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winskzer · 1 year ago

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Beginner's luck

Genre: 18+, smut, fluff

Cw: yoga instructor!minho x yoga student!reader, excessive good girl, light praise/praise kink, soft dom min, oral (m recieving), fingering (f recieving), slight body worship, minho being sexy as fuck (as usual), he makes you watch (gasp)

Wc: 6.1k

Summary: You definitely did not turn up to the beginners class, but luckily Minho offers to give you some extra help afterward

AN: YOOOOO I definitely should've been revising instead of writing this but I had extreme yoga instructor min brainrot

The decision to splurge on a month of yoga classes was actually not one you intended to make.

Initially, it seemed like a brilliant idea, a months subscription to Seoul's most luxurious leisure centre, a treat for both your body and your mind- one you had been needing lately. Yet, as reality dawned in on you after the purchase had been made, it became apparent that perhaps you should've let your eyes wander over the small print and not just the price tag and the length of the subscription.

You had assumed, rather naively, that paying that unholy number included access to the entire gym facility. Oh, how wrong you were. Instead, you found yourself committed to a month of yoga classes alone, without the added benefit of gym amenities. Without the perks and the pool and the huge gym and the sports courts- the deal wasn't looking so good anymore.

Now, you were tasked with justifying this financial tragedy by vowing to attend every class religiously, to apologize for the unintentional trauma you had inflicted on your poor bank account.

Lesson learned: always read the fine print.

Upon your arrival at the studio on the first day, you felt a little out of place with the rest of the women in the class, and a subtle sense of apprehension mingled with your already tense nerves. You took a place in the front row by the wall, setting up your mat and sitting to mirror everyone else in the room. They all seemingly knew eachother already, conversations filling the studio as the clock ticked to 11am.

The hour was marked by the appearance of the class instructor, pushing the door to the studio open and immediately capturing your entire focus with how he shone like a beacon. He possessed an unmistakable allure just from looking at him, like he had just come back from a magazine cover shoot.

As he stepped into the room, a palpable shift in energy swept through the space. The once lively chatter dwindled to a hushed murmur- the man doing nothing but smile to garner the attention of every pair of eyes in the room, an awe settling over you. It was as if time itself slowed as he placed his bag down in front of you.

Within seconds your perfect view of the model was covered by the women in the class stumbling over themselves to offer him help in setting up- they were all wrapped around his finger, and you considered for a second that this man was what drove the price for these yoga classes so high.

The instructor politely accepted the help like this adoration was just part of his daily routine, laughing with them as they asked about his night- if he slept well, how his cats were doing.

Cats, he had cats.

A charming smile and a cascade of thank yous somehow guided everyone back to their mats- it was evident that he possessed a natural magnetism, a quality that drew others to him like moths to a flame.

As the room settled, his gaze, warm and inviting, drifted over to you, momentarily causing your heart to skip a beat. His smile, radiant and genuine, seemed to light up the entire space, infusing it with an undeniable warmth. It was a smile that could have easily knocked you off your feet if you weren't already sat down. In that moment, it felt as though the world had paused. For some reason, you had the sense for a second that you were the only person in the room to him.

When his gaze locked onto yours, you imperceptibly gasped, momentarily caught off guard by his intensity. Quickly averting your eyes, you reached for your water bottle, feigning nonchalance as you took a sip to mask the rising blush creeping up your neck. You felt like he was setting you alight just by looking at you.

God, surely a man so perfect couldn't be real.

There had to be a catch. He must be overly conceited and cocky, or even an outright asshole. Maybe he's one of those men that make women fall for him so that he can play with their feelings- like a fuckboy or something.

He couldn't have been blessed with a face like that and also have the personality of a genuinely good guy.

As you summoned the courage to look back up, you were taken aback to find the instructor (model) seated directly in front of you, that sweet and gentle grin still adorning his face. He extended his hand towards you, a warm invitation in his eyes.

"Lee Minho, it's nice to meet you," he said with a playful lilt in his tone. "Ever done yoga before?"

Oh wow. He was even more gorgeous up close. You couldn't help but feel a flutter of nervous excitement in the pit of your stomach as you tentatively reached out to shake his hand.

"Uh, no, first time," you managed to say, your laughter laced with a hint of awkwardness as you shook his hand a few times, trying to ignore the sparks and warmth that spread from your fingertips to your entire body.

"No worries, you're in good hands," he spoke reassuringly, his demeanor instantly putting you at ease. "What's your name?"

What a man.

Oh, right, your name.

"My name is y/n," you managed to reply, offering a nervous giggle as your eyes kept accidentally glancing down- surveying his body.

Minho leaned back onto his hands, tilting his head to the side, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of captivation wash over you. His black vest was doing nothing to hide the gorgeous tanned skin of his chest from you, which you were very grateful for. He wore two chains that dangled down his neck, highlighting his collarbones, and his grey sweatpants were doing everything for his thighs.

You wanted to take a bite.

"Pretty name," he complimented with a charming smile, his words sending a flurry of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It was as if he knew he had short-circuited your brain, so without waiting for a response from you, he continued, "If you're confused, just let me know, and I'll come help."

Wow.

Throughout the session, you found yourself in need of Minho's guidance more often than you'd care to admit. It quickly became apparent that your lack of preparation was a concerning hindsight, coupled with the fact that you didn't know half of the words he was telling you, let alone what position they meant, left you at a distinct disadvantage compared to the other attendees. As Minho effortlessly led the class through a series of challenging poses, you couldn't help but feel a sense of bewilderment wash over you.

You found yourself looking around the room cluelessly, trying to mimic their movements before anyone realised that yet again you didn't have a clue what was going on. It was a futile effort, because your attempts just resulted in awkward contortions that left you feeling more frustrated than yoga enlightened.

Though Minho's keen eye caught onto your struggle, and with a reassuring smile, he made his way over to offer assistance each time. Patiently and with gentle encouragement, he guided you through each pose that you couldn't get, providing helpful adjustments and corrections along the way.

Once the session was drawing to a close, you couldn't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and gratitude wash over you. While everyone else slowly started to filter out of the studio one by one, you found yourself lingering near the door, unsure of how to approach Minho.

You definitely had to apologize for being so difficult, for taking up so much of his time- but you honestly didn't want to just give up straight away. You couldn't, really, not after the money you spent on this month.

Maybe he had a beginner class, something better suited for your level of knowledge.

"Minho," you spoke from the doorway, catching his attention. "Do you have a minute?"

He flashed you a soft smile and slipped his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants. "Sure, come in, what's up?"

"Well, I just wanted to apologize for... not being very good," you chuckled slightly, noting the way his eyebrows furrowed slighty. "I didn't even realize I signed up for such a difficult class, so-"

"No need to apologize, we were all beginners once," he interrupted gently, his tone warm and understanding.

"Right, that's what I wanted to ask," you clasped your hands together, a sense of hopefulness creeping into your voice. "Do you do... a beginner class?"

"I don't, unfortunately," he smiled pityfully, his expression sympathetic. "They're run by another instructor."

You hummed sadly, a tinge of disappointment coloring your thoughts. So, it was either take an easier yoga class, or not get to stare at this model of a man as he showed you how flexible he was? It seemed that finding a class tailored to your.. needs would be more challenging than anticipated.

"But, if you're free, I could stick around for a bit and give you some extra help? Free of charge, of course," Minho offered, his tone genuine.

Apparently, this man was perfect. An angel both inside and out, nothing like the poorly constructed view you had of him at the beginning, simply because he was gorgeous.

Your eyebrows raised, full of hope and excitement at the unexpected offer from him.

"Are you sure? I mean... I've literally never done half of those poses before, I'm-" you began, your words faltering as his pretty laugh cut you off, leaving you completely captivated by the man in front of you.

"Don't worry about it, I've got you, alright?" he reassured, his smile warm and reassuring.

Just then, you knew that you would also be part of the demographic of his class that were stumbling over themselves to be his personal yoga mat tomorrow morning.

To be under this man.. what a dream.

"Roll out your mat again, I'm just going to refill my bottle," Minho grinned, baring his perfect teeth in a charming smile to you. "Want me to do yours too?"

"Oh, I'm good thank you," you smiled, feeling a rush of warmth at his offer.

The instructor nodded with a smile, and you couldn't keep your eyes away from the way his shoulder blades glided underneath his black vest as he left you alone in the studio. The sight left you momentarily speechless, a swirl of not so innocent emotions stirring within you.

You let out the breath that you'd unknowingly been holding, along with a giddy laugh at the insane situation. You could barely concentrate on the yoga when it was the whole class, let alone now that you were going to have his undivided attention. As you rolled out your mat once again, you couldn't help but wonder how you were going to stay sane with him right next to you, guiding you through each pose with his body heat so close.

Oh, would he touch you? Would he place those beautiful hands on you again, manoeuvre you into any way he wanted you?

"Ready to get started?" Minho asked as he reappeared at the door to his studio.

You nodded eagerly, a sense of anticipation coursing through your veins as he approached. When he held out his hand for you to stand from the mat you didn't hesitate to take it. With a gentle tug, he effortlessly lifted you to your feet, and you couldn't help but giggle like a lovestruck teenager at his entire focus being on you. His gorgeous smile only added to the fluttering of your heart.

"Alright, so, which positions did you struggle the most with?" he asked first, his voice warm and encouraging.

You paused for a moment, pursing your lips and feeling an embarrassed blush tint your cheeks.

"Oh," you chuckled nervously. "I guess... all of them?"

Minho didn't judge you, his eyes still filled with that same gentle understanding that made you 100% sure he was some god among men.

"That's okay," he reassured, his voice gentle and reassuring. "We'll work through them together, let's start with the basics."

"Alright," you pouted.

"Do you remember warrior?"

