#the first one feeds on souls of it's victims

[xxcringeizdead666xx]

oh god no wtf why do they look like that?! I swear, they look inbread!

Obsessed w how the new furbies look like they've finally began to succumb to their decades of unethical breeding practices

[michanvalentine]

One thing I absolutely love about Astarion’s redemption arc is the complexity of his relationship with the figure of the hero.

Astarion is a vampire, a monster, and also a victim (as well as, in a way, a perpetrator, due to his forced obedience to Cazador). He is the first person in desperate need of a hero to save him and the last person suited for the role of a hero.

He prayed to every god for salvation, even for death, and even that was denied to him. He resents heroes and the powerful, and when confronted with the idea that both have a duty to protect the weak, he scornfully responds that no, they’ve done a terrible job—that in 200 years, no one saved him from torture, and that it was the mind flayers, other monsters, who finally freed him. And that, in reality, the powerful only use their strength to bend others to their will and serve their own selfish interests. It’s in this same conversation that Astarion declares his desire to be better than Cazador—stronger, more powerful—though the player likely meant kinder, more noble.

Yet, despite everything he says, despite his disapproval of every heroic action taken in Act 1, Astarion is irreversibly drawn to the figure of the hero. First and foremost, he seeks their protection, though still through the warped lens of his past under Cazador’s cruel talons. Secondly, he is extremely sensitive to kindness, understanding, acceptance—to being treated like a person, just as a true hero would treat him.

And then, this is something I particularly noticed while playing as Karlach—Astarion is fascinated by Wyll, who is, in many ways, the quintessential hero of the party. He even admits that if he had to choose one of them to feed on, it would be Wyll, because he is sweet and righteous, just. Which is a contradiction, because the very traits that draw Astarion to him are the same ones that make him want to drain him dry. Love and hate, all in one.

With this in mind, even the conversation after meeting Aurelia and Leon takes on a deeper meaning. The player sees something in Astarion, but he still refuses to recognize it, to admit it, and rightfully says he can’t be what we see in him—a good person, a righteous, understanding, even heroic figure. And yet, the player sees through him…

And it’s breathtaking when, during the ritual, just before stabbing Cazador, Astarion says those very same words: "You're right. I can be better than him." But this time, he doesn’t mean stronger or more powerful. No, this time, he means it exactly as it was first presented to him and so bitterly rejected. And he means it with all his heart.

And in doing so, in freeing all his siblings and all the poor souls imprisoned there, Astarion commits a truly heroic act. He does for others what he once desperately hoped for himself, what he prayed for—becoming the hero he needed. Because at the same time, he is freeing himself—from his chains, from his narrow worldview that saw everything in terms of power and dominance. For the first time, he is free to live outside of the path that someone else forced upon him.

And that’s exactly why, in my opinion, the next morning, it’s right to tell him that yes, we were the heroes who stood by his side, but we only gave him a push. Because, in the end, he saved himself.

He is the hero he had been waiting for centuries!

And that thought makes my heart race! ❤️

[ellieputellas]

the bird | epilogue

tags: future!Alexia, future!reader, post-graduation setting

taglist: @alexiaputellasera @sapphicdarlingx @profoundcoffeepeanut @therealgbaby @batllexreina @my-favorite-sign-blog @wosowriter23 @groovyblazeturtle @violetromanova

‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ chapter one 🕊 chapter two 🕊 epilogue

It had been over three years since you last saw Alexia.

After that last day in Sister Philomena’s office, Alexia was expelled. There were several, baseless rumors about what happened to her but all you knew for sure was that she was kicked out of the school that same day and you’ve never heard anything about her again. It was as if she disappeared as quickly as she appeared in your life.

Your fate, however, had been different. You remained at the school, subjected to endless, one-on-one sessions with the sisters. They called it “guidance,” but it felt more like indoctrination — a relentless effort to force-feed the beliefs they so piously upheld. 

But it wasn’t the sermons or the pray-overs that wore you down, though; it was the pity.

The word had spread through the school that Alexia had kidnapped you and assaulted you. It didn’t hurt that they painted you as a victim but it pained you deeply that the love of your life was painted as a villain, a spawn of the devil.

What’s worse was that you couldn’t do anything but nod politely at those who offered their condolences and looked at you pitifully since there was always a hovering sister or another praepostor that would snitch on you to Sister Philomena if you said anything in defense of Alexia. 

Ingrid and Maria were your only allies in all of it. 

The sisters had always trusted Ingrid; she was practically the second choice for the ideal student after you. They favored you for your quiet humility, a stark contrast to Ingrid's bubbly, energetic demeanor, which never quite suited the older sister’s preferences.

But now, it seemed the tides had shifted. They lost confidence in you and Ingrid had earned their trust, perhaps even more than you ever had.  You didn’t mind, though. You no longer cared about the sisters' opinions and being placed under Ingrid’s wing was something you actually appreciated. When the nuns assigned her to pray the rosary with you every night or do a novena – tasks any other praepostor, including your past self, would have dutifully obeyed – Ingrid had her own way of doing things. Instead of complying, Ingrid and you would simply chat, vent, or play games. You probably would have gone insane without her.

And even though you weren’t particularly close to Maria at first with your interactions mostly limited to the times you both hung out with Ingrid or Alexia, she gradually became a central figure in your life. She was in the same year level as you, so she often ended up sitting beside you in class. Her presence became invaluable during those tough days when you were too depressed to function. Maria would quietly help you catch up on homework, offering her support without judgment. Over time, she became your best friend.

The couple practically held you up and prevented you from slipping into insanity. They understood what you were going through – possibly, the only people in that school who could have. And, naturally, the three of you became inseparable, which the nuns loved because they thought they set a good example for you. Little did they know, they too were both raging homosexuals.

When you and Maria graduated together, Ingrid practically bawled her eyes out. Aside from missing the two of you, she also would have to be stuck in that hellhole for another year all alone. 

Once you left school, life was anything but smooth. You lied to your parents, telling them you were embarking on a religious outreach mission to “help the poor lost souls in third-world countries” in an effort to make spiritual amends for your past transgressions. Maria didn’t just agree to help; she took it even further, asking help from her cousins and friends to make fake admission letters, websites, and notices to sell the story. As soon as they agreed, you were practically out of the house, never to return again.

You wanted to try and find Alexia as soon as you left your house but it became difficult to even find the time to do so.

You and Maria moved to the city, living in a small crappy apartment that cost way too much. You scraped by together taking on odd jobs. Maria was lucky to play for a small football club and also, often did tattooing gigs at the nearby tattoo shop for extra funds. On the other hand, you worked two jobs: a Spanish tutor in the morning and a receptionist at the tattoo shop where Maria worked on weekends. You both worked to the bone for an entire year, incredibly exhausted with no time for yourselves. But as grueling as it was, life in the city still felt freer than the rigid confines of the boarding school. For the first time, you could live authentically.

After a year, Ingrid graduated and finally joined you, moving into the tiny apartment that somehow became even smaller with the three of you crammed inside. Though, on a positive note, Ingrid immediately got picked up by a football club, and with her salary, it was easier to pay the rent and bills. This meant that you could have more time for yourselves. Ingrid and Maria even managed to save up enough for a vacation back in her hometown in Norway. And, for you, it meant that you had extra breathing room. You were finally able to drop your tutoring job, affording you the time to search for work that actually interested you.

You had a day off from the tattoo shop and something about that day made you want to explore the city. Restless and eager for something different, you decided to wander, letting the streets guide your steps without a clear destination in mind. That’s when you stumbled upon a jewelry store tucked into a quiet corner.

As you browsed, the store’s owner emerged from the backroom, greeting you warmly. She had a whimsical energy and an easy charm. Her warm aura made conversation feel natural, but it was more than just her personality pulling you in. Your curiosity about the intricate details of jewelry-making seemed to spark something in her, too. The exchange felt natural with the two of you vibing instantly.

And then, as if by chance – or fate – she mentioned it. “You seem like the perfect fit for an apprentice,” she said, beaming at you. “It’s a paid apprenticeship and if you do well enough, I’ll keep you as a permanent employee to help out with designing and jewelry-making.”

You agreed in a heartbeat. It was quite the commute from where you lived but it was worth it. The apprenticeship not only paid decently but it also helped you develop your skills in just weeks. You started off with stamping out rings and engraving jewelry. After a while, you were forging your own sample jewelry from your own designs; most of which you got to keep. You even made a ring for Ingrid and Mapi for their anniversary. 

Soon, your boss entrusted you more with doing tasks for the store. Currently, you were tasked with engraving and the polishing of certain pieces.

“Darling,” she said, her voice laced with a playful energy. “I’ve got a simple job for you now.”

You looked up from your sketchbook, where you were drafting ideas for her upcoming collection. “Oh, another engraving?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips.

She shook her head, the twinkle in her eye betraying the importance of the task. “Just a repair. A broken chain.”

You raised an eyebrow curiously. “Since when did we do repairs?” you asked, a hint of surprise in your voice. 

“Well, we don’t,” she admitted, hesitating just a moment before she continued. “But the girl who came in… she’s part of my favorite football team. I couldn’t say no, obviously.”

A chuckle escaped your lips. “A footballer?” You were amused by her star-struck enthusiasm. 

She nodded, the gold chain in her hand catching the light as she passed it to you. “And she has excellent taste in jewelry, too.”

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes fell on the piece. The golden bird pendant was unmistakable. It was the same one that had once hung around your own neck, now broken at the same link as this one before you and abandoned in your drawer for months. You stashed it away and never looked at it after it broke; it felt like a sign that any hope you’d held onto was gone.

Yet, even if you haven’t seen it in a while, you practically memorized each contour and edge of that necklace… and you were certain that this was hers.

“Oh,” you whispered, your voice wavering as you tried to keep the sting of tears at bay. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, and your heartbeat quickened. “Do you remember her name?”

You already knew the answer – there was no way that someone else could have this very necklace – but you just had to be sure.

“Yes,” she said, a knowing smile forming. “Alexia Putellas.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It’s been a while since you’ve kept up with Alexia; the last you heard was that she signed for FC Barcelona. At times, you wanted to go to a game, see her again, and maybe reconnect. But… you were scared.

The last time you saw her was in that office after you explicitly said that you didn’t love her. 

As you touched the necklace, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest as tears continued to fill your eyes. You surreptitiously wiped your tears. “Uh, when did she say she needed it?”

“Well, she said she can come back for it in the morning,” your boss responded as she sat in front of you. “I can introduce you if you want. You’re single, right?”

You chuckled. “Well, yeah…”

She beamed. “Oh, you should definitely meet her so that when you date, I can get all the free tickets to the Barcelona games.” She teased, wiggling her eyebrows at you. “You totally look like you’d be her type.” 

You shrugged, tucking a hair behind your ear. “I don’t know about that.”

“Hmm, a pretty girl like you? You can get any football star you want.” Your boss teased. “Anyway, I trust you can fix this up.”

You nodded, looking down again at the necklace. 

Fixing the necklace took you mere minutes but for hours, until the shop’s closing, you couldn’t move on from how it found its way to you. When you came home, you took your own necklace out of the drawer, looking at it under the dim light of your tiny room. 

Do you want to see her tomorrow? What if she hated you? What if she never wanted to see you again? 

For the past two years, you’ve thought about all the scenarios that could possibly happen once you finally met her again. On more than one occasion, you’d fantasize about seeing her, rushing to your door, and bringing you flowers. When you were in the grocery, sometimes you’d ridiculously dream up a corny scenario like reaching for the same can of sardines. Sometimes, it would be sweet like that.

But oftentimes, you thought about how badly it could play out. She could shout at you for breaking your heart. She could say she's in a relationship with someone better than you, less broken. She could even ignore you, pretend nothing happened and honestly, it felt like that would be the worst possible scenario. Even worse than seeing her in love with anyone else.

You barely slept that night, touching your own necklace the entire time.

The next day, you reported to work earlier, deciding to patch up your own necklace. You looked at the two of them side-by-side, nearly identical, with yours being just a bit more detailed and polished than Alexia's.

You don’t know what came over you but when it was time to package it up. Instead of putting her necklace in the small box, you put your own, taking her necklace instead and wearing it on your neck, tucking it under your blouse.

If this is the last time I see her… and she never wants to see me again, at least I can keep this piece of her for myself.

“Good morning, darling!” Your boss chirped as she entered the backroom of the store, bringing you a cup of coffee. “I see you’ve packed up the necklace for Alexia.”

She took the box from you, opening it up and looking inside. She tilted her head slightly. “Huh,” she paused, examining the necklace closely. “Is it just me or did it get prettier?”

You cleared your throat. “Uh, I just cleaned it up, removed all the build-up on it.”

She nodded, buying into your story. “Oh, that’s great! Well, she did say she was coming over soon so I’m glad you got it done before then.” She smiled. “Good job.”

She paused before walking over to you to fluff up your hair. “And put on some lipstick,” she added, jokingly. “You wanna look your prettiest when she comes. Mama needs next season's tickets.”

You gave her a weak smile back, feeling nerves kick in. In just a few hours, you were going to see her again… maybe. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see her… or if you were even ready to.

You hid in the backroom for a while, pretending to sketch more designs to propose for the next collection. 

But all you could think about was her.

The bell above the store’s door rang as it opened. Alexia walked in, clad in a blazer and blonde hair still damp from her shower.

It was her off day from training but she still had a long day of work ahead of her – meetings with her agent, sorting out contracts, all the boring stuff that came with her new life as a famous football player.

After she was kicked out of the school, she decided to head back immediately to her parents, not even bothering to give her grandparents a chance to trap her. She took the train back to her hometown and walked into her parent’s home, much to their surprise. She told her family all about her experience – the homophobia, the prejudice, her terrible experience in boarding school. Even if her parents were more than willing to take her back under their wing, she knew she had to figure out a way to lighten their load. The last thing she wanted to be was a burden. Most importantly, she wanted to be her own woman.

She lived under her grandparents most of her life, with them dictating what she should believe in and do. When she moved to a boarding school, it was merely a change in scenery—the control remained, just in a different form. Now, all she wanted was to live for herself. She craved the freedom to make her own decisions, to follow her own desires without the constant weight of judgment or unsolicited guidance.

For once, she yearned to carve out a life that was truly her own.

She began trying out for local football camps. With her skills, it wasn’t long before she was recruited by a local team. Soon, with her performance in the small team, news made it out that there was a new hidden star player.

It all came so fast – scouts from all sorts of big clubs came over, offering her things beyond her imagination. When Barcelona came forward with a deal she couldn’t refuse, she knew her dream was finally within reach. Signing with the team wasn’t just about fulfilling her lifelong ambition, it was a chance to give back to her parents and help secure a better future for them. She knew her life would change drastically after that.

And it did. Within merely months, everything changed.

She was suddenly a big name with people all over the country coming to watch her play for one of the biggest teams in the world. It was amazing and exhilarating. She was living out her biggest fantasy.

And yet, during the rare times when she had a break and life was quiet, all she could think about was you.

Even with all she had accomplished, she felt a gnawing emptiness... feeling like she could never be completely and utterly happy. The cheers of the crowd, the support of the fans, the acclaim, not even all the trophies — they could never fill the gaping hole you had left in her life.

On that day when you said you didn’t love her anymore, her heart practically hollowed itself. She knew you were saying it to appease the nuns but it still hurt to hear you say it, for it to come from your mouth.

She repeated to herself that you didn’t mean it and that you loved her just as she loved you. She reminded herself that the circumstances were impossible, that you had no choice. But as the months dragged on and she knew you had left school, her confidence in that hope began to waver. When a year passed without a single word from you, her heart broke all over again. Maybe you had meant it.

Still, she waited. Another year passed. Ingrid had sent her a sweet message after news got out that she would play for FC Barcelona. Maria reached out a couple times too, asking Alexia if she wanted to catch up and go out for drinks.

But from you? Nothing. Not a single word.

And on the second anniversary of the last day she saw you, the chain of her necklace broke. 

She was at a celebratory party for Barcelona’s latest league championship; everyone was laughing and enjoying the win yet her thoughts drifted far away when she felt that gold chain slide down her neck, a chain broken for no apparent reason.

She was supposed to be having fun, basking in the victory, but all she could think about was you. That necklace, fragile and worn, was the only tangible thing she had left of you.

And now, it was broken.

​​“You good?” Irene’s voice broke through her thoughts. Alexia looked up to see her teammate watching her with concern as she put a hand on Alexia’s shoulder

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Alexia muttered, but the sadness in her eyes betrayed her. Irene frowned, her worry deepening as she slid onto the seat beside her and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, what’s going on?” 

Alexia let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head as she held up the broken necklace. “This… was from my ex. It’s the only thing I have left of her,” she explained in a low voice. “And now it’s broken. I can’t help but feel like… maybe it’s a sign. A sign that I need to move on.”

Irene rubbed comforting circles on Alexia’s back. “Ale, it’s not a sign,” she said gently. “It’s just a chain. They break all the time. But didn’t you say she ghosted you? Maybe it is time to move on.”

Alexia hummed in response, not fully convinced. She’d never told anyone the full story, choosing instead to let her teammates believe a half-truth — that her ex had disappeared from her life without explanation. It wasn’t entirely wrong, but it wasn’t the whole picture either.

“Yeah, but…” She hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about her. I don’t think I’ll ever really move on.”

Irene nodded. “Wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

Alexia hummed, seriously considering it despite the hesitation. Moping around and being depressed didn't help her at all, just made her a bummer to be around. So, she figured it wouldn't hurt to try.

After agreeing, Irene set Alexia up with a good friend of hers, Olga. 

Olga was beautiful, funny, and talented, and their connection felt easy. Alexia liked her. Actually, Alexia liked her a lot. For the first time in years, she laughed freely, and Olga’s presence brought a sense of joy she hadn’t realized she was missing. She stored the necklace away, shoving it to the back of her cabinet, hoping to bury the memories along with it.

But despite Olga's warmth and the happiness she brought, there was a quiet emptiness that lingered in Alexia. It wasn't overwhelming, just a nagging feeling that something was missing. The space you had left inside her was still there, faint but persistent, no matter how much she tried to move on.

“Babe,” Olga called out from Alexia's bedroom on one of their date nights while Alexia rummaged through a pile of unfolded laundry. “Can I borrow your hoop earrings? I left mine at my place.”

“Yeah, sure,” Alexia replied, distracted as she searched for her silk shirt. Finally, she fished it out of the pile before heading back to her bedroom to put it on in front of her wardrobe mirror. "Did you find the earrings already?"

Olga hummed. "No... I found your silver ones but I wanna borrow the chunky gold ones..." Her voice trailed off as she continued to rummage. Alexia chuckled, fixing her shirt before sitting down on her bed to put on her shoes.

Moments later, Olga loudly gasped. “Oh my god, babe, can I borrow this too? It’s so pretty — oh wait, never mind," her voice dropped in disappointment. "It’s broken. Aw... this would have looked so cute on me."

Alexia looked up sharply, her heart stopping when she saw Olga holding the bird necklace. Panic filled in her chest as she practically ran across the room, snatching it from Olga’s hands. She cradled the delicate charm in her palm, her breathing stilted.

“Alexia, what’s wrong?” Olga asked with an alarmed tone.

Alexia didn’t answer immediately. She stared at the necklace, a wave of emotions crashing over her. Every distraction she had used to patch the wound you left in her heart – a new girl, football, work – all proved to be temporary fixes at that moment. She felt as though the bandaid had peeled off, the stitches had come undone and she was back to feeling that gaping wound in her chest.

“Alexia?” Olga’s voice was tentative.

“I can’t do this,” Alexia whispered, her voice cracking. "I can't do this anymore."

“What?” Olga asked, stepping closer. “What are you talking about?”

“Please,” Alexia said, her gaze still fixed on the necklace. “Just leave. Just go.”

“Alexia—”

“Go!” she repeated, her voice firmer but trembling.

Olga hesitated but eventually left, leaving Alexia alone with the broken necklace in her hand. The memories, the pain, the love she thought she could suppress — it all came rushing back, overwhelming her.

At that moment, Alexia realized that no matter how much time passed, no matter how many distractions she filled her life with, the wound you left behind couldn’t be patched up or healed. It wasn’t a scar. It was still a raw, open wound that seemed to have no cure.

Alexia felt guilty for driving away Olga, someone who obviously cared about her and someone she actually liked. But Alexia didn’t want to lead her to believe that Alexia could love her completely… not while you were still haunting her. 

How could she give her heart to someone when it was no longer hers to give, when you still owned every piece of it?

As her fingers brushed the broken chain, Alexia considered messaging Ingrid or Maria — just a quick text, something casual, to ask about you. Were you happy? Do you still live with them in Barcelona? Or had you moved on completely, finding someone else to love? Did you still think of her?

Suddenly, she was filled with thoughts of you. It ranged from memories of the two of you from school to her own concocted daydreams of where you were now. Were you finally working on jewelry? Have you fallen in love with someone else? She was full of questions.

She shook her head, forcing herself back to the present. She could leave all of those thoughts for later. For now, she had to get this necklace repaired. To her, it wasn’t just any necklace; it was the only piece of you she had to keep for herself.

The very next day, she stopped by the nearest jewelry shop, just a block away from her house, and asked for a repair.

And that’s how she ended up there now – in the shop where you worked, just feet away from you as you nervously waited in the backroom.

“I’m here to pick up my necklace,” you heard the voice and even if it had been years, you knew it was her. A flutter in your stomach formed. “I dropped it off yesterday. Here's the receipt, if you need it.”

