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fangswbenefits · 3 months

Text

Everything

Summary: You're used to staying still whenever Astarion feeds on you. This time, he wants you to feel everything.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Vampire bite. Blood drinking. Blood kink. Inappropriate use of tadpoles. Dry humping if you squint. Handjob. Innuendo. PiV. Creampie. Precum.

Word count: 3.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: At the time of posting this fic (Feb 11th), I was unaware of a fic by @bhaalism that had been posted on Feb 6th and that some similarities are present, even if totally unbeknownst to me. It was not consciously done, but I can understand how some people might see it differently. I've discussed the matters privately with Kita and, as such, here's the link to their fic so you can check them out and appreciate their work!

I also want to emphasise that no negative behaviour should come of this (in either direction) as we've both discussed matters privately, and no one else has to get involved!

You've done this so many times before that it feels as natural as second nature.

It feels right.

If the multiple scrolls of Lesser Restoration are anything to go by, this is meant to be a prolonged feeding session.

You don't mind.

And by the looks of it, neither does Astarion as he pulls you by the waist to sit more comfortably on his lap.

He has this ritual of sorts with you. It would be so easy to tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck to his bite and let him feed comfortably, but he takes his time.

And you know it's only a matter of time before you start feeling it.

“You can just feed, you know?” you purr, pressing your forehead against his.

As expected, he huffs in feigned annoyance.

“Gods, are you about to lecture me with the ‘don't play with your food’ nonsense, darling?” he bites out dramatically, but you do know he enjoys a good tease.

“Maybe I should,” you say, swirling the soft curls at the nape of his neck around your finger. “You need to feed, after all.”

A devious smile curves his lips and you pull back to slip from his lap.

But he immediately halts you halfway with a firm grip on your waist, fingertips digging into your skin and holding you in place.

Oh?

This is new.

And that's when you first feel it twitch for the first time.

It's no surprise that Astarion gets easily hard with you and for you. In fact, it doesn't take much effort at all. It's as if his body is set to react to yours in unfathomable ways.

But when you press down softly against him, and the motion earns a groan from him and yet another twitch from his cock, you know this is different.

Usually, he feeds on you as you lay flat on your bed, making use of the comfort a mattress can provide as he drinks your blood.

It is easy and quick and enough.

But tonight, it seems that Astarion has other plans and his lustful gaze paired with his hardening cock are proof enough.

He is evidently hungry for more than just your blood.

“As much as I adore you under me,” he begins, gaze dropping to your shirt, “I think I'd rather have you on top of me this time.”

Your hands come to grip his shoulders for balance, and your eyes widen slightly. “Why?”

A gentle tug at the laces of your nightdress nearly breaks your concentration, but you somehow manage to keep your composure as his crimson eyes find yours.

“Why not? Why shouldn't this delicacy be shared?” he asked with another tug and you felt the fabric at your chest begin to loosen. “You should enjoy it, too, darling. And I want you to feel everything.”

He emphasises his words with a final pull that brings your nightdress fully apart, unravelling your breasts to his hungry gaze. They heave in unison with your quickened breathing and it's enough to transfix him.

You can't necessarily feel it, but you are certain his cock just got harder just as blood rushes downwards, swelling your clit.

The shift in temperature causes your nipples to slowly harden and that is what makes him groan.

“Enjoying the view?”

He nods. “You can feel how much I do.”

You feigned ignorance. “I don't think I can.”

The grip on your waist tightens and he pulls you against his cock, the flimsy fabric of your undergarments allowing your clit to drag along his covered length.

Hard and needy.

“You were saying…?”

Smug and cheeky and infuriating.

Three adjectives that fall short to fully grasp how he is with you when it comes to intimacy, but it's a good place to start.

He's good and he knows it and he wants you to validate him every step of the way.

“Connect your tadpole with mine,” he says unexpectedly.

“What? Why?”

“You know why.”

You do and it baffles you that he even suggested it in the first place. Connecting tadpoles intimately is reserved for when privacy is a guarantee. And being inside one of the many rooms at the Elfsong Tavern offers everything but privacy.

“We're at a tavern, Astarion…”

He quirks an eyebrow, bucking his hips upwards ever so slightly. “Yes, I'm aware. Your point being…?”

“We'll be heard.”

“Do you not intend on being loud?”

Your mouth falls agape at the nerve. Silence is never an option with him. He takes pride in how he makes you feel, knowing fully well he's ruined you for anyone else.

“Would you have it any other way?”

His cock twitches in response, but it's the way his half-hooded eyes roam deliciously slow across your face that makes you clench.

“And miss the opportunity to inconvenience our next-door neighbours?” he tuts with a smirk that bares his fangs. “I don't think so.”

In the midst of all the lust-heavy words and slow hip rolls, you manage out a chuckle.

“You're vicious. Shadowheart and Lae'zel will definitely not appreciate the midnight ruckus.”

He bucks his hips so that your face gets close enough for your lips to brush.

“And what exactly are they going to do, hmm?” he says with a smirk. “Kill me?”

Before you can answer, he leans in and captures your bottom lip in between his teeth. The suddenness of it all, makes you flinch back and when a fang grazes the frail skin, it draws blood.

It stings enough for you to curse, and you see his hungry gaze admiring the droplet that pools on your lip.

“They could do much worse to you,” you tease with a giggle, proving your point by denying him the taste of your blood when he leans in again.

He lets out a low rumble of disapproval as he slumps against the headboard. “If by ‘worse’ you mean ‘whispering healing prays and hurling nonsensical curse words’, then I agree. A torment,” he feigned pain dramatically.

There is something oddly satisfying about teasing Astarion to the brink of frustration.

You almost feel inclined to satisfy his bloodlust, but decide against it, wiping the droplet with a swipe of your tongue.

That immediately earns a deep frown from him and an obnoxious click of his tongue. “Honestly, what a waste.”

“Then be nice,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

Astarion's hips buck and you're sure your undergarments are soaked enough for the wetness to seep through the fabric of his trousers. If he feels it, he doesn't say.

When you pull away, there's a faint stain of blood on his lower lip, which he pulls in between his teeth to suckle on it gently.

The sight is enough to have you roll your hips twice.

Suddenly, he looks uncharacteristically serious. “Connect your tadpole with mine.”

There is urgency in his voice and you can only assume he is past warming up and ready to move on to the next step.

And you're not one to deny the offer of a good time if there is a promise that him feeding on you can be pleasurable to you as well.

You allow your mind to stir the dorment tadpole, urging it to find his.

It is rather simple and you've done it before with him during your sexual endeavours. But this is different. It already feels different. It's as if the worm knows this connection bears other purposes.

Astarion lets out a groan when his body meets yours through his mind.

The tug inside your head is enough to draw a breathy gasp as you are made aware of his intentions.

He wants your hand.

Your… hand?

Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, but not for long enough as his hand pulls yours from his shoulder.

And what he does next makes you clench so hard, you feel a gush of wetness drip from you.

“I want you to feel it – everything – as I feast on your blood,” he purrs, placing your hand around his throat.

Oh.

The tadpole squirms in anticipation as you feel his cock throbbing in your mind and against your clothed clit.

His skin is cool to the touch but it quickly heats up under your palm and, with his other hand, he undoes the laces of his trousers with unmatched dexterity.

You gasp as his thoughts bleed into you, allowing you to know what he expects next.

This time, he doesn't need to utter aloud his intentions.

You can hear him inside your head and you find yourself utterly unable to look away from his piercing eyes.

Take it out and grip it, darling.

Your hips buck, driven by pure instinct as you comply with his request. A shaky hand reaching down and tugging at the fabric of his own undergarments, and in one swift motion, you free his cock.

As expected, he immediately welcomes your grip with a thrust, and you feel just how hard and wet he already is.

His cock is still cool to the touch, but you know that is about to change soon enough.

With a gentle squeeze, his eyes flutter shut, head tilting back slightly as he adjusts to your touch.

It doesn't take long for a thick bead of precum to roll down his length before reaching your knuckles.

Inside your head, your tadpole shudders and you're sure it's because he wants to feel how swollen your clit is for him.

It pulsates rhythmically and Astarion growls with a smirk.

He adores feeling your clit.

Just as you adore feeling how stiff his cock can get in your hand and in your mind.

“You're already quite hard already,” you say, doing a laughable poor job at keeping your voice steady.

“I can get harder,” he says and you feel his voice rumbling against your palm.

You clench in sheer reflex. Mostly because you know he can and will.

Instinctively, you let out a soft moan from the delicious friction.

And it's enough to have Astarion's ego soar high enough that it pulls the most devilishly alluring smirk from his lips.

After all, he never misses the chance to remind you that it is your blood that makes his cock thicker and warmer and harder.

Astarion finally opens his eyes again and brings his hand to your face, fingers tracing your jawline before he tips your head to the side, exposing your neck to him.

Hold on tight, darling.

He cranes his head and he plants a fleeting kiss below your ear, as he grazes his cool lips along the length of your neck. By now, he knows your pulse points by heart, so when he finds one, his fangs break skin and sink into your inviting flesh.

Out of reflex, you grip his cock tighter and he lets out a muffled groan.

No matter how many times you allow him to feed on you, the initial uncomfortable feeling is always there and it lingers until his lips wrap around the bleeding wounds.

And when he begins to suckle hungrily, downing mouthfuls of your blood, you nearly moan from the way you can feel it under your palm.

Your tadpole allows you to be aware of your blood rushing and coursing through his body at a steady pace and when it finally reaches his lower half, a faint pulse stirs his cock.

Immediately, you clench, frustrated that it's around nothing, but you quickly brush the disappointment aside as you finally understand why he wanted your hands around him.

He swallows your blood at a rhythm that matches the throb in his cock, and inside your head you can feel it beat in unison with the one in your clit.

It's your blood that brings him alive in more ways than one.

Warmth spreads across your palm and fingers and the veins that snake around his length begin to bulge as your blood fills them.

Tighter… tighter… tighter.

He repeats it like a prayer that he hopes you can answer.

He's so lost in you that his senses blur and he becomes one with you.

You try your best to comply, the back of your hand soaked with precum, as he hardens even more.

In between your legs, your clit swells up as if in response and you're so wet you're sure he'd be able to slide his cock inside with little to no effort.

How is it possible? How…

The connection allows him to hear your thoughts and he groans in response, rolling his hips at a clumsy and broken pace.

Astarion's concentration is hanging on by a thread. You can hear him curse in sheer frustration as he tries to hold on to some semblance of control.

But he gets too drunk in your blood and he is unable to keep his focus.

It doesn't help that your own arousal is spilling into his mind and mixing with his own.

A double-edged sword.

He wanted you to feel him as he feeds on you, and now he's stuck having to withstand double the arousal and the pleasure that your blood provides.

The first loud growl comes from him and you feel your grip around his cock loosen as he thickens.

Your walls flutter and he feels it, bringing one hand down to close around yours, ensuring you grip him firmly once again.

You keep clenching like that and I…

His next words aren' heard in your head and you feel your body begin the inevitable battle between overwhelming pleasure and the numbness that always comes whenever he feeds.

A faint growl slips past your lips and it quickly morphs into a strangled cry that echoes around the room.

You want to call out his name and warn him… warn him that your body can't take much more bloodloss and arousal.

But the tug inside your mind lets you know that he knows.

After all, your body is his now.

Just as his is yours.

He fucks your hand slowly with his atop yours, keeping the pace. The lump in his throat bobs rhythmically with each gulp.

Astarion… it's too much…

It takes him a couple of more seconds, two more mouthfuls and at least five more thrusts of his cock for him to finally unlatch from your neck with a guttural growl.

He drags his warm tongue across the puncture wounds, not wasting the rivulets of blood that dribble down.

The wet sound is nearly intoxicating and you nearly jump in his lap as his other hand finds your breast, fingers tugging at your hardened nipple.

Astarion is close and, by extension, so are you.

Your blood rushes throughout his entire body and you now understand how good it feels. How good you feel inside him. He's warm and flushed from feeding on you and his head tilts back against the headboard as loses himself in you.

Somehow, he's able to keep a steady pace as he fucks your hand, the most beautiful moans spilling from his mouth as he does so.

You caress his neck lovingly as he tugs on your nipple.

“Darling…”

It's a plea.

Under different circumstances, you'd have to ask him what he wanted. But you're inside his head and you know why he's begging you.

He doesn't want his cum to go to waste.

He doesn't think the tightness and warmth and wetness your hand and fingers can provide.

I need to be inside you.

The alarm in his voice stuns you momentarily and your eyes widen as a very urgent tug

He's about to come.

You let go of his cock and his hands are suddenly in between your legs.

Your body reacts to this instantly and your walls tighten in anticipation, eager to squeeze something else.

Stop. Clenching.

A loud moan is all you give him in return as your vision blurs from how his cock pulses and throbs and leaks precum.

Another clench.

“Gods above… I can't take it anymore.”

And neither can you.

You hear the sound of fabric being torn filling your ears and his hands claw at your waist to position himself at your entrance.

A languid snap of his hips and he sinks into you, stretching you in a way that has you slumping against his chest, hardened nipples grazing his skin as he bottoms out.

He's so thick from your blood that you're sure you'll be sore from it, but none of that matters now.

All that matters is that you're stuffed to the brim, his balls pressing against you and the best part is that you can feel how he feels.

You're not sure whose climax hits first as you're so entwined with him.

You reckon it's his as you feel his balls tighten and cum coarse through his length, spilling into you with hurried thrusts.

It feels too good to be true.

You can feel just how tight you are around him and you can feel each gush of cum leaving his bodu

He whines. “I… it feels – Gods…”

Astarion is a babbling mess under you and his words soon lose meaning as they become incomprehensible.

The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with the creamy sounds of you milking his cock is enough to send you into overdrive.

The uncontrollable contractions hit you like a tidal wave and both you and Astarion groan in unison as you both get thrust into each other's climaxes.

Your head is buried in the crook of his neck and you vaguely think in the haze of your peak that you should use a scroll of Lesser Restoration. You're still bleeding from the wounds and the fear that you might faint looms on the horizon.

But pleasure overcomes numbness and you welcome it with no resistance.

Still, as Astarion gets warmer and warmer, you begin to fade to the coldness.

Your tadpole is writhing with his and you feel him push you from him so that he can latch his lips against your bleeding wounds, careful to keep his fangs to himself.

He suckles gently as you descend from your shared climax and it's as if the action could lull him into a trance.

Blindly, you try to feel for a scroll that is somewhere scattered across the bed.

He's still buried deep inside you when the connection is severed, showing no signs of slipping out.

You find what you're looking for and utter the right words to activate the scroll, battling against your laboured breaths.

Vigour blooms inside you almost instantly and you feel warmth spread throughout your body with each pump of your heart.

The wounds close and he has no choice but to unlatch one final time, lips dripping with blood.

“I think I understand now… why you wanted to try this…” you breathe out, collapsing against him again.

The sudden motion causes a few droplets of cum to drip from you.

His hand is splattered across your back, fingers caressing your flushed skin. “Why are you so surprised? You should know by now that I always deliver what I promise.”

You think it's impossible to love him even more, but the way he holds you surely tests your resolve.

“This was really good… really, really good,” you say.

“Keep on praising me like that, and we'll have to go for a second round.”

Two loud bangs on the wall are heard accompanied by a “Tsk'va!” and you chuckle.

“Well, do you think our neighbours enjoyed the show, darling?”

You doubt it, but this isn't about anyone but you and him.

Masterlist

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion smut #astarion x you #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x oc

2K notes · View notes

lynnlovesthestars · 8 months

Text

One and only.

Pairing: Astarion x fem!reader

Genre & warnings: smut and fluff, post act 3, soft Astarion, fingering, slight overstimulation and orgasm denial, unprotected sex, a lil of anxiety? and thinking but lots of love too, blood, biting.. I don't think there's more?

Words: 4.4k (damn i didn't think it was that long oof.

Healing is a slow process, but with you it's a little easier.

Astarion paced back and forth in front of the tent, weighing the words that were floating in his mind, the feeling that pooled in his stomach and shoved off the fear hidden in the back of his mind.

You were different because you cared about him. You reminded him every night before you'd close your eyes and fell asleep in his arms, and you respected him like none ever did. You reassured him whenever he'd ask you if you were still okay to wait for him until he was ready to try again with sex, and he was oh so grateful for it.

It's been around three years since you were free of the tadpole, you'd grown so much together: patching up each other's wounds while learning how to love. You taught him to be intimate without bedding you. You taught him how caresses could be so much more than sex.

He looked around the camp, you called your old companions for another adventure, helping you find a cure for vampirism, and they all eagerly accepted.

Aylin and Isobel were the only ones missing, literally.

You found a nice spot in the underdark, glowing mushrooms of pretty colors decorated all around you, and the circular cave was just perfect enough for the bunch of you.

You were fumbling around the fire, trying to roast a boar leg you got at a small merchant you found on the road.

Gale was trying to interfere with that boar leg cooking process, but you didn't want to hear him, especially after you had to live off his particularly unsavory stew for months, this time you were taking the metaphorical chef hat and feeding everyone with your newfound skills. Three years away from adventure had to be filled one way or another.

The camp was always lively, that's one of the perks of being so many.

Wyll was playing with Boo, while Minsc and Jaheira were playfully fighting over something dumb. Karlach and Halsin were fast asleep next to the fire, snoring loudly between Gale's words.

Lae'zel and Shadowheart were discussing as always and, though everyone was too distracted to hear him, Astarion was still mumbling to himself while pacing.

The dinner was great, you could see it in the eyes of everyone as they bit into the tender meat and shared stories. Minsc was deep into another tale of Boo, Jaheira and him as your eyes wandered to Astarion, which still hasn't had his dinner.

You couldn't see him, until you noticed that the oil lamp in your tent was on, and his shadow was fixing something around the tent. For what you knew he was moving the pillows scattered around, in a way that you'd be more comfortable while he fed.

They all knew at this point that you'd let him feed off you on daily basis, it started back while you were on your way to Baldur's Gate back then, and you took the habit so much that at a certain point you didn't even feel dizzy after he'd been done.

You excused yourself as you made your way to the tent, it was one of those nights where you needed an extra long hug, and a few kisses on the forehead.

When you opened the flap of the tent, he was still fighting with a pillow, trying to fluff it up just how he liked it, but failing. He was glad that he learned how to hide his emotions, shoving the tension down and away.

You kneeled next to him, placing a hand on his before taking the pillow from his grasp.

He followed your movements closely with his eyes, as you put the pillow on the floor.

He didn't know what he expected to see, but to watch you punch the pillow relentlessly, was definitely not on the list. Though after you were done, the pillow was somehow perfect. Was that how his pillow was always extra fluffy?

You gave him a soft smile before you tossed it next to the others, which you noticed were arranged differently, making something closer to a nest, than your usual layout.

You both didn't speak, you were so close that you'd know just by looking at your bodies, or the way your face crunched, and yours clearly said "cuddle".

In a matter of seconds, he pulled you in his arms before scooting closer to the pillows to rest there.

He loved the way you'd make yourself comfortable on his lap, how you wiggled for a moment before finding that nook where your head rested perfectly on his chest, and the way you would hum when you were happy with the position you chose.

He could live off just of that pretty sound that would come out of your lips.

You were so absorbed by the closeness that you didn't notice the barely perceptible hesitation in his touch, as he slowly turned your face to him, making sure you could hold eye contact for a moment.

The eagerness and the pure undevoted love were fighting with the fear, the fear of reliving those nights he tried so hard to forget, but at the end of the day, he needed you. He needed you more than he feared his nightmares, he needed to feel you around him, he needed to let you feel his love, his devotion, all of him.

If there was one person that he wanted to love so deeply, it was you.

So many times he thought of trying to have sex again just to see if he still was disgusted, but only with time he was able to realize that he wasn't disgusted by sex, he was disgusted of being stripped of his chance to back away. And the more he got to know you, the more he grew closer to you, the more he longed for you, in every way. It was no longer the need for release or just the fucking without attachments, he wanted to make love with you. He wanted to hear you moan his name like a chant, he wanted to feel your hands reach were no one was ever allowed to: tracing his back, on the dip of his lower back, around his hips, at the center of his chest, where his heart, your heart, resided.

There was no one else he desired like this, the idea of other people, or having other lovers but you, made him retch. He didn't want love unless it came from you, he didn't want sex unless it was you making him feel lightheaded. Of course it took him a lot of time to understand this, and a lot of work around his feelings, and his body, and you never shied away from any of his attempts to push his boundaries.

You helped him reshape the ideas of the smallest things, down to skinship.

Even after hours of brooding on how to ask you, he found himself speechless at the sight of your soft eyes filled with love, and the peaceful smile you gifted him. He was mesmerized.

It took him a second to just recollect, as he took his time ingraining in his mind that look he loved so much.

"My love" He whispered as he cupped your cheek, making you lean into his touch. "I've been thinking a lot" His thumb traced your cheekbone ever so slightly, drawing a delicate humm from you. He had planned a lot to say but as you leaned close, the speech was already out the window. So he just lowered you on the bed, and crashed his lips to yours.

It took you a second to process the unexpected movement, but a second later you were lost within his kiss.

Initially it was rough, the way he gripped on you, like an instinct that he could barely control, full of yearning and need, but slowly, the more you relaxed in his arms, savoring the taste of his kiss, the more he would slow down, like a love poem traced with his whole body.

His hands would graze over your hips, your shoulders, your neck, every bit of exposed skin was being caressed by his slender fingers, holding and molding your body like it was putty.

He rested his forehead against yours as he caught his breath, and allowed you as well. His eyes were closed as he was lost in your sweet scent.

It took him another long moment before being able to control his breath, regain his senses as his head was already spinning away.

"My love, allow me.." He breathed ooutsweetly as he latched his hand around yours, your fingers intertwining in his like an instinct. "Allow me to feel you." He placed a soft kiss on your cheek. "Allow me to make you mine" The words came out almost as a plea, like a starved man that was in front of a banquet and forced to resist the need. His lips traveled to your neck, resting where he'd usually drink from you.

"I'm already yours" You whimpered as you could feel his teeth graze, sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel the pit of your stomach bubbling with tenderness, as his eyes were rounder than usual, and his gaze was soft. Though there was a yearning feeling in the bottom, drowned momentarily by the adoration.

So many nights you had to leave the tent to take care of your needs, as you didn't want to burden Astarion with it. You wanted him to be fully there as he helped you release all that pent up tension, not just a shell of him. You craved his love, not his body.

You had to resist the very urge to push your hips against him, even though he was asking you already. You wanted to make sure he was truly okay before making any movement.

He groaned as he tilted your neck, pressing his lips right under your chin, and descending between your clavicle. He wanted to worship every millimeter of you, no skin would have to go unkissed.

"I want to make love to you, my one" He left a bite on your shoulder, no teeth were deep enough to draw blood, but definitely enough to steal a delicious mewl from you.

His words made your heart roar.

You raised your head enough to catch a glimpse of his eyes, now sultry, half closed as his lips still rested on your skin, dropping sweet kisses right where he was.

"Mh, you sure?" You asked as your body basked in the attention he was providing.

"Like I've never been before. I dreamt for so long to have you wrapped around me" He moved again, until your chests were against each other, and your noses were meeting. "I want no one else but you. I want to know what having the love of your life so close, so vulnerable feels like" He placed a quick kiss on your nose. "I just want to get lost in you, to hold you like I've never held anyone" his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight to him, like he wanted to merge your bodies. "I want to be one with you" He whispered as he closed his eyes again, inhaling your flowery scent mixed with his.

Your heart was pounding so loudly against your rib cage that you would have sworn he could feel it without leaning in.

You wanted to sound louder, but as your lips opened to say that yes, the sound came in almost a strangle

by all your emotions.

Astarion's eyes glimmered with a light you've never seen before resting there.

He was gentle as he undressed you, every inch that was being revealed to his eyes, was met with his yearning lips, drawing all sorts of pleading sounds from you. Your body was already shaking like a lire string as it was touched, and your lips chanting a melody for him.

His descent was agonizingly slow, but what struck you was how his movements were.

You knew he was well versed in sex, but the way he was caressing, tracing, kissing, biting, was the one of a man that was trying to listen to your reactions, to savor the tiniest sensations, to learn his lover, such a difference from the confident man that fucked you senslessly in a forest three years prior.

It was no longer about repayment for the feed or protection, it was pure undevoted love in each touch.

Just with those miniscule attentions, your heart was swelling for him, and little did you know that he was hitting him as well, all your emotions flowing around you in the small space of the tent.

Your clothes were soon on the other side of the floor and you took your time admiring him in all his beauty: the way his chest was rising, the way his skin was covered in small old marks, so carefully healed that you wouldn't be able to discern them unless you would be trying to remember his every pore.

"Gods i wish you could see yourself through my eyes right now" He sighed. "I've seen you naked so many times, but right now? No goddess could compare next to you" He kissed your navel delicately as his fingers were grazing your thighs.

You could feel your cheeks igniting at the praise. You wished for a moment you still had that tadpole eating your brain, just for a second to show him the true vision. His body was so perfect in front of you, the truly breathtaking view. You could have sworn he would have made such a perfect painting.

Before you could open your mouth though, he was praising you again.

"No words would be enough for me to explain how every curve of your body makes me ache for you, my one" He leaned forward, placing wet kisses from your neck, down to your hips, over and over again until his name was a broken mewl from you lips.

He stopped between your thighs, taking his time to spread you wide open for him. He kissed that spot that caught his mind right away, that perfect dip of your hips, where stretch marks were concentrated.

