So in the source material I pull my vampire lore from (the Interview with the Vampire show on AMC/Anne Rice’s The Vampire Chronicles), vampires eyes are different colors after they are turned! (I think in the books it’s mentioned that they’re specifically supposed to be gemstone colors, but don’t quote me on that since I can’t find the quote right now). Some characters have subtle shifts (regular human blue to a more supernatural, almost electric blue) while some have major shifts (dark brown to bright orange, one character goes from brown to what looks like pink to me)
For Tim specifically: there’s not a “deep” reason why I chose green beyond the fact that I just think Tim is very green coded (source, I made it the fuck up). I personally think his eyes were brown pre-transformation, because I’m in the anti-Blue Eyes bats club. Some other characters have specific reasoning behind their eye colors even if I haven’t mentioned any of them yet (Bart’s are yellow-orange because in comic-canon the speedforce is orange, and all of the speedsters are very warm colors to me)
Omg I just read ur vamp tim fic and I’m frothing at the mouth I’ve been SCOURING the internet for vampire Tim bc he lives rent free in my head finding an itwv inspired one is like an actual blessing
I CANT WAIT for the next chapter, also the whole memory plot point is so intresting maybe the reader knew him in the past?
Thank you anon! Next chapter has been posted! I'm gonna be real with ya'll, I got REALLY into Mario again right after I said I was gonna post on Monday. That's what I get for giving myself a due date.
Also the memory plot point is part of what I love about the dynamic I'm basing this series off of so I'm glad you guys are enjoying it. I love the little bit of mystery in my monster romance.
"Are you killing me finally?" He grew drowsy, on fire, filled with love. "Do it, yes."
Tim Drake x Reader, Interview with the Vampire/Devil's Minion inspired AU. Vampire!Tim Drake x Human!Journalist!Reader
MDNI, this fic is not explicit, but the overall series will be.
Warnings: Pre-Relationship, Stalking, Unhealthy Dynamics, Reader does hook up with someone else but it is only very vaguely described, breaking and entering, Minor Monster fucking (as much as vampires are monsters), Mind reading, Reader is Gender Neutral. Implications of a Sugar Daddy dynamic, minor mentions of blood, mentioned minor character death/murder.
AO3 Link Here. This is a direct sequel to my work, The Hunt Begins, and both are a prequel to my other fic, Beloved
-
It’s been a month since you’ve last seen the vampire who's been keeping you company. Tim’s schedule is inconsistent, but this is the longest you’ve gone without seeing him since you started actually getting along. Usually he’s only gone for a few days at a time - never any more than five. You don’t always speak, but he will lurk a couple steps behind you at least. After six months together, you’re beginning to think he’s gotten bored of you. You should be elated to be rid of your vampiric stalker. You aren’t.
Unfortunately, you can’t stop to wallow, you still have work to do. You go out, find the interesting stories in the world, sell what you write. Every time dusk comes around you expect for him to appear, and he doesn’t. So you continue on with your life. You end up in a bar after a particularly long interview, trying to relax your stressed nerves. Someone buys you a drink. He’s not bad looking, and he’s good at maintaining conversation. But he’s not Tim.
But Tim’s left you. Who knows if he’s ever going to return?
It’s also been longer than you care to admit since you’ve gotten laid.
So you go home with him. You’ve already decided you’ll be out as soon as the deed is done, but why not have fun while it’s happening?
And it’s okay. The stranger has set a steady rhythm behind you, but your mind still wanders - always working a mile a minute to find out everything about everyone around you. You happen to glance at the window and realize his blinds are open.
Radiant green eyes stare back at you, glowing brightly in the dark. The realization forces a gasp out of you and a jolt of arousal down your spine. Tim is standing on the fire escape of the building next door, staring at you with hunger in his eyes. Part of your brain thinks you should probably stop this, tell your companion. Instead you shove your hand between your thighs and bring yourself off in a few quick touches of your hand. When your vision clears, you expect for Tim to be gone, a trick of your own mind, but he’s still standing on the fire escape of the adjacent building, now smirking. At this point you’ve completely drowned out what your… companion is doing, locked in a hypnotizing stare with your monster. Rise, his voice purrs in your head. It’s only then that you realize that the man you had gone home with had finished and vanished off to… somewhere. You rush to get off the bed and get dressed, only to be interrupted by… (Harlan? Halen? Hal? You can’t remember). “Oh, are you leaving already?” It’s hard to tell if he’s disappointed or relieved. Or you just don’t care.
