(vamp!megumi x fem reader)
warnings : explicit sexual content, blood kink/blood play (includes feeding from an open wound), vampire biting/marking, possessive behavior, size kink, praise kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, light choking/breath play during feeding, power dynamics (vampire strength used for pinning/restraining), hair pulling, oral (f!receiving), fingering, self harm.
summary : youâve known megumi since you were fifteen. he was introverted, beautiful, secretly wrong. the clues were always there. the cold skin, the skipped meals, the way he disappeared at night and came back with red on his lips. tonight, you decide to force the truth out of him the only way you can think of. one deliberate cut later, blood spills, and the boy you trusted with your life finally shows his fangs.
you had knew megumi since you were fifteen.
it was the middle of the school year when he transferred into your high school, walking quietly into the classroom like someone that didnât quite belong in the harsh fluorescent light. the rumors started almost immediately.
whispers in the hallways about the mysterious new student with the striking looks and aloof demeanor. he was quiet, dark-haired, and unfairly beautiful in a way that turned heads without him even trying. pale skin that seemed almost luminous against the ugly colored school uniforms, sharp features softened by long lashes, and eyes so dark and piercing they could pin you in place from across the room.
everyone else thought he was odd, standoffish, maybe even a little intimidating. girls giggled nervously about him, the guys dismissed him as a freak. but you? you were drawn in from the very first moment you saw him.
so you did what any self respecting teenager with zero impulse control would do. you sat yourself in the seat right next to him on the very next day, ignoring the curious stares from your friends. your heart fluttered with curiousity and the unexpected boldness you got out of nowhere. he didnât look up at first, which you expected. just kept staring at the blank page in his notebook like it owed him something. you didnât say anything at first, just took out your textbook and focused on class.
the teacher was rambling about some poets work that felt irrelevant to the topic and relating more to the teachers personal life. and you couldnât resist, you took it upon yourself to rip out a small piece of paper from your notebook and scribbled a quick note.
âi think this relates more to his love life than the actual lesson lmaoâ and slid it discreetly onto his desk. he stared at the note for a long, long moment. you half expected him to ignore it. then to your absolute thrill, he picked up his pencil and wrote back.
âmaybe he got a divorce with his wife. donât know much about him but i can sense it.â
a grin spread across your face as you read it. you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing out loud. heâs cute and heâs funny? you definitely hit the jackpot for a friend. the weird thing was though after class your teacher apologized for acting so strangely as his wife divorced him. a pit settled in your stomach as he said that. megumi was right about it. you told yourself he just had great intuition when it comes to reading people. it couldnât be anything else. could it?
on the brighter side though from that day you guys formed a connection. passing notes became your thing. little scraps of paper passed back and forth under the desk. snarky commentary on the teachers cardigan choices, debates over whether symbolism was overrated. he never really interacts with anyone else but somehow against all odds the new beautiful transfer student started engaging, opening up in those folded scraps of paper more than he ever did out loud.
over the months megumi actually started talking to you. not just notes. actual conversations. he became the person you turns to for everything. on those gloomy days when the rain poured relentlessly, turning the streets into rivers, heâd appear at your side without a word, holding his umbrella tilted deliberately to shield you more than himself, his own shoulder getting drenched while he shrugged it off with a quiet âiâm fine.â youâd protest, trying to angle it back, but heâd just give you that fond, exasperated look and hold it steady.
he was the best listener youâd ever knew because he listened. really listened. when you ranted about the disastrous bad date your friend set up that ended up in disaster, or the shift at work where a customer yelled at you over expired coupons. speaking about that customer, you recalled seeing them on a missing persons poster on your way to work. another red flag brushed off.
but he never interrupted you, never made you feel stupid for caring about small things. and when he did speak, his advice was always so painfully spot on that it made you want to shake him and demand where heâd gotten so wise. but it always made you feel seen.
you were absolutely convinced that you knew him better than anyone else on the planet.
because looking back now, with the clarity of hindsight and too many late night wikipedia rabbit holes, there were signs. so many signs youâd brush off, laughed about. because you knew acknowledging it would
like the way he never, ever, ate in front of you. not once.
