Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sylvie was mentally kicking herself, not that it changed anything. Hating herself hard enough wouldn’t free her from the trap in which she was now ensnared. He’d managed to surprise her, grab her when her back was turned. Their years long game of cat and mouse was over because she’d made a stupid mistake. 

But that was all it took when they were so evenly matched. Though it did stroke her ego to know that she was on equal footing as a centuries year old vampire. They got stronger as they got older, and he was one of the oldest still alive. Honestly, that was the only way he’d been able to escape her. Multiple times. Every other vamp she’d hunted was now dust, but not him. 

He now had her chained to a wall; wrists and ankles clamped in four metal bracelets bolted against stone. A thicker band around her waist, holding her entire body in place. The cold, damp rock was rough against her back, jagged bits of it digging into her skin as she fought pointlessly against her bonds. These were made for other vampires, beings with superhuman strength, even the best hunter in the world couldn’t escape. She knew, because Sylvie was the best hunter in the world, thank you very much. 

He was smirking as he watched her struggle, savoring his victory—temporary victory. She would find a way out of this. She would. 

“I think I could watch this all day,” his silky voice gloated, making her want to run a stake through his heart even more. Honestly, it was impressive that he was able to make that desire pulse stronger in her veins with how much she already hated him. 

“When I get free of this I’m going to kill you,” she snarled. Not her most creative threat, but her brainpower was otherwise occupied with trying to solve the puzzle of getting out of her restraints since brute strength apparently wasn’t the answer. 

“Oh, I have no doubt you will. Just like I have no doubt that with enough time, you will get out of those bonds.” Loki let out a long suffering sigh as he approached with languid steps. “Which means, unfortunately, that I can’t enjoy the show any longer.” 

His gloating smirk turned serious as he stopped just centimeters from her body, so close that she should have been able to feel his body heat if he wasn’t an undead abomination.

Roughly, he grabbed her hair and yanked her head to the side, exposing her neck as his fangs slipped down. He held her there for just a moment, meeting her eyes, forcing her to face exactly what was about to happen. How she was about to meet her brutal end. 

Sylvie didn’t let the fear show, only the hatred. She kept her glare in place despite how her heart stuttered slightly, something she knew he could hear. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of fear in her eyes. 

One last rebellion against him before her corpse was his trophy. 

If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. Loki tightened his grip on her hair and leaned closer to her neck, taking his time. Savoring it. 

But right as his fangs brushed feather light against her skin, something strange happened. Sylvie felt her head go light and airy, a pleasant fog starting to drip into her mind, and a….small whimper escaped her throat. 

Loki froze. Half a millimeter away from finally winning their war, and he stopped, eyes going wide as he jerked back to look at her face. 

Once he’d backed away, the pleasant fog went with him, leaving Sylvie with a baffled expression. She had planned to die with dignity, to not beg or plead or even give him the satisfaction of hearing her in pain, and yet….that. What was that? 

It was then that Loki burst out laughing like he’d been handed the entire world wrapped in a bow. There was no word to describe him other than triumphant. 

He was grinning widely when he pushed his body against hers, not leaving even those few merciful centimeters this time, pressing her back against the wall with his weight. Sylvie didn’t like how her body reacted to it one bit. 

So much for dying with dignity. 

“What?” She snapped, voice oozing with rage. Any other…sensations were simply the result of her heightened emotional state and would go to her grave with her. Most likely, very soon. 

“Oh, my dear,” he chuckled low in his chest and she felt the vibration against her skin, “you’re a blood whore.” 

“Well fuck you,” she answered. 

Loki grinned wider. “It’s not an insult, it’s a fact. One that proves God has quite the sense of humor. The only hunter to ever even get close to killing me is a blood whore!” He laughed again. 

She rolled her eyes. “Either enlighten me or just kill me already. I’m getting bored.” 

He let go of her hair as he began to speak, running his fingers lightly down her temple, across her cheek bone, around the side of her nose, and down to her lips, jaw, neck. It sent shivers shooting that she would never acknowledge. It made her breath hitch. 

“Vampires have been hunting humans for a long, long time,” his voice was low and breathy, mouth so close to her ear it was almost touching, “so how do humans deal with it? You can’t fight, you’re weaker, you can’t flee, you’re slower, so…some humans developed a particularly strong fawn response. One, with the right amount of our venom running through your veins while having the right experience, could become quite permanent I’m afraid.” 

Sylvie had to fight to process his words. The fog was seeping back into her mind, her attention on…him. Everything about him. His body against hers, his voice in her ear, his scent—everything about him overwhelmed her and she had to struggle for any sort of comprehension. 

It took too long to click. Especially as he began trailing ghost kisses down her neck, causing her pulse to jump and heat to pool. “Blood…whore,” she muttered. “You’re going to fuck me!” Sylvie gasped, the realization dousing over her like a bucket of ice water, shooting her back to clarity. 

Loki pulled back once more. “And then keep you as my own personal feeder and fuck toy,” he answered. 

This time there was nothing she could do to stop the fear from flickering across her face. Dying was one thing, being turned into…that? There was no possible worse fate. 

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’ll only do it if you want me to, my dear. Though…you will beg.” 

“Never,” she scoffed. “I’d rather die.” 

“Oh, I think you’ll quite enjoy this fate,” he answered with a low chuckle. As he spoke, he ran his fingers oh so gently through her hair, over the spot where her scalp was still tender from how he’d roughly pulled a few moments before. “But remember, I’ll only fuck you when you ask for it.” 

Sylvie wanted to spit at his face. To claw his eyes out. To ram a stake through his heart over and over and over again. But before she could react at all, his lips were roughly on hers, his tongue running over her lower lip, dipping inside her mouth and she couldn’t fight the absolute wave of euphoria that washed through her mind. 

Kissing him was like a drug, taking all the fight out of her in an instant. No, no, kissing him was a drug. She was reacting to the venom in his saliva, that fawning response being triggered in full force. 

It didn’t even register when the restraints clicked open, not really. One second she was pinned against a wall with metal, the next she was pinned against the wall by his body. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her fingers entwined in his hair holding him close as she moaned into the kiss and felt more than heard his possessive sound in response. 