“Oh, of course, my jeweler had it finished yesterday,” you heard your boss say. You looked over through the doorway to the main shop and saw her looking at you as if calling you over. You caught a glimpse of Alexia's hair and sleeve. You bit your lip and hesitated, feeling anxiety take over you, freezing you on the spot.

Alexia opened the box and looked at the necklace. She furrowed her eyebrows. “Huh,” she murmured, exhaling softly. She held the charm closer, her fingers brushing it as her expression shifted to confusion. “I… I don’t think this is mine.”

Your boss blinked curiously at her. “Oh? I’m quite certain it’s yours.” She insisted with a nod. “Your necklace was the only one we repaired… and we don’t really have anything like that necklace.”

Alexia nodded but continued to stare at it. She knew it intimately — every curve, every flaw. She had stared at it for countless nights, held onto it as if it tethered her to something she couldn’t let go of.

And this wasn’t that necklace.

“Uh, I’m sure it isn’t mine,” Alexia hummed. “Or did you do something different? Did someone make a change to it?”

“My apprentice did say she cleaned it up? But she didn’t do anything else…” your boss hummed. “Let me call her. She can explain and sort this out.”

Alexia nodded, watching your boss disappear into the backroom. She sighed, frustration flickering in her chest. While the necklace looked more polished and even more detailed, it wasn’t the one she brought in. It was different; it wasn’t the one you put around her neck that day and certainly not the one she stared at all those sleepless nights. She wasn’t the type to complain about services but this time, she might have to. The necklace was special to her.

Her thumb brushed over the charm as memories flooded back — the day she bought the matching necklace for you, the one she gave you with a more polished design.

Her breath hitched, her thoughts spiraling as she slowly realized

“Hi, Alexia.” 

The familiar voice pulled her back to the present. She looked up, and for a moment, she thought she might be dreaming. There you were, standing cautiously with your hands clasped together.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your palms clammy as you locked eyes with her. It had been years, but there was no mistaking those warm hazel eyes. She looked different now — older, more put-together — but she was still unmistakably Alexia.

Alexia blinked at you, hands still grasping the necklace. You offered her a hesitant, almost nervous smile as you stepped out from behind the doorway and moved closer to the counter. “Is there… is there a problem with the necklace?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

Alexia chuckled, glancing down before meeting your gaze again. “No… no problem at all.” Her lips curved into a small, trembling smile, her heart thrumming as warmth spread through her chest. 

You chuckled softly, though a couple of tears began to well up despite your best efforts to hold them back. Quickly, you swiped them away, shaking your head as if to brush off the emotion. But before you could fully recover, her hand reached out, gentle and familiar, wiping away a tear that slipped down your cheek.

Even after all these years apart, in that moment, she just… knew.

Her gaze locked with yours, steady yet filled with unspoken emotion. You furrowed your brows, feeling the sting of more tears threatening to fall. You tried to lighten the moment with another soft laugh, but the tears came anyway, betraying you. Her hand remained on your cheek, her touch grounding you as she rubbed her thumb against the smooth of your cheek.

You chuckled shakily and smiled, wiping your tears and stepping away to gather composure. “I… I’m sorry,” you blubbered, your voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

You looked back to her hazel eyes, seeing that they too had glazed over. She shook her head. “It’s okay… it’s okay, monjita.” She smiled at you with the nickname slipping out naturally as if those years never passed at all. “Why don’t we start over?”

You nodded, using your fingertips to wipe her tears as you exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay…” you nodded. You smiled faintly, a quiet steadiness settling in. “Let’s start over. You start.”

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in that quiet space. Alexia’s eyes dropped briefly to her necklace — now hanging around your neck — and she smiled.

“Hey…” she started. “I like your necklace.”

You shook your head, remembering your lame pick-up line from that day in the library. “Yeah?’ You said as you looked at your own necklace which was now propped on the box set on the glass counter, between the two of you. “Yours isn’t so bad either.”

Alexia laughed warmly, her laugh blending into yours, and when your eyes met again, you felt something shift. You were finally ready to spread your wings and soar.

You were free.

a/n: i hope the ending is satisfying for you guys!! i struggled finishing this, mostly because i was scared of not making a satisfactory ending. but also because... i didn't want it to end yet! this is my longest fanfic to date with around 50k words total... and i really got attached with the characters and the story lol. (also i only proofread this once because i fear that if i do any more, i would nitpick endlessly and never post it)

anyway, thank you again for all the support for the bird — whether it be a reblog, a like, or a long message! all are appreciated. i would, of course, love to hear your thoughts. requests are still close for now but i'd still love to talk to you guys so please send an ask! they often make my day <3 anyway ily all!

chapter index

[morgue-friends]

happy new year!!!

would you be able to write a part two of maidens token where the reader attempts an escape and arrives at her village to see count or lol and her slaughtered village people

"A Maiden's Darkness" | Count Orlok x Female! Reader

Warnings: 18+, Count Orlok is his own warning, reader definitely has stock holm syndrome, death is mentioned, minor side character death, gore, sexual tension, dub-con, blood kink, marking, possessiveness, angst, hair pulling, penis in vagina sex, oral sex (M receiving), rough sex, you can't fix him so don't try sorry.

"If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness -" Your head hung low in shame, you were ailing with guilt and remorse. You had submitted to death, not once but twice. If there was a god, he'd never forgive the sins you've committed. No matter how many verses of the holy Bible you recited, there would be no salvation for you. You were tempted by the devil, and you conceded, you willed it.

Last night after he had left you, spared you even, to feed from the village and hide before the sun could rise he had unexpectedly returned to you instead. When he arrived you were still lying on the bed draped over with the blood-stained blanket and tears falling from your eyes. You looked over at him and gasped, his claws and mouth dripped with a deep red hue that foretold acts of violence. That same red color followed along the fur of his attire and led you to believe there had been more than one victim with the sheer amount. The stench of iron flooded your nose and you gagged, if you had eaten more than bread that night you probably would have heaved it all up on the bed below you.

Your stomach turned when the thought crossed your mind that it could be the blood of a child he was drenched in. It was revolting, disgusting, and still when he approached the bed you spread your legs for him like an eager whore. He disrobed and you two embraced each other that night once more, you submitted to death once more. The silver locket necklace he had stolen from you dropped to the floor along with his garments. You could remember vividly the way you laid there for him compliantly, moaning and mewling amongst the sounds of his skin against yours. Your thighs were held apart with each of his hands while his hips pounded you downward into the mattress. After he was satisfied he abandoned you once more, retreating to wherever it is he'd go during the day.

The sun sat high and bright in the sky and yet you could still feel his cold hands ghosting over your skin. Here you were now, sitting solemn and praying to a god that would never help you. If your mother were to see you right now she'd shake her head and tell you that you had gotten yourself into this situation and needed to get yourself out. So that's just what you'd do, the longer you stayed here the more you felt like you were losing your mind. His shadow was consuming your innocence and maybe even your soul. He may not have been manipulating you but it didn't feel reasonable for your body to respond the way it did to his. He carried a stench of death everywhere he went and when disrobed looked even more like a corpse than what you expected him to.

After getting dressed and eating the fresh apples he left you on the dining table for breakfast, you began plotting. If you weren't going to plot your escape from the castle then your mind would wander and think only of him, as if you were obsessed. To be fair all you've done these past two weeks is think of him. Where would he go after he fed from you? What was his first name? Why did he avoid coming out during the day? There were a hundred other questions you could ask yourself but you wouldn't get an answer to any of them. Anything he told you about himself was very vague or probably not even true.

You wasted an hour of daytime stumbling around the castle looking for anything that may help you with getting out, but every room was empty of usefulness and filled with standard furniture covered with cobwebs and dust. Weirdly enough you found the baggage that you had brought with you along with your paint supplies hidden behind a tall wooden cabinet. Why he hid your items was beyond you, but the clean dress, undergarments, and shoes were appreciated. You then returned to your bucket of drinking water and tried your hardest to wash off the thick layers of dried blood so they wouldn't soil your new clean dress. When he fed from you he was messy, often rubbing his face into your chest and smearing it around which made you feel repulsive. There were no mirrors anywhere in the castle so you weren't aware of how good of a job you did but it would have to do.

The heavy metal door of the castle opened slowly and flakes of snow began to nest on your shivering frame. The blood loss would make you more susceptible to dying from the cold but it seemed to be a better way out than succumbing to the darkness under the thumb of your captor. The hounds that seemed to accompany him everywhere slowly congregated around you while you trudged through the snow up to the gated entrance. As you exited none of the dogs attacked you, they just panted and stared at you in silence, there was no barking or growling to try to scare you back into the castle.

Nonetheless, their silence and unwillingness to follow you out felt like a bad omen. Like they were quietly telling you that if you leave this castle he will kill you. You weren't sure how far the village he fed from was but there was a glimmer of hope in your mind that you'd make it there and depart by sundown. The snow made your journey take agonizingly longer than expected, every crunch of snow under your heeled boots only seemed to make your travels much slower.

The clacking sound of a horse's heels through the snow caught your attention and you followed the noise closely. There were two women sitting on the horse, you had met them both when you briefly passed by the village on your way to the castle. This was your chance, you had your doubts about your escape and survival chances but seeing them again gave you hope. You ran up to the slowly trotting horse and the steed stood up on it's two legs and cried out as if you had spooked it. "Stop! Stop I say!" The woman towards the head of the horse ran her hands over its face and that seemed to calm the animal but it still eyed you with unease.

"She has the smell of death on her." Before you could ask for help a feeling of anger washed over you. These two women knew you were heading to that castle two weeks ago and didn't even bother to tell you what you were getting yourself into. "She is probably a vengeful spirit, the vampyre does not keep his whores for this long." The older woman made the sign of the cross with her fingers as if she was blessing herself for just seeing you and the two continued off on their horse finishing their conversation in Romanian. You'd cry but these past few days have absolved you of all the tears you had left to release.

Disgust. Disgust was what you felt about yourself, the Count, the castle, the villagers just everything. The sun began to set and your heart sank in your chest, a part of you wanted to keep walking until you arrived at the village and found somewhere vacant to hide. While another part of you wanted you to turn around and walk back to the castle, sit at that dining table, and greet your lover with a smile. After contemplating what to do you let out a scream of frustration and continued toward the village. If the horse was walking slowly in this area that meant that they had to be close to their home.

The sun had officially set by the time you arrived in the center of the village. There were houses and homes around you, all with drawn curtains but you could see the glow of candles inside which let you know everyone was inside their homes and they'd most likely never open the door to what they thought was a 'vengeful spirit'. Each door was covered in garlic and a variety of crosses and bible pages. The more homes you past the darker the sky became and you had this frightening feeling that death would soon be coming for you, that it was already searching for you and knew you had gone missing.

On the far end of the village was what you believed to be a church, there were no candles inside and the windows were not covered by curtains. You turned the knob and the door opened with a creak and revealed a room full of chairs, benches books, and whatever else the moonlight decided to show you. After closing the door behind you and taking a few steps forward you almost slipped on something somewhat sticky and overtly soft on the floor. You couldn't see very well what you were stepping on but the stench of death gave you a vivid impression. That had to have been pieces of an animal or a human even, as the familiar scent of true death you had become accustomed to was far too unique to be this.

That devil - your devil, had the stench of death but mixed with something far more abnormally comforting. It reminded you of your childhood days when you'd play alone in the small damp cave that resided behind your home back in America. The smell of that cave, the smell of pinecones in a forest, and pure decay were the smells you identified him by. Suddenly several books fell off of the shelf behind you and you almost fled until you saw the cause of the loud mess. "Oh dear god in heaven." Right before you was a man sitting in the darkest corner of the church.

He had to be at least a few years older than you, once your eyes had become adjusted to the darkness you could see him somewhat better. "You're still alive?" His Romanian accent was thick but at least he spoke English to you, the surprise in his tone sent you reeling. "No thanks to you or anyone else in this damned village, you're all SICK! Sick for letting me journey to that monster." And at last, the tears you believed to be depleted soon fell from your eyes. You had every right to be upset, to feel as though you were betrayed. "Iartă-mă, forgive me, I will explain but did he release you?"

"Explain first and I'll tell you." You were stern enough to get the point across that you weren't letting up. The man's expression harshened a bit before it relaxed. He grabbed what looked to be a bottle of gin off of the pedestal next to him and took a swig before looking up at you. "My name is Mihai, I asked to be here to protect the others, the vampyre will feed off me-" It all began to make sense, he was a willing sacrificial lamb which was why the church seemed to be so unprotected, and dark. You felt a pang in your stomach remembering that this was supposed to be a holy church. Consecrated ground that would protect against all evil and yet evil still invaded like a sickening plague.

"- Feeding it is better than letting it feed itself, yes or no?" You declined to answer that question as you put your back against the wall and dropped to sit on the floor. Feeling like an idiot you let your head hit the hard surface behind you, looking up at the unlit chandelier dangling from the ceiling. That's why the dogs let you leave this morning and why you were seemingly able to find your baggage. He knew there would be nowhere for you to go, the villagers too succumbed to his darkness and would never assist you. The one structure in the entire village you could enter freely and it was his feeding ground.

He wanted you here, wanted you to see that this was the kind of power he had over others and it was making you nauseatingly sick. You stumbled to your feet and turned to look at Mihai who was currently downing his bottle of gin again, he had no idea of the fate that awaited him. The Count would draw out his death and turn what was supposed to be quick feeding into a lesson for you to learn. If you had never left the castle this man would never endure the torture that lay ahead of him.

"Mihai I'm sor-" The flickering of candles interrupted you. The crucifixes that were placed upon the walls slowly turned upside down and the Mother Mary statue you were standing next to began to bleed from its eyes. "He is coming." As you said the words your hands began to tremble and shake. Even without the dramatic display of power, the rise of goosebumps on your skin and the tremble of your frame told you how his shadow drew near. The door of the church opened up with a slam as snow flurries began to enter the church with the gust of wind.

The flurries landed on the floor sticking to the bloodstained wood, there were small clumps of whoever he had decided to feast on the night prior now illuminated by the candles. Your eye twitched miserably as that had been what you almost slipped on earlier. Suddenly at the frame of the door, a tall imposing figure with glowing white eyes appeared, its eyes were directed at you solely and neglected the presence of Mihai. As he stepped into the church your gaze averted to the floor, you didn't have to look at him to see his disappointment.

His stare carried nonexistent daggers that pierced their way through your body and soul. His deep ragged breathing echoed through the room and silenced all other noises the further he walked in. The door slammed itself behind him and it made your heart leap a small yelp escaped your mouth. You kept your gaze on the floor and he closed the distance between the two of you to the point where all you could see was the fur of his cape below in your vision. A clawed hand shot up and grabbed the lower half of your face and forced you to look up at him as he towered over you. "You will watch and if you dare look away then it will be you instead."

"Yes, my Lord." You answered mindlessly, knowing that your life at the moment was being held teetering on the edge of a dangerous cliff, and any foolish movement would send you tumbling downward. In your situation, that dangerous cliff happened to be your lover. He didn't release his hold on your face while his dark eyes stared intensely into yours, the gaze was so intense your eyes strained from the lack of blinking. You feared that if you took the chance to blink he'd snap your neck then and there for disobeying further. Thankfully his gaze was averted when Mihai purposely dropped his now empty glass bottle onto the planked floor of the church.

You took that much-needed blink and his hand was no longer painfully cupping your face but he now had it around the neck of the villager. Mihai's face became a deep purple as he was lifted against the wall, and as soon as his chest became eye level with the harbinger of death, his heart was latched onto and he began to be drained. Watching this happen before you showed you how much this creature held back when he'd feed from you. The way he siphoned blood from Mihai was nothing like what he'd do to you.

Him being a messy eater wasn't news to you but the sure brutality of the pressure he exerted against the man's ribs was so excessive you heard a sickening crunching noise as it sounded like they had fractured under duress. It was pure savagery displayed in front of you but you didn't dare look away. You watched as he had instructed you to while the life dissipated from Mihai's eyes. The blood from the villager's body flowed so much that it began to speckle the floor below them. When the body of the sacrifice finally dropped to the floor of the church and what now looked like a rabid beast corrected his posture and turned in your direction, you knew it was your turn.

"What kind of host would I be if I didn't indulge my guest in a little- how do you say it in English? Entertainment." Your face twisted in disgust at his mockery, you liked it better when he barely spoke to you. The more conversations the two of you had the more you realized he had a sadistic sense of humor. "Did you enjoy your trip today? I hope you found whatever it is you were searching for." As he took one step forward you took two steps back, not wanting to deal with whatever wrath or 'mercy' he wanted to give you.

The blood continued to drip from his mouth and your thighs involuntarily trembled. You mouthed a 'no' as you realized what was going on with you. For your body to react like this at such a scene brought back those feelings of guilt and shame you had this morning. You'd make the false accusation that he was manipulating you into this but both of you would know that was a complete lie.

His bloodied hand grabbed a hold of your hair and brought you to your knees. "If you were to kill me right now I would not need to blame you as I have disobeyed! I don't deserve your forgiveness but I will still ask for it." His grip on your hair painfully tightened and there was only a little bit more pressure needed before he'd be ripping the strands straight from your scalp. "You leave my castle, fraternize with a human man, and ask for my forgiveness?!"

His booming voice reverberated off the walls of the church and made the flames of the candles dance violently upon the wax sticks they sat on making you feel much smaller than you were and as you sunk into yourself like a scolded child. His furred cape flared in front of you angrily as he turned and walked away from you. This man was livid with rage before you and it only made you fear him more, you pondered why you even thought it was a good idea to flee the castle, to begin with.

"I'm sorry my Lord!" Before you could stand up to continue to beg for forgiveness and your life, a clawed finger pointed downward at the floor indicating for you to stay down at the level you were. "You will crawl to me..." You didn't need to be told twice by him so you put your hands on the cold wooden floor, lowered your back, and slowly crawled to him. When you reached him your fingers grabbed a hold of his furred cloak and you looked up at him with pleading wide eyes. The scent of your growing arousal made his nostrils flare and you could see there was an internal war going on within his mind about what he was going to do with you.

It was a demeaning idea but your fingers crept under his heavy cloak and you found the button latch to his trousers. He allowed you to remove his flaccid length and the heavy sack resting beneath it. You should have been utterly disturbed by how grotesque he was but you breathed a small moan while grabbing a hold of his cock. The longer you held him the harder he seemed to grow. Fully invested in what you were doing your hand tightened around him slightly and gave a few slow strokes of his shaft. The way his foreskin pulled backward and forward along the bulbous head of his cock was intoxicating and it was now you too who was breathing heavily.

As much as would have liked to deny it, there was a deeper connection than either of you would have expected to bloom. It wasn't just sexual it was disturbingly spiritual as if you'd never be truly free of him the same way he'd never be truly free of you. You had driven yourself mad about succumbing to his darkness but it wasn't just his at play, it was yours too. The longer you stayed with him the faster your mind began to unveil the depraved and dark thoughts that you kept at bay to keep yourself sane.

This mutual infatuation dared to ruin the both of you and you came to terms with being quite alright with that. It didn't take long before he fully hardened under your grasp and you gave his weeping slit a long and desperate lick. Your eyes never left his predatory ones as you coaxed the head of his erection past your lips. You sucked your cheeks in as your head began to bob up and down his cock. His entire length would never fit in your mouth so you kept your hand stroking at his base while your mouth worked on the half of him that it could please.

The fingers of your free hand found themselves in between your legs and sliding down your undergarments so you could spread apart your slit. You were unbearably wet with need as your walls clenched around nothing. Two of your fingers rubbed desperate circles around your clit until you were a panting mess and whining with his cock in your mouth. Your lover - your darkness, kept his composure and looked down at you with intrigue. His angry glare from earlier had softened but not enough to make you feel safer.

He grabbed a hold of your head and pulled you away from his shaft and his tip left your lips with a wet pop. You didn't stop stroking him at his base while his sharply pointed nails descended from your head and stopped at the side of your neck. One of his nails pierced your skin and drew a short line across your tender flesh. The pain was agonizing but you knew if you stopped he'd simply claw you deeper.

"That mark is for talking back to me and out of turn on the first day we met." You didn't have to look down to know that fresh blood dripped from your wound and further downward into your dress. His nail came into contact with your flesh again and you felt the carving of another short line. "This mark is for spending countless nights crying because you wanted to go home." He gave you a shorter moment of recovery before the pointed claw dug into your skin again.

"And that one would be for refusing the first few meals I would leave for you..." He wasn't smiling but his eyes held a sadistic gleam to them, he was hurting you and he found it amusing as usual. Your hand loosened around his shaft momentarily while the stinging sensation of your wounds began to cause your eyes to water. You shut your eyes entirely as another line was carved into your neck. "Once more for running away from my home. You have four now. If you ever gain a fifth that will be your final night with me."

When you opened your eyes his hand was freshly slicked with blood and now pressed to his lips so that he may taste you. To taste the life that he deemed so endearing to keep around him. Watching him do that made your slit weep with arousal even more. Before you could take him back into your mouth he stopped you and instructed you to turn around with a wave of his finger and you obeyed. You sunk back onto your hands and knees knowing what he was implying but it still surprised you when dropped down behind you and your dress was lifted above your hips.

You gasped when the head of his cock prodded at your folds before he thrust forward and entered you. When your body became flush with his, your hips rocked against him begging him to move. Even your walls pleaded with him dearly every time you felt yourself clench miserably around him. His length pulled away from you before sinking back in with a hiss from him as he started up a feral pace. Your body jerked forward every time his hips met with yours followed by a moan from your lips. With every thrust his sack would slap against your swollen clit and that made you whimper even more.

