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hadesrise · 2 months ago

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## murder for you, baby !!

summary──── a justifiable serial killer on the loose, and jason finds himself being enamoured by him.

pairings──── jason todd x dbd!ghostface!male reader

warnings──── nsfw content, serial killer themes, dead dove do not eat, sexual arousal in response to violence or torture, murder, blood, deaths, gore, foul language, bottom!jason, top!reader, reader’s physique is described as tall and broad ( the slasher build ), possessiveness, choking, praise kink, blood kink, knife play ( reader carving his initials on jason ), toxic!reader ( ? ), sorta toxic relationship but also not, unprotected sex, love-making, pet names, overstimulation, dumbification, degradation if you squint, lil’ bit of manipulation, creampie, doggy style, mating press, biting, marking, oral ( r. receiving ), voice kink ( ? )

author’s note──── not me coming back with halloween themed fic after halloween days have passed lol. i’m alive, y’all !! hope you enjoy this one that took a fucking month to write 😭

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ; this post may contain disturbing contents that may not be suitable for every reader — a reader discretion is advised. MINORS DNI !!

Gotham’s been terrorized by the worst people you could ever imagine, the kind that’ll stick with you forever and take residence to your nightmares if you were unfortunate enough. Many were hurt or even murdered as a result of the villains’ terrorization, with vigilantes running through the night to capture and send them to Arkham Asylum.

With the existence of a Psychopathic Clown, his equally psychopathic girlfriend with PHD’s that’s been wasted down the line, the Mother Nature freak, the ridiculously huge man with a gas mask on, the green coloured living question mark, and many others, no one would’ve ever thought anything could get any worse.

Until some criminals’ bodies turn up across the streets in such disturbing manner that haunts the witnesses to death.

One, a criminal who murdered young and homeless boys, gutted deeply to the point of their intestines hanging out. Another, a criminal known for kidnapping and selling people’s organs, mutilated with their torso torn back to expose the organs settled inside of them. Another one, a priest-turned-criminal who’s been violating women and children, crucified naked in his own church with his eyes gouged out, a Bible verse carved in his chest; ‘And if your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away.’ Matthew 18:9; his penis cut off and body seemingly violated as well. Another more turns up, a governor-turned-criminal who’s been feeding into the rich despite their oath of generosity towards the poor, severely tortured with the skin on his back cut open, ribs severed from the spine and broken to the sides in order to create the illusion of wings, fluttering lungs pulled out from their chest cavity to resemble an eagle’s wings, with the word ‘traitor’ carved on his forehead.

The brutality and gruesome nature of the murders has set an alarming panic and fear across Gotham City that forced civilians into locking their doors at night. Criminals who were unidentified and not found by Gotham Police Department were also turning up in a form of miserable, tortured soul, along with the evidence and proofs of their crimes being carelessly laid beside their lifeless corpse.

The killer taunts those who are in charge of justice within their city each time the damned were unfortunate enough to be hunted down; pigs of failure written in the criminal’s blood right beside the drawing of a police’s logo.

However, despite how gruesome and disturbing the murders were, most people couldn’t deny that it was doing the city a favor. Justice System has failed more times than one could count to the extent of victims yearning to exact revenge themselves against their perpetrator, which causes most to react rather positively to the wrongful, unlikely hero who had seem to suddenly appear out of nowhere. The haunted finally getting the chance to slay the traumatic demons with the help of another psychopath on the loose.

Another justified monstrosity shouldn’t be the counter against one inhumane monstrosity that caused so much pain, trauma, and misery. But kindness could not vanquish one’s tainted blood. Forgiveness could not suddenly wash away the sins engraved deeply into one’s soul.

Imperfect, the victims muttered. An imperfect yet perfect way to save our burning souls wrongfully condemned by the criminals.

Red Hood has heard their murmurs.

Silent whispers of gratitude that fell on deaf ears, their previously dim soul brightening in relief and sanctuary with smiles on their faces as the Universe had finally took mercy on them and sent a Fallen Angel to slay the Demons away. He’s watched their spirit uplift, no longer chained down by the trauma and fear of the monsters that once ruined their lives, able to walk the streets carefree of tormentors. He’s watched their stiff posture visibly loosen, lively peacefulness settling itself at last within their haunted eyes. He’s watched them glow with happiness not feeling the presence of their perpetrator every couple of seconds, finally capable of living without needing to constantly look over their shoulders in paranoia and fear.

Ghostface is what the serial killer’s called, nickname born out of the mask that resembled a ghost always being left behind in crime scenes, each slightly different.

Jason has seen you. He didn’t mean to, really.

The temptation to get at least one look at you was great every-time he patrolled, wishing to just catch glimpse of an immoral hero who could make sacrifices no actual heroes could — who’s doing exactly what he wished before for Batman to do.

The Universe seems to have granted his wishes when his eyes catches the void of ghostface’s eyes, your mask tainted in splatters of blood from the dead criminal below you. Jason feels his world come to a stop as you slowly rise from crouching position and reveal your unnaturally tall height, broad shoulders visible under the black hooded leather. You hold silence and calmness despite being caught, tilting your head slightly to the side.

His heartbeat quickens yet he doesn’t feel fear. Jason idiotically steps closer as if he was in a trance, burning your existence within his eyes to engrave in his memory. Your bloody knife barely grazes his neck to stop him before using it to tilt his chin up, your figure looming and towering over him while seemingly staring into his eyes through his helmet.

A sense of peacefulness overcomes Jason being in your presence despite the absolute brutality and mercilessness that surrounded your entire being. You were deadly, silent, certainly creative with your work that it deems almost artistic, as if the criminals’ bodies were your own canvas to paint on — and Jason finds solace in you. A man he always needed, someone who’d be willing to cross the line and get rid of the actual evil for the sake of victims that’d be forever haunted if it continues to exist.

“I’ve heard things about you, Red Hood.”

Low, raspy, monotone voice speaks, sending shivers down his spine. It sounds cool and handsome regardless of the obvious use of voice changer, somehow littered with tiniest hint of flirtatiousness.

It takes him quite a while to answer, barely managing to let out a “yeah?” as he feels you drag the knife slightly closer to his pulse. His heartbeat quickens, but slows down when the cold metal was finally pulled away.

“Pleasant things,” You hummed, before your voice lowered a few octaves, “Can’t say the same about Batman.” Anger seems to seep through your tone that felt a little more than just sympathy for victims of villains Batman refused to put six feet under. Jason wondered if you’re also one of the victims his father failed.

“You… You know him that much?” Jason’s voice shakes from the nerve, your presence somehow greatly affecting him.

“I think everyone knows him enough,” You chuckled, but it sounded so empty that Jason can’t help but feel the goosebumps rise on his skin. It was quite chilling to meet someone who shows only a certain amount of emotion which could even be felt expressionless due to the monotonous pitch. The ghostface mask certainly did its job of making you seem more less human, the unmoving expression of ghost being horrified to death adding to the eeriness of your toneless mechanic voice.

Jason’s breath hitched when you took one step closer.

“But I know more about you. Your little past and the sufferings you’ve endured,” It’s spoken as if his life was one of your necessary investigation in your twisted justice. “It’s unfair, don’t you think? I would’ve gutted the Joker like a fish if it were to happen to my son.” There’s a condescending way in which you spoke, not directed at Jason but to Bruce.

“How—” Jason swallowed. “How did you—”

“I can make your dreams come true,” You interrupted him with a tempting offer, shutting him up effectively. Wide grin plastered your face despite not being seen behind your mask. “I can kill the Clown for you, Red Hood. If it means it’ll silence your troubled spirit. If it’ll bring you peace. I can hurt him on your behalf just like he deserves.”

It was like a whisper from the devil, slithering its way into Jason’s heart and mind to possess his soul, mirroring the one which whispered on Adam and Eve’s ears.

He’s been wanting — needing — to hear those words come out of Bruce. His suffering and death seemingly being brushed off as a cruel accident shattered him more than he’d ever admit, Bruce’s unhealthy coping mechanism and morality getting in the way of showing his love for Jason that left the younger man feel lesser than he was. Bruce was a complex person that’s sometimes difficult to understand, his impressive ways to stick to his morals being exactly his character, but Jason wanted for once, to actually feel how important he was to his father.

Was that too much to ask for, or was he just unworthy of the entirety of it?

“Why would you do that for me?” Confusion and subtle suspicion filled his tone as Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out your intention despite the rush of hope that shot throughout his chest. He forced himself to feel nothing when you leaned in closer.

“Because you were wronged, of course.” You simply stated. “You are a victim. Not more, not less. You deserve a little more than just empty justice. And I’m a man who got tired of vigilantes that are afraid to make sacrifices for the greater good.” Then, you tilt your head slightly to the side in a way that’s somehow alluring. “But I can also say I’m intrigued by you.”

Jason’s heartbeat quickens again when your big hand seems to wrap perfectly around his throat, fingers resting just above his pulse points. It makes such filthy thoughts flood themselves into his mind, your long and quite thick fingers falling victims to his tainted imagination, and he had to give everything in himself not to bare his throat more for you. You seem pleased of his lack of disobedience and bite, having expected him to shove your hand away or flinch back before you could touch him. You’ve seen Red Hood once and how his uncontrollable rage resulted in violence, heavy burdens and extreme trauma turning him into a ticking time bomb that could explode any minute with the wrong move. He was absolutely lethal, the bullets serving as the evidence of his wrath and resentment towards the underground scumbags. It’s amusing that you have the man of violence himself now somehow completely under your control, surprisingly quiet and shy and obedient. You wondered if this is how he was before he was ruined by the cruelty of the world.

“You want it, don’t you? For me to kill the Joker.”

Jason feels as if you know everything he wants. Is this what it feels like to be important?

It takes a little while for him to answer, but he eventually came up with a “You’ll do that?” which sounded vulnerable and weak for the first time in his second life. Your heart clenched at the doubt and seemingly child-like vulnerability in which he uttered the words, as if he was afraid to trust something after being betrayed countless of times, reminding you of the sole person you’ve even began doing all of this for. They were quite similar yet so different — your older brother and Jason.

You hadn’t meant to cross his boundaries and unknowingly step into the empty hole that made home in his heart. Unconsciously slithering in like a snake by touching the subject his heart was longing for, not realizing his childhood’s still remaining within his spirit.

All he wanted was love and to feel safe again. You didn’t know the Red Hood was so adorably pitiful. A smirk plastered your face.

“I will,” You reassured and leaned your face inches away from his, the hand on his throat lifting his helmet slightly.

Jason doesn’t retaliate, blinded by a meat of hope dangled in front of him. He doesn’t move as the lower half of his face was exposed, and you lifted your own mask the same using your other hand. Jason willingly, obediently closes his eyes before your lips attached to his — a kiss of death, tasting like blood and cruelty. Warm and soft despite your rough, cold-blooded, corrupted soul. A kiss from the devil.

When Jason opened his eyes, you had already disappeared into the darkness with blood stains on the ground you stood before, a single note left behind; Hell will reopen for the Clown.

After neatly tucking the note inside his jacket and making sure no evidence has been accidentally left on the crime scene, Red Hood smiles for the first time in a long while and reaches for the comms without a heavy heart.

“Batman, I found another body.”

Whatever happens, he’ll have no knowledge of the following misfortune that’ll befall on the Joker. It’s the righteous serial killer’s doing, after all.

What was used to be a maniacal laughter turned into screams of agony and pain. Strong stench of death and blood makes euphoria rush within your mind, the feeling of slicing through flesh with your knife bringing pleasure and ecstasy that made your pants tight. There’s a certain amount of satisfaction in the way your own actions cause serious harm and scarring to criminals who once deemed themselves powerful, being reduced into nothing but a powerless prey that could easily be gotten rid of.

You feel increasingly powerful the more you strip them of their dignity and arrogance as they shed blood on the holy ground. Your existence alone striking them with crippling fear and anxiety feeds into your ego, yet you never stray away from the sole purpose or reason for your murders — making them taste their own medicine.

From what you found on countless deep dive and research, Joker preyed on Red Hood when he was still a young child full of life and joy, having been under the name Robin at the time. Second Robin to be exact, considering he was a lot different from the first one. It actually surprisingly pained you when you’d seen how much of an adorable, dorky, nice kid he was before misfortune cut his life short. You would’ve never thought you would find a kid adorable in your entire life, the little menaces often being nothing more than a headache to be around with that caused a certain dislike to grow towards them within you, but Jason was everything a cute kid was. Just excited to be there, to be fighting alongside Batman, to be relevant.

Such a precious boy ruined for the sake of shits and giggles for the Clown. For the sake of getting under Batman’s skin. And the Bat couldn’t even make fucking amends to his flaws as a father and mentor.

Well, he didn’t need to anymore.

You’ll give Red Hood— Jason Todd —what he wants. Yearned for. Perhaps, even what the other civilians who have fallen victims to this vile criminal want. You would stop at nothing until every criminal is gurgling and choking on their own blood.

Joker’s scream shoots a jolt of electricity within your body as your knife pierce through his skinny thigh and to the ground, pinning his leg down. You had been doing an effective job of reducing the maniac into nothing but a screaming, cowering average victim by torture. Bruises, burns, gashes, and stab wounds littered his body that was done carefully enough to not be life-threatening. Fucker was laughing maniacally at first, of course. It irritated you so much that you might’ve went a little overboard.

Watching Joker heave and struggle to breathe from the pain, you tilted your head and roughly grabbed his throat. It catches him off guard and he grips your wrist, barely even having the strength to fight you off. You’re amused by the entirety of Joker’s nature, how he’s still just an average man that can easily be overpowered — nothing that makes him special enough to not be killed, becoming proof of Batman’s selfish willingness to let the victims suffer than bring them actual peace.

You’ve never uttered a word since you captured him and it unnerved Joker from the beginning, but then, words finally come out of your mouth in a form of monotonous, mechanical, emotionless, eerie voice as you lean over him; “Laugh it out, Joker. Why so serious?”

It sounded like a death sentence.

He’s right in a way, because another of your knife pierced the corner of his mouth soon as you uttered the words. Your other hand tightened on his arteries to choke him while you drag the knife to slit the side of his mouth into a grin, following the lines of his red lipstick. It was certainly not a clean cut, but an artist has their own creative ways to make their art. Tears mixed in with blood that gushes out of his face, complete horrors written across Joker’s eyes which boosts your satisfaction. You go on and do the same thing to the other side of his mouth, before finishing your art piece by carving ‘J’ on his painted cheek.

You resist the urge to moan at the sight of blood coating your fine piece, always finding it to be an amazing finishing touch.

From then on, Joker was brought to literal Hell.

Jason flinches when a playful knock sounded from his safe house’s window, cautiously approaching to see ghostface waving at him through the glass. His eyes widened and immediately opens the window to let you in, not wanting anyone to see you — your sudden appearance distracting him from the fact he’s never given anyone the location of his safe house.

He stops in track at the blood splatters across your mask, and just then had he noticed you seemed to be hiding something behind your back with one hand. It definitely strikes his curiosity, but he somehow didn’t feel like you were holding something that could harm him.

“You got something for me, ghostface?” Jason feels you grin under your mask.

“Got you a present,” Your raspy, rough voice enthusiastically quipped.

Jason’s breath hitches when you show what you were holding — the Joker’s decapitated head in a square glass container tainted by its blood. You obviously had planned to bring it barehand, but you considered the possibility of its blood dripping down on his safe house and becoming a false evidence to point him to the murder, which prompted you to put it inside the container. An unbelievably sweet gesture for a fucking psychopath like you.

Jason could feel his heart beat rapidly as he takes in the animal’s state, carved up grin and the letter J and the horrors seen in its lifeless eyes proving the absolute misery and suffering it went through before being put down. The monster was finally, finally slain and gone forever from his life. Nightmares detangles from his spirit and the past unwraps away from his soul, utter peace and relief spreading throughout his chest. Tears gathered in his eyes at the feeling of being free at last from the life long torment, breath shaking as his knees wobbled.

The child in himself, the innocent Robin that was killed unfairly, finally rests in peace.

Then he sees you, his hero, waving your seemingly new knife playfully in the air with your outfit splattered in blood without a care that you actually saved him, and Jason feels a sudden surge of arousal and will to submit. To give you everything, anything.

“Do you love it, Red Hood?”

Without answering you, Jason grabs the glass container with shaky hands and sets it aside on the counter before stepping back closer to you again, blood rushing to his veins from arousal. He removes his helmet with a thud on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, lustful and yearning emerald eyes looking up at you.

“Let me thank you, please.”

It makes you groan as your pants significantly tightens more.

You slide your knife back into the holster before cupping his beautiful face in your hands, and thank fucking Heavens there wasn’t any blood on it that would taint his face, because he’s a sight to behold. He’s truly a gem, something precious you had never seen before. “So beautiful,” You whispered, making Jason flush. “Baring yourself to me for such a simple present, doll?”

“Not a simple present,” Jason mumbled as he snuggles on the palm of your hands. “You saved me.”

You hum appreciatively, getting the itch to bare yourself to him as well. “You wanna thank me by what?”

Jason looks back at you, face flushed with a little hint of uncertainty and embarrassment, doubts. “I— uhm,” He stammers, but encouraged by your thumb’s gentle stroke on his cheek. “By… by becoming yours.”

Your cock throbs. Fuck, he’s so fucking adorable, you just wanna fuck his guts out. You’re usually tempted to gut people, not fuck their guts— which is funny to say the least— but you weren’t going to say no when the Red Hood’s so willing to offer himself up.

“You wanna take my mask off, doll?” He seems surprised by your question as if he hadn’t thought of it, making you chuckle. “If you wanna be mine, I gotta be yours too, don’t I?” It was dangerous to reveal your identity to him, but you couldn’t care less, especially when you could just fuck his brains out to shut him up. That’s the plan, first time that didn’t include butchering or cutting a body up.

Jason fucking Todd and his effects on you.

The emerald eyed male hesitantly grasped your mask when you led his hands to it, slowly lifting it over your head. He’s met with a fucking luscious feature to ever be adorned on a man and dark, lustfully murderous blood red eyes that makes a whimper slip past his lips. You merely widened your eyes at the sound he made before immediately grabbing his jaw and smashing your lips against his, swallowing Jason’s surprised gasp.

He reciprocates the insatiable hunger you displayed, tongue dancing along with yours and moaning into the kiss when your fingers lightly tugged on his hair. You pull him up in amidst of making out and squeeze his ass, encouraging him to wrap his legs around your hips. You detach your lips from his to trail kisses down his jaw and neck as you walked towards his bedroom, questionably knowing where it is, and Jason tilts his head back to give you more access with closed eyes. Letting him stimulate both of your restrained cocks by grinding down, you sat down on the bed and sucked on his throat as Jason moaned.

“Please, please…” He whimpers, uncontrollably moving his hips in a perfect rhythm yet he seemed to want something else.

You pulled away and traced his lips with your thumb, watching as he naturally took it in and sucked, giving you a desperate look. Swiftly turning off the voice changer attached to your neck in a form of choker, you chuckled when his hands fiddled with the belt on your hooded coat. “So needy, aren’t you?” Your real voice sends shivers down his spine.

An alluring, low, slightly rough pitch and somehow more emotionless than when you were using the voice changer. It makes his cock twitch and empty hole clench down on nothing, the need to be stuffed full of your cum swarming in his belly. You’re fucking bewitching, a man made up from every guy and girl’s fantasy, wet dream, and your attractiveness mirroring the Devil’s that would tempt and lure others to sin.

How the fuck were you real?

“Speak up, pretty bird.” You smirked, “What do you want?”

“Your cock,” Jason mutters, cheeks tinted in pink. “Wanna suck your cock and make you feel good.”

“Fuck…” You shifted in place, “You’ll do that f’me? Get my cock nice and wet to take you apart? To fuck your guts out?”

Jason shakily inhales and nods, climbing off your lap and kneeling on the floor. You lean back on your hands as he unstraps your belt and slide your zipper down, slightly raising your hips to help him get rid of the excess clothes. Your thick and lengthy cock smacks against your clothed stomach, making Jason’s mouth water. Thick veins throbbed on your big shaft, the tip angry and red from arousal leaking precum. It wasn’t just big, it was long, and Jason squeezes his thighs together to keep himself from just riding your cock all day.

His hand wraps around the base, starting to stroke it with a content rhythm. God, you were so fucking big. It’d definitely split him open if you shove it in so suddenly and fill him up nice. It’d make him scream his head off from the unbearable length and girth, almost too much, and Jason wants you to force him to take it. Pin him down and fuck him despite his pleas to stop.

Jason swipes his thumb over the slit, smearing precum, pumping it for a good amount before licking a stripe up the underside of your cock. You shudder, removing your gloves to slip your bare fingers through Jason’s hair, encouraging him to take you in. He obeys, relaxing his throat first before sliding your cock inside his warm mouth, and you groaned at the warmth that surrounded you. It almost didn’t fit from how big you were, but Jason braced himself and took it in further until he gagged as the tip touched the back of his throat. Wrapping his hand around your shaft that he couldn’t take in, stroking gently as if to apologize.

A moan slips past your lips when he starts bobbing his head, tongue brushing against the underside of your dick. “Fuck… Doin’ so good,” You roll your head back. “Such a pretty face to fuck, ain’t ya?”

Jason whines, tears gathered in his eyes as he sucks and fastens his rhythm. Curses, grunts leave your lips that left him feeling all hot and bothered, his other hand moving to skillfully pull his pants down and free his aching cock.

You see him touching himself and a smirk adorns your sinful face, gently scratching his scalp with your nails which earned you a whimper from him. “Go on, fuck yourself. We both know it wouldn’t fit that easily without proper prep,” Expression twisting into a cocky one, your grip on his hair tightened. “I’ll do as I please with your mouth until you’re done.”

Without waiting for his approval, you roughly shoved your cock deep down his throat and moaned loudly, throwing your head back. Jason gagged with a loud whimper as his eyes rolled back into his skull and cum shot out from his throbbing cock, hips jutting forward and twitching due to the sudden orgasm. You chuckle lowly, amusement and lust glinting in your bright red eyes, before you pull back and ram on his throat again.

Jason’s cries and moans were muffled as you ruthlessly use his throat to gain pleasure. His mind has already turned into mush from your assaults, white cum and precum staining the floor yet he doesn’t put up a fight. Taking it all like the good, obedient boy that he is. He’s reached behind him to insert two fingers in his awaiting hole, walls clamping down on the digits from the arousal of his throat being utterly wrecked.

Yesyesyes, please. He chanted in his mind. Use me, mark me, cum in my throat, make me yours.

The moment you fulfilled your promise and delivered him the head of his enemy, he was already yours. It’s all he ever wanted. Unquenchable thirst that always gnawed on his throat and hunger that left his stomach restless, his soul practically teared in half from being battered and beaten. He matters now — mattered enough to you, that you went ahead and killed the source of his misery. The love exploding in his chest was almost unbearable; he was already high on cloud nine from the moment he’s seen you present the head so cheerfully.

You see how he looks up at you, emerald eyes almost displaying hearts with how much he was melting. He’s taken your murderous act as an affection, and you couldn’t be more happy, because it’s what you intended.

“Shit, baby… Gonna cum soon,” You panted, thrusting vigorously. Jason hums and flexes his throat to provide you more pleasure, making you tighten the grip on his hair. “You want me to cum down your throat?”

You earned a desperate whine from him, closing his eyes to prove he was waiting for it. His fingers kept their own assault on his prostate, scissoring and stretching the squishy walls, muffled moans escaping him.

God, he looked so fucking gorgeous. He’d look even more gorgeous with your dick ramming inside him.

Jason feels your big cock throb in his mouth and his fingers move more aggressively to pleasure himself, wanting to reach his high at the same time as you. Stimulating your tip with the back of his throat a few times, you moaned loudly with a curse when Jason slightly flicks his tongue over your sensitive underside, forcing an orgasm out of your body. White, thick, warm seeds spurt out from your slit to his awaiting throat as Jason whimpered in delight and shot another layer of cum on the wet stained floor, hips thrusting in the air.

He greedily swallows every drop that spilled down his mouth despite the euphoria making him feel dizzy as his body slightly trembles.

You chuckled, breathing heavily, pleased expression spread across your face. “Good boy. That was such a good throat-fuck.”

The raspy, sultry tone of your voice makes electricity and chills run through Jason’s spine as his walls clench down on his fingers, yearning to be filled. Jason certainly doesn’t have a womb — it’s anatomically impossible — yet he couldn’t help but feel like it’s there, waiting and aching to be fucked and bred. He needs your cum to be pushed so far inside him. Need to be marked entirely as yours inside and out. Need you to rearrange his guts, fuck his brains out, breed him full, then fuck your cum further back into him.

Jason pulled his fingers out, whimpering at the loss of contact, before looking back up at you with begging eyes. “Can you-?” His voice cracks as he swallows, “Take me apart, please. Make me yours, fuck, I wanna be yours.”

You noticed tears gathering in his eyes, as if being rejected of his want to be your possession would be an ultimate heartbreak in his life; a life-threatening, gnawing thorn in his heart that’ll tear him apart piece by piece and shredding his soul. Jason thinks he can’t live without becoming yours, his savior’s. He can’t live without the source of his safety, the man that fulfilled his silly little dream and sacrificed his own sanity for it.

It absolutely amuses you that he’s become so attached just because you’ve driven him away from harm’s way. A little dumb, but he was your little dumb doll.

You gently caress his face and Jason leans into your touch, making your lips curl upwards into a smile. “Of course, doll.”

It leads to Jason being pressed face first on the mattress as you rail him from behind, sinful and alluring noises leaving his lips stained in drool. Your name escapes him like a chanted prayer, hands gripping the sheets, electricity sparking within his mind that left him dumb and unable to think coherently.

“Fuh-fuck! mgh, ah- yes, oh my god—!” He cries out when you pulled almost entirely back and rammed your cock roughly into him, almost seeing stars in his vision.

The roughness in which you handled him, the perfect angle of your hips allowing you to force pleasure out of his body every-time you thrust, the way you push his back down on the mattress to make him arch more into your merciless tactic, leaves Jason absolutely delirious. You didn’t just fuck him good; you fucked him with absolute vigor and violence, occasionally biting strongly on his shoulder to draw blood, showcasing your natural instincts as a serial killer. He feels your big fucking dick throb and gets impossibly bigger inside him each time his blood seeps out the broken skin, and Jason’s head spins at how much it drove arousal in his core.

“Good fuckin’ sex toy,” You grunted, roughly slamming your hips against his and causing a sharp moan to erupt from Jason.

“B-big—! s’too big- fuck!” Jason whines, tears spilling endlessly down his cheeks.

You smirk as you feel your ego skyrocket at being able to reduce a rather muscular man into nothing but a whining, blabbering bitch. “Yeah? I do split you open, don’t I? But you love it since you’re such a fuckin’ slut.”

“oh- aghn! y-yours— hnngh! Your s-slut! No one else’s-!” He chokes out, desperately reaching for you behind him.

“So fuckin’ adorable,” You chuckled and grabbed his hand, pinning it back to the mattress as you hover over him. You seem to fit against each other perfectly well, your large and tall body able to encage him that left Jason’s stomach fluttering. He’s taken a lot liking of the fact you’re bigger than him, considering he’s never been the smaller one when he was with others. It gives him a sense of shelter.

“p-please— pleaseplease- oh! cum— fuck… cum in me again!” Jason blabbered.

You can’t help but comply to his request, fastening your pace and drilling more into him. Incoherent sentences spill from his drooling mouth when he feels your cock pulse within his walls that signified your soon release. There’s a purpose in which you thrust your hips now — more sharp and angled yet a little sloppy, aimed to brush against his prostate and make him feel utterly good.

“Shit… Cummin’, doll.” You grunted right in his ear before shoving him on the mattress by the back of his nape and slamming all the way down on his already gaping hole.

Jason nearly screams, voice cracking, as his orgasm hits like a strong tide of wave at the same time you spilled thick layer of white semen into his fucked out guts. You ride out your orgasm by thrusting slowly a few times as Jason’s body violently shakes from the aftershock. He subconsciously whines in annoyance when some of your previous cum seems to overflow and replaced by your recent one, bucking his hips as if to use your big cock as a plug to keep them all in. His belly felt full from how much you’ve been filling him with your seed yet it still didn’t feel enough. Jason wanted more; he knew you weren’t going full on him yet.

You swiftly turned him around on his back without pulling out and kissed him roughly. Jason mewls into the kiss when the position makes you push more deeper into him, his hands immediately clasping at the back of his thick thighs to pull them up and make it easier for you to fuck.

“My cute little thing,” You murmured against his lips and bit the skin to draw blood, Jason’s hole squeezing down on you from both the pain and pet name. He greedily whimpers your name, holding onto you for life and yearning for more of you despite already receiving what he wants.

It was so fucking adorable and arousing to see him desperate for not just you, but your entire being as well, willing to welcome such darkness with open arms and tearful smile. You weren’t really a desirable person; so many people have thrown themselves at you for your conventionally attractive features and masculine body type that swoons hundreds yet cower away in fear and speak of you in disgrace when shown the demons living inside of you. No one could seem to look past your murderous, cold-blooded psychopathy — some have attempted to, which only resulted in your darkness growing bigger when they break their own promises. You weren’t meant to be loved. Your destiny was written in the stars and the Gods have cursed you with eternity of living in loneliness and madness without cure. You were meant to be feared, a lonely and violent soul that couldn’t be tamed, your sole purpose of existence being a destroyer; nothing more or less.

Jason, however, seems indifferent to your fate.

Instead of running away in disgust and fear at your acts of violence around the city, he was seeking for you. He’s seen what you’ve done, what you could do without feeling remorse, what monsters lie beneath your existence — and still, he graciously opens his heart (and legs) for you. There’s love and desire within his eyes where distaste should be, touch so soft and warm it baptizes your tainted skin. You’re soaked in blood yet Jason takes his time with you to clean them up. Born with thorns yet he willingly prickles his fingers on them.

You’re a danger everywhere you go, but to him, you were home.

It makes your heart clench; he’s broken the Gods curse and it costs him his freedom, because now he’s caught up in your webs. You wouldn’t let him go, like a snake that’s wrapped itself around its prey in a death grip.

Jason wanted to be yours. What better ways to fulfill his wish if not possessing his body, soul, and spirit?

“Sweet dumb thing,” You purred, hips thrusting slow and sensual, unable to forgive parts of his walls that weren’t touched by your cum. “Mine to fuck, ruin, or make love to. That’s right, yeah?”

Jason nods, moaning softly. Your hands now replaced where his were on the back of his thighs, bending him almost in half as you roll your hips to gently brush against every weak spot he has. The sudden shift in rhythm and atmosphere confuses Jason for a bit, his fogged mind unable to comprehend the situation at hand, but the intimacy strikes a further pleasure that was nearly mind-breaking. He’s been reduced to a moaning mess, blood, sweat, tears and cum coating his body.

“p-please,” Jason keened, like it felt agonizing to be loved ever so gently. “I— ah… I want- I want you,” He stuttered out between moans.

“You’re having me, aren’t you?” Replying, you nipped on his neck and sucked, leaving behind a purple bruise.

He nearly cries, shaking his head. A waterfall of tears streamed down his face, and you find yourself captivated by them. It was almost ethereal despite being one of human’s responses to most things imaginable; your victims always shed one or two accompanied by begs of mercy, but all you’ve ever thought of them was amusing. It’s been used as an escaping tactic from you before, which was never successful due to your lack of morality and sympathy towards your target. They were pathetic, but Jason was divine. Tears suited him— not tears of fear, but tears of pleasure and utopia.

Your focus snaps back on reality when Jason suddenly pulled you down by the nape and bit down hard on your shoulder. A pleasured groan leaves your lips at the pain, hips bucking, making him whimper.

“Jason—”

“Please,” He cuts you off and finally murmurs; “Wanna f-feel how… mhm-! how you actually love…”

It strikes something in your core. Despite your perfect skills of hiding your true nature and never being caught, Jason saw it right through you, how you were holding yourself back for his sake. Quite ironic to witness a cold-blooded killer care for someone enough to go soft, even though it looked like you were going rough on him, and it warmed Jason’s heart. But he was a greedy, fucked up human being who wanted all of you. It wouldn’t be enough until he knows he’s taken you fully.

An amused laughter erupts from your chest. Eyes darkening in lust, Jason feels one of your hands wrap around his throat warningly as the other pushed his torso flat down on the mattress. “You… You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, Todd.”

You pull all the way back before ramming in, making Jason let out a loud, choked up moan as his eyes rolled back into his head. Your thrusts relentless and powerful, slamming against Jason’s body with an intensity that made his head spin, your hand holding his throat as a leverage. Your name spills from his lips like a prayer, something that seems to ignite a possessive feeling within you. Jason can’t help but mewl when your grip tightened on his arteries, throwing his head back to let you gain fully control.

The way he’s so obedient and putty in your hands despite knowing you can kill him if you truly meant to makes you love him even more, fucking him and taking away his ability to breathe wasn’t enough. Greediness turning overboard with the darkness and psychopathy that lies within your existence; you almost wanted to cut him open and crawl inside his guts so you could truly claim Jason, inside and out. You wanted to be more closer to him, see how far you can go without Jason pushing you away or getting disturbed.

Jason’s eyes widened when a cold metallic silver touched his cheek, seeing you holding your signature knife through blurred vision from his tears. However, he doesn’t flinch away like you expected him to, instead his walls squeezes down on your cock and his own twitched against his stomach. The unexpected reaction pulls a loud groan out of you, your hips bucking.

“Shit, Jay… You lettin’ me kill you or somethin’? Good fucking cunt just tightened on me,” You rasped, thrusting your cock against his prostate.

Jason gasps, his hands grabbing the mattress and holding it in a tight grip. It’s so shameful how turned on he was at the danger that lurked around you, his usually sharp instincts relinquished to be replaced by naiveté and stupidity for love. He must’ve gone insane; getting killed was one of his triggers because of his past yet his soul yielded nothing in retaliation to the possibility of your blade slicing through him. All of him seems to have come to love and trust you too much just because you’ve decapitated the beast his entire existence feared, which a part of him found utterly ridiculous and idiotic, but not enough to stop.

He wouldn’t stop himself from loving you — not when you’ve given him the love he always yearned for.

You lean in and ghost your lips over his as you dragged the knife on his torso, lightly scraping him. Jason’s breath quickens, his pupils blown wide in lust and need, anticipation seemingly running through his body as his moans turned into desperate whines.

“p-please…!” He chokes out a whisper, rolling his head to the side and whimpering when you snapped your hips warningly on his. “feels— fuck! feels g-good—! c-carve me… hngh! carve me u-up-! shit… make me fuckin’ bleed…! please,” Jason nearly cries for you.

Groaning out a curse, you reflexively bite down hard on the crook of his neck and push more of your cock inside him, causing a loud keen to erupt from Jason as he squirms and cums on his own stomach at the addictive sense of pleasure and pain shooting through his body.

You licked the blood that seeped out from his skin, satisfied at the clear bite mark you’ve left visible before sensually grinding your hips. Jason whimpered quietly, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“That’s it, doll. Let go, feel good. m’not gonna hurt ya, sweetheart. It’ll all feel good,” Whispering sweet words, you slowly press the tip of the knife just above the v line of his hip and drag it down. Jason hissed at the prickle of pain and tensed up, but the pleasure of your cock stimulating his sensitive walls was too great that forced him to relax. “It’s alright, doll. Jus’ carving you up with my name, so you’ll be mine forever. Isn’t that what you want? Be fuckin’ mine?”

Jason moaned softly, nodding his head. Series of pleasepleaseplease blabber out of him accompanied by heavenly noises he’s been making since you started taking him apart, his brain too fucked out that forcibly twisted pain into pleasure as all he could think about was becoming yours. You, his savior, his God, claiming him by marking him up with your name. Jason feels like he could fucking squirt from just that thought alone.

His blood seeping out from the letters of your name arouses you to no end, your cock throbbing inside him while you continue to move, the darkness within you being thoroughly fed of its bloodthirsty hunger. This is the first time it doesn’t gnaw at your skin to drive your knife deeper, pull the guts out, and splatter redness everywhere; instead, it wanted to be gentle, as if Jason was a significant existence too precious to hurt even for the Devil. A proof that Jason was always meant to be yours, the only one who the monster inside you would rather love than kill.

Carving the last letter, you laughed breathlessly in satisfaction and stabbed the knife on the headboard before slamming your lips against his, devouring his pleasurable noises. Jason whines, arms wrapping around your neck to pull you impossibly closer, arching his back when you switched into a much faster and rougher pace.

