#vampire x

The organ lay there against the perfectly shining silver platter. The small pool of bright blood around it the first indication that it was real and not a prop, the second…

The heart throbbed like it was still attached to its former organic cage, blood occasionally spurting out of it and seeping down to the puddle around it with no veins to carry it anywhere useful. They could have it cleaned and packaged, but they wanted it like this. Raw and rich with the liquid they needed to survive.

Your hands tightened around the fork and knife. Biting the inside of your cheek, you looked around the opulent dining room. Your masters, Val and Volker, were each sitting on opposite sides of you.

Volker was methodically cutting the blood-soaked kidneys on his plate as he checked the tablet next to it, his wire-rimmed glasses catching the artificial light and obscuring his crimson eyes. Black hair fell perfectly straight, not a strand out of place, and the small beauty mark beneath his lower lip barely moved as he chewed with mechanical precision, his gaze never leaving the content of the device.

Val was munching messily on what remained of his food, humming contentedly as blood dripped from his chin and onto the white tablecloth below. His red hair was already disheveled this early in the morning, falling into his eyes as he leaned forward with predatory enthusiasm. The beauty mark beneath his left eye crinkled when he grinned at something on his own plate, crimson eyes gleaming with manic delight as he stabbed another piece of meat with his fork.

Perched delicately on the edge of a velvet-upholstered chair, you looked like something out of a storybook. The staff had clearly taken liberties, dressing you in a confection of white chiffon. The dress was all frills and lace, with a high neckline and puffed sleeves that made you seem even smaller, more doll-like. A satin ribbon was tied in a precise bow at your throat, and your hair had been brushed to a shine with tiny ribbons clipped throughout the strands.

Yet none of it could hide the way you looked like you could faint at any moment.

Your gaze fell on the plate again. A strong, coppery scent rose from it, metallic and unsettling. Your stomach twisted. This wasn't food. Not for you at least. At the Conservatory, they'd given you porridge, bread, cooked vegetables—things that didn't bleed. Things that didn't look like they came straight from a body.

Was it…on purpose?

Was this some sort of obedience test? Or did your masters expect you to share their diet? You couldn't ask. You were still so new and anything could have you sent back or—or worse. The Madam back at the Atelier had told you multiple times to always go with your master's wishes and never question them. Was this…one of those times?

The ribbon around your throat felt suffocating.

Val's gaze swept over your plate, and his expression softened from manic delight to something more genuinely concerned. "You're not hungry? That's all they gave you?" He frowned, a real, displeased wrinkle forming between his brows. "That's not enough. You need to keep your strength up. Or is it that you can't cut it up?"

He crossed the room in three long strides, completely ignoring his own waiting breakfast, and dropped to one knee beside your chair. His gaze roamed over the frills, the lace, the way the white fabric contrasted with the rest of the room. His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to touch but wasn't sure where to start ruining the perfection.

From the other side of the table, Volker lowered his tablet with a soft, exasperated sigh. He adjusted his glasses, taking in the scene over the top of the financial report. "Valentin, control yourself. You're drooling on the rug. And for God's sake, let the pet eat."

But Val wasn't listening. He reached out, his touch surprisingly gentle, and brushed a stray frill on your sleeve back into place. "I'm genuinely not sure if I can continue eating my steak with you sitting here looking like this." He looked up at you, a brilliant, devastating smile spreading across his face. "Why aren't you eating? Want me to feed you?"

Volker took a long, slow sip of his coffee, his gaze icy as it swept over Val's kneeling form and your frilly dress. "You're embarrassing yourself," he stated flatly, his voice cutting through Val's adoration like a shard of glass. "And you're scaring the pet. Get up."

But Val just grinned up at his brother, utterly unrepentant. "Oh, fuck off, Volk. Can't you see? She isn't scared, she's perfect. Absolutely perfect." He turned his dazzling, foolish smile back to you. "Aren't you?"

Before you could formulate a response, Val reached out and grabbed the fork from your hand. The action was so fast it took your breath away. It was rare that you witnessed a vampire's speed like that. He didn't even need a knife to cut up a chunk of the heart, stabbing the fork into it and holding it near your face.

The sharp tang of copper was already overwhelming the room, but now it was suffocating with it so close to your face.

