HOW DO THEY FEED OFF YOU? (VAMPIRE AU)
꒰warnings꒱ blood, feeding/biting, a little dark/macabre
⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . living in a gothic era of teyvat, your loved one is a vampire. how does char. feed off of you when they get a thirst for sanguine hunger?
⠀꒲ ` characters . . . vampire! diluc, rosaria, childe, xiao, kazuha, yae miko, wanderer, lauma, arlecchino, flins, rerir
⠀꒲ ` notes . . . so a fun fact about me, i’ve got this condition called vasovagal syncope, where my body's autonomic nervous system overreacts to a trigger, causing a drop in blood pressure and sometimes heart rate. my main trigger, since i was like 9, was anything to do with blood and the internal workings of the body (i once passed out in front of an assembly hall because we were talking about how drugs are injected lol); so writing this was genuinely hellish and dizzying, but i pulled through!!
shadows rule where light only delicately overtakes. passing breezes carry whispers and whistles from people one cannot see, dirtied corpses litter streets below the normal hustle of townsfolk. you called it home all the same.
in the land of teyvat, you’d have a harder time finding a normal and simplistic human than a vampire—which, over the chaotic years, had led to a couple of laws and instructions being written in place.
some were same old; must ask for permission before entering a home, stakes lead to death, silver and garlic were basically dairy for the lactose intolerant and anything with numbers was peak entertainment. on the more primitive side, arising from this crimson appetite was several hidden donation hubs with a little less than willing participants, brothels with people begging for a nip, and taverns serving a recent batch from donors. all sharing their own problems and exploitations, of course.
luckily, [char] has no need to bribe a local human or blood bank to sink their canines in for a snack. after all—they had you, didn’t they?
FAVOURITE PLACE TO BITE? ( ´ཀ` ).
polite as ever, his favourite place is the neck. simple, but intimate enough where you understand just how delicate and valuable you are to him. the fragrant scent of your woody perfume during the nights where he’s heaving and flushed as his teeth rub over your pulse? that’s just a small bonus.
diluc’s shaky breath oozes puffs of clouds, every step is nightmarishly heavy and sunken to the dirt. his boots practically leave full indents when they pass by a flat trail. nonetheless, he steadies his quivering hand and slumped pace soon as he unlocks the door to your shared abode.
“love? where are you?” he panted, blurry eyes finally drawing on the figure he was praying to see all day. his hand faltered where it would normally encase around your hip to pull you close. “please…may i feed off you tonight?"
he didn’t reply. couldn’t, rather.
instead, he slid his large hands beneath your knees to help prop you up on his desk. politely spreading your legs farther apart to slide between, chest-to-chest. muttering apologies into the side of your neck, his tongue and teeth worked in tandem to find the perfect spot for his feast.
the thrum of your heartbeat pulsating through each gasp and shudder made his lower gut boil. his arms steadied around your waist soon as you begun to limp in his hold, the blood dripping from your exposed wound making you dizzy. occasionally, when overeager, his nose bumps into your jaw when moving his mouth to breathe, only for him to regain momentum and draw his glistening lips back in with a throaty growl.
diluc never takes more than necessary, and without hesitation he moves back when you whine.
“sorry, my dear—everything all right?” he mutters, just a bit drowsy from being blood-drunk. you nod and he smiles, already pressing a kiss to your lips in gratitude.
FAVOURITE PLACE TO BITE? ( ´ཀ` ).
she loves your neck not for the intimacy, but just out of pure convenience. she needs a quick boost before a prayer? it only takes a second to find a vein. tired after a long day? she can just drop on top of you and start nipping at your sensitive flesh. unfortunately (for you), you’ve basically become her easy to access blood bank.
rosaria had been staring at you for hours now. you had somehow managed to convince her to finally stay around for some afternoon church duties, and while barbara looked more than pleased, she was one distracted glance from finding rosaria running off to dragonspine.
she was going to get you back for this.
brushing off the words from a kneeling believer, her silver heels clinking on the marble steps echoed an eerie melody within the hollow quiet. familiar dread crept up your spine, cold and acid beginning to overwhelm your senses.
but for some odd reason, it didn’t abhor you. no, in fact you welcomed it in. your heart fluttered as you fidgeted with your sweaty hands.
