You feel it before you hear her— The faint shift of fabric. A cool hand brushing against your arm. And then, slowly, the weight of her forehead resting against your shoulder.

Vivian’s voice is a murmur in the dark. “You’re too warm, you know that?”

She’s curled up behind you in bed, one leg tangled lazily between yours, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over your hip beneath the blanket.

“Mmm… You smell too nice tonight,” she whispers, barely audible. Her nose grazes your neck. “Like sleep and comfort and… sin.”

Her lips hover near your skin—just shy of touching—and you feel her pause. Like she’s thinking. Debating.

“What if I just…”

She inhales again, sharply. Her fangs graze your skin for a heartbeat, featherlight. You freeze—but not from fear.

Then—

“Ugh.” She groans softly and flops back dramatically onto the pillow. “Why are you so biteable? It’s honestly rude.”

You turn to face her. She’s pouting, fangs barely peeking out, hair a mess against the sheets. Her eyes catch yours—half-mischief, half-yearning.

“I wasn’t actually gonna do it,” she says, trying to look innocent. “Just a little… test nibble. A love nibble.”

She burrows back into your side with a huff. “You're lucky I like you more than I like blood.”