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extra-wolf · 6 months ago

Text

Excellent story! 🥰

Perfect mix of action and emotions!

Male Vampire/Female Reader

SFW

Wordcount: 3,665

Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

When your friend begs you to help her brother, you have no choice is to agree. But what is he?

When you ripped the front door open, the sight at your doorstep stopped you cold. There, bathed in the harsh glow of the porch light, was your best friend; but something was terribly wrong. Her clothes were soaked in blood, her face etched with a panic that sent a ripple of fear through you.

“We need to come inside.”

You stammered out, “of course, come in,” your mind reeling to keep up.

Before you could even form a question, she brushed past you, half-dragging, half-carrying an unconscious figure into your house.

“What the hell is going on?” you stammered, but Ir1ina pushed past you, stumbling inside without even acknowledging you’d spoken.

The living room turned into an emergency scene, as she laid the person down with more care than you expected from her frantic entrance. It took a moment for the reality to sink in. The person on your floor was Dumitru, Irina’s older brother; but he looked… wrong. Not least because of the blood now pooling on your hardwood floor.

"You need to get him to a hospital," you told Irina, eyes narrowed. The gash on his head looked deep, and his stillness was unnerving.

Irina shook her head vehemently. "You're a paramedic, can't you do something? Please," she begged, the plea in her eyes impossible to ignore.

Despite the doubts swirling in your mind, you couldn't turn away from the silent appeal in Irina's gaze. With a deep breath, you set to work, your training kicking in despite the circumstances. You cleaned the wound as best as you could, the blood washing away to reveal the extent of the damage. The gash was deep, and you knew it needed stitches.

You fetched your medical kit, your hands steady as you threaded the needle. The act of sewing the wound closed was familiar, a procedure you'd performed countless times, yet never in your own living room, and never on someone you knew.

With each stitch, you couldn't help but worry about the lack of response from him. Concussions were tricky, and without the proper equipment, there was only so much you could do.

You worked with care, trying to keep your stitches even, the thread pulling the edges of the wound together. The silence in the room was heavy, filled with the tension of the moment and the weight of your thoughts.

What if Dumitru needed more help than you could give?

After tending to the gash on Dumitru's head, you shifted your focus, carefully moving him to the sofa to conduct a more thorough examination. Your hands worked methodically, guided by your paramedic training, as you checked him for any other concealed injuries that might have gone unnoticed in the initial panic.

Gently, you palpated his abdomen and limbs, looking for signs of internal bleeding or fractures, your touch deliberate but gentle. You knew the importance of being thorough; hidden injuries could be just as dangerous, if not more so, than the visible ones.

Thankfully, aside from some bruising and minor lacerations, there didn't seem to be any other significant injuries.

Concussion was a concern, given the blow to his head. You couldn't perform a scan, but you did the next best thing, checking his pupils for signs of asymmetry or sluggish response. You kept the room dimly lit and ensured he was lying in a recovery position to maintain an open airway.

It wasn’t much, but it was as all you could do.

Once satisfied you'd done all you could with the resources at hand, you turned to Irina, the weight of responsibility heavy on your shoulders. "He needs to be seen in a hospital," you insisted, your voice firm despite the fatigue nibbling at the edges of your resolve. "I've done what I can, but he needs a full medical evaluation."

Irina's reluctance was palpable, her answers evasive. "We can't," she murmured, avoiding your gaze. "It's complicated."

The vague response did little to put you at ease. "Is there something you're not telling me?" you asked, the puzzle pieces not quite fitting together. "Why can't he go to a hospital?"

Before Irina could respond, a soft groan from the sofa cut through the tense atmosphere. Your attention snapped back to Dumitru, whose eyes were fluttering open, confusion and pain etched across his features as he tried to orient himself.

Dumitru's slow return to consciousness allowed you a closer inspection, you swallowed down your unease. His skin, though naturally tanned, carried an ashen pallor that seemed at odds with his otherwise robust appearance. His eyes, dark to the point of being almost black, looked different to normal. Despite the grime and blood that marred his features, there was an undeniable, almost ethereal handsomeness about him…

Yet, as he moved, something about him seemed fundamentally off. His teeth, when he cringed, were uniformly sharp, more reminiscent of a predator's than a human's. His posture, too, was peculiar, his back hunched in a way that suggested something wrong with his skeleton, and his limbs seemed to bend in ways that made you uneasy.

When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, tinged with confusion. "Where am I?" he murmured, his gaze flitting around the room, landing on his hand as it retreated from his wound. The sight of his own fingernails, tapered to points like claws, seemed to shock him as much as it did you.