Oblivious to your distress, Val propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his palm as he waited. "Here. Try it. It's premium. The best from the Slaughterhouse, a northern preserve specialty. Best shit you'll ever taste." He waved the meat under your nose, his earlier frenzy calming into a focused, almost nurturing intensity. "Come on. For me?"

The Slaughterhouse. The main place that provided food for all creatures, vampires or otherwise. You took a deep breath. It could be from anything. But the more likely answer was that it was—

"It's not an animal," Volker said, his voice low and cold as he removed his glasses. "It doesn't need to be fed from your hand. And it certainly doesn't need you cooing over it like a lovesick fledgling." His gaze shifted to yours, a hard, assessing look that felt like being doused in ice water. "Eat what you've been given. Don't indulge his idiocy."

Val frowned at his brother's harshness, but he turned to look at you expectantly.

Displeased. They're displeased. The thought rumbled loudly in your head like thunder, every instinct honed into you from conception screaming at the wrongness of it. You had to fix it. You had to be a good pet and listen to orders even if it made you want to run and scream in the other direction.

"Valentin," Volker's voice cut through the cloying sweetness of Val's attention like a scalpel, "if you smear arterial spray on the Aubusson rug again, I'll have you lick it clean with that ridiculous tongue of yours." He didn't look up from his tablet where live feeds from the company's stocks were shown. "And sit properly. You're not some back-alley ghoul scavenging in the gutters."

Val's grin only widened, his knee pressing against your thigh through layers of suffocating chiffon. "Aw c'mon, brother, look at her! She's fuckin' starving—" His free hand drifted toward the ribbon at your throat, fingertips brushing the satin bow and making you gulp. "—and dressed like some virgin sacrifice. Who picked this atrocity? Matilda? Should've let me choose her clothes."

"You'd have her naked before noon," Volker muttered into his coffee, finally setting down his tablet. "And all pet clothes are standard." His gaze lingered on the trembling knife in your other hand. The way your knuckles tightened around the sterling silver handle. "Eat," he commanded flatly, nostrils flaring as your pulse jackrabbited beneath lace-trimmed collarbones. "Unless you'd prefer intravenous feeding."

Val chuckled darkly, pressing the forkful of still-quivering myocardium closer to your lips. "Don't listen to Grumpy over there, sweet thing. Here—" Blood dripped onto the bodice of your dress, blooming crimson against virginal white. "—open wide for me. That's it... fuck, look at those lips part..." His own fangs gleamed wetly as he watched your breath hitch. "Gods, you take it so pretty. Wanna see you swallow."

Volker slammed his palm on the table hard enough to crack the saucer beneath his espresso cup. "Enough." The single word vibrated with centuries of command, freezing both you and Val mid-motion. "Valentin. Stop terrorizing Father's investment with your adolescent lust." He removed his glasses slowly, pinning you with a gaze that stripped away frills and pretense. "Girl. You will consume your meal without theatrics. You will stop provoking my brother into undisciplined behavior." His crimson eyes shone with frustration. "And you will do it now."

The heart throbbed maliciously on its plate as two pairs of immortal eyes fixed on your trembling form. One heated with hunger, one icy with impatience.

You couldn't take it. You froze, a wave of dizziness making you unsteady, on the verge of a panic attack at having to eat raw, maybe non-animal meat. You whimpered, holding onto the skirt of your dress underneath the table. The chiffon sliding around the skin of your fingers.

Did they even know? Did they know and not care?

The fork froze inches from your lips as your whimper cut through the room. Val's playful grin faltered, crimson eyes narrowing at the tremor in your hands clutching your skirt and the sudden stillness in your face. "Shit," he breathed, the mirth draining from his voice. "Hey—hey, look at me." His free hand hovered near your cheek but didn't make contact, fingers twitching as if burned by your distress. "What's wrong? It's just food, sweetheart. Fresh, high-grade. Tastes better than anything they fed you in the pens, I promise." His thumb swiped at the blood dripping down the fork tines, smearing it absently across his own lip. "Here, I'll try it first—" He popped the morsel into his mouth, chewing with exaggerated relish. "Fuck, it's good. Tender. See? No poison, no tricks."

"I-it's not that, M-Master—" you whimpered.

