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bump1nthen1ght · 2 months ago

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Can't Judge A Book (M!Incubus x GN!Reader)

Pairing: GN!Writer!Reader x M!Pornstar!Incubus

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Modern Times, Porn With A Little Plot, Switchy vibes

Warnings: Explicit Content Ahead (18+ ONLY), Unprotected Sex (Wrap it before you tap it!)

Summary: Harley knows he's hot as hell. Literally.

He knows it's that combined with his god-like dirty talk and endless stamina that he got where he is today; One of the highest performing porn stars on the internet, his streams constantly hitting new records in terms of viewership and revenue. It's why he has no issue approaching you, the adorable stranger, at a mutual friends party. You're different, an unfamiliar face in a sea of people he knows intimately, and he's desperately curious how you ended up at a party full of pornstars. Especially when you look so...bookish. Not that it's a bad thing, of course, just unexpected.

What he doesn't know is just how full of surprises you are.

(GN!Writer!Reader x M!Pornstar!Incubus)

Word Count: 6274

For a party full of pornstars, this sure is boring.

Harley's not sure what it is about it, he’s usually the epitome of a social butterfly. Extroverted to the max, even for an incubus. His near limitless social battery is part of what makes his line of work so enjoyable; He’s always meeting new people, seeing the most intimate and hidden parts of themselves that no one else gets to see, getting to be with them more than others can. Even if he weren’t born an incubus, wasn’t literally fed by his work, he still thinks he’d be a pornstar. It’s just too much fun.

Maybe it’s the burning sun, hot enough that it sinks into his heat-resistant skin and almost has him melting into his pool floatie. The chitter-chatter of everyone else has faded to the background, his mind drifting elsewhere, the ice in his mimosa melting and making it nothing more than orange-juice water.

The party is packed with people, those who he does and doesn’t know. A mix of pornstars or sex demons or both, glisteningly beautiful and scantily clad in what barely counts as swimwear. Yet, Harley still can’t find himself interested, too relaxed on his floatie to even take a sip of his drink.

What finally draws his attention is the sound of the door slamming, the clicking of heels as the host dangerously runs past her own giant pool to greet the newcomer. It’s enough for Harley to pick up his head, finally sipping on the bendy straw and focusing his eyes to see whose come so fashionably late. Once he does, a perfectly trimmed eyebrow raises.

That’s interesting.

Now, Harley is far from one to make assumptions. He knows plenty of fellow sex demons and sex workers who, in spite of their profession, prefer to dress modestly in their day to day. But they rarely arrive to a pool party dressed in business pants and turtlenecks, even if they prefer to show less skin than most.

The host, Andronica, slams you into a hug, her ass cheeks jiggling with her razor-thin thong, practically nude as she shakes you around like an old friend. You giggle and set aside your sensible briefcase, meeting her energy back and giggling excitedly. After exchanging some words too quiet and far away for Harley to hear, you gesture your head to the bar. Andronica waves her hands as if to say “of course’ and walks off, presumably to continue her conversation with her coworkers and let you get your beverage.

Harley finds himself sitting up, the tip of his tail making mini whirlpools in the water.

Maybe this party isn’t so boring after all.

He slides off his floaty, making sure to toss his hair and pull up his swim shorts, baring a dangerous amount of his muscular thighs. Like a lot of people here, you can practically see the imprint of his cock through the black material, made all the more tantalizing by cut pelvis lines and his tree trunk thighs, adorned with black ink. Harley knows what he’s working with, and he’s planning on using it.

Even from afar and even in those stiff pants, Harley can tell you have a nice ass; Good size, nice shape, perfectly slappable. Your turtle neck is loose, but the imagination makes it all the more tantalizing. Especially when you lean over the bar to point out the kind of gin you’d like for your gin and tonic, and he gets the barest sliver of your bare back. What can he say, he does love a change of pace.

Harley tosses his hair again, letting it be perfectly bad-boy surfer fluffy, before he slides right next to you.

“Howdy.” He says, relishing the way you jerk in surprise. It’s cute, the way your hand clutches your chest.

“Oh!

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya.” Harley chuckles, his sexy chuckle that always makes people weak in the knees.

“It’s no problem. I just spent all morning at the office and I guess I’m still a little wired.” You say, huffing a laugh and quickly rebounding from your shock. Harley finds he likes the way your smile curves.

“Name’s Harley.” He holds out a hand, hoping you notice just how long and dextrous his fingers look.

You respond with your name and a firm handshake, business like, just like your attire.

“Never seen you around here before, are you a friend of Andronica’s?” Harley asks, pretending he wasn’t watching your entrance with rapt attention.

“Yes, actually we were roommates in college.” You tuck a piece of hair behind your ears. “We haven’t seen each other in a while, but I just moved back to the area so we were both psyched to see each other again” Ah, that makes sense. A school buddy, not a work buddy. “How do you know her?” Harley smirks, feathering the muscle of his jaw. He leans one of his arms up on the bar, conscious of the way it shows off his bicep and shoulder muscle.

“We’re coworkers. Never done a scene together, but a lot of mutual friends.”

Harley hates to admit it, but he expects a little blush. Maybe a stutter, or a look away. Clearly you know what she does, nor do you seem bothered by the excessive amount of nudity all around you, but Harley also knows that this line of work tends to be out of most humans' purview. So it's a surprise when you just nod, humming as if he just said that they met during pickleball.

“Cool! Do you usually do hardcore stuff, like her, or..” You trail off, eyeing the bartender making your drink.

“Uh, no, I'm kind of on the more basic side. I mean, not totally vanilla, I do some rough play, but nothing as intense as BDSM or that stuff.” Jeez, Harley might be the one blushing now. “I mostly stream, actually.”

“Ooh interesting, do you find that's easier or harder than the recorded stuff? Andronica always says she hates streaming. Doesn't like the pressure of a live audience.” The bartender slides your drink into your hand, yours sliding a nice tip her way and taking a sip.

Harely definitely didn’t expect the conversation to take this turn, but he certainly doesn’t hate it. Honestly, it's kind of refreshing having someone outside the industry to candidly talk about it.

“I prefer the live stuff actually. I’ve got a pretty solid audience, I like having immediate feedback. Plus, it's more independent so I get to play with a lot more ideas. Lot more improvisation, which has its perks.”

“Fascinating.” You take a big swig of your drink, and Harley’s surprised to see your eyes never wander. Never roll down his chest, glistening with water and sculpted like a marble statue. No, you put full and total attention to his eyes, really listening.

It’s…sort of hot.

“What do you do? You said something about an office?”

“Ahh, kind of. It was my publisher's office, I was having a meeting with my editor.” You wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. That turtleneck is not doing you any favors in this heat. “I’m an author, actually. I’m writing my next book, so kind of in crunch mode at the moment.”

“Really? Thats fucking sick.” Harley finds himself leaning in. “What kinda books do you write?”

“Erotica.”

Harley finds his eyebrows raising. Wow, you really are full of surprises.

“Really? Anything I would know?”

“Maybe, I’ve had some decently popular ones. Lets see, I know Andronica really liked Passionate Midnight, so maybe she’s talked about it. Or Sunset On The Ship, that had a pretty broad reach. Late Nights At The Office also performed pretty well-”

Your spiel is interrupted by the bartender slamming her hands down, completely disregarding her glass cleaning.

“Oh my god! You’re Jamie Devereaux?”

You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck, the hint of a blush now coloring your cheeks.

“Ah, yes, that's my pen name. You know my books?”

“Omg, I love your books!” The bartender leans down and quickly produces a well loved copy of Late Nights At The Office, full of tabs and bent pages. Harley only catches a glimpse of the cover, a dragonborn woman dressed in a pencil skirt straddling a human man, before it's flipped open and pushed in front of you. “Gods, I know this is like, so unprofessional, but could I get your autograph?”

You laugh again, a twinkling sound Harley could definitely get used to, and sign.

“It’s no problem. What's your name?”

“Emilie!” The bartender bounces up on the balls of her feet, jittering from excitement as you write a sweet message in big swooping cursive. For the first time in his life, Harley understands what it's like to feel like a side character.

“Here ya go. Happy to hear you like them so much. It means a lot.”

The bartender squees looking at her signed copy.

“The girls at the book club are gonna be so jealous. Seriously, thank you so much.” She looks down at your half-empty glass. “Let me make you another drink! G&T?”

“Perfection.” You give her a thumbs up, finally turning attention back to Harley.

“Well, it seems to me you're more than decently popular.” Harley style says, tilting his head and stepping even closer into your space. You don’t seem flustered a bit, if only from the fan interaction. You shake your hand to say “Oh, stop it.”

“Well, the fanbase is small but passionate. I’m far from famous.”

“I don’t know, something tells me I should check these books out. Sounds like the’;re pretty good.”

Your eyes sparkle, the beautiful smile curling up your face again as he mentions your work. God, Harley wonders why Andronica hasn’t made you any offers to guest star before. You have the perfect goody-two shoes look that would bounce well with her dominatrix vibe.

“Well, lemme know what you think. I’m always down for constructive criticism.” You down the rest of your drink as Emilie slides you a fresh one, giving her a silent “thank you”. “Or, y’know, heaps of praise don’t hurt either.” You wink, and Harley feels his stomach twisting up in a good way.

Oh, you were just what this party was needing.

Harley’s about to lead into another line when Andronica’s calling your name, waving you over to her big group of friends sitting by the pool. One of them holds up a book, and while Harley can’t see the cover, he’d bet good money it's another one of yours.

“Whelp, friendship duty calls.” You grab your drink and briefcase, slinging it over your shoulder. “It was very nice to meet you, Harley. See you around?”

“Sure thing. Andronica loves to throw a party.”

You chuckle.

“Don’t I know it.”

Harley is unashamed watching you walk away, letting his eyes wander down the line of your back and to that cute little ass.

Yeah, he’s definitely seeing you again

—

The rest of the party is a bust after that. Andronica’s too busy showing you off for Harley to get any time alone with you, finding himself leaving after another two hours of floating in the pool. Probably for the best anyway, he has a stream tonight and doesn’t want to be too sunbaked.

After another successful performance involving a vibrating fleshlight and plenty of “yeah, you like that?”, Harley finds himself scrolling through social media. Specifically Andronica’s social media: Specifically, her “Followed” list, desperately trying to find your account. To his glee, he finds two; both your personal account and your author account. While your personal is private, your author account has more than enough for him to obsess over.

You keep your appearances to a minimum, but you're not totally hidden away. There are plenty of pictures of you at fan meetups or book signings, a blurb of you in the back of each successful copy. You post a lot of fan submitted art and the official covers of each novel, each one different from the last. Seems you write a little bit of everything; Fluffy Slow burns, Historical drama, dark thrillers, all tied together by a healthy amount of smut. It's after two hours of scrolling that Harley finally bites the bullet and buys a copy of your last release, Forbidden Passions. The cover is what attracts him most, a curvaceous lead being bent over a desk by her chimera boss.

He learns quickly just how humbly you were acting. Holy shit, this smut was good.

If Harley was being honest, he never quite understood the appeal of written pornography. To him, his favorite parts of porn are things writing never quite grasps. The sounds, the frenetic energy of the performance, the ambiance. Yet he finds himself just as enraptured as he gets to the dirty bits of your book, practically hearing the slapping skin, the voices in the dirty talk. He feels himself getting worked up by every paragraph, every sentence, every word. Eventually, he even makes himself cum, despite spending himself pretty hard not hours before.

That night, before he goes to sleep, he slides into your DM’s, and asks if you’d like to get coffee.

—

Harley isn’t quite sure what he’s expecting from your first date. You had left him tantalized, just enough for him to crave more, yet still completely unaware of what could come next. You had already defied most of his presuppositions in your first five minute conversation.

What he definitely isn’t expecting is just how easy it is to talk to you. He tones down his pornstar charm this time, seeing his extra layer of flirtatiousness would be nothing compared to your honesty, yet still finding himself desperate for your approval. You make him laugh, he makes you laugh, and hours fly like minutes. Coffee turns into lunch, lunch turns into a walk around the city, and that turns into dinner at one of his favorite pizza places. He didn’t realize arguing with someone about video games over a $2 slice of pizza could be so intoxicating.

“I’m just saying, if we’re talking about Miyamoto’s original vision for the game, I don’t see how any other Zelda game can compare to Breathe of the Wild or Tears of The Kingdom. Like, they make all the others look like ass.” Harley says, picking at a stray peperoni from his paper plate and shoving it in his mouth, not a care for how uncouth it makes him look.

“Wow, the absolute slander spewing from your mouth right now is ridiculous.” You say, eyes wide with playful indignation. “You’re lucky you’re so handsome, Harley, or else I would not let this blasphemous speech about Ocarina of Time slide.”

“Booo. Basic.”

“It’s a classic for a reason! And what, you’re saying Wind Waker is ass?! C’mon, tell me you have better taste than that.”

The two of you spend several more hours just like that, gorging on pizza and talking each other's ears off.

It’s nice, getting to chat with someone about this. While he knows plenty of others in his field who like nerdy shit, Harley is used to being categorized as a jock. And yeah, while he enjoys basketball and baseball as much as the next guy, it's not often someone is willing to chat video games with him this passionately and for this long. His few nerd friends are more into FPS and speed strats, and while your tastes definitely veer into the more visual-novel, cozy gaming side, your love of the medium means the two of you never find a lull in your conversation.

By the time you realize it, the pizza guys are politely asking you to get the fuck out so they can close up for the night. You both leave in a blustered, embarrassed mess, still giggling into each other. Harley can’t remember the last late night he didn’t spend at a bar, or streaming, or co-oping in COD with pals. It’s…nice. You’re company.

Even nicer when you invite him back up to your apartment.

—

Your apartment’s cute, just like you. A perfectly humble size, not too small, not too big. Cozy, full of decorations and knick knacks from across the years, matched with an eclectic collage of garage sale furniture. It has all the hallmarks of your job and passion, a dedicated writing room with a large desk and minimal distractions, a magnificent bookcase that spans the entire wall of your living room, and notebooks crammed with notes and drawings at odd places all around.

Harley only has a moment to take it all in, to enjoy the peek into your life, before you yank down his fly. As cute as the apartment is, Harley thinks the sight of you on your knees is much cuter.

“Are you sure you’ve never done-” Harley lets out a breathy sigh, watching your tongue swirl around his head, “- sex work before? Because you’re sucking like a professional.”

You pop off for just a second,

“Positive.” You say with a wink, before taking him all the way to the base in one fell swoop.

“Oh, f-uck.” His fingers knot in the hair at the base of your skull on reflex, desperate for something to steady himself. Harley can feel the back of your throat against his weeping tip. And while he’s had his fair share of experienced partners, barely has anyone been able to take him this deep this fast. “That’s it. Suck it baby.”

Suck it you do. Drool and precum smacking on your lips as you move your mouth up and down, hollowing out your cheeks for maximum suction, tongue dragging along his shaft in just the right away. Harley’s knuckles turn a light pink from his clenching, nails digging into your scalp. He forces that tension to release once he realizes, understanding that not everyone enjoys the pain. But when the hand fondling his balls grabs his wrist and forces it back into place, Harley thinks otherwise. He lets out a breathless laugh. Gods, why is he even surprised by you anymore?

Harley doesn’t hold back, holds you still and stuffs your throat with his meaty dick, forces you to smell all of him, nose deep in his (neatly trimmed) pubes. Your covetous tongue flickers out, his cock deep enough that your tongue’s tip reaches his balls. Harley’s sure you can feel the blood pulsing on your palate, the veins of his shaft throbbing as he tries his best not to cum then and there. He’s supposed to be the professional here, after all.

Harley lets up on his grip when you tap his thigh, preparing for you to take a deep breath; Instead you pull your mouth to the very tip, lips wrapped tight around his frenulum, flaring your nostrils before slamming back down.

“Fuck!” Harley whines between his teeth when start bobbing your head faster, making your deep throat from before look like amateur work. You bully your own throat on his cock, let it thud against your gag with each nod of your head. Amidst it all you never lose your gaze on him, even when tears bud at the sides and drool falls down your jaw. Your nails dig half-moons into his bare thighs, helping keep your balance on your knees.

“Holy shit, babe.” Harley can barely sputter out the words between the smacking of your lips, a fuzz going over his mind. “Wanna fuck your mouth. Can I?”

A surge of pleasure goes up his spine when you nod, spreading down to his stomach when you open up your mouth and relax your jaw, losing the tight suction on his cock. Harley’s toes wiggle in the excitement, one second away from letting out a goddamn ‘yippee’.

“Tap if it's too much, okay?”

You nod in understanding, his cock head bouncing around in your mouth, though a part of him hardly thinks you need the advice. Clearly this is not your first rodeo.

Readjusting his grip on your head, He wastes no time to force his dick back down your throat, another tinge shooting up his back when he feels you gagging around the thick shaft. But no tap on his thigh yet, so he doesn’t relent, pulling back and surging in within a half second, setting a hard and fast pace, using your mouth like a fleshlight.

“S-shit, gonna make me-” Harley wheezes, biting down on his bottom lip, “-m-make me cum.” He grabs your head with his other hand, forcing you steady and thrusting his hips even harder. “I wanna cum down your throat. Want you to swallow it. Can you do that for me?” Your eyes crinkle up, a wiry smile on your lips despite the thick dick jutting in and out. You give him a nod, your lust fragrant on Harley’s tongue. You taste delicious. “So good for me.” Harley pats your cheek, his hands trembling from his focus. He can feel the knot twisting in his belly, his balls tightening as they thwap against your chin. “Fuck, h-here it comes!”

With one last yank of your head, Harley seats his cock the deepest it can go down into your mouth, jets of hot cum peppering the back of your throat and reaching all the way down to your stomach. Harley almost wishes you were a sex demon like him, if only so you could truly savor the lust he’s filling you with.

