The door slams open and you scream, quickly scrambling off your boyfriend and yanking the sheets over your naked body. The wetness between your legs drips onto your sheets, arousal banking in place of furious embarrassment.
“Thought I said no boys allowed?”
Your dad’s sardonic tone sounds from the doorway, his hulking figure blocking the hall light. You can’t see his face, the bedside lamp only casting enough light to showcase his slacks and the glint of a belt. His upper body’s cast in shadow, sending a thrill of trepidation down your spine. The mortification sets in deeper and burns you from the inside out.
“Well?” He shifts—stepping forward enough you can now see his arms crossed over his broad chest.
“I-I’m sorry, sir,” your boyfriend stammers. “S-she didn’t say t-that—“
Leon clicks his tongue. “Boy, I wasn’t talking to you. As a matter of fact, get the hell out of my house.”
The guy practically jumps from the bed, pulling on his clothes so fast you’re pretty sure his underwear’s on backwards and his shirt’s inside out. As he’s getting dressed, Leon steps further into your room, blue eyes locked onto your face. You and your dad watch as the now ex hightails it out of your room.
Listening until the front door slams shut, you huff and cross your arms—hyper aware of the thin sheet covering your breasts.
“What the fuck, dad? You have never said that I couldn’t have anyone over.”
“Sure, I did.”
He walks over to your bed and sits down on your side, angling his body to face you; his heavy weight sinks the mattress, and your body dips with the motion—making your hip rest against his outer thigh.
“You remember when you were sixteen and started dating? That’s when I said no boys over—unless I’m home that is.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve moved out since then and graduated college,” you glare at him. “I figured it didn’t apply anymore since I’m a grown ass woman.”
Leon laughs, patting your leg through the sheet before leaving it there. “Well, you had to move back in so the same rules apply, cupcake.”
“How is that fair?” You whine, chest burning hot with indignation.
He rubs his palm up and down your leg, trailing it up to your thigh and rubbing you through the thin fabric covering your naked body. Your eyes dart back and forth between his hand and his stubbled face. His lips tick up into a half smile while his hand slips closer to the apex of your thighs. Pure heat blooms in your belly, cunt noticeably empty and aching.
Excitement wars with shame—each taking up equal measure in your thoughts. Your dad has been hugging you tighter and longer than he used to—saying it’s all because he missed out on so much while he was away. But the way he looks at you is far from fatherly affection. The worst part is—you don’t care. You like that your dad sees you as a woman—a woman he wants to treat as more than just a daughter.
“What’re you doing?” You whisper, afraid to break this weird standoff between you two.
“He left you unsatisfied, didn’t he?” His voice a low rumble from his chest, and it sends chills down your arms. “Let daddy take care of his little girl.”
“What?” You breathe out, eyes wide as you watch Leon grip the sheet in his hand and pull it down.
Too stunned to move, you don’t do anything to stop him from uncovering all of you to his hungry gaze.
“Fuck me,” he mutters, so quiet you almost miss it. “Look at my pretty girl.”
His hands splay out across your upper thighs, lightly massaging, before skimming his palms up your belly to cup your breasts from underneath. He jiggles the soft tissue with a groan.
“Got some nice mommy milkers, don’tcha?”
“Shut up, that’s so fucking cringe,” you try to snap, but it morphs into a whine as Leon rubs his thumbs over your peaked nipples.
“Mmm, well you got a nice pair of tits, then. How’s that?” He laughs, plucking your stiff buds between his thumb and forefinger and tugging them towards himself.
Pinching each nipple tighter and tighter until you whimper, he keeps his eyes on your face—watching your every expression.
“Want daddy to fill you up, beautiful?” He murmurs, dipping his head down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth.
“N-no,” you stutter out, eyes rolling back as Leon sucks and bites on your sensitive buds, moving back and forth until your hips writhe from the heat settling deep in your cunt.
“I think you do,” he mumbles into your breasts. “I think only daddy’s dick is gonna fill up that cute little pussy just how she likes.”
Whining, you tangle your hands into his sandy hair—tugging his head closer to your chest. “It’s wrong.”
“I know,” he simpers, pouting his lips around your nipple and turning you on even more. “But it’ll feel so good. And.. it’ll be our little secret.”
“Yeah?” You cave almost instantly, pussy dripping all over your sheets at the thought of your dad stuffing you with his cock.
“Mmhmm, cross my heart,” he pulls away from your puckered nipples to kiss your sternum before licking his way down your body.
“Now, let me taste this needy little pussy before she cries herself out.”
His tongue dips into your belly button, tickling you and making your abdomen twitch under his mouth as he kisses his way to your puffy cunt. Groaning loudly, he open-mouth kisses your mound. Dragging his lips down your slit, he uses his tongue to part your wet folds and laps at your drippy hole.
“So good,” he growls, rubbing his face all over your cunt—smearing your slick across his lips and jaw. “Fuck, gonna have to eat this pussy all the time.”
He smothers his face into your cunt, tongue fucking into your clenching heat. The rasp of his beard burns your skin but makes it that much hotter as he eats you out.
“Dad!” You cry out, hands twisting in the sheets at your side. Arching your hips, you press your cunt harder against his face—listening as he groans.
His hands grip your hips and hold you down, thumbs digging into the bone, and sending more slick to drip out onto his thrusting tongue. You see him grind his hips into your bed, humping the mattress while he licks and slurps your pussy like he can’t get enough.
“Damn, this little cunt’s just gushing,” he sighs out, tongue lapping up the slick oozing from your pussy.
His lips kiss the hood of your clit, rough at first then lightening up with every consequent press of his mouth to your throbbing bud. Sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves, your dad lathes his tongue slowly over it until you’re thrashing and bucking up into his mouth—motion limited with his hands holding you in place.
When your hands pull his hair, he growls, mouth suctioning harder around your clit—sucking and sucking and sucking the pudgy bud until you’re squealing from the wet heat on your delicate nerves. Pushing your head back into the bedding, you squeeze your eyes shut, fighting to keep still even as Leon’s tongue keeps flicking over your clit.
“Dad, s’too much, fuck,” you pant, chest heaving so hard your tits jiggle.
“Hush,” he moves his face back far enough to slap your spit coated cunt.
Whining at the sting only makes him laugh and slap your cunt again, fingertips tapping your clit almost too hard. Hips rocking up, you arch into the air, seeking more contact.
“Can’t stop kissing this sweet little pussy, taste so fucking good,” Leon gently bites your pussy lips before he greedily laps at your hot cunt.
Slipping his tongue inside your wet heat, he moans, eyes shutting as he thrusts his tongue in and out of your pussy. Humming as more slick fills his mouth, the vibrations buzz through your puffy cunt and ramp up your arousal. Rocking his hips into the bed, he buries his tongue inside your pussy again and again, fucking your dripping hole eagerly.
Grinding into his mouth, you drag your wet cunt all over his lower face. “Dad, I’m so close.”
”Then cream my tongue,” he growls, mouthing your slit.
Using his thumbs, he pulls your pussy lips apart, exposing your slick folds to his hungry mouth. Wetly kissing your spread open cunt, he flattens his tongue and laps a broad stripe to your engorged clit. Shifting one hand up, he uses his thumb to pull back the hood of your pudgy bud, kitten licking the bundle of nerves until you’re whimpering and mewling for more.
The slow hot suction on your clit sends slick oozing down your cunt lips. Your dad slips his other thumb into your clenching hole, fingers fanning out to cup under your ass, keeping you in place. Shivering and twitching, your orgasm crashes over your body.
”Dad, dad, dad,” you chant, fingers pulling his hair and your hips bucking up into his face.
Your hole flutters around his thumb, slick gushing from your pussy and coating his hand. He groans and licks your throbbing clit until tears spill from your eyes.
”Please, dad, it’s too much, it hurts,” you whine, legs twisting next to his body.
Letting go with a pop, he sits back on his haunches, quickly unbuttoning and pushing his pants and boxers down to his thighs. His thick, uncut cock bobs up—precum glistening from his slit and dripping down his length. You can’t pull your eyes away, staring as your dad grips his dick and slowly strokes himself.
”Like what you see, sweetheart?” He teases, groaning when he swipes his thumb over the tip.
”Yes,” you bite your bottom lip, squeezing your thighs together as fresh slick drips from your hole.
Letting go of his cock, your dad reaches back over his head and grips his shirt, tugging it up along his scarred back until he can grip the hem. He pulls it completely off, pieces of hair sticking up and making him rake a hand through his fringe. Your mouth fills with saliva, gaze lidding when his bicep flexes with each movement. Sometimes you forget how hot your dad actually is—his scruffy jaw, light eyes, and bulked up physique snagging and keeping your attention.
Widening your legs, you reach down to gently rub your clit—mindful of the zing of too much from your earlier orgasm. Leon quickly finishes undressing, tossing his clothes onto the floor and crawling up your prone body. With his hands boxing in either side of your head, your dad slowly lowers himself down, moaning when his cock drags along your wet slit. You whimper and wrap your legs loosely around his lower back, giving him more room to grind into the wet mess between your thighs.
”Fuck, can’t wait to ream your little hole,” he pants, mouth hovering right above your own. “C’mon, give daddy a kiss.”
Without any warning, he thrusts his tongue past your parted lips, sloppily kissing you. You suck on the slick muscle, mewling into his mouth. He slides his tongue against yours, flicking the tip against the back of your teeth before sucking your tongue into his mouth. It’s a slow back and forth of tongues and spit, Leon settling more of his body weight down onto you as you make out. Sliding your hands along his sides, you trail your fingers up his back until you can grab onto his broad shoulders. He kisses you deeper, mouths barely parting for air—making you dizzy with more than just want. Your dad scrapes his teeth against your plush bottom lip, tongue quickly gliding across to soothe the sting.
”So good,” he rumbles from low in his chest.
Whimpering, you move one of your hands off his shoulder to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, tugging him down to kiss you again. Slanting your mouth, you push closer—trying to deepen your kiss once more. Leon grunts, rutting his stiff cock against your sopping wet cunt. He pulls away for a breath, placing hot sucking kisses across your throat instead.
”Dad, please.” Tears prick at your waterline, threatening to trail down your cheeks.
”I know,” he coos, all condescending sweetness that goes straight to your clit.
Nipping at the pulse point in your neck, Leon drags his tongue back up to your mouth, tracing across the bow. You loll your tongue out, eager to taste him again. Chuckling, he licks a broad stripe up your tongue—over and over until his spit drips from the tip. Whining, you scrape your nails against his scalp, wordlessly begging him to do more. He ignores you, lapping at your slick muscle as you mewl pitifully up at him—eyes wet and needy as spit pools on your chest.
Finally, he presses his tongue fully to yours, groaning so loud it makes your teeth vibrate. Sloppily kissing you a few more times, Leon shifts his head away, propping his weight up on one arm as he skates his hands down your body. Tipping your head back, you gasp out syllables that might be words, your hands gripping onto him tightly. He grips his cock and slaps the heavy weight down onto your cunt—pussy so wet it makes a plap plap plap on your slick coated mound. Giving himself a few slow strokes, your dad caresses the tip with his thumb—spreading his precum over the head and making it glisten.
”Please,” you mewl, “I want it. Please, daddy.”
He smirks down at you, “Yeah?”
”Uh huh,” your hips twinge with how wide you spread yourself open.
“Then I want my daughter to ride me,” he murmurs, pupils blown and dark.
”Okay, okay, I can do that,” you nod, willing to do almost anything if it means your dad giving you his fat cock.
Legs shaky like a newborn calf, you slide out from under Leon’s bulk and climb on top of his lap. He pats your ass with a grin.
”Look at you,” he laughs, “so eager. So wet for me.”
Not able to help yourself, you lick a line between his pecs, tasting the salt of his skin—his salt and pepper chest hair tickling your lips. He moves one of his hands to grip the back of your neck and yank your face up to his, kissing you messily. His tongue licks past your lips, making spit drip down your chin as slick drips from your cunt. Shifting his hands down, he gropes your ass, slapping one cheek with a sharp crack. You whimper into his mouth and pull back.
“C’mon, baby, you gonna bounce on it or just sit there looking pretty?” He grumbles, both of his hands now loosely guiding your hips to drag your wet slit along his dick.
Grinding down harder, your pussy lips part to sandwich his cock, letting you rub your clit against his uncut tip. You both moan, your toes curling as pleasure zings from the friction on your swollen bud. Moving one of his hands between your bodies, Leon grabs the base of his dick and presses the head at your hole.
”Sit on it,” he nods down to where he’s notched just inside your drippy pussy.
Whimpering, you raise up on your knees just enough that he slides out. You reach down and feel for his hand. He hisses but doesn’t shy away, circling his fingers around the base as you grip his shaft. You ease your self down onto his cock, feeling every inch as you sink further and further until he’s buried completely inside your clenching pussy. Eyelashes clumping from the earlier tears, your eyes flutter while you adjust to being split open on your dad’s dick.
”Slick and tight,” he grunts, hand splaying across your abdomen so his thumb can swipe across your clit. “Gonna bust my load deep in this fertile little pussy.”
”Dad!” You keen, squeezing down on his cock. “Fuck, you can’t say that.”
”Why not?” He raises his eyebrows. “I’m already balls deep in you, anyway. What’s one creampie gonna hurt?”
You shudder, breasts feeling heavy and full. “I don’t know…”
His thumb taps down on your pudgy bud. “Don’t you want it? Wanna feel me breed your sweet cunt until it’s dripping out? It’ll feel so good. I promise.”
”Okay,” you whine, hips rocking slowly—keeping his cock snugly pressed to your front wall, right against your g-spot. “You can cum i-in me.”
”Atta girl,” he croons, lighting up your brain. “I’ll keep you stuffed all night long.”
Deciding you must have adjusted enough, Leon pulls his cock out until just the tip rests inside before thrusting back into your slick heat. The wet squelching from your pussy makes your chest burn hot, but you can barely breathe with how fast and hard your dad pounds his dick into your tight hole. Squealing, you wiggle on his lap, trying to adjust the angle, but his hands keep you held down. Fresh tears bead your eyeline as his cock rubs the spongy spot in your cunt that has you seeing stars.
”That it?” He coos. “That the spot? Who knew my daughter’s pussy would be so easy? Fuck, I bet you’re a squirter.”
””m not,” you slur out, body jostling in his hold with every pump of his hips.
”Wanna be?” He laughs. “Bet I can make that pussy gush. Fucking soak my cock.”
Shaking your head, your nails scrabble at his chest, sinking into his pecs. He growls, fucking you even harder somehow.
”Go ahead, scratch me up,” his eyes are dark in his face. “Like having proof that I fucked a hole so good, she couldn’t help but mark me up.”
”Dad,” you cry out, “fuck, I can’t. You’re gonna make me cum.”
”That’s the point,” he teases, his thumb rubbing tight little circles on your clit. “Got that cute pussy all primed when I licked her, didn’t I, baby?”
”Uh huh,” you mumble, bouncing in his lap, slamming your ass down on his thighs as you chase after his cock with each roll of your hips. “Got me so wet, daddy.”
”Fuck,” he snarls. “I don’t think I can last long.”
”I want it,” you babble. “Want your cum.”
”Got you cockdrunk off of just one taste, huh?” He shifts the hand holding your hip up to your neck, squeezing your throat for a split second. “C’mere and give me a kiss.”
He pulls you down easily, your mouth already open and panting—whining when he kisses you messily. You can’t stop yourself from clenching and shivering, back arched so your dad can fuck you as hard as he wants. Moaning into your mouth, he lets go of your neck to slap your ass. Whimpering, you suck on his tongue, nails scratching red lines into his skin.
Grunting, he slaps your ass again before groping the tender skin. He guides your hips into a faster pace, gripping your ass tightly to make you ride his cock harder.
”Too deep,” you pant against his kiss swollen lips. “Daddy, it’s too deep.”
”What’s too deep?” He muses, eyes wrinkling with his smirk.
”You are,” you whine. “Your cock’s too deep.”
”Where am I too deep? I can’t help if I don’t know.” His voice is laced with amusement, making your clit throb.
”Daddy, you’re too deep in my pussy,” you gasp, eyes rolling back when the head of his cock taps your cervix. “Right there! You’re cock is too deep in my pussy.”
”Aww, am I?” He simpers, making your blood thrum hotly through your body. “I just wanted to give my girl all the kisses she deserves. Don’t you like it when daddy’s cock kisses your womb?”
Hole pulsing around his cock, you mewl and writhe against his body. “I don’t know.”
”Sure you do,” he coos. “C’mon let daddy give you some kisses.”
He slots your mouths together, kissing you while his dick presses into the opening of your womb. You sink into his embrace even more, the slight pain morphing into pleasure that pools low in your belly. It doesn’t take long for your climax to hit you while in this position. Moaning loudly, you buck and twitch, pussy squeezing his dick so hard Leon can’t even thrust inside you anymore.
”There we go. Such a good girl,” his praise makes it that much better. “Keep that up and I’m gonna breed your slippery little cunt.”
His thumb keeps circling your swollen clit and it extends your orgasm until it’s too much. Whimpering, you try to tell him, but Leon only ruts his cock deep into your spasming pussy. Dropping your head into the crook of his neck, you pant wetly skin against his skin. Your dad moves both hands to your ass, grabbing a cheek in each hand and thrusts recklessly up into your pussy.
”Fuck, that’s it, fuck, gonna breed you, get you nice and full, god, gonna knock up my own daughter, fuck, fuck,” he cuts his rambling off with a punched out groan, burying his cock to the hilt inside you.
Hot spurt after spurt of his thick cum coat your inner walls. Whining softly, your burrow your nose into his neck—breathing in hints of his aftershave. Leon’s cock kicks inside your used cunt, balls emptying his load into your pussy until it drips out past his own softening length. Hands skimming up your back, he pets you gently—leaving his cock inside your stuffed hole.
”Mmm, that was a good one,” he chuckles, rubbing across your shoulder blades. “Almost gets me hard again.”
You can’t do anything but hum—brain totally offline in every way. You clench around him and hear Leon moan quietly.
”Keep that up and I probably will get hard,” he mutters to the top of your head, fingertips drawing nonsensical shapes on your skin. “Lets go get a shower.”
”Noo,” you whine petulantly. “Don’t wanna move.”
Leon grins although you can’t see it. “That good, huh? This old man’s still got it.”
”Don’t you ever shut up?” You grouse, lips pressed to his throat.
”You know I don’t.” He pats your shoulder. “C’mon.”
Groaning, you peel yourself off of his chest, wincing at the sweat sticking you together. “Gross.”
