#Vampire!MC

[beelsbignaturals]

Dead is The New Alive

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Warnings: Blood, aggression, mild injury, disassociation, death mention, general vampire activities (blood drinking), strong language

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Over the course of a week or so–Honestly my perception of time is skewed–I'm on what is essentially house arrest. Not that I have it in me to try and do much of anything. Any school related activities have been put on hold. Most of my days are spent hiding in the dark of my room. Everyone else seems to want everything to go back to normal. I do too, but it's just not happening.

It seems that overall, luck is on my side. I haven't seen Belphegor since the incident. I doubt I could keep up this charade otherwise. On the other end of things, Beel also hasn't been around much. I thought we were friends, but I can't hold a candle to his favorite brother. 

Occasionally one of the brothers will try to entice me out of my safe haven. Attempts are met with the nearest item I can find flying through the air. I don't know why I'm responding like this. I wish I understood what was going on. 

Hours upon hours are spent crouched in the far corner of my room. It's the only place I feel safe enough to nod off. To be honest that's just the routine now. Sitting here, watching the door and taking note of where everyone is at any given time by the sound of footsteps. 

Whenever someone has the audacity to stay despite my precision yeeting I eventually lay off the violence and accept my fate. If I speak at all it's an apology that's quickly waved off. If it's Lucifer or Satan they waste their breath trying to pry answers about that night out of me. Mammon and Asmo try to get me to engage at all. Their efforts are in vain. I just stare at the wall. Rarely, Levi will sit on the other end of my room playing some mobile game in silence. In return I throw the softest pillows at him. It's the little things. 

I'm thankful for the quiet that settles over the house in the early hours of the morning. Nothing but ticking clocks, mice, and the occasional sound of Beelzebub rummaging through the fridge. 

Sometimes, when I'm sure I won't get caught, I force my aching joints into motion so I can venture outside. I don't really go anywhere. I just find somewhere to sit. Enjoying the silence. 

Foggy nights are my favorite. When the air is heavy and mist wraps around me like a weighted blanket. Moonlight illuminates nearby spiderwebs. I like watching the tiny creatures run around. It's peaceful.

Out in the night air, sometimes I think about just how absurd my life has become in just a few months. 

It seems just yesterday I got that stupid letter. 

Congratulations!

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Royal Academy of Diavolo.

Please return this letter with your signature to confirm your participation.

We are looking forward to welcoming you as part of our new exchange program.

Yours sincerely,

Diavolo

Waking up in a room full of demons was, at the time, definitely in the running for the weirdest thing to happen to me.  

After hitting my head on a table, I stood with all the grace of a newborn deer. Despite the irritating phone call, a dramatic and very handsy demon,  one who nonchalantly mentions he might cannibalize me, and a dude literally named Satan.... I did my best to go along with the chaos. I had thought.  "Well, if this isn't a hallucination, then I don't exactly have a choice in the matter." Plus, the free tuition thing is pretty sick. 

The first week was a blur. Wake up. Go to class. Put up with shenanigans. Sleep. Repeat. At some point I make a pact with the Avatar of Greed. Normal university things. 

It's the first serious brush with death that really made me think hmmm maybe "fuck it, we ball" isn't how I should proceed. After a trivia battle gone wrong, Mammon lectured me while bandaging an injured wrist. About halfway through I finally stopped disassociating. 

"Holy shit he could've killed me." That astute observation had earned me an eye roll from the second born. 

"I just said that! Weren't you listening? More trouble than your worth...." he goes off again. Honestly, I wasn't really paying attention.  

The next few days, I kept to myself, jumping at every sound. 

Eventually, Levithan corners me after class. 

"If I make a pact with you will you stop sulking? It's weird."  

I almost refused. Almost. Common sense kicked in and I came to a realization. If a pact can make Mammon call me my name, as opposed to "annoying" or "human" or "annoying human"... Maybe this is how I'll survive the year. Surely the more powerful demons I have bound to me, the safer things will be. 

"Deal."

Man… if you had told me back then I'd learn to love the very same unsettling creatures who kidnapped me…. Honestly I'm not even sure that this isn't some strange case of stockholm syndrome. Or the fact I'm now some sort of vampire? Anyways, I'd think you were crazy. Oh how times change. 

Some time later I'm escorted to the Demon Lord's Castle. Honestly, I feel like hot garbage but Lucifer insists that there is very important business I need to be present for. No amount of arguing makes him budge. Fortunately for me it's the middle of the night since even the weak otherworldly light in the Devildom causes major skin irritation. Despite the total lack of a sun. No amount of SPF can save me. 

I must be a sight to see. Sweaty, and tripping over everything. Both the artificial and candlelight so bright I can hardly think. It's best to keep my eyes closed as much as possible.

I'm grateful neither Diavolo or Barbatos comment on the state I'm in. 

I'm dragged along through more corridors than I can count. Eventually ending up in the dungeons...wait what? 

I try not to hyperventilate. I probably fail. It is kind of hard not to panic when you can hear the screams and pleading of tortured souls. The uncharacteristic silence from the chaotic demons just fuels my fear. What the fuck. Am I being arrested? For self defense? Or destruction of property? No way. That can't be it. I nearly draw blood due to my newfound habit of chewing my lip with the single fang occupying my mouth.

We stop outside a dark cell. Down here my eyes can actually adjust. At least I can see again. That said, maybe I'd rather not see the cobblestone walls stained with blood from who knows how many individuals. Will mine join them?

Behind bars, there's a hunched figure. They look up as we approach, through a mop of tangled green hair. The pointed teeth protruding from their mouth make me realize. Oh. They're like...me. 

"Alaura," a gloved hand lands on my shoulder making me jump. "All you need to do is identify this...pest, as your attacker and we can go home." Part of me is so incredibly relieved. The other part is pissed. 

Uh, yeah, not happening. How the fresh fuck would they expect me to confirm or deny that this dude tried to kill me. I didn't see shit. 

I lift my head enough to glare at Lucifer. And inform him once again, I saw nothing. 

Blah blah blah, "I took that into consideration however..." screwing my eyes shut, I shake my head. 

"Dude, can you shut up? I feel like shit. And really, who cares if they killed me I'm already dead! Undead. Whatever!"

Fuck. I'm so dizzy I can't tell up from down. I stumble a bit before Beelzebub reaches out to steady me. I push him away in favor of supporting my weight against a nearby wall. 

After catching my breath I continue my rant.  "I mean if anyone should be in prison it's that shady brother of yours who started this all. I mean I wouldn't be in this situation if he didn't try to fuckin kill me!" I'm hysterical at this point but I don't care. I've started and I can't stop. This is the most I've spoken in days. Every word left unsaid is spilling out. 

"And how can you call that place my home?! You kidnapped me, threatened my life, promised to keep me safe, threatened me again..."

My vision blurs once again. I hear footsteps backing away. Good. Part of me doesn't want to be angry. But I can't deal with their shit today.

"You all let me DIE!"

The ringing is stronger now and I can barely breathe. Wow, the floor is alot closer now. 

A new voice joins the mix. One that sounds nearly as broken as I feel. 

"When, might I ask, is the last time you morons fed the fledgling?" 

 Now that everyone has their attention on the cell, I can see past the wall of demons well enough to watch the other vampire get up, angry gesturing punctuates his words. 

When no one responds, he continues on ranting, bloodshot eyes illuminated by the torchlight. I suppose fire sets the mood for being skinned alive much better than any electricity ever could. 

"Of course! You couldn't pour piss from a boot with instructions on the heel! For the love of Christ someone get my stash-- which is from a consenting donor so don't get any ideas-- and feed the poor thing!" 

It's almost comical how he orders the demons around. Even more funny is the fact they listen. Running around like chickens with their heads cut off. The fact my vision is still swimming, making it look like there's two of everything only adds to the hilarity. 

I laugh to myself and close my eyes, trying to make the room stop spinning. In no time, someone is kneeling down beside me. 

"Take this." It's Barbatos. He hands me a glass of what, for the sake of my last shred of sanity, I tell myself is cranberry juice. Obviously I am skeptical.

I can do this. If Solomon can eat his own cooking and survive I can have some... juice. Bottoms up. Within seconds the liquid is gone. Honestly, it's not as bad as I feared. Oddly metallic. The texture is all wrong. It felt like it shouldn't shouldn't be room temperature. But it's something I guess I will get used to. Eventually. Not like I have a choice. 

A hand reaches to take the empty glass and there's a sound like an angry cat. When everyone stares at me in shock I can only assume I made that noise. 

Barbatos holds up his hands in defeat, stepping back. 

Now it's Asmo's turn to crouch down.  "Alaura, hon, we'll get you some more once this is all over 'Kay? You'll be much more comfy at home. Plus, it's so musty down here, don't you agree?" 

I shrug. "What else is there to say. I didn't see anything. End of story." 

Finally, Diavolo speaks up. Voice hoarse, almost like he'd been crying. Strange.

"It seems further investigation will be required. My deepest apologies for wasting your time." 

"Excuse me, did anyone think to ask me about this crime you accuse me of? I suppose you don't need intelligence to run a kingdom these days..."

Lucifer is quick to offend, despite the fact the insults are clearly directed to Diavolo. Actually that's probably why. 

"Why you little--"

"Lucifer, that won't be necessary." A sharp glare from the Prince silences him. 

"Saturday night you were unaccounted for. That same night one of my exchange students is violently attacked by a vampire. You are the only vampire I have any recollection of being here in decades. Otis, explain yourself." 

The vampire,  Otis, squares his shoulders. Which isn't that intimidating since he looks like he has one foot in the grave, but, hey! He certainly looks less meek when he isn't sitting on the damp ground.

"If you took the time beforehand to extend this... courtesy, you would know I spent the evening visiting an old friend. The other exchange student." His words drip with venom. 

"Solomon can prove your innocence? You are willing to bet your freedom and your life on the sorcerer?" 

"I am." 

With that, Lord Diavolo sends his faithful butler to fetch the local wizard. Unfortunately, no one thinks hey! Maybe we should send Alaura back home! so I'm stuck waiting around. Yay.

On the bright side, when Barbatos returns he brings more… juice. Otis seems like he might find the strength to break through the metal bars and fight me for it. 

After a very awkward conversation in which Solomon reminds everyone Diavolo is literally a walking lie detector, finally, things are settled. Otis is cleared of any charges, and, most importantly, at least to my life, I can be hauled back to the House of Lamentation. Fucking finally.

[momochanners]

Previous post

Happy Ending (in more ways than one)!

[cherryxblossxms]

🔞 Someone brought it up on Twitter and now it's been rattling around in my head.

But thinking back to early Obey Me days and the vampire event where the boys became vampires and wanted to bite MC... Someone proposed what if it was MC that became a vampire instead, and got to bite the boys.