His hips rolled against hers, forcing another sound as she savored the feeling of her thighs being held spread apart by his weight, the slightest bit of friction where she was warm and wet. 

Loki’s lips left hers and she would have complained if he hadn’t kept them against her skin, her cheek, her jaw, her neck. Sylvie felt her pulse jump in anticipation when he brushed her pulse point, right where he could have—should have—bit into her neck, but instead he gave a low chuckle and sucked the spot with only his lips instead. 

Her back arched to press herself more firmly against him, another pleading sound for him to take her neck and pussy at the same time, though she couldn’t find the ability to articulate the desire. Her mind was too pleasantly empty, that white fog thick in her head, crowding out anything but the burn of every place their bodies touched and the vivid awareness that it wasn’t nearly enough. 

He kissed back up her neck, over to just below her ear. “Look at you,” his voice was sultry and mocking, “already so eggar to give yourself to me. What happened to that fearsome hunter? I expected more of a fight.” 

But Sylvie was fighting. Deep in her mind, pushing against that encroaching pleasant nothing, like trying to swim to the surface of an angry ocean. Close to the surface, reaching up so her fingertips could break free, then he’d roll his hips against hers and she’d be dragged down once more. Her absolutely traitorous body, reacting in turn to feel his hard outline rub against her through their clothing once more. 

“You’ve been unbound for minutes now and haven’t given the slightest attempt to escape.” 

She whimpered, protesting her own lack of struggle and the fact that his honey warm voice had gone silent for even a second. 

He pulled back enough for her feet to hit the floor, though thankfully only for half a moment because she knew damn well she couldn’t stand of her own accord right then, and then picked her up bridal style to carry her somewhere. 

Sylvie didn’t know or particularly care where, they were moving so fast and she was preoccupied with her lips on his neck this time. Though with the pause in pure overwhelming sensation she felt the fog clear enough that she was able to break the surface, coming to with a physical gasp and the awareness to be disgusted with herself. 

“Ah, awake now, are we? Don’t worry, you won’t be for long,” Loki promised in his triumphant tone, this time without the intoxicating edge. 

Before she could answer, he dropped her onto the most luxurious bed possibly in all of existence. It was massive, with fine forest green silk sheets, and more pillows than she could count. The entire room was extravagant, dark wood furniture, gilded tapestries, shelves of books, bottles of expensive wine, and a roaring fireplace. His room, befitting of a prince. Befitting of the ridiculous castle she’d tracked him to, that he called home. 

He was on top of her in an instant, but took a hard hit to the jaw for it. His head jerked at the impact, but he only laughed as he looked down at her. “There’s that spark. I was starting to think you weren’t even trying to fight it.” 

“Of course I’m fighting it,” she glared daggers. If only looks could kill. 

“Not as hard as you could be,” he smirked, again rolling his hips slowly, lowering his lips to her ear as one of his hands slid under her shirt, up between her breasts. The fog was returning, though Sylvie did everything she could to hold onto lucidity. She understood what she was up against this time. “In fact,” he continued, “I think you’re quite eager to be my pet. I think you’re desperate for it.” 

She scoffed, but didn’t dignify that with any more of an answer. Partially because she was too focused on forcing her hips to remain still and not match his movements, a slow roll against her over and over and deliciously over again. 

“And why wouldn’t you be? You’ve spent so long fighting, isn’t this better?” Gods his voice was pure temptation. “That pleasant emptiness. No worries, no stress,” his thumb played with her left nipple in that same savoring pace the rest of him set. Her fingers clenched the sheets to keep her hands at her sides instead of letting them wander up to touch him. “No more fighting. I’ll be so good to you, I swear.” His voice was breathy, eyes lidded, and with how hard he felt against her Sylvie wondered if this was affecting him far more than a victory against a foe. “I’ll dress you in fine silks, feed you the best food and wine, fuck you so good every day, as much as you want. Feed from you regularly. I’ve heard it’s quite the addiction, but I’ll never let you suffer from it.” 

Sylvie could feel herself sinking into the bliss again, mind being taken by his body and his words. Sinking down into that pleasant white fog like she sank into the luxuriously soft bed. Her hips were moving, her hands were exploring him. She couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take the emptiness between her legs. 

“Please,” Sylvie whimpered, sinking fully. Was any bit of her fighting anymore? It didn’t feel like it. 

His grin was victorious, predatory. 

She didn’t even process her clothes coming off. Had he used his vampiric speed, or was she simply too far gone? It didn’t matter. What mattered was how the next solid sensation was his thumb against her clit. Sylvie arched, mewling at the touch, and trying to move against him for friction. He obliged, rolling his thumb in circles against her, but it wasn’t enough. It was slow and teasing and there was nothing to fill her up. 

“More!” she begged.  “Please, more!” 

“More might lead to an orgasm, my dear. And I should warn you, that’s the key. Right now, it’s only temporary. You could escape, still have your mind when it’s over, but if you come with my cock and fangs in you, well…too late. My little blood whore. Is that what you want?” 

“Yes!” Sylvie panted, brain clinging onto the phrase ‘my cock and fangs in you’. The rest didn’t register, didn’t matter. She needed him, damn the consequences. 

He paused, sitting up over her, looking at the squirming mess on his bed, begging for his cock. How could he possibly deny her when she was so perfect like this? 

Moving her onto her side, he took his place behind her, positioning her against him. He reached his arm around her to play with her clit as he lined himself up with her pussy from behind. She hiked her leg forward on the bed, spreading herself for him, begging with her body and her lips. Her eyes were foggy, and Loki would praise whatever deity had brought her to this state for him for the rest of his very, very long existence. 

“Please,” Sylvie begged again. He was taking so long. Didn’t he understand how badly she needed him? Couldn’t he feel how soaking wet she was between her legs? 

Finally, finally he had mercy and slowly slid into her. Despite his considerable size, she didn’t have any issues taking all of him with how slick and aroused she was by that point. A sigh of relief escaped her lips once he was fully inside, so so deep like she needed. She felt her pussy clench as she moved her hips to feel some friction. 