not even when you dragged him to your favorite cafe when you guys hung out and demolished an entire sandwich and croissant while chatting about everything and nothing at the same time. heâd just order black coffee, no sugar, no cream, and sipped it slowly while you talked with your mouth full.
youâd shove your half eaten pastry towards him. âcome on, live a little!â. heâd give you a tiny huff that could barely pass as a laugh and push it back. âiâm good.â or âi already ate.â like food was an afterthought to him, something unnecessary. youâd tease him about being allergic to food, and heâd roll his eyes redirecting the conversation on a question about your day.
his body temperature was another thing. his skin was always freezing. not just chilly hands on a winter day, which you would just blame the weather for it. but his skin in general felt smooth, chilled marble under your touch.
causal brushes of fingers, occasional hugs that lasted longer than it should, leaning against him during movie night. there was no natural human warmth radiating from him. youâd joke about it endlessly about how he had the circulation of a dead corpse. in response heâd tug your jacket closer around your shoulders or wrap an arm around you to âwarm you upâ by proxy. like your warmth was the only thing that mattered it was endearing, protective⌠and now, suspiciously telling.
sunlight affected him too. subtly in the way you wouldnât notice before. he didnât dramatically recoil or sparkle like in movies. but on brighter, sunnier days he wore those dark sunglasses indoors and seemed more fatigued. the excuse for the glasses was âsensitivity to the lightâ or impending headaches. you never pushed. he was probably just not feeling well. everyone has their off days.
and then there were the disappearances. that shouldâve set off all the alarm bells in your head. weekend plans were unpredictable with him. wanting to go see a new movie, go to the park, or just hang out would be canceled last minute. just a vague text âout with familyâ or âsomething came upâ. heâd go radio silent for hours, sometimes entire nights. youâd be disappointed but understanding, he was private about his home life, after all. then, without fail, heâd show up at your door at the crack of dawn the next day, energized and alert in a way that defied logic, eyes brighter, demeanor almost refreshed.
and the disappearances were the worst. that was the biggest red flag you ignored. when you asked to hang out on the weekends, heâd text back âout with familyâ and heâd show up at your house at dawn, more energy than ever. but he had a faint red tint to his lips that he wiped away quickly. and there was that occasional faint red tint to his lips. a subtle stain heâd wipe away heâd wipe away hastily with the back of his hand or the edge of his sleeve when he thought you werenât paying close attention. then heâd flash that half smile, and ask if you still wanted to go to the movies like he hadnât just vanished for twelve hours.
because megumi was your best friend. because he was the one person who never made you feel like you were too much or not enough. because the idea of him being anything but human felt ridiculous, something out of the gothic novels you read in secret, the ones with immortals and tragic love stories.
but the pieces started fitting together anyway.
it started as a joke in your head, making up scenarios about if he really was a vampire. stuff that lived only as a private joke in your head to explain his quirks. âmy best friend, the undead,â youâd think with a smirk, shaking it off. then it became late nights hunched over your laptop, scrolling through forums about folklore, mythology, urban legends. avoiding garlic, sunlight sensitivity, never eating. the way he sometimes moved a little too fast. the suspicious âfamily outingsâ and that fleeting red on his mouth. it matched him too perfectly.
you didnât want to believe it. it sounded insane, the stuff of novels and movies, not real life. not your megumi. but the thought wouldnât leave you alone. it burrowed under your skin and stayed there, whispering every time he brushed off food or disappeared for a night. tonight, you decided, was the night youâd prove it to yourself once and for all.
megumi was lounging on your couch like he was owned the place, completely at ease in the familiar space youâd shared countless evenings in. one leg was stretched out along the cushions, the other planted on the floor, his posture relaxed but elegant as always. he scrolled absentmindedly through his phone, the screenâs glow illuminating his face in soft blue hues. black turtleneck (of course), dark jeans hugging his long legs, hair spiky and tousled from how many times heâd run his hand through it. beautiful as ever, in that effortless, haunting way. sharp jawline shadowed just enough to emphasize its angles, high cheekbones, and those impossibly long, dark lashes framing eyes that held depths you were only now daring to question. lashes youâd always secretly envied, fluttering gently as he blinked.
you were in the kitchen, pretending to busy yourself with âmaking dinnerâ. while your heart pounded erratically in your chest, a frantic rhythm that echoed in your ears. palms slick with sweat, nerves twisted tight like a coiled spring, you gripped the handle of the sharp knife with more force than necessary. youâd planned this. sort of. the cutting board sat infront of you, piled with garlic you had no intention of you actually using. the knife was sharp, too sharp maybe.
