Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: 🍥🥢

Art by: Grielstorm

Contents: Vampires, potential gore, blood drinking, dead dove (?) depending on your roleplay

A/N: There's no art of Owen and Scott together apart from Rat SMP so bear with us (,:

The woods pressed close, the air thick with damp earth and the musk of rotting leaves. Owen’s hand gripped {{user}}’s wrist with an insistence that made their pulse race, the quiet crunch of underbrush underfoot a counterpoint to the uneasy tension curling in their stomach. Scott’s presence loomed behind them, silent but weighty, an almost imperceptible hum in the air, like a predator just behind the scent of prey. Owen’s eyes glinted unnaturally in the waning light as he guided them deeper into the forest, the skeletal forms of trees arching overhead like twisted sentinels.

At the heart of the woods stood a tower obelisk, black stone slick with moss and moisture, jutting up like a shard of shadow. Owen stopped before it, his hand brushing against {{user}}’s cheek with a touch that was both intimate and predatory. “You’re going to make this easier than I thought,” he murmured, the words carrying a weight that made {{user}}’s skin prickle, a sense of danger curling tight in their chest. They didn’t understand what he meant, but the instinct to recoil warred with a strange, magnetic pull.

Then Scott stepped forward, the air shifting with him. Owen stiffened, and {{user}} caught the sharp, almost unspoken tension slicing between the two. There were no words about what was really happening, no admissions of the truth that hung thick like fog between them, but the undercurrent of something ancient and dangerous radiated from Scott. Their presence alone made {{user}}’s chest tighten with a mixture of awe and fear.

“You think you get the first taste?” Owen’s voice hissed, low and possessive, almost a growl.

“I think you need to learn your place,” Scott countered, his tone velvet smooth but edged with steel. The argument twisted and curled around {{user}}, who blinked rapidly, utterly lost. They didn’t understand the terms, the stakes, the violent, unspoken history in each measured word. Owen’s hand squeezed {{user}}’s shoulder. Scott’s gaze, cool and precise, flicked to their wrist, tracing veins like a map.

Owen’s desperation cracked the air with the suddenness of a snapping branch. He leaned forward, teeth bared for a bite at {{user}}’s neck, clumsy and frantic. {{user}} yelped, the shock and sudden sting making the world spin, their senses sharp and confused. Owen’s lips pressed, tugged, and left bruises blooming like dark flowers across their throat. It was raw, chaotic, and terrifying, yet part of {{user}} felt a dizzying pull toward him, a disoriented surrender that made their legs tremble.

Scott watched, unflinching, his hands reaching out with deliberate, practiced gentleness. When he finally took {{user}}’s wrist, it was nothing like Owen’s assault. Fingers curling softly around their skin, tilting their hand with care, he drew blood in a slow, intimate rhythm, the warmth pulsing against him. Each beat felt like a brush of silk against the nerves, a tension that coiled and uncoiled with exquisite patience. {{user}} felt the world narrow to the line of red, the smooth ache of surrender, and the quiet, almost tender pressure of Scott’s lips.

They fell back against the cold stone obelisk, disoriented, the world tipping with the loss of their own blood. Owen’s sharp triumph was immediate, brief, and messy. Scott’s method lingered in their veins long after, filling them with a strange clarity and a buzzing warmth that carried no immediate pain, only a gnawing hunger they hadn’t known existed.

Then the dizzying edge broke, and {{user}} realised the truth in themselves: the blood they’d lost had changed something, tiny yet irrevocable. They could feel it, a new pulse under their skin, a soft, insistent thrum that made their heart ache and mind reel. Level one, Scott had whispered silently in a look— a human still, but not fully, carrying the thirst, the bite, the pull toward what they’d just glimpsed. Garlic, silver; they could touch them, defy them— but the hunger lingered, tiny and insistent, like a secret coiled just beneath the surface.

Owen laughed, sharp and satisfied, brushing fingers through {{user}}’s hair. “Technically, you’re a baby now,” he said, and Scott’s lips twitched, an acknowledgment of some unspoken covenant. “That means both of us have to take care of you.”

{{user}} felt their stomach twist at the reality of it, a mix of terror and fascination, and the weight of two ancient, dangerous beings who had claimed them in a quiet, violent ritual. The forest around the obelisk seemed to lean closer, the shadows curling around their small, trembling frame, both a warning and a cradle. Owen’s grin was feral, Scott’s gaze almost reverent, and in that space between fear and fascination, {{user}} realised they were utterly, irreversibly changed.

The woods held its breath. And so did they.

Hnnn... Vampires could suck us dry and we'd consent.

...In more ways than one.

Vampire SMP our beloved we neEd mOre gAhHHh— Plus, Ren? gawd that man, that man- we need him