#v; fangs pierce the tender skin

[sehtoast]

One Big Wet Spot (Homelander x Reader Smut)

18+ | gender neutral reader, many creampies, aggressive homelander, come eating, biting, p in v sex, he's sweet by the end | Fic Directory

You were in shambles. This much you knew.

He has no refractory period, no need to take a rest. He can go on forever until all he can do is shoot blanks, and you?

You were to receive all of it.

You've been like this for hours, if not the entire day. Load after load shot down your throat, pumped into your cunt until you were nothing more than a leaking, whining hole for him to fuck.

It started off so sweet, too. Silly morning sex, tender and soft– but Homelander always needs more. His appetite for intimacy, for love, for you is insatiable even on a good day.

Today, he takes everything he possibly can.

He slams into you, strings of come trailing between your inner thighs and his hips with each thrust. Your body convulses with each orgasm– the count of which you'd long since lost track of. His fangs are bared above you as he grits his teeth, nails biting at your thighs as he yanks your body back and forth in time with his thrusts.

"Mine," he snarls. He rams into you deep, grinding against your cervix. "All fucking mine!"

You're covered in bite marks, some bloody, some merely indentations. His lips are stained from having pierced you, and you still taste a lingering metallic flavor from each time he'd kiss you or spit in your mouth.

You nod in agreement, head hazy at best as you try to hang on to consciousness. Each time your eyes roll back, he's gripping your jaw with a punishing force to put your attention right back where it belongs.

Him.

He presses your thighs to your chest as he fucks your near-numb pussy with a need so primal that a part of you wonders how he'll ever come down from such a state. He drives into you harsh, lifting himself off the bed just enough to really hit home, groaning deep as he pounds into another orgasm.

You feel him spill within, cunt pulsing at the twitch of his cock. He swats your legs away from your chest as his head falls into the crook of your neck, and you're unsurprised to feel another skin-breaking bite. He suckles at you, grinding lazily into your come-filled hole for a time.

Your hand works through his hair, mind and body dizzy. You wonder if you've lost too much blood or if it's simply because of everything.

He ruts against you suddenly, fucking you shallow and fast. You keen, and his hands are upon you. One at your hip, the other at the back of your neck - each one pulling you impossibly closer. He stays the way he was, face buried against you, but he's since licked your wound and let off.

He's relentless, starved, and desperate for all that he can have. He is an animal, caged and underfed for his whole life. But he has you, now. Sometimes he forgets he doesn't have to sink his claws into you for you to stay.

But it's all he's ever known.

He fills you past the point of gushing around his cock, fucks you from sunrise to sunset - but even then, you wonder if he's truly done.

Even when he's reduced himself to a whimpering, fucked out mess, you wonder if he's had his fill.

You certainly have, and you'll feel this one for the rest of the week - a delicious thought, actually.

He's reluctant to slip free, even when it's clear he's finally limp inside you. He wants to stay as one, wants to keep your slicked up bodies together. You're both covered in his come, and he's fussy sometimes about sleeping in wet spots.

Granted, he'd turned the whole fucking bed into one big wet spot.

You feel the hunger drain from his body bit by bit in the way he holds you. Bruising grips turn to soft caresses, nips and nibbles to kisses, growls to soft sighs and occasional whimpers of sensitivity. But that comes after.

After he slips his cock from you, after his come gushes from you, after he dives in and licks every ounce of it from your aching pussy.

He's thorough. His tongue traces through every fold, every crevice that the taste of your love could possibly hide. He licks you clean from mound to ass, and you almost wonder if a shower is even necessary at that point.

Of course, the slick covered face that comes up to kiss you reminds you that yeah, maybe it's just a little bit needed.

He licks into your mouth lazily, tonguing into you the shared taste of your love.

He refuses to let you walk alongside him to the bathroom, opting to carry you the second he saw how wobbly you were. He's tender and sweet, walking under the stream once the temperature was perfect, simply holding you to his chest.

You trail your fingers through the smattering of hair there, circling above where his heart is, smiling softly. You're exhausted, but he's more than willing to make sure you're cared for.

After all, look at all you've done for him.

You both end up sitting on the floor of his shower, warmth running over you as you hold each other close. He whispers love in your ear, and you do the same for him.

He looks at you with big, blue, doe eyes, and you know he means every word of it.