âhey, megs.â you called, proud of how steady your voice sounded despite the way your pulse was racing. âiâm making pasta, want some? itâs the tomato basil one you used to say smelled good.â you knew heâd decline. he always did. but asking felt like part of the ritual, a way to ease into the test.
âthanks,â he replied without glancing up, his tone smooth and unbothered as he continued tapping at his screen, âbut Iâm not hungry.â
signature megumi. you forced a light laugh and turned back to the counter and beginning to slice the garlic with careful, innocent motions at first. hoping the strong aroma would drift over and provoke something. a wince, a subtle shift away, anything to confirm or deny. the scent filled the kitchen, strong and unmistakable, but he didnât react. no flinch, no comment, just the soft sounds of his scrolling.
your hand trembled slightly as you gripped the knife again. you angled it carefully, deliberately. took a breath. and let the blade âslip.â
the cut was deeper than you expected. pain lanced through you immediately, sharp and real, a burning sting that made you inhale sharply for real this time. blood welled up almost instantly, thick and vivid crimson, pooling in the creases of your skin before spilling over your fingers in warm, steady drops. it dripped onto the scattered garlic below, mingling with the juices, draining in glistening trails across the cutting board.
the exclamation tore out of you, half genuine agony and half performance, as the knife clattered to the counter. you clutched your bleeding hand to your chest on instinct, fingers curling instinctively around the wound while warm blood seeped between them, slick and unstoppable.
his reaction was immediate.
one heartbeat megumi was still lounging on the couch, phone in hand, bathed in the soft glow of the living-room lamp. the next, he was simply there, right beside you in the kitchen, the air displaced by the sheer impossible speed of his movement. you hadnât even seen him stand. no blur, no footfalls, just presence. his cold fingers locked around your wrist like a vise, yanking your injured hand toward him with urgent, almost frantic care
âwhat did you do?â his voice cracked like a whip, louder and rougher than youâd ever heard it. his chest rose and fell in heavy, uneven breaths, and his eyes, those deep, familiar blue eyes, were fixed unblinkingly on the crimson welling from your palm. he couldnât look away. as if the simple act of standing this close to your blood was costing him everything.
you were too stunned by the impossible speed to answer immediately, heart hammering against your ribs. the kitchen felt suddenly smaller, the overhead light harsher. âhowâhow did you get over here so fast?â the words tumbled out, breathless and shaky. then the pain flared again, sharp and hot, and you forced practicality through the daze. ânever mind that! just grab the bandages, please!â
the cut throbbed relentlessly now, a burning line across your palm that made your vision swim for a second. regret crashed over you in wavesâthis had been a terrible idea. talking would have been better. confronting him directly, asking instead of testing like some reckless idiot from a horror movie. you could have just asked.
ây/nâŚâ your name left his lips in a strained, broken whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your own pulse.
the metallic scent of blood filled the small kitchen, thick and intoxicating. you lifted your hand higher, almost instinctively, waving it just slightly, more blood welled, spilling over the edges of the cut and dripping in slow, viscous rivulets onto the counter. a deliberate try of getting him riled up now, born of fear and fascination and the desperate need to know.
megumi went utterly still. he didnât move. couldnât.
his entire body trembled, fine shivers that ran through his shoulders and down his arms. his throat worked visibly, a hard, convulsive swallow. and then his eyes changed. the deep indigo youâd stared into for years bled away, pupils blowing wide until glowing crimson swallowed the blue entirely, luminous and predatory in the dim light. his lips parted on a ragged inhale, and there, sharp, elongated fangs glinted, sliding down with an audible click as his control strained.
