#dark thomas hutter/reader

[ameidala]

Monster Among Men

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

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

word count: 7,700+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, perhaps, the heavens had finally listened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆��ﾟ☆: ♱*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆｡ﾟ☆: ♱*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The darkness of the sky eventually became your only refuge

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You pray so sweetly, little one.”

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

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

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

Your lips parted instinctively, but no words came out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your knees nearly quivered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I adore you.”

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

[shelbyblog2025]

Can someone plzz make or recommend any thomas x reader or nosferatu fanfics there are not many online and I am OBESSED with the new movie Nosferatu!!

[cherienymphe]

Scorned

Friedrich Harding x Reader

Summary: With no possibility of a future with your lover, you make the decision to stop letting him break your heart.

warnings: Non-con, mentions of loss of virginity, obsession, forbidden relationship, power imbalance

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

♱

Friedrich Harding was a man who earned many compliments—he was a man of integrity, a man with wealth, and a man greatly respected in society. You personally had a few lesser known compliments for the dark-haired gentleman such as his caring demeanor and gentle touch and prowess in bed. It was something that only you had the pleasure of knowing. At least, that was what you were assured, and you chose to believe him for he was a man of integrity. 

Under the cover of darkness when you should have been asleep or even during earlier hours when he should have been using valuable time to find a suitable wife, Friedrich preferred to refresh his memory of what it felt like to touch you and taste you and find solace inside of you. The years-long friendship between Thomas and Friedrich made the former none the wiser to the true cause of the latter’s frequent visits over the past year. Your life was not the only one to be changed the moment you were taken in as a maid for the Hutter family.

Friedrich would spend every waking moment breathing you in and finding relaxation in your warmth if he had the choice, and you knew this because he told you so. He was, after all, an honest man. He told you how beautiful you were every time the thought crossed his mind and he told you about every time he thought of you while he was away and he told you how harder it was becoming to stay away from you. He was very honest…even when you wished that he would not be.

“You had to know that no other answer is possible…”

Those baby blues of his were heavy—with sadness or shame, you did not know, only that you yourself felt a bit of both. It was a silly thing to ask him one day—if he ever thought of marrying you—and truthfully you did not know what answer you were possibly expecting. Of course Herr Harding could not ever marry you. You were a maid, a servant—not much better than property in some places—and the gentleman that you had grown to care for needed a wife of good standing…a wife that many would envy him for. 

You were neither of those things.

Asking him such a thing only succeeded in making things tense for you two for a few moments and breaking your own heart, but that was quickly remedied when he told you not to think of such things before pressing his lips to yours. His manor only housed one, and so you were not so cautious in how you responded to him once he got his hands on you.

His lips did not stray from your face once as he slowly and gently curved his hips into yours, pushing his cock into you with a pace that he knew you loved. Nothing drove you crazier more, and you loved the sounds that escaped his lips whenever you grazed your fingers over his skin and pressed your nails into his naked back. The only time that you were not a maid and he was not a man out of reach was during these stolen moments, when he was inside of you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear and telling you that you were his.

Only…

You were not his.

He had made that clear to you. You were not his and he was not yours, and while it was never spoken of again, you moved forward with that in mind no matter how much it broke your heart day after day. You did not take words said in the heat of the moment to heart, and never did you ever think to.

“You did not come to me last night…”

The whispered words were said to you in a dimly lit hallway, Thomas’ family just in the sitting room and oblivious to your coupled absence. The dark-haired man had cornered you, his blue eyes hardly leaving your person from the moment he stepped into the house, so some part of you had expected it. With him so close—his warmth reaching out for you and the scent of him surrounding you—it was hard to remember why you had left his bedside cold the previous night. You took a deep breath before racking your brain for the truth.

“I did not think it was wise.”

Friedrich looked between your eyes for a moment before a light chuckle left him, his perfect teeth winking at you as he clearly found your response comical.

“When has it ever been…?”

He reached for you as he said this, but you were quick to grab his hand and halt his pursuit. The frown that knitted his brow was a rare sight—Friedrich hardly being the kind of man who was faced with a refusal from anyone—and you almost felt bad.

“Perhaps that is reason enough that I should have never warmed your bed to begin with,” you quietly told him, and you did not miss the way his face fell. “You must marry and have sons…and not only will that never be with me, but the longer this continues the longer you put it off.”

The man before you stared at you as if you were speaking another language, and when your words finally sank in, he straightened, staring at you in a way you had never been on the receiving end of before.

“It is not your place to worry about such things,” he said, making you bristle. “You let me worry about my affairs.”

You were not stupid. You could see that Friedrich was thinking and feeling way too many things than he was used to in this moment as the implications behind your words were finally starting to hit him, but it did not make his words sting any less.

“No, it is not my place to worry about your affairs,” you agreed. “...but it is my place to worry about mine.”

He was still as you slid from between him and the wall, his gaze stuck on you as you abandoned him in more ways than one. Refusing to sleep with Friedrich any more was no easy decision to make, even harder to execute. The man had introduced you to a world you wondered if you would ever be privy to, and he had made you feel things that made you shudder to think about even now, but you were tired of breaking your own heart day after day.

“I do not want any letters from you and do not seek me out. I no longer want that…”

Before your former lover could respond, you were rejoining the family who employed you. You ignored his gaze when he returned and throughout dinner and most especially as he was leaving. It was no easy feat because Friedrich had the kind of presence that was hard to ignore, and that was true in more ways than one.

Despite how many times you dreamt of the man in the weeks that followed, you told yourself that bittersweet memories were infinitely better than accepting the affections of someone who could never be yours. One day he would be married—guarantee—and maybe one day you would be too—not so much of a guarantee—and Friedrich was an honest man, yes, but it felt insulting to him to think that he might not possess the kind of strength required to never seek you out once he took a wife. You surely liked to think so, but the man himself had told you many times that he found it difficult to stay away from you.

…and he was no liar.

Despite your wishes, letters were still slipped beneath your door, waiting for you at the end of the day when he had long left and you were retiring for the night. Each one went unopened, too afraid of what you might do should you read what he had to say all the while imagining that smooth voice of his. In fact, none of your wishes were met, cornered by the blue-eyed man again and again.

“Friedrich…”

You nervously looked past his broad shoulders, your inability to hold his gaze bringing him great frustration.

“Forgive me for I believed that this was merely some tantrum, some lapse in thought brought on by fear or inadequacy or…”

He trailed off, seemingly unable to gather his thoughts as his eyes roamed your face.

“Friedrich, I have made my feelings clear to you,” you spoke before he could gather himself to do so again. “Leave me be.”

Your attempt to get away was stopped, and your wide eyes rested on his face. There was a deep frown on it, and the facial hair above his lip twitched as his fingers pressed into your arms.

“Have I not told you time and time again that you are mine? That I cannot be without you?”

“Words said while I was warming your bed,” you pointed out, the attitude in your tone clear. “Now it is you who will have to forgive me for not taking them seriously.”

You tried to slip away again.

“So, you thought I said them in jest? That they were not meant to be believed?”

He sounded incredulous, and you took that moment to finally break free.

“It is irrelevant,” you hissed. “Please, leave me be!”

Your voice slightly echoed, and you were quick to stride away from him lest someone come looking for you.

As it turns out, the only person who you ever had to worry about looking for you was your spurned lover. You did not know if his shameless behavior was scarier than if he had preferred to remain discreet. Gathering groceries for the Hutters was a shadowed task and every room you cleaned turned into a hiding place every time he came over.

Your dreams about the man who you had once thought you loved turned into nightmares.

…and those nightmares turned into reality.

“So, this is where you hide whenever you so much as hear my voice…”

His hands were on your face, and your lower back was pressed against a side table as he finally found you one day. Friedrich looked as distinguished as always, but his eyes…something about those eyes gave way to the disarray within him. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, and there was a pout on his own lips as he ran his eyes along your face.

“I have written to you,” he forced out.

“...and I have asked you not to.”

The man before you swallowed at that, and his fingers pressed harder into your skin.

“Have you read them?” he finally asked, and your resolute silence must have been answer enough because you did not miss the way his eyes dimmed and his face fell.

Friedrich was normally so composed and dignified, so to see him in such a way was not only fascinating…but also terrifying. A once predictable man had become anything but, and you did not know what to expect from him.

“Has your heart truly grown so cold towards me?” he murmured, a plea in his gaze, and you felt compelled to be truthful in your answer.

“No,” you whispered. “...but I know what I want, and you cannot give it to me, so why go on pretending otherwise?”

You wrestled yourself from his grip with difficulty, and when Friedrich reached out to you, you stepped away, his fingers grazing the fabric of your dress as you did so.

“If you ignore my wishes again…” you took a deep, shuddering breath. “...I fear that you might never find me should you seek me out.”

You did not miss his stricken gaze as you left him, and despite what you wanted, it still hurt to see. You loved working for the Hutters, and perhaps you shared some blame in getting involved with a man who was so closely intertwined with them, but Friedrich had become an overbearing presence that would force you to find employment elsewhere if need be. He did not respect any boundary you attempted to put in place, and that made you feel terrified in a place you once felt so safe in.

He consumed your every waking thought—and not in a way that was pleasing—and perhaps that was why you found yourself touching the pile of letters you swore you would never open. But open them you did, one by one, and each letter grew more worrying than the last. The first was mild in comparison, mostly filled with declarations of desire to be near you and the odd jest here and there about what he had wrongly assumed was some temporary break.

Each one after talked less and less about love and any other gentle feelings and more about the need to never be without you and the ramblings of a man whose thoughts were far from coherent. Words like ‘consume’ and ‘torture’ and ‘despair’ stood out the most, and as you read every one, you had not even realized that you had begun to tremble. The parchment in your hands was shaking, and the cold that gripped you had nothing to do with the weather outside.

So much of what he had written was not all that different from the things Friedrich would whisper in your ear in the dead of night when he was pinning you beneath him and gently biting your flesh and parting your legs to make room for him. So many things that he would say in passionate moments were not at all anything you ever thought to take to heart. After all, how could you possibly expect to believe that he would never want to be away from you when he told you in no uncertain terms that he would never marry you?

For days those letters haunted you, and you struggled with how best to proceed. You did not relish the thought of leaving, but Friedrich—while a well respected gentleman—was a man who often and almost always got what he wanted. You did not know if the hold he wanted to have over you was because he truly loved you or because he felt that being your first meant something more or because…you were simply denying him something he wanted.

All scenarios scared you, and while you were fretting over the unnerving words that never left your thoughts, a storm ravaged your coastal town.

A storm that stranded Herr Harding under the same roof where you laid your head.

Some part of you expected him to give into his temptations.

“I do not know if you think me fickle or you just do not take anything I say seriously…”

You quietly trailed off, shaking your head and moving away from him as the heavy rain pelted against your window. The bad weather kept the rest of the house unaware of the argument going on beneath their very roof.

“...but I told you-.”

“Where do you think you can go that I will not follow?”

His words stumped you, and a flash of lightning brightened the room for a moment before it was bathed in the warm glow from your candles once again. His bright eyes stood out in the low lighting, but you swore that the more you stared into them, the darker they grew. The silence between you was thick with tension, and you felt your throat tighten at the predicament you found yourself in.

“Friedrich,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “Please…”

“You break my heart, and you are the one begging?”

When he moved closer, you stood your ground despite your fear.

“Your heart?” you gasped. “You tell me that you will never marry me, and you do not think that broke mine? That day after day of being with you while knowing that did not continue to do so?”

You watched as he pressed his lips together, jaw clenching at your words.

“Friedrich…you must marry…and you have no intention of making me your bride. Are you telling me that the respectable and honorable Herr Harding had it in mind to keep me on as some shameful mistress? Hardly more than some whore?”

Your tone was thick with incredulity, and the dark-haired man had no response, only looking away with a huff.

“Or did you simply never think that far?”

