#vampire bite tw

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Drink With Me Masterlist

Summary: In the middle of a vampire apocalypse, no one is safe. And yet, nothing could have prepared Jake for watching the love of his life torn apart by a swarm right before his eyes. So he is in for the shock of his life when you turn up two years later, standing before him as one of the creatures he's sworn to destroy. And though you still seem like the old you, you both know this can only end one way….

Status: Upcoming

Part 1

Part 2 (coming this month)

[ruporas]

biting throughout october + halloween costumes (ID in alt)

[niccoguedes]

Hotel Room 1980

"He grants my every wish"

[nartothelar]

I bet that if Team Plasma would try any funny business in the Subways they would take a bite out of them...

Let's hope they aren't any drugs in their blood to take them out...

snack

[loreleiloon]

Vampires are underrated whumpers. Don't give me just a pretty pale dude with chompers.

I want a being that can penetrate whumpee's thoughts.

I want a being that runs tests on whumpee to make them the most effective bloodbag whumper has ever had.

I want a being who aches to posses whumpee's heart because their own stopped beating eons ago.

I want a being who grows more hideous the longer they are away from blood. To the point where whumpee is snatched away by a revolting creature who morphs into gorgeous whumper the more whumpee's blood is drained.

Idk, I wanna be creative.

[irregularm4ngo]

might post the full thing on an nsfw account

[emotsper]

I want to taste you.

I want to devour you.

[eldritch-ace]

Don’t let your friends watch Hannibal

[ruporas]

feast (ID in alt)

[faeriemi]

SOMETHIN’ UNHOLY.

Trigger/Content Warnings (TWS)

Blood / Biting / Vampire Feeding Rough sex / Light choking / Forceful dynamics Possessive / Obsessive language

They said vampires never cross a threshold uninvited.

And there was one.

And he’d been comin’ to your doorstep every night.

Didn’t speak at first. Just stood there on the porch like he was waitin’ for a storm that never came — one hand resting on the post, the other hangin’ loose at his side.

You didn’t know what to do the first night you saw him.

Just opened the door and stared.

He looked up. Eyes too dark to be human, too hungry to be kind.

“Evenin’,” he drawled, voice low and dry like old wood. “Didn’t mean to startle.”

You should’ve shut the door right then.

But you didn’t.

You swallowed, heart beatin’ like a trapped bird. “You’re not from around here.”

“No, ma’am,” he said, with the faintest curve to his lips. “Just passin’ through.”

He never passed through. Not really.

After that, he came again.

And again.

Always at the edge of night. Always just standin’ there. Always asking how your day was, sometimes tell you the weather before it happened like he could feel it comin’ in his bones. But he never stepped past that line. Never asked to come in.

It drove you near mad.

Because you didn’t understand why you waited every night.

Why your hands itched to pull open the door. Why your heart fluttered every time you heard those boot steps on your porch, slow and deliberate like he wasn’t in no rush to see you but couldn’t stay away either.

Your mama would’ve called him a curse.

Your preacher would’ve called him a demon.

But the way he looked at you… like you were somethin’ fragile he didn’t wanna break — or maybe wanted to break real slow, made you wonder what it felt like to be damned by his hands.

One night, when the moon was bloated and heavy, you asked him what he was doin’ out here.

He looked at you for a long time, real quiet.

“Watchin’,” he said.

“Watchin’ what?” you asked.

He took a breath that didn’t sound like he needed it. “Somethin’ soft in a place full of rot.”

Your stomach twisted.

“That sounds like poetry.”

“No, ma’am,” he said, real serious. “That sounds like hunger.”

You could feel it every time his eyes landed on you — like you’d been peeled open and left bare in front of a man who’d forgotten what mercy looked like. But he never reached for you. Never crossed the step.

You started dreamin’ of him.

Standing in your doorway. Hands bloody, eyes, dark. Smilin’ like a man who’d do unspeakable things if only you’d say please.

You woke up wet between the thighs more than once. Heart hammerin’. Cheeks hot.

You’d slide your hand beneath the covers, whisperin’ his name like a prayer and a curse.

Remmick.

But still, he waited.

Night after night.

Never touched you.

Never moved.

Only watched.

Only wanted.

And you, poor thing. You started to wonder how long a woman could stand at the edge of her own ruin before she invited it in.

The night he crossed the threshold, the air changed.

Like the land itself held its breath.

You didn’t know why you opened the door. Maybe it was the way the sky hung low and red like it’d bled dry. Or maybe it was how your body ached — not just between your thighs, but deeper — the kind of ache that no prayer could soothe.

