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thesightstoshowyou · 2 years

Text

🩸 BLOODFEST 🩸

Week One

Prompts: Rope, teeth, size, blood

Keywords: Rain, wicked

Payment Plan

Male Vampire OC x GN Reader

Warnings: Blood, heavy gore, descriptions of violence, manipulation

This is a long one, folks. Get a snack and settle in.

$3.78

The little black numbers on your phone screen could be innocuous enough. It’s a simple amount, small, maybe the price of a basic coffee or a quick snack at the gas station. It would be harmless, if it wasn’t the balance of your checking account.

With a noisy clatter, you toss your phone carelessly onto the counter, your head falling to your hands. At your feet, a quiet mewl.

Despondently, you look down at your cat, Sweet Pea. The cone around her neck, shaved hair and stitches on her front leg are the source of your current monetary dilemma. Somehow, she’d managed to slice herself open on an errant piece of balcony railing.

“Idiot,” you murmur, crouching low to give her a scratch. She purrs, oblivious to your name-calling. As your fingers glide through her soft, warm fur, the question festering in the back of your mind drifts to the forefront of your thoughts.

How are you going to make rent? It’s due today and you don’t get paid for another two weeks. You’ve never been late on a payment before. Maybe…. Maybe if you ask your landlord for an extension he’ll take pity on you?

You swallow the lump in your throat. Just the idea of speaking with him makes your palms sweaty. That innate fear, the knowledge that you’re not at the top of the food chain always pricks at the back of your neck in his presence. You try to avoid him at all costs.

You wonder if his other tenants feel the same.

With a deep sigh, you push to your feet and cross the room to retrieve your keys. First you must work. You definitely can’t miss a shift now.

Exiting your apartment, your keys rattle in the lock. After the click, you turn on your heel and crash straight into a solid chest.

“Oops!” a quiet voice exclaims, long fingers gripping your shoulders to keep you from tumbling backwards.

“Oh christ, I’m so sorry—

Your words catch in your throat when your gaze lands on the face of Mr. Talo, your landlord. The fight to keep your expression passive ends in defeat as all the blood drains from your face.

Too quickly to be nonchalant, you step away from him, back colliding with your locked front door. No escape—

No, shut up, you’re acting insane, don’t upset him, CHILL OUT….

“Everything alright?” Mr. Talo asks in his soft, lilting voice, his slight accent catching at the ends of his words. You meet his eyes, iris bright blue and whites bloodshot—a sign of a well-fed vampire.

You allow yourself to relax minutely before responding, “Y-Yeah, I’m really sorry Mr. Talo—

“Oh no, no, please call me Sami. ‘Mr. Talo’ sounds like I’m much too old or something.” The corners of his lips twitch up in a gentle smile. You can tell he’s trying to keep his teeth hidden, but you can still see the very tips of white fangs poking out from under his top lip.

You force a breathy chuckle, gaze dropping to your shoes, then back up in time to watch his spidery fingers ruffle the white-blonde hair atop his head. The fluorescents above catch the stray strands, his pale locks nearly glowing under the light.

“Right, you must be off to work? I’ll leave you to it.” Sami turns to leave, then pauses to add, “Rent due today, I’m sure you’re aware.” Your heart stutters in your chest. You’d wanted more time to prepare your sob story….

“Uh, Mr—I mean, Sami. About rent….” The vampire turns to face you fully, eyebrows raised curiously. You swallow, throat suddenly dry. You continue, “I’m—my cat h-had an accident, I mean, she got hurt. I had to, you know, take her to the vet—stitches, she needed them, which…which you know, costs…costs money and—

“You can’t make rent this month.” he finishes for you. Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. He doesn’t sound upset. In fact, there’s a glint of something in his gaze, beyond the bloody sclera; something eager.

“Y-Yes. I’m sorry, is there…?” You trail off, forgetting what you wanted to ask. Sami is turned completely toward you now, attention fully focused on you, your face, your shoulders, your neck…. His hands, once resting in his pockets, now hang at his sides, long fingers twitching randomly.

“S-Sami?” you breathe, jaw clenching. Your own fingers jump, ready to reach for your keys, but then Sami blinks, shoulders relaxing, hands quickly returning to pockets like he hadn’t even moved at all.

