((In which Count Siebren invites you to his castle and he isn’t very happy when you decide to leave the moment you realize hey this guy may be a human-feeding chupacabra))
Plot: You awaken the beast inside of Lord Siebren.
Tags: Masks. Claws. Fangs. Oh my! Manipulation. Masturbation. Blood. Mention of death/killing. Reader is gender neutral. Sigma almost does a yikes but I promise he never ever will in my fics.
A/N: Okay! So I know this promised a “romantic“ fic but but the build up ended up being pretty long and important so I’m cutting this b up. This will definitely get a continuation, so treat it as a sort of part one.
Xx
The Carnival masquerade was in full swing in the castle. The esteemed guests, drunk with merriment as they celebrated the beginning of Lent. You on the other hand was very much sober, running around in a ridiculous black and white outfit identical to the other servers, white and gold rabbit masks and all, trying to serve the increasingly inebriated crowd as best you could.
Running around the floor, trying to avoid stepping or tripping on the massive, ornate clothing worth more than what you made in a lifetime was an awful task, especially with a tray full of open drinks and food. It was inevitable that you’d trip and fall and offend a lord or lady by staining their clothes, or that you’d ruin your own in the process, so you hoped that when it happened you’d be shown mercy. Until then you tried your damnedest to be quick and careful.
But alas, you were too quick, and not careful enough and ran straight into the chest of a guest at full force with a full tray of red wine on your way from the kitchen back to the ballroom, causing a loud crash as you fell to the floor with the heavy metal pan and broken glasses.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” You apologize panicky as you scramble to clean up the accident, trying to absorb the expensive liquid with the meager towel you had and collecting the shards of the fine crystal cups. “Please forgive me, my lord.” your voice wavered, a million different scenarios playing out in your head and how you’d be punished..
“It’s alright, my dear, it was an accident.” You hear the man say above as you kneeled in your mess.
“No, no, it’s not, I should have been mor- ow.” You cut your hand on a piece of glass as you try to continue apologizing.
You whimper with tears beginning to prick in your eyes as you put your mouth to it, still trying to clean with one hand licking away the blood that formed there. You thought you were prepared for this to happen but now that it did you could feel nothing but stress and panic. You still try to gather up the glass one handed, but you’re getting overwhelmed.
“Did you hurt yourself, liefste?” You’re taken aback when you hear his voice so close, and you look up to see he has bent down closer to you.
You’re frozen for a moment, looking at the intricately detailed mask, modeled off of the night sky and sparkling with tiny jewels, constellations and planets adorn the face on a deep black base, so dark you can’t even see the light hit it. The white and gold details coming together to point the viewer towards his eye where they pierced from the depth of black, sparkling like fine ruby jewels. Your breath is taken a little gazing into them and feeling of calm covers you, forgetting for a moment why you were so worked up.
“Your hand?” He asks in a rich, sweet tone that makes your muscles feel all warm, holding out a gloved hand for you to take.
Your hand slips from your mouth into his light hold, and you watch placidly as he takes it to examine, not questioning the lack of warmth from his own even as it causes goosebumps to erupt on your skin. You whimper when he thumbs the cut slightly, causing a few drops of blood to stain the blue fabric of his gloves, turning them into a deep purple.
“We need to get this bandaged, klein konijntje, least it get infected.” He says, and his eyes are darker when he looks back up at you.
You nod, and stand with him, a little voice in the back of your mind reminding you of the mess, of the guests waiting for their wine, of your boss and the trouble you’d be in not asking for permission to leave first. But your body is deaf to those voices, your body is numb to everything as he pulls you into his side, his hand still holding your bleeding one as the other wraps around your shoulder, covering you with the warmth of his cloak.
You feel strangely relaxed as he holds you close and leads you somewhere you don’t know, through corridors you know you’re not allowed through, further and further from the light and sounds of the grand ball, and deep and deeper into the cool castle. Eventually he leads you into the physician’s office, a place you definitely were never allowed in, though you’re unsure how he was able to with the way you took… come to think of it, you couldn’t actually remember any of the directions he lead you.
You must be tired… from the party… exhausted from the high stress… yes…. You were tired.
He helps you easily onto a table in the middle of the room and holds out your hand. You notice his glove is heavily strained with your blood, small blotches of purple covering his palm and fingers as he holds your hand so gently. You hiss when you feel the medicine dabbed gently onto your small wound, making a small shush come from under his masked face before he gently wraps a firm bandage around it.
“All better now, little rabbit.” He coos, large cold fingers petting over the bandages.
His eyes look much too bright in the meekly lit room, piercing and cold, the goosebumps on your skin still have not dissipated, and now looking at him a shiver runs up your spine. You swallow thickly and try to collect your thoughts, suddenly very hard to think. His clean hand comes up to your mask, fingers lightly running over it, threatening to lift it. You feel something sharp under the soft, thin fabric of his glove as it grazes your skin ever so slightly, his nails drawing a smooth line to your face to caress you neck tenderly.