Your instinctive step back was halted by Irina's steadying grip. Dumitru's eyes widened in realization, a dawning understanding that his appearance was the cause of your alarm. "I'm sorry," he began, his apology cut short by your demand for clarity.

"What's going on, Irina?" you pressed, your voice a mix of fear and the need for answers. "What is he?"

The silence stretched on, the tension in the room making your pulse thrum.

Irina, usually so open and forthright, remained tight-lipped, her gaze averted. Dumitru, for his part, seemed lost in thoughts of his own, his dark eyes clouded with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

Your instincts were at odds, the ingrained desire to help clashing with a creeping sense of fear that whispered caution. Dumitru kept his head low, but you could still see how wrong he looked. The more you stared, the more obvious it became; his once rich skin was now ashen grey, lips peeled back as if his teeth were too sharp for his mouth.

It was difficult to look at him, really, and you suppressed a shudder.

It was Dumitru who finally broke the silence, his voice so different from the gentle, lilting accent you remembered. Now, it was rough, almost guttural, carrying a depth that seemed to vibrate through the very air.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," he confessed, each word seeming to cost him. "I never wanted to involve you in this... in my world."

The raw honesty in his admission made your stomach turn. "What does that mean?" you demanded, your voice steadier than you felt. "What are you?"

It was Irina who answered, her voice barely above a whisper, "He's... it's complicated, but the closest thing we have to a comparison is a vampire. There are those who would see him dead."

The revelation was a jolt. Your legs crumpled beneath you, and Irina couldn’t dash forward in time to catch you as you collapsed on the cold floor.

A vampire, in your living room, bleeding and vulnerable. Not only that, but he was your friend.

The weight of the revelation pressed heavily upon you, each breath feeling thicker, harder to draw. You needed space, a moment to process the impossible reality that had just unfolded in the safety of your home.

"I need a moment," you managed to say, voice wobbling as you clambered to your feet.

Irina made a move to follow as you turned towards the door, her instinct to comfort and explain battling against your clear need for solitude. "Please, just give me some space," you said, a firmness in your tone that brooked no argument.

Behind you, Dumitru's voice reached out. "Please, I never meant for any of this. I don't want to hurt you.”

Whatever he was going to say next cut short as you slammed the front door shut.

Outside, the world lay bathed in the gentle glow of the moon. You took a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs, and rested your head on the porch railing.

You fought for composure, for the calm that seemed so elusive now. The cool night air worked its subtle magic, each deep breath grounding you, until you remembered how to breathe properly.

Your thoughts shattered when Dumitru's voice drifted through the closed window, his voice unsteady. "I've put her in danger," he muttered, the gravelly undertone of his voice more pronounced than before. "She must hate me now. I've ruined any chance of being close to her."

The confession halted your retreat, a jumble of emotions clouding your thoughts. Driven by curiosity, heart thudding, you approached the window.

Peering through the glass, the figure you saw made your stomach drop Whatever… glamour that had once cloaked his true form had fallen away, revealing his raw, unmasked essence. His skin was paler now, an ashen hue that seemed almost translucent under the dim light. The sharpness of his features was more pronounced, his cheekbones jutting, his jawline too sharp. Even his ears were elongated, tapering to points that seemed to twitch slightly, angled down in… embarrassment?

Yet, it was the vulnerability in his posture. It was the slumped and uneven shoulders and the haunted look in his eyes, that struck you the most.

The sight of him, so changed and yet so familiar, stirred a well of emotions within you—fear, yes, but also a deep-seated pull towards him.

With a resolve that surprised even yourself, you turned away from the window, the decision to face what lay inside solidifying with each step.

Maybe you didn’t understand what was going on, but he was still Dumitru.

As you re-entered the room, Dumitru's eyes lifted to meet yours, a glimmer of hope flickering there. The sight of him—hunched, nervous, unnatural—didn't repulse you as you might have expected. Instead, a wave of sympathy washed over you.

You approached and took a seat beside him, and it seemed to take both him and Irina by surprise. You leaned your head against his shoulder, taking comfort in the odd coolness of his skin.

"I'm sorry," you said softly. “For running away.”

Dumitru's response was a soft, pained noise, but he sank into your side anyway.

Irina watched, a silent observer, saying nothing.

"If people want you dead," you continued, your voice steady, "I'll protect you."

Dumitru smiled, showing razor-sharp teeth. “Thank you.”