“That day is nowhere along the horizon-.”

“Of course, you did not think that far,” you sighed, interrupting. “You are a man. There is no such thing as ‘ruin’ for you. Of course, you do not care.”

“Never speak such things,” he spat, cornering you. “Of course, I care.”

“You care, and yet you have never concerned yourself with what will become of me after you have taken a wife. You care, but you ignore my every wish to be free of you, to move on from you…”

“...because I cannot-.”

He cut himself off, hands placed on your cheeks as he stared at you.

“...because I cannot bear the thought,” he eventually said, pushing the words out through his teeth. “The mere thought of you with another tempts me to do unspeakable things.”

Those words caused a shudder to crawl down your spine, not unfamiliar with them as you recalled reading those exact words on a piece of parchment. His thumbs brushed along your skin, and when he moved closer, your stomach twisted into knots.

“Do you even grasp the insanity that would send me into?”

“Does that seem fair to you? That you must move on one day while I remain here right where you would prefer me?”

“I will never be able to move on from you, what about that do you not understand?”

You looked away from him, and Friedrich touched the tip of his nose to your temple, breathing you in.

“You speak of things that simply make no sense, Friedrich. It seems that I am the one who has to be reasonable yet again…”

“...and how do you plan on doing that? By leaving?”

The silence was loud, and you stumbled out from between him and the wall the moment his hands trailed further down to your shoulder and arm. He softly called your name as you turned your back to him, twice, then a bit louder on the third time.

“I will not allow it,” he harshly whispered, a hand circling your wrist. “Surely, you know that.”

His other hand dug into your waist, pulling you against him.

“I saw the letters on your bed table,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I know you read them. I know that you know what you mean to me.”

“Let go of me,” you breathed.

“That will only happen if you manage to make me,” was his mocking response, and your heart skipped a beat at his words. “If I leave you tonight, I worry that I shall never hold you again.”

His soft lips swallowed whatever you were going to say, and as you went to push him away, he pinned your arm between you.

“I refuse to be without you,” he murmured into the kiss, one hand firm on the small of your back and preventing you from getting away.

Wind whipped rain and leaves against the window, and the thunder carefully hid your fearful yelp as his lips trailed down your jaw and to your neck. His facial hair brushed against your skin, and you shuddered from the familiarity of it. Every attempt to break free from him was thwarted, and you had half a mind to wake the entire house, but you feared the consequences for you should the discovery of such a scene get out.

The man before you would go on fine as if nothing happened.

You, on the other hand, would be lucky to find another decent place of employment…let alone a husband.

Friedrich was unlike anything you had ever experienced, acting so unlike himself as he forced you to go and move in whatever direction he wished. Your panic only began to set in when you found yourself on your bed, a place that had seen your coupling numerous times, but tonight would be different.

Nothing about tonight would be loving.

The sound of ripping fabric made your heart jump, and when Friedrich’s lips wrapped around one of your breasts, you could not hold in your gasp. His other hand slid between your thighs as it had a hundred times, and every push against his chest was useless. You were focused on too much at once—trying to get his lips off of you and his fingers out of you.

When he curved them into you and circled his tongue on your skin, you faltered.

What followed played out just as you expected it to.

The strong man—whose strength you had once admired—was not deterred at all by any hit or scratch or punch you gave him. He murmured many things against your skin as he released himself, pinning your writing frame between him and your bed. Some of it was loving words that you were not at all unfamiliar with, and some of it was reminiscent of the more unnerving things he had put into his writing to you. 

“I told you that I cannot resist you,” he whispered, slowly thrusting into you in the way he knew you liked.

It made your stomach churn, now.

“Every time I am inside of you, you bear witness to every confession I make…”

His fingers threaded through your own against your will, pinning your hand to the bed as he held it. His lips pressed opened mouthed kisses against the expanse of your neck, your tearful gaze on the ceiling as your lashes fluttered. Every time he sank into you, your stomach tightened.

He kissed you again, forcing you to move your mouth against his as he tasted the inside of yours. Your free hand unconsciously trailed along his arm, forgetting for a brief moment that this was not like all the other times you snuck away or was lowered onto his bed. Friedrich kisses you intensely, his hips moving against yours with the same intensity, and it made your toes curl.

“Tell me that you shall never leave me,” he gently demanded.

When you could not give him the answer he wanted, his gaze met your tearful one. If there was any guilt within him for his actions then it was not present in his eyes at all. Those blue eyes of his shone like you suspected yours did, the candlelight reflecting in his tearful gaze.

“Must I make it so that you never can…?”

The ominous nature of his words were not lost on you, and a million different scenarios filled your mind.

“You speak of ruin, now…but I imagine that whisperings of the true nature of our relationship would really ruin you…”

Your wide eyes did not look away from his, and you wondered if he was even capable of what he was saying. Friedrich would not—he was a good and honorable man—and even he did not look like he believed himself capable of what he was threatening. However, you remembered your current position and that a good and honorable man would never put you in such a place. His train of thought seemed to be on the same track as yours, and you watched as he mentally resolved himself to whatever he had to in order to keep you.

“Perhaps a delicate condition…”

You dug your nails into his skin, a few tears spilling over, and for the first time in months, you saw uncertainty in his gaze.

“Friedrich…you wouldn’t…”

He swallowed, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your still lips.

“Then do not make me…”

Your lips trembled as he lifted his head and brushed his fingers over your mouth, a deep frown on his handsome face.

“I refuse to be without you,” he choked out. “You have already driven me to the lowest of moral character.”

You flinched as if he had slapped you, and he wiped a few tears away.

“Do not make me sink so low again, I beg you,” he breathed, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

He remained there and circled his arms around you as he continued to gently sink his cock into you, and too afraid to say anything but what he wanted to hear, you hesitantly nodded.

“Okay,” you shakily whispered. “I shall never leave you.”

The only response you got was a passionate kiss.

[gingerteafairy]

𝑬𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

"Selfish, profane, or sinful—what does it matter? This passion consumes me, and I welcome it. She has my heart entirely, and she may do with it as she pleases. Haunt me if that is her wish. I ask only to feel her presence."

tags n warnings: smut/mdni. friedrich harding x reader, wife!fem!reader, obsession, ghost!reader, ghost sex, heavy angst, vampirism, language, death, blood, devotion, praise kink, fingering, oral, piv. word count: 5k

@ikkyfics thank you for making me post this and not hiding it on my virtual shelf, you deserve the world <3 masterlist

Friedrich Harding’s anguished cries tore through the air, echoing across the desolate countryside. The sound was primal, raw—a lament that seemed to pierce even the heavens. Strong hands gripped his arms, restraining him as he thrashed against them, desperate to reach the coffin that housed his beloved wife. His wife. The one who had once been his anchor in a chaotic world. But those who truly knew Friedrich understood a deeper truth—his devotion to her paled in comparison to his adoration for you. For you, he had defied every societal expectation, every unwritten rule. Now, his world lay shattered before him.

Despite the lingering fear of the plague that had claimed her, he yearned to hold her one last time, to press her lifeless form against his chest and plead for the impossible.

“Friedrich, stop this madness!” Sievers barked, his voice tinged with both command and desperation as he struggled to contain the grieving man. Harding’s fists swung wildly, his face twisted in despair. The crowd watched in stunned silence, their expressions a mixture of pity and disdain. Mothers shielded their children’s eyes from the spectacle, while fathers stood grim-faced, their silence betraying their discomfort. Children whispered questions to their parents, too young to grasp the depth of the tragedy unfolding before them.

“Release me! I command you to release me!�� Friedrich roared, his voice a storm of grief, his blue eyes brimming with tears that fell freely down his face.

“Friedrich, enough!” Hutter pleaded, his grip tightening as he tried to restrain his friend. “This will not bring her back! You must—”

“No!” Harding’s voice cracked as he wrenched free from their grasp, his tear-streaked face contorted in anguish as he turned to Thomas. “She was everything, Thomas! Everything I had. God help me, what am I to do now? What is left of me? Damnation! Damnation upon this cruel fate!”

He collapsed to the ground, his body trembling as he crawled toward the coffin, his shaking hands reaching for the cold wood that separated him from her. But Thomas intervened, pulling him back into a firm embrace.

“Friedrich,” Thomas murmured, his voice soft yet insistent, “you must find strength. Look at me. Look at me.”

Thomas cupped Friedrich’s face, his hands rough and calloused, yet gentle as they held the face of a man utterly undone. The dark hollows under Harding’s eyes spoke of sleepless nights, of relentless grief that gnawed at his very soul.

“I can’t, Thomas,” Friedrich whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. “She was my life. How can I go on living when my heart is buried with her?”

“Friedrich,” Sievers began, stepping forward cautiously, “I did not know your wife well, but I am certain she would have wanted you to find happiness again. Life does not end here. One day, you may find love again—”

The doctor’s words were cut short by a vicious punch that sent him stumbling backward. In a flash, Friedrich was upon him, gripping his collar with a ferocity that belied his weakened state.

“Curse you, Sievers,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with fury. “How dare you speak of love to a man who no longer has a heart? Insolent doctor! You know nothing of my torment.”

Thomas and the others rushed forward, pulling Friedrich away as he sagged against them, his strength finally failing. His body, ravaged by exhaustion and starvation, could fight no longer.

By the time they returned to his estate, Friedrich was a shadow of himself. He sat in silence, his eyes empty, his face devoid of the fire that had once animated it. He stared into the void as though nothing in the world could reach him now. Even if the earth had split open before him, he would not have flinched. He was a man as dead as his wife, his soul entombed alongside hers.

"Promise me you'll be well," Thomas pleaded as he stepped down from the carriage, his voice wavering as he struggled to maintain his composure. His eyes, heavy with worry, searched his friend’s hollowed face. "Promise me you'll eat, care for yourself. Do not fade away, Friedrich."

Harding did not respond. He merely turned, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his grief, and walked toward the door of his home. There was only one solace left to him—the fragile hope of seeing you in his dreams. To escape into a world where you were still alive: radiant, healthy, untouched by the horrors of the plague. There, you would be free, unburdened by the cruel fate that had stolen you away.

Later, cradling a glass of brandy in trembling hands, Friedrich lay upon his bed. The liquor did little to dull the sharp edges of his sorrow. His body shook with silent sobs as he closed his eyes, desperate to summon even the faintest memory of you—your touch, your voice, a fleeting whisper of your essence.

A scream tore through the silence.

He woke with a jolt, his sweat-soaked hair clinging to his brow, his breath hitching in panic. The room spun around him, and then he saw you.

You stood beside the bed, bathed in pale moonlight that streamed through the window. The white gown he had chosen for your burial clung to your form, pristine and ethereal. You were unblemished, untouched by disease, impossibly beautiful—more luminous than you had ever been in life. To him, you were divine, a vision too perfect to be real.

For a moment, he was paralyzed. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Fear and longing warred within him. If he moved, if he dared to reach for you, would you vanish? Was this some cruel trick of his shattered mind?

"My heart," you whispered, the words ghosting across the room.

Before he could react, you faded into the shadows, dissolving into the night as though you had never been there.

Friedrich collapsed onto the mattress, his body wracked with uncontrollable tremors. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as a guttural, muffled scream tore from his throat, buried into the pillow to escape the ears of the empty house. The pain was unbearable, clawing at his soul, leaving him raw and broken.

The next morning, he awoke to frantic knocking at the door. The sun was high, its rays spilling harshly through the curtains, though it brought no warmth to the bleakness inside him. Disheveled and barely able to stand, Friedrich stumbled toward the door.

Thomas stood there, his face pale and drawn, his eyes wide with dread.

"Friedrich. This is... it’s terrible," Thomas choked out, his voice trembling as his fingers combed through his disordered hair.

"What has happened, Thomas?" Friedrich demanded, though his voice was hoarse and distant, his mind still clouded by the haunting vision of you.