Tonight you two will sleep on his couch, wrapped tight in one another while the bed dries. Tomorrow?

Well, with Homelander as your lover, tomorrow will always be deliciously unpredictable.

[captkillianjcnes]

@minaharkerdailymirror // continued from { x }

Oh he knew what he’d said, what he’d promised, but he was so thirsty, it was driving him mad, making him weaker than he’d been in a very long time. The ache at being so denied had only grown stronger as the days had turned to weeks now, and her blood had always been the sweetest of all. 

But seeing Mina go to her knees gave Killian pause; he stopped where he was, not taking another step towards her right then. Not yet, anyway, as his hand reached out against the wall, to steady himself, the room spinning for a moment as the lack of strength, the time that it’d been since he’d last fed, really got to him for a moment. 

He reached into his belt, pulling out a dagger and tossing it to her. “I need something, Mina,” said Killian, nodding towards the glass on the bedside table. “Just give me that much, that’s what I ask...” It wouldn’t be enough, and Killian knew it, but he also knew, deep down, that if he plunged his fangs right into her neck, he’d not be able to pull back--despite his saying so. 

“Please, Harker. I... Please...” 

[magniloquent-raven]

“Unbuttoned” and “Biting” 👀 make it saucy 😈

I GOT CARRIED AWAY I DUNNO WHAT HAPPENED JSKJKDFGK I HOPE U ENJOY THE SAUCE

cw for blood and pain play 😅 other than that it's v soft i stg

--

it was supposed to be a one time thing.

that’s what he told himself the first time he let steve sink his fangs into him. just this once. he’s doing his good deed of the day. or something. saving some poor innocent bystander from getting half-drained and glamored so hard they wouldn’t be able to tell up from down for days after. it was as good an excuse as any to jump at the chance. altruism. sure.

and he was still getting use to the whole vampire thing in general, maybe it was just to test out whether this whole thing was real. prove it to himself beyond a shadow of a doubt.

but it was only supposed to be that one time.

provide harrington with a meal and then move the fuck on from this whole…well, he hesitates to call it a fixation, but…

okay, maybe he’s a little obsessed.

maybe all he thought about from the moment he first saw steve drop his fangs was what they would feel like inside him, and he started sinking his teeth into his own wrist while his other hand was shoved down his pants, biting down hard enough for it to sting but not enough to leave a mark, and it was good, made him come so hard he saw stars, but it didn’t scratch the itch for long.

steve offered to glamor the memory away after that first time. looking too sheepish for a man with blood on his chin, smeared on his mouth like sex-ruined lipstick. blinking at billy with wide, guileless eyes and a face that muddles billy’s thoughts even without vampire magic.

and he wanted to take billy’s pain away. put just enough fog in his head to make the whole experience feel like a half-remembered dream.

billy would’ve laughed if he hadn’t been so distracted by everything else. the shock of red darkening steve’s lips. the heat coiled in his gut, radiating tingling warmth to the tips of his fingers. steve’s fingers still loosely curled around his wrist, warmed by the prolonged contact, and soft as silk.

he hasn’t asked since the third time billy rolled his eyes at him, and he doesn’t even sit there visibly holding back the question anymore. it took months for that to stop. billy wonders if the thought is gone entirely or if he’s just swallowed it far enough to hide it, lodged in his throat somewhere.

and he wonders if it bothers steve. the pain. not being allowed to wipe it away after.

there’s never been anything billy wants to forget less than this. steve’s hands on him, his mouth, soft and sharp. teeth, pointed and piercing, gripping him tight and pressed firm into his arm. lips against his skin, tender in a way billy’s always been afraid to ask for.

he’s long since accepted that he’s just steve’s personal blood bag now, no matter how many times he told himself it was a terrible idea to keep doing this. making stupid decisions is kind of his thing, anyway, and this might just be the best dumb thing he’s ever done.

he’s waiting for it to blow up in his face, sure, but he’s used to good things being temporary and a little dangerous.

and then it goes somewhere he doesn’t expect when steve figures him out.

the dozens of times he imagined what steve would say, it always ended badly. with disgust and anger and his last memories of steve being the cold judgement in his eyes as he pulls away. never once did he let himself think steve would be okay with it. his fantasies stayed separate. fictional. something to imagine while he jerks off but never actually believe in.