He hummed as he couldn't help but graze them with his teeth, stealing one moan that made him almost melt.

Then agonizingly slowly he kissed the inside of your thigh, trailing kisses until his nose brushed against your clit. You wanted to beg for him to eat you, but his head turned towards the other tight, repeating the tantalizing trail of kisses until he reached for your dripping cunt.

"You are so ready for me" He kissed right above your clit, teasing you more and more. "But I have to dine first" a finger gently traced the outline of your lips, taking his time before dipping it between your folds, and earning a moan. It was so long since someone touched you, you could feel your whole body clench at the smallest touch.

He kissed your thigh again, sighing at the softness of your skin. You were so wet he just inserted another finger in you and started pumping in your pussy, drawing those perfect moans from you again, music to his pointy ears.

Then as he added another finger, his teeth sank in your plush thigh. All of your senses jolted up, amplifying everything as he started drinking from you.

His slender fingers reached right where he made you cry in pleasure, as you slowly gave in to the lightheadedness.

As he kept feeding, he still worked you like he knew every movement that would make you whimper, drawing always so near to your orgasm before pulling away.

Moments later he finally let go of your thigh, his teeth slipped away from the pricks they had made home in, and licked away the rivlet of blood still spilling from the new wound, causing your body to arch even more under his tongue. You were so close, so desperate to come you'd chant his name like a prayer, just so he'd taste you.

Instead he pulled out his fingers, taking one at a time in his mouth and sucking your slick off of them.

"You are delicious, my love" He moaned as he popped each finger out of his lips.

You were on edge, so tempted to take control and ride his face until you'd come on his lips, but you had to restrain yourself, you wanted him to guide you through it, you wanted him to have full control of his and your body.

His tongue reached for the rivlet of blood on his lips before pulling you in his lap, your thighs wrapped around his hips like they were made just for that. You could feel his erection press against your folds as he pulled you closer.

His lips and yours clashed together in something that was akin to a slow dance, your arms wrapped around his neck, while his held you by your hips.

You could drink the sighs he was letting out, the smile he grew in that intimate moment, the reason why he wanted you in this position.

For months he tried to imagine how he wanted to make love to you, how he'd feel the safest, and his mind always came back at the idea of your chests against each other, your lips so close he could kiss you, but also where he could hear your moans the closest. How he wanted you to rest against him as he whispered how perfect you were for him, he wanted you. All of you. All of your warmth, all of your skin, all of your sights, he wanted to see how he was affetting you, and how you affected him. He wanted to lift your chin, to kiss your neck, he wanted the both of you to find respite in the tight hold.

Seeing you so close to him, so vulnerable just how much he would be, it was how he wanted it to go, cause this for him was like a first time. He wanted to be overwhelmed by you, as you consumed him.

He wanted to feel his home in you. In you and only you.

He took a moment, resting against you, clinging to you like you were going to disappear from his grasp.

"If you want to stop, you just have to say it, my star" You whispered as you rested a hand in his hair, drawing circles on his scalp as he breathed in your scent, that was slowly mixing with the smell of sex.

"No my love, I'm just bathing in you before doing anything else" He admitted, placing a kiss on your neck, where he was resting his head.

"I don't think I could ever exchange this for anything. No power, or castle could compare to the home I made in your heart". His words were warm, caring, just like scorching fire against ice.

"I love you" You murmured as you caressed his cheek, and brought him back to you.

"I love you too, my one" He kissed you slowly as he guided you up. Bringing you to rest your forehead against each other as you slowly sank on his length. A gasp simultaneously filled the tent, so loud it could wake up everyone, but you didn't care. The air was pulled out of your chests, as you clinged on each other.

You both waited a moment before doing any movement, both overwhelmed by the closeness and the pleasure.

You wrapped around him so perfectly, he could barely keep any control over his body, his mind or his lips.

"Mh so perfect for me" He whispered sultry, as he guided you through the slow movement, allowing him to bottom out before having your hips meet his again, stealing another breathy moan.

It was slow, tender, so much that you could feel your eyes become glassy.

Nothing could ever compare to the fire that was spreading around your body as he picked up pace, stealing everything from you. Your air, your whimpers, your heart, over and over again.

He wanted to savor every inch of you, he would allow himself to fill you to the hilt, as he threw his head back.

"M-mine" He lulled as he couldn't resist the urge to go faster, his body loosing control of his movements.

It became all so sloppy, ragged as he grasped at you ass, his nails sinking into your skin as he slapped his hips against yours.

"This is what you do to me" He rasped as he lolled his head back. His hair wild as some curls fell on his face. His mouth agape as he choked praises.

Sweet gasps echoed between the syllables of your name, as he submitted to the pleasure.

He wanted to scream, to let everyone know you were his and no one could ever coax those sounds from him like you did, so effortlessly.

Your fingers twirled naturally around his curls, pulling his head to yours as you deepened the kiss along with your movements, savoring the taste of his lips and sweat as you made him see the stars.

You drank each other's moans with your lips as you completely gave away to the pleasure, as you gave all of you to each other.

You could barely register who was directing, cause your bodies just felt like one. Molten lava simply mixing as it burned hot like the hells.

You were so close, your whole body shaking as you could barely form a proper sentence. "L-love y-you" You muttered though your tongue felt indescribably heavy and light simultaneously.

You were drunk on him, your eyes rolling back as he hit that spot that could make you come undone. He worshiped every inch he could reach with his lips, making sure your body was left with a memory of the night, of his trust, of his love.

"You fill me so well" you praised with the last bit of your sanity, stealing the most precious sound from his lips.

Euphoria washed over Astarion as he was high on the feeling of your pussy clenching uncontrollably around him.

He pumped in you insatiably as you could feel it build up, the familiar knot as your muscles tensed up, feeling the heat rise and your legs shake.

You were not sure what it was, maybe it was the moaned praises, or his touch, or the way his hair bounced as he sank in your, but you felt your body being stripped of all the flesh, pleasure taking it's place as your orgasm washed over you. Your head rested on his shoulder as he was still lost in you, so close to his own release.

You knew that the only sound in the camp was your skin slapping, and the lustful sounds you'd make for each other.

The frenzy turned into a slow-burning passion, his hips rhythmically pounding in you as his lips met again with yours in a matching kiss, your moans mixing in the middle as you could feel it again, your orgasm building so quickly you barely had time to process how sensitive you were.

You let go of his lips to admire how his mouth parted, a series of whimpered moans fell from his lips as you could feel every inch of you being dragged away in the second orgasm at the sole sight.

His hips stuttered once, twice, before the arrogant orgasm sent him to the moon, spilling all his cum in your warmth.

He stayed in you for a few more moments as he processed how elated he felt.

There was no one else in the universe that would make him feel so safe, so loved. He was gentle as he laid with you in his arms, drawing shapeless lines along your velvety skin.

He couldn't hold back the tears that were forming at the edge of his eyes, as he held this night so close to his heart. For him, this was his first time, and it was with you, his other half.

You noticed right away when the first few tears started tracing his skin. You were so afraid of his reaction that this was like a shock to you, in a way.

You prayed the morninglord he wasn't already regretting the intimacy, maybe he didn't feel what you felt: that sense of belonging, the overwhelming love.

You cupped his cheek as you caught a tear with your thumb. "Are you ok, my star?" You whispered as you took away another and another with tenderness that made Astarion even more emotional.

He slowly met your gaze, his eyes so soft and his lips curled in a tender smile as the droplets still descended down his cheeks.

"I'm perfect, my love" He rested his hand on yours, clasping at your fingers and bringing them away from his cheek.

"Why are you crying?" You offered a reassuring look, the one he learned meant that you were a safe space where he could speak his mind unfiltered.

"I dreamt of this nights for months, how I would ask you, and how I'd hope this would carry out" He exhaled for a moment as he toyed with your fingers.

"And none of those dreams could ever get close to this" His smile was getting wider, accentuating those lines you loved so much.

"I don't care for sex, unless it's with you. Unless it's loving you with every inch of me, unless it means undressing ourselves and being exposed in all our vulnerability. Unless it means I get to feel you become part of me" You were absorbed by his words and his eyes, that you didn't notice he let go of your hand to hold you closer.

"You are the other part of me", He let out shakily. "I might even say you are the best part as well." He kissed your forehead tenderly. "You are my one and only" He whispered at last as he dragged the blanket he had left on the side, on your bodies. You murmured something between a love confession and a praise as he lulled you to sleep in his embrace.

You were fast asleep as he finally remembered what he was forgetting.

He summoned a mage hand, trying to be as silent as possible. The ghostly arm reached under one pillow and pulled out the velvety box, before shoving it in Astarion's backpack and dissolving its form.

"Tomorrow" He noted in his mind. "Tomorrow I'll ask you"

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wizzard890 · 1 year

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So there’s a trend that I absolutely hate in online discussions of (non-satirical) genre, particularly genre that’s influenced by the gothic. This trend makes my eyes roll back in my head until I can see through my own skull. It makes me want to bite a car in half. It makes me want to step into the jellyfish tank at the New York Aquarium and beg for the sweet sweet annihilation of a thousand stings.

I call this trend: Oh Just Be Sensible, and it goes like this:

“Why do vampires always end up covered in blood when they feed, I don’t spill soup all down the front of my shirt when I eat dinner. Real toddler energy.”

“Why do people always cut their hands to swear oaths, everyone knows it would hurt way less on the [insert body part with fewer nerve endings]”

“Vampires shouldn’t be feeding from people’s wrists, it damages the tendons, if doctors don’t take your blood from your wrist, vampires shouldn’t either! No one will be able to flex their fingers the next day.”

(This comes up a lot with vampires, I mention, as I stride purposefully into the glistening mass of jellyfish.)

There are direct answers for some of these when it comes to the practical visual language of a particular medium (for example, you cut your hand on stage / on set because you can hold a blood pack in there, and even if you don’t have an effect, the gesture and its purpose can be discerned from the nosebleeds) but what really gets me is how thematically boneheaded this sort of observation is.

Like, let’s go down the list here.

Why do vampires end up covered in their victims’ blood? Well Scoob, do you think it could maybe have something to do with their bestial, inhuman nature? Or with the erotic and sensual abandon with which they can approach violence, now that they’re untethered from human morals?

Why do people cut their hands to swear oaths? Aside from what I mentioned above, do you think maybe it’s because it adds a layer of gravity to see two people swearing an oath to one another with blood dripping from their clasped hands? Do you think it’s maybe to evoke a unity of body, something greater and more primal than a unity of word? Or maybe to remind us of the dire consequences of breaking a blood oath?

Why are authors having vampires feed from people’s wrists if it damages their tendons? Damn, maybe that’s because it’s where the pulse is. You know, the pulse? The heartblood, the thing that races when you’re scared or turned on or both? The thing that stutters when you’re close to death and could, should the author choose, ring in the vampire’s ears like a chime or a great pounding thunderclap. Maybe in a story about undead beings who drink blood, we can sacrifice a bit of sensible reality in order to enforce the emotion and thematic heft of a scene?

Images like these communicate what is happening between two characters, not just the events that are transpiring! No one making stories forgot to consider ~sensible~ little observations, because it would be absolutely inane to consider an observation with the creative value of a wet paper towel. This stuff is part of our visual language for a reason! Themes also need to be communicated!

God, like, okay, I’m exhausted and the aquarium staff keeps yelling at me when they find me here, but let me just wrap up by saying that relationships, character and meaning are expressed in so many ways beyond dialogue or internal monologue, and those expressions are so rarely sensible.

(Also all this shit looks cool as hell, do you really want your protagonists swearing to die for one another by dabbing their slightly bleeding elbows together, grow up.)

#me: don't make me tap the sign #sign: fun allowed #(thematic clarity and character relationships should trump sensible realism every time)#(realism is fine! but monocle popping smirky little 'hmm I think dan brown was an idiot' smugness is just....bad!)#(it's bad and it makes for bad writing!)#my thoughts about books

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katakaluptastrophy · 2 months

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You know when you're at a dinner party with God and things start to get...weird...? It's Maundy Thursday, and it's time for more Bible study for fans of weird queer necromancers!

It's currently Holy Week, the week where liturgical Christians reenact the events of Jesus' death and resurrection in real time. And today, it's Maundy Thursday, which commemorates the Last Supper, where Jesus ate with his friends before he was crucified.

Before we get to the Locked Tomb, what's so special about the Last Supper?

There are actually a few significant things that happen during the Last Supper, but this is where Jesus introduces the concept of communion:

Now as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and after blessing it broke it and gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood. - Matthew 26:26-28

This isn't actually the first time Jesus has told his followers they will need to literally eat him:

So Jesus said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him. - John 6:53-56

If you're thinking that sounds a bit intense, you're not alone - the Bible says that "many" of his disciples left after being told that they were apparently going to have to eat Jesus to be saved and resurrected.

While many Protestant denominations take this symbolically, Catholicism teaches transubstantiation: that when the priest prays over the bread and wine at mass, they really do become Jesus' body and blood.

With this in mind, let's circle back to necromancers:

"Overseas to Corpus. (She likes the word corpus; it sounds nice and fat.)"

This is probably Corpus Christi College, Oxford (named after the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, where the church celebrates the real presence of Jesus in the eucharist). The symbol of the college is a pelican - there's even a fabulously gilded pelican atop the sundial in their main quad.

What do pelicans have to do with the eucharist? Quite a lot, actually... The pelican is a really old symbol for Jesus, because it was believed to feed its young on its own flesh and blood in times of famine. The pelican on the Corpus Christi sundial is pecking at its own chest.

The pelican, like Jesus, was believed to give its own body to save those it loved.

Okay, so we've talked about Jesus, and weird cannibal birds, but why is this relevant to necromancers?

Specifically, the necromancer, the Necrolord Prime. John Gaius styles himself as "the god who became man", echoing Jesus as "the word became flesh". His entire pastiche of divinity is a sort of bootleg Catholicism. But while Catholicism posits Jesus' offering of his own body as foundational to the salvation and resurrection of humanity to eternal life, John's godhood relies the exploitation of other's bodies as the foundation of an empire of eternal death.

I've mentioned before in discussing Lyctorhood, how vampires have been understood to represent a sort of inversion of the eucharist because instead of consuming Christ's blood to receive eternal life in heaven, they consume other people's blood for an cursed eternal life on earth. John, and the Lyctors who followed him, gained power and eternal life from the consumption, body and soul, of another person.

In Catholic theology, Jesus offered his own body to degradation and death for the eternal salvation of humankind, but John forcibly consumes someone else's in service of his own apotheosis and immortality, dooming humanity in the process. He wants to be a Catholic flavoured god, but without the suffering that entails. But he's perfectly willing to outsource that suffering to others.

There's something just achingly awful about Alecto liking the feel of the word "corpus" - "body" - when she so hates the body that John constructed for her. John describing Alecto as "in a very real way" the mother of humanity and the mother pelican on the Corpus sundial rending her own flesh for her children. John forcing the earth into a personification of femininity and playing Jesus on another's sacrifice. His daughter, unwillingly trapped in her own corpse walking around with the wounds of her significant self-sacrifice like the resurrected Christ but yet again another body exploited by John in support of his performance of godhood. It brings to mind a very different fantastical engagement with Catholicism, where in the Lord of the Rings Tolkien - riffing on St Augustine - suggested that evil cannot create, it can only mock and corrupt. The ethics of The Locked Tomb may be messier than that, but there's something indicative in how John shies away from his creative powers - his abilities to grow plants, and manipulate earth and water - in favour of his dominion over death.

The metaphysical world of The Locked Tomb is clearly not intended to be the same as that of Catholicism. But with hindsight, perhaps John was onto something when he was surprised that he didn't "get the Antichrist bit" from the nun too.

John isn't the Antichrist. But he is, thematically, anti-Christ.

If we're talking about John and Jesus, there's also, of course, the question of Resurrection. But we've got to go through Hell and back before we get there on Sunday...

#the locked tomb #tlt meta #john gaius #alecto the first

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dixons-sunshine · 6 days

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Punishment Enough | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Summary: After Beth's death, Daryl took it out on himself. He hunted for the group, but refused to feed himself. One day, you've had enough, and you decided to take matters into your own hands.

Genre: Angst, fluff.

Era: Post Terminus; Pre Alexandria.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, blood.

Word count: 3k.

A/n: Alright, here's yet another vamp!Daryl fic to add to the growing number. This was originally supposed to be a 1k word thing, but it got way longer than I had anticipated lol. (ALSO, yes, I know some things in this isn't factual to most vampire things we see online, but I took some creative liberty and wrote it in a way that I liked.) Anyways, I hope you like this!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“This is getting out of hand,” your leader and friend, Rick Grimes, whispered to you as he watched Daryl disappear into the woods for the millionth time since your journey on the road began a mere two weeks ago. “He needs to feed. He's going to die otherwise.”

You sighed as you watched one of your closest friends disappear beyond the treeline. You continued your snail's pace of a trek next to Rick, the heat from the blazing summer sun beating down on you relentlessly. Your stomach grumbled with hunger and you were thirsty beyond belief, but you knew that it couldn't compare to the discomfort the archer was experiencing. You had eaten, even if just a little, a few hours ago, while he hadn't fed since Beth had died, which was at that point already two weeks prior.

You knew that if he kept that up, he would die within the next few dies, maybe even the next few hours. He was punishing himself, and soon, he would pay the price for it.

“Rick? I don't mean to interrupt whatever intelligent discussion you were having with miss Y/n over here, but Rosita and I have managed to locate a river on the map not too far from here. If you send two people down to replenish our water supply, we should be ready to move on with our trek in about thirty minutes.”

Rick stared Eugene down for a few moments. You were sure that he was going to turn down the offer, but to your surprise and great relief, Rick finally conceded.

“We need to rest anyway, so okay. An hour. That's all I'm willing to offer up,” Rick told Eugene. Your leader whistled to capture everyone's attention, and raised his voice to be heard clearly. “We stop for now. Eugene says that there's a river not too far from here. Tara, Glenn, you two go refill our water supply. The rest of you, get as much rest as you can. We move again in an hour.”

Everyone nodded and dispersed, leaving you alone with your benevolent leader. You eyed the spot you had last seen Daryl, all the sounds and sights around you being evaporated from your mind. However, you were startled when Rick snapped his fingers in front of your eyes, recapturing your attention again.

“How about you go after him and see if you can talk to him?” Rick suggested, lightly patting you on the shoulder in encouragement. “If there's anyone he might listen to, it's you.”

“No, he won't listen to me,” you denied, a sullen expression on your face. “If he won't even listen to Carol, what chance do I have of getting through to him?”

Rick pursed his lips, trying to keep the words that wanted to spill from his lips to himself. He couldn't betray his found brother's trust like that. He wouldn't. That was something Daryl had to tell you on his own time, even if it took years to do so. All Rick could do in that moment was gently urge you to go talk to the man.

“Believe me, I have a feeling that you might be able to break through to him. Just go try, please? I don't want him to die just because he blames himself for something that isn't his fault.”

You inhaled sharply, but ultimately agreed. “Okay,” you mumbled, handing your bag over to Rick, but keeping your compound bow and knife handy just in case you needed it. “If I'm not back by the time you guys need to move on—”

“We go on without you,” Rick finished for you, slinging your bag over his shoulder. “I know. Just go check on him. See if you can get him to drink from something.”

You sent your leader a small nod, and turned on your heel to disappear into the woods. You walked in the general direction of where you saw the archer disappear, soon finding yourself surrounded by trees and dirt. You kept your eyes on the ground, lazer focused on the faint tracks of the man you were trying to find.

A chittering sound from above you redirected your attention from the ground to the area of where you heard it. Up in a tree, on a branch low enough to reach if you jumped, you spotted a total of three squirrels, all sitting in a straight line as they went on doing whatever squirrels fancied as entertainment. They were blissfully unaware of your lurking presence, so it made it easy to line up the shot perfectly.

By some stroke of luck, the arrow found it's mark in all three squirrels. Proud and a little giddy at the prospect of food, you walked towards the tree and jumped to get your prey from the branch. Marveling at the kill you made, you almost missed the sound of a twig snapping in the distance. Almost.

On instinct, you dropped the arrow holding the three squirrels and loaded your bow with another arrow, turning around and releasing it in the direction of the sound. The arrow flew towards the walker, but the walker caught it with ease. Calming down and allowing your eyes to adjust, you could see that it was not a walker. Instead, it was the very man you were tracking down.

Daryl Dixon.

“If ya wanna kill me, yer gon' have to do a lot better than an arrow,” Daryl mused, walking towards you to hand the deadly object back to you. “Wha' the hell are ya doin' here?”

“Looking for you,” you stated matter-of-factly, putting your arrow away. You looked up into Daryl's eyes, but instead of finding the usual blue irises that you have grown to love, you found red coloured ones in their place. A clear sign that he was starving. “We're worried about you. Rick thought I might be able to talk some sense into you.”

“Dun' need someone to talk no sense into me,” Daryl grumbled, turning around to stalk away again. “M'fine. Dun' need no damn babysitter. Leave me alone.”

Picking up the dead squirrels from the ground, you took off in a jog behind Daryl to keep up with his speed. Even though he was only walking, his enhanced speed made his pace faster than the average human's, hence why if he wanted to, he could lose you with ease.

“Daryl! Daryl, wait!” you pleaded with him, finally catching up enough to grab his arm. “Daryl—”

“I said, leave me alone, damnit!” Daryl roared, spinning around to look at you. A furious glare painted his features, but instead of being met with fear, he was met with a stubborn glare instead. Well, he could give you points for that, but he wouldn't give in to whatever you wanted from him. “Wha' dun' ya understand? I dun' need yer concern or yer company. M'fine on my own. I've been alone for decades. Dun' need to change tha' now.”

“Daryl, you need to feed,” you explained as calmly as you could, trying to keep your anger in check. It wouldn't do anyone any good if you were to snap at him right at that moment.

“M'fine,” Daryl replied stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“Really? Because if you were fine, your eyes wouldn't be red right now,” you countered, motioning to his eyes. “Do you wanna die, Daryl? Because if you don't feed, that's exactly what's gonna happen.”

“Dun' need ya to lecture me, woman!” Daryl exclaimed loudly, waving his hand around in anger. “I know my own damn body better than ya do! I've been like this for a long time. I know when I need to feed and when I dun'!”

“Then why the fuck can't you see that you need to feed right now?!” you snapped, pushing Daryl's chest for emphasis. The man barely moved, his inhuman strength countering your attempts to sway him.“I may not be a vampire, and I may not know exactly how being one works, but I do know that you're either going to die, or lose control and hurt one of us. Is that what you want? Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't have to use all of your willpower to refrain from lunging at me and draining all of the blood from my body. Tell me that drinking my blood doesn't sound good to you right now.”

Daryl's silence only confirmed your suspicions. You scoffed and shook your head, taking one of the squirrels off the arrow and extending it towards the stubborn archer.

“Feed. Don't even think about saying no because I swear I'll fucking kill you.”

He knew there was no use of yelling at you anymore. What was the use of getting mad at you for caring about him? If anything, knowing that you did made him feel all funny inside. However, Daryl still shook his head in denial, refusing to take the dead animal from you. “Nah. Y'all need the meat to survive. If I drink the blood, my venom will taint the meat and then y'all can't eat it.”

“Taint the meat?” you questioned in confusion, furrowing your eyebrows. “I've seen you drink from a human before and they didn't turn. How's this any different?”

“Humans are different,” Daryl explained. “M'not gon' explain it to ya because I dun' even fully understand myself, but all I know is we dun' have control over our venom when it comes to animals. We do with humans. Tha's the most basic explanation I have fer ya.”

You nodded in understanding. You scanned your surroundings for a moment before your eyes fell on an empty can, and you had a lightbulb moment. You walked over to pick up the aforementioned object, before crouching down. You picked up one of the squirrels and, very carefully so that you didn't accidentally nick your finger, cut it in multiple places to drain it of its blood, into the can.

You could hear Daryl inhale sharply when the smell of blood flooded his nostrils. His already bloodred eyes darkened, and you could tell that his self-restraint was dwindling by the second. You had to make quick work of your activities, and fast, otherwise Daryl would lunge for the blood. And you didn't know whether or not the blood he went for would be the squirrel's, or yours.

Once the can was practically overflowing with blood, you hastily got up and pushed the object into his hands, some blood trickling over the edge and onto his hands.

“Drink,” you ordered him, leaving no room for argument.

Grumbling to himself, he brought the can up to his lips to slowly take a sip. However, as soon as that first drop of blood fell on his tongue, he drank the rest of it in hurried, messy gulps. Blood trickled down the sides of his mouth, and you had to resist the urge to bring your hands up to wipe the blood away.

In five seconds flat, the entire can was empty. Some colour returned to the archer's cheeks, and his eyes slightly changed from a deep crimson to a dull red. However, even though Daryl handed the can back to you as a way to say he was done, you knew it wasn't nearly enough. He needed way more than that, even if he wouldn't admit it. And, come hell or high water, you would make sure he drank more.

“Thanks,” Daryl mumbled, wiping at the blood and making an even bigger mess on his face. “Ya satisfied now?”

“Not even remotely,” you mused, picking up the three dead squirrels, one of which now had its blood drained, and offered one of them to him. “Here, take it. We need to head back and there isn't time to drain another one for you. Don't worry about one lousy squirrel. We'll survive.”