"Sievers," Thomas whispered, his hand instinctively covering his mouth as if to trap the horrifying words before they could escape.

"What about Sievers? Speak plainly!" Friedrich snapped, irritation flaring as the ache in his head throbbed from the brandy. "Thomas, what is it?"

Thomas hesitated, his voice low and filled with a grim finality. "Sievers is dead. He was found this morning... his chest torn open. His heart—" Thomas paused, his voice cracking. "His heart was removed."

The words struck Friedrich like a physical blow. He stumbled back, collapsing into the armchair behind him. His hands trembled as he pressed them to his temples. Memories of the night before flooded his mind, your whisper echoing like a ghostly refrain.

“My heart.”

It couldn’t be real. It was madness, surely. Yet the coincidence was too stark, too chilling to dismiss. His thoughts spiraled. Could it have been you? No. Impossible. And yet... Sievers had spoken of finding another, dared to suggest that love could replace the irreplaceable. Perhaps this was divine retribution—or something darker.

"Friedrich! Friedrich!" Thomas’s urgent voice pulled him from his reverie. The friend’s hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him gently as if to rouse him from the stupor.

Friedrich’s eyes cleared, a strange light igniting within them. He rose abruptly, pacing with a frenetic energy that had been absent for days.

"Call Von Franz," he muttered, his voice low but commanding.

"What?" Thomas blinked, taken aback by the unexpected request.

"Von Franz," Friedrich repeated, his tone sharper, almost desperate. "Summon him at once. That lunatic priest may know something—or I may be mad to even consider it. But summon him, Thomas!"

Without waiting for a reply, Friedrich strode toward his room, his steps hurried and unsteady. He needed to prepare. If there was even the faintest chance that Von Franz held the answers to this nightmare, Friedrich would face him. Hatred or no, he would endure anything to uncover the truth.

He stared at himself in the mirror, his hollow eyes scanning the face that no longer felt like his own. With deliberate precision, he splashed cold water on his face, the droplets clinging to his skin as if they could wash away his torment. A smile curled on his lips, unnatural, strained—then erupted into a jagged, manic laugh. His reflection in the mirror mocked him, a fractured visage of sanity, twisted by grief.

"Ah, my love," he murmured, his voice trembling as his fingers brushed the surface of the mirror, tracing a line over his own reflection. "You change me, even in death." His hand fell to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his coat as though he could rip his own heart out. "My heart… It belongs to you, always."

With newfound resolve, Friedrich shed his clothes, stepping into a bath as if it were a sacred rite. The water lapped at his skin, cleansing not only his body but the remnants of his despair. He emerged renewed, obsessed, his every movement deliberate as he trimmed his beard and dressed himself in his finest attire. His appearance was immaculate, a mirror of the man he had been on his wedding day.

When Von Franz arrived at the residence, the pastor, startled by Friedrich’s transformation, dropped his glass of wine. The shards scattered across the floor, but Von Franz’s gaze remained fixed on the man before him, his face pale as though he were staring at a ghost.

"By night, I sought him whom my soul loves," the pastor recited, his voice trembling with unease. "I sought him, but I found him not. I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek him whom my soul loves. I sought him, but I found him not."

The verses fell from Von Franz’s lips as if they were a prophecy, words carried by something beyond him. Friedrich stood still, each syllable piercing him like a dagger, his jaw tightening as the pastor's voice resonated deep within his chest.

"I must tell you something," Friedrich began, his voice low, commanding the attention of both Von Franz and Thomas. They moved cautiously toward the table where candles flickered, casting restless shadows in the dimly lit room. The once-bustling household was eerily quiet, the absence of servants amplifying the oppressive atmosphere.

Von Franz broke the silence, his voice a mix of awe and warning. "Your devotion echoes through eternity, Herr Friedrich." He studied the man before him, a shadow of the grieving figure from the day before, now alight with a dangerous fervor. "But it is selfish."

"Let it be," Friedrich replied sharply, striking the table with his fist before withdrawing his hand to retrieve a cigar from his coat. Lighting it with a flick of his lighter, he took a slow drag, the smoke curling around him as he spoke again. His tone softened, but his determination was unyielding. "Selfish, profane, or sinful—what does it matter? This passion consumes me, and I welcome it. She has my heart entirely, and she may do with it as she pleases. Haunt me if that is her wish. I ask only to feel her presence."

Von Franz’s voice grew urgent, his hands pressing against the table as though he could anchor himself to reality. "This is perilous, Herr Friedrich. You toy with forces beyond comprehension. Death is the final vow—'til death do you part.' To defy it…"

Friedrich interrupted with a bitter laugh, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back in his chair. "Something as absurd as death cannot separate me from my beloved." He exhaled a stream of smoke, his head tilting back as he closed his eyes. The faintest sensation brushed against his chest—soft, velvety, unmistakable. His breath hitched. "Ah, my love… Do you approve of my words?"

Von Franz stumbled backward, his wide eyes fixed on Friedrich as the air around him grew thick and heavy. He reached for Thomas, pulling the young man close as they both watched in horror.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee.” Your haunting voice tantalized Von Franz and Thoma’s ears, but delighted your beloved ones, hearing every word slipping from your icy and dry lips, rough against the warm soft cheek of him. 

From the shifting shadows, your form began to materialize. Von Franz’s voice faltered, barely audible. "Impressive…" he muttered, though his face betrayed the terror rising within him.

Thomas’s mouth fell open, his voice shaking. "This… this cannot be real."

His words trailed off as your ethereal hands appeared, their ghostly outline pressing gently against Friedrich’s chest. His head fell back further, his body convulsing with an eerie ecstasy.

Von Franz’s composure broke entirely. He yanked Thomas’s arm, dragging him toward the door. "We must leave. Now!" he hissed, his voice frantic. "If you wish to keep your heart beating in your chest, boy, then we must flee this place!"

Friedrich's grin turned wickedly amused as he closed the space between you intentionally this time. “Oh, my love. Be careful what you wish for.”

“I never play when it comes to what I want,” he muttered, swallowing hard as your fingers curled slightly into the fabric before reaching his arms. “And I want you, my muse.”

As he spoke, his eyes darkened, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before he regained control. “You have something I've been searching for and found in you” he continued, as if sensing his sudden vulnerability. He placed his hand on your waist with a delicate yet firm grip, guiding you into a slow, intimate dance across the room. “Something to wish for. You made me feel something…”

His movements were measured and graceful, leading you effortlessly as if he already knew every step of the dance. “Something?”

“Passion.”

Your hand seemed to tremble. For the first time, you felt like your words ran away from your thoughts. Something unexpected in your movement as you gently lifted back up. “You're not sure of what you're saying, Friedrich. I don't…”

"If you don't want this," Friedrich cut, swallowing hard, navigating the labyrinth of his own courage, "then why does your body say otherwise?"

"I’ve learned not to trust what my body says," you replied, but your wrist didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned in, your fingers brushing the stray strands from his face with a tenderness that belied your words.

"Then listen to mine," Friedrich urged, stepping closer, pressing your hand against his chest. His heart raced beneath your touch, a frantic rhythm betraying the calm he tried to maintain.

There was something about Friedrich Harding—a tempestuous allure that made falling for him feel as deep as the ocean and as electrifying as the crackle of thunder before a storm.

His fingers lingered at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, the heat of his touch sending an unspoken message straight to your heart. “You’re my wife, my woman, the only one I love. God spare me from my own sinful behavior through this sick pleasure.” 

“Would love be a pleasure?” you asked, your voice soft as your eyes locked with his. He studied your face for a moment before speaking.

“Perhaps the worst of them,” he admitted, turning his attention back to the fire’s flickering light. “I’ve avoided love at all costs since the last time I fell. And then you came along—wild, untamed, like the very flames in this hearth. I knew getting close to you wouldn’t end well for my… redemption.”

“Redemption?” you echoed.

“Indeed,” he murmured, leaning toward you, supported by his arm. “But it seems I’ve never learned to control myself when it comes to love. Lust, perhaps, but passion—grand, classic, all-consuming passion—never. You're my everything.” 

His voice, low and velvet-soft, broke the silence. "Make me yours again, my love.” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. 

"You’d have the world at your feet... but I'm afraid I only offer darkness." Your voice came out faint, clinging to him, the warmth of his body anchoring you. 

"You don't have to offer anything but yourself," he replied, his voice trembling slightly, but full of resolve. "And I choose you.”

With his fierce determination, his hands tightened on your waist with a strong reverence, crushing you against him as he angled his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with your own. 

He poured every ounce of his feelings into that kiss, the way you had consumed his thoughts and dreams.

His hands roamed over your back, mapping out the curves and contours of your body in that gown, committing every dip and swell to memory. He slid one hand up to tangle in your hair, gripping the locks and tilting your head back to give him better access to the sensitive skin of your neck. 

His heart raced, pounding against his ribs like a drum as he lost himself in the taste and feel of you, the softness of your cold lips and the heat of his tongue.

“Touch me, Friedrich.” You whispered panting as your lungs felt the breathing of life again, curling your fingers on his neckline. “Feel my heart. Even when I'm dead, it beats for you. Strong and hard for I love you more than everything to overcome death itself.”

He pressed his hand against your chest, squeezing painfully the soft flesh on his palm, feeling the frantic pounding of your heart beneath his palm, the way it raced and leapt at his touch. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, a sudden, overwhelming emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

"God," he whispered, his voice breaking on a sob, "I love you too. I love you so much it hurts. You're everything to me, everything I've ever wanted and everything I know I don't deserve."

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours once more, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought to regain control over his emotions. He could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks, but he didn't care, not with your arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

“Make love with me, Friedrich.” you begged as the cold tears fell, cupping his strong face in your hands. “Take me the way only you know how. Make me feel alive, let your blood boil in my veins as you make me yours because I can't stand any other night without you, Friedrich.”

His heart leapt at your desperate plea, covering your hand with his own, turning his head to press a fervent kiss to her palm before tangling their fingers together. “I love you so much it feels like I can't breathe or sleep without you, I need you to survive.” 

He took your face in his hands and slightly pulled your hair back so his nose could longer on your neck, breathing in your essence that remained intact even among the light aroma of earth and ashes with the lilies placed with you in the coffin.

“You're my everything.” He shivered, sobbing, biting your flesh, sinking his teeth, leaving his strong mark, his saliva mixing with his tears that fell every time he realized that you were there with him. “Everything.”

He captured your lips in another searing kiss, hands sliding down to grip your thighs, hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you towards the house, to the known love nest. 

He laid you down gently on the bed, his body covering yours, his hips nestled between your spread thighs. He looked down at you, taking in the sight of your locks splayed out across the mattress, skin glowing in the dim light of his bedroom.

Slowly, reverently, he slid his hands under the hem of your gown, pushing it up and over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He drank in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over the swell of her breasts, the hardened peaks of her nipples straining on the cold air of the night.

He leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft, sensitive skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you as he gripped on your breast as his anchor, pushing him back to reality, his thumbs brushing over the nipples, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“Please, Friedrich. I need you, I'm begging, please.” You sobbed, choking on your own passion as you desperately searched his face in your hand, nipping the bottom lip as you tied him with your thighs. 

"Then you shall have it, my queen," he whispered before closing the distance, his kiss deep and unyielding, as though sealing a pact written in the shadows of the room.

He held you tighter, his hand now resting firmly on your waist, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles. The words you had spoken hung between you, a weight neither of you could ignore. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, everything felt like it was balancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice.

He slid his hand up your thigh, cupping the heat of your sex. He groaned at the feel of you, already so wet and ready for him, his fingers slipping easily between your folds.

“How is it possible?” He demanded, light headed with the feeling of his beloved intimate again, he could search in all the places, he couldn't find the one who pleased him this way. 

“You're giving me life, Friedrich.” You whispered, arching your back at the travel your husband is. Loving, intense, belonging. 

