Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You find him where he always seems to gravitate towards: the closest available bed. The fact that it’s your bed, and not his, hardly seems to phase him, as Linhardt sleeps as soundly as he always does. He always has a serene air about him, but right now he looks downright angelic, his long lashes brushing against his cheekbones, his brow unknotted. If you don’t know any better, you can almost envision the delicate rise and fall of his chest. 

If you don’t. But you do. 

You don’t feel bad for disturbing him—after all, he’s had hundreds of years to nap, and you’re certain that’s exactly what he’s spent most of said years doing. The fact of the matter is, after a long day at work, and a much-needed hot shower, you’re ready to plop onto your bed and hibernate, but you can’t. Mercifully, Linhardt is a light sleeper; his eyes slide open to see your fingers hovering inches above his nose, seconds away from pinching it roughly. Your usual method of waking him up.

“That’s not very nice.” He yawns delicately, swatting your hand away. 

You sigh. “It’s not nice to hog my bed, either, Lin,” you say wryly. 

“I was keeping it warm for you.” That same smile that you can’t look away from curls his lips, and you’re suddenly aware of how even a simple action has you entranced. Even if he didn’t posses a magnetic attraction that draws humans to him, prey to their predator, you’re certain he would have you charmed all the same. “Well… as warm as I can. Unfortunately, my condition doesn’t allow for much blood flow.”

You motion for him to give you room as you crawl into bed, carving your space next to him. Like clockwork, your hand finds his, his palms cold and clammy. At first the temperature difference between your bodies surprised you, but you soon grew used to it. Still, a shiver shoots up your arm, like you’ve stuck your hand into a bucket of ice water, which must mean one thing. 

“You know... maybe if you fed more often, you wouldn’t be so tired all the time,” you suggest, glancing up at him meaningfully. 

He yawns again, stretches out his free arm. You note, with some envy, that he manages to make even that action graceful; not a hair falls out of place as he rests his arm beneath his head. “And where is the fun in that?” He huffs, facing you. “Feeding is so...” His nose wrinkles. “Messy.” 

“But it is much more appealing with you around,” he admits, flashing you another smile. A hint of his fangs poke through his upper lip. He drags your arm closer to him, his thumb stroking the bite-sized scars on your wrist. Vampire saliva makes the wounds heal faster, but the venom will always leave a scar, he’s told you. 

“You need to take better care of yourself!” you chastise. “I won’t be around forever, you know,” you add, pushing him away. You intend for it to be playful, but the words come out with a bitter edge that you didn’t want to acknowledge. It’s a touchy subject. The issue of your mortality. A part of you is constantly aware of the hands ticking towards your death, the relentless aging, while your lover stays as youthful as he was when he was turned. Frozen in time.

He blinks. “Don’t speak about things that aren’t certain,” he says, carefully, his hand reaching for yours again. He examines it thoughtfully, as one does a treat they’re considering indulging in. “I for one quite enjoy your humanity. You’re much more interesting than any of my kind.”

“Yeah yeah, I get it. I’m your research topic.” You roll your eyes.

He frowns. “True, but… you’re not just that.” He tilts his head, the pads of your fingers brushing against his lips as he surveys you.

“Yeah, I’m also your snack—“

Your breath catches once you feel his lips trail down your palm till his fangs rest at curve of your wrist. There’s the sharp prick of pressure, and a bead of crimson wells up. You clench your eyes shut, reminding yourself not to tense up or the pain will worsen—when the pressure is gone. This time, Linhardt seems extra precautious with making sure your wound heals, his tongue gliding across your flesh in languid movements that soon have heat creeping up your cheeks with how suggestive they are. His gaze locks on yours as he licks a stripe up your palm, before his teeth graze its edge. 

You feel dizzy, and shift your thighs uncomfortably. He pulls back, makes a show of licking his lips clean. “You’re an object of my fascination,” he admits. Part of you is pleased to hear his voice sounds a bit hoarse. “And I—I’m quite taken with you.”

You look away, facing your pillow so he doesn’t see your blush. But you’re sure he can sense the blood pumping towards your cheeks, so you slap a hand over your mouth.

“I-I thought vampires don’t even need to sleep,” you say, your voice muffled. “You sure must be lazy…!”

“We don’t. But what’s the point of being awake for eternity if nothing interesting is happening?” He drawls, settling beside you. “This—” He stifles a laugh, his tone amused— “is much more interesting.”

As you grumble about all vampires being sadists, he adds,

“Plus, it’s quite amusing to wake up to see you’ve drooled all over your pillow.”

"Linhardt!"

Chapter Text

All you did was walk in on him while his pants were down. Sure, Professor Seteth did warn your class to not visit the Goddess Tower on the night of a full moon, but when did you ever listen to him? The answer is never. 

How were you supposed to know that your classmate turned into a four-legged canine once a month? When you spotted Sylvain disrobing, you assumed you’d walked in on one of his conquests… and you were certainly not keen to know the details behind another one of your classmates griping about Garegg Mach’s legendary playboy ghosting them after a night of passion. 

But as you were about to leave, you heard something. A growl, becoming less human and more animal as it ascended into a roar. The next sound had your blood running cold. Bones cracking and shifting, a low rumble that could only come from something beastly. And when you looked back… right where Sylvain stood was a wolf with russet fur. 

You assumed you’d had too much to drink at Dorothea’s party. Because there was no way your classmate was a—a wolf. But Sylvain’s clothes lying discarded around the wolf, plus Seteth’s warnings echoed in your mind. Stay away from the Goddess Tower on the night of the full moon. 

