#vampire hero

"Do you think," the villain panted, "that fighting me balances your scales? That brandishing your violence in the name of some ideological good makes up for the parasite you are?"

The words would have cut deep, would have made them feel blistered beneath the all-seeing light of the sun, if the hero wasn't somewhat distracted by the blood dripping down the villain's chin.

It was a (not) funny thing. No matter how far they came in their self-control, there was always a moment when the blood pulled at something animal in them.

They wanted to suck the blood off the villain's lower lip.

They wanted to bite the soft skin of their slightly trembling thighs.

Taste the pulse roaring with the villain's cruel bravado.

The villain laughed, acidly, breathlessly, immediately noticing the hero's preoccupation. They licked their own lips cleaned, grinned to bear their bloody teeth.

"What would you even do," they said, "if I spilled a citadel of blood for you? Would you even be able to think straight, saviour?"

The hero took a stalking step closer, then another, and then in a blur the villain was right there and the hero had shoved them hard against the wall. All heat and flesh and bloodbloodblood pumping. Oh, how the villain's heart was hammering.

The villain swallowed. Primal terror and something else, darker, recognisable from the cages in the hero's own soul.

"God," they whispered, venomously, adoringly, "look at you. You monster."

It was true. They were a monster. A parasite. A vampire desperate to do enough good in their eternity to wipe out the thing they were, the blood they demanded, just by existing.

The villain looked at them like they were god, or death, and maybe it was the same thing. Most people just looked frightened.

Still.

"No," the hero said. "I think nothing will even my scales. I think compared to me, you're still a good little kid, cowering beneath teh bedsheets, afraid of the dark."

The villain faltered. They bit their lip. Their eyes were wide and wild in the gloom.

The hero leaned in, and the villain's breath betrayed them by hitching.

"But I'm trying," the hero said. They let their fangs graze against the villain's frantic pulse. "And yes, I think that counts for something. Maybe you should consider trying to be your best self too, hm? You have a dreadfully short life to be remembered for."

They bit down. They drank. They felt the villain groan, felt them squirm like they still remembered what power was. Then, when they were dazed and limp and incapable of hurting anyone else, the hero pulled back.

They took a moment to steady themselves.

The blood was rich on their tongue. The villain's memories lingered in the back of their brain like an after taste, complex and sad, already fading.

The hero felt human again. Raw. Messy. Bursting.

"You're under arrest," the hero said, soft, a little fond despite themselves. "Come along."

The hero couldn't only hear the villain's heartbeat increase, they could also feel it. Sense it.

Most of the time, the hero managed perfectly to incorporate this (very unfortunate) condition of theirs into their normal life. It wasn't much of a burden and immortality, although they hadn't had it for long, turned out to be quite interesting.

"Yup," the hero said. But the hunger was probably the worst part about it.

The first few weeks, the hero had taken rather embarrassing measures and slaughtered farm animals outside of the city. Although it was enough blood to satisfy them, it turned out that being a vampire wasn't primarily about the blood.

It was about the power. When their prey struggled, the hero's mood improved considerably and not only that, they also didn't need to feed on something alive for quite a while after a pleasing kill. It was about the struggle, about the fight.

About sinking their fangs into soft, warm flesh. It was about survival.

"You are drooling all over my wrist." The villain did not act like it but the hero knew they were scared. Their heart was raging and their pupils were blown up, almost like they feared the hero would attack them any second now.

But, of course not. The hero could control themselves perfectly. After all, they were supposed to serve the people of the city.

The hero was a specialist when it came to figuring out how to change. When the farm animals had started to become unappetizing, the hero switched to blood donations - which was surprisingly even worse - and suffered ever since.

But they prevailed.

It was part of the deal, they supposed. Vampires suffered just like people did and they couldn't betray the trust the people had put in them.

"A little greedy, aren't ya?" the villain asked and when the hero looked at them, they realized their lips were already on the villain's wrist. Their own fingers dug into the villain's forearm and they had, in fact, slavered all over their enemy's wrist.

Slowly, they parted from the villain's arm and ultimately, let go of it. It wasn't even embarrassing. The hero had accepted that they weren't quite "normal" anymore and that was fine.

Supposedly, their thoughts had carried them away. In general, the hero tried to minimize contact with people but the villain was kind of...unavoidable. And with the hunger? With the villain always being this close? What was the hero supposed to do?

"You didn't listen to me in the slightest, huh?"

The hero stared at them, almost dumbfounded. They couldn't tell when their brain had shut off, all they knew was that they had been injured pretty badly. The villain had found them. They had passed out. And now, they were in the villain's apartment.

Without hesitation, the hero looked down their body and lifted their shirt. Instead of the open and bleeding wound, there was a fresh scar on their abdomen, quite painful but not as bad as before.

That probably explained the hero's demonic hunger - they needed energy. Lots of it.

