𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔰 ; In a turn of events, Jack Nyras doesn't find himself in a random cult. But instead, he's laid before a hungry vampire cult and is made to be the vampire's dinner. He however escapes, albeit with two holes in his neck. He's missed out on many weeks and you've been missing him. When he comes back out of nowhere, you soon wonder what he's become. And what he'll do.
𝔠𝔴; vampires, eating out (reader receiving), masculine reader, (ftm in mind but doesn't need to be read as such)
Jack's been really odd lately ever since he went missing.
Around three months ago, your boyfriend had disappeared from his dorm room. No one had a single idea of where he went and why he’d go away without a word. The only lead anyone had of where he’d go was somewhere with a girl he had gotten close to in his second year. It was always him and her, Jack and Jenny-Jenny, and Jack. She’d always lead him away with the promise of adventure, excitement. And you couldn’t say you didn’t feel some kind of way towards her, you never hated her. But you knew she had some type of interest in Jack, even though you and he were together. You saw her eyes all the time, staring at Jack-they never looked malicious, never reeked of sleazy intent. You saw absorption, maybe even love.
You remember the look on her face when he was first declared missing. Her expression wasn’t hard sorrow, but concealed unsettlement. Each time she passed by the missing poster, every time his name was mentioned by the admin. You could see her shift, her frown widening too uncanny for your liking. She never spoke about it, never advocated for him; she was just there. It never seemed to break her down as it did with you. It never seemed to change her routine, while yours did. You were always checking his dorm, walking around the college every day before you went to your dorm to rest. You just couldn’t shake off the thought that he could be injured, dead.
Everything seemed so empty without him, and it was like his disappearance sparked a chain reaction. From your class, which had nearly fifty students, became forty-two, then thirty-eight. You watched those crowded hallways, always filled with noise, whether it be the teachers conversing or gossip from your classmates, become quieter, darker. You remember passing by Jenny, your eyes caught on her, fixing her necklace in the tiny mirror she had. Her fingers held the necklace as if one wrong move, and it’d shatter. You saw her face, how her lips almost curved up into a grin before she caught your stare. And cowered back to facing the inside of her locker. You were going to stop, but you forced your feet to move past her.
And that was the last time you saw her.
Just like Jack, her face soon appeared on papers beside his. Her face a standstill, with only information stuck on the sheets that no one would read. You remember feeling how it truly meant to be anxious, to be scared. No one had any leads for the few people missing, all the people who had left after Jack only had one thing in common. They had no family near or alive in this area, no type of significant records to make any sense of what could have happened. You were heart-struck, upset, and you truly didn’t know what to do. Those short days had turned into weeks, and most of the cases were dropped. You just hoped for once, something would happen, some shock would come to the news. And you hoped it would at least be about Jack.
And then suddenly, he just appeared.
It had been maybe around two months since he went missing, and then one day, he just came. His smile was as full as it could possibly be, too casual for a moment like this, and his body unscathed, at least from what you could see that day. He walked in like it was nothing, bag on his shoulder and his books in his hand. Not even being swarmed by his old friends, teachers broke his warm aura. Even when you came along, cupping his face, and staring him up and down. He only took your hand, squeezing it, his smile softened at all your questions. He never answered any of them that day, and hasn’t ever since. He was just..there.
He still sneaked off past curfew to your dorm, holding you tighter than he ever did before. And he would always apologize and whisper to you, under candlelight, that it was over, and your fears didn’t need to surface anymore. You remember him squeezing your hands in his, and how his thumb would press just a bit harder against your fingers. As if to feel the flesh underneath it, and maybe to ensure you weren’t leaving. You noticed it more than he knew. And you noticed how he felt so much colder, even under your blankets. You always stayed awake a little longer than you let on. You started that right after one night. When he held you from behind, arm over you, resting on your wrist. You felt how his thumb pressed against the veins in your forearm; you couldn’t ever forget how his breath would hitch at his own actions. The pad of his thumb painfully slow when it rubbed it into the most visible vein you had.
You felt his face in your hair, you felt his teeth at the top of your neck. They felt so eerie, like canines. You had to force yourself not to shiver at his gasping. At night, when he thought you were asleep, he seemed inhumane; so unnatural.
Everything then, you could chalk up to the trauma he must’ve faced when he was gone. But you couldn’t help but feel like something was being left out. How come he was back, when everyone else who had disappeared after him were completely gone? At this time, most of the cases had gone cold or dropped due to a lack of evidence. No bodies, no anything. You felt yourself wondering about them, about Jack. You had to figure something out, you had to figure him out. Either by asking him, or snooping around yourself, what's the worst thing that could happen?
