#NOOOOOO I MADE HIS CARDIGAN TOO DARK. FUCK
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he's squeaky toy. to me.
#aough i love him so much....#i will never be able to recreate this style/design i already know#my love for him is so great that it renders me unable to draw him consistently#it took all of my willpower not to clutter this with heart scribbles#himhimhimhimhimhimhimhimhim-#welcome home#welcome home puppet show#scribble garnish#welcome home fanart#welcome home wally#wally darling#NOOOOOO I MADE HIS CARDIGAN TOO DARK. FUCK#itsfineitsfineitsfine No One Will Notice#sigh. anyway...#i love his lil ascot and bizarre hair and cat smile and-#i have decided to put Slightly More Effort into my doodles. i think it might be worth it#even if the sun is up and my wrist hurty and im tired. i have been drawing for hours und hourz#and putting that right after more hours und hourz of crocheting? Ouch My Tendons
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Vampire!Brendon Part 10
@urisistable at it again with the amazing chapters. Lets gooooo
Part 1 here
Part 2 here
Part 3 here
Part 4 here
Part 5 here
Part 6 here
Part 7 here
Part 8 here
Part 9 here
Some 20 hours later, Brendon wakes feeling his sister shaking his shoulder. Gasping, he instinctively darts up in a panic, gripping onto her.
“Calm down, it’s just me,” Kira says, peeling his fingers from her forearm. “Mom wanted me to come check on you. You’ve been asleep this whole time?”
He nods, reaching over to stroke the hair away from your face. The worry is written all across his brow. You’re terribly pale but he can clearly hear the hard thumping of your racing heartbeat.
“You should really get cleaned up,” his sister adds after a long moment watching him checking you over. He absolutely crashed after making sure you were taken care of and all settled under the covers. After that, he didn’t have the energy to change out of his blood-stained clothes before he passed out on top of the blankets beside you.
“No, no, I’m fine. Besides she could wake up any time now. I have to be here.”
Kira lifts her eyebrows, imploring him a third time to get up. “B, look at yourself.”
Finally he glances down, pulling his dried shirt away from his body. “This might scare her,” he breathes, more to himself than to her.
His sister stops just short of saying, ‘You think?’ instead opting for, “You go. Shower, feed. I can take a turn watching her.”
Wrapping her cream-colored knit cardigan tightly around herself, she settles into the overstuffed chair opposite the bed, and pulls her phone out of her pocket, showing it to him.
Nervously biting on his bottom lip a moment, he finally agrees and slides off the edge of the bed. With a squint, he points at his sister, “She *breathes* different, I want you to call me.“
She crosses her finger over her heart and draws her legs up under her, settling in comfortably.
He has a bathroom just off of his bedroom in his family’s warmly lit, cozy new home, Brendon strips down and steps into the glass-walled shower, glancing wearily at the massive whirlpool bathtub. He supposes you could really enjoy that together if you ever wake up.
When.
He forces himself to redirect his thoughts. WHEN you wake up. You’ve made it this long and your body is fighting hard. He just so wishes it hadn’t happened like this. None of it.
Tears slip down his cheeks. All of his dark hair falls forward when he puts his head down and steps into the steaming hot water. The water collects at the end of his hair in a V, making a strong stream that he uses to trace clean lines on his lean, blood stained torso when he arches. It’s a thoughtless moment that his mind desperately needs.
Kira glances up from her game of Candy Crush when she hears the tiniest moan come from the bed. She’s honestly not sure if she heard it or if it was the wind outside. Dropping her feet to the floor, she stands and crosses the short walk to your bedside. Leaning down close, with her phone in her left hand close to her body, she listens quietly.
Suddenly, your eyes flash open and catch the reflection of yourself in her phone case. She gasps and stumbles back as you grasp the phone from her hand, crying out in horror at the black eyes staring back at you.
You claw the covers back and sit up, reaching for her, but she’s already backed up to the door. When you get to your feet, a white light flashes your dilated pupils. You shut your eyes tight but the explosive light is still there, blinding and disorienting you completely. Pain like a white hot ice pick searing through your eyeballs to the back of your head rips through you unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. With a shriek, you fall to your knees, gripping your head in agony. Every muscle in your body tenses like a snapped rubber band so ferociously. You hiss in pain and grip the phone in your hand, snapping it in two between the full body contractions that leave you in a quivering, curled up in a ball on the floor.
Kira tries to talk to you but you don’t hear her through the pain. Instead, she leaps for the door, locking it quickly behind her and dashes down the hall to find Brendon in the kitchen. His eyes still look tired but his wet hair is combed and he looks much better otherwise, sitting at the breakfast bar, sipping on his smoothie.
