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perlelune · 1 month

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Glory And Gore | Feyd-Rautha

The trip to Giedi Prime you take with your mother should have been a mere diplomatic gesture. Instead, you find yourself prey to the inevitability of fate as it sinks its claws into your flesh.

Warnings: NON-CON, Deception, Parental Neglect, Cannibalism, Mutilation, Bene Gesserit Reader, Knives, Murder, Forced Marriage, Primal Kink

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

“I don’t want to.”

“You must.”

“Mother-”

“Use it!”

The authority dripping from your mother’s voice has you shrinking in your chair. You lift your gaze. A shudder slithers through your frame. Your fingers squeeze around the armrests, gripping so tightly you can feel the iciness seeping into your veins.

You study your mother’s face.

An unsettling realization crashes over you.

You no longer are looking into your mother’s eyes…but at the Bene Gesserit. You steel your features and iron your resolve.

You swallow a deep, calming breath.

“Give me the blade,” you repeat, for perhaps the hundredth time that morning. The exact count has evaporated amidst your heated nerves long ago. Your mother is unyielding today, pushing you further than she ever has before. While her purpose eludes you, the urgency etched in her manner from the moment she tore you from bed that day doesn’t. Today, your mother will not settle for surrender. She demands results.

Results for all the years she spent drilling the Bene Gesserit ways into you.

There is no hint of being swayed in your mother, her handle on the dagger unwavering. No twitching. No slackening of her grip. Your spirits dim.

“Again,” she barks.

Pearls of sweat gather on your brow as you strain your mind once more. The humming courses through your blood, the echo of power swelling in your mind. Fiery tendrils trickle through the veil of hesitation and nervousness.

You grasp at the threads, the fleeting wisps of control, pulling on them with all your might. Still, they slip through your fingers like sand. Frustration flares inside you with every attempt.

You persevere, enduring through the agony bleeding inside your mind. Through the liquid fire sweeping through your veins.

You meet your mother’s harsh stare.

“Give…me…the blade…” you articulate, injecting every bit of hazy conviction glowing inside you.

For a while, you and your mother hold each other’s gaze. A battle of wills. An ephemeral, pathetic one that ends as it always does…with your mother snickering at your failure.

She shoots up from the chair, exasperation evident in the drawn-out sigh she unleashes.

“No willpower. Just fear,” she says, pacing across the room.

“Apologies, mother,” you mutter, lowering your head in shame.

The Voice. The damned Voice. In eighteen years, you have never mastered it.

She approaches you, kneeling in front of your chair.

“Child, you must never fear, because fear…”

“...Is death,” you finish. The Bene Gesserit words are woven into the very fabric of your mind, for you have uttered them so many times since childhood.

She places her forehead against yours, cupping your cheeks.

The combination of your two voices echoes in the room.

“Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me…”

As you recite the familiar prayer, a wave of serenity swaddles you in its calming tide.

Your eyes flutter open.

Your mother’s fingers wrap around yours.

“Reverend Mother will see you tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“You are of age. It is time.”

“Time for what?”

A shadow flits across her eyes.

“For the Gom Jabbar.”

“Gom…Jabbar.” A crease appears on your forehead. “What is it?”

A tense smile spreads on her face, her grip on your hand growing tighter.

“You will learn soon enough,” she says.

Rest eludes you that night, your mother’s words weighing too heavy on your mind for it to float away in peaceful slumber. Tormented by nightmares, you toss and turn between your sheets.

A beast chasing you, its claws sharp and long…Like knives. Darkness creeping on your every step. Fire shooting through your veins.

The world in flames, while you burn alongside it.

You awake drenched in your own sweat.

Hugging your knees, you lean against the headboard. You stare ahead. Moonlight drizzles through your carved window, casting shapes of silvery light against your walls. The same granite walls you have known since childhood. Usually so familiar, comforting. Today the sight of them reminds you how utterly alone you are.

Your thoughts churn, the storm of doubt and gloom within you grazing its peak.

Per custom, you are a disappointment to both your mother and the Sisterhood. The Voice. The Weirding Way. No matter which skill your mother and the myriad of Bene Gesserit teachers you had over the years attempted to drill into you…you failed to master every single one.

It’s not for lack of trying on your part. You wish you knew why. Why your voice always cracks. Why your hand always falters. Your mother has never given hope to lure a steel-mindedness out of you that was simply…never there. No part of you wishes to bend others to your whim or cause harm. You don’t crave control or power. Only serenity and peace.

The next day springs forth in a haste, the blinding light of the sun arriving too quickly for your comfort. There is a deliberate languid nature to your motions as you get dressed, fussing with your hair and dress. A pointless attempt at delaying the inevitable.

Gom Jabbar. You mulled the words over and over in your non-sleep. Mighty oppressor or mighty enemy. The translations from Chaksobar to Galach are plentiful. While you don’t know what awaits you on the other side of the door, from your mother’s pinched expression the day before…unpleasantness is guaranteed.

You trudge inside the dark room, a chill shooting through your spine at the sight of the still figure of Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam sitting in the middle. Her pale, weathered features, wrinkled and creased like ancient parchment, stand out amidst the unsettling gloominess ahead. Even behind the black veil, the older woman radiates an aura of ancient, mystic power, her presence both fascinating and intimidating.

No word unfurls from her tongue at first, her keen, bird-like eyes assessing you. Despite the urge to cower, you hold your chin high and stiffen your spine.

“Your Reverence,” you greet, bowing so low your nose almost grazes the tiled floor.

“Come closer, child.”

Your feet move on their own before you even register the command. Shock pulses though you as you approach the Reverend Mother. The Voice…She used the Voice on you. No Bene Gesserit ever did that before. None would even dare. Not on a Count’s daughter.

You land in front of her, stunned and shivering.

She collects a viridian metal fox from beneath her robes, its eerie light glowing ominously in the darkness. Your heart stutters as you note the chasm inside the box, a lightless void reflecting nothing but complete blackness.

“Put your right hand in the box,” she orders.

Her tone is bereft of the thrall of the Voice now. Willing compliance... you realize this is what she wishes from you. You stare at the pitch blackness inside of the box, the sight alone stirring your unease. Hesitation limns your fingertips.

“I…”

The Reverend Mother’s firm voice booms across the air like thunder.

“Is this the respect you show to your elders?” she roars.

You flinch. Shameful heat lurks its way inside your cheeks. Mother would be embarrassed if she saw you now, denying the Reverend Mother herself, the Emperor’s Truthsayer.

You inhale a wide breath and place a tremulous hand inside the metal box. As the darkness engulfs your appendage, a cold wave creeps over it. The prick of a needle on your fingers follows closely. Sensations vanish from your hand, only an odd numbness remaining.

The old woman’s gaze sharpens. Her wrinkled hand shoots upward with a quickness that leaves you speechless, halting right beside your neck.

A glimpse of metal beckons you from the corner of your vision. Temptation to turn your head simmers within you but an instinct set deeply into your bones screeches at you not to move.

You yield to to the second hunch.

“I hold at your neck the Gom Jabbar,” she informs. “The high-handed enemy.”

“Poisoned needle?” you absently wonder.

You catch the shadow of a smile through the black veil.

“Your mother did say you were a clever one.” She tilts her head slightly, reminding you of a vulture circling its prey, gauging the right moment to swoop down and sink its claws. “A soft heart with a sharp mind.” Dread coils around your heart. “The test is simple, girl. Your hand must remain in the box. Keep it in the box, you live. Withdraw it, you die.”

“What’s in the box?”

“Pain.”

Tingles begin to spread.

Your breath snags, needles starting to dig across the back of your hand. But unlike before, the sensation lingers this time. Growing and growing. Uncomfortable at first, then unbearable. Then, it turns blatantly hellish. Fire licks your flesh, the flames causing your entire body to break out in sweat and your breaths to come out labored and uneven.

Pain such as this cannot be of this world, you begin to think.

The kind that grows more vile and intense every second. You writhe, tears rushing to your eyes. Your free hand clutches your stomach, twisting the flesh in desperate need of an anchor amidst the unnatural agony. The room fogs around you, your quick, panicked breaths and the wild drumming of your heart filling your ears.

The longing for death comes and goes, the impulse to withdraw your hand teetering over a precipice. At least, death would bring release from the unfathomable pain.

Blessed freedom. You nearly surrender to that wayward instinct. Nearly.

In the end however, the acute, overwhelming awareness of the lethal needle less than an inch from your neck keeps your hand inside the box.

“An animal in pain would chew its own leg to escape a trap,” The Reverend mother says calmly, unfazed by your tears and sobs. “But a human would bide its time, suffer through the agony until he might remove the threat to his kind. This is a test of humanity. This is what us Bene Gesserit do. Set humans apart from animals.”

An eternity in the pits of hells seems to drag along before she gives you permission to withdraw your hand, her hand dropping from your neck.

“Enough,” she says.

You tear your hand out of the box with a trembling exhale, astonished when your gaze tumbles upon smooth, unharmed skin. You turn it upside down, flabbergasted. It looks the same. Yet the furnace within the box made the burning feel so real, so vividly, terrifyingly real, that you were convinced the flesh and bones were devoured by the flames. You expected a lump of bleeding, smoking flesh. In disbelief, you fold your fingers several times. You wince. Phantom pain still sits in your hand, your nerves alight with embers of ache.

Suppressing a fresh surge of tears, you lift your eyes to the Truthsayer.

“Your tolerance for pain is sufficient,” she states. “Congratulations, child. You are human enough to serve our purposes.” She hums in thought, a sliver of satisfaction seeping through her solemn inflection. “You may not be a complete waste of genetic material after all.”

“You almost failed the test, I hear.”

You shift in the bench opposite your mother, her imperious tone ripping the wound of your glaring incompetence open once more.

Your attention wanders above the closing gate of the starship. You commit the luxurious plains of your planet to memory. Your chest twinges with preemptive melancholy. From what you heard, Giedi Prime is a dry, depleted rock where trees are replaced by rows of factories and metal skyscrapers which only blot out the dusky skies even more. A nightmare from the sounds of it. Though your mother insisted you join her on the trip, arguing your presence is key to the success of the treaty.

So you swallowed your reluctance and agreed to come.

“I thought I would lose my hand,” you mumble, your fingers clenching. The awe over the flawless state of your limb hasn’t left you.

“Her Reverence would never maim a prospect,” your mother argues.

You nod, gaze colliding with hers.

“Just kill them if they fail to prove their humanity?”

You still recall the sharp, poison-dipped tip pointed at your neck. The oppressive weight of impending death nipping at your flesh.

The line between surrender and success had been thin. Too thin.

Your mother’s stern brow furrows.

“Pain is always a possibility…One you must embrace.”

“Why? Isn’t the Gom Jabbar a singular occurrence?”

Instead of answering you, your mother lifts a black, oblong chest from beside her. You noticed it before but forgot to inquire about its purpose.

The metal and dark accents of the object mimics the Harkonnen style. Your fingers sweep over the symbols engraved on the box.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Open it.”

You do as instructed. The inside of the chest reveals a set of knives, a long obsidian one and a short silvery one. The blades glimmer as you lift them, their sharp edges catching the artificial light of the cockpit.

“They were forged from the finest steel on Alderan,” your mother says. You give a puzzled stare. Your mother elaborates, “You must gift them to the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen upon arrival. For his coming of age.”

Right. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s birthday celebration. You were told there would be a grand spectacle in the arena, that he was a great warrior, revered and admired by his people…perhaps even more than his uncle the Baron Vladimir. Day after day before the trip, your mother has impressed upon you the importance of attendance, of embracing the Harkonnen customs as if born into them. Every single one, however uncanny, crude or brutal.

So, much as the concept of spilling blood for entertainment repulses you…you shelf your disgust for now. Personal feelings must capitulate to diplomacy.

Your critical eye sweeps over the knives. These must have cost a fortune. Sinister beauty and artful skill fused in ominous synergy inside a finely made instrument of death.

“It’s fine craftsmanship,” you say. Your fingertip drags across the curved edge. A crease appears on your forehead. “But the edges…they could be sharper.” Your eyes light up. “I could finish before we land.”

You sift through one the heaps of precious stones and minerals lining the walls of the cockpit.

Victory floods your being as you find what you sought. A flat whetstone that shall serve your purpose well. You find a spot on the floor and begin your task. The knives shine brighter with every swift glide of your hand.

The frown on your face deepens.

“I hope the Baron’s nephew is pleased with our gift.”

You know next to nothing of him. Though you surmise if your families are to start trading with each other, getting along would be wiser.

Your mother smiles at you though it fails to reach her eyes.

“I have no doubt he will be very pleased with all the gifts you bring him, daughter.”

The frosty, pollution-heavy winds of the lifeless planet whip your face as you set foot outside the car. Your eyes roam over the large building housing the Harkonnen arena. The imposing structure casts an intimidating shadow against the nebulous, gray sky above it. Dormant volcanoes peek through the horizon in the distance, the only remnants of natural landscapes.

Hopelessness surges through you.

Despite having landed less than an hour ago, a fierce longing for Alderan’s endless green fields and snowy mountain peaks roars inside you. Every cell in your body screams to go back inside the ship and return home.

But you can’t. Such a display of rudeness would be a disaster for diplomatic relations. So you plaster on a smile and ignore the potent stench wafting around you.

You exert meticulous sovereignty over your expression when the Baron floats toward you and your mother. Nothing could have prepared you for this. The sight of the bald, massive man hovering towards you and your mother in his suspensor chair.

The floating figure of the baron stops in front of you and your mother. A circle of servants, clad in black clothing, follows behind him. You note their bowed heads, the way their eyes never rise high enough to look directly at you or your mother. A brand marks their necks, one you recognize as the sigil of House Harkonnen. You’re reminded how ubiquitous the slave trade is on Giedi Prime. Your mother mentioned it but the harsh reality of it didn’t strike you until now.

“Welcome to Giedi Prime,” Baron Vladimir greets. His gristly tone surprises you, eliciting a chill across your spine you swiftly suppress.

“My Lord,” your mother says, sinking into a graceful bow.

You mimic her. The baron leers at you.

“She is even more exquisite in person.”

You recoil, the glint in his calculating stare stirring your unease.

Your mother’s gaze sweeps across her surroundings.

“The na-Baron isn’t in attendance?”

“My dear nephew is preparing himself in the gladiator pit. There are rituals we Harkonnen observe upon one’s coming of age.” Your mother nods.

The baron smirks, his focus swinging to you. “Perhaps you could pay him a visit, little one?”

You clutch the small chest in your hands.

“I…”

“Go on,” your mother urges, shoving you forward.

You gasp, almost tripping in your shock. The baron’s commanding voice rises.

“Slave!”

One the cowering servants leaps from the circle.

“Yes, sire?” the boy mumbles.

“Escort the girl to my nephew at once.”

The servant approaches you. His gaze briefly lifts before finding the floor again. A pang of empathy twists in your chest as you note the fear etched in the servant’s eye. You find yourself wondering what these eyes have witnessed, what horrors lurk on the wretched rock.

“Follow me, my Lady,” he says.

As you’re led away from the welcoming party, you toss a glance at your mother above your shoulder. The message written in her eyes and stern expression is clear as lake water.

Do not cast a veil of shame upon our house. Remember your duty.

Sucking a deep breath, you turn away.

You and your retinue of two guards and an attending maid are taken to the bowels of the arena. A horrid stench clings to the walls as you trudge through the dim walls. It grows more potent the closer you get to the pit. Your chest heaves. The urge to empty the meager contents of your stomach in the sand tickles your dry throat. You quell your disdain with a shake of your head.

You are here to present your house in a positive light, help Father’s treaty with House Harkonnen be a success.

As you enter the room, you get your first look at Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Warmth finds your cheeks. He’s almost bare, his rippling, pale muscles on full display. Two servant girls paint broad, black strokes over his carved back. The dark color stands out against his alabaster skin. Not a stray hair covers him and you suppose he’s as smooth-skinned and hairless as the rest of his kind.

When his dark gaze settles on you, you take tremulous steps forward.

You open the chest and present the knives to him.

“This is a gift for you, Lord na-Baron Feyd-Rautha,” you say, your voice cracking at the end.

Silence hangs for what seems eons, Feyd-Rautha cocking his head as he gauges you. It takes every ounce of bravery inside you not to flinch. His presence alone has every hair on your body stand at attention.

There’s a cold intensity in his glare, a tautness on his slender features.

You feel as prey being assessed. The urge to run itches your flesh. Your mother’s quiet warning echoes in your head. Remember your duty. You dig your feet into the ground, willing your roaring pulse to steady.

You hear him speak for the first time. His voice is hoarse and deep. Like the scratching of a stone over a sharp object.

“Would you like some fresh meat, my darlings? Lungs, a liver, perhaps?” he offers, smirking at three women sitting in a corner of the room. Their inky, whiteless orbs and ravenous grins send a chill through your spine.

His eyes fall on the knives inside the chest. His hand sweeps over the blades, an odd gesture almost reminiscent of a lover’s caress. He places the silver knife against his tongue, as if to taste the sharpness of the weapon. You shudder as you watch him, a foreboding feeling spreading across your flesh.

For a brief span of time, the well of your buried childhood memories tugs you to its depths. You recall a day when you were little. Your father took you hunting in the forests of Alderan. You chased a butterfly and got lost. You fell across a field. When you rose, you were nose to nose with a fierce predator. It stared at you a while, so still as its slanted, yellow gaze pinned you to your spot that you thought you were safe. You didn’t notice the calculated way it was prowling towards you, its maw opening slowly in anticipation of its next meal. The gift of tender, unsuspecting flesh. It’s not until your father speared the creature with his sword that you realized the jaws of death almost closed in on you. As it sprawled across the field, it unleashed an ear-piercing dying howl.

You were struck with shock that day.

A similar shock rocks you to your core when Feyd-Rautha slices the throat of one of the servant girls at his side and stabs the other repetitively. Time freezes as the lifeless bodies of the slave girls hit the sand with a loud thud.

Speckles of dark blood stain the bottom of your light tunic.

Your wide gaze lands on the other slave girl, tucked in a corner of the room. You watch her shrink in fear, the quaking in her hands so intense she nearly drops the tray she’s holding.

Horror fills you. She isn’t wondering if she’ll be next…but when.

Feyd-Rautha’s attention swings back to you. Dread coils around your heart.

“Hm, these are shockingly adequate,” he purrs appreciatively, grabbing the other knife from the chest.

It’s hard focusing on his words. Behind him, the three bald-headed women are swooping down on the poor servant girls’ corpses like vultures ripping a carcass to shreds. One of them pulls out a knife and slices the girl open from neck to gut. They bury their hands inside the girl’s body and grab fistfuls of her soft insides that they greedily shove into their mouths. Pieces of guts and dripping flesh jut from their pale lips, trickling down their chins and necks.

One of the women catches you staring and flashes you a blood-drenched, black grin.

You shudder. The maid at your side chokes on a sob, her hand flying across her mouth. Even your guards are appalled by the display, one of them averting his eyes.

A whispery croak slips through your lips.

“I s-sharpened them myself this morning,” you say, your fingers tightening around the chest.

A crooked smile unfurls on the na-Baron’s lips.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises, pet.”

His smile expands. “How rude of me,” he says, tossing a casual glance at the ghoulish spectacle behind him. The women are still gleefully feasting on the slain slave girls. “Would you like a bite as well?” His mirthful gaze flicks over your heaving chest. “Fresh heart, perhaps?”

You swallow past the lump in your throat, forcing a placid smile onto your face.

“I-I’m quite alright, my Lord. I already ate.” The chomping noises of the cannibalistic women rises, one of them tearing into the slave girl’s side with her sharp nails.

Sickness spreads through your being. You avert your gaze.

“I shall leave you to get ready for your entrance, my Lord,” you stammer as you give a quick bow.

“I look forward to our next meeting, my Lady,” Feyd-Rautha says, the amusement never leaving his face as you scurry out of the room.

A tremor still lingers in your hands as you join your mother in the golden box above the triangular arena. The moment you sit at her side, she questions you.

“So, what did you think of him?”

“Who?” you reply, feigning ignorance.

She sighs. “Feyd-Rautha.”

You press your lips. The crowd chants his name as he steps into the arena, clutching the blades you gifted him at his sides. He walks slowly, with purpose. Yet there’s a hint of tedium in his haughty gait. As if today was no different than any other day for him, and the taking of more lives were nothing more than a mere footnote in his long list of tasks for the evening.

Sadist. Psychopath. Deranged.

These are some of the few choice words that surge inside your mind in response to your mother’s inquiry.

You utter none of them.

“Why does it matter? Our stay on Giedi Prime will be short, will it not?”

You peer through the binoculars your mother hands you. There’s a gut-wrenching brutality to the na-Baron’s practiced motions.

You watch him cut down two Atreides gladiator-slaves with ease. It’s clear something has been done to the men, their wobbly, confused steps through the arena a painful scene to witness.

Your chest seizes every time his blade tears into the poor mens’ flesh. He snarls after a series of successful strikes, seeming more beast than human when he bares a row of black teeth.

A shiver ripples through your spine.

“You must keep an open mind,” your mother heeds.

The last gladiator-slave is different. You note it right away. There’s a lethal precision in his movements that was amiss in the other Atreides soldiers. Panic swarms the golden box. Baron Vladimir’s advisor begs him to cancel the fight.

“This one isn’t drugged,” he says, fear lacing his tone.

“This will spoil my nephew’s birthday,” the baron rumbles, dismissing the man with a withering glare. He remains disturbingly calm. “Show me who you are, dear nephew.”

You take a deep breath. The rest of the fight veers to an unusual route. Feyd-Rautha removes his body shield, welcoming the challenge the Atreides soldier offers with open arms.

A psychotic smile decorates his lips as he fights for his life. For the first time since the fight began, he comes alive in the arena.

The vicious trading of blow after blow has bile rising to your throat. Unable to stomach it any longer, you bolt to your feet and mumble a rushed apology to the Baron.

“I shall retire to my chambers,” you say.

As you exit the golden box, the excited clamor of the crowd as they scream Feyd-Rautha’s name follows your hasty steps.

You sneak a glance through the high, blue doors. The sight inside the vast hall has your blood curdling. Debauchery the likes of which you have never witnessed unfolds before your eyes. A peculiar blend of orgy and slaughter occurs in the hall. You’re failing to comprehend what you’re seeing, relief coursing through you that you refused the Baron’s invitation.

Once more, you are stunned by the vast cultural differences between your people and the Harkonnens. Sickened, you step away from the doors. Twisted curiosity led you there, and blatant disgust will take you straight back to your room.

The dusky, barren walls of the Harkonnen keep are a stark contrast to the colorful tapestries that can be found all over Castle Alderan.

Homesickness tugs at your heart strings. This alien world is hostile, wretched. You long for the familiarity of your bed and the warm, soothing winds of your planet.

As you roam the hallways, a prickling across your nape has you whirl.

Your sight fills with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Your chest clenches. Your head whips around, a fresh urgency livening your steps.

“Should you not be celebrating your grand victory, my Lord?”

“Frivolous pleasures do little to sate me,” he says, easily keeping up with you. His gravelly baritone ripples across your spine. “This isn’t for me…It’s for them. And my uncle knows it.” His arm brushes yours. You bristle. Amusement bleeds in his tone. “Where are you running off to, pet?”

Pet. You tense at the belittling moniker, the one he forcefully bestowed upon you.

“To my chambers. The evening has exhausted me.”

“You left early.”

You cast a puzzled frown upon him.

“In the arena," he specifies.

Your fingers curl into fists. The unfairness of what you witnessed still staggers you. The Atreides soldiers weren’t given a chance. Pigs led to their inevitable slaughter. And Feyd-Rautha plucked joy from their misery, seeing every slave as a tool to satisfy his unquenchable thirst for blood.

“I have no stomach for violence, my Lord.”

A humming sound pours from his throat.

“Perhaps it was careless then.”

Confusion flutters through you.

“Careless?”

A wicked smile tilts his lips skyward.

“Of my uncle to hand me such a delicate flower…one whose petals are bruised so easily.”

You let out a hollow laugh, dread gripping your insides. Loathing the way his dark gaze slides over your frame, you set your eyes forward.

“You say such strange things, my lord.”

“Do I?” He adds casually, “After all, you were promised to me.”

Your heart falters, missing a beat. He must be drunk, you ponder, in a feeble attempt to placate yourself with reassurance.

“Perhaps you ought to sleep the evening off, my lord. I believe victory may have gotten to your head, warped your perception.”

His sinister chuckle bounces against the walls.

“A pet with a sharp tongue. How fortuitous.”

It’s the only warning you receive before he snatches your wrist and slams you into a nearby wall.

You gasp. He pins your wrists beside your head, trapping you between him and the wall. You squeal, eyes bulging at the abrupt impact. You can already feel bruises form beneath his steely grip.

You fight to get free but he doesn’t budge. Sadistic enjoyment contorts his features as he admires your fruitless struggle.

He leans close to you. Your pulse soars.

“What are you doing?”

His lids sag as he drinks you in.

“Well…sampling my other gift, of course,” he whispers, lust oozing in his voice.

His mouth crashes over yours. You go dizzy. The kiss is bruising, staggeringly possessive. A brutal, sloppy clash of lips, teeth and tongue. You give his lip a harsh bite but it only draws a cheerful laugh from Feyd-Rautha. The acrid tang of metal coats your tongue. He moans against your lips and starts exploring your curves.

As his hands pluck at your soft flesh, fear surges through you.

“Let me go,” you scream, trying to use the Voice. There’s a flicker in his eyes and you feel hope…but it swiftly vanishes. One of his hands fastens around your throat while the other charts a dangerous path under your tunic. His fingers crudely poke and prod the apex of your thighs.

Your panic swells.

“Unhand me this instant!” you shout, a trickle of power rushing in your words.

Feyd-Rautha shakes his head, your thrall only seeming to last a few seconds. Mirth shimmers in his inky orbs as he studies you.

“Are you trying to use Bene Gesserit tricks on me?” The hand around your throat tightens. You claw at his arms, your vision flickering as he taunts, “Why don’t you try again, little witch?” He sinks two fingers through your dry entrance. Tears swim in your eyes at the aching, sudden stretch. His cruel voice flows against your temple. “Perhaps I ought to slice your tongue and shove it down your throat for our wedding.”

The hammering of your heart grows deafening. You swallow your tears and look into his eyes. You gather a thin breath to speak.

“Back away…” you croak weakly, desperation flailing inside your chest.

He gives a slow blink. To your surprise, the hand around your throat slackens. His eyes narrow as he leans away from you, a dazed expression on his face. You don’t take time to bask in fleeting relief, racing to your mother’s room as soon as his hands aren’t on you anymore.

Once you reach your mother’s chambers, you fling yourself into her arms.

Her arms wrap around your shuddering frame. She caresses your hair, gently whispering, “Daughter, the hour is so late…Is something the matter?”

You release a shaky breath, sinking further into her embrace.

“May we return to the ship? Go back home?”

“Why?”

You cast a tearful gaze towards her.

“Haven’t we done our duty, mother? Is it not enough?”

A long weary breath flows from her lips. Her hands curl around yours. She takes a deep breath before speaking again.

Her face becomes stern, impenetrable.

“Apologies, sweet child. We cannot.”

You search her harsh gaze. A heavy silence settles between the two of you. You retreat, horror clogging your airways as unsaid words hang in the air.

“Mother…What have you done?” you mumble, a fresh wave of tears breaking past your lashes.

“You are to marry Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen in three days’ time,”she bluntly announces. Your jaw drops as you take another step back. “All the arrangements have already been made.”

Your voice trembles.

“And Father agreed?”

“It was his idea, approved by the Reverend Mother herself.”

The deepest pits of hell welcome your plummeting heart. You sink to the floor, the weight of your kin’s treachery growing too heavy to bear.

“And you did not speak against it?” you mutter, disbelief confining your breath.

Your mother falls to her knees, joining you on the floor.

She cradles your face. “It is your destiny. We are Bene Gesserit. We exist only to serve.”

“He is a monster.”

“I’m afraid it’s irrelevant.”

A sharp breath spills from your throat. Your head snaps up.

“Is this all I am to the Sisterhood?” You unleash a dry laugh. “A broodmare to be sold and used to further their plans? To you and father…”

Her mouth wobbles. “Our way is not to question, but to answer when duty calls.”

You bring a quivering hand to your throat. You can still feel his harsh fingers crushing your windpipe.

“Do you see what he has done to me?”

“Mother, please…”

A flash of regret appears on her face. It barely lasts a second before a mask of indifference drapes over her features again.

“You should rest,” she says, cupping your cheek. “You will need your strength for the days ahead.”

You take in your mother’s blank expression. The blatant lack of emotion despite her knowing what Feyd-Rautha did to you. You swallow a shivering sob. It might have hurt less if she struck you across the face. Or drove a dagger through your chest.

The room chills around you as you reach a sinister conclusion.

You are completely alone.

Packing your scarce belongings takes little time. You didn’t bring a lot with you on Giedi Prime. The trip was supposed to be short after all. A mere courtesy visit to honor your father and the Baron’s alliance. How naive you were.

In the end, you are just a pawn for the Bene Gesserit and your father to move around. You always knew marriage would come eventually. It is what you have been prepared for your whole life. But you harbored the faint hope that your future husband would be kind, or at least a decent man.

As you recall every instance of Feyd-Rautha’s cruelty, horror clutches your insides.

There isn’t a sliver of kindness in him. You venture he may even draw sick pleasure from others’ misery. The smile that touched his lips when you struggled against him still chills your veins.

It stuns you that someone like him, who seems more animal than man, even passed the Reverend Mother’s test, that he somehow withstood the pain, and maybe even embraced it.

Logic dictates that he must have however. Otherwise the Reverend Mother wouldn’t ratify the crossing of your two bloodlines.

The mere thought fills you with dread. He is dangerous. A monster who thinks, who plans, who schemes, who gathers joy from pain.

You come to a decision. You will not be Feyd-Rautha’s bride.

You must find your way back home. The sisterhood can find another sacrifice to fulfill their prophecy. It will not be you.

You wait for the keep to be quiet, not a sound lingering in the cold, blue hallways. You conceal a few belongings beneath your cloak. Another set of clothes, a compass, some jewelry and other valuables you’re hoping to trade for safe passage on a starship. Doubts wander inside you.

Where will you go? What will you do? Will you survive the weather conditions and atmosphere of a completely different planet? You still remember your brief visit on Salusa Secundus for the Princess Irulan’s coronation day. How you couldn’t move without fire rushing to your lungs. How every single step felt like you were taking a hundred. You could die.

Still, the prospect scares you far less than what awaits you in the Keep.

Uncertainty lies in your future. But you do know one thing. You must run as far away as you can from Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Getting past the guards is easy enough.

You use what you remember of your Bene Gesserit training to sneak outside the fortress.

Harko city welcomes you in all its dull, somber rotting glory. You cross past discarded piles of rubbish and large oily puddles as you race through dark alleyways. Everywhere your gaze rests, it’s assaulted by sheer decay and putrefaction. Unlike the clean, cold, pristine interior of the Keep, the city is crumbling.

The putrid stench rising from the streets almost causes you to turn back. In the end, you refrain, steadfast as you rush through the busy streets. Every second is precious. You could get caught, dragged back to the Keep.

The back of your neck prickles. Your pulse escalates. The presence of three men hovers at the edge of your sight. Pretending you didn’t notice them, you subtly hasten your strides.

They catch on quick, too quick.

One of them pounces on you. You keel over and collapse on the harsh, dirt-covered ground. You try to crawl away, fright engulfing your senses.

Another of the men grabs your ankle and yanks you towards them.

Leering smiles float above you in the dim light of the alley.

“Hm, we could fetch a good price for that one,” the last man says. “Such a pretty little thing with pretty, pretty hair…”

The man who caught you barks a derisive snicker.

“An outworlder. How exotic.”

The second one bends closer to sniff the air around you. Your throat constricts as you turn your head.

“Not just any outworlder,” he says, his head tilted in curiosity. “This one smells like royalty.”

Elated chuckles burst in the darkness.

“That royal bitch will make us rich.”

The man who smelled you licks his lips.

“But shouldn’t we sample the goods first?” Fear shoots through you. “Never had me a highborn gal before.”

“Me neither.”

“This is a once in a lifetime-”

The man chokes mid-sentence. Your mouth drops as a blade is driven through his neck from behind, practically beheading him. Blood rains over you. Wet spots drip onto your face and dress as each of the men is gutted by a swift, ruthless opponent. You watch one pull a knife. He doesn’t get to use it, unleashing a blood-curdling scream when his hand is sliced at the wrist. The fingers of his severed hand twitch as it hits the floor. He sinks to his knees, wailing while cradling his bleeding stump against his chest. He meets his end with a brutal smash of his head into the stone wall. Gray matter spills from his skull as his eyes roll back and he falls in a dark puddle lifelessly.

The last one tries to run but is dealt with in the same merciless fashion.

Your wide, horrified gaze sweeps over the massacre. The speckles of blood on your face are still warm with the heat of the dead men’s bodies.

A shaky breath spills from your throat.

Your head rises. You come face to face with Feyd-Rautha’s expressionless stare. He picks up your trembling frame from the ground and tosses you over his shoulder. He strolls over the men’s corpses as if they weren’t even there, huffing a deep sigh of annoyance.

“You should be glad I found you in time, pet,” he says.

He throws you inside a car. The door slams and you huddle in a corner. Feyd smirks at your shrinking form.

“Truly? Nothing to say after all that fuss?”

Tremulous words trickle through your lips.

“Just let me go home.”

He slants his head, the corners of his lips lifting slowly. “No.”

“You could say that you didn’t like the look of me,” you insist. “That I repulsed you.”

Feyd-Rautha snorts.

His hand shoots out, moving too fast for you to comprehend. He leans over you, fingers squeezing your throat. “Pet…you were mine before you even set foot on Giedi Prime.” His dark gaze drags over you. You get a glimpse of black teeth as he grins. “The only place you’re going tonight is my bed.”

Once the car reaches the Harkonnen keep, you’re roughly pulled from your seat. Your chest tightens as you note the severed heads of your guards and maid lined in a neat row near the gates. Their lifeless eyes are wide open, staring at nothing.

You stumble back, hands flying to your mouth.

Satisfaction twinkles in Feyd-Rautha’s dusky orbs.

“I had to kill these incompetent fools, of course. They let my precious bride slip away.”

You gawk at him in shock. Guilt presses inside you. If you hadn’t tried and failed to escape, those poor people might still be alive. Tears swell beneath your lashes.

The na-Baron exhales, gripping your arm and tugging you along when you refuse to move. He smiles. “Do not worry, pet. We will find you new servants. Better ones.”

You end up in a large room inside the Keep. A tub filled with water sits in the middle. Feyd-Rautha’s concubines flash black-teethed smiles at you as you crash into a heap on the floor.

