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deepdarkdelights · 3 years

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Pygmalion | Taehyung x Reader

Pairing: Vampire Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 11.7k

Series: (4/7) Predator Universe

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Kidnapping, Obsession, Fear, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Symptoms of Panic/Anxiety, Stalking, Mentions of Murder, Depictions of Gore, Blood, Lot’s of Blood, Like Intense Amounts of it, Mentions of Painting with Blood, Tae Basically Draws Lude Fanart of the MC, Insecure MC, Mentions of Childhood Bullying, MC Deals with Symptoms of Body Dysmorphia, MC Has Incredibly Low Self Esteem

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

Preview: “Then let me show you how persuasive I can be,” He breathed, resting his hands on the desk on either side of you.

He leaned in a bit closer to you, his eyelashes fluttering subtly as his gaze traveled over every inch of your face. It was almost as if he was just as mesmerized by you as you were of him. The only difference was the fact that your knees were trembling beneath your weight on the verge of collapsing, you were about to go boneless.

And he hadn’t even said a word.

A/N: It’s almost 2 in the morning and I am delirious from lack of sleep, that midnight motivation really had me in a chokehold. I’ll edit this tomorrow I just need to get it out so I can sleep tonight lol. As always, I hope you enjoy and I hope to see you in the comments and in my inbox 💜💜💜

Your lips were pressed together firmly as you exhaled from your nose.

Your fingers fiddled anxiously with the shiny pearlescent buttons of your coat, you were in one of those moods again. You didn’t like to put a name to the feeling, for as long as you could remember it was better leaving it as one of those things that were to be left unsaid. The only way you could describe it was a strange sense of claustrophobia in your own skin.

You thought that you had been doing better, it had been weeks since you last felt like this and you were so certain that you were on the road to recovery. But the feeling liked to creep up on you when you least expected it as well as at the worst times possible.

You wanted to be better, you really did, but that was part of the problem. Years of feeling like you could be better, like you were nothing, had dragged you down into this cyclone of wretched feelings. There were days in between where you felt “normal” but those days had so often been overpowered and thrown into the shadows by those horrible thoughts that never totally went away.

It was on days like these, cloudy, foggy, and wet with mist, that their words would echo in the back of your mind.

“Ugly,”

“Boring,”

“Worthless,”

“Fat.”

They reminded you, that despite the popular saying, their words had indeed hurt you. A broken bone will mend itself, a cut will clot and stop bleeding, and bruises will mellow and fade away. But words when hurled at someone like stones have the same pain as a physical wound. The only discrepancy? Their impacts make craters that last a lifetime and sometimes never go away.

You were living proof that this was something you don’t just “get over.” Despite your years worth of attempts, you were still the same. You still cried yourself to sleep far too often, pulled at the skin of your stomach and thighs, and begged for a metaphysical force to fix you because some days you didn’t have the strength to pull together your fractured pieces.

Even now, you could feel your arms subconsciously wrapping around yourself, your forearms pressing tightly against the flesh of your lower abdomen in an attempt to hide something that no one was looking at. That didn’t matter though, when you got to feeling like this, you could feel thousands of invisible eyes digging into every part of you that you despised.

But, according to everyone else, you needed to “just get over it.”

Oh. If only you could.

“Beautiful,” A voice mused beside you, it was deep and rich and startled you.

With a jolt, you stepped to the side and took a look at the man beside you. Almost immediately upon seeing him you felt your heart thud and your mouth go dry. If you didn’t know any better, you would have assumed one of the marble sculptures in the room had come alive and spoken to you, he was that gorgeous.

“What?” You breathed, your brows pinching together in a show of confusion.

“Beautiful,” He repeated, a soft smile on his lips as he looked at you.

You had heard what he said, but once more you had become distracted by him. His eyes were a rich, burgundy color. A blend of dark brown and hues of russet. They weren’t totally dark, but they weren’t a true red. But what they were, was stunning. What you would give to find a color match for those intense irises of his.

He was looking at you now with an amused smile, one that had you coming to the realization that he must have been talking about the art piece that was hanging on the wall in front of the two of you because how could he be talking about you?

“Oh, oh!” You chuckled with a shake of your head, “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

You gestured towards the piece in front of you, your teacher persona sliding into place seamlessly. “Are you familiar with Vante?”

His lips pressed together in amusement like he was stifling a laugh. His fingers grazed his mouth in an attempt to hide a smile that was struggling to free itself. But you, you didn’t notice, you were far too enraptured with his hands. Your own fingers twitched, the sudden need for your sketchbook overtaking you. You weren’t so sure if you were a great artist, you tended to have problems coming up with ideas and relaying them on paper or whatever medium you desired. The analogy that you liked to use was that of a printer, you were good at seeing an image and copying it down by eye. But originality? That was hard to come by and that drew another tally under your column of self-contempt. But, in spite of all of those feelings, you had an even stronger urge to immortalize him in your own binds of paper. You were certain you would never see a more attractive man for the rest of your life.

“I can’t say that I am.” He finally managed to say, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile that was even more unique than the rest of him.

And before you could stop yourself your mouth began moving and words poured out of your lips like it was your last chance to speak.

“Oh! You should see his entire gallery, it really is impressive how many works he has! I swear, he has to be one of the rare artists that has somehow mastered all mediums, but he really thrives in photography and painting. Well, I am a little biased considering those are all of my favorite pieces, but I also know I’m right.”

“Really? You think he’s that good?” He said with a slight tilt of his head.

“Of course! I’ve never seen anyone else be able to capture emotion in a piece like he can. The use of color, techniques, and brush strokes! It all seems so deliberate even in his most relaxed works!”

“Hm, what do you think of this one then?” He mused, gesturing to the painting on the wall.

“Oh, this one is my favorite.” You smiled, “It’s not one of his most popular works but I just love it so much. I think it may be the model, perhaps. She’s so lovely, so perfect from this view. You can just tell how much he admired this woman but there’s also a degree of mourning from the use of color. It’s a very complicated piece, emotion-wise, of course.”

“She looks pretty average to me.” The man said with a wrinkle of his nose. “Maybe he did like her, but this seems more of like a ‘good riddance’ than a ‘please don’t go’.”

“What? No way, there were obviously some strong emotions here. For instance, the use of red on the pillows for passion and the cool blues of the curtains for mourning, they contrast perfectly while also blending seamlessly at the edges. That would suggest the dying flames of passion for sure.”

The man shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat before turning to look at you fully, a soft smirk on his face. “Did you ever consider that maybe he had blue curtains for no other reason except that he really liked the color blue? Or maybe that the pillows were already there when he decided to paint?”