His posture changes immediately when she comes racing in. “What’s happened?”
Kira pants, pointing behind her. “She’s awake. You better come.”
Leaping up, Brendon runs down the hall past her, “Why the fuck didn’t you call me?!”
“I would have but she destroyed my phone! She’s gone feral!”
Pushing his shoulder into the door, he leans in for a moment listening. There is no sound and then suddenly a shriek of pain.
“Stay out here. Don’t let anybody in.”
Before she can answer, he’s opened and shut the door behind him. You’re nowhere to be found. “Y/n?” he calls, stepping quietly to the center of the room. On the other side of the bed, he finds you on the floor, your hands cut and bleeding from smashing both bedside lamps against the wall. Your hair has fallen down around your face and you’re trembling all over.
“Oh, y/n… what have you done?” he chokes out, feeling incredibly guilty for leaving you alone too long. He pulls up his black jeans up a little before coming down onto his knees before you.
He reaches out to inspect your bloody hands, but you hiss and draw your arms in.
“I need to see,” he says dropping his voice. “You’re going to let me see.”
His tone cuts through the agonizing haze. You can’t even remember where you are or what has happened, only that everything feels unfamiliar and you want the pain to stop.
He catches your left hand when you reach for your screaming head again. As he’s about to use the bottom edge of his white t-shirt to wipe the blood from the angry cuts, your head rocks back and you howl like a cat caught in a trap. That’s when he sees the claw marks around your eyes and blood running down your cheeks. Getting up onto his knees, he lifts the edge of his shirt to wipe your face and eyes, struggling to hold your head steady.
You yelp in pain and claw at his exposed stomach, leaving a deep diagonal cut.
“Get the fuck away from me!” you cry out and he releases his grip on you, putting his hands up to show he’s not touching you anymore.
“Y/n - I’m not touching you. But I need you to talk to me. We’re going to get through this together.”
You sink down onto the floor and draw your knees up to your chest, whimpering. “You did this to me,” you sob. “I want to die. Why didn’t you let me die?”
Putting his hands on his knees, he leans over you, desperate to take you in his arms. It’s killing him to see you like this, but he knows he’s got to take control of the situation or he may lose you to the madness.
“Y/n,” he calls again, uncertain if you’re even listening or not. He knows he has to draw you out of yourself and your poor, tormented brain. “Tell me what hurts.”
You moan, rubbing your cheek against the carpet. “Fucking everything. My head is screaming inside. I want to take my eyeballs out. My skin… is killing me…”
You trail off for a moment, seeming to calm down. He catches his breath. Then in a sudden swell of the fever, your nails reach for your face again. He grips onto your wrists, stopping you just in time. “STOP,” he demands, but you very nearly pull away from his grip. This first stage of the transition has given you incredible strength despite not even feeding yet. Glancing inside your hands, he sees the cuts are starting to fade already, too. Healing is happening incredibly quickly for you, faster than he’s ever seen. It must be fight or flight mode, but with a focus on the fight at the moment.
Even though you were healing quickly, you could do permanent damage left to yourself. You sink your teeth into his forearm, trying to get him to release his grip on your wrists. Glancing up at the bedroom curtains, he gets an idea.
“I’m not going to let you hurt yourself,” he says out loud, even though you’re probably not listening. Taking both of your wrists in one hand, he grips the cords holding the curtains back and rips them down hard. You manage to get one blood-slippery hand free from him, so he can only wrap the one hand in the cord and tie it quickly to the headboard. Diving over you, he drags your free arm, and your body with it, across the bed, attaching you to the other side of the bed, so only your kicking feet can move.
He pulls his t-shirt over his head with one hand, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Damn, y/n, we’re going to have to do this the hard way.” Tossing his damp shirt on the floor, he climbs up and straddles your hips, placing his palms against your shoulders, forcing you to settle under him.
You’re both panting, as he holds your chest down with his forearm. He pushes your hair away from your face and sees how dark your eyes are as you stare back at him. You’re completely lost in it, and probably hallucinating, too.
In a moment of surprising calmness, you ask in an almost lucid tone, “Who was ‘she’?”
His dark eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head, not understanding amidst everything else going on how you’re asking about a ‘she’. You struggle and strain against your restraints, but his thighs just grip onto you tighter. A bead of sweat rolls down his chest from the effort, stinging the cut you made against his tense stomach.
You lift your head, fighting to get the words out. “She… who the fuck else did you do this to? Spencer said ‘she’ died. How many of us are there, Brendon? How many lives have you destroyed?”