“Get her ready for me,” he says.

“Yes, master,” the three women reply in concert.

Your eyes swing upward in alertness.

“Ready for what?”

His inflection is chillingly matter-of-fact.

“Well, our wedding ceremony, of course.” You unleash a whimper as his fingers twine in your hair, twisting your neck backwards. His feral gaze seems to peel the layers of your blood-soaked tunic. “Why wait a few days when I can have you as my birthday gift tonight?”

His hand coils around your jaw, forcing your head to pivot. Your gaze falls on a slave girl standing fearfully in a corner of the room. You’re struck with recognition. She was in the arena before his fight, tending to him along with two other girls. Two girls who are now dead. Courtesy of Feyd-Rautha. She glances at you before her eyes tumble to the smooth black tiles again.

“Do you see her?” he whispers, his chest brushing against your back.

Feyd-Rautha beckons the girl with two fingers. She staggers forward.

“Speak, slave,” he orders.

The girl opens her mouth. However, instead of uttering words, only distorted whimpers come out. Horror twists your insides as you realize something crucial is missing inside her mouth.

“W-What happened to her?” you ask, dreading to hear what you already suspect.

His dark chuckle resonates in your ear.

“She can’t talk anymore. Do you know why?” His lips graze your cheek, his raspy tone lowering. “Because I took her tongue.”

Your stomach sinks.

When you attempt to turn away, his grip on you becomes harsher. He forces you to keep your eyes on the girl.

“I want you to take a good look at her.” His hand spreads over your chest, right above your hammering heart. “Try any of your Bene Gesserit tricks on me again…and I will feed your tongue, and perhaps even other parts of you to my darlings here.” He snorts. “After all, I only need one part of you intact to make me an heir.”

“Do you understand, my love?” he inquires, his husky bass dripping mockery upon the last two words.

You swallow a large gulp of air. “I-I understand.”

He storms out of the room and you sink to the floor. His concubines dive upon you. They nudge you to the tub and remove the clothes off your quivering frame.

The blood, grease and dirt is scrubbed off your flesh. Scented oils are massaged into your skin and hair. A dress is wrapped around your body.

You numbly let it all happen, defeat sinking its hooks deep inside your soul.

The farce of a wedding ceremony flies by in a blur.

Baron Vladimir and your mother are both in attendance, the two wearing satisfaction on their faces, albeit in different manners. While the Baron is smug, your mother is attentive. Not a single emotion betrays her face and you feel thoroughly abandoned.

Before the ceremony, she mumbles in your ear that the Reverend Mother requested a girl-child. You know the process, have been taught how it’s done. But it’s a cruel reminder…that you are nothing more than a tool in the larger schemes of the Bene Gesserit.

And that perhaps, your entire life you have simply been your mother’s mission. Maybe she even feels relief to be delivered from her duty.

The thought overwhelms you with sadness.

You stand before Feyd-Rautha in a flowing white dress while he dons black from head to toe.

He astonishes you by uttering his vows with the utmost seriousness, swearing to protect and cherish you until death forces the two of you apart. Death...In that moment, you find yourself silently wishing for its swift, imminent arrival.

When the Harkonnen priest whirls to you, the words stick to your throat, refusing to unfurl from your tongue.

“Does the bride consent to the match?” the officiant repeats.

Shell-shocked, you shiver in your spot. Feyd-Rautha’s mouth quirks upward.

“Oh, she consents. She is simply too overwhelmed with happiness to speak,” he replies on your behalf, openly taunting you.

You grimace as he slices the inside of your palm with a dagger and brings it to its lips. Your blood coats his mouth and his tongue flicks out. He hums at the taste, a smile blooming on his face. He does the same to himself, digging even deeper in his alabaster flesh. You flinch as he presses his bloody palm against the bottom of your face.

The Harkonnen wedding ritual concludes with him planting a rough kiss on your lips. He shoves his tongue inside your mouth, pulling you against him.

When the ceremony ends, he hoists you in his arms and takes you to his bed.

As promised, he lays his claim on your body right away.

Your wedding dress is ripped open with a few precise slashes of his knife. Your insides coil, the fear of him driving the weapon through your soft flesh keeping you docile underneath him. You don’t say a word, your tongue shackled by his earlier threat. He takes a moment to drink you in, relishing the rapid rise and fall of your chest as he drags the tip of his blade across your skin. He savors your fear like the sweetest offering, growing harder against your thigh as you tremble beneath him.

His black-toothed grin freezes the blood in your veins.

“My pretty little pet…all mine to play with, finally,” he rasps.

There’s no gentleness in the way he explores your body, scratching and nipping at your flesh as if to make sure no one dares doubt whom you belong to when you leave his chambers. Every plea for him to slow down is met with renewed ferocity. He tastes and fondles every inch of your quivering flesh. Your nipples pebble under his palms. Your core ignites below his tongue. Pleasure and pain mingle in sinful, twisted harmony.

Your back folds and your eyes roll back as a myriad of confounding sensations assaults your senses.

As he buries himself inside you to the hilt, he frees a satisfied grunt.

Pain clamors through you when he starts to move. Your walls catch fire at the aching, brutal stretch.

Holding your wrists above your head, he pours every ounce of lust and aggression inside you. You feel it in every stab inside your core.

His pale, muscular form pins you to the bed as he thrusts deeper inside you, reaching a tender spot that has you releasing an ear-splitting scream. You squirm over the soaked sheets as he takes you again and again, the mix of blood and arousal coating his length easing his blunt intrusion. Your helpless wails mingle with his feral moans.

Raspy words in the coarse Harkonnen tongue are heatedly whispered into your ear. You don’t understand any of them and it makes your terror grow.

You feel as if you will break, shatter at the seams beneath his rough, careless touch.

The agony seems to stretch into eternity.

Feyd-Rautha’s lips skate across your bruised cheek.

“Do not fret, pet. I shall aim not to break you just yet,” he teases, sinister promises lurking in his lewd inflection. “Not when our fun has just begun.”

A single wayward tear traces a slow path down your cheek.

He greedily licks it, purring at the taste of your misery.

You feel him strain against you as he nears his peak, his thrusts getting slower and deeper. He comes with a deep roar.

The na-Baron spills his seed inside you. Your eyes shut. Power flows inside your womb as you conjure the right outcome.

A girl they desired. A girl they shall have. As you writhe beneath Feyd-Rautha, forced to bear his rough, bruising touch, you wish your daughter fierce and strong.

Strong enough to pluck the stars from the heavens. Strong enough to unweave the tangled threads of time.

Strong enough to twist the arm of fate itself if she wills it.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #feyd-rautha #dune fanfiction #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune part 2 #dune #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #dark fic

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skycowboys · 29 days

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Pegasus Masterpost

Here's a little guide to the main classes of pegasi in the Sky Cowboys world!

Sky Cowboys pegasi generally follow these "rules" -

They have beaks - most are similar to raptor or seabird beaks. Used for opening nuts and snapping up small prey. They do still graze on long-stalk grasses.

Coat colors stay within the equine range, but feathers can be any color.

They have horse-like brains and so are trainable similarly to horses.

They cannot speak like some birds can.

The standard flight range per day is 150 miles. It's called a "hop".

Broadwing Pegasi

These are the main workhorses of the world. They're hardy, agile, and tend to have solid temperaments. Most pilots fly these for all sorts of jobs and have been bred into many unique breeds.

Quick visual - Quarter horses or mustangs with eagle or kite wings.

Longwing Pegasi

Longwings have as much attitude as they do wing surface, but they make up for it with sheer endurance. These pegasi can stay aloft for weeks, diving into the sea for fish or ocean plants to eat.

Quick visual - Thoroughbreds or arabians with seabird wings.

Shortwing Pegasi

Calm and huggable, shortwings are the draft horses of the Sky Cowboys world. These are flightless pegasi (since their wings are so small), but are still very useful on the ground like for all sorts of things from riding to pulling wagons to working in farm fields.

Shortwings tend to have colorful/fancy plumage.

Quick visual - Percherons or clydesdales with songbird wings.

Scrapwings

These little guys are feral - no one has really domesticated them. Partly because they're difficult to work with and partially because no one really sees a point. They're all-around too small to be useful and tend to just get into stuff. At least they're cute!

Quick visual - Zebra/quagga or donkey with dodo wings.

And there you have it! What would your SC pegasus look like?

If you want to learn more about my pegasi, I have an art/lore book on Kickstarter! Also there's lots here on my blog, it's just not as organized :)

Discord | Patreon

#masterpost #broadwing #longwing #shortwing #scrapwing #pegasus #sky cowboys #art #longpost #worldbuilding #lore #drawing #creature design

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wyvernest · 9 months

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feast on me

pairing: dom!miguel o'hara x f!reader

warnings: smut, foodplay, grinding, marking, possessive miguel, objectification,

summary: you and miguel try something new, and he gets lost in the raw lust of enjoying every inch of your body

You are sprawled out on his king size bed, waiting. Your heart is drumming in your chest, eyes never leaving his.

"I've been dreaming about this." He rasps, looking down at your form, gaze piercing and imposing. Your attention flows down his perfectly sculpted abdomen, down to the boxers that do very little concealing to his erection.

Leaning down, hovering over you, he makes you feel small, submitted. You let a near animalistic feeling rush through your veins, that he owns you entirely, that your only purpose is to obey him and do his bidding. And the best part about it, it makes your panties soak and mind fuzzy with lust, the way he has you on your knees with just one look.

Gripping both your wrists with one hand, he releases a strong web string, restraining them to the bed frame. Climbing on the bed, his weight and height alone reminding you of the strength and stamina you're about to try to endure, he traps your thighs in between his, the pressure between your legs increasing.

His nostrils flare momentarily, pupils dilated. Your breathing is already laboured in anticipation. He bends down, straying from the plan, just to sense how aroused you are. Your scent floods his lucidity, his cock visibly twitching under the flimsy fabric.

"Miguel.. get on with it already. Stop teasing."

"Let me enjoy it, mi vida." His tone is dripping with need and desperation, held back only by his desire to be the one in charge. "You smell so good when you're so ready for me."

You feel burning heat rise to your face. "Ah, Miguel," the rest of the plea dissolves into a moaned sigh.

"Estás bien rica, mami", he licks and bites at the dip of your waist, puffing hot breaths over the soft skin. "Make me hard with just one look."

You begin squirming, wanting to feel more. Wanting him to stick to the idea he had.

With a groan, he reaches for the bedside table, taking the syrup. Your eyes widen, as if you haven't discussed it already. He removes the cap with evident impatience before he starts pouring it over your chest and waist in calculated motions. You flinch as the liquid drips down your naked body, avoiding his lustful gaze.

When he deems it sufficient, he gets rid of the bottle and stares down at you in awe, a starved man with a five course meal right in front of him.

His eyelids hang low over his wide blown pupils, showcasing not a single thought beyond wanting to get his mouth on you and dick between your soaked folds. With his arms now bracketing your torso, he gets to work.

You feel like a piece of meat, the prey he's devouring so hungrily, nothing to stop or bother him. You moan his name as his warm breath falls heavily over your flushed skin, indecisive about the place he should start.

And he goes for your neck.

The scent of him, cologne and his distinctive musk invade you like pheromones, drowning out the sweet essence of the syrup. He groans against the crook of your neck, and you give a futile attempt to free your legs from his hold and rub your cunt on his hard cock. He licks the liquid clean from your skin, paying close attention to the sensitive spots he has learned so well. You instinctively tilt your head to the side, your body silently begging him not to stop without your mind even present. One of his hands travels down your side, kneading the soft flesh of your breast, careful not to smudge the cream.

"Let me.." You whine, pushing into him, feeling the considerable weight of his fat cock laying on your lower belly as he leans down further over you. He can't help but chase the friction, either.

He raises to your face in response, swallowing your empty begging. You taste the aroma of the syrup on your tongue, eager to prolong the kiss. But before you can deepen the connection, he departs, leaving you even more riled up and utterly frustrated.

"You're so pretty when you're needy." He teases right into your ear, before resuming the licks and bites down your neck. He has to actively stop himself from sinking his teeth in your skin, the feeling of your smooth and soft skin, the heat of your need, are clouding his judgement.

He reaches your collarbones, his hot tongue lapping up the liquid, always followed by open-mouthed pecks and small bites. You arch your back into his touch, needing his mouth just a couple inches lower. He continues to lick your skin clean, slowly and mindlessly grinding his erection into you.

You feel used, strictly for his pleasure. You're nothing but a fuck toy, unable to voice your own frustrations, forced to take whatever he'll give you.

You try to move your hips against him, but his thighs tense impossibly tighter around you, and you think you're going to die right then and there.

"Mira qué tetas tan bonitas", He rasps before taking one nipple in his mouth, sucking lightly. You whimper and push your chest closer to his face.

He extends his tongue to press it flat over the tender flesh of your breast, indulging in the feeling of your skin, heated up underneath his touch. He kisses hard over the expanse of your chest, almost hurriedly.

Your brain is fried with the wet sounds reverberating in your ears, combined with the unabashed groans of the man on top of you.

Your chest is covered in his spit; marked up in various spots by reddening patches, the traces of his need to make you his. You smell like him, and you really are, utterly and completely, his.

He licks up a long stipe of syrup through the valley between your breasts and looks up to you, before taking both of them in his hands, groping and fondling, playing with the soft flesh as he continues his kisses down your navel, to the line of your waist.

Your eyes roll back as you let out a deep breath you didn't realise you were holding on to, feeling the girth of his rock hard cock rub in on your lower belly. He's unconsciously rocking his hips back and forth, a barely there movement, slow enough not to drive him towards release but harsh enough to make you squirm harder underneath him.

"Así estás muy guapa" he whispers in between rushed licks and kisses across your chest, when he parts his mouth from your soft skin, before diving right back in as if you'll disappear. Exhales laboured, words breathy and deep, he confesses;

"Me pones tan cachondo.", his nostrils flare as he takes your syrup coated breast in his mouth, one hand gripping your waist, the other drifting down. "I wanna be inside you."

"Please - I've been - ah", he returns to your neck unexpectedly, after having finally licked you clean. "I've been trying to tell you -"

He ends the protest with a hungry kiss, messy and sloppy. His tongue is in your mouth quickly enough, taking you by surprise while his hand works his boxers down his thighs. By now, his cock is twitching in need, precum running down the shaft.

He shuffles away from you in order to give you enough space to curl your sore legs around his waist, before you feel a broad hand splayed out on your back.

You can barely register his intentions as he flips you both, placing you on his lap and presenting you with his raging erection, propped on your stomach.

You automatically place your hands on his firm chest, feeling up his pecs. He leans forward, kissing below your ear.

"Ride me."

translations:

Estás bien rica - You're really hot

Mira qué tetas tan bonitas - Look what pretty tits

Así estás muy guapa - You're so beautiful like this

Me pones tan cachondo - You make me so horny

a/n: as always, correct my spanish if you notice any mistakes<3

edit: yes i re-uploaded cause apparently i got shadowbanned and i hope it's fixed now

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara x reader one shot #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #across the spiderverse

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bbykento · 9 months

Text

LOSING A BET - Sub! Gojo x Dom! M. reader

wc. 1.2k, not proofread

contents! mlm, male reader, public nudity, exhibitionism, edging, male orgasm, dirty talk, sort of praising, tummy bulging, lil bit of food play, no preps for his ass.

He was doomed for… he lost the bet.

What bet did he lose to? Well let’s start from the top…

“Since you’re sooo confident that you can last long without me, let’s make a bet. Or are you too much of a pussy hm?” You say, a grin forms on your face.

“What is there that I can’t do?” He says cockily

“I’m sure this will challenge you.. one week without masturbating or any sort of sexual pleasure, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“What’s the catch?”

“If you lose, we’ll go on a date… while you’re butt-naked. Deal?”

“Is that one of your kinks?” he laughed.

“Maybe… Well?” you waited for his answer…

He contemplated, but then agreed later on. what could go wrong, right?

Fuck. this went so bad. he thought he could do it, his ego has gotten the best of him. It’s only been a day and he was already rock hard.

It’s even more painful when he didn’t have the time nor the privacy to release himself from all that tension. But not wanting to give in, he decided to endure the pain and embarrassment until the end of the bet…

Things get worse for him, after one 5 days, he couldn’t take it anymore. this. is. torture. he started to feel urges, emotions, everything… things he’s never felt before..

Just when he managed to survive the 6th day, he lost it. You wouldn’t know if he’s masturbating right? You’re away you wouldn’t know.. would you?

But when you come home early, you find him panting on the bed and an ‘eager puppy dog look’ on his face. A naked little puppy who wants nothing more than a master to fuck him…

“Finally given up?~” You say with a smirk.

He looks up to you, whimpering and nodding his head. “I know I’ve lost the bet but p-please, can’t take it a-anymore~” he whines.

You smiled at him as you approach him slowly. Like a predator hunting it’s prey. He blushes as he wraps his arms around you.

The anticipation makes him moan louder, not caring about anyone else hearing them… just as long as he gets what he wants.

His hips slowly grind on yours, massaging your cock against the cloth with each movement. “You know the consequences right?” he nods just wanting to be fucked already.

Today was the day of your date after gojo had officialy lost the bet..

As a result, gojo was fully butt-naked in the park. to his luck, there weren’t many people. you guys settled for a picnic on the grass, everything was settled.

“How do you like it being butt-naked outside?” you whisper in his ears, sending shivers to his body. “Do you like the idea of getting caught naked?” you began to tease his hard nipples.

Gojo's heart began to race as he felt the softness of your lips on his body. he had been waiting for this moment for days, ever since the bet. he had lost and now he had to face the consequences, but being with you was worth it.

He could feel your hand exploring his body, sending waves of pleasure through him. he was feeling more aroused with every second that passed. you were pushing him to the limits of his own pleasure.

“Do you like being exposed like this?” you asked him, while your hands were still exploring his body. gojo couldn't find the words to answer. he closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of your hands on him. he could feel the wind against his skin. Your hands moved down and started exploring his ass. he couldn't help but moan out loud. It felt like his body was ready to explode. you were pushing him to the edge and he was loving it. you moved your hands even further down and started to massage his inner thigh. Gojo couldn't take it any longer. he grabbed your hand and pulled you closer. you grabbed the honey jar and spilled some on him as you licked on it seductively.

“All fours baby.” he obeys as you slap the fats of his ass, while his back arches for more of your touches.

You spread his cheeks to see his cute, tight little asshole. he could feel the cold air, hardening his cock and nipples. you lube your cock before you enter in him slowly, teasing his ass with only your tip. you grunt, seeing the head of your cock disappearing bit by bit. you slowly move in and out, not fully inserting it.

“N-name, ahn~ M-more fuuck~” he was breathing heavily. “Please?~ Ah!-“ he was cut off by the sudden thrust.

Holy shit. It was tight and warm, you could feel him clamp down on you. not wanting you to get out. you slowly roll your hips in and out and slap his ass watching it jiggle.

“Feel so good.. mm~” you turn his head sideways to give him a messy kiss. every thrust made his eyes roll to the back of his head. fuck did it feel so good.

“H-harder!~ mm.. ngh!~”

His mind was clouded by nothing else but the feeling of your cock inside of him. your tip hits his prostrate for the hundredth time, making him arch his back and clench down.

“Fuuck-“ you grunt. he was like a cat in heat. wanting to get you deeper than you already were. with every thrust you make, you push it in even deeper. your balls slap against him making a loud sound.

“How do you like it getting fucked in public? You want them to watch me fuck your brains out?” you went even deeper. he could feel it in his fucking stomach. his legs were shaking, he was gonna collapse at any moment. your cock makes an evident bulge in his stomach when you thrust.

Your grip on his love handles were surely gonna leave a bruise. you bite down hard on his neck

“G-gonna cum~ ha..ah!” he managed to mutter. you continue on with the same pace while teasing his tip with your thumb, moving your hand up and down while fucking him.

“fuu… ‘m close baby just wait~ clench down harder could you?” as he clenches even more, your cock throbs. the pressure was building up, the lube made it so slippery and warm.

You push in really deep before finally come undone inside him, thick ropes of cum filling him up. your cock gets harder and it feels even tighter inside him as you feel it pulse.

Gojo came with you, some of his cum landing on your hand, some on the food, and the picnic mat. He pants heavily, oh was he tired. But you weren’t done yet, no where near done.

You pull out, receiving a whine from him before you immediately turn him around and thrust back into him within seconds.

“You tired baby?~ we’re not done yet.” you pull out slowly, and slammed it inside again. you lean in for a kiss, sucking his tongue and exploring all of him. no part of him was left untouched.

fuck was it so hot inside of him, your dick was sensitive but it was pleasurable. he was milking your dick so hard. his legs lock you in and pull you even closer.

The food being no longer remembered as you continued to fuck..

Note: Hello, I hope you enjoyed! This is my first request, I’ve been trying to improve my writing style. Please feel free to give suggestions thank you 🫶

©bbykento. please don’t copy, translate, repost my works. reblogs/likes are appreciated!

#x reader #reader insert #male reader #gojo x male reader #dom reader #sub gojo #gojo satoru x male reader

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peachesofteal · 7 months

Text

Happy Hunting

Simon Riley masterlist

Simon Riley/female reader 4.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Consensual non consent. Explicit sex, creampie. Predator/prey, hunter/hunted. Use of restraints, a gag. Blood, violence. Dirty talk, size kink, praise kink. Feelings of fear, anxiety. Horror-ish. Horror media references/influenced. Tags are for your health, not mine. “Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good. It is about endurance." - Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

It was the porch light, that cost you everything.

The porch light that flickered through the brush with strokes of silver moonlight, the porch light that cast a wan, yellowed haze out from its warped wooden and stone host. The porch light, that shone like a lighthouse, calling you home, calling you to safety, security. To sanctuary.

You spotted it from a distance the first day, once you had already changed course that morning, tromping across a stream and shimmying through a nasty spool of barbed wire. You hunkered down next to an outcropping of rock, peering through the morning fog, searching for your hunter, watching for the tell tale signs of his presence, a wide path cut through the forest by his broad body, punctuated by trampled underbrush, damaged petals and leaves. The house stood on the hill in the distance, rising just above the tree line, the shimmer of the little yellow light drawing you in, making you curious, filling you with an urge to look closer, as the hair on the back of your neck rose in warning.

The rocks were a perfect natural shelter, a good place to take a nap, if you wanted, if you could. It would be easy to bed down in the soft dead-fall of the leaves, sink into the earth, into the heavy mist that had lingered past dawn, but you couldn’t risk closing your eyes. Not even for a second. Not when you knew he was so close, when you could hear his breath, feel the pads of his fingers on your skin, reaching, stretching, desperate to snatch you away forever. If you held your body still, you swore you could feel the vibration of his feet in the forest, rustling against the brush, covertly honing in on your location, stalking closer and closer to his target. His victory.

Even if you never saw him, you knew he was out there, watching patiently. Waiting for you to make a mistake, for you to miscalculate.

You told yourself the house was not an option. Even when you got a good look at it on that first day, something about it stuck low in your belly, an off feeling, a warning. You opted to circumvent the entire thing, giving the long overgrown driveway, endlessly black windows and snarled thicket that grew thick at its foundation a wide berth.

Old stone mansions left abandoned, remnants of old families, old money left to rot, were not unheard of in this area. You had spent your youth crawling around in them and knew them well, knew their warning signs, understood what it felt like when they might give way on you. You knew how to unlock their secrets, knew how to read the gothic stories that had settled into the crumbling, peeling wallpaper. They spoke their own languages, histories spiraling out from their nooks and crannies, trauma and laughter etched into the joists and support beams, sagging with the weight of their own age. They could be easy to read, easy to listen to, if you knew which doors to pry open, and which to leave locked shut.

Still, it was too convenient. Too much of a risk. Too much confinement. There was a zero chance of you besting him in a physical fight, and you had to depend on your speed for survival, your aptitude, your skill to ensure your success. Pigeonholing yourself in a mansion with god knows what inside did not allow you to excel at the things you were good at.

You felt confident in your decision to avoid the house. You felt good about it.

The storm rolled in with tenacity. The rain was frigid, wind howling through to your bones, chilling the blood that pumped in your heart. It's strength pulled at your resolved, ready to tear you to pieces, to force you to your knees. It pushed you off course, away from the rushing water of the creek, and up the hill of water soaked leaves.

You lost your bearings for a moment, and that’s all it took for you to slip up, all that was needed for you to catch the sight of his grim shadow from the corner of your eye, the crack of a branch breaking beneath his boot shattering across your brain like a gunshot.

You tore through the woods, gait bogged down by the water logged earth, by the thick of the mud, chased by the sound of his voice, calling for you through the forest over the raging fury of the storm.

"Happy hunting, little dove."

You narrowly escaped, but the skull mask watched. He waited. He tracked.

He hunted.

It’s too dark.

Too dark to see anything, too dark to see your hands that are spread out in front of your body, hands that desperately try to act as your eyes, feeling, touching, scraping across surfaces to keep you from bumping into things. Doors. Walls. Whatever could be lying in wait here.

The weight of your wet clothing irks you. It hangs heavily on your body, and you wish you had chosen better layers, shivers working up and down your spine, goosebumps rising against the soaked chill of your shirt. It could be pneumonia that gets you in the end, if he doesn't catch you first, you muse bitterly, wringing yourself out as well as you can, water droplets pattering against what you believe sounds like a wooden floor.

The lack of light is unnerving. You'd expected it, knew the chances of there being anything working in here slim, but you still hoped that maybe the lone flickering porch light meant there was something still left inside these old bones, a spark, a connection feeding a light switch or a lamp somewhere. The dark of the house is endless, and your mind works quickly to imagine the worst case scenarios, the potential that this tenebrous pitch may drag you below forever settling heavily in the back of your mind. It's deep, the darkness of the house, like you could fall into it and drown, never resurfacing, never to see the sun again. You move slowly, hands in front of your face, body and feet making contact with as much of the wall as you can, trying to paint a picture with touch. The dark, combined with the new and unfamiliar territory, is enough to unsettle your usual steady demeanor.

The combination is a lethal one. It’s one that leaves you hesitant. Unsure. It’s one that keeps you off balance, spine ram rod straight, nerves alight with fear.

It wasn’t so bad, in the woods. The silver glow of the moon illuminated the lay of the forest, sprawling swaths of brush and low growing thistle, tall trunks that stretched to the sky, stout shrubs with thorns that scratched at your clothes. That was easier, than this.

Easier than this maze called a house. Easier than these hallways that morphed into a labyrinth that stretched for miles and miles, twisting together into a Fibonacci sequence of pitch-dark terror.

No. You swallow. You’re not afraid. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine. You're going to win.

But even as you repeat it to yourself, even as you coach your reserve, you can hear his voice. Can hear the grit and gravel of the Manchester accent, can smell his skin against yours, lips rough on your mouth before your cheeks were pinched between a thumb and forefinger.

“Want to play a game?”

You work forward in a half crouch, staying pressed to the wall, form as tight as you can manage, unobtrusive. Your hand stays projected in front of your body, the other along the wall, waiting to feel an angle, an edge, a door, a window… anything.

You shouldn’t have come in here. You walked right into a trap, you're sure of it now, fairly positive after feeling the way the corridor twists and turns away from the front. Walked right into a confined space and now you’re lost, stuck, like a fly in a web. Waiting to be devoured. Waiting for your end to be delivered by a spider who lurks just out of sight.

But you did it for a reason, didn’t you?

You’re so, so close to the finish line. So close you can taste it, the trepidation beading into sweat that drips down your back, cold and unwelcome against the damp of your shirt. It’s already been two days. The morning of the third day is just on the horizon, sun due to come up, you think, within a few hours. Your mouth salivates at the thought of it, the idea of sinking your teeth into sweet, sweet victory. Of winning. Of beating him.

You take a moment to stop and reassess, swiping your palms along the wall and floor, working on controlling your breathing. It’s becoming jagged, anxiety spilling out through your lungs with each step you take, fear moving through you like ice freezing in your veins, creeks and streams being lost to the winter’s chill, a disease slowly spreading towards your heart.

You use it to focus. You cannot see, but that doesn’t mean you've lost, and it doesn't make you weak. It makes all your senses stronger, your hearing, your ability to smell, your translation of touch into sight. The wall turns here, the floor dips there, does that feel like a ledge? You crawl in your crouch, lips sealed tight against soft whimpers that threaten to expose you over the little pieces of wood that get lodged in your palms.

Splinters. Unfinished lumber.

It confirms your theory. The mansion itself is old, stuck up on this plot land, nestled in the thick of the forest, abandoned, nearly completely forgotten about by all… save for one. One, who’s been building inside of it, one who’s been creating in its guts. Hollowing it out and remaking it into something new, a hellscape of hallways, a complicated vision executed by someone who’s running from the same demons, the same nightmares that you are.

Your heart sinks past your stomach, down into your knees. Continuing to run this rat race is foolish. He built it. He knows it. He pushed you here, urged you over the hill, across the stream, beneath the barbed wire. He dictated your path, forcing you into the light of the porch, herding you closer and closer because he knew. He knew you wouldn't be able to resist it, in the end. He knew you.

Find a different part of the house. Escape. Hide, until sunrise.

You keep going, carefully, creeping along the walls, navigating lefts and rights and forks in the labyrinth until your fingers tap silently across an empty door frame, nothing on the other side except the continuous black void of darkness.

Your feet slide forward, boots sliding until the floor disappears. A drop off? There’s more, a flush piece, a curved groove.

Stairs.

You blink, even though it will do you no good, it won’t clear your vision or make the lights in this decrepit place suddenly flicker on. Your hands are your sight, and you run your fingers along the curve of the top step, until you feel the next, and the next.

You take them half on your belly, half on your knees. It’s slow, achingly so, and puts you in a vulnerable position, but the fall, if there were to be one, would be much, much worse if you risked attempting them fully standing. It takes forever to get to the bottom, and you feel a small tug of relief when your palms rub across a cold concrete floor.

There’s a noise. It’s a banging, of sorts. Like a door swinging, and you jolt, reaction fueled by adrenaline, barreling forward into the dark, slamming into the wall with your hip. It stings, the slap of concrete zinging across your skin and you hiss instinctively, before clapping a hand over your face to muffle the sound.

You curse yourself. That was too loud.

A floorboard creaks above your head. The acid in your stomach rises.

You hold yourself as still as you can, palm still pressed over your mouth, body bent low. You keep contact with the wall as much as possible, shoulder, thigh, part of your back. Stay low. Stay small. It’s an advantage you have, your size versus his. Even if you aren’t particularly petite, you’re nimble, graceful and quick. Something you’ve been using for the past two days to stay one step ahead, something you used earlier to orchestrate your narrow escape in the woods. You use it now, to find a corner, a little nook of rough cement, and squeeze your body inside.

Heavy feet take the stairs slowly, step by step until you see the bright white beam of a flashlight sweeping across the floor methodically, back and forth, back and forth. It moves across the room, around the stairs, opposite of the corner you think you’ve tucked yourself into.

Just hold your breath. Stay quiet. You can still win. You can still make it.

The flashlight flicks off with a dramatic click. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip so hard it draws blood.

Maybe he didn’t see you. Maybe he doesn’t know you’re even here.

Seconds drag into minutes, and you think you hear heavy footfalls upstairs. Or possibly on the stairs. You can’t be too sure. It’s too dark, and the pitch is disorientating. It’s hard to tell right side up, up from down.

This could be heaven. It could be hell.

You stay burrowed in that corner against the cinderblock for what you believe must be at least fifteen minutes, if not longer. Your body aches from being pushed in on itself, and you blink in the dark, breathing slower than a corpse, listening. Waiting.

Your boot slides across the concrete. Seeking. Touching… bumping into solid mass. You realize it a second too late. Time freezes, and you with it, heart encased in ice. Your eyes slam shut, and a whimper builds in the back of your throat.

A hand wraps around your ankle, and you screech, curling forward with your fingers bent like talons, flying towards what you hope is his face, desperate to sink your nails into his skin and tear, rip him open so you can get away. He grabs your arm, stabilizing your contact, the strength in his grip that of more than two men, at least, and drags you across the floor, iron bar of his ulna holding you still and steady.

A piece of metal scratches against wood. A flick, a flicker, and then-

A wash of orange-yellow light. You’ve been in the dark for hours at this point, and your sight struggles to refract, pulling back behind half shut lids even though the light itself is not that bright.

You tilt your head back and look up.

String lights. He’s hung string lights up down here, little bulbs on black wire stapled to the rafters like you’re in some romantic comedy. Like there should be a two top table here with a pile of spaghetti and meatballs, carafe of wine and checkered tablecloth.

“Hung these just for you, dove. Knew you’d like ‘em.” His breath is burning hot against your face, and you twist, swinging your entire skull into his chest and trying to dig your heels into the ground for leverage. You catch a glimpse of his face, maskless, the twice-healed broken nose, cheek scar and sharp edged jaw unmistakable, even with your fogged vision.

“Get OFF me you FUCKING FREAK, I-“ His thigh presses against your knee and then you’re swooping, thrown off balance in a second thought with a scream, free hand ripping across into his hair and yanking with everything you have.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t flinch, wrestling you to the ground with ease. You don’t have much fight left in you, after two days of hiding, running, trying to be smarter, be faster, and you’re spent on all ends, this last little spat the end of everything you had. He knows it.

Still, when he fish hooks his thumb into between your lips, you bite down with all your might, sinking your incisors into his skin in hopes of drawing blood.

He laughs, and your mouth fills with the mineral-metallic liquid, his thumb swirling inside your teeth and across your gums.

You know you’re well and truly fucked.

The knife makes quick work of your shirt. Your tac pants, the good pair, go next, along with your boots. He lurks above for you a long moment before he cuts your bra away, your nipples tightening in reaction to the temperature, to everything that’s happening in this moment, in this basement.

“Gave me the slip in the woods earlier, little dove. Very clever.” He praises you, bending your arms behind your back and then working a rope around your wrists, knotting it securely, but not too tight. “Almost made it. Think you might’ve, if you hadn’t come in ‘ere.” Your underwear rips away without pretense, without hesitation and you swallow, mouth gaping wide, teeth trying to cut over the gag. “But I know why you did. I know you wanted to get caught.” You shake your heard furiously, and he clucks his tongue in mock sympathy, soothing a warm hand up and down the outside of your thigh. “Come on dove, let me see.” He pries your legs apart, baring you wide, where you drip for him, slick with arousal, with heat. He hums something to himself; two blunt fingers stroking down your seam and then back up around your swollen clit. You buzz with his touch, muscles reacting on their own, spine curving just a little, hips twitching. He stays there, on his knees between your thighs, an immovable force, keeping you from closing up around him or blocking his touch, and his thumb rubs your clit in a circle. “What a good girl. Gettin’ all wet for me.” You shake your head, and he tips his head back and laughs. “Don’t lie. Pretty little cunt here loved bein’ hunted, eh? Look at how soaked she is. Practically dripping.” He presses a finger inside, the depth of his reach enough to punch your lungs out, body seizing up around him as he strokes upwards, thumb slicking across your clit until you're writing underneath him. You’re going to cum, you’re going to cum on this dirty fucking floor like a- “Ah, ah. You know the rules.” He rasps next to your ear. “What do you need to do?”