Your stomach bursted full with butterflies at the approving hum and nod he gave you when you slipped into what you hoped was the correct position. It felt like a small victory at least: correctly remembering one pose from the class.

Minho's hands gently held your waist, his touch light yet firm as he guided them forward an inch. You felt a shiver run down your spine as one of his hands snaked across to the small of your back, his touch sending a jolt of electricity coursing through you. He pressed forward, encouraging you to arch your spine, his hold on you soft yet commanding.

"Perfect, that's it," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

Oh god.

You were almost breathless, feeling his palms run across your body to correct your positioning, his face so close making it much more intimate than you thought it would be.

Not that you minded of course.

"Now reverse it for me," he spurred you on.

But you didn't quite catch the full sentence, your brain was too focused on the fact that he had specifically used the words 'for me'.

For me.

He could probably get you to do anything he wanted if he just added 'for me' at the end, he had you wrapped around his little finger and you had only laid eyes on him 2 hours ago.

Lost in your thoughts, you blinked down at the ground for a second before properly processing his words. With a nod, you simply switched out your legs to mirror the position.

He let out an endearing little giggle at your action, making you look up at him, a redness blossoming on your cheeks.

"Reverse warrior," he prompted gently, his voice laced with encouragement.

"Oh! ..I'm sorry," you mumbled, feeling a rush of embarrassment wash over you.

"Don't apologize, it was my mistake,"

Minho's palm traveled up your torso, applying gentle pressure on your center of gravity to guide you backwards. Though with it he took the hem of your floaty top, his pinky resting on the skin of your lower stomach- driving you wild.

With a deft movement, he took one arm down to the back of your knee, guiding you slowly into the pose he wanted you in. Then he slid the other hand up to your arm, his fingers gently dancing up to your wrist- drawing goosebumps to the skin with every touch, and he pushed your arm upright.

"There, that's more like it," he laughed, his eyes sparkling with pride as he gazed down at your upside-down face. "You're doing great."

"Thank you," you smiled bashfully, the tips of your ears flushing.

"Stand up," he said, his voice gentle yet commanding. "I need to see how flexible you are before we try any difficult positions."

Oh god.

The rapidly increasing clouded part of your mind wanted to reply that you could be as flexible as he wanted you to be- but rationally, you weren't all that bendy.

Then, your eyes fell to his lips as his tongue peaked out to wet them and the rational part of your brain slowly started to melt away.

He was probably very flexible, right? And he probably had lots of ..stamina.

"Can you touch your toes?"

You nodded eagerly, remembering how you used to be able to. But as you bent over, you quickly realized that your fingers just didn't want to cooperate anymore, falling short of reaching your toes, and you couldn't help but groan in frustration.

"Apparently not anymore."

"Would you like me to help? It might burn a little."

"Please," you nodded, feeling a rush of anticipation coursing through you as his fingers gently slid around your waist.

He stepped closer, your ass pressed against him as he leant forward, his chest flush against your back. With his weight pressing down on you, you immediately felt the effects in your calves, a dull ache beginning to spread through your muscles. But you quite literally could not have cared less if he was going to press himself on you like this.

He curled his hands around your arms, and he pushed you further down until your fingers touched your toes, spurring a little hiss to escape your lips.

"You feel it?" Lee Minho hummed, his voice lowered to a whisper, taking into account your closeness and the otherwise silentness of the room.

His palms held your hips again, comfortingly rubbing up and down.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a breath.

"Do you want to stop?" he inquired softly, his concern palpable in the air.

"No... It's fine," you shook your head. It really was fine if he was going to continue to whisper into your ear like that. You could put up with the burn if that's the price to pay.

No pain no gain.

"Good girl," he smiled, his words sending a wave of hotness cascading through you, almost making your knees buckle right then and there.

His hands slid down, coming to rest on each of your thighs, his touch gentle yet firm. You sucked in a breath. But it wasn't until he gave a little squeeze to signal you that the most embarrassing hiccup ripped its way out of your throat.

"That'll do," he said, his voice reassuring as he gently guided you back to an upright position.

You let him lift you up, hiding your raging blush behind your hair. You were acutely aware of just how close you were to Lee Minho, chest pressed against your back- breath hitting the back of your ear for a second until he stepped back. His presence was both thrilling and nerve-wracking all at once.

"What about the splits, can you do them?"

"Almost," you shrugged, feeling a sense of determination welling up within you. With a deep breath, you sank to the floor and spread your legs as far as they would go, determined to prove yourself to him. But to your dismay, you quickly realized that your flexibility was just downright embarrassing when faced with a professional yoga instructor

You looked up at Minho's amused smirk, feeling a shiver cascade down your back as he sat down behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder. His close proximity sent your poor heart racing, the warmth of his body seeping into yours and filling you with desire.

"Want my help again?" he offered, his voice soft and reassuring.

"Yeah," you sighed with infatuation, a giddy smile worming its way onto your mouth at his offer.

"I need you to tell me when it hurts so you don't overexert yourself, okay?" he asked, his tone gentle yet firm. Upon seeing your nod of agreement, he placed his hands back on the inside of your thighs, his grip stronger this time, causing a rush of heat to flood your cheeks.

As he began to gently guide you into the stretch, with each movement, you found yourself working overtime to ensure that he wouldn't hear your deep breathing start to stutter.

He pulled slightly, observing your reaction before pulling again and again, caressing the inside of your legs, giving you a chance to tell him to stop. But the words didn't come, the ache in your muscles dulled by the warmth of his touch and the arousal bubbling in your abdomen.

As he continued to guide you deeper, you couldn't help but feel a sense of determination welling up within you. The way he smiled like he was impressed only fueled your desire to keep going, even though every muscle in your legs were screaming in protest.

Your body forced you forward, leaning on your palms to try and accommodate the unnatural discomfort in your pelvis as he stretched you to your limit.

"I'm okay," you swallowed, wanting him to continue.

Minho then repeated the motions again, pulling your legs ever so slightly and then stopping, each movement bringing you closer and closer to the edge of your flexibility. But just as you were about to reach your limit, he paused, his expression filled with concern.

"Are you sure this isn't hurting?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"It's fine," you replied, your voice wavering with the new ache in your muscles. "I can push through it."

"No, you're a beginner, you can't," Minho said sternly, his voice laced with concern as he immediately relaxed his grip on your thighs.

Instinctively, your legs drew closer, back to a natural spread instead of almost a straight line.

"I told you to tell me if it started to hurt."

You were acutely aware of the sensation of his hair tickling your neck, the warmth of his breath bouncing off of your ear, the firmness of his biceps pressing against your arms.

You hadn't wanted to disappoint him, quite the opposite in fact. The thought of impressing him had been your driving force, but you felt a little guilty that he was trying to genuinely help- and you wanted his attention.

Only a little guilty, because the rest of what you felt was fucking turned on that he was telling you off.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, a pang of regret at having ignored his earlier instructions. "I just.. I wanted to impress you."

Minho's expression softened at your words, and he let out a small sigh. He carressed your thighs, running his hands comfortingly up and down- he reassured you that it was okay, his touch however doing nothing to calm the raging storm inside of you.

"You need to listen to your body, okay? That's the most important thing."

In that moment, as you gazed behind at him, all your body was telling you was how badly you wanted this man to take your body however he wanted it. How he could push you into any position he wanted you in, use you however he wanted to.

"Is it hurting now?"

He leaned forward, his fingers dancing closer and closer and your pulse was spiking higher and higher that you could barely register his question over your arousal screaming at you.

"Only a little."

"I didn't mean to push you so far."

You wanted to reassure him that he had nothing to feel bad about but he was massaging the tendons in the very inner part of your thighs over your shorts and you just mentally couldn't get any words out.

"Your muscles are so tight, relax."

You couldn't.

You couldn't relax.

Your head stuttered as you tried to nod, little breaths escaping you- he had to know what he was doing.

Those hands slid upwards, inching underneath the hem of your top to hold your hips- continuing to massage the tensor muscles either side of you.

"Lean back, I've got you."

You raised your arms, letting him pull you so your back was resting against his hard chest again.

"Relax," he whispered into your ear, one hand redirected to your sternum, where he snaked up until his hand rested around your neck. You gasped, and you felt the smile spread on his face as he pushed up until your head leant back to rest against his shoulder.

Wow.

Maybe this is why he had so many devoted fans- if this was the sort of personal attention he gave to everyone?

His fingers tickled tiny shapes over the skin of your throat, the others sifting between squeezing your thigh and rubbing up and down it.

"Minho?"

"Yes y/n?"

"Do you.. help everyone.. like this?" You gulped, sort of fearing his answer.

If he said yes, then this clearly meant nothing to him, maybe he wasn't even flirting with you? Maybe you were reading this wrong?

Maybe-

"I don't, no."

Oh fuck.

So..?

"Can you keep a secret? If it got out that I was doing this, I'd never get to go home."

His raspy laugh made you want to release a moan, he was just so tempting.

"O-Of course, I won't tell anyone," you gulped.

Minho hummed approvingly, "I knew you'd be a good girl for me."

Then you really did moan, letting out a breath that bled into a noise of pure desire- and the instructor next to you smirked as you darted one hand up to cover your mouth.

You gasped when he pulled at the strings of your shorts, long fingers tracing your skin behind the hem, teasing you.

"Is this okay?" He smiled when you nodded frantically.

Minho's hand pushed past your shorts, his thumb slipping under the hem of your panties to pull the elastic and snap them against you- drawing a short yelp out of your throat.

A velvety chuckle reached your ears, the man finding your reaction amusing, but you couldn't bring yourself to be embarrassed when his hand was so close to where you needed him.

"Oh wow, you need it bad, huh?" He spoke quietly, more to himself at first as he rubbed over the very obvious wet mess you'd left in your underwear.