You whimper again, feeling yourself flush, but something about this isn’t right, his eyes, his hands, his skin, they’re all wrong somehow, and when he makes to lean over you, your hands come up without thinking and pushes him away.
He seems as surprised as you are by that, and he snatches his hands away from you, taking several steps back. It feels like something is lifted from your shoulders as he creates space, and your brain feels less fuzzy.
“Th-thank y-ou, my lord.” You say, the words feeling sluggish and strained on your tongue, like you haven’t talked in a long time, “I sh-should re-return to the party.”
The reality of where you are is slowly setting in, and so is the anxiety. You shake and hold your head, trying to clear it. When you look up at him he’s looking at you, his eyes now dull and soft, and… scared? He looks away from you, gripping one hand to the other, like he was stopping himself from touching you. He looked incredibly tense, shaking ever so slightly, and when his eyes meet your again, there is a sort of pain inside you can’t quiet place.
“Yes, you should” He says suddenly very serious yet unsure, as he steps back toward you.
His hands, big and strong, finds and rests on your hips, and you blush under your mask. You hadn’t really thought about them before. You hadn’t thought about him at all while he was leading you around. He was a very large man. Very large. Tall and Broad, though his body hidden by the cloak he wore. It was intriguing. It was terrifying. How had you let him trap you in a room alone with him?
He helps you down before ushering you gently toward the door “I am very thankful, my lord.” You say quickly, you mind feels clear and your strength is coming back to you.
“SIebren, It is Siebren.” His voice is tinted with a wavy severity as he gently pushing you out into the quiet hallway, alone, “Now, you should run along before someone comes looking for you.” he begins to close the door behind you.
“Are you not returning to the ball, Lord Siebren?” You ask looking up at what little you could see of him.
“I am feeling a bit ill, I think I will stay here for a little while longer.” he says quickly, his voice becoming strained.
“Should I get someone to help y-” You take a step toward him and he closes the door firmly in your face.
“I will by fine, I just need rest, please, run along.” It sounds like he just grits that out through his teeth, and you could swear you hear him groan a little.
You stand outside, biting your lip, unsure of what to do. If he needs help, shouldn’t you offer it? He helped you after all. But then again, he had told you to return to your duties, and they are probably looking for you. But then again… You sigh and shake your head, turning to walk back to the main hall, whichever way that was.
---
Siebren rested his head against the door, groaning as he still could smell you so easily, standing just a few measly inches from him, with only the thick wood protecting you from him. He clenched his eyes closed and tensed his body, forcing himself to still as he waited and begged internally for you to just leave.
It felt like eternity when you did, the soft patter of your shoes against the carpet dying off as you got further from him, though your scent still lingered heavily in the air.
He sighed out the breath he was holding and relaxed, clean hand coming up to his face under the mask to pinch at the bridge of his nose to relieve the tension in his brain. It had been a long time since his affliction had flared so badly, and an even longer time since he’d actually tried to feed on a human.
His stomach turned thinking about it, how he had used his powers to manipulate you, to calm you and get you alone, preparing you to be fed on, only to be saved by the will of the lord and your reflexive shock at feeling his claws on your skin.
He knew he should have left the party as soon as it became late and scurried off to drink the sheep blood he uses to keep the hunger at bay in the privacy of his own keep, but no, he had to stay, had to have one last drink, have one last conversation, to see the king one last time.
Idioot. Idioot. He was pushing it, he knew it, and now look what he almost did! If he had just left he wouldn’t be here now, starving, aching, craving, locking himself away until he was sure he would not seek out and harm you. He felt on the precipice of a frenzy, and all because of a little cut and a few drops of blood!
He threw his mask down, sweating in the heat of it and the clothes he wore, hand running through his hair as the other clawed at the door. His body was being wracked with an unnatural heat, almost like he was alive again, almost like he had warm blood pumping through him, and he didn’t know how to process it.
It’d been so, so, so long since he’d been so close to human blood, the coppery sweet smell so distinctly human, so distinctly alive and fresh and warm, no animal could compare to it, and his body craved it so highly. Like the monster he was.
When he saw you lick your hand, clearing it away, hogging it so greedily, God, he felt a jealousy he could not describe. His mind had focused so much at that little motion that the only thing he could think of was devising a way to have his own taste. And that was what he was planning to do, to patch you up so you’d not spill another drop, and to take every last ounce of it from you for himself. And lord, he came so close, so damn close.
He punched the door, leaving a sizable crack from his strength, frustrated at himself for not doing it and at the same time for even trying in the first place. His mind was racked by conflicted feelings and his body was still warm.
He huffed loudly, trying to figure this all out. Trying to calm himself. He needed a release from all this energy. He needed something to calm him down until he could safely leave the castle. He needed… you...
He looked at his blood stained glove and a desperate thought filled his mind, one that immediately filled him with shame. Slowly, like he was trying to deny what he was doing, he brought his hand to his face, and inhaled deeply, groaning at the sweet smell of your blood so close to his face. His mouth watered but his throat felt dry as he opened his lips and carefully slipped a blood stained finger in.