“Nnrgh!” you spit through the cloth, and he sighs long and loud, like he’s emptying himself of all his breath with exasperation, fingers smearing your own fluids over your face as he pulls it free. “Please.” You gasp. It’s barely a plea, something more venomous, more spiteful, but it’s enough for him, and he nods, placing the fabric back into your mouth with a pop of his wrist. You don’t want to, you don’t want to give in, let him win, let him have this, make it so easy but he's playing your body so well, expertly, making you sing for him from behind the gag, and you cannot stop the tidal wave that swims over you, your orgasm breaking you apart, smug grin scrawled across his face with pleasure.

When he takes his cock out, dragging his briefs and pants beneath his hips, all while keeping a single hand pressed to your belly, your eyes widen. He’s huge, thick with a fat red tip, dribbles of pre cum leaking above where he’s got you splayed open. He’s going to tear your apart.

“You put up such a good fight, dove. Made me wait so long, hid so well.” The heat of his cock sears against your thigh, and you grunt, brows furrowed, mouth dry behind the gag. Your tongue pushes against it helplessly, fingers fisted tight in the binding beneath your lower back. It’s not particularly comfortable, but the position bares your breasts to him, and keeps you off balance enough that he can manipulate you as he sees fit. “But you still lost.” The gleam in his eye is wild, wicked enough to make your toes curl, hair on the back of your neck standing straight up. Is this a man? Or a monster? Or both?

He presses inside and you see stars, you see the whites of your own eyes, see the currents of electricity in the air. It hurts, a gnawing bite that spreads to your cervix, magma spilling forward and scorching along your walls. He doesn’t slow either, doesn’t stop, just thrusts all the way through, deeper and deeper, splitting you open on his cock just how he likes.

“Ffuumph-“ You moan, and a plate sized palm pats your face soothingly, your knees pinned back towards your ears, his chest against yours. He knows it hurts. Knows it stings, his hips stuttering with his strokes, tongue hot against your neck, mopping up the tears that leak from the corner of your eyes.

“I know, I know. Be good." He licks your cheek before taking it between his teeth, and you keen, clenching around him the heat of his cock without a thought. It’s wild, and violent, like you’re being ripped open raw, torn apart by the weight of the end of it all, the consequences of your loss, of getting caught. “Is this is what you needed? What you begged me for-“ You sputter a refusal, a wail of nonsense but there’s no denial of your body’s reaction, the way you tighten around him, the way your body goes gooey for him, cunt glossy with it.

He thumbs your clit, and you moan, half agonized, half delirious, stuffed full, neurons firing across your brain, cunt spasming in time with his thrusts. "So proud of you. Did so good, dove." Your back arches involuntarily, legs trying to snap closed, burn in your belly growing and growing to a precipice, a reckless edge that you know you’re going to be thrown over in a matter of seconds. He reads it, reads you, and plucks the gag free, swooping low to replace it with his mouth, holding your jaw steady, the kiss long and lingering. He gives you more and more, spearing you with his cock, dragging in and out of your pulsing cunt, cooing in your ear over the sound of your moans. "That's it, that's my girl. There you go, come- come on." Your muscles tense and you explode with an orgasm, body melting with a shudder. You turn to liquid, practically putty, all soft and malleable in his arms and he fucks you deep, frantically, chasing after his own release, dragging his nose into your hair with a groan of something unintelligible. You're still clenching around him, wired tight, little explosions of fireworks reverberating through your cunt as he takes his victory, notching himself to the very depth of your body and flooding you with come.

“Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist it. The house.” His arms cradle your limp body, nose skimming up your jaw.

“It was a nice touch.” The words come out as a yawn, stretched out and spent, like your body. Like your mind. Just how you like it.

“You lost, dove.” He murmurs and you nod pathetically. “Want to try again?” He works his touch in the wet mess between your legs, flicking through his own come, your slick and you mewl in his palm.

“Yes."

“I think I should get more of a head start this time.” Simon raises an eyebrow, a shadow of greed, of hunger arcing across his irises before his arm is curling around your back and pulling you into his chest.

“Don’t I usually give you enough of a head start, love?”

“You do, but… Si. Come on. It’s hardly fair.”

“You’re faster than me.” Lips press tenderly against your temple. “Beat me every time in a foot race. Besides, I have something… for you. A gift.” Your head spins when you think about that word, gift. It frightens you. It electrifies you.

“I know but… I want to build it up a little more.” Still, you have to protest a little. You want a longer chase. Need it. Crave it.

“Alright.” He concedes, head tilting to the side, eyes half lidded. “And the prep-“

“Not too much.” You tip back your glass of wine, drop of red leaking from the corner of your lips, tannins blooming across your tongue as he laps it up. “I want it to hurt.” You murmur it into his mouth, rolling the rich liquid from behind your teeth until he’s working you open and it spills forward, drowning the two of you in red cherry and oak until you’re falling to the floor, and he’s kissing your breastbone with a whisper.

“Okay, dove. Not too much.”

#tw dark and twisty #tw dark themes #peaches writes #dove x simon #I really like these two #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost #cod x reader #mw2 #ghost cod

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Text

Hungry Like the Wolf - Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: Remus is gifted an alternative potion to Wolfsbane near the full moon, meant to convert the magic of his transformation into energy. But the run you expect him to go on to burn some of the energy off isn't as much of a jog as it is a chase, and you're the one he's after. // sorry mom for writing smut to a song from a band you like.. god willing you never find this 🫡

Contents/Warnings: smut (minors dni), p in v, p in v from the back, oral sex (f receiving), bondage, predator/prey dynamics (everything is consensual), overstimulation, lots of wolf metaphors and language, remus is not in his wolf form, he is human

WC: 5.8K / navigation

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

James is incredibly skilled at potions. You’ve known this since first year, since he rivaled Severus himself, and he only got better with age and lessons. Now he’s a master, but he’s set aside his talents to take care of his wife and son. Honorable, of course, but it makes you wonder what he could be if he tried his hand again at the cauldron.

He’d given you a taste of his skill last night, presenting Remus with a little bottle of purplish ooze at your weekly dinner.

“‘S an alternative to wolfsbane,” He’d explained, a hand sheepishly clinging to the back of his neck and scratching at his chocolate curls there, “It’s supposed to channel all of the transformative magic into energy. So you’ll stay human, but you’ll be, like, bouncing off the walls.”

Wolfsbane is appreciated, but seriously lacking as a solution. Remus still has to endure the cracking of his bones, the tearing of his skin, the self-destruction every month, so for James to cook up a remedy that made Remus almost normal, well… your big bad boyfriend had shed a tear or two.

“Okay,” You exhale, a loud sigh in the silence of the shack you chain Remus up in every full moon, “Give it a test, Rem.”

He strains his wrists, veins popping under his tan, scarred skin. Nothing there. Then his ankles, he flexes his calves and tugs hard at the restraints, but nothing gives.

“Perfect.” You wish you could grin at the satisfactory results, but chaining your boyfriend up for reasons other then sex is nothing you’re too happy about.

“If the potion doesn’t work,” Remus rasps, voice gruff from the heavy light of the moon outside, “You should be safe with me chained. And if it does work, you can let me go. ‘Spose I’ll just go for a run or something, Prongs said it would make me hyper.”

“Alright,” You nod, leaning in to kiss his soft, smooth temple. He leans into the affection with a strained smile, eyes on the purple bottle in your hands.

“Bottoms up,” You grin warily, raising the narrow-necked flask to Remus’s lips. As soon as he purses his lips around the mouth you tip the vial down his throat, purple ooze gone in a flash. It doesn’t taste good, if the immediate grimace that scrunches Remus’s nose and purses his lips is any evidence to go by.

“Christ,” The man dry heaves, and you smear a dollop of the substance away from the corner of his mouth, “Oh, god, I think Prongs shit in that bottle and charmed it purple.”

“Oh,” You recoil at the thought, smearing the ooze off of your skin with Remus’s discarded shirt, “Well that’s lovely. How long to transformation?”

“If this doesn’t work,” Remus pants, scar-littered chest heaving, “A few minutes. Go on, dove, wait outside. If you hear howling, go back home and come get me in the morning.”

“Okay,” You reluctantly rise, brushing your knees off from where they’d been slowly sinking into the soft earth beneath you, “Good luck. Love you, Rem. Be safe, please try not to scratch over that cut on your thigh; it hasn’t healed right.”

“Can’t help it,” Remus groans, head ducking as his stomach begins churning. He’s starting to think that maybe James isn’t as good at potions as you’ve all been thinking, and that he’ll start morphing any second now, He lets out a sharp cry, jaw tightening as he clenches it and squeezes his eyes shut, “Go, dove, now!”

You don’t need to be told twice. You rush for the door of the shack, swinging it shut behind you and praying the worn hinges don’t just snap. You lean your back to the door, waiting, listening as Remus feels either the effects of the potion, or the effects of the moon. Whichever one it is, something is happening to him.

There’s a string of groans, moans, and everything in between, and you’ve never been present for a transformation of his (strict orders from the man himself), but you’re sure that’s what’s happening. You hear the chains rattle as he strains against them, and you’re praying he doesn’t manage to snap them in a burst of wolfish rage.

Then the noise dies down, and eerie silence falls over the forest. You’re still leaned up against the door, and every rustle of the wind through the trees or mouse through the bushes has your stomach flipping in fear.

Apparently though, you shouldn’t be worried about what’s in front of you, more what’s behind you.

The knob your hand is still draped over turns, and you’re ripping yourself away from the door with a terrified gasp. The door swings open behind you, and there Remus stands, human, but- not.

He’s human-sized, human-shaped, but something isn’t right with his eyes. They’re darker than normal, more dilated, and he’s staring hard at you with a tight jaw while his bare chest heaves.

His shoulders are illuminated by the soft, warm light of the shack that’s spilling through the door but his face- his scarred face is shining solely in moonlight. It bathes him, drapes him where clothes don’t, and makes the dark abyss of his eyes shine.

“Remus,” You breathe, an uncertain whisper in the night air.

He doesn’t answer.

His eyes, still pools of darkness, with the slightest rim of his familiar chocolate brown around the edge, rake slowly down your form. You’re only clad in a drafty nightgown, ready to either run back to bed at the sound of a wolf, or wave goodbye to Remus from your window as he jogged away. You hadn’t expected this, whatever it is.

“Remus-” You try again, watching as his eyes gradually reach your face again. Before you can get the last letter out, before you can fully taste his name on your tongue, his eyes snap to yours and narrow infinitesimally.

“Run.”

Your body understands before your brain does, and your leg moves backwards to plant your foot somewhere behind you. But you linger, “What?”

He lunges for you, hands outstretched, “Run,” and you blanche.

A noise comes out of your throat that can’t be categorized as you whirl on your feet. You suppose it’s somewhere between a shriek and a gasp, but it’s warbled as your lungs take in more air than they’re letting out. Despite it all, your chest heaves, and your feet ache as you slap them against the forest floor. Remus isn’t a particularly fast runner, he smokes too much to be able to breathe well, but whatever’s chasing you is more than Remus. You’ve never seen Remus this intense before, you’re not sure he’s even in there. You don’t know what James has concocted, but you’re going to have a long list of notes ready when he asks for a report.

Your skin is on fire, almost like Remus has already caught you. You hadn't bothered to look anywhere but those eyes, and you fear the worst; long, gnarled wolf fangs on his fingertips and razor sharp canines over his tongue. You can hear him inches behind you, he could reach out and snatch you if he tried, but he doesn’t. You realize with a sick sense of despair that he’s chasing you for fun, that you’re his prey and he’s letting you have the illusion of escape. You can’t outrun him, he’ll always be a few steps behind. You hear his breath, and if you concentrate you can feel its ghost on the back of your neck as you sprint through the woods. It’s slower, more even than your erratic gasps, the heave of your chest making you lightheaded.

You don’t know which way you’re running anymore, but there’s nothing for miles. No gas station you can beg for help in, no nearby farm where you can distract Remus with a lone sheep. It’s just trees, trees that you can’t climb before he reaches you.

The crack of his feet against twigs, leaves, and all in between slows slightly, and you know it’s not because he can’t keep up. He doesn’t even sound out of breath, and you’re terrified at the thought that he could outrun you by miles and you wouldn’t stand a chance. Now he’s several steps behind, and tears brim at your eyes, hopeful ones that beg for the possibility that he’s been distracted by some wildlife.

Soon enough, his presence fades away altogether. You don’t dare look back, you’re terrified of seeing the face of the man you love contorted, twisted by the purple potion into something dark and predatory; something hungry.

When you’re absolutely sure he’s not there anymore, and only the sounds of the forest surround you, chirping crickets and wind howling like a chilling reminder of the moon above, you slow down, immediately hunched over your knees to try and catch your breath. There’s no movement but your own, the great rise and fall of your chest and the sagging of your shoulders. You don’t recognize the part of the woods you’ve come to, and you bite back tears as you realize that your best hope is climbing a tree and waiting until morning.

There’s one to your left that looks good for climbing. The branches are low hanging and you could probably pull yourself up enough to have a bird’s eye view of the forest so that you can watch for Remus.

Then there’s the snap of a twig behind you, and your stomach plummets. You whirl around to press your back against the trunk of the tree, eyes wide as they scan the forest in front of you. You see nothing, not a sign of life in sight, so you edge around the tree, chin touching your shoulder as you check your side view. When you’ve scanned your left adequately, and found nothing out of order, you turn your head to the right, and there he is.

He’s standing an inch away from you, dark eyes fully lit by the moon. You scream loud enough to send birds fleeing from their trees, and he lunges for your open mouth. Your panicked shout turns into a warbled cry as he kisses you hard, tongue nearly gagging you as he seems determined to make you swallow it.

His hands have an iron grip on your waist as he looms over you, and you struggle to push and shove at his shoulders for a breath. It’s only when he moves on, leaving his tongue outstretched as he drags it from your mouth to your jaw that you can breathe.

“Remus!” You cry, struggling to escape his grip, ‘No, no- please! Please let me go, I- I don’t know what James made you but please, it’s me! Don’t hurt me, Remus please don’t hurt me, I-”

His hand snakes up your throat to clamp over your mouth. The tears that had beaded in your eyes are flowing down your cheeks now as you shake with a sob, and the clear liquid trickles over his scarred skin.

“Dove,” He murmurs, hot and wet into your neck, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You’re only able to manage a confused whimper from behind his heavy hand, but he licks a stripe along your jaw and bumps the tip of his nose into the bridge of your own.

“Did you think I was going to hurt you?” He asks, breath fanning over your cheek. You nod, still wary, and he coos in sympathy, lips pressing to your skin.

“No, darling.” He promises, and the grip he has on your waist that’s pinning you to the tree seems a lot less sinister now, “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have let you run.” He dips his nose to your neck, takes in a breath, a drag of your scent that flows through his veins like ecstasy if the shuddering exhale he releases over your skin is any evidence.

“No,” He lets out a wry chuckle, mouthing once more at your neck, “I wanted a chase. I’m not going to hurt you, I’m going to eat you, dove. And then I’m going to fuck you. Do you understand?”

He uncovers your mouth so that you can answer him, and you let out a sharp gasp, “Remus, I- What?”

“He said energy,” Remus pants, still licking at your neck like it’s coated in ambrosia. He breaks away with a heavy groan, like it’s a monumental feat to tear himself away from your skin, “James said, it’ll be converted into energy. Well it was.”

He gestures to his torso, and your eyes travel down his scarred chest until they reach- oh god.

Shit, he’s hard. Like, painfully, achingly, astoundingly hard, his cock so erect that it’s curved up towards his belly and already leaking precum. Your mouth falls open and you swear it lines itself with drool, your chest still heaving from the adrenaline of the moment.

“I’m on fire,” Remus pants, head downturned, hands in fists as his side to keep from touching you. The veins in his hands pop and his arms tremble with the force of his grip. You catch a hollow, empty feeling below your belly at the sight.

“I’m- I can’t control it, I need- I need something,” He grunts, snapping his head up so that he can meet your eyes, “If you don’t want this, tell me now.”

“Remus, I- I don’t-”

“Tell me!” He roars, eyes wide as he breathes heavy, “I need to know now, Y/N. Yes or no?”

“Yes!” You nod vigorously, eyes fixated on his twitching, leaking cock, “Yes, Remus, I want this.”

He reaches for the skirt of your nightgown with a swift hand, and in one fluid motion, it’s torn off of you. Your breath hitches in shock as your back suddenly hits the bark of the tree behind you, and Remus bunches your nightgown into a strip of fabric.

“Hands up,” He instructs, and as you’re fumbling to process his words and comply, he repeats it, “Hands up!”

“I am! I am,” You gush, arms shaking as you hold them above your head, “Remus, what are you-?”

“Around the tree,” He instructs, gripping one of your wrists and pulling you to the side with it. You stumble as he manhandles you, but manage to catch yourself in the soft earth below while he puts one of your wrists on either side of the tree branch above you.

He makes quick work of your wrists, tying one end of the nightgown to your right wrist, then slinging it over the tree branch and securing the other end to your free wrist. It means that you’re hanging from the tree by your wrists, your feet just barely still touching the ground.

“Remus,” You whimper, squirming in the cool night air. You feel much too exposed, breasts lit by the moon and panties the only thing stopping you from being completely naked. But when Remus steps back to admire his work, something inside of your stomach begins to coil at his blackened eyes.

He drops to his knees and they hit the ground with a dull thump. The ghostly fire you’d felt from the thought of his touch before was now pleasurable instead of painful. Now you ache for him, a heavy gush of slick already gathering behind the fabric of your panties.

It’s no surprise that Remus zeroes in on the lacy material. He starts mid-thigh, pressing his nose into your flesh like he’s trying to drill a hole there.

“Mm,” He groans, mouth opening to press haphazardly to your skin. He grunts into your flesh, fingers rising to squeeze at your skin.

“Smell so fucking good,” He rasps, his voice gruff from the effort it’s taken him to restrain himself, “God, what- whatever James put into this stuff didn’t stop my senses from heightening. Fuck, it’s like- hnngh,” He licks a fat, wet, hot stripe up your thigh, flicking his tongue into the crease of its base, “‘Never tasted you like this before, dove.”

“Remus,” You whimper, squirming in your restraints, trying to force yourself lower to meet his tongue at your thigh, “Please, please hurry.”

“I- mmf,” Remus’s nose presses against the hood of your clit, lips ghosting over the fabric covering your slit, “Dove, I can smell you, I can smell how wet you are. I can smell it, fuck, dripping, pooling in your cunt. I-” He lunges for the hem of your panties with his teeth, snagging the fabric on his canines and tearing it off of you, “I need to taste you, darling.”

Apparently he’s done savoring you. His teasing touches and slow buildup are nowhere to be seen, now he leads with his tongue and jams it into your cunt with almost no warning. Your thighs jerk at the sudden intrusion, but once you get them back in place you try sinking down ont his face with what little give your restraints give you.

“Oh! Oh, Remus,” You shriek, your exhale laced with a gluttonous moan as Remus’s tongue laps at your slick, “Oh, god, you feel so good.”

“You taste amazing,” He marvels, speaking with his face buried so far in your cunt that you think you feel the words more than you hear them. They crawl up your spine, thrumming through your blood and lodging themselves into your brain, only egging on the pleasure rolling through your core.

Remus’s tongue is eager and rough, his mouth alive as he ravages you from below. You feel the scrape of his teeth against your clit, and the sensation is so jarring that you nearly snap the branch above you from how hard you straight against your restraints. He has no boundaries, no limits, no control as he sucks you dry, tongue running over and over and over again through your folds to lick up any last drop of slick that your cunt is still pouring eagerly. He drags a tongue full of the stuff to your clit, smearing and covering the sensitive bud in your slick. From there, when it’s coated and dripping, he sucks it dry, tongue bobbing against the bundle of nerves so desperately that you squeeze your thighs around his face.

He seems to realize that you’re uncomfortable now, with the way you’re struggling so hard to bring him in impossibly closer. He doesn’t need to think twice before he grabs the backs of your thighs, nails digging into the soft, pillowy flesh of your ass.

He spreads your legs further, wrapping them around his head and throwing them over his shoulders. It means he can attack your cunt from a new angle, nose grinding against your clit as he makes out with your hot, wet pussy.

He’s insatiable, sucking slick out of your cunt that it hasn’t even produced yet. His tongue runs wet and eager over the most sensitive parts of your body, and flicks impossibly far into your hole, squelching obscenely as he tongue-fucks you.

“Fuck,” He growls, the animalistic sound sending a shiver up your spine as he hauls you further against his face, smashing his nose and tongue even further into you. His words are spoken into your cunt and his lips, tongue, and teeth all grate against your folds, the humming vibrations of his voice nearly sending you over the edge.

“Cum,” He snarls, demanding and rough. He fucks his tongue into you relentlessly, nose providing constant stimulation to your clit as it bobs against the nub, “Cum! Cum on my face,” He orders, and you let his words fuel the blaze of pleasure that’s burning hot and wild at your core, “I want to eat your cum, dove, now.”

The last word tapers out into a raspy growl, a gruff edge to his voice that makes it final. You let the coil that’s been slowly tightening below your belly finally burst, and you cum just as voraciously as he’s been eating you out the entire time.

You feel like you’ve squirted, but you can’t tell for sure, because his mouth is sucking the cum out of you before it can go anywhere. There’s no splatter on his face because his mouth is latched tight to your cunt, lips suctioned so that your release shoots into his mouth like his does so often in yours.

He grunts and groans viciously into your pussy as he licks you clean, tongue lapping over every available inch of your cunt until you’re sure it’s got no remnant of your slick or your final release. If his saliva wasn’t replacing your slick, you’re sure you’d be dried out by now, completely sucked void of all of your wetness.

When he’s milked every last taste of your cum out of your folds, he growls in frustration. It’s a huffy sort of sound, and your cunt is already tingling with the prospect of your next release.

He pushes your shoulders off of him and in one fluid motion, stands and lunges for your wrists. He knocks his face into your own to do so, and you have to lean back to take a breath when he kisses you because he’s such a presence.

His tongue is just as eager in your mouth as it was in your cunt, and you can taste your own release on him. He licks up your own tongue, groaning as he nips lightly at your bottom lip and smooths over it with a sweet lap of his tongue. You beg for more in the way that you tip your face up into his own, and you feel him wrestling with your nightgown where it’s tied around your wrists. He kisses more aggressively the harder he strains to blindly untie you, and when he finally loses his patience, he growls down your throat.

“Fuck,” He snaps, abandoning the careful grip he has on each side of the knot and tearing the fabric in two instead. Apparently his senses weren’t the only thing still heightened, it seems that his strength is above average as well.

“Run,” He pants into your mouth as you nearly fall to the ground. Your thighs are shaky, and you don’t think you can move them, but when he grips your jaw and snarls again against your lips, “Run.”, you force them to support you.

It feels like deja vu, sprinting away from Remus in the forest, but this time it’s better. Because this time you’re content with, aroused by your role as his prey, and the predatory presence behind you makes your cunt leak.

It’s another round of chase, and you can actually feel his heat behind you. It’s in the breaths that fan over the back of your neck, and as they fade away you realize he’s letting you have the illusion of escape once more. He’s too close to hide, your flight is fruitless.

Now he’s stalking you, as you slow down in a clearing. He’s hunted you down, he’s tracked you through the trees and he’s got you trapped. He’s the perfect predator; cunning, sharp, hungry.

A sudden noise from your left makes you sprint to your right, and you’re tackled only three steps away. You feel Remus collide with you and only his hands shield your bare back from the messy earth beneath you, but you’re not sure you’d be able to feel the scrape of a twig against your skin even if he hadn’t put his hands there, because his cock is already inside of you.

He doesn’t give you any time to process your takedown before he’s jackhammering into you, cockhead nudging at your slit before you’d even hit the ground. He’s got you locked in, and you shout at the unexpected, but pleasurable intrusion.

“Remus!” You scream, shaky legs wrapping around him by instinct. Eating you out without giving himself any stimulation must have been torture, because his cock is so hard you think you could snap it off if you bent it wrong.

It’s pounding your pussy, Remus is thrusting so fast and so deep into you that you think it might burst through your insides and tear you apart. He’s fucking like a rabbit - hard and fast - but you think you’re technically his as the big bad wolf destroys you.

His tongue had loosened you, and you’d accumulated more slick during the hunt that’s squelching and sloshing around his stiff dick. He’s leaking precum, a steady ooze of the stuff that gets driven into your cunt as he fucks roughly into you. He’s close to his own release already, the buildup of licking out your pussy having gotten him plenty aroused. His dick is already twitching inside of you, and your steady cries through the night air as his hips slap against yours, balls hitting the globes of your ass, only egg him on further.

You swear he howls when he cums. It’s a long, loud, haunting sound that he pumps into your neck, his teeth gnawing at your skin like he’s the wolf you thought you’d escaped from.

You can feel him biting at your shoulder as he fucks his orgasm into you, cum spurting from the head of his cock and painting your insides, gushing out around his length as he pounds you. You’re like a ragdoll in his grip, your body shaking with the force of his thrusts.

“Remus, Remus, Remus!” You chant, mouth barely able to form the words as you fight back open-mouthed screams. Your throat feels sore at how loud you’re screaming, how intensely the force of his thrusts are rocking you back and forth on the forest floor, and when he’s milked his orgasm dry, he gives you no warning before flipping you over.

His heightened strength really comes in handy as he lifts you effortlessly from the ground below him, and flips you onto your stomach. It’s a movement you’re not ready for, and your arms barely catch you from face-planting into the forest floor.

“Remus!” You shriek, his name like a mantra as he butts his hips up against your ass. You’re worried he’ll try fucking your ass without easing you open first, but he plunges straight for your cunt again, this time from the back.

You’re sensitive, of course, from not only your first orgasm but the way Remus had just ravaged your sloppy cunt, and your second orgasm is fast approaching. From this angle, Remus’s cockhead slams against your clit for a few thrusts before he slots it into your leaking cunt, and the repeated pressure that slaps your clit has you already cresting.

“Oh, god!’ You cry, head hung so close to the earth that you can smell the dirt inches from your face. Your thighs are trembling as Remus’s cock fucks through them, and you cum with fire spreading through your veins. He feels the constant convulsions of your cunt spasming with your orgasm, squeezing his cock as pleasure pulses through your folds. You’re screaming, or at least, you think you are, but you can’t tell, because your hearing cuts out for a moment.

When it comes back, Remus is grunting hot and heavy into the back of your neck, teeth once more digging into your skin. Apparently there’s still some animalistic urge in him to bite, to prey, to devour.

His cock is barely less stiff now that he’s fucked through his first orgasm, but apparently the feeling of you cumming around him is already leading him to a second. He’s impossibly horny, skin shining with sweat under the pale moonlight above that drips onto your back from his hairline. He licks it away, moaning at the salty taste and smearing it into your skin.

You cum in tandem, because your orgasm leads his on, then his slams another straight into you. You’ve never cum twice in a row this fast before, you’ve always had a moment to breathe, but apparently Remus can fuck two out of you in a minute straight if he tries.

Your core is ablaze, white hot pain curled into crawling tendrils of pleasure sticking to your insides and climbing your nerves. They overload your senses so much with burning bliss that your arms give out and your cheek slams hard into the dirt beneath you. It would hurt, if you weren’t so overwhelmed by sensations elsewhere.

He fucks his second orgasm through your third, gripping your hips and driving his cock so far into you that your vision starts darkening.

“Remus!” You sob, injecting your cry with as much of the pleasure coursing through your veins as possible, shouting out to the night that he’s responsible for your undoing. You slump tired and spent onto the dirt below you but Remus is still fucking out his own orgasm, dick twitching and shooting loads of cum into your gaping cunt.

He only slows when his cock starts going numb from the friction of your hot cunt, and he pants against the back of your neck while slathering the skin there in an array of sloppy, messy kisses. Finally he drops, landing on his side in the dirt and staring at your fucked-out face

“Oh, dove,” He pants, chest heaving harder than yours had been after being chased, “Fuck, you were- hnngh, are you okay?”

He watches your eyes drift shut, unconsciousness tugging hard at your mind. Your body is so overstimulated that it shuts down, and you nod weakly, “Mhm, jus’- jus’ tired, Rem.”

“Yeah,” He chuckles weakly, eyes marginally less dark than when he’d hunted you through the woods. Now he knocks his nose into your own, something so similar to a wolfish display of affection that you’re surprised he hasn’t sprouted fur.

“Catch me,” You beg, feeling your knees close to giving out, skin creased by the outlines of leaves and dirt, “Catch me, Rem, please-”

“I’ve got’cha,” He soothes, throwing an arm around your middle to tug you into his side. You’re covered in sweat, and your arms and shins are lined with muck from the forest floor, but Remus takes care to keep your cunt, slick and oozing with his cum, away from any contaminents.

“I’ve got’cha,” He repeats, humming into the crown of your head. You can’t seem to get enough air in, but with each inhale of oxygen that you gulp down with your head against his chest, you find it easier to slip away into the void that’s beckoning you behind your eyes.

“Rest,” He pants, holding your head to his chest, mouth open as he breathes towards the sky. His skin is sweaty, but so is yours, and your eyes fall resolutely shut at his command.

When you wake you’re back at home, tucked neatly and carefully into your own bed, under your own blankets. Your entire body is sore, everything from your cunt to your back to your knees, and you find yourself incapable of moving due to the ache below your belly.

“Remus?” You call, your voice floating weakly through the walls of your cottage. You’re pleased to find that you’ve been cleaned up, there’s no dirt left caked into your skin.

All’s clean but your cunt, still packed tight and oozing with Remus’s release. Apparently he’d taken extra care not to waste any of that.

“Here,” Remus emerges from the other room, a towel around his neck, a tank top over his chest, and a bulge in his boxers. He’s sweating profusely, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d crawled into the oven.

“What- what are you doing?” You squint blearily up at him, watching as he raises one end of the towel to wipe at his dripping forehead.

“Working out,” He huffs, grating the towel against his skin, “It’s insane, dove. Jus’ can’t sit still. Prongs really fucked me up with this potion shit, I’ll have to tell him to tone it down.”

“No!’ You speak before you can think, face flushing hot afterwards, as if you’re not residually warm enough.

“Hm?” Remus pants, staring curiously at you as he rubs sweat from his shaggy hair.

“Um,” You flounder, feeling the sticky remnants of Remus’s cum still gooey inside your cunt, “I like it. This- this potion thing. This was… good.”

Remus cracks a smirk, stalking towards the bed with heavy steps, “Yeah? You liked runnin’ from the big bad wolf?”

“Remus!” You whine at his teasing, squirming away when he grips your jaw. He turns your face towards him, and the tight hold of his fingers on your jaw makes you whimper into the kiss he presses to your mouth.

“I’ll tell ‘im,” Remus grunts, lips wet where they stick to your own, “That m’girlfriend,” He licks a stripe up your tongue, panting as he tastes you, “Likes gettin’ hunted. ‘S that it, love? Y’cunt get all wet when you were runnin’ from me?”

“Yes,” You whimper, licking desperately at his mouth as he tongues you, “Remus, I- I need more, please?”

“Ah,” He tuts, pulling away but keeping your jaw firmly in his grip, “No. Not yet, dove.”

“But-!”

“I’ll tear you apart,” Remus warns, eyes flashing dark again, “You’re tired, and you need to rest. You can’t take any more. Later, I promise.”

“No, I can take it, please! I can,” You beg, going so far as to paw at the waistband of his boxers, “Please Remus!”

“Enough.” He snaps, releasing your jaw and backing away. The tent in his boxers is obvious, but he knows you’re too weak to get fucked again.

“‘S for your own good,” He tells you, wiping away a tear that beads at the corner of your eye, “But I’ll make you a deal, dove. I’m gonna go finish my workout. By the time I’m done, if you’ve finished that whole glass,” He motions to your nightstand, and you turn to see a cup of water there, ice cold, “Then I’ll fuck you again. ‘Kay?”

“Okay,” You nod vigorously, excitement already twisting your stomach, “Okay, Remus, I- thank you.”

“Mhm,” He kisses you one last time, teasingly chaste where your tongue chases after his own. Before he straightens up fully he leans in to speak beside your ear, and his gruff, dangerous murmur curls arousal around your spine like a spring coiled tight, waiting to fly, “And don’t even think about touching yourself, dove. I’ll smell it if you do.”

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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the-perfect-wagnerite-again · 4 months

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It's baffling to me that pitbull apologists have absolutely zero issue with identifying clear, intentionally installed characteristics in dogs as a result of breeding for literally ANY OTHER DOG except for pits.

"This husky was bred to be a sled dog. It's got a fit musculature for labor, a double fur coat and large paw pads to facilitate travel in snowy environments, and it seemingly has an instinctual drive to pull forward when they're harnessed. These are features built into the dog."

"This lhasa apso was bred to be a sentinel dog. It's small in stature, so it can't be used for physical labor but can be easily carried from place to place. It's got a hyper-aware temperament that makes it sensitive to any and all approachers, and a shrill, piercing bark that carries through property and land to alert its owners. These are features built into the dog."

"This whippet was bred to be a coursing dog. It's a lean, medium-sized breed with short fur to facilitate running, and a keener-than-average eyesight to spot prey from long distances. Their build makes them perfect speed-runners and poor endurance hunters, so they forgo scent and use sight to spot and run down their prey. They have a naturally shy and gentle temperament, which makes them very poor guard dogs. These are features built into the dog."

"This pitbull was bred for a mysterious reason nobody knows sometime around the 19th century. It has a very muscular build, probably for cuddles. It's naturally aggressive and requires extensive training and habituation to acclimate them both to people and to other dogs, probably for cuddles. It has a stronger bite PSI than labradors, rottweilers, and chow-chows, probably for cuddles. It's statistically overrepresented in dog bites that require medical attention, in dog attacks, and in aggressive behavior requiring intervention from professional animal control, but that's probably just coincidental. These features are not built into the dog, they're mystical properties that are the result of poor training and improper caregiving, there's nothing more to be said here, stop being foolish."

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jadeslashes · 2 years

Text

🕸 their kinks & sub / dom preferences.

includes: patrick bateman, charles lee ray, tiffany valentine, jason voorhees, michael myers, pinhead, jennifer check, freddy krueger, jackson rippner, stu macher, billy loomis.

warnings: includes nsfw obviously, if you dont like it, dont read it. minors dni.

tw: mentions of cnc, blade & other kinks.