You stopped for a moment, your mouth hanging open as if you were getting ready to fight the very notion but you had nothing. “I...you know what? I think I spent a lot of money at a really expensive school to just stand here and analyze pillows.”

That one made him laugh and God was it contagious, so contagious that you found yourself laughing alongside him. And that was when the embarrassment finally kicked in, heat flooding your face as you realized that you had incessantly talked his ear off about something he may not even be interested in.

“Hm...I think you’re right. The painting is beautiful too.”

Too? Surely...he couldn’t have been talking about you before? Right? You couldn’t fathom the idea that there was even a slim chance he was talking about you of all people. Not when he himself walked around like a Grecian statue come to life.

So you did what you did best when you were nervous, you kept talking.

“He’s rather interesting, you know, beyond his work.”

The man’s face perked up once more in interest, his body shifting closer to you sending more floods of heat to your face. “Really how so?”

“Uh, well,” You swallowed, attempting to gather yourself, “He’s been active since the 1920s, but somehow works are still being produced under his moniker.”

“Hm...and how do you think that’s possible?”

“Well, the only conclusion I could come to is that he has an artist guild of some kind, a devoted group that studied his techniques close enough to produce works similar to his. But, if that’s true, then they have been doing a great job of keeping their existence a secret. The pieces keep getting produced but no one has ever come forward and said anything. Logically there would be at least one person who couldn’t keep it to themselves, you know? I mean, that’s why his works are only considered ‘genuine’ from his first piece in the late 20s to about the 80s and...I’m talking too much aren’t I?”

“No, not at all, I want to hear what you have to say.” He smiled, his gaze trailing over your parted lips.

“Oh.” You dumbly choked.

“What about his recent work? How do you feel about that?”

He was good at pushing and pulling you like the gentle low tides of the ocean. He knew how to surprise and soothe you like he had known you all your life. With those two simple sentences, your bashfulness was forgotten.

“Should I be honest?”

“Brutally.” He encouraged.

“I hate it.”

“You hate it?”

“I loathe it. Not many people would agree with me but you can admire someone without expressing complete devotion. I think, in part, the question of the genuineness of the works affects my opinion. But more so I find myself not being able to connect with it. It feels tired, repetitive. It lacks that spark and eagerness that his earlier works possess. These just feel like copies of the originals.”

Your companion had fallen silent beside you. A focused and somewhat bitter look appeared on his strong features. Oh, there was no doubt in your mind that you had managed to insult him with your opinion. After a few moments of silence, he finally spoke, raising his head so that his intense irises could connect with your own.

“There are quite a few people that would disagree with you.”

“Hm? Oh, I’m certain there are. But at the end of the day, it’s my opinion and I don’t really want to change it. Besides, he is just another dead artist isn’t he?”

“Teacher?” A little voice asked in time with a sudden pull on the hem of your coat.

Upon looking down you were met with one of your students, a little girl in a school uniform with adorable little plaits in her hair.

“What is it, Eunseo?” You asked gently, bending slightly at your knees to get a better look at her, your gaze flickering between her and your companion who was observing the interaction with keen interest.

“Yejun went under the rope and won’t come back.” She said, urgency in her voice as she pulled at her skirt.

“Under the rope…” You uttered before you finally put two and two together.

Your eyes flew open wide as you looked all around the room, and sure enough, there was Yejun who had managed to crawl under the velvet rope that blocked off guests from the art exhibits. He was incredibly close to a rather large marble sculpture and, to your absolute horror, was trailing his fingers all over it.

Today you and their regular teacher had taken your kindergarten art class on a school field trip to the museum that was about an hour and a half outside of your small town: Briar Hills. At first, you had been rather excited to show the adorable kids something you were so passionate about. But that morning had proven to be trifling. You and one other person were in charge of a class of twenty students. You had barely managed to get them all on the bus and keep them occupied for the long (long for them) trip.

Yejun was a sweet little boy, he was rather quiet and tended to keep to himself but other than that he was a fantastic student when it came to six-year-old art, of course.

Your heart was pounding in your chest from a mixture of embarrassment and fear. You could already hear the museum director banning you from the establishment. What would everyone think of you? What about Yejun’s parents?! Oh god, his parents. But more importantly, what about Yejun? That piece was so old. What if there was a fault in the marble? What if one wrong touch made it crack and fracture and fall on top of him?!

You quickly took hold of Eunseo’s hand and rushed over to the exhibit where your class as well as their teacher had already gathered, your companion left behind, forgotten.

“Yejun, come back here right now!” Their teacher was whisper yelling in an attempt to get the young boy’s attention without attracting the other guests.

Yejun paid her no mind, his wide brown eyes trained on the sculpture in front of him, his little fingers grazing the base of it and whatever was within his reach.

“Yejun! If you don’t come back here right this instant you are going to be in so much trouble!” She cried, attempting to scare him into returning.

Yejun did not care.

Your hands grasped the velvet rope tightly, the plush material collapsing slightly under your grip. You could feel Eunseo still tugging at your skirt, a panicked look on her face that you were certain matched your own.

You whipped your head from left to right and all around, trying to see if anyone was approaching. Your heartbeat quickened in stress as you realized that more and more of the guests were beginning to realize what was going on. It wouldn’t be long before the curator or the director came by and then you would really be in for it.

Your gaze settled on the man once more, and to your surprise he didn’t seem as concerned as everyone else was. His expression was unreadable but his face was intense, he was watching your every move with laser focus. Those dark, burgundy eyes were digging into every part of your body, from head to toe.

You let out a shaky breath, allowing yourself to close your eyes for a moment before you decided what you were going to do.

“Fuck it.” You mumbled before sliding under the rope exactly like Yejun had done.

You approached him slowly so that you wouldn’t startle him. You couldn’t describe the feeling that was swarming you. You had seen that particular sculpture many times before, but looking at it now closer than you had ever been before from angles that you had never seen in person, it was uncanny. Like a school at night-time, or an empty playground, or a grocery store at two in the morning, it felt uncanny.

“Yejun,” You kindly called, attempting to mask your anxiety with a soft smile.

The little boy wobbled unsteadily as he suddenly turned from the sound of your voice so close. He smiled after a moment when he realized it was you.

“It’s very pretty isn’t it?” You said, inching closer to him with your smile still in place.

“Very, teacher,” he grinned, “I couldn’t see from over there.”

“Yeah, it’s not very fair that they make us stand so far away, huh?” You fake sighed before squatting down a few feet behind him, he was almost in grabbing distance.

