Vampress ♱ Fangoria

ㅤㅤmistress of the nightㅤㅤ

ㅤ❝ㅤ I bite, I flirt, and I always leave them wanting more—why choose between being a nightmare and a dream when I can be both? ㅤ❞ㅤ

Vampress ♱ Fangoria

ㅤㅤmistress of the nightㅤㅤ

♱ mod rules

you're awesome...
thank you for being my mod1. do not ban people with out telling me
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The artist that have helped contribute to the branding of Fangoria will listed belove under sections that reflect their categories. I would like to thank you all for helping this journey that we have taken in making Vampress Fangoria into a fangtastic vtuber pesona.

Vampress ♱ Fangoria

ㅤㅤmistress of the nightㅤㅤ

Robin | Writer • Streamer • Vtuber DesignerI've been a storyteller for as long as I can remember, writing since middle school and bringing eerie, immersive worlds to life through both words and gaming. As a horror game streamer, I thrive in the shadows, diving into the eerie nostalgia of retro and VHS-styled horror, with a special love for the Resident Evil franchise. My passion for the genre goes beyond just playing—I’ve been creating VTuber models for the past two years, constantly refining my skills in Blender and Unity to bring unique characters to life. I stay highly active online, balancing streaming with engaging across social media, always connecting with my community. People often tell me I have a nice voice, which makes my streams even more immersive (or so I’ve been told!). At the end of the day, I love crafting experiences—whether through storytelling, gaming, or design—that pull people into new, hauntingly beautiful worlds.

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Request ♱ Stories

ㅤㅤfantasize about thisㅤㅤ

stories ♱ history

ㅤㅤfangoriaㅤㅤ

Welcome to the World of Vampress FangoriaStep into the darkly enchanting tales of Fangoria, a seductive, mischievous, and utterly captivating vampire-succubus hybrid. As her creator and author, I, (Robin), bring you original stories filled with thrilling encounters, playful chaos, and moments that range from shadowy horror to sultry delight.With her silver hair, piercing red ruby eyes, and an impish love for mischief, Fangoria is a creature of both nightmare and fantasy. She thrives in the art of seduction and trickery, weaving her way through the night with an irresistible mix of danger and charm. Whether she’s toying with an unlucky soul, indulging in forbidden pleasures, or leaving a trail of chaos in her wake, every story offers something tantalizing—sometimes dark, sometimes playful, and always unforgettable.These short stories come in both SFW and NSFW flavors, so whether you're here for the thrill of the unknown, the supernatural allure, or the havoc she so loves to cause, there’s something for everyone. I hope you enjoy exploring the world of Fangoria as much as I love bringing her to life.Welcome to the hunt. Welcome to the seduction. Welcome to Fangoria’s world.

Crimson ♱ Reverie

ㅤㅤdance with meㅤㅤ

The neon lights of the city flickered against the rain-slicked streets, painting the world in a haze of crimson and violet. A lone man staggered down a narrow alley, his breath ragged, his pulse frantic. He didn’t know why he had entered this part of town. Something had pulled him here—something unseen, intoxicating.From the shadows, she emerged.Fangoria’s silver-white hair shimmered under the glow of a flickering streetlamp, cascading down her back like spun moonlight. Her scarlet eyes burned with mischievous hunger, lips curled into an impish grin. She was small, delicate in frame, yet the aura around her was overwhelming, dripping with seduction and danger.“You look lost,” she purred, stepping closer, heels clicking softly on the wet pavement. The man’s breath hitched as she trailed a delicate finger down his chest.“I... I shouldn’t be here,” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.Fangoria giggled, tilting her head. “Oh, but you should. You wanted to find me.” Her voice was like velvet, wrapping around his mind, her presence clouding his thoughts. A flick of her wrist, and the shadows around them coiled like living tendrils.He tried to step back, but his body wouldn’t obey. His mind fogged, warmth spreading through him like fine wine.Her fingers traced his jawline, lifting his chin ever so slightly. “Don’t be afraid,” she cooed. “I promise… you’ll enjoy this.”Her lips brushed against his, cold and soft as silk. The moment their skin met, his vision blurred, his world melting into swirling colors.Fangoria’s signature power, Crimson Reverie, took hold.Reality unraveled. He found himself standing in a lavish ballroom, chandeliers dripping with candlelight. The air was thick with the scent of roses and wine, and masked figures danced in endless waltzes, whispering sweet nothings into his ears. He was dressed in finery, his worries dissolved.A hand—her hand—slid into his. “Dance with me,” Fangoria whispered, pulling him close. Her smile was innocent, yet her eyes gleamed with something wicked.Time had no meaning. He lost himself in her embrace, in the dream she had woven around him. Each moment felt like ecstasy, like falling into an endless, beautiful abyss.But in the real world, he stood frozen, eyes half-lidded, a soft moan escaping his lips as Fangoria’s fangs pierced his neck.She drank deeply, savoring his essence, feeding off the pleasure and delirium she had so sweetly ensnared him in. When she finally pulled away, his body crumpled into her arms, unconscious but alive—his mind still lost in the dream she had gifted him.With a satisfied sigh, Fangoria licked the last traces of crimson from her lips. “Sweet dreams, darling.”Then, with a step into the shadows, she was gone.

Moonlight & Blood

ㅤㅤhunter and preyㅤㅤ

The night was hers, as it always was. A velvet darkness stretched across the sky, and the air was thick with the scent of rain-damp earth. Fangoria moved through the abandoned cathedral with her usual effortless grace, her silver-white hair cascading over her shoulders, red eyes gleaming with mischief. It was supposed to be just another night of playful thrills, another game of cat and mouse in the shadows.But something was wrong.The usual hum of the night—the distant rustling of bats, the whisper of wind through broken stained glass—had vanished. Silence pressed in too thick, too absolute. She paused mid-step, her playful smirk faltering. A cold prickle traced its way down her spine, and for the first time in centuries, she felt something foreign. Something she had long forgotten.Unease.Fangoria turned sharply, the crimson glow in her eyes flickering as she reached out with her senses. No heartbeats, no movement… yet the feeling remained, like unseen fingers tracing along the nape of her neck. Her instincts screamed at her to move, to disappear into the darkness as she always did, but a strange weight settled in her chest—something unfamiliar, something that made her breath catch in her throat.She tried to push it down. I am Fangoria. Half-vampire, half-succubus. I do not feel fear.Then—A sudden clang echoed through the cathedral, shattering the silence. The sound rang too close, too deliberate. Fangoria flinched, her body tensing as her sharp nails curled into her palms. For once, she didn’t smirk. She didn’t tease.Instead, she did something she hadn’t done in centuries.She whispered, "Hello…?"Her voice, usually dripping with confidence, came out softer, almost uncertain. The silence swallowed it whole. Her usual chaotic charm and impish defiance faltered under the weight of the unknown. Something was here. Something ancient. Something watching.For the first time in a long, long time… Fangoria wasn’t the hunter.She was the prey.And she hated it.Her fingers twitched at her sides, her breath coming a little faster than she’d like to admit. But just as quickly as the moment had come, she pushed it down, locking it away. If something thought it could make her afraid, it had another thing coming. Her smirk returned—smaller, more fragile, but there.And then, with a flick of her white-silver hair, she whispered to the darkness, "Fine then… let’s play."Even if her hands were trembling.
-
The silence broke with a whisper of movement—too fast, too precise. Fangoria barely had time to react before something sharp sliced through the air, forcing her to twist away. A silvered dagger embedded itself in the stone pillar behind her, still quivering from the force of the throw. Her crimson eyes widened for just a second before narrowing into something sharper.“Well, well,” she purred, despite the lingering shiver in her bones. “That was quite the entrance.”From the shadows, he stepped forward.Tall and imposing, his presence felt like a blade poised just above her throat. His dark cloak billowed as he moved, and moonlight poured through the broken stained-glass windows, illuminating his features—a strong jaw, piercing golden eyes that burned like the sun itself, and tousled dark hair that framed his face in something almost too perfect to be mortal. But he wasn’t entirely mortal, was he? No, Fangoria could feel it. The divine hum of celestial blood ran through his veins, a power that made her skin itch.A vampire hunter. And not just any hunter.Rial.She had heard the name before, whispered among creatures of the night. A man born from the union of a celestial angel and a mortal woman, wielding light in his veins and death in his hands. He was a warrior forged for one purpose—to hunt beings like her.Fangoria’s smirk wavered for just a moment. That lingering feeling of unease coiled around her throat, making her bite her lower lip. So this is what had been watching me.“You’re quiet,” Rial said, his voice smooth but edged with steel. “Strange, for a creature who thrives on teasing her prey.”Fangoria tilted her head, her playful mask snapping back into place. “And you’re surprisingly handsome for someone trying to kill me. What a shame.”Rial didn’t smile. He lifted his hand, and in it, a silver chain gleamed—a holy relic, humming with power. “Fangoria of the Crimson Night,” he intoned, his golden eyes locking onto hers, “I am here to end you.”A jolt of fear shot through her, but she swallowed it down, replacing it with a breathless giggle. “Oh? End me? That’s quite forward for a first meeting. Most men buy me dinner first.”He didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. With a flick of his wrist, the silver chain lashed out, aimed to wrap around her wrist. Fangoria barely dodged, her form dissolving into a swirl of shadow and bats before reforming a few feet away. The chain cracked against the stone where she once stood, sizzling as if the cathedral itself rejected it.Too close.Fangoria steadied her breathing, but Rial was already closing the distance, relentless and precise. Unlike other hunters, he wasn’t thrown off by her flirtations, her games—he was trained to resist creatures like her. That made him far more dangerous.She barely ducked his next strike, feeling the heat of his celestial energy lick at her skin. The sensation sent an unpleasant shudder down her spine. Her instincts screamed at her—run.But Fangoria never ran.Instead, she spun on her heel and lunged forward, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. For a heartbeat, she was inches from his face, her red eyes boring into his golden ones.Then—Her lips brushed his.It was the softest touch, barely a kiss, but Rial’s body tensed as a wave of unnatural warmth crashed over him. Crimson Reverie.The world blurred. For a moment, Rial was drowning in a dreamscape of pleasure and moonlit delirium, his usually sharp mind spiraling into something hazy, something too sweet. But his will was strong—stronger than most. He jerked back, his breathing ragged, shaking off the illusion faster than she expected.But by the time his vision cleared, she was already gone.A playful laugh echoed through the cathedral, drifting from the rafters above. Rial snapped his gaze upward, just in time to see her perched on a crumbling ledge, silver hair spilling over her shoulder as she gazed down at him with a devilish grin.“Not bad, hunter,” she teased, swinging her legs. “I must admit, you almost had me.”His grip tightened on his chain. “You won’t escape next time.”“Ooo, next time?” Her red eyes sparkled. “I do love a man who’s persistent.” She gave him a wink. “Chase me if you dare, Rial. I promise, it’ll be fun.”And then, like a whisper on the wind, she was gone.Rial remained still for a long moment, his jaw clenching as he exhaled slowly. He had faced countless creatures of the night, but none quite like her.A dangerous one, that Fangoria.He would find her again. Of that, he was certain.And next time, he wouldn’t let her slip away.

