#vampire jean

[terushimooo]

BREATHER

A composition on the decomposition of mind, body, and soul 

vampire!Jean x human!reader

t/w: lots of blood, open sores, vague allusion to self-harm and domestic abuse, implied tortured and depressed reader, activation of potential trypophobia, one bug eaten, eating/drinking of blood, noncon vampire bite, implied abduction. Please let me know if I missed anything!!!! 

a/n: thank you to both @iwaasfairy and @seijorhi for inviting me into your collab! I’m super excited to be back for my yearly contribution! I dedicate this piece to Rhi, my wife, and the eternal victim to my fics. I swear this is one of my most normal drabbles!! Happy supper early birthday my love!!!

And, of course, thank you to @bontenten for being my ride or die beta for life!!

w/c: 1.3k

Check out the events masterlist HERE and the corresponding art piece HERE 

Stagnant, lifeless, putrid decomposition.

None are words that should be associated with someone entering their so-called “prime”. 

And yet, here you are. 

Every morning slowly becomes harder than the last, every day more painful. 

Unseen to others, sores wrack your body, oozing and scabbing over in an almost religious fashion. 

And yet, unlike religion, or maybe more like it than anyone else would care to admit, no matter how hard you pray, scrubbing and disinfecting the lifeless skin of weakened limbs, your body refuses to heal. 

But that’s just the way Jean likes it.

On dark days when the clouds block out the sun, when the cool drizzle of rain thumps heavily onto his sun kissed skin, Jean can’t help but catch a glimpse of an unspoken truth. 

You’re just so fragile… so weak… so…

So painfully human…

But, that’s precisely the way Jean likes you.

It’s on days like today, with goosebumps prickling your skin and teeth chattering violently from miles away, that a gnawing voice burrows its way deep into the crevices of Jean’s mind. It’s like he can’t control it, can’t stop the compulsion that has him seeking you out in your only time of freedom, the only time he lets you out of your confinement.

Even a moment without you is too long. 

The strong breeze carries the smell of rain, renewal, rejuvenation, but most importantly, reward. It carries the scent of you, his dearest companion… his favourite, most precious pet. 

Although your lips never truly part, never except to cry out and whimper in pathetic attempts for mercy, you call to Jean. Like a siren’s song, the soft trickle of blood from wounds beaten open by the rain’s percussion lures him in. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. Jean pushes his way through chest-high blades of grass, wet stalks brushing up against haphazardly buttoned flannel and his best denim. An odd combination, but you weren’t there to help him dress in the morning. Clearly, Jean thinks with a scoff, a scoff soon replaced with a smirk and throaty chuckle, clearly you wanted a head start in the game he likes to call life. Or rather, your battle for it.

As Jean stares down the traces of limp foliage, grass and branches disturbed by previous passage, he can’t help but wonder just how far you’ve gotten this time. His eyes light up with his first trace of reward, with a gentle puddle of blood cradled perfectly in the cracks and crevices of the abrasive bark of a towering oak. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but how can he stop? How can he stop his tongue from darting out, from finding its place upon the crimson stained wood. A soft groan slips past his lips as Jean laps at your taste, as he furiously seeks out every last drop of your blood.

He can’t stand to waste it. Can’t stand for anyone else to have it, not even the earth or the trees that in turn, give you life, give you something crucial—breath and oxygen.

Pure ecstasy flashes behind Jean’s eyes with every drop. It’s almost enough to have him forget about the scrambling bugs and maggots, the beatles and bark shavings he crunches between his teeth in an attempt not to waste your treasure.

If he had a working heart, it would beat only for you. If he had a soul, it would be tied only to you. And if he had any sense of compassion, of a true fondness and love for you and your wellbeing, he would let you die. 

But Jean doesn’t have a heart. He doesn’t have a soul. But most importantly, he doesn’t have compassion—not enough to grant you mercy.

His love is selfish. His love is unstable. And his love is everlasting. That much is made clear by the quickly hardening shaft of his cock, stimulated only by the quickly passing taste of your blood.

Jean loves the chase, the little game you two play. 

It’s one you’re not even aware of. 

Taking off through the woods, bare feet rubbed raw against the rough floors of the forest, nightgown torn to tatters, sores opened and oozing down your trembling body, rain chilling you down to your bones—this is no game. To you, this is real. This is a battle for life, at least, what you have left of it… 

But this time, this time you’ve gone too far. This time, there's no coming back.

In his mind, Jean would find you thrashing through the thicket, eyes wide and heart racing, blood leaking steadily from unsealed and revisited wounds.

In his mind, you’d scream. Cry out. Beg on your hands and knees for mercy, for his love. 

But never could he imagine the scene in front of him. 

When he finds you, when he sees your wounds ripped open, and wrists torn ragged by a branch, he can only imagine you used to try and find freedom. 

When he finds you, Jean’s not mad. He thinks nothing but how childish you are. How foolish you are for trying this. How much you’re going to regret this.

It’s clear now that he can’t trust you, that he can’t leave you alone for even a second. Not while you’re like this. Not while you’re still human.