He spoke like he wasn't the root cause of your problem.

"Yes, please," you sighed.

"How long have you been this wet, hm?" He smirked, nudging his nose against your cheek as his lips placed little kisses on your jaw.

"Since I saw you."

Lee Minho seemed to have you under his spell, since you didn't even get the chance to think about pretending you hadn't been soaked the second you laid your eyes on him.

"Yeah?" He teased, his other hand tilting your head to face him. "Poor baby."

He muffled your whines with his pretty plush lips, pressing closer with a little more persistence until you opened your mouth for him, and he licked over your tongue like he was trying to swallow every moan that was threatening to escape your throat.

He continued to rub you over the cotton of your panties, his lips curling up into a smirk everytime he felt you clench around nothing. Increasing and decreasing the pressure randomly, he waited for each hitch in your breath or jolt of your hips- trying to find that sweet spot that would melt you to putty in his arms.

"Minho," you pouted, drawing out his name.

"I know," he smiled, pulling your underwear to the side. "Need my help again, hm?"

You gasped as his thumb pressed flat against your unclothed clit, leaving his fingers free to play with your entrance- and you're so wet that he just slipped against your skin, gathering the slick on his digits.

"Gonna let me taste?" He whispered gravelly in your ear, and your poor heart almost beated out of your chest.

Before you nodded he was already lifting his hand up anyway, moving his fingers in a scissor motion in front of the two of your faces. Your cheeks flushed red, but you couldn't bring yourself to look away as he parted his lips- tongue laying flat so he can press his two middle fingers on it.

You watched in awe as he closed his mouth around them, closing his eyes and humming as he replaced the taste of you with his saliva instead.

Fuck.

He looked like he was genuinely enjoying the taste, getting off on it, it was so intimate- so fucking sexy. This was worth every penny you spent on that stupid subscription. Did you even need him to touch you? You were half convinced if he continued you could've cum untouched.

A line of spit connected his fingers to his lips when he finally pulled them back.

You gulped.

Minho turnt to you, his eyes clouded with a hazy lust as he watched the way you let him push his fingers past your lips.

"That's it, perfect," he groaned, gently fucking into your mouth with a slow rythym- gulping at the way your tongue toyed with his fingers. "Fuck."

You reached your hand behind you, easily finding the hard bulge in his sweats, and began to stroke him over the cotton. You followed the rythym he was setting with his fingers, and watched as his jaw fell slack before he bit his lip- trying to keep his composure.

"I was trying not to pop a boner the whole session, you know?"

The whole session, every time you needed help and he came to give you tips, he couldn't keep his eyes off of your ass and the way you bent over.

He wiped the saliva from your lips as he took his fingers back, half lidded eyes blinking slowly, his breathing laboured, and red hot ears- the textbook definition of sex appeal staring right at you.

"Take them off."

You didn't need to be told twice.

You lifted your hips, shimmying your shorts and panties down your legs until you could flick them off of your feet.

Minho's palm splayed across your stomach, pulling you back against his chest as he leant over your shoulder to watch his own actions. He drew tight little circles around your clit with his thumb, slipping the two spit covered middle fingers past your slippery folds- into your entrance to the first knuckle, until he realised your eyes were shut.

He shook you slightly, nibbling on the shell of your ear. "Come on, watch."

You shuddered out a breath, letting your chin touch your chest as you looked down, flushed face- watching his ring finger dissapear into you with every centimetre.

He groaned every time you squeezed around him, pushing further in and being met with no resistance apart from your warm walls pulsing- making his cock throb against your back.

"Look how wet you are," he whispered, pulling out until only the tip of his finger was left inside you so that you could see how it glistened, before he began to fuck into you.

If you had your wits about you, you probably could've teased him back about how his hard on was straining behind you- feeling the wet spot his precum was making seep into your bunched up top. But you didn't.

You could only let your moans get louder as he pushed a second finger into you.

"Oh- fuck, Minho," you whined, your nails digging into his thighs as you squirmed against him.

"Feels good?"

"So good," you mewled as his fingers bullied that spongy spot inside you that had your toes curling.

The movements of his arm was strangely erotic, watching his veins with a bitten lip, watching the tendons in his wrist flex and relax with every thrust of his fingers. Everything about Lee Minho was erotic.

The two of you watched your pussy flutter as he increased his pace, causing your arousal to drip down his fingers- your walls spasming as you got closer with every circle of his thumb on your clit.

"M-Minho, I'm close," you whimpered against his neck, turning your head to try and stave off your orgasm.

Your legs twitched and shook more with every second, and he could feel your body tighten against him as that knot in your abdomen wound up to its breaking point.

"Cum for me."

And you did, because your hypothesis that him saying 'for me' could make you do anything was true.

You released the breath you were holding as you came against him, Minho's hand keeping you against him like a vice so that he didn't miss any part of your climax. He captured your lips with his own again, swallowing down all of the desperate moans that were tumbling out as he continued to thrust his fingers to work you through it.

He listened to your breathing, waited until you finally slumped against him, finally relaxed- before he pulled out.

"Oh fuck," you sighed blissfully, taking a second to regain your senses.

When you opened your eyes again and Minho had his fingers deep in his mouth, you were suddenly reminded that he hadn't cum- and was very clearly still hard.

He watched you swivel around, resting on your knees in front of him, unable to keep your eyes from the bulge in his sweatpants. Then it was his turn to blush as he glanced down at the mess above his crotch- the fabric soaked with his dribbling precum. Minho smiled bashfully, leaning back on his hands as if to put himself on display, and you wondered how he could still look so confident and in his element when he was clearly embarrassed. It was so sexy.

He was just so sexy.

He cocked his eyebrow at you as if to ask what you were going to do about it.

You reached over slightly, biting your lip as you shuffled closer, starting to pull his sweatpants and boxers down to free his cock from its straining confines.

"Good girl."

He was going to be the death of you.

You left them at his thighs, not bothering to even take them off before you could resist the urge to clasp your hands around him any longer. Squeezing his base hard, you looked up to observe his eyes flutter shut when you started to stroke him up and down. He was leaking all over your knuckles so you shimmyed down to lower your mouth to his tip- resting on your forearms.

As quick as his eyes shut, they reopened again so that he could gasp at the image of you on the floor in front of him- ass in the air, kitten licking his tip to try and catch all the precum before it dribbled down.

"Look at you," he cooed, "so pretty."

You smiled at his praise, swirling your tongue over the top of him one last time before you took him into your mouth. You let your spit dribble down him messily, if his loud groaning was anything to go on, he was enjoying the wetness as your hands spread it across his length.

"That's it, fuck yeah."

The way he was reacting- god, you'd do anything he wanted.

What a man.

As if he could sense your desire to please him, he rested his weight on one hand, the other coming up to gently push down on the back of your head.

"Can you take more?"

Your eyes blinked up, keeping your lips sealed around him and letting your jaw fall slack so you could push him further until the top of his cock was hitting the back of your throat.

"Oh, perfect," he groaned out as he watched you suck and jerk him off at the same time, hollowing your cheeks and lowering as much as you could- your tongue tracing the veins along his length.

Minho threw his head back, his fingers curling on top of your hair and intertwining with your hair as he spurred your movements on with a little gentle encouragement. His hips bucked up every now and then- unable to stay down on the ground as you drew him closer to his orgasm.

"Fuck."

His voice cracked a little when one of your hands left his cock to scratch at his chest, your nails tickling his abs as your ran your fingers over his torso- feeling the way his muscles tightened up and constricted.

"I'm gonna cum, fuck."

You picked up the pace a little and his knees pulled upwards. He planted his feet into the yoga mat as his toes curled and he had to abandon his hold on your head to steady himself.

"Ah, keep going- don't stop.. just like that."

This gorgeous man was about to fucking cum in your mouth, the motion alone could've brought you to the edge again without any stimulation.

"Gonna swallow for me, right?" He moaned shamelessly, "take it all in that pretty mouth?"

Absolutely.

God yes.

With little hesitation, Minho dropped back onto his elbows when he finally came, his shoulders and chest heaving- flushed and red and doused in a thin layer of sweat that made him look twice as sexy as before.

"Oh fuck, that's it."

You sucked on the tip of his cock while he was shooting warm white ropes down your throat, and he was half convinced you were trying to milk him for all he could give as your hands continued to stroke him at that torturous pace. Bordering on overstimulation, you waited until he was twitching and his thick thighs were desperately closing in on your arms before you let him go- releasing your lips with a pop.

"Sorry," you smiled bashfully, wiping your mouth with the back of your palm.

He laughed exasperatedly and caught his breath, flopping down on his back. He kept you in his gaze as you put your underwear and shorts back on, his head propped up by his folded arms.

"Y/n, don't switch classes."

Switch classes? As if.

You were never going to switch classes anyway as soon as you found out he didn't run the beginner ones. He was the treat for the mind and body, not the yoga.

"Same time tomorrow?" You smiled coyly, watching a large grin spread onto his features.

"Good girl."

Taglist: @linos-kitten @agi-ppangx @milf-ivy @stayinlimbo @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @azuna-sz @linocz @skzooluvr

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winskzer · 1 year ago

Text

PLUTO !

CHARACTERS ! vampire!lee minho, human!reader [ft. human!kim seungmin, servant!han jisung]

GENRE ! horror/thriller—vampire!au. “romance”. smut. minors dni.

SYNOPSIS ! when your fiancé, seungmin, fails to return home after notifying you of his departure from count minho's estate, you decide to search for answers yourself.