“You know, if you let me, I could pick you up and then you could see it even better. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

The little boy’s eyes lit up in pure excitement at the idea, a wide grin spreading over his chubby cheeks, “Really?”

“For real,” You said, your smile tight and uncomfortable on your face. The quicker you convinced him the faster you could get out of there and hide yourself away in the back of the school bus in embarrassment.

“Okay!” He agreed enthusiastically before rushing into your arms.

Your hand cupped the back of his head, your other arm winding around his back before you lifted him up securely in your arms. You rushed back to the velvet rope, carrying Yejun back to his classmates as he whined out protests when he realized you had lied to him. One day, he would realize that you needed to lie to him for his own good.

You set him down in front of his regular teacher, her hand quickly wrapping itself around his wrist and keeping him by her side.

“We should take them back to the bus before anyone else notices what happened.” You said to your coworker, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

You did a quick head count, making sure everyone was where they should be before lingering at the back of the group to make sure there were no stragglers. You were just relieved that you were finally leaving.

“Miss? May we have a word with you?” An authoritative voice sounded behind you bringing your group to a stop.

Fuck, you had been so close to making it out of there.

Your co-worker looked back at you nervously, her eyes darting between you and the man that was definitely the curator behind you.

“Get the kids back to the bus and take them to the school,” You sighed, “I’ll take the public bus home.”

You had been right when you thought that today was going to be a bad day, that feeling you had had warned you and you tried to ignore it.

Now look where that got you.

~~~~~~~

The fog was even thicker when you had finally left the museum.

It was a miracle that you, and the school by association, hadn’t been banned from ever returning. It had taken almost an hour of explanations and watery tears on the brink of running over for them to finally agree to not keep you and your class from ever coming back.

It was lucky that you were a regular there and that at least showed that you had some degree of respect for the museum. You weren’t so sure that the results would have been the same had you not been.

You wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, another attempt to give yourself a self soothing gesture. It was safe to say that you had just had your worst day ever, an actual nightmare come true. And now you were going to have to struggle with public transportation when you should be back in your classroom packing up for the day.

A quick glance at your phone showed you that it was already two o’clock, the school would be dismissing the students in half an hour and the bus ride back to the school would take at least an hour and a half. You could feel the familiar swirl of anxiety flutter in your stomach at the idea that your schedule had been so greatly disrupted. This was surely going to affect your lesson plans.

You let out a disgruntled sigh before pocketing your phone and beginning the walk towards the bus stop. But, with each step you took you became painfully aware of the second set of footsteps that were matching your pace perfectly, so perfectly in fact that it sounded like yours were echoing.

Given any other circumstance, this would not have alarmed you. But now here you were alone, separated from your students, and traveling through a thick fog and the eerie silence. It felt all too quiet despite where the museum was, no cars were passing by and even if they were you wouldn’t be able to see them, the fog so dense and menacing that not even a headlight would be able to permeate it if a driver were foolish enough to have them on.

All you could hear were the soft puffs of breath that parted your lips, the tap of your footsteps and the other’s, and all you could feel was the gentle touch of the breeze over your cheek. You were once again struck with that sickening feeling of the uncanny.

You hastened your footsteps and your heart jolted as the other set quickened their pace as well. You knew you weren’t thinking irrationally this time, there was intent in those footsteps. In a normal situation, the other person wouldn’t have rushed to match your pace, they would have continued on with their own business. Someone was vying for your attention.

You were feeling a mixture of emotions, but most prominent was confusion. How was this person even able to follow you? The fog was so thick that even you were struggling to make out the outline of the bus stop.

A sudden grip on your wrist forced a frightened shriek past your lips. The long fingers covering your skin were ice cold and firm as if a corpse had emerged from the fog and held you tight in its clutches.

“Hey, it’s just me.” A familiar voice said as you rested your hand over your heart that was violently pumping beneath your hand.

“It’s only me,” He smiled with a soft laugh, his burgundy eyes vivid in spite of the fog.

“You scared me,” You breathed, allowing your tense shoulders to relax.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Your hands softly dragged down your face tiredly before you spoke, “It’s alright, I’m just a little on edge after today.”

“Oh, you mean after you trespassed?”

“I - I didn’t trespass!” You choked.

“That’s not what it looked like to me,” He said with a teasing smile. “And that’s definitely not what it looked like to the curator.”

“Oh really? Then how come I’m still allowed to come back?”

“Maybe because I put in a good word for you.”

“What? Why would your word matter?” Well, that came out harsher than you intended it to.

“You could say I’m an investor of sorts.”

“Well, why would you bother to help me then?” You asked, unused to favor free kindness. You could feel your eyes narrow and your brows pinch together, your body was set in defense, waiting.

“Oh!” His eyes lit up in excitement as his hands slipped down your wrist to cup your hand, pulling you closer to him and setting your cheeks aflame. “I want you to be my muse.”

As soon as those words left his mouth your blood chilled, an uncomfortable tightness wrapped itself around your throat and those thoughts returned, whispering your lack of worth in the back of your mind. He had to be lying, perhaps even playing a cruel joke on you, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“No.” You immediately spat out, attempting to tug your hands out of his hold only for his grip to tighten.

“What? Why not?” He asked, a look of pure shock evident in his stunning features, almost as if no one had ever denied him of anything.

“Look, we had a nice conversation and all but I don’t even know your name and-”

“Taehyung.” He immediately interrupted as if that knowledge would be enough to change your mind.

“Taehyung,” You repeated, causing a smile to curl his lips, “and I’m not interested in being portrayed as some oddity that’s so ugly that it’s beautiful. I’ve had enough of that in my life and I don’t need it with a perfect stranger.”

“Ugly?” He repeated, a look of intense disgust taking over his features, “How could you even think that?”

You remained silent as he continued to stare at you, waiting for you to form some kind of response. As you were thinking, you noticed the faint rumble of the incoming bus.

“The bottom line is that I’m not interested, find someone else to turn into a fun little project.” You firmly stated before successfully freeing yourself from his bruising hold and walking in the direction of the bus.

As the doors swung open and you began to take your first step inside you heard him call out to you.

“You know you’re beautiful, don’t you?”

You pursed your lips so tightly that it hurt, your body ramrod straight. And then you shook your head and fully entered the bus, the doors sliding shut behind you.

You refused to be a joke to anyone but yourself because, in the grand scheme of things, you believed you were a Picasso in a gallery of Rembrandt’s.

~~~~~~~

The rest of the week passed by without a hitch. You held your classes as usual, within the building thankfully, and your lesson plans had worked seamlessly which was already raising red flags in your mind. Due to your background, you tended to expect the worst when things were going considerably well. You wouldn’t say that you were a pessimist, maybe superstitious would be a better title.