“There are payment plans. I’d be willing to extend that courtesy to you as you’ve never been late before.” He speaks casually, like everything that just transpired was completely normal. You have no choice but to follow along, the heavy feeling in your chest lifting slightly when you comprehend what he’s saying.

Sami pauses, lightly scrapes his fangs across his bottom lip—your hand involuntarily clenches on your keys—before he speaks again, softer than before, “Or…there is one more option. An alternative form of payment—no, not that,” he adds with an awkward chuckle when your eyes bug out of your head. “Though some would consider it equally as—erm—unwholesome.”

“W-What do you mean?” Your voice breaks a little with your question and you wonder how much more your poor nerves can handle. Sami takes a half step closer, hands leaving his pockets, fingers entwining.

“Blood,” he states simply. You stare. His expression doesn’t change. You blink several times in quick succession when you realize he’s serious. Sami nods, “For one month, I will forgive rent in exchange for one, uh…feeding.”

Words elude you. He’s serious! Has he done this before with other tenants? He must have, with how boldly he speaks. Is this legal? It can’t be, can it?

You realize you’ve said nothing for too long a stretch. Sami waits expectantly. Again, you must swallow before you speak.

“Um. Uh…can I think about it?” His eyes crinkle at the corners, more of those wicked fangs revealed with his grin.

“Certainly. I’ll touch base tomorrow?” You can only nod weakly in response. “Great! Talk soon.”

And with that, he strides away down the hall before disappearing into the stairwell. The loud bang of the heavy door shocks you out of your stunned silence and you spin around, hurrying in the opposite direction.

Payment plan. You’re going to do the payment plan. That’s the least insane option.

But one month no rent…. That could be huge for you, especially with these vet bills you still have to pay.

No, absolutely not. It’s madness to even consider it! What if he gets carried away, or whatever? Rent isn’t worth your life.

But…the burden and stress this could relieve…. It’s just one time. He’s obviously done this before. He must know what he’s doing.

No, no, no. This is ridiculous. What is the matter with you?

You retrieve your phone, ready to text Mr. Talo—Sami—your answer. You hesitate, fingers hovering over your phone screen.

You’ve lost your god damn mind.

Nervously, you check the clock on the stove. Almost 7PM. Soon.

Wringing your hands, you look over the assigned “to-do” list, mentally checking off completed tasks.

It’s Friday. You have the weekend off to…recover, as instructed. You’d eaten iron-rich foods all week, drank the requisite amount of water, taken all the B vitamins. You’d meal prepped for the weekend, ensuring all your meals are low effort and ready to eat.

Chewing on your lip, you frown, considering. Maybe you should—

A quiet knock at your door makes you jolt, your pen tumbling to the ground with a clatter. Heart hammering, you cross the room, smoothing your shirt and straightening the rug. Oh god, you’ve lost it, this is crazy, but it’s too late to back out….

The lock clicks and the door swings open with a little squeak. There stands Sami, wearing khakis, a pale blue button up that matches his eyes, and a kind smile. In his hand is a small, black satchel.

“Uh, hi. Hi, um, come in,” you stammer, scooting out of the way as Sami steps into your apartment. He gives your space a quick once over before turning to you.

“You completed the list I gave you?” You nod, glancing down at your feet, then back up. He smiles wider in approval and your gaze is drawn to white points. Christ, they’re huge….

“Excellent. Shall we get started? I won’t take up much more of your evening.” You tense, giving him one more stiff half nod.

Sami motions to the sofa before setting the little bag on your counter. The slide of its zipper fills the awkward silence—you should have put on music—and he rustles around inside. In a neat row, he positions gauze, a bottle of sterile water, medical tape, and a blue surgical rag. Your heart rate increases with each item he produces until it pounds furiously against your ribs.

Satisfied with the arrangement, Sami moves to sit next to you on the sofa. That same, understanding half smile decorates his wan features. Hands like ice find your face, cradling it, and you flinch at the chill. He gazes into your wide, panicked eyes, making sure you’re looking at him before speaking.

