#vampire drabble

Look, it's not the most glorious job being a nanny, especially when it takes so much of your free time away, but the latest client made it mostly worth it.

You'd be contracted to a vampire lord and his child? spawn? You're not actually sure if it is their actual child or a child that they took in after getting turned, but nonetheless, you're getting paid beyond handsomely to take care of and be kind to this child. Sure, you had to pack up and move across the state to do this job, but so far it's been rather easy work.

Mixing medicine into blood bags for the child, telling them stories in the early hours of the morning before they go to sleep, and helping them learn age-appropriate math and writing. It was all rather easy, repeats of other tasks you'd done before, bar the whole blood for food thing, so you had settled in so easily that the others living around the home joked that you had been here all along.

It was a little strange when the little one would go down for their naps, and you would almost always end up running into the vampire that had hired you.

He was nice enough, if not a little strange; he didn't blink as much as you had expected and often spent entire conversations staring at you, but you chalked that up to him being a vampire and all. What you couldn't quite understand was how he always asked to eat dinner with you, him sipping from a glass with his blood in it as you ate an actual meal. He seemed fascinated by how you ate, perhaps watching you, reminded him of when he was human.

Or maybe it was something else...

He'd watch you, the way your mouth moved when you spoke, you ate, and how you breathed a sigh after his child had been a little too eager while playing. You were so alive, and his child clearly liked you; the constant attempts to bite you were the most damning piece of evidence to that. So he watched you, stared and slowly understood why his child liked you so much. You were warm and patient, not even flinching when the young vampire tore through blood bags to play in it like paint.

Soon, watching turned to small gestures, making sure you had your favourite snacks in the fridge, he'd only learnt about them after you sighed and muttered to yourself about having run out, while awkward, he would try his best when you were with his child to spend time with you and them, finding ways to touch your arms or hands.

It was hard to ignore the way he could feel your pulse under his fingertips when he did.

Your contract was coming to an end soon, and he'd been dreading the moment you began to fade out of his life. He could trick you, 0play a gamble and make you believe the child vampires' bites couldn't turn a human, but something about that twisted in his gut. It was wrong; he liked you like this, living, breathing, so warm, so human alongside two vampires.

That idea was swiftly abandoned; instead, he turned to the aid of a friend and asked what he could do to make you stay, without adding to your contract. He wanted you to linger of your own choice, not because of a paycheck.

And so he began.

It was awkward at first, making his intentions known without being blunt, the 'accidental' touches to your arms and hands became more deliberate, using the times you would lift his child as chances to wrap his arms around both of you. Leaning over your shoulder as you keep his spawn from ruining another blood bag, guiding your motions with ease, ignoring the way he can hear your heart hammering as his finger lingers after the bag empties.

He is trying his best to make you know that he wants you, that he wishes you to linger just like his touches do.

He’s been hovering all evening, fingers twitching at his sides, fangs worrying his lower lip raw. You pretend not to notice, flipping through a book, but then he drops to his knees beside you with a whimper, forehead pressing against your thigh.

"Baby, please. Just a taste, j-just enough to wet my tongue, I swear I’ll be good." His voice is all ragged honey, shaky palms sliding up your bare calves.

You arch a brow, turning a page pointedly. "Mm. Last time you said that, you got… distracted."

He groans, nuzzling into the crease of your knee. "I won’t, I won’t, I just, fuck, the way your pulse jumps when you sigh, when you look at me like that-" A shudder rolls through him, fangs glinting as he licks his lips. "Can’t even think straight. Smell you everywhere. Please."

You sigh, exasperated, and finally snap the book shut. "Fine but if you-"

He’s on you before the last syllable leaves your mouth.

Mouth on your thigh, teeth grazing but not biting, tongue tracing up to the edge of your shorts with a whine. He shivers, nose brushing your skin like he can breathe you in like a drug. "God you smell so good, taste so good-" He babbles, kissing the soft swell of your hip.

