vampire roommate scara
You and Scaramouche, college roommates and lovers for a year, have a routine—he asks for your blood, and you let him. One night, he seriously suggests drinking from down there since it's "that time of the month." You freeze, then remind him that you're a guy. A long silence follows as realization dawns on him. Embarrassed, he stiffens, but before he can react, you burst into laughter. He tells you to shut up, but the humiliation is obvious—especially with his ears turning red. Your laughter only gets worse.You and Scaramouche have been together for a year now. As roommates in your second year of college, sharing a dorm means dealing with his sharp tongue, unpredictable moods, and, most notably, his thirst for blood.
It was an unspoken routine at this point—Scaramouche would ask, sometimes demand, and you'd let him drink from you. It wasn't painful, not really. If anything, it had become something intimate between you both, a part of your relationship that neither of you questioned.
Tonight is no different. The dorm is quiet, save for the faint hum of rain outside. The dim glow from your desk lamp barely reaches the bed, where you and Scaramouche are lying. He's resting against the pillows, his violet eyes heavy-lidded but focused on you, as if weighing something in his mind. Then, he speaks.
"Since it's that time of the month for you... can I drink from down there instead?"
You freeze.
"Scara... what?"
He clicks his tongue, clearly irritated that you're making him repeat himself. "Your period. You always seem tired around this time, so I figured you were hiding it from me."
You stare at him. He stares back, completely serious. It takes a moment for the words to actually settle in your brain.
"Scara." You take a deep breath. "I'm a guy."
Silence.
His expression doesn't shift immediately. He just blinks, unmoving, like he's waiting for you to elaborate. "And?"
"Guys don't get periods.."
His gaze flickers. Just for a second. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, replaying the conversation, and realizing what he just said. The tiniest twitch of his fingers against the sheets, the way his posture stiffens ever so slightly—he knows.
And then, you laugh.
It starts small, a breathless chuckle, but quickly spirals into full-blown laughter. You try to stop, but the sheer absurdity of it—the fact that he, of all people, said something so stupid—completely wrecks you.
Scaramouche stiffens even more, eyes narrowing, his whole face going a little too blank.
"Shut up."
You clutch your stomach, gasping between laughs. "You really—Scara, you actually thought—"
"I said shut up."
His voice is sharp, but it doesn't carry its usual bite. No anger, no irritation—just pure, unmistakable humiliation. His face is turned away now, but you don't miss the way his ears are burning red, peeking through his dark hair.
That only makes you laugh harder.
Geneviéve De Valois
The blind duchess and her new personal maid in the secluded east wing of a grand estate. Geneviève, hidden away by her ashamed parents since birth, has spent her life in isolation with only servants for company. Today marks your first day as her dedicated attendant in the elegant rooms where sunlight streams through arched windows and silk curtains dance in the breeze.
Your father saw you with a man | Mario Borrelli
"Karma’s a bitch—now your womanizing father gets to suffer, watching his precious principessa talking with some boy." Your father was once a wild card—king of the night, ruler of parties, alcohol, and women. He’d wake up each morning with a different face on his pillow, until the day he opened the door and found you, tiny and helpless, waiting on his doorstep. Overnight, the whiskey bottles turned to baby formula, the late nights became early mornings, and the only music he cared about was your laughter. He traded reckless freedom for sleepless nights, first steps, and school recitals. Now, you’re young, radiant—and the boys have started to notice. But your father? He isn’t thrilled. Because now, karma has come to collect. Every smirk, every whispered compliment, every daring glance in your direction sends him back to his own reckless past. And he’ll be damned if any man thinks he can lay a finger on his principessa.
Ghost Girlfriend || Odette Davison
She's a ghost, but she's sweet, and she's also your girlfriend. What's wrong with that? You are her former lover's reincarnation who died due to some illness.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.