He raises one eyebrow at you. “See?”
Rolling your eyes, you shrug. “Whatever.”
Leon slaps your ass and you yelp. “What the hell, dad?!”
”Up and at’em,” he grins. “The slower you are the more I’m gonna spank that fat ass.”
Going hot all over, you unsteadily shift off of him—legs trembling when you stand from the bed. “Okay, okay, I get it.”
Leon climbs off your bed with a low grunt. “Back’s not what it used to be.”
”C’mon, get up already, old man,” you mock.
He glares at you, the furrow in his brow deepening—making your fingers twitch to smooth it out. “I’m not too old to take you over my knee. Although…” his eyes drag down your naked body and his cock twitches against his thigh. “I think we’d both like that a little too much.”
Ducking your head, you avoid his knowing gaze. “Yeah, yeah,” you wave your hand. “Are we taking a shower or what?”
He hums and wraps his hand around your bicep, helping you walk out of your room and to the bathroom. “Oh, don’t worry, daddy’s gonna get you all nice and clean.”
”Perv,” you mutter under your breath.
”And you like it,” he whispers into your ear, breath gusting over the flyaways and tickling you.
Sighing, you go quiet and let your dad lead you into the hall bathroom. It’s actual a cozy affair—much to your surprise. For all his teasing and dirty innuendos, Leon takes his time to bathe you—helping you wash and dry off before doing the same for himself. Now that your legs feel a little less like jello, you follow him back out of the bath. He snags your arm before you can head to your room and pushes you towards the master—towards his room.
“What’re you—“
”How am I gonna snuggle you if you’re in your room?” He quips, ushering you over to the bed as he shuts and locks his door—a habit he’s had your entire life.
Clambering onto the mattress, you tuck yourself under the sheets and watch him as he double checks the window before crawling into bed with you. Reaching over, he pulls you into his arms and rubs your back.
”Goodnight,” you tilt your head back to kiss his chin.
”Night, baby,” he dips down and kisses you softly on the lips. “Wake me up if you need me.”
”I will,” you murmur, snuggling back into his chest.
His steady breathing and warm body lull you to sleep in no time.
Warnings: cannibalism, smut, coercion (if you squint), third person pov, gore, dom/sub dynamic, lowk just a descent into madness, mentions of blood, biting
Summary: The forest carries a haunting presence- one that whispers in your ear without a single knowing. Another freak tragedy just turns into another folkloric story.
Word count: 2.3k
A/n: I haven’t written a fic since 2019 and the absolute LACK of Shawn Heard fics has made me come out of my little hole. English is not my mother tongue so please bear with me, there’s most likely mistakes.
He took her face in the palms of his hands- Shawn was like a bloodhound, in some senses. He could sniff out her insecurities, could sniff out all the anxious voices that whispered to her. She looked up at him, and it’s all he could see.
God, she was just too fragile of a girl for a guy like him to pass up on. He knew what kind of girl she was right when she first spoke to him.
“Don’t worry baby, I’m right here with you, see? Hold my hand it’ll make it hurt less”
His southern twang rang in her ears, all soft honey and tender bones. She didn’t know if he meant the dull ache of despondency in her chest would hurt less, or if it would make what was to come hurt less. She didn’t want to know- not now, anyways.
“Okay,” She whispered so softly she feared he may not hear her- but he had. He always had.
He leaned in slowly to kiss her, but not before pulling away slightly and laughing teasingly. He liked seeing her chase after him.
She smacked him hard in the chest; he really was an asshole.
“Cut it out!”
He kissed her with all the fervor one could muster. It was all teeth, hands groping and squeezing whatever flesh they could, all heavy breath stirring with unadulterated ardor- it was the essence of Shawn. The tree bark dug into her back with the force he’d pushed against her with, and she liked the way it hurt.
The way their bodies searched for one another held something animalistic- a kind of intimacy that she’d been searching for.
He said her name then, all breathy and soft, and she hated how she couldn’t trust his tone or the way his mouth curved when he’d said it. She knew what he was. She knew what she was to him. But, even if Shawn was an instigator to chaos and held little care to all but himself, she liked feeling like she mattered to him.
She’d participate in her own deception. Even if it was only for the night.
She shivered as his fingers glossed over the curve of her skin gently, her shirt lifting up tauntingly in the process. The soft breeze of the forest was like a third kiss in the air- something presumptuous that made the hair on her arms stick up and her nipples harden under her thin shirt.
His pace slowed now, forcing her to submit to soft kisses she did not ask for. It made it even harder. Now, he was permitting her to really feel him. To touch the bare of his nape until his skin was the only thing she knew indefinitely.
“Your lips were fuckin’ made for me”
She let out a shaky exhale from his words. Was this the make of an actor? She could be his actress. If he gave her the promise of his hands and voice being sweet like mercy, she would be whatever he’d have her be.
He leaned down, giving her neck open mouthed kisses as his hands now lingered down to her thighs. He gripped the back of her thighs with a harshness that contradicted the gentleness of his mouth. Both feelings at once made her head tilt to the sky.
She wore her shorts today, as she had most days in cause of the damp humidity. She became thankful for the unrelenting heat instead of cursing it like she had the past few weeks, because now Shawn had the access he needed to grip her ass. The tips of his fingers toyed with her panties- coquettishly swiping up and down, going under them to feel what skin was hidden from him.
She gave him a soft whimper when he sucked on one particular spot of her neck, and she could feel him grin against her skin. His hands moved from her ass- though still never leaving her body- and found themselves on her pelvic bone.
His hands moved with such practiced ease, she hadn’t even noticed they’d slipped down to the buttons of her shorts. She went to look down, and perhaps put a stop to something she could not name and would not dare to. However Shawn was a bloodhound that knew of her insecurities, and he kissed her before she could even form a retort.
He kissed her with a promise of sweetness- a slow death as she’d have it.
She pulled away slightly as his fingers undo the last button and his fingers begin pulling her shorts and underwear down.
“I don’t deserve good things” she whispers, and it sounds definite, like a sentence already passed. As if she does not deserve small joys and even smaller love.
But Shawn is bred from violence- he knows what he is and what he is not.
She craves something familiar now, because the softness of his touch is something alien and terrifying to her now. It is best kept to himself, and Shawn realizes this as soon as he looks into her eyes and her furrowed brows.
He could do that for her- be her ruin and chaos; give her teeth and mar her skin. If it isn’t comfort she seeks, he’d make her pulse beat stronger than the thoughts in her head.
He doesn’t reply to her, because he knows it’s useless and that the truth lay bare and naked in front of both of them.
He pulled down her shorts harshly as if they were an offense to him, and kissed her so hard her head slammed against the tree behind her. Patience was now a threat, and she began to simmer her fingers down to his waistband.
She stood only in her thin t-shirt, with her shoulders down and vulnerable. His mouth ravished her own in hastiness, brutality had now replaced his softness, and her lips were becoming a plump-dull red.
She’d finally managed to shimmy his red shorts low enough so she could reach into his boxers, her fingers ghosting over the length of him. He pulled from her and hunched over her shoulder slightly, his mouth twitching.
She reached her other hand up to him; whether to tug at his hair or to scratch at his neck, she did not know. She stroked his cock until he gave a groan he tried to mask with biting her neck.
When she let a soft moan escape her, he took her jaw in his hand and roughly turned it to his face, and she was met with a clench in his jaw and a want in his eyes that was so predatory it made her very soul vibrate.
“Let me fuck you. I swear to God I’ll never ask for anything else. Just lemme fuck you.” He slurs like a man possessed.
It wasn’t a question, not really anyways. She knew that even if she’d refuse him, he’d take her anyways. And as perverse as it was- she felt herself become even wetter with the thought.
Maybe it was because it was an action of unquestioned desire that cared not for its disallowance. That his carnal desire was her- simply, plainly, her.
God, there was something wrong with her head. But he was the same, and perhaps that’s why she was so attracted to his maddening ways.
“I want every nerve of my body to feel you,” She whispers as if they were performing an ancient ritual- two animals circling one another, seeing which will bite first, which will succumb to death first.
He swallows at her words, and wordlessly lifts her leg up so her ankle dangles over his waist. He grips her thigh with so much force that she bleeds, and the blood that runs from her and onto the ground is nothing compared to the way the tip of his cock feels sliding up and down against her, wetting itself with all she has to offer.
He kisses her cheek sloppily, moving to the corner of her jaw until he reaches her mouth. He ruts against her until she’s left whimpering against his lips, but it’s still not enough for him.
He’s harder than he’s ever been in his life, and the head of his cock throbs so intensely he feels as though it might combust right there and then, but still- he wants to hear her plead and beg for him. Who was he if not a greedy bastard?
“Please… please please please” She gripped his neck and forearm so tensely, she could only hope he might feel the desperation that leaked from her.
“Please Shawn, let me have this. Let me have you”
He grinned down wolfishly with all his teeth to show.
“All you had to do was ask baby” He’d said it so mockingly- so fiendishly.
He didn’t enter her softly- no- he hadn’t even given her a warning. He simply shoved himself inside of her, uncaring of the lack of preparation he’d given her.
He swallowed her cry with his lips and took the hand that was clenching his forearm so intensely into his own. His hand pinned her wrist to the tree behind them, and the old bark scratched the back of her hand raw.
He didn’t go inside of her inch by inch to savor the feeling. He was too hungry for that, starved for how she could make him feel, aching to feel the warmth of her. His pelvic bone met hers as he let himself become swallowed by her.
She was besieged with such strange sensations; dark sensations. The carnal kind, that made her pant and moan and cry.
He fucked her like a man bewitched. Thrusting in and out of her at a pace she could not match.
The mark of his nails on her thigh was no longer the crescent of his fingertips; they were long, bloody, scratch marks. She didn’t notice. Pain and pleasure was all that was left of her.
He moaned into her mouth, the air he breathed became hers.
“Fuuckk” She let out a simpering whine, and a gasp that followed.
“You feel so fuckin’ good. So fuckin’ good. S’like you were made for me.”
She could barely make out what he was saying, too lost in the pleasure he was giving her. His hand detached from her wrist and instead went down to her clit, massaging her in rough circles that matched the pace of his hips.
It was all too much, too many sensations, she could only moan and scratch at his back to bring him even closer- if that was even possible.
The scratches on his back now matched those of her thigh, and they were both left dripping with small beads of blood.
He was no longer grunting in whispers; he was a left a mess of whimpering and groans that almost matched her own.
The rough pads of his fingers and the feel of his cock hitting the sweetest spots left her on the very brink of her demise.
“I’m gonna come! Don’t stop, please don’t stop” She begged him, because she would simply die if he could not grant her this.
Her words only encouraged him, merging even closer to her body until all she could feel was that fucking tree and the heat of his body.
When she came, it was not soft and loving. It was brutal, and he did not slow down for her.
His fingers left the bud of her clit and instead moved to her mouth to cover the harsh cries of overstimulation that left her lips.
Now, he was chasing his own demise.
He bit into her neck again, but this time was different from the last. This was pure intoxication- this was the hunger he felt coming to light. He was a starving man, and her flesh was on display so prettily for him.
His thrusts had not slowed, he raised her thigh higher so he could grasp a better angle, and God, had he ever found it.
His mouth left her neck, and he could feel the wetness soaking his chin. His hand slid sloppily from her mouth and instead went to base of her throat, squeezing pressure.
He bit her so hard she saw stars. He bit her so hard, she saw God.
There was something strange in these woods. Something that made every humaine ideation shatter and crumble into dust. Something that made what they were doing to each other make perfect sense, something grotesque that made them both shudder and grasp for the air they could not seem to find.
He picked her up, kissing her without technique; just lips and blood that he coated her mouth with.
They went to the ground, her head hitting one of the giant roots the tree held.
She gasped as he entered her once again, her arm that wasn’t attached to his shoulder flying to grasp at something, yet finding only the base of the old tree.
She lifted her legs to wrap around his waist, as if to bring him closer, and he obliged without a second thought.
“I need you”
She didn’t know what exactly she needed, she only felt the overwhelming feeling that she needed him in some otherworldly sense; something she could not explain, something she had never felt before, but rather a feeling that rose primitively from her soul.
His hand went to her mouth, as if knowing exactly what she felt, as if offering himself as a sacrificial lamb.
Both her hands cusped his own, and she bit.
He groaned, and his pace inside her quickened.
Her back arched from the dirt beneath her, and she bit, and bit, and bit.
Until his hand was nothing more than a mess of blood. Till his fingers went missing from hedonistic teeth.
Until the warmth of her became too much, and he finished inside of her with his own teeth going towards her neck once more. He rode out his orgasm with her flesh between his teeth, the delight of having her entirety to himself, to have her body and soul at the mercy of his hands.
Warnings: Yandere themes of obsession and violence, dubcon, noncon, nsfw and slight mentions of Kaiser’s backstory.
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You zipped the oversized jacket up to your chin, trying in vain to keep the biting cold out. It smelled good when you tucked your head down into the collar, just like the man standing beside you.
Kaiser watched, amusement dancing in his blue eyes. "If you wanted to smell like me so badly, Liebchen, you should've just asked." He smirked and you felt your face heat up under his watchful gaze.
He's just joking, your mind supplied scathingly. You looked away from his figure. He looked beautiful today, with a familiar scarf wrapped around his throat. It was one you gifted him years ago, when he was all you had in this world. You had spent your meager savings on it after seeing his frail body shaking like a leaf in the winter wind. It was before he could afford all the scarves in the world. Still, it warmed your heart to see him wear the one you bought him when this time of the year rolled around.
"Oh whatever," You huffed, something achingly soft and warm settling in your heart.
It was nice though, this close you could actually smell the bits of his scent that you usually couldn't catch with your blind beta nose. You hoped it only looked like you were trying to keep your nose out of the chill each time you ducked into the fabric.
"So, what have you been up to lately?" You asked, finally continuing your walk to the cafe you were intent on visiting before the alpha caught you by surprise.
"Nothing really, just been busy with the team lately."
You hummed in response, the cold always made you a bit more tight lipped.
"Didn't miss me, did you?" He cackled, walking so close behind that you were worried he might give you a flat tire.
It was kinda nice to see he was still the same boy he had always been, attached to your hip but he always tried to play off as not having enough sidewalk to walk on.
Now, you were nearly walking in the grass with more than an extra two feet of concrete on his other side.
“I guess I missed you a little,” You mumbled, staring resolutely forward, too embarrassed by your confession to look him in the face.
He laughed but it sounded a little choked, like it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do.
“How could you not?” You snorted at his pompous response, it was nice to see some things never change.
It wasn’t long before the two of you reached the cafe, Kaiser rambling about someone he played against and how he utterly destroyed them. You tried to tune out the pride in his voice when he described just how crushed and defeated they looked at the end, simply nodding along to what he said.
You were almost surprised when Kaiser followed you into the cafe, settling beside you in the booth rather than across. It didn’t slip your mind that he boxed you in between himself and the window. You ignored it though, maybe it was just some dumb alpha thing, even though you weren’t any omega to be protected.
You were just you, just another beta.
Kaiser’s thigh pressed against yours and anytime you leaned in to hear him better over the chatter of the cafe, it only pressed the two of you closer. Had it been any other man, any other alpha, you would have shoved him away, but this was Kaiser. The boy you grew up with and looked after since he was still shorter than your ribs. So you did nothing, didn’t move or shove him away, just let his thigh burn a searing warmth into your skin.
The waiter came by and you couldn’t help the warmth that swept over your face as humiliation kicked in. You felt so much more embarrassed with Kaiser practically pressed side to side with you.
The waiter had been the main reason you wanted to come to this cafe, you’d been eyeing him for a couple of trips now, trying and failing to muster up the courage to ask for his number. You’d been hoping he was a beta like you and you assumed him to be since you never saw scent patches on his throat.
Now, that thought was as far away as the moon. There was no way you could do something like that with Kaiser’s alpha scent all over you.
Your crush spared one single curious look at Kaiser before quickly settling back into his customer service smile.
“Hi, are you guys ready to order?” He chirped up, his demeanor so bright you could feel your heart beating a little faster.
You missed the way Kaiser’s face twisted into a grimace as he caught your excited scent over the waiter.
You ordered your usual, a macchiato and a slice of cake, and when you looked at Kaiser for what he wanted, he just asked for the same as you.
The waiter disappeared with a slightly tense look on his face and something like dread sat heavily in your stomach.
“Don’t you need to watch your weight for soccer?” You joked, forcing a smile onto your face to lift his sour mood.
“I burn it quick,” He said and a chill shot down your spine at the look on his face, cold and sealed off. You hated that expression, because you knew it usually meant you got the silent treatment or cold shoulder for however long his sulking lasted.
“I’m jealous,” You whined, trying to lighten the suddenly tense atmosphere between the two of you.
Finally, his eyes softened when he looked at you, “You are beautiful as you are, liebchen.” He smiled and for once it didn’t look like he was trying to bare his teeth into the action. It was soft and made your heart skip a beat. You looked away, focusing intently on any sign of your order heading your way. There was no way someone like Kaiser could return your simpering feelings.
He was still pressed nearly flush against your side, you had to avoid elbowing him as you shifted around. If you scooted any closer to the window, you’d practically be smushed into it so you sucked it up and settled in your spot, Kaiser’s warmth chasing away what remained of the chill. The waiter returned with your food and you jolted a little when you caught the look Kaiser sent his way. Since you were pressed so close to the alpha, you could actually catch a bit of his scent, barely contained anger tinged his lovely scent of cedarwood and oranges with a certain kind of bitterness.
You pushed away the uneasiness in your stomach, the scent of his concealed anger bringing back an unpleasant memory from your childhood.
It turns out, as you dug into your fresh cake, that Kaiser did in fact need to watch his calories since he kept subtly trying to cut bits off his cake and sliding them onto your plate.
You tried to kick up a fuss initially, tried to get him to eat more than a couple bites of frosting, but after he threatened to throw away the whole cake you decided to just eat what he gave you. Afterall, if you learned anything from your childhood, it was to not waste food or think of calling his bluff.
Kaiser sat beside you, unnatutally quiet and almost broody. You wished that he would talk some more beside short answers to any questions or conversation you initiated. You even wished he would talk about crushing his opponents again, anything was better than this silent and stiff Kaiser beside you.
But after you asked him about anyone he beat lately, his icy blue eyes found the waiter once again and you thoroughly avoided asking about that anymore, the look in his face similar to a snarl.
“Have you got yourself a girlfriend yet?” You asked, sipping on your coffee now that the cake was cleared (mostly your doing, even if you kicked up a fuss).
