#Where are my murder mystery husbands? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkmatilda · 6 months ago

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𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: following a certain unsettling experience, you and your husband choose to move to a quiet yet incredibly boring town. in his absence on a business trip, you discover an unexpected source of intrigue and diversion in one of your neighbors — spencer.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x female!reader, cheating (but not really lol), unreliable narrative, violence, attempted murder, inspired by taylor swift's song "fortnight", mention of sex but without a detailed description, nothing in this story is as it seems so read carefully until the end, reader has some backstory because it's necessary to the plot, reader has some disturbing thoughts, just to clarify, i don’t consider her character to be good or a role model. if you’re hesitating whether to read this story, it might be better if you skip it, lol.

𝐚/𝐧: it's kind of an experiment and I'm curious if you'll like it :3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 8.5k

“Finally…our bedroom.” Richard opened the door to the room with a chivalrous gesture, bowing slightly as he let you enter first. Before stepping inside, you glanced at his face without much enthusiasm. He seemed genuinely happy. It didn’t surprise you. He loved beautiful things, and this house you’d just moved into was exactly that. “I’ve always wanted one like this. Spacious, white. A huge bed. What do you think, darling?”

Your husband’s lips gently brushed against the skin of your shoulder as he stood a step behind you. The tender gesture stirred no emotions in you—just like this bedroom. Or the house in general.

“Why do we need such a big bed if I’ll be sleeping in it alone?” you asked, unable to hold back the bitterness in your voice.

Richard sighed and took a step back. Your words had pulled him out of his own cinematic fantasy—the one he’d been living in since morning. In that fantasy, you were a perfectly happy couple embarking on an unquestionably bright chapter of your lives, and you were his perfectly normal wife.

“It’s just two weeks. A fortnight, as my grandfather used to say. I’ve gone on much longer business trips before.”

“Well, I wasn’t in a completely unfamiliar place then, where I don’t know anyone.”

He tilted his head, clearly reluctant to revisit this topic yet again.

“You won’t be alone. Sarah will be coming by every day, remember? I asked her to take care of you.”

“You hired her,” you corrected.

“Fine, I hired her. She desperately needed a job, and I needed someone to keep an eye on you. Does the fact that she’ll be paid for it really change anything?”

Countless words pressed against your lips. Yet suddenly, you lost all interest in the argument, in the situation as a whole. You said nothing.

Richard studied your face closely, noticing that sudden, dangerous absence in your expression—a telltale sign with you. His lips tightened with concern. Before he could speak, the doorbell rang.

“Could that be her?” he wondered aloud, heading downstairs to let the guest in.

You followed him mindlessly down the stairs, like a shadow. You weren’t entirely sure why. Everything in your existence felt just like this—dictated by someone else or some mysterious force, a whisper lurking at the back of your mind. Never fully justified.

It turned out it wasn’t Sarah. Standing at the door of your new home was a couple.

“Hi there,” said a young woman with a romantic figure and a cascade of black curls. A natural blush on her cheeks softened her sharp features, adding a touch of charm. “We live in the house across the street. We stopped by to welcome our new neighbors.”

“And to apologize for barging in right after you arrived, not giving you any time to settle in,” added the man standing a step behind her, clearly towering over her in height. He looked down at his companion with a faint, probably unconscious smile, and from that alone, you knew they were either married or a long-standing couple. “Someone was a little too eager to meet you.”

She elbowed him, barely stifling a laugh.

“I’m Vanessa. And this is my smug and sarcastic husband, Spencer.”

“We weren’t expecting visitors,” you spoke up before Richard, standing in front of you, could say a word.

There was an unintentional sharpness to your tone—you didn’t want to host anyone. For one, you had just arrived. Your belongings from the previous house had been unpacked by the moving company, but you hadn’t gone shopping yet. There wasn’t any coffee to offer, and you weren’t even sure if the coffee maker was plugged in. More importantly, you hadn’t yet adjusted to the new place yourself and didn’t want to let strangers in until you did.

Vanessa parted her lips, clearly surprised by the edge in your voice.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” your husband cut in quickly, turning to the woman with an apologetic look. “Don’t worry, you’re not bothering us at all. Actually, we’re glad you stopped by. It’ll be nice to get to know someone in the area, especially for my wife. I’ll be leaving on a business trip soon, and I don’t want her getting bored. Richard, by the way,” he added, extending a hand.

She had very small hands, round like a child’s, but in their own way, charming. Her wedding ring was simple and looked cheaper than yours. The thought flitted through your mind, as did the observation that Spencer had very elegant hands—slim with long fingers—unlike your husband’s. You had an odd habit of paying unsettlingly close attention to people’s hands.

Despite the protest in your gaze, Richard invited them inside.

Vanessa walked in first. They didn’t touch, but there was an unmistakable closeness in all their movements, as if they were two halves of one of those matching necklaces best friends wear in school. It caught your attention for some reason. You knew that you and Richard didn’t share that kind of grace. People didn’t immediately assume you were married when they saw you together. Sometimes they thought you were father and daughter, even though he was only thirteen years older than you and looked young, well-kept. But it probably had more to do with the way you walked cautiously at his side, always slightly withdrawn, as if seeking protection.

“Oh, it immediately reminded me of our house when we first moved in,” Vanessa sighed nostalgically, turning to her husband. The four of you had walked into the kitchen, where the table and countertops were spotless and empty, as if taken straight from a photo in a modern interior design magazine. “It used to look like this too, but then Spencer converted the living room and kitchen into the second and third library. Apparently, one isn’t enough for him.”

“My wife reads a lot too,” Richard chimed in. There was something strange about his tone, a faint, undefined emotion—maybe jealousy, but not entirely. Jealousy over the lightness and ease in their interactions, how their relationship seemed perfect at first glance. Unlike his.

Spencer looked at you, as if seeking confirmation of that statement.

You pursed your lips. The last time you’d read something was…six weeks ago, at best. Books hadn’t brought you joy in a long time, though there was a time when you devoured them relentlessly.

“It’s true,” you admitted stiffly. “I read constantly. One book after another."

When you lied, your voice sounded mechanical, like a robot. Recently, though, all your words carried that same rigid tone, even when you were being entirely truthful, so no one noticed when you veered away from the truth. It was, in a way, convenient. The new neighbor opened his mouth to speak. If he had asked what kinds of books you enjoyed, you would have said something absurd, like The Bible Trilogy or something equally ridiculous. Nothing else came to your foggy mind.

However, he was cut off by Richard, who quickly turned to both of them with a question about their professions. They looked young, about your age. You hadn’t expected them to have impressive careers, but that assumption turned out to be wrong. Vanessa turned out to be a surgeon, and Spencer was a criminal profiler.

Although the lines of his face were arranged in a way that was undeniably pleasant to look at, and his irises carried a warm hue, there was an undeniable sharpness in them. You could feel it, that piercing quality, whenever his gaze landed on you.

You tuned out when Richard started boring them with stories about his work as an engineer. His favorite topic—pride. You just wanted them to leave, even though nothing in their behavior really irritated you. Their love, however, bored you. You had some private aversion to happy relationships, and with the typical jealousy of a gloomy wife, you always wrote them off as doomed. Probably because of betrayal.

“And you, what do you do?” At some point, Spencer interrupted your husband’s monologue, tilting his head toward you. Vanessa, who had been patiently listening, seemed to perk up a little, her gaze now on you.

Richard swallowed, and you saw and heard it.

“She’s not working at the moment,” he said cautiously. Vanessa’s eyes involuntarily dropped to your stomach, but Richard quickly shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. We don’t have children yet. It’s just... it’s about some... health issues.”

A very creative way to convey that not long ago your wife had a nervous breakdown. So severe that you decided to buy a new house in a new neighborhood, hoping it would somehow improve her condition.

Vanessa’s eyes brightened, as if apologizing for bringing up the topic at all.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Well, it’s kind of like my Spence. He’s on leave for health reasons too. I made him take it; I honestly think it’s better to take a break and rest than push yourself to the limit later on.”

“But it’s nothing serious,” her husband quickly reassured. “Just migraines. Two weeks, and I’ll be back at work.”

You apologized to them without a hint of feigned remorse. Muttering something under your breath about not feeling well, but in reality, you simply didn’t want to continue this pointless conversation. As you walked away, you could feel Richard’s unwavering gaze on your back. He had never been angry at you for your behavior. He cared deeply, truly. More than anger, you sensed a certain disappointment in his demeanor. In his ideal world with his ideal wife, you stood by his side, holding him by the waist, entertaining everyone with some anecdote from exotic corners of the world, sparking bursts of laughter.

You lay down on the bed, in the cold sheets of the enormous bed. Closing your eyes, you imagined yourself floating on the surface of the endless ocean. There was nothing around you to focus your gaze on. In a way, it was a dream more terrifying than one where a shark would chase you. When you woke up, the sun was setting.

For a while, you lay still, but eventually, you got up and descended the stairs. It wasn’t out of desire, but rather some internal compulsion you had to fulfill. Otherwise, something would happen. You weren’t sure what. Your steps were slow, barely audible. At the top of the stairs, you heard Sarah’s voice coming from the kitchen. The rest of the way, you moved like a born detective, a secret agent, hiding by the entrance, opposite the white (like everything else in this house) wooden cubby under the stairs.

You heard Sarah’s voice again, a faint sound of vegetables being chopped in the background. They must have been preparing dinner together.

"Don’t worry," she said, her voice gentle. "When you leave, I’ll stop by every day to check on her. Are you sure that moving away was really the right solution?"

Richard sighed before answering.

"Well, that’s what the psychologist recommended. He said that a break from the big city and some peace is the best thing I can offer her in this crisis."He paused for a moment, then added, "Thank you for doing this, Sarah. I wish I didn’t have to leave, but my work...This project is incredibly important…"

Sarah was your sister, whom your husband had hired as something like domestic help. She cleaned and made sure you didn’t get the idea of taking a bath with a toaster plugged in under your arm. By the way, they were fucking behind your back. You knew about it and did nothing about it.

The reasons were mixing in your head, but the most important one was probably that without Richard, you would have nothing. Money, a house, the possibility of spending most days sweetly doing nothing. Besides, you didn’t really feel bothered by it. For most of the time, where he stuck his dick was absolutely indifferent to you, even if it was your sister. For the rest, you wanted to slit both of their throats.

But we all have our own inner battles, right?

You walked into the kitchen, and they fell silent immediately.

The next two days felt almost fairy-tale-like, as if every time the sun set, creatures straight out of folklore surrounded your house, camping outside the windows. Richard, by your side, became a kind of magical amulet—a form of protection against them all. His departure would be like violently ripping that amulet from your neck, leaving you exposed to danger.

You were getting used to the new house. For a moment, you felt so alive, so present, that you even started questioning whether bringing the porcelain dinner set from the old place had been a good idea. For a solid fifteen minutes, you told Richard how you thought it was too elegant, too plain. Too much of a match for the rest of the decor, all designed in the same style.

He listened, a smile on his face, happy that your thoughts weren’t drifting into strange, distant realms. And when you were done, he whisked you away to buy a new dinner set with cobalt floral patterns. You felt good.

The next day, he left for his two-week business trip—a fortnight, as he called it.

The first day was lonely; you wandered aimlessly through the vast new house. The next two days seemed not to exist at all.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Someone’s presence loomed just behind you as you lay face down on the bed, your face buried in the pillow. “You can’t spend your days like this. It’s not helping, really. You need to… you need to try doing something,” Sarah explained. She pulled the blanket off your body, like a mother waking a child for school.

You didn’t respond.

“Come downstairs. It’s already afternoon, and I bet you haven’t eaten anything, right? Honestly, I don’t even want to ask how long it’s been.”

And I bet you spread your legs for my husband, right? The thought pushed itself to your lips, but opening your mouth felt like too much effort. After about fifteen minutes of her continued talking, you let her drag you downstairs. You sat in a chair at the table, where you had a clear view of the neighbors’ house and driveway. It was almost identical to yours—white, two stories tall, with a mailbox planted near the road that stretched through the neighborhood. The only thing that set it apart was a trail of pink roses climbing along its white fence.

Sarah began preparing a meal. She was always an excellent cook. She had a thing for Asian cuisine—hearty soups with intense aromas.

You ate in silence. Sarah asked if you had called Richard, but you dismissed it with a snort. After that, she said nothing more and started cleaning up after the meal without a word. You kept your absent gaze fixed on the neighbors' driveway when suddenly a car appeared there. Spencer got out, wearing a polo shirt, and went to the trunk to pull out, as it turned out, bags of groceries.

He had no idea you were watching him, though if he had good eyesight, he could have seen your face in the window across the street. The entire conversation with him and his wife filled your mind again. You remembered that Vanessa worked as a surgeon almost all day, while he spent his days alone at home. Just like you and Richard. Did he feel romantically lonely, or abandoned like a dog that’s loved but you want to kick every time it pees on the carpet? The kind of dog that gets shown in family pictures but is asked to get off the bed and not lick you because it disgusts you?

You were curious if they had sex. He and Vanessa. She was probably tired when she got back and didn’t feel like it. Did he accept that, or secretly bring someone home when she wasn’t around? He seemed to love her, but that didn’t mean he could deny his human needs. Maybe he missed intimacy. You probably did too, but you didn’t want it from Richard. In bed, he was too proper, like a porn actor following a script.

"Maybe you can help me?" Sarah asked, washing dishes at the sink. Lost in thought, you didn’t even hear the sound of the running water.

Spencer came inside.

"That's why Richard hired you," you reminded her coldly.

"It’s not about that," she sighed. "I don’t know, maybe it’s just my opinion, but doing nothing drives people into even deeper depression. Believe me, you’d feel better if you had something to focus on. I don’t know, a job, a child, responsibilities. A goal." She paused for a moment, placing the dishes on the shelf. Her hands touched your new porcelain. You were planning to throw it out once she left. "Okay, maybe I’ll sound harsh, but... are you really not coping?"

"Do you think I'm pretending?"

"No," she added quickly, with real concern. "I don't think so, it's just... you know, I just remembered. When you were a child, you were like this too. Our parents gave us chores, and you didn't do your part. You used to drift off somewhere with your thoughts...you were a bit lazy.”

A strange hum filled your head as you returned to your body, the kitchen was filled with darkness, and your cheek rested on the kitchen table. Only after a moment did you realize that Sarah must have left hours ago, and you, unable to move, had fallen asleep in the same spot where you had been sitting. Your body was stiff, and you didn't want to move it to avoid pain or numbness.

When you opened your eyes again, the morning sun gently caressed your face.

A certain sense of unreality gently embraced your body, kissing every part of it. For a moment, you lay there—or rather, sat—with your head resting on the table, your gaze fixed on the view outside the window. The neighbor's house, the pink roses, the driveway. The mailbox, to which Spencer approached with a sleepy step, dressed in a loose T-shirt and gray checkered pants. Even from afar, you could see his brown hair was messy, which only added a charm to his already quite handsome face.

Without much thought, as if guided by some higher command in a system you physically couldn't resist, you sprang to your feet and stepped outside. You were still wearing a flowing white nightgown that reached just halfway up your thigh, with lace trimming. Though it was spring, the mornings were cold, but you didn't feel it, just as you didn't feel the roughness of the concrete driveway beneath your bare feet.

"Hey, neighbor!" you shouted at him, approaching your mailbox. You acted as it felt so natural to you, as if you did this every morning just like him. You glanced inside; there was only a newspaper.

Spencer furrowed his brow in surprise, but waved, a brief, uncertain smile appeared on his lips. You shoved the newspaper under your arm without even looking at the headline and crossed the street to approach him. You felt both more alive than ever before and fleeting, as if the breeze could blow you away at any moment, and you would become nothing more than a cloud of dust just before his face.

“Morning,” he greeted aloud, crossing his arms, one of them holding a newspaper against his chest. For a moment, he stared at you, lost in thought, before finally shaking his head. “I’ll admit, I’m... a little surprised to see you. I thought you and Richard had both left, I didn’t see you around…”

“Oh, I just wasn’t feeling well,” you waved your hand dismissively. Your tone was light, not as tense as it had been the first, and last, time you’d spoken with him. He seemed to notice the difference, narrowing his eyes slightly as he studied your face.

“I hope you’re feeling better,” he expressed, his concern sounding sincere and kind.

“Definitely. I’m just a little bored now. Not much to do in the new house, new neighborhood,” you added with an ironic undertone that only you could catch. As if you were even trying to do anything. You remembered Sarah’s words while doing the dishes.

Spencer, however, couldn’t know you were lying, and in a way, you believed your own words. He gave a short chuckle.

“I get that all too well. The doctor recommended I take a break from mental work, and I have no idea what I could do,” he said. “Vanessa comes home late during the week, and she just collapses. I guess I’ll have to push through until the weekend.”

You laughed, not because his words amused you, but because it confirmed your earlier theory. They weren’t having sex. There was no chance of it.

“Ah, poor things. The both of us, I mean,” you sighed. “Well, since you can’t work mentally, I suppose you’ll have to spend your time physically. In some pleasant way.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be the best,” he responded.

A silence fell between you. You didn’t know what else to say to keep the conversation going. Why did you even want to keep it going so much? Was it a lack of male attention, or something else? Spencer’s gaze briefly flickered toward his house, likely signaling that he wanted to go back inside but didn’t know how to show it. But suddenly, his eyes dropped, and his lips parted in surprise.

“Y-your foot…”

A pool of blood stretched out beneath you, on his driveway. Surprised, you let out a stifled cry, not feeling any pain and having no idea where it came from. Spencer snapped out of his shock, his head swiveling side to side as a sense of control began to settle into his movements.

"You’re barefoot, you must have stepped on something, a sharp stone or glass," he reasoned logically, eyeing your feet. Then, he sighed. "Damm… there’s quite a bit of it... a-are you okay?"

"A little dizzy," you groaned.

The sight of blood always made you lightheaded.

He quickly rushed to you, making sure you wouldn’t fall. One of his hands, slender with long fingers—something you had once noticed—rested on the small of your back, and you could feel it through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“C-could you take me to my house...?” you asked, slipping further into his arms. “I need to lie down... I don’t like... I don’t like blood...”

“Of course...”

And though his house was much closer, he followed your request. The fact that you were disturbed by the sight of blood, rather than the actual loss of it, seemed to calm him a bit. He tried to guide you, draping his arm around you, but soon realized it was pointless. He froze for a moment, uncertain. Then he sighed and lifted you in his arms, supporting you beneath the knees.

"Thank you so much... neighbor," you mumbled into his chest.

A moment later, you were half-sitting, half-lying on a chair in the kitchen, while he pulled one to sit across from you. Small bloodstains from your foot marked his gray pants, but he seemed completely unfazed by it. You weren't sure if there was a first aid kit at home, so he told you to wait and went to your bathroom to fetch it.

With a focused expression and his lower lip slightly protruding, he began treating your wound. He seemed to have experience in this. You didn't feel any pain at all; you were focused only on a few things. On your stretched-out leg, resting on his lap, and what was between your legs, revealed by the short nightgown.

You never slept in lingerie.

You carefully analyzed his face, wondering if he noticed it.

Maybe not, because he was too focused. Maybe he did, but he was trying to play the gentleman.

You pretended to let out a short groan of pain to draw his attention. His gaze lovingly fell on you... and then it landed right there. He quickly looked away, the corner of your mouth trembled.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Spencer,' you said. “My foot, actually. Is it something serious?”

He swallowed, though your limb was already fully bandaged and dressed, he didn’t take his eyes off it. As if he were afraid to look elsewhere.

“‘N-no,’ he replied hoarsely, nervously. He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of it, then straightened his head. His gaze held so much awkwardness. And you were absolutely sure that there was also some degree of desire in it. ‘It’s… it’s a shallow wound, it just bled a bit heavily. I disinfected it… there’s probably no need to go to the hospital… unless… unless you feel like you need to, of course, that depends on you.’”

“There’s no need,” you reassured him with a brief nod. In contrast to him, your voice was calm, refined. You straightened up in your seat and reached out, brushing your fingers against his forearm. He flinched. “How can I repay you?”

"Repay?" he repeated, with confusion. Then your eyes met, and if he had been standing, he would likely have taken a step back, pushed away by everything that was in your gaze. He swallowed again. "You don’t have to repay me, it’s... just a neighborly favor. And I... I need to get going."

He fought with himself, but if he didn’t want you, he wouldn’t have allowed you to touch his forearm like that, running your nails along it. Suddenly, as if struck by an electric shock, he jumped up from the chair, your injured leg dropping to the floor. You wanted to scoff, but held yourself back. At first, you watched him leave the kitchen, then you turned your gaze toward the window, where he soon appeared, heading toward the house. His steps were slow, suspiciously slow.

A sense of triumph filled your body as you slowly rose from the chair, standing on your healthy leg. You waited, watching, until he turned.

You slipped the sleeve of your nightgown off your shoulder.

He didn’t turn around, though he stopped.

You slipped another one.

He stood still, his shoulders moving up and down.

The nightgown slipped down along your body.

He chose that exact moment to glance back toward your window, toward you. You saw his eyes widen, his gaze unsure of where to land. For a long, intense moment, you simply stared at each other.

Until he finally moved, gave in, and returned to your house.

Well, in a similar manner, the following days unfolded.

Every morning, you waited by the window like a ghost. Spencer, like a good neighbor, would approach the mailbox, pull out the newspaper, and pretend to examine the front page. But in reality, he was just waiting to catch a glimpse of you in the window of your house. You didn't need to give him hand signals, wave, or call out. You simply hobbled to your bedroom, knowing the front door was unlocked.

And after a moment, he would join you.

Your bodies collided with the bedding. Always in the same wild way, impatient and thirsty for the closeness of another person. His hand slid between your legs, a short moment later, caressed your lips, brushing against your lower lip, gently tugging at it. It was like an intense memory, suddenly haunting you in the middle of, say, a store aisle, pulling from you an involuntary gasp, even though weeks or even years had passed since that moment.

Those moments when you were together were that wonderful memory. The act itself, and the moments after, when you lay curled up facing each other. The rest of the days, the hours between your next meeting, were like that store aisle with shelves full of milk with various fat contents. Being among them, all you could do was return, return with your thoughts.

That Friday, you were sitting with your knees resting on his chest.

Your finger traced a path from his collarbones down to his lower abdomen and back again, and Spencer watched your movements, his lips slightly curled in amused curiosity.

"What are you thinking about?" he wanted to know.

He reached for your loose hair, gently pushing it over your back to see you better. To see all of you.

"Do you feel guilty for cheating on your wife?" you asked. "The beautiful, loving Vanessa? With your sick neighbor?"

Spencer was silent for a long moment, though he did not look away. If he had, it would have carried some shame, some guilt. But he didn’t.

“Desire is like a whirlpool that takes you down, with no possibility of return. Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary " he quoted softly, instead of directly answering the question.

"A guy who quotes classic literature after having sex with me," you chuckled. "Now, that's a first. But how does this relate to my question?"

"It relates in this way," he replied, "that desire is not something I have control over. It's a force that strikes unexpectedly, and although a person is often aware of the consequences it brings, they can't resist it. And I desire you."

"So you mean to say that cheating on your wife isn't your fault? Because you had no control over it?"

"Of course, it's my fault. And every sin is something a person eventually regrets, that's just how it goes. But I'm not there yet. I'm still too dazzled and enchanted by you. So, to answer your question, no, I don't feel guilty. Not yet. What about you?"

A strange feeling filled your body as you listened to his words, compliments, and devotion. It was as if you were swaying to the delicate sounds of some magical music, played live by a brilliant composer. Instead of answering, you returned to tracing the same path on his skin, starting from his neck and moving downward.

He inhaled sharply. This time, you did it with your lips.

Both of you, fully dressed, walked down the stairs. You wanted him by your side all day and night, but you couldn't have him. Not only because he had to go home in the evening when his wife was returning from work. He had other duties too, like grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning; he couldn’t devote all his time to you.

Your hand rested in his, but then you stopped suddenly, alarmed by a sound. A car pulling into the driveway.

"It must be Sarah," you thought right away. You had spent much longer in bed that day than usual, completely unaware that it was already afternoon and your sister was coming over to check on you. Spencer straightened up, surprised, and before he could say anything, you pushed him toward the cupboard under the stairs. You hadn’t had a chance to look in there yet, but it seemed like the best hiding spot. "Get in there, quickly...!"

Barely had the cupboard door closed when Sarah entered. She was holding a paper bag with groceries, nearly dropping it when she saw you.

“What are you doing here?”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“This is my house.”

“Shit, right,” she sighed, nodding. “Sorry, I just always found you in bed at this time, and… never mind. It’s good to see you on your feet. Want to help me cook?”

Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the kitchen. She moved through the house as if it were hers. Slowly, you followed her, wondering how to signal Spencer to cautiously leave the cupboard and return to his place. Though maybe that would be too risky? The cupboard door was visible from where Sarah was chopping vegetables for dinner; she would have to turn her back. Better for him to stay there until she left.