"Easy, Jesus!" you try to warn, fingers coming up to his hair. He moans, arching into your palm, mouth sliding towards the juncture of your thigh.

It's his favorite place, and he's trembly as he tugs your shorts aside, tongue laving over the flesh. "Fuck," he mutters into your skin. "Love being able to smell your pretty cunt while I feed."

He's already delirious as he finally bites down, the groan falling from his throat pure filth when your taste hits his tongue. A nearly pained moan catches in his throat, drinking you in deep, like he'd drown himself in you if he could. Every swallow has him pressing closer, tongue running over you-over the wound-lost entirely to the scent and the feel of you.

You hiss as his fangs draw deeper, fingers tangling in his hair. "Easy," you warn again. "You said a little bite. You said-"

The bastard has the audacity to whine, clutching you tighter with one hand while the other snakes under your underwear.

He makes a broken sound against your skin, his grip tightening as his mouth seals over the twin punctures. Each pull of his lips is worship, raw and desperate, the heat of his tongue circling to soothe the sting. You can feel the way he trembles-not just from hunger, but from the slick, sinful glide of his fingers beneath the lace hem of your panties.

"Liar," you gasp, arching as his touch finds your clit, already swollen from his attention. He groans, the vibration thrumming through your veins.

"Just-fuck-just one more minute," he slurs against your thigh, fingers working you in slow, filthy circles. "Wanna feel you come while I drink. Wanna taste it." His voice is wrecked, pupils blown black with want. "Please, baby, please let me-" He draws back slightly, panting, lips shiny with your blood, eyes gleaming wild with need. "Need it," he growls against your skin, teeth catching. "You taste so perfect. Can I, please? I'll do anything. Please, I'll be good" He laves over the spot he was biting, pressing his cheek against your thigh, whimpering.

"You taste like I'm starving. You have no idea."

His breath hitches as you tangle your fingers deeper in his hair, not pulling him away, just holding. He shudders, lashes fluttering, lips parting on a silent gasp when your nails scrape his scalp. His hips jerk against nothing, the rough fabric of his pants doing nothing to hide how hard he is just from this, from you.

"Mmph-fuck, fuck, please-" His voice cracks, forehead pressing into your thigh again as his fingers dig into your hips. "Tell me, tell me what you want, I’ll-nngh-I’ll do it, just let me-" Another wet, open-mouthed kiss presses over your pulse. "Let me have you. Let me ruin you. Let me-"

His tongue drags up the inside of your thigh, slow, like he’s savoring the threat of your denial. The flat of his teeth graze-not biting, just teasing-just hurting himself with how badly he wants to.

"Or-or push me away. Do it. Curse me, shove me, laugh at me." He heaves a broken chuckle, nose nudging your clothed heat. "I’ll still beg."

The moment your fingers twist tighter in his hair, his entire body seizes, a sharp, punched-out gasp escaping him as his forehead drops heavily against your thigh. His breaths fall in ragged, broken pants, lips hovering just above your skin, trembling with the effort not to dive back in.

"Fuck," His voice is wrecked, syllables slurring into a whine as your nails scrape his scalp. "Y’re killin’ me, sweetheart. Killin’ me."

His tongue darts out to catch a stray bead of blood at the corner of his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at the taste. When he speaks again, it’s muffled against your leg. "Could stay like this forever. On my knees. Your fucking-" A shudder wracks through him. "Your fucking bitch."

He tilts his head up just enough to fix you with glassy, half-lidded eyes, lashes sticking together with the wetness gathering there. "Tell me," he whispers, raw. "Tell me to stop. Please. Or-or don’t."

His hips jerk helplessly against empty air, the rough drag of denim against his cock pulling another ragged noise from his throat. "Just, god, just use me. However you want. Please."

You tug again, coaxing his head up, and his gaze flicks up to you. His expression is a wreck, lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes so black with need that you almost gasp. "Poor baby," you croon teasingly. "You look so desperate. Are you that hungry?"