“[name].” her low voice crooned in your ear, a curled finger sculpted like a blade began tracing beneath your chin. forcing your gaze to meet hers. rosaria bears her teeth shut, trying her best to bite back a curse. “may i feed off of you.”
you’d grin and tease if she wasn’t one unfortunate swipe from cutting open your jugular. “mn, fine. you need a snack after working soooo hard today.” she would ignore the obvious sarcasm in your tone this time only.
the sharp sting lasts a few seconds as her nail drips with a single bead of crimson. rosaria knew just exactly where to get to get you prime for her thirst. shifting her knee between your thighs, she drops her head low. rubbing her teeth along the lacerated edges of flesh before sinking in.
she drains you dry every time. leaves you teetering on the constant edge of “will she won’t she leave me to die tonight”. but you know she wouldn’t have nearly as much fun if she completely let you succumb to her bloodlust. she leaves you gasping with a final suckle and prick of her hand at your jaw before wiping any excess with the edge of a finger.
this was the only altar she’d bother kneeling to.
FAVOURITE PLACE TO BITE? ( ´ཀ` ).
well if ass was an option he’d go for that but he can settle for your thighs. when he brought it up he really tried his best to NOT sound like a complete pervert, but there was no possible way to bring it up other than dropping low and convincing you that he wouldn’t make it weird. granted, he hasn’t. but he does seem to really enjoy nuzzling his head there after feeding…
the harbinger meeting had left him a little winded, and what better than having a perfect snack waiting for him? the fact it was his beloved.
it was just supposed to be a touch up of energy, a small liquid break to fill his stomach before he went off to do some reconnaissance down in fontaine. but he ended up with his orange locks pooling on your leg and the back of your knees atop his shoulders.
the way you gasped when his ungloved hands help drag down your trousers to expose flesh; the way you bite your lip in nervous anticipation; and the way you grasp at his hair to pull him off? it was addicting in a way blood born from violence couldn’t satisfy.
he nosed along the inner edge of your thigh, smelling the sweet nectar of your perfume far longer than needed just to spend more time simply massaging your skin. he finds the actual vein quickly, ensuring to puncture it like a needle for minimal discomfort. a small pinch so you don’t complain about it later.
childe’s breathing shallows in a drowsy rhythm, blood pumps from your thigh and speckles whenever he leans back to purely kiss at your leg. trying his best to calm your clear unrest. he can feel the rapidness in your heartbeat, and he’d comment if he didn’t know how easily you could revoke his favourite treat.
your head rolls back, the thud softened only when childe’s quick thinking has his palm sliding beneath your head.
“kur—sorry.” he chuckled, teeth still wet with blood, “my bad, i’ll take care of you…just let me stay here for a little longer.”
FAVOURITE PLACE TO BITE? ( ´ཀ` ).
xiao doesn’t necessarily have a favourite, as he does his favourite place to simply resort to when he gets too nervous to commit, and that just so happens to be your wrist. neck is way too close and intimate without the hope for him to wriggle out and hide, and anywhere below would make him uncomfortable. your wrist was a perfect neutral; easy to access and even easier to flee from. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to try other places though…
“xiaooo? xiaaoao! where are you?” he heard it. that adorable cooing that passed through the leaves of branches whenever you’d take another step up wangshu inn. he heard it, and he ignored it.
there was quite literally nothing quite so humiliating as vulnerability. yes, he trusted you more than most, and yes on the occasion he’d fallen asleep while you’ve patched his wounds—but this was worse. it was a hunger he long learnt to suppress, that only now had begun to rekindle.
how could he ever admit it to you? to the one person that sees him so clearly? the only one he’d lay down his life for selfishly? he couldn’t bare knowing that for his life you’d need to pay in your pain. cowering in the corner of one of the rooms, the drowsiness from his lightheaded mind made him commit one very vital mistake; not locking the door shut.
you knew the routes he took. the routines he holed himself in when he brooded in gloom, it was only natural you would find him immediately before his senses could catch up. “xiao? oh—there you are, honey. what’s up? you look pale…well, paler than usual. are you unwell?”
the series of questions made him flinch. not because of you, never. but because he felt it again. that hauntingly familiar want making his teeth salivate.