You stepped on a twig, the resulting snap causing the wolf to direct its attention towards you. You don’t know why, but you suddenly felt self-conscious. “My bad. Wrong room,” you mumbled to the animal. It tilted its head, keen brown eyes watching as you stumbled in the direction of your apartment. Maybe what you’d seen was some kind of liquor-induced dream. 

But the next day, Sylvain had cornered you between classes.

“So. You know about the wolf thing,” he said with a grim expression. 

“What wolf thing?” Acting oblivious quickly proved fruitless when you saw the serious look on his usually carefree face. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Oh. That wolf thing. I do. But, uh, there there, buddy.” You coughed, patting him on the shoulder awkwardly. Gods, you did not have time for this. You had a splitting headache, no Advil, and a Civics exam with Professor Jeralt next period. “We all have our… problems.” You weren’t sure if you could reduce what he had to a mere problem, but you carried on.

“You turn into a furry. I can’t pass Jeralt’s exams without cheating off Ignatz. They’re just… shortcomings.” You shrugged.

You didn’t realize the effect your words would have on him. To be honest, you didn’t even remember the words you told him; you just remember feeling incredibly uncomfortable trying to cheer up someone who hated his time of the month. Part of you was convinced this was all some kind of fever dream, as well, and that, just as you hadn’t seen your classmate burst into a furball, you also didn’t say out loud that you wanted to fuck Professor Jeritza right before he rounded the corner.

But as it turns out, Sylvain did turn into a wolf, and Professor Jeritza did give you additional homework for “inappropriate comments outside of class.” On top of that, Sylvain seemed to take your words to heart, and promptly directed his flirtations towards you, of all people. 

“You know,” he begins, slipping into the seat next to you during lunch. He shoves an entire bread roll into his mouth, speaking before he finishes chewing. “If werewolves don’t find their mate, they just, mmf, die of loneliness.” He swallows loudly.

You frown. “Isn’t that rabbits?”

“Werewolves, rabbits, any kind of furry creature--we’re all the same.” He waves his hand dismissively. 

“Did you just… call yourself a… never mind.” It’s none of your business which group he chooses to associate with. 

“So, you free tonight?” He flashes you a lopsided grin. 

You rub your chin. “Um. If I say no, will you leave?”

“No.”

“Then… yes? Wait, I mean—no.”

“C’mon, I’ll make it worth your time! You’re the first girl that hasn’t run away screaming after learning of my problem.”

You give him a pointed stare. “Is that in human or wolf form?”

“Ouch.” He clutches his chest, pouting. “That actually hurts.”

You’re not particularly interested in getting involved with Sylvain, or his hairy condition. You’ve got a Geology class with Professor Alois you need to pass to graduate, not to mention Raphael still owes you for swiping him into the dining halls…. You’re just a normal person trying to live her normal life. 

That is, until the supernatural lands smack-dab on you with its claws and fangs. Literally.

—

It’s late, and you probably shouldn’t have made a quick stop to the convenience store, but your mind always processes things faster on a can of soda and chips. A flash of movement from the corner of your eye has you pausing. Your heartbeat beats a staccato in your chest, that seems even louder in the eerie quiet of the night. Steps hastening, you calculate how many minutes it will take before you reach your apartment at the edge of Garegg Mach. Five, maybe four minutes if you sprint. You can do this. 

Suddenly, something crashes into you, sending you splayed on the ground. You scramble to your feet, eyes darting as a shadow catches your eye. Before you can scream, a hand—ice-cold and skeletal—clamps around your mouth, another latching onto your waist and pinning you to a hard body. The chill of their breath ghosts your ear. 

“This’ll only hurt for a second.” 

Everything happens in slow motion. Your heart lurches once you feel something sharp grazes your neck. With a start, you realize it’s teeth. Too sharp to belong to a human. Eyes widening, every nerve in your body thrums with danger, when—a flash of red—and the pressure’s gone. Too fast for you to see, something sends the creature flying, thrown off you. Something—or someone—with super strength. A flash of red hair catches your eye, and you’re flooded with a sense of familiarity. 

Sylvain.

“Find a new prey for dinner, you leech,” Sylvain snarls, standing before you. Rage twists his features into something feral. You’re so used to him being the annoying flirt that the change is disconcerting. As the figure fades into the shadows, he turns to you.

“Are you hurt?” He scans your figure for any injuries. 

“N-No,” you say, staring wide-eyed at the spot you were just in, your mind racing a mile a minute. What just happened? What were you attacked by? 

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

His smile is strained. “See? I told you I’d sweep you off your feet some day.” There’s an edge to his tone. His eyes haven’t completely lost their hard glint, and you realize he’s wary of you. Evaluating you. For what, you aren’t entirely sure.

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Adrenaline echoes through your body. The gravity of your situation finally hits you—that if werewolves like him exist, then surely, there must be other, more sinister creatures in the world. You swallow roughly, suddenly feeling dizzy. 

“Uh, are you in shock?” His tone brightens, regains some of his lightheartedness. “Need a kiss to recover—”

Apparently slapping Sylvain once is all you need to regain some sense of control in this situation.

“Ouch.” Sylvain rubs his cheek. You snatch your hand back, finding comfort in the sting of pain, the flex of your fingers as you curl them into a fist. At least that’s real. This is real. Everything weird and improbable that’s happened so far is real. 

“You’ve… got a lot of explaining to do,” you say, trying in vain to steady your voice.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it. “Over coffee?”

You grimace. “I’ll need at least three cups to make it through the night.”

“Consider it a date.” At your glare, he holds his hands up. “What? Not everyone has a happy ‘first encounter’ story. We’ll be telling our grandkids how I saved you from the clutches of a vampire—”

Make that two slaps.