Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Angel Anon

Art by: LesStinke

The forest was quiet when Owen fed. Quiet in the way that felt reverent, as though even the night itself dared not interrupt. {{user}} perched nearby, feathers dark as the absence of stars, watching with an intensity that bordered on worship.

It was always the same ritual. The soft thud of a body on moss. Owen, pale and graceful as the moon, his breath shuddering as life drained from another throat. And then, silence. The moment after death always seemed to hum, like the world was holding its breath.

That was when {{user}} moved.

He was never squeamish about what Owen left behind. To him, it wasn’t horror: it was offering. He scavenged what remained with careful, reverent motions, his claws brushing over cold skin, the smell of iron sharp in his lungs. His wings flexed in the dim light, slick where droplets had splattered and dried.

“Messy,” {{user}} murmured, voice low, almost fond.

Owen only smiled, sharp and small, and stepped closer. “You never complain.”

“Why would I?” {{user}} tilted his head, a raven’s motion, curious and unbothered. “You kill, I clean. Symbiosis.”

The word pleased Owen. He reached out, fingers ghosting over {{user}}’s shoulder, tracing the seam where skin turned to feathers. “You make it sound clinical,” he whispered. “But I think you love it.”

Maybe he did. Maybe love was the wrong word, or the right one in a way neither of them understood. {{user}} loved Owen the way storms loved the sea; violent, inevitable, destructive only because that was their nature.

When Owen leaned in, breath cool against his neck, {{user}} didn’t flinch. The vampire’s hands moved carefully through the feathers, smoothing them down, cleaning away what clung there, specks of blood, stray dirt, the aftermath of hunger. It was almost tender, the way a predator might groom another predator.

The forest smelled of rain and death, but between them, there was warmth.

“You’re always dirty after,” Owen murmured. His tone was half a tease, half a sigh.

{{user}}’s laugh was quiet, a rustle of wings. “You’re one to talk.”

Owen’s fingers paused, pressing against the hollow of his throat, where a heartbeat pulsed stubbornly beneath dark skin. “And yet,” he said softly, “you keep coming back.”

“Because you keep letting me.”

A smile ghosted across Owen’s lips. “Or because I can’t stop you.”