#vampire lucifer

Like clockwork, as though his body moved on instinct rather than thought, Lucifer found himself drifting back into the kitchen, gliding really, like a swish of pale silk. Every day he crafted a different kind of Frost-soothing soup, stirring herbs and broths with delicate precision. Each mixture was meant to ease pain, settle nerves, warm chilled bones… and every batch was made with one trembling wolf in mind.

Then he would take the tray upstairs, slip into Adam’s dim little sanctuary, and, without hesitation, shimmy halfway beneath the bed like some devoted, overdressed serpent. He would lay there on his stomach, hair spilling like gold ribbons across the floor, coaxing in the gentlest voice he possessed.

Some days were harder than others.

Some days Adam refused to move at all, curling tighter and tighter beneath the bed until he resembled a shivering knot of fur and misery. The wolf would whimper, and sniffle, and tremble so violently Lucifer thought his insides might splinter from watching. On those days Lucifer had no choice but to feed him spoonfuls beneath the bed, contorting himself in ridiculous angles just to make sure the wolf swallowed something.

Other days, Adam would slowly, reluctantly, squirm just far enough out from under the frame for Lucifer to feed him. Only long enough for a few spoonfuls before wriggling back into the safety of darkness again.

It was… concerning, deeply concerning.

It had been well over a week, more like two, since Adam had surrendered his suppressions and fallen into a Frost. He should have been approaching the end of it. Should have been easing out of it days ago and should be in pre-frost by now, but he wasn’t.

And that ache of wrongness, sharp and cold and persistent, would not leave Lucifer alone. He did not know Adam well, okay, truthfully, he didn’t know the wolf at all. But he did know Omegas, he knew their patterns, their bodies, their needs.

This wasn’t normal, not even close. Something was off, something was wrong.

Lucifer sighed softly, drumming his long, cold fingers across the polished surface of his desk. His elbow propped on the wood, the other hand curled into a loose fist. He squished his rosy cheek into his knuckles, blue-and-gold eyes half-lidded as he stared blankly at the open black leather notebook before him.

He was supposed to be reviewing Anthony’s progress, reading the essays the spider Omega had dutifully written, but Lucifer couldn’t make the words stay still. His thoughts drifted, coiled, and circled around Adam like a worried spectre.

He finally scoffed softly and leaned back in his plush chair, rubbing his tired, purple-shadowed eyes. His long eyelashes fluttered like moth wings before he gently closed the book with a sigh.

Stretching his arms above his head, he cracked his back and stared up at the ceiling carvings, apples, ducks, and other quirks Michael insisted were “charming.” Lucifer’s lips twisted into a crooked little smirk, his nose scrunching faintly.

Frosts were dangerous, they were miserable and so excruciating, but they did not last nearly two weeks. A week at most, even severe ones. And the file Sera Greentail had sent hadn’t mentioned any chronic issues or complications that might explain this prolonged suffering…which meant Lucifer would have to find the truth himself, and he would, it was his job, after all.

Running one elegant hand through his perfectly styled, duck-feathered sweep of golden hair, Lucifer rose from his chair with a languid stretch. His spine gave a soft, satisfying series of pops, and he exhaled a hum of relief.

“Well,” he mused, “If I can’t focus on the rest of my flock, I might as well tend to the one Omega determined to challenge every ounce of my patience.”

A crooked smile tugged at his lips. Adam had been… difficult. Maddeningly so, and yet, Lucifer couldn’t deny the quiet pull he felt each time he padded down the hallway with a tray of lovingly crafted Frost-soothing soup. Maybe tending to the stubborn wolf would settle his thoughts, smooth the noisy edges of worry, and let him return to the others with a clearer mind.

He stepped toward the door, and paused, head tilting slightly when he caught sight of the wall-mounted screen. Its surface was pitch-black, not even flickering. His lips pursed into a prim little pout.

“Again, Alastor?” he sighed, already moving toward it.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s buffering!” Alastor cackled from the polished tabletop radio, his voice fizzing like mischief in static form.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, though amusement softened his features.

“You are going to give him a heart attack if you keep doing that,” he scolded gently.

He crouched with effortless grace, opening the lockbox beneath the screen, his long, cold fingers danced over the keypad as he entered the code, one known only to him, Michael, and Vox. A necessary measure, considering the VoxTech system could plunge the entire Enterprise into chaos if mismanaged.

Alastor snorted. “He deserves it. He’s being such an idiot and fucking creep!”

“Creep?” Lucifer echoed, an elegant brow lifting in mild amusement as he flicked switches and began the reboot cycle. “In what way?”

He honestly couldn’t imagine Vox being creepy; the man was a recluse who barely opened his door for anyone except Michael, and on rare occasions, Alastor himself. Vox could be enthusiastic, excessively so, at times, but Lucifer had always found it more endearing than unsettling.

“Oh, you know,” Alastor crooned smugly, “We were talking about the old days… and how inspiring I am~”

Lucifer huffed a soft laugh, that tone, silky, self-satisfied, was one he’d heard thousands of times. Alastor’s pride burned bright enough to rival Lucifer’s own, which was saying something.

“I don’t see how that’s creepy,” Lucifer said as he stood, placing his hands on his narrow hips. The reboot screen flickered to life in a familiar shade of electric blue. “If anything, it sounds like a compliment.”

“Ah, you wouldn’t understand the standards a refined Omega like me upholds,” Alastor scoffed.

Lucifer rolled his eyes with theatrical exhaustion. “Of course I would.” His voice softened, coaxing. “And? Are you going to give me any actual details? What, precisely, was Vox doing that offended your delicate sensibilities?”

“HA! He’s being hypocritical!” Vox barked as his mascot abruptly popped onto the screen, little pixelated brows furrowed in furious indignation. Lucifer found it rather adorable, truth be told.

“How so?” Lucifer asked, lips curving into an amused smile.

“He thinks it’s creepy if I touch his shoulder! His shoulder!” Vox sputtered. “But he does it to me all the time! And I don’t call him creepy!”

“That is quite different,” Alastor cut in smoothly.

“What?! How?!” Vox practically vibrated with outrage, his screen glitching again in stuttered pixels.

Lucifer hummed thoughtfully, tapping a slender finger against his chin. Vox wasn’t his patient, that was Michael’s domain, but the two of them often compared notes. Lucifer knew enough to understand the subtext: Vox’s childhood had been harsh, touchless, unkind. For him, physical contact wasn’t just contact, it was trust, vulnerability, an offering of open heart and open wound.