He must have taken that as an invitation because he slid almost entirely out and then rammed back into her roughly with a grunt. 

“Yes!” Sylvie cried. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck,” she repeated as he repeated the motion over and over, faster and faster. Hard and rough and just how she wanted it. 

No part of her was fighting anymore. Why would she when giving in felt like this?  When all she was reduced to was one need that was being more than satisfied? The white fog wasn’t something to fight, it was bliss, joy, ease. Why struggle when she could be so perfectly taken care of? 

Finally, his lips on her neck turned into his teeth as he bit down and began to feed. Taking everything to the next level when she’d already thought she was at the pinnacle. Why had she hated vampires before? Why had she ever thought having their fangs in her neck would be disgusting? It was a high like nothing else, even better than the pleasant fog of emptiness. Spinning, singing, ecstasy. She would never be able to live without this feeling again. 

Loki stopped before he took too much, her veins pulsing with his venom. Completely pulling out for a moment, to her sounds of protest, he rolled her onto her back and positioned himself on top of her, spreading her lips with his fingers and positioning himself once more before thrusting in hard. 

His eyes devoured her, mouth watering like she was his most delicious meal. “Look at you,” he breathed. “Letting me empty your head while I fill your cunt. You’re going to be the best little blood whore, I just know it.” 

Sylvie was so close, she could feel it. Any moment now she would fall over that edge—wasn’t there something dangerous about it? Some point she couldn’t understand-shouldn't cross? She didn’t care, she wanted it too badly. “Please,” she begged again, until her ‘pleases’ turned into, “Fuck, Loki, fuck!” As she was overtaken, chest heaving, toes curling in pleasure, mind gone for good. 

He came with an animalistic sound instead of words. She felt the warmth spread inside her, adding to her high with whatever venom was mixed in his fluid seeping into her bloodstream through her inner walls. Collapsing on top of her, he pressed her into the bed as their heavy breathing calmed slowly. 

After a few minutes he finally pulled out and rolled to lay on his back by her side, looking at her possessively as she rode out what would be a very long high. Loki would have her cleaned up and wearing finery by then. He’d have a feast ready for her to devour, and his sheets changed so he could have her again on a clean bed. 

All this time he’d been dreading the end of their game. He knew eventually one of them would have to win, and that of course it would be himself, but he never imagined it would end so sweetly. The first creature, vampire or human, who had ever been able to match him was now his. Forever. 

Feeders didn’t age, constant vampire venom in their bloodstream perfectly preserved them. She would be young, and beautiful, and delicious forever. He could keep her for as long as he wished, and very much intended to enjoy it for a long time, but Loki knew that without that strong will, eventually she would bore him. The empty headed, addicted feeder personality would never challenge him. No, he would have to turn her someday. Restore her, make her his bride. Oh, she would hate him for all of this. Making her his blood whore, turning her, they would be at war for eternity… 

Loki couldn’t wait. 

Chapter Text

Sylvie woke up laying in Loki’s luxurious bed, all cleaned up and wearing a golden flowing silky dress. She blinked slowly, all the memories of what had happened playing through her mind, without the fog this time. 

What the hell had she done? 

She remembered all of it, step by step. The way his kiss had drugged her, trying to fight it, and the mortifying moment where she’d completely given in. When she’d begged him to fuck her because every part of her wanted it, even that little voice under the fog that had been screaming and screaming until it hadn’t been. Or rather, screaming in a very different way. She cringed at the thought. 

Sylvie remembered the ridiculous high after it was done, though she wasn’t sure how long it had lasted. Remembered how he’d taken care of her, drew a warm bath for them both, held her gently and washed her body, her hair, massaging her scalp before rinsing out the shampoo. How he’d held her in the warm water, leaning back against him, just savoring being close. The water had warmed his skin, making him feel alive against her instead of his usual vampiric chill. 

Once the water had started to cool, he’d taken her out, dried her off, and dressed her in this gown before taking her to his bed to ride out the rest of it. Sylvie had acted like a living doll the whole time, going along with his soft instructions, floating through it without a thought in her head. 

Now she was horrified. 

…now she was horrified. She could process all his words from before. She remembered how this wasn’t supposed to be the case. She was supposed to be that empty doll for good. But she wasn’t! 

Sylvie leaped out of the bed, looking around the room for anything she could use as a weapon. He was clearly very confident in her being completely gone because her hunting clothes and the weapons she’d carried into this fight were laid out on the low coffee table in the sitting area in front of the fire place. He clearly thought she’d be no danger, no longer herself enough to use them. 

Debating on whether or not to change back into her clothes for a moment, Sylvie decided against it. Best not to give him any warning that something was strange. Instead, she would go searching for him in this dress, concealing her stake best she could, with an empty look in her eyes, and surprise him. Surprise him right through the heart. 

She just hoped she got to see the realization dawn on him before he disappeared into a pile of dust. Honestly, it wasn’t fair that he’d get such a quick death after what he’d done. (She pushed away the thoughts that whispered about how much she’d enjoyed it.) 

The corset of the golden dress was tight, though not uncomfortably so, with a sweetheart neckline that made her chest look amazing, if she did say so herself. Unfortunately, it was too form fitting to conceal the weapon. The skirt was flowy, with extra fabric that raunched a little bit around the waist, hopefully the extra fabric would be enough to conceal the stake if she held her arm straight down by her side. Maybe a little to the back? She would just have to act natural and hope it was enough. 

Sylvie took a deep breath. Whatever he’d done to her before, he very well could do to her again. She would just have to be quicker than that. Smarter than him. That wouldn’t be too hard, of course she was smarter than him. He’d simply gotten lucky before. 

The only thing to do now was find him. 

Sylvie squared her shoulders and tried to summon that empty ease with which she’d carried herself before. Soft steps, looking forward and only forward, like there was no care or worry in the world. 

She’d been worried that it would take forever to find him in such a labyrinth of a castle, but to her dismay she found herself…called to him. Following her instincts, she knew she could walk right to him, taking every correct turn. Whatever he’d done to her, hadn’t completely failed. 