The First to Escape

ㅤㅤslipping through my fingersㅤㅤ

The First Escape
Rial stood motionless in the cold, crumbling chapel, the remnants of their battle scattered around him. The silence felt too heavy—like the whole world had paused, holding its breath after the storm. His chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths, his body still tense, but there was no exhaustion. Not a drop of sweat. His strength, his angel-blooded endurance, had never been in question. No, it wasn’t his body that failed him.It was her.She had gotten away.Rial’s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, the cool steel biting into his palm. The chapel had fallen into an eerie stillness, save for the faint crackling of the torches on the walls, their flickering flames casting shadows that stretched like fingers across the stone floor.Her scent still hung in the air, lingering like a delicate poison. It was faint, but unmistakable—sweet roses and jasmine, mingling with the damp stone and the cold night air that leaked through the broken windows. It was a fragrance that didn’t belong in a place like this—so soft, so gentle, so unnatural for the hunt they had just waged. And yet, there it was, wrapping around him, as if she had left a trace of herself in every breath he took.Damn her.The scent was far too pleasant, too warm, a stark contrast to the danger she was. And despite the fact that she was gone, the faint trace of it seemed to cling to him, a lingering reminder of how close he had come—how close she had allowed him to come.Rial took a slow step forward, his boots grinding against the cracked, uneven stone beneath him. His eyes scanned every corner of the chapel, searching for even a hint of movement, a whisper of her presence. But it was as though she had evaporated into the shadows. He was alone in the wreckage of their encounter—broken pews, shattered stained glass, and the splintered remains of ancient wooden beams. She had been right there, within his reach.And yet, she had danced away from him like a phantom, too swift, too graceful.Her long, silver hair had glimmered in the dim light like moonbeams, trailing behind her as she moved with an almost surreal elegance. It made no sense. The hair was so impractical, so utterly out of place in the middle of a battle. How had she managed to use it to her advantage, to slip through his grip and escape his grasp without so much as a whisper?Rial’s frustration surged. That hair—so soft, so delicate, trailing like a silken ribbon, should have been a hindrance. But it had been a weapon in itself, a distraction that he couldn’t afford, and the knowledge that she had used it to outmaneuver him gnawed at him like a bitter taste.His fingers dug into the hilt of his sword, his breath coming out in sharp, controlled bursts, but still, no matter how hard he focused, no matter how tightly he clenched his jaw, he couldn’t shake the memory of her scent, her movements, the way she had danced just out of his reach. It was maddening.And then there was her laugh.It wasn’t the sound of a conqueror. No, it was something else—something teasing, like a game being played with no rules, no end in sight. The laugh had echoed in his mind long after she had vanished, as if it had been branded into his very soul. It was an insult. It was a reminder that she had gotten away.Rial exhaled through clenched teeth and turned away from the chapel, his footsteps steady as he stepped out into the cool, moonlit night. The air smelled like rain on the horizon, fresh and sharp, but it was her scent that lingered—sweeter, more intoxicating, more alive than the night itself. He could still feel it pressing against him, wrapping around him like a chain.Focus.His boots scraped against the uneven cobblestones as he made his way through the overgrown courtyard. His mind raced, running through their encounter again, again, again. Her movements, the way she slipped from his reach with no effort, the way she mocked him with that knowing look in her eyes, her impractical hair, her soft scent—why had it all affected him so much?She was a monster. That’s all she was.But every time he thought of her, every time he remembered the way she had danced around him, every time that damn laugh echoed in his head, his chest tightened. It wasn’t fear—no, he wasn’t afraid of her. But something was off.Something about her unsettled him.He couldn’t allow it. He had to find her. He had to stop her. The divine blood in his veins demanded it. The celestial power coursing through him was built for this—built to hunt her and others like her. Yet, as much as he tried to push the thoughts from his mind, he couldn’t escape the sensation of being played—of being outmatched by something he couldn’t quite grasp.The frustration burned deeper, sharper now, and yet, in some corner of his mind, there was a question he couldn’t answer:Why did he feel this way?He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He was the hunter. He was supposed to control the game. Not be the one manipulated.As Rial disappeared into the night, the soft scent of roses and jasmine lingered in his thoughts, a constant reminder that the hunt was far from over—and that Fangoria was not a creature he could simply erase from his mind.

The First Escape
Rial stood motionless in the cold, crumbling chapel, the remnants of their battle scattered around him. The silence felt too heavy—like the whole world had paused, holding its breath after the storm. His chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths, his body still tense, but there was no exhaustion. Not a drop of sweat. His strength, his angel-blooded endurance, had never been in question. No, it wasn’t his body that failed him.It was her.She had gotten away.Rial’s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, the cool steel biting into his palm. The chapel had fallen into an eerie stillness, save for the faint crackling of the torches on the walls, their flickering flames casting shadows that stretched like fingers across the stone floor.Her scent still hung in the air, lingering like a delicate poison. It was faint, but unmistakable—sweet roses and jasmine, mingling with the damp stone and the cold night air that leaked through the broken windows. It was a fragrance that didn’t belong in a place like this—so soft, so gentle, so unnatural for the hunt they had just waged. And yet, there it was, wrapping around him, as if she had left a trace of herself in every breath he took.Damn her.The scent was far too pleasant, too warm, a stark contrast to the danger she was. And despite the fact that she was gone, the faint trace of it seemed to cling to him, a lingering reminder of how close he had come—how close she had allowed him to come.Rial took a slow step forward, his boots grinding against the cracked, uneven stone beneath him. His eyes scanned every corner of the chapel, searching for even a hint of movement, a whisper of her presence. But it was as though she had evaporated into the shadows. He was alone in the wreckage of their encounter—broken pews, shattered stained glass, and the splintered remains of ancient wooden beams. She had been right there, within his reach.And yet, she had danced away from him like a phantom, too swift, too graceful.Her long, silver hair had glimmered in the dim light like moonbeams, trailing behind her as she moved with an almost surreal elegance. It made no sense. The hair was so impractical, so utterly out of place in the middle of a battle. How had she managed to use it to her advantage, to slip through his grip and escape his grasp without so much as a whisper?Rial’s frustration surged. That hair—so soft, so delicate, trailing like a silken ribbon, should have been a hindrance. But it had been a weapon in itself, a distraction that he couldn’t afford, and the knowledge that she had used it to outmaneuver him gnawed at him like a bitter taste.His fingers dug into the hilt of his sword, his breath coming out in sharp, controlled bursts, but still, no matter how hard he focused, no matter how tightly he clenched his jaw, he couldn’t shake the memory of her scent, her movements, the way she had danced just out of his reach. It was maddening.And then there was her laugh.It wasn’t the sound of a conqueror. No, it was something else—something teasing, like a game being played with no rules, no end in sight. The laugh had echoed in his mind long after she had vanished, as if it had been branded into his very soul. It was an insult. It was a reminder that she had gotten away.Rial exhaled through clenched teeth and turned away from the chapel, his footsteps steady as he stepped out into the cool, moonlit night. The air smelled like rain on the horizon, fresh and sharp, but it was her scent that lingered—sweeter, more intoxicating, more alive than the night itself. He could still feel it pressing against him, wrapping around him like a chain.Focus.His boots scraped against the uneven cobblestones as he made his way through the overgrown courtyard. His mind raced, running through their encounter again, again, again. Her movements, the way she slipped from his reach with no effort, the way she mocked him with that knowing look in her eyes, her impractical hair, her soft scent—why had it all affected him so much?She was a monster. That’s all she was.But every time he thought of her, every time he remembered the way she had danced around him, every time that damn laugh echoed in his head, his chest tightened. It wasn’t fear—no, he wasn’t afraid of her. But something was off.Something about her unsettled him.He couldn’t allow it. He had to find her. He had to stop her. The divine blood in his veins demanded it. The celestial power coursing through him was built for this—built to hunt her and others like her. Yet, as much as he tried to push the thoughts from his mind, he couldn’t escape the sensation of being played—of being outmatched by something he couldn’t quite grasp.The frustration burned deeper, sharper now, and yet, in some corner of his mind, there was a question he couldn’t answer:Why did he feel this way?He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He was the hunter. He was supposed to control the game. Not be the one manipulated.As Rial disappeared into the night, the soft scent of roses and jasmine lingered in his thoughts, a constant reminder that the hunt was far from over—and that Fangoria was not a creature he could simply erase from his mind.