He slid a finger inside you, then two, pumping them slowly, letting you adjust to the new-old sensation. “God, how I missed you.” he groaned, curling them just so, rubbing against that special spot deep inside that made you see stars. “Missed your touch, missed your laugh, your moans, your cunt. The way you moan my name, oh… everything, yeah, keep moaning for me. Please, darling. Say my name just once more, can you?”

“Oh, Friedrich.” You moaned, curling your toes as your heart beated and you felt your pleasure slip on his knuckles with your peak. 

He leaned down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your stomach. He looked up at you, his blue eyes blazing with love and desire and a fierce, unbreakable connection. 

“Say you want me to claim you, to fill you, to make you a part of me in every way possible.” he demanded miserably, panting on your stomach, digging his fingers on your hips. “Say my name, tell me I'm not out of my senses and you are here with me. Say you need my sex deep as you crave life again as my seed overflows on your delicious inside.” 

“I want you, please. I want everything more than anything in this world or next. Fill me.” you whimpered, forking your hands on his locks, pressing him against you, grinding your arousal on his chest. 

He sighs, running his hands down your thighs, as well as his face that camped on your core, inhaling the essence and feeling an immense desire to cry at the touch of his tongue on your sensitive nerve, taking in every note of your taste.

He sank there, never wanting to leave, he just wanted to please you with his entire being, to adore you, swirling his tongue in the exact places you loved, because Friedrich knew you like the back of his hand, you were an open book to him, he deciphered all your secrets and dreams.

Everything you loved, his tongue in your canal, at the entrance, swirling on your clit and taking it all in to suck the little spot and leave a soft kiss.

“Frid, Frid, my love.” you called, sensing your approaching orgasm, you patted his head, his answers delayed by his fixation on your cunt. 

He swallowed the remaining taste, lifting his face lazily and meeting your eyes. “I love your taste.” he whispered, settling himself between your thighs, the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against your slit. “but I love being inside you even more.”

With that, he thrust forward, sheathing himself inside you. He groaned at the feel of your pussy so tight and perfect around him, it was made just for him, to wrap the way he wanted. 

Then, he began to move, his hips rocking against you in a steady, sensual rhythm, foreheads together to hear every moan, purr and whimper from you. He kept his thrusts slow and deep, wanting to savor every moment, every inch of you. 

His hands slid up your sides, cupping the soft, supple curves of your breasts, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he lost himself in the feel of you. He knew he would never get enough of this, of you, of the way you made him feel alive. 

“You're my life, darling.” He panted, deepening the sway of his hips, capturing your lips. “If it's necessary to be dead to be with you everyday like this, I'd sell my soul for just a moment. Take everything you need. Take everything from me.”

“As you wish, my love.” You whimpered, your moans becoming even higher as you craved your teeth on his neck on his pulsing point as a thin amount of blood flowed to your mouth. “Oh, God. You taste so good. Oh, fuck. You… Darling, uhmm…”

“Fuck, take it. Take more. Take every drop of me, love.” He begged, nuzzling his nose on your neck to mark you as you licked the remaining blood salty with his sweat. “Come on my cock while you suck me with your pretty cunt and your teeth. Take my soul.”

He could feel you starting to tremble, your body tensing and tightening as your climax approached. He doubled his efforts, his thrusts growing harder and faster, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he drove into you.

"Come for me, my heart," he urged, his voice a low, desperate growl, licking your bloody face. "Come on my cock, my queen. Let me feel you, all of you, now and forever.”

“Frid. AH!” The sound of your scream, raw and filled with ecstasy, pushed him over the edge. He groans,  burying himself to the hilt inside you as his own release overtook him.

"Fuck," he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of the bedroom. "I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming so hard! Take it, darling."

He pulsed and throbbed inside you, spilling his hot seed deep into your womb as he held you tight, crushing you against his chest. He could feel every clench and flutter of her walls around him, milking him for every last drop as you rode out the aftershocks.

He could feel his body growing weak, prolonging that orgasm as he gave the last thrusts, his eyes turning blank and the grip loosening. 

"Frid... Frid, my love." You cried out, watching him smile weakly, his eyes nearly fading. Desperate, you stood up and slapped his face gently against your chest. "Frid. Friedrich. Friedrich, answer me!" you sobbed, cradling his nearly lifeless body in your arms, your tears falling heavily.

"It will be over soon..." he whispered, his hands weakly resting on your back, pulling you closer. "Soon I’ll... be with you... my love... Eat my heart, and you can live with our daughters."

"How? What do you mean, my Frid?" You shouted, gasping, as life slowly drained from him.

"Wasn’t that how you... came to me? By eating Sievers' heart?" He coughed and gasped for air, his lungs sinking from the lack of oxygen. "That's what Von Franz thinks... he knows about it. You trusted him before me... I didn’t believe in you..." 

"No..." You trembled, your eyes wavering as you turned his face towards yours, gazing into his pale blue eyes, already touched by death. "It wasn’t like that, Frid. You brought me back. Your love brought me here. I manifested because of you. I can fix it. I know I can, we can live forever."

You bite your wrist, but nothing came, your blood was dry. You tried to rip your ribcage to get your heart and make him eat, but you weren't strong enough.“No… no…” you gasped

“I've always admired you. You always did your best to make me live comfortably, made me feel a king, love.” He gave a soft laugh, his body moving slightly with it. "I'm glad... I could do something… I'll love you forever" he murmured, finally succumbing to eternal peace.

“And I'll love you always, Frid.” You sobbed, holding his lifeless body in your arms, rocking back and forth as you sang a soft lullaby, the weight of your sorrow deepening, while your body slowly disintegrated, returning to dust and slipping back into your coffin.

In honor of Friedrich's love, Thomas crafted a grand coffin, large enough for both of you. They carefully prepared his body and placed it comfortably in the wooden vessel, where your hands were intertwined with his, bound together for eternity.

[otaku-girl-ao3-fics]

Aaron Taylor-Johnson characters fic masterlist | Otaku_girl

My main master list | My main blog: @otaku-girl-ao3 | My fics only blog: @otaku-girl-ao3-fics | All of my work AO3: Otaku-girl

Requests: open / closed If it's an ATJ character, I'll consider it~ Just drop an ask to my main: @otaku-girl-ao3

Key

⭐ - slash 🌟 - het 💫 - multi ✨ - gender neutral 🌠 - none 💕 - author’s favourite 🥰 - most popular

Currently working on: Bullet Train x Kraven the Hunter crossover, Baby I'm Preyin' On You Tonight.

Bullet Train

Multi-chapter

✩ Baby, I'm Preyin' On You Tonight | Sergei x F!Reader x Tangerine | Explicit | 50 chapters, WIP | 🌟💫 ⭐💕 ✩ I just wanna see you (be brave) | Tangerine x Ladybug x Lemon | Explicit | 67.5k  | 💫💕 🥰 ✩ She Said | Tangerine x | Explicit | 16.2k | 🌟 ✩ Baby, it’s cold outside | Tangerine x F!Reader x Ladybug | Explicit | 26k+ | 💫 ✩ Breathe | Tangerine x domme F!Reader | Explicit | 8.55+ | 🌟 ✩ Touched (for the very first time) | Tan x Bug | Explicit | 7.8k  | ⭐ ✩ Oil on water | Tangerine x Ladybug x Lemon | Explicit |6.9k  | 💫 ✩ A certain satisfaction (in a little bit of pain) | Tangerine x Lemon | Explicit |11.7k  | ⭐

Oneshots

✩ Devotion | Tangerine x Ladybug | Mature | 300  | ⭐ ✩ Tease me (please me) | Tangerine x F!Reader | Explicit | 300 | 🌟 ✩ Made for this | Ladybug x Tangerine | Explicit | 200  | ⭐ ✩ Takin’ care of business | Gen | Teen | 4.6k | 🌠 ✩ A moment in time | Tangerine x Ladybug | Explicit | 900  | ⭐ ✩ Baby, I can explain— | Tangerine x F!Reader | Teen | 3.4k | 🌟 ✩ You say it best | Tan x Ladybug x Lemon | Explicit | 1.2k+ | 💫 ✩ Honey, I don’t wanna know | Tan x Ladybug | Explicit | 2.2k | ⭐ ✩ You don’t have to say | Tangerine x Ladybug | Explicit | 2.5k | ⭐ ✩ Late night surprise | Tangerine x Ladybug | Explicit | 3k  | ⭐

Series

✩ Coming soon ✩ 

Kraven the Hunter

Series

✩ Pet or prey | Sergei x F!Reader | Explicit | 22.8k+ | Trilogy | 🌟

Multi-chapter

✩ Baby, I'm Preyin' On You Tonight | Sergei x F!Reader x Tangerine | Explicit | 50 chapters, WIP | 🌟💫 ⭐💕 ✩ Prisoner 0864 | Sergei x F!Reader | Explicit | 16k | 🌟 ✩ First time | Sergei x F!Reader | Explicit | 48.2k | 🌟🥰 ✩ (Give me one more) Night with you | Sergei x F!Reader | Explicit | 17.5k | complete | 🌟

Oneshots

✩ Night hunt | Sergei x F!Reader | Explicit |11.7k | 🌟💕 ✩ No pampered pets | Sergei x F!Reader | Explicit |15.8k | 🌟 ✩ Mine (all mine) | Sergei x Dmitri | Explicit | 7.3k | ⭐ ✩ Caught in the hunt | Sergei x Reader | Teen | 300 | 🌟 ✩ Sweet dreams | Sergei x Dmitri | Explicit | 2k | ⭐

Headcanons

✩ Aftercare with Sergei | Sergei x You |✨ ✩ Soft!Dom, Dark!Soft and Daddy Sergei | Sergei x You ✨

Nosferatu

Oneshots

✩ Doctor’s orders | Friedrich Harding x F!Reader | Explicit | 2k+🌟 💕🥰

Multi-chapter

✩ (This could be) Perfection | Friedrich Harding x F!Reader | Explicit | work in progress🌟 ✩ Parting gift | Friedrich Harding x F!Reader x Thomas Hutter | Explicit | 19.5k | 💫

Series

✩ Coming soon ✩ 

My mains: Tumblr - Otaku-girl-ao3 | AO3 - Otaku_girl

[comically-callous]

The Freedom of Senselessness

Thomas Hutter x fem!vampire!Reader

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

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

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

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

What was happening to him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cursed you?”

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

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

“I’m sorry.” He said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

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

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

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

“….Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Help?” She repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll hurt you.” She told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

Moonlight

-> a self-indulgent little Thomas Hutter x fem!vampire!reader drabble

Warnings: reader watches Thomas sleep and contemplates biting him; mentions of mind control

He is so terribly beautiful in the moonlight.

Your undead heart, it seems, is still capable of aching in the face of beauty. It is a curious feeling you have not experienced in lifetimes, and are not sure you ever had, even when you walked still amongst the living. Your infernal nature urges you to sink your teeth into your unsuspecting prey, bite into his heart as you have done countless others... yet you are oddly compelled to preserve the sight before your eyes, caress it with your gaze as you would a most precious painting.

Thomas stirs in his sleep as you ease yourself onto the bed, but it’s not the slight motion of you sitting at his side which disturbs him. His dreams are tortured, leaving his skin aglow with perspiration. There is a shroud over his mind, equal parts his own terror and your dark influence crawling around within, ever since he set foot inside your ancient castle.

Slowly, you raise your hand, and his ragged breathing is soothed into a sigh as soon as the shadow of your fingers caresses his cheek. Your knuckles soon follow, an icy graze upon his feverish skin. Yet he leans into your touch, still fast asleep, lips slightly parted and—rosy, plump with blood you could bring rushing to the surface with but a press of your deadly sharp nailtip.