Michael had mentioned that Vox thrived on gentle touch from those he let close. A hand on his shoulder, a pat on his head… little things that meant far more to him than most realized.

“Some Omegas express affection through touch,” Lucifer said gently. “I wouldn’t consider that creepy at all.”

“THANK you!” Vox snapped triumphantly.

“But,” Lucifer added softly, glancing toward the radio with a knowing tilt of his head, “It would be hypocritical of you, Alastor, if you’re touching Vox’s shoulders as well.”

“Ah, how you’re an Omega therapist is beyond me,” Alastor sniffed, his voice lilting into a delicate, high-pitched register of offended elegance. “To misunderstand something so simple, what a tragic failure.”

Lucifer didn’t even blink. He was far too accustomed to Alastor’s theatrical deflection, especially when the deer Omega felt cornered. It happened often in their sessions. Unlike Michael, who was permitted to enter Vox’s room for therapy in person, Lucifer was kept firmly outside Alastor’s territory, and, well… that did mean something, considering Alastor regularly left his room to visit Vox’s. Vox, on the other hand, had never crossed Alastor’s threshold.

Lucifer had even heard whispers, before Alastor’s last heat, that the Omega had tried to invite Vox to spend it with him. A huge step for someone so guarded. A misunderstanding so disastrous Alastor refused to clarify it even now. Vox had tried to offer his room for Alastor’s heat, but Vox didn’t take confusion, or rejection, well. He’d short-circuited immediately, missed Alastor’s actual intent entirely, and then ghosted every irritated, increasingly sharp message Alastor had sent before his heat hit. Seven days of silence. Everyone had heard about Vox’s hurt, his frantic pacing, his static-crackling distress.

It was a miracle the two were talking at all.

“He does more than touch my shoulders!” Vox began heatedly from the screen. “If anyone here is the creep, it’s him and-”

A sharp, teeth-grating screech erupted from Alastor’s radio.

“Silence!” Alastor snapped, suddenly vicious. “Some things need to remain private, Vox! Or have you forgotten that?!”

“Uh,” Vox choked, startled and uncharacteristically meek. He wasn’t used to Alastor sounding genuinely upset.

Lucifer blinked slowly, now that was new. As far as he’d ever managed to pry during their sessions, Alastor had always claimed his and Vox’s interactions had never crossed into anything remotely intimate. Even considering spending his heat with Vox was monumental for him. Cold, proud, razor-edged Alastor offering vulnerability? It made Lucifer thoughtfully suspicious.

“Had Alastor lied by omission? Did his visits sync with Vox’s heats? Was he guarding Vox’s privacy more fiercely than he admitted?”

If so, that was enormous progress.

“Um… I’m just gonna… go now…” Vox stammered, his little mascot avatar flushed a bright, rosy digital red and fiddled with its wire-frame fingers. When Alastor didn’t respond, clearly seething, the screen glitched, flickered, and went dark.

Lucifer stared at the blank display, then slowly shifted his attention to the radio.

“Do not look at me like that, you little half-pint midget,” Alastor snarled, brittle and prickly.

“Alastor,” Lucifer began gently, slipping into his therapist cadence, “Have you been intimate with Vox?”

“If I wanted you to know, I would have told you,” Alastor shot back instantly, voice darkening. “And since I haven’t, it is none of your business. What happens between me and that blockheaded Omega is ours.”

“True,” Lucifer conceded softly. “Privacy and boundaries matter in relationships, but I’m here to help you. And to be frank…” Lucifer folded his arms. “Calling him things like ‘creep’ won’t help you in the long run. Omegas like Vox are sensitive, you could-”

“Offend him?” Alastor cut in with a high-pitched, static-laced laugh. “He offended me, need I remind you? You told me to lower my guard. To, what did you say?, ‘open a door for him.’ So, I did. And what happened? The idiot didn’t take the hint!”

“I see you’re still sore about that,” Lucifer murmured.

“Of course I am!” Alastor hissed. The radio’s red light flared brighter, menacing. “I tried to be vulnerable, vulnerable, and invite him to share my heat. And the moron didn’t even let me finish before short-circuiting! Then he ignored all my messages. So, excuse me if I want to watch him squirm!”

“That’s not very healthy,” Lucifer blurted before he could stop himself. He immediately regretted it, this was the most honest Alastor had been in months.

“Fuck healthy!” Alastor snapped, the radio’s glow pulsed like a heartbeat of rage. “This makes me feel better, that’s all that matters.”

Lucifer regarded the radio with half-lidded patience. Beneath all that fury was something undeniably important: Vox mattered to him, deeply. He waited to see if Alastor would say something else, and when nothing else came, Lucifer sighed softly and dropped his voice, speaking in a comforting near-purr only the radio could catch.

“I understand you’re hurt, and angry, you’re valid in that. No one can take that from you, but there comes a point when you must stop and consider whether your actions lead to the result you actually want.”

“…In what way?” Alastor demanded, cold but curious now. “How could this end any way but the one I expect? Vox always comes crawling back the moment I snap my fingers.”

Ah yes. The entitlement.

“Everyone has a breaking point,” Lucifer said gently. “Even Omegas who adore you. If you keep pushing Vox away, whether he deserves it or not, he might genuinely believe you don’t want him. He could pull back, farther than you expect.”

“And,” Lucifer continued softly, “If you’re not honest about your feelings, someone else could step in, someone new.”

“Are you suggesting,” Alastor whispered, voice low and shaken, “That another Omega might take what’s mine?”

“I’m sure that’s the last thing you want,” Lucifer said. “And we’re due for new arrivals in the coming months. If Vox feels rejected, he might reach out to someone else. He might try to move on.”

Lucifer fully anticipated Alastor to scoff, to laugh, to dismiss the idea out of pride. Instead, silence, a meaningful, heavy silence. He was thinking, considering Lucifer’s words seriously and that was such a huge deal for an Omega like Alastor.

“I’m sorry…” a small voice quivered. The dark screen flickered, revealing Vox’s mascot again, fidgeting, bashful, shame-faced. He hadn’t left after all, he’d listened.

Lucifer should reprimand him. Their conversation was meant to be private, but realistically… they were broadcasting in common space. It was hardly Vox’s fault.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Vox murmured, fingers twisting. “I didn’t realize what you were trying to say. And I-“

“Yes, I know what you did,” Alastor interrupted, but the bite was gone. His voice was softer, steady but careful. “You jumped to conclusions, as always, and didn’t let me finish. I wanted you to come to my room for my heat, that’s all.”

