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noheadcanons-juststories · 2 months ago

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Vampire!141 x fledgling!reader, who was found abandoned and starved first feeding

Soon enough, you allow the 141 to enter. But instead of the door, they come through the window since it was already open. Immediately, the men get to work. Johnny opens all the windows to get fresh air circulating inside the cottage. Simon carries a large duffle bag into the kitchen, its smell vague yet uncomfortably familiar. Kyle takes your bedding to wash, which leaves you freezing. And John gathers clean clothes and towels to prepare a bath for you.

The Captain carefully carries you to the bathroom and sits you on the bath rug. The rising steam grants you little warmth as the water fills up. As it does, John examines your neck, the bite wound on your left side. Healed yet still noticeable. However, it’s a messy bite; like your old sire was trying to take a chunk of your flesh. And you still had some blood that dried on your skin.

The vampire huffs before grabbing a small towel and wetting it, wringing it out afterward. “Bastard couldn't even bother to clean you up,” he mutters to himself as he gently wipes your skin clean with the damp cloth. “Careless…”

“I can clean myself, Mr. Price,” you say as you try to take the towel, but he pulls it away.

“No, don't you lift a finger. You just sit still for now.” He tsks after pressing your hand back into your lap, continuing to clean your neck. “Besides, you need some blood before you can do anything.”

“Ugh…”

Your grimace earns another, lighter exhale from him. “You wouldn't be the first fledgling averse to blood,” he assures you. “Hell, I was the same way at your age. Even if you never taste human blood, you need to drink something. Get something in your stomach so your body doesn't shut down.” There's a knock at the door. “Come in,” he invites whoever's on the other side, tossing the wet cloth into the sink.

The door opens instantly to reveal Simon. He's carrying a mug filled with something your new instincts now recognize as blood. “Got somethin’ ready for her,” he announces, handing the cup to John. Smelling the aroma, he's pleased with the selection.

“Thank you, Simon,” he nods. The liquid inside is gently steaming. It has earthy tones, yet the aroma reminds you of raw meat for some reason. “Now, this is bear blood,” John tells you. “I was first fed this when I was a fledgling. The flavor is nothing like human blood, but it is a nice substitute.”

You take one deep whiff and John sees your pupils expand. However, you still got a sour expression. “The sooner you drink, the better you'll feel,” Simon simply says, hands resting against the bathroom counter. “And luckily we've got plenty of substitutes for you to try.”

Well that explains the bag he carried, you think to yourself. And its smell.

“Can't you just… I don't know, add it into some tea? Or some juice?” you try to plead.

“‘Fraid that won't work,” Simon shakes his head.

“You're in a state where your body would reject human food and beverage,” John explains. “You won't be able to keep it down, sweetheart. Not until you've had some blood in you.”

Your face worsens, and you whimper. “Picky little fusspot, aren'tcha?” Simon says lightheartedly.

“Simon…” John uses a tone that signals the younger vampire to leave. Once it’s just the two of you again, he then turns back to you. “This is the only way to live, fledgie,” he continues as he shuts off the tub's faucet. “Vamps can't go without blood. Not for long. Two weeks at the most, but fledglings need blood the moment they complete transformation. Or else they become skin and bones.” Much like how you are right now. “You wanna avoid death? This is how, plain and simple,” he tells you.

Annoyed, you hiss on instinct, baring little baby fangs peeking out from sensitive gums. Your eyes shrinking are the only sign of your constrained ferality. In mere seconds, you realize what you did, and you quietly apologize for your outburst, staring at the floor.

But John isn't fazed. Doesn't even bat an eye as he chuckles at both your meekness and spirit. “Come here, little bat,” he says while moving closer to you.

He takes place next to you and pulls you closer to his body. His skin isn’t warm, as you expected, but you can feel a heartbeat. Albeit slow. With the mug in one hand, he dips in a finger to merely dab at the surface of blood. Collecting some on his skin and letting the crimson drip to his next finger as he lifts it in front of you. Your grimace is a permanent feature, but your eyes show your obvious hunger. You lean away, but your gaze tracks the blood as it slowly drips down John's fingers.

“It would be a shame to let this go to waste,” the older vampire purred, watching the liquid run down his digits. “Bear blood is hard to come by. Tough beasts to take down, even for a vampire. Takes forever to collect and requires a lot of care to keep fresh. But it’s all worth it in the end.” You watch as his tongue slowly licks up the blood. His eyes change from their bright blue to a faint rusty brown then lazily look over to you.

Your mouth waters as you glance at his lips.

“It’s tradition at my sire's House to share your best blood with your fledglings. And I’d like to honor that tradition with you, fledgie.” He then offers the mug back to you. “Will you let me?”

Your sourness gives way to a hopeful face. You have to remind yourself that Amos called them to be here. Without the worry of the Night Council coming after you. Without him, you’d be a goner. John is taking the time to care for you.

He didn’t have to…

He had his reasons, of course.

He still didn’t have to, but…

You gingerly take the mug into your hands with a sigh. The stuff is like snow cone syrup, but a little thicker. No transparency and darker than red wine. It smells just like you expect blood to smell: a coppery scent, but with a hint of wet stones and petrichor. A slight earthy sweetness, too.

It’s… enticing. But it’s still blood. You bring it to your lips, tip of your tongue touching the contents. But your inhibitions react quicker than your brain can process, and it overrules flavor, getting another hiss out of you.