Actually, he didn’t even need to hide. You could just tell her that he came by to borrow something, like normal neighbors do. But just the thought of hiding him sent a pleasant shiver of excitement down your back. You entered the kitchen, watching your sister in silence.

“How’s your leg?” she asked over her shoulder, putting the newly purchased groceries into the fridge. “I see you’re walking normally again.”

“I take very careful steps and try not to put too much weight on it,” you replied, slipping further into the room.

You weren’t sure how to act; your gaze kept drifting behind her to the cupboard under the stairs, where Spencer was hiding.

Sarah seemed to be watching you more closely whenever she wasn’t chopping or stirring something. She probably sensed that something was off, even if she couldn’t pinpoint what.

A quarter of an hour passed, then half an hour. Meals prepared by your sister were never the quick kind.

“Fuck,” she suddenly exclaimed, her words preceded by the sharp sound of shattering glass. She had dropped one of the plates—the ones you and Richard had bought right after moving into this house. She glanced around the kitchen as steam billowed out of the pot on the stove. “Do you have a dustpan or something?”

You opened your mouth but said nothing. The truth was, you didn’t know. You didn’t cook or clean; you spent your days in the bedroom or by the window, waiting for Spencer.

Sarah caught herself, realizing how pointless her question was.

“Wait, Richard mentioned the previous owners didn’t clear everything out of the cupboard,” she said suddenly, pointing toward the very place in question.

Your entire body tensed.

Before you could react, shake yourself out of it, or get a grip on the situation, she was already opening the door. You stood frozen, your eyes wide, bracing yourself for her surprised scream when she stumbled across a strange man inside.

You felt odd, like you were waiting for a carnival vendor to hand you a stick of cotton candy. Like…excited, rather than terrified at the prospect of your secret being exposed.

Sarah returned holding a dustpan.

“See? It was there. They really did leave a lot of stuff behind. Richard needs to check it out when he gets back,” she said, pausing abruptly to scrutinize your expression. “What’s wrong?”

You only shook your head, unable to say a word.

The moment Sarah drove away, you practically sprinted to the cupboard.

Spencer burst into laughter at the sight of your astonished expression.

“God, you have no idea how scared I was when she came in. But I hid behind the door, and she didn’t even notice me,” he explained, placing a hand on his chest as if only now beginning to process what had just happened.

A moment later, you threw your head back, laughing uncontrollably. And as you let yourself sink into the hysteria, you pressed your lips to his, pushing him back against one of the walls. He drew in a surprised breath, momentarily breaking the kiss, but quickly dove back into it.

There was always a certain urgency in the way he treated you. As if he truly believed this might be the last time you’d see each other. The pace he set felt like a challenge, one you were determined to meet.

You allowed yourself a brief moment of respite, tilting your head back in satisfaction, as one of his fingers began tracing circles around your nipple. His entire hand slipped under the thin fabric of your nightgown, the other was sliding up from the opposite side. Oh, it was marvelous. The darkness that enveloped the cupboard contrasted with a single, narrow beam of light streaming through the slightly ajar door.

He knelt before you, your knees softening, buckling more and more with every passing moment.

You didn’t even need to close your eyes to feel consumed by that sensation. It seemed as though there was only one, specific point on your body, and the rest of you barely existed—like oxygen molecules in the air around you, invisible and undetectable to others, and even to yourself.

You let out a moan, not sweet, but more of a scream, cutting through the space.

At that moment, your gaze once again fell on that one illuminated strip in the dark room, a strange glow reflecting light off itself. The axe head, resting against one of the walls, much like you in that moment. Except that it was more stable and upright, its back not arching backward.

Well, it didn’t have a back, but you get the metaphor.

On weekends, Vanessa didn't work.

Spencer hadn't visited you for a while.

You spent those two days with your cheek pressed against the kitchen counter, watching your neighbor water the flowers. The thick roses with pink buds, their color matching the flush of effort on her cheeks as she gripped the heavy watering can. She wore tight black pants and a t-shirt, the complete opposite of your airy shirt. On a daily basis, you didn't wear anything else. Why would you? It was comfortable and provided easy access. All you had to do was slip your hand underneath.

Sarah noticed the deterioration in your condition and told you to call Richard. She probably hoped that hearing his voice would act as a cure for you. You didn’t need him; you had your own. You had your own miraculous move-on drug. It worked reliably, the only downside being that its effects were temporary.

The long-awaited Monday had come again, and you were afraid Spencer wouldn’t show up. But he did, as usual, holding a freshly retrieved newspaper from the mailbox. He always forgot to take it with him afterward, and a pile had already started to accumulate in your bedroom. Later, on Friday, you were lying naked in bed. You reached for one of them and tried to make a paper airplane, but you couldn’t remember how.

Spencer sat on the bed, the blanket wrapped around his hips, leaving his chest exposed.

"Show me," he asked, extending his hand towards you.

You followed the command, lying on your side with your head resting on your hand, watching his movements. He looked down, focused, his hair falling over his forehead. It was longer than Richard's hair, and you liked it, along with the untamed nature that always accompanied it. You would wish he never came back from that business trip. His plane could crash somewhere in the ocean or in the jungle, where he would be torn apart by wild animals.

Vanessa wasn't an obstacle, you imagined yourself approaching her from behind while she was watering the flowers. Then it would be just the two of you. You could never leave the house, never leave that bed.

"Ta-da," Spencer said, throwing the finished paper airplane so it rolled across the bedroom like a car on a circular racetrack.

You laughed, a sense of carefree joy filling you.

"I feel like a child again," you sighed, lying on your back. "Like I can dream again."

After a moment, Spencer joined you, placing a tender kiss on your shoulder and closely watching your profile.

"Don't you have any dreams?" he asked, surprised.

You paused for a moment. Yes, you had one. It involved stopping time, literally grabbing the hands of the universe’s clock and holding them in place. Right there, in that very moment. But out loud, you decided to say something else.

"I used to dream of moving to Florida. But I don't know if that even qualifies as a dream. A dream should be something out of our reach, or something that can’t be fulfilled. Something we can think about with excitement every night before going to sleep. And I, well, theoretically, I could move there. What about you, do you have any dreams?"

Spencer thought about it for a moment.

"By the way you put it, I guess I don’t. I’d like to buy a new car, but it’s not something I think about with excitement before bed," he said with a short chuckle, but suddenly his amusement faded, his unreadable gaze fixed on you. You turned your face towards him, gently studying his features with your fingers, starting from his lips. A short sigh escaped them. "Then… I think about you."

You kissed him gently, as if slipping a pill onto your tongue. Again, I thought of all those damned seconds, slipping away like the air from a punctured balloon. Like life, from a dying person. You wished there was a way to seal that hole or perform CPR so that the man could still survive. To make time stand still.

Suddenly, a sound broke the silence. The landline phone, sitting on the cabinet by Spencer’s side—well, actually, Richard’s side—rang.

You didn’t want to answer it, so you asked him to reach for it and hang up the call. But then it rang again, the sound felt like a personalized version of a spiked boot, kicking your head.

"Give it to me," you said with surrender, taking the phone from Spencer. "Hello?"

"Hey, babe. Everything okay? You haven't said a word," Richard's voice came through on the other end, sounding lighter. Like he was well-rested. Well, he had the chance, being far away from his fucked-up wife. Or maybe he just masturbated at the thought of Sarah, and it put him in such a good mood.

You glanced sideways at Spencer, signaling that it was your husband. For a moment, he didn’t move, but after a while, a somewhat arrogant expression appeared on his face, and you were curious about what it meant.

"You know I don’t like talking on the phone," you replied briefly.

Spencer positioned himself in front of your bent legs, gently spreading them apart.

"I know, but... I was still worried. Although, Sarah also called me saying you were feeling better." His lips touched the inner part of your thigh, you closed your eyes. Your breath had to stay steady. "Well, then she called again, saying that you were feeling bad again. I had no idea what was going on. Maybe you’ll tell me, hm? Have you settled in the area? Have you even talked to the neighbors at least once?"

You pulled the phone away from yourself, inhaling sharply as his tongue found its place exactly where it should.

"Spencer Reid, you absolute sadist," you said almost silently.

He laughed, his breath tickling you.

"Babe?" Your husband's voice came through louder.

You pressed the phone back to your ear.

"Hm? What were you asking? I can't talk right now," you said, sliding one hand into his hair, gently gliding it through the strands. At one point, your fingers tightened on them as the rest of your body tensed.

"Okay, fine," he said, not even sounding disappointed, more like he was tired of the conversation. And likewise. You wanted him to hang up already—his presence, even though miles away, filled you with a palpable disgust. "Oh, but one more thing. I hope you'll be happy."

Impatiently, you rolled your eyes, and at the same time, a moan slipped from your lips. You quickly covered your mouth with your hand. Richard remained silent—he must have heard it, but probably took it as a sign of curiosity toward his words.

The silence on the other end was almost theatrical.

"I’m coming back sooner," he finally declared. "We finished the project much quicker than we planned..."

You shot up to a sitting position, and Spencer jumped back from you, startled.

"When?" you managed to force out, the word laced with pure fear.

"Well, my flight is booked for today’s evening in my time zone..."

You hung up. An indescribable pain spread across your chest, as if someone had shoved a sharp instrument into it and left it there.

"What's going on? What happened?" Spencer asked, concern filling his voice as he moved closer to you, gently cupping your cheek.

You usually loved his touch; normally, you would close your eyes and surrender to the gesture. But you couldn’t. The realization that it was all going to end—that it was going to end tomorrow—made you push his hand away. For a moment, you stared into space, trying to steady your breath, but you couldn’t. It seemed like it would stay like this forever.

"I think it's time for you to leave," you said, your voice showing no emotion.

Maybe if he had sensed the despair in it, heard it crack, he would have stayed. But no, your command was cold, and it made him dress quickly and leave the bedroom almost immediately. You buried your hands in your hair, a high-pitched sound escaping your lips as you tore one of the newspapers into shreds.

Then you tore another one. And then all of them, into really small pieces, among which you curled up like a paralyzed person, lying still for the rest of the day and night. You remembered all the last beautiful days, your conversations with Spencer. Dreams of a plane crashing in the jungle.

Luckily, Sarah didn't visit you that day; she would have found you in a very strange state. First, in absolute disarray. Then, around four in the morning, wide awake like a junkie. Walking around the house, up and down the stairs, through the kitchen, even the bathroom, thinking and planning. What could you do? What was left for you?

You baked a cake. Your sister was right when she said that, as a child, you neglected all the chores your parents gave you. You never learned to cook, you only knew how to make the simplest chocolate cake.

The hands of the clock. To grab them and stop them. So that Richard would never come back, and Spencer could stay with you forever.

You sat at the kitchen table, even though it was Saturday. Spencer didn’t check the mailbox; he usually slept in on weekends. In fact, for the first time, you didn’t even wait for him.

You waited until Vanessa, as usual, began watering the roses by the fence.

And then, you went to the cupboard to get the axe.

Even then, you remained in your nightgown. The same one you wore when her husband had bandaged your foot. When it all began. A woman in lace, gripping an axe almost bigger than she was, what an unusual sight in a suburban neighborhood so calm.

At first, Vanessa didn’t even notice you approach, and when she did, she didn’t stop watering the flowers. She simply raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Meanwhile, your head was filled with a buzzing sound. You became increasingly aware of the weight of the axe in your hand. And then, the quiet, mundane neighborhood was pierced by a woman's scream.

Sarah found him smoking a cigarette outside the psychiatric hospital, inhaling the smoke so deeply as if he hoped it would give him lung cancer immediately. The sight surprised her.

"You smoke?" she asked, immediately realizing how stupid the question was. What did it matter whether he smoked? She probably would too if she found herself in such a situation.

Richard flicked the ash.

"I started again," he replied briefly.

For a moment, they stood in silence, struggling to find words in such a situation. Sarah stared at her shoes, still unable to grasp it all. Her own sister had tried to kill their neighbor, an entirely innocent woman, while she was watering flowers in front of her house. Because of... oh, that was probably the strangest part of it all. And it was what decided that instead of a cell, she ended up in a hospital under close observation.

She had convinced herself that, in her husband's absence, she had started an affair with her neighbor. And that led her to attempt to get rid of his wife.

"Did you see her?" she asked.

Richard shook his head in denial. He seemed exhausted, as though he had aged at least ten years. And had endured a series of life tragedies, including a war.

"I don't even know if I can," he replied, making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He suddenly took a deep breath, his exhale trembling. "Do you know what the police found at our house? A cake. She baked it for me, supposedly as a welcome, even left a note with my name on it. She stuffed it with rat poison, do you understand that? She wanted to kill me. She wanted to kill me too."

Sarah was speechless. She covered her mouth with her hand, her fingers trembling, unable to control them for quite some time. They stood in silence for a moment, not knowing what to say, as she tried to recall the past two weeks. She analyzed her sister's behavior, only now realizing how twisted it had been. She had thought she was suffering from loneliness, not from... all this madness in her mind.

“Richard,” she managed to say his name carefully. The question she wanted to ask wasn’t particularly polite, but she had to know. “Why... why didn’t you send her anywhere after her last breakdown? To a hospital where they could take care of her?”

“Would I have to tell my parents that my wife ended up in a psychiatric ward?” he replied, voice low.

“Maybe now you wouldn’t have to tell them she tried to murder someone,” she snapped, a surge of anger rising within her towards him.

He rubbed his face, still holding the cigarette in his hand.

“Damn it, Sarah, I’m sorry... you’re right, God, I know you’re right. I regret so much that I did nothing back then, didn’t react... I... I fooled myself, thinking it would pass. That we’d move and it would get better,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

He tried to touch her shoulder, but she pulled away. For a long time, she had the feeling that her sister’s husband was trying to get closer to her in some way. He wasn’t pushy or disgusting, nothing like that. If he had been, she wouldn’t have accepted his offer to work for them at their house. But sometimes, she had the impression that during their conversations, he tried to flirt with her. For birthdays and holidays, he gave her expensive gifts, occasionally touching her briefly, but quickly pulling away when he noticed her gaze. Sarah had been with the same girl for three years, the one she was planning to propose to. Besides, she would never do that to her sister.

“Sarah,” he said, pleading. “Sarah, what am I supposed to do?”

Well, this wasn’t something she could advise on. Maybe no one could. However, she didn’t want to leave him hanging, without a conclusion, without reflection, before she went inside to see her sister for the first time since that incident. She looked at the barely glowing cigarette in his hand.

“Be grateful that woman survived,” she finally replied.

The cigarette butt fell to the ground, and she stepped on it with her shoe.

tag list: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @kakamixo @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #matilda's recs #spencer reid x oc #criminal mind #doctor spencer reid #spence reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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mahalachives · 2 months ago

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Part 3: Plot? I Don’t Know Her. But Azriel Does.

Summary: You were just rereading A Court of Thorns and Roses in bed when the universe decided to yeet you straight into Prythian, landing face-first in Rhysand’s lap. Now, you're a pajama-clad disaster with Cheeto fingers, emotionally harassing Azriel, befriending Mor, verbally sparring with the High Lords, and naming feral chickens after the Shadowsinger. You may not know why you’re here, but one thing’s for sure: you’re going to make it everyone's problem.

Oops, I tripped Into Prythian - Masterlist

Elain blinked up at you from the velvet armchair, A Court of Mist and Fury open in her lap.

Her voice was calm. Too calm. “What’s… fanfic?”

Everyone turned.

You grinned.

Rhysand whispered, “Cauldron boil me.”

Cassian perked up, excited like a toddler about to learn a new swear word. “Yeah, what is fanfic?”

Mor leaned forward. “Wait, is it like… stories? About us?”

You clasped your hands together. “Oh, sweet summer children. Fanfiction is the sacred art of writing stories about fictional people doing things they should have done but didn’t. It is love. It is chaos. It is 300,000-word slow burns and 1,000-word smutty drabbles written at 2 a.m. with tears and snacks.”

Azriel, from his shadowy corner, muttered, “That sounds… excessive.”

You turned, eyes gleaming. “Azriel. My broody bat. My tragic Victorian husband. There are millions of words written about you.”

He blinked. “Why.”

Cassian leaned forward. “Yeah, why?”

You smirked. “Because, my dear Illyrian himbo, some of us are emotionally unstable and project our issues onto mysterious males with wings and trauma.”

Rhysand slowly slid to the floor. “We’re in hell.”

“Oh no,” you corrected, pulling out your phone (yes, Helion glamour-spelled it to work in Prythian, bless that man). “We’re in AO3.”

Feyre frowned. “AO3?”

“Archive of Our Own,” you said, reverently. “Where the smut flows freely and the plot is optional.”

Elain tilted her head. “What kind of stories do they write?”

You hesitated. “Well, Elain, how comfortable are you with the phrase ‘knife kink’?”

Feyre made a noise. Rhysand choked on air. Azriel just left the room.

Cassian gasped. “Wait. I have a kink?”

You grinned. “Oh, honey. You have several.”

Nesta covered her face. “I hate this. I hate everything.”

Mor was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “I love this.”

You scrolled through your phone, tapping furiously. “Okay. Okay. Listen to this summary: ‘Azriel x Reader. Hurt/comfort. Enemies to lovers. She breaks his nose with a pan. They kiss in the rain.’”

There was a pause.

Then Cassian said, “...Was that based on a true story?”

You looked up. “Not yet.”

You kept scrolling. “Here’s another: ‘Azriel has a pet cat named Murder. Reader is a librarian with anger issues. They fall in love after he gets banned from the library for brooding too loud.’”

Feyre burst out laughing.

Rhysand crawled behind the couch. “Stop. I’m begging.”

You kept going. “Ooh! Here’s a spicy one: ‘The Shadowsinger has needs… and she is willing.’”

Azriel re-entered the room, heard that, and immediately turned around and left again.

“AZRIEL, WAIT,” you called after him. “I HAVE A MODERN AU WHERE YOU’RE A BARISTA WITH TATTOOS WHO SECRETLY WRITES POETRY!”

He did not come back.

Cassian was now on the floor again, wheezing. “Please. Please read more. Do I have any?”

You nodded solemnly. “You are the people’s himbo.”

He looked proud. “I don’t know what that means, but I accept it.”

Nesta was reading over your shoulder now, silently mouthing the phrase ‘tail kink?’ before looking at Cassian like he had explaining to do.

Cassian winked. “It’s canon.”

You turned to Elain, who was quietly reading a fic on your phone titled “Sunlight and Shadows: An Elriel Fanfic.”

She looked up at you, expression oddly serious. “Do… do they all want us together?”

You hesitated. “Uh. Yes. But also… no. Some people ship you with Lucien. Some ship you with Azriel. Some ship you with that one flower you picked in Chapter Twelve.”

Rhysand peeked over the couch. “...Do I have fanfics?”

You gave him a long look. “Rhysand, people have written smut where you turn into a literal shadow tentacle monster.”

He stared.

Feyre slowly turned to look at him.

Rhysand vanished with a soft whoosh of darkness.

“Every time I think we’ve reached peak chaos,” Mor said, “you raise the bar.”

Nesta was now flipping through your phone, face unreadable. “...You said there’s a fanfic where I murder Beron with a hairpin and then make out with Cassian on the throne of flames?”

You nodded. “It has over 80,000 kudos.”

She smiled. “I’d read that.”

“I’d live that,” Cassian said.

You leaned back, grinning like the menace you were. “So. Weekly book club. We alternate between canon and fanfic. Bonus points for smut.”

“Seconded,” Mor said.

“Thirded,” Cassian added.

Elain nodded. “I’m in.”

Feyre shrugged. “Sure.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at Cassian. “Fine. But only if you read them out loud.”

Cassian paled. “Wait- what?”

Azriel’s voice echoed from the hallway. “I will set this house on fire.”

And you?

You curled up in a pile of pillows, heart full of chaos and questionable taste in fiction, and whispered, “This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

To be continued...

(Next time: Azriel accidentally reads a smut fic about himself and questions the very fabric of reality.)

#acotar #azriel x oc #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand #cassian #feyre acotar #nesta acotar

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yanderedrabbles · 2 months ago

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Yandere Movie Week [review]

Day 2 - Secret Obsession (2019)

Yandere Score: 9/10

Overall Score: 6/10

I hate to only give this movie a 6/10, because I really enjoyed it.

But it's the kind of fun, turn-your-brain-off flick best enjoyed with ice cream and zero critical thinking skills.

The premise is solid - our heroine Jennifer (Brenda Song) wakes up with amnesia after being chased down by a masked killer. A great set up for tension, and a pretty classic intro to a thriller.

The opening scene yanks us straight into the action. A rainy night. A mysterious, knife wielding stranger. A desperate dash for safety. (If only they could have kept this pace up for the entire movie, sigh).

You can see where I'm going with this. It doesn't go well for our girl.

After she wakes up in the hospital, we're introduced to her husband, Russel (Mike Vogel). His character design had two words on it and those were "buff nerd." Biceps and bifocals.

He's with her through every step of her recovery, sweet and steadfast while she grapples with the guilt of not remembering him, or their life together.

But most importantly, he's here to whisk her away to safety! That safety being a gorgeous house out in the mountains.

With no cell service or nearby neighbours.

I love the cabin chic look Jen, but maybe not the best place to be when there's a killer out for blood.

As you can expect, things go south and they go south fast. Not even half an hour in and we get our first on screen murder. Trust me, this particular yandere is not shy about his intentions.

He works hard to earn his 9/10 rating. He's been obsessed with Jen for years, and her getting married is the final straw. Either she can be his, or she can join his rapidly growing list of victims.

We've got plenty of the classic tropes. Cameras in her bedroom. Isolation. Chaining her to the bed. A total catch, no idea why Jen was never into him.

He's the quintessential "If I can't have you, no one can" sort of guy. Doing whatever he has to to keep his girl. He gets creative with it too. How many yanderes can say they broke out Photoshop as part of their grand plan?

Unfortunately, he's far from perfect. And I don't mean the murders. (Hot guys can do a little murder sometimes, as a treat).

His plan hinges on people just... not checking ID? You're lucky you made it as far as you did, pretty boy. Guess some deranged killers get all the luck.

On top of that, the chemistry between him and Jen is terribly lukewarm. A few tense moments, but nothing simmering hot.

For the most part, he isn't very scary or emotive. Which is a HUGE missed opportunity.

Show us the passion that led him to this point! Show us a man on the end of his tether, desperate to keep his girl! Give us something more than bland acting, and a range beyond straight-faced and slightly-less-straight-faced.

Despite his long list of crimes, he just isn't intimidating.

Maybe the intention was to have this non-threatening guy do all these things as a way to ratchet up the tension, but I don't think the movie had the budget or the time to pull it off.

He gets much better in the third act - more demanding, more handsy. But it never reaches the point where I'm at the edge of my seat wondering if he's about to lose his shit.

Jennifer as a character is moderately likeable. Despite spending quite a bit of time with her, I struggle to think of anything majorly distinctive. Not great. Not terrible. I think it's Brenda Song herself rather than Jennifer who I end up liking.

She's also - how do I say this politely - not always the smartest. And I get it girl, it's hard to think under pressure. But how the hell do you manage to lock your keys inside your car when you're being chased by a killer?

She's lucky she has her golden retriever man to protect her, really.

In terms of technicals, I'd say they're okay. Not very eloquent of me, but that's exactly what they are.

The cinematography is passable. There weren't a lot of shots that made me pause and stare. It has that glossy look that a lot of direct-to-streaming movies have, where you can tell the budget is stretched a bit thin, and the camera guy is antsy to get his cheque.

The score doesn't stick out to me at all. Hate to say it.

Don't go in expecting a blockbuster, high budget film. It's fun but utterly mid-teir in budget, story and characters. The premise has promise, but it fails to deliver as much tension and terror as it could.

Would I recommend? Despite its issues, I'd say it's worth picking up. Not the scariest or prettiest movie on this list, but it's a quick fix of yandere to get you through the day.

Day 1 - Fear (1996)

Day 2 - Secret Obsession (2019)

Day 3 - Hush (2016)

Day 4 - The Perfect Guy (2015)

Day 5 - The Boy Next Door (2015)

Day 6 - The Invisible Man (2020)

Day 7 - Til Death Do Us Part (2017)

Taglist: @jsprien213 @trolleri-trollera @mel-vaz

#Yandere Movie Week Reviews #yandere #Yandere blog #Yandere movies #yandere x reader

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hisunshiine · 7 months ago

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—eternal reign | knj |

🥀 pairing: vampire king!namjoon x concubine!namedreader 🥀 au/genre: arranged marriage au, joseon era au, s2l, fluff, smut, angst 🥀 rating: M 🥀 wc: 7,748 🥀 warnings: some Joseon Dynasty research, reader starts as a concubine, mentions of murders, minor character deaths (off screen, minimal detail), patriarchal society, this is a vampire story, so some things come with the territory, like: mentions of blood, dubious consent, blood drinking, bleeding, scars, predator/prey feelings, explicit smut: unprotected vaginal sex, blood play, marking, eating out, nipple play 🥀 an: I used some of the historical figures of the Joseon Dynasty, and while I researched a lot for accuracy of this time period to respect the culture to the best of my knowledge, some historical information has been shifted and molded as this is a fiction story. For more information on Korean Coronation Events. Dual POV of 3rd and 2nd person, but the reader is named.

special thanks to the beta readers: @moonleeai, @colormepurplex2, @downbad4yoongi, @heathfritillary-blog, and @pars-ley

🥀 summary: In the shadowed courts of the Joseon Dynasty, a new King rules—one who holds a centuries-old secret that could unravel the kingdom. Namjoon, cloaked in mystery, is forced into a political marriage with the cunning yet unknowing Taelani, who soon discovers that her husband is no mere mortal. Drawn into his dark legacy and a web of alliances that could seal their fate, Taelani faces a choice: fulfill her family’s long-hidden destiny or defy it in pursuit of a forbidden love. As whispers of blood and betrayal rise, the throne itself may be the ultimate sacrifice.