He shivers, his tongue running over his fangs. "Yes," he whispers, voice low and ragged. "Starving. Please."

He's barely making sense now, lips brushing hot and worshipful over the wound on your thigh.

He whimpers, licking up the last of the blood and pressing closer, nuzzling his nose into the crease of your hip. His lips run over your flesh, his breath hot against you, and he's so lost that when he speaks, it's nothing but a ragged moan. "More, please, I'm-I need more, I need you… "

He's trembling, the fingers at your hip clenching like he's hanging on to the last of his control. "Please," he whispers again, lips trailing up your stomach now. "Let me fuck you."

Your laughter is soft and indulgent, the way one might humor a particularly persistent stray. "God, you’re pathetic like this," you murmur, tilting his chin up. His pupils swallow any trace of color, lips slick and parted around uneven breaths.

You pause, the time stretching. Just long enough to watch his throat bob.

Then-

"Fine."

The word cracks him open. He surges up before you can blink, hands scrambling at your waistband, fangs catching his own bottom lip in his haste. "Fuck, fuck. Thank you, thank you-" His voice splinters as he yanks your shorts down your thighs, mouth already trailing wet, open kisses along the newly bared skin. "Gonna make you feel so good, swear, swear-"

The couch creaks under his weight as he drags you beneath him, hips rolling in a slow, grinding rhythm against yours before he’s even got his own pants off. Every inch of him trembles with the sheer, dizzying relief of being allowed.

"Absolutely useless when you're like this, aren't you?" His hips jerk when you tug at his jeans, finally freeing his cock. "Made a mess in your own pants," you chide. "Pathetic little thing."

He freezes, breath stuttering, then melts into your touch like wax under a flame, cheeks flushing darker. "Y-yeah," he admits, voice thready, hips giving another aborted roll against nothing. His cock twitches against your thigh, already leaking, ruined just from the taste of you, the promise of more.

His hands fumble as he presses them to your chest, fingers splaying over your heartbeat like he’s trying to memorize its rhythm. "M’sorry," he murmurs, not sounding sorry at all, lips brushing your collarbone. "You own me. Can’t, fuck, can’t even think when you’re this close."

A whine builds in his throat as he noses along your jaw, breath coming in shallow puffs. "Wanna make you feel good," he slurs, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your neck. "Wanna be good for you. Let me?"

His teeth graze your pulse, asking, always asking, even now. Even when he’s this far gone.

You laugh again, the sound warm and demeaning, fingers twisting tighter in his hair. "Good? You can't even keep your hips still, you're so far gone."

"Not gonna even try to argue," he mumbles. "Yours. I'm yours. All yours. Just… please-"

His voice dissolves into a ragged moan as you yank his head back by the hair, exposing the arch of his throat-his pulse fluttering wildly beneath pale skin. The sight makes your own breath catch. How easily this creature unravels for you, all fangs and feverish hunger, reduced to this.

"Look at you," you coo, thumb brushing the seam of his parted lips. "My greedy little leech. Can’t even form words properly when you’re like this, can you?"

A shudder wracks through him, hips jerking forward instinctively, chasing friction, chasing you. His fingers dig into the couch cushions, knuckles white with restraint. "Nngh, you know I can’t." His words fracture as you tug again, his eyelids fluttering.

"Go on then. Fuck me."

His breath hitches like you’ve struck him. Then his hands are on you, everywhere, mapping the dip of your waist, the curve of your hip, as if he’s starving for the shape of you more than the blood beneath your skin.

"Yes, yes-" The words are a prayer, raw and shattered, as he surges forward, slotting himself between your thighs with a desperation that borders on painful. His cock drags against you, slick and hot, and he chokes on the sensation, forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Fuck, you feel-"

You don’t let him finish.

A twist of your fingers in his hair, a roll of your hips and he’s gone. His thrusts are uneven, frantic, his mouth latching onto your neck not to bite, but to muffle the broken noises you wrench from him. Every snap of his hips is a supplication, every gasp a confession.