Silence again. Vox’s avatar blinked big, shimmering, watery eyes as the meaning sank in.

“I’m so sorry, Al…” he whispered. “I should’ve waited, I shouldn’t have ignored your messages.”

“No,” Alastor agreed quietly, “You shouldn’t have.”

Lucifer exhaled a pleased, rumbling purr. At long last, the tension between them was dissolving. Voices softened and the static settled, their communication was no longer barbed but… tentative and gentle.

He hated to interrupt, but Adam needed soup and medication. The timing was as good as it would get, and with Vox and Alastor chirping softly to one another now, fragile, shy, but finally honest, Lucifer felt comfortable enough to slip away and tend to the Omega who needed him most.

“Anyway, I must go now,” Lucifer announced warmly, a fond gleam softening his purple-rimmed eyes as his cherry-red lips curved into a teasing smirk. “Can I trust you both to behave?”

“We are adults,” Alastor grunted, as if the concept pained him. “I’m sure we can behave.”

Lucifer nearly pointed out how the two of them had been snapping and squabbling like overcaffeinated schoolchildren, but he bit back the remark. No need to invite another argument. Instead, he dipped his head in a graceful little nod and turned toward the steps, his coat swishing elegantly behind him.

“Is the newcomer still in a Frost?” Vox whispered, his voice barely above a digital hum.

“Hm. It would seem so,” Alastor replied. A little too brightly. Far too amused. Lucifer could practically taste the smugness from halfway down the stairwell.

He sighed under his breath. Of course. The moment the sweetness settled between them, the sharpness crept right back in.

“But… it’s been two weeks?” Vox questioned, awkward and concerned.

“Sometimes Omegas need a bit more… tender care to thaw out of a Frost,” Alastor purred, smooth as velvet and twice as sly. “Perhaps the newcomer doesn’t feel comfortable here yet. I certainly wouldn’t be, if my therapist was that pint-sized toy.”

Lucifer halted mid-step, one hand resting lightly on the polished banister. His brows twitched downward. Toy, honestly, he drummed his fingertips along the carved wood, thinking.

“Perhaps Adam truly doesn’t feel comfortable around me.”

The possibility burrowed into him, small but heavy. He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing as pieces clicked together. Adam had never had anyone checking on him. Certainly not a family member. Certainly not a caretaker who genuinely gave a damn. His body might be clinging to the Frost because he didn’t feel safe yet, didn’t feel settled, didn’t feel… tended to.

Which meant Lucifer needed to change that.

He exhaled softly, a determined glow sparking in his slit blue-and-gold eyes. If comfort was what Adam needed, then Lucifer would simply have to provide it.

All of it.

Nodding to himself, Lucifer swept down the remaining stairs with renewed purpose, his steps brisk, his expression set, he would stay with Adam. Long enough for the wolf’s trembling body to recognize him, not as a stranger, not as an intruder, but as warmth, as steady comfort, as someone who would not leave. Long enough for Adam’s mind to loosen its death-grip on the Frost and let the thaw begin.

If Adam needed stability…if he needed reassurance…if he needed Lucifer’s presence beside him in that cold room, then so be it. Lucifer hadn’t failed one of his patients yet and Adam wasn’t going to be the first one he failed.

Entering the kitchen, Lucifer hummed under his breath, the melody light and absentminded. His bright blue eyes flashed with purpose as he made a beeline for the cupboards, coat swaying behind him in a crisp sweep. A plan, half-formed but burning hot, was already taking shape in his mind. He was going to break Adam’s Frost, One way or another, he would thaw that boy out.

Alastor had been right, annoyingly enough, and the realization made Lucifer feel almost foolish for not seeing it sooner. Adam’s body wasn’t comfortable. Wasn’t used to Lucifer. Omegas lived on comfort and pheromones. If the poor kid had never been around other Omegas, had never bonded, had never had piles to lean into, then of course his instincts were in shambles.

It made sense, painful, obvious sense and all Lucifer had to do… was let Adam’s body get used to him.

He paused by the kitchen counter, his humming fading. With a faint tilt of his head, he directed a sharp look toward the hidden golden fridge in the wall. It glowed faintly under the kitchen lights, bolted shut with a keypad lock, the pettiest of barriers and his eyes narrowed, lips pursing.

Of course, Michael had moved it in here the moment Lucifer started coming daily to cook for Adam. The scheming bastard.

Lucifer scoffed under his breath, rolling his eyes so hard it almost clicked. Asshole.

Shaking off the irritation, he returned his focus to the task at hand. Adam came first. Always.

He reached up and opened the cupboards, fingers tapping thoughtfully on the wood. For the past week, he’d been making Adam chicken soup, gentle, easy, warm. Comfort food. But maybe… maybe it was time for something new. Something richer. More nourishing. More instinctively grounding.

A small smile curled his lips, Adam was a wolf, after all.

“Perhaps pork,” Lucifer murmured to himself, already picturing flavors, textures, broths. “And bone marrow… yes, something hearty.”

His eyes softened with sudden warmth. He could imagine Adam’s body responding to the smell alone, the primal comfort of it, the grounding weight. Food was care, care was stability, stability meant safety and safety was how Frosts broke.

Lucifer closed the cupboard with a decisive click.

A quiet but demanding knock upon your door shook you from your enjoyment of your book, confused as you weren't expecting anyone, you left your comfortable spot on the sofa and sat your book down on the couch. Trying to look outside your window pushing past your sheer billowing curtains, you don't see anyone at your door, even more confusing. You take a deep breath to yourself, deciding to stop being paranoid and just open the door. You walk up and twist the handle, but there is no one there, you look around to not even see anyone around your front door. You start to take a step out, but before you place your foot down on your doorstep you check, noticing that there is a bundle of deep red almost burgundy roses wrapped in black paper and a black envelope to the side.

You step back inside, taking the roses and placing them on your kitchen counter while you take a look at the note, sealed in red wax and a sigil that you recognize as the reigning king's family crest. "why would I receive something this extravagant from the king?" you ponder curiously, as you walked to grab a letter opener, you return quickly, running the knife under the seal of the envelope and open it. Your name was the first thing you saw as you unfolded the card, white paper with extravagant calligraphy, written was nothing more than the address of the castle, the time to arrive and the vague dress code of formal wear, an invitation. An invitation to a ball at the royal palace, a ball you’d only heard tales about, the ‘all Hallows Eve ball’ hosted by the king himself, the only social event that the kingdom had celebrated since the passing of the last king. It was impossible to be a forgery with the family crest and seal, but why had you received this? You sat the card down, not thinking of it much more as you grabbed a vase for the flowers, prepping them neatly and leaving them on your kitchen counter.