🪓﹒PATRICK BATEMAN ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

100% dom, he doesn't want to be the one who isn't in control

dumbification & degradation, patrick loves nothing more than making you feel like a brainless slut for him

being in control, he loves to tell you what to do and how to do it to his liking, he finds complete submission so fucking hot

body & cock worship, he loves when you treat him like a complete god and he loves how eager to please him you become

and random but i feel like he'd have a thing for having you be completely naked while he's still dressed completely in one of his suits, it's a power thing yk

🛠﹒CHARLES LEE RAY ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

switch with a dom preference

he'd love his partner being rough, not just if he's subbing, though; he'd enjoy the two of you going at each other and doing whatever each of you can to feel good, lips and hands all over each other, he never wants to not be touching you

he'd call you every filthy name he could think of, degradation is something he never goes without

going along with his liking for rough sex, he enjoys hair pulling and slapping

and he likes to use a knife, too. he'd like to use it to intimidate you and i could see him carving his name or initials into your thigh <3

🖤﹒TIFFANY VALENTINE ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

she prefers to be the dom almost all of the time, but she could sub for the right person

bondage, loves to tie you up so she can do whatever she wants with you <3

both degradation and praise, she'll go from calling you her slut to telling you how pretty you are and how well you're doing for her

she loves using toys and whips and paddles on you, every flinch, yelp and moan she gets from you makes her want to keep going and hear more out of you

and she loves punishing you, if you don't listen you'll have to suffer through whatever she has in store for you, which could be a few hard smacks with a whip, edging you more times than you can count, or conversely, wearing you out with orgasm after orgasm

🕸﹒JASON VOORHEES ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

switch for sure with a bit of a sub preference

praise is huge for him, particularly when he's subbing for you, he loves to be told when he's doing good <3

and when you're subbing for him, he loves body worship, whether it be you worshipping him or him worshipping you

and orgasm denial is one of his favorite things, teasing you over and over and watching you get needier for him turns him on

and the mask, he loves keeping his mask on during sex

🔪﹒MICHAEL MYERS ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

definitely a switch too

blood, he loves the sight of blood on you, whether he drew it or not, he finds it so attractive

that being said, he also likes knife play and i could see him being dacryphilic too, he'd like seeing you cry after he cuts you <3

and he loves to watch you, he absolutely loves voyeurism, watching you getting dressed or getting yourself off is a total turn on

honestly i think he'd enjoy spanking you too, i have no idea why, i can just totally see it

⛓﹒PINHEAD ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

dom, there's not a single chance of them subbing imo

bdsm, obviously, they love to use their chains to restrain you when they play with you <3

they love to merge pain and pleasure, and you have to earn all of the pleasure you get by enduring all of the pain that they inflict on you

unintentional dumbification, they're so intelligent you're bound to feel brainless whenever they speak to you

and they like to use devices on you, i wouldn't call them toys for obvious reasons but they'll use blades, the chains and hooks and plenty of other things to torture you into oblivion

🩸﹒JENNIFER CHECK ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

dom, i really can't see her subbing

the predator / prey dynamic, she'd enjoy feeling like she's hunting you down

and the minute she gets her hands on you?? she's going to be all over you, she's very rough

i feel like she really enjoys biting and marking you, and on top of that loves to draw blood when she does it

loves body worship, both her worshipping you and you worshipping her, but more so the latter

💭﹒FREDDY KRUEGER ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

probably a switch ??

definitely somnophilia, he'd play with you in your sleep / in your dreams all the time so that you wake up wet / hard

knife play with his blades for sure, he'd drag them along your body, occasionally grazing along your skin with enough pressure to make tiny, thin cuts

predator / prey dynamic, he'd love to chase you down, and the minute he catches you he's not gonna leave you alone for a while <3

and he'd enjoy pinning you down and choking you after he catches you

🛩﹒JACKSON RIPPNER ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

dom, but there's a very slight chance you might be able to get him to sub sometimes

choking. definitely choking. and it's absolutely a control thing, he loves being in control

and he's so into the dom / sub dynamic, he'd love seeing you submit to him completely so he could tell you what to do and do whatever he pleases with you

teasing and orgasm denial are his shit, he loves to watch you unravel into a needy mess who's just begging be allowed to cum <3

dacryphilia, he'd love to see you cry

i could also see him having a bit of a corruption kink tbh

🥩﹒STU MACHER ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

switch, i think he'd love both being in control but also love seeing his partner take the lead

somnophilia, mostly in that he'd enjoy waking you up by giving you head, smirking up at you when you fully wake up and look down at him before continuing until you cum on his tongue

strikes me as an exhibitionist, he'd tease you and touch you in public knowing damn well how needy he's making you and then act like he wasn't doing anything

he would absolutely love to use toys on you, watching how you react to them and teasing and edging you with them would drive him crazy

and at the same time, he'd also love you edging him, he wouldn't be able to think about anything other than how you're making him feel and finally being able to cum

📞﹒BILLY LOOMIS ꜜ﹒⟡﹒

dom for the most part, but i could see him subbing occasionally

knife play, he'd love to use a blade to intimidate you, cut your clothing off of you, and to draw blood

degradation, he'd whisper filthy names into your ear while he fucks you and make you feel like nothing more than a stupid slut for him <3

choking for sure, he just loves having his hand wrapped around your neck

cnc, watching you fake struggle beneath him and pretend to take you by force would turn him on so much

4K notes · View notes

kwanisms · 6 months

Text

Run Rabbit, Run — k.seungmin

» stray kids masterlist «

➮ vampire!Seungmin × f!Reader wc: 20.5k (sorry. it happened again lmao) summary: Seungmin is a vampire and has lived a very long life and seen many ages pass him by. He’s grown weary of immortality until he meets someone one random night who really puts things into perspective for him. genres/themes/au: angst, smut; supernatural and vampiric themes, gothic undertones, predator/prey dynamics, s2l; non idol au, vampire au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, Seungmin is a vampire so drinking blood and feeding from humans is a given, alcohol consumption (Y/N has a couple drinks), Seungmin is still a predatory creature so he has some… thoughts about that, minor character death, attempted SA (but nothing happens), sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! special taglist: @yoonguurt , @lvelicky , @anyamaris , @wooyoungqueen , @kpop-stories-21 , @xsweetelegantdiasterx , @kookthief , @stardragongalaxy , @millennial-fangirl , @blankdyean , @imwithurmother , @bangchans-angel , @oreoqueen , @yjeonginlvr , @zdgx1 , @shuxsoo , @s00buwu , @queenmea604 , @pochaccomin , @katsukis1wife , @linos-catnip , @wh0r3mir4 Join the taglist! »» Closes 10/30 @ 23:00 CST Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL NOT BE ADDED.

a/n: this one was so much fun. Seungmin is such a wild card when it comes to writing. He fits innocent types but he also fits these savage/predatory roles really well! Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please reblog or comment your favorite part! As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), unprotected sex (he’s a vampire. This ain’t twilight. But you aren’t a vampire, so use protection), blood play, orgasm control, predator/prey play, dacryphilia, use of pet names (little rabbit, sweetheart, doe, pet, etc), Seungmin is kinda mean but he also leans a little heavy into the predator role but jokes on him cause Y/N is into it so who’s the real winner here? If I missed anything just let me know.

dialogue prompt: ❛ Why are you shaking? You’re not scared of me are you? ❜

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Eternity. Humans use the word so freely.

I promise to love you for eternity. I want to live for eternity. Death is eternal.

Seungmin knew that the last one was correct. Death is eternal and it will last forever. But love? Eternal love didn’t exist. Not in the literal definition of eternal. Mortals die and then that is eternal. The love they experienced before their demise is fleeting and perishes with them.

The only thing that was eternal other than death was the waking hell Seungmin had endured for centuries; life eternal. It was supposed to be a gift. He was told it was a gift and initially, he believed it. Getting to stay young and live a long life. All he wanted was to live for a long time.

But as the ones around him withered and died, Seungmin came to see this “gift” as a curse. Life eternal was part of a bigger scam. Creating an army of vampires to take over the world. Or at least that’s what he thought. He’d been changed upon his request and then left alone. No guidance, no mentor, nothing to help him navigate this new life he’d been unceremoniously dropped into.

Seungmin had to learn as he went, adapting and changing at a much quicker rate. He made mistakes along the way but eventually he found a path and stuck to it. It wasn’t until those around him started dying of old age, people he’d grown up with, that he started to see the error he’d made.

Each generation that passed, Seungmin grew more and more dissatisfied with life as an immortal. He stopped forming relationships and bonds with people because he’d lived this story so many times, he knew how it ended. It was better to not feel. Better to not get attached.

He moved from continent to continent, city to city. Perhaps that was the only good thing about living for so long. Being able to see more in his infinite lifetime than a mortal could see in their limited years. Decades turned into centuries and Seungmin had been to more cities and countries than he could count. He’d seen more and done more than anyone could ever hope to see or do.

So why was he still so [word]? He’d been given the gift of immortality, he’d been to so many places and seen so much and yet… none of it filled the void in his soul. None of it left him feeling fulfilled or satisfied with life. He still held so much disdain for his existence.

Even as he stood on the edge of the cliff, looking down at the vast forest below. It was a great fall, one that would surely kill a man before he even hit the ground but Seungmin was no mere man. Would a fall from this distance even leave a mark on him? Would his body break and finally free him from this cursed life? He had no way of knowing. It wasn’t exactly like he’d been given a manual on this.

How to Commit Suicide as a Vampire for Dummies wasn’t a title that would ever grace the shelves of Barnes & Noble. He’d have to just try. It was trial and error at this point. He’d tried so many different things. Poison didn’t even register. Knives and swords did nothing, not even a wooden stake through the heart had come close to killing him. Bullets did nothing either and they were annoying to remove.

He’d tried drowning himself in the ocean only to discover he didn’t need to breathe. He’d tried starvation only for his instincts to kick in at the last minute and force him to feed on whatever was nearby. He’d tried jumping from other heights but none this high.

If this didn’t work, he felt the only thing that might kill him was extreme pressures.

Seungmin was so absorbed in his own thoughts of death that he didn’t realize he was no longer alone.

You stared at the man, noticing how close he was to the edge of the clearing. A fall from this height would surely kill him. You glanced up at his face and could help but stare. You’d never seen such… sadness before.

He looked as if he was deep in thought. You glanced out over the forest below and then back at the man. ‘Surely he isn’t thinking about jumping,’ you sincerely hoped silently.

A simple hike in the mountains was what you had expected when you came to this national park. What you hadn’t expected was to find a man standing on the edge, possibly about to end his life. You glanced around the clearing to find it was just the two of you.

Looking back at the man, you were reminded of your own struggles with depression, thoughts of suicide, almost attempts but in the end, it got better and so did you. You wondered if it would make a difference in his life whether you stopped him now. Even if just to lend a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, keeping your eyes fixated on the man. You stopped a few paces behind him but kept a good few feet between you. Turning your gaze from his profile, you looked over the trees below.

“What a view,” you said softly. Your voice must have startled him because his head snapped to look at you, alarm etched on his face. You kept your gaze over the trees, looking around and taking in the splendor of it all. The man kept his gaze focused on you. “It’s so beautiful,” you continued, still not looking at him.

Out of your periphery, you could see him turn his head back to look out over the forest. “It’s the same as all the others,” he said softly. “All the others?” you asked, finally turning your head to look at him. You allowed yourself to actually look at him this time, focusing on the details you couldn’t see before.

His smooth, flawless complexion, the reddish brown color of his hair blowing in the gentle breeze. He wore a simple white button down under a black blazer and black slacks. He looked like he just came from an office job. Not dressed for a hike in the mountains.

He had no supplies, no wilderness gear, no backpack or sleeping bag.

It hit you then and made your heart rate speed up as you hoped you were wrong.

‘He’s come here to die.’

You looked around, trying to think of anything you could to distract him.

“Have you been to a lot of forests then?” you blurted out. He turned his head to look at you, brows knitting together in confusion. “What?” he asked, his voice a little louder this time. He looked and sounded genuinely confused by your question.

“You said it’s the same as all the others. So you must have been to a lot of forests to make that statement,” you replied. ‘Yes, this is good, Y/N. Keep him talking. Keep him distracted.’

“Do you travel a lot?”

The man stared at you, a look of perplexion on his face. Almost as if he was wondering why you were even talking to him in the first place. “I’ve heard the forests in the Carpathian Mountains are gorgeous this time of year,” you continued, looking away from him. “The changing of leaves, the cool autumn air, the influx of wildlife preparing for winter hibernation,” you said with a smile.

“I’ll bet it’s beautiful--”

“It is,” he said, cutting you off. You turned to look at him. His eyes were still on you. “A little colder than you’re probably imagining though,” he added. “Transylvania is also beautiful this time of year,” he continued. You took a cautious half step forward. “Have you been to Romania?” you asked.

His shoulders shook in silent laughter, amusement on his face for a brief moment. “I’ve been all over,” he replied. “Europe, Africa, Asia, Australia,” he listed off. “I’ve even spent time in the Antarctic.” Your eyes widened with wonder. “For work or…?” you trailed off as he shook his head. “Not exactly,” he answered.

“I’ve lived a very unique… life,” he added, forcing the last word out after some consideration. You tilted your head curiously. “Would you tell me about it?” you asked. He turned his head again, meeting your gaze and a shiver went up your spine. It was almost as if looking into his eyes flipped your flight or fight response and every nerve in your body was telling you to run but you couldn’t.

Not because you were frozen in fear but because this man, a man who was on the verge of possibly throwing himself off the edge of a cliff, thousands of feet off the ground below had lived a unique life and if getting him to talk about it meant he’d step away from the cliff and live his life a little bit longer, then you couldn’t run.

Not if it meant he lived.

He scoffed and turned back to the cliff. “What are you? Some kind of shrink?” he asked, a bitter sound to his voice. You shook your head. “No,” you replied. “You just look like you have a lot of stories to tell,” you continued. “And if you’d like. I’ll listen to you.”

Seungmin didn’t know why, but when he looked at you, he felt as if he could talk to you and that you might actually listen to him. Something deep in him was telling him to talk to you. To keep living a little while longer, even if just to share his stories with you because you were right.

He had a lot of stories.

He found himself spilling almost everything to you. His weariness with life, his solitude, and his exhaustion. He was exhausted with everything. He had grown almost sick of living, sick of being alone, and sick of being alone for so long.

The best thing about you, Seungmin noted, was that you didn’t interrupt or judge him. You listened with rapt attention but it didn’t feel forced or fake. Your genuine curiosity was refreshing and although he knew he shouldn’t get attached, Seungmin found himself craving your company.

Perhaps it was because he’d been alone for so long and you were the first person to show him any interest beyond flirtation or sexual desire. He was unaccustomed to such attention after centuries of not experiencing it and this was the first conversation he’d had with a mortal in ages.

Seungmin took a deep breath, having finished the story of his most recent trip to Europe. A trip that spanned months and took him to places most people never think to visit. The sun had long set since he started his stories and the sky was beginning to lighten, indicating he’d spent the whole night talking.

But more importantly, you’d spent an entire night listening to him. Mortals had such a short time on the planet and yet you’d chosen to spend an entire night listening to him tell you stories of his life and his travels.

And you had actually listened to him.

“Sorry for taking up your whole night,” Seungmin said, glancing back at the sky as it started to lighten into shades of blue and purple. You shook your head, lifting your head from its resting place against your hand. “Not at all,” you replied. “It was fascinating. Thank you for sharing with me,” you replied.

“I’m sure you need to get going,” Seungmin said as you stood up from the log you’d taken a seat on next to him. “What about you?” you asked, looking down at him. Seungmin stood up, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I think I’ll walk with you,” he answered. “Are you heading back to your car?”

You nodded. “I was only supposed to hike up and spend the night,” you replied, starting to walk and he kept pace with you. “And I guess in a way I did that,” you added with a chuckle, one that Seungmin shared. The walk back was punctuated by more stories, not nearly as grand as the ones he’d shared before. Smaller stories about random events and chance encounters on his travels.

The sun was climbing above the trees as the two of you reached the bottom of the mountain, the small gravel parking lot coming into sight where your cat sat, waiting for your triumphant return. “This has probably been the most interesting conversation I’ve ever had,” you started as Seungmin stopped a few paces from your car and you turned to look at him.

“Thank you again,” Seungmin said. “For listening to me.” You offered him a dazzling smile, one that might have taken his breath away had he not already been dead. “Thank you for allowing me to listen,” you replied. You turned and opened the hatch on the back of your car, removing and placing your pack in the back before shutting the door and heading around to the driver’s side.

Seungmin realized at that moment that he’d never gotten your name nor had he shared his.

“Wait,” he called, stepping forward. You hesitated as you pulled open the door and looked up at him.

“What’s your name?” he asked. A smile spread over your face. “Y/N,” you answered.

Seungmin smiled the first genuine smile in years. “Y/N,” he repeated. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Seungmin.” Your smile widened slightly as you finished pulling open your door. “It’s good to meet you, too,” you replied. “See you around, yeah?” you asked before ducking your head and getting into the car.

Seungmin watched as you backed out of your spot and waved at him one last time before pulling out of the parking area and disappearing through the trees on the dirt road, leaving him alone in the clearing.

“Yeah,” he said softly to himself. “See you around.”

The funny thing about time when one has lived as long as Seungmin is that days, weeks, even months, go by in the blink of an eye. At least until Seungmin had met you. Suddenly, life seemed to drag on yet still, days went by, turning into weeks and yet all that occupied his mind was his meeting with you. The random hiker who had somehow managed to save his life.

He’d tried to find you but to no avail. He only had a single name to go off of. Several times, he’d gone back to the national forest, trying the same hiking trail he’d met you on and even trying others but he had no luck it would seem. Finding you was starting to seem impossible.

Despite being a mostly lonely creature, Seungmin did have one contact he’d kept over the years.

Wonpil.

Seungmin had met the man during a brief stint in the military, meeting the combat medic who turned out to be the same as him, an immortal. A friendship was formed and over the years, even if they hadn’t seen one another for decades, their bond remained intact.

In the modern age, Seungmin could rely on Wonpil for three things.

Loyalty

Perspective

And blood in the form of blood bags.

He never asked how Wonpil was able to acquire them without rousing suspicion but the how wasn’t exactly important. In a day where everyone carried a phone with cameras and facial recognition almost everywhere, Seungmin had to be careful not to feed from living people.

Most immortals who lived in the modern age had switched to feeding from animals, going hunting in the forests instead of feeding from humans. It was safer but even so, one wrong move and an immortal could be caught on camera feeding from a deer or some other woodland critter.

Seungmin had tried the animal diet when he lived in areas closer to the wild but in the city, one was limited on options. So Wonpil, with his job in the hospital, was able to sneak around and steal blood bags without anyone finding out.

It had worked out so well for this life as they were in the same area for once, settled into false identities but Seungmin’s was about to expire. He needed to move on, start anew to avoid drawing attention. He could only pretend to be thirty for so long until suspicions arose.

During one of their meetups so Wonpil could deliver Seungmin’s monthly supply of blood, Seungmin had told his friend of his chance encounter in the woods and Wonpil found it both endearing and amusing. He’d told Seungmin to stop focusing and obsessing over one woman. “You need to go out there and get laid,” he chuckled. Seungmin rolled his eyes.

“I don’t need to get laid,” he retorted, taking the messenger bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Not in this day and age,” he added. Wonpil snorted, crossing his arms as he looked over his shoulder. “This day and age is perfect for that,” he replied.

“No one wants a relationship. They just want something casual,” he added. Seungmin shook his head. They’d had this conversation before but he was still reluctant. What if he ended up liking the person too much? He’d get attached and then just end up hurting them when he inevitably had to leave.

He was far too reluctant to get himself into that situation. Wonpil sighed and placed a hand on Seungmin’s shoulder. “Suit yourself,” he said before patting him and walking away. Seungmin returned home after that and went about his usual routine of cleaning up and putting away his supply.

It was a few days later that things completely changed.

He’d gone by a coffee shop to meet Wonpil for something, he couldn’t even remember what. It’s not like he needed the coffee or any other item the shop offered. It just made them look normal. Made them blend in more.

Wonpil had left after his business and Seungmin had gotten up to leave when he bumped into someone as he reached the door. The sudden action caused him to spin away from the door as did the person who he bumped into, spinning to face him and Seungmin couldn’t believe his eyes.

There you were, looking back at him, shock on your face.

Time seemed to stand still in that moment, seconds stretching into minutes as the two of you stared at one another unmoving, unblinking. Seungmin found it hard to hear anything happening around him. Like everything had been muffled the way the world sounded when one submerged themselves in water.

“Y/N,” he said softly.

As if that was the magic word to break the spell, just as quickly as the world stopped, it picked up again. The sounds of chatter, the sounds of the coffee and espresso machines, the ding of the cash register and the ringing of the bell at the door as new patrons flooded in.

“Seungmin,” you said softly, your lips spreading into another one of your dazzling smiles. “Hey,” Seungmin said, mirroring your smile. “How have you been?” you asked and he stepped aside as someone tried to squeeze past him.

“I’ve been okay,” Seungmin admitted. “A lot better than that day, actually,” he added. Your smile widened, a brief spell of relief washing over your face. “Good,” you said with a nod. “I’m glad to hear that.” Seungmin noted how a silence fell between you but he had no idea what to say.

He’d never experienced this. He’d never not been able to keep a conversation going before. He’d never felt like a school boy talking to his childhood crush before. It was foreign to him. Finally, a feeling he’d never experienced. Something new.

“I wondered if you were just passing through,” you admitted as you stepped aside, pulling the strap of your bag back up on your shoulder as patrons filed past the two of you. “If you weren’t living in the city but instead just on your way through.”

Seungmin shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I live here. Not in this neighborhood,” he added. “But a few blocks north.” Silence again. Why was he so bad at this? Had your first meeting been this awkward and he’d blocked it out because he’d been so focused on wanting to end things?

“Are you staying?” he asked suddenly. You tilted your head in confusion. “Here,” Seungmin added. ‘No. Stupid. You need to elaborate further.’ “What I meant,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Are you getting your order for here?” Your confusion melted away, a small smirk presenting itself.

“I’m on my way to work actually,” you answered. Seungmin felt his heart sink just a little before he had an idea. “Would it be alright if I walked you?” The words left his lips before he could even register them. Your smirk morphed into a bright smile and you nodded. “I just need to place my order,” you said, pointing at the counter.

Seungmin nodded and pointed towards the door. “I’ll just wait out here for you,” he answered. He could have waited inside with you but the cafe was starting to get crowded. Too many warm bodies and where there were warm bodies, there was blood. He needed to clear his head.

Thankfully you didn’t find this odd, only nodding before joining the queue.

Outside the cool autumn air helped Seungmin quell his thirst. Pushing back the beast that threatened to rear its ugly head and make him do something that he would regret. ‘You only have a couple weeks left before you have to leave,’ he reminded himself.

But for some reason, reminding himself of that made him sad.

Before he could dwell on that feeling for too long, the door opened and you joined him on the sidewalk. “Ready?” he asked and you nodded, carrying a hot cup of coffee and a small paper sack. Seungmin followed your lead, keeping pace with you as you walked.

He learned that you had lived in the city for a few months. Your move came with a transfer with your job.

“What do you do?” he asked as you took a sip of your coffee, sighing softly. You sniffled, the cold air no doubt nipping at your skin and making your nose run. Seungmin hadn’t experienced that in centuries. He didn’t remember what it was like to feel cold or warmth.

“I’m a pediatric nurse,” you replied. “I work at Seoul General,” you added as you continued walking. ‘Seoul General?’ Seungmin thought. “Oh,” he said, nodding. “I have a friend that works there, actually.” You looked up at him, eyes wide. Whether it was excitement or curiosity, Seungmin couldn’t tell.

“Oh really?” you asked. “I wonder if I’ve met them yet,” you added. Seungmin shrugged as the hospital started to come into view. “Perhaps you have,” he replied. “Who’s your friend?” you asked, looking at him. “Wonpil. Kim Wonpil,” Seungmin answered.

Your eyes lit up. “I know Dr. Kim!” you replied. ‘Excitement,’ Seungmin noted. ‘Definitely excitement.’ He smiled as you started to slow your pace. “I didn’t know you were friends with Dr. Kim!” Seungmin chuckled at your response as you neared the doors.

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” he replied. “We go way back.”

You glanced at the doors briefly before looking back at Seungmin. “I need to get clocked in but could I get your number? Maybe we can meet up for drinks or coffee sometime?” you asked, sounding hopeful. Seungmin’s heart sank. ‘Number? Oh no…’

Seungmin had managed to adapt to the times. Following trends, especially fashion. He understood email, he understood online ordering, he got all of it. The one thing Seungmin hadn’t seemed to keep up with were mobile phones.

He’d never had one, nor had he ever used one. Wonpil had one. Of course he did, but Seungmin hadn’t quite caught up to that part yet. Even if it was 2023. And now he had the misfortune of telling you that he didn’t have a mobile phone.

“Uh…” he hesitated, uncertain of how to even explain this. You stared at him expectantly. He wondered what was going through your head, rushing to explain before he lost the opportunity. “I don’t have one,” he finally managed to blurt out.

You stared at him, blinking a few times as you processed his words. ‘Great. Now she probably thinks you’re some kind of weirdo.’ After a moment of silence, you wordlessly opened your purse, fishing out a small pad of paper and a pen and quickly scratched something down. “Here,” you said, holding out the paper. “It’s my number,” you said, smiling at him.

He didn’t detect any sarcasm as you spoke. “If you end up getting one sometime, give me a call. Or a text,” you said as you dropped the pen and paper back into your bag. “And then we can get that coffee,” you added, giving him a wink. “I’ll see you around,” you called as you backed towards the hospital entrance.

Seungmin looked up as you waved. He waved back. “I’ll call you!” he called back and you sent him a thumbs up before entering the hospital and leaving him standing on the sidewalk in awe of what just happened. He looked back down at the small piece of paper in his hand. Your number looked back at him, the numbers silently judging him for not owning a phone.

Yet you didn’t. You didn’t even question it. Surely you thought it strange he didn’t have a mobile phone in such a technologically advanced age and city. Seoul was a hub of technology and of technological advancements but yet you said nothing on the subject, merely offering a solution.

Seungmin tucked the paper in his wallet carefully and started back down the sidewalk, a new confidence in his step. He knew exactly what he had to do. He needed to update, get with the times. His walk took him through the front door of a high rise building, catching the elevator up to the seventeenth floor.

He reached the apartment he’d been looking for, raising his fist and knocking heavily on the door three times. Then three more when no one answered. He knocked three more times before he heard the lock slide and the door opened, Wonpil appearing before him with a look of annoyance and confusion.

“What is your problem?” he asked, looking around. “I was sleeping,” he added. Seungmin stared back at him. “What?” Wonpil asked. “You look like you just murdered someone,” he joked. “Do you need help with the body?” he added under his breath. Seungmin shook his head. “That’s not what I need help with,” he replied.

“Then why are you pounding on my door? You know I sleep during the day because I work overnight shifts for the next two weeks,” Wonpil asked. “I do need your help,” Seungmin clarified. Wonpil nodded. “Okay,” he replied. “With what?” he asked as he let Seungmin into the apartment.

“It must be urgent if you’re coming in here, guns blazing,” he joked as he walked over to the kitchen island and looked back at Seungmin who nodded. “I got her number.”

Wonpil stared blankly at him. “Got whose number?” he asked. “Y/N’s,” Seungmin replied. Wonpil’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, really? When? How?” Seungmin explained how just after he left the cafe, Seungmin ran into Y/N and then walked her to work. “And she works at your hospital,” he continued.

Wonpil smirked as he hopped up onto the kitchen island to sit. “I can totally hook you two up,” he said as Seungmin rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to hook me up,” he replied.

Wonpil held his hands up. “Then what do you need my help with?” he asked, looking confused. Seungmin cleared his throat before looking up at his friend. “I need a mobile phone. Now.”

Since acquiring the phone, Seungmin hadn’t been able to bring himself to make the call. Each time he picked up the device and tried to type out a message, it just didn’t feel right. Wonpil had sat down and shown him exactly how to use the device and even gave him some tips and pointers but it just felt… wrong.

After the tenth attempt at texting, Seungmin erased the message and set the phone down on the table in frustration, running his fingers through his hair. Why was this so difficult? Why couldn’t he just send a text? It wasn’t that hard, right?

He stared at the screen, hearing the ticking of the clock on the wall as he stared. He stared for a couple more minutes before grabbing it again and instead of typing he pressed the call button. This had to be easier, right? Talking was easier than trying to type.

Wonpil had been very precise that Seungmin did not write his texts like emails. It would make him look really weird and the last thing Seungmin wanted was for you to think he was weird.

He was certain if his heart had a beat that it would be pounding in his chest as he listened to the ringing through the receiver. If he could sweat, his palms would be clammy. Even if he was nervous, there was no way for him to express it except in his voice when you finally did answer.

“Hello?” Your voice sounded just as lovely as the last time he’d heard it. “Hello?” you said again. ‘Fuck. Answer her!’

“H-hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice cracking. Seungmin quickly recovered, crossing his arm over his chest and tucking his hand under his arm. “Uh, hi,” you replied, sounding unsure. “Who is this?” Seungmin started to pace from the kitchen to the living room.

“It-it’s Seungmin,” he clarified, clearing his throat, trying to push his nerves away and keep the conversation going. “Oh hey!” you said, instantly sounded much more excited to hear from him. ‘That’s a good sign,’ he told himself. “So you got a phone?” you asked.

Seungmin nodded before realizing you couldn’t see him. “Yeah,” he replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. Wonpil had warned him that almost no one said ‘yes’ over the phone except “boomers” and that Seungmin did not want to be lumped in with them.

“Welcome to the 21st century,” you said jokingly, making Seungmin chuckle nervously. “Am I your first call?” you asked and Seungmin hesitated. Should he say yes? Should he lie and say no? He decided against lying. “Yes,” he replied.

“I’m flattered,” you said and though Seungmin knew you were joking, he could tell it was just in good humor. He smiled to himself. “So,” you started and Seungmin heard the sound of rustling on the other side of the phone. Almost like the sound of sheets. Were you home in bed? He tried not to think about you in bed. “To what do I owe the pleasure of being your first mobile phone call?”

Seungmin straightened up, moving his free hand to slip into his pocket. “I’m not entirely sure,” he answered truthfully. “To be honest, I didn’t have a plan when I called you.” He heard you chuckle lightly on the other end. “So you’re just winging it?” you asked. Seungmin laughed, continuing to pace slowly.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied. His nerves had calmed down and he found it easy to talk to you like this. “Well, how about I invite you out to dinner?” you asked, catching him off guard. ‘Dinner?’

“Like… a date?” Seungmin asked, waiting anxiously for your answer. “Or like two friends getting to know each other, if that makes you more comfortable. No expectations.” Seungmin paused, looking around his apartment slowly. The boxes in the corner that were half packed to the bare walls. He only had a few more weeks here in the city. ‘What the hell,’ he thought. ‘Why not?’

“Sure,” he replied. “Perfect. How about Saturday?” you asked. “I start a new rotation tomorrow so I’ll be free in the evenings.” You sounded excited about this and Seungmin tried not to get his hopes up. After all, he couldn’t get attached. He was moving soon. “Saturday works,” he replied.

“Great, I’ll text you the location of the restaurant,” you continued and Seungmin chuckled. “I don’t get a say in this?” he asked and you giggled. “I’m inviting you out, so no,” you replied. “I’ll see you Saturday, seven o’clock?” Seungmin’s smile widened.

“Seven o’clock,” he repeated. “It’s a date.”

Saturday came much too quickly for his liking and internally, Seungmin was panicking. He didn’t know how to do any of this. He was from a completely different time period. He had no idea how dating in the 21st century worked. He’d seen movies and television shows but none of it prepared him for what he was getting himself into.

You had sent a text with the location of the restaurant and Seungmin arrived at six-fifty, giving himself plenty of time to prepare to spend a few hours with you in a restaurant full of people. He’d chosen to walk, enjoying the scenery of the city as the sun slowly descended behind the buildings and the way the sky erupted into oranges and pinks as the celestial body sank further below the horizon.

The restaurant was a small upscale place nestled into the base of one of the many high rises near the heart of the city. Seungmin glanced through one of the large square windows on the front of the building, allowing him a glimpse inside the establishment.

Couple sat at small round white draped tables, eating their meals by candlelight and sipping their drinks. He noticed a familiar face sitting at the bar in a fitted black satin dress. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, thanking the attendant who opened the door and let him in.

Once inside, he was greeted by a host who promptly asked him for the name for his reservation but Seungmin didn’t look at him. His eyes were trained on you as you turned, catching his eye and smiling as you waved. Seungmin pointed in your direction.

“My date is at the bar,” he said to the host who turned to look back at you. “Ah yes,” he said, turning back to the book. “Your table is not quite ready but I will inform you when it is.” Seungmin nodded and squeezed past the host, making his way over to where you sat.

Inside, he had a better look at what you’d chosen to wear and he was glad he decided to dress up as everyone in the restaurant had the same idea. You smiled as he reached you, sliding into the seat beside you. “You’re early,” you noted, looking up from your drink.

He hadn’t noticed it before but you’d ordered a cocktail and it was half finished. He wondered how long you’d been waiting. “As are you,” Seungmin noted as he settled into the seat. You flashed him a sheepish smile and turned your attention to your drink.

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked and you shook your head, taking a sip of your drink. “Only a few minutes,” you replied as the bartender approached. “Can I get you anything, sir?” he asked, directing his question at Seungmin. “Whiskey, neat please,” Seungmin said as he pulled his wallet out. The bartender nodded and turned to start pouring Seungmin’s order.

“Whiskey without any chaser? You sound like a simple man,” you said, toying with the stem of your glass. A moment later, Seungmin’s drink was set in front of him and he thanked the man, passing him a couple notes. “I try to be,” Seungmin said, lifting the glass to take a sip.

“So, how does it feel to have finally joined us in the twenty-first century,” you asked, leaning on your arm against the counter. Seungmin felt his lips twitch into a smirk. “You make me sound like I’m ancient and out of touch with reality,” he mused, taking another sip.

“Are you?” you asked, drawing his attention. “Out of touch with reality?” Seungmin asked, watching as you shrugged your shoulders. “Or ancient?” Seungmin could have sworn his dead heart tried to skip a beat but it lay still in his chest.

He scoffed, looking down at the amber liquid in his glass. “What makes you think that?” he asked before looking back up to meet your gaze. You studied his features carefully, eyes lingering on his for a moment longer than he liked.

Before you could respond, the two of you were interrupted.

“Excuse me,” the host from before said. Both you and Seungmin turned at the same time. “Your table is ready.”