but then steve, in usual steve fashion, completely fucking defies his expectations, without even seeming to realize how much of a goddamn miracle he is.

it hasn’t been nearly long enough for steve to have gotten his fill, but his fangs retract, sliding out of billy’s forearm slowly, leaving a dull throb in their wake, and instead of immediately sitting up—like he usually would—he touches the broken skin with his tongue, hesitant, gentle, locking eyes with billy as he does.

there’s a questioning air to it. like he’s not sure he’s allowed to do this, but when billy doesn’t do anything but stare, transfixed and open-mouthed, he lingers. cleaning up the stray drops of blood, soft lips brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of billy’s elbow.

billy shivers, and it makes steve bolder. he trails damp, blood-tinged kisses down his forearm, pausing at his wrist, nipping him with dull-edged teeth, teasing.

“steve?” billy breathes out, managing to sound much steadier than he feels.

steve smiles small, hidden behind billy’s arm, and drops his gaze, almost shyly. “so, uh…you like this, huh?”

“i—” he bites the inside of his cheek to stifle an embarrassing noise as he feels steve drop his fangs again, without warning, needle-sharp and resting delicately on his jack-rabbiting pulsepoint. “i mean, i wouldn’t let you do it if i hated it, would i?”

“hm,” steve hums, amused, and moves back up billy’s forearm, teeth just barely grazing along its length. billy hardly feels steve’s hand still cradling his, the couch cushions at his back, the fabric under his tense, clenched fingers. none of it is as keenly present as the faint tickle of steve’s huffed laughter and the scant pressure of two hard edges teasing his inner elbow.

and then both of those things are gone, and his whole body shifts, seeking their presence, before he freezes, remembering himself.

he breathes out very, very slowly through his nose, and wills himself to lean back into his seat.

but he doesn’t move. can’t. not when he’s caught steve’s gaze, the warmth there, the fondness. he stays right where he is, leaning into steve’s space, wanting, waiting…

“it’s okay, y’know.” steve’s smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. something about that always makes billy want to touch. reach out and trace the lines. hold something good in his hand. “it’s…more than okay? i always kinda wondered why you tasted so fucking good, and i’m pretty sure this is why.”

billy blinks at him.

“shit. sorry. is that. is that weird? it’s just—like, when people are freaked out they taste all bitter, and, i mean, some people don’t panic as much, and it’s…fine, but you—you’re like, like spiced sunshine and what i remember of good chocolate and i haven’t really, like, been around that long so i haven’t had the chance to figure this shit out, but…” his grin turns self-conscious, and he runs a hand through his hair, fiddling with a stray lock behind his ear. “sorry, it’s, it’s a lot. i just…i’ve fed on the willing before, but no one who…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely at billy.

“gets off on it,” billy supplies wryly.

steve sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, obviously struggling to keep his face neutral. “mhm.”

if asked, billy would probably say it was that stupidly adorable, nervous little hum that broke him. that was the point where sitting there unmoving was just too much to bear. when his brain shut down completely and his body started doing whatever the hell it wanted.

steve’s eyes widen, tracking billy’s hands as he reaches up and starts unbuttoning his shirt. “uh…”

“c’mon, pretty boy, don’t tell me you never thought about biting somewhere other than my wrist.”

“i mean…” his gaze drifts lower, expression glazing over just a bit.

billy’s heart is pounding. he just barely manages the last button on his shirt. “tell me.”

he forgets, sometimes, that steve is stronger than him. faster. inhuman. he’s always so careful, gentle, like he’s handling a baby bird. it’s easy to forget that takes effort for him.

which is why it catches billy off guard when he suddenly has a lapful of eager vampire, inches away in a rush of displaced air, cool palms sliding up his chest, pressing him into the cushions.

steve’s fingers slip into his curls, combing them away from his face, leaning in to nip his unpierced earlobe. “your thighs,” he says quietly, nosing at billy’s flushed cheek. “i wanna get my mouth on your thighs.”

“jesus christ,” billy groans. his eyes slip shut and he exhales slowly. steve is a solid weight above him, pinning him down like it’s nothing. and all he can think about is how he smells like lavender and honey and it’s making his head spin. “yeah. yeah, bambi, whatever you want.”

suddenly steve is sitting between his knees, popping the button on his jeans, fingers on his zipper, tugging, and—

the sound of denim ripping. steve muttering, “shit,” under his breath.

billy makes a strangled noise.