WORDS ! 12.2k more or less

THIS FIC CONTAINS ! writing inspired by the various varieties of dracula. horror [vampirism. gore—body horror: details of blood and bloodsucking. spiders. strange creatures. nightmares and overall very lucid dreams. allusions to character death.] hypnosis. hallucinations. manipulation and gaslighting. kidnapping? and references to religion [christianity/catholicism], prayers and comparisons to a Higher Power™. mentions of food. infidelity and smut [one wet dream. pussy eating—a lil bush appreciation. hair pulling. big dick minho. grinding. fingering. worship. term master used once. degradation—whore shaming. choking. nipple play/breast fondling. lots of spit. squirt n cum.]

💌 extremely self indulgent. all the thanks and love in the world to the homie, @cosmicbyeol for beta-ing for me n overall being an incredible help !!! 🥺 also, as always, accepting feedback and constructive criticism!!

The last three weeks have been weary, to say the least. You had been elated as your fiancé, Seungmin, was scheduled to arrive back in the city after a nearly two-month-long business trip. With the day of his return steadily approaching, you found yourself excitedly performing various small tasks in preparation for the moment you finally see him again. Then the big day arrives and Seungmin is nowhere to be found. No big deal; perhaps his arrival is a bit late, or he may need time to himself to unwind after long travels. If anything, he’ll show up at your door the next day with flowers and a gift, ready to tell you all about his journey and the people he’d made connections with.

Then the fourth day comes, and by that point, you’re knocking on his front door but to no answer. You stroll past his home on your evening walks and the lights aren’t on. You’ve revisited the post office, checked in with relatives; and still, nothing. Seungmin is seemingly lost to space and time. By the sixth day, you’ve written a letter to Count Minho, the friend and business partner that Seungmin had been staying with; explaining the situation and the fact that you’ll be visiting while in search of Seungmin.

Count Minho is a mystery to you. Seungmin never spoke with you about his relations with the Count, and you never pried into the specifics of his work business. From what you do know, Seungmin’s work involves him being in contact with several different people from real estate to archaeologists and historians, to priesthoods and other religious leaders. You simply assumed Count Minho had been one of the aforementioned, or possibly an artifact seller or buyer; as Seungmin is interested in the hobby himself, and has countless other buyers and sellers he knows. While the Count is a mystery, you feel that there is a possibility that he can lead you back into the arms of your lover.

After a few days of planning and packing, you finally decide to get started on your journey. By the Sunday of the third week, you’re lodging with some very nice people in the town nearest to Count Minho’s estate—which is only about a two-hour distance away—you choose to stay in the village to get the word out about Seungmin.

The townsfolk are a welcoming and lively bunch. You were fed, rested, and told stories of both local legends and the juiciest gossip around town. On the eve of your final night in town before you join the Count, you mentioned him, and the room fell silent. A feeling of unease weaved its way into the small kitchen you’d been standing in. The two women beside you failed to meet your gaze. You had already been told of the creatures said to be lurking through the forests between town and the area of the Count’s estate. A classic story of a wolfman who is out to kidnap unsuspecting young men and women; only brought up because of very recent alleged sightings.

A third woman finally spoke up. Urging you to forego your plan of visiting what she called such a vile and off-putting man. There’s a legend about the man who lives in the castle at the edge of the forest—whom you presume to be Count Minho—who comes into town during the night of the first full moon of the spring season, with the sole purpose of terrorizing people in their homes; feasting on their organs and drinking their blood. The last occurrence happened nine springs ago: a family of five, two completely drained of blood and tossed to the side, with another two torn piece-by-piece; left mixed in a pool of wasted blood. There had been one remaining survivor, eyes removed from their sockets, who only could say one thing: “He called himself God.”

Though the story terrified you—you refused to let that stop you. If Count Minho is some extraordinary beast, then let you be the one to stop him if it means you get to become one with Seungmin again.

Alas, the day to meet Count Minho has come, and the women you shared dinner with last night are appalled to hear that you were insistent on making your way to Count Minho’s estate. Knowing that they cannot stop you, they wish you luck and pray for you, gifting you a crucifix for safety on your journey.

By the time you approach Count Minho’s estate, it is about an hour after sundown. The sky begins to dim rapidly, as the former golden-pink hue of the sky begins to turn into a deep purple and later fading into black. The temperature drops by the hour but thankfully the winter season is coming to an end. The snow is already clearing up, and in a couple days it will have been long gone and forgotten for generous showers of rain.

Your arrival, predestined and arranged to be brought by carriage, led you here. And as you pull into the gates of the estate, an unsettling feeling hits you. Deep in the pit of your stomach as if something had crawled inside of you and is now scratching to be freed. Despite that, the feeling of discomfort quickly begins to wash over you, seemingly dispersing into fascination—like a group of butterflies or a bouquet of flowers flourished within your body and spirit. You feel a lot lighter, elevated as if a veil was pulled over you.

You can hardly see the castle in the darkness, but if you strain your eyes hard enough, you may be able to see the silhouette of the grand estate. Though that’s no use, the surrounding forest, and deep black sky work as a void, shielding away any ounce of natural light, encompassing the castle within its secrets. The moon, nearly full, and friendly to those who respect it, is useless as the structure of the castle casts away the inquisitive nature of the celestial body—nothing will be brought to light or justice tonight.

The carriage, drawn by three black horses, halts in front of the main entrance. Several long, white, cylinder candles light up the main door of the Count’s castle. The entrance is similar to that of a cathedral’s—two heavy-looking doors adorned with indescribable red patterns; swirling into shapes that seemingly recreate human-like faces. It’s vague. At a simple glance, the patterns reflected by the candlelight look like faces, but the longer you look at them you realize otherwise. The patterns seemingly have no rhyme or reason, endless red swirls that are simply just decorations.

Atop the door is a large arch, and in the dead center is a sculpture of a man—perhaps it’s of the Count. In the brief flicker of the flame, you can see the face of the sculpture. Its face is horrid, angry even; a permanent scowl displayed. But in that short second, you notice its eyes, big and red, fixated directly on you. There’s a chill that runs down your spine in that brief moment of eye contact. And while every nerve in your body warns you, there are matters that the Count needs to assist you with that are bigger than just a feeling.

In your deep thought, one of the doors opens with a loud screech, almost like the scream of someone. It garners a gasp from you, shaking you out of your head and back into reality. Before you know it, your feet are moving faster than your brain and you step out of the carriage. Collecting your bags and holding them tightly, thanking the coachman for bringing you safely. As you turn back to the door, it’s open wider than before, but still, the Count is nowhere in sight.

You walk closer, hand reaching up to touch the door and you enter, eyes unable to find a resting place. There are candles everywhere, several of them as if there are no electrical lights within the place, despite the huge chandelier hanging from above. The smell of the place does not come from the candles—it’s something else that draws you in, a familiar scent perhaps from your past, but you’re unable to put your finger on it. You step further into the home and when you do, the door behind you slams shut, making you jump and turn back.

The slam is followed by an unsettling silence, practically deafening. You call out.

“Hello?” You look around. Just ahead of you is a long hallway, lit up with candles. You’re not sure how long the hallway is, as at a certain point, the light from the flames is no longer visible, fading into a pitch-black blanket. The walls are decorated with cobwebs and a boring gold and red damask; the colors are fading, or at the very least very dusty and in need of upkeep. The floorboards are wooden and when you shift, they make an awful creaking noise. This castle has been around for a long time—centuries even, likely and believably kept within the Count’s family. Modernity has not caught up to it.

“Hello?” You begin again. “I’m Y/N. I wrote to you a few weeks ago as I had some inquiries for you about Seungmin.”

Your voice trails off. There’s a cloud of unease that reigns above you, and still, as you stand in the foyer of this already strange place, there’s a familiar warmth that surrounds you. When you breathe in, your chest expands, hair brushing against your neck as you sigh in both contentment and exhaustion.

“Good evening,” You heard his voice, but you hadn’t heard him come over. “I have been expecting you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but any aforethought words get caught in your throat at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. You catch his eyes immediately, locked into his stare, lost in the deep sands of his chocolate brown eyes. There’s a soft yet teasing nature behind them and it draws you in, latching onto you. He looks to be a lot younger than the age you heard him to be. His lips curve into a smile as he sticks his hand out for you to shake. Though, quite frankly, you’re not sure if you’re supposed to bow to him or not.

“Yes, um,” You shake his hand, giving a small, shy smile. You’re unable to take your eyes off of him.

“Come on. You must be cold and tired, let us go sit.” He speaks before you get the chance, letting you collect your thoughts. “Feel free to leave your things there. They will be collected.”

You nod, setting your belongings down and following Count Minho deeper into the castle. You’re unsure if it is because you’re a bit tired, or some very serious architectural error, but the interior of the castle is like a labyrinth of sorts. The Count opens a door you initially assumed to be a room—but instead turned into another hall of rooms. He turns left on his heels and into a side room, you follow along.

The room you enter is small but comfortable enough for three or four people to have their space. Ahead of you are big windows, covered with thick black curtains that scrape against the floor. To your right is a fireplace, a huge flame already burning and keeping the room nice and toasty. On the right are three large bookcases that reach the ceiling, the multicolored spines of the books add little pops of color. In front of you are two velvet chairs facing the fireplace, divided by a porcelain side table and atop of it are two books and a tea set.

The room is very neat overall. A couple of misplaced books here and there, sat on the floor. Otherwise, it’s eerily neat. As if the Count rarely uses the room but chronically dusts because everything is just for decoration. The Count takes a seat and as he beckons you over, eyes diverted from your face, as he pours you a cup of tea. You move hastily, sitting at the chair across from him.

“Hibiscus,” He says, a small smile on his face. “It also seems that I’m forgetting my manners. Those in the town call me the Count, however, you are welcome to call me Minho.”