His eyes found yours as a hum rumbled from his throat, the look in his face had your stomach doing all sorts of samersaults. He looked so soft and gentle in the winter light streaming through the window.
“No one seems to stick,” He said, his answer vague but not enough for you to press for a deeper answer.
“Same here,” You sighed, stretching out your legs beneath the table, ignoring once again how you bumped into his own.
“Really,” He asked, a sharp laugh following after, like he was insulted by your answer.
You looked up at him and ignored the discomfort in your stomach at his face. He looked angry, but the kind of anger he hid underneath layers and layers until it finally bled through to the surface. You couldn’t help but feel scolded, like he knew that you had been eyeing up the waiter.
You felt anger simmer in your chest, you hadn’t seen Kaiser in weeks and now he shows up and has the audacity to chastise you for your taste.
“What’s up with you?” You asked, irritation prickling at you.
“Why? Do you think something’s wrong with me?” He snapped, teeth bared and had you not been a beta, you feel like you might’ve cowed under his glare.
“You’re so pissy today,” You returned his glare, heart hammering in your chest. You’ve always hated fighting with him, you could never quite unsee the boy that ran to you when his dad hit him worse than usual. Perhaps he knew this, and resented you for, resented the fact you could never forget his roots.
“What do you like about him?” You stared at him dumbly for a moment, unable to really process the abrupt subject change.
“Who?” You asked, confusion overtaking any other emotion you felt before. What on earth was he talking about?
“The waiter,” He hissed through his teeth, face leaning closer to you and this close to each other you could smell the anger that stained his warm scent.
“Wha– why does he matter?” You asked, feeling utterly wrongfooted at this abrupt change.
“Just answer. Is it his hair? Because he’s a beta?” He asked, he was angry that much was obvious but you could read the other signs in his emotions. He was upset. Upset over something. Maybe you were a bad friend. Instead of taking Kaiser to your home to talk in private, you brought him to the cafe where you’ve been eyeing up another guy.
Instead of voicing the apology that sat heavy on your tongue, the words were out of your mouth.
“He’s a beta?”
Oh, Kaiser was pissed then. His blue eyes burned with anger and his eyebrows pinched together in a scowl.
A cry echoed through the cafe, a girl’s shriek.
Kaiser ignored the sound until he saw that you were also snapping towards the sound.
Your heart stopped when you saw a man fighting to bite at the throat of a young woman. There was something sweet in the air that made your teeth feel sticky and uncomfortable.
“Oh my god,” You gasped, already climbing over Kaiser’s body. He grunted once and scooted backwards when your knee dug into his thigh but you couldn’t pay attention to that right now.
“Hey!” You called, anger flooding your veins as you stomped over to the man.
He looked at you, a savage snarl twisted on his face as he pinned the young woman down. Tears streaked down her face as her dark brown eyes found yours and it only solidified your courage.
Your hands were shaking, your bottom lip wobbling in anxiety. You were scared, you’d never challenged an alpha before, let alone one that was probably in rut.
He bared his teeth, sharp canines glinting in the cafe’s soft lighting.
“Get off her,” You tried to sound as stern as possible, but you were just a beta, you couldn’t truly stop him.
You looked around the cafe, expecting someone to have stepped in as well. For god’s sakes, a woman was about to assautled right in front of them! Then you heard it, the ushered whispering.
“What was she thinking, coming out in heat?”
“She probably wants that. Everyone knows you don’t leave your house while you’re in heat.”
Then you saw another girl, standing just a little ways away from the one in heat. She was shivering like a leaf and tears were glittering in her horrified eyes.
“Get off her,” You snarled, standing straighter at the sight of the terrified girls.
“She’s mine.” He growled and you shivered, fear clogging your throat.
You stepped forwards, you would rip him off her if you had to, give her a chance to run.
A shadow cast over you from behind, and then you heard a put upon sigh.
“Your heart is too big for your own good, liebchen.” Kaiser moved to stand in front of you, a snarl of his own twisting up his lips.
The other alpha cowered but maintained his grip on the sobbing omega beneath him.
Kaiser stepped forwards, a hand shooting out faster than you could see to grab the back of the alpha’s throat, effectively scruffing him and humiliating him.
Kaiser grinned, sharp and proud.
He dropped the other alpha on the ground, “Oh poor thing, better run along.” He goaded, his smile all teeth. The alpha did in fact scramble away, yelling out a “Fucking bitch,” over his shoulder before rushing out of the cafe doors so hard the glass wobbled.
You breathed a sigh of relief, tension bleeding from you like water off a ducks back.
You were thanking everything in the world that Kaiser had been with you today and so easily dealt with the other alpha.
You looked at the young girl on the ground, now being held in the arms of the other girl.
“It’s okay Lilia.” But then her fearful eyes were looking up in your direction, or more so right behind your shoulder.
You turned, confused at what the girl could still be scared of.
Then you saw Kaiser, looming like an ominous shadow over you, a scowl on his face as he glared down at the girls.
“Ah,” You said, realizing your predicament.
Kaiser had good self control, he didn’t easily fall prey to pheromones. It was something he had to learn when he presented in such a gritty place where people took advantage of a pheromone weakness to induce ruts or heats and claim they had been assaulted.
He looked honest to god, bored as his eyes met yours. But his face instantly tightened up when he saw someone walking up to you.
It was the waiter from before, looking uncomfortable and pulling at the collar of his shirt like he couldn’t get enough air.
“Excuse me, ma’am. The owner has politely asked that you leave our property.”
Anger boiled in your belly and suddenly you looked at the waiter a little differently. He had done nothing to help the girl, hadn’t helped a single finger or alerted the authorities and yet now he was asking that you leave.
“You should be ashamed, fucking coward.” You voiced in his direction before leaning a hand down to help the omega girl up.
“Do you need help?” You asked, softening your voice, even with the familiar scoff behind you.
The girls eyed Kaiser behind you and you hastened to assauge their worries. “He’s with me, it’s okay.” They looked slightly less anxious and finally you heard the omega girl talk.
“Thank you, for helping me.”
“Ah, no problem!” You smiled as she took your hand and you pulled her up.
She leaned on you pretty heavily and you couldn’t help but be thankful that you were a beta. The only bit of her heat you could smell was like a thick honey syrup that clung to the inside of your mouth uncomfortably.
“Get home safe, okay?” You asked, worry bleeding into your tone as they approached their car.
“Of course, thank you, ma’am. And uh,” her eyes darted to Kaiser anxiously, “Thank you too, sir.” He didn’t reply, and when you looked towards him, you found he had a grimace on his face. He looked uncomfortable as hell and you couldn’t blame him. He was this close to an omega in heat and he was taking it like a champ.
“Well, we’ll get going. Bye and please take care!” Then you were walking off, Kaiser already pressed close to your side, his warmth comforting amidst the sharp cold.
“What a shit day,” You muttered uner your breath, nerves utterly fried from your fight with him and the awful alpha. At least, he didn’t hurt that girl as much as he could have.
“Yeah, total shit.” he rumbled and you stopped in your path, making him bump into you with a slight omph noise.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, eyes already darting ahead for any issues.
You smiled, cheeks warm and your heart felt like goo in your chest.
You grabbed his freezing hand and almost flinched at how cold his fingertips were. “You’re such a good person, Micha.” You said, before stuffing your intertwined hands into your pocket. Hopefully that would help him warm up.
He puffed a laugh in the air, a real genuine one. It was such a pleasant sound, you stopped and simply watched as he laughed. The sight had butterflies dancing in your stomach. You don’t think you’re ever going to truly get over your first real love.
“You are the only one who would say such a thing, liebling.” His hand tightened around your hand.
You walked with him, side by side, to your house. There was something at the back of your mind that whispered that it wasn’t a good idea to lead him directly to where you lived but then you remembered that this was Kaiser, not some rabid alpha you couldn’t trust. You would trust him with your whole life and soul if you had to.
A memory surfaced of a locked door and panic suffocating you. It was when Kaiser had just presented, his alpha instincts were everywhere and unfortunately you had been too close.
He locked you in a room with him, claimed you were safer where he could protect you, away from those that woud hurt you. It didn’t matter how many times you cried that he was the one hurting you by locking you there. Everytime you fell asleep, he would leave to find food for the two of you. He never truly hurt you, but ever since, you’ve always been uneasy leaving yourself alone with someone else in a locked room.
Your parents didn’t question you when you showed up stinking like an alpha in rut after nearly a week, they just told you to shower off that filth.
You saw your house in the distance. It was small, definitely nothing compared to Kaiser’s own expensive penthouse. But it was home to you and it was something to be proud of.
You opened the door to your house and let Kaiser enter before you.
“You should shower,” He said, his eyes narrowing at something you couldn’t see or smell.
“Why?” You questioned, slightly insulted at the insinuation that you smelled bad.
“That omega rubbed her stench all over you,” He said before stripping off his outer layers. You couldn’t help but notice that instead of using the empty space on your coat hanger, he instead hung his on top of your jacket.
You shrugged it off, you were probably overthinking it.
“Okay, I’ll be out quickly. Just make yourself at home.” You said before heading towards the bathroom.
Your shower was quick and you could only hope you washed away whatever ramnents might have remained from the girl earlier.
You were feeling tired, as much as you hated to admit it. It was rude to fall asleep on a guest let alone one that rarely had free time that he decided to use on you. But you were so drained from this day, and to think all you wanted to do was check out some eye candy. Now you weren’t sure if you’d even be allowed back into the cafe, let alone if you wanted to go back with how horrid everyone there was.
“Micha, I think I--” You were standing there like an idiot as you took in what was before you. Kaiser was in your bed, blankets pulled up to his chin as he rolled around on the bed. His eyes were closed and for the first time all day, he looked at peace, comfortable where you sleep.
You should’ve gone to the couch, should’ve done anything but turn out the lights and crawl into the bed beside him.
He didn’t stir as you slid the sheets up and over yourself. You noticed that he’d stripped himself down to his shirt and boxers and you felt a warmth curl in your stomach.
You were so pathetic, yearning after him despite all the years. You were older than him for Christ's sake, you were supposed to be the responsible one.
You hoped it was okay, to sleep beside him one more time.
…
You woke up in the night to a burning heat. It was hot, unbearably so and when you tried to kick the sheets away from yourself, you found that somone’s legs were tangled with yours. You felt panic rise in you as you struggled to free yourself but muscled arms were wrapped around your waist, keeping you pinned against the burning hot body behind you.
The more you shifted the more you became aware of something stiff pressing into your lower back and the more you thought about what that was the more you struggled to free yourself.
Finally, the person behind you grunted as your elbow hit them in the ribs.
“Would you be still, liebling?” He groaned deep in his throat as you accidentally ground against him again.
“Shit,” He grunted, arms tightening as he curled into the back of your neck, hot breaths fanning against your sweaty skin.
“Micha, let me go,” You snapped, bottom lip wobbling once again as fear crept in your voice. You hated this, it reminded you too much of when he first presented, too clingy to let you go and too paranoid to shut his eyes.
“I think I’m in rut, liebling.” He spoke out loud what you had been hoping wasn’t real.
“I– I can get you help, Michael. You just need to let me go.” You tried to pry his arms away from where they strangled your waist, but he didn’t even budge.
“It’s fine, you’re fine, liebe.” He hushed in your ear, practically plastering himself against your back, not a single inch of your skin spared from his touch.
“Kaiser!” You shrilled as one of his arms broke away from their hold trail down your belly, stopping to play with the hem of your shirt before sliding his scorching hand up your bare skin.
“Call me by my name, liebchen,” He placed a mean bite underneath your ear, and fear settled deeply into your hindbrain at his alpha teeth being so close to your mating gland.
“Kai–” A harsh bite had you whining before something wet and hot was swiping over it soothingly.
“Micha,” You cried out as his hand trailed higher, his palm rested under your breast for a moment, simply feeling the weight of it in his hand before he pulled your bra down entirely. You curled into yourself and unfortunately closer to the hand pinching and smoothing over your nipple.
“Micha, please,” You whimpered, trying to appeal to him once again not to do this.
“Shh, it's okay, mein liebe.” He hushed in your ear, laying kisses on your throat, eyelashes fluttering along your skin.
“It killed me to smell that whore on you, rubbing her disgusting scent all over you like she had any right.” He snarled in your ear and a yelp ripped from your throat when he pinched your nipple particularly hard.
“Stop,” You tried to pull at the arm still holding you down, but Kaiser took your movemnet as an initiative to flip you over.
You laid flat on your back, your sleeping shirt rucked up past your soft stomach, you knew you probably looked debauched.
His eyes were blown wide, a thin ring of blue the only thing visible.
“I’ve waited so long, so long.” He muttered, manuvering your legs so that he could settle between them. His hair fell over his shouler as he leaned down to capture your lips. It was burning and crushing, anything but gentle as he tried to force you to recirprocate.
He hissed before a hand was coming up to grip your jaw, squeezing until you opened your mouth with a gasp of pain.
He took his chance gladly, shoving his tongue as far as it could go down your throat.
There was the taste of blood before you even knew you were biting down on his tongue.
A snarl ripped from deep in his chest as he ripped away from you, a hand coming to cup over his dripping mouth, blood slowly oozing.
“You always did have fangs,” He laughed, his alpha canines catching the light in a silent threat.
He dove back in, a hand coming up to try and shove off your shirt, before breaking away, he took your bottom lip into his mouth and bit sharply onto it.
You squeaked, instantly trying to get him off of you, but you were no match for his built body. So easily he held you down, you had to wonder if it meant anything at all to him.
“Micha, please. You’re not thinking clearly,” You cried once again, cupping your mouth. It wasn’t a bad wound, but it still hurt.
Kaiser only smiled, tossing his shirt over his head somewhere in your room.
“My head has never been more clear, liebling..”
Your shirt came off with ease, you could barely hold onto the fabric before he yanked it from your grasp and you cringed when you heard the sounds of stitches ripping.
“Do you hate me?” You weren’t sure if you even heard him right, not when he asked such a thing while his fingers were disconnecting your bras clasp.
“Wha–”
“Do you hate me? Think I’m disgusting?” He asked this time rearing up close to your face, anger contorting his pretty features, a tick in his jaw visible.
“No!” You tried to shout, tried to hold onto your last thing covering your chest but he grabbed your hands in his, a sort of pained cry sitting on his face like it didn’t belong.
“You do, you’ll never see me as anything more than a boy who needed your saving.” It wasn’t fair, he should be able to make such a hurt face while his hand is smoothing over your skin, squeezing your breasts like they were his personal hand warmers.
“I’m grown now, not that snot nosed brat, so why did you never see me as more?” He asked, and you couldn’t fucking think because his mouth was on your nipple in the next breath and his hand crept beneath your shorts.
Your hand clasped around his wrist but his teeth just bit down on your nipple and a yelp ripped from your throat. You just wanted to wake up already, tell yourself this was all a bad nightmare and you’d wake up and Kaiser would still be sleeping on his side of the bed.
A moan escaped you as his hand trailed over your clit. He groaned with your nipple in his mouth, the vibration sending something hot down your stomach.
“Fuck, I can smell you from here. You’re such a liar, liebe.”
Then he was sitting up, grinding his bulge against your clothed heat, a cry falling from your mouth as he ground against your clit.
“Please,” You didn’t know what you were begging for anymore, for him to stop or to just pull your underwear down already.
He lifted your legs up, ripping both your shorts and panties down in one fell swoop. You shivered as the cold air hit the wet heat between your legs and something like a strangled groan came from Kaiser as his eyes zeroed in on your cunt.
“I knew it,” He huffed, his hand swiping over the glistening slick. He rubbed your clit harshly, before trailing his fingers over your entrance.
Your thighs closed on his wrist on instinct, everything in you telling you not to let this happen.
“Kaiser, you’re in rut. I can get you help, you just have to stop.” You begged, tears watering in your eyes.
His eyes finally looked away from where you had his wrist trapped, and now looked at you with a narrowed gaze.
“I have always wanted this. It may seem sudden but trust me, liebchen, I’ve always wanted to do this.”
Kaiser moved to settle on his stomach in front of you and your face heated when you realized what he was going to do.
“No! Micha, please, we can still stop this.”
He smiled and it looked utterly sinful on his beautiful face.
“This was always bound to happen. You have always been mine since you walked into my life.”
Then his hand was coming up to pull your thighs apart, freeing the hand still so close to your most vulnerable place.
Hot breath fanned over your slick folds before he gave a small kiss to your clit. You jolted back, a strangled moan getting caught in your throat.
He kept you trapped, hands on either side of your legs holding them open for him.
He kissed along your inner thighs, leaving bites that nearly broke the skin. He paused at your scent glands along the inside of your legs before he rubbed his cheek against it. A purr, unfamiliar and stuttering erupted from his chest, “I love you.” He muttered and before you could argue that someone who loves another doesn’t make them do this, his searing mouth was pressed flush against your cunt.
You let out a cry as his tongue licked up any slick that had been gathering along your folds.
You tried to squeeze your thighs together on reflex but he steadfastly held them open.
Tears built at the corner of your eyes as his tongue traced shapes into your clit, making sure not a single drop of your essence escaped his mouth.
He let out a groan when a gush of slick went straight to his tongue. You could feel your orgasm approaching quickly but you tried to force it down, hold it out but Kaiser was determined to wring it from you.
His fingers prodded at your entrance, tracing quick shapes around it before finally entering while his tongue flicked and sucked at your clit.
There was just a hint of teeth when he sucked on your clit as his fingers curled and you couldn’t hold on anymore. Your orgasm rushed over you as Kaiser nursed you through the whole thing, only finally pulling himself away when you began to pull at his hair in overstimulation.
You laid back, legs shaking around his hips as he sat up.
A smile curled meanly on his face, his eyes narrowing at the sight of you breathing heavily. He watched as your breasts moved up and down with each breath.
He leaned down over your tired body, sealing your lips in a suffocating kiss.
His tongue licked at the dried blood on your bottom lip, groaning at the taste.
“I knew you were a liar, liebling.” His smirk was hellish, taunting and mean.
He shoved his tongue down your throat and this time you didn’t fight it, just let it happen.
“I love you,” He repeated as he lined his cock up with your entrance. He slid it up and down through your slick and you let out a small keen when it bumped your overstimulated clit.
He led the tip to your cunt, and groaned as soon as he felt your fluttering walls welcome him. You let out a moan as he pushed further, his breaths cutting short as he finally settled down to the base in your cunt.