The whites of his eyes are almost completely visible, barely any red. He’s hungry—

“It is imperative you don’t struggle. Do you understand?” You blink and swallow hard, your throat like fucking sandpaper. “Repeat back what I said.”

“I-I shouldn’t s-struggle,” you whisper.

“You mustn’t.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. Now breathe. Big, deep breaths.” You do as he says, your body working on autopilot as your mind whirs with terror. “Just like that. You’re doing well! Your heart rate is slowing.”

You falter at that, “W-What? How…?”

Sami taps his ear with a slender finger, “I can hear it.” You can’t stop the flush from heating your cheeks. He knows you’ve been distressed this entire time. Embarrassing.

That eager glint returns to his eyes. With a light chuckle, Sami moves one of his hands to your shoulder, gripping just tight enough to hold you in place. Cool fingers grasp your jaw, tilting your head to the side and back, exposing your neck. He scoots closer, invading your space, pulling you close, intimately close.

You choke on a breath, then suck in air quickly, willing your tense body to relax. Don’t struggle, don’t struggle—

Sami inhales slowly, deeply, and your cheeks burn when you realize he’s smelling you. A quiet squeak leaves your mouth when his lips ghost across your throat. In your lap, your sweaty hands curl into fists.

The fingers on your jaw move to the back of your neck just as you feel the sharp points of his fangs setting themselves against your flesh. That prickling sensation returns, stomach lurching, body urging you to flee, fucking run idiot, but you reign in your panic, a mantra of ‘Don’t struggle, don’t struggle,’ playing on repeat in your brain.

Piercing, twin stings make you gasp, your hands flying up to grip the front of his shirt Warmth trickles down your throat—summer rain on your skin—before soaking into the neckline of your top. Sami quickly seals his lips around your leaking wounds.

You feel gentle suction—he’s drinking—and you can’t help the tiny whimper that escapes you when he groans, his chest vibrating against your palms with the sound. The hand on your shoulder squeezes hard, just shy of being painful. You focus on your labored breathing and force yourself to still, to be quiet.

Sami emits a muffled, gurgly moan and pulls you flush against him, wrapping an arm around your body. Your toes curl in your socks. At the same time, you notice your grip on his clothing growing slack. Your fingers are weakening, your head fuzzy, little spots forming in your vision, your breath coming in ragged pants….

With a strained growl, Sami rips his teeth out of you. His lips are millimeters from yours, so close you can feel hot, metallic breath washing over your face. Icy hands caress your face, stroke your neck, dip down to your collarbone, he’s so close, what is he—

Hastily, you are slammed back into the arm of the couch. Sami stands so quickly you don’t see him move. Dazed, you watch him stagger and clutch his head, bowed shoulders rising and falling rapidly with his gasping breaths.

You don’t have to strength to move much, nor even the wit to speak, so you just stare at his back. The rapid heaving of his shoulders gradually slows as he stands upright. His mouth he wipes on his shirtsleeve, brilliant scarlet staining the pale fabric.

Seeming to come back to himself, he retrieves the items he’d placed on the counter. Finally, he turns to face you, revealing the startling visage of a freshly fed vampire. You’d react if you weren’t so dazed, thoughts spinning with your vision.

The whites of his eyes are completely red, not a dot of ivory to be seen. His pupils are blown so wide you can’t make out any blue. Crimson stains his teeth, a paint brush smear across his cheek where he’d wiped it away.

Sami clears his throat and kneels on the sofa between your trembling knees. One hand returns to the back of your neck as the other presses gauze to your wounds.

“You alright?” he asks, his usually soft voice now quite husky. You blink to right the world and nod once again. Fatigue pulls at your consciousness, tries to force your eyelids shut. “These will heal,” he continues, pushing against your bite marks for emphasis, “By tomorrow, most likely. Make sure you have several glasses of water. Tonight, before you sleep, I mean. Continue the vitamins.”

Dumbly, you gaze up at him. He doesn’t meet your stare, instead rips pieces of tape to secure the gauze to your skin. Next, he cleans away the remainder of your spilled blood with the surgical rag and sterile water.

Unceremoniously, he stands, retrieves a glass of water from your kitchen, sets it on your coffee table. “Get some rest,” he commands, leaving through your front door without a backward glance.