(🔞 minors dni. Just the brothers, warnings for obvious vamp biting with blood mentions, getting horny from said bites, dry humping/grinding, cumming from being bitten, etc)

Just imagining being the first to bite the prideful Lucifer. He's trying to keep up the façade that he's in charge, infallible and stoic. But the second your fangs are in him, he can barely keep his head straight from the rush of endorphins. Can't stop his eyes from rolling back, the way his body heats up beneath you, and everything is extra sensitive to your touch. Face is flushed, breathy little pants coming from his mouth, and his eyes are hot and heavy like sweet lava flow. It even takes him a moment to realize that the sweet low moan filling the air isn't yours, but his. You know he's enjoying himself when his arms tightly wrap around your waist, holding you close as you lap at the bite marks, the lack of space making his erection glaringly obvious (plus the little rolls of his hips that he simply can't control~). Everything in his body language is screaming how he wants you. And don't mistake it, that thirst was present well before your fangs ever touched his skin. But all it took was opening the gate and it all comes flooding out.

Or being the first to bite Mammon, the excitable and slightly jumpy greedy tsundere. It may take a lot of convincing, but if you make him a pretty good deal, he might be willing to let you get a taste. And oh is he happy that he accepted your offer, because where he was once greedy for money, now he's only greedy for you. It's almost too easy for him to get lost in the pleasure of your bite. He's loud, whiny, but he's simply overwhelmed by how good it all feels. He'd likely be embarrassed if he knew how loud he was being. He gets that same rush of heat and fervor and the second you disconnect from him, he's stripping his clothes as fast as possible— both to cool himself down, and because he doesn't want any obstacles should things go any further. And oh the lack of clothes tells you exactly how much he's enjoying the bite, and that he's very willing to return the pleasure if you're interested.

Biting Leviathan for the first time is loud, intense, and full of nerves, but you truthfully don't expect anything different from the third-born. He's a ball of nerves before the bite, sweating bullets, talking a mile a minute, and looking like he'll run out of the room at any second. But once you bite him, he's practically limp under you, eyes hazy and filled with pleasure. It's only if you try to pull away that he can finally grasp you, beg you not to stop just yet. He's hooked on the euphoria and having you so close to him. He can't stop the way his fingers hold onto your thighs or hips, the rhythmic grinding of his pelvis against yours. And there's no mistaking what happened when a beautiful, overwhelming shudder takes over him, accompanied by his low keen and sudden wetness between the legs. Just don't mention it, otherwise all his remaining blood will be focused on making him blush in embarrassment.

You're a brave soul to try to bite Satan for the first time. But if you label it in the interest of research and studies, he folds surprisingly quick at the offer. Of course, he has everything he needs beforehand, towelettes, a comfy pillow, as well as fluids and some snacks to deal with post-blood-loss issues. It's almost funny how seriously he's taking everything, sitting upright in a seat and having you sit in his lap. Embarrassing, but effective for getting up close. He starts you with a bite on his wrist, and when that goes well, he's fine with graduating you further up his arm until you reach his neck. His face is flushed but otherwise schooled well; if it wasn't for the persistent boner pressing up against you, you'd say he was unaffected. But really, he's just thinking about how to prolong your presence here, and perhaps how to turn the tables and return the pleasure.

Who could forget giving Asmodeus his first bite? Biting him is everything a vampire bite is expected to be; it's passionate, it's sensual, hot, intimate, and dramatic. No one has ever accused Asmo of being quiet, and that's no different once you bite him. He's loud, but it's genuine, lips trembling as he does his best to hold onto his mind. He's no stranger to pleasurable things, but even this is a different experience for him, doing his best to keep a steady mind, even if his hips start to move on their own and his sensitive erection is driving him nuts rubbing up against you. After all, it's rude for him to get lost in the sauce before he can return the favor, especially when all he wants to do is pounce on you now thanks to the adrenaline. But wow if you're not making it difficult on him...

It's quite an experience for both you and Beel when you first bite him. To the untrained eye, Beel often appears unaffected by things with little emotional reaction. However, there's no hiding the flush in his cheeks as he let's you bite him, or the way his strong arms hold you close to him. Biting him is quite an experience for you too, as the varied diet rich in different meats means a lot of nutrients. He's not sure if he'd like you to bite him again, at least like that. He's unsure about how hot and needy he felt during and after the bite, more than a little embarrassed by his pressing need tenting his shorts. Honestly, he never expected to feel that way being bitten. But it was still a new experience and as long as you let him give some bites of his own, he's still happy to have tried it with you. And once it's over, he can spend his time with you on replenishing lost nutrients with some snacks and relaxing with you.

Biting Belphegor is not quite a chill as you expect, but it's not the worst it could be. Of the seven brothers, he may be the most hesitant about it, surprisingly, but he likes the idea of one on one time with you, especially doing something so seemingly intimate. Once there's a protective cover down (so his favorite pillow doesn't get stained, of course), he prefers for you to bite him while in bed, holding you close like a body pillow. You may need to start slow, nibbles and half bites on his wrist, but eventually he may let you bite his neck. Once you're there, he's a lost cause. It's a wonderful mix of heat and sleepiness, his always-tired brain wanting to drift off into the bliss your bite provides— though another, much more insistent part of him wants to chase after the lust pumping through his veins. He gets a little whiny afterwards, blaming you for this feeling (and is he wrong?), but the advantage of him holding you close to begin with means it's easy to get carried away in making up for the mess you've made.

[bunbunlovestowrite]

C-can I req for Sylus x Vampire!Fem!Reader? Like... He's the one who feeding her... And train her to drink from his neck intead from his palm, bcos she afraid she'll hurt him or sumnthing like that

Fuccc... The tension man... He's the mortal one but he's the one who tamed her

Bite me

A/N:Thank you for your ask anon! I’m sorry this is kinda short and took so long. I’m having migraines and am getting my brain scanned soon.

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Vampire!Reader, biting, blood , Sylus has the hots for reader, Reader is kinda feral ngl, thigh grinding, one reader orgasm, no penetration, neck kissing/sucking (Fem receiving), readers bites are like an aphrodisiac

——

“There. Is that better?” Sylus watched with lidded eyes as your fangs dung into his palm, blood dripping down his skin and down your chin. The taste was sweet and only slightly bitter. His palm pressed to your mouth, your tongue lapping up the scarlet liquid. “Thanks.” You practically moan into the skin.

Sylus only pulled away when he felt himself go lightheaded. His thumb wiped away the blood on your chin and he couldn’t help but let his lips part slightly as your mouth wrapped around his thumb, sucking off the blood. “So messy.” He looked away, his heart pounding slightly.

Sylus’s palm had two scars on it from how often you fed, his neck had one scar from when you first met and you were more than feral. Two lines leading from puncture wounds where you scraped your fangs down his neck, it hurt like a bitch but he lived obviously. That was two years ago though.

You took Sylus’s hand and gently pat the bite with gauze, the blood seeping into the cloth material. He enjoyed you taking care of his wounds it he needed you gone for a least an hour. Your bites did something to him, something that had him fucking his fist like he would die without it. You were oblivious to this effect your bites had and Sylus wouldn’t tell you yet.

“I’m gonna be gone for a while, the twins will bring you food.” Sylus rubbed the gauze, his eyes locking on yours. “You’ll be fine.” He said when he saw your worried face. “You’re the only one that actually fills me.”

The way you said that made his eyes shut, images of him fucking you full of his cum showed up in his head. He groaned and rubbed his head, pinching his nose bridge. “I know. But when I get back I’ll let you feed as much as you want.” He reached out and pinched your cheek.

You nip at his finger, looking away. “I hate that I can’t go with you.” You mutter.

“So clingy.”

“You literally insist I sleep with you.”

—

Sylus left the next day and told you he would be gone for two weeks. You drank off people Luke and Kieran needed to get rid off and they tasted horrible. Luke suggested you drink from him and you almost did until he began acting like Bella from Twilight. Yeah you were less than satisfied. So when Sylus came back you didn’t care it was the middle of the day, you were starving.

Sylus had barely gotten his coat off in his room when you bust in the door, wearing the white nightgown he gifted you. “Y/N? Why are you awake-“ He was cut off by your jumping on him, your feet planting on his stomach as you immediately sink your fangs into his neck. He winced and fell back on his bed, you still on top of him.

“Damn it..” Sylus groaned out as heat flushed his veins, your venom waking him up. He gripped your sides, sitting up as best he could. Your feet left his chest and you sit on his lap, legs on both sides of his thigh.

Sylus was already rock hard, the feeling of you on top of him made his hips buck slightly.

You drank your fill and practically ripped yourself from his neck, landing your head back and breathing heavy. Your chest heaved and blood dripped down your neck, staining your nightgown. Your hunger left and you sat down on his thigh, the firmness of it pressing right to your clothed cunt.

Sylus rubbed his neck and looked a you, eyes half lidded. “Well, satisfied?” He asked. Sylus felt your heat against his thigh, his smirk slight.

You nod, rubbing blood off your neck with your sleeve.

“Good.” Sylus leaned in, breath hitting your neck. “Now let me indulge.” He whispered before licking his blood from your throat, his hands lid down your arms and his fingers linked with yours, grasping your hands tightly.

“What-“ Sylus cut you off with a harsh suck on your neck, right below your ear. You moan out quietly, your own blood rushing. “What..what’s gotten into you?” You say weakly. Sylus kissed at your neck more and he leaned down to bite at the crook of your neck. “I’ll tell you in a little.” Sylus whispered against you skin before he made his thigh rub up slightly.

His thigh rubbed your cunt just right, making the right amount of friction. You buck your hips to grind against him, moaning out. “Ngh…fuck..” You grasp at his shoulders and grind harder, your shame got thrown out the window. Sylus continued to suck at your neck,biting occasionally.

You were dripping on his pants at this point, your stomach forming a burning knot. “Shit shit shit!” You let your head fall back as you cum, hips spazzing slightly. Your nails dug into his shoulders so hard you ripped his shirt and drew blood.

Sylus barely let you ride out your high before he flipped you onto his bed, his belt practically flying off. “I’ll show you what your nibbling does to me.” He hissed as he tied your hands back with his belt, his eyes showing promise.

—

Sorry this sucks

[harunayuuka2060]

Deuce: ...

Deuce: Are you...munching garlic right now?

Vampire MC: Yes.

Deuce: ...

Deuce: Why?

Vampire MC: I'm trying to control my cravings.

Deuce: ...

Deuce: You mean... Hunt-senpai's blood?

Vampire MC: ...

Vampire MC: *snarls* *munches another clove of garlic*

Deuce: ...

Rook: Mon cher vampire, your breath carries the pungent scent of garlic.