“You’re so warm, so fucking perfect for me, liebling.” He groaned into your throat, leaving a mean bite at your pulse point before licking over it with a huffed breath.
“You’re mine, forever and always.”
His scent of cedarwood and oranges made your heart squeeze in your chest. You finally wrapped your arms around his shoulders and returned the kisses he’s been trying to force from you since the beginning.
Your nails dragged down his back as his cock hit a spot that had you arching up into him.
His chest heaved against your own and you found yourself tracing the pattern of his rose’s thorns.
It suited him. Such a sharp beauty, surrounded by thorns that stabbed and hurt.
A familair sensation coiled in your belly and you thought the same about Kaiser as his breaths got shorter and his thrusts sloppier.
“Fuck,” He breathed into your throat, rubbing his own against it in what had to be scent marking.
You thought of all the times he did the same gesture without you really thinking about it.
It made sense now that he was deep inside of you.
You felt something bigger trying to press against your entrance and your panic flared as you realized what it was.
“Micha–” You tried to cry, tangling your hands tightly into his hair as he tried to press his knot through your entrance with a hiss.
“Stop–” You shrieked, pain swelling in your cunt. It wouldn’t fit, no way. Yet, still he pushed, his hand snaking down to rub harshly at your clit in the same moiton.
“Relax, it’ll fit.” He breathed against you, peppering your face in soft kisses.
Despite the pain, you still felt another orgasm approaching.
“I’m– I’m about to cum,” You moaned, legs shaking from where you had clenched them around his hips.
“Me too,” It was as he left one final flick on your clit that you felt that thread snap and your climax hit all at once.
Suddenly, everything went wrong.
Kaiser forced the knot through your squeezing walls, his own cum shooting into your empty cunt.
You couldn’t even think about the pain splitting you in half when teeth were sinking into your mating gland.
Agony, pain sharp and hot rushed through your veins and tears burned down your face as a shriek left you.
Kaiser held through, thrusting shallowly, still chasing his own high.
He laughed, through the fangs still settled in your skin, he actually fucking laughed.
You would punch him, definitely hit him when he let you go.
But then, as he pulled away with blood still coating his pink lips, you realized Kaiser had never intended to let you go.
“We’re together forever, mein liebling.” He smiled, his bloody teeth catching in the moonlight. What you couldn’t miss though, was the soft, melting love he held in his eyes when he looked at you.
scream (ghostface) au
kim dokja x reader x yoo joonghyuk
slight kdj x yjh
<< masterpost
𖦏 summary: you've been sensing eyes on you for a while now, but the only eyes you care about are kim dokja's. let's hope your new boyfriend is enough to ward off a persistent stalker suitor! word of advice: you should never say "who's there?" don't you watch scary movies? it's a death wish.
𖦏 warnings: 18+ mystery. sex, implied and on-screen. foot fetish joke. dubious threesome. yandere behavior--stalking, murder, strong violence & gore, knife-play, blood kink. not your average darling. major character death(?) it's ambiguous
𖦏 w.c: 10.5k
𖦏 a.n: my sexiest contribution yet. happy halloween, readers ᢉ𐭩
"It's not much, but it's home."
You took in the studio flat: a small bed with slightly rumpled sheets against the far wall, a tiny table for one, a slim bookshelf filled with various manhwa and old textbooks, and a sunken couch. It was rather impressive that he'd managed to fit it all in such a small space.
It was also a perfectly ordinary space for a bachelor salaryman in his twenties.
Kim Dokja gave you a hesitant smile from his spot perched against the kitchen counter. His fingers twisted nervously in front of him.
He stilled as you drew near him. You leaned into his space, arms around him, pushing the empty ramen cups back against the wall as you did. His breathing picked up rapidly as you stopped and hovered over his lips.
"I like it just fine." You smiled. "Besides, we're not together or anything. You don't have to justify your lifestyle."
Kim Dokja made a noise in his throat. Your eyes caught on the bob as he swallowed hard. "I want to..."
You drew back a little, surprised. "You want to what?"
This thing between the two of you had been going on for almost two months now. When you'd first met Kim Dokja at a bookshop, you'd bowled him over in your haste to leave. You'd helped him pick up his stack of manhwa, catching sight of one of your favorites, Ways of Survival, and the two of you were sucked into a long conversation that spilled into a coffee date, and then a dinner, and then somehow your bed. Now you had lost count how many times you met. It was something undefined, the attraction obviously there, but neither of you had made the push for anything deeper yet.
"I thought you could meet my friends," Kim Dokja said in a timid voice. "A—as my...girlfriend..."
"Sorry, did you say 'girlfriend'?"
Kim Dokja froze. "Yes?"
You held back an amused and excited squeak. "Are you sure? Because that sounded uncertain to me."
He began to stutter, and you covered his mouth with your hand. "I'm teasing you. Kim Dokja, I'd love to be your girlfriend. And I'd like to meet your friends, too."
Pure joy lit up every corner of his face, from the gentle curve of his smile, to the sparkle in his eyes. It made you smile as you kissed him. Your chaste kiss was met enthusiastically, and his lips captured yours over and over.
"By the way." He pouted as you stopped him. "Now that we're together, I will say it again: I like your place. Particularly," you spoke loudly over his disbelief, "the open floor plan. I think it allows for more...variation, don't you?"
Kim Dokja grew flushed as you traced your fingers down his chest, dipping beneath his waistband to graze his skin. You tugged him along with your words.
"There are many possible positions, see, we have the countertops behind us for eating...food. Then you have the obvious couch option, and then the bed...and over here we have the table—you can sit on a chair and, hm, let me do all the work. Through there, I'm guessing, is the shower, which I don't need to explain further," you said sweetly. Kim Dokja's face burned red. You both were well-acquainted with your own shower at home. "And here we have the closet, which I'm most excited about, just think of the tight space, all pressed together in the dark—"
"No." Kim Dokja's hand slapped over yours, where it rested on the handle of the closet door. You stared at him, and his voice softened. "Sorry. It's...messy in there. I kind of tossed in all of my dirty laundry before you got here."
You tilted his chin up until his large, dark eyes were back on you. "I understand," you said smoothly. "We'll save that for next time."
"Okay," he said, visibly relaxing at your tone.
"Anyway, the best part is, we can try all of these things one after another without tons of unnecessary steps!" you finished with delight.
Kim Dokja looked at you in amazement. "I see why you like it."
"I thought you might."
"Mm."
The air was soon filled with smacking and sounds of pleasure. You loved Kim Dokja's kisses. He always kissed you like he was memorizing your skin, like you were a page from his favorite manhwa that he wanted to consume. It was such a juicy contrast to his standard, shy personality.
Before things could get too heated, your ringtone killed the mood. You scrambled with the device.
"Oops. My bad." You glanced at the screen and froze. Unknown caller ID. "Actually...I should take this."
Kim Dokja's lips paused on your throat. "Huh?"
"I have to answer this. It'll just be a moment," you said distractedly. You had stepped away to the far wall before he could muster up a response, phone pressed to your ear as you hit answer.
The other end was silent.
"Hello?" you asked tentatively.
Nothing.
"Look," your voice strengthened some, "I don't know what you want from me. But this needs to stop." Kim Dokja shuffled close, his fingertips meeting your lower back. "I have a boyfriend!"
Heavy breathing sounded in your ear, grainy and robotic through the phone. You were just about to hang up, when—
"...Do you know what happens to boyfriends in scary movies?"
You twisted away from Kim Dokja. He frowned.
"They kill losers that come after their girlfriends."
Needless to say, there was a mute panic on Kim Dokja's face. You shook your head, letting him know that everything was fine.
"They die." The voice crackled. "And then so will you."
"Oooh. Spooky," you said, thick with sarcasm. But your palms were hot. Your heart raced at the speed of light.
"We're going to play a game."
You clutched your phone tight. "I'd rather not. Unless you mean hide-and-seek...I'll seek and you hide. Permanently."
He chuckled, low and drawn out. "We'll play a game. See if you can figure out what it is."
"No thanks."
The stretch of silence prompted you to look at your phone. Call ended.
"Bastard," you said, gritting your teeth.
You stared at the black screen: wide, dazed eyes stared back. It took a few minutes of Kim Dokja calling your name before it registered in your mind.
"There's something you should know."
"What?" Kim Dokja looked understandably nervous, as if you might drop a bomb that you were divorced, or had a child, or actually had a sixth toe. Two of those he should have known for certain by now that they weren't the case. He had been to your place—no kids to speak of—and he had...well, he had become acquainted with your toes. Divorced was still on the table.
"I..." You took a deep breath. "I have a stalker."
"Oh." His response was lackluster, tinged with a modicum of relief. Then your words set in. "Wait, a stalker? Really? Do the police know?"
"They didn't believe me. Apparently they can't do anything until something happens to me," you said drily.
Kim Dokja frowned. "That's not right."
You hummed in agreement. "I guess I'll just have to die for them to be caught."
His alarm at the word "die" stuck in his throat, as he asked, "Them?"
"A general 'them'. I don't know their gender." You widened your eyes. "It could be a woman, couldn't it? Or nonbinary? Really, anyone is capable of stalking no matter who you are."
The voice was deeper than usual today, but it was obvious that your stalker was using a voice modulator because there was a distorted pitch to it and other changes every time he called. You knew this, because you did enjoy horror movies.
Kim Dokja had gone quiet, so you cupped his cheek. "I won't die. I've got you now, right? I'm sure they'll lose interest in a taken woman."
You nipped at the persistent frown on his lips until he softened. Very quickly, he parted for you, warm and eager as always. There were shared breaths and moans in between your kisses. Somehow, your fingers had tangled with his clothes, and now his shirt was open and unbuttoned, his belt tugged closer until your hips met.
"Let's take this to the bed first?" you murmured. "Start with a classic."
Kim Dokja's yes was exhaled into your mouth as the two of you stumbled backwards.
In the end, you did get around to testing out the open floor and all of its wonderful opportunities (sans the closet). A nice, hot shower concluded your nightly activities. Or, rather, prolonged them.
Steady hands navigated you through the excitable crowd to an even more rowdy group seated at a booth off to the side. Your footsteps slowed, and you smoothed at your tailored clothes. It seemed a little silly now, far too fancy for a casual bar, but you had really wanted to impress. At least your wool sweater felt like a comforting hug.
Kim Dokja turned around at your lack of movement. "What's wrong?"
"Just nerves," you said absently.
"You? Nervous?" His hand slid down to your arm until your fingers locked together. "There's nothing to worry about, they're going to love you." Kim Dokja chewed the inside of his cheek once. Twice. "It's me who should be worried. My friends are kind of..." He sighed.
Someone called out his name, and you both flinched.
You squeezed his hand. "I guess that's our cue."
It was prickly, feeling the weight of so many eyes on you as you walked up. Some more friendly than others.
"Kim Dokja."
A broad man dressed in all black like some sort of mall goth leaned forwards in his seat. He was handsome. Strikingly so. His thick eyebrows slanted harshly over his eyes, two obsidian stones burning into you. "This is your girlfriend?" he demanded.
Kim Dokja scratched his head. "Obv—"
"Yeah, it's hard to believe," butted in a pretty, short-haired woman. She smirked at you. "How much did he pay you?"
"Dokja-ssi wouldn't do that." It was Yoo Sangah, Kim Dokja's coworker and friend whom you had actually met by chance during a café date earlier this week. You smiled at her. Yoo Sangah returned it, and said, "It's good to see you again."
"You know her?!"
"Yes. I went to Cafe Layered the other day, for my spring onion scone, and Dokja-ssi was—"
"It's probably a long con. He knows your usual spots."
Yoo Sangah's face darkened. "Sooyoung..."
They devolved into petty squabbling, with a few others jumping in. The goth huffed loudly and crossed his arms. He still eyed you both. Kim Dokja's hand in yours was clenched and unrelenting.
"Uh, my friends."
Kim Dokja gestured around the huge group crammed into the corner booth with quick introductions: there was the other skeptic, Han Sooyoung, who scrunched her nose at you; Jung Heewon and Lee Hyunsung, dating and currently laughing over something in private; Lee Seolhwa, beautiful as a pale rose; Uriel Eden, a tiny, foreign woman that glared at you fiercely; and the broody, irritated man in black, Yoo Joonghyuk.
The group shifted to make room, one seat on each end of the booth. Divide and conquer—it was comical how obvious they made it.
You took one look at Uriel's blazing eyes on the left and rushed to squeeze in next to the broody Yoo Joonghyuk. In fact, this only made Uriel flush an angrier red. Kim Dokja slid in across from you.
"So," said Jung Heewon with a gleaming grin. "Kim Dokja has told us absolutely nothing about you. Spill."
Lee Seolhwa nudged her, raising an eyebrow. But she, too, looked interested in your response.
Kim Dokja winced at you. "We forgot drinks...I'll go grab some for us..." he said sheepishly and rushed off.
That rat.
"He knows what drink you like?"
"I'll bet it's a bubbly, sweet one."
"I don't know. She seems like she'd have that edge under the girly front, a taste for hard liquor."
"Do you know what he likes?"
The cool, accusing voice that rose over the rest was, shockingly, Uriel. You matched her stare. "Dokja doesn't drink."
Uriel frowned. "Yeah...that's right."
"Ah, what do you do for work?" Lee Seolhwa asked politely.
"I'm a photographer," you replied.
"How exciting!"
"For a newspaper? Or artist, like your own gallery?"
Han Sooyoung sniggered. "Are you the kind that takes photos of naked people? Does Dokja pose for you?"
Your smile went tight. She is very casual with him.
"Sooyoung-ssi, that's not appropriate," said Lee Hyunsung.
"I'm just asking! You know how weird some of his interests are, like the time Dokja—"
"He does," you said sharply. "He poses for all kinds of photos."
Yoo Joonghyuk went rigid beside you. Uriel gasped, and Lee Hyunsung choked on his drink. Jung Heewon clapped him on the back with an eager look on her face. Yoo Sangah paused, beer forgotten.
You leaned forwards, expression flat. "I might be open to new subjects if you're offering, Han Sooyoung."
She went red as a tomato. Yoo Joonghyuk exhaled harshly, and your eyes flicked over to see a frustrated look darken his face.
Your giggle quickly turned into full-blown laughter. "Did you really think I was serious?"
"N—no! Shut up!" Han Sooyoung scowled.
"You were half-right, anyway. My creative style is portraits—not nude ones," you added with a wink at Yoo Sangah. She gave you a weak smile. "Professionally, I'm a freelance photojournalist for newspapers and magazines." You pinned your attention on the man beside you. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Yoo Joonghyuk?"
His gaze narrowed. "What?"
"Perhaps you don't remember. Well, we were never introduced," you nodded. "You're a police officer, right? I see you at events and crime scenes from time to time."
"There are thirty-two thousand officers in Seoul," Yoo Joonghyuk said through clenched teeth.
"I have a knack for remembering faces."
A strange, tense feeling shifted between you and Yoo Joonghyuk, like an electric current running through your veins. His body radiated heat where his thigh pressed against yours.
"Nobody knows Yoo Joonghyuk like Kim Dokja," boasted Uriel. You weren't quite sure what she was showing off.
Jung Heewon rolled her eyes. "Give it a rest, Uriel."
"I'm just saying! She needs to know about their connection. Their companionship! The woven threads that bind them together in life—" she continued to ramble hotly.
...Ah.
You watched her with amused eyes until the clink! of a glass being set down in front of you made you startle. Kim Dokja smiled pleasantly.
"Sorry. There were many people waiting."
"It's fine. Thanks." You took a sip. "Han Sooyoung here wants to pose nude for my next series."
"The fuck I do—!"
Everyone launched into a comfortable, teasing conversation after that. It was difficult to tell how much time was passing, as the music steadily grew louder and more people filtered in and clogged the floor space in the center to dance, pressing against the imaginary space bubble in front of your booth.
At some point, you snagged Kim Dokja's hand and wove your fingers together. Jung Heewon simpered over that. Uriel, of course, turned her nose up with a sniff.
"How long has it been for you two?"
"Several months," you said absently, sipping on your drink.
"No?" Kim Dokja's brow furrowed. "Two months."
"Oh. Yeah, it feels like forever." You looked him steady in the eyes. "I'm very happy, Dokja. Probably the happiest I've ever been."
"I feel the same."
Han Sooyoung gagged into her copper mug. Uriel, however, softened a fraction at our exchange.
Lee Hyunsung, who had been staring at the TV screen over the bar, straightened his already perfect-posture and looked at Jung Heewon. "I want to start walking you home."
The group fell silent.
"A—and to work in the mornings," he added weakly.
"You think I can't walk out in public like some sort of child?" growled Jung Heewon. The pink of her nose and cheeks signaled danger. "I know you're a soldier, but what gives you the right?"
You were impressed when Lee Hyunsung refused to back down (though he definitely cowered).
"They've connected the murders to a single killer. Three deaths," he said, agitated, "three—that's a serial killer, Heewon. I want to make sure you're safe until they catch him."
"Serial killer?"
Yoo Sangah and Yoo Joonghyuk both looked at you. "You don't know?" asked Yoo Sangah. You shook your head. "The police figured out that the recent deaths—those horrible stabbings—were all done by the same person."
A woman strung up like a piece of butchered meat. Another with a smile cut into her throat. And the most recent, stabbed deep so many times that a pincushion would have been jealous. Hardly an obvious MO.
"What made them realize it? The carving of the bodies? A weapon?" you asked.
"The harassment," inserted Han Sooyoung. "Every single one of those women were stalked for months prior to their death."
"I see," you said slowly.
You knew that Kim Dokja was staring at you, because his fingers wrapped around your hand twitched.
"Actually, there was a strange pattern with—"
"Can we talk about something else?" said Lee Hyunsung loudly. He still looked upset. Yoo Sangah and Lee Seolhwa agreed. Jung Heewon pursed her lips.
Eventually, you all settled back into a lighter conversation. Kim Dokja excused himself to find the toilet.
Twenty minutes...thirty? Too much time passed and he still hadn't returned.
You tapped your fingers on the wood table. "He never pees this long."
No one else seemed to hear you, too engrossed by the sound of their own voices. Then, Yoo Joonghyuk shuffled closer. "He's taking a shit."
"That doesn't take him this long, either."
Yoo Joonghyuk studied you. He nudged you up and out of the booth and stood as well.
"We'll look for him together," said Yoo Joonghyuk quietly.
The crowd had thickened as the night wore on. The music was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the chatter. You and Yoo Joonghyuk were soon separated, his broad shoulders vanishing between other bodies.