Yours.

Yours.

Yours.

And when his fangs finally sink in-deep, perfect-it’s with your name on his lips, a hymn wrapped in a whimper.

"More," you demand.

The moment your command leaves your lips, his restraint shatters. A ragged groan tears from his throat as he drives into you harder, deeper, each thrust punctuated by the wet, filthy drag of his cock, the hungry pull of his mouth at your throat. His fingers dig into the cushions beside your head, trembling with the effort not to grab, not to claim too roughly.

"God, you take me so good," he slurs against your skin, tongue lapping at the blood welling from his bite. "So perfect, so-nngh-tight, warm," His words dissolve into a whine as you clench around him, his hips stuttering.

You can feel him losing it, the way his rhythm fractures, the way his breath comes in broken gasps, the way his fangs scrape your skin when he moans. He’s close, teetering on the edge, and yet-

"Wanna make you come first," he grits out, sweat-slick brow furrowed in concentration. "Please, l-lemme feel you fall apart on me."

His hand slips between you, thumb circling your clit with desperate, reverent pressure. "Like this, yeah? Just like this-"

And when you break, arching with a cry, he follows with a sob of your name, burying his face in your neck as he spills inside you, shaking apart like a man undone.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of your ragged breaths, the sticky heat between your thighs, the way his fingers still twitch against your hip, possessive even in exhaustion.

Then, softly, against your pulse…

"...Can I have another sip?"

His cheek is still smushed against your chest, lips lazily tracing the curve of your breast as he catches his breath-when his damn fangs click against your skin again. "…Just a tiny one?" he mumbles, all drowsy sin and zero shame.

You flick his ear. "You literally just had a whole meal."

"Mmm. ‘s why it’d be dessert," he argues, nuzzling into the hollow of your throat with a contented hum. His fingers trail down your side, sticky with sweat, sketching idle patterns like he’s memorizing you. "C’mon. You know I get greedy when you ruin me like that."

A pause. Then, with the solemn gravity of a man who absolutely will die without it:

"…I’ll do the dishes for a week."

You huff a laugh, flicking his ear again. "You and I both know you won't."

He gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like you've wounded him. "Betrayal," he whispers, eyes wide with faux horror-before collapsing onto you in a deadweight puddle of vampire theatrics, nose presing into your collarbone. "Fine. But I will dramatically starve to death on this couch now, just so you know. My last words will be... 'I told her I needed a snack...'"

Kink/Theme: Vampire

Warnings: SMUT🔞, dirty talk/cursing, light coercion, some hypnotism, some blood sucking

Kinktober Masterlist

//

The end of the world was his playground, full of desperate souls looking for anyway to survive the carnage. He was the undead offering protection from the walking dead. Ironic, isn’t it? The weak flocking to the damned for help.

This quirk gave him the insatiable appetite needed to keep him a king. And like every king, he needs tributes from his loyal subjects. His lust knew no bounds, for women, for blood. It was a demanding thirst that never stopped gnawing at his being. If one was sated, he lusted for the other, a maddening push and pull. Today, he didn’t know which he was in the mood for…until it arrived with the next batch of tributes. A familiar pointed her out, hovering near his master’s side to express his glee at finding a new shiny to bring back.

“Clean’er up. I need a new bride,” he jerked his head in the direction of the disheveled little woman being pulled from the back of the truck, “Nice job, Shithead.”

The henchman sneered mischievously, “Of course, Master! Thank you, Master!”

//

She’d been passed off to three of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. They were so graceful, elegant, almost ethereal in how they moved through the world, like the swill of the outside world hadn’t touched them. They giggled and spoke softly to her as they bathed and groomed every inch of her body. It was almost invasive, but it was hard to fight it off with the strange spell they had upon her. She didn’t want to fight, she allowed them to prepare her like a sacrifice.