You shut your eyes, shuddering as you fight to keep at bay the hunger ravaging your senses. You must not give in now. You cannot. For if you do, if you were to throw yourself upon him and kiss his lips, and bite them open, there would be nothing in the world of the living or the dead that could stop you from draining him of every last drop he has to give. And if he were to die, the sweet torment of this desire he has awakened in you would die with him.

“My lady?”

His eyes have opened, you find as his murmur draws your gaze to him. Your fingers linger at his jaw still. They drift upward, sinking in his hair as you cradle the apple of his cheek. His breath quickens once more, lashes fluttering as though he is torn between remaining transfixed by your eerie beauty or hiding behind closed lids from a touch he feels to be his doom.

“My Thomas,” you whisper in return, overcome with an achingly tender craving. You watch as your other hand finds his chest, palm flattening over his heart. How quickly it beats beneath your fingertips. How strongly.

One bite, and it is yours.

You envision it—the tearing of flesh, the gushing of blood, the gasp torn from his throat—as Thomas brings his hand over your own. You raise your gaze and find his pleading. If there was any doubt left in his mind that the evil he feels in this place was you, it is now gone.

You could make him forget. You could make him do anything you wished, but it is of his own will that he turns his head into your hand that is cupping his cheek, brushes his lips against the heel of it. Then, lifting his gaze to yours, he breathes into your skin:

“Are you Death?”

You could be. You are.

Devourance is all you can think of as you lean down, your shadow falling over him as you bring your lips a breath away from his. They brush, not quite a kiss. Thomas releases the softest gasp. Shuts his eyes. Tilts his chin ever-so-slightly upwards.

More.

“No,” you rein in the craving in between you, as well as give the answer that he seeks. “Not tonight.”

When Thomas next opens his eyes, breathless and trembling, it’s as though you were never there. But he knows, by the ache of his need and the ghost of your touch, that indeed you were—and when the coming day has passed and night returns, so shall you. And though every inch of his being quakes with the certainty that you will bring utter ruin upon his body and his soul, he can’t help but think...

You are so terribly beautiful in the moonlight.

Next part -> Devourable

[fastlikealambo]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I beg your pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Friedrich!”

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

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

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

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

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

You could, you knew that you could.

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

“Please, I beg you!”

“Thomas, no!”

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

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

“ I can’t, she’s holding on to me-

“Thomas, is that you? Are you there?”

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

Ellen.

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

[pascaloverx]

MINE

Summary: You are a journalist working for a modest newspaper, and for several years, you have been in a relationship with Friedrich Harding—a man of inherited wealth who is now embarking on a new venture in real estate renovations. One day, you are assigned to cover the story of a man known as Count Orlok, just as Friedrich is hired to renovate the Count's mansion.

Author's Note: This fanfic takes place in the Nosferatu universe but with several changes. First, it is set in the modern world. Second, instead of the reader being involved with Thomas Hutter, she is with Friedrich Harding. I’m not sure if I will continue the fanfic, so if you enjoy it, please interact and leave a comment. If not, my apologies.

preview

ONE

You are irritated as you struggle with your luggage. First, Count Orlok demanded a specific type of attire for your stay at his mansion. But then it got worse. Friedrich decided it would be wise to accept the condition of presenting himself as an unmarried man.

You have been together for a long time—you never wanted to force him into marriage. You are not even sure if you would want to marry at all. But now, you are about to stay in the home of a Count, where you must wear strange clothing and pretend not to know each other.

"It was a long journey; I won’t be able to endure your indifference, my fair lady," Friedrich says as you both step out of the airport, preparing to wait for Count Orlok’s driver or personal attendant.

"Forgive me, sir, but I cannot interact with a stranger," you say, making an effort not to look directly at Friedrich. How can he so easily pretend there is nothing between you?

"Is it unusual that we must pretend not to be together? Yes. But this contract with Count Orlok is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And if we are willing to wear antiquated clothing as if we had stepped into the last century, then pretending to be apart seems a small price to pay," Friedrich says, attempting to grasp your arm gently.

You turn to face him, resisting the urge to slap him. "Remember this ‘small price to pay’ when you’re lying awake in the cold German night, longing for the feeling of my body tangled with yours," you say, your voice dripping with provocation. The look he gives you is utterly sinful.

"Are you certain you’ll be able to resist me all this time?" Friedrich steps closer, nearly ignoring the luggage between you. His tongue flicks over his lips, and his piercing blue eyes seem to reach into your very soul.

You chuckle, tilting your head. "Perhaps now that I am an unclaimed woman, I might find comfort in another’s embrace," you tease, tracing your fingers lightly over his clothes. The fabric is extravagant and old-fashioned, but one of the buttons is straining, barely holding against the breadth of his chest.

"I would never allow another to take you from me," he murmurs, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. You are still wearing your regular clothes, making it easy for him to pull you into his embrace.

"Tell me you understand why I had to lie about being single. It was one of the job’s conditions, and this is a magnificent opportunity," Friedrich says, his fingers brushing through your hair, gently tucking stray strands behind your ear.

But just as you lift your gaze to meet his, ready to respond, the world shifts. It is as if you are slipping into a dream. The space around you vanishes. Friedrich dissolves before your eyes, fading like mist. Then, out of the encroaching darkness, a hand—long, clawed fingers extending toward you—emerges.

A figure approaches, vaguely human yet distinctly unnatural, draped in what seems to be a heavy, fur-lined cloak. It has no face, no discernible features, but its presence is suffocating.

"Sweet creature, come to me," it murmurs, the voice unlike any accent you have ever heard. It is not simply foreign; it is… otherworldly. And yet, you know this voice. You have heard it before—in your dreams.

"Who are you?" you cry out, your breath hitching as a thick fog coils around you, blurring your vision.

"There is time and place for introductions," the voice responds, calm and assured, as if speaking an unshakable truth. "But know this—only my touch will ever truly satisfy you."

The creature’s fingers graze your neck, pulling you closer with a grip that is both commanding and intimate. "Nothing will ever separate us, sweet creature," it whispers, and then—agony. And then is like you cannot breathe.

You scream, but the sound is swallowed by the suffocating mist. Agonizing pain sears through your skin as its claws carve into your throat, burning as though fire itself has kissed your flesh. The haze surrounds you, thick and intoxicating, dulling your senses even as terror pulses through your veins. You squeeze your eyes shut— And suddenly, you are awake. Gasping, you find yourself in Friedrich’s arms.

Your body trembles violently as you find yourself cradled in Friedrich’s arms, his warmth grounding you. "My love, you fainted for a moment," he says, his voice laced with concern. He holds you close, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, and finally your lips. But the vision lingers. The pain feels real. You jerk away, startling him.

"I—I’m sorry. I just need a moment. I…" The words falter as your hands shake, the terror still fresh in your mind. Friedrich watches you carefully before reaching for your hands, enclosing them within his own. His grasp is firm yet soothing.

"I had a vision, Friedrich. It was dark… painful," you whisper, your voice nearly breaking.

He presses a kiss to your trembling fingers, his blue eyes filled with quiet determination. "My dearest, do not fear. Even if I must chase the shadows from your mind, I will protect you from whatever haunts you," he vows, holding you as if he can shield you from the unseen.

"Mr. Harding and Miss Y/L/N, am I interrupting?" A peculiar man approaches, dressed like a butler from the nineteenth century. You and Friedrich immediately pull apart, sensing that this must be the driver Count Orlok sent for you.

"No," Friedrich replies smoothly. "The young lady and I happened to be on the same flight, and when she felt unwell, I merely sought to assist her."

You roll your eyes before adding, "The lady is grateful, but hopes you understand it is quite inappropriate to approach an unaccompanied woman in such a manner." You begin gathering your luggage.

"Do not worry, I shall not report any of this to Count Orlok," the man says in a hushed, almost conspiratorial tone. "My name is Kno—" He pauses, as if his own name were a secret. His scent reaches you—strong, sterile, like cleaning products. "Knock," he finally finishes.

"Let us be off. There is much for you both to adjust to, and the young lady must change into proper attire before meeting Count Orlok," Knock states, assisting with your luggage and loading it into a vehicle that looks as though it was plucked straight from another era.

"We are meeting Count Orlok today?" Friedrich asks as he lifts some of the bags into the automobile before offering you his hand to step inside.

"And must I change my attire?" you inquire as you settle into the back seat.

"The magnanimous Count Orlok will receive only the young lady today," Knock explains as he starts the engine. "Mr. Harding will spend the day settling into the guesthouse and assembling a local team for the restoration work, with my assistance. Meanwhile, Miss Y/L/N will don appropriate attire and begin her time in the Count’s esteemed presence."

The car moves forward, the landscape unfolding before you. A strange sense of familiarity washes over you, though you cannot place why. Friedrich, seemingly enchanted by the surroundings, barely notices as you raise a hand to your neck, your fingers tracing the phantom sensation of sharp claws against your skin. Something is coming. You can feel it.

[the-fiction-witch]

Thank You

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

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

“You could never please me as he could,”

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

“Get out.”

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

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

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

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

“He is beyond-”

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

“Thomas…” she pleaded,

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

“Wh-where shall I go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss Y/L/N…”

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

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

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

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

“Of course,” She smiled softly stepping inside,

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome.”

“I am sorry for disturbing you…”

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

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

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

“Y/N.” He playfully glared,

“I heard everything.”

“So you know what she said to me?”

“I do…”

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

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

“But?” he sighed,

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

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

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

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

“I do?”

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

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

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

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

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

Covenant (Thomas Hutter x fem!vampire!reader)

-> taking a human lover is more tricky than you had anticipated, so you give Thomas a choice

Warnings: description of a claustrophobic situation, smut (dom!reader x sub!Thomas as per usual) edging, cockwarming, (basically reader has Thomas eat while she sits on his cock), mentions of period-typical conceptions about sex and gender roles in society, mentions of blood drinking and potential death from it, hints to a traumatic past that explains reader’s need for control but I nothing specific

Notes: Oops I did it again (wrote a continuation I wasn’t planning on when posting the previous part). Shout out to the lovely people who commented about their appreciation for my Thomas x vamp!reader little impromptu series (The torment of wanting you, as it is now named). This one basically happened thanks to you🤗

Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!

He finds you standing before the hearth, in the grand hall where you had received him upon his arrival to your castle. The fire lights your skin as beautifully as it did that night, your gaze is just as enigmatic. Only this time, it is trained on the flames instead of him, as if they hold some secret his human eyes cannot see.

Perhaps they do. Thomas cares little as he approaches you with soft steps, though he is certain you could sense him even if he were as silent as a corpse. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing his lips to your neck. You inhale deeply—a comforting sound, given the circumstances in which he awoke by your side a few hours before—and lean into his touch.

“Good evening,” he murmurs. You hum once, content yet somewhat lost in thought, then turn to face him.

“Sleep well?” you ask knowingly, hands resting on his chest. Where his flesh had been painfully torn and bleeding beneath your cheek as he fell into exhausted slumber in the wake of your lovemaking. Yet he is perfectly honest when he replies, “Never better.”

You give a soft chuckle. “I should think so. No sleep so profound as death.” Your voice drops to a graver tone, devoid of mirth. “Or one very near to it.”

It had been very near, indeed. So near, Thomas had believed himself a quite literally dead man upon waking from it. A presumption made inevitable by the utterly sinister circumstance in which he had found himself...

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...He wakes in darkness. Such darkness, in fact, that he is unsure whether he truly has emerged from his slumber. He feels conscious, feels his eyes open and hears his own breathing, but his mind is foggy in a not entirely unpleasant way, sluggish to make sense of his current position. He is lying on his side in quite a cramped space which smells of dirt and blood, half-draped across what feels like—

Oh. 

His heart nearly stutters into stillness. That is how he knows it still beats, despite how weakened your bite had left him. He recalls your teeth in his flesh, the pain only fueling his high as you rode him to a mind-shattering orgasm, then the last words he’d heard you speak before the darkness had closed in around him:

If you die… you’ll be like me.