Your cunt was so greedy for his touch just to be able to take all of him like this when he'd just started. The pain of the lines he had drawn on your skin was soon forgotten about and forgiven with how pleasurable it felt when he split you open like this. It wasn't just the physical pleasure affecting you, you were also getting off on the power that he had over you, how little effort it would take for him to kill you right here while buried within your wet heat.

In between your moans and whimpers, you'd hear him grunt in approval from behind you. What was completely unexpected and took you by surprise was when his hand found its way back into your hair and he forced your head to the side so he could claim your mouth in a kiss. This level of affection was new to you but it soon became welcomed as well when his tongue slipped into your mouth. Blood, whether it was yours or Mihai's lingered in his mouth which intimately transferred over to yours and you greedily accepted it during the kiss.

With his cold tongue exploring the cavern of your mouth he only pounded you harder from behind which made your back arch further for him. You took one of your hands off the floor and started vigorously rubbing your clit in circles desperate for your approaching climax. When that peak reached you and your walls spasmed furiously around his cock you moaned loudly against his mouth and the overstimulation made you remove your hand and squeeze your legs tightly shut but his fervent thrusts continued.

His mouth left yours and your head was pushed down roughly onto the floor while he continued taking you from behind. Your legs began to tremble and your body wanted to inch far away from him but he held you firmly in place making you take everything he gave you and more. The increase in pace made your lower belly tighten as you came for him again around him. Your eyes rolled back and your hips buckled against him while you cried out with your release.

The thrusting stopped abruptly and he pushed so deeply inside you that it was painful. The tip of his cock began to twitch against your cervix and several ropes of his release shot into you. Your needy walls were milking him of his seed, making him fill you up like this. He left you feeling so full and satiated as the deed you'd both have done was nothing short of passionate He pulled out and you were flipped over onto your back so that he could lick the dried and congealed blood from the wounds he left on your neck. Your eyes grew heavy-lidded and you just laid there and let him salivate all over your neck and chest as much as he pleased.

You didn't remember closing your eyes and falling asleep until you woke up in the guest bedroom of the castle. You were light-headed from your ordeal last night and you nearly fell off the bed when you turned to see what looked like a stone grey box in the middle of the room. The more you stared at it the more you could make out its morbidly beautiful details and carvings. For some reason, it started to look more like a coffin maybe even a sarcophagus than a box or container as you thought it was. It looked expensive and ancient and you had no intentions of touching it unless you'd like to receive your fifth and final mark this evening.

Images of last night as memories came back to haunt you and a familiar ache between your thighs threatened your composure. With that ache, you felt an undeniable soreness, and inklings of pain that flooded the left side of your neck. Before you were able to exit the room the sound of stone sliding against stone made you stop and look at the now-opened grey sarcophagus with wide eyes as a clawed hand reached out from the darkness within it. Suddenly you were ready to succumb to it all over again.

[heyimkana]

Frost Burned

AO3 Link

Pairing: Werewolf!Jinwoo X Vampire!Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers AU, smut, fluff, slow burn

Summary: Sung Jinwoo is an alpha wolf who absolutely loathes vampires after they murdered his pack in cold blood. But one night, as he is suffering from terrible wounds, a lady vampire visits him with a sultry grin, offering him a solution to take away his pain—for a price.

Content Warnings: blood sucking (lots of that, RIP jinwoo), swearing (he has a potty mouth here), endless banter and teasing, slight dry humping, mentions of murder

Sung Jinwoo was no older than twenty-five when he met her for the first time—an alpha who had just lost his entire pack.

It happened in the blink of an eye, the tragedy that would change him forever. It stripped the warmth from his smile, replacing it with something colder, harder. Bitterness took root in the place of hope, and stoicism masked the soul he once freely shared. There had been seven of them—seven wolves bound by blood and loyalty, living in quiet harmony—until the night before the full moon, when they were all slaughtered.

All but him.

It was an ambush. One he never could have seen coming. A group of vampires—ancient, merciless, and impossibly strong—emerged from the shadows with their teeth bared. They struck just before the moon rose when the wolves were at their weakest, when their bodies were preparing for the shift and their strength lay dormant. The older the vampire, the more powerful they become—and these creatures had centuries of power behind them. Weakened by the upcoming Snow Moon, Jinwoo and his pack never stood a chance.

They were massacred.

Among them was his younger sister, Jinah.

Since that night, Jinwoo has carried a hatred so deep it burns. He swore he would avenge them—that he would find the ones responsible and bury them with his own hands. But the vampires vanished without a trace, like ghosts. And so he remains, haunted by guilt and grief, choosing solitude over rebuilding. He refuses to bond with another soul, to form another pack, to take another alpha’s title by blood. He walks alone—both as a man and a beast—with only the cold moonlight to witness his sorrow.

Across the quiet stretch of the same town, a lady vampire moves through the night with practiced grace and poise in her step. Though she has walked the earth for centuries, she appears no older than him—perhaps even a couple of years younger. She hides her age behind beauty and elegance, behind secrets she’s gathered over lifetimes.

Much like Jinwoo, she has chosen a life of solitude—but not out of grief. No, she lives alone because she finds other vampires intolerable. Something about the way they toy with human lives grates against her. The cruelty, the callousness—the way they treat people as nothing more than cattle to be drained. Yes, she drinks human blood too. She must. But unlike the others, she prefers to think herself… kinder.

Before she feeds, she compels her victims gently, soothing their fears, dulling their pain. And if her hunger ever overwhelms her control—and it has, on unfortunate occasions—she ensures their death is not one of terror or agony, but pleasure. It’s the least she can offer. A small mercy, in a world where her kind rarely shows any.

She and Jinwoo have crossed paths before, more times than he would've liked. Never intentionally. Never by his choice.

He used to loathe her on sight, assuming that she was just like the other bloodsuckers who murdered to survive. He would’ve killed her the first time they met—torn out her throat without a second thought—if it weren’t for the maddening softness in her eyes. She looked so damn innocent. So pure. And so damn pretty, too, prettier than anything he'd ever seen. It infuriated him.

But she never bared her fangs at him. Not once. She only met his fury with amusement, those shimmering eyes dancing as if his anger was her favorite game. And somehow… that intrigued him. Still does.

She grins every time he snaps at her, pleased with herself for riling him up. She sees through his temper, straight into the part of him he hides even from himself. He hates her—he says that often, loudly, sometimes with claws out—can’t stand a strand of her stupid, luscious hair, but strangely, he never actually tries to kill her. He should, but he doesn’t (yet), so that’s… something.

Tonight, they meet again. Unintentionally, of course.

The woods stretch far beyond the reach of civilization, blanketed in silence and moonlight. She walks as if she owns the earth beneath her feet, a vision of ethereal grace, her long, beautiful white dress trailing like mist behind her. In contrast, Jinwoo stumbles through the shadows, dressed in nothing but his jeans, his bare torso covered in scrapes and bruises.

Another werewolf's claws have been etched deep into his chest, five slashes marring his skin, leaving fresh, angry marks. Blood slides down his abdomen in thick rivulets, staining his jeans. The searing pain numbs his senses, his handsome face drawn tight as his vision begins to blur.

Eventually, his legs give out. He collapses against the base of a tree, panting, struggling to stay conscious. He tries to will himself into healing, but it’s no use—the wound is too deep, his strength too far gone. Every breath is a battle.

Then, he hears it.

Footsteps.

They crunch softly over the undergrowth, too measured to belong to another werewolf, too calm to be a threat. Still, Jinwoo tenses, bracing himself. He’s too weak to fight. Too exhausted to run.

So this is how I die? he thinks, bitterly amused. He doesn't fear death. He just thinks it’s pathetic to die without being able to put up a fight.

But then…

It’s her.

Of course, it’s her.

Fucking great.

“Oh my,” she says, a mock grimace curling her lips. Her eyes sweep over him, taking in the blood, the torn skin, the way he slumps against the tree like a man moments from death. “You somehow look even worse than the last time I saw you. And I was sure that was rock bottom.”

Jinwoo exhales through his nose, long and pained. Suddenly, he feels ten times more exhausted just from seeing her. “Maybe if I lie here long enough, a cougar will come and finish the job,” he mutters to himself, thinking that it’d be less painful and humiliating than whatever it is he’s going to go through with her.

The vampire clicks her tongue, stepping closer with the slow, graceful steps of a predator that knows there's no need to rush. “Now, now. Don’t be so dramatic. Cougars are picky eaters.”

He glares at her through half-lidded eyes. “Guess that makes two of you.”

She lets out a soft laugh, unbothered. “Oh, no. I’m starving, darling. You’re just not my type.”

Jinwoo lifts his head, his eyes sharp despite how battered he looks. For a split second there—before she opened that damn mouth of hers—he actually felt a flicker of relief at seeing a familiar face. But then reality set in and his frown returned like a reflex. She���s the last person he wants to see in this state, knowing full well she’ll waste no time ridiculing him for it. “Not in the mood to hear you run your mouth tonight, bloodsucker.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, puppy, I am in the mood to run my mouth tonight.” She stands tall above him, one hand cocked on her hip, her smirk all too pleased. “Half-naked again, I see. Honestly, I’m amazed you’re not in jail yet. Must be nice—having a face pretty enough to get away with indecent exposure.”

She always does this—flirts like it’s a hobby, like he’s just another toy to poke and prod for her amusement. It used to fluster him. Now, it just ignites his irritation. A slow burn in the back of his throat.

“You’re a weird little lady, you know that?”

And he means it. She's the only one who keeps coming back, undeterred by his snarls or his barbed words. Every time they meet, she’s there with that infuriating grin, acting like they’re old friends instead of natural-born enemies. He can’t understand why she’s never afraid of him. As a centuries-old vampire, she’s powerful—probably even faster than him—but one bite from an alpha like him could end her. Still, she treats him with soft head pats and teasing nicknames like he’s just a… well, a puppy. 

No matter how many times he pushes her away, she always comes back. Night after night, like clockwork—teasing him, riling him up, driving him absolutely insane with every damn word that leaves her mouth. And God, he fucking hates her for it.

But when she’s not around… The night stretches on endlessly. Quiet. Empty. Lonely.

Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. He’d rather bleed out under this tree first.

“Oh? That’s the first time you’ve ever called me a lady,” she says, visibly pleased, latching onto the smallest hint of civility in his tone. It's a skill really, for her to always find positivity in all the negativity he throws. “Don’t tell me I’ve finally charmed you?”

Jinwoo exhales a sharp breath of irritation. “What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be off somewhere draining some poor human dry?”

“I did that already, thanks for asking. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out in the woods, running naked with your tongue hanging out?”

He knows she’s only trying to rile him up. She always does. And yet… beneath the annoyance, there’s something oddly comforting about her presence. Familiar. Predictable, in the strangest, most infuriating way. Like reconnecting with a friend you’ve always wanted to strangle.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. “I’d wipe that stupid grin off your face if I weren’t half-dead right now.”

She laughs, low and delighted. “Promises, promises.”

She’s tempted to keep the banter going, but curiosity gets the better of her. “So? What happened to you this time? Did some cat try to beat you to death?”

He ignores the jab, glancing down at his wounds, face twisting in a grimace. The pain cuts through him like a thousand hot needles with every breath. “Ran into another werewolf,” he mutters, voice dry. “We had a... disagreement.”

“Oh?” She tilts her head, lips twitching. “Let me guess. You lost and ran off with your tail between your legs?”

He snarls. “I killed him.”

That wipes the smirk from her face—for a moment, anyway.

“You werewolves are always so… barbaric,” she sighs, folding her arms over her chest. “You know, you should learn a thing or two from vampires.”

Jinwoo barks out a laugh, an ironic sound. “Oh, yeah? Like what? How to suck people dry and still act like you’re better than everyone else? How to be as arrogant and insufferable as you are?"

She keeps her pompous smile intact, unfazed by his harmless bite. “For starters, how to be attractive and elegant. I mean, look at me.” She gestures to her immaculate appearance. “Then look at you. You’ve got, what? One pair of jeans to your name?”

He scoffs, but there’s a flicker of amusement behind his eyes. “Right. And how about you learn a thing or two from werewolves? Like how to be brave and fierce instead of being a coward and a fucking parasite to survive?”

“Oh, honey, I am brave and fierce.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder, her pointy teeth peeking out from behind her grin. “You just think I’m not because I look like your sweet, delicate, out-worldly beautiful little princess,” she croons, her smile embodying the innocent charm that most men dream of seeing in a woman.

Jinwoo raises an eyebrow at her words. He’s a little taken aback by her confidence, but he tries to maintain his facade of indifference. “You don't look terrible in the eyes, I’ll give you that, Princess,” he says the word like it burns his tongue. “But I don’t think it counts as brave if you only hunt at night and run away at the first sign of sunlight.”

“Touché,” she shrugs. “Well, at least I don’t hump a fucking tree during a full moon.”

His cheeks flush red at her words, his eyes flashing with annoyance and anger. He growls.

“Mm, growling. What an intelligent response.”

He rolls his eyes at her sarcasm. “We werewolves can’t help ourselves around a full moon. You know that. You’re just trying to get on my nerves.”

She titters, “I’m just surprised you didn’t deny humping a tree.”

“Oh, shut up.” His blush deepens, creeping from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “You know damn well that’s not true.”

“True or not,” she says with a sly grin, “it doesn’t change the fact that you’re just a beast with no control over your instincts. Unlike me.” Her smile softens then, and her voice lowers just a touch. “But enough about that, love.” She crouches in front of him, sitting gracefully on her heels. Her gaze shifts, focused now—not mocking, but strangely gentle—as she scans the angry slashes carved across his chest. “Those are nasty wounds,” she murmurs. “They’re not healing. Why?”

Jinwoo tenses under her stare, and immediately regrets it. Pain flares across his torso, sharp enough to make him suck in a breath through his teeth. Still, he doesn’t flinch away. “Got them from another alpha,” he grunts. “They take longer to heal. Different kind of venom in the claws.”

She hums thoughtfully, then—without asking—reaches out. Her fingers trail lightly across his skin, cold and delicate against his overheated body. He hisses, part instinct, part alarm. “What are you doing?”

“Relax. I’m just trying to see how deep they go.” She doesn't necessarily need to touch him to figure that out, but there's this desire within her that she cannot ignore. After all, it's rare to find him so vulnerable like this, grimacing like a child at the slightest touch. He almost seems… cute. “Does this hurt?” she asks softly, her fingertips grazing the deepest of the wounds.

Jinwoo bites down hard on his lower lip to muffle the groan clawing up his throat. Shame burns hotter than his blood. He’s never been this exposed in front of anyone—especially not a vampire, and especially not her. Every inch of him is on display, from the taut muscles of his abdomen to the sharp cut of his hips. And she… She doesn’t even blink, damn her.

He nods once, jaw tight. “It… Yeah,” he admits hoarsely. “Of course it hurts.”

His gorgeous body is a sinful temptation, but the scent of his blood triggers her senses more than the growing lust she holds for him. She thought she could chase the thoughts away, but being this close to him, it’s beginning to grow unbearable for her. “Listen, Jin,” she starts, her tone losing its usual teasing edge. “I can’t heal you. But I can take the pain away… if you want.”

His eyes narrow at her offer. “And what? You’re gonna bite the pain away, bloodsucker?”

Her nose scrunches in distaste, though her fangs press lightly at her lip from the effort of holding back. “Can we be civil for one second, please? And stop calling me bloodsucker. I’ve told you my name before, haven’t I?”

“I don't give a damn about your na—ah!” He jerks forward with a ragged gasp as her fingers brush a particularly raw edge of the wound. The sound shocks them both—more intimate than either of them expects. Her eyes flick to his, wide, while Jinwoo bears his teeth in frustration and pain, humiliated that the noise even escaped him.

“What the fuck do you think you��re doing?” he snaps, baring his teeth menacingly as he dwells in his chagrin. 

“I didn’t know you could sound like that,” she chuckles, her smirk dripping with filth. “Cute.” But when his nails lengthen into claws, her amusement falters. She raises her hands in mock surrender, though the gleam in her eye never fully fades. “Hey, hey, calm down,” she coos. “I was just messing with you, darling. No need to shift just because you moaned like a girl.” Her grin sharpens, back in full force. “I like it, though. Would love to hear more.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Geez. From shut up to I’m gonna kill you—pretty girls just can’t catch a break these days, huh?” She exhales with feigned dramatics, but instead of backing off, she leans in. Closer. Close enough that she could straddle him if she wanted to. (And she wants to.)

“I’m offering you a friendly bargain here, puppy,” she murmurs, brushing her knuckles along his cheek.

“Don’t touch me,” he tosses his face to the side, glowering. “And don’t call me puppy. I’m not making any deal with you, bloodsucker. Just fucking leave me alo—ngh—” The pain hits again. His breath catches, a guttural groan escaping before he can stop it. His fists clench in the dirt.

“Easy now,” she says, far too pleased. “You don’t want to get too worked up.”

“And whose fault do you think that is?!” 

“Not mine you’ve got the temper of a toddler.” Her grin widens. “And, Sweetheart, trust me—you need my help.”

“I’d rather die.”

She rolls her eyes. “And I’m the drama queen?” A pause. Then a look sweeps over him—sharp, unreadable. “You keep pretending you’re strong, but all I see is a stubborn idiot bleeding out in the woods. Although...” she tilts her head, lips curling, “I won’t lie. There’s a charm to it. I find pathetic men to be... endearing.”

“You’re a fucking pervert— ”He flinches again, jaw clenched tight as another wave of torture rips through him.

“Well, you’re a masochist for enjoying pain so much."

He ignores her, trying to loosen up. The more his vexation gets the best of him, the more pain he has to endure. “Damn it.”

“It hurts that bad, huh?” She winces in sympathy but does not feel a sliver of remorse for contributing to his suffering. “The offer still stands, you know. I can get rid of it. Everything, all at once. But you have to trust me.” Her sweet, silvery voice rings wonderfully in his ears, but he can't seem to do what she asks of him just yet. He has no choice but to try, however, once she boldly closes the distance, rising on her knees until she looms above him, her body a breath away from his.

His eyes stretch in surprise at the sudden proximity, his face tipped back to meet her gaze. “Y-You—” He’s cut off by the sight of her irises turning a deep, brilliant crimson. They glow like embers, too bright, too beautiful—like stars set on fire.

“Pay attention, Sweetheart,” she purrs, then she bares her teeth, drawing her lips back slowly like a curtain. Her fangs lengthen, gleaming like polished ivory beneath the pale moonlight. A shiver dances down his spine. “We’ve got toxins in our bite, you see,” she says, voice honey-sweet and laced with sin. “Like a drug. One bite, and I can flood your veins with it—numb the pain, send your head spinning. If I drink long enough...” her smile turns wicked. “I can take you to cloud nine. If you know what I mean.”

He jerks his head away, scowling through a flush that’s far too obvious. “A-As if I’d let you drink from me.”

“Oh, you will.” She cups his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Because you need it. You're not fooling anyone with your tough act, Jin. I know you're begging for relief.” The distance between them is almost nonexistent. Had she been human, her breath would be dancing over his lips by now. “And I’m ready to give it to you, but, of course”—her lips trail lower, her smirk brushing the shell of his throat— ��There will be a small price to pay. You know I don’t do favors for free... not even for a handsome boy like you.”

The little scarlet that blooms on his cheeks betrays the venom he utters through clenched teeth. “I'm not a boy.”

“Maybe not, but you're definitely handsome,” she replies shamelessly, sending a deeper flush across his cheeks. Her hand leaves his face only to slide downward, one finger tracing his skin in a slow, delicate path from his collarbone to the underside of his chin. She tilts his face upward, looming over him like a predator savoring the moment before the bite. Her smile widens as she hears the frantic thrum of his heart beneath her fingers.

“Although I’m sure your werewolf blood will taste disgusting, it’s the only thing you have to offer... unless”— she pauses to build anticipation, letting her lips trail to his ear, her wicked smirk brushing against its edge—“there’s something else you’d like to give me?”

His claws sink into the earth below, trying to chase away the thrill that suffuses him with every word she speaks. “What…” he croaks out, though the implication in her words is obvious. “What do you mean?"

She smiles angelically despite the salaciousness in the next line she utters. “I’ve heard rumors about wolves like you…” Her lips hover at his skin, her whisper silk-wrapped sin. “All that raw stamina. That wild, uncontrollable side. Makes me wonder just how true they are.” Her mouth itches to capture his lobe and suckle it between her teeth, but she refrains. Judging from his reaction, he's already close to losing his mind even without her doing so.

“Tell me, Jin, are you as… untamed as they say?” She purrs softly in his ear, bestowing the slightest of kisses on the skin below his ear. “If I had you for just one night… Would you lose control for me? Would you claim me like the beast you really are?”

The veins in his throat protrude as he tries to rein in his desire. She’s like a siren, awakening something primal within him. His body trembles with the effort to hold back, his throat working around a growl. After a few agonizing seconds, he shoves her back by the shoulders—enough to breathe, not enough to hurt her. His face is blazing. “Fuck you.”

“That's the idea, darling.” She curls her fingers around his wrist, her grip like steel in velvet. Then, with breathtaking audacity, she presses into the crook of his neck. “I want you to fuck me.” Lust laces her whisper, heavy and electric. Her icy cold lips feel soothing on his warm skin, and at the same time, thrilling. “And in return… I’ll take away your pain. Every last trace of it. Not a bad deal, hmm?”