Once you migrated from the bar with your drinks, Seungmin ordered another whiskey while you both looked over the menu, looking for something that he could ingest without arousing suspicion. “Do you eat a lot of Italian food?” Seungmin asked, looking up from his menu.

You shook your head. “No,” you admitted. “Unless you count pizza,” you joked. Seungmin smiled, returning to the black words before him. He settled on a steak with a simple side dish while you ordered some kind of seafood pasta.

“I’ve heard the pizza in Italy is nothing like the rest of the world,” you said as you picked up your water glass. Seungmin nodded, setting his now empty whiskey glass down. “It is,” he replied. You looked up from your glass. “You’ve been to Italy, too? Why am I not surprised,” you mused with a smirk.

Seungmin shrugged his shoulders, smiling back. “I’ve been all over Europe,” he reminded you. You set your water glass down and leaned forward slightly. “And the States,” you added to his statement. He nodded. “And Asia,” he continued. “Hmm,” you hummed, looking down at his fingers drumming against the white tablecloth.

“What’s the best place you’ve visited? Your favorite,” you asked, clarifying what you meant at the end. Seungmin hesitated. That was a good question. One he doesn’t think he’s ever answered. Then again, he didn’t make a habit of conversing with people other than Wonpil. What was his favorite place to visit?

As he pondered, the server stopped by the table. “Would you like another drink, sir?” he asked, to which Seungmin shook his head. “No thank you,” he replied. “Two is my limit,” he added, looking up as the server nodded, taking the empty whiskey glass.

You fought the urge to smile, thanking the server as he took your empty cocktail glass as well. “Would you like another?” he asked softly. Seungmin saw your eyes flicker to him and then back and you nodded. “Just one more. Three is my limit,” you replied, turning to look at Seungmin with a smirk.

He returned the smile before looking away. “So, my favorite place?” he asked. You nodded again. “A place you couldn’t forget, even if you tried,” you replied. Seungmin’s eyes widened comically as he chortled. “Wow. Okay, no pressure then,” he said as he shifted in his seat.

“I think I’d have to pick Milan. Especially during autumn. It’s spectacular,” he replied. You rested your chin in your hand, watching as he explained. “In summer, it’s just so hot and humid. Especially in July and August. But in autumn? Perfect. Temperatures aren’t hot, it’s mild. Absolutely gorgeous,” he added.

You sat back as the server returned with not only your drink but also the food. Seungmin was surprised by the portions, especially of your pasta. He knew he’d only be able to eat part of his meal. He’d have to take the rest to go.

As the two of you ate, he asked you more questions. He learned you moved to Seoul for work. He asked about your hometown and your family. He was surprised to learn that your parents still lived in your hometown and that you went home almost every year during the holidays.

He also learned that you loved animals, cats were among your favorite and that you actually had a cat at home in your apartment. He learned that you had a studio apartment in a high rise a few blocks west of the coffee shop that had a view of the river.

You told him how you loved books. You loved to read and most of your free time was spent curled up on your couch with a blanket, a hot cup of tea, and a book in your hands. Sometimes your cat curled up in your lap and sometimes she would curl up next to you as you read.

Seungmin focused more on your words than his food and when the server came by he asked for the rest of it to go. Once the food was packed up and your drink finished, Seungmin fished his wallet out and you held up your hand. “I invited you out,” you started but Seungmin was much quicker, handing his wallet to the server.

You stared at him, looking up to find the confused look on the server’s face. Seungmin glanced up, realizing his mistake in an instant. “Sorry,” he muttered, snatching his wallet, opening it and handing the card over. The server walked away, still processing what just happened as you looked down at the table, biting your bottom lip to hold in the laugh Seungmin knew was trying to escape.

“I meant to do that, you know,” he addressed you. Nodding, he could tell you didn’t quite believe him. He looked down at the table, silence falling over you as he, too, processed what he’d just done. As it set in, he snorted, holding back a laugh. Never before had he done something so absentminded as hand his entire wallet to a server to pay for a meal before.

How weird did he look? Would the server take it as stupidity or pretentiousness? As the server returned with the slip, Seungmin thanked him, holding back his laughter. He signed the slip and left a generous tip. He quickly returned his card to its home in his wallet and looked up at you.

“We should probably go,” he said softly. Your shoulders were shaking from holding back your laughter. You cleared your throat and nodded, getting up and Seungmin followed, grabbing the bag of to-go food. You both hurried towards the entrance, thanking the staff as you exited the building.

Once outside, you took one look at Seungmin, meeting his eye and both of you burst into laughter, ignoring the looks of other pedestrians as they passed by you. “What the hell was that?” you asked, your laughter subsiding only for a moment.

“I have no idea,” Seungmin replied, laughing just as hard. “I’ve never done that before!”

As the two of you started down the sidewalk, you continued to laugh about the wallet situation.

“It was just the look on his face,” you said, giggling hysterically. “He was so confused!”

“I know! I wish I could have read his mind. I wonder if he thought I was some pretentious asshole,” Seungmin countered. “Or just dumb,” you snorted. “Not that you are,” you clarified quickly. Seungmin burst into another round of laughter.

“I mean, I did just try to pay for our meals by handing over my entire wallet like we were getting mugged in an alley,” he reminded you, another round of laughter emitting from both of you.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your building and Seungmin stopped as you did, looking up at your building. “This is me,” you noted, turning back to look at him. Seungmin nodded.

“It’s getting cold out here,” he replied, his eyes threatening to dip down to look over your body again. He’d avoided it back in the restaurant by looking at other things in the establishment but out here, alone, in front of your apartment building he found it much harder to resist.

“It is,” you nodded. Silence fell between you but it wasn’t awkward this time. There was a certain tension. Something Seungmin hadn’t experienced in a long time. Sexual tension. He cleared his throat softly, noticing how you drew your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Did you want to come up?” you asked softly and Seungmin froze. He had no expectations going into this, knowing he was going to be leaving the city and his current life behind in a couple weeks so your question caught him off guard. Could he? He could, he was capable of going up to your apartment and giving you what you were probably expecting. He had the ability to do so.

But could he do that, knowing that something more might come out of it when he knew he was leaving? Could he do that to you or to himself? Was he strong enough to give in for just a couple weeks and then leave, never to return? He knew the answer to that question before he even asked himself.

“No,” he said softly, shaking his head and giving you a kind smile. “I’m afraid I’m a bit more old fashioned,” he added. The brief hurt on your face was replaced by understanding. The classic ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ tactic. You returned his smile. “I understand,” you replied.

“That’s actually kind of refreshing,” you added. “Most guys can’t wait for the date to get to this part, hoping I’ll invite them up but to be honest,” you explained. “I almost never invite them in.”

Seungmin felt a small surge of pride. It felt good to know that you felt comfortable enough to invite him in although you should feel anything but comfortable in his presence. “Maybe another time,” you added. Seungmin nodded wordlessly, not wanting to give you any false hope.

The man in him was screaming at him, cursing at him for letting you walk away. You stepped forward, closing the distance and kissing him on the cheek. It happened so quickly, Seungmin couldn’t stop it without hurting you physically or emotionally. When you drew back, you uttered a soft goodnight and turned to head up the steps to your building’s door.

Seungmin stood rooted to the spot, watching you walk away. He finally allowed him the chance to look over your body, the man in him still screaming at the lost opportunity to have you beneath him. Once you were safely inside, Seungmin turned and started in the direction of his apartment, going over the events of the night in his mind.

It had been awkward for him at first but he was surprised by how easily you both seemed to get along. The conversation, the joking, the wallet situation that still made him chuckle. The chemistry was there, he couldn’t deny it. And so when you called him a couple days later, asking him on another date, he couldn’t find it in him to say no.

Nor when you asked him on another. He enjoyed every minute he spent with you. He enjoyed your company far more than he enjoyed Wonpil’s, though he’d never tell his friend that. He normally shied away from humans physically but with you, everything felt natural.

The way you grabbed his hand when you were walking, the way you leaned into him, even when you kissed his cheek goodnight after he turned your offer to come up again and again. Everything with you felt right. Each time spent with you only drew him closer and closer to when he’d have to say goodbye.

He had a week left and so he decided to invite you out for once, calling you up.

“Oh, sorry,” you said over the receiver. He could hear the sound of you moving around your apartment. “I actually have plans tonight.” Seungmin felt his stomach sink. ‘Plans?’ he wondered and briefly, he thought maybe he’d turned you down one too many times until you spoke again.

“Yeah, my friend Ami is in town and it’s her birthday so we’re going to the club tonight,” you explained. Seungmin felt the weight in his stomach dissipate and he felt better instantly. “Oh? Where at?” he asked. “At this new club down by the main strip in Gangnam,” you replied. He heard the clicking of heels. You must be getting ready to leave.

“Well, have fun and be safe,” Seungmin said as he heard your keys jingle through the phone. “Thanks,” you said, a smile in your voice. “I’ll be careful,” you added. “And tell your friend I said happy birthday.” Your chuckle rang out and it made Seungmin miss hearing it in person. “I will,” you replied.

“I gotta go,” you said as Seungmin heard you open your door. “I’ll let you know when I get there and when I get home,” you added. “If it’ll make you feel better.” Seungmin smiled to himself. “It would, actually,” he answered. “Thank you.”

After you hung up, Seungmin plugged his phone in, hurrying through the apartment and changed at inhuman speed before returning to his phone, snatching it up and dialing Wonpil’s number. After the second ring, Wonpil answered the phone.

“What’s up?” he asked and Seungmin looked at himself in the mirror above the dining room table. “Do you have plans right now?” he asked. Wonpil fell silent for a moment before answering. “No?” he said hesitantly. “Want to go do something?” Seungmin asked.

“Dude, are you finally enjoying life again?” Wonpil asked, sounding both shocked and excited. “Well,” Seungmin said, playing with his hair, trying to get some of it to lay a certain way. “I’ve been on like 4 dates with Y/N,” he answered.

He heard Wonpil whoop through the phone. “Finally! You got laid!” Seungmin’s smile fell. “Actually about that,” he started and he could hear Wonpil groan through the phone. “Dude!” Seungmin held up his finger, even if Wonpil couldn’t see him. “To be fair, I’m leaving the city in like a week,” he explained.

“You know what? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Let’s go out,” Wonpil said. “Where are we going?”

A smile spread across his face. “Have you been to the new club in Gangnam?”

Getting to the club was easy, and meeting Ami and Hae-eun was even easier. You hated turning Seungmin down but you’d had these plans for a couple weeks now. You could always see him another day. “Y/N!” Ami said excitedly as you joined her and Hae-eun in line.

“Hey,” you said, giving her a hug before you turned to hug Hae-eun. “Look at you,” Hae-eun said, looking at your dress. “I’ve been wanting to wear this for a while,” you admitted. “But I don’t have a chance to go to clubs anymore.”

“Is that hospital overworking?” Ami asked as the line moved closer to the door. “No,” you replied, waving your hand as you took a step forward with your friends. “I’ve actually started dating,” you admitted. Ami gasped dramatically. “No way,” she said and Hae-eun lightly slapped her arm.

“Stop teasing her,” Hae-eun chastised. “I think it’s great,” she added as the three of you took another step closer to the doors. “I like that you’re settled in enough to start dating again.” You smiled at her, thanking her silently.

It only took a few minutes more to get to the door, show your IDs to the bouncer and get inside after paying your cover charge.

Once inside, you maneuvered through the crowd towards the bar to order drinks. Hae-eun opened the first tab on her card and once you each had a drink or two in Ami’s case, the three of you tried to find an open table and were lucky enough to find three open places on one of the sofas.

Playing catch up over drinks and the loud music was difficult but you managed and after downing a drink, Hae-eun dragged both you and Ami onto the floor, even if you lost your spot. It had been a while since you’d been dancing with your friends but it was nice to let loose.

Seungmin had been a blessing, spending time with him helped you unwind but you couldn’t lie that you were left feeling a little frustrated each time he declined to come back up to your apartment at the end of each date. You understood his position completely. He wasn’t a casual sex kind of guy and you couldn’t fault him for that but you couldn’t deny that you were really hot for him.

Like really really hot.

You’d had more than one dream that left you even more frustrated than before.

“I need water!” you called over the heavy bass to your friends who nodded and continued to dance as you squeezed through the crowd of sweaty patrons and headed for the bar to get some water.

You were glad you chose a comfortable dress that was still form fitting and showed off your curves. As you approached the bar, you smiled at the bartender who stopped in front of you. “Water please,” you said, leaning in and grabbing a napkin or two, starting to dab at your forehead and neck.

As you waited, you managed to dab and wipe away some of the sweat, tossing the napkins away as the person beside you stepped away from the bar, leaving an open space that was quickly occupied by another body. “Here you go,” the bartender said, passing you an unopened bottle of water.

You thanked him, twisting the top off and taking a drink.

You were aware of the eyes on you and you glanced to the side, noticing how the man who had walked up was looking at you. His eyes looked up and down your body before looking up to meet your gaze. He gave you a smile which you did not return.

“Hey,” the man said and you turned back to look at him. You said nothing, forcing a polite smile before turning back away, hoping he’d get the hint. He didn’t.

“I saw you from across the room,” he started, leaning in to speak into your ear. You leaned away from him, the scent of his cologne overpowering your senses. “Your eyes work,” you noted. “Good for you.” He laughed heavily, the sound instantly putting you off.

You grabbed your bottle of water and excused yourself, turning and walking away from the bar. You spotted your friends in the crowd but before you could step off to weave through the crowd and join them, you felt a rough hand grab your arm. “I wasn’t done talking to you,” the man growled.

You quickly untwist the cap on your bottle of water and squeezed it, sending water into his face. “Yes you were,” you snapped and pulled from his grip. “No means no.”

Not giving him a chance to respond or react, you dumped the rest of your water on his shoes and tossed the bottle in the waste bin nearby, turning and heading into the crowd to find Ami and Hae-eun. They turned as you arrived and both their smiles fell upon seeing your annoyed expression.

You gave them a short explanation and commended you for how you handled the situation. They pulled you in to dance some more before the three of you headed back to the bar for more drinks. You were here celebrating with your friends and nothing, not even some creep, was going to ruin your fun.

As you sat back down at the sofa, Hae-eun rounded on you. “So,” she started, tapping your knee. “Tell us about this guy.” Ami’s eyes widened in excitement. “Ooh, yes!” she exclaimed. You shrugged your shoulders, stirring your drink with the small black straw.

“What do you want to know?” you asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“How did you meet?”

“Is he hot?”

“Where did you meet?”

“Is he rich?”

“What does he do for a living?”

“Does he have a big-”

Hae-eun slapped Ami’s arm. “Stop with the superficial questions!” she hissed, making you snort and shake your head at their antics. ‘The same as ever,’ you noted.

“We met in the national park,” you started, looking at Hae-eun. “Yes, he’s hot,” you continued, looking at Ami. “I don’t know what he does for a living but he’s got enough money to pay for all our dates,” you added. The two stared at you, waiting for more. “And???” Ami asked.

“And what?” you asked, looking between them.

“I think what the birthday girl is asking,” Hae-eun said, throwing a glare at Ami. “Is ‘have you slept together?’” Ami nodded excitedly, looking at you expectantly. You averted your eyes from their questioning gazes, suddenly more interested in your drink.

“We haven’t,” you finally answered quietly. Ami groaned and Hae-eun shushed her. “This is why none of your dates go anywhere, Y/N,” Ami said pointedly, ignoring the glare Hae-eun gave her. You looked up at them, confusion written on your face.

“But I’ve invited him up!” you protested. “Numerous times actually.” Ami exchanged glances with Hae-eun. “And he says no?” Hae-eun asked, to which you nodded. “Every time; he declines, we say goodnight, I kiss him on the cheek, and then he waits for me to go inside before he leaves,” you explained.

“He’s gay,” Ami said suddenly, making Hae-eun choke on her drink.

“He’s not gay,” you retorted. “He even said he’s just old fashioned. He’s not into casual sex.” Ami rolled her eyes, settling back against the sofa. “Gaaaaaaay,” she shouted. Hae-eun covered her mouth with her hand, apologizing to the group sitting next to you.

You looked back down at your drink. “Maybe he’s a virgin!” Ami suddenly said and you shrugged. “And if he is?” you asked, looking up. “Is that so bad?” Ami hesitated but Hae-eun jumped in. “No,” she replied. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” she replied.

“It’s boring!” Ami said loudly, earning another slap to the arm from Hae-eun.

“Well, I think it’s refreshing to have a guy not want to get into my pants and actually take an interest in building something first,” you retorted. “Not everything has to be about sex. Meaningful relationships are important, too,” you added. Hae-eun raised her glass. “Hear, hear,” she said.

You gently tapped your glass against hers before taking a sip while Ami shrugged.

“I still think he’s a boring, gay virgin.”

Seungmin had met Wonpil at the door, managing to get to the club at the same time Wonpil was ready to go in. They’d paid their cover charges, slipped inside and headed for the bar. Seungmin ordered a simple whiskey neat and spent most of the first few hours nursing the drink.

Wonpil was looking around, noticing a few ladies not far smiling his way but tonight wasn’t about that as Seungmin had explained as soon as they entered the establishment. “I can’t believe the first time ever of you inviting me out is about spying on your girlfriend,” he murmured, downing the rest of his second drink.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Seungmin retorted, keeping his eyes on you as you danced with your friends. You had finished one drink already that he saw and took to the floor immediately after, following your two friends. He had half a mind to slip onto the dance floor and join you.

He was vaguely listening to Wonpil talk about work when he noticed you were no longer on the dance floor. He saw your friends but there was no sign of you. Sitting up quickly, his eyes darted around until he finally found you, relief flooding him but it was short lived.

You had managed to ask the bartender for something when a man in a gray suit sidled up to the bar beside you. The way he was staring at your body made Seungmin’s stomach churn. He watched as the man spoke to you but due to all the other interference of the loud music and chatter around him, Seungmin couldn’t tell what was being said but based on your body language, you weren’t into it.

Seungmin watched as you walked away from the bar, feeling a bit better but when the man followed, grabbing you by the arm, he clenched his hand so hard, the glass in Seungmin’s hand shattered, sending whiskey all over the table.

“Whoa, dude, chill,” Wonpil hissed, starting to pick up the pieces, catching the attention of one of the servers who came over with a towel. “I’m so sorry,” Wonpil said as he helped her gather the glass in the towel. “My friend doesn’t know his own strength sometimes,” he added as he brushed Seungmin’s hand off and accepted a clean towel to clean up the alcohol.

“Thank you so much,” Wonpil said, offering another apology.

Seungmin’s eyes were still on you and the man. You’d managed to untwist the cap of your water bottle and squeeze the liquid in his face, prompting to let go before you dumped the remainder on his shoes and then left to join your friends.

Seungmin felt a surge of pride at watching the exchange but he didn’t miss the murderous look the man threw your way before he stormed off towards the bathrooms. Seungmin kept his eye on you but also kept an eye out for the man.

It was maybe about twenty or thirty minutes later that you got up from the couch after settling there with new drinks that you made your way towards the bathrooms. Seungmin had yet to see the man but when you passed the bar, a figure turned and Seungmin saw it was the man.

He felt his stomach churn again as the man got up and started after you, keeping his distance. “I’ll be back,” Seungmin announced to Wonpil and got up from his seat, turning and weaving through the crowd in the direction of the bathrooms.

You managed to make it through the crowd and into the bathroom. As you were shutting the door, a foot blocked it and you looked up to see the same man from before. He pushed the door open, forcing you back. “This is the women’s bathroom,” you remarked but he said nothing, instead, shutting the door and to your horror you heard the lock click.

“You need to get out,” you said as he advanced. Again he said nothing.

You backed away as he continued forward towards you.

“Get the fuck out. What is your problem?” you snapped, which finally got a response. “You think that was funny?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “Splashing water in my face in front of everyone?” You narrowed your eyes. “If you hadn’t been such a creep and left me alone when I literally walked away from you, maybe I wouldn’t have had to splash water in your face,” you replied.

“If you didn’t want attention, you shouldn’t have dressed like a slut,” he retorted. You rolled your eyes. “Seriously dude? Grow up. Get out before I call security,” you warned. He scoffed, almost laughing at you. “How’re you gonna do that when you can’t even scream?” he asked.

Your eyes widened and before you could move, he closed the distance, pushing you back against the sink, one hand going round your throat and pushing your head back against the mirror. You heard the glass crack and splinter as your head made contact, the impact dazing you for a moment.

You tried to claw at his hand. “L-let go!” you choked out. His free hand moved to the hem of your dress. “I’ll teach you a lesson, slut,” he growled. Before he could do anything else, the door was thrown open with such force you thought a bomb had gone off.

“Get your hands off her,” a familiar voice snapped. You heard the impact of a punch and the sound of a body falling into the wall before you felt a presence standing in front of you. “Y/N, holy shit, look at me,” the voice said. Gentle hands took hold of your face and through your swimming vision you saw Seungmin’s face.

“S-Seungmin?” you stammered. “Back off buddy,” the other guy said, advancing but Seungmin turned to look at him, a deep growl emitting from his chest. It rumbled so intensely that you felt it on your skin. “Touch her again and I’ll rip your fucking fingers off, one by one,” he threatened.

Without another word, Seungmin easily lifted you off the sink, carrying you from the bathroom and through the crowd easily. He stopped at the door to inform the bouncers of the situation but you couldn’t pay attention. Soon the cool autumn air hit your skin and you opened your eyes.

You were outside.

“Where’s your phone?” Seungmin asked, carrying you to the end of the block and kneeling down, holding you up with one hand as he pulled his own phone from his pocket. “It’s here,” you murmured, gesturing at your chest where you had stuffed your phone earlier as your dress had no pockets.

“Can you get it out for me?” Seungmin asked softly as he dialed something on his phone and held his phone up to his ear. “Yeah, I got her,” Seungmin said softly into the receiver. “I’m gonna call an ambulance. Get her friends and I’ll text you the location of the hospital they take her,” he continued.

You shook your head. “No mmbulance,” you mumbled. Seungmin pulled his phone away from his ear and started typing again before holding it back up to his ear. “Y/N, you’ve hit your head,” Seungmin explained. “You’re bleeding so you might need stitches,” he continued. “And you might have a concussion.”

You looked up as he waited for whoever he was calling to answer. In the glow of the neon lights of the city he was exceptionally beautiful. You blinked slowly as you watched him. His hair was pushed back, like he’d intentionally styled it or had run his fingers through it so much it was holding.

His irises were red and you don’t know how you never noticed it before.

“You have pretty eyes,” you said, your speech slurring slightly. Seungmin looked down at you, his lips parting before he looked back up. “Hi, yes, I need an ambulance to the corner of Gangnam Boulevard and the 69th street. Address? Uh…” Seungmin looked up and around for an address to give what you assumed was a 1-1-9 dispatcher.

You tuned out the words, instead just watching him speak as the throbbing of your head started to set in.

“Thank you,” he replied, drawing you back to reality. “Ow,” you murmured as he put his phone away. “An ambulance is on the way,” he said, shifting so he was leaning against the wall of the building and keeping you on his lap. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad does it hurt?” he asked softly.

“Ssseven,” you slurred. “Y/N oh my god! What happened!” a voice rang out. Seungmin looked up as did you. A smile spread across your face as Ami and Hae-eun hurried over with some guy you’d never seen. He looked a bit like Seungmin. You glanced at Seungmin again and then to the man and back at Seungmin.

“Are you two brothers?” you asked, pointing between them. Seungmin looked up at the man who stared back. “Uh, Y/N,” Seungmin replied. “That’s Wonpil.” You looked again and the realization dawned on you. “Dr. Kim!” you said suddenly, trying to sit up but Seungmin kept a firm grip on you.

“Whoa,” Wonpil said as he moved and knelt down. “No sudden movements, Y/N,” he said with a chuckle. “You know that. Let me see your head,” he said, gently taking your head and turning it so he could inspect the back. “It’s bleeding,” he noted.

“But it doesn’t seem too bad,” he added. “Might not even need stitches,” he continued with a smile and a wink. “But you could have a concussion,” he said, glancing at Seungmin. “Okay,” Hae-eun said, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Not to be rude, but who the fuck are you two?”

Wonpil chuckled at Hae-eun’s aggressiveness. “I’m Wonpil. I work with Y/N,” he introduced himself. “I’m a doctor at Seoul General. This is my friend Seungmin who also happens to be dating your friend Y/N,” he added, gesturing at Seungmin.

“Ami! Ami! Seungmin is the one you think is a gay virgin,” you blurted out, looking at Ami who looked positively horrified at your candor. You felt Seungmin freeze under you. “Y/N,” Hae-eun hissed. “You can’t say things like that.” You looked at her. “Oh, sorry, Hae-eun.”

Wonpil looked as if he might burst a seam, holding in his laughter.

“I am so sorry,” Ami said, looking at Seungmin. You looked up at him trying to decipher his expression but it was unreadable. “He’s just a gentleman,” you replied, still looking up at him. Seungmin looked down, meeting your gaze and you noticed the small smile he gave you.

“He’s just old fashioned and there’s nothing wrong with that,” you continued. You looked around as everyone was bathed in red and blue lights. “Is the wee woo wagon here?” you asked, making Wonpil snort as Seungmin carefully shifted as two paramedics got out of the ambulance.

“Yes,” he said, glancing down at you. “The wee woo wagon is here.” You closed your eyes, letting out a laugh. “Wee woo, wee woo,” you said, mimicking the siren as a new set of hands started to look you over and carefully placed you on a soft material.

“Wow,” you said as one person started to check your blood pressure. “The concrete sure is soft.”

Wonpil let out another laugh before covering his mouth. “Sorry,” he said softly. After starting an IV and checking your vitals and the wound on your head, you were loaded into the ambulance. “We only have space for one of you,” one of the paramedics said. “I’ll go,” Wonpil offered. “I’m a doctor and her colleague,” he added. “I’ll text you the location,” he said as he climbed in.

Seungmin nodded, keeping his eyes on you as the doors were shut and the ambulance took off, sirens blaring. “This is not how tonight was supposed to go,” Ami said tearfully, Hae-eun leaning into her looking every bit as worried as Seungmin felt.

“Where will they take her?” Ami asked, looking at Seungmin who shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Wonpil will let me know as soon as they get close,” he added.

Seungmin glanced behind him, back towards the club. His mind was full of thoughts to go back. To finish what he had in his mind but the buzzing of his phone pulled him from those dark thoughts. Seungmin glanced down at his phone, the screen lighting up with a notification from Wonpil.

Wonpil: they’re taking her to our hospital. Visiting hours will be ending soon. Get there fast

“I got a location,” Seungmin announced, Ami and Hae-eun turning to look at him. “Where” Ami asked as Seungmin hailed a cab, pocketing his phone. The driver pulled up to the curb and Seungmin turned to the two. “Seoul General,” he replied. “But we have to hurry.”

He got into the front while Ami and Hae-eun got into the back and he told the driver where to go.

He’d deal with the creep later.

The drive to the hospital didn’t take long and soon, the cab was pulling up to the emergency entrance. “Thank you so much,” Seungmin said, paying the driver as Ami and Hae-eun got out. He joined them on the sidewalk and headed into the hospital.

“Can I help you?” one of the triage nurses asked, smiling up at him. “Hi,” Seungmin said softly, leaning against the counter. “Our friend was brought in. A Dr. Kim was with her. She had a head injury and was picked up just off Gangnam Boulevard,” he explained.

“What’s your friend’s name?” she asked, typing on her computer. “Y/N,” Seungmin replied quickly.

“Last name?” she asked, looking up at him. Seungmin hesitated. He didn’t know your last name. “Y/L/N,” Hae-eun interjected, stepping forward. She rattled off the rest of your information as Seungmin fell silent. He hadn’t even known your last name.

How didn’t he know something as simple as that? It started to dawn on him just how little he truly knew about you. “She’s still being looked at,” the nurse said as she looked at her screen. “Dr. Kim ordered an MRI and CT scan. If you want to wait, you’re welcome to wait here and I’ll make sure someone comes and informs you of her condition as soon as there’s an update.”

Hae-eun thanked the nurse and returned to Ami, the two leading the way over to an empty corner, taking a seat on the small sofa while Seungmin sat in one of the armchairs. He didn’t look at either of your friends, instead trying to focus on keeping himself from going back to the club.

He wasn’t sure how much time went by but Hae-eun looked up and tapped Ami’s arm prompting Seungmin to also look up, seeing Wonpil walking over. Seungmin got up quickly as did Hae-eun. “How is she?” Ami asked, looking up from her seat.

“She’s okay,” Wonpil answered. “She didn’t need stitches,” he confirmed, looking at Seungmin who was relieved. “It was a lot of blood but the cut was very shallow and shouldn’t scar.” Seungmin let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “As for the trauma to her head,” he continued.

“Nothing on her scans indicate any serious trauma to her brain. Maybe a little bit of rattling, but there’s no bleeding in her brain which is a good sign,” he explained, addressing Ami and Hae-eun. “We will keep her overnight for observation. Nurses will wake her up every hour to make sure she doesn’t have a concussion,” he continued.

“Can we go see her?” Ami asked and Wonpil nodded, smiling. “Yes, of course,” he answered. “I’ll take you back there now,” he added. Seungmin brought up the rear as Wonpil walked your friends back into the ER. “Visiting hours end soon,” Wonpil said softly as he stopped by a door,

“But I’ll extend them just a bit for you,” he added, gesturing to the open door. Ami and Hae-eun entered, pushing the curtain aside as they entered. Wonpil stopped Seungmin before he could follow. “Tell me you didn’t do anything to him,” Wonpil said under his breath.

Seungmin looked up at this friend. “No,” he replied. “Well, I may have punched him.” Wonpil raised a brow. “Did his head stay on?” Seungmin snorted. “Unfortunately,” he replied. Wonpil held back a laugh. “I know he did something wrong but don’t go causing trouble,” Wonpil warned.

“Let the consequences of his actions catch up with him.”

Seungmin said nothing, nodding silently as Wonpil lowered his hand. “She’s a little more lucid,” he added. Seungmin thanked his friend and entered the room. Seeing you lying in the bed made his non-beating heart sink into his stomach.

He hated seeing you in such a state and it further fueled the fire in his being to go back to the club and deal with the man who had the audacity to put his hands on you. To say the things he did. To hurt you. Seungmin heard it all.

After the man had gotten up and followed you, Seungmin had gotten up, following both of you at a distance. He heard the entire exchange. The way you stood your ground, the way the man degraded you, calling you names before he acted.

It took every ounce of his strength to not tear the man apart, limb from limb when he entered that bathroom. Seeing his hands on you, how he had you pinned to the sink. The shatter mirror, the cracks spreading from the source of impact. Your head.

He should have killed the creep then and there but he was driven by a desire to make sure you were okay first. To get you to safety and assess your condition. He could always go back. And he would go back.

“Y/N, oh my god!” Ami said, rushing to your side as Hae-eun followed. Seungmin hung back as Wonpil entered the room, hands in his pockets. “She’s a very pretty woman,” Wonpil said under his breath. Seungmin nodded. “She’s more remarkable than she looks,” he replied.

Wonpil nodded, silence falling over the two.

“You can’t keep seeing her if you plan to leave,” Wonpil said finally and Seungmin nodded again. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ve thought about it over and over,” he added. “It’ll just hurt her and I can't do that to her.”

Wonpill nodded, turning his head towards Seungmin. “So don’t keep doing this. Don’t follow her to clubs,” he continued. Seungmin looked at him. “This was a one time thing,” he whispered. “I’ve never followed her before,” he clarified.

Wonpil nodded. “Good,” he said softly. Seungmin watched as Wonpil stepped forward. “I’m sorry ladies,” he said, addressing Ami and Hae-eun. “But Y/N needs rest. She’ll be released tomorrow so long as she’s cleared,” he added. Ami and Hae-eun nodded and looked back at you.

“Sorry I ruined your birthday,” you said to Ami who laughed, gently squeezing your hand. “It’s okay,” she replied. “You didn’t ruin it,” she added. “We’ll come see you tomorrow,” Hae-eun said, looking at Wonpil who nodded with a smile. “Of course,” he said, gesturing towards the door.

“Okay, we’ll see you tomorrow,” Ami said as she and Hae-eun said goodbye and started to move towards the door, passing in front of Seungmin. When they were past him, Seungmin caught your eye and offered a smile before turning to head for the door.

“Actually, could I have a moment alone with Seungmin?” you asked Wonpil who glanced at his friend before looking back at you. “Of course,” he said. “Just a couple minutes,” he added before leaving the room. Seungmin turned back to face you.

“Could you come here please?” you asked, trying to push yourself up. Seungmin hurried to your side, grabbing the bed controls. “Use this,” he said, placing it in your hand. “Thanks,” you said, pressing the button to raise the head of the bed.

Seungmin sat carefully on the edge of your bed, keeping his eyes on your face. “I--” your voice cracked as you tried to say something. You tried again. Seungmin could see you fighting the urge to cry. “I wanted to thank you for saving me,” you said softly. Seungmin glanced down at your hand, wondering whether he should take hold of it or not.

He lost the fight with his inner self and took your hand gently and carefully. His ears picked up how the heart monitor beeped a little faster. It wasn’t much but it was enough for you to avoid his glaze for a moment. “Damn machine,” you said softly.

“Giving me away.”

Seungmin fought the urge to smile. He’d already known how he affected you. He could hear your heart without the monitor. He could hear the way the tempo danced whenever he got closer or whenever you held his hand or leaned into him.

He was sure his would be doing the same if it weren’t dead.

“Damn machine,” he repeated, making you chuckle.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “I thanked you for saving me,” you started. “But how did you know where I was?” you asked. Seungmin smiled, looking down at your hand in his. “When you said you were going out with some friends, I decided to do the same and asked Wonpil to come out with me. I didn’t expect us to end up at the same club,” he admitted.

You looked up at him as he spoke. “But I saw you while I was talking to Wonpil and I saw that guy,” he continued, his expression shifting to anger as he recalled the way the man had grabbed your arm. “And I saw the way you defended yourself. But then you went to the bathroom alone and then I saw him follow and I just felt like something was wrong,” he added.

“So I followed you to the bathrooms. I got close enough, and then I heard you pleading,” Seungmin said, keeping his voice as even as possible. “So you broke down the door?” you asked, watching his face. He nodded. “How?” you asked, and Seungmin looked down at you. “How what?”

“How did you break down the door?” you asked, looking genuinely curious. “I kicked it in,” he admitted. You stared at him for a few minutes before speaking. “But it’s a metal door,” you replied. Seungmin shrugged. “I probably had adrenaline pumping,” he replied. “You can do incredible things on adrenaline,” he added.

You stared at him, eyes searching his face. For the first time since meeting you, Seungmin couldn’t tell if you were scared of him or not. “That’s one hell of an adrenaline rush,” you finally said and Seungmin laughed, nodding. “Yeah,” he said softly. He placed your hand on your stomach.