"Not really."

"I suggested..." The villain stared at their wrist full of saliva and rubbed it on the hero's shirt dry. Before the hero could say anything, the villain put a hand on their thigh and squeezed gently. They leaned over. "...that you might be in better hands if you joined me."

"Pff." The villain's heart was going crazy by now and the hero was impressed they were hiding it so well. Fear was a horrible feeling but ultimately, that was exactly what the hero found so satisfactory. "What's this? Seducing me to the dark side? What a pathetic attempt."

The hero raised their index finger, as if to lecture the villain.

"I have sworn to protect-"

"-every citizen of this city with all the power and mightiness I can offer, blah blah blah. I know," the villain said. "But have you considered that we might be..." The villain's hand crawled up the hero's thigh and the hero's eyes widened. "...more powerful together?"

"I am not interested in power," the hero said.

"Hm," the villain answered. They touched the hero's cheek gently and it became quite impossible to ignore the villain's heartbeat. Especially when their wrist was this close to their head. The villain smirked. "Is there nothing I can offer you?"

The hero stared into the villain's eyes and didn't dare to look away, not even when the villain shifted their hand so their wrist brushed the hero's lips.

"There is absolutely nothing...?" The hero could feel the blood pumping through the villain's veins against their lips. Images of the villain begging and moaning shot into the hero's head. Them turning, them somehow enjoying it when the hero let their kisses turn into bites.

Salvation came in many ways and the hero supposed they had been wrong.

It wasn't about fear. It wasn't about seeing someone or something struggle. It was about deliverance.

Deliverance from life. Deliverance from…other things.

It was torture either way and it slowly dawned on the hero that for the second time, they had been wrong. The villain was probably not afraid of them.

Christ, the hero wanted to bite. They wanted to break skin and taste blood.

They could have been gentle. They could have been really gentle for the villain.

"Well..." The villain pulled away their wrist and tilted their head, leaving the hero with a black hole in their stomach and a tendency for extreme violence they tried to hold back. "You know where to find me, in case you change your mind."

They smiled a sweet smile but the hero considered them to be a special kind of demon at the moment. Straight from hell, straight to torture them.

“This is usually the other way around,” the detective hums, one hand in his pocket and the other tapping away the ash at the end of his cigarette. The superhero stands on the rooftop, spine stiff and his expression one of anxiousness.

The detective can practically smell his uneasiness in the air. He’s hiding in the shadows, almost as though he’s too frightened to come out.

It makes him scoff.

“If you need my help on a case, I’m balls deep in the copycat killer case right now,” the detective told him firmly, already building a strong wall to the hero’s protests. Not that he’s making any. “So stop lurking in the shadows like you’re gonna bite my heart out. Jesus, it’s creepy.”

The superhero hesitates, and then steps out of the shadows. He looks worse for wear, and the detective’s eyes roll up and down his form with a clear air of judgement.

“Man,” he hums. “You look like shit.”

The superhero frowns at the cloud of smoke tumbling from his lips, his nose wrinkling in grim annoyance. “Can you put that out?”

“It’s a free country.”

“It stinks,” he snaps.

“Not my nose, not my problem,” the detective raises a brow. “What’s got your panties in a bunch? You’re gloomy.”

The superhero bites his tongue, deciding not to bite. He swallows the insult, his stiff shoulders sagging with a small sigh. The detective steals a few scrutinizing glances at him. Just to observe.

“I need...” He sighs sharply. “I need to feed.”

The detective’s gaze hardens. He already knows what he’s going to ask. “No.”

“Please?”

“I said you keep that shit away from me and I won’t hurl your ass in the nearest prison cell for taking a bite out of those innocent folk,” he reminded him sternly, a flicker of anger sparking in his eyes. “Don’t make me go back on it.”

“I’ve not been feeding,” the superhero whispers urgently. “I can’t. You know I’m new to this and I don’t know what to—”

“The answer is no. Jesus, I can’t believe you dragged me from my work for this.”

The superhero’s gaze softens. He looks crestfallen. “Please...”

The detective swallows back the words teetering on his tongue, drilling an intense gaze into the hero. He notices the eye bags, the pale complexion, and he definitely looks worse for wear. Sickly; the detective’s expression hardens, spitting out a sharp curse. He runs a hand through his hair, stamping the cigarette out under his boot. The orange tip fades into the rain soaked cement.

Why him? He almost wants to ask. He’s a detective, and he should figure this stuff out. He remembers when he pulled the superhero from the wreckage those few months ago, the bad shape he had been in.

This vampire stuff had really knocked him down. The detective hadn’t seen that old confidence in months.

He groans. He should say no. Instead, he rolls up his sleeve.

“Make it quick,” he growls. The superhero’s eyes brighten, and he takes a hesitant step forward.