Your eyes going cross send him into aftershocks, his hips jutting up into your cheeks as the final drops of his orgasm decorate your esophagus. Fuck, he wishes he had a camera right now, wishes he could turn you into a star.

As an incubus, Harley’s lack of a true refractory period was something to be proud of. But after that even he needs a moment to breathe, falling out of your mouth and back onto your couch, chest heaving. He quickly strips off his shirt, not even in an attempt to show off his impressive chest and stomach, but to relieve the heat that steams off his skin. A blush has colored his pecs a dark purple, sweat dripping down in between the crevices of his statuesque muscles.

“Holy shit.”

He wipes off the rivulets currently sticking his hair to his forehead. His skin feels tingly when you crawl up his side, your kisses charting a path from his navel to his neck, like lightning on his nerves. You look unfairly put together, still fully dressed in your outfit from today, the only sign of debauchery being his sweat and juices decorating your lips and jaw. With a gentle nudge of two fingers you turn him to face you, meeting in a belly tingling kiss.

“How you feeling?” Your voice whispers against his lips, fingers coming up to pet at the back of his neck in a way that has him purring like a kitten.

“Great.” Harley manages to stutter out before smashing his lips back into you, a desperate attempt to reclaim the power, to guide what happens next. But deep inside, both of you know that's impossible. Still, he grabs the wrist currently tapping its fingers across his chest and guides it down to his crotch, his cock already perking back up under your attention. The blowjob may have winded him more than expected, but he was still an incubus. His hard shaft in your palm has you smirking, wiggling your shoulders in a mischievous way.

“Yeah?” You laugh, and Harley regrets the way his mouth follows yours when you pull away. If his fan base could see him now, they’d be creaming at this unusual side. Probably spamming the chat when his fangs clamp down on his bottom lip, pupils blowing out as you finally shuck off your outfit, as he finally gets a full glimpse of that beautiful body you’ve been keeping from him. You’re even hotter than he imagined.

In the next second you're on him, don’t let him even get a glimpse of your sweet hole before it’s gliding over his spit-slick shaft. You suck in your bottom lift, eyes rolling back with your grinding, feeling his girth against you. Harley lets out a shuddering breath.

“You want it?” Harley asks, not meeting your eyes, instead drawing them down your chest and across your cute nipples. He wants to pinch them, wants to bite them.

“Desperately.” You moan with another roll of your hips, goosebumps peppering his thighs at the sound. Such a nice voice. He thinks Andronica must be crazy for not inviting you to a shoot; Just one night and he was practically begging for you to be his next co-star.

“Then take it, baby. Ride me.”

He says it like one, but you both know it's not a command. It’s a desperate plea, a bratty request. The kind that has you smiling, leaning over so your chest to chest, hand curling around the back of his neck. His heart catches when your fingers dig into the baby hairs at the back of his skull and yank him backward, baring his thick throat like it's a morsel. Your teeth sink into his meaty neck, hard enough to bruise. Harley moans again, sure you can feel it rumbling through your body.

“O-oh~”

His eyes roll back as you attack the thin skin on his pulse with your mouth, forcing his shoulders to pin back with the tight grip you have on his hair. With controlled movements you sit up until his cockhead presses against your hole, guiding it with your free hand until it's perfectly lined up.

“P-please.” Harley croons, unable to be teased any longer. His balls feel like they’re about to burst. You smirk against his skin, pausing your kisses to whisper a-

“Good boy.”

Then, you’re sinking down his cock, as easily and quickly as your mouth took him earlier. Yet still you're tight, squeezing and warm. Precum drips down his head in rivulets, only easing your assent. Harley moans when your hips finally meet his, feeling his cockhead pressed as deep as it could possibly go. Fuck.

The first roll of your hips has his back arching, forcing his head deep into your grip, chasing the pain of your nails digging into his skin. The second roll has his toes curling, lewd noises crawling up his throat. The tenuous seconds once you finally pull up, let him almost fall out of you with only the tip remaining, before slamming back down, has him seeing stars. Just a couple moments, a couple moments of tantalizing teasing, to let him catch his breath. Before the real show begins.

“Aa-aah~” All Harley can do once you start riding him in earnest is cling on to your hips, fingers squishing into your love handles in an attempt of staying sane. It's a herculean effort, when you bounce so beautifully on his cock. In normal circumstances this is when he’d take control, use his superior demon strength to move you on his cock, or force you in place and make you beg for him to keep moving. Even when he thrusts upwards, flexing his glutes and pressing his cock against the sensitive spot inside, you’re still in control.

“You like that?” You pant, sweat finally starting to bead up on your skin. Your fingers had loosened in their grip, focusing your energy in throwing your hips up and down, but they yank once more when Harley tries to move. The whimper that escapes his lips is foreign to his own ears, yet so delicious. “You like being my toy? My dildo?” Your sultry voice bounces directly in his ear, his hands clawing at your thick ass, pawing and groping. You yank when he doesn't respond, the feeling shooting straight into his cock.

“Y-yes! Yes, I love it!” Harley turns and open-mouth kisses you, all desperation and craving being connected to you in every way. You chuckle into his mouth, indulging him with a french kiss, just as sloppy as the rest of him. “U-se me, use me!” Harley slurs between kisses, tongue and brain and cock far too preoccupied for his normal, controlled dirty talk.

“Hmmm, good boy.” You say, finally pulling away so only a string of saliva connects your two lips. Your fingers unwrap from his hair; but Harley doesn’t have time to complain when they draws down his chest instead, pinching one of his nipples.

“Fuck!” He whines, hips jumping again into your aching hole. You don’t reprimand him this time, rewarding his debauchery with a deliberate squeeze of your insides. “S-shit!”

You’re sitting up now, one hand still playing with his pec while the other rests on his thigh, perfectly aligning yourself so his cock goes even deeper. Your core and leg strength are impressive, perfectly balancing on his dick and still going up and down, up and down. The slapping of your two bodies, his balls hitting your ass cheeks, sticking together with sweat and bodily fluids, is a cacophony across the apartment. A part of him hopes your walls are thick, but the exhibitionist part hopes they're thin. Hopes everyone on the block can hear him and his pretty moans, hear you talking him through it.

“I’m-” Harley sucks in a breath through his teeth, “-fuck-I’m close.” He’d be embarrassed, in other circumstances, by his lack of stamina. On a normal day he can go for hours, indulging himself in orgasm after orgasm, stomach never feeling full, his balls never empty. Yet under you he finds himself on the razor’s edge, the last remnants of his mind forcing his own concentration and stopping him from blowing his load without at least proper warning.

“Hmm? That so?” You halt, his cock still pulsing inside you as you tap your chin. The whine that vibrates his cock is that of an animal. His hand squeezes your ass, trying his best to forcefully grind you on his cock. But a lightning fast slap to his wrist has him retreating, kneading at your cheeks like an apology, properly domesticated and docile. “Seems to me…” You hum, slowly rising up from your knees and letting him thwap outside of you, now nestled between your ass cheeks, “...you still have to work for it.”

With a dramatic flourish you fall to the side of him, quickly adjusting so you’re on your back; Legs wide open, hole practically begging for his cock. Your message is understood immediately, adrenaline shooting directly into his veins and making any exhaustion fall to the wayside. Harley pounces on you, meeting you in a forceful kiss, so desperate it makes you chuckle.

Despite the way you tease him, it's your gentle hand that guides his cock back to where it belongs. As aloof as you act, Harley can smell your desire, thick enough to have his forked tongue flicker out and taste in the air. So sweet, so tantalizing.

Harley can’t help the sigh once he’s back inside, the way his cock twitches with joy upon feeling your insides around him. He’s too far gone to pretend he’s not hounding for it.

“Show me what made you a star.” You purr in his ear, and if he wasn’t ready to go before, then that is what sets him over the edge.

His hands find their place back on your hips, but not just to steady himself. Now it’s to make sure you don’t wiggle away, that he has a solid grip. Because now, it’s his time to shine.

He doesn’t give you a breather as you did for him; No, he’s far too pent up for that. Besides, with the way you're looking at him he doubts you’d want it anyway.

“Aah!” You yelp when his dick first pounds against that sensitive spot, teeth clamping down on your lip hard enough to break the skin. Your hands crawl up his muscled back, struggling to find purchase on the sweaty, hard planes as he starts pounding into you like a machine. Like he was crafted just for this, which in a way, he was. “Fuck, right there!”

Normally, this is where Harley would let his mouth work his magic too. Talk you through it, whisper every dirty, unspeakable thought he’s had about you and this tight little hole. But he finds his throat dry, too focused on making you cum on his cock, on not letting himself cum before you do, to even try. All he can offer are animalistic grunts that come from a deeper, unconscious part of him. The baser, less-performative side that's only for you, not the cameras.

“Yes!” You wail, legs wrapping like a vice around his waist, forcing him even deeper inside. You can’t even cross your ankles, his muscular torso too wide, even though you try your damndest. Anything to keep him pounding at the same, delicious spot. Especially when he curls his hands under your ass and forces your body to bend, to allow him to drag against your inner walls in a way that has your vision going spotty. “Yes, yes, yes!”

The heavy breathing in your ear, the feeling of his thick body against your chest, his hair hanging like a curtain around you; All of it feels handcrafted by sex-gods themselves, specifically meant to scramble your brain until all you yearn for is one more orgasm.

Harley’s balls slap against your ass hard enough to bruise, the sharp edges of his defined stomach digging into your softer abdomen. Good, he wants you marked up, wants you to smell of him for days. Speaking of marks…

“Un–gh.” Your eyes finally clench shut, your hands finding their rightful place on Harley’s skull when he starts sucking on your neck. He doesn’t bother holding back, can feel your body reacting when his fangs nip at the sensitive skin. A primordial feeling has come over him, the need to claim you, to shape you until only his cock will fit inside you. Till the only thing you both can taste is each other.

“Wanna cum inside.” He pants directly into your ear, craving what he rarely gets to feel. While one of the few benefits of being an incubus is being unable to get STI’s, he still practices caution in every shoot, wanting to emulate something for his followers to take away. Yet still a part of him craves it, the base part that wants to see you dripping with him, walking with his seed inside you. “Can I?” You answer him with a fervent nod and another tug on his hair, pulling him into a half-moan half-kiss. The knot inside his stomach pulls even tauter, but Harley still knows it's not time just yet. He’d asked just in case, but he has one more task to complete before his dreams come true.

So the next thing you know your ankles are up by your head, Harley pulling away from the drooling kiss to put all his energy into the mating press, his cock practically carving a hole into your gut. All your nerves light up, ablaze with too much sensation, and you can see your toes start curling mid-air.

“Fuck-I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me, baby. C’mon.” Harley’s nostrils flare, eyes bloodshot as he fights with all his might not to cum before you do. Even when you make that beautiful face, when your body wracks with pleasure and squeezes around him.

“Fuck!” You both scream at the same time, bodies pulsing with energy as Harley shoots you full of his cum and your whole milks him for all that it's worth. With a final few pumps of his hips he rides out the climax, overstimulating your poor entrance as he makes sure every last drop stays deep inside you.

Harley can’t remember the last time he was this exhausted, this full. His belly pooches out with the glut of pleasure in his stomach, his mind feeling hazy as he collapses back onto you. All his finely formed muscles, crafted from hours at the gym and a strict routine, do nothing to hold him up against this exhaustion, even as he clings to the arm of your sofa. The one comfort he has is that you’re just as exhausted, sweat slicking your entire body, your poor human heart pounding like a bass drum against his chest.

“Oh-” Harley sighs, face deep in your neck, no doubt leaving sweat stains on your sofa, “-my god.”

Your laugh, the beautiful, twinkling one, bounces off his ears. Your hands card through his long, sweaty tresses, your grip much more gentle than before.

“I know.” You sigh, kissing his temple.

The two of you stay like that, interlocked, for a while. It takes several minutes for your muscles to bounce back, for the dehydration to kick in and finally force you two apart. Harley doesn’t think he’s missed anything more than when his cock falls out of you.

“I’ve got-” You wheeze, just the act of sitting up taking out your miniscule energy, “-I’ve got lemonade.”

“Fuck yeah.” Harley says, giving a thumbs up. It has you giggling again, kissing his outstretched palm.

“Does that mean you want a glass?”

Harley just nods, face now pressed down into your stomach. You laugh, and move to stand up. Harley's arms wrap around your legs.

“I’ve gotta get up to get the lemonade, dork.” You pat his head, and with a dramatic groan, Harley lets you leave him. Though not without tilting his head, watching that cute little ass sway as you head towards your tiny apartment kitchen.

Fuck, he thinks he might be in love.

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #x reader #gender neutral reader #incubus #incubi #experienced reader #switch #msub #mdom #monster fucker

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bump1nthen1ght · 3 months ago

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It's Just In My Nature (F!Reader x F!Werewolf)

Pairing: F!Reader x F!Werewolf

Genre: Human/Monster Society, Gratuitous Smut, Inspired by Chappell Roan's "The Giver" (if that wasn't obvious)

Warnings: Explicit Content Under the Cut, 18+ ONLY

Summary: Ain't got antlers on my walls But I sure know mating calls From the stalls in the bars on a Friday night And other boys may need a map But I can close my eyes And have you wrapped around my fingers like that

(AKA you get your world rocked by a hot werewolf handywoman)

Word Count: 3281 words

She’s trouble, that's the first thought you have when you see her.

It’s nothing about her personally. Your first impression isn’t nasty, not even a real impression; Just catching a glimpse of her in your neighbor's driveway, coveralls stained with grease as she looks under his mustang’s hood. A local handywoman. From pipes to engines, she’s the one to call. You’ve heard good things, commendations on her reasonable prices and her good sense. Sort of crass, but it's to be expected, a stereotype about the folks in her line of work.

No, it’s the way her shoulders bulge in the stained wife beater, glistening with sweat and muscles as she leans down to grab her tools. It's the way you see a peak of her stomach, when she raises her arms to wipe the drops off her forehead, a glimpse of a treasure trail leading straight down into her half-zipped coveralls. It’s a sweltering day, humid and miserable, it makes sense she’d strip it down halfway. But it's dangerous the way her lips wrap around her water bottle, the way her throat bobs as she sucks it down. It's dangerous the way she catches you, starting from over your coffee cup. Dangerous the way she holds up her hand, a wordless greeting, and winks.

Your heart pounds in your chest and you can hear the blood pulsing in your ears. Eyes wander down her form, down her spine and all the way to her paint-splattered steel-toe boots. They linger on her backside, too thick to be covered up by fabric. It twists your stomach, has your mouth going dry.

Yep, big trouble indeed.

You know she’s strong, it comes from her family. A big pack of werewolves, settled all over your small little town. Hardworking and dependable just like her, bastions of the community. Good stock, friendly, the kind of friends you need in a tight-knit community. You can spot them at most of the usual haunts, at almost every corner there’s an O’Connell. It’s no surprise when you bump into her at the one bar in town, still in work wear. Not her coveralls (unfortunately) but something equally as tasty; A stained flannel and solid work pants, the same set of steel-toed boots on her feet.

“Can I buy ya something?” She offers, and you're not strong enough to say no. You’re sure she gets around, sweeps sweet little things like you off their feet with a single slip of her southern drawl. It doesn’t matter to you, though, not when her hands find their way around your waist, sliding into the seat next to you at the bar. “What’s your poison?” You babble out your order and your heart flutters when she smirks. “Something sweet for something sweet.”

She asks your name, says she’s seen you around. The cute little house with the blue door, right? Always fluttering too and fro during the week, working on your humble garden out front during the weekends. Sje’d never plucked up the courage to say hi until now, which has you blushing, even though you're sure it's not true. She probably says that to all the girls, yet you’re swooning self can’t find it in yourself to care.

She asks about your job, curious where you run off to in the early mornings during the week. When you tell her you’re a lawyer, she whistles.

“Damn, smart and sexy? Darling, what don’t you got?” Your hearts sings under the praises, bashfully takes it without complaint. Not as exciting as big city lawyers, you admit, mostly dealing with property disputes and other legalese like that. “Still, gotta take up a lot of your time, negotiating and reading all them contracts. You ever need help with that old house of yours, just lemme know.” You can feel her calloused hands through your pants, her grip warm as she pats you right on the knee. It hits a certain nerve that shoots right up into your belly, scrambles your brain and shoots out any good sense.

You’re not the type to go home with strangers. But is she really a stranger, when she grabs your hips and pulls you in close on the dance floor, whispering filthy things in your ears? When those lips, the ones you saw sucking on that water bottle, just graze yours? When you practically taste the salt on her skin, still sweaty from a day's worth of work?

No, she isn’t strange to you at all. So you have no problem hopping into her pick-up truck, or spreading your legs when she places a warm hand on your inner thigh, the other still on the wheel.

Her place is small, a rough and tumble trailer in a park not too far from your neighborhood. She’s got a few garden beds of her own, small and humble, and you wonder if that's what first drew her to you. This miniscule thing in common, working with your hands when you can. You’ll ask her about it later, after.

Her skin is burning, trembling as you push up her shirt, feeling the soft plains of her stomach. She growls into your hasty kiss, grips harder onto your waist.

“Shit, d-don’t think I can hold it back.” Her laugh is cracked by a chest-deep groan, her bottom lip worried between her teeth. “Do you mind?”

You shake your head in a haste, stomach twisting at the very idea of seeing her shifted form. She smiles, gives you another wet kiss before pulling away, shaking off her shirt and pants in a haste. Her bones begin to crack, a startling sound, but it doesn’t seem to hurt. No, it seems like a release, the fur cascading down her skin as her body changes, grows bigger, grows stronger.

The minute she’s comfortable, you leap on her. It makes her chuckle again, big paws now landing on your ass, squeezing.

“Like what ya see?” She says, scooping you up right onto her forearm, your weight nothing to her superior strength. Your legs instinctually wrap around her hips, grind like the animal you are. But it's stopped when she throws you on her bed, springs squeaking as she pounces on you.

