VAMPIRE'S MANOR — Vamp Michael Jackson x Reader Smut One-Shot
Plot - You have to deliver a parcel to the mysterious manor on the hill, rumoured to house a monster known as Dr. Jackson.
Tags (or Warnings!) - vampire michael, virgin reader, implied age gap + mentions of readers youth and innocence, reader gets chained, implied coercion, reader is trapped and cannot escape, reader is drugged, experieced vampire michael who treats reader as disposable, death, pain, talk of prey,
A/N - thank you so much for all the love on my previous fic! when i posted it, i thought i'd get a maximum of one like so i am so so happy. i really appreciate everyones comments, reblogs, follows, and likes. thank you so so much again </3
The manor on the outskirts of town was everybody’s favourite urban legend. The rumour had grown up alongside you, and would emanate over the town for years after you. It had long been the punchline of snarky jokes, the reason behind nudged elbows, and the motivation that you did not, and could not, go even remotely near it at night-time. Every Summer, your peers feverishly whispered about The Manor over spitting campfires at camp. It was barred by a dense forest of decaying pine trees: a perfect location for it to be the subject of such terrifying hearsay. However, it wasn’t the dilapidated exterior that bred such rumours - it was the heart inside it. A man named Dr. Jackson was reported to be the inhabitant of the house. Your friends and seniors had told you things like he was a senile man who experimented on live animals, a man who only ate raw animal liver, or that he was a man who had no children or partner.
You had always scoffed and brushed away everybody’s fabrications about the place and Dr. Jackson, whether it be a joke or your Grandma’s religious ramblings, but you really began to quietly believe everybody when a body was found in the plummeting banks 5 kilometres away from the mansion.
So when your boss had dropped a ballooning opaque parcel in your hands, and told you to deliver it to 44 Jacksons Row, you were livid. And because the contents were apparently so valuable, you were also expected to fetch Dr Jackson’s signature to ensure its safe delivery.
Now, you hesitated in front of The Manor’s 8-foot colossal door. It was stark black, engraved with the sort of intricacy and detail you would never be able to find in a modern home. While you stood in the numb cold, there was a feeling that there was something bigger and more complex than the house.
You knocked meekly. There was no response. The silence burned your ears, and fear simmered in your stomach. You didn’t know if you were shaking because of the cold, or because of the anticipation of what was behind the door. You had worn an overtly modest cottage dress for this delivery, one that brushed against your ankles, because you didn’t want to be leered over by this decrepit man, whoever he was.
You considered just leaving the package on the vast deck. You didn’t care enough about this job to stay. In this large town, there was always another job you could find, or replace. And you fumed for this hourly pay, you were expected to trudge, in the biting cold, to a mansion on the edge of the tow-
The door creaked open. The wind was whipping at your hair now, loud and unruly, and The Manor’s interior was void of all sound.
It was like opening a peephole into space, cold and quiet.
A young man with thick curls framing his chiseled face and slipping on his broad shoulders, stood straight in front of you. He was willowy, dressed in all black, and he looked like he could fit simply as decoration for the house. It was so strange. You had never had the privilege of witnessing someone who looked remotely as fresh and similar as this, back near home. He had an inscrutable mystery surrounding him. His face shape was clean and fierce, as if cut from stone, and his lips were tight.
His eyes achingly juxtapositioned his other tough, gritty, facial elements - they were sensitive and tender and all-consuming. You were so taken aback by this man, you forgot why you were even here. You stupidly stood there on his property, mouth slightly agape, with this ugly inflated brown bag in your arms, in your prude, prude, grandma dress.
One of his eyebrows was raised, and you immediately felt mortification wash over you.
“Hi, um. Are you Dr. Jackson?” You manage to stammer out. He tilted his head the other way, and pressed his lips together harder.