Valentin's crimson gaze sharpened as your whimper hung in the air like fractured glass. His playful facade crumbled when your trembling fingers dug into the chiffon skirts—not coyness, but genuine distress radiating from you in waves that made his fangs ache. "Not that?" he echoed, forehead creasing as his thumb smeared another streak of blood across his bottom lip unconsciously. "Then what—"

Volker's chair scraped violently against marble as he stood. The crack of bone china shattering beneath his polished oxfords punctuated the silence that followed your stammered words. Blood-dark eyes narrowed to slits as he rounded the table with a predator's leisure, each step echoing in the vaulted dining room.

"Not what, pet?" His voice dipped into velvet danger. "Speak clearly."

Val tensed, protective instinct flaring as he rose fluidly to block Volker's path. "Back off, Volk. She's shaking like a fucking leaf—"

"I wasn't addressing you." Volker didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. The air thickened with centuries of dominance as he slowly walked to your other side. The click of his shoes against the marble floors was loud in the silence.

The patriarch's heir loomed over you now, casting a shadow that swallowed the tremors wracking your body. Cold fingertips tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze away from the still-throbbing heart and into eyes like frozen arterial spray.

"Let's try again." Volker's thumb pressed warningly against your jugular. "If it's not fear of poison—and why would Father waste premium stock on defective goods?—then explain precisely what offends your fragile sensibilities."

The answer caught in your throat—a choked whisper swallowed by the stifling lace.

"For fuck's sake! Look at what they dressed her in!" Val tore at the bow beneath your chin with hurried hands, the satin ribbon fluttering to the floor like a dead butterfly. "She's drowning in this Victorian bullshit—can't breathe, can't think—" His knuckles brushed your collarbone as he ripped open the high neckline, exposing skin mottled with anxiety-sweat.

The chiffon tore like cobwebs beneath Valentin's clawed fingernails, layers of pearl-stitched lace parting to reveal the simple cotton shift beneath—the kind issued in the Conservatory's breeding wards for easy sanitation. Your gasp of relief at the sudden breathability died in your throat as Volker's grip tightened on your jaw.

The heavy oak doors swung open with enough force to rattle the crystal chandelier overhead. Viktor strode in, medical tablet tucked under one arm, his usual composed expression replaced by something sharp and urgent.

"What in God's name is happening in here?" His gaze swept over the scene—Val's bloodied hands still gripping torn chiffon, Volker's fingers locked around your jaw, the untouched heart congealing on fine china. "I could hear her distress from three floors up."

"The pet won't eat," Volker stated coldly, not releasing his grip. "I suspect defiance."

"Defiance?" Viktor's laugh was short and humorless as he crossed to the table, setting his tablet down with deliberate care. "She's terrified, Volker. Not defiant." He crouched beside your chair, his tone gentling considerably. "Look at me, Liebling. Deep breaths. That's it."

Val stepped back, confusion warring with concern on his blood-smeared face. "I don't—she said it wasn't poison—"

"Of course it's not poison." Viktor's eyes tracked the rapid flutter of your pulse, the shallow breathing, the white-knuckled grip on shredded fabric. His gaze shifted to the plate, then back to his brothers, and something like horrified realization dawned across his features. "You absolute idiots. She can't eat that."

"What?" Val blinked. "It's premium grade, I checked the—"

"She's human," Viktor interrupted, each word carefully enunciated as though explaining to particularly dense children. "Humans don't consume raw flesh. Or blood. Their digestive systems aren't—" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did neither of you read the care documentation that came with her transfer papers? We all had them sent to our emails and desks."

Volker's grip on your jaw loosened fractionally, his expression shifting from irritation to something colder…miscalculation. "The kitchen prepared—"

"The kitchen prepared what we eat for breakfast. What vampires eat." Viktor stood, frustration bleeding into his usually measured tone. "She needs cooked food. Vegetables. Grains. Things that won't make her violently ill or send her into shock from the mere smell of it."

Val's face went slack, crimson eyes widening as the pieces clicked together. "Oh. Oh fuck." He looked down at his blood-soaked hands, then at the torn dress, then at your trembling form. "I was trying to—I thought she was just being picky about quality or—"

"You thought wrong." Viktor turned to you, his voice dropping to that careful, soothing register he used in the medical wing. "You can't eat this, can you? The smell alone is making you ill."