It was far past curfew when you made it to his dorm; the hallways were quiet, dull. Your shoes made little noise against the carpeted floor. Passing doors, with each step, seeing different decor on each door, ranging from fully covered and bedazzled to a blank, brown door with no interest in its wood. You didn’t bother staring for too long; you had to be somewhere. And soon, you found yourself in front of his dorm. The door was undecorated, a blank slate besides the room number and the peephole. You could’ve sworn that something else was on it, maybe something from his old roommate before he moved out, or in other words, went missing. Your frown only flattened as you fiddled with the doorkob-using your spare key to unlock it.
Your fingers gently pressed against the door, giving it a small push to open. The creaking filled your ears as the room slowly came into view. The room was dark, and most importantly, disheveled. The blankets were not even close to being on the bed; they dragged down to the floor. In the corner, a pile of clothes where his roommate's bed used to be. It was just-a complete mess, something you never expected from him. Of course, he was a little sloppy sometimes, especially when he didn’t have time to clean his room up. But this was just fully out of character. It looked like a wild animal had been in here; it looked like a stranger had been festering in there. It made your face scrunch up; it made you uneasy.
“Jack?” You called out, closing the door behind you. Your eyes trying to search for any sign of him in the dark screen. Your eyes go from the posters on his wall to his closet, half-opened. A dark abyss almost coming from it, you didn’t bother to search inside it. Your feet traveled from the middle of his dorm to the bathroom. Peaking your head in, you see it’s not any better. Your dorm bathrooms weren’t the best, they were small and cramped. But colleges barely have the luxury of having individual bathrooms, so you had to cherish what you were given. But this bathroom was wrecked, his soap, shampoo, and all his haircare supplies were scattered. Bottles either in the sink or have fallen beside the tub. You couldn't tell what the hell was happening, was this some classmates trashing his room and he just didn’t have the time to clean it? Or was he doing this to himself? You couldn’t tell.
Everything was such a mess, and you wished he were here to confront him. To ask him why his room was such a mess, and why he was acting so weird. But he wasn’t, so you had to figure it out yourself. You grasp his blankets, pulling them into your arms and laying them on his bed. Gently brushing them out and straightening his pillows. Hands going to his nightstand, turning on his lamp, and straightening some of his things. You wanted to be nice, but you were also doing this to see if anything was out of place. Your wrist brushes a fabric sprailing out from his drawer. You stare at the fabric, it looked like a handkerchief or some towel. You wouldn’t have any guess as to why it was in his drawer. You instinctively pull at the fabric, causing soft clinks to fill your ears. Your hand grips the fabric tightly; it was white, slightly brown from something. What was this stain on it? Your eyes travel back to the chore before you gently grab the handle, sliding it to you slowly.
Inside, fewer than ten necklaces, all of the same length and design. Some were dirtier than others, you could tell they were the reason why the handkerchief was so stained. They were a little wet to the touch, and they dirtied your fingers when you grasped one. God, why did they look so familiar? Your thumb brushed at the pendant, cleaning off the liquid from it. Only then did it click in your mind. Jenny. The girl who was always beside Jack, the girl who always wore a necklace with any outfit-even when it didn’t match. This was hers, or multiple people's necklaces all of the same design and length. But she had gone missing after Jack did, so how could he possibly have these necklaces?
The room felt so much colder, both from your realization and the slight wind you could feel behind you. But there was no cooling source in this room-something, someone was behind you. You could feel that stare burn into the back of your head, it made your skin spike, and your eyes widen. You couldn’t run, you couldn’t find any type of exit. You could only do one thing in this moment; turn. And as you brought your body to do so, you could barely make out his face in the dark before he grabbed at you. Gripping your arms so tightly as he pressed you against the nightstand-all the items you had set up and laid out rocked and fell to the floor with how aggressively he pushed. It almost knocked all the wind out your lungs with how tight he grabbed, and how fast he was to press you against the drawer.
You could barely even blink fast enough to make your vision clear. You saw him, under the lamplight, he barely even moved, yet he was breathing like he had run a mile. He gripped you as if you were water itself, his fingers trembling. And when his grip slightly loosened for a few seconds, he forced himself to grip tighter. You stared at him, eyes wide, those eyes of his weren’t full of vitality, those eyes were filled with aspiration, a harsh want. He gripped you harsher, giving a firm shake. “Why?” He whispered, “Why are you here?” He said, his head dipped, his forehead almost close enough to brush your chest. He spoke as if his question was more for himself than for you. You stared down at him; he seemed so out of it, it was almost concerning as much as it was terrifying.
You shook your head, gripping the cloth, “What did you do?” You could only whisper. You could hear him scoff, it was almost like a growl. He raised his head, “I took care of them.” he exhaled, straightening himself up, pressing you harder against the nightstand. The lamp behind you digging into your back, making you wince. “They were all.,,demented. They thought I was stupid- they thought they could-” He paused at his own words, a hand leaving your arm to feel up his own skin-up his neck. He gasped as if his own fingers burned, like his body was a stranger itself. You saw his lip quiver for just a second before his frown deepened. Your hand reached out, and he tensed-he stared as if you were some predator, like you’d do whatever they did to him. But you still moved, touching his hand.