Her fur is soft, knots easily in between your fingers as she kisses down your face, your neck, your chest. Canines nip at your tits from behind your shirt, quickly pushes up so she can lick down your stomach. You wiggle compliantly once she undoes your zipper, hips thrown up to get these damn pants off as quickly as possible. You’d be embarrassed by your lack of sexy underwear, not planning on something so sexy when you stopped by the bar after work, if not for the fact she literally tears them off.

“Well well, look at you.” She purrs, thumb and forefinger spreading apart your pussy lips. You gasp, hands curling into knuckles when her hot breath blows across your sensitive entrance. “That's a mighty fine cunt, missy.”

She doesn’t give you a moment to be embarrassed by the crass observation before her tongue is on you. It licks a long stripe up your hole, the rough texture shooting sparks across your nervous system, her nose snuggling into your clit. Your head throws back, nearly hitting the cheap metal bed frame, a moan ripping out from your throat. Her ears flick when your thighs clamp around your head, and you can feel her smirking. She doesn’t stop to comment, solely focused on that mighty fine cunt and making it weep.

Her tongue is long, just as deft as her hard-working fingers, writhing against your gummy walls. She easily finds that spongy spot inside with the tip, the muscle of her jaw feathering across as she presses against your insides. Her nostrils flare, soaking in the scent of your juices, lapping at you like a dog. She’s making your whole lower half tingle, but the rubbing against your clit isn’t quite enough, now flush with blood and throbbing for more. Not until a paw pad replaces it, her rough thumb making slow circles around the sensitive button.

“Oh god!” Your fingers tangle in the fur on her head, knuckles taut against the skin, rolling your hips onto her face. She shudders as you yank, too lost to be ashamed of your desperation. It's just how she wants you, writhing and fervent. The sounds coming from her lips on your pussy squelch inside her cheap trailer, practically bouncing across the walls. It matches the squeaking of the bed springs as she ruts her hips, soaking the crotch of her boyshorts. Gosh, if she had known you’d make such pretty noises, she would have approached you sooner. Would have bent you over in that garden and made you sing.

Her coordination is expert, thumb never faltering on your clit as her tongue fucks you open. It keeps a steady pace; Never too hard, never too fast, simply riding the wave of your reactions. At one point the two appendages switch, her tongue moving upward and her fingers sliding in to fill its place. Her tongue flicks like a professional, making your mouth form a breathless ‘o’ as even moaning becomes out of your reach. Lips wrapped around your clit, the tip of her tongue just teases your entrance as her fingers scissor outward. Your juices drip down her palm, already matting down the fur on her face and staining the bed sheets. She barely has to move her fingers, thrusting them only an inch before your spasming.

It's impressive how expertly she navigates your own pussy. You don’t think you’ve ever brought yourself so close to cumming this fast, even with your favorite vibrator. It's like she knows it better than you do, knowing each nerve to press, when to go fast, when to go slow, when to go hard and when to be soft. Your orgasm hits like a thundercrack, not even giving you a moment to say “I’m-” before it shocks through you. But she knows, she knows immediately, when your whole body convulses, pelvis thrown up in the air and squealing like a stuck pig.

“That’s it.” She nips at your thigh, a smarmy smirk in her voice. “There’s my pretty girl.” She admires her handiwork, spreading open your gushing lips with two fingers. God, you might be dehydrated from how much you just came, the dim lighting of her trailer making everything seem blurry. You can barely make out her face when she climbs up on top of you, leaning in her so her snout is right next to your ear. “Think you can give me one more, princess?” She whispers, and your head is nodding before your better sense can say no. You would do dangerous things to experience that again.

She jumps off you with a grin, shimmying off her underwear as she rummages around her room for something. You’re too tired from the mind-blowing orgasm to sit up, so your head just swivels, barely making out what she’s fiddling with. It isn’t till she’s back on you when you can feel strap-on tapping against your stomach that you realize. Your pussy clenches around nothing, already aching for it.

You let your legs fall open, no words needed as she lines her strap up with your hole. Her warm paws grab onto onto your thick thighs as she slides in, meeting no resistance from your wet and eager cunt.

“Say my name.” She growls, lips curling back to reveal her canines. How badly you wish she’d dig them into you. When you don’t immediately respond, still catching a breath as the toy sinks inside, she slaps the side of your ass.

“Jo-anna!” You yelp, head turn back as the final inch fits, the tip now pressing right at your cervix. You didn’t think you could take something this big.

That snarl twists into a smug smile, only widening when a jerk of her hips makes you squeak. She chuckles, and it sounds exactly like trouble.

“Thatta girl.”

Joanna pulls her strap out to the end, not giving you a moment to complain before forcing it back, the tip bullying at your deepest part. From there she sets a punishing pace, puts those working woman muscles to work and fucking you like its her job. If only there were a mirror in here, so you can see her fine ass clench with each thrust.

“Yeah, take it.” Her voice rumbles, claws digging into the fat of your thighs for more leverage, though not enough to sting. Even now she’s in perfect control, working your body like a fiddle being tuned. She has you clawing at the bedsheets, no shame in your dirty moans. You don;t care that her trailer walls do nothing to suppress the noise, that everyone within a three mile radius can hear your caterwauling. Not when it feels this good.

“Fu-uck!” You pant, heart damn-near pounding out of your chest. Each thundering pound against your g-spot has your vision going spotty, has your brain turning to mush. Tingles buzz across your skin with each drag of the strap, like every cell has been set aflame. Your legs try to clench shut, to wrap around her hips and writhe against the toy, but she keeps them wide with pinches of her claws, her own muscled thighs filling up the space, working hard to batter at your spongy insides. “Right there! Right there!”

“I hear ya, baby.” Joanna leans a hand forward to grip onto the cheap bed frame, extra leverage allowing her to go even harder on the spot making you see stars, pinpointed on that nebulous “there” you described. “I’ve gotcha, gonna make you feel real good.”

She loves watching your tits bounce, the hard peaks pushing through your cute little blouse. So formal, what she expected from her little lawyer. All of this and she still hasn’t gotten a proper view of them tits, she should fix that.

With one hand she’s able to deftly undo all the needed buttons, never faltering in her rhythm. Your bra is cute, like you, but the real prize is underneath, so it's shoved down below your full breasts so she can get a proper look.

“Love these fucking tits.” Joanna pants, leaning down and swirling her tongue around one. You wail, chest pressing up and into her mouth. She pops off your nipple and smiles. “Been waiting to see these pretty things. Knew they’d be just so tasty.” She latches onto the other, letting the teeth just graze the sensitive skin. Your fingers quickly knot into the back of her skull, forcing her face to nuzzle in your cleavage. A purr rumbles through her.

Ahh, this is where she’s meant to be. Buried between your thighs, lips on your nipples, hearing your heartbeat out of your ribcage. She’s been needin’ this.

“Shit, Jo!” Your fingers yank on her skull, but she doesn’t give you any reprieve, still swirling her tongue around your areola. “Gonna cum again!” You pant in her ear, as if she doesn;t’ already know. As if she doesn’t feel your legs starting to shake, smells your pussy juices just gushing around her strap.

Joanna finally detaches from your chest, a long string of saliva still connecting her tongue to your boob. She leans in close, so her nose is touching yours.

“Then cum for me, baby. Give mama one more.”

“Oh, Fuck!”

Your nails dig down her back, giving Joanna’s claws a run for their money, no doubt leaving long tracks that’ll linger in her human form. Not that she minds, they’re just badges of honor, signs of a job well done.

Your thighs lock around her hips, hips rocking as you ride out your second orgasm of the night, somehow more mindblowing the last. You’re surprised you still have enough energy to clench your legs, all energy sapped from your body. You feel beads of sweat rolling down the side of your face, sticking your cheeks to the pillowcase. It’s cool against your heated skin, which is so burning hot the fabric might as well be a bag of ice.

“Shit.” You wheeze, vocal cords strained, mouth feeling cottony from all your yelling. “That was….” You struggle to form the words, both from the puddle your brain has become and just how indescribable the last hour has been, “....fucking incredible.”

“Well, aint you a flatterer.” Joanna kisses the side of your forehead, right before finally pulling her strap out of you. Your pussy feels thoroughly stretched, and while you know that's not at all how your anatomy works, you genuinely feel like it's been molded to the shape of the dildo.

“Seriously, that was-” Your breath catches, mind still fuzz, “-I think that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Joanna chuckles, but doesn’t deny the compliment. She definitely knows what she’s got going on.

“Lemme get you some water, sugar.” Joanna says, giving you another kiss before sliding out from between your legs. Her strap is quickly stripped off and put to the side, leaving her in the nude. Your lazy gaze admires her ass jiggling as she walks. It looks even better now than in her working uniform. Her tail swings lazily behind, looking temptingly soft to the touch.

It takes all you can to sit up and gulp down the water, your nervous system finally rebooting and firing the correct orders to your muscle groups. The hydration is exactly what you need, luke-warm tap never tasting more delicious.

“Slow down, don’t want you to choke.” Joanna laughs as she pulls the cup away, watches your mouth follow it,despite the drops coming down your jaw. She takes a long sip herself, finishing off the cup with a content sigh.

It didn’t seem like it in the moment, with how effortlessly she moved, but fucking you must’ve been a work out. Sweat clings to her fur, sticks it closer to her skin, and while she doesn’t seem too out of breath, her chest is inhaling a little deeper.

The realization gives you another boost, has you sitting up more and leaning into her space. Pressing a soft kiss onto her shoulder, you look up at her with (what you hope are) proper bedroom eyes.

“I wanna make you feel good, Jo.”

She raises one brow, a hint of that smug smile back.

“Yeah?” Her heated gaze rolls down your debauched self: bra pushed down, shirt-hall unbuttoned, bottom half bare as the day you were born. You may not be much of a vixen as she, but you know a thing or two about seduction.

Before you know it you’re on your back, Joanna’s arms wrapped around your waist. But she doesn’t have that hungry look in her eyes, her gaze softer. You both lay side by side, her big paws brushing away the wayward hairs that cling to your sweaty forehead.

“Maybe in the morning, sugar. For now, all I wanna do is hold ya.”

Your brows slightly raise, but you don’t push the subject. While you’d gladly try to bring her to the highs she just brought you too (or at least attempt to), you're more than content snuggling into her strong chest and sleeping the rest of the night away.

No doubt you’ll wake up with dry mouths, sticking to the sheets and smelling like something left out in the sun for far too long. But neither of you will care, too wrapped up in each other to think about anything else.

You had thought she’d be trouble. As it turns out, you don’t mind a little bit of trouble, now and then.

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #female reader insert #x reader #werewolf x reader #wlw smut #smut #monster fucker

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bump1nthen1ght · 3 months ago

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Attention To Detail Part Two (M!Demon x M!Cosplayer!Reader)

Pairing: Male!Demon x Male!Cosplayer!Reader

Genre: Fluff to Smut, Chance Meetings, Porn with a little Plot

Chapter Summary: After your mysterious meeting that halloween and fruitless searching, you'd accepted that you would probably never meet that handsome cosplayer again. Left with only a fake name and a costume, Galvith might as well have not existed at all. Little did you know, all it takes is another party and another costume to draw you two back together.

Warnings: Explicit Content Under the Cut (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 3869 words

Part 1

A/N: The long awaited part two is here! I originally didn't have plans to continue this piece, content with where it left off. But given how much people enjoyed the first part, I found myself occasionally coming back to this concept and wondering where to go next. I probably started and stopped this second time almost ten times, never happy with how it was coming out. But after a sudden bout of inspiration I found myself outlining this and writing it all in a weeks time. Given my usual writing schedule, that's lightning fast lol. Hope y'all enjoy! Now, on to the shameless smut <3

God, my head hurts.

It’s a common thought one has in a nightclub. Pounding music, screaming people, flashing lights; The perfect recipe for a sensory nightmare. Combine that with sweat slowly dehydrating you, the slight buzz from the jello shots you threw back with friends, it's no wonder your head throbs. It's the one time you regret going hard for your costume, even if it's quickly swept away by your artistic pride. From the glimpses you get from the grungy, paint splattered mirrors littering this too-cramped club’s walls, you can tell you look good.

Your and your friends had decided to go as a group of angels, with very different final results. Some had gone with typical halloween angels, simple white clothes and wings and a halo. Others had gone farther out and went as Victoria Secret Angels, with fancy lingeries and flared shoulder pieces, evoking wings rather than having them outright. You met it somewhere in the middle: More costume-like than the Victoria Secret ones, but more slutty than the halloween ones. Your white toga was scandalously short, almost sweated through amongst all the dancing, but luckily you're body paint hadn’t smudged, the several faux eyes decorating your neck and collarbone still in detail enough to be recognized. But the real centerpiece was the headband, dedicatedly held in place by several bobby pins digging into your scalp, luckily still holding many of its intricate details You definitely went overboard with the thing, an uncomfortable weight amidst the thrashing of bodies. But you can’t regret wearing it, the fine detail on the wings and the gold accessories really pulling your outfit together. Without it you just look like a slutty roman gladiator, with it you resembled more the slutty “biblically accurate angel” that had inspired your look. The pictures from tonight were gonna look awesome.

The setting has you whole group feeling themselves, bumping and grinding both with each other and total strangers. The energy of the costume-night is electric, the comfortableness of their masks letting everyone run wild. It’s part of why you don’t shy away when a big pair of hands finds it way on your hips, denim pressing against your barely-clad backside. You revel in the breath that brushes across the back of your neck, the stranger so tall they have to bend around your headband to whisper into your ear.

“Posing as an angel, my incubus? How naughty.” The voice purrs, finally stopping you in your tracks.

No fucking way.

You whip around, heart pounding as your thoughts are confirmed, dark purple skin and bright yellow eyes.

“Galvith!” You squeal, almost drowned out by the pounding bass. You're quick to throw your arms around his shoulders, sink into his grip just like that fateful night those months ago. “Holy shit! I didn’t think you were still in town!”

You had been almost convinced he was a dream, if not for the several party-goers that corroborated the story of you making out with him on the dance floor. But none could confirm who he was, or even what his real name was. You had damn-near interrogated everyone in your friend group and beyond who had been there, even searched some niche roleplay websites with the name he had given you, and nothing. It had bummed you out immensely, chasing similar sensations with others in clubs not unlike this one, wondering if maybe you had unlocked a new part of yourself. But nothing compared to him, to that one night you almost spent together.

“I came back for you, sweetling. Just like I said I would.” Somehow that low voice of his cuts through the music, resonates straight into your ears. You melt under the attention, the way his eyes roll down your body making your skin burn.

“H-how’d you find me?” You ask, wondering if he had done the same thing as you, had searched for weeks, looking for his ‘little incubus.’

Galvith laughs, leaning into your cheek and sniffing.

“I followed that enticing little scent,” Galvith leans down and nips at the bottom of your earlobe, an electric shock running down your spine, “-I could never forget it.”

Galvith wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in, all questions thrown from your mind as he grinds a sizable bulge against your crotch. Even from behind denim you can feel it pulsing, can feel a tent pitch under your toga. God, you hope your friends are distracted with partners of their own, because the way you're throwing yourself at him right now is shameful.

“I-” your voice catches as Galvith writhes his hips in a circle, robbing you of sensible speech for a second, “-I couldn’t forget you either.” You bat your eyelashes, try to embody the sultry incubus you were that night, the confidence that had been instilled in you. It had carried in the days afterward, had inspired the very costume you’re wearing, and you refuse to let it falter now that he’s back.

Galvith’s smile widens, those familiar costume fangs looking extra sharp tonight. Goosebumps pepper down your arms when his calloused hand runs across the exposed skin of your thigh. It finds its place right below your ass, fingers reaching under the fabric and squeezing. You swoon then and there, knees knocking together. It’s all on Galvith to hold you up, keep you pressed together, chest to chest. He leans in close, your noses touching.

“I didn’t get to finish what I started last time.” A long tongue, pierced, flicks out and wets his lips. “Let's fix that.”

—

Last year, you’d never have done this.

You were barely a club person already, the aforementioned suffocating noise and cramp of people only tolerable with the right group of friends and at max 3 times a year. Even tonight, the appeal of costumes had been the biggest draw. Yet here you are, making out with a man you’ve met twice, pressed as close as you can in this stuffy supplies closet. Here the bass barely penetrates, only the gentle murmur of people and the far away beats of the music. The only thing you can focus on is the smacking of lips, of your heavy breaths as Galvith steals the air right out of your lungs.

You two grind on each other like teenagers, like the only time you have must be spent in each other's skin, savoring all the affection you can give one another. Your cock aches, harder than it's ever been, a deep ache settling in your stomach. So horny you don’t even care how gross this closet is, how many people were probably here before, doing the exact same thing.

“Always dressed so tempting, my little artist.” Galvith says in between sloppy kisses, “I must admit, I think this outfit might be my favorite.” He punctuates with another squeeze to your ass, toga hiked up over your hips, revealing your white boxers. Just as angelic as the rest of you.

“I thrifted it.” You pant, envious of how composed Galvith sounds compared to your quivering voice. “Five bucks.”

Galvith chuckles, a low sound that only tightens the knot in your abdomen. His lips graze yours, your breaths mingling.

“And this?” He flicks one of the many ornaments from your headband, still tucked in place on your head. You hesitate to take it off, not wanting to risk it being crushed or lost amidst your writhing bodies. Not to mention that with the amount of pins keeping it in place, removing it would take away precious time from making out. “It has your artistic flair, such elegant details.” The praise rolls down your spine like a drug, setting your senses tingling. “Though I do prefer you in more….demonic settings, dearest.”

One of Galvith’s hands knots on the base of your skull, yanks you into another kiss. His hips move rhythmically, your hands fumbling for his fly. You need him, you need him so bad.