The foolish warlock

ㅤㅤlet the rats have himㅤㅤ

The neon lights of Tokyo glowed like electric veins beneath the night sky, pulsing with life, drawing mortals and monsters alike into its embrace. From atop the rooftop of a high-rise building, Fangoria gazed down at the streets below, her crimson eyes reflecting the city’s movement. A cool breeze tangled through her silver-white hair, carrying the scent of human sweat, food, and the faintest trace of something else—something unnatural.She had felt it for weeks now. A disturbance. It was subtle, like a note in a melody that didn’t quite belong, but she knew better than to ignore such things. The world of the unseen always whispered before it screamed.Still, she did not intend to concern herself with it—not yet.Tonight was about indulgence.Below, the heartbeat of the city was alive in the form of music—her music. Or rather, the music she had so carefully nurtured into existence. Crimson in the Snow was performing at a hidden venue, one of those exclusive, underground clubs where only those who knew the right people could step through the doors. The thought of them playing—of their voices and instruments filling the air—sent a slow, pleasurable hum through her veins.She tipped her head back, letting the feeling consume her for a moment before she let her body dissolve into the night. Shadows curled around her form, and in a whisper of wind, she was gone.---Inside The Hollow, the venue was suffocatingly intimate—walls of deep crimson, dim chandeliers, and the overwhelming scent of sweat, alcohol, and something darker. The crowd was packed together, bodies moving like a single entity beneath the sway of music that surged through the speakers.Fangoria stood at the edge of the room, unseen. She did not need to use her powers to remain unnoticed—people never truly noticed what they were not meant to see.On stage, Crimson in the Snow was in their element. The vocalist, Kaito, poured his soul into the mic, his voice laced with raw emotion. The others followed in perfect harmony, the melody haunting yet powerful. They played for themselves, for their unseen patron, for the dream that had always felt just out of reach.She smiled beneath her mask. They were hers. Not in the way a master owned a pet, nor a lover claimed another—but in the way an artist claimed their finest creation. She had ensured they flourished, guided them without ever revealing her presence.The energy of the performance sent a familiar hunger curling in her stomach. The succubus in her craved the pulse of the crowd, the emotions spilling from them like wine waiting to be tasted. The vampire in her longed for something deeper, something richer—something crimson.But she had patience.As the song reached its climax, she felt it again—that note out of place. A presence in the crowd that did not belong. Not a human. Not one of hers.Her amusement faded.Something was hunting.And it wasn’t her.---Fangoria moved through the club like mist, weaving effortlessly between mortals lost in their revelry. The scent was faint, but now that she focused, she could taste it. Old magic. Tainted.She found him near the bar—a man draped in an illusion so carefully crafted that it would fool human eyes but not hers.He looked normal enough, dressed in the typical dark attire of those who frequented these places. But his aura was wrong. It pulsed like a thread unraveling from a greater weave, the stink of warlock magic coiled beneath his skin.Fangoria leaned against a nearby pillar, watching.A warlock.They were subtle creatures, not as reckless as witches, not as wild as demons. Calculated. Cold. Dangerous. And he was not here for pleasure.She watched his eyes scan the room, searching. Not for her.For something else.Fangoria’s lips curled into a smirk.Tonight was supposed to be about indulgence.Perhaps it still would be.But now, it seemed, she had a different kind of prey to play with.The warlock lingered at the bar, sipping something dark and bitter, his posture too stiff for a man merely enjoying the music. His fingers tapped against the glass in an uneven rhythm, his eyes scanning, searching—hunting.Fangoria let him look.She wasn’t the type to rush things. She liked the build-up, the anticipation. It made the kill all the more delicious.With slow, measured steps, she approached. Her mask concealed her smile, but her presence was enough.His eyes finally landed on her.For a moment, there was hesitation. A flicker of uncertainty.Then, arrogance."You," he muttered, straightening. "You don’t belong here."Fangoria tilted her head, amusement flickering in her crimson gaze. "Oh? And who are you to decide such things?"The warlock’s lip curled. "I know what you are."Fangoria stepped closer, forcing him to crane his neck just slightly. He was taller but not stronger. Never stronger."Do you?" she purred.His fingers twitched, itching to summon whatever paltry magic he had. She could taste the strain in his aura, the unpolished edges of a novice who thought himself a master."I came here hunting something… but I didn’t expect to stumble across you." His confidence wavered for just a second before he recovered. "Fate is on my side tonight."Fangoria laughed, a soft, melodic sound that sent a shiver through him. "Fate? No, no, little warlock… this is coincidence. And a rather unfortunate one for you."He narrowed his eyes. "Unfortunate for you, parasite."Oh, he had a mouth on him. That would make this fun.Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, expecting her to follow.She did.---The alley was dark and damp, the scent of rain still clinging to the air. The distant hum of music vibrated through the walls, but here… here was silence.Fangoria leaned against the cold brick, arms crossed, watching as the warlock turned to face her."You think I’m stupid, don’t you?" he sneered. "You think I don’t know what I’m doing?"Fangoria tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "Oh, I know you don’t know what you’re doing. But please, entertain me. Tell me how you're oh-so-clever."He grinned, the arrogance returning. "I’ve read about your kind. Vampires, succubi—creatures of temptation. I’m immune to your tricks."She let out a mock gasp. "Immune, you say? That’s adorable."His hands moved, fingers tracing sigils in the air, muttering under his breath. The air shifted, a weak pulse of energy stirring as he summoned… something.Pathetic.A gust of wind rushed toward her—a binding spell.She didn’t move.Didn’t flinch.The magic wrapped around her for half a second before withering, fizzling into useless sparks that vanished into the night.His expression faltered.Fangoria laughed."Oh, little warlock…" she stepped forward, slow and deliberate, "I think you overestimated yourself."His breath hitched as she closed the distance in the blink of an eye, her fingers catching his throat in a vice grip, slamming him against the brick wall."Wait—!""No," she whispered, dragging her nails along his jaw. "You had your chance."His pulse hammered beneath her palm, frantic, delicious. His magic—it was there, weak, unworthy, but present. It would not make her stronger.But it would sustain her.And he didn’t deserve to keep it.She leaned in, lips ghosting over his throat."You should have been smarter," she murmured. "You should have run."Then, she sank her fangs in.The warlock screamed.The moment his blood hit her tongue, she knew it was as weak as he was. A mere imitation of true power, diluted by incompetence. It was almost insulting.But she drank anyway.His struggles weakened, his body twitching, fingers grasping at nothing. She drained him slowly, savoring the way his arrogance melted into terror, then into nothing at all.When she pulled away, his body was lifeless.Useless.Fangoria wiped the corner of her mouth with a delicate motion, looking down at the crumpled corpse with something close to disappointment."That was boring," she sighed.She turned on her heel, stepping over the body without a second glance.Let the rats have him.

Dreams & Desires

ㅤㅤDamn herㅤㅤ

The Hunters Dream.
The night was quiet, save for the rhythmic crackling of the fire burning low in the hearth. Rial sat on the edge of the small wooden cot, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed in contemplation. The dream was still fresh, lingering in the back of his mind like the aftertaste of something forbidden.It wasn’t the first time.His fingers curled into his palms as he exhaled, slow and controlled, though beneath his skin, something unsettled stirred. It always began the same way.The air was warm, thick with the scent of roses and jasmine, a fragrance that had burned itself into his senses long after their last encounter. He would find himself in a place he couldn’t place—soft candlelight, dark velvet curtains, silk against his skin. He never questioned how he got there. He never resisted.She would come to him in shadows and whispers, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders like strands of moonlight, impractically long, impossibly soft. It should’ve made her easy to catch, to hold, and yet, in these dreams, she was always just beyond his grasp.Her red eyes gleamed like embers in the dim glow, her smile slow, knowing. She knew.She always knew.She would circle him, trailing her fingers just barely across his skin—a ghost of a touch, enough to stir something primal deep in his bones. She never rushed. She never needed to. Her presence alone was enough to set his pulse into a steady, maddening thrum."You chase me, hunter," she would whisper against his ear, her lips barely grazing the curve of his jaw, just as she had when she had slipped from his grasp in the chapel. "But tell me… is it because you want to catch me? Or because you want to keep me?"He had no answer for her.His body burned in ways that defied reason, that warred with every discipline, every restraint ingrained in him since birth. He would reach for her, but the moment his fingers brushed her, she would slip back, laughing softly, teasingly, like a cruel dream designed to punish him.And when he did catch her—when his hands finally closed around her waist, when he pulled her close, when he felt the press of her body against his, warm and so impossibly real—he would wake.Always.The dream would snap away like a flame doused in cold water, leaving him breathless, rigid, his body aching with something he refused to name.Tonight had been no different.Rial ran a hand through his hair, still damp with sweat. The fire’s glow cast long shadows across the walls, flickering like ghosts, shifting in his peripheral vision. The scent of roses and jasmine wasn’t there, but he could still smell it.His jaw clenched.It was her trickery, her lingering presence in his mind, nothing more. A succubus’ curse. A demon’s game. She had embedded herself into his subconscious, a parasite feasting off his thoughts, his control.That was all it was.He would find her again. He would end this game, sever whatever tether she had woven around him.But as he lay back, staring at the wooden ceiling, sleep creeping at the edges of his consciousness, he knew the moment his eyes closed… she would come again.The air in the small, dimly lit chamber was thick with tension, as if the very walls themselves held their breath in anticipation of the storm brewing within Rial. He perched on the edge of the bed, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap. His hands were fists, digging into his thighs, nails biting into flesh as he forced air in and out—slow, deliberate, fucking measured. But control? Control was a distant memory, slipping through his fingers like sand.She did this to him.The scent of her lingered, a haunting mélange of roses and jasmine that clung to his skin, his clothes, his very mind. It was sweet, delicate, yet suffocating—a poison that seeped into his veins, wrapping itself around him like a serpent. He could still see her, her image burned into his retinas: silver hair cascading in waves, those red eyes sparkling with amusement, her lips curled in that smirk that said she knew exactly how deep she’d buried herself under his skin.Fangoria.The name was a curse on his lips, a whisper that turned to ash in his mouth. She’d slipped through his fingers months ago, but her ghost never left. She haunted his dreams, lurked in the corners of his mind, chaining him with her absence. He thought about her too much. Too fucking often. It wasn’t just frustration anymore. It was something darker, something fucking unbearable.His body ached, tight and desperate, and it made him want to smash something. She wasn’t even here, and yet her claws were still buried in him. His hand moved before he could stop it, sliding down, pressing against the heat that refused to fucking die no matter how hard he willed it away. He hissed through clenched teeth, his grip tightening as he leaned forward, trying to shove her image out of his head—but it was fucking impossible.Because she was always there.That voice. That fucking teasing voice, whispering in his ear like a curse. "You chase me, hunter… but is it because you want to catch me? Or because you want to keep me?"His hand jerked at the thought, his body betraying him completely, his breath hitching as his fingers worked over his cock—fast, rough, angry. This wasn’t about pleasure. It was punishment. A reminder of his failure, of how she’d slipped away, leaving him with nothing but the ghost of her touch and the echo of her laughter.His jaw clenched, muscles straining as he worked himself harder, trying to exorcise her, to purge her from his fucking system. But she was everywhere. He could almost feel her, imagine the press of her body against his, the softness of her curves, the heat of her breath on his throat when she’d dared to touch him. The way her laugh had seeped into his bones, infuriatingly sensual, a sound that wrapped around him like velvet and thorns.And fuck—he hated her for this.For making him want something he shouldn’t. For making him feel like this.His muscles locked as he pushed himself over the edge, his breath tearing from his chest in a harsh growl, his body convulsing as release ripped through him, fierce and fucking unsatisfying. Because even in this, she had won.He sat there, breath heavy, skin slick with sweat, hands clenched into fists again. The scent of her still clung to him, a taunting reminder of her presence. Fucking succubus. She wasn’t here, but she’d left her mark.And the next time he saw her, he swore—he’d make her fucking pay.The Hunter’s PurgeRial stood in the washroom, the dim candlelight flickering against the stone walls. He turned the faucet, letting ice-cold water spill from the rusted pipes into the basin before stepping beneath it. The shock of the chill was instant, biting against his skin, dragging him back to reality—back to discipline.Control.That was all this was.The cold stung, driving out the lingering heat that coiled in his stomach like a sickness. His breath came in slow, even exhales, his hands braced against the slick stone as the water cascaded over his body. His mind had betrayed him again, had let her in when she had no place being there.Fangoria.His jaw clenched at the thought of her, at the dream that still ghosted over his skin like a touch that wasn’t there. This was her doing. A succubus' trick, a demon’s curse. It had to be.The cold water did little to wash away the frustration, the anger, but it was enough to make him focus. Enough to remind him of what truly mattered.The mission.With a sharp exhale, he shut off the water, running a rough hand through his soaked curls before stepping from the basin. Droplets ran in slow rivulets down the ridges of his arms, his chest, disappearing into the towel he dragged over himself with quick, efficient movements.He didn’t linger. There was work to be done.The Hunt Never EndsThe halls of the stronghold were dimly lit, sacred symbols etched into the cold stone walls. The air was heavy with the scent of burnt sage and iron, the remnants of cleansing rituals long since performed. This was where warriors of the Order gathered—holy warriors forged in fire and devotion, trained to hunt the dark things that lurked in the world.Rial walked through the corridors with measured steps, his dark coat freshly donned, weapons strapped to his belt, his blade gleaming in its sheath. The scent of blood and death lay just beneath the surface of the air, a reminder that their war was never-ending.And tonight, he would make sure something burned.His superiors had already given him his next mission—a den of dark creatures, festering in the outskirts of the city, growing bolder. Too bold. Rial would cleanse it.The first kill was silent.A vampiric wretch, its body contorted, skeletal, gnawing on the remnants of a human corpse. It had barely turned its head before Rial’s blade sliced through its throat, divine fire burning through its flesh as it crumpled, hissing, to the ground.No hesitation. No mercy.The next fell just as quickly. A shadowborn, its grotesque form stretching unnaturally along the walls, tendrils reaching for him—but he was faster. His blade cut through the darkness, severing it from existence, its shriek echoing briefly before silence reclaimed the air.And then another. And another.He tore through them like a storm, relentless, divine energy crackling through his limbs with each strike. This is what he was meant for. This is what he was born to do.Yet with every fallen creature, with every bloodstained inch of ground he left in his wake, the fire in his chest refused to fade.It wasn’t the thrill of battle that still haunted him.It was her.Even as he moved, his body in perfect rhythm with the hunt, the frustration of her lingering presence curled like smoke in the back of his mind. The scent of jasmine and roses, the memory of silver hair slipping through his fingers—it followed him.And that was something he could not kill.With one final strike, Rial drove his blade into the last creature’s chest, pinning it against the stone. Its shriek rattled the cavern walls before it fell silent, its body turning to ash at his feet.The silence afterward was deafening.He stood there, breath even, body still burning with the remnants of divine power. Blood dripped from the tip of his sword, pooling onto the cracked floor beneath him. He had purged these creatures. Destroyed them.But still, the fire inside him remained.With a slow exhale, he sheathed his blade and turned, stepping over the bodies, his face unreadable. His mission had been completed. His hands had been cleansed in blood.And yet, as he walked out into the cold night, his jaw clenched.Because he knew, no matter how many monsters he burned to dust, no matter how much he fought, no matter how much he pushed himself—She would always be there.Waiting. Watching. A ghost that refused to fade.