“God—damn it,” he mutters through clenched teeth. The pain is unbearable. But the temptation…

He can try and mask it all he wants, but she can smell it. His arousal, hot and heady, bleeding through his resolve like smoke through cracks. 

Jinwoo looks up at her, flushed and panting. “Are you... really asking me that?”

Honestly, she wasn’t. It started as a joke. But seeing him like this—flushed, desperate, curious—makes her wonder if it has to be a joke at all. “Would you say yes if I were?"

He turns mute, taking a moment for himself. Whether he’s trying to detect her lies or to ruminate on his options, she can’t tell. 

She giggles, delighted by his silence. “Your heart’s beating like crazy. I’m surprised. Who knew the big, bad wolf was a virgin?”

He turns bright red, redder than he’s ever been. ”I’m—I’m not a virgin!”

“Wouldn’t bother me if you were,” she simpers. “In fact…” Her voice dips, syrupy and slow. “It makes me want to ruin you even more.”

“You—” He abandons the sentence midway, exhaling harshly, flustered and impatient. “Can you not run your damn mouth for one second?”

She tilts her head, lashes fluttering. “Should I use it instead?” Her smirk deepens. “You still haven’t answered me, you know. I can make you feel so good with my mouth. My teeth, I mean.”

Jinwoo narrows his eyes, struggling to compose himself. “Why should I trust you? That toxin of yours could be bullshit. For all I know, you just want to turn me into your personal blood bag.”

“Maybe I do.” She shrugs playfully. “It’s your call, wolfie. But I won’t wait forever.” 

She taps his nose with one finger, light as a feather, then rises to her feet with maddening grace. The midnight wind catches her hair as she turns away, her dress swaying in the dark.

“Enjoy the pain,” she sings softly, and begins to walk.

Jinwoo watches her go, jaw clenched, heart racing. The pain claws at him from the inside. And now that her touch is gone, the cold sinks deeper into his bones.

He remembers the look on that poor bastard’s face when she bit him—not agony, but ecstasy. Disgust had been his first reaction. But somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, curiosity had stirred. He couldn't help but wonder how it would feel like to be under a vampire’s—no, not that—her mercy.

And now, temptation screams louder than ever.

He hesitates. Then—

“Fuck it,” he growls, his pride fracturing. “Hey—wait.”

A devilish, victorious grin blooms on her lips, though she quickly veils it behind a mask of feigned innocence. She pivots, eyes wide, voice sweet. “Yes?”

He meets her gaze, something volatile swimming behind his eyes—caution, yes, but also hunger. “You’ll take away the pain, right? You’ll make it feel like... like I’ve downed ten bottles of alcohol?”

“Oh, honey.” Her lips curve up beautifully, sinfully, as the light in her eyes sharpens and flares in delight. “I’ll make you feel like you just had the best orgasm of your life.”

Fire fills his cheeks, but he veils it with a scoff. “You’d better be right about that, bloodsucker.”

“I don’t tell lies, Sweetheart,” she says—another lie, but he’s too worn out to challenge it.

She saunters closer, crouching to meet him at eye level, her voice dipping into something intimate. “Now that my puppy is being honest and demanding… I need a promise in return.”

She can hear his heartbeat quickening just a tad faster in anticipation, but on the outside, he scowls. “What is it?”

“I need you…” Her gaze gleams as she brushes her fingers along his cheek, keeping him imprisoned. “To be a good boy for me.” 

Her thumb toys with the corner of his mouth, and he freezes—just for a second.

“No biting. No growling. No talking back. I want manners, obedience. I want you to listen.” Her voice lowers into something satiny. “Can you do that for me, darling?”

Scarlet creeps across his face, fury and arousal tangled in a knot in his chest. He looks at her with a conflicted expression, her request going against his very nature. He’s a werewolf, for fuck’s sake, and she’s a goddamn vampire. He’s supposed to be tearing her heart out instead of wagging his tail for her, and yet… the thought of putting on a restraint around himself and handing her the leash… isn’t necessarily too bad.

As an apex predator, his pride and instinct won’t allow him to bend his knees and succumb to anyone’s wish, but something about her makes him want to let loose, to embrace his vulnerability, and just be Sung Jinwoo, the lonely man who secretly seeks company, who craves for affection, who wishes to find someone who can accept both the fragile part of him and the beast inside him. 

Maybe he’s tired of fighting. Tired of aching. Tired of being alone.

Maybe the thought of someone else taking the reins—even a devil like her—feels more like relief than defeat.

And right now, with pain burning through him and pride slipping between his fingers, that relief sounds like salvation.

“Baby,” she prompts, sweetly chiding. “I’m asking you a question.”

“Enough with the pet names,” he curtly utters though the rasp in his voice betrays him. “Fine. I’ll try my best not to kill you tonight.”

She doesn’t smile. Not this time.

Instead, her hand closes around the side of his neck—not rough, not painful, but firm. Her eyes shift, voice laced with command. “That’s not what I want to hear.”

The sudden dominance in her voice catches him off guard, leaving a trail of chills. “I’ll…” His pulse hammers high in his chest, eyes trapped in the intensity of hers. “I’ll behave.”

Her voice softens again, but her grip does not. “Promise?”

His throat bobs with a hard swallow, tension winding tight beneath his skin. Something unfamiliar, something exciting, swells inside him. “I promise.”

And just like that, she effortlessly slips back into her playful theatrics. “Well, aren’t you an adorable little puppy?” She grins, scratching him below his chin in mock affection. 

Jinwoo pulls back with a snarl, almost baring his teeth, but he chokes back his threat before it can take form. A promise is a promise.

She watches him wrestle with himself, amusement plain on her face. “That’s a good boy.”

Then, without hesitation, she straddles his lap, settling atop him like a queen claiming her throne. Her fingers ghost down his chest. Her lips part just enough to let her tongue wet her bottom lip.

“Let’s begin, shall we?”

***

Jinwoo bites back a gasp at her touch, his muscles coiling as she splays her palm on his chest. It feels like ice, he thinks, amidst the clamorous sound of his thundering heart. She speaks with the same quiet surprise he feels, whispering, “Your skin’s burning hot,” her touch gentle and reverent as her hand glides over his chest, then down to trace the sculpted ridges of his abdomen, as if memorizing him by feel. 

She avoids his wounds with practiced ease, but he wouldn’t have minded if she touched them now—not when this is what her hands feel like. Her touch feels so intimate, so—

“Soothing,” she whispers, unknowingly echoing his thoughts, both of them caught in the same feeling. She smiles, almost in wonder, paralyzing him with her beauty. She reaches forward to pull him into an embrace, resting her face in the crook of his neck as she nestles herself on his lap. “Your body feels so warm against mine… It’s nice.”

Blood pools on his face, rendering him speechless. He’s never been this close to anyone. Not like this. “What are you doing?” he manages, the edge in his voice dulled into something shy, uncertain.

“I’m hugging you,” she answers matter-of-factly, eyes closed as though she’s found peace.

“I know that. I mean—” Jinwoo jolts, his nails scraping the ground below when he feels the tip of her nose brushing against his collarbone. “W-why?”

She lets out a low, sultry purr, her arms twining tighter around his neck as the sound pulses against his ear. “Because it feels good,” she says simply, truthfully, and he hates that he can’t argue.

Not only does her body feel perfect against him, fitting him like a missing puzzle piece, her scent is wonderful, too—subtle and lovely, something undeniably hers. He hadn’t noticed it before when there was a distance between them, assuming that she carried a similar scent to all the vampires he’d encountered. But now that she’s up close, he finds there’s something else beneath it, something sweet and pleasant, and so damn intoxicating. A scent that he thought would perfectly describe her as the human she once was.

He breathes her in and nearly drowns in it. Everything about her feels right.

He’s derailing, losing his mind.

“Don’t be so tense, Jin,” she murmurs, kissing the edge of his jaw. Her lips are soft, barely there, but they send lightning through his veins. “You’re going to make me nervous.”

Liar.

She’s never nervous. She’s composed, confident, while he’s one stray breath from falling apart.

An unfamiliar warmth stirs in his belly as he dwells further in the intimacy. He needs to stay focused.

“J-Just get on with it," Jinwoo mutters, desperate for a shift—any shift—from this unbearable closeness. But then her tongue glides against his neck, slow and precise, tracing the vein beneath his skin.

His whole body jolts.

“Be patient, Sweetheart. I’m doing my best to be gentle,” she whispers, her voice a tender promise. 

She lowers her mouth to his chest, scattering kisses over his skin. Each one is calculated like she’s laying a spell, and when her lips brush the edge of a wound, he jerks, his hand catching in the fabric of her dress. “Fuck.”

She pulls back, lifting her gaze to his. “Does it hurt?”

“N-No,” he breathes out raggedly, casting his face to the side, flushed. “It’s just… It feels weird.”

She watches him for a beat, her expression softening, layered by a genuine concern. But then she sees it—his flushed face, the vulnerability in his eyes—and her smirk returns, full of mischief. “A good weird or a bad weird?”

He glares, flustered. “Just weird. Are you going to bite me or not?”

She leans in, her voice tantalizing. “Want me to put my mouth on you so badly, huh?”

“Oh my God, can you not—” he groans, feeling ashamed for her sake. “Can you not say things like that?”

“I’m sorry.” She is absolutely not sorry. She drags her face back to his chest, her grin audible in her voice. “I just love making you blush.”

“I’m not blu—ah—” A deep, involuntary moan slips from his lips as her tongue grazes his sensitive bud, the delicate touch sending waves of heat through him. 

“And moan,” she finishes with a laugh. 

A low, menacing growl rumbles from his chest, his face burning and his teeth bared. He knows he shouldn’t have done that—not after promising her he’d behave—but fuck, that was so embarrassing.

“Get. On. With. It.” 

He should shove her off. Regain control. Say something to pull himself back together. But instead… he just sits there.

Letting her touch him.

Letting her own him.

And worst of all—he doesn’t even want to stop her.

The thought slams into him like a freight train. No. No fucking way. There's no way he’s enjoying this.

...right?

He barely has time to spiral further before her tongue presses to his wound. His breath stutters. The tingling sensation spreads like wildfire, blooming outward from every spot she touches.

Jinwoo clenches his fists so tightly his knuckles crack, jaw tense as he tries—and fails—to stop his body from trembling.

Damn it. Am I really—?

But she pulls away from him before he can finish the thought, and his breath catches—ragged and uneven. His mind reels, thoughts spinning out of grasp.

“W-what?” he stammers, eyes locked on hers, searching for meaning in the flicker of surprise etched across her face. “Something wrong?”

“Your blood…” Her voice is barely audible, her eyes locked on his chest, dazed. She licks her lips, slowly, languidly. “It’s not as disgusting as I thought it would be…”

“Huh..? What do you—ngh—” His head drops forward, jaw slack as a shudder runs through him the moment her tongue grazes his wound again. “W-wait—” he breathes, voice shaky, too weak to stop her, too consumed to mean it.

She doesn't wait. Doesn't even pretend to stop. She keeps going, licking at the wound with torturously slow, stimulating strokes. There’s a sensuality to it, a quiet reverence that makes his head spin. Each pass of her tongue stokes the ache inside him—of pain, of longing, of something far more dangerous. She laps at the wound, savoring every trace she can reach.

This feels… Jinwoo trembles, his lids shut close as he suffers through both pain and pleasure. So weird…

A soft moan breaks free from her as the rich taste of his blood spreads across her tongue. He hears it. Feels it. And it wrecks him.

She draws herself back again, her lips stained a darker shade of red, her voice heavy with wonder. “So sweet…” she murmurs, voice thick with yearning. The crimson gleam in her eyes deepens, shimmering with desire and hunger. Her lips part in a delicate, seductive smile, fangs catching the light. “You taste divine, Jin.”

He sees it—the shift in her eyes, the way his blood awakens something darker, something primal within her. A monster, barely restrained. He knows he’s vulnerable, too weak to defend himself if she were to lose control. And yet… there’s no fear. No panic. Only the sharp thrill of anticipation humming in his veins. He’s not afraid of what she might do—he’s eager for it. Eager to see how far she’ll go.

How far she'll ruin him.

She places her hand on the side of his neck, her digits lightly tracing over his pressure points. “I’m going to bite you here,” she says, her voice above a whisper. And she doesn’t breathe, not anymore, but at this moment, clouded by her immense longing for blood, she sounds breathless. “Is that okay?”

Jinwoo swallows thickly, his heart pumping more blood through his veins. “D-do whatever you wa—”

Her fangs puncture his flesh before he can finish. He draws a short gasp, his mouth falling open in a silent groan as shock zings through his entire body. The pain is blinding for a moment, like a pair of knives tearing into his soul, but then…

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Something shifts. The agony morphs into bliss—hot, heady, all-consuming. His muscles go slack, eyes fluttering back as a haze of pleasure wraps around his bones, and under the moon’s quiet gaze—bearing witness to the way his hardened facade crumbles beneath her bite—something inside him breaks.

Or maybe it’s something being rebuilt.

A faint smile ghosts across his lips.

This feels…

So fucking good.

“Mmph,” she moans as hot blood floods her mouth, her fangs sinking deeper into his flesh. She meant to be gentle—she swears to every god and devil that she did—but nothing could have prepared her for this. She’s never tasted werewolf blood before, and it’s unlike anything she’s known. It shatters every belief she holds.

If her bite is a drug, then his blood is the overdose. It’s the addiction that ruins her—sweet, searing, intoxicating. She drinks straight from the source, where it runs the hottest, the sweetest, where he feels most alive beneath her mouth. And she can’t stop. Can’t think. The craving claws through her with every pulse of his heartbeat against her lips.

“Suck you dry,” she confesses out loud, her eyes hazy with her desire as she laps at his skin. “You taste so fucking good, I want to suck you dry, Jin.”

She moves down to his shoulder and pierces the skin there, not holding back. The pain must be searing, but she can’t stop, not even to slow down for a moment.

The pain from her fresh bite chars through him, sharp and consuming—but laced with a pleasure so intense it leaves him trembling, breathless. It’s as if every nerve in his body is being lit up at once, electric and overstimulated, yet somehow numbed at the rims by the haze she’s pulling him into. His eyes flicker open, dazed and unfocused, fixed on the sky above as the world blurs around him.

“Fucking hell…” Jinwoo utters in a strangled whisper before a small chuckle follows. “This is… so much better than alcohol…” 

She would’ve laughed cockily if she were in the right state of mind, but she isn’t. She’s just as intoxicated as he is, her sanity thinning from the heat of his skin and the taste of his blood, thick and sweet on her tongue. Her hands grip him like he’s prey, like letting go would kill her. She sucks harder, laps greedily at the punctures she’s made, chasing every drop like it’s salvation.

Somewhere in the farthest recess of her mind, a voice screams—Stop. You’re taking too much. But she doesn’t care. Can’t care. All she knows is that she needs more. All of him. Every last drop.

Jinwoo’s hand drifts up, fingers weaving into her hair as he gently cradles her head, guiding her closer. His neck arches, offering more—offering everything. “More…” he breathes, voice rough and trembling with need. His head falls back against the rough bark of the pine tree towering above them, grounding him as he unravels. “Take it… All of it. I’ll give you everything, just… Don’t stop.”

She obeys his plea, silencing the last flickers of reason screaming in the back of her mind. Her grip tightens, possessive and unwavering, as she drinks him in with unrestrained hunger. Jinwoo writhes beneath her, body caught in that exquisite space between agony and ecstasy. He feels his strength slipping away, drawn out with every pull of her mouth—but the euphoria flooding his veins eclipses it all. It’s overwhelming, otherworldly, and nothing in his life has ever come close to this.

His blood surges through her like fire in her veins, and it’s everything—rich, intoxicating, maddening. She wants more. She wants it all. She wants to drain him dry, feel every last drop spill into her. But beneath the rush, she feels it—his heartbeat slowing, faltering as her toxin takes hold. His body softening under her grip. A flicker of panic pierces through the haze.

I really should stop… The thought claws at her, faint and fragile against the roaring hunger, but it’s there. I have to stop before I lose him, but… I can’t… It feels too good... I need more...

I could stay like this forever, he thinks, as a strange, weightless calm settles over him. The pain in his chest feels distant now, like a memory fading in the haze. His body floats—light, untethered—but at the same time, it burns. Not with agony, but with her. Every nerve is a live wire, flaring only for her: the deep, purposeful sink of her fangs; the way her moans hum against his skin; the slick drag of her tongue as she drinks him in. 

His eyelids grow heavy, his thoughts slow, drifting into fog. It feels like sleep—final, irreversible. And maybe it is. But instead of fear, there’s only quiet acceptance. Dying like this, held in her arms, consumed by her… it doesn’t feel like the worst way to go. It feels like surrender.

What a weird feeling, he ponders, fighting to keep his eyes open. Just a moment ago, he wanted to push her away and distance himself from her for good, and now…

I don’t want to let go. I want to stay like forever. With her.

Jinwoo wants to hold her closer, bury himself in her warmth, anchor himself to her—but his body betrays him. His strength slips through his fingers like water, and the hand tangled in her hair loosens, trailing down her back before falling to the ground.

His lashes flutter, the world dimming at the edges. He wishes—just once more—to see her face, to memorize the curve of her smile. But the darkness that comes for him… isn’t so cruel. It’s soft. Soothing. Peaceful. Almost like her.

The moment she senses his body go still, the hunger inside her halts like a snapped thread. She jerks back, fangs retracting instinctively.

“Jin?” His name falls from her lips, cracked with worry. Her brows knit tight as her gaze searches his face—his eyes are closed, his head limp, tilted to the side. Her mouth is still slick with his blood, the metallic taste clinging to her tongue, but the sight of him like this—silent, too still—cuts through the haze of temptation like ice.

“J-Jin? Jinwoo, open your eyes, honey,” she pleads, voice trembling. A ripple of panic surges through her, fast and cold, and it burns the crimson from her irises, shifting them back to their natural shade. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

And she’s the reason why.

"Jinwoo," she shakes him by the shoulders, her fingers digging in despite the tremors racing through her hands. "Jin, come on, wake up." His heart is still beating—she can hear it—but it’s slow, dangerously slow, like a fading drumbeat echoing from too far away.

No.

No, no, no.

I shouldn’t have done this. Panic claws up her throat. What do I do now? How do I fix this?

She can take from him, drink him dry—but she has nothing to give back.

“Jin!” Her voice cracks, thick with rising tears. She can't fathom why. She never despised him, no, but does he truly mean enough to her to be worth her tears?

Whatever the answer may be, one thing is certain: she’s never felt so powerless, so utterly terrified.

“Jinwoo, please—please, open your eyes for me, baby. Stay with me.” Her words flutter on the edge of a sob, her fear bleeding into every syllable.

Werewolves can heal on their own… right? She clings to the thought like a lifeline, but doubt immediately creeps in. Her mind races, desperate for something—anything—that might save him. There has to be a way. How do I help him heal faster?

Blood. He needs blood. But how can I give it to him? Steal a blood bag from the hospital? I don’t even know what his blood type is. 

I could take him to a clinic and leave him there, but… What happens when they realize what he is? What will they do to him if they find out he’s a werewolf?

If only he still had a pack. Someone. Anyone. I could bring him to them, even if it’d cost me my life. But he doesn’t have anyone, does he?

He’s alone. Always has been. And the crushing weight of that truth slams into her chest, folding her in half with guilt.

He has no one… No one but her...

And I did this to him.

“Fuck,” she chokes out, panic tightening around her chest like a vice, tears obscuring her vision as her hands cling to him. “Why did you never tell me about yourself? Why wouldn’t you let me in?” Her voice quavers, breaking under the weight of the storm raging inside her. Rage, grief, helplessness—they all blur together, clawing at her ribs.

And now... it’s too late, isn't it?

“Goddammit, Jin!” she sobs, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. When was the last time she cried like this? She doesn’t know—maybe she never has—but now, the weight in her chest feels like it might shatter her in two. She’s trembling, barely holding herself together, her throat tight with the sobs she’s trying to swallow.

Her fist curls, and she strikes his chest—not out of anger, but out of sheer desperation. “Wake up!” she pleads, her voice rising in pitch, her words thick with grief. “Open your eyes!”

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. 

Every attempt ends with failure. The one that keeps winning is time, constantly moving, turning deaf ears to her plea. And once she quiets down, the night turns hushed.

His heartbeat is fainter than a ghost's whisper.

“Please…” she whimpers, her voice so soft it barely carries, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as if holding him could somehow chain his soul in place. Her tears soak his skin, trailing down his collarbone like silent confessions. She buries her face in the dip of his neck, clutching him like something fragile slipping through her fingers. Her eyes squeeze shut, as if shutting out the world might delay the truth.

The weight of it crashes into her all at once—the horror of losing him, her only friend.

“Jinwoo…” she murmurs beneath her broken tears. “Please…”

Don’t leave me.

She feels helpless, growing even more so with the more seconds passing by. All she can do is press her ear to his chest, clinging to the fragile thump of his slowing heart, praying for it to pick up—just a little. Just enough.

But he’s too still.

His body, once burning with life, has gone unnervingly cool in her arms. And his face—normally kissed bronze by the sun—is now drained of color, ghostly pale. The sight of it carves deep into her, a cruel echo of everything she’s about to lose.

In the hollow ache of her grief, she clings to a fragile illusion—imagining him stirring awake in her arms, warm breath brushing her cheek as his calloused fingers gently thread through her tangled hair. In her mind, his voice is soft, reassuring, full of life as he tells her that he’s okay. That he’s safe and sound. That this is all just a dream she can wake up from. She wants to believe it. She needs to. 

