One Shots

Pet Puppet [Straight-Supernatural]

Her Pet Puppet

Ian breathed out deeply trying to push the image of his dead comrade into the back of his mind. Guilt swarms him. He shouldn't have left Sam there. He shouldn't but, what could he do? Sam had practically pushed him away and tackled the swarm of bloodsuckers by himself.
Ian had just about hobbled out of the gates into the woods when she arrived.

They're fast like that and even though as a hunter, Ian has certain abilities, with all his injuries he couldn't possibly defend himself against one so powerful. So the inevitable happened. She beat him.

Squeezing his eyes shut he gains flashes of images of the rain beating down on him as he scrambles around in the mud to find his weapons-to defend himself. But as the blood loss from his wounds became too great, he remembers his head clouding over and a blackness seeping in.
Now...Now, though, he's not outside. He's not even in a dungeon. Oddly enough, he's strapped to a tall, thick wooden pillar with stiff, tightly coiled rope. He's more or less warm. The temperature inside the room from the gothic chandeliers burning with candles were drying him out. And with the rest, he can feel himself starting to heal. Only problem is, he's in some unknown room, that looks like it's straight out of a 70's horror film. The walls are a deep red and black, the floor is made of grey stone and all the furniture's made from wood...including the large king-sized bed. It even has silk drapes hanging from its posters and numerous plush cushions on-top of the soft bedding.

Realisation dawns on Ian and his jaw clamps tight in anxiety. What the fúck is he doing in her lair? Because it so obviously is her lair and there's only one thing he can think of that she'd want from him-his blood. But why his, he has no idea. For vermin they are usually so picky. Especially ones that are as old as her. They only wants the purest humans. Virgin females, are typically their preference and the older the better, so why him. He's none of those things. He's definitely not a virgin, nor is he human, and at 26, he's not even that old. Torture, that must be it. She wants to drain his blood because she knows that as a hunter that is the absolute worst thing that could happen.

As he contemplates his demise, the solid oak doors creeps open. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor, resolving not to gaze at the monster. He can hear the door bolt shut and heels click against the stone tiles as the woman lazily strides towards him. Black suede, high heeled, ankle length boots cuts across the view of the grey tiles Ian has and the resolve in him to stay strong grows tenfold.

"Come, come lover. Do have a look. A peek. Don't tell me I've put in this effort for nothing," she teases in her low seductive voice. Ian inhales sharply, the sharp scent of some designer perfume wafting through his nose.
As she steps forward, he can now see the trail of red chiffon material behind her from her dress. Where it cuts short at the front, a pair of sleek, flawless, porcelain legs are displayed.
A short dramatic sigh flutters at his ears and he can tell that she's enjoying his defiance too much, but there's no way he'll just give into her.
"Really, lover? Let's not do this the hard way. Although...I do so enjoy a challenge," she teases.

Ian says nothing, but his body naturally tenses as he feels two cold fingers, push his chin up. In defiance Ian closes his eyes and tries to keep his expression even not to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
She clicks her tongue and laughs softly before leaning so close he can feel her coolness against his ear.
"Good idea, lover. Closing your eyes will heighten your other senses," she whispers, her cool words sending shivers down his back. Fear slowly seeps into him and he tries his hardest to flatten it down.
Ian gives a low guttural growl which only causes her to laugh at him.
"Oh lover!" she exclaims leaning back a little. But the next second she presses closer to him.