Rook: Were you attempting to wash away the taste of my blood from your senses? *has sneaked into their room again*

Vampire MC: ...

Vampire MC: Behave yourself.

Rook: *gives them a teasing smile*

Rook: It's permissible to be hooked.

Vampire MC: But I don't want it to be you!

Rook: You were gentle with me that day, Mon cher vampire.

Vampire MC: I'll break your damn neck.

[sh0jun]

MC APPRECIATION POST

THEY ALL SLAY IN THEIR OUTFITS

GO FOR IT MY QUEENS 👑👑👑👑

I LOVE YOU ALL

VERY POWERFUL VERY BEAUTIFUL

I LOVE AND I STAN

( ✧Д✧) YES!!

ヾ(〃^∇^)ﾉ

❀(*´▽`*)❀

✧*｡٩(๑˙╰╯˙๑)و✧*｡

UPDATE:

WE HAVE A NEW EDITION

NOW THEY ARE COMPLETE 👑👑👑👑👑👑

(Credits for art goes to: @ana-thedaydreamer)

[choccy-milky]

HAPPY LATE BDAY TO @the-ozzie's MILLIE 🎉 crackhead collage of her and clora bc theyre besties💖👯

[starzeyquee]

Ikemen boys are (in)correct quotes

[zephyrchama]

Vampire MC part II - with Mammon heads up - this one's a bit angsty and there are descriptions of pain

(intro/masterlist can be found here)

Mammon was having a rough time.

He was put in charge of you from the very beginning. You were his responsibility, his human to watch over. He blew it.

Nobody had been allowed near the castle to see you since the incident. Mammon got his ass severely handed to him by Barbatos every single time he tried visit. So for the last month, the second-born spent his time either locked up alone or out at the casino. Though, no amount of winning hands and jackpots could ease the knot of guilt tangled in his gut. He hardly ate and hardly slept. The Avatar of Greed wanted to see you.

Yet when you finally came home, he couldn’t bring himself to knock at your door. What could he say? Pretend like he didn’t royally mess up by letting you out of his sight?

Despite all you'd been through, you had to be the one to reach out. You tapped on his bedroom door with a hesitant "Mammon? Can I see you?"

There was a thud. He might have fallen out of bed in haste. No sooner had the door swung open than you were in Mammon’s arms. He tugged you into a tight embrace, nuzzling his face into your hair. “Man, I am so sorry.”

He feared letting go, he wouldn’t let you disappear again. It was sweet and welcoming and you felt his heart racing. That's the demon you knew.

Mammon clung to you so tightly. He dug his fingers into your sides in a fervent attempt to be closer, but there was something more. A hot sensation. As if boiling water was seeping through your shirt and dripping down your skin.

You hesitated, wondering if it was all in your head. “Wait… Mammon, that hurts.”

“Deal with it.” A whole month of loneliness, all his regret and despair, was packed into this hug. It was an important moment to him.

As the seconds ticked by, the pain grew. It couldn’t have been your imagination. It was searing hot, like a poker fresh off the flames. You pushed back, squirming in pain and confusion, desperate to suddenly escape his grasp.

“Let me go.” You began to panic. “Let me go, Mammon. Now.” You struggled to get away. Right before resorting to the pact, Mammon dejectedly released you, slowly loosening his hold. He gazed at you, pitifully upset.

“What…? Didn’t you want to see me?” His voice quivered.

You sucked in a sharp breath and winced, too preoccupied with rubbing the pain away to listen. It wasn’t getting any better, but at least now it wasn’t getting any worse. It just throbbed.

To investigate, you rolled up a section of your shirt. Around your waist where Mammon had gripped the tightest were deep red rashes. Such spots had not been there before. You didn’t want to touch them. You were starting to feel lightheaded and thirsty and didn’t want to make the situation worse.

“The hell!? I didn’t do that!” Mammon scrambled to your side, uncertain. Afraid to touch you again. “…did I?”

He wanted to do something, anything, to heal you and make you feel better, but what did he even do? He fixated on his hands, as if seeing them for the first time. Were they the issue? They were well-kept, as usual. His nails were trimmed neatly. His skin was flawless. He hadn’t been cursed as far as he could tell, nor had you, aside from the whole vampirism thing.

He stared intensely. Maybe it was one of his new rings. That morning he hadn’t even paid attention to what he put on, anything had been fine so long as it was attention-grabbing and gaudy enough to make him feel influential. A cheap distraction. Mammon flipped his hands, trying to figure out what was wrong. His face contorted into a loathsome scowl as he realized the error of his ways.

With a barrage of swears, he angrily yanked off every last ring.

“Damn it! Can’t believe I did this!” Some of the weaker stones and bands crumbled to dust in his clenched fist. The rest broke when Mammon pelted them at the wall at full force, leaving dent marks in the paint. He patted himself down, frantically emptying his pockets and ripping off a necklace.

You didn’t like seeing Mammon so agitated. It scared you. “What? What’s wrong?” The demons were terrifying when they got angry.

“Silver.” He practically spat the word out, and suddenly it all made sense. Surely Lucifer warned all of his brothers about this as part of your homecoming preparations. Whether they properly listened or not was another story.

A little silver ring could hurt you that much?

“Oh.” You fell down onto Mammon’s couch, dumbfounded that such a common thing was now so dangerous. You probably couldn’t wear some of the jewelry the brothers had gifted you anymore. You laid your head back. The ceiling lights were so bright and dizzying.

"Hey." Mammon knelt on the floor, hands on his knees, eyes level with yours. Close, but not touching. "Tell me what I gotta do to make this right."

"Right now?" You mulled over what would make you feel better, what could distract from the silver burns and make you feel normal again. "I just want you."

Mammon gently scooped you up with one arm supporting your back and the other hooked under your knees. "I've been waitin' so long to hear that."

His grasp was much more tender and he leaned you against his chest while awkwardly stepping up onto the couch, then turned around to sit and lowered you onto his criss-crossed legs.

You slowly draped your arms around his shoulders, listening to the beat of his heart. Mammon smelled amazing, and not just from whatever scent he chose to wear that day. It drew you to him. You tempted yourself with a closed-mouth kiss to his collar, slowly inhaling the pleasant aroma. This intimacy might be dangerous. You exhaled, keeping your lips locked against his skin as they parted just a sliver.

You felt too shy to glance up and meet his eyes. They were so fond of you, so full of relief and love, even though in that exact moment all you could think of was pushing him down and taking a nice meaty bite.

“Y’know… A lot of people’ve tried real hard to get even a single drop of my blood over the years. A lot of ‘em. For lots of reasons.” He reclined back into the couch cushions, leaning you on top of him with his arms gingerly wrapped around your ribs. Mammon put himself in quite the vulnerable position, neck within easy reach. “I always turned ‘em all down. But this... it’s a small price to pay if I get to hold you like this.”

[another-lost-mc]

No-pressure Vampire AU idea: how about the brothers feeding on MC (consensually) a little too enthusiastically that they take longer than usual to wake up from the blood loss, causing the brothers to freak out and panic a little before MC eventually calms them down? You don’t have to write for all the brothers if you don’t want to. Thank you!!

I tried to keep the angst light-ish on this one. It focuses on the dynamics of poly!MC and the vampire brothers instead. All of them make an appearance in this but it's very Mammon/Levi/Asmo-centric.

[Vampire!DEMON BROTHERS x gn!Reader, 2.4k words, nsfw, hurt/comfort. Content warnings: canon-typical vampire behaviour including biting/blood drinking, aftercare (and lack of), pet names, masturbation, poly!MC (they/them pronouns).] ♫ [ song rec: sweet dreams ] | more from the vampire!au

Mammon, Leviathan, and Asmodeus have been in your room since they returned from their trip. The brothers were gone for nearly a week because Diavolo pulled them away from the Devildom metropolis citing official duties that required their presence.

Lucifer was considerate and gave you plenty of advanced notice before their departure. His warning before these trips is a courtesy for his brothers as much as it is for you. You scheduled your daily blood donations accordingly; by the time they were ready to leave, you gave each of the brothers two blood bags to tide them over for the week-long excursion.

The brothers returned two days early, and the first thing they did was bring you home. You stayed at Purgatory Hall while they were gone so you weren't lonely without their company. As soon as they saw you, all the brothers complained you reeked of angels and the soggy old wizard.

Mammon, Levi, and Asmo were quick to claim your attention for themselves, but first you needed to do something about the unwelcome scents of others that lingered on your skin. They waited in your room while you showered in your private bathroom. Even after you scrubbed your skin with the body wash Asmo gave you, they still insisted you smelled funny. You refused to take any more showers after the third one and told them to deal with it.

It'll be impossible for you to smell like anything except for the three brothers now. You had your (last) shower nearly an hour ago, and you've been sitting back-to-chest with Mammon with his arms wrapped around your waist. His chin is hooked over your shoulder while he watches the television screen. Levi sits at your feet and leans back against your legs while you play games together, and Asmo is sprawled on the bed beside you with his head in your lap.

It's cozy and affectionate and warm, but the air grows thick with anticipation when the first signs of bloodlust start to take hold of them. Mammon's nose tickles your neck as he scents you; if he's trying to be sneaky, he's doing a poor job of it. Levi's focus on the game wavers because he glances at you over his shoulder mid-match; he doesn't even flinch when he loses the third game in a row. Asmo's low purr rumbles in his chest as he massages the soft flesh of your thighs.

You tap Levi's shoulder with the gamepad so he can put it back on your desk, and Mammon turns off the TV and tosses the remote aside. Asmo sits up and kneels next to you on the bed. You feel a bit like prey when they all stare at you with unmistakable hunger in their eyes. They appear more monstrous than usual, but there's overwhelming love and adoration in their stares, too—you've never felt anything like it before, and you wouldn't trade it for the world.

Feeding multiple brothers at once doesn't normally take much preparation; they haven't fought about who gets to bite where in a long time. You shimmy closer to the edge of the bed so that Levi has more space to settle between your thighs. Asmo pulls a bottle of nail polish out of his pocket and grins as he reaches for your hand. He kisses each of your fingertips before he starts painting your nails. Mammon takes off his shirt and presses himself against your back again; you melt in his arms so he can support your weight.

You wince Mammon and Levi bite you at the same time, but pleasure seeps into your veins as they start to feed. Warmth and love and desire wash over you, and you close your eyes with a quiet sigh. The world seems to slip away and all you know is them.

Mammon moans into your ear as he drinks. He intersperses greedy pulls of blood with soft kisses against your throat, and his tongue flicks across the punctures he made before he drinks again. His hands slide under your shirt and rest possessively over your belly.

Asmo hums quietly beside you while he paints your nails, and he purses his lips to blow across the wet polish. He's so gentle as he turns your hand over in his, and his fangs drag teasingly across your wrist. He pierces your skin and groans loudly at the first gush of blood across his tongue. He nuzzles affectionately against your palm when you curl your fingers around his cheek.