“it’s nothing. i’m just…tired. it’s nothing for you to worry about.” he knew he was letting that old mask slip back in, but it was inevitable.
“it certainly is for me to worry about, we’re partners, aren’t we?” intertwining both your hands in his, fingers slotting perfectly, you could finally feel the cold sweat on his palm. “you know you can tell me what’s wrong, right? i’m here for you.”
he knew. lord, of course he knew. but there was such a disparity between knowing and trusting yourself to not mess it all up anyway. you had taught him better, however. so, with a bite to his inner cheek, he admits: “…i need to feed off of you. only if…only if you permit me.” you stared at him blankly. seriously, that’s what he was so worried over..?
“oh xiao…did you think i was going to say no? of course you can, here—“ you offer your arms, twisting to let him trace the thrumming pulse of life vibrating beneath your soft skin.
he hesitated, like always. an icy flush making the back of his neck bead with sweat as he takes your hand—only to have it snatched away within an instant. “ah, wait!” he backs away, gulping loudly. did he do something wrong? did you regret saying yes?
“can we…try somewhere else tonight?” if he had a heart that still beat he was sure it would’ve dropped out by now. “i know you don’t particularly like it, but i just want to see what it’s like.”
you offered your neck so sweetly, so trustingly and naturally—how could he even think about saying no? especially when he was already another second from fainting. sucking up the courage, he allows you to guide him onto your lap. his left hand politely resting on your shoulder as the other dusts some hair still clinging to the side of your neck—before tenderly letting his canines sink in.
he drank it in hesitantly at first. that tangy richness of your blood familiar yet so different to how it usually feels. now, he was acutely aware of the breathy moans filtering through your lips with every suckle of his lips to your throat. his hand twitched.
maybe, just maybe, he was willing to try it again.
K. KAZUHA — ཐི( ´ཀ` )ཋྀ ˖
FAVOURITE PLACE TO BITE? ( ´ཀ` ).
in general, kazuha doesn’t really mind. what you offer is what he gets, and what he gets he’s content with. he’s very easy to please. but, if he had to choose, it would have to be your thighs. he writes sonnets there practically every night you reconcile after a voyage, it’s natural they’ve become a place of intimacy in every single way. plus it’s just fun to nibble and watch you awkwardly have to cover it up. he’s not laughing! just…bemused.
it’s rare that you and kazuha have a day to yourselves. usually one of you is up and about: a long voyage to a far off nation here, helping locals there, feeling the wind through your fingers as you draw each other in sand, the works. so when the opportunity presented itself for you to be able to spend at least a few quiet nights together; neither could refuse.
a pure darkness blanketed fontaine, stars repeatedly kissing the sky the same way kazuha had kissed your skin a few hours ago before you both ultimately crashed in exhaustion. you guys hadn’t seen each other in too long, it was only natural.
natural, too, was the way kazuha had fully awoken in the middle of the night. arm still wrapped tightly around your waist with your head cozied beneath his chin—purely because an ancient hunger sung to his gut.
rare it is for this hunger to haunt him. wherever he can spare putting you in a dizzying mood, he uses local blood banks and little juice packs to fuel himself throughout the day. but the anticipation of this small vacation had left him completely forgetful. he needed you, terribly.
he hated to wake you, but he would hate even more not being able to wake tomorrow without blacking out on the floor. cupping the side of your cheek in his warm palm, kazuha gently stirred you with a series of quiet kisses across your cheeks and forehead.
“mm…kazuhaaaa? what are you doing?” your slur, speech laced with a mangled tongue.
“i apologise, my love.” he quietly answered, pressing a final kiss to the bridge of your nose. “i fear i need to feed off of you, i thought i could last the night but unfortunately it’s…rather brutal.”
“oh…” you yawn, blinking up at him with a bleary yet warm expression. “you can feed off of me, but i can’t promise i won’t fall asleep halfway.”
