Warning: References to sexual situations, swearing, obsessive thoughts, possessiveness, kidnapping, stalking, manipulation, violence, gaslighting and other triggers I will include as we go along, please only read if you’re 18+.
If any of this warnings trigger you please don’t read.
&
Jesse Solano was an easy target.
That was all Billy had thought when he saw you walk in the bar hand in hand with a certified nerd. His glasses fogging slightly with the warmth in the place while Billy fixed his shoulder holding a billiard cue.
Jesse was tall, he’d give him that, but he was clearly a pushover and when Billy nodded his head to greet him as you introduced them he made sure he reminded him of every bully he surely ever had.
You order for the both of you and now Billy is absolutely sure, this man is not right for you, you’re too much of a woman for a wimp like him, but you’re too stubborn to see it.
After a while when Jesse finally gains the courage to speak over the group of friends, Billy finds out that he is a physicist. He works in a lab and spends the day wondering what would happen if he puts a couple atoms together and explodes them in some sort of Star Wars fantasy.
Or at least that’s what the job sounds like to Billy who rolls his eyes every time Jesse adjusts his glasses. His blood boiling imagining that dork might make you wear some sort of princes Leia costume to bed.
“How long have you been dating?”
Karen asks and Billy takes a swig from his beer, giving Jesse a menacing look.
“A little over a month.” His voice trembles while he answers, obviously uncomfortable with the way Billy has been staring at him since he got there.
“And you’re already meeting the friends? Must be pretty serious then.”
Billy's gaze is on you now and it’s judging, reminding you of the deal you had made.
Only telling each other about serious partners.
You couldn’t be serious with this geek.
“Jeez Billy, you can’t ask people that!”
Karen’s voice saves you and you look relieved against an annoyed Billy. Everyone in the table laughs and jokes about his intensity, and Billy would laugh too if he hadn't seen the way Jesse smiled at you and squeezed your hand.
Reassurance.
Billy has only dreamed about a partner reassuring their intentions with him and he’s thankful when the loud music in the bar won’t allow his friend to hear the way he angrily cracks his neck.
This man plans on keep seeing you, he’s got serious intentions with you and Billy’s gotta do something because not only is he the fifth wheel in this ‘friend’s night out’ but the way you laugh at Jesse’s nerdy jokes is making him sick.
Karen keeps commenting on how sweet you two look together and Billy wishes he could say out loud that you liked it when he spat in your mouth and you don’t really do sweet, but he stays quiet, just observing.
Would you marry a boring guy like that?
Does he squeeze your neck the way you like it?
Do physicists have money?
His head is spinning with questions when he excuses himself to go to the restroom and he sees Jesse relax a little when he walks away from the table you all share.
Washing his face in the dim light room he formulates a plan. He is slightly tipsy, but then again, so he was when he managed to get you in his bed, so he’s confident.
Confident that he can easily get rid of ‘Sweet Jesse Solano’
He makes sure he tells everyone the restrooms are out of service when he comes back, loud enough that the neighboring table can hear him and orders another round for the entire bar.
You roll your eyes at him flashing his wealth and he gives you a bright big smile and a wink, he can’t let you forget he also has money.
A few rounds later a very tipsy looking Jesse still can’t hold eye contact with him and Billy excuses himself from the table to go on a smoking break. He knows it’s only a matter of time to get his plan into motion.
By the time he finishes his cigarette standing in the wet dark alley behind the bar he hears it. The back door and a tipsy physician stumbling to get his pants zipper down.
“You okay Solano?”
It was Billy’s opportunity and before Jesse could answer or pull his fly down he grabbed him by the shirt and violently slammed him against the wet brick wall.
“What the fuck?” Jesse’s muffled complain could be heard in the alley over the loud music that comes from the inside of the bar and Billy laughs.
Jesse’s nose is bleeding and Billy isn’t sure if it was that crooked before he pushed him or it’s definitely broken.
He doesn’t care though, he’s not done and he throws punch after another for a couple seconds until Jesse is on the floor, spitting blood.
“Please stop.” He begs.
“You can never see her again, you hear me?” Billy wipes his bloody knuckles on a handkerchief “Find an excuse, don’t hurt her, but stay the fuck away from my angel. Understood?”
“You’re fucking crazy.”
“I can be crazier, don’t test me.” Billy bends down to lift Jesse from the ground and get him standing up in front of him, he even got his hand in his pants pocket and put the physicist’s keys in his hand. “If I ever see you around her again, I‘ll make sure no one else ever will, got it?”
“Fucking psychopath.”
Was the last line Billy heard watching Jesse Solano flee the scene holding his nose with a bloody hand.
God, Billy loved violence.
&
“Billy? Did you see Jesse? He went outside a while ago.”
Your voice is slightly concerned, slightly annoyed that you have to talk to him and Billy can’t help but stare down your cleavage in that light blue dress you’re wearing. he made sure to go in immediately, so the timing wouldn’t be suspicious and visit the very much working restrooms to wash his hands.
“Jesse? Oh your date!” He fakes innocence “Yeah he left like ten minutes ago.”
“What?”
“Said he had an emergency.” He shrugs taking a sip from the mojito you hold and scrunching his nose at the sugary taste of it.
“An emergency? Why wouldn't he say anything to me?”
“I don’t know angel, maybe he lied, maybe he just wanted to go.”
“Did you say something to him, Russo?” You accuse him with your finger pointing to his chest and he laughs out loud this time.
“I’m just saying, maybe it was too soon to meet the friends, maybe he felt rushed and didn't know how to say it.” He rambles. “Or maybe he did have an emergency and he’ll call you later and you’ll get married and have lots of four eyed babies, who knows. But meanwhile, need a ride home?”
“I’ll take a cab thanks.” You say taking your phone our of your purse.
With the height difference Billy can see you texting Jesse Solano. There’s a heart emoji next to his name and Billy wants to barf, but at least there’s no answer.
“In that dress? I know you hate me but enough to risk getting assaulted?” He’s faking chivalry and you can see right through it “Just a ride home, you don’t have to invite me upstairs. Unless you want to.”
“I’ll ask Frank and Karen.”
“Good luck, saw them making out on a dark corner a while ago. Lord knows where they are now.”
You make a spoiled little girl pout and stomp your high heeled foot.
“Fine. but just a ride, don’t get any ideas.”
“Yes ma’am. Grab your coat come on.”
&
The ride to your apartment is quiet and he can see you check your texts from the corner of his eye. You keep waiting for Jesse’s reply but at least on the journey together it never comes.
You seem worried though and Billy wishes you’d let him hug you and take the stress away. Tell you that a guy that would just abandon you at a bar isn’t worth your worry, specially if it was in front of your friends.
But he doesn’t, instead he pulls up to your driveway and watches you put your phone back in your purse.
“Thanks for the ride Bill.”
“Hey! I know you don’t care about my opinion.”
“I don’t.”
“And you think I’m an idiot womanizer.”
“I do.”
“But I would never abandon you like that. If you were my girl I’d keep you by my side at all times so no one would get any ideas.”
“Wow.” You fake infatuation with a hand on your chest. “Being treated like an accessory, the ultimate romance!”
Billy laughs anyways as you open the door of the car but wait and turn back to him before you get off.
“Why do I feel like you have something to do with Jesse leaving?”
“God I hope so.” He smiles “I never met a more boring person in my life.”
“Goodnight Billy.” You say rolling your eyes and shutting the door behind you as he keeps talking.
“Just the most bland man ever!” He yells over the open window of the car and sees you lift your middle finger without even facing him.
You were the cutest brat and he would have you, he just hopped Jesse Solano got the message right.
A biblical angel. The meaningless chatter of the riches was faintly evident in the atmosphere as you locked eyes with someone, who you didn’t know at all, who had such a striking stare into, not only your weak eyes, but also your entire body. He looked like a biblical figure, an angel perhaps, but there was something about the way he stood, shoulder lazily leaned against the velvet curtain, that pegged him not to be a creature of purity.
No, he was so distinguished and poignant, that it made you forget who you even were. Despite the fact that he was the one boring into your soul, you found yourself inexplicably dependent upon the gaze he’d cast on you, as if your heart would simply get squeezed stopped if he looked away.
Captivating could be another word to describe the façade of the luscious blonde haired stranger, eyes politely stiffed into the pockets of his expensive, elegant coat, decorated by golden buttons that shone under the dim light of the room. His eyes were either gray or hazy blue; either way they drew you in dangerously, causing you to get deeply lost in their shadowy gravitation. You wondered why he was, only for the sake of it, knowing well that the chances of getting to see him outside of the gathering were close to zero. Nevertheless, your insides turned painfully up and down as he kept the eye contact strong as ever, mind twisting at the thought of what he could possibly be thinking about.
Whoever he was, you hoped dearly that he’d have no ability to read minds, otherwise you were as good as gone. You were still young and inexperienced, but that never stopped your imagination. The corners of his lips turned into a slight smirk as he finally looked away, giving you the chance to regain control over yourself and remember how it felt to breathe. Who was he?
You opted to avoid approaching him, dreading the inevitable possibility of fainting upon his aristocratic stance. You walked into the mass of the crowd, fading into the pretentious laughters and snickers, heart beating fast into your chest as you placed your gloved hand over it on your chest, hoping it’d help it get back to its steady rhythm. You found escape in a dark hallway.
You felt dizzy just by the look of a wanderer in a charity ball. You took a deep breath, squeezed your eyes shut to regain your consciousness and let your pupils blur back to their senses. Your chest heaved painfully when you caught sight of his piercing icy eyes glowing into the obscurity of the room. You need to run, a tiny voice rang in your head, but the buzzing sounds of the blood pumping right into your ears was too loud to not cover the challenging warnings of your inner conscience. Your legs stayed frozen in place, blood running cold in your throbbing veins.
He finally approached you, slowly but with steady steps. The limited light blended with his skin, which you could still barely make out as his eyes moved up and down your body. He looked abnormal once again and you wanted to scream from the top of your lungs, but something inside you prevented you from making the smallest sound. You opted for playing it nonchalant.
“Have we met?” you asked firmly, eyebrows knitting together at the soft chuckle he let out.
“I believe not, at least not yet. I’ve noticed you. From across the room you captured my attention,” the curves of his mouth went up slightly as the smirk on his face grew larger and evidently smugger. “Don’t be nervous, my love.”
“Me nervous?” you asked, voice trembling now.
“Indeed you are, no? The way you’re standing here just like you stood back in the main room, all by yourself. Legs weak, the small shake of your knees… I can see it all.” His eyes wandered down your neck, growing particularly fond of the little vein there pump your warm, sweet blood. You followed his gaze, unable to see what he was so fixated on, catching back his attention as you pulled your sleeve higher up the shoulder in a kind of discomfort that you couldn’t really explain.
“What are you?” you found yourself questioning.
Not who, but what. The name and origin of the man did not concern you as much as how he possibly managed to look so pale, yet stand alive in front of you very eyes, with such a pompous demeanor. He chuckled, still intensely gazing at the side of your neck, down to your collarbone, then back at your lips. Shivers ran down your spine, but you kept your calmness, at least on the outside. You slightly tilted your head and waited for an answer, but instead, he gave you a smile.
One that you could not read for the sake of it.
Was he enjoying holding you in the emotional state of mind that you were in that moment, while he stood barely five steps away from you? you pondered quietly in your head, but it was almost as the man in front of you could read every single thought behind that head of yours. Your heart drummed against your chest, you backed away with every small step he took closer to you.
“Don’t be frightened, my love. I mean no harm.”
The tone of his voice and newfound appearance, that you’d truly never seen in any other person before, pegged you to think otherwise. “Quit calling me that,” you gritted through your teeth.
“Fine. Maybe I do mean you a little harm.” He burst out in chuckles the second he noticed your eyes slightly widen at his statement. You were at loss of words — what was so amusing to him?
“What is it that you need from me?” you tried again, but there was nothing you could possibly elicit from him that wasn’t a snarky snicker or stomach aching smirk. Your eyes fogged with fear and an inexplicable desire for knowing him better as you watched him grin the same time your pulse quickened significantly. You took another cautionary step back. He took one forward.
“I want to give you the choice…” he said carefully upon the cell of your ear, long fingers coming up to slightly graze against the skin of your jawline. He lets the sharp edge of his metallic ring barely, just barely, follow the curve of your cheek, causing a thin, white line to form as he pressed with enough force to just see a scar forming, but not letting any blood come out of it. You couldn’t help but feel the sensation of pure bliss to the way he touched your face, even though the voice that urged you to save yourself and run was getting louder and louder by every passing second. “…That I never had. You could come with me, spend the rest of your life by my side, be the companion that I’ve longed for for years.”
Your heart was racing. You were astonished by the choice — half of a choice, you’d call it, since he hadn’t given you the second part of it yet — he’d proposed. You could feel every vein, either thick or thin, pump wildly the blood through it, until it reached up in your brain, blinding it completely from any logic you’d ever owned. “And why shall I be the companion of a man I’ve barely spoken five words to?” you replied sarcastically.
“Because I could take all the pain away. Give you a life like mine… where pain, suffering and death don’t exist. I could make you stronger, faster, smarter, give you all that the world has to offer, that you mortals never seem to seize… or even understand. You could be forever youthful. Just give yourself to me.” Your breath got suddenly stuck in your throat, a look of shock temporarily wrapping around your reddening eyes as you kept them open, momentarily forgetting how to blink.
“And what would happen if I don’t wish for that?”
He looked up, as if mockingly enough for your poor naivety, then swiftly grabbed you by the throat, your voice disappearing instantly. His fingers gripped around the sides and you felt his ring hurting into the skin, but it felt as though he’d cast some sort of spell that could not enable the sense to escape or even speak. “I could take your life away and no one would even come to find you,” he whispered gently in your ear.
Once he removed his hand from around your neck, you could finally start breathing again as the dizzying blur slowly faded away. He looked at you with anticipation, waiting for your reply.
“And how shall you ever do that? I could scream right now and have you be the one lying dead.”
“So blissfully unaware…” he mumbled softly, and like a ray of light, you heard him hiss as something sharp — the hard surface of… teeth… more specifically fangs? — threateningly bordered on the lower side of your exposed neck, which he held with his hand, tilting your head towards the wall that was across from you.
The epiphany hit you so suddenly and quickly that you had to refrain yourself from yelping, now finally out of the state of oblivion you danced around into. A vampire. A vampire, you figured, kept muttering in your hallowing brain in order to genuinely get yourself to pull out of the fanzines of what could’ve been a dreadful nightmare, when it was reality, hard, cold reality splashing into you like a bucket of freezing ice water.
“I’d rather you finish me than make me that loathsome creature of your own,” you struggled to breathe out, nevertheless the voice came out firm and dominant, to which Lestat turned a blind eye to as he moved up closer, invading your personal space and almost having you pinned against the rocky surface of the wall behind you.
“Your wish shall be my command, my child.”
The last thing that you remembered before a soul consuming cloud of darkness covered the bright ability of vision you owned was the faded blur of the vampire kneeling down, as you slowly began to lose sense and control over your own legs and brain. Lestat, as you’d found out his name was, had been sitting by your side on the maroon silky sheets of his own bed, carefully running his long, skinny fingers through your neat locks. The way the lamp on his nightstand shone made your hair look like they were going to catch on fire. The vampire hummed in pleasure as he let his eyes flutter shut for just one second, during which he only came in contact with the feel of your velvety hair that so smoothly rolled around his steady digits. A first blink, then another. You were in a room that you didn’t recognize, nor felt comfortable in. Your pupils were dilated as you awoke from the slumber, sclera pinkish to red instead of white, as if you’d been crying.
Nothing about the setting felt familiar. Your sighting soon got restored and the heart was caught inside your throat when you laid your eyes upon his face, golden hair falling on top of his shoulders, face pale — almost white — but still beautiful; like he was filled with life, as ironic as that may be. Suddenly, you were hit with all the memories that ruggedly formed into your brain before you’d fallen unconscious on him at that ball. You pulled back, your head just an inch from hitting the wall behind as he laughed amusedly.
“Wake up… I’ve waited for so long to hear you speak once more…” he spoke in a gentle whisper that almost felt like a lingering caress on your cheek, his eyes glittering in the dim light. “Wake up, my love.”
Your limbs were somewhat trembling, power of defense against him unknown, as you fought back the urge to scream from the top of your lungs, unable to prevent his next move. There was something about the way he’d sat next to you, all so calm and unbothered, you almost wished you knew what was going on in his mind behind those light blue — almost gray — eyes. It had caused a newfound sense of anxiousness for the unexpected to pit deeply into the curves of your stomach, retinas glossy and puffy as he moved his hand on top of yours. You retrieved it immediately, but the action didn’t seem to dishearten him enough to cut the physical contact with you. Instead, it encouraged him to stomp even further into your space, cold index finger lightly, almost caring, grazing the outline of your chin’s shuddering skin.