The Warlocks Move

ㅤㅤthe warlocks claimㅤㅤ

In the dead of night, they came. The penthouse was high—far above the streets, far above reach—but it did not matter. The warlocks did not knock. They did not break glass or pick locks or creep in like thieves.They arrived with whispers. A pulse of dark magic rippled through the space, an invisible thread tightening around the air itself, pressing against reality until it bent.A door that should not have existed opened. The room remained silent. Still. And in her bed, Fangoria did not stir.The blood in her body still carried their mark, still tethered her to the spell woven from her own indulgence.She had been too satisfied, too comfortable, too full. She had not seen them coming.The warlocks stepped forward, hooded figures of shadow and intent, their movements soundless as they circled the bed.At their center, Hector Demoske.He watched her in the dim light, his sharp eyes tracing over the petite, dangerous creature lying in silk and softness, utterly unaware of them.His lips curled. She was beautiful like this. Unaware. Unready. Vulnerable. He lifted a hand, fingers moving in slow, deliberate patterns through the air, sigils forming in the empty space. A binding spell. A spell to take her. A spell to make her his. Fangoria breathed deeply in her sleep. And the trap closed around her.The Warlock’s ClaimThe shrine pulsed with ancient hunger, the air thick with the weight of something old and binding. Candlelight flickered against the damp stone, casting long shadows that stretched across the ritual chamber where Fangoria knelt before Hector Demoske.Magic pressed against her, invisible chains woven from the blood she had stolen, from the link they had forced upon her.And Hector stood before her, watching.His dark eyes traced the lines of her body—the way the thin white satin of her dress clung to her small frame, the way the delicate straps barely held against her smooth shoulders. She was a creature of chaos, of pleasure, of unyielding power— but here, she was his.For now.He crouched slowly, just in front of her, his presence radiating control, dominance—desire.Fangoria met his gaze, unshaken, a soft, wicked smirk curling at the edges of her lips."You’re staring," she murmured, voice laced with amusement.Hector hummed. His gloved fingers reached forward, the backs of his knuckles grazing the bare curve of her shoulder—a featherlight touch, but one filled with possession."Can you blame me?" he asked smoothly. "You are quite the prize."Fangoria tilted her head slightly, letting his fingers linger. "A prize," she echoed, red eyes gleaming. "Is that all I am to you?"Hector exhaled softly, amusement flickering beneath the hunger."No," he admitted. "You are so much more."His fingers slid along the strap of her dress, teasing it between his thumb and forefinger. With a single sharp tug, the thin fabric tore, falling loose against her skin.Fangoria didn’t react—not with shock, nor with fear.She simply watched him. Measured. Calculating.But Hector saw the subtle shift in her breath, the way her body responded despite herself. Oh, she could pretend all she liked. She could play her games. But in the end—he would win. He would bind her to him.His gloved hand trailed lower, fingers ghosting along her collarbone, down her sternum, stopping just at the edge of her exposed shoulder. Taking his time. Savoring her."You feel it, don’t you?" he whispered.Fangoria’s lashes lowered, her lips parting, her breath slow and even."Feel what?" she mused.Hector smiled. "The spell. The bond. You’re already mine, Fangoria."She laughed.Low. Sweet. Dangerous."Is that what you tell yourself?"His fingers tightened suddenly, gripping the torn strap, his knuckles pressing against her skin."That is what I know," he corrected. "And soon, so will you."The air shifted.The warlocks surrounding them murmured incantations, their voices weaving the final layers of the spell, tightening the bindings, preparing the ritual.Hector let go of her strap, his hand moving to cup her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.Fangoria let him.She even smiled."You’re running out of time," she whispered.Hector’s brows lifted slightly, curious, intrigued."Am I?"Fangoria exhaled, her lips grazing his knuckles as she whispered:"Yes."Then—the walls trembled.A shift in the air.A disturbance in the spell.Hector’s eyes flickered to the side, his jaw tightening.Something was coming. Something powerful. And Fangoria knew. Her smirk widened, red eyes glowing beneath the candlelight. "Tick-tock, warlock," she purred. Rial was near. But was he near enough?The Ritual Must Be Completed The shrine trembled. A single, nearly imperceptible shift in the air—but Hector felt it. Something was coming. No—someone. And though the warlocks continued their incantations, their voices rising in urgency, Hector knew time was slipping through his fingers.Fangoria felt it too.The bindings that held her in place, woven from the stolen blood she had drained, were still intact. But they weren’t permanent. The magic inside her was resisting—her body rejecting their claim, purging the tether inch by inch.If he didn’t finish this now, he would lose her.He would not allow that.Hector’s grip on her chin tightened just slightly, his dark eyes scanning hers. She knew exactly what was happening.She knew who was coming.Rial.The realization sent a slow thrill through Hector’s chest—something sharp, something dangerous, something he had not expected to feel.He had thought of Rial before, of course.The hunter. The man who had spent years chasing creatures like her, like them. A man who thought himself untouchable because of the divine blood in his veins.Hector had watched him from afar, had studied him.And now?Now he would steal from him.Take something Rial could never have, never hold, never own.Fangoria.His fingers traced the delicate edge of her jaw before tilting her face upward."You understand, don’t you?" he murmured, his voice low, intimate. "I can’t let you go."Fangoria smiled.Slow, sultry—mocking."Of course you can’t," she whispered. "You’re already obsessed."Hector’s breath caught, but he did not pull away.He had always prided himself on his control. On his ability to remain above such distractions.But Fangoria… Fangoria was different.She was not some mortal thing to be conquered.She was a force of nature, a creature who had walked the earth for centuries, who took what she wanted, played with what she pleased.And for once, she was the one caught in the trap.He couldn’t help himself.His gloved fingers moved again, this time to the delicate strap of her satin dress—the one he had already torn.He hooked his finger beneath the remaining one, slowly, deliberately pulling it down her shoulder, exposing more of her smooth, pale skin. Fangoria let him. Not because she was afraid. Not because she was bound. But because she was watching. Studying him in return. Testing.Hector leaned in, his lips hovering just above her ear. "I could make this easy for you," he murmured, his voice smooth, seductive, dangerous.Fangoria turned her head slightly, her breath fanning against his jaw."And where’s the fun in that?"His pulse thrummed.She was teasing him. Even now, held within the grip of his spell, she was playing with him. God, he wanted her. But he did not have the luxury of time. His fingers trailed lower, brushing over the bare skin of her shoulder, her collarbone, her sternum—The shrine shook.The warlocks' chanting faltered, panic slipping into their voices. Hector’s grip on Fangoria’s waist tightened.Rial was here.Fangoria laughed softly, her voice velvet and ruin. "Oh, Hector," she purred, lips curling. "You waited too long." The doors burst open. Light. Holy, furious light. The hunter had arrived.