“But—”

“No buts, Daryl,” you cut him off, forcing the dead critter into his hands. You picked up your knife and sheathed it, before adjusting your bow on your back. You sent Daryl a look and walked off, calling to him over your shoulder. “C'mon. We gotta go.”

Cleverly sensing that there was no room for argument, Daryl followed behind you with a frustrated huff, shaking his head to himself at your stubbornness. However, your stubbornness was one of the many traits that made him feel drawn to you, one of the many things that made you perfect in his eyes. Well, it was perfect when the stubbornness wasn't directed towards him.

Unable to resist the urge any longer due to the taste he got from it earlier, Daryl brought the squirrel up to his mouth. He sunk his fangs into the dead animal and began to drink mouthfuls of the delicious crimson, his deep hunger not going away but being satiated for the time being.

“You need to stop this, Dar,” you began, shaking your head to yourself. “You need to stop punishing yourself. Beth's death isn't your fault. You need to know that. And you need to stop punishing yourself for it. Beth wouldn't want you to starve yourself. You know she wouldn't, so stop doing it, please. Blaming yourself for a death that wasn't even remotely your fault is punishment enough.”

Daryl drained the squirrel of the last of its blood, before withdrawing his mouth from the creature. He stared at you in wonder, walking beside you silently as he pondered over your words. He didn't believe that Beth's death wasn't his fault. He probably never would, but what he did believe was that Beth wouldn't want him to die. The girl voiced in so many different ways that she wanted him to live. And even though he felt terrible about her death, he decided that he would honour her. He would live because she couldn't. He would honour her by doing what she wanted him to do—he would live.

And, once he built up enough courage for it, he would honour her by following her advice and admitting his feelings to you.

The two of you walked from the treeline and back towards where the rest of the group rested. When the two of you made yourselves known, everyone looked up and shared similar looks of relief at the sight of the blood on Daryl's face and the drained squirrel in his hands.

Everyone except Gabriel, who looked at Daryl in disgust and fear, but was wise enough not to say anything. The last time he had voiced his obvious disdain towards the archer because of what he was, he was met with a punch from you and quite the amount of hateful words and glares from the rest of the group. It was clear that nobody would stand for anything but acceptance towards what Daryl was, and he appreciated that.

“Glad to see you're looking better, brother,” Rick voiced to Daryl, getting up to give his found brother a quick hug.

“Thanks,” Daryl thanked him, patting him lightly on the back before withdrawing from the hug. “She wouldn't let me not drink anythin', so ya really should be glad 'bout her. And she found y'all some dinner.”

“Sweet!” Carl voiced excitedly, eliciting a bunch of laughs from most of the adults there. “My dad found us a few rabbits, too.”

Rick took the squirrels from you with a grateful nod. “Seems like we're gonna be here for another hour or so. Let's cook these up, get ourselves regenerated.”

As everyone fell into their own separate conversations and Rick and Carl took it upon themselves to start a small fire, you walked over to a tree before sliding down against it, looking up at Daryl who had followed you there.

“M'surprised ya didn't offer yer blood to me,” Daryl told you, sliding down next to you.

“Why the hell would I do that?” you asked him in genuine confusion, staring into his eyes that were busy turning back to their usual beautiful blues.

“The ladies back at the prison always offered their blood to me when I couldn't feed on animals. Figured ya'd do the same.”

“Yeah, no. I like you and all, but that's not something you're gonna get from me anytime soon, no matter how hot you are,” you laughed, shaking your head.

“Ya think m'hot?” Daryl asked in surprise, eyeing you with a small smile.

“I—shut up. Don't let it go to your head,” you mumbled, hugging your knees to your chest.

Daryl chuckled. “I won't,” he promised, looking over at you with a soft look in his eyes. “Thanks again. Fer the squirrel and the lecture. I know I said I didn't need it, but I did. So, thanks.”

You smiled and brought one of your hands up to rest on Daryl's knee, rubbing your thumb against it softly. “Of course. I'd do anything for you, Daryl.”

Daryl ducked his head in shyness. However, he couldn't help the way he felt about you. In less than an hour, you had managed to track him down, give him a much needed lecture, and made him feed on something. You truly were amazing to him, but he didn't know if you'd ever feel the same about him. The two of you were so vastly different, in personalities and species, so he wouldn't be surprised if his feelings were one-sided.

Unbeknownst to him at the time, however, you did feel the same. And that first night in Alexandria, you showed him exactly how you felt about him.

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feyascorner · 4 months

Note

You writing is amazing! I eat it right up!

Now this idea has been stuck in my hand for a while. Tav that wants to give Astarion blood but are horrified of needles and that fear applies to his fangs. So when they try to give blood the instinctively move away even when Astarion "The bit comes in 3 2 1" but Tav insist on trying again. When Astarion finally gets some blood Tav straight just goes "Oh okay great" and faceplants in the ground. When they wake up again they say the weirdest shit because they are still whoozy something like "Hey Astarion do crabs think fish can fly?"

Anyway have a nice day :]

im crying they're so silly...also i wrote like the dumbest questions but they're genuine questions so pls if anyone has answers...

"Just do it."

He nods. "Very well."

"Wait, no, I need a countdown."

"Fine. Three...two..."

"Actually, it's too nerve-racking, just--"

Astarion pulls his face away from the crook of your neck, eyes lidded as he sighs. "Darling, if it's too difficult..."

"It's not that bad. I want to help you, and you said this would make you more powerful in battle," you insist, bursting with enthusiasm but not enough to will you through your deathly fear of needles---or anything sharp for that matter. "I've done it before, I can do it again."

"Yes, love, but the last time we did this, you had me do it while you were asleep. You also woke up and punched me in the chest, even though you're the one who suggested the idea."

"I can do it this time! Just try again!"

Despite his hesitance, he follows your request, gently inching you closer and leaning into your neck. His breath feels cool on your skin, but the second you feel him nearing too close, you pull away again instinctively. He doesn't even seem surprised this time.

"Okay, maybe we should just do it while I'm sleeping again-"

He grabs either side of your face, pressing a kiss on your cheek and then another on the side of your nose. He trails down to your chin, and before you can even tell what he's doing, your face is flushed in embarrassment. So much so that you don't even realize he's trailed down your chin and his fangs are now right at your neck. "What are you--"

It pricks.

Astarion tries to make it brief, regardless of how badly he wants to drink more, because he can sense how limp you feel in his arms. He pulls away, licking at the excess on his lips with a triumphant grin. "There. Exquisite as always."

But you only stare at him blankly. His smile drops. It worries him.

"Oh, okay," you blink. "That's great."

You would've face planted straight into the floor had he not barely grabbed you by the back of your shirt.

You only awake a few hours later, groggily rubbing at your eyes while Astarion looms over you with pursed lips, and you wonder how long he's been sitting here. When your eyes peel open, he groans, shoulders slumping in relief.

"There you are, I thought I'd nearly killed you again!" he smiles, reaching for a plate of fruits beside your bedroll. "Now feed yourself before you go and pass out on me aga--"

"Your hair reminds me of a white rat I saw last week."

He stops.

"Why do you think Karlach's underwear doesn't burn off? Are they enchanted? I want enchanted underwear."

Ah, he realizes. You've finally lost your mind.

Your lips stretch dreamily. "Maybe I can ask Withers to make my underwear glow in the dark."

"No, before we move on, let's discuss that rat comment."

"Do crabs think fish can fly?"

"I---I suppose they would?..." He's at a loss of words, which is especially rare for him.

You blink wearily at him, staring at a spot on the wall behind his head. He'd think your confusion to be adorable if it weren't for the borderline offensive comments you were spouting out like a broken water fountain. "Do vampires poop, Astarion?"

You've crossed the borderline now. He runs a hand down his face, sighing. "Please stop talking, my love."

"You can technically eat food, even though it tastes bad, right?" you raise a brow, squinting at him. "So where does that food go? Do you poop it out or does it just kind of slide ou--"

"Okay, that's quite enough talking for today," he shoves an apple into your mouth. He snickers at how you struggle to take a bite. "No more questions until you finish the entire bowl."

Fortunately for him, you fall back asleep before you're even finished with the apple. And he's grateful you do because even he himself doesn't know the answer to that question.

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff

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daydreamerwonderkid · 11 months

Text

I see your vampire!Bruce Wayne AU and I raise you this:

Normal human Bruce Wayne raising his horde of vampire/dhamphir children, but because Bruce is Bruce no suspects any of the Batkids are, well ... bat kids.

Even the Batkids are confused at first when they first meet Bruce. Batman shows up and they're like:

"Oh, shit it's Batman! The very scary, very territorial Vampire Lord who's completely taken over Gotham and has managed to strike fear into the heart of all the most notorious vampire leaders! And he wants to adopt me into his coven? Sounds sketchy, but aight."

Only for them to wake up the next day and realize that not only is Batman in fact NOT a vampire, but he's also the most pitiful and pathetic human they've ever laid their eyes on and there's no fucking way they can leave him now.

Humans are already super fragile and easy to kill as is. And their new guardian is risking his life every night masquerading as an all powerful Vampire Lord!!!!

It's honestly a miracle that Bruce hasn't been killed yet and there's no way they're going to let their clueless human guardian wander off by himself. Especially after they realize he keeps forgetting that humans aren't supposed to be awake for 72 hours straight and his skin is paler than the giant hoards of case file documents he tries to sift through while barely touching his own food.

This poor idiot human is so committed to pretending to be a vampire that he's actually convinced himself he has night vision and spends more time hanging out in a literal Batcave than he does in his own fucking house!

Meanwhile, Bruce is thoroughly convinced he's got a complete handle on the whole raising vampire/dhampir children thing. After all, it's not like he's had to change much about his own personal life to that of a parent taking care of a horde of supernatural children.

He already spends more time awake at night anyway and while the kids don't mind human food absolutely love Alfred's cooking, it's not difficult to get a hold of any blood when they actually need to feed on something more substantial. Considering he's the biggest contributor to Gotham's blood donation centers, it's not like anyone's gonna tell him no.

Bruce also read somewhere that while vampires in the modern age don't actually need to hunt humans to feed anymore (considering the above mentioned donation centers), their hunting instincts haven't gone away, either. So while he was initially against the idea of letting his kids getting involved in his vigilante lifestyle, it was probably a good thing in the end that they had an alternative outlet for their growing vampiric urges. Like Alfred, he would have preferred it if they had gotten into competitive sports or something similar instead, but all his children had proven themselves to be just as stubborn as he is so he made do with what he could.

Especially considering the fact that a parenting article he read mentioned how extremely sensitive young vampires/dhampirs are towards the well-being of those who make up their coven. Dick, ALONE, had proved how absolutely futile his attempts to separate his night time and day time activities truly were. Apparently, it was detrimental to young vampires to be separated from their parents/guardians for too long. Better he trained them and supervised them himself versus having to re-experience Dick, Tim and Cass stalking him like the supernatural predators they were while doing his nightly patrols.

And if any of his children leaned a bit more into their feral nature whenever Bruce happened to get hurt on patrol, that was just kids' instincts reacting to the head of their coven being threatened. It's taken years of training, grounding and long late night discussions to convince his children to try holding back their supernatural strength and bloody acts of retribution. He still finds himself lecturing them from time to time even if he's fully aware they're all humoring him.

He still has the small collection of baby fangs that Dick had somehow roped all his younger siblings into contributing to over the years. For the life of him, he can't begin to fathom why anyone would want to collect teeth or why his children are so adamant that he holds onto theirs. But ever since he jokingly mentioned the Tooth Fairy to a horrified and offended younger Dick when his first set of baby fangs finally started coming in, it seems his children are determined to make sure no one can even attempt to think about exchanging their fangs for mere quarters.

And for the record (and despite what his children and friends keep on insisting), he never set out to actually pretend to be a "Vampire Lord." He just honestly thought designing his costume around one of his deepest fears would be a good way for him to use that fear against the criminals of Gotham.

He also won't admit that he completely forgot about the obvious association people make between bats and vampires.

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dhampling · 4 months

Text

˗ˏˋ i'm dal - she/‎‎‎her. 23. ˎˊ˗ astarion x reader content • 18+ only, minors dni! ‎‏‏‎ ꙳⊹ ﾟ⋆ • about me • ko-fi • ao3 • my caps • © DHAMPLING. do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my works.

butter gn!reader, 2.5k you and the vampire spend a short gloaming sun discussing marriage

both free gn!reader, 2.1k you reject bhaal’s greatest gift - to this, your horrified love bears witness

one mine, both yours bard gn!reader, 1.6k astarion’s habit of visiting your tent leads him to your hidden pile of sonnets

the shepherd, the black sheep gn!reader, 2k a plummet into a chasm leaves you and your light-fingered friend stuck. together, you wonder if you’ll ever emerge again.

sylvan gn!reader, 2.8k a chance series of encounters in youth come together on one night, where everything just clicks for Astarion and his unicorn.

the sunwalker's gift gn!reader, 3.3k you find a ring - after a lot of searching - that allows astarion to walk in the sun, and propose with it.

gush fem!reader, 2.2k (NSFW) it rains. you swindle some wine and astarion cums in his breeches.

oh, mother fem!reader, 3.3k (NSFW) it’s the mummy fic.

lifeblood fem!reader, 2.5k (NSFW) astarion discovers an aphrodisiac during a trip to the night market, and only one thing is on his mind.

ivory tower fem!reader x ascended!astarion, 4.6k (NSFW) you're still mortal, and there's good reason for it.

warming fem!reader 1.2k (NSFW) early morning feeding and cockwarming because i said so.

swell fem!reader 1.9k (NSFW) feral pregnant sex with the elf. inspired by this NSFW piece by the ridiculously talented @mutualcombat.

leeches girl!dadstarion, <1k astarion and his daughter have a spat.

little love girl!dadstarion, <1k dadstarion watches dhampling sleep.

bramble jam girl!dadstarion, <1k “In what realm would we need this much jam?”

the gate girl!dadstarion, 1.5k astarion is a school-gate dilf on his first pick-up adventure with you.

sunburn girl!dadstarion, <1k dhampling gets sunburnt!

introducing the siblings girl!dadstarion (inbox prompt) "I had this image in my mind of him introducing the older girls to their new baby sister each time and just being sweet and cute"

breakfast girl!dadstarion (inbox prompt) astarion trying to make breakfast for the growing brood while tav/reader is like, "my love, you wanted this"

bump dadstarion x reader (inbox prompt) astarion being a lil shit and causing more kicks talking to and touching tav's baby bump as tav tries to rest?

stretch marks dadstarion x reader (inbox prompt) Imagine a tav who’s really insecure about these marks [...] and when they bring it up to astarion he decides the best course of action is to show them how much he loves them.

snuggles dadstarion x reader (inbox prompt) when tav is pregnant astarion would love snuggling up to their baby bump - curling around them and listening for signs of their little one

shallow bites girl!dadstarion (inbox prompt) "I think it would be really funny if astarion and tav’s daughter was practicing her bites and pickpocketing on the two of them, respectively. [...] No ancunín is going to grow up being a half-rate pickpocket!"

hugs from behind dadstarion x reader (inbox prompt) "hugging the other from behind" from this list of prompts with astarion hugging his very tall, very pregnant wife from behind because I think the image of it is so cute.

tiefling tav showing affection via their tail tief!reader (inbox prompt)

valentine's day with astarion gn!reader (inbox prompt)

earthbound astarion x earth!born reader (inbox prompt) "how do you think astarion would handle a tav who is actually from earth and is going to return home after defeating the netherbrain?"

reunited astarion x earth!born reader (inbox prompt) "a follow-up to earth tav somehow reuniting with astarion, via reincarnation or another divine intervention"

patience gn!reader (inbox prompt) "hmm, you're not very patient, are you?" from the one-liners list"

baking gn!reader (inbox prompt) "ASTARION GETTING INTO BAKING AND ASKING YOU TO SAMPLE ALL OF HIS BAKES"

thulsun fem!reader, not tav! 3.7k (NSFW) under rework! astarion appears at your parlour one evening in a cloud of smoked bergamot and the briefest hint of spunk, and it becomes oh-so difficult to watch him leave.

three, minimum fem!reader, 4.3k (NSFW) astarion has been planning, for the first time in his life. He wants babies.

nought point five fem!reader, 4.7k (NSFW) seven months along, he’s besotted with every pregnant piece of you.

one fem!reader, 2k astarion is a newly-minted girldad. that’s it. that’s the plot.

one more fem!reader, 2.9k (NSFW) your home is quaint. astarion continues to insist it isn’t busy enough.

(astarion x fem!reader au, NSFW) he's a potwasher. you want to fuck the potwasher. this started as a joke and now i'm obsessed. enjoy.

one two

#pinned post #blog intro #astarion x reader #bg3 #my writing #masterlist

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princessanonymous · 2 months

Text

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part

Story Chapter list

Epilogue : 𝓘𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓪

"What has gotten your pretty little head so worried, doll ?" Curiously asked her father as they were feasting.

She lifted her head, startled by his question. Shrugging, she said : "Nothing important, I just..."

Her fathers fixed their gaze on her, awaiting an explanation. Uncertain of how to express herself, she opted to play with the mashed potatoes on her plate, sensing their confusion mirrored in her hesitation.

"I used to have another family," she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Mortals," responded her father without care. "We took you in and you have us now."

She bit her lip. While her memories of the time before her turning were becoming slightly blurry, she could still retell the events in moderate detail. With time, her relationship with her sire had mended and her bond with the two older vampires had greatly improved. She couldn't say when she had begun to refer to them as her fathers. Perhaps, it was because of the blond vampire's insistence. His determination must have worn her down with time. (Y/n) had subconsciously learned there was no use arguing with her father; he always found a way to get what he wanted. What was repeated enough often became a reality, and now, (Y/n) was an integral part of their immortal tableau. They were family.

She acquiesced, breaking the somber mood. "Forgive my gloominess."

The atmosphere in the dining room shifted, tension intermingling with the scent of the evening's feast. Then, a shrill scream from upstairs echoed through the ornate halls, a stark reminder of (Y/n)'s penchant for mischief.

Her father's gaze hardened, a silent reproach conveyed through his piercing eyes. Beside him, her dad sighed, his exasperation apparent. "(Y/n), we've discussed this," he admonished, his voice carrying a weariness that suggested this was not the first time such an incident had occurred.

The young vampire toyed with her food, a nonchalant air about her as if feeding on the tailor was merely an inconvenience to her parents. And it was. Years ago, the mere thought of drinking blood repulsed her. Now, it had become the norm, something that had been instilled within her by Dorian. She placed a finger on her lips, a mischievous smile playing on them. The two older vampires exchanged a glance, a silent communication that spoke of shared exasperation and a need for discipline.

Her father's frustration erupted as he demanded, "What have we said about feeding in the house? Was it the tailor we hired for your new dresses?" The mere thought of a potential delay in her wardrobe seemed to agitate the blond vampire more than the breach of their feeding protocol.

With a nod, (Y/n) confirmed her choice of victim. The consequences of her actions, however, did not weigh heavily on her. She glanced between her fathers with innocent eyes. “I didn’t make a mess.”

"Now, who will finish those dresses?" The blond threw his hands in the air dramaticallly.

☼ ‎‎

That same evening, once the little mess with the corpse was arranged, the girl still appeared preoccupied. Truth to be told, this feeling wasn't new or sudden. It was something that had lingered within her for years now. It all came to a head tonight. As they were served tea in the living room, (Y/n) eyes lingered on the maid who served them the tea.

She sighed wistfully as the maid departed. The woman was slender, with curves and a mature air around her. (Y/n) reminisced, "I remember when Henrietta was younger. She was twelve when she started working here."

Her dad raised an eyebrow as he lifted his head from the journal he was reading. "Who ?"

She rolled her eyes. "Henrietta, the maid that just left."

Her father hummed disinterestedly, and her dad returned to his journal. Brushing the hair of her doll, Clementine, she commented with a pout, "I wish I were like her."

"Like a servant?" questioned her sire with barely concealed disdain.

"No," she retorted, affronted by the notion. "Like a woman."

A sudden stillness settled in the room as both vampires sharply turned their attention to her. An array of emotions assaulted her – worry, guilt, annoyance, sadness, and resignation. She couldn't discern from whom each emotion emanated. They had discovered soon after her turning that her unique gift was that of empathy – an ability to sense and, with practice, manipulate others' emotions to her liking.

"What do you mean by that?" inquired the dark-haired vampire, lifting his head from his reading.

(Y/n) hugged herself while looking away. "I want to change." She longed for transformation, to break free from the perpetual sameness that defined her immortal existence. Every night, she woke up and walked up to her mirror to observe the same unchanging face.

When she was turned, she hadn’t even been made aware that this would change her normal growth. Later on, she simply understood it would slow it, which would explain the fact her vampiric parents didn’t look different from what they were when she first met them.

Her dad, with a cold hand on her cheek, reassured her, "You are perfect as you are." However, an undercurrent of guilt accompanied his words.

Swatting his hand away, she clarified, "That isn't the issue."

"Then what is?" asked her sire abrasively. "You shouldn't concern yourself with humans, much less desire to be like them."

"I want to change," she insisted, feeling the weight of her unyielding desire. A tense silence hung in the room as they stared at each other. "When will I?"

Her sire responded coolly, "What I think is that you are having another senseless tantrum. Drop this matter." He dismissed it as he always did every time she even implied something concerning this topic.

"No!" she protested, standing up in frustration. "I can sense that you two are keeping something from me every time I mention this. What is it? I have the right to know."

"You know you aren't allowed to use your gift on us," her sire responded, sidestepping her question. He disapproved of her using empathic powers to discern his emotions.

"Why am I not changing? Why can't I grow older?" she demanded tearfully. "I'm an adult."

"You are not acting like one," her sire rebuked sternly.

"Dorian," her dad interjected while placing a hand on his shoulder.

Ignoring her dad, (Y/n) focused her attention on her sire, anger and desperation bubbling inside her. "You made me like this! You made me into this!"

She hated it so much. This resentment had started to fester inside her ever since the first time she noticed her growth had been altered. It all pulled out at once in a cascade. This wasn't fair.

"Yes," her sire agreed with a challenging smile, stepping forward. "And what you are is nothing but a child. Do not forget that."

In a fit of anger, she screamed before storming out, leaving behind a room fraught with unresolved tension.

☾‎

As (Y/n) stormed out, Killian observed her departure with a heavy sigh. Beside him, Dorian collapsed into an armchair, exhaling in exhaustion. A palpable heaviness lingered in the living room, an unsettling aftermath of the emotional outburst.

They should have expected this from the child. It was bound to happen. She hadn't known about the fact they stopped aging once they were turned and they had known she wouldn't react well to it. The two had known that eventually, she would start to ask why she wasn't aging. They both knew it. None of them thought it would be so soon, though. Like any vampire turned at such a young age, she had started to become restless. As her soul aged, her mind remained static, and her body persisted in its perpetual youth. Physically and emotionally, she was trapped in the realm of childhood, yet a part of her knew that something was wrong, that she wasn't meant to stay that way.

"She deserves to know it by now," Killian said, his voice breaking through the gloomy atmosphere. "She will get over it eventually."

Dorian, however, remained silent, his gaze fixed on a distant point, acknowledging that the statement held more of a wish than a genuine assurance. The sounds of porcelain shattering and a commotion emanated from the girl's room, drawing their attention, but neither moved.

"Completely hysterical," Dorian muttered to himself with frustration. "This child has gone completely—"

Their momentary stillness shattered at the sudden, piercing cry of horror that resonated through the house. The gut-wrenching sound struck both vampires to their core. They sprang to their feet, a shared urgency compelling them to rush to her bedroom. Attempting to open the door, they discovered she had barricaded it with an object. Dorian pounded on the door with a sense of desperation.

"(Y/n)," he bellowed, "open this door at once !"

No response came from within, but the cries and the metallic scent of blood permeated through. "(Y/n)," Killian called in a more soothing tone, "please open this door."

Using force, they managed to open the door, the chair strategically placed beneath the knob crashing to the floor. They entered a room in complete disarray, with shards of broken porcelain dolls strewn across the floor. The coffin lay shattered, and the curtains torn. A crimson liquid coated every surface—windows, floors, walls—and (Y/n) herself, who panted heavily while crouching over the lifeless body of the maid she had mentioned earlier.

The maid's form was mutilated, her face and chest bearing the brunt of the savage attack. The room told a tale of unbridled rage; only a person consumed by fury could commit such an act with nothing but broken porcelain shards.

Killing humans wasn't an uncommon occurrence for vampires. Killian, while he avoided partaking in these acts, knew that. He also knew that Dorian and (Y/n) both feasted on humans. Yet, he recognized that this was more than feeding. She hadn't consumed a single drop of the woman's blood—this was an act of brutality, driven solely by her rage and envy. The girl had unleashed her pent-up frustration.

"That is enough !" Bellowed his partner, storming up to the girl and pointing a stern finger at her. "Quit this abhorrent behavior at once !" The force of his words reverberated through the room, cutting through the chaos like a sudden gust of wind.

☾‎

She stood defiant, unmoved by his anger, as the fire within her raged stronger than anything external. "What have you done to me?" Her scream echoed through the room, a visceral sound that threatened to shatter the windows.

"I saved you!" Her sire retorted, his own voice rising to match hers. "I saved you from a pathetic human existence, and this is how you repay me!"

"I want to grow! I want to be like them!" She shot back, the two locked in a battle of voices, each trying to outshout the other.

"YOU WILL NEVER GROW!" He finally snapped, the declaration revealing the cold, hard truth.