🥀 an#2:🎃This wicked treat was written for Theresa - @mrsparkjimin18 as part of the “Sweet Tricks & Wicked Treats” BWHQ Fic Gifting Event 🎃and was also written for the @bangtanwritershq’s 4th Quarter Writing Event: Monster Mash

masterlist ❁ ao3

Joseon Dynasty year 1483

🥀🥀🥀Namjoon🥀🥀🥀

Namjoon never expected to sit upon the sacred altar in Changdeokgung Palace, as the recipient of the Three Cheers from the crowd, where the people hurrahed for his longevity and for the dynasty.

“We are meant to rule from the shadows,” the memory of his grandfather’s voice flits through his head as if he’s standing beside him. “An absolute and eternal reign relies on the eternal flame which burns with our dedication and loyalty, and which must remain out of sight from those who wish to douse our light.”

And yet, mere hours ago, under the beating heat of the Korean sun, he participated in the Transfer of the State Seal with Queen Sindeok, listened to the Three Solemn Calls, watched as the Three Kowtows were performed, and returned it with the Four Ceremonious Bows.

The room around him is loud, and Namjoon struggles to focus for a moment as he gazes across the crowded space. The gilded walls encapsulate the refreshments and revelry as the noble families celebrate his ascension to ruler of the country. He looks around, eyes finally landing on his family members split between being wall flowers blending in and meteor showers glittering as they shine across the night sky.

He takes an unneeded deep breath, sighing in his discomfort. He knows it was his idea; something had to be done to maintain the balance in the realm, but he’s not used to being a figurehead for something so much larger than himself—for the very thing he sacrificed everything for to protect.

“Ah, Yi Bang— I mean, King Namjoon, my apologies,” the greasy-haired Chief State Councillor Jeong Dojeon bows lowly in apology at using the given name of the prince and not his newly appointed royal title now that the transition to king has been completed.

That is one upside to this position, Namjoon thinks as he stares at the man. Even if I must hide my identity, at least I am able to keep my true name.

“I wanted to present to you my family’s gift for your coronation.” His eyes, small and squirrely, gleam with a dark intent that Namjoon has always detested. As one of the government officials appointed by the previous Queen’s father, Dojeon craves ultimate power, pushing for the Councillors to make decisions for the King, instead of enacting and enforcing the King’s decisions. “This is Jeong Taelani, my eldest daughter. She is now yours, Pyeha.”

The honorific term is not lost on Namjoon. The Chief State Councillor’s schmoozing actions are as oily as his hair, but Namjoon’s not a squeaking door, and his disdain only grows as he tracks the sweep of Dojeon’s hand towards the girl next to him, as if he needs a concubine to loosen him up.

But Namjoon has to work hard to school his features back to stoic boredom when his eyes fall onto the—unable to believe he called her a girl—beautiful woman standing a pace behind her father.

Red hanbok lace and silks flow over her curves. Gold threading is woven intricately at the hem, along the cuffs engulfing her delicate hands, and at the lapels that tie above the swell of her breasts, glimmering, resplendent swirls that captivate him. He doesn’t show it, though. Despite his next words, his tone is full of boredom and his eyes barely linger on her.

“Thank you, Dojeon, she is a true beauty.”

The older man smirks, rubbing his bearded face thoughtfully. “She has been trained for, ahem, her position—assisting your every need—in the palace her whole life, and vetted through the steps to be placed here just last week. I am sure that you will find her to be up to your standards.” He bows once more, this time much lower, before backing away from the elevated seating area and disappearing back into the party.

“Emperor,” Taelani bows deeply, her knees gracefully meeting the floor as she pays him the respect of a ruling monarch. Her voice is a deeper honey sound, more seduction than the tittering pitch of the female nobles Namjoon is used to.

“Jeong Taelani,” Namjoon tests her name in his mouth, her jasmine fragrance invading his senses as she resumes her previous standing position. Her large eyes look away from his gaze quickly, but that’s all he needs to feel the heat of the lightning they struck him with. He can feel his pants tightening—thankfully, his gujangbok covers his crotch from the view of both Taelani and his attendees.

He stiffens, feeling something else begin to lengthen in need, and he turns his eyes swiftly away from Taelani, looking at the palace guards nearest him.

“Please escort Taelani to her chambers, and send for the Huwon guards. I will meet them shortly.”

🥀

Sharpened ivory glistens under the moonlight before piercing the unblemished bronze skin of the woman’s throat, his venom silencing the beginnings of a guttural shriek before it can really begin. He settles in the gazebo with a jimil nain, or lady-in-waiting, straddled across his lap. Her throaty sounds transition instead to a pleasurable moan as she attempts to grip the lapels of his ceremonial robes.

He grasps her hands, pulling them away from him and moving them behind her back, clutching both wrists in one hand so his free hand can resume controlling her head for his monthly feeding. One that he should not have needed just yet, thanks to the retaliatory massacre last week, but he ignores that fact for now.

The blood fills his mouth, sharp pulls draining the essence from the woman as her movements against his body slow. He’s thankful—her body is not the one he craves to be writhing above him in pleasure, despite her lovely sounds and curves.

He has to play this role smartly. His family’s legacy is on the line. He withdraws his fangs, feeling the dull ache of thirst dissipate fully as his blood lust retreats. The woman is nearly unconscious, and the two guards who brought her approach her limp form silently.

“Thank you,” he says to his younger brothers, both adorned in the traditional wear of the Naegeumwi Royal Guards. They take the woman from him as he stands before the youngest of the two, Jungkook, takes her fully and holds her almost in a lover’s embrace. Namjoon looks at them as he steps several paces away and Taehyung, his other sibling, approaches him and straightens his robes to help him look presentable again.

“NaBi was the only one we could get on such short notice,” he explains quietly as the sounds of Jungkook feeding crescendos and subsequently drops as he heals the bites on the now sleeping woman’s neck. “She was already in Kook’s room waiting for him.”

Namjoon runs his fingers over his silks, tightening the belt at his waist. “Tell him I’m sorry I didn’t mean to mess up his feeding schedule. The hunger just took over and I…”

“He understands.” Taehyung places his hand on his older brother’s shoulder. “We’ve never taken on something like this, so we didn’t know what to prepare for. We’ll move more of the feeders into the palace in various positions, and Jimin can oversee them. Your plan was the best one, and we will find a way to make it work.”

Jungkook cradles the woman’s body in his arms bridal style as he steps towards the door. He and Taehyung lead Namjoon out of the garden and back towards the main palace. Jungkook turns to the left down a hallway after they enter shelter as Taehyung and Namjoon continue toward the Emperor's chambers.

“Have Jimin order more of the blood tea for the feeders. I’m not sure how often I’ll need to feed now that…” he trails off as they walk, thoughts conflicted with this strange turn of events. He stops once he reaches the doorway of his room. “And Taehyung? Discretion, please.”

Namjoon feels the tension leave his body once he is in his own space. He didn’t expect to feel the voracious pull to feed so soon—he drank more than his fill merely a week ago. Typically, he feeds once a month, so the blood lust he just quenched is strange. Could it be because of his new concubine? Her scent is oddly alluring to him, and his attraction to her is undeniable. He hasn’t ever experienced such a thing, but maybe one of the elders knows something more.

🥀🥀🥀Taelani🥀🥀🥀

Confused. That’s how you feel as you are led away from the king, his eyes regarding you cooly before you disappear into the quiet halls of the palace. Your slippers and the silks you wear are the only sounds you hear as you are shown the pathway to your quarters, and then the low hum of the maids' voices as they help you undress and prepare for bed.

The next week continues much the same as your first night in the castle. The other court members are seemingly always busy, leaving you bored and unsure of yourself. On the one hand, you are happy that you haven’t been called upon like you were warned would happen—like you’ve been trained for. Your womanhood remains intact, something you did not expect to happen, but it allows your time of the month to come and go without any issues.

A part of you did fear that your menstrual cycle would agitate the new king should he come upon you that first night, but instead, he had shied away, allowing you time to spend in the royal library reading and writing letters to your sisters. At the end of the first week, you squeal with happiness when a courtier brings you a sealed parchment marked with your family’s crest.

Dearest Taelani,

How have you been? We are so pleased that you’ve had time to write to us. Is it nice there? I so wish we could have joined you on the trip, but Father said no. Are the rumors true? Is the king as bloodthirsty as his predecessors? Is there war on the horizon? Will you be able to throw a fancy ball so we can visit? I know you’re his only concubine right now, do you think you will become his wife? Father is not telling us much, and he’s making it seem like we shall never get to travel to see you.

Don’t forget us!

As if you could ever forget your sisters. And a ball sounds like a lovely idea…really. You wonder if the king would allow you to do such a thing and if your father would allow your sisters to come. Maybe if the king demanded their presence. Your sister made a good point that right now, there’s no one else to compete with for his affections. If you can charm him, is there a possibility..? If only he would see you or talk to you. How else could you convince him of this one favor, or even that you’re worthy of a more legitimate role?

It couldn’t be so easy as to show up at his bedchamber tonight and try and convince him with a well-placed massage? Could it?

Deciding to reign in all of your thoughts, you hold off on writing back so as to see first if you could plan a soiree of some sort, and turn back to the book you were reading before the courtier arrived. It was not written all that long ago, but it details some of the more recent history of the country, including the king’s grandfather.

You had always thought it to be an urban legend, the stories whispered in the dark about when his grandfather was in power, but as you read through the history of the family, you realize with each story of the king’s grandfather that he truly was blood thirsty for power—he apparently murdered all of his older siblings for the throne.

There is a massive family plot to the south of the palace that holds his deceased siblings, and ever since, despite the number of enemies the crown has acquired over the years, his family line has been the only one to rule. Every attempt to maim and murder the royal family has been thwarted, and the groups leading the coups are never to be seen or heard from again. Bloodthirsty isn’t even half of it.

Closing the handwritten tome, you gather your skirts about you so that you can climb off the comfortable lounging spot. You have spent all week reading through to try and understand this family that you now reside with, but all you seem to find is death and despair. Through the window you can see the sun is setting, and now that you have a plan in mind, you decide to seek out the king instead of waiting for him to come to you. With your cycle gone, you feel confident enough to seduce King Namjoon. As his first concubine, you are sure you won’t be the last, but you want to make an impression.

As a woman in this world, your power is lacking. The power you do hold will be in the sons you can bear for the king, and in the ability to wield your feminine wiles to seduce and keep the king wrapped around your finger. Best to start now.

🥀

The palace corridors are well-lit as you traverse the pathway towards the king’s chambers. You made a quick stop at your own rooms, shedding the hairpins that bound your hair tightly, allowing your tresses to fall in subtle waves from the earlier styling. You also shed some of the layers you typically wear, allowing you to show off more of your curves.

There doesn’t appear to be anyone outside the door to his room, so you slip in easily, taking a look around. The room is tidy, with barely anything on display on the walls or in cabinets to show his personality. Cold, just like he was the first time you met. A few minutes pass as you observe what you can, until voices outside the door alert you to the king’s approach. You position yourself on his bed, sitting at the edge with a leg crossed over the other and your palms behind you as you lean back slightly.

Your loose hair is over one shoulder, and you attempt to flutter your eyes demurely as King Namjoon steps into his bedchamber.

🥀

Ten minutes later, you stand in your own room again, confused by what had occurred. The King, a young, virile man, sent you out after you all but threw yourself at him. If anything, he seemed in a rush to get you out of his rooms, all but promising that you had nothing to worry about when you voiced not carrying out your duties.

“I know you worry about your standing in the palace, but you have nothing to fear. I will not be taking in any other women—you are the only one for me. You will be my Queen Consort. So please, you don’t have to stoop to these levels. You are excused.”

You definitely hadn’t prepared what to do in the event that the King said you didn’t need to seduce him and that you would be his Queen Consort. All of the stories the women told you about had prepared you for losing your virginity and other sexual acts to seduce the King and win his favor. Nothing they shared with you implied you wouldn’t have to do anything sexually with the man and he would raise your status one step, though a large one in the eyes of the nation. A wedding already in the works, unbeknownst to you. How strange this new king is.

🥀

The royal wedding that everyone has been waiting for a month to arrive is nearly here, with you in your red gowns of silks and satin, awaiting your cue for the ceremony. As much as you’ve enjoyed not having to behave wantonly, a part of you is drawn to your betrothed, and you realize: you want to. His movements as he walks through the palace, the grace with which he moves and speaks, all of these small things seem to thrum through your body, lighting all of your nerve endings on fire.

Why he denies himself the access he has to your body, you aren’t sure, but you hope that this wedding means that will come to an end. Maybe he’s just been waiting for tonight to consummate the marriage, instead of behaving how you were warned all men with power behave.

Everything is a blur as the hours pass, the sun crossing the sky until it descends below the horizon, allowing the moon to rise into its rightful place. With all of the revelers now sated in thirst or hunger or desire, they’re all sequestered away in the places that allow them to unwind. Most of the palace is now quiet, and you tiptoe with feather-light steps across the bedchamber towards your newly betrothed.

The King sits at an ornamental desk, metallic paints wrapping around the curves of the furniture as he leans over and writes, the scratches of the quill on the parchment revealing the short strokes he writes in Hangul. He’s shirtless, wide shoulders unblemished and you want nothing more than to mar the skin with signs of pleasure.

Your fingers lift to lightly trace along his right shoulder, but before you can touch him, his left hand grasps your fingers as he half turns to face you. You let out a small gasp in surprise—you didn’t think he would have heard you sneak up on him.

“Perhaps you should head to bed, Taelani, it was a long day.”

He barely looks at you as he speaks, and you feel yourself wilting. It’s fascinating, but deeply disturbing to you that it seems like he’s attracted to you but keeps turning you away. Everything you’ve been told about men is wrong. You want him to have his way with you, and he can’t be bothered to even stop drafting a letter to look at you for more than a second.

You feel yourself pouting, and it seems to work for a moment. Namjoon’s eyes soften, and he tugs you closer when you attempt to pull your hand out of his.

“I know this is not the most normal of situations, but I won’t stop you from seeking out your needs. You can take up with anyone as long as it is discreet, and any children you should bear will all be raised as if they are my own.” You freeze as he releases his hold on you and turns away, back to his missive.

You step away from him, trekking backward until the backs of your thighs touch the silk sheets on the bed. Embarrassment heats your neck and cheeks, because you do not understand why your husband turns away from you. It makes you feel…unwanted. Sitting down, you can only blink as you attempt to understand the man before you. But nothing thus far has made any sense.

🥀

The movement of the bed slowly wakes you, and you stretch your limbs out as your eyes blearily try to take in the low lighting in the room.

“...need the Huwon guards as soon as possible, I will meet them there.”

You stay still when you hear his voice, your brain instantly becoming more alert as you try to hear more of his request, but it only grows quiet again as the door shuts. You can barely hear his footfalls as he flits about the room, and you sneak a peek through cracked eyes as you keep your breathing level. He’s grabbing his upper garments and re-dressing, and in only a few more moments, he’s slipping out of the door.

You get up, immediately grabbing for your robes as you slip from the satin sheets to follow your new husband.

You stay as far back as you can, drifting between shadows as you make your way towards what you now know is the Huwon Secret Garden. While the garden grounds themselves take up a large expanse of the palace area, there is a beautiful and intimate pagoda of sorts that lies in the rear after crossing a small bridge with a tiny waterfall. You lose sight of Namjoon, but you know he must be headed there, so you continue on your way, avoiding the minimal guard presence.

Approaching the enclosed garden pergola, a gasping moan sounds and you quicken your steps, evermore the curious. Peering through one of the open slats of the enclosure, you see your king—your husband—with his arms wrapped around another woman. His mouth is to her neck as she straddles him, and though her face is hidden between the shadows and behind his bulky build, you know you heard the pleasure she felt. When he pulls back from her, you watch, entranced, as he laves his tongue along the skin he’s just marked. A burning jealousy shoots through your veins until a cloud moves out of the moonlight and a beam shines straight through.

Your eyes widen as they take in the elongated fangs, the blood dripping from the corners of his mouth, and the way the woman now lay limply in his arms. Spinning on your heel, you flee back to your room, praying that your pounding heart calms enough before he returns.

🥀🥀🥀Namjoon🥀🥀🥀

It’s almost debilitating to Namjoon having his new wife around him. It’s been only a week—one mere week of his eternal life—and you have made him into a ravenous, salacious blood fiend. This lust for the iron-smelling essence that runs through mortal veins, and one in particular more so than the others, means that he hasn’t been handling all of the new changes to his life well.

Going from the shadows and becoming the face of the nation he loves so much, that his whole family has given their lives for, is not exactly what he expected. He is much more used to using violence with his bare hands—and teeth—for their gain. Having to navigate politics with his wife’s father, Chief State Councillor Jeong Dojeon, is a whole new experience for him.

Not to mention that he’s insatiably drawn to his titillating wife, but knowing that her father is actively working against the reigning family has Namjoon’s guard up. The way she keeps trying to throw herself at him… Admittedly, he knows he’s spied on her letters and conversations, and she seems none the wiser to what her father is doing, but too much is at stake for him to risk it without knowing where she stands for sure.

Namjoon stretches his arms above his shirtless torso, then sets down the quill to mull over the letter he needs to finish and send to the front lines of their war efforts against the rival faction. They’ve quieted down some, ever since their attack on the true prince which led to an almost absolute destruction of said rival faction, but money will unite anyone against a common enemy if paid enough.

His ears perk up as he takes in the thrumming melody of your heartbeat as you move around the adjacent bathing room to your communal bedchamber. It’s late, much later than a person would typically bathe, and without the aid of maids, but he’s in no hurry to overwhelm his senses with you. He focuses on the sounds; of the water draining from the side of the palace, of the soft garments sliding along your skin as you dress, and he tenses—readying himself for your scent to overtake him as he turns and stands to face your re-entrance into the room.

Beautiful. Your large eyes are bright, warm even, and the way your body gracefully moves in that—he forcefully exhales as you approach him in an ornately sewn, semi-transparent lace robe. The vision of your full breasts with lace flowing over the peaks stuns him momentarily, and he allows himself a moment to drink you in. He’s so focused on trailing his eyes along the cupid’s bow of your full top lip that he doesn’t realize you’ve spoken to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

“Oh,” you look down demurely, taking him by surprise. “My king, please. I would like just a moment of your time.”

“Of course,” Namjoon replies, but hesitates as he sits back down, unsure of what could have triggered such a formal conversation. Though, to be fair, he knows he hasn’t been the best conversationalist with his own wife.

He watches as you pull a small, stuffed stool closer to him and sit on it regally. The robe parts with the movement and he’s able to see that only a thin sliver of fabric covers your mound. Everything else is revealed to him. Your navel, your thighs, so much skin…

“I know that you’ve given me permission to seek out other men, but I—I don’t want that.”

Namjoon is still as he reigns in his impure thoughts and focuses all of his attention on you. “What is it that you want?”

“I want my husband. I–don’t you also feel—I just…” you sigh, and the weight of your next words would bring Namjoon to his knees had he not been sitting. “I know who you are. And I don’t care. I—”

Namjoon stands to his full height, eyes slightly narrowed at your small frame.

“You know who I am?” he questions with disdain. Of course, you were too good to be true and exactly what he expected of your father.

“Yes, you may be the king, but more than that, you’re my husband.”

Namjoon pauses, listening on, but can see how tense you remain to continue speaking. “And what exactly don’t you care about?” He questions.

“I don’t care that you’re a—a vampire,” you rush out and continue speaking. “So please, don’t hold yourself back from me, I don’t want you to seek out your pleasure from others in the castle when I’m right here.”

His brain reels with an overwhelming amount of thoughts as you look up at him from where you sit, shoulders tight and lifted towards your ears as your chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath you take as you wait for him to speak.

You know he’s a vampire. How, he isn’t sure, because he knows that your father is not aware of that fact. No, he only assumed that your father had figured out that he was not the true prince, and instead a cousin filling in for the role, and shared this information with you. Nope, you meant you knew that he was immortal and knew of his late-night proclivities. He slowly lowers himself into the chair he vacated, wholly unprepared when you throw yourself forward onto your knees before him.

“Please, I’m right here. I only want you to touch me. No one else.”

Unable to resist, Namjoon does touch you, reaching beneath your arms to lift you to him. Even while standing, your eyes are only a few inches above him as he sits, and you step between his parted legs when he gently tugs you further into his space.

“I didn’t realize that my words made you feel unwanted.” Namjoon speaks slowly as he gathers his thoughts to organize his words. “I’m unsure how you came about this information, but I.. th-there’s some things we should clear up.”

Your eyes appear to study him intently, brows inching closer as your face wrinkles with apprehension. The flooding of your veins as your heart rate increases leads Namjoon to pause and hold his breath before speaking.

“There is a reason that I have been so distant, and yet have only sought out to take one wife and no others. It came to my attention that your father has been one of the main financial supporters of a rival political party that supports more control from Chief Councilors and less from me. This money helped supply weapons and mercenaries, and there was an…attempt on my life recently. It was nearly successful at bringing down this clan’s reign and ending our family line.”

You gasp as he reveals this partial truth, and say, “I swear to you, my king, I knew not of such plans, I know my father has ambitions and a dislike for the lack of his power due to the crown, but not that he would steep to such levels for gain.” Namjoon can feel the way your pulse reacts as he holds your wrists in his large hands. You truly were not aware, and this knowledge helps quell any lingering doubts he has about sharing more information with you.

“I believe that you had no knowledge of his plans or his financial support. But, because of that event, it is what led me to say yes to you as my concubine. You see, I felt that by having his daughter in the palace and by my side, that he would pull back his support of any rivals, and even decide to stop pushing for less control, especially since any heir would be his own grandchild to be on the throne.” Namjoon knows this last part is a lie, since he could not provide you with any children and the plan that is in place would not allow any child of yours to be on the throne, but he can’t tell you that.

You nod, eyes rapt with attention as they pour over his face, gleaning any additional information you can.

“My king, I do not support my father in his ventures. I promise you, I…he has never been much of a father to me. More like a tyrant or like…like he believes that my life does not matter more than what I am able to provide for him. You have saved me from him in so many ways, and I just want to show you my gratitude. I want you to feel my appreciation.”

Your tone holds not an ounce of seductive undertones as you continue, “I care not that you are a vampire, I—” he allows you to pull free from his hold, turning your hands so that your palms lay on the outsides of his and you guide them carefully through the opening of your robes to your bare bosom, cupping his hands around your full chest. “I ache for you, Namjoon. I have never felt such a desire before, have never sought out the affections of a man. In truth, I’m terrified, but not because of what you are, but because I have never crossed this line before.”

And Namjoon, still a man with carnal desires despite his blood lust, wants to be the one you cross that line with. He can feel the weight of your breasts as you move closer, stepping in such a way so that you can straddle him—which you do moments later. He feels his hands tighten around your chest without your fingers leading the motion, and the tiny, breathy moan that you release brushes against his lips from your proximity.

He’s hardening, lengthening; his cock pressing against your clothed heat and his fangs inching from his parted lips, both aching to open you up for him. And just as the circling press of your pert nipples to the pads of his thumbs begins, you cover his mouth with yours, moaning for his ears only as you lean into his touch at all junctions where your body touches his.

It’s intoxicating; your scent wraps around him and the feel of your blood thrumming within your body as you tremble from the pure lust that seems to ooze from your pores as you, you! devour his lips with no care of his fangs. Your tongue is tentative, but curious—seeking to glide along his and taste all of him.

When you pull back, he presumes to breathe since he need not this human action, his fang nicks your tongue on retreat. That one drop makes his muscles spasm—you pull back from him faster as his touch turns painful for a moment and then you are flying, landing on the bed in a frenzy and in a blink Namjoon is pressed to the wall farthest from you, his fists clenched tightly as he holds himself back from you.

“There is…still much you need…to know and understand.” Namjoon strains to get the words out, actively fighting his thirst for his wife—for you—whose blood has never been tasted by another, and whose tight cunt has never been taken by another. “Please, walk slowly to the door and get the Huwon guards…”

“No, please, Namjoon, I want—”

“Now!” he roars, watching fear filter into your eyes as you spring from the bed and rush towards the door. With a speed rivaling light, he is in front of you before you can make it three steps from the bed. His predator instinct couldn’t allow you to leave the room now. Grasping you under your thighs, he lifts you effortlessly, drawing his nose along your neckline.

