#1 paul matthews stan

Emma knew. And it wasn't a dealbreaker. Even after the little... incident, she didn't care.

This time, they were curled up on Paul's own sofa watching movies. Some very relevant movies. And honestly, without the post-turning stress, it was quite enjoyable. "Is that a fucking vampire bee?! In a tiny ass coffin?!" Emma was unable to hold back her laughter. And Paul was quick to join her.

It actually took a fair bit for their laughter to fade away, only for something else to draw out an amused snort from Emma. "Oh god," she chuckled at the cheap bat prop clearly hanging from wires, "That looks terrible." "Yeah," Paul laid back with his own chuckle and another handful of meringues. "At least you don't have to deal with that."

Paul paused and blinked at Emma questioningly. "You know, the whole bat thing?" she explained with a wave of her hand towards the TV. With a surge of sudden embarrassment, Paul popped several meringues in his mouth and preoccupied himself with chewing. But Emma noticed.

"Wait. Is the bat thing real?" she asked, her full attention now on him. For the first time since his turning, Paul felt greatful for his unbeating heart preventing a blush from appearing, but regardless nodded in answer.

Emma blinked at him with sheer amazement: "Can I see it?" Paul swallowed and nodded again.

He had long since adjusted to the sudden shift in scale, needing only a few seconds of blinking before crawling along the couch to where his bowl of meringues still sat. Grasping one in his wings, he nibbled it as he dared to look up at Emma.

---

Emma had never been one of those people who thought bats of any kind were creepy. She had never found them that interesting, either. She basically just went "huh, neat" and moved on.

And maybe it was because this particular bat was also her boyfriend, but he was offically the cutest thing she'd ever seen.

Paul blinked up at her with his tiny eyes, nose wiggling as he munched on that little disc clutched in his wings. Emma just about managed to hold back the coo that threatened to break free. The urge to give him a little scratch behind the ears was stronger.

Paul's eyes closed in clear bliss. Emma let out a slight laugh as she kept petting him gently. His ears perked up as an idea hit him. Moving to hold the half-eaten meringue in his mouth, Paul carefully began to climb up Emma's arm.

"Oh! Careful," Emma whispered, her other hand cupped underneath him just in case. Not that she needed to worry. Paul quickly reached Emma's shoulder and settled there.

She had texted Paul that morning: "Hey, I know that you'll probably be around later but, would you like to come over tonight?" "Should I bring anything?" Paul's responce came within minutes. "Just yourself."

For the rest of the day, Emma was on edge. Because of cource she was. That evening she was going to confess to her vampire boyfriend that she knew what he is. And, oh god, how was she going to say it?

"Shit," Emma groaned into her pillow. And, as if the world had chosen to personally spite her, there was a knocking at the front door.

Instantly Emma was on her feet. Power-walking to the door, possible converstion starters raced through her mind like motorbikes. "Hey!" Paul smiled as the door opened. His hair was freshly brushed. "Hey yourself," Emma replied, opting to let it go for now, "Come in."

As they walked to the sofa, Emma could only hope that no nerves were showing on her face. "So, what's the plan?" Paul asked earnestly. "Well," Emma thought about it, "I guess we put on a movie and, see where it goes." "Okay."

And honestly, it was nice.

To just lay back and exist with someone else. Sure, Paul was slightly cold but it didn't bother her. Eventually they found themselves inches from the other's face. A centimetre at a time, they both leaned in and began to kiss.

After that, Emma forgot all about why she'd initially asked Paul to come over. It didn't matter. There was always next time.

And then, Emma made a mistake. Without thinking, she swiped her tongue along a fang. Not too much, just a scratch.

But it was enough.

---

Paul instantly was hit by the taste. Rich and sweet, for a moment he was lost to it. Seeking out more instinctively. Wanting to fill himself up with it. And then he remembered.

Ripping himself away, Paul backed away as far as he could. "Emma! You need to get away from me!" he babbled as fear and thirst battled within him, "I'm-!" "A vampire?" Emma finished calmly, "Yeah. I know."

Paul's brain went silent. Even the thirst seemed stunned by the news. "I- Wha- For how long?" "Since that first date," Emma stated with a wince. "An- And you're okay with it?" Paul almost couldn't believe it, couldn't dare to dream. "Well yeah," Emma shrugged.

The minutes ticked by, and Emma didn't take it back. She just looked back at Paul, posture relaxed and open. Slowly Paul unclenched and sat up. "How's your tongue?" he asked. "Pretty sure it's stopped bleeding already," Emma noted before shuffling closer to Paul. "Good."

