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Relationship: Vampire!Miyuki Kazuya x Human!Reader Rating: Mature Content Tags: Monsters (ergo, monstrous things), Blood, Profanity, Vampire Magic, Hints of Ancient Monster Magic, Stalking (we're talking vampires here), Attempted Abduction (not by Miyuki), Attempted Vampire Attack (not by Miyuki), Possessive Language, Hints of Miscommunication (in that he's a monster and reader isn't), Miyuki Kazuya Calls Reader "Little Human," Accidentally Accepting Monster Courtship Word Count: 3,120 A/N: I might turn this into a series or smth. There's a lot more than what's written but I'm still getting used to publishing unfinished and unpolished works.

You’re lucky in your location. You’re lucky that the city you grew up in, the city you still work and live in, is deemed neutral grounds by the local vampires, setting precedence for all other monsters in the vicinity.

Just outside city boundaries lie three separate nests, all openly at war with the next. Historically, fights have broken out as they’ve tried to claim separate parts of the city, confusion arising from where the city has evolved in its growth. It’s since been deemed “untouchable” for the sake of survival. Whose survival, you’re not entirely sure, as hunting isn't banned outright within the city, but things remain otherwise peaceful for the monsters.

The ceasefire attracts all kinds of nomadic vampires—vampires who will not or cannot join nests—but the city remains large enough that it’s still not a problem. If anything, it’s enriched by their presence, especially as most fall in line quickly.

You’re more than familiar with vampire lore and laws for the city, what with your best friend and neighbor being a vampire belonging to the southern nest. It’s thanks to him that you’ve gotten pretty good at identifying vampires even when they wish to remain anonymous and blend in.

You know which vampires to avoid and which ones want privacy, which ones will entertain a curious mind, and which ones will try to bend the rules for one motive or another. You can spot a friendly vampire (friendly within reason) and you can spot a remarkably dangerous one, picking them out easily in a crowd.

It’s funny, then, the way he seems to fit into most of the categories at once. A vampire who wants to talk, watching with eyes bright and full of interest and mischief, exuding an air of elusiveness to contrast the welcoming quality of his presence. It’s a little funny how he makes every single cell in your body scream RUN. It’s a little funny how you don’t.

The shadows move with him and you know he’s likely one of the oldest vampires you’ve come across, and the way he watches you makes you think it’s been some time since he’s been around humans, much less other people. Maybe that’s what does you in, what makes you stay and talk to him when you should call your manager and leave. Maybe it’s the way his eyes pull you in while his words, so carefully chosen, half-heartedly try to push you away.

And he doesn’t use charms on you.

No, Kuramochi thoroughly checks each time you come home, growing increasingly wary of this newcomer, increasingly distressed in the way that you’re becoming obviously drawn to him. You’re curious, wanting to know more, always left learning more about history while discovering almost nothing about him. The more he talks, the less you think you know of him, though you’re certain he likes that.

As certain as you are that he likes you.

The voice in the back of your mind, the same one that sounds alarms whenever he’s near, the one that’s so aware of him you can feel him when you’re blocks away, doesn’t let up, only growing stronger. Kuramochi becomes so on edge that he rarely returns to his nest anymore, borderline threatening to escort you to and from work (and you’ve a feeling it wouldn’t stop there). It’s enough that you can no longer in good conscience ignore them both, as much as you may feel dismayed.

(It surprises you how disappointed your heart is by that decision. How terrifying, truly.)

You’re not cruel; you’ll be honest with him and let him down gently. There’s no need to fear violation of the ceasefire (or an inciting incident to prompt a violation). Similarly, you’re certain that whatever danger he does present to you isn’t that of an out-and-out murderer.

Almost as if he knows, you find him waiting for you outside of the bar—while he’s always loved visiting, even if never properly ordering a drink, you’ve seen him outside only twice. Again, the shadows follow him, much thicker than before, providing an almost film noir filter to everything. Despite this, you can see his eyes clearly—the golden amber a favorite of yours ever since he first slithered into your life.

Perhaps telling him now will be easier. He’s still a man, after all, and more than once you’ve rejected men at the end of the evening only for them to curse you for wasting the time that came before. So you do.

“Good evening, Miyuki.”

“Good evening, Little Human. You look like you have something on your mind.”

“I do.”

“Care to share with the class?”

“Wow, this feels so silly.” It feels like a high school breakup, in all honesty. Which is stupid because you aren’t even together. “Miyuki, I must ask that you leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone?” Your alarms sound, but you otherwise can’t spot a difference in his demeanor. He seems as unbothered as ever. “May I know why?”

“My… friend is concerned and I trust his judgment.”

“Your… friend?” he imitates, watching you carefully as he does. “Have I met this friend? There aren’t many humans I bother talking to; only the ones at the bar.”

You didn’t know that. It’s stupid, but for a moment your heart stutters and you feel special. And it’s annoying when you see the uptick of his lips, the acknowledgment that he heard a reaction you cannot control.

