you followed him from the shadows in your wolf form, observed as he rested with the locals, saw their execution of a Nosferatu, and how the locals left him behind.

Byron must have felt your presence, as the carriage that picked the human man up had the motif of a wolf on the side. You could feel his magic reach for you, but yours was stronger, and still being mad at him, you turned it away.

Your lover, partner, other being, was enraged, you could tell, when he smelled your interest in this man, Thomas Hutter, but he could not say anything, as he was drawn to this Thomas Hutters wife. Thomas Hutter was tormented and haunted as he slept and was awake in the old castle, he almost passed out when he saw you in your wolf form for the first time.

Maybe it was more that you wanted to make Byron feel what you felt, when he bonded to that girl, and it didn’t hurt that Thomas Hutter was as adorable as a rabbit, with his frightened eyes and heady scent. The lack of sleep drove him mad enough to sleep curled up against your furry side, and your hairy chest when you transformed back into a man.

It was enough to make Byron gnash his teeth and growl, his magic attempting to squeeze the very life out of Thomas only to be blocked by your own. There was no reason for you to stop his plans, you were much too old to involve yourself in such things, but you did make sure Thomas survived long enough to be found by the nun and for him to return to Wisborg.

Your massive paws dragged groves in the first as you followed the scent of Thomas, as Byron you could sense was across the sea where you could not follow without spending unnecessary magic.

Your maw salivated at the sight of Ellen, not from the same desire that Thomas or Byron carried for her which was carnal in the way animals in spring desired, but from a long-forgotten hunger for human flesh. To rip and tear, to destroy and break. You wanted to kill her, for taking your Orlok’s attention, the same hate Byron felt for Thomas, even if your attention was nothing more than a mild interest.

Time would tell, as the first night fell and the rats invaded the city. When Byron would end up tricked by these mortals, you would step in and scold him. He was so young compared to you, centuries compared to your millennia. Punish him, you must, make him weep and beg for your forgiveness for betraying you so. But for now, you would gobble up the corpses of the citizens as they piled up, to satisfy your growing hunger for Ellen and her putrid flesh.

[fastlikealambo]

I wrote this on my phone so I know it’s not great but here’s a tiny sample of what I have so far:

what death can join together.|| Thomas Hutter x Black!Fem Reader x Friedrich Harding Fic

Summary: Every year on Christmastide since the tragic deaths of their wives and children, Thomas and Friedrich take a trip together to keep themselves from joining their loves on the other side. Their shared obsession with finding a way to speak with their beloved Ellen and Anna leads them to you in New York and what transpires cannot be undone.

Not a sample chapter but something to see if I can still write (it’s been awhile) and if there is any real interest in this fic before writing in full! Let me know what you think!

The german gentlemen were back again, standing outside the stage door in the snow. With your employer currently dead drunk and cuddling a crystal ball on her dressing room floor, it would be up to you to cancel tonight’s show.

“I’m so sorry gentlemen,but Madame Serena will not be able commune with the great beyond as she is indisposed. I would be more than happy to give you your money back or offer seats at the next seance.”

The haunted looking one (rather both looked haunted but this one in particular looked like Death itself was bending him over in this very moment) stepped forward, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Forgive me Miss, we are here to see you, not the charlatan you work for. If we could have a moment of your time, we would be in your debt immensely.” He said kindly.

You stepped away from the stage door, arms wrapped around yourself to keep warm.

“If it’s money required for your time, I’d be happy to oblige.” The other one said, a slight smirk that lead only to dead eyes lit only by the dying embers of a cigar.

“If you both are in need of nightly comfort, you will not find it with me. There are eight brothels on this street alone, I’m sure there is something to sate your appetites. Good night gentlemen.” You said firmly, turning towards the stage door.

“I saw you.” The haunted one whispered, barely audible in the falling snow.

“I beg your pardon?”

He drew closer to you, hands shaking so badly but voice and eyes clear.

“I opened my eyes during the seance, just for a moment and I saw you floating in the dark of the room, I saw your body contort and shake. I saw you and I know what I saw to be true because I have seen such horror before. Madame Serena is no more a vessel for the dead than a teacup is, it’s you. It’s always been you.”

You stopped and turned around, a shining smile on your face.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Madame Serena’s craft can sometimes play tricks on the mind-

“Your Madame Serena’s shitty play theatre keeps her in furs and warm while you are standing out in the cold with strangers in a threadbare day dress in a hand me down corset, woman. You don’t know what we know.”

“Friedrich!”

“Thomas, it is cold and she is not going to help us, let us be done with this.”

“Listen to your friend sir, you do not know me or what I can or cannot do. You are mistaken, please leave.” You said coldly, opening the stage door only for Thomas to close it.

“ I don’t have to know you to know that you are in between the living and the dead, a foot in each world but lonely nonetheless. I know that lonely horror, it resided in my wife’s eyes and I can see it in yours.”

“You know nothing of my horror.” You said bitterly opening the door yet again but Thomas stuck his cane in.

“We only wish to walk with you on your path to the other side one time, we have lost those we care for to an old evil and we just need to know that they are cared for, protected in death because we failed them in life.” Thomas said, eyes soft and wet, his friend’s hand on his shoulder.

You could, you knew that you could.

“I’m sorry for your loss, but I cannot help you.”

“Please, I beg you!”

“Thomas, no!”