Stumbling back, she attempted to process his words. "What do you..." Her lip quivered, tears welling up in her eyes.

Her dad stepped forward, his voice a regretful whisper. "You were turned at the tender age of twelve. For vampires, time halts at the moment of their turning, passing without taking much note of our kind. We are forever frozen in that moment.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, she croaked, "No... There must be a way to... if I—"

"You will never age," her sire declared with a lack of sympathy that cut through her like a knife.

Clutching her chest, she sank to her knees, realizing the extent of what the vampire had taken from her. He had stolen her family, her humanity, and now, her ability to age.

Somehow, the tears didn't come to her. She had no more tears to cry. (Y/n) was a vampire, a fact she had once thought she had come to terms with. She was destined to feed on mortals to survive. She was destined to never age. Eternally youthful.

In response to her silence, her sire crouched in front of her. "(Y/n)?" He lifted her head to meet his gaze. As her eyes clung to a last sliver of hope, the blond's eyes hardened. "Embrace the essence of your being, and express gratitude that I, in my benevolence, have rescued you from the confines of your mortality."

Her gaze turned to the shattered dolls, and she said to him, "Forgive me," a whisper devoid of emotion. His smile, void of any malice, prompted no anger from her, only a heavy resignation.

"Smile," he urged, wiping blood from her face. “This is a gift, doll.”

She complied, displaying white teeth and sharp fangs. There seemed to be no other recourse in this situation. She could either succumb to tears and rage or find a way to move forward. She had learned to adapt once; after her parents were savagely slaughtered. Then, once again when she had been turned. This would be her third time, and hopefully, her last.

The fragments of porcelain dolls lay scattered like fallen stars across the room, a constellation of broken dreams. Each doll, a silent witness to the tempest of emotions that had swept through. In the midst of this wreckage, (Y/n) stood, a solitary figure amidst a sea of fractured reveries.

The dolls, once delicate and cherished, were now fragments strewn carelessly, much like the promises of a life she had relinquished. The act of breaking those dolls, symbolic as it was, held no real consequence. For (Y/n) understood that she, in this haunting realm, was the only doll that truly mattered. An elegant marionette, navigating a vampiric existence with a façade of poise. A mere doll in this vampiric tableau, expected to wear a smile and play her assigned role.

She refrained from allowing herself to cry or even care anymore, for in caring, she feared she would shatter into irreparable pieces.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Yup, this is over guys ! Finally done! Took me some time bcuz I went on a trip but here I am with the epilogue! Hope you liked this story and enjoyed it just as much as I did as I was writing it.

While the story is over, I would be happy to answer questions and write more about it if asked. My asks are open so feel free to ask for more on the characters, their backstories that were only briefly mentioned, or even on what-if scenarios to see how some actions could hava affected the ending. ;)

Thank you for reading.

#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere vampire #yandere father #obsession #yandere #vampire #platonic #x reader #female reader #reader insert #child reader #yandere x reader #fanfic #stockholm syndrome #toxic relationship #abusiveness #manipulation #(y/n)

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jooniperbonsai · 3 months

Text

My Bloody Valentine (jjk)

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x human reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 13.9k

Release date: Thurs. February 15, 2024

Genre: smut, fluff, humor, hella angst

Summary: You don't understand why your vampire boyfriend is so caught up in the idea of a silly holiday, until you realize it's about more than just candy hearts.

Warnings: Blood (duh), swearing, blood drinking, lots of angst, allusion to jungkook being bisexual, alcohol, brief description that sounds similar to disordered eating, jungkook is clingy and kind of a brat, so is reader tbh, accusations/assumptions of cheating, both are conflict avoidant which makes things worse, discussions of death and infertility, references to opiate addiction, medical theft, uh y/n kind of non-consensually feeds jungkook her blood, oral sex (m/f), masturbation (m/f), fingering, temperature play, unprotected rough sex, clit spanking, biting kink (!!!! just be warned lol), choking, dirty talk, mention of menstrual sex/oral kink, mention of somnophilia, creampie

a/n: Hi! Happy (late) Valentine’s Day! Thank you all for your enthusiastic support for this fic. I hope it exceeds your expectations (as it exceeded mine). I have some extra thoughts that I’ll leave at the end of this fic to avoid spoilers, but I hope you enjoy my little y/n and vampire Jungkook couple as much as I do. I would like to thank p for talking this universe through with me until it made sense.

“All I’m saying is that Halloween hardly feels like a holiday about vampires!”

“As opposed to what? Christmas?”

You’ve been standing in your kitchen arguing with your boyfriend for so long that the once-scalding cup of coffee in your favorite mug is now cold. Jungkook is sitting on the bar stool against the counter, his white shirt rolled up his forearms to reveal a similar pale shade underneath. You can see the corded tendons of his arms flex as he wrings his hands together in frustration.

When you woke up this morning, it was not from a lazy well-slept haze you were expecting to have. Instead, you had awoken to a crash coming from the kitchen, sending your heart jolting as you tried to make sense of the world and the source of the noise.

Buttercup, your cat and usual suspect for mischief, mewled angrily from her perch as she, too, eyed the wrongfully accused sleep disruptor. As she arched her back in one long, tail-shaking stretch, she glared at you and then twirled herself around to face the wall before settling back into her bed with a final huff.

If it wasn’t Buttercup, then it could only be one other creature.

You’d padded your way down the hall to the kitchen, only to see Jungkook already dressed and swearing to himself as he gathered the shattered pieces of a glass measuring cup and what looked like orange juice into a pile with a wet dish rag.

“Don’t come any closer!” he shrieked, and before you could even open your mouth to assure him you’d be fine, he'd already swooped you into the living room and onto the couch. “Don’t move!” he ordered and because you heard the sharp warning creeping into his tone, you obeyed.

An hour and a half later, the kitchen is a mess from what you now understand to be Jungkook’s attempt at cooking you breakfast for Valentine’s Day, a holiday that you both agreed you wouldn’t celebrate.

You take a sip of your coffee, trying not to wince at how it still somehow tastes burnt through the too-sweet pink sugar cookie creamer he’d doused it with when he insisted on making you a cup.

“No, of course not. Y/N! But don’t you think Valentine’s Day should be more about vampires?”

You snort, and the residual coffee on your tongue shoots to the back of your throat, sending you into a coughing fit.

“What?” You say when you finally regain composure. You set down the mug and glance around for a single cup in your kitchen that hasn’t been dirtied in this process of making…well…you’re not sure what. There’s some burnt edges of something in the sink, but a weird goo glazing various bowls that somewhat resembles pancakes. However, a bright green lump of…maybe spinach?...rests in those as well, so you’re not entirely confident where he was going with this execution.

Jungkook isn’t usually this oblivious to human tendencies, mostly because it wasn’t so long ago that he himself was a human. In the year you’ve been together, you’ve learned all about Jungkook’s swift descent into vampirism. Unlike many of his kind, he’s a fledgling. He was turned a handful of years ago and doesn’t exist in the ancient, strange accents and customs form of vampire some know. Nor is he a sleepless, sparkly teenager with superhuman speed. Yes, he has fangs, is paler than the normal person, and he will not (you think) age. But as someone who has maintained his twenty-something appearance, this currently presents as a non-issue because, if still alive, he would still be a twenty-something.

And unlike the stereotypes of his kind, Jungkook is not in a decades-long bloodlust. Lust, perhaps, but it’s unknown if that’s because of his vampirism or because he’s a horny man. The one who changed Jungkook did so in a dark night club in Paris between searing hot kisses, where he slid his fangs along Jungkook’s throat while rutting against him on the dance floor. Jungkook, in that drunk and sex-induced haze, never suspected that the slight sharpness tracing along his jugular, sending a delicious chill down his spine, would result in him waking up three days later in a hotel in Vienna with nothing more than a vague note of warning and a few plastic bags of blood chilling in the mini fridge.

While he doesn’t consume much now beyond A or O positive, Jungkok often cooks you meals so you’re not as tired when you get home from work. It’s sweet, but you know that he does it for himself, for the reminder of his humanity and, as he once admitted himself, for the fact that more energy saved from you not cooking means more energy for him to fuck out of you seven days a week.

“I’m going to need you to explain your reasoning behind that logic,” you say, and finally locate a clean cup to fill with water.

Jungkook grunts, and when you glance over at him, you can see he's pouting, his dual lip rings pulled under one of his fangs.

“Well,” he says, tense, “I just thought…with all this stuff, Valentine’s Day should be more about, you know, vampires? Blood? Red? Hearts?”

“Baby,” you laugh, and fish around on the cluttered countertop for something to eat until you spot a bowl of strawberries tucked behind a jar of kimchi. Your stomach growls. “Valentine’s Day uses the heart motif because of love. You know that. You weren’t born yesterday.”

He rolls his eyes in annoyance and you furrow your brow before popping the sweet fruit into your mouth. What is going on with him today?

“Yes, I know I wasn’t born yesterday! Thank you for the reminder! But I’m saying that Halloween is this holiday that makes vampires into these beasts who suck and drain all the blood from bodies or sleep in coffins! Beware the dark corners of the world or else they’ll get you! But Valentine’s Day, what even is this about? A fat naked baby who spears you with an arrow and suddenly you’re in love with someone? Sounds way more monstrous to me! And people embrace this guy? People want him to stab them so they can be all fluttery in love and get all these nice things. But I have to be seen as this awful monster all the time? It’s just not fair!” he shouts, and swipes his hand across the counter.

You gasp as you watch an empty plastic container clatter to the ground before he brings his hands up to cover his face.

Jungkook isn’t one for temper tantrums. While he does have a tendency to be more sensitive, throwing things, even empty containers, is very out of the norm for him. You remember early on in your relationship, he once used a little too much of his supernatural strength to hit you with a pillow when you were both goofing off, which resulted in you being smacked right off the bed with the wind knocked out of you.

You spent the rest of the day posted up on the couch under his orders, while he waited on you hand-and-foot despite the fact that once you recovered (mostly from laughter), you were perfectly fine. It led to an eventual discussion about how you weren’t so breakable, where you proved your point by showing him just how flexible you were.

Which is why now, as Jungkook huffs all over the place, you know something is seriously wrong.

You move away from the strawberries and walk around the kitchen island to Jungkook, gently pulling his hands down.

“Hey,” you whisper, looking up at him. His hair has fallen into his face, disheveled from all his fussing in the kitchen and the many times this morning you’ve seen him running his fingers through it.

Jungkook yanks his hand away and stands, pushing away from the counter before stomping into the living room and pacing angrily. You follow him.

“Hey,” you try again, firmer. “You gonna tell me what is going on? Because normally you don’t leave a giant mess of whatever that is going on in the kitchen before you walk away from it, and you especially don’t walk away from me when I’m trying to talk to you.” Your jaw sets and you stand in the doorway, crossing your arms as you watch him pace.

He responds with a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, well that’s a start. Can’t even fucking cook my girlfriend a meal on this stupid holiday.”

This is exactly why you told Jungkook you don’t want to celebrate Valentine’s Day this year. All week long he’s been making snarky comments about it, from rants about the greeting card company’s agenda to explaining how it’s become over-the-top and overrated to now, as of this morning, promoting vampires as the superior holiday mascot to Cupid.

Truthfully, you’ve always liked this holiday. When all the post-holiday sales were running months ago, you’d noticed a deal on the record player Jungkook had been eying for months but would never let himself have. His last one had started to break right after you two started dating, but he was always a good sport about it, cracking jokes about how the old-timey canned sound it produced didn’t play Eminem, but “Eminesquire the Third”. Prompted by the desperate need to replace the tinny echoes that haunted your apartment, you didn’t hesitate to snag this gift for him and immediately wrapped it before shoving it under your bed to give to him today.

Well, that was until all this started a little over a week ago. Up until that point, he’d seemed fine, never mentioning an opinion on Valentine’s Day. Then one morning you woke up and saw him complaining about how since he turned he would never be able to eat chocolate again. Which was incredibly dramatic, because Jungkook can eat if he wants to, but he chooses not to since it doesn’t do anything for him anymore.

Every mention of the holiday since, from the ads popping up on his phone to the colorful heart shaped decorations in store fronts, has made him irate and hostile.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on, but I didn’t ask you to make me breakfast,” you huff, now offset by his bad mood. “Like, I know that I told you last week we didn’t have to do any of this. So I’m not sure why now you’re trying to make some grand gesture of breakfast or stomping around arguing with me about the politics of vampires being a traditional mascot for Halloween instead of Valentine’s Day or how dumb you think this holiday is.”

His nostrils flare. “Well excuse me for trying to be a good boyfriend and do something nice for you!”

“What?” Heat flashes through your entire body as you feel the thin hold you have on your anger slip. “Oh, I see. So this is all about me is it? This is my fault? Tell me, when I go in there and clean up your mess of all my food you wasted by doing this nice thing I didn’t ask for, is that also for me as a treat? Or is that going to be leftover in the fridge for me to clean later?”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow as you match his anger. He opens his mouth to speak, but you raise your eyebrow, daring him to try.

“Ah ah,” you warn, your voice laced with venom. “I’m not fucking done speaking.”

He slides his tongue over his teeth instead before sucking in his lips.

“So, after I noticed it hurt you and said we didn’t have to do it, after I promised you I didn’t mind if we skipped the theatrics of this holiday, you what? Took it out on me? How the hell is this being a good boyfriend, Jungkook? How is you shutting me out for the last week, pouting and being an absolute brat doing me any favors? Showing you love me?”

You begin to feel the fury recede into something worse: pain. It settles over the heat, moving back down into your throat with a sharp lump.

“You wanna talk about shutting someone out, Y/N? Really?” Jungkook roars, halting his anxious movement. “That’s rich considering the secrets you’re keeping!”

Your brain buzzes with confusion and anger. You rewind the conversation, trying to form connections that would lead to this accusation.

“Are you serious? Wh-Do you think I’m cheating or s-something? Jungkook who the fuck do you think–” Your voice cracks, and you heft a heavy sob from your chest.

Never in your relationship have you two ever suspected the other of cheating. You’ve always been so certain of each other, that you two would never stray, that your connection and the very nature of your relationship demonstrated a type of bond that didn’t present anyone else as an option simply because you never wanted anyone else.

But given how things have been going, how Jungkook has been hiding things from you, you are starting to wonder if that’s not the case, if him pulling away isn’t to try to protect himself from getting hurt.

You’ve also tried not to notice how this month, when you counted the inventory of the blood bags stashed in the back of the freezer, it wasn’t nearly as empty as it usually was. You considered that maybe Jungkook just wasn’t thirsty, that maybe some of the bags you’d snagged from work, one of them being plasma, were satiating his hunger more than usual. With how Jungkook is looking at you now, eyes wide with the shock of your address, you can see you were wrong, the faint circles of thirst tugging under his eyelids.

You pull your shirt sleeve up to wipe your dripping nose, only to see it’s stained blue from some mysterious breakfast ingredient.

“I’m not saying you’re cheating, Y/N! God why would you think that! Fuck, no, this.” He produces a folded up envelope from his back pocket and shoves it toward you.

You sniffle and take the envelope, noticing it’s addressed to you. From your work.

Your stomach sinks. You know exactly what that is. “You know what? I’m going to take a shower,” you mumble, and you see in your periphery Jungkook’s head snap toward you.

“What?” he says exasperated. “Now? We–”.

You nod, choosing not to look at him now as you cut down the hall and shut the bathroom door firmly behind you.

You and Jungkook met, ironically, at a blood drive.

You were both volunteering to hand out snacks and mini water bottles to donors at the drive. This was a few months before Jungkook had gone on his Eurotrip, a few months before he would never again be able to volunteer with clinics to help patients.

While you’d met back then, and certainly had some chemistry that resulted in one really sexy car makeout ending with his hand down your scrub pants and you panting into his neck, it wasn’t until a few years later you’d reunited.

Jungkook had been pacing around the clinic near closing time, his thirst becoming far more unbearable by the hour. He had been trying desperately to avoid consuming human blood, but the various city rats or injured birds he was drinking from were still racking him with unfavorable guilt and an almost hazy sickness you remember sinking his features.

When you went to leave that night, you’d spotted Jungkook propped up against one of the glass doors, pale, with heavy bruise-like markings under his eyes. He was conscious, you’d noted, despite the fact that you couldn’t detect a pulse and his skin felt harder and icy to the touch. When you grabbed your phone to call an ambulance, he knocked it from your hand, instead begging you for a bag of blood.

“I can’t do transfusions, Jungkook, not here. That’s why we need to get you the hospital, so we can you look you over and–”

“No, Y’N, that’s not what I mean.” He’d laughed and flashed you a weak smile. “I don’t need a transfusion.”

“Then, what––.”

And that’s when you saw them: his fangs.

When you’d heard about Jungkook going missing in Paris, randomly disappearing in the night and showing back up months later with no story to share, there were rumors circulating that he’d started doing drugs and lost his job at the record store because in Europe he got hooked on opiates.

And you’d so easily believed that lie, though it soured your stomach. What other explanation was there for someone disappearing and coming back more pale, less human? You simply continued on with your work, finishing school in between and finding a more permanent presence at the clinic as a phlebotomist.

Feeling guilty, you turned around and headed back into the building, emerging with two bags of warm blood that you watched him practically shotgun in the passenger seat of your car. You didn’t tell him it was your blood, but as he told you later, he knew anyway. He could smell your particular flavor dotting the bandage.

Slowly, you and Jungkook became closer, you swiped a blood bag here and there from the clinic when no one was looking, sitting with him as he told you the story of him turning or the first time he fed. It seemed too surreal to be true, but as the dark circles under his eyes began to fade over the weeks, and his laugh started sounding more round and full, you felt like there was no way you could deny who he was, or more importantly, how he made you feel.

Being around Jungkook was addicting, which was evident in how easy it became for you to steal blood from the clinic without thinking twice. At first, you felt awful, knowing that each bag you were taking could very well be taking away someone else’s chance at life. But the more you thought about Jungkook, how he was just as alive as any human– how he feathered his fingers through his hair or how just a few years ago he breathed and moaned before you in the backseat of your car– what really was the difference between giving him blood versus some other person? Didn’t both bodies need it to survive?

The months ran on, and the crisp fall days that welcomed Jungkook back into your life were becoming tender, warmer as the early blooms of spring replaced them. Jungkook, too, was warmer, his body full and flushed with blood as he finally returned to as much of a human as he can be, reaching for your hand when you two walked through the park together, or falling asleep on your stomach while watching a movie.

Vampires sleep, you learned, though it’s not so much necessary as it is habitual, as Jungkook explained. He once tested himself to see how long he could go without sleeping, and as it turned out, the answer was evidently forever, for he managed three weeks not feeling groggy in the slightest. But sleeping helped time pass. Nights were lonely when the only people he wanted to interact with weren’t around, and grappling with being some shade of immortal often led Jungkook into a spiral as he processed time passing.

Therefore, sleep was welcome when it came. Especially with you, who he could tuck himself close to, and the soft beat of your heart served as his lullaby.

That’s when you knew that you loved him: when he told you that he went to sleep for you, that otherwise, he waited for you to wake up so he could see you again.

You’d become just as addicting to be around as he was for you, and you trusted it wasn’t just because you were his favorite teller at the blood bank who snuck him a withdrawal.

It was because he loved you too.

The fog on the bathroom mirror doesn’t show your reflection currently, but if it did, you know you’d see Jungkook standing behind you silently as you brush your teeth. Despite his stillness and his ability to appear without making a sound when he wants, your body reacts to Jungkook like a magnet pulled toward metal.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks finally, and you rinse your mouth.

“Because, I didn’t want you to feel guilty,” you say and reach for the envelope you left on the bathroom counter before your shower.

After a year of sneaking blood from the clinic, one year of popping plastic bags your into pockets after writing them off under a sealing failure or manufacturing issue or recording less volume in the official donation records or claiming a miscount in inventory, you were finally caught last week with a warm bag of blood in your possession.

Stupidly, you’d popped it into your purse right before an end-of-day meeting and in the rush to make it on time, you didn’t zip everything closed securely. When you inevitably knocked your knee onto the table while shifting to get more comfortable, your purse tumbled to the floor, exposing the vermillion contents within, and issuing you an immediate suspension.

Suspension, instead of fire only for the singular fact that the bag of cooling blood was your own.

You had known for a while that the clinic’s director of operations was becoming suspicious. The entire team had been subject to instances of recertification and retraining to try to address whatever issues that were leading to so many mishaps. It would only be a matter of time before the records kept showing your name attached to these transgressions, though you were almost relieved when you’d learned there were other various cases of blood loss occurring for factors you weren’t responsible for, most notably some interns who kept forgetting to put the bags containing red blood cells in the refrigerator, or who were not filling the entire bags, disqualifying the entire sample.

Overall, it would be safer to divest from your current plan, but finding an alternative to feed Jungkook was more difficult than you thought. You knew given the shortage of blood donations, you could no longer keep gleaning from work or other affiliates as resources.

But you also couldn’t convince Jungkook to feed from you.

You’d tried many times in the last year when he was dizzy or grumpy from thirst. And every time without fail, he refused.

“I haven’t even bitten anyone before,” he admitted one day, the dark circles under his eyes especially purple. His stubborn refusal slurred his speech into a lisp. “And I don’t intend to start now! Especially not with you!”

You’d dropped the subject, rooting around in the freezer until you found a blocky pint underneath a tub of freezer-burned ice cream.

But Jungkook had drunk your blood before on that first night at the clinic. And maybe if you executed things carefully, you could supplement some packets of your own blood in to help him get by. That way, he wouldn't have to bite you, but at least he would be fed. And you wouldn’t be at risk of imprisonment for medical theft.

So that’s what you started to do, slowly introducing him to your blood by creating fake donor names with the label machine and reprinting the same barcode as you filled bag after bag over the weeks.

And then last week, you got caught, your only assurance that you might only be suspended rooted in the fact that you hadn’t had the time to issue a fake label for the bag before the meeting.

And, because the blood was still warm in its pouch, because your arm had only just stopped bleeding, your case that you made of the blood being yours wasn’t entirely unreasonable. But what no one could understand was why you needed a bag of your own blood in the first place, much less why you were doing your own draw of it.

They confiscated the bag, as well as a small sample you offered for lab comparison to confirm it was yours, and they sent you home with the letter almost like you were a kid who was in trouble at school.

Your suspension is in effect until the board meets later this week to discuss your case, at which time you’ll be informed if you’re terminated or if you’ll be put on probation.

You’ve accepted that you might be fired, but what you couldn’t accept is the idea that Jungkook would definitely blame himself if he found out. Which is why you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him when it happened. If you did, you knew you would also have to admit to him that you have been non-consensually feeding him your blood instead of others’, which was a conversation you’d hoped to avoid until you were sure he would understand. Instead, you fucked up, and it’s all the more apparent as Jungkook frowns at you in the bathroom.

You rinse your mouth of the toothpaste, feeling a huge shard of guilt pierce your stomach.

“I wouldn’t have let you keep doing this if I’d known you were at risk of losing your job,” he mutters. “You already know I feel shitty even relying on you like this.”

“That’s exactly my point! That’s why I didn’t tell you! Because I knew we would end up here!”

“And that’s why this is a problem! You are failing to see how fucked up it is for me to have to depend on you to feed me!”

“Why?” You snap, and you immediately regret it, giving him an apologetic frown. “Sorry, I mean. Why do you feel so shitty relying on me? We’re partners, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, Y/N, we’re partners. Which means we are supposed to communicate with each other about things. That doesn’t mean you risk your entire career for me.”

“But doesn’t it, though?” You argue.

Jungkook groans and then wets his lips with his tongue before speaking. “No, baby. You’re not supposed to be making sacrifices like this! Not for me! Fuck, you shouldn’t be doing shit like this at all! You should be going to work, kicking ass, and then coming home to eat real food with your real boyfriend before you have incredible sex and then fall asleep!”

You cock your head at him, confused. “But, Jungkook, we already do that stuff.”

“No, we don’t, Y/N. You go to work, orchestrate some grand scheme to basically illegally harvest strangers’ blood during a national shortage, you come home and you eat. But I don’t. I leech off of someone else’s platelets. And then we have sex, and you fall asleep. And sometimes I do. But sometimes, I can’t. Because all I want to do is dream of you and I can’t do that anymore. Because I’m not real, Y/N, I’m literally a monster.”

You shake your head furiously and step toward him. “Listen. I made the choice to do this. Ever since the first day when you showed up at the clinic. I could have left you behind, I could have insisted to take you to the hospital anyway or put you in a headlock or something–”

“You are way too weak to put me in a headlock, even on that day,” he chuckles.

“I would have figured it out! But I had a choice in this Jungkook, just as much as you did for showing up, for asking me to help you. You could have gone somewhere else, or broken into the clinic after I left. You could have continued to live a half-life with a diet of rats and the occasional squirrel. But you chose this. You made choices, too.”

You push your toweled body into him, desperate for his touch. This is how you often are with him, needing him to ground you, to make sure you don’t spin out of control. He sighs, and you feel him circle his arms around you, his nose nuzzling into your wet hair. You shiver at the contact. Your shower must’ve been hotter than normal, because Jungkook feels almost like ice against your skin, much colder than his normal, albeit cooler temperature.

“Fuck, Jungkook, when was the last time you ate?” you ask.

He stiffens, then withdraws from the embrace.

“Get dressed,” he says, ignoring your question, before opening the door to the bathroom, the draft of the apartment, of his absence, leaving goosebumps on your skin in its wake.