“No, he doesn’t come out this way.” For some reason, you know better than to mention that Kuramochi’s a vampire.

“Are our talks no longer interesting? I find them to be rather enjoyable.”

“No, I enjoy our conversations.”

“Is it something I said? I know I can come across callous at times.”

“You can be an ass at times,” you correct, suddenly feeling breathless at the toothy smile he gives, “but no, you’ve never said anything to offend me.”

“Is there any concrete reason why you would want me to leave you alone, aside from your… friend?”

You feel like it’s a trap, like he knows it’s something intangible like your survival instinct, but that’s not necessarily concrete. And still, like an idiot, you answer honestly. “No. You’re fun to shoot the shit with. I have fun with you.”

He smiles again, eyes brightening when he hears what that does to you. “I figured as much, considering you’ve told your friend about me in the first place and haven’t asked for this a year ago.”

“Shut up. You’re not making this any easier.”

“Why would I?” He doesn’t sound angry or like he feels any emotion close to the negative end of the spectrum. If anything, he sounds like he’s having fun while you’re trying to end this friendship.

“God, this feels like a high school breakup.”

“Oh? Oh? Are you interested in me? Is that why your friend is concerned? Is it a case of jealousy?”

“No!” Despite the honesty of your answer, you can’t deny the increasing warmth and the feeling that you’ve been caught. “No, I am not romantically interested in you. That is not what this is, even though the more you say makes this feel all the more juvenile.”

“The lady doth protest too much.” He laughs, laughs while you fluster at the notion he bothered to remember that passing remark about enjoying Hamlet sometime after you two had met. “Well, it wouldn’t do to have my favorite human upset with me. If that’s truly what you want—”

“It is.”

His eyes gleam in the night and you know he hears the “not” that waits at the back of your throat. His smile never wavers, nor does it change flavor, never indicating anything other than mirth. “I wouldn’t want to upset you.”

Your heart drops a bit and cold washes over your chest, though you’re the one to do this. He knows this. You know that he knows this. Maybe that’s why he steps closer, bringing the distance between you to arm’s reach. Despite this being over—and God, what a dramatic way to feel about the ending of something you could barely call a friendship—you know he’s not yet done with you.

In a fluid motion, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, never breaking eye contact, simply telling you, “If ever you change your mind, you need merely call my name.” He presses his lips to your knuckles and you can nearly feel his fangs.

Before you can think about it, before you can comment on it, he’s gone, taking the shadows with him.

Kuramochi is visibly relieved when you tell him, though you don’t tell him of the kiss or the joke about your interest or the way your heart’s been flipping in your chest each time you’ve thought of it since (and you’re quick to change the subject when he tries to bring up your apparent arrhythmia). He still doesn’t go home, but you don’t mind seeing as much of him as you do now.

It annoys you how you miss him. Miyuki Kazuya. An unsolvable enigma, though you didn’t mind it at the time. Now it just pisses you off. How much did you tell him of your life only for him to give you nothing of his? How much of what you know about him is the result of observations and deductions rather than answers? How often did you reward his questions with truths while he shut yours down? You know next to nothing about him, and yet your heart has the audacity to miss him?

But you do.

Something else you don’t tell Kuramochi about is the dreams. About how they started the night you said goodbye, how they’re all vivid and feature Miyuki. You don’t mention how, when you’re out in the city, you swear you can spot him in the shadows—in the alleyway near the library or perched atop the bank or across the street from your bar when winter draws near and the days grow short. You don’t tell Kuramochi about how your idle thoughts often turn to him, how clearly you can still hear his laugh.

All of it makes your traitorous heart race a bit. It makes your lips curl into a smile. It gives you the physical sensations of a crush and again you feel like you’re in some kind of high school romance.

And the alarm bells that ring whenever danger’s around (and whenever he’s around) are nearly constant, though it coincides with the influx of monsters in search of either a home in the city or the protection of one of the vampyric nests. Sometimes you’re reminded of him, as if he grows near, though you push it aside as annoyingly hopeful thinking, the vague acceptance that this has become his city, too.

It takes you a bit too long to notice that your walks home, the ones that were once quiet and devoid of any cause for panic, now also bring the alarms.

All it takes is one night.

Kuramochi has returned to his nest, satisfied that Miyuki is no longer around, letting you know that he’ll likely be gone for a couple of weeks due to his prolonged absence. You don’t mind; your street has always been safe, your apartment more so, thanks to the resident vampire that lives at the corner townhouse next door.

You aren’t paying attention when you reach the door to the building and by the time you’re aware that you’re in danger, it’s too late, one hand already circling around your wrist while the other grabs the back of your neck. They drag you into the alley across the way, nice and dark and out of view and you know this isn’t some ordinary robber. This has to be a feral or starving vampire, given their speed and the particular bite of their nails in your skin.

To attack you like this, in the open of the city even if at night, they’re probably both.

You’ve heard the stories, had them confirmed by the vampires you know—feral vampire attacks always end with a trail of human bodies before they regain control of themselves. Assuming they aren’t in control of themselves and that they truly are feral.