He shut his eyes tightly, revolted with himself morally, but physically excited at the exquisite taste that hit his tongue, sweet, salty copper human blood, richer than any other kind. It lit a fire within him, a dangerous one, one that he knew he needed to extinguish soon. He moaned as his teeth grabbed into the glove, letting his hand slip from it and brace against the door, it too being marked by your blood.
His claws cling tightly to the already splitting wood as his other reached for his crotch, already half hard from finally tasting you. He needed to tire himself out, he told himself, but he knew this was just another sign of how much of a monster he was, hungering for you in every way.
He moaned around the fabric in his mouth as his hand slipped into his pants, gnawing on the strong fabric as his teeth sought flesh. He felt himself, hot and solid in his slack grip, as he teased himself to complete hardness, burying his head into the crook of his elbow. He pulled on himself, the costume giving him enough room to work with, as a string of moans were pulled from his chest with ever smooth stroke. It’d been so long, so long.
His mind made images dance in his head, of finding you right now and dragging you into the dark, of touching you, of tasting you. Your legs wrapped around his head, your hands pulling against his hair, of you coming undone underneath him in a bid to get you more relaxed, to get your blood nice and warm and pumping. Of holding you up against a wall, so short, so small, so eager, as he slowly enters you.
He pants as his grip tightens a little, the smooth fabric of his glove getting wet with his precum and letting him slide easily in his fist.
You’d be so tight, a little human compared to the great big monster he was, begging and crying for something you didn’t even know, clinging onto him for dear life. A meal all for him, begging for him to eat, to take, to devour. He’ll fuck into you so hard, so fast, like the animal he was, covering you with bites, making you bleed, playing with his food.
He can feel himself almost there, almost, his breathing is hard, and the only sound in the room is the sick wet slaps of his hard cock rutting into his tight fist. He whines as he sucks on the fabric in his mouth, the meager taste of you not enough and yet everything he needs.
He’d make you cum over and over, until your body is nothing but a limp ragdoll for him to use, until you can do nothing but beg him to eat you up, to take all thats left, because you’re so very thankful for him making you feel so good. And then he’ll bend down and kiss your pulse, fangs slipping as easily into you as his cock does.
He’ll drink from you as he completes, holding you close, feeling the warmth leave your body as he’s wracked by a pleasure unparalleled by anything else.
He shakes his head, his stomach flipping at the idea, tears prickling in his eyes, he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want that! He wants… he wants…. He thinks hard as he feels himself approaching the end, trying to overpower the sick beast inside him. His cock is hot and wet in his hand, and his fangs have finally punctured the fabric into his own lip, causing himself to bleed.
He wants to drink from you, to taste the source of this wonderful flavor. To feel you moan and mewl around him, your hot wet heat enveloping him and taking him. He wants you to accept him, all of him, and to bend your neck for him willingly. He wants to feel you shiver as he takes what he needs, and he wants to pull back to see you still warm and glowing with life.
“Thank you.” He says on a broken voice, spilling inside you as you still live, still breath, and still clench out him.
“Everything for you.”
The sound of your voice fills his head and he cums ropes into his fist and the pants of his costume, his body overflowing with that unnatural heat that for a moment almost makes him feel alive again. He gulps on air, shivering, shaking, as his body is wracked with conflicting feels again. Of relief, of dread, of hope, of sorrow, of energy, and total relaxation.
He slumps against the door as his body cools to it’s normal ice cold temperature and pulls his cum covered hand from his pants, grimacing at the evidence of what he’d just done. He spits the glove in his mouth out, the blood having been washed around by the copious amounts of drool on it, and wraps it around the other before wrapping the whole thing in a handkerchief. Out of sight, out of mind.
As his sane mind returns to him for now, he straightens what he can, and snatched up his mask again, pulling his cloak tightly around him as he steps out from the room, hoping nobody questions the marks he left on the back of the door.
The decent man in him wanted to apologize to you for what he thought of you and almost did to you, but he knew now wasn’t the best time… or maybe ever. He slipped out the back of the castle and collected his personal carriage, starting off toward his own keep, tired beyond belief.
It wasn’t until he was of sound mind again before daybreak, having drank enough sheep’s blood to satiate him, that he realized.
Drawing this in hopes of Blizzard announcing the Overwatch Halloween Event and droppping their first promotional footage of the Halloween skins today.
Pls give us Vampire Sigma.
(Inspired by @ask-siebren-de-kuiper ‘s vampire head cannons, and it’s October’s eve currently so… Vampire time! I might have gone a bit above and beyond past the “keep reading” line, view if you are eighteen plus)
My own head cannon would suggest that Vardan would prefer his legs being bitten; he’s too paranoid of neural damage or effects interfering with his arms/hands. Besides, the inner thigh is super sensitive anyway <3)
