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Crimson Chains —Chapter 2
Yandere Vampires x Female Reader
MDNI +18
Warnings: Blood, abuse, strong language, dub-con, Yandere?? (Just a heads-up), degradation, slavery, mockery, rape, assault, humans used as guinea pigs at risk of death, there’s a real royal family here that doesn’t do much but does exist, a bit of ‘Teacher’s pet’, mentions of vampires killing (or biting) humans. Ahem, mentions of alcohol, drugs and medication. Human lives described as insignificant.
(The Reader doesn’t have a specific appearance, but for the sake of convenience I didn’t mention it; however, if you read elsewhere that they have white hair and eyes, as is common with Y/n characters, it’s because on Wattpad I described them that way to make my storytelling easier. Previously, they had a realistic appearance, but people got annoyed by that even though I presented them as an OC, so I’ve stopped doing that: (( Even so, his clothes ARE described in detail, and he’s described as very handsome because you all are). Oh, and I don’t use Y/n, but ____ instead.
The echo of the applause was still lingering in the air when the doors of the grand auditorium swung open.
For a few seconds, no one moved, the air smelled of melted wax and expensive perfume, mixed with something fainter and more metallic that humans preferred not to acknowledge.
Then, an authoritative voice broke the silence.
—‘Designated representatives, stay together. The rest of you, follow the instructions of your year prefect,’—ordered the headmistress in her curt tone, as she walked, followed by the human teachers and the new vampire ones.
The ranks began to move slowly. Footsteps echoed off the marble floor, amplified by the vaulted ceilings and the tall stained-glass windows through which the evening light filtered in fragments of yellow and pink, __ recognised the refurbishment. They certainly wanted to make the vampires feel at home.
The human students filed out in tight groups, murmuring amongst themselves. The vampires, on the other hand, advanced with almost military precision, with the same unease one might feel walking through an empty, abandoned church.
No one raised their voice too much; the atmosphere was so tense that even the air seemed heavy.
Al frente del grupo principal, ____ caminaba erguida, con la insignia del consejo brillando en su pecho. En ausencia del presidente, ella estaba al mando. Sabía que debía mantener la compostura, aunque cada paso le recordaba la mirada que había sentido sobre ella todo el tiempo: la del vampiro de cabello rubio y ojos carmesí.
Sebastian Nyric. The name had already spread amongst the gossips like a rumour. Some said he belonged to one of the oldest families of the Lioren lineage, others that he had been born on the battlefield rather than in a cradle, mmh.
Many compared him to Prince Felix Saint Ethel, who still hadn’t shown his face at the academy in the wake of the new presence of the creatures of the night.
The truth was that no one could ignore him when he was present. Not even __ herself, though more out of respect for his position than anything else.
Sebastian walked beside her, a little behind, in no hurry whatsoever. His footsteps were silent, so precise that they barely disturbed the sounds around them, this was to be expected, given that he was a vampire.
He was wearing his academy’s dark uniform, it was elegant, looking more like the uniform of a noble war commander than that of a school, with the distinctive moon emblem on his chest as if reflecting a light that only he could see, conferring upon him a rank within the Night Academy, a position above that of the scholarship vampires.
—‘We shall begin with the north wing,’ announced the headmistress. ‘Each human will accompany their vampire counterpart. Do not separate under any circumstances. Those who are not on the committee or prefects, return to your classrooms’—.
A murmur rippled through the group. The concept of ‘accompanying’ seemed far more innocuous when put that way than it actually was, but obeying the order, everyone stayed with their partner.
When the order was given, Sebastian approached her, bowing his head slightly with a courtesy that seemed straight out of another era, his manners impeccable.
—‘Vice-President, if I may,’—he said as he offered her his arm, it did not sound like a request, but rather a protocol he had followed all his life. She, given her position as a public figure at the academy, accepted it. Even though she knew that this action would do nothing but spark annoying rumours.