Heavy lidded eyes begging to rest for eternity shoot open as you're made aware of Jean’s presence. He calls to you with soft coddling and reassurance, but all you hear is nails against slate, an agitating and grating sensation and you’re wrought from your slumber. 

“P-please,” you beg, voice soft and inaudible to even your own ears. “Don’t.”

But Jean doesn’t negotiate with incoherency. Even if he claims to care, your pleas fall on entire deaf ears. Instead of evoking a sense of pity, they just serve to drive his cause, to stake his claim. 

It’s all a flurry of limbs. 

Wild, desperate, bleeding hands. Bare feet swinging in abandon. Mouth left open in mid scream. Fists covered in open wounds and split knuckles claw desperately at their captors embrace. Sharpened fangs piece through bleeding gums, only seconds before they find their way into the crook of your neck.

For Jean, it’s euphoria. It’s everything he’s always wanted, maybe even more. But for you, for the poor, weak, and battered body coddled tightly in your captors embrace, for you its torture.

Fire runs through your veins as your eyes roll back into your skull. Gritted teeth are cracked open in an attempt to rob Jean of what little pleasure you can, to rob him the pleasure of seeing your pain.

But inevitably, all your actions were in vain.

As you lay shaking on his chest, gentle convulsions wracking your already worn out limbs, blood continuing to flow freely from the numerous sores and wounds littering your paleing form, Jean can't help but smile in content.

This day, this hour, this moment, this second, on February fourteenth… It’s at times like this where he thanks the gods, the gods who cursed him to an eternal life of indentured sorrow and suffering. 

The only sounds coming from your cracked lips are gargled groans of pain and distress. Tears stream readily down your face as Jean sucks from his own wrist to provide to you his one gift—the gift of life. Eternal life. 

Forever by his side. 

Cold, dead lips press against yours in anything but reverence. It’s hard, aggressive, and mixed with passion. But to Jean, to Jean it’s perfect. In fact, he could almost swear that your pain is really just pleasure. Your lips aren’t moving out of spite, but finally requited love.

As Jean continues to watch the seconds pass, to watch the life slowly drain from your quivering, whimpering lips, Jean thinks to himself that this must be the first time in the hundreds, maybe thousands of years in his pathetic existence that finally, with you turned and bound to him for all of eternity, finally, Jean can take a breather.

[wyverningx]

WIP Game: vampire jean gets tossed in garbage disposal please (hides and peers through fingers 💖)

“He’ll kill us both if he finds out,” Jean mumbles, the words a token protest pushed out of split and swollen lips. He can feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness from Riko's latest lesson, and it takes a significant amount of effort to cling to the tiny thread of control that is currently preventing him from tearing Kevin’s throat out in sheer desperation.

“You’re going to die like this anyway,” Kevin counters. “And I don’t — I can’t be here alone, Jean. Without you. And he won’t find out, anyway, not if you bite somewhere he’s already been.” He sounds so sure, so confident, like he genuinely believes it.

Where hasn’t Riko bitten Kevin? His entire body tells the story of their owner’s fangs. Nearly every inch of Kevin’s skin is a wallpaper pattern of those two distinct punctures, an array of silvered scars and scabbed-over holes.

“I won’t,” he says stubbornly. He cannot cross this line: if he tastes Kevin’s blood, even once, Jean knows with complete certainty he will become the feral beast that Riko always threatens he will turn Jean into.

[weirdlookindog]

Alexandra Pic and Isabelle Teboul in Les deux orphelines vampires (1997)

[marypickfords]

La vampire nue (Jean Rollin, 1970)

[minguukie]

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ 　͟ ❀͟✿ ⿹͒ After Midnight. ⠀ ᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜ᰯ ⠀ ♫ ⚔️ ‧ ͏

─━ 𓊈 2023 𓊉 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅

[misandriste]

If you die first, I'll follow you. Hélène, I am your death.

The Living Dead Girl | La Morte Vivante (1982) dir. Jean Rollin

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

La morte vivante (Jean Rollin, 1982)

[fishfingersandscarves]

polaroid found in the bottom of a shoebox

[thelittlelostgraycat]

i’ve gone feral for this man

vampire au

[guemarasims]

Introducing the Mystic Falls Set for Sims 4, inspired by the iconic styles of Elena, Katherine, Bonnie, and Caroline from The Vampire Diaries! Bring the drama and allure of Mystic Falls into your game with these detailed, fan-favorite looks. Perfect for creating your own supernatural stories! Download now and step into the world of vampires, witches, and everything in between!

Thank you very much for your support!

Download (Patreon, Early access)

[uspiria]

The Shiver of the Vampires (1971) dir. Jean Rollin

[terrorgirls]

Armand + "Bad Faith"

Sartre explained: From bad faith to authenticity, David Detmer // Interview with the Vampire // Being and Nothingness, Jean-Paul Sartre

[part one]

[memoria-99]

Ikemen Vampire: Guys before the plastic surgery

[weirdlookindog]

Caroline Cartier in La vampire nue (1970)

[marypickfords]

Les deux orphelines vampires (Jean Rollin, 1997)

[chevlvrs]

I love sad men