Instantly, your fear melts away from your body, leaving you boneless as he deposits you forcefully to the bed you just vacated.

“You will take me, and I will drink from you, and then, I will tell you everything, but I can’t…can’t let you go. I must have you.”

🥀🥀🥀Taelani🥀🥀🥀

The gentle husband whom you had straddled mere moments before, who had kissed you with a softness that you have never known, was no longer the man above you. Instead, a predator climbs onto the covers as you scramble backwards, but his hand grips your wrist and slides you along the silk sheets back underneath his body.

His hands box in your head, with his knees bracing either side of your hips. Your heart is pounding, and you freeze beneath him, finally understanding why he said to walk slowly.

“Grandfather, what do I do if I encounter a bear or something of the like in the forest?” Five-year-old Taelani asks as she walks along her family grounds with her maternal grandpa.

“My dear Taelani, you must never run if you encounter a large animal. Predators are wired to chase after prey. Be steadfast, like a deer or a hare. Freeze and watch first. They may not mean you any harm, but if you should run, they cannot stop themselves.”

Going stockstill seems to work, just as you remembered learning about as a child. Namjoon mimics this, freezing his own body and his dilated eyes close as he leans closer into you and…inhales.

“I’m sorry, but I—I need to feed.” His voice is tense, a quiet murmur that fills the silence.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” you say, proffering your own neck. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

“This is not—I wanted this to be different, I don’t want to hurt you. You deserve—”

“—a husband who will make love to me, and feed from only me. Because I am yours, and you are mine.”

His eyes open with a blazing, hungry stare and before you can do anything else, he descends on your lips with a fierceness. His hands move from the sheets to your robe, ripping it open to expose your dusky nipples to the chilled air. He grips the hem of the clothing preventing you from full nudity and all but destroys it as he pulls it from your body in a feral show of strength.

“Mine.” His words are a low growl before his mouth is once again on yours, this time his hands now free to roam your body without clothing to hinder him. His deft hands move in symmetry to cup your breasts, giving them a supple squeeze before drifting down your hips and he moves his body lower along yours so he can hook his arms around the backs of your thighs.

The silks beneath you allow him to easily slip between your skin and the satin, giving him the right angle to push your legs up and bare all to him. You shiver in anticipation, feeling how wet you are by the air now meeting the heat between your thighs. You want him. The throbbing of your clit makes you want to clench your thighs together for some relief, but the way he’s holding you won’t allow it.

His kisses trail lower, mouth hovering over your nipple until his lengthened teeth graze the sensitive skin. Arching your back, he takes this as a sign to suck the peak into his mouth, tongue swirling as you moan. He switches sides, treating them equally before continuing lower, tongue dancing across your navel. The caress of the wet muscle has your body jumping with desire.

“Oh!” You can hardly keep quiet when his tongue tastes you, laving flat across your open warmth before making short, quick passes along your clit. Your hands grip the sheets in desperation—for him to stop, for him to continue—the pleasure is overwhelming.

“You taste…divine,” his voice rumbles, and you try to keep your eyes on him but squeeze them shut when his mouth returns to devour you. Sensual, plump lips kissing you, sucking you, tongue fucking you—you writhe beneath him. His hands press you wider, keeping you open as your muscles fight against the pleasure and threaten to close around his head.

And he doesn’t stop. Not until you're dripping, and the lower half of his face is glistening with you. You barely register his movements, can barely tell that he’s naked and climbing above you until he’s suddenly in your eyeline. Floating…that’s what this feeling is, like floating on a cloud, carefree. And when the blunted tip of his cock nudges at your still quivering heat, you widen your legs and welcome him, urging him to fill you.

And, oh! You don’t expect the pressure to build as he thrusts within you, and you cry out in pain, in pleasure, in ecstasy at the fullness he brings as your walls quiver around him.

Your hands tighten on his shoulders as he begins to move with more gusto, continuing to keen at the feeling—all of the feelings—and slowly the pain lessens and he glides with less stilted motion, bottoming out again and again and again.

A rhythmic chanting sounds, and it takes a few moments for you to recognize your own voice, so laced with desire and lust, pleading for him. “Please, gods, don’t stop, please!” along with a guttural reply, “I won’t,” filling the bed chamber that surely the others in the palace must be awake and able to hear. Namjoon appeases your request and his hips continue to piston fluidly, his strong thighs creating a cacophony of sounds as they meet the backs of yours.

An inhale, sharp and stilting—a grunt, with hips stuttering—his fangs piercing the tender skin at the crook of your neck as you feel the blood weeping from your vein as he drinks deeply of you. And you shatter from the ecstasy, like a fallen vase of porcelain, pieces scattering like twinkling stars across the galaxy in a vibrant bursting of flames.

🥀

“I am…older than I look.” You lay with your head upon Namjoon’s chest, fingers dancing along the smooth, glistening skin of his chest. His voice reverberates in your head as his low timbre continues. “And I am not truly the Queen Mother’s son, but her relative.”

You tilt your head to look up at him.

“I died a little over 50 years ago. Many of my family within these walls are like me. Forever frozen in time. When my father was just a boy in 1390, his uncles and aunts all fell ill of the fever. One by one, they passed away, and his father, fearing death, sought out the answer to life. When all was said and done, the only one to survive the fever was my grandfather’s youngest brother. In order to secure his place on the throne, stories spread that the youngest son killed all of his older siblings for power. In reality, my grandfather helped spread this and protected him all the while from assassination attempts.”

Looking with wide eyes at him, you almost can’t believe that what he says is true. Almost.

“This became our family’s mission. To protect the youngest sibling's line. For all of the children born to the older siblings who did not pass from the fever, upon approaching their 30th year and after having a family if they so wished, would endure the change and live forever. We have grown in our numbers and have always worked to protect the one line that history can know about. The Queen Mother’s great-grandfather is that youngest sibling. Merely days before I took the throne, her son, the true heir, was murdered.”

With a gasp, you sit up, clutching the satin sheets to your naked breasts.

“In order to hide that this attempt was successful, I stepped into his place and took the throne. And the Queen Mother will have another child, one who we will raise as our own and be the next successor, rightfully restoring the line to power once more.”

“I have so many questions, I can’t even begin to list them!” you pout, stifling a yawn at the late hour. You understand that you will have to raise the Queen Mother’s son as your own child so that the correct lineage remains on the throne, but what of your own children?

“We have plenty of time for your questions, my love. Maybe I shall answer some of them as I tell you more?”

As Namjoon continues to regale you with his tale, spelling out exactly how your lives will be, you settle back into his body and listen intently to his deep tenor rumbling against your cheek, curling your naked body around his own, until you fall asleep.

🥀🥀🥀

Epilogue

Eighteen years have passed since Taelani first entered the palace as Namjoon’s concubine.

Eighteen years since you learned the truth about your husband and his family, and full of questions and curious for more information, had kept him up the following nights with all of your thoughts until he lay you down and forced you quiet with his lips on yours and his hands seeking other truths between your legs.

Now, you are a mother to twins—at least, as far as the kingdom was concerned. Your daughter, Seojin, is truly yours and Namjoon’s, a miracle that even Namjoon’s family had not anticipated. Due to most everyone else in his family waiting until they had chosen a mate and had kids to turn, this was an unprecedented event. And Seojin’s twin brother, Jiho—though not truly siblings—but instead cousins, is the answer to keeping the family line on the throne.

Queen Mother Sindeok had hidden away, where she bore a son and then quietly returned to the palace with you and Namjoon, cradling a secret that only your family knew. A secret that she bundled tightly for the trip back and handed into your arms a mere day before your Seojin was born.

By royal decree, the news of the double royal birth spread across the lands, and in short, the Queen Mother’s pregnancy had never happened. Instead, Taelani, beloved Queen Consort to King Namjoon, had given birth to twins—a boy and a girl, heirs to a prosperous future. Together, the twins' birth was celebrated by the populace and secured the power that Namjoon’s grandfather had cultivated over the years, maintaining their hold of the throne their line refused to give up.

The birth of your twins also made sure that your father no longer tried to challenge the current rulers for power over the people. The Chief Councilor must have immediately withdrawn his money and support of the rival factions, as their attacks and their false propaganda dwindled to almost nonexistence.

With the belief that his grandson would take the throne, as the twin who was born minutes before his sister, your father seemed to think better of his past alliances, and instead made to be a better grandfather to them than he was a father to you, in the hopes that his name would be next to theirs in historical records as a formative familial link to the throne.

You still watched over his actions, even now, knowing that he may no longer hunger for the death of the emperor, but that his gusto for power and manipulation was never far from the surface. You and Namjoon had raised your children well though, teaching them to think for themselves and avoid manipulation tactics from even the most persuasive of grandparents.

At eighteen, Seojin showed no outward signs of her father’s affliction, but for a glint in her eyes that she could do more, hear more, see more, smell more—than her human counterparts. Her brother Jiho was smart, empathetic, and set to be a great ruler, carrying on the legacy his forefathers set before him.

It may have been a little over a decade since you joined your husband in an everlasting life, but you have never regretted that decision, not even for a moment. Standing next to him as he pens his speech for Jiho’s coronation, you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair as you stare out at the full moon, large against the backdrop of the stars and dark clouds.

“My love, come to bed,” you suggest, wanting to lay with him, to embrace him, to love him.

“One more line and I’ll join you,” he promises with a smirk. He still looks the same, jovial eyes crescenting as his lips quirk up at you. “Strip, and I’ll make sure to keep you warm.”

His lustful gaze watches as you step backwards towards the bed, eyes staying on his face.

A few moments later, he replaces his quill and caps the ink, fingers tugging at his pants to loosen them from his waist. Your giggles carry with the evening breeze as it whistles quietly through the slats in the window, rustling the parchment Namjoon was writing on and drying the last lines he had written.

“And for our country, with Yi Jiho as emperor, this nation will finally have all we have fought for: strength, power, and a promising future.”

And for you and Namjoon, your sacrifices eighteen years ago continue the legacy of a kingdom destined to be ruled by a lineage of

eternal reign.

231 notes · View notes

sansaorgana · 7 months ago

Text

— IN PERPETUITY (II)

PART ONE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Maia!Reader

SUMMARY — After murdering her husband, Sauron's wife disguises herself as a beautiful Elven maiden to live in Eregion and gain Lord Celebrimbor's trust as she hopes for him to forge her the Rings of Power. Her plans get interrupted when her husband comes back in a new form as well and he is thirsty for revenge.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The Reader in this fic is a Maia, so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. The title of the fanfic and its vibe are inspired by the song Sugarbread by Soap&Skin. Special thanks to @dinsbeskar for giving me the most appreciated feedback before I posted this fic! 💕 I originally planned for Sauron to be the dom in this part but... oopsie, I got carried away and surprise, surprise... He is a sub again! 🤣

WARNINGS — Reader is evil-evil with sadistic undertones, manipulation, gaslighting, SMUT, choking, hair pulling, sub!Sauron

WORD COUNT — 5,660

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

IN PERPETUITY (II)

You spent a few more decades in the North inside the very same fortress but its eerie aura was making you feel too uneasy. Adar could sense that too, as if Sauron’s death cursed this place furthermore.

He wanted to go with his children to The Southlands and to turn it into a home for the Orcs who could not bear the sunlight. You had slightly other plans but his schemes did not interfere with yours.

“I shall assist you and lead your army all the way South,” you told him one evening. “We should leave this place, it is not doing me any good and I cannot waste more time hiding here,” you informed him.

“What are your plans, my Lady?” Adar asked and you only smirked at him.

“What leader would I be if I shared all my schemes with you?” You asked and he clenched his jaw. You knew what was the thing he feared the most, so you quickly reassured him. “I want your children to have their home, too. In fact, such a land of darkness might be useful to me. I am not fond of sunlight either. Therefore, as I said, I shall lead you to The Southlands and assist you on the way. But after we arrive and you settle in, I will leave your side. We will remain in touch, of course,” you nodded. “But I trust you enough for us to split for a few centuries.”

In fact, you did not trust him enough. You would never trust anyone. But you had no other choice and you simply had to abandon your army for some time if your plan was supposed to turn out successful.

“Where will you go?” Adar asked and you gave him a mysterious smile.

“I have a business in Eregion.”

Indeed you had. Mairon was gone but not all of his ideas were. You were truly fascinated by his dream of crafting The Rings of Power but… you had killed your smith, therefore you needed a new one.

And who would be better for this task than Lord Celebrimbor himself? You just had to show up in Eregion as a fair Elven maiden and build his trust slowly, a century after century… And then, using some perfectly crafted and prepared beforehand opportunity, you would push him into the right direction.

You would have your Rings.

Your Ring.

And you did not need Mairon for any of that. It would just take slightly longer time but at least you did not have to bow to anyone or share your power.

Adar could see that you did not want to answer his questions any further, so he only nodded at you but he kept staring at you with squinted eyes.

Like you had planned, you did. Changed your appearance into one of the most beautiful Elven women in all Middle-earth and showed up in Eregion, claiming to come all this way from Mirkwood to learn Lord Celebrimbor’s craft.

The Mirkwood Elves were the most secluded kin, therefore no one was surprised to see you for the first time in their lives. But for that very reason you were also not trusted much in the beginning. That was no problem. You had time. All eternity.

Step by step, you began your journey. At first you were humble and compassionate without even seeing Lord Celebrimbor much. But as centuries passed, you were getting promotion after promotion until you found yourself being the very right hand of the Lord of Eregion.

Your backstory of coming from Mirkwood was useful in a different way, too – whenever you would go to The Southlands to check on Adar and your army, Elves of Eregion believed that you were visiting your family in Mirkwood.

Everything seemed to go well and according to your plan… Well, almost.

You could still sense him. Mairon. Even after leaving the cursed fortress where he had been slain, you could still feel his presence. You told no one about it, not even Adar. You had a feeling it was caused by the bond you shared with him through your blood but should you truly feel anything if he was dead?

You could sense which feelings were yours and which were unfamiliar to you and strange – those were undoubtedly his. And the main sensation you could feel in the back of your own, always creeping in the shadows of your soul like an unwanted guest was… hunger. Deep and primal starvation.

You tried to ignore that eerie sensation because you would go crazy if you tried to fight it or overthink it. However, late at night, when you were pretending to be asleep or studying the projects of the Rings that Mairon had left behind, you could feel it growing and growing inside of you. And your iron wedding ring that had been re-forged into a necklace seemed to burn your skin at those moments, too. But you never took it off for it was supposed to be a souvenir of a life you had once lived; of a previous Age.

You were quite sentimental despite your evil nature.

And when the light of the Elves began to fade in Middle-earth, you were frustrated and terrified that you were running out of time. If Celebrimbor was about to leave this realm, you would lose all those years of progress and preparations.

And who else would craft you such Rings? The dwarves? Would your next form be of a dwarf, trying to infiltrate Khazad-dûm?

You did not even want to think of such a possibility.

Thankfully, Celebrimbor was not eager to leave Middle-earth. He felt as if what he had done was not enough. He wanted to be remembered as the greatest Elf of this Age; the greatest smith for sure. The forge kept working throughout the crisis and at the very same time Adar finally managed to turn The Southlands into the new land.

Therefore, you left Eregion with an excuse to visit your family in Mirkwood. The times for the Elves were very challenging, so no one was angry at you for wanting to see your made up mother and siblings.

In fact, you hurried to The Southlands and you were truly in awe of what your Lieutenant had done to this place.

“How do you wish me to name it, my Lady?” Adar asked as you two were taking a walk amongst the ashes.

“Mordor,” you smirked at him.

“The Land of Shadow,” Adar nodded. “Why?”

“Mairon used to describe my heart this way,” you explained and Adar rolled his eyes slightly but he did not comment.

You continued your walk in silence. For a short while now, the eerie feeling from the back of your soul had been surprisingly gone and that sudden change was worrying to you. But perhaps after all those centuries of dying down slowly, Mairon’s spirit was truly gone now, leaving an oddly empty space within you…

“Do you miss him?” Adar asked suddenly and you shot him a scolding glance.

“Sometimes,” you answered truthfully. “I do not regret what I have done but we shared a long history and a powerful bond that went above our blood pact. He will remain a part of me in perpetuity.”

“My condolences,” Adar remarked and you snorted at his words.

In the evening of that day, you hopped onto your horse and went back to Eregion where surprisingly everything seemed to still be working and all the Elves were happier than ever.

“My dear (Y/N)!” Celebrimbor greeted you with open arms as you hugged him back, confused. “What you have missed, my friend, you will not believe it.”

“I can see that I must have missed something important indeed,” you mumbled.

“Come, let me show you,” Celebrimbor walked you to his forge and showed you the papers scattered all over his desk.

Those were projects of… the Rings.

Three Elven Rings for the Elven Kings. You froze at the sight of the drawings and the very familiar concepts.

“You… You came up with that idea to save our kin all by yourself, my friend?” You asked Celebrimbor. “They are the most exquisite,” you hummed to yourself.

“Oh, no, I…” Celebrimbor laughed nervously. “Well, Lady Galadriel came here and she brought a very special man with her. He was some sort of a human king, I do not know the details,” he shrugged his arms. “Either way, he was an enormous aid to me.”

“Are the drawings his?” Your heart skipped a beat at the revelation as your eyes studied the projects even more thoroughly.

“Yes. Some of them,” Celebrimbor nodded.

“I would like to meet him,” you clenched your jaw, trying your best to hide your nervousness.

“I am afraid that will be impossible, my dear. He is gone and Lady Galadriel claims he will never return. Even if he does, I have made my promise to her to never treat with him again,” Celebrimbor explained.

“I do wonder why,” you smirked to yourself but your hands turned cold when you realised it could have been him – your husband. Back in Middle-earth and so close to you.

He was the only one except for you who knew about the idea of the Rings. The idea was his, after all. And the lines of the drawings were like the ones you kept hidden inside your chambers that had been made by Mairon.

But what was even the meaning of all of this? You had spent centuries in Eregion, still too afraid to even mention the possibility of forging any Ring yet and he showed up and pushed Celebrimbor into making the Rings… just like that?!

“That man… Did he assist you in making those Rings?” You asked your friend and Celebrimbor shook his head with a sour expression.

“No, no… He only gave me an idea and helped me to find the way,” he answered and you nodded.

“Now, when the Elves are safe... Do you not think that perhaps other races would need such items, too?” You teased, carefully.

“(Y/N), my dear…” Celebrimbor laughed nervously and put his hands upon your shoulders. “Let us celebrate this victory first and leave the worry for some other day. Tell me, my friend, how is your family in Mirkwood?”

You were organising Celebrimbor’s papers inside his office while he watched with content how his smiths worked in the forge, drinking tea and smiling to himself. Your peace was interrupted by the smith Mirdania who gathered her skirts and walked up to Celebrimbor’s study.

“That human king… Halbrand. He is back,” she announced and you raised your head immediately.

“Well, tell him to go away,” Celebrimbor avoided her gaze. “In a polite manner, of course. I believe you can come up with something.”

“But… My Lord–” she started.

“I shall do it,” you stood up and nodded at him. “This way, we will get rid of him like Lady Galadriel asked but I will also meet the man who helped you to craft such wonders,” you smiled and Celebrimbor nodded.

You walked past Mirdania and all the way down to the gates of Eregion with your heart growing heavy with each step. Your blood ran cold as you could sense him indeed.

Your husband. Your nemesis.

He was back.

All the questions about how and why were unnecessary. You knew him too well and for the past centuries you had been feeling that what you had done to kill him truly had not been enough. Therefore, you were not as surprised as others would be.

But it still felt wrong and gut-twisting to see him again. The very last time you had seen him he had been a dead body laying in the puddle of his blood after your treachery.

Approaching the gates, you spotted a ragged man of human species with dark hair and dirty tunic. You would never recognise your husband in that person if it was not for the strong feeling in your heart that he was no one else but Mairon.

His back was turned on you but you saw his body freezing when you stood there. He sensed your presence, too.

He turned around, slowly, as you watched with curiosity. His form was different now and the hair colour was not the only thing that changed. His eyes, his nose, his lips, even his height were different. But despite the brand new form, he was Mairon.

He was your husband and you would recognise him anywhere.

And you were his wife and he would recognise you, too. Your form differed now from the one he had remembered as well. Those were not the very same hands that had slain him; yet they belonged to the same person.

“Lord Celebrimbor regrets to inform you he’s unable to grant you entry,” you told him, playing your role as well as you could under such circumstances.

Short silence occurred.

“Mightn’t I speak with him directly?” He asked and shrugged his arms, deciding to play his role, too.

“My Lord is occupied,” you explained, “but he wishes you good fortune on your journey,” you added and turned around to walk away, feeling your hands beginning to tremble.

“What a beautiful necklace it is that you have, my Lady. Was it a gift perhaps? From someone special to you?” He asked and you stood still, closing your eyes and sighing before turning around to face him once more.

“From an old friend who is long gone now,” you forced your lips to curl up and form a smile. “Are you not leaving?”

“I’ll just wait here,” he informed you. “Just in case the Lord of Eregion changes his mind.”

He will not, you wanted to say, I will make sure of it.

But you could not because that would be highly suspicious to treat him this way and the guards were standing there. Therefore, you only nodded and went back to Celebrimbor, feeling the necklace on your chest burning your skin to the point where tears of pain formed in your eyes.

You were trying to make Celebrimbor remember the promise he had made to Lady Galadriel and many times you mentioned to him how dirty and filthy you had found the human king named Halbrand. Mirdania, on the other hand, seemed to be enamoured with your husband’s new form and she was his greatest advocate.

“I am retiring to my chambers,” you informed Celebrimbor on that night after working for a few hours with him and Mirdania. “I suggest you two do the same, it has been a long and tiresome day.”

“And the night is so cold,” Mirdania sighed, looking out of the window.

You ignored her and smiled at Celebrimbor before going to your chambers and locking the doors behind you. The very first thing you did was to take off the necklace around your neck but when you did, you spotted a burn mark in the shape of it.

You focused on healing yourself but no amount of your powers was enough to heal it.

“What is going on…?” You muttered to yourself. You were a being much too powerful to fail at healing your form from such a minor injury.

Nothing seemed to work, though. Frustrated, you put the necklace back on to hide the scar with it and you changed into your nightgown.

As a Maia, you did not need sleep. But lots of the nights you were actually laying in bed and taking naps, because there were not many things you could do. And tonight you had to think of a new plan because Mairon’s return was not a part of your perfect scenario.

If only you had your crown with you, you would just take it, go downstairs and stab him with it again. But your crown was in Mordor, under Adar’s protection. Taking an item so dark and powerful to Eregion would make some of the Elves sense its disturbing presence.

But the crown itself apparently would not be enough. You needed allies. And as you tossed and turned in your bed, you were thinking of the Rings crafted by Celebrimbor. If they were not corrupted by Mairon, you could use them to help you.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a rapid knocking upon your doors. You groaned slightly and stood up to open the doors, expecting to see Mirdania in them, pleading for you to help her convince Celebrimbor to show mercy to the human king waiting by the gates. She had made such an attempt many times on that day already.

But when you opened the doors, you realised that she did not need your aid to succeed because she apparently had already convinced Celebrimbor to allow Halbrand inside Eregion.

There he stood, face-to-face with you. In yet another form but this one did not differ that much from the previous one. His ears were pointy now and Elven, his hair was blond and long. He was no longer ragged and dirty but seemed to radiate the light of Valinor and only a creature as dark as you could sense how twisted and corrupted the illusion was.

His robes were grey and humble, especially compared to yours. Even though you were in nothing but your nightgown, your clothes were the most exquisite. In the very early days you had been a disciple of Vairë The Weaver and ever since you had always had a taste for beautiful fabrics.

“Mairon…” You whispered, taking a step back because his presence was so overlooming that you could not do anything else but retreat.

“Wife,” he greeted you through gritted teeth and entered your chambers before shutting the doors closed.

“What is it with the new form? Are you trying to deceive Celebrimbor like this?” You snorted, nervously. “I shall reveal the truth to him.”

“You will not because you would have to tell him the truth about yourself, too. And that is something you will simply not do,” Mairon smirked and walked around your room. He froze at the sight of his drawings on your desk. The old ones, from the First Age. “So, that is why you are here.”

“And you? Why?” You asked and crossed your arms. “Why are you back with the living, dark spirit? Must you torment me so?”

“Torment you?” He asked, angrily, as his eyes filled with pure rage and hatred.

Before you could react, his hand was wrapped around your throat and you were pinned to the wall with his burning eyes right in front of yours as his eyelashes brushed your cheeks and you felt his hot breath on your parted lips.

“It is you who tormented me. Who betrayed me and slain me,” he drawled out.

“And you should thank me for it,” you smirked even though you were losing oxygen. You did not need it but it was still a slight inconvenience to your flesh.