“Ah, so desperate, sweet thing.” Galvith says, deftly undoing what your fumbling hands cannot. His bulge practically bursts from behind the zipper, cock almost see through against his black boxer briefs. The sight has your mouth watering, but before you can drop to your knees like a true incubus, Galvith reaches up your toga and wrenches down your underwear, the fabric stretching around your thighs as your hard cock thwaps against your stomach. You hardly have time to moan before Galvith is palming your balls, his long fingers nearly reaching your asshole. With a shuddering gasp you fall into his grip, his thumb now fondling your sack and squeezing.

“F-fuck.” Your voice trembles, a pitiful whine coming from your chest when his hand leave you, even if just to hawk a glob of spit into it. The seconds feel too long, hips jumping to try and force your cock back in his hand, finally rewarded with his now slick grip wrapping around your shaft.

“You like that?” Galvith purrs, the voice of someone who knows you do. “So hot, incubus, I can feel your blood pulsing.”

Galvith’s movements are slow as he glides up your cock, squeezing extra around reaches your head and rubbing his thumb along your slit. Gooey tracks of your precum follow it, connecting to his thumb pad like a spider’s web. The sounds it makes are sticky, the tell-tale slap as he jerks his hand back down ricocheting across your stomach like a thunder crack. “Ah!” Your teeth bite down on your bottom lip as Galvith starts moving faster, but not nearly fast enough. He seems to relish in the teasing, nostrils flaring as he looks down at you from under his eyelashes, tongue flitting out to rub across his lips.

Pre-cum gushes over the small hole of his fist, splattering across the sides of his fingers. With what little coordination you have left, quickly leaving with each jerk of your cock, your fumbling hands reach for his own bulge. Palming it through the fabric, Galvith growls. What feels like hot steam blows out of his flared nostrils, his wrists speeding up, a little caught off guard.

Your fingers splay across his bulge, feeling for the head, a stain forming on the black fabric. You barely have a grip around it before Galvith is wrenching his hand off your cock and spinning you around, free hand pressing into your lower back and making it arch. He lets out another snarling breath against the back of your neck, the sound of shuffling fabric being pushed down to release his cock. You try to crane your neck back to see, so desperate to place an image to the monster you felt, but Galvith’s body quickly pins you against the closet wall, sweat making your cheek stick to the cool concrete.

“I fucking need you.” Galvith ends with a nip to your shoulder, his hot and thick cockhead pressing against your asshole. A shiver rolls down your spine, toes curling at just the anticipation.

“Then t-take me.” You pant, proud you’re still able to come up with dirty talk in your state.

A purr rumbles from Galvith’s chest. He pulls back a little bit just to spit some more, this time on your tight hole, spreading open your ass cheeks like it’s a birthday present. It tingles in a way you didn’t think possible, something akin to the numbing cream you’d get at the doctor’s. Once it’s been thoroughly rubbed in, Galvith leans closer and you both finally get what you’ve been craving for months.

When Galvith slips into you, all feels right in the world. You melt into his arms, cock bouncing against your stomach, his hot breath blowing past your cheeks as he sighs. Your knees begin to shake, but before they can collapse underneath you Galvith is holding onto your waist, hoisting you up and deeper onto his cock. With a squeaking voice, you yelp a debaucherous “fu-uck~” as his cock-head brushes against your prostate. So quick and so deep, yet you're already fiending for more. With the little ability you have left you try to roll your pelvis back, grinding on his girth. “P-please.” Your wanton voice moans, and Galvith doesn’t bother teasing you any longer.

“How could I say no?”

With that last playful remark, Galvith starts pistoning his hips like an machine, his body an engine sculpted just for fucking your brains out. Your head throws back, his face nuzzling into the side of your neck, fangs grazing against your pulse. He doesn’t seem to mind your extravagant headband, easily craning his neck around it, sweetly considerate of your hard-made art piece. God, could he get any hotter?

It doesn’t cross your mind the impossibleness of this current scenario. Galvith had felt massive in your palm, bigger than anything you had taken before, and despite your horniness you were only human, with human limitations. But the way his cock drags along your insides has you quickly forgetting such things, has you waving away the way his spit makes every muscle relax, becoming moldable putty against his molten skin. How each hit against your prostate has you seeing literal stars. Who cares that it doesn’t make sense, that you should be absolutely torn from taking this monster with so little prep, it feels too goddamn good.

Your bodies become one, a set of writhing heat and fluids as Galvith fucks you hard and fast. You never thought you were one for rough play, used to the slow and loving pace of ex-boyfriends. Not that Galvith isn’t affectionate, with his arm wrapped around your waist and his chest pressed against your back, whispering dirty praise into your ear.

“Feel so fucking good, human.” Galvith pants, though hardly from exertion, the way he’s manipulating your body absolutely effortless. “Knew you would. Could taste it.” A long tongue flicks out and licks your cheek. The delirium has you ignoring the strange texture, the way it oddly splits at the end. “I thought of you every night. All the different ways I’d ravage my naughty little incubus.” His balls slap against your ass cheeks, heavy and full. Even with the pounding bass suffocating the dancefloor, it wouldn’t surprise you if people could hear the plaps of of your two bodies meeting. A moan claws it way out of your throat when Galvith’s free hand wraps around your cock, still slick with his spit and jerking you off as furiously as he fucks you. “I bet you look so cute when you come, sweetling. So sweet for me.” A possessive snarl lingers in Galvith’s voice, manifests in a sucking kiss to your neck, no doubt leaving a sizeable hickey. All you can do under this assault is nod and babble, drool already slipping down your jaw.

It’s unfair how coordinated Galvith is, perfectly matching the pace of his hand and his cock, leaving you not even a moment to breathe. When his thumb is rubbing across your head his own pounds against your prostate, the world going white for seconds at a time, your brain too overwhelmed by stimulus to even try to make sense of it. When his palm reaches down to fondle your balls his shaft is pulsing against your insides, dragging out inch by inch and making you crave the fullness again.

The two of you meet halfway in a wet, drooling kiss. You hardly put in any effort, your mouth just another hole for Galvith to fuck open with his tongue, too fucked-out to even try and match his skill. He doesn’t seem to mind, moaning and cock twitching within you.

“G-onna cum.” You delirious voice slurs, eyes rolling back into your head, balls feeling taut. Your stomach rolls in on itself, your toes curling into the grimy club closet floor. It feels better than it ever has before, this rolling wave coming over you. Jesus, you think you might cum buckets.

“M-me too.” Galvith stutters, the first sign of strain in his voice. Sweat drips down his brow and onto your cheek, his tongue quickly lapping it up. “Want me to fill you up, my little artist. Wanna walk out here with my cum dripping down your ass?”

“Uh-huh!” You moan, that tidal wave growing bigger and bigger. “Pl-please!”

“Yes.” Galvith’s voice hits an octave so deep you're sure only dogs can fully hear it. It’s the final straw that breaks the camel's back, a simple word that has you tumbling over the edge.

“Ah!”

“Unngh!”

Several jets of hot cum shoot jets into your asshole, quickly filling it to the very brim. Gushes of it leak out from the sides, despite the tight seal Galvith;s thick cock makes. You're thankful that you’re wearing white, because your own orgasm has you creaming all across the front of your toga, streams stretching high enough to hit your navel.

Like you, it takes Galvith several breaths to come back to himself, his sweaty forehead laying slumped over your shoulders. It’s a relief, knowing he’s as properly destroyed as you are. Makes you feel less like a wimp. Even as he pulls out, thick gooey strings falling down your thighs, you can tell he struggles holding himself up.

“Holy Fuck.” Your voice comes out in a wheeze, head hanging low as your forearms rest against the wall. Your knees knock together, legs muscle shaking and barely holding up your weight. You've heard the term “getting your back blown out” before, but you don’t think you’ve ever experienced it so literally. Damn, you think your dancing for tonight is done.

Galvith gracefully pulls you upright, supporting your weight until you fully settle back on the balls of your feet. His chuckle is playful when your head rests against this broad chest, falling easily back into his arms.

“I think I agree with that sentiment, human, even though it’s ‘holy’.”

Your own laugh is weak, throat straining from the lack of water and all the moaning. Seriously, you feel like you just ran a marathon. Patting Galvith’s hand, you turn around in his grip, meeting him in a slower, softer kiss than before.

“Was it everything you imagined?” you whisper into his lips.

“And more.” His voice rolls down your body like a drug, has you giggling like a schoolgirl and meeting in another kiss.

Still reeling from your orgasm yet you can’t help but get lost in Galvith’s lips, curling your arms around his neck. Fuck dancing, this is how you want to spend the rest of your night.

Then Galvith’s phone goes off.

Long nails dig into your lower back, Galvith’s growl primal as he forces himself away from your lips.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He curses as hastily pulls his pants back up, reaching for his phone in the back pocket, face curled into that angry expression the same as the first night. It's not a phone call this time but a text, the light shining on Galvith’s twisting face only getting angrier.

“Fucking idiots.” Galvith says the word like a curse, practically spitting with vitriol. Once again, you’re happy not to be the person on the side of this text message.

“Gotta go?” You say, almost ashamed of the clear disappointment in your voice.

You know you shouldn’t get attached, know that this kind of kismet rarely actually leads to something serious. That as much as you’ve been craving him, longing for him, the two of you have barely shared two nights with each other, and it shouldn’t hurt this much to see him go.

I don’t even know his real name.

It doesn’t stop the deep feeling in your gut, the palpable taste for more. Mind blowing sex, aside you really like Galvith. Even outside of your sexy fantasies and dreams about him, you also dreamed about getting to know him more. More on his hobbies, his day-to-day, this mysterious job that always seemed to be on his ass. Maybe it's foolish, but a part of you dreamed of this really going somewhere.

Galviths brow furrows even deeper, vein bulging in his forehead as his eyes scan the text.

“Yes.” he seethes, but you know it's not directed at you. It's sort of flattering, knowing he longs to stay with you as much as you do with him. “Some people cannot be left to their own devices. Satan below, I didn’t realize demons could be this incompetent.”

You chuckle; Even now he commits to the bit. Some may have found it dorky, maybe even cringe, but you find it charming. We all need some escape now and then, don’t we?

“I get it.” You say, trying to mask the wobble in your voice. “Some coworkers suck ass.”

“They probably couldn’t even do that correctly. Bumbling fools.” Galvith shakes his head, shoving his phone back in his pocket, redirecting a softer look towards you. It stirs the butterflies in your stomach, has you looking down before Galvith is tilting up your chin. This kiss is soft, almost angelic.

“I hate to leave you soon, human. Trust me, if it was up to my own desires, we’d spend the rest of the night in this closet.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” And you do, sadly enough. Life’s a bitch that way. “Before you go, could I get your number?” Your tongue flits out, wetting your bottom lip. This man just rocked your fucking world, and yet you feel shy asking for his digits. Damnit, you really are a nerd. “That way, whenever you’re free we could…meet up again.”

Just like that, the anger stirring up Galvith’s face is gone. It’s replaced by a wide smile, showing off those fangs he's oh so proud of.

Wow, the color even matches the rest of his teeth to T. He seriously has to let me know where he gets his prosthetics.

“That sounds perfect.”

In a quick move, Galvith flicks out a business card, as if he pulled it from thin air itself, slipping into the palm of your hand.

“Call or text me anytime, sweetling.” He brushes his thumb across your lip. “I’ll always make time for you.” You giggle like a teenager, feeling the hot blush on your cheeks. “Unfortunately, I must depart. Before those buffoons make a bigger mess of things.”

He unfortunately unwraps his arms forma around you, the lack of his body warmth reminding you just how little clothing you’re wearing. Oh god, and you’ll both be seen walking out of here, everyone knows what you’ll be doing. Embarrassment has a way of abiding and then snapping back at the worst times.

Galvith, with his way, pulls you out of your spiral with a final peck to your lips; A promise of more lingering in the chaste gesture.

“Till we meet again, my little incubus.”

With a snap of his fingers, Galvith disappears, nothing but a purple trail of smoke in his wake.

You stand there, shellshocked, eyes bulging and jaw nearly falling to the floor. Your befuddled gaze looks at the card in your hand, the only remnant of Galvith left, scrambling to make sense of what you just saw.

Galvith, The Torturer

666-257-6969

Oh my god. Did you just fuck an actual demon?!

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #x reader #male reader insert #demon x reader #x male reader #male reader #male x male #monster fucker

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bump1nthen1ght · 4 months ago

Text

The Family Jewels (Pt. 4/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Chapter Summary: Edric finally takes what he wants.

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Non-Con, Abuse/Torture (not towards Reader), Light Bondage, Light Blood Play, Blood Drinking, Drugging, Forced Exhibitionism, Forced Voyeurism, Cuckolding, Forced Relationship

A/N: ITS FINALLY HERE! Coming out almost twice the length of the other chapters, this one is also twice as spicy and twice as dark. Heed the warnings! Hope y'all enjoy the debauchery 🥰

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Another night in his miserable life, and Caleb is spending it indoors.

His feet tap on the floor, his hands threaded in his hair. Restlessness consumes him, a kind he thought was forgotten long ago when he threw his inhibitions to the wind.

What is he doing wrong?

He knew some women were shy, wilting under attention where others flourished, but Caleb figured he could push past that. You had been living together for months now, surely you’d longed for him for even a little bit, right? Even just at the beginning, when he had spurned you, hadn’t your heart wanted for this exact thing? Wanted him?

Your silence has made things crystal clear. The sheer displeasure on your face when he is near, compared to the content you show when alone.

Or with his creator.

Caleb bats that thought away, ashamed by its ridiculousness.

You had scurried off from dinner, quicker than usual. When he saw you were absent from the garden for the second night in a row, Caleb found himself tearing apart the cellar for the true last bottle of his stash. He was sure his father had missed some, desperate for something to replace his usual fix. Sulking back to his own room, he was too upset to rejoice when he finally found one tucked surreptitiously away. He must have hidden it after his creator scolded him the first time and had threatened to burn the whole lot, a promise he had made good upon.

It doesn’t matter, it’s as foul tasting as the rest, doing nothing to settle the aching in his belly. At the very least it's particularly strong, its dizzying effects compensating for the poor taste. Wine rarely got him this drunk anymore, not with his superior digestion burning off the alcohol before it could settle too long. He has to down drink after drink to stay pleasantly buzzed, as annoying as it was useful in impressing simple humans with his ‘tolerance’

So now he sits, drunk and alone at his vanity, no one there to admire his beauty except himself. Caleb looks at his solemn reflection, no sign of his distress in the fine contours of his face. Perfectly polished, as always.

Caleb takes another swig, pushing himself up from his seat with a sigh. Perhaps he’ll look for you. You’re probably in your room, either asleep or preparing for it. Either way Caleb could watch, be entertained by your human mannerisms.

He hardly makes it one step away from his vanity before he’s falling, his knees banging against the carpeted floor. His vision swirls, the bottle falling out of his now loose grip.

Gods, how drunk am I?

The twirling patterns of the carpet dizzy him, his hand trying its best to get the bottle, but his body isn’t responding how he wants it too. His face hits the carpet next, his muscles surprisingly weak and no longer able to hold him up.

What’s…happening?

Those are the last sluggish thoughts in Caleb’s mind, before everything goes to black.

—

Edric thinks you have never looked more beautiful.

He wonders why he hasn’t watched you sleep before. As much as he enjoys your conversations, here he can admire you uninterrupted, no sense of propriety or shame holding him back. He can let his eyes wander down your neck, down your chest, down your sumptuous thighs, all the way to your toes.

He lets himself brush the back of his knuckles against your cheek, knowing you won’t wake. He had brewed the tea himself, made sure the dose was strong enough to knock you out cold. It needed to be for his work to be done.

He draws his hand up your inner arm and to your palm, fiddling with the knots around your wrists. He hopes they do not burn your skin, hating to hurt you in any way. But he knows it's better for you this way. It will be confusing and painful, as it always is, your body will fight it. You will claw at him, at your own skin, trying to resist it. He had learned from his first experience, seeing Caleb nearly rip his own face off in panic and terror. Edric sympathizes, knows the new and incredible can seem so scary at first. Knows you might not understand at first why, but that you’ll learn to love all that he is giving you.

He kisses your nose.

He knows he is doing the right thing.

—

Caleb had almost forgotten what pain feels like.

His last memories of the sensation was the last day of his human life and the first of his immortal one. The mortal kind had been short, his body so fragile and easily breakable under his master’s claws. The immortal kind had been agonizing, the slow transformation of Edric’s blood changing every inch of his body, inside and out.

This pain is different, far less intense, though enough to thrust him out of unconsciousness. That and the stinking smell of burning flesh, his burning flesh, rubbing against the chains tightly secured around his arms and stomach.

He thrashes around, a mistake that presses the chains into his sides. It heals as quickly as it burns, but the silver plating is like a hot poker being dragged across his abdomen, leaving red agitated trails beneath. Just a flesh wound, but deeply uncomfortable. Enough to sap him of his energy, to leave him panting and shaking.

Caleb’s wild eyes fly around, conscious brain catching up to his nervous system as he tries to make sense of what's going on. He is gagged and bound to a chair and only in his underclothes, that he is quick enough to realize. What’s harder to figure out is where he is; The fine decorations reveal that he must still be on the estate, yet in a room he does not recognize. Not his own, not his wife’s, so where-

“You finally wake.” Says his creator, standing unusually bare in just an undershirt and drawers. “You always did have a habit of sleeping in. It’s quite immature, Caleb.” Claws tap on hardwood, Edric clicking his teeth in a sign of disappointment.

This must be his room.

Caleb thinks, unable to snap back at the insult. It makes sense, the space every bit as gaudish as Edric; Collections of old books and ancient artifacts fill a numerous of shelves, larger than life portraits and landscape paintings decorate the walls, and a bed fit for a king, lined with a plush bedding and encircled by a saphenous curtain. But it still does not explain what he is doing here, bound with silver plated chains.

