#(fawk)

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t panic. You continued sipping your raspberry tea. Boy shorts clinging to your hips, a thin white spaghetti strap tank top that is sheer enough to obscure the shape of your nipples in the kitchen light. Your bob plaits brushed against your collarbone as you moved across the room.

Let him look. 

Let him ache. 

You kept your back to the window when you spoke, fully aware that he could hear you from the porch.

“You must be real fuckin’ crazy coming here like you not the reason I had to repaint my wards.”

Silence. Then a low chuckle. Familiar. It made the muscles in your jaw and thighs clench tighter.

As bold as ever, Stack said, “You miss me.”

You turned around. Slowly. Deliberately. 

He’s in the doorway. Tall. Lean. Dangerous. The rain clung to his shirt, his hair hovered at the edges of his cheeks, and his fanged smile drilled into you like you were prey. He looks at you like he wants to be hunted.

You smirked while raising your cup, “Look here. I don’t know what the hell you think you doing, but you got two minutes to explain yourself before I remember I’m supposed to kill your kind.”

Stack took a couple steps closer, his voice laced with hunger, “I want you to ruin me like you did last time…”

You didn’t blink. You just tilted your head, sizing him up, like you would a threat or a temptation.

You finally said, “Well, does Mary know you here?” 

He sucked his teeth at your pointed question while devouring you with his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, "I should just take back my goddamn invitation.”

For a split second, his smirk faded, and you saw a flash of panic in his eyes. Then he swallowed again and managed to croak out, “Well, why ain’t you told me to get the fuck on then, huh?”

OOP.

That’s a good question, one you weren’t ready to answer truthfully yet.

A sharp breath left your lips as you drained the rest of your tea and placed the mug in the sink. “Take off your boots. You know I don’t like blood on my floors.”

He’s out of his shoes and in front of you within seconds. That enhanced speed was something you’ve always secretly admired vampires for, though you’d never admit it. 

His arms bracketed both your sides, trapping you against the sink. His black t-shirt clung to his toned chest. You bit your bottom lip, almost without meaning to, as you stared at his taut nips that showed through that drenched fabric. He didn't speak until your eyes met his,. "Last time... you had me in tears. I liked that shit. I want that again." 

You raised an eyebrow and stood straighter, closing the distance between the two of you. You were now chest to chest, "Need or want, Elias?" 

"Please, Y/N..." was his only reply.

The words came out ragged, and before you could bite back a smirk, his mouth crashed against yours. Fangs grazed your lip, hunger and reverence tangled in the same breath.

For a moment you let him taste you, let him think he’d gotten what he wanted. Then your hand pressed flat against his chest, shoving him back just enough to make his eyes flash.

“Then follow me,” you said, voice low and even, wiping the trace of his kiss from your mouth with your thumb. “And please do understand…this time, I won’t stop when you beg.”

The sensation of his kiss still lingered on your lips as he took a half-step back, dazed from the force of your shove. His fangs bared, chest heaving, Stack appeared every bit the predator, and yet there he stood, trembling like prey. 

“Follow me,” you said once more, voice steady, eyes piercing him like silver. You didn’t give him an opening to reject your claim. You turned and strode out of the kitchen, hips swaying with deliberate cruelty. 

The creak of the first stair was swallowed up by the sound of him moving after you, barefoot and silent as a shadow, but you felt him there. 

Each step up was a test. Would he hesitate? Would he balk? 

He didn’t. He followed you, head bowed just enough that it told you the surrender was bubbling beneath his hunger.

Halfway up, his voice slipped, softer than usual, “You won’t stop this time?”

You didn’t look back. “No,” you answered, hand trailing the banister as you climbed. “You’ll cry for me again, Elias. But this time, I’ll wring every last drop out of you ‘til you can’t even beg properly.”

A strangled sound escaped him, half-groan, half-whimper, that echoed in the stairwell.

At the top, you paused just long enough for him to nearly collide with you. Turning, you caught his jaw in your hand, forcing his eyes up to yours.

“Last chance to run,” you murmured, thumb brushing dangerously close to one of his fangs. “But if you come into this room, you’re mine until I’m finished with you.”

His pupils blew wide, breath shuddering. He didn’t move away. Didn’t dare. Instead, he whispered the only thing he had left, the truth. “I don’t ever want you to be finished with me, Y/N.” 

And with that, you pulled him into the darkness of your bedroom.

You kicked the door shut with your bare heel, the thud reverberating through the room. Stack lingered just inside, tall frame rigid, eyes darting from your face to the bed like he already knew his fate.

“Clothes,” you said, simple and sharp.