“I should probably go so you can rest,” he said, standing up. The way you looked up at him had him feeling like he couldn’t just leave without a proper goodbye. Against his better judgment, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As he pulled back, he met your gaze and before he could stop you, you grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling him down and Seungmin felt on fire as your lips met for the first time. He couldn’t remember the last time he kissed someone. It had been ages but yet he didn’t seem to be any worse for it.

Your lips parted and Seungmin could hear via both the heart monitor and the pounding of your heart as his tongue slipped into your mouth. It was embarrassing how easily a kiss riled him up but he could smell how it affected you as well. He pulled back even though the man inside him wanted more. He rested his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry our first kiss was while you were lying in a hospital bed,” he said, a hint of amusement to his voice. You giggled, looking up at him as he pulled back. “Thank you again,” you said softly, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. Seungmin’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over and pulling your bottom lip free before he leaned in, kissing you again.

“Get some rest,” he said softly. “I’ll come see you tomorrow,” he added as he stood up. “You promise?” you called as he walked towards the door, he turned back and smiled, nodding. “But after you get out of the hospital,” he added as the door opened and Wonpil appeared.

“Goodnight Y/N,” Seungmin said before following Wonpil out of the room as he heard you call out.

“See you around!”

Seungmin chuckled to himself as Wonpil shut the door and rounded on him. “I told you to leave her alone,” he hissed as the pair headed for the exit. “The entire nurses station could hear her heart monitor!” Seungmin laughed a little louder as they reached the door.

“I’m serious,” Wonpil added, trying not to laugh as Seungmin came to a halt by the doors leading out to the lobby. “If you plan on leaving, don’t get involved with her.” Seungmin nodded, forcing his laughter down. “And go home,” he added.

It was clear what Wonpil was insinuating but there was no way Seungmin was going to let the creep get away with what he’d just done. Especially not to you. “The world won’t miss him,” he replied under his breath. “I’m simply taking out the trash.”

Wonpil glanced up at him before looking around. “Fine,” he said definitively. “Just make it look like an accident and be careful.” Seungmin didn’t need telling twice. He nodded once and said goodbye to his friend before exiting to the lobby. If he was going to do this, he needed to get back to the club.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the club and by the time he got there, the club had closed with the patrons spilling out into the street, calling for taxis and other transportation home. Seungmin hid amongst the crowd, keeping his eye out until he finally spotted him.

‘Found you.’

It had not been a good night for Darren. From having water splashed in his face and poured on his shoes, being assaulted in the bathroom and not managing to find anyone else to come home with him, he left the club dejectedly and started the walk home. He was fortunate that his apartment building was a few blocks away.

As he started to walk away from the crowd, he glanced around to get an idea of his surroundings and who might be walking the same direction as him. He continued on, one foot in front of the other as he walked further from the busy boulevard and down side streets and alleys.

He stopped in his tracks as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and turned, looking behind him, scanning the area. He saw nothing, indicating he was alone, but he didn’t feel alone. He shook the feeling off and turned back around to continue on.

He’d only gone a few more steps when he felt it again. The feeling of being watched. He turned back around, hands balling into fists as he stood his ground against his shadowy follower. He squinted, looking into the dark crevices. Inspecting the best he could from a distance.

Nothing moved. There were no sounds. No crickets, no rats or other critters squeaking or chittering. There was no sound of fans or air conditioning units. Nothing. It was as if someone hit mute on everything. There was no sound of vehicles passing on the larger streets nearby.

He shook the creeping feeling across his skin and continued on his way again. He wasn’t going to let some paranoid feeling get the best of him. Picking up the pace, he continued walking, hoping to get out of this neighborhood soon and into the one where he lived. Where he felt safe.

He heard the sound of footsteps and the scraping of metal against concrete, like a can had been kicked. He spun around but was met once again with an empty alleyway. The various steps and stoops up to the front doors were empty. Not even a cat waiting to be let in for the night.

There was nothing. Just him and the alley.

Darren quickened his pace yet again, practically jogging now as he tried to navigate his way out of this alley and back onto a major street. He could hear footsteps against pavement and broke into a run, noticing the end of the alley drawing closer and soon he was back on the main street with other people. He stopped, glancing back into the alley where he swore he saw a pair of glowing red eyes.

This spooked him enough to light a fire under him and he hurried back to his building, ignoring the looks from strangers around him as he pushed past them without so much as an ‘excuse me’ or apology. He reached his building, a high rise with a doorman who greeted him, opening the door for him.

Once in the elevator, Darren felt much better. Safer even. The ride up to the nineteenth floor didn’t take long and soon he was putting in the code for his apartment, letting himself in and shutting the door quickly behind him, locking it and taking a few deep breaths.

He’d managed to make it home and he felt infinitely better in his familiar surroundings. He started to settle, removing his shoes before stepping up onto the floor and going about his usual routine. He moved into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water and drinking it slowly as he thought about the events of the night.

Namely the man who came into the bathroom to rescue the woman who had splashed water in his face.

He’d never seen anything like it. The way the door was kicked in, almost like it had been blown in by a battering ram and then the way he stormed in. He moved so fast, Darren had no chance to react before he felt the man’s fist collide with his jaw. “Bastard,” he said softly as he reached up to massage the sore spot on his face. He knew it was going to bruise.

Darren finished his water before setting the empty glass in the sink and heading to the back of his apartment, towards his bedroom and bathroom. Inside the bathroom, he turned on the water, making it as hot as he could stand. Something to relax his tense muscles before bed.

He stripped, dropping his clothes in the hamper and stepped under the stream, closing the glass door behind him. The hot water beat down on him, steaming up the glass surfaces and obscuring his vision of the rest of the bathroom.

A sudden gust of cold wind hit him and he froze, looking away from the shower and quickly wiped the glass, squinting out into the bathroom and trying to see beyond the open bathroom door to his bedroom. He saw nothing and quickly opened the door, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist.

He stepped out of the shower, and started into the bedroom, the cool breeze still hitting him. Once inside his room he noticed that one of his windows was open. ‘What the hell?’

He hurried over and pulled it shut, latching the lock and looking outside to the city below. ‘How in the hell could that have opened?’ he wondered. He took a good look around the room but found nothing amiss. Nothing had been moved, nor did he see any sign of intruders.

Deciding he needed to just sleep it off, he headed back into the bathroom to finish his shower so he could go to bed. He hung the towel back up, stepping back into the glass case and shutting the door. He heard a scraping behind him against the glass and spun around.

There was nothing there. He turned to the door but again saw nothing. He turned the water off and shook his head. ‘You’re seeing things,’ he told himself and chuckled. “Man, you really need sleep.”

He turned to open the door and froze. Out of his periphery on the left side he could see a dark shadow. A figure. He turned to look at it, terror filling his veins as the figure didn’t disappear when he looked at it. Standing firmly beyond the glass was a dark shape, it was vaguely human.

“W-who are you?” he stammered, frozen in place. Darren could hear a faint buzzing and the light overhead started to flicker. He looked up at it quickly and then back but the shadow was gone. He turned back to the door and then everything happened in slow motion.

He was confronted with a nightmarish creature. Black and red eyes, a grotesque pale face with a bat-like nose. The teeth. Each one was sharp and pointed and the creature's mouth was full of them.

It snarled and roared at him, causing him to jump and take a step back. Darren slipped, falling back in slow motion. His head collided with the tiled wall behind him, a sharp and intense pain spreading from the point of impact as he slid down the wall and onto the floor of the shower.

The creature, which had been hanging upside down, dropped to the floor, features shifting as it moved closer and knelt down, clicking its tongue as it did so.

“Tsk, tsk,” it said in the voice of a man. Darren looked up, his vision swimming in and out of focus. “You know, you really should have an anti slip mat in these things,” the creature turned man said and as his face came into focus, Darren’s eyes widened. “Y-you!” he stammered.

The man from before looked down at him coldly. His irises red as he glared. “I had told you I’d rip your fingers off one by one,” he said as he looked down at him. “But watching you hit your head and slowly succumb to the trauma is so much more satisfying,” he said, his voice full of malice.

“You can’t do this-” Darren choked out, fear taking over him as the man reached a hand down slowly. “Yes,” he replied. “I can and I will.” Darren felt the man’s fingers curl into his hair, picking his head up off the tiled floor before he gave him a cruel smile.

“I’ll teach you a lesson,” he hissed before slamming Darren’s head against the floor. As the man stood up, everything started to go black. “Wash this up,” the man said, turning on the shower, the water raining down on Darren’s body as his life ebbed away from him.

“Be glad I’ve given you this death. You deserve much worse.”

As his vision went black, the last thing Darren saw was the back of the man exiting his bathroom.

“In other news, authorities have said in a strange twist of events, a suspect in a serial rapist they’ve been trying to track down has died in an accident in his apartment. The suspect slipped and fell in the shower, hitting his head and dying from the trauma. Now let’s look at the weather.”

Seungmin looked up as Wonpil turned the television off. “I told you not to get involved,” Wonpil hissed as Seungmin sat perfectly still, staring back at him. “He slipped and fell,” Seungmin stated. “I didn’t touch him.” Wonpil narrowed his eyes.

“I guess his karma caught up to him,” Seungmin added, looking away from Wonpil.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. It looks like an accident,” Seungmin added. Wonpil shook his head. “You don’t get to play judge, jury, and executioner,” he stated. “We’re not supposed to get involved in these things. Let them sort it out.”

Seungmin narrowed his eyes at Wonpil. “Let them sort it out? So you’re saying I should have let him force himself on Y/N?” Seungmin asked incredulously. “No!” Wonpil, sounding exasperated. “I didn’t say that! I just meant that this is what happens when you get involved.”

Seungmin scoffed, getting up from the sofa. “So, it’s my fault?”

Wonpil gestured to the tv. “A man is dead!” he replied. “A man who had assaulted many. A serial rapist,” Seungmin argued. “Or did you just ignore that part?” Wonpil glared at him, huffing angrily as his pager started to beep. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the screen.

“I gotta go. Hospital needs me,” he said, getting up and grabbing his wallet. “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone,” Wonpil said as he headed for the door. “Oh, and one more thing,” he continued, turning back to look at Seungmin. “Stay away from Y/N.”

Seungmin glared at the door as Wonpil disappeared. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he fished the device out, seeing he had a text from you.

Y/N: you said you’d come and see me after i got released but you haven’t come ):

Seungmin chuckled, quickly typing out a response. He’d finally gotten the hang of having a phone and had no problems sending texts anymore though he still occasionally signed them off before erasing them, remembering they weren’t emails.

Seungmin: sorry. It’s been kind of hectic on this end. I do want to see you (:

Your response was swift.

Y/N: how about dinner tonight? My place? I’ll cook for you (:

Seungmin stared at the screen. Dinner? At your place? Alone? He hesitated. Could he resist the urge? The urge to want to be with you? To want you in every possible way he could have you? He knew if he gave in to that urge, there was no way he could leave you. He’d be tied to you in some way.

Against his better judgment, Seungmin responded.

Seungmin: sounds good. Seven o’clock?

Y/N: seven o’clock sounds perfect. I’ll see you soon (;

Seungmin chuckled at the winking face you’d sent as he locked and placed his phone in his pocket, checking the time on his watch. He had about an hour to get ready and head to your place. He wrote a note for Wonpil, letting him know that he wasn’t going to listen and that he was going to give in for once before grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.

The walk back to his place took half an hour as he had to weave between busy pedestrians without drawing attention. He raced to his apartment as soon as the elevator doors opened and once he was inside, he changed at top speed, rushing through the apartment.

Once he was ready, he headed back down and had about twenty minutes to get to your place before seven. He stopped on the way, grabbing a bottle of wine and a small bouquet of flowers. Nothing overly fancy. More of an “I’m thinking of you and hope you’re well,” kind of thing.

He arrived at your building with five minutes to spare, taking the buttonless elevator up to your floor. He watched as the counter stopped on the twentieth floor and he got off, heading to the unit number you’d instructed. Standing outside 2091, he felt like an idiot but he knocked regardless.

It took only a few moments for you to answer the door, opening it with a smile on your face as you greeted him. “Hey, come on in,” you said softly and stood aside to let him in. Seungmin stepped over the threshold. The notion that a vampire could not enter unless invited was garbage but he liked that you still invited him in.

“These are for you,” he said, handing the flowers over. You smiled, taking them with a thank you. “They’re lovely,” you added as you headed into the kitchen. Seungmin slipped off his shoes and followed you, glancing around your studio apartment.

It was every bit uniquely you as you had described it to him. You had taken a singular space and turned it into three. The bedroom area was closed off by a hanging curtain and cubby shelves. The plants and string lights made it feel cozy and magical. Almost like a forest.

You’d turned the space near the door leading to the balcony into your living room, sectioning the space off but it didn’t feel cut off. Everything flowed nicely. The last space was against the wall on the other side of the living space. A small dining table and three chairs stood, all bar height.

Seungmin turned to you as you placed the flowers in an empty vase, setting the vase aside and turning to him. “Wine as well?” you asked, nodding at the bottle in his hand. He handed it over and you turned to your fridge, placing the bottle inside.

“I didn’t want to show up empty handed,” he answered. You turned back to him before moving to the kitchen counter. “So,” Seungmin said, moving to stand beside you. “What are you making?” he asked. “A stirfry,” you answered simply, cutting the vegetables.

“For me anyway,” you replied. Seungmin looked up at you, meeting your gaze.

“You don’t eat,” you said plainly. Seungmin was certain if his heart was alive, it would be pounding. Were you onto him? He broke into a smile, laughing. “What are you talking about?” he asked, chuckling. You moved to open the cabinet.

You pulled out a wine glass. “Do you want one?” you asked, looking at him. “For the sake of appearances?” Seungmin’s smile fell. “What are you talking about?” he asked as you moved to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of your own wine and pouring yourself a glass.

“Are you a vampire?”

Your question caught him completely off guard, knocking the wind out of him as he processed what you’d just asked. Had he imagined the whole thing? He didn’t even notice you pour another glass of wine and push it towards him.

You had asked him so nonchalantly. Like you were asking about his job or the weather.

‘Are you a vampire?’ Your voice echoed in his head. How was he supposed to answer? Did he lie and laugh it off? Did you already know for certain? Would denying it just make you mad and push you further away? That was the last thing he wanted.

“Well,” you said suddenly, pulling Seungmin from his thoughts. “Are you?”

He looked from your questioning gaze to the glass of wine sitting in front of him. He grabbed it, swirling the red liquid as he carefully thought about his answer. He wondered when you pieced it all together. Was it when he’d saved you from the creep in the club bathroom? Or perhaps it was before then. Had you known since the moment you met him when he was contemplating throwing himself from the cliff?

But if so, how could you have known? In all his years, he’s never met another person who deduced his true nature who wasn’t already a supernatural being themselves. Maybe he had you all wrong? Was there more to you than met even his eyes?

“Am I what?” he finally spoke, looking up from the crimson wine, through his lashes to meet your gaze.

“A vampire?”

Seungmin held his breath, staring you down. Normally when he made eye contact like this, everyone would shy away from his intense gaze, everyone except you it would seem. You held his gaze, staring back almost challengingly. “What makes you think that?” Seungmin asked softly, still staring back at you.

“Just a hunch, I guess,” you replied, looking away from his eyes momentarily to take a sip of your wine before glancing back up again. “I thought about it when I first saw you,” you explained. “You looked so… tormented and lonely.” Seungmin continued to hold his breath as you spoke.

“Not to mention those stories you told me when we first met on the cliff that day. So much history. So many tales,” you continued, a small smile appearing on your lips. “And then when you seemingly knew where I was at the club when that… man--”

“Monster,” Seungmin interrupted, catching you off guard as you looked back up in shock.

“That wasn’t a man,” Seungmin continued. “That was a monster.”

You tilted your head curiously. “If he’s a monster, what does that make you?” you asked softly, setting your glass on the granite counter. Seungmin let out a dark chuckle. “Never said I wasn’t one, too, sweetheart,” he countered, taking another sip of his wine, watching the line settle as he set the glass on the counter as well, looking up to meet your gaze.

He tried to discern the emotion behind the look you were giving him now. He thought perhaps by now your flight or fight response would have kicked in but alas, you were looking at him more out of concern than fear. Were you concerned about what he could do to you? Or were you concerned for him?

“You know,” Seungmin said, chuckling as the notion crossed his mind. “I’m not a mind-reader,” he added. “I’d like to know what’s going on in your head.” He waited while you gathered your thoughts, waiting for you to say something. To say anything.

“Did you kill him?” you asked suddenly, catching him completely off guard. “What?” he whispered.

You tilted your head to the side, still maintaining eye contact with him, like you weren’t staring a predator in the face. “Did you kill him? The man from the club, the one you said is a monster.”

Seungmin hesitated. It seemed you’d already made up your mind about the nature of his being yet neither of you commented on it. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to,” he answered finally, lifting his glass but hesitating when you spoke, the glass barely touching his lips.

“Spare me the evasive act. I’m not an idiot, Seungmin. I know danger when I see it. Everything in my body is telling me you’re dangerous just like that man. The only difference is that the danger I felt with him is learned. The danger I feel from you is primal. It’s ingrained in my brain. Hardwired because you aren’t human. You’re something more.”

Seungmin looked past the glass at your slightly distorted figure before lowering the glass to peer at you over the rim. “Then why did you invite me here?” he asked before downing the rest of his wine, setting the glass aside and getting to his feet.

You watched as he slowly stalked around the kitchen island towards you. His eyes locked on you as he moved, you felt suddenly like prey caught in the gaze of a predator and for the first time since you met him, you felt like you were truly in danger.

You were certain Seungmin was a vampire. You knew he was more than a simple man. The way he carried himself and sometimes spoke was like he was pulled straight from one of Jane Austen’s novels. He was from a different time period and although his face didn’t show his age, his eyes certainly did.

He may look like a man in his mid twenties but his eyes were that of a being that had seen hundreds of years. You watched as he approached, closing in on you, backing you up against the wall behind you. Your back met the hard surface as he rested his hands against the wall on either side of your head, eyes inspecting your face as he leaned closer.

Your breathing had sped up, heart racing as he approached, eyes fixated on you as if he was about to pounce and deliver a killing blow. Your eyes flickered between his, noticing up close how red they were. Not the sclera. His irises were a deep blood red. From a distance, you’d assumed they were brown but now you saw the true color and your mind was made up for you.

Seungmin was a vampire, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind.

Seungmin’s eyes scanned your face, from your eyes, down to your lips before they dipped down to your neck and then back up to meet your gaze.

“I can hear your heart racing,” he said softly, his voice barely audible of the ticking of the clock hanging above your head. He tilted his head to the side, a smirk forming on his lips. “I’m fine,” you whispered. Seungmin chuckled. “I don’t think so, sweetheart,” he replied.

One of his hands moved, fingers brushing against the skin of your neck, just over your pulse point. An involuntary shiver ran up your spine. “Why are you shaking?” he asked, leaning closer, his lips mere inches from yours as his eyes searched yours. “You’re not scared of me are you, little rabbit?”

You shook your head. “No,” you whispered, knowing your soft voice was giving you away. Seungmin’s hand slipped behind your head, fingers pulling at the hair at the base of your neck. “Don’t lie to me, pet,” he retorted, eyes scanning your face, dipping down to your throat and back up. Had you not been watching, you would have missed the way he licked his lips and swallowed.

“Does it bother you?” you asked softly, drawing his attention. “Hmm?” he hummed in response. “Being so close to a source,” you continued. Seungmin narrowed his eyes, his hand moving up to cup your cheek. “A source? Of what?” he asked, knowing what you were about to say.

“Blood.”

Seungmin froze, staring at you. Before he had a chance to answer, to defend his secret, you spoke again.

“I told you I’m not an idiot, Seungmin,” you said.

He pulled back slowly to look in your eyes. You could see the color had shifted to red. Just like that night outside the club. That was when you truly knew what you were up against. What kind of danger you were in every time you saw him. Every time you leaned in to kiss him goodnight.

At any point, he could have snapped and killed you, drained you of your blood but you wanted to know why he didn’t. Why didn’t he eat people? ‘What a weird question to contemplate,’ you told yourself.

“But I do have a question,” you whispered. Seungmin hesitated, waiting for your query.

You licked your lips before speaking. “Why don’t you feed from humans?” you asked before realizing you had made an assumption. Perhaps he did feed from humans. “Sorry.” you said quickly. “I’m making assumptions.” Seungmin smiled and shook his head. “It’s quite alright,” he replied.

“Your assumption is right. I don’t feed from humans. I don’t even feed from animals. Not directly anyway,” he replied. “What do you feed from?” you asked softly. “Blood bags,” Seungmin admitted. “It’s a more lowkey way to feed,” he explained.

“Where do you get them?” you asked softly, watching as he tilted his head to the side, studying you. He was hoping you’d do the math and figure it out and as you wracked your brain it hit you.

His friend. “Wonpil,” you whispered. You met his gaze. “Is he a vampire, too?” you asked. Seungmin hesitated but eventually nodded his head. “Yes,” he replied. “He gets the blood bags for me. It really pays off, having a doctor friend,” he added. You shook your head in disbelief.

“How does he do what he does?” you asked. “With all the blood,” you continued. Seungmin smiled and nodded. “Sounds very Twilight of him,” he noted. “Doesn’t it?” Chuckling again when you nodded, Seungmin continued to explain.

“He used to be a doctor. In fact, he was a highly sought after royal doctor back in the day,” he continued. “And then in the army, he was a combat medic. That’s how we met,” he added. “On the battlefield. My squad took heavy fire and he was sent in to assess and do what he could but when he saw I was completely unharmed, he knew immediately what I was and I knew what he was.”

You stared back at him as he explained more of his background. “We’ve been friends ever since. He’s the only person I’ve ever leaned on or trusted,” he continued, before glancing down at you. “Until now at least,” he added, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek.

“You trust me?” you asked softly. Seungmin nodded. “I do,” he replied, eyes dipping to your lips and back up. “Do you trust me?” he asked. You hesitated only for a moment before nodding. “Yes,” you answered, bringing your hand up to place over his. “I trust you.”

Seungmin closed the distance, kissing you passionately as he pinned you against the wall. You moaned into his mouth as he grinded against you, eagerly swallowing the sounds you made under his touch. “Tell me you want this,” he said softly, resting his forehead against yours as you panted heavily.

“Tell me you want me,” he continued. You moved one of your hands up to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. “I want this,” you replied. “I want you.” Seungmin let out a small growl, grabbing your hips and pulling you away from the wall, guiding you over to the kitchen island.

You let out a squeak of surprise as Seungmin easily lifted you, turning and depositing you on the counter. “If I was more patient, I’d make you run,” he murmured, leaning in, his lips inches from yours, nose gently bumping yours. “If I was more patient, I’d take my time with you,” he continued, his hands moving down to the hem of your sweater, fingers gently toying with the material.

“Then why don’t you?” you asked, eyes searching his. He smiled in response, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his fangs. “Because I’m not a patient man,” he answered before pulling back and lifting your sweater, tossing it aside. He grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss, his tongue slipping past your parted lips.

You let out a whine as you felt one of his fangs graze against your bottom lip. “Are you going to feed from me?” you whispered when he broke the kiss. Seungmin chuckled, hands moving down to your jeans, undoing the button and zipper. “No,” he replied. “Not unless you want me to,” he added, tugging your pants down past your hips. You lifted your butt to make it easier for him.

Your jeans joined your sweater on the floor, leaving you in your underwear. The granite countertop was cold against your skin as Seungmin peppered kisses along your collar. “Will that kill me?” you whispered, heart racing as he kissed down your sternum, pushing you onto your back as he continued kissing down your stomach. “No,” he said with another amused tone.

“I’m not going to puncture your jugular,” he added. “I don’t feed from that high,” he added. “Not unless I’m trying to kill you.” You swallowed thickly as he continued to kiss down, his lips meeting the hem of your panties. “May I?” he asked softly, raising his head to make eye contact. You nodded wordlessly, watching as he slowly pulled your panties down your thighs, discarding them along with the rest of your clothes.

“Seungmin,” you breathed out as his lips trailed down the inside of your thigh. “Yes, sweetheart?” he asked, raising his head slightly. “I want you to feed from me,” you murmured, cheeks burning as his gaze bore into yours. “Are you sure, doe?” he asked, tilting his head. You nodded silently, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth.

You watched as he lowered his head, nipping at the skin of your inner thigh. You let out a gasp at the sensation. “Wait,” you said suddenly, propping yourself up on your elbows. “This isn’t gonna turn me into a vampire, right?” you asked. Seungmin chuckled again.

“No,” he answered. “You would have to feed from me to become like me,” he added. Your eyes widened at the thought. “Feed from you?” you asked, to which he nodded. Your head fell back as you felt his tongue against the skin of your thigh. “Just don’t kill me, please,” you mumbled.

Seungmin chuckled to himself before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh.

You let out a cry of pain, followed by a gasp as you felt his thumb brush over your clit. “Oh shit,” you groaned. You could feel blood leaving your body through the wound to your thigh. It was almost like having someone sucking a hickey but more intense.

“I knew you would taste so sweet,” you heard him groan. “Seungmin,” you started, lifting your head but letting out a moan, head falling back as you felt his tongue against your clit, his fingers toying with your slit. “Oh fucking hell,” you gasped as he teased the nub with the tip of his tongue.

“M’gonna cum,” you moaned, thighs shaking as your high approached only for Seungmin to pull away. “Not yet,” he purred, his breath hot against your sex. “You’ll cum when I let you,” he added. As your orgasm slipped away, you felt his fingers ease into your entrance slowly, two at a time.

He set a steady pace, watching the way his fingers disappeared into your tight heat. “I can’t wait to fill you up,” he said softly, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you. “Please,” you moaned as he sped up slowly. Your orgasm was just out of your reach.

It was beginning to get frustrating. After weeks of nothing from him. Weeks of wanting this man, you finally had him and you were even more frustrated that your orgasm was evading you. Each time he toyed with your clit, drawing you closer and closer to the edge but not enough for you to topple over it.

“Seungmin,” you begged. “Please fuck me.”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he said as he pulled away, licking his fingers clean. You pushed yourself up as Seungmin shrugged his jacket off, letting it fall to the floor. You pulled him into a kiss, his hands fumbling with his buckled and zipper, undoing his pants and pushing them down.

You moaned as he pushed into you easily, your walls stretching to accommodate the intrusion. “Shh,” he hushed you, smoothing your hair and cupping your cheek. “Look at me,” he said softly. You looked up at him, meeting his blood red gaze.

“That’s it,” he cooed, pulling back and giving you a shallow thrust. “F-fffuuuck,” you groaned as he set a steady pace, cock dragging against your walls with each push and pull. “Seungmin,” you whined as he held you up. “Feel’s so good,” you groaned, moving your hips to meet his.

“Shit,” you heard him hiss. “That,” he instructed. “Keep doing that, sweetheart,” he groaned, thrusting harder, the sound of skin hitting skin being the only thing to fill the space. “I need to cum,” you whined, unshed tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“And you will,” Seungmin replied. “But only when I say so.”

“How’s the bite?” you asked suddenly. Seungmin glanced down at your thigh. The bleed had stopped already. “It’s fine,” he huffed. “Don’t worry about it,” he added. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his head towards your neck.

“Y/N,” he warned. “Please,” you breathed. “Please Seungmin.”

Something Seungmin prided himself on was his unfaltering and unwavering quality. His ability to put his foot down and say no but he was finding it harder and harder to say no to you. He sighed, groaning as your walls gripped him tightly.

“Fine,” he said softly, lips brushing against your skin. “But just a small one,” he replied before sinking his teeth into the base of your neck. You let out a moan, walls clenching around him, fingers tightening in his hair. “Oh shit,” you cursed. “Fuck me,” you groaned.

Seungmin pulled back, lips tainted red from your blood. “I already am,” he joked before rolling his tongue over the bite wound to your neck. The taste of you on his tongue he pulled back, bringing one hand up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss.

You could taste iron on his tongue. Blood. Your blood.

You moaned into the kiss, nails scratching against his skin.

Seungmin pulled away, returning to your neck, licking at the wound. “I’m not gonna bleed out, right?” you asked weakly, your orgasm slipping away for the nth time as Seungmin slowed his movements. “You’ll be fine,” Seungmin murmured, still occasionally licking at the bite on your neck. “It’s almost done bleeding. It’s coagulating,” he added.

“F-fuck,” you hissed. Seungmin chuckled, giving you a sharp thrust. “And you p-promise I’m not gonna -hng- bleed out?” you asked, a moan slipping out between your words. Seungmin nodded, his free hand cupping the back of your neck. “I promise,” he replied. “You’ve already stopped bleeding,” he added.

You opened your mouth to respond, only moaning as his hips set a steady, even pace. M’so close,” you whined, head falling forward, your forehead resting against his. “Already?” he teased. “Before I’ve even properly fucked you?” You whined in response, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“My bad,” he joked. “I might have gone a little overboard earlier,” he added, placing his hand against the counter, his hips hitting yours with each thrust. Your vision blurred, tears filling as the tension in your body built up again. One hand tangled in his hair, the other reaching around to hold onto his shoulder as you buried your face in his neck. “M’ gonna-” your words failed as your orgasm crashed over you unexpectedly.

“That really was quick,” Seungmin chuckled as he helped you ride it out. As you fell limp in his hold, he pulled out of you, carefully guiding you down off the counter before turning you to face it, pushing you over as he guided himself back inside your tight heat.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said, taking both hips in his hands and setting a punishing pace, making you cry out, the tears in your eyes finally falling. “Are you crying?” he asked breathlessly. “Does it feel that good?” he mused.

You were unable to speak and respond to his question, instead answering only in jumbled words, moans, and chants of his name. Seungmin’s hand moved up to your shoulder, pulling your back up as he leaned over, lips next to your ear. “Crying only makes me want to ruin you more,” he said, his tone dark. “It’s not gonna make me go easy on you.”

You cried out as his thrusts increased, hips hitting your ass repeatedly with the same slapping sound.

The sounds of your cries only spurred him on, your sniffles and sobs fueling his desire to wreck you. “Almost,” he groaned, his own orgasm approaching. “Fuck, m’close,” he announced. “Where you want it?” he asked. You lifted your head weakly. “I-inside me,” you moaned.

Seungmin groaned, hips stuttering. “You sure?” he asked and you nodded. “Give it to me,” you whimpered. “Cum inside me, Seungmin, please.”

That was all he needed to hear, groaning into your ear as he released inside you, painting your insides with cum. “Oh shit,” he cursed, hips slowing as he fucked his release further into you. “Oh god,” you groaned, feeling his cum fill your cunt as he pulled your back against his chest.

“That’s it, little rabbit,” he grunted. “Take all of it.”

His hips stilled and you whined, falling limp in his hold. Seungmin leaned over, one arm around your chest, the other holding the both of you up over the countertop. “Shit,” you heard him hiss. “You’re going to need a shower,” he said softly.

You whimpered as he pulled out of you. “Or we both might need one,” he corrected. You glanced over your shoulder at him. “Are you staying?” you asked, looking at him with those expectant eyes. How could he ever think to leave.

He’d spent most of his immortal life jumping from identity to identity. He’d grown bored and weary of that life and now he had the chance to do something new and exciting. He smiled at you and nodded. Sure, you assumed he meant he was staying the night but deep down, he was agreeing to stay for the foreseeable future.

And who knows. Maybe, just maybe he’ll stay for eternity if that means he gets an eternity with you.

ⓘ Graphics made by me. Content and support banners made using a template by cafekitsune. I do not allow reposts, translations, or continuations of my works. All writing and graphics are ©️ kwanisms.

#cultofdionysusnet #mfu-net #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #seungmin scenarios #seungmin imagines #seungmin fanfic #seungmin smut #seungmin x reader #kwanisms kinktober 2023

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thesunloveschips · 3 months

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Eye of the Storm - Chapter 5: Brothers and Sisters

Summary: Nyra is one of the older Archeron sisters. Twin to Nesta. Plagued by a mysterious illness that her mortal body cannot endure for too long. And yet, it seems her curse is to see her family suffer. When the youngest of her sisters is whisked away into the land of fae, immortality soon follows for the rest of them. And as an immortal, there is more to her that she has yet to know.

Chapter Summary: The brothers discuss the sisters. Nyra has more relevant information. Newborn shadows are adorable.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

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Cassian was almost always the first to rise. He had a strict training regimen to follow and he would only compromise when there was no choice. For now, he figured he could still go over his training as long as he had a good glamour in place and an open space. With no shame whatsoever, he lifted the blankets off Azriel.

“Good morning, brother dearest!” The General was awfully cheery despite their current predicament. Azriel began to suspect that Cassian would now do anything and everything to get on Nesta's nerves even if it meant greeting him like the sun shone out of the shadowsinger's ass.

Azriel greeted him with nothing but a glare and the newborn shadows striking Cassian as if to punch him but they only felt like peanuts being pelted. The shadows had felt the need to tell him everything and explore everything. Consequently, the shadowsinger had to stay awake all night to rein them in lest they enter one of the females’ rooms and start reporting anything inappropriate. He had a suspicion that Nyra would be the primary target if these shadows had freedom to move around. Regardless of his restless night, he rose from bed and agreed to train.

The sun was just rising over the horizon, its rays kissing the snow. They were out of the room, walking towards the staircase when they spotted Elain dressed and holding a towel to dry her hair. She hummed a tune they recognised as the same one Nyra hummed for Feyre yesterday. While Cassian did little to quieten his footsteps, Azriel always had a silent presence. The sounds the General made alerted Elain and she looked up at them. Her freshly bathed skin that had been rosy just now seemed to pale.

"Good morning." Cassian grinned. The whole of Elain's body jolted at the greeting but she returned with a softer one of her own.

"Are there any large clearings around? We would like to train." Azriel's tone was much more gentler, having known that this sister was still wary of them.

Elain nodded. "To the east, there is a forest. There might be something there." She realized that the sisters were now very vulnerable without servants or guards in the estate. And without these fae around to protect them, they would probably be easy prey for anyone. She scurried back into her room and slammed the door too loudly. The salty scent of tears from behind the door to her room had Azriel and Cassian leaving immediately. They did not know how to react to a crying human female.

Cassian and Azriel soon exited the house, glamoured. They flew towards the forest Elain mentioned and found a suitable spot. They landed, removed their armour to be bare chested and began.

"So." The way Cassian drawled made Azriel realize that his brother was going to pester him about something. He remained quiet, knowing that Cassian would take the liberty to continue anyway.

"What are those?" The general's question resulted in a raised eyebrow. "Those shadows. You left yours behind and these are new." The conversation did not interrupt the clash of their swords.

"Shadows born during dinner last night." Azriel offered.

His answer seemed to be too short for Cassian. "Is there ever a trigger for new ones to be born?"