“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet with and host me,” You begin, ready to get to the point. The Count—Minho—nods. “As I mentioned in the letter sent, I’ve arrived here to look for my fiancé, Seungmin. I’ve only received letters from his arrival and departure, and not many in between those times; which is unlike him on his usual work trips. It’s been weeks now, three to be exact. And since you are a friend of his, I was hoping you knew of his whereabouts.”

“I fear I will be of little to no help to you, my dear.” His choice of words, while peculiar, are selected carefully. “Seungmin is a near and dear friend to my heart and I truly hope that he is safe, wherever he may be. The thing I can say is, he had been acting a bit—” He pauses, seemingly pondering on the right word to say before continuing. “A bit…abnormal.”

“He had been here at your home for nearly two months, what exactly do you mean by abnormal?” You inquire, pressing Minho to say more, not caring of how your tone might sound.

“He began to have these dreams, and some active hallucinations. Completely plagued by them. Night terrors, I’d say. He feared whatever he had seen, and while he initially confided in me about it, he soon concluded that I was untrustworthy. Somehow, Seungmin lost touch with reality.”

Plagued by nightmares is something that you take note of. A month into Seungmin’s stay at the Count’s castle, you began to have these vivid dreams. Some good, some horrendously terrifying and, well, a large percentage of particularly electrifying dreams. The most recent—waves crashing together on a violent stormy night on the sea. You’re aboard a ship, standing in the center of the forecastle, and all around you are piled up bodies; and there’s blood on your hands and arms, staining your skin. Blood soaking into the fabric of your clothing. It felt immensely real. You felt the unease of the rocking boat, you heard the crashing of the waves and the squawks of the birds circling overhead. Weirdest of all, you could smell the blood; almost craving it. The dream ends with the sounds of a heart beating and the rushing of blood flooding to your brain. And then there’s nothingness.

The Count takes a sip of his tea, and you choose to follow suit. Though, the tea is bitter, even with the added sugar, and not slightly tart as Hibiscus tends to be. Quite frankly, the taste is gross, but you drink out of respect. You do your best to keep a straight face at the taste, quickly setting down the cup. A small smile appears on Minho’s face, exhaling with a short laugh.

There’s a knock at the entrance of the door. In the frame of the door stands a slender figured man who seems to be a tad shorter than the Count. He’s rather cute with his medium length hair and round cheeks, though he wears a blank expression on his face. He turns to you, doing a brief bow and opening his mouth to speak.

Minho interjects first, walking towards the other man. “This is Han. Very simply, Mr. Han is my servant. Forgive me, Han here, was supposed to see to your arrival, but he had other obligations to take care of.”

The two look at each other, but only the Count smiles. Han keeps the same stoic facial expression, looking more exhausted than anything. The Count begins speaking once again. “Y/N, here, is the fiancé of Mr. Kim. You remember Mr. Kim, don’t you, Han? Y/N informs me that Mr. Kim didn’t arrive safely back home, now is that right?”

The Count looks to you, and you stand from your seat, nodding. “I’ve gotten a letter of his departure but he hasn’t been home yet,” You let out a deep sigh. “I just miss him so much. I hope that he’s safe wherever he is.”

The air in the room is thick with tension. For the three of you, this has to be an outstanding situation right? For you, as young as you are, to have the love of your life—the man you plan to marry and give yourself to—to go missing without much word. And for the Count, who has been a longtime friend of Seungmin, having to deal with the weight of potentially being the last one to see Seungmin.

“A friend of Count Minho is a friend of mine,” Jisung smiles. “I’ll do my best to help you find Mr. Kim.”

Han and the Count step off to the side to exchange words briefly. Han turns to leave and the Count turns back to you. “Hungry by chance?”

The dining room is rather spacious, and includes a fireplace, which seems to be a running theme within the Castle. The wooden floor panels are mostly covered by a large, deep red rug. Red is the main color of the decor of the room; the velvet dining chairs and all the flowers,—from the pansies to the roses—even the dinner plates; are red. Despite this, it’s clear that Count Minho has quite a bit of money to have afforded all of this: from paintings to small artifacts that decorate end tables and small statues of gargoyles. Perhaps he is indeed a collector of sorts.

Minho pulls out your chair, pushing it back in once you’re seated. He then takes his seat at the other end of the table. There’s a spread of food on the table and various bottles of wine, to which the Count motions for you to help yourself to. After making yourself a plate, you pour yourself a glass of wine—a red, twirling the liquid within the glass, foregoing the tradition of smelling the aroma and instead shooting it straight back. The wine is rather sweet and washes down smoothly; more like juice than a wine.

Count Minho watches you eat with inquisitive eyes, studying you. He drinks from his wine glass as he stares at you. “What exactly do you know about your fiancé’s career?”

You meet his gaze, eyes fixated on you with a squint; it all makes you a bit uncomfortable. It’s like Minho can read every bit of you with just a simple look.

“Not very much.” You admit.

“Oh?” The Count is especially interested now. “Had he told you anything about me then?”

“No. Only that you were a long-time friend.” You pour another glass of wine. “Although..”

You trail off, unsure of if you should mention the story you heard from the town. You look at the Count, and he raises an eyebrow to you.

“I had been staying in the town nearby for a few days before coming here. And well, I’m not too sure how to explain it. The only things I know of you come from word of mouth, and well, they aren’t very good.”

“Go On.”

You recite to him the story you had been told about the man in the castle who would come into the town and terrorize its citizens. At the end of the story, Minho erupts in laughter. He’s holding his stomach and chuckling, wiping faux tears from his eyes.

“Let us just say, I have more valuable things to do than whatever that is,” Minho rolls his eyes. “I only ask because you intrigue me. That, and I never thought of Seungmin as someone who would lie to their lover, really.”

The word lie is interesting. You’d always perceived Seungmin to be an honest man, really. The two of you forged your relationship on the basis of being fully honest with each other. You never thought you would ever come close to doubting Seungmin nor his truthfulness, his faithfulness even; but Count Minho’s tone of voice—the seriousness coating every bit of breath he takes—along with the fact that you don’t truly know of Seungmin’s work, has you second guessing yourself. Now it’s your turn to press him.

“Continue.”

“I’m saying, you don’t know what the man does for a living but you choose to throw away all inhibitions and potentially roll yourself into danger for a man you almost transparently know next to nothing about.” The Count pauses to sip more of his wine. “Seungmin was into things of the rather unusual variety, I’ll have you know. If you want, I can show you the things that he and I were discussing.”

You take Minho up on his offer, and he gives you a small smile in return.

“While I’d love to get to work on such matters tonight, I’m afraid I must go to sleep. I have some important matters to tend to in the morning. Shall I show you where you’ll be staying?”

—

You follow Minho, out of the dining room and down the endless hallway. The wallpaper is practically peeling, and the higher ceiling riddled with cobwebs notably hasn’t been cleaned up in quite a longtime. The obvious decades old paintings that were placed against the walls had been covered in dust and grime, dimming the vibrancy intended by their various artists. He then stops at a white door, turning the knob to open it. The room is dark and cavernous, but with the help of a lit candle sharing its warmth with the candles previously naked and cold, you see that it’s actually quite spacious and bright. White and light brown decor gives the room a light and more alive look in comparison to the thick dreariness of the parts of the castle you’ve seen so far. It’s almost like venturing into another world, or peeking back into an oddly shaped past.

“Breakfast will be served early in the morning. Sleep well.” And with a smile, Minho exits, closing the door behind him.

In the silence, thoughts begin to fester, nipping away at your well-being. You’ve gotten next to nothing so far from this meeting with the Count, but tomorrow is a new day and you hope he can give you insight into this world of Seungmin that seems to be unraveling. It’s confusing—for a brief moment you find yourself questioning your decisions. Have all of your life choices led you to this exact moment? The Count is vague in his ways of doing things—it’s like he’s not even trying to hide the potential of his true nature. He appears like any other person, but there’s something more to him than what meets the eye. You’ve been caught in a web of mystery, slowly sinking deeper and deeper.

You find that your bags are sitting next to the bed and you reach in to find your night clothes. Once you lift your shirt over your head, you cannot help but feel like eyes are watching you. Covering yourself, you scan the room in an attempt to soothe your psyche, and as expected, you remain completely alone. Shaking the feeling, chalking it up to being nervous about being in yet another new place, you continue to change your clothing. Sitting at the edge of the bed, you reach into your bag to pull out a letter you received from Seungmin.

“My dearest heart,

There is not a moment that goes by where I am not thinking of you. On my lonely and rather daunting work evenings, I look to the sky and am reminded that we share the same view together. You are the one thing keeping me balanced and sane. I know that you are waiting for me to return, and I want nothing more than to return to the safety of your warmth. Until then, look to the sky and be reminded of me.

K.S”

Once finished reading, you press the letter against your chest. The second to last letter you received. Initially, it was rather hard to sleep at night after you received it. You had longed for your lover—missed his existence to no end, and you still do. There is nothing in the world that you would rather have than the gift of your lover returning to safety. You long for Seungmin, aching for the chance to finally touch him again. To hug, to kiss, to feel every inch of him once again. Today marks the third week since you had last heard from Seungmin, and from tonight onward, you demand to get the answers you deserve.

You gently place the letter onto the nightstand. You kneel onto the floor, elbows pressed against the bed with your hands together in prayer. You had never been religious, nor, in a situation in which you felt you needed to pray before—but it has become a habit of the last few weeks. Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply.

“Dear God,” You begin. “Please align me with my lover. Please return him to me safely.”

Pulling back the covers, you snuggle into the bed, drifting off into an idyllic night's sleep.

You’re stuck. Seemingly, your body is paralyzed; hands resting at your sides, legs pressed together. You try to move, starting with a pinky and then your foot, but the longer time goes on, the more your ability to move lessens. Unable to even move your head left or right. You’re completely stuck. Not to mention, stuck in some complete void of a room, unable to see anything.