Touching it so lightly, you guided it away from his neck, brushing past his curls to reveal his neck. It was almost as smooth and bare as it was a few months ago, aside from two scars. Two that pooped out slightly, as if it was almost healed. And along those scars came with protruding veins, they weren’t noticeable in any other lighting-but with the lamp light. They were fully on display. Jack wasn’t some reckless murder; he was a bloodsucker.
“Jack..” You muttered, “What did they?-” you go to speak, but he spoke his head, exhaling. His other hand finally releasing you, grasping his own stomach-not out of pain, but as if that was the answer. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” He whispered, “I’m better, far better now.” He looked away, he couldn’t help the small grin that came to his lips, reminiscing those moments you couldn’t bear to imagine. “It was a while ago,” His body shifted into your hand, and your fingers couldn’t stop curling around the side of his neck. He hissed so quietly, but didn’t stop until your fingers were firm against the side of his neck. “Yet I’m still so hungry.” He forced himself to chuckle, leaning into your collarbone. Almost furious at the cloth covering it. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” His breath was heavy against your clothes; it was almost uncomfortable.
He closed his eyes, his hand sliding onto your thigh. “I never knew how hunger like this could be so permanent.” He nuzzled closer into your neck, exhaling there just to feel you shiver. “I watched people’s skin touch the bones that are behind so many layers of flesh, after I drink them dry.” He smiled weakly, “Yet I’m not satisfied, guess I’ll never be.” His second hand went to your other thigh, fingers cold, yet soft when touching your jeans. You shifted, hands going to the stand behind you to hold yourself up. His fingers slide up, just feeling how your jeans were tightly around your skin. His hands cup your hips, thumbs sliding into the hooks of your pants. “I wanted to come back for you. Only you.” He whispered, his body shifted, pressing against yours. “I knew you’d make me feel better, safer.”
He hummed gently when your legs pressed against each other; he almost had a full-body shiver. You could feel he was trying to breathe very lightly, like he didn’t want to smell you. “But now, I’m just so hungry.” He admitted.
You weren’t sure if he was going to make a slaughter out of you for one, going through his things, or two, the fact that you were this close. Making him smell how alive you were, making him wonder just how bitter your blood would taste. Your hand moved, grasping his shirt like your life depended on it. You shook your head slowly, exhaling slowly, and the cold room felt so much hotter. “I won’t let you take my blood,” You whispered, your voice firm yet so quiet. “I know.” He replied, his fingers going to the button of your jeans. “So let me go for second best.” The button popped out of place as he finished his last word. He paused, “Please.”
You saw how he shivered for just a second, you could almost feel the bumps on his skin through his shirt. He seemed so out of it, yet didn’t even move when your fingers traveled from his neck to his hair. When your fingers dug into his curls, a firm pull from you-he gasps. Fingers finally tightening on your pants, pulling them down to your knees. His head dipped, his nose pressing into your torso. He pushed into the bottom of your shirt, gasping when his hands feeling up the bare flesh of your thighs. His nose brushes under your shirt, lifting it up-with a few failed attempts. And he kisses just above your navel, the warmth of your skin felt so tantalizing against his cold lips. It was a slow pain to the biggest thing he needed, your taste.
His mouth leaned into the curve of your labia, through your boxers he sucked gently. It was almost like he wanted to tease himself. He grips your thigh, not caring about the mess his mouth is making. He could almost taste how wet you’ve become on his lips. He loves the way your fingers tighten in his hair, almost yanking him closer to your pussy. He could hear your soft gasps fill the empty room, you felt good but it wasn’t bliss. It wasn’t enough to pleasure you, and this definitely wasn’t enough to make you cum anytime soon. He knew that all too much, it wasn’t his first time doing this. He knew exactly what made you tick, what made you shiver and gasp. But in this new form, in this new body-he couldn’t think of all that. His head tilted almost awkwardly, trying to part you through your boxers. Your hips move slowly, brushing yourself against his face.
He was staining your boxers worse than your own arousal was. You could see him struggle and how messy he was willing to get just to get a drop of you. He was groaning, moaning against the fabric. Saliva surrounding his lips, he didn’t comment on it-he didn’t fucking care. He needed this; he wanted you.
He licks, and it makes you tense, your head leaning back as you inhale. “Jack-” You could only whisper like it was the only word you knew. And you felt his hands wrap around your legs, lifting you. It shocks you for a moment until he lets you fall onto his bed. You couldn’t even give a proper reaction when he tugged down your jeans until they were fully off, then your boxers. He didn’t care where they landed; he just needed to see you in full. He crawled onto his sheets. It was evident he was hard, anyone could see it even through his jeans. Yet he didn’t even try to take it out, not even rub his palm along his cock to help the strain. He only took his fingers, spreading you so he could see just how beautiful it was. You winced, not because it hurt or anything, but at how the air touched your bare bottom. It was all a little too much.