The kitchen is clean, any and all evidence of this morning’s tirade gone. Jungkook has changed out of his jeans and button-down for a black hoodie and basketball shorts, solidifying the idea that he has no intention of leaving the apartment for the rest of the day.

You dress down similarly, throwing on a large ratty t-shirt and some sweats, very similar to the pajamas you’d been wearing for most of the day.

There’s a fresh pot of coffee brewing, but you ignore it, your stomach feeling sour over the idea of putting anything into it right now.

You lead Jungkook into the living room, and both of you sit on the couch, legs folded as you face one another.

“I know you’re not eating.” You try to say it softly, like an observation, but as the words leave your mouth, you hear them sound accusatory, tense.

“I know you know I’m not eating,” he responds, his tone even and cool. “I’ve seen you doing inventory checks daily.”

“You have to eat,” you urge. “You can’t just starve like this.”

“I’m not starving,” he says, still composed, distant.

“Bun, you’ve significantly curbed your consumption. You used to throw back two pints a day, easily.”

“Yes, well, that was before I found out my girlfriend was suspended from work for smuggling me those two pints, jeopardizing her entire future.”

“I don’t understand why you’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

His eyebrows rise. “I don’t understand why you’re not making it the bigger deal that it is!”

“Because it’s not! Not really! I have it under control!”

“And how exactly do you have this under control? Getting fired? Ruining your life isn’t control!”

“I don’t think I’ll be fired. Put on probation maybe, but not fired.”

“And why are you so sure about that?”

“Because…because I didn’t steal someone else’s blood. And that’s a criminal offense. But the laws are muddier when it’s your own blood.”

“Your…your own blood. You were caught with your own blood.” Jungkook looks at you quizzically. And then you see it register. His pupils blow wide.

“I fucking knew it,” he says. “I knew I was tasting you. I thought maybe it was just because you were on your period for a little longer than usual this month, and that maybe I was catching something in the air and just mixing up the scent with the taste of the blood. But, fuck! Goddamn it Y/N! I told you I didn’t want to feed from you and you just went and did it anyway?”

“I’m sorry,” you admit, your cheeks burning with guilt. “I just wanted to help you.”

“By taking away my choice in the matter? By hurting yourself? Shit!”

“No. I–I know you said you didn’t want to bite me, so I thought maybe if I did it this way that it wouldn’t be so bad and you wouldn’t have to feel so bad about it! And then I wouldn’t be as likely to be caught at work. It gave me some protection too in this! The board is meeting later this week to talk about my case and because the blood results proved to be mine, they just have to decide an appropriate punishment. I’m not going to go to jail over this, and if I lose my job, I’ll figure something out. But, I really didn’t mean to take away your choice, and I see now that I did.” You feel your throat close as you begin to cry..

Jungkook is right, you took away his choice by doing this, and no matter your intention, he has the right to know.

“I’m really sorry. I completely fucked up doing this.”

“Yeah, you did. But not in the way you’re seeing this. God. It’s not about biting or not biting, it’s how easily you did it for me. How you keep putting yourself, your own health, at risk for me! You don’t get it! You stole blood for me for almost a year. And then when you started to realize your future was at stake, you took it from your own body. Which you shouldn’t have to do!”

You swipe at the tears pooling from your eyes. “You keep saying that. Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true, baby! You shouldn’t be in this weird supernatural chaos! It’s Valentine’s Day! You should be feeding your boyfriend chocolates or eating breakfast in bed. Exchanging presents and going on dates to dinner or the movies. Having sex! And not just sex, making love, making babies!”

“But you said you didn’t want to do any of that! Jungkook, I’m so confused. What is it that you want? If you want to celebrate Valentine’s Day, I have a present for you wrapped up that I’ve been dying to give you for months. And we can go to the movies. We can have sex… I don’t even want a baby!”

You pull a pillow into your lap like a shield.

“You do want a baby,” he accuses. You snap your head up.

“What? No, I–”

“You do. You told me on Christmas Eve, when we were watching that movie on the couch. You were falling asleep during it, but in that scene when he comes home after saying no to that deal, she says ‘I want my baby to look like you’ and you looked up at me so sleepy and warm and alive, and you repeated it back to me. You said ‘I want my baby to look like you.’”

You think back to that night, when you and Jungkook were cuddled up together watching It’s A Wonderful Life since he’d never seen it, and between sips of a very strong eggnog, you kept studying his face, almost overwhelmed by the idea that you could ever love him more than you did in this moment. When Mary told George she was pregnant, something just felt right about that phrase, and in your tipsy, sleepy, haze, you must have recited that part back to him.

Honestly, you do want your baby to look like him. You can’t imagine anyone else in the world whose features you would want to see copied into another human, one that you make together.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I’m not mad that you said it. I’m honored. Because if I could have children, I would want them to look like you.” His voice is tight. “But I can’t give you that. I think if I could, we would currently be arguing over paint swatches and baby names while I rub your swollen feet, not this. Because fuck we have definitely not been careful,” he chuckles.

Despite the sadness in his voice, you feel yourself smirk.

“And even if we adopted, that doesn’t solve one of the biggest issues out of all of this. Which is that you will grow older and more beautiful and our children would grow older and more beautiful, and I don’t know if I will. I don’t know if I’m going to be doomed by the stereotypical vampire life because I don’t know who turned me. He didn’t give me anything to go off of. Maybe I age but I do it slower. Maybe I will never age. Maybe I live forever or just a little longer than you. Or fuck, maybe instead of living forever, vampires actually have an insanely short life span because we are just another type of mosquito derivative!”

You laugh at that, though you still feel the tears staining your cheeks, making no effort to stop.

“The point is, I can’t promise you anything human. I can’t promise you a normal life with me. Babies that we make, us growing old together. If I could do one thing different, I kinda wish I put a baby into you the first time we fucked around in that car. God knows I was hard enough.”

“Jungkook,” you choke, ignoring his attempt at deflecting. “I don’t care about any of that. I know I said that stuff on Christmas, but I didn’t mean it like that. Maybe you can have kids! Like you said, you don’t know. For all we know, my freakishly long periods might be a sign I’m infertile. I don’t know either, I haven’t gone to the doctor or taken tests because I haven’t been too worried about it. That or aging or any of this! My job even.”

“Wait, hold on, back up. You might be infertile?” He looks almost offended by his own use of the term.

You nod. “Maybe, but I haven’t really been thinking about it lately. I’ve been more worried about you, more focused on you.”

He squints. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been evasive and bratty and honestly just fucking awful. And I can see why. You’re thirsty. You stopped eating again. You started screaming about heart themed things being for vampires. You’ve been avoiding me…is that why you haven’t told me anything? Because of my work thing?”

“I still can’t understand why you are this nonchalant about your career,” he says and you shrug.

“Bunny,” you warn, and Jungkook crosses his arms across his chest.

“Okay, yes,” he concedes. “Part of this is due to that. Because you didn’t tell me. But also I feel like I’m ruining your life. And if that’s the case, if I’m taking so much from you, I want to take less. I want to be less.”

“I’m a parasite. A leech. I consume human blood to carry on living my nonexistent life. I sleep but I don’t dream. I can’t enjoy things the same way. I can’t be normal and that’s what you deserve. What you need. So if I’m going to be a parasite and dependent on you, I want to make things easier. You mentioned that gift under the bed…and, I don’t know that started it all. Got me thinking about all the things I can’t give you. All the experiences you’ll never have because of me. But how much you want it. Valentine’s Day. Baby, I know it’s a holiday you like. I see your eyes sparkle every time you pass the decorations and candy at the store. Of course you have had a present for me wrapped and ready since Christmas, because that’s you and how incredible you are. And I wanted to give you some of that back, but the more I thought about it, the angrier I got that I can never be good enough for you. I can’t give you everything. And then this morning, I don’t know, I snapped. I tried to cook you something I normally can do with my eyes blindfolded and walking backwards but everything came toppling down around me and I got overwhelmed and ended up fucking it all up.”

Jungkook reaches across the couch, taking your hand in his, tracing his thumb across your knuckles.

“You’re so dramatic,” you accuse, and roll your eyes.

Jungkook retracts his hand and pouts. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“You’re being dramatic and over the top with this broody Edward Cullen shit. I’m sick of it.” You toss the pillow to the side and sit up on the couch, edging your body closer.

“For starters, you’re punishing yourself by not eating. Your hands are like ice, and that means you’re extremely underfed because very little blood is in you. Second, you refuse to eat because at first it was someone else’s blood and I could get in trouble so that justified not doing it. But now that it’s freely available, because it’s mine you have some moral conniption preventing you from nourishing your body. And all of this is circling around the same problem. Which is you deciding for me what you think I want and need.” You hover just above him now, your knees digging into the cushions on either side of him as you trap him under you.

“You decided wrong, by the way. You based what I want not on who I am, but on your own insecurities and fears about me, Jungkook. And that’s not fair to me.”

You plant yourself down on him, straddling your weight across his chest. Jungkook gazes up at you, a frown still etched on his face, though it’s grown softer.

“It’s also not fair to me that you are trying to control my decision about feeding from you or not. If you were a vegetarian, how would you feel if I had replaced your veggie burgers with meat patties just because I thought you needed the protein?” He asks.

You hadn’t thought about that. Your shoulders sag as you sit with the realization.

“I need you to trust that I won’t ever go back to feeling the way I did when we first met. Look at me, are the marks under my eyes as dark? Am I as hard or pale?” You shake your head, and Jungkook reaches up to your face, touching his palm to your cheek. “I am thirsty, baby. But I also know how to control myself. I have spent months with you, around your blood, smelling you when you do something as little as get a paper cut or have a large blood clot pass during your period. Don’t look at me like that, it’s literally just blood from your body, you as a phlebotomist know better than to find that weird or gross.” You giggle, trying to ward away the flush of your cheeks. “And yes, it hurts, but kind of like when you smell something really good cooking in the kitchen and your stomach growls. But that’s the worst of it.”

“Is it though?” you ask gently, trying not to argue with him, but his eyes seem almost cloudy to you.

His brows knit and he opens his mouth but then shuts it, nodding for you to continue. Instead, he strokes along your brow bone, then down the curves of your jaw, tracing your features with his index finger.

“Your eyes aren’t as clear as they are when you feed regularly,” you sigh sadly. “I don’t want to change you, at all. But you’re warmer then too. And on days like today, it would be nice to have you less frigid to cuddle up next to. But I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to do. I was wrong to not tell you about my work stuff and my blood. Those are two big things that you deserve to know as my partner, and because they impact you directly. I’m sorry.”

You take his hand in yours and bring it down over your chest. “If you don’t want to drink those blood packs, I understand. We’ll find some other way of getting you blood. But we need to make these decisions together. All of them. No more of us deciding we know what the other person needs best. That means I am not force feeding you my blood, I know. It also means you don’t get to decide if I want to have a biological baby or if I want to grow old with someone else.”

Jungkook contemplates this, and then nods in agreement.

“Do you feel that?” You ask, glancing down to your chest, referring to your heart beat.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“Good, because in all this, you keep saying you’re this monster and that can’t be further from the truth. Maybe I don’t need normal, because I don’t want normal. I want you. And I am alive and warm as a human is, sure. You insist you’re not alive. But what is life really? Do you need to be breathing and to have a beating heart like mine to experience love? Joy? The things that make up life? You feel me. Even if it’s all a habit now. The memory of your body, I don’t know. I don’t know how you work either but that doesn’t matter.”

“Do you need to have dreams or to eat chocolate or make babies to feel like you’re living, Jungkook? Because I don't think you do. I think your body and my body sitting here together, my heart pumping blood through me, more than I probably even need to keep me going, is more than enough for me. You loving me, I think that’s life. Is that not enough for you?”

Jungkook’s eyes are glassy, and he takes a deep breath, also probably out of habit more than necessity. “No, it’s more than enough,” he says. “I think this is life.”

You smile. “Okay, then let’s live. Let’s live like this. Whatever it is. And we can decide as we go what living looks like, alright?”

Jungkook releases his bottom lip from his fang. “Alright.”

You lean in, and Jungkook’s lips pull up into a smirk right before he kisses you, molding his body into yours with relief.

You welcome his tongue into your mouth, surprised by how cold even that is. When you pull away to catch your breath, you pull yourself tightly against him.

“We need to find you something to eat,” you say for what feels like the millionth time today, and Jungkook sighs.

“Tomorrow, okay? I just want to be close to you right now.” He burrows deeper into your t-shirt and you hum in agreement, letting the soft animal of his body feel like home.

The rest of the day, the two of you drift back into the softer and more familiar patterns of your relationship that the last week has disrupted.

Jungkook cooks you dinner, properly this time, a steak you wash down with a beer, the two of you discussing your friends and the latest episode of the show you finally have caught up watching, the tense air between you two perhaps not entirely diffused, but ultimately much more at ease than before.

You choose to not address the moment in your peripheral vision when you see Jungkook gnawing on some bloody gristle that he trimmed off the steak, his brows set in dissatisfaction as he tries to replace some of the nutrients he’s craving.

He’s thirstier than he’s admitting, you know, but you are trying to loosen the tight hold of control you are tempted to have.

“Hey,” you say as you load your dirty dishes into the dishwasher.

Jungkook, who is reading the beer founder’s story on the back of your empty can, perks up, curious.

“Do you want to open your present?” you ask, and can’t help but laugh at the way his face lights up at the suggestion.

“Oh my god, yes! I've been dying to know what it is since Christmas!” He beams, and before you can even move to go get it from under your bed, he’s gone, shuffling around down the hallway and cooing to Buttercup, who has just finished her own dinner.

When he reappears, he puts the gift on the counter and looks at you sheepishly.

“Um,” he says, and you can tell he’s desperately trying to be polite and well behaved like a small child on their birthday.

You snort. “Open it, bunny.”

Jungkook rips right into the paper, his jaw dropping. “You! This?”

You watch as he takes off into the living room to disassemble the current turntable setup.

“Goodbye Old Play, Fall Down Boy, and Alicia Broken Piano Keys,” he sing-songs. “Damn, when was the last time we had music around here?”

You watch him putter around.

This, you think, could be a good life.

Lying in bed, you drift between a dreamstate and your overactive brain trying to process your reality. Thoughts of your job, more specifically what you’ll do if you actually are fired filter through your head. You suppose you’d change careers, but this job has always been the one thing you wanted in life, at least before you had Jungkook.

Between a body heat barrier of blankets and pillows, you toss yourself around and sigh, finally coming to a state of being fully awake. Jungkook shifts across the pile to alert you that he, too, is awake.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks gruffly, and you grunt as you roll over.

“Can’t sleep,” you whine, and you move one of the pillows shoved between the two of you out of the way so you can see his face in the dark.

The soft glow of the outside city lights shifts through the window, casting a hint of pale blue light across his face. Like this, he looks more wan, sallow, and your heart wrenches. God, it’s so hard to see him this way, starving himself, and you know you shouldn’t feel guilty, but with the day behind you, you feel the late-night flood of regret starting to taint your mind as you try to figure out how you let this all go so horribly wrong.

“Busy mind?” He asks, and you blink up at him, a little surprised by how it seems as though he’s reading your thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” he grumbles, and then reaches out to pull you into him, his cold hands in an even colder room sending a tremor through your body.

“God, I’m sorry,” he says, and you clench your teeth.

“ s’okay” you mumble, and you push your face into his chest to warm your nose in his hoodie, throwing your leg over him to bring you closer.

Jungkook gently rubs your back, his touch light as his fingers trace up and down your spine. It tingles, sending a shiver that hardens your nipples.

“What were you thinking about?” he asks after a long pause.

You could lie, and then you wouldn’t have to worry that Jungkook would be awake all night carrying your baggage for you. But, you know how important this step of honesty is, so you take a deep breath.

“I-I just keep thinking about work. What’s going to happen? I don’t regret it, please don’t think I do or misunderstand. But I love my job. I love you more. It just feels all convoluted and scary. If I get fired, how will we afford this apartment? Find your blood?”

You feel Jungkook take a steep inhale, and you know he’s doing this to steady you, that his lungs don’t really need to expand but to breathe next to him, with him, is what feels the most natural to you both.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he says, and you fight the urge to cry for the third time today.

“I know it’ll be okay,” you assure him, “but I’m sad anyway.”

His fingers continue to strum along your spine, soothing you in the quiet winter night. At some point Buttercup gets up to go prowl around the apartment in her usual late-night zoomies, leaving you two alone in your little universe.

“I’ve been thinking a lot tonight, too,” Jungkook mumbles into the dark.

“About what,” you whisper. The wind outside kicks up, and you feel a sharp draft cut against your now-bare legs, beading you with goosebumps that make you shiver.

Jungkook tuts, shifting you to his side momentarily so he can reach down and pull up your thick duvet. You relish the return to warmth and lay back down on him, resting your head onto his chest while letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Feeding,” he says casually, but you can still hear the hunger in the word as he pronounces every syllable sharply. A different kind of tremor rocks through you, and you feel a tug of arousal behind your belly button.

“Oh,” you say, trying to be unaffected, but Jungkook sees right through you and chuckles.

“The first time I tasted your blood, you don’t even know what it did to me, Y/N,” he groans.

“It felt like every single dead neuron in my body was firing all at once again. I’ve never experienced anything like it. You were so warm, your blood was so thick on my tongue. I knew I was going to crave you for the rest of my, well I guess, existence.”

You squirm a little, trying to ignore the slight dampness you feel forming between your legs.

“Then, god, I thought I was going crazy when you were feeding me those blood packs. That I had wanted the taste of you so badly that I was imagining it somehow from knowing the way you smell.”

He continues. “I know I told you that I have control, but fuck, baby, you almost destroyed me with that little stunt of yours.”

Jungkook shifts, and you can feel his hardening length brush against your stomach. His thigh butts up against you, and you know he can feel the effect he’s having on you.

“How?” you ask weakly, and Jungkook flexes his thigh underneath you, putting a little pressure right onto your clit. The whine you’ve been suppressing escapes, needy and rich.

“I almost caved. One night while you were sleeping, Thought about waking you up by fucking you with my tongue so I could finally taste you again.” Jungkook’s cock twitches underneath you and you rut against him in response, the heat in your core building. “Shit, you were even sleeping with your legs wide open for me, your panties and those tiny fucking things you call pajamas shifted and your pretty little pussy was right there for me to taste. Practically begging me for it.”

You rock against Jungkook’s thigh, the broad grind of your wet panties against Jungkook’s thigh releasing some of the tension.

“Oh,” you moan softly, but Jungkook isn’t done talking, and he ignores you as his hands come up to your ass, his cold touch on your cheeks causing you to squeak as he pulls them apart to force you to rut harder, deeper onto him.

“I can smell you right now,” he says roughly. “You can’t hide it from me, you know. Your blood, your wet pussy, they’re equally delicious to me. Equally mine.”

You moan as he forces you back and forth on his thigh. “You like that, don’t you? The idea of me devouring you like that? Waking you up with my mouth swirling around that hard clit, have you drooling and begging for my cock before you even know what day it is?”

“Shit, yes. Yes,” you pant, and Jungkook laughs, grasping your panties with his fingers and pulling tight. The fabric shifts, digging onto your swollen clit, blurring your vision from the sharp, deep wail.

“Such a dirty fucking girl, humping me like this. Letting me use you like this. What happened to my good girl, hm? Where’d my baby go?”

You know the question is rhetorical, but you find yourself entering the familiar, delicious haze you often go to with Jungkook, one that has been trained to answer every question he asks.

“Still your baby,” you whine, and Jungkook laughs.

He reaches down, tearing your panties off of your body with a single tug, exposing your wet pussy to the chill of the air.

“Oh really? You’re my baby? I don’t know about that. My baby usually has her mouth around my cock by now.”

Obediently, sit up, tugging your shirt over your head, your nipples hard and sensitive from your arousal. Jungkook groans as he takes in the view of your naked body, but before he can act, you hastily strip him of his hoodie and shorts to reveal his naked length.

Jungkook’s cock stands tall and heavy, and as you take it into your hands, you don’t mention how that, too, has become incredibly cold from his thirst. Maybe this hunger could be soothing in summer, but in midwinter, it is going to drive you insane.

You pull him into your mouth, determined to imprint some of your body heat onto him as you dribble your warm saliva down his shaft with a deep suck.

Jungkook moans above you, tangling his fingers into your hair in approval.

“Fuck, yes, Y/N. God.”

You use one of your hands to cup his balls, enjoying the heft of how full they are before stroking up and down the parts of his cock that you can’t take into your mouth.

“There she is,” Jungkook sighs, and you relax your jaw so you can take more of him in, edging his tip down your throat. He bucks up, and you gag, feeling the familiar tang of him spread across your tongue. Globs of saliva bubble out of your mouth as you attempt to fight the urge to gag more from his occasional thrusts.

“There’s my baby. My little cockslut. Fuck, I missed this.” You hum in agreement and Jungkook gasps at the vibration. He grabs your head, stopping you from bobbing.

“Shit…fuck baby, hold on. Stop. God, I almost just came,” he laughs, and your lips twitch as you slowly pull away from him, strings of spit still connecting you to his thick cock.

You look up at him as he steadies himself, smiling up at him devilishly.

Feeling naughty, you lean forward, testing the waters as you tongue around the head, taking one final, deep suck. Jungkook’s eyes darken in warning and you giggle, sitting back on your heels as you smile at him with fake innocence.

“Brat,” he mutters, and shoves you down onto the bed, his lips on yours before you can even breathe, tasting himself in the corners of your mouth with feral need.

He pulls away, tapping your knees with instruction to open, and you do, propping your head up on a pillow so you can see everything.

The curve of his nose rocks against your clitoris as he begins, and because Jungkook knows you so well, his hands clamp down on your legs to prevent you from squirming. You feel him dig one hand into your thigh, a warning not to try to take control, and you force yourself to relax as he begins exploring you, sucking one of your swollen labia into his mouth.

You groan, the slow method of him licking and sucking, moving down and up between the inner corners of your thighs back to your center feels both like heaven and absolute hell.

You have the urge to whine, to shove your hips up, maybe your neglected clit will get more attention, but you know better. Jungkook is testing you, trusting you in this moment not to fail him.

His eyes meet yours as feasts, the bruises under his eyes more dark now than they were earlier. Between the maddening, erotic swishes of his tongue against your clitoral hood and smug look on his face, you’ve had just about enough.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to play with your food,” you snap, and surprised, Jungkook pulls back, his wet cheeks and wide smirk indicating how satisfied he is with his torture.

“No,” he says, licking his lips. His fangs peek out from under his lips. “But I think my food really likes it when she has to work for it.”

You roll your eyes, and he brings his fingers to your clit, pinching it. You gasp.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” He scolds, and again you lose the urge to disobey.

You feign an apologetic look and buck your hips at him.

“Such a fucking bad girl today,” he chides. “If you’re not careful, I won’t let you cum. I’ll just use you like my little cumdump and you’ll have to figure out how to get off on your own.”

You shudder at his words and his shoulders straighten, satisfied with his apparent win.

“What do you say?” he asks, tracing one finger along your ridges.

You feel yourself trembling as his soft touch swirls around where you need it most, a frustrating, dizzy fury building in you.

“Jungkook, please.”

“That’s not the word I’m looking for.” His voice is dark, heavy in the cold of the room. Desperation is blinding you, only allowing you to think in fragmented sentences.

“I don’t know,” you whine, and you feel a hard slap hit directly onto your clit, sending a shock of pain and delicious pleasure through your body.

“Liar,” he snorts, and then rubs your wetness to soothe the ache. “You have a big girl brain, Y/N. I know you know what you need to say.” He dips a finger inside of you, you clench. “Or are you already too fucked out and needy to say it?”

Heat shades your face in embarrassment. Any other day, maybe, you’d challenge this, let him chip away at you until you are babbling and a mess underneath him. But the swell of heat in your core is pulsing what feels like everywhere in your body, including your head, and you rack your brain for the one word you know he’s looking for.

You pull a sharp breath between your teeth. “I’m sorry.”

“Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he says, and then he shoves his face into your cunt, more fingers dipping into your entrance. He begins to stretch you, pulling his fingers apart, urging more of your wetness to spill onto his tongue. “So sweet.”

Your hips twitch in the air and you fight to keep them down now that one side of you is freed, so you concentrate on him, pushing his hair back from his forehead as he devours you.

Jungkook’s eyes are so dark, pupils blown wide. And in them you see something more than just lust.

I’m thirsty, he’s telling you, the lines faint, but still there. He sucks hard onto your clit, a low sound tearing through his throat.

He’s asking you for permission, grazing his fangs along your inner lips, trying desperately to restrain himself as the hand still wrapped around your thigh tightens with a bruise-inducing pressure.

Then eat, tell him mentally, your tongue darting out of your mouth to lip your lips as you watch him get lost in his instincts. You hum your approval, thrusting your hips forward and shoving his head further into you.

“Yes,” you rasp, finding enough air in your lungs to puff out your consent.

Jungkook moans and you watch the resolve break as he delivers one final satisfying lap over your clit before he bites.

Nothing In your life could ever prepare you for this.

That part of you, the very organ having the most nerve endings, is alive and electric, burning hot as if you are the sun, the center of the universe. And Jungkook is orbiting around you, grounded by the gravity of your blood as he feeds from your pussy, groaning and bucking his hips in pleasure against the bed. A whimper churns from the depths of your throat as you writhe under him. The heat, god it’s everywhere, from the slight sting of the bite melting away from your core to the heady, steady throb of your clit that makes you feel your pulse everywhere.