As the credits rolled, a thought occured to Paul: "So, those meringues...?" "Well, I wasn't going to eat them," Emma quipped with a half-joking grin. Paul gave a chuckle and trusted himself enough to lean his head on her shoulder.

The Witchwood Forest. Utterly foreign to him. Paul had never set foot inside or even close to it before then, or did he desire to. But things had changed.

He had changed.

If flying over Hatchetfield felt odd, flying through the Witchwood felt outright bizzare. Branches that Paul swore looked thick and dense in pictures and from afar, had large gaps in them. Just big enough for a bat to weave themselves smoothly through. As if the forest itself was welcoming him with open arms.

Faint traces of heat called out to Paul as he flew. It was still something he was adjusting to, but it would likely to come with time. Seemingly, he would have a lot of that now.

A strong wave of heat distracted Paul from the future. Carefully he landed on a branch and looked down at the clearing.

A timber wolf laid there, resting for a moment on the moonlit grass. Paul wasn't a fan of irony, but even he had to admit this was a big one. And a big one, the wolf definitely was.

Big enough to keep him full for at least an extra day.

Paul shuffled awkwardly on the branch, angling himself just right. He braced his legs against the wood. And launched himself at the wolf.

The wolf didn't know about any of this. Not until the tiny living projectile grew to something closer to their own size. But by that time, it was too late.

Paul's fangs were already in the wolf's throat.

When he finally detatched, Paul breathed. Loose fur clung to his clothes. Blood covered his lips but not his face, weeks of practice showing their fruit. Paul gave the body one last look, before turning away. But not flying away.

Paul flopped on the forest floor with a squeak. Another squeak turned into a groan as he remembered a fact about vampire bats. Fishing out his phone, Paul considered his next steps.

He couldn't call Bill. It was his weekend with Alice. Charlotte was likely at home with her husband, and Emma didn't know about... his diet.

He dialed Ted. Yet another thing he was still getting used to. "Ugh, Paul, I know you're now rocking the whole 'creature of the night' thing, but some of us still sleep at this time," Ted moaned. "I know, but," Paul's eyes flitted about the treetops a moment, "You know that documentary we watched?" "Yeah?" "And how vampire bats sometimes... struggle to fly after a big meal?"

Ted's silence was loud: "Where are you right now?" "In the Witchwood."

This time, Ted snorted down the phone, "What did you do, drain the Axe Man?" "No. Just, a timber wolf." "Damn," Ted sounded kinda impressed, "Alright, I'll be over soon. But I'm not walking into the forest in the dead of night." "Fair enough," Paul admitted with a sigh.

Paul had paused and turned to Emma. "So," he laughed awkwardly, "Tonight was...?" "It was good," Emma reassured with a chuckle. "Good," Paul nodded, eyes flicking slightly towards her lips. Should he go for a kiss, or was it still too soon?

Before he could consider it that hard, an odd feeling washed over him. His thoughts felt like syrup, thickening as calm lapped over his brain like the rising tide. Vaguely, Paul could tell that Emma was seemingly experiencing the same thing, eyes drifting rapidly out of focus.

Until they both were just standing there. Staring at each other still. A figure seemed to appear by their side. "Ah, what a sight to see," they whispered, "A connection such as yours is a rare thing to find. Indeed, it is something to be nurtured. And preserved." The figure's cold hands rested on their shoulders for a moment before they leaned in close to Emma's neck. As she drew a near-silent gasp and a drop of red trickled past the figure's lips, Paul stirred.

Emma was bleeding. Why was she bleeding? She shouldn't be hurt.

Paul just about managed to twitch his finger, before the hand on his shoulder moved to his hair, and he was swept back under. "Shh, shh, it's okay. It is a temporary pain," the figure soothed as they gently pet his head.

Their other hand moved to stroke Emma's head as their mouth fixed itself onto Paul's throat. Her eye twitched for a moment but was otherwise still. As that sharp mouth finally backed off, a pair of torn wrists were pressed to their lips with an undeniable command: "Drink."

They never took their eyes off the other. Watching with hollow eyes as they both shared a last meal. "Good, now," the figure withdrew entirely from view, "You two head inside now, and get comfortable."

When the front door closed behind them, the blanket of stillness didn't leave. Not until they were both seated. Only then could they truely think again. And do little else.

For their lungs seemed to reject the air around them, and exhaustion was quick to weigh down on their bodies. Gasping for breath, their eyes met and what was happening became clear. With what little strength they both had left, Paul and Emma held each other close.

And sank into cold darkness.