She wonders what he’d say if he saw her like this, broken and bare, sobbing until her tears ran dry. Would Jinwoo laugh at her? Tease her? Knowing him, he’d probably reprimand her for being so careless. She can almost hear it, his voice when he calls her an—

“Idiot.”

She blinks. The final tear clinging to her lashes slips free, landing softly on his collarbone. For a split second, she can’t tell if what she’s feeling is another cruel trick of her desperate imagination—until she hears it. His heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Real. A rhythmic thrum beneath her palm.

She gasps, tearing herself from him just enough to rise onto her knees, eyes wide as she looks down at him. And she sees him—the man who’s quietly stolen her heart, thread by thread, without her even noticing... until now.

Color slowly returns to his face, chasing away the pallor that had haunted her moments ago. His lips twitch into a faint smile, and his eyes, though heavy-lidded, seek hers.

Disbelief flickers across her face, chased quickly by a tidal wave of relief so overwhelming it threatens to steal every bit of her strength. “Jin…” His name falls from her lips in a fragile voice as a shaky smile breaks through her sorrow. She reaches out, fingers brushing gently against his cheek, and he leans into her touch, the gesture weak but unmistakably his. 

He’s alive. 

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

“Oh, Jin.” She throws herself into his arms, holding him like she might never let go again. Her embrace is fierce, almost desperate, as if by clinging to him tightly enough, she can keep him forever in this world, bound to her. Her tears return, but this time, they fall in quiet gratitude, glazing his skin as she buries her face against his chest.

“You’re alive…” she whispers, voice breaking on a sob, her hands clinging onto his back. “Thank goodness, you’re alive…”

She says it again and again, like a prayer, like a miracle she still can’t fully believe. And in that moment, she doesn’t care how fragile he is or how broken she feels. All that matters is that he’s here—in her arms, breathing, warm. She hadn't realized how deeply he'd embedded himself into her heart until the thought of losing him had torn it apart.

“Barely,” he breathes out with a faint chuckle, his voice hoarse, like it’s clawing its way out of a well. His hand drifts up to the back of her head, fingers tangling gently in her hair as he cradles her close. “You’re… a fucking idiot, you know that?”

She lets out a watery laugh, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall again. “I know. I’m sorry.”

His gaze softens even as he groans, “A little more and you would’ve actually killed me.”

“I know…” she repeats her apology, the weight of guilt crashes down on her again. Her composure shatters—no trace of the arrogance, the mischief, or the effortless grace she wore like second skin. Now, she’s just a girl—fragile, broken—sobbing into his chest like she’s trying to cry the pain away. “I’m so sorry…”

Jinwoo sighs, but there’s nothing but elation in his chest. Somehow, his broken body found its way back from the edge—and he’s grateful. Grateful that he gets to reunite with her again. Grateful that he gets to see her like this, stripped of all pretense, a breathtaking woman shedding tears over the thought of losing him. And despite the pain, despite the blood and fear, he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Because here, in the raw silence between them, they’re finally honest. Vulnerable. No masks, no lies. Just two lonely souls finding shelter in each other—and letting go of the ache they’ve carried alone for far too long.

He’s found something rare—a friend who drives him insane and anchors him all at once. And even if there are days he wants to strangle her, he knows, with every aching breath, he’ll never let her go. The same way she didn't want to let him go before.

“Stop crying already,” he says, no bite behind the words—just the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You look awful when you cry.”

She lets out a sound between a laugh and a scoff. “You really shouldn’t say that to a lady.”

“What lady?” He playfully scoffs. “A lady would’ve taken care of my wounds instead of trying to suck me dry.”

“I said I'm sorry,” she sniffles, pouting—and it’s so painfully cute, he has to dig his fingers into the earth to keep himself away from kissing her.

“Didn’t you go on a whole rant about being the one with self-control? The one who doesn’t let instincts take over?”

“I am sorry!” She cringes in shame. “But I helped you, didn’t I? You’re not in pain anymore.”

“True. Almost sent me back to see God, too, but yeah, thanks.”

“Oh, please. We both know you’re going straight to hell.”

“And I’ll meet you there, Princess,” Jinwoo says with a crooked smirk.

Her shoulders slacken at the sight, the tension bleeding from her limbs. Her eyes, still glossed with tears, settle on him with a softness he’s never seen before—stripped of bravado, free of fire. In that quiet, honest gaze, she looks almost unearthly, bathed in moonlight, as though heaven itself had borrowed her just for tonight.

It steals his breath away. She steals his breath away.

He blinks, trying to summon the sardonic mask he’s worn so well. “What? No witty comeback?”

Instead of answering, she leans in, her hands rising to cradle his face with a gentleness that catches him off guard.

“Jin…”

“W-wait, what are you—”

But the words die on his tongue when her lips brush against his. It’s a kiss barely there—cool and trembling—but it melts straight through him, leaving his heart fumbling in his chest. Her mouth is soft, unsure, and fleeting. Her lips sweet and pliant, icy cold yet burning every inch of his skin. It ends before he can catch it, before he can even begin to kiss her back.

She pulls away, her expression suddenly shy, her cheeks tinted with the faintest hue of warmth—something so achingly human. It’s a sight he’s never seen before and it leaves him stunned.

“You...” Jinwoo swallows hard, his voice hoarse. “You just kissed me.”

“I did,” she whispers, barely audible. Her usual fire is gone, replaced by something softer, more fragile. She can’t even meet his eyes, her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder as if terrified of what she might see in his face. It stirs something deep in him—something tender.

Is this… the real you? he wonders, his heart palpitating as he seeks for answer.

“I’m sorry,” she says, unconsciously lifting her knuckles to her lips, concealing the bottom half of her face from him. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. You hate me, don’t you? It must have felt… disgusting to you.” 

The word slices through him.

Still stunned, still reeling, he doesn’t speak—doesn’t know how. So when she shifts off his lap and begins to rise, retreating into herself, he moves on instinct, his fingers closing around her wrist before his mind can even think.

“Jinwoo…” Her voice trembles with the urgency to escape. “I—”

He doesn’t let her.

He yanks her down with all the strength he can muster, and she tumbles into his lap with a gasp—her palms landing against his chest just as his mouth crashes into hers.

Jinwoo groans into the kiss, his senses alight, drowning in the taste of her—sweet, intoxicating, laced with the tang of his own blood. The leftover of her toxin still pulsates through his veins, heightening everything. Every stroke of her tongue sends sparks ricocheting through his nerves. Every drag of her nails across his chest makes him shudder. And when she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing their bodies together like she’d vanish if she let go, it leaves his head gyrating, his body tingling with pleasure, and he can’t get enough.

She feels so good. She tastes so good. 

He can feel himself slipping into delirium, and it has less to do with the toxins and more with her kiss. He wants it to last. God, he wants it to never end. But then she pulls back—just a breath between them—and he almost chases her lips before she speaks, her voice a tremor.

“Wait,” she whispers, brows knitted. “I thought you hated me—”

“I do.”

And then his mouth is on hers again, brutal in its hunger.

One hand grips the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair to keep her right where he needs her, while the other snakes around her waist, his hold firm and demanding. 

“I fucking hate you.” He kisses like he means to consume her very soul. “And I fucking hate this.” His tongue delves into her mouth, tasting her, devouring her, and wanting more, always more.

She laughs softly against his lips, the sound delicate and breathless, coated with the remnants of her moans and the echo of his low, guttural groans. It’s a shared language now—this teasing, this sharp-edged tenderness. She understands exactly what he means. This is how they’ve always danced around each other, barbs disguising desire, sarcasm masking sincerity.

“You think I like this?” she asks in return, her voice honeyed with a hint of impishness. Her lips trail along his jaw, then to his chin, before sliding lower to drag a slow, deliberate stripe up the column of his neck. “You think a princess like me would enjoy kissing a beast like you?”

His grip on her hair tightens instinctively, every nerve in his body lighting up in response. The memory of her fangs, her mouth, her hunger—it still burns in his bloodstream, a delicious ache he never knew he could crave, and fuck, he wants it again. A breathless scoff escapes him, half-laugh, half-moan, eyes dark and heavy with want.

“You’re no fucking princess,” he rasps, trying to sound derisive, but his voice splinters with pleasure and amusement the moment she pulls him back into another kiss.

This time, she leads.

She kisses him with all the experiences she had, teaching him firsthand how to make a woman’s toes curl in pleasure only from the swirl of his tongue.

Her mouth moves with purpose, a rhythm only she knows, and he follows without resistance, helpless to her expertise. It’s different from his wild, urgent heat. She kisses with control, with patience, with wicked precision and it drives him fucking insane.

Her tongue slides against his in a teasing swirl, and Jinwoo moans softly, falling apart beneath her. His hands clutch her tighter, but she’s the one devouring him now—making him tremble from something as simple as the way she sucks and nibbles on his bottom lip.

By the time she finally lets him breathe, he’s slumped against the trunk of the tree, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, his eyes dazed and unfocused. Still, he can’t stop staring at her mouth—flushed and slick from their kiss—as if it were a miracle he somehow survived.

And maybe he didn’t.

Maybe this is heaven.

She laughs quietly, rubbing her thumb over his lower lip, tugging it down. "Looks like the feral beast has been tamed.” Her cocky grin returns and it’s such a perfect look on her, it restores the passion within him.

“Come here.” Jinwoo’s voice is rough with desire as he grips the back of her dress, dragging her closer with a need that borders on desperation. His mouth collides against hers, hot and consuming, and all he can think about is how close he needs her—how skin against skin still wouldn't be enough. He wants her to feel his warmth. He wants to chase away the frost in her skin and replace it with the fire burning in his own.

His hands find her hips, guiding her to move on his lap, seeking friction that sends sparks flying down his spine.

She lets out a giggle, amused by his desperation, dizzy from his urgency. “Jin, calm down—”

“How the hell am I supposed to stay calm,” he growls, teeth grazing her neck, “when you feel this fucking perfect on me?”

He pushes up against her and she can feel it, the contour of his hardening cock rubbing against her center. She moans as her fingers weave through his hair, pressing herself down and angling her face up to bare more of her neck for him to devour. He takes the invitation with a worshipful sort of hunger, his lips trailing lower until he’s cupping her breast.

“But what about…” A shiver runs through her as his mouth closes around her sensitive peak, sucking. “What about your… Your… God, that feels amazing—”

His chuckle vibrates against her skin, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He’s glad to know he’s not the only one unraveling. Jinwoo suckles harder, his mouth itching to leave marks. “My what? Wounds?”

It’s a wonder that she still manages to form a response when pleasure flutters this intensely in her core. “Y-yeah…”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs back, moving to her other breast with the same deifying intent. “I’m not in pain anymore.”

“But if you—ngh—” she flinches, shuddering beneath his mouth. He’s eager, maybe a little too eager, suckling on her bud with a raw kind of intensity that shows his inexperience. And as much as it thrills her to be his first experience in everything—to teach him all the right ways to pleasure a woman—his recovery is still too fresh, too fragile to ignore.

She bites back a whimper, steadies herself, and gently pushes at his shoulders. Jinwoo growls softly in protest, the sound almost possessive, but he eases off the moment she kisses him—a soft, chaste press of her lips to his calms the burning desire rising in his chest, albeit only momentarily.

“You don’t want to do this?” Jinwoo questions, his voice low and uncertain. The lust is still there, darkening his gaze, but it’s laced with hesitation now, with worry. His hands still hold her in place, but there’s no pressure—only a readiness to let go the second she asks. 

She doesn’t want to reject him. God, every part of her wants—needs to be with him, but somebody needs to be responsible, and she’s not going to repeat the same mistake, not after the last time.

She touches his cheek, smiling softly through the heat and the ache. “I do,” she says, voice gentle but firm. “More than anything.” Her thumb brushes over his skin, a silent form of adoration. “But not when you’re still healing. Not if there’s even the smallest chance it’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” he draws her back to him again, silently begging even for a sliver of her touch. “I’m a werewolf, remember? I don’t bruise easily.”

She laughs quietly, shaking her head. “I almost lost you because I couldn’t control my desire before. I don’t want to be reckless and have you bleeding all over the ground from your open wounds just because I can’t wait to have you.”

His expression shifts—equal parts of disappointment and admiration—as he leans into her hand and nods. He understands, but he can’t help the pout that shows on his lips.

“Are you… pouting?”

“No,” he snorts, quickly averting his gaze—and yes, he absolutely is. It’s so adorable, she takes a moment to commit the image to memory.

“I think it’s okay to be a little reckless.” He doesn't give up just yet, his hand sliding up her thigh, inching her dress with it. She slaps it away, playfully chastising him for it, and his pout deepens, somehow becoming even cuter. “What, I’m not allowed to touch you now?”

“You promised you’d behave, Jin.”

“I meant I’d try not to kill you,” he mutters as he hugs her tight, burying his face into her chest and peering up at her with a sulky expression. “I never said anything about not having sex with you.”

“And who said I wanted to have sex with you?” she teases.

Jinwoo pales instantly, and she bursts into laughter, reaching to cradle his face and brush his fringe out of his eyes. “A jest, darling. Of course I want to make love to you.”

“Make lo—” He flushes a brilliant shade of red. “Why do you have to say it like that?” he mumbles in shame, eyes darting away. “It’s embarrassing.”

She gently guides his face back to hers, their foreheads resting together. “Because I don’t want us to just fuck, Jin. I thought I did before, but after everything that happened tonight... After realizing how much you mean to me... I want this to be something more. I want it to mean something. Something special.”

He stares at her, visibly startled—like the words caught him off guard and cracked open something inside. “You want that… with me?”

Her gaze softens. “Oh, Jinwoo,” she whispers, sighing as affection fills her chest. “You don’t honestly think I hated you, do you?”

He doesn’t—not anymore. But for a long time, he wasn’t sure. Maybe “hate” was too strong a word. It was more like… believing they were too different to ever be anything but enemies.

“I don’t hate you,” she continues, her voice warm, grounding him. “I never did.”

His cheeks burn warmer beneath her touch, and his eyes flutter shut as she presses a soft kiss to the center of his brows—a touch so gentle it unravels him. It has been so long since he’d felt this way… welcomed, cherished, loved. And now, here he is, held by the kind of woman who feels like both salvation and sin—his beautiful, sweet little angel with a devil’s grin. In her arms, the world fades away, and for the first time in forever, he isn't just surviving. He's living. And falling for her, in this moment, feels like the greatest privilege of all.

“I… never hated you either," he murmurs, gazing a little sheepishly into her eyes.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Even though you threatened to kill me every day of the week?”

That draws a chuckle out of him—a quiet, genuine sound that lights her up inside. “You knew I didn’t mean it.”

She smiles, her shoulders easing. “So you really are just bark and no bite, huh?”

“All right. Get off my lap.”

She laughs, leaning in to kiss him again—soft and playful, her smile brushing against his. And he kisses her back, just as sweetly, as though he’s finally allowed to show her everything he’s been too afraid to say.

In this kiss—in this tender, quiet moment—Jinwoo finds the answer to his question.

There are two sides to her: the one she wears like armor when she needs distance, and the one she reveals only when she’s ready to lay herself bare. But he doesn’t need to choose between them. He adores all of her. Her cockiness, her sharp wit, her gentleness, her fire, her strength, her vulnerability. Every bit. And by the look in her eyes—the way she gazes at him like he’s something precious—he knows she must feel the same.

“What?” she asks, tilting her head with a smile. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You’re beautiful, and I like you so much, I think I might be in love with you. “I just remembered how stupid you looked when you were crying earlier.”

She pinches his nose, hard. Jinwoo only grins, unbothered, affection curling in his chest like smoke. The words press against the edge of his tongue, aching to be spoken—but he holds them back. Not yet. Not like this. He wants it to be perfect. Maybe after they make love he can—

Wait.

A-After we make... love?

She glances down. “Why are you getting hard again?”

“I—I’m not,” he sputters, face flushing as her eyes narrow in suspicion. “It’s the drug. The, uh, the toxin thing. Still messing with my body.” Which, technically, is true. But definitely not why he’s pressing up against her thigh.

“Oh, right. You probably still can’t stand, huh?” Her brow furrows with concern. The toxin alone could paralyze an ordinary human. Werewolves, of course, have far better resistance—but… I did drink a lot from him.

“Let me take care of you,” she offers gently, sincerely. “I’ll treat your wounds. I’ll stay with you until you’re all healed. And if you need me to take the pain away again—I promise I won’t take too much this time.”

He tries not to smile. “So you're still planning to drink from me, huh?”

“I mean... maybe just a drop or two?”

He gives her a skeptical look. “Mm-hmm.”

“I’m being honest!” she says defensively. “Your blood just tastes really good, okay? I’ve never had anything like it.”

The way she says it—so earnestly, with that faint blush dusting her cheeks—makes his stomach flip. He clears his throat. “So, um… what happens now?”

“I’m taking you to my place.”

“Your place? Why not mine? It’s close.”

“But don’t you live in a den? That must smell awful.”

“I live in an apartment,” he grits out, offended. She gives him a puckish little grin, obviously enjoying herself. It’s honestly astounding how quickly she can switch from adorable to annoying in a matter of seconds. “And I always keep my place clean.”

“Clean apartment or not, I think I’ll bring you home with me.” Her smile turns sly. “You can be my pet for the next few days, puppy.”

He growls—low and grumbly—but there’s no real menace behind it. “I’m not a damn pet.”

“Oh, you’re right,” she coos. “You’re more like a big, fuzzy stray I took pity on.”

Jinwoo rolls his eyes. “What makes you think I’m going along with whatever twisted plans you have for me?”

“Because vampires are very persuasive,” she says with a sugary smile. “It’s our thing. We compel people to do whatever we want. That’s why you never hear complaints about us on the news.” Her grin turns naughty. “Though with you, I don’t even have to use compulsion. You’re already in love with me.”

He nearly chokes on his breath. It stutters in his chest before he forces it into a scoff, trying to drown out the way his heart just slammed against his ribs. “A-as if I’d fall for a vampire.”

“Wouldn’t it be romantic, though?” she teases, leaning in until their noses almost touch, her grin stretching from ear to ear. “A vampire and a werewolf, born from two ancient bloodlines sworn to hate each other. We’d be like a modern Romeo and Juliet—only sexier and with a lot more blood involved.”

“Shut up.”

"O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?" she recites dramatically, clutching her chest like a tragic heroine.

“Shut. up.” he growls, reaching out to pinch her cheek, tugging at it until she squeaks in protest. Still, his lips betray him with a trace of a smile. “One of these days, I swear I’m going to find a way to sew your mouth shut.”

“You can always kiss me to silence me,” she purrs, undeterred, her brows wiggling suggestively. “Or punish me. I accept all forms. If you catch my drift.”

“Christ,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his flushed face. "Is sex the only thing in your mind?"

"You don't think about sex when you're with me?"

Silence.

She snorts out a laugh. "Thought so."

She watches him with amusement, noticing how the tips of his ears glow red despite his attempt to act nonchalant. She resists the growing urge to reach out and scratch behind his ear, just to see if he’d instinctively lean into it. Maybe next time, she muses, biting back a giggle. “You promised you’d be a good boy for me tonight, didn’t you, puppy?”

He tenses, glaring at her through a flushed face. She’s got him—completely at her mercy. Between the haze of the toxin and the way she’s looking at him, he doesn’t stand a chance. Still, he grumbles one last protest, looking away like a sulky teenager. “If you do anything weird, I will rip your throat out.”

“See?” she giggles. “All bark and no bite.”

“Come here, you little—”

***

[inupibaldspot]

Even 12 years laters,your soul was in a color of kindness.

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : purely self indulgent which I wrote when I was drunk so— some stuffs are funky

Gojo first met you when you where four.

He was five years old at that time too and was being escorted by a maid to go to the clan head meeting; he assumes you were also part of a clan brought by elders.

Normally, the white haired boy never really cared for other people. Why should he? He is the chosen one. He has the limitless technique plus the six eyes of the Gojo clan. He was the closest thing to God at this age. But today it was different.

He watched you turn your head around and stare at him, he could vividly remember the way your eyes shone with amazement either for something as superficial like his white hair or the fact he was recognized as The ‘Gojo Satoru.’

But after that amazement, you smiled. You smiled at him so bright, with the evening glow of sunlights made you so—so ethereal. Your smile was childish and that’s why it was simply pure; the white haired kid’s eyes silhouetted with the sunlight shone with surprise for he found you beautiful in ways he couldn’t describe.

Gojo looks away— he beat himself for looking away as that made him look standoffish. When he looks back, you were staring at him confused for why he didn’t greet you back.

The maid beside you turns and says something, as you nod and then walk away. Was it weird for Gojo to wish you would simply turn to him and introduce yourself? For years to come, he prayed that he’d love to hear your name; for your soul was in a color of kindness.

That chance came in twelve years later when he was a second year of his Jujutsu Tech. Him and his friends, Geto and Shoko wanted to meet the new first years. There is Nanami Kento, had a huge stick up his ass but that it self made him to be forever victim to Gojo’s pranks. Next was Haibara Yū, a bright eyed kid but Gojo found him to be a bit too— energetic for his taste.

And then you. I didn’t really need to describe Nanami and Haibara first because the first and only person he saw ever since he entered the first year’s classroom was you. Simply you. You sitting on the chair smiling bashfully at them. At him.