“Uh, yeah, I have an early morning. Sorry.” You hunt for your shirt without looking up, pulling it on as you slide your feet back into your shoes, “I had fun, thanks for that.”
He steps in front of you, blocking your way long enough to hand you a scrap of paper - probably with his number on it. You cram it in your pocket without thinking, then you’re out the door before he can say anything else.
Tim doesn’t join you at any point on your journey home, though you can feel his presence lurking on the edges of your mind. You stay up waiting for him until you physically can’t anymore.
-
You awaken early the next afternoon, on your couch, still in the clothes you were wearing when you left your apartment the day before. Nothing of note has changed when you do a quick scan of your apartment before you shower.
It isn’t until you re-enter your bedroom that you spot two scraps of paper on your nightstand. One has been neatly ripped in half, directly through the center of the guy from last night’s number. The other is a sticky note from the pad on your desk, with “TD” initialed neatly in the center.
You ignore the way your heart flutters in your chest.
-
You only go out for a few hours that day, too wired from the tease of your immortal companion returning to do anything productive with time. The sun goes down and you wander the city like a ghost waiting for a taste of his presence, but none comes. Dejected, you return to your apartment. You’re two steps into the door when you notice the trail of gift boxes. One rests on the table in your entryway, one on the edge of your kitchen counter. On your bookshelf, atop your dryer, the floor right in front of your bedroom door, and one last one on your bed. They increase in size as you go. Carefully, you begin unwrapping them as you perch on the end of your bed. A basic silver chain, a press pass for your favorite band’s first show in a month, a bottle of your good (expensive) perfume, a new bag for when you’re out interviewing people, and a brand new laptop. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who left these. If you were a sane person the idea that he can break into your apartment at your moment's notice would scare you.
Instead it sends a bolt of arousal through you.
You’re still not entirely sure how the whole “vampiric telepathy” works - but you decide to try something out anyway. After a minute of focusing only on thoughts of Tim, you think Thank you for the gifts. The silence that follows kills your excitement. You know it’s not limited by distance (he once started speaking to you while you were in the middle of nowhere America and he was - or at least claimed to be - in Dubai). Maybe it’s one way limited?
This does only work one way, Tim’s voice in your head supplies, though if you think hard enough it makes the thought louder for us to hear.
A smirk breaks across your face, aw, were you keeping an ear out for me?
A moment of silence - you have particularly loud and annoying thoughts.
Something is making you act up, maybe it’s the thrill of his return or maybe it’s the hurt you’ve been feeling about your abandonment. No, you counter, I think you like me or something. Why else would you get me a, your search of the laptop sitting in front of you finally loads, thirteen hundred dollar laptop? You try to play it cool, keeping the shock out of your… voice? Thoughts? Who needs a laptop this expensive? Why do they make laptops this expensive?
You can hear Tim’s laugh in your head, this is mind reading, dear, I heard all of that.
Whatever, I give up on trying to look cool. Thank you again for the gifts, but I have to go to bed, I have an early morning tomorrow.
What is so important that it interrupts our time together? He sounds petulant, rejected. You hear him huff at just the mere passing of those words.
My boss is paying me to go to Pompeii to follow some leads, early flight. Another huff from the terrifying predator of the night. Goodnight Tim.
A few moments of silence, then, Goodnight.
-
It all comes to a head one night soon after, walking the ruins of Pompeii - places you probably aren’t supposed to be this late, unsupervised. There’s not a security guard or another person in sight though, late enough in the night that the last of the crowds from the evening tours have left. Something tugs at your brain, bringing you down a series of complicated paths you probably won’t be able to retrace. It calls you into the ruins of one of the houses. For a moment, you’re standing alone in the dark, then in the next, Tim has emerged to stand in front of you. He slips an arm around your waist, kisses your cheek, and whispers, “would you like to come inside?” He’s warm with the blood of a fresh kill. The pair of you enter the house, the low ceilings and his arm around your waist giving an air of intimacy.
