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BLOODLUST — styles triplets x louis

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CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT

»"There's no time for you to cry now, baby.  Not until you give me what I need."«

 

TO DRINK HUMAN BLOOD Should be forbidden. Punishable by death, the result should have been to have your neck in a noose, your last breath would come out as a deadly howl in the night. Begging for mercy; pleading. 

 

But it wasn't. And that was the one thing Louis had known for all his life.

 

Some would say the Cold Blooded were ruthless. The way their eyes gleamed red in the dead of of the night, lips dripping crimson. Skin as cold as snow, teeth as sharp as the thorns of the most gentle roses.

 

They would say how the Cold Blooded wore smiles made of pearl and diamond, an impression of a foreign kindness would radiate. 

 

A velvet blush would be worn by pale bodies. But their smile would stop and they'd turn to grey, the facade melting into a puddle of wax as the demonic presence was revealed.

 

Others tell a tale of a time where they hadn't existed. Where humans once roamed free, unafraid as the sun sets behind the hollowed hills that were buried deep in the darkness of the clouds. 

 

They hunted at night. You wouldn't ever be able to see them at once, but you could always feel them lingering there. They'd hide in the cold whisper of the thousand winds that blow, brushing across the trees. 

 

They would rush in like the adrenaline that raced through fragile human veins, fear washing over you like the pitiless tsunamis of the summer.

 

"Where are you going to all alone, bunny?"

 

They wouldn't attack at once, like a predator towards its prey. No, they would wait. They would wait for you to notice the change of breaths in the air, the small hitches and hiccups of the branches; the rustling of the leaves.

 

They'd wait until you feel their cold poise, a phantom of a profound demonic hush seeping into every pore of your body. They'd wait for the goosebumps to rise on tanned skin, savoring the swallow their human would take. 

 

Watching the throats of their desired bob up and down with apprehension.

 

"I don't wish to hurt you."

 

You'd walk a little faster, wondering where the fuck would you go. There was no one, only a black trail and woodland creatures who would run into their burrows. 

 

The ice below your feet would begin to sting like a pair of knives stabbing at your skin. They'd whisper, mock you in fits of delighted laughter. 

 

The cold snow would begin to rain down, your heated skin melting the crystals slowly, like butter on a heated frying pan. It moves with grace, as though it was performing its own dance on the petal before disappearing into nothing but another droplet.

 

You'd think you had lost them as you take off in a run, but that was your first mistake. The ice below you cuts at your skin, blood tainting your trail and you begin to realize you're a slave to fate. 

 

"I just want a taste of what your throat allows."

 

Then it happens all at once. 

 

Like a storm emitted from the depths of a roaring hell, the howls of the earth jump to rattle your bones. And the smell, fuck, the smell of poisoned flowers and toxic berries scratch at the back your neck, tracing down your jawline until it drips upon your lap.

 

Your first instinct is to run, to flee from the scene but you can't move. Something is holding you down other than gravity. You feel your legs frozen as though they were trapped by the weight of your own terrified exhales.

 

And then you look up and let out a blood-curling scream. 

 

"May heaven or hell help you darling," the Cold Blood only sighs in delight at the way you tremble underneath his body. He creeps in closer, grazing his thumb to tuck away pieces of your hair behind your ear; his lips against your temple before he whispers a cold:  "Tonight I wish to fuck you until you believe there is no God."

 

 All of their victims would lay lifeless in the snow. Body drained, necks bitten as their throats still throbbed with the last bit of life.

 

And the mouths of their prey .. still frozen in a wide scream; one that still cried out for help even after death.

 

They were called the Lamias of the Slavic people. Some called them demons, or predators. The children were warned to stay away from the Vampires, and told myths and tall tales of nights in coffins and sharp fangs.

 

Human blood was almost like a poison on its own, raw and unforgiving. From the first taste you would take, it would seep beneath your tongue, it's warmth running down your throats and gives you a pleasureful ache under even the coldest of skin.

 

It would bite at your nerves, washing through your veins like a vermillion rush. You couldn't sleep without it, live without it. 

 

One taste is all it takes for something to wake up inside you. Something animalistic. Something almost demonic. 

 

It seemed to start off slowly, the killings. The human numbers mysteriously began to decline each day, missing children, missing friends and family.

 

Nameless pictures plastered against walls of libraries and milk cartons: HAVE YOU SEEN ME? Mothers cried on televisions, wondering where their daughters and sons have gone after dark, even when they claimed they would be right back.

 

No one has seen them. And they never will again. And if they do, it'll be in a body bag, stamped with a bright red letter: V

 

It was soon learned that no one was safe, that murderous, cannibalistic sinners roamed the earth; thirsty for anything with a damned soul. Shops and houses were locked down as soon as the sun had set; streets were evacuated, as though that will keep them safe.

 

There was no where one could hide, no where one could run. The humans were terrified, each day only acting as a constant reminder that the end of times was near. 

 

And Louis Tomlinson wasn't meant for protecting.

 

But they couldn't help themselves. 

 

He didn't hold fear or anguish in those Bambi eyes of his. He held want. 