As vice-president, she maintained a neutral stance regarding the arrival of the vampires, so being seen so close to one of them could sway public opinion in their favour—something she did not want, as many students —especially first-years—were prone to moral grandstanding.
All around, the corridors of Saint Ethel stretched out like a labyrinth of stone and light, mocking the situation he found himself in.
The sound of her breathing mingled with the murmur of the wind through the stained-glass windows, as if it were aware of the connection.
The walk was supposed to take about an hour, but every minute felt like a challenge to resist exploding in the face of the vampire’s potential provocations.
On either side of the corridor, the portraits of former headmasters seemed to gaze disapprovingly at this impossible pairing, humans and vampires walking together under the same roof, arm in arm. Sebastian observed every detail with great interest.
—‘Sixteenth-century human architecture—he remarked quietly, more to himself than to her. ‘Fragile, yet enduring despite the passing years—.’
His voice had a gentle tone. She took a deep breath, his apparent kindness only turned her stomach. She would have liked to correct him that the architecture wasn’t entirely from the sixteenth century, but she preferred to remained silent.
—‘You don’t seem to be enjoying it—‘. she said, without turning to look at him.
—‘I don’t like self-portraits, I find them arrogant,’ he replied, his voice low, barely audible.
—‘Nor forced alliances, I imagine—.’ Sebastian smiled, though not so much with his lips as with his eyes. It was ironic that a noble vampire should dislike self-portraits, given that, as an aristocrat, his house was probably full of them.
—‘Do you usually judge everyone on the first day?’
—‘Only those I know are hiding something and might pose a threat to the academy.’
Silence fell once more, heavier now, thick with unspoken things. She pretended to focus on the stained-glass windows in the corridor, whilst he seemed to be enjoying the exchange, as if her every movement were a puzzle he wanted to solve.
Soon they turned into the inner gardens. The fresh air brought the woman a moment’s respite, but also a new kind of tension.
The vampire did not seem bothered by the sun, although his smile grew more macabre every time someone looked at him with fear or revulsion.
It was then that one of the humans passing by—a second-year student known for his sharp tongue—let out a nervous laugh, glaring with hatred at the blond man and the other vampires walking down the corridor leading to the garden.
—‘Do you bite in the sunlight too, or only in the dark?’ Several of them laughed, although it seemed they shouldn’t have.
A dark-haired vampire came to an abrupt halt. His smile was the first thing to change, he stretched slowly, revealing fangs that glinted with a flash that sent shivers down many spines.
—‘Do you want to find out, mortal insect?’
The atmosphere erupted. The murmurs of the few students passing by turned to shouts, and their footsteps into a chaotic clamour.
El estudiante retrocedió un paso, pero el vampiro avanzó con una velocidad antinatural, convirtiéndose en una mancha borrosa entre la multitud. Al ver el problema que se avecinaba, ____ se soltó del brazo de Sebastian y dio un paso al frente, resonando en el aire con su voz.
‘Enough,’ she ordered in a firm but unflappable voice. ‘If you don’t want to be punished, you’d better not move!’
Her tone was that of a woman in authority, and for a second, even the vampire paused, taken aback.
It was then that Sebastian intervened. Without raising his voice, he placed a hand on his companion’s shoulder and stopped him. His gesture was so simple, yet proved more effective than anything else.
—‘It’s not worth it,’ he said coldly. ‘A confrontation here would only leave marks that wouldn’t be easily erased. Get a grip, scholarship student’.
The black-haired vampire lowered his head, though his eyes blazed with rage.
Los transeúntes volvieron a ponerse en marcha, lentamente, en un silencio mucho más opresivo que antes. _____ se tensó al sentir la mirada de otro vampiro sobre ella, y al cruzar la mirada con él, lo observó: tenía un aura… oscura. Era extremadamente alto, con el pelo blanco hasta los hombros, despeinado y esparcido sobre su rostro, y ojos de un tono entre carmesí y rosa. Lo que más destacaba eran las vendas oscuras que cubrían gran parte de su rostro y brazos, las cuales resaltaban aún más sobre su uniforme, que estaba tan desaliñado como las vendas.