That’s when it hits you. He’s not going to kill you. He won’t make you like him, but he isn’t going to kill you. Your game won’t end like that. He-
“Of course I love you,” Tim turns to you so you're pressed together, chest to chest. His arm doesn’t leave your waist. “How could you not know? If I didn’t love you, I would have killed you months ago.”
There’s a hesitation, just for a moment, as you process this realization. A many centuries old monster, a predator who sustains himself on killing people like you, has fallen for you. You should be terrified of this. And yet, you find you’ve fallen for him in return, in all of his forms. More monster than man, more man than monster, it doesn’t matter.
A soft, restrained smile graces Tim’s face as he looks into your eyes. He bends, slowly, and presses his lips to your neck, right over the mysterious scar. Sharp teeth pierce your neck, bringing a sudden pain and a burning warmth that flows through your body. You prepare yourself for a swoon that never comes, as Tim pulls away just as quickly as he bites down. He probably took less blood than your last cooking mishap did. His arms leave your waist, fiddling with something behind you. He brings one of his wrists up to his mouth and bites down. When he turns it toward you, “drink beloved.” So you do.
The first touch of vampiric blood to your shocks through your entire nervous system. It’s like your body is getting electrified in ways that would kill a normal human. All at once, the quiet ruins seem to be filled with whispers, as if the ghosts who haunt this place have risen to see your exchange. It cuts off soon after, the bite on Tim’s wrist healing like nothing was ever there at all. There’s blood all over your chin and neck that Tim quickly dives in to clean up. You don’t know what of it is his blood and what of it is yours. He traces a line from your collar bones up to your lips. Finally, finally bringing you into a kiss. “You’re now mine,” he whispers as he pulls away.
HEYY this was the last anon and omg im loving every installment into this series
I am salivating as we speak waiting for the next part (take all the time u want tho!! It’s ur fic)
Awww thank you anon! glad you enjoyed it. Hoping to have the next part out on (or before) Monday. I have so many ideas it's just a matter of getting them out on paper.
"I want to follow you, watch you, see where you go."
Tim Drake x Reader, Interview with the Vampire inspired AU. Vampire!Tim Drake x Human!Journalist!Reader
MDNI, this fic is not explicit, but the overall series will be.
Warnings: Pre-Relationship, Stalking, Unhealthy Dynamics, Minor Psychological Torture, Memory Loss, Mind Games Galore, Minor Monster Fucking (as much as vampires are monsters), Mind Reading. Reader is Gender Neutral. If you've ever seen anything about the ship the Devil's Minion, then this is highly inspired by that.
AO3 Link here. This is a pre-relationship prequel to my other fic which can be found here: Beloved.
To say that most of your life up to this moment was a blur would be an understatement. It’s sufficient to say that you have not exactly been the kindest to your brain. The gaps are filled in by the hurried scrawling in your notebooks and the long voice notes on your phone. You’re an investigative journalist on paper, mostly following interesting people in interesting cities to learn about their interesting lives and turn them into consumable stories you sell to make a buck. It’s not much, but it's honest work. A professional wanderer.
The biggest, and most recent blur, happened six months ago. A night in San Francisco with a ball of energy of a man who insisted he was a vampire that you don’t remember the end of, only waking up nearly six days later in a sketchy apartment with a nasty scar on your neck. The apartment is empty, excluding yourself and the backpack you brought with you, not even a piece of furniture in sight. It isn’t until you get some concerned looks stumbling down the street that you realize the entire left side of your shirt is covered in dried blood.
That would go with the scar that still aches tenderly on your neck.
You spent the next four days in your motel room transcribing the recordings, making sense of your notes, trying to form something that would make enough sense to send to your editor. Mostly, you try to brush off what the man had talked about - he was just one of the many alternative folks you ran into in seedy bars. Nothing special about him at all. He was making it all up. He wouldn’t be the first.