And what was even more frustrating was that you couldn’t get him out of your head no matter how hard you tried.

Your mind was at war with itself. A part of you genuinely wanted to believe that someone like him could find you beautiful, but the other half was too emotionally battered to believe that, not even a little.

Your hand had been moving in endless circles and swoops almost mindlessly at this point with a pencil held tightly between your fingers. Your students’ work laid upon the drying rack, organic watercolor blobs stained the surface of the paper. You should be checking on them, you should be going over your plans for the next week, but instead, you were held fast in a bout of motivation.

You groaned in frustration, throwing your pencil aside as you slumped down into your chair. Multiple sets of charcoal eyes were staring back at you from the page. His stupid, perfect face had been burned into your mind and no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, it bled out of you and into your work.

Your fingers wearily rubbed circles into your temples in a soothing manner, why couldn’t you just forget? Why did you always have to dwell?

“Is that me?” A deep voice asked, the sound coming from behind your right shoulder.

A loud scream shot through the room, the wheels of your chair practically spinning out from underneath you as you quickly rose to your feet.

And, to your horror, you had not imagined his voice. Taehyung was there, in the flesh, standing in front of your chalkboard in your elementary art classroom. It would have been comical to see someone who looked so serious surrounded by finger paintings had he not scared the shit out of you and for the very fact that he was not supposed to be there in the first place.

“Why is it that every time I see you you’re always screaming?” He asked with a pout.

“How are you even here?!” You shrieked, slightly embarrassed by the fact that he was right while also wondering if you had the ability to summon people and you were just discovering it.

But, most importantly, you were worried. You had met this man one time and you hadn’t even told him your name yet he had somehow managed to figure out what school you taught at and even managed to find your exact classroom in the building. To be honest, you were frightened, and rightfully so.

“Hm? Oh, I spoke with the curator. He told me the name of the visiting school from that day and here I am.” He explained, pressing closer to you so he could see past your body to the sketches that littered your desk.

You frantically spun around, scooping the pages up and hiding them in a stray folder before putting them in your desk drawer and slamming it shut.

“You won’t let me see my own face?”

“You can look in a mirror, you have a reflection don’t you?” You shot back, your tone uncharacteristically hostile as he stifled a chuckle with wide eyes.

But who wouldn’t be in your situation? A man you had spoken to once had tracked you down like some stalker after asking you to be his muse. He had all the makings of a serial killer at this rate and if you had any sense of self-preservation you would be calling the authorities. The most dangerous people had the prettiest faces, didn’t they?

“You really should leave, as far as I’m concerned you're trespassing.”

“Well, how the tables have turned,” He laughed, “Don’t you even want to know what I’m doing here?”

“Oh, I know very well what you’re doing here and the answer is still no.”

“Well, I’m afraid to inform you that I’m rather persistent.”

“I can tell.” You said, your lower back digging into the desk behind you as you had nowhere else to go.

“Then let me show you how persuasive I can be,” He breathed, resting his hands on the desk on either side of you.

You were hit with a few sensations all at once. The first was his scent, it was almost indescribable but it was just so inviting. It made you want to lean into him and be drowned by it. The second was his eyes, they were even darker than before, bordering an onyx shade instead of the deep burgundy you had remembered. And thirdly, you were once more bombarded by his beautiful face. It was unfairly perfect, so perfect it would make the most talented sculptors cry. There was not a blemish in sight, just smooth, perfect skin. He had the longest eyelashes, the straightest nose, and not to mention the most perfectly proportioned and supple lips you had ever laid your eyes on.

And he hadn’t even said a word.

Just like an innocent little rabbit, you had been cornered by the fiercest predator.

“I have so many plans for you,” he sighed, his cool breath ghosting over your neck. You hadn’t even realized just how close he had gotten to such a vulnerable place.

“Won’t you hear me out, honey?” He begged.

And there go your knees.

Before you could hit the floor he caught you beneath your arms and pulled you into his chest which shook with delighted laughter, “Well, I didn’t think it would go over that well!”

Your face had never felt so hot before. Not only were you incredibly attracted to him but you were also embarrassed, maybe even more embarrassed than you had been at the museum. You were going to blame it on your lack of male interaction. You had never received attention like this from anyone before, especially not from someone as beautiful as Taehyung.

And, maybe if you weren’t so distracted by him, you would have noticed quite a few things. The biggest thing was that despite the fact that your cheek was pressed up against his chest you neither felt nor heard a heartbeat. It was completely and utterly silent.

Taehyung chuckled to himself, picking you up from underneath your arms and spurring a squeak out of your mouth as he sat you down on your own desk. You released a few flustered breaths, pressing your hands to your cheeks in an attempt to calm yourself down. Taehyung occupied himself with his bag, popping it open and rummaging through it before removing a camera that was worth more than your own life.

After pressing a few buttons he clicked his tongue and spoke, “This was more along the lines of how I wanted to persuade you.”

He turned the camera towards you, showing you the screen. Once you had finally collected yourself, you lowered your hands and reluctantly looked at what he was showing you.

It was you, more specifically, it was you from that day at the museum. The picture had been taken from the side, you could make out your own expression, a blend of panic and relief. You could faintly see Yejun’s head, but his face was obscured by your own head. Your hand was delicately cradling the young boy and your head was slightly tilted back.

If you were being honest, it was the most flattering picture someone else had ever taken of you. And it was completely organic.

You could feel your eyes faintly stinging as an intense emotion welled up inside your chest. The days where you found yourself even remotely average were far and few in between, the ugliness of your thoughts vastly overwhelming your perception. But in this one moment, you felt pretty. And all you wanted to do was cry.

“I’ve been looking for someone like you for such a long time, I don’t think you understand just how much I need you.”

“I…I don’t know if-”

“At least give me a chance, just one session, that's all I ask. And if you don’t like it then you never have to do it again, I’ll leave you be.” He cut you off, his hands cupping yours once more, effectively drawing you into his magnetic trance again.

“Please, say yes.”

Your fingers trembled against his, they were so long and pretty and just perfect for his craft. They steadied yours, his fingers smoothing over your shaking hands. His onyx eyes were staring into your own, so big and so pleading you were struggling to say no.

It was just once, right? What could go wrong?