You managed the smallest nod, throat too tight for words.

Volker released your jaw entirely, stepping back with a sharp exhale through his nose. For a moment, something almost like embarrassment flickered across his austere features before being ruthlessly suppressed. "The staff should have known better."

"The staff assumed we would know better," Viktor countered, already pulling out his phone. "Matilda? Yes, we need a proper meal sent to the dining room immediately. Human-appropriate. Cooked. Bland if necessary—no, I don't care if it's breakfast hours, figure it out." He paused. "And someone bring up the dietary guidelines from her Conservatory file. Apparently, no one bothered to read them."

Val sank into the nearest chair, running bloodied fingers through his red hair and leaving darker streaks. "Shit. I really fucked that up." He looked at you with something approaching genuine remorse. "I wasn't trying to bully you or—I mean, I thought you'd like it. Premium cuts and all that."

"She's not livestock, Val," Viktor said quietly, though not unkindly. "She doesn't share our dietary requirements." He turned back to you, crouching again to meet your eyes at level. "Can you tell me—are you feeling faint? Nauseous?"

The concern in his voice, the steadiness of his presence, finally loosened something in your chest enough to whisper, "Both, Master Viktor."

"Understandable." He glanced at the offending plate, then at Volker. "Remove that. Now. And open the windows—she needs fresh air."

For once, Volker didn't argue. He simply lifted the silver platter with clinical detachment and carried it from the room, the heart still pulsing weakly in its pool of cooling blood.

The ambiguity of what—or who—it came from hung heavy in the air, unspoken and unanswered.

Val watched him go, then looked back at you with unusual solemnity. "I really am sorry, doll. That was..." He trailed off, seemingly at a loss. "Vik's right. I should've read the fucking manual."

"We all should have," Viktor corrected, though his attention remained on you. His fingers found your wrist, checking your pulse with practiced efficiency. "Elevated but stabilizing. Good."

Without warning, his other arm slid beneath your knees while the first supported your back, lifting you from the chair with the kind of effortless strength that reminded you exactly what he was. The world tilted, and instinctively—desperately—you turned your face into the crook of his neck, seeking refuge from the lingering copper smell that still clung to the dining room air.

Viktor's steps were measured, steady, as he carried you toward the door. The coolness of his skin against your overheated cheek should have been unsettling, but instead it grounded you. Real. Solid. Safe, for the moment.

"Once you've eaten actual food and recovered, we'll discuss appropriate protocols going forward. This won't happen again. Okay?" He tilted his head slightly, speaking directly into your ear, his breath—unnecessary for a vampire but a learned habit—warm where it tickled your skin. "I'll make a list of all your meals going forward. Nutritionally balanced, properly prepared. You won't have to worry about this again."

The promise in his voice was iron-clad, and despite everything—despite being property, despite being powerless—you believed him.

Behind you, Val's voice carried through the doorway, uncharacteristically subdued. "Is she gonna be alright?"

Viktor paused in the hallway, glancing back over his shoulder. "She'll be fine once the shock wears off and she has proper nutrition. No thanks to either of you." There was no real venom in his words, just tired exasperation. "Val, go clean yourself up. You look like you've been rolling in an abattoir. Volker—"

"I know." The eldest brother's voice was clipped, controlled. "I'll speak with the kitchen staff personally. This oversight will not repeat itself."

"See that it doesn't." Viktor adjusted his hold on you slightly, and you realized you were trembling—fine tremors running through your limbs as the adrenaline finally began to ebb. "Easy, Liebling. Just breathe."

He carried you down the hallway, past portraits of stern-faced ancestors and marble sculptures that probably cost more than entire bloodlines. The estate was a maze of old-world luxury, and you'd barely seen any of it in the two days since your arrival. Everything had been overwhelming—the opulence, the coldness, the constant undercurrent of danger.

Viktor shouldered open a door, revealing what appeared to be a private sitting room. Soft morning light filtered through gauzy curtains, and the furniture here was marginally less austere than the dining room, though still imposing. A couch in deep burgundy, chairs that looked actually comfortable, bookshelves lining one wall.