***

Over the next few days, the tension began to dissipate, the immediate danger receding into the background as Dumitru's wounds healed. With each passing day, he regained more of his human appearance, until all that remained was a faint scab on his forehead and his unnaturally pointed teeth.

Now, the atmosphere in the kitchen was light, almost domestic, as you and Dumitru moved around each other with an easy familiarity. The sound of sizzling and the aroma of breakfast cooking filled the air, music playing faintly in the background.

"You know, you didn't have to do this," Dumitru said, nodding towards the stove where you were flipping pancakes. His voice was soft, inhuman edge almost gone.

You shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. "I wanted to. Besides, cooking's more fun with company. Pass the sugar?"

As you reached for the syrup, Dumitru moved to grab the sugar. The brush of his arm against yours sent a jolt through you, and his quick, murmured sorry did little to calm the flutter in your chest.

The urge to turn and kiss him was almost overwhelming, so sudden that it left you breathless. Yet, you held back, acutely aware of Irina's presence just upstairs.

A knock at the door sliced through the comfortable hum of the morning, sending a ripple of tension through you.You weren't expecting anyone, and the timing felt too coincidental for comfort.

Your stomach churned. "I'll check it out. Stay here," you instructed Dumitru, a protective instinct flaring within you as you moved towards the door.

Irina, alerted by the knock, made her way downstairs, a question in her eyes that mirrored your own concern.

Your hand hesitated on the door handle, the quiet murmur of Dumitru's and Irina's movements behind you a small comfort. With a steadying breath, you opened the door, peering out to confront the source of the disturbance.

Two men stood on your doorstep, their presence immediately setting off alarm bells in your mind. One bore the unmistakable mark of a recent injury, a gash down his cheek in the process of healing.

The only warning you had was Irina’s sharp intake of breath. The men, having spotted Irina, shifted with a predatory quickness.

Before you could react, before you could slam the door or call out for Dumitru, the men darted for you. A forceful push sent you tumbling to the ground, the impact jarring as you hit the floor.

Pain lit up your side as you landed, vision swimming. Scrambling to regain your footing, your mind raced for solutions, for a way to protect yourself and your friends.

As one of the intruders lunged towards Irina, the other, knife in hand, loomed menacingly over you. The glint of the blade caught the morning light. Your heart pounded in your chest, pulse roaring in your ears.

Before he could do anything though, a guttural scream pierced the air.

Suddenly, Dumitru launched himself at the man standing over you with a ferocity that was staggering.

The room became a blur as Dumitru threw himself at the attacker. His movements were swift, driven by a desperation that made him seem larger, more imposing.

Dumitru and the man slammed into the opposite wall in a tangle of limbs. You caught a flash of sharp teeth and a gaunt, grey face as Dumitru turned to look at you, before rounding on your assailant again.

The other assailant, seeing his companion in distress, quickly joined the fray. Shoving Irina aside, he launched himself at Dumitru, blade catching the light.

Dumitru tried to dodge, but two against one quickly overwhelmed him. The knife glinted, and suddenly Dumitru was on the ground, writhing, as crimson blood dripped onto your floor.

Seeing Dumitru in trouble, your fear transformed into action. You pushed yourself off the ground, darting for Irinia before either of the men could turn on her.

With Irina safely behind you, you darted into the kitchen, your eyes scanning for anything that could serve as a weapon. The knives, frustratingly, were out of reach, but your gaze landed on a heavy pan resting on the stove. Without hesitation, you seized it, the weight of it oddly comforting in your hands.

As you re-entered the fray, the scene that greeted you was one of grim determination. Dumitru was on the ground, the two men towering over him, their intent clear in their raised weapons.

Your heart raced, fear and anger swirling within you as you took in the sight of Dumitru, fighting against the odds.

“Come and get me, assholes!”

The nearest one turned just in time to meet the pan as it swung through the air, connecting with a resounding thud. The impact sent him crumpling to the ground, unconscious.

You dropped to Dumitru’s side. “Are you all right?” you asked, taking his jaw in your palm. His old wound had reopened, and his dark eyes met yours.

Then, he surprised you. In one swift movement, he flipped you over, positioning his body as a shield between you and the remaining assailant. The world upended, and for a moment, all you could see was Dumitru's determined gaze.

As the remaining assailant lunged forward, weapon in hand, Dumitru didn't hesitate. Curved around you, a physical barrier against the threat. The blade found its mark, but not in you; Dumitru took the wound meant for you, a grimace of pain briefly contorting his features.

