"Blood…"
The word leaves his lips like ash.
And I swear—my heart stops with him.
I freeze. The plate in my hand trembles, then slips, hitting the floor with a soft clink I barely register.
"Lean? Vamp?"
He doesn't move. Doesn't blink. That voice—it was barely even sound. Just breath. Just a whisper.
"Hey—HEY!"
I'm already on my knees, hands grabbing him, shaking his stupid skinny bat body. His skin's ice cold, even for him. Lips dry. His fangs? Practically gone, As if they have started to retract. No glow. No sparkle. Even his curls look… dull.
This isn't a tantrum.
This isn't drama.
This is danger.
"Shit, okay—okay, blood. You need blood."
My brain's short-circuiting. Where do I even get blood?! A butcher shop? Some black market plasma dealer?? Robbing a blood bank???Is there a fucking vampire Uber Eats app?! Why didn't he tell me he needed blood regularly like a freaking vitamin?
"Lean, stay with me," I whisper, brushing his forehead. "Don't die, okay? I—fuck, I'll fix this. Just don't… don't go cold on me. Not like this."
He shudders.
Barely.
I shoot up into motion.
Kitchen.
Fridge.
Pantry.
Blood?
NO. BLOOD.
"FUUUCK!!!"
I spin. His stupid-ass pink mug is still in the sink. The one that says 'Bite Me, Daddy'.
I could scream, and I will in 10 minutes.
I rush back to him. He's not worse. But he's not better either.
"Why the fuck didn't you tell me, huh?! You never said you needed blood like some damned protein shake!!"
Wait.
Waitwaitwaitwait.
I'm… I'm a mammal, right?
Wolves are mammals??
Fuck biology.
My blood's warm! That's good! Maybe he can drink it! …Right??
Nope. Bad idea.
He'll suck me dry and I'll die like the side character in a horror film—the one who dies first for doing something STUPID.
NOT HAPPENING.
"Humph—"
Fuck. He's struggling to breathe now. His chest rising shallow, his face pale like porcelain. I drop to my knees again. His head shifts slightly. His eyes—barely open, trembling.
"Th… tha… thank yo… ou, Pupp…ers…"
And BAM.
He passes out.
"No! No no no, don't you dare pull a Sleeping Beauty on me!!"
I grab his face. Slap his cheeks lightly. "Don't die on me, you manipulative glitter demon!!"
Nothing.
I scramble to the kitchen like a man possessed, grab the sharpest knife, and run back.
"Okay. Okay. I'm doing this."
I hold up my thumb dramatically. "I'm gonna slit it just a little. Just a drop. This is manly. This is brave. This is Alpha Wolf Shit™."
Slice
"OW FUCK—!!"
Why is it so sharp?!
I didn't sign up for blood pain Olympics.
"Ow ow ow ow! Okay! That's it. I'm officially a goddamn martyr."
"People write songs about sacrifices like this, Lean! You better wake up and call me your savior after this, I swear to all gods and moon deities—"
I suck in a sharp breath, eyes watering from the pain.
"FUCK. I just wanted toast and peace!! Now I'm leaking like a bad anime protagonist with a tragic past!"
Yup. Blood's out.
What now?!?
"Hey! Vamp!! Drink it!!"
Nothing.
He doesn't even twitch.
I mutter a curse under my breath and drop a few warm droplets onto his lips—and immediately?
Gone.
Sucked up like a freaking sponge.
Okay. Okay that's freaky. But… good, right?
My hand shakes. "Shit… do I… do I put my finger in?!"
I stare at my bleeding thumb. At his mouth. At his barely-breathing form.
"Dude, you're pretty, but this is so weird—like, morally weird…"
But do I have a fucking option?!
"Okay, Dominic. It's like mouth to mouth CPR. CPR, but for sparkly monsters."
I take a breath. Steady my hand. Press my thumb gently to his bottom lip. Then… slowly guide it in.
And what happens?
Instinct kicks in.
His lips part, just slightly. His mouth closes around my thumb.
And he starts sucking.
Like, reflexively. Like some primal part of him knew what to do. His tongue presses cold against my skin, and there's a tiny, lazy scrape of fang—but it's not violent. Just… desperate. Delirious. Needy. Like some baby sucking his blinki.
It's horrifying. It's gross.
It's also… something else.
I sit there, frozen, watching him nurse my blood like a starving toddler with a binky.
"This is… so fucked."
But what's worse?
I feel something.
Low. Warm. Crawling up my spine like a traitor thought.
No.
No.
He's unconscious. He's sick. He's not even present, and yet…
his mouth—his cold tongue, the way he just instinctively licks around the cut—
God, it's wrong, but it—
It feels good.
And that's the worst part.
The part that makes my breath hitch.
The part that makes my heart pound.