You could assume that this was addressed to the wrong person had your name not been scripted on the front of the card. It did pique your curiosity as to why you received an invitation to a ball typically used to celebrate the kingdom’s upper ranking nobles, especially the first social event since the passing of the late king. You’d heard many stories of the kings, but it always seemed so distant from the life of the village, it felt as if it was a fairytale that everyone simply indulged in and one to blame when convenient. The late king had died due to sickness complications, or so they say, the prince stepping up to replace his father, had not been married and was young to be taking the throne, that’s what you’d gotten from the newspaper. Perhaps this was simply an invitation to non-betrothed women within his kingdom, seeing if anyone could catch the heart of the king. Whatever fantasy you wanted to sell yourself on, truthfully, you’d always wanted to see it with your two eyes, the palace, the king and the fairy tales. You’d attend.

The party was in two days, you didn’t have much time to prepare something specific, still unsure why you were invited to such a prestigious yearly party, you’d asked around your friends in the village seeing if anyone else had gotten one, but to no avail. You’d practically given up on finding something worthy of being worn to the castle, when you walked by the window and the displayed dress caught your eye. A slightly off-white dress, the attention-grabbing sweetheart neckline, the billowy sleeves that cuffed at the wrist and the more silken A-line skirt that had a layer of lace to accentuate the hips. It was fairly out there, this was a relatively new style of dress, one that was still quite daring for a woman who was unmarried, but times were changing so maybe you should also be daring. You decided to go inside and inquire about the dress, surprisingly not out of budget since the style was proving unpopular with the majority of the townsfolk but unreceptive to the new social changes.

Just like that, a bag in hand, you’d arrived home. You truly didn’t expect to find anything, so it was a pleasant surprise to say the least, you didn’t have to travel to other towns or the capital just to find something presentable to wear to the ball with the theme of ‘formal wear.’ You’d probably experiment with styling the dress before the day came, this might be your only chance to see the palace and so many extravagant things in your entire life, so why not do your best to fit into high society. Maybe you’d be able to sneak off from the ball and walk the palace freely, to see art you could never even imagine, to walk around must feel like peering into another universe. Perhaps there would be a socialization event of some kind, where you’d have to converse and meet people, the thought made you shudder thinking of trying to introduce yourself to members of high society. You pushed the thought back, nothing could stop you from your exciting fantasy of seeing the palace, being able to put faces to rumors, and everything you’d never get to indulge in again.

The two days came and went quickly, you’d departed early to the capital the day before the party deciding to stay at a hotel so that you did not have to commit to the long ride the night of the party. The castle was still a few hours from the capital, however, a much shorter ride than it would be from your small-town village. You’d packed a small suitcase, your dress, heels and any accessories you were to wear took up almost its entirety, you’d planned it all out, after the party you’d go back to the hotel and change for the ride home the next day, a midmorning ticket already purchased. You spent some time in the capital today since you’d come early, deciding to check out the bookstore and a few other places that carried things that were harder to get in your hometown. Satisfied with the time you’d spent today getting to see some new things, meet some friendly new people and get a few books you were excited to read when you returned home.

It was time to start getting ready for the ball when you returned to your hotel, you wasted no time in washing yourself up, putting on your makeup and styling your hair. Youd’ put on the dress and stood in front of the large mirror, seeing everything together, it was perfect. You’d adorned your hair into an updo, nothing intricately special with a few pieces to frame your face delicately, but something away from your neck, to show off the neckline of the dress. You had on a small pair of pearl earrings, one to match the dainty pearl droplet necklace that sat perfectly, right atop your bosom, with your heels on and everything to your liking, you set out to the castle. The ride there took a while, regretting not bringing one of your books to keep you company, you had to sit in nothing but your daydreams the entire ride. As the path to the castle came more and more into view, your excitement and daydreams had turned sour in your stomach, turning into churning anxiety about how the night might go.

You stepped out of the carriage, the driver coming to help you out by giving you his hand to lower yourself with leverage onto the ground, your heels giving you about equal height to the man, before you walked up to the door he leaned into you, “You seem a sweet girl with a good head on your shoulders. Be careful tonight.” You gave him a smile, “I will be, thank you for the ride.” You started to walk into the palace, guards holding the heavy doors open with their backs as you entered, the driver’s words stirring in your head and reigniting the anxiety that you’d struggled to quell earlier. I’m sure it was just friendly advice, it’s probably obvious I’m not from around here, a more palatable reason for his concerning words, that’s what you’ll settle on.

Not letting your anxiety distract you further from the beauty of the marble halls, a thick red carpet plush under your feet, a walkway lined with tall vases filled to the brim with black and red flowers, the entire entryway smelt of sweet florals. More guards guiding the way for you and the visitors in front of you, a couple dressed in elegant fashions, both adorned all black from the details you could distinguish, only seeing their backs of course. Far more interested in the paintings and statues that had started to appear the deeper into the hall you went, the floral vases never wavered until your path turned, leading to an opened that was bursting with bustling noise. A small line was formed before the start of the opened door, you realized that they were allowing for grand entrances, no need for announcements as most of these people recognized by the socialites already inside.

The line moved relatively quickly, as it did you could finally see the people descending the stairs down into the ballroom, it was covered in dark florals and sheer cloth, ribbons and balloons. The downstairs lighting was atmospheric, lit primarily by the huge, mounted chandeliers with faux candles, with candelabras scattered throughout the room, but it all felt overshadowed by the large imposing windows that displayed the moon outside, radiant in its full moon glow.  The live music pricked your ears, stringed instruments bouncing off of the marble walls, a beautiful tune that you’d heard somewhere before, so distracted in your observations of everything, you hardly noticed you were next to enter, after the couple in front made their entrance.