Oh God, how could you have asked that? A senile man is supposed to be living here, and you just asked this man with unblemished skin if he was Dr. Jackson. Dr. Jackson’s reputation was built on rumours that feasted on his ghastly appearance. If that body in the bank wasn’t his doing, his appearance had been enough to fuel the urban legend. Dr. Jackson was probably in the other room, flies batting around him, the T.V. illuminating his substantial body hair.
This man was probably Dr. Jackson's butler or assistant or muse or-
“Yes, that’s right, that’s me.” His frigid mask was completely broken by a wide smile.
His smile was pure titanium white, his voice soft. Nothing of this man could even be remotely compared to the horror stories you had heard about him.
“I’ve been waiting for you. Come in.”
What was the point of you coming in, when all you had to do was deliver the parcel? What if your boss needed you back straight after this? You didn’t understand. You stared into his eyes, and it seemed like they were dark, endless, pools. It clicked to you that you simply wanted to go in.
You step in, and he leans on one foot to gently shut the front door so effortlessly, you’d think it was carved styrofoam.
The lobby is all black and navy. The ceiling so high, you have to squint to see it. Natural light from the grey cast sky pours in from the arched high rise windows, weakly lighting the place. You can see dust swirling in the halfhearted sunlight.
He nods and takes the parcel from your grasp. He then curls his index finger inward, beckoning you to follow him. You almost trip on his back legs like a dog. He leads you through a winding, narrow, hallway to a living room.
The fireplace inside crackles. There are black Chesterfield sofas that sit next to the flames, and he gestures at you to sit down, before slyly shutting the door. Your heart starts beating fast at the thought of being trapped inside, alone, but it stalls immediately when Dr. Jackson looks at you and flicks his head towards the seating, curls falling around his shoulders.
He perches on the opposite sofa, leaning against the backing self-assuredly, legs parted. You try to keep your stature as small as possible, hunched inwards, legs glued together.
“Now,” he flashes that same dashing smile again, “do you want something to drink?”
Your stomach twinges with an unfamiliar feeling at his hospitality. His eye contact is so intense, you have to play it off by pretending to think of the potential drink options.
“Can I have water, please?” You mumble.
He suddenly strikes his humongous hands together three times, the sound ringing out around the empty, dark, room, and you jerk violently at the sudden clap of noise.
He throws his hair back and laughs, baring his teeth, long jet-black hair falling down past his shoulders. The fire glints off their perfect wholeness, and you can’t help but notice his sharp fangs slicing through the air.
“I’m sorry.. Did I scare you?” He is unable to stop giggling. You shift uncomfortably. There’s a knock on the closed door, and his laugh dissipates immediately.
“Go get it.” He commands. He doesn’t even have to complete his sentence for you to rise out of your seat quickly and fetch the water. The arrogance of his dominance makes you wallow in shame, while simultaneously making your heart flutter and fueling an unknown pulsating sensation between your legs.
When you open the door, a silver, engraved, tray is at your feet. Nobody is in the hallway, from the start to the end. You carry it back to the table, shutting the door behind you, as he inspects you intently the entire walk back. You want to squirm under his hard gaze. When you bend over to place the tray down, his eyes trail down to your ass and the curve of your waist unapologetically, his eyelashes fluttering. You suddenly get the urge to drop your prim, baggy, dress, as if to prove something.
“Thank you,” he whispers softly. He leans forward. You become engrossed in the way his honed bones move under his skin as he speaks. “Your boss was kind enough to agree to send you here to meet me.”
You furrow your eyebrows, confused.
“The community newspaper?” He prompts, “You were employee of the month at Coveron Home Deliveries, yes? I saw your picture, and knew I just had to see you in person.”
“Oh, right..” you muster. You didn’t know what to say. Everything seemed so surreal. Unfamiliar emotions flipped in your stomach, and this notoriously infamous man, especially the man who unknowingly scared your friends throughout their childhoods, had specifically requested for you to deliver something to him
“You’re very quiet. I like that. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” His upper teeth tugs at his bottom lip. “Yet.” His eyes widened playfully. “Now, I don’t want to hold you too long, girl.”