She was in such a lull that the flash of their fangs, the cool touch of their hands, the glowing eyes, none of the obvious frightened her. The terror of her fate as a sacrifice to the Vampire King gnawed at the back of her mind like something she couldn’t remember.

One moment, she is in a steamy bath being primped and preened, she closes her eyes, and she’s in a lavish bedroom spread across a leather couch. How did she get here?

“Sorry about my wives. They go a little overboard on their hypnosis. The little succubuses,” came a chuckle.

Negan watched as she frantically looked around before seeing him reclined in the arm chair in the corner of the room. He heard her blood racing through her beating heart, smell her sweet essence from where he was. He could smell it before through all the muck and grime.

“You. Are. A. Dime! I guess familiars are good for somethin’!” Negan whistled.

Her shaking body tried to sink further into the couch before she began to sob, “Don’t kill me! Please! I—I-I’ll do anything! I’m a hard worker! Please!”

“Ssshhh, listen,” Negan sprinkled a little hypnosis in there to ease her mind, “You’re way too fuckable to suck dry. Though the thought did cross my mind, your blood has got my dick hard and stomach growling.”

A frightened whimper stuck in her throat.

“Eaasssy, baby, nobody’s makin’ ya a meal as long as you’re under my care,” his smile revealed his fangs, “Speakin’ of, you must be starvin’! Can’t have my new bride goin’ hungry.”

The “man” came to her side on the couch, taking a plate of food from the coffee table she’d been too frightened to notice. She was almost too distracted by the fresh morsels to realize what he said. She looked at him again in anxious confusion, “Br-Bride?”

His tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip, eyes scanning over her body hidden behind a silk robe, “Mmhm. You’re lucky. I don’t just let any gal that waltz’s in here have that title.”

She would have scoffed at his arrogance if she wasn’t so anxious, though she could feel him working at the edges of her mind with his hypnotic stare. He held a magnetism about him that even though she was afraid she was curious what he would do next. Negan encouraged her to eat, and she listened obediently. He scooted closer and closer to her until their body’s were touching, her warmth attempting to heat his undead chill. She gasped when his lips suddenly skimmed over her ear.

A shiver ran through her when she felt his breath against her neck, and he pressed a smirk into her skin, “I’m not gonna bite. Unless you want me to. Scout’s honor.”

Why did she believe him? Was it the hypnosis? Did he put something in the food? Still, she shook her head, “How do I know you’re not…lying?”

Taking her chin between her fingers, he turned her head to look him in the eye, “Pretty thing like you, I’m only interested in tasting what’s between those bea-utiful thighs! Blood is everywhere. Good pussy isn’t.”

She cringed a little at his crude words.

Negan smirked, “Want me to prove it?”

//

Negan chuckled against her quivering folds as she came once again. She held tightly to his hair with both hands, staring down at him with an expression of pure euphoria. Once the initial shocks subsided, her hips began to roll against his mouth again.

He coaxed her to sit on his face with a charming smile and honey-dripping words, promising only pleasure she hasn’t known. “Let me worship you,” he’d whispered as he untied her robe.

Negan laid a delicate kiss to her clit as he ran his hands up and down her thighs in a soothing motion, “That was a good one, wasn’t it?” She whimpered when he stopped her hips, but a bolt of excitement shot to her core when he ushered her to move down his body. Both moaned when her puffy slick folds sat against his hard cock. Her eyes went wide seeing his size between her legs.

Negan flashed his fangs as he chuckled, “It’ll fit, baby. Just take it slow.”

The glint of his fangs should have scared her, but she was drunk on his touch. She almost wondered what it feels like to have the sharp edges run across her skin. She dumbly nodded, wiggling her hips desperately.

“Tell me what you want,” he encouraged.

She dug her nails into his abdomen with a whine as she rolled her hips more impatiently. Pleading eyes begged for more but her mouth couldn’t form the words. He sat up with a smirk, delicately running his fingers up her spine before pressing her against his chest.

Cold lips skimmed across her collar bone towards her neck, “Can I have a taste? Promise it won’t hurt.”