Finally, she stopped at a door that was only slightly ajar. Should she knock? Would that doll version of herself knock? Or just walk right in? 

She supposed the open door was a form of invitation, so she decided on the path of least resistance and simply nudged it open and stepped through. 

It was a small dining room, nothing grand like she’d expect from a building like this. Though she supposed there was probably another one for banquets, while this seemed to be a private space for only a few members of a royal family. Or maybe servants? There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the palace, so she wasn’t sure what rooms were intended for whom. 

One side of the table was sat with the most delicious spread of food she’d ever seen. Fresh fruits and vegetables, a glazed chicken that’s smell made her mouth water, forcing her into sudden awareness of her empty stomach, side dishes galore. Sylvie forced her gaze to stay open and hazy as she took it in, then her eyes moved along to him. The other end of the table was empty of food. Instead, several papers were spread out in a way that suggested work of some sort, though Sylvie didn’t have a clue what on earth a vampire’s occupation would be. Most of them just stole from whoever they ate since the dead didn’t have much need for money. It also gave a nice cover as to why someone was suddenly, mysteriously murdered for all the humans who were unaware of the wretched creatures' existence. 

Loki sat at that side of the table. Engrossed in whatever he was reading, he didn’t even glance up at her, though of course he’d heard her enter. 

“Are you going to eat something first, or are we going to skip right to the murder attempt?” he asked as if he was asking about her plans for the afternoon, casual and unsurprised. 

She hadn’t spoken much as that empty doll, just little mutterings when she’d enjoyed something. Yes or no’s to his direct questions. Nothing that would give her a clue to how to answer this in that state. Besides, he seemed aware that she wasn’t in that state. 

His eyes finally flickered up to her face, and she knew it wasn’t schooled as it should be. Confirmed by his amused chuckle. 

“Yes, I’m aware you’re yourself right now. Mostly.” 

“But you said-“ she started, but he cut her off. 

“I did. And it’s true, you are already my blood whore, and irrevocably on the path to being that pretty little airhead all the time, but…there’s a little delay,” he shrugged. 

Sylvie raised an eyebrow. “Delay?” 

“The fawn response will need to be reinforced a few times is all,” he shrugged one shoulder, like it was no big deal. 

“So you’re going to fuck me again,” she concluded, glaring daggers at him. 

He seemed quite amused by her expression. “Oh don’t look so displeased by the idea. Just like before, I’ll only fuck you if you want me to.” 

“I didn’t want you to the first time!” Sylvie huffed. 

Loki’s smirk was sinful. “Yes you did,” he purred. “You begged.” 

“I was drugged up on your stupid vampire venom! It doesn’t count.” 

“Mmm,” he hummed softly as he looked up ands tilted his head side to side as if considering, but she knew it was a mocking gesture, “whatever you need to tell yourself. But you and I both know you stopped fighting it. Completely.” 

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Sylvie would never admit that it was true. 

“Think whatever you’d like,” she rolled her eyes and then started towards him. She was going to put this fucking stake through his fucking heart. Now. 

“Ah yes, the murder attempt. Go right ahead,” he nodded and leaned back in his chair to give her a clear shot of his chest, covered only in a black satin button up that had the first four buttons undone leaving a completely cruel amount of his skin visible. But she would not be distracted by such things. 

She was close, right in front of him, arm raised to strike. All she had to do was strike and it would be over. Run it through his heart. Do it. Do it. Do it! 

But her arm was still. She took a deep breath and tried again, but again her arm wouldn’t move. 

He started to laugh. “Told you. Already my blood whore.” 

“So what, there’s some magic stopping me from killing you now?!” she huffed. 

“Not at all,” he was smirking up at her with that same look of triumph that had made her melt…however long ago it had been. “You simply know that if you kill me, you won’t have a source of my venom. I told you it was an addiction, my dear.” 

So it was all mental. Just a mental block holding her back. She could overcome it, she could. All she had to do was focus all her rage, and…and…and…

Sylvie dropped the stake as she screamed in frustration, turning and storming away from him, unable to look at him any longer. His laugh was fucking musical and she covered her ears with her palms to block out the sound. 

She crouched, hands still over her ears, eyes screwed shut as she took several breaths to try to gain control. Maybe she let out another angry scream, she wasn’t sure, but finally she collected herself enough to stand back up. Tall and proud. And turned to face him once more. 

He looked relaxed, watching her as he lounged in his chair. The light from the fireplace behind where he sat outlined his form in the most unfair way, and Sylvie felt the pricklings of a reaction begin exactly where she didn’t want it. 

Could he fucking sense her response? The way he went from observing her to that stupid, infuriating, victorious grin once more suggested that was the case. 

“There it is. You’re starting to feel the beginnings of that addiction. It shouldn’t be too bad for a little bit, but it’ll just get worse.” 

“So what? Vampire venom addiction just feels like being fucking horny?” she snapped, not realizing she was admitting to it. How else would she have known the exact feeling he was referencing?

“For blood whores it does. Hence the name,” he answered. “And each time you give into it, that emptiness will just last longer and longer until eventually it won’t go away at all.” 

“No. It won’t happen again. Ever.” 

He shrugged like he didn’t believe her in the slightest. “Whatever you say, my dear. I look forward to seeing how long you last. Now, do have something to eat. That starved look has never particularly appealed to me in a lover.” 

“I’m not your lover.” Her hands were clenched in tight fists, shaking slightly with her rage. 

“Fine, blood whore, since you don’t want me to be polite,” he snipped in response. Loki’s attention turned back to his papers, ignoring the woman who had just tried to murder him. Knowing she was no real threat. 

Sylvie hated how she was no longer any real threat. 

She marched over and sat down in the other chair, reaching out and pulling a leg off the chicken and onto her plate. Not because he had told her to, but because she was hungry and the food did smell delicious. She could still irk him with it though. He was Mr. Prim-and-Proper so she ate without any regard to table manners. She would pull things onto her plate and eat them with her hands, even the mashed potatoes. She let her wine drip from the corners of her mouth onto the expensive dress. She delighted in each and every one of his twitches of displeasure, though he said nothing the entire time she ate herself stuffed. 