Jungkook too, is warming underneath you, the chill of his body flushing away with each feverish gulp he takes. His cheeks are slightly pink again.

“So wet, so good,” he praises you as he swallows, and you see the blood smearing across his cheeks as he dips back into you.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you say shakily. His tattooed hand leaves your thigh, reaches up, searching for you in his feast. You don’t hesitate to lace it with yours, your hands a little clammy, but you’re afraid that if you don’t hold on to him, you might be lost among the stars.

He drags one of his fangs along the edge of your clitoral hood, and flicks your swollen bud with his tongue, self assured in your destruction. Your legs begin to close, but he growls.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he warns. His fingers press deeper inside you, thrusting toward the burning in your core that feels like it’s just out of reach. “You asked for this, now take it.”

“I can’t,” you say. “I can’t.” You thrash your head to the side, gaze unfocused as you take in the shapes around your bedroom you know once were pieces of furniture, but the combination of blood loss and building ecstasy has you feeling like you’re almost drifting from your body.

Jungkook clicks his tongue in dissatisfaction. “Look at me, Y/N,” he demands.

You force your eyes to him, and he instructs you to take a deep breath. You inhale shakily, letting him come into focus.

“You’re going to take my tongue. And then you’re going to take my fingers until you cum all over my face.” He makes his threat official, presses deep inside of you, thrusting deeper, toward the burning in your core that feels just out of reach. “And then you’re going to take my fat cock into my pretty little pussy and watch the cum drip out of it after I fuck you full of it, do you understand me?”

You tremble as he claims you. “Yes,” you reply and he leans in closer, thrusting his fingers in harder as you rock your hips toward him.

“Good,” he says. “Then give me what’s mine.” You feel him nip into you again, throwing you over with one deep suck.

You cry out, your hips twitching into the cold room, heaving deep broken gasps into your lungs, head spinning as you obey him. Your ears ring as you fall deeper under the wave, but you still feel Jungkook’s hand in yours, tender and encouraging as you force yourself back from beneath the current of your orgasm.

You try to steady your breath as you feel his drinking slow, his tongue placing a few laps here and there around your vulva in a gentle motion as he pulls himself away.

“Are you okay,” you hear him ask, though your eyes are trained on the ceiling as you try to stop yourself from seeing double. “Did I take too much?”

You’re not sure, to be honest, but you feel the warmth of Jungkook’s body cover you as he looks you over, feeling your pulse.

“Your heart is starting to slow down,” he says softly. “Can I leave you for a second to get some water?”

You make some kind of grunt of approval, and you feel him drape your covers back over you as he pads down the hall to sift through the kitchen.

He returns only a few moments later, a bottle of water and bag of heart shaped chocolates in hand.

You take the water from him and sip slowly, feeling the cool liquid soothing your hoarse throat, stabilizing you. You pop a chocolate into your mouth, the sugars melting your tongue tasting decadent.

When you finally glance over at Jungkook, you erupt into laughter.

“What?” he asks, his doe eyes going wide with panic. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

You fail to collect yourself, wheezing your breaths as tears burn your eyes. Maybe you did lose a bit too much blood, because it shouldn’t be as funny as it is, but he looks so full and flushed and innocent in light of what might just be the kinkiest thing the two of you have ever done.

His face is an utter mess, cheeks shiny and smeared with the faint pink of your mixed juices and blood. He looks like a child who just ate a cherry flavored popsicle.

“I-go look in the mirror,” you say between fits of laughter, and Jungkook looks at you confused before he obeys, standing and walking over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room.

“Oh shit,” he mumbles, then laughs. “Looks like I was saving myself a snack for later.” He reaches for a tissue from on top of his dresser and wipes his mouth.

“How can you not feel that all over you?” you ask, coughing when you finally recover.

“I don’t know! My brain isn’t focused on anything else right now but you! Well, you and…” he gestures down between his legs, where his cock is flushed from the blood, twitching as you give it attention.

You feel a flutter in your core and let out a soft gasp.

“But really, are you okay?” he asks tenderly, sitting back onto the bed and rubbing your thigh.

You scan over your body, checking in with yourself. You don’t feel woozy or nauseous, just loose, like how most large scale orgasms feel. Your thigh you know will be bruised tomorrow, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. And your clit, oh.

Your clit is tingling, and your pussy is dripping wet.

“Fuck,” you moan, and run your hand down between your legs and press your palm to your clit, enjoying the added pressure as it throbs under your touch.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, interested in your response.

You swipe your fingers through your folds and then pull them up. Surprisingly, the liquid is clear, meaning you’re not bleeding. Meaning that this dripping want is coming solely from you.

“What did you do to me?” You ask, and Jungkook’s eyes flash with worry as he moves closer, pulling your thighs open to inspect you.

“I hurt you?” he asks, panicking as he misunderstands. “God, I’m sorry Y/N.”

“No, no, baby, not like that,” you say, and you feel his hands fall from you as he moves to look at your face.

He scrunches his nose in confusion. “Then what–.”

“My pussy is tingling, and fuck look at me. I’m drenched.”

His eyes blow wide and he dips to look back down, his tongue darting out over his lip piercings as he takes in the liquid spilling out of you and onto the sheets underneath.

“Shit. I don’t know. Maybe my venom does that? I don’t even see a cut on you from where I bit.”

He sits back on his legs and his hand finds his cock, squeezing the base as he flits between looking at you and in between your legs.

You clench around nothing and a low, tortured moan escapes from his throat as he draws his hand up the base, wrist flicking to pump himself up and down in slow, delicious tugs.

“Y/N,” he says, and the way he says your name is dripping with need. You feel his eyes burn into every inch of you as he touches himself, causing you to mimic the fluidity of his strokes as you rub your clit.

“Please,” you respond.

“Cum for me again,” he demands but you shake your head.

“Don’t want to like this,” you say. “Want your cock in me. You promised you would let me watch your cum spill out of your pretty pussy, remember?”

His nostrils flare, and Jungkook jolts, flipping you over on the bed so you rest on top of him, his hard cock smearing with your wetness as he rocks your hips against him.

“We need to do something about that filthy mouth of yours,” he says, and you pant as you grind against him with broad movements, coating him with your juices. “The only time you haven’t said something bratty today was when my cock was down your throat.”

You moan, raising your hips off of his and taking his cock in hand. “You love it,” you say, and sink yourself down onto his cock in one solid motion, his thick length stretching and filling you to the brim.

He hisses and you begin to bounce, using him to curb some of the ache in your core.

He reaches up and wraps a hand around your throat, squeezing. You squeak, feeling him pull you off of his cock, and leaving you devastatingly empty.

“Did I say you could fuck me?”

You whine and he scoffs. “Maybe you don’t deserve my cum after all. Disobeying me like this. I told you earlier I wondered where my good girl went, and I think I was right. Didn’t know I traded her in for a disrespectful bitch.”

You feel your stomach flip with excitement at the new term and you clench around him.

He laughs. “Oh? You like that, hmm? Well, if I traded away my good girl, I better see how much of a whore her replacement is.”

He lightens his grip on your neck and the oxygen floods back, making your fingertips and nipples prickle with the heightened sensation.

“Well? Get to it, slut.” and he takes your hips, slamming you back down onto his cock with one single stroke.

“FUCK,” you scream, and your hips buck, overstimulated as Jungkook doesn’t even give you the chance to have control, his hands clamping down on your sides as his fucks you onto him.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “That’s it, take my cock like a good little slut.”

You cry out, clamping your arms around him and pulling his face into your neck.

“Jungkook,” you say, and he grunts in response, pounding into you with a rhythm so that when you come down, he pushes up, hitting you deeper with each thrust.

“You like that, huh? Being like little fleshlight? Me using you like this to fuck all my cum into?”

You clench around him, slightly light headed from where he’s targeting you, trying to hit your g-spot dead on.

It’s so good, so primal, and you know you’re almost there, but you need something more.

“Please,” you whisper, shoving his head into your neck. “Bite me.”

And that’s when you feel it, the tiny prick of his fangs as Jungkook pierces your skin and begins to feed.

Sharp cold pleasure is immediately replaced with a silky, scorching wave of pleasure as his venom delivers that addicting tingle through your neck.

Jungkook, too, seems to be affected, his cock twitches in you as the blood fills his body, somehow making him feel thicker and a little longer.

“Oh,” you gasp as you feel the fingers of one of Jungkook’s hands reach down to your clit, rubbing it hard and fast.

He detaches himself from your neck and laps up the excess blood before he holds you steady and adjusts your position, placing you on your back as he hovers above you.

The cloudiness in his eyes is gone, the markings underneath have faded. He settles into slow, deep strokes, his eyes ghosting over your body.

“I love you,” he says. Your heart swells.

“I love you too,” you respond, and you look down at where the two of you are connected, your pussy making a vulgar squelching sound as he drags himself in and out, his cockhead glossy.

“More,” you beg. “Please I’m so close”. He obeys, picks up his pace.

He bends over you, pulling a nipple into his mouth and releasing it with a pop.

“Should I bite you here next?” he mumbles and you squirm in delight.

Each thrust is now jutting Jungkook right against your cervix, and you feel the wet mess of your pussy trying and failing to take more of his cock inside, relishing the warmth that now reaches every corner of you.

As you flutter around him, the mounting tension drawing you closer to orgasm, Jungkook dips down again, this time laving over your nipple, plucking it between his teeth and delivering a soft bite.

This sends you over the edge, a stream of white hot pleasure rocketing through your core as you gasp on top of him, your pussy clamping down and trying desperately to take him with you.

But Jungkook has better control than that, and instead of letting you rest, he sets a deadly, relentless pace, fucking you into overstimulation.

“One more,” he breathes between thrusts.

“Hurts,” you pout, but he knows you. Knows your limit.

“One more. I know your messy little cunt can take more than this, baby.”

He spreads you wider, hooking your legs back so he's deeper in you than before, the wet slap of his balls against your pussy echoing through your bedroom as you are coated with your wetness.

You groan and he keeps going, his fingers ghosting over your clit once but not staying. You huff in frustration.

“Words,” Jungkook demands and you take a deep breath, trying to rack your brain for something other than moans.

“Yeah,” is all you can manage, and with a dark laugh, he accepts it, placing his fingers back on your clit and finally, finally putting you back on track.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he utters, and this is how you know he’s getting close. The praise flowing from his mouth betrays his cold, dominating facade. “Such a warm, wet pussy. Just for me to fuck my cum into.” He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on his lip rings.

You moan, matching his thrusts with your hips, slamming yourself together harder, deeper. “God, Jungkook, please.”

“You gonna be good for me this time?” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. The tone of his voice is slightly higher, straining. “Gonna let me fill you up?”

“Yes,” you pant. “I need it.” His fingers circle faster, desperately working to make you cum before him. “Need to be full of your cum.”

You pull him into you, needing him closer, needing to feel the distance between your bodies to be smaller as you get closer. His fingers keep working, his thrusts hard and deep, hitting you exactly where you need it.

“Right there. Fuck your pussy, Jungkook. Take what’s yours.”

His hips falter. You place your teeth onto his neck and bite. Hard.

“Fuck,” Jungkook moans and erupts, his cock twitching as he spurts load after load of warm cum into you, giving you the last bit you need to send you off one last time. Your pussy spasms, greedily taking in everything he gives you.

“That’s it, baby,” he says, his voice shaky as he continues to anchor both of you to your bodies, to the sensation of being full and satisfied.

He kisses your temple, then your cheek, rocking his hips slowly against you as you come down, flushed and overwhelmed.

You feel almost weightless, untethered to the joints in your arms and legs. If you weren’t being held by him right now, you might think you were out in space, floating around without gravity. In the haze of it all, you feel Jungkook shift you onto your side, his body still linked to yours as his erection deflates, cum leaking onto the bedding below you.

You don’t care enough to do anything about it, instead clinging to his forearm, needing to feel him everywhere so you don’t disappear.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he says, and you’re confused by this, and then you realize you’re crying, wet tears stinging your cheeks as you shake against him. He runs his hands through your hair and down the length of your back softly. “I got you.”

You breathe a shaky breath as he wraps the blankets around the two of you, gently humming a song, sighing when he feels you wiggle your toes next to him and finally steady yourself.

You look up at him and he’s smiling softly, his eyes warm and brown like they were when you first met him.

“That was intense, huh?” he asks and you nod.

“But really good,” you add and he beams.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I…”

He sits thoughtfully for a moment and you let him, trying to gain the courage to detach yourself and venture into the cold apartment to pee.

“I wish we did that sooner. I mean, I guess I should ask how that was for you. For me to, you know, feed from you.”

You wince as you shift away from him, feeling him slip out of you as you leak onto the sheets. Your sticky, damp legs beg for a shower, but you ignore it.

“I…it was a lot. But…but I liked it. The first bite, shit. You explained earlier how it felt when you first tasted my blood? About it being like how everything fired off in your body at once, right?” He nods. “It was like that for me, too.”

Jungkook smiles, pulling you in tightly against him.

“Do you think we can do that more often?” you ask shyly, and he laughs.

“Damn, once is all it takes for you to get addicted?”

You smack his arm. “Hey! No kink shaming! I didn’t judge you for wanting to go down on me during my period! While I was asleep!”

He sputters. “I’m not kink shaming! But you sound like you’re judging me now for it! We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to I’m sorry but I was caught up in the moment and the bloodlust and I was–”

You choke out a laugh, kissing him on his bare chest. “I’m teasing you...it sounds kind of hot actually.”

He hums in approval.

“I think we still have a lot of stuff to talk about,” he says after a pause. You sigh.

“Yeah. The great job reckoning is coming.”

“Yes, and not just that. I do want to talk more about you…your body. The…infertility thing. I want to go with you to the appointment, I mean if that’s okay? Even if everything is fine, or that you don’t end up wanting kids or whatever, I just want to be there for you through any of it, okay?”

You bristle a bit, feeling yourself starting to cry again. But after the day you’ve had, the intense, passionate sex, all of the things you will still be dealing with in the morning, you let the release guide you as your tears fall.

“Okay,” you say. You think about your conversations with Jungkook today, how he’s right. There are so many things you both don’t know about what you want or don’t want, about your own bodies.

“Um,” you say, and you pull back from him, rubbing up and down his forearms. “I want you to know something, too. I know that being a vampire wasn’t really in your life plans, and that there’s a lot of unknowns about it too. Not just about fertility, but like, it would have probably been nice for you to know you had magical tingly, healing venom that turns you into a sex god.”

“Hey! Was I not a sex god without the venom?” He scoffs, pretending to be offended.

You snort. “Okay fine, healing venom that turns you from a sex god to even more of a sex god. But you know what I mean. There are things that would be so helpful for you to know. To maybe take away some of the worry and those terrifying unknowns. And if you ever want to know, if you want to try to find your creator, I’ll support you in that choice. It would be hard, and maybe we wouldn’t find him, but I’m with you in this.”

Jungkook takes your cheek in his hand, his warm thumb rubbing across the skin.

“Thank you,” he says, and leans in to give you a soft kiss.

The world outside plunges deeper into the night, and after you clean yourselves up and change the sheets, you lie closely against each other. So many things remain unknown, but one thing you’re sure of as you watch Jungkook sleep: you have time to figure it all out.

ending a/n:

Thank you again for reading! While doing research about blood donations for this story, I was reminded that there’s currently a national shortage for blood donors in the US, and it’s safe to assume that this isn’t unique to just us. Right now, with the ongoing genocide in Gaza, blood shortages are extreme, and with the stonewalling happening preventing aid to enter the strip and Rafah, supplies, including blood for life saving transfusions, cannot make it through.

The Red Crescent/American Red Cross issued this statement in January:

“During emergencies, the American Red Cross will ship blood products outside of the U.S. following a specific request from the U. S. State Department for U.S. citizens overseas, at the request of the United Nations, or at the request of the affected Red Cross or Red Crescent society abroad. We have not received blood product requests for Israel or Gaza at this time.

For those interested in learning more about international humanitarian law and its vital role in protecting the innocent during armed conflict, please visit www.redcross.org/ihl. The American Red Cross has a duty to fulfill the Geneva Conventions’ purpose of reducing suffering during armed conflict. As part of our duty, the American Red Cross leads the effort to ensure Americans are informed of these laws and the humanitarian principles they reflect.”

While it’s not yet being asked for, I cannot recommend enough donating blood if you are eligible. There are many different qualifications for blood donations (if you’re not sure about your eligibility, please look at your Red Cross/Crescent website depending on your country). Your donation can help not just your local communities, but ultimately a population of people you might be unsure how to help. And if not, monetary donations are also accepted.

I’m not affiliated with this organization in any way, but I felt like it would be wrong to ignore this issue just in favor of a fun fanfic.

#bts smut #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #vampire jungkook #bts fanfic

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hayatheauthor · 2 months

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How To Write Vampires With An Original Twist

Mythical creatures are an essential part of the fictional scene, but the same creatures have been used so many times that these creatures now often seem redundant and boring in fiction. This is why I've started a new blog series: How To Create Original Mythical Creatures. I'm kicking off this series with vampires!

Join me as we dive into the world of vampires, from their mythical beginnings to their modern-day interpretations, and learn how to write them effectively in your own narratives.

Origins of Vampires

Vampires have a rich and diverse history rooted in ancient folklore and legends. Across various cultures and civilizations, tales of bloodsucking creatures have emerged, each with unique characteristics and behaviors.

One of the earliest known vampire myths comes from ancient Mesopotamia, where stories of blood-drinking demons known as Lilitu or Lamashtu date back to around 3000 BCE. These entities were believed to prey on humans, particularly targeting children and pregnant women.

In ancient Greece, the Lamia was a mythical creature often depicted as a female vampire who lured and devoured children. Similarly, in Roman mythology, the Strix or Strigoi were vampiric entities that fed on blood and flesh.

Moving forward in history, Slavic folklore introduced the concept of the Upyr, a vampire-like creature that rose from the dead to feed on the living. These early depictions of vampires often portrayed them as revenants or undead beings with a thirst for human blood.

Modern-Day Vampires: Where Were They Originated?

The modern concept of vampires, as we commonly know them today, took shape during the European Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Legends of vampires emerged in Eastern Europe, with notable figures like Vlad the Impaler contributing to the folklore. Vlad's reputation for cruelty and his association with impaling enemies on stakes led to the creation of the vampire archetype, inspiring Bram Stoker's iconic character, Count Dracula.

From ancient Mesopotamia to medieval Europe, vampire lore has evolved and adapted, weaving its way into popular culture and literature. Understanding the origins of vampires provides writers with a rich tapestry of mythology to draw upon when crafting their own bloodsucking creatures.

I wanted to go into more detail regarding the Lamashtu and Lamia since they’re not as well known as their Slavic and European counterparts, but unfortunately, that would deviate from the purpose of this blog.

The Evolution Of Vampiric Appearances

Before we proceed with this section, it's crucial to clarify that the mythical creatures and beings discussed in this blog are not direct representations of ancient vampires. Instead, they serve as inspirations for the concept of vampires and share certain attributes with our modern-day depictions, including blood-feeding, pale skin, human-like appearance with some animalistic features, and so on.

Vampiric Creatures In Mythology

In ancient mythology, vampiric entities were not always depicted as the suave, charming figures we see in modern vampire tales. Instead, they often embodied primal fears and monstrous traits.

Lamia: In Greek mythology, Lamia was a terrifying creature depicted as a woman with a serpentine lower body. She was known for her insatiable hunger for children, often depicted as a child-eating monster. Lamia's appearance combined elements of human and serpent, emphasizing her monstrous nature and predatory instincts.

Lamashtu: In Mesopotamian mythology, Lamashtu was a malevolent demon who preyed on pregnant women and newborns. She was depicted with a fearsome appearance, often described as having the head of a lion, the body of a donkey, and bird-like talons. Lamashtu's grotesque features and destructive tendencies reflected ancient beliefs about the dangers of childbirth and infancy.

Lilitu: In Mesopotamian and Jewish folklore, Lilitu or Lilith was often associated with nocturnal demons or spirits. She was depicted as a seductive, winged demoness who preyed on men and newborns. Lilitu's appearance varied across different myths but often included features like wings, long hair, and sometimes talons, emphasizing her otherworldly and dangerous nature.

Strix: In Roman and Greek mythology, the Strix was a bird-like creature or vampiric owl associated with dark omens and death. It was believed to be a shape-shifting creature that could transform into a woman or an owl. The Strix's appearance combined avian and human features, instilling fear and dread in those who encountered it.

Strigoi and Upyr: In Eastern European folklore, Strigoi and Upyr were blood-sucking undead creatures similar to modern-day vampires. Strigoi were believed to be restless spirits or revenants that returned from the dead to torment the living. Upyr, on the other hand, were vampire-like beings with sharp fangs and a penchant for drinking blood. Both creatures were depicted as pale, gaunt, and often with elongated canines, reflecting their predatory and undead nature.

Medieval Depictions: Shift in Appearance

During medieval times, the depiction of blood-sucking mythological creatures underwent a transformation, shifting from monstrous and terrifying to more humanoid and relatable appearances. This change in portrayal can be seen in various aspects of their physical features:

Teeth: Originally depicted with long, sharp fangs or talons for blood-drinking, medieval depictions often featured more subtle fang-like teeth or no visible teeth at all, aligning with the concept of vampires being able to blend in with humans.

Skin: While ancient vampires were often described as monstrous and otherworldly, medieval vampires were portrayed with paler skin to signify their undead nature but without extreme deformities or monstrous features.

Appearance: Medieval vampires were often depicted as more human-like in appearance, with regular clothing and a less monstrous demeanour. This shift allowed for more nuanced storytelling and exploration of themes like temptation, desire, and the struggle between humanity and monstrosity. This is also what birthed the romanticization of vampires.

Mythological Vampire vs Modern-Day Vampire

Mythological vampires, rooted in ancient folklore and mythology, were often depicted as malevolent spirits or creatures with supernatural powers. These creatures varied widely across different cultures, from the Lamia and Lilitu in Mesopotamian mythology to the Strix in Roman and Greek folklore, and the Upyr in Slavic tales.

These ancient vampires were not always the suave, charismatic beings we see in modern media. Instead, they were often portrayed as terrifying and monstrous, with features that reflected their otherworldly nature. For example, the Lamia was described as a demonic woman with the ability to transform into a serpent, while the Lilitu were associated with storm demons and fertility spirits.

In contrast, modern-day vampires, especially those popularized in literature and film, have undergone significant transformation. They are often depicted as sophisticated and alluring, with a penchant for romance and drama. Authors and filmmakers have humanized vampires, giving them complex personalities, tragic backstories, and even moral dilemmas.

While modern vampires still retain some traditional attributes such as a need for blood and sensitivity to sunlight, their portrayal has evolved to include a wide range of characteristics and abilities. This shift has allowed for more diverse and nuanced storytelling, exploring themes of immortality, love, redemption, and the eternal struggle between good and evil.

Which Option Is Better For Your Novel?

When deciding which type of vampire to incorporate into your story, consider the tone and themes you wish to explore. Mythological vampires offer a darker and more primal essence, rooted in ancient fears and superstitions. On the other hand, modern-day vampires provide a canvas for exploring human emotions, relationships, and societal issues through a supernatural lens.

Ultimately, the choice between mythological and modern vampires depends on the narrative direction and atmosphere you want to create. Both types offer unique storytelling opportunities, allowing you to craft captivating tales of mystery, romance, horror, or even philosophical introspection.

Research and Resources

Writing about mythical creatures like vampires requires a solid understanding of folklore, mythology, and literary traditions. Here are some resources and research methods to help you delve into the world of vampires and other mythical beings:

Books and Literature

Start by exploring classic works of literature that feature vampires, such as Bram Stoker's "Dracula," Anne Rice's "The Vampire Chronicles," and Stephenie Meyer's "Twilight" series. These novels not only showcase different interpretations of vampires but also delve into the cultural and historical contexts surrounding these creatures.

Mythology and Folklore

Dive into ancient myths and folklore from various cultures to uncover the origins of vampire legends. Look into Mesopotamian, Greek, Roman, Slavic, and other mythologies to discover different vampire-like entities and their characteristics.

Research Journals and Articles

Academic journals and articles can provide valuable insights into the evolution of vampire folklore, the psychological aspects of vampirism, and the cultural impact of vampire mythology. Explore journals in folklore studies, literary analysis, and cultural anthropology for in-depth information.

Online Resources

Utilize online platforms such as mythology databases, folklore websites, and literary forums to gather information and engage in discussions about vampires. Websites like The Vampire Library, Vampire Empire, and Vampire Rave offer a wealth of resources for vampire enthusiasts and writers.

Historical Research

Delve into historical records, archival documents, and historical accounts related to vampire hysteria, vampire burials, and vampire folklore in different regions. Understanding the historical context can add authenticity to your portrayal of vampires.

Interviews and Expert Opinions

Consider reaching out to folklore experts, historians, and scholars specializing in vampire mythology for interviews or consultations. Their insights and expertise can provide valuable perspectives on vampire lore and storytelling.

Creative Exploration

Don't hesitate to let your imagination roam while exploring vampire mythology. Experiment with creating your own vampire mythology, incorporating unique traits, powers, and origin stories for your vampires.

By combining thorough research with creative exploration, you can develop rich and compelling portrayals of vampires in your writing. Remember to stay open to diverse interpretations and adaptations of vampire folklore, allowing room for innovation and originality in your storytelling.

I hope this blog on How To Write Vampires With An Original Twist will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey!