“i’ll—i’ll buy you a new pair. sorry.”

an un controllable laugh bubbles up and out of him. one that sounds dangerously close to a giggle. he stares down at steve’s contrite expression, incredulous, as steve picks at a loose thread. “i don’t care about the pants right now, steve, we were in the middle of something?”

“right. yes.”

he makes short work of what’s left of billy’s favourite jeans. they end up on the floor…somewhere. once they’re out of billy’s line of sight he forgets about them entirely.

steve rubs at the red marks on the side of billy’s leg, almost absently, massaging sore spots where the seam of his jeans dug into his skin.

billy spreads his knees, just a little, when steve doesn’t immediately move. “we doing this or what.” he’s already hard, straining against the thin cotton fabric of his briefs.

“not—not there—” steve stammers, waving his hands at the inside of billy’s thigh, his fangs are already out, and billy’s not sure it was on purpose. “there’s, uh—” he reaches out, with a forefinger, tracing a line from the crease of billy’s thigh to his knee. billy doesn’t breathe the whole time. after a moment steve says quietly, “artery. i don’t wanna hit an artery, it’d kill you.”

“...yeah that would put a bit of a damper on things.”

“a bit.”

billy sniffs. chews the inside of his lip. and with a fleeting touch, cups steve’s cheek, guiding his face til they make eye-contact. “i trust you,” he says firmly.

steve blinks at him, and after a beat his lips curve into a soft smile. “okay. uh…good. okay.”

“now bite me.”

“so demanding.”

“pretty boy, i swear to go—oh—”

steve’s fangs sink into the meat of his thigh, stinging, hot, liquid pain, warming him right to his core, the molten pleasure of it pooling in his gut, so much more intense than when it was just his arm. and the sight of steve, bent over him with an animalistic glint in his eye, fingertips pressing white marks into his hips, makes it that much better.

“fuck,” billy hisses, palming himself through his briefs. “fuck.”

he ruts against the heel of his hand, breath stuttering.

steve’s eyelids flutter shut, and billy feels him moan quietly. he pulls back enough that his fangs dislodge, and he drags his tongue across the bite mark, sloppily, slipping a hand under billy’s thigh so he can pull it more firmly against his mouth, his lips, sucking at the lazily dribbling wound.

his desperation grows as billy’s does, his hold on billy, his wild abandon. as billy tenses, shaking, inching closer to the edge. they make eye contact and the raw, unfiltered want on steve’s face pushes him to the brink. he cries out, steve’s name on the tip of his tongue, a sticky spot spreading under his palm.

he collapses, boneless, against the cushions, panting, and glances down at himself. “probably should’ve taken these off.” he picks at his waistband, snapping the elastic.

“hm,” steve hums. his eyes are dark, roaming billy’s heaving torso, darting down to the bloody spot on his thigh.

billy grins, tugging at his unbuttoned shirt, rearranging it around him so it’s less bunched up his back. “i got more left in me if you’re still hungry.”

“...i’m starving.”

[theintrovertedpoetspodcast]

Chapter Four: Recurring Dream

Finally, out of my Tardis, I realized where we were three years later. Being eighteen and newly single, there we were, in the quietest part of the west side, undisturbed and marooned, peacefully mixing with the silence and tension. 

  “This is it,” I thought to myself. “This is what we’re supposed to be doing right now. This is the reason why we’ve reconnected after three years.”  

Finally, after getting outside of my head, I went on autopilot; you pulled yourself closer towards me. Fully obedient and sedated, I turned my head to face you. You pulled me in closer to your face and kissed me. The very first passionate kiss we’ve ever shared throughout our five years of friendship. Steamy, yet earth-shaking. I opened my eyes mid kiss and noticed you had yours closed. Who knew you craved “this” as much as I did too. I pulled back to catch my breath, I turned away moving my jaw and tracing my hot lips. The anxiety and tension between us became a full grown Cerberus. Self-doubt crept back into my head,   “Was I ready to become completely vulnerable? Was I ready to reveal my best-kept secret to you?” I turned around to face you and your bedroom eyes. Slowly scanning your body from top to bottom you ask,  

    “What’s wrong?”