There’s a vibration around you. It’s a subtle vibration, though you can feel your body swaying back and forth as if suspended in the air somehow. Just then, there’s a spotlight. It shines in your face before spirling in circles, lighting up various parts of the area you are in; but still, there’s nothing but darkness, even in the brightness of the light. Just until you view a quick flash of something briefly catching the light. The light runs from the figure before spinning back to shine itself on the mystery.

Despite its distance away, you can see the thickness of the short hairs that decorate the body of the arachnid. The many eyes of the spider sparkle in the light, its eight moving legs speeding their way over to you. You watch as it clicks its mouth, salivating as it makes its way to its fresh catch.

Here you are: a mere fly in the realm of the spider.

At a blink of an eye, the spider is circling you, inching closer and closer until you can no longer see it from your horizontal position. Suddenly! It lurches, jumping atop of you. The spider sinks its fangs into you, piercing your skin harshly, burning. The attack against your skin causes blood to splash everywhere, spraying onto your face and body. You shriek in horror—attempting to send signals for your body to wake up from its terror. Your entire body burns; throat dry and brittle from yelling so much. The area around where the spider’s fangs are latched inside of you, both itches and stings. Feels like you’re getting pumped for your blood yet also injected with its venom.

If possible, your body gets stiffer. Cold. Vision fading.. And fading until there’s nothingness. All you can feel is the body of the eight-legged creature draped over you; taking and taking freely.

Despite the nightmare, you feel rather refreshed waking up. A minimal amount of light shines through the curtains. Stepping out of bed to the faint smell of food, you yawn and stretch briefly before heading to the closed door. Stepping into the hall from the confines of the room you spent the night in, you take a few steps across the hall to look out into the window. It looks bright and comfortable outside, a stark difference between the drab, dreariness of the castle’s interior.

When you arrive at the dining room, there’s a full spread of food. Toast, tea, and a plethora of fruits and berries. In the daylight, the interior of the dining room looks a lot dustier, as if it's barely used. And to be fair, it seems as though only the Count and his dedicated servant occupy the estate. Which you wonder about—does Count Minho have no family? And what about Mr. Han? Any lovers? Who exactly is the Count and what was Seungmin’s business with him?

“Will Count Minho be eating with us?” You ask as you take a seat.

“Sir is taking care of some business this morning. This breakfast is all yours.”

“You won’t be eating?”

“Ah,” Jisung sighs with a smile. “I had a big breakfast earlier.”

With that, Jisung lets you begin eating. He simply just stands there, and while his eyes aren't on you, you can feel him observing your presence, similar to Minho.

“So, Mr. Han,” Playing with your food as you speak. “How long have you worked for Count Minho?”

“Only a few years. Feels like a lifetime, though,” He turns to you, a small smile on his face.

“Are you also a friend of Seungmin?”

“I’d only spoken to Mr. Kim a few times before his most recent visit. I typically stay out of all of Count Minho’s business affairs. I prefer to deal with the home side of things,” Jisung nods. “Speaking of, you’re free to explore the castle if you’d like. The Count won’t return until later.”

“Really? Are you sure he’ll be okay with it?” The opportunity to explore this grand castle piques your interest. You raise your eyebrow towards Han and he nods in response.

“It’s no problem, really. To warn you, some rooms aren’t used as much anymore so they might be a bit untidy. Almost time for some spring cleaning.” Han gives you a short, dorky laugh. He’s adorable, if that’s the word. He seems to be on the more timid side, probably doesn’t speak to many people other than Count Minho on any given day. “Jisung, by the way, you can call me that.”

“It’s nice to officially meet you.” You smile. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

Jisung nods.

“What room did Seungmin stay in?”

“The room that you are staying in.”

The castle looks rather different during the daylight. The hallways feel hollow, completely blank despite the moderate amount of clutter in the form of various books and paintings littering the sidelines. While the idea of a large estate is stunning, it is clearly a bit too much for only the Count and Mr. Han. You wonder if Count Minho has been previously married—or even married at all; to be fair he looks a little young, but it’s possible he’s had a lover in the past. Perhaps that’s why he’s so understanding of your pursuit to find Seungmin.

You return to your room. Beginning at the bedside table, you tour around the room, looking for clues that might help you. Searching the dressers in the room, you make your way over towards the small desk in the far corner. Opening the drawers of the desk, there remains nothing but untouched letter paper. Scanning the area for any unchecked marks, your eyes fall towards the bed. Dropping to your knees, you crawl the short distance to the edge of the bed. Pulling the bed skirt up in anticipation only to be left with nothing but dust bunnies. This initial search leaves you empty handed but you go off to make your way through the rest of the Castle.

The castle is indeed like a labyrinth. Some doors open to an empty, decrepit room of various doors. Admittedly, you’re a bit too afraid to open one of the random doors. You’re not familiar with the layout of the estate, and you refuse to get too deep into this trap of a home. One door opens to a windowless room, and the singular wooden chair in the middle causes you to back out of said room slowly.

Continuing on your pursuit through the endless halls of Count Minho’s estate, you approach a doorless room. Without needing to walk in, you can tell by the bookcases that it’s a library of sorts. Making your way through the entryway of the library, you find that the temperature of the room is noticeably colder than the hall. The library has dark wooden shelves filled with books from the ceiling to the floor, and you know that if Seungmin was here, he’d be able to tell when and where the shelves were constructed. He would always pick up little pieces of knowledge like that—claiming that he didn’t know why yet, but knowing such would help further him in life; and importantly, in his studies.

You run your fingers over the spines of the books as you stroll your ways through the library. There are books spanning across language and subject—the majority of it, completely unidentifiable to you.

You come across a leather-bound book displayed on one of the bookshelves, cover forward. It’s dark, dusty, and might even be a little dirty. The cover of the book itself is twisted, the skin of the book twists and dives into different layers, somehow folding the cover of the book inside of itself. It’s complex and strange, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Just to hold it, the weight of the book is heavy, somehow warming up in temperature. To feel the book, to hold it in your hands, it intrigues you just as much as it disgusts you.

The language of text presented on the pages is unknown to you. The drawings that accompany the writings, however, are disturbing. Dark and detailed illustrations of creatures that you would never have thought of. Upon the first page is a visualization of a winged creature with the distant silhouette of a man. Only there’s a huge eye where the head would be, and its legs are tangled and twisted together. Turning a page, you’re presented with another drawing. An illustration in charcoal of a dark figure. The drawing looks as though it’s been drawn in haste; a rushed, frantic effort. Alongside is another illustration of a mouth—though without ink, the artist did their best to emphasize the splotches of blood that stain the mouth. What stands out the most are the set of razor sharp canines that protrude from the teeth—two sets, specifically. Beholds, the only romanization on the page: Vampyre.

A chill runs down your spine, but you’re unable to remove yourself from the grasp that the book has. Turning page after page, overstimulating yourself with various images of creatures that are likely to lurk in the shadows. The longer you examine, the more your head pounds. Nausea interrupting all plans you may have had. Head spinning and spinning, visions bending and thrawn within itself. Figments of the images you’ve viewed imprinting themselves on your vision in dark splotches like a memory. The new and the strange tangling itself within your memories, hiding within them for safe keeping.

“Y/N?” There’s a light voice that breaks you out of your spell.

When you come to, Count Minho is standing over you, his cold hand pressed against your forehead. You look around the room, sitting in an opposite corner of the library than you originally remembered.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“I’m not too sure,” You sit up straight in your seat. You look towards the open window and the sky outside is completely dark. Somehow, it appears that hours have passed. What a freaky and strange thing.

When you look up at Minho from your position on the chair, you’re immediately pulled into the pools of his eyes, locked in. “You must be hungry, yeah? It’s dinner time.”

Just like last night, Minho leads you to the dining room. Just like last night, he slides your chair out and pushes it in for you. The spread of food tonight is different from last night, and you notice that some of the decor around the room looks different as well. Your vision hasn’t quite recovered from its hectically blurred state, and in your moment of disillusion, none of this interests you.

“Is there something wrong?” Minho asks as he sits. What isn’t wrong? You feel a rather painful shift in your own mood.

“I think I might be a bit tired.” You exhale. Despite aching for the continuous pursuit of knowledge, sickness continues to trail behind you. Uncertainty creeping its way up to the forefront of your thoughts. You’re unable to escape the feeling that there might be something seriously wrong. Anxiety rests in the pit of your stomach, slowly eating away at you. Refusing to look at Minho, you pick at the food on your plate. Honestly, you feel rather sick. Your vision, while still painfully blurry, continues to spin ever so slightly. Placing your hand flat against your forehead to find that you’re burning up on flu type levels. You look across the table toward Minho and your vision doubles, triples, then suddenly you're seeing eight versions of him.

It’s a bit of a hassle to move the heaviness of your hand, fingers slowly creeping up to grasp onto the wine glass. You close your eyes to soothe your vision, taking the glass into your hand fully.

Minho coos. “I was really looking forward to dinner with you; but if you’re tired we can postpone our conversation.”

Taking a sip and allowing it to savor on your tongue. The slight, unsuspecting note of pomegranate makes you smile—something comforting in the mixture of mess you’re currently feeling.

Grace be to God. When you open your eyes, your vision returns to normal. It’s something of a miracle.

“No. It’s fine. That strange book in the library,” You look at Minho and struggle to find the words. All that remains in your head is visuals of every creature you saw depictions of.

“What book?” He doesn’t follow.

“It has drawings of these strange creatures in it. Some kind of horror book, I think it made me a bit sick.”