She noticed the macabre smile on his face; she blinked to break eye contact, though when she did so she realised there was no one there anymore.
She carried on walking, her nerves throbbing beneath her skin because of that unknown presence. Why was it always her who found herself entangled with supernatural beings? She was a human who had nothing to do with them. She snapped out of her thoughts when she heard the blond vampire’s voice again, without understanding what he had said.
‘I didn’t need your help,’ she said, without looking directly at him.
‘It wasn’t help,’ replied Sebastian, his tone now calm, his eyes fixed on the floor. —‘It was a preventative measure. For our own good.’
‘Preventing what?’ He looked up. His crimson eyes seemed darker at that hour, almost black.
—‘Someone ending up dead.’ It’s not the right time for that yet, is it?
She didn’t reply. The way she said it annoyed her even more, it didn’t sound like a warning, but like a fact that would happen sooner or later, and that, even so, didn’t interest him in the slightest.
The rest of the walk passed without a word from either of them, and if it had been up to the girl, without any physical contact. Even so, Sebastian kept trying to take her arm, his gaze growing more predatory the more she pushed him away.
As the sun began to set and shadows fell across the walls, the group slowly dispersed, each person fleeing to the relative safety of their dormitories.
__ could only think that perhaps resigning from the student council wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Night fell upon Saint Ethel, signalling that human dominion was coming to an end and giving way to that of her new companions.
The street lamps came on one by one, casting golden glimmers across the damp cobblestones. The bells in the keep struck the hour marking the end of the day with precision.
____ estaba sola en su habitación, o al menos lo estaría hasta que les asignaran nuevas habitaciones. La tenue luz de su lámpara iluminaba los libros apilados en su escritorio. Intentaba concentrarse en los informes del consejo, pero su mente no dejaba de reproducir la escena en los jardines y a aquel vampiro desconocido. Algo en él no cuadraba; era extraño, más aterrador que cualquier otro vampiro que hubiera visto. Y esa sonrisa…
She sighed, closing her notebook. She stood up to draw the curtains when something on the window caught her eye.
A mark, drawn in dark ink, adorned the bottom of the window, a rose surrounded by three crescent moons, a symbol that belonged to no human household. Beneath it lay an envelope sealed with reddish wax, the same colour as blood.
Her heart skipped a beat. She took the letter carefully and opened it, reading the perfect handwriting that awaited her inside.
Vice-President, Please keep the lights on tonight. Not everyone of my kind accepts the treaties as calmly as I do.
— S. N.
She stood motionless for several seconds. She didn’t know whether to feel terror, irritation or gratitude — gratitude would be the last thing she’d feel in the face of such a threat.
The note smelled faintly of wood and iron, she didn’t even need to bring it close to her nose to detect the strong scent. It reminded her of the blond vampire.
The wind blew, ruffling the curtains. The mark on the glass began to fade slowly, erased by an unknown force.
All that remained was the moon’s reflection cast upon her face, framing her vacant gaze.

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Recognized as one of the best medical coding training institutes in Tirupati, our academy offers structured learning, experienced trainers, and placement assistance to help students confidently enter the healthcare industry.
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Our CPC training in Tirupati provides in-depth knowledge of ICD, CPT, and HCPCS coding systems. Students receive hands-on practice, mock examinations, and expert guidance to prepare for CPC certification.
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Address: Sri Venkateswara Institute of Medical Sciences, Prakasam Rd, Balaji Colony, Tirupati, Andhra Pradesh 517501
Phone: 076619 63725
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The course includes ICD, CPT, HCPCS coding, practical coding sessions, mock tests, and certification preparation.
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Yes. CCS Certification Training in Tirupati is ideal for students and professionals who want advanced hospital coding expertise.
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Our experienced trainers, practical learning approach, updated curriculum, and career guidance make us one of the best medical coding training institutes in Tirupati.