It felt rewarding for Lestat; having you in such a state of mind, helpless, completely at his mercy. Your fate depended solely upon him and him only, even if that meant you’d have to beg him to spare you. He had no hostile intentions towards you, though, just simply enjoyed the way the terror entered your body, as you fought against it.
“Don’t be afraid,” he cooed, but you snorted.
“You spoke the same words earlier and here I am, in the house of a stranger, vainly trying to gather back my senses.” The tone of your voice was still on the same line that you’d left it during the first conversation with him at the ball. If Lestat was blind, he would’ve foolishly believed you weren’t frightened by him at all, which excited him.
How was it possible that such a beautiful creature, human amongst humans, had managed to evade his attention all that time? The tip of his thumb padded the side of your jawline softly, rubbing small circles there. “You’re troubled, my dear. I must refrain from my nature if I want to have you by my side, thus you shall not be scared about my actions towards you.”
“And why such kindness, if I may ask?”
Lestat’s eyes lingered on each feature of your face as he drank in the image of you, the woman who had captivated him, as much to the character as to the looks. The hair delicately falling on your shoulders, stopping just before the curve of your breasts, which was deep enough for him to study, every detail of each curve. The fear that consumed you in that very moment, as he sat so close to you, made something in him stir, a hunger that could not and would not be denied.
“Your human nature… it fascinates me.” His grin broadened, his voice thick with desire. He slowly reached out, brushing away the hair on your soft cheek. “The way you perceive things so fiercely, even though death threatens you at every second. Mortality is a curse, my love. I would save you from it. But I have no need for your blood.”
“Oh, Lestat, but you’re a fool, I’m afraid,” you spoke with a satisfied smirk upon your lips. He tilted his head in confusion, still seemingly intrigued nevertheless. “Immortality makes a man miserable. You forget to love and live. And what is the purpose that you’ve brought me here for? Be your eternal companion? I’ll never be yours. Let the years make me your slave for as much time shall pass, but the end of my life will come and find me one day, and I’ll be free again.”
Lestat’s brows furrowed in frustration as he took your words in. “You’re such an ungrateful woman,” he gritted through his teeth, the previous sweetness of his voice now completely gone. There was a small fire burning in his eyes, but that didn’t frighten you either, seeing as you preferred him to kill you in rage rather than sugar talk you with fake desires. Your heart pounded.
“If you don’t let me go on your own terms, I’m going to scream. Kill me for it, if you must, I won’t bring any resistance. I’m giving you a choice.”
The irony of your own choice of words made Lestat’s blood boil. You, a no one human being, had the audacity to twist his words into a joke?
“Scream all you like, my dear. It would serve you no purpose.” And as soon as the sentence left his mouth, you screamed from the top of your lungs for help, eyes watering in anticipation. Lestat got up from the bed, leaned against the wall as he crossed his hands across his chest, waiting.
He watched you with his typical air of amusement as you screamed in terror. Finally, a maid entered the chamber, concern and stress written all over her tired face from the yell that had echoed all the way downstairs. Her poor French accent soon died down her lips as she asked “Ce qui s’est passé?” while looking around for any suspicious actions. Lestat took her by the throat, sinking his fangs deeply into the collarbone as he used the sharp ring on his thumb to cut a small line there open, killing her faster. The blood began to pour down the entire floor, thick, dark and warm. He looked refreshed as he pulled away, throwing her limb body onto the ground as you watched in utter fear and disgust. Not the tiniest hint of a sound was able to come out of you as you covered your mouth in shock, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your entire body felt electrified.
Lestat smiled, savoring your qualm. He came back closer to where you were sat, shaking his head in disapproval. “Look what you’ve caused now… Are you happy with yourself?” You turned to glare at him, flames shooting through your red eyes as he kept trying to hold a laugh back.
“You’re foul! That woman was not involved!”
Suddenly, his face hardened. “I told you no one would come to help you,” he spoke, standing over you, the blood of the maid dripping down his cheek, painting his clothed chest like an empty canvas. “You have no choice but to turn to me, for I am the only chance you have at survival.”
“I loathe you,” you gritted through your teeth.
Lestat couldn’t help but smile at your disdain. He approached you slowly, his eyes moving up your body and then to your neck. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he spoke once more, his voice a whisper. “Good. Use that hatred. Hate me as much as you desire. It won’t stop you from coming to me, it’ll only make the urge stronger.”
You sighed, falling back into the bed as your hands clasped tightly over your eyes, hair messy and unruly as part of you accepted that his words weren’t just a figment of imagination. Somehow, you’d found yourself deeply lost into his midwinter eyes, ebbed ever so gently with cement, accentuated every feature of his sharp characteristics, glistening like stars melted in platinum. You wanted more, just like the way he’d predicted; more of those eyes, of his life, of who and how he turned into a vampire, if he missed his mortality at all, whether or not he enjoyed poetry as much as you did…
Ravishing was a way to put it. Lestat had wrapped you helplessly around his angelic — or was it even demonic? — charm, pulling you in further and further just like core electrons are tightly bound to the nucleus. You wished to escape from the invisible grasp, but you couldn’t.
“Do you miss your mortality, Lestat?” you asked out of nowhere and he looked a bit taken aback by your choice of question. Nevertheless, he came and sat back by your side on the bed, allowing himself to admire the way the silky fabric of your dress had fallen just a tad down your smooth shoulders.
“At times I do…” he spoke without hesitating, his voice a gentle, almost scared, murmur as his eyes fell to the ground. “There are times when I yearn for the sensation of being human once more. I miss the sense of wonder and discovery that comes with being mortal, and the feeling of truly experiencing life for the first time...” He looked back up at you in front of him a faint smile curling on his lips. “You remind me of that feeling, my love. That is why I chose you.”
You sighed in defeat and despair. There was no possible way out of this, you reckoned, just needed to find the will and strength to make amends with what the future held for you.
───
The following night, you allowed him to dress you up in the prettiest dress you’d ever laid upon your body. The burgundy colour and the rich, but delicate fabric fell down your curves so harmoniously that Lestat looked mesmerized by the way it draped over you. He’d complimented your figure as lovely and even though the certain choice of words had given your mind a little dizzy spin, you’d shown zero reaction to him. Instead, you followed him, arm strictly wrapped around his own as you strolled down the dark paths, before he opened the door to a ravishing ball for you. The memories came crashing down like a violent wave of déjà vu, that you so desperately wanted to wash off your mind.
Ironically enough, with your arms entangled, you felt some inexplicable sort of safety. You didn’t recognize any of the people there, but Lestat had promised you a fancy night out, just for the sake of it — and who were you to say no? He narrated the background of the marquess, who was sat royally in the middle of the main hall, two young male servants on each side of where her chair was placed, laughing politely along with her.
“See her? That’s the widow St. Clair. She had that young fop murder her husband,” he whispered lowly into your ear, causing the small hairs on the back of your neck to tingle. You gave him a strange and unconvinced look.
“How dare you speak such words of felony?”
“I can read her thoughts,” Lestat’s voice rang clear, that same soft murmur filling his throat. He looked at you with a playful grin; he enjoyed watching your expressions as you came into realization of the extent of his abilities. He also noticed your sudden freeze, and the corners of his lips broadened. “The thoughts run deep inside a mortal’s mind. They’re so easy to read, and so tempting to listen to,” he whispered. His voice was soft, sensual as he came even closer to you...
“And… and you’ve invaded my thoughts already, I shall presume?” You didn’t need an answer to your own question, already confidently aware of what his reply would be. “What am I thinking of?”
His tone was gentle as his own thoughts wandered inside of your mind, listening to the sounds of your consciousness and the things you thought of. “You’re wondering why I’m even bringing you to such a social gathering. You’re contemplating a way to get out of it... but you’re also secretly curious as to what kind of people will be attending such an event,” he leaned into your ear, his breath coming out warm against your skin. “You’re scared, my love. I can hear your heart accelerating in your chest. The faint sounds of your mind wandering into unknown territory.”
Your cheeks grew red and the saliva barely made it past your throat as it slithered down the length of it in a painful manner. He’d read you like an open book and you didn’t even have to speak a word out loud for him to come to said assumption. It indeed terrified you; how he’d been able to invade the privacy of your own mind, how you weren’t and would never be able to stop him from doing such thing, simply because the desire to stay in peace was beyond your power.
Lestat let a small smirk cross over his face as you blushed. He had found it was rather humorous how he could always seem to have this effect on you. “Don’t be shocked. It’s a trick I’ve learned over my years as a vampire. It’s… become something I hold no control over; if I focus on one person too long, I can hear the innermost secrets of their mind, their desires… their sins.”
“Their desires, you say…?”
You couldn’t help the question when it flew out of your mouth, just like a young child yearning for knowledge of its world. Lestat smirked.
“Yes. Even their most intimate desires... it’s quite intriguing to see the depths of the mortal realm.”
“I want to know about your desires, in that case.”
“Is that so?” his low voice was inviting, close to seductive, you beckoned. His eyes momentarily took a glance at your long legs and the way the dress fell over them, before you spoke again.
“It’s only fair since you know my own ones, already. And don’t even dare deny such thing, I know for a fact that you’ve done it.”
“How perceptive of you, my beloved,” Lestat’s voice was still a soft whisper, tracing the outline of the call of your ear, and he stepped even closer to your side. His breath hitched slightly as he took in the scent of your skin, your femininity. His eyes traced down to your lips again, and his own desires came to life. “At this moment, my desires are simple... they include the two of us alone… together... no one else.”
“No one else…” you repeated with a fragile tone.
The vampire’s voice lowered as his eyes wandered down your body once more, taking in the way your chest rose and fell with your short breaths. “I imagine the two of us without the noise of the crowded ballroom. The way that no one else is there to hinder us… our bodies would merge together, with no one around to intrude as, you and I… free to do as we please.” His mind wandered to the possibility of you alone in his room, of what you could do.
“Oh?” you encouraged him to go on, as if less than twenty four hours ago, you hadn’t uttered out that you loathed him. “You’re always so poetic when you want to end up in bed with someone, Lestat? Speak more to me with what we’d do. In this volume of voice… these words…”
You were undoubtedly washed with a sense of newfound arousal for the vampire and it didn’t escape his attention. His voice had grown raspy with the words that poured from him, a certain type of hunger coming over him as you listened.
“I can’t help but wonder about your sudden change of heart,” he chuckled with a smirk.
“I’m weak at this very moment and I’m letting you take advantage of it. We’ll go back to your manor and we’ll have all the privacy we need… we can spend the night alone, together, as you said.”
His eyes were locked on yours as his mind continued to drift away into those lustful desires. He craved you, wanted you in a way that not even his vampire nature could fully comprehend. Your hands curled around the lapels of his silky shirt and you then run your fingers all the way down his body until they clasped around his own hands.
You couldn’t tell how the time passed, finding yourself from one moment to another; from a fancy, loud ballroom, to a oaken, hand carved door that led into a lavish French-furnished bedroom, which you had —oh, so well — gotten used to. There were heavy shades on the window, an almost magical mosquito netting falling across the sides from the bed, like golden tears. You looked around for a moment, trying to help the blur of your thoughts to comprehend that this was beyond a dream reality, that it was life.
Life, as ironic as it might seem.
Lestat walked behind you as he shut the door, step light and slow. He took his time with tracing the outline of your shoulder blades that the dress allowed you to reveal, his index finger gracefully teasing the skin with only the physical contact of the digit and the bit of the nail that stuck out. His breath hitched when his hand travelled lower on your back, right hand coming up to twirl the tip of the zipper playfully, silently asking you for permission for his next move. He’d ordered all the staff to leave, so that when you’d entered through the mansion’s doors, he’d locked it behind them.
He could see you hesitate, not that he cared much about it. It was certain to Lestat that once the silence fell in, you’d come to be too focused on your intimacy with him to think back on your own emotional barriers. His assumptions proved true, once he quickly unzipped your dress and you looked back at him from over your shoulder with parted lips, not complaining, not asking him to stop. His eyes were almost sparkling as the candle light flickered on your pale face.
“Lestat…” you hummed, mostly as a plead.
But he didn’t say anything back, just picked you up in his arms, laid you upon the velvet sheets of his bed and getting on top, his gaze captivating and unnerving, head tilting to the side so that he could plant a trail of wet, sensual kisses all the way down to your neck, his tongue resting against the veins that popped out as you stretched your head backward for better access.
Lestat’s body was pressed flushed against yours, his now wrinkled shirt fallen down midway through his shoulders, revealing his bare chest as his mouth travelled further down, his left hand gripping around your neck. He moaned softly as he tasted the sweet scent of your skin, the feeling of your pulse rising against his own body.
“Please,” his voice was an alluring murmur as he spoke, his thumb stroking your collarbone. He could feel the desire growing within him to posses you, take you as his own. “Let me have you.”
───
You reckoned it was still nighttime when your heavy eyelids began fluttering open. You recognised the sound of a soft snore next to your ear, a pair of still wet and plump lips caressing and tickling the spot right below your earlobe. You slightly rose from the bed, careful as to not disturb Lestat and rubbed your eyes, but you instantly regretted the action, seeing as the chilly weather trapped inside the huge room caused your underdressed body to shiver. You brought the covers close to your chin and appreciated Lestat’s features. His body next to you didn’t offer much warmth, but the just feeling of having him there in such state had your cheeks matching a crimson shade of red. You hummed in pleasure.
You didn’t mean to wake him, nor made any sound to achieve such thing, but somehow, he’d half-opened his stunning eyes. You were still afraid of him, even if it was somewhat there. He smiled unintentionally when he acknowledged your presence, but didn’t say a word.
“This… it doesn’t have to mean anything,” you were quick to speak in a shaky voice. He only offered you a chuckle in response, bringing a hand out to brush the hair that fell into your face back behind your cheek, hugging you closer to his body. You wanted to attempt to feel his heartbeat, but somehow, your own was loud enough to cover any other possibly existing sound.
Lestat pulled the blanket over the two of you and rested the side of his face on top of your head as he laid a gentle kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes again and he leaned closer, his lips hovering just above yours with his breath being warm and inviting, as if beckoning you to merge with his own body. “Dream of me, my darling.”
───
You poured the second steep and drank out of the fine china cup, noticing the fragrance of the tea. Sweet Vietnamese cinnamon with a hint of floral honeysuckle that began to wrap around your head like the ‘I rivali di se stessi’. You’d really outdone yourself with the tea, finding the variety of herbs and scents in Lestat’s kitchen a joyful surprise to kill time with. You’d woken to the sound of what was almost identical to the pitter patter of sensuous rain on the windowsill. You saw him sitting at the huge, shining black instrument that looked like the sky on a cool summer night, coaxing impossibly soothing and amazing melodies from it. Lestat seemed lost as his fingers flew over the keys like swallows darting in a pond for fish. You sat on the couch across from him and sipped your tea with tired eyes.
“Why’d you stop?” you questioned once the sound was gone and his fingers were just resting on top of his knees. His breath was lost, too.
“You want me to keep playing?” His voice was hoarse and rasped, and he seemed to have lost some of the energy he had when you’d first met him. You pondered the reason, but not out loud.
“Sure.” He began to play again, the same slow, sad melody. You couldn’t help but wonder if it reflected the way he’d been feeling inside. As his fingers strolled through the keys, he looked at you from time to time, almost as if he wanted to say something, but his words always failed him before. “…When did you learn to play?”
“Hm?” He looked away from the piano briefly, his hand not stopping from playing. He didn’t seem to expect the question however, and so he felt a bit taken back. He began to speak slowly, as if he had to think about his answer a little. “My mother taught me how to play. She was a musician and she was very talented. She was a pianist...” He paused to think again. He didn’t want you to know much about his past, especially his human years, but he didn’t want you to think that he was just trying to change the subject either.
“Oh?”
“Yes…” Lestat replied softly, his tone remained steady. “She taught me how to play music, but also helped me understand it. It’s a form of… expressing, even if you can’t physically say it, you play it. Play with your heart, your emotions.”
His hand continued under the same melody, although his voice felt a bit more nostalgic. Still, you watched intently, your eyes following his every movement slightly from over the cup you held against your lips. You’d taken a fancy to the way he spoke sometimes, to his life and past.
“Did you have any family? I mean, besides your mom…” You knew the question was wrong and uncalled for, but it felt as though a burden leapt out from your body as it left your curious mouth. Lestat removed his hands from the instrument and got up. The heart trapped against your ribs was hammering, unable to know what feelings and memories of his you’d just triggered.
“Family?”
“Yeah,” you assured him. He didn’t seem any kin to reply to your question, however. “I’ve run away from mine. Mother held a knife to my throat every time settling down was mentioned amongst the family dinners. Said I’m old enough to convert to a church and become a nun. I don’t particularly care for marriage or any other form of settling down for that matter. I’ve got a free spirit that won’t rest until I travel in every inch of the world.”