Ever since, every day. Without fail would rush to your side. At first you were confused as that is not the Gojo you remembered l; the one you saw and described to you by others were not this.

Nevertheless it warmed you up like a cool evening sun.

Gojo released quite early was you were kind, the type that would help others despite of her time , the type who would help every elderly by the street, the type who would feed strays and yada-yada-flowers and rainbows.

But that led to another realization. Had you truly different been treated differently?

Gojo's body tensed up. Any comfortable vibe he had felt before vanishing in an instant. He had known very well that you were a kind-hearted human being. Welcoming and warm. That made you so interesting. Your soul was so calm and simple and nice.

And even though he had observed you so closely before he wasn't able to recall any moment anymore where your own feelings had been obvious. You didn't stutter around boys.

You didn't blush. You didn't hesitate in a way which could be trailed back to her personal feelings.

Were you treating him like everyone else after all?

“Gojo?”

Your voice brought him back to sense, you were blinking curious, leaned close—so close.”what’s wrong?”

“Bring out your hand.” He smiles, as you did without question. “Guess the word I’m writing on your hand.” He smiles when the warmth from your hand soothe his nervous heartbeat.

“Eh—I’m not good at kanji!”

“That’s just too bad—!”

From then when ever Gojo feels anxious of everything—everything in this world he would play this game, with your fingers and her palm because his focus on you was more gravitating rather than that as you were simply too calming.

Geto felt slightly hesitant when he saw the type of Gojo he would become when he was by your side, he was a tad abit careless as if all of his six eyes were simply focused on you, he would be a tad bit kinder to the point Nanami gets the ick.

Where as Shoko had a blast!

She would make way towards you, give kisses on your cheeks gushing on how cute you were, wrapping her arms around you as she then sends a condescending look towards Gojo who was literally drowning in jealousy.

Shoko and you got close early on and more so because you two were the only two girls in those years. To the point where even a shy person like you was influenced to sneaking into a party with Shoko.

“Please don’t mess with my hair curler, Gojo.” You say as you look into the mirror, fixing your earring and from the corner of your eyes you could see Gojo holding up a lick of his hair into the hot iron.

Gojo peers over and immediately regrets it, you were in a short dress and high heel, hair curled so—cutely and boy, your face.

He looks away.

No, too cute.

He thought as he lets down the curling iron. Shoko peers out as she lets out a puff of smoke before passing it to Geto, who takes the cigarette in his hands. “Don’t tell me you want to come Gojo.” Shoko says. “I want a girls night.”

Gojo remember almost comically crying into his pillows as Geto nags him on ‘how woman don’t like clingy guys.’ He decides to forget Shoko and join you guys anyways.

He remembers being strangled by Shoko while you him a nervous smile trying to diffuse the situation.

Your nervous smile which made the world freeze to him, Geto sighs at the love sick look his white haired friend was giving you, who seemed so obvious to.

But don’t you remember when I said you were kind. You were kind like to help the cornered kid, the type who would volunteer to be with the loner kid, the type that picked Geto Suguru’s side.

Gojo sighs when when remembers Shoko saying you said something along the lines of ‘I don’t want Geto to be lonely along the path he takes…’

How stupid!

Gojo Satoru where ever he went would go around town mentally keeping sense of any cursed energy which could relay you back to him.

He meets you again though.

12 years later, while him and now—principle Yaga were walking along the hallways they sense a breach in security. He rushes over to first, see his once best-friend Geto Suguru by his current first year Okkotsu Yuta and secondly, you. Your eyes we’re nervously flying around before it lands on him and once again he was yours; Geto scoffs at the sight of Gojo’s expression when he was looking at you. He was almost worried that if you said ‘let’s join Geto’ with a plea—se, he just might. You just had that effect on Gojo.

But too bad, Geto was here to request war upon the Jujutsu Tech. On the 24 December, Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.

Gojo rushes through curses as he makes his way towards you; and when he does, he feels as if he can’t breath. “Can you come back…?” He takes a step closer.

You smile nervously,shaking your head as you watch him take another step closer to you, you felt his hands reach out and cup your face. His face was so close to yours, you could feel the warmth radiate off him in the cold winter air. “Don’t kill me for doing this.” You we’re reminded that you guys were enemies and in a battlefield.

His face was closer now, his blue—beautiful blue eyes were slightly closed. You breath out. “I can’t kill you through your ‘Limitless’ Satoru…”

“Say it again.”

“Huh…?”

“My name. Satoru…”

You breath out. “Satoru…” The name you accidentally let out, felt so right.

“Fuck… say it a million time more, love.” Gojo laughs, slightly hoarse. “My limitless is never activated when I’m with you…”

before you realize his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft, as you hands were tentatively placed on his chest, as his hand trails along to your waist you parts your lips for him, sighs in his mouth, and that small sound of pleasure drives him crazy, floods his body with heat and desire so intense the strongest sorcerer can hardly stand.

Your are pulled away from him, when a darker and tall man goes by. “Miguel!” Gojo listened to you say.

“I need you to focus.” The man says smiling, before he takes a stance to fight Gojo. And to Miguel credit, he does fend off Gojo well, so— well that he was ‘recruited’ by him.

The day ends with Gojo losing two of his best friends in different ways. Geto would be gone, into the afterlife ended by his own hands.

But you?

Where were you? Would he meet you again 12 years later? Love?

[simpjaes]

personally im a munch sunghoon TRUTHER so the concept of incubus sunghoon that loooves eating pussy makes me insane... like he doesnt even need to fuck or anything he gets his energy from muff diving. just a thought

warning: traditional incubus, non-con/dub-con, somnophilia, breeding kink, pregnancy.

trad!incubus sunghoon, where you wake up one night drenched in more than just sweat.

Sticky and messy, your body throbbing as if you've been touched awake. As if...you're still being touched. It's not painful, but it's uncanny how searing the feeling between your legs is. You can feel the tensing of something against you, the flicking of your swollen clit by nothing more than a barely visible shadow until--Oh, is that...a man?

You squint hard, your legs trying to close but being met with something blocking the movement. You rub your eyes as you try to make out the image of who, or what has woken you up this way.

A stranger, one you've never seen in your life but still you somehow fall into that darkened and piercing gaze as he...licks between your legs with his eyes flicking upwards toward you.

Sunghoon, a notorious incubus who visits women at night when he deems fit, name never mentioned or even known to anyone of the earthly plane but- always a welcome entity with or without realizing it's reality and not so much a dream.

In his experience, many incubus demons tend to be quite unpleasant to look at, which is why he does this. The form of a man, one so beautiful no woman would fight or panic. They'd give in, over and over again, until he sucks the soul straight out of them along with that sweet slick and he's allowed to embed an evil little offspring.

Sunghoon grew bored of the forceful acts after the first four hundred centuries. He likes it when a woman of earth yearns for him. To the point he's even given up the immediate fucks for hours of foreplay. His body reacts the same as it does when he's fucking a woman senseless as it does when he's got his mouth on the sweetest spot.

You're one of these women to him. This is the first time he's ever been rough enough to wake you of your slumber. Typically, his visits end in a nice little too-wet dream for his objects of desire. Sometimes, he wakes them on purpose. Other times, he wakes them entirely without intention.

He just...couldn't help it when it came to you. Time and time again he's paid visits here, slurping up every ounce of your sleepy desire until he's forced to leave upon the rising sun. Always satisfied with the act of releasing his demonic cum without so much as using his cock. Just his mouth, it's all he fucking needs.

And Oh, to feed his sons and daughters to you, to create little witchlings and devil boys from the very flesh of you for doing this to him.

He'd stare for hours at your sleeping form, drooling and tasting every tiny bit of your skin before devouring you from the center. Sliding his tongue so deep, so hot inside of you. When you sleep, you respond well.

Tonight though, as you stir, you respond even better. To the point of searing your fingertips trying to grab hold of his hair as if you want more.

"More?" Sunghoon speaks for the first time in centuries to a so-called victim, his voice deep, rumbled, and echoing off of the night against your window.

You feel the voice hit you right in the clit, followed by a sharp nibble against it before a...forked tongue fondles its way back inside of you.

You whimper and nod, thrusting up against the solid-formed shadow of a handsome devil.

More is what you want.

And more is what you'll get.

More than you'd have ever expected. More than you can handle. More, more, fucking more.

Until you're waking up in the morning, well-rested yet trembling from your intense "dream."

Only, it isn't long until your body swells. Plump, searing feelings in your belly.

[venxomi]

Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun Chapter 121 Analysis - Dehumanization & Sacrifice

The chapter starts by confirming what was already expected from the end of chapter 120- That Kou and Sousuke's corpses are within the well. A heavy air sets in, as Teru is despaired and Nene is in disbelief.

However, as I previously predicted, "It" is not just going to let them off when they're all right next to the well.

His innocent act is betrayed by his slight grin when he asks what they're doing in a place like this, indicating exactly what I predicted earlier. However, his act is also betrayed by the stench of blood, which is immediately picked up by Teru, who attacks him in pure rage. Unlike his previous encounters with Hanako, his hits are emotionally charged.

Teru's dehumanization

The entire scene of Teru unleashing his wrath upon him unfolds, with Nene, Akane and Aoi witnessing in utter shock (with Akane even attempting to protect Nene and Aoi from the appalling sights) how he's slashed and cut non-lethally with blood spraying everywhere on purpose (and only decapitating him at the very end). It's important to note that on the surface, Amane looks completely human. So not only is this a completely gruesome scene for those unaccustomed to violence, like Nene, as seen how the background noise is filled with Nene's shrieks, a completely valid reaction to such sights, this can also be interpreted as a showcase of Teru's dehumanization. It is also a dehumanization of Amane.

It's not the first time Teru attempted to exorcise Hanako, or Amane in this scenario, but it is the first time he does it out of pure hatred towards him. Up until now, it was more out of disgust towards supernaturals, his duty to exterminate them, and generally a disgust towards Hanako himself generated by his mindset and history.

He generally dehumanizes supernaturals, who can be just as morally complicated as humans with the same intense feelings, thoughts and desires. Amane in this scenario is no different- Teru dehumanizes him: "You're dressing yourself up in human skin", "Did you pretend to be human?"

It's easy for Teru to dehumanize supernaturals- It gives him the justification to exterminate them. It's exactly this dehumanization of others that dehumanizes himself: He's only capable of harming supernaturals by dehumanizing them, it's how he does his job. But where can the line be drawn? At what point does he cease being "human" himself, considering his own cruelty he's capable of?

Amane's dehumanization

As we know from chapter 120, Amane, like Kou, is a victim of the Red House, a trapped soul who is unable to disobey. But Amane's different from Kou. Kou was glad he didn't have to suffer the same fate as Amane, that he didn't have to kill like Amane did.

Amane talks of how he had to sacrifice even his own family, and as the Tsukasa we saw was only a small child, it's likely that Amane was forced by the Red House from a similar age. Amane and Tsukasa's positions are now reversed, but worse.

Having to kill his own family, his own little brother he loved so much, and then being forced into killing countless other people for "It" desensitized him completely.

Something so cruel as taking an innocent person's life is normalized. It's now a normal, forgettable occurence to him as a result of overexposure to cruelty and suffering. Teru does not have to dehumanize Amane anymore, as he was already long dehumanized by the pit god- He adopted a stance where he can't see meaning in anything anymore.

People die here. In his eyes, it's a general truth with no meaning behind it. It's just how things are. The House, or "It", seems to be nothing more than a being that lives to eat. Trapped souls are meant to bring in prey, then Amane, assigned as the Feeder, is the one with the obligation to hunt and feed the House with it. His own family was no exception. Such is the tragic fate of an imprisoned soul.

Considering the manner of speech, it would seem that this god's possession isn't "possession" in its truest meaning, a different entity controlling the host- but more like a parasite that dictates the mindset and goals of the victim. This would explain Tsukasa's behavior in a more clear manner. The victim is still themselves to an extent, but "corrupted" and forced to comply with the parasite's views, whims and demands.

The happiness he talked about in earlier chapters is something he knows isn't real, but is forced to believe it is. Despite him never finding happiness, he has to claim that he and every person he killed found it. It is beyond his control, and it's as if he gave up after decades of imprisonment and coercion.

The Sacrifice

It isn't really hard to miss, but Akane was caught by Amane.

Aoi bought time for Nene to get the tentacle off him, but his leg is already affected. Aoi asks Akane to get away, but Akane is unable to at this time- He's dragging his leg and he's limping. Running away with Nene is impossible and he would just drag her down with him.

As a result, he considered that it's a more sensible choice for him to send Nene ahead with his clock and the Yorishiro and stay behind with Aoi, who is fending off Amane and buying time, and Teru, who was knocked down by him.

Akane did not believe in his own survival, otherwise he wouldn't have given Nene such important items and shouting at her to get going without them- And this is set in with Akane convincing her to go on ahead with him later apologizing after she told him to come after her.

Aoi was truly the mvp during all this, as she managed to buy this much time for Nene to get away. However, it is understandable that she couldn't fight forever, and luckily, she's unharmed. But Akane isn't.

Akane taking the sword was his hope that the one other person that's unharmed can escape, as he knew he's done for. But seeing Aoi's determination, he understood and gave up on the idea. All three of them will likely lose their lives.

He's unable to run and he's infected by the curse that is able to possess him. So if anything, his death shouldn't be in vain and he should do something to help before it's too late. Of course, he would survive if he is able to defeat "It", but that is so highly unlikely you might as well cross it off the list.

The last thing we see of them is Teru (judging by the bracelet on the wrist) saving Nene at the last second, hitting the entire house with lightning. This solidifies Aoi being the mvp this chapter, since it would seem she succeeded in waking Teru up. However, their fates are now unknown.

Conclusions

Nene is under immense stress and pressure. Not only did she witness horrifying events that definitely traumatized her, everyone's lives now depend on her.

If she does not succeed in bringing back the previous timeline, everyone will have died and suffered for nothing and they would never return. She no longer has someone to support and help her. There's no Kou, there's no Akane, there's no Aoi, there's no Teru, and there's no Hanako for her to call for help. She's now by herself. She has to save everyone alone.

This chapter perfectly set up Aoi, Akane and Teru's deaths perfectly, yet whether they're alive or not remains unknown. This, combined with Akane's assertion that "It" can follow them to the school and now knowing about the big clock that can govern time, it's entirely possible we might see them again as nothing but "It"'s puppets used to give Nene a false sense of security to make her fail.

I wrote this at 1 am I hope I didn't burn the kitchen. good night

[annabelle--cane]

one of my pet passions for s4 is trying to figure out the exact timeline of when jon forced statements out of people, and I can never be quite sure whether the first one was between 123-124 or 124-125.

points in favor of the former: in 123 he mentions being two days out of a coma and already feeling tired, so presumably he hadn't properly fed yet and was not firing on all cylinders, meaning he would be Humgry. also, he'd probably need to go shopping to replace what got lost in the flesh attack fairly quickly after getting back, leading him to come into contact with the unfortunate cleaner. that would also make sense with what he says in 124 about simon fairchild being "an evil man tormenting and killing simply for his own pleasure, and to feed the power that sustains him," it sounds like he's projecting a bit.

points in favor of the latter: he ends 124 with that very cold conversation with martin, and having his last potential avenue for warm human contact so decisively cut off is probably as good a motive as any for going out and soul-sucking someone. it isn't until 125 that he says he finally feels "focused and ready," and his musings about the slaughter and free will are clearly pointed, particularly this bit:

I’m not sure what scares me more: the idea that deep down, everyone is in complete control of their actions, that everything is, on some level, intentional; or that ultimately we don’t have any control of ourselves at all, and the rest is just… rationalization

but that doesn't necessarily mean he took his first victim directly before this, it might have been a little while. my main point against this theory is that he takes another victim directly after melanie gets him with the scalpel, and that just seems super quick between feedings, like maybe two days, which feels like a Lot.

thoughts?

[yanoverload]

Yandere Incubus

I hope the company he is named after doesn't sue me LOL

I wuv him very much ok

Supernatural beings have always been in touch with humanity, but the meetings were so sparse many didn't even believe it.

That is until recently. Supernatural entities started to get in contact with the people out of nowhere, and no one can comprehend why.

The only ones that anticipated this were those in the path of sorcery and witchcraft. Humans that forgot what makes them human for the path of energy harvesting and spells.

Witches have always had good relations with the unknown, which give them the title of evil, or demonic. When it was the contrary. Witches keep them at bay to protect those not of the path.

One example is succubus and incubus. When one is brought to life, their first meal is recommended to be with a witch, a human that can withstand their soul draining. The witch teaches them everything they need to know to go their merry way, and if push comes to shove, help the demon again so no human has to die. A commensalism of sorts.

You were one of those witches. However, you seem to be in a bit of a predicament.

The first incubus you ever helped seemed normal, and went their way after the deed was done, only to return to your house a few days later.

And again, and again, and again.

The books never taught you what to do about this situation. These types of demons were very independent apart from their feeding necessities, so why keep coming back just to keep staring at you? Weirdo.

You thought of exorcising him before, asking a more experient witch what to do but....

"Master, have this! It's from my latest vict- I mean human! I stole  got this watch from them! Can you make me your familiar now?~"

Is that a gold watch full of diamonds around it?!!!

Well.... You suppose he can stay a bit longer.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Some more facts about him! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You decided to call him Ramune, because he always seemed to hunt the drink from your fridge. You can shake the bottle and he will show up from miles away just like you would a cat.

His blood is a dark purple, almost black.

He has a few tattoos in his body, including a womb tattoo. They light up in the dark.

Wears girl clothes all the time.

Obsessed with anything grape flavoured. Only human food he eats.

Asks you to do his braids when he comes by.

Has a pear like body. All hips and ass, almost no boob.

His ears can twitch, along with his wings and tail.

You saw his nails cut through metal once. You still have nightmares of what he could do if he decided to scratch your back in your....intimate moments.

Really wants to be your familiar, even though demons cannot be a witch's familiar.

An utter and complete brat.

The tag on his choker has your preferred title (Sir, Mistress, Daddy, Mommy, etc)

Gives you gifts from his victims. He's very popular with the rich it seems.

Height: 168 cm (5’6 feet)

Would make a porn account if you ask. Or even a dark web one to do....you know.

He fake tans and has bikini marks... Yup.

[inkytoru]

LUST AT FIRST BITE ── ᵎᵎ ✦ ꒰ sylus ꒱

PAIRING: vampire!sylus x f!reader WORD COUNT: 0.8k A/N: mdni, this work of fiction is 18+. first time writing for this fandom, vampires, and for sylus please be gentle with me 🙏🏼 written for @sugurouge, i hope i did your vision justice!! only content warnings really are just vampirism (biting) and some heavy petting. (edit: i forgor to tag @pixelcafe-network)

“Scared, baby?”

You gulp, throat dry, your blood pumping a bit quicker than usual in your veins.

Sylus’ lips curl up into a smirk as his razor-tipped fangs graze over your pulse point, and his trousers tighten at the way you quiver beneath his gentle yet dangerous touch.

He inhales through his nose; you smelled all like vanilla and everything a sweet girl is while he was leather and something not quite human anymore. Sylus still remembers the night you found out, the tremble in your smaller frame sending blood straight to his cock.

The memory makes him trace hearts into the flesh of your exposed thigh with the tip of his finger.

“No need to be scared. It’s just your boyfriend, Sylus,” he coos, “I’m all yours.”

(You were his obsession just as much as he was yours, and he liked that.)

He remembers how later that same night you, the little lamb that he grew to love, shocked him with how your eyes had hardened with an envy that he wanted to suck out of you. You were the only woman he loved and cherished—not the bags of blood shaped like other women that he’d drink from—he had reassured you.

He even tells you they were all curated, calculated choices by how much they resembled you.

But you want him to prove it; prove his undying love for you and only you by becoming his primary source of sustenance. Hence why you were now flush against the wall caged in by him, wrists now pinned above your head.

With those women, he had said that he’d always make it quick, so as to not trigger the side effect of his saliva. One you were now acquainted with by the way he was lapping at the column of your throat.

It then dawned on you that his saliva acted as an aphrodisiac agent.

You couldn’t help but moan softly at the sudden ebbing and throbbing in your clothed pussy the more he licks at your yielding flesh.

It makes your vampire boyfriend let out an amused chuckle, his breath hot and making you a tad ticklish. But his grip was firm and vice-like.

You weren’t going anywhere, and he tells you so right then and there.

His words do reach you, but a dreamy haze begins to enshroud your mind from the corners, fraying your judgment.

What he didn’t tell you, was that the aphrodisiac properties of his spit also warped the victim’s perception of whoever was feeding upon them— it would typically manifest as the person they held nearest and dearest to their heart, or alternatively, their limerence’s obsession.

Sylus appeared all the same to you, with not a single hair out of place nor a hint of unfamiliarity in those crimson eyes of his that you could swear can penetrate deep into your soul. It was like your soul knew him from somewhere else; it recognized him beyond mortal means.

(You would tell him this after, and he’d only smile at you with a knowing glimmer in his eye.)

“I wonder what is going through that pretty little head of yours right now, hm?” he muses, aforementioned eyes of the reddest pools of lust and smoke flickering upwards to meet your gaze.

Your next words come out as a whine.

“Sylus, j-just bite me already.”

His expression darkens, his smirk teetering onto predation.

“As you wish, darling.”

And with that, his sharpened canines breach past your stratum corneum, and deeper and deeper into your epidermis.

You gasp just as his knee rises up to slot itself perfectly against your cunt, the material of his slacks grinding into the sensitive nerves there. Additionally, his blunt nails dig into your wrists.