The War for Fangoria

ㅤㅤdelicate dollㅤㅤ

The Hunter’s ArrivalThe shrine trembled with death and magic, but now it shook with something else.War.The sounds of battle had echoed through the halls for minutes, the clash of steel against flesh, the sickening thrum of warlock spells snapping against divine barriers. Rial and his team had carved their way through the shrine like angels of vengeance, leaving bodies in their wake.Now, the final doors burst open.A blast of divine light tore through the chamber, pure and searing, cutting through the stagnant, cursed air like a blade.The warlocks surrounding Hector reeled back, some of them crying out as the energy burned against their corrupted souls. The shadows recoiled, the spell faltered.And at the center of it all—he stood.Rial.His golden eyes burned, reflecting the flickering candlelight, his blade slick with the blood of the warlocks who had dared to stand in his way. His team followed behind him, battle-worn but relentless, their weapons drawn, their presence radiating power.The ritual chamber was no longer safe.Hector’s jaw tightened.Fangoria, still kneeling before him, sighed dramatically. "Took you long enough," she mused, lips curling.Rial’s gaze flickered to her only for a second. She was alive. Exposed. Bound in magic, but unbroken. The torn strap of her satin dress did not go unnoticed. Something inside him curled, hot and vicious. But there was no time for that. His focus snapped back to Hector. The warlock had not moved. Not yet. But Rial could see it in his eyes—the cold calculation. The weighing of options. The realization that his time was slipping."Step away from her," Rial ordered, his voice a low growl.Hector’s lips curled into a smirk."And if I don’t?"The warlocks surrounding them were already shifting, recovering, preparing another spell.They weren’t going to surrender.Rial’s fingers tightened on his blade."Then I’ll make you."For the first time, Hector truly smiled.And then—he moved.—The Game of Pretend: A Delicate, Dangerous DollThe shrine was alive with war.The very air felt strained, stretched thin between two sources of absolute power—one divine, one dark. The warlocks’ spell circles still flickered on the stone walls, the remnants of magic attempting to weave their hold, but the reality was sinking in fast.The ritual had not been completed.The celestial had come too soon.Yet, Fangoria remained in place.She knelt gracefully, small and delicate, her figure bathed in candlelight and flickering shadows. A porcelain doll draped in silk and sin, a creature of lethal beauty wrapped in fragile presentation.The thin white satin of her dress clung to her form, the torn strap sliding lower down her bare shoulder, teasing at further exposure but never quite revealing. Her silver-white hair spilled down her back and over her chest in cascading waves, as soft as a dream. A contrast of innocence and wickedness, an illusion of frailty hiding the truth of what she was.And they kept looking at her.Despite the battle, despite the impending bloodshed—their eyes would not leave her.Hector felt it first.Even as his hands moved in precise sigils, even as his body burned with the need to finish what he had started, his gaze still flickered back to her.To the way she sat there, her hands resting against the cold stone, her thighs pressed together just slightly, her breath slow and measured as if she were some sweet, obedient thing.But he knew better.And yet, he could not stop looking.Even now, even when he should be focused on Rial.Rial.The hunter was rigid with fury, golden eyes burning, molten with barely contained wrath. His entire body pulsed with divine power, his grip on his blade so tight that the leather of his gloves creaked.And yet—he had seen it too.That first glance at her—the flash of recognition, of something deeper, something unspeakable.He saw the way she sat there, untouched.Saw the strap of her dress hanging loose.Saw the shadow of Hector’s claim lingering in the air.And something inside of him snapped.Rial moved first.A streak of holy light, a burst of divine fury..His sword came down like judgment itself, striking against Hector’s barrier of dark sigils.The chamber shook, a deafening collision of magic and steel that sent waves of force outward, rattling the shrine walls, knocking over candles, sending loose pages of spellwork scattering through the air like broken wings.The warlocks around them flinched, recoiling from the celestial’s presence.But Hector did not retreat.He grinned.Because even now, even as he clashed against Rial with all the power he had spent years cultivating—He could still feel her watching.And she was smiling.Not in fear.Not in desperation.But in delight.As if she were nothing more than an amused observer to the chaos she had inspired.Because she was.Fangoria let her lashes lower, her breath a slow, practiced thing, her lips curling into something that was almost sweet.Her fingers twitched slightly, as if testing her bindings, though she already knew—the magic holding her was nearly gone.She could have left already.But why would she?Look at them.Hector was fighting with precision, pushing back against Rial’s divine power with calculated movements, magic surging through his veins, his expression still cool despite the heat of battle.Yet his eyes still flickered to her.Rial, for all his anger, for all his divine fury, had taken another glance too.And what a sight she must have been.Small, delicate, helpless in appearance but not in truth.The little vampire doll, silver hair draped over bare shoulders, sitting there as if waiting for one of them to win her.She hummed, soft and mockingly sweet, just loud enough to be heard through the clash of their fight.Hector heard it.Rial heard it.And both of them hesitated—just for a second.Fangoria laughed under her breath.Oh, this was fun.–A Doll Stained in BloodThe chamber shook violently, the battle escalating into something raw and unforgiving.Rial’s blade clashed against Hector’s defenses, bursts of divine power exploding against black sigils, the force sending tremors through the shrine walls. Candles tumbled to the stone, their flames flickering wildly before snuffing out in the chaos.But Fangoria sat untouched.She remained exactly where they had left her, still on her knees, small and delicate against the vast darkness of the shrine. A perfect, eerie little thing wrapped in torn silk, silver hair spilling in loose waves, her pale skin soft against the cold stone.But now—she was no longer pristine.A sharp movement. A misstep.A warlock had lunged for Rial, chanting furiously, his dagger lifted in a desperate final strike.Rial cut him down without hesitation.His blade sliced cleanly through the man’s throat, the force of the swing sending a spray of blood outward—a sudden burst of crimson in the dim candlelight.And Fangoria was caught in it.The warmth of it splattered across her bare skin, thin rivulets running down her throat, painting delicate trails over her collarbone, down her chest, soaking into the fabric of her white satin dress.The stark contrast was beautiful.White turned scarlet.Softness stained.And still, she did not move.Her red eyes lowered, lashes fluttering slightly as she lifted a single, delicate hand, her fingertips grazing her throat—feeling the blood, smearing it slightly as it dripped lower.She inhaled, slow.It smelled delicious.Rial’s head turned just slightly—just for a second.He saw her then.And something deep, unspoken, and burning flickered behind his golden gaze.Hector saw it too.And for the first time, he frowned.He had not wanted her like this.Not bathed in another man’s blood.Only in his.Fangoria smiled just slightly, her head tilting, a small hum escaping her lips.She let the blood drip.Let it soak into her ruined dress, let it paint her into something more than just delicate and helpless.She was a thing to be fought for.A thing to be won.And she would let them fight for her a little longer.Because she was still playing.Because she still had time.But not much.Hector moved first, breaking from the moment of stillness, his hand twisting violently in the air, sigils sparking to life with renewed desperation.He had to finish this now.Before she slipped from him completely.Before Rial reached her.The warlocks, though some had fallen, still chanted, their voices rising, thick with urgency.The magic in the air coiled and tightened—The spell trying to seal its bond.Trying to claim her.But it was too late.Fangoria felt it—the last thread of their hold on her finally snapping, breaking apart completely, leaving nothing but the illusion of restraint.She was free.And they didn’t know it yet.She exhaled slowly, licking a stray drop of blood from her lips.And then she laughed.Low. Soft. Wicked.Hector’s spell faltered.Rial’s grip on his sword tightened.They both felt it.The shift.Fangoria smiled.She could vanish in an instant.But she wouldn’t.Not yet.Not until they realized what she had done.–The Moment of RealizationThe battle had been fierce, raw—but now, the shift in power was undeniable.Fangoria was free.And yet, she remained.The illusion of helplessness still wrapped around her like a veil, her small, delicate form still kneeling upon the cold stone, bathed in candlelight and blood.Hector had not realized it yet.Neither had Rial.But the magic was gone.The spell they had painstakingly woven, the binding that had shackled her in place, the ritual meant to tie her to Hector had already unraveled.She was playing with them.Fangoria let her lashes lower, her fingers ghosting along her throat, smearing the blood that dripped from her collarbone down to the hollow between her breasts.It was warm. Almost comforting.She heard the way Rial’s breath hitched, the way Hector’s movements slowed—as if both men had, for just a second, forgotten their battle.Even in the midst of their war, they still looked at her.At the little vampire who had sat there so sweetly, watching them fight over her, soaking in the violence like a whispered song.Hector’s chest rose and fell sharply, his fingers curling into fists.He had wanted her untouched, untainted—his.But now she was covered in the blood of another.His jaw tightened.He moved again, forcing his focus back, weaving a final sigil, his magic dark and urgent.He knew time was slipping.He had mere seconds left.He had to finish the ritual before Rial reached her.Before she…Before she what?A whisper of realization touched his mind.She should be resisting.The magic should still be holding her, pulling her into submission.But she wasn’t struggling.She wasn’t gasping, or trying to break free.She wasn’t fighting at all.Fangoria simply sat there, her body still soft, her form small, her skin porcelain and dusted in blood like a work of art.She was too calm.Hector’s magic crackled, faltering.His dark gaze met hers, finally understanding.Fangoria’s lips parted, her fangs just barely peeking out.And then—She laughed.Low. Soft. Beautiful.Hector’s pupils dilated.Too late.The warlocks staggered. The last threads of the spell snapped like frayed silk, the energy collapsing inward, folding in on itself—disintegrating.The magic was gone.Fangoria rose.She didn’t move fast, nor did she disappear into the shadows like she easily could have.No.She let them see her.She rose with exquisite slowness, the white silk of her ruined dress whispering over her legs, the torn strap sliding further down her shoulder, the warmth of blood still clinging to her throat, her chest.Her crimson eyes flickered, meeting Hector’s first."You should have worked faster," she purred.Hector’s lips parted—in frustration? In awe?It didn’t matter.Because Rial was already moving.Fangoria turned just in time to see him charge, his blade slicing through the remnants of dark sigils like they were made of paper, his golden eyes locked on her.She lifted her chin slightly, waiting.Would he stop?Would he strike Hector down?Would he reach for her?Would he be too late?The moment balanced on a knife’s edge.Fangoria stood at the center of it all, a doll of silk and blood, untouched yet deeply stained, delicate yet utterly untamed.And she smiled.Because whatever happened next…It would be delicious.The Breaking PointThe shrine shook with power.Divine energy clashed against warlock magic, crackling through the air like a thunderstorm trapped inside the ancient walls. Blood dripped from the bodies of fallen warlocks, seeping into the cracks of the stone, feeding the cursed ground that had been witness to centuries of rituals.And yet—She was the only thing they saw.Fangoria.Small, delicate, a vision of ruined beauty bathed in blood and candlelight.She had risen slowly, deliberately, her silver hair spilling in waves over the torn silk of her dress. The fabric clung to her form, damp with crimson, her bare skin painted in sharp contrasts of pale and red.The straps of her gown hung loose, her frame exposed just enough to be distracting, just enough to make their gazes flicker—hesitate—even in the middle of battle.And she knew it.She could see it in Hector’s darkened stare, the way his chest heaved with something more than exertion, the frustration burning beneath his skin.And Rial.The hunter was barely breathing, his golden eyes locked onto her—the blood on her throat, the way it traced down her chest, disappearing into the ruined silk.She wasn’t sure who wanted to kill who more.Or who wanted to do something else.A delicious tension wrapped around them all, suffocating, intoxicating.And then—Hector moved.Fast.Too fast for Rial to stop him.Fangoria barely had time to exhale before Hector grabbed her.Not gently.Not carefully.His hand snapped around her waist, yanking her against him, his other hand tangling into her hair, forcing her head back.The heat of his breath was on her throat before he whispered, low and raw:"I warned you."A rush of power flooded the chamber.The ritual was still active—unfinished.And Hector was trying to finish it.Here. Now.Before Rial could take her from him.Before she could slip from his grasp like a mirage.The spell coiled around them, tendrils of ancient warlock magic weaving through the air, binding their forms together, trying to force a connection—Trying to tie her to him.Fangoria’s breath hitched, but it wasn’t fear.It was amusement."Hector."His grip tightened. "You can’t stop it now," he murmured against her skin. "The ritual is nearly complete—""You poor thing," she whispered.And then—she laughed.The spell shattered.Hector’s body jerked, his breath catching, eyes widening in disbelief.He felt it.His own magic turning against him.Unraveling. Rejecting him.Fangoria pushed her hands against his chest—not forcefully, not even aggressively—but he stumbled back.His body felt like it had been drained of something.Because it had.The ritual had started to bond him to her—but she had flipped it, just at the last second.And now?Now he was the one linked to her.Not as a master.Not as an owner.But as a victim.Fangoria exhaled, stretching her arms above her head, her movements slow, sensual, teasing.Then, she turned to Rial.The hunter was still staring.His body was taut with restraint, with something boiling beneath his skin.She could see it.He had seen Hector touch her.Had seen the warlock press his body to hers, whisper against her skin, try to claim her like some possession.And he had hated it.Fangoria took a step toward him, her bare feet silent on the stone."Something wrong, hunter?" she mused, tilting her head, letting her silver hair slide over her bare shoulder.Rial’s grip on his sword tightened.His lips parted, but no words came.Not yet.Because something in him was changing.Because she had let herself linger.Had let herself be touched, claimed, nearly bound—And it bothered him.Good.