The last special guest of the night had finally arrived, standing at the top of the staircase that led down into the ballroom. The crowded ballroom felt like it grew silent as you descended the stairs. The paralyzing ringing in your ears, the anxiety that shot through your body as so many stared at you, it felt as though every single pair in the room turned to you. The palpable fear, the embarrassment, and your heart racing and not a single person in this room couldn't feel it, that and the blood pumping rapidly through your body. You focused on your feet for a moment, heels walking down the steep marble steps of the castle, it helped to not focus on everyone staring at you. Did I misread the invitation? Am I in the wrong color? Should I just make a dash right now? Confused and embarrassed thoughts were the only things swimming in your head right now, that and the butterflies swimming in your stomach.

You didn’t notice the eyes that followed your decent, the tongues that met their lips as they drank in your appearance, your dress is elegant and cascading, the beautiful color you'd chosen to adorn your skin tonight, that beautifully intoxicating silky fabric draped perfectly on you. How daring that the entirety of your neck was exposed. Your eyes darted around the crowded party looking for anyone that may be able to quell the feeling of not belonging, in a party full of red and black you made yourself stand out, unintentionally of course but, you weren’t the only one not bathed in black, there were other women of varying ages that were in other light colors as well. It helped to feel not so out of place, these women had probably made the same mistake that you had, unknowing of some sort of tradition of wearing black or misreading the vague invitation the same way you had.

Or perhaps it was intentional, to tell these women apart from the rest.

Finally making it into the ballroom, your feet planted onto the marble flooring from the last step, servants standing on either side of you, both wearing half masks, unspeaking as only one leaned down to you offering you drinks on a tray. He presented fluted cups with what seemed to be champagne, you hesitantly took a glass and walked deeper into the party, noticing many hands with larger glasses, filled with a deep red color, red wine you’d assume. Probably for the best that you were not offered the red wine, a disaster waiting to happen in your practically white dress, you should probably be careful tonight. Sipping on your champagne, you took in everything you could, the music that got louder as you walked, the elegant dresses and suits that many people adorned, when you finally hit what seemed to be the center of the room. The large chandelier cascading light down onto dancing people, and the stringed instruments belting out beautifully enchanting music off to the side.

The night droned on, you’d drank many more glasses of champagne trying to fight back the feelings of unease and drown out your insecurities, you’d even danced with a few men who had asked. You were by no means spectacular at dancing, but it was easy enough to follow the lead and the flow of the movement in the party. Busying yourself in doing your best to dance and not step on your partner’s feet, you didn’t notice the eyes around the room that watched you, captivated in your movement despite dancing on their own. Some rather uninteresting small talk that always seemed to be cut short before they disappeared from you and nothing particularly interesting. You couldn’t help but want to head back upstairs and view more sights of the castle. A waiter handing you another glass of champagne, you grabbed it and walked yourself back through the crowd, ascending the stairs and asking a guard where you could find the bathroom, he offered to take you, noticing your slightly inebriated state but you insisted you could follow simple directions. The guard shut up quickly, leaving you confused momentarily before he motioned his hand in the direction for you to walk, “thank you” you mumble as you walk in that direction, your heels clacking against the floor that was not covered in the red carpeted material.

Perhaps had you not been so distracted tonight, you’d have noticed a particular pair of red eyes that followed your form no matter where you went, following you at a distance through the party, he watched you dance from the sidelines, unrealistic for him to ask you to dance, but the persistence of his eyes on you and his aura looming as a warning to others who tried to take your time too long. He followed quietly at a distance after you, even up the stairs, the eyes that pierced through the guard’s telling him to be quiet.

Walking out of line of sight of the guard, taking the turn in the hallway as you were instructed, you couldn’t help but continue down admiring the art displayed on the walls. You’d walked down one hallway, then another and another and maybe a staircase, promising to stop and this be your last before you headed back. You couldn’t help but stop as this painting caught your attention, a painting of the late king and the prince. You’d never truly seen them, only heard their descriptions before, Raven black hair, blood red eyes and pale skin. The painting captured them beautifully, the king’s son a mirror image of himself, the things that stood out the most were the blood red eyes of them both and the broach on the lapel of the king that perfectly matched their eyes.

“Admiring the scenery?” A deep voice booms from your side, and you practically startle out of your skin. Had your glass been any fuller, perhaps you would have spilled it as your body jolted in surprise. You turn to see who the voice belonged to, a towering man dressed in all black, hair black as a raven, blood red eyes, and pale skin. Perhaps you were drunk, seeing double, like the painting had come to life in front of you. You took a few rapid blinks before you registered that this was real, the red broach on his lapel confirming it. You bow your head and curtsey in front of him, something you had become quite accustomed to doing tonight, “Your Highness, I’m sorry, I was captivated with all the art on the way to the bathroom.” You could feel your own voice shaky with embarrassment at being caught, not just by anyone but the king of the castle you were venturing in as if it was your playground.

“Strange as the bathroom is floor down from here.” His voice was a bit playful in its condescension. It did not take much for his voice to power through the emptiness of the hallway. “I must have taken a wrong turn, my apologies” you try to pass off as your excuse, your eyes finally leaving the ground to drink in his appearance. He wore an all-black suit, his tie, his shirt, his suit jacket, pants, gloves and shoes, including the intricate overcoat he draped along his shoulders, you’d miss the detailing had he not been mere feet from you. The red broach stood out strongly, his status symbol, the true heirloom of the throne pinned onto his pointed lapel, and it truly did match his eyes perfectly. Too uninterested in your excuse as he watched your eyes linger on his appearance, the tilt of a smirk on his lips, he decided to let it go, obviously this was an opportunity in his favor at the end of the day, there had been a reason he followed behind you throughout all these hallways. “Parties are not really my fancy either” he breaks the long silence, feeling your heartbeat quicken with his words, his lips now turning into a full smirk.

He could really tell that parties weren’t your thing just by you simply not being there, or had he just had such a good read on you by your appearance? A lot of questions circled your head; you’d be consumed by them had he not spoken again to break you from them. “I saw you on the dance floor, I was going to ask you to dance before you left in a hurry” a white lie, but who could know that other than himself. You felt your face heat, embarrassed by his admission, and the thought of being asked to dance by the King at his own party, now this truly felt like a fantasy. “We can head back” you start before he cuts off the words forming on your tongue, "We can dance here just as well" His tone is rather matter of fact, he holds out his gloved hand to you and bows waiting for you to accept. His piercing red eyes watch your movements, intrigued in seeing how easily you'd fall into his plan tonight.