Kuramochi’s name is halfway through your mouth before you remember—he’s miles away and can’t hear you. He’s fast, but not fast enough to get here before you’ll be dead. And then you hear his voice in the back of your mind.

If you ever change your mind, you need merely call my name.

It’s a long shot. He meant it as an extension of friendship, not as a “call me if ever you’re in trouble.” Who knows if it’ll work or if he’d even get here in time? But his name comes out anyway.

Your heart’s pounding and your adrenaline’s pumping, only making you smell sweeter to this wild vampire and you aren’t sure whether your voice actually came out, so you call him again, sounding like half a plea and half a prayer and you’re growing more and more sure that this is how you’ll die when you hear the voice that’s been haunting you.

“I didn’t expect you to call so soon. To what—”

You don’t see him, but you feel him. For the first time since you met him, you feel safe. Terrifying, on top of the way you feel claws dig into you, sure to draw blood. The more you feel Miyuki’s cold fury as it rolls off him in waves, the more secure you feel. The shadows grow into something absolutely menacing, but you feel protected. Invulnerable despite your vulnerability dripping from your wrist as your assailant is torn from you and flung in the opposite direction.

While you’re trying to catch your breath, trying to regain your footing, you try to spot him, though you’re given but a glimpse.

What a terrifying monster you’ve summoned. Never have you heard of making a feral vampire cease their attack before their end, but here you are staring at a look of pure terror from he who would spell your doom. You almost feel… sorry for him. Darkness engulfs the alleyway until you can’t see anything but the horrifying, empty void before it recedes, leaving you against the building you always thought hideous with Miyuki at the end, furthest the street, standing in a growing pool of blood. There is no body, seemingly no source for the blood. Only him with his back turned to you.

As you step back out of reflex more than a conscious desire to run, you stumble, falling backward as your legs give out from under you.

“Are you okay?”

His voice sounds so far away, so foreign without the weight of the impending laugh on his tongue, and you aren’t sure that it isn’t imagined. For all you know, this is all in your mind, some kind of comforting fantasy as it all goes tits up.

When you don’t answer, he turns, slowly, revealing the front of him covered in blood. His eyes are positively shining despite the mask of calm that he’s wearing. For the first time since you’ve met him, his fangs are drawn, completely visible. At one point you believed seeing him with his fangs would change your perception of him entirely, that it would make him look completely different.

Instead, you find him the same Miyuki as you have ever known him.

He removes his gloves, shaking them once, twice, before placing them in his back pocket, and starts making his way over to you.

“Are you okay, Little Human?” he asks again and you can’t manage anything past a simple, dumbfounded nod. “I’m going to help you up now, alright?”

It’s not even a thought when he offers you his hand, the same one that undoubtedly tore someone to shreds not moments ago. You take it without hesitation, body moving of its own volition, and the relief you feel is instantaneous.

He convinces you to invite him inside, to guarantee that you’re safe and to avoid any misunderstandings given his appearance right now. As you come out of your stupor, you find it only mildly annoying how easily he fits in your space, but it’s nothing you’ll complain about, not when he came so quickly after you called.

Perhaps the entire event has made you a little careless, but you’ve yet to process the possibility of how he was able to come so quickly—mere seconds after the last syllable fell from your lips the first time you spoke it. And there’s something that you remember, the more your mind forces you to think back to it. A single utterance before everything went black. Maybe you just don’t want to think about the way he called you “his human.”

You don’t ask him about either as he coaxes words from you. You don’t mention it when you offer him a pair of pajamas that your ex had left years ago. You don’t think about it as you help him try to wash the blood from his clothes, used to this problem thanks to Kuramochi.

The only thing you can focus on—such a silly little thing, too—is the way he looked the same, even with his fangs drawn. The only thing you can focus on is the way your heart beats out, “That was my Miyuki.”

How… annoyingly out of character. How out of left field. How—

Shit. Kuramochi once mentioned this, years ago, but Miyuki doesn’t let you dwell on that thought (or maybe he knows what’s coming, where your logic is taking you. You wouldn’t put it past him).

“You seem to be particularly popular with vampires,” he teases lightly, obvious in his attempt to gauge your mood. “If I had known more would come for you, I would have started things sooner.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not the first who’s thirsted for you and followed you, though I’m surprised I caught him so late, and the stench of your friend sticks to everything here except your bedroom.”

“No, what do you mean, ‘started things sooner?’”

He comes closer and it feels like his golden irises are burning into your soul. His smile is wide and gentle, very unlike the excitement in his eyes.

“I would have started courting you sooner.”

Your mind blanks but you think you feel the barest edges of an invisible tether, the ghost of a link between your soul and his. Something almost fitting into place, but not quite. An unremarkable voice in the back of your mind telling you something horrifyingly remarkable—the inevitability of what's to come, wrapped up in the not-so-tender reminder that words have power.

tagging @tyga-lily because I can't believe I'm stuck on Vampire!Kazuya again. Pls send help

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