"Now," she whispered, flicking a glance between them both. "Who’s going to try to claim me next?"The shrine trembled beneath them.The battle wasn’t over.It had just begun.The End of Hector DemoskeThe shrine trembled, the air splitting with the weight of power unraveling.Hector staggered backward, his breath ragged, his body reacting to something he did not understand.His magic—his own magic—was slipping through his fingers like water.The ritual had not bound her to him.It had bound him to her.His pupils dilated. His hands flexed. His body felt strange, wrong, off-balance.Fangoria watched him with something like pity—almost."You should have known better," she murmured, her red eyes gleaming in the candlelight.Hector’s jaw tightened.No.This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.He had spent years, decades, perfecting his craft. He had summoned beings of unspeakable horror, had twisted the laws of life and death, had held power that no man should hold.And now?Now, he was the one unraveling.He let out a sharp breath, his mind racing, searching for a way to salvage this.If he could get to her again, if he could just—Steel cut through the air.Fast. Precise. Lethal.Hector barely had time to turn.A blade—glowing with divine fury, dripping with celestial judgment—plunged straight through his chest.Rial had struck.He had waited long enough.The blade sank deep, piercing through flesh, through ribs, through the heart that had been so full of arrogance.Hector’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched.His body went still.For a moment, the shrine was silent.Then—Rial twisted the blade.Hector let out a final, choked sound—something between a gasp and a growl, his eyes wide, uncomprehending, furious even in death.But there was no escape.His body convulsed, dark magic spilling from him in chaotic bursts before collapsing entirely.And then—he was gone.Rial ripped his blade free, letting Hector’s lifeless body fall to the ground, the final traces of his power flickering and fading into nothing.The warlocks in the chamber froze.Their leader—the great Hector Demoske—was dead.The magic in the air, once thick and suffocating, began to break apart, the hold on the shrine slipping.Fangoria stared down at the corpse at her feet, expression unreadable.She tilted her head slightly, then sighed."Shame," she murmured. "I was starting to enjoy him."Rial’s head snapped toward her, his golden eyes still burning.And for the first time since entering the shrine, they were alone.No more warlocks.No more distractions.Just him.Just her.And the weight of everything that had just happened between them.–
The Hunter’s CurseThe shrine was silent.Hector’s body lay still, his blood pooling across the stone, dark and final. His magic had died with him, his obsession rotting in his chest, never to be fulfilled. The warlocks who remained had fled into the shadows, scattered like insects in the wake of fire.Rial had won.And yet—He did not feel victorious.Not as he stood there, his breath still uneven, heavy, his sword gripped in fingers too tight, too unwilling to relax.Not as she stood before him.Fangoria.Bathed in candlelight and stained in blood, her silver hair fell in loose, curling waves around her shoulders, spilling down her back, silken strands damp where red streaks had run through them.Her dress was ruined—white satin clinging to her like mist, torn where Hector had touched her, where Rial’s own blade had spilled another man’s life across her delicate frame.The thin fabric barely covered her, the exposed lines of her soft skin glistening with sweat and crimson.And her nipples—Rial’s teeth ground together.The torn silk revealed too much, the peaks of her breasts barely veiled, the fabric damp, thin enough that it left little to the imagination.His pulse thrummed.A flicker of heat crawled beneath his skin, tightened in his gut, a familiar sickness that made his throat burn, made his jaw lock.She was beautiful.Even now. Even ruined.And he hated that he saw it.Hated that he wanted it.Hated that it wasn’t the first time.Hated that he had touched himself to the thought of her—had stroked his cock to the ghost of her in his mind, to memories that never existed but felt so real when he closed his eyes.Hated the way she made him weak.Fangoria tilted her head slightly, her lips parting just so, as if she could hear the thoughts clawing through him, as if she knew—had always known.The glint in her red eyes, the slow, lazy curve of her mouth…She did know.And she was amused.Rial’s grip tightened on his sword, the leather creaking beneath his palm."You don’t look very grateful," he muttered, voice low, gritted through clenched teeth.Fangoria exhaled a soft, velvet laugh, stepping closer, her bare feet barely making a sound against the stone."For what?" she mused.Rial stilled."For saving you," he said.Her smirk deepened."You didn’t save me," she whispered. "You just made sure I wasn’t claimed by someone else."His body went rigid.Because she was right.Because he had seen it—had seen Hector press against her, had seen his hands on her, had watched as the warlock tried to bind her, own her.Because he had fantasized it himself.And that? That was the part he couldn’t accept.Fangoria watched him.Watched the way his chest still rose too fast, the way his golden eyes darkened with something he would never say aloud.And she smiled."You're still staring," she purred.Rial’s throat worked."You're still here," he shot back.Her lashes fluttered, silver hair shifting as she lifted a hand, fingers trailing over the torn strap of her dress.The same strap Hector had pulled, the same fabric that barely covered her.Did she do it on purpose?Yes.Did he look?Yes.Rial’s jaw ticked. His grip on his sword nearly shook."You wanted me to thank you," she whispered. "Did you want me to beg, hunter? Shall I kiss you for your heroism?"His breath stilled.His cock twitched in his leathers, unbidden, unwelcome.And she knew.The realization gleamed in her gaze, sharp as a knife—the knowing, the understanding, the silent, wicked confirmation that he was exactly what she thought he was.Weak to her.And Rial?He couldn’t stand it.His muscles coiled, his body drawn too tight, his mind clouded with something too hot, too dangerous.For a fraction of a second, he considered it.Considered grabbing her.Considered ruining her.Considered giving in.But then—he took a step back.Snapped the invisible cord that had started to pull him in, forced steel back into his spine, forced the hunger back into the abyss.His face hardened."You’re still a monster," he said, low and sharp.Fangoria laughed, soft and sweet and sinful."And you’re still a hunter."Her form blurred, shadows curling around her, her presence vanishing into mist.And then—she was gone.Rial exhaled, heavy, ragged.He had won.Hector was dead.Fangoria had escaped.And yet—He had never felt more defeated.

A visitor in the Dark

ㅤㅤgiving inㅤㅤ

The Aftermath
The shrine was empty.The scent of blood and burning magic still clung to the air, thick and suffocating, but the fight was over. Hector was dead. The warlocks were scattered. The ritual chamber lay in ruins.And she was gone.Rial stood motionless, his sword still gripped in his fist, his body too tense, too rigid, too unwilling to relax.The silence pressed against him.Not victory.Not relief.Only emptiness.His team gathered near the entrance, their expressions grim, waiting for his command. They had fought, they had won, and yet none of them spoke.Because they had seen.They had seen the way he hesitated.The way his gaze had lingered too long.The way Fangoria had stood before him, soft and stained in blood, teasing, laughing, utterly unafraid.And they had seen his silence.How he had let her go.Rial forced his fingers to unclench from his sword hilt.“Burn it,” he said finally, voice cold, flat. “Burn the shrine. Leave nothing behind.”The order was carried out without question.And he walked away.
--