"I might struggle with no music to follow." You laugh off your nervousness lightly. It had been one of the only reasons you'd made it through the dancing earlier. He didn't need to remove his leather gloves from his hands to feel that sickening drumming of your pulse, your hand against his even if not directly. He pulled you in close, a proper waltz, like he'd been trained to do since he was young. He took steps slowly at first, allowing you to fall into sync with his footsteps. His movements so automatic it allowed his mind to wander for a moment, that innocent look in your eyes as he looked down at you made his mind feel sick with perverted thoughts. How easy it could be to just push you against the wall and indulge in your body and neck.

As you two synced up more, the silence that fell over the hallway was quickly interrupted as he started to hum a melody, just loud enough for it to be heard between you two. The soft humming that emitted from him, it was his grounding method, a way to keep him from losing all semblance of control of himself and his powers, the war he'd slowly been losing all night in your presence. The soft humming that emitted from him helped you step into more comfort versus simply following his lead, “I don’t see why you were nervous.” In this moment his words and actions felt like a more intimate display than it probably was, he raised his arm for you to spin under, his eyes softening to you as you twirled before coming back into his embrace. His grip on your waist was tighter than before.

He was enthralled by the way that you moved with him. You were a receptive partner. No matter how he moved, you followed. He sure hoped you'd continue. Originally tonight, there felt like some force pulling himself to you. It would be a mistake for him not to be drawn to how enchanting you looked. He'd hardly been the only one to notice, but something so alluring in the way you were exposed just enough for the imagination to run wild. And it was so disgustingly obvious to him that so many did. But as the night went on, watching you, the way you carried yourself, then watching how you didn't even care to pretend and stand around doing something you didn't enjoy. It made him more interested in you, beyond the appearance that originally drew him in.

It just happened to be that you also had that inebriating smell that flowed just under your skin. He enjoyed being close to you like this, like he could get drunk on just your smell in this moment, had he not been so tall perhaps he could lean in closer to you and drink it in closer to your skin. Allowing his nose to press right against your pulse, the throb of your heart accelerating just tempting him to sink his teeth into. He shook from his thoughts. If he was to be quite honest, his thoughts had gotten somewhat erratic, but they had been since he set his eyes on you. Almost like he was already drunk on your presence, to begin with, maybe that's why he'd followed you, that he could feel those sparks of connection and not just that burning hunger in the pit of his belly.

Perhaps it was your closeness, the way he could feel your drumming pulse under your skin, the heartbeat that quickened under his control, he felt like his restraint was waning and he was becoming less willing to hold back the longer he spent with you here, like this. His look at you was so captivating, those alluring red eyes that looked at you like he could devour every fiber of your being. Had his charming looks worked on you, or was it the bubbles in your stomach that softened your resolve, your inner voice questioning how weird this all was. Why the very king of the kingdom had invited you to this party to begin with, why he had wanted to dance with you, and why he was here with you now. Why his grip and his gaze on you were so intent, strong, and unforgiving. The air was thick with tension that was confusing but all consuming, like you’d give yourself over to it easily.

The desire was heavy in the air, and in your mind, you weren’t sure anymore who had started the kiss or when you even started to kiss to begin with. A soft peck quickly turned into a tender kiss, lips parting lazily, and languid breaths exhaled, only allowing for tongues to glide together carefully. The taste of his lips and mouth were tangy with a metallic edge, one that became more familiar as you two connected longer. The focus on the taste left your mind as he pushed you backward. He pressed you against the wall, his forearm pressed harshly against the wall, boxing you two together in this moment.

He was unwilling to let his lips part with yours for a second, intoxicating his mind with the lust that flowed from you. His eyebrow scrunched together with force as he worked against the animalistic urge to get at the blood quickly pumping under your skin. He mentally pushed past it, wanting to give himself instead to a more sinful gluttony, dont get distracted from your plan now. He let his hand linger on your hip, gripping it cruelly before he let his hand slide up your body, he let his hand linger along your breast for a moment, frustrated in the extra fabric of his gloves now allowing him to feel you more and letting out a huff between the kisses you were sharing.

He continued his hand upwards, letting his gloved fingers slide up the side of your throat, all the way to your chin to lift it higher, to look upwards at him as he pulled away from your lips. “My room is just a floor above this” his voice hoarse from kissing, or perhaps self-restraint, the war you could not see him fighting in his mind. He leaned into you again, pressing kisses against your ear and down your neck, careful not to let his appetite interfere as he indulged presses kisses against your thumping artery. Luckily, just in time to break the spell you had unknowingly cast on him, you spoke, “take me.” If his face wasn’t in your neck as you closed your eyes, maybe you’d have seen his toothy smile, the depraved thoughts that spurred him on with just your words.

He was quick to take your hand, pulling you from the wall and walking in strides upstairs, it was a feat to keep up with his pace, his long legs carrying him much further than your dress or your heels would allow you. Despite your flushed face and your foggy mind, “Your Highness.” You started before you were quickly cut off, “Lucifer.” You swallow thickly, “Lucifer” you repeat back to him, your words caught in your throat as you stand behind an imposing door, intricate and detailed in its carvings, this was his room, and you were about to be in the king’s bed-chamber. He pushed the door open with ease; you could only imagine the strength needed to force a giant wooden door open like that. “Do you have something to say, little lamb? Speak before you’re no longer able.” Your face flushed hot, so confident in his words, his voice still playful with that condescension that he carried earlier. You shake your head, unable to form the right words, following his lead as he takes you into his room and closes the door behind you.

Right where he's wanted you from the start.

He walked you to the side of his bed, pushing you down to sit on the edge, his hands pressing into the bed on both sides of you, he let his eyes draw in your form sitting in front of him, he let his eyes linger on your chest greedily before they rise and do the same on your neck. It was embarrassing to sit under his extended heated gaze. You start to lean into him, reaching up towards his neck so that you can bring him down into another kiss. His smirk lingers for a moment before he gives in to your whims, kissing you back with much more force than earlier, using his advantage of leaning into you. You bring your arms down from his neck, letting them run along his shoulders down to his chest, letting your hand feel him through his layers of clothes, his cologne more prominent now, deep and woody, cedar and leather and it only added to that foggy feeling of lust in your brain.

You pulled away, panting raggedy trying to catch the breath that felt like it was stolen from you, his eyes fixed on your kiss-swollen lips. Lucifer kept one hand on the bed, pressed into the plush bed on your side, leaning in and imposing in your space. Your eyes trained on him as you watched Lucifer take his gloved hand to his mouth, opening his mouth and pressing his finger into his teeth. Your gaze fixed as he flashed his pearly teeth, the pronounced pointed canines catching your eye as you watched his motions. Such pointed teeth, you take note of, you wonder how they might feel against your skin. He was careful to avoid his sharpened fangs as he pulled the gloves off between his teeth. Letting the glove hang in his mouth for a moment as he leaned away from your heated body, picking his hand up with him and pulling his other glove off.