But your journalistic brain doesn’t let you brush it off. Though you don’t actually remember most of the night, something shouts at the back of your head that it was the most important night of your life. It’s like your brain doesn’t want to remember, but also doesn’t want to forget.
The book does well - at least according to the first royalty check that hits your bank account. You have other things to worry about. An old abandoned town house in Louisiana looms in front of you. It’s deceptively run down, but exactly as your subject had described. You’re just starting to creep around looking for a way in when a voice interrupts you in the dark - “now, do you think this is a good idea?”
A pale man with dark hair stands in front of you. The most shocking part are his eyes, a vibrant green in a way that almost glows, like a predator’s eyes in the dark. A name comes out before you even process it, “you must be Tim. You know, Bart didn’t talk that much about you.” (In the back of your mind, you question what kind of vampire name is Tim? Then you question how you know his name in the first place.)
Your callousness throws him off of his game for a whole fraction of a second, an eyebrow twitch is your only warning before you are pinned to dirty bricks of the building next to you. The hand around your throat is freezing cold, and the man- no the monster - no Tim holds you suspended like your weight is nothing to him. “It would be smart of you to not speak so brashly.” His hand tightens before you can respond, “I am more powerful than you even know.”
“Hot,” curse your stupid brain that speaks before it thinks. You’re totally going to die because you’re thirsting over a vampire.
Instead of - justifiably - sinking his fangs into your neck and putting you out of your misery, he recoils and lets you go. “I’m letting you leave,” Tim rubs his hands on the legs of his pants, like he’s trying to wipe your germs off of them, “I want to find out what makes you so fascinating. I can’t do that if you’re dead.”
That word makes you stutter to a stop. Fascinating. Why does that matter to you so much? “What?”
“I’m going to follow you,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’ve hardly interacted with humans the last few decades. You will be my teacher on what it means to be alive nowadays.”
“And if I don’t want to teach you?”
“Then I’ll kill you.” Yikes. “I might kill you anyway, or maybe you’ll bore me so much I’ll forget to kill you at all. Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll lose track of you. You do have one advantage over me - being able to move during the day.” He grins at you sadistically, fangs poking out from beneath his lips, “Let’s see if you are as fascinating as they say.” Tim gestures to the opening of the alley, “Go now. Start running, I want to see what you do.”
Who the fuck is “they” in this situation? Your mind screams, but you don’t care enough to find out. You turn tail and run out of the small alleyway, brushing shoulders with a monster. Already forming a plan, you get back to your cheap motel room and start throwing your things in your bags. Only fate knows where you’ll go, but before noon tomorrow you’ll be out of Louisiana - maybe even out of the country. Something nags at your brain and discourages you from thinking too hard about your plan, at least now while nighttime stars still shine overhead. A sinking feeling comes over you that this creature that you’ve (Angered? Intrigued?) is even more powerful than you ever could have encountered before.
-
On an early flight to… somewhere… the next morning, you frantically dig over everything from your interview with Bart. Notes, voice recordings, scrambled memories. Barely any mention of Tim, and certainly no description of what he looks like. Multiple in depth descriptions of his maker, his fledgling, their home in Louisiana, the years they spent together, not even a paragraph's worth of mentions of a Tim. Not enough content for you to have even included in the book. Now that you’re reflecting on it, you really don’t remember much of the end of Bart’s story. You’re able to piece together that they met in Paris, and Tim was a part of (maybe led?) the Théâtre des Vampires. Your notes end there.
When you land, you continue your research, though there isn’t much of anything at all. Turns out a random theater in Paris isn’t well archived in publicly available spaces - especially one that was burnt down in the late 1940s and never reestablished. Unfortunately, you can’t afford to dedicate your life to researching one man, who may or may not have just threatened you to get you to back off of a lead. It would take you months at least, especially with a basic name like Tim. So you continue on with your life.
Naively, you assume that he was just fucking with you; what could a who-knows-how-old vampire possibly learn from some shitty human? Probably scaring off the human from finding something he doesn’t want you to see.
