CCCC/HMS Oneshots

appetite (soul/heart)

A/N: a short, kind of bland one. was going to read carmilla or dracula before writing something vampire related but i'm currently reading dorian grey so those shall wait. luv y'all <3

Fiber filters around my soles, my steps silent as I approach the battered door, whose flaky white paint leaves the wood below a bare widow. My hand clasps around the brass, rotating it around its steel spindle as Earth does her tired axis. Its jaw opens to a gape, exhaling a sour scent of damp fabric, gloom, and unreturned dishes.

My eyes flicker around as I step through the doorway, glancing at various objects– old, crestfallen, sticky glow stars, who have lost their stick, an unfinished tapestry hearsed beneath piles of long neglected clothes, and the poor winged wailer himself eclipsed in piles of soft blankets and cushions.

I step closer until I'm at the side of his bed, staring down at the oblivious immolation. My ears feast on his pitiful sobs– the sniffles, the gasps, the taxed whines that he chokes out, wasting the air he had just garnered. My hand slithers onto the cotton of his shoulder, causing him to jolt up and swing his head around in alarm.

"It's just me," I respond calmly, an unsurprised yet gentle smile etching its influence into my face. He freezes, his nose pointed in the direction of my voice, for a few moments before relaxing.

"You startled me," he murmurs with a strained tinge, giving an almost signature wipe to the dampness trailing his face.

"Apologies," I mutter simply, my hand applying a small rub to his shoulder before tracing up his neck, its wife joining to hold Heart's face via his cheeks and mandibles. My right thumb smudges its distal surface across his cheek, painting it with scarlet.

"You have good blood flow." My head tilts, my spine crimping closer to watch his complexion even out after my interference.

"Um..." he mumbles, a slight awkward hysteria in his speech, "Thanks."

I hum a simple validation before allowing my hands to travel back to their homes on his divorced shoulders, one hauling his sweatshirt's hood away from the bond of his head and arm.

"What's wrong?" I distract, my stomach tussling within me.

"I'm just tired," he excuses.

"You're crying, Heart," I murmur rather blankly, my eyes snapping to his now exposed collarbone reflecting the minimal light peeking from surrounding stars.

"Well," he stammers defensively, tangled in his own alibi, "you're here quite late."

"I'm worried about you, dove." My thumb lines his brim, causing him to shift uncomfortably under my touch. "I don't mean to harm you."

"Harm me?" he inquires in a bout of confusion, soon to be expelled.

My jaw aims for his clavicle region with a lunge, clamping down like a mousetrap as my spired canines plunge through his epipelagic tissue. They sink through to foreignly encroach in the muscle beneath, disrupting physical nerves. The victim lets out a cry. much harsher and striking than his usual, writhing in a fruitless attempt to tear himself from my hold. My fangs retreat slightly, allowing ichor a passage to trickle out into my vacuum. I savor his crimson for a moment, enjoying the salty and metallic undertones staining the dense sap, before returning to trying to extract as much as I can for my own vainglorious, selfish hunger. My donator twists, whinging insistently as I take my allotment of his carmine, sparring against my grip on him.

I withdraw my tusks from his shell, stranding a nasty wound defined with the pattern of my top jaw's soldiers. A source of shame for myself; my solipsistic greed that stands in need of attention but ignorant to all others.

Through the wails comes an attempted scolding.

"SOUL! WHAT HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" he cries, "YOU BIT ME!"

"I'll get you a bandaid," I mutter semi-apologetically, slinking away with hushed steps from the weeping oblation.