The part that makes my pants tight and my brain scream:
"NOPE. NOPE. DON'T. STOP THINKING."
I clench my jaw, forcing myself to look anywhere else. The ceiling. The floor. My knees.
Anywhere but his lips.
"You're not into him."
"He's just a blood-sucking parasite with a really soft mouth. And pretty face and ass personality."
"This is medical. CPR. Emergency. SCIENCE."
Why is my life like this?
Why am I so…
so embarrassingly…
I am hard.
I hate this.
I hate him.
I hate that I love this.
Fuck I need to do this, he isn't looking!!
I slid my hand down my pants and grabbed it, fuck it's double simulation! How the fuck I managed to get this turned on, after jerking off so bad few minutes past!!
But it feels good! I squeezed myself "fuck!" Escaped my lips! Hevis still sucking my thumb! :mhump fuck yes! Damn it feels good!" I muttered! As I keep throwing it in slow deliberate pace! I brought my nose near his neck and sniffed him! "Fuck you smell like honey boba! Sweet!" I burry my face in his neck as I sniff his scent as if my fucking life depends on it.
I keep jerking off, as he keeps sucking! I feel like biting on his neck, something primal inside me tells me to bite him to mark him mine, but no I am not doing it! I have standards! First! I am not GAY! I am just doing it to release so tension that he only gave me! And secondly definitely not a half dead vampire! I am not a pervert! So what I do I chose to keep my face buried in his cold neck and live on his smell!
"Sniff! Sniff!!" Fuck it's good,
"I...I am ...fuck .." and I cummed like a waterfall in in pants, yup another one to laundry!
Oh—
His colors. They're coming back.
Lean's pale cheeks start to tint ever so slightly, like someone turned the dimmer back up. That weird blue-ish cast melts into soft ivory again. His lips aren't dry anymore—glossy now, with a hint of pink. The shimmer's creeping back into his skin like magic dust returning to a broken snow globe.
Even his hair.
Those curls—those stupid, soft golden curls—are starting to bounce again. Like they finally remembered they were supposed to look adorable and chaotic. The way they always do when he's about to ruin my life.
And then… he exhales.
Long. Deep. Peaceful.
His body relaxes completely in my lap.
His mouth slips off my thumb, his head droops to the side like a sleepy kitten, and he's just…
out.
Not unconscious.
Just asleep.
Like, "drank the blood of his personal emotional support werewolf and now needs a full nap to process" kind of asleep.
I let out a shaky breath of my own.
"Jesus, you idiot…" I murmur, brushing a curl off his forehead.
His skin's still cold—but not corpse-cold. Just… Lean-cold. The kind I've weirdly gotten used to. The kind that makes me want to wrap a blanket around him and call him names until he smiles again.
I gently adjust him on the couch, slipping the throw pillow under his head and tugging the blanket back over him.
He doesn't stir.
Good.
He needs the rest.
And I—
I need to clean up before I start questioning everything about my life again.
I stand, legs weak, and trudge back toward the bathroom. Every step squishes. My pants are… yeah.
A war crime.
Stripping off the evidence, I drop it straight into the bucket in the corner and start the water. Not another shower—just a rinse. A reset. I splash my face, scrub my arms, press a cold towel to my neck to get the heat out of my cheeks.
Then I glance down.
My thumb.
The one he drank from.
The cut's gone.
Like—gone gone.
Not even a scar.
I blink. Bring it closer to the light. No trace of blood. No jagged skin. Just smooth, warm flesh like it never happened.
"What the hell…" I mutter.
I rotate it. Flex it. Run it under water just to check I'm not dreaming.
Still perfect.
Healed.
By him?
That's what happened, right? Vampires can do that? Seal wounds while feeding?
Some kind of weird… intimacy blood spell or something??
I stare at it for a second longer than I should.
Then realize—
I'm blushing.
"Stupid bat," I mutter, turning away from the mirror like it offended me personally. "Healed my thumb like some sparkly little first-aid kit and now I feel weird about it. I hate this. I hate him. I hate this whole situation."
I pause.
Then glance back at the mirror.
And… yeah.
Still blushing.
I bury my face in the towel.
"I need to get hit by a truck or something".
Anyway. I step out of the bathroom, towel slung over my shoulder, soul semi-repaired, ego barely intact.
Lean's still knocked out on the couch—mouth slightly open, blanket tucked under his chin like a sugar-drunk vampire burrito. Good. Stay down, glitter boy.
I glance at the plates.
Yup. Cold now. Toast gone soggy. Eggs sacrificed in the war.
Fine.
I toss his plate into the freezer. He'll microwave it later. I don't care.
Mine?
I pick up the entire mess like a savage, roll it into a loose wrap, and inhale it like a starving dog.
Gone in thirty seconds. Gordon Ramsay would cry.
I stretch, rub my face, and sigh.