He snatches up a fountain pen. “Where do I sign? Your arm?”
He laughs at his own joke. You hand him your signature board to verify the parcel’s safe delivery, and he signs it swiftly.
As you watch his veiny, sculpted, hand flex across the paper in cursive, he thanks you. You nod, and sip on your water to calm your nerves.
Once he had dotted the I in his first name, he looks up at you once more. His eyes were fluid, and took up most of his elegant face. Under his gaze, you regretted how easily you began to believe the rumours about this man. He seemed to be the exact opposite of what everybody had pinned onto him. You could only hope that he had never heard, even a word, about what everybody spread about him.
Something shifts ever so delicately in his demeanour, you nearly miss it.
“Run,” he says bluntly.
“Sorry?” You ask, thinking you misheard him. Here you were, personally invited into his house, being offered drinks, and now he suddenly wants you gone with one, direct, word.
He juts his head out, raising his eyebrows with a broad grin plastered on his face, and looks around the room, mocking you as if you just asked the stupidest thing ever. The way he treated you like you were ditzy and subsequently beneath him, made you throb and your heart flutter.
“You have 10 seconds to run from me, do you understand?” His smile doesn’t falter.
Before you can even question what he means, he begins to count down from 10.
“10..”
You don’t look back. Primal fear wracks you. Here you were, far, far, from home, in an unknown man’s abode. What were you thinking, entering his home as if he were your friend?
“9…”
You swear you hear heavy footsteps behind you.
“8….”
The distance from the couch to the exit seemed to have grown vastly.
“7….”
He begins to speed up his counting, as if you wouldn’t notice his cruel deceit.
“6, 5, 4..”
You finally latch onto the door handle, vigorously pushing it down so you can escape to freedom.
But the door handle wouldn’t budge or bend an inch.
“3, 2..”
You were trapped inside this room.
“1!”
His long arms envelope around you firmly, one arm around your neck, the other under your breast.
“Hold on!” You shriek, “you locked the door, you locked me in! That’s unfair!” You struggle in his arms, but he’s so much bigger and stronger than you, that he holds you down with ease.
“I would never do such a thing!” he exclaims. He turns you around, making sure to grip your arms so tightly, you’re sure you’ll end up with bruises splotched all over your skin, if you ever manage to get out of this place.
His eyes are so intense, your legs buckle, and he’s left supporting you up with a powerful hand. Your mouth trembles. Your fear clashes with a pestering urge to give up and sacrifice yourself, to do whatever he wants you to do.
His cold hand clenches around your throat, forcing you to lift your chin up to expose more skin. His hand is so large, his fingers can almost wrap all around your neck. He turns you over in the warm light, inspecting you with the scrutiny and precision of a medical examination.
“I knew you would surrender,” he breathes, eyes intently focused on your bobbing larynx, “you have the look of an endangered lamb in your eyes. An innocent prey I knew who would easily give up.”
You whimper, and his eyes flash with deep-seated hunger. His hand drifts down to your chest slowly, releasing your throat. He leans in, and you shudder as his lips press tenderly against your skin. You’re frozen in fear. You know he can hear your heartbeat, your blood pulsing to your temple. He begins to suck on your flushed skin.
The sensation is so gratifying, you instantly begin to feel your body betray your mind which is sick with fear. Arousal begins to creep in your chest.
You know you have to get out of here as soon as possible, but his lips kiss you so devotedly and carefully, that you lift your chin up even further and melt into his cradle.
He hums low at your desperate display of want. Your vision blurs at the edges, the warmness of it all dripping down to between your legs. Your eyes flutter shut, as you get lost in the warmth of his mouth. You feel your consciousness slipping. The moment is cut short when you feel two needlepoint pricks start to sink into your throat, and Dr. Jackson sharply recoils back, snapping you out of your trance. The room is still foggy.