Thomas’s hand around your wrist and Friedrich’s hand on his shoulder connected them both to you and in that instant, you were not in this world. Eyes milky white and unseeing, you were frozen in place, replaced by someone else entirely.

“Thomas, let her go.” Friedrich tried to sound commanding but there was only fear.

“ I can’t, she’s holding on to me-

“Thomas, is that you? Are you there?”

If Thomas could have dropped to his knees in fear and wonder he would for he knew that voice, had begged God and The Devil to hear that voice just one more time.

Ellen.

That’s all I got, please comment or reblog if you want to see more!

[inadreamgirl]

thomas pushing up your gown as he eats between your legs, looking up as he lets out soft whimpers. grabbing your neck as he kisses you hungrily and desperately almost like he's trying to prove something. kissing at your skin as he moves to your breasts, ripping off the buttons of your bodice.

i need to be put down like a dog.

[the-fiction-witch]

My Love

Media - Nosferatu Character - Thomas Hutter Couple - Thomas Hutter X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 12 Word Count - 923

Thomas adjusted his tie, the fabric smooth against his fingers, and took a moment to straighten his hair in the small, slightly tarnished mirror hanging on the wall. The reflection before him bore the marks of a man who had just returned from a luxurious honeymoon. His gaze, however, shifted away from his image as he cast a glance over his shoulder, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

There, nestled beneath the soft covers of their small but cosy bed, lay his new wife. The delicate fabric of her nightie had slipped effortlessly from one shoulder, revealing a hint of her fair skin. Her hair was tousled and wild, a charming testament to her slumber, while her eyes shimmered with the remnants of a few tears. The way her bottom lip protruded in a cute pout made her look both adorable and slightly vulnerable, stirring a protective instinct deep within him. The morning light streamed in through the window, casting a warm glow that illuminated the tender scene, and for a moment, Thomas felt a rush of affection for the woman he had just vowed to love forever.

“Why must you leave me, Thomas?” Y/n begged,

He scoffed as he turned to face her, “I have work to attend to.”

“Work.” she snapped,

“Yes, very important work.” He told her,

“Hardly, mere paperwork and pondering.”

“Be that as it may,” He laughed, “It is work that must be done, so I can get the funds needed to keep my beautiful wife in the manner she is accustomed.” he sat on the bed beside her and stroked his hand across her cheek,

“But I would rather you stay here,”

He smiled, “I would rather stay here, in this bed with you. Until the very stars fall to this earth, my love. But… I must.”

“You would?”

“Of course, I would,” he cooed, he took her hand and pressed a tender kiss on her knuckles, “Our honeymoon has lasted long enough, we have delayed my return twice already.”

“I know, I simply do not know what I shall do all day, without my loving husband.”

He laughed, “Whatever it was you did whilst I was gone all day before we married.”

“How long shall you be gone?”

“Only until five o'clock, my love.” he reassured, “Then I shall run home into your arms, and smother you will all the kisses you have missed.”

“But that is so long,”

“Unfortunately it is, but it must be done.”

“However shall I survive so long without you?”

“Why don’t you go see your friends? Or your mother? I am sure they would be delighted to see you.”

“But I just want to see you,” she begged, “Please.”

He sighed, “Would but I could, my love.” He smiled as he pulled her lips to his in a loving embrace of a kiss, “I promise you, I will be home as soon as I can.”

But Y/n pouted, “You are cruel to me, Thomas.”

“Yes, I am so cruel, heartless, wicked, malicious and monstrous.” he chuckled, “All because I must leave my sweet wife for a few hours of the day.”

“You mock me.”

“I do not mock you, my love,” He smiled, “I know you want me here, and I want you with me. But, you know I must go. I will be back as soon as I can be, keep you in my mind and heart every moment we are apart. You know I adore you Y/n, and I would live by your side every second if I could. Please… do not fill me with guilt more so than I already am, for leaving my beautiful wife alone.”

“I’m sorry…” she mumbled as she nuzzled his waistcoat,

“It’s alright.” he cooed, “I know how… clingy you are.”

“Humm.” she pouts,

“And I am just as clingy and protective of you too.” he laughed,

“I know,” she sighed, “Have a good day at work,”

“Humm… Come here Mrs Hutter, one more kiss to tie me over.” He smirked,

She smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling with affection as she leaned in closer. Gently, she rubbed the tip of her nose against his, the fleeting touch sending a thrill through them both. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, their lips finally met in a tender, loving kiss, a moment filled with unspoken promises and deep connection.

“Do not miss me too badly,” he cooed,

“Impossible.” she smiled, “Do try not to miss me too.”

“Impossible,” he smiled back, “I’ll see you later my love.”

“Umm…” she nodded, “See you later Thomas.”

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Rising to his feet, he made his way through the modest home. He reached for his worn brown coat hanging from the hook by the door, its fabric slightly frayed at the edges from years of use.

Just as he was about to slip it on, he felt Y/n's arms encircle his torso tightly, her head nestled against his back, as if she were trying to anchor him in place. “I love you,” she murmured, her voice warm and sincere.

He turned his head slightly, a wide smile spreading across his face. “I love you more,” he replied, his voice filled with affection. He gently pried her hands from around him, relishing the moment. After slipping on his coat and adjusting the brim of his hat, he turned back to her. He leaned in for one last kiss, their lips brushing softly, the world around them fading as they shared this brief connection before he stepped out into the crisp morning air, ready to face the day ahead.