You noticed him smile a little, weakly. But you could see him hesitating, hold back, suddenly all stiff. You asked him again about his family, but the only thing you managed to get out of him was a defeated murmur about the story having faded along the line, that it didn’t matter anymore.
“My story is much similar to yours… but it’s a long one, and it’s mostly full of unpleasant memories,” he said softly. Lestat could see in your gaze an unspoken desire to know more of his past, but he couldn’t allow you to witness the ugly side of him just yet. You urged to push him to reveal more, nevertheless, genuinely interested and curious.
“You ran away too?”
“It’s none of your concern to know that.”
His tone raised, frustrated now. You’d hit a nerve, it was certain, but would you risk to upscale his mood, whose limitations you hadn’t explored yet? You simply stared at him as he walked towards the heavy, red and golden curtains, turning his back at you. It wasn’t hard to realise that he couldn’t bare look at you, that if he did, you might’ve taken advantage of reading the raw emotions across his features, a curse that followed him through his early teenage years, up until for all eternity — as the future held to him.
“Whose concern is it then? I don’t see anyone else trapped in this prison of a manor!”
“Prison... prison?!” Lestat heard the comment, and it caused him to feel anger stir inside of him. You didn’t know what a prison felt like, this estate and this mansion was... “This estate is not a prison,” he said harshly, before yanking you by the arm and dragging you across the room in swift movements, all the way down to the basement.
The door that opened to the cold and damp room was torn down, old enough that the woody material on it had lost its brownish colour. Instead, it was a light beige, spider webs all over the rusty metal mechanisms that held it together. He pushed you inside, throwing you with force that caused you to miss your step and fall flat painfully against the dusty ground. He slammed the door behind you as he got in, teeth gritted.
“What the devil is going on inside your sick mind?!” you screamed, getting up back on your legs as you dusted your dress off. Your eyes matched his, sharp, snapping as they glowered.
“You want to live in a prison, yes? Have my blessing in that case,” he responded. You’d insulted him, the place he owned and grew himself up in. He held the door handle shut as he leaned against the door with his back facing it, patiently awaiting for your pleads to let you go. You understood that he wasn’t planning on freeing you any time soon and the anger bubbled within your nerves, matches starting fires in your head and heart. You didn’t mean the words that came out of you in the unfortunate moment, or maybe you did, to some extent, but it still hurt.
“I understand now why the memories of your family must be so unpleasant. No one would want a child like you, so arrogant and selfish. I pity the poor people!” Each letter escaped from your lips with poisonous stabs in Lestat’s heart.
He was stunned as the words reached his ears, hadn’t expected you to resort yourself in such a low place. “Is that so?” He needed to stay mad, slap you, punish you — do something, but all he could bring himself to dwell on were his years as a child, a human. He stared at you, reminiscing every detail, getting to live in his mortal body and soul for one last time as you speechlessly stared back at him, not finding the courage to apologize for the cruel level you’d stooped to. He heard you mutter his name as he almost broke the door in attempt of pushing it open, disappearing into his bedroom and locking himself inside. Ironically, his coffin felt freezing that night.
Lestat had lost the sense of understanding the climate around him a few centuries ago.
───
The next day passed and you still felt shaken. Lestat, with his usual tenderness toward you, had disappeared. Hadn’t spoken one word to you, not even walked in the same direction as you. It was weird how he’d managed such thing, seeing as you both lived under the same roof. The bed of one of the many guest rooms you’d chosen to hid into had been a ghost before your legs. It felt uncomfortable, unwelcoming, unable to hold your presence on it. You spent the night before scribbling drawings on a yellow paper you’d found in one of the nightstand’s drawers, not knowing what else to do with yourself. Twenty four hours being alone in a house with at least more than one lonely person. You took a deep breath and decided you needed to find him, see how he was doing. You’d softened towards him, it seemed, in less time than you’d expected. Your brain was still terrified to accept the idea of it, but the aching inside of your heart didn’t give it any other option.
You walked outside of the room and searched for him everywhere. Yvette told you she’d last seen him go outside. Back upstairs, you heard the soft sound of water running into the main bathroom and curiously walked over, leaning against the door just for a peak. Your mouth dropped and you shrieked loudly in unexpected terror. The bathtub went by the shade of an almost black red, thick, even if it merged with the water. There were bubbles covering the top and Lestat smirking next to it as he took a step closer.
“I prepared a bath for you,” he announced with a smile. You lost your voice along with every other possible function of your system. Lestat looked for a moment, the blood in it did fill him with a certain hunger that he had not felt before. He could almost taste it; the thought of you coming into the tub was almost alluring, he had imagined how you would look in that water... and how you would taste inside that water... he was salivating.
“W—Wh…What did you do?” you asked, your voice trembling, horrified at the freak show.
“What do you think I did?” his words came out with a cold tone, as he stared at you. His face was a bit grim, yet still his eyes were detailed with a certain lust. “You’re going to ask why, I assume. Why did I kill them…? Or why did I bring their blood here?” his voice was full of sarcasm as he spoke, he was making you more confused and scared, but this time, he was not planning to back down to your puzzled feelings and expressions.
“Both… Both!” You felt your knees weaken as you crumbled to the door behind you, the smell of the blood causing vomit to erupt in your throat. He looked at you as you collapsed upon the doorframe, the sound of your gag causing him to smirk a little. You had successfully lost all sense of control, and that was beyond pleasing to him.
“I killed them because I needed fresh blood,” he said slowly, he would not tell you anything more. A step closer, then a hand pointing at the tub, which haunted your soul. “Get in the tub.”
“No. No… no — no — you can’t… you can’t…!” You couldn’t speak. Your eyes were teary and your face had paled and he looked happier than ever. Lestat didn’t want to hear your plead, he didn’t want to hear you beg for mercy. His desire was taking over him, and now that he had killed a few poor slaves in the woods and the bloodlust inside of him had grown in intensity.
“You don’t have a choice.” He then walked towards you, his movements slow and precise. He wished to take what he wanted from you, no matter what you’d do to convince him otherwise. You’d cut deep with your previous words, which never went unnoticed nor forgotten. “I want to shower you in blood, my child.”
His eyes had grown a bright crimson as he got close to you, pulling you into his grip. You thought you were about to pass out, your body limped down on the floor, unable to move or resist. Lestat could feel your weakness, your fragility as you leaned against the door. One more pull and he began to drag you away from the wooden entry. You got more and more ill as the smell got stronger, your mind buzzing as his devious laughter echoed in it. Your throat was closing up and the need for air was growing more immense with your every weak breath. “Why are… you doing this?” you mustered with a middle pause.
“Because of what you said.”
“B-Because of what I… Leave! Let me go!”
You were kicking the air, panicking, trying to run away from him in desperate attempts. He smiled, twirled around your helpless body and hummed the melody of an old Italian song. The tears fell from your eyes artistically, in a way that they almost resembled the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Paradise, your hands clutching on every item possible for a steady grasp that would still his intentions, free you from them. As your ultimate option, you resulted in begging with choked sobs. The pleads caught him off guard.
He couldn’t tell if it was truly fear, or a ploy of some kind to get out of the situation. He was hesitant, yet still had a choice to make, and the limitations highlighted the accident of choosing poorly due to the temper of the moment. He could feel the moisture dripping from your eyes as you begged him not to do this to you, but the hunger for the fright your vocal chords held was still there, distracting him from judging correctly.
“You mocked me…” there was still a hint of anger in his voice, but not the overwhelming kind. In fact, he felt more collected than ever. You’d brought this situation upon yourself…
“This… Lestat, please, please, I want this to end, please…” you sobbed into the comfort of his neck, your arms wrapping around him as they trembled. Lestat could feel you shaking against him as you sobbed. The intensity that he had felt was now fading, a little empathy rising towards you for the first time since you’d insulted him. Your fear made you seem so much weaker, so much more vulnerable, and it made his heart hurt as he looked at you, unfamiliar with this side of you.
He couldn’t stay mad. And he had to let you go.
“You’re making it difficult for me to keep you safe. As much from others as from myself...” he said softly as he loosened his grip on you, his hand holding your arm now was a soft and gentle one. It was not the grip of a killer, it was the grip of a lover. Yet his eyes were a reminder, still burning.
“This… it’s a nightmare, right? None of this happened. The tub… it’s just a nightmare?” you asked him, deluding yourself into a lie that you believed would calm you down. You were still on the verge of passing out, your eyes heavy and swollen as they blinked the remaining tears away.
“Yes... it’s just a horrible nightmare,” he spoke softly as he kept holding onto you, he wanted to lie to you if that meant that you’d start feeling safe around him again, comfortable, that you’d forget all about the tub. He could tell you were still scared, even if you had relaxed a little. He would not allow you to be afraid, did not want you to remember any of this. He only wanted you to remember being safe in his arms.
“I’ll wake up to your bed tomorrow?”
“Indeed.”
“I need to go to your bed…” you murmured under your breath, your eyes half-lidded as he nodded and took you in his arms. Your head rested on top of his shoulder and you couldn’t really tell what was happening around you; what was real and what was not, but in your mind, it mattered no more than a useless piece of information. Lestat carried you all the way to his bedroom and helped you on the bed, as he removed a few layers of clothes of his own. You found the warmth of the scent this particular bed held somewhat comforting, that you weren’t alone anymore. He came up back by your side and stroked your hair as he kept whispering in French, a language that even though you spoke less than fluently, always seemed tricky to understand.
“Tu as un beau cou.” The poorly spoken words grazed just the outline of his vampire fangs as they left his mouth and embraced your throat. Lestat leaned down just a little to place a lingering kiss on the side of your neck, right were your pulse was beating — throbbing — in a way of letting you know that he’d provide you with eternal safety; even from his own self. He cherished the satisfied tiny moans you let out as his promises hugged your soul and sighed. Even with your presence around, his room still felt cold and for a moment he allowed himself to wonder if it’d feel the same way in case he were a human.
“Je sais, mon amour,” he heard you sheepishly reassure him, not understanding in the slightest how you’d managed to do such thing in all your tiredness and corpse-like state. He was the one with the ability to read the mortal mind, yet it seemed like you’d known every inch and depth of his darkest and deepest thoughts since the moment you laid eyes on him. And oh, how he wished you hadn’t. Because Lestat refused love.
He refused the idea of love, thought of it as something miserable and pessimistic, because how could anyone devote themselves so much to a person to forget their own problems and beliefs. Poems, philosophy, theatre, music; they all refused love in a way. The destructive kind.
But his head tilted to the side as he sat in his coffin, watching you descend to sleep, and suddenly he was gone from the world, helpless.
───
“I want to breathe fresh air. Your house is suffocating me,” you’d said to him only a few days later after finding the strength to look him back directly in the eyes like you weren’t afraid. He posed as a danger to you now, after the cruelty with the tub, but you were superior to any of his schemes. The walls suffocated you seeing as he barely let you walk around the town, afraid that he’d lose you, that you’d run away from him.
The sky that night was tranquil. The dark canvas of the it was adorned with countless points of light, like shimmering diamonds scattered across a velvet cloth. The celestial bodies twinkled and glimmered, casting a soft, ethereal glow that captivated the imagination. You always loved to watch the stars, to admire the constellations.
And that night, Lestat was in a good mood, so even though his reply had been hesitant at first, he’d eventually let you do as you wished. With his hand secured around yours, he’d promised to take you to his favourite place, his hiding spot as a newly discovered vampire, his memory founder. You strolled around the town, walked for what felt like several minutes. The setting was unfamiliar and the thought of getting lost crossed your anxious mind for a split second, but given to the concentration on his face, he seemed to know exactly the roads he strolled through. There was a small forest, one you’d never stumbled upon in all the years you spent in Louisiana, even though you were certain you’d walked past it at least once. The air was chilly and there were no others around in kilometers; just you and Lestat. It was the type of place that many nobles would avoid. It reminded you of the haunted forests your mother would read to you about in the night tales to put you to sleep.
“Here we are. Do you like it?” he asked as he let go of your hand, intertwining his fingers together as his hands fell over his crotch. He looked at you.
“Yeah, a lot actually. How come I’ve never known about this place before?”
“Well…” Lestat explained, “It’s an unnoticed spot. Not many appreciate its natural beauty,” he spoke softly, as he looked around the forest once again. “They’re afraid to come here at night, and they try not to pass by during day as well. I don’t know why, if that’s your next question.”
“And how did you discover it?”
“I used to come here often.” There was no use in hiding that answer. He had been a child who ran away, and during those years where he explored this vast estate, he had found this forest. He didn’t know it was haunted — according to the superstitions — back then, but even now when he was aware of it, he would come here often. He had not left for such a long time. It felt like home.
“By yourself?”
“Yes…” He knew the answer was pathetic, that it gave his longtime loneliness away, and he regretted admitting it out loud. “You know, we’re similar in more ways than just our past.”
Your eyebrow cocked in confusion. “And how is that, may I ask?” Lestat paused for a moment, as your question made him think. That part hadn’t always been so hard when it crossed his mind many nights during sleep. Perhaps it had been the fact that he didn’t have to look at you when he thought about his past, but... now he had to.
“We ran away from it. We both know what it’s like to be alone.”
“But we’re not alone anymore, isn’t that what you’re trying to say?” you listed his words before he could do it himself, your voice weary, tears burning in your eyes, even though you understood that he emotional pressure was more overwhelming for him than for you. He’d opened up to you, just a hint of it, you realised, but you couldn’t know why and it pained you.
“We’re not... I...” he grew unsure, unable to finish.
“I want to watch the stars.”
Lestat’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but remained in that position, looking at you silently, surprised. “We can watch the stars,” he agreed and took you to a more open spot in the forest. It was clearer and there were less trees that would potentially block the view of the sky. The both of you sat on the grass, legs crossed as your eyes focused on the moon.
“Do you have a favourite constellation?”
Lestat thought about it for a moment. there were many stars he had been drawn to over the years, and he had studied quite a lot of them as well. But perhaps, there was one that particularly stood out to him. “Scorpio,” he said softly as he tried to look to see where it was in the night sky. His gaze was focused towards the stars as you spoke again.
“Scorpio? How so?”
“It stung Orion to death. I do the same with humans in reality. Well, drain them to death…” he paused and laid back on the grass, letting his body become one with the somber pasture. His eyes still stood out, even as the pitch black sky made it really hard to find your own step around. “It’s also one of the first constellations I studied.”
You gave him a little smile and carefully positioned yourself next to him on the ground. “I didn’t know astrology intrigued you.” Indeed it felt odd to listen to him speak about his interests, however it created an invisible bond between you. For once, he looked at the stars with company. He wanted to take your hand, show you that this was something he’d never gotten with anyone else, cherish the moment. You felt him do so, eventually, and tried not to react as if to give yourself away. “Can you guess my favourite constellation? But you shan’t read my thoughts.”
“Mm…” he considered. “Cassiopeia.”
“You read my mind,” you simply stated.
“I guessed.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then don’t.” He turned to look at you and so did you. He was holding back from something, it was evident in the way his Adam’s apple bobbled, the way his eyes had a bizarre shine in them that they’d only get before he was about to ask you a question he knew unlocked more and more of him to you, which he both allowed and feared.
“Go ahead,” you encouraged, even though he hadn’t asked anything at all.
“Do you believe in fate at all?” Fate, as in, everything was meant to be in a way. He couldn’t help but think of the idea as you laid down together, in the presence of the dark blue sky.
“I think fate is misery. I don’t understand why it’s got to punish us for things we didn’t even ask for to happen. It kills us all in the mind. But I do believe in it, nonetheless. We’re all its slaves.”
“Why do you believe in it if it tortures you so much?”
“I don’t know. Shouldn’t you ask yourself the same question? Sometimes we don’t have an answer, we just let things be the way they are.”
“I think that what you call misery shaped me.”
“So you’re miserable, then?”
Lestat frowned as the words came from your lips. “No,” he spoke, his tone seemed to grow a bit frustrated. “I most certainly am not miserable, but I just think…” he sighed harshly, he knew what he was trying to say — he just couldn’t explain it properly — and maybe the way you stared at him, waiting in so much anticipation made him lose his track of thoughts along with his own words.
“You want to go back inside?”
He nodded and got up, upset over the fact that the time had been cut off so shortly. He felt strangely warm, as if he’d recently fed enough to cause the blood run through his veins, and he wondered if you’d make him feel that way every time you gave him the slightest hint of attention.
The night was deep and his house hollow as you stepped into it, ready to take your separate ways in the rooms, but the boldness coursed through your neurons as you asked him if he’d like to have a sip of wine first. No, he replied, he wouldn’t wish for one, because wine no longer got him drunk or offered him any form of careless enjoyment. You just sat by yourself near his piano and grazed your fingers over the last four keys. A messy, silent melody came out and for a second, it echoed over the entire room, one, two, three times. You wondered if it symbolized how lonely Lestat was.