Once she was done, she got up from the table and moved towards the door. Exploring the castle seemed like a decent option. Maybe she could find more of his nice things to destroy, since apparently she couldn’t touch him. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t make him suffer. 

“Call me when you’re ready,” he told her right before she made it to the door. 

Sylvie just scoffed. “Won’t happen.” 

“We shall see,” he answered, still not looking up from his work. 

Sylvie enjoyed exploring the castle, seeing each of the grand rooms, decorated with luxuries from over the centuries. Some she could estimate where and when they came from, some she didn’t have the faintest idea. Honestly, it was a shame that so much beautiful art was locked away in a vampire’s castle instead of hung somewhere everyone could enjoy it. She wanted to destroy things, to smash and cut and burn, but….the history. She found herself unable to destroy such beautiful tokens of the past. 

Maybe someday they would make their way out into the world. When he was long dead and no one even knew the term 'blood whore' had ever existed. 

The first few hours weren’t bad. It was mostly just an awareness of certain areas of her body, a discomfort in her core. There was always that strange mental tug towards him—no matter where she went in the castle, how hopelessly lost she became, there was always an instinct towards him. She knew without a doubt that if she followed it, she would be at his feet once more. At least for now that prospect wasn’t too tempting. 

She found another bedroom, though maybe ‘suite’ was a more appropriate term, and decided to take it for herself. It was far grander than her usual accommodations. Since the world didn’t know of vampires' existence, hunters weren’t exactly well paid. 

Unfortunately, Sylvie couldn’t enjoy the luxury for long. As the time passed, she became more and more uncomfortable. That awareness of the area between her legs growing stronger and becoming a more urgent sensation. She was wet and her body started to feel hot all over, the desire for friction becoming more incessant. 

The most obvious solution was to handle it herself, but her first attempt was unsuccessful as she forced herself to think of anything except for him. Though that didn’t work because apparently her mind no longer found anyone or anything else adequately erotic anymore, and she was too stubborn to keep going to thoughts of a vampire. 

A few hours later, she wasn’t so proud. Hopefully she was far enough away from him that the sound wouldn’t reach his vampire ears because she wasn’t certain she hadn’t said his name at any point and the last thing she needed was that held over her. Though the idea of him overhearing, deciding to listen, maybe enjoying it enough to reach down….Hopefully he hadn’t overheard. 

However, doing that was a terrible idea because instead of feeling satisfied it just made her craving so, so much worse. 

She tried to distract herself by taking a hot bath in the ensuite. She tried to read one of the books lying on the nightstand. She tried meditating. Nothing worked, nothing would distract her from the aching, dripping absolute ridiculous desire of the traitorous body she was currently trapped in. 

It was worse that he knew. He knew exactly what she was going through; had to have heard her ranting to herself, her sounds of frustration, at least occasionally because three times a day there would be a single sharp knock at the door, and food left in a covered tray with no one there when she answered it. Through all of his torment, he was still taking care of her. 

She was going to kill him. She was going to fucking kill him for making her feel like this. It was torture to lay there desperately needing something, yet far too stubborn to let herself ask for it. Without that pleasant mental fog, that blissful nothingness, Sylvie refused to give in. She refused and refused and refused until she just fucking couldn’t any longer. She needed him. Now. Pride be damned. 

Sylvie rushed through the castle, following that instinct that was eager to lead her to her tormentor and salvation. He was in his bedroom, where he’d brought her that first night. It felt weirdly appropriate to be back in here, the same place she’d stopped fighting the first time. He was sitting in one of the ridiculously lush chairs in front of the fire place, staring into it as if contemplating existence itself. 

He turned his head slightly in her direction when she slammed the door, eyes finding her and looking her over with blatant hunger. At any other time it would have disgusted her, but now it just made her whimper with need. Being in the same room as him took away whatever slight chance she'd had of coming to her senses and turning back. 

“Come here, my dear,” he invited, unsticking her feet from the spot where she stood frozen by the door. 

Sylvie obediently went over to him, she was about to get in his lap when he held up a finger to stop her. 

“No, do this right. I want you to beg.” 

Sylvie hated that her response was automatic. “Please,” it came out breathy.  

He smirked up at her, slowly uncrossing his legs and holding them wide instead. “That’s all you’ve got? After trying to kill me? Oh no, you’ll have to do much better than that,” his voice had that silky tone that made her mind discombobulate in a way that had nothing to do with his venom. 

“How?” she asked. 

“We’re in a castle, treat me like a prince. On your knees,” he ordered, and she sank down obediently. ”That’s my good little pet,” he praised, reaching a hand out to run his fingers gently through her hair, only once. 

Sylvie was desperate for the white fog to return, anything to blame her behavior on. Doing this clear headed was so much worse. 

But it also felt so fucking good. 

She reached out and rubbed him through the fabric for a moment before undoing his trousers. Clearly he was enjoying her state because he was already half hard from the barest of attentions. Sylvie worked him with her hand for a moment until he was fully there for her, and then leaned forward and slowly licked him from base to tip. She remembered how he’d tortured her by taking his sweet damn time before, so now she would do the same. For a bit. 

Then, looking up to meet his eyes defiantly, she took him into her mouth. It was her turn to smirk slightly, as much as she could in her current position, when she saw just how much she was affecting him despite his obvious attempt to keep a neutral expression. It was satisfying to know she could break him too, just a little. 

There was no way Sylvie was going to take all of him in her mouth—she had very realistic expectations of her gag reflex, but she worked her fist up and down what she couldn’t swallow as she worked him with her tongue, hollowing her cheeks, relishing all of the sensations. She wondered when the venom in his pre-cum would begin to affect her, as she was enjoying this far too much for a woman in her right mind. Then again, she had burst in here demanding he fuck her because of the affects of her new addiction to vampire venom. That wasn't exactly in her right mind, it had to be the reason. Or she’d chalk it up to not having eaten anyone in too damn long. 

God forbid a woman have hobbies. 

