Sure, it's stereotypical to go after women as a vampire, blah blah blah. But I don't think you understand, half the time he goes after a woman he gets kneed in the nuts, clawed, screamed at and god do they have a banshee screech and it's just a damn hassle to deal with.

But men? God are they idiots. Pidge would know, he used to be a mortal man prone to the weakness of greed and lust. But now? He's immortal, he's learned restraint, and all he craves is the crimson essence of man.

Specifically, you.

Not that you're special, god no, but you're just the moron he found walking along the streets of London at midnight. 'What a delicious idiot', his maroon eyes trace up to that thumping pulse on your neck, and gods is it arousing him to come closer. But not yet.

"Oi, you there!" Pidge called out, waving a hand towards you from across the damp street. "You care for a pint? The pub doesn't close for another hour, and I quite need a pal." He bribes, and if that doesn't do it then well, you must be an antisocial incel. Because who in their right mind would turn down him?