You heard him before you saw him. That slow, familiar drag of boots on wood. And your hand was already at the doorknob.

You opened it.

And there he was.

Hair slicked back, shirt unbuttoned just low enough to see the top of his chest — like he knew what he was doing.

But his eyes… his eyes looked hungry.

“Evenin’, darlin’,” he said, voice rough like a match being struck.

You leaned against the frame, trying to ignore the way your knees damn near buckled just from the sound of him.

“You always knock like the devil’s waitin’ on permission?” you asked, voice breathy.

He tilted his head, slow and dangerous.

“I don’t come where I ain’t welcome. That’d be rude.”

You swallowed hard. Your pulse hammered.

“I never said you were welcome.”

He smiled then — slow and wicked. “Then why you keep openin’ the door?”

You stepped back.

Just enough.

Just wide enough.

The invitation didn’t come from your lips. It came from the silence. From the way your eyes lingered on him. From the space you gave.

And Remmick stepped over the step.

Like a wolf crossin’ into the chicken coop.

The door shut behind him with a soft click.

You could smell the dark on him. Bourbon. Smoke. Blood. That strange clean scent of river water and death. He walked toward you slow — like he had all the time in the world.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

He stopped inches from you, towering, his hands still at his sides.

“You afraid of me?” he asked.

You lied.

“No.”

He leaned down, his mouth brushing your ear.

“You should be.”

His hand came up, gentle as anything, brushing your jaw.

Then his thumb dragged along your lower lip.

You gasped, just barely — and that did it. That broke the leash.

He grabbed your face with both hands, slammed his mouth down on yours with a low growl like he’d been holdin’ back for years. It wasn’t tender. It was ravenous — all tongue and teeth and need. His lips were cold, but the heat between your legs went white hot.

He kissed like a man starvin’.

Like you were water in a desert he’d been wanderin’ a hundred years.

His hands roamed your body, rough and urgent — pushin’ you back into the wall. One hand gripped your throat, just enough to make your breath catch.

“You gonna let me ruin you, pretty girl?” he whispered against your mouth.

You whimpered, breathless. “Please.”

He groaned — low and filthy.

“I’m gonna take my time,” he rasped. “You hear me? Gonna learn every sound you make. Gonna have you cryin’ on my cock before the night’s through.”

Your knees damn near gave out.

He dragged your dress up — slow, reverent — his mouth trailing down your neck, tongue licking over your pulse like he was deciding where he’d bite. You gasped when he pressed his hand between your legs.

Already soaked.

“Mmm,” he grinned against your skin. “You this wet just from kissin’ me?”

You whimpered. “I been wet every damn night you showed up on that porch.”

He growled — actually growled — and dropped to his knees in front of you.

“Hold onto somethin’, baby.”

He spread your thighs and licked you like he’d been born for it. Long, slow strokes that had your head slammin’ back against the wall. His mouth was obscene — the way he moaned into you, tongue fuckin’ deep, then flickin’ your clit until you were cryin’ out his name, hands tangled in his hair.

You came hard, thighs trembling around his face.

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t even pause.

“Another one,” he muttered. “Give me another. Gonna have you soaked before I even put it in.”

When he finally stood, your legs were limp.

He grabbed you by the hips, spun you toward the table. Bent you over, dress hiked, chest flat to the wood. His cock — thick, hard, already leaking — rubbed between your cheeks.

“You ready for it, baby?” he asked, breath hot against your ear. “Ready for me to split you open?”

You nodded, desperate.

“Use your words,” he snarled. “I want permission.”

You gasped, trembling. “Fuck me, I want it. I want you.”

That was it.

He shoved in slow, inch by slow, stretching you deep, both of you groaning from the pressure. You’d never felt so full in your life. Never been fucked like you were the only thing in the world worth destroying.

He didn’t move at first. Just leaned over your back, kissing your neck, whisperin’ filth in your ear.

“You’re mine now, you understand me?” he said, voice ragged. “You opened that door. Invited the devil in.”

Then he started movin’.

Hard.

Relentless.

Hands gripping your hips, slammin’ into you over and over, the sound of skin slapping, your moans, his name fallin’ from your lips like a hymn.

He wrapped a hand in your hair, yanked your head back. His fangs grazed your neck.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you belong to me.”

You were too far gone. “I’m yours, I’m fuckin’ yours—”

Then he bit.

And you screamed — pleasure, pain, all of it tangled until your whole body shook.