“I’ll tell Han to search for it so that I can have a look,”

Dinner continues with only a few moments of silence. The topics range from a variety—the original focus of conversation on Seungmin before venturing off elsewhere. Count Minho gives you insight on what he does; referring to himself as someone who studies human nature, communication and our state of existence. He loves the study of humans and thus dedicates his life to it, choosing to be of help in any way he could be. Of which, is how he met Seungmin, and from there, they became partners due to their similar interests. Somewhere, is a layer of information that Count Minho refuses to give up so soon.

“May I walk you to your room?” Minho asks, rather politely, but your room is not too far from your current position. Still, you say yes to him.

Unlike dinner, the very short walk is in total silence, but Minho’s presence is comforting. You reach the door to your room in no time and Minho steps in front of you before you can say anything. The silence continues as Minho and you stare at each other. Though, the silence turns to static when Minho leans in to kiss you. His lips on yours and you don’t even bother to pull away. Instead, you kiss back, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He pulls away in haste, muttering a goodbye before walking off into the darkness of the hall.

You step into your room and therefore, instantly step into a pool of guilt and confusion. Seungmin is so far from the forefront of your mind—for you to indulge in a kiss with another man and to not think once about your lover. What kind of monster have you become?

Once changed into your night clothes, you peel under the covers and you pray. You don’t feel like yourself, and the feeling creeped upon you. The thoughts in your brain are mixed together, both elaborate and unintelligible, a mixture of things you know and things you never knew. Images of those same creatures stain the darkness when you close your eyes, peeling back layers of the person you once knew to be you. Before sleep finally engulfs you, you pray for the guidance of whoever is listening.

Minho guides you towards the bed. Red and black satin sheets fitted across the bed and the pillows. Minho pushes you against the bed and huffs out a short laugh, smirking at you. You bite your lip out of nervousness, peering up at him.

“You’re so beautiful, my rose.” Minho’s hand is soft against the skin of your knee. Lightly, he drags his nails against your thigh, inching closer and closer to the material of your nightgown.

Before he does anything, he leans down to kiss you; eyes closing as your lips work in sync, souls melting together. The kiss deepens for just a moment until Minho pulls back, brown eyes staring into your own. He plants one more quick kiss against your lips before his hands begin working beneath your gown. He slides your dress up to your waist, admiring the softness of your belly and the smoothness of your skin. One kiss above your navel and another kiss below, is all he lets himself have before he gets too deep into it.

You make it easy for him, foregoing underwear to allow your lover easy access. Minho can only scoff, but he shuts himself up with another kiss to your mound. “Just for me, my dear?”

“Only you, love.” You smile at him, motioning for him to come closer. Minho, of course, follows suit. He would give you a billion and one kisses if he could.

When the kiss breaks, Minho drags you towards the edge of the bed. Spreading your legs apart, he drops to his knees beginning his worship of your cunt. Tongue flailing out, slurping up every drop of your wetness, soft lips drenched in your flavor—and there’s no other way Minho would rather have you than at his complete surrender. His hands grip your ass, trying to push you into his face. Lips covered in slick and spit, puckering around your clit, sucking it in; Minho’s head bobbing up and down slightly, moaning into your cunt.

“So fucking delicious,” Minho mumbles, continuing with his feast. Your hands fly to his hair, pulling with every lick and suck he gives you. Moaning freely, not caring if the entire world can hear you. In fact, maybe the entire world should hear you.

Minho eats you sloppily, savoring not only your taste, but the feeling of your cunt against his skin. The feeling of the softness of your pubic hair against his skin is like heaven to him. Sometimes, he’ll spend time rubbing this face against the hair before he dives into your cunt. Not to mention the feeling of your juices soaking into his skin, which he’d use as a natural moisturizer if he could. Minho’s obsessed with every inch of you; from your cunt to your skin, to the very blood that courses through your veins.

His fingers push into you as his tongue swirls against your cunt. His lips suck your clit into his mouth, tongue lightly beating against the tip of the bud. Minho pushes his saliva to the front of his mouth, soaking your clit in a mixture of his spit and your juices.

Your fingers pull against Minho’s hair, tugging harshly against his scalp but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He might even ask you to pull harder. You push Minho against your cunt, slowly grinding your hips against his face. Moans bouncing off the walls as you drip onto Minho’s tongue. Minho takes this opportunity to suck on your clit just a tad harder, triggering your pending orgasm. Eyes rolling to the back of your head allowing you to see colors as warmth rocks through your body. Limbs daring to curl together, Minho doesn’t allow you to move from the hold of his hands nor the warmth of his mouth.

Minho slowly kisses up your body. You can feel the remnants of his kisses even after he’s long gone from a spot because of the wetness on his lips. He kisses at your neck, then your cheek, and finally your lips. Deepening the kiss as he taps his cock against your cunt, you invite him in.

Three long orgasms later, you and Minho are snuggled in bed, snoring softly beside each other. Suddenly, you’re woken up by a loud bang. Looking to your side, you find Minho unbothered, still asleep, chest rising gently with each breath. There’s another bang, louder and possibly closer than last. You slide out of bed, looking back at Minho’s sleeping figure before making your way towards the door, hand reaching for the glass door knob.

There’s another loud crash as you twist the handle of the door. You step into the hall of darkness, wooden floor cold against the bottom of your feet. Closing the door behind you, you venture out into the darkness. The halls of the castle are quiet, unmoving; day in and day out they remain the same, even in the dead of night. It’s rather sorrowsome, actually. So full, yet so empty—the castle feels like it's dying.

Another loud bang. Followed by another and another. One after the other, four beats apart. The knocking appears to get louder with each step you take towards the staircase. You raise your foot to take that first step, there’s another bang once you firmly plant your foot against the stair. Quickly but carefully, you make your way up the staircase. In the near distance, towards the end of the hall presents a glimpse of golden light.

Letting your legs guide you, you make way towards the door at the end of the hall, almost floating. The knocking doesn’t stop, getting louder and louder the closer you get to the door; but when you try to halt, you’re guided to your destination by a sudden force; body stiffening, neck making a sharp turn as you peek into the room. The crackling warmth and light emitted from the fireplace sets a gorgeous, homey scene.

“Help.. Me..”

Your eyes shoot towards the ground until you find the fingertips of a man laying in a puddle of blood. But before your brain can process who the person is, you’re snatched away. Falling fast into a pit of darkness.

You awake in the dead of the night to a knocking at your door. It’s soft and subtle, but has been consistent enough to pull you from your sleep. One knock after the other, four beats between each knock.

Tossing the covers away, you step out of bed. Muscles tough and sore, there’s an unease as you rub the sleep from your eye, feeling as though you’re encumbered in your own head. You take another heavy step, the knocking still not ceasing. One step after another until you reach the handle of the door, and only then does the knocking stop, floorboards creaking as the sound of footsteps shuffles away.

A minute goes by until you decide to open the door. The hallway is dark, the only light is coming from the window across the hall. You look towards the moon—there she is, full in all of her glory, bringing the spring equinox along with her. You walk towards the window, looking down towards the ground and noting that the snow has completely melted. There’s a dark, shadowy figure in your peripheral that breaks your appreciation for nature. Turning in the direction, there’s nothing in the distance. You follow, passing by the kitchen and making your way to the stairs. The shadow dissolves into the darkness at the top of the stairs, beckoning you to chase after it.

Once you reach the top of the stairs, there’s a sliver of light peering from the far end of the hallway. The trek over isn’t that long, and once you’re within a few feet you slowly approach the door, tiptoeing your way over. Creeping up to the doorframe, you hold your breath as you peek into the crack of the room. There’s not much to see, just a steady fire and its continuous cracking. Until you hear a moan and your eyes dart to the location of the sound.

There, you spot Jisung sprawled out on the chaise, half of his limbs hanging off as Minho straddles over him. Attached to his neck, Minho wastes most of his meal, letting blood slip from his mouth and drip down Jisung’s neck. You gasp, fully taken aback by the action you are witnessing. The townspeople were right to warn you—the Count is a monster. Or maybe something worse.

After the accidental announcement of your arrival, Jisung locks eyes with you. Your gaze, however, is stolen by Minho once he turns around, peering up from his feeding position. He’s wide-eyed with blackness covering the entirety of his eyes, lips and chin stained red with blood. Once Minho realizes it’s you who interrupted his feed, he gives you a wide, bloody smile—showing off the two sets of fangs at the top row of his teeth, the outer fangs just slightly bigger than the inner fangs. For a moment, time seems to slow down; you watch as a small droplet of blood drips from one of Minho’s fangs, and before it fully releases, Minho swipes it with his tongue, licking over his fangs for extra blood.

Before you can turn back and run, Minho is already behind you in the blink of an eye.

“Unfortunately, my dear, running is useless,” The Count grabs you by the collar of your pajamas and forcefully drags you into the room. You fight him off but your hits do nothing to him. Letting go of you, Minho pushes you onto the ground. “Stay.”

Jisung stands up from his position laying across the chaise, dipping a rag into a bowl of water sitting on the side table. You watch Jisung with inquisitive eyes as he wrings out the rag, carefully cleaning up the marks and the blood stained to his neck. Minho, meanwhile, is facing the fireplace with his arms crossed and one finger pressed to his lips. Jisung finishes cleaning himself up, and begins moving around to avoid eye contact with you. In horror, you watch as Jisung takes a tarantula out of its cage and places it into his mouth, chewing as he turns to walk out of the room—leaving you alone and helpless in the clutches of Count Minho.

Minho tsks once, then once more. A hand on his hip as he shakes his head. He extends his arm, quickly swiping away all of the candles and books the rest atop the fireplace as a loud, angry cry escapes from his chest.

“I thought that maybe,” Minho begins. “Just maybe. I’d have an extra night or two before having to do this to you. You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”

Minho turns to you. An insincere smile on his face, fangs hidden away but some of Jisung’s blood still covers his face. You spring to your feet, not wanting to stay on the ground when it’s clear that Minho has the advantage. Backing away from him slowly, eyes searching for anything to use as a weapon, though Minho can tell your every move.

