This is just sort of a little introduction if you will, for this vampire!sevika x reader fic I'm tryna write. Please let me know if you like it. <33
The wind hid in the impossible corners of the forest, nagging whoever wandered, that they weren’t alone, that someone was always watching the things they didn’t want anyone else to see.
She had walked until her carves mimicked a sharp pain. Her boots crunched the wood beneath her and the nettles attempted to sting through the thick material of her trousers. Every time she inhaled, the warm air webbed down her throat and stuck to the sides until a helpless cough erupted from her mouth. It was a dry, pathetic sound, a weak attempt at masking her hunger with the excuse of summer’s nighttime weather. She continued the ritual, trying to soak up the humidity in her lungs every step she took, breathing in over and over again, heaving when the cycle repeated itself.
-
She was far enough she couldn’t hear any engines on the side roads. Her thighs found comfort in the splinters of a jagged log underneath. The shaking was violent, it came in short bursts but there was never enough time in-between each occurrence. Her fingers juddered against the flimsy plastic, urging to rupture through, grasp the clots and fulfil her nourishment strenuously. But she’d always try to pace it and gently parented herself into the tremendous fantasy of self-control.
It was overbearingly salty, a taut ocean flooding her flared nostrils and gushing down to where she could taste behind her tongue. The bag was closed, and she was still drowning. Her lips rattled against white, and her gums ached in unison. She closed her eyes and sucked in, waiting for the right time to be selfish. She always did this, and she always realised there was never a morally forgiving moment that would make any of this condonable. The greed ritually subsided the hesitation, her eyes sparking open as her tongue pricked itself against self-loathing enamel. She drew her own blood first, against her lip, a feeble apology that made her feel an ounce better, before digging her blunt nails in the transparency and tearing a small opening. The shaking was back, more aggressive than before, it was running on adrenaline and guilty excitement. Red dribbled down the front of her fingers and dipped into the dents of her knuckles. It was still warm, fresh and inviting. She licked a long stripe up her forefinger and tried not to grunt. She ripped the hole bigger, and it was pouring down her palms, finding disgusting comfort in the creases. Her tongue met her hand again, and again, until it eventually found itself at the leak. Her mouth opened wider, saturating the meat with briny, nauseating regret that sustained her appetite almost completely. Hollowing her cheeks and consuming the warmth, she choked slightly as she pulled her weight. It was overflowing, staining her chin and neck - she was grateful she couldn’t see herself right now.
-
Dizziness succumbed her, eyelids heavy with satisfaction. She was always hazy afterwards, it was a battle to find her way home and not seek rest in the dirt. Her hand squeezed the bag until it crumpled perfectly into her fist, she wedged it in her pocket. It had wept down her flannel and was drying up fast. She couldn’t see the mess completely now that it was dark, but the little light that shun from above made her see enough. The distaste and hatred were never strong afterwards, in fact she was almost numb when she sat by the lake, splashing her hands in. The water was usually cold, but it never woke her up. She moved on autopilot to get herself clean. Her arms functioned robotically, washing murky water around her mouth, it was subtly metallic, but she knew better than to bat an eye about the taste of dirty water. Her fingers didn’t shake to undo her buttons, and her t-shirt underneath only had little splotches at the hem despite her flannel being soaked. She could feel when she looked presentable - her face felt agonisingly dry, so much so that little flakes of dead skin fell in-between her fingertips.
-
It was lighter on the way back. This time of the year was better, especially at these hours of the morning. The dark orange hues put colour back into her skin and made her seem like she was made for the season, like her forehead got sticky in the sun, like her cheeks blossomed pink with the humidity, like she was everyone else.
Getting home never took long, the buses started running their usual schedule at five-thirty, people were beginning their days. There weren’t many people on her route home, but one was more than enough to scrabble a pocket mirror and check for marks. She ran her tongue underneath her teeth, relieved when all she felt was a flat throb from before and nothing else. The bus stuttered over small rocks until she settled on the fact, she couldn’t lie her head on the window without it jerking against the glass. It was too early to think about anything apart from what she had just done. Crimson flashed behind her eyes, and she lowly groaned at her stomach stirring. It would be another month until she was back in the woods - she did it periodically, only when the craving was too devasting to snub. She wandered how long the animal had been dead for, an hour? Two hours? Her stomach stirred again, she dryly retched into her hand. It wasn’t a small animal, maybe a deer or a big fox. There was little difference in the taste of each specie, but there was a distinct pungency in their freshness. It was always so salty that it punctured the soft walls of her throat, making little holes for the blood to seep into for her body to soak up. She convulsed into her hand again, and an old woman shot her a concerned look and tutted,
“You shouldn’t drink on weekdays darlin’. S’not good for you.”
She offered a tight-lipped smile in return, snapping her head to the window and spent the rest of the journey trying to talk her stomach acid into staying put.