He doesn’t feel dead. Though his mouth is horribly dry, he longs only for a sip of plain water. His limbs are stiff, his joints ache, his chest stings sharply where you bit him. He may not know much about how it feels to be undead, but he can’t imagine it would be this… human. 

Yet here he is, pressed against you tightly in the cramped space of your coffin.

That has to be where he is—and the inert body flush with his has to be yours. Thomas cannot let himself believe otherwise, lest he fly into a horrified panic.

He whispers your name in the dark, hoping to hear your voice. Neither his ears, nor his mind receive any reply. You do not even stir. All of you is completely still, it seems as he fumbles blindly, his hand finding the curve of your hip, then the shape of your stomach, the swell of your breast—he draws it away with a sting of guilt. He should not touch you in such a manner when you are in this state, and that had not been his intention. But feeling the now intimately familiar shape of your body serves to put his mind at ease, to a degree. He reaches out once more, higher than before, and lays his hand upon the flat of your chest.

Nothing. No rise and fall, no thrumming of a heartbeat. He is well aware of your nature and that this is to be expected, yet he shudders to know you so utterly… lost to the world. So vulnerable, even if only during the day. His foolish heart aches at the thought. If he knew no better, he would wrap himself around you even tighter, to shield you with his life from any and all forces who would dare try to harm you whilst you are theirs for the taking. But somehow, in your mysterious ways, you would know, and would surely resent him for acting upon such a sentiment.

In truth, his body would not thank him if he were to remain in the uncomfortably tight space, either. His stomach churns, begging him to replenish some of the energy he needs in order to heal after your feeding. There is no telling how many hours he has slept, or how many are left of the day. Perhaps even more worryingly, in his current predicament, is that the natural urge to relieve his bladder is becoming quite insistent. He refuses to contemplate the utter humiliation that would result once you awoke if he were to remain captive here much longer.

But even if he were able to remove the stone lid of the coffin from the inside—which he doubts he could do even at full strength—what would happen to you if he did? Would being out in the open when the sun is high vanquish you from existence, even if its rays never touch you? You conceal yourself within this coffin each day for a reason. You brought him here for a reason. Perhaps you’d thought him all but dead, already turning to one of your kind, and meant to offer him the same refuge you took before sunrise. A show of care—oh, if only. His chest constricts with longing, even as the tight, pitch black space makes it hard to breathe. Could it be you simply meant to torment him with this horrid imprisonment? Some twisted punishment for his audacity the night before, to switch your places and lay himself upon you instead of letting you ride him into blissful submission for the entirety of your lovemaking? When you pinned him to the mattress once more, he’d yielded in a heartbeat. But before, you had arched up into him with such rapture, welcomed him so greedily within you…

His traitorous cock twitches at the memory where it presses into your hip. Oh, God, no. He cannot add more hours of unquenched arousal to the list of bodily hardships he is to endure for the remainder of the day, however long that will be. Because endure, he must. He cannot risk your safety, even by what would surely be a failed attempt at moving the heavy stone—

There is a great scraping sound, then light floods in. Thomas cries out at the suddenness of it, throws his hand over his eyes. It is only long moments later, when his eyes have finally adjusted, that he realizes the light wasn’t even that bright to begin with. The lid has been partially dislodged from its place, just enough for Thomas to fit through. The wolf snarling down at him, however, makes such a thing impossible.

It is beyond useless, what he does then. He knows very well the wolves are your servants, and even if one were to turn against you, his fragile form would hardly provide any sort of protection from its vicious fangs. But, in a blink, Thomas throws his body over yours—your corpse—gripping you in a protective embrace. His rampant heart deafens him, his eyes shut tight as he waits for the animal to shred the flesh off his back.

All that follows is the sound of his panting breath, and the patter of the wolf’s feet against the stone floor as it walks away. By the time Thomas dares lift his head, the creature is already gone, leaving him feeling equal parts relieved and foolish. You may not be able to see him, but he avoids looking at you all the same as he fumbls his way out of the coffin. 

“Oh, Thomas,” he pictures you taunt with a sickly sweet chuckle. “Do you truly believe it in your power to protect me?”

You would say such a thing, no doubt. Yet for one who claims to hold so little regard for his feelings, you still went through a bit of trouble for his sake, it seems. Thomas is greeted with a chair and a table you had placed right there in the catacombs, and filled with three full courses of quite a hefty meal. Meat and fruit and bread all beckon to him. Resting against a bottle of wine, a note reads in large, elegant letters:

EAT

Concise and assertive, like the night he had first dined with you—or rather next to you, since you had showed no appetite until Thomas cut his finger. What he imagines to be a similarly intense hunger gnaws at him at the sight of the food you had graciously left him. There was hardly any need for the order, but even written, it sends a pleasant thrill down his spine. 

Though when he turns his gaze to you, he doesn’t see the demanding mistress he has come to know. Lying in your coffin, as though asleep, you look so delicate, so… harmless. You had changed your nightgown and cleaned the blood in which you had been covered, leaving you as beautiful as though your body had barely had the time to grow cold after you had given your last breath. As a matter of fact, Thomas is quite decent himself. The thought strikes him that you must have cleaned, clothed and carried him here all the way from his bedchamber, and some of his depleted blood reserve rushes up to heat his cheeks. A grown man, sound asleep whilst being carried like a child in a woman’s arms… If anyone in Wisburg were to witness such a thing, he would be the laughingstock of the town. Not only financially defective, but lacking in manhood as well—society might just have chewed him up more viciously than you ever could.

How fortunate, then, that their rules and opinions are of no importance here. Wealth, reputation, propriety—he is miles away from any and all such worldly concepts. 

He does not regret it. It has been hard enough, trying to fit into their stiff patterns. He wonders, as he stands by your coffin, unable to stop caressing your face with his gaze, what it had been like for you. Who you had been, before. How you had come to be what you are now… What had been done to you. He may be naïve to think it, but he can’t imagine you being this cold in life. He has glimpsed within you a softness—not that he would ever dare call it that to your face—long-buried and sealed away, yet ever-so-slightly present. Behind your eyes, when you warn him of how dangerous you are to him. In your voice, when he touches you tenderly. In the way you hold back from devouring him whole, even when he so recklessly begs you to.

It cannot be helped. He leans down and presses a kiss to your cold cheek, hoping you will not begrudge him the chaste gesture too harshly, and only then does he gather his strength and push the lid back into place.

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“You had me sleep in your coffin,” he says at present, the memory making his skin flush with various conflicting emotions. Unease, bashfulness… hope. That he was not wrong to think it proof of your care for him, first and foremost, however rousing he might find your punishments.

“Sunrise was drawing near,” you say, your voice remaining purposely neutral. “If you were to turn after all, I could not very well leave you exposed, could I?” You tilt your head ever-so slightly, playfully curious. “Were you frightened?”

You sound as though the prospect pleases you. His terror, if only a short-lived amount, to balance the vulnerability of you sharing your sleeping—or rather, resting—place. Of course.

“Yes, quite,” Thomas confesses, eyes shifting from yours. “I awoke trapped in darkness. Not knowing whether I was still alive, at first. I felt my heart beating, and you lying by my side, but you were not…” He swallows, thickly. “I did not know how long I’d have to remain there. And when I saw the light, I… I thought I’d survived your bite only to become a wolf’s meal instead.”

Your lips curl upwards, cryptically. “They are clever children, my wolves,” you praise as you press yourself a little closer to him, idly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Such loyal creatures, of great strength… and fine senses.”

Supernaturally so, Thomas suspects. But the how is not important. Only the facts of what occurred.

“You told it to release me if it heard me wake,” he says, wavering between a question and a statement. Either way, he doesn’t expect an answer. He touches his forehead to yours, and murmurs, “Thank you.”

You tilt your head away with a light scoff. “It’s common sense, Thomas,” you chastise, slipping from his arms. You spare him no further glance as you walk to the table, where you begin to pour a cup of wine. “I knew if you were still alive, you’d need sustenance to recover from my indulgence night before. Not to mention,” you add crudely, “I couldn’t have you relieving yourself on my leg like a dog.”

Ah, there it is. That scathing attitude, as though his sentiment is utterly juvenile.

“Of course,” Thomas says, unable to withhold a rather thick trace of sarcasm. “A purely practical matter. As was the intimacy we shared, was it not?”

The glass is full, and you set the bottle back down a touch too forcefully. Thomas winces at the harsh sound.

“You are quite confident,” you taunt, turning to him, “for a man who nearly died whilst getting fucked last night.”

Thomas flushes scarlet.

“Fucked and fed upon, yes,” he recalls heatedly. “And if I did die, I daresay it would have been worth the trouble.” Before you can conjure a retort, his feet force him towards you, invading your space. “Can’t you see I am at your mercy already, whether or not you humble me with indifference?” he all but begs, reeking of despair. “Not a moment goes by in your presence where I do not wish to have you.”

Something falters in your gaze, but only for a moment. “Even when we first met?” you raise a challenging eyebrow. “When I was sowing terror into your heart?”

You lift the glass, and Thomas wonders, confused, how come you are so courteous as to serve him in the middle of such an argument—only to be surprised when you bring it to your lips and take a long sip yourself. Not wine, then. You never drink that. Thomas had realized that much even before he had become fully aware of what you are. Yet the answer to your question is a resounding and pitiful yes.

“I must be a madman,” he thinks out loud in lieu of a reply. A smile tugs at your lips as the blood slides down your throat.

“My good fortune.”

Your good fortune. You feel fortunate to have Thomas in your grasp. It’s something, but it’s not enough, and the longing ache in his chest suddenly grows blinding.

With a ragged breath, he cups your face and pulls you into a needy kiss. For a moment that stretches out unbearably in his mind, you freeze under his lips, and he fears this time you may not give into him the way you had before. Perhaps he has asked for too much, defied you past the point of tolerance your vampiric pride will allow. But when he licks at your lips in a gentle plea, you release a low groan, set down your cup and—relief floods Thomas as you open up, fisting your hands in his shirt and returning his kiss as deeply as he wishes he could be inside you every moment of his existence.

The blood you were only just sipping—he can now taste it on your tongue. It pains him. Here he is, ripe and willing, yet you sup on another before his very eyes. He knows you risk draining him dry otherwise, but oh, how he wishes he could be the only taste upon your lips. He has only just recovered what little color there used to be in his pale cheeks before last night, he knows you would not succumb to the desire you both share without sating your bloodlust as well, yet he cannot fathom the thought of letting the night pass without holding you in the most intimate embrace of the flesh. He shall, then, pay the price. And relish every moment of it.

A quiet moan escapes your throat, a broken little noise laced with frustrated defeat. You grip his throat briefly, nails dragging against his skin without tearing it open. Thomas breaks the kiss to plant his lips onto your neck instead, beginning a trail of heated kisses he wishes to follow downward until it brings him to his knees, where he might lick your cunt until you tremble with pleasure above him. You would, he would make sure of it. Fuck you with his tongue till it bleeds, if he must.

But when he pinches a hardened nipple through your dress, you grab hold of his wrist, and his hair, and push him away. Thomas frowns as you withdraw from him entirely, and lean against the table as if to ground yourself. Your eyes land on your unfinished glass of blood, but you make no move towards it. With difficulty, it seems.

“Sit,” you rasp out at long last.

Thomas is eager to comply, though he attempts to refrain from rushing like an overexcited puppy as he lowers himself into the nearest chair—the same one, as it happens, from which he had gazed upon your terrifying beauty on his first night here. Back then, every cell in his body had been screaming that danger was near. Now, your one-word command is enough to have him grow to full hardness in his trousers. How will you have him this time, he wonders? Weeping with arousal whilst drowning between your thighs? Crying out your name as you ride him until the chair shatters beneath him? Or… dare he imagine you might grant him the feeling of your lips wrapped around his aching cock? You had said yourself that part of him is quite safe from your sharp teeth, but the prospect of knowing it at their mercy alone…

He swears there is a subtle trace of amusement in your expression, as though his thoughts have reached you, as they sometimes do. There’s hunger, too. Quickly subdued into steely resolve.