He sat his gloves against the bed, standing up straight he looked straight down at you, the height difference with you on the bed almost felt intimidating, different from when he stood taller than you earlier, those red eyes hazy and half-lidded but his eyes almost predatory in their gaze. He moves slowly, raising his hand and putting his thumb against your lips, his hunger only burning harsher in his belly as he finally feels your skin against his own. He continued his pursuit, letting the weight tug down your bottom lip, and when your lips parted enough, he slipped it to your teeth. You were accepting, parting your mouth open for him, he pressed his thumb down against your tongue, "Little dove you're so obedient for me. Let me undress you.” He draws his thumb from your mouth, dragging it across your lips forcefully, you smile softly at him, and that’s all he needed.

He was fast, restraint-wearing thinner, crouching down to your legs hanging off the bed. He picks up your heel, slipping it off your foot and placing it on the floor next to you, repeating this action with your other heel as well. You were lost in his soft actions, his voice always demeaning, but his actions affectionate and gentle. When he finished, he placed his large, rough hands on the back of your calves, the feeling contrasting the silky fabric against your legs. He leaned in close to your leg as he ran his hands along your calves, letting his nose brush against it as he inhaled that intoxicating sweet smell against your artery. Not letting himself get lost so easily, he's already so close, so just a little longer is fine he tried to convince himself. He started to shift his hands upwards, lifting the dress up with him as he ran from your calves to the back of your knees to the bit of your thigh that stuck off the bed. When there was no more thigh to run his hands along, he shifted his hand to the front of your thighs, continuing his escapade of exploring your skin. He only halted for a moment as your panties came into his view, black and lacy, holding back a different aroma, one that could easily cast a spell on anyone lucky enough to enjoy.

A pleasure reserved for him tonight.

He slowly stood back up, your dress pooled around your waist, holding it there as he admired you a little longer, he let one hand hold your bunched dress and his other dipped between your thighs to run a stipe down your underwear. “I’d love to indulge more but quite honestly; I’m struggling to hold myself back right now.” His voice felt darker, starved, he wanted to be wrapped in your warmth completely, his teeth in your skin so you could both crash into that pleasure together. “So, stop” you mumble, not realizing the fire you play with, like a hand over a blazing candle. Your voice felt so bewitching, you hadn’t spoken much but the words you said and that lustful twist on your words, drove him closer to his edge. He moved, shaking off his overcoat and letting it hit the floor underneath him, he didn’t care to get much more undressed at this moment, burning hunger getting unbearable, despite having had plenty to drink earlier.

He stood you up, every touch of your skin to his making his head spin in heat, he loosened the back of your dress, shucking the sleeves off your arms and letting the dress fall against the floor. Taking in your exposed skin he sighed then pushed you down onto the bed, your chest and stomach resting against the plush mattress and your legs hanging off the bed. He slipped your black panties down your legs, he admires your pretty pussy for a moment, spreading your legs by standing between them, his eyes staring as you heard the wrestling of his belt and the zipper of his pants. He pulls his pants just enough so he can free himself from the strain of his boxers, the hiss that escaped his lips as he finally felt contact along his cock. He leans into you, running his head against your slit, causing you to shakily exhale, he’s rubbing it against your clit for a moment before he slides it down catching it on your hole. He repeats the same action again before you let out a whine, “and here I was trying to be nice” he starts to push his head into you, the stretch felt sickening, burning slightly to accommodate his length with little prep.

He thrusts his head in and out slowly, letting your clenching pussy get used to it before he sunk it into you fully, the groan that left his mouth as you squeezed onto him, shaky like he let it out in a breath. He moved his hand from his length to your hip, steading you as you squirmed under his movement. His thrusts were slow and steady, getting you used to the stretch of his head first, and when that tight ring gave him some slack, he started to push more of himself inside. Your soft moans only spurring him on as he kept pushing into you, the tight hold of your pussy on him made him groan deep from his throat, thrusting shallowly as he tried pushing the rest of his length into you. Your head felt like it was spinning, the feeling of his entirety inside you. You felt so full with him inside, the throb of your pussy drumming like your rapid heartbeat and he'd hardly started moving.

As he filled you to the brim, that sickening pleasure of defiling you, looking down at you completely naked and impaled on his cock while he was still fully dressed. He ran his hands along your spine and over your shoulder, your totally exposed skin as you lay here so vulnerable. It felt so erotic, savoring this imagine in his mind, the squeeze and throb of your pussy against his cock making him bite his lip in his teeth. He was quick to start thrusting into you. He started by trying to be gentle, but he lost his edge quickly. He gripped your shoulder and your hip and used the leverage to his advantage. He was rough slamming into your body, your ass slamming bakc against him and his heavy balls slapping against your clit. He groaned, leaning his body weight onto you and thrusting deeper, letting his groans flow right into your ear and letting him hear your moans less choked into the bed. His lips grazed your ear, “You like this darling? Letting me be so rough with you?”

You whine in response, his deep voice so close to your ear, followed by more of his groaning. You felt completely wrapped in him. Unable to form words with your mind misty with lust, the alcohol in your system just helps you let go of your inner worries about all of this. You feel yourself throb against him as he starts to push into that deep spot that makes you shudder, his grip on your hip tightens as he feels that squeeze and throb against his cock more repeatedly, consistent now. “mm” he groans, his concentration wavering, his hips moving on their own as he pushes you closer to your edge, his nose running down against your neck, intoxicating in the way that makes him want to keep breathing it in, so easily exposed to him just ready for him to drink. His lips met your neck first, followed by his tongue, then the faint scrape of his teeth as he inhaled your skin again. His sharp teeth felt so rough against your neck, and he wanted to just sink them in but he wanted to keep fucking you as well.

Maybe he's a kinder soul than he thought, letting you get through at first orgasm first. He scoffed, he knew the real reason he did this, he loved the taste of blood at the peak of pleasure, to feel blood on his lips and tongue as his balls squeezed and his length twitched with the need of release.