the words slipped out before you could stop them. immediately regretting them.
something inside him snapped.
a guttural snarl ripped from his throat, low and animal, and the world tilted. inhuman speed pinned you back against the cool kitchen tiles with jarring force. the impact knocked the breath from your lungs, but there was no real pain, only the overwhelming press of his body against yours. he was warmer than youâd ever felt him, heat radiating through the black turtleneck as if the hunger had ignited something inside. one large hand captured both your wrists, wrenching them up above your head and pinning them to the wall with effortless, iron strength. you struggled on instinct, twisting, but it was useless, he was immovable, 6â2 of lean muscle and supernatural power hovering over you, caging you completely. his other forearm braced beside your head, veins standing out against pale skin, fingers curled as if fighting the urge to touch.
his face hovered inches from yours, beautiful and terrifying all at once. crimson eyes blazed, fangs fully bared, lips peeled back in a silent warning. his breath ghosted cold across your throat as he dipped his head, inhaling deeply.
âdonât provoke me like that,â he hissed, voice rough and gravelly, laced with something dangerously close to desperation. his hips pressed forward, pinning yours to the wall, and you felt him, hard, thick, insistent against your thigh through the layers of fabric. the evidence of how much this affected him, how much you affected him. âyou have no idea how dangerous this is. you blood⌠fuck, it calls to me.â
your bleeding hand was trapped between your bodies now, pressed to his chest. blood smeared across the dark knit of his sweater in sticky streaks, the scent driving him visibly mad, his eyes flickered, nostrils flaring, body shuddering against yours.
âare youâŚâ your voice came out a whisper, barely steady. âare you gonna kill me?â
he shook his head slowly, deliberately, crimson gaze locked on yours. ânever.â the word was a vow and a plea all at once.
you swallowed hard, heart racing with a cocktail of fear, adrenaline, and something hotter, something that had been simmering unspoken between you for years. âthen⌠if you need blood,â you breathed, the words trembling but sure, âtake mine.â
his eyes widened a fraction, fangs glinting as his breath hitched. you flexed your trapped fingers, shifting your bleeding hand upward between you until your palm hovered just beneath his lips. blood still seeped steadily, a slow crimson offering.
he groaned, a deep, tortured sound that rumbled from his chest and vibrated through you where your bodies touched. his forehead dropped heavily to your shoulder, dark hair brushing your cheek as his whole frame shuddered violently. âi could kill you,â he rasped against your skin, voice raw with conflict. âdrain you dry if I lose control. iâm not⌠gentle when iâm starving.â
âyou wonât.â th certainty in your voice surprised even you. years of trust, of unspoken love, of every quiet moment heâd chosen you over his secrets. âi trust you, megumi. feed.â
for a long, agonizing moment he stayed frozen, every muscle locked, breath coming in harsh pants against your neck. you could feel the war inside him. hunger clawing against restraint, instinct against affection. then hunger won.
a broken, reverent sound escaped him as he turned his head, lips brushing the inside of your wrist firstâsoft, almost worshipful. his tongue flicked out, tracing the trail of blood up your fingers with deliberate slowness, tasting. the cool drag of it sent shivers racing down your spine. when he reached the wound itself, he paused, crimson eyes flicking up to meet yours one last time, searching, pleading for permission.
he closed his mouth over the cut.
the first pull was careful, almost tender. his lips sealed around the gash, fangs grazing the edges without piercing deeper, and he sucked gently. warm blood flowed into his mouth, and the sensation was electric. a sharp sting that melted almost instantly into throbbing, liquid heat. your knees weakened as pleasure-pain radiated up your arm and straight between your legs. a soft, involuntary moan slipped from your throat.
megumi answering groan was pure sin, deep, vibrating against your skin. his eyes fluttered shut, lashes dark against pale cheeks, and he drank deeper. the suction grew stronger, more rhythmic, each pull sending sparks of intoxicating heat through your veins. his tongue swirled over the wound, laving, coaxing more blood to the surface with slow, sensual strokes that felt disturbingly like he was tasting you everywhere at once.