“Eat,” you say curtly. Waving a careless hand towards the food he had hardly even noticed was laid on the table. Turning away as though the passion between you had not been ignited into a wildfire mere moments before. 

“I-I have,” Thomas argues in disbelief. Mere hours before, more than enough.

“Not enough.” Your tone leaves no room for argument as you take your seat at the head of the table. “You are still recovering.”

“I am in no disposition…” He shouldn’t argue, he knows, but he can’t spare the briefest thought to the feast before him when he yearns to become one with you again. “I have no appetite for any taste but yours,” he insists. “If you would be so kind as to sit yourself before me, I shall gladly dine between your legs, my lady.”

There is a hitch in your breath, so small Thomas thinks he might have imagined it. But the fact that you are not impervious to his sensual promises is no surprise by now. He is not entirely powerless, as you so hate to be reminded. Ironically, it makes him weak with want.

“Poor Thomas,” you coo, resting your elbows on the table and your chin on your knuckles. “Once a gentleman of impeccable manners… now a lost soul begging for cunt.”

“My soul is not lost,” he says, nothing short of worshipful. “I have laid it in your hands.”

“And yet you will not obey me.”

“At times,” he admits. Then adds tentatively, “I find it pleases you.”

“Do you, now?”

It feels like a threat. Thomas’s skin prickles as your gaze grows cold, lowering the temperature in the room along with it.

“Well, to a certain… extent,” he corrects himself.

Too late. With icy grace, you reach for your glass and take a long drink from it. Blood trickles from the corner of your mouth when you are finished. As you catch it with your thumb, you order, “Take out your cock.”

Thomas’s mind is so hazy with arousal and nerves, he doesn’t comprehend what you are asking at first. Upon the insistent gaze you pin him with, however, his mind hastens to catch up and his hands fly to his crotch at once.

You do not rush him further, but his fingers stumble over each other in their hurry to unfasten his trousers and free his erection. He aches to give himself a soothing stroke as he pulls himself out in the open, but he does not wish to provoke you further. He is already walking that fine line between submission and defiance which never fails to have him leaking at the tip with torturous anticipation. He can wait a little longer.

Or not. It doesn’t matter. He shall wait however long you make him.

But you make no further delays. The moment he had done as you said, you rise from your seat and stride your way over to his.

It’s too easy, he thinks. No ruthless teasing, no vengeful grabbing of his hair or demeaning remark. All you do is pull up your dress, straddle his lap, and—no undergarments on you. You’ve left yourself bare so he can better reach you, and that knowledge is enough to expel any trace of worry from his mind, crawling its way straight to the hard member between his legs. With dizzying swiftness, you take him in your hand, wet his tip through your slick folds once, then put it to your entrance and push your hips down, hard, taking your rightful seat upon his cock.

“God, yes,” Thomas breathes out as he sinks into you. Your cunt grips him as viciously as you bit into him the night before, but your face betrays vexingly little of your pleasure as you begin to fuck yourself on his cock at a languid pace.

“God will not help you here,” you rasp out, your gaze shredding into his soul as you sink your fingers in his hair. Thomas could not agree more. The only help he needs is you, working your hips faster, wrapping yourself around him closer. His hands have planted themselves on your hips of their own accord, grabbing desperately onto your flesh, and he struggles to refrain from needily guiding you into a more vigorous pace. Every inch his flesh slides wetly against yours is the most exquisite torture, on the very brink between too much and not enough.

And yet, despite it all, you are so… impassive. So seemingly unaffected by his touch, unlike the night before, unlike even during your kiss, a few minutes past. A lump settles in Thomas’s throat, even as his pleasure mounts towards a slow yet inevitable peak. He leans in to kiss you, to soothe his unease, but you catch his chin in a none too gentle grip, nails digging into his cheeks as you keep him at bay. Your voice is only slightly breathless as you quicken your movements.

“Is this what you wanted?” you whisper through your teeth, lashing him with your words. “Like so?”

He can barely remember the word yes as he stutters it out. You are furious, that much is plain to see, but if this is the punishment you see fit to dole out—if your wish is to have him as he is now, whimpering and quaking within your grip, utterly helpless to do anything but take the pleasure building in his loins and let it tear him to pieces on its glorious way out, he will gladly grant you the sight, gladly let you lay claim to every last drop of his seed that is soon to—

You stop. A broken wail is punched from Thomas’s throat. From his very soul, it feels like as you remain hot and silky and perfect around his cock, yet denying him the friction he desperately needs.

“What? I—Please...” He can’t seem to string two words together. He does attempt to move your hips now, but he stands no chance against your strength as you sush him, gently pushing him by the neck so he slumps against the back of his seat.

“You know, last night…” you pretend to contemplate, leaning slightly backwards to admire his sweat-glistening face, “I found it wonderfully stimulating to feed and fuck at once. Perhaps you shall, too.”

More. He needs more. He needs to come. When his world has been reduced to nothing but that, you cannot possibly expect him to—

“I’m so close,” he begs you breathlessly, tears threatening to gather in his eyes. “I will do as you say, just… let me please you first.”

His fingers head tentatively up your thigh. If he could just touch your clit, no doubt aching and woefully neglected as you hold yourself still… If he could feel you come on his cock, it would likely suffice to drag him over the edge as well.

A futile wish. You shake your head slowly, as if scolding a child, and he dares go no further.

“I told you…” you all but growl, “to eat.”

You must have moved in that supernaturally disorienting way you do, because he can’t recall when exactly you had reached behind you for the slice of bread you are now holding. Or perhaps he has simply grown truly delirious with need.

You rip a bite-sized piece, and hold it to his lips, your gaze telling him everything he needs to know. Your insistence may have been about his bodily well-being before, but now… now you just want him eating from the palm of your head. And you would not be you if that didn’t come with a side of sensual torment.

Naturally, Thomas opens his mouth, and lets you place the bread onto his tongue.

Somehow, the act of eating in the midst of a sexual act feels just as decadent as you feeding on him, when you’re fucking or not. It’s utterly surreal, something out of Friedrich’s lurid tales from their school years. Thomas never could quite look him in the eye as he went on about the delights his visits to the brothel had to offer, and the few times he had indulged in carnal pleasures himself, well… he had learned a few basic skills his future wife would no doubt have been pleased with, but sex for the sake of sex had never been quite as fulfilling or adventurous as his good friend made it out to be.

Love, however, had changed Friedrich to a near unrecognizable extent, all his lust suddenly reserved for his beloved Anna and no one else. Thomas had imagined that was the missing piece for him. Connection. But once he had that, how could he look his wife in the eye and ask her for things he barely dared articulate in his own mind on the nights he stroked himself to a frantic end? To strip him of the control society expected him to demonstrate each day, keep him dangling on the edge of despair, holding his pleasure in her teeth to release or shred it at will? Such things belonged in a pleasure house, not a proper marriage.

You are neither. You are beyond. It’s plain to see now that his truest desires were always meant for you, and no one else.

“Good boy,” you murmur as Thomas swallows the third or fourth bite, and he nearly chokes on it. The act of chewing and the taste of food somewhat distract him from his aching cock, but it’s more frustration than relief. Your cunt clenches around him every so often, bringing the lightest falter in your expression. Your gaze softens with each obedient little morsel he receives from your hand, and he could spend years being looked at the way you are doing now. He wonders if you are aware of it, or if your own unfulfilled pleasure has led you to reveal that tenderness he so desperately craves to know is there.

The bread, once finished, is followed by a piece of meat. Stake, he believes. It hardly matters. You seem to rip it into bite-sized pieces with less effort than it takes his jaw to chew it, and the thought of your strength, so much greater than his, has him throbbing painfully within you. But he takes what you give, and he likes it. He always does. Always will. And when you praise him for it, tenderly caressing his damp cheeks with your knuckles while he quietly eats the meal he’s being fed, he doesn’t feel pathetic. He feels every bit like you say he is—good.

When, at last, he has taken the last bite, lips wrapped around your fingers as he drags it from their grip, he shut his eyes tight as he swallows, willing himself to accept whatever comes next without begging you to fuck him once again. He opens them to the sight of you taking a long sip from your glass of blood, and a frustrated whimper escapes him despite his best efforts. That should be him. His veins, his heart—

But then you grab his cheek, and pull him in, and kiss the liquid into his mouth. The whimper turns to a deep moan at the heady taste. This time, it is wine. The most exquisite he has ever tasted, burning through his throat and dripping down his chin. Once your mouths connect, something in you shifts, and—oh, finally. You toss the cup aside and grip him feverishly, deepening the kiss with unmistakable urgency as the glass shatters, completely ignored. Your hips snap against his with abandon as you gasp into his mouth on each downward thrust, chasing your pleasure, having left all thoughts of wicked games behind.

Thomas could not be more grateful for your unpredictable mood-changes than he is now, moaning and latching onto any part of you his fingertips can find. He wraps one arm around you, pulling you as close as he can keep you whilst you bounce wildly on his cock, and when he manages to sneak his other hand between you and rub your swollen clit, you release a mewl he wants etched into his mind for eternity, and bury you face in his neck.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, please.”

Please come, please make me come, please bite me—all of it. Thomas can’t decide. Your teeth scrape at his skin, seemingly about to choose which desire they are to fulfil first.

You spit out a word in a language he doesn’t understand. Surely, a curse, because you then throw yourself off of him, leaving him reeling once again. He doesn’t have the time to complain, nor the presence of mind to do anything but let you handle him as you please as you yank him from the chair and shove him down, mounting him once he is lying on the ground.

The stone floor is cold, but you take him back inside you at once, and that is all Thomas cares about. Your hands are pinning him down, his chest and neck and any other prettily flushed part of him firmly held away from your mouth. He is fine, he wants to say, he can take being bitten, as he has before, but words fail him at the sight of you moving above him, eyes shut and lips parted in the golden light of the fire. That, paired with the feeling of his length being swallowed into your cunt, might just kill him before your bite does.

For now, though, it just makes him come. All at once, the pleasure in his cock reaches a mind-numbing peak and he begins to spill inside you. He need not worry, though, for you are coming undone yourself barely a moment later, crying out his name. He swears that sound alone prolongs his orgasm to a near-painful extent, and yet he still wishes it could last a moment longer once it ebbs away, leaving the two of you a panting mess on the floor.

You have lost the strength with which you were holding him down, and though Thomas is blissfully exhausted himself, he sits up, gathering you in his arms. You make a small sound of surprise when his mouth catches yours, but return his kiss all the same. Melt into it, even, your lips moving together with a gentleness that makes his chest ache. He needs you like this, too. Perhaps, so do you, after all.

Thankfully, you don’t try to deny it as you pull away, forehead resting against his. It may be unwise to risk shattering the moment, but the question is too insistent in Thomas’s mind not to be asked.

“Why didn’t you bite me?” he whispers.

For a long moment, his only answer is the crackle of the fire, and your thumb idly brushing his lower lip.

“It is too soon,” you whisper back. “I have no use for you dead.”

Only you could say such callous words so… tenderly.

“I did not die,” Thomas counters softly. “And if I did… there was an alternative.”

“If you die… you’ll be like me.”

“Good,” he had said, too tired to really contemplate it. Would it matter if he belonged to the shadows, so long as he still belonged to you?

You stiffen in his arms. Pull away to fix him with a stern look.

“That is not an alternative,” you say. “It was a mistake.”

Thomas feels his chest crumble. “No,” the word tumbles out. “No, that is not true. I can never return to my life as it was. If that is what it takes to remain at your side, I will take the risk.”

“That’s just it, Thomas,” you retort, beginning to retreat behind that wall of ice beyond which he so rarely sees. “If you were like me, I would never have you at my side.”