He settled you carefully on the couch, gently removing the torn chiffon and ruined lace to leave your shoulders bare in the simple cotton shift. His movements were clinical but not unkind, the touch of someone accustomed to handling fragile things.

"Stay here. I'll have Matilda bring your meal and some new clothes." His crimson eyes studied your face with that unsettling vampire focus, like he was seeing too much, reading things you didn't want read. "You're safe now. I promise."

You managed a small nod, throat still too tight for words.

Viktor crouched before you, bringing himself to eye level. "I need you to understand something." His voice was gentle but firm. "My brothers. They're not cruel. Thoughtless, yes. Careless, absolutely. But not deliberately cruel. This was ignorance, not malice."

"I understand, Master Viktor," you whispered, because that's what you'd been trained to say. Agreement. Compliance. Never contradiction.

Something flickered in his expression—disappointment, maybe, or frustration. Your heart lurched. "Do you? Or are you simply saying what you think I want to hear?" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The Atelier trained you too well. You'll agree to anything to avoid punishment, won't you?"

The accuracy of his observation made your breath catch.

"That's what I thought." Viktor stood, straightening his vest. "We'll work on that. You're allowed to have needs here, sweetheart. Actual food, at the very least." A ghost of dry humor touched his features. "Although I should check what kind of supplements humans need…but anyway, if something like this happens again where it'll make you sick or hurt you, you need to speak up, okay?"

A knock at the door interrupted whatever answer you might have given. Matilda entered—a severe-looking older woman who you'd learned was the head of household staff. She carried a tray laden with covered dishes, and behind her, a younger maid held a bundle of clothing.

"Master Viktor." Matilda set the tray on the low table before the couch, her sharp eyes taking in your bedraggled state with professional detachment. "Plain oatmeal with honey, toast, soft-boiled eggs, and chamomile tea. Simple enough not to upset a nervous stomach."

"Thank you, Matilda." Viktor gestured to the clothing. "And something less suffocating to wear, I hope?"

"A simple white cotton dress, sir. Appropriate and comfortable." The head of household fixed you with a look that was stern but not unkind—like someone would regard a shivering kitten. "Eat slowly, girl. Small bites. You look ready to faint."

Matilda and the maid left, and Viktor sat beside you on the couch, lifting you onto his lap as his other hand reached for the silver spoon.

Your lips still trembled as you opened your mouth, but the oatmeal was warm and sweet and blessedly free of blood. The first bite nearly brought tears to your eyes.

You ate slowly, obediently, just as instructed. And tried not to think about the heart still pulsing on its silver platter, or where it might have come from, or what it meant that you'd survived this morning.

You were alive. Fed. Unharmed.

For a pet in a vampire's house, that was the best you could hope for.

The oatmeal settled warm in your stomach, chasing away the worst of the nausea, and you permitted yourself one small moment of relief before the fear crept back in.

One mistake avoided.

How many more waited in the shadows of this marble prison?

Viktor smiled at the sight of the warmth returning to your cheeks, the expression soft, like someone admiring a prized possession finally restored to proper condition. He leaned his head down and pressed a lingering kiss to your hair, inhaling deeply despite having no need for breath, as if committing your scent to memory. His arms tightened around you just a fraction too much, the embrace tender yet inescapable.

"There's my sweet girl," he murmured against your temple, his voice a low purr of satisfaction. "Much better. I won't let anything hurt my sweet pet again. Not my brothers' ignorance, not the staff's incompetence..." His lips brushed your forehead as he spoke, each word a promise and a threat. "Not anything."

The gentleness of his smile couldn't quite mask the obsessive undertone, the way his fingers traced patterns on your arm as if mapping territory, the way his crimson eyes tracked every flutter of your lashes with unsettling intensity.

Terminology:

De Laurier Genetic Conservatory: Owned by House De Laurier Genetic Conservatory. Selective breeding programs, genetic enhancement, and the cultivation of humans for specific purposes from docile companions to robust laborers. Has many sections depending on what the humans are bred for. Like the Atelier reader came from.

“Do you know how much I could offer you, human? Why do you still insist on denying my ardent affections?” 

He was at your door again, in the dead of the night, whining as usual. 