The lock clicking shut seems to trigger something within you and you slump, rolling onto your side. It’s over. You’re okay.

Well, okay enough. Maybe.

You don’t have the sense to ponder the strange details of what had just occurred. It only takes seconds for unconsciousness to claim you.

The weekend passes in a blur of dizziness and fatigue. You hardly leave your bed. When Monday rolls around, you’re still so worn out you must phone in sick to work.

Sami checked on you the following day with a simple text: ‘How are you feeling?’ Other than that, you haven’t seen hide or hair of him all week. Probably for the best, you decide. Only awkwardness could occur after spending such an odd evening together.

Friday evening again, and rain pummels the windows, wind gusts rattling the balcony railing. You relax in bed, zoning in and out, not even really watching what plays on television, instead focused on the light and shadows thrown across your body from the changing images. Absently, your fingers scratch between Sweet Pea’s smooth ears…. Soft and warm….

Drip. Drip. Drip, drip, drip.

Your heavy eyes crack open. Darkness in your apartment. The television is off. When had you fallen asleep?

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The rain has stopped. Outside, the air is calm. In your sleepy state, you finally register the dripping. Oh no, a leak?

You push up onto your elbow. Sweet Pea is gone, off to perform her nightly rounds, no doubt.

You roll onto your other side and lay eyes on the horrific figure looming at your bedside.

A soaked, torn shirt reveals the mangled flesh underneath; gaping abdominal gash, bubbly fat, shredded muscle, and oozing guts all visible and leaking onto your floor. The dripping. Not a leak after all.

Higher up is a gaunt face, white blonde hair wet from the recent storm. It is a face you recognize.

Mr. Talo—Sami.

A rain-dampened hand slaps over your mouth to silence your blood-curdling shriek. Another gathers up your wrists, pinning them to the bed. Knees plant themselves on either side of your hips, body weight on your legs stopping your thrashing before it’s even begun.

He stares wildly down at you—how is moving—as warm blood spills from evisceration, soaking your clothes, your sheets. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, gentle voice strained and quivering.

You can do nothing against his strength. You can’t twist, can’t buck, can’t thrash, can’t call for help—helpless, you’re utterly helpless.

More gore pours out of him when he leans down, wet squelching accompanying the movement. Again, he murmurs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” before lips find your neck.

A soft kiss is pressed to your skin—another apology—before wicked fangs sink into flesh. The force of your muffled scream burns your throat, but the palm suffocating you keeps it from carrying far. You recognize the sucking pressure, the noisy groan, the dizzying loss of blood coming much faster this time.

Your teeth dig into his palm, copper spilling into your own mouth, but Sami isn’t fazed, doesn’t let up. Distantly, you remember what he’d said about struggle, but the terror surging through you keeps any rational thought from sticking

Now you’re just an animal, prey squirming in the grip of a predator, desperate to save your own life. Above you, Sami growls as you writhe. It’s a feral sound resonating from deep within his chest that sends your heart into a frenzy.

There’s a crunch, more pressure in your neck, then a sick tearing sound near your ear. With a final, wet snap, Sami sits upright, flesh dangling from his terrible teeth.

You stare, shocked. You can’t believe what you’re seeing. Your fingers scurry up to your neck, recoiling when you feel the wet mess that was once your throat—the throat now clutched in Sami’s jaws.

A cough bubbles out of your mouth, blood splattering across your face, little rain drops, pitter-patter. More wets your hair, joins the puddle forming on your mattress.

Sami watches blankly, observes you drowning in your bed without so much as a twitch of his features. His eyes are crimson once more, his chest heaving. Lower, the torn shirt reveals smooth, unmarred skin, his flesh healed by your life essence.

Your bloodied hands fall away from your spurting neck, landing useless on soaked sheets. The room is darker now, growing darker still. That’s right, the television had been turned off. Good, you don’t want to waste electricity….

Have you ever been so tired?

Sami lifts his hand. He frowns at the teeth marks in his palm. Unhealed?

The last expression you see cross his face is one of terrified comprehension, the last thing you hear a breathless, “Oh no….”

Your eyes drift shut.

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