“But I suppose I am to blame for that, aren’t I?” Caleb snaps his eyes back to his creator, his neck bobbing with unneeded breaths, an old stress response from his human days. “I’ve been far too lax with you, son. I see that now. I let you run wild like an animal, and expected you to snap quickly back into being a man.” His creator strides over to Caleb, that disappointed look that has Caleb’s stomach twisting. A long sleeping fear of being the prey, not the predator, awakens in his chest. “It is my fault for not being more disciplined. For not having a firmer hand when I guided you. Spare the rod-” Edric’s hand shoots out like a venomous viper, wrapping around a covered part of the chain and yanking, making it cut even deeper into Caleb’s ribs. He collapses forward, a pained scream muffled by his gag, tears bubbling up at the side of his eyes. “-Spoil the child.”

Caleb’s chest heaves, anger and fear all melding together. His teeth clank against each other in his mouth, eyes bulging as he leaves them planted on the carpeted floor. The embroidered patterns are the only swirling thing he can make sense of, the only thing grounding him to reality. Keeping him far away from the searing pain and the sizzling of his flesh.

“A young man like yourself needs a strict enforcer, something to curb his appetite and slap him out of his delusions.” His master keeps one hand wrapped tight around the chain, not pulling just yet, but the threat of doing so still lingering. The other pats the top of Caleb’s head. “I do not want to be cruel to you, Caleb. I understand that children need love and affection as well as discipline. It was my fault for confusing the two, for trying to have it all and failing at both. ”

A shiver wracks down Caleb’s spine, finally able to lift himself to sit upward, though his eyes stay locked on the floor. He fears any sign of disrespect will cause another burn. It is not until claws come under his jaw and tilt his face up that he is forced to look the monster in the eyes.

“But do not worry, my son.” Edric says, a sick sort of affection in his voice. The same affection that dug itself into Caleb’s stomach that terrible summer night, that ripped out his guts and forced blood down his throat. “I have found our solution.”

Relief falls down his spine as his creator walks away, the fear of more pain assuaged. But it’s quickly tampered when his master whips back the curtain on his bed, revealing you, unconscious and tied to the bed posts. Still in your nightgown, unaware of the monsters that linger nearby. A terrifying realization comes to Caleb’s mind, and he thinks he might vomit.

Fuck.

—

You’re hot, too hot, boiling hot. The kind of heat that wakes you from the deepest of slumbers, throwing off pillows and clothes and whatever you can for some sort of relief. But you can’t. You’re not sure why, still lost in the haze of awakening, body on fire.

Your recollection comes back to you slowly, yet muddied. The last thing you remember was an invitation from Edric to have tea with him in his study, received by a servant as you read in your bedroom. You vaguely remember walking down the halls, being nearly giddy with excitement, but absolutely nothing after that. You do not remember changing into your nightgown, nor going to bed.

Where…am I?

Your eyes and ears feel like they are underwater, a sudden burst of light only blotting and confusing your senses. You only recognize Edric once he’s right above you, his hand caressing your jaw.

“Good morning, my sweet.”

Then, he kisses you.

It’s almost enough of a surprise to knock you out of your stupor. The feeling of his lips on yours, the passionate way he tilts back your jaw and devours you, has your body jerking away on instinct. But it can’t, the strain in your wrists and shoulders revealing that your hands are bound by a rope. The rest of you is covered by your father-in-law's body, pressed against your scandalously undressed form. Heat explodes across your chest and neck, embarrassment at being seen in something so risque. No man has ever seen you like this before. You furiously wiggle underneath him, half-convinced this is a dream you need waking up from.

“It’s alright.” Edric shushes, pulling away so his lips are only an inch from yours. “Everything is alright, dearest. You need not panic.”

His lips pepper around the side of your mouth, moving up to the apple of your cheeks and nipping where skin meets bone. It makes your heart beat impossibly faster. Your head jerks as much as it can away, body still sluggish and in a haze of delirium.

The sound of wood thudding against carpet draws what little strands of your attention are left, and that's when you notice Caleb. Your hands uselessly yank again on the rope, shame leaving a sour taste in your mouth. You want to plead that this was not your idea, that you don’t know what's going on, when you realize he too is bound. His entire upper half is chained to a chair, tear tracks running down his cheeks and his face ruby red, a mixture of shock and the gag pulling taut against his cheeks. His night shirt is torn between his bonds, enough to make you realize that the smoky scent is coming from him, of something searing through the fabric and into his skin.

Your mind finally wraps around every little detail, finally fires the orders to your mouth to scream. Edric is quicker, slapping his hand over your jaw and forcing your attention back to him. He shushes you like one would a newborn, broken up by reassuring kisses to your jaw.

“Just ignore the boy.” Edric whispers in your ear, tugging on your lobe with another nip of his teeth. “He is only here to learn a lesson in adulthood.” Edric’s hand crawls onto your hip, his thumb pressing into your plush stomach. You gasp and gingerly buck away from it, but that only brings you closer to Edric, a warmth he greatly enjoys. “He is here to see what it really takes to be a husband.”

Edric devours you in another kiss, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. His hand moves up your hip, charting a dangerous path until his thumb presses right below your breast. You jump once again, right into Edric’s eager mouth. Something briefly stings, and an irony taste on your tongue tells you that you’ve somehow cut open your lip. Were Edric’s teeth always that sharp? His body shudders above in a moan, his fervent tongue quick to lap at the bubbling blood. You can hear a similar, animalistic grunt come from Caleb, followed by another bursting sound of sizzling as he seizes forward. Even with the gag you can hear his pained moans.

You want to pull away, to bite Edric back, to kick and scream at the top of your lungs. But Edric’s hand lights a flame across your body, leaving you a melted puddle in his bed. Each kiss only intensifies it, as if every nerve has been turned on in your body. The faint traces of your mind think of Eros, with his piercing bolts that could strike anyone into a lustful frenzy. Of potions and elixirs that could turn even a nun into a debauched whore.

Edric finally forces himself away from your mouth, blood smeared across his lips and tongue. They leave crimson kiss marks as he moves his way down your body, stopping occasionally to nip at the skin, savoring the way you yelp. A sinful moan escapes your lips once he reaches your chest, your head throwing back in ecstasy once Edric’s lips wrap around one of your nipples. He sucks on it through the fabric, soaking it through.

“Need a taste.” He sighs, and Caleb thumps again in the corner. But you can’t focus on him, not when Edric’s canines are pulling at your nightgown and-

Rip!

You chest pebbles despite the overwhelming heat, bare as the day you were born. You gasp, a mix of embarrassment and lust, Edric wasting no time to taste the sweat of your skin. His tongue laps up between your two breasts before he quickly returns to your sensitive nipples, moaning between long sucks.

“Sweet ambrosia.” He sighs into your sternum, nuzzled in your cleavage. “Dionysian delight.”

After deeming it sufficiently lavished, Edric moves down your chest and onto your stomach, his peppered kisses ticklish as he reaches below your navel. But once he reaches your mound your more sensible mind kicks back in, thighs snapping together, feet kicking fruitlessly. This is no obstacle for Edric, who easily pulls open your legs and slots himself in between, mouth never leaving your skin. He at least has the decency to not rip apart the bottom half of the gown as he did your top, but not enough to stop from pushing it up your thighs and over your hips, his head disappearing under the fabric.

You don’t have time to wonder what he is doing, a moan ripping from your chest as his tongue licks a long stripe up your womanhood. You’re shocked just as much by the filthy action as you are by how rapturously good it feels.

“Edric!” Your voice cries, not sounding at all like yourself. It is too sensual, too indulgent, too much like a whore.

Said man moans directly into your entrance, the vibrations rewarding him with gushes of your essence. Like before Edric does not falter in his pace, mouth quickly devouring you like a peach on a hot summer day. His lips suck on your womanhood, tongue pressing and writhing against your entrance. Your juices run down his jaw as he worships you, nuzzling his face impossible deeper, the tip of his tongue pressing past your maidenhead and searching your walls for sensitivity. Your toes curl into the comforter, hips bucking into Edric’s face. It feels too good, you think you might pass out.

Too ashamed of your own voice, of unleashing that debaucherous sound again, your teeth clamp down on your lip. You ignore the sting of the cut, the drips of blood now running down your jaw. But it can’t be ignored by Edric and Caleb, feather’s flying as Edric’s nails dig into the comforter, Caleb’s chair’s feet being dug into the floor.

While his tongue traces patterns into your center Edric’s nose presses against your sensitive button, shockwaves being sent up your belly. It’s far more intense than the few times in your life you’ve touched it yourself, whether when riding or in the shameful moments of night. Now it is as if every rub and press resets your brains; Making it hard for you to remember what exactly is happening, where you are, who is currently in between your legs.

When Edric finally pulls away, dewy strings connecting his jaw to your lips, the whine you let out is instinctual. Your ankles cross behind his shoulder, body jerking, trying to find that sensation again. He chuckles with this, kissing at your inner thigh.

“Be patient, dearest.” Edric whispers. “My son did not properly consummate his marriage, so I must be thorough.”

Another sizzling of flesh as Caleb seethes in the corner, his whines not unlike a dog being whipped for it’s disobedience.

The words fall on your deaf ears, still recovering from the feeling of Edric’s mouth on your pussy. Before they can even attempt to enter your mind they’re shot out, two fingers pushing into your wet heat.

“Ah!” Your body arches, the foreign feeling of being full not nearly as painful as you had been led to believe. Edric’s fingers sink into your hole like a hot knife through butter, tingles shooting up your stomach as the pads press against your walls. Your hips roll into Edric’s hand, abdomen clenching when Edric’s palm presses against your button.

“Does that feel good, dearest?” Edric’s fingers pull out, then slowly push back in until his knuckles are soaked by your dew, your body convulsing. He does it again, faster, making sure to grind the heel of his palm against your button.

“Ngh!” You sigh, biting down again on your lip. The taste of blood in your mouth is foul, tangy.

“Tell me how it feels.” Edric’s voice takes a deeper tone, dangerous and dark in the way it rolls your stomach.

“G-good!” You finally pant out, struggling to put the most basic of syllables together.

A soft kiss presses into your thigh, Edric chuckling against your skin.

There is no warning as his fingers start to bully in and out of you. Each press goes deeper and deeper, his fingers desperately searching for that spongy part inside you. Each press against your button has stars shooting out from behind your eyelids, your mouth gone dry. Your moans have become raspy and even more desperate, your body that of an animal, rutting and trying to chase the pleasure. The scent of burned flesh still lingers in your nostrils but is ignored, whimpers falling to the wayside in your own bubble of decadence. It feels so good.

“E-dric~!” Your whorish voice whines, not sure what it's pleading for. Your skin has started to go numb, your lower half burning and aching, on the precipice of something you do not understand. Edric hums, and if you had the thought to look at him, you’d see a devilish smile full of far too many sharp teeth. If you had the energy to turn your head, you’d see Caleb, slack-jawed around his gag. You’d see his own hips jerking, a sizeable bulge in his pants as his eyes rove over you in starved fascination. “I’m-I’m-” Your voice pilters out.

“Cum for me, ___.”

His voice is what sends you over the edge, the voice of your companion, your friend, your Edric. Your entire body convulses on his palm, reduced to jelly in his hands.

It takes several moments for your mind to come back to you. Still numb, you barely register when Edric kisses the side of your cheek, realizing he’s once again laid atop of you. Now no fabric separates your bare chests, your dress ripped open and his shirt quickly discarded. But the strongest sensation is something hot and heavy slotted against your aching maidenhood. It rubs against your button, stoking the flame once more.

“You’re ready, my love.” Edric says, before forcing you into another kiss. He sucks on your bottom lip, a rumbling groan pulsing from his mouth into yours. The taste of your blood lingers on his tongue, forced down your own throat.

Edric’s palm lies flat on your chest, rubbing down your body. It isn’t still something hot and weeping presses against your entrance that you realize what is happening.

“Wait-” Your words are cut off by Edric’s kiss, you shout muffled once he finally pushes inside you, stealing your virginity as he did your pleasure.

This fullness is more uncomfortable, but still not accompanied by the sharp pain you had always heard of. It’s vulnerable, the way you can feel him pulsing from within you. Your lower half clenches on instinct, which only digs Edric’s claws into the headboard.

“Divinity.” Edric sighs into your lips, forehead rested against yours. He’s still icy cold, and if it weren’t such a blessing against your scalding heat, you’d question it further.

It’s several breathless moments before you feel normal, your body relaxing into the sheets. It's then that Edric first moves his hips; A microscopic movement, but the dragging sensation against your walls still steals the breath from your lungs. A mewling sound comes from your lips, which only emboldens Edric. He moves again, pulling out further and seating himself back in harder. Another thrust has your legs clamping shut, thighs pressing into Edric’s side. He chuckles into your ear, though it’s less composed than you’re used to.

“What a bl-blessing it is to be your first.” Edric’s words tumble with his stuttering hips, now moving faster and faster, hitting deeper and deeper. “You hold me like a vice, dearest. So warm and t-tight.” Edric‘s words are punctuated by a hard thrust, one that tears another moan from your throat. Wood begins to creak from underneath you, the movement of your two bodies causing the curtain to flutter. His spine rolls with each hump of his hips, something hot brewing between you two. It’s enough to get lost in, until a thump of a chair being scooted across the floor reminds you of your guest, of your husband.

Your eyes clench shut, too overwhelmed by every possible feeling to keep them open. You don’t know if it's ecstasy or shame, the reminder of the sin you’re indulging in. Your husband at least had the decency to keep his adultery away, to relegate it to outside your shared home and never speak of it so openly, even though you obviously were aware. And here you are, being ravished in front of him, by his own father.

“A-ah!” You cry, Edric’s sharp hip bones now slamming into your plush belly, his grunts more like that of an animal than a man. His cock pounds against the deepest part of you like a sledgehammer now, no sense of restraint. The headboard slams against the wall, shaking the many paintings nearly off their hangings. The slapping of skin is louder than the heartbeat resonating in your ears, a wet and sticky sound.

“Hmmph!” Edric groans in your ear, laying his full weight behind every sharp dig of his pelvis. Your body has scooted up to the bed, face nestled into the pillows, a cushiony barrier between you and the wooden headboard. A headboard currently taking a beating, between being repeatedly slammed and clawed at by Edric’s outstretched hand. It finally hits its limit, the wood creaking and bursting into pieces. Chunks fall onto your hair and forehead, finally forcing you to open your eyes. But what you see when they do is heart stopping, too terrifying for you to even scream.

Above you is not Edric, or at least that Edric that you know of. He is no longer the handsome, older gentleman who you confided in. His skin has become an inky black collage of fur, dark and shaggy. His finely shaped nose has been pushed out and upright into a snout, and his kind smile is wider and bursting with fangs. No longer a man, instead he is a monstrous man-sized bat, giant ears and muzzle and all. The only thing that remains like before his eyes, adoring and obsessive, swirling patterns of red amidst dark pools of black.

Your head jerks to the side, trying to escape from the nightmare right in front of you. They claw towards Caleb, a strange new beacon of normalcy, before you realize that he too is gone. His own golden locks have morphed into a honeyed fur, chains cutting into this large, muscular form, his clothing having bursted at the seams. His beautiful, adonis-esque face has also been twisted into the shape of a bat. He ruts and whines against his bindings like a beast in heat, tongue lolled out and drool dripping down his jaw.

Your eyes force shut, like when you were a child afraid of the dark, convinced the covers would save you. But you can’t ignore the long tongue that now laps at your neck, the sharp pin pricks of Edric’s teeth on your neck. Fur clings to your sweaty skin, hips burning as they stretch around Edric’s uncomfortable new size. Even his cock feels bigger, thicker and hot as it fucks you open.

The worst of it all is how good it feels. How your body still longs for Edric’s touch, how it craves each press against that spongy spot, rolls into his thrusts. You’ve lost control, mind split in two, desperate for this to be over yet also desperate to finish.

“Ha-aah!” You whine, the same rush from before twisting your insides, faster and more blinding than earlier. Edric purrs in your ear, his snout nuzzled into your collar.

“Yes, yes, yes.” The beast pants, legs beginning to shake as he also closes near to his end. A paw reaches in between you both and deftly pinpoints your sensitive spot, rubbing it roughly and making your vision go white.

Edric roars into the night, his head tossed back as both of you reach your peak, exploding around each other. Hot floods of his seed fill you up, leaking from out the sides and onto the sheets. He stays locked with you, hips still flush with yours, a frightening smile on his beastial face.

When you finally regain your breath, a terrifying thought of you, pregnant with the antichrist, has you nearly vomiting. Voices ring in your ear but you barely understand them, heart thumping as the fear of bearing a demon catches up to you. The Earl is whispers directly in your ear, close enough that you can actually process what he says.

“I’m so sorry, my dearest. I promise, the pain will last only for a moment.”

It doesn’t take long to figure out what he means. Not when his fangs are plunging into your neck and ripping it open, the pain immediately exploding until there is nothing left. As the light fades from your eyes, you hear a distant sound of someone screaming.

—

It is warm in the drawing room.

You always request it to be, the hearth constantly attended, if not by the servants than by you. It’s fascinating watching the fire glow, seeing the wood crackle and burst as the heat becomes too much. You had never realized just how pleasant the sounds of it could be, how relaxing it is as background to your reading, to your thinking, or your embroidering. The only things that occupied you nowadays, frivolous things to pass the never-ending time. You still had yet to reach the end of the estate’s book collection, more often than not re-reading your favorites rather than treading into new territory. It is comforting, the old words you know so well.

“Long years had brought their fighting days to a halt, but they were eloquent speakers still, clear as cicadas settled on treetops, lifting their voices through the forest, rising softly, falling, dying away.” You read aloud, fingers twirling in Caleb’s hair, occasionally watching the way his spun-gold locks catch the light. It is simply unfair how silky it is, despite the little care he puts into maintaining it. He always forces you to comb it for him, insisting it's too much of a struggle to do it himself, that you do it better anyway. And yet it's hard to complain when it is one of the few solace you have left, the softness beneath your fingers, the familiarity of brushing another one's hair. As if you really did have a son, a family of your own. “So they waited, the old chiefs of Troy, as they sat aloft the tower.”