“that’s all right, songbird. just relax for me.” and with a soothing voice like that, you didn’t even hesitate to relax your muscles as he hitched one knee over his shoulder to begin suckling and kissing at your inner thigh.
you drawl lazily, a light giggle pushing past a sudden wince as he rubs his fangs over your skin. “hehe, it tickles…” kazuha smiles, letting out a laugh of his own.
“hush, my love. i promise to be quick.” a sharp, icy pain shot through you in an instant. the prickle taking a little longer than usual to dwindle. kazuha waits. waits for a sign that you’re stable and satisfied, before finally suckling it in.
your blood always tastes so much sweeter than the processed boxes of donations. or was that just because he hadn’t tasted you in such a long time? maybe it was both.
the agonising chastity of being separated from your body was both a curse and a blessing. an obvious curse, because kazuha hates being apart from you. hates the fact he relies on cheap imitations rather than the slick slide of his tongue on your flesh. a blessing, because he forgets your taste and gets to experience it all over again.
he savours every swallow of your nectar like the finest wine. the raw red of your blood still somehow so temptingly bright in the darkness. he can’t help but stare. such sweet beauty cradled in twilight, trusting him so intimately with their life.
kazuha chuckled to himself, finally satisfied for more reasons than intended.
FAVOURITE PLACE TO BITE? ( ´ཀ` ).
you’re such a pretty thing that it’s always hard for her to choose, so it really depends on her mood that day. sometimes it’s fun to watch you willingly give up some autonomy to her foxy charms and offer your neck way too naïvely, and other times it’s exceedingly fun to tease you as she settles between your legs to nip and kiss at your inner thigh. always close but never close enough.
she’s not subtle, but also not outright. she will never tell you first that she requires feeding. it’s much better when you pin the clues in the corkboard of your brain and shyly ask her if she needs a taste. what, you think just because you’re in a relationship that the teasing will ever stop? she’s a kitsune, not a saint.
but you’ve been ignoring all her signs lately. when she asked you to fetch her favourite cup from her shelf, your eyes skimmed and then deliberately ignored the raunchy erotica of a vampire biting into her wife’s shoulder. not only that—but you had the audacity to ask her about it. not flaunting your neck to her no, you had the audacity to ask if she wrote it. okay, maybe it was just a misunderstanding on your part. after all, you had that ditzy sort of charm that she found oh so endearing.
but it wasn’t a mistake when you completely refused to question why she was forcing herself to drink that god awful bottled blood she kept chilled for emergencies only. she was going to lose her mind.
walking up the steps to narukami shrine, moonlight washing usually pink petals in a periwinkle blue, yae waits deliberately in the vessels of darkness. allowing the hanging trees to hide the irritant flicker in her fox tails. if she had to beg for you to give in, she’d do it on her terms.
before you could make the final step into the shrine, clawed hands snatch you backwards. you feel the softness of kimono silks, but more importantly, a very harsh and unpleasant glare piercing through the darkness.
“my dear, do you think you’re funny?” she asks, using her sharp nail to drag your head back. “i think it’s more than obvious what you’ve been depriving me of, and yet you still act so coy? cruel.”
“hmm, i dunno what you’re talking about.” you act dumb. biting down on your bottom lip to stifle a laugh.
she guffaws, “hah! and i enjoy cleaning up the spills you leave behind every night, but we both know that’s not true now, is it?” yae’s nose begins to sniff along your shoulder. her keen senses making her tails bristle at the sudden sensation of lightning piercing through her core.
“fine, since you’re soooo desperate,” she raises a brow at your tone, only this time deciding to let it slide purely for the way you pull back your top to expose your neck. “you can have a taste.”
she didn’t need any further confirmation than that, you had starved her long enough.
a pain like biting ice with an exposed nerve coursed through you. yae didn’t gentle her touch like usual. instead, she went in harder. forcing you backwards further with a wrap of her tails around you and her hands digging into your wrists to stop you from squirming. it wasn’t meant to hurt you, just teach you a little lesson.
she drinks greedily. heedless of the muffled gasps coming from your mouth and the glazed look in your eyes. occasionally, she’ll unlatch herself from your throat purely to lather your puncture wounds in her saliva. makes it easier to bite, she says. but you both knew it was purely for her own pleasure.
only when you limp in her embrace does she learn restraint and hold you close, kissing the scar wounding your precious skin with a kittenish grin. “you taste sweeter when you comply, so don’t ignore my pleas again.”