He instantly notices your distant gaze, a smug smile languidly spreading against his face. “Not many of the young ones give up as easily as you did. They run, and they run, but they don’t know I’ll always catch them. You’re a real good catch. We’re gonna have some real fun, ain’t we?”
You wonder if you’re hallucinating what you're hearing, as your vision blacks out for a split second.
He drops his head down to inhale your scent, pushing his knee between your legs. You feel something hard press against your sensitive thigh.
“The blood you delivered does the trick, but it’s not the freshest.” He mutters.
It occurs to you that you never considered what was in the package. You only knew it was heavy, and delicate. He sounds far away. You wonder what he needed blood for.
“I prefer to feed straight from the source. Especially from a pretty, young girl like you.”
You tense at the praise, and the words he just said is almost lost on you. Feed?
You try to blink away the mist in your eyes to look at him. His eyes are soft, as he bites on his bottom lip. The white of his razor-shaped canines contrast against his dark skin.
A blood delivery. Fangs. A starkly empty manor. A faceless butler.
As soon as you connect the obvious dots, your vision violently fades to black and you hear yourself collapse onto the wooden floor.
****
You awake, in the heavy covers of a massive bed. Maroon canopy curtains blow gently around you, shrouding the room behind it. One of your legs was locked to the end bedpost.
You don’t know how much time had passed. All you knew is that you felt physically disgusting, and your joints ached, especially your chained leg. Everything rushes back, and you begin to scramble, trying to break free from the bond.
“I hope you’re not mad at me.” His voice came from the darkness. He had been watching you intently, while you were asleep and while you struggled.
“I had to pour something special into your water. If I don’t feed, I get weak and you could’ve escaped!” Dr. Jackson hooks back the curtains and climbs onto the bed. You panic. You’ve never been in bed with a male before.
His lips were smeared with a deep red, as if he had smeared lipstick on them. A metallic smell emanated off him. You hated the fact that despite him being a monster, it didn’t show in his appearance, like the movies warn. The movies had always taught you that hideous creatures were the ones to run from and here he was, with thick curls, heavy-lidded eyes, framed with doll-like eyelashes, and high cheekbones.
With your spare leg, you try to weakly kick him away, and he grabs it, grinning. He reaches under your long dress, and softly runs his hand up your leg to your thigh and you squirm.
“Don’t move. That’s why I’ve tethered you.” He slaps your inner thigh as a warning. You try to tamp down your rising excitement, ashamed that you are face to face with death yet your underwear is growing increasingly moist.
“I can smell you, and you’re all ready for me. If you were any other girl, your body would have been drained and ditched by now. But there’s something about you I like. I want to feel you all over,” he whispers, hands reaching out to unbutton your dress. Your chest heaves, following his hand.
“You want me to do that, don’t you?”
You look at his deeply soulful eyes, and you wonder who wouldn’t. You nod.
If he was just going to dispose of you in the bank, you decided that you’d want to actually do something before your demise. You had never even kissed a man before this. If this was the end, he would be the perfect guy. He pulls you up by your collar and you’re forced to sit up. He slips the top of your dress off your shoulder, and kisses your collarbone. He’s careful not to sink his teeth into the side of your neck there and then, as he fights back the animalistic impulse. His repression manifests into rougher movements, and he almost rips off your bra. He drops it onto the sheets, leaving you exposed in the cold air. He releases himself from your skin, and when he pulls back, his eyes are hollow and his lips are puffy. His veined hand cups your breast entirely, his index finger perched on your peak as he massages it.
He’s not even inside you yet, and you almost can’t take it. You twitch under his touch, the stimulation of your nipple intertwining with the sensitivity of your clit. You bite down on your lip to stifle a moan, but no noise could be held back when he suddenly takes your other breast into his mouth.
“Dr. Jackson,” you sigh and he looks up to cackle straight in your face.
“You can call me Michael, dear. We’re certainly close enough now.”
His nimble tongue nudges your nipple, and paired with the firm grip on your other breast, you can feel yourself on the cusp of a climax. Every so often, he bites down around your areola, but the pleasure washes over any pain, brushing the action over.