“Cummin’, fuck!” You grunted, to which Jason wrapped his legs around your hips to make sure it stays in.

“I-in— in me… fuck- oh my god— please… please, cum in me. Make me full again, p-please…” He begs, clenching his walls around you to push you over the edge, his own orgasm nearing.

Seeing him covered in his own tears, sweat, blood and drool fills you with nothing but pure ecstasy knowing it’s all because of you. The most appealing, ravishing man being a slutty mess right beneath you, begging to be bred and full of your cum, does feed too much into your ego. No one can do anything to take you away from him now, because you’re wrapped around his fingers as much as he is around yours.

“Anythin’ for ya, doll.” You chuckled, thrusting a couple more times before shoving your twitching cock deep into his guts with a moan and releasing your load. Jason mewls, his hole throbbing and squeezing down on you as he throws his head back, tainting his abdomen once more.

Riding out both of your highs, you let out a raspy groan and kissed his lips again, Jason weakly reciprocating due to the overstimulation. His body trembled hard, mind almost shutting down from the exhaustion and too much euphoria. “So good, doll. Took me like a good fuckin’ boy. Fuckin’ amazing.” You praised.

Jason could still see darkness in your eyes, the murderous devil, but there’s a hint of happiness he didn’t recognize before. Love and adoration filled your expression despite the violence engraved in your soul, and Jason finds himself smiling against your lips lightheadedly.

He whispers your name like a forbidden secret, then a curse that completely binds you to him; “I love you.”

You could get used to this, you suppose. There’s nothing more poetic than violence meeting love — two opposites can’t coexist with each other, but perhaps it’ll be forced to. After all, the Devil in you decided he was an untouchable divinity no one shall ever harm, not even yourself, despite its never-ending monstrosity towards humanity.

“I love you too, my Jason.”

When Joker’s decapitated head on a makeshift spear turned up that night, stacked upright in front of Arkham Asylum with blood splattered across the ground in words ‘True Justice for the Tortured Souls’ and a bloody ghostface mask laid aside for everyone else to see, Jason knew he was now in safe hands.

People say, never make a deal with the devil.

They never said he couldn’t love one, did they?

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classyrbf · 4 months ago

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CLASSYRBF’S JJK KINKTOBER SPECIAL 2024 !

(CANCELLED)

ᯓ★ — welcome to classyrbf’s kinktober special! This is my very first kinktober that I’ve ever done but I’m so excited. I’m doing this a little differently compared to others, so instead of days I’ll be doing weeks instead that way it gives me time to process my ideas and fics and if id like to edit anything. Also, most of these short fics/drabbles will be horror/halloween themed in some way. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

WEEK 1 — there’s someone in the woods w/geto suguru + 7 minutes in heaven w/gojo satoru

— there someone in the woods (stalker!geto x fem!reader): walking home from a halloween party you decided to take a shortcut, but an eerie feelings creeps up your spine and it feels like eyes are watching your every move

— 7 minutes in heaven (ghost!gojo x fem!reader): during a game of hide and seek at a halloween party, you end up locked in a small, dark closet all alone only to find out you’re not the only one hiding in there

WEEK 2 — scream queen w/toji fushiguro + freak on a leash w/choso kamo

— scream queen (ghost face!toji x fem!reader): ghost face!toji is back to make his mark on you, it just seems he couldn’t get enough of you last time (pt 2 of ghost face!toji fic)

— freak on a leash (choso x sucubus fem!reader): choso can’t seem to figure out why he’s been so horny all week, growing frustrated that he can’t properly get off, he accidentally summons a sucubus

WEEK 3 — nosferatu w/nanami kento + bewitched w/ hiromi higuruma

— nosferatu (vampire!nanami x fem!reader): it isn’t everyday where you wander into an old abandoned castle far away from the village, curious of the rumors that’s surround this place, except your quick to find it isn’t abandoned at all

— bewitched (higuruma x witch fem!reader): you have your sights set on hiromi, needy for him, greedy, but you can’t have him, and in order to make him yours forever…you turn towards witchcraft

WEEK 4 — love you to death w/ryomen sukuna + cowboys from hell w/jjk men

— love you to death (werewolf!sukuna x fem!reader): sukuna can’t help the beast inside of him when he lays his eyes upon you, becoming obsessive and seduced by your every move

— cowboys from hell (cowboy!jjk men x fem!reader): what happens when demonic cowboys rise from hell? Well of course they need to get a taste of the very pretty girl in front of them

taglist closed!

CLASSYRBF 2024

#—☆classyrbf #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #geto x reader #choso x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk kinktober #kinktober #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami smut #geto smut #choso smut #sukuna smut

2K notes · View notes

sungstars · 4 months ago

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slut me out | njm x fem!reader

i.e you needed to give your situationship the time of his life after seeing his instagram story.

word count: 2.8k (not proof read)

content warning: situationship, open ending, smut lol, oral (m. rec.), fingering (f. rec.), explicit sex, unprotected sex(no!), creampie, lmk if i missed anything thanks!

author's note: two fics in one day! can we believe this LOL. would you guys be surprised if i said that i have a mark one that i'm hoping to finish and it'll be queued up for tomorrow morning/afternoon. i hope you all enjoy this fic and as always, dedicated to my crazy and delusional bffs. likes & reblogs are appreciated as always. requests are open till october 5th! i'm still working on my jay fic, and hoping to have that out by tuesday!!

“you’re fucking crazy,” you said once the phone picked up after the first ring, “you can delete that story, i saw it.”

jaemin let out a hearty laugh, “hmm? but jisungie looks so cute, what if one of my followers wants me to put them on with him?”

you jeer, fingering hovering over the red button on the screen, “you definitely could’ve posted him without making sure your shirt is unbuttoned and they can see the chain that i bought you peeking through. what if they’re crazy like me?”

“don’t worry, nobody has you beat in that department.” jaemin added quickly, “you can come over if you want.”

did you want to? absolutely. you needed to rock his world so hard that it was likely to be rated a category 9.5 earthquake.

“you can come to me,” you quipped back, “and hurry up, i dont have a lot of patience. don’t change either.”

“you’re so demanding,” jaemin whined, a glint of playfulness evident in his voice, “i have to stop at my other hoe’s house first, but i’ll be there.”

“not even funny.” you hung up the phone, rolling your eyes.

focusing back on your room, you jumped up in a panic. you needed to change and also pick up the clothes you had thrown all over the place.

realistically, you didn’t know if jaemin was kidding about seeing somebody else first, but if he wasn’t, you had about twenty minutes including traffic before he got to your place.

you shoved all the loose piece of clothing into whatever drawer or laundry basket they would fit into. doing a once over your room, you were satisfied with what you were able to do.

looking at your floor length mirror, you didn’t care too much about what you had on. a big t-shirt with snoopy playing baseball on the front.

easy access for jaemin, but you should probably change your dingy halloween panties from victoria secret into something cute.

perhaps pink? that seemed on brand for tonight’s theme.

you were digging through your underwear drawer looking for that lacey pink thong you got from the mall a few weeks ago when you heard a knock on your door.

“fuck,” you said, slamming the drawer shut to no avail and rubbing your hands down your hair to smooth out any frizz, “fuck.”

the knocking got louder, causing you to practically trip on air as you ran to grab the door.

“took your sweet time letting me in,” jaemin pouted. leaning against the doorframe when you opened it, “that mad at me?”

rolling your eyes, you pulled him in by his silky pajama shirt and closing the door behind him, “guess she wasn’t that good if you got here within the same hour of calling.”

jaemin smiled, dropping down onto your couch and sliding his shoes off, “i’d say she was pretty damn good if i got done quickly and i’m not here.”

you crossed your arms, scoffing at his comment and began to walk to your bedroom.

“you’re such a dick.”

“i heard that,” he said, jumping off the couch to chase behind you, “i'm just kidding y/n, you know it's just you."

"are you sure? cause you keep making comments about other girls, are you trynna compensate? i don't care if you see other people."

jaemin laughed at you for the nth time this evening, making you want to just slam your bedroom door in his face and lock him out, but unfortunately for you, seeing jaemin in those pink pajamas and gold chain sent you into borderline ovulation.

you grabbed jaemin by the arm, leading him to sit on your bed and standing between his legs.

"it's just you," jaemin reassured, a hand coming up to rub your hip gently, "just like driving you crazy 'cause i know you're really fucking insane."

jaemin got a whiff of your secret cloud perfume as you leaned down and kissed his neck gently.

"i'm going to turn you every way but loose tonight," you whispered into his ear, teeth grazing the shell of his ear, "and i'm gonna show you how insane i am over you."

a shiver went down jaemin's back as you kissed down his neck and to his adam's apple, making sure to suck dark marks into his skin before placing your lips on his.

his arms wrapped your waist, pulling you down into his lap as he deepened the kiss. your hands found their way entangled into his brunette locks, moaning as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

the two of you fought for dominance over the kiss, though jaemin just wanted to put up a good fight before letting you win.

you then slipped your tongue into his mouth, removing your hands from his hair and moving them down to his shoulders.

you gently pushed him back and onto the mattress, letting your fingers skillfully undo his pajama shirt, enjoying the smooth silk under your fingertips before pulling the shirt open.

jaemin pressed his hips up, hoping to get a small bit of friction on his growing erection and moaning when you rut your own hips down.

pulling away from the kiss, your chest heaved as you did a lookover his body. his plush lips swollen and glossy with spit, dark splots decorating his skin from earlier, his own defined chest moving rapidly as he tried to catch his own breath.

"you look so pretty under me, jaem," you complimented, your fingers dancing across his exposed collarbones and down his gold chain, "a sight only i should be allowed to see."

jaemin exhaled heavily through his nose, "a sight only for you. . please, don't stop. i want you. . i need you so badly, y/n."

how could you deny such a request from a pretty boy completely at your disposal? you weren't a cruel or dumb woman, so of course you'll comply.

you leaned down to attach your lips to his collarbone, biting and sucking gently as you made your way down his chest.

moving the pink fabric away, you let your tongue teasingly flick at his nipple to elicit a whiny moan from his mouth before taking his nipple between your lips.

"fuck y/n," he groaned, "that feels so good."

smirking to yourself, you pull off and stand up. the boy's eyes widened, trying to hold back another whine because why did you pull off? and why are you standing?

"c'mon," jaemin said, voice cracking slightly, "don't be a tease."

"a tease?" you titled your head as he sat up on his elbows, "if you beg, i'll consider."

a bright red hue cascaded over jaemin's face at your request, but he couldn't get any more pathetic than he already looked.

"y/n," he pleaded, "please do something. i am so undeniably hard, and if i don't feel those pretty lips or pretty hands wrapped around my dick that i know you love, i will implode and you'll be out of a bomb dick appointment and home."

a laugh escaped, jaemin really knew what to say to make you give into him. it's why you liked him honestly. he was funny and charming, and did in fact have a great dick that drove you insane. you used to be normal before he stuck his dick in you.

jaemin reached forward, grabbing your hand and placing it over his boner. that action alone could've made you cum in your panties because pathetic jaemin was probably your favorite jaemin.

you instinctively wrapped your fingers around it the best you could while it was restrained in those silky pants, slowly jerking him off and watching a bead of precum stain the fabric.

"see how hard i am?" he asked, breathily, "all for you. all because of you."

stroking your ego was one of the many things jaemin was good at, so you decided to play nicely and give him something to relief this tension you could feel growing in his body.

"take 'em off," you said, releasing his cock from your grip, moving back to give him room, "show me that pretty dick, jaem."

if you weren't standing in front of him, you were sure he would've fell face forward onto your carpet from how fast he was trying to get his pants down and off his hips.

once they were at his thighs, you leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on his lips before sinking down to your knees.

you were face to face with jaemin's cock, the tip an angry shade of red and precum still leaking from his slit.

spit began to pool inside your mouth the longer you looked at it, and you stuck your tongue out to swipe the precum dribbling from his cock.

jaemin moaned out, hands gripping the sheets beneath him, “stop. . put it in your mouth.”

you furrowed your eyebrows and looked up, “don’t make demands.”

the brunette’s jaw ticked, one hand coming up to your hair and the other grabbing the base of his dick.

he pushed your head back roughly, tapping the head of his cock on your lips and smearing more precum across, “don’t be a fucking tease.”

your eyes widened in surprise at the switch in jaemin's demeanor, but instead of giving him a hard time, you complied by opening your mouth for him.

without hesitation, jaemin shoved his cock into your mouth until it hit the back of your throat which caused you to gag and tears well up in your eyes.

"don't get sensitive now," he mumbled, swiping the tears from your face, "now be good and suck. show me why you're my favorite."

his favorite? you should been his fuckin' only like he said you were earlier. what is up with the inconsistency? he's gonna piss you off.

you used your tongue to lick the under part of his cock, pulling off to leave just the tip in your mouth.

jaemin's grip on your hair tightened, trying his best to let you have control, but wanting nothing more than to just fuck your throat until you're sobbing.

you pulled completely off his cock, bringing your hand to jerk him off while you used your tongue to lick a stripe on his balls and gently suck.

the brunette's eyes rolled back, a string of moans and high pitched whines leaving his throat as you continued to toy with his balls.

whenever your hand reached the tip, you would squeeze every so slightly, causing him to fuck into your hand.

jaemin was close, and you could tell by the way he was whimpering and trying to chase your hand.

you looked up at him, smiling to yourself before pulling off his dick completely, basking in his borderline sob at the loss of contact.

"why did you stop?" tears welled up in his eyes, feeling like he would explode, "you're so fuckin' mean."

cooing, you wiped tears away from his eyes like he did earlier, "cause i knew you were close, jaem."

he sniffled, grabbing you and pinning you down onto the bed in one swift motion.

sometimes, you forget how strong he can be, causing you to get even more wet if that was possible. your panties were sticking almost uncomfortably to your cunt, and you were hoping he would do something to relief that soon.

too lost in your own thoughts of pleasure, you didn't even realize jaemin was pulling your t-shirt up until the cool air hit your nipples.

he used his lithe digits to roll your perked nipples around, causing you to squeal at the contact.

"love the panties," jaemin teased, using one of his hands to snap the waistband against your skin, "so cute and so soaked. god, you really get off from anything as long as it's me, huh?"

"you fuckin' wish," you tried to bite, but it came out as a whimper when he pressed his hand against your core, allowing for some friction of pleasure.

"shhh," he said, "can't even muster an ounce of niceness when i'm about to fuck you?"

jaemin flicked your nipples, smirking at your almost pained moan before moving down to take your underwear off, eyes watching how they were sticking to your sopping cunt, "so wet for me, hm?"

you nodded your head in compliance this time, "all for you."

he swiped a finger up your slit, bringing it to his mouth and licking it clean, "taste so sweet, but act so so mean towards nana, wonder why that is?"

you huffed, hooking a heel behind his thigh and pulling him close so his cock would make some contact with your cunt, a noise escaping your throat when the tip came into rough contact with your clit.

"that needy? what was it you said earlier? beg. beg for it, dumb whore."

degrading was something you and jaemin never tried, but with how effortlessly it slipped out of his mouth, you wish he would've done it sooner.

"jaem," you grinded against his cock, "please fuck me, y'know you want to. please, i need it so badly."

jaemin just looked at you unimpressed, dragging his cock up and down your cunt, looking at how you falter when his tip catches your sensitive bundle of nerves, "beg more."

you wanted to burst into tears, he knows how much you want him, he can feel how wet you are and probably at more slickness slipping out as he teased you, "nana, please put it in. i'll stop being mean, promise. i need your cock--i need you. please fuck me."

his left hand came up to smooth your hair out, smiling all his pearls at you as he slowly pushed the fat tip of his cock into you, finally.

jaemin slowly pushed himself into your cunt, moaning at how easily you took his cock, letting his hand fall from your hair and place pressure on your clit.

"it's like you were made for me, fuck" he gritted his teeth, thrusting shallowly into you, "taking me so well every time, your cunt just fuckin' sucks me in.. ha."

all you could do was moan in response, eyes rolling back when jaemin's gold chain smacked you in the nose, "fuck, too good."

jaemin rubbed your clit roughly as he picked his pace up, hips snapping against yours as your arousal ran down your thighs and his balls, creating a wet sound between the two of you.

you clenched around jaemin's cock, letting out high pitched noises of pleasure as he fucked you harshly, the knot in your stomach tightening and traveling down your pelvis.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck" you cried, placing your hand on his lower abdomen and trying to push him away, but he quickly snatched it and held it above your head, "jaem, fuck, please, it's too much."

jaemin ignored your pleas, "y'know you can take it, stop trying to run from it."

when jaemin snapped his hips harshly once more, you felt that knot in your stomach break and ecstasy overtake your senses.

you couldn't even muster the feeling of embarassment from how good you felt when liquid practically sprayed your thighs and jaemin's abdomen.

the boy tapped the head of his cock on your clit, groaning loudly as you continued to squirt before roughly showing himself back into you.

"jaemin," you squealed, back arching up, "i can't! i can't."

"you can," he said, fucking you harshly, feeling himself getting closer and closer, "and you will take this dick. you wanna whine about other people havin' it so bad, take it, slut."

with jaemin fucking you so soon after an intense orgasm, all you could do was sob and mumble his name. it wasn't going to take you long to cum again, and jaemin could tell about how you were clenching on his dick.

your fingers dug into his shoulders, creating red crescents as his chain smacked you over and over again, his orgasm approaching any second.

"i'm so close, angel." he whined, his thrusts starting to stutter and slow down, "fuck, can i come inside please?"

"o-of course," you nodded your head, your own orgasm approaching once more, "please cum in me."

one more snap of jaemin's hips and he let out a loud moan, stilling himself as white hot ropes of his cum began to fill you and create a creamy ring around his cock, "fuck, you were too good."

he began to thrust slowly to ride out your orgasms, kissing your forehead and whispering sweet praises into your ear.

once you pushed his chest away to let him know he was overstimulating you, he pulled out completely and laid next to you, chest heaving rapidly.

"y/n." he turned on his side, "i really do like you."

you smiled, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers, "i really like you too jaemin."

he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek and pulled you closer to him, "it's always been just you."

end!

#nct dream imagines #nct dream smut #nct dream hard hours #nct dream hard thoughts #na jaemin imagines #na jaemin smut #na jaemin hard hours #na jaemin x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin hard hours #jaemin hard thoughts #jaemin imagines

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pearlessance · 3 months ago

Text

A Dance In The Dark

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel has always taken care of you. Always been your kind, attentive protector. And that doesn’t change, even when you read a scene from a dark romance novel and discover your tastes may be a bit more sordid than you once thought. But even in this he wants to grant you your every wish—and when he offers to put on a mask and chase you through the woods, the opportunity is just too wicked to pass up.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, feelings of embarrassment and shame, established relationship, Joel ties readers hands with his belt, knife play, BDSM undertones (primal play specifically), sexual aggression, degradation, fingering, p in v, hair pulling, shameless smut this is basically just pure filth

NOTE: this is a cowrite i did with joelmillersgirlfriend! we busted this out in less than two days because i was bound and determined to get this published on the best holiday of the year! please check out her stuff over on AO3 where we have several other cowrites because i love her 🩷

happy halloween my loves 🩷

Read on AO3!

MASTERLIST

You don’t tell him right away. Don’t tell him at all, really.

Joel discovers your peculiar fascination all on his own.

He’s late coming home from work. His dinner sits on a plate in the microwave, leftovers packaged and put in the fridge for his lunch tomorrow. His lack of punctuality is nothing new, but you’ve always been good at filling the time and finding a distraction while you wait for him.

On this particular night, you’ve changed out of your clothes and into one of his T-shirts, nestled into a soft cocoon on his side of the bed, book in hand. The tea in your mug on your nightstand has gone tepid, too lost between the pages to consume anything but the content in a timely manner.

You’d found it in the horror section, a book written by a name you’d never heard of, a story of a young woman’s abduction with overarching themes of perseverance and self-discovery. You find it a bit graphic from time to time, the details of her torment vivid and lifelike. But that’s to be expected in a horror novel and doesn’t surprise you.

The part that does surprise you, however, is the romantic undercurrent between the woman and her captor. He makes declarations of love, fully admitting his obsession with the young woman, claiming to want nothing from her but her own empowerment.

It’s an even bigger surprise when you reach the halfway point and discover that your horror novel is also an erotica. And the text is well-written, pulling you into its depths, and you think it might be the craziest yet best book you’ve ever read if for nothing else than the way it makes your heart race behind your ribcage.

“Is it that good?”

His voice startles you so badly the book falls from your hands and into your lap. “What?”

Joel laughs, a soft sound of amusement. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, toeing off his shoes. He leans over the edge of the bed to press his lips to your forehead, and you find yourself swimming in the subtle affection.

And you know it’s because you’ve been reading smut for the last three hours straight, but the feel of his lips against your skin is heavenly. You abandon the book, tucking the edge of the dust jacket inside the pages to mark your place and discarding it onto the nightstand. It’s second nature as you twist your hands into the soft fabric of his flannel and pull him close.

He smells like pine and sawdust and sweat. His hands are rough and calloused as he cradles your face, lips turning upwards against yours. When you deepen the kiss, sliding your soft tongue against his, Joel laughs again, a little darker this time. He pulls away and the loss makes you whimper because you need him. And the bastard knows it. Because when his gaze roams over your face, lingering on your lips, there’s a heavy undertone of lust behind the playfulness. “S’alright, sweet girl,” he says gently. “None of that whinin’. M’gonna take care of you like I always do. Just wanna know what’s brought this on is all.”

You’re not sure you can admit the truth to him. And even more than that, you don’t have the words to explain that what’s got you so worked up is a scene in your book where the main character is being chased through the woods, her captor wearing a Halloween mask, under the pretense that if he catches her, he’s going to fuck her. Your cheeks warm at just the idea of such an admission, so instead you say, “I just missed you is all.”

Joel doesn’t believe it for a second. He knows you like the back of his hand and sees easily through the lie. And when he glances at your book on the nightstand twice, you know you’ve been caught before he even says a word. “Thought that was one of those scary books you like.”

“It is,” you tell him. Because, technically, it’s the truth.

He narrows his eyes at you, that all-knowing smirk still plastered on his face. “Yeah? Bein’ scared’s what’s got you all squirmy like this?”

As much as you’d like to deny it, to argue his assessment, Joel leans over a little further and his weight on top of you, heavy and sure and safe, makes your breath catch in your lungs. Warmth pools low in your belly and that low, husky tone in his voice only makes matters worse.

“Think whatever’s in that book’s got you all worked up. What’s it about, baby? Hm?” Joel shoves the blanket out of the way and slides his hand between your body and his. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the feeling of his hands on you, the contrast of his roughness against all your softest parts. It’s like the first time every time, and you can feel the steady thump of your heart as it hammers behind your sternum.

Heat rises up your chest when his hand touches your favorite spot, already knowing what he’s going to say. You’re drenched, the insides of your thighs slick with excitement. Joel breathes out a tell-tale hiss at the feeling, pulling back to glance down at you. Humor is suddenly nowhere to be found on his face, no smirks or teasing words. Just dark, hot lust, turning Joel’s eyes black.

“Christ,” Joel groans, continuing to explore between your legs.

You don’t want to tell him what the book’s about, and thankfully he seems to forget he’d asked the question as his long fingers find their place, curling inside of you.

Joel keeps his promise. He takes care of the ache for you like he always does. He makes you finish on his fingers and his tongue and when he finally sinks deep inside you it feels like relief. You warm up leftovers for him afterward, and he doesn’t pressure you about talking about your book. Instead, he tells you about his day while the two of you sit at the kitchen table and the light of his love fills you from the inside out.

You finish the book in less than two days, but its content lives in your head for far longer.

Showering, cooking, running errands - you find yourself thinking about that scene in the woods so often you begin to wonder if it’s altered your brain chemistry.

That weekend you go out for drinks with a couple of girlfriends, letting Joel know you’ll likely be late coming home. He makes you promise to call him if you need a ride and says he’s going to invite Tommy over to watch the game.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Joel’s little brother practically lived with the two of you until Maria stepped into the picture, and you pinky swear to call if you need him.

You don’t, though. You spend more time gossiping and laughing and catching up than you do drinking. But it’s dark when you pull into the driveway, and though you don’t see Tommy’s truck you assume Joel might have picked him up and you fully expect to see him standing in your kitchen with a hand in the fridge grabbing another beer.

Tommy’s nowhere to be found, though. And there’s no referee calling shots on the flat screen. There’s no sound at all, in fact. At first, it alarms you. But then you see Joel sprawled out on the couch in sweatpants and a navy blue t-shirt with a book in his hand.

He glances up from the pages only long enough to smile up at you and say, “Hey, sweetheart. Have a good time?”

You hesitate, watching him from where you stand at the doorway. Joel read occasionally, but only if he needed to. If he wanted to learn a new song on guitar, if he had taken on a new car project and had to teach himself how to repair it. He didn’t read for luxury.

“Yeah, it was nice. What about you? Where’s Tommy?” you questioned, tiptoeing over to where Joel was spread out. The book was positioned in a way that didn’t allow you to see its cover, but it most definitely wasn’t one of Joel’s manuals.

Joel turned to grin at you, his eyes scanning your body, stopping to look at the frown on your lips.

“He canceled, ditched me to hang out with Maria,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. Your frown deepened as you moved closer to Joel, still eyeing the book in his hand that was conveniently covered by his large palms.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come back sooner,” you said, reaching down to run your palm through his gray-streaked hair. You had convinced him to stop touching up his roots, some sick part of you loving how mature he looked.

“I didn’t wanna interrupt. ‘Sides, I wanted to see what got you all worked up the other night,” Joel explained casually, finally exposing the book he was holding. All of the colors left your face as you processed what was happening, that he was more than halfway done with the story. Joel was well into reading the disturbing erotica, but somehow still hadn’t put it down.

“This is some dark stuff. You’re telling me that this is what had you drippin’? Had you clenched around me, legs shaking?” Joel asked, breaking heavy eye contact with you to go back to reading.

“Come on, Joel. Give it back,” you whined, reaching down to pull it out of his hands. The word embarrassed didn’t cover how you truly felt. Mortified was a better fit.

He wrestled around in your hold, turning his back to you and shielding the book with his body. “Not yet, I’m just about to reach the good part. I wanna know what happens when he catches her.”

Maybe not mortified. You were fucking humiliated. Tears threatened to spill as you reached down, pawing at Joel’s arms to grab the book. “Stop it. It’s just a stupid fantasy, I know it’s dumb.”

Joel glanced back to see the wetness filling your eyes, instantly releasing his grip so you could take the book back. His large palm reached up to cradle your face, to comfort you.

“Hey now, I never said it was dumb. I didn’t mean to upset you. I guess I never really knew you were into that kind of stuff. Nothing’s wrong with it.”

His words are sincere and make you feel a little bit better, but you still feel ashamed that Joel had read the book. You know he’d never judge you, but it feels like your closest kept secret has been thrust into the light without your permission. Warmth spreads over your face, down your neck, twisting your stomach into knots. “I know but I…I just didn’t expect you to read it.”

“Then I won’t,” he says quickly, pushing himself up off the couch. He places a warm hand on the side of your neck and says again, “I won’t. I promise. No tears baby, alright?”

You nod and sniffle, trusting him, knowing that his words hold sincerity. Exhaling a long breath, you try to shove the mortification away and focus instead on this man before you who loves you enough to learn everything about you, even the things best kept hidden.

Joel gives you the book and you shove it in the back of your side of the closet, hidden beneath a shoe box. He helps you out of your dress and showers with you, washing your hair while you tell him all about girls’ night and the newest gossip.

After, when you’re both cozy in bed, wrapped up tight in his strong arms, stealing his warmth with your cold feet against his legs, you think maybe you might’ve overreacted about the book. You know Joel would never judge you, not even about this. You think maybe the embarrassment comes from somewhere within, that maybe it’s more like insecurity than shame. And so you say, “I’m sorry about earlier. You can finish the story if you want.”

Joel presses a kiss into your hair. “Not really my type of book, anyhow.”

Even though he says it mostly to comfort you, the words make you laugh. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and can feel the vibration of his amusement as he shares the moment with you.

And when you both settle enough to speak again, his voice is a little quieter as he asks, “You want me to do that to you?”

This time you fight your shame. Wrap it up tight and store it away for something else, something more worthy than a peculiar taste. You think about yourself in place of the main character, running between thick tree trunks with dead leaves crunching beneath your feet.

You think of Joel in place of the woman’s captor, mask over his face, presence dark and looming as he seeks you out. A shiver runs down your spine, so sharp and demanding that your body trembles in his hold.

“S’okay if you do,” he murmurs. You can feel each word through his chest, a delicious tremor against your suddenly too-hot skin. Joel lifts his hand and brushes your hair gently away from your face, thumb tracing the outline of your lips. “Know it did somethin’ to you. Turned you real greedy the other day. Hm?”

Arousal pools low in your belly, and you can hear your heart in your ears. You think he could convince you to do anything when he talks like that, voice low and gravelly. “Maybe,” you say. “I don’t know.”

“Read another part,” he whispers. His thumb travels slowly down your chin, over the curve of your jaw, down the column of your throat. “He’s got that switchblade in his hand. Touches her real nice, all sweet and loving. But he keeps that blade right…” Joel drags his index finger slowly across your neck. “ Here .”

The sound that escapes you is more than need, it’s something else entirely; more like desperation. You didn’t think it was possible to want him any more than you already do but this Joel who strikes just the right amount of fear in you? He makes your mouth water, makes you tremble and shake with just the caress of a single touch.

He grips the back of your thigh with his free hand, pulling you close, pressing you tight against the growing erection behind the cotton fabric of his boxers. Joel’s always been insatiable for you, sometimes getting worked up just from staring at you too long. But you begin to wonder if this is something he wants, too. “Should take you out someplace real nice,” he mutters. “Get all dressed up. You can wear that pretty pink sundress I like. Take you out to a nice dinner, treat you so fuckin’ good…an’ when the sun sets, I’d drive you someplace real dark. Let you loose.”

Even though he’s barely touching you, thumb stroking the skin of your hip gently, your clit pulses between your legs, hips shifting against him of their own accord. Your breath comes fast and labored and you think you’ve never been this fucking wet before—never wanted him so bad . It feels like you can’t think, can’t breathe without it, without Joel .

“Give you a head start,” he continues. “Long enough for me to put a mask on. Wouldn’t even let you see it ‘til I catch you…An’ I will catch you, sweet girl…but you’d have no way of knowin’ who it was. Could be me. Could be anyone.”

The idea is filthy and disgusting but your body doesn’t seem to mind. Your spine arches, breasts pressing up against his chest. Joel lays there stone still, holding you, letting you rut against him like a woman starved. “ Please ,” is all you manage to choke out. He hardly acknowledges the word, but you can feel the smirk form on his lips against the shell of your ear.

“I’d fuck the good girl right out of you,” he says. “Fuck you ‘til you’re nothin’ but a dumb little slut.”

“Jesus— Joel .” He's degraded you before, but it’s never been like this, never felt like this. You reach between your bodies and palm his cock in your hand, and a dark laugh leaves him as he helps you.

In a few quick movements, he pulls himself out of his boxers, shoves your panties to the side, and sinks his cock inside of you, filling you so full it hurts . But you don’t care, because there’s nothing more you need than this, and thankfully he understands. Like he always does .

Joel fucks you right then and there, whispering filthy things all the while, and you think he’s always understood you. Maybe even more than you’re able to understand yourself. Older and wiser and gracious—always giving you exactly what you need, exactly what you want.

Before you fall asleep that night, he kisses you softly and asks, “Do you want me to tell you before it happens? To warn you?”

You’re not sure how to answer at first. Because the concept as a whole terrifies you; it’s new and foreign and dangerous. And you think you might need the warning to calm yourself enough to enjoy it.

But you trust Joel. More than anyone else in the world, you know he’ll always keep you safe. You know he’d never do anything to hurt you.

And so, you pull the blankets tighter around your shoulders and say, “No. I want it to be a surprise.”

That night, you dream about a man chasing you through darkness whose hands feel more familiar than your own. You think about it for the next week. Daydreaming at work, while you’re making dinner, while you’re driving to run errands. It’s all you can think about, the only thing that fills the gaps of silence in your day-to-day life.

You wait. And wait. And wait .

Joel tells you Friday night that he’ll have to work overtime this weekend to make up for a lost part shipment. Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Saturday morning he encourages you to sleep in, kisses your forehead before he leaves, tells you he loves you. And despite no inclination from him, you have a feeling that today is the day.

When you wake up a little while later, the sun casts shadows through the blinds, and you notice that Joel’s placed that pink sundress on his side of the bed. Laid it out for you.

You shower and groom yourself, mentally preparing for the moment it finally happens. It has to be today. And if Joel is lucky and planned it out right, he’d find out that you opted out of wearing panties underneath the sundress. He’d find you slick, shaved, aching in anticipation.

He notices your nervous excitement when he comes home from work, late and covered in sweat from a long day. You’re practically bouncing on your heels, having spent the entire day filling the time, waiting for his arrival. The sun had already started to set in the distance - you probably only had about an hour left of the day.

Please, God, let it be today .

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart. Had an electrician cancel last minute, left me scramblin’ to get the project covered. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he muttered into your lips as he greeted you. His arms wrapped around you, his body warm and hot against the thin fabric of your dress.

“That’s okay,” you say. “Everything go to plan other than that?”

“Sure did. Finally finished up that warehouse over on Cherry Street. Figured I’d go out and celebrate.”

You find yourself deflating at the words. Because, usually, Joel celebrating the end of a big project means the involvement of Tommy, too. And if Tommy’s there, then tonight is decidedly not the night.

Joel seems to notice the change in your demeanor. He places his hand on the side of your face and drags his thumb down your jutting bottom lip, releasing it with a wet pop . “Wouldn’t be a celebration unless I had a pretty little girl to buy a drink, now would it?”

Either way, even if it’s not tonight, you know you’ll enjoy the time with him like you always do. So you shelve your disappointment and timidly ask, “Will it be…just the two of us? Did you want to invite anyone else?”

He shakes his head, a playful spark glinting in his warm eyes. “Nah. Just wanna take my baby out. Give me a minute to change and we’ll head out. Sound good?”

You know your nod of approval probably looks too hopeful, too excited, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not with this golden excitement fills you to the brim, the anticipation making your hands tingle.

It only takes Joel ten minutes to change out of his work clothes and into a nice pair of jeans and a flannel, but it feels like forever. He asks you about your day while he drives to your favorite restaurant, and listens intently even though you have nothing interesting to say other than the fact that you’ve changed the curtain on the window above the dining room table.

He opens the car door for you and holds your hand as he directs you through the crowd at the restaurant, and orders for you when the waiter comes over. Even though you get the same thing every time, the gesture makes you feel small and safe and cared for.

You drink a glass of wine, and he tries out some sort of hoppy beer. Joel tells you about a song he heard on the radio that he wants to learn on guitar, but while you try to listen all you can think about is what comes after this.

A million thoughts run rampant through your head. He hasn’t said anything about it, hasn’t given you any hints besides laying the sundress out for you, but the rush of it all weighs heavy on your chest. Paired with the lowered inhibitions from the wine and you interrupt him to say, “Joel. Can you just…can you tell me? I changed my mind. I want to know so bad.”

That playfulness returns to his eyes. He tilts his head the smallest bit and leans over the table to hear your whispered words. “Tell you what?”

“You know ,” you insist. “Don’t make me say it here.” Despite the embarrassment that climbs your cheeks as you listen to the chatter around you, you can’t wipe the grin from your face. You try to hide it behind your hand instead.

“Can’t say I know what you’re gettin’ at here, girl,” he says. But that knowing smirk says otherwise. You can see the challenge in his eyes, the push for you to ask the question you’ve been swallowing down all night.

Folding your arms on the edge of the table, you lean in as close as you can and ask so softly, “Are you taking me to the woods tonight?”

He smiles—a big, toothy show of enjoyment, and leans back in the booth. Joel’s big, you’ve always known it…but seeing him now, shoulders broad and rugged, arms straining beneath the cotton sleeves of his flannel… God , he makes you weak. You can feel yourself flush beneath his scrutinization. Can feel the familiar stickiness of your arousal begin to gather between your legs, too. “An’ why would I do that, sweetheart? Ain’t nothin’ out there for a little thing like you.”

The wine is sweet on your tongue as you take the last sip and shrug casually, pretending as if your hands don’t tremble with anticipation. You try to put on a show of confidence. “Never know,” you say. “Could be a big, bad wolf out there that needs hunting down.”

Joel laughs at that, but he’s waving down the next waiter he sees for the check.