He froze for half a second, just long enough to remind you he was still a creature used to dominance then obeyed. Black t-shirt over his head, jeans undone, skin caramel and toned in the low lamplight. His chest rose and fell faster than it should have for someone who didn’t even need to breathe.

“Bed.”

The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat, then lay back, hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to cover himself or reach for you.

You stood at the edge, arms crossed, savoring it. 

The hunter with her vampire pinned without a single blade drawn.

“You remember last time?” you asked, leaning down until your lips brushed his cold, damp ear. “How you sobbed for me until your voice broke?”

His breath shuddered. “Yes.”

Your hand trailed down his chest, square-tapered nails scratching lightly until you palmed him through his briefs. He jolted, fangs flashing.

“This time,” you murmured, pressing harder, “you don’t get mercy. I’m goin' to take you past begging. Past tears. I’m goin' to milk you until you can’t even think.”

A whimper slipped from him—low, humiliatingly human. His hips twitched, betraying just how badly he wanted it.

“Hands above your head,” you ordered. “And don’t move them unless I tell you.”

He obeyed instantly, wrists crossed against the headboard, his throat working as though he might choke on the anticipation.

You smirked, climbing onto the bed, straddling his thick thighs. “My good boy.”

The words alone made his entire body shiver.

You sat astride his thighs, your weight keeping him pinned as your nails traced idle, cruel circles over his stomach. He was already trembling beneath you, eyes glassy, fangs bared, but still waiting for you to speak.

“Do you remember your safe word?” you asked, low and steady, your thumb brushing along his jaw.

He gave a short nod.

Your thumb pressed harder into the side of his jaw as you tsked disapprovingly, "Use your words, Elias." 

He cleared his throat before he whispered, “Sunrise.”

“Good.” You leaned down, letting your lips ghost over the sharp point of his fang. “Say it again. I want to hear it clear.”

“Sunrise,” he breathed, voice hoarse already.

Your smirk sharpened as you straightened. “And do you trust me to take you past begging?”

“Yes, Maker.” The title spilled from him in a reverent whisper, like a prayer. His wrists flexed against the headboard, but he didn’t move.

“Again,” you ordered.

“Yes, Maker.” Stronger this time, though his hips twitched up helplessly beneath you.

“Good boy.” You dragged your nails down his chest again, much faster this time, watching the way his muscles jumped. “Last time I gave you mercy. This time I’m goin’ to wring you dry until you can’t even remember your own name. You’ll beg me to stop and I won’t. Unless…” Your hand squeezed him through his briefs, drawing a strangled sound from his throat. “…unless you say the word.”

His eyes locked on yours, wide, dark, already glistening. “I won’t,” he whispered. “Please Y/N—Maker, I won’t.”

“Then you’re mine tonight,” you said, lips curling into a possessive smile.

The shiver that ran through him was violent, almost convulsive. 

You settled back over his thighs, your palms dragging deliberately over the length of his body until they rested at the waistband of his briefs. Stack tensed, hips twitching upward like he couldn’t stop himself.

“Still with me?” you asked, tilting your head.

His chest heaved, his wrists straining against the headboard. “Yes, Maker. Always.”

Your smirk sharpened. You hooked your fingers under the fabric and pulled his briefs down slowly, savoring the hiss that tore from his throat as his cock sprang free. Hard, flushed, already leaking like he’d been aching for you since the moment he appeared at your window.

You wrapped your hand around him, firm but not fast. His entire body jerked, a guttural groan spilling past his lips before he could stop it.

“Fuckkkk,” he choked, “please—”

“Patience.” Your thumb smeared the bead of wetness over his tip, watching the way his eyes rolled back, his fangs flashing helplessly. “I’ll take what I want. You’ll give me everything, won’t you, Elias?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, Maker, everything.”

You stroked him, slow at first, then faster, twisting just enough to make his thighs quiver. His hips lifted despite himself, chasing your hand, his voice breaking into ragged whimpers.

It didn’t take long. He was too wound up, too desperate. His body arched under you, the headboard groaning with the strain of his grip as hot release spilled across his stomach. He sobbed through it, the sound low and broken, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.

But you didn’t stop. You were enjoying this just as much as him. 

Your hand kept moving, steady, merciless, dragging more out of him even as he cried out, hips twitching between need and overstimulation. His voice cracked on your name, his fangs biting into his lip as his tears smeared down his temples.

“Maker please…it’s too much. I can’t—”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “You begged me to take you past mercy. Remember?”

A choked sob tore out of him, his cock twitching helplessly in your grip as another pulse of release spilled from him, weaker this time, his body shaking violently.

“My good boy,” you whispered, stroking him through it, your hand unrelenting. “You’ll keep givin' until I’m finished.”