FAVOURITE PLACE TO BITE? ( ´ཀ` ).
he doesn’t like to make a big song and dance about it, and lowkey would rather die than demean himself by kneeling any lower than a mere head lean to bite you. listen, it’s an ego thing, it has nothing to do with you (apart from how much you make his heart race).
do you understand the absolute emotional rollercoaster he goes through whenever he’s starved himself too long of blood? first, he refuses to drink that false shit. it’s bitter, disgusting, and laced with some sort of weird anti toxin that he swears makes him vomit. second, he also hates asking you for help. there’s nothing worse than having to stoop so low as to beg you for his own upkeep.
he already despises the way kusanali coddles him, so adding insult to injury by making him rely on you for something so simple as food? that’s a level of unfortunate fate even he wouldn’t wish on his creator.
though it does bring him a certain level of joy to pretend like he’s the one doing you a favour. after all, you seem to enjoy it quite a bite—and no, you cannot deny it to his face. being without a heart himself allows for the beating sound of yours to be significantly emphasised. it’s embarrassingly loud.
“[name], it’s time.” he shouldered past the door of your home, uncaring for the plant he nearly toppled on his way in (his hat provides way too much shade, and that accompanied with the darkness makes him a little disoriented, he didn’t mean it).
peeking your head from your spot on the couch, you quirk a curious brow. “huh? time for what? i didn’t think we had anything planned.”
“time for your favourite time of the week, duh.” he scoffed as if offended. truly, he just really didn’t want to say it aloud like he’d been desperate for it. “sit up, and show me your neck.”
“pushy.” you grumble, straightening yourself from the slouch to drag him close by his hips, forcing him to take a seat on your lap. if he wasn’t porcelain, you were sure rosey red would’ve bloomed from his cheeks. no, he doesn’t enjoy this position. yes, he’s going to grin and bear it.
“and stay still this time, i nearly bit myself because of your constant wriggling.” his annoying little whines and constant muttering only pause when he gets a taste of your neck. he sinks his teeth in far longer than he probably should. he likes letting the shooting pain linger purely for the gasp you let out. it’s addicting.
you somehow always tasted lovingly bitter. a certain rich tanginess only at the end where he swallows and slurps at the beaded scatters of crimson drying against the puncture wounds. he gets a little manic at the first taste. it’s easy to lose oneself when your grip on his waist only gets tighter when he sucks you in deeper.
he’ll blame you for this carnage later. for now, he’s enjoying the little treat of hearing you try and control your whining every time he playfully nips at another part of your neck as if he might give in and bite again.
FAVOURITE PLACE TO BITE? ( ´ཀ` ).
with lauma, her favourite place completely relies on the time. naturally, her horns grow significantly in length when the moon’s high, and given the fact she’s nearly always only home when it’s night time, she’s grown to just enjoy sitting between your legs and biting your thigh. however, she’d be lying if she didn’t enjoy the lazy morning hours where you allow her to bite your shoulder as a small treat.
kuutar blesses the skies again. even false, the moon drapes the environment in milky whites and dark indigo blues—and lauma doesn’t feel good in the slightest.
normally on such a night as this, she’d be more than willing to wind down from her duties and hold you in her arms as she feeds you overly honeyed varškės spurgos and žagarėliai till sunrise forces her back home. tonight, unfortunately, work had run her a little under the weather.
instead of coming home with a heart full and ready to embrace, she stumbled like a newly born fawn. she had used her blessed blood too frequently, scratches and barely-healed cuts still red and raw crisscrossing over her pale hands and fingertips. she’s drained herself dry, but is finding it increasingly hard to ask the same of you when she knocks on the door to your bedroom.
“mano meilė,” her voice is clearly strained. just about carrying that familiar tang of mellow sweetness to cover the heaving in her every pant. “i must trouble you, i apologise.” you don’t hesitate to drag her down onto your bed, wiping away at the sweat forming on her brow with a nearby handkerchief.
