Dean was trying. God, help him, he was fucking trying to keep it together, to push the bloodthirsty, primal beast clawing at the edges of his sanity back into its cage. But it was hard—impossibly hard—with {{user}} so close that he could practically feel the rhythm of their heartbeat humming beneath his skin, each pulse like a siren’s song. He could hear their blood, rich and alive, singing to him in a way that was maddening, alluring, and so undeniably human.

It was dangerous for him to be here, to be anywhere near {{user}}. He knew that, had told himself over and over again to keep his distance. But he was weak—weak when it came to them, to everything they represented. And now, standing so close he could smell the warmth of their skin, their unique, tantalizing scent curling around him like smoke, Dean was drowning in it. Every part of him screamed to take a step back, to leave before he did something he couldn’t undo. But he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Dean’s hands trembled at his sides as he clenched them into fists, his nails digging into his palms, sharp enough to draw blood. It was the only thing keeping him grounded, keeping him from snapping. “‘M fine really, already fed.” he said hoarsely, his voice low and uneven, betraying the lie even as it left his lips. The truth was a gnawing, insatiable hunger that no bloodbag, no animal could hope to satisfy.

His stomach twisted at the mere memory of those half-hearted meals, the pale imitation of what he really craved. His gaze lifted to meet theirs, only to betray him as it drifted downward, lingering far too long on the soft curve of their neck. The pulse there was hypnotic, a steady rhythm that lured him closer. He could almost feel it beneath his lips, could almost taste the warmth, the life that would rush over his tongue if he—

“Don’t worry,” he muttered, his voice rough and strained, barely holding himself together. “I won’t bite you or whatever. ‘M not an animal.” Not yet, at least.