(When the polish on that hand is dry, he gets off the bed and sits on your other side so he can repeat the process with your other hand.)

Levi is the loudest out of his brothers; you can hear the hungry, wet slurping noises he makes from between your legs. His hands are wrapped around your thighs to steady you, and he tickles your bare skin with his fingers as he feeds. It's not long before you feel the rough sensation of scales against your skin as his tail slides up your calf and wraps around your leg.

You gasp softly when three pairs of fangs finally pull away from your skin. The air reeks of blood and musk from their arousal and your own, but you feel dizzy and all you want to do right now is take a nap. You shake your head when Mammon asks if you want a recovery potion before you rest, and he helps lay you down. He smiles when you fall asleep within moments of resting against the pillow.

The three brothers glance at each other awkwardly and pretend they're not all rock-hard in their pants. They share your blood and your body, but they accept that their carnal desires will have to wait until tomorrow.

Levi scurries away first so he can take care of something in his room. Asmo saunters away towards his own room citing a similar excuse.

Mammon waits until they're both gone before he gets up from the bed carefully; he doesn't want to disturb you. He has a quick shower in your ensuite bathroom and jerks himself off. It doesn't take long for him to come, not with your scent in his nose and warm, sticky blood coating the inside of his mouth. He bites his fist to muffle his shout as he paints the shower tiles with his release.

After his shower, he dries off quickly and throws his sweatpants back on. He settles into the bed next to you, and the mattress dips when his brothers quietly return and tuck themselves into your bed too.

Mammon wakes up early the next morning. You're still asleep and laying on your side facing him. Asmo is plastered against your back, and Levi is curled at your feet with an arm draped over your legs.

Something warm and sticky drips onto Mammon's arm underneath your head, and he flicks your cheek playfully without opening his eyes. "Hey, don'tcha get your drool on me, now," he whispers, but he frowns when he smells the metallic tang of copper in the air. He glances at his arm and realizes it's not drool dripping onto him, but blood.

He's wide-awake in an instant when he realizes you must still be bleeding from the night before. He pulls you into his arms and rolls you onto your back so he can look at you properly. He panics when he realizes the small wounds on your neck from his fangs haven't healed. You're not breathing normally either and fuck, you look awful.

"Babe, wake up," he says, tapping your cheek lightly. You don't respond and he smacks your cheek again, a bit harder. "C'mon, wake up, please."

Asmo stirs behind you and sits up with a yawn, but the sleepy haze in his eyes fades quickly when he sees the horrified look on Mammon's face. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, they won’t wake up.” Mammon replies shakily. "Yo, Levi!"

Levi jerks at the foot of the bed and looks around bleary-eyed at the frantic shout of his name. "Huh?" he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes.

Asmo leans over you and inspects the open wound on your neck, and his breath hitches when he realizes that your wrists don't look any better. "You need to check your bite," Asmo tells Levi, and the room grows thick with tension as all three brothers realize there's something very wrong.

Levi scrambles into action at the tone in his brother's voice, and he tugs the blankets down so he can inspect your thigh. He panics when he sees it's barely healed at all. "I—I don't understand, it's never like this afterwards." He wipes away the thin trail of blood oozing from one of the puncture wounds, but it stays dry for only a few moments before it starts bleeding again.

Mammon glances at his brothers worriedly. "They didn't drink any potions after we finished. I figured they drank some in the other room after they showered."

It wasn't unusual for you to drink a recovery potion to prepare for a heavy feeding session. Their mistake was assuming you did—no one saw you drink anything before or after they fed from you. If you were too tired after, one of them would've helped you.

Why the hell did none of them think to ask?

Why didn't they insist you drink one even after you refused?

Asmo slides off the bed and digs around in your nightstand where you keep your recovery kit, but it's empty. "Damn it," Asmo curses under his breath. "I'll go get some. Keep trying to wake them up," he tells Mammon hurriedly as he rushes from the room.

Mammon maneuvers you carefully and props you up in a pile of pillows against the headboard. Your nightstand is lacking recovery potions, but you have plenty of bandages in your private bathroom. He cleans the skin around your bite marks and covers them with gauze, and he bites his lip to keep it from quivering. He takes care of the wounds on your neck and wrists while Levi tends to the bite on your leg. They work together in strained silence.

You start to regain consciousness as they're tidying up the ripped bandage wrappers and bloody towels. Levi will swear later on that he and Mammon were both crying tears of relief. He covers his red, tear-stained face with his arm and sniffles pitifully; he's just glad you're okay.

You're woozy from blood loss and your speech is a bit slurred, but you try to answer Mammon's questions as best you can. You're not in pain exactly, but you're still tired and light-headed.

Levi paces nervously at the foot of your bed while Mammon sits beside you and holds your hand. He hates how sickly you look and how weak your hand feels in his. Guilt swirls in the pit of his stomach because he knows it's their fault.

Mammon finally hears footsteps rush down the hallway outside your room, and it sounds like Asmo brought company. There's a sharp intake of breath when the door opens. Lucifer steps inside first and Asmo follows behind him. The other siblings give them space and linger in the doorway.

Mammon's not sure what's scarier right now: Lucifer's icy glare of disappointment, Satan's scowl of barely-contained rage, or Beel and Belphie's muttered threats that promise excruciating pain. Mammon waves Asmo over to the bed—he'll deal with his brothers later, after you're taken care of.

Asmo sits on the edge of the bed and uncorks a small bottle that he tips into your mouth. "I'm glad you're awake," he whispers tearfully. "I'm so sorry." He wipes away a trickle of the clear fluid that dribbles down your chin before he leans forward and hugs you. You attempt to smile at him reassuringly, but it looks more like a grimace.

Lucifer glances between each of his brothers who squirm under his scrutiny, but his gaze lingers on you the longest. He's never seen you look so worn out, and he's seething inside that his brothers' neglect did this to you.

Asmo explained what happened after he nearly collided with Lucifer in the hallway earlier: you didn't drink any recovery potions before or after their feeding, and they didn't check on you properly during the night. Lucifer knows you'll try and blame yourself for this, but responsibility for your care ultimately falls to them. Perhaps you should know better, but they should too.

It doesn't take long for the potion to take effect. Your eyes are already a bit brighter and more focused, and you start to look a little embarrassed about what's happened.

Lucifer plans to come back later and help care for you personally, but first he needs to have words with his brothers. "I'd like to see the three of you in the dining room. Your brothers can take care of things here," he tells the trio hovering near your bed. "In the meantime, the next seven days will be dry for everyone."

The week-long ban that prevents you from feeding them in any way—directly or through blood donation—is met with mixed reactions. Lucifer and Satan look a little smug since they rationed your blood bags from the trip and still have some left over; Mammon, Levi, Asmo, and Belphie have nothing left of theirs; and Beel looks the most horrified since he consumed both of your blood bags before he even left the city nearly a week ago.

"Are—are you sure that's necessary?" you ask weakly as you try to sit up straighter in bed. Mammon tries to push you back against the pillows and urges you to relax. "It was an accident, I don't blame them at all."

Lucifer's eyes soften when he looks at you, because you always put their needs and desires above your own well-being—but today, he won't allow it. His brothers skitter away from the bed as he steps forward, and he strokes your cheek gently with the back of his gloved fingers.

"Your presence is a gift to us, and sometimes we all need to be reminded not to take you for granted." He wishes he could bend down and kiss the pout away from your lips, but the others are hovering nearby; he offers you a small, private smile instead.

"Take this time to rest and focus on regaining your strength," he suggests. His fangs peek out behind his lip when his smile sharpens. He leans down close to your ear and whispers darkly and full of promise, "You'll need it."

Taglist: @l-d-8 @mithrakira @your-next-daydream @haezen @xpixie @lemonivall @meggsngrits @flemmingbamse @tortibomb @amberrskiies @angelsdilf @rensphilia @4allthefours4 @lust--on--my--lips @beelsjuicytitties @goldenglow149 @callmesaya @cosmicstarlatte

Join the taglist here.

[beelsbignaturals]

Dead is the New Alive

A/N: Happy birthday to me!!! To celebrate being a dramatic pisces, I've decided to finally post this super self-indulgent self insert MC fic! It's definitely a work in progress but the intended audience is literally me and whoever is unfortunate enough to stumble across this. Big thank you to Aki for helping with literally everything ily homie! Yes the first scene is low-key a songfic. The song is What Will I Remember by Emilie Autumn if you want to give it a listen. Title is also an Emilie Autumn song. Guess what album I listened to while writing lmao. Anyways enjoy!

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Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, character death (ish), teeth, strong language

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What will I remember?

"Does it hurt? Finding it hard to breathe? I'm sure it must be very unpleasant." The sadistic ass was taunting me. Quite literally adding insult to injury

What will I forget?

I did all this because I saw how much this family was hurting and this is the thanks I get?Someone laughing over me as the life drains from my eyes? After I go through all of this bullshit some stupid demon thinks he has every right in the world to end my life?

Honestly, if I didn't have claws tearing into my throat while this asshole is crushing my windpipe, I'd probably be tempted to smack that stupid grin off his face. Unfortunately, I'm in survival mode.

When this life is ending and gone

Fine. You want to kill me? I came into the world screaming and covered in someone else's blood. I plan on leaving the same way. It's game time, bitch.

What will I regret?

The next few moments are a blur of flailing limbs. One particularly well-timed kick sends me falling to the floor. Not risking it, l don't bother to catch my breath. Breathing is secondary. I need to run.

If tomorrow I don't wake up, what happens?

Moonlight shines through a nearby window like a beacon. Here goes nothing.

My sunrise, or sunset?

One foot in front of the other. Just keep running. He's behind you. Keep going. Almost there..

If I never were born

Fuck. Strong arms grab me, stopping any chance of escape. No. It's not over. I'm so close. I sink my teeth into the nearest thing I can find. Not letting go until I hear a sickening crunch followed by a string of curses. Name another human who took a chunk of flesh out of a demon's hand. I'll wait.

If I never died

Last shot. Come on. Somehow, I find the strength to launch myself out the window. Glass tears my arms to ribbons, but l'm flying and l'm free. Eat your heart out, Sally Hardesty.

Would it even matter at all?

All too soon, I collide with the pavement, knocking what little air I had left out of my lungs. I drag my bloodied body along, rocks and broken glass digging into my palms. I keep going until I physically can't move.

What should I decide?

Hopefully this will buy me enough time for someone to realize what happened. I mean. They wouldn't let me die, right? If even Belphegor was right and they didn't give a shit about me.. at the very least Lucifer wouldn't want the exchange program to be a failure. It would mess with Diavolo's plans. I'm not dying.