The hair on the back her neck bristled, her mind began to reeling, unsure if she wanted to cross that line. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t realized he’d moved her around until she was hovering on her knees. Negan held himself steady as he coaxed her to settle over his waiting girth. A shocked gasp passed her lips when she was fully sat on his lap. She moaned, digging her nails into his shoulders as he growled against her chest. The way her inner walls fit him so snug was like paradise.

“Just a lil’ taste, baby,” he grunted, pushing and pulling her hips to start a rhythm, “Think I earned a nibble.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, eyes closing at the dizzying feel of his tip grinding into her sweet spot, “I-I…I don’t know.”

“Why are you scared? You not trust me?” his smile was mischievous, “Haven’t I kept my word? All I’ve been doin’ is makin’ you feel good.”

He had kept his promise….maybe just a taste would be okay? But how could she know he wouldn’t kill her once he does? She couldn’t think with pleasure tingling from the tips of her toes to her rolled back eyes.

He sensed her contradicting and spoke, “I can control myself around blood, but not good pussy.”

“I’m-I’m scared,” she whispered.

Negan cooed as he moved to lay her on her back, “I know, I know, but the way I do it, it feels soooo good.”

He ground his hips against hers slowly, ensuring she felt every inch of him inside her, coaxing out an answer. Her eyes were pinched closed when she nodded. Silver tongue ran over white fangs as his mouth began to water. Her creamy skin rippled in goosebumps as his breath fanned over her neck, hips never faltering. She dug her fingers into his hair when he kissed her neck, inhaling sharply. He wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him deeper, and he growled. His dick was throbbing and fangs tingling having this beautiful creature fighting temptation and losing.

Negan’s hips snapped hard when he marked a spot on her neck with his tongue, “C’mon, baby, c’mon. Give it to me. I need it.”

Her limbs clutched him tighter as he pleaded with her to cum, like her orgasm would set him free, “Ne-Negan! Fuck! Yes!”

The moment her walls clamped down on him, fangs pierced her skin, and euphoria flooded both their bodies. A quick prick of pain was drowned out by the pleasure she could feel in her veins. Her heels dug into his ass to push him deeper, creaming his cock more and more with each erratic thrust. Negan’s eyes rolled into the back of his head the moment her blood touched his tongue. It was like tasting sunshine and vanilla, a warm and cozy sweetness that you could bury your cock and teeth in over and over and over again.

When he was finally spent, he unlatched from her neck, soothing the bite with loving licks and kisses. He kissed away every bruise and tear left in the wake of his mission to have her seeing heaven.

-

the prompt: can you make a scenario where Taeyoung is a angry deadly vampire that falls in love with a human???

words: 821

category: drabble

author note: you wrote taeyoung and i assumed taeyong so im really sorry if you meant taehyung. also, i wrote this in a completely different style from all of my other scenarios?? it’s not reader specific it’s more like a prologue to some kind of strange vampire novel?? i like it a lot though so i hope you enjoy this lil drabble from me to you.

- destinee

A whirlwind romance had taken to the capitals day gossip, a young harpy lord and his intended mate, apparently the lord was beyond smitten with his partner meaning the whole of high society now knew of their romance.

Such things make you think about your own marriage, a less romantic meeting was you and your husbands, all contracts and agreements between families to expand lands, power, and title strength. Sure, you and your husband had met before the wedding, but still you feel like a stranger around him, he is a good husband, he takes care of you and the finances when he's home, but as the captain of the treasury guard there isn't much time spent at home between his post rotations.

The wedding announcement was plastered everywhere for this harpy and his partner to be, something of an important social event with the crown prince attending. You know all too well that if your families are invited you will go alone, likely the many, many, social gatherings prior to this, try as you might your husband is dedicated to his post above all else.