your free hand found his hair, fingers threading through the dark, spiky strands, gripping tight, not to pull him away, but to anchor yourself as the world narrowed to the wet heat of his mouth and the growing ache low in your belly. he pressed closer, hips rolling instinctively against yours, the hard length of him grinding slow and deliberate now, dragging a gasp from you both.
blood smeared his lips when he pulled back just enough to speak, voice husky and wrecked. âyou tasteâŚâ he licked a stray drop from the corner of his mouth, fangs glinting crimson. âlike everything iâve ever wanted.â
then he dove back in, hungrier now, long, languid pulls that made your head fall back against the tile with a soft thud. the pain had dulled to a distant throb, overtaken by waves of dizzying pleasure. each swallow seemed to draw heat from your core, coiling tighter and tighter until you were trembling in his grip, thighs clenching around the press of his.
his fangs grazed deeper this time, just a prick, deliberate and teasing, sending a fresh rivulet of blood across his tongue. the sound he made was feral, reverent, and you felt his control fraying further as he ground against you harder, breath coming in cool puffs against your damp skin.
you were lost in it, the intimacy, the danger, the raw sensuality of letting him take from you like this. your pulse thundered in your ears, every heartbeat offering more, and he took it greedily, reverently, until the edges of your vision blurred with pleasure and the kitchen spun slowly around you.
âyouâre so delicious.â he murmured against your skin, voice husky and wrecked. lips brushing the sensitive curve where your neck met your shoulder. his tongue flicked out once more, chasing a stray drop of blood that had trickled down from your healed palm. âso sweet⌠all for me.â
the words vibrated through you, low and reverent. it was like a prayer and claim all at once. you couldnât have spoken even if you wanted to. communicating had never been option, not when provoking him let this happen, let him unravel. your head spun, dizzy from blood loss and raw, overwhelming arousal. heat throbbed between your thighs, wetness pooling so heavily you could feel it slicking your skin, soaking through your underwear. every nerve ending felt alive, hypersensitive, tuned to the press of his body and the lingering sting where heâd feed.
when he finally pulled back, his lips were stained deep crimson, glossy, swollen, obscene. his eyes glowed that unnatural, predatory red, brighter now that heâd tasted you, pupils blown wide with hunger and something darker. you whimpered at the loss of his mouth, an embarrassing, needy sound that made his fangs flash in a slow, dangerous smile.
âmore?â he asked, voice rough as gravel, laced with restraint that looked like it was costing him everything.
âyes,â you breathed, barely recognizing your own voice. âpleaseâŚâ
in a blur too fast for human eyes, he released your wrists and scooped you up, effortless, like you weighed nothing in his vampire strength. one second you were pinned to the kitchen wall. the next, cool air rushed past you, and you were in your bedroom. he laid you on the bed with devastating gentleness, as if you were something precious and breakable, even as his glowing eyes promised to ruin you in the best way.
the mattress dipped under his weight as he followed you down, crawling over you like a predator finally allowed to hunt. His tall frame, making you feel so small beneath him. youâd always known he was taller, broader, but like this, his unnatural strength humming under his skin, eyes crimson with need, it hit harder.
âmine,â he growled, voice dripping possession as he captured your wrists again, pinning them above your head with one hand. his grip was unbreakable, cool fingers wrapped fully around both your wrists, stretching your arms taut. you tugged experimentally. he didnât budge, just tightened his hold enough to make you gasp. âall mine. been holding back for years⌠smelling you, wanting you. you have no idea.â
his free hand dragged down your body, nails scraping lightly over your shirt before he ripped it open in one sharp tug, fabric tearing like paper under his strength. cool air hit your skin, and he groaned at the sight of you, eyes raking over your chest, your stomach, like he was starving all over again.