He’s unusually compliant tonight, Caleb. You think it must be the lack of sleep he got during the day. Usually when you read to him he is full of quips, judgements of the characters or the story you’ve chosen, often deriding their mortal foolishness. But tonight he is silent, head laying on your lap, curled at your feet in a way that must be uncomfortable. You’d offer to move to the chaise lounge instead, let him lay on his back in a more comfortable position, but you really don’t care how comfortable he is at this very moment. Or ever, really.

“And catching sight of Helen moving along the ramparts, they murmured one to another, gentle, winged words…” Your fingers still in Caleb’s thick locks, knotted into the baby hairs at the base of his skull. You do not tug, though a part of you wants to. That part is too numb, an unfortunately similar bout of hopelessness striking you as your eyes dance across the page. “ ‘Who on earth could blame them? Ah, no wonder the men of Troy and Argives under arms have suffered years of agony all for her, for such a woman. Beauty, terrible beauty. Deathless goddess – so she strikes our eyes’ "

You pause, finding yourself unable to continue. Tears well up in your eyes but you force them away. Not again. You thought you had moved past this. But the words still catch in your throat. Caleb’s ear twitches, then his head is turning, looking up at you with his inhuman eyes.

“Why did you-”

He stops, mid-word. The numbness goes away, replaced by the shock of a hand on your shoulder.

“Hello, dearest.” Edric bends down low to kiss your neck, right at the space behind your ear. You see Caleb’s eyebrows furrow, his head whip back around, a pout probably marring his beautiful face. “I missed you.”

“I-” your mouth feels dry, your own internal voice beating itself with a hammer. Shut up. Shut up, Shut up- “-I missed you too.”

You place your hand over his, no longer surprised by the chill of his skin. It’s just like yours.

Edric chuckles, kissing your temple.

“And hello to you Caleb.”

“Hello.” Caleb’s voice is muffled, his face now turned into the fabric of your skirt. Only you can feel the way his hand fists and tugs on the dress, the only acceptable expression of his frustration.

“Are you enjoying the Iliad?” Edric asks the both of you. You nod, a small and polite smile on your face.

“Oh yes, this translation is rather interesting.”

Caleb stays quiet. Edric’s brow turns down a bit.

“I asked you a question, son.”

You fight the feeling to flee, to cower. Caleb tenses against you, his claws almost digging into your skin.

“...It’s good. She reads it well.”

“Well, no surprise there.” Edric’s lips move down to your cheek. “You do have a beautiful voice, my love.”

You giggle, demure and false, whispering a small “thank you”. You wish you could just accept the compliment, take joy in the small wins.

“While I hate to pull you from your books, it is getting quite late.” The hand on your shoulder squeezes, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of how powerful Edric is. “I believe it's best we go to bed, dearest.”

Like an automaton, you close your book and stand up, Caleb’s head falling off your legs. He whips around, hand tightly coiled on your skirt, pulling it towards him. An argument brews in his eyes, lips curling back.

“But it's not even sunrise-”

“Now Caleb.” Edric’s voice is somehow both quiet and thunderous, snuffing out any dissent in the air. “Remember your decency. You spent all of yesterday with your mother, and tonight as well. It is not polite to be so greedy.”

Caleb shrinks back, thoroughly scolded, yet a dissatisfied look still lingering.

While you despise either option, Edric does seem the more tolerable of a bed companion. Caleb had kept you up all day, with his pawing hands and desperate hips, absolutely starving for your time. His father only deigned him worthy of sharing your bed when he was especially good, which seemed to be happening more and more lately. Caleb had yet to push it any farther than over your dress, but even with a layer of fabric between you his touch made you ill. Especially when he lathered your neck with his tongue, or threw your thighs over his hips and rutted like an animal for hours on end. Edric had waved away any complaints, reminding you that all the poor boy wanted was affection, that he was harmless. It was exhausting, being the carrot dangling on the stick.

So you pull at your skirts, gently so as to not offend, until Caleb lets go. You fall into Edric’s chest as he guides you both to your shared bedroom. You don’t look back at Caleb as he follows you like a shadow, ignoring his eyes burning down your silhouette. You don’t acknowledge when he whines and pleads with his eyes to Edric, who nevertheless forces him to leave you both at the door. Caleb stomps down the hallway, and you let out a sigh of relief.

The next movements are rehearsed and robotic. Edric helps you undress, you help him. You both step into your day clothes and slip under the covers, your body stiff as Edric wraps around you like a constrictor. He starts kissing your neck, breathing heavily against your non-existent pulse.

“I can’t wait to see the stars with you tomorrow.” He whispers.

You close your eyes, and pretend to sleep.

And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow….

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #female reader insert #x reader #vampire x reader #series #regency #gothic #vampires #love triangle #dark romance #historical

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bump1nthen1ght · 4 months ago

Text

The Family Jewels (Pt. 3/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Chapter Summary: You didn't think your new home could become any stranger. Shadows have started to follow you, the night no longer the safe haven it once was. It leads you to the one person who may be able to help.

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Stalking, Isolation, Slight Infantilization of Reader

A/N: The penultimate chapter 👀. Had a lot of fun with this series and I hope y'all have too! Last Chapter should be coming out sometime later this week/early this week. It's gonna be quite a doozy 😈

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

You think someone is watching you.

You didn’t think the eeriness of your home could be more uncomfortable, but the unmistakable feeling of attention has made it so. Only worsened by the fact you have no understanding of whose attention it is. Your first thought was perhaps the staff, but you can’t imagine months of your droll day-to-day life would suddenly gain their attention. Not when they skirt around you, ignoring all attempts to make conversations or eye contact, just as they’ve always done.

You’d learned to enjoy the solitude of your home, to be content with your own company. Reading, wandering the grounds, pondering the sky was now your beloved routine, not a prison of listlessness. But now you whip your head around at the slightest shadow. Something prickles on the back of your neck at odd moments, uneasy shivers coming down your spine when you turn the corner, your fight-or-flight instincts expecting something there.

The only other two options would be your father-in-law and your husband. The prior is an obvious no, well aware he confines himself to his study during the day so he may work in peace. The latter is absent during the daytime, supposedly sticking to his habit of sleeping with the sun, so you’re left with no clues.

To make it all worse is the fact that your husband has been present for dinner lately; Every night for the past week, to be precise. It seems to be the one meal he deems worthy of being awake for. But you figured that this was another kink to get used too, surely a momentary lapse before he returned to the routine.

But then he started talking to you.

—

“Was your day enjoyable?”

Your husband opened with, as if this was a normal dinner and you were in a normal marriage.

You hesitate to respond, convincing yourself that you had misheard one of the servants. Caleb isn’t even looking you in the eye, focused instead on cutting his steak.

“Well?” He juts in, right before taking a large bite. It's only then you realize it was in fact him speaking and in fact you who he was speaking to.

“I suppose so.” You finally deign as a well enough response. A suitably polite answer. “It was nothing remarkable.”

“Hmm.” He says, chewing on his wad of meat as he takes a sip of that curious wine of his. You return to your food, figuring that is the end of that. One of your husband's many irregularities, that was all. “What did you partake in?”

That brings you pause, halting your fork, currently being used to awkwardly move around fingerling potatoes. Your appetite starts to leave you.

“...Some of the books from the library.” Your stab at a potato, wishing you could dissent from proprietary like he could and eat through this conversation. “The estate has quite a robust collection. Especially the astronomy section.”

The sound of cutlery scraping against porcelain makes you wince, draws your full attention to your husband. For a second, you swear his eyebrow twitches.

“I see.” He stabs his steak like it’s a vicious enemy, and rips away another piece. “Anything else?”

Why are you doing this?

You desperately want to ask. You swallow that urge down.

“I began a new cross stitch today.” You swallow. “My skills are unfortunately unrefined, but I found some beautiful thread I forgot my sister had packed away when-” I was shipped off “-when I first moved in. I’m planning to embroider a Mourning Dove.”

It had been more comforting than you expected, cross-stitching. Forever it had been a habit your mother forced upon you, imploring that good embroidery was only right for a proper lady to know. Now, all alone and homesick, it felt nice to create something that could fly away.

“Hmm.” Caleb says, and that is the end of it. What follows is uncomfortable minutes of silence. Too uncomfortable to eat, you gently push your plate away and stand up, another informal curtsy and a “good night”, hoping that would be the end.

It unfortunately was not.

Edric had let you know the night prior that he’d be busier these upcoming weeks, several meetings with important men or something of that matter keeping him away for the nights as well as the days. You told him it was no issue, even though your heart had tugged at the idea of spending those dark hours alone.

To your great shock, upon arriving at your favorite spot in the garden, your husband is there. Not lounging as he did before, but sitting on the bench. Your bench.

“I did not know you had finished dinner.” You remark, trying to act less flustered than you were. Months ago you would have rejoiced at this change of pace, so bored and listless. But now it left you feeling more than a little aggravated.

“I did shortly after you.” He says, actually acknowledging you with a look over his shoulder. Weirdly, a bottle does not accompany his side. “Thought I’d go for a walk. It is quite a big garden.”

I’m not here for you. He seemed to scream with every word, his very soul. You don’t why know he’s being so insistent, he’s made that opinion very clear in every other interaction so far.

“I see.” You parrot, a surge of obstinance making you bolder than normal, sitting down next to him. This was your favorite spot, you refuse to give it up to him on a whim.

It brings great satisfaction when he scoots away, his body jerking, clearly surprised by you being so close. You’re sure he thought you all figured out, some girl he could walk over whenever he pleased.

You don’t bother speaking first, figuring his stint during dinner was a temporary lapse in judgement. His sheer disinterest made it clear it was from a source of boredom, not genuine curiosity, which spurred this change. Surely, that was the end-

“That’s Cassiopeia.” Caleb says, his long hand, usually adorned with a bottle, points at the night sky. When you don’t respond immediately, he goes to lengths of drawing the ‘W’ shape with his finger.

“..Ah, yes it is.” You say, surprised that he has continued talking to you and that he knows any constellation. “She is quite beautiful. Though, I suppose that is part of why she is in the sky in the first place.” You chuckle at the joke, the mood quickly souring when Caleb doesn’t, looking at you like a strange sort of insect.

Edric would’ve laughed.

“And from her,” Caleb traces his hands away from Cassiopeia to another, “-You can find her daughter, Andromache.”

“Andromeda.” The words whip out immediately, before you can think better of it, although your tone is gentle. Caleb turns to look at you, wordlessly once more. For a second, you wonder if he’ll snap at your correction. “Her daughter is Andromeda, not Andromache. Andromache was Hector’s wife.”

Caleb pauses for a moment, retracting his hand.

“Hm.” He hums and turns away.

The awkward atmosphere lingers afterwards, and you almost feel bad for correcting him. You hadn't meant it as a criticism, just as a reminder.

But that just makes you more upset. Why should you care how Caleb feels about your words, unintentional or not? He has made no such consideration for your feelings during your time here, nor does he seem to intend to anytime in the future. He’s a cad, a rake, he could stand to be knocked down a peg or too.

Luckily, the rest of the night is blissfully quiet. You try your best to bat away any lingering feelings of anxiety or awkwardness, simply savoring what you could.

—

Caleb isn’t sure what he is doing.

It was bad enough foregoing his rest and haunting you like a phantom, chasing this incessant new urge of his. Like picking at a scab you know would be healed if left alone, he can’t seem to resist. His body follows you naturally now, using his more inhuman qualities to blend in the shadows, avoiding the poisonous daylight and lingering on your every move. You make it too easy with your rhythmic movements, keeping regular in your entertainment about the house. If not in the library, you were in the garden having tea. If not in the garden having tea, you were embroidering on the lounge. What should be so dreadfully boring is now enrapturing, although it is wounding it feels too good to stop.

Look at him now, bumbling around like a fool, words falling out his mouth like hail against your soft skin. Even when he does catch your attention and get a genuine response, he loses himself in the memories of said moments, reimagining it as vividly as he saw it from the shadows. He remembers the jump of excitement when you found a new book on Greek Mythology on the shelf, having thought you had already read them all. He remembers the look you made when you had made a mistake in your embroidery, your brow furrowed as you undid your stitches. When focused on your work, a tiny sliver of your tongue would sit out at your mouth, something he’s sure your mother scolded you for time and time again. By the time his mind got back to him you were leaving, the same curt response and rigid curtsy as before.

Desperate for a fix, he even ambushed you at your stargazing spot. He could barely look you in the eye, too nervous you would see through his ruse, point and laugh at his boyishness. It was made even worse when you sat near him, tantalizing him with your blood and the beating of your heart, which sang to his very ears.

“That’s Cassiopeia.” Caleb attempts, wondering if this will have greater success. Given your silence, he wondered if perhaps his maker hadn’t pointed it out to you yet. Pride fills his chest as he traces out her shape, wondering what look you have in your eyes.

“..Ah, yes it is.” You reply, and Caleb’s monstrous heart skips a beat. “She is quite beautiful. Though, I suppose that is part of why she is in the sky in the first place.”

Caleb freezes, caught off his rhythm, you giggle making him realize that he isn’t understanding something. The disappointed look on your face feels like a blade in his stomach.

He should be angry, furious even. It had been years since anyone had made him feel this way, this inferiority. He had outgrown that, had ripped it out with his own bleeding heart and tossed it outside.

“And from her,” Caleb pivots, hoping the skills of aloofness can work in favor “-You can find her daughter, Andromache.”

“Andromeda.” Caleb’s stomach turns. Frozen in his best laid plans, this windstorm of his wife has blown them away. “Her daughter is Andromeda, not Andromache. Andromache was Hector’s wife.”

It’s all he can do to not scream at that moment. But he fears that too will be as awkward and foolish as the rest of his words, choosing instead to say nothing. To his consternation and relief, you follow suit and do not speak as well, returning to your own stargazing.

When you eventually retire, Caleb should go out. He should find the nearest beast and rip their throat, soak in their blood and be reminded that he was the fearsome beast. He was not the stupid farm boy, he was an unholy abomination built to feast and terrorize.

Instead he paces around his room, wondering what he should say. He looks in the mirror at his facade self, the beautiful face that makes ladies of all classes swoon, and wonders what would catch your eye.

You were smart, clearly, smarter than he anticipated. He thinks you might be catching onto his voyeur-tendencies, once or twice hiding around a corner and popping out, as if to confront your own shadow. Once, when he had left your book an inch or two over from where you had left it, you returned to the room with a quirk in your eyebrow. You had searched the room up and down, even flagged down a servant to ask if anyone had cleaned the library recently.

He had assumed your quietness came from a dull demeanor, just as boring as one would expect from the “wife.” But you had good humor. He saw you joking around with his creator, possibly the stodgiest vampire to ever roam the world, and even make jests of your own. You had tried with him tonight, although it seemed to fly over his head. And you seemed to enjoy dancing, like most ladies, if the way you hummed and swayed down the halls when you thought you were alone was enough indication. These were all things he was used to; Wining and dining ladies with his good charm and superb dancing skills, yet he found himself at a standstill.

His head falls into his hands, a frustrated hunger stirring in his gut. He needs to feed. At least that was an aching he could satisfy.

—

A whole fortnight of this. No peace, no privacy, no respite from the dreadfulness of the estate. During the day you tremored, aware that someone followed in your footsteps but not who it was. During the night all sense of comfort was robbed by him, your husband who, after several months of blissful avoidance, could not leave your side.

The conversations had not gotten better since the first. Mostly one sided, your husband seemed to force himself through every word, barely listening when it was your turn to speak. You don’t know why he bothers with the painful effort, his head off in the clouds, clearly wishing he was somewhere else. It's worse than the silence by a landslide, and you find yourself begging for your husband to start ignoring you again.

But like every one before it, your wishes go unanswered. The pain of it all forces you to focus, to try and find the source of this newfound vigor for this falsehood of a marriage.

All your hypotheses lead you back to one person. One person whom, unlike your husband, could hopefully be reasoned with.

—

You make quick work to scurry out of the dining hall after another painful dinner, hoping the distraction of his meal will keep your husband from noticing your divergence from routine.

Striding deeper into the bowels of the estate reminds you of just how unsettling the rest of the house feels. Each hallway is cleaned too perfectly, each decoration too precisely placed. You never knew furniture could feel so cold, that the sterility of a cleanliness would be so unnerving. It felt as if no one had ever really walked these halls, not for a long, long time.

But you push on, too determined in your mission. You had finally been able to corner a maid during the day, making up a vague excuse for returning a book to have her point the way to the Earl’s office. You’re happy you had the forethought to write it down, sure the enticing darkness around each corner and the amount of turns would’ve befuddled you. But with your trusty papers, you're able to navigate yourself to a beautiful mahogany door, befit with a golden knob and intimidating presence.

Why must everything in this place feel so hostile?

You ponder, wondering if the architect of this place had a hatred of joy and fresh air. But you digress, rapping your knuckles onto the thick door frame. Through the wood you can faintly hear the scribbles of an ink pen and the focused voice of The Earl.

“You may enter.”

His tone lacks the familiarity you’ve grown used to. For a discomforting second it reminds you of Caleb, not of these past two weeks but the months before. You banish that thought away. They are father and son, it is only natural.

“Sir?” You default to polite terms, peaking your head past the grand entrance. Even now the study feels untouchable, makes you hesitant to walk inside so boldly.

The Earl quickly leans his head up, shoulders falling down and a smile gracing his lips. You smother your fluttering heart, reminding yourself of your mission.

“My dear, I was not expecting you.” Edric stands with a dramatic push of his chair, setting his ink pen into its pot. “I apologize, but I fear I cannot join you again tonight. There is still much work to be done.” Edric taps his fingers against his desk.