You whined against the bed, losing your battle as you went over the edge, him thrusting so messily into you, his weight so imposing against you that it was hard to move. You shuddered, choked moans that turned to breathless whines pouring from your lios as your legs twitched underneath him, the cry you let out let him know all he needed, he peppered kisses against you, thrusting and keeping you crashing through your orgasm, squeezing him almost painfully. He didn’t stop his thrusting, keeping you pushing through and shaking underneath him as you verged overstimulation, you started to try and move from underneath him, it felt like you needed to get away from him. “Where do you think you’re going, my little lamb?” Whining pouring from your lips, he keeps his pace, thrusting into you harshly, that throbbing of your pussy coaxing him further, he groans against your neck as he turns his attention back to his prize. Almost there and almost ready for the big moment.

He feels your stiffness dissipate underneath him, his teeth grazing your neck again he softly bites in, not needing much pressure to draw that viscous red color from your skin, and he laps greedily as it flows from you. You let out a strangled cry into the bed that was followed by heavy panting. Like electricity had shocked through your body, you worked through your bliss again, abruptly tensing your muscles as you stiffened. Your eyes shut quickly, trying to ground yourself from the dizzying, overwhelming feelings, the haze of pleasure and pain as he drank the blood from your wound. The pain in your neck, and the pleasure that shakes through you, tears ran down your eyes, his weight even more imposing as he held you down, his movements struggling into you as he worked towards his own rapture.

This feeling was like no other. Pleasure and feeding was such a depraved combination, like he could taste the pleasure he worked you through in the blood that leaked from you. He felt you still shaking underneath him, keeping his pace as he worked you through your euphoria. It had probably taken you off guard how strong it felt. Being your first time, he almost felt bad as he heard your whimpers and struggled breathing, your pleasure evident as it left the base of his cock sticky and white the leaking down your thighs sticky against his suit pants. But the sickening sweet taste of your blood in his mouth, he could indulge in this taste forever, far more worth it than he even could've imagined in his plan tonight.

He leaned his weight off you, allowing you some room to breathe for a minute, your blood running down your shoulder and back. Now this was something he'd kill to keep indulging in, your body practically limp against his as you come down from your high and your blood running down to greet him. He'd lost himself, his thrusts messy and unsteady as he worked himself through the pleasure. He released into you, his groan strangled, quick to let his tongue lap at the streak of blood that had leaked down your back and shoulder. Then, he moved back against your neck as he refused to stop lapping at your neck until the blood started to trickle rather than flow. He leaned up and off of you, pulling out despite wanting to stay inside you forever, you stayed still unable to move for a moment. He lays on the bed next to you, heaving chest heavy, he felt so fucking hot with all these clothes on still. As you turned to look at him, his mouth smeared with your blood. You looked at him with pure fear, not even realizing that he'd drawn blood from you in the heat of your pleasure, “Don’t worry darling, I’m not going to kill you.” He rolled to his side, stroking the tears away from your eyes and stroking your cheek, “I’d much rather keep you around, I’ll give you a bath.”

You hardly have the strength to struggle against yourself as he carries you to the bathroom, runs the bath, and keeps you comfortable and warm against himself, now much less clothed. He peppers kisses against your face and head and gives you quiet praises, "you did so well for me." His actions feel confusing, and they had been for the entirety of the night. His words always condescending but heavily contrasting his actions that were so soft and gentle, almost caring and loving. Then, to hardly able to hold himself back against you as soon as you entered his bedroom, then feeding on your blood and back to sweet and gentle.

His hands soothed you as you both got into the bathtub, the warmth comforting your sore muscles along with his gentle hands. He worked to wash you up, your hair taken down from it's updo and your scalp massaged. His actions so tender, they could almost feel loving had the fear of earlier not lingered in the back if your mind, as if he could sense it he presses some more kisses against you and held you tight, "will you stay with me? I feel so drawn to you. I don't do this with just anyone." You smile and lean into his embrace, "should I trust a vampire to say that?" He scoffs, taken aback by your playful back talk, "This vampire might just have you forever." You giggle, maybe he really meant he wanted to keep you.

Maybe for an eternity.

Haemophilia is one such genetic disorder where the person's blood doesn't clot easily. Although it is a reccessive gene, you were born with one. It did not pose much threat to you due to the advances in medical treatment keeping you alive for so long, so you never worried too much about it.

You did worry about it when you were asked to come to Devildorm for one year. "One whole year?? How am I supposed to survive there!?" You somehow managed to purchase almost months and months of medicines in your little suitcase, but ofc you were bound to run out of supplies in the far future.

Today was one such day. You counted the leafs of medicines left, and all of them were empty. You were being reckless by not keeping an eye on the medicine, and now you have none. Worried, you were trying not to panic in your small cozy room. After taking deep breaths, you came to a conclusion that asking Lucifer to help in this situation would be the best. With that, you went to the kitchen to fulfill Beel's craving of eating your handmade food.

The pot boiling with water and the sound of you cutting the vegetables filled the kitchen. "You called for me? Sorry I was busy with some student council work" you turn your head towards the source of the sound, a soft smile conquring your lips as you meet your eyes with him. He, with a click in his step and his long, black clock hanging from his broad shoulders came up to you and engulfed you in a hug. " how have you been MC?" he spoke in your ear as you continued your chopping. "I am well Lucifer, and yes I did call for you. I need to go back to the human world."

"But why?"

"Because I need to- ouch!"

You took your eyes off of the food to look at Lucifer, which was a bad idea because you now have a cut on your finger from moving the knife wrong. It hurt a bit, but to Lucifer, it seemed as if you have lost half of your body's blood.

"How could you be so careless!? Show me your finger" You could see that his eyes have started to dilate, his fangs have started to appear. Yet he is not even thinking about drinking blood. Instead his eyes, althought appearing to be bloodlustly, are actually filled with concern.

"Did you eat your medicines??"

"Ah, about that...." you told him about not having them, and he sighed. "Well wait here, I have some with me. Don't move from your place and stop cooking" Before he left the kitchen he spoke some words and created magic that collected the blood dripping from your hand. Now you had a small bubble of blood floating in the air that was oozing out.

Lucifer came back within two minutes and handed you the medicine. " Thank you so much Luci, but what will you do with this bubble of blood?" He just gives you a knowing look and brings his tongue near the bubble. You blush slightly as he savours the exotic taste of your blood, the medicine acting fast and stopping the bleeding.

" Why are you blushing MC? Your blood is only for me to taste. Now sit down, grab a dessert from the fridge, and let me finish dinner"