When he purses his warm lips on your nipple, and pulls his mouth away with a slight pop, you feel a throb in your lower body that seemed so resounding and final, that you had to shrink away from his grasp and heat, because you didn’t want the experience to end.
His fucked out eyes flash with confusion, a curl dampened on his forehead, until he sees you hitch up your free leg. Michael pushes you back down, shifting in between your legs, and pulls your dress off from under you. You lie on your back, wearing nothing but your underwear. The cold engulfs you. His spit that coated your breast had cooled, and made your nipples stand, more exposed.
He’s hard as a rock. Even through his pants, the stiffness brushes against your clit and you feel your back coated in sweat. Your ass had become numb, and the rest of your body felt dry and rigid, compared to the wetness between your legs.
He gets his pants off before your panties, and bends down to kiss your collarbone to pass the time while you slip off your underwear. He subtly bites you once in a while, as if you wouldn’t notice. He straightens up and he had been completely commando, stretching your free leg further apart.
“Hold on, Dr. ” You stammer. “This is my first time, so please.. Please be gentle.”
Your words make him sneer, as he feasts on you with his eyes. He inserts his index and middle finger into your folds, spreading your slickness. You were so wet, part of your inner thighs glimmered. You moan when he narrowly brushes near your clit.
“If you’re wet enough, it doesn't hurt.” He asserts, wrapping a hand around his heavy cock to navigate it. He enters you, and he’s already way too big. A tender pain shoots through your legs and hole, as if your body is warning you that something unfamiliar has entered inside you. It stings, and your eyes prick with tears. He thrusts into you and you yelp, and you can’t handle it. You push at his chest so he slips out. Wordless, he listens to your pleas, his eyes focused on something underneath you.
On the white sheets, you had bled out because of the ordeal. A deep red stained the stark white. His chest heaved, and before you could say anything, he suddenly ducks down to lap up your blood tingled juices. A loud moan is ripped from you, and you instinctively grip your teeth, turning the moan into a pained yowl. His warm tongue dipped in and out between your folds expertly, devouring you. You press your legs together to shut him out, cuffing his ears, unable to take it and he dips out, mouth satin with your nectar. Whatever gentleness and restraint he had before was immediately thrown out. You knew it when you saw him. His eyes were entirely blacked out, and no emotion showed on his face except pure, visceral, hunger. He bit down on his blood coated lips, as he shoved himself back into you. He was gentle before, but now he beat inside of you. As a result of his careless crudeness, the pain of him returned.
“Dr. Michael,” you try to whimper. But he’s treating you like you’re an inanimate object. He can’t even hear you. After a few seconds of feeling like you were being sliced in half, a wave of pleasure washes over your bottom and makes the pain subside. His eyes flicker around the room, snapping to the nearest sound if the bed creaks or if you whine. He’d bite down on his lips. He pounded into you, and you felt the fulfilment of him stretching you wide, over and over. It feels so good, you couldn’t even think. All you could focus on was him hammering into you, and attempting to part with some of the overwhelming bliss by letting go of your moans. He collapses onto you, his mouth meeting with your shoulder blade. While you whine, he slips his fingers into your mouth as he bites at your neck intermittently.
Everything he had done to you started to tally up, and your body was keeping count. From his mouth on your breasts, to his tongue sucking the juices out of your pussy, it was too much for your inexperienced body to handle. You scratch down his back, and he growls against your skin. “Oh my God, I think I’m going to..” you manage to whisper. You didn’t know what was happening to your own body, and the confusion and your vulnerability pushed you well over the edge. Your legs seize, and you feel an immeasurable swell of ecstasy spread all over your raw body. Michael straightens up, winding the pace of his hips down, watching your frail body twitch and quiver.
“Yeah, just like that.” He mumbles. Once you ride it out, he watches your delicious body pant to catch your breath. Then he sinks his sharp fangs into the soft skin of your neck.