It felt gut wrenching, even though you knew he was unpleasant, seeing him have no one in his life. Seeing him know so much about the stars and have no soul to talk with about it. You went into your room and changed into a nightgown. The breeze from the windows made it feathery against your body as it flew a little under your arms when you entered Lestat’s bedroom without making the slightest noise. His coffin was covered; he’d fallen asleep perhaps. You seized the opportunity to give his room a sharper notice.
There was a neat black vase with golden details placed on the dresser, it even had a rose in it. A rose that had lost its bloom; it was just wrinkled, a little yellow—growing to brownish—near the edges, all dried up, dusty and ready to crumble. A soft touch on the back of your neck caused you to gasp as you turned around only to realise it was Lestat, seemingly paler than usual, for a reason.
“Did I disturb your peace of going through my stuff?” he asked, but his voice didn’t sound mad.
“I don’t want to sleep just yet.”
His eyes followed yours until they fell to the rose you were examining. With a swift twirl, he brought it around his fingers and held it in front of your face. “Pour toi, ma chérie,” he whispered with a smirk as you took it and placed it over your chest, right where your heart was still steadily beating.
“Pourquoi le gardes-tu encore? C’est pourri.”
A disheartening sigh followed by a slight shrug of his exposed shoulders. “It symbolizes a lot.”
“Like what?” you persisted. Lestat took the rose from you and rubbed it between his palms as it turned from a dead flower to dried up powder, piled up in a tiny hill on the rug. You couldn’t understand his sudden burst, the frustration within him, but you were very aware of the fact that even the slightly wronged word could snap him. He didn’t reply to the question, either, just paced forward until he reached the bed. You felt the rest of the world move in front of your very eyes in a sped up warp, you laid right below his body, unable to move in resistance. How he got you in that position was beyond your brain to comprehend and for a split second, you wished to scream, but then remembered.
Lestat lowered his semi-opened mouth right above the vein in the spot he’d first noticed back at the ball, right there, an inch upper than the collarbone, pulsing and pounding in such a sweet way that he was unable to resist the image, how it’d taste like if only he allowed his sharp fangs sink in it, have the dark red blood make a mess out of his mouth, feel the nectar drip on the skin, the tongue. Something about it was so romantic, so deep for him, but he couldn’t do it.
“Laisse-moi faire de toi un vampire, mon amour. Laisse-moi t’offrir la vie d’un Dieu,” he murmured into the side of your neck as he placed the most tender and fragile wet kisses upon it, it was the closest he could get to his request anyway.
“No, Lestat, leave!” you panicked, instantly denying. He was under control, or maybe he wasn’t, but taming the lust that grew in him wasn’t such a difficult task, you’d discovered.
“S’il te plaît,” he pleaded, stripping the sleeve of your clothing down your shoulder with his thumb. He was trying to avoid the conversation you so desperately wanted to have about his past, knew that if he tried seducing you, you’d forget all about it and either end up in bed with him or run off scared. Either way it was working. The smirk was displayed proudly across his lips, his breath smelled like a mixture of an expensive fruit based alcoholic beverage and rosemary. You couldn’t tell how your brain functioned at that moment, as Lestat rose closer to your face and stared at your lips, wetting his own with his flushed tongue. He teased you, leaned down as if to kiss you but pulled away the very centimeter his lips were to touch yours and moaned lowly, almost like a ghost of a whisper. He pressed his thumb on your neck and held you tight, then bent down again.
He drew closer, and for a moment, it almost seemed as if you had pulled away. You staring at him with your boring common eyes, nothing compared to his, and then his lips enclosed on yours; soft yet immersive, gentle yet powerful all the same. All there was was the two of you, or one of you, rather, and all he could feel was you.
“Tu ferais mieux de me tuer,” you whinged as his teeth tugged softly at your lower lip in his motion to pull away. His breath got caught as he cocked his head to the side, eyes still lustful and hot. “Kill me, Lestat, since you can’t have me the way you want me to. Kill me like you promised once.”
“I didn’t—didn’t promise anything like that,” he stuttered while kissing your clothed cleavage.
“But I ask for death. Otherwise we shall be this way always, imprisoned in the hope of ‘what if’.”
Lestat stared at you, smiling, becoming a hazy dreamlike vision, then hyperclear. “Ah, but the price is high,” he laughed, sinking back into the scent of your body passionately, wanting to become one with it. You were serious, in a way, and that he knew, but even the slightest thought of staring at your gray corpse would kill him internally for all eternity. He couldn’t possibly…
“We could be both covered in blood,” you suggested again in a strangled moan. You felt his teeth against your skin, he smiled at the dumb images you had to offer in order to wrap him around the strong spell of undeniable temptation.
“You could be mine forever,” he insisted.
“You’re losing me already, Lestat,” you whispered, but he was too caught up in undressing you to hear. Just a few more months, you promised to yourself as you gave in the pleasure of the night.
───
Lipstick, you found, was how falling in love felt.
Starts off in a smooth surface, full of vibrance and colour, but eventually it comes to an end, either that is natural and non-bumpy, simply finishing because there’s nothing more to it except a few smudges—remainings—on the lid that you can’t get rid of, or it breaks in half, violently, with roughness, tears, anger. Just like when you apply lipstick and the bar becomes too soft to stay on.
Lestat had been your lipstick kind of love.
Except you never knew whether you actually truly loved him or if it was the illusion of him that had you so wanderlust and captivated to him. Months had passed, you’d stayed by his side through all the fights, all the murders that followed in his need to feed, the broken glasses and frames. He always ended up showing a bit more to his fragility after every rage, the stronger, the more. He’d grown to be an open book to you, attached, unable to let go, afraid. Vampires could love. And each human sense was triple as intense for a vampire, so when Lestat fell in love, he devoted himself to it completely, loved hard and immensely, never held back or restrained his emotions. Of course, he never said it out loud.
It had been a while since he’d had someone, a person, a real person to hold on to, to caress their hair at night, to whisper sweet nothings to, to just feel like he can be free with and love deliberately.
Nights were so deep and slow, the stars faded away every time his heart beat faster for you. A vampire could only cry once, he remembered he’d once been told (by whom was unimportant).
You were done, you decided. Had suffocated enough, had cut yourself from the world for him and that was the end of it. You had grown rather fond of him, enjoyed having him around, loved kissing him and talking to him, even fighting with him had become familiar, almost in the dream of being a family with him. You saw him sitting over the piano, contemplating. He raised his eyes at you once found around your presence and smiled. You motioned him not to get up and instead dragged your feet exhaustively towards his side, bringing a hand over his cheek, cupping it softly one last time as he obliviously leaned against it.
“You look handsome tonight, Lestat,” you said.
Indeed, he was impeccably dressed, just like always, in such royal clothes, each layer holding a different peel of his personality. Every feature of his face was smooth and calm, bright and pale at the same time, but the surface felt like a fresh painting; exquisite and vulnerable to any touch. It was probably the only time you’d ever seen him gift you with such a genuine, heartwarming smile.
“I’ve been wanting… dreaming of telling you something. For a long time now, I fear,” he began the moment you removed your palm from his face and instead placed it over his hands in his lap. His fingers found yours immediately and interlocked quickly, excitedly. It broke your heart.
“I’m leaving,” you announced harshly and suddenly his thumbs froze against the top of your hands, which he dropped. He felt lightning crackle through his veins and time slowed down. Your stomach had lost no time in twisting into knots, but you put on a façade that said otherwise, showed you off as strong and determined, cold, hollow to any emotion.
He stilled and looked at you with his jaw agape, mouth quivering. You weren’t just saying it, you meant it. You were doing it—he was losing you. Lestat felt his heart clench around nothing at all.
“Have I done something? I’ll give it to you, whatever it is that you need, I promise.”
His hands were now catching yours again, this time in utter desperation, a form to plead and beg. Your chest heaved as you noticed the corners of his eyes well up, retina glossy and wet, as though… no, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—waste his only chance to let the tears go down, because he was sure that whatever he did, he’d fix, there was a way, he knew it, he was sure of it. He’d offered you so many things, for God’s sake! A house, food, clothes, safety, his trust and love, and you were throwing it all away, like you hadn’t stolen his soul and merged it with yours to become one, like you hadn’t reminded him what it felt to be alive again, after centuries of suffering eternity. Because you had been right when you said to him that eternity kills; it slaughters the purity of the heart, fights against hope. It forces you to be alone as you watch everyone you love perish. And Lestat had been there, still was, would always be.
“I told you, Lestat. I’m not your slave. And I can’t do this anymore, I can’t stay here… it’s killing me. And don’t you—don’t you—dare say anything foolish about how you feel about me,” you threatened through trembling lips, fighting back tears the same way he was, except you didn’t know how long you could put up with the pain.
“You all leave me!” he yelled as he got up from his seat, covering his face with his hands as he moved in circles. “You leave me when I need you the most, you want me dead! All of you!” In his rage, Lestat raised his fist and shattered the marble vase that sat on the coffee table next to the instrument, pieces falling everywhere all over the floor, sounding exactly like the way his heart was breaking. And there it was; the first tear.
It fell from his face in a rush, violently hitting the cold ground, burning his cheek on its way down. His only cry, his only pain, all out in the open as he saw his world come crashing down. And what broke him the most was the look on your face, the urge you felt to remain nonchalant, though. Like your heart wasn’t ripping in half either, like you wouldn’t desire him, love him, give him a chance. Like you hadn’t let him kiss you all those nights as a silent way to confess his love for you, no.
“I’m not yours, I never was,” you struggled out.
“I’m yours. Don’t you see it? I would do anything for us, just let there be an ‘us’ for once, I beg you.”
“You just don’t want to be alone,” you breathed as his chest sunk with each breath. “You don’t love me, Lestat, you just love having someone to keep you out of the misery in your endless life.”
“You can’t… you can’t leave me… you can’t possibly believe all that,” he cried as he grasped your hands, but you pulled away, took a step further away from him with each try he made to get closer, to hold you for one last time, because if he ever had you around his embrace at that moment, you’d never be able to let go. You’d leave and Lestat would look for you in the face of everyone he’d kill to feed from with pure hearted and pleasure at the same time, such sickness that drew you away from him. He shook his head in denial, refused to let himself reason as you faded into a memory, or even a long lasting dream he never wanted to wake up from.
“I must…”
“I can’t bear it! Come back to me… when did I even lose you? When did you start to slip from me? I did… I did everything… I confined in you.”
“You needn’t say such things, Lestat…”
“You’ll stay.”
“No.” The answer was final, he knew it. Lestat De Lioncourt, knelt before your very eyes, broken down to the core, unable to get a hold of himself as his fingers weakened and he watched them slowly let go of yours, now holding nothing. He couldn’t hold you, just like he couldn’t hold anyone else in his life, not even himself.
The sun and moon yearned for each other, but time kept them apart. Eclipses would the only brief moments of bliss, when both of you could pretend that death hadn’t rooted into your souls, where Lestat spent the rest of eternity loving you.
FIN.
for my girl @honeymvnt !! this is your insanely late birthday gift, i hope it lives up to your expectations from all the nights we talked about it. love you 🫵🏼🎀
⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), porn without plot, mild manipulation (it’s sauron), risk of getting caught, possessiveness, sex in a public location, fingering (fem!rec), heavy kissing, hair-pulling, scratching, begging, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink if you squint, sex on a table.
⤿ note: first time writing for sauron, please be gentle! mr. tolkien, so sorry for all of the despicable things I’m gonna be writing about your characters. ❤️ thank you all for reading! reblogs & comments are appreciated!
A salt-tinged breeze stirred through the forges, a welcome gust of relief amidst the heat that sought to blaze his flesh asunder.
In the silence of dusk, Halbrand found his solace with hammer and anvil, over that of indulgence of drink at some tavern.
Númenor proved to be the respite he desperately needed, running from a shadowed past. He worked tirelessly, through lengthy days and well into the night, his mind a tumultuous tempest.
The King of the Southlands — the ruler of nothing.
It was a mantle that wholly disinterested him, and despite his numerous protests to Galadriel regarding his supposed heritage, the she-elf refused to let it stay dead and buried. He was better off here, crafting works of art — blades, armor, jewelry.
There was nothing for him now, only threads of a plan that seemed to fall by the wayside. It was easy to disappear here, to fade away into the backdrop of the oceanside kingdom, allow himself to place all his efforts on smithing.
The roaring embers of the forge sizzled as he placed the partially-finished blade inside, molding metal to his skilled hand. There was no greater joy than that of creation — making something out of nothing, a tool to be used.
Halbrand’s gaze momentarily flickered toward the roll of parchment sitting along one of the many craftsmen’s tables.
You were an envoy of Númenor, the brood of a lesser House of Men, in-service to the Guild. It was you that had uncovered records of the Southlander line and brought it to Galadriel’s attention — a clever creature, you were.
In what handful of interactions he’d had with you, you were studious and well-mannered, far too intelligent for your station. You toiled in-service to lesser beings, when your potential extended far beyond their reach.
The scroll contained the very bloodline you had presumed he hailed from, as if you were dangling the proof for all to see. He cared little for it, preoccupied with the task at-hand.
If it were his choice, he preferred to stay in Númenor, learn their customs and assimilate into their culture. Galadriel’s stubbornness had the potential to win out if he weren’t careful, and Halbrand was not the subservient sort.
In the star-riddled dusk, Halbrand decided to break in his crafting, stepping toward a basin of water, letting the cool liquid wash away the perspiration dotting his brow.
It was better at twilight, offering a solace that one might not fully understand. He rarely slept, and when he did, he was often plagued by dreams of constant rage. Halbrand let the forge simmer down, opting to work on the still-hot sword.
A gentle tap of knuckles against the door did not alert him as much as you thought it would. He stood with his back to you, brows furrowed together in concentration. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He questioned.
Greeted by the stifling, ember-fueled heat of the forge, you stood in the doorway, having abandoned your Guild regalia. “Good eve,” You mustered a smile, hands twisting together. “You are a stranger to rest, it seems.”
“As are you,” Halbrand’s steely gaze flickered from the blade to you, letting the hammer swing down upon forming steel. “Is it safe for you to be wandering about at nightfall?”
His sharp inquiry brought you pause, fingers idly toying with the fabric of your dress. Númenor was perfectly safe — safer than most kingdoms of Men. “Should it not be safe?” Countering his remark, you observed the rack of newly-crafted swords.
Halbrand did not offer an answer right away, turning the blade over, striking it again with his hammer as sparks flew. “There is no such thing as true safety, my Lady. There will always be something stirring in the shadows.”
You nearly laughed at his fearmongering — he sounded akin to an old maiden, weaving her intricate tales of fright to dissuade children from wrongdoing. “That is a rather dour sentiment. Are you often paranoid?” Your tone tapered off into one of mild amusement.
A sardonic scoff escaped him, lips quirking up only slightly, yet he did not seem offended by your retort. “Merely concerned with preservation — my own, first and foremost.” He replied.
He knew why you were here, even if it was an unspoken thing that you continued to dance around. You had come as a messenger on behalf of Galadriel, to make a valiant attempt of convincing him to return to Middle-Earth.
“The Guild is impressed by your craft,” Shifting the topic, you brushed your fingers over the horse-shaped pommel, the color of ivory. “Not that I should be divulging that information.” You mused.
Perplexed, Halbrand wordlessly observed you, cerulean hues studying the creases of your dress, a shade of mauve that only seemed to enhance your beauty. There was something forlorn simmering within him, feelings not often brought to the surface.
“Is that so? It seems that they’ve finally come to their senses,” He jested, earning a pointed look from you. “It took a beating to do so.” Halbrand placed the unfinished blade beside the dying embers of the forge.
There was still mild bruising around his nose and mouth, heated transgressions that earned him the ire of Númenor. He seemed unperturbed, seizing a rag from the edge of an anvil.
“That could’ve been avoided,” You murmured, tracing a digit around the ivory head of a horse before stepping away. “You are fortunate that they did not toss you into the seas for your rancor.”
“That would be rather unfortunate, being tossed back into the ocean when I had worked tirelessly to claw my way out of it.” He quipped, moving about the forge as he hung up his tools.
A soft sigh escaped you as you shook your head, peering outside towards the night skies. “If you wish to stay in Númenor, you must cease drawing attention to yourself.”
Halbrand chuckled, the sound devoid of any mirth. It was a steely sound, more sardonic than genuine. He wiped away at the soot and grime of the forge, leaning back against the sturdy table.
“Is this amusing to you, being tossed into a cell and brawling with the locals?” The sharp bite of your inquiry could’ve been mistaken for the edge of a knife. “You are above that.”
“And if I am not?” He was equally as sharp, that of a longsword, tarnished and worn yet still able to cut with ease. Halbrand’s countenance seemed unmistakably soured by your comment.
Taken aback, you turned to face him fully, canting your head to one side. It was not mock frustration that you found in his features — it was true. “What do you mean?”