He could tell—feel—you were already soaking wet for him. What a whore, he thought, amused.

Then, he begins to siphon your blood in earnest. The act was done in such a ravenous yet composed manner.

Your own composure melts as you mewl out his name, your eyes beginning to roll into the back of your skull.

He groans into your skin, wanton and heady with desire for you and the most mellifluous blood he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting upon his tongue.

Why hasn’t he done this sooner?

His eyelids flutter shut, your ecstasy starting to seep into his own flesh, a mutual euphoria binding you two together; just like how he was pressing himself further into you with not only his teeth but his body.

(It was almost as if he was trying to devour you whole.)

Sylus’ cock was straining horrendously in his pants. He would’ve growled something fiercely guttural and carnal if his mouth wasn’t full of you right now.

You keen as your blood surrenders to him instantly; docile, just like the rest of you. All of you, at his mercy.

This intimacy and vulnerability was something he now craved more of. He had just been scared before—scared of how you’d react to his true nature.

But, you think to yourself: you wouldn’t have him any other way.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Unreliable Narrator

Unreliable Narrator - an untrustworthy storyteller, most often used in narratives with a first-person point of view. The unreliable narrator is either deliberately deceptive or unintentionally misguided, forcing the reader to question their credibility as a storyteller.

Types of Unreliable Narrators

An author typically assigns different characteristics to a first-person narrator to compromise their credibility and fuel their unreliability. Unreliable narrators can fall into four categories based on those qualities:

Picaro. The picaro is a character who has a knack for exaggerating. Moll Flanders, the main character in the book Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe, was born to a mother in prison, but lies about her social standing in order to wed wealthy men and inherit their money.

Madman. The madman is unreliable because they are mentally detached from reality. In Bret Easton Ellis’ American Psycho, Patrick Bateman is a self-proclaimed serial killer—or is he? The Wall Street investment banker narrates his killing spree until it’s revealed that one of his supposed victims is alive and well, forcing the reader to question Bateman’s story.

Naif. The naif’s narrative abilities are impacted by inexperience or age. In Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, 15-year-old Christopher weaves the tale of his supposedly deceased mother and the murder of his neighbor’s dog. Both his age and his Asperger’s syndrome color his narrative, and how he comprehends the world around him. Holden Caulfield, the narrator of J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye, is another famous example of a naif narrator due to his youthful ignorance.

Liar. The liar is the most deliberate of all the unreliable narrators. The character fabricates stories, often to paint a better picture of themselves or achieve a desired outcome. In Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Dr. James Sheppard narrates as he helps detective Hercule Poirot investigate the murder of a mutual friend. WIth a reputable prefix before his name, Sheppard is a trusted confidante. But, as Poirot solves the crime, the reader realizes they’ve been fooled—Sheppard is actually the killer.

Ways to Create an Unreliable Narrator

Feeding readers misinformation through the source they trust most in a story is a satisfying way to add twists and turns in a narrative and build suspense. Try these tips for incorporating an unreliable narrator in your story:

Keep your reader in the dark. Readers are used to having more information than the characters. Try flipping that scenario: have your narrator withhold certain information from your reader and see how it impacts the story.

Your narrator should be unreliable from the start. People are inherently unreliable when telling a story since their point of view is filtered through their experience and beliefs. Your narrator won’t suddenly become unreliable: hint at any qualities that might compromise them and their story early on.

Let other characters be a sounding board. Picture a story with 15 first-person narrators. That’s exactly what William Faulkner does in his epic tale As I Lay Dying. Fifteen points of view reflect on one tragedy, and their stories don’t all align. Every character’s interpretation of events is filtered through their own lens. While you don’t need this many perspectives in your story, use other characters to reflect inconsistencies in your narrator’s story.

Experiment with just a pinch of unreliability. Unreliable narrators aren’t all as off-the-wall as Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. There are varying degrees of unreliability, which can create interesting, multidimensional characters. Even a morally good soul like Harry Potter occasionally gives the reader misinformation simply because it’s what he believes. Even if your main character is well-intentioned, give them unreliable moments to make them slightly flawed—and thus, more believable.

Examples of Unreliable Narrators in Literature

Literary critic Wayne C. Booth first coined the phrase “unreliable narrator” in his 1961 book Rhetoric of Fiction, but authors began using this literary technique long before that. Here are some famous examples of books with unreliable narrators:

Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl. When Amy Dunne takes on the role of the narrator halfway through Gone Girl, it comes as somewhat of a surprise. Readers have spent the first half of the book thinking she is dead thanks to the novel’s first unreliable narrator, Amy’s husband Nick. With two unreliable narrators—Amy and her husband, Nick—Flynn doubles down on the novel’s conflict and dismantles the story’s moral compass.

Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca. The narrator’s unreliability in this 1938 novel comes from her highly subjective retelling. When Mrs. de Winter talks about her predecessor, the first Mrs. de Winter, and the mystery surrounding her death, it is all speculation, with a touch of jealousy. The reason for her jaded perspective is finally exposed when the tragic truth comes to light.

Winston Groom, Forrest Gump. Forrest Gump’s tales of becoming a ping pong champion and NASA astronaut are questionable, but his earnest unreliability, due to a low IQ, allows the reader to forgive his possible embellishments. Groom creates a very likable narrator in Forrest Gump but lets the matter of his credibility rest solely with the reader.

Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club. From page one, Palahniuk hints at the fact that the enigmatic Tyler Durden is not just a friend of the narrator—he is the narrator. Palahniuk ultimately pits the narrator’s alter ego against him, creating a satisfying narrative conflict.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[vandme12]

headcanons of ronin w/ a reader that wasn’t a cannibal before the slaughterhouse but is now?

(sorry if it’s confusing!)

Ronin x Cannibal!Reader Headcanons

From Morbid Curiosity to Full-Blown Appetite: At first, you told yourself it was just morbid curiosity—the same impulse that made you stick around Ronin in the first place. But the Slaughterhouse changes people. It breaks you down, piece by piece, and rebuilds you into something darker, something raw. The first time you tasted flesh, it wasn’t because you were starving—it was because Ronin offered it to you like a communion. And you wanted to be closer to him.

His Greatest Corruption Project: Ronin’s obsessed with how far you’ve fallen. The moment you take that first bite, he knows he’s got you—heart, body, and soul. It’s intimate in a way nothing else could be. He calls you his “perfect little sinner,” voice all syrup and rot, because nothing delights him more than watching you bloom into the monster he always knew you could be.

The Devil Feeds His Angel: He starts preparing "meals" for you like some kind of twisted chef. Carefully slicing flesh from his victims, seasoning it just the way you like—because of course he knows. He’s a romantic like that. Sometimes he makes a whole event of it, sitting you on his lap, feeding you slivers of human meat with blood-slick fingers, murmuring how pretty you look eating what he killed for you.

Shared Secrets, Shared Sins: The fact that no one else knows—no one else can know—binds you two tighter. Every bite is a secret between you and him, a deeper entanglement. And the thrill of it? Knowing that you’d never have done this for anyone else. But for Ronin? For your devil? You’d eat the whole world if he asked you to.

Sweet Tooth for the Wicked: Ronin loves to tease you about your new "diet." Whenever he drags you along on a kill, he’ll lean over the fresh corpse, knife in hand, and whisper, “Think this one’s your type, baby? Or do ya want somethin’ sweeter?” He’s always trying to find out which cuts you like best—thigh meat, heart muscle, tender strips of flesh. And when you tell him? He’s the most devoted little butcher.

Flesh and Affection, Twisted Together: For Ronin, it’s not just about the violence—it’s about the intimacy. The more you eat, the more he feels like you understand him. You’re not just watching from the sidelines anymore; you’re part of the chaos. And nothing drives him crazier than knowing you’re willing to cross every line just to stay by his side.

Kisses Taste Sweeter After Blood: You never knew how much you'd like the taste until Ronin kissed you after a kill—slow, deep, blood between your teeth. It’s become a ritual now. He always kisses you right after you’ve fed, tasting the sin on your tongue like a blessing. And if you bite his lip hard enough to draw blood? He just laughs, pulling you closer.

The Devil’s Favorite: He brags about you constantly in the Slaughterhouse. No one else could have tempted you down this path but him, and he’s so smug about it. “Look at my little angel,” he purrs, dripping pride as he watches you work on a fresh kill. “Ain’t she beautiful, boys? Made her myself.”

A Hunger That Never Dies: You’re not the same person you were when you first met him. There’s a new ache inside you—hunger, maybe, or just a need for him. Either way, it’s never fully satisfied. And Ronin loves you best when you’re ravenous. “Ain’t no goin’ back now, sweetheart,” he croons, brushing his bloodstained fingers against your lips. “But I’ll always keep you fed.”

[hbyrde36]

Night Terrors & Daydreams Pt. 1 of 2

For @penny00dreadful 🖤

I don't know where this came from but as soon as I had the idea I knew I just HAD to write this for your birthday. I'm not sure what that says about me, you, or our friendship 👀😂 but I hope you enjoy! Happy (early) Birthday , Love!

Steddie | Explicit | WC: 2876 | AO3

Eddie stood in the corner of his new charge’s room, biding his time, waiting for just the right moment to strike. 

It was a strange existence, this push and pull between ethereal and corporeal. In his early years he’d kept entirely to the shadows, doing his work from a nice safe distance, paying his dues without ever really showing himself to his… victims. 

He’d always hated that word, victim. He liked to think of himself as something of a caretaker. The way he watched over his humans, so vulnerable as they dozed in their nice warm beds, was evocative of so much more than predator and prey. There were, naturally, much worse things lurking in the night than him, a mere sleep paralysis demon.

It was also a bit of an inside joke with himself, if he was honest. One needed such things to keep themselves entertained these days. The poor souls he pursued endured abject terror to give him life and help power The Underworld like living breathing batteries. 

Ergo, charge.

There was magic and meaning in the naming of things. He’d chosen to call himself Eddie for just that reason, to take control of his identity, abhorring the idea of referring to himself simply as Demon. His kind didn’t typically have names, per se, or at least they certainly weren't given them at their unholy creation, but nothing about Eddie had ever been what one might call typical. 

At the end of the day, he supposed, he could call things and people whatever he liked in the sanctity of his own mind, and the powers-that-be could…

What was the phrase again?

Ah yes. 

Suck it.

The man in the bed stirred, the most delicious whimpering sound slipping from the depths of his throat. Caught in the middle of what appeared to be a nightmare, he tossed and turned, eventually winding up flat on his back, chin tilted to the heavens.

“Perfect,” Eddie whispered to himself. 

He let his essence drift out of the shadows, his smoky half-form ruffling the curtains as he passed by a faintly glowing window, the city with her ever present lights and commotion—regardless of the storm that raged outside— persisting just on the other side of its glass. That glow fell over the figure in the bed to illuminate his face, revealing the gentle curve of full pouty lips, and the fan of long lashes resting heavy across eyes that were accentuated by dark, well-groomed brows. His perfectly tanned skin was dotted with beauty marks, a feature so aptly named when adorning such a lovely specimen.

At first sight, Eddie—who didn’t even need to breathe as a rule—felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room, from the world. Suddenly he understood why humans sometimes wept when they looked upon a particularly beautiful work of art. Why one look at Adonis brought so many to their knees. Why the Trojans went to fucking war.

The man’s eyelids fluttered softly, opening as Eddie continued to gaze upon his face and for a moment it was he, the demon, who was the one frozen in place.

Quickly, before the rare beauty in the bed could so much as cry out, Eddie forced himself to his senses, shifting his focus instead to his power and paralyzed the man with a single thought. The most disarming set of hazel eyes, the only part of his body that the man still had the power to move, stared up at him, showing too much white as they tracked his billowy movements overhead. 

He left in a hurry that night, not even taking the time to feed like he ought to, afraid of what he might do if he lingered long enough to make the necessary connection.

It should have ended there. He should have done the reasonable thing and switched assignments with another of his kind to avoid temptation entirely.

But, it seemed, reasonability had no place in Eddie’s mind. Not anymore. Not when he was consumed with the need to know more about the exquisite stranger who had ruined his very existence, mind, body, and soul.

Well… if only he’d had one, that is.

Three nights later, as drained of energy as he’d ever been, Eddie returned to that bedroom, hovering like a dark cloud over the man who had haunted his every conscious thought since the moment he’d fled. This time he didn’t wait, Hell, he didn’t even paralyze the body beneath him before plunging right into the man’s sleeping mind. 

And dove face first into a world full of nightmares.

His poor human was plagued by all manner of awful dreams. After so many years, Eddie was familiar with what humans feared—fire, darkness, the various things that went bump in the night—but it wasn’t the boogeyman, or any other such monster that lived under beds or in closets that hunted his sweet charge, no. The monsters that tormented the man were formed of disappointed hopes and unmet expectations, of cruel words hurled from the throats of those who were meant to love you most. 

Of loneliness, sorrow, and despair, that could remain unending until his last breath. 

Steve.

His human’s name was Steve. 

A kind soul born into an unkind world that he’d never quite found his place in.

With a mournful sob, Steve gasped awake abruptly. Eddie yanked himself back, freezing Steve in place as he did, leaving only a tendril of his smoke-like being behind to gently brush over the man’s cheek.

'Hush,' Eddie thought at him, for the first time ever projecting peace and comfort on the subject he intended to feed from, and set himself to his task, reverently.

Eddie visited often after that, far more so than was strictly necessary to sustain himself, and yet he couldn’t seem to get enough. Feeding from Steve was a singular, mind-blowing experience, making every human who’d come before him pale in comparison. They had been nothing more than an apéritif, and hors d'oeuvre at best, and Steve?

Steve was a full-course meal, complete with the most decadent, sinful dessert imaginable.

Delicious, addicting, dangerous.  

No other human would ever do for him again. 

Steve’s nightmares remained an unfortunate constant and, visit after visit, Eddie began to make a habit of waking Steve straightaway if he discovered his beloved human in the throes of a night terror.

After a while though, the bad dreams began to lessen, making way for something new. Calm, pleasant interludes started to unfold right before Eddie’s eyes. 

Steve smiling on his commute to work, watching the city race by through wide tinted windows, for once not feeling like a lone raindrop in a storm.  

Steve luxuriating in a warm, lavender scented bath, bubbles concealing much of his perfect form from sight as every muscle in his body relaxed for what felt like the first time in his entire life. 

Steve walking along a tranquil beach at dusk, no longer alone, but hand in hand with another, a faceless man with a head of wild hair, dark as night and curling to his shoulders.

Sadly, it wasn’t all like watching a feature film, much of Steve’s sleeping thoughts came in bursts and flashes.

A strip of pale skin, beautifully mottled with fresh red bite marks.

A prominent Adam's apple, bobbing along a pale, delicate throat.

The glossy sheen of silk sheets bathed in moonlight.

Pretty soon Eddie found himself in Steve’s company every single night, the temptation had become far too great, as did the sharp sting of jealousy for the man in Steve’s dreams. Eddie was completely consumed with his obsession, affectionately so, and had even begun manifesting himself in a full physical form to sit at Steve's bedside, gently stroking his soft, silky hair with real fingers, soothing his beloved while he was trapped in his frozen state.

It was too much, and still not enough, and before long Eddie started to fear that he was killing the man he’d come to care for more than his own existence. He was meant to do this slowly, to drain his victims over time—decades—taking what he needed and siphoning the residuals off to The Underworld to keep the lights on, so to speak. Instead he eventually cut off the outward flow of power altogether, and only took the bare minimum of what he needed to keep himself alive, spending the majority of his time with Steve now simply existing beside him.

Pining.

Yearning for more.

He was breaking convention. He didn’t know what sort of retribution there might be, but in truth it didn’t matter. He’d take whatever punishment was due and be glad of it, happy to pay any price necessary to be with his true love. He ached to have Steve in every way possible. He knew much of the man’s mind, but his soul, his body? That largely remained a mystery. Eddie wanted—needed—to know the taste of Steve’s lips, the touch of his hand, the way it would feel to have Steve inside him, an echo in compliment to the way he had been immersing himself in Steve for so very long now.

The night Eddie finally lost control, was a night like many others.

Already gripped by the nightmares he still suffered from now and then, Steve was thrashing in his sleep when Eddie arrived, his duvet falling off the side of the bed leaving nothing but a thin white sheet between his body and the rest of the world. 

Eddie willed his physical form into existence around him, the one he’d made piece by piece over time, taking inspiration from the mysterious figure who starred in so many of Steve’s less haunted dreams. Anticipation flowed through his veins like a drug as he stepped closer, holding Steve still with his power the way he always did, but this would be no typical night. 

Eddie was only a man. 

No, not even that. 

He was a creature of the night, an incubus, a pathetic wanton fiend who could only stare temptation in the face for so long before he could no longer resist the urge to take that which he desired. 

Sensing Steve was soon to wake, Eddie leaned down to press a kiss to his brow, pulling back just in time to see those honeyed eyes snap open. 

“Sorry I'm late, sweetheart,” Eddie said softly, settling himself on the side of the bed, reaching out a pale, ringed hand to push the damp hair back from Steve’s forehead. “And I'm sorry I couldn’t stop the other bad things from claiming you tonight.”

He imagined a world where Steve didn’t have to be held captive by his power to do this, where Steve would lean into his touch, knowing how cherished he was. But then, that was the goal tonight, wasn’t it, proving his love to Steve and making that world a reality.

Ever so slowly, he peeled back the sheet from Steve’s body, like opening a carefully wrapped gift and wanting to extend the excitement of the moment out as much as possible. He watched, rapt, as the sleek fabric pulled back, revealing bare, tempting flesh by mere inches at a time.

The hair on Steve’s chest. The blush pink of his nipples, hardening the instant they were exposed to the air. The finer line of hairs that trailed down the length of his stomach, dipping lower, and lower still, leading to a well defined groin bracketing his thick, half-hard cock.

It was more likely that Steve had always slept in the nude, Eddie wasn’t sure, and maybe it was delusional, but the sheer thought that perhaps this lovely little surprise was intentional and done specifically with him in mind, had his heart racing and drool pooling in his mouth.  

With a final tug, the silken sheets flew off the end of the bed to land in a heap on the floor below, and Eddie spent a short eternity standing at the foot of the bed, gazing down at the beauty before him, taking in the full effect of Steve’s mouthwatering physique.

Steve simply had to be one of the most gorgeous beings to ever walk the face of the earth, and here he was all laid out for Eddie, completely at the demon’s mercy.

At the wave of his hand Eddie’s own clothes vanished, and with nothing more to keep them apart he crawled back up onto the bed, determined to taste every square inch of his sweetheart’s skin.

He began with a soft tender kiss to the top of each of his beloved’s feet, kneading his fingers into Steve’s strong, muscular calves, at the same time dragging his lips up the length of legs that would have been at home on any Greek statue, worshiping them from ankle to knee with the deepest devotion.

Steve’s inner thighs were practically begging to be bitten, and Eddie was powerless to resist the siren call of them. He sank his teeth in gently but without hesitation, moaning as the soft flesh filled his mouth, sucking on the skin until he could sense blood pooling to the surface where it would surely leave a lasting mark.

A strangled cry suddenly broke through the heavy silence as Eddie pulled back, a high pitched whine vibrating through Steve’s throat. It was the first time the man had ever managed to make a sound, as strained as it was, while under Eddie’s power and it was like music to the demon’s ears.

He repeated the process on the other side of Steve’s body, marveling at the way his love’s cock twitched with each stroke of his tongue, or nip from his teeth.

When Eddie was satisfied with his own handiwork, knowing Steve would see and feel his presence long after he left this night, he moved on to the place he was most desperate to explore. Dipping his head down low, he opened wide, taking each of Steve’s balls into his mouth. One at a time he rolled his tongue around them, reveling in the feel of the loose skin between his lips. Steve’s body at least seemed to be enjoying his efforts too, his cock quickly filling out, now standing at its full height. Long, thick, and so incredibly enticing. 

Eddie ran the flat of his tongue up the underside of Steve’s length from base to tip, carefully swirling all around the head—teasing, testing, tasting the pearly white fluid that leaked from its slit. 

As if the salty, mildly bitter substance were Steve’s own source of magic, Eddie’s entire being began flooding with heat. The fiery desire filled him more and more as he swallowed the paltry droplets, lapping sloppily, desperate for more. 

Steve’s keening reached new heights, the sound nearly frantic when Eddie wrapped his lips firmly around the head of him, hollowed his cheeks, and started to sink down a millimeter at a time until Steve’s entire length was sheathed deep within his mouth and throat.

It was a fullness unlike any other Eddie had experienced before and he loved the way this act took command of all his senses. It was not quite the fullness he’d been craving, there was still an ache in his core, a deep pocket of emptiness that yearned to be stuffed, but there were still plenty of hours left in the night for that. 

Eddie pulled off with a gasp, finding himself panting for air. In his excitement he’d sort-of forgotten that he did need to occasionally breathe in this form. 

With a final kiss to the shining tip of Steve’s cock, now wet from Eddie’s own saliva, he moved on to explore the flat plane of Steve’s lower stomach. Like a cat, he nuzzled his cheek through the hair of Steve's happy trail, letting his lips brush over skin here and there as he shifted further up to Steve’s chest. 

After peppering the entire width of his collarbone with sweet, gentle kisses, Eddie ran his tongue all the way up Steve’s neck to his ear. He wasn’t ready to let Steve go completely of course, not yet, but he was ready to free his mouth, to finally hear Steve’s waking thoughts, in his own true voice.