“Oh it is no issue, Si-Edric. I understand completely.” Finally comfortable enough, you enter the room completely and shut the door behind you. Though this does little to calm your nerves, both for the conversation you must have and the idea of being alone in a room with him. As silly as it is, the hesitance of being alone with a man who is not your husband lingers, even if it is someone proper like your father-in-law. “I actually wish-” You words catch, but you will the butterflies in your stomach away, “-I wish to talk to you about something else. If you are available to it.”

Edric’s brow quirks, a minor change in his usually flawless face. For the very first time, he looks caught off guard.

“Of course, my dear.” Edric pulls out a chair for you to sit, moving his own so the desk won’t block you from each other. You nod in thanks, knees knocking together. You were never great at confrontation, and after finally finding peace in your new home, you fear disturbing and ruining what you have.

But Caleb is doing a fine job of that all on his own.

Your hands fiddle with each other in your lap, forcefully distracting you from making eye contact with Edric. He sits now with his ankles crossed, his arms resting on the sides, looking all like a king receiving his subject. Given his authority and your desperation, he might as well be.

“Now, what would you like to speak about?”

“I-” You swallow the lump in your throat, “I would like to start with my appreciation for your kind intentions, as I know it is what most likely drove you to act in such a way.” Your finger bones ache with how tightly you clench them. “That I appreciate you taking the effort to…encourage Caleb to spend more time with me.” Encourage is probably the incorrect word. If you knew anything about your husband ‘bribed’ was most definitely more accurate. It is the only thing that would make sense given recent circumstances. “But while I understand why you would think such a move was for the best, I’d like to implore that it is not necessary.”

You can hear a pin drop, your father-in-law quiet as the dead. It urges you to keep speaking, to fill the uncomfortable silence with something. At the least to release the issues from your mind, to get them off your chest.

“I know you are a good and honorable man, and that from the outside I must look so pitiful to you. That my lonesome nature most likely urged you to aid in my companionship, but I have found much happiness in this place in these past months. I see it as my home, and I do not mind the quiet.” You’ve released the fabric of your dress, moving instead to the fascinating shapes of your palm lines. Still, you proceed. “As…uncouth as my husbands, they seem to make him happy. He does not seem to enjoy the quiet nights like you and I do.”

A heat decorates the apples of your cheeks, spreading all the way down your neck and up to the tips of your ears. It seems silly looking back on it, having more in common with a man no doubt twice your age than your own husband.

“So, if you could speak to him and let him know that he is free to live as he likes, that he should not feel responsible for me, I would most appreciate it. Please tell him that I am quite happy with the way things were before.”

With you.

Your twisting heart does not know if it wants Edric to understand that unspoken sentiment.

The tapping of Edric’s fingernails on the chair arm finally pulls you attention, sounding cacophonous in the void created. It draws your eyes to finally look Edric head on, to gauge his reaction. Unfortunately, his reserved face leaves it difficult for you to do so.

“I see.” Edric finally breaks it, his fingers speeding up in their rapping. Something squeezes in your chest, wondering if perhaps you’ve offended him with your presumptions.

“I did not-” You bluster, trying to explain before he assumes anything. But a wave of Edric hands stops you in your tracks.

“I am not offended, dear.” The Early gives a gentle smile, a nod to show the truth of his word. Relief washes over you. “I am simply…surprised.”

You swallow your response. As attentive and understanding as Edric is, he is still a man, still subject to misunderstandings of a woman’s true heart. While Caleb is quite handsome, it takes much more good looks and the bare minimum to curry your favor.

“I shall speak to him.” Edric finally commands, standing up from his seat and sending you scurrying to do so on your own. A bubbling feeling fills your chest, the relief of knowing things will finally return to normal. At least the nights.

“Thank you, Edric.”

“It is no problem.” Edric says with a wave of his hand. “I commend you for bringing it up with me promptly. I understand that can be a difficult feat, especially when I am such a recluse.”

That lightens your mood even more, giving you a gentle giggle.

“I think you presume too much of your intimidation, good sir.” You lie, as if you were not petrified of facing him not 10 minutes ago. That fear seems silly now. Of course Edric would listen, when hasn’t he?

You don’t notice the way Edric’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips, the way his eyes for only a second dip down to your collarbone.

“Perhaps I do.” Edric pats the back of his seat. “Well, while I do enjoy your company, I'm afraid I must get back to work. Shall I escort you to your room?”

“Oh that won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to disturb and I am quite confident I can find my way.” You weren’t really, but you also were not ready to admit that to him.

“Then I bid you goodnight, my dear.” Edric nods his head, quickly moving his chair back behind his desk, no doubt to resume his business. You drop into a small curtsy yourself, a new energy in your steps as you leave. Even with the labyrinthine task of returning to your room ahead of you, you can’t be despondent.

You have a feeling things are taking a change for the better.

—

It takes everything in Edric’s immortal power to not burst into laughter the second the door closes behind you. Even with the thick wood as a barrier and your inferior human hearing, Edric is sure his cackling could be heard from miles away.

He had planned to court you slowly. Push the boundaries of his affection with every visit, subtly make you dependent on his touch and his closeness. Then, he would pull away, make you truly long for him. It would make his return all the more dramatic, hopefully swell your emotions to such a size that you would not turn away more uncouth behavior. A hug, a kiss to the cheek, maybe even a peck to your soft lips.

But now his son had revealed his hand, clumsily so. Scrambling to hold on to the toy now that it was being swept away, every bit the petulant child. He had made his own desperate move for your affections and was failing miserably.

It's cruel how much glee that gives him, Edric thinks, chuckling into his hands. He needs to remind his son that such obvious peacocking is hardly a foolproof strategy, teach him subtler ways of luring and ensnaring prey, nonetheless a partner. The boy had been riding on his good looks and inhuman charm for too long.

Ahh yes, and you. Who came to him, who chose him. Who ran into his arms and pleaded for safety. How could he not give it to you? His sweet dearest, his darling future. Edric’s nails dig into his palms and he’s sure if his heart still beated, it’d be racing a mile a minute. A palpable thirst burns in the back of his throat, one Edric knows won't be satisfied by any half-thought meal.

This has all but confirmed it: plans are changing. It seems the timeline for his machinations are moving up, given your clear displeasure. Who is he to deny you?

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #female reader insert #x reader #vampire x reader #vampires #regency #gothic #yandere #series #yandere x reader #monster fucker

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bump1nthen1ght · 5 months ago

Text

The Family Jewels (Pt. 2/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Chapter Summary: Your husband is more observant than you think. He's not quite sure he likes what he sees.

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Slight hints of Obsessive Behavior, Jealousy, Intimidation

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

In a strange turn of events, your husband is at dinner today.

You're surprised he’s even awake at this hour, your late dinner still too early for his typical schedule. The staff seemed as shocked as you, hurriedly preparing a glass and plate for his end of table, which is luckily far from your own.

He eats the same meal as your first night here; A steak rare enough to moo, and a goblet full of wine. You ponder for a second how he hasn’t been struck down by scurvy with this diet.

Unlike the first night, you don’t bother with pleasantries, nor small talk. The first few dinners of awkward half-conversations, gentle questions hanging in the air as he stared at you like you were a bug and you learned your lesson. Besides, you refuse to let anything ruin this night. Especially not him.

Ah, that thought has your lips upturning. There was supposed to be a beautiful meteor shower tonight, one The Earl said you’d have a perfect view of from the garden. Not to mention that they’d be visible for most of the night, stretching deep into the evening, leaving you plenty of time to reminisce and talk with your father-in-law. He always seems insistent you get enough rest, cutting off your rendezvous whenever you show a hint of drowsiness. You’re sure it's just his paternal instinct kicking in, but hopefully tonight he can make an exception.

To your luck your husband doesn't bother any attempts of small talk either. The dinner passes quickly, no need for formalities that draw out this uncomfortable time, and you finish your meal with a curtsy and a good night. Hopefully your husband doesn’t notice the extra energy in your step, fervent to get out of the dining hall.

—

Caleb isn’t sure why he bothered coming to dinner. He easily could’ve had the servants bring his steak to his chambers, allowing him the privacy to eat it in bed and nurse off the thunderous headache. Devils, what did that whore eat to make her blood so noxious on his body?

But he also knew he had a tedious night ahead, his massive hangover tampering any plans of escaping to the comfort of the town. With hours of boredom ahead, Caleb supposed he could at least try to go to dinner. At least have someone to talk to, even if it was the soft questions of his wife.

But tonight she is silent, not even greeting him as he enters the room. No questions, no comments, not even the polite small talk he’s used to. She eats her food in deadly quiet, done with her meal as quickly as she starts it. He barely hears her gentle “Good night, Husband.” as she scurries out, even with his superior hearing.

Whatever. Like he cares what she does in her free time. The less she bothers him, the better.

Now Caleb finds himself wandering the halls, the estate’s poorest wine bottle opened and clutched in his hand. His creator had disposed of the rest when Caleb slept one day, probably in an attempt to shape up Caleb’s act. He doesn’t understand why he’s still trying to curb him, especially when it was his creator who first introduced Caleb to the finery life had to offer. To give him everything and then force it away, Caleb wonders what kind of game he is playing-

Oh, speak of the devil.

There stands his creator, eyes pointed toward the night sky. It was a common habit of his, one Caleb never quite understood. He’d seen the same stars for centuries now, what appeal could it possibly still have?

It did not matter, the old man was probably being poetic, waxing to himself as he watched the moon. His creator did always have a flair for the dramatic. It’s no wonder no other vampire fancied him, far too brooding and fanciful. An absolute and total bore-

“Oh, it’s wonderful!”

Your soft voice coos, finally entering Caleb’s vision. He’s almost surprised he missed you, the tantalizing scent of your blood usually catching his attention even from across the house. Maybe it’s because you're standing so close to his creator; His deathly smell covering up the sweeter notes of yours.

Caleb’s fingers curl tighter around the neck of his wine bottle

“They look like fairies, flying across the sky.” Your arm points up, the bareness of your arm almost shocking to Caleb. It was quite cold out, didn’t you think to bring out a jacket? Maybe it’s being so close to the large coat of his creator that leaves you unbothered. Even with the vampire’s cold body, the heat of the fabric must be enticing, given how close you lean into the monster’s side. A closeness his creator doesn’t seem to mind.

“Some say they are the tears of a martyr saint, still crying in his afterlife.” His creator points to the meteors painting the sky with one hand. It does not go unnoticed that his other hand rests on your back, too tantalizingly low. Caleb feels his chest burning. “Though, some Ancient Romans believed they were something else.”

You turn to his creator, your face curled up in a smile and a raised eyebrow. You tap his chest with your fist.

“What did they believe it was?”

His Creator chuckles, a deep sound that makes Caleb want to wretch. “I’m afraid it isn’t appropriate for me to say. But it is fascinating.”

“Oh, please tell me. You could whisper it in my ear.” You pout, the alluring pout of a nymph. Caleb’s knuckles go white. “No one is around to hear, Edric.”

Caleb has to stop himself from dropping the bottle. Since when did you call his creator so informally?

His creator acts if he’s contemplating, before of course giving in. He draws your body in even closer, leaning his free hand up to cover his mouth as he whispers in his ear. Once he’s done you do not draw away, nor does his creator’s hand leave its place by your neck. You two are practically attached at the hip.

A bashful, shocked look covers your face, quickly followed by a giggle like that of twinkling bells.

“That can’t be true!”

“It is my dear. They believed it blessed their fields. Those Romans were quite odd.” Edric leans in again, his nose close enough that he must be drawing in your scent. “And quite provocative.”

You slap his chest, another delighted giggle coming from your covered mouth.

Caleb can’t watch anymore. Can’t stand looking at your exuberant face, expressions he thought were impossible from you. Can’t stand to hear your delight.

He takes a swig of the piss-wine, stomaching it better than he thought.

The creator had weird delusions. Surely he is buttering you up due to his son’s utter failings. He had a way of falling into his roles almost effortlessly. Caleb is sure in his mortal life he was a performer, or at least had a dying wish to be one.

As he stumbles into his bedroom, half the wine gone, Caleb banishes the thought of you and his creator from his head.

There is simply no reason for him to be bothered by this. None at all.

—

To your relief, your husband is not at dinner the next night.

You take it later than usual, only heightening your fears that he might be present. Having slept in this morning due to the length of your last night, it brings a lightness that he is gone. You had forgotten how dreadfully awkward it was with him around, even when you ignored it. The fact that he was in fact your husband made it only worse, despite the fact you had discarded ideas of a loving marriage years ago.

But it does add to your despondence when you do see him in the garden, right next to your usual spot.

You notice him too late to leave, about to sit down on your favorite bench before you recognize his usual shoes, sprawled out on the grass with the rest of him. Those dark eyes of his merely graze of your from over the lip of his bottle, his clothing surprisingly neat despite how he lays supine in the dew.

“H-hello.” You unfortunately stutter, flinching at this invasion of your private space. “Husband.” You hastily add. You may not like the man, but you’re not a scoundrel.

“Wife.” Caleb says, much less vitriol and derision than you’re expecting. He says the term as it is, neutral.

In a normal circumstance you’d ask what brings him out here. Ask if he enjoys the stars like you do. But months of nothing have taught you it’d be fruitless and that your words were better left unsaid. So you sit on the bench, look upwards, and try your best to ignore him.

For a blissful moment you hope your arrival would convince him to leave. At least so he could drink and mope and…whatever else he does by himself. But he doesn’t. Caleb stays laying down, sipping on his wine and also looking toward the stars.

You wish you could dismiss his presence as easily as he does yours. But like his father your husband is a rather large man, his spread out form hard to miss now that you know he is there. His alabaster skin and golden blonde hair deeply contrast against the blue-green of the grass, like a marble statue laid out in a field. Eye-catchingly attractive, you have no doubts the ladies of the town are missing him dreadfully.

It doesn’t matter, you don't intend to let him spoil your quiet time. He has free reign over every other part of the house, you refuse to back down from your corner of safety.

—

Caleb counts himself lucky you're so oblivious. So locked in your stargazing you don’t notice the periodic glances he takes your way.

Your skin looks extra soft in the moonlight, rays of it only highlighting your best features. The same smile from the night before is back on your face, even after several minutes of looking up at the stars and nothing else.

So, you were as star-obsessed as his creator. That must be why you were smiling so much last night, caught up in the rapture of the meteor shower. Only someone like that would enjoy his creator’s ramblings either, probably drawn together at that moment from sheer boredom. The knot unravels in his stomach, just a bit.

“Hello Caleb, I did not realize you’d be joining us.”

Caleb finds himself jolting, sitting up on his forearms as his creator creeps as silently as usual. His nose scrunches up, his eyes squinting. He’ll never get used to that.

“I’m not joining you. Just wanted to lay in the garden for a while. I came here first.”

Caleb says, taking another defiant sip from his bottle. His creator, infuriatingly, shows no outward distaste. Instead he moves onto you, stepping right over Caleb’s outstretched legs.

“I see. That makes more sense.” His creator says, not even looking him in the eye. “He never was fond of stargazing, though I tried my best to teach him. Too obsessed with catching bugs to care for it.” He says entirely to you, in that tone fathers have when needling their children. It catches you off guard, a laugh caught by your open palm thrown across your mouth.

If Caleb could still blush, he fears his cheek would be aflame. His fangs dig into the inside of cheek, his acrid blood mixing with the terrible wine. He jerks his head away, throwing himself back down to lay in the grass, unfortunately just like a child would. His creator just rolls his eyes, gesturing for you to stand and walk a couple paces over, to have some modicum of privacy.

Caleb fears at first that his creator’s greater perception would catch his frequent glances; That he’d call him out, embarrass him again. But to Caleb’s relief and great consternation, he seems far too wrapped up in you to make notice of his fledgeling. Your small talk is of the same drollness of last night, cooing over the heavens and exchanging stories, the kind that bore him to death. But you are enraptured, leaning into his creator’s every word, even excitedly grasping at his coat when a particularly joyant emotion crashes through you. His creator is just soaking it up. He lingers on every touch, takes in every detail and listens with a thoughtful look on his face. Caleb’s focused eyes catch the way his own drag across your neck when you point upward, how his hand moves from resting on your back to your shoulder to your neck, all in the guise of showing you something far away.

You, oblivious as always, lavish in the attention like a blushing maiden. Far from the shy and proper touches you gave him on your wedding day, ever so polite even to your husband. Caleb hates the way it makes his unbeaten heart throb, makes his chest feel like lava as he sits in this feeling, unused to being on this side.

But what sends Caleb over it is when you lock eyes with his creator. Still deep in a ramble about some story, your mouth moves a mile a minute, and Edric can’t take his eyes off it. It’s small, but Caleb sees his tongue dart out, wet his palette as he just stares at your plush lips.

Caleb stands up, making a huff and show of it to grab your attention.

“It’s late. I’m going to bed.” Caleb says, eyes focused on you instead of Edric.

“Oh.” you say, as if someone had just remarked on the weather. “I suppose it is. I should probably retire too.”

“Hmm.” His creator hums, a certain, cutting look in his gaze as he eyes Caleb up and down. “I as well.” He slowly turns back to you, “I had a great time, as always dear.” He bows.

“Me too.” You curtsy, that demure look back on your face. “Good night.” You say to both of them, but Caleb can tell you mostly mean it for Edric.

Your room lies on the opposite side of the estate, a tactical move to keep you as isolated as possible from him, another decision his creator had despised. It works to Caleb's advantage, as it means you give him and his creator ample time to talk.

Just as Edric turns to leave, Caleb strikes.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Edric stops in his tracks, that smirk returning to curl up one side of his mouth.

“Whatever do you mean, Caleb?”

“You know what I mean, old man.” Caleb spits the words, knowing they fall like cats claws against steel.

“I am playing my part.” Edric says, so obviously with fake ambivalence. “Since you see fit to do as you please, it is up to me to make our guest feel comfortable. I am only acting as any normal father-in-law would.”

“Bullshit.” Caleb takes satisfaction in the way Edric flinches, his disgust for foul language apparent. “No father-in-law dotes this much. Hell, fathers hardly dote this much.” Caleb takes a stride closer, emboldened by cornering his maker. “Seems much more than playing a part to me.”