Loki was trying to hold back his sounds, those moans that told her exactly where he most enjoyed her attention, and she savored his failure as much as his taste. Her fingers dug into this thigh a little harder and he let out a sharp hiss of a breath as his hips bucked of their own accord. He may have been in charge, but she still had power over him. And he didn’t even have the excuse of addiction. 

Sylvie closed her eyes as she sped up her movements, feeling him getting closer and closer. She wanted the bliss to take her. She didn’t want to have to think about what it meant that she was doing this mostly clear headed anymore. She needed his attention between her thighs, and the sooner she was successful here, the sooner her discomfort would be satisfied. She hoped. 

His hand returned to her scalp and he tugged her hair gently to pull her off before he finished. “Not in your mouth, my dear,” he told her. “Come here.” 

She could have cried with relief. “Finally,” she sighed and moved to crawl up to straddle his lap, but he stopped her once more. 

One eyebrow raised, he shook his head, “Is that what we say to such a gift?” 

Sylvie wanted to scream at him. She was so close to getting what she was desperate for, and he was scolding her over semantics? But she knew the quickest way to get what she wanted was to play along. “Then what do we say?” she asked tightly. Almost fucking panting at this point, she needed him so bad her knees were weak. 

“Hmmm,” he pretended to think for a moment, drawing out her torment. “We are in a castle, I think I like you praising me like royalty. How about ‘thank you, my prince’?” 

If that’s what it took, so be it. “Thank you, my prince,” she answered, it coming out automatic once again. 

“That’s a good girl,” he cooed, and spread his legs a little wider as invitation. 

Sylvie rested her knees next to his hips on the chair and positioned herself, her eyes rolling back in pleasure as she finally, mercifully sank down onto him, moaning in relief. He filled her so deliciously, it was no wonder she hadn’t been able to stop craving having him inside her. It felt so good to finally have her cunt full of him again. 

His hands held her waist as she began to move, rolling her hips, once, twice, oh thank fuck. If she thought the desire was driving her insane, it was nothing compared the feeling of finally being satisfied. 

“You’re not going to last any time at all,” he mocked her, lips against the skin of her chest, right in the center, above the neckline of her dress. 

She just moaned again in response. His voice was hypnotizing and she wanted to hear more, which fought with her desire to have his lips on hers. 

“Please kiss me,” she begged as she moved up and down, and up and down, and up and down. One of her hands clung to his shoulder for leverage while the other explored under his shirt, his abs, his side, his back. His body was made for her to ride him like this. 

Loki smirked at her, knowing exactly what she was asking for. “As you wish,” he muttered as he leaned in to claim her lips, run his tongue across hers, his hands pulling her body harder against his as the ocean swept her under once more, into that cotton empty state. 

He kissed her hard for a long time, until he was certain that she was gone. Nothing left but his mindless little blood whore using him for her own pleasure. He gripped her by the hips, fingers digging into her flesh, forcing her down onto him harder as he thrust up to meet her. Lips moved to her neck. Perhaps it was his nature, but he was sure this was his favorite place to kiss on her body. Though he would have to try all of them just to make sure. 

Fuck, he wasn’t going to last long either. Especially not with the sounds she was making, the way she was saying his name. He needed to bite her soon, before it was over, to make sure she had enough venom in her veins for all of this to take properly. But he did so love his victory. 

“It’s funny,” he said against her skin, her heart stuttering at his voice. She did love to hear him talk. “You fought so hard not to end up back here, like this, yet…you would have been better off if you hadn’t.” 

She made an “hmm,” sound that he chose to interpret as a question, even though it definitely wasn’t. He did love to talk. 

“In their early days blood whores have a choice. You can give into the urges and let us fuck you, feed from you, over and over, giving up your mind a little more each time until it’s gone. It happens so fast…” Their pace was increasing, he forced himself to slow down, using his grip on her hips to slow her as well, to her protest. But this was important. She needed to know exactly what all her struggle had won her. “Or you can fight it, hold out until you simply can’t anymore…and give up your mind even faster,” he chuckled at the thought. 

“You crave it more and more, when you finally give in that withdrawal makes the satisfaction so much stronger. Honestly, I’m impressed. The previous record that I know of—fuck,” he inhaled sharply when she came down on him at a slightly different angle. With one hand he reached up and grabbed her neck to hold her steady in tandem with the one on her hip where he gripped even rougher than before. “Was two days. You lasted four. Honestly, this may be it for you. I don’t know if you’ll wake up again after going so long. How does that sound, my dear?” 

“So good, my prince,” Sylvie answered, though she hadn’t exactly been paying attention to his words, rather letting the cadence wash over her, the sound, the vibrations against her throat. His hand at her neck gave her a thrill, that pressure just barely restricting her circulation added to the lightheaded feeling of the venom high, but it still wasn’t enough. She needed his fangs in her neck and his fingers on her clit. Now. She mewled as she arched against him, begging for more, for everything he could give to her. "Please, please, please," she panted. 

He let go of her neck, moving that hand to her hair to tilt her head to the side in order to oblige part of her request. The sharp sting caused her entire body to go limp with pleasure, head fully supported by him as she gave him full access to her throat—whatever he wanted as long as he wanted it as long as this feeling never ever ever ended. She would have died happy. 

Though, of course, Loki didn’t take too much. Once he’d removed his fangs from her neck, he allowed their pace to increase, reaching down between her legs to play with her clit, thumb moving at a vampiric speed to please her. “Does this feel good, my princess?” 

“Yes!” she groaned, rolling her hips, finally exactly in the state she’d craved for the past four days. Brainless, empty, so fucking full she could cry, high, stimulated—gone. Pushed over the edge, screaming his name. 

There was no way he could last through the most spectacular show he’d seen in his very long life. He held her hard against him as he emptied himself into her for the second time, biting her neck with only his human teeth to muffle the sound that escaped him. 

It was honestly a shame that she wouldn’t attempt to murder him again—at least not for a very long time, once he’d decided it was time to turn her. He hadn’t been completely certain she wouldn’t be able to fight through it with sheer force of will, the first human to do so, which had thrilled him to no end. 