“Yes.”

~~~~~~~

Taehyung couldn’t deny the fact that he was a hopeless romantic.

Ever since he could remember he always viewed love through a fairytale-like lens. Love at first sight, dramatic twists and turns, and endless longing. But he could recognize his faults, and his fault was that he was known to fall in and out of love at an extraordinary rate.

He was nothing like Jimin though, his serial romantic friend. Jimin never sought love, only pleasure. The same couldn’t be said now of course, and Taehyung found himself marinating in a stew of jealousy. How could someone who so clearly avoids attachment be bound before himself? It simply wasn’t fair.

Taehyung had had his fair share of lovers over the years. If there was anything that Yoongi was right about in regards to immortality, it was that it could get lonely and fairly boring. But, none of his lovers had ever fully met his expectations. They fueled his art and therefore made him money, and they kept him well fed. But these muses never stayed around for long. When the inspiration melted away and the passion died, so did they. And then, it was like they never meant anything to him. They were merely obstacles in his way to finding true companionship.

Taehyung began to flip through the photographs that were spread over his table. These were his last works of his previous muse, his final bursts of inspiration before those flames of passion dwindled to embers and pitifully died out.

The first few pictures she looked happy, her cheeks flushed and glowing with her hair sprawled about around her, her body lounging on his bed. But as each picture progressed it became evident that something was wrong, there was fear in her eyes and it was exhilarating to him. And then there was the final picture, his masterpiece of her series.

Her body was still on the bed, but this time her limbs were limp with dead weight. Her eyes were glossy and empty, her lips parted from her dying breath. And his favorite part was the color. The sheets, the walls, and her clothes were white but were contrasted with the ruby pigment of her freshly spilled blood. Her throat had been ruthlessly ripped open, the red rushing down her pretty neck, over her collarbones, shoulders, and breasts, and all over the satin sheets. There were gorgeous strokes of blood over the walls from when his fangs had ripped at her major artery, geysers erupting from her writhing body. His ravenous hunger had always been a problem that he blamed on his previous life.

Taehyung winced at the feeling of his fangs descending on reflex from his gums, their sharpened points striking his tongue and drawing out a pool of black blood into his mouth. His tongue swiped over his teeth and fangs, hunger rumbling from his stomach.

Even though he was looking at her, he could only think about you. He could only see you in her place, curled up in his sheets, staring up at him with glistening eyes full of tears that were on the brink of spilling over. His breath was caught in his chest as he thought about licking up your tears, lapping at your lips, and drinking whatever you would give him. He was certain your blood would be the best he had ever tasted, the others bitter compared to your heavenly aroma and body.

And he knew that he wouldn’t have to wait much longer to have you. He knew that he didn’t want to kill you, not you, his one and only perfect muse. You had so much potential and he wanted to help you actualize that.

He could still feel the burn of anger he felt when you degraded his recent works, then again you had no way of knowing he was Vante. After all, it should be impossible. How could you even think that he was the same person? That still didn’t ebb his frustration. No, he would immortalize you in his own creations, he would prove to you he wasn’t boring and repetitive. You would make sure of that.

Being with you, it reminded him of the time before Namjoon. That was when he was young, reckless with his money, and driven for his passion. Creating had been as natural as breathing for him, it had been his purpose.

And then the stock market crashed and he lost everything, his fame, his money, his supposed friends. It was just him and Jimin in a cramped little shack just trying to survive. He would have gone crazy if it weren’t for his friend, Jimin kept him grounded, he had kept him sane. He was the only one that had stayed. And when Namjoon came along, offering them another chance at life, an easy way to satiate the constant hunger that gnawed away at him, he took it without another thought. He could regain his purpose, he could create forever and never die. He could be immortal.

And he loved it.

So, he had to kill a few people, they would die eventually anyways it wasn’t really that big of a deal. And it made him so, so, so creative. Who knew that blood could be a medium, it worked with paint. The only problem was that it never stayed its true, beautiful, crimson shade. It turned to rust, browning as the air ate away at it. That’s why he preferred photography nowadays, it captured the color perfectly and it never faded away.

His body was thrumming with excitement, he couldn’t wait to mold you into his perfect lover, his beautiful muse. You would be the Galatea to his Pygmalion, the creator that falls in love with their creation.

He knew you would realize just how beautiful you were when your bodies were tangled together and completely coated in blood, the perfect scene of sin.

He would never grow tired of you, his stunning Galatea.

Taehyung’s nose scrunched up at the sudden bouquet of aromas that flooded his nose, his eyes flicking up to look out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his studio. The studio was separate from the main house, surrounded by the thick greenery of the forest.

There was something special about each member of their “family.” They all had a heightened sense or gift they carried over from their previous lives and Taehyung’s was his sight. All vampires had better sight than humans, but none matched his own. He could see the furthest, the clearest, and the most. In pitch-black darkness, he could make out everyone in his vicinity with almost perfect clarity. And his peripherals were unmatched, he never missed a single movement that dared to even remotely enter his field of view. It had been overwhelming when he turned and woke for the first time, but now he cherished it more than anything.

He could make out someone running through the forest, the dirt spraying up from beneath their shoes, panicked gasps for air parting their lips as they dodged trees and branches in the dark. And slowly prowling behind them was Hoseok, his bright red eyes glowing in the shadows of the night.

Taehyung calmly stood, gathering his photos and putting them away before he opened the large glass door, stepping out into the night.

“Hoseok,” He greeted with a soft smile, running his hand through his own dark hair.

“Hello, Taehyung,” He greeted, coming to a stop in front of his fellow coven member.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the human that just ran by would you?” He asked, knowing full well that Hoseok had everything to do with it.

“You mean my dinner?”

“Am I interrupting? You can go on, I just haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’m not worried about it, it’s more fun to feed on them when they think they’ve gotten away.”

It was true that Hoseok didn’t seem the slightest bit worried that his prey was getting away, and that’s because he didn’t have to worry. Hoseok was the fastest vampire he had ever met and vampires were already faster than the average human. But all others of his kind paled in comparison to Hoseok. When Taehyung had first seen him demonstrate his speed he had thought the man had teleported. That human was not making it out of the forest alive, that was certain.

“I was visiting our little Jungkookie,” Hoseok said with a smirk, his head craning back as he slipped his hands into his pockets.

“Oh? So that’s where you’ve been. How’s the fledgling doing?”

“More like who’s he doing,” Hoseok chuckled. “He’s been hanging around this little human.”

“And they’re still breathing?” Taehyung asked in utter disbelief.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, he’s still playing his games, he’s slaughtered any hiker that’s strayed off the trails. But the girl, well she’s still very much alive but she’s very weak. He’s been gorging himself, now that, that is very unlike him.”

“That….that is very strange.”

“Oh and there’s more, he practically ripped my head off when I approached him. I asked if he was willing to let me play one of his games with him and he snapped. He said ‘his human was off limits,”

“Are you going to tell Namjoon?”

“There’s not really a point in doing that, you know how Namjoon is with the young ones, they can do no wrong. I’ll leave him be for now, but he’ll be coming home soon. I told him it was only a matter of time before Namjoon came to get him himself.”

“You don’t think he’ll bring the human with him, do you?”

“I don’t know what game he’s playing this time, but if he wants to stir up trouble then yeah, I think he would.”

Their supposed family was already having enough problems with Yoongi’s girl and Jimin’s absence, Namjoon hadn’t found out about his little pet yet. The last thing that Taehyung needed was more problems with the introduction of another human. Not to mention, this would make it much harder for him to play with his own little project. Namjoon would be on high alert.

“I’ve kept you waiting long enough,” Taehyung finally said, breaking the silence, “Go on, enjoy your meal.”

“Oh, I will,” Hoseok laughed, and in the blink of an eye he vanished into thin air, or so it seemed.

And, not long after, a blood curdling scream echoed through the forest like a gunshot. And then silence settled into the night.

Taehyung stood still for a moment, an age-old question echoing through his mind that spurred a smile to stretch over his lips, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

But in this scenario he couldn’t help but think, if a human is ripped to shreds in the middle of the night and no other human is around to see it, did it even happen?

In the end, it didn’t even matter because no human would ever know about what happened that night. Not even the human that had been torn apart.