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Gen V: The Godolkin Protocol (Fanfiction)
One rule broke the moment he woke up here.
Four hours. That's how long a stolen memory stays safe inside Theo Brandt's head before Cate Dunlap's touch can rip it back out, and he's already dived twice before breakfast. At Godolkin University he's logged in the system as Cat. C, Lucid Visualization — a harmless dreamer among supes who bench-press cars, while the truth sits four inches behind his sternum: no power, only a leaked Vought compound turning his sleep into a rehearsal tape he ghost-drills alone at midnight. Every replay costs him Integrity he can't get back, and every dive quietly phones home to a server counting toward a num…
📖 Read FREE — no paywall, new chapters daily → unwrittenrealm.com
───────────────
📖 Chapter 1: Chapter 1 : The Date In Building D
The acceptance packet lay open on the desk to the line that was going to get him killed.
PAA — Lucid Visualization (Cognitive Subset). Classification: Category C. Low-impact. Theo studied it the way he studied anything that mattered, without letting it touch the sides — what it said, and underneath that, what it would cost. Category C at Godolkin University meant a power too small to envy and too real to fake — and a baseline who couldn't do either was a baseline four days from a Vought Health Services medical panel that would map his receptors, find nothing, and end him before the sophomore term even started.
Building D. The Compound-V detection baseline, scheduled September second. He held the date the way a navigator holds a position fixed from two bad stars — not to feel it, only to know where he stood relative to the thing that was coming for him.
He picked up the notebook on the desk instead of the packet. Navy, green elastic band, the kind of cheap field journal a careful man buys in threes. He uncapped the pen and wrote on the second page, small and level: Vought medical, Sept 2. Cannot attend. Find the PAA exemption window before it closes. Then he sat with the pre-dawn quiet of a dorm full of sleeping gods pressing against the thin wall, and he did not write the other thing he knew — that down the hall, somewhere under this same roof, a boy named Luke Riordan had a little under a year before he burned, and that knowing it was not the same as being able to move the wall.
He closed the notebook. The clock read 4:17.
The room was very quiet. The body was steady — no tremor, no residual nausea. He stood up and walked the perimeter of the room without touching anything, the way he used to walk a new research lab before touching the workstations, reading the texture of a space from a distance first. Small. Single bed, desk, sink-and-mirror, closet. The closet held clothes the predecessor had bought — jeans, t-shirts, one decent button-down in blue. On the desk beside the closed laptop, a receipt from a campus bookstore and a folded flyer for the PAA orientation, Thursday at 10 AM.
Four days.
He stopped at the window. Campus lamp light, a strip of the quad visible between buildings, and beyond it, somewhere below, a basement where something was sealed in a room he wasn't supposed to know about. His mouth was dry. His hands were flat against his thighs.
He thought: I know where this goes. And then he thought: knowing is not the same as changing. And then he stopped thinking about it, because the 96-hour limit he'd written in the notebook was the correct constraint. Four days. PAA office first. Medical exemption. Cover settled.
The clock read 4:19.
"Okay," he said out loud, into the empty room.
The word landed flat in the dorm air. Not dramatic. Not a promise to the universe. Just a syllable acknowledging that the problem was real, the problem was actionable, and the next forty-eight hours had a sequence he was going to follow.
He picked up the pen.
The notebook's second page filled with a checklist.
───────────────
📖 Chapter 2: Chapter 2 : Audit The Cover Story
The registrar's office opened at 8:30 and smelled like budget coffee and a printer that had been jammed three times that week.
Theo arrived at 8:52, which he'd calculated as the right window — early enough that the work-study behind the counter hadn't fully shifted into don't-talk-to-me efficiency mode, late enough that she'd already cleared the people who'd shown up at opening with the desperate energy of students who'd forgotten something important. He held the predecessor's folder with both hands, the way a person who believed in the folder would hold it.
The work-study was twenty, maybe twenty-one, with purple-dyed ends on a dark ponytail and the specific expression of someone counting hours until a shift ended. Her nameplate said IRIS. She didn't look up when he approached the counter.
