#sometimes they decide to chew on your neck because they're craving a midnight snack

[elliethefroggy]

(Based on this prompt)

“You taste like how wet dogs smell,” Chiara complained, retching into the pink bucket they usually reserved for cleaning. She was sitting her coffin, head close to disappearing within the bucket so as to avoid any unwanted spillage. The satin lining her coffin was a bitch to clean after all.

“OK. First, rude. Second, that makes no fucking sense,” Devin said, standing in the doorway of the dark room, his large bulk blocking out most of the light from the hallway, the smell emanating from the bucket keeping him well away.

“You gave me food poisoning!” She hissed at him, fangs extended, eyes blood red.

“You tried to eat me!” Devin squawked back, hands raised in exasperation.

“I only wanted a snack,” Chiara moaned in between retches.

“That’s what the blood bags are for.”

“But they never taste as nice,” she spat out the last of her bile into the bucket. Amazing how much vomit such a small person can expel. “It’s not like I would have killed you,” and then under her breath, “Maybe.”

“Heard that.”

“Stupid werewolf hearing,” she muttered to herself and, subsequently, to the werewolf.

“No,” Devin said, “You’re just a terrible whisperer.”

Chiara hissed again, fangs gleaming under what little of the hallway light managed to sneak past Devin’s mass.

Devin was unimpressed. It’s hard to be intimidated by a vampire cowering her coffin because she’s got a bit of a tummy ache.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” Chiara said, making sure to infuse as much betrayal in her voice as she could.

“Honestly, I thought you knew. I mean, what the fuck do you think I was doing every full moon?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you were PMSing or something.”

“PMSing?” Devin asked, more bewildered than exasperated now.

“Some people’s cycles can get very violent,” Chiara said defensively.

“I don’t think going into the woods to slaughter innocent rabbits to satiate one’s bloodlust is a very common symptom of PMS.”

“Goes to show how much you know,” Chiara huffed and finally done retching, placed the pink bucket on her coffin-side table.

She bundled herself up under layers and layers of deep red blankets, not dissimilar in colour to the blood red satin of her black, ornate coffin which paired nicely with the red and black floral wallpaper. Chiara had a theme and she stuck with it admirably.

“Though that would explain all the raw steaks you consume,” Chiara said, after a moment’s reflection, “And your hatred of the postman.”

“Maybe if Rony were better at his job, I wouldn’t need to hate him.”

Chiara sat up suddenly, dozens of blankets pooling into her lap.

“Wait. Are you the one who’s been digging holes in the garden?”

Devin thought about defending himself, thought about outright lying, but he’d never been very good at that, “I needed somewhere to bury all my bones,” he finally admitted.

“You arsehole! You blamed it on the neighbour’s pomeranian.”

“Sprinkles is hardly innocent; she is an equal participant in the excavation work.”

Chiara was about to retort before she leaned over the coffin, only just managing to get her head over the bucket in time for more fluid to spew out of her mouth.

She groaned as dramatically as she could in her state, and threw her covers over herself, burrowing into the fabric until there was nothing but her deep red eyes and a thin sliver of her pale face—paler than usual—peaking out.

Devin did feel a bit bad about the whole thing, mostly because Chiara was looking especially pathetic and especially small in her oversized coffin (she needed the XL coffin because, apparently, she liked to stretch out during her slumber; Devin thought she just liked to be ostentatious).

“Why don’t I go and find you a nice human you can eat? Would that make you feel better?” Devin asked.

“It might,” she said, her voice muffled. She peered out from underneath the blanket. “Could you get me a type O+?”

“Okay. Type O+.”

“And a virgin?” She asked, pushing her luck.

“Alright, a virgin,” he sighed, rolling his eyes.

He turned away and made to close to the door only to stop when her small voice emanated once again from the pile of blankets.

“Could you clean the bucket before you go?”

“Of course,” Devin stepped into the room, breathing through his mouth.