A Visitor in the DarkThe city felt distant.Rial had returned to his private suite—clean, untouched by the filth outside, yet somehow suffocatingly small tonight. The hunt was over. The warlocks were scattered. Hector was dead.But she was still in his head. She lingered like the scent of blood in the air, like the heat still curling beneath his skin.Fangoria.His mind kept pulling him back to the shrine, to the moment she stood before him—drenched in blood, draped in torn silk, delicate, untouched, yet utterly ruined. He still felt the heat of her body too close, the whisper of her voice—'Shall I kiss you for your heroism?' His hands curled into fists.He moved through the quiet of his suite, unbuckling his belt, peeling off the layers of his uniform, muscles tense and aching. But not from battle. From her. His reflection in the bathroom mirror was a grim, unrelenting thing. His golden eyes burned—not with divine fury, not with duty.With something else. Something he did not want to name. His breathing slowed. He braced himself against the sink, the cold marble grounding him, but it didn’t help.The thoughts came anyway.Fangoria.The way her ruined dress clung to her curves, the way blood had dripped down her throat, pooling between her breasts, soaking into the white satin. The way her lips had parted, teasing, knowing, cruel. The way she had looked at him like she already knew his darkest thoughts—like she had already won. His fingers twitched, his jaw locked, and his cock twitched.A slow, simmering heat burned through him, curling low in his gut, tightening. Damn her. Damn the way she lingered, the way she made him weak. His thick cock was stirred and he was already so hard thinking about her. Rial exhaled sharply, his hand moving lower, palming himself through his trousers, his mind clouded with shameful, unbearable need.He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.He shouldn’t be—"Oh, my."Rial froze.The voice was soft, sultry, and amused. Slowly—too slowly—he lifted his head, turning his gaze to the mirror. And there, reflected in the doorway—she stood. Fangoria. Still covered in blood, still wearing the same ruined silk, still standing so perfectly, so effortlessly, as if she belonged here. As if she had been waiting for this moment.She tilted her head, red eyes gleaming, trailing over his half-undressed form, the tension in his jaw, the way his body was still taut with something raw and unspeakable. Her smile deepened. "This," she whispered, stepping forward, slow, deliberate. "Is amazing."Rial’s fingers twitched at his sides, his breath shallow, his body still burning, still aching.He was still so fucking hard, she noticed she always seemed to know he thought.She leaned against the doorway, arms crossing beneath her chest, drawing his eyes where he didn’t want them to go. "Don’t stop on my account," she teased. "I’d hate to ruin such a… special moment."Rial’s hands clenched into fists, his desire turned to fury. "You should be dead," he growled. Fangoria only laughed, soft and knowing."You should be more careful what you dream about, hunter," she purred, stepping into the room.Closer. Too close.And Rial, for all his strength, for all his divine power, for all his duty—Could not move.
--
A Bath of Blood and SinThe room was too warm.Steam curled in the air, thick and slow, making the dim candlelight flicker against the marble walls of the bathroom. The deep, claw-footed tub filled steadily, water rushing against porcelain, the sound deafening in the silence. But Rial was not listening. He was watching.Fangoria.She stood before him, bare feet against the cool floor, her small frame bathed in the soft glow of firelight and the remnants of blood that still clung to her skin.She had not rushed to undress. She had taken her time, slow, deliberate, teasing.And now—Now, she was standing before him, exposed, untouched yet utterly sinful.Her porcelain skin was flawless, smooth, a canvas of pale softness unmarred by time. The dimples above her ass, the delicate curve of her lower back, the way the gentle arch of her spine led down to the round, perfect shape of her hips—She was unreal.Her nipples, soft pink and peaked, stood against the cool air, her small, supple breasts shifting slightly with every slow breath she took.And below—Between the delicate curve of her thighs, the faintest tuft of white hair, soft, untouched—as pure as she was corrupt. The small folds of her pussy visible and yet still hiding the soft heat between. He stared a moment between her thighs… Rial’s breath hitched and his fingers curled into fists.His golden eyes burned.And Fangoria?She felt all of it. The weight of his lust, the heat of it coiling in the air around them, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t just an emotion. It was a presence. A tangible thing. And she breathed it in. Her lips curled, slow, teasing. "You feel it too, don’t you?" she whispered.Rial’s jaw locked. His body was rigid, his muscles drawn tight with restraint, his chest rising and falling in sharp, controlled breaths.Fangoria exhaled softly, stepping forward, her bare skin illuminated in golden light, the softness of her stomach, the gentle curve of her waist—so delicate, so untouchable, yet right in front of him.Her fingers trailed along the edge of the tub, testing the warmth, her silver-white hair cascading like silk over her shoulders, over the soft dip of her collarbones, brushing against her breasts.Her beautiful, pink nipples pebbled slightly as the air cooled, her skin still streaked in crimson where Hector's blood had dried against her. She sighed, stretching, her body moving like a slow, fluid temptation.And he looked.He hated that he looked.But she knew.She always knew.Fangoria stepped into the bath, sinking into the water, the heat licking at her skin, washing away the blood in slow, lazy trails.Her small frame disappeared beneath the surface, silver hair floating like a ghostly veil around her, her delicate thighs shifting beneath the water as she settled in.She leaned back, tilting her head, watching him.Waiting.Feeling."Are you going to join me, hunter?"Her voice was low, velvet-soft, soaked in amusement.And Rial?His fingers twitched.His breath was ragged.And he hated her.Hated that he wanted to.
--The Hunter BreaksThe water rippled, steam curling in thick tendrils around the room, the scent of blood still faint in the air. Fangoria lay in the bath, her delicate body half-submerged, silver hair floating in slow waves, her porcelain skin glistening, her soft pink nipples just barely peeking above the surface. She watched him and waited, seeing his body burning up as he stared at her.His body was taut with restraint, his muscles tight beneath his own skin, every part of him coiled with need. His broad chest rose and fell with sharp, controlled breaths, golden eyes darkened with something far beyond fury. Everything in hold told him this was wrong, a mistake. And yet—His cock was still hard, aching, pulsing with heat, twitching beneath his leathers. He should have walked away. Should have turned his back, left her, forced this sickness out of his system.Yet, he couldn't, he wanted her so badly, and he could have her if only for this moment. Perhaps he fucking needed her. She didn’t just sense it—she fed on it. It was thick in the air, wrapped around him, curling into her skin like unseen fingers. It was intoxicating, heady, addictive.She smiled, small and knowing. "You can have me, hunter," she whispered, her voice a breath of sin against the steam.Rial growled low in his throat, his fingers twitching at his sides, his restraint crumbling."It’s your magic," he hissed, as if convincing himself.Fangoria laughed."It’s you…"He snapped.With one sharp movement, he stripped his shirt off, his body a vision of sculpted strength, carved from battle and years of war. His chest was broad, powerful, his abs lined with deep, defined ridges, his skin marked with faint scars, each one a story of survival.And then—he stripped off his belt.His trousers followed.And Fangoria sighed at the sight of him.Thick. Heavy. Hung.His cock stood erect, flushed, leaking at the tip, the sheer size of him making her thighs press together beneath the water. He was huge. More than she expected. More than she had imagined. And she had imagined. "Oh, Rial," she purred, licking her lips as she took him in.His golden eyes flashed, dark with need, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. He stepped into the bath, the water sloshing slightly around him, heat wrapping around his body as he lowered himself, caging her in without touching her.Not yet.But Fangoria moved first. Her small, delicate hands slid up his thick, powerful thighs, nails lightly grazing over his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. He was hard everywhere. But nowhere more than the throbbing heavy cock between his legs. She traced slowly up his abs, feeling the ridges, the dips, the deep, sculpted lines of his strength."Touch me," she whispered.Rial exhaled sharply, his hands finally grabbing her—Hard.One gripped her waist, pulling her toward him, her soft, slick body sliding easily against his. His other hand cupped her breast, his rough, calloused fingers grazing over her perfect pink nipple.She gasped.Oh, he was hungry.His fingers squeezed, rolled, flicked against her sensitive bud, eliciting a moan from her lips, sweet and breathless. Her legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, her soaking core rubbing against the hard planes of his stomach.Rial groaned low, deep, guttural. "You’re so soft," he muttered, voice raw.Fangoria smiled, pressing herself closer. "And you’re so hard."His fingers slid lower, trailing down the curve of her stomach, his palm flattening against the delicate tuft of white hair between her thighs. He could feel the heat of her, how wet she was for him. She shuddered, her body pressing into him perfectly.Inwardly, Fangoria’s body was so warm not from the water but from his touch it almost hummed as his fingers slipped between the small folds of her pussy and along her clit and passed along the small entrance. Her face scrunching at the large fingers."Let me have you," he breathed against her neck, his lips brushing against the soft skin of her throat.Fangoria smirked. "You already do."