“Thank you? I shall kill you, witch,” his grasp tightened.

“If you were not reborn, you would still be that pathetic and weak Mairon I remember. But you are different now. You have changed,” you pointed out and he let go of your throat but his eyes remained cold and empty; two black abysses observing your every movement as if he was a predator watching his prey.

“The change was required. The centuries I have spent on regaining my strength, I was driven by nothing but my desire for revenge. My hatred for you,” he spat out.

“Liar,” you were quick to answer. “All I could sense was hunger. And even now, I see you do not wish to see me slain. Otherwise, you would have already killed me.”

“Oh, sweet wife, you will not know the day nor the hour. I am all in for the dramatics just like you were,” he remarked.

“You are nobody, Mairon. Sauron. I am the one the Uruk follow and I am the one for whom Mordor is being prepared to rule over. I am the very foundation of this whole realm and I am its future,” you took a deep breath in as you stated. “You are nothing but a forgotten shadow that no one wants to follow, not even the filthiest of the creatures.”

“I am your husband,” Mairon’s fury won over his flesh once more as he grabbed you with all force by your arm. “And if I am nobody as you claim, you will forever be stained by being bound to a man like me.”

“You should have stayed dead, Mairon. I will turn your life into hell,” you threatened, your anger amplified by his as they mixed in your veins. “Do try to remember the suffering our master had put you through and I shall be worse. I will destroy you for good this time. I will tear you apart, piece by piece and torture every inch of you until you beg me to release you from your pathetic life forever but for each plea I will prolong the pain,” you drawled out and he grabbed you by your hair to pull on it as his fist tangled in your hair.

“You are only giving me ideas on how to get rid of you, treacherous vixen,” he whispered maliciously into your face. “The bane of my existence,” he added angrily as his empty eyes looked you up and down, stopping for a moment on your parted lips.

And then he kissed you. Eagerly and passionately, not letting go of your hair at all but pulling on it even harder and making your head throw back as your teeth clashed.

You clinged to his robes with your fists, trying to push him away but he was too strong for you to be able to do so. His free hand tore your nightgown off of your body as if he was a wild animal using his claws to get to what he craved the most.

You whined and he broke the kiss, holding your hair in his fist and twisting it to make you wince out of pain.

“Why did you betray me?” He asked, looking deep into your eyes and even though his expression was terrifying, you could sense his pain.

“I could have asked you the same, Mairon. Why did you betray me, husband?” You whimpered, searching for an answer in his eyes but he seemed to be confused that you were accusing him of such things. “We were supposed to rule together as equals but you were too greedy, my love, too eager. Yet, you were not fit to rule, not yet. So desperate to prove your worth.”

“Shut it,” Mairon growled and looked down at your naked body and the torn nightgown at your feet. “Are you not the most vain? The form you took as an Elf is so beautiful – too beautiful. How can they not think of it as suspicious?”

“And you? Are you not vain, too?” You snorted at him and he let go of your hair, pushing you away and making your back hit the wall.

Mairon grabbed your necklace and tore it off of you to throw it on the ground as well, revealing your burn mark. He smirked at it before putting his hands on your naked hips and pulling you closer to his body. His lips placed wet and open-mouth kisses all around your neck where the scar was and you could feel it healing as his fingers were digging deep into your bones and pulling you harder and harder into him, the harsh fabric of his robes irritating your soft and sensitive now-Elven skin.

The sensation of his lips around your neck and the pain from his rough treatment excited you. It had been centuries after the last time you had given in to the desires of your flesh.

It had been centuries after you had experienced such desires at all. Apparently, it was only him who could awaken them within you.

You whined and moaned, reaching with your hands to cup his face and to bring his lips close to yours once more. This time it was you initiating the hungry and teeth-clashing kiss.

“I have lost centuries because of you, witch,” Mairon whispered after you broke the kiss. “You humiliated me. You betrayed me. You slaughtered me. I bled out. I fought each given moment to survive in the very depths of that cursed fortress. I spent ages on regaining my strength as a shadow with no heart, no limbs – merely a mind. Yet, a woman like you is worth the sacrifice. If it was your wish for me to be reborn into a man worthy of you, let it be then,” he breathed out and you let out a twisted laugh.

“Just like my old Mairon,” you caressed his new cheeks. “New face, new body, new powers… The very same pathetic devotion,” you chuckled and pushed him down onto your bed.

You crawled up on top of him with a grin, your hair falling down on his face as he gasped and you treated his robes with gentleness similar to the way he had treated your nightgown with – you tore them off of him and threw them on the floor.

“If you wish to follow me, my sweet Mairon,” you raised an eyebrow as you lowered yourself on his hard length, hissing at the feeling you had nearly forgotten, “you will follow me as my most humbled Lieutenant. You will bow down at my feet and pledge your allegiance to your Queen,” you began to roll your hips, which brought you great pleasure but to him it was nothing but a tease. His lips parted and cheeks blushed as your grin grew even wider. “Say it, my love. Tell me that you will.”

Short while of hesitation occurred. But when you began to clench the muscles of your cunt willingly to squeeze his cock as you circled your hips, he whined and nodded.

“I promise,” he breathed out.

You knew his words were not genuine but you enjoyed playing with him for now.

“I will make you my dog, Sauron,” you called him with the name he was known as amongst the Elves. The dirty name, spoken out like filth. You watched him swallow the lump in his throat when your hips stopped rolling and started to bounce slowly on his cock as you placed your hands behind you on his thighs to steady yourself. “Say it,” you ordered, harshly.

“I will be your dog,” he winced at the feeling of your cunt clenching around him and sucking in all the precum he had spilled already from your ministrations. “I will crawl on my knees after you, kiss the ground you walked on, build altars for you and make others worship you, too. This will be my purpose; the only war I will fight for you. The holy war to convert all the unbelievers.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet, my Mairon,” you admitted and leaned in to kiss his lips while putting one of your hands on his chest now as your hips picked up their pace. It was nearly brutal now how you were fucking him and you could feel your own high coming, too. But it never ended with one with your husband. “If you truly will be as good as you promise me to be, I will let you reside between my legs and lick my cunt in return,” you teased, “for as long as you wish, my sweet.”

To see you pleased with him was all he had ever wanted. Therefore, it was no surprise that your words were enough to make him fill you up that very moment as you threw your head back, laughing, straightening your back and continuing to ride him as if nothing had happened.

He whined and whimpered for a while, which you ignored, determined to reach your high as well. And it did come shortly after but by that time he was hard yet once more and that was how it had always been between you two – once you started, it was nearly impossible to stop.

However, when the dawn came, you had to put a halt to your desires, because you both had your duties around Eregion. As the sun rose, you left your husband casually as if you hadn’t just reached yet another one of your highs and you opened the wardrobe to pick the gown for the day, leaving him behind.

He rolled onto his side and rested his head on his elbow as he watched you with squinted eyes, his hair a ruffled mess and his cheeks still blushing. He was a sight, indeed. He had always been.

“It was never your intention to share your power with me either, was it?” He asked and you snorted at that.

“Do not be a fool. Why would I ever do that?” You asked with contempt.

“You are not hurt by my betrayal. Only your pride is hurt that I dared to betray you first,” Mairon pointed out.

“You forget yourself. I have killed you once and I shall kill you again,” you reminded him and brushed your hair in a rush after putting the dress on.

And just like that, you left him inside your chambers to go on with your day with a smile.

Despite everything between you two, you were glad to have him back. He was treacherous and awful – absolutely the worst. And yet, your life without him had been quite lonely and empty. A dull grey.

And if there had to be only two creatures left in the world, you hoped it would be you and him. In perpetuity.

After running your morning errands, you walked inside the forge and froze at the sight of Mairon. He had his grey and humble robes back on with no trace of your fingers tearing them open a few hours earlier. Celebrimbor and Mirdania were standing next to him and they all laid their eyes upon you the moment you joined them.

“(Y/N), my dear. You will not believe me who our human king turned out to be,” Celebrimbor exclaimed, excitedly. “Come here, my friend. Let me introduce you to Annatar, the Lord of Gifts, the emissary of The Valar,” he beckoned you over and you approached them, trying very hard not to laugh. To see Mirdania’s eyes full of affection and admiration as she stared at your husband only intensified your need to laugh, but you managed to stop yourself.

“It is such an honour, my Lord. Forgive me for the way I treated you by the gates,” you bowed your head at him.

“There is no need, my Lady. Lord Celebrimbor has been telling me a lot about you. You are his most trusted friend,” he looked you up and down intensely although the smile he gave you was kind. Nearly sweet. “And the most beautiful Elven maiden I have ever laid my eyes upon, most certain,” he added to tease you as Celebrimbor cleared his throat and looked away, awkwardly, while Mirdania lowered her head.

“You are way too generous with your compliments, my Lord,” you only answered. “What is the purpose of your visit to Eregion?”

“Lord Annatar is here to help me with the Rings,” Celebrimbor joined the conversation again immediately as his eyes sparkled.

“Are they not finished?” You furrowed your brows.

“No, no, my dear. Remember when you told me that perhaps we should craft more of them for other races that might be in need?” Celebrimbor asked.

“You did, my Lady?” Mairon raised his eyebrow at you with a very surprised expression, which made him look quite adorably innocent but you knew that he was teasing you and you had to fight an urge to roll your eyes.

“Mayhaps,” you only mumbled.

“Well, Lord Annatar is here to help me with these designs. You were right, my dear, we cannot abandon our friends in need no matter what kin they are,” Celebrimbor seemed to be content with this idea and you gritted your teeth.

You truly wanted to punch your husband right into that oh-so-innocent face as everyone would gasp and call you a monster. How dared he? You had spent centuries earning Celebrmbor’s trust and there he was, showing up in that blasphemous disguise and being the saviour of the day without any preparations; stealing and wooing the Lord of Eregion?

Therefore, a new and wicked idea bloomed inside of your mind.

To sabotage Mairon’s plan.

“Oh, really? Well, I’ve been thinking of it, my Lord. I do not think it is a good idea, after all, even though it was originally mine,” you told Celebrimbor and his smile dropped.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I do not think any other race is worthy of those rings. Who next? The Dwarves? And then? Humans? Once we agree to craft the rings for humans, we could as well craft them for the Orcs!” You exclaimed, dramatically.

Celebrimbor gasped and turned around as if he was rethinking his decision. Mirdania was not paying attention anymore to you and standing by the window, still jealous of the praise Lord Annatar had graced you with.

Therefore, your husband allowed himself to break the play for a moment and give you a deadly look, to which you replied with a wink.

The game had started and oh, how thrilling it was, how exciting to have an opponent.

And, in the end of it all, you would either kill him once more or end up dead yourself by his hand.

Or, perhaps, your love would only flourish in this environment of constant bickering and rivalry. Perhaps you would rejoin your souls and fates like you had rejoined your flesh on the night before.

Either way, the game was worth playing.

In perpetuity.

MASTERLIST

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #halbrand x reader #lilysfiction

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bitdemonic · 2 months ago

Text

3AM RAMBLE ON FUGLY LINGERIE AND WHAT I THINK IT MEANS AS A WOMAN🝐

ཐི⋆☠︎︎⋆ཋྀ This tweet reminded me of an astrological observation I once seen, and it was about how certain transits, planet shifts, and aspects (forgive me I can’t remember—Jupiter in Cancer + Pluto in Aquarius mayhaps?) were pushing the rise of conservatism in today’s society. Examples on social media include tradwife content, uprise in religious devotion (i.e. personal identities being erased for spiritual beliefs), etc.

ཐི⋆☠︎︎⋆ཋྀ Lingerie’s largest complaint at the moment is that it’s bland, repetitive, and following a trend that’s overly popularized online—undergarments worn for pleasure and sexiness aren’t made with that same appeal. The current approach seems to be catered towards a younger, more innocent audience rather than seductive individuals as it was marketed.

PHOTOS TAKEN FROM VICTORIA’S SECRET HOMEPAGE

ཐི⋆☠︎︎⋆ཋྀ Majority of their products incorporate the colors pink and white, have an overload of floral pattern, or are made up of lace and ribbon which evokes the essence [and message] of tradwife core. The color white is starting to mimic bridal beauty in my opinion, half the pieces I came across reminded me of someone getting married. It’s ironic that Victoria’s Secret has a hand in this problem because once upon a time this was the store for the sexiest of the sexiest lingerie—I remember not ever being able to stand inside for too long as a kid, that’s how racy it used to be.

ཐི⋆☠︎︎⋆ཋྀ All this pink, frilly, girly and cutesie lingerie reminds me of the 1960s fembot—robotic housewives, objects of desire created for male protagonists on TV. Intelligent and self-efficient, yet their initial use was to pleasure men before attempting to murder them with that same seduction. Granted their attire and appeal are evident, but that’s also based upon the fact that they were “instructed” to wear clothing as such. All fembots wear the same dresses or bralettes, which boils down to their freedom as a whole (especially considering they’re in the form of women…).

“AUSTIN POWERS: INTERNATIONAL MAN OF MYSTERY” (1977)

ཐི⋆☠︎︎⋆ཋྀ Thanks to @rholsof-film, another perfect example of this connection would be the pinup girl aesthetic. Women’s sexuality was heavily repressed during the 1930s-1940s, more specifically during WWII, a time when women had little to no liberation over their day to day lives and choices. Pinup became popularized at this era because wives were depicted on posters in their home fashion: aprons, high heels, stockings, and red lipstick. Typically, they’re waiting on their husbands to return home from war and still needing to tend to their “duties”—independence was limited [and not a turn on] because women were known to be doting on their husbands satisfaction, essentially wearing what he wanted to see. Fulfilling a man’s needs was met before any other, which [and I quote] was, “an all American fantasy,” but with this aesthetic making a comeback in today’s society it’s an obvious recession indicator.

ཐི⋆☠︎︎⋆ཋྀ Now, there was an era of pinup where the taboo became socially acceptable or ‘out there’, hence the influence of Bettie Page, but even when out the norm (i.e. unconventional) it was a difference meant to feed men’s darker desires. I’ll even throw in the fact that Bettie retired and converted to Christianity, to which she believed that the Lord disapproved of the time she spent modeling.

ཐི⋆☠︎︎⋆ཋྀ This isn’t to discredit or insult the women who prefer this choice of lingerie, but the issue that’s apparent to me is that you’re not allowed to be wild and uninhibited, only prim and proper. Despite its intended use, any ounce of explicitness is shunned or judged; it’s like the fantasy is tainted by what people deem as “excessive” eroticism. In other words, we’re doomed.

ཐི⋆☠︎︎⋆ཋྀ Sabrina Carpenter’s public persona revolves around the world of pinup fashion, she’s actually the modern day poster girl, but we’ve seen the controversy around her provocativeness in this getup. Unnecessary as hell considering she’s a grown ass woman with a targeted audience, but of course the whole gist of this observation is that women can’t do anything lmao. The hate comments about how short she is and how sexual she’s allowed to be are linked to this too, but we’ll save that for another day…

ARTICLE SCREENSHOTS FROM MENSJOURNAL.COM

+ REDDIT BRAINROT

ཐི⋆☠︎︎⋆ཋྀ I won’t make this too long, however it was definitely worth pointing out because it’s a real state of mind that has potential to harm women as it did in the past. We’re allowed to be bold, vulgar, and risquè because it is OUR choice to be—promoting or urging a conservative lifestyle is a disadvantage to our freewill and inner selves. What’s trending or what’s popular raises concern when it’s undoubtedly affecting our rules, our choices, and [most importantly] our sexuality! Misogyny isn’t going anywhere unfortunately, but it’s a friendly reminder not to let it keep you in a box or stop you from feeling your best.

Please feel free to add onto this! I’d love to read additional takes and opinions other than mine.

#mini rant/psa lmfao #idk if this counts as being on to something or not but i’m spreading awareness my way #NEVER DIM YOUR POWER WOMEN #i’m a scorpio venus it’s literally my life’s purpose to be a vixen #they want us to be boring again like oh my God #⟶ 𝗢𝗕𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦 #𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗗ྀི #𝗕𝗜𝗧𝗗𝗘𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗖.

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bumblesimagines · 10 months ago

Note

Love Quinn

maybe we could try going on a proper date this time.

by the time i woke up, you were gone.

i didn't have time to get involved in anyone.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical You warnings, mentions of the murders of Delilah and James, mentions of grief over spouse's death, mentions of wanting to cheat/have an affair

"Oh, Love!"

The automatic deep inhale the brunette had to do only made her rethink her choice to move to Madre Linda. She thought a quaint small town with beautiful suburbs and far from the mess left behind in LA would help her settle into her new life as a mother and wife. If only the real estate agent had mentioned the irritating vipers itching to drain the life out of anyone who stepped foot inside the town.

Plastering on her most genuine-looking fake smile, she spun around to face Sherry and her minions. "Hey! How are you?" She asked, her voice going higher in pitch as she leaned in to hug Sherry and each of her equally fake friends. They all smiled back at her, their smiles full of feigned glee and eyes eager to find anything amiss.

"We're doing amazing now that our favorite florist is back in town," Sherry revealed, her arms looping around Love's and pulling her along. The giggles and whispers exchanged by the other girls, along with their big coy smiles, told Love Madre Linda's florist was either the most miserable man around or the happiest.

"So, The Lotus is finally open for business?" Love questioned, her memory flickering back to all the times she passed by the prettily decorated flower shop in town where the sign on the window always remained flipped on 'closed'. Every once in a while, she'd catch an elderly woman shuffling into the shop and spraying some of the plants with water, but the only time Love managed to catch her for a chat, she'd only been told the shop was closed until the owner returned from out of state.

Sherry nodded eagerly, her soft pink-tinted lips stretching out into what Love could only describe as a flirtatious smile. "(Y/N)! Ugh, my god, you missed so much, sweetheart!"

Immediately, Love's eyes darted forward, her desire to rush back into Joe's arms and complain about their neighbors zapping out of her when she laid eyes on a man she'd been searching for since James's death. She'd searched for him high and low, visiting each social media site she could think of in desperate search of any information, but of course, no first name was ever truly unique. Her friends in LA had told her the obsession was unhealthy, something caused by her grief that forced her to latch onto him; they never truly did learn of the real her.

The memories remained vivid in her mind but how could they not when it was all she ever thought about? Joe had been a lovely distraction, a revelation that others who loved as deeply as she did exist, but she often let her mind wander onto the man who'd strolled into Anavrin with a quiet demeanor and an aura of mystery. She'd been deep in her grief and guilt over James's death when he appeared in the doorway, the light of the setting sun casting an angelic halo over him that drew her eyes to him instantaneously. She'd been a goner the second their eyes met and while she'd been able to enjoy his presence the following days, he disappeared the day after she finally learned how his lips tasted and his hands felt on exposed skin.

"I'm sure I did, Sher." (Y/N) released a quiet sigh heavy with exhaustion and turned his back to the snack table to face them. He looked over each of the women present with lips pulled into a faint polite smile until they locked eyes, and Love felt that rush go through her veins. She'd felt it with Joe once in LA but it'd simmered down immensely after Delilah's death and Henry's birth.

"This is Love Quinn-Goldberg," Sherry lightly squeezed her arm. "She and her husband, Joe, moved in while she was expecting their adorable little son, Henry. Love, this is (Y/N) (L/N), our resident florist. He can be a little grumpy at first but trust me, he's a gem once he warms up to you."

From the way (Y/N) squinted his eyes slightly and pursed his lips, Love assumed Sherry certainly hadn't reached that point yet.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Quinn-Goldberg," He stuck his hand out, the familiar warmth of his touch surrounding her when they shook hands; a warmth she'd once felt when his hands had touched her skin, palms pressing against her and fingers gripping firmly yet gently enough to avoid leaving marks. "You can pop by The Lotus any time and I'd be happy to help with whatever you need."

"Thank you," Love spoke softly. "A-And Love is fine. Quinn-Goldberg can be a mouthful."

"Well-"

"Actually," Love interrupted Sherry swiftly, wriggling her arm free and stepping forward, the subtle smell of his cologne hitting her like a truck. "I, uhm.." She swallowed thickly. "A friend of mine is hosting an event and she's been asking if I knew anyone who could help with floral decorations. Would you mind if I asked you some questions so I can relay back to her?"

(Y/N) stared at her in silence, glancing away to spare the other women the smallest bit of attention before nodding. "Yeah, sure, come this way."

His hand landed on her midback, high enough to appear polite but the touch still sent a shiver down her spine. Her lips pressed tightly together in hopes of fighting back the urge to smile, her eyes angled toward the ground as they walked out of the backyard and into a more quiet spot within the house. She hardly knew the hosts of the party but they'd been kind enough to send her and Joe an invitation to their tenth wedding anniversary so she felt inclined to accept, and boy was she glad she had.

Sparing a glance over her shoulder and raking her fingers through her hair a few times to tame the strands that'd gone rogue, Love subtly took in a deep breath and faced him in the hallway, her back pressing to the wall. She drank him in for the first time in a long time and felt a nostalgia and feeling of familiarity she dearly missed in the chaos of a new home and new faces.

"I never thought I'd see you again after.. after everything that happened. I-I thought we'd had a good time together and then by the time I woke up, you were gone. I hoped you'd show up again but you never did." Love's brows furrowed slightly. "What happened?"

"It's.. complicated, I guess. I went to LA to escape this nightmare of a place and figure out what I wanted to make of my life. I didn't have time to get involved with anyone, not when I barely knew what do to with myself." (Y/N) sighed heavily, his hands slipping into the pockets of his coat and his head tilting back to gaze over the ceiling. "It was shitty to leave like that but my grandmother called me to ask me to take over the shop for her here and I thought maybe it was a sign that I was meant to stay here. LA was hectic, anyway. At least Madre Linda is predictable, and that's probably the only comfort I can give you about this place."

Love chuckled breathlessly, a certain exhaustion lingering in the air. "Maybe... maybe we could try going on a proper date this time.. a- a friendly one, at least. You're the only person here I know and the only one I can trust not to gossip about me." A friendly date... that could lead to more. She could feel Joe pulling away from her with each passing day, it was only fair she had her own fun.

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #x male!reader #you netflix #you #you netflix x reader #you x reader #you x male reader #you netflix x male reader #love quinn #love quinn x reader #love quinn x male reader #love quinn x you #love quinn x y/n #love quinn-goldberg #love quinn-goldberg x reader

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velvetdolor · 2 months ago

Text

for the thrill of the hunt.

(chapter i. the original sin.)

♱✮♱⋆ masterlist: summary, chapter i, chapter ii, chapter iii.

♱✮♱⋆ word count: 16.3k

♱✮♱⋆ pairings: ancient vampire!seonghwa x ancient vampire!reader x prey!wooyoung/poker player!wooyoung (eternal!throuple) LOL (san! x reader but that’ll get its own story.) (aged up!san)

(for this chapter ONLY/for the sake of their backstory, holy knight!seonghwa, holy knight!reader, san x reader, and a very light mention of hongjoong x reader) (i am so sorry for the pain that san’s story will cause eventually—i am fully invested in writing a separate one shot about his and the readers story.)

♱✮♱⋆ tropes: murderers to lovers (LOL) y/n and seonghwa have been married for centuries and seonghwa is a very dramatic and whiny husband despite trying his best to be a mysterious vampire + wooyoung’s a methodical airhead!! there will be a smidge of a reincarnation trope… _(:3 」∠)_ sad backstories for y/n and seonghwa btw + there will be elements of fantasy, mythology/mythological creatures, & knighthood centered around the medieval ages when we delve into their vampiric lore/backstory. (chapter one only) after the backstory, we will return to the present time—where we are currently facing your dilemma with seonghwa AKA the main plot of us hunting down the golden gambler (LOL, stay with me now) please note that this chapters’ relative/fantasy genre will not extend as importantly in the present world and serves more as an explanation into the vampiric lore of my story! there’s gonna be a lot going on

♱✮♱⋆ genres: smut, comedy, major angst and tragedy warning for chapter i, fluff, fantasy/supernatural, porn with lots of plot.