     “Nothing, it’s just that this p-p-predicatment we;re in”, I shakenly sighed.

    “Oh yeah,” you implied in a smoky voice, as you moved closer to me. Out of pure instinct, I adjusted my face closer to yours. Once comfortable, we were cheek to cheek, facing opposite directions. I could feel your warm breath down my neck creating goosebumps. Just when I thought things couldn’t get more risqué, you kissed my neck and weren’t content stopping there. My body tensed upon feeling your hot breath hit my ear lobe. I felt a tingling sensation down my spine.

“Tell me, what is ‘this’”, you whispered in my ear. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. All I did was smile and blush. After what felt like a lifetime of mere seconds, I finally spoke,  

“well, you know, ‘this’.” I turned around to face you and felt a sudden shift in weight. Time slowed down again. As we shifted towards my seat, I realized what was happening. Sensuality filled your eyes, as you made your way from the driver’s seat to the passenger’s. Lowering my seat and unbuckling my seatbelt, I reclined back with my seat. You used your knees to anchor yourself up against the seat for leverage. I adjusted my legs to your body’s width so your knees were cushioned comfortably against the seat. My, my, tell me how did we find our way. Time finally caught me up to my destination.  

You were on top of me, with my feet on your dashboard, hands entwined with my eyes at your chest, inhaling the smell of herb and beer. I felt a second tingle go down my spine and as I looked up for eye contact. Upon meeting your gaze, your full lips crashed into mine. Suddenly, the need for my gray hoodie was diminished. I felt you using the sleeves of my hoodie to pull me upwards against your chest. I assisted you in taking it off. I planted myself back down against the passenger seat underneath you. We resumed back to making out like teens in heat. I ran my fingers through your silky hair, while your hips collided against mine. I felt my heart pounding against my chest and ribcage. Our breathing quickened and became shallow. It no longer felt 40 degrees at 3:00 A.M., we were both warm and sweaty. The windows of your truck fogged up and condesated. My lips felt numb and sore, we took a brief pause for air. I followed your eyes, you scanned my body up and down. Seeing the delight in your eyes, I felt a shift between our hips. I looked up at you, saw you smiling at me. I knew what “this” was, “this” was unbridled teenage eroticism. 

I felt you tugging my black turtleneck off, without restraint I assisted. Once my turtleneck was off I felt my skin breathe; it was chilly yet relieving. I lifted your shirt and ran my hands across your sculpted abs, tracing the outlines with my fingertips. I was only in my black demi bra and jeans, my 5’1 self, felt even smaller and vulnerable. I hugged myself, covering my nearly naked breasts. Feeling modest, I bowed my head. You reached for the buttons of my baby blue Levis; immediately I placed my hands between my inner thighs, barricading yours from the hemline of my pants.  

            “What,” you asked?

            “No, no, it’s just that, I’m not ready for ‘this’”, I whispered playing the maiden role. You reached in and kissed my forehead, so gentle and sweet.  

“It’s going to be okay. I’ll go slow,” you responded. I took a deep breath and nodded in agreement, feeling my curls brush up against my back. I moved my hands away from the beltline of my pants. I placed my hands around your neck and interlaced my fingers. I felt a soothing sensation as you unbutton my jeans and pulled down my zipper. I looked down, rubbing my forehead against yours and watched you tugging my jeans and black lace panties down; I lifted my hips up, making it easier for you slide them off. Now exposed and vulnerable, I moved my hands to cover my exposed honeypot, you placed your knees underneath the passenger seat for leverage. Once you were balanced, you unbuttoned your jeans and tugged them down towards your ankles. After seeing your manhood my jaw dropped with awe, you had a beautifully cut groin area, in the shape of a V. I looked up at you, speechless and afraid. You went back to placing your knees on the seat and using your hands to find a way in with the tip. I felt you grind up against my opening, trying to find a way in. You released my right hand and grabbed your manhood adjusting it to enter perfectly. That’s it. You found your way inside me. My tenderness, warm and inviting. I felt a hot sharp pain. I gasped loudly and placed my hands on your pelvis and pushed you away from me.  

            “No, no, no, I can’t do this,” I whispered.

          “Shh, it’s okay, relax, relax “you whispered.  Again you tried going in deeper, and again I stopped you.  