“You continue to place me upon some pedestal,” Halbrand scoffed, peering elsewhere, gazing at the hot coals of the forge. “What if I am not what you think me to be? What if I am simply a Man with not a drop of nobility to his name?”
With a furrowed brow, you folded your hands together, studying his visage. He seemed frustrated yet forlorn, as if he were remembering something — lamenting, perhaps. “Then you are a Man.”
In the time that you had gotten to know Halbrand, standing alongside Captain Elendil on the ship back to Númenor, he was something of an enigma. Charming and charismatic with a great love of disobedience, but he possessed a veiled depth.
Galadriel seemed far more preoccupied with returning to Middle-Earth and hunting Sauron, making Halbrand a ruler over considering his feelings. If he wanted to stay in Númenor, craft a new existence — you did not blame him.
“And if I am not the man that you believe I am?” Halbrand pressed, as if seeking a certain answer from you. Some sliver of his being wanted someone to tell him that they cared little about his past, what he used to be.
“Whatever you are insinuating, I care little for it. Your past does not make you — only what you do from this moment forward,” You replied, mustering a gentle smile. “You are Halbrand — that is enough for me.”
If the She-elf had it her way, she would drag him back to Middle-Earth, writhing and screaming. In his own web of schemes, it was what was necessary — but time was infinite.
There was a peculiar gleam within your eyes, one that possessed a warmth and understanding that he was vastly unaccustomed to. “Hm,” He sighed, turning the cloth over within his hand. “Thank you.”
A brief laugh tore past your lips, one that seemed to bring the tension to a momentary heel. “What, for dissuading you against further scorn by the local populace?” You mused.
Halbrand happened to chuckle at that, a warm sound that made residence within your stomach, butterflies following suit. “For understanding, for your kindness,” He replied, his tone softening. “Not many possess your tenderness.”
Growing silent, you nodded, attempting to mask the brief glimmer of surprise that fluttered across your features. You were often regarded as level-headed and sage, yet soft when it mattered most.
“I do not wish to see you thrown in a cell again, or exiled from the Guild when you clearly possess a wealth of talent,” Your motives transcended that — part of you liked Halbrand. “I would do the same for anyone in your position.”
“Would you?” Halbrand’s inquiry, whilst outwardly inquisitive, seemed tinged with something unfamiliar — something amorous. Your nerves became set ablaze, skin uncomfortably warm.
As you swallowed the growing lump within your throat, Halbrand straightened, copper-hued locks framing his rugged face. He was handsome — statuesque, clearly carved with the frame of a warrior and a smith.
“Yes,” Hoarse and pitched with the sudden swell of nervousness, you idly toyed with the sleeves of your dress. “If you are to stay in Númenor, I would hope that you only continue to thrive with your craft.”
This craft was of little interest — Halbrand knew what he wanted, starting with you. Malleable like the finest metal, as beautiful as a glittering opal socketed into that of a signet.
“Is that what you want, for me to stay in Númenor?” Seas help you — this was madness. Halbrand’s poignant question made you wonder what exactly was about to happen, gooseflesh icing your spine, prompting you to shiver.
“What I want matters little,” There was a noticeable lack of conviction within your tone, as if you were convincing yourself of that very fact. “You are free to choose your destiny.”
You were fighting against the urge, the untoward craving that began to settle within your bones. It wasn’t proper nor appropriate of you to even consider wanting Halbrand, a man whose fate seemed far more important than your own.
To ask him to stay in Númenor, abandon the Southlands — you did not have the heart. It was born of greed and desire, wanting to keep him close to your chest.
“It matters to me,” Halbrand murmured, brows creasing together as he glowered down upon you, close enough to touch. “What do you want?” The malignant force deep within him begged to bring you into his stead.
Whatever perceived darkness hungered within you, it also screamed within him, with a shadow far more powerful than your own. Greed was unbecoming of you — you were meant to serve the people of Númenor, never yourself.
Whereas Galadriel possessed a fierce heart and unending thirst for vengeance, you longed to be free — no longer under the thumb of lesser Men, to lead and to be revered.
To be loved, to be coveted.
“Do not leave,” A plea, beseeching him to stay in Númenor, to stoke whatever flame was stirring between the both of you. The intensity of his longing stare nearly made you collapse. “Stay here, in Númenor.”
A hitch formed within your throat as his calloused fingertips graced your arm, tracing over the sea of mauve gossamer that clung to your form. Halbrand took your silence as something contemplative, afraid to make your true feelings known.
Again, he pressed closer, looming above you, caging you in against the table. You could feel his heat, smell the coal and metal, taste the fantasy that swirled within your mind’s eye.
Roughened digits caressed across your throat, over your slender neck, your collarbone. His touch was like that of a fire, a burn so wonderful that you would beg for it if you had to.
“Halbrand,” Barely above a whisper, your tone seemed strained, as if fighting against all of your baser urges. A peculiar heat raked its way across your flesh before settling within the pit of your belly. “I shouldn’t.”
“Do you think that you are the only one who possesses desire?” His wanton confession made your knees buckle, lips parting just enough for a soft gasp to escape you. “When my eyes found you upon that ship, I wanted — more than I have for some time.”
Words turned to ash upon your tongue, dying then and there within your throat. There was a fire within Halbrand’s eyes, one that sought to burn you, too. You felt the small of your back dig into the table, warmth licking across your spine.
Each breath felt labored, a dizzying sensation taking hold of you, as if this were more dream than reality. Yet, Halbrand remained close to you, chest-to-chest, digits finding the swell of your hip through the sea of violet fabric.
Instead of vocalizing your festering worry, you rocked up upon your toes, pressing your lips against his own. It was disarmingly gentle, a sheepish kiss that did not waste a second in becoming heated and charged.
He reciprocated with a blinding intensity, arm hitching around your waist, calloused palm spreading out against your back. Halbrand lifted you closer, his kiss inherently greedy and covetous, as if you belonged only to him.
His mouth swirled with wildfire, tasting of smoke and a hint of Númenorian stout, stubble scratching against your soft skin. Your hands found their purchase against his chest, able to feel the taut muscle beneath.
Hardened was a good way to describe him — rugged like the uneven ridges of tanned leather, swathed in heat. He cupped your jaw with his hand, reveling in the sensation of your flesh, akin to a plane of silk.
The state of dishevelment he was in mattered little to you — the soot upon his tanned flesh, the specks of dirt, garb somewhat tattered. You could not recall the last time you had yearned for someone so terribly that it ripped your heart into two.
Each clash of your lips evoked a pang of excitement that struck at your stomach, exhilaration pumping through your veins. Halbrand was a vigorous kisser — passionate and swift, stealing the air from your very lungs.
His palm slowly caressed from the small of your back toward your derrière, strong digits melding themselves into your clothed flesh. A hitch formed within your throat, anticipation mounting as the tension began to cloud the room.
Your digits possessed a mind of their own, climbing towards the nape of his neck, threading themselves through his bronze tresses. Halbrand kissed you again — softer this time, yet not without his domineering edge.
Lips bled into one another with an outpouring of want, a long-repressed sentiment caged within both hearts. Halbrand wanted many things — yet, what he did not expect was to crawl after you like some starving beast.
Every sensible thought seemed mulled, draped in this haze that clouded your mind. As you slowly recoiled from the kiss, you keened into the rough embrace of his palm, his digits cupping your cheek.
As much as you longed to continue, the locale seemed impractical, if not somewhat reckless. If someone were to catch you, you would never hear the end of it. Even then, you did not want to let fear drive you this way.
“Must I profess my desire once more?” Halbrand murmured, warm breath fanning across your visage, tinged with smoke. There was something tantalizing and enigmatic about him, swirling with some edge of mystique.
“I wouldn’t protest,” You whispered, which earned you the beginnings of a smile. He swept your tresses aside, bearing your neck to him as he bent in to kiss the soft flesh there. “Halbrand.” A low whine escaped you.
Stubble prickled and bit at your neck, yet you reveled in it, clutching at his shoulder as he pressed heated kisses to your throat. He was not hesitant in the slightest, letting you writhe and moan, plead for him to continue.
It was then that he began to gather your dress with one hand, firmly gripping at the mauve fabric as he inched it upward. Exhilaration struck at you again, the buzz of excitement, a thrill that you hadn’t experienced before.
There was not an inkling of hesitation from you, with little sign of stopping his advances. As he guided the gossamer along your legs, one palm snaked forth, calloused digits embracing your thigh, as smooth as silk.
He held little recollection of the last time he had touched something so delicate, as if you were some splendid jewel to be cradled, coveted. Halbrand kissed his way toward the curve of your jaw, searching your visage for a reaction.
As he parted your legs with his frame alone, your breath hitched, an audible noise that he found to be delicious. You were akin to some startled rabbit, ensnared within the jaws of a predator disguised as a friend.
Whatever smallclothes you wore beneath were of little consequence, giving way to that of his possessive embrace. Your hand flew back to grip the edge of the table, nails digging into splintered wood as he sought the heat between your legs.
Anticipation swelled within you, teetering on the edge of unraveling as you felt his digits ghost across your aching cunt. It was feather-light, intended to torment you — and torment it did.
“Halbrand,” A desperate gasp tore past your lips, needing him in a way that you hadn’t desired anyone else before. “Please, please touch me.” Your breathy pleas did not go unheard as he planted a kiss against your neck.
“Is that what you want?” A sultry purr rumbled from the depths of his chest, tone adopting a rather promiscuous resonance. He watched you nod several times over, fingers pushing past your petals as he touched your core.
A hand held onto his bicep for stability, the other haplessly fisting at the wood behind you. A moan emanated from you, desperate for anything he would give you.
Much to his delight, he found that you were shamelessly wet between your thighs, a nectar that refused to cease. “You are beautiful like this.” He murmured, fingers toying with your slit, eliciting another strangled moan from your lips.
Halbrand’s forehead brushed against yours, hawkish gaze absorbing the look of pleasure upon your face. He began to find a steady rhythm, worn digits sliding along the length of your cunt, letting you hold onto him as much as you pleased.
Any scrap of friction you received drove you mad, desperation climbing to new heights as your hips rocked forward into his hand. His stare became half-lidded, drinking you in with unabashed greed, longing to consume you.
Sighs of wanton passion drifted from you in droves, legs parted as he pressed his thumb to the pearl of your cunt. It was easy to evoke a reaction from you, the constant writhing, gasps and whines, the look of complete and utter bliss.
In sluggish circles, he caressed your clit, causing you to twitch again. “Halbrand,” A moan tore past your lips again, his name becoming a melody from your mouth, to be sung over and over again. “Do not stop, I beg you!”
“As you wish.” Halbrand’s voice raked hot embers over your body, reaching a salacious octave that turned your insides to molten liquid. He continued to touch your nethers, two digits sweeping toward your entrance.
An impenetrable heat swallowed your body whole, skin feeling damp with perspiration, somewhat in-part of the forge’s dissipating warmth. He continued to circle your clit, fingers lightly prodding at your cunt in an attempt to seek entry.
Rough lips fell to your neck again, gowns having slacked enough to give way to your shoulder and collarbone. You clawed at his bicep, rolling your hips again as you rocked yourself upon his digits, much to his delight.
With a brusque tug upon the collar of his tunic, your lips clamored for his, longing to feel his mouth. His kiss left you breathless, teeth scraping against your lower lip, bringing you to heel.
Heat pooled between your legs, coalescing upon Halbrand’s fingers as he teased your core, thumb working around the pearl of your cunt. A soft gasp tore through your throat, a moan escaping you into the passion of your kiss.
Again, your hips rolled into his hand, craving him in a way that resembled that of an animal; carnal, ravenous. A fire danced within his eyes, one that seemed to reflect the sentiments that festered within you.
“Give yourself to me.” Halbrand sighed, timbre trembling against the underside of your jaw before he looked upon you, unraveling from his touch. Need stirred within him, coupled with the swell of possessiveness.
He searched your countenance for any hint of hesitation, flicking his thumb across your clit once more. “Please.” You pleaded, waves of bliss rolling across your body, bringing with it a feverish heat that made you want him all the more.
Halbrand heeded your breathy plea, reaching for the leather ties of his trousers, wanting nothing more than you be inside of you. His cock twitched with amorous intent, muscles coiled, prepared to grab you.
His hand recoiled, leaving you with an aching emptiness that caused your cunt to clench pathetically around nothing. A hitch formed within your throat, words turning to ash as he lifted you onto the table.
Calloused, careworn palms kneaded into your haunches, grasping at your pliant flesh in fistfuls as he pressed his lips to your exposed shoulder. Rucking your gown up to your hips, Halbrand appraised you with a thinly-veiled lust.
There was no flesh as soft as yours, untouched — belonging to him. Anticipation churned within the pit of your stomach, lips agape as he unraveled the front of his breeches, freeing himself from its confines.
Flushed with a rush of ecstasy, Halbrand dragged you closer, hands traveling to cup your hips. He guided his length to your cunt, letting the tip of his cock linger there until he pushed forward.
“Halbrand!” You moaned, hand reaching to grasp at the nape of his neck, nails raking across his coppery tresses. The other seized his bicep, digging inward as he slowly rocked into you.
Nearly chest-to-chest, there was little room for discomfort, letting lust and urgency guide his hand. He huffed, steadying his ironclad hold upon your hips, fingers pressing hard enough to leave behind bruises.
His pace was agonizingly sluggish at first, drawing out each thrust in an effort to let you grow accustomed. Hot sighs of passion fluttered between the both of you, lips brushing over one another as he rolled his hips forward.
There was something exhilarating about coupling with you, the warmth of being alive, savoring the guise of mortality. Halbrand could see the attachment brewing within your stare, the glint of affection intermingled with desire.
The still-burning coals of the forge provided enough illumination for him to see you bathed in fire — and you were breathtaking.
Your heart pounded within your ribcage, so powerful that you thought it might burst through. His stubble scratched against your cheek, providing a pleasant burn that let you know that this was reality. “Move,” You moaned. “Please.”
Inclined to obey, Halbrand let his yearning for you show, as plain as a summer’s day. He began to thrust into you, hunching in and over, stabilizing himself with one palm flat atop the table.
The other squeezed incessantly at your hips, cock rocking in and out of you at a steady pace, yet the fervor was steadily increasing. Your head spun, clouded by lust as your paramour ravished you in the way that you deserved.
His countenance echoed your sentiments, shadowed with the haze of lust, a carnality that clawed at your very soul. You let your forehead press to his, brows screwed together in a state of bliss, grasping at his tresses.
Halbrand grunted, the low noise rippling through his chest as he held your thigh, digits clamping down to keep you firmly in-place. His cock throbbed with an ache of urgency, hips snapping forward as he filled you completely.
A moan erupted from your lips yet again, nails forming crimson crescents against his bicep, occasionally lurching forward to meet his thrusts halfway. His pace became somewhat erratic as he coaxed you to lay back.
Your back hit the wooden surface of the table, the uncomfortable bite of it all softened by parts of your dress. Halbrand hunched in over you like a wolf towering above prey, palm flat beside your head.
The groan of sturdy wood beneath your entangled bodies resonated throughout the forge, the heat beginning to dissipate. The warmth between breath and body kept you feeling feverish, and you hitched one leg around his hips.
It evoked another growl from his lips as the smith pounded away at you, keeping a firm and steady pace. Halbrand was rougher than some, but never enough to cause you discomfort or harm. He was invigorated, driven to madness by the sight of you.
He kissed you again, feeling your desperation through joined lips alone, your hand grasping at his toned forearm. Arousal mounted within you, as thick as honey oozing between your thighs.
Passion bled into need, the two tangling together into some fervent amalgamation. It showed in his movements, continuing to thrust into you, feeling your cunt clench around him. You were made for him, with a heart that he found as malleable as metal.
The arch of your back signaled that your release was swiftly approaching, keening into his embrace instead as you moaned. You did little to temper your volume, mouth agape, head rolled back — you were the picture of grace, now tarnished.
His name escaped your tongue like a wayward prayer, over and over again until it was the only word you knew. As his cock hit you again, sending shockwaves throughout your body, you came undone.
Your leg squeezed at his hips, feeling his own resolve crumble at the sight of you, disheveled because of his doing. Halbrand let out a sonorous groan, body nearly blanketed over yours as his cock slapped into you again.
The warmth you provided was enough to make him stay sheathed within you, spilling himself inside of you without thinking. It only served to fuel his possessiveness, as dangerous as a growing wildfire.
Rocking himself inside of you once more, you let out a strangled whine. Through labored pants, you slowly regained composure, feeling his hot breath fan out across your visage.
Halbrand pulled himself out of you, leaving behind the visceral remnants of your lewd exploits, the sheen of it coating the inside of your thighs. He noticed your sheepish expression as you corrected your garments.