John didn’t have this much trouble when he first fed Kyle. And John didn’t give this much trouble when MacMillan first fed him. But he chalks it up to circumstances and timing. John sired Kyle himself, and the young man was willing. And MacMillan found John, freshly turned on the battlefield just hours after he was attacked, but better late than never.

You, however, were attacked, fed off of, turned to avoid adding another corpse to someone's body count, then left to fend for yourself for almost a month. No one was here to help you ease into your new life. You didn’t go rabidly hunting like most fledglings did when left unsupervised. A poor soul, afraid to harm anyone. You had more resilience than most newly-turned vamps.

Or perhaps you were just extremely stubborn. Can’t even drink animal blood from a cup. John thinks you're a squeamish little fusspot rather than picky.

Sighing, he opts for an old trick that MacMillan tried on him when he was a youngblood. Taking the mug from you, he sips some of the blood and lets it sit on his tongue.

“Come here, fledgie,” he coos, his voice soft as a zephyr breeze. You're skeptical but scoot closer. “Open your mouth. Trust me.”

You’re hoping he doesn't force feed you by mouth…

You obey, and he leans into your face. His thumb rests below your lip, keeping it open. His tongue swishes around in the blood before he gently blows into your mouth, simply exhaling. You immediately frown, confused by this gesture. “Now close,” he says. “And let it settle.” You oblige, still wondering what the purpose of this action was—

And then, you feel it. Taste it. A strange cornucopia of flavors. Rich and exotic meat, with hints of spearmint and tobacco. And is that chamomile?

It's gross. It's delectable. It's weird.

“How is it?” John asks you.

It's like sampling a cigar. It has you wanting more…

“It's… alright,” you downplay it.

John's lips only curl up. “Did you like it? Be honest, love.”

“...Yeah, but don't… don't do that again, please.” You aren't so much disgusted by his little trick, but you hope that your cheeks aren't flushed. Pray to some higher power that your pale and sunken face doesn't turn red from the rather intimate proximity.

Once again, John wasn't too fazed, and he swallowed the blood in his mouth. He awaits your answer, “You ready to drink from the mug then?” You nod, taking back the ceramic mug and wanting to get this over with.

Deep breath in, then out. Relax. It’s for your own good, really. Your eyes are shut tight as you bring the other side of the mug to your own lips and slowly sip.

It's delicious. Delectable. Fucking delightful even.

But your humanity still lingers, clinging to you like kudzu. Your mortal mind can't ignore the metallic taste of the “beverage” as you begrudgingly let it settle on your taste buds. The fact that you're consuming blood is putting you off.

“You need to really taste it,” John reminds you. “It’s the only way you’ll get over it.” He can tell you’re about to spit it back in the cup by the face you’re making, and he lets out another sigh. “You really are a fusspot,” he playfully teases you. “Sweet little fledgie just can’t stomach her blood.”

There's another knock at the door. “Everything alright in there?” It's Kyle.

“Come on in, Kyle. Could use your help,” John tells him. The bathroom door slowly reveals the youngest of the 141 peeking in. The steam from the tub immediately greets him, along with you and John on the tile floor.

“Warm and cozy in here,” he says, shutting the door behind him. “Think the water's hot enough?”

John sighs, “Hopefully, it'll still be warm by the time we're done. Fledgie's having trouble drinking.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kyle cops a seat next to you, sandwiching you between him and John. “What's going on, love? Squeamish?” You give him a simple nod.

“I don't get how you guys can drink this without a second thought to where it came from,” you nearly pout as you stare into the mug. The fluid inside seemingly mocking you for your spineless behavior. “It's just…”

“Unnatural?” Kyle finishes for you.

“Yeah.”

The Second Sergeant holds out his hand, silently asking for the mug. Looking inside, only a shadow of his reflection stares back. “It's a big change from human nature,” he says. “One that you’ll have to learn how to get used to because your instincts will only take you so far.” He looks back at you, sanguine flecks dotted in hazel. “You’re very self-disciplined for a youngling. But in order to live, you’ll need to drop your restraints. This blood? It will be your water from here on out. Your lifeblood, so to speak. You wanna not die? Not hurt anyone? This is how.”

He sounds just like his sire…

“You can keep your benevolence even with your humanity gone,” John speaks up. “It’s possible. You’re living proof of that, more or less. But you’re allowed to indulge yourself, too. You got all the time in the world now to do so.”

“You won’t truly live until you’ve done so,” Kyle tells you, handing you back the mug. “Don’t worry about the beginning or the end. Just focus on the here and now.” His fingers brush against your jawline, the touch brief yet intimate. His eyes, now a deep crimson, pin your very being in place. “Drink, little fledgie,” he croons to you, “and enjoy yourself.”

His tone is soft and alluring, pretty on the ears. A song that lowers defenses and speaks to the heart rather than the mind. It’s an invitation instead of a mandate.

Will you take it?

Looking back at the mug of bear blood, you swallow down nothing as you bring the ceramic back to your lips. Slowly tipping it back, the blood flows past and rests on your tongue again. That metallic taste is back, but you ignore it in favor of flavor.

Delicious, delectable, and delightful.

Your body nearly vibrates in pleasure as vitality returns bit by bit. “Is it good?” Kyle asks you.

Your brow gradually relaxes before you take the time to finally swallow, “Yeah.”

He smiles, “Good fledgie.”

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