You feel like a ghost as you walk the halls of your home, the tile heated with standing runes, a feature only installed after you had married your husband. The silk robe you'd had since you'd debuted a comfort on another lonely night, sending the servants warming the bed away as you feel far too tired to wait for the sheets to warm fully.

Vampires don't feel the cold the same way a human like you would, so it will hardly matter should your husband grace your bed this night.

You're not sure your husband has ever graced your bed...

Long after you have fallen asleep he follows the same routine as always, return home, remove his armour and weapons, bathe and eat a small meal before making a swift exit to his bedroom. Or that is what the staff all believe their lord does when returning to the manor, however, he truly retires to the shared rooms of your marriage, settling gently on the side of the bed you think he does not touch.

Cold fingers and manicured claws brush against your cheeks, you look ethereal like this, blessed with good sleep and steady dreams.

He could not think of waking you, no matter how many times he sits and watches your rest. As absent as he is from your days, your nights should belong to him, his attention, and his affection, yet with the coming change in royalty his post in the treasury has become time consuming, oh how he can't wait for this stupid transfer of the crown to finish so that he can make up for all the time the royal family had stolen from him since the day he had taken your hand.

In the dark he can see the flutter and pulse of your heart, the call of the warmth you have running through your body, a sirens call for him, one he can't help but want to answer. Not yet, no, he wants the first time he drinks from you to be a good thing, a shared moment of indulgence and joy.

The fight that started this all was petty, a minor issue that bloomed into something stupidly big, and now he had turned to the silent treatment. Only, the silent treatment relies on the person receiving it to not be comfortably introverted, and content not getting messaged endlessly...

So as he sits, pointedly ignoring his phone and thinking you'll come crawling to him for attention, arms crossed, fangs playing with his bottom lip as he stews in his own drama, all while, you're content on the other side of the city. Sprawled across your bed, some auto play video from YouTube playing in the background as you half listen and half munch on whatever snack you had procured to eat as you played a game or two.

The click of your keyboard is the most noise you hear beyond your headphones, blissfully immersed in the farming Sim you have loaded up, phone forgotten on your nightstand as you go about your life.

Around day four he begins to crack, unlocking and checking his phone, only to lock and toss the brick of a device onto his couch the moment his thumb hovers over your messages. There are empty blood bags piling up on the coffee table, and he's running low on the small reserve of your blood that he had, the silent treatment clearly wasn't working against you and it was sending him into a dramatic spiral, it's not fair! You should be begging him, messaging endlessly for him to pay attention to you, not- Not him waiting on you!

He's loved for hundreds of years, and had countless lovers but none had managed to raise him to such dramas.

The moment the sun set on Friday night he was pulling on his most enticing outfit and gunning for your apartment, making use of his spare key and letting himself in. It's pure drama how he stands next to you, hands on his hips, bottom lip wobbling as he sniffles, your curled up on the couch clearly having fallen asleep after a long day, still in your work clothes with your shoes half kicked off, this isn't how it's supposed to be! Stomping a heeled boot into your carpet he leans forward, as gently as he can with all this pent up energy in him, he tries to wake you, coaxing you back into the waking world with lidded and sleepy eyes.

You do look cute all confused and sleepy, finally focusing on him with a scrunched up look, mumbling something about being too tired for all this. Your arms wrapping around his waist as you pull him into you, dragging the immortal down with you as you return to the warm spot you had made on the couch, letting him wiggle a little before he settles into place, sinking into the embrace as he mumbled a very, very, soft apology for ignoring you.

The grunt you give in response must be good enough, as soon he is nuzzling into the crook of your neck, fangs brushing against your skin as he whimpers softly, wanting just a sip or two from you after so long apart.

The lands your family saw over were minor, barely above the needed area to gain a landed title in your kingdom.

So it is no surprise that the list of servants and attendants available to your family is short, longer than a title only noble family, but not as long as some of the noble families with bigger land holds or towns under their sway. You have only really become aware of how short the list is when your last ladies maid retired, she'd come to fall pregnant and your family had let her retire, to go raise her family safely.

