Michael Imagine: Vampire AU
He lived in the darkness.
Between shadows of midnight and dusk, in the dark corners of empty alleyways and forgotten streets.
He lived underneath the light of the moon and knew the shadows of every building and every solitary figure as well as he knew the back of his hand.
He lived in the darkness and the isolation that came with it; a package deal.
It was expected, really - he’s been alone ever since he became this, years and decades and centuries ago.
He remembers back when he was human, back when he craved affection and loved parties and felt the sun on his skin, back when he was alive.
But it’s all just a whisper now, a faint memory that leaves a ghost of longing on his skin. For what he had. For what he could’ve had.
But it’s all in the past now - the memories are so faint that it could be someone else’s passing him by, meant for someone more worthy of such possibilities.
He doesn’t deserve any of it.
Not the sun’s warmth on his skin, not the sunrise of a new day and a new chance that signified rebirth; not the caress of a friend or a lover that sent tingles down his spine and not a warm whisper in his ear that said I love you or a simple smile that said I’m here for you.
He doesn’t deserve any of that.
Not when he’s bathed in blood, not when he pierced skin and flesh and not when he needs death to survive, though it brings him no closer to being alive.
He hates how he craves the blood, hates how it dribbles over his lips and down his own throat; he hates how he can’t see straight when he smells it nearby and he hates how he feels a high when his teeth pierce skin, his eyes blurry from ecstasy and hunger.
He hates how he’s become a monster.
He roams the streets at night and he stops trying to reach out because every time he does - every goddamn time - he always ends up holding a broken body in his arms with the blood of yet another friend on his lips, the bitter guilt mixing into the metallic rush of blood.
He’s learned the hard way.
He can’t control himself and he can’t help his instincts and he can’t help what he’s become and he knows it’s better this way, to be isolated and exiled, to be alone because he knows that’s just all he’s ever meant to be.
He’s a monster and he doesn’t deserve love or warmth or sunlight, not when he’s selfish enough to take lives just to sustain a pathetic existence like his.
And then he met you.
You would be his downfall.
You were uncharacteristically charming and insanely stubborn - he tried to keep his distance, but you were persistent and you made it no easier for him to stay away.
Come on, just one smile? For me?
And it bothered him how you never questioned why he could only come out at night or why he only had a close-lipped smile on good days or why his skin was just a few shades too pale and why his touch was always stone cold.
But at the same time, he liked it. He liked how you didn’t ask questions, how you accepted him with a smile and how you weren’t afraid to talk despite his silence.
He was always so conflicted when it came to you.
He wanted you to run away from him, to have you leave him and to have you find someone else whose touch could bring you warmth on the coldest nights and he wanted you to be disgusted at him the way he was disgusted at himself.
But a part of him, the last shred of humanity that he likes to think he has likes the way you hold his hands and how small they are in his; he likes how you walk with brightness in your step and how you never pressed him for questions that he didn’t want to answer, but instead made him smile and suppress a laugh that he didn’t think he was capable of doing anymore.
He’d find himself looking for you in the shadows even though the rational part of him - the part of him that remembers how his tears taste mixed with a friend’s blood - tells him that he should be staying away.
And he knows that he can’t hide from you forever - you might suppress your questions, but he knows they’re still there, on the tip of your tongue - and he knows he has to answer them one day.
And he’s not sure if he’s more afraid of you laughing at him or running away.
He tells himself that both options are what’s best - you’ll be gone, he’ll be alone and everything will be as it should be. Him alone and you with someone else.
But he just can’t seem to swallow the idea of it - his stomach always twists at the thought of you doing either option and he can’t help but dislike the idea of you not being by his side.
(it’s too late, he’s in too deep now)
Because as much as he’s afraid to admit it, he cares for you - he didn’t want to, not when he first met you when you were cold and alone at the bus stop just like he was. He didn’t want to care for you when you smiled at him and sparked a conversation that he tried to stop, he didn’t want you to ask him to see you again because he knew he wanted to, too.
He didn’t want you meet you in the middle of the night because he knew he wanted you to make his nights less lonely that the very thought scared him because he should be lonely he should be alone. Not with you.
He should be alone. That’s all he was. All he deserves.
But then you come along and you meet him on lonely corners and dance on streetlamps in the dead of the night and you drink coffee at 3am just to keep him company.