He kept fuckin’ you through it, and when he came, it was with a broken moan of your name, buried so deep inside you it felt like forever.

When he pulled out, blood still warm on your throat, your legs buckled.

He caught you. Lifted you like you weighed nothin’.

Carried you to your bed.

And curled up beside you like the world outside had ended.

You woke up with his scent all over you.

Whiskey, blood, and something older. Like old wood and grave dirt. Like sin baked into the bones of the land.

The room was still dark — moonlight crawling through the cracked shutters, cutting silver across the floorboards. Remmick lay beside you, one arm slung across your bare waist. His fingers twitchin’ like he was dreamin’. Or maybe fightin’ the urge to touch you again.

Your thighs ached. Your neck throbbed.

You reached up, fingertips ghostin’ over the bite mark. Two neat punctures, swollen, tender. The skin around it was hot, like it was burnin’ beneath the surface.

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

You only remembered the way he moaned your name when he came inside you, the bite, the heat, the darkness that swallowed you whole.

And now…

Now you felt different.

Like something had curled up inside you and opened its eyes.

“You’re burnin’,” Remmick muttered behind you. His voice was thick, like honey left out in the sun.

You turned, and he was already lookin’ at you.

Eyes heavy-lidded, glowin’ faint in the moonlight.

“You bit me,” you whispered, throat dry.

He didn’t flinch. Just stared. Silent. Watchin’.

“I had to,” he said finally. “You were comin’ so hard, I lost it.”

Your stomach flipped.

“vampires need permission.”

His eyes darkened.

“And you screamed my name, begged me, said you were mine. Sounded like permission to me, darlin’.”

Your face burned. Your thighs clenched. The room felt hot.

You sat up, dizzy. Your skin prickled like a fever.

And Remmick’s nostrils flared.

His hand darted out, catching your wrist before you could stand. Not hard — not rough — but firm.

“Wait.”

You looked down at him, heart thundering.

“What’s wrong with me?” you whispered.

He licked his lips slow, eyes dragging down your naked body like he was trying to control himself.

“The bite’s settlin’ in.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, low and rough, “your body’s reactin’. You’re sensitive. Hot. Needy.”

You tried to pull back, but he growled — growled — and yanked you into his lap.

“You need it again, don’t you?” he whispered against your mouth. “Feel like you’re burnin’ from the inside out, like nothin’ll put out that fire but me.”

You shivered.

“Remmick—”

“You want it rough this time?” he murmured, thumb brushing your nipple. “You want me to fuck the ache outta you? You want to ride it out on my cock ‘til your voice is gone?”

Your breath caught.

“Say it.”

“I—I want it,” you gasped. “I want you. Rough. Now.”

That’s all he needed.

He flipped you onto your back so fast your head spun.

“Keep your fuckin’ legs open,” he growled, crawling over you like a beast. “You’re mine now, girl. You understand that?”

You nodded frantically, eyes wide, heat slick between your thighs.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours, Remmick. I’m fuckin’ yours.”

He hissed, actually hissed — like it lit somethin’ inside him. He shoved your thighs apart, didn’t even line himself up , just thrust deep, and you cried out, nails diggin’ into his back.

He didn’t give you time to adjust.

Didn’t whisper pretty things.

He fucked you — all rough grunts and filthy praise, slamming into you so hard the headboard cracked against the wall.

“Listen to that,” he growled, breath hot against your ear. “That’s your pussy talkin’ to me, so damn wet, clenchin’ like she knows who owns her.”

You were babbling, words half-lost, cryin’ out every time he hit that spot inside you that made your vision go white.

His mouth moved down to your neck again — teeth brushin’ over the healing bite.

“You want me to bite again?”

You moaned. “Yes—yes—fuck—please—”

“Greedy little thing,” he whispered. “Didn’t take long, did it? You already want more.”

His fangs sank in — not deep, just enough — and you came violently, screaming his name as your whole body convulsed beneath him.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t let you come down.

He flipped you over, pressed your chest to the mattress, and dragged you back onto his cock.

“You belong to me now,” he hissed into your ear. “Body, blood, soul. You feel that, don’t you?”

You nodded, tears streaming, drool on the pillow, mouth open in a soundless scream as he fucked you through another orgasm.

“You’re changin’,” he whispered. “And I like it.”

By the time he was done, you couldn’t move.

Could barely think.

He gathered you up in his arms, pressed kisses along your shoulder, and tucked you close against his chest.

