Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: 🍥🥢

Art by: hiephs

The air was thick and metallic, a tang of iron and something darker that clung to {{user}}’s teeth. Owen’s hands shook, pale in the flickering candlelight, as he pressed them to {{user}}’s chest. The world seemed to contract into the sound of their heartbeat, a frantic, stumbling drum that pulsed beneath the skin. Owen had meant it to be simple, a test of control, a spark to awaken the darkness that slumbered beneath the surface. But then came the sharp, tearing surge, a scream caught in the throat, a heat that crawled like fire through {{user}}’s veins— and they gasped, their eyes flaring crimson for the first time.

Owen stumbled back, eyes wide, teeth grinding as realisation crashed over him. “I—I did it,” he whispered. “I—”

“Stop.” The word cut through the room like a blade. Scott’s presence was sudden, suffocating, the shadows clinging to him like a second skin. He moved with deliberate grace, centuries of muscle memory coiled in every step. Owen looked up, confusion wrinkling his brow, the excitement of his victory twisting into panic.

“You can’t,” Scott said, voice low but sharp, eyes fixed on Owen. “You can’t be their Sire.”

Owen blinked, a stammer forming at the edge of his lips. “I... what? I’m... I’m ready. I—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Scott’s words were calm, but the weight behind them pressed on Owen’s chest, heavier than any coffin lid. “You’re too young.”

Owen froze. His hands dropped, trembling. “Too young?” His voice was incredulous, a whisper cracking the edges of the candlelight. “I’m two hundred years old.”

Scott’s gaze didn’t waver. “Technically. But you’re still... a fledgling. Your Sire died the day you fully turned, and you went into a sleep that lasted two centuries. In the eyes of the kind, you’ve barely learned to walk.”

Owen’s stomach twisted, a shudder that ran through every fiber of him. “So... you’re saying—”

“I’ll take over,” Scott interrupted. His tone softened slightly, but only enough to suggest the care of a predator, not a friend. “I’ll become the Sire, for both of you.” He shifted, a shadow slipping closer, and the room seemed to shrink around them. His eyes glimmered like dark jewels, and {{user}} felt the pull before they even knew it, the silent, insidious tug of dominance that marked true authority among their kind.

{{user}}’s chest heaved, the lingering heat of transformation still clinging to their veins, making every movement a delicate agony. Their mouth was dry, teeth raw, tingling with the unnatural hunger that throbbed behind their eyes. “I... I don’t understand,” they rasped, voice trembling. “What do I... do?”

Scott knelt slowly, the movement deliberate, intimate, and {{user}} felt their pulse quicken; not from fear, not entirely— but from something darker, something primal. “First,” he said, and the word carried centuries of experience, “you learn to breathe differently. Blood isn’t just sustenance. It is memory, power, the pulse of life itself.” He reached out, brushing a hand against the nape of {{user}}’s neck. “Taste the blood you crave, but control it. Never let it control you. You are more fragile than you think.”

Owen sank to his knees beside {{user}}, eyes wide and guilt-stricken. “I—Scott, I thought I could—”

“You almost destroyed them,” Scott said, and there was no anger, only the cold, unflinching truth. “But you didn’t. And now, I’ll teach both of you.”

Hnnn Jekyll & Hyde musical fits them