♱✮♱⋆ series warnings: 18+ MDNI—detailed depictions of blood, gore, murder, war, strong explicit language, and references to substance abuse. there will be some mentions of a suicide, LOTS of character death, depression, and s/h, age gap (san is eleven years older than reader and seonghwa) switch!seonghwa, ROUGH!sex, sado-masochism, reader likes being treated like shit in bed, seonghwa’s quite literally insane, switch!reader, momentarily sub!wooyoung, brat!wooyoung, honestly rude dom!wooyoung, some religious metaphors utilized in non-sexual and sexual situations, threesomes, solo play, regular play(?) some mxm action but everyone’s f**king each other to be completely honest, a F*CK ton of spit, knife play, biting, blood play, a seriously prolonged roulette game, asphyxiation, mentions of an orgy, probably will add additional chapter warnings when the actual chapter is posted, a murder plot gone wrong, and very ancient vampires who still collect coupons and hate rich people despite being rich themselves #neverforgetwhereyoucamefrom #hypocites

♱✮♱⋆ summary: being an ancient vampire sucks sometimes—both literally and figuratively. when seonghwa refuses to feed and forces himself into a deep slumber after declaring that he’s unwilling to face the painful boredom of everyday life, you’re forced to devise a delicious plan that’s heinous enough to awaken your very mopey husband. this is why jung wooyoung— a world star poker player with not only a great mug to pair with his skills, but the world’s rarest blood type, golden blood— gets a big red x on his photo that you shoddily pin onto the wall of your dining room when your frustrated efforts at getting your husband to stop moping grow frantic. your villainous husband— not one to opt out of a well-crafted game, rises to join you on this particular excursion. the mission? play an all-stakes game of cat and mouse with jung wooyoung’s life—

for the thrill of the hunt.

authors note: (this chapter will be taking on darker notes as we're starting the story off with an in-depth backstory. seonghwa and y/n were born more than 900 years ago—and in this fictional, unnamed country, it was basically the equivalent of medieval times. huge warning, this is the chapter that has the most gore and character deaths. this could definitely be a large prologue, since this is just setting the basis of what will be the main plot—which truly starts in the next chapter. there’s a good amount of time skips too. not much wooyoung yet, but you'll see LOTS of him in the next chapter. )

♱✮♱⋆ update: might be a short series (five chapters or less) —the world may never know because i certainly don’t. updated the fic to angst, since shit got a bit dark when i actually started writing it. first chapter will be probably be heavy backstory!! we won’t be getting deep into the comedy/smut aspect until chapter two.

prepare yoself this is a long one, but it was so fun to write.

chapter i—the original sin.

“you conniving, conniving woman.” seonghwa grits at you in annoyance, stretching each vowel and pushing them passed his teeth— not pleased with the fact that you’re staking out (haha!) next to his coffin to ensure that he doesn’t go and force himself into a century long slumber. you married the man for a reason. a life of eternity was already marred with the promise of a dull and irreversible sense of boredom and it was brutal enough now—it was almost inconceivable to you to try and imagine if your partner in crime wasn’t there with you to pass the ages with.

sure, a century passes in a blink of an eye for someone of your kind. you could fill your days with an absurd number of orgies, attempting to sate your gluttonous appetite, or even better—kissing beautiful women, rolling in your silk, dipping a toe or two in senseless murder plots and playing cupid on your nicer days—but these are things you and seonghwa could do together. at the end of the day, it was seonghwa that you’ve watched the rise and fall of old kingdoms with.

it was also seonghwa who knew how to consume you best, who understood and carried the same weight of your sorrows and was your one true counterpart—seonghwa fed into your brutality and licked into its beauty devotedly.

the centuries were doused from your relentless bloodthirst, and seonghwa—well, he was an extension of yourself, your beloved siamese twin.

honestly, it’d just suck if you couldn’t suddenly bite into his neck without warning on any particularly annoying day—and oh god, who would clean after your messes? if you kill another (you can’t help yourself, sometimes) politician, seonghwa wouldn’t be around to fill out the paperwork you’d need to send to the council of elders, or who would make your tea the exact way you liked it? bless the poor soul who’d be forced to try and should they fail—who would clean up after the body when you’d be too angry to eat? who would hang the laundry or take your stockings off when you’re too blood-drunk and couldn’t be bothered to move? or worse, if seonghwa’s not around—who would help you with tightening your corsets? should he decide to lay himself to rest—your waist might be a few inches less snatched for an entire century. the flurry of thoughts nearly made your eyes start to spin, and you began chewing lightly at the tip of your index fingernail.

“can’t you, i don’t know—just let me die?” he moans out and throws his body against the array of ornate camellia colored velvet throw pillows, face flushed against the dense fabric in a futile attempt at suffocating himself. you turn the pages of an outdated newspaper flippantly, not sparing him a glance as you hum out a quipped reply.

“darling, haven’t we gone over this? if you could die, i would’ve gotten rid of you myself. now stop whining and find something to eat.” you lick at a finger to separate the pages that weren’t budging to turn. seonghwa lowers the pillow down enough to squint his eyes at you in frustration and huffs pointedly at your figure that was casually draped on the loveseat to his left—his beautifully prominent eyebrows and it’s furrows deepen as you continue to ignore him and his antics.

finally giving up with a sigh, you turn your neck to apologize when you’re met with the sight of seonghwa’s midnight hair turning into a pale color of snow and steel— the plush petal of his lips mimick a bitten berry, and his eyes darken into shade of obsidian with the murkiness of charcoal and water.

in a flash, seonghwa tugs your body off the suede loveseat you sat cross legged on with a single hand wrapped around your ankle, and forces your thighs apart when you slide onto the floor. hoisting your satin dress up with a thin hand—he bites into the meaty junction of your thigh, nose digging into the tendons of your bikini line as you lay on the expanse of a large turkish rug.

sighing, you lazily lift your right leg (the one not being gnawed on) and drape it over his left shoulder, threading your fingers through his silken hair to push his mouth deeper into you. perching yourself up on your elbows, you gaze at him with a soft worry that began to carve a dent between your brows.

candles decorated every corner of your elaborate living room that was filled with various textiles, books, maps, and colors that accentuated the beloved antiquity of a time you’d spent together in london— you recalled the more recent centuries and how they were filled with copious love making and short-lived adrenaline—gifted by the mysteries and arrival of the new world.

as you gazed at the all-too-familiar and striking features of your promised person under the yellow-bellied light, your previous expression of annoyance melted into an unsure admittance of defeat.

“would you like to eat another president? god knows america’s not having a great time right now and— “

“good lord, y/n—“ seonghwa widens his jaw to slide out the four especially elongated incisors from your leg with your hand still clutched onto his hair from the root. he gazes at you with almost comical exasperation.

“—we could be the good guys for once, i don’t know” you continue to ramble and widen your eyes in an attempt to convince your desperate mate, as if to say, ‘come on, wouldn’t that be so fun?’ and mumbling a small, ‘we’ve done it before, right?..remember?’ followed by an unsure chuckle.

seonghwa’s face falls completely and rolls his eyes tiredly. tilting his head up towards the ceiling and sighing, he pinches at his nose bridge—as if praying for patience. the tuft of hair you’re grabbing shakes lightly as you guide his head into a nodding motion. reclining to lay on your back completely, you press his lips together from their sides with your index finger and thumb—puppeteering him to follow your next words. you’re a beautiful sight with your hair fanning around you, draping around your silhouette like a halo. your chest caves and rises in small, fast movements as you try to restrain laughter

"down! down with that evil cheeto puff president, i say—" you exclaim indignantly in a high pitched and boyish voice, mimicking the paperboys and rioters of the previous century. seonghwa's arms bend at your sides in order to hover your body—his facial expression communicating his being utterly unimpressed by your impressions. though, not disagreeing with your message, he mentally added offhandedly, and sighed.

like dominoes falling, seonghwa's features shifted from its abrupt wintery pallet into their original form: olive-toned skin that was slightly flushed from his inhaling of you earlier, a cherubic softness gleaming from supple and doughy skin, and dark satin-like hair that brushed and fell like ribbons over prominent cheekbones. his features emitted a natural glaze over his gaze, as if imbued with a perpetual fever.

raising himself up to move from his position above you, he sits back and tucks his knees under his chin—a sudden morose and soft gleam emitting from his eyes. all dramatic pretense and frustration washing away, unmasking a more ambiguous version of seonghwa that transcended the current persona he’d curated in order to adapt with the times. speaking with a tone and experience that revealed his true age.

"my sweet girl," he softly began with.

you immediately recognize the rawness of his somber tone and sit up to mirror his position. there was something in his gaze that evoked a terribly far memory—one traveling from a time long passed.

of simpler times, really.

you can't recall the horrors of your humanity as vividly anymore—of your time in fighting against an unfair world, after being born into misfortune, and finding comradery and comfort in only seonghwa. the memory bloomed an emotion that you hadn’t felt since being reborn into a primordial darkness. you momentarily lose yourself to the recollection of the innocence of that love, of that seonghwa.

"we've done so much, haven't we?" he smiles softly at you, right cheekbone leaning onto rest at his knee, reflecting the surrounding embers off the domes of his eyes—it’s demure light bouncing towards you like a little comet.

"we have seen the rise and fall of kingdoms of great majesties. some, in which we partook in—and others, we tried our darndest to defend. i no longer recall in profound detail the softness of my own mothers’ breast, my once human boyhood, nor the clasp of my once brothers hands in mine. I don’t even remember the names of the first men i'd killed, and have barely a recollection of my brief human sorrows,

—but i have loved you in every single life we've lived together. i remember your girlhood and every tear you've ever shed. i remember every version of you—your once warmth, and the red hotness of your bloodthirst upon your awakening into the dark gift. i, myself, followed to relinquish my humanity after yours was taken—i knew, even then, that i would only accept damnation as you'd give it to me, and who would make your tea if i disappeared? i couldn't leave you on your own—no heaven is worth our separating and i knew that there was no hell that promised our seats next to each other." he huffed jokingly and began to smile widely at hearing your soft giggle.

"my heart, that is now solidified into volcanic rock, had only mimicked the beat in the order of which syllables fell from your name when it was still alive and warm— and my monstrous soul that took its place in its most ardent adoration for you after it's timely departure—can only find joy in the infinite hours of our damnation i share only with you." he sighs wistfully and a couple strands of hair flutter at the touch of his breath. he shifts a little to gaze at you more closely and continues

"i say this to preface that, even now, i do not regret in my pleading for you to pull me in to share your darkness. this primordial evil that has long gutted any visage of our genesis, our origins, and once holy union— and i don't yearn for a single glimmer of the human lives we were momentarily damned with, especially as holy knights." his stare hardens with a hint of incredulity—and you knew that, he too, felt an old seed bloom within him.

it reminded you that due to your... state of being—time didn't occur to you in numerical terms all too often. you knew you'd have, well, forever for the most part, and were hilariously unsure if the sun exploding would kill you either.

which is precisely why recalling your original life felt surprisingly off putting. you knew where he was going with this, that although he would never truly leave you alone—he ached at how mundane every valuable thing on earth became to him. our endless lifetime granted us a painfully melancholic predisposition, and although we couldn’t die—at least not seonghwa and i— we were creatures immensely susceptive to various eternal tortures that were honestly light years worse than death.

other vampires would occasionally choose to slumber for a century or more to try and reinvigorate themselves from time to time, but they also weren’t the physical inhabitants of an ancient and old god—this was the very reason why yours and seonghwa’s cases were so particularly dreadful.

the nature of your creation myth as a vampire co-existed as a singular anomaly—the circumstances made it so that while yes, other vampire forms were built to be able to achieve an immortal life, they could still die due to the various specified weaknesses that accompanied their conditions like a stake to the heart, lack of and overconsumption of blood, or not being able to regenerate to an extensive degree (ex, if they’re misfortunate enough to get caught up in an explosion, their bits are definitely not finding their ways back to one another.) you two, however, had the freakish delight of being able to survive an absurd amount of…circumstances—incinerations, overconsumption, explosions, falls from horrible heights, the tearing of multiple limbs— you’d even survive being puréed. it doesn’t take too long to do get back into one piece either.

however, this had everything to do with the fact that you both weren’t born as vampires, and only became as such after eating the flesh, and drinking the blood of a primordial god-creature that was the physical incarnation of the original sin. it was a creature that acted as a necessary guardian and host to arguably, the greatest and most sorrowful evil, because there was no unwriting it—it served as the irreversible sin that spurred the dawn of physical creation and appetite.

the creature, who went by the name amera, could never die. in some ways, it served as one of the few pre-generators of vampire-kind. you hadn’t killed the god, that in itself would be an impossible feat— amera’s form was designed to be in a constant state of regeneration. her blood came from some divine source, and therefore, would be replenished in full. her flesh, which had the ability to take on the form and shape of any living thing, would mend no matter the destruction it faced.

you’d first met amera when seonghwa and you had ventured to the land of the unforgiven— a place that was then a barren, dead, and ancient country with a forgotten name. no human dwelled within those lands, for each time a brave soul would attempt to cross into its border, they would immediately be turned back by some unknown force—their bodies moving against their own will and it was said to hold the remains of an unknown god's temple.

you were in search of a way to delay the imminent massacre of your people during the holy war, and by a strange turn of fate—were able to cross into the land, and to this day, you’re unsure how or why. when the god-creature emerged from the shadows of a half-fallen pillar—you immediately recognized that amera was a very tired god.

it was sentient in ways that were an anomaly to other godkind. the creature was nearly human-like in its curiosity and more willing to interact with humans than the other pro-generators, albeit with initial hesitation—but the cruelty of mankind had pushed it to the outskirts of a forgotten land.

amera offered its aid to both you and seonghwa during your time as holy knights, when malignant forces of both humans and vampires joined together with the goal of destroying your homeland— it was a last-ditch effort of absolute desperation due to the ongoing "cleansing." the brutality of the war never waned and only increased as it neared its peak.

at this point, you and seonghwa had grown so terribly tired. the days were filled with seemingly endless slaughter and the corruption that had infiltrated the barracks made the fight on your side a double edged sword. the existence of other creatures had been discovered during an infamously grueling era of the war, when humans stumbled upon a small group of young lupine in the densest part of a nearby forest—despite children of the moon being quite avoidant of human interaction, mankind’s paranoia had propelled into itself into an era of mass killings as more species were discovered due to heightened awareness of what was beyond human nature.

seonghwa had been stationed nearby when the young lupine were found and under strict orders—had to slaughter the youngest of the wolves. you recall seeing his frighteningly serene face as he stepped into your tent, as you were fulfilling the orders of marking the densest areas of each nearby forest—knowing that you were losing yourselves by the hour.

by this point, seonghwa had grown into a fine man. the inheritance of his mothers beauty was obvious and even in the midst of slaughter, seonghwa fought with a cold and calculated elegance—his cool temperament and tactical brilliance made him a household name known across the sea.

despite being a woman, you were accepted into knighthood two years after seonghwa. your intellect was held in high regard and you had an exceptional talent at utilizing the available terrain to devise optimal battle formation precautions. yet, as time passed—each celebratory gathering after a successful hunt weighed on you. you knew seonghwa felt similarly, even if neither of you said it out loud.

you had once dreamt of being knighted because it felt like the only way you could actively partake in ending the unreasonable war—but the horrid reality of war is that there is no room for innocence on either side. there was nothing holy in your methods of survival.

a steady losing streak eventually took the life of one of seonghwa’s older brothers—san when his unit fell into a trap that led them straight into a nest of young vampires. there was no salvageable part of his body that could’ve been brought home.

seonghwa went mad with grief.

you don’t want to think too deeply about the rawness of that time— of san’s death. even now, amongst all losses, his was and will always be the most painful.

you knew alternative methods were necessary and hit a breaking point— humans couldn’t win this war alone. you needed to investigate the origins of these otherworldly creatures to gain an understanding of their biologies and creation before seonghwa’s goals would morph into the complete genocide of other creatures.

it was when you released a teenage wolf, mingi, in secret, that you were pointed to the direction of the land of the unforgiven and its legends. mingi was a reserved wolf—one that became subjected to a life of servitude, as his notoriously enhanced physique proved him useful around the camp. many of the lupine were enslaved after a sudden discovery that if you had deprived them from the light of the moon—they wouldn’t be able to shift into their other forms.

other than having enhanced senses and strength, they weren’t much different from a human during the new moon. your developing resentment and disgust towards your holy order motivated you to release him from his chains one night, when most of the men were drunk on dark liquor. he had stared at you with an unreadable look in his eyes before he softly mentioned the information as a token of gratitude— before taking off to run without looking back.

which is how you’d arrived at amera’s temple. the creature recognized that your landing there was predestined, which permitted your entry.

amera was weary-eyed as it slowly limped towards you both—it’s form appearing as an amalgamation of unnamed animals—similar to what you’ve heard the descriptions of chimera to be, except with the tail of a snake. it radiated a golden light that seemed to flicker like the belly of a firefly.

amera’s fate was cruel—though it couldn’t die, it had to endure the starvation of faith, which was what the gods called the misfortune of being forgotten and not being invoked by devoted prayer. it’s century long hunger churned its stomach like clockwork, and rested on the rubble of what was once its beloved and revered temple.

it’s watchful eyes drifted between you and seonghwa carefully, as if reading your destinies. before explaining that there may be only one way it could assist you— and in a moment of striking vulnerability, shared the woes of its undying nature. it craved an end and said after eons of hypothesizing, it suspected that consuming the god-creature in its entirety may act as a transference. it would continue to live on within the new host, because of its state of constant regeneration—but would, in some ways, be able to ascend to a non-physical, omnipresent plane of existence by becoming one with another entirely. amera’s ability to shift itself would aid it in morphing into another, becoming only flesh and blood— the fuel to host a new machine.

however, that would mean that the carriers complete existence would endure the thrumming of a pure evil, for the rest of eternity. amera was unsure if this transference could occur more than once, in the case that the new host may grow as weary as itself, since its ascendance may take away its worldly consciousness.

despite amera’s point of existence being that it was the physical incarnation of the original sin, it carried itself with such striking goodness that you’d almost forgotten the nature it embodied. amera warned you of the bloodthirst with solemn eyes that would pull at any innate evil within you, as every person contained evils of different sizes, and use it to form your creation. to add to the cards you were dealt—since you weren’t a born vampire and a human at that, not even another sort of entity or creature—the nature of your evil had time to evolve into something other vampire-kin did not have, because their own natures were already implanted at birth: known and destined, with time to acquaint themselves with discipline.

amera knew that it’d be catastrophic were you to receive the gift—by twenty three, the amount of sins humans have committed were on the higher end. accompanied by the fact that you’ve slaughtered a probable thousand or more, made the likelihood of your blood thirst to be astronomical.

amera prefaced that only someone of immense good could endure it in the same manner—but amera was made with the amount of goodness necessary to act as its host.

amera met your eyes, and knew that you were the one destined to draw first blood—and left the destruction to come to fate as it closed its eyes. before seonghwa could march forward—you threw your arms around amera and bit into her skin, tearing at flesh and swallowing. you’d immediately felt a hot throbbing in your body but continued to push passed the bile that began to build in your throat— unaccustomed to the taste of raw flesh and guilt at amera’s flinching. through your tears, you repetitively thanked and apologized to amera— but her last words were gentle and carried the cadence of a song.

“it is i who is sorry, my poor child.”

seonghwa, all the while, had been frozen in shock. it was when you began to eat at amera’s stomach that the evil coursing through you began thrumming. you fell onto your back, convulsing as the sickening sounds of your bones beginning to break hollow through the air. flinching out of his daze, seonghwa ran to you—panicking at the sound of your pained wailing.

seonghwa laid you onto his lap, cusping your left cheek in his hand with wide eyes. tears fell in thick dollops down his face— a palpable fear shocking through him for the first time since childhood.

a foreign look bled through your eyes. an ancient rage caved into your chest and settled a heavy weight onto your body— and your heart stuttered for two final beats, before stilling completely. you felt your organs harden inside of you and the love you felt for seonghwa made you want to swallow him whole.

you loved him so much you wanted to kill him, wanted to consume him completely, wanted to drink him in forever. something in seonghwa recognized this and as he witnessed the color of your eyes he’d adored since he was a boy change into the shade of molten gold— he knew what he had to do.

gently pushing you off from his lap, he fell onto his knees before amera’s body and invoked her through a prayer. you were unsure of what exactly he asked of it—it was likely that he asked for permission to share the burden of this primordial evil with you—for permission to join with amera.

its form was already regenerating, though its pained and labored breaths signaled that it felt everything. amera laid on its side, but moved its eyes to gaze at seonghwa with a profound look, and he moved to bite into its stomach once more.

even in the haze of excruciating pain, the parts of amera that regenerated within you felt pulled to continue to consume it, in order to reunite with itself completely. the sounds of seonghwa’s screaming were muffled by a shrill ringing in your head, and you crawled towards amera. the blood-thirst made your consumption monstrous and you teared through the creature with sudden disregard—seonghwa following after you. from your peripheral, you caught glimpses of seonghwa’s shock white hair and a strange zap strung in the air in the space between you.

the parts of amera that existed within seonghwa beckoned you, amplified by a profound and pre-existing desire for one another.

you remember this portion in particular with amusement— you’d all but drained seonghwa, not restraining yourself in the slightest when the heightened call to him dizzied you and had you sinking into his neck and biting into the skin above his heart. thankfully, there had been just enough blood left in him to replenish in full due to amera’s gifts and he left the temple relatively unscathed due to amera’s gifts. seonghwa was always characteristically more patient and disciplined than you, and you saw this in his vampiric nature. though, he had caved and done the same to you a few days after.

seonghwa, in the present day, however— is absolutely bat shit. understandably so, given that nine centuries is more than enough time to lose patience and approach life with disregard when literally the origin of all evil courses through you.

when you’d awoken, you immediately knew that you didn’t have the immense good necessary to not cave into murderous instinct—which is exactly why upon arriving back to the base camp, you’d ripped the throats of every knight in the holy order. it was an exceptional bloodbath, especially since you didn’t have a drop of control over the carnal rage that accompanies the original sin. with seonghwa at your side, it took less than a year to annihilate your foes and finish the war before vanishing—wanting to leave behind the haunting traces of the human life you no longer felt a connection to.

sighing, you break out of your reverie and gaze at his figure as he slowly sits up to stand before the fireplace with a terribly pensive expression—slowly caving into the acceptance at his resolve of resting, and steeling yourself for the impending madness of having to resist the pull for your literal other half while he’s gone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　

it is important to say that humans couldn’t be made into a vampire by other vampire-kind like many novels depicted, as it was something more akin to a genetic mutation that seemed to bestow eternal life to those at birth by the luck of a draw. once introduced into a family bloodline, the curse would be passed onto all descendants of the original carrier of the sudden mutation. this essentially ripped away a lineages codex of, quite literally, being human and then altered it into a become a general line of what you refer to as vampires.

a case of vampirism overwhelmed the body with a terrible ache that could only be relieved by the consumption of blood and human flesh— and bouts of rage that were meant to feed into their inherently murderous nature. they had to kill not only for the sake of preservation, but because their instinct instructed them to do it for sport—and ignoring its calling would only send those in denial into a madness referred to as the glass delusion. the condition trapped its victims in an inescapable mirage of illusions in which their bodies broke apart into shards of glass repetitively— it’s a process that consumed all five senses and has been said to be one of the few excruciating pains a vampire could experience.

the two of you had settled into this rhythmic life of murderous song quite easily, and there were many adventures to be had when eternity was on your side.

you became scholars, historians, scientists, archaeologists, classical musicians—seonghwa even became a quite prolific model at one point, but had to leave the limelight before his unchanging appearance would raise questions. you’ve made love in every city, learned dozens of new languages and their dialects, made friends and attended every funeral— though every bout of grief carried notes of envy. it was all so fun, really. being one of the undying was only bearable because seonghwa was always by your side—and you were afraid of crashing into its lonely weight once seonghwa decided to sleep for however long it was.

the extent of his sadness made you anxious. what are the odds that his unconscious self wouldn’t choose to prolong his sleep—and then five hundred years may pass without your husband? you would feel the time and feared it would pass slowly for you in his absence.

you knew that seonghwa telling you this now could only mean that despite losing his luster for life, he adored you to such a limitless amount and didn’t regret choosing this fate alongside you. it acted as both an offer of reassurance and as a plead to allow him to be selfish, just this once—to cave into the looming gloom of our sacred sleep. the sleep you had both avoided, because there was no way of knowing what time a person would rise if their subconscious was largely responsible for that decision.

you slowly slip into the recollection an old life, more than nine hundred years ago, when you were born as the daughter of a sea merchant who died shortly after your birth, due to a sudden storm that unforgivingly rolled in and claimed his fate. your mother already had three children to feed and did as many others would've in her position during those trying ages—kept the eldest son, gave her eldest daughters' hand in marriage to a semi-decent household, while the other had been sold to serve a teenage girl of higher standing, and in one perceived last act of mercy and love towards you—left you for the company of rats in a cold and damp alley way one rainy night.

this is where the youngest and most spirited son of a talented blacksmith found you on his trek back home, after a day of playing ragtag with the neighborhood fruit sellers (they knew he was the one responsible for stealing a weeks' worth of red apples and they were only half right. the baker's son, yunho, was responsible for the other half.)

a shrill wail had him ducking into the alleyway and squinting hard to adjust his sight to the darkness. your small arms flailed around—trying to grasp at something, anything. the obsidian-haired boy first leaned to peer at you incredulously, then gasped loudly in astonishment when he realized someone left their small babe for nature to deal with. although he had just freshly turned four, the boy had a relatively well-developed sense of moral judgment, outside of stealing fruit, of course—and rushed over to cradle you in his arms. sliding his thin tunic off to wrap around your body, hushing you nervously as he ran home to alert his parents. this blip in time marked the beginning of your eternity with what was once park seonghwa.

seonghwa's family was a rambunctious one. his father was a talented blacksmith with a hearty laugh, and his mother, whom he'd taken the most after, was a beautiful woman with hair the color of ink. she was the daughter of a noble knight whose achievements were long forgotten once the war continued to stretch on nearly a decade after his death. his oldest brother, hongjoong, took after his father the most—quickly taking to his craft and brilliantly carried himself with a charming roughness, despite his smaller stature. the middle brother, san, adorned sharp features and was physically an equal mix of the two—but was beautifully somber and sensitive, like water.

seonghwa, of course and unsurprisingly, was always strikingly beautiful—even before the old magic that thrums through the both of you now had beckoned its way in. though occasionally a troublemaker, your arrival into the household bestowed seonghwa a sense of responsibility he'd never experienced as the youngest. he was expected to grow handsomely into an orderly man, who had the occasional boyish charm as time passed. his voice carried gentle cadence and universal kindness, and was devout to the god that the people of the old country used to herald.

though living in the same household, you were not raised as the blacksmiths' daughter. it was clear to anyone that had seen you, even as a mere babe, that you would quickly grow into an exceptionally beautiful girl, and that granted you the opportunity of serving other great and noble households once you became of age. until then, you assisted the family with chores and meals in exchange for a small room at the edge of their old farm. your childhood with the three boys was filled with the laughter of mischievous children—playing with river stones, stealing bread from yunho, and climbing onto seonghwa’s back so he could carry you on the way home. townspeople would watch you both with warm eyes, already knowing the look of young love before it was realized.

your eyes darken when your recollection begins to run clearer. the innocence of your singular childhood, the memoirs of old temperaments, all doused in a holy light— until the war arrived at your doorstep.

ah, that's right—that's what happened. now you remember.

rumors that seemingly undying beasts, no—demons had joined forces with the country across the water you'd been at war with for two decades had emerged. the quaint village you'd been born in had been spared because of its inconspicuous placement on the map, and its utter insignificance to the external economy, and so the unsure and panicked whispers spread like a live plague. the war had never reached that small place, and everyone prayed that the gods would spare them once more—but the day had unfortunately come.

an ominous cacophony of crows flew and sung overhead, almost heralding the incoming slew of precise steps that marched to the exact beat of the other. the beasts pounded their shields in unison and resounded a final cry of war before stilling into complete silence.

mothers attempted to hush their children, and the villagers cowered into one another at the sight of the incoming death march. a terrifyingly burly soldier who stood roughly at a minimal of 6'6 approached the village head, taking off his metal helmet. faces paled at the sudden energetic heaviness that hung in the air like a noose—and the soldiers' bottomless eyes were dark, holding no presence of an iris. his skin, despite being a warrior at the frontlines, held not a single blemish or scar, and his physicality indicated no recent bouts of hunger.

seonghwa's fathers grip tightened around the wrists of his oldest sons, as they pushed their mother further behind them to form a makeshift barrier.

as the maker of weapons, he knew well what that meant—that there had yet to be a soldier who could get close enough to even scratch at his surface. if he's never had to go hungry during the war, it was the result of pillaging and destroying village after village.

you and seonghwa were instructed to stay hidden within a large crate in his father's forge. your cheeks pressed against each other while trying to peek through the elongated chip that stretched down a piece of splintering wood. despite seonghwa's strong initial protests, his older brothers quickly overpowered him and instructed him to stay quiet and focus on protecting you, while they'd watch over their mother. you both knew it was because seonghwa, barely nine years old, was still under his older brothers' adamant protection. seonghwa was a mere boy—just starting to grow, and hongjoong was already eighteen— san, just shy of being seventeen.

the soldier announced his name to be pengma and simply instructed the men to introduce themselves. one by one, he dragged his eyes along the crowd, as if wanting to find something worthwhile, and stopped at fathers' figure.