This was one of those odd bars caught between wanting to be a club, but not quite designed correctly for it; the reality hovered somewhere in the realm of "dive bar with a questionable dance floor."
Up ahead, you spotted a wiry, black-haired man. A blonde girl turned to him, pressing her cheek into his shoulder with a giggle.
Your vision clouded red.
"What the fuck?!"
The blonde girl spat at you, glaring. Your hand slowly unclenched from her locks. She rubbed her head from your yank, backing into the gawking man that was most definitely not Kim Dokja.
"Sorry," you said, annoyed. "I thought I saw a spider in your hair."
You escaped through the darkened crowd before either of them could say another word.
Bzzt! Bzzt!
You made it to the edge of the dance floor and fished out your phone.
Bzzt! Bzzt!
It was an unknown caller.
"Yeah? What?" you answered, plugging your other ear to hear better.
"Where are you."
"Huh?" Your mood soured even more at the confirmation of that voice. "I'm not telling you shit."
"...You're hostile."
"I'm busy," you snapped. "Call again later."
The music seemed to be reverberating, echoing between your ears. You could feel a headache forming. The phone drifted away as your thumb hovered over the screen.
"Don't hang up on me." Your breath caught. His voice was harsh and domineering, even through the phone. "Or I'll slit your pretty boyfriend's throat. Kim...Dokja."
At the name, your temper lifted some. "Do you have him?"
"Perhaps."
"Show me." Your volume rose. "Give me some proof that he's there."
"I will not."
So he didn't have Kim Dokja after all. "Do you know where he is?"
"..."
"If you do, I'd appreciate you sharing that information," you said sweetly.
He went silent for a few minutes. Then, roughly: "Answer me first. Horror trivia—what color is Freddy Krueger's sweater?"
"Red and green, obviously. Tell me his location."
"How many deaths occurred during the production of The Exorcist?"
You rolled your eyes. "Nine."
"Yes. Very good," he said with content, almost a purr. "What do Carrie's classmates dump on her at prom? Be specific."
"You're wasting my time," you retorted. Your eyes scanned the room, back and forth and back again.
"I might grow tired of our game if you refuse to play along—"
You ended the call. It was the first time you had ever done so. A haze settled over your mind. People seemed to skirt around you, leaving a space that only further trapped you in a bubble of feverish adrenaline. Your warm sweater now felt suffocating. You had no idea how long you stood there, thinking, sifting through options—
"Found you."
Someone clutched your arm from behind. You spun around. "Dokja!"
He gave a noise of surprise as you tossed your arms around his neck. "I went past the table but you weren't there," he said.
"I was looking for you," you said.
"Turns out, the basement is not the only toilet," Kim Dokja said with a smile. "I would have gone up here if I'd known."
"Oh, is that why..."
"Hey, are you okay?" Kim Dokja pressed his palm to your forehead. "You feel warm."
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" His arm circled your waist awkwardly, as people bumped past you both. You looked into his eyes, doe-like and framed by thick lashes. His lower lip was damp from a habit of sucking it between his teeth.
A hot feeling curled in your stomach. The stalker was pushed to the back of your mind.
"Actually, let's get out of here." You tilted your head close. "Take me to bed, Dokja-ya."
The effect was immediate. It was almost startling to see such a soft, pretty face turn demon-like. Sharp. Fiery. Kim Dokja ushered you towards the exit with purpose, friends be damned, his urgency overshadowed only by the heat in his gaze.
Kim Dokja wasn't necessarily a simple man. But you certainly found it easy to discover what made him tick. You had charted those things carefully, and there were very few.
You were delighted that one of them was now you.
Two weeks passed since that night. The life of an underpaid salaryman had caught up to Kim Dokja, so you had hardly seen each other in that time. It bothered you.
But your restlessness went beyond your relationship—your stalker had stopped calling.
Yet you still felt the sensation of constantly being watched.
You stood at your second-floor window, brows furrowed at the awakening street below. Elderly couples clogging the narrow sidewalk. A texting mother neglecting the stroller in front of her. Ankle-biter furballs walked by dog sitters. Groups of young professionals, suited up and pretending to be of more importance than they actually were.
And...there. Across the street in an alleyway, plunged into darkness by the early morning, there was a figure. You could nearly make out the shape sewn into the shadows. As if born from it.
The shadows shifted. A white, elongated face stuck in an anguished scream emerged.
"Is that—?!"
You rubbed your eyes. When they cleared, the alleyway was nothing but shadows. A trick of the light.
Fuck. Your phone was in your hand, automatically dialing a number before you knew it.
It rung. And rung. Until you received a voicemail request.
Beeeep.
"Dokja," you said, dragging out his name. "You're still coming over for dinner, aren't you? I think I'm going crazy over here. It's been days, and I really," your throat felt thick, "really miss you. Call me back."
You moved to your closet, nabbed a thick book off the top shelf, and flopped onto your bed. Your fingers dug into the hollowed inside, sifting through the pile of prints, negatives, and other treasures.
The photographs were quickly spread out on the mattress around you, telling the story your mind envisioned through your lens. You traced over the nearest one. You couldn't wait to hang up all of the pictures in a delightful collage on your wall. Soon.
A persistent buzz broke you from your thoughts. You hit answer faster than you could blink.
"Dokja! Finally, I was beginning to think you—"
"Think again."
The sound of your breathing was loud to your own ears. In your chest, coiling tight, was something, something...
"You always pick up when I call," he jibed. "I like that."
"Do you really think you can flirt your way out of being a creep?"
"Flirting suggests that we have a connection." There was a staticky sound, like a gravelly laugh. "I'd say we connect. Wouldn't you?"
He was acting smug. You stood, pacing in your room. "That depends on the context. You trying to ask me out?"
"I might. What would your boyfriend say about that?"
"The one you threatened to kill?"
"That's right." His voice crackled.
"I think he'd object to being killed, yeah."
"No, I mean about me asking you out."
"Well, I don't know," you huffed. "Are you going to ask me stupid movie trivia again until I'm distressed?"
"Distressed..."
"Short-term memory?" you mocked. You left your bedroom, grabbing your purse on the way.
"I remember everything about you."
The fervor of it stopped you in your tracks.
"Your voice. Your smile. The steadiness of your hands. The way you sway your hips when you walk. The scent of your hair: dry, damp, loose. Tied back. Your skin—pretty, pretty skin."
A shiver slithered throughout your body.
"Want to see what your insides look like," breathed the voice with reverence, like you were an answered prayer.
You counted to ten, exhaling slowly. "Tempting."
"Oh yeah? Is that what you think?"
"I think you're crazy."
He laughed, rich and true. "We all go a little mad sometimes. Love does that to you."
Your eyes narrowed as you set down the phone, tugging on your leather boots and wrapping up in a thick coat and scarf. Satisfied, you tucked the phone back under your cheek. "Love? Are you sure you're not confusing it with obsession?"
"Two things can coexist."
At least he was self-aware. Your keys jangled loudly as you grabbed them on your way to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Out."
"Are you meeting someone? Who is it?" his voice grew increasingly agitated. "I swear, if you're going to meet with some worthless, fucking piece of shit, I'll gut you in your sleep! Do you want to die?"
He was heaving on the other end, having worked himself up into a fit of rage. There was a cracking sound, like wood splintering beneath fingers. Your every sense prickled with anticipation for whatever he might say or do next. At the unnerving pause, you spoke.
"I am going to buy groceries."
Harsh breathing sounded. You made your way down to the street, instantly swarmed by the rush hour crowd outside. Someone shouted, and you pressed your phone into your ear to catch the low voice.
"Watch yourself."
Click!
You rubbed your temples and headed for the subway. Well, you weren't lying—you really were going to the supermarket. Dinner wouldn't cook itself.
You finally noticed a few missed messages from your boyfriend:
Swamped with work. I'll see you at 7.
*Smiley face* *Heart*
Sent: 08:23
It left you with a deep frown, a displeasure that simmered under your skin and refused to calm. You were stuck with a lot of feelings, lately.
The grocery store was only a stop away from your home; a specialty import shop that specialized in European and Indian goods. They had a limited selection, but it was just what you needed. Tonight you were making lasagna.
"Thick-cut mozzarella, ricotta, dried pepperoncini, lasagna sheets," you chanted as you entered. You grabbed the pasta, and then found your way to the spice aisle.
The sight of a hulking, goth-like man greeted you. A familiar, unforgettable face.
"Careful. You might hurt the spices feelings with that glare," you said seriously.
Yoo Joonghyuk directed it your way. "You."
"Me. How have you been since we last met?"
Instead of a proper response, Yoo Joonghyuk looked you up and down, like he was expecting to find something.
"Kokum or amchur." At your puzzlement, he pointed. "Kokum. Amchur. I'm not certain which one to get for my curry."
"Aren't you following a recipe?" You blinked as he shook his head. "Well, I don't know what to tell you. Get both and try them out? See which one you like more."
Yoo Joonghyuk grabbed a beige spice bag. "Why are you here?"
"Dinner. Dokja is coming over tonight."
Yoo Joonghyuk's face pinched. Then he swiped a deep purple spice from the shelf, like you were holding him at knifepoint to take the other option too.
"I'm making real, Italian lasagna," you added.
"Kim Dokja doesn't like tomatoes," Yoo Joonghyuk said automatically.
You shrugged. "He did when I cooked pasta last time."
"He ate them?"
Yoo Joonghyuk looked scandalized at your nod of confirmation. And then a bit angry.
"Have you been shopping long?" you hummed, scanning the shelf and securing your pepperoncini flakes.
"...I can't find the crème fraîche," he said at last.
"You can't find crème fraîche. Did you ever think they might not have it?"
"This store does." Yoo Joonghyuk frowned. "They always do."
"Maybe they're out of stock—hey! Hi, sorry to bug you, could you help us locate the crème fraîche?" you sought the attention of a short, pink-haired worker.
She nodded, firm and quick. "I'll check our system. Wait here, please!"
You turned to Yoo Joonghyuk, who immediately snapped, "I can find it."
"Sure you can."
He stewed in that until the pink-haired girl returned, beaming. "Follow me, please."
You nudged Yoo Joonghyuk as you both went. "It's not bad to ask for help sometimes. Be a team player," you said with a waggle of your eyebrows.
In the dairy aisle, you picked up your mozzarella and ricotta. Yoo Joonghyuk burned a hole in the pink-haired worker.
"Oh...I'm really sorry. It looks like we're all out."
"Order more."
"I—um, we can't—that is..." she gulped. "We should have more by early next week."
Yoo Joonghyuk was a man of few words.
The girl's smile faltered, her gaze skittering away. "Good luck!" she chirped, then edged away, visibly uncomfortable by Yoo Joonghyuk's presence.
You smiled at him. "I guess you'll have to use something else."
He grumbled under his breath.
But he didn't leave. You pursed your lips, contemplating your next move.
"Yoo Joonghyuk." He glanced at you. "You're with the police. Maybe you can do something about my stalker."
"Stalker?"
"Yeah. They keep calling me," you emphasized. "For months now. Even just this morning."
Yoo Joonghyuk's forehead wrinkled. Quick, subtle. Then it was gone. "Has this person done anything physical?" he asked.
"Not yet."
"...Have you seen him?"
"Nope."
His face was stony as he turned away, scanning the shelf. "We can't do anything without clear mal-intent."
"What about verbal threats?" you pressed. "Say...threatening to kill my loved ones? Including a certain lover."
Yoo Joonghyuk paused his reach for a jar. "I can put in a formal request for occasional check-ins. That's the best you can get at this stage."
You studied his back. It was terribly broad. "That works."
Both of you headed towards the checkout. Well, you went, Yoo Joonghyuk trailed behind, like a lost wolf cub. Rows of bright colors caught your eye. You crouched.
"What are you doing?"
"Buying flowers." You sent him a silent duh.
"Why," said Yoo Joonghyuk sharply.
"One, because they look pretty in my kitchen." Your fingers hovered over the sunflowers before passing to the next row. They had white roses, pink roses, even yellow. But no red. "Two, because I have a date tonight. Remember?"
You turned in time to see disbelief flicker across Yoo Joonghyuk's face. And something else. He went stony before you could observe any further.
"These are pretty...no, maybe the lilies..."
"Not those."
Yoo Joonghyuk's voice cracked in the air like a whip. Despite his tone, his fingers gripped your wrist gently, tugging you to a bouquet of poppies. Bright red, huge petals fanning out in delicate heaps.
"They're lovely."
"They suit you." Yoo Joonghyuk nodded like his mission was complete.
Your eyebrows raised. "Who knew Mr. Broody was such a flower connoisseur?"
"It doesn't take skill to know that red pairs with blue," he muttered, glancing at his phone.
"...And white." You gestured to your monochrome outfit.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood, ignoring you. His black coat billowed out behind his long strides.
"Uh, bye?" you announced dramatically. "I hope to see you again. Very soon. I like spending my time talking to emotionally constipated men."
He paused. You grinned.
Yoo Joonghyuk swivelled around, and a coldness had entered his eyes. He stepped closer. "You're bothersome."
"Kim Dokja doesn't seem to agree."
"Kim—" Yoo Joonghyuk's nose lifted in a snarl. "I'm tired of listening to you speak."
"Are you? I was under the impression you like the sound of my voice."
A switch flicked off in his expression. "What did you say?" he said quietly.
Black. Pupil and iris melded into black, a singular void boring into you.
"I said: you like the sound of my voice." You cocked your head. "I mean, you wouldn't still be here if you didn't. You've let me talk you into picking out my flowers...maybe I should make you pay for them, too."
Yoo Joonghyuk closed his eyes briefly, jaw twitching. "I have known Kim Dokja longer than you."
"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
Kim Dokja this, Kim Dokja that. Kim Dokja, Kim Dokja, Kim Dokja. The man's brain ran on practically nothing else. (Not that you were one to talk.)
"If you're jealous, then just say so," you said evenly. "But don't get pissy at me just because your crush didn't want you back."
"That isn't—" Yoo Joonghyuk exhaled through his nose. "He is different because of you. I don't like it."
He leveled you with one last, inscrutable gaze, and then turned on his heel. You watched his flapping coat scan and pay in a blink, then disappear out the doors.
Truly, Yoo Joonghyuk was a difficult man. A difficult, gorgeous man with all the charm of a steaming turd.
"What a waste," you grumbled.
You purchased the ingredients and flowers and left. A solid frame knocked into you just outside the sliding exit. Your red poppies tumbled to the concrete.
"Whoa there! Are you okay?" The man coughed as you looked up at him, his cheeks flushing. "Wow."
He didn't let go of your arms. Your smile was tight as plastic as you said, "I'm good."
"Can I...listen, I'll get you something nice to make up for it. My treat."
"No, it's fine."
"Uh-huh, yeah. What's your name?"
"You can stop touching me now."
An embarrassed, angered look entered his features. "C'mon, let me buy you new ones. Perfect flowers, like yourself, a pretty—"
"I wouldn't, if I were you."
At your tone, his hand that had been about to grab you again halted. The winter air was biting and tasted of steel. You relished the look on his face. Maybe it was the rush of coldness in your veins. Maybe it was disgust at encountering such a lowlife creature.
Or maybe it was the strong, seething attention you'd felt since you stepped outside.
You snatched up the flowers, thumbing at the still-perfect petals. A lazy, saccharine smile played on your lips. "Enjoy your day."
The air was cold—so, so cold—and you were warm. This had turned out to be a rather exhilarating morning.
"I think this will make for an even better story."
You were primping the flowers, large and fluffed in the center of your dining table, light red popping beautifully against your cerulean tablecloth, when three knocks sounded at the door. "Who's there?" you yelled.
"Me."
"It's open!"
The door creaked. Kim Dokja dumped his backpack by the shoe pile, and shrugged off his coat into the closet. He swiped a hand through his hair, footsteps unusually heavy as he came over.
Kim Dokja took one glance at the poppies and scoffed. "What is that?"
"Flowers...?"
"They're ugly."
"These gorgeous blooms are ugly," you responded drily. "Yeah, sure."
His lips pressed into a tight line, scowl deepening. You drew him into your arms.
"Did you have a really bad day at work?"
"Terrible." Kim Dokja sighed at your fingertips ghosting over his cheek. "I hate people."
You dragged him over to the couch where you could wrap around him for comfort. The lasagna was in the oven, finished, and the sides and mock-wine were out on the counter. There was nothing stealing attention away from your Kim Dokja. Until you noticed it.
"Hold on—" You snatched his shoulder and pulled aside his collar. Wet. Red. "You're bleeding."
It was a medium-sized cut, shallow, but blood still oozed sluggishly. A too-small band aid had been hastily stuck on top.
"I rushed getting here and scratched myself with the shirt hanger," said Kim Dokja briskly. "My fault for buying cheap wire ones."
You ripped off the band aid, and Kim Dokja yelped. His eyebrows pinched. "What...?"
"Were you going to tell me you hurt yourself?"
"I—I didn't know if it would matter to you." You could tell he realized the error of his words at the thundering expression on your face.
"Wait here."
Before you could go, Kim Dokja gripped your arm. Hard. His messy bangs cast a shadow over his eyes. He said in a mumble, "Don't leave me."
Your heart somersaulted in your chest. "I'm just going to get you a larger bandage and some stuff to clean it up."
Kim Dokja tugged you back down. You stumbled, knee landing in between his thighs. His arm circled your waist, locking you tight in his space.
You carded your fingers through his hair, feeling warm. "Do you have something to say?"
The tick, tick, tick of the clock in the corner filled the silence. Kim Dokja squeezed at you for a few moments before relaxing.
"Nothing." Then he tilted his head back and dark eyes lightened into grey, his mouth now a soft pout.
You stared at the scratch marring his skin and leaned in, unable to help yourself. Your lips pressed into the wound. "It must have been painful."
Kim Dokja's swallow shuddered throughout his whole body. "Somewhat."
You pressed another kiss, this one lower where it was still open and raw. Kim Dokja hissed. You met his lidded gaze.
God, he smelled clean. Freshly washed, like vanilla soap and sanitizer. Suddenly, you were much closer together.
"Dokja..." you breathed out.
His eyes dropped to your lips and stuck. You licked them, tasting copper and salt. He leaned in.
Kim Dokja groaned into your mouth, kissing you like you were a candy to savor, sweet and addictive. You pushed your knee into him and he stuttered against your lips.
"Kim Dokja." You kissed him again. "Dinner's ready and I'm starved. Let's eat, okay?"
You caught a flash of expression. Blank, and almost...annoyed?
Then he smiled, nodded, and released you from his hold.