When you leave the restaurant, you realize now the sun has fully set and the darkness has descended. The moon hands high in the sky, the only illumination granted apart from the headlight of Joel’s truck. He helps you into the passenger side and buckles you in, hands gentle and caring, always taking care of you.

Pressing a kiss to your shoulder, he asks a single-word question. One you know is likely equally for his comfort as it is yours. “Okay?”

You are. Despite the fear that begins to rise in your chest, knowing the impending events likely to unfold, despite the shadows and the traversing of the unknown, you know that you’ll always be safe with Joel. “I’m good,” you promise.

He drives for far longer than you expect. Past every stoplight, outside of the city limits, weaving through the backroads until you’re well and truly lost. Every time you pass a wooded area you think he’ll slow to a stop, but he doesn’t. And every moment fuels the adrenaline coursing through you, ratcheting both your panic and excitement to immeasurable heights.

When he does finally stop, pulling off to the side of a road you swear you’ve never been down before, your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears.

He pulls the key from the ignition and the lights cut out, wrapping the both of you in complete darkness. You can make him out just enough, though. Enough to see the predatory look on his face, enough to sense the danger you’ve placed yourself in.

Your mouth goes dry and your brain goes fuzzy as you watch Joel reach into his pants pocket, pulling out a switchblade that glimmers in the moonlight. The small knife makes a snapping noise when it opens, gleaming, taunting you. Excitement buzzed through your body, a nagging voice in the back of your head screaming to run.

“Better get a move on,” Joel whispers, his face shadowed and lips pressed into a grim line. The energy had shifted so quickly that you were uncertain what to do. Even if you did try to run, you doubted that your shaking body would make it very far.

A brooding intensity surrounded Joel, and even though he barely moved to reach back and grab something out of the back seat, the air still felt tense with a silent warning. In his free hand was a gas mask, worn and frayed. The round, glass eye lenses were clouded, displaying its years of disuse. He reached up with one hand to slip the mask down his face, leaving only his eyes revealed.

The white-hot heat that was burning through your veins somehow ignited even further when he finally locked eyes with you. Joel’s eyes were narrowed, carrying a different energy behind them; one that was full of mischief and lust. The moment lasted for a couple of beats…

One, two, three…

And then Joel’s hand snapped out, reaching rapidly to lock around your wrist. Thinking, breathing; none of it mattered. The only thing on your mind was running, some animalistic survival instinct that you didn’t know still existed within you taking over. Your wrist easily slipped out of his grip as you flung open the car door, escaping Joel and running into the dark forest.

There was a chill in the air that made your breath fan out in front of you while you ran, your heavy footsteps practically echoing through the woods. Every couple of moments you would stop and glance around, attempting to see through the endless rows of trees. You didn’t see anything and only heard the sound of your own breathing.

Joel could be scary when he wanted to. Like that one time, a couple weeks into knowing him. Some asshole had followed you around the grocery store late one evening, trailing behind aisle after aisle until your hands were shaking in fear. Joel was one of the only people you had befriended in town since you were new to the area.

He’d showed up five minutes after you’d called him, despite the fact that you knew he lived over ten minutes away. Joel approached the man, and you were grateful that you weren’t the one he was speaking to. Despite not hearing his words from where you were standing, you could see the dark anger on his face, a look that made your blood run cold.

The guy who was following you left immediately after, scurrying off with his tail between his legs. Joel followed you home in his truck even though your apartment was on the other side of town. He’d never been scary to you .

Until now.

Joel’s body came out of nowhere, grabbing you and yanking you against him. The switchblade pressed onto your throat, your heartbeat pounding against the cold metal. You couldn’t see Joel since his vice-grip had your back pushed on his chest.

“You call that running?” he asked, letting his fingers skate down the skin of your thigh, just under the low cut of your sundress. His calloused fingertips caught against your soft skin, raising higher and higher.

“I think you wanted me to catch you. Here you are, lettin’ me rub on you like the little slut I knew you were. I haven’t even properly touched you yet, but you’re already spreading your legs for me.”

Your face warmed at his degrading words. He was right. The excitement of the story wasn’t only the anticipation, but it was the thrill of the hunt. As much as you wanted Joel to touch you, to make your vision blur just from using his fingers, you knew you couldn’t give in so easily.

With all of your strength, you push away both of his hands, ripping out of his grip. He reached down to grab you but you snatched his shirt instead, pulling at it fiercely in an attempt to dodge under him. You heard the fabric rip, but you were too afraid to really acknowledge it.

You took it as an opportunity to escape, dodging Joel’s grasp. You wasted no time in steadying yourself before sprinting away, only sparing a quick glance back to see Joel. His shirt was half ripped, the gas mask blocking any form of expression on his face.

“Damn, baby,” Joel spoke. He stood, shrugging off his flannel before using the switchblade to finish ripping the fabric of his shirt. “If you wanted me to get naked, you should’ve just said so.”

As much as you wanted to watch the way Joel’s chest flexed in the moonlight, you couldn’t handle any distractions. You had to run.

And you did run for what felt like hours. By the time you stopped for a moment, your heartbeat was in your throat and you could feel a slick mess building between your thighs. Your legs were speckled with dirt and pieces of leaves from the way you were kneeling on the ground, searching for Joel.

You didn’t see anything extraordinary through the branches of the forest, but you heard something. A snap.

It was enough to get you back on your feet in an attempt to flee.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. Though your eyes betrayed you, you could sense his closeness, could sense the space between you lessening with each passing moment. Sweat beads at your hairline and your panting echoes between the trees.

The cracking sound of wood beneath his heavy work boots cuts through the deafening silence, and you turn abruptly and throw yourself in the opposite direction. But Joel’s fast, too fast .

He catches up to you in a second, and you know you won’t get lucky twice, yet still you try. You push your legs as hard as you can, running as fast as you can, trying to navigate the uneven terrain.

Joel’s fingertips grasp your shoulder, and you pull away from him so violently you lose your balance, scraping your knees against the rough forest floor.

You quickly turn onto your back, kicking yourself away from him, trying to see through the thick fog of terror in your mind. His slow breaths sound mechanical through the gas mask’s respirator. He looms over you menacingly, looking every bit the wicked man you know he can be.

His shoulders rise and fall slowly, his breaths even while you struggle to catch yours. He tilts his head, a predator indulging in the chase.

And you know right then that you’ve been caught. Stuck in the spider’s web with no hope of extraction. Your voice shakes when you speak. “Joel?”

There’s no softness in him now. None of that gentle ease he always has with you. He lowers himself to the ground, knees on either side of your hips, and grabs for your hands.

You struggle against his hold, even knowing it’s useless. He wraps a calloused palm around your wrists and squeezes tight, and when you buck your hips up against him, trying to wiggle out from beneath his heavy weight, it serves no purpose but to further diminish the little energy remaining in your weary limbs.

Joel raises your arms above your head, pushing your too-sensitive skin deep into the earth, trapping you in place. You can hear the clicking of his tongue behind the mask. “Stupid little girl,” he says. “Never had a chance. Did you?”

His voice is muffled, deeper. You know it’s Joel. Behind the fear, behind the adrenaline, you know it’s him. But it doesn’t sound like him, not in the way you’re so accustomed to, and it sends a chill down your spine.

He adjusts his position, sliding down your legs just enough to grip the bottom of your dirt-stained sundress and rip it upwards. The air feels like ice against your center, slick with your arousal. You clit pulses with need, despite the way you still fight him, struggling nonsensically in his tight hold. “Look at how fuckin’ wet you are, baby,” he says. “Haven’t even touched you yet an’ that pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ crying for it, ain’t she?”

Your spine bends, arching off the ground. The sounds that leave your mouth are animalistic, a desperate whimpering, a wanton need.

And then suddenly his hand is tangled in your hair, pulling hard at the roots, holding your head up just enough to witness your exposure. “I said look ,” Joel grits out. “Want you to watch just how fuckin’ selfish she is. You listenin’ to me?”

“Yes— yes, ” you choke out. The muscles in your neck strain to keep your head held high enough to see the moment he lets go of your hair. But you heard him loud and clear, and you do just as he says.

His hand slips between your legs, and you fight the urge to let squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers slide over your clit. He circles it roughly and you can feel yourself clench around nothing, your body begging to be filled, begging for Joel . He uses the perfect amount of pressure, deft fingers moving fast, and it takes less than a minute before that familiar warmth begins to trickle in.

But you want more, you always want more, and so you find yourself lifting your hips upwards, trying to shift his hand lower, trying to let him know right where you need him most.

Joel laughs. A sick, maniacal sound that sends a cold flood of terror through you. “See? What’d I say? Fuckin’ greedy ,” he says. You know it’s meant to be an insult, but there’s a strange fondness as he says it. An undertone of worship.

You sigh out his name, unable to form another word, forgetting all else that came before this moment, disregarding all things that may come after. All that matters is this, all that matters is him .

“She wants it so bad,” he murmurs. “An’ I’m gonna give it to her.” His movements are cruel and almost painful as he turns you over, pulling your hips out from under him. Joel shifts your wrists to his other hand and sets them against the small of your back, using his free hand to force your head down. The earthy smell of decaying leaves greets you, and you greedily suck in cold breaths of air, trying to will your heart to slow its racing.

You can’t see his movements but you can feel him shift behind you, and a second later can hear the familiar clink of his belt buckle and the swish as he rips it from the loops of his jeans. The bite of leather is harsh as he winds it around your wrists, tightening it in a familiar, practiced way.

“Joel,” you breathe out. It sounds like a plea in your ears, and maybe it is. Because everything is too much, too intense . You need all of him, you think. Need the wickedness, that dark thing he’s been hiding all this time. But you need your Joel, too. The one who buckles you in, who kisses your forehead before he leaves for work in the morning. The one you know will always keep you safe, even when he defiles you. “ Joel ,” you say again.

His hands freeze on your hips, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin as he leans over and presses his cheek to yours. He waits for you to speak, giving you as long as you need to sort through the heightened emotions.

Your brain feels like mush and you struggle to form a coherent thought that’s more than one or two words strung together. You know you’re terrified. But you know, too, that you don’t want him to stop. And so all you manage to say is a barely audible, “I love you.”

He cradles your head in his hand, thumb stroking gently over your temple. And then he runs his nose over the curve of your jaw, and though he doesn’t say it, doesn’t break the spell he’s so carefully created in order to indulge your wildest fantasies, you know that no one has ever loved anyone the way that Joel Miller loves you.

But just as quickly as that gentleness appeared, it vanishes into nothing like the fog of your breath in the cold air.

“Gonna show you what happens when little girls roam into the woods,” he says. You can feel his erection as he presses it against you, heavier and harder than you think it’s ever been before. “Can try an’ hunt down the big bad wolf all you want. But if he catches you …”

You’re a trembling mess in his strong hands. His words are the only beacon keeping you grounded, you’re certain of it.

The metal teeth of his zipper grate as he pulls it down and undoes the button of his jeans, pulling his cock out. He slides the head through your arousal, coating himself in your slick. “Just know, whatever he decides to do with you is gonna hurt .”

And then he’s pushing his length into you in one smooth movement, leaving you no time to adjust to the size of him. The stretch is painful and foreboding, every muscle in your body tensing up at the impact. “ Fuck— oh my God —”

“Can pray all you want, but there’s no one out here to save you,” he spits. Joel doesn’t give you a single second to breathe before he’s rocking his hips into you, setting a punishing pace. You can feel his cock throb inside you, can feel that he’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

You grit your teeth against the pain of it, fingers flexing in his grip. “ Joel —I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can, baby,” he says, voice low and echoing. “I know you can. So shut up and fuckin’ take it.” He leans over you, pressing the side of your face into the ground. You can taste moss and earth but with each thrust, the pain is quickly subsiding, replaced instead with a blinding pleasure.

That warmth builds again, coiling around your spine. Pressure builds quickly and you can feel yourself dripping around him, making a mess of the coarse hair above his cock. “Joel— fuck .”

He reaches on hand around your hip, easily finding your clit and strumming it with swift, practiced movements. You clench around him and he lets out a deep groan in response. When he leans forward and tells you, “Open your mouth,” you do so immediately, brain fuzzy and overstimulated, unwilling to do anything unless he tells you to.

Joel slides two of his fingers into your mouth and shoves them so far down you nearly choke. It’s instinctual when you close your swollen lips around him and suck.

You can hear the smile in his words as he speaks. “There you go,” he mutters. “Told you how this would go, didn’t I? Told you what would happen. Nothin’ but a dumb little slut for me now, baby, hm? Yeah?”

All you can do is nod, unable to form a single coherent thought. Your orgasm hits hard and fast, almost unexpected. It washes through you, electricity dancing beneath your prickling skin. Your moans reverberate through the trees, and you’re suddenly glad he’s driven you so far out so no one can hear you.

“Oh, she likes that ,” Joel says, talking you through it, circling your clit and fucking into you a little harder. “Likes the way it feels to be all full’a me, hm? Yeah, there you go. Gonna give this pretty pussy just what she needs.”

His rhythm falters, staggering just the smallest bit. And while he’s just given you the best orgasm of your fucking life, there’s something about this that makes you feel finally satisfied, full in a way you’ve never been before.

The moment he bottoms out inside of you, Joel turns you on your back and pulls the mask off of his face. His cheeks are flushed and rosy, but there’s a sense of completion in his eyes that you’re sure is mirrored in your own. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, the bridge of your nose.

And all you can say is, “Oh my God.”

Joel laughs. It’s one of those full, good-natured belly laughs. Your favorite kind. “Well? Was I better than your book?”

You cover your face with your hands, muffling your giggles between your fingers. “Much better.”

#joel miller #pearlessance #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #ao3 fanfic #joel tlou #joel the last of us #ao3 writer #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #smut #halloween

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seung-mong · 5 months ago

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seung-mong's kinktober 2024!

gulp~ they're right behind me arent they? well... more like on top!

☆BANGCHAN☆

whats your favorite scary movie? - after a mysterious call in the middle of the night threatens to ruin horror movie night with your friends, you cant help shake the feeling that someone's watching your every move. at this point you dont know what's worse: a creepy stalker managing to sneak his way into the house, or how awkward and fidgety chan's been all evening!

includes: ghostface!bangchan x fem!reader, stalking, choking, slight knife play, blood kink, +more!

☆LEEKNOW☆

and so the lion fell in love with the lamb - after moving to romania against your parents' wishes to live a peaceful life with your dying grandfather, your dreams are plagued with visions of pale, almost shimmering skin, droplets of crimson red blood with the taste of the sweetest wine, and sharp fangs that make you sweat in your sleep. your grandfather can only urge you to pray, despite the growing dread in the pit of his stomach at the sight of the bruises that linger on your skin. not to mention the puncture wounds right by the side of your neck!

includes: vampire!leeknow x inexperienced fem!reader, stalking, religious themes, marking, +more!

☆CHANGBIN☆

not all monsters do monstrous things - changbin's been acting different lately, and you're hesitant to talk to him about it. after the accident that left him bloodied and bruised, the last thing you want to do is bring up how he's become so distant lately, passing up on opportunities to hang out, refusing your physical affection, ditching you for the new group of friends that seemed to appear out of thin air. but when he stands you up on your birthday dinner on Halloween, you know he's crossed the line!

includes: werewolf!changbin x fem!reader, childhood best friends trope, depictions of gore and violence, size kink, manhandling, strength kink, + more!

☆HYUNJIN☆

its amazing, the love inside, you take it with you - finally, a space of your own! a safe space for you to practice your spells without accidentally setting your mom's heirlooms on fire. a safe space for you to brew your potions without your mom complaining about the smell and how you're doing it wrong (you've figured). a safe space for you to chat with your cat companion, milo, without your mother rolling her eyes. a safe space... with an awkward, clumsy, GOSSIP of a soul with unfinished business!

includes: ghost!hyunjin x witch fem!reader, voyeurism, pervy hyunjin, subby hyunjin, femdom raahhh, overstimulation, dacryphila, +more!

☆HAN☆

you could be happy here, i could take care of you. i wouldn't let anybody hurt you. we could grow up together! - han thinks hes seeing things. he usually enjoys camping by himself, but when a bright light and a high pitched noise makes his head throb and his nose bleed, he genuinely thinks he could die. now he REALLY thinks hes seeing things because.. is that someone falling from the sky? after deciding to sleep on it, he meets you. and uh, oh yea. he's definitely seeing things!

includes: loser nerd!han x alien fem!reader, subby hanji, han jisung is a SIMP LOSER, bondage, use of some kind of aphrodisiac, choking, +more!

☆FELIX☆

absence makes the heart grow fonder…or forgetful - never being one to believe in fairytales, you were the only one in your village brave enough to explore the thick woods across the train tracks just south of your home. finally, a place where you can think in silence, with no one to disrupt your writing. when the creatures of the forest begin to make themselves known to you, you ignore all the signs telling you to run. especially when the so-called evil trickster fairy is the most beautiful boy you've seen in your life!

includes: faery!felix x fem!reader, kinda inexperienced felix, lowkey corruption kink (litrally if u squint), felix has wings (that r sensitive), overstim, +more!

☆SEUNGMIN☆

this is true love- do you think this happens everyday? - seungmin is too young for this, he thinks. the youngest prince to take the crown in centuries, and the war between his kingdom and the kingdom of the forest is intensifying. his people are going missing, and he has no idea what to do. it does not help that the king of the forest scares him shitless. he turns to you for help, the last witch of your line- you can thank his family for that!

includes: prince!seungmin x witch fem!reader, kinda enemies to lovers (the trope belongs to him i fear), hatefucking, biting, bondage, +more!

☆JEONGIN☆

we all go a little mad sometimes. haven't you? - you really should have filled up your gas tank. your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, and the storm outside only further dampens your spirits. its dark and empty for miles, besides the little light that flickers on the side of the road. you brave the journey on foot, shivering, and soaking wet. your heart drops when you see the shelter, old and run down. thank god the young gentleman inside is kind enough to offer you a bed for the night!

includes: serial killer!jeongin x fem!reader, primal play, fear play, choking, knife play, jeongin is really rouch, +more!

☆INTERLUDES☆

got a horror concept for a fic? dont be shy and request! (submissions open until september 20)

wanna get tagged? (specify the kinktober special!)

#skz #skz smut #skz fanfic #stray kids #stray kids x reader #bangchan x reader #leeknow x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #skz kinktober #kinktober #seung mong!#seung mong kinktober!

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ybklix · 4 months ago

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INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

๋࣭ ⭑🕸 pairing: vampire!chrisbahng x inexperiencedfem!reader ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 🦇˚⋆ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: As part of a college assignment, you interview a peculiar doctor about his success and long career, but then he starts telling you about the odd and unbelievable lifestyle he used to lead that got him there, claiming to be something you find funny at first, but then you get caught up in the details, causing tension and questioning reality.

˖⋆࿐໋ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: MDNI 18+, smut, corruption kink, breeding, choking, biting/marking, slight dubcon and sadism, pet names, blood play, fingering, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie. ✩₊˚.⋆🕸️⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 10.2k

𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 (𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 '𝟮𝟰) ₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚. 01: vampire

notes: inspired by the 1994 movie of the same name! ✩ it's implied to be set in aus but ik the fall there it's different, but anyway, it's just to fit the theme

It was a cold night, the cool wind blew your hair gracefully and you enjoyed the exquisite scent of the autumn leaves that reached your senses and rustled with every step you took. It was the weekend before Halloween and the whole campus was full of young people walking around in their costumes, you felt a little out of place, as they all smiled and walked shamelessly in their most extravagant clothes, hairstyles and make-up to some party, unlike them, you were wearing your very nice autumn outfit, dark red sweater with V cleavage and a black scarf, mesh tights, brown plaid skirt and knee high dark brown heeled boots and a coat, and you were not going to a party, but to an interview with the handsome and well respected Dr. Christopher Bahng.

Bahng was about to be praised for his long career at the university hospital, for his contribution to society with his own clinic and helping students, mostly medical students, who were fascinated by Bahng’s merits and blinded by their fanaticism and admiration, being carried away by rumors that the guy himself was a medical legend, they suddenly became curious about his life and career, to which they suggested an interview about his professional life as a doctor and specialist. And, mysteriously among the uncertainty there you came in, you were not a medical student, you were in your third year of your nursing degree and saw Dr. Bahng on very few occasions while rotating through your shifts at the hospital, so the offer still remains a mystery to you, why you?

You had absolutely no idea what your colleagues at your faculty newspaper were talking about one afternoon when you walked into the room and there was a loud commotion and uproar, that Bahng had agreed to an interview, but asked that it be specifically done by you. It was an afternoon, when you were about to write and share information obtained from a small unimportant paper you would do, but one of your friends, Yang Jeongin took the courage to approach you and be the first to give you the news.

“Dr. Bahng chose you to do an interview with him for the commemoration of his long professional career at the hospital. You have to be the best, you practically have half the medical school all over you, well at least the annoying students working on his paper who came confused to break the news.”

Bahng was a legend and a mystery. He was handsome and charismatic but you couldn’t find a single social media or photo of him on the internet beyond his LinkedIn. There were pictures of him hanging out with more doctors posted by the faculty, pictures of him looking uncomfortable and always all the way in the background or on the sidelines as if he was out of commitment, pictures of him receiving accolades with a fake smile and medical school articles mentioning him, but nothing else about him. You knew that because you researched him a bit before talking to him as you were terrified to go with a blank mind, from just knowing he was an obstetrics doctor, at first you dug into his professional life which you could find information about, but curiosity got the better of you a bit and you wanted to dig into a more human side of him, wanting to see a picture of him with a friend on the beach, or posting something a thirty-something man would do, a social media or something, but there seemed to be no sign of him.

You rang the doorbell, swaying in place slightly nervously and waiting to be answered, the house was impressive and in a quiet neighborhood away from the busy city center, away from your university and the hospital, Dr. Bahng’s house. Although you had to admit, something about it gave you the creeps, large and well maintained houses that seemed to be inhabited by ghosts, long trees and the blowing of the wind gave you strange sensations.

Dr. Christopher Bahng greeted you with a smile, dressed in casual black clothes, black t-shirt, black jeans, a long chain with a cross and silver bracelets on his wrists.

“Y/n” he said to you, stepping aside to make way for you, “You’re a little early. Come in, please.”

You blushed as you hoped the time wouldn’t be an inconvenience but honestly, it was for you, he was only willing to give the interview at 8pm and although you planned the series of questions and estimated time, it was uncertain exactly what time it might be concluded.

The date and time were problems for you; your friends were upset you missed countless costume parties just to be there. But there you were, the restlessness and curiosity about why he chose you was greater than a lousy college party. You were about to turn down the offer since it meant that you would have to walk back to the university alone and a little late at night, but the medical students begged you to accept it and Jeongin offered to pick you up at night if it was getting late and you felt unsafe to walk back home alone and ask for a ride from an app. You wanted to think that the reason for your appointment time was because he was off work, but that would be a lie, as everyone knew that Christopher Bahng always worked at night.

You walked by his house somewhat blushing, you were there because of something from the university, but it was inevitable not to think about how handsome the mature doctor was.

“Welcome” he spoke again.

“Thank you, nice to meet you, Dr. Bahng.”

“Nice to meet you too” he stared intensely at you, “You can leave your coat here at the entrance if you like. And take off your shoes, sweetheart, nice boots by the way.”

So he knew your name and face. You took off your coat apologetically and hung it on the coat rack but as soon as you did, you felt a chill in the air hitting your body, making you shiver. His house was cold and poorly lit, the lights were warm and dim. To your left were wide stairs and in front of you a wide hallway that led to more rooms. In the distance, you could hear a classical music melody softly.

“Sorry if it’s a little cold” he said, pulling you out of your thoughts, you settled your bag on your shoulder and smiled at him while gesturing with your hands that there was nothing to worry about, “I’ll show you around” he added encouragingly, almost as if he had read your mind that you were thinking about the decoration of his home, “This is the entrance” Chris walked and you followed in step behind him, “Here is a bathroom, feel free to use it whenever you want. Over there is the kitchen, the main dining room and... the main living room where we’ll do the interview so we can be more comfortable.”

You listened to him carefully as he pointed out. His house was huge but it felt lonely and like it lacked some... life. The decor was exquisitely tasteful, modern but without leaving small classic details and made the illusion of antique elements.

He was a sweet and kind man, you were ready to pay attention to any detail for the writing of the article, at the same time you let yourself be distracted by the attractiveness of his countenance and presence, even so there was something in the atmosphere that made you a little uneasy, you could not calm down at all and you were not nervous, it was a strange feeling that you did not know the reason. Or something strange about it that did not convince you.

Chris took you to his spacious living room, colored in a dark red and the soft melody of classical music came from a record player in the room.

“It’s late. Have you had dinner or would you like something, or something to drink?” he suggested politely.

You looked into his eyes, they were absolutely dark, he was so mesmerizing that you lost yourself for small moments.

“I’m fine, thank you Dr. Bahng.”

“Please call me Chris. I seriously love what I do” he brought a hand to his chest, “But people calling me Dr. all the time is exhausting.”

“I thought that’s what they liked to hear, after all they studied and went a long way to be able to call themselves that” you commented, more confidently, wanting to let go of the shyness in your body, seeing his effort to keep the atmosphere from becoming awkward.

He smiled and stared at you. Wow it had been a very very long road for Chris and you had no idea.

“To me it feels like people have been calling me that for over two hundred years. You seriously don’t want anything? I have fresh pomegranate juice.”

His comment confused you a bit and you caught his subtle change of subject.

“Juice is fine.”

He smiled narrowing his slitted, pretty eyes.

“Okay, make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back. Do you want to do it at the table or on the couch?”

He was asking too many questions, you thought. You looked around the room, the ideal and professional would be the table, but the option of the couch and being able to more thoroughly capture everything about him seemed like a better idea.

“I’ll be on the couch, thank you.”

You couldn’t help but feel curious and probe with your eyes every tiny detail of the room, yes it was cold, you were so curious about Chris, but you had to keep a professional barrier, plus he was older and a superior to you. You couldn’t believe that a man like him was alone, he should have some partner out there.

You sat on the couch as you began to set up your stuff and audio and recording equipment, your notebook and pen to take notes, your cell phone in Do Not Disturb mode with the series of questions and before long Chris came over to you, with two glasses of a bright dark red juice, he set them down on the little table in front of you and turned off the record player.

“Thank you” you whispered to him, taking the glass shyly as you took a sip.

Chris smiled and sat down, approaching you and intimidating you with his gaze for the first time that night.

“Are you okay in there? Can you write well?” he asked without taking his eyes off you, raising his straight eyebrows as he stretched out his arm to take the glass and drink.

“Yes, thank you, Chris.”

He smiled again letting out a breath.

“Well” you said again, “Once the interview starts I have to refer to you all the time as Dr, is that okay”

“I understand, absolutely” he crooned softly and attractively, finding you tender when you spoke to him formally.

You admired his manly features and pale face for a second, letting your instincts take over, thinking that having him must be a dream. Chris widened his smile, almost blushing as if he had heard something funny.

“Ready?” you asked, awkwardly breaking the silence, his gaze on you felt heavy.

Your finger was already on the button of your recorder, positioned in the middle of you, when Chris said:

“Can I see your questions?”

“Oh, you didn’t get them?” you replied somewhat worried.

“Maybe I forgot to check the e-mail” he replied calmly.

You sketched a smile as you nodded softly and handed him your phone, he held it between his large hand and read the questions and handed it back to you with a disapproving grimace, worrying you a little more.

“Mmm... I can modify them, we can make this interview better.”

Your body heated up in embarrassment as you couldn’t believe he was doing that to you at the last minute. Those medicine fuckers, you thought, as you didn’t participate in the making of the questions.

“I mean I’ll give you something much better” he added.

You didn’t answer him for a moment but thought that you would see what to do later for it, that at the end of the day, it was you doing a favor by being there next to him at night.

“I want to answer to you, not the snooty med guys. Maybe we can do that later but… what are you thinking” he watched you closely.

Chris leaned his arm on the back of the couch and settled his body pointing in your direction, with a smug smile on his face using a serious tone, you felt his intensity. You only got more confused and thought, what? why would it matter what you thought? what was he trying to say?

“Because I’m interested in you. You come in here with the question of why I chose you, you want to know?” Chris said again, almost scaring you that he was answering what you were thinking.

Either he was fucking smart enough to read people easily and deduce obvious thoughts or there was something about him that was making you uneasy. You took a small sigh, you felt hopelessly attracted to him, dizzy, as if seeing his dark eyes was hypnotizing you, you quickly averted your gaze, scared thinking about what the fuck was going on, you saw the glass of juice, had he put something in it? That’s what you get for accepting drinks from an unknown man…

“It’s just juice” he answered, “You’re not feeling well?” he replied.

You looked at him again confused and slowly regained your composure.

“Why me?” you said, almost in a whisper, he raised his eyebrows waiting to hear more from you, “Why would I interview you at your home, specifically me, I have never interacted with you or been in the same area of the hospital working, besides, I’m just a nurse student.”

You had so many questions that you couldn’t deduce an answer to, you were curious and it made Chris grin from ear to ear. If only you knew, and you were about to, however, Chris just covered up the truth a little.

“You have such a genuine and kind gaze about you, never in the long years I’ve lived in this place have I ever seen a woman like you. You are so human, you are the one who takes care of the patients’ sleep when the doctors are away. I saw you that time when you were on shift at night… I asked your name, something about you never left my mind since then. I wanted to hold you close, to know you.”

And it was true, it was innocence to one of the questions your colleague asked you when Chris overheard the conversation, he turned to see you slyly and you captivated his attention, it was as if he had developed a new sensory ability that revolved around you. That night you left at 4 a.m. from that shift at the hospital, you were covering hours for an occasion you couldn’t attend, Chris lurked in the dark behind your back, making sure you arrived safely.

You understood half the things he said to you, didn’t know whether to take it as a confession, whether to blush, whether he was saying he liked you, you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, you didn’t even think you looked cute in your baggy clinic clothes, you didn’t know what he was talking about. Chris knew how overwhelming it all suddenly seemed to you, so he continued.

“And suddenly I saw, you have this presence about you of being someone to trust, someone who knows how to keep secrets. So I’ll tell you everything, things that people who know about this are dead. I’ll give you a better interview.”

You felt a shiver. Confusion and genuine curiosity in your bright eyes as your breath was cut off at his masculine, domineering presence and wordplay that felt like riddles. For Chris, he didn’t need any more facts about you, he knew absolutely everything. Digging into your little more than twenty years of life was not a difficult task for him, compared to his long journey. There was only one thing he needed and wanted and that was to have you, to breathe your scent, to listen to you and to look into your eyes. He was obsessed, so in his madness he wanted to confess you something that only 1 person “alive” in this world knew. By sharing his secret with you, he hoped to be united with you for eternity.

“What is it about?” you asked with uncertainty in your voice.

The innocence in your gaze filled Chris completely and he smiled smugly, pressing his long index finger on the button of your voice recorder, you became engrossed in the pallor of his strong arm, almost transparent leaving his notorious veins visible, until he spoke and you stared at him.

“My name is Christopher Chan Bahng, I was born on October 3rd, 1797 in Seoul, South Korea. My father was Korean and my mother was French, they met when my mother escaped the country shortly after the French Revolution, her whole family went their separate ways and her ship stopped in the lands of East Asia, she met my father, a merchant fond of the folk healing medicine of the time and I was born, the eldest of three children. I had a beautiful sister and brother, whom I adored with my soul until their last breaths, both died old and happy. And I-, well, I’m still here, right?”

You looked at him puzzled, skeptical, wondering if this was a joke, 1797, French revolution, what the fuck was he talking about? You wanted to start looking around for cameras because you thought it was a fucking joke.

“I had a good childhood, everything was fine until I turned thirteen and my mother had to go back to France because her sister got sick and she was the only family she had, she didn’t hear from her parents two years after she moved to Korea, so she took me and my siblings, leaving my father behind. It was in Paris in 1810 when the curiosity and passion for medicine was born in me, I had seen it a little bit with my father but things in Europe were so different. All the people lived sick, and died young. Conflicts left in their wake an unbelievable amount of disease. I traveled around Europe, learned languages and studied medicine in France, but female anatomy was my particular interest, they were such enigmatic, intelligent beings but my passion leaned more towards obstetrics, it was amazing that because of women humanity kept growing and growing and the world looked down on it. I loved to see and receive a new life… most of the time I was dedicated as an obstetric doctor for women of important families, so carrying the little one in my arms I could deduce that they would have a good life, good, for that time, but I always loved to help, I would visit the French village in search of poor pregnant women and I would do my best to preserve the life of both. Life was always for me… something so precious because back then every day was a new challenge, public executions, dying at sea and never being found when traveling, an infection or disease from an unknown agent that could lead to your death, the bad habits people used to have, the types of beliefs, life back then was ephemeral and a ticking time bomb.”

You listened to him attentively, lost in the details, you didn’t know if it was a joke or a story but… you were slowly falling for it, Chris was telling everything with emotion, with his hands moving and his look… as if he was genuinely remembering his past.

“On the other hand, my siblings made their lives, my sister got married at 20, she was a pianist and singer and went to live in Great Britain. My brother was a respected judge and married at 25 and I... was truly immersed in medicine, I never stopped to think about love, about wanting to marry and live with a traditional family, I was lost in study and in the discovery and advancement of medicine, until shortly before I turned 28, in 1825, my mother became ill with cholera and died. I was devastated, I became obsessed to the point of wanting to study more and more, I studied with some colleagues but I couldn’t stand it and the following year I escaped to Korea again in search of my father, to see if he was well, gosh, it was so extreme the way you had to reach out to someone. I arrived in Seoul the winter of 1826, I was lucky enough to find my father and we had a close relationship again. I went back to work as a doctor, I was a little bit popular as it was so fascinating for the pregnant women of the time, a doctor from Europe and... the following spring I met the love of my life, a popular midwife in town, we met doing our work and I fell deeply in love, by the fall I turned thirty I was marrying Lim Sohee.”

Chris paused for a second and silence fell, as if mentioning that name had overwhelmed him. And it had, it was touching deep down inside him, he hadn’t mentioned he... since so many years ago. You were engrossed, studying his demeanor and listening to the story... if it was a joke, how come he could tell it so well, you were in your mind visualizing every single thing, letting yourself be carried away by whatever he was telling you.

“I really thought I would have it all in Seoul, when I met Sohee I knew I wanted a family, that I wanted to take care of another life, having children and adoring them forever... but she could never conceive. She was infertile. We had a bad time trying, but she was getting sadder and sadder as it was what we both did and she couldn’t have ours. At that time I... was so desperate to know which of us was the main cause so I did something I will never forgive myself for, I impregnated a young, virginal woman from an important family... and the consequences were inevitable, I had my first daughter, identical to me, with my mother’s eyes. Bahng Chanmi was born on April 13th, 1830. I was happy because my dream was to have children, but devastated at the same time. Chanmi’s mother’s family, Insook, found out and for a moment I thought I was going to be executed as I was a married man, but they forced me to leave Soohe and marry Insook instead” Chris cleared his throat as if that was hard to speak, “Sohee couldn’t believe it, she left me and ran away to Japan leaving me heartbroken. I never saw her again and I never thought I would ever be able to love another woman again other than my own daughter, but I felt she took everything from me... until I...” Chris paused again to look at you carefully but continued, “I lost myself again, I didn’t love Insook, but I wanted to be a good father to Chanmi, so I was there for her. Two years after Chanmi was born, my father died, I endured two more years in Seoul and in 1834 I arrived with Insook and Chanmi in Sydney. I loved it here from the first moment I set foot in... but I was still disoriented, I was a mess, I felt that everyone around me was leaving me, I was only there for my daughter, I was passionate about nothing else, I fell into a bad habit of going to parties and taking refuge in alcohol and it was just one day after my 37th birthday when I immortalized that number in me. On October 4th, 1834 at about 3 a.m. in the harbor area of Sydney, a creature creeping in the night lured me with his voice and words, I was drunk, with no mind at all... and it was that night that he made me into what I am now” a new pause, “A vampire.”

You didn’t expect that, in fact you didn’t know what you expected in all that talk... but a vampire explained why he talked about himself living since the 19th century... but a vampire, it was illogical. There was no such thing, still, you again felt a chill and an uneasiness in his gaze. You didn’t want to be intimidated by that... it must be a joke, a scary story.

Christopher remembered it as if it were yesterday, the sleek, slender shadow of a delicate blond man approaching a helpless, drunken, heartbroken doctor. His face was angelic, but his demonic voice and intentions of a cold, murderous beast were even worse.