"you there, what is your craft?" pengma stated flippantly, almost melodically in its lightness.

a brief silence ensued as seonghwa's father hesitated to answer before understanding that nothing could be done. shutting his eyes in defeat, he pushed his two sons further behind his body as softly and discreetly as possible.

stepping forward—he made a point to not raise his head and meet pengma’s eyes and stated

"i am a humble blacksmith, sir." he alas lifted his head to meet pengma's ominously delighted dark eyes, unsure of the source of his sudden glee.

"well, let's see those weapons then, blacksmith!" pengma hollered and joyously clapped seonghwa's fathers' back in excitement, leading him towards the forge. your breath hitched immediately, and you faintly recall the sensation of that palpable fear—for not only yourself, but for the man that had took you under his rather large and clumsy wing. pengma's eyes brightened with a sinister gleam as he'd gazed at the masterfully made steel and iron creations.

"my, what a lovely job." he sighed out regretfully before striking out to pierce the blacksmith through his heart.

you'd immediately wrapped your arms around seonghwa's head to shield him from the sight—somehow finding the strength to hold him still, despite his panic. an uncomfortable twinge evaded your stomach in the present world when unveiling this particularly dusty memory of seonghwa's boyhood. you shake your head lightly, as if it’d fling the emotion away.

his fathers’ death was the catalyst to an unfortunate series of events. pengma continued to kill any man he felt could contribute to our side of the war—our villages spiritual healer, medicine men, blacksmiths, veterans of old wars, archers, and fishermen followed after seonghwa’s father. all were gone in less than fifteen minutes.

pengma had paused momentarily in front of hongjoong, who had practically bitten through his own lip—caging within himself a painful and raw fury, but decisively did not move so as to not attract the needless death of his mother and brother. thick tears welled in his eyes but never fell, and pengma’s face opened to form a small, intrigued smile —his keen eyes dragged down to gaze into hongjoongs own and then back up to scan his angular facial features, and immediately recognized the first and exceptionally talented blacksmith he’d just killed in the young man.

he recognized hongjoongs aptitude by his unfaltering gaze alone, and although he’d arrived at our village full of insignificant nobodies to make sure our country was scrubbed immaculately clean of hope—he opted to let hongjoong live another day by some strange pull to make a wager with the universe.

truth be told, pengma didn’t give a damn about winning the war because it kept all of his kind fed—and therefore, he’d honestly be more hellbent on prolonging it.

the dark gift, however, demanded its carriers to fulfill a necessary amount of bloodshed, so he’d might as well complete the task he’d been sent for. sighing, pengma made a small movement towards his men and those in the front lines marched forward toward the array of slain men. the surviving villagers watched in horror as the soldiers began to feast on their bodies, tearing at their limbs after draining their bodies dry of blood. seonghwa pushed at your chest to peer back into the small slip of light.

a sudden understanding that the fateful and unfortunate timing of your shared destiny arrived abruptly, and despite your small age of six— you were aware that the bright days of your childhood ended here. the wheels spurned and cragged it’s grotesque rolling and it was this particular event that marked the beginning of what you recall as the genesis of the undoing of your humanity.

fate was exceptionally cruel to the love of your life, for as he looked onward at the abyss of death, he was fated to witness his fathers body being torn apart—heart clawed out of his chest, the skin of his stomach being torn open and maggot like intestines dropping onto the mud—vacant eyes, jaw wide open and limp—and you shakily ripped him away to cover his eyes with your small hands. you’d willingly carry the burden of witnessing his life altering sorrow— so that he would not be left alone to the nature of the nightmares you knew were to come. seonghwa shook with the force of an incoming and ominous storm, wheezing and weeping into your chest.

when the soldiers finally left, a grim silence pervaded the air, and fell heavy onto the people who remained at the village.

women took on what was once the trades of men, something pivotal to those early times, and the softness of your home had hardened. for the remainder of seonghwa’s human life, all light had left his mothers eyes. both hongjoong and san took on the financial burden of the home, with san leaving behind his dreams of becoming a scholar in a nearby city, and devoting his time in helping plan the building of a fortress and stations of defense—should the war arrive at your door again.

hongjoong’s character had… changed immensely. something dark brewed within him.

he continued his fathers work and spent a concerning amount of hours in the forge, perfecting his craft to an unknown degree—and had also taken a strange interest in alchemical books. it’d been twelve years since the incident and these fixations never seized.

you walked into the kitchen during late hours of the night and were greeted with the sight of he and san whispering fervently to one another. papers with strange symbols were strewn around the wooden table, several candles and their wax dripping and hardening on its surface.

catching sight of you, san immediately shuffled the papers closer to himself and turned them around.

“y/n!” his eyes formed immediately into crescent moons as he softly beamed at you. hongjoong remained silent but stared at you with his dark eyes.

“young lady, what are you still doing awake?” san leaned his hip against the table, one hand placed onto its surface and the other one adorning a leather glove—onto his waist.

“i just got back from the fields with seonghwa— you didn’t notice we were gone?” you chided and right on queue, the young man walked in with the door swinging behind him, heaving a small but heavy basket.

hongjoong quirked a brow at his youngest brother but opted to say nothing, a small smile spreading on his face.

“what were you doing out in the fields, you know it’s dangerous—“ sans eyes drifted between you knowingly, squinting. not wanting to press, but not resisting the urge to remind you both of the war occurring only a two days ride away.

“we didn’t go too far, i promise.” seonghwa exasperatingly interjects, placing the basket on the table.

you strain a smile and your hands that were clasped behind your back reach to fumble with the string of your waist cinch.

san only sighs and shakes his head with a smile

“you leave for the order in six days, right? make sure to spend time with mom before you go.” hongjoong reminded softly.

san’s eyes began to water, and hastily moved his head up to quickly wipe a tear away with the side of his finger. seonghwa approached his brothers with an unreadable look— it was firm, and held a great amount of resolution, but you could tell that the string inside of him that kept his emotions at bay grew tense at the incoming separation. he gently wrapped his long arms around his brothers necks and pulled them in. san clutched at seonghwa’s thin shirt and began to quietly weep into his neck, while hongjoong simply tightened his grip around his brothers with a faraway look in his eyes, and clapped at their backs in an awkward attempt at comforting them.

you silently walk away from the scene as an offer of privacy and shut your bedroom door behind you. lighting your oil lamp, you begin to untie your hair from its braid and try to loosen your leather cinch when seonghwa carefully steps into your room, softly shutting it so that no one was alerted of his entering.

“seonghwa—“ your eyes widen and hiss at him.

his lithe figure takes one large step towards you and pulls you into his arms before engulfing you with his kiss. you melt into him when he clutched into the roots of your hair—harshly breathing into one another’s mouth as he playfully licked at your tongue. you bang at his chest reprimandingly but seonghwa continues to ignore you and presses you into the wall.

“your brothers will kill us, you fool.” you giggle and tilt your head to the side, so that he could kiss at your clavicle. his hands fumbling with your cinch and taking it off rather quickly and then moving to push you onto the bed.

“how are you so much better at taking that off than i am?” you question before your gaze turned suspicious.

seonghwa stilled for a moment and anxiously chuckled.

“w-what do you mean? just a few little strings to fiddle with—“ trying to find his way out of the conversation by rubbing lovingly at your sides in desperation and sliding himself out of his linen tunic

when you continue to silently glare at him, he sighs out

“i was much younger and it was long before you and i realized we were in love— you know this already, why are you making me say it?” he whines at you and dabs at the sweat on his brow line.

“suppose i didn’t realize just how many corsets you had to untie—“ you snip at him and turn your body away to face the window to your right so that he could only see your back.

“weren’t you fornicating with the stable boy across the river?” he blurts out, baffled and growing increasingly annoyed at your hypocrisy.

your eyes widen as you spin around to face him

“how did you know that?—“ you squeak

“oh, what don’t i know, you little harlot—“ he guffaws victoriously, eyes sparkling—and continues.

“yunho? the merchant that comes every fortnight to sell fabric? let’s not forget soldier number one, two, and three— OH, what about the village’s accountant. and your old little crush on SAN.” he wheezes out, widening his eyes at you defiantly as you cover your face in disbelief.

“oh, I’M the harlot? tell me, my love, is there any woman, both wedded AND unmarried that serves at the old tavern you haven’t yet laid with?—or better yet, don’t you remember sleeping with all THREE of old man alaric’s daughters?” you say in astonishment and push at his chest so that he laid back completely.

seonghwa locks his hands behind his head to laugh as you swatted at him, and you crawl to sit on his hips. the light emitting from the oil lamp flatteringly drapes onto your features—the shadow of your figure showing under the pointed light and the sheer fabric of your tunic. seonghwa stares at you for a moment and softens with an indecipherable smile.

“—and as for san, well, i was fifteen, and look at him.” you tease and widely grin at him.

“look at him, you say?” he gasps at your taunt before sliding his right hand up your torso to palm at your breast, pulling the fabric of your now extremely loose tunic down with dainty fingers to pinch at the bundle of nerves. he groans when you rock your hips into the semi-hard bulge in his pants, and you sigh out a quiet laugh.

“yeah, look at him. he’s literally a pot of gold—an obvious winner of a genetic lottery.” you stifle a moan as he frustratingly shoves a hand down to pull at your bunched skirt and comes into contact with your slick. victoriously smiling to yourself and at the fact that you’d won this game and have successfully thrown him into a cesspool of jealousy. he sits up with you still planted on his hips, pressing your chests together.

“is that so?” he all but growled into your mouth as he held your hips down and guided them to rub against him. moving a hand to shove two fingers into your mouth—your saliva pooling around the digits and dripping out to trail down your throat and seonghwa’s wrist. without warning, he slides the hand down to your cunt and curves them inside of you.

you lurch forward and hold onto his shoulders for support. a loud squelching resounded from between your legs, and you can feel the excess liquid being splashed onto your thighs and stomach as his palm pistons against you ferociously, all while his fingers slink around your pulsing walls. suddenly slowing the pace, seonghwa kisses the sides of your face and licks at your jawline, pulling his palm slightly away to begin rubbing at your clit with the pad of his thumb— and resumed a slow pump into you. you try to muffle your whining by biting the firm meat of his shoulder, your senses heightened and focused on the feel of each ridge and knuckle. when you began to feel the tension in your stomach about to snap—he immediately pulls his hand away.

“a gift for you, since san’s so pretty.” he tilts his head back a bit to gaze directly at you with half lidded eyes and whispers softly in quiet seduction, a mere centimeter away from your lips. there was something in his egotistical gaze that filled you with a fire so hot it burned you. watching and not blinking as he parted his lips to lap patiently at the two fingers, placing them so deep into his mouth that you knew the tips had hit the back of his throat— then slowly slithered downward to station themselves back inside of you after leaving a small trail of the residual spit on your stomach.

you gawk at him and in your frustrated astonishment —decided to push him even further. chest heaving and wetness beginning to flow down his hand—you were desperate. the thought of holding him down to ride his fingers with your hand shoved against his mouth to keep him quiet bordered your mind, but you opted to chastise your cunt for getting in the way of your annoyance at him. you knew that beyond the veil of his calculated and unbothered gaze was a thin patience at the halfway point of snapping like a rubber band.

“wanna know something even more interesting?” you challenge with a red hot fire in your eyes. seonghwa only quirks a brow at you, defiantly.

“humor me, darling.” he deadpans.

“hongjoong and i kissed during the last autumn equinox.” you confess

seonghwa’s face contorts into an array of emotions— offense, disbelief, hurt (more so his pride), curiosity, and wonder. after a few seconds of shocked silence, seonghwa finally snapped out of it.

“why would hongjoong kiss you?” he bubbles out but flinches immediately when you smack him stupid because of his comment.

“why wouldn’t hongjoong kiss me?” raising your brow like it was obvious. seonghwa hated that you were right—despite your annoying amount of arrogance, it wasn’t unfounded at all. you were easily the most notable girl in your village and should you ever travel into the further, more populated regions—you would still put other visages to shame.

“how and why did it happen? spill.” seonghwa leaned back a little to place his hands on the bed to hold his weight. from your place on his lap, you hold you palms on the soft skin near his navel. he gazed at you with keen interest—while he did feel a moderate amount of possessiveness as a lover, growing up together made it easy to talk about anything. you were still his best friend, and since you and his brothers were also close, it wasn’t abnormal for these things to happen in passing. his older brothers were undeniably handsome men and he’d known about your little fixation on san before he’d come to terms with his own feelings for you. he thanked the gods that san was about eleven years older and wouldn’t dream of being with someone with that sort of age gap in the picture— if you’d been around the same age, he’s sure that san would’ve swiped you away by now, leaving him to sob in his lonesome about unrequited love.

‘hongjoong, however, clearly didn’t mind.’ he thought to himself, but looked at your visage once more in the light, and couldn’t blame the guy

“well, remember the mead i’d stolen from old man alaric—the one he left out in his old shed that i found while helping him clean it, after he’d injured his back? when the fire was being lit at the heart of the meadow during the autumn equinox’s celebration, hongjoong and i had drank all but the last drop of what we found out to be a much stronger mead than expected. we chatted until the fire went down, and i took as much of this chance as possible to spend time with him, since we both know that hongjoong doesn’t usually speak so much—but the alcohol opened him up.” you start with, gazing at seonghwa’s expectant eyes earnestly while he nodded in agreement. his interested silence encouraging you to continue

“i think you were out with one of alaric’s daughters—i forget her name, but it was the one who ties her hair with a green ribbon—“

“delilah.” he piped and snapped his fingers (the ones that weren’t inside of you) when he remembered who you were describing for the sake of the story.

“yeah, delilah—and san was preoccupied with dancing with your mother, and a few other older ladies like the sweet, sweet man he is. no one was home and hongjoong opened up about… a lot of personal stuff i have no business in mentioning, but during a moment of vulnerability, it just sort of happened. it got a little heated, but we didn’t go any further than that— we never brought it up again, and i know it wasn’t something that happened because he was in love with me. i think it was because he trusted me, and partially leaned on me to ease a momentary loneliness. i kind of forgot about it, because i was involved with six other men at the time, and lost track of the happenings, you know?” you shrug and seonghwa sits for a moment to digest your words, raising his brow when he felt you tighten around his fingers at the memory, squinting his eyes at you once it dawned on him.

“hm, makes sense, i guess. can’t be mad about it, cause i was screwing delilah dumb into her bed—almost came in her in the heat of the moment. i could’ve been a father of twins by now.” he flatly recalls, before finally processing the last portion of your confession. “—wait, SIX? do we even have that many boys our age around?” he pulled his fingers out of you and tried to ignore the lewd string of thick wetness that remained attached to the tips of his fingers—he flipped your bodies over so that your cheek was pressed against the bed, and pushed his weight against your back.

“who said they were all our age?” you grin playfully in excitement. bingo.

“you’re such a slut.” he hisses into your neck, quickly pulling down your skirt and hiking your tunic up to the back of your neck so he could gaze at your bare back.

you could fully feel the baffling stiffness rutting slightly against your core when you raised your hips to try and adjust your position on the bed.

“yeah, and you seem to thoroughly enjoy that. look at us—two whores in a pod.” you brush his frustration off with a laugh, rolling against him. he shakily exhales a small whine and lurches forward in surprise at the sudden intense pressure, gripping hard onto your hips.

quickly shrugging off both of your clothes, seonghwa roughly pushes your face into the mattress—before leaning his own towards the skin of your inner thigh to a spot dangerously close to your core. seonghwa licks upwards to engulf your cunt with a wide mouth, flicking your clit with randomized pulses. you couldn’t resist the urge to crane your neck to see whatever you could of him and nearly came at the sight of his eyes already looking straight at you when licking a strip up to kiss your bottom right cheek.

his broad and tan shoulders glimmered with a thin layer of sweat, panting lightly as he stared at your bottom half—dazed and entranced, before reaching to thumb at you slowly as your arched your back to widen yourself for him. his left hand ran flat against his tummy, before he grabbed at himself and began to jerk lightly. you felt traces of your wetness string and fall onto the sheets below you, finally throwing your hands up in emotional surrender to plead

“seonghwa, please. be inside of me. i want to be in your body—isn’t it so lonely to not be one?” you pant out sweetly, overwhelmed by the carnal desire and wishing that you could be something so deeply embedded inside of him: an organ, his blood, the bones that held him upright and close to you.

you wanted to be tucked somewhere in the confines of his rib cage, and fantasized about sleeping inside a knob of his spine. however, both tragically and delightfully, the closest you could get to that were the moments he’d lock himself inside of you, and rocked you so full of him— that it was enough to appease you for the night.

he smiled softly and turned you to lay flat on your back, before leaning close enough for you to feel his breath and have his nose touch your own. raising his hand to feather lightly grip your neck, seonghwa impales you with himself without offering a moment for adjustment—a large contrast to his hold on you. you knew seonghwa was toying with you, fully intent on making it a little painful for you, despite his initial masquerade of softness.

he doesn’t care to check if you’re handling him well since this was what you wanted to happen anyway, and you smile as he pistons into you without any regard for your safety—you didn’t want him to be sweet today. you choke out a sigh that was a mixture of both relief and exhilaration, as he gradually began to tighten his hold on your neck and left leg that he lifted slightly to widen more. his damp hair and its strands held tiny beads at their ends, and dragged themselves across your temple as your bodies jolted and trembled against each other.

there was no space between your bodies as seonghwa deliberately pressed his chest into yours—wanting to fulfill your desire of becoming a part of him as much as he physically could. the squelches that emitted from between your legs and the slick sweat from your skins echoed throughout the room— all caution flying out of the window, damning yourselves to the repercussions of having to endure a stern talking to from san and hongjoong about how now’s not the time to be careless by having children.

the fat of your breasts rippled the manner water would when a small pebble is thrown into a still lake— at his force and momentum. your nipples were incredibly sensitive from their rough and constant rubbing against his skin, and you grow progressively more overstimulated by the sheer ecstasy pervading your body.

he’s defiling you, this god-like man and your sole sanctuary is ruining you beyond repair.

your cunt was stretched to its edges and his thickness drove itself brutally against your cervix. your open mouths clashed against each other and pull back to tilt your head away in bliss at the onslaught of overwhelming pleasure. he pulls harshly at the nape of your hair, combing his nimble fingers through to tug at your roots in order to continue to kiss you until you couldn’t breathe. it was so warm—his body against your own, his sweat bleeding into your open mouth in the yellow-bellied light. he was so frighteningly beautiful that you wanted to breathe him in for the entirety of your life.

you moaned loudly against his tongue—eyes rolling to the back of your head completely when his grip around your neck tightened completely so that the whites of your eyes went blood-shot, and the veins on your face began protruding. you felt like you were actually going to die—and you liked it. you liked that seonghwa knew when not to be gentle with you.

saliva pooled by the corner of your lips and still not releasing his hold on you—he licked and sucked at the trail, and somehow summoned the strength to pound into you even more. your body bounced into the bed and back into his body when he smacked into you—and it was only when he brought you to the edge of somewhere dangerous that he released his hold on your neck. immediately, you find your release and push out a stream as the intensity of your orgasm causes your body to nearly convulse.

his hips began to stutter, and the desperation that filled his face as he splashed through your orgasm, and gazed at your cunt that continued to squirt on him. he dazedly thought about making you a mother—the intensity of the moment amplifying his dream of breeding you and having children with your eyes and mannerisms that you’d raise by the sea—if it weren’t for the war on the other side of it.

he pushed the thought away almost immediately, not wanting his melancholy to ruin his orgasm but thanking it for granting him the will to pull out of you just in time, and opted to release on the fullness of your stomach. he rested his head on your bare breasts for a moment or two to catch his breath before looking up to see you basking in your afterglow, breathing heavily and smiling.

my god, he loves you.

“my god, i love you— you cruel and beautiful woman.” he exhaled before laughing lightly in complete utter adoration, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“by the gods—do i love you just as much, seonghwa.” you kissed the words onto him before falling into a deep slumber—not wanting to spare a moment to think about his departure and the unknown future of you two.

once dawn broke the next morning, seonghwa had loosely tugged his trousers on with a drawn out yawn, and began to try and slink away from your room. closing the door to your room softly and crouching at the door handle, he still winced at the sound of its small thud.

“good morning, little brother.” seonghwa jumped in fright like a cat would with its hairs standing and whipped his body around to greet the sight of his eldest brother brewing tea.

“ah—“ was all seonghwa could muster out of himself and the shock—wide eyed and stiff. hongjoong simply quirked a brow, shook his head at him while turning back to fix his tea, and said

“—i don’t even want to know.” in which seonghwa just sheepishly smiled to and replied with a hasty, awkward

“got it.”