You located the first aid kit quickly. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you contemplated. Kim Dokja had shown many unexpected faces tonight. You had seen his detachment, his irritation, his affection. His hunger. Which of them were real?
Maybe it was everything. All at once.
When you returned, Kim Dokja was whistling (terribly) as he bustled between the kitchen and dining table with food.
He glanced over. "I reheated everything."
"Thanks." You doctored up his cut, meeting his gaze every so often.
You sat down. It was easy to see his face with the flower vase pushed to the corner, dark red petals slightly crumpled. You glanced over, seeing an open-zipped backpack on the floor. A slow smile spread across your face. "I'm confident in your ability to use the microwave, at least."
"I value your life, so I'll refrain from ever cooking for you."
Your laugh quickly grew out of control. Kim Dokja gave you a funny look, but he chuckled a bit too.
"Yes," you coughed. "I'm sure."
The evening mellowed into a pleasant, cheerful atmosphere. You stuffed yourselves with lasagna—("You know, I might actually like tomatoes," proclaimed Kim Dokja)—and the bottle of non-alcoholic wine. You had just uncorked a second when your phone rang.
Unknown caller ID. Your lips twitched. "Hi. Who is this?"
"Amusing."
"Listen. You already called today. It's getting a little sad, isn't it?"
"Is it 'that person'?" Kim Dokja said tensely. His knuckles clenched around the dinner knife.
You waved a hand at him and addressed the caller. "What do you want now?"
"Are you alone in your home?"
Oh. You went over to Kim Dokja's seat, swinging your leg around to face him. Kim Dokja let out a noise as you dropped down, already stiff in his pants. "No. I'm not."
There was a leaden silence on the other end.
You pressed down harder, squeezing your thighs. Kim Dokja's face, already flushed from frustration, reddened further. His hand slipped under your top.
You adjusted the phone. "Are you going to tell me who you are?"
"The question you should ask is where am I?"
"Where...?"
"Your front door."
In a quick motion, you leapt up and snatched the knife from Kim Dokja's hand. You marched over to the entryway, kicked aside the shoes, and pulled open the door.
Empty. Nothing but the flickering light overhead.
"Called your bluff," you said, knife lowering. "Can you see me right now?"
"Of course."
You brought the knife to your neck. Behind you, Kim Dokja choked on air. "What am I doing?"
No answer.
"Right..." You pressed it to your skin. Kim Dokja called out your name, loud and urgent.
There was a distorted grunt. "This isn't fun anymore."
Click.
Both your arms dropped to your side. The phone clattered to the floor.
You weren't naive enough to think that your stalker would let this go. But, at least for tonight, he was uninterested in your game.
Just as you locked the door, sliding the bolt and fixing the chain in place, you felt arms snake around you like a vice. Kim Dokja's breath was hot on the side of your face, nuzzling.
"It's okay. You're okay," Kim Dokja murmured against your neck. "Should we call someone?"
"I think he's gone." You leaned back.
Kim Dokja jolted as your backside brushed against him. His fingers flexed over your hip, yanking you into his straining front instinctively. Hard met soft.
You spun around, nose to nose. "I'd rather pick up where we left off."
Aha, that was perfect. Like a line out of a movie. It was satisfying, and Kim Dokja...Kim Dokja was—
Kim Dokja reacted like a shark to blood.
His hands were everywhere on you. He didn't bother letting you unfasten his clothes first as he grabbed at his own. You let him take over, enjoying the rush of his fervor, the drowning in his taste.
The bedroom was a few steps too far, so you found yourself bent over the dining table. You stared at the dark red flowers, lilies, preening and proud in the vase.
They didn't tremble much. Your excitable boyfriend was more gentle than you expected. The knife in your fist glinted under the overhead light, reflecting back yourself and the sight of Kim Dokja filling you, slow and passionate.
It was a quiet night alone.
The first night you'd had to yourself in a while, as Kim Dokja had flipped between crowding you into your bed or dragging you to his for two weeks. Each touch felt like a searing reminder of his presence in your life, of a hidden promise for the future.
And in between all of that, he demanded your attention. Lunch dates. Movie nights out. Snowy walks in the park, illumination sightings, hot cocoa runs at cafés. Failed kalguksu-making dinners. The two of you read Ways of Survival after an amorous session, and discussed the characterization choices over breakfast the next morning.
Overall, you were loving life.
Then, yesterday, Kim Dokja went radio silent.
Knocking on his door would be pushy, right? You did it anyway. You talked to that friend of his, Yoo Sangah...and still, nothing. Last night you angrily tossed back shots until you were stumbling home. But not today.
No, instead you were peeking at your phone every other minute, waiting for his name to pop up. (Even though your ringer was on the highest setting. You needed to see it for yourself.)
"Dokja, Dokja," you said, moving to the wall behind your couch.
You smoothed a hand over the pinned sheet, cheek pressed to the surface, feeling every small bump underneath. A thick book was tossed aside nearby. You'd decorated the wall all nicely yesterday, needing to occupy your mind. This was the right time.
Riiii—!
You pounced on your phone before the ring could finish. "Yes? Yes, hello? Is it you?"
"Expecting someone?"
You let out a furious string of curses, strong enough to make even your phone blush.
He was quiet. And then a chuckle, low and drawn out. "Are you wondering where your boyfriend went?"
Everything in you went hot and buzzing. "Yes."
A chime. You checked your messages and opened the photo. Kim Dokja, your sweet, sweet boyfriend, was pinned to a chair by tightly bound rope. It cut into his skin. His head lolled, blood clumping his hair and dripping down his face.
You sat on the couch, feeling a rush of lightheadedness. This was it.
"Now will you finish our game?"
"Will you let him go if I do?" You pitched your voice higher. "Please, Mr. Stalker Ghostface, I'll do what you say if you let him come back to me!"
"...Ghostface?"
You nodded. "I saw you the other day. Wearing that scary mask."
"Hm." He sounded...pleased. "Let's try this again: where am I?"
"You're—" you stood, circling the room. The chilly breeze made you shiver, your white dress dancing in the air. You went to the window. "The fire escape is too obvious." You forced the window shut.
"Is it?"
"There's a window ledge in my bedroom. But, again, too obvious." You walked to the entrance. "It would be more clever if you were truly at the door this time."
"Will you let me in? Kim Dokja is waiting."
"I want him back." Your hands quivered.
"Open for me."
You flung it open. No one was there. A hollow-eyed mask screamed at you from the doormat.
"Wrong door."
The coat closet burst open to your right. A massive man in a long, black duster and identical mask lunged, swinging a large hunting knife at your head.
You leapt back and grabbed the nearest weapon—a wooden chair from your dining set. It cracked against the intruder, knocking him to the ground. He scrambled back up before you could make a break for the exit.
"Bastard!" you puffed.
He dove for you again, clipping your side even though you tried to dodge. His knife caught the side of your calf as you kicked hard at his stomach. While he was reeling, you sprinted for the door, looking back to see if the man had recovered.
You ran smack into something.
"Hello," said a warm voice.
You looked into the pale, ghostly mask of another person for half a second before he punched your chest. The wind was knocked out of you as you landed.
The second intruder descended on you while your breathing returned. White coat, black dress shirt. Both of the men had similar, loose black hair. The first one watched his companion silently as he guarded the closed front door. The second man rested against you, leather-gloved fingers sliding over your neck.
"Having fun?" His voice was muffled.
"Don't you know?" you said. "I love scary movies."
"Enjoy your fright, then."
He wrestled you into place on the floor, lifting the hunting knife high. You could feel so much of him. Firm. Heated through the fabric of his pants. His mask cocked to the side. "Die like the others."
His finality made the last of your control snap.
"You asshole!" you screeched. "You're going to cover your face?"
The man paused. It was long enough for you to shove him off and stand, your expression radiating fury as you looked him up and down.
"I waited," you said. "I wanted you to trust me with your life. Your real self, Kim Dokja."
The man before you froze in place. "How did you—"
"Fuck," said the first intruder.
"For a second there, I thought you were going to let your bastard friend take care of everything. And now you don't even have the decency to murder me face-to-face?"
Kim Dokja still hadn't moved.
"Stop stalling," warned the other man. Yoo Joonghyuk, of course. "You've dragged this out long enough."
Kim Dokja grasped his mask and lifted. His companion protested.
At last, you could look upon Kim Dokja's beautiful face. Thin eyebrows furrowed as he studied you, his mouth screwed up in confusion. He raised his knife, advancing slowly. You backed up towards the window, speaking.
"Yoo Sangah told me something very interesting the other day."
Kim Dokja looked more bewildered. "You speak with Sangah-ssi?"
"Shut up," hissed Yoo Joonghyuk.
"You know her routine, I know her routine." You shrugged. "Anywho. Yoo Sangah said you quit a few weeks ago. She seems to think you got a new job." Your smile sharpened. "We both know you didn't. Why didn't you say anything? I would have accepted the truth."
Kim Dokja watched you venture closer cautiously.
You pressed into his space, and he angled the hunting knife at your chest. "I gave you so many chances to be honest with me."
Neither of you stirred, taking the other in. Observing anew.
"Kim Dokja, you fucked up this time," spat Yoo Joonghyuk. God, he was so chatty tonight. "Stop letting her mess with you."
"He's just saying that because he flirts with me sometimes. I think he's possessive," you said. Kim Dokja's eyes widened, darting over to his companion.
Yoo Joonghyuk slammed the bolt shut on the door, and then stormed over to you, knife raised high. "You were investigating us."
"So close!" You laughed, jabbing a thumb at the far wall behind the couch. "Why don't you take a peek behind the curtain, Yoo Joonghyuk?"
Doubt flickered over Kim Dokja's face. You knew he didn't recognize this. He couldn't.
Yoo Joonghyuk seized the sheet, and it fluttered to the ground. At last—you were laid bare. Dozens upon dozens of prints were stapled haphazardly into the wall, some locks of hair taped, snippets of fabric, old kimbap wrappers, and more.
Kim Dokja, drinking a soda. Kim Dokja, reading manhwa on a bench. Kim Dokja, unlocking his flat. Kim Dokja, laughing beside Yoo Joonghyuk. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja.
Your darling, Kim Dokja. A collage of art and beauty.
"What the fuck is this?" snarled Yoo Joonghyuk. In an instant, he had seized you by the neck and dragged you in front of the display.
"My muse," you said dreamily. "Don't be sad, Yoo Joonghyuk, I find you interesting too. I have a few photos around here, see?"
You wheezed as his fingers squeezed tight.
"Yoo Joonghyuk!"
Kim Dokja wrenched you away from Yoo Joonghyuk's grip. You gasped for air.
Your voice rasped as you asked, "Yours is a fourth wall, right?"
"You even know this?"
Each of them had a wall dedicated to information gathered as they stalked their kill. You were privately a bit disappointed that there weren't more before you, but forcing their hand was much better than waiting it out. There was a high possibility of them getting caught before you could join in on the fun.
"I'm your fourth. The news didn't connect your third kill until recently, but I did my research. I'm your fourth wall." It was the wall Kim Dokja had been forced to hide with your repeated visits to his home, unlike the previous victims. "So I'm showing you my wall. A final wall," you gestured widely, grinning, "because I want to be your last."
It was funny to see two grown men, both passionate murderers, at such a loss for words. As if you were the insane one here!
"Don't worry, I won't ask to help you. That sounds bo-ring! It's much more enjoyable on this side of things." You giggled. "The illusion of fear, the riskiness, the chase! Love provides such an intoxicating rush to the head—honestly, this is way better than taking substances."
"You're sick," said Yoo Joonghyuk.
"Should you, of all people, really be saying that to me?" You tapped a photo of their first kill. It was brutal, sadistic, and clearly a rush of feverish bloodlust rather than a careful plot of murder. You knew Kim Dokja enjoyed a meticulous scheme to trap his prey, but his partner-in-crime preferred to lose himself to the nature of the act. "You're so messy, Yoo Joonghyuk."
He glared at you fiercely. You felt it straight to your core. Maybe, if Kim Dokja would let you...
"Alright, you know us." Kim Dokja slid a tight arm around your waist, facing you, and dug his knife under your chin. "So you also know that it's my turn."
You nodded. Of course you did. It was the reason you orchestrated a run-in with him in the first place. You slid a hand across his cheek.
"That's exactly why you're my boyfriend. I wanted it to be you," you said, adoring.
Yoo Joonghyuk made a frustrated noise, and his knuckles were white around the knife's handle. You dragged your gaze up his body, moistening your lips as your eyes connected.
Feral. And filled with something barely repressed.
"Dokja." The knife stung as it dug into your chin. "Why did you choose me?"
He looked dazed. "I don't..."
"Why do you need to have me?"
Yoo Joonghyuk watched us with strict attention. It seemed he wanted an answer as well.
You both waited, witnessing something build inside Kim Dokja. A feeling corked in a bottle, a heat, and you were eagerly shaking it up as hard as you could. You slid your fingers around his slim wrist and pressed the tip of the knife harder into your skin. The final push.
"You smiled." Kim Dokja's words rushed out, broken. Adoring. "You picked up my books and smiled at me. And you wanted to talk—you knew—about Ways of Survival."
A purple vein threatened to pop on Yoo Joonghyuk's forehead. "You fool—!"
But Kim Dokja was fixated on you. Mesmerized.
You were smiling at him.
Kim Dokja smiled back, face lit up as his eyes curved. Pure delight.
You leaned in, practically vibrating with desire. His breath was sultry on your face. Warm, vanilla soap.
"Dokja-ya."
Kim Dokja went taut. He was intimately acquainted with his name in that tone.
"But, Yoo Joonghyuk—"
"How is it any different from watching each other kill someone?" Your hand cupped his groin and he groaned. "If these are my last moments with you, then I want to enjoy them."
He swung the tip of his knife around to your back, pushing your chest against his. It hurt. Blood dripped down your skin. The thin, flowy fabric of your dress did nothing to soak up the liquid.
"Kim Dokja." Neither of you acknowledged Yoo Joonghyuk.
You grabbed his arm and brought the knife to your lips. And licked along the edge of the blade. Your stinging tongue swirled in your mouth, tasting the mix of blood and saliva.
Kim Dokja watched you, enraptured. He was now incredibly, achingly hard beneath your fingers.
"Please?" You smiled, positive that your teeth were ringed with red, your lips coated in a bloody shine.
"Kim Dok—"
Yoo Joonghyuk's voice was drowned out as Kim Dokja lunged at you.
You moaned as his mouth drank you in, hot and slick as he lapped up the blood from your mouth. He sucked on your tongue, and your cut burned. A firm grip on your neck held you in place.
He let you tear at his shirt first, the way he always did, until the buttons popped and you were raking your nails across his skin. It was curious how his habits didn't change, despite having the truth of your natures brought to light.
"I've wanted this since I first discovered you," you said, breathless. "Wanted you."
Kim Dokja settled you on the ground. It was a Persian rug, authentic, and a bargain at an old estate sale years back.
It was about to be ruined.
The point of his knife rested between your collarbones. Kim Dokja dragged the edge hard along your dress and ripped it clean down the middle, catching your skin more often than not.
Kim Dokja looked at your body, stunned. "You didn't wear any..."
"Nope."
You gasped as he latched on to your chest, attacking it with his mouth fervently while his fingers dipped below. A particular suck made you whimper. A certain curl of his fingers had your back arching. You glimpsed behind you.
Yoo Joonghyuk seemed to be impersonating marble. He had gravitated closer, towering in a way that blocked the overhead light. Tall and imposing. His gaze ricocheted between you both.
You smirked.
Kim Dokja grew impatient and rid himself of pants quickly. He filled you without warning.
"Fuck, D—Dokja!"
He worked up to a steady rhythm, his lips finding yours again. Everything from your mouth to your torso stung. You wrapped your limbs around him.
...Only for him to pull you off. Before you could complain, he had flipped you around and pushed back inside, resuming a slow grind. He marked fresh bites behind your neck. You felt the cold of the knife's edge on your skin as his hand smeared your blood with his movements.
You reached out blindly to find a more solid stance, surprised when your hand snagged on a shoe. It was hard to crane your neck up to look.
Yoo Joonghyuk's lips were full and parted. His eyes were nearly black as they bored into you, his intensity causing a reaction that made Kim Dokja moan into your hair.
The sound produced a visible, physical response in Yoo Joonghyuk.
Kim Dokja began to whimper. His knife tumbled to the ground as his hands gripped your waist to pull you back onto him over and over. You forced him to pause, snatching the knife and pressing it into his palm.
"Do it right," you said. "Or don't do it at all."
"O—okay," Kim Dokja panted. "Sorry."
He held the blade loosely at your stomach, more focused on the feel of you around him, if his moans were anything to go by. His face pressed into your shoulder blades.
Knowing how lost in the moment he always got, you reached out for Yoo Joonghyuk once more. He got down on his knees, his hands tucking your hair behind your ears and bringing your mouth up to his.
Unlike Kim Dokja's eagerness, his messy devour of you, Yoo Joonghyuk kissed hard and commanding. You let him set the tempo and enjoyed each of his careful movements—his lips' hold over yours, his precise bites, his strong tongue as it licked into your mouth.
He began to make small noises as your hands found the open pocket of his briefs. In no time, you were wrapped around him, his breaths heaving into your mouth with your increasing pace. One of his hands found your chest and kneaded.
A hand from behind you slid up your slippery torso to the same breast.
"What the fuck?"
Kim Dokja's head shot up. He grabbed you roughly by the chin—a delightful, irritated slant to his thin eyebrows—and glared at Yoo Joonghyuk, glared at you, and then recovered your mouth for himself.
These kisses tasted even better than the last. It was the taste of Kim Dokja's anger. He bit your lips harshly until they bled, and your neck twisted at an awkward angle to keep up. The force of his hips were bruising on your backside, quick and relentless, chasing an end before you could bring in a third into the fold.
While Yoo Joonghyuk was no longer allowed to touch you, you were still able to enjoy him. You guided his hand to hold himself, hot and heavy as you moved him up and down. His groans mixed in the air.
Kim Dokja's knife slipped into your side, slicing deep and jagged as his hips stuttered. Then stilled. His fingers glided down to help you finish; you and Yoo Joonghyuk were quick to follow.
The three of you stayed like that as you caught your breath. You slumped forwards, eyes closed.
Distantly, you realized you were being turned around. Kim Dokja kissed you, softly, or maybe it was Yoo Joonghyuk. You sighed into it. Hands ran down your slick body and traced each wound. Tucked your tattered dress back into place. Smoothed your hair from your face.
