𝕭𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖇𝖞 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉: RWBY x Vampire Male Reader

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖜𝖔: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑶𝒍𝒅 𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔

Y/n's Perspective. Vale, almost sunrise.

Rain patters against the pavement as the moon shines on the dark city and shadowy alleyways of Vale. I walk through the cities vacant, empty streets, the rain a metallic scent as it collects in small to large puddles on the pavement in front of me.

As I walk through the streets, I think back to Yang, her serene sleeping form left in the hotel just a couple miles back from where I stand. I can't help the guilt wash over me, as I walk through these rain filled streets.

I've never liked it, this hunger that plagues me. Much less my own way of feeding, though it is the least messy way of getting sustenance. I used to fool myself, seeing it as a trade in a way — pleasure in exchange for blood, though my victims never knew of their loss. But now I only see it for what it is.

A bestial need.

A craving.

A curse.

The guilt's always haunted me. I suppose it's just a reminder of the siren who embraced me when my light was almost snuffed out...

I should've died a long time ago.

That's a story for another time, though.

My thoughts are interrupted by a scent that cuts through the air. The coppery stench of spilt blood floods my senses.

Stopping in my tracks, I look down at the sidewalk beneath me. My eyes dart around the ground until they land on the dried up remnant of a puddle of blood leading into an alleyway cordoned off by the bright yellow of police tape.

Vale hasn't changed in the slightest, in the twenty years I've been gone.

Continuing on my path another mile down the desolate road, I find myself in front of a two-story building, old bricks making up the four walls of what appears to be a small quaint bar. A balcony hangs above the front door, a sign hung from a rope tied around the structure. 'The Nevermore' this place is named. In the window by the door I can make out an 'A' scratched in crimson on a sheet of paper, the word *ANARCH* floats through my mind. I can hear the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar echoing from beyond the pair of oak doors that make the entrance.

I walk to the door, placing a hand against the cold hard oak that makes up the doors, feeling the vibrations of the sound within. Pushing open the doors, I feel the warmth of the establishment warm my cold body, a nice change from the cold breeze of the city outside.

Once I'm inside I gaze around the bar, an old rustic feel to the place. Booths line the perimeter separated by wooden column before ending at a stage where a man in a jean jacket sits on a stool strumming an old guitar in his pale hands. Exposed pipes line the ceiling, where dozens of white Christmas lights dangle and give the place a slight warm hue. A bar sits at the far end close to the doors where I stand, hundreds of bottles on shelves behind the bar. A man with shoulder-length slicked back graying black hair stands polishing a glass, his back turned to me.

"Come in, make yourself comfortable!" the man behind the bar says in a deep, rough voice, polishing the glass in his hands with a stained black rag.

No one but the man at the bar and the other on stage exist in this space, except me now, I guess. An invader into this safe haven.

Walking up to the bar, I sit down in an old stool, creaking as I place myself on the piece of furniture.

"What's yer poison?" the bartender says.

"What's on the menu tonight?" I say, slipping a hold into my coat and extracting my wallet from the pocket stitched into the fabric.

The man turns to me and I can feel his eyes scan over me before he places the now clean glass in front of me. "Y/n? Kid, it's been too long!" he yells out before breaking into a devious fit of laughter. His laugh echoes around the room, stopping the man with the guitar from playing his small tune.