I always imagined I'd mean something to

someone

At least that's what I try to convince myself. The blood loss would beg to differ. But. I'll be okay. I'm sure magic will fix me up in no time. Just stay awake until help arrives. I try to focus on all the things I'll miss if I fall asleep. Late night nacho shenanigans with Beel. Watching Legally Blonde with Asmo. Helping Mammon hide from Lucifer. Kicking Levi's ass at DevilKart. All these precious moments that I'd hate to never experience again.

If I won't, 'least I tried

I'm fading in and out of consciousness. Time feels funny. Everything is in brief snippets. After what could have been hours or minutes. I register someone speaking. It doesn't sound familiar. Pressure on my chest. Sharp pain in my neck. Belphegor must've caught up with me. I wait for more torture but it doesn't come. Just a strange numbness. Decorating cakes with Luke. Feeding stray cats with Satan.

When my body suffers

So much yelling. It's too loud. I think I'm being moved? That's Mammon's voice! I did it. I'm safe. Why is he crying? They can fix me, right? It's too cold. Maybe not.

When to breath is pain

Levi is here, too! Maybe.. no. He's crying too. Oh. I guess this is it. At least I'm not alone.

Is it really madness to think

I try to reach for the nearest person. Maybe I can will someone hold my hand? No, that just made them move more. Don't leave me! Please.

Think of breaking this chain?

"Lucifer, get yer ass out here," He's staying. Thank fuck.

Is the future mine?

"Alaura, can you hear me?" After a failed attempt at nodding my head, which honestly just hurts way too much, I opt to try again to find Mammon's hand. This time, I'm actually successful.

It's kind of funny how, despite the fact I lay here dying, this is the most alive and real I've felt in a long time. These last few months have been spent on autopilot. Honestly, I didn't really believe any of it was real. I suppose death has a sobering effect.

God knows I have a past

So much commotion. So many voices. Not like I can understand much of what they are saying. Not when it all blurs together. I hold onto Mammon like a lifeline. Which, I suppose he is.

Where's my second chapter?

It seems they decide it is in everyone's best interest to not leave me lying on the ground in the middle of the night. That would be great if not for the fact they have to move me.

Or will the first also be my last?

The gaping throat wound is, understandably, not fucking pleasant. When strong arms lift me off the pavement, I struggle with energy I didn't know I had left. Kicking and screaming until it feels like my vocal cords are fried.

Is my story over if I fall asleep?

"I know, I'm sorry." The second born whispers, rings digging into my skin. Or maybe that's more glass. Regardless, he cradles my head against his chest, minimizing any movement that would further irritate my injuries.

Would anybody find me?

Crashing can be heard throughout the house. Part of me hopes Belphegor falls through a window too. Just for a small taste of his own medicine.

And would anybody weep?

With that pleasant thought, sleep takes over

I can't even pretend I care

But songs I'll never sing

Well, that means something

Yes, that means something

The next few days are spent in relative darkness. I can't see but I hear everything. It's like a strangely pleasant sleep paralysis. Plus I'm never alone for long. Asmo sits beside me, gently plucking glass from my skin, cleaning wounds of any dirt, and using a cloth to wet my lips and prevent dehydration. I get a whole manicure while he tells me about how I "got Belphie good". Apparently the majority of the dried blood stuck under my nails isn't even mine.

If it's not Asmo, it's Mammon. Half of the time he's moaning about how stupid I am. The rest is spent begging me to wake up. I try to find a way to tell him I'm right here. I'm awake. But I'm frozen in place. I don't think I've ever heard him cry this much.

Occasionally, Satan will pay a visit. Reading the Odyssey to keep me entertained. He's also the only one to update me on what's actually going on. From his visits, I can gather that I had a second attacker, not just Belphegor. The plot thickens. I barely have time to process that before learning said bitch was a vampire. This whole paralysis was just the beginning of my transformation.

Yeah, that's a hard pill to swallow.

I'm not left to think on it long. It turns out that one of the only two humans in the Devildom disappearing off the face of the earth does not go unnoticed. Doubly so when it comes to the resident angels.

With that in mind, I suppose it's not really a surprise that Luke all but breaks into the House of Lamentation, demanding to know what those horrible demons have done.

It'd be sweet if not for the little fact the second he got within ten feet of me, it feels like my bones are melting. You could tell me the air has turned to boiling water and I'd believe you.

His tiny body rushes into the room, grabbing my arm. "Oh, Alaura! Don't worry, I'll save you!"

I can only scream in agony as my flesh sizzles in his grasp. Shocked, Luke grabs my face before he gets a fucking clue. Cute kid, not the sharpest crayon in the box.

The pain of it all causes my eyes to open for the first time in days. I can hardly register the blinding light coming from the hallway. Just that this poor kid, who is, granted, older than I will ever be, starts sobbing out apologies as he stumbles backwards.

Smoke comes off my skin in waves, right where the tiny handprints sit. What is happening?

Poor Luke is dragged away, crying while half a dozen demons pour into my room.

Were they always this loud? I can't process the million different voices all speaking at once. It feels like all the small noises are worming their way into my head and eating my brain from the inside out. Footsteps sound like gunshots. The sound of fabric rustling makes me want to rip my hair out. It's too fucking loud.

Eventually catching on, Lucifer orders everyone to let me rest. He carefully applies some sort of ointment to my injuries before following suit. Alone in the dark I can finally begin to piece together what happened.

Belphegor killed me. Or tried to. Someone else swooped in to finish the job. But that's besides the point. Belphegor tried to kill me. It seems the others don't hate me enough to want me dead. Or at the very least are keeping up appearances. I'm not sure where my attempted killer is but I haven't seen or heard about them since that night.

Right... how long has it even been? I'll have to ask when someone comes around again. Knowing my housemates it won't be long before someone sneaks back into my room. Lucifer be damned.

Next order of business... apparently I'm a vampire? Not the most outlandish thing I've seen during my time in the Devildom but it's certainly up there. All I really know is from what Satan's told me and whatever I can find in my notes on Devildom history. Based on what the textbooks say, vampires are extinct in Hell. So how did this happen?

Only one way to find out and I need the facts before I let myself have a crisis. I guess the textbooks are a good starting point. Ignoring my protesting muscles, I drag myself out of bed to find any information I can.

Blah blah due to the vampire population rising at unprecedented rates and the threat to lower level demons, the King called upon the royal army to deal with the infestation.

Infestation? So I'm vermin now?

Startled by sudden pain in my jaw, my mouth opens in a silent gasp. Crimson blood drips onto the page. Just a few specks at first, but before long, I'm nearly choking as the liquid spills from my mouth.

Frantic, I run through the halls. Not particularly caring about the trail of blood I leave in my wake. Thank fuck no one is in the bathroom.

I lock the door behind me. Muscle memory. Before dashing to the mirror.

Holy shit. Maybe I'm not dead but I sure as hell look it. My body is littered with healing cuts, not to mention the two angry handprints that scorched my skin. Then there's my throat. It's healed somewhat but the mangled flesh has barely begun to scar. Honestly, it doesn't look like something I should've survived.

Fuck. The dull throbbing in my mouth turned sharp once again. Mouth opened as wide as I can manage, I try to inspect the affected area, but God, there's so much blood - I hear the small clink of something hitting the ceramic.

Holy shit. No. This isn't... this can't be happening. I'm hyperventilating as I force myself to look down. There's no way that...nope my entire tooth is sitting in the sink. Cool.... this is just great. I'm. I'm just hallucinating. Or something. That's the only explanation. Maybe I ate Solomon's cooking. That could be it. Food poisoning. Really bad food poisoning.

"Alaura?" A low voice interrupts my manic train of thought. "Alaura, please... open the door."

I don't even bother trying. I can hardly hold myself upright. Who's laughing? Is that my voice? Shit. I'm on the floor. When did that happen? The edges of my vision are fuzzy and dark. When I close my eyes, all I can see is a startling picture of my tooth. A small amount of gum is still hanging on for dear life. Much more blood than what could be considered healthy framing it like some grotesque work of art. Shit. My head hits the cold tile, and I'm watching as the door shakes on its hinges. Maybe I should've locked it.

Once again I wake up, tucked snugly in my bed. This time, however, I can spot a certain white-haired demon curled up on my floor, snoring softly. Cute but there is no way that's comfortable. I can see the dark circles and irritated skin, most likely raw from crying.

For a moment I'm transported back to simpler times. Mammon breaking into my room after a night at the casino, ranting about how "shits rigged", before passing out. Usually I'd shove a pillow under his head and throw a blanket over him before going to bed myself. Maybe even play with his hair. It's soft as hell but I know he'd complain if I did it while he was awake. I even got a beanbag chair at one point so his spine doesn't riot. With such a mundane scene, I can almost pretend things are normal.

Almost. When I poke at the tooth causing me grief earlier, I find it is longer and sharper than I remember. No. No. No. No.

"Mammon," I hiss. "Mammon wake up."

He wakes with a start, rubbing sleep from his eyes before jumping into action.

"You're up!"

I nod slowly. Knees hugged to my chest. "Is this real?"

With a sigh he plops down on my bed, walking me through complex math problems until I know without a doubt my subconscious could never make that up.

Teary-eyed, I stare at Mammon before I finally speak again. Talking feels strange with a killer toothache and one fang.

"What now?"

[dododrawsstuff]

OMGG CAN I REQUEST! Like imagine ikemem mcs hanging out!! Like UGH cuties

I like the way you think!! They would be besties, I know it!! Hope you like this! And thank you for requesting, I had a lot of fun drawing these lovely ladies!

[momochanners]

The subject of Saltburn appeared in my P*treon chat, and many of the eyebrow-raising scenes in the movie felt veeeeery Astarion-coded to me. Including that very…uh…messy one midway through 🫣

[notquitecanon]

Insufferably Admirable // Astarion x Reader

Summary: After a restful day turns into a bloody night, your unspoken yet painfully obvious dedication to Astarion has put you in what should be a harder choice. Once Astarion realizes just how far you'd go for him, he has to begin to confront the feelings and realizations he's been ignoring for a while. OR that time You figured out the most effective way to heal a vampire and Astarion got emotional about it

Set at the end of Act 1, but not quite act two. Pre-confession but it's obvious they have some sort of feelings for each other

TW: canon typical violence, blood & blood drinking(obvi this is an Astarion fic), no use of Tav or (Y/N), one use of technical self harm (c*tting) but not in a self mutilation way??, mentions of manipulation obvi, reader might be a little too willing to help (totally not be projecting what???)

this is my first time writing anything for Astarion after hyper fixating on him for a month so please be gentle. I know it's a bit all over the place. (yes I could have completely left out the first half, but there isn't much actual dialogue in the second half and I like to put this guy in situations)

"Remind me again why you insisted on coming with me? I figured you’d be ripe for a day to lay around camp and let us do all the heavy lifting." You grumbled, scanning the crowded streets for a merchant. The goal was simple: get to the nearest village, sell off the extra weight, use the gold to stock the necessary supplies, and whatever the gold couldn’t buy… well, acquire it by any means necessary. No matter your path, through the shadows or the Underdark, you'd need to be prepared.