“Gonna take care of you now,” he said softly. “You earned it.”

But in the quiet…

You felt it.

The burn still lingered.

Not just between your thighs, but in your blood. In your chest.

Like a spark had caught fire and started spreadin’.

And Remmick?

He was watching.

Smirking.

Knowing exactly what he’d done to you.

[electroempathy]

Armand introducing Daniel to anyone: "Careful, he bites :3"

[skylessknights]

"Do you know what it means to be loved by death? No pain."

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE 2.02 | Do you know what it means to be loved by death?

[loreleiloon]

POLL 1 Prompt: Intimate Vampire Whumper

"So...I found you..."

That voice, it turns their blood to ice. Whumpee's eyes wrench open. Whumper, a vampire forged in dark and broken with time, looms at the foot of whumpee's broken bed.

"No-no!" Whumpee scrambles up from the dingy mattress. "H-how did you--?" "I like this place. It's quaint," Whumper says, red eyes glancing around the cramped apartment. Cramped due to size, not furniture. Whumpee doen't even have an old TV. Their bed is a mattress covered with two sheets. Their "closet" was the worn suitcase with a busted wheel.

Whumper slips closer. "Do you like it?" "Yeah, I have a bathroom," Whumpee admits finally, "Kitche's right there," they point to the tiny corner of the room, "Can't use the stove yet. They shut off--that is, the gas isn't wired right yet...I have a hot plate, though. And a microwave. So I'm--I'm good." It's a tiny one, can barely fit a frozen meal in there. The breakroom sink at Whumpee's job is double the size of their kitchen sink.

Whumper looks over Whumpee, smiling along but it only makes Whumpee feel painfully pathetic. They remember Whumper's mansion, gilded doorknobs, a crystal ballroom, nine jacuzzis, seven bedchambers depending on how Whumper wished to seduce their prey. Whumpee hated how much they miss those comfortable beds, even if their scars don't. "And how have you eaten?" Whumper asks, pale skin appearing sallow under the singular bulb. Whumpee's heart lodges in their throat. "Oh, I have enough," they lie. "Store isn't that far away. One of the perks of being here, y'know?"" Whumper nods, smiling, flicking non-existent dust off of their black silken suit. Then their hands suddenly catch Whumpee's waist. "Don't lie to me, now, darling." Cold, slender fingers feel up under Whumpee's hoodie. Whumpee goes limp against the wall, mind racing. They're back again, they're right back to where everything was before they escaped. "I'm not lying," they say, trying to steady their voice. "Show me you're not," Whumper says, but their voice seems tender. It steals away any argument Whumpee thinks to have. "Come, come, let me see--" "It's--I'm fine--" Whumpee flushes, but they let Whumper draw the hoodie off of them. Whumper's fingers find every rib, every stomach cavity Whumpee keeps hidden beneath the hoddie. Whumper's breath sends cold chivers down Whumpee's spine. The flame in Whumper's eyes burns brighter. Their pupils dilate and Whumpee's swears that Whumper's nails grow extra sharp. "I forgot how beautiful you are..." "You mean that?" Whumpee asks. Not because they want to be beautiful, but because they know Whumper is noticing how thin they've become. "I always did," Whumper whispers.

Their words are so honeyed and sweet. But Whumpee mustn't listen. They can't go back. Not yet. "You don't want me. I'm just a caged bird that got away." "Then why didn't I steal you away in the night? Claim you in those dark moments while you wait alone for the bus?" "You stalked me?" Whumpee gasps. They push against Whumper's chest. "I can't even exist without you trying to control my life!" Whumper catches Whumpee's fists, pulls Whumpee flush against their silk-clad body. The soft material kisses Whumpee's bare chest, brushes their back as Whumper holds them. "I know your blood, my runaway bird," Whumper says, fangs inches from Whumpee's lips, "I can taste it in the air when you are near." "Then why did you drain me so much?" Whumpee asks. "Every night, you took--you took everything..." they shudder, head sinking as Whumper's nails trace the scars left on their back. "And now you're back to just...take what's left of me." "There isn't much, is there?" Whumper asks. They lift Whumpee's arm and sink their fangs into the slender wrist. "But it's mine," Whumpee says defiantly, tears pricking their eyes as they glare. "Maybe I don't have long to live, but it's the path I made. So either you kill me tonight or leave me to die on my own terms." Whumper's eyes are firm, cold. "Do you really want this?" "I want freedom. I'm so tired of," Whumpee's hand goes limp as the blood drains from their arm, "so tired of waiting for you to find me." "Well, now I have," Whumper smiles. Their forked tongue licks up the blood dribbling from Whumpee's wrist. "What shall we do?" Their eyes meet. Whumpee wants to pull away, but the silk is so soft and cooling against their skin. And Whumper's arms--Whumpee hasn't been held in so achingly long. The smell of the vampire's cologne, the cooling breath that fans Whumpee's wound as Whumper's kiss heals it. "I'm hungry..." Whumpee says. "...I'm ready to wake up." "Let me bring you back from sleep, my runaway bird." "Not yet--" Whumpee pushes back, pinned between Whumper and the wall. "Just...let me walk around my spot, for another minute?" Whumper catches whumpee's lips. "Don't linger long." Whumpee hurries through the apartment, taking in every detail, turning the knobs on the oven, just to be sure the gas truly was shut off. When they finish, they find Whumper lying upon the mattress. "Leave yourself here, little runaway," Whumper beckons, "All of you." Whumpee works off the rest of their clothes. "Lie down with me, now." Whumpee settles down on the mattress. But they pause, they take one last look toward the kitchen.