“Adonis, I can’t, ‘this’ hurts,” I pleaded. Both times you tried to go in and failed. I felt as though a million needles were piercing my nonexistent hymen. You pulled back leaving your tip in. You placed my hands over my head and kissed me. From my lips travelling to my neck, each kiss leaving an invisible print. You made your way to my ear and nibbled on the lobe and whispered,  

   “Now tell me how much you’ve wanted ‘this’.” I attempted turning my neck to face you but instead felt your fangs clamping down my shoulder, your hips completely smashed up against mine, and your member completely inside of me… 

[captkillianjcnes]

kiss of betrayal

@minaharkerdailymirror // continued from [ x ]

He could feel the way the silver was poisoning his blood; damn that unfortunate weakness, as his blood slipped past his fingers, despite his firm grip on the wound. The pain was intense, but he’d dealt with worse when he was human, before Dracula had turned him all those centuries ago. Or so he told himself now, to keep his mind focused on other things beside the way it hurt, the way it felt like there was a sharp burn right at the wound itself. 

Dark eyes lifted to Mina as she said that. Did she really think him such a monster, after all this time? And he’d thought she was coming around, after he’d killed his maker--for her! He’d slipped down the wall, the pain and poison working fast. He’d have to feed relatively soon to heal as quick as possible, otherwise it’d take ages (or so it would feel like). 

Ages--for her to get away. And he couldn’t have that. 

“What--What sort of monster do you think I am?” he said, voice low, Killian trying to stand and hissing as it pulled at his side, immediately bringing him right back against the wall, on his knees. “I said I’d-- I killed him for you, I-- I don’t take more than I need with you--” 

And did she really think he’d harm his own child? 

[captkillianjcnes]

💔

a fucked up kissing meme || @minaharkerdailymirror

9. a kiss accompanying your muse injuring mine

Perhaps he should have known something was amiss when her lips pressed against his. When that soft touch turned more passionate, when she was the one to initiate something that he’d been wanting (or so it seemed) for ages. Her blood was intoxicating, it was true, and he’d forced himself to stop before doing her serious harm each and every time, but it was definitely difficult to do so. More so than Killian would ever admit openly to her, though there were times he was sure she knew– 

Pain flared in his side as the silver knife slide between his ribs so easily, his groan that was swallowed in the kiss easily turning into one of pain, into hurt, as his hand slipped away from her side–when she pulled back, twisted the knife, even. How a silver blade even ended up here, in her possession, now of all times, he had no idea, but he’d have to deal with that later, as his thoughts turned to the blood dripping down his side… through his fingers as his hand went to the wound… 

Confusion marred his expression, Killian looking at her. “Wh-Why?”  

[captkillianjcnes]

new tags 4/?

(( updating my tags as I type this… ignore the ‘mess’ of a blog update as things are a little wack right now. ))  

[captkillianjcnes]

@imnotacharacter // continued from [ x ]

Killian felt her more this time, rather than just heard her, even if the words she spoke did make their way towards him better, more clearly, than the first ones had. You promised, Jones, his mind told him, as he still struggled to pull back, still struggled to stop. You can’t hurt her, you can’t take more than necessary-- 

It was hard to do so, so very, very hard, but Killian had to find the willpower to pull back. To lessen the ‘monster’ that wanted nothing more than to feed until she was dry, on the off chance that might finally diminish the thirst. Killian wasn’t foolish; he knew it wouldn’t, as the thirst was a constant. He could drain all of Storybrooke, and it would still be there. 

Stop, Jones. Stop. You can’t hurt her, and she needs you to stop... 

He could hear the way her heartbeat was affected and that clued Killian in enough that it was definitely time, as he finally pulled back. Finally broke from his connection with her, to stop feeding, bloodied fangs detaching from the wound as Killian pulled his head back, away. His own weren’t fully mended; the magic that had made them making the process to heal even ten times slow, it seemed, but he was better than before. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m sorry...” The words trailed off, Killian’s tongue running over the points of his fangs as it took the taste of those final droplets of her blood. 

[captkillianjcnes]

my compliant little pet

@lonelyduckling 

Hook continued drinking, slowly draining the life from his victim. His fangs pierced into the vein at the other’s neck, Hook drank greedily, hungrily. He was far thirstier than he had ever been, but even so, he’d have probably behaved the same way if he wasn’t. It was in an effort to quelch that thirst, that hunger, that he drank like he did. 