“I have seen you for a long time Dr. Christopher Bahng, saving lives to the good people in Sydney, doing god’s work... but... I see nothing but hell in you, you are unhappy, don’t you want some remedy?”

His voice was rough, thick, and his tone of voice playful. Chris remembers being dizzy, still seeing his silhouette and face. A young man, beautiful with freckles, long blond hair, wide dark eyes, and pale skin. Chris thought he was dreaming... or to have arrived in heaven, although if that’s what heaven was all about, why did he feel so ill.

Chris watched him in confusion, the cold sea air shivering his body with chill. The man was dressed in black and there was something in his gaze that unsettled every inch of Chris.

The blond huffed out a chuckle.

“I’m going to disappear everything from you... I’ll be your cure.”

“How?” was all a desperate Chris could say.

“All it takes... it’s just a little taste... of your blood.”

The next thing Chris felt was two strong stabs on his neck, the slender boy took his body, biting his neck, sucking and tasting every part of him. Chris whimpered and panted loudly, he felt mutilated, it was worse than the feeling of a scalpel on his skin and the sensation spread through his body, Chris struggled and fought, but surprisingly the thin boy was much stronger than him. Then he fell weak and unconscious, he knew nothing, until dawn when workers shook his body vigorously trying to wake him up near the harbor. But Chris felt different and the sunrise was slowly burning down his skin.

“Felix Lee was the name of the man... vampire who turned me. Felix was an attractive man, he had a unique beauty that mesmerized anyone, his appearance was so innocent which is why people fell for his tricks so quickly, Felix loved the game of seduction, cat and mouse, he would lure both men and women and then kill them leaving them without a drop of blood...”

You looked at him skeptically, his story was making less and less sense to you, Chris stopped instantly knowing what you were thinking.

“I know I know” he chuckled, “A vampire is kind of... crazy, with all the fiction these days, the movies and the marketing but... Party trick, check this out” Chris said amused.

Suddenly, he showed you his teeth, a normal set of teeth until you watched as in a millisecond his fangs lengthened, becoming sharp typical fangs... vampire fangs. You were scared, you didn’t want to believe it, it was impossible. His teeth went back to normal.

"There’s no reason to take the family photos, you wouldn’t believe it, photoshop makes those wonders and old-fashioned stuff out of my medicine materials? People sell it on ebay all the time... how come I can prove it to you?”

“A vampire?” you said in fright, interrupting him, “Really... it’s not a joke...?”

“Sadly no. I’ve been 37 for 190 years.”

You laughed in disbelief, you were beginning to believe... but your mind betrayed you, freaking you out and thinking that maybe this was a killer, a psychopath who likes blood, one of those obsessed weirdo types and perhaps the idea entered his head like internet psycho...? Chris laughed.

“I’m not some weirdo who obsesses over something he sees on the internet, not some random killer either” he commented.

You freaked out and went back to see him... how did he....

“How do I know what you think? I can read minds a little bit” he answered amused.

You denied, you were so scared to visualize anything else... that your mind betrayed you and you thought of Twilight’s movie.

“Twilight, really? Give me something more believable to tell you.”

You widened your eyes in fright, your breathing was getting uneven and you thought about calling Jeongin, that it was enough trick or treat and you had to go home.

“Jeongin... he’s not your boyfriend, is he? I didn’t expect you to want to leave so soon.”

“How do you know all that? Can you stop?”

“I’m sorry, it’s your privacy, I understand,” he apologized, “I don’t want to scare you.”

Chris didn’t know what your reaction might be, that was one of the only things he couldn’t control, but something in him was irrevocably drawn to you and the strength of that desire for you was so strong and hard to handle. It was... as if all his years of discipline, long decades of controlling his hunger and bestial lust were in vain, in the end, he fell for a young and simple human.

He was exactly scaring you... if you believed him... what was the point of telling you.

“I’m not going to hurt you either” he replied.

“How?” you told him more calmly after seeing his soft and worried expression, something in you couldn’t distrust him, “It’s so unreal...”

He sighed.

“It’s one of the questions I’ve asked myself for over a hundred years, but it wasn’t my fault, I didn’t ask to be, I cherished life but I didn’t ask to live for eternity, Felix turned me...”

You looked him in the eyes, “And what happened to Felix?” you interrupted him.

“After he turned me... I didn’t know what was happening to me, I had those two marks on my neck, the sun was burning my body and I had a ravenous hunger that wouldn’t be filled with food. And it was something I couldn’t control even being near Insook or Chanmi, I thought I was becoming mentally ill and wanted to murder them. I walked away from them and wandered around feeling weak and sick, I thought I would die alone. I was locked in my office, receiving no one until a young woman knocked on my door at night, worried about her dead sister’s baby whom she was now caring for, but I couldn’t, the smell of blood was killing me. The child had a fever and I did everything I could, I cured him by telling her that she should leave as soon as possible and to keep me updated if the fever went down and she insisted on thanking me, with the baby resting in a crib, I could not take it anymore and drank the poor girl’s blood and she fell, weak in my arms and I thought I had killed her, I was terrified, I acted on impulse and from there I knew I had become a monster. I didn’t know what to do... but I felt so good, so alive and strong. I took care of the child and left the woman’s body in the office, but she woke up the next day leaving me terrified, all this was defying every part of my being studied by science, I did not know how to control it and I also turned her. Felix showed up one night, congratulating me for my first blood tasting, I wanted to beat him to death, I asked him what I had become and he laughed and told me... a vampire. In the end it was chaos, Felix fell madly in love with the young girl I had turned and convinced me to go and live with them and the baby, as he said... we were the only monsters in Sydney. Felix would kill, but he never turned anyone. He was turned by an English guy who came back to Europe when Felix was innocently looking for some sex. He was obsessed with me as soon as he saw me... but once Adeline came along, the girl I converted, she truly became the love of Felix’s life.”

The distance between you and Chris was getting shorter, you listened carefully to his every word that came out with emotion, more than his old story, this time it was getting serious and you could see it in every part of it.

“Felix became so obsessed because she was a young, virginal woman, bragging that taking her blood was the reason it would satisfy my lust for quite a while. I lived with them but was still caring for and raising Chanmi. They both raised Adeline’s nephew and had the crazy idea of turning him when he was older. They were a mess together, I tried to convince them not to kill, and I fed myself on fake blood donation schemes I made up... but Felix and Adeline had a killer and predator instinct, they loved to catch people and rejoice in their pain and cries. After 10 years of living with them, my little Chanmi couldn’t understand why her mother was getting older and her father looked just like how she remembered him as a child. I made excuses and when she turned 20 I explained to her... Everything was fine, I lived with them because I was obsessed, they were my objects of study, I wanted to know the anatomy of a vampire and how anything worked, but impossible not to be captivated by them and their dirty little games” Chris grimaced, remembering his weak moments when lust would take over his instincts and he would have sex with both of them, “but Adeline had a secret, she was in love with me and not Felix, she confessed it to me after living 15 years with them and in her madness she believed it was Felix who came between us so, one evening in June 1849, Adeline killed Felix, giving him dead people’s blood, making him weak and confused, then stabbed his heart and set the house on fire...”

Chris looked you in the eye as you imagined each graphic scene. At least Chris believed Felix was dead however no body was ever found... although he wondered if it was even possible to come across a vampire body since the house wasn’t completely ruined, they got to cease-fire in time but found nothing.

“Then I did something I’m not proud of” you saw him attentively, “Adeline threatened to hurt Insook and Chanmi if I didn’t stay with her, that she would tell everyone what kind of creatures we are... the next thing I did was to capture her and keep her kidnapped for a week without human blood contact, she was going crazy and her hunger was a thousand times bigger than a romance, she promised to stay away from me if I released her, I did it and never saw her again...”

You worried, thinking that she may be seeking revenge to which Chris smiled, unable to help but read your mind and find it tender that you cared.

You had so many questions as soon as the silence formed... so many but so many questions but you just said:

“So what happened next?”

“Well, I stayed away from practicing medicine for periods because it was so suspicious that I was supposed to be 60 and I looked 30. My life became miserable as soon as Chanmi died at 85. I got to see her two children grow up, but she knew them well enough that she realized if she told them that their grandfather was a vampire they would expose me so my secret went along with her... I occasionally see everyone to make sure my family tree is still there. But the Bahng family name has been lost. I went back to Europe with a new identity, I went back to Asia and back to Australia again, I was just doing that to fill the void, I couldn’t die, and I wasn’t sure how a vampire could die, I also didn’t want to die terribly or in the horrible way Adeline did to Felix; I wanted a normal life, I wanted to grow old, to have children, I always wanted more children, to see them grow up and take them to play...”

You grimaced, analyzing the anguish in his tone as he confessed something that seemed like a dashed dream, you wondered for a second if he could still have children.

“Of course I still can” he replied looking you straight in the eye, making you feel inferior because it was hard to believe he could read your mind, “Physically I’m thirty years old forever, mentally, well... I must have died over 100 years ago” he let out a chuckle.

“And you stayed in Sydney, why? I thought you couldn’t stand the sun,” you said.

You wanted to avoid thinking about him, his closeness, his physical attractiveness, and his serious emotional tone of voice when saying something, as you knew he was going to know what you were thinking about.

“I can do it, for a short time and under a lot of protection, I love the beach, I adore seeing it even if I look like a lunatic covered from head to toe” he laughed again, “I finally stayed in Australia in the early 20th century and it wasn’t until the 80’s that I met someone like me... another vampire who was stalking me for years without me knowing it, Kim Seungmin, the director of the hospital, since then we have a pact, he has taken care of absolutely everything and keeps me in practice, I disappear for a while, then go back to my work, but lately people have been so curious to know what I do, the last identity I had is that I was born in 1987, I think I can work 10 more years, then I’ll step away for another few years until I can reappear, but you young people today, it’s hard to hide identities since you know everything, you’re suspicious of the slightest thing just because I don’t even have a damn instagram. Being a vampire is miserable.”

You opened your eyes in surprise to discover that there was more than one near you, or at least in the same city.

He stared at you again, piercing you with his gaze, “I led a strict lifestyle with discipline, I stopped drinking blood and did so only at Seungmin’s clandestine meetings when he gave it to me. Sometimes I only stayed alive out of curiosity at some point... if I could ever feel anything else, if I could ever let myself feel empty, or if I was doomed for eternity. Now I want to answer all the questions you have, you are free to know everything.”

His face slightly close to yours made you nervous, his gaze carried something you had never seen in someone before. Suddenly you forgot every single one of your questions, from the most serious and sensible to the silliest, you were absolutely unfocused and could only think about how your breath was going away at that enigmatic attraction you felt, it didn’t feel like any normal attraction, but it genuinely felt like something of yours, not something he was making into you. Your intrusive thoughts won out, you wanted to kiss him, you wanted to do it from the second you saw him, and you wanted a little adventure being alone at night, but the small thought of a simple make-out turned dark.

And Christopher could know every single scene that crossed your mind, once again you made him feel different, you made him feel full of energy without the need to taste your blood, he was no longer a soulless creature that had been living in darkness for almost 200 years, he had a desire towards you as any other human could feel but in him, it was a thousand times more intense, he gathered all the energy for the long years he never managed to get it.

He wasn’t sure whether to fulfill your thoughts but he couldn’t resist it any longer, he wanted to have you like he had never felt before and every second he didn’t touch you was overwhelming, he might die if he didn’t.

Your heart pounded as Chris put a big, cold hand on your face. He could smell and feel in every inch of himself your alive, human, blood-pumping body. His lust turned to a dark desire to taste you, an uncontrollable desire to fill your body with pleasure and fill himself with something more intense than a drug, your sweet, thick blood.

“And even after all these fucking years of the same hell... nothing compares to what you make me feel. You drive me crazy. This is something new, after 190 years of study and discipline... that fucked off as soon as I saw you.”

Once again his intimidating, deep gaze fixed on you, Chris brought his hand to your other cheek and held your face, analyzing it, as if it was something so unfamiliar to him... you watched him and let him touch you, almost quivering in shivering, between excitement at the tense atmosphere and uncertainty at the constant mystery he had you trapped in. Bahng breathed deeply, filling himself with your scent and enjoying the feel of your smooth young skin in his icy hands. He moved closer to you, pushing your voice recorder to the floor and you placed your hands over his to feel his long, slender fingers, his protruding veins... vampire or doctor, human, your body was uncontrollably begging for Christopher Bahng.

Finally, he kissed you, his masculine, cold nose touching your face to join your lips deeply and passionately with a hunger that never seemed to cease. It felt so good to be kissed and taken by a man, between his big hands that one of them went down to your neck causing you to shiver every time he had contact with your skin, but for Chris who has lived in coldness for an exaggerated amount of time, having you close and touching you was like discovering warmth for the first time. His lips were soft and plump and his movements delicate but passionate. So far arousal for him had been so normal, an idea that occasionally crossed his mind and he would seek some sex to distract himself and he enjoyed it and liked to do it... but right now with you, it was different, it was a colossal desire to have you, and his desperate touches reflected it.

He lowered his hands to your waist and slowly drew you into his body, until he was carrying you lightly with ease and placing you on his lap. You felt him, felt the firmness of his crotch press exquisitely against your cunt. Chris stroked down your body, stroked your hair in desperate acts as he longed to feel your bare skin, and kept playing with his mouth, lips, and tongue on you until you were breathless and just as you were about to part from him slowly, he found a way to bite down hard on your lower lip, making you moan softly and causing you to slightly expel blood from it; Chris smiled and licked your lip, playfully tasting your blood, as it wasn’t exactly from that source that he could fully satisfy himself.

You both looked at each other expectantly with ragged breaths; Chris acted desperate and took off your sweater, admiring your silhouette to take off your bra, you felt the cold of the room on your body making your nipples hard, you were nervous and stunned at the speed in which things were happening but you let yourself go again as you felt his big hands squeeze and caress your breasts while his fleshy lips went to your neck, kissing it and leaving hickeys that made you moan in pleasure, your center was so needy, throbbing desperately like your heart, it was adrenaline with excitement, it was such an addictive feeling so you began to move gently over his erection, making you both hotter and getting Chris’ rough, sexy short moans on your skin in response.

Chris kept caressing your breasts and squeezed your nipples, adapting to every sensation of his skin against yours, guarding in detail every sound you made and the action of your body every time he touched you. This time he was putting all his will into not letting his bestial side win, but he inhaled the scent of your neck and watched your skin tingle... he wanted to taste you, to drink you, and the idea made his hard erection throb, he had never felt sexual pleasure from biting someone, the action itself conveyed the sensation of intense orgasms together without the need for his genitals to react but right now he was being a mess, he had no control of his body, his cock was alive, hard and present for every inch of you... and the curiosity for your taste was driving him to madness.

“Baby girl I want to taste you... I want you to make me feel so full” he whispered, still torn whether to do it or not.

You stopped moving, and every hair on your skin bristled, you knew exactly what it meant, you leaned back on his shoulders and his hands caressed your waist and back, suddenly you felt the sharp edge of his fangs caress your skin. Slight fear and uneasiness came over your body, and your heart skipped a beat... if you let him do it, where would he do it? To what part of your skin does he get to pierce his fangs? Does it get into a vein? You can bleed to death...? And if it’s something he does, seduce young people and then drink their blood? Will you die tonight?

“Your pretty mind is full of questions...” he said again, his voice full of lust as he tightened his grip on your waist, “You’re a nurse, you shouldn’t be afraid of a little pain and light pinching...”

You let out a gut-wrenching scream, filling Chris’ every sense, he did it, he couldn’t control it and tasted you. He knew it hurt like hell, that only a sick fucker turned on by someone else’s pain could enjoy it and that was him, right now, what he wanted so badly to evade in his younger years in such cruel times.

You dug your hands in and slapped his shoulders, struggling to get away from him, crying as you felt two stab wounds dig in and penetrate your neck beyond your muscle, you wanted him to stop, you were feeling the suction of your blood, it was a new and uncomfortable feeling; for Chris it was heaven itself, 60 seconds in paradise tasting your thick and delicious blood that he had fantasized about for so long, the one that made you so unique, that flowed into your being and carried in it secrets of who you came from. Your blood filled him completely and as soon as he tasted it he knew it was pure and virginal blood. It drove him absolutely insane. And for you, it was hell, 60 seconds of sharp, agonizing pain.

His fangs pierced deep into you, every second was eternal but you felt that no matter how hard you fought it was in vain, you began to feel weak, to stop whimpering loudly and your vision began to blur, you were terrified but weak, you didn’t want this to be your final day.

On the other hand, Chris was holding you tightly by the waist until he left marks on your skin, he couldn’t stop, he had never tasted anything like this, he was obsessed, but he couldn’t prolong your pain any longer so he stopped.

His face turned away from your neck and he stared at you. You could see his smug smile and his lips and long fangs tinged with a thick dark red, which he licked, reveling in every last drop. You reacted again, frightened, your heart wanting to burst out of your chest, you brought your hands trembling with pain and horror to your neck and the wounded area, your neck hurt but it was a tolerable pain of discomfort, you felt the area, terrified to find yourself bleeding out but there was nothing, more than a few small drops of blood that stained your fingers and the sensation of the marks of two circular bites.

“No... I’m not bleeding... why?” you said in terror, feeling uncomfortable at the sensation of his marks as you palpated them.

“You forget I’m a surgeon too and that I’ve been a doctor for almost two hundred years, I made the perfect incision for you, pretty girl” he spoke in an arrogant tone, grabbing your trembling hand with your index and middle fingers enveloped in little blood and licked them playfully.

“I loved tasting your blood, now I’ll love tasting some more.”

Chris moved your body nimbly, sitting you on the couch as he bent down slightly, looking deeply at you again making you shudder, your fear slowly lowered, your body was racing, and you didn’t know if you were alive or dead but the sensations were so real. You felt you shouldn't have gotten aroused, but you did, his big hands tugged your skirt down until it was pulled off, and he spread your legs apart and got down on his knees in front of your center covered by your wet panties and fishnet stockings.

“Let me make you feel good. Is that okay?”

His tone of voice was sensual and captivating, his hands squeezed and massaged your thighs without touching your pussy. You didn’t understand how you went from fearing for your life to being once again with a fierce sexual appetite. You bit your lip to hold back your moan. You were alive. He was a vampire and you were both suddenly looking for sex on that cold and lonely night. You held back a moan and nodded, embarrassed to respond.

Chris drew a mischievous half smile on his face, observing and admiring every detail of your confused and aroused pretty and delicate face, your cheeks red and shiny from your previously shed tears of pain and finally he finely caressed with his fingers the length of your pussy getting as a response a moan and the soft twitching of your body. He pulled off your stockings desperately almost tearing them and pulled the fabric of your panties aside to admire your glistening pussy wrapped in your arousal, he let out an incredulous chuckle, now he was the skeptic that he could finally have you, that you had him trapped and feeling like he never had in 227 years on earth that most seemed like hell to him, until he met you, make today the day he could have you and kissed your lips; and the idea that you were a sweet young virgin woman went to his head, he wanted to make you feel so good, he wanted you to enjoy yourself like never if another boy never did, he wanted to treat you like the delicate girl you were, but also his inhuman pleasure wanted to take your body and feel your insides hard.

“Look at you, you’re beautiful.”

He was mesmerized, sweetly overwhelmed, poisoned and obsessed. He never wanted to let you go. He wanted you to be his, to leave a mark on you that would remind the world that you belonged to him, that he was the lucky one who put his hands, eyes and heart on you.

Chris brought his lips close to your clit, sucking it gently, you were again weak but with pleasure at the same time full of energy, your body was restless mind anxious for everything he could do to you, you could think of nothing else but him and you now in that room surrendered to desire.

Chris began to lick you, pulling away the fabric of your panties with one hand and with the other caressing every area that his mouth could not reach to coat, you moaned, his mouth was also cool to your warm core, it was feeling so good, Chris was hard at the thought of your innocence, of the light fabric that kept him from having you completely naked, that you were just beginning to live, that a few seconds ago you were crying in pain and now you were biting your lip holding back your gasps.

He began to stimulate you, licking your vulva, entwining his tongue in your labia, caressing your clit, pulling back the fabric of your panties, and stroking you over it to play with you and moisten it further, teasing your entrance. You stirred in place, restless and excited, forgetting the pain in your neck and shyly stroking his soft, slightly wavy dark hair. You were so aroused, every inch of you wrapped in fire.

Chris finally removed your panties as he saw you flustered and aroused, enjoying every second of caressing your legs on the spot, and took your pussy again with more desperation, he stopped his slow gentle play and began to eat you roughly but his movements were nimble and pleasurable. His face was buried in your core with his long fingers touching absolutely everything about you and when you least expected it, two of his digits inserted deep inside you, fucking you in a rapid pace.

You watched him the whole time, Chris occasionally gasped into your pussy genuinely happy to taste you, he was engrossed in you, wrapped in pleasure as he heard your moans and felt your body tremble. Chris raised his arm to reach up to caress your abdomen and breasts, he wanted to miss absolutely nothing about you that night he had you. You were on the verge of collapse and he knew it, he looked up as he went back to sucking your clit, he made eye contact with you, his dark eyes watching you fade before him and play with pleasure, you gasped releasing the tension in your lower abdomen, pushing out an intense orgasm that delighted Chris more than thousands of liters of unknown people’s blood could along his vampiric trajectory. Your sweet orgasm juice was something new that he could die from if he didn’t consume it, he discovered his new antidote for eternity.

You were agitated but inside you knew this wasn’t over yet. Chris savored your orgasm and felt impatient, he knew you couldn’t wear two marks on your neck proudly... or maybe you could, with how crazy he thought it was nowadays, but he was past his craziest moment, now he wanted to do to you what any human in a situation like you both were in would do, he was going to forever attach himself to you, he was going to enjoy every second of being inside you and being the first one to do it.

“Fuck, I can take it anymore, you will be mine forever.”

You watched as Chris stood up as he licked his lips covered in your glistening liquid, and took off his shirt in one swift movement because he wanted to feel your ragged breathing on his chest and the pounding of your heart attached to it and stripped completely naked removing his remaining clothes. You didn’t know you were really expected to lose your virginity that night let alone with Dr. Bahng... who confirmed you to be a vampire. You saw his face and pale, muscular naked body without any marks or scratches with nervousness and excitement, feeling your center moisten at the sight of his large erect cock. He moved closer to you, with a lurking gaze and kissed you again, playing with your tongue and your body trembled at the sudden sensation of his cock rubbing between your vulva and being wrapped around your labia.

“Ah, fuck, I’ll make you mine now, baby girl” he gasped in exasperation.

Chris couldn’t resist the softness of your folds teasing his cock so he slowly delved into your entrance, making you whimper as he hurt you again and opened up another part of you. But you enjoyed it, this time the pain was purely pleasurable and the scene of his large, wide cock opening your entrance was so obese and graphic. Chris moaned in pleasure with your walls choking his rigid member deep inside you. You saw the slight bulge in your belly form in your lower abdomen one last time as Chris carried your weak and excited body, making you wrap your legs around his body, he grabbed your ass and began to control your body raising and lowering it to his desire as he enjoyed your insides being sweetly ravaged. You whimpered again feeling so full but sore, you hugged him, pressing your bare chest to his. Chris moved your body with ease and at his mercy, babbling and moaning absolutely lost in the sexy sensation of finally having you, sliding his cock into your newly-used entrance, feeding himself on your soft whimpers. Chris felt full again, as alive as he hadn’t been for long, overwhelming years, your fluids combining with his, sliding along his cock and falling towards the floor gracefully, being a mess of passion that cold night. Chris fantasized about filling every part of you with his cum, the risk of the frantic sex you were having was taking him to the clouds, for the first time he had his experience close to heaven.

You felt your orgasm close, you were on the edge, it felt so good you wanted to arch your back, you parted from him, restless and agitated, throwing your head back enjoying the sweet pace it was to have him deep in you tickling and pounding deep inside you. Chris raised his eyebrows, ecstatic seeing your borderline expression, closing your eyes and throwing your head back panting softly, he stroked your neck at first, running his thumbs over the fang marks on your neck, thinking that lust had won in your body, with the amount he sucked you must have felt dizzy and passed out... but there you were bouncing on his cock, about to have your second orgasm and without thinking about it, again something took over him, to have absolute control of everything about you, to have you on the edge of absolutely every single thing you did, Chris grabbed your neck hard, causing you a sharp pain as he pressed tightly on your still sensitive injured area and started to cut off your breath, choking you and still moving your body with ease on his cock. You looked at him, his expression was soft, his eyes dark, but his actions were brutal, abusing your entrance, cutting off your breath and hurting you more where he had previously done so... the pain was grinding in your neck, which made you let out a tear, the pain in your sensitive pussy burned and throbbed, but you couldn’t help but continue to experience an irremediable pleasure, your pumping system seeking release, fighting against what to control first, you whimpered, his grip on your neck growing tighter and tighter, you pinned back into his strong shoulders, whimpered chokingly, finally collapsing in an orgasm that weakened every one of your limbs. And in the midst of your orgasm Chris cum inside you, fantasizing about the idea that you might be the sweet, tender woman who could carry on the Bahng name after so many years.

He let go of your neck gradually, letting you take a breath of air. Chris pulled out of you, leaving you surrendered with the warm sensation of his cum sliding down your entrance. You wanted to cry from the stabbing pain in your body but you were so tired to do so, you were so shaken, worried about the speed of your heartbeat, but you fell back into his strong arms, leaned your cheek on his shoulder and could only whisper:

“Chris I’m tired.”

Your eyelids began to grow heavy, you were feeling sedated and without control of your limbs.

“Oh my sweet girl, of course you are, I drank a good amount of your blood and you continued to have sex” he spoke in an obvious tone, causing him tenderness at your state.

Chris put his forearm behind your knees, carrying you as your legs felt numb. It was a different feeling, you couldn’t quite rationalize and wanted to fall into a deep sleep. He led you to his room, cold like the rest of the house and your vision began to spin. Chris laid you gently on his bed and you caught a glimpse of his window, illuminated by the night and in front of it the silhouette of a slim blond man... you were slowly falling and before falling into an uncontrollable sleep your mind managed to think of that name Chris mentioned, Felix. Chris read your tired mind for one last time before you closed your eyes to sleep.

He opened his eyes, frightened, there was nothing in the world that scared him more than the demonic presence of that blond boy. His distinctive voice echoed throughout the room and Chris saw his slender silhouette emerge from the darkness of the window.

“Christopher Bahng, my long-time friend. I see you finally got some other lady to have fun with... sharing all your little secrets, but did you miss me?”

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @lolareadsimagines @lailac13 @ayyonoona @do-you-remember-summer-127 @wildtokay @korthbum @oddracha @hyune-sssne @velvetmoonlght @shadowhunterathene @compersian @binniesbabe @strayywayy @mallielovssyou @isabel-018 @paborachaslvt

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madaqueue · 3 months ago

Text

CARVE ME UP AND EAT ME

there was almost no information on the mysterious cult nestled into the mountainside near your hometown, with even less knowledge about its leader. curiosity sets you on your path to investigate, but something else manages to keep you.

pairing: vampire!suguru geto x f!reader

themes/content: dark content (dubcon). smut. cult leader suguru, blood drinking/feeding, like mind control-ish? idk i was making up vampire rules here, pet names (little lamb), fingering (reader receiving), p in v (missionary). 18+, MDNI (wk: 7.6k)

a/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!! thanks for getting freaky with me this month, it's been such a blast and i love you all!!!! hope you get to dress up and have lots of yummy candy tonight :) mwah!!!!!

quintober masterlist | main masterlist

People rarely came back from the mountains.

When they did, they were…different. Months, even years having passed from their disappearance, and suddenly returning with no memory of it. As though their time away suddenly ceased to exist. They couldn’t recall what they had done, who they were with, anything that could help the townspeople pin down the mysterious group making their home in the depths of the woods.

Any efforts to catch the so-called cult were obviously futile - the town lost enough soldiers that the leaders decided it was pointless to send anymore sacrifices.

So, there was a sort of peace. Well, less peace, and more a silent war, a battle of contempt, one that left everyone on edge. Whenever someone went missing, the entire village stood on edge, waiting but never searching.

But you were trained well, oh so well.

“Never go out at night.” “Never stray from us.” “Never get lost.”

“Never go into the mountains.”

They praised you for your obedience, feeding it to you from dirtied palms, making you kneel before them to drink from it. It felt good to be good.

Obedience is strength.

Their orders pulled at the strings of your muscles, dictating your actions, your movements, your very thoughts. They pulled and pulled and pulled until you were stretched taut, desperately tightening you into a form they deemed desirable.

It was only a matter of time before the strings snapped.

The fight was blurry now, nothing more than screams and tears and broken expectations so sharp you worried you may cut yourself. Your feet hit the ground outside your parents’ home faster than you could breathe in the burning air, cold in your lungs.

You had always obeyed.

So now, perhaps you could enact your final act of disobedience. The one thing that had been taught to you so deeply until it buried itself under your skin.

The path up the mountain wasn’t nearly as dangerous as others made it seem. Truthfully, it was shockingly well-maintained, the occasional branch snapping under your feet but no other obstacles.

What could even be so bad about this place, anyways?

The people who returned were never injured, always fed and clean and cared for. They always came back in a fresh set of robes draped over their skin, no signs of markings or damage painted across their bodies.

The options weighed heavy on your tongue. Either you’d reach the cult’s temple, or you’d die trying.

Either way, you’d be acting on your own. You’d be independent, free. With an exhale, you blew the remaining obedience into dust, joining the stars sparkling overhead.

The moon seemed pleased with your choice, at least, guiding your path clearly through the woods. Whenever the ground below your feet disappeared, you knew you had misstepped, returning easily to the worn-in gravel placed along the way. Eventually, the trees became sparse, no longer guarding you from whatever lays ahead.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust before focusing on the building before you, a gentle glow illuminating the temple through its exterior screens. It was certainly different than you imagined, expecting high stone barriers walling off a great fortress, leaving you to wonder: could masses of soldiers truly not pierce the paper screens protecting this deadly palace?

Yet, you couldn’t help but feel welcomed; it was unimposing, the warm lights flickering inside a definite sign of life. How many people call this their home? How many people serve here?

The wooden steps leading to the entrance creak slightly below your weight, palm hesitantly resting on the sliding door. Doubt flashes across your mind, the pull of your family threatening to tug you back home - should you turn around, forget this silly stunt and return to the life you had known?

Before you can move, the screen slides open in your grasp.

“Do come in,” a soft voice calls from inside as light floods your vision.

Your weight makes you stumble forward as your feet move on their own, carrying you into the room. It’s nice inside, the smell of sage lingering in the air as you make your way to the center. Before you is a man, his green and gold robes hanging loosely from his shoulders, the bare skin covered only by inky locks cascading down his back. His position looks almost leisurely as he kneels, his eyes scanning your figure.

“Sit.”

And you do - your knees buckle as you lower yourself to the ground.

A devilish grin spreads across his lips as he follows your motions. For a moment, his gaze locks on yours, deep purple eyes staring back.

“Quite an obedient little thing, aren’t you?” he purrs.

Air rushes into your lungs through a gasp, but you can’t stop the muscles in your neck from nodding.

What the fuck is happening? Why can’t you control your body?

As fear begins to course through your nerves, the stranger in front of you lets out a breathy giggle. “Good, that’s very good,” he muses.

When he rises to stand, your heart drops as you realize just how deeply you may have fucked up. He’s tall, easily towering over you. The bottom of his robes graze the floor as he circles you quietly - no, silently.

The sound of his humming vibrates in the air - you want to look at him, monitor him for any malicious intent, but you can’t bring yourself to turn your head.

When he’s completed his course around you, he returns to his seat on the floor. Perching himself on the balls of his feet, he leans forward. Cold fingers wrap around your face, pushing your cheeks together as he easily maneuvers you in his grasp. His eyes burn your skin as you realize:

He’s inspecting you.

With a pleased huff he releases your head, settling back across from you. That same smirk rests across his lips as he speaks. “Tell me, why did you come here, little lamb?”

The sound of your voice hits the air before you realize it’s yours. “I ran away.”

“Oh?” With a tilt of his head, his eyes crease. “Well then, I suppose you’ve found your new home. Welcome.”

Silently, he rises once more. This time, he extends a pale hand out to you. “I can show you to your room, if you’d like.”

At his words, the tendons within your body relax, more at ease. Finally under your own control, you raise a hesitant arm. Is this what you want?

Your palm rests lightly upon his.

He smiles.

“Good choice,” he whispers as you rise to your feet.

The temple’s grounds are beautiful, even in the dark. Flickering candlelight lines the stone paths as you walk through tended gardens, over wooden bridges and small streams. He guides you to a house near the back, tucked safely into the mountainside.

The paper slide shudders as it opens, revealing the outline of a bed covered in crisp white sheets.

“You can sleep here tonight. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to call for me,” he informs you, each syllable floating through the night air.

With one swift motion he turns, returning down the path you came from.

“Wait!” you call - as the command settles, you sheepishly cross your hands. Dark hair falls over his shoulder as he turns to face you. “How…how will I find you?”

His eyes close as he laughs. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll find you.” And with that, he disappears into the darkness.

–

The sun rises hesitantly here. It peeks its head through the translucent screens, barely illuminating your room enough to rouse you. When you finally wake, your thoughts swirl in confusion for a moment - where are you? what happened? - before you remember the previous night, the path beneath the watchful moon, the man who led you here.

Despite the unfamiliar environment, the warnings carved into your skin about the dangers of this place, you can’t bring yourself to feel afraid - after all, if he wanted to hurt you, he surely would have by now, right?

There’s an ache in your muscles as you stretch your arms overhead, bare feet resting upon the wooden floor, cool from the morning air. Idle hands begin searching the room as you open the hand-carved drawers, the scent of pine still lingering on them.

In the first, you find fresh sets of sheets. Below that, cleanly folded towels.

Moving to the next chest, your eyes widen as you scan its contents. Inside lie beautiful silks in every shade - your palms run over blues that mirror the sea, pinks the color of sunrise, greens brought from the forest floor. Each one feels more extravagant than the last, and as your awe clears, you suddenly feel ashamed to be holding them. They slip through your fingers as you shy away in embarrassment, your dirtied skin unworthy of touching them. They aren’t yours, after all - you’re nothing more than a guest here.

Turning to the closet nearby, you swing open the heavy doors, only to be met with even more luxury, this time robes hanging in neat rows.

You shouldn’t take them, but then again, the man did say anything you needed was yours…and you could use a new set of clothes after your travels last night…

Hesitantly, you pull one of the kimonos from the rack - in your hands, it catches the morning sun, small threads of gold reflecting across the room interwoven with the purple cloth. Sliding into it, you can’t help but notice the way it fits you perfectly, the length extending to just above your ankles, the sleeves resting gently along your wrists.

It feels foreign on your skin, surely you look like a fool, nothing more than a child trying on their parent’s work clothes. Glancing around the room, you search for a mirror to confirm your suspicions, but none seem to catch your eye. Oh well, you sigh, you’ll just have to face everyone looking like a stranger.

Stepping outside, a cool breeze brushes past your cheeks, your arms wrapping the robes tighter around your body as you fight off a shiver. It must be colder at this altitude, no longer afforded the protection of the very mountain you now reside on.

Small pebbles crunch beneath your feet as you make your way along the temple grounds. You try to retrace the path you took from the main house last night, but it quickly proves useless, your memory already foggy. Maybe it just looks different during the day?

Nevertheless, you don’t mind being lost here - the area is truly beautiful. Flowers fill the green spaces, ones you’d never seen before, shades of purple and red dotting the meadows. In the distance, tall trees poke against the horizon, leaves dancing in the wind.

As you wander, you pass identical buildings to the one you stayed in last night. Had you walked past all of these on your way there? Surely you would have remembered them, right?

This time, of course, the lights inside are off. There’s no use for them under the sun that’s now settling into the sky above. There are fewer clouds up here, you realize, perhaps another effect of the altitude.

By the time you find your way back to your new home (only able to identify it by the screen door left ajar), darkness has begun growing along the grounds, insects chirping their nighttime songs from nearby trees.

Sliding your shoes off, the smell of something tantalizing hits your senses.

You hadn’t even realized how hungry you were until you’re suddenly faced with the most delicious looking meal sitting upon the table. Steam rises from the bowl of salty broth, and for a moment you overlook the fact that someone must have been here to deliver it as you hurriedly shuffle to sit down, scooping noodles into your mouth with the chopsticks resting nearby. Finally, the ache in your stomach eases as you slurp the remaining liquid, allowing it to practically dribble down your chin.