His answer came out shattered, raw, but sure, “Mhm, yes, Maker.”

He writhed under you, body damp with sweat he shouldn’t even be able to produce, cock still twitching weakly in your grip. His tears had barely dried when another strangled groan broke from his throat.

“Maker, I—” His voice cracked into a growl, fangs flashing as he hissed in frustration, chest heaving. “It’s too fuckin' much. Shit...I can’t—”

You arched a brow, tightening your grip just enough to make his hips buck helplessly. “Careful, Elias. Was that you growlin' at me?” 

His eyes blazed, sharp even through the tears, and he bared his fangs in a hiss that might have been intimidation once but now sounded more like a desperate brat trying to claw back an ounce of pride.

You chuckled, low and dangerous, leaning down until your lips brushed his ear. “Don’t make me fetch the garlic from my kitchen, nigga. I’ll rub it all over your balls if you don’t behave.”

His eyes went wide, a startled sound catching in his throat before dissolving into a broken whimper. “Yo crazy ass! You wouldn’t do that to a real nigga like me—”

“I would,” you purred, stroking him harder, faster, your pace deliberately cruel. “Now be a good boy for me and take it. You said you wouldn’t stop me, remember?”

Another growl slipped out, but it was thinner now, shredded by the way his body arched and trembled, spilling yet again into your hand with a sob that broke him wide open. His hips wouldn’t stop twitching, jerking like every nerve in him was short-circuiting.

“Y/N—I mean, uh, Maker please—I can't cum again—I’ll break—”

You kissed the side of his jaw, grinning against his skin. “That’s the point.”

Stack was a pretty wreck beneath you. Sweat-slick, trembling, cock flushed and twitching against your palm. His lips were reddened from biting back cries, his fangs catching the light. But even undone, his voice carried that smooth lilt that made you roll your eyes and clench at the same time.

“You really killin’ a nigga, Y/N,” he panted, a ragged laugh weaving through his groan. “Draggin' this out when we both know you’re drippin' for me. I can smell you—soaked through those cute ass shorts.” His hips jerked up into your hand, a flash of a grin breaking through his tears. “Don’t front like you don’t want this dick inside you right now.”

You narrowed your eyes, squeezing him tighter, earning a hiss. “Mouthy even when you crying. I should gag you.”

“Yeah?” he shot back between shaky breaths. “Wouldn’t even matter. You’d still hear a nigga beggin' in your head.”

The bastard even winked. A weak one, but a wink all the same.

“Elias…” Your voice was low, warning.

“Maker,” he whined mockingly, dragging out the title like he owned it. “Ride me. Stretch that pretty pussy around me and show me who’s in charge. You want it as bad as I do! I can see it in your eyes, and I can hear that thang pulsing. You’re trembling for it. C’mon!.” His grin faltered into something desperate, raw. “Fuckkkk, please.”

Your wrists ached from pressing him down so long, your own thighs quivering from straddling him without relief. And he was right, your tank top clung to you with sweat, your boy shorts damp, clinging between your legs. You wanted him, wanted to feel him splitting you open, wanted to take what was yours.

You dropped his cock, tugging your tank up over your head in one smooth motion. His eyes went wide, a deep sigh leaving his throat at the sight of your brown nipples, bare and hard in the lamplight.

“You’re lucky I want this too,” you muttered, sliding your soaked boyshorts down your thighs. His eyes locked between your legs, glowing pupils blown wide, fangs glinting.

“Maker…” he whispered, reverent now, all the smooth talk faltering into pure need.

You lined yourself up, sinking slowly onto him, your walls stretching around him inch by inch. His head slammed back against the pillow with a restrained hiss, his mouth spilling curses and praise in equal measure.

“Mhm—fuckkkk—yes—Maker, so tight, so wet—goddamn, I missed this pussy—” His smooth talk cracked into ragged moans, but he still tried to push through, voice breaking around his grin. “Knew you couldn’t resist me. Knew you’d let me in that pussy sooner or later.”

You pressed a hand to his chest, riding him slow, deliberate, grinding down until he whimpered. “Don’t get it twisted, nigga. I’m only givin' in because I want it. You’re still mine.”

“Yes, Maker,” he gasped, eyes flashing again, his hips arching helplessly beneath you.

His hands still stayed locked over his head, not wanting to disobey your instructions, but every muscle in his body strained like he was fighting not to grab you.

“Shit, baby—Maker—” he gasped, voice cracking. “So good, so damn good—tightest pussy in the world, and it’s mine—”

Your palm slapped against his chest, nails dragging down, making him hiss. “Careful.”