And then you see him.
And then you see him.
And then you see him.
The first few times are just glimpses out of the corner of your eye. Nothing you could solidly label as him. Entering a coffee shop right as you leave, lurking in the corners of a dusty bookshop, passing by you in a crowd. These were all mere days apart, in cities you pick from a random wheel generator, some way too close to sunrise or sundown for him to realistically be there. Basic vampire lore tells you that he should be in his coffin at that time. Last time you encountered him was in a dark alley, of course every face in your peripherals is going to kind of look like him. Every other justification you can give yourself for the fact that that is not him.
Then, in bumper to bumper traffic in New York City, the door to your taxi opens, and he sits in the seat next to you like there’s nothing strange about it. Tim doesn’t say anything, he just stares. Stares in silence. The taxi driver doesn’t react to him at all - just mutters under his breath about traffic and other New Yorker things. The silence stretches on for agonizing minutes, until finally you have enough. Luckily for you, your door appears to be unlocked when you try it, and you flee into the night at the next stoplight. Vaguely you hear the driver yelling at you outside of his window, but you ignore it, getting away from Danger is more important than whatever social contracts you broke.
Tim keeps up these silent interactions for at least a month, until one day you wake in a cold sweat to him literally standing over you. “Get up,” is all he says, then he jumps down from your bed with no disregard for your downstairs neighbors. Your brain isn’t even fully processing what’s happening when he continues, “we’re going on a walk. You’re going to show me why you chose this place.”
“What the fuck?” You may be a reporter, but fresh out of a deep sleep is not the time for you to be eloquent. It takes one flash of fangs to get you up and out of bed. Guess your night isn’t over after all.
-
It’s like a dam breaks. Tim makes himself known every night - sometimes speaking, sometimes following behind like a silent predator - but you’re always able to spot him quickly. You wander into a diner after a late night interview only to find him already sitting at a table. It’s like a moth to a flame, the light of his eyes drawing you into his orbit. “Did you know that your book was already in stores?” Not waiting on anything, then. “I was impressed with the sales, though your choice to write under a pen name intrigues me. Do you not want the notoriety? Are you modest or a coward?” The breaking point is a plate of food is set down in front of you, unfortunately exactly what you would probably order from a place like this.
You ignore his question to retort with your own, “how did you know what to order me?”
Tim stares at you like you’re stupid, “I’ve been following you for many months now. I know things about you.”
It’s like a dam breaks. There’s something about the audacity that really gets you, “are you trying to drive me crazy? No one believes that stupid book is real anyway. You don’t have to do all of this.” Then your brain catches up with what he actually said. “Wait many months? We only met three months ago.”
He rolls his eyes with an affectionate smile, “if you think I showed myself to you immediately then maybe you aren’t as smart as I think you are.”
That… makes sense but doesn’t piss you off any less. “You’re fucking insane. What is the point of all of this?” The food in front of you smells really good and it really isn’t helping you stay mad.
“Eat, you can’t argue if you’re not well fed,” he leans back in his seat, and that’s when you notice how out of place he looks in this place. That suit almost certainly costs more than the rent in your dusty hotel room. “It does. Speaking of which,” he sets a small envelope down and slides it across the table to you, “there’s a better hotel room rented for you. Address is written on a note inside.”
A piece of your interview with Bart from all those months ago comes to mind, “vampires can read minds.”
His laugh is musical. It’s adorable.
You’re supposed to be pissed off right now.
“Yes,” he smiles at you - noticeably lacking fangs, “we can. Glad to see you can remember things.” There’s a slight edge to his voice that you don’t understand, but it really isn’t as important right now. “Anyway, back to your book.” This sparks the argument all over again, continuing on and on until he leads you back to the fancy hotel way out of your price range and deposits you in front of your new room. You open your mouth to protest - your bags are in your old room, you kind of need your stuff. Before you can get a word out, the door swings open and reveals your bags sitting on the bed.
This is so fucked up.
You step into the room anyway. The door shuts behind you.
You’re alone for the first time that night, but something itches in your brain; with him being able to read minds, are you ever really alone?