“Because I barely know you! All you do is follow me around, come bother me in the middle of the night and eat rats apparently!” 

He gasps, you could almost see him clutching his invisible pearls. 

“A hundred curses upon thee, human! You swore on your honor to never mention this tragic event again!”

You couldn’t help but snort in laughter in time, covering your mouth as your shoulder shook. 

He actually went quiet this time, staring at you until you managed to calm down. 

“You.. laughed.” He mutters softly. “Ha! Of course you did, I’m hilarious.”

And there is that smug smirk again, but it quickly softens. 

“If you do wish to know more about me, I would be happy to- to share my anecdotes with you, and I shall be more than happy to listen to yours as well.” 

And he flushes red, again, he could be cute sometimes. 

“How do you even blush this much if you’re a vampire, aren’t you supposed to dead?”

“You insufferable mortal!” He covers his face with the back of his hand, looking embarrassed. “Do not perceive me.” 

“You realise that does not work-” 

“Erase this moment from your memory at once!”

He did start to open up a bit more after that, and so did you in small ways. You finally invited him into your apartment

He was a talker, dramatic but vulnerable at times. He would lay down on your bed, take up all the space, like the annoying little shit he is and talk for hours. 

He told you about his childhood back in Wallachia, when he was still a human, how much he loved his mother’s songs, the cruelty of his maker, which he didn’t expand upon much. How much he ‘despises’ vampire media but secretly watches it religiously (you’ve caught him several times, using your laptop to watch soapy vampire dramas ), he absolutely despises matcha and public transport, taking the subway with him was… an experience. 

“You should really let me braid your hair.”

“For the last time, no, you stubborn thing.” He huffs out, closing his eyes.

He had infuriatingly long lashes, and beautiful silky hair, it wasn’t fair in the slightest. 

“Oh I'm the stubborn one now? Like you weren’t scratching at my door for hours on end like a crying puppy when we first met.”

His face grows hot again, a dark red pigment you’ve grown to love. 

“That was you being stubborn! You could’ve just let me in and I wouldn’t have been doing all of that.” 

“Whatever…”

You roll your eyes, before running a hand through his long, dark hair. He shudders slightly but lets it happen. 

“This feels… nice, but you are still not permitted to braid my hair.”

“Unfair.” 

He looks up at you, two pools of endless red locking onto yours. He reaches a cold hand up to graze your cheek, rubbing the tired skin under your eyelids gently. 

“It seems I have kept you awake for far too long, little human.”

“I’m fine, I've stayed up for way longer before.” You answer, with a slight tremor in your voice, feeling his skin on yours was comfortable, familiar, too much so.

“You are a fragile mortal and you need rest. I do not want you dropping dead on me” He answers with his usual scowl, a hint of tenderness in it you’ve grown to recognize. “I am still set on courting you properly, which will take time-” 

You let out an exasperated sigh. 

“God, I forgot how weird you are. Fine, I'm going to sleep! Now get out and quit nagging.”

He stands up, with his usual attitude and walks out the door. He turns one last time to look at you. 

“And no need to be so impatient, mortal. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of occasions to keep you awake all night long in the near future. I will keep you… thoroughly satisfied, my heart.” 

What the fuck. 

And the bastard kisses your knuckles, with his fanged grin before leaving.

It seems he got you this time.

little extra!! 

“Hells below and heaven above, why did I utter such words?”

He flexes his fingers, his palms sweaty. Why were they so clammy? He’s a vampire for fuck’s sake. 

He fans himself dramatically, taking deep breaths which he did not need to take, considering his undead nature. 

“Shameful…” He mutters, face red as he plops down on his absurdly large, dark red couch in his castle on the edge of town. 

He quickly came to the logical conclusion that it must’ve been your doing. Yes! You must’ve bewitched him, scrambled his brain with your gentle touches through his hair and soft voice. 

A witch, a deceiver! There is no way a mortal could hold such power over him, he will not have it! 

He looks out the window with a frown, his eyes locking onto the roses in his garden and he seems to forget his train of thought. 

“Oh I wonder if they like flowers, I did not get to ask them… Maybe I should pluck some out, make a bouquet, for next time. Hm, yes, I’m sure they would like it…  I wanna see them smile so prettily again-”