He stared for so long, lingering on each detail before leaning down, kissing your pussy. Before his lips parted, tasting you like it was the only thing he could drink. His fingers grasp your thighs, pressing them against the sides of his head. The pressure of it all encouraged him to pull you towards his mouth more. His tongue worked, slipping into your hole-he practically dug his face deep into you just to make sure he could get it in. He wanted to touch every single part of you, make sure no part was left untasted. Your fingers went back into his hair, keeping him firmy against your pussy as your hips rocked. His nose pressed against your clit so perfectly-it was almost unreal. You were using him, just like he was using you.
Here you were in his bed, almost riding his face with how much you kept his face against you. And he took it, because he got to have a fill, something to satiate his hunger. He shifted when he couldn’t move his head, and he dug his nails into your leg-not enough to draw blood. God only knows what he’d do if the scent of your blood went to his nose. He moved his arms to wrap around your thighs fully, and he lifted your hips, sucking intensely. Your fingers made his scalp burn, and he loved it.
The bed creaked, and your head shifted to see what exactly he was doing. And you saw him, desperately rubbing his own hips against the sheets. No wonder he was groaning against your pussy, he could barely get anything out of the flat surface he’s on. You can imagine it, his strained cock twitching each time it barely gets a brush against the bed. It was probably begging to at least get free from his boxers, but he left it in there. He couldn't care less about making himself cum when he could taste yours. But he still tried to roll his hips at a certain angle to ease the feeling in his stomach. You almost laughed at his attempt to be subtle. You couldn’t laugh however, when your mouth was busy producing moans, and when your mind couldn’t even process much.
You were almost mindless, you can’t believe it-one moment you two seem at odds, and now hes eating you out. You couldn’t tell if you liked it or if it was absolutely insane. You did know one thing, though, the heat in your stomach burned more each second. You could feel rope align inside you, slowly tying a knot that pulled and pulled past its limit. You could only voice your closeness with his name. Your voice was breathy, interrupted by countless counts. “Jack-” You moaned, “Jack-” You exhaled, yanking at his hair. “Keep doing that-right there.” You whispered, you could almost feel him smile as he tilted his head, never responding-only acting.
Trying your best to grind against his face, your head is thrown back against the sheets when you feel yourself cumming. Your shaking legs were kept firmly in his arms, and he moaned. His body is sitting up fully, making your back fully rise off the bed. And you gasp as he tastes you through your orgasm. Your hands find your rolled-up shirt, the only thing you could hold in this moment, as you groan so loudly. He doesn't stop sucking and licking until he believes he has all of you on his tongue. When he stops, he pulls his face away from your wet folds, exhaling so softly. Eyes stuck on you as he lays you back down, your vision was slowly coming back together. You didn’t even notice it was unfocused until your eyes met with his.
It was quiet in the room now, and your eyes dragged down from his soaked lips to his jeans. Still hard and unwet. You reached out slowly, your voice low, “You didn’t come.” You stated, his fingers raising to intertwine with yours. He gave his head a slow shake, his lips flat. “Don’t need to.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. His eyes closed in solace; he was comfortable as anyone could be. His fingers guided yours to cup his face, he almost smiled. He kissed your fingers, “Thank you.” He whispered, almost too low for you to catch it. You frowned, shifting your head against his pillows. He was being stupid, at least you thought so. “Don’t be all merit.” You bring yourself up, forehead still pressed against his.
His other hand goes to your torso, gripping it gently. He didn’t bother to respond, his stance on the matter was firm. He didn’t want any more pleasure from you, he’s already had so much-it’d seemingly be selfish to him. One thing he did want to do right now, though, was kiss you. You could see that from how his eyes would flicker from your eyes to your lips. He tried to keep them in one area, but he couldn’t help himself. You only sighed before pressing your lips against his, tasting yourself on his lips was definitely a flavor. But you didn’t say anything.
He leans in, kissing you so gently before pulling away. His eyes softened after he squeezed your hand. “You aren’t scared, right?” He paused, “Of me.” His words were low, maybe even hesitant, when he asked that. You took a moment before you tilted your head. “Was,” You answered honestly, “Not of you, but of everything else.” Your fingers dragged down his chest, your eyes on his chest as it rose. He inhaled at your touch, and he forced his eyes to stay on yours. “Just swear, we’ll talk about this. About everything.” You whispered, your fingers stopping in the middle of his torso. He took a moment, and you almost thought he was going to scoff or refuse. But he placed his hand on top of yours.