 

They craved the sway of their pet's hips, the beaming smile they earned with soft giggles of happiness as soon as they turned the knob of the door. The obscene moans, those fucking lips; bitten red and pink as they dripped with their cum.

 

There was not a single straight edge to their little human boy. It was all soft curves that begged to be treasured and kissed selfishly.

 

Once a human was hunted, it was required to use their bodies until they couldn't fight anymore. Drown them with pain and pleasure that they have never known and disposing of them.

 

Lamias and Humans were never supposed to intervene emotionally. They were never supposed to be kept, treasured; cherished.

 

To the humans, he was Louis. Sweet, innocent Louis. But to them, he was their bottle. To be drunken, used, fucked, owned. 

 

Kept.

 

Electricity ran through the dullness beneath their skin, the scent of flesh intoxicating their mind as the salvation for the fresh fruit tantalizingly has its powerful hold on the lump in their throat.

 

The human boy was theirs. All of him. 

 

Louis was golden. Even in such pale moonlight seeping in through the taintless window... it seemed that the tan glow that beamed off his skin wouldn't leave. It was as though he had showered in the suns luminaries beforehand, basking in all the radiancy and embodying all the magnificence. 

 

They believe their human boy was especially wonderful covered in his own blood. Ass in the air with his hands tied with red ribbon. A hand wrapped around his neck; pretty little chokes spilling out of his pink lips.

 

Bent over with a cock in his mouth as tears dried on his darkened skin from staying out in the sun all day. Cum spilling from his hole as his Master's cleaned him with their tongues.

 

He was gorgeous as Harry drags a knife towards his neck, eyes fogging in red as he hears Louis' breath hitch and body stiffen in fear. His pet swallows, his throat bobbing up and down in response; skin throbbing at the movement. "You look so lovely... covered in your own blood, helpless on the floor."

 

"He could fucking kill you right now," Marcel murmurs humorlessly, biting at Louis' sharp jaw, "One small slip, one cut," the Lamia kept Louis' legs open for his brother, watching with dark eyes how eager the little boy was to feel the knife in between his thighs. "blood would pour from your pretty little lips, breath slipping away. And you don't even care." 

 

Edward thought his pet looked pretty with wide eyes, body slammed against the wall and ass fucked red when punished for being bad. His neck adorned in a chained collar; chokes spilling when tugged. Edward had thought his pet was angelic at those moment.

 

When Louis feels his bottom lip tremble, glittered tears of flashing silver and blue running down big Bambi eyes, he was a fucking menace. The boy with feathery brown hair shook his head as if he was wounded from the accusation of not being submissive, looking up for a breif moment: "I-I'm sorry for being a disobedient pet for you, Master."

 

Edward always tries to fight the urge to attack wet lips with his own, capturing the flesh in front of him and absolutely ripping his boy apart piece by piece. 

 

He wanted to see the boy cry more, absolutely in hysterics. He wanted to hear the small whines and sobs pouring in his mouth. He wanted to drink down each pleading exclaim. 

"I can show you, Master. How good of a baby I-I can be. What ca-can I do to please you?"

 

"On your knees, Pet. Lips apart."

 

When they were hungry, their love was in a trance of his own. The smell of starvation for the flesh and gore of their human intoxicated the air in a thick manner. 

 

Louis couldn't breathe, they made sure of it. They made sure he was drinking down each monstrous capability. They made sure that with every passing hour, aching minute, and painful second; they would make their boy want to run, scream.

 

Their bunny's eyesight would go hazy, relying on his hearing and little strength to keep his mind sane. They tore him from seam to seam to only stitch him back together and repeat their psychological torture.

 

It was harsh, unbearable. But if god hadn't made it so fucking exhilarating, it shouldn't be a sin. What they did behind closed doors, away from everyone; the were in their own paradise. 

 

"I just want to be good," Louis would take a deep inhale of breath, trying to clear the tension in his throat but failing when he exhales shakily. "I want to be enough to please you all."

 

Whispers and murmurs emerge, how does this boy stay? It's a remarkable sight, seeing a human beg and cry to be used, to be disposed. It's even more wondrous seeing the Cold Blooded refuse this request. Keep the human for a moment longer, a kiss longer, a breath longer.

 

"Baby brother over here is quite hungry, he needs his feeding. Why don't you show him how good you can be, pet?" 

 

"He's afraid..."

 

Marcel grabs his boy's thighs, his reflexes and intimcts animalistic as soon as he catches the angelic smell of the prey standing in front of him, red eyes bloodshot and hungry. 

 

"There's no time for you to cry now, baby. Not until you give me what I need." 

 

"You're going to give me what I need?" Marcel whispers to a shaking Louis, heated breath grazing over a sunken mark in his boy's skin; temptation creeping in along with the monstrous feeling of want.

 

"Don't ask. Take it." Harry commanded, only making Marcel give a chaste, demonic smirk in response.

 

And with those words being said, Marcel digs his fangs into Louis' neck; the last noise in the air was a hollow cry coming from the human pet, a forgotten sob lost in the heaven they built so high. 

 

He balls his fists with the expensive black fabric, his instinct to pull away became useless as he feels his bare back be stricken with silver rings to keep him in place. Not to move, not dare to leave now. It was far too late for any of that.