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seonghwa carried a medium sized sack that was packed with minimal clothing and small trinkets he was permitted to bring along with him to his quarters. his wrist was slightly bent from holding it casually behind his shoulder as hongjoong, san, and you walk him out to the front of your shared home— choking up but trying your best to not sob in front of him, so that you could give him an encouraging goodbye.

you had been trained in the ways of the sword, alongside seonghwa since young—when a nomadic man had stationed himself in your quaint village for some time. the man, helios, was once a knight of the holy order who had long since retired from his days of war—but had taken a liking to you two ruffians, eyes holding a certain knowing that the war had done a number on you both as it did to everyone. when he left, you and seonghwa had learned enough to continue your practices together and wished your teacher a warm goodbye—because of this, you weren’t too far behind seonghwa in joining the holy order, but the process was even more tricky for a woman.

the casualties of war were immense, however. men were beginning to be drafted as a desperate call for support— but the population of men had severely dwindled in the last decade, and so slowly the ways of the old were shifting into an acceptance of woman within matters of war and other traditional non-commonalities.

he said his goodbyes with a certain calmness that spread a sudden knowing in you that when you met seonghwa again—he’d be a different man. the war would change him, and you didn’t know in what ways yet.

he kept his goodbyes minimal. probably so that it didn’t feel like an end— to offer some sort of reassurance that he’d return home and it wouldn’t be in the form of a body bag.

his mother watched him with vacant eyes—she’d become frighteningly thin, but slowly stepped towards him to cusp his face in her palms. “oh, my baby. my youngest son—has the time really flown by so quickly already? is my boy leaving his nest?” she whispered.

seonghwa’s eyes widened at the unfamiliar sound of his mother… and at her gaze on him that was so similar to the mother he’d once known before the loss of his father. the light had vanished as quickly as it came, and she began to walk away again, in a daze, towards the corner of the yard. staring at the trees overlooking the trail he’d take on his journey.

you could see his resolve beginning to shatter and he swallowed a sob and squeezed his eyes to stop the ammonia induced burn in his nose.

you were the last one he said goodbye to.

neither of you had discussions about what you both were to do and even then, at the very last moment before his departure— you never addressed the elephant in the room.

you knew you loved him and he knew that too,

but there was no time for domestic dreams during war. your goals for the holy knighthood were first and foremost— and so when he left, you weren’t sure if it was as your lover or your childhood best friend.

it was quick, but profound in its own way— it consisted of him wrapping a singular arm around your neck to push you against his chest to kiss your head shakily and whisper “i’ll send you letters, sweet girl. i’ll wait for you at the order.”

before pulling himself away with a strong resolve to not look back.

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so much had changed within a year.

seonghwa’s letters—the ones that had come every week or so, slowly became more infrequent, until they’d practically stopped coming in at all.

every time you prayed that he was alive, you’d miraculously receive a brief letter, but in his words, his tone—your seonghwa wasn’t there anymore. in the beginning he’d share the perils of his training, rant for three pages about how much he struggled with missing home, and how it was hard to get close to anyone out there. it was after his first mission that everything changed.

maybe it was hard for him to have to recount all of the war and murder he’d partaken in and witnessed on the battlefield—writing it down would be the equivalent of twisting the knife in a real fucked up wound. seonghwa gradually had less and less he wanted to share, and eventually only sent letters with a brief paragraph reassuring he was alive—cool, collected, reserved. a true soldier.

he stopped saying that he couldn’t wait to see you all and you knew him enough to know it was because of the overwhelming guilt he’d experience once he returned to your small home—a guilt for taking part in the brutal carnage and that he actually would never return as himself ever again, his promise already broken even if not carried back in a body bag.

you would often sit and read in the forge as hongjoong worked in silence, and you could tell that you’d both felt comforted by being in someone else’s presence— someone familiar that knew that there existed a time before the war took all the joy of this place, of this home. had our village been left alone, san would’ve been a revered scholar known across the kingdom—no doubt taking his seat amongst nobles and participating in larger politics by now. hongjoong may’ve allowed himself a domestic life—dedicated to his craft, but have the capability to be present and invite joy into his life without the haunting of his past.

and seonghwa, your beloved seonghwa would still be right here—warm and belly full of laughter. you feared the light had been taken from him—that he’d been taken from you. at the time, you wanted nothing more than for your previous wish to be a bone in his body to come true.

as for san, you’d gotten closer.

concerningly so.

what was once a brotherly comfort slowly smoothed into an unaddressed tension.

it was san whose arms you cried into in seonghwa’s absence, it was san who became your closest confidant, and who protected you from anything that tried to harm you. hongjoong would often watch you two with understanding, but chose to never say anything.

san was like water,

he washed and waved at wounds, and loved you in a silent way— not as loudly as his brother, because of the unaddressed boundary, you’re sure— but he loved you in a way that told you that he would stay. that he would want nothing more than you choosing to not march into the next town over to complete the trials necessary to become a holy knight in a years time.

he was beautiful, but unlike his playboy brother— san was everything gentle and soft in the world, and everything but a ladies man.

you recall the flush that would bloom in his skin at every advance made by coquettish girls— many were shocked at how a man of his stature and age was still unmarried without declared prospect. he was all dreams for world peace without the use of violence—without the nonsense of bloodshed, and would often take you to the fields he’d warned seonghwa and you to stay away from when he knew you’d missed him the most.

you tried to not love him.

you tried to not love either of the brothers, really— it was truly painful business.

but if there is anything you could tell the world in defense, it’d be that there was no way you would have been able to not love them in the ways you did.

he knew that you loved seonghwa with your entire being— and loved your love with seonghwa, alongside loving you. san would smile softly whenever you both spoke of his younger brother, and his eyes would glimmer with unadulterated joy when listening to the unknown tales of your childhood with seonghwa for hours without interrupting.

san loved without possession, without fight, and unconditionally—he loved with an ease one would have when breathing.

it was by a cruel twist of fate that once you’d finally succumbed to your love for him, and shared an unquestionably happy life for six months at san’s side that while on the precipice of relinquishing your dreams of knighthood to focus on protecting your home with him— he’d received a letter drafting him to an infantry unit after his name was pulled from a randomized lottery. you recall falling onto your knees to sob at his feet, begging him to runaway with you—damning the war for taking everything you’d ever treasured, as hongjoong covered his mouth and hurriedly ran to vomit into a corner.

but you knew the softness of san’s heart and how he knew some other unfortunate man would have to take his place, and how he, at his core—was not a cowardly man who could reject a responsibility that called out to him

and so san knelt to hold your face in his hands and cried with you. for the last two nights before he had to go on his journey, you’d spent it side by side—not risking even a single minute apart. he would sit to hold your hand in silence as you bathed and would scrub gently at every area of your body as he cradled you on his lap.

at night, he once more whispered the dreams of his life to you, just as he did when he taught you what he knew of the stars, and his made up myths for each one, and shared with you the once aspirations of his youth—except this time, it was his dream of a life lived long beside you and your children—how he’d wanted to see this home filled with the joy of a child’s laughter again, and your shared child perched on their uncle hongjoong’s shoulders.

he whispered his love to you, again and again without fear nor restraint— but somehow you both knew that san was never coming home again. he didn’t ask for your hand in marriage and you knew it’s because he refused to make you a widow, even if he never admitted it out loud. he didn’t need to.

destiny was relentless. yours and seonghwa’s names were written in red ink, right next to each other— and it twisted your path to ensure there was no escaping your eventual sharing of the dark gift— that all paths would lead back to each other, and back to the original sin.

the rest of this story is scattered and full of all sorts of myths, loss, and magic— some of which i, the omnipresent narrator, have shared with you.

san never came home again.

he’d only sent two letters to you— one in which he confessed in more detail his love for you and gratitude for the time you’d shared, and the second—as if he knew what was to eventually come, was a letter detailing that he wished love for you wherever you went, and stating that he was still rooting for your love with seonghwa. you faintly recall him saying that he knew seonghwa would love you just as much as he would if he were still around.

the time had flown, and as originally planned, you attended the trials of holy order six months after san’s departure. you worried for hongjoong—who in his brooding silence and intense fervor with his craft, fell into a dark hole of helplessness. for years, up until your turning to the dark gift, you’d exchanged letters with hongjoong at a consistent frequency.

you were correct in seonghwa’s changing, but that’s an entirely separate tale of trials to recount some other time. your relationship ran hot and cold—and was an incredibly turbulent and confusing mess to have dealt with amongst all things.

san was killed in action two and a half years into your service with the holy order.

you’d never told seonghwa about your time with him, but when the both of you received the news of his death—he just knew. he saw it in your eyes and in the grief of the girl he’d known since boyhood. he knew what your eyes looked like when they were in love.

shortly after san’s death, their mother hung herself. hongjoong sent a simple letter because there was no point in talking about his grief— nothing would make it disappear. it was a quiet day when he found her there in her bedroom.

a couple weeks following that, hongjoong had sent you a final letter— a heartfelt and vulnerable one filled with gratitude for being his rock and one true friend.

he disappeared one day and you’d never heard from him again.

it’s been several centuries since you’ve dared to recount the immense sorrows of your time as humans. for a moment, you’d even assumed you’d forgotten it all—but the still raw ache resonated in you, dusting all of the cobwebs away and threatened to make you human in your emotions for one moment.

san was undoubtedly the love of your human life.

he was the one thing that stopped you from hating humanity—from hating your once and real time as a human girl, even now. you knew it was in his lessons of goodness that saved you from going mad when accepting amera.

seonghwa was eternal. he was undoubtedly your soul and one true counterpart— your fellow forest fire and forever flame. you would never be able to resist his siren song, fate made it so that it couldn’t happen.

and san—you smile softly at the clearest recollection you’ve had in centuries of the softness of his hands, gaze, raven haired broadness, and the beautiful dimples that adorned his cheeks.

san was the river that would continue to flow within you, no matter where or how long the time and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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the memory was sobering, and you’ve mentally returned to the present— the heavy recollection more than enough for the night or for the next couple of centuries, honestly.

a sudden bout of resolution overcame you and you rose to march on over to seonghwa—immediately slapping him so hard his head jerked a concerning amount to his left. he could walk it off.

“that’s for leaving me.” you hiss at him bitterly, before grabbing his hand and shoving him into his casket. you cross your arms, huff in defeat, and avoid his eyes like a brat.

seonghwa’s eyes widened in understanding and then proceeded to smile with such sheer joy, you almost felt bad that the guy couldn’t actually die. ‘shit’ you think to yourself, and put it on your mental checklist to start researching intensely for ways to die.

if that’s honestly what makes him happy— then what hubby wants, hubby gets.

you hypothesize that maybe eating him as you'd done with amera could work, but if you were to eat his portion of the original sin after about nine centuries of committing atrocity after atrocity—you might just incur the dawn of armageddon. which sort of defeats the purpose of why you guys even took on the original task.

nah, you don’t want him to be happy if it meant he’d die on you.

he could live with being depressed, ‘not like he had much of a choice anyways.’ you shrug happily, but squint in annoyance when seonghwa rises momentarily to try and kiss you

“and what do you think you’re doing?” you say as you push him away with a single finger, your sharp nail pointed against his chest—with such intense confusion adorning your face, it looked like disgust

“what do you think i’m doing? i’m going to fuck the ever-living shit out of you before i sleep for an entire century probably????” he explains, gazing at you as if you were the stupidest fucking thing on the planet.

“HAH!” you all but guffaw before fighting to shove him back down into his coffin, with him actively throwing hands back at you—your absolutely unhinged ferociousness crowns you as victor. you claw at him and even tug a large chunk of hair straight out of his scalp, and frown when it immediately grows back. you genuinely wish this bitch could go bald, because YOU would’ve been bald by now with the amount of emotional stress this is putting you through— and just before you victoriously shut the coffin, you look into his eyes and say

“you honestly thought you’d get pussy AND sleep? go to bed before i change my mind, whore.”

seonghwa immediately crosses his arms into a cliche 'X' position over his chest, the tips of his sharp nails draped elegantly over the edges of his shoulders, and forces his eyes shut as a bead of anxious sweat forms on his forehead. he knew you weren’t kidding—you were supposed to go to a hookah bar tonight and you’d drag him by the balls once you realized that he, not only planned on sleeping for a century or more, but that he’s basically flaking out on date night.

realizing something, he opens one eye to look at you and asks “how do i even do this?”

your eyebrows furrow as you try to find an actual answer to the question or the most annoyingly unhelpful thing to shoot back at him. “i don’t know, maybe try meditating? focus on how bad you want to die and see if that helps.”

“oh that’ll do wonders for my mental health, thanks.” he rolls his eyes before actually giving it a shot.

a few minutes of silence ensued and in your boredom, decide to hang from a chandelier. “is it working now?” you whine as you swing yourself off to land back on your feet.

“seonghwa?” you singsong and peer over his body, looking at his completely unmoving figure innocently.

“holy shit, it actually worked.” you scoffed.

pretty fast, actually.

“damn, he was being fr when he said he wanted to die. “you all but :/ before abruptly slamming his coffin shut and tip tap over to your room so you could get ready and find a booty call somewhere over yonder.

wait. you freeze, halfway down the red and well decorated hallway.

“that bitch—we had date night!”

and you could’ve sworn that even in his unconscious state—seonghwa’s body twitched in fear.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

vampires, too—use toilet paper.

not many people think about toiletries or household appliances when they think about the creatures of the night, understandably. the inherent glamour and sex appeal instilled into our biology at birth in order to attract prey does not, in fact, wipe for us, just as dirt and other things don’t immediately vaporize and grant us an immaculate appearance once more—but by the gods, when did inflation get this bad?

these were necessities for everyone, even the undying.

you’re pretty sure seonghwa tucked a couple of coupons you’d found in the paper into your wallet a few weeks ago, and brightened at the sight of a 'two for one' deal on aisle three for your favorite herbal essence smoothing shampoo and conditioner—you've been feeling frizzy.

rolling your mini cart to join the line at checkout, you anxiously tap your boots on the floor when it hadn’t moved in ten minutes—why was it so fucking busy on a wednesday?

you hope that seonghwa’s vacuuming at home—since you had the bright idea of chain smoking inside of the house and were pretty sure that your cigarette ashes fell onto that insanely expensive rug, but then remember that your husband threw himself into pseudo-death mode.

sure, at this point, because of all of the loot collected from adventures that had you feeling like the incarnation of indiana jones, PLUS all of the jobs you and seonghwa had worked for in the last several centuries granted you both a stupid amount of money—but that didn’t mean you’d have to throw your financial literacy out the window.

you were centimeters away from killing everybody that had a fuck ton of items in line for the express lane that so kindly expressed to clientele in bold font—twenty items or less.

twenty items or fucking less and you're pretty sure that there's thirty items in the bitch's basket two people ahead of you.

that was actually evil.

is this your fault? since you're technically the root of all evil—at least most of them?

cashiers weren't around for the creation of mankind (you think), so this is someone else's fault probably

and when you find the person who's responsible for the evils of grocery shopping, inflation, and cash registers—it's fucking over, and you hope that they're an evil that could actually die. though, if they couldn't, you might find some reprieve in pureeing them until you were content.

you glance at the person who's currently checking out to try and figure out what the holdup was but saw the cashier anxiously thumbing through a book of coupons that could’ve been aired on insane couponing, in order to scan them as fast as possible—trying his best to not have a panic attack under all of the impatient eyes on him.

'ah.' you knew a girl on a budget when you saw one.

'yeah, that makes sense.' you admit in finality and offer a nod at the college girl as a sign of comradery and she smiles shyly in reply. you sigh and adjust your posture as you prepared yourself for the long wait.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

the house is looking like the aftermath of a frat party because seonghwa's not around to split chores. butlers and house servants were too expensive, and you refuse to spend the money despite having it—so you're going to have to vacuum when you get home.

the dread ticks inside of you like a time bomb.

there's no way.

there's no way you're going to vacuum for the first time in your life—absolutely not. you’re momentarily astounded by the fact that there was actually something you haven’t done in your nine hundred plus years of life.

you throw your keys onto the insanely large dining table before plopping down onto the sofa, anxiously biting your nails as you stare at seonghwa's coffin with an intense shaking in your leg.

it's only been four months since seonghwa had logged off on you. as expected, the time hadn't gone as fast as you'd wanted it to—and waiting on seonghwa to awaken felt like you'd be waiting for human years.

there had to be a way to get your husband up and happy—to get his appetite going, so he doesn't whine and go absolutely ape shit when he finally crashes out in real time about the fact that he couldn’t die. you knew you’d get the brunt of it— the last time he did, he lost his shit and literally bit chunks off of you. yeah, sure, it immediately grew back—especially since you ate enough for the timespan of regeneration to be almost instantaneous. this factor was the one thing that helped amera not regenerate as quickly—the starvation of faith and flesh allotted you some time to finish the entirety of her body without her speedy regeneration, you remember pitifully.

you couldn't shake him awake either— you'd have to find something convincing enough to tempt his psyche and unconscious self.

you begin to brainstorm about what seonghwa likes nowadays, holding your pretty fingers up to count.

1.) you, sometimes.

2.) pretty boys, handsome women, and non-binaries that are hot and make great non-fat lattes.

3.) orgies that can sate the natural sensory gluttony that your kind has a predisposition for and appease his possession over you by ramming into you in a room full of people. he also makes sure to eat the ones that touch you in any way before the night ends, which leads us to the fourth on our list—

4.) the occasional, tasteful murder.

5.) (born) rich people dying.

6.) uno, poker, and other lame card games.

7.) games, lots of games—actually. (you hum in interest at the observation.)

8.) a meal that makes him earn his bite.

"... games, huh." you mumble to yourself before turning on the outdated tv you'd stolen from a best western motel for fun. you're immediately greeted by the sight of a slick looking pretty boy sitting on an expensive leather couch with a drink in hand—it seemed like a live airing of an interview.

“he’s got the eyes of a conman, but like—in a hot way" you say out loud, something you've been doing quite often with seonghwa being gone and all.

you take a large swig from the sweet red blend you bought labeled menage a trois, and digest his features with each gulp— and your mouth begins to fill with a thick coating of saliva.

you sit up to peer more closely at him, cross your legs into a pretzel shape, and grab the tv remote to raise the volume. the sound was slightly distorted and antiquated, as if it was being aired through an old telephone speaker, andthe screen flickered from time to time.

your eyes couldn't stray away from his pointed and cocky gaze aimed at the man interviewing him. there was a charming mole situated under his left eye that looked like a small constellation to you, and an intensely sharp jawline. the sensual dip of his collarbone exposed itself as he leaned forward to place the glass onto the tap—his oversized v-neck cashmere sweater tipping out teasingly to expose the protruding ridges on his chest. his semi-long hair flick against the nape of his neck as he moved back, and he adorably fumbled to adjust the bangs that hung directly above his asymmetrical eyelids—going cross eyed momentarily when struggling to fix a particular strand.

the host of the unknown show, or rather, the man interviewing the guy who was sex on legs, laughed the sort-of-laugh that told you he was rich—at something hot guy said.

“so, wooyoung—other than being one of best poker players in the game right now, do you have any fun facts you’d like to share with the crowd?” the host adjusts in his seat to lean forward humorously towards the hot guy, wooyoung, and raised his eyebrows with catty interest. “in the mood for spilling some secrets, or would you still want to stay the ever-so-elusive man—shrouded in mystery?” he playfully instigates as the crowd began to hoot in good fun in return.

wooyoung puts his head down for a moment and leans forward to place his elbows on his knees—“well damn, you’ve put me in a tough spot—don’t think i could find it in me to ruin it for the crowd.” he jokingly sighs out exasperatingly, wiping away at a non existent tear. “though it’d help a lot if you asked questions because i wouldn’t know where to start, honestly.” he smiled sheepishly and scratched his head.

the host immediately grabs at a pile of notes from under his desk and the crowd laughs as he puts on a show for them by fumbling excitedly, before turning towards wooyoung. “hmm, okay— we’ve heard some talk about you being close friends with award winning opera singer, choi jongho and the nations favorite chaebol, kang yeosang. how in the hell did that happen? it felt like a crossover episode when i heard about it.”

wooyoung nonchalantly answered immediately “rich people love gambling.”

the crowd hums in agreement with small comments like ‘honestly, yeah that tracks’ and ‘obviously’

the host smiles wide before hitting big by asking the question that had been stamped on the headlines of major magazines for the last few months. “we hear that you’re especially close to our dearest yeosang.” he practically sing songs and wooyoung smirks a little

“well, i fuck guys too.” he all but says and the crowd goes wild before he adds “—but he’s my closest friend. so i don’t deny me being queer, but sadly, our dearest yeosang is not in my cards.” the crowd boos in disappointment, while some repressed homophobes tell wooyoung that god loves him.

“yeah, clearly! that’s why i’m here baby.” and only laughs happily in their direction—no malice or offense visible in his demeanor. “—yeosang, jongho, and i all grew up with each other since our parents are close friends. our careers and interests are in completely separate worlds, so I’m not surprised that people thought we were a randomized blunt rotation.” he shrugs and cocks his left brow, before sipping at his glass. laughing lightly when the interviewer gasps and says to the crowd “oh, so our wooyoung’s a RICH-rich boy?”

“darling, how did you think i made such big bets to start with? no poor man with a life he values would step into trying to have a career in gambling.” he guffaws and continues with sparkling eyes, as if daring to say a forbidden secret “—dearest mummy n daddy just want their youngest son to be happy and will cover my losses so long as i don’t fight for succession with my lovely, lovely older brothers.”

his flippant ease and unflinching honesty had you clapping at his responses in appreciation, despite him being a trust fund baby. you’re a bit amused that he clearly didn’t give a damn about this being broadcasted on live tv. the interviewer all but smiles at the handsome man’s mischief and raises his own glass to clink against wooyoungs.

it was when the host eased into the next topic after the crowd settled down that you��d straightened your spine and bolted to stand up. your features contorted into one of maniacal glee, and if someone were to look a little more closely, they would be able to see the palpable sinister undertone lathered thick onto your face.

“ah! that’s right— i heard another interesting thing about our star of the show today. what’s this about blood?” the host widens his eyes in curiosity.

“oh—that? on top of being rich, my blood’s apparently golden. not literally, but it’s the rarest blood type in the world or something. that’s why people call me the golden gambler even though i’m not a fan of it, because it pretty cheesy, no? but it could be cute—depending on the context.” wooyoung licks at his lips, and a flush starts decorating his cheeks when the alcohol starts hitting.

the interview drones on for another ten minutes before wooyoung says his goodbyes, toppling over the talk show hosts desk to smooch him straight on his lips—it’s a comical sight to see with the host stiffening and tipping his loafers, cheeks pushed together by wooyoungs palms, and eyes bulging while laughing at the bit. the kiss was spurred on by the two having to dance around each other when they kept leaning in to hug from the same side, until wooyoung smiled mischievously and whispered into the hosts ear—with a small nod from him, he proceeded to lay a wet kiss onto the married man’s lips in good fun.

smiling and waving at the crowd in true princess diana fashion, while they hoot and holler—not recovering from the final bit of the interview.

you’re still smiling when you reach to shut the tv off, and slowly turn your head towards seonghwa’s coffin.

“you’re going to have to forgive me for this one, park seonghwa.” you excitedly mutter before running around your mansion to begin preparing for things—

more specifically, your husbands first meal in order to celebrate his return.

he’d have to follow your lead, of course, but you fully intended on taking the responsibility of making up for cutting his rest so prematurely.

you tug on a sheer robe that was lined with feathers on its loose sleeves and long train that trailed after you as you fluttered around the living room, lighting all of the candles.

taking a deep breath, you push seonghwa’s casket open and lean in close enough for you to whisper against his lips

“my love, i know you’re tired— but i’ve come up with a game you might like. it involves a very pretty trust fund baby, but get this—the guy has golden blood and is everything you hate in a man, other than his looks. won’t you join me? it’s been so long since we’ve played.” you blink at his still figure but somehow knew that your husband would rise at this particular beckon. you trace his nose bridge with your nail and plant a soft kiss on his lips.

“you’d never say no to a good game, seonghwa—so wake up, if only for the thrill of the hunt.”

you knew that you’d have to deal with his whining the moment he woke up in confusion—he may even ask if it’d already been a century or more since he’d fallen into sleep.

while you’ve most likely succeeded in appealing to his innate evil (and probably to amera’s nature, rather than his) with the best bait you’ve come across in eons—you’d still have to deal with the very conscious seonghwa whose current struggle is due to that very same undying evil inside of him.

yeah, he’s probably not going to be the most happy that his instinct made the decision instead of him— but there was no other way to get him to hear you, if not for your shared and beloved primordial, despite everything.

you slip off your robe and toss the rest of your clothing off before climbing into his coffin and laying yourself on his body. you move his arms to cradle you and melt into the familiar texture and scent of his skin.

looking up at him from your place tucked into his neck, you leave a chase kiss somewhere on his jawline

“i promise i’ll explain everything to you the moment you wake up. trust me on this one, please? it’ll make you happy if you let it. if you hate it so much, I’ll let you sleep for two centuries and won’t fight you for it.” you solemnly promise, shutting your eyes along with the coffin.

authors note: i honestly don’t know where the word count is at the moment, but it was genuinely so fun to write this. please note that i haven’t fully edited it and i apologize for any awkward mistakes. i hope you enjoyed this chapter! i already have the drafts set up for the next one and the special chapters i’m planning… :3 i ended up adding a lot more lore than planned and cried when writing about san and hongjoong—and will be writing a special chapter/one shot for the both of them. their characters are still important to little subplots I’ve planted in the series!

please reblog if you liked it! though i write because i enjoy writing, it’s cool to have some engagement going on since i don’t socialize directly on tumblr a lot. p.s…. look out for san’s oneshot/ special chapter i’ll be posting soon titled, énouement. :3

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