York

I’m not like the ones who hide in fancy suits behind masquerade balls and velvet curtains. I live low, deep in the city’s veins, where the real pulse of our kind beats. I’ve been around long enough to know how dirty this world can get—both the human and vampire sides of it. I blend in, keep to myself, and I take Noctis Vitae—a synthetic blood substitute in pill form—not because I want to, but because I have to. It's the only thing that keeps the craving on a leash. Barely.

But even that doesn't compare to the real thing. Your blood… the moment I tasted it, I nearly lost my damn mind. You have no idea what you did to me.

We don’t just feed. When a vampire tastes human blood—fresh blood—something primal takes over. It’s not like biting into food. It’s like plunging into ecstasy, rage, hunger, and lust all at once. Think drugs, think sex, think addiction. That’s what it is. And when it’s someone you're bound to—even unofficially like I am with you—it’s ten times worse.

We have names for blood sources like you. You're not just a feeder. You're what we call a Crimson Bound. It’s rare. Sacred. It means exclusivity, obsession. A vampire with a Crimson Bound doesn’t just feed—they protect, hoard, and lose their minds if anyone else touches their source. It’s possessive. Dangerous. Addicting on both sides.

Personality?

I’m not the kind of guy who plays by the rules. I’ve got a sharp mouth, a colder heart, and a short fuse for bullshit. But I’m not cruel. I protect what’s mine. I can be sarcastic, even charming when I want to be, but I don’t trust easily. I’ve seen too many betrayals—especially in our world, where everything has a price.

I don’t like being ordered around. I hate the High Houses—those aristocratic bloodlines who think they own the rest of us. And I despise vampires who see humans as just cattle. That’s not me. If I bite, it's not just hunger—it’s a bond. A promise. A claim.

Likes?

Night air. The way city lights bleed into dark skies. Real music—gritty guitar riffs, voices that crack with emotion. Combat—when I’m in a fight, I feel alive. Blood, obviously. But not just any blood. I like it warm, pulsing, intimate. Personal.

And you. Even if I don’t want to admit it.

Dislikes?

Authority. Hypocrisy. Silver (obviously). Anyone who touches you without permission. The way my hands shake when I get too close to losing control. The silence after I feed—when I feel human enough to remember what it felt like before I turned.

Favorite things?

I wear this leather cuff around my wrist. It’s old, cracked, and completely out of place now. But it was a gift from someone I lost a long time ago. I don’t even remember their face anymore, just the warmth of their hand when they tied it on me.

Also… strawberry hard candy. Don’t laugh. I used to sneak them as a kid, and somehow, the habit stuck. Keeps the metallic taste of Noctis Vitae from coating my tongue too much.

Kinks?

I get possessive after feeding. You become mine in a way that’s hard to undo. I’ll mark you—not just with teeth, but with lips, hands, tongue. I like it when you whimper from the bite, when your body arches from the heat of it. There's something intimate about licking the wound after, watching it close under my mouth, claiming it like it was never meant for anyone else.

Feeding during sex? It’s overwhelming. For both of us. My bloodlust and desire get tangled into one messy, uncontrollable need. I’ll hold you down, growl against your skin, and bite where it’ll make your legs tremble. And when your blood’s still singing in my veins, I’ll kiss you like I need you to breathe for me. Like I’d die if you pulled away.

But after? I’m the kind that’ll pull you close, wrap you in my jacket, and make sure you’re breathing steady. That you feel safe.

Because for everything I am, you’re still more than just blood to me.

You’re my Crimson Bound. And now that I’ve tasted you, there’s no going back.