~~~~~~~

When Taehyung had sent you an address that led you to the edge of the forest at twilight you seriously thought about turning around and heading back home. If this didn’t scream “I’m going to kill you in the woods,” you didn’t know what did.

But you had made a promise, after all, Taehyung and yourself had agreed upon just one session, this was how you could repay him for putting a good word in with the curator. And, if you were being honest, you were chasing after that feeling he had inspired inside of you with that one picture. You wanted to feel pretty.

And he was incredibly attractive, there was that too of course. It wasn’t often you received attention from men like him or at least attention that was so blatantly obvious and in your face about it.

You stared at your phone in stress, your fingers twitching over the screen, they were trying to find something to do despite there being nothing there.

“Let me guess, Taehyung?” A voice asked.

Your head jerked up in surprise as you frantically tried to close your phone and slide it into your pocket.

The voice belonged to a man, a man that was so handsome he rivaled Taehyung’s looks. And the look on his face, now that was purely intimidating.

“Um, yeah, are you his roommate?” You finally managed to ask.

The man barely managed to conceal his scoff, his eyebrows drawing together in disgust, “Oh, yes, you could call it that.”

Well, that was an odd reaction.

“Well, would you mind pointing me in the right direction? Taehyung didn’t really give good instructions and-”

“How like him, come along,” He said with a roll of his eyes, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the tree line.

“Oh, thank you…” You trailed off with a pant, struggling to keep up with his long and fast strides, realizing that you had never gotten his name.

“Seokjin.”

“Thank you, Seokjin.”

Said man glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, his gaze darting up and down your figure, “You’re not his usual type.”

That felt like a punch to the gut and paired with the painful twang in your heart that insult was made even worse. All at once a million horrible thoughts made their presence known in the back of your mind.

“I…I know I’m nothing special to look at but-”

“That’s not what I meant.” He said, confusion contorting his face. “You’re not as gorgeous as me of course, don’t take that too hard no one is, what I meant was that you’re quiet, withdrawn, and incredibly insecure. You’re different, that’s all.”

Well, that was kind of a backhanded compliment and a stroke to his own ego, but it was better than a lot of the things other people had said about you. You were just different, not ugly, not like Seokjin, just different. Different was a step up from what you normally thought. So, you would take it.

“Go on, he’s in there, tell him to watch his strays for me,” Seokjin said, gesturing to the studio a few feet away.

“You’re an acquired taste, aren’t you?” You asked with a tilt of your head.

The look on his face was enough to have you trying to stifle a giggle. He had not expected that at all.

“You’re not as quiet as you seem,” He scoffed before waving his hand at you in a shooing manner, “Run along, I’ve wasted enough of my day cleaning up after him.”

“Goodbye Seokjin.” You grinned before walking up the steps to the studio.

As soon as your feet touched down on the porch the door to the studio was ripped open, you hadn’t even had a chance to knock.

“Hello, darling!” Taehyung excitedly called, his hand quickly grasping yours and yanking you inside, the door slamming shut behind you. “You kept me waiting.”

“Well, it wasn’t very easy to find this place, especially at this time of day.”

“Oh, I forgot about that…” He trailed off, you could faintly hear him say words like “eyesight,” and “weaker than,” but the rest was unintelligible as he mumbled to himself.

You, on the other hand, were completely in awe of his workspace. The exterior had been eye-catching enough, its sharp modern angles and tall windows in the middle of the greenery of the forest were beautifully juxtaposed. But the interior was so inviting. The space was still very large and modern but was filled to the brim with beautiful works of art. Some of them were paintings, others were charcoal sketches, some were photos pinned to what looked like clotheslines strung from wall to wall. You could spot some smaller clay pieces and what even appeared to be an incomplete marble sculpture. And the smell, the smell was wonderful. It was fresh paper and cardstock and canvas laced with the prominent scent of paints. It smelled like home.

You couldn’t help but drop your bag to the side and travel through the room, looking at everything there was to be seen. If you were being honest, it was an artist’s wet dream. Everything in there was high end, some of the supplies so prestigious your meager teacher’s salary would never allow you to afford something so expensive.

The twilight tones of the day completed the room, the lingering glow of the departed sun accompanied by strokes of purple, ochre, and ultramarine in the sky casted an impeccable filter over the studio. It looked like a fauvist had painted the scenery in front of you and you were in awe.

But what really caught your eye was the collection of works that were all signed with the same signature: Vante. There were many works that were familiar, but there were even more you had never seen before. And being the dedicated art nerd that you were, you were struck by just how similar they were to his style. Everything about it screamed “original” and your heart was thumping so fast in your chest from the belief that you may be seeing works the world had never seen before.

“Are these real?” You asked, turning around only to realize that Taehyung had been mere inches away the entire time. The two of you were so close that your face almost brushed up against his.

“What do you take me for, a copycat? I can assure you every single one of those is genuine.” He said, his tone riddled in mock offense which was ruined by the amused smile on his lips.

“How did you even get these? I’ve never even seen some of these before.” You said, taking a few steps back.

Taehyung regained those steps, following you closely. “It wasn’t too hard, very easy if I’m being honest.”