"Maybe." Azriel replied, irritated. Cassian looked unconvinced. "They are born when something significant happens. When I was in that cell," Both of them darkened at the mention of Azriel's imprisonment during his childhood. "Our oath of brotherhood. Becoming Carynthian. And so on."

Meeting all the Archeron sisters could be a significant event. Rhysand spoke into their minds.

"Possibly." Azriel did not think further but he saw the grin on Cassian's face. He was thinking of Nesta and the challenge between them. It was a dangerous game.

Try not to provoke Nesta Archeron. She might skin you alive. Rhysand's voice carried his mirth from a conversation he had with Feyre the previous night.

"Her twin is more amiable." Cassian noted as he defended against a strong strike.

That, she is. Rhysand sounded a little hopeful. Elain Archeron is perhaps more human than her sisters.

"Because she's afraid of us?" Cassian asked.

Her fear is what we expected from the twins. Clearly, they are not afraid. Nesta is annoyed by our presence and Nyra doesn't mind. Cassian grinned again. Nesta was most annoyed by him and it thrilled him immensely. Or maybe, the significant event right now is meeting Nyra Archeron. The way Rhysand said the word ‘significant’ had a teasing note that Cassian picked up. The General grinned and the Spymaster knew without another word what his brother might be thinking of.

"Whatever stupidity you are thinking of, stop." Azriel spoke with another strong strike. He landed a hit to Cassian's hand and caused him drop his sword. The shadowsinger abandoned his sword and readied his fists.

No more than that, you two. There is no need to frighten hosts with any more of your bloodied and bruised selves. Rhysand spoke. The two of them halted hesitantly.

"We continue in Velaris." Cassian grinned wildly at Azriel's declaration. He was already anticipating the rush their next sparring session would bring.

Your shadows certainly seem to think that meeting Nyra is a matter of significance. Azriel simply ignored the nosy High Lord he had as a brother while he wore his armour. He did not want to expect anything. He was already waiting for... And that was when it struck him. And Rhysand, who was still loitering around his brothers' minds to continue conversation, heard that thought. It could be a possibility.

Wishful thinking, Rhys. Azriel now spoke mentally. Cassian who was still linked to them heard all of it. He clapped on Azriel's shoulder once and asked. "But what if it is true?" It was the possibility of Azriel's mate, Rhysand's sister, reincarnating. Of the Bone Carver's prophecy finally coming true.

I dreamed of Feyre even before I ever met her. Even when I was under the mountain. Rhysand spoke of something he had yet to divulge to anyone else. It was a hope he wished Azriel would have. What were the odds that Rhys would meet his mate in a human who had been turned fae, for new shadows to be born when Azriel and Nyra met for the first time, and for Cassian to be drawn to a female who shared the same fighting spirit?

Hope is dangerous. Azriel warned. He looked over to Cassian who now frowned.

Says the one who has been waiting for five centuries. Cassian's voice was a bit low but still not low enough. He had made his point. Azriel's wings unfolded and he prepared for flight. After noting when the winds were convenient for him, he took off without a glance at Cassian who soon followed.

There is a possibility of your waiting period coming to an end, Az. Cassian sounded kind now. All the teasing had ceased and now, it was genuine.

And Azriel wanted to hope. So badly. He was needy. Ever since he discovered that he did not face the same symptoms as others whose mates had died, he resolved to wait. There must have been a reason his sanity survived. That he survived. The inside of him was numb and hollow and he waited for life to be breathed into him. Waiting to be woken up from some deep slumber his soul had gone into. And he returned to the Archeron estate with his brother with a confusion haunting him.

****

In the house, Rhysand and Feyre ran into Nesta at the living room. "I'm preparing breakfast." Nesta simply announced. "It will be ready in an hour." She turned on her skirts and headed to the kitchen.

Nesta looked around the kitchen and gathered the ingredients for a meal and then remembered Feyre's distaste for human food. She looked around for anything that her youngest sister could possibly consume.

"Nesta." Feyre's voice caught her attention but she did not turn around.

"Yes?" That one word was the only acknowledgement Nesta offered and Feyre took it.

"The letter is ready." Feyre placed the letter on the kitchen slab, a little further from the ingredients gathered and right next to a large vessel containing something hidden by a lid. "It's near this copper vessel."

"All right. I'll send it after breakfast."

"Thank you." Feyre turned around and was about to join Rhysand who was waiting for her just outside the door when Nesta called her name. "Yes?"

"Can you eat bread?" The question was an awkward one and invited more awkwardness between them. "Or rice?"

"I think I can eat rice." Feyre smiled just a bit for the sister who was clearly very unfamiliar at extending an olive branch. Nesta hummed and Feyre took that as a sign to join Rhys outside the room.

What Feyre did not expect was to see Rhysand and Nyra standing outside the door, next to each other, with their backs to the wall and staring at the ground. Rhys had just finished conversing with Cassian and Azriel while simultaneously sharing a moment of silence with Nyra as the two of them eavesdroppped outside the kitchen.

"That was... well..." There were never any words to describe any such interactions between Feyre and Nesta. The two of them barely got along with each other for most of their life and it seemed that was how it would remain.

A knock sounded at the door, alarming them.

"I'll get it." And Nyra walked away before anyone could say anything. Rhys and Feyre shared a glance, the former nodding once before casting a glamour on them. They risked a peak at Nesta who was busy with breakfast. Elain was nowhere around and surely, a fae couldn't answer the door.

As Nyra approached the door, Rhys and Feyre were just behind, ready to strike at anyone. The High Lord had already cast an invisible shield on Nyra and when she opened the door, it was just a man carrying letters.

"Post for the Archer..." He paused upon meeting Nyra. Nobody had ever met Nyra. She was somewhat of a myth and a reality only to those who ever truly met her. "Mrs. Laurent?"

"Is away for a bit. I'll take that." And she snatched the letters from the man's hand. The man continued to stare at her and when she finally noticed that, she frowned. "Yes?"

"Who are you?" The confusion was understandable. As the one with ill health, Nyra never opened the door in Mrs. Laurent's absence. It was either Nesta or Elain. She was always confined to the first floor where her bedroom, the library and their father's office were.

"An Archeron."

"I mean, who-"

"If you have something to say, please be quick. I have a life to get back to." It felt good saying that. Nyra had to constantly remind herself that she was recovering, somewhat. And if everything went well, she would be healthy again to enjoy life outside the house in a year or two. If they lived through this war.

"Nothing." The man blushed. He raised his hat once. "Good day!" And he ran away.

Nyra closed the door and started looking through the letters when she noticed Feyre and Rhysand.

"Are men usually like that with you?" Feyre asked, thoroughly amused at what she had just seen.

"The only man I meet is father and that is not often." She was still going through the letters when one of them caught her eye. She discarded the others on the nearest side table and ripped the envelope open. She skimmed through the contents of the letter.

"We have bad news." She looked at them. They immediately took a seat at the couch nearby and waited eagerly. She joined them, taking a seat on the opposite couch. "Vassa has been sighted on a ship headed for north from the Continent. She was unconscious and accompanied by the guards of one of the older queens."

"How do you think this will impact our negotiations?" Rhysand wanted to be prepared even if this was a losing battle. There was never any positive information related to the negotiations.

"Vassa is protective of her people. Therefore, she is more understanding despite what we’ve been taught about the fae." Nyra looked defeated.

"What about the others?"

"The older ones are highly prejudiced. They fund the Children of the Blessed from time to time who then spread those stories about the fae. And it seems like they are scheming something." Nyra rested her back on the sofa and craned her neck upwards. She closed her eyes and then suddenly opened them and leaned forward. "The other one. The golden one, is our best bet now."

Rhys rested his back and crossed his arms across his chest. "Why do you still think she would be our best bet?"

"Demetra is unpredictable. But that makes her the most dangerous bet."

The next moment, a swarm of shadows crawled into the room through the gap between the door and its frame. They seemed to swim as they moved towards Nyra. The shadows gathered in front of her and a tendril moved forward slowly as if waiting for her permission to touch her. Nyra extended a hand forward and the tendril gently wrapped itself around her little finger. More tendrils followed and both her hands were now engulfed by the shadows.

The clearing of a throat had the three of them turned to Nesta who had just entered the room. At the same moment, a sweaty Cassian and Azriel entered the room. Nesta did not even look at the General and all the frustration he tried to control by sparring hit him in the chest once again. She looked at Azriel and nodded in acknowledgement. The shadowsinger nodded back. She then looked at Nyra, Feyre and Rhysand and then at the letters.

“Good morning to the sweaty people with the most wonderful body odour.” Nyra sounded playful in a manner that reminded Feyre what about her older sister she had been missing. The wild humour she carefully concealed and had glued the sisters together. It was something, she realized with all the horror, that Nyra shared with Rhysand to an extent. Cassian might also share the same humour, maybe more than Rhys did. Azriel probably did not, or maybe he did. “Pray tell, why couldn’t you wait till breakfast for an adventurous tumble in the forests?”

Cassian grinned in delight. “We couldn’t wait for the inevitable. Right, Az?” He rested an arm on the shadowsinger’s shoulder. Azriel looked back at him with disbelief and mild disgust. “Maybe, after breakfast, we might continue. Would you be inclined to join us?”

Cassian’s blatant flirting and invitation raised enough eyebrows. The shadows playing with Nyra’s hands froze and then almost immediately enveloped her in their embrace, curling around her hair, hands, waist. Azriel’s silent command to them to behave was as lethal as he was. With a formidable glare, the shadows retreated from the girl and he walked forward.

“Are you alright?” He knelt by her side. His voice was gentle, like the caress of his shadows. “They won’t bother you anymore.” He wanted to vomit on Cassian for inviting Nyra. Why would these idiots tease him about her? And why would he even suggest such a thing even if she was the one who started this playful conversation?

“I’m fine. They felt nice.” Nyra replied with equal softness. She felt herself warm up under the shadowsinger's intense gaze. Before she felt any longer like she had a fever, Nyra turned to Cassian with mirth in her eyes. Azriel was too beautiful for her to look at for too long. “I’m not inclined to join anyone with that stench.”

Cassian laughed heartily. He walked forward and rested his hands on the backrest of Nyra’s couch. “Maybe after breakfast and a bath?”

“Who knows?” Nyra’s gaze then turned to Azriel. She shifted to one end of the sofa, clearing up for him. “Sit down. I suppose this sofa is large enough for your wings?” It was not but Azriel could care less. He nodded and tucked in his wings before sitting down next to her. It was uncomfortable but he was closer to her and his shadows were happy now. He saw the letter in her hand. She followed his gaze and frowned. Nesta noticed the piece of parchment.

"Please tell me you didn't write another letter." The shadows seemed startled at Nesta's words. They froze for a second before swimming towards Nyra. Azriel held up his hand and effectively collected them to stop the female sitting next to him from being startled.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Nyra's mirth seemed to be calming for the shadows. Azriel watched her and the shadows. The little bastards had abandoned him as soon as the two of them were in the same room. They constantly fawned over Nyra even when he had commanded them to separate from her. Impatient little snakes. With Azriel kneeling before Nyra and his shadows now with him, they were still a little closer to her than they were when he had previously banished them. Warm. Lovely. Weakened.

Nesta almost stomped over to Nyra, took the letter from her lap and asked. "Do you think I don't know what you've been doing? It might not be safe for you to be using father's seal like this." Nesta then proceeded to glare at the shadows as she took a seat on the armrest.

Azriel had been hearing the shadows describe Nyra’s hands. Soft. Pretty. Weakened. And then he heard them hiss when Nesta made her appearance. Their hisses were turning into growls. Azriel began to understand that the newborns felt like Nesta was a threat to Nyra from the expression she wore.

"We're probably going to die so if using a seal is going to somehow prevent that then I don't mind."

"And handwriting forgery."

"It's a necessary skill." Nyra looked at Nesta like the latter had said something unnecessary. As if she was questioning why it was even up for debate that handwriting forgery was a necessary skill.

"As necessary as picking locks?"

"You know its significance."

Nesta went quiet and then sighed. The twins had travelled back to their childhood for a few seconds before Nesta brought them back with her words. "Have some breakfast before you write to your little network of spies."

Azriel shifted his gaze from the shadows playing with Nyra’s hands to her face. It was difficult to believe that this ill female had any connections to the world outside her home. And here was Nesta, recalling that she would communicate with others and have her own network. As the spymaster of the Night Court, that piqued his interest.

"I do not have a network of spies." The shadows were attentive of her actions and ready to obey. They were now disobeying their master and were perched on her shoulders and arms and the skirts of her gown. They even hid behind her hair and Nyra did not seem to mind that she was now highlighted by them.

"You forge father's handwriting, use his seal, write letters to god knows who, get replies, knows things nobody knows, and keep your sources a secret. You have a spy network." Nesta’s revelations had Feyre widening her eyes. The youngest sister looked between the twins in utter shock. Rhysand smirked next to her and initiated a conversation with his lovely mate mind-to-mind.

"That is absurd." Nyra was not even trying to hide her amusement at the entire situation. She was one statement away from laughing. "I do not spy."

"You get others to spy. I've read your letters and I'm going to read this one too." Nesta's gaze had steeled as she read through the contents of the letter and she then set it aside as everyone settled. "Is this-"

"A reliable source." Nyra spoke. She sounded tired of all that she knew at the moment. Nothing seemed to be on their side. They had nobody by their side except for each other but that was clearly not enough.

The shadows headed towards Nesta, took the letter from her hand and placed it on Nyra's lap. "Thank you." She whispered. Azriel was now more than curious. He wondered if the shadows would obey if she asked for anything. Warm. Lovely. Home.

Feyre found that this picture was a precious one. Azriel and Nyra sitting on the sofa. Cassian behind it reading the letter Nesta held as she settled herself on the armrest. And she could cry at this. This painting that she now desperately wanted to paint. The four of them seemed to fit perfectly into each other’s pieces. And Feyre raised a hand to her mouth to bite on the sleeve. She was close to crying. Too close. And if the situation was different, if there was no war looming over them, then maybe, Feyre would paint this. And it was a promise to herself. A small tattoo inked itself on her chest. Two swords. One with fire and one with lightning crossed against each other.

"For now, Feyre darling and I will be off to practice a little magic." Rhysand stood up, picked on some non-existent lint on his blazer and extended a hand out to Feyre. She simply stood up, ignoring his flirty grin and looked at Nyra.

"We'll figure it out." It was odd. To receive reassurance from her younger sister. And yet, Nyra felt like she could breathe a little easily. Nesta was still rattled by reality and clutched Nyra's hand like a lifeline.

"We'll be back in half an hour." Rhys clapped his hands on his brothers' backs and then looked at them. "You stink."

"It’s part of the appeal.” Cassian turned to Nesta with a grin and winked playfully.

"You reek." Nesta spoke with convincing indifference before realizing that she had given Cassian attention. She saw his grin widening and the horror rising in her mind made her flee to the kitchen.

****

“Do either of you feel something different about the food here?” Nyra asked. The shadows were being ticklish now and she did not want to laugh in the middle of carrying plates. “Azriel, could you reign in the shadows for a bit? They’re being ticklish.” The shadowsinger blushed and nodded.

Newborn shadows were easy to command as he was naturally intimidating. His command had them retreating back to him where they found home on his shoulders, on his back, all over his wings. He had been used to the shadows’ touch all over him for so long that he felt out of place without them. Having these newborns eased that feeling that would be completely gone only when he returned to Velaris and the older shadows joined him.

“I’ve had worse.” Cassian began and Azriel closed his eyes with a defeated sigh.

“What he means is, there’s a difference but we don’t mind it.” The spymaster’s attempt was mainly to calm Nesta before the storm within her raged over Cassian.

“Then you may carry your own food to the mortal lands any time you deem to visit.” Nesta was clearly not calmed even at Azriel’s attempts. He looked at Nyra who sighed. She looked back at him and shook her head and a silent indication to be quiet with a finger to her lips.

“Are you inviting me back to your home?” Cassian asked, his bright grin taking over. Nesta blanched at the interpretation Cassian had somehow lead her words to. She glared at him but said nothing. He continued pestering her, picking up a spoon to taste the freshly cooked soup. She cleared her throat from behind him, armed with a glare and a very sharp knife that had a startled Cassian dropping the spoon.

While Nesta and Elain took over the kitchen and Cassian insisting on being wherever Nesta was, Azriel and Nyra were in the dining room with the crockery.

“Is it always like this?” Nyra gazed up from where she was standing near a chair with spoons in her hand. Azriel went blank for a moment and then she responded to his question.

“It wasn’t. Back when we were children, Elain and Feyre were left on their own while Nesta and I were groomed to navigate the social circles for husbands.”

Nyra sounded like she did not like speaking about it. Azriel picked up on that and spoke. “It is fine if you do not wish to speak of it.”

She turned around and looked at him for a few seconds before speaking. “It is a part of our past. I prefer to delude myself into thinking that it’s a story than a reality we once lived in.” She moved forward to the next seat to put a spoon. “Then, life happened. I fell ill. Grandmother died. Then our mother. Father lost his riches. Feyre going out hunting. Those two fae and their brainwashing magic on Elain and father. Life without Feyre. Wealth. My improving health. Elain’s engagement. And now, this.” By then, Nyra had placed all the spoons. Azriel had placed all the forks as he circled the table behind Nyra.

“All of it changed something in our family. For Nesta, it was like she had to weather so many storms all at once.” She turned around to face him but Azriel’s long strides resulted in him and Nyra colliding. He helped her regain her balance by holding one of her hands while she had used the other to grab the nearest chair. “Thank you.”

Breakfast was ready in an hour. Cassian had put in all his efforts into annoying Nesta. She slapped the General's hand away whenever he tried to taste anything, not understanding the warmth blooming within her. Azriel quietly helped Nyra and Elain before he froze for a few seconds. He walked closer to Nyra who looked at him in confusion.

"Take care." He sounded a little hesitant and his shadows were actively protesting against leaving her. Azriel gently took Nyra's hand, lifted it, bowed and kissed her knuckles. His final wish for her to take care of herself was a sincere one that she felt in her nerves as he kissed her hand. "If fate wills it, we shall meet again." Before Nyra could ask him anything, the shadows enveloped him in darkness and Azriel was no longer in the house.

“Stay inside.” Cassian suddenly commanded. “It’s not safe out there.” His red siphons were glowing faintly. Nesta wondered how the glow of the siphons and his attentive posture had suddenly made Cassian more beautiful. She found no reason to look away. The more she looked at him, the more she wanted to look at him even more for the mere reason that he was there. Standing in her line of sight. Breathing. Existing. And just being so beautiful.

Rhysand and Feyre joined them and the absence of the shadowsinger immediately attracted a question from Nyra. "Where is Azriel?"

"He will not be joining us for breakfast. He has something urgent to attend to." Feyre diplomatically answered and the implication of something bad did not go missed. Breakfast passed with a dark cloud looming over everyone.

The letters were delivered and a glamour was cast on the estate. Rhysand had Azriel send over guards to protect the mortal sisters and informed them of the same. Cassian, Feyre and Rhysand then bid farewell and left for Prythian.

****

TAGLIST: @waytoomanyteenagefeels@impossibelle@esposadomd@starswholistenanddreamsanswered@judig92 @bunnyredgirl@sh4nn@a-frog-with-a-laptop@kattzillaa@ronnieglennn@wallacewillow0773638@forgiveliv@justdreamstars@donttellthecats@cat-or-kitten@jojodojo02@wandas-dream@evylynny @weasleyreidstyles @stqrgirlies-blog @why4anne @acourtofdreamsandshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @macimads @footyandformula @noelli-smv @mqlfoyelf @thehighlordishere

#a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #acofas #acomaf #acosf #acotar #acowar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel x original character #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #feyre archeron #feysand #nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #elain archeron #rhysand

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angelltheninth · 2 years

Text

NSFW Masterlist Part 2

Part 2 of my NSFW Master list.

DC COMICS

Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader - Night on the Rooftops

Bruce Wayne Being a Sloppy Eater

Harley Quinn x Male!Reader - Fun Times All Around

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Game On

Dark!Conner Kent x Fem!Reader - Darkness Come to Light

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Jason's Hardest Task

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Fulfilling Desires

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Just One More

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Not Just a Friend

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Ride Around Town

MCU

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader - Endurance Test

M'Baku x Fem!Reader - Used to This Feeling

Venom x Fem!Reader - Symbiotic Relations

Steven Grant with a Praising and Overstimulating You

Hydra!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader - To Have and to Take

Moon Boys Reaction to Ball Sucking

Moon Boys + Where They Like to Do It

Aftercare with Moon Boys

MCU Men Punishing You

Hydra Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader - Making You His

Moon Boys + Thigh Riding

Moon Boys Pining You

Moon Boys Reacting to Getting a Blowjob

Dominant Jake Lockley

Pietro Maximoff x Fem!Reader - Forever and a Day

Hooking Up with Steven Grant and Marc Spector

Marc Spector x Fem!Reader - Minor Cooking Accident

General NSFW Headcanons with Steven Grant and Marc Spector

Pietro Maximoff with a Praise Kink

Long Distance Relationship with Pietro Maximoff

Pietro Maximoff + Grinding

NSFW Alphabet with Xu Wenwu

Rough Sex with Xu Wenwu

TWISTED WONDERLAND

Idia Shroud x Fem!Reader - Different Kind of Heat

Vil Schoenheit x Fem!Reader - Not So Perfect Anymore

Overstimulation with Cater Diamond

Leona Kingscholar x Fem!Reader - Kingmaker

Corruption Kink with Idia Shroud

Trey Clover x Fem!Reader - Tears for Pleasure

Azul Ashengrotto x Reader - Under the Bubbles

Rook Hunt x Fem!Reader - Hunting Prey

Divus Crewel x Fem!Reader - Call Me Cruel

Malleus Draconia x Fem!Reader - My Fangs for You

Leona Kingscholar x Fem!Reader - A Welcome Awakening

Malleus Draconia x Fem!Reader - Dragon Love

CRITICAL ROLE

Percy de Rolo x Fem!Reader - The Gunslinger and His Beauty

Fjord Stone x Male!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Essek x Male!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Percy de Rolo x Vax'ildan + Grinding

Percy e Rolo x Fem!Reader - Nice and Warm

NSFW Headcanons with Percy de Rolo

GENSHIN IMPACT

Jealous Dottore Breeds You

Genshin Men After You Use the Safeword

Genshin Men Fucking You When Someone Comes In

Kink Discovery with Al Haitham

Size Kink with Dainslief, Enjou and Pantalone

Genshin Men + Scenting

Thigh Riding with Al Haitham

Thigh Kissing with Cyno

Thigh Riding with Kaeya and Dottore

Dottore with a Corruption Kink

CEO!Childe x Secretary!Fem!Reader

General Kinks with Dottore, Pantalone and Pierro

Zhongli, Gorou and Tighnari Having Their Rut Triggered

Dottore, Childe and Pantalone with a Fox!Reader

Fem!Dottore with a Fem!Reader who has Small Chest

Zhongli and Childe With a Quiet S/O

Genshin Men with a Fem!Reader who has Big Chest

Cockwaming Itto

Genshin Men Being Feral

Edging Al Haitham

Zhongli and Itto Giving You a Mating Mark

Genshin Men with an S/O who has Small Chest

Genshin Men Fucking You in Public

Itto, Zhongli, Gorou and Tighnari with a Primal Kink

Gorou Being a Mean Dom

Genshin Men Reacting to You Wanting to Go for Another Round

Half-Adeptai Zhongli

Genshin Men When You're Inexperienced

Cockwaming Zhongli

Zhongli with a Breeding Kink

Orgasm Control with Genshin Men

Itto, Gorou and Zhongli in Rut

Genshin Impact Men + Awkward Boners

First Time Blowjob with Genshin Men

Genshin Men Having A Quickie With You

Thoma Being a Service Top

Genshin Men Using Toys on You

Dottore x Fem!Reader - Please Doctor

Genshin Men + Thigh Riding

Genshin Men + Breeding Kink

Genshin Men Stamina Headcanons

Genshin Men Being Desperate To Have You

Genshin Men + Praise

Genshin Men Reacting to You Wanting Them to Finish Inside of You

Genshin Men + Grinding Headcanons

Zhongli x Fem!Reader - Sharing the Warmth

Genshin Men + First Time With You

Driving Zhongli Crazy Until He Snaps

Dominat Arlecchino Headcanons

#masterlist #dc comics x reader #mcu x reader #twst x reader #critical role x reader #genshin impact x reader

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farfromstrange · 30 days

Text

Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

-> Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader (she/her)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), alternative universe, blood play, marking, scent kink, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, biting, vampirism, angst, religious imagery & symbolism, Catholic guilt, mentions of violence, allusions to suicidal thoughts, lots of plot, age gap

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

Other Characters: Vampire!Elektra (mentioned), Ben Urich (mentioned)

A/n: I finally got this one edited. This is a beast, y’all! I drew inspiration from Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire, but particularly the 2022 AMC series (I fell in love with it then and there), but it’s not based on it, so I just played around with the idea and this came out. It’s a lot, but it wasn’t enough for a full-blown series, so you’re getting a big ass One Shot instead. I used my usual Smut tag list, but since this is slightly Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heed the warnings and proceed with care! Don't read it if you don't want to. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Read Me On AO3!

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps.

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again.

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable.

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil.

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature.

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving.

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.

You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one.

On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans.

They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist.

And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires!

Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak.

The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire.

You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen.

You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead.

You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real.

Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.

Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires.

They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear.

That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes.

He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges.

You don’t know me, but I know you.

It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.

I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.

No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.

It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands.

The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.

What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market.

Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight.

You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself.

I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into?

I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man.

You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set.

Yours sincerely,

The paper crumbles in your hands, but only at the corners. Your eyes are glued to the lost drops of ink, the blue blood of an old fountain pen caving under too much pressure.

He chose his words carefully. Every paragraph circles around your head. You breathe in, and it suddenly feels as though the whiff of the unknown is an inhalable drug, twisting your brain inside out.

The pull threatens to submerge you in a stormy ocean. You’re flailing your arms around helplessly, but there is nothing for you to hold onto. All buoys have drifted into oblivion, leaving a sea of utter emptiness behind, and in the midst of it, there you are, drowning.

In a moment of clarity, you fold the letter back down on the desk. It lands with a thud, and you look around frantically, checking if anyone is watching you. They aren’t.

M. That’s all he’s giving you. And the fact he is over two hundred years old proves the rumors to be true. He’s standing by it, but only to you. He wants to reveal himself to you, show you his true face for a story, but he’s a vampire.

You’re alone. You can wash his hands, but is just showing up enough for him? You don’t even know him.

You’re in trouble. This time though, you didn’t even do anything. You did your job, and he caught an interest in you. How does that work?

Your heart skips another beat. It should not, but it does. The danger is exciting. It shouldn't be exciting. You hate what your body is doing, but how can you make it stop? You can’t. You can’t do anything but take it.

This stranger has got you in a chokehold, but in his hands, you might as well surrender to your certain demise. You don’t consider vampires inherently evil, but there is a reason people warn you not to walk alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s dangerous, no matter his nature, and he is not supposed to lure you in the way he does.

But you’re a curious kitten, and he is offering you the holy grail of answers to questions you have been grappling with for years. He hit the nail right on the head. And it doesn’t even scare you how well he knows you.

This is a gold mine. Realistically speaking, telling a vampire’s story could make or break your career as a journalist. If you do it for the magazine, you’re done before you can even bring your words to print, but if you do it individually and you do it well, people will certainly eat it up. The question is just, are you going to play your entire life safe, conforming to your boss’s view of you until you get the freedom you crave, or are you going to take the risk and fly?

The answer is as clear as day, but it takes you a moment to process. It’s as though someone is in your head, steering you in the direction of whoever this M is. Daredevil. This vampire who wants you to interview him, and for what? That’s still an open question you don’t have the answer to. But you do know what to do.

You scramble for your laptop, your notepad, and the letter in the envelope. The clock strikes four. You have another two hours on the clock, but you can’t be bothered to stay.

Upon hearing the sound of your shoes hurriedly scraping against the linoleum floors, one of your colleagues turns in her chair. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be,” you tell her as you brush past her.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

You stop on your way out, looking back over your shoulder. “If everything works out,” you say, glancing through the window to his office at the other end of the hall, “He’ll have my letter of resignation by the end of the week.”

She gasps softly. “You’re quitting?” her voice is barely above a whisper.

Almost sinisterly, you chuckle. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“But—”

“Tell your daughter Happy Birthday from me. I gotta go.”

Your steps echo for minutes still, but you are long gone with the wind.

Silver linings are considered an advantage that comes from an unpleasant situation. The name has proven to be entirely unfit for the magazine that replaced a big piece of Hell’s Kitchen’s history. The Bulletin had cultural value as much as it was laden with decades of the city’s stories told to the average person.

Wilson Fisk was the dynamite that sent New York alight. The Bulletin’s destruction was mere collateral damage in the fight to get the city back on track. You have had so many reasons to leave presented to you, yet you never took them. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here, making bad decisions on what started as just another Monday in June.

The fact is though, you didn’t leave, and you are here now. Facts are what matter. They count. Your hypothetical past, present, and future have no place in this reality because you can’t travel back or forward in time. Vampires may exist, and the Avengers time-traveled to save the world, but things aren’t quite as easy once you look at the bigger picture. You are not a superhero, you’re just a journalist chasing the kind of story that will finally make her voice be heard.

You know that Ben Urich, at least, would be proud of you.

His address weighs heavy on the small card you pulled out of the envelope earlier that evening. You passed it on to the cab driver, and he began to navigate the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The luxury condominiums in this part of the city can be counted on one hand. You know exactly when you’re there.

The sun has once again set over New York City. You’re wide awake, not quite sure though if you’re ready to face what you are walking blindly into. Even your driver refuses to take you past a certain point, and that is how you know that you’re not dreaming. This is real, and it’s supposed to be terrifying.

How come you’re not scared then?

You slip twenty dollars to the cab driver, then climb out of the backseat. The salty air from the Hudson River a few blocks down wafts around your sensitive nose. In the distance, you can hear waves crashing into the docks as the wind picks up in speed. The boats must be moving wildly by now, swaying from side to side and possibly even making the fish in the depths of the water seasick. You would be if you were them.

With every step, you grow closer to your target. On second thought, maybe you should have brought more than just a pathetic bottle of pepper spray and your precious laptop. You could have brought your grandfather’s cassette recorder, at least that would leave a mark if you hit someone over the head with it.

Do vampires get concussions? That is another question you can add to the seemingly endless list in your mind. It’s a confusing place as of late, and the weird sense that someone is playing with the controls won’t leave you alone. Either you are overthinking, or you are worse off than you originally thought.

The apartment complex the card directs you to stretches high above you. You look up, seeing not a single light on. That’s odd, you think, but then again, you are meeting with the city’s most notorious man. If he is who everyone says he is, and if the rumors are even true, that is.

As you are about to approach the entrance, your fingertips start to burn. A gasp escapes past your lips. Staring down, the cubical piece of paper goes up in flames. You are mere feet from the door, nowhere near close to an open source of fire, and the card starts to burn like a wildfire.

You pull back, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The ashes fall to the ground, but before they can hit the asphalt, they vanish.

“What the–” before you can finish, the doors before you swing open toward the inside. The lights turn on. Someone even has called the elevator for you.

Another step forward, and a voice stops you. “Fourth floor, down the hallway, first door to your right,” the voice says through the speaker. Only then do you notice the lack of a doorbell.

Everything in you is screaming for you to run, but you are rooted in the spot. He dragged you here with a mere letter, and you were more than ready to jump. Desperation was the only thing that drove you here. Your brain seems incapable of rational thought.

What if that is what he wanted all along? To get you complicit by playing on what you so desperately need, which is a story and a way out of this boring everyday life that is threatening to slowly kill you.

He’s like a siren, luring you into his deadly trap, but even knowing all of this, you still can’t find it in yourself to run.

The second you enter the building, the door shuts behind you, and your only way out is officially locked. You made the decision; you have dug your own grave, possibly quite literally, and now you have to lie in it. It’s better to die chasing a good story than dying at a desk in an office that doesn’t respect you.

You are a disgrace, you can hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. He always warned you not to be too reckless or your bad decisions will eventually catch up with you. He always taught you not to trust strangers, and to stay the hell away from those who disgrace God, but you have never cared much about being a good girl.

Your thoughts are as morbid as your obsession with the walking undead. It is time you embrace what people are already saying about you.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. It goes up and up and up until it finally stops on the fourth floor. The walls smell like nothing but a faint hint of bleach. It’s clean, parquette not carpet, and the walls are kept in a shade resembling a mixture between crimson and maroon, and it is blending into a sort of marble.

The metal doors slide open. Again, you hesitate. A sweet whisper echoes in your ear, dragging you toward the edge. You breach the border between the elevator and the hallway that waits behind it. The voice is distant, and it doesn’t sound human—it reminds you of a siren’s song, calling for you. He is calling for you, and a fog settles over your mind. You’re not in control anymore, he is.

You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged. Vampires stop aging when they’re turned. Their mind doesn’t. You’ve read the research plenty. They are wise beings, more intelligent than human beings could ever fathom. That makes them dangerous.

Their venom rivals the intoxicating feeling of heroin, you’ve heard, and it heightens your senses to the point all you can feel is the one who bit you. Research suggests it’s a million times stronger than an orgasm, for both the vampire and the human being.

Part of you has always wanted to try it. Part of you wants to know what it feels like to be sucked dry. You want to know what it feels like to be carried into a new dimension by someone who knows how to play the human body like a fucking piano, eliciting the sweetest melody through your very essence and the symphony of your moans.

This M—Daredevil—is inherently dangerous. He’s as mysterious as they come; a man in a mask lurking in the dark corners of Hell’s Kitchen every night, turning the fight for justice into his hunting ground.

It’s as though he curled his fingers, and you followed.

You walk the dark hallway down to the door on the right. Paintings litter the walls. Masterpieces, blotches of white, red, and color. You recognize the red marble as a decorative theme on the wallpaper. Tracing your fingers over it, the rough drywall scratches at your skin.

You reach out a shaky hand toward the golden knob. Before you can turn it though, the door already flings open. It must be witchcraft.

Red appears to be his favorite color. At least judging from the hallway, that is true. When you step into the room with a pounding heart and blood pooling in your cheeks though, the inside of the room is a lot more… human. You wouldn’t have guessed it from the gloominess surrounding you on your way there.

A leather couch and armchairs stand in the middle, facing toward the window front. Colored windows, as you have gathered from the rumors. They are see-through now though, showing the city skyline and the moon up high. The chandelier on the ceiling is the only piece of furniture you would consider old. Browns meet hues of blue and dark green, a forest at midnight, and you suck in a sharp breath. The apartment is beautiful.