It had been torture to see just how strong she was, day by day fighting against the need for him, while he was craving her more and more for no chemically induced reason. He wasn’t surprised when she met the record—of course she would, she was his Sylvie. But then to double it? He wanted to worship her like the goddess she was, and now that she'd surrendered so completely, he fully intended to do so. Repeatedly. 

Chapter Text

Loki was happier than he’d been in a long time. He had the woman he’d been obsessed with for years in his arms every night. And sometimes multiple times a day. Of course he’d known he was obsessed with her. Ever since she’d been smart enough to get that damn blade to his neck the first time—surprising him with her cunning and skill since no one, human or vampire, had been able to get that close to truly threatening him for centuries at that point. At the time he’d thought it was a bitter obsession. Sure, she was intriguing, but how dare anyone actually challenge him! 

Now he could admit that there had always been adoration. She was beautiful and brave and passionate and intelligent and now he had her in his arms. It was late at night, his Sylvie fast asleep in their bed, her bare back against him with his arm draped over her to hold her close. He could sleep if he wanted to, but since he didn’t need to he found himself spending his nights awake instead, savoring every second of this woman. 

During the day he would care for her; bathe her and dress her, make sure she had good food, discuss the intricacies of the fortune he managed and all the potential investment opportunities, teach her about the politics of the vampire court, and read out loud to her as they lounged in the interior parts of the castle, away from windows with the stinging sun. Sometimes, with a parasol for shade, he would take her out to walk the gardens in the daylight, just for her enjoyment. It wasn’t too big of risk since sunlight wouldn’t kill him, it just hurt like hell. And wasn’t her smile worth a little bit of potential pain? 

Even as a blood whore, mostly empty minded with that vacant gaze, she still had opinions. Some books she liked more than others, sometimes she’d tell him a certain investment didn’t make sense—in those cases he’d always double check and she was right far more than she was wrong. He found multiple people thinking they could get one over on him that way, and minutes sooner than he would have without her! 

Normally he would have hunted them down and drained them of every last drop of blood, but then he’d be too full to feed from his Sylvie for days and he simply refused to let her suffer like that. Besides, she tasted better than anyone else, there was no need to make himself suffer either. Instead, he simply killed them quickly and returned to his princess as fast as possible. He missed her when they were apart. 

Part of him had been worried that he would grow bored of having her around all the time, but it was quite the opposite. Loki hated to be apart from her for even a moment, and the longer they were together, the worse it was when they were separated. Besides, when they were apart, he couldn’t simply find the nearest surface to fuck her against whenever the fancy struck. Which was quite frequently, considering she was the sexiest creature in all of existence. 

He had decided that he would only turn her once he’d fucked her against every single surface in his castle. Each and every bed, floor, wall, table, chair, ceiling, and whatever else he could think of would have to be christened before he dared to risk her walking away. It would take decades, maybe a century, and they were still just getting started. It hadn’t even been a full year since she’d become his blood whore, though the date was coming up. He’d have to think of something special to celebrate their anniversary. 

What he didn’t know was that the one year anniversary held a different importance for another group. Per their tradition, it was the date by which the other hunters had to avenge her death. 

As much as it behooved the hunters to have their targets think it, they were not actually a disorganized group of lone wolves who occasionally teamed up when it suited them. They were a well organized operation with structures in place to train, formal hierarchies, and strict norms. Some vampires had discovered this in the past, but they’d never lived long enough for word to get out. 

Of course, Sylvie had always had a tendency to break the rules. Normally, no hunters would dare to train someone below the age of 17. Children deserved as much of a worry free life as they could be given, not a life of training drills and fear of what lurked in the dark—but that life had already been taken from Sylvie. The only survivor of the vampire attack that killed her family, at 8 years old Sylvie was living on her own, attempting to hunt down the monster that had done it when she’d come across the Convent. By all outside appearances a normal Catholic institution of nuns, but it wasn’t as it seemed. This convent was special, a cover for the Sisters who trained as hunters, one of the handful of cover institutions across the world. 

It was no place for a child, they told her over and over again. They would be happy to help her find a family to adopt her, and she could return when she was 17 if she still desired. Sylvie would hear none of it. Eventually, it was decided that it was safer if they gave Sylvie the training she so desperately needed rather than risk her going out on her own—with the caveat that Sylvie would not go on any missions until she was 17. 

Sylvie was 14 when she killed her first vampire. In the over a decade since, she’d become the best hunter in the world, and a highly sought after teacher. In the rare times she wasn’t actively on a hunt, Sylvie would return to the convent to train others how to protect themselves and the world. She was the best, indestructible, which was why it was such a shock to the sisters when she didn’t return from a hunt. 

Two of her best students, and friends, had taken up the mission to avenge her. Following her leads, trying to track down the monster that killed her. But, as was protocol, they only had one year before they would be forced to give up the mission. Hunters knew that vendettas were dangerous, the longer they festered, the more reckless a person could become. It was best for everyone if there was a strict time limit—and Bea and Wanda’s time was almost up. 

Loki knew when they entered his castle that they were here to take her from him. They would take his beloved princess, either kidnapping her or killing her thinking it was a mercy, and he could not let that happen. They would simply need to be disposed of. 

The logical part of him said that it should be quick—take them out as fast as possible and let it be done. But…they were here to take his Sylvie. Shouldn’t they pay for their transgression? 

A quick death simply wouldn’t do. 

He kissed his Sylvie’s cheek softly as he began to get out of bed, his movement rousing her slightly. 

“Mm?” she muttered in question. 

“Go back to sleep, my love, I have something I must attend to.” 

She made another soft, unintelligible sound and relaxed once more as he got out of bed completely. 

Loki quickly dressed in black trousers and a billowing deep green shirt with just a few drops of blood stained on it—they were looking for a vampire and he would give them one. He put on several expensive rings on each hand, real jewels dazzling from each finger, and then hurried to the throne room to wait. Loki did so love his theatrics. 

They found him lounging on his actual throne, the hall large and shadowed even with many candles lit to illuminate the space. 

“Took you long enough, I was beginning to think you wouldn’t be able to find me,” he taunted them, inspecting his nails instead of even glancing in their direction. 

An arrow from a crossbow hit his throne, right where his heart had been not even half a breath before. 