Gale had gone to pilfer for useful scrolls and maybe an enchanted item to snack on. Lae’zel and Shadowheart to a blacksmith for specialty arrows, useful armor, and any other weapons that caught their eyes. Karlach had carried the two trunks and barrel of items you had collected from your adventure thus far, finding you a wheelbarrow before heading back to camp to help Wyll with his preparations. Halsin… had taken his wild form and disappeared into the forest. Originally, you had intended to do your tasks alone, until- 

"My dear, I’m always ripe for a lay." Astarion twisted your words with a smirk, easily dodging the hand that reached to swat his chest. With a short laugh, he answered your question, his theatrics only increasing to more you argued, "To begin with, Someone- my fabulous self- had to make sure you didn’t get the whole group wrapped up in another laundry list of side quests- who knows what trouble you could have found if you were left all by your lonesome? A gnoll den? A kraken in the pond?  an old woman’s wagon with a broken wheel? a kitten up a tree? An orphanage with a leaky roof? Another cult for us to dismantle? Another temple to drop on me? Where would it end? You’re incapable of turning people away, it’s one of your insufferably admirable qualities."

"It’s called being kind, you dramatic elf." You grumbled, not prepared for the in depth analysis of your character. Trying not to focus so much on the fact he’d called something about you admirable.

"Second, knowing you, you’d sell all this off and still manage to come back to camp with them full. Honestly, pet, how have you managed to collect this much junk? You don’t even have a bag of holding." Astarion scoffed, using a single pale finger to peek under the lid of the barrel. It was just barely containing the countless daggers, goblin bows, pairs of leather armors, and dusty sandals. Your cheeks burned hot- maybe you had a habit of being overzealous in how eagerly you pilfered through all the crates you came across, checking bodies for anything valuable, and demanding the vampire to pick every locked chest the party uncovered. Hells only knew the thrill you got when you would find a buried chest.

"You never know when you might need something!" You reasoned, but swatted him away to hastily shut the barrel before the contents could spill out. It had taken you the better part of the night to pack it full of all the things your companions had convinced you to get rid of. The pale elf rolled his eyes, brushing past you so gracefully you didn’t feel his fingers in your pocket. 

"Really, my sweet? When, pray tell, might we need the collection of rusty necklaces you’ve amassed." Astarion held the bronze and silver necklaces up to the light, the red and blue stones sparkling despite the rust. His voice always like velvet, ruby eyes alight with teasing, "Far be it from me to criminalize accessorizing, but that darling neck of yours is tempting enough already." 

"Astarion!" You cringed, hearing your voice almost whine. Damn him for having that effect, so you cleared your throat as you snatched the jewelry back, "They are useful when we can sell them for gold." 

Astarion, having gotten the reaction he wanted, let you shove the necklaces back in a pocket before glaring at him, though it didn’t hold much actual malice, "Well, come on then, let’s sell the sandals for all the riches the village has to offer us." 

—

An afternoon later, you were smiling smugly as you watched Astarion grumble. Between all the goods and six different merchants, you were leaving with an additional 9,000 in gold, not to mention the additional 3,000 Astarion had managed to pickpocket while you bartered, and the items the two of you had managed to swipe. You felt particularly vindicated as he complained about the weight of the coins in his pack. 

"I’ll buy you something pretty in Baldur’s Gate." You cooed teasingly, to ‘appease’ him. Astarion spared you a deadpan glance before standing to leave, only making you giggle all the more, "Let’s get back to camp."

Astarion caught your eyes once more, scowl softening out at the sight of your bright smile. He was just about to say something sickeningly sweet and perhaps more than a touch vulgar when his eyes flitted up to something, pointed ears twitching at something you couldn’t quite hear. Until you could. 

The door of the jeweler you had swindled burst open, a strangled voice shrieking, "THIEVES! SOMEONE CATCH THEM!" 

Astarion must have been rubbing off on you, because for a moment you tried to feign confusion, looking around for the ‘culprits’ as if the dwarf wasn’t pointing directly at you.  Not that it did much good as several passerbys began to circle around the two of you. 

"Everyone’s so touchy about their personal belongings these days." The rogue scoffed.  Astarion grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him, so that your back was pressed to his and no one could sneak up on you. In his other hand, a dagger had already appeared. 

You sighed in defeat, taking your bow off your back, "No killing." 

"No promises." 

Compared to the goblin camp or fighting through the githyanki creche, disarming and incapacitating untrained townspeople and barely trained guards  was barely a warm up. Still, Astarion never left your side, an increasingly common occurrence when you found yourself in tight situations. Together, it didn’t take long to put distance between yourselves and your attackers, managing to get far enough to escape to the fight. Deflecting one last blow as the two of you passed by an open tavern, you incapacitated a rather pitiful guard with a blunt thunk from the pommel of your dagger. Taking one relieved breath, you tried not to focus too much of the trail of bleeding, unconscious bodies you and the rogue had left behind in your escape attempt. 

"Best we stick to the shadows before we attract more attention." Astarion mused with a cruel smirk, grabbing your sleeve and using it to wipe the blood off the corner of his mouth, his fangs glinting in the afternoon sun. The rogue only chuckled at your curses, giving some inane quip about the crime of dirtying his ensemble and how blood someone always looked better on you, "Now, believe what I said about you finding trouble? Back to camp before you find more." 

Before you could wrench your arm back or remind him that he was the only who got caught stealing, he pulled you off the main road into the alley adjacent- unaware of the attention that had already been attracted from inside the tavern. 

____

Ambushed in the night.  

A whole hunting party of Gur hunters. Willing to purge your party as they slept. 

And they were calling Astarion the monster. Fortunately, Scratch was an excellent guard dog. Waking the entire camp when the hunters tried to creep where you slept. Just as fortunately, there wasn’t a soul in camp that didn’t sleep without at least a dagger under their pillow. 

Your camp had become a bloodbath in the dim glow of the campfire. You had used the book you had fallen asleep reading as an improvised weapon, throwing it so hard it broke the first hunter’s nose. Lae’zel was single handedly mowing through three hunter with her long sword. Spells and incantations sent flashes of light from Gale and Shadowheart’s part of camp, and fire and brimstone lit up Karlach’s. There was yelling and cursing echoing in the cool night air, orders to take the vampire spawn alive and to kill the rest. 

And Astarion? Their target? 

He was where he always was during a fight these days. Right beside you, like a pale, snarky shadow. He had been the one to press your sword into your hand so you’d have more than just your dagger.  With him, you slashed and sliced anything that came near. Until the bastard appeared out of no where, squeezing in between you and the rogue. You would have applauded (more likely cursed) the near perfect use of an invisibility charm- had it not been for the poison-dipped stake raised against Astarion. 

This hunter was different, you could see it in his eyes. They were somehow devoid of life and yet also simmering with rage as they trained on your snow haired companion. This hunter didn’t plan to take Astarion back to Baldur’s Gate, not alive at least. He didn’t care about whatever orders they had, or what consequences would come for disobeying them. He only cared about driving the stake into Astarion’s heart. 

Astarion’s eyes went wide as well at the sight of the stake, realizing as you did that this was no longer just a kidnapping, it would be an assassination. Your thundering heart stuttered, blood going supernova in your veins before freezing to ice as your mind whirled through a hundred different possibilities and also went blank. Your own opponent, along with years of learned strategy, were instantly forgotten as blind instinct took over.  Every ounce of strength and speed you had was directed into a desperate lunge. In your desperation, you really weren’t sure if your goal was to tackle the hunter, grab his arm, tackle Astarion, or maybe even take the stake to your chest instead- you decided to choose along the way, as long as it ended with Astarion alive(ish) and well.

You managed to close the distance, one hand planted firmly to Astarion’s chest shoving him further and the other clamping onto the leather of the hunter’s gauntlet, the same arm poising the stake. With a feral sounding shriek, you pushed his arm so his aim was off. At the same time, your original opponent, frustrated at being forgotten, cast a wave of thunder that sent all three of you flying. 

Astarion, the Gur, and you flew backwards a good fifteen feet, the thunder shaking you to your very bones and splitting your ears. The breath was knocked out of you so hard you thought your poor lungs might collapse and you weren’t able to tell if it was the spell or the impact that did it. You didn’t have time to contemplate, the moment you were able, you scrambled onto your knees. With the same feral tenacity from earlier, you grabbed the hunter by the front of his leather armor, nails leaving scarily deep tracks as you hauled him off your vampiric companion.  With your new opponent, you rolled both your bodies until you were on top of him, knee to his chest. Seeing the look in your eyes, the rage left his own, pure survival instinct taking over. You didn’t even feel the sting of the slicing blow across your shoulder, too consumed with a singular mission. It was Astarion’s dagger you had snatched from the ground on the way that delivered the quick death blow. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You expected to hear something from Astarion- a snarky comment about your lack of technique, a snide remark about his assailant, or even just a stream of petty curses- but he was silent. You turned back to him, only to have dread flood every cell in your body. 

Nothing else mattered anymore, not the fight, not your injuries, and especially not your forgotten original hunter. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You barely noticed.

The moment you’d disposed of Astarion’s assailant, you were scrambling back towards the rogue, who was laying all too still. At first, you hesitated to even touch him as if that might make it worse. You called his name once, and then again when you were able to gingerly lay hands on him- one hand to his chest and the other pushing some curls out of his eyes. The stake, what should have been an almost useless weapon against anyone else, was still buried in his chest, piercing his favorite frilled collar shirt. 

"No… Astarion-" Your voice was breaking, thick and raw. Your eyes couldn’t rip away from the stake, protruding from his chest, the poison staining the white linen of his shirt a sickly green. The hand on his chest balled into a fist, bunching the unsoiled fabric in your grip, but something caught your attention. The tiniest candle light of hope in the rapidly encroaching darkness of grief. 

Your hand was directly over his undead heart. Anytime you touched him, your hand always fell directly over his heart. When you teasingly swatted at his chest, when you needed to steady yourself against him, when you needed to catch you balance… you always sought out his heart- subconsciously, instinctually, always his heart. Your hand was over his heart, and that gods-damned stake was four inches to the right. A tiny light, but a light none the less. It was then you realized you were calling the wrong name. 

"SHADOWHEART!" 