“You may speak now, my love, but I’d advise you not to scream.” Eddie breathed the words directly into Steve’s ear. “Lest some well-meaning neighbor come investigating and interrupt us.”

Steve’s lips parted slowly, the tip of his pink tongue darting out to wet his plush lips, making them all the more inviting as he begged, softly… 

“Please.”

Eddie tilted his head, the gentle plea most unexpected. “Please what, pet?”

“Kiss me?” Steve asked.

“What did you say?” Eddie whispered on a sharp inhale. He couldn’t possibly have heard that right. 

Please stop. 

Please don’t. 

Please let me go. 

All of those he’d anticipated. All of those he’d been prepared for, ready to fight for his one true love, to show Steve how much he cared, over and over again if he had to, until the man came to believe it.

“Please,” Steve begged again, his eyelids half-closed and his tone breathy, bordering on a whine. “Kiss me, my Angel.”

Part 2

Many thanks to @pearynice for the amazing beta work and for always being the best, loudest cheerleader! 💕

Permanent taglist (open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @sidekick-hero @firefly-party

@bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog  @goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1

@rocknrollsalad @eternal-sunflowers @cringe-culture-is-dead-99

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

“Nosferatu” (2024) simplified

Robert Eggers is subverting every theme in the “Dracula” novel, and playing with canon and expectations: “My influences are all very clear, and Nosferatu is a remake, after all,” Eggers says, yet he plays with the canon, with expectations and clichés – “hopefully subverting them to do something unexpected”.

Robert Eggers has said a thousand times already this story is a Gothic romance, heavily inspired by “Wuthering Heights”, which he read and re-read while writing the script, and Ellen and Orlok are similar to Cathy and Heathcliff. This Ellen wants this Orlok;

This is a Folk Gothic horror movie: Count Orlok is a strigoi from Balkan folklore; isn’t merely blood he feeds on, it’s souls (that why he drinks heart blood; heart as center of the soul). His lore is Balkan folklore and Dacian mythology. He’s not Vlad the Impaler and he’s a subversion of Count Dracula in many ways. He’s an entirely new character created by Eggers, as are the rest of the characters here.

The “possession” are the blood plague victims. Orlok can only “possess” those he feeds on, and traps their souls inside of Nosferatu (alongside his own). This is why Thomas was exorcised but he’s still lost in Orlok’s shadow like the Nuns warn him, he doesn’t listen (Orlok still has influence over him, as we see; not kicking out Ellen of the bed, and Thomas is the one who gets possessed in the “possession scene”);

Ellen and Herr Knock are more similar than you think; Knock is the character who tells the audience what Ellen has been doing in her teenage years (masturbation; Orlok has to be conjured for telepathic/mind communication to happen, via sexual energy). Orlok can only possess those he fed on (Thomas, Anna Harding, Friedrich Harding, etc.). He only “possesses” Ellen at the end;

Ellen is confused about her own power, she’s a unreliable narrator, because she doesn’t have the language to understand it. It’s a character outside of Victorian society which begins to unravel the mystery behind her “sickness”, but she’s comes to the answer on own. At first, Professor Von Franz thinks she’s a victim of spiritual obsession by some daemon (she’s having these “hysterical fits” because a daemon tells her to, a daemon is influencing her behavior because of what he says to her, inside of her head). Ellen doesn’t have the knowledge to understand what Von Franz means, and interprets this as Orlok being a demon possessing her body (“I have felt you crawling like a serpent in my body”). He isn’t because he never drank her blood (soul). She also keeps mixing up her 16th century incarnation with her current one;

Thomas is the character who tells the audience the “true story” in the “possession scene”; he says it’s “impossible” for Ellen and Orlok to have been lovers “then” because he was actually possessed by Orlok, he had access to his soul, he knows what Ellen is talking about can’t possible have happened in her current life/incarnation (because it didn’t; he was only a shadow at her window during her teenage years, and she’s the reincarnation of his wife, she most likely has flashbacks memories of this);

Most scenes are characters talking about opposite things and people dying as a result;

Ellen and Orlok “first night scene” at the Hardings is Ellen accusing him of being a demon possessing her, while he thinks she knows she has been conjuring him this entire time. He also believes she remembers their past life together because of the lilacs;

The “possession scene” between Ellen and Thomas is her talking about her past with Orlok (she unleashed him; lovers), and initiating a communication with the spiritual world because she thinks Orlok will possess her like a demon; Thomas knows this is impossible, truly believes he was the one who unleashed Orlok because he sold him a house in Wisburg and now thinks Orlok is getting to Ellen the same way he did to him when he arrived at Transylvania (nightmares and hallucinations);

The “vengeance” at the ending is Thomas. He’s on a revenge mission against Orlok because he wants to avenge Ellen, the Harding and himself. He blames himself for everything that has happened. Only this is what Orlok wants because he has been influencing Thomas into killing him with a “spike of cold iron” (Thomas-Handsome Roma vampire hunter).

Friedrich and Anna Harding are the mirror pair to Orlok and Ellen. That’s why they are targeted by Orlok. Orlok and 16th century Ellen were like Friedrich and Anna (but Ellen being more sexual);

Ellen’s shame is connected to Victorian views of female sexuality and womanhood as a whole. Orlok doesn’t only represent her repressed sexual desire, but also nature (vs. society/domestic sphere/Thomas) and education/knowledge (enchanter; occultist; worshipper of Zalmoxis, owner of the secrets of life and death, and immortality). Passion isn’t the only thing he has to offer; he represents liberation and power. Everything that was off limits to women in the early 19th century. This story deals with Historical Feminism.

[kitasgloves]

Follow You

tracklist

— ♬ "I'll be your gravity, you'll be my oxygen"

— ♬ Chuuya Nakahara x Reader, SFW, gender-neutral reader, depictions of stalking, violence, and obsessive behavior, abandonment issues, Chuuya being deranged when he's in love, 3.5k words, no beta

— ♬ NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE NOR ROMANTISIZE WHAT IS DEPICTED IN THIS STORY. EVERYTHING IS A WORK OF FICTION. READER'S DESCRETION IS ADVISED.

There's this hollow feeling that swallows one's whole consciousness like a black hole. It's greedy as it feeds on your light and energy. It leaves you empty, like a void. And to feel that void grow within you as it devours all the remnants of your being, it's a painful tragedy. Nakahara Chuuya felt that void in him widen from time to time. That void was born when he lost those who were close to his heart. By then, he learned how to surround his heart with walls. But there's always something unexpected that would tear those walls down and pierce through his heart.

Chuuya struggled with finding his humanity. As much as his mind reminds him that he is human, his soul isn't convinced. As he grew older and learned how unjust the world is, that void slowly ate away the remainder of his 'humanity'. Chuuya still believed there was an uncontrollable monster in him, a monster that claws at the remnants of his control until it takes over him completely. No matter how many good deeds he performed, it would not erase the feeling. And Chuuya has already accepted long ago that he wasn't a good person, and he's not going to waste his life trying to be one.

What does make one human? Was it your anatomy? Emotions? Consciousness? Or Purpose? The answer seemed to be one of the secrets of the universe. Chuuya doesn't ponder about what the answer will be. He's content where he is now, after all, he's been through a lot. Being an executive in the Port Mafia pays a lot and he can afford the luxury he wants. He has bursts of anger out of nowhere but he's getting the hang of controlling it. He has matured greatly but he knows he has so much to learn.

It was a domino effect when you stepped into Chuuya's life. One look, one smile, and everything came crumbling down. He regretted saving your life at first. You just happened to be an unsuspecting victim caught in a conflict between the Port Mafia and another group. You were caught in the gunfire at a restaurant, and you could've lost your life if it weren't for the gravity manipulator. He shielded you from the bullets and from witnessing the rest of the violence. Chuuya won effortlessly against his enemies while leaving a trail of destruction. But instead of focusing on the bloody disaster the man has left, your eyes glimmered at him.

"Thank you!"

You reached to clasp his hands and smile gratefully at him. Chuuya snarled at you as he snatched his hands back. He scoffed at the idea of you thinking he saved you out of the goodness of his heart. He only did that because you were getting in his way! But somehow, he couldn't look away from your glimmering gaze on him. You were abundant of life and he's sure that you weren't exposed to violence on a daily, unlike him. A tiny part of him wanted to keep it that way, you were just an innocent civilian. He may not be a good man, but he's not a cruel person to inflict his brutality on you.

It began with curiosity. Chuuya looked into your background. You worked at that restaurant, a minimum wage job. You lived alone in a humble apartment. From the looks of it, you were comfortable. Anyone who hasn't suffered so much like him would be content with your lifestyle. You seemed comfortable with your life, something Chuuya was a bit envious of. He can scowl and scoff all he wants but there's nothing he can do about it.

The gravity manipulator squinted his eyes and observed more about you. From what he gathered; you looked average. There was nothing out of place. He found out about the places you frequent, where you went to college and even the hometown you grew up in. He felt invested in finding out about your interests. Dare he says, he's impressed with your taste. It may not show in your appearance, but you had an elegant taste. Whether in music, food, or clothing, Chuuya found himself approving of it. 

He may have intentionally followed you when he wasn't busy and noticed you were shopping for wine. Chuuya can't help but gasp silently at how exquisite your choice of wine was. You were looking at underrated but delectable brands of wine, seemingly conflicted on which to buy. The Mafioso watched you look at one of the price tags and staggered back at how much it cost. He can understand that that brand of wine was way above your budget, but he can feel his chest tighten at your deflated figure walking away without purchasing the bottle of wine.

You noticed a small package delicately wrapped in red ribbon on your front door. You raised a brow and reluctantly brought the package inside. Suspicion filled you since you weren't expecting to receive any packages today. But as you unwrapped the ribbon and saw what was inside, your jaw drops. It was that expensive-ass wine you were eyeing earlier! You couldn't believe your eyes as you inspected the bottle. There was a tiny note attached to it.

Enjoy it while it lasts, sweetheart - C

You admit that the message left you both flushed but more suspicious. You took out one of your wine glasses and did a taste test. Your tastebuds screamed with delight at how delectable the wine was. Whoever that 'C' person was, they're most likely rich. They could have some sort of motive to send you this wine. Nonetheless, you enjoyed your evening with that heavenly bottle.

Chuuya had no idea what had gotten into him when he began anonymously sending you expensive gifts at your doorstep. That expensive wine was a random act of kindness that happens once in a blue moon. The limited-edition vinyl of your favorite artist was out of boredom. That expensive watch was only to see you smile as you wore it at work. That silk robe, that perfume, and that diamond ring were only an impulsive decision. Chuuya was hastily spending his money on you, and you kept accepting them not knowing who it was from. That was a stupid move from you, but you're lucky it was from him and not from somebody else.

You're beginning to fall for the 'C' person behind all the luxurious gifts that they send every week. You felt properly spoiled as you kept accepting more and more. You can't help it, it's not like you could afford all of those with your paycheck. One evening, you waited again for another gift from your mysterious admirer (if you can call them that). But what you weren't expecting was the guy who saved you from the gunfire weeks ago, waiting for you at your front door, with a bouquet of red roses. 

Chuuya gulped as he sweats in his expensive tailored suit, he takes in your bewildered gaze on him. He blushed as red as the bouquet before thrusting it towards you.

"...Were you the one sending me those gifts?"

"Yeah..."

"Oh"

You blinked and stared down at the roses. You looked up at Chuuya and gave him a sweet smile before walking over to him.

"That's so sweet of you, but why?"

"I—I was only curious and...and you had good taste"

"Okay. So, what's your name?"

"Nakahara Chuuya"

"I'm [Surname] [Name], do you want to go inside?"

You asked and Chuuya nodded, almost in a trance. He can't help but feel weak at the knees at how you smile at him. The moment you shut your door the Mafioso couldn't contain himself as he pounced at you, capturing your lips into an intense kiss. That evening ended with his and your clothes scattered all over your bedroom floor.

A relationship bloomed afterward. Chuuya took you out on proper dates and continued to spoil you endlessly. What he thought was only curiosity or boredom became a passion for him. Truthfully, loving Chuuya was difficult from the start. He has a temper and often keeps his guard up, and it took time and effort for you to help him be vulnerable with you. It tugged on your heartstrings to find out that under that tough exterior was someone who was starving for affection.

When Chuuya loved, he loved deeply. When he couldn't express his tenderness to the people who meant a lot to him back then, he did with you. With every waking hour, he'll make sure that you feel loved and that you are aware of it. He'd trace every curve of your body and mark your skin with love bites. He'll give you gifts and smother you with his kisses. Chuuya made it his top priority to make you feel safe and secure. He even convinced you to move into his large house so he could keep an eye on you.

It had something to do with his past, but he couldn't stand the thought of you leaving him. So, the gravity manipulator would follow you around on a daily. To your work, to go out with friends, or even at the grocery store. Chuuya was constantly on your tail without your knowledge. He'd disguise himself in various outfits and behave like a normal civilian to not draw suspicion. He'd smile to himself knowing that you're safe from danger because of him.

However, when you got involved in conflicts, Chuuya would take it upon himself to resolve them. That drunk man who kept flirting with you at the bar? He was found with broken bones in an alleyway. That woman who was rude to you at work? She was arrested for a crime she claimed she didn't commit. And that fucking creep that followed you home one night? He was beaten to death with his face disfigured. The Mafioso made sure everything was taken care of and you're none the wiser.

It became clear to him that you have come to his life to fill that void in him. When you wrap your arms around him and whisper sweet nothings against his ear, it brings his body back to life. It revives that hope in him that he thought he had lost. You have made him feel truly human.

Back then, his head was haunting him, and his heart feels like a ghost. He needs to feel something 'cause he's still so far from home. Chuuya hopes that you'll cross your heart and hope to die, promise him you'll never leave his side. Show him what he can't see when the spark in your eyes is gone. You've got him on your knees, he's your one-man cult. Cross his heart and hope to die, he promises you that he'll never leave your side.

'Cause he's telling you, you're all he needs. He promises you, you're all he sees. He's telling you you're all he needs. He'll never leave. So, you can drag him through hell, if it meant he can hold your hand. He will follow you, 'cause he's under your spell. And you can throw him to the flames. Chuuya will follow you, he will follow you.

Lately, you have been getting this feeling like you were being constantly followed everywhere. You were beginning to feel restless about it. When you expressed this to your boyfriend, he would coo at you and pull you into an embrace as he littered kisses all over your face. It would temporarily soothe you until you get separated from him. You'd carefully travel to work and feel the discomfort grow during your shift at the restaurant. You would try to call Chuuya during your break and he'll reassure you with a few words. You had no idea what Chuuya's occupation was, but you had an assumption that he was constantly busy and paid handsomely.

This discomfort developed into paranoia. You couldn't even tell anybody anymore because you're convinced that you would sound crazy. You had no evidence to link the cause of your paranoia. Your senses are heightened as you begin to notice things that you haven't before. All the people you had bad interactions with either ended up severely injured, arrested, or dead in the news. It sent an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. It seemed like you were the cause of their misfortune.

Chuuya was aware of your growing suspicion as he continued to follow you around. That ugly monster in him kept telling him that you'll abandon him sooner and it disturbs him so much that he starts to follow you even more. There wasn't a moment you weren't alone. He needed to prove that stupid monster wrong and that you wouldn't leave him. There was no way, and he wouldn't allow it. He has you now, and he won't let you leave him like everybody else did. If you did, you'd bring the end of him and the world.

On the way home, you kept a cautious eye out. You looked closely at each person you passed by. You felt like you were growing insane with each minute as you entered a discreet alleyway. All of a sudden, somebody sharply tugged on your bag making you twist your body, and your forehead was met with a gun. You freeze, feeling your body run immediately cold.

"Let go of the bag and I won't shoot, yeah?"

The gruff voice of a man said. Your lip wobbled as you shakily released the bag. But before the man could run off, he was attacked with a kick to the face. You stumbled back with a gasp as you watched in horror when the man was being brutally beaten by a smaller man dressed in a leather jacket with a hood over his head. You were unable to make out the shorter man's features as he punched the man's face to the point of almost disfiguring him. You have never witnessed such a brutal attack before. The man who snatched your bag had the upper hand with the gun but was bested by the other who had no other weapon in him but his fists.

You quivered in the corner with wet eyes as the shorter man finished beating up the bag-snatcher. His fists were bloodied, and you could tell that he was used to violence. Fear floods your heart when he starts to approach you with your bag in his bloody hands. The alleyway was dark, and it didn't provide the proper light for you to see the man's face. You had sunk into your knees, prepared to beg if the man was planning to beat you up too. However, you were taken aback when the man gently took your hand and returned your bag. Stray tears fall down from your lash line as the man immediately reaches his bloody hand to wipe them away, smudging some of the blood on your face by accident.

You recognized his touch, and it made your heartbeat stop. You blinked up at the man and reached out for his face. As you pulled his face closer, it revealed none other than your boyfriend, Chuuya.

"Chuuya?"

"You weren't meant to see that, darling"

He says lowly to you. When you draw your hands back, he swiftly grabs your wrists and pulls you close to him. His hands began to caress your hair and cheek.

"I'm glad you're safe"

"But you...you just beat up that man—"

"He fucking deserved it"

Your boyfriend growled making your lips shut. Realizing that he had startled you, Chuuya sighs and pulls you into an embrace, but it does not bring you any comfort.

"Why...? You didn't have to do that, Chuuya"

"I was trying to keep you safe, [Name]"

"You nearly beat him to death!"

"That's what he gets for messing with you!"

You pulled away from him. You could faintly see the look on his face, and it didn't look like the man who saved you from the gunfight long ago. You took a step back, clutching your bag against your body, and preparing to run. Chuuya's jaw was tight as he stalked closer to you, almost like a wolf.

"Chuuya, stop"

"Please, doll. I need you, come here"

He couldn't comprehend the petrified look in your face. You shook your head as you slowly processed what was happening.

"...Were you the one following me around?"

"I needed to, babe. I need to keep you safe"

"Following me everywhere does not make me feel safe, Chuuya"

"It's for the best! I need you, [Name]. And you need me. I can't..."

He trails off as he corners you against a brick wall. Your breath hitches as he places his hands on each of your sides, trapping you. Chuuya gives you a desperate look.

"I can't exist without you. Please, [Name]. I'll...I'll give you anything you want. I'll be anything you need"

Chuuya pleads with his face inches away from yours. You felt deeply disturbed by his behavior as you craned your neck and turned your face away. Chuuya just wants you to come sink into him and let him breathe you in.

"I'll be your gravity, you'll be my oxygen"

Yes, that's it. He'll be your gravity, keeping grounded here on earth and keeping you safe, keeping you from floating away from him. And you'll be his oxygen, the only thing that he needs to stay alive. But Chuuya can feel it, he's losing you. And it's tearing his heart apart so violently that a raw ache filled his senses. You no longer looked at him with those glimmering eyes. You looked at him as if you saw the monster he desperately kept away from you. He can feel it, the ugly monster in him laughing victoriously, laughing at how he lost another. But Chuuya kept grasping on, hoping you'd see through the darkness and see his good intentions. 

However, the longer the Mafioso gazed at your face, he realized that you had made your decision. Chuuya reluctantly pulls himself away. He could see it, the end of him and the end of the world. The moment you looked at him frightfully and walked out of that alleyway, leaving him alone in the darkness, the void in him grew larger. But he knows his heart is still beating, and longing for you, and you only. He'll never learn to yearn for anybody else. So, dig two graves 'cause when you die, he'll swear that he'll be leaving by your side.

Since that night, you ran to Chuuya's house collected every single one of your belongings, and left without wasting a minute. You've decided to move somewhere else, preferably away from Yokohama. You've quit your job and found a new apartment to live in. It was in another city, and it took a while for you to find a new job. All that mattered was that you were out of Chuuya's reach. You felt at ease at the thought he would never find you at your new home and that you would truly be safe now.

However, Chuuya thinks that things never ended. He never ceased to give up. You've never told him to his face that you and he are over, and he took it as another chance. It's not the end, he thinks. It wasn't a hassle to find you, considering the number of resources and connections he had, he found your new home in no time. Chuuya found out about your new job and your newly discreet lifestyle. He finds it adorable that you're trying to hide from him. It will never be over. Chuuya will follow to the ends of the earth. He will still remain to ensure that you're alive.

So, you can drag him through hell, if it meant he can hold your hand. He will follow you, 'cause he's under your spell. And you can throw him to the flames. Chuuya will follow you, he will follow you.

Adjusting to your new environment and lifestyle wasn't easy, so you were naturally stressed. Juggling with the adjustment and hiding from Chuuya drained your energy. So, when you caught a glimpse of ginger hair on the way to work, you almost doubled over. But you sighed in relief when you realized it was just a harmless stranger. You're convinced that you're just stressed when you thought you saw Chuuya amongst the customers you were serving in your new job, you checked again and were reassured that he wasn't hiding amongst those faces. You really think you could use a break because you bumped into a guy on the way home and he had the same azure eyes as Chuuya, you wanted to apologize to the stranger, but he has vanished.

Little by little, the gravity manipulator slowly inserted himself into your life again. He blended into the crowd as he followed you to work. He pretended to be somebody else as you served him at your job. And he would deliberately make contact with you in inconspicuous ways to satisfy his yearning for you. To Chuuya, he's willing to suffer just to have you again.

You can drag him through hell, if it meant he can hold your hand. He will follow you, 'cause he's under your spell. And you can throw him to the flames. Chuuya will follow you, he will follow you. 

©kitasgloves (do not steal or copy)