A long shadow is suddenly cast along your room from behind you.

“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying dinner.”

Your spine shoots straight up as you turn, wiping your face with the back of a suddenly clammy palm.

“Y-yes,” you stutter, attempting to hide the utter lack of manners in how you had ravenously consumed the meal.

The man from last night stands in your doorway, leaning against the frame as he crosses his arms. That same smirk spreads across his features.

“Thank you!” you suddenly blurt, aware of your impoliteness. “It was…very good. Thank you.”

Another light chuckle dances across the air. “Please, no need for formalities. I’m simply glad you are enjoying the food. It’s been quite some time since I’ve had to make something for someone other than myself.”

Questions lie along the tip of your tongue, but before they can escape, he turns with a wave. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Wait!” You internally curse yourself again for the interruption, but one question in particular was burning its way through your throat. “I realized I never learned your name…”

“Oh,” he smiles through thin lips. “My name is Suguru, but most call me Master Geto. You can choose whatever name you like.”

Warmth floods your face at the title, and further at his informality. “O-okay.”

With another small flick of his wrist, he continues the path away from your room. “Anyways, goodnight,” he calls into the darkness ahead.

“Goodnight, Master Geto,” you murmur to yourself.

–

Your second day is all too similar.

You wake.

You dress.

You wander.

You eat.

This time, Master Geto does not stop by your room at all. You’re beginning to wonder what he does all day - hell, you’re beginning to wonder what anyone here does all day, not having seen a single other person.

All that free time leaves you to fester on your thoughts.

When you were a child, you heard the rumors of this place. At first, it was a sort of commune, a community where disillusioned and lost souls could go to find purpose. But when they stopped coming back, the stories twisted into more sinister adaptations. It was a religious group, who worshiped their leader as a false god. Then, it was a sex cult, who offered their bodies to him as a form of salvation. After that, it was a political power who strove to overtake all of society and enact his rules as law.

Time after time, story after story, it was always him at the forefront: some mysterious man who cornered and compelled his followers to obey.

And yet, you find yourself doubting it. How could he lead if he was never present? More than that, who could he lead if there were no loyal servants here to be led?

It didn’t add up.

The townsfolk were known for fear mongering - perhaps it was nothing more than a way to avoid losing any more citizens, to prevent them, too, from joining the strange man in the mountains.

But then again, you can’t quite shake the power you felt radiating from him when you were in that room, the way he so easily manipulated your body (and your thoughts) with nothing more than his words.

The thoughts string together in your mind as you pace the temple grounds during your walks, the only routine grounding you to the passage of time.

Today the sun struggles to shine through the clouds, a general greyness cast upon everything. It’s been almost two weeks, and you’ve barely seen him at all. Occasionally he’ll stop by your room, but only hover in the doorway, never entering. His voice always seems so calm when he speaks to you, offering simple observations about your meals, as though he was slowly investigating your preferences (not that he needed to - you were grateful simply to be fed - but he persisted nonetheless).

Tonight, you return to find the entrance to your room closed, the candlelight from inside casting a welcoming glow. As you slide the shoji open, a familiar scent fills the space. Your mouth waters as your feet carry you forward on instinct.

With the first bite from the bowl, you nearly moan in pleasure at the taste.

“Is it good?”

This time, you don’t jump at his silent approach. Glancing over your shoulder, you smile through a full mouth. “It’s incredible.”

“Good,” he laughs softly, “I’m glad. I was worried it wouldn’t be as good as you remembered.”

“Master Geto,” you swallow, “this is delicious.” Through another bite, your voice lowers, “It’s just like the oyakodon my parents used to make.”

“I know.”

The statement catches you momentarily off-guard, questions catching in your throat making you nearly choke.

He senses the change immediately as your shoulders close off, confusion building behind your eyes. “I apologize if I overstepped,” he begins, uncrossing his arms and allowing them to hang loosely by his sides in the slightly oversized robes, “I remembered that dish being popular in town, so I thought it might bring some comfort.”

“Oh,” you hum, tentatively chewing another bite. It’s a reasonable explanation, you suppose, even if it leaves more uncertainty swirling in your lungs.

After a moment of silence, his presence in your doorway begins to feel…awkward.

Normally by this point he’d have left with a wave, fading into the darkness outside. But not tonight. Tonight, he stays, swaying slightly within the entrance.

As your gaze covers him, the traditional robes remind you - perhaps you were being even more rude than you expected. You still knew very little about him, but maybe he abided by more traditional laws, one that forbade a man from entering a woman’s sleeping quarters without her permission.

(You always thought those rules were a bit silly, but now was not the time for debate - now was the time to learn more about the man lingering outside.)

“Would you like to come in?” You place the question into the air as you swallow the final piece of your dinner.

His grin threatens to tear across his cheeks as he nods politely. “Of course.”

As he approaches the table inside, his presence suddenly feels overwhelming. Even though he’s not physically much larger than you, something about him suffocates the space, his soul spreading out until there’s no room left. It’s stifling.

But when he sits across from you, it gets sucked back into himself. You can breathe again.

“How is the temple?” he asks easily.

“It’s beautiful,” you muse, “but…where is everyone?”

“Everyone?” He cocks his head to the side. “Oh! You mean the others. They aren’t particularly active during the day - you know how hot it gets here.”

In an instant, it feels right - the memories of the brisk mornings become hazy in your mind, replaced with the sun beaming overhead. Maybe you even returned to your room with sweat glistening along your skin after a particularly long walk.

Suguru notices the way your vision clouds over as the experiences rewrite themselves. If you were more present, perhaps you’d be able to decode the emotion flashing across his face as his nose scrunches and eyebrows furrow.

He stands suddenly, pulling you from your internal trance.

“Well, I suppose I should be going now,” he hums, gliding seamlessly to the doorway once again. “Goodnight.”

Before you can breathe a question, he’s gone, the rattling screen door the only proof of his existence.

–

You think you’re going insane here.

When you fled, you wanted to find something exciting, a new experience, an act of defiance. You wanted something to fill the emptiness in your soul and make you into something else, someone stronger, someone braver, someone more than the obedient little girl you left behind.

But now, with every repeated step through the temple grounds, you feel yourself collapsing inwards. The support beams inside you aren’t strong enough, cracking under the weight of loneliness.

Why wasn’t anyone here?

Why wasn’t anyone helping you?

Even Master Geto’s presence became desired, in spite of the slight unease that brewed within your stomach when he was around. It was like an addiction, as though he knew just how to feed you enough of him to keep you coming back, to keep you starving.

Ironic, isn’t it? That here, in a place with all your needs met, with delicious meals and extravagant clothes and plush beds, you find yourself destitute. Hunger pangs shoot up your chest as you eat alone, the robes begin stifling each breath, too hot even as the days grow colder. Every night you become increasingly acquainted with the wooden beams drawn above your bed.

You’re empty.

On your thirty-first night, after hours laying alone in the dark, you wonder if perhaps the moon would have any advice for you. She’s always watched over you, maybe she could guide you.

Outside, the gravel shifts beneath your feet. The candles are lit once again, lining the paths throughout the grounds. You’ve never seen anyone light them, and yet every night, their flames continue to burn (not that you need them, of course - you’ve grown accustomed to this place, steps tracing it like palm lines).

So you trust your legs when they carry you forward. Until you’re once again at the entrance of the main temple, the same warmth flickering from inside.

The door slides open easily, the hesitation that used to live in your muscles now replaced with tired indignation. You no longer have to wait for Master Geto’s command to enter (even though you want it, you want it so badly, to be told what to do and where to go and how to act and what to think until you’re nothing but his little puppet because then at least you could be something).

A part of you expected him to be in his chambers given the late hour. But a more possessive part hopes he’d be here, waiting for you.

Your lungs breathe a sigh of relief as you feel his gaze. He smiles as you stand in the doorway.

“What’s my little lamb doing up so late?” he coos, beckoning you inside.

Rubbing your eyes, you take your seat on the floor next to him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

It’s been some time since you’ve been here, you realize - perhaps since the first night you arrived - but it feels comfortable, the scent of smoke lingering in the air. And Master Geto is here, too - that surely helps.

“I see. Tell me, would you like me to make you some tea?”

Your head nods on its own, perhaps an effect of your recent insomnia.

Silently, he rises, moving easily through the room to collect his arsenal. Armed with a maroon teapot and a single cup, he returns to where you rest in the center of the room. Dark liquid pours into the mug before he places it in front of you.

The first sip burns your tongue slightly, but you avoid wincing - you wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful. You wouldn’t want to push him away.

Deep eyes watch your every move, drinking you in. That quiet discomfort is back, but you shove it down with a forceful swallow. After all, if you seem distrustful, it may make him unhappy, or worse, leave you. After so long without him, you’re content to sit under his blanket of silence.

“How are you enjoying your time here?”

Your throat catches for a moment. Should you tell him it’s killing you, eating you alive and breaking you down? Should you tell him how much you’ve missed him? No - surely he’d think you strange, you barely know each other despite the time you’ve spent here.

“It’s been…comfortable.”

He tilts his head through a thoughtful hum. He allows the quiet to choke you for a moment before he continues. “And yet, you’re here at this hour. Tell me, why?”

Your lips are moving on your own, fighting against your better interest. “I’ve missed you, Master Geto.”

“Oh?” He seems pleased with your response, letting out that tantalizing little chuckle. “What is it about me you’ve missed?”

This time, you’re able to stifle your voice before it betrays you. Through another sip, you let the words simmer on your tongue before he speaks again-

“Tell me.”

“I missed being told what to do,” you blurt, nearly spilling the tea that had been resting behind your lips.

Thin lips tug into a smirk as he eyes you, and you can’t help but feel you’ve answered correctly, even if it was against your will.

That fear bubbles inside your chest once again, but this time it’s tainted with something else, something hot. Something you would be tempted to call desire.

Adjusting his weight, muscled legs sprawl before him. “Come here, little lamb,” he purrs.

So easily he pulls your strings. In an instant you’re crawling towards him, until you’ve settled upon his lap, head resting on his shoulder. Perhaps a month ago you would have been scared at how easily he maneuvers you to his will, but after countless days left with only your own thoughts to drive you, it’s a welcome reprieve. A body is a heavy thing to carry alone; there’s no harm in letting someone else borrow it for a moment.

Slender fingers card through your hair, melting you beneath his touch. Until all that’s left is a fluid form in the outline of your flesh; it makes it all the more easy to shape that way.

“You must be tired, poor thing,” Suguru hums into the crown of your head.

“Mmm,” you hum in response, eyelids fluttering closed.

“Go on then, sleep.”

And your vision melts into his darkness.

–

When you wake, everything feels stiff. The room, your body, the blankets cocooned around you. Stale air sits in your lungs as you rise from the bed.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, landing on wood floors and drawn shades. Everything is covered in a fine layer of dust except you, the only living thing here.

Nothing moves except for your breathing, no sounds besides the mattress creaking as you stand. Your thighs are tense, aching with each step forward. At least your robe is comfortable, even if it’s not the one you remember falling asleep in.

That memory itself feels fuzzy - how long had you been here?

But the slippers on your feet are warm, and you don’t feel that gnawing ache inside your stomach anymore. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.

Sliding the bedroom door open, you wander into the hallway. At the end, flickering candlelight casts a glow across the familiar carpet, the same as in the main building. Oranges and greens blur in your vision as you make your way to it, and your heart picks up its pace as you walk, drawing you in.

It lurches when you see him.

Master Geto.

“You’re finally awake, my little lamb.” His voice is smooth like silk, softer than the sheets that had cradled you as you slept. “Come in.”

The room is beautiful, dark reds and browns lining every surface, especially the bed he lays upon. The material is cool on your skin, flushed from sleep.

“You slept for quite a while,” he hums, beginning to slowly run his fingers over your hair. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Why thank me?”

“I think…I think it was because of you.” The sentence trails up at the end, leaving it a question. One he does not decide to answer.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Master Geto.”

His lips spread into a smile as he rises, silently moving to the teapot resting in the corner. With his back momentarily to you, it’s easier to remember all the questions you ought to ask - how long was I asleep for? where is everyone? why am I here?

But they’re too overwhelming, too big. You aren’t sure he’d answer them, anyways - you aren’t sure you’d want an answer. It’s easier to not ask.

“I’m not sure I should stay here anymore.”

His shoulders stiffen, just enough that the tea nearly spills over the edge of the cup. He sets it down on the table beside you.

“And why is that?”

“I just…” you trail off, holding the mug in your hands. It’s warm, making your palms itch. “I’m not sure there’s anything for me to do here.”

“You keep me company. Is that not enough?”

“It is, but I just…I guess I don’t feel like I’m doing a good job.” It’s easier to speak when you only have to face the steaming liquid held in your lap. “I feel lost without you. I don’t know what to do with my time. I mostly just wander around and hope I see you, or hope you give me something to do. I like that, but I’m not even doing anything. You’re never around during the day anyways, so then I end up festering with my thoughts and just feel worse. I’m losing my mind here.”

A slender finger traces up your neck, tilting your chin so you’re forced to look at him. His eyes hold a dark ice behind them, the kind that would slice open ships and kill sailors in the middle of the night, the kind the sea only makes when it’s craving blood.

“You have a purpose here, little lamb, you just can’t see it.”

You can’t hold his gaze, so you allow it to fall to the pink and red of his lips. “Then tell me what it is! I want to do something, please Master Geto.” Nails leave crescent-shaped marks in your skin as you grip the teacup.

“I can’t tell you, not yet.”

“Either tell me, or I’m leaving.”

You aren’t sure where the words came from, but they shock you as they land. Perhaps some deep part of your soul, some part the moon uncovered on your walk to the temple, growing brighter under her protection.

Fire, then ice flares behind him. He forces his shoulders back, cooling his tone. “Why don’t you drink some tea and calm down a bit, then we can talk about this?”

“I don’t want your tea! I want to know what’s going on!”

“I said, drink.”

The muscles in your arms tighten to bring the cup to your mouth. Liquid is forced past your lips through a choke. It burns your throat.

Once it’s empty, you drop it, the mug clanging against the floor. Tears prick the corners of your eyes in pain, and Master Geto seems tense. Lowering himself to the ground, he gingerly picks up the cup, allowing his palm to graze yours as he rises. Silently, he glides to the corner of the room where steam rises from the still-full teapot.

With everything in you, you force your mouth to move. “How do you do that?” Your voice is hoarse.

“Do what?”

“That,” you stumble, trying to explain. “Make me…do things.”

Six seconds pass before he answers.

“Do you know what obedience means?”

You nod.

“Tell me, what does it mean to you?”

“It means to do as another person says, always.”

Glancing at you from over his shoulder, his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Exactly.” He pours more liquid into your cup, a silent apology in his own misshapen way. “Some must be trained into obedience through leashes and chains, but others are born for it, their souls a softer shape, one that’s easier to mold.”

The mug is warm in your hands as your fingers wrap around the ceramic, accepting it from his grasp.

“Someone like you, for example, was made to obey. You feel it, don’t you? That emptiness when you aren’t being commanded?”

As you nod, something inside you aches, a hole where your autonomy should be. And here is Master Geto, so kindly offering to fill it.

“That makes it all the more effortless to follow someone, you see. I can sense it, the way your body practically begs me to control it.” He explains it easily with a wave of his hand, as though a few sentences could make you understand.

And yet, you do. It feels right to be led by him, molded by him, controlled by him. It’s the comfort you’ve felt, the warmth that clouds your thoughts whenever you’re near him.

“Is that…is that what I’m doing here?” A large hand reaches over to rub slow circles into your back through the robe - his robe, you now realize. “I’m here to follow orders and do whatever you say?”

“No, no, not at all.” A sound close to a laugh brushes through his throat at the thought. “You’re here for something else.”

You finish the second cup of tea - it’s easier to drink now that your throat has already been burned. “Please, tell me why. I promise not to leave, please, Master Geto.”

Dark eyes fall to the empty cup in your hands, then back to you. So powerless in his grasp, the smell of him lingering on your clothes, on your skin, on your breath. An impossible scent to lose, even if you were to run.

“Do you know what a vampire is?”

Confusion swirls in your mind at the question. “Yes? I’ve heard of them, of course. Creatures who live forever and drink blood to survive, right?”

“Exactly,” he smiles, voice smooth like the silk wrapping around your body. “There are other components too, of course. Other powers. The commands, for example. And you’ve heard of those coming back from my temple, yes? How they return with no recollection of their time here?”

“Yes.”

“They were ones who ran - who I allowed to run, of course. They didn’t please me, or they were too weak to keep my company. But as you can imagine, I couldn’t allow them to tell others of what they had seen here, regardless of how stupid some of them may have been. So, they may survive, but the memories must go. And that’s just a fraction of what I’m capable of.” His words rise and fall in pitch, the most visible sign of excitement you’ve ever seen in him, before it flattens again. “Many think vampires are dangerous, but they aren’t, not if they’re able to control themselves. It’s a matter of obedience, you see.”

“Obedience,” you whisper into the empty space.

“If one can stay in control of their desires, it’s barely any different than how a human lives.”

Your hands fiddle with the hem of the robe, teeth chewing on your lip. “Why are you telling me this, Master Geto?”

The finger on your chin trails up until his hand rests upon your cheek. When your eyes finally meet his, he smiles, a gesture you don’t return. Your heart beats loud, pulling you into him.

“You know why.”

And you feel it, in the depths of your stomach. The true weight of his horror, his power, settles like obsidian in your chest. A cough stifles from your mouth from the coal-black dust inside you.

His thumb runs over your lips, pressing down on the plump flesh. You should run, you should scream and beg for help and go back to your parents and pretend this never happened. You aren’t safe here, you shouldn’t stay a moment longer.

All your body can do is quicken your pulse, thrumming up your neck.

Your lips part. His thumb slides past them.

When he smiles, he seems pleased, and you feel warm like the tea spreading through your muscles with each breath. Flickering candlelight casts a shadow across his eyes, and they seem to glow with hunger.

“Are you scared?”

His skin tastes sweet as it settles on your tongue. You slowly shake your head, humming a soft, “No.”

A twitch of a smirk plays across his lips. He didn’t even have to compel you. They spread wider, allowing sharp, whitened fangs to poke through. Your eyes widen and pupils dilate as they dig into his lower lip, red blooming beneath the skin.

“You should be.” He’s leaning forward, until he’s so close you block the light from cascading across his face. In the shadows of your body, he looks monstrous, all flashes of black and white. “And yet, you stay. Tell me, why? What could you possibly hope to achieve?”

Air rushes through your lungs, and the words tumble out in a single breath. “I want to obey you, Master Geto.”

Tilting his head to the side, dark bangs obscure his eyes.

“Ah, I understand now. You really were made for this, weren’t you?”

Sliding his thumb from your mouth, he closes the distance between you. A long finger tilts your chin upwards, locking your gaze on him.

“You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

You nod. You can’t help it - you want to do anything he tells you; you will do anything he tells you.

“Good.” Pink lips brush against yours. His breath is cool as he whispers, “Then lay down.”

The sheets are chilled against your burning skin as your back rests upon them. It’s easier, now, the way you’ve accepted your muscles enacting his will. It feels right to let him pull your strings, letting him shape you into whatever pose he sees fit.

He doesn’t even need to command you to open your legs, large palms spreading your knees apart easily, allowing them to fall with the weight of his gravity. Your clothes are gone in an instant, laid bare before him, returned to your natural form before the god that granted it. It’s only natural.

Hot breath hits your core, cold eyes resting on your face. His thumb trails a path along your skin until it lands upon your clit, each slow circle another rotation around his orbit.

It’s almost too much, your body writhing under his touch, desperation making your hips rut uselessly into him. But he’s just…watching you.

“P-please,” you can’t help but whine, trying to grind into him for any additional ounce of friction. Master Geto simply continues his agonizingly slow pace.

Your gaze meets his for a moment, fire crackling beneath it as his lips tug into a sinister grin, a predator about to consume its prey.

Eat me, your body begs, I’m yours.

Oh, he knows.

His palm opens, sliding two fingers easily into your cunt. Just as he curls upwards, sharp teeth move from poking through his lip into the soft flesh of your inner thighs. For the violence crackling beneath his skin, he’s surprisingly gentle as his canines sink into you.

Because he doesn’t want it to hurt.

Not yet.

The prickling pain tingles your senses as he pulls your first orgasm from you, a faint moan humming in your throat.

When he rises from between your legs, red dribbles from his lips. He crackles with pride, completely unabashed; if anything, he’s proud.

Warmth blankets your body as he crawls on top of you, a wolf stalking a lamb. And you can’t bring yourself to run.

Muscled shoulders bare themselves under the flickering lights as he slowly sheds his robes, pale and morphing, too blurry to focus on. If you were more naive, you’d be tempted to call him an angel.

“You taste so sweet,” he purrs, his face now mere centimeters from yours.

When he kisses you, a mix of metal and cum tangles on your tongues, intoxicatingly you. Every ounce of his weight rests against you until you can’t pull in a breath anymore, your ribs unable to expand below him.

But like always, he grants you mercy.

He pulls back, just enough to let air rush in through your parted lips. Your skin burns where he places a gentle peck to the corner of your mouth.

Because now, you want it to hurt.

And oh, he knows.

That devilish smile curls upon his lips, no longer hiding the fangs behind it. Every beat of your heart makes you dizzy, your vision pulsing with each reverberating thrum. You wonder if he can feel it in your chest.

(He can.)

(He wants to claw it from your body and eat it.)

The remnants of blood lingering on his teeth are wiped away as his tongue swipes over them, an innocent white left in its wake. How perfect a sinner’s body can be.

He’s shifting his weight above you, but you barely notice, too enamored by him, too lost in his eyes, in his depravity. The moment your eyes flutter shut to protect your soul, he’s reaching out to you.

“Look at me, little lamb.”

And then, your gaze is locked on him.

And then, his cock is pressing into you.

Lips part, fire shoots up your spine, a cry dies in your throat. It’s burning and tearing and it’s death and everything is too hot and you’re staring into those eyes with flames behind them and you think you’d let him kill you if he asked.

Not that he needs to ask, of course.

Your back arches off the bed as your eyes nearly roll back into your head but they can’t - because it’s not what Master Geto commanded. Because you always do as he says.

Because you always obey.

Instead, tears prick at the corners and your entire body trembles and he’s staring down at you with pity.

“There, shh, that’s my girl,” he coos. He wipes away a tear with his thumb but he doesn’t stop, not until his pelvis is flush with yours and all you can feel is him inside you.

Ragged breaths rack your core, your walls clenching around him from his size alone.

“You’re being so obedient, so good,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. And the sun bursts through your chest.

A slack-jawed smile spreads across your features at his praise, cheeks warm and full of pride. You’ve done everything you were made for - you’ve made Master Geto happy. You’ve been good.

When he drags his hips from you, his tip catching and pulling and gouging any remaining shred of disloyalty from your consciousness, you know you’re his: your mind, your soul, your body. All his, in any way he wants it.

When he thrusts back into you, the emptiness inside you is filled with him.

Him.

Him. Him. Him. Him.

Master Geto.

All you have ever needed.

All you will ever need.

Master Geto.

Warmth blossoms in your chest as he fucks you into the silk sheets. You are his. You were always made to be his. There’s no pain in it, no uncertainty. It’s as things were always meant to be.

But there’s still something missing, something lingering in the droplet of red beading at the corner of his lips.

Eat me, your body pleads, I’m yours.

“Master Geto,” you whimper, “I…I want…”

As he gazes down at you, there’s a reverence behind it - not to you, no, but to your servitude.

“Yes, my little lamb,” he breathes through the sound of skin against skin. “Tell me what you want.”

“Bite me, Master Geto,” you cry, “please.”

And you feel him laugh, his breath hot against the skin of your neck. “Well, how could I deny my most devoted?”

First, it’s the searing pain of his fangs sinking into your skin. An instant later, it’s the burning pleasure of it.

A moan bubbles from your throat, allowing your head to fall back into his waiting palm, cradling you above the respite of feathered pillows. Because for now, he will hold you; you should be held by him.

Suguru is greedy as he drinks.

Grunts and groans echo from his chest, his body never stilling as he plunges in and out of you in pace with his tongue lapping at your pierced flesh. Just as his teeth pull away he strikes them into you again, and again, and again. Puncture wounds grow across your skin, blooming hues of maroon beneath them, stars decorating the sky, each one a burning supernova moments away from exploding.

They mark you for what you are: his.

“You taste,” he pants, “fucking devine.”

Nails claw at his back, your head lolled back into the sheets, limp beneath him. Of course, you’d move if he told you to - you’d die if he told you to.

Each racing heartbeat makes your vision pulse, head swimming as he drinks from you. Your body melts inside him, warm in his stomach.

The friction of his hips between your legs only grows, until it’s burning like the teeth in your neck. Red flames prick your skin, Suguru’s tongue chasing each one to put it out.

His grunts grow animalistic, a beast pulling muscles and tendons until it’s out of breath. Shoulders tense beneath your palms, and your stomach begins to tighten.

“Master Geto, I-”

“I know,” he growls into your neck. Arms tighten around your body, until they cage in your ribs, until you can’t breathe anything but him. “Cum for me, little lamb.”

Warmth floods your senses, numb save for his cock twitching. He bites down harder as his claim shoots into you, thick and hot.

For a moment, you wonder if he tore flesh from bone. When he removes his head from your collarbone, blood dripping down his chin in thick rivulets, it seems all the more possible.

Licking his lips, he groans at the sanguine flavor pouring down his throat, sweet like honey. When he kisses you, his tongue presses against yours until it lingers in the back of your mouth. Sweet like him.

Low eyes meet yours, a thumb stroking your cheek.

“Stay here, with me.”

And maybe, you will.

It’s easier like this, to be his.

It’s easier to obey.

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wandasaura · 3 months ago

Text

DRESS

summary — when the dress you wear to wanda’s halloween party catches the eye of a few too many people, natasha’s left with no other choice than to punish you

warning(s) — light elements of dom/sub dynamics, nipple torture/stimulation, thigh grinding, clothed sex, tit slapping, dirty talk, begging, pussy slap, orgasm denial, men/minors dni

kinktober

In retrospect, you definitely shouldn’t have worn your tightest, shortest, skimpiest black dress to Wanda’s dinner party when you know she loves to check you out without regard for whose around, but the soft satin had called your name the second your eyes had fallen on it hanging so tantalizingly in your shared closet with Natasha. It had been an impulsive, very expensive purchase for your three year anniversary, and truthfully, it hadn’t seen many nights out since. Probably because Natasha couldn’t keep her hands off of you when it hugged your body just right, and her friends couldn’t keep their eyes off of your chest, especially not when you dressed the swell of your breasts in the finest gold body glitter, your neck decorated with a dainty gold chain that practically begged for attention.

It was her annual halloween dinner party, one filled with festive cocktails made by Agatha, some of them involving rubber spiders that gave you the chills just thinking about, and dry ice flowing out of bowls of questionably green liquor. Wanda threw an amazing party, especially when she had a theme to stick with, but this year, your fourth year going as Natasha’s date, you had more or less signed up to be the main attraction without realizing. Natasha had realized. She’d known what kind of attention you were in for the second you met her at the bottom of the stairs, your hair curled and brushed out over your shoulders, your dark eyeliner sleek and captivating almost as much as your bold red lip, but you had been ignorantly unaware of how when you bent over, your ass hung out of the bottom of your dress, or how your nipples pebbled against the satin material and allowed an easily made visual of your perky breasts for anyone to fantasize. There wasn’t any time for you to change, not that she would ever ask that of you, but as the night drew on longer, her jealousy rivaled the color of the punch; green and passionately dominant.

A soft mewl fell off of your lips as her fingers pinched and prodded at your nipples through the thin material of your dress, her front flush against yours, her hands pinned between your warm bodies that had slipped into your apartment ever so drunkenly. You’d both had your fair share of cocktails, never able to resist Agatha’s creations, they were truly something magical, but as your sobriety diminished, replaced by intoxicated careless energy, the hem of your dress wrinkled higher and higher up your thighs until Wanda had been the one to pull it down, right in sight of Natasha who bristled with anger.

Her delicate black suit was a wrinkled masterpiece beneath your desperate fingers, lapels gripped between your painted black nails as your hips ground down on the slack covered thigh she so meticulously placed between your trembling legs, flush against your core that was covered by only a thin strip of sodden lace. Breathless moans fell into the air as you chased your pleasure, head thrown back against the bedroom door she’d pinned you to impatiently. Your bed lay unmade a few feet away, but Natasha had no interest in laying you down and spreading you out. So much of your body had been seen already, so much teasing had already been done, she’d had enough of it, it was her turn to return the favor.

Her skin was littered with the shade of your lipstick, a collage of your affection and arousal painted across her skin in sloppy kiss marks, her neck bearing the majority of the evidence. A sharp whine shattered your composure when she flexed her thigh just right, angled so perfectly against your core that your clit had been the thing that felt her muscle tense just right. Her fingers worked at your nipples, never slipping beneath the satin material that was slowly falling down your shoulders and revealing more of your breasts that glimmered beneath the eerie moonlight of October.

“Do you know what you do to me?” She growled against the shell of your ear, your sensitive lobe pinched between her teeth as she husked against you possessively. Rarely did you give her a reason to be so possessive, wrapped around her finger near embarrassingly so, yet whenever Wanda was around, somehow it was unavoidable. “Wearing this dress, those heels. God, I wanted to take you over the island so bad. They were all looking at you anyways; at these tits, that ass– I should've given them a show, made it worth all the stares. Should’ve let them hear the way you whine when I play with your pretty nipples, when that desperate cunt gets some attention. Would you like that, baby? Showing them just how much I own this perfect body?” The pinching and twisting had turned to full on groping, her palms creating friction against your pebbled buds as she squeezed your breasts with both hands, uncaring for how cruel her touch was, nor how desperate you were for more.

“Y-Yes!” Your desperate moans and pleading whimpers had only grown louder, reverberating off the walls dressed in pictures of both you and Natasha during various stages of your relationship, driving her own desperation higher, pulling her beneath your alluring hex. “God please, please don’t stop! Nat!” You moaned softly, your eyes pinched shut as you allowed your head to fall forward, uncaring for how your lips marked her suit with dark patches of red, just needing her close as you felt the tension of pleasure building so steadily in your belly it was bound to break soon.

“I won’t baby. Not yet. Not until I’m done with you. Not until I’ve reminded this pretty body of who it belongs to.” There had been no warning for the distance that came between your chests in the seconds that followed her admission of possession, but it made sense when her palm collided with the satin covering your sensitive breasts, the padded slap ringing through the room almost as blindingly as the sensation of pleasurable pain that sparked through your belly. You gasped, your breath catching in your throat as you rocked harder against her thigh, desperate for her to take you to bed, to undress you hungrily and uncover the lingerie that that dug into your hip bones and marked their claim; her claim. You’d bought for her, thought of her when you slipped it on. They were an extension of her ownership and nothing less, and desperately you wanted to feel her beneath it.

“Off. Please. Take my dress off. Touch me. Please.” You begged so sweetly she almost wanted to give in, but she had to punish you, there was a lesson to be learned, and she had you so pliant beneath her hands there was no greater time than now.

“Oh no, baby. You wanted to wear this dress. You let everybody see how good you look in it. I’m gonna make you feel so good, so so good, but we’re not taking it off. It stays on until I’m done.” She husked against the shell of your ear, her teeth tugging at your earlobe as she rocked her thigh against you, adding friction that had stars being painted across your vision. A delicate whimper fell into the air, soft and impatient as you ground down against her, desperate for more, but already so impossibly close. Another slap came to your other breast, the same stinging pleasurable sensation, and that was it. That was what you needed. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that she hadn’t even really touched you at all, that your panties stuck grossly to your folds that were sodden with sticky ropes of tantalizing arousal. She’d pushed you to your end, tightened that blissful coil impossibly so.

“Oh! Oh! I’m cumming! I’m gonna cum! I–” It was gone. Her warmth, her delicious touch on your nipples, her thigh between your leg pressed flush against your core. It was gone, but that coil wasn’t, and desperately your hips moved to an uneven rhythm against the cold air, searching for friction that wasn’t there. “No! No, I– I was so close! Nat, I was so close!” The words fell off of your tongue in pathetic sobs of dismay and defeat, your body threatening to grumble as that addictive sensation ebbed away, leaving only a dull pulsing in your clit and emptiness in your pulsating hole. You could feel the effects of the denial, the disappointment and dissatisfaction, but everything white hot and pleasurable was gone, leaving only the distaste of nothingless left for you to grasp. “Please.” You hated this sensation each time she brought it forward, and she knew that.

“Oh no baby, you don’t get to cum tonight. Maybe tomorrow. But tonight, you’re just going to have to try and ignore how that feels. I bet its so achey, sweet girl. I bet its just dull enough that if you think about something else, you won’t feel it at all, but you’re such a desperate girl, so eager for me, you can’t think about anything else. Can you? Can you think about anything else baby, or is that needy cunt doing all the thinking for you?” As if to accentuate her point, her hand slipped beneath your dress for the first time that night, cupping your cunt, grinding her fingers against your clit, probing at your entrance until you were nearly weeping for her again. It wasn’t gone so easily this time, because when she went to pull away, when you thought you were losing everything for the second time, her palm slapped against your core, the sound wet and harsh against the silence of your bedroom. A weak moan fell off your lips, your hips, with a mind of their own, attempting to grind down on her fingers, addicted to the sharp sparks of pain she caused, but she was gone again, and again you were left with only a beating in your sensitive clit that wouldn’t be taken care of. “Maybe tomorrow.” Is all that she left you with before she disappeared into the closet, the sound of her pants hitting the floor indicative of what she was doing; going to bed. You were needy, and desperate for pleasure, and she was just going to bed.

Not wanting to argue, not wanting to draw this out for longer than necessary, you followed her motions, slipping off the dress, and then the lingerie that you had hoped she’d be the one to take off, and crawling into bed with only the thought of ‘maybe tomorrow’ on your mind.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #dom!natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fic #[ kinktober ] — ⟡#minors dni ৎ୭

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 3 months ago

Text

Howl at Midnight

Pairing | werewolf!Jimin x human!Reader

Word Count | 7.5k

Warnings | +18, angst, smut, halloween theme, an apparently abandoned castle (don't trespass on other people's property ��), mentions of a pact made with the city's residents, poison, MC doesn't really have much choice 💀, forced nudity, dark themes and also yandere (?), underneath MC finds the situation exciting, bites and marks, sink the canines and drink blood, PWP, oral sex, pussy worship, dubcon, begging, virginity loss, unprotected sex (use protection!), vaginal sex, big dick, knotting, MC abandons herself to her fate (I think Jimin's supernatural nature contributes in MC's choices), eat cum, this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | You always thought you lived in a quiet, small town. You never imagined that the locals would be able to keep such a secret for centuries, you fell into their trap… But it doesn't seem so bad.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys!!! 🥹

My best friend and I challenged each other to write a Halloween-themed story using the following keywords: werewolf - halloween - virginity - castle - poison.

I don't know why I came up with such a story, it was supposed to be something simple but my dark side took over WAY too much 💀

Anyway my best friend liked the story and suggested that I publish it, so here it is, I already apologize for any mistakes and for the plot which is not who knows what 🥺

Howl at Midnight was written for recreation, but I still hope you enjoy it ❤️

PS: I really didn't know how to classify this story, when in doubt I put the warning “yandere,” since there are behaviors that go a little beyond 😵‍💫

Permanent Taglist | @katherine-kookie, @btsuga-d, @reallygenerouskoala, @takemeaway5402, @velvet-stardust2002, @jimincrystal, @ke1k029, @kylafox09, @pantara, @themwordsblog, @angelicsmilesworld

It's a rather dark night, you think, as the flickering lights of street lamps barely illuminate your path. You and some of your friends have decided to spend Halloween night roaming the more desolate streets of your small town, rather than attend the party of the school's homecoming queen, the most popular and at the same time most hated girl ever by you and your friends, a common ground that has certainly welded your friendship.

You are reminded of the afternoon you spent at Glenn's house deciding how you would spend Halloween night; Glenn's initiative had been rather unique, since he was not a fan of that holiday.

“It will be fun, everything is so scary at night, we might even meet a real vampire! I mean, not like Edward Cullen, I mean one who doesn't sparkle-” but Glenn's excited monologue had been badly interrupted by his girlfriend, Claire, who had hit him over the head with a book, and who knows why, said book was actually titled Twilight. You remember giggling, willingly accepting that idea, but now...

“We were simply supposed to go for a walk, Glenn,” you mutter ruefully, looking around, “Do you want to tell me where you're taking us?”