"I am hungry," they say as Whumper's cold hand paints their body. Whumper kisses them again, this time drawing blood. "So am I, my runaway heart." The vampire fangs sink into Whumpee's neck. Whumper's hunger is ravenous, consuming. Whumpee's body arches as they're taken, but they don't even cry. The dream will end soon. Then another will follow. Maybe in the next one the vampire won't find them.

[deceit-and-knowledge]

ooc: idk if umbrella anon was asking for them to be vampires or if they want their jam samples. If this is written absolutely brain-dead refer to main blog 2-3 hours ago from posting this 😭 (I MEAN- LOOK AT WHAT THIS BLOG IS ABOUT)

s: ugh.. *holding his bleeding hand*

Pure vanilla cookieee~~ I need medical care *dramatically faints into his arms, hurt hand pressed to his forehead like some fucking diva*

pv: huh- oh bluebird what happened to your hand..

s: nothing~ I was sewing something for the recluse..annd the needle slipped!

pv: hm.. alright.. *sits shadow milk on the floor and kneels down next to him*

s: I could heal myself butttt you're better.

pv: you're stronger than me..

s: well...

You know why I'd want you to do it.. I know I can heal myself..

pv: ...

s: ......

I WANT YOUR ATTENTION DAMNIT!..

ugh....

pv: aww shadow milk cookie.. *gently strokes his head then takes the injured hand*

....

Mm..

s: what's wr-

pv: nothing! I'm alright haha..

*looking at the jam with his slit eyes*

....

...no..i can't why do I have such a strong ur- ...

....m..mph..

.....

........

... shadow....milk cookie..

would.. you......mind if I.. um.. *mumbling*

s: what ever you're yapping about just do it!

pv: .......

*takes shadow milk's hand and puts it to his mouth, licking and drinking his jam, whilst biting the wound to let more jam seep out*

s: ....!?

.... *Notices how uncomfortable and embarrassed pv looks*

....hey..sunshine.. *gently caresses pvs cheek* what's wrong..?

pv: ....y...y'know how anons were saying.... I might be a vampiric..

I... I have such an...intense craving for jam... I'm so sorry...

s: heyy don't apologise! And don't cry-..

pv: I... I just feel like a mess today I'm sorry... I'm..really emotional...

I'm so sorry for biting you..

s: hey hey no it's alright~. You want jam, I can provide! Now eat up! It's good to see you have something go to your stomach even if it's my jam.

pv: *reluctantly returns to drinking*

s: there there..

pv: ....*licking the wound* ...

This...feels wr-

s: this isn't wrong. Anyone who thinks it is can burn up in the oven along with those PATHETIC witches.

its alright .. drink up.

pv: ....

...okay..

s: there you go! I must taste good!

pv: y-you..do..

*stops drinking and quickly/frantically patches shadow milk up before hurrying off to his room*

s: ....

Huh...

Welp! Geuss I accidentally created myself a vampire boyfriend..!. Whoops!....

[danlous]

You used your cloud gift. You flew the accused high up into the air, then you let him fall. Two kilometers approximately. Yes, I know, I know, I know. It's lethal distance for a mortal. But for a vampire? It's a hard fall, nothing more. Lestat has within his veins a most ancient blood. A godlike strength. Remember, he put his fist through a priest's skull. Did you do that to the accused? No, you did not.

[absolutelynotsanebaby]

I missed them so vamp au 🦇