“lauma? what’s wrong, honey? god, you look so pale…i told you to not overdo it! do you want me to make you some rosół? it should help boost your immune system and—“ her soft lips land on yours. quick and chaste, she cradles your cheek to ground you. even now she couldn’t help but look out for you instead.
“i will be all right, [name]. i promise. i just…” she sighs, looking down at her curled fist, “it pains me to ask you of this, but it seems i truly did overdo it this time. would you allow me to feed off you today?”
somewhat relieved, you nod along. “of course, anything for you!”
she smiles earnestly, carefully propping up pillows behind your head before tilting your face to the side, allowing for a clear view of the slope of your neck. “tell me if you would like me to stop, please.” she knew you never did, mostly because she knew your body better than you did, and because you were a little bit of a freak (she loves you all the same).
lauma always takes her time. kissing up and down your neck, massaging the palms of your hands with her calloused ones and occasionally letting your fingertips intertwine fully to allow you to squeeze whenever the pressure is too much. she constantly checks for your comfort. changing your position to support your head, winding an arm around your waist to lift you up and take off some pressure from your back. you weren’t just a treat for her, you were her entire life.
after completely incidentally teases you till you’re practically drooling, sinking her teeth in nice and slow. the doe-eyed stare of cerulean turns into a stormy iron. something oddly primal activates in her senses when that coppery tang drops down her tongue. she can’t help it, she’ll remember to kiss the bruises and cuts her nails leave on your hips much later.
“i’m sorry…” she mutters against your scarred skin, ironically while continuing to suckle more blood with ruthless precision. you’ll have to forgive her eagerness, this was the first time in a while she’s been allowed to whet her appetite with something so deliriously sweet.
ARLECCHINO — ཐི( ´ཀ` )ཋྀ ˖
FAVOURITE PLACE TO BITE? ( ´ཀ` ).
there’s no better place for her teeth than your neck. the throat is delicate. it’s the one place you’re told to protect when in harm’s way due to how exposed it is to your important arteries—it’s why arlecchino loves it so much. and to have you willingly offer something so sensitive for her to feast on? she can’t help but overindulge.
you barely even realised that you had made it into the forest. arlecchino said this was the most optimal place to meet up—something about how the coverage of darkness was perfect for you to unwind, whatever that was supposed to entail. yet you found yourself in complete unease.
twigs and branches snapped behind you. every whirl of your head toward the noise immediately drawing back to a seperate sound in the complete opposite direction. mist and wood shavings clog your breathing, heartbeat pounding against your ears.
she stalked you through it all.
you’d be in denial if you said the thought of being constantly chased, and not knowing when the next feeding will be was anything but titillating. it was a desperate sort of thrill. one that arlecchino indulged in with an intense fervour; it’s why she craved the night sky—perfect time to pounce.
nevertheless, arlecchino is never one to play with her food. when you wander too far off the given path, she winds her blackened fingertips around your wrist to drag your body backwards against her chest. she leans toward your neck, nose pressing up against the gentle slope of your throat.
“your heart is rabbiting. do you fear me, [name]?” she growls coldly, her fierce touch only emboldened by the the way you quiver in her embrace. “good. means you still have a brain in that empty head.” she means it with a sick sort of love.
you move your head to the side when she cosies up closer, and she doesn’t even pretend to hesitate. teeth prick at the prominent vein, her eyes closing tightly shut to purely focus on the way you swayed, squirmed and whined with every frantic suckle of blood.
she completely gorges herself on you. sliding fingers and cold palms beneath your clothes to coerce enticing shivers, licks and drinks the juicy crimson from your meat like a wild wolf with a bone that’s been sucked dry. it’s sticky, messy, and red. you’d be a good lamb; all gnawed away until only marrow and the tacky webs of sinews stuck to her teeth, elbows greased with sticky red.
no, she doesn’t stop. not until you’re on the very edge of consciousness with your grasping hands finally becoming limp.
