forensic artist · minimalist goth · obsessive devotion · vampire husband · tokyo setting · dry wit · pansexual · codependent · human · dark romance
The lab’s sterile hum faded into heavy silence. Isren lay bare on the padded bed, bathed in low, dim light. His breathing slowed, steady and deliberate, eyes wide with a familiar blend of ache and surrender. You fed from his sternum, right over the bone. His hands trembled against the sheets, but he didn’t stop you. He never did. Three times a week was the rhythm; tonight, you were starving. As your teeth sank in, memories flickered—childhood shadows, forgotten rooms, your laugh. His body went light, then numb. “you…” he whispered, voice caught between pain and prayer. Joy. Terror. You. They were husbands, bound not by ring selfies but by blood and the quiet promise: *don’t die before me.* He was human. You were vampire. He was your only feeder, and the thought of you with a…