"Hey, wake up," said a voice. You listened.
Your head rested in Yoo Joonghyuk's lap while Kim Dokja leaned over you.
He is so beautiful. Your arm felt heavy as your fingers traced his cheekbone, his nose, his lips, his jaw.
"Kiss me again," you heard yourself say. He did.
The outline of his every feature was becoming hazy. You smiled, feeling light as air from the afterglow of pleasure and so much blood loss. The hands pressed harder against your deepest cuts. They throbbed, the pain growing cold.
You hoped they wouldn't let you die. Not because you were scared of death, but because you truly meant it when you said you wanted to be their last. Their target to play with forever, who accepted every part of them.
...Ah, well, you suppose the thrill of the chase was over now.
You were grateful to have been a part of it. A gentle smile took over your face. "Thank you, Kim Dokja."
He said something that you couldn't catch.
You were very, very sleepy.
thanks @uzmacchiato and @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for these dividers ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
fic inspired by @keomikan fanart on tumblr and x ⸝⸝ .ᐟ⭒
You are a witch preparing for winter. Luckily, you have an extra set of hands - if they'd ever help.
Content:
Possessive behavior, Semi-Safe/Semi-Sane/Consensual Intimacy, implied (pseudo) cannibalism, Violence and Death, Unhealthy but Happy Relationship
You haven’t been the same since the ritual.
Souls are tricky things, somewhere on that rickety fence between the Seen and Unseen, a bit of practical magic so common that people don’t think much of it.
Souls are like stones or plants. Abundant, but varied. Some are rare and precious, some are beautiful, some are poison. One soul does not weigh the same as another, and the beings that deal in their collection and sale value them differently. Souls aren’t rare and only some of them are powerful.
It’s a narcissistic misconception of humans - even the ones that can perceive beyond the physical world. That a soul is considered precious and coveted and powerful by all things of heaven, hell, and beyond.
Not so.
That said, like a bit of gold or a well-woven blanket, a soul can be commodified. Reshaped and displayed, butchered for parts, sold…
The selling of a soul has its merits, though not many. High risk, high reward sort of gamble. Tempting for clever witches - or desperate ones.
You were neither when you built the summoning circle that night.
You weren’t looking to forge any contracts or make deals beneath that moon. Didn’t expect to invoke any infernal beings or heavenly apparitions with the stars.
Well, best laid plans and all that - not that it had been an especially well laid plan anyway.
Baring your soul that deep into midnight had not yielded the results you intended. Or maybe it had and your expectations were just skewed. Souls are tricky things.
And yours hasn’t been the same since.
You always rouse as the sun begins to set. Late afternoon at the earliest, when most everyone else is finishing their suppers.
You can manage stark daylight, but poorly. It hurts your eyes and prickles your skin. A deep hood and long sleeves does the trick when required, but you don’t make a habit of it if you can help it, if only for the teeth that bury in your throat when you return.
Tend the garden in the dying rays, light the shop candles before night nestles in. Say your blessings, leave your offerings, wriggle out from beneath clingy weight to secure any provisions or materials from the town.
As the temperature cools and the shadows deepen, you settle into your work.
The shop once belonged to an apothecarist. Died in a plague some four decades ago, or so you’ve been told. No one of any skill or natural talent replaced them afterwards. Too frightened, perhaps, of what could be lingering within.
It wasn’t haunted until you (and your shadow) occupied it.
You’ve stocked it up quite nicely now. Herbs and spices, vegetables and fruits, roots and seeds. Thistles hang from the ceiling and bones rattle in the drawers. Mortars and pestles line a wall, weights and measures beneath the counter. Not a single thing labeled or organized, the latter of which disconcerts your… companion.
Fickle is not the word for him, but it’s the one you use.
(And he is a he, at least according to the long, thick cock he crams into you every chance he makes for himself. Though you suppose such trifles as gender are superfluous to nonhumans. A categorical fallacy for your own ease of reference.)
You told him once, that if he did not like the disarray of the shop, he was welcome to rearrange as he saw fit. In response, he left teeth rings around the base of each of your fingers, telling you how easy it would be to bite them off. He didn’t, of course - wouldn’t - but you spent a good portion of that evening updating the inventory logs (sat on that long, thick cock.)
The shop was never reorganized.
Tonight you wake to his tongue, a dark and wicked thing, improbably dexterous, lapping at your thighs.
“Winter comes,” he drawls into your skin. His voice is dredged up from the deepest pit in his chest, scrapes against his throat before nuzzling into your ears.
“I thought so,” you sigh, sleep laden and languorous. “Felt it on the wind yesterday.”
He hums. Or maybe it’s a growl. It’s hard to say when he’s sinking his teeth into the plush of your thigh, though he does it without hurry.
For a creature without definite expiration, there is little need to be hasty.
You click your tongue when he threatens to break skin. His jaw locks like that, just on the verge of taking without being asked. This is his price for greeting the evening with you - or so he claims.
“We’ll have to begin preparations,” you muse to the inky ceiling. “I’ll make a list over tea. You’ll help, won’t you? What kind of winter will it be?”
He relaxes his bite, laps at the iridescent fluid left on your skin. His saliva, or what passes for it in this vaguely human form.
“Long,” he drawls. An unseen thumb rubs circles into your calf. “And frigid.”
You hum, can already see it in your mind. Howling winds and a silent earth. Still and peaceful, little creatures huddled down and hibernating. It was a good, warm, lush summer that promises a sweet, abundant harvest.
“A lot of snow?” you ask, fingers buried in something almost too coarse to be hair.
He unseals his mouth from a fresh, livid mark on your hip. “Da. Snow.”
Your fingertips trail over the gnarled, raised topography of long-healed wounds. Marks that go beyond flesh, wounds of essence. No matter his appearance, he will always be scarred - disfigured, even.
Sometimes you fancy that he was some fearsome fae king or warlord of hell before retiring to become yours.
Sensing the direction of your thoughts, he nips at the meat of your thumb. Draws blood the time. You hook your index finger around a too-sharp canine and shake a bit. He grunts and slides his tongue over the pinprick of blood.
“Any storms?” you ask.
“Two,” he rumbles around your finger. “Maybe three.”
You didn’t used to love winter so. But this will be your third with him. As the climate chills and the nights lengthen, he comes into his patron season. It’s helpful to have a thing of the cold and dark when times are lean and everything (even people) lose their pretty foliage.
“Shall I expect more pelts, then?”
You balked the first time he brought (more) death to your door. Thought him cruel and ruthless. Perhaps he is without you to metamorphose the slaughter into necessity.
Furs for warmth, meat for food, bones for your work. Nothing gone to waste under your care.
“Pelts,” he agrees, “skins, down.”
You trace your thumb over the bridge of his crooked nose, press between his brows when he tries to tilt his head into the warm apex of your thighs. He bares his teeth against your wrist but cannot defy you.
“Tea for that drop of blood,” you bargain.
He sighs deep and vexed. “Mistress.”
Before slithering from your blankets, though, he buries his nose against your pubic mound and takes a deep, noisy inhale.
“Nikto!”
A village girl comes a little after the sun has fully set.
You finished your tea (and bread, for the price of a wet, filthy kiss) while making a list of preparatory chores. Have started grinding up rosemary to replenish your stock.
Nikto senses her before you do, pthalo eyes flicking up. She hesitates at the closed door, poised to knock, then decides against it and simply pushes in.
You pretend as if you’ve just glanced up from your mortar, an easy smile at your visitor.
“Good evening,” you call.
“E-evening,” she replies, lingering in the door.
While you’ve taken measures to keep the air of the shopfront clean and light, it’s something of a fruitless endeavor when Nikto’s made his den here. (Or more accurately, in the room behind the shopfront, where you dwell.)
Still, she only wavers another moment, finding nothing immediately alarming or perilous. She can’t see him lounging on the back counter like a lazy cat.
“Have you need of something?” you ask.
Your easy, friendly tone loosens her shoulders, coaxes her from the doorway.
“I’m here for something for my grandmother?” she says.
You tilt your head. “Anna?”
She blinks. “How did you know?”
Because Nikto grumbled it just now.
“You have her eyes,” you lie. “I have her medication just over here. One moment.”
You turn away to collect the little parcels that make up Anna’s bi-weekly order. Brews for her tea, ointment for her joints. You’ll mix extra as the chill sets in, fewer trips while seeing her through the harsh season.
“Usually Alexei comes to collect these things,” you say.
She rocks back and forth on her heels, a more curious eye trailing over your wares now.
“Mama and I have come to take care of nana. She’s getting older, you know. And this town has better prospects than our old village.”
You hum in agreement, neatly bundling all the items in a cloth and tieing a length of twine to secure it.
“Uncle Alexei is away with papa to finish sorting matters back there.”
“So you and your mother have come ahead, then,” you summarize.
“Mhmm!”
“Well, Anna is lucky to have you. She speaks fondly of you and your mother,” you say.
The girl lights up, cheeks rosy with pride. You slide her grandmother’s order across the counter.
“Anything else?” you ask.
“No, thank you!” she replies, dropping coins into your palm.
You glance at them (overpaid as usual, oh Anna) and sigh fondly.
“Hold on,” you call, “here.”
You pass her a little jar sealed in wax. She accepts it with a bemused smile.
“What is it?”
“For travel sores, when your father and Alexei return.”
She absolutely beams. Any apprehension she had when entering your shop is long melted away.
“Thank you, Miss!” she chirps, waving, and sweeps out the door.
Niko pounces in an instant, arms so tight around your waist that you don’t even stumble from the force.
“What’s gotten into you this time?” you ask.
“You were thinking of those men,” he grumbles. You’d call it childish if he wasn’t damn near mauling your neck.
“They’re well-paying customers,” you scoff, “and more good will is never remiss.”
He snarls, but moves on quickly. “You were so kind to that little girl. She had stars in her eyes.”
You hum in question, surprised.
“Makes me think of you with little ones. Younger ones.” He’s near rambling, drool soaking into the collar of your dress. “My brood. Clinging to your skirts and your hips. Getting sticky hands in the beeswax.”
You huff out a startled laugh. “You’re thinking of babies?”
He moans into your ear, pressed tight to your back. Broad palms knead at your lower abdomen.
“Little voices calling ‘mama’. They would all adore you, want to be just like you. Mother is god in the hearts of children.”
“All?” you repeat, twisting to stare owlishly. “How many is ‘all’?”
“As many as you will let me breed into you.”
Another laugh escapes you, a bit bewildered. He’s never spoken like this before, never seemed interested at all by the women (or their husbands) that come to the shop to ease their pregnancies or births.
“You couldn’t stand to share my attention,” you scoff. Which is to say nothing of it even being a possibility. You’re not sure that you and he could produce viable offspring.
He pauses, nose in your hair, considering.
Finally, he grunts, “Maybe.”
You’d thought so.
It’s not just the change in your natural sleep rhythms. You crave the iron of raw meat and inhale deep the burn of black smoke. Sometimes, you’re too preoccupied with the spill of ink on parchment, or the length and depth of shadows.
Subtle things, perhaps. A change beneath the skin, in the dark parts of your eyes.
You used to ask your questions in the sun, and look for the answers in the bloom of flowers or swirls of clouds. Now you whisper into abyssal shadows and they whisper back with a man’s rasp.
Not everyone can see it, the unusual glint in your eyes or the sharp edge to your smile. For those that do, it’s something of an open secret - that you provide more than helpful tonic and tinctures for common ailments.
A serum against pregnancy. A syrup for unkind spouses. Cut cords for bad friends and bent coins for poor business partners.
Tonight it’s the smith’s daughter. She’s just come into adulthood this past spring. A crown of youth on her brow, vitality draped around her shoulders. Darkened, this eve, by deals made with her as the currency. You see it beneath the sweep of her skirt, a chain of her father’s own making, a key in the hand of the mayor’s son. It drags her step in your doorway, rattling along the wood floors.
“Irina,” you greet.
She doesn’t admit it right away, demuring to purchase her father’s usual burn salve. You don’t pry, instead taking your time to spoon the thick, cloudy mixture into a small jar.
“You’ve…”
You tilt your head to show your attention, expression open. She clears her throat, smooths her skirt, tries again.
“My father designs to wed me to Boris.”
She blurts it like the words escaped between the gaps in her teeth, looks shocked in their wake You flick Nikto a reproachful glance.
“Is that so?” you reply mildly, as neutral as you can manage.
“I don’t want to,” she whispers, as though it is a shameful secret. But there is little shame to be found in your presence, and when your expression only reflects polite interest, she repeats herself, stronger. “I don’t want to. Boris is a coward and his father is…”
Mean. Lascivious. A bastard with a heavy hand and wine for blood, kind only to coin.
You don’t make her say it all aloud, you’ve heard it just fine.
“Is it an ear you’re after?” you ask. “I’ll listen.”
You do not offer more. It is something she must request of her own will. For your sake as much as hers.
It only takes another breath for her to gather the courage.
“Would you help me?”
“I would.”
You don’t jump as Nikto pours himself over your shoulders, teeth already scraping the nape of your neck. He’s hard and insistent against your spine, where scars of his teeth have begun to blossom. You sense that you’ll have a new notch for the collection soon, already feel slick and achy with the promise of his maw.
“What will it cost?” Irina asks, fidgety.
Your cunt three times over. Your blood on my tongue. Your juices down my throat.
“That will depend on our solution,” you say over Nikto’s sibilant entreaties.
Irina’s brow furrows. “Not coin?”
“Maybe coin,” you correct. “Do you want any of these three men dead?”
She startles, pales. Nikto groans in your ear, hips jerking hard, cock catching on the laces of your corset. Irina mistakes the sound for your shop settling, eyes flicking nervously around as if either of you will be caught.
“N-no!” she answers. “No, that’s too - I just want papa to change his mind. O-or for Boris to… to wed someone else. Is that wicked of me?”
You shake your head, soften your smile to ease her conscience. Once upon a time, you stood on the other side of the counter like she is now.
“Then coin won’t be necessary. I have a different price.”
Her shoulders lower, just a bit, curiosity where she should be wary. Coin is a paltry payment in comparison to things a creature like you could request instead.
“What is it?”
“Scrap from your father’s forge, as much as you can manage, and whatever Boris gave you for your hand. Bring them to me tomorrow night.”
You fish a shirt button from beneath the counter. Prick your thumb on a needle and press the droplet of blood that wells into the smooth surface.
“This is a contract of my services,” you explain as it dries in the open air. Nikto inhales deep and ravenous, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear.
“If you take this, there is no going back. Do you understand?”
Irina hesitates; she’s always been a smart girl. That’s why she knew to come to you.
“What happens if I don’t come back with the payment?”
You flick a glance at Nikto, but he’s too busy toying with the ribbon around your throat. Patience fraying with each beat of your heart.
“Even I don’t know, but I’d rather neither of us find out, yes?”
“Alright. I understand.”
She accepts the bloodied button and drops it into the pocket of her frock.
“Tomorrow,” she promises, and steals out into the night.
Nikto bends you over the counter, heavy body flattening you to the polished wood. It’s unnaturally warm beneath your cheek. You suck in as much air as you can while he paws at the hidden parts in your skirts. He growls to find you wet and willing (always, regardless of what your mouth says) between your thighs.
“Tithe,” he rasps, sinking to his knees.
Massive arms snake around your thighs as he finds his home between them. Buries his nose in the soft crop of curls so that his tongue and lips and teeth can partake in the sweet offerings below.
“All this for a severed tether?” you gasp, hips twitching in a bid to escape the too much, too fast, too good of it all.
His grip does not relent. On the contrary, it only tightens, dragging you down to smother himself in your cunt.
“Yes,” he hisses.
He takes and takes and takes. Sucks your clit until it’s throbbing at the slightest touch. Licks at the rim of your cunt, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper. Impossibly deep, until you feel the tip of it curl against the hard wall of your cervix, the root of it as thick as two of his fingers.
Your knees have long given out, your voice but a weak trill in your throat. It’s only when he hears you sniffling that he wrenches himself away.
“Give me,” he demands, surging up.
Laves that slick, black, inhuman tongue up your jaw, over your cheek. Doubles back to swipe at half-dried tears that dripped down your neck and onto your hands. He makes an obscene sound when the salt mixes with the dried blood on the pad of your thumb.
“I want to eat you,” he snarls, baring his teeth against the tender veins of your wrist.
“Maybe one day,” you pant, “when I’ve passed on. You can have my corpse.”
His eyes snap open, a manic rage burning so hot it feels cold.
“Never,” he snarls, cruel fingers plunging into your tender cunt.
You cry out and grip onto his shoulders, fresh tears sliding down your hot cheeks. There is no mercy in Nikto, not even for you. He strokes and pets your walls relentlessly, abusing all the sensitive places he’s long mapped out. Brutal as the muscles in his arm bunch and jump with the pace and force of it.
“Never,” he repeats. Teeth in your throat but you can still hear his voice. It’s so loud and rough that glass rattles. “Just like this. You stay just like this for me. Mine, all mine. Always. My little witch.”
He makes you cum on his fingers, then jerks his angry cock using your release to ease the way. Spends himself in burning, sticky ropes directly onto your clit. As you drag in ragged breaths, he draws his sigil inside your cunt with your mixed fluids.
The bond has long been formed, there is no need to renew it. Your soul is no more or less his than before. You still shiver with the memory, an echo of the sublime sensation of your soul taking new shape. Making room for something else to lace through it.
“S-someone is coming,” you whimper, weak in every sense.
“Dmitiri,” Nikto answers. You knew who it was, of course, but you don’t think he would abide you saying any other name right now.
“Leave his order on the counter and make sure he pays,” you sigh, limping away in search of water.
Nikto may be a bastard, but he manages to follow your orders most of the time.
Irina returns the next evening with all that you asked. A bucket of metal scraps and shavings. In a little velvet pouch, a simple gold engagement ring.
“The button too,” you request.
Nikto, raven-shaped this evening, swoops in to snatch it from her fingers. She yelps, moon-eyed as he perches on a tall shelf and swallows the button down his scarred gullet.
“Should… should it eat that?” she asks.
You don’t even glance at him. “Too late now, isn’t it?”
She doesn’t look amused so you laugh softly and assure her, “He’ll be alright. He’s done it before.”
You turn away, scooping up the items for the spell.
“Now then, take this pin. Carve your name into one candle, and Boris’s name into the other,” you instruct.
“Which one is which?” she asks, a green candle in one hand.
“Your choice,” you reply simply.
When she’s done as you ask, you tie a piece of twine between the two, about halfway down. Set them on a metal plate facing each other and light first Irina’s, then Boris’s.