Now comes the trial and testing stages of finding a new ladies maid.

There were plenty that came and tried, but eventually you settled on one of the few that hadn't come from another noble family's recommendation. They were tall, almost deathly pale, with such strikingly beautiful features that would be the envy of any court lady, yet they took to the overly dark halls of your home like no other, the heavy curtains and candle lit halls almost seemed natural to them, towards the end of their trial they disclose their nature as a vampire spawn, a creature unable to make other vampires and somehow this only made the choice easier.

The family estate is kept far darker than most due to your mother's sunlight sensitivity, as such finding servants that are willing to dwell in the dark with your family tends to be difficult.

However, since your new maid had started you have grown curious, the previous maid you had didn't shy from speaking about topics usually chatted about when bathing or applying the oils to your skin, but this one simply hummed and tended to you like they didn't know how to contribute to the small talk you were trying to encourage.

Some days you tittered at them about how often they go to the stables at night, cooing in jest about being into the stable workers, being surprised when they bluntly say no, it's just for feeding. It's hard to understand if this bluntness is simply nerves or if there is something truly odd about your new maid.

Your curiosity is unintentionally quelled one evening, it had been a complete accident, the chair for your dresser had been moved and you tumbled into it, grabbing onto your maid as you did. Falling into a heap and ending up sprawled across their lap, you're surprised by what you can see under their upturned skirt. The usual stockings greet you, but looking further up your staring at smalls that you had only seen on the laundry lines, ones that you remember being told are for the male servants of your home, something about them being made for 'additional space'.

The maid your family had hired to tend to you, to bathe, oil, and dress you was a man, a beautiful androgynous man.

Time seems to drag on as you awkwardly stare at your maid, while trying to think of what you can say to somehow ease this moment. Helping smooth their skirt before standing and offering them a hand, you only respond to this particular discovery by informing them that good help is hard to come by, and that some differences between the usual ladies maid and themselves shouldn't mean anything at all.

After all, it was already strange having a vampire spawn as a servant, so what's a little more oddity in your home but character building.

It's while you have your head turned mid ramble about how this changes nothing, and you're perfectly fine having them as your ladies maid so long as they're happy to continue working for you, that you miss how red eyes soften and apprehension is replaced with budding affection.

He's terrifying, he's a demon in mortal flesh! An unholy creature that desires blood and devotion! He's... He's ahh- he looks like a small dog who got into an open jam jar.

Your roommate is lying on the floor in the kitchen, mouth coated in blood, his shirt is open and stained almost as badly as the floor will be if you don't get a chance to clean it anytime soon. Being a vampire's roommate means you occasionally have these moments, times when your vampire gets absolutely blood drunk and lies on the floor in it, babbling and slurring his words before falling asleep.

This is the second time this month he's done this, and if you're honest, it's almost cute how he sprawls across the shitty fake wood floor of the apartment.

For what is usually quite a skinny man, when he's blood gorged and drunk, he really does remind you of those images of puppies or kittens passed out after eating too much; he is full of soup, well, blood really, but nonetheless, he is full and now halfway to passed out on the floor.

Gathering him up off the floor, you're greeted with mumbled and slurred words, giggles and dropping eyelids, proclamations of power that dribble off into hiccups. The real struggle is getting him into his room without getting blood on the walls, when he's drunk like this he gets grabby, hands trying to snatch up whatever he can before cuddling it to his chest, you have unfortunately been the target of these cuddles more than a few times, ending up mildly chewed on and held in his grabby arms for an hour or two.

Today, however, you have somehow managed to get him back into his bedroom, handing him a towel to cuddle as he flops onto his back.

You can still hear the blood-drunk mumbles of 'I'm a powerful vampire' and 'terror of the night' as you close the door to his room, at least when you have to clean the kitchen later, you know that he will pay for your groceries, and any take-out you want for the next two weeks. Sometimes you ask for other things in thanks, but always he pays you back for dealing with his blood drunk self.