“Right to the point then,” he grumbled, now standing a few feet away from the chair. 

He started towards the two hunters at an inhuman pace, ready for a fight, as were they from their stances, when he was stopped cold with a single, airy, “Don’t.” 

All three sets of eyes snapped over to a small door on the side of the room, unnoticed in the darkness until the figure silhouetted by it’s slightly ajar wood spoke. 

“Sylvie!” both hunters gasped. 

Bea took a step towards her friend, but stopped under the full force of Loki’s glare and his hiss of, “Don’t you dare!” 

“What is going on? Why are you here? With him?” Wanda asked in her light accent. 

“She’s happy with me,” Loki answered for her. 

It was his turn to be under the weight of their combined glares for a moment before their eyes went back to inspecting Sylvie. 

He saw her through their eyes for a moment. She’d lost some muscle since she’d arrived since she no longer spent her days training. Her eyes had that glazed over empty appearance, and her skin was several shades more pale from the lack of sunlight and regularly being fed from. There was also her neck, easily seen as the luxurious sheer green robe draped over her frame did nothing to hide the multiple bite mark scars that made Loki start to get hard whenever he studied them since they marked her as his. 

Wanda and Bea could both tell something was deeply wrong with the picture, but they didn’t know what. 

“What did he do to you?” Bea demanded. 

“I’m happy here,” Sylvie answered in that same empty tone. 

Both hunters just stared at her incredulously, mouths slightly agape, not believing but not knowing what could be causing any of this. 

Loki found himself laughing. “I told you,” he shrugged and made his way back to his throne, not too far from his Sylvie. She was choosing him! She was choosing him! 

Wanda took several steps towards Sylvie, but only closed half the distance before stalling, half reaching out a hand towards her. “Come with us. Come home. We’ll get you out of here,” she pleaded. 

“No,” Sylvie answered simply. She turned and made her way over to him, sitting on his lap on the throne. Loki felt almost delirious with joy as he put his arms around her affectionately. 

“I don’t understand,” Wanda shook her head. 

“He did something to you!” Bea insisted, moving up to stand by Wanda. 

Sylvie tilted her head, offering her neck to him as she said, “He takes such good care of me.” 

Loki would never deny her such a request and dutifully sank his teeth into her flesh, hearing her soft sigh of satisfaction as he watched the horror dance on the hunters’ faces. They stood frozen, watching the scene. He could imagine the look on his Sylvie’s face, that blissful satisfaction he had memorized at this point. 

She was so fucking perfect. He would burn the world down for this woman. 

He stopped before taking too much blood, feeling her body relax against him, and decided to show these interlopers exactly how well he took care of his princess. 

Carefully, he repositioned them so she was sitting on his throne and he was kneeling before her. Kneeling before his queen, exactly where he belonged. Loki couldn’t help but take a moment to savor the view, looking up at her sitting above him looking absolutely content. The sheer fabric of her robe obscuring her body just enough to tease him senseless. 

Loki ran his hands up her claves, her soft thighs, pulling her gently forward on the seat to put those gorgeous legs over his shoulders. He didn’t care that his back was to the hunters, didn’t care that they could send an arrow through his heart at any moment, he would die happy if they did. The only disappointment would be not satisfying his Queen one more time. 

The fabric of her robe thankfully fell open below the waist because of the new position, his hands coming up further to grip her hips as he leaned in and softly kissed her before pulling back to savor the moment once more. 

Her back arched when he left. “Do it,” his Queen ordered, and he groaned automatically in response, surprising himself. He felt weak before her, and was shocked at how much he adored the sensation, how strongly his body reacted to it. 

Loki did as he was told, leaning in to swirl his tongue around her clit for just a moment before going lower and tasting her inside, savoring her gasp and forgetting everything besides the feeling of right now as his mind went blank. He returned his tongue’s attention to her clit and plunged one finger then another inside her pussy. One of her hands was in his hair and his vision went white when she pulled, eliciting an absolutely filthy moan from his throat. 

“Faster,” she demanded and he was helpless to do anything but obey as her hips rocked and her back arched further.

He whimpered as she came, the taste alone almost sending him over the edge. 

He fell back, kneeling before her, breathing hard, looking up at the most radiant picture anyone had ever seen, and wondered what he had ever done to deserve such a blessing. 

As her breathing slowed, her eyes opened slowly and her gaze fell on him. “Well?” she smirked slowly. “Do you want something?” 

“Please make me come,” fell out of his lips. The proud vampire, one of the oldest, most powerful in existence, reduced to begging. 

He wanted to do it again. 

She moved slowly, languidly, teasingly, as she stood from the throne. Sylvie glanced from his eyes, to his groin, and back, an unspoken order. Loki obliged as quickly as he could, fumbling at the buttons as he freed himself, all grace and elegance gone in his desperation for whatever she would do for him. 

“What was it you wanted?” she asked, that empty innocent voice as she made her demands driving him absolutely wild. 

“Please make me come,” he breathed. 

Mischief sparkled in her hazy eyes as she straddled his lap and lowered herself onto him. One, two pumps was all it took to make him come harder into her than he had since their first time together—his arm around her lower back, holding her hard against him as he rode out the aftershocks. 

He was an absolute mess inside and out when she finally got off of him. This woman, his Queen, his love, his Sylvie, had ruined him in a way he’d never recover from. Loki knew there was simply no life worth living without her now—a lesson he thought he’d learned before, but now was permanently branded on his soul. He was chained to her, and had no desire to ever escape. 

The hunters were long gone before he remembered they had been there to begin with—part of them wondered how much of it they’d seen. Was it a show they’d return to in their minds when they were alone at night? Or had they been horrified and rushed out the moment he’d knelt before her? Loki had no way of knowing, and didn’t really care as long as they didn’t try to take his Sylvie ever again. 

Wanda and Bea had no intention of ever returning. They were in silent agreement that they would speak of this to no one—report their mission a failure and let Sylvie be remembered as having an honorable death in pursuit of their shared mission. At this point, she was too far gone for them to do anything else for her. Better to mourn what she had been than let the world know what she had become.