Edric’s head turns as if on a slow swivel, his perfectly trimmed brow quirking upward.

“Not that you would know, but the girl actually makes quite good company, the first I’ve had in years.” Edric keeps his eyes on him now, unblinking and void-like. “It is not odd for me to seek out actually stimulating conversation, once in a while. I too have needs.”

Caleb laughs, hand thrown against his forehead.

“She’s my wife. Do you remember that?”

In an instant, all the low light of the garden is sucked out. His creator crosses the space between them in mere seconds. He looms over Caleb, a cruel smirk on his face, eyes filled with a simmering rage. The sheer effect of it has Caleb taking a step back, fear catching in his throat.

“Do not forget your place, boy. Do not forget that the privileges you enjoy were given by me.”

This close Caleb can see the dormant swirls of red in Edric’s eyes, the pools of dark burgundy just hidden in his black irises. Caleb forces himself to keep eye contact, even if his animal brain calls for him to flee.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, merely minutes or hours. When you’re undead, time feels weird that way. But Caleb is thankful for his lack of breath, the lack of ache in his muscles, because if not he is sure he would’ve collapsed by now.

The Earl’s lips curl back up, all of Caleb’s posturing for not. He knows his son too well.

“Go finish your wine, child. It will not enjoy you neglecting it for so long. It can be quite a jealous lover.”

Just like that, the mask slips back on, the Earl stepping back and finally allowing Caleb to rest. Glass cracks in his palm. With a swivel of his coat, Edric leaves him, knowing he’s won.

Caleb waits until he’s gone to throw the bottle, savoring the way it shatters against the garden bench.

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #female reader insert #x reader #vampire x reader #regency #gothic #love triangle

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bump1nthen1ght · 5 months ago

Text

The Family Jewels (Pt. 1/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Series Summary: Months of loveless married life would be taxing on any soul, especially when confined to the secluded country estate of your new family. But a blossoming connection with you reclusive father-in-law offers you comfort where there should be none, bringing respite to your otherwise dreadful nights. After months of disinterest, how will your husband react to such a development?

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Slight hints of Obsessive Behavior, Mentions of Infidelity, Degradative Language

A/N: Whoo another series! Been a while since I did one of these, though this one is a bit shorter than others. As you can probably tell from the warnings this series is going to be a darker tone, nevertheless I hope y'all enjoy!

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The night time on the estate is cool, even with the sun having just tucked under the horizon. The winds move quicker over the rolling hills, no trees to catch and rustle before it’s billowing across your dress, sending goosebumps across your skin. It’s enough to send anyone scurrying inside at the hint of darkness, but not you. Yes, you dread the cold and the way it pinches at your nose and fingertips, but anything is better than being stuck inside the house, alone with your thoughts. Not again.

“Ahh, yes. It should be ready now dear.”

And especially not when your father-in-law has promised a special treat this particular evening. One that he assured would make the cold worth it.

You tentatively walk toward the telescope, still nervous to touch its magnificence. The craftsmanship alone betrays an elegance far beyond your understanding, even after joining this house nearly a season ago. But your father-in-law is kind, gentle as he guides your eye to the glass, not as reprimanding as your former tutors or even governess’ were.

You peek into the glass, perfectly centered on the main event of tonight; The bright ‘evening star’, whose path perfectly crosses the night sky tonight.

“Is that-”

“It’s Venus, my dear.” A gloved hand settles on your shoulder, your father-in-law’s dulcet voice dancing across your inner ear. “Isn��t she beautiful?”

If he was anyone else, even your husband, the familiar touch would have shocked you out of your reverence. But after weeks of stargazing, nights spent in gentle conversation, you’ve learned that The Earl was just the affectionate type. Nothing untoward, of course, but the sort of casual touches and grazes one would expect of an exuberant father. You have a feeling he’d always wanted someone out here with him, and is simply too unpracticed to restrain himself.

“It is.” You gasp, still reeling on the fact you’re seeing a planet. An actual planet, other than Earth, rendered in such detail. “Oh, Sir, it’s incredible.”

“I knew you’d like it.” The Earl chuckles. “I remember the first time I saw her in such splendor. I was speechless.” The hand on your shoulder rubs its thumb across the planes of your back, never leaving the fabric. “And dear, you know you can call me Edric.”

His voice rings in your ears, an imperceptible shiver running down your spine as the Earl’s, Edric’s, voice grows subtly darker. You swallow a deep breath and convince yourself it’s from the excitement of seeing Venus herself. Pulling back from the telescope, you give him a small smile, unable to meet his deep, black eyes.

“O-of course, Sir-I mean, Edric.” Your head bobs, some emotion caught in your throat.

He is family now. It is sensible.

Your eyes dart around the courtyard, almost wishing there were some servants darting around, something to distract yourself with. But the staff always seems to disappear at the hint of night time. It was rather shocking to you at first, but after a while you assumed maybe the Earl was just diligent in making sure they have proper rest. It did make the house quite…eerie at night. Wandering the long halls, peering out at the endless darkness that was the rolling hills, it was what drew you to the night’s sky in the first place. What drew you and Edric together.

—

“Dear?”

Already on edge by the quiet and the dark, your father-in-law’s voice nearly scares you out of your skin. Jumping from your bench, you turn to him, ashamedly unprepared and ghoulish-looking.

“Earl Gulliver!” You drop into a deep curtsy, hoping your father-in-law doesn’t notice your frazzled appearance. “I w-was not expecting anyone. It is quite late.”

That is an understatement, to say the least. The last person you had expected to see this night was your reclusive father-in-law, a man you hadn’t exchanged a single word with since your wedding two months ago. It could’ve been the size of your newfound home, but you hadn’t seen him once since moving in. Not at meal times, not in the fabulously large library, and certainly not wandering the grounds. You assumed he kept odd hours, working hard on whatever it is that Earls do. Or maybe he enjoyed the lifestyle of your husband, was sleeping all day and then spending his nights out on the town, either at a tavern or a brothel or both.

“It is. I must admit, I was not expecting you either.” The Earl tightens the sides of his jacket, although the cold seems to be not affecting him at all. His face grows no flush; His fine, ivory cheekbones as brilliantly white as they are in the daytime. “If I may, what are you doing in the garden?”

You swallow your saliva, realizing that this is now a full conversation. Darn, your governess was right in saying you should have practiced the art a bit more.

“I was looking at the stars, sir.” You fight off the urge to curtsy at the end of each sentence, something about The Earl’s regality instilling a need to appease. He was every bit the nobility that your husband wasn’t, his thick black hair combed neatly, even at this late of night. “I used to do it when I was younger, but this estate has a much b-better view.” Your fingers knot in your dress, a frustrating habit you never grew out of. “I quite like…the constellations.”

The Earl stands there, and for a second you wonder if you’re about to be scolded for such a girlish inclination. But the smile that curls up his face is kind, The Earl stepping into the garden with a sweep of his waistcoat. In no time he is by your side, and pointing up at the sky.

“My favorite is the Pleiades.” The Earls’ gloved fingers draw across the sky, expertly pointing out the star cluster. “It’s also known as the Seven-”

“-Sisters! Yes, it’s one of my favorites too!” The excitement bursts out of you before you think better, the first positive interaction in months getting to you. Like a child having sugar after rationing. But the shame is just as quick, the realization of another girlish outburst, causing you to curl in and a heat to spread across your cheeks. The only thing that bats it away is your father-in-laws smile, even wider than ebfore.

“Do you know the story of the sisters?” The Earl moves in closer, leaning down to meet your eye. Your father-in-law is of an impressive height, just like his son, and the way your neck cranes to look at him has a way of making you feel child-like.

“My nursemaid used to tell me a version of it, though I am not sure how accurate it maye be.” You giggle, now drawing shapes in the fabric of your skirt. “I believed she liked to embellish.”

“Well, there are quite a many versions of it, from all over the globe. Perhaps there isn’t one true version, but many concurrent ones.” The Earl says with a gentle nod of his head. “Humanity has always had a way of crafting myths, of telling stories that make something as big as the world, make a little more sense.”

“That's beautiful.” You say, looking back up at the constellation, the wonder apparent in your eyes. “Isn’t it strange to think that so many people, even centuries ago, were doing the same thing as us? Looking up at the stars and telling stories?” Your eyes stay locked on the great abyss, dancing from star to star, wondering of all the people before you.

The Earl, however, keeps his eyes on you.

“Indeed, it is beautiful.”

—

That was the start of your connection with your father-in-law, an unlikely friendship which has made me these past weeks bearable. You never knew you could look forward to night time like this, but sitting down and stargazing was the last bastion of comfort and companionship you had here. The Earl would point out different bodies, telling you myths and stories, some versions you had never even heard of. You would tell him your own tales, the ones your maids would make up, or your sisters dramatized, but he enjoyed them all the same.

To think such a stoic and quiet man was hiding such a laugh, such a loving personality, was astonishing. In a way it baffles you how his son turned out as he did, although you admit you do not know your husband that well. Your wedding had been short and formal, your husband as eager to get it over with as he was to down another cup of foul-smelling wine. Your interaction with him so far had been just as short, your husband rather displeased in every iteration you saw him. Nothing like the gentle, attentive man you now know Edric to be.

“It is getting late now, dear.” The hand on your shoulder moves up, nearly pressing on the hem of your dress. Darn, this is your least favorite time of the night. “I think it is best you go to bed now.”

Just the thought puts a yawn into your mouth, has your eyes drooping. Edric must have a way of sensing these things, you think to yourself.

“You are right. Though I would love to keep watching.”

Edric chuckles, and brushes a stray hair behind your ear.

“The stars will be there tomorrow night too, dearest.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as you lock eyes with Edric. Those deep, dark pools are as unfathomable as ever, the same abyss you could get lost in, just like the sky.

He had never called you dearest before, only dear.

“Y-yes, you’re right.” You swallow another bout of troubling emotion, tearing your eyes away from The Earl’s carved visage. “Have a good night, Edric.”

“You as well, my dear.”

It takes everything in you to depart, to leave the little bubble of you two and head to your bedroom. With him, you are happy. With him, you are safe, and heading to your empty bed is just another reminder.

Of what, exactly?

That thought has you scurrying along. Perhaps you are more tired than you thought. It is the lack of sleep, surely.

The Earl watches as you leave, standing still.

Your night has ended, yet his has just begun.

—

Edric fears he is making a mistake.

Since this immortal life was thrust upon him, he’s always been deigned sentimental. Too sentimental, many others would chide, especially for a beast of the night. This longing he had was so human, so mortal, so unbecoming of a vampire of his station and age. He knew it well, aware of this irritating tendency of his to grow so attached.

He had done much to keep it down. When it had first come to a head, becoming unbearable for his immortal soul, he had compromised and found Caleb. It was the perfect middleground: Siring a fledgling was a perfectly natural, vampiric thing to do. He had made himself a companion, a young vampire to explore the world with, to help guide, he had made himself a son. That had been enough the past couple of decades.

But the boy had become such a brat.

Edric thought the conditions were perfectly tolerable; In order to live the lavish life they do, Caleb and him had to compromise. Rather than sink to the level of so many others, living in alleys and shadows with only the stolen goods on their back, to live like nobility one must have to act like nobility. If it meant marrying every once in a while, so be it. They could find a quiet girl with a proper name, whisk her away from her family with promises of wealth and titles, and enjoy a couple years of peaceful solitude before she died of a mysterious illness. Just a couple years of playing the part and they could have decades of a lavish country life, all with the veil of grief to cover up any of their eccentricities.

But that boy just couldn’t handle it, could he?

Edric thought he raised him better than this, raised him smarter than this. But no, Caleb couldn’t content himself with even one second of his immortal life not being rambunctious. He married the girl Edric selected, all right, yet spat in the name of matrimony at every chance. While Edric stayed at home, managing the estate and growing their profits, Caleb was in town acting every bit a rake: Whores, booze, gambling. Like a petulant child he was throwing a tantrum, appalled that his father would “dare” take away any of his new toys, the utter debauchery of this immortal life.

The worst part of it all is that…it didn’t seem to matter.

Edric honors himself in keeping up with the times, of seamlessly blending with the ever shifting ways of human society. But this new found apathey to men's behavior had thrown him off. It’s a known secret that his son is an adulterous, drink-crazed partier, and yet no one seems to care! All they do is cast the occasionally disapproving gaze and talk amongst themselves, but it hasn’t seemed to affect his son’s social standing at all. In fact, most of the gentlemen of the town seemed to like him even more, embracing his wild ways and straying from their own confinements of proper morality.

Edirc hated to say it, but back in his day, marriage meant something. Men had affairs sure, but either they were secretive or properly shamed once found out. None such flagrant displays were respected, they were spat upon, they were easy weaknesses to exploit. Back in his day, men were either honorable, or good enough at pretending to be honorable.

The real problem now is his new daughter-in-law. His sweet, kind daughter in law. Who loves his library, who loves the stars and the all encompassing universe of which you are only a small speck. Who loves romance and tragedy loves to talk to him, The Earl, of all people. A droll, ancient vampire with nothing better to do but haunt this old house in the countryside. It’s pathetic, just how besotten he has become in such a short time, with this miniscule thing that should be nothing more than a cog in the machine.

Everyone always said he was too sentimental, that he got attached too easily. More in love with the fruits of humanity than with endless possibilities of his own immortality. They all called him weak, and yet he was still here, and many of them were not. His son, for all his problems, was still here, ever indulgent in the base sins which clung to his old mortal life.

Maybe it was time for him to indulge too.

Maybe it's time for the plan to change.

—

Caleb is lost.

He knows he’s on the property, for sure. But this new estate his master so gracefully bought for them was a goddamn labyrinth. Too many large halls that all look the same, the decorations so methodically similar to match current mortal’s tastes. It's confusing as is when he’s sober, even more so with a full belly of wine and whore’s blood.

It doesn’t help Caleb’s headache, an unfortunate side effect of his unexpected glutton. He had been sloppy tonight, shifting while caught in the raptures with the lady of the night, forced to drain her dry and ditch her in a river. No one would miss her, another forgettable face in a sea of brothels and wenches.

No, they aren’t called wenches anymore. At least, he doesn’t think. Devils, humans could be so confusing.

He stumbled into the first available room he sees, the door big and opulent enough to befit a fine bedchamber. It's probably a guest room, but whatever, he can crash for the day and-

Oh, this is not a guest room.

The sickly sweet smell of your blood alerts him immediately to your presence. If it hadn’t, then the site of you curled up on your bed, the moonlight shining down romantically on your sleeping self, would have. You look like a proper fairy tale princess, chest slowly rising up and down, your soft, long neck bare for all the terrible creatures that go bump in the night.

He lingers, he doesn’t know why. Walking along the side of your bed, pupils roving over your collarbone. His claws trace over the fine velvet of your bedding, luckily licked clean of the filthy blood of the whore and leaving no stains. Your head tosses in your sleep, but your face remains peaceful, completely unaware of your intruder.

You are a pretty thing, Caleb supposes. His creator could’ve done far worse in that department. You had a soft voice too, from what he remembered of the wedding. You had asked what he liked to do in his free time, gentle as a whisper amongst the bustling party going on around you. In another decade, Caleb myself might have pursued you, drawn in by your sweet face and even sweeter blood. He’d have seduced you, ravished you, and savored you like a fine wine.

But Caleb is older now, he isn’t the bumbling fool he was when first risen from the grave. He didn’t need you, didn’t need to have his prey fetched and prepared, like his creator insisted. It was an insult to his charm, to his prowess, that his master somehow couldn't understand.

He thought about killing you, the night of the wedding. Insisting on a witness for your consummation, then defiling you like an animal and ripping your throat out. That would show him that he wasn't a weak-willed child, who needs to play pretend. Who needs some perfectly demure debutante to flout about on his arm, who needs to shackle himself to the ridiculous norms of the bugs beneath them. Why would he crave any of that, when he had finally tasted true freedom?

You have no survival instinct, Caleb thinks as he draws a finger down your jaw. You barely even twitch, no fear from the cool nail that could slit your throat in a second. Just a pretty face, meant to be bought and sold. A warm hearted maiden that only exists in fairy tales.

You turn your head, unintentionally nuzzling into Caleb’s touch. Goosebumps pepper across the line of your jaw, but still you do not stir.

Utterly hopeless.

That's what you were. Hopeless. Useless. A pretty doll to decorate the hallways. It’s why Caleb didn’t even bother consummating your “union”, if one could even call it that. That would imply that he cared, that he wanted you.

Caleb stands at the foot at the bed, and watches the covers rise and fall with each slow breath. Watches your pupils flutter behind your eyelids, your toes curling when the covers pull up and reveal the bitter cold. Even in sleep, you’re just so human.

If he still was one, Caleb’s sure he would have fallen for you. Such a beautiful noble girl, the soft-hearted kind that would have been kind to a peasant farm boy like himself, saw past his poor station. You would've forced him to become this poor, besotted, love struck fool. He would’ve fallen to his knees and begged for even a scrap of your attention. He would’ve desired you like an addict does his drugs, like a prisoner does the sun.

He isn’t that anymore. That weak, romantic idiot dreaming of a noble life. Now he’s just….

Caleb's claws dig into the bedframe.

He takes what he wants now, no matter what anyone else says.

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #female reader insert #vampire x reader #x reader #series #regency #yandere #yandere x reader

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bump1nthen1ght · 5 months ago

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Update: Masterlist 2!!!!

Having officially run out link space on my old post, I've updated the original and created a part two to my masterlist. This will have all upcoming stories (unless I run out space there too) and will also have the link to A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2024). Enjoy Y'all!

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bump1nthen1ght · 5 months ago

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Monster Lovin' Masterlist (Part Two)

Key:

- (🔥) means explicit content

- (☠️) Non-Con/Dub-Con

- (🌸) Fluff

- (🥀) Angst

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2024)