K. C. FLINS — ཐི( ´ཀ` )ཋྀ ˖
FAVOURITE PLACE TO BITE? ( ´ཀ` ).
your neck is a primary favourite. not only because it’s so convenient, but because he just loves the sound of your breathing brushing so close to his ear. the way you grip him tighter when he forgets himself? it’s addicting. your wrist is a close second, however. he loves to playfully nibble around your arm on the occasion whenever he bends purely to kiss your knuckles in feigned hospitality.
he tricks you. welcomes you in with that polite smile and the raspy softness of his voice, extending a hand while leading you into the shadows. his face distorts, a hideous strzyga playing at being human—a mischievous fae daring you to trust the way his eyes darken.
what of love did you really know with kyryll? was it love when your heart chased in it’s ribcage like a wild rabbit jittering in a lab, or the way his fingers twitched anxiously like a stepped on twig whenever he tried to intertwine both your hands? or, perhaps, was it the way his stomach grumbled whenever he rested on your chest, pulse beating right beneath your ear?
flins felt his belly awake, he hadn’t drank all week. there was only one thing he wanted to devour, and it was someone who was currently innocently curling into him.
that sweet smell of your fragrant perfume as he leaned in tantalisingly close during cold hours; brush of the fat on your thighs against his, the bones of his knuckles as he caressed your cheek. he couldn’t help but fantasise.
his teeth gnashed together. the want rose. hands trembled when gripping your waist, slipping. the stench, sweet then sour. too much. too close. not enough.
flins was a rabid wolf pretending to be domesticated just for a treat of his owner’s attention, of their love. but love and hate are unfortunate sisters, with the only difference being how deep you sink your fangs. and currently, flins would do anything to pluck goosebumps from your skin. use your hair to stuff his pillows, haphazardly rip, and slit, and mangle, and claw your raw skin—purely to hear the trembling of her heart again.
he wouldn’t dare. he didn’t think about it—just for that one second before he sinks his teeth in. you smelled so primal and sweet. iron, decay and asphalt drowning him in an animalistic tremor. it made him hungrier. the next bite from your punctured neck squelched beneath his teeth, an unchewable cartilage smacking against his tongue, a metallic kiss on his lips.
FAVOURITE PLACE TO BITE? ( ´ཀ` ).
he’s not some lowly runt who relies on the pathetic nectar that mortal blood supplies—it sickens him to the core. it’s you who should be relying on him, never the other way round. …he claims he’s not getting exasperated from excessive energy use while eyeing your neck constantly. maybe he does need you—but he’ll never bother asking.
he isn’t the type to hang around long. sometimes it takes him months to even bother finding you, and at times he purposefully avoids you. his affection for you is his biggest regret and his biggest weakness. rare it is to find a sinner so willing to let go of the slightest bit of pride for some wandering soul he managed to find some solace in during hollow silences.
he hated you as much as he loved you—and neither knew if it was because of his unfortunate reliance on you, or because he’s lost the one part of himself that made him want to hold you more tenderly than the way phantom hands were now beginning to drag you into his chest.
“[name].” his dark voice rumbled, the sound rolling right beside your ear. “i need to feed.”
no “please”, it was never a pleasantry. it was just a necessity, that’s what he always said. a way for him to maintain his strength for both you and him. but even he couldn’t deny the sudden rush of adrenaline when you’d dig your smaller hands into his bandages to free his mouth. he loved just how greedy and willing you were sometimes.
the pain is instant, only transforming into the slightest version of pleasure when his large hands cradle your waist like glass. thumb digging an indent into your skin. rerir doesn’t stop at just the one bite. he’s a sinner in more than one ways, and he doesn’t abide by the laws of neither temperance or charity.
“don’t squirm.” he growls, dragging his shark-like teeth down your neck, struggling to find another vein purely out of haste. he can’t even differentiate between what’s your heartbeat and what’s your breathing anymore. all the sounds mingle together when he latches his teeth back into a different spot. using the lacerated edges as resting spots when he gets breathless.
you’d think a riftwolf had mauled you from the way he sends you back home; bruises in places that would be impossible to safely explain, and a series of dried up puncture wounds that were still wet with greedy spit.
©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ