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cod-fishing · 6 months

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(Continuation of this post with vampire soap human ghost)

The second time Johnny feeds on Simon, they still stumble into it.

After that first time, in the bunker, they don’t really bring it up again. It’s not some elephant in the room, it doesn’t feel awkward per se, just not something that needs to be discussed.

And just as Ghost doesn’t bring it up with Johnny, he very purposefully locks his own thoughts on the interaction behind a very thick blast door in his own head. No no, it didn’t make him feel mind-blowingly relaxed and at ease for the first time in who knows how long. No, it absolutely did NOT make him content and settled in his own bones and feeling like Johnny hung the god damn moon. Nope.

And so it goes on for a few weeks. Everything back to normal. They go on a few more missions with far less problems than the one that got ghost and soap locked in that bunker in the first place, and slowly ghost isn’t even drifting off to the thought of Soap’s weight on him every night. The end of the next mission finds the team celebrating a tidy hit on their most recent target, smoke and whiskey filling them up in ghost’s office.

Eventually, laughter and traded stories slow. The captain heads off, begging the need for sleep. Gaz heads out to go call that girl he’s been seeing back in London. And his loyal sergeant is the only one left.

A comfortable silence drapes around them. It feels good, to just be with Johnny like this. His mask is off, but in the low light of his office, whiskey warming his belly, and nobody with Johnny around, it almost feels good.

“You know, I knew you were tough, but I’m still impressed with how you took my bite, Ghost.”

Glass at his lips, Ghost almost chokes at Johnny’s sudden interjection. His chest tightens at the thought of that moment, of Soaps steady weight on him, his teeth at his jugular -

Ghost shakes his head.

“Really didn’t feel like much. Not bad at least. Just made me kinda loopy.”

Soap looked at him thoughtfully. “Well, loopy makes sense, with the blood loss. But usually it hurts a lot, even when someone consents. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

Ghost clenches his jaw, and realizes an embarrassing moment later that he might genuinely be jealous of the idea of anyone underneath Soap like that.

Purposefully relaxing, he shrugs, hoping the topic will die out.

“You were really loopy. If anything,” Soap looks over at him, eyes hooded and head tilted back against the couch. Suddenly, ghost is nervous. “If anything, I would say you were enjoying yourself.”

Ghost can’t help the way he tenses, god damn it, and he can see the second soap narrows in on the movement, just like the predator he is.

He leans forward, his half empty glass balanced between strong fingers. “I mean you said it yourself, L.T.”

“Johnny,” Ghost interrupts, but it’s never stopped Soap before.

“You said it was good,” a smirk creeps onto his face, but there’s still that bit of wonder in his eyes.

“Johnny.”

“I mean that’s just curious to me. Why is that?”

“Johnny.”

He finally stops talking, but Ghost knows it doesn’t matter. He’s shown his fucking cards. Silence hangs between them, far less comfortable. Ghost glares at the stupid, beautiful cunt sitting across his desk from him, and Soap stares back with that same bloody smile in place.

Johnny knocks back the rest of his drink, and stands. His thighs flex under his jeans, and he moves towards Ghost, gracefully stepping around his desk. Ghost clenches his hands into fists as soap steps neatly in between his spread legs, and relaxes against his desk.

Ghost very purposefully doesn’t look up at him for a long, long moment. He keeps his eyes trained on the mug of pencils he keeps on his desk. Suddenly the bland mug stollen from the chow hall is the most interesting thing ghost has ever seen. Maybe he’ll just look at that for the rest of eternity.

But all too soon, his eyes flit up at his sergeant, completely against his wishes. Because he’s weak, he’s always been weak when it comes to Johnny, and god, he feels weak as he looks at him.

The barest hint of soap’s canines are peaking out between his teeth.

Ghost inhales sharply, feeling frozen in place at the intensity of soap’s stare. Soap’s eyes flick down, past Ghost’s chin to his bare neck, and then back up.

“Do you mind being a guinea pig, L.T.? I just want to understand why it doesn’t seem to hurt you.”

Ghost swallows, Soap watching the bob of his throat. “How, uh. How would you do that?”

“By feeding on you again,” he says it so calm, almost casually, even as tension is so thick Ghost can almost taste it. He can’t seem to find a response to that, so Soap continues.

“Now that I’m not starving, I can actually pay attention to what I’m doing, how you’re reacting.”

Ghost swallows again, and fuck it’s so embarrassing to know that soap can hear his heart rate slowly ticking up, racing like a rabbit in his chest. He still can’t force his mouth to move, and he wouldn’t even know what to say if he could.

Something changes in soap’s face, and he shifts, turning away from ghost.

“Sorry L.T., silly thing to ask. Didn’t mean to push you.”

Without thinking, ghost is snatching soaps wrist to hold him in place, suddenly desperate. And god, desperate for what? If he can’t even say it in his own head, how on earth is he gonna ask for it?

Soap looks back at him, surprise in his expression, lips parted just so. His fangs are gone, and Ghost wants them back. Doesn’t ever want Johnny to hide himself like that.

“No, uh. You can. You can do it,” he manages to choke out. And god, it’s worth it to see the way Johnny’s face lights up with hunger.

“Right now?” Soap asks.

“Uh..” ghost searches soap’s face, and there, there, he can see his fangs again, deadly sharp, and that expression- “yes.”

Soap is on him before he can blink, bullying his way into his lap, strong legs boxing him in. One strong hand runs up his shoulder, gripping the back of his head and gently tilting it to the side, opening ghosts neck up to Johnny. Ghosts hands are fisted in soap’s shirt, and he finds himself almost panting at the anticipation, at Johnny just sitting on him, breathing against his throat.

“Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”

He jerks his head in a nod, and sucks in a sharp breath.

Johnny’s teeth meet his skin.

Again, there’s the pain, but already, Ghost feels heat flood his body, turning his limbs to jelly, turning the pain sweet. Almost instantly, Johnny is moaning against his neck, tongue lapping at his pulse, and Ghost has to stop himself from moaning back.

“Fuck,” soap slurs against his throat, “I thought you tasted this good just because I was starving.”

Ghost’s hands clench around Soap’s hips. He can feel the beating of his heart everywhere, in every poor of his body. Somewhere, far in the back of his brain, Ghost is fixated on soap’s fingers on his scalp. The grip isn’t forceful, it’s light. But ghost has seen the way soap can hold down a meal, the strength in his fingers as he forces meat to comply, to stay in place until he can devour it.

God, he must be fucked in the head, because he only goes more boneless at the thought. It feels like the whole universe has been shrunk, nothing outside of this room, hell nothing outside the circle of their bodies, exists.

Johnny pulls back just a bit, and curses.

“Fuck, just a little more, okay? You just-“ he sounds desperate, and cuts himself off by plunging his fangs back in Ghost’s throat.

It’s much less gentle than Soap had been before, and Ghost does moan at that, which Soap answer back with a growl. Ghost feels it in his throat, his chest, everywhere. He feels…he feels fucking claimed.

It’s a miracle he doesn’t cum on the spot.

By the time Soap eases his teeth out of Ghost’s wounds, he’s started to see black spots at the corner of his vision. He probably should have told Soap to stop, but god, he didn’t want to. He wanted to be here forever.

Soap gets one look at him, and his face drops.

“Shit, L.T., why didn’t you tell me? Fuck, I know you keep snacks in here somewhere,” he turns, angling away from Ghost to rustle around in his desk, looking for his stash of granola bars. Finding it, he tears one open and breaks off a chunk, feeding it directly to Ghost like some sort of sad baby bird.

Ghost chews mechanically, barely even conscious of what he’s doing. When Soap offers him water, he swallows that too, and then more of the granola bar. The whole time, all he can focus on is a tiny smear of blood - his blood - on Johnny’s mouth.

Slowly, Ghost starts to feel like he’s a few steps from unconsciousness, instead of hovering on the edge. He realizes that he’s still hard as a rock, and takes a second to marvel at his own body. So little blood he’s about to keel over, but he’s got enough for a raging boner.

Soap must be able to smell his return to earth or something, because he stops looking so worried, and starts looking smug.

Fuck.

“So I see you do in fact enjoy that.”

“Shut it, Sergeant,” Ghost manages to croak out, and Johnny grins.

“I’ll leave the scientific survey of your experience for tomorrow, for now I’m thinking I’ll help you to bed.”

And he looks smug, so goddamn smug, and Ghost knows he will in fact need help getting to his room on the other side of the base. He can’t let it end this way, so unbalanced.

“Johnny, you’ve got-“ he lets his eyes go soft, lets his lips part, and reaches out his thumb, gently swiping the bit of blood from the corner of Soap’s mouth. Johnny’s eyes widen at the motion, and when Ghost brings his thumb back to his own mouth, sucking the blood off of it, that hunger is back.

“Oh you wanker,” Soap curses at him.

Ghost grins.

There’s no going back from there.

#I just like it when ghost is whimpering and limp underneath Johnny #sue me!#soapghost #ghostsoap #cod mw2 #cod mwii #ghoap #tf141 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #codmw2 #mywriting #cod mw3 #cod mwiii #vampire soap

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chans-room · 6 months

Text

Stolen Sunshine

Pairing: Bang Chan × Non-Gendered Reader

Length: 10k

Rating: Mature/21+ | This fic is dark. Please read the warnings and make an informed decision on if you are prepared to read this fic. I am not including these warnings lightly because they are heavily featured in this fic.

Warnings: explicit and non-explicit smut, yandere vampire chan, vampire typical age gap, stalking, obsessive behavior, vampire mind control, non-con/dub-con, murder, major and minor character death, gaslighting, using fear to control/manipulate, mental instability, manipulation, forced siring, knives, blood, blood sharing, Chan and the reader injure themselves and each other in order to feed, delusional behavior, hunting, trauma, violence, needles, someone being kept against their will… you all get the idea lol... if i missed anything please let me know!!

Important! this is now a one shot so if you read the first part, Thorn Bitten, please be aware there is more! The new part starts after the second red divider!

Again: please heed the warnings! They're there for a reason.

Chan has been so lonely for so long. He was turned into a vampire so long ago and he's never even entertained the idea of turning anyone or trying to seek out other vampires. He is certain he's going to live in unhappy solitude… until he sees you. He's overcome by the desire and the hunger for you. You’re so achingly human; he doesn’t want to kill you he just wants you. He spends the next few months trailing you, finding out about your habits and your likes and your desires. You’re a rose in the eternal graveyard of his life.

He then quietly slips himself into your life — he goes from someone you happen to see around to someone who you’d consider a friend. You don’t question his horrific sleep schedule, or the fact that you generally only see him after dark; you’re just happy he’s in your life when you can see him. He tries not to be too overbearing, claiming you barely know each other and he’s sure you have other friends to see. He tells you he’s always been something of a loner, and being in a new city with his weird work schedule makes it hard to make friends. But you like him. He’s kind and funny and a little goofy, and he makes you laugh. You tell him that he can’t say he doesn’t have any friends because you’re his friend now.

But then he becomes more than a friend. The bar was crowded and one minute you were dancing with a stranger, and the next Chan was making you come apart on his fingers in the bathroom of the bar. He pulled you into his arms and when he kissed you, the world fell away. It was so easy to get drunk on him — the feeling of his arms around you, his hands wandering and groping and squeezing, the way he’d nibble on your lip. It was addicting.

It started a whirlwind romance; he’d basically taken up residence in your apartment after the first two weeks. You didn’t know it was possible to be romanced in the way Chan does. You came home to roses — the thorns always meticulously removed — and dinner, or a new outfit and shoes, or tickets to an event you’ve been discussing almost every night.

And he was incredible in bed.

Attentive, passionate, talented, and fully focused on your pleasure. He gave you head with a carnality you weren’t sure someone could possess, like he wants to eat you whole. He throws you into mindless bliss multiple times before he’s satisfied, but even then there’s always a hunger in his eyes, turning them almost black. It’s flattering really.

Things begin to unravel when you meet up for drinks with a few of your friends. They text you the next day about how… off Chan is. They talk about how he stands unnervingly still, almost like a statue, and that to everyone but you, he is cold and closed off. And they say he stares at you, as if you’re the center of the universe but also sort of like a predator hunting his prey. You have no reason to doubt your friends, but you can’t help but feel protective of Chan. They just don’t know him like you do. They don’t see the man who brings home dozens of roses for you every week, each thorn removed so the sharp stems never kiss your delicate skin. But you also trust your friends.

And that night, you try to be more aware, more conscious of him. Instead of letting yourself drift into the abyss of passion and carnality that he brings you. He notices immediately that you aren’t giving into his charms the way you usually do; it puts him on edge. He can’t lose you. You’re the first tether to humanity he’s had in years. You’re his perfect rose, and now your friends are becoming nuisances. But they don’t know how good he is at pruning thorns now; he’s been doing it for months. And he can be much sharper than they could ever imagine.

So he asks you about it and makes sure to soothe your woes. Your friends must have just caught him in a weird moment. He isn't obsessed with you or anything, he just is really grateful that you're in his life. And his explanations make sense. You spend the rest of the night, and the weekend holed up in bed together after he runs out to get you some wine and dinner and a fresh bouquet of roses.

You text your friends the next week telling them to back off Chan. If they don't like him, that's fine, but that’s their problem and you’d appreciate it if they kept it to themselves unless it was something serious. They argue that it is but you won’t hear it.

Weeks go by, fully wrapped up in Chan. He finally brings you to his apartment, and a few days later suggests that you move in. Your lease is coming up so why not? Besides, your work cut back on your hours so you were about to be forced out anyway. With Chan’s constant reassurances that you wouldn’t be intruding, you agreed.

Once you move in things get more serious and you realize just how much of a recluse Chan is. He really is alone. No friends, no family, no one calls him and he works mostly for himself. And he hovers. You struggle to find it as flattering as it was before you moved in but now it just feels like you can’t get a minute alone. He’s always popping up around a corner, showing up unexpectedly at girls night, bringing more roses to your office.

It’s after your birthday, the last one you’d ever really experience, that everything goes from bad to worse. The day itself is lovely. You and your friends go out for dinner and you meet Chan at a bar for drinks. But the morning after, your friends send you pictures and you can’t help but agree; there’s something off about your boyfriend.

Neither you nor Chan are the focus of the picture, but he’s standing behind you, lurking over your shoulder, and he looks exactly like your friends described. He looks consumed… obsessed. And it settles on your skin in a cold sweat. It’s like something out of a horror movie. But the worst part is his eyes; they managed to catch the light in a funny way, the same way cats do. You can’t explain it but there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you to run. Far.

So you do; you pack up your things and your friends help you move out and they wait for you by the door while you break up with Chan. You try to be kind and explain how it was too much too soon and that you wanted to still be friends, but you needed space. And your heart broke when he cried and pleaded for you to stay with him. But his eventual acceptance gave you peace — he agreed he’d give you space but he promised you one thing: his love, eternally. You fought the fluttering in your heart as he said it, and left with your friends.

You didn’t see him for weeks after; but you felt like you’d always just missed him. The smell of his cologne hanging in the air, or the flash of a black beanie disappearing behind a corner, and the roses you saw everywhere. And they were everywhere. A random one on a wall you walked past home from work, a couple on the counter at your favorite coffee shop, a stray bud in the coat pocket of a stranger, a pair on the small table of the date you regret agreeing to. And all it makes you do is miss him more. Chan’s presence clings to you and you can’t help but feel like you made a mistake.

Especially now that your friends seem to be growing more and more distant. After your breakup, you saw them nearly every day. But now you’re lucky if you get a text in response. It feels like it’s been weeks since you’ve actually seen them. Their absence makes you miss him more. It gets hard to remember why you even broke up.

Then you see him. He’s standing in line at a coffee shop, twirling a rose between his fingers. He looks so lonely, so sad. You can't help but go up to him and ask how he’s been — and the way he looks at you makes you forget everything for a moment. He’s so… gentle, and kind, and you can’t help but melt when he tells you he’s been carrying around a rose every day just in case he runs into you. He asks you to get back together with him, and promises he’ll do anything you ask. He reminds you he promised you his eternal love.

But then you remember. Remember why you left. What made you run. And you apologize and slip out of the cafe, but not before he slips the rose between your fingers and you agree to see him again, maybe at the bar you went to for your birthday with your friends. He agrees and you leave. A thorn bites into your thumb as you walk out, making you drop it as the door closes behind you. And you miss the way his gaze shifts, the hunger in his eyes.

The next day, one of your friends is found dead in the park. Police said it was a random killing but it's weird that they were drained of blood. And you fall apart – none of your other friends answer your calls, and you have to brave your friend’s funeral alone. You don’t know why no one is answering until another one of your friends is found, and another after that, and so on until it’s just you. Only you left after a series of unbelievable accidents and suicides that don’t make any sense. It's nearly unbearable; you wish you had just one person with you, just one friend to help bear the weight of the grief. But everyone is gone.

Until you meet Felix. He just shows up one day as you wander home alone and brings light back into your life – he’s kind and friendly and helps you mend your heart. It’s easy to fall in love with him and you do. Chan was all obsession and passion and carnality; sometimes just being around him made you feel drunk and out of control. But Felix made you feel alive, truly alive.

You can’t help but compare them; you know it’s unfair. But Chan’s broad shoulders that made you swoon and feel small never gave you the same comfort Felix’s slight frame brought you. Or how Chan’s eyes would go dark and hungry every time he saw you, but Felix’s eyes lit up and almost sparkled every time he caught your gaze.

You and Felix had been walking home from your 6-month celebration when you ran into Chan again. As soon as he came around the corner your heart was in your throat. You should have known not to take that way back to Felix’s place – it was too close to where Chan lived and you had forgotten. And it was too late, too dark, too secluded. You felt trapped, and you knew Felix couldn’t tell how off Chan seemed. You never talked about him, you didn’t see a reason to.

It happened so fast you would never have been able to give the police a proper statement. One second, Felix was making a comment about how Chan needed to leave the past in the past, and the next, he was on the ground. Neck bent at an unnatural angle, lifeless eyes boring into yours from the ground as blood dripped out of his mouth onto the cement. The sickening crack echoed in your head as you stared at him, gasping for air. Trying to think, hell even trying to breathe, felt too complicated. The light in your world had gone out again. You couldn’t do anything but stare at him and hyperventilate until eventually the world went black.

When you came to, everything felt muted. You couldn’t figure out where you were, or where you’d been. You could vaguely remember that something awful had happened, but even that was out of reach. And then you saw them — hundreds if not thousands of roses covering every inch of the floor around the bed, all varying shades of red. It looked like a sea of blood. And then you remembered. Felix.

It couldn’t be real. Felix couldn’t be gone. It was just a dream. You curl into the bed, and look around and your heart softens. He’s not gone. He’s there next to you; asleep in your bed. You know it's him from the freckles that are spread across his shoulders and the soft blond hair that’s curling at the nape of his neck. You sigh and reach out to him but you freeze when your fingers meet his skin. He’s usually so warm, like sunlight lives inside him and radiates out. But he’s ice cold. That’s when you realize he’s not snoring like he usually does. Actually… he’s not breathing at all.

You can’t get away fast enough. The faster you get away from it the easier it’ll be to convince yourself it's not real. You just need to get away from it. Because it’s not Felix, your Felix. The cold thing in the bed next to you was just a thing. You know there's something you’re missing, a piece you’ve missed. You can’t remember how you got there or where you are or who would do something so horrific to you. To Felix.

You all but throw yourself out of the bed, not caring about the roses being crushed under you. But the thorns bite into the tender flesh of your bare feet, tearing into the soles like fangs. You vaguely register the pain from your ankle shooting up your leg; you look down and see the swollen, bloody bruise, but you can't’ remember where it’s from. It’s all too much and you can’t fight the scream that tears out of you.

And then he’s there. Chan with his dark eyes and looming, only now there’s no kindness in his gaze anymore — he looks down at you like you’re a pest he has to deal with. But then… he’s gone. It’s Felix, smiling wide and eyes crinkling at the corners as you fling yourself into his arms. He’s so warm and comforting. You barely even notice he doesn’t smell fruity and soft like he normally does.

He pulls you back into bed and into his arms, fussing over your wounds and scolding you for putting too much pressure on your injured ankle until he’s undressing you, desperate to make sure that there’s no other injuries scattered across your body. He’s more hurried and aggressive than normal, taking to nearly ripping your things off. But you can’t blame him. You need to feel him under your hands: real, alive… Still him.

You trace the lines of his face as he sinks into you, eyebrows furrowing. Something about his weight between your legs feels foreign. His presence is… broader than you remember. Felix is so slight, so thin. As fast as the feeling came, it disappeared, but you don’t dwell on it for long — you can’t with the tendrils of pleasure curling around you, threatening to drag you under. The whiplash of emotions makes you feel drunk, the world blurring and losing focus. Your head lolls to the side and for a second you think you see Felix’s unblinking eyes staring at you from the empty spot on the bed. Blood pooling under him. But you blink and it’s gone. You tear your eyes away and reach out to him, sighing when you feel his warm skin under your fingers.

You shake off what you’re sure was your lingering nightmare and refocus on him; the way his hands pin you to the mattress and skim over your skin like he’s trying to memorize you. You struggle to keep your eyes open as he pushes you further and further toward release. You haven’t felt this out of control since… You can’t remember. There was a time when this feeling was normal though, you remember that much. And the faint prickling of frustration brews in the back of your head but the sensation of Felix’s mouth sucking a bruise into your neck has all conscious thoughts falling away into nothingness.

You come undone with a scream, vision blurring, and you think you see a pair of black eyes hovering over you but when your vision clears, it’s Felix’s soft, dewy eyes staring back at you. An expression you’ve never seen on his face before. It reminds you of how someone else used to look at you. Who was it…? It doesn’t matter. Not when Felix is there, and he’s holding you so tight as he pulls you into a restful sleep.

You wake still wrapped in his arms, but you’re freezing. His arms feel like ice around you as you shiver and try to cuddle into him for warmth, but there’s something wrong. His body is too large, too muscular. His arm is tight around you like a vice, and when you look down at his skin you can’t see the constellation of freckles. Your heart is in your throat as you begin to thrash against his hold on you, but his deep voice rumbling behind you makes your heart calm. It’s him. You look again and you can see the marks splashed across his skin; you don't know how you didn’t see it before.

He helps you bandage your feet and ankle before carrying you to the kitchen and placing you on the counter. You blush and try to convince him to put some clothes on, or at least let you put some on, but he argues that there’s no one around to see so why does it matter? Plus, it’s dark out and your head is pounding; you feel like you haven’t eaten in days. You can’t remember the last time you ate, or had any water.

Wait. You’d gotten ice cream. Felix had convinced you to go after you had dinner. He’d bought you a cup despite insisting you didn’t need it. You can’t remember finishing it though. Something had happened, and you’d dropped it. How long ago was that? What made you drop it?

You gasp and nearly drop the glass of water when you feel his shoulders wedging between your thighs and his mouth on you; the world shifts on its axis and you feel yourself slipping back into the depths. His fingers dig into your thighs as he pleasures you. Your vision swims and you watch the hair between your fingers turn black, and the features on his face blur until they resemble someone else entirely.

You kept trying to place him — the name was on the tip of your tongue and there was something about him that made you want to run. The blinding fear started to slither up your spine, but you were already drowning. The pleasure building was impossible to avoid and your tongue felt like lead in your mouth — you couldn’t do anything except moan and scream as the wave of bliss crashed over you.

Black spots danced in your vision as you fought the panic attack and aftershocks of your orgasm. You tried to curl in on yourself, suddenly feeling too exposed by your nakedness. But his deep voice and strong hands caressing your calves settled your frayed nerves. His snickering laugh cut through you. He’d never done that before; he sounded so cruel — it made you feel small and silly.

Once your vision cleared you saw it was him, your Felix, shaking his head at you as you shrunk in shame. His hair was the same dusty brown you remembered, his eyes the same deep brown, his skin still smooth and unblemished, and the dimples you loved so much.

You told him what you thought you saw, and admitted you couldn’t remember the last time you ate, or what day it was. He just cooed at you before saying he’d go out and get you something to eat. The thought of him leaving set you on edge; there was something not safe. Something that happened. What was it? You tried to protest, but he simply waved you off. You tried to argue but he grabbed you by the shoulders and stared into your eyes, telling you not to move or make a sound until he got back.

With that he was walking away, leaving you there. You heard the door click shut and you tried to push yourself off the counter but your limbs wouldn’t cooperate. It was like your brain was disconnected from your body, unable to force yourself to do anything. And you were freezing again — the sharp, prickling sensation of goosebumps spreading across your body was the only thing that reminded you that you weren’t spontaneously paralyzed. Everything became overwhelming; the hard marble cutting into the backs of your thighs where they hung over the edge, your hips cramping from your poor posture, your elbows beginning to shake from bearing your weight.

You could feel the tear run down your face as you began to cry. But sound refused to come out of your throat. You try to scream but the most you can manage is a ragged gasp. Your lungs burn and you can barely see through the tears you can’t wipe away.

And then he’s back, and you can move again, and you can’t stop wailing in his arms. You don’t know what happened but it’s like you couldn’t breathe when he was gone, and never want him to leave your side again. You can’t explain what happened; how do you tell him that you couldn’t move and couldn’t scream and could barely breathe while he was gone?