“But why?”

“Because if you were as powerful as I, I could not stand to have you near me!” you snap. “Let alone allow this.”

You push yourself off him, making him wince as his spent cock abruptly slips out of you. He hurries to make himself decent as you walk away, too overcome by the mess you have made of his mind and heart to bother fixing the one you left between his legs.

“I would never hurt you,” he vows as he scrambles to his feet. You have walked to the hearth once more, refusing to turn your gaze away from the flames, but he must be heard all the same. “Whether I am your equal in power or not, whatever it is you fear, you need not fear it from me. Look into my mind if you must, see that it is true. Surely, you must know it is,” he entreats, voice raw with emotion, “or you would not have lain with me in such close embrace within your place of rest.”

Within your coffin, that is. During the day. When you were inert, utterly vulnerable. You take in a sharp breath upon hearing his words. You will not look at him.

“Had you shown the barest sign of ill-intent towards me, my wolves would have torn you to shreds.” Your voice is uncharacteristically quiet, and grows even smaller. “As I understand, you did the opposite.”

As you understand. So, they speak to you as well, somehow. Thomas flushes as he remembers how he threw himself upon your body in his misguided attempt to protect you. It wasn’t just a matter of convenience or care that you had your companions open the lid. It was a test. But if you still will not trust him, what was it for?

He doesn’t get to ask. When you next speak, your voice is loud and clear—business-like, even.

“I should like to make you a proposition, Thomas.”

You reach into the hearth. Thomas knows better than to fear for you, but the sight is still surreal as you retrieve a rather large piece of paper from the flames, as perfectly unscathed as your hand. You walk over to him with grace, as though his seed isn’t trickling down your thighs beneath your dress. The alluring thought is quickly set aside as you hand him the paper, and he reads the elegantly written title.

“A contract?” He gives you a questioning look. “I was under the impression we had put the paperwork behind us.”

“Oh, it was never behind us,” you say, having regained some of your characteristic coyness. “I still have every intention of moving into the property whose purchase you came here to secure. I also had every intention of bleeding Knock dry the moment my business with him was done, but… the old goat sent you instead.”

Thomas lifts his eyes to you.

“He fell ill, shortly before he was to leave,” he says, frowning. “I… assumed that was you doing, somehow. To bring me here.”

You chuckle softly. “You flatter yourself, Thomas. You may hold my interest now, but prior to your arrival, I was perfectly unaware of your existence. You see, your proprietor had a penchant for meddling with forces he could not hope to comprehend. He reached out to the shadows, seeking nefarious ways to further enrich himself. He was but a lost dog, barking at the wrong door. Pathetic,” you spit out the word. Then your voice softens. “But something… something made me answer.”

The look you give him, as though you were gazing at something pleasantly fascinating, makes Thomas light-headed. “What was it?”

“Providence, it seems,” you confess, gaze shifting with a trace of melancholy. “In truth, I had grown weary of these walls. Of locals who know more than I would like them to about my kind. Knock’s mind was weak, beyond easy to snare, even from afar. I could have used him to secure safe travels to your town, but during the day, I am… vulnerable, as you well know. My influence is not as strong. And a stringed puppet is nowhere near as reliable,” you rest a finger on the paper, “as a familiar.”

Thomas lowers his eyes towards the word. The meaning of it is not yet known to him, yet it feels as though his very life suddenly hangs upon that tiny string of letters at the tip of your finger.

“It is a rare thing,” you tell him as he skims through the document. “And not a decision made lightly. This sort of bond requires a certain… intimacy. Permanently binding. The covenant must be entered willingly, by one I have chosen to be my companion. My trusted assistant.”

“A servant, you mean.” It certainly seems that way, judging by the few scattered sentences his eyes have landed upon.

“A lover,” you insist, “whose body is not so frail that I must take heed not to break it each time I indulge in the pleasures of his flesh and blood.” All of a sudden, you take the paper from his hands and set it aside on the table. You step into his space to pull him closer by the shoulders, and his arms circle your waist like they belong to you instead of him. “You would not be as powerful as I, but part of my power would be yours. Being bound to one who lives would allow me to remain awake past dawn, and in turn, one drop of my blood would suffice to heal any injury you may suffer. I would make you immortal, Thomas. But most importantly… I would make you mine. Is that not what you wanted?”

Your voice is honey laced with the sweetest temptation. His occupation taught him better than to enter any deal whose terms he does not fully comprehend, but he is dangerously close to doing so when you are gazing at him with something this close to yearning. Because you are right—he does want to be yours, more than what feels like almost anything. And knowing you want him as well, enough to make what seems to be a twisted, vampiric version of a marriage proposal, permanently binding…

“Would I…” he stumbles over the words, clinging to the one sobering thought that stands between him and signing his name blindly whilst kissing you to his death. “Would I need to feed the way you do?”

Your lips curl into a sweetly condescending smile. “You tremble at the thought of living as I do, yet you claim you are willing to risk it. No, Thomas,” you then assure him in all seriousness, “You would not have such… intense cravings.”

“What does that—”

You press your lips to his. Gently and demanding all at once, reducing him to silence. If you mean to remind him he could not bear to live without your touch now that he has felt it, you are excruciatingly effective. Is the longing he feels in your kiss truly there, or does he only feel it because he is desperate to believe you need him to say yes? 

A wavering breath leaves you as you pull away, and that is very real. “The terms are all there,” you say quietly, looking into his eyes. “Read it well. Fine print and all.” You step away, finding your composure in the space you put between you. “If you decide you wish to sign, come find me.”

Thomas swallows thickly. “And if I do not?”

He couldn’t bear to hear it, doesn’t even want to contemplate the possibility you might send him away. But he needs to understand the choice he has before him.

The prospect of a refusal hardly pleases you, either. You clench your jaw, gaze steely. “I will not feed you my blood again,” you warn, “and I grow weary of suppressing my cravings for your sake. Stay as you are at your own peril.”

With that, you walk away, leaving him alone with the flames and the piece of paper you had forged in them. He heard your words, he understands their meaning. But his foolish heart echoes the one he most longed to hear.

Stay.

Thomas takes a seat, and begins to read.

Next part -> Bound

[the-fiction-witch]

Vampiress

Media - Nosferatu Character - Thomas Hutter Couple - Thomas Hutter X Reader (Vampiress) Reader - NOT YET MET Rating - 12 Word Count - 1106

The castle loomed majestically on the horizon, akin to a formidable mountain, its structure hewn from dense, timeworn grey stone that seemed to cradle the very essence of the earth itself. Its lofty towers, soared towards the heavens, striving to pierce the clouds that hovered lazily overhead, their silhouettes stark and jagged against the deepening twilight. Yet, an eerie stillness engulfed the grand structure; not a flicker of flame dared to illuminate the darkened windows, leaving them as shadowy eyes gazing hauntingly into a forgotten past, their frames frayed and splintered by years of relentless weathering.

The courtyard was a barren wasteland, a desolate expanse void of horses or the cheerful bustle of servants diligently attending to their tasks. Nature, in its persistent reclaiming embrace, had begun to weave a tapestry of life throughout the stone heart of the castle. Ivy vines, thick and verdant, crawled and spiralled through the crevices of the lead-lined windows, their vibrant green tendrils contrasting sharply with the sombre stone. Dust settled like fine sand across the weathered surfaces, a testament to years of neglect, each scrap swirling in the soft breeze as if to mourn the vibrant life that should thrive here.

An oppressive, haunting silence clung heavily to the air, wrapping itself around the castle like a shroud, imbuing it with an eerie aura of ghostly desolation. It stood as a timeless relic, frozen in an unyielding slumber, whispering the secrets that should never be heard.

Mister Thomas Hutter, climbed from the carriage, his paperwork at his hip. He walked tenderly across the bridge to the heavy gates but without a word, or knock, they opened wide for him as if pulled by an unknown force.

Thomas gulped but stepped forward, inside the confines of the castle with a slow, nervous shiver about him.

Once past the inner stone arch, the large and heavy doors that had been still as statues since their opening suddenly slammed shut behind him so fast and hard that no wind or rope could have been the culprit. The loud bang shook Thomas to his core, he almost dropped his case. But he shook it away, desiring that it was merely his own anxiety causing his madness.

As he proceeded to walk deeper, his eyes scanned every corner for someone he could speak to but found only shadows each time. Part of him began to grow convinced he was too late to see this old Count and began to question within himself each and every step, second-guessing if this would be his last before he turned back.

Thomas jumped as a crack of thunder echoed through the castle, rain suddenly fell with it, battering the windows with a harsh intensity even for a winter storm. He sighed, knowing now he must remain.

He trudged through the dimly lit corridors, desperate to find a refuge where he could light a fire and stave off the biting chill that gripped him. Suddenly, he halted, a shiver racing down his spine, seeping into every bone until it reached his curled toes, trapped in his fraying boots. An overwhelming sense of coldness enveloped him, an eerie emptiness as if all warmth had been drained from his very soul.

As he steadied himself, his eyes were drawn to the wall beside him, where a shapeless shadow began to coalesce, its twisted form manifesting sharp, elongated nails and skeletal fingers that seemed to reach for him. Panic surged within Thomas; the instinct to cry out was stifled as he forced himself to pivot and confront whatever lurked in the murky depths of the hall.

And there he stood.

A tall, gaunt figure loomed before him, clad in a tight black suit that clung to his skeletal frame. His skin was pale as marble, contrasting sharply with the darkness that surrounded him. In his hands, he held a black candelabra, its five graceful arms cradling flickering candles that cast ghostly shadows on the walls. The faint light danced ominously, illuminating the man's hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, which glinted with a strange, unsettling curiosity. “Mister Thomas Hutter?”

“…y-Yes…” Hutter stammered, glancing around the dimly lit foyer with its cold stone walls and flickering shadows. “I uhh, I am here to see the Count about the house—”

“The Count is unprepared for visitors at this time,” the tall, gaunt man interrupted, his voice low and unyielding.

“Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realize there was a needed time,” Hutter replied, a hint of nervousness creeping into his tone as he shuffled his feet on the worn, creaking floorboards.

“The Count finds himself occupied tonight,” the man continued, his expression inscrutable. “If you like, I can take you to a room.”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

“Follow.”

Thomas followed him forever feeling like he needed to check behind him, as if something stalked his every step. He was led all the way up a tall spiral stairwell to a heavy wooden door.

The man pushed open the door, revealing a dusty room with a single window looking out to the courtyard. A canopy bed with thick red curtains sat in the centre with a few pillows. “I will fetch you when the count is available.”

“Yes, of course.” Thomas nodded, “Thank you, sir.”

He simply turned and began to make his way down the stairwell, “Sleep well, Mister Hutter.”

“I- Yes, thank you.” He called back before closing the door and anxiously locking it.

Thomas had slept like death, a deep and dreamless sleep that seemed to weigh on him like heavy stones. The sickly sleep made him wake feeling breathless, sweaty, dry in the mouth, with blurred vision and a strange weightlessness to his body. When he woke, the storm was still raging beyond the walls, so he climbed out of bed and dressed for the day and had a seat by the window to arrange and organise his paperwork for the signing. But the day grew later and later the sun setting far beyond the horizon before the door slid open with a creak.

“Ohh, Evening sir.” Thomas nodded, “I uhh I never did get your name?”

“…Stoker.”

“Thank you, Mister Stoker. Is uhh is the Count ready for our meeting?”

“He has taken to bed early this evening.”

“Again?” he asked,

“The Count needs rest in his age.”

“I understand, but… I do have a uhh I need to get back to my offices and I have a prior engagement…”

“The Count does not bend to your schedules.”

“Of course, yes. But uhhh,” he explained, “I uhh… could I trouble you for some food at least?”

“I will see what can be-” Mister Stoker froze up mid-sentence, “Follow.”

“Thank you, Mister Stoker.” He nodded,