None of your companions had ever heard your voice that desperate, that scared.  All their heads snapped to where they had last seen you, finding Astarion pulled to your chest as you wrenched the stake out of the spawn. Astarion stirred only long enough the let our a gurgling shout that fizzled into a groan at the pain, and you could only hope he heard your soft apologies before you started barraging the vampire with healing cantrips. You didn’t stop until the words held no more magic, your supply of magic tapped for the night. 

The night air had changed, no longer fueled by adrenaline and challenge, now it was thick with urgency and fear. Each of your companions starting fighting towards the two of you, and when you locked watery eyes with Shadowheart you found her clearing her path with her spear. She had stopped using magic to fight, saving it all for Astarion.

"I’m coming! Hold on!" She promised as Karlach fell in beside her, battle axe taking over and sending two hunters to the grave together. Scratch and the owlbear cub had taking a lesson from Halsin and formed up beside you, growling into the night with hackles raised and feathers ruffled. 

"Just hold on, Astarion." You relayed to the vampire, who was completely limp against you his back to your chest, head tilted back against your shoulder which bared his neck to you, showing the fang marks on his pale skin. If you were capable of humor, you would have laughed about the reversal of roles, it was usually you baring your veins to him. But at the moment, his lack of movement wasn’t particularly amusing, so instead you laced his fingers through yours, hoping the warmth would bring him some comfort.  You pressed your cheek against his white curls, using your other hand to brandish his dagger just incase anyone got too close, and whispered all the reasons he was going to be okay. And that’s how you stayed until camp quietened and Shadowheart slid to a stop in front of you. 

___

Hours later, Shadowheart had used every healing and restoration spell she knew, not stopping even when she began to sway and sweat. Halsin had offered his magic and healing herbs, Karlach made sure there was always a bucket of hot water and a stack of clean rags available, and you hadn’t missed Gale trying to hide the scroll of reviving from you as he slipped it to Shadowheart.  Everyone in camp had been quick to gather all the healing potions, depositing them at the entrance of Astarion’s tent. Wyll and Lae’zell had slipped into the tree line to make sure the ambush was well and truly taken care of.  

And you? Their appointed ‘fearless’ leader? You had gone uncharacteristically silent. Your heart hadn’t left your throat, clenching painfully every time they jostled the rogue. Your hands were shaking too much, both from fear and white hot rage, to really help the two more experienced healers of the group. And the thought of being too far from Astarion made your stomach turn, so you kept rooted like a tree. But, you were grateful, truly, for all of them. Even if in the moment, all you could do was sit beside Astarion and pray to any God or Devil that would listen. You felt like a wild animal in a cage and a helpless child at the same time, your insides very well might vibrate out of the body if you didn’t melt into the soil first. 

The vampire needed all the help he could get. Aside from the occasional heartbreaking groan of pain or agony driven writhing, Astarion was eerily still. Barely breathing, less so than usual. His already pale, chilled skin had taken on a stony complexion, almost gray. And despite the inability to run a fever, there was a sheen of sweat over his face, clammy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t allowed them to undress him all the way, but part his shirt had been cut away to reveal the stab wound. It was deep, weeping Astarion’s already dark blood, and stretching out from the injury were black, twisting varicose veins that afforded you the cruel visual of the poison spreading. You wanted to take Gale’s revival scroll, use it on the hunter, and revoke the kindness of your mercifully quick death.  

"It’s like the effect of our magic is being dampened." Shadowheart huffed, hands glowing as she cast another restoration spell. The sweat on Astarion’s brow subsided briefly before returning. Halsin nodded beside her, taking a deep sniff of the stake. 

"His lack of blood isn’t moving the potions or antidote through his body fast enough, and this poison isn’t doing any favors." The druid thought aloud, taking some of his herbs to make a paste, "It doesn’t matter how many we pour down his throat if his body can’t absorb them." 

Shadowheart’s worried gaze flickered to you for a moment, before settling back on Halsin, "We’ll figure something out." 

You knew she was saying that more for your benefit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the pity. Instead, your grip tightened on Astarion’s hand as you swiped a clean rag to dab at his face. There was one more round of healing incantations and one more bottle of healing potion nursed into Astarion’s mouth. Your jaw twitched, watching most of it fall from the corner of his mouth. The same trail your own blood usually made after he fed. 

"I’m tapped." Shadowheart sighed almost ruefully, the glow around her flickering and then fading, falling back on her heels. Halsin stood, stooped slightly in the low ceiling of the tent, turning to you. 

"We’ve done everything we can do. We’ll try again with fresh minds in the morning. For now the best he, and we, can do is rest." His voice was calming, as if he thought you might start screaming again, but you just nodded, muttering something along the lines of thanks for trying, and not meeting either of their eyes as they ducked out of the tent.  

Since you had belligerently refused any of their magical attempts to heal your shoulder, Gale had done a rather pitiful job of wrapping it, taking some pointers from Karlach along the way. The wizard offered you a tight smile and a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder before pressing a bottle of healing potion into your hand, "This one is for you. You’re no good to him if you bleed out all over the floor of his tent. We all know how Astarion feels about waste." 

"Yeah- fancy boy will be starving when he wakes up." Karlach’s chipper voice was still laced with a sting of concern. The tiefling didn’t touch you for fear of burning you, but did leave you with some roasted meat and a carafe of water from earlier in the night, "And it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat something either, soldier." 

Then you were left alone with your thoughts, hunched next to Astarion’s side, tired eyes examining the bottle after confirming the rise and fall of his chest. In your hand, the potion glowed slightly with the subtlest warmth, the scarlet liquid seeming to have a mind of its own as it swirled in glittering patterns behind the glass. Your injuries were meager, this little bottle of healing would have you as good as new. Bitterly, you flicked your eyes to the numerous empty potion bottles in the corner that had barely slowed Astarion’s bleeding. Your hand closed around it as you cast another look to the Vampire spawn beside you. His breaths were shaky and shallow even after Shadowheart and Halsin had exhausted every last bit of magic they'd had. Now in the quietest parts of the night, or maybe the darkest hours of the morning, your thoughts swirled, desperate for any sort of plan to latch onto. You had to do something. 

For you, Gale had said, No good to him if you bled out… He’d be starving, Karlach had been joking, His lack of blood wasn’t moving the potions enough to be effective, that had been Halsin’s hypothesis.

Blood. He needed blood.

The revelation was like being dropped into a freezing lake, determination razing the fearful lethargy out of your soul. With your teeth, you pried the cork out and downed the first circular bottle, the overly sweet taste a stark contrast to the somber mood of the night. For good measure, you did the same with a potion of superior healing and two bottles of general poison antidote, slamming them down so fast you had to ignore the churning in your stomach. You’d loot twenty more goblin caves to make up for the dent in supplies if you had to, in that moment you just didn’t care. You waited a moment, begging the powers that be for your ragtag plan to work, not so patiently watching the bruises on your wrist until they started to fade.

You felt it, the moment that you had been completely healed and there was no where else for that magic to go. And then, you wrapped your arms under Astarion’s, heaving him against your chest. You bared your neck, letting gravity gently swing Astarion's nose to meet your pulse point, his silvery lashes tickling your jaw. He stirred slightly, groaning at the movement, pressing himself into your warmth before stilling again. Was he too far gone to realize what was being offered? 

Realizing you’d need to play into his vampiric insticts, you huffed, shattering one of the empty vials against a stone, struggling to do so and keep his deadweight in place. Taking a shard, it wasn’t hesitation but a moment of stilling your shaking hand before you pressed a shallow cut to your neck, right above where his lips rested.

You hissed at the haphazard sting, not as gentle as the pinprick of his fangs were in the night, feeling the blood instantly pool at the seam, a single red ribbon dripping before the potion healed the scratch, "C’mon, Astarion-" 

The moment his name left your lips, or maybe it was the moment a drop of your blood hit his, regardless you could feel his instinct, that sanguine hunger, take over. The soft lips at your neck were replaced with dagger sharp fangs digging into where the small cut had been. The sound you let out was somewhere between a gasp of pain and sob of relief as you barred him against yourself, fists clutching into the back of his shirt like it would keep both of you rooted to each other. Somewhere, in the back on your mind, you thought about the irony of the position, being so afraid to let him slip away, like a rabbit latching onto a snake for fear of the serpent starving. Even if it meant being consumed. 

In that moment, you were so relieved he’d started feeding that you didn’t care that his fangs dug in deeper than they ever had before, much more animalistic than his usual polite nibble. You didn’t dare flinch or wince, in case that might break the spell. Instead, you focussed keeping the both of you upright, one of your arms wrapped under his own, your fingers splayed across his ribs, and your other hand cupping the nape of his neck. The angle had his silvery curls dusting your fingertips and your thumb caressing the sharpest part of his jaw. Never had you been so happy to feel that throbbing numbness in your neck. Astarion’s chin prodded further into your neck, deepening the hold he had, and with his own shaky breath, he swallowed the first mouthful of your blood. 

The hand at his ribs clenched, pulling him impossibly closer and twisting his shirt into your grip again as your pulse began to speed up. The increase of your heart rate only seemed to encourage the vampire, teeth sinking ever deeper to draw more blood flow. Clenching your jaw, you forced your muscles not to tense, it would only make it hurt more. This mouthful was quicker, Astarion seemed to be actively drawing it out of you instead of just waiting for it. He swallowed again, gaining the strength to snake his arms around you. It wasn’t a strong hold at first, but one arm snaked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, those long fingers finding their usual place in the locks of your hair. You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped, relishing the cool touch. Your voice stoked another fire in him, provoking another instinct, your blood provided the strength for his grip to harden, becoming more cage like. As if he needed to worry about you trying to escape. 

He swallowed again, and the numbness spread, not just in your neck but into your cheeks and across your chest. Blood was racing, coursing through you and into him, and with it all the magic of the healing potions. You could feel him getting his legs underneath him, untangling himself from you. At the same time, it was getting harder to hold your arm up, the numbness had reached your fingertips leaving them fumbling at his curls before falling to his shoulder. Another long drink and you found your eyes starting to flutter, everything was starting to feel cold as a shiver shook your body. Astarion, against two centuries of vampiric instinct, started to pull back, and you didn’t stop him, but didn’t let him go far either. He was mostly supporting himself now, which was a relief because a fair bit of focus was freshly delegated to preventing yourself from swaying. 

"Take all you need, ’Stari-" You meant for your voice to be assuring and strong, but it came out breathy and slightly slurred. Astarion pulled away, the movement bringing you mostly out of your stupor. His ruby eyes were as sharp as ever once again, even if the shadows under his eyes were still too dark for your liking, and they stared into your own half lidded eyes. Other than the deep purple shadows, the ashen complex had started to even out, the sweat on his brow had faded away, and when you dropped your gaze, you noticed the twisting black veins were starting to recede and fade. Hells, you could get up and dance (very briefly before you passed out).