“Easy? These would be worth millions, Taehyung! That’s far from easy.”

“Who said I purchased them?”

“If you didn’t buy them, how did you get them?” You continued to pry, your face set in determination.

And then it started to click together.

“Are you implying that you’re-”

He immediately silenced you with the soft press of his index finger to your lips which in response slightly parted in surprise from the unexpected touch.

“Questions can wait until after the session, you’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

“But, Taehyung-”

“Questions,” He paused, his intense stare freezing you to the spot, “After the session.”

You released a heavy breath from your nose, your silence speaking volumes as to how displeased you were. Taehyung pretended not to notice, instead he guided you by the wrist to where he wanted you to go.

There was a lounge set up in the corner of the room and with it were the supplies for the photo shoot. You could smell a strong floral scent from one of the boxes and upon further inspection you realized it was full of crimson red flowers of all different shades. Your nose scrunched up from the smell, it was overpowering and not exactly pleasant as some of the flowers did not compliment one another's aroma.

Beside that box was a garment bag with a label that let you know it was just as expensive as everything else in the room. But, the even bigger problem that was presenting itself was the fact that you had to change.

“Can I just wear what I have on?” You quickly asked, your fingers wrapping around your jacket and tugging it tighter around your body.

“Hm? No, it doesn’t match the vision I have for the shoot.” Taehyung said, looking up from the camera he was fiddling with to take in your outfit.

“It probably won’t fit anyways, just let me stay in this.”

“Darling,” He said with an exasperated sigh, “It will fit, go through that door over there you’ll find the bathroom. And don’t come out unless you have it on.”

God you were feeling sick to your stomach and you hadn’t even seen what was inside the bag. But all you could do was panic, the thought of someone seeing you even more vulnerable than you already were was enough to have tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your lips trembling in fright.

“Remember, it’s just one session.” He said, gentler this time in an attempt to soothe you.

Just one session, you had agreed and you couldn’t back down now. It would probably take what, an hour at most? You could handle it, just this once. You hadn’t even tried, at least try, do it for yourself.

All of those positive thoughts almost immediately went down the drain when you entered the bathroom, stripped down to your undies, and uncovered what the garment bag had concealed.

There was a storm of emotions raging through your body. For one, the mirror above the sink was mocking you. Your eyelashes fluttered helplessly as you tried to avoid your reflection but there was no use, the mirror took up the entire wall. You could see yourself so clearly despite not wanting to and every flaw was glaring back at you. And, just like you always did, you picked and prodded and pulled at every inch of your body that offended you.

This was what you were afraid of. You were no better than an addict, relapsing back into the old behavior that you had been trying so hard to abstain from. But even your abstinence had harmed you because at the end of the day it was purely avoidance. And in that avoidance those dark thoughts festered and your anxiety grew exponentially.

The second problem was the dress. It was horribly revealing, well revealing to you. Despite its long flowy sleeves the dress had a dramatic plunging neckline and not one, but two leg slits that ran all the way up your waist. If you were being honest, you had no idea how you were going to wear a bra or underwear in such a dress.

But that problem had been partially solved for you. To your utter embarrassment, there were panties that were cut the correct way to be hidden from the leg slits hung inside the bag behind the dress. But there was no bra. You knew that there was no way to wear a bra with a neckline like that, but you were beyond embarrassed by the thought of going out there completely free in front of Taehyung.

This was already hard enough.

You leaned against the sink counter, harsh pants of air breaking your lips as you attempted to calm yourself. You were slowly losing it. So, in a panicked haze to just get everything over with, you changed as quickly as you could, your eyes trained to the floor almost the entire time.

And when you finally built up the courage to leave the bathroom you didn’t stray far from the door, your arms wrapped around your torso in an attempt to hide everything you didn’t want to be seen.

While you were busy panicking, trapped inside your own mind full of spiraling thoughts, Taehyung was extremely satisfied. To him, you looked absolutely perfect. And the dress had fit just the way he thought it would. So what he had cheated a little, his perfect vision allowed him to know just exactly what he was working with and he did enjoy looking at every inch of you. But it all worked out in the end, he had you here and his vision was finally coming together.

“Can I please wear something else,” You whispered, pinned to your spot by the door.

“You’re beautiful, why would you want to do that?” He asked, once more grabbing you by the hand and leading you towards the chaise.

“Please stop saying that.”

“But it’s true,” He sighed, guiding you into a seated position that looked pleasing to him before he began pulling the crimson flowers from their box.

“You remind me of women from renaissance paintings and romantic art, do you know what romanticism is darling?”

“Of course I do.” You said, pure offense blatant on your features.

There you were, he was slowly easing you back into things.

“Of course you do,” He chuckled before snapping the head of a rose off of it’s stem. For some reason, that made a pit settle in your stomach.

He continued his work, beheading flowers and placing them in your hair as his ice cold fingers were just barely brushing along the skin of your cheek, your jaw, and the column of your throat. You noticed him lingering there, his fingers and his onyx eyes mesmerized by the bared, vulnerable flesh.

“You look like all of the incarnations of beauty in sculpture and canvas, Psyche, Aphrodite, and Galatea. And yet still you’re far more beautiful.” He sighed, his fingers ceasing their work to gently caress your bottom lip.

You felt like you were on the brink of a heart attack.

‘You’ve done so well for me, you’ve been so good. Do you think you can hang on for a little while longer?” He gently asked, his fingers moving to trace the curve of your jaw.

He looked absolutely stunning. How could he compare you to all of those icons of beauty when he looked like that. There was such soft lighting in the room but it still managed to cast the most beautiful shadows over his face, emphasizing each perfect feature that you had mapped out before in your own sketchbooks.

All you could do was nod, your voice having left you along with your breath.

And so the session commenced.

It wasn’t as painful as you had thought it would be, not when you didn’t have to look at yourself. That made it much easier. Taehyung was good at what he did, he was great at direction and he knew exactly what he wanted. He made it easier for you, and for that you were grateful.

After what felt like a while to you, he paused, lowering his camera. His fingers tapped rhythmically along the top of it as he thought to himself before glancing at his wristwatch.

“I have to go and grab something else for the shoot, wait right here, I’ll be right back.” He finally said before setting the camera on top of a tripod and briskly heading outside.

Good, you could have a moment to breathe.

Instead of staying seated you came to stand, your legs, back, and bottom had fallen asleep and were begging you to move around and shake the numbness away. So, you decided to occupy yourself in the meantime.

You headed over to Taehyung’s desk. To your surprise it was fairly clean, there was a stray eraser and pencil here or there but no actual works. And that really didn’t make sense.