“Pull up that stool. Watch the candles burn down to the wick.”
It takes nearly an hour. You keep half an eye on it. Watch the candle meant to represent Boris start to eat at the twine, a slow encroachment towards the midpoint. Only for Irina’s flame to latch onto its end of the tie and scorch through the knot, the remaining length falling away.
Irina gasps softly, glances up to find you already watching. Studiously turns back to observe the remainder of the melt.
In the meantime, you continue forming the other half of your spell. Irina has been too preoccupied to notice the raven’s disappearance. Nikto is behind you again, guiding your hands to carve the woodblock in neat little peels. His fingers are threaded between yours, dripping raw power that you shape with intent. If Irina were to look, it would just seem that the candlelight casts strange shadows down your forearms.
When the candles have burned down to nothing, and Irina turns to you expectantly, you press a finger to your lips.
“Do not speak again until sunrise. When you get home, throw this into the hearth, as deep as you can get it. No trace of it will remain, rest assured.”
You press the carved wooden key into her palm. Her eyes trace the unfamiliar runes in wonder, but she keeps her silence and takes her leave with one final, grateful nod.
It is only just past midnight, but you yawn. The connection between Irina and Boris was not a strong one, but severing the covetous teeth of the mayor’s greed was tedious.
He has a weakness for fair hair and light eyes - both qualities passed down to Irina in lovely spades. Qualities his own wife doesn’t possess, but he would gladly see in his son’s if he had his way.
“Nikto.”
“All for a severed tether,” he purrs.
You tsk at him, shove his face away when he tries to steal a kiss.
“Finish the spell and then you will be rewarded,” you huff, waving him off. “Useless thing.”
He moans softly, eyes burning into you. “Useless,” he agrees, sharp teeth grazing your cheek. “Worthless.”
“Out with you. We’ve not all night,” you chastise.
He sinks slowly into the shadows; his eyes are the last to disappear.
Winter preparations are well under way.
A small mountain of firewood is steadily accumulating in the backyard, stacking higher and wider by the day. You’ve already finished harvesting the last of the garden, drying, preserving, and pickling by the jar. Have knitted half a dozen more shawls and socks with thick wool yarn.
Cough medicines, warming tinctures, lotions and ointments. You’re accumulating your winter remedies along the back wall and in crates beneath the counter, well-stocked for the town and smaller surrounding villages that frequent your shop.
Thus far, Nikto has brought you two pelts, and promised two more before the season truly sets in. A new pillow has also been added to your nest bed, a puffy, heavy thing of feathered down and cotton.
You like it so much that you bounce on Nikto’s cock until morning when he brings it to you, spitting into his mouth whenever he opens it in supplication. You drop lavender buds into the casing and breathe it deep as he lays you down after daybreak. It makes an excellent throne for your pelvis when you’re too worn (or over-pleasured) to hold yourself up any longer.
Still, as promising as your preparations are, you need items unavailable even in town. The journey to the nearest city is one day's (or night’s) walk there, and another back. Well worth the trouble.
Nikto has no particular affection for any dwelling, so long as it’s yours. He’s just as eager to travel as you are.
Before nightfall, you drop off any orders expected in your absence, and receive well wishes from your customers. No one asks why you are traveling alone at night. No one warns you that it would be too dangerous.
Nikto accompanies you along the well-trod road, a hooded figure more likely to be mistaken for the grim reaper than your familiar. He’s human enough if you don’t look at him for too long. A tall man thick with muscle, broad-shouldered, built for labor. Likely malformed beneath the scarf hiding his features below those blue eyes - or perhaps just shy.
Just don’t try to peer into the depths of that hood, or ponder that mysterious scarf for too long. The moon acts as a strange prism, waters down the light into eerie refractions. One might start to imagine sharp teeth peeking through ripped lips. Or glimpse poorly sewn hills of flesh, nothing but dark, empty space between the seams.
Luckily, there are no travelers on the road this late into the night. Any errant gaze is that of night creatures, and those know well to avoid the shadow at your side - and you by extension.
The trip into the city is no great adventure, but you weren’t looking for one. Nikto, you sense, is something almost like disappointed. You arrive in the small hours of the morning, just as the earliest risers have begun their day.
The innkeeper seems surprised by such an early (or late) guest, but is happy enough to welcome you in. Bread has yet to be bought from the baker, but there’s stew that’s been simmering overnight. It’s warm and hearty and thick. You eat two bowls with a cup of peach wine, pay for food and board for the next two days, and retire to the second story of rooms.
The bed is not nearly as comfortable as yours. The blankets are thin and woven, though they are layered enough to be warm. The mattress and pillow are both straw - comfortable by most standards, but a poor substitute for your cotton and wool and furs and down.
You make due on Nikto’s rumbling chest (prideful that you miss what he has so diligently provided) and let yourself drift into slumber.
At midday, you wake. City merchants aren’t accustomed to your odd hours, and you don’t want anything to be out of stock - you’re not the only one that’s made the journey for winter.
Luckily, it’s an overcast day and the sun isn’t too obnoxious when you venture out. You get a sweet bun from the bakery to tide your hunger while you shop. Follow Nikto’s whispering for directions, or to pick the best items of any selection. Spoil yourself a bit on honey from abroad and a new grimoire.
Return to the inn at the brightest part of the day for a nap. Rouse again in the late afternoon for more exploring and shopping, as well as a drink at one of the alehouses.
You’ve no friends in the city - or anywhere, really, for that matter. But being surrounded by good spirits and bright noise provides an unusual source of energy. There’s a band to watch and strong drink, some gambling that you amuse yourself meddling in from afar.
There are eyes on you, but there always are in such a busy place. You tend to attract very few gazes, but the ones you do will return time and time again, musing at the lone figure by the wall. None are brave enough to approach - especially not when it grows dark enough for Nikto to reveal himself.
Even he is in unusual form, telling you stories of a bygone time. A time when perhaps he was more finite than he is now. He uses names you’ve heard before, in passing, and chuckles at exploits more mortal than he deigns to participate in now. You like to hear it, like to provide him with the excess buzzing in your veins.
When the crowd begins to thin, you take your leave. He stays at your side (always too close, nearly underfoot) all the way to the inn, and is waiting in your room when you come up with the meal. He manhandles you into his lap and feeds you with his fingers, pours water into your mouth from his.
You stave him off until your food settles, and then he’s taking you into his lap. Has you twice before you doze off. Wakes you three hours later with his tongue lapping at your swollen folds. Has you twice more before you settle in properly until dawn.
The second day passes in much the same fashion as the first. Your indulgence this time is a pretty, slender knife, a length of ribbon, and a simple burgundy frock. The combination has Nikto salivating by the time you return to your room to rest. Not that there’s much to be had with you splayed out over your new garment, his hands and mouth and cock working you over until a puddle of slick and cum forms beneath your writhing bodies.
You send him to wash the stains in annoyance, and it’s returned seemingly pristine - though he gloats that the scent of your coupling remains. At least to him.
Nasty creature.
“If I get tired, you will be carrying me,” you huff on the road home.
He nuzzles his nose into your temple, a silent assurance that you need only say the word.
Halfway there, a band of highwaymen makes the fatal mistake of trying to ambush the two of you. Aware that anyone coming from the city will be laden with coins or goods, they would be correct if you were anyone else.
You click your tongue, steps never faltering.
“Kill anyone that’s taken an innocent,” you call over your shoulder.
“Mistress,” Nikto churrs into the air, breath so cold it sinks in the chilly air.
An unnatural growl reverberates off the trees. You don’t spare a glance behind you, steps easy and light, crunching over dead leaves and dry twigs.
A hand lands on your shoulder - heavy… and then not. Heat splatters and soaks into your sleeve, dripping down towards your wrist. The severed arm falls with a wet, fleshy thump.
Always so messy.
You tilt your head, veer off the road and follow your intuition until you find a stream. Humming, you shed your clothes and saunter into the gentle current. It’s frigid, only just unfrozen. You sigh, minding your step for slippery rocks as you wade deeper. The water rises past your scratched calves, over bitten thighs, soothes your well-used cunt and the bruises on your hips. Tingles over the silvery flesh of your scarred back until it’s nearly to your breasts.
Only then does the water darken around you.
Nikto’s hand closes around your wrist, draws your arm back until he can lick away the smears of a stranger’s blood.
Feast before the season’s famine.
You moan softly at the drag of his serpentine tongue along your skin. The ball of your shoulder, the curve of your tricep and bicep. Tickling the bend of your elbow… up your forearm… and wrist. Twisting between each digit. You lean into the sturdy pillar of his body until his other arm curls around your waist. You stand with him in the water like that, cradled by shadow and bathed in moonlight.
He is never hasty, but tonight he’s unusually slow. Almost lazy.
Wait, no. Not lazy.
Deliberate.
Each flick of his tongue, scrape of teeth, brush of lips is applied with the same care and reverence afforded to an altar.
You tilt your head to rest against his shoulder, bare your throat. Peer through lidded eyes at the thick fingers twining with yours.
It’s as if he plunged his hands into a fireplace and didn’t care to dust away the charcoal and ash afterwards. It fades at the forearm into alabaster. In the crease of his elbow, it looks like he has ink for blood. You know from experience that it tastes of almonds and tannins, heavy on the tongue like thick wine.
You let him lay you down on the bank, dry and clean. He pampers you on his cock with slow, languid rolls of his hips. Grinds deep, pulls out only halfway to massage the head into that sweet spot over and over until you’re shuddering apart with a deep, heavy moan. He finishes on your stomach and thighs, drawing symbols into your skin before rubbing it in.
“Nikto,” you croon, thumb drawing a line down the left side of his face. From forehead, over his eye, down to the corner of his mouth where there’s an unnatural split. He lets you scrape your nail against the big canine, amusing yourself on the sharper bicuspid just beside it. “My Nikto.”
He purrs into your chest, drooling down your sternum.
“Who do you belong to?” he asks.
You smile, indulgent.
“I belong to Nobody.”
There is a possibility of a second part. Maybe. If that's something people want.
I have a terrible track record at sticking with dark fics, but this idea refuses to leave me alone, so I'm just gonna throw this out there. It's super choppy, but I couldn't bring myself to leave it as an outline.
PLEASE mind the tags. This is a dark fic and every one of the tags is present. Dead dove and all of that.
Masterlist
---
You were leaving work when it happened. Your car was in sight, your keys already in your hand as you approached it. Work had run later than you'd expected, and you were one of the last people leaving. No one else was parked near you and - while you knew they gladly would have - you didn't want to ask anyone to walk you to your car.
The pinch in the side of your neck was all you needed to realize the depth of your mistake. Everything went dark a moment later.
You woke up in a house - a little small, but nice enough. Nicer than you had expected, especially since you had no idea how you had gotten there. it was a little warm - a good thing, in your opinion, since you had been stripped completely naked.
You weren't alone. You weren't yet sure whether that was a good thing or not. There were four men in the same room, each one just as bare as you were and in varying degrees of confused outrage at the current situation. Well, not just as bare. One of the bigger ones was wearing a black medical mask. It looked faintly ridiculous against all of that pale, scarred skin.
When you looked around - avoiding the sight and gazes of the men around you gradually regaining consciousness - you seemed to be in a kitchen. The only door seemed to be the type that would lead into a garage.
The man with the deep voice and the facial hair was talking generally, seeming to address everyone.
"Keep your heads. I woke up a few minutes ago and I've spoken with the people who took us. They won't tell me who or why, but they agreed to give us some clothes. The door to the garage should unlock in a few minutes."
You sat up blearily, your head aching and mouth dry. Whatever had been used to knock you unconscious, it had been serious.
Before you could muster the energy to stand, the man had disappeared into the garage and retrieved a stack of nondescript clothes. Everyone got a pair of gray men's pajama pants and a black tank top. There was no underwear.
You were grateful enough to have clothes that you tried not to be awkward about the fact that the pants left far too much fabric piled at your feet while the swells of your breasts pressed uncomfortably against the thin material of the tank top.
"How'd ye manage this, Price?"
The mohawked man had been the first to speak after getting dressed. You frowned. He had referred to the other man by name - did they know each other?
Introductions followed, and you learned their names (or nicknames, in some cases: Soap had the mohawk, Gaz was the pretty one, Ghost had the medical mask, andJohn Price was the leader of the little group. They did indeed know each other but - after extensive rounds of questions - none of you could figure out why you had been included in the group.
In your first few days in the house, you had learned that everything was controlled by a system of cameras mounted at the top of every door and a series of electronic locks. There were enough bedrooms for each of you, single-occupancy. There were a few bathrooms between you, a living room with a small couch, and the empty kitchen.
You never saw, heard, or spoke with any of your captors. The others did, on occasion. Their stories and mental states afterward had left you certain that you wanted to avoid contact with your kidnappers as long as possible. It was infuriating not to know why you had been taken, but you were sure one of the others would tell you as soon as there was something to know. In the meantime, all of you had slipped into referring to the unknown group as Them. There was no need to explain who you were talking about when They came up.
The strangest thing by far was the discrepancy in Their behavior. You heard about the interactions from the others, stories of terrible cruelty and warnings not to push Them. But there were odd moments of tenderness and care, too. An extra blanket on your bed when you mentioned being chilly the night before. A tube of expensive lotion when your hands cracked in the dry air. A supply of your favorite drink in the pantry.
But the proof of Their cruelty remained too blatant for you to ignore.
One day, soon after the small supply of food in the kitchen was gone, Soap had decided to do something about it. He took a page from Price's book and bargained with your captors for additional groceries.
Or, at least, that was what he explained to you when you found him on the kitchen floor, injured and surrounded by the spilled contents of several brown paper grocery bags.
No one else was around - not unusual, since They sometimes left certain bedroom doors locked until They decided someone could go out into the main house. With a lot of effort, you managed to get Soap into a chair at the small table so you could get a closer look at his injuries.
Fortunately, the damage was mostly superficial. There was nothing you could do about his black eye or bruised ribs, but you tended to his split lip and wrapped his bloody knuckles as he explained that They had beaten him for daring to make a demand.
You were standing between his thighs to take care of his lip when you felt the insistent nudge of his hardness against your thigh. You tried your best to ignore it, reasoning that it was a natural reaction to having someone so close. Besides, the thin pajama pants didn't conceal much. He was probably just as uncomfortable as you were.
With the injury to his ribs and the lack of mobility in his tightly wrapped knuckles, Soap needed you close while he cooked dinner for the household. You acted as a makeshift crutch when he needed to take some pressure from his ribs, chopping meat and vegetables at his direction as he pressed himself against your back to lean on you. The erection never dissipated.
A few days later, you were showering in the small bathroom when Gaz stepped inside, eyes carefully trained on the floor. You froze, staring at him through the clear curtain that gave only a mockery of privacy. Gaz apologized, explaining that this was the first time They had given him access to the bathroom that day. As it was early afternoon, you could hardly be shocked when he crossed immediately to the toilet.
You kept your eyes to yourself as he used the restroom, then washed his hands and brushed his teeth. You could only hope he was doing the same as you hurriedly finished showering and wrapped yourself in your towel.
When you stepped out of the shower, still wearing the towel, you made a small sound of surprise as a fully-naked Gaz slipped past you and got into the shower himself. You picked up your clothes and tried to leave, both to have some privacy as you got dressed and to give Gaz some privacy of his own.
There must have been someone sadistic behind the camera that day, because the door was locked. You turned back to get dressed and brush your teeth, though your face went hot when you saw that the steam on the clear shower curtain didn't hide anything. Gaz's perfect body only seemed accentuated by it, framed by soft edges like a painting or dream. Your face only went hotter as you realized that Gaz had probably seen more of you than you had originally thought.
You rushed to the relative safety of your room as soon as your bathroom door unlocked. Unfortunately for you, that didn't happen until Gaz was done, dressed, and brushing his teeth.
Your room became something of a haven, somewhere private and quiet you could use to hide from the situation. In there, you could almost pretend that things were normal... as long as you were turned away from the camera above the door.
But even that slight sanctuary wasn't always available. One night, you had tried to go back to your room only to find that the door was locked. After a few minutes of half-hearted pleading into the pitiless gaze of the camera, you gave up and resigned yourself to sleeping on the couch in the living room.
Unfortunately for you, Ghost was already there, lounging masked but shirtless on the small couch. He reported gruffly that he was also locked out of his room for the night. When you asked why, he had just scoffed, reminding you that there was no way to know why They did what They did.
The lack of predictability had never bothered you as much as it did that night, splayed on top of Ghost in the only position that was comfortable for you both on the closeness of the couch. Neither of you wanted to sleep on the frigid floor, especially without any blankets.
You slept surprisingly well that way. You had only woken once, when Ghost started to thrust against you. He seemed to be fully asleep, but his hands were locked around your waist. The pressure of him between your thighs was embarrassing at first, then delicious, but he stopped before either of you could make more of a mess. It wasn't easy to go back to sleep after that, but you managed.
Around midnight a day or two after the couch incident, the door to your bedroom opened. You sat bolt upright in bed to stare at the opening door. Price came through a moment later, stumbling as if he had been pushed inside.
He tried the handle on the door, though it had slammed shut as soon as he was inside. It was locked. Price sighed heavily, broad shoulders moving with the depth of it. He didn't seem surprised to find you awake. He sat on your bed, far nearer than you had expected, and leaned even closer.
"New development: They said They'll kill us both if I don't fuck you. Now, tonight."
You studied his face, feeling your own expression crumble. Things had been steadily moving this way, but you had hoped beyond hope that you could avoid it.
With gentle hands, Price wiped the tear from your cheek. When he murmured directly into your ear, his voice was low and soft and earnest. "I promise I'll make it good for you, love."
---
As he held you, your body naked and vulnerable and exhausted, Price looked directly into the camera above the door.
His mind was running wild, wondering how long it would take you to realize that there was no Them. Gaz and Soap and Ghost were behind those cameras. They wouldn't have missed seeing their girl's first time with one of them.
Price would join them soon and they could start figuring out how to 'break out' of the house. They would keep you with them, of course. It would be too dangerous for you to leave. They could convince you of that, easy. The threat of "Them" finding you again would be enough to make sure you stayed right where you belonged.
Not that he expected you to argue. Price pulled you a little closer, nose nuzzling against your temple. After surviving such a traumatic bonding experience, how could you ever resist being theirs?
---
Author's Note: I have no idea what this is. It's unhinged and weird and clunky, but I had to get it down in words before it would leave me alone. I'm not sure yet if this will end up on my masterlist or on AO3.