And he doesn’t know why.
He doesn’t know why someone as beautiful as you, someone with a smile as wonderful and a personality as charming as you would even bother spending time with someone like him.
And he hates how he can’t help but to notice the curve of your neck when you take off your jacket or the smell of your blood from your seat across from him or the veins in your hands when you lace your fingers with his.
He hates how it reminds him that he can’t have love and he can’t have warmth and he can’t even have company and that he can’t have you.
It reminds him how he’s a monster, and how all monsters are meant to live and die alone.
But you stay by his side and while he loves it, the small voice in the back of his head can’t help but to ask for how long.
And whether or not it would be him who would end it all.
I don’t care.
But you should’ve cared, you should’ve cared that he wasn’t human and that he wasn’t alive and that he couldn’t love you with a beating heart like you deserved.
You should’ve cared that he was a monster at best and a beast that belonged in the shadows and you should’ve ran and you should’ve never looked back.
Because every time he’s told someone what he was, he’d always end up alone again with tainted blood in his system, reminding him that he’s still living with his friends’ blood in his veins as a reminder of what he did.
But you accepted him and he’s not sure if he’s happy or terrified or ecstatic or afraid.
Because he doesn’t know how to care for you the way he’s supposed to, the way you should be cared.
He can’t hold you on the coldest nights and keep you warm, not when his skin is colder than the iciest storms. He can’t shower you in kisses and he can’t show you his love because he’s always not careful enough, he’s always uncontrollable. He can’t let you sleep on his chest and have his heartbeat lull you to sleep because his chest is empty and no matter how much you wanted a piece of his heart, he didn’t have anything to give.
What could he offer you?
nothing, nothing, nothing
And if he was human he could - maybe if you had met in another life, maybe if you had met before he had become a monster - maybe you could’ve been lovers.
Maybe he could’ve been a man that you deserved.
But I want you.
And your voice is so childish and sweet and it drives him insane because dear god, did he want you too.
But he’s afraid because a part of him wants your lips on his skin and a part of him wants his blood on his lips.
He can’t decide which he craves more but he doesn’t want to chance losing you, too.
He wants to hold you in his arms, but not if you’re body’s limp in his hands, skin as pallid as his and eyes unseeing, two holes piercing the side of your neck.
He belonged to the darkness.
He belonged to the shadows that lurked in the darkest nights; his home were the black crevices of places long forgotten.
But you were the sunlight with your bright smile and the glimmers of hope and optimism in your eyes, and you were a beacon of sunlight even in the pitch-black darkness of 3am.
He hasn’t seen sunlight in so long, but he sees sunshine in your smile, he tastes warmth in your kisses.
You make him feel alive again, and when you place a hand on his chest, he could almost pretend there’s a pulse for you to feel.
I know you love me. You don’t need a heartbeat to prove that to me. You’re enough.
And you’re his poison because you were the sun in his eyes and he wasn’t created for a life of sunlight, of warmth, of hope.
He wasn’t created for a life with you.
But you’re addictive, and not just in the scent of your blood - she’s so much more than that, she’s so much more to me - and even though it might kill him in the end, he loves you.
He loves you with all the love someone as empty as him could give, and while he thinks it’s not enough, you always tell him differently.
You just can’t see what I do. I don’t see a monster. I see you. And I love you. I hope you can see that one day, too.
And there’s only so many hours in a day he can see you, there’s only so many nights you can leave during the ungodly hours of the night.
But he waits. He waits for you.
He has time.
He has you.
He makes every moment count, every second spent with you spent well. He’s careful to make sure his touch is gentle and he always pulls away too early for your liking, his nose grazing your neck and his lips trail your neck, a sharp intake leaving his lips.
He’s afraid of himself, he’s afraid of hurting you - but you always delve fearlessly into your arms and while he thinks it reckless, he can’t help but to give in to your love.
You find a home in his arms - they may be cold, but you like the shivers that run through your skin. You cherish the moments in between yesterday and tomorrow spent with him; the night sky black and blue and purple and flecked with stars, the world completely silent and devoid of anything but the two of you.
It was your own little world and you were his whole world.
And even though he had to leave before sunrise, you didn’t mind. The moon exhausted itself every morning to let the sun shine and he faded back into the darkness to let you go.
But you always came back.
And you always would.
request tweets, gifs, & imagines here!