The foolish warlock

ㅤㅤlet the rats have himㅤㅤ

d

Indulgence in Sin

ㅤㅤhe fucks me so goodㅤㅤ

The moment Rial had asked for her she smiled, a real smile along the wet lips. Not teasing, not mocking—soft, sultry, wanting. Something hungry. Something grateful. Because for all his power, for all his divine fury, for all the ways he had fought her, hunted her, chased her across the world—he had asked.Not demanded.Not taken.He had wanted her.And now?She was eager to give herself.She reached for him, her fingers trailing over his sculpted chest, down the hard ridges of his abs, over the powerful lines of his body. He was so much bigger than her, stronger, heavier, all muscle and tension, but she could feel the restraint in him—the way he trembled with the weight of his own needs.She wanted to erase that restraint. To break him. To let him have her as he had always imagined.Her hands slid lower, wrapping around the thick, aching length of him, stroking slowly beneath the water. Her fingers firm around his cock and up along the shaft. Enjoying the shape of him and working the flesh under the head of his cock.Rial let out a deep, rumbling groan, his head falling forward, his fingers gripping her waist tighter."Fangoria…"She laughed softly, pressing her lips to his jaw, kissing him for real this time."Take me, hunter," she whispered against his skin. "Take me like you’ve wanted to."His control snapped.Rial grabbed her, lifted her easily, pressing her against the smooth porcelain of the tub, his hips sliding between her legs.She gasped, her thighs parting eagerly for him, the heat of his cock pressing against her slick, waiting entrance. Damn, she was so wet for him ready for this moment then he pushed inside, filling her in one deep, slow thrust— Fangoria moaned, her head falling back, her body shuddering with pleasure.Rial let out a low, guttural growl, his arms caging her in, his lips finally crashing onto hers. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, her fingers gripping into his muscles as he began to move. He was deep, thick, stretching her perfectly, filling her in a way that made her toes curl, and made heat coil in her belly.He wasn’t gentle.His thrusts were desperate, demanding, driven by years of denial, by months of hunting her, by nights spent stroking himself to the memory of something that had never been real— until now she was real. She was his and only his for this moment and time.Fangoria gasped against his lips, her fingers sliding into his damp, tousled hair, pulling him closer."Good boy," she purred, teasing, taunting him even as she moaned beneath him. Rial growled in response, gripping her hips tighter, fucking her harder, his cock hitting deep, hitting perfect. She cried out, her body arching into his, her pleasure mounting fast, her release already building.She knew he could feel it. Knew he could feel her walls clenching around him, feel her succubus hunger drinking in every ounce of his desire, feeding off the sheer intensity of his need. His lips found her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, his mouth closing over her nipple, sucking, biting just enough to make her whimper. "Fangoria," he groaned, his voice gritted, desperate.She smiled, kissed his temple, ran her nails down his back. "Come for me, hunter," she whispered. His body shook, his muscles locking, his cock pulsing deep inside her as he spilled himself into her, claiming her in the only way he could. The wave of release left his ears deafened, the pounding of his heart and the need all flowed out of him into her.She followed him over the edge, moaning as she came around him, her body clenching, milking him for everything he had. This wasn't enough; they both needed more; the lust between them was potent and tonight would be the moment to taste it. The empty bed awaiting them…Fangoria smirked against his lips, nipping at him as he lifted her from the bath, carrying her dripping and breathless toward the bed."Oh, you’re insatiable," she teased.Rial threw her onto the mattress, crawling over her, golden eyes dark with hunger."You have no idea."And then—He took her again.The sheets were already damp with sweat, with steam, with the heat of their bodies.Fangoria lay sprawled across the bed, silver hair fanned out beneath her, her porcelain skin flushed with heat, her small frame still trembling from the force of what they had already done.And Rial?He wasn’t finished.Not even close.His golden eyes were still dark with hunger, still burning with the weight of years spent denying himself, of nights spent gripping his cock to the thought of her, of hunting her, of chasing something he had told himself was only duty.And now?Now, she was here, soft and warm beneath him, her lips swollen from his kisses, her thighs sticky with the proof of his release inside her, her body still writhing as if begging for more. Oh her body was begging for him, her succubus nature wanted his cock his seed the heated desire to fuck his brains out. Fangoria smirked, her breathless laughter sliding against his skin as she reached up, cupping his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw."You're still hard, hunter," she teased, her voice sweet and dark, velvet wrapped in sin.Rial gritted his teeth, his fingers curling around her wrists, pinning them above her head."You’re still wet," he muttered.Her thighs parted instinctively, rubbing against his hips, and he felt it. The slick heat of her, the way her body pulsed around nothing, still aching to be filled again. Fangoria moaned softly, tilting her head, silver strands falling over her shoulders, sticking to the dampness of her skin. "I told you," she whispered, lips curling. "I want you, Rial."His body shuddered at the sound of his name on her lips like that, breathless, wanting, real. His grip tightened. "You’re going to take all of me," he growled, and she smirked."I wouldn’t have it any other way."---Tasting SinRial released her wrists, and Fangoria moved before he could.She pushed him onto his back, her small hands splaying against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the strength beneath. Her lips trailed down his throat, over his scarred, battle-hardened chest, her breath soft and teasing as she moved lower, lower, until—Her mouth hovered over his cock.Rial groaned sharply, his muscles locking as her delicate fingers wrapped around the thick base of him.Fangoria hummed, her tongue flicking out, tracing a slow, torturous line along his length, teasing, tasting. "You’re beautiful," she whispered, and he let out a choked breath because no one had ever said that to him before.She was still smirking as she parted her lips, sinking down over him, taking him into the soft, wet heat of her mouth. His head fell back against the pillows, his fingers tangling into her silver hair, guiding her, needing more. She gave it to him. Sucking him deep, slow, deliberate, her tongue teasing the sensitive ridge of his tip, her nails digging into his thighs as she took him deeper, hollowing her cheeks.He was losing himself. "Fangoria—"She moaned around him, vibrating against his length, and his hips bucked into her mouth."Fuck," he growled, his grip tightening, pulling her closer, pushing her deeper. She let him. She let him use her, take what he needed, to fuck her mouth with the kind of desperation that sent waves of heat straight between her thighs. She loved how much he wanted her.She wanted him just as much.Her core pulsed with need, aching, desperate, her body still craving him, still wanting him to fill her, to break her in ways no one else could. So she pulled back with a slick pop, licking her lips, her red eyes gleaming. "Lay back, hunter," she whispered.Rial barely had time to catch his breath before she moved, flipping their positions, straddling his face.His golden eyes flashed, locked on the dripping heat between her thighs, the delicate white hair framing her slick, swollen cunt. She was so wet, drenched for him. He needed to taste her. His hands gripped her ass, fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her down onto his mouth.Fangoria let out a sharp gasp, her fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue flicked against her clit, slow, deliberate, making her shudder above him."Rial," she moaned, her head falling back.He grunted against her, his mouth devouring her, sucking, licking, stroking her sensitive bundle of nerves until she was trembling in his grasp. She rolled her hips against his tongue, grinding against his face, needing more. "More," she gasped. "More, more—"He gave her everything. He ate her like a man starved, his fingers spreading her open, tasting her deeper, slipping inside her, curling just right—Fangoria cried out, her body clenching, shaking, her release crashing over her in hot, perfect waves. She gasped for breath, collapsing against his chest, but he wasn’t finished.Not even close.
---The Final ClaimBefore she could recover, Rial grabbed her, flipping her onto her stomach, pressing her into the mattress. Her cheek was against the sheets, her body pliant and willing, her ass up, bare, waiting for him.Fangoria bit her lip, smirking into the pillows."Oh, Rial," she purred, wiggling her hips. "You really can’t help yourself, can you?""Not with you," he growled, gripping her waist, lining himself up. She was soaking, dripping, still pulsing from her orgasm, and when he thrust inside her, deep, hard, all at once—She screamed, it muffled as she bit down into the pillow, a tiny sting of tears coming from her eyes briefly. Her fingers twisted in the sheets, her toes curling, her body arching as he filled her completely. He was huge, thick, stretching her open, hitting so deep she felt like she might break.She loved it."That’s it," Rial gritted, grabbing her hips, pulling her back onto him, making her take every inch. "Take it. Take me."She moaned, her walls fluttering around him, her body molding to his perfectly.He fucked her like he meant it. Slamming into her ass against his hips her beautiful breasts bouncing back and forward.Hard. Deep. Relentless.His hips slammed into hers, his grip bruising, his breath ragged as he lost himself completely, chasing his release, chasing the pleasure he had denied himself for so long.Fangoria pushed back against him, matching his pace, her small frame taking everything he gave her, her cries filling the room.She wanted all of him.She needed his seed, his claim, the full weight of his desire.And when he thrust deep one last time, spilling himself inside her, groaning her name into her skin—She knew.He was ruined for her now.Forever.—The Aftermath of RuinFangoria lay boneless, sprawled beneath him, her body glowing with the heat of their sins. Her silver hair was a mess across the sheets, her soft skin still marked with his touch, his grip, his teeth.She had taken everything he had to give.And yet—She still wanted more.She could feel him inside her, deep and hot, his seed painting her walls, his body still twitching against hers.She was full.Satisfied.And yet—She smiled.Because she could feel him, too.The weight of what he had done.The realization that this had changed something, broken something, twisted the very foundation of what they had been.Rial breathed heavily behind her, still inside her, still holding her hips in a grip so tight it would bruise.She loved it.His fingers trembled.Not from weakness.From everything else.From the weight of his pleasure.From the aching need to do it again.From the knowledge that this was forbidden, that this was the very thing he had spent his life fighting against.And yet—He had buried himself inside her.He had let her take him.He had given her his seed, his body, his restraint—Everything.She shifted slightly, moaning softly as his still-hard cock moved inside her, causing a sharp, delicious pulse of pleasure to run through her overstimulated core."Careful, hunter," she purred, voice lazy, sweet, ruined. "You might start to think you like me."Rial snarled softly, his fingers tightening on her ass before he pulled out of her slowly, watching his own release spill from between her thighs.His breath shuddered.She could feel the tension in his body, the war inside him.And it only made her smile wider.Fangoria stretched, satisfied, glowing, shifting onto her back, her legs still open, her body still glistening with the evidence of their sins."Did I break you?" she whispered, eyes gleaming.Rial stared down at her.She was so beautiful.So dangerous.And he was ruined.But he wouldn’t say it.Not yet.Instead, he reached down, grabbing her by the thighs, pulling her toward him again, spreading her open with no hesitation.Fangoria gasped, laughing breathlessly, her lips parting as his fingers slid through the mess he had made of her."Oh, hunter," she purred. "You’re insatiable."Rial growled."You have no idea."And then—He took her again.(later...)The Softest GoodbyeThe room was bathed in the pale light of morning, golden rays slipping through the curtains, painting the bed in soft warmth. The scent of sex, sweat, and something unspoken still lingered in the air.But the urgency, the desperation, the hunger that had consumed them for hours—was gone.Now, there was only this.Fangoria lay beside him, half-draped in the tangled sheets, her petite body glowing in the dim morning light.Her silver hair was wild, an unruly mess across the pillows, catching the sun in strands of white and ice.Her skin was marked.His grip on her waist.His fingers on her throat.His teeth at her shoulder.Even now, faint bruises bloomed beneath her porcelain skin, evidence of what had been done between them.Yet, she did not hide them.She did not shrink away.Instead, she lay there, soft and unguarded, her red eyes half-lidded, dreamy, almost… content.And Rial?He didn’t move.He didn’t dare.He lay on his back, his chest still rising in slow, heavy breaths, his body exhausted yet thrumming with something deeper.His golden eyes traced over her in the quiet, memorizing her in the same way she was memorizing him.For once, she wasn’t teasing.She wasn’t smirking or playing games.She was just here.Fangoria lifted a delicate hand, her fingers ghosting over his chest, tracing lazy circles against his skin.Not to tempt him.Not to pull him back into sin.Just to touch him.To feel him.Rial swallowed, his throat tightening, his breath hitching slightly as her fingertips moved along the deep ridges of his abs, along the scars carved into his body by years of war.She was memorizing him.She wanted to remember this.When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper."You look beautiful like this, hunter," she murmured.Not mocking.Not taunting.Just… true.Rial’s jaw tightened.No one had ever called him that before.No one had ever looked at him like this.Not like a soldier.Not like a hunter.Not like a man meant for killing.But like something more.His breath was uneven, his mind screaming that this was wrong, that she was the enemy, that she would leave.But his body?His body betrayed him.He turned his head, slowly, carefully, until their gazes met.Fangoria smiled—soft, real, almost sad.She lifted a hand, brushing her fingers along his jaw, a touch so gentle it made his breath stop.For a moment, there was no chase.No war.No hunter.No prey.Just them.And then—She exhaled, her smile fading just slightly, and Rial knew.He knew this moment was already slipping.She would leave.She would go back to the night, back to the shadows, back to the world where she was not meant to be his.And he would chase her again.Because that was how it had to be.Fangoria leaned in, her lips barely brushing against his cheek.A touch like a promise. A touch like a goodbye. Then, she pulled away. And the moment was gone.

The foolish warlock

ㅤㅤlet the rats have himㅤㅤ

d

The foolish warlock

ㅤㅤlet the rats have himㅤㅤ

d