The red-haired boy snorts again, settling into his vampire costume bought at a thrift store stall, “Come on Y/N, what would life be without a little thrill?”

Claire, for her part, nods in turn with a euphoric smile, as if she knows something you don't, prancing merrily dressed as a red devil among black lace decorations and lace.

“Life would be as it has always been, wonderful,” you blurt out nervously, freezing suddenly.

The asphalt has run out and the streetlights have stopped dimly illuminating the entire street, you are at the edge of the most talked about lands in your town. When and how exactly did you get there?

“Here we are, my girls,” you hear Glenn say, satisfied with his feat.

“What are we doing here?” you swallow, far from cheerful.

Answering you is Claire, “It's an abandoned castle and this is Halloween night, what do you say?”

You grit your teeth, shaking your head, “You're crazy, I'm not going in there!” you take a step back, your heart stirring, but Glenn stops you in a single moment.

“Where do you think you're going? I promised your brother I'd keep an eye on you,” he tells you sternly, and you know he's right, you can't just leave on your own, the streets are empty but it would still be dangerous.

“Don't you want to see what it's really like inside, aren't you the least bit curious?”

Short answer? No.

More articulate answer? Fuck no.

“Come on, don't be a wimp now!”

You snort, casting a glance at the castle in question.

It is as large as it is gloomy; the older inhabitants of the town have always spoken of the presence of various monsters within it, which is why the lands surrounding the castle are so large, preventing the actual growth of the otherwise large and well-populated town. Some of the land had been ceded to keep the monsters quiet.

That's some bullshit. And you're certainly not a wimp.

What will you find in there, maybe overgrown spiders? You shake your head, certainly nothing up to the Acromantulae seen in Harry Potter.

“I'm not afraid,” you limit yourself to saying, Glenn and Claire seem satisfied with your answer as they begin to step over half of the downed iron bars surrounding the gates of the immense building. It bothers you that they haven't bothered beyond you, but it's Halloween night; you can't really spoil their fun.

You hold on tightly to one of the rusty old iron bars, lift one leg trying not to fall off because of the bulky skirt of your witch costume, and end up straight on the ground covered with dry mud and grass, thank the heavens that it hasn't rained in the last few days, otherwise goodbye costume, although more like an elegant medieval dress and nothing more than that.

“Guys, wait for me!” you exclaim as you turn toward them, but you find yourself rolling your eyes.

The darkness is almost completely pitch black, only the moon high in the sky gives you some brightness in that open space surrounded by green trees and uncultivated grass. Your friends are not there.

“Please tell me this is a joke, please,” you growl, turning only a few seconds to climb over the railing, “Glenn? Claire?”

A shiver of unease snakes down your spine, as if someone - or something - is watching you. But you immediately banish the absurd thought. The Halloween atmosphere always makes everything quite scary; your friends chose that place for that very reason.

Imagining that you simply find them in front of the castle's entrance, you also wander down the path that actually looks like anything else by now. You will meet each other there.

The wind blows without worrying about your bare shoulders because of the dress's boat neckline; the cape had long since been taken away along the way. You bought it in an antique store and the elderly man seemed quite eager to get rid of it. He even gave you a discount.

The sound of falling leaves under the force of the draught is quite terrifying, especially now that you've discovered you can't use your cell phone. There is absolutely no service there, and isn't that how the best horror movies begin?

A frustrated groan leaves your throat, you don't have to think about it.

“Glenn?” you try to call out once more, but along the path echoes the hoots of an owl that is probably scrutinizing you with condescension, wondering why a silly girl like you is wandering around in such a desolate, godforsaken place.

When you arrive at the gates of the castle, you find yourself admiring the extraordinary Gothic architecture of the huge, ancient building made of stone and marble. The fact that it has survived over the centuries without any kind of restoration is a testament to the good materials that were used.

One by one, you walk down the stone steps, sudden thunder jolts you violently, and with fear in your veins you throw yourself toward the immense reinforced door, finding it ajar, a sign that Glenn and Claire must have already entered. You ignore the hint of annoyance, since they could at least wait for you, you must escape the sudden storm.

Wordlessly you notice the large, thick black clouds enveloping the sky, obscuring even the immense full moon.

You carefully close the ancient gateway, looking around the thick-walled atrium decorated with paintings that are surely worth more than your current home, not to mention the carpet you are walking on, though a bit worn, is definitely from the time of the castle's founding. You wonder which lord lived there and whether it can be traced in the history books.

“Claire?” you whisper, afraid of disturbing someone, but who exactly?

Sighing wearily, you really have no time or inclination to play along with your friends, you rest your hand on the wrought-iron railing of the staircase, beginning to climb so that you can find those two idiots as soon as possible and get home safely.

They say 'God makes them and then matches them up,' right? You mentally growl, well, you would’ve just wiped them out instead.

Between corridors that are not real corridors but dead ends, some narrow and some exaggeratedly large, you finally find the wing reserved for rooms, hating the enormity of that place.

“Hey, you ... are you here?” you ask, slowly opening a bedroom door with one eye closed and one only slightly open, fearing to find the two lovebirds doing strange things in the leto of an abandoned castle, because they would be perfectly capable of it.

But what you find is just a lavishly decorated bedroom absolutely empty of any other life forms but you.

“This is definitely a joke,” you chuckle mirthlessly, clutch your arms to your chest, and continue that unwelcome tour of yours, continuing to open rooms at random, with no more expectation of finding anyone in them, until you come to a rather large bedroom.

Quite different from the others, which up to that point had been yes, beautiful, but empty, lacking a soul.

This one was immense just like the castle itself, yet warm, thanks to the burning fireplace. The four-poster bed was adorned with red silk sheets, as were the velvet curtains tied to the solid wooden columns, on the walls finely decorated with gold paint were hung medieval tapestries, depicting hunting parties, running horses and wolves, wolves everywhere. One that particularly strikes you depicts two wolves and a woman in the center, they seem ready to bite her fiercely, you notice with discomfort.

High glass windows with curtains left open allow lightning to illuminate the entire room, followed by a terrible, howl-like rumble.

That horrible noise seems to awaken you from the sort of trance you fell into while admiring the surely master bedroom, and you finally take serious note of the burning fire. Why a working fireplace in a castle uninhabited for years?

“To many the night brings counsel, to me it has brought a lovely maiden, I see...” you gasp surprised and terrified, turning toward the silky, warm, yet slightly hoarse, almost growling voice.

A relatively young man watches you with his shoulder resting against one of the stained glass windows. You had not seen him. No. He was not there before, you are absolutely sure.

His dark, shiny hair has been grown down to his neck, some curling around his sharp, elegant jaw, the neck left bare by his unbuttoned, white shirt is a set of sinuous, sharp, powerful lines. The soft black pants do nothing to hide the wonderful figure of his long legs, his feet are bare, you notice. He feels perfectly comfortable, as if... as if that were his home.

“I-I... I'm sorry, it's Halloween and some friends of mine thought...” you try to explain with your hands clasped to the skirt of your dress, but you are immediately interrupted by the man's sophisticated, sassy giggle.

“They thought it was a brilliant idea to violate my property?” you pale at his question.

“We... the whole town believes the castle is uninhabited,” you reply with a shy breath, trying to justify them.

The young man breaks away from the glass window, slowly approaching you, you take steps back, inadvertently bumping into one of the pillars of the bed.

“And does it look uninhabited to you, little girl?”

Little girl? By the look of him, he wouldn't seem that much older than you, in fact.

Now that he has moved closer, standing only a foot away from you, you notice details of his face that you did not catch a few moments earlier.

He has high, pronounced cheekbones, and his lips seem so plump and soft that you blush at the thought of kissing them, his nose is well-proportioned and straight, while the peculiar shape of his eyes gives him a rather sweet and angelic air, although the fun written in them is anything but angelic.

“I didn't know, I'm really sorry, sir,” and it's true, the last thing you want is to be a nuisance to someone you don't even know, “I'll get my friends back and we'll leave right away, I promise.”

Dark eyes rimmed with long eyelashes watch you closely, before dropping to the rest of your body. Suddenly you remember the deep cleavage of your witch's dress, your skin burning under his watchful gaze.

“Right now there is no one else in the castle, except you and me,” he approaches again, you can feel his warm breath meet your neck, you shiver as the man clasps one hand above your head, around the pillar of the bed, doing the same with the other. This makes it clear how statuesque his physique is, compared to your more petite one, you also catch a subtle citrus fragrance, light and not cloying, is that him?

With a huge effort, you process his words, widening your eyes. No one else?

“But how-”

“In my opinion you made it all up, little girl,” he sneers, "Just admit that it was your curiosity that drove you here," but you shake your head, vehemently denying it.

“I really came here with friends!” you fret, you've never been good at handling pressure and this guy is not helping you at all.

“Oh, really?” a devilish smile makes its way across his soft, smooth cheeks, "So it's just a coincidence that you're wearing this dress?" you don't know how to answer the question, you can't, not when he lowers a hand over you, brushes the outline of your face with a finger, trailing down the delicate line of your neck to your cleavage, your rippling, shivering skin longs to receive his touch once more, you struggle to recover.

“Th-this dress?” you stammer in shame, his finger is still grazing your chest and you are doing nothing to push it away.

“Mh-mh,” he nods, pushing your cleavage down a few millimeters, enough to make you squeak with red cheeks, “How much do you know about this castle and its owners, little girl?”

Nothing, you'd like to answer, but your eyes already communicate your answer as he pulls back, finally letting you breathe. His scent still hovers around you, though.

“Year 1479, the people of the town of Howl enter into an agreement with the seven lords of Midnight, ceding a part of their lands to these noble lords and agreeing to send a virgin once every ten years, on the so-called Halloween Night,” he narrates, leaving you speechless, “In return, none of the townspeople would be hunted down and killed, does that ring a bell?”

“L-Listen to me, I really don't know what you're talking about, I definitely have to go now,” you nod at your own words, but the door slams shut along with a new and terrible rumble, an anguished cry involuntarily leaving your throat.

“The dress you're wearing is soaked in poison, little girl” the imperious tone terrifies you, automatically your body closes in on itself, as a kind of protection.

“This must definitely be a joke, it is Halloween after all,” you whisper to yourself with tears in your eyes.

“It's a security, for us. It ensures that the girls don't run away, because we are the only ones who can neutralize that poison” you don't know why the man started speaking in plural, you just know that you have to leave, even though something inside you is screaming at you not to. Because it could end very badly.

“You'd better take it off, your body might absorb more poison than is really necessary, the sooner we start the better,” he sighs, beginning to take off his white shirt, showing off a well-built, smooth chest and abs studded with thin scars lighter than his skin, swallowing without any more salivation, following long lines of black ink that weave across his pecs, forming some kind of mark, perhaps related to some cult.

“What are you doing!”

The man tilts his head, his soft hair following the movement meekly, and grasps the edge of his pants, running his forefinger and thumb over it defiantly as he watches you, “I'm taking what was given to me, little girl,” he sneers again, not at all impressed by your shock.

It was not uncommon for him and his brothers to be served girls who were totally unaware of their own destiny, they were tiresome at times, they would not stop shaking and crying, praying not to be deprived of their purity, but you smell so delicious that it might make him go beyond your dullness.

The fabric of his excellent quality pants slowly flows over the flawless skin of his toned legs, the blood rushes straight to your cheeks, and your heart misses a beat with a strangled “iiih” as you realize that the stranger has not only freely undressed in front of you, but is not wearing any underwear.

You've certainly never seen a naked man in person, but based on your anatomy books, that is definitely not a normal penis.

With a strange feeling of dizziness and no little embarrassment, you realize that even at rest, it is definitely big, with a swollen base almost as big as perfectly round testicles and such obvious purplish veins that you wonder if it is actually already hard, in its own way. Could that vibrant pink be an indicator? God, what the hell are you thinking?!

After a little dizziness your eyes fly to the closed door, you have to leave, run.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks you, smiling with a hint of danger in his eyes, “Do you want to run? Run away from me? Know that this will only excite me more.”

You try to look away from his cock, with extreme difficulty, as he spoke, his cock had moved slightly, as if agreeing with the man's words. You ignore the slight jolt between your legs.

“If I can get through the gates of your property, will you let me go?” you propose almost shyly, staring into his sly eyes.

“Um... if I let you go, you'd die from the poison, but if that's what you want...” he shrugs, making you frown. The story of the poisoned dress might be bullshit to convince you to let him fuck you, but what if it's not?

You shake your head, it's all just a bluff. This man is clearly a pervert, maybe he gets off on fucking on such nights with stranger women.

“That's what I want.” you assure with a note of panic in your voice, the desire to escape is so urgent you can hardly think, “Open the door.”

But the man shakes his head, “Strip and I will leave you free to roam my lands until I find you.”

“I don't-!” the words die between your lips, his singsong expression gone, giving way to a sternness that clashes with his regal features, the difference making that contrast frightening.

“I like to play, little girl ... but I don't tolerate whining, don't make me angry, because I might decide to take you now, we have a bed available right here and now,” he hisses, clenching his fist against the polished wooden backboard of the four-poster bed. The more he looks at you, the more his balls throb fiercely; he's trying to control his desire; if his cock hardens, that's the end.

You're the first woman he's seen in 60 years, finally his turn has come, and there's no way he'll let you go. Do you want to play? He'll let you, but eventually you'll give in to his desires. The scent of your sweet virgin pussy makes his wolf growl, eager to get out to meet you.

Perhaps you sense something strange, because with trembling fingers you go to unbutton the side opening of your dress, a little sorry to him, the plunging neckline raises and shapes your breasts invitingly, though the stench of the poison with which it is imbued leaves him disgusted. An idea of humans to persuade chosen women not to flee, his eyes scroll over the ancient clock hanging above the door, the hands turn and you have just four hours to go before the poison takes effect, killing you. He would be sorry to see you die without having had a chance to taste you first.

“Tic-Tac, the clock is ticking, little girl... the slower you are, the more likely you are to die,” he informs you with a smile, your fear written all over his face igniting his loins; he has to restrain himself so he doesn't jump on you, and you're aware of that now, too.

Your eyes study his shoulders, they have stiffened noticeably, and with embarrassing speed you unfasten the last side button, letting the soft black fabric of your dress slip off like a veil, leaving you in your bra and panties. You start up under his eyes, which move to observe every nook and cranny of your body, from the soft breasts enclosed in the cups of the purple lace bra, going lower and lower, past the delicious curve of your hips to the tightly clasped mount of Venus covered by more purple lace. You yourself realize that for a man who wants to possess you, that kind of lingerie might make you look like a neatly wrapped gift in his eyes.

“Don't stop,” he tells you hoarsely, his eyes veiled with glowing lust.

The blood leaves your veins; if he were to take you, you would already be ready to receive him. As your fingers move to get rid of your bra as well, you realize you don't find it such a disturbing idea after all, even when you finally pull down the light fabric of your panties, showing off something no boy has ever had the honor of looking at, his nostrils flaring as if to inhale something in the air, you are aroused.

“You'd better start running, little girl, I'm going to give you exactly twenty seconds head start,” his voice comes out as a guttural sound, making you widen your eyes and really run, when the door suddenly opens wide.

You don't even wonder what strange contraption he used to close or open the door without having to physically do it, you just know you are definitely in danger.

Every nook and cranny of the castle is an unknown, he owns it, he may know passages unknown to you; therefore, you always try to wander the corridors with no visible openings. A tense, animalistic roar makes you scream in terror, with spirited eyes you look down the stairs, you are close to the stairs to the hall, the door has not been locked, you just need more time, you can make it.

You sling yourself barefoot down, almost tumbling from your haste and throw yourself out, skipping the stone steps and then to the wild path, short of breath and fear dictating your decisions, you remember it took you a good twenty minutes to get to the castle, but walking the whole path is out of the question, it would be too obvious and easy, you necessarily have to lengthen the path and consequently put in more time to get away from that terrifying place.

With horror you realize that you don't know where Glenn and Claire might be at all, would he hurt them if he found them?

Of course he would.

You don't know the man, but you have noticed all too well the bestial aura around him; he is someone capable of harm, and he will harm you if you cannot escape him.

Your feet step on scattered branches on the ground and you whimper trying to ignore the pain, another roar - or maybe it's a howl? - rips through the air, mingling with the howls of the rushing wind, and you stifle an anguished cry.

Scratches open along your body, trees ravaged by bad weather and never tended seem to want to block your way in every way possible, and the darkness certainly doesn't help.

Like a wounded animal you limp aimlessly, not imagining the hunger of the ravenous beast that sneers at the scent of your blood.

You feel tired, sluggish at times, your peripheral vision somewhat obscured, an excruciating doubt makes its way into your mind. Could it be that the story of the poisoned dress was true?

But why sell it to you, how could the seller have known that your friends would take you to that castle on Halloween night?

You begin to stagger, a sharp twinge in your head stops you, it is so painful that you collapse on the icy, muddy ground.

You realize you are screwed in every sense of the word when a weight suddenly crushes you to the ground, you scream in terror and wide-eyed, trying to shake it off.

Jimin doesn't think twice about clasping you in his vigorous arms, burying his nose on your neck damp with cold sweat, the accelerated beat of your heart rumbling in his own chest, driving him to moan with need. He presses himself against your soft curves, basking in your feverish warmth despite the stormy, icy night.

“Don't hurt me,” you shake your head with your eyes closed, trying to fight the unusual fatigue to plead with him, "Please, I was wrong, forgive me...I won't come back here again, I swear," the boy snorts against your flustered skin.

He reluctantly lifts himself up to allow you to turn toward him, you find some strength to open your eyelids wide, being invested by his sometimes divine appearance. His eyes, no longer as black as you thought they were, are tinged with an extraordinary shade of gold, he watches you from receptive pupils as you notice the grin on his mouth, a mouth larger than you remembered. There is something strange, not human, about him now. And despite the run he must have made to keep up with you, he doesn't have the slightest hint of fatigue in his breath, he's as fucking fresh as a newly bloomed rose.

“You're dying, little girl,” he hums, shaking some hair off your forehead, you lose a beat at the sight of long claws where once there were short, well-manicured nails.

The claw grazes your skin unhurriedly, you feel it scratch without hurting, you anxiously lick your lips closing your eyes, you are so sleepy that you even willingly accept your fate, Jimin snorts through his nose, almost laughing, before lowering himself onto your jugular.

It would be really easy for him to sink his canines into your flesh and bite your throat to rip it out, but fortunately for you he is not a vampire. All he wants is to sink his cock into your pussy and make you cum repeatedly, but if you died it would be hard to put his plan into action. He wants you alive and receptive.

He licks a long streak of saliva onto your delicate neck, heedless of the dirt that has stuck to your skin, before gently biting you. Your reaction is immediate, you start sobbing like a puppy at the feel of his fangs penetrating your flesh, you cling to his shoulders trying to move him weakly from you, and you kick awkwardly with your legs, legs that are locked in a vice grip by his. That way it is easy to feel something hard and heavy pressing against your belly, you try not to think about it as the man seems inebriated by the taste of your blood flowing straight down his throat.

The bitter taste of the poison is revolting, but fortunately your blood has such sweet notes that it counterbalances that horrendous taste in a balanced way, here, now he just has to lick your wound thoroughly. He collects the last rivulets of your blood with his tongue, before dripping his saliva into the tiny holes created by his sharp canines, little holes that begin to close with light smoke, cauterizing the wound and partly removing the poison toxins from your blood.

With no longer a grip on your throat, your head falls limply back to the ground, you gasp trying to fight off the shock of such an experience.

“Mpf!” his tongue invades your mouth treacherously, the taste of your blood making you squeal on his lips, so unfairly soft and pleasant to the touch. The hot and unusually long muscle pushes into your oral cavity eagerly, saving your life has as if awakened the more primal side of Jimin, one of the seven lords who unleashed hell in Howl's town. And the mating ritual has begun, but you cannot know this.

You break free by gasping for air, “W-why?” you stutter breathlessly, “You don't even know me!” you cry as you drive your nails into his forearms, triggering in return a reaction of possession in him, prompting him to grab your thighs and lift them onto his shoulders to your profound horror, he is so wild as he spreads your legs wide open to sink his face in between them that you can't utter a single breath.

As he runs his tongue along your pulsing, hot folds, Jimin realizes with nastiness that during your escape you got wet for him, he had smelled your arousal as he pursued you, on some people the quickened heartbeat has that effect, but the sweet and slightly salty taste of your juices are now a definitive proof for him. And you can't deny it, you love how he teases you by slowly sliding around your swollen clit, plays with it by holding it between his lips and then releasing it after sucking hard, almost biting it. He tortures it by pricking it quickly with the tip of his tongue and then returns to lapping your thick juices from the soft slit, which seems to melt every time that devilish tongue penetrates it, managing to lick and stimulate walls that a normal tongue could never reach.

You shyly move your pelvis against his face, your thighs stained with your arousal tremble against his cheeks, and a terrible heat makes you pant desperately. The man abandons your slit to push himself again against your unbearably sensitive folds, they are so moist that you can hear the noise they make every time that cursed tongue stimulates them to push a few millimeters toward your clitoris, never reaching to touch it.

“God!” you curse, suddenly reaching out an arm to grab his hair, not recognizing yourself when you desperately push him against your pussy, longing for the pleasure he was spoiling you with at first.

His arousal makes him grunt like a wounded animal as he sinks into your core with languid, sensual movements, rewraps your desperate clit with his lips and tongue before continuing with more direct, zigzagging movements, crushing it at times with the flat part of his tongue and then flicking it with the tip soon after. He would never stop kissing and licking you like that, his tensed cock vibrating each time he eats you up a little more, delightedly swallowing your juices, enjoying retrieving them each time they flow between your wide-open, rosy thighs. A clearer, liquid substance squirts slightly out of your slit, causing you to shake around his head, you clench your lower lip between your teeth with tears sliding down your flushed cheeks, you are instigating Jimin to pleasurably hurt you, and the funniest thing is that you don't even notice.

Finishing licking some of that shiny, transparent substance from your inner thigh, the boy moves up your body, biting slowly at the flesh of your belly and then higher and higher to the softness of your breasts, titillating a turgid nipple before pulling it between his lips.

“W-What are you doing to me?” you gasp, wishing he would never stop adoring and cuddling your body, why? Just moments before you were running from his clutches, why are you lifting your pelvis now, inviting him to take you as if you've been waiting for this all your life?

“Are you just...” he murmurs, before kissing your chin with his devilish lips, "Responding to your desire" he kisses your mouth again, an electric sensation forcing you to comply, chasing his tongue with yours, collapsing to the spicy taste that is now all over his mouth, your taste.

With half-closed eyes you realize that the dark lines of ink are moving, taking the shape of a wolf watching you, you have no way to comprehend the unsettling sensation that invades you. The man, with one hand pressed against your bare back, forces you to turn away without you having any say in the matter, you find yourself with your face to the ground and the wind blowing down your back, shivering under his fiery, golden eyes, your legs trembling from the effort to keep you on your hands and knees, fighting the sweet pain pulsing in your naked pussy.

“Now hold still, little girl,” he murmurs in your ear in a husky voice, sensuously pumping his cock with one hand, swollen veins pushing against his palm, which squeezes along the entire shaft to the base, then back to the thick tip from which he is already dripping his thick cum, "I need to get all the venom out of your pretty little body, am I right?" he sneers, positioning himself at your entrance.

You open your eyes wide, panic stifled by arousal, but it's still there nonetheless, clenching your fingers between the grass and damp earth, rubbing your knees against pebbles that make you moan in pain. The length of his cock begins to push against your slit, forcing it open for him, a choked cry leaves your throat, feeling your walls that, despite their wetness, struggle to let him in.

“You're still so tight,” hisses the man unfamiliar to you, "I must spoil you some more, huh?" he chuckles, sliding his hand between your legs, using his index finger to stimulate your throbbing bud, you gasp arching your back and raising your buttocks toward the man, who takes the opportunity to plunge his cock another inch into your entrance, which throbs and squeezes him rhythmically, almost making him lose control of the situation.

The sensation of the claw grazing your folds each time he presses and massages your swollen clitoris brings you almost to the edge, you feel a wild sexual desire, something you never experienced even during your teenage years, a crucial period of sexual development.

“Go ahead, please!” you exclaim breathlessly, pressing your forehead against the ground, every single millimeter that moves inside you without really penetrating you is like torture, your index finger moving languidly, and you're going fucking crazy.

“Are you really begging?” he teases you, you grit your teeth until it hurts, but finally you give in.

“Please... fill me, take me!”

“Do you want it?” he asks again, pulling the tip almost completely out, the only part he had managed to get in, you clench your legs desperately trying to recover what your intimacy has lost.

“Yes! I want it! I want your cock, I want it to fill me all the way, and I want it now!” you growl with an anger that burns under your skin, looking at him from behind, his face is an emotionless mask, but his eyes...oh, those never lie, you read the fire of desire in them, he's suffering that anticipation as much as you are. Bastard.

“You begged for it so well, little girl... I'll just have to satisfy you,” the cavernous tone clashes with his appearance, but it anticipates what happens next and leaves you breathless, abandoning your contracted clitoris he grips your hips tightly, almost penetrating your delicate flesh with his claws, pushing himself into you with a vigorous thrust, instantly breaking the thin membrane at your entrance, effortlessly. The burning that follows makes your eyes water, your body instinctively trying to escape the man's savage assault, suddenly realizing that you have lost your virginity that way, out in the open, sweaty and dirty, just like an animal.

The man on top of you hisses and makes strange deep sounds, inebriated by the sensation of his throbbing cock finally and completely squeezed between your trembling walls, trying to adjust to the abnormal size. You gasp whimpering, moving your pelvis trying to disentangle yourself from the overgrip, his claws are hurting you, but he doesn't seem to want to let go, not now that he is buried so deep.

With a grunt he thrusts out slightly, watching as your pussy instinctively clings to him, as your thick juices and virginal blood wet his entire length, lubricating him. Leaning toward you, he lets a long trickle of saliva fall back between your buttocks, slipping between them reaches the point where you are joined. He thrusts back into you forcefully, striking deeper and deeper, and you feel every detail of his cock penetrating you and thrusting higher and higher, touching points so delicate and sensitive that you howl meekly, like a she-wolf offering her whole self to her mate, the pain has been replaced by the need to be possessed, you move against his pubes with urgency, the thread of pleasure is getting thinner and thinner, you feel incredibly wet, practically soaked, and the sounds of your union are so obscene that you are shamefully aroused. Your walls flutter drunkenly with pleasure, at one point with the thick, red tip he manages to hit the entrance to your cervix with precision, you stiffen whimpering breathlessly, and Jimin collapses on top of you, continuing to move his hips tirelessly and with spellbinding sinuosity.

You take it so well that it is impossible for him not to want to have you again and again, throwing back his head to be hit by the moonlight that increases his desire, his pupils widen and he feels his testicles clench with urgency as the base of his cock swells, making him shake all over. Without a second thought, he begins to enter you with deeper and longer thrusts so that his whole cock sinks into you without any more constriction, he hears you panting and crying and this only causes him joy, you are completely abandoned to him and your sensations.

You're about to come, you're not so ignorant that you don't know what's happening to your body, you've even heard of intense orgasms, but this... god, this is going to be devastating, you know very well. It's nothing like the ones you had with masturbation, this one is deeper, snaking through your lower belly and you feel it in your uterus. You stiffen all over, trying to block the erection that keeps pinning you down between hard, sensual thrusts, every time it touches your cervix you risk going crazy.

“Don't stop me, little girl... It's here, isn't it?” he gasps at you, slamming into you once more, high up between the entrance of your uterus and another sensitive area that makes your clitoris and walls tear with intense pleasure, your toes curl and you can't help but nod desperately, "Alright, love," he replies without even realizing it, kissing your bare, sweaty shoulder, his knot is almost complete, but he wants you to come before he gives you his cum.

He teases a sensitive, turgid nipple with the tip of a claw as he reaches the point of your union, massaging your folds to help you come, though with a hint of naughtiness he doesn't dare touch your clitoris, he wants you to orgasm on your own, knowing that the intensity then will be greater and you will collapse weak and distraught in his arms.

“Oh, fuck-!” you widen your eyes, being hit by a pressing and beautiful sensation of jouissance, sucking him furiously into you amid tremors and searing waves of pleasure, the same clear liquid as before leaks from your slit, this time in a greater quantity, causing Jimin to grunt as he is run over by your jet, slamming into you almost brutally, streams of his cum fiercely fill your core, as if to mark you for life, and finally his knot swells completely, locking him inside you.

Although immobilized, he cannot stop coming, his testicles quivering violently, and only one thing could quell his aching desire. With his eyes now almost completely encompassed by the black pupil, he pushes your hair away from your neck, exposing your previously tortured skin.

“Why does this go on?” you ask feverishly, confused by the enormous weight widening your walls and locking his big cock into you.

“Sssh” he rubs the tip of his nose against you, making you shudder, "Just wait a little longer" his words are followed by an excruciating twinge, his grown canines penetrating like blades into your skin and sinking into your flesh amidst your shocked and submissive screams, your body surrendering to his force, instinctively submitting and waiting for him to finish marking.

Jimin loves blood, your blood, it pleasantly bathes his tongue with its density and sweetness, he moans with need as he loses himself in your scent, instinct commands him to move his hips once more, even though you are both locked together, with a weak moan you take in the last strings of his cum, resting possessively in your belly, you feel heavy and unbearably full, but at least he seems to be finished, you feel him relax as he once again licks the holes left by his teeth, healing them. He looks like a wolf cleaning up after his mate after mating.

“What are you?” you ask wearily, by now surrendering to the idea that the man cannot be a mere human, that probably everything he has told you, from the poison-soaked dress to the deal with the town, is real.

“Jimin” you hear him grunt at such a low frequency that if you hadn't been alone, you probably wouldn't have heard him. You snort weakly.

“I asked you what you are, not your name,” you murmur, the strange, heavy weight preventing you from moving, hissing as Jimin moves awkwardly between your legs, putting you in a more comfortable situation, letting you rest against his chest lethargically, occasionally kissing the back of your neck and licking your neck, or behind your ear.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't like all that attention; you feel a delicious bite around your heart as you cling to his embrace, protected from the evening chill.

You don't know exactly how long you spend like this, maybe forty minutes, maybe an hour, the fact is that finally that thing between your legs seems to melt away, making you sigh almost strangely.

Jimin gently untangles himself from you, leaving your warm shelter slowly and with a feeling of emptiness that stuns you, your legs finally relax and you try to move them to regain some mobility, you feel his cum pushing to come out and two of his fingers enter you, plugging your entrance. No claws, you notice as he slowly turns you around.

You hiss at the burning, your knees are completely ruined, but Jimin begins to sprinkle them with kisses and saliva, the man is back between your thighs again, you can see his long, wild hair shining as he licks and sucks your skin from time to time, all the way to his fingers, he moves them slowly inside you and you twitch involuntarily, closing your eyes at the warmth of his tongue licking a thick streak of cum and juices dripping roughly from you, pushing it down to your hypersensitive clitoris and you moaning in pain.

“Don't do it,” you gasp, closing your legs tightly, but he doesn't give up, grabbing your chin between two fingers and forcing your mouth wide open, your heart faltering with a strange emotion, you let him spit all his creamy load into your mouth, running along your tongue with a surprised cry.

“Swallow,” he orders with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

You do as he tells you, wanting to please him in every way possible, accepting him back into your mouth for a slow, intimate kiss. It is also dominant and sweet, intense.

“I'm Jimin, a werewolf and also one of the masters of the castle,” he explains pushing you against his bare chest, you hug him back as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be there, clasped to him on a bed of dry leaves, "You are my mate, it's no accident that you were chosen ... being a virgin at your age is unusual for humans, but not for us wolves, you waited for me," he emphasizes with fire in his eyes.

“But ... my friends?” you can't help but ask, which makes him chuckle.

“My people have learned to be among humans, they recognized you by scent and led you to me at the right time, they are fine,” he informs you with a caress, “In fact, you should worry about yourself,” he says with a note of reproach.

“H-How?” fear advances again.

“I've waited too many years for your birth, little girl... it's time to repay the wait,” he hums as something hot and hard returns against your belly.

“Jimin, wai-!” too late, the tip of his cock captures your entrance again, this time with more ease and the next thrust has you writhing against him with tears in your eyes, “Oh, shit!”

536 notes · View notes

meownotgood · 3 months ago

Text

as above, so below. / death sworn!viktor x reader, 18+, reader is fem bodied, reader uses gender neutral pronouns (but is referred to as 'farmgirl' once), mild violence / death, occult themes, blasphemy, power imbalance, size difference, fingering, riding, consensual mind control, mild painplay (viktor brands a sigil onto reader), praise kink, too much plot and feelings, death sworn viktor is hot and this is my explanation. happy halloween! word count: 16.5k

read on ao3

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I felt it again. Weight at my shoulder, honed talons digging in. The same pitch black feathers fluttered at the fickle edge of my vision. A hand tightened onto my neck, onto my soul, measuring each foolishly clumsy beat of my heart. As the invocation lost strength, so too did the raven evanesce.

I am getting closer. Death is taunting me, stringing me along with His cold palm outstretched — because He knows, to any end, I will follow.

The candle wax from the sigil burned my palm quite deeply. I'll search for some cloth bandages to wrap it in, lest the villagers see the marks and begin their endless chatter. Hopefully the farmgirl will not be too concerned. I must continue to exercise caution; I cannot afford any crucial mistakes, not when I am so close to unveiling the truth.

They will all understand, in time. Death, under no circumstance should you doubt my steadfast faith. My fealty will guide me, and if it does not, I will gladly become acquainted with the cold jaws of the underworld.

— V. October 29, 1618.

—

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The simple persistence of your pounding heart is not-so-simple when the air is thick with smoke, when the sky is dark and knotted with storm clouds, and when each heavy, quickened step slams your boots into the earth firmer than before. Running. You have to keep running, faster and further than those who might still be chasing you.

Sticks and fallen autumn leaves crunch under your feet like the breaking of bones. Your legs ache. Your necklace sways with your steps: thin twine with a small skull fastened on the end, tied deftly between the eye sockets. It thuds against your chest, rivaling every pound of your heart. Thunder booms overhead, the weight of it shuddering through you, promising a bleaker fate. The air runs crisp with coming rainwater.

You nearly trip over a large fallen log, stopping, gasping, as you hurriedly lift your cape to jump over. Shouts ring out from behind you; This way, in the forest!

Your jaw tightens. You take the opportunity to discard your lantern, tossing it as hard and as far as you can into the bushes. You stumble into a run again, leaving the light behind. The light of the dull, contained flame, the distant lights of the town, and the threatening flickers of the fading lit torches.

You are going to die.

It's contradictory for you, really. For ages, amidst your journaling and your research and your rituals, Death never once scared you. No, it enamored you.

Where others saw a cruel end, a violent finality, you saw a chance, a hope. A moth emerging from a delicate cocoon; a new form of beginning. Your town would never accept anything they deemed as heresy, but you knew Death was meant to be revered. The Gods of the living quake at the sound of His name, merely because they know they cannot fight. They'll never be strong enough to stop the fate that will one day befall each and every one of them.

Those Gods no longer watch over you. Their favor was lost the moment Death opened His arms to usher you in.

You want to curse yourself for acting so foolishly. You shouldn't be afraid. This was the fate you wanted, the fate you accepted. It just wasn't supposed to happen now. Not now, not to you, not to him.

And there is a very, very strong difference between admiring, between watching the maw of a flytrap open to sever the heads of whoever steps close, and finding yourself waltzing into the snare.

The thick forest thins into a clearing, adorned with large, ominous structures encased in shadow — and your vision blurs, your ankle catching on a twisted bundle of roots. Thorns scrape your skin. You're just barely able to catch yourself with your hands as you fall, but damp dirt still cakes onto your palms and your knees. You brush some on your cheek, when you clumsily wipe your tears with your knuckle.

Wind whistles in your ears playfully, mockingly. It led you here, despite knowing you hadn't intended to come back. Of course, this wouldn't be your first visit to the gallows today. The soldiers following at your heels must've been hoping they'd drag you here themselves.

You push yourself back up onto unsteady feet. Reaching up, you pull your hood back over your head, and desperately try to regain your lost breath. Puffs of frigid, wispy air spill from your mouth with each heavy exhale. Your cheeks and your fingertips are freezing. The forest shakes, trees rustling all around you. The gallows are quiet, aside from the creak of old wood, and the sway and subsequent thump of hanging rope. For the first time in ages, you are alone. Really, truly alone. Perhaps the guards have finally lost you.