But he soothes you and carries you back to bed, settles you against his chest and feeds you like a child as you hiccup and cry. He tells you that you must have had a panic attack while he was gone; it's the only explanation as to what happened. You’d never had one before, at least not like that. But you feel safe now, now that he’s back. His broad shoulders make you feel safe, protected in his embrace. He promises he won’t leave you like that anymore — that you never have to be scared and vulnerable when Channie is around. He’ll always keep you safe.

Your mind is swimming again as you let relief flood your nervous system. You had never felt so out of control, so disconnected from yourself. You were so grateful for him; Chan always took such good care of you. He’d always removed the thorns from your roses just to make sure you didn’t accidentally hurt yourself. No one had ever done that for you before. You drifted back into unconsciousness, smiling at the sight of the bouquet on your side table.

The next few days followed a similar pattern – you slept most of the day, waking every so often delirious and confused and alone, unable to move and overwhelmed by panic until he reappeared and calmed you down. You had concluded it was some sort of sleep paralysis, and it was worse during the day. The light streaming through the slivers of space your curtains provided were disorienting. And when he would appear, he’d snuff the remaining light and curl around you until the sun fully set beyond the horizon.

Nights became when you thrived. You felt human again shrouded in darkness — he was always by your side when you woke, curly chestnut hair falling into his dark eyes. He makes you cum until your vision blurs and then drags you up and out of bed, dressing you and pulling you out of your apartment. He supports your weight as you walk to the corner store, your ankle is healing but it needs more time. You and him collect all the items you need to make dinner before your hands begin to shake and your chest gets tight. The ice cream in the freezer reminds you of something, something bad.

He tucks you into his embrace and kisses your forehead, explaining to the kind, elderly shop attendant that you developed severe agoraphobia. He said it was due to an incident on the way home from your anniversary a few weeks ago. You try to remember what it was, but an image of a man with blond hair and freckles flashes through your mind and you nearly scream. He had done something to you, and you don’t want to remember anymore. But his name stabs through your consciousness; Felix. The name feels like acid in your brain, sending searing pain and memories of blood and violence through you like a bullet.

When you get home you ask Chan about him — you can’t remember but you’re so afraid. He tells you it’s not good for you to remember, but you push and he tells you that you were attacked when you were on the way to dinner. The sun hadn’t even set when he had attacked you. Chan had run into a shop to get you a bouquet, he’d forgotten to get you one for your anniversary. While you were waiting for him, a guy you’d dated, Felix, had been upset about you breaking it off with him and he had cornered you.

When he said it, it was like you were reliving it. The look of rage on his face, the knife, how your clothes had torn and the sharp rocks digging into your bare feet as you tried to run away. Blood on the pavement and spilled ice cream. A sickening crack and your screams bouncing off the buildings in the narrow corridor.

You couldn’t stop shaking as Chan recalled how he heard you scream from the street and ran out to find you running toward him, bloody and terrified, ankle nearly broken. That's when he tells you that the police still haven't found Felix — they think he skipped town.

The knowledge that he’s still out there sends you into a tailspin. You’re freefalling into terror and your only tether to reality is the dark brown eyes hovering over you and the hand on your face. You can’t hear his voice over the ringing in your ears, and before you finally fade you see him again. Lifeless eyes staring into yours, freckles contrast against pale, sickly skin.

You have more night terrors. Well, day terrors. A shred of light filtering into your room is enough to cause a desperate fear to erupt inside you. Sometimes when you wake up, you think you see Felix, just staring at you from the chair in the corner. But your mind has turned him into a monster. He’s begun to rot, wasting away into something more gruesome and horrific. You don’t know what’s worse — the moments when he’s so real in your dreams, or in the moments between sleep and wake when you think you see him decaying before your eyes.

But Chan is always there to put you back together. He wipes your tears and gives you solace in his arms. He whispers in your ear and quiets you until you feel steady again, then he covers your body with his and drives your nightmares away until you’re boneless, floating in ecstasy.

Until the night he isn’t. You wake peacefully for once, but the silence echoes in your apartment. You know Chan is gone from the absolute lifelessness of your surroundings. But then you see him. Sitting in the same chair he always does in your nightmares. But this time he’s not lifeless, decaying.

He’s real, and he has a knife.

You feel lightheaded from the fear, frozen in your spot in bed. You force yourself to move, pushing yourself out of the place that’s given you safety and onto the cold hard floor. Your ankle aches in protest, but you fight through it as you stand on shaky legs, baking yourself into the wall.

He glares at you, pushing himself out of his seat while you slide against the wall, inching toward the door. He takes one step toward you as you reach the opening, and you try to scream yourself hoarse. Sound refuses to come out of your throat; you can’t believe this is happening again. You fall to the floor in your attempt to escape him. You keep trying to ask him why he’s there, why he won’t leave you alone, but you can’t squeak out more than a gurgling gasp as you try to flee.

That's when he tells you.

At first he just wanted to have his chance to show you what you needed, who you needed. He killed your friends; all of them. He’d made sure to kill them in different ways so there would be no suspicion, staged some to look like suicides or accidents. He just wanted you back. But when you’d chosen Chan, he wanted you dead. He had planned on killing Chan as well; he had wanted you to be completely alone when he killed you, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to face you that night.

You couldn’t breathe as he explained it. Nothing made sense, and yet it all made too much sense now. Felix had been the cause of so much of your pain, and it had all been because he was punishing you for not choosing him. And now you were going to die because of him. You hoped Chan was safe, that he’d left before Felix had come in. You also prayed he’d be okay after finding your body — he loved you so much. Finding you would kill him, at least, you hoped it wouldn’t.

You barely felt it when the knife cut into your chest. Sliding cleanly between your ribs and puncturing your lung. Instantly, you felt like you were drowning, choking and gurgling on blood as you fell back onto the hardwood. Felix’s smirking face swirled in your gaze before he disappeared, and Chan’s face replaced his.

You tried to explain what happened, but it was too much. You couldn’t stop choking on the blood. Chan didn’t seem worried, he just stilled your frantic movements, and kissed your forehead. He whispered in your ear that he was going to save you, that you were ready now to be saved. You couldn’t understand what he meant, but it was getting harder to keep your eyes open. You felt him pull your body into his lap, and his lips on your neck, then a sharp, searing pain.

You felt as though your throat was being flayed open, muscles and veins on display but you couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move or think to force yourself to do anything. Simply blinding pain and horror. Then it felt like your blood was turned to molten lead, burning you from the inside out as it poured out of your open wounds.

And then it stopped. Time simply ceased to exist for a moment as the pain cleared. You opened your eyes and saw him smiling down at you. He looked so happy, but he had something streaking down his chin and neck, beginning to flake off. You realized it was blood, your blood.

He told you to save your energy, your body was still recovering. You couldn’t understand, but when you tried to speak, you could only take a rattling inhale. He warned you against trying to speak again — your throat had been torn open in the struggle and it was still healing. He told you to just listen to him, to let him explain.

He told you he had saved you — Felix had broken in while he had been out getting you more roses. He had punctured your lung and when he had gotten there you were drowning in your own blood. But Chan had made it back in time to get him off you and give you something that would save you, heal you. He said it would also change you. He said he’d had the same thing happened to him, but it would be okay, because he had been alone. And you had him. And you would always have him.

He tilted your head back and sank his teeth into his wrist, ripping into the flesh until blood pooled on the surface and down the sides. You struggled against him, but he was too strong. The liquid poured into your mouth and down your throat as you thrashed.

But then you tasted it. It was a supernova of sensation and you couldn’t get enough. Every nerve-ending in your body felt as though it was being set alight. It was more intense than any orgasm you’d ever had; endless waves of euphoria washing over you as the blood danced across your palate and his fingers brushed against your skin, trailing over you gently before skimming underneath your clothes.

You’re torn between screaming from your ravishment and latching harder onto his wrist as to not stop the flow of blood pouring into you. But Chan made the choice for you, pulling his wrist away as he forces you toward the edge of your orgasm, trailing his fingers lovingly down your neck. His fingertip swirls in the healing viscera at the side of your throat, smiling as he brings the bloody appendage to his lips. He sucks the pad of his finger into his mouth and you see the lights of a billion galaxies explode behind your eyes as you come apart.

You’re not sure how long you spend keening and shaking in his arms — it could have been minutes or hours — but he held you through it and explained the depth of his love for you. He had once promised you his eternal love and now you were going to receive it. You would never have to be without him again; your love was now preserved for all time.

You didn’t understand what he meant but you didn’t care. You were safe; Chan had saved you. Something you couldn’t describe crawled under your skin, it felt like something akin to power. There was an assurance you’d never felt before — you weren’t sure if it was Chan being there or if it was what he had done to you. Either way, you never wanted it to end.

—-----

The next few months passed as the previous few had — sleeping through the day and waking with the last rays of light. But sleep came much easier for you now. There were no more nightmares or sleep paralysis, just endless sleep in the arms of Chan.

You figured now that Felix had been dealt with, you were safe from him in both your waking life and your dreams.

And Chan had made your transition easy. You were already accustomed to spending your nights awake and your days asleep, but now it was more serious. He’d explained how the sunlight could burn you now, but how most windows filtered enough of the UV light to where you couldn’t feel it from indoors.

He still went out some nights just after the sunset. You hated when he was gone — it’s like you could feel him in your head whispering to you. Whispering his love, his devotion, his endless praises. You weren’t sure if it was real or some lingering hallucinations from before. It felt so wrong, so foreign; to have him in your head like that felt like a violation of something sacred, something yours. But you didn’t even know if it was real.

Then he would come home, bringing dozens of roses and you’d forget his voice echoing in your consciousness. He didn’t bother to take the thorns off anymore; he said you’d never have to worry about something as trivial as that bothering you anymore. You were stronger, he’d made you stronger. And you made him stronger too. That’s why you had to take care of each other.

That’s what he said when he pulled you into his lap and took your thorn-bitten fingers into his mouth, sucking the blood off your skin like it was honey, moaning and praising you as he did. The feeling of it was more erotic and sensual than anything you’d ever experienced. It felt like he was taking part of you and stitching it into his own being; it was the closest thing you’d ever experienced to divinity.

And then he’d dig the tip of a knife into his palm, allowing the blood to pool as you salivated, watching it slide down his wrist as he held you in place. He talked about how you needed to learn control and restraint if you ever wanted to go outside again, but you could barely hear him over the smell of his blood invading your senses.

The cloyingly sweet, sticky scent permeated your brain and rendered it useless — your entire universe was reduced to the palm of his hand and the weeping fluid coming out of it. And then he would let you go, your lips immediately latching onto the cut, slowly stitching itself back together in front of your eyes. You kept waiting for the effect to wear off, the same way that a drug is never as good as the first time and you spend the rest of your life chasing that high; but it was the same every time. It was transcendent; you had never felt more connected to another person, to the world.

You could feel his consciousness brushing against yours, your souls intertwining. It was overwhelming enough without Chan pushing himself into you, but it always made it better. You would come undone with his blood smeared across your chin, streaking down your neck and across your chest; and yours staining the recesses of his mouth, along with the dotted fingerprints your healing flesh left behind on his face and neck.

You were addicted to it, to him. You would have done anything to stay holed up in your apartment, feeding on each other, fucking, and spending the next few hours basking in the afterglow. You barely felt the shallow cuts Chan littered across your bare skin while you came down, the world muted in a hazy golden light. The only reason you knew what was happening was the lingering feeling of his thoughts folding into yours; his devotion, obsession, love. But you couldn’t blame him — you felt the same way.

It was six months before he had decided it was time you leave your apartment, claiming you needed to reacquaint yourself with the world again. He told you that you’d be moving soon — you couldn’t stay much longer; there would always be a 5 year clock ticking down once you moved somewhere new. He also said the time would pass like minutes to you now, and you believed him. 6 months had passed in the blink of an eye — you could hardly believe that you broke up with him more than a year ago.

Wait. You’d never broken up with him. He was your Chan, the love of your life. There was never a reason to break up with him. You’d broken up with Felix. That’s right. You barely remembered him anymore, now that he didn’t plague your nightmares. You were only reminded of him when Chan traced his tongue along the faint scar that sat between your ribs, the place where he would whisper his apologies as he held you in his arms.

The first time he successfully dragged you out of your apartment, you nearly had a breakdown in the lobby of your building. You weren’t used to the world anymore; too much light that made your eyes water, too many sounds that bombarded your sensitive eardrums, too many scents that burned your sinuses like acid. But the worst part was the feeling of being exposed. The feeling of being surrounded by so many people, when your world had been reduced down to you and Chan was overwhelming. But he was there, holding your hand and whispering reassurances into your ear.

Before you’d walked out of the apartment, he had warned you not to get too close to strangers. He said you might have trouble controlling yourself around them. He wasn’t clear why you’d have trouble but you agreed; you had no desire to interact with anyone but him. But with the days getting shorter, there were more and more people out and about after sunset, and you had lost Chan in the market, his hand slipping out of yours and before you knew it you were surrounded. A sea of faces all blurring together but the worst part was the smell of them.

Rotten. Stale. Some were too sickly sweet it made you gag and some were so bitter you had to breathe through your mouth, but somehow it only made it worse. You could feel their scents decaying in your palate. You fought the urge to vomit as you pushed your way past the crowd, finally being able to take a breath after you made it to freedom. That’s where Chan found you, resting against the wall in a secluded alleyway, breathing heavily and trying to settle your churning stomach.

He was frantic when he found you; his hands shook as he held your face in his hands, inspecting your features before crushing you against his chest. He sings your praises, whispering in your ear about how impressed he was by you. You couldn’t understand what he meant, but you didn’t care. The smell of him washed over you and muted the scent of everyone else. Your nose cradled in the juncture of his neck made your mouth water. Your teeth scraped across the thin skin reveling in the faint line of blood that bloomed on the surface of his skin, shivering as it spread across your tongue.

The sensation of having Chan in your head grew almost deafening. It was so overwhelming you couldn’t focus — and in the next moment, you were staring at the ceiling of your apartment, gasping for air, holding onto the mass of curly hair between your legs. You didn’t know how you’d gotten there; you tried to sort through your memories and remember, but it was a void. And the waves of pleasure building made it hard to focus. You decided to drop it, giving into the sensations, your eyes sliding shut in mindless bliss. But then…

Freckles, and sunshine, a bright smile and warm brown eyes, small, soft hands and tender fingers, a thin waist and small shoulders. The feeling of safety but not in the way you’d experienced in the last year. It was something more gentle and trusting — it was the knowledge he’d always support you, but never limit or hide you. The details washed over you like a tidal wave. Felix.

Then a crack, screaming, and those same eyes, dead and unseeing staring back at you. Blood pooling underneath his open mouth.

You gasp, pulling yourself away. You couldn’t make sense of what you had imagined. Felix wasn’t soft — he’d been possessive, rough. He killed your friends and he had planned to kill Chan. He’d been the one to end the life you used to know. Wasn’t he?

You couldn’t make sense of it, and you sat up to question Chan about it. But he was staring at you from the foot of the bed, head tilted to the side and his eyes darkening. You felt a familiar chill run down your spine as you stared at him. Your chest felt tight and the feeling of being cornered washed over you. The only thing your brain could formulate was run.

You pushed the thought away; you couldn’t run. Chan was your protector. He loved you. Why would you run from him? But there was something you were missing, something you couldn’t unravel in your mind. You fought the anxiety swelling in your chest and snuffed it out, letting your body relax under his hands as you sigh and apologize. His fingertips dug into your thighs as he chuckled and let his head hang, shoulders sagging in relief as he sinks back into you, whispering in your ear about how he thought he was going to lose you.

You couldn’t shake the terror that gripped you. It wasn’t until the sun began to rise and Chan fell asleep against your chest that you allowed yourself to breathe fully. The immediate fear had subsided, and you felt your control over your mind returning.

You hadn’t felt so clear in months and you weren’t sure how you didn’t realize it until now; it was as if you’d been sleepwalking for months and now you had finally woken up.

Everything felt different. It was like you’d gotten a massage; your body was completely relaxed. No aching muscles, no joint pain, no lingering soreness. You weren’t even tired. You felt like you could run a marathon without breaking a sweat; but the best part was the silence. It felt like you were finally alone in your brain again. No Chan brushing up against your consciousness, no having to worry about what he’s going to say or think about the microexpressions you make, no haze caused by the blood or your orgasms. It gave you time to sort through all of the questions you–no… Not you. Chan. You finally allowed yourself to consider all the questions that Chan had shoved into the recesses of your brain.

Fractured memories started filtering through your mind — the ones you thought were real, but the more you prodded at them, they began to corrode and melt away into the bitter truth that had been hidden from you.

Chan had killed Felix that night in the alleyway. He’d snapped Felix’s neck without hesitation and brought you home with his corpse and used his image to manipulate you. To make you his again. But this time you were never getting away from him. He’d made sure of that.

You came to the horrific realization that he had stolen sunshine from your life; not only were you now doomed to spend eternity in the shadows, but he’d taken Felix from you, and then corrupted the only pieces of him you had left. Your memories.

You fought the desire to scream as you realized you were trapped in the arms of his murderer. Your murderer.

You didn’t have time to panic — you needed to plan. If you were going to run it had to be planned perfectly; Chan wasn’t just your maker, he’d also forced himself into your mind. And you knew how paranoid he could be. You spent the next few weeks carefully guarding your thoughts — making sure you didn’t flinch from his touch or shy from his affection. He had to think you were completely committed to him. And it wasn’t hard to do; when Chan was awake, you could barely remember why you wanted to leave, and your memories of Felix faded into the abyss. But when he fell asleep, Felix haunted you. You couldn’t stop yourself from pouring over every detail of your life with him, over his death, piecing together the fragmented memories. They made you sick to think about.

It was like you were living in two realities. Your nights were rose-tinted and hazy, full of lust and blood slipped between your lips and Chan’s, and your days were gray and harsh, sharp like the knife Chan had slid between your ribs. It was becoming harder to forget. And each day Chan was planning your move together even more. Once he faked your death, something he said was necessary, you knew it’d be harder to leave him.

But every day the thought of leaving him got harder. And it was because of the blood. You were beginning to suspect you were addicted to it – you craved it desperately. There was an ache for it in your veins, in your mind, and in your soul. But even more distressing, his blood was the only thing you could stomach.

The smell of anyone and anything else was revolting. He had brought home a blood bag after an outing one day, saying he just wanted to test a theory, and you couldn’t even stay in the same room with it after he had ripped the top off. And being in public felt like torture. Their scents burned your nose and throat, made your head throb painfully, and churned your stomach violently. You had nearly passed out in the small market due to the overwhelming nature of it.

Chan had successfully made you entirely dependent on him. During the night, the idea of it sat in the back of your mind and sulked, but during the day, the awareness of it felt like a forest fire of rage and grief. You hated that sometimes you wished you could just ignore what he’d done and move on. But every time you tried to let it go, you remembered his eyes; dead and lifeless on the ground. Light snuffed out permanently.

But he still called to you, his blood called to you. You could nearly hear it sing under his perfect, smooth skin. It invaded your senses and made you unable to focus. His blood was the epicenter of your focus, even in the clarity of day.

The days and nights slunk by the same as usual; you woke up to Chan’s face buried in your neck and hands skimming over every inch of your naked body, he would give you his blood and make you cum until you were floating in a sea of blissful nothingness, and then while you swam in your comedown, Chan would disappear into the darkness of night after dropping a kiss to your forehead. After regaining sensation in your toes and full function of your brain, you were left to aimlessly wander around your apartment, waiting for him to return. You carefully avoided thinking of anything that would incriminate you as his time away grew steadily longer and longer until he began returning nearly at sunrise when he’d produce yet another bouquet of roses, a different color each day, and take you back to bed where he’d sink onto his knees between your legs until he passed out on your chest from exhaustion.

Everything seemed normal until it wasn’t.

You smelled it before he had made it to your floor. Blood. So much blood. Not only his, but someone else’s. Foul and sickeningly sweet, coating your senses. It was like a blanket in your mind; you could barely hear yourself think. The effects only got worse the closer it got until you heard your front door open. It was blinding; your vision swam and you fought the urge to gag.

Chan smiled at you as he shut the door behind him, as if he wasn't carrying a body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He explained that today was the day; you’d be leaving tonight. He dropped the body unceremoniously on the floor as you struggled to breathe.

They were obviously dead — you could tell because of the almost stale undertone of their scent; but your brain struggled to understand why they were on your living room floor. And why Chan seemed so nonplussed about it. Then it hit you; he had killed them to fake your death. You wanted to cry — they had a life, someone who loved them, and now they were dead because of Chan, because of you. Just like Felix.

Something in you snapped. You didn’t know where you had gotten the knife from, or what you had planned to do with it, but one minute you were crying over the corpse of a stranger, and the next, Chan was pinned to the floor underneath you with a knife in his chest. He just smiled at you as he struggled. You didn’t stop to think, you just ran, grabbing the backpack Chan had packed with your essentials off the floor as you sprinted out the door into the night.

You could still feel him in your head, but only a whisper. You did your best to block him out, gaining your bearings as you weaved through the empty alleyways toward the train station. He’d planned everything — there was an excess of cash, new passports with new names. With each step, you built a wall in your mind that Chan couldn’t climb, couldn’t crumble, couldn’t force through. You needed to be free of him, if not just for your sake, for the sake of everyone else.

It kept you afloat for months, skipping from city to city. You fed only on blood bags when you could stomach them, which wasn’t often. And everything would be fine until you woke up with his voice whispering in your head — and the smell of his blood floating in the air. You would leave that day, scrubbing every trace of yourself from the city as you left.

It worked well enough for a while, but the time you had in each place seemed to get shorter and shorter, and your bag got lighter and lighter. You had started using your abilities to assist you; you would go to the fanciest bar you could find and try to pick out the ones with money to spare. And then after a bit of flirting, you’d compel them to walk with you to the nearest ATM and hand you a modest amount. You never took more than they’d miss, and that alone made you feel less guilty.

You were nearly to the point of compelling your latest target; one of the youngest you’d met and undoubtedly the richest. But he was also the kindest; he almost made you wish things were different. That you were different. He was giggling at a joke you made when you smelled it. Smelled him.

He grinned at you from across the bar and you felt your world shift — the thick fog of his blood settled on your mind and your vision blurred around the edges. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until that moment. But then his focus shifted to the man next to you. The soft, kind stranger who didn’t deserve whatever Chan had planned for him.

But you knew he was careful; he would never be so rash as to expose himself in such a busy place. And you knew he’d follow you, wherever you went. So you slipped out, lingering long enough to catch his sight as you left. You could smell him trailing you as you slithered down alleyways and through crowds until you were cornered.

You hadn’t meant to get cornered — his blood was so distracting you had forgotten entirely where you were supposed to go. But it was better than letting him get a hold of your date from the bar. His voice was so loud in your head. And the blood; just being near it made your jaw ache and your throat dry.

He had you again; hands on your waist possessively as he pressed you against the wall, your head smacking into the hard cement painfully. But it was nothing compared to the feeling of his fangs tearing into your neck.

The walls in your mind fell around you; he had forced his way back in as your body grew limp. His voice echoed and trembled as he poured his rage and anxiety into your mind, so loud you couldn’t hear yourself at all. He was so upset at you for leaving him, and jealous you’d turned to anyone but him for help, but most of all he was relieved to have you back in his arms.

You almost felt bad, but slipping the needle into his neck was so easy he barely felt it. Not until the effects started to take hold. Pretty soon, he was on the ground, staring up at you with a look of hurt. True, genuine hurt. He hadn’t even looked so upset when you had stabbed him all those months ago.

You told him not to worry; you’d never get rid of him. He merely needed some time to adapt to your new life together.

It’s where you find yourselves now; Chan pleading for you to free him, to let him take care of you how he did before. He hates the red neon lights that illuminate his room after the sun sets, after you leave. It reminds him of your blood. He craves it desperately, and you keep him ever so desperate. He has enough to stay alive, to stay sane. But not enough to fend off the weakness that’s settled into his bones.

You remind him that he has to earn your trust after everything he’s done, but thankfully he has an eternity to prove himself to you. Because as addicted to you he may be, you’re equally dependent on him. His blood still sings to you in a way not even Changbin’s, your new lover, does. And you know you’ll never change him, even though it could be the replacement you desperately crave. Changbin doesn’t deserve the suffering though.

But you and Chan do — so much death, just because of the two of you. It’s why you know you might never release him from the chains. Why he’ll never be truly free again. You won’t be either. He would kill any and everyone if it meant he could keep you to himself. And despite yourself, you still love him, in a way. The thought of being tied to him for all eternity brings you comfort. And you know he knows it. He’s still in your mind, even if it’s just a whisper. And you’re in his.

It’s why you keep him how you do. You can hear the ugly, possessive, murderous thoughts that run through his head when you leave. You hold out hope as you clean his blood off your mouth that he’ll learn some control, in time. And thankfully you have an abundance of it, but you won’t waste any more of it on him tonight. He’ll see you again before sunrise, when you return from your night with Changbin.

At least when you’re away you can pretend to be normal. Pretend your ex-boyfriend slash lover slash maker isn’t locked in a room in your apartment that could withstand a nuclear fallout. Pretend you weren’t a murderer. Pretend you weren’t still maybe in love with a murderer. The one person who’s caused you more than a lifetime of pain.

And Chan will complain about how you reek of him, sex, and alcohol. And you’ll soothe him with your thorn bitten finger tips pressed to his tongue as you sink onto his cock, making sure he drifts into bliss as the first rays of light break across the horizon and you both fall into an easy sleep with the knowledge you both are getting what you really want.

Chan has you. And you have Chan…

Right where you want him.

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