“There isn’t anywhere you can go that I would not follow.” He uttered, fingertips tucking strands of hair behind your ear. As you moved from the table, the smith reached for something within the pocket of his trousers.
“Halbrand,” You began, knowing that asking him to stay in Númenor was not fair — to either of you. Perhaps you could enjoy what comfort he brought, for the time being. “I shouldn’t ask it of you.”
“No matter what destiny entails, know that you belong to me.” There was something strangely dark within his tone, disguised as affection — you were oblivious to it. He placed something into your joined hands.
Touched by such a sentimental gesture, you flourished in the aftermath of your coupling, feeling his rough lips press against the curve of your jaw. You shivered, feeling the weight of a trinket within your palm.
Your lips sought his, the kiss lingering, enough for you to feel it burn within your very soul. There was nothing that could describe whatever it was you felt for him, felt with him.
“What is it?” You inquired, warmth raking along your spine, faces brushing against one another. Halbrand lingered pensively, a smile tugging at either corner of his mouth.
Author's Note: My gift to @vampemoqueen as part of the VtM Secret Santa Writers 2024 event!
Another night, another accidental Embrace. Qadir had seen his share of poor, unfortunate souls like yourself in the thousands. But you were special. You would be his last miracle.
Content Warnings: Loss of agency, violence, implied/referenced abuse, obsession, death.
It was nothing short of a miracle how he got there before a certain Ms. Valerie Duval did, especially when it concerned you. You were fresh out of the bag, a youngling, new as they come. He had pulled your lips back to reveal your baby teeth, like a miniature doll. Fragile as porcelain, he could break you in two with his bare hands in an instant. But Valerie was a Scourge who desired to wipe out the Duskborn of New York City like the Second Coming. She had a flair for sniffing out the likes of you from miles away, and she was relentless.
Not tonight, however. Strange. Perhaps it was fate? he repeated this to the point of believing in it.
You were crouched over in the corner like a frightened animal while he gave the same boring speech prepared for every unsanctioned Embrace since the night he had stepped into the New World. Something about a mortal hobby he followed akin to the Penal Code. Baseball. The Mets. A three-strike system, honed to merciless perfection. He noticed how you listened, your eyes lost in his as you hung on his every word.
“Three strikes and you’re out, whelp,” he warned—or was it a murmur?—approaching you, eyes flashing, dangerous as they were seductive. He wedged you between his body and the plastered wall, palms pressed flat on either side of your head. “Do you understand?”
Tapping his foot impatiently, he saw your gaze drop to his lips and your breath quicken, matching the pace of his heartbeat if he had one. No, that wasn’t right. You were merely one of the many thousands he came across most nights in all his years of service, just a trifling and insignificant variation of the previous encounter. You weren’t—
“Yes, sir.”
A prey that submitted willingly. You didn’t even need to be told. His mouth lit up in a cruel smirk. “Very good, young one.”
He could have killed you on the spot, played God and passed swift judgment like any other fool parading around as the so-called Sheriff, but he did not. Prince Panhard always favored formalities, especially when there was a Thin-blood Primogen she could rub it in the face of. At least that was what he told himself as he ferried you back to the Art Hole.
On the way, you had asked for his name and he divulged it to you like a sworn secret through the rearview mirror. “Qadir,” he replied, his voice monotone. “That’s all you need to know.”
The rest of the ride took place in silence.
At your hearing, he observed you intently while you were met with disgust and disinterest by the other Kindred. It seemed as if you didn’t care what the Prince had to say as you stared back at him, hands twitching and biting your lip. He recognized the signs for what they were, after all, it wasn’t the first time a captive had taken a fancy to him. Regardless of his severity, he was as stereotypical as the Clan of the Rose brought forth. He plied himself with fashionable suits and expensive Swiss watches, groomed his locks and beard religiously each night, disguised like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
It was a sham. He was a sham. It mesmerized him how alive you felt, your blushing heat. If not for the tip-off, he believed he would never have known you were one of them—almost. When the verdict of “Final Death” was raised, something innate possessed him to fabricate the story he narrated before the Prince to delay your sentencing for just a bit longer. Was it the remaining scraps of what he so desperately tried to salvage as human?
Mercy.
The Prince raised an eyebrow.
Mercy.
Although he would never admit it, he could not bear to see you perish that night. You were a miracle. You were his miracle. His salvation and hope. You reminded him of Qadir al-Asmai of Lucknow, not Qadir the Sheriff of New York. He brought you to the cell where you would spend the night, and the next, and the next, as long as you didn’t outlive your usefulness. A usefulness which he had invented and even the Council had fallen for.
He remembered how you had cried upon hearing what he had done. Such is the wonder of human emotion, he thought. Soon, he will learn to cry too. The scene replayed itself like a continuous loop in his mind and he wished it would never end.
And so it began. When he checked on you the next evening, he found you on all fours, before lying prostrate on the dirt ground, as if praying to some unknown god.
“What is the meaning of this?” he questioned, more curious than irritated.
You glanced up at him with those pitiful, naive eyes, like a dog waiting for its owner and he felt something he had not felt for a very long time—a sense of joy. He provided you with fresh blood, which you lapped from his hands hungrily, and wiped the tears away from your grimy face.
“Thank you, sir.”
You were so polite, so precious; he promised to take care of you, on condition that you would do as you were told. Naturally, you agreed, eager as a pup to please. He pretended to coax information out of you on a recent case he was investigating in exchange for blood. It was all for show, a stunt to appease his superiors. Just the way the Camarilla liked it, and just the way his colonizers liked it back then too. But this thing you had with him… it was real, wasn’t it? You were teaching him to love again, beyond the blood-splattered tiles and mangled bones. He was falling for you just as you were falling for him.
Then, one night, you refused. He couldn’t fathom why, what caused the sudden change of heart. You stopped drinking the blood he offered, spat it in his face when he tried to feed you, starving yourself on purpose.
“Don’t test my patience, whelp,” he growled, holding the base of your neck between his hands as he stroked a pointed nail along its length. You shivered and went limp. He gave a ghastly smile. “Good girl.”
However, it was only a temporary respite. He knew what was best for you—why wouldn’t you listen? You left him no choice, but to do what he had to do next. He plunged his teeth into you, his bite lingering as he tasted the sickness of your saccharine blood. Your eyes shut placidly like a serene angel, arms folding around him as he led you in a slow dance around the derelict room. When you came to, he was sure that you would love him even more than you did before.
“Drink,” he ordered. “Or you will never receive my Kiss again.”
Despite your withdrawal, you staunchly held your ground. His jaw tensed. Had he not been kind and merciful to your plight? Wasn’t this how one should love? But love was a distant memory; he had forgotten whether he had ever felt it at all. There were still hours to go before the break of dawn, but he left in a hurry, as if something had finally unnerved him, and did not return until several nights after.
By then, you were nearly catatonic. A thin film of milky white cast over your eyes. As you lay in his arms, he asked you quietly, “Tell me, what is it you want?”
He wanted you to pick him. To stop time and make him human again. But that answer never came. Just two simple words uttered from your dry, cracked lips, “Final Death.”
In a moment of clarity, he saw through the lies he told to everyone and to himself. The tears in your eyes had never been about gratitude for prolonging your life, they were pleading with him to extinguish it. He had treated you like an enslaved animal, attempting to bind you to his blood and will. Instead of the soft caresses he imagined, he had wrung your neck and forced your hand unto obedience, into submission. There was no love, only suffering and pain.
The grip on his sword tightened. Perhaps he was condemned to live out the rest of his undead days in a state of limbo, waiting for the inevitable, spectacular end, where his humanity would be so whittled down that he becomes a mindless wight. To grant your wish and lose you would be to damn his soul, but perhaps this was his greatest act of mercy yet. And that was a miracle in itself.
With a single swift stroke, his sword was unsheathed—elegant, ruthless, and compassionate. Your head slid off your body onto the floor. He took it gently in his hands, kissed your still warm lips for the very last time, etching every sensation to memory. Then, he let go, leaving your decomposing corpse in his wake.
Prompt: Day 10 - “I never disrobe before a gunfight.”
Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader
Setting: The Punisher
Summary: Billy Russo has always lived in a world made of violence and betrayment, until he met you. And while sometimes you feel you couldn't understand your boyfriend, he cherished your pureness in his own way.
Word Count: 385 (SORRY-)
Warnings: Mature contents, mention of blood, mention of injuries, implied sexual content, dead dove?, innocent reader, no beta'd. Please, tell me if I have missed something else!
A.N. Day 10 snippet from the event "January Jumble Scribbles", organized by @societynsoelsscribbles.
It was supposed to be a Nick Fowler snippet, but it turned out to be a Billy Russo one, my other beloved psycho. I'm not so proud of this, plus I haven't watched The Punisher for years, so forgive me if I didn't give to Billy the right justice!
ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.
JANUARY JUMBLE SCRIBBLES MASTERLIST
Loving a man like Billy Russo was like playing at the Russian roulette.
On some nights, he was caring, passionate, not pushing too much your boundaries; on the other nights, instead, he was quiet and mysterious, his brown eyes never boring into yours as his touch became colder and distant.
He was a man that carried more riddles than certainties, that one day he would give you the moon and the other day he would be so absorbed in his thoughts his walls would raise up, unable to let you in.
You learned not to ask too much, not to inquire: it would be simply worthless. However, a crack in his well-built wall appeared when you least expected it.
You were safely tugged in your bed when you heard one of your windows break. You barely had time to rise before a shadow slipped through the opening: Billy stood there among the broken glass, breath uneven, eyes dark with a vulnerability you couldn't describe. His face was beaten up with purple bruises and trails of blood, his confident smirk replaced with a tired gruff.
You ran towards him as you saw him hissing. "Billy! Oh my God, what happened to you?"
Billy didn't let you finish; instead, he crushed his lips straight into yours, melting into a kiss that made you feel dizzy. The taste of blood lingered between you, metallic and wrong, and it snapped you back to the reality of him standing there, broken and bleeding.
"Stop, Billy," you faintly protested, his lips hovering yours, "you're hurt-"
"Oh, darling. I never disrobe before a gunfight," he murmured with a sinister chuckle, his words so puzzling yet so eager to confess something.
You opened your mouth to retort, but Billy's lips hovered over yours, pushing you in your bed. His hand squeezed your hips, his touch growing urgent as his forehead rested on yours. "It's okay. I got you," he murmured against your ear, his warm voice let you shiver as he devoured you, your mind so clouded by pleasure you were unable to think.
And once again, you failed to ask about his wounds and his puzzled words. Because Billy would never pull you into a world made of violence, coercion and power.
For you being the purest thing he could ever touch.
If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Please, follow and check @thenameswinterfics and turn on the notifications if you want to stay updated about my fics.
y'okay can we stop pretending yet. like can we all acknowledge that eating disorders are chic again, and it's going to kill someone.
and like. do we have to keep gently phrasing things to protect naturally-thin people's feelings. in my life it has never been fashionable to be fat. "fat" is still a bad word. there has never been institutional power pushing people to gain weight; no trillion-dollar industry to "fix" skinny people. a larger body type has never been over-represented in models, influencers, celebrities. sure, people might say "i'm worried for your health," but they do it with respect and gentleness, like they're talking to a scared deer.
every single fucking time i talk about this, i have to be so careful with what i say, in case i offend even one skinny person. it is just true that skinny people have social capital across many cultures. there is a reason you almost never hear someone say "i wish i was fat," but you will constantly see people say "I wish i was thin." and yet inevitably some skinny person will tell me: i thought you wanted body positivity. it is the same fucking attitude as when a cis man says "when you say men have power, well, i've been bullied for being a man. i thought you believe in mental health awareness. don't you know men have a higher suicide rate?"
two things can be true at once: your experience being bullied for being thin was terrible. and people with larger bodies probably have it worse.
i have been big and small. i know many other people who have been big and small. trust what i'm about to tell you: being small is much easier. the world is kinder to you. people treat you better. honestly, this pattern occurs pretty much regardless of gender - my guy friends have confided that they'd rather be bullied for being thin than be bullied for being fat. if you're skinny, the pressure might be to gain weight, sure, but it's often to do so in a way that keeps you skinny - to gain muscle, specifically.
thinness is seen as innate and natural, genetic. whereas carrying any fat - that is a moral failing. it is assumed to be related to your character, your personality. i have seen people equate it to discipline, to hygiene. that bias is why we need to talk about this.
of course i want nobody to make a comment about anyone's bodies. and i think that hyper-thinness and an obsession with weight loss and a recession and a rise of conservative values... all of this is very fucking concerning. we are watching a return of "pro-ana" content, reframed as choice feminism, "health-conscious" behavior, "looksmaxxing". it's fucking terrifying.
you feel the cold metal of the handcuffs bite into your wrists as they click shut. hongjoong stands above you, shirt unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders, eyes darkened as he watches how your body stretches out on his bed.
"look at you," he murmurs, voice low and almost affectionate, "already trembling and i've barely touched you."
his fingers trace down your sternum, nails dragging enough to leave faint red lines in their wake. you arch into the touch instinctively, pulling a chuckle from hongjoong's lips as he closes his hand around your throat.
"you asked for this, remember?" he leans down, lips brushing your ear. "wanted me to hurt you. said you could take it, right?"
you nod as much as his grip allows and hongjoong smiles sharply, almost predator looking.
he releases your throat only to slide his hand lower, pinching one nipple between his fingers until you gasp. the pain blooms quickly, shooting straight between your legs. he twists his fingers a little more, watching your face closely to drink in the discomfort.
"good," he praises, "make those pretty sounds for me."
his mouth follows his hand, teeth sinking into your skin hard enough to pull a cry from your lips. he moves to the other side, repeating the action, causing you to strain your wrists against the cuffs, the metal digging into your skin.
hongjoong pulls back to admire the marks he left, deep reds blooming over your skin as he presses his fingers into a fresh bite, making you whimper.
"mine," he says simply, "all of this is mine to break."
he shifts down, spreading your thighs and dragging his nails down the sensitive skin, leaving long red trails. he pauses when he reaches your center, thumb circling your clit before he slaps you hard.
you jolt, a broken moan tearing from your throat as he does it again but harder, pain blooming instantly. your hips try to twist away from him, causing him to laugh quietly, pinning you down with a palm on your stomach.
hongjoong leans in and bites the inside of you thigh, hard enough to break skin, before presses his thumb into it, watching you writhe.
you're dripping by the time he finally pushes two fingers inside you, curling them roughly against the spot inside that makes you see stars. he fucks you steadily while his other hand rubs your clit, occasionally delivering another sharp slap to make your walls clench.
"hongjoong- fuck- please-!"
"please what?" he asks, voice calm as he adds a third finger, stretching you. "please hurt you more? you want me to make it worse?"
you nod frantically, and he rewards you by sinking his teeth into your hip, making sure the skin breaks. the pain pushes you closer to the edge, making hongjoong pull his fingers out right as you're about to tip over.
you sob in frustration, pulling a smirk to his lips as he climbs back up your body, kissing you roughly. "not yet," he whispers against your lips, "want you crying before i let you cum."
he flips you onto your stomach with ease, yanking your hips up so your ass is in the air, cuffed wrists trapped beneath.
his palm cracks against your ass without warning, alternating sides until your skin is raw and burning. hongjoong pauses to dig his fingers into the sore skin, spreading you open to see how wet you are.
"beautiful," he murmurs before spanking you harder, causing tears to prick at your eyes, streaming down your cheeks.
once your ass is a mess of red handprints, he finally presses the head of his cock against your entrance. he drags it through your folds, coating himself in your wetness while one hand fists into your hair, yanking your head back.
"beg," he demands, voice low.
"please- hongjoong please fuck me, hurt me, i need it-"
he slams into you in one thrust, the stretch burning instantly as he starts a punishing rhythm. every snap of his hips drives him deeper, the head of his cock hitting spots that make you scream into the sheets.
his hand comes down on your bruised ass, leaning over you and letting his teeth find your shoulder, biting down while he pulls you into him harder.
"take it," hongjoong growls against your skin, "take everything i give you."
you're sobbing as your body flares with pain and pleasure, and he reaches around to pinch your clit roughly, enough to push you over the edge.
your orgasm crashes over you violently, walls clamping down around him as you shake. hongjoong fucks you through it, chasing his own release while you're pulsing and oversensitive.
he buries himself deep, letting himself spill inside you with a low grunt, staying inside you while his cock twitches.
hongjoong pulls out after a while, grabbing a warm cloth to clean you up, wiping the sweat and slick between your thighs gently.
"shh, baby.. i've got you," he whispers, uncuffing your wrists and bringing each one to his lips to kiss the marks left behind, thumbs rubbing slow circles over the tender areas.
he pulls you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms, threading his fingers through your hair and stroking the strands softly, pressing tiny kisses to your temple and cheeks.
"you were so good for me," he murmurs against your skin, "my sweet girl.. i'm so proud of you." one hand traces lazy patterns down your back, letting you tuck your face into his neck.