This moment of respite does nothing but remind you of everything you've been running from. As the trees rustle and the stormy sky bellows, your feverish mind can't help but repaint the picture you saw here at sundown, just a few hours prior.

Deep shadows cut into the spaces between the crowds of people. The gallows were frantic. Your clasped hands shook in front of you, your face obscured by the shape of your hood. Rays of dying light framed the display: shades of blood red, vivid orange. Your heart shook your ribs, your vision spun. Your ears rang sharply as the people yelled and chanted. Yet, you refused to look away, as frightened as you were, even as they brought him to the stage.

You won't turn away, not from this. Not when your throat ached from the sharpness of blood and bile, the executioners cutting through his shackles and shoving him forwards. Even though it was foolish, even though it went against what he told you, your feet stayed rooted to the ground, unable to move if they wanted to.

You prayed for the first time in years — to the Gods, to Death, to anyone. It didn't matter who, because none of them listened. So you watched, useless and wide-eyed as the guards secured the noose to the structure. As a priest chanted some speech about witchcraft and the Gods and the occult. As his breath caught, his gaze dulled, sparks left him like doused flames and then- and you…

And you were powerless, as you were from the start, as you always have been.

Your heart twists: a weak, wilted rose, pathetically curling in on itself. Gently, you reach into the pocket on your cape. Your fingertips feel the crisp, folded edges of the note Viktor left you. It's still there, thankfully. You'd hoped you wouldn't lose it in the chase.

You've no need to read it for another countless time. You can recall what it said by memory.

It's done. I have tried, but I cannot fight this.

Swirly, cursive letters filled the small scrap of torn parchment, forming hauntingly familiar handwriting, etched in blood red ink. They blended into scattered, barely-readable puddles, where your tears had already fallen to fill the page. Don't follow… they will search… find you again… I promise.

I promise. You would never doubt his words, you never have. But it's difficult, it's painful. How are you supposed to believe him, when you already watched him die?

With a shudder and another meager breath, your legs buckle. You fall to the ground, landing on your knees in a weak, futile heap. Your heart pounds, splintering from within your chest — like clusters of quartz and sharp shards of stained glass.

None of this feels real. You touch your fingertips to your pinched temple, your mind whirling and pounding with nightmarish intensity. Viktor should be here. He still has so much to accomplish, this wasn't supposed to happen when you aren't ready to lose him. Gods. You miss him so, so much.

Viktor is — was — your closest friend, your partner and your backbone. You wouldn't doubt if his name was etched into each notch of your spine. Honestly, you would've followed him anywhere, with bloodied hands, or with a bleeding heart.

You were a farmer. A peasant, tilling the fields in your uncle's farm with pennies as payment. Your parents left nothing for you after they died, no bequests or last wishes, so you accepted the offer your relatives had left you — a free place of residence, in exchange for helping on their farm.

It was a good deal. Your only deal. But it was plain. It was monotonous. You hated how each day felt the same, blending together until all of it was useless, unimportant, and easily forgotten. You wanted to do more, be more. Constantly, you longed for a day when your uncle would quit scolding you, when your illusory chains weren't so tight, when everyone in your town would stop spouting the same useless drivel, and finally open their eyes to the truth right in front of them.

Viktor put a blissful end to your cycle of tedium.

He came to your village from a country you hadn't yet heard of. You learned from the townspeople's gossip that he was an inventor, and a renowned alchemist in his youth. Although his studies are mostly kept private, as of late. A councilman had died not too long ago, falling ill out of nowhere, just for his body to mysteriously go missing. Viktor had come to your little town to go through with his own investigations.

Once he was finished, it was onto the next village, to follow the thread of unexplained deaths that continued to lead him from region to region. You were the one who convinced him to stay.

Viktor was intelligent. Far too clever for his own good, really. He was handsome. Captivating. Tousled strands of dark hair framed sharp features, tired eyes, and pretty, perfectly-placed moles. Pale skin accentuated crisp blue veins, rivers of cobalt that ran through his thin arms and delicate hands. Intricate rings with various symbols carved into their shape adorned each of his fingers.

The first time you met, your gaze darted everywhere, unsure of which detail to focus on. You noticed the cane he kept at his side, the wooden handle carved into the elaborate shape of a raven's skull. His palm ran cold when he shook your hand. And when he spoke, introducing himself in a polite tone, his words fluttered through you like butterfly wings — carrying the lilt of an unfamiliar, smooth, intoxicating accent.

To say you were smitten was an understatement.

It was a bit foolish, in hindsight. Your farm work grew neglected, as you spent less time at home, and more days with Viktor.

Far before you met him, to ease the monotony that riddled your day to day life, you spent a lot of time reading. You studied anything and everything you could find. You searched for solace in the journals about Death that you'd steal from the library, because neither the librarians nor your family approved of you reading them.

Viktor was studying the same thing, examining Death's grand designs on his own time. Missing bodies, the phenomenon of fallen soldiers rising from the dead, tales of people who'd almost died and claimed they'd caught a glimpse of the underworld — all of it had to mean something. Occurrences like this are far from mere coincidences.

You thought so too. From then on, you just… clicked. Each fragile moment felt important, every conversation with Viktor felt effortless, it felt freeing. Finally, you had someone who understood you, after ages of detachment, years of speaking to yourself in a journal because no-one cared to listen.

Viktor read through each and every page of your notes, praising your findings. He excitedly murmured that yes, you've made so much progress, you should be proud. And this is precisely what he needs to take the next step in his research. If your notes were combined with his, surely the both of you could reach a breakthrough.

And so, you were friends. Partners, even. You admired him, respected him. The both of you were close in age, and it was easy to bond over your shared ideals. Especially when the two of you trusted no-one more than each other.

You worked together, furthering your research in secret, working on inventions as a front, while performing seances to try to speak with Death yourselves.

Viktor drowned himself in his work, far more than you could. To a dangerous degree, sometimes. He believed in multiple planes of existence, that the end was merely a beginning. Now, it would seem like Death held more untamed power than he initially thought. Death is planning something, perhaps hoping to gather more followers, or to overthrow the Gods of the living.

Those who did not worship Him would soon learn to kneel. This was the future Viktor truly sought.

An end that planned to devour. A glorious future that flipped life on its head, blessing His followers with touches of soft rot and violent warmth. None of it scared him, so it didn't scare you. You trusted Viktor, and wherever he led you, you were prepared to follow.

He knew his research was forbidden. Those in the village could never know the truth of what he was studying, and he intended to keep it concealed until the time was right. The strange happenings that had been occurring throughout the town already had people on edge. Any death-worshippers or cultists or witches, whatever the council wants to call them, will be dealt with as soon as they're discovered.

Mercy wouldn't be afforded. Still, it was a risk he was willing to take.

You both thought you covered your tracks well. Viktor never told anyone what he was studying — not a soul besides you.

Perhaps it was because the inventions he made would've changed the lives of the less fortunate. The council are as selfish as they are precautious. Perhaps they were suspicious of him from the moment he came here, and if you hadn't convinced him to stay all those years ago, he'd still be alive now.

Your heart aches, killing you from the inside before anyone else could do it for you. Blades of grass tickle your knees, sharp wind brushes your skin with all the gentleness of a cut from a knife. The trees whisper to the darkened sky, which answers with murmurs of loud, rolling thunder. Faint droplets of rain begin to patter onto your shoulders. Your bones run cold with a deep, freezing chill.

By the time you arrived at his study, there was nothing that could be done. The door was busted open, his belongings scattered and toppled. There was no trace of him, nothing but the note he left for you, tucked into a stack of journals on the desk you once shared.

Shakily, you breathe a slow, uncertain sigh, and you reach up to absently clutch your necklace. It does little to calm your budding nerves. You run your thumb over the notches in the bone, the surface damp with small raindrops: a raven's skull. The necklace was a gift, mimicking the motif that once adorned his cane. A present from Viktor to thank you for all you achieved together.

So we match, he mentioned, placing the necklace into your palms, just barely brushing your skin with his fingertips.

Where will you go now? You can't return home, your relatives surely know the guards are after you, and they won't hesitate to turn you in. Viktor hid your involvement as much as he could, but even if the guards only planned to question you, one look through his notes and journals and you would be finished. You can't take that risk.

You heard that when he was captured, he never denied any of the claims they tossed at him. They were the fools, and they will burn for it, they will die for their single-minded beliefs. Death holds no mercy for those who dare to defy Him.

But would Death allow a merciful end for his most devoted followers? A small part of you, battered and bruised, foolishly hopes so.

Wind whips around you, and raindrops pelt your back and your skin. The sky splits with a fervent crash of lightning; your shoulders tense, as you fight the sharp, rabbit-quick beating of your heart. It thumps in your own ears, just as loud as the rock of the trees and the hammering of the rain. You can't stay like this. You have to keep moving, have to keep breathing.

Once again, it isn't easy. You attempt to rise to your feet, but your legs tremor, unsure if they can carry you any further.

Your mind wraps around to the same thoughts over and over again. To the gallows, to the pain in your chest, to Viktor. A sinking sensation fills your stomach, a mantra that repeats with the whisper of the wind: you aren't meant to be here. It digs underneath your skin, pleading a command to run, to get out as quickly as you can and not stop until you are far, far, far gone.

You almost manage to move. You stare down at your knees, blinking, fighting against your misty vision. Your grip tightens on your necklace until your knuckles are aching. The storm echoes around you, tugging at the trees, howling through the gallows. Rain drips down your face to blend with your tears, mercilessly hitting your back to throb against your spine.

If you were to get up, it would hardly matter. This is it. You have nothing left to return to. No-one left to fight for. You failed him, just as you failed all you believed in. Darkness seeps in, and the moon shimmers, as its crescent dips into the highest point in the sky.

Perhaps all you can do is wait for the night to take you.

Though, the darkness does not. Instead, it sparks.

With your head tilted down, your gaze focused on the ground, you watch the rustle of the earth underneath you. Faint flickers of blue fire start as patient wisps. Curling at your fingertips, hardly allowing themselves to be noticed. Then, all at once, they begin to feed on the thin blades of grass, surging into flames that seek to swallow everything in their path.

You hurriedly stumble back. You support your weight on your palms, before the fire can reach your knees. The gallows are scorching before you, all of their glory engulfed in a sea of deep blue flame. It defies reason, the sight has your heart lodging into your throat until it's practically choking you; the flames refuse to falter under the rain, causing the wood to creak and decay.

Ash crumbles down and coats the dirt. A wooden beam at the top of the structure comes crashing down, hitting the ground with a deafeningly loud crack that rivals the resounding boom of thunder.

Fire, there's so much fire, it's all you can see, all you can breathe in. The wind tosses your fluttering hood from your head. Blue flames ripple at the edges of your vision, reminding you of burning parchment.

You can't move. There's nothing you can do but watch, listening to the pound of your own heartbeat as the flames continue to surge. Oh, you were wrong, so wrong. Your end was never meant to come at the hands of some insignificant soldiers. Right here, right now is where you'll finally crumble.

Death has come to take you for himself. Fitting, for the two of you to die here together.

As the gallows crumble, at the center of the clearing, a sigil inscribes itself into the dirt. It burns in the same shade of deep blue, scrawling a few feet in front of you to a careful, intricate pace.

It starts at the outer edge, forming a circle encased by runes. They bear resemblance to runes you've studied, but none of them are decipherable. The mark shines brighter when it completes, forming a triangle at its center: the symbol for life at its apex, the symbol for death at its side, and a final, skull-shaped symbol carving into the last point.

An inferno manifests from the symbol. Thunder splits the sky, the tempest tugs at your clothes and toys with your necklace — but the fire changes, the flames form a shape. A staff rises from the ground, lit by a radiant, glowing crystal, grasped by a large, armored hand.

Blue smoke wisps ominously from the newly-summoned figure — A man? Is it even a person, could it be Death itself? The occult books you've studied told you that if one were ever to look upon Death, their heart would instantly cease to beat. But yours is still pounding, still knocking at your ribs and making your blood race.

The sigil calms, giving off a dull glow underneath his boots. His figure is framed with a crimson hooded cape, much like yours. Bulky pillars of armor rest on his shoulders. An eye with a sharp, slit pupil curves from a line of smoke impaled into his back. It flickers over you, regarding you with something all-knowing.

Surely he stands several feet taller than you, and from this position — you're cowering on the ground, your knees folded like a skittish baby deer's, your eyes wide and your breath catching — he practically towers over you. His staff hums from the weight of what must be unfathomably powerful magic. Panic laces through you, your lungs aching, your throat dry. But your head also spins with intrigue, with eagerness.

Your research was founded upon hoping an event like this would happen to you. And here it is, a true being of Death, formed right before your eyes. Watching you, sparing you.

So why, why are you still alive?

The figure's head tilts. Raindrops, fewer in number, patter onto his head and tap against his armored shoulders. He's clearly gazing down at you. You aren't met with a face, nor with anything human. Instead, you're forced to stare into the intimidating outline of a glowing, skull-shaped mask.

"I believe," His fingers drum against the length of his staff, and his voice echoes through your mind, drowning out the raging storm, converging with your own racing thoughts, "I urged you not to follow me."

You freeze. Everything stops, until the skip of your heart in your chest is all you can hear. Your veins run as cold as an icy, frozen river.

Oh. That's Viktor's voice.

—

Time seems to ebb away much faster when you know it has afforded you boundless infinity.

For six months, I have been Death's herald, and with each passing day, I have felt the veiled web of power within me fester. I do not regret my decision. Flesh was nothing more than a weakness to be shed. But it is gradually growing impossible to tell where Death ends, and I begin.

Vitality. Depravity. Desire. Every sensation burns within the fire that replaced my heart, forceful and inescapable.

A part of me does fear the way Death has begun to evolve my mind and my vessel, but I believe my partner understands what I have become. Foolish as they are.

My previous theories will need to be amended. The mind, the soul, and the body are separate, as well as equal. It is in the palms of another where the pieces that remain of you can truly coalesce.

— V. Unknown Date, 1619.

—

The solemn throne room, which once brimmed with beauty and life, now settles under the thick weight of darkness and demise, falling silent in the wake of your destruction.

Large quartz archways crumble slightly, chunks blown off from powerful, laser-focused blasts of dark magic. Tall, warm columns of stained glass shine in every muted color, reflecting the bright light of the full moon. Grandiose statues and tattered flags line a pathway to a curving staircase, which leads to a noble, black-marble throne.

Empty suits of armor litter almost every inch of the floor, to the point where you have to delicately step over them to reach the very center of the room. Steel swords and bows remain close by. And on the outer edge of the throne room, cowering in a corner, lies the charred remains of the king's robes, and his chipped, glittering crown. Death has claimed their bodies, along with their souls. The fate they befell here is hardly the worst in store for them.

You gaze up, examining the intricate paintings laid onto the ceiling. They depict multiple figures. You recognize angels, with muted colors, harps, and fluttery dove wings. At the outer edge, there is the moon and stars, with a metaphorical illustration of Death — a satyr with six arms and four horns, shielding himself from the light.

Amusing, to think that a handful of angels and a meager army of soldiers could stop what Death planned for them. For you and Viktor, the task was trivial.

The knights will make strong servants. Lord Death will use them well, to build His steadily growing army. The king, on the other hand, will likely be punished — for ever believing he could escape his own grim fate.

"Magnificent." A familiar voice lilts into your ears, thick with a smooth accent, echoing through your mind like the ripple of a rock thrown into water. "But of course, our purpose is not yet complete."

You glance back towards him as Viktor admires the sea of destruction, a low wisp of flame idly twisting around his fingertips, before he casts it away with a flick of his index. The edge of his cape is slightly torn, singed from the aftermath of powerful flames. His staff glows gently, likely regaining the power it expended.

This new form of his is… imposing. If you were someone who stood in his way, and if you weren't already used to this, the sight of him alone would make you fear for your life. He is tall — large enough that the top of your head barely reaches his chest, and your neck must crane to look up at him properly. And he is strong; his body is constructed from blue smoke and figments of dark magic itself, rendering him immortal, and near impossible to touch.

Nearly.

Viktor hums, and the threatening, armored eye that floats above his shoulder flickers, surveying the scene with quiet intensity. Death's Eye, the token that provides him with a great portion of power, and watches over while the both of you carry out Death's bidding.

"I trust you are pleased with this outcome," Viktor murmurs, his tone cold and practical. "We will travel north next, as you demanded, and continue with further vanquishment. You will be informed when we reach our next target. Until then, Glory to the Underworld."

You nod, slightly nervous, bowing your head and neatly placing your arms behind your back as the eye flickers over you, next. "Yes- Glory to the Underworld."

Seemingly satisfied, the eye shifts. Smoke dissipates from the line connecting it between Viktor's shoulders. Then, Viktor snaps his fingers, and the eye disappears without a trace.

"There." Viktor turns towards you, and your gaze is met by his skull-shaped mask: fit with intricate engravings and two small divots, not-quite-eyes lit by twin flames. "We are alone."

Fear does not course through you, even if it should. Instead, a small smile forms on your lips, pleased and eager, almost smug. As soft as it was on the day you met him.

Once again, as if you had never once lost each other, Viktor is your ally, your partner. Your closest confidant — and yet, everything has changed. There are some things Death can take, but regardless of His strength and omnipresence, can never return.

Viktor's form no longer resembles who he once was. The details you'd memorized have been cast aside in favor of a stronger, more formidable chassis. A means to an end, Viktor explained. The body matters less than the mind, and so it only made sense to destroy and rebuild it. This is only fitting, for one of Death's chosen Sworn.

His voice is the same as you remember, when it lilts smoothly through your system. He still has the same sharp intelligence you once might've found yourself falling for. His memories, thoughts, and ideals are intact. Viktor was quick to reassure you of this, reminding you of the secrets only he would know. Your research would've told you to be wary, your notes reminding you that Death is greedy, and does not give up a soul once He has caged it.

At some point, you stopped listening to those notions. It matters little to you. Viktor is yours again, until the earth crumbles, until the sky and sun burn out — and really, your meager, loving heart couldn't ask for anything else.

Death is not an unjust sovereign. And so, in Viktor's own words, when he first reached the underworld, he was offered a choice.

He was promised a chance at resurrection: a reward for his undying loyalty. But in exchange for power, your research partner would need to swear much, much more.

He would be given power beyond anything he could dream of, a new body, a chance at revenge. All he must do is agree to complete His bidding, working as Death's right hand. Death would instruct Viktor with building an army, with reaping souls to fuel the underworld's lifeblood. Anyone who stood in the way of His vision must fall. Or, he could refuse, and instead embody what remained of his lost soul, as it gradually withered away into dust.

It was a simple choice, really. Now, those who opposed Viktor's vision will not just bow to Death. They will also bow to him.

From there, it would've ended rather simply. Viktor would have taken up Death's mantle, and you- You would be left to time, most likely. Another forgotten soul, drowning amongst the endless sea.

But Viktor made you a promise, and it was one he did not intend to forget.

The deal he proposed with Death came with one stipulation. His partner — you — would be spared, and if Death willed it, put to use. You are mortal, sure, but you were as dedicated and talented as he once was. With the assistance of a small fraction of power, you could become a worthy disciple.

You would have nothing to fear, not ever again, Viktor promised. As long as you knelt close to his heel.

And so, on that fateful, stormy night, you took Viktor's hand when it was offered to you, and became a fellow servant of the end. You left your town behind — all of them, everyone who had once forsaken you. Your village and the townspeople and your farm, deeply drowned in a sea of blue, fierce flame.

There was nothing left for you, nothing but this. Besides, you had no doubts. For Death, for Viktor, you would do anything. If Viktor asked you to burn the world to the ground, you would swear to leave it in nothing but ashes.

Your gaze flickers up from your feet, your thoughts roused as Viktor motions for you to follow with a subtle crook of his finger. And as though you would follow him anywhere, you trail behind with quick, eager steps.

He leads you over the discarded bodies of the soldiers, guiding you to climb the room's centerpiece: its winding staircase. The long, laced edges of your dress brush your ankles when you carefully grasp and lift it, trying your best not to trip. Viktor leans his weight on his staff, uses it to walk, which is hardly needed, but it's still second nature.

Your hands clasp in front of you, your dress gently swaying. You watch him set the staff aside, before he takes his rightful seat at the throne.

He looks like he belongs in a throne, to you.

For a moment, you fiddle with your thumbs. You glance away, looking at the discarded remnants of the old throne room.

"That almost seemed too simple," You muse, brows furrowed together slightly. "Will all of humanity be this weak?"

Viktor leans back. He rests his elbows on the arms of the marble throne, his large legs spread while he clasps his hands together: one armored, almost mechanical. The other delicate, with thin fingers and wispy edges. Soft plumes of mist spill from the gaps between his mask and his tattered hood.

"Mortals are weak by nature," He explains, assured as ever. His voice echoes, syllables resounding against one another, and his fingers gently tap his own knuckles. "They blind themselves, and then ramble about the truth, without realizing they are still pulling wool over their own eyes. You know this."

"I do," You murmur, breath catching at the sight of him. Your spine still tingles from the thrill of your victory. "We've seen it countless times."

"Those men were especially amusing to destroy." Viktor huffs, something between a chuckle and a sigh, and large puffs of cerulean smoke billow from the gaps between his mask. "Men like that impudent king are not even worth the mana. He believed himself to be some form of prophet, only to begin begging to his worthless God once he knew he'd been surpassed."

Then, Viktor laughs, low and maniacal, as his thighs part more to let him lean back even further. "Pathetic, was it not?"

With his entire army felled, the king pleaded for someone to save him. Sweat beaded at his forehead, and his panicked eyes shimmered with a spectral glow, reflected in the light of Viktor's staff, pointed right towards him. The Gods did not intervene, like the king swore they would. Death did not lose, like his legion of false mages once prophesied.

Rather, Viktor merely chuckled, and said nothing, before a single focused thread of magic reduced the man at his feet to dust and bone.

Your spine shudders sharply. Anticipation settles onto your back, pooling within your core, hot as cinders.

Thinking to yourself, you allow your gaze to travel across the throne. Old banners, lined with gold thread and embroidered with royal symbols drape beside the tall walls of stained glass. Intricate shapes are carved into the throne's smooth marble. A sun and moon, a cross of swords, and an ouroboros-like depiction of a wolf, and a lamb.

"He was the same as every king and sovereign we have faced." You take a step forwards, your shoes clicking against the smooth stone floor. "Weak. Witless. Disappointing."

Viktor watches silently as you approach; your fingertips trace the arm of the throne for a moment, studying the detailed runic engravings. Your gaze glimmers, jeweled and lovely, glittering across him — like prey, teasing the jaws of a predator. A smile crosses your features, one that radiates control.

"They pretend they are capable of holding the world in their hands-"

Your voice is kept low; with a palm on his shoulder giving you leverage, you slide into his lap, settling onto his firm thighs — spread as wide as the square throne will allow.

You're barely whispering, now: "Even though they're toppled as easily as the rest."

Your body is much, much smaller than his, but sitting in his lap nearly puts you at equal height. Your palms gently brush over the cold pillars of armor on his shoulders. You let your hand press to his chest, tangible and icy. Smoke wisps around your hand — hungry, possessive — as though it seeks to swallow you in. His head tilts, invisible gaze seemingly following your movements, regarding you with a lack of emotion you can't place.

It would be impossible to tell what he's thinking by sight alone. The Viktor you remember would glance away, or perhaps let his brows furrow. He might coax you with nervous touches, or persuade you to move with careful, logical arguments.

But this Viktor, frigid and magic-bound, a vessel for ruination — he stays silent, and leans back to offer you more room, his steel-clad hand grasping your side. His touch is as natural as it is unnatural. The clawed fingers of his gauntlet briefly press into your skin through your dress' fabric. His hand settles just above your waist, as though it were meant to be there, with all the familiar gentleness of an angel's winged embrace.

Your heart stirs, pounding quickly as your body acts before you can think, pliantly leaning into his touch. Your throat feels tense, your skin warm, a newfound taste on your tongue fierce like sweet ichor. For you, it isn't enough.

So, you press closer. Your long dress drapes over his thighs, smooth black satin against armor and miasma. Your fingertips find the rough edge of his mask, and they trace it with delicate intensity. Viktor's only reaction is to let his large hand travel down, his palm encompassing and squeezing your waist. This time, with a practiced, careful, knowing touch.

Viktor is the most intelligent, perceptive man you have ever known. And he knows you, enough to make you certain he realizes precisely what you're playing at.

Your dances always begin like this. You can't help but let a smirk pull at your parted lips.

"Tell me," You're murmuring, slowly leaning in. Deep blue smoke begins to wisp around your figure, brushing against everything it can touch, but you hardly seem to mind. "Is there anyone who could possibly stand against us? Anyone worthy enough to threaten you- to defy Death's most loyal harbinger?"

Viktor pauses for a moment, before speaking.

"Humanity adapts when threatened. There are people to the north, who have begun to use tomes to teach themselves how to wield magic."

You scoff, "Powerful magic?"

"No. Not when compared to what we possess." Viktor's masked gaze regards you emptily, as you draw shapes with your fingertips onto the intricate curvature of his shoulders. "They may be difficult, but they will not be impossible. In the end, they'll be slaughtered like the rest. No soul is capable of succeeding against our absolution."

"Viktor," You coo his name like a nightingale, "Won't Death be proud of us?"

Of us. The both of you have come so far, from the foolish, loathed scholars you once were. Wouldn't the younger versions of yourselves be proud of how far you've come, of the power the two of you have gained? Or would they despise this, would they cling onto humanity the way you and Viktor have failed to?

"He will be satisfied," A drag of his hand, gripping and guiding your waist, rocks you much closer to him. "Once the task he sent me to complete is fully accomplished."

You sigh; his voice blends through you. Burning like light, syllables thick and reverberant. Gods, you can barely focus on his words anymore.

Leaning forward, unable to stop yourself, your lips press teasing, idle kisses to the firm side of his mask, to fill the empty space left when he quiets once more. With another kiss, brutally warm, you're curling your fingertips into the ice-cold smoke that would be his face, you're gripping the underside of his mask tight.

Frigidness bites at your fingers. His mask feels rough against your lips. You place playful imprints of promises you wanted to keep, of touches you wanted to inflict before there was this.

When your lips could have pressed to soft pale skin and star-placed moles. When tender kisses could have led to firm touches, and hands toying where they shouldn't belong. Warm bodies pressing together with the warmth of liquid gold, like they are each other's vice. A time where the vision you had for the future and your studies and the frailty of life mattered less than each other, and —

Viktor stirs. His free hand glides over the small of your back, making you arch and curve into him, but his armored palm grasps your face, roughly dragging it back. The smirk that beams across your face is wild.

"Viktor-"

"Stay still."

His echoing voice is firm — Your breath catches, but you oblige.

"Dove." He tsks when you're silent, half-amused, faux-annoyed. The familiar pet name makes your heart twist and flutter. "Are you sure you want to do this here? You cannot wait?"

You breathe a light laugh, your cheeks slightly sore from his stiff, squeezing touch. Gaze flickering, eyes slightly rolling, you hum, "Don't we deserve a reward? To- I don't know, to celebrate our victory?"

"We?" Viktor chuckles darkly. His hand shifts, armor cold on your skin as he grips the back of your neck like you're a scruffed kitten. "You wish to be rewarded."

Your head spins. Your whole body shudders, rich with a clear lack of restraint. The difference in power between you is staggering.

Beneath his fingertips, you can feel the thrum of magic, necromantic and heady, pulsing at your throat. It courses through your mind with strength that aims to conquer. This sort of magic puts the fear of Death way deep in your stomach. Threads of soft smoke flush over your skin. Your veins tingle. The power you were gifted is not like this, not this forceful, not so carnivorous.

And yet, even as everything within you shudders, instinctually flinching at the violent weight of rot against your skin, all you can believe is that he deserves to own this power. Viktor should satisfy himself with more, with as much as he desires. The two of you have fought for it, and now, you should get to enjoy it.

For a moment, you think he has you pinned. But your beloved partner blesses you with mercy.

"We won," He purrs; and there's such delicious contrast, between the mercilessness Death's closest apostle — Viktor, your Viktor — shows your adversaries, and the patience, the earnestness he extends towards you.

"Those who dared to oppose us are dead. You did excellently, you are growing stronger. You were very, very good. Is this what you wanted to hear?"

Viktor speaks close to you, allowing you to feel a frigid brush of smoke fanning out over your skin. His voice resounds through your mind and your eardrums. Your hands threaten to shake, each of his words carved especially for you. Only for you.

"Yes- Vik," Your breath stutters, flowers in your throat budding with hunger, "Please."

If he was capable, Viktor would certainly be smirking. A confident, assured grin, like the kind he'd flash after his intricate notes resulted in a successful hypothesis. Your heart pounds loud in your ears, his fingers idly curving over your neck, igniting a famine in your chest. Perhaps he knows more than he's letting on. Perhaps he's realized how terribly you've needed this.

"Coy, aren't you? Asking so nicely." Viktor guides his opposite, magic-worn palm down your back, tracing where the ridges of your spine would sit.

Your eyelids flutter, and you're sure it doesn't go unnoticed. You force yourself to breathe deeply, your lungs filled with the warm scent of him: of flame, and ash.

"When we were Death's mere students, you were often receptive to positive feedback." He continues; his hand maneuvers, pressing his index finger underneath your chin to direct it. "But you were never this insatiable."

The encompassing lilt to his tone tells you it isn't an insult. No, it sounds like raw, fierce fascination.

"There wasn't time, we came so close to our goals and- and it just wasn't-" You cut yourself off with a quiet, barely-there gasp when Viktor's hand begins to carefully trail over your neck. Gentle at first, until you're reaching up, placing your much smaller palm over his own, guiding him to squeeze.

"I just missed you."

"I never left your side," Viktor counters, matching your gluttony when his thumb swipes over your pulse, the sharp, clawed digit grazing your skin. "I suppose this is what you missed."

His touch? His voice? The threads of magic that form his figure brushing against your flesh, the divine press of your weak, mortal shape to his?

Either way, he's right.

Your blood pumps pleasantly, every facet of your willing gaze focused on him; on the magic swirling through his body, on his death-shaped mask as Viktor's vessel silently examines you. Vision blurring, you relax, allowing your veins to tingle and your head to go hazy. Your arms fall limp, and into his lap.

The feeling of his hand around your neck makes you shudder with risk. It reminds you of the warmth that courses through your body in the heat of battle, of the delight when you're in the eye of an ongoing conquest. Of the dumb thrills that came when you were young and stupid, when you pushed the boundaries of your research, performing messy seances, unafraid to put your lives on the line.

Now, all of your life belongs solely to him.

Yes, you missed this. You missed Vik so badly when you thought you lost him — and oh, having him now makes you feel like you could do anything. You could rule together, if that's what he wanted. Viktor could destroy everything, and you would still follow at his side. An endless, fervent part of you wants to be powerless, because Viktor's hands wouldn't falter if they held your life. They wouldn't hesitate to press against you, with all of the pressure and heat of the sun. Or, they would bend you into submission, until you'd no longer have the need to think.

Trust and desire make two halves of one whole — your desire speaks in echoes of his name, in every shape. And your trust burns like a suffocating flame in your chest, begging to be made his.

"You're quivering," Viktor notes, although his touch doesn't waver, doesn't loosen. "Tell me what you are wanting. Your lips can still form words, use them."

"Need you," You're sputtering, the lightest smile pulling at your cheeks, a playful contrast to the sternness in his tone. Finally, you take a nice deep breath, as his grip moves down the column of your throat to rest over the apex of your chest. "I want you, Vik- right here. Or would you prefer me to beg?"

Your palms shift up to grip his shoulders again — your gaze on his, pleading, heavy. Your body presses closer, ever-so slightly. It's enough to force Viktor to take a low, deep breath. One that forms smoke, defies reason, choking him with desperation and destruction. With a potency that aims to devour.

Viktor isn't the man you remember, you knew this when you first swore to join his cause. You would never forsake him, even if Death took him to heights you could not reach. Even if Death sought to become him, in a sickeningly beautiful way, in a way that warrants forbidden deals and dark magic and shallow graves.

Gods, you would have done it all over again.

You would've made the same mistakes, walked the same doomed path if it meant he would still return to you, just like this. Stronger. With ambition. Without the need for the pain or the hesitation that came with his previous body and past life.

You've always found Death to be beautiful. Gentle like the slow wilt of deep petals, resolute like the soft cradling of a final embrace. When your village left you forsaken, the demise you glorified rose to save you. Viktor saved you. Death should be taken with palms outstretched. With an obedient body, ready to be reshaped. With a willing soul, with reverence, with worship — and this is exactly what you need, what you've sought to do.

Death has always been a knife at your back, Viktor just knows how to guide the blade and twist it deeper.

"Groveling is unbecoming. Exceptionally so, for the partner of Death's herald." Viktor's voice briefly wavers as he expends something of a sigh. "And it would hardly be necessary. I am already aching to take you."

You grin, clearly pleased. Your fingertips trace up, gliding over the jagged curves of the armor on his chest. "Eager? Thought I was the insatiable one."

Viktor, unshaken and controlled, avoids your question entirely. He holds your chin with his unarmored hand. His fingers are delicate, their edges foggy with faint smoke.

His voice is a low rumble, resounding through every edge of your mind.

"Do you trust me?"

Yes, of course I trust you. You've spoken and penned and drowned in those words, countless times before. The relationship you once shared, whatever it meant, was built on trust. The two of you need nothing but your faith and one another. You trust Viktor's ideals. His judgment. His touch. You've never trusted anyone more.

For Death, you would offer your life, you would embrace every sin, if it meant you'd be offered a knife to save you from the dark. For Viktor, you would become the knife, fighting for his heartbeat over your own, condemning the world and every soul on its surface if he told you it needed to be done.

And for both, tied together, dangerously one, you'd gladly plunge the dagger of trust into your own chest.

"I do," You nod shallowly, your gaze unwavering. "Don't hold back. Want you to be rough."

Thin, glowing flames meet your eyes from beneath Viktor's mask. Carefully, he presses the thick, ice-cold end of his thumb to your pouty bottom lip, foreign sensations sending sparks through you like dying stars.

Viktor taps your lip gently. "Open your mouth."

If this was a dance, a carefully performed pirouette at the center of the dimly lit throne room, like countless royals have likely done before you, this would be the moment where you would have been held, and dipped down. Spun in front of everyone, with nothing to be done but brace onto his shoulder, hold on tightly, and follow. The rhythm would heighten, and you'd be left entirely at his mercy.

Following his instruction, your lips part gently, slowly. Your eyes flicker across his face, never leaving where you're imagining his own gaze to be. His thumb eases in, and just barely presses against the end of your tongue.

The first thing you taste is smoke. Ashen and ghostly, rich and familiar. It's like breathing air for the very first time. Magic thrums from the fuzzy edges that form his shape; tasteless, but strong, thudding through you like the weight of a panging heartbeat, melting into your veins like dark, lush blood. You swear your senses are washed out in crimson, as he waits for you to lick a thick, hot stripe onto the end of his thumb. Your gaze goes soft and eager then, silently pleading for more.

To your brief disappointment, he drags his thumb from your mouth, unaffected when you whine. Then, to your delight, Viktor offers you his index, his middle, and his ring. He presses all three fingers to your lips, where you gladly accept, allowing him to shove them into your throat.

"There," He murmurs, the slightest hint of satisfaction heavy on his tone. Cold, his fingers are cold against your teeth and your tongue when you struggle to suck on them. "You have such a precious, pliant mouth."

Your only response is a muffled, pathetic hum. One hand finds his wrist, the other settles weakly onto his shoulder. He knows there's no way for you to reply, no option for a rebuttal to form when your pretty mouth is stuffed full. And with more strings of carefully constructed praises, he takes full advantage.

"You are terribly obedient. Every command, stage by stage, piece by piece, you follow without strife."

Viktor's fingers press in a bit deeper, making you grip his wrist much tighter. Tears bud at your lashes, your breath sharpens as you fail to stifle a whimper.

"When Death instructs you to kill, you rend the flesh of whomever He chooses. When I compel you to heel, you settle at my feet."

At his feet, near his side, in his lap, wherever Viktor wants you — because you are so, remarkably good.

When you moan softly, threatening to choke, your thighs shifting in a pitiful attempt to rub them together, he drags his fingers back to give you a chance to breathe; a small act of kindness. Your breath catches, heavy and forceful. Your lips glisten with shiny drool. Slowly, once you're ready, he pushes them back in, and settles into a deep, steady pace, languidly fucking your mouth with his fingers.