His sad brown eyes show the ache in his chest. “Babe, it’s not like that…”
“No?” you spit at him. “Who was the last little fucktoy you broke?”
“Fuck!” he growls back, the flush of anger rising up his cheeks. “It was Spencer’s little sister. She had leukemia and wasn’t gonna make it past 7. She died in the first 12 hours. Are you happy?!“
“Noooooo…” you howl and close your eyes tight, riding through another wave of pain that makes you pull on your restraints.
With a furrowed brow and a dark, focused gaze, he calls your name but you stop responding altogether - instead just wincing and writhing under him. He glances down, pushing his black hair back with one hand, and touches where you clawed into him. With an arched eyebrow, he wipes his fingertip over the bloody mark. He has an idea.
Leaning all the way forward he rests his forearm above your head, still pinning your body with his. He strokes back your hair to see your face and gently wipes his finger over your bottom lip. Your nose catches the scent first, as you suck in your lip and taste him.
He is whisper-close to your face, watching to see if there is a reaction. Your body stops jerking under him and your eyes open, blinking hard. Your pupils begin to shrink as you look up at him. “B…Bren… what’s going on?”
The look of relief is clearly evident on his face. His eyebrows lift and he smiles brightly down at you. “There’s my angel.”
You mew softly. “I’m scared, Bren. Please help me.”
“I know, babe,” he breathes, touching his forehead to yours. “We’re going to get through this.”
You tilt your head to place a soft kiss against his full lips ghosting just above yours. Just as he begins to kiss you back, he feels the sharp sting of your teeth sinking into his flesh, making him pull back. Your eyes have gone black again.
“I’m… sorry,” you whine, rocking your head back on the pillow.
“Not your fault,” he concedes, licking his bottom lip. “You trust me, right?”
Your eyes close tight and you nod vigorously, unable to quite get the words to come out.
Pressing his palms on either side of the bed, he moves to the end of the bed and catches your sweatpants and panties in both hands, dragging them down your legs, so you’re just left in a soft t-shirt. Quickly undoing his jeans, he strips down completely and climbs over you again.
Knowing he’d have to be a little rougher with you than usual, he pushes his hand up inside your top and grips your left breast firmly making you gasp and find his big brown eyes with your own.
“You just need reminding, don’t you baby?” he asks, pinning your thigh open wide with his body between your legs.
You give him a slight inquisitive look before closing your eyes, focusing less on the pain and more or what he’s doing to your nipple with his thumb.
“Mhmm,” he purrs deep so it resonates in his chest pressed against you. “You need reminding that this thing you’re going through, it doesn’t own you.” He kisses you deep suddenly, brushing his lips along your jawline, to your ear so he can whisper: “It doesn’t own you. You’re MINE.”
With that, he sinks his teeth into your neck, holding you still like two cats breeding. You gasp in breath sharply, feeling him reach down between you and slide his cock up against you. With one full thrust, he pushes inside of you, making you arch up and wish you could spread your hips wider for him. Gone are the overwhelming thoughts of only pain, replaced only by the gorgeous sound of his grunts as he pounds into you over and over, sweat rolling down his neck and chest from the effort. Reaching up under you, he collects your hair in a pony tail, gripping it firmly so when he releases his bite, he is still holding you firmly.
“You’re going to give it to me, aren’t you baby?” he pants above you, jackhammering into you so forcefully, you can’t catch your breath.
“P… please… Bren…” you cry, as you’re so close to coming. Without looking, he reaches up and unties your left arm, so you can claw into the tensed muscles in his back. Your legs wrap around his hips, keeping him close so all of his thrusts are that much deeper.
Suddenly you growl deep and your whole body tenses into complete stillness. Pushing his wet hair back, he looks down into your completely feral eyes. Your mouth is open, panting like a bitch in heat. He can feel your insides are just about to release.
“You’re allowed to bite me when you come, little fuck,” he breathes, giving you his darkest, most seductive arched eyebrow.
With that, you hungrily sink your teeth into his shoulder as he grinds into you hard, wincing at the pain and how fucking amazing it feels to fuck you like animals, using all of his strength and holding nothing back. You cry out, your whole body jerking as you come on him. He grips your hip and pounds into you three more times, releasing his own orgasm.
After a long moment, he rolls off of you, still panting, and settles down beside you. You glance over and purr, stroking his glistening, lean torso. With one hand still free, you’re able to roll over and place increasingly hungry kisses over his chest, stomach, and down to his v-line.
He laughs out loud, catching your pony tail still in his hand. “Patience, angel. You’ll get more.”
You whine and nuzzle into him, settling down beside him. He draws you to himself and very nearly drifts back to sleep.
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