He goes to grasp at the man’s arm, hesitating just before their skin touches. He notes the way his throat bobs, and then those eyes dart nervously to his neck. The detective knows the question before he even asks.

“Your neck, can I—”

“No,” he snaps, jerking his arm to redirect his faltering attention. “You’re already on thin ice. It’s this, or it’s nothing. Take your pick.”

The superhero’s lips press into a thin line. Then, he nods tersely, and flounders around him for a moment.

“You should sit,” he urges. “You’ll probably get dizzy, and—”

A sharp glare cuts him off. He gets the command. Shut up and hurry up.

The superhero takes a deep breath, thumb prodding the smooth surface of the detective’s flesh for a moment. He seems to simply admire the rush of blood underneath, before he pierces the flesh with his fangs. The detective holds back an instinctive hiss of pain, the sharp pricks almost zapping right up his spine. The superhero might have stopped to make sure he was okay before feeding, but he’d been starved for so long, that he lapped at the beads of blood straight away.

It’s an odd feeling; not unpleasant, but not easy to ignore.

The detective’s jaw clenches, and when the superhero is done, he hides the wound.

“Oh my,” Civilian heard in the distance, a fog blurring their sight, and the unshakable feeling of exhaustion confusing their head “poor little thing, left for dead.” 

The figure approached, kneeling in the ground beside them, softly grabbing their head with both their hands, guiding it upwards, towards them, stroking their sweaty hair, wet with something sticky, something dark and too agitating to think about at that time and place. 

A weave of nausea quickly catched up, forcing Civilian to react, moving in a quick motion their head to the side, throwing up all over the floor beside them and the stranger handling them with so much care. 

“Oh love, that can’t be good,” the figure continued, pulling them close once again, a handkerchief cleaning the corners of their mouth with light taps “what do you say I take you home? I can make it all better, I bet that you’re feeling quite uncomfortable right now.” 

Civilian nodded absentmindedly, only half processing what they were agreeing to, immediate relief from their pain and turmoil coming right before self preservation. Vampire related incidents were on the rise in the city, it was an open secret. 

The stranger smiled warmly. 

“I’m glad,” they said, twisting the young person in their arms to carry them comfortably to the elegant white car waiting for them, door opened, man waiting beside it “you’re gonna be the perfect example for Hero, he needs to learn how dangerous they are when rejecting their sires help, they must not have even realised they left you there dying.” 

The stranger sighed, getting them inside the car, resting Civilian’s head over their lap, not caring for the blood and grime staining their pants and car seats. 

“Don’t worry, pretty thing, I’ll take care of you until they are capable, even if that takes a couple decades.” 

_

A powerful superhero agency has hired this little vampire guy up there. Unfortunately, he is best described as “annoying as hell” and “sadistic asshole”.

Trouble ensues.

It’s comedy, it's horror, it’s about power and helplessness, it’s about people doing their best in a weird world, and most important of all, it’s mindbogglingly silly.

You can read the snippets that inspired the novel here.

Write something inspired by this concept:

A vampire rescues a human from certain death but suffers terrible injuries in the process, injuries that would almost certainly kill anyone else.

(I saw this story a while ago that had a vampire!villain and human!hero, and wanted to reverse it. Cannot remember the actual idea behind the story, but I remember it was really good.)

(And that it was much nicer than this one.)

Bloodsucker

TW: could be read as non-con

Villain wouldn't say they had too much going for them. Other than the fact that they were human. That seemed to be all of it, unfortunately.

Which was more than he could say for his adversary.

(Of course, Villain hadn't known their opponent was a vampire. If they had, they would have changed their plans. So that someone else was here. Preferably with a bag full of wooden stakes.

Unfortunately, Villain was alone. Which likely played a massive part of their current situation.)

"Let me go!" Villain fought Hero as the other trapped them against the wall, pinning their wrists above their head. The moment their opponent had gotten close enough to smell them, they'd become crazed, fighting to trap Villain. Villain had dodged every attempt with an ease that was wearing away.

Then they'd stumbled, and Hero had struck. Grabbing them and shoving them against the wall, where they now held them.

"You motherfucking-" Hero's hand clamped down over Villain's mouth. Leaning in, they sniffed.

"You smell amazing." Hero murmured. "So sweet..."

Villain flinched as they felt Hero's fangs scrape against their neck, and yanked their head free from Hero's hand. "Get the fuck away from me, you monster." They growled, trying to put up a brave front.

"Are you sure you want me to?" Hero brushed a free hand along their cheek. "Because your scent is telling me that you're enjoying this. And you want me to keep holding you."

"I-fuck you." Villain hissed. Hero was right, of course. Villain was touch-starved, so of course they were having such a positive reaction to touch.

Hero chuckled, their breath warm against Villains neck.

“I don’t feed to kill, Villain.”

The criminal lets out a whimper as Hero begins to toy with their hair, “wh-what are you going t-to do with me then?”