 

"How does he taste?" A voice of amazement. Harry feels his own taste for fresh meat return, feeling his mouth dripping with a demonic urge to crack from the surface and indulge.

 

"Fucking delicious, Brother. The sweetest treat I have ever had," Marcel watches with careful eyes and a devilish smirk when his boy says away from the praise, and tries to hide his face by resting a cheek on his shoulder.

 

Yet the movement only caused blood from the fanged mark to trail down Louis' neck. Streaming down like a thin river, yet heavy with the richness of a lost innocence. This boy was poison, one that the three brothers would drink in an instant.

 

Marcel uses his hot tongue to clean his kitten up, loving the way the boy clenches thick thighs around his owner at the pleasure of the movement, his whole body shaking when he throws his head back as his youngest Master sucks at the sensitive mark.

 

"A-ah!" Louis' broken moan cried aloud, helpless against the hungry vampire; feeling his cheeks burn as Marcel's thick cock throbbed between his naked thighs at the sound he emitted.

 

Harry and Edward watch with dark eyes, both brothers on their knees around the pair of lovers. Their heated breaths and hands traveling across Louis' body, down his back and squeezing any amount of flesh they could get.

 

A new tension rose in the room, one that spread like wild fire, swallowing everything innocent in the room whole. They were in flames, but they swam in the smoke; enjoying it like a day at the seaside.

 

"Are you frightened, pet?" Edward had asked, looking down at his human boy; watching him struggle on his knees, fighting to keep his balance.

 

"N-no, Master..." Louis shakes his head, biting his lip softly before his body betrays him and he lets out a tremble when a cold hand caresses his cheek.

 

The boy with the feathery brown hair and darling blue eyes shakes his head as thought it was on instinct, looking up for a breif moment with his cheeks painted pink.

 

"Then tell us, why is it that you cry?" Harry's eyes grow red with a burning desire, watching Marcel's cock grow harder, his pet tightening his thighs around him with light cheeks growing red.

 

"I c-can't do it," Louis takes a deep inhale of breath, trying to clear the tension in his throat but failing when he exhales shakily. "I-it hurts... Ma-master..."

 

"Look at me when I speak, I don't wish for you to see me when I begin to get impatient, pet." Harry allows his voice to travel beneath its deep roots, bringing out a new venom to the octaves. It ran chills down Louis' spine, his legs shaking as bites his lips, holding back a whimper.

 

"He's doing so well for me." Marcel sucked on his mark, his voice goin octaves deeper as he bucks his hips and brings his boy tighter in his arms. "fuck, so good."

 

Louis let out a loud cry, trying to pull away at the excruciating pain bites at him; but is

 

"We didn't even have a drink yet and he is already sobbing like a whore, Edward." Harry chuckles spinelessly, capturing his Pet's hands into his own, holding him down like the devil.

 

"Ah ah ah, are you trying to run?" Edward saw his love in black and white; watching the world melt away as the devil forces the crimson trailing down Louis' naked body to scream in bleeding color.

 

"You can't run, bunny. There is no where to run to. No where for miles. No one can hear you scream, you may try it." Marcel murmurs, his lips buried in the sweet flesh of the fairy boy, looking up with the whites of his eyes gone black and the corners of his mouth dripping blood. "Go on. Scream for help."

 

Louis lets the tears slip out of his eyes, not being able to ignore the way they sting the wounds littered all over his skin; "I d-don't want to go.."

 

"No one wishes to help a human slut, one that waits all day obediently at home.. waiting to be drained til the very drop. Used like a fuck toy until your skin is littered pathetically with black and blue." Harry spits as he begins to unbutton down the satin black shirt he had adorned, letting it fall to the floor, watching Louis moan something choked and delicious as his youngest brother wrecks his throat. His eyes flutter shut at the smell of fresh gore released into the air, lips pressing against his human boy's ear; whispering the heated words of: "Do you understand that, pet?"

 

"H-Harry, Please." Louis gasped, wet and swollen, cheeks flushed as his eyes held all the stars the sky lost. His whines drowned the world around him, his high pitched whines the arch that saves them all. Louis wraps himself around Marcel until he feels his fingers burn, needing more contact, more heat.

 

"Your job is to serve, am I correct?" Edward's calloused hands were on his body without hesitation. Louis watched the eldest Brother take out Marcel's cock from his pants, smirking when the human boy blushed red, knowing what came next. An arm coiled around his middle, jutting his hips forward. 

 

"Yes, Master." Louis looked back hungrily at his owners, blue eyes now blanketed behind a storm of adoration.

 

"You had first asked us what we desire,"

 

With those words spoken out, Something sharp and cold ran down in delicate lines and lazy shapes of mischief across his spine and back. The pace was set swift, draggingly slow in sensitive areas before carrying up to his throat. Louis swallowed as he felt the blade hit his Adam's Apple, the knife's presence now known. The three Lamias surrounded his body, and murmured the same thing as thought it was a prayer:

 

"and what we desire is you."

 

No, life did not run through the bodies of the Styles triplets.

 

But one thing still ran through their veins. And it wasn't blood.

 

It was lust.