[elliethefroggy]

“You taste like how wet dogs smell,” Chiara complained, retching into the pink bucket they usually reserved for cleaning. She was sitting her coffin, head close to disappearing within the bucket so as to avoid any unwanted spillage. The satin lining her coffin was a bitch to clean after all.

“OK. First, rude. Second, that makes no fucking sense,” Devin said, standing in the doorway of the dark room, his large bulk blocking out most of the light from the hallway, the smell emanating from the bucket keeping him well away.

“You gave me food poisoning!” She hissed at him, fangs extended, eyes blood red.

“You tried to eat me!” Devin squawked back, hands raised in exasperation.

“I only wanted a snack,” Chiara moaned in between retches.

“That’s what the blood bags are for.”

“But they never taste as nice,” she spat out the last of her bile into the bucket. Amazing how much vomit such a small person can expel. “It’s not like I would have killed you,” and then under her breath, “Maybe.”

“Heard that.”

“Stupid werewolf hearing,” she muttered to herself and, subsequently, to the werewolf.

“No,” Devin said, “You’re just a terrible whisperer.”

Chiara hissed again, fangs gleaming under what little of the hallway light managed to sneak past Devin’s mass.

Devin was unimpressed. It’s hard to be intimidated by a vampire cowering her coffin because she’s got a bit of a tummy ache.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” Chiara said, making sure to infuse as much betrayal in her voice as she could.

“Honestly, I thought you knew. I mean, what the fuck do you think I was doing every full moon?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you were PMSing or something.”

“PMSing?” Devin asked, more bewildered than exasperated now.

“Some people’s cycles can get very violent,” Chiara said defensively.

“I don’t think going into the woods to slaughter innocent rabbits to satiate one’s bloodlust is a very common symptom of PMS.”

“Goes to show how much you know,” Chiara huffed and finally done retching, placed the pink bucket on her coffin-side table.

She bundled herself up under layers and layers of deep red blankets, not dissimilar in colour to the blood red satin of her black, ornate coffin which paired nicely with the red and black floral wallpaper. Chiara had a theme and she stuck with it admirably.

“Though that would explain all the raw steaks you consume,” Chiara said, after a moment’s reflection, “And your hatred of the postman.”

“Maybe if Rony were better at his job, I wouldn’t need to hate him.”

Chiara sat up suddenly, dozens of blankets pooling into her lap.

“Wait. Are you the one who’s been digging holes in the garden?”

Devin thought about defending himself, thought about outright lying, but he’d never been very good at that, “I needed somewhere to bury all my bones,” he finally admitted.

“You arsehole! You blamed it on the neighbour’s pomeranian.”

“Sprinkles is hardly innocent; she is an equal participant in the excavation work.”

Chiara was about to retort before she leaned over the coffin, only just managing to get her head over the bucket in time for more fluid to spew out of her mouth.

She groaned as dramatically as she could in her state, and threw her covers over herself, burrowing into the fabric until there was nothing but her deep red eyes and a thin sliver of her pale face—paler than usual—peaking out.

Devin did feel a bit bad about the whole thing, mostly because Chiara was looking especially pathetic and especially small in her oversized coffin (she needed the XL coffin because, apparently, she liked to stretch out during her slumber; Devin thought she just liked to be ostentatious).

“Why don’t I go and find you a nice human you can eat? Would that make you feel better?” Devin asked.

“It might,” she said, her voice muffled. She peered out from underneath the blanket. “Could you get me a type O+?”

“Okay. Type O+.”

“And a virgin?” She asked, pushing her luck.

“Alright, a virgin,” he sighed, rolling his eyes.

He turned away and made to close to the door only to stop when her small voice emanated once again from the pile of blankets.

“Could you clean the bucket before you go?”

“Of course,” Devin stepped into the room, breathing through his mouth.

You are a werewolf and you are an expert at living among humans undetected. You are so good, that a vampire thought you were an ordinary human and bit you.