Even, with a foot in the grave, more dead than usual, and covered in both of your bloods he was unfairly beautiful. His eyes narrowed on your dopey smile, as if he your relief was a symptom of too much blood loss. If that was the effect of four swallows, just a little more would flush out the poison completely, "I can take it, love, just please let me help you." 

Astarion never considered himself to be someone that had to be coaxed into receiving a gift, and you were offering him one so sweetly, practically begging him. After 200 years of rats and spiders, you had put literal magic in your veins for him. Magic that was bringing him back from death to his usual state of undead. He could feel it bringing his strength back, allowing all the magic the cleric and druid had poured into him to finally take some affect. Your blood, his first thinking blood, was always delicious- sweet and metallic, a delicate blend of all the good tastes, something so intrinsically you. With the potions infused, though, if Astarion was to hazard guess what sunlight tasted like- this would be it. How could he refuse? 

Before he went back in, he placed a reverent kiss to the marks he had left in your neck, gingerly lapping at the wounds before sinking his fangs back into your tender flesh. This time, it wasn’t a gasp or sob, but a mewl, your frigid fingers once again digging into the flounced collar his shirt. If you both lived until morning, you were sure he’d gripe for hours about all the wrinkles you’d put in his favorite (only) shirt. Probably throw a proper fit about the stake hole.

Now, as the potions effects dwindled in your own body, you could properly feel the drain. The coldness crept up from your extremities but didn’t counteract the burn in your muscles, making it harder and harder to suppress the shivers. Your breathing was quick almost a pant, but you still felt like you weren't getting any oxygen. If you were thinking rationally, if you hadn’t gone through the brief grief of thinking you’d lost him, you would have realized you need to push him away, that you were approaching your limit. But you weren’t thinking rationally, no. You still were too busy grinning- as your hand had fallen from his collar, it grazed across the wound, now fully closed. Just a little more, you promised yourself. You felt him swallow more, he held himself up completely on his own allowing you to lean into him. 

Astarion was okay, more than just on the mend, he was alive and strong, the potions and magic were working, were the thoughts that were reverberating through your head as things started to feel farther away. Your desperation had melted away, leaving a grateful smile in its wake. It wasn’t completely on purpose, but you let Astarion take on more and more of your weight, barely aware of his fangs in your neck anymore, not quite hearing Scratch and the cub whining outside, the shivering even began to subside as it seemed to take too much energy. 

Earlier, you had drug him to you and held him against your chest almost crying. But, as more of your blood flowed through him, it had become juxtaposed. Astarion held you in place, leaning over you for the best angle at your neck. It was his arms that kept you from falling over, his firm hand that kept your head from lolling too far back. His bite became less fervent, his grip less cage like and more affectionate. His survival instincts started to give way to civility and charm. You barely noticed as he twisted himself so he could slowly, gently lay you down onto the bedroll that had moments ago been his sickbed. He laid you on your back, onto the generous stack of pillows he kept in his tent. He tangled his fingers into yours, just as you had done for him, his knees holding him in a predatory crawl over you, all without breaking from your neck. 

Barely registering the softness, it was the thud of your other hand against the floor that roused you, just a bit. It was also what drew Astarion’s attention, it took everything in him to withdraw his fangs. He gave each puncture would a diligent cleaning with his tongue before pulling away completely, lest he lose control and dive right back in. (Really, how could one person be that tempting?)

But, you had arguably saved his life, it’d be terribly impolite of him to kill you. When Astarion’s eyes met yours, your gaze was more than half lidded as you watched him- what little of your eyes he could see were glossy and fighting to stay focused, he could hear your heartbeat markedly fainter than he was comfortable with. 

You were watching him as intently as you could. In the dim lantern light of his tent, surrounded by potion bottles and bloody rags, Astarion was up and moving and breathing again. Revived and strong, his eyes practically glowing scarlet, and, if you really focussed, you could make out the tips of his ears becoming pink. Something that only happened when he was freshly well fed, nothing was left of his stab wound but the hole in his shirt, the frayed edges dyed from the poison and his blood. He could have looked like a angel, complete with the fire’s reflection creating a halo effect on his snowy curls, had it not been for the sheen of sticky blood drenching his chin and neck. Your blood- the blood that gave him enough strength to heal. How could you not smile? 

Astarion tried to come up with a snarky comment, but for once, nothing came to mind. Instead, he kept glancing between your intertwined fingers, glassy eyes, and that idiotic little smile. Your giddiness was beginning to unnerve him, had you been charmed or perhaps taken a hit to the head? With the parasite, he reached out briefly into your mind. His brow twitched when he was only met with waves of relief and gratitude, you were too tired for structured thought, but too relieved to give into the exhaustion. How could someone on the verge on exsanguination look so happy? And why in the nine hells did it seem to be directed towards his well being? 

The vampire was stricken, taking count of everything you’d truly done that night alone: fought beside him, tried to take the death blow in his place, comforted him, held his hand, cleaned him up, hadn’t let the others undress him anymore than necessary, stayed with him, circumvented his vampirism to find a way to heal him, and had genuinely tried to bleed yourself dry for him. Hell, you’d cut your own neck for him- not even metaphorically, but literally cut your throat for him. He could feel your warmth, your kindness and everything good about you settling into his very marrow. Something uncomfortably… gooey… stirred in his chest, something more and more worrying common as of late, when it came to you. Had his manipulation really worked so well? A feeling too close to sharp guilt gnawed at that warm gooey feeling. Was it really manipulation anymore? Gods, your morality was infecting him.  

“This is that Insufferabe admirability I was talking about ." He muttered into the tent, shaking his head as he watched your chest rise and fall, using his free hand tame some of the hair at your crown. It was then Astarion realized your eyes had slipped shut, your fingers, now just as cold as his, going limp against his. Weeks ago, he would have polished off the last of your blood and left you behind. But at present, he felt the sickening need to return even half the care you’d shown him. He’d have to dissect his emotions later. The rogue was glad the other companions had left supplies within arms reach, as it meant he could gather them without dropping your hand. 

"Ah, ah, ah," He called quietly, gently pulling you back to the real world, pleased to watch your scrunch your nose in the exertion of waking back up. Finally, that contented little smile on your face slipped into a frown, a protest against his interruption of your sleep. Astarion’s smile was almost apologetic as he helped you into a slightly more upright position, "Not quite yet, little love. It’s your turn. No sharing this time."

Another healing potion was pressed into your hand and opened for you, and you allowed Astarion to guide it to your lips, his pale hand guiding your own. This time, the warmth of the elixir was welcome, a comfort instead of a taunt, assurance instead of a plea. Astarion carefully watched you as you swallowed the potion down, noting how you shivered less and a bit of color returned to your face. When the potion bottle was empty, he traded it for a small cup of water, keeping a guiding hand on the silver chalice he’d nicked from a tradesmen weeks ago until you had enough strength to hold it. 

Though still exhausted and dizzy, you had the energy to throw him an obstinate look. Astarion feigned a dramatic sigh but kept a firm enough grip on you that you couldn’t lay back down, "All this for me, yet you won’t even let me give you water?"

Ignoring how it made the dizziness worse, you rolled your eyes, taking a few sips of the water at a time even if it was mostly just so he’d let you lay back down. Astarion was in one piece and you were exhausted, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything else. But, Astarion seemed very pleased with himself, squeezing your hand once again, "Good girl." 

If you weren’t on the verge of blood loss, you could have choked on the water. Still, there was a part of you that whispered in relief he must be better if he’s back to teasing you. Astarion watched you take a few more sips before you sagged back against the pillows. Your eyes closed again, but your breathing was deeper now and the hand he held didn’t feel as cold. Outside, Scratch and the cub seemed appeased at your improvement as they stopped their pacing and whining to settle at the tent flap.

This time, he didn’t pull you back up, instead muttering to himself as he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing his bite marks. No wonder you seemed so tired, they were much messier than usual. Vicious, was the better word. Not only had his two fangs pierced your delicate skin, but his bottom canine teeth had punctured through as well, and he could see the outline of his other teeth in the deep bruising grooves they had left behind. In unfortunate addition, it seemed in the height of his blood lust he’d made more than one bite, leaving your neck littered in marks. Astarion grimaced, it really was more of a mauling, “Apologies, darling, I’m not typically so brutish. Forgive me?" 

Astarion pointedly ignored how his heart lifted at the slightest nod you gave him, instead focussing on cleaning you up as gently as possible. The potion had stopped the bleeding, and he watched as the wounds themselves were slowly closing. Each swipe of the rag was feather light, almost not even there. The elf noticed you give back into sleep, this time not bothering to wake you again. Instead he kept working and fussing until the only sign of his feeding was the stained neckline of your shirt. Then, he gently ran a clean, wet rag over your face and hands, taking away the evidence of your tears and worry. Finally, he threw a cloak over you like a blanket, to hopefully ward off the last of the shivers from the warmth he’d stolen from you. 

Not stolen, he reminded himself, though the truth somehow felt more dangerous, it was freely given to him. The vampire settled in, laying across from you, the only part of you he could touch was the hand still holding his. Though, already in your sleep you had shifted towards him. Astarion frowned, eyebrows furrowed, the more he came to know you, the more he knew that you would give and give and give. Truly, he knew that he didn’t need to manipulate you anymore, maybe he never needed to, and for the first time in centuries, he didn’t want to just keep taking. He didn’t want to bleed you dry and loot you for all you were worth. Astarion was surprised to find he wanted give something back to you. He just needed to figure out what.

The nights events caught up to him once again as his eyes closed, listening to the evermore familiar sound of your heartbeat as it became steadier and the even sounds of your breathing as you slept, letting it guide him towards meditation. 

Gods damn you and your insufferable admirability.

___

Part Two Here!

Again this was my first time writing for Astarion. I also tried to balance things into being equal parts in each persons perspective. I just love when two lovestruck idiots have to confront their own feelings about being in love.

[harunayuuka2060]

Idia: You look cranky.

Vampire MC: I'm craving fresh human blood.

Idia: ...

Idia: Just go ahead and hunt.

Vampire MC: Tch. None of them looks appetizing.

Idia: ...

Idia: Lol.

Lilia: Don't be shy. You can drink from me.

Vampire MC: *tries to push him off* YOU WOULD TASTE GROSS!

Lilia: Hm? But I look ravishing.

Vampire MC: I SAW YOU EAT FROG STRAIGHT FROM THE POND!

Vampire MC: I DON'T TRUST YOU TO TASTE GOOD!

Lilia: ...

Lilia: *pouts* You're so picky.

[brabblesblog]

With the last installment for my fic releasing next week, I'm instead doing Batstarion Sunday this weekend with art from @tikvin <3

First two fics:

Whither is thy beloved gone?

Remember ye not the former things.