"does anything hurt too much?" he asks quietly, letting his lips brush your hair. you shake your head, pulling a hum of relief from his lips. "rest now, okay?"
"It's your first day tomorrow, aren't you excited?" Your best friend Seonghwa's voice broke over the counter as he watched you carefully fill containers of chai.
"I'm nervous," you offer him instead, your eyes not wandering from the task at hand. Of course you were nervous, starting over was one thing—but starting over towards the end of your degree was another.
"You have no reason to be, you'll be fine!" You could practically feel his smile, it was contagious, creeping onto your lips without looking up as you move onto filling the chocolate powder.
"That's probably the only part I'm happy about," you shake your head in disbelief as your trembling hands move to rip open the edge of the bag. Three years at one college gone before you were forced to move onto the next.
"Think positively. You're with me now, I'll have your back. Always." Seonghwa's voice softens. Your eyes finally flick up to meet his as you finish pouring the contents into the tub. Seeing Seonghwa's beautiful smile brought yours back, he always had a way with words.
"Thank you, Hwa. I appreciate you." It was true, sure you had friends but Seonghwa was the one who truely cared about you the most. It was beyond surface level.
"____!" Your head snaps towards your boss upon hearing your name. Jarred, the bald man beckons you over with his fingers, a joyous look rested on his friendly face. You walk over to him with a tight smile, unsure if he had an issue with your friend being here.
"Thank you for today, you've earned yourself an early mark." Seonghwa perks up at his words, happy he didn't have to wait and stick around for another hour until you finished.
You couldn't stop the look of excitement that passed over your face, "really? Thank you so much."
You go to turn on your heel to leave but his next words stop you, "Hey," you turn back, "I know you've joined the big leagues now Kiddo and it's a bit away from campus, but I hope you're able to maintain a schedule to come and work with us. It would be such a shame to see you go." His words bought a smile to your face. Jarred and Sharlene had always thought of you as one of their own kids. You hoped you could maintain your schedule as well.
"Thank you, and I'll definitely do my best! You and Sharlene are like family to me," you beam up at him. He smiles down at you before wrapping his dainty arms around you in a hug that you gratefully accept.
"I'll see you on Friday yeah?" You ask as you pull back.
"Of course. See you then sweetie," the old man looks over your shoulder and waves to Seonghwa, "goodbye Hwa." He offers the young man who excitedly gets out of bar stool and grabs his bag all while waving back. You turn towards him as you walk to him, chuckling at his eagerness.
"Goodbye Jarred! I'll see you next time when I come to bother your favourite worker!" The man only laughs at Hwa before turning on his heel to go into the back.
"Don't you need to grab your stuff?" Hwa looks down at you as you approach him. You subtly smirk to yourself as you go behind the counter, bending down to grab your jacket and keys that you were hiding.
"Always a woman who's prepared. You'd think I'd know this by now," he was in awe, remembering why you were his best friend in the first place. You were both people who always had things together, never having to wait on each other without notice. An unspoken mutual understanding between each other that time was precious.
"So. Are you ready for barbecue?" You smirk as you took the lead outside the establishment, not once having to turn to back to see the excitement you know is etched on his face.
Thirty minutes later and the 'are you still scared?' Questions and the 'you'll be fine, you're overthinking,' talk had finally come to a stop once the meat arrived. You watched as Seonghwa gently flipped the delicate pieces over on the barbecue between you, looking at the food as if it hung the moon. You watch him with a subtle fondness. You would never say no when Hwa asked to go out and eat, how could you after seeing the way he looked at his food.
His smile fades to a smaller version for a second as if in deep thought before his eyes snap to yours, your own widen in surprise at his sudden change in interest.
"'___.' Are you seriously going to be a virgin forever?" Your mouth drops open at his direct question. You quickly look around to see if anyone had heard him but thankfully you were safe.
"No, oh my goodness, Hwa," you gape at him, jaw still slack with shock, "you can't just go around asking people that in public."
"You're right. Sorry, I just," he learns in closer, hovering over the barbecue to whisper to you, "I have this friend, he saw you in my post recently and was asking about you," your eyes go wide in embarrassment and you feel a blush rise on your cheeks as he continues,
"You'll see him around a little and you'll be in close proximity to him when you do, he's a great guy, I can set you guys up if you want."
"Park Seonghwa," you blurt out, loud enough for him to stop talking and take in your flustered appearance, "I don't need you to play matchmaker. It's ok. And since when was it a bad thing to be a virgin?" You whisper the last part. Despite deeming it not that serious your overthinking seems to betray you.
"I mean it's not a bad thing. But you're in college now, you have been for three years. I understand you're scared because of what happened, and I don't want to force you into something you're not comfortable doing. But I think if you do it, it'll help you heal," he lets out softly, his large boba eyes staring gently into yours.
As his words sink in, you give him a small smile. At the end of the day Seonghwa cared about you and wanted what's best for you, even offering to set you up with a nice boy.
But you wanted to do it on your own, on your own terms, on your own accord, even if Seonghwa was coming from the right place. So you told him exactly that,"I appreciate it Hwa. I really do. The sentiment is nice. And you're right, I think it will help me heal. But I wanna do it on my own and I want to do it when the time is right," you nod your head in agreement after you speak, letting him know that you really understood what he was getting at.
"I can't wait to hear all about it," he smirks as he uses the tongs to pile meat on your plate.
"Oh my goodness. Hwa," you lean your elbow on the table, resting your head in your hands in disbelief as you close your eyes. The blush on your cheeks grew deeper. In a inclosed public area half way through your meal is the least ideal place you'd like to be having this conversation.
"Fine. I'll drop it. I won't mention in again," he smiles softly before looking down at the barbecue. You knew that was a lie as his smile widened, even without looking at you he knew it was a lie too.
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Hwa." You scoff and look down at your plate as he piles more meat onto it.
"It's my duty as your bestfriend to keep you happy and out of trouble," you watch as he stops to pile more of the cooked beef onto his.
"Out of trouble? It's sounding a lot like you want me to get in trouble," you reference back Seonghwa wanting you to get down and dirty with someone.
"Hey now. I offered you a safe option, my lovely friend, Yunho. Who—by the way—is very handsome and took an immediate interest to you," Seonghwa tilts his head to the side as he puts a piece of beef in his mouth, sending a pointed look your way as he chews.
You tilt your head in contemplation at his words before the reality of what he said hit you with full force. At the realisation you purse your lips in silence as a hot flush finds your face once again. 'An immediate interest', your brain swirls with thoughts as you try and piece together if you've heard of this 'Yunho' before.
"What does he even look like?" Your mouth talks before your brain has a chance to think.
The corner of Seonghwa's mouth twitches at your question, "so you're interested?"
Your mouth quickly opens and you look at him in shock with furrowed brows, "that's not what I said at all. What is he even looking for anyway?" You sink back into the chair behind you, trying to act as uninterested as possible as you use the chopsticks to bring a piece of the tender beef to your lips.
Seonghwa seems to drop the smug demeanour, realising there was a possibility of you closing up if he were to tease you. He knew you weren't one for hookups, he knew Yunho wasn't one for them either.
"Trust me. Yunho's a relationship kind of kind of guy. If he was a bad guy I would have told him to get lost when he asked about you," Seonghwa's words were comforting. This time you took the time to think about what you wanted to say.
"Thanks Hwa. But I'm just starting out a new school, half of the term is already over so I should be focusing on my studies, not letting myself get side tracked by distractions," you confess. It was the truth. Of course you've always been curious about relationships, part of you wanted one, but the other—much bigger part—knew you needed to focus on what mattered most. Graduating. Besides, Seonghwa said Yunho would be around you guys a little, and if things didn't work out... the last thing you wanted was for things to be awkward. Even if he was around you for only 'a little'.
You didn't even know what this guy looked like and yet you were thinking about a relationship with this mystery man. Letting out a small tsk in annoyance at your own brain, you bring the chopsticks back up to your mouth, placing another piece of the beef in between your lips once again to distract yourself.
"You don't have to worry about it. I have plenty of friends who are in the same majors as you, even if you aren't in the same classes the teaching styles may be different but the curriculum will remain the same. I am more than willing to bet at least one of them will help you out. Who knows, you may have time for studies and a boyfriend," he smiles at you before chewing on another piece of meat.
You smile back. You were a bit less nervous than earlier, and for that you were thankful.
continuing Final Fantasy X. it’s my favorite Final Fantasy. I can’t count how many times I’ve played it.
it’s the weekend, and I’m excited. time to myself, good food, gaming, and fanfic.
I am a solitary soul, and I find socializing very draining. at least around certain people. there are only two people I’m close to. every time I try to reach out and make friends with other people, I struggle to connect.
I was more outgoing when I was younger. now, I’m reserved and cautious.
Obsession. That's what it was. Only within twelve hours of meeting him were you able to rewire Wooyoung's brain chemistry. He laid in bed, enveloped in his bedsheets filled with your intoxicating scent. Vanilla had always been his favourite. Yet it didn't fade as he laid there, hours after you left without saying goodbye leaving him to wake up alone. The side you occupied merely a few hours was now cold. Wooyoung's hands clasped the blanked tightly between his fists as he closed his eyes. The way you smiled shyly up at him right before he took your first kiss flashed in his mind. He groaned. He could still feel you on his fingertips, even the taste of your lips lingered on his, the taste of your skin-the taste of you...
He couldn't just go back to normal. He couldn't move on and pretend it didn't happen, and more than all—he couldn't bear the thought of any questions he had lingering left unanswered. After twenty-four long years were you able to give the man a head-spin he only had nightmares about. He never cared about the girls he hooked up with before, so why now? Why you?
You left. Of course you did. You were humiliated. You gave your first everything to a man you met online because your best friend made a harmless joke. But now you've done something you can never take back. You've paid the price by waking up, naked in a strangers arms-that's what he was essentially. You didn't know who he really was-what he was capable of. At least you would never have to see him again. You could pretend it never happened. But as you stared at the bruises on your neck and felt the ache between your thighs you realised you would always know the truth. But no one ever had to know. Right?
———
This will be your first and ONLY warning:
This book is going to be a lot. Be prepared to possibly be shocked by what you're going to read. This is not for the average viewer. This book will describe Wooyoung as not mentally sane, he is a broken human who makes mistakes and in saying this not one character in this is innocent, they are all guilty of something. I will now show a list of trigger warnings I may need to display:
- sexually explicit content
- sexual violence mentioned
- threats
- knifes
- knife kink/knife play
- blood
- blood kink
- verbal abuse
- mental abuse
- physical abuse
Please read at your own risk.
For those who are fine with this, welcome! And I hope you enjoy reading:
The Good, The Bad, and Wooyoung.
Chapter One - Forever Virgin: https://www.tumblr.com/star-isa/818323880708014080/chapter-one-forever-virgin
Chapter Two - Seonghwa’s Gift: https://www.tumblr.com/star-isa/818305013528100865/chapter-two-seonghwas-gift
Chapter Three - Aglio e Olio: https://www.tumblr.com/star-isa/818441141749006336/chapter-three-aglio-e-olio
Further Still - Part 2 - Seonghwa/fem!reader (Insecurity!series)
Pairing: Park Seonghwa/reader
Word count: 4,8k
Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, romance, non-idol!Ateez
Summary: No matter how hard you try, the mess just keeps getting worse and worse, and it’s starting to seriously affect you in ways it hasn’t before.
Contains: Nova as a nickname, space nerds, insecurities (duh), depression, anxiety, executive dysfunction, emotional shutdown, unhealthy amounts of clutter and mess, negative self-talk, and nail picking, mention of Stray Kids, Choi San.
A/N: I’m finally back after a two week battle with the flue AND double the hours at work on top of that! This one’s a little shorter but I have plans for the epilogue that will hopefully make up for it when it’s time for that. A huge thank you to my girls @thewinter-eden and @mrsminseochoi for keeping the pressure from getting to me, and all of you who keep commenting and reblogging these stories, you’re the real MVPs!
As always, comment on here if you want to be tagged in the rest of the series!
Enjoy!
Further Still Masterlist Insecurity!Series Masterlist
Part 1 Poll for the next member Yunho Part 1
You’re drowning. That’s the only explanation to why you’re finding it so hard to breathe.
What little hope you’d had on the bus is squashed the moment you unlock the front door.
The air is stale, and you can still smell the lingering scent of the coffee grounds still in the coffee maker from earlier. It’s pathetic how grateful you are that the coffee left in the pot hasn’t been left long enough to grow mold.
For a fleeting moment you wonder if your insurance would pay out if the apartment was mysteriously set on fire and everything inside burned down.
Still having half a braincell left, you get your phone out and text Minho that you’ve made it home safe. You’re still not sure if you’re grateful for him making you check in, or if it pisses you off. Any therapist worth their salt would probably tell you it’s both.
The way he instantly shoots you a message back lets you know he’s been waiting for your text, and you’re strangely annoyed by this. It’s like you’re back to being a kid with a nagging parent who won’t stop sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong. But you manage to keep yourself from sending an exasperated text back, not wanting to act like a bitch even though you’re definitely being one (Minho just doesn’t know it).
In an attempt to get something done, you get your earphones out and put your favorite upbeat music on, ignoring the fact that the melodies don’t give you the same high they used to.
You decide to start in the living room for some fucking reason, not the kitchen that desperately needs it the most. It only takes you three songs to realize your mistake but by the time you come to the realization, you’ve already piled clutter high on the living room table and if you stop now, you KNOW you’ll never get to it again.
So, you keep at it.
Gathering everything that doesn’t have an assigned place or function, dirty dishes and just plain old trash in an attempt to then divide them up into different piles to make it easier for yourself, all while feeling the anxiety crawling up your throat as the mess around you somehow just keeps growing.
At some point your doorbell rings.
You’ve once again lost track of time, and you have no idea how long you’ve been sitting on the floor in the same position but judging by the way your joints are screaming at you, you can only surmise it’s been hours.
Snatching your phone up, paranoid that it’s Seonghwa on the other side of the door and you’ve somehow missed a text that he’s coming over, you quickly note the time, a little after noon, but you’re left with no clue as to who is at your door.
It takes you too long to get off the floor but you eventually you do make it to the door, checking the camera before you even think of unlocking it.
The delivery man looks into the camera with a polite smile, the bag in his hand sporting the logo from your favorite comfort restaurant.
“Hello, ma’am?” The man says, showing the bag a little clearer to the camera. “I have a delivery for you.”
You don’t know why it’s so difficult to open the door all of a sudden but somehow you manage, barely opening it enough to stick your head out in a way that you realize must make you look like a complete lunatic.
“Thank you.” You say, giving a timid little nod as you accept the bag. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing, ma’am, it’s already been paid for.” The delivery man gives you another smile and a proper nod in return before he makes to leave. “Have a good day.”
You stare at the bag in your hand as the man’s footsteps get further and further down the stairs and it’s only when you can’t hear him anymore that you retreat back into the apartment, making sure to lock the door safely behind you.
You’ve barely made it into the kitchen when your phone vibrates with a text from your boyfriend, the star behind his name shining a little brighter than usual making a bone deep need to wrap your arms around him burn inside you.
“Hope you don’t mind but I ordered you something to eat. I know you forget sometimes when you’re feeling under the weather. Feel better, my beautiful Nova. A million kisses from your star”
“I don’t deserve you, Hwa.” You type back, eyes watering and your heart aching.
“Yes you do.” Hwa instantly texts back and you can almost hear the soft yet insistent tone in his voice. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Mhm.” You send, staring at the too brief message as a text bubble from Seonghwa pops up and disappears twice before you decide to throw off any suspicions with another message.
“Thank you for caring about me. I love you too <3”
The bubble goes away.
Then comes back.
A quick vibration, and the sobs finally break through the wall of numb indifference.
“Always <3”
The soup doesn’t bring you as much comfort as it usually does but you know that has nothing to do with the restaurant or how it’s been made, and everything with your internal turmoil. It is warm though and it trickles past the icicles in your chest, heating you up from the inside and even in this state you can find some comfort in that.
You feel bad for denying your boyfriend the chance to look after you like you know he wants, and most likely needs, but you can’t have him see.
You’re not ready.
You have to show him soon, you know you do.
But not now. Not today.
Not when there’s still so much to do.
Once the soup is finished you send a picture of the empty bowl to Seonghwa. Some sick part of you needs the validation for doing the one thing you’ve been able to do right today, and when he says he’s proud of you it’s like your world gets a little bit brighter and the air flows a little easier into your lungs.
Even though the soup is light it somehow sits heavy in your stomach and although you want nothing more than to go to bed, you figure you might as well try to deal with the tower of dishes since you’re already in the kitchen.
The first thing you do is empty the coffee maker and get a new pot ready. If you’re going to have any chance of making this work, caffeine is definitely going to be needed.