You look to your left and see a bookshelf stretching the length of the wall. You can’t help but run your hand over the backs. You would have expected original editions from the 18th or 19th century, but when your fingers trace over the bindings, you are met with the bulging of Braille underneath the elegant golden writing of the titles. None of them seem to have collected dust. It surprises you to only find a mere handful of classics that haven’t been transcribed in Braille and a realization you did not expect starts to crawl its way forward.

“I stole that one from a library in Paris.”

Your racing heart stops beating. The book you’ve been holding falls to the ground, its worn-out leather cracking further around the spine. The thud is deafening. You gasp, turning around. Your shoulders fly up as the tension ripples through every last muscle in your bone. Your bones ache just from how stiff you’re standing, but you can’t move.

The man before you moves as quietly as a mouse. You didn’t hear him coming. The moonlight reflects off his dark brown hair, making it appear almost ginger. He’s wearing a simple suit without a tie, and the white of his shirt is as pristine and clean as the cut of his beard. You can see chest hair poking out from underneath the two open buttons, as dark as the locks on his head. His jawline is irresistibly sharp, leading up to a pair of plump lips he is wrapping around the brim of a crystal glass filled with rum.

Your heart remains frozen. Not a single drop of blood pumps through your veins, yet your cheeks burn brighter than a bonfire on a pitch-black night.

But his flawless appearance is not what catches your attention the most. Looking up into his eyes, wanting to know whether they are as red as those set into the devil’s mask, you find nothing but your terrified reflection staring back at you. It’s as blurry as the picture of your face in a still ocean’s water, your wide eyes staring back at yourself.

The red glasses are all you can see. Round with a black rim. Silver would have looked better on him, or maybe even gold. The black reminds you of an endless pit, a sinister embrace of vampire stereotypes, but you can’t look away from the maroon that won’t allow you even a glimpse into his eyes. They are shielding him from the world, and his eyes from curious, stupid humans like you.

He nods toward the ground. “You gonna pick that up?” he asks. His voice reminds you of rumbling gravel.

He looks like a man. He talks like a man. If you didn’t know better, you would say he is human. There seems to be blood in his cheeks and air in his lungs.

You have to pull yourself together. Clearing your throat, you bend down and pick the book back up.

“Thank you,” he utters your name. “It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors that don’t work for me.”

You put the book back on the shelf. Your lips are sewn shut; you can’t find the words. Every time you open your mouth like a fish on dry land, you close it again, and it is embarrassing to be standing in front of him with your guard down.

“Welcome to my home,” he says. You wish you could see his eyes to know if he’s mocking you. “Do you want a drink, or do you need another minute to process?”

He is mocking you. His tone is gentle, as is his voice, but he smirks like a smug motherfucker, and your anger boils to a tipping point. The candle is about to burn out.

“I–” you stammer. Internally, you curse yourself for being such a fool.

“Another minute it is then.”

You don’t need a minute though. “You’re blind,” you blurt out.

The beautiful—deadly—stranger nods. “Yeah.“

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

“But you’re…” you leave the missing part of that sentence hanging in the air like a noose.

“Say it,” he murmurs. You want to say it sounds like a growl, but you’re not sure. He isn’t asserting dominance or trying to force you into submission by scaring you away, but he is toying with you regardless.

You take a deep breath. The word, the truth, numbers your tongue and your lips with its weight. “A vampire,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, matching his.

His smirk broadens. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, then releases it as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m a blind vampire, yes,” he answers. “We’re rare, but we do exist.”

Blind vampires. In all of your years of fascination, that has never crossed your mind. You used to believe that they had healing abilities that far exceeded your own. You were wrong. He lost his eyesight before he got turned into a vampire. He lived as a blind human being and didn’t regain his most crucial sense when he died.

He came back to life, but he died. It is surreal to stand across from him. He’s not just letters on a piece of paper, he is very much real. And he’s blind.

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

That elicits a soft chuckle from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says.

“I was considering not to.”

He sees right through you with those empty glasses. “That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?” you counter.

“I can hear your heartbeat. The blood pumping in your veins…” His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You take a step back. It’s an instinct. “Your pulse picks up when you lie, or when you’re nervous, or both,” he states. “When you first saw me, your heart skipped a beat. It did again when you lied to me.”

Your eyes trail down to his thick thighs perfectly fitted in his tailored trousers. His thick digits pat the rhythm with his fingers on the fabric. Thud-thudthudthud-thud. You place a hand on your chest. He wasn’t wrong; your heart is racing.

His smirk turns into a smile, but only briefly again. It’s a glimpse of humanity he doesn’t want you to see. “I like that sound,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell good? Sweet, sour, and a little salty. Natural. You don’t use a lot of artificial perfume, but you like cherry chapstick.”

You swallow, taking a whiff of your arm. Besides your deodorant masking the scent of your nervous sweat, you smell nothing. How good must his nose be? His hearing? His sense of taste?

“Right now, sweat is dripping down your back, and your muscles are tense enough to strain against your bones every time you breathe. Your heart just skipped a beat again. You find it weird,” he muses. “I can’t turn it off, but I get it must be strange for you.”

“You–” The blood has collected in your head, pushing the temperature in the room to an all-time high. “Get out of my body!” you snap.

He laughs. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”

“And I never thought you would ask for an audience with me, but here we are.”

“Here you are.”

You want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. He looks so smug, standing there with his drink, wearing a suit too fancy for his own home. He’s fully in his element. It’s scary how alluring he is, too. You don’t want to think that way, but as soon as your eyes gaze upon him again, your chest contracts, and you forget how to breathe.

He’s a wolf, and you’re a lonely little sheep that doesn’t know any better. That lonely little sheep just wants to be a part of something bigger, even if that means surrendering herself to the big bad wolf. He wants a taste of her, and the sheep would give him that in a heartbeat if he just asked.

You blink. There is a voice in your head, and it isn’t your own. Far from it. You don’t want to be associated with this stranger. She thinks she knows you. She thinks she knows what you want—the sheep in the eyes of her natural enemy. This voice is the most irrational you could be, and you need to stop letting her win.

And yet you—not just the voice of the lonely sheep you appear to be—would follow this man anywhere, even to hell if he asked you to.

Your eyes drill knives into his skull, but they are also full of curiosity. Can he hear your thoughts? Your heart beats in your throat. You can taste it on your tongue. If you bit your lip, you would bleed, and he would probably fall into a frenzy. Still, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. What if he can hear your thoughts—hear how fucking needy you are? You’re pathetic. What he must think of you, standing across from him, smaller than human life itself.

You want to read him, but he is far from an open book. He’s not Braille you can run your fingers over, and even if he was, you don’t know how to read it. He’s an enigma. His face is set in stone; an iron mask you can’t penetrate.

His chest heaves with another chuckle. He sets the crystal glass down on the coffee table, taking a step forward. “No, I can’t read your mind,” he says.

You flinch. “What?”

“Your breathing pattern. The way you look at me. I can sense that you’re thinking about something.” He adjusts his glasses. “It’s just… Most humans ask me if I can read their minds, you know. I can’t. Some vampires can, but my senses are the only heightened ability I have.” This time, when he chuckles, a hint of bitterness dances in his voice.

“At least you’re not in my head then,” you say.

“No.”

“Good.”

A pregnant pause follows. You clutch your bag to your chest, your fingers digging into the frame of your hidden laptop.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, pointing to his empty glass.

You wave him off. That’s the last thing on your mind. “No, thank you.”

Sometimes at night, you fantasize about diving into the abyss of darkness. It looks and sounds a terrifying lot like him. You want to know him. You need to know him. When it comes to him and this—whatever this is—the lines between want and need are blurring into an unidentifiable mess. It’s an ocean of emotions with no land in sight. A total eclipse of the heart, if you will. You’re losing your mind.

“What you can do–” You straighten your shoulder, hoping it will add height to your beaten confidence. “You can tell me your name. Sir,” you say.

He nods. “I suppose it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Matthew. My name’s Matthew.” The softness of his features as his lips move to the rhythm of his words takes you back anew. His eyebrows raise slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of beautiful, unfocused hazel eyes that steal your breath away.

Matthew. It is a name that easily rolls off the tongue. It suits him.

You repeat his name aloud. “That’s an odd name for a 200-something-year-old man,” you point out.

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

You hit a sore spot. His head dips, fingers running over his nails and tongue tracing his teeth. “Not anymore,” he says.

God died for him a long time ago, and all churches burned down.

Your grip on your bag loosens. “Then why Daredevil?” you ask.

His lips part. “I, uh, have the Bulletin to thank for that one. After centuries of existing in this world, and being despised for no matter what I do, I’ve decided to embrace it. I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.”

Matt grabs his glass, turning away from you. He doesn’t use a cane to navigate from the couch to the mini bar on the other end of the room. You carefully follow his movements. One of his hands remains at his side, snapping his fingers as he navigates the familiar terrain of his home.

He uncaps a half-empty bottle of Whiskey to pour himself another glass.

“You know, Matthew,” you prompt, daring to step forward an inch, “as big as your reputation is in this part of the city, Silver Lining is not the kind of magazine that would cover your story.”

“You still came,” he says.

“I could lose my job if anyone knew I came here.”

“And yet you’re here and not where you should be.” He turns his head over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t risk losing your job if it wasn’t important to you, would you?”

You stammer, “I–” He’s got you. You’re a fish with a hook in her mouth.

“If Silver Lining Magazine won’t cover my story, why are you here?” Matt turns back to you, leaning back against the shiny Mahagoni of his minibar. It offers a beautiful contrast to his strong physique and the slight paleness of his skin. “Could it be because you’re fascinated by the mythic?” he asks, teasing. “By werewolves and witches and vampires?”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I won’t confirm or deny. My boss wouldn’t let me write a vampire vigilante exposé even if I begged him to.”

“And that’s why Mr. Doherty doesn’t deserve you.” Your body visibly recoils when he pushes forward, moving just an inch toward you. “Your curiosity is a virtue,” he purrs. The moonlight sets your reflection in his glasses alight.

“Is that why you lured me here?” you ask him. “Because my curiosity is a virtue and you consider yourself better than the people in my life?”

“I didn’t lure you here, and I think you know that. That’s not what this is.” The distance between you starts to shrink, backing you into a corner. “I believe you came here because the thought of interviewing a vampire and sharing your findings with the world on your account excites you,” he says. “You want to be heard. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and you want to make people happy.”

The only way for you to come out of this with your pride and dignity still intact is to put up walls before the already existent labyrinth of walls keeping your heart guarded and your soul safe. “Again,” you ask, “why me?”

“Why not you? As I stated in my letter, I’m a fan of your work.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, about that. How did you write that if you’re blind?”

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

“Of course.” Of course, he has a secretary. “I… I just don’t get it,” you say. “You’ve been hiding for so long–”

Matt cuts you off with an urgency you didn’t expect, “Things have changed. Circumstances…” he trails off.

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?”

His answer is silence. You let out an exasperated sigh. “If you want me to interview you, you have to be honest with me.”

“I’m not on the record yet.”

“Right. Maybe you can answer this though—off the record, of course—how can you be certain I didn’t call the cops or the FBI before I came here?”

His eyes crinkle. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” he says.

He’s amused. You’re amusing him.

“Don’t call me that,” you growl.

He’s spreading you open, holding up a mirror for you to look into. It’s your miserable self in all its glory, and he knows you better than you know yourself.

You ignore the sharp pain in your left ribcage as you pull the arrow out of your heart. “Unless someone holds up a sign that they are pro-vampirism, how would you even know I’d listen to you and not just refer you to the Journal of Psychiatry?”

“Are you telling me you don’t believe in vampires?” Matt quips.

“That’s not… Answer my question!��

The sound of your heartbeat must sound almost like the rapid firing of a machine gun, that’s how fast your pulse is racing. Your veins threaten to burst with the excess blood. It’s a heat like no other. You’re a witch at the stake, and Matt is holding the torch to your gasoline-doused body.

He clears his throat. Your face falls at the words that tumble out of his parted lips, and the rapid firing turns into a deafening silence and a monotone line on a heart monitor.

“After what I’ve learned from reading Dr. Rice’s research on the phenomena of vampirism, I can confidently say this species is no different than an animal like the great white shark or the Homo sapiens sapiens—our kind,” he recites. “Vampires are a medium of fiction and propaganda to induce fear, but they are also a widely misunderstood species that is being silenced rather than heard. Our species, the human species, likes to consider themselves superior, even when we’re in a position of being someone’s natural food source. Dr. Rice’s research is based on a comprehensible set of facts, and isn’t that what we have been relying on ever since the beginning? Our psychology makes it possible for us to change the narrative in our favor, and more often than not, we ignore the very facts deemed by humans as an intellectual importance to spread the message of an entirely different agenda. Dr. Rice’s research only proves that egotism and humans themselves will be humankind's certain downfall.”

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out.

“Published by Columbia University.”

Your heart restarts with a rush of adrenaline. “How… how do you know all of this?”

“I may be blind,” Matt says, “but I know how to read between the lines.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The alcohol in his drink seems to have little effect on him. “I know you have questions, and I’m willing to answer them if you promise to publish a detailed report somewhere other than Silver Lining Magazine.”

You look down at your bag, then back at him. “Ben Urich could have told your story in a way that would’ve made people listen,” you murmur. “I don’t have an impressive career like him.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “but you could have easily written ‘Attack on NYC’. Ben was a good man, an even better journalist, but he could not have written your college essay. And he could never have been you.”

Your name rolls off his tongue—not a pretentious nickname that makes you want to vomit but your name, and it flicks a switch within you.

You glance around the spacious living, pulling your laptop out of its confines, and you bridge the distance between you, finally. You notice he smells of sandalwood cologne and scentless soap. “Okay,” you cave. “Where do you want me to set up?”

Session 1.

The spacebar clicks underneath the tip of your index finger. The white of your screen fills with a series of red sequences as the microphone takes in every little sound around you. Except for the two of you and the fading footsteps of one of Matthew’s assistants though, the world has fallen silent in the dead of the night. He’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, head tilted; your life is about to change.

“So, Mister Murdock,” you begin, “tell me. How long have you been dead?”

His mouth opens in a wide grin. “242 years,” he answers.

“And what happened the year you died?”

“Well, it was 1782. I was a good few years out of law school. I was a good lawyer, but I wasn’t successful. That year, I met a beautiful woman at a banquet. I wasn’t rich—trust me, I was beyond penniless—but she had been adopted into a wealthy family, and that made her one of the richest women in the room. Everyone wanted her, but when I sensed her across the hall, she only had eyes for me. And she was the first woman to not see me just because I was blind.” He chuckles sadly. “I thought she was the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, but a few weeks later, after letting her into my life, I realized that she didn’t look at me that night because she was interested. She was hunting me. El— Miss Elektra Natchios…”

The year 1782 becomes apparent before your inner eye. As he tells you about the night he met her, you can see the dark-haired beauty making her way across the ballroom. Red lips and a gown to die for. Her dark eyes were full of mischief, but the passion in them could have knocked a grown man off of his feet. And that is just what she did to poor Matthew.

“I was going to marry her,” he tells you.

He went to church regularly. His knees were bloody from praying, his senses already heightened before he died. God’s soldier, that is how he puts it. He was told that the accident that left him blind happened for a reason, and he had to fight a war that went beyond the country’s fight for independence.

That summer, Elektra drained him. He didn’t know what she was. She fooled him. He was obsessed with her. Her dark eyes he couldn’t see lured her in, and it was the venom in her blood that became his downfall after she dug her teeth into him.

Matt tried to beg his priest for forgiveness, but he didn’t even make it past the marble stairs before the doors locked. He knelt in a pool of blood—both his and that of the first human he ever sucked dry to survive as a newborn vampire—offering an eternal sacrifice to Catholicism, but God abandoned him on his doorstep.

The church walls would have been set on fire if he had touched them from the inside.

You look up from your notepad to find him now standing at the window. He’s not looking out, of course, but he seems so deep in thought, the memories that aren’t your own but his start to dissipate, and you’re brought back to the here and now.

Matt poured his heart out to you. You expected answers, but not this kind, and certainly not of this magnitude. You see him in an entirely different light. He’s vulnerable, fragile, and human. He has endured trauma that killed him, but he couldn’t die because the woman he loved made him immortal. It’s a bigger curse than growing up with the belief that an accident made you God’s soldier.

He lost everything. For centuries, he has had to live with that. It’s killing you, feeling his pain, the pure agony that radiates off him.

Your voice is quiet when you ask him, “What was it like?” You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know what you are referencing.

Matt chuckles, the sound a mere breath in the atmosphere. “Like she took my soul from my body, setting fire to my belief system and already heightened senses,” he says.

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

“It was. Is. My heart stopped, but when that happened, something else awoke inside me. The hunger… the hunger was the worst part. It’s insatiable. One hour passes, and you feel like you’ve been starving for weeks.”

“Like you’ve been possessed by a demon?”

“Like I am the demon.”

“But you’re not.” You should stop the recording. You’re not on track; you’re incorporating your feelings into Matt’s story, but you can’t help it. The words tumble out of your mouth without a second thought, a train that cannot be stopped.

He raises his eyebrows, you can see it in his reflection in the windows. “Are you religious?” he asks.

You shake your head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Are you?”

The veins on the back of his hands bulge as he balls them to fists at his sides. Your throat is a desert, and your heartbeat resembles a storm that burns right through it, sending the sand flying in all directions of the horizon.

You adjust in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. He takes a whiff. He’s smelling you, and that doesn’t help the speed of your pulse to calm down.

Tapping your pen on your notepad, you watch the red sequences fill the white space of the recording program. It moves with the sound of your voice when you finally dare to answer. “It’s a complicated question because there is a difference between believing in God and believing in the church,” you say.

“Do you believe in God then?” Matt asks. It’s as though he’s trying not to seethe at the mere mention of someone he used to worship. You make a note of that.

“There is so much bad in this world. So much cruelty. I can’t…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know how to believe in a God that would let the things humans do to each other happen. If God existed—if he was as merciful as Christians like to claim, he wouldn’t let this happen. And I’m so sick and tired of people using their faith, and their beliefs in God and the church as justification to be disrespectful. I don’t understand it. How can anyone? Why is someone who has to drink blood to stay alive—someone who didn’t even choose this life—worth less and the devil’s breed when humans do worse things to each other? Why would God allow us to start wars that kill innocent people? Children? It’s just not fair that we treat ourselves and others as though we are already in hell, and we’re just supposed to accept that God doesn’t care—” You stop yourself, the tears burning behind your eyes.

Matt turns back around. You can’t look away. “When I was still human,” he murmurs, “I used to believe everything that happened to me was God’s will. The accident, God’s will. Me going blind, God’s will. I went to confession, prayed until my knees were bloody and bruised. I tried convincing myself that every scream I heard from down the block, every person who lost their life or their innocence was my responsibility. God made me this way for a reason, right?” The scoff is as bitter as the liquor in his glass. “I fell apart, you know. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what was happening to me,” he tells you.

You hold your breath. The glasses slip from his eyes as he takes them off with shaky fingers. You are met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes. Emotions dance a heated tango in a tornado. If you look closer, the green specks bring life to his eyes. It’s human nature in the purest sense of the word.

Your reflection stands in his irises, his unmoving pupils, and the tears glisten in his eyes. They’re as red as blood, watered-down crimson essence. You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, but that would be crossing a very big line that you can’t bring yourself up to touch.

“I studied law because I thought it would change something,” he continues. You listen. It’s the only thing you can do—listen. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever did felt like it was enough. I lost my father. Jack. I didn’t know my mother until it was too late. Maggie. I had no one. No money, no prospects, just me and those voices in my head, telling me I was supposed to be God’s soldier.”

“You’re not,” you cut in.

He shakes his head. “I prayed; I crawled up the stairs of the church, and I spent hours repenting for my sins. I bled myself dry for Him. I sacrificed myself. I sacrificed my youth, my heart, and my soul, and I got nothing back. I begged for help until my voice was sore, but nothing… God, nothing was ever good enough. Until Elektra came around,” he says.

“She changed everything for you. It makes sense. She turned you into a vampire, but she also loved you.”

“She did love me, in her own twisted way.”

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

He isn’t yours, but the pang you feel in your chest is treacherous. Your heart cracks like a porcelain vase, jealousy creeping in like a parasite of toxic waste.

In response, Matt only chuckles bitterly. “She made me believe again, then took my soul and crushed it in her hand.” The correction makes your shoulders slump. “Instead of feeling like my world ended though, I felt at peace when she sucked the blood out of my veins and fed me her venom,” he says. “It’s sick, I know. I was aware I died that night, that she turned me into a devil who could only survive if he drank the blood of others. The Catholic in me struggled to accept it, but I had no choice but to embrace what she made me.”

“And where is she now?” you ask.

“Gone.” The light in his eyes has fully disappeared now. “I stayed with her for a while until she died in my arms. She showed me what love is, and she showed me heartbreak. She made me hungry for blood, awakening the devil I’ve been trying to tame. She taught me how to feed, how to hunt, and how to chase. But she also cursed me,” he says. “I only exist for myself now. I only bleed for myself. No God, no church, and no more religion. I’m not Jesus, I’m Judas, and I retired the cross the day I was crucified.”

You have run out of questions to ask. Too overwhelming is the sight of his walls crumbling down, this stranger you now know better than any living being seems to. You no longer see money in this, or a story to chase, you only see Matthew, and the halo above his head he still believes is a pair of horns. The world broke him. His faith in God broke him. It crushed him, and he lost everything. How broken he must be.

“Not such a pretty story when I say it out loud, huh?” He scoffs.

The spacebar clicks again. The recording comes to a sudden halt. One hour and fifty-eight minutes, the first session of your interview with the vampire. You need to put a halt to it now because what you are about to say or do as you reach your hand out to brush his cold, dead skin is not something that should be found on a record. And you won’t ever tell.

Matt pulls away when your warm fingertips brush his. You’re standing across from him now, so close he can smell, hear, and feel all of you at once.

Your touch is the holy water that burns his skin, but the fire sustains him and shoots straight to his core the same way the blood rushes to yours.

“It’s not a pretty story, no,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it did tell me what I already knew.”

“And what’s that?” he asks.

“That you’re not evil. You’re not the Devil. You’re misunderstood. You’ve been beaten; you’ve been abandoned, hurt, and broken. That doesn’t make you a monster. Trying to make this city a better place does not make you a monster.”

“If you only knew the things I’ve done…”

“I know the rumors suggest that you were the one who fought Wilson Fisk and got this city back where it needed to be. You’ve saved countless women from the worst of fates. You are the reason the innocent people of Hell’s Kitchen feel safe. By picking up that mask, you became a hero, not a villain, and that is the story I want to tell.”

In lightspeed, he has moved you from the window to the other end of the room. Your back hits the wall.

Matt towers over you in all of his intimidating glory. His eyes spark red, but you hold his unfocused gaze. He has such beautiful eyes. This pull between you is far from human; it’s unhealthy, and it is exactly where he wanted to get you. You’re trapped, pinned underneath him like a deer caught in headlights.

Exhaling, your breath strokes his cheeks. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you. Every particle in the air, he inhales. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. Oh, what you wouldn’t do to suck that tongue into your mouth.

Your pheromones play his head like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his marionette. He growls. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?”

The moonlight catches his sparkling white teeth. This time though, you come face to face with the sharp edges of his previously concealed fangs. Your jaw drops open. He’s ethereal.

“I could snap your neck—” Matt places his hand on your neck, “I could make that heart stop beating, take the air from your lungs. I could eat you…” He traces the vein in your throat from your jaw to your collarbone. “I could bite you and suck your blood until you’re empty. I could kill you, sweetheart. My kind is your natural enemy. You shouldn’t be here.”

You shudder. His nose brushes the sensitive skin below your ear. He’s so close you can smell him. On inhale, and his scent consumes your senses. He is all you can feel now. You reach out to hold onto his arms, his muscles tensing under your teeth. He’s big and strong, and those hands have a mind of their own as they begin to wander but never where you need him most.

You shouldn’t be here, yet you came. He asked you to him, and you complied. Is this your fate now? Chasing after your big bad wolf like the helpless sheep that you are?

Your walls clench around an agonizing emptiness, your swollen clit brushing against your soaked underwear. Whatever he is doing to you, it’s the cruelest form of torture.

A strangled noise breaks out of the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest. “You have no idea how badly I want to taste you,” he breathes.

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

Your tone shatters him. When he kisses you, finally, fireworks explode in the universe around you. All the stars seem to finally align. Your heart opens, and it sucks him right into you. Your soul yearns for him. He’s so close yet so far away.

The moon stands between you, but you cross even that ocean as you push against him, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He takes like heaven and hell; he’s the apple Eve bit into and cursed her for all eternity. But he’s also the snake, the one who compelled you to take this journey of bad decisions and jump right off the cliff’s edge. You melt into him like a broken candle.

He pulls away. Those fangs are alluring, as sharp as a knife’s tip. You want to know what it would feel like gracing your skin, digging into your as he thrusts his cock into your tight cunt. The thought alone sends your mind into a spiral.

Your lips are swollen, but he has yet to draw blood. Matt looks as though he wouldn’t dare, his eyes darting around in a darkened conflict he feels might cost him more than your dignity. You are begging for it, as is your body, but he’s holding himself back. He’s the one who tied himself to an invisible pillar, keeping his hands locked behind his back. But that is not the Matt you want.

You lean your head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. All control has slipped from your fingers. It’s in his hands now—you are. He cups your head gently. A mere few inches lie between your fountain and his lips.

You press a kiss to his calloused palm—a desperate and needy kiss, tracing your tongue over the lines that tell his life’s story in a way no interview can retell—and it is then he is forever done for. He’s doomed, and you are the second woman to pull him under the pits of hell.

Saliva drips from his fangs. You hold your breath. He hisses, a weak admission of surrender; the words die miserably on your tongue when his lips close around your pulse point with all his might, and his teeth drive home.

You moan aloud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, forcing him deeper as he sucks the dark red essence out of your vein. The sensation is more than you bargained for. It’s a drug that wrecks your system. The synapses in your brain backfire with all their might, and what follows the initial explosion of pleasure shooting white hot through your being is complete and utter silence as this God of a man feeds on you.

The invisible string between you glows a bright crimson. It slings around you, tying you together like the roots of a tree. It’s an eternal sacrifice. You are giving your all to him, the very core of your existence that is now flowing into his mouth. You swear you can hear his thoughts mingle with yours. Yes, more, please. You taste so good. Your knees buckle, but you remain standing strong. He makes sure you don’t fall. Don’t slip away from me. I need you.

A tear rolls down your cheek. You could sob. It feels so good—too good to be true. In that moment, you become one. There is no telling where one begins and the other ends. The coil in your stomach tightens, and the only pain you feel is the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. He’s taking everything as you give him everything, but it is not enough. It has never been enough.

When your body struggles to catch up with the lack of blood, he pulls away. His fangs drag out of your neck agonizingly slowly. You whimper at the sudden loss.

Matt catches you as you stumble into his arms. “You okay?” He cradles your face, brushing the hair out of your face. Your blood stains his lips. Blinking up at him, the force of your metaphysical connection slaps you awake.

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his.

He pokes the tip of his index finger with the sharp edge of one tooth, sliding it over the two holes that are pulsating with the work of your heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins.

“No,” you say. “You did exactly what you should have.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“But you did.” You wipe the blood from his mouth. “And I felt you. I only felt you.”

The living room passes by you. Before you know it, your back lands on something much softer than a concrete wall. He’s not a monster, that one, but he surely is an animal.

You taste your blood on Matt’s luscious lips as he devours your tongue. It tastes of copper and a little bitter, but that is what makes him moan. That sound is the last thing you could ever grow tired of.

His palm rests on your chest. Your heart pounds against his palm. “You’re so alive,” he says.

You cradle his face in your hands. “And you’re more human than you think.”

If he wanted to pull your heart out and hold it, you would let him in a heartbeat.

He leans you back. He strips you bare. He kisses down your body like you are a fucking masterpiece for him to explore. That is how he sees you.

Your head falls back. The kisses wander from your hips to the inside of your thighs. Every kiss brings his breath closer to your center. Matt pulls them apart. He opens you up to him. Your scent clouds his senses, and he groans, but he doesn’t touch.

His fangs graze your skin. “Mine,” he growls.

You gasp. He bites into the sensitive flesh. Hard, passionately. Your legs wrap around his head, trapping him there. He sucks, and he sucks, and he drinks, and the wetness pools out of your cunt in an obscene amount. This is foreplay to him. It drives you toward the edge leading to an abyss you are afraid you might never be able to crawl back out of. There is no bottom, it is just a pit, and he’s pushing you closer and closer, and—

Your back arches, but he pulls away before the coil can snap into a million butterflies. He pries your legs away from his head, spreading them further on the mattress, as far apart as they will go.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner have been served on a silver platter. He breathes in. The scent of your soaked pussy sticks to the hairs in his nose. It isn’t enough. He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction. You’re everything and more. He wants to taste that part of you more than anything, suck up the slick that is soaking the sheets—and you didn’t even think that was possible—but he waits because he needs to savor it. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon. neither for him nor for you.

The blood is still dripping from his tongue and his fangs, and the raw inside of your thigh. He runs his finger through it. The sting runs from the wound to your folds, then back down. Still, he doesn’t touch. He plays with the blood, sucking on his fingers until they’re clean, and then he dives back in for a taste. He doesn’t bite, he kisses and sucks, but he doesn’t push it further. He doesn’t hurt you.

You’re his saving grace; he has to worship you. Pain only has a place in pleasure.

“Matthew,” you moan.

He chuckles, kissing where his fangs left deep indentations. “No one will ever touch you again,” he purrs. “I’ll make sure of that.”

You try to protest, but the words die on your tongue when he leans in, capturing your clit with his hungry mouth. The wound on your thigh closes. The blood from his lips mixes with your juices, and you cry out at the intensity of it all.

He eats you with the ferocity of a man starved for weeks. He eats your pussy like he ate your blood, savoring every drop but still feasting for the taste to spread out in his mouth like wildfire. Sour, sweet, and copper. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth. His tongue drags through your folds, up and down, and then the tip slides inside, tasting your walls. He grows bolder as your moans accelerate.

Matt cradles your thighs. He forces your hips back down to the mattress, stronger than the average human man. You have to endure his beard scratching and burning, and the pace he has set.

The orgasm creeps up on you. Before you know it, he has plunged his tongue into you, and your body convulses around him. You scream into a pillow as you come.

You are each other’s forbidden fruit. No prayer in the world could keep you apart.

Faintly, you can hear him say, “Good girl.” Your legs quiver. He pulls away, then comes right back like a boomerang.

He’s warm now. He was cold before, but when he kisses you this time, he’s warm. He’s hot. You run your hands over his bare chest, the scars that lie under the dark strands of hair. You tug at it, and he moans. You can tell he is a little insecure, but by pressing your lips to one of the cuts on his shoulder, he relaxes.

What he must have endured, what he must have lived through before he died and was resurrected in the same breath, just without a beating heart—you don’t want to think about it or you will break, but you can still feel him through the crimson tie that holds you together, and you know that he has suffered enough for more than two lifetimes. You wish you could take it all away from him. You wish you could have saved him before it was too late, loved him more than the woman who turned him, but turning back time is an impossibility. You are both acutely aware of that.

“Hey.” Matt tilts your head toward him. “Where did you just go?” he asks.

“Thinking about you,” you murmur.

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

You. His salvation. He kisses you, softly this time. He pours gratitude into his lips and bleeds them out in poetry as they slide into your mouth, and you swallow every last drop.

If someone had told you a week ago where you would see yourself on that particular Monday, you would have laughed at them. And if someone had told you a week ago that you would be making love to the devil, you would have called them crazy. But it’s happening.

He thrusts into you without a warning. His thick cock fills you like nothing and no one ever has before. Your cunt has been molded to fit him, you’re sure. You take him in, and you moan at the stretch. It’s a pain so delicious you could fall apart right then and there just from the feel of him inside you.

Every thrust drags the tip of his cock along your sweet spot. Every added sensation drives you closer to your death.

Your body tingles. He explores your face with his lips rather than his fingers, moving to your neck again. You cling to him, oh-so-desperate for him. He likes you like that, and you like him like that.

“You’re fucking with my head,” he tells you. “Offering your pussy to a vampire. Letting me drink your blood. Begging me to fuck you. You’re in my head, baby. Can’t get you out of my system. Fuck.”

You are his downfall, his salvation, but he is all of those things to you as well—all of those things and more. If he could read your mind, you would tell him that. Words can’t do justice to how you feel. Not right now, maybe not ever.

“Bite me again,” you beg.

His thrusts falter. He searches your body for any sign of regret. His fangs come out, and he buries them deep in your jugular vein. The floodgates open wide. Your walls clench around his cock, your clit pulsates, and the wave crashes into you.

You come as he devours your neck and your blood. You transcend into another dimension, far away from everything and everyone but never him. Never Matthew.

The sensation of you wraps around him like a weighted blanket. His balls tighten, your blood unfolding its taste on his tongue. You are all over him, inside of him, everywhere at once. He falls head-first, dragging you down with him.

He comes with a shout that is only muffled through his teeth buried in your flesh, his cum spurting into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your eyes roll back. You’re flying and falling all at once.

Oh, how good it feels to be consumed by him. To be fucked and sucked dry. You would have never expected this to come out of your week, let alone your life, but now that it has happened, you are floating on cloud nine.

Dizziness threatens to take over, but before you can pass out, he forces himself away, allowing your heart to catch up with the lack of blood in your system. He collapses on top of you. His cock softens, but he stays inside. You need him there. You want him there. And that is the only place he wants to rest tonight.

He heals the wounds on your neck. “You have a mark,” Matt rasps, tracing your skin with his finger.

You choke out, “Yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He kisses you there. Once, twice, even a third time. “Mine,” he says.

You’re his. He’s yours. It doesn’t get any better than this.

The minutes tick away on the obnoxious clock on the wall. Matt pulls out eventually, wrapping you up in a blanket. He coaxes you to drink, but you’re barely lucid. Only when he begins to stroke your hair you start coming back to yourself. You thought you might regret it, but as you look at him, his almost guilty eyes staring back at you, all you can do is reach out for him.

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

He chuckles and retorts, “Have I not scared you away?” There is some truth to it though.

He’s covered in your blood. It sticks to his lips, his hands, and his chest. It’s sickeningly intimate, in a way.

You shake your head in response. “You could not possibly.”

He listens to your heartbeat. You’re as honest as they come.

“Okay,” Matt says. “Session two tomorrow then.”

That night, you fell in love with the Devil, but he also fell in love with you, his angel in the form of a reckless journalist, and the only blood he ever wants to taste again until the end of his miserable, cursed days.

Matt Murdock (Smut) Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @theradioactivespidergwen @cheshirecat484 @1988-fiend @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-girl-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife

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