"Check-in for an enrolled sophomore," Theo said. "Theo Brandt. PAA track, Lucid Visualization."
Iris typed. The monitor she was looking at was angled just enough that he could catch the color-coding on the file system without trying: green for stamped, yellow for pending, red for flagged. His name came up in yellow.
"Sophomore re-enrollment," she said. "One second."
One second meant she was reading. He had thirty-two seconds before the 10 AM batch upload to Vought Compliance would lock the queue for the morning. He'd timed this. He watched the clock on the wall above her head.
"Your medical baseline's scheduled for tomorrow at eight-thirty," she said. "Vought Health Services, Building D."
"That's the problem." He kept his voice at the register of a person who had been slightly inconvenienced by bureaucracy rather than a person whose survival depended on not going near Vought Health Services Building D. "I've got a PAA track waiver from Dr. Lange's office for the alternative medical baseline. It should be in the file. It might have come in this morning."
Iris checked. The expression on her face was the expression of someone who had looked for something and hadn't found it. He watched her decide whether to say so or to check again.
"I don't see a waiver."
"Dr. Lange mentioned she'd filed it through the PAA track system. Different queue from the main registrar." Theo leaned slightly on the counter. Not impolite — the lean of a person who was reasonably sure the waiver existed and was doing Iris a favor by mentioning it, because she might have to explain to Dr. Lange's office why it wasn't processed. "The PAA-track medical is a different form. Baseline-equivalent, not the Vought Health Services panel."
This was not a lie in the way that required conviction. It was a structure built from two true facts — the PAA track did have a different medical baseline, and Dr. Lange's office did process waivers through a parallel queue — assembled in a sequence that implied a third fact Theo had not yet made true. The existence of the waiver.
Make the waiver real by end of day. That was the problem he was creating for his afternoon self. Right now the problem was the clock above Iris's head.
"I can note a waiver review pending," Iris said. She was already typing. He'd correctly read her as someone who would rather process a pending notation than argue about a form she couldn't find. "That'll hold the Vought medical until the waiver is confirmed or denied. But if it's denied—"
"Dr. Lange will confirm it." Absolute. "I have a meeting with her this afternoon. If there's any problem with the queue, I'll have her office contact yours directly."
Iris typed. The notation went in. He watched the file shift from yellow to a different shade of yellow — he'd have called it amber, if he were being precise, which he wasn't, because what mattered was that it wasn't red.
"There," she said. "Waiver review pending. If you don't have confirmation from Lange's office by end of business Friday, the Vought medical re-schedules automatically."
"Understood. Thank you."
He picked up the folder. He had turned to go when he saw it — a printout pinned to the corkboard beside the counter, campus maintenance notifications. He stopped.
Reynolds Hall HVAC — Air Quality Notice (August 6, 2022): Elevated particulate levels in ducts C-4 through C-7, floors 3-5. Inspection completed. Source: unidentified organic compound (discontinued). Remediation scheduled September 14.
Discontinued.
He looked at it for exactly two seconds. Long enough to read it. Not long enough to look like he was reading it.
He turned and left.
Outside, the campus morning was clear-skied and sticky, the last of August doing what August in Virginia did. He found a bench at the edge of the quad's south path, sat, opened the notebook to page three, and wrote:
Reynolds HVAC — August 6 notice. Floors 3-5, ducts C-4 through C-7. "Unidentified organic compound (discontinued)." My floor. My room. Then below it: File and forget. This is not today's problem. Then below that, underlined: RULE: Never enter Building D. Never touch a Vought-administered medical. PAA-track exemption is the perimeter. Keep it maintained.
The September 14 remediation date was also logged. He calculated: seventeen days from now, the ducts would be cleaned. Whatever had been leaking would stop leaking. It had already been leaking for, apparently, at least three weeks. Longer, probably. He didn't know how much longer.
He closed the notebook and stood up.
He had a meeting to make real.