"No classes today. Thanks to our dear cranky principal suspending me for… existing too aggressively."
Which means: time to get some shit done.
Specifically—Operation: Kick the Vampire Off My Couch and Into an Actual Room.
I head to the spare bedroom. It's been empty for ages. Random storage, some old gym stuff, and maybe a cursed lamp or two. But it's got walls, windows, and a door—everything a dramatic monster boy needs.
"Alright, Dom. Let's do some homemaking like a responsible adult wolf."
I grab the mountain of shopping bags we got yesterday. He really did loot the entire market like a sparkly tornado.
First up:
🛏️ Bed.
Frame. Assembled. Mattress? Tossed on top. Sheets?
Harry Styles bed cover, in all its pastel glory, unfurled and pulled tight.
Pillows? Two fluffy ones—and a Louis Tomlinson side pillow, which I place dead center like it's royalty.
I step back.
This is the gayest bed I've ever made.
Next—Curtains.
Blue and green striped. Loud enough to hurt my eyes, but whatever. That's his taste. Rod through, hooks in place, done.
I look at the floor.
Okay. Time for the personal chaos.
I set up the dressing table from my spare furniture stash. It's pinkish wood with white drawers. He'll like it.
Then I haul in the vanity mirror with lights—one of those big circle ones influencers use for "get ready with me" videos. I don't even remember buying it. Probably blacked out from aesthetic rage.
Now the stuffs. His things. Each item more chaotic than the last.
🔸 Lip balm trio — strawberry, vanilla, and something called "Blood Lust Cherry."
🔸 Toothbrush — electric, glitter pink.
🔸 Comb set — one for curls, one for drama.
🔸 Sunglasses — the one i got for him, of course he liked it! He looked good.
🔸 Wristwatch — gold and heart-shaped. Naturally.
🔸 Earbuds — cat-ear cased. I can't.
🔸 Choker chain — black leather, silver tiger claw dangling from it that i got for him so yup it's thr only good thing besidesthe leater jacket and sunglasses.
🔸 Nail clipper — it sparkles. Why does it sparkle.
🔸 Keychain — a chunky plastic hamster with a crown.
🔸 Angry cat sticker sheet — he said he was gonna label my rice cooker with these. I fear for my appliances.
🔸 Diary — black leather, embroidered bats, and pink rose scented, I like it except the smell.
🔸 Fancy glitter pen — purple ink. Scented. It smells like heartbreak.
I place each item on his table like I'm arranging sacred relics in a vampire museum. No joke, this setup looks like an altar to chaos.
Wardrobe next. I open it and hang everything we got yesterday.
Shirts.
Hoodies.
Pastel sweaters.
Way too many high-waisted pants.
Then comes the jacket.
His prized black leather jacket, I carefully put it in the packaging. I hang it carefully—like it's ceremonial armor.
And then…
The Chipmunk Costume.
Yup.
The full Halloween chipmunk getup.
I fold it and place it on the bottom shelf like a cursed artifact. Whoever finds this after we die will have questions.
I line up his shoes underneath. He's got three pairs already. How?
Last touch—
I fill the three bottles we got yesterday:
💖 Pink: Water (his favorite, apparently. It's just water but "pink.")
💙 Blue: Apple soda.
💚 Green: Strawberry milk. Because logic is dead.
I cap them tight and line them up on the bedside table like offerings.
Then, I plug in his new phone and drop it on charge.
Finally—
I spray the room with the rose-jasmine room freshener I secretly bought while he was busy telling a stray dog about the "Great Pee War of street mutts."
One spritz. Two.
Smells like him.
Sweet. Overpowering. A little dizzying.
"Yup. This is his room now."
I back away slowly, arms crossed, giving it one last look.
It's chaotic.
It's loud.
It's warm.
It's… his.
And I kinda hate how proud I am of it.
Nah.
The floor looks like a war zone.
Dust. Footprints. A single angry glitter flake shimmering in defiance.
I sigh like a tired dad in a sitcom.
Time for the final act.
I grab the bucket, dump in disinfectant, pour half the bottle of floor cleaner in (whatever, math is for scientists), and start mopping like a man on a mission.
Swipe. Swipe. Scrub the chaos out of my existence.
Swipe again.
Done.
Shiny. Smells like lemon death and rose guilt.
Perfect.
I lean on the mop for a second, breathing hard, then glance at the walls.
Pink.
PINK.
Not blush. Not salmon.
Not tasteful muted rose.
Cotton-candy-punched-a-flamingo pink.
Apparently, the last tenants were either five-year-old girls or prophetic decorators who knew a drama-soaked vampire would one day move in.
"Fate's a freak."
I glance around, mentally scanning for any last messes.
Anything I missed?
Wait. What's that?
One final shopping bag sits in the corner. Quiet. Ominous.
"Please be snacks. Please be socks. Please be anything normal—"
I open it.