7 years of friendship down the drain bc they plagiarized my fic. im breaking our lease before you get home. hope you told pidgini goodbye this morning you TRAITOR
7 years of friendship down the drain bc they plagiarized my fic. im breaking our lease before you get home. hope you told pidgini goodbye this morning you TRAITOR
Full offense but your writing style is for you and nobody else. Use the words you want to use; play with language, experiment, use said, use adverbs, use “unrealistic” writing patterns, slap words you don’t even know are words on the page. Language is a sandbox and you, as the author, are at liberty to shape it however you wish. Build castles. Build a hovel. Build a mountain on a mountain or make a tiny cottage on a hill. Whatever it is you want to do. Write.
Tim Drake x Reader, Interview with the Vampire inspired AU. Vampire!Tim Drake x Human!Journalist!Reader
MDNI 18+. Explicit Content
AO3 Link Here
Warnings: This fic is very much freak4freak. Possessiveness, jealousy. Mentions of unhealthy dynamics. Vague Mentions of stalking. References to drug use. kind of a sugar daddy relationship? Monster fucking (as much as vampires are monsters). Oral Sex. Reader is gender neutral in this one. Basically if you've ever read a devil's minion fic it's inspired by that ship. i don't go too much into the lore of vampire powers but maybe in another fic.
You awake to the feeling of being watched. Months ago, this would have startled you, sent you into a fight or flight tailspin that had you fleeing the country - if not the continent - in which you were currently residing. Months ago, a chase had begun, though at this point you are unsure of who's chasing who. Nowadays, the eyes in the corner are a comforting presence. “Hey boss…” you tease with a voice drenched in sleep. The weight at the end of the bed is cold when you brush against it, but you don’t flinch away. It’s not the first time something freezing has crawled into your bed. Instead you just turn your head, “you haven’t fed yet.”
“I’ll feed later, beloved,” Tim says as he fully settles above you, “I wanted to see you first.” He presses a kiss to your face, then another, then another. You settle into a relaxing, lazy wake up… until he firmly wraps his arms around you and hauls you out of bed.
Shrieking fills the room as you leave the warmth of your blankets into the cold night air, “Tim this is so fucked up!” You cling to him, but that just makes the cold worse. He just hums at you, like an asshole, before setting you on your feet in your bathroom. It’s only when you’re standing directly in front of it that you’re aware of the shower running, filling the room with steam.
“Just because I said I wanted to see you first doesn’t mean we aren’t still going out.” He strips you of your sleep clothes, tossing them in the direction of the hamper and letting telekinesis do the rest of the work. The only care is to your necklace, which he removes delicately and sets in the dish on the counter. It’s easy to let Tim do the work, herding you into the shower, washing your hair. You bask in the warmth and in the claws scratching in your hair as he works the shampoo in. The water is hot enough that it warms even him - just for the moment - as he bathes you. “Don’t fall back asleep,” Tim pulls your head back from his shoulder to rinse the shampoo out, “this is going to be worse for you if you fall back asleep.” You huff at him, but follow his advice. Shaking off sleep is much easier when you’re no longer hiding in his neck. The rest of the shower is silent, as is Tim coaxing you out from the warmth and into a chair to do your hair. “I have an outfit picked out for you already, it’s in the closet.”
You leave Tim to get ready, dutifully dressing in the clothes he has set out for you. The tags have been cut out after a very memorable incident when you realized one of the shirts Tim bought for you was $150. It’s a point of contention in your relationship - on one hand being spoiled is nice, on the other hand it’s a complete mindfuck to be covered in expensive gifts all of the time when just under a year ago you were traveling around with only the clothes on your back and what you could hold. “Are you ready?” You stick your head back in the bathroom and see Tim compulsively touching up his hair.
“All good,” he scoops up your necklace from the dish on the counter as he walks over to you. It’s carefully clasped around your neck, then he takes a minute to fidget with the small details of how you look. At this point you let him do as he pleases - whatever he sees with his ancient eyes is beyond you. When he’s satisfied, he tugs the vial of his blood that hangs around your neck to pull you in to kiss. The heat from the showers worn off already, leaving him unnaturally cold again.