You're sure you'll never reach heaven. Not after everything you've done and sworn to do. But as your eyelids flutter, and your legs grow weak, your mouth sufficiently used, you swear this is the closest you'll get.

"Death does not regret His choice to select you," Viktor assures, cold and composed. "He knows you are His perfect, loyal little disciple. He will be pleased with what you have done here, as am I."

His fingers are pulled from your mouth slowly, offering you time to gasp and adjust. He holds your chin, taps his fingers against your cheek to make your skin slick with your own spit. A damp, desperate mess still wets your face, and he quickly brushes away the tears that still cling to your lashes with his thumb. Your heart tremors, the gesture all too tender.

"Vik," You sputter, "Touch me."

Now, it's his turn to listen.

Viktor leans back against the throne, getting comfortable. Your grip steadies on his broad shoulders to keep yourself still, your fingers digging into the strong, bone-like frame of his armor.

A hand finds your waist, trailing down. He pushes up the end of your dress, allowing his touch to carefully brush your thigh. Mere fingertips trace your soft skin; cold as ice, thrumming with magic that ricochets through you like lightning. He finds the blade you routinely keep strapped to your leg. His palm grazes the leather sleeve, and examines the labyrinth of engravings carved into the hilt.

It's slow, teasing. Effortlessly calculated. Your dress bunches around your hips. Then, once you're drawn to panting breaths and shuddering sighs, he reaches up. With delicate motions, so gentle they contradict his very existence, he pulls at the strings of your corset, helping to untie them until it is loose.

Your heart shakes your chest. Each light, purposeful touch of his hand against your spine has you reeling. Removing your dress is a swift process, from there.

It unties as simply as the corset. You rush to pull the smooth satin from your limbs, and adjust to let it fall to the stone floor in a heap.

Almost fully bare, you settle back into his lap, the cool air of the empty room brushing your skin. Pitch black armor frames his thighs, rough against your own graceful legs. The crow-skull necklace you keep close to your heart sways, tapping against your chest when you shift to get comfortable. Viktor presses a palm to the small of your back to ease you into position — spectral and hazy, settling against smooth, perfect skin.

Low light envelops you, filtered through stained glass. It frames every curve, each of your blemishes and marks. Your whole figure shakes, forced on instinct to arch into his body, then his touch. Viktor's palm trails from your side to your waist, gentle, tenderly analytical.

"Look at you," He murmurs, "You are a pleasure to admire."

Everything within you melts, your body hazy and warm. His hand slowly trails your back, and your clenched jaw finally relaxes.

"Viktor…" Your gaze is sparkly, you're clearly high on his words. "I asked you to be rough, remember?"

Gentle fingers tap your skin, the way they would tap against his cane or his desk when he's lost in thought, but he continues with a non-response: "Come here."

A palm squeezes your waist, guiding you forwards. Your arms wrap around him as you prop yourself up on his lap, knees splayed out over his large thighs. Your lungs practically ache with the weight of the heavy breaths you take in.

His fingertips trace fiery touches onto your inner thigh. Knowing touches, because he expects the way you whine. He holds you tightly to keep you still once your legs struggle to hold your weight. You swallow, your veins set alight with a violent sense of need.

"Patience. We can work our way up," He decides; his voice ripples within you deeply, rich with his accent, rumbling with an unearthly echo. Like a hand at your ankle, dragging you down into dark, murky, endless water.

And you let him take you.

You stay still as his hand moves, like a tamed pet, until his palm is brushing your stomach, making the knot in your core wind itself even tighter. Until practiced fingertips are gliding beneath the hem of your lace underwear, pressing between your weak legs, finding your waiting, needy entrance —

Viktor scoffs. He lets go of a dark, deliberate chuckle, one that makes vapor billow from his figure. "But it would seem you do not need it. You are filthy."

Your forehead falls, leaning against his own — against his mask — and you grip onto his shoulders, tight enough to make your knuckles ache. Wisps of magic brush your face, swirling around you, delighting in your exhilaration. And you are, you're a mess, your arousal wet and dripping as it gets his fingers slick; his middle and ring, this time.

Despite his instruction, Viktor makes it so difficult to be patient. It takes everything in you not to press against him. Not to feed into your gnawing desperation, bucking your hips into his fingers and grinding on them until they're truly soaked.

"I- Please-" You choke, barely able to breathe, "Want more…"

"Is that so? You're in need of more?" Viktor parrots, only slightly mocking with his tone. "Selfish indulgence is rather effective at making mortals forget their place."

Before your lips can even stumble out a yes, please, his fingers are altering their approach. Slick and determined, they find your swollen clit, flicking over it precisely; he's so close, it's so much. Your body aches, filled so thickly with desire it nearly hurts. Ecstasy licks at your bones, ravenous and all-consuming.

When you jolt, stuttering through a moan, Viktor's free palm holds your shoulder to steady you. Your hands find the hood of his cloak and grip it tight. They ball up the crimson fabric, long nails digging in.

Slow, easy circles onto your sensitive clit are all you're given. His palm begins to trace down once you're steady, exploring your collarbones. Brushing further still, to briefly fiddle with the necklace he gave you.

The twine sits around your neck loosely, partially frayed. The skull has grown worn, faint notches now present on its surface. It's a soft, persistent reminder. You feel it tap against you when he lets it go, only for his large palm to splay itself over your chest, armor cool against your skin.

You gasp, sounding overly shaky. "Vik-"

"Your poor heart is pounding," He interrupts, hand measuring each tender beat. Quickened and needy, as your heart thuds in your eardrums. "Letting go would prove so simple. So gratifying. You want your mind to be blank, so you might let yourself act on nothing but dumb desire. As all pathetic humans do."

It would be easy — grinding against his cold, magic-woven fingers. Giving in to the throbbing, enthralling sensations while you pleaded for him to offer you more, to show you mercy. Clearly, Viktor has you exactly where he wants you.

"If you must be reminded," Viktor continues; his newfound rhythm is practically merciless, his touch teasing your clit until you whine, just to drift to your entrance — warm and wet and waiting, but he doesn't press in. You aren't given what you want. Instead, he observes you silently, perhaps content to watch you struggle. He allows you to shudder, to whimper, your back arching as sparks weigh heavy in the curves of your spine.

"You are in no position to make demands."

"I'm not demanding," You gasp out, heavy sighs following the syllables. A faint and eager smile pulls at your cheeks. You know it's a game you'll lose, but it's exciting to play, all the same. "I'm begging."

Viktor hesitates, savoring those words. The laugh that lilts into your ears is downright maniacal.

"Tch, greedy thing," He scoffs. His fingertips press into your sweet, sensitive clit firmly, with all of the practiced precision you've been craving. "And here I thought you might finally be taught some restraint. You won't be satisfied until I fill you."

Thankfully, he doesn't make you wait.

Viktor shifts, dragging you a bit closer on his lap, running his middle digit over your entrance until you're a shivering, fragile mess. Like porcelain, you could break at any moment — but the press of his finger inside you, filling you, finally giving you a hint of blissful reprieve, feels as though you're being placed back together.

Pleasure rolls over your body like a wave, crashing, drowning. His touch is cool, laced with dark matter. Pulsing with a strong thrum of energy that you can feel so intensely when he's inside you. Strands upon surges of Death's magic, within you, becoming part of you. Eating away at what remains of your soul until you are pierced, much like a rabbit struck with an arrow — delightedly, brutally his. Your vision goes fuzzy once his finger starts to pump. In and then out, to a slow pace, enveloping you in crests of white foam.

"Viktor…" You murmur his name, broken and weak, and he drinks it in like fine wine; swallows it whole, reduces it to cinders. "Oh- Feels s-so fucking good-"

You're quivering, from just one finger. Two would likely force you to break.

"Foolish little lamb." Viktor delights in your subsequent shudder. Always so responsive to his voice, as if he'd given you a command. "Toying with Death, giving themselves, their body, their life. Their unshakable devotion."

Still, Viktor drags the digit from you; your body falls into him, limp and small. You lean your head against his form, struggling to catch your breath. And at last, he gives you two — his middle, his ring, pressing inside you, filling you deliciously.

"Death is- oh, fuck…" Your voice tremors, desperate, lovely-toned. Your cheek presses into his chest, wisps of magic pouring over your skin. "Death is my great savior, worthy of- hah- violent worship…"

His fingers curl. They nudge your velvet walls, pressing a perfect tender spot within you, divine enough to make you wish this moment would last an eternity. "But I'm yours, Vik," You stammer, "Only yours."

Flames flicker in your core, devouring you in their wildfire — and Viktor sighs, exhaling some soft, dreamy sound. He doesn't relent. He fucks you on his fingers until you're dripping onto him, to the echo of sloppy, wet squelches, your whines and each sinful noise reverberating through the large throne room.

Your eyes flutter closed. You try to focus on the searing pleasure, getting lost in his touch, in the familiarity of him. Fleetingly, you imagine his face, whatever you still remember of it. His thick brows would be pinched, lips twitched up into a confident smirk. Honeyed eyes washed over with lust, while strands of his hair form a mess in his face, soft when your fingers run through.

"Vik-" You tense, whining weakly. "I'm close…"

The hand that reaches for you is ice cold. Gentle, at first, when smoke-filled fingers thread through your hair. Then, deliciously rough when they grab, dragging you back to make you face him. Viktor's expression can no longer waver. There are no eyes for you to stare into — and nothing to sate you, but the fire-filled depths of Death's herald, the end's abyss.

And oh, how that excites you.

"Do not let go," Viktor commands, although he punctuates it with a practiced caress of his fingers against your sweet spot. "I know you are capable."

"No, no…" You're sobbing; you try to shake your head, but he keeps your face in a tight hold. "I can't- no, please, please…"

You know Viktor, and even though you can't see the glint in his gaze, you can feel each determined press, pumping to a pace that has you throbbing. Gods, his stupidly delicate hands, his long fingers, somehow feeling even longer when they're filling you down to his knuckles. Your heart pounds, forcing your ribs to ache. You grind your teeth together, your jaw relaxing slightly when his thumb traces your shaky bottom lip.

Viktor has you on the edge of shattering — but you will break when he demands it, or you will not break at all.

"Missed you, f-fuck, oh, Vik-" Melting, you're going to melt as you stammer on, searching for some sort of foothold, anything to grasp onto. You shut your eyes tight enough to paint spots in the darkness of your vision. "Wanted this for so long, and when you were gone, when I tho-thought I lost you…"

Another press, another persuasion; his fingers sheathe inside you until you're stretched around their thickness, a shuddery moan punched from your lungs. They crook and spread experimentally; he isn't even trying to make you cum, and yet it still feels so, so good. His free palm drifts down, and he lightly holds your neck, grounding you.

"You will not lose me. We are destined to bring humanity to its knees, you and I." Viktor taps your neck, feeling your pulse — blissful, mortal, a sensation he's long since lost. "Fools will attempt to stand in our way, but they will be smothered in the ashes of their forebears. We will have what remains of mankind at our feet."

"Yes, yes-" You can barely discern what it is you're begging for. His touch, his voice, perhaps for your release. Anything coherent dissolves in your mouth, until you're spitting up scattered petals of moans and whines — "V-Viktor, please…"

"Shh. We will not become severed, dove. Not ever again," Viktor hums, his tone rumbling through you, fiercely euphoric. "As I was dying, left to crumble in the underworld, I only thought of crawling my way back to you."

Viktor made you a promise. For you, any will would be done.

For you, the weight of Death and the wrath of the Gods would be worth it. All of this would mean something, something more than power. More than the gnawing ache to forget himself.

When you were human, every moment meant so much. You had the nerve to put your lives on the line, but neither of you had the guts to admit this temporary life was much sweeter spent beside one another. The accidental touches, the brushes of hands, the glances that lingered. Days spent talking to each other through research notes, colliding with the nights you spent alone, counting and categorizing stars — it must've been important enough to hold onto. Soft words led to softer touches, and the need to just be close. At one point, you would have done anything to feel this, to feel him.

And you're there, you're right there.

Pleasure buds within you — a sea of stars, on the edge of imploding. But Viktor is always several steps ahead.

The precipice you've been craving doesn't reach you, because instead, his fingers are carefully easing from your aching cunt, leaving you to throb around nothing. Your head instantly spins in endless circles. Everything is hazy, to the point where you can't decide where your ecstasy begins or ends, or heightens or fades; all you know is it wasn't enough. You almost cum, empty and teased, just from the fading stimulation mixed with the lack of it.

But almost isn't what you need.

You're given several moments to breathe. When you finally raise your head from his chest, his palm slipping from your neck to leave it bare, you're met with the same blank, Death-shaped visage. The only sign of a crack in Viktor's composure is the soft smoke that pours from the gaps in his mask, curling around your figure in spirals.

"Breathe," Viktor instructs. His palm searches for your back, caressing gently, cooling your heated skin. "How do you feel?"

"Good." Your lungs are aching. Your voice is weak, shaking more than intended when it leaves your lungs. But even more palpable in your veins than the desire, is your warm, steadfast trust. "I can keep going."

"Is this how you want me? Resting in my lap? Or perhaps on your knees?"

"Like this," You murmur, certain of yourself. "I need you, all of you."

All of him, and all of Death. Every fragment of his present and future, and the pact he forged to bind them. Whatever Viktor has become, you will embrace it. You'll let it haunt you, let it own you.

Your partner cups your face in a frigid, ghostly palm, his touch light, barely tangible. Cold like frozen water and stagnant skin. You give in, allowing your expression to soften.

Countless souls have been felled this way, by his hands, every adversary made to tremble at his feet. This is what he was made for. What he fought and studied and died for. To destroy. And you still lean into his touch, as though it aims to save you.

From then on, you're hurrying, desperate, lifting your weakened legs to shrug off your underwear and toss it aside. Viktor brushes his thumb over your cheek once more before he lets go. He rolls his shoulders back lazily, while your hands move — a palm pressed to his chest, to his side, anywhere you can still touch. Another hand eagerly removing his loosely-fastened armor, before tugging at his loincloth to reveal his lap.

You swallow so hard your eardrums crackle. You should be used to the sight of him — fat, dripping, incandescent. His cock radiates in shades of azure, definite and physical when you drag the pad of your finger from base to tip, despite the wisps of phantom flame that ripple over your hand like clouds. It has your heart lodging in your throat, pounding hard.

You place both hands on his shoulders and lift, to which he grazes your waist with his palm, carefully helping you find your position. Not grabbing, not pulling. You can dictate the pace, he silently offers. So, you take your time, breathing first, waiting for your gaze to refocus and steady. The difference in size in between you is already making your head fucking whirl.

Viktor was always tall, but his current form is formidable, bulky. In his lap like this, with his large hand dwarfing your waist, you must look small. You could easily be broken, pressed into any position. Could be held, or lifted, or shoved down while you're fucked. So weak and mortal and useless, when compared to his massive frame. So desperate, tossing your morality aside, so you can melt at the hands of a revenant, one of Death's all-powerful Sworn.

And yet, it's his gentleness that truly kills you.

Shifting, you lean into him on shuddery legs, trusting him to hold your weight. You move, until the tip of his cock can brush your entrance, soft like a kiss. You're already throbbing, already needy. The breath you suck in through half-gritted teeth is sharp enough to slice your lungs.

"Pretty little dove. I have you," Viktor coos, his voice echoing through your mind like a shout into a wishing well. "There is no obligation to push your limits. We have infinite time."

You nod. But you want to push them.

You reach for his palm, pulling it from your waist to guide it up, up. It glides over your stomach, feels the space between your ribs, and settles against the very center of your chest when you press it there. His fingers are cool, still slick with your arousal.

"Viktor…" You take a nice, deep breath. One he can feel, from the movement of your lungs to the skip of your heartbeat.

Deathly familiar, you know exactly what you want, exactly what you're asking for. Perfectly in sync, indulging in the same sin, biting into the same piercing sweetness of the apple — this is where your dance completes.

Your breath hitches as you finally sink down onto him; the thick head of his cock stretches you first, getting you used to the ache. It grants you a thick sense of pleasure, after you were deprived of what you truly needed. And you need to feel more.

You hold onto him tighter, nails digging into his armor, while you ease down enough to take half of him. And oh, you're so full. Sufficiently stretched, throbbing around his thickness so eagerly, perfect for him and his shape. Magic thrums from Viktor's palm. The slightest tremor is present in his fingers as he leans back into the throne, breathing something of a pleasured sigh. Onto your chest, onto your skin like a brand, with your necklace pushed aside, he wills a symbol to inscribe.

It burns into your skin with waves of rich, delightful pain. A circular shape is formed first, branching into the middle: a triangle, a skull over your heart, a seven-pointed star.

Your mind goes woozy. You glance down, unsure if you want to watch the mark as it comes into shape, beneath Viktor's practiced fingertips, or if your gaze should stay stuck on the weak blue glow bulging your stomach, Viktor's length nestled half-way inside you.

The mark completes, and you're no longer given a choice.

Energy surges through you instantly, claiming every inch of your mind that it can. Intense, alive, and effervescent, the sigil starts strong, before the magic tapers out into a weak lull, like a storm fading into faint drops of rain. You drown, before you're able to breathe. Death magic carries sensations you're acquainted with, but it's entirely different to have it used on you. The force of its manipulation is directly controlled by the wielder, and Viktor has specifically chosen to apply little pressure.

It feels like him. Thrums with pulses of him, flooding your chest with repetitions of his name, enveloping you just as intensely as the feeling of him inside you. Dark energy laces through your system. You are one, on this plane and the next, for a moment. The symbol scorches deep into your skin, proving you are his. Your head is woozy, your sensations heightened.

You could break away, could fight the weak threads of baleful power that threaten to wrap around your neck. But with a deep, dizzy breath, you decide to let yourself succumb.

Holding onto him weakly, your eyes roll back before they flutter closed. Pleasure runs rampant in your blood; you can only act on instinct. Every sensation blurs and melds, cold against warm, his body joined with yours — but your warmth is winning. Heat wraps around you, tightens on your limbs and spills into your organs. When your body becomes flush with his, filling you with all of him, you feel full, feel him throb inside you, like a heartbeat's substitute.

Viktor trails his fingertips over the intricate angles of the scar, perfectly placed on your pretty skin, all-consuming.

"You are-" He shudders, "Exquisite."

He fills you so, so good.

You can feel so much of him, pressed within you deeply. Fuck, he's so deep you feel like you can taste him, so big it has your lungs barely functioning.

His name is in your heart, surrounding you like an embrace — in your veins like a sickness. The tender, bright, tangible version of him works into your every breath, some form of lingering energy, reminding you of the soft touches you always wanted. Soft skin, firm bone, a warm soul. But the power he's been given, the power he has over you lacks gentleness. It prods into your edges, blood-soaked and destructive.

The swollen head of him nudges your sweet spot with every slight shift. To the point where you wouldn't have to move, you could just grind oh-so gently, and still find a smooth, soft release. Your mind is reeling, far too dizzy.

"Eyes open."

Viktor grasps your face, and you feel your veins surge. The mark on your chest glows, resonating with strength, with the instruction you've been given. It coaxes you. Persuades you in his voice to listen — your eyes will open for him. And they do.

"Perfect," He praises. Your limbs tremor slightly, your lips parted as you gasp, eyelids drooping. He admires the lust in your gaze, pupils blown like new moons. "Very, very good."

And the weight of his control forces itself into your mind without doubt, has you believing and telling yourself you are perfect, you are pliant, you are good.

With the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, you can barely find your focus. Everything in you is strung tight, entranced and desperate. You're so weak, and it's so intense; you'd do anything to feel him thrust into you once, to hear the way he'd purr and scoff when you would fall apart just from that.

Your eyes flutter, but your gaze doesn't move. It can't, not when you're allowing yourself to be swallowed by the sigil. Giving permission to have your throat caught in Death's — in Viktor's — sharpened jaws. You feel his palm move before you see it, his fingertips roaming every inch of you like it's something he owns, leaving trails of breathy smoke in his wake.

Clearly, Viktor's composure is just fine. Even when you're tight around him like the world's sweetest vice, even when pleasure has returned within him to an unfathomable intensity, he has no need to waver. But you?

As strong and as towering as a herald of Death could possibly be, and as weak and human as you are, you weren't built to take this much.

Viktor believes differently.

"Gods, you're fucking warm," He murmurs. There's an edge to his tone, from the echo of his words to the thickness of his accent that makes his voice sound terribly, brokenly human. "You were made for this. For me."

His palm brushes over you softly, down your chest and to your waist, gripping there to steady your figure. You breathe in deeply, and Viktor caresses your skin with his thumb, in an attempt to ease your obvious tension. The sigil thrums, weakens. Loosens its hold to offer you a chance to escape. A chance you refuse to take.

"Are you overwhelmed?" Viktor reasons; softness spills into you, so lovesick you'd almost forgotten what it could feel like. It is your softness, it has your name on it. "Or have we not yet found the limit of your resolve?"

You shudder. "Not- ah-" It's hard to form words, when you're weak and cock-drunk and stuffed full of him, "I can- I can take it, want more, Vik…"

"Excellent." Viktor leans back, settling comfortably into the throne. Flames flicker from beneath his mask, and you imagine how his gaze might drink you in. Admiring your small form as your chest gently heaves, like prey, when compared to him. Like a delicate little rabbit. "Take it, then. Take what you need from me."

You've no need to hesitate.

You start with slow grinds, your hands steadying on his broad shoulders, your weight braced against him. Your movements are faint. You keep him buried inside you down to the hilt, your arousal a glossy, wet mess on the base of his cock — but even so, every rock and pulse and spark of pleasure is relentless.

The strength of the rune in your chest swallows you and you let it, allowing its influence to make you selfish; Viktor's heart tells you to take what is yours, to not stop. You listen. You circle your hips, and breathe a pathetic whine as his length learns every inch of you, while he watches you grind on him — like the pathetic thing you are.

It's addictive, to watch you use him. Viktor grips your waist hard, tight enough to leave indentations of his touch, to hide the shudder in his fingertips. You're fluttering around him, and he doesn't even have to touch you.

But when he does, trailing his hand up to your side and over your stomach, with all of the softness of someone who knows you, who has already long since memorized your shape — you sob, your bottom lip quivering. You are Death's perfect servant, Viktor's muse, delicate for him, only for him.

"Viktor…" You're cooing, your voice breaking with another soft roll of your hips; are you the only one left who still remembers that name? "Want to- wanna kiss you…"

He isn't sure if it's an empty plea, but still, Viktor presses his thumb to your mouth. Your lips are deathly soft, your breath foggy against him as you pant and breathe him in.

You litter the pad of his thumb with kiss after kiss. Your gaze is heavy, your tongue is wet and warm. His thumb smears your own saliva over your kiss-swollen lips. This tenderness is a form of devotion he isn't meant to feel, but you make it oh-so effortless.

His palm drifts down to hold your chin. Your breath fans over the expanse of his mask, your bodies close. The mark hums, asking for entry.

As you grind against him, slow and steady to tease the edge of your release, you wait for it to unfold you. Like a flower, like hands gently brushing your pages. Easily molded, your mind opens to him, desperation and all. He feels the same pleasure as you, a mosaic of sparks and perfect warmth bridging from your body to his. He drowns in your thoughts, as vividly as if he were dreaming them.

He syncs with the pound of your heart, sees thin limbs entangled, touches pressed to pallid skin and pretty moles. His own reflection was almost something he'd forgotten. Your spine curls, and a soft whine is pulled from your mouth to vibrate against his thumb. You shift, taking half of him inside you, before you sink back down to fuck yourself on him. Pure, raw bliss drips through you like honey.

And your thoughts reconvene. You imagine his touch, on your cheek, on your neck, on your thighs. The power that answers to him shudders within you in turn, as strong as the rot you can feel when you touch him; the end's form of devotion.

You picture the throne room. The soldiers, easily felled. The king, humiliated. A soft touch, as you wiped the blood that still clung to his hands: crimson like roses. A firm, desperate jolt as you recall the way Viktor's adversaries would fight, would plead, would demonstrate how weak and pathetic they are, before Viktor effortlessly disposed of them all.

Oh. You are sweet.

Viktor laughs. He grasps your face, tilts it towards him.

"I see nothing has changed since the day we met," He coos, sounding almost adoring, "You are still reckless. Ambitious. Obsessive."

You gasp; tugging at your chest, you can feel every pull of the sigil, every press and caress of his phantom shape to your thoughts. You steady your palms on his chest as you lift, then grind, bouncing yourself on his lap, your soft skin rhythmically colliding with his firm armor.

"Yes- hah, Vik-" Your throat is tight, your hands shake and grip him as hard as you can manage. "Love watching you win."

The thought of it all, the thrill of the triumph, the devotion that comes with Death's praises and sacrificing souls —

"Did it excite you?" Viktor trails his palm down your neck, fingertips searching for your quickened pulse. "Witnessing an army of fools perish, as Death claimed their pitiful souls? Watching me crush them?"

It enamored you.

From the moment you met him, you knew Viktor was right. All of this power finally at his fingertips, Death noticing his vision and granting him a rightful place at his side — it was only a matter of time. This is what you have always wanted, for Viktor to win.

Perhaps you are his only remaining tie to humanity. Perhaps you, as a mortal, are no better than the rest. You'd submit if he asked you to, you'd give yourself to him, worship him. Just as the countless souls he's reaped have done before you.

"Death will- He will be fed-" You're stuttering; your breath is sharp, beads of sweat forming to drip down your skin. "I'd never forsake Him, for- for as long as I live…"

You grind against Viktor hard, desperate, collapsing, growing soft like a rose unfurling in sunlight. Leaning against his chest, you can only rely on clumsy bucks of your hips as you splinter, as you threaten to break, every tight thread within you inches away from being untied.

"They'll all p-pay… they'll all fall at your feet… kiss the ground you walk on, fucking- beg for mercy…" Your voice is weak, and you're close, so close. "Please please please…"

Viktor presses his cold palm to your chest, to the mark, forcing it to thrum with more strength than ever. Controlling, instructing, gripping your heart in two hands. His voice resounds through your mind with the weight of a knife to your chest.

Fall apart for me.

And you fall — fast, hard, instantly.

The carnal force of the command, the surging fire of the spell that binds you, all of it pales in comparison to your blistering, syrup-rich high.

Every edge to your precipice is forceful. You sigh through broken moans, grinding against him desperately to ride out each wave, gushing and fluttering around him. Your muscles tense in turn, before they fall limp. Strings of half-moans and bitten swears leave your lips, so slurred they could be mistaken for incantations.

Your breathing becomes slow, hazy. You lean your arms on his shoulders, your head on his chest; his body, your anchor. Even in the wake of your high, you're still fluttering around his length, warm and twitching and needy.

"Look at you." Viktor's voice takes several moments to register, and it takes you even longer to finally lift your head. You grow lost in the smoke that surrounds you, the coolness of his figure brushing over your skin, as soft as a breath.

"You are stunning," He decides. His head tilts slightly to examine you, his index finding its place underneath your delicate chin. "Dangerously so."

You whine weakly. Your thoughts are becoming dangerous. Despite still attempting to catch your breath, your gaze stays locked on where his would be, and you circle your hips on his still-hard cock — a silent plea for more. Aftershocks of pleasure ripple through your system. Your thighs are weak, shaking. They're barely able to hold your weight, and Viktor thankfully braces his armored hand on your side, clawed fingers digging in sharply.

"Though, I believe we have reached a misunderstanding." Viktor caresses the mark on your chest, examining each individual scar, carved in his image. "Your fealty is exceptionally admirable. But you do not belong to Death. Every inch of you is mine."

Those words sink into your stomach like a stone thrown into water. Your mind, your body, your end would be at his hand, you're sure of it. You could never ask for any other fate.

He tightens his hand on your waist, and he takes back control.

If it's more you want, more is what he's going to give.

Viktor has every right to call you ambitious, but the word is certainly more suited for him. He was always driven, drowning himself in his studies, no matter the risk. Researching life's great departure was a talent for him, but he didn't achieve it overnight. He does not let obstacles stand in his way. There is nothing he can't surpass, no-one who could best him, no soul that could sway him from his conviction. Death admired that about him, as do you.

There is something to Viktor that needs to improve, that longs to put adversaries in their place, that is always searching for a way to be better, to do better. To push limits, wherever they might stand.

And the way Viktor fucks you drips with nothing short of ambition.

There's nothing for you to do but hold onto him tight, as he drags you up and down on his cock with relative ease. Your voice splinters, your breathing rough and forceful. Every thrust bullies your sweet, oversensitive cunt, to the point where you are limp and weightless, entirely at his mercy. If you weren't used to your partner's tenacity, if you didn't know Viktor, you might've whimpered, might've pleaded through the overstimulated sparks in your core that you can't cum again.

If only.

Countless sensations envelop you; the frigid chill of his body, the warmth of your skin, the fluttering of your walls around him, used and still-desperate. You cover your mouth with your palm, although it does little to stifle your noise. Nor does it quiet the echoing in your ears, reverberated each time he eases deep inside you — slick, wet, filthy.

It hardly matters to you how wrong it is to fuck him here. This throne room was once sacred, torn paintings and burnt flags and stained glass pictures surrounding you, depicting holy symbols. Meant to imply the Gods of the living are watching over.

Part of you hopes they'd turn their divine gazes away from this, so they wouldn't see you falling apart. So they couldn't judge the way you envelop every inch of one another, your breath hot and your thighs spread as you give yourself to Death's all-powerful herald, taking all of him in turn.

Viktor chuckles, a laugh that still shakes him for several moments afterwards. Twin flames watch as you bounce for him, your chest expanding and contracting, hair a mess in your face, eyes glossy like a doll's.

"Ha… That stupid, useless, insignificant king," Viktor's tone sharpens, as though his teeth are gritting. A firm thrust into you makes you whine and arch further into him. "Do you think he's watching, gazing at us from his dark prison in the depths of the underworld, as we make a mockery of his throne? As we fuck each other like animals, after easily felling his entire squadron, with hardly even a lifted finger?"

You can't help but sob.

"Don't st-stop," You're hardly able to reply, hardly able to form words, let alone coherent thoughts. Not when Viktor is fucking up into you to his own brutal, steady pace, complying with your words before he's even heard them — not stopping, leaving you barely any room to breathe.

"Please," You plead, "Viktor…"

"Yes, tell them who you belong to." His voice pounds into your mind, with the force of a hammer and a nail, rich and commanding, terribly familiar. "Tell Lord Death and the Gods of the living exactly who is destined to rule over them all."

Sparks surge up your spine with a vengeance nearly as strong as his own.

"You, Viktor," You're begging, sobbing. Your words are thick with devotion, like they're words of worship, as if they could be prayers. "I'm yours… yours, yours, yours…"

You hardly expect the full-body shiver that courses through him, putting his frame off-kilter, briefly bringing clumsiness to his pace. Your forehead leans against his chest, your spine arches. Your hands shakily glide over the tangible parts of his figure. His palm finds the curve of your waist that just begs to be held, gripping you tight. With composure.

"If I could kiss you," Fuck, his voice is soft, reminiscent of a past life; his hips roll into you and you can no longer breathe, can't even think. "I would let my mouth memorize yours." Viktor presses his cold, smoke-ridden fingertips into your side — "I would want us to devour one another, until we are part of the same flame. I-" A sigh, a resounding whine from your own lips, "I could long for centuries to feel you beneath my ribs, like a second soul."

Your heart pounds, shaking your chest, getting stuck in your throat.

He's never considered returning to a human vessel, it'd have too many limitations, but when he looks at you, he wants nothing more than to touch you. To feel you without layers of finality in between, to dig his fingertips into your ribs and feel your heart beating, to burn himself on you like you're a pyre. Such desires are useless, distracting, human. And yet, and yet —

"Vik-" You manage, "Harder."

You want him harder, rougher, more. Your thighs ache, but you try to rock your body against his in feverish unison, meeting each press inside you with your own grind into him.

With a broken moan, your eyes flutter shut. You are perfect, so otherworldly, so beautiful when you're at his mercy. Each soft stretch of what remains of him echoes with your name, consumes him and begs to take you, to claim you, to ruin you. Viktor groans, puffs of smoke expelling from beneath his cloak to settle on your skin, thick and humid.

You take all of him, until you're full, until your bodies are one; the tremor to your thighs and the break of your voice tells him you're almost there.

"Close," You pant, "Gonna cum for you-"

"Beg for it." Viktor's words slur slightly, but they're tender, they're assured. They're desperate. "Tell me how much you need me."

Oh, and you don't even need to be commanded.

"Need you, Vik, need you so much-" You meet where his gaze would be with wide, doe-eyes, with fluttery lashes and faint tear drops. "Need you more than Death, need you more than breathing-"

The room teeters around you, everything dizzy, your limbs weak. You only need a little more, one more spark, one last wave. Another grind of your hips to his, another press of his cock right where you need him, more friction and pressure lacing together until they're left to build, and build.

"Viktor… Viktor, I'm-"

You beg his name, chanting it like it's precious. Breathing it like a prayer, pleading to him like he is divine. Broken sighs and gasps hammer at your lungs. The world could burn out, could turn to ash in his wake, and this, and he would be all that matters.

Flickering, his flame heart stirs; possessiveness takes over, as strong as teeth at his neck. For once, his soul — or the lack thereof — shines. He finds your cheek, holds it carefully, brushes his thumb over your skin with enough tenderness to make you ache. You are his, only his.

Neither Viktor nor yourself can ever truly die, bound to servitude by the pact made to save you. So this, tender and hungry, is how you will reach the end.

You blend into one another with fuzzy edges and tender grinds and soft gasps — becoming two halves of one whole. Heaven and the underworld, darkness and light, perfect reflections. Entwined divinely, with beautiful finality.

Your body shudders, heat lacing through your every crevice. In the moment where you cum together, you can't feel anything but the pulse of him within you, can't see anything but hazy lines and smoke. Blue wisps surrounding you, within you. The azure glow in your stomach burns bright, before it gradually lessens.

Breathing hard, you lean against him. Small against his shape, blissfully weak. Viktor doesn't attempt to move you, but he carefully works his hand in between you. His palm glides over your chest, presses to the center. The magic dampens, leaving your veins, and loosening its grip on your heart. Only the mark is left behind, his cool touch helping to alleviate the pain.

"Little lamb…That's enough." Viktor's voice sounds sore, almost, not exactly human but reminiscent of the rough sharpness of wind. He trails his fingertips over the scar on your skin as he comes back to himself, before drifting down to hold your waist. "You've done so well."

It takes you a few minutes longer to fully catch your breath, and even so, your heart pounds quickly and softly. You lift, and he helps you pull yourself off of him, adjusts so you can find a more comfortable position on his lap. Your arms find his shoulders, embracing him in something of a hug. Leaning into his much larger body, you let his touch and the mist envelop you like a grave.

"You should rest," Viktor reasons, "Today was extensive. If you stay awake any longer, I'll be carrying you tomorrow."

The throne room is empty and quiet. You grumble, but you don't protest when he grasps your face and lifts it to look at you.

Your cheek leans into his touch, your eyelids heavy. "We're going north, right? Gods, it's gonna be cold."

"Oh, you'll be fine. I'm sure you still remember how to conjure a flame."

His hand slips from your cheek, and you grasp it carefully, placing a faint kiss onto his knuckle; still shaped like you remember.

"Will you rest with me?"

This form does not require rest, or sleep. Really, it wasn't meant to indulge in anything mortal. Perhaps it would be against Death's wishes to do so. Viktor's research once determined that a form like this would be detached from reality. Conjurations of Death do not have souls; they trade them, in exchange for a better body. They lack empathy, emotion, understanding. The basis of Death's strength sacrifices everything in exchange for irreversibility. Nothing else should matter. But —

"Yes," Viktor answers, "Of course."

—

Death's opposition dwindles.

It is uninteresting, truly. The earth is becoming barren, as more and more souls convene with his army in the underworld. Death has shown me visions. He is planning to soon take full control of this plane, to come with soldiers and deathriders to claim the last of the mortals.

I believe our approach should be grander. This abundance of souls could be used as more than mere meat puppets. Death might disagree. But power, not the strength you gained on a whim, but the leverage you have grasped for yourself is a fierce, funny thing.

My partner is one step ahead, because they already understand this concept. I have watched the darkness in their gaze grow, day by day. Yet, their light never falters, when they are looking at me. I am grateful to have them at my side.

Our last adversary was difficult, but they felled them all on their own. They were the one to plunge their dagger into the fool's heart, returning his soul to the ground.

More will follow. Perhaps mortals. Perhaps Death's army. It matters not. Not to us.

For dust they are, and to dust, they all shall return.

— V. Unknown Date, 1619.

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor smut #the voices..... THE VOICES...................

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