He had the audacity to grin up at you, sweat rolling down his temple. “What? A nigga can’t praise you now? You know you like it when I tell you how perfect this pussy feels.”

You lifted your hips slowly, almost pulling off him, then slammed back down, clenching hard, so brutally tight he choked on his own smugness. His eyes went wide, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as his back arched.

“Ohhh—fuckkkk, Maker, wait—goddamn—” His voice broke into ragged whimpers, his grin dissolving into wreckage.

You leaned down, lips brushing his ear as you clenched again, harder, pulsing around him until his whole body trembled. “Run that mouth again, Elias. I dare you, nigga.”

His arms were shaking now, saliva sliding down his fangs, but his laugh came through broken and hoarse. “Maker…you gonna kill me… after all these years, but what a way to go.”

You bit back your own laugh and clenched again, so hard he shouted, hips jerking up helplessly into you. His fangs grazed his lip as he babbled.

“Please—please, fuck, I’ll be good—I swear, I’ll be good, just—ahhh, Maker, don’t do me like this—”

Your smirk widened as you ground down on him, rolling your hips, milking him slow and merciless. “You think this is me doin' you dirty? I’m just gettin’ started.”

He choked on a moan, still trying to smile through it, his voice a wreck. “Goddamn…my Maker’s gonna break me in half…”

You clenched again, hard enough to make him sob. “My good boy. That’s the idea.”

Your hips kept a steady rhythm, rolling and grinding down until Stack was nothing but a trembling mess beneath you. He cried out with every thrust, tears streaking his cheeks, his voice breaking on your name.

“Maker, I can’t cum again. Please—” His words dissolved into sobs, fangs catching on his lip. His cock pulsed inside you, twitching wildly, but you clenched down harder, milking him, refusing to let up.

“Yes, you can,” you hissed, grinding down in slow, brutal circles that made his back arch clean off the bed. “You gonna give me everything. Right fuckin’ now.”

“Maker!” The shout tore from his throat, desperate, guttural. Then he shattered beneath you, cock spilling deep inside, hot and endless, his body jerking uncontrollably as you rode him through it. Your own orgasm ripping through you, your blissful whimpers filling the room as you blinked away the dark spots in your vision. His arms finally broke position, snapping down from the headboard to seize your hips.

He held you down, forcing you to take every twitch, every spurt of his release, his chest heaving like he might break apart completely. His mouth found yours in a feral kiss, all fangs and tongue and desperation, swallowing your moans until you were both breathless.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, eyes glassy, fangs still bared. He panted against your mouth, voice raw and wrecked but smooth as ever.

“Maker…” He grinned weakly, a flash of mischief even through his ruin. “I wanna bite yo ass so bad right now.”

You squinted, half giggling, half gasping as his hips twitched up into you again. “Try me if you want to, nigga!”

He snickered, kissing you again, voice husky against your lips. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t let me.” 

You finally eased off him, your thighs trembling as much as his. His cock twitched weakly against his stomach, still leaking, still swollen from how hard you’d worked him. Stack groaned, head falling back against the pillows, chest rising and falling like he’d just clawed his way out of a grave.

You swung a wobbly leg over him and slipped off the bed, tugging a towel from your drawer. When you came back, he hadn’t moved. His aching arms sprawled wide, eyes half-lidded, lips curved into the laziest grin you’d ever seen.

“You look like hell,” you muttered smugly, wiping him down gently, careful even as you dabbed at the mess coating his stomach.

He gave a ragged laugh that cracked halfway through. “Worth it. You ruined me so good, Y/N.” His fangs flashed in an exhausted smile. “Think I might be in love with you, just a little.”

You rolled your eyes, tossing the soiled towel aside as you tugged his briefs back up over his hips. Mary would kill both of our asses if she heard him say some shit like that and you weren't in the mood to tango with her ass over him again. “You’re delirious. You’ll be fine in an hour.”

He hummed, reaching weakly to tug you closer. You let him, settling on the bed beside him still bare, your tank top and boyshorts still discarded somewhere on the floor. His arms wrapped around you instantly, possessive even in exhaustion.

For a moment, it was quiet. Just the sound of his shaky breaths and the faint thud of your heart against his chest. Then he ruined it.

“You know…” His voice was clearer, almost smooth again, back to that infuriating lilt. “I still wanna bite yo ass. Just a little nibble. Nothing lethal.”

You turned your head slowly, narrowing your eyes. “Say that again and I swear I’ll march my ass down to the kitchen and rub garlic all over your forehead.”

He snorted, but it broke into a groan as his body shivered beneath you. “Maker threatening me with seasoning… that’s low.”

“Keep talkin' shit,” you warned, smirking as you pressed a kiss to his damp temple anyway.