Your lips separate with a wet smack. Tilting your head back in invitation, you ask Tim “You want a snack before we go out?”
A harsh tug to your necklace, “calm down, you’ll get what you want later.” Tim uses his grip on the chain to tug you out of the bathroom - “come on now, I’m hungry and there’s a new band playing downtown.”
-
It’s easy to get a VIP table at any club when you own the island they operate on. You’re pretty sure all of them only have VIP tables in case you and Tim show up. He herds you into the booth, risen above the rest of the crowd with a full view of the stage on the back wall. Tim’s picked out one of the more lavish clubs on Night Island, one of the ones with intricate flooring and well maintained booths. You haven’t heard of the band that’s playing tonight, and frankly you doubt that Tim has either. “You will be my teacher,” he had whispered to you in the quiet dark one night early in your relationship, “teach me about what people do in this modern era.”
He’s an ancient vampire freak.
He’s your ancient vampire freak.
A wave of contentment hits you that is distinctly not your own. “Did you mean to send that to me?” You think extra hard in his direction.
An eye roll, a pinch to your thigh “maybe I wanted you to know how happy I am, beloved. Don’t be a brat.” Tim’s voice echoes in your head. The crowd below roars to life as the lights dim and the opening band takes the stage. He settles his hand on your upper thigh, mindlessly tracing shapes into your skin. At least you think they’re mindless - who really knows with Tim. It’s probably just to rile you up. The opening band is okay, but you’re distracted the entire time. “It's rude to not pay attention,” Tim whispers to you with a harsh squeeze, “people paid good money to come to this show.”
“Well it’s not like you paid anything,” you snark back, despite knowing that you’re definitely walking headfirst into a nasty punishment. When you turn to look at him, Tim has a far off look in his, a usual sign that he's connected to that weird vampire super network he’s mentioned before but never explains.
“I’ll be back in a moment, beloved,” a kiss to your cheek and then he’s gone. You shrug and turn back to the show happening below - you don’t feel like starting that particular fight right now. It’s too good of a night. The rest of the opening set passes by with no reappearance from Tim. The overhead lights come back on
Someone taps you on your shoulder and reflexively you jump. “Sorry,” a man says, “I was wondering if you needed anything to drink.”
“Uh, a cosmo, I guess,” usually Tim orders your drinks, since you are horrifically indecisive. He also has a running spreadsheet of every drink you like from every bar on the entire island, and which drinks he prefers tasting on your blood after. The perks of dating someone who over analyzes everything. The man nods and walks away without further conversation and you finally relax. It’s only a few moments later when weight settles next to you again, paired with the clink of a glass hitting your table. You turn, expecting Tim, and instead it is the man from before - “hello?”
“Well you looked a little lonely sitting over here all by yourself so I thought I would keep our VIP company…” his voice trails off. It’s probably because you have the most confused face on the planet. The audacity is shocking. He tries to course correct when suddenly his whole body goes rigid. When he rises from the booth, it’s less like he stands and more like he’s dragged away from you. When you look around to see if anyone notices, you realize that the entire room has frozen. Instinctually, you try to get up to follow him, but it’s like your feet are rooted to the ground.
Panic starts to scratch its way through you. There are very few vampires who are capable of this level of feat and you don’t want to particularly encounter any of them-
Then Tim rounds the corner. Oh. Right. He can do that. He snatches up a handful of napkins off of a table as he walks towards you, carefully dabbing at his mouth. Fresh blood flows through his veins, bringing a flush to his face. When his hands cup your face, he’s borderline feverish. Your back hits the wall as he hurries into your space. The kiss is hungry. He’s trying to eat you alive. He’s trying to mark his territory. You moan into him, and all at once your body is free to move again. Your hands come up to claw at his blazer as you kiss back.