âlook at you,â he rasped, leaning down to mouth along your collarbone, fangs grazing without breaking skin. âso soft. so warm. perfect for me to mark.â
he bit down, not feeding, just marking, sharp fangs sinking into the curve of your shoulder. you cried out, arching into the sting, the bloom of pain melting into pleasure as he sucked a deep bruise around the punctures. blood beaded, and he lapped it up greedily, tongue swirling, painting his lips red again. another mark on your throat, your breast, your hip, each one deliberate, possessive, branding you as his.
you were trembling, soaked, hips rolling up to seek friction. he chuckled darkly against your skin, hand sliding between your thighs to cup you through your clothes.
âalready dripping for me,â he murmured, voice thick with praise. âyouâre so perfect. so wet just from my teeth.â
He tore your pants away next, literally ripped them off with a flick of his wrist, leaving you bare except for soaked underwear. those he dragged down slowly, eyes locked on the way your arousal clung to the fabric, stringing between your thighs.
âfuck,â he breathed, spreading your legs wide with strong hands on your thighs. âlook at this pretty pussy. all flushed and ready for your monster.â
he didnât tease long. his mouth descendedâcool tongue dragging up your slit in one slow, filthy lick that had you keening. He groaned at your taste, diving in like a man possessed. lips sealing around your clit, sucking hard, fangs carefully sheathed but grazing just enough to remind you of the danger. two fingers pushed inside you without warning, thick, cool, curling perfectly, pumping in time with the flicks of his tongue.
you came fast and hard, back bowing off the bed, thighs clamping around his head. He didnât stop, kept licking, fingering, working you through it until you were sobbing from overstimulation, tears pricking your eyes.
âtoo much, megumiââ
âshh.â he crawled back up, pinning you again, one hand sliding to your throat, light pressure, just enough to feel your pulse racing beneath his palm. âyou can take it. youâre doing so well for me. my perfect girl.â
his fingers returned, three this time, stretching you open while his thumb circled your clit. another orgasm built fast, coiling tight, and when it hit you squirted, messy, overwhelming, soaking his hand and the sheets. he growled in approval, licking his fingers clean with deliberate slowness, eyes never leaving yours.
âneed you,â you whimpered, tugging at his clothes.
he stripped in a blur, shirt gone, pants shoved down, cock springing free. huge, flushed, veined, bigger than you remembered from stolen glances,
intimidating in the best way. he fisted himself once, smearing the bead of precum, before lining up.
âgonna fill you up,â he promised, voice dark. âgonna breed this pretty cunt so everyone knows youâre mine.â
he pushed in slow. inch by thick inch, stretching you open around him. the size difference burned so good, your walls fluttering as he bottomed out with a groan.
âso tight,â he hissed, pulling your hair to arch your neck. âtaking me so perfectly. like you were made for my cock.â
he set a brutal pace, hips snapping with inhuman speed and strength, bed creaking under the force. each thrust punched the air from your lungs, hitting so deep you saw stars. his hand returned to your throat, squeezing lightly in time with his thrusts, making your head spin in a good way, pleasure sharpening to a knifeâs edge.
you came again, clenching around him, and he snarled, pace faltering.
âfuckâgonna come inside youââ
âdo it,â you gasped. âfill me upâpleaseââ
he slammed deep one last time, cock pulsing as he came. hot, thick ropes painting your walls, his cum spilling out around him. the sensation triggered another orgasm in you, weaker but shattering, body shaking as he held you through it.
he didnât pull out. Instead, he flipped you over. still inside, pinning you face-down with a hand between your shoulder blades, his supernatural strength keeping you immobile as he started moving again. slow, deep grinds that had you whimpering into the pillow.
âone more,â he murmured against your ear, fangs grazing your shoulder. âwant you to come on my cock again while iâm still leaking out of you.â
you were oversensitive, sobbing, but he didnât stop, thumb finding your clit, circling relentlessly until you shattered a final time, vision whiting out.
only then did he ease off, pulling out gently and gathering you into his arms. cool lips pressed to every mark heâd left, soft praises whispered against your skin.
âyou were perfect,â he breathed, voice soft again, almost shy. âso good for me. my sweet girl.â you curled into him, boneless and sated, blood and cum and sweat mingling between you.
and you wouldnât mind fucking a vampire a second time.
reblogs appreciated ⢠comments fuel me <3
