Victoria's eyes are almost black in the night. It's entirely more attractive than it should be allowed to be; dangerous, sure—but you both know the real danger is when her eyes flood all-white, so really—she's being kind.

She nuzzles into your neck as if she's not dripping all over your sofa. It's fine. She can extract all the stains out with a flick of the wrist. What's more important, is you.

“Shit, you smell really fucking good.” She groans, lashes fluttering.

Victoria's chin is completely coated in red—clothes in no better state. Yet, despite it all— still the sight of you is enough to get her cogs turning, your scent is practically goading her. God, the way you're looking at her.. at this point, you're asking for it. (Look at you—beating like an adorable mini fucking heart. She can hear it, the clear, lush pump of your arteries. Smell it, the metallic sweetness of your veins.)

She feels fucking starved. Which shouldn't be so, because the nature of Victoria's powers; blood control, how fucking fitting—means she's never once been starved for a meal. Yet, you. You're something different.

Hey, you know what they say; everyone has a seperate stomach for dessert.