The vampire could feel the body growing limp in his arms, and knew she was close to passing out completely; she was close to being lost. But Hook didn’t care, and he kept drinking--only stopping when she was finally on the brink. 

[captkillianjcnes]

💕

Send me a symbol and I’ll start a thread for us based on the scenario | @lonelyduckling 

     Human x Non-Human

Killian Jones wasted no time in claiming the woman as his. She was someone he should have stayed away from, or even outright killed. She wasn’t a friend to his kind–but then again, there were few that actually were friendly to vampires. The woman just happened to be one he really should have stayed far away from, if he valued his life. Instead, he didn’t care. He’d lived long enough that he had come to think himself rather invincible, fighting off hunters in his life and draining them in retaliation; killing dozens–hundreds, really–in his feeding. But he was a survivor above all else; he’d been that way as a human and the quality had only enhanced and grown when he became a vampire. 

So it was with little hesitaiton that he slammed her against the wall, pinning her there and claiming her lips with his.  

[captkillianjcnes]

imnotthesavior:

“Hook,” Emma said on a sigh, searching in the darkness for the sight of his figure after only hearing his voice. Her heart beat painfully in her chest, eyes watering although she tried her best not to cry. She’d left but she hadn’t expected him to seek her out, for her to find her and demand answers. And she thought she would never admit to him aloud how she felt. That somewhere along the line she’d fallen in love with him, even if the feeling wasn’t reciprocated.

“I thought—- After I broke you out of that lab–” She swallowed hard, telling herself that what she’d done was right, that she’d not made a mistake in leaving him, even though everything inside her screamed that it was just that.

“–All those things they’d done to you, how long they’d had you prisoner there… I figured that the things you said to me—” She sighed as a traitor tear slid down her face. “I wouldn’t fault you if you had made all that up to escape.”

( continuted from [x] imnotthesavior )

She had thought him to be lying, to be trying to trick her. Hook stayed in the shadows, fnding comfort there where he had found little else. It almost broke his heart that she had thought that of him, had thought him to be simply playing on her emotions in order to gain his freedom. Though, he supposed, he couldn’t fault her. At one time, he would have done just that. Played on her kindness in order to gain the upper hand, in order to be set free of that place. 

He had never counted on actually falling in love with her along the way. That was never in the plan. Never in his foreseeable future did he expect to develop feelings for the kind doctor. And yet, he had done just that. 

“It was a long time,” he agreed. It had been ages since he’d been free, since he’d walked the earth, locked up as he’d been. “But you weren’t like them. You weren’t... cruel.” Never had he wished for death, but he’d come awfully close at times. Hook started to step from the shadows, into the lights of the night, his features halfway illuminated. “You were different, Swan. And I never lied to you.” Because he had fallen for her, that pull he felt towarsd her something he couldn’t resist. He knew that now. It was why he had sought her out in the first place after being let go. 

“I never lied.” 

[captkillianjcnes]

don’t touch her | vampire/hunter

It was unusual, this. Hook didn’t protect hunters; he didn’t have a care whether they were harmed. And yet, the fact that the other vampires were moving in on the person he considered to matter (the only person in a long time to matter to him) made him angry. Made that vampiric rage inside of him, the emotion that turned him into a monster, flood through him. Dracula had made him into this, and he was damn well going to destroy those who would dare harm her. 

“Get behind me!” Hook nearly pushed Emma back, his attention focused on the coming horde. 

[captkillianjcnes]

minaharkerdailymirror replied to your post:hc ‘ + showing love as a vampire.

If Only that pesky stubborn hunter realized that every time he called her ‘his Mina’ he was really saying “I love you” and “You’re really tasty, let me have another nibble” but he probably says the former a lot more…

ooc; Hah. Exactly. The hunter just doesn’t understand his actions, and it’s rather frustrating for him. :) 

[captkillianjcnes]

hc ‘ + showing love as a vampire.

His love is possessive, claiming. He would give the world to the person of his affection, but at the same time, clings to them and declares them “his” in everything. It’s a vampire trait of his that he can’t seem to let go of, the need to possess and hold close. He can be tender, soft and quiet, but there’s constantly an edge of “you are mine and no one else’s” about him.