---

A pair of deep shuddering gasps filled the room as life suddenly returned to them. Limbs automatically tightening around each other, that last memory of death circling their brains like vultures. Gradually, they realised that it had passed, and they weren't dead. "What the fuck," Emma stated, voice wavering slightly. "Okay, okay," Paul breathed to himself in sheer relief, "okay."

He pressed his face into Emma's neck as he kept chanting under his breath. Emma said nothing, just rested her chin on his head and existed with him. "... My teeth hurt," Paul muttered into Emma's shoulder. "Yeah, mine too."

Reluctantly, they unwound their arms and wandered into the kitchen. Blood seemed to flood their mouths the instant they set foot inside. Emma made it to the sink first with Paul just barely avoiding spitting into her hair.

The sink looked like a crime scene, the four incisors in the middle of the puddle resembling covered corpses. For a moment, Paul and Emma stared blankly at the sink. Before they slowly looked up.

To see the longer, sharper fangs in each other's mouths.

---

As sunlight faded, something dark seemed to awaken inside Paul and Emma.

It stretched and clawed at their minds. It burned in their throats, and pleaded in their stomachs and veins. It sang of rivers of rich warm blood and the desire for it.

"Shit," Emma groaned as her stomach seemed to pulse with hunger. "Emma... What are we going to do, Emma?" Paul's eyes flickered back to the doorway, to the window they both knew was open. Emma's eyes were doing the same thing. "I think-" she didn't want to admit it, but it wasn't looking avoidable for much longer, "I think... we need to-"

A soft thump issued from the living room. And lured Paul and Emma out of the kitchen.

The intruder was careful as they stood back up. Quiet and nimble. Eyes likely squinted in the pitch blackness. But Paul and Emma could see them perfectly. Could hear their elevated heartbeat like it was a dinner bell.

Unknowingly, they stepped closer to the predators waiting in the dark. And idly scratched their face.

They didn't have time to recognise the fatal mistake; the fresh scab accidently removed to bleed freely. Nor could they see their death as it surged towards them. If they could see it, could see the pair standing there succumb to maddening thirst, there would still be nothing they could do about it. Between the two hungry mouths that latched onto their throat, their veins ran dry quickly.

As the empty body was released, Paul and Emma remained lost to instinct and bloodlust. Only when their eyes found each other again did a glimmer of themselves return. Instantly, they closed the distance between themselves.

Memories of affection causing them to nuzzle up together. As the seconds ticked past, Paul and Emma resurfaced. To a dead burgler beside them and Paul frozen in the middle of licking the traces of the poor man's blood from Emma's lips.

---

Disposing of the body didn't take too long between the two of them.

On the way back, the idea of Emma going back to her place was never brought up. In fact, as soon as they both arrived back at Paul's house, Emma flopped onto the couch with a deep sigh. Paul followed her silently. "... I died here," Emma stated into the cushions, "We died here." "...Yeah," Paul replied for the sake of replying.

Silence hung over them like a thick fog. "Is it alright if I stay here tonight?" Emma whispered. "Okay."

After a moment's thought, Paul pulled the throw blanket over them both. Emma tucked the blanket around herself, and herself into Paul's chest. Carefully in case Emma wanted to pull away, Paul curled his arms around her.

As soon as she'd came back after her "sickness", it was clear to Paul that something had changed. Emma was wearing her visor. This wasn't that strange, it was techincally part of the Beanie's uniform. But it wasn't the only thing.

Emma was wearing a different shirt, one with longer sleeves, and was wearing actual pants. "Yeah, apparently my skin decided now was the time to start really fucking hating sunlight," she explained with a slight wince as she made his coffee.

During their date, Paul couldn't help but notice everything else. How cool her skin felt. How still the veins in her wrist felt. The visible sharpness of the fangs in her mouth. It all painted a picture that Paul could not ignore. And yet, he honestly didn't feel worried. Because he knew Emma. She wouldn't hurt him. She was still the woman he trusts.

Which left Paul one very important question: What does he do now? Should he tell her that he knows? But how would he even do that?

Those questions kept him up that night. Paul tossed and turned, scenarios flowing without permission across his brain until the sun rose. Thankfully, it was his day off. As he slowly ate his breakfast, Paul idly scrolled through the internet on his phone. How he ended up on Wikipedia was beyond him. But the title of the article had Paul blink and give his phone his full attention.

Blood as food.

Scrolling through, Paul could feel a plan forming behind his eyes. Yes, it was perfect. Although it did leave him with a whole new batch of questions: Can Emma even digest animal blood? Where is he going to get the blood? What on earth was he going to say? And, what should he make?