BAM.
TWENTY green and blue teddy bears EXPLODE out like emotional support cannonballs straight from hell.
I stumble back. "FUCK! You batbrained menace!!"
They bounce. They roll. One hits me in the face like a plush grenade of chaos.
Right. These things.
His "babies."
How the hell did I forget them? He made me carry half the load while narrating their tragic teddy soap opera on the way home.
Apparently…
They're all couples.
Soul-bonded.
Gay teddy pairs.
And they all look the same.
I grab them all, muttering curses under my breath, and drag the entire bear brigade into his room.
Deep breath. Time to arrange.
Blue. Green. Blue. Green.
In a perfect line beside his bed.
Yup.
"I'm a werewolf with OCD. So what?
If glitter-ass vampire soulmates exist, then so can emotionally repressed werewolf interior decorators."
I glance over my work.
Twenty bears. Ten soul-mates.
Do I remember who was married to who?
Absolutely not.
Did I just accidentally pair Mr. Green Boyfriend #3 with the wrong Blue Husband?
Probably.
Do I care?
Absolutely not.
That's his problem.
Let him sort out his weird Build-a-Bear polycule.
I step back and take it all in.
The bed. The mirrors. The side table bottles.
The teddy bear army.
The air freshener still lingering in rose-jasmine clouds.
The whole thing looks like an altar to a gay chaos god.
"The altar of the glitter monster… is complete."
Now all that's left?
Wait for that idiot to wake up and inevitably sob with joy, throw himself at me, and possibly recite a sonnet.
He's gonna drool.
I bet money he's gonna literally drool on the floor the second he sees this.
And for some stupid, irrational reason…
I kinda want to see it.
Alright.
Final sweep.
Wait—plants.
The tiny potted ones he picked while yelling at a snail for "breathing too loudly."
I grab the green squad and set them up on the windowsill—one by one—sunlight spilling on them like some indie vampire movie set.
There.
Perfect.
Room: ✅
Vibes: 🌈💅🦇🏳️🌈🤡🤦♂️🤦♂️🤦♂️🤦♂️🤦♂️🤦♂️
Gay altar: Assembled.
Now… what's left?
Ah. His phone.
Still charging. The screen lights up. 100%.
I unplug it and set it on the bedside table, but then—curiosity hits.
He just got this phone yesterday. Right before the world's most emotionally unstable birthday party on a public street.
No way he set it up yet.
I tap the screen.
Unlocked.
Of course.
"Security who? I'm a vampire, I fear nothing—not even data theft."
No password.
No wallpaper.
No nonsense.
Just raw chaos waiting to unfold.
I scroll through the home screen. No extra apps.
No TikTok. No Instagram.
No games. Not even vampire solitaire or "Bite Me: Dating Sim."
Weird.
I open the gallery.
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.
Thirty-three photos.
Two videos.
All taken between yesterday and now.
The chipmunk costume selfie.
WHY.
Why must I suffer twice.
A bunch of blurry night shots.
Photos of dogs.
One that's literally just a boba cup with the caption: "Hehe thicc like Puppers 😘🧋🐺"
"I'm deleting that. One day. Maybe."
Then another one! A random click on the road with me I don't know when he took, with a caption "Day 1 of domestic life, Puppers still hasn't murdered me 💕"
But then—I pause.
One picture.
It hits different.
Lean in the black 'bad boy' jacket, leaning against the wall with the kind of accidental sexy innocence that should be illegal. Yup I am proud I got that combo, famous people hire me as your personal fashion director.
He looks…
Cute.
Hot.
Stupidly perfect.
My brain short-circuits.
I scroll past it like I didn't just feel my soul glitch.
"Nope. Not doing this again. We're not falling down that hole today."
I back out and open the Contacts app.
Empty.
Of course.
Just like his head and family… and eyes when he pretends he's fine.
I sigh.
Fine. I'll do it.
Like he needs to call someone when he is in danger and I will come to save the day like superman or Wolverine
I enter my number. Type slowly. Carefully.
Name field:
I stare at it.
"Dominic"?
No.
Too boring.
"Puppers"?
Tempting.
But if I'm gonna commit to the bit…
"DADDY PUPPERS 🐺🐺🖤🤴🥷"
Yes.
Yes, this is peak chaos.
I can feel his scream when he sees it.
I exit the app, lock the phone, and place it back exactly where it was—like I didn't just commit felony-level teasing.
Then I step back.
Glance at the room one last time.
Fluffy army? In formation.
Closet? Color-coded chaos.
Desk? Nerd corner activated.
Room? Absolutely unholy.
I smirk.
Mission: Sparkle Den—accomplished.
I lock the door behind me like I'm guarding a surprise party.
Now…
Time to wake the glitter gremlin.
And watch him lose his mind in 3… 2… 1…