Yet even as he shuddered from the impact, Dumitru's resolve didn't waver. With a swift, almost graceful movement, he disarmed and incapacitated the assailant, knocking him to the ground and sending the knife clattering.

The last man fell, crumpling next to his unconscious companion, and the immediate threat evaporated.

You finally allowed yourself to breathe, the adrenaline that had sustained you through the confrontation slowly ebbing away.

Dumitru wobbled, his strength waning with the adrenaline's fade, and Irina was there to catch him.

Together, you helped lower him to the ground, your paramedic training springing to the forefront of your mind as you assessed his injuries. The puncture wounds were serious but, thankfully, avoided any vital areas—a small mercy.

"Is that all of them?" you asked, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. "Are more coming after you?"

Dumitru's eyes, clouded with pain, met yours as he shook his head. "That's all," he confirmed, his voice a whisper. "They wanted me dead because of what I am... because I was stupid enough to reveal my true . I thought they were friends.”

The revelation burned like acid.

Sighing, Irina brushed dark hair from her face. “I’ll get your first aid kit,” she murmured, “it sure has been getting a lot of use lately.”

Irina's quick departure left the hallway feeling suddenly quiet, the aftermath of the chaos settling like dust around you. Your breath came in heavy, uneven pulls, the adrenaline that had spiked through your veins now giving way to relief.

You glanced towards the unconscious men, considering the practicality of securing them to prevent any further threat. "We should probably tie them up, just in case they wake up," you murmured, more to yourself than to Dumitru.

Before you could move to act on your thought, Dumitru's arm encircled your middle, drawing you close with an unexpected gentleness that contrasted sharply with the violence you'd just witnessed. The proximity was startling, his presence a solid reassurance that grounded you amidst the aftermath.

He drew you in, the stark sharpness of his teeth, the undeniable otherness of his face that had once seemed so jarring. Yet now, in the quiet, those inhuman features seemed less like markers of a monster and more like… just like him.

Warmth washed over you, melting away the last dregs of fear. The space between you felt charged with a new understanding.

Without a word, you leaned in and kissed him. His response was immediate, a mingling of relief and something akin to wonder, as if he too had been waiting for this.

Dumitru's lips were cool against yours. There was an underlying taste of copper, a reminder of his injuries, but it did nothing to deter you from pressing yourself closer. If anything, it grounded the kiss in the reality of what you'd both endured, what you'd survived together.

As you pulled away, Dumitru whispered, “thank you.”

Laughter bubbled to the surface. “I didn’t do much, though the pan came in handy.”

"It's not just for the fighting," he clarified, his voice rough. "Thank you for accepting me... for not being afraid of what I am."

His hands, gentle despite their strength, cradled your face, sharp nails skimming across your skin.

In response, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, right above the cut, a silent reassurance. "It's all right now," you murmured.

The bubble burst with Irina's return. She stood at the doorway, a first aid kit in hand and a knowing smile playing on her lips. The amusement in her eyes was clear as she took in the scene before her, her brother and you, together.

"Am I interrupting something?" she teased, the warmth in her voice taking any sting out of the words. "Should I come back later?"

Dumitru's laughter, despite the circumstances, was beautiful. He beckoned Irina closer, and she all but collapsed at his side.

As he attempted to shift into a more comfortable position, a wince of pain flickered across his features. Quick to reassure, he managed a strained smile. "I'm fine," he insisted, though the evidence was to the contrary.

Together, you and Irina set about the task of tending to his wounds, the first aid kit's contents spread out before you. The work was methodical, each bandage and antiseptic application a step towards healing, towards normalcy.

It was inevitable that your thoughts turned to the unconscious men still lying in your home. "What about them?" you asked, your gaze flicking towards the room where they lay. "What do we do with them?"

Dumitru's response was immediate, a shadow of his earlier humor returning. "I'll take care of them," he said, a statement that sent a jolt of alarm through you.

“Wait, hold on—”

"No, no," he assured, shaking his head as much as his injuries would allow. "I'm not going to kill them. I can... make them forget about me."

The concept, so outlandish yet spoken with such certainty, left you reeling. Then again, everything else was so crazy, why not?

With Dumitru's wounds carefully tended to, the atmosphere in the room shifted, the tension easing. You leaned in, and with a gentle sureness, you kissed him. His lips were cold against yours, and his teeth grazed your lip with an edge of sharpness.

“I don’t know how the hell we managed that,” you murmured, “but the three of us made a pretty good team.”

"We did," Dumitru agreed.

Then, heedless of Irina’s laugh, you dove in for another kiss.

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