Amor Sanguinum (Yandere Vampire Feitan x Reader)

4

Feitan slithers back into your home, closing the broken window shut behind him. Back in your bedroom, he takes in the scent given off by the candles. Even though they haven't been lit in quite some time, they still filled the room with their aroma. Your blood is still on your bedsheets, some of it stained on the floor. Being in here while you're sleeping at your neighbors, he doesn't have to make any effort to conceal his presence. He wonders what you're thinking, probably that you're safe with them.

Feitan replays the scene in his mind, biting into you and the way you screamed. He regrets the spontaneity of it, he should have eaten something (or someone) before he came to your home. Not that Feitan has any issue with hurting you, but it's unfortunate it was from an impulsive, hungry urge rather than a calculated act. One that would siphon your terror to him with an intimate horror. He doesn't focus on it, he'll have a million more chances to carry out his plans, to properly focus on your taste rather than filling his stomach.

He's been here, multiple times before... this. Before his cravings began, ones that if he had less self-control, would have led him to lick his dirty scalpels clean. But now? Well he still didn't have things under total control unfortunately. Ideally he would have been killing people much more secretively as to not attract attention to himself. Feitan didn't see the point in making a grand show of things, nor was terrorizing a small town on his bucket list. He didn't exactly hate all the articles reporting his killings, the way people would shut themselves indoors for fear of being his next victim though. He disliked the notion that his attacks were random though, far from it. Feitan was meticulous in choosing who to kill, only going for someone whose blood had a less liklihood of upsetting his palette. People who didn't smoke, were relatively healthy, not too young or too old. Drunk people were easier to kill, but the after taste was never worth it. The only reason he hadn't moved on and started killing people elsewhere was because of you.

His fixation on you began before his metamorphosis, if it could be called that. Truthfully you were meant to be his much earlier, but Feitan decided it was best to sort out his personal issues before taking you and risking his plan going awry. He'd been watching you for some time, born out of a percieved hatred for you. The initial plan was to kill you after poking at you and having his fun for a bit, then it shifted to killing you after having tasted your blood, but now he's convinced he has to have you. Feitan's mind settles on the idea that it was your blood that tasted so good, that's why he can't let you go. It's the easiest explanation for his attachment to you, the only one he'll admit to himself and accept.

Feitan's attention is caught by a dull scent of blood. Another side effect (perhaps positive? He isn't sure yet), an overwhelming sensitivity to the very smell of blood. One so strong he sometimes becomes almost light-headed if he doesn't consume it.

In the small trashcan in your room, containing tissues, chip bags, and whatever desk junk you decided you didn't want was a small bandaid, face up. Just for him. Your blood dotted the middle, it was from when you cut yourself with a butter knife. Stupid girl, Feitan wonders how much of an idiot you have to be to get injured with a butter knife. He plucks the bandaid from the trash can, holding it close.

A remnant of your ichor, preserved onto the cotton of the bandage. Feitan holds it thinly between his nails, preferring not to touch something that was in the trash more than he has to. But if it's yours...

His tongue sticks out and he tastes the old blood. It's not the same as getting it straight from the source, but that's to be expected. A chill runs up his spine, the weight of his sins, including those he has yet to commit. It gets him excited to think about, the idea of having your blood in his mouth again, the noises you'll make when you're awake for him to suck it out of you, it's enough to send him over the edge. Maybe he can make you drink some of his, wouldn't that be nice?

Feitan pockets your bandaid, heading for your bathroom. A rule he set for himself was to wash his mouth out after every time he consumed blood, no matter how much or how little. With no uncertainty, Feitan grabs your toothbrush and toothpaste, as if it were the most natural thing for him. Perhaps it is, he's done this plenty of times. His cowl is lowered even more, then taken off completely. Feitan looks into the mirror before brushing his teeth, looking at the wall behind him instead of his reflection. Another thing he's still adjusting to.

He's a lot of things, a thief, murderer, torturer, and now a cannibal. A cannibal whose skin maintains a healthy color only when he's regularly sucking the blood out of his victims, and whose teeth have grown in size and become shaper. There's a bite mark on the side of his neck, the catalyst of his now welcomed transformation. He can feel it now, the oversized bat that had sunk its teeth into him. It felt like two large gauge needles stabbing into his neck. Turns out his concern of rabies was the least of his issues.

The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes how much he has changed. An inability to function without the regular consumption of blood, a sensitivity to said bodily fluids' presence, he can't even go into the sun anymore without his skin burning and flaking off after a few seconds. Feitan always covered up anyways and usually preferred to do his normal work under the cover of night, but that was his choice, not a rule he had to follow if he wanted to stay alive.

Perhaps he's not a cannibal, that would imply he's still human.