You weren’t particularly one to snoop, but you were inquisitive and that part of you was getting the better of yourself. So, you looked over both shoulders with a sense of paranoia before you began to open and close the drawers of his desk.

The first drawer you opened held a few items, but the ones on top caught your attention. There was a thick sketchbook and a dense folder beneath it. You checked your surroundings once more before you finally decided to flip open the sketchbook.

On the very first page you were met with yourself. You were shocked to say the least, but you too had been guilty of immortalizing Taehyung in your very own sketchbook. And that all would have been good and fine had you not come to realize that every single page was filled with images of you. The sketchbook bound one hundred and twelve pages.

The sketches started off fairly tame, some were of your profile, others a straight on view, and a couple were at a three quarter angle. All sketches that were intended to familiarize himself with your image. But as you turned each page, you became more and more disturbed.

There were photo references of you next to drawings of yourself, photos that you had never taken and never seen before. Some were of you in your classroom, some of you at the coffee shop, and more frighteningly were the images of you in your home.

But it only got worse.

There were drawings of you fast asleep, your t-shirt drifting away to expose a bare shoulder and the rest of your body from the waist down disappearing beneath the curve of your comforter.

And then things became pornographic.

Those too started off tame, sketches of your lips, your hands, and the shape of your body. But then it became too much, images of your body doing things that it had never done before, sketches of sexual acts that no one had been privy too. A stranger's hand holding you down and gripping you so tightly that purple and red bruises were left behind.

And you had thought those were violating and horrible, the more you flipped the worse it would get. The drawings became violent, chunks of your throat ripped apart, blood smeared over your face, neck, and waist, and bloody handprints littering your body. Sometimes you were screaming, other times your eyes were lifeless and your body still.

You had witnessed Taehyung’s grotesque and violent fantasies that he had kept hidden from you.

And you wished you had stopped at the sketchbook but you were already in too deep. You threw it away from you before dumping out the contents of the folder across the tabletop. And these were even worse because they were real.

There were so many different women in the pictures in varying states. But, from what you could tell, it always started the same. They looked alluring, stunning, and glowing with happiness. And each picture after showed them steadily fading away until it all ended the same. They all died gruesome deaths.

Most of the pictures were in black and white, the only color being the crimson hue of the thick pools of blood in their portraits. The women were sporting horrendous injuries that looked like they had been attacked by an animal. There were claw marks and teeth marks everywhere and chunks of their flesh missing from their bodies.

It was so horrible that it left you gagging, fighting the urge to not vomit up the contents of your stomach.

In a panic you turned, ready to flee the studio and try and find your way back to the road. But when you did pivot, you were face to face with Taehyung.

He didn’t exactly look upset, but he did sport disappointment on his features. He had changed his clothes, his pants and his shirt were both white, the shirt on the looser side exposing his pretty neck and some of his chest. And in his hand was a fairly large container that was filled to the brim.

“I wish you wouldn’t have done that, you told me you would be good. But, I suppose you would have found out eventually.”

And before you could even get a word in or try to confront him or even run, he gripped the container by the handle, braced the bottom and threw the contents of the container all over you.

A cry of shock and disgust left you as you felt it slap against your skin, hair, and clothes. It was sticky, thick, and ice cold. And when your eyelids were clear of the substance you finally opened your eyes and let out a piercing scream.

“Let me paint you red, darling,” He calmly said.

You were drenched in blood. The thick copper scent assaulted your nose, the sticky mess soaking into your dress and dripping down your skin in what could only be described as a scene from a horror movie.

You watched horrified as he poured whatever was left over himself, not even phased by the blood. He ran his soaked hands through his hair, slicking it back with the fluid as he watched you with a gaze that could only be described as hungry.

“It took me quite a while to collect all of this, let’s not let it go to waste.”

You stumbled backwards, panicked and distraught cries still leaving your body as you tried to make a run for it. But there was no use, you couldn’t escape a monster like him.

He caught you in his bruising hold, roughly spinning you around to face him before he pressed your lips together in an urgent and hungry kiss, effectively swallowing your screams. Although your eyes were closed in pure fright you could still make out the intense pulsating flashes of several cameras. He had various ones set up in the room on automatic timers. He had hidden them well enough that you hadn’t even noticed them.

You tried to pull away from him desperately but he had a grip that was firmer than steel, with his hand holding your jaw in place and the other wrapped around your back you had nowhere to go. Your head was starting to spin, not only from the screaming and the panic but from the lack of air. He wouldn’t let you go, his lips never leaving yours for long.

When he finally stopped kissing you, you took a breath, completely overstimulated from the scent of blood and roses, his bruising touches, and the never ending flashes of the cameras.

“Keep being a good girl for me, I’ve been so good for you. I didn’t feed from anyone since I met you and I’m so fucking hungry.”

“Taehyung please, please let me go I swear I won’t say anything!” You cried, ugly tears rushing down your face and cutting through the blood that stained your cheeks.

“You’re not going anywhere, you’re mine now and I intend to keep it that way,” He said, shoving you down onto the chaise and pinning you there before he lunged forward and buried his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

And the next thing you knew, there was a blinding hot stabbing sensation in your neck. You screamed in pain as you realized that there were teeth cutting through your flesh, and not just teeth, but fangs. Your hands gripped his shoulders and pushed, trying your hardest to dislodge him from your throat.

But, the harder you struggled, the more you fed him. The two of you were covered in blood and now your own blood was rushing down your neck, throat, and chest as well as flooding Taehyung’s mouth.

And he was in pure ecstasy, his chest rumbling in what almost sounded like an animalistic purr as soft moans of pleasure bubbled up past his blood soaked mouth. And the more he drank the less you began to struggle, your body going weak with euphoria and trembling with bliss and desire. In this state, all you could focus on was the feeling of his chest pressed against yours, his soft lips pressing against your throat and his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in tight.

Through your foggy brain you could feel his hand sliding over your exposed thigh before gripping the curve of your hip and tugging you unbearably closer to him allowing himself to rest in between your legs.

You were utterly distraught and confused, how could you be enjoying something that had been so painful and distressing moments ago?

When he finally pulled away from your throat you could only see him through hazy vision, you felt high.

His hair was still dripping with blood, his lips and chin stained with the red that came from you, and the serrated tips of his fangs poked at his lower lip. He licked his lips greedily before swiping his tongue over your own mouth, chasing after every drop that he could get without accidentally killing you. You were stunning, his goddess decorated in carnage.

“My beautiful Galatea,” He sighed, “You really are my greatest masterpiece.”

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