Suddenly your head swims. You need to breathe air. Sometimes you think Tim forgets. One of your hands lets go of his jacket to slap him hard on the back. When he pulls back, you can tell that pissed him off, but then you gasp for air and he relaxes. “Sorry beloved.” He’s not that sorry. His hands move from your face to your hair, pulling your head back but preventing you from concussing yourself on the wall behind you. Tim trails his lips down your face, absolutely covering your neck. The closer he gets to your pulse, the more you whine. “Do you want something?” the cocky son-of-a-bitch taunts.
“C’mon boss. You can literally read my mind,” he huffs a breath against your neck but doesn’t deny it. For a second, there’s just the tease of fangs against your neck, then the world shifts and you're dragged forward into Tim’s lap. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him. A moment of disorientation, then sharp pain courses through you. Perfect, beautifully sharp pain. You’re glad that Tim’s frozen the room around you, there’s no way you could have kept quiet with his fangs in your neck. The swoon hits and you grind down into his lap, feeling him straining beneath you. He’s practically snarling as he drinks from you in deep gulps. “Tim…” you whine.
Next thing you know metal creaks behind you, then there’s a loud crash. Tim pulls away from your neck with one last drink, “down, now.” You blink at him in confusion - the blood loss really doesn’t help with your ability to keep up, but you normally wouldn’t have it any other way. Carefully, you move back, instinctually trying not to hit your head on the table as you crawl to the floor.
The table that is no longer behind you. It’s been ripped up, bolts and all, and thrown into the walkway next to you. That really shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Tim tears at his belt with such a ferocity that you think he might have actually just ripped the belt loops off of his bants. You drop back onto the floor with little care for your knees. Your hands rise up to help him pull his dick out when your body freezes again. “Relax,” he whispers as he strokes himself, “you just need to sit there and be pretty. Let me do the work.”
“Okay,” you smile up as he threads a hand into your hair. Without even thinking about it, your mouth drops open obediently and he drags you forward. The tip of Tim’s cock slides into your mouth, shallowly at first, but slowly pushing deeper and deeper. He moans as he works your head up and down, loud and unashamed of his pleasure.
“Beautiful thing,” he coos at you, “look at you.” His hand that isn’t in your hair slides down your neck, stopping briefly to press at the bite mark on your neck that is still slowly leaking blood, before tugging on the chain of your necklace. “All mine, aren’t you?”
You can only hum around the intrusion in your mouth. Tim’s hips buck up at the stimulation, pushing himself further in your throats. Tears well up in your eyes as his nails dig into your skull, sending sweet pleasure-pain coursing through your veins; he’s losing some of that carefully maintained control as you get him off. He only lets be smug about it for a few moments. One of his legs inches forward until it presses between your thighs - suddenly drawing your attention to how turned on you are. Without any control, you rut your hips into the press of his calf. “I know beloved,” he soothes as you whine. “You just can’t help it, can you? You love being mine. You may throw your little tantrums and go running off but you always come crawling back to me.” Maybe it’s your garbled response, or your running thoughts, but Tim thrusts once, twice more and cums into your throat. He tugs you back and off of him by your hair.
The two of you pant in the quiet of the still frozen room for a moment when how turned on you are wins out over your common sense. Your hands reach up to grasp his pants wantonly as you grind into his leg. Above you, he tsks in disapproval - you rise to your feet like a puppet. “None of that now, you can wait until we get home.”
“Oh come on! Just one-”
Before you can protest too much, Tim rips into his wrist and presses it to your mouth. “Don’t whine, drink up and then we’ll go.” Color explodes on your tongue, and you clamber to drink it like it is the sweetest nectar. It’s just the briefest drink, enough to tease. The wound closes too soon, then Tim is tugging you up and out of the club.
The world springs back to life as you exit. For a brief moment, the bouncer at the door looks startled at your sudden appearance, but he seems to brush it off quickly enough. The people on Night Island don’t get paid to ask questions about the mysterious owners. Tim’s hand stays on your lower back as you walk back to your car, only leaving when he opens the car door for you to climb inside. He settles into the driver’s seat with a practiced coolness, like he didn’t just get his dick sucked in a nightclub after killing a man. One of his hands - now warmed with the recent meal - intertwines itself with yours, “let’s get home now, beloved.”