It’s slow work, every second dragging as if you’re underwater but the image of Seonghwa telling you he’s proud of you keeps you going, pushing you past the discomfort and the exhaustion screaming in your bones in an attempt to become someone worthy of him.
This time you will keep going.
Even if it kills you.
“I’m telling you, San-ah, that treadmill is going to blow any day now.” Seonghwa sighs, folding his arms over his chest as he watches the mess in front of him.
“We’re not wasting the money on a new one, hyung.” San rolls his eyes, continuing to fiddle with the machine to get it going again.
“It’s not wasting if it’s needed.”
“It’s not needed if I can get it working.”
Seonghwa has to take a deep breath to stop himself from slamming the tool box over his friend’s head.
“You know, I always thought the military would get you to listen better, not worse.”
“Oh please, I need to get my autonomy back somehow.” The younger grins up at him with that stupid face that Seonghwa hates to admit is absolutely adorable. “Hand me that wrench, would you?”
“We have the funds for a new one, you know?” The older rolls his eyes as he does what he’s asked, looking over San’s shoulder to watch him do a genuinely good job on the machine.
“Then we’ll still have them when we actually need a new treadmill. This baby will run for at least another year, trust me.” San sounds so confident Seonghwa almost believes him.
“Fine, you win.” The older throws his hands up, his exasperation only partially real and San absolutely knows it.
“Admit it, hyung, you’ve missed me.” The younger grins over his shoulder and Seonghwa can’t stop himself from leaning over to ruffle his hair, earning himself a cute little whine in response that doesn’t fit with his muscular frame.
“You know I have, you big baby. Almost as much as you miss your girlfriend.” The older winks, grinning at the way San’s face goes dark red at the mention of his new vet.
“She’s not my girlfriend, hyung.” He pouts, fighting hard to keep the smile off his face.
“Didn’t she give you her number the other day? She wants you to call her.”
“For emergencies only.” San grumbles, turning his focus back on the machine, sounding both adorable and salty at the same time.
“That’s not what she meant, and you know it. How many cat-related emergencies could possibly require her personal number? And I’m trying very hard not to make a pussy joke right now.”
“Hyung!” San whines and even though Seonghwa can’t see his face anymore, the red spreading like fire across the younger’s ears and neck lets him know he’s hit his mark.
“Trust me, she wants you to call her.” He chuckles before stepping back to go back into the office. “Now get that working before Mrs Lee comes in or you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“God, her handyman fetish is getting out of hand.” San laughs only for his eyebrows to excitedly shoot up at the sound of Seonghwa’s private phone ringing. “That Nova?”
“No.” Seonghwa looks at the screen, confusion clear in his voice. “It’s her boss.”
“Why’s her boss calling you?”
“I don’t know.” The older frowns, lifting the phone to his ear. “Hello, Minho-shi?”
“Hey, Seonghwa-shi. I’m sorry to bother you at work and this might sound strange, but have you heard from your girlfriend at all today?”
“Um, no.” Seonghwa says, taking a step away from San who keeps staring at him to be able to focus fully on the call. “No, I haven’t. Why? What’s up?”
“It might be nothing, but she promised she’d check in with me twice a day when she’s home but when I woke up, she hadn’t checked in last night, and she’s not picking up her phone when I try calling her.”
“Oh… Well, maybe she just forgot? She has been a little off lately so I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what’s happened.” Seonghwa says but there’s something inside him that doesn’t want to believe that, and Minho’s hesitant silence is doing nothing to calm the weird feeling settling in his chest.
“Maybe.” Your boss says after a beat, but Seonghwa can tell the man is holding something back.
“But you don’t think so?”
“Look, it’s not my place to say anything about it, but I think you should try and check on her as soon as possible.”
“Minho-shi, what’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?” Seonghwa is starting to get agitated now, the weird feeling has started to burn his insides, and in his peripheral, he can see San get up from the floor, his face set with worry as he watches the conversation.
“Look, she’s probably alright and I’m overthinking, but she’s been struggling mentally lately and I’m worried. That’s all I can say.” Minho sighs, and Seonghwa has never wanted to yell at anyone this much before but knowing it won’t help anything he manages to restrain himself.
“Alright, I’ll call her. Thanks.” He barely manages to get the terse words out, and he can tell his tone jolts both Minho and San because the silence coming from both is deafening and Seonghwa hangs up the phone without another word.
“Is everything okay?” San asks, walking up to the older as he works to locate your number in his phone.
“I’m not sure but I’m going to find out.” Seonghwa says through gritted teeth, listening to the dial tones go through without you picking up the phone.
He calls again.
And again.
No answer.
San watches his friend get more and more agitated the longer you go without picking up and while Hwa keeps sending you texts, he’s all but running into the office to grab his hoodie and wallet only to have San join him.
“I’m driving you.” The younger says, pulling his jacket from the coat hanger by the door while checking that his car keys are still in the pocket.
“But the gym-”
“Changbin can keep an eye on it. Let’s go.”
The younger’s words are decisive in a way Seonghwa hasn’t heard before, but he supposes it was inevitable for San to not pick it up while he was away, and he’s eternally grateful to his friend for not letting his mind focus on anything that isn’t you.
The ride to your apartment is a fast one. Rush hour is over since about an hour and the streets are thankfully not busy, and although San has never been to your place before, he takes the directions to it perfectly.
Seonghwa doesn’t even have to tell him where to park: San just pulls up to the curb in front of your apartment building, the look he sends his hyung is one of “I'll eat a ticket if I have to”.
The older takes the lead into the building and up to your floor, both of them taking the stairs three steps at a time and Seonghwa’s racing pulse has nothing to do with the physical activity.
He checks his phone again as he sprints up the stairs, praying that you’ve reached out to him, and he’s just missed it even though it’s impossible. The phone has been in his hand, and he hasn’t let the screensaver come on since they left the gym so there’s just no way.
There’s no music coming from your apartment and Seonghwa doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad sign, but at least he does know you’ll hear the doorbell when he starts ringing it and he’s not ashamed to say he’s doing it quite frantically.
The incessant ringing shakes you from your sleep.
You don’t even know when you fell asleep but you’re sitting on the floor, your back leaning against the couch, and from the pins and needles in your legs you’ve been like this for a while.
Bleary eyed you manage to locate your phone, your half-asleep brain blaming it as the cause of the ringing but the lifeless black screen staring back at you manages to knock that thought out of your head.
It’s the knocking that finally registers.
Hurried knocks that turn into pounding on your poor door and you scramble towards it on half-dead legs to stop whoever’s causing the ruckus from knocking down the door and getting you evicted.
He’s pale.
Out of breath.
His fist is raised, frozen in the process of raining down more blows to your poor door as his frantic eyes lock onto you.
Any crumb of sleep still in your system is washed away by the ice water crashing over you at the sight of him.
He’s here.
Unannounced.
He's here.
“Nova?” He says, watching you freeze, eyes as wide and frantic as his own. “Nova, are you okay?”
Go away. You're not supposed to be here. Go away.
“Hwa?” You manage to croak, throat closing up as the panic starts stinging your insides. “What are you doing here?”
“Minho called.” Seonghwa says, making his voice as soft as he can, wanting to get closer but the way you look like a cornered prey has him staying where he is. “He was worried about you.”
He briefly glances back at San when you won’t respond, the younger looking about as worried and confused as Seonghwa feels.
“What time is it?” You ask, voice so breathy it’s almost hard to hear.
“It’s like 9 something…” Seonghwa watches you as your actual name slips from his lips, the lack of his beautiful nickname for you more jarring than anything else about the situation. “Are you okay?”
“You can’t be here.” You say suddenly, pulling the door closed until you’re barely visible in the doorway, wild eyes flicking between your boyfriend and San who you just realize is also here. “You need to leave.”
“Not until I know you’re safe.” Seonghwa says gently and as much as he wants to tear the door open to keep it from separating you from him, he manages to keep himself calm.
“Please, Hwa.” You whisper, unshed tears making you choke as you begin shaking and you know he can tell. “Please don’t do this.”
“Hyung,” San says softly, stepping up to his friend with a hand on his shoulder. “Should I go wait downstairs?”
Seonghwa barely thinks before he nods, realizing that the other man’s presence likely isn’t helping you calm down.
“Nova.” Seonghwa says, his voice purposefully level as he takes a small step closer, his heart aching at the way you make yourself even smaller in the doorway at the movement and hating the angle he’s about to use against you. “Are you alone in there?”
He’s glad San has left because just imagining the judgement the younger would be shooting at him at his words is giving him chills, and the way your bloodshot eyes widen makes him feel like an absolute asshole.
“W-what?” You stammer, blinking at him like a dear in the headlights.
“Is there someone in there you don’t want me to see?” He asks, hating the way tears spring into your eyes but he really can’t think of any other way for you to let him inside.
“N-no, of course not.” You say, tone a little frantic as your grip on the door loosens, your body instinctively moving towards him. “No one’s here.”
“Then can you let me inside? Please, Nova.” He begs, making his eyes as big and vulnerable as possible, taking a page out of Wooyoung’s book, and he hates that it works. “I just need to see for myself.”
The breath you take looks almost painful, your eyes squeezing shut as you seem at war with yourself about what to do.
“If I do-” You have to take a beat to keep a sob down, your bloodshot eyes pleading up at him. “You have to promise me you won’t say anything. If you want nothing to do with me again, just… Don’t say anything and just walk out. Okay?”
Seonghwa can’t imagine anything on the other side of that door that could make him walk away from you. Even if there WAS another man in there with you (he knows there never would be), he’d at least hear you out, however weak that might make him. But he doesn’t tell you that, only nods as he does his best to project a calm he doesn’t feel.
“I promise.”
You hesitate for another moment, bracing yourself for the inevitable end.
The end of your denial.
The end of your relationship.
The end of what little happiness you have in your life, and you open the door.
He doesn’t rush in like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind. Instead, he waits patiently for you to step aside before he makes his way inside, unrushed and looking like there is nothing strange about this situation whatsoever.
Your body shakes with the anxiety thumping through your system and you walk past him further into the apartment, unable to even look at him as he takes in the dysfunction that mirrors your mind.
You can hear him take off his shoes by the door, but you don’t understand why. Not only because your space doesn’t deserve the respect, but because you can’t imagine seeing the inside of your home and choosing to take off the only protection you have against the grime and the mess.
He follows you further into the apartment, completely unhurried as he looks around, taking in the old take away boxes, dust bunnies, stains, dirt, clothes, and miscellaneous items that don’t belong in the room.
The silence is deafening and it’s only when you audibly wince from picking your nailbed bloody that his attention shifts to you, the calm in his eyes gone as he rakes them over you to see what happened.
“I’m fine.” You lie, shoving your hands in the pockets of your sweatpants to hide the evidence but he’s too quick not to notice, just like he notices everything.
“Nova.” He says as he gets closer, his voice washing over you but while it usually calms you, now it instead makes you cry from how unworthy you feel of the love in it. “Can you show me your hands, please?”
You can’t answer.
Every emotion, every anxious thought, every dark sliver of doubt you’ve pushed down, is blocking your throat and threatening to burst out of you, and all you can do is shake your head violently in a pathetic attempt to dissuade him from digging further.
This time he doesn’t ask, simply grasps your wrists in a hold strong enough for keep you from pulling away and yet soft enough to not hurt you.
His thumbs gently rub the backs of your hands, and the loving touch has you turning your face away, unable to look at him as the shame cripples you.
You can feel his hands twitch around yours when he sees the blood, but when he lifts them to press the gentlest of kisses to the backs of them, you can’t help but sob.
“I’m sorry.” You cry, staring down at your feet while the tears blur your vision as they drop to the floor. “I’m so sorry, Hwa. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Seonghwa whispers, tears flowing down his own cheeks as he pulls you into his arms, one hand at the back of your head as his other pulls you closer to him, whispering your name in between gentle kisses to your hair. “Do you hear me? Nothing whatsoever.”
“I lied to you!” You wail into his chest, that godforsaken dam finally breaking as you cling to him like a raft in the middle of a raging sea. “I’m not okay!”
“I know.” He squeezes you tighter, his tears disappearing into your hair as he presses his lips to your head, too afraid to let go for even a second as he ever so slightly rocks you in his arms. “I know, but I’m here now. I’m here and I’m not going to let anything hurt you anymore. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.” You sob, tears soaking his hoodie as your bloody nails dig into his back, every fiber of your being screaming at you that you don’t deserve him yet you’re too much of a coward to let go. “Once you- Once you realize how fucked up I am you won’t stay. I know you won’t.”
He flinches in your hold and it’s only now that you realize the way his body trembles ever so slightly against you, the tears he’s been unable to hold back becoming obvious in the way he breathes through the silent sniffs and sobs.
“Is it about the mess?” He asks and you can finally hear the tears in his voice, hating yourself for being the one to hurt him like this.
“Yes.” You manage to wiggle a hand between you to wipe your eyes when the overflow of tears is starting to sting them. “Maybe, at least partially. You don’t deserve this shit.”
“Did you really think I’d walk out on you over a messy apartment?” He asks and there’s an air of a chuckle in there that you can’t for the life of you understand where it comes from.
He should be upset at you. Not chuckling.
“It’s not just the apartment.” You can’t help but grumble, as if the volume on your anxiety has been turned down a bit by the hint of levity from your boyfriend. “I’m a fucking wreck. I can’t take care of myself, can’t keep my home clean even if my life depended on it, can’t feel anything anymore, and on top of that, Minho thinks I can’t do my job anymore.”
“Now, that last one we both know isn’t true, right? He wouldn’t care enough to call me to check up on you if you sucked at your job.”
“Jesus, you guys have barely met!” You groan, Seonghwa’s comment eerily similar to the one Minho made about him.
“He’s an easy man to read.” Your boyfriend actually gives a full chuckle this time, stroking your hair as he watches you pull back to finally look at him with a slight roll of your red eyes.
“You’re literally the only one who thinks that.”
“I’m not breaking up with you.” He continues as if that will do anything to silence the siren song of despair in your head. “Not over the apartment. Not over your mental health. Not over anything, do you hear?”
“Hwa, you’re not listening-”
“No, you’ve not been listening, Nova.” He says, voice turning a loving kind of stern you’ve never heard before but can’t say you’re completely against. “You think it’s a secret that you can’t keep things tidy to save your life? It’s not. You think I haven’t seen the way your mind plays its evil tricks on you? The way you overthink and strive for perfection only to fall apart when you realize you’re human just like the rest of us?”
His hands move to cup your face, your cheeks wet with fresh tears as he looks at you with the softest, kindest eyes anyone could ever ask for.
“I’ve seen the signs of all these things, I saw them before we even started dating and I still chose to be with you. Shouldn’t that tell you something?” He asks, thumbs brushing the salt away even though the tears show no sign of stopping.
“That you don’t know what you deserve.” You whisper but the way he looks at you makes it increasingly harder to fully believe the things your mind has been telling you lately.
“I deserve you.” He presses, not unkindly, a gentle smile on his lips when his words strike at the heart of your insecurities. “And I would say you deserve better than me but you’d probably punch me, so I won’t.”
“I wouldn’t punch you.” You grumble with the hint of a pout, and he can’t help but chuckle at how cute you’re being even when you’ve torn your heart and soul open for him to see.
“No, you’d just pinch me to death, wouldn’t you?”
It’s basically permission for you to do it and even though it’s weak, the way you pinch at his waist eases the pressure over Seonghwa’s chest.
“And to set the record straight: I couldn’t date someone as neat as me. I’m already working with near OCD-levels of tidiness, having someone who’s the same way would push me into seriously unhealthy territory.”
“But this place-”
“Has gotten away from you.” He stops you from starting down a new spiral. “Even I would be overwhelmed at this level, I’m actually surprised you’ve been able to keep yourself afloat for this long. But you’re not alone anymore. I’m with you every step of the way.”
“I’m scared, Hwa.” You whisper, looking up at him with a level of honesty and vulnerability that feels alarmingly novel. “I’m scared you’ll wake up one day and realize you’ve made a mistake by loving me.”
“That’s never going to happen.” He says softly, leaning forward to press a long, gentle kiss to your lips, pouring all of his love and assurance into it.
“How do you know?” You can’t help but ask, cursing the way you can’t just let your walls come down completely at his reassurance.
“I told you: I knew who you were from the start.” He says, watching the way your eyes flutter closed at the way his hands caress your face once more. “Besides, novas are born from chaos, and out of that chaos comes extraordinary beauty, able to outshine galaxies with their light. Just like you.”
“The effects of them can be devastating if you get too close.” You whisper, his beautiful words bringing tears to your eyes once more.
“They can also trigger new star formations.” He whispers back, leaning his forehead against yours, tears shining in his own beautiful eyes. “Let me be your star, Nova.”
You breathe his air, heart racing as you take in the utter sincerity and vulnerability in his eyes and the way his breath stutters when you bring your own hands to caress his face.