“Did you..did you do that to Seungmin?” You’re near tears. They don’t fall, only brimming along your tear ducts.

Minho’s jaw clenches at the mention of Seungmin. “You really do care about him, huh? Seungmin this and Seungmin that. I fear your admiration for your lover has made you blind. You have played right into the palm of my hand, little lamb.”

“You want to know where Seungmin is? He’s dead.” Minho laughs. A deep belly laugh. “Though, it wasn’t me who did it.”

“Years ago, I showed Sir Kim something that I thought he could handle, only to find out otherwise. I promised him knowledge, the freedom to view the extensive, valuable, book collection within my library, at any time he chooses; and most importantly, the opportunity to discover something otherworldly—new to him, although very old to me. Something that could provide him everything he’s ever wanted. At least, that’s what this power did for me. Seungmin wanted to become a new man, and I was the only one who could offer that opportunity.”

“Then, two months ago, Seungmin showed up at the door. Exclaiming that while he wasn’t ready in the past, this time he’s ready to surrender his soul. Turns out, it was a ploy to kill me. I should’ve known better, truthfully. Seungmin is smart, almost as cunning as I, and well, he very nearly gave me a run for my money. But let’s just say, how should I put this, I have someone who is willing to do anything I say. Including kill.”

You shake your head in disgust, backing up from Minho; but he pursues.“What are you?”

“I once referred to myself as a God. However, over the years, I realized that I am God. I have seen men with beast-like abilities and looks, men with the ability to rise from the dead, but the simple power of those imbeciles doesn’t even come close to mine. It’s something entirely different.”

“I mean, you read that book didn’t you? A dull-looking half-dead creature with fangs? You’re quite different from Seungmin, but you’re still special. You might not have understood the text, but perhaps, you used context clues?” Minho continues, “You might not have known it, but your fiancé was a part of a very dark world, angel. You see, he was actually the one that wrote the book. And he left you blind to it all, not knowing of his inevitable future. And now, yours.”

Minho winks and moves closer to you with each word, though you take steps back, not wanting to be too close to him. Eventually your back hits the wall and Minho almost pressed against you. His sharp nails come up to your neck, tracing over until he finds exactly what he was looking for, inhaling deeply.

“Are you going to kill me, too?”

“There,” He taps the tip of his finger against your neck, just above your collarbone. The sharpness of the nail presses into your skin, breaking the initial layer, not deep enough to cause bleeding. “If I put my mouth right here, I could drain all of you in less than six seconds. Kill you? Heavens no, I actually believe that you’re pretty valuable to me.”

Minho looks into your eyes, passing along discomfort in the form of a stare. Then he pouts at you, mockingly.

“No need to be scared. I mean, it’s not like you can ever leave me, at this point, so it’s best you put your fear aside.” Minho smirks once more. “From the night you’ve arrived, you’ve been drinking my blood. I’m already inside of you. I know every little thought in that pretty little mind of yours, I’m in all of your dreams. And guess what? You will never, ever be able to get rid of me.”

“Now tell me, has Seungmin ever touched you like this?” Minho asks, the tips of his fingers tracing against your neck, palm cupping around your throat, he stands firm behind you. There’s dense heat against Minho’s fingertips and a slight burning sensation from the sharpness of his nails; it’s such an intense feeling, unlike any you’ve experienced before. As electrifying as the feeling of his touch is, it’s also revolting, horrendous. There was a spark whenever Seungmin touched you, but Minho’s touch is different; it burns in all of the right ways.

“I could give you things Seungmin would have never even dreamt about,” Minho’s voice is soft, silky. The heat of his breath against your skin tickles, but ignites a particular burning of desire. Minho is something similar to the devil and still, despite it all, there’s a familiar heat that creeps up within you. “I could open doors for you that were previously closed. Anything you want, could be yours. All you have to do is accept all of me.”

The hand that had previously been resting against the softness of your belly, is held out for you to accept. You stare down at his hand, biting your lip at the temptation. Minho plants his lips against your neck to give you one small kiss after another.

For the sake of Seungmin, you want to turn away. If this had been just a few days ago, you would have likely fought in honor of Seungmin. The entire reason you’re even here, in the Count’s castle, is because of Seungmin. And still, in spite of all of that, as much as it makes you feel physically ill, stomach turning at the thought, every single fiber of your being craves Minho. You can feel the heat of your bodies meshed together every time you imagine what it’s like to have him between your legs. When he looks into your eyes, it’s familiar—like home.

Every alarm is firing off and still, you put your hand in Minho’s—accepting his offer. Minho’s hand interlocks with yours, and you can feel him smile in between his tiny butterfly kisses. His hand holds yours tightly, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. Plump lips dragging against your skin, until he stops momentarily—taking a deep breath. Minho lets out a sharp, rich groan; knees throbbing as he bucks into you. And it’s at that moment you can feel Minho’s cock pressed heavily against your ass. Minho holds you against him, hips moving against your ass slightly, as he breathes in your scent.

The moment is broken once you feel four razor sharp punctures in your neck. Minho’s low, guttural moans vibrate against your skin as his teeth penetrate layers of skin. The feeling is strange—it stings and burns, but also has a light cooling sensation.

With the more blood Minho takes, the more his eyes fade into black until the whites are no longer exposed. Minho is absolutely captivated by the taste of your blood. It’s absolutely bewitching. He can taste every memory, every inch of trauma and pain, all of your love and most importantly, Minho can taste a bit of your soul—completely unguarded and vulnerable; ready for him to take and do as he pleases with.

Minho continues draining you of your blood. It’s around this time that your vision becomes blurry, the room grows disorienting, tipping from side to side with each blink. You’re clutching Minho’s hand as tight as you possibly can be, jaw slacking and freely giving away soft moans. Even though he’s drinking from you, Minho never stops the movement of his hips. Hand clutching your own, pressing your arm against your stomach firmly. His other hand is tight on your hip, holding you in place. Somehow, your body feels both light and heavy, like you’re nailed to your spot but also elevated, floating in space. Your eyelids are getting heavier, a milky white film covering your eyes as Minho continues to take and take from you.

By the time you feel like your legs are going to give out, Minho gives up on drinking from you. “I can’t believe you’ve been hidden from me all this time, my little lamb.”

Minho whispers into your ear, voice equal parts soft and sweet. The way he can easily slip between calm and composed and dominant and overbearing is scary.

“Let’s make this official, what do you say, love?” It’s less of a statement and more of a demand. Minho bites into his wrist, pushing it towards your mouth. But you refuse, attempting to turn away, though Minho does not allow it. Forcing your mouth open with his other hand, fingers dipping into your mouth, watching with a smirk on his face as droplets of his blood drip into your mouth one by one.

There’s not really any significant taste to Minho’s blood. Indeed, his blood is thicker than water—but also very smooth going down. Minho spins you around, lips fast against yours. This kiss is full of iron and spit, completely messy, tongues fighting against each other. You, surprisingly to Minho, are the one who deepens the kiss further, pressing your body against his. Hands running all over his body, tugging against his clothes.

You can feel yourself changing rapidly. Inside of you is a particular burning passion that you haven’t felt in years. It’s amplified when Minho’s fingers trickle up and down your sides. When the kiss parts, you and Minho lock eyes. Your chest rises, breathing in deeply because the room has gotten a hell of a lot hotter—or is the oxygen leaving your lungs?

Minho takes the lead this time, pushing you atop of the sofa. He stands over you almost menacingly, clouds of lust like darkness clouding his eyes. He takes the chest of his shirt and tears it in half with two hands, as easily as it takes one to blink. He lets the shirt fall from his body, pulling his arms from the sleeves. Unbuttoning his pants just slightly before he kneels on the couch beside you. His lips on yours once again, though briefly. Minho takes the fabric of your clothing and tears it in two, just as he did his own shirt. You’re completely exposed to him, completely naked beneath his stare. You put your arms up to shield your indecency, but Minho doesn’t allow it. Taking your wrists in his hands and pinning you to the comfort of the sofa.

Holding your wrists with one hand, Minho holds your jaw in his other hand. “Wish you could see how heavenly you look right now.”

At this moment, Minho decides that you’re the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. So does he worship this embodiment of a higher place? Or does he further defile it? Should he ravish you? Perhaps he should take his claim over a body and soul that is now his forever. The worship may come a little later. He looks down at you, a frenzied little fledgling overtaken by uncontainable lust. A near mirroring reflection of sin itself. You pupils are completely blown and the whites of your eyes grow into a red color. He stands tall above you, like a God. Eyes of lust looking back at you, so deeply into the crevices of what’s left in your soul.

You claw up at Minho, wanting to feel him. Wanting to be comforted by the glory that is Minho. The Ultimate Being—your master.

“Imagine if Seungmin were to see you like this, intoxicated with such lust—and none of it towards him,” Minho kissed over the spot where he bit you, planting more kisses against your neck. “Would he be pathetic? A coward who cums in his pants at the sight of another man touching you?”

Minho’s lips move from your collarbone to your chest, displaying a range of kisses against your skin. “Or would he demean you for disgracing him in such a way? Would he call you a whore at the sight of you, turning his face in disgust?”

Minho continues talking in between kisses against your skin. Lips kissing down the valley of your breast as his left hand creeps up to fondle your left breast. You moan at his touch, the coolness of his skin against the heat of yours. Minho looks up at you. “My precious little lamb isn’t a whore, are you?”

You shake your head vigorously at Minho’s statement. He can only laugh at you. He doesn’t believe it and deep inside, you don’t believe yourself either.

“Your whole purpose of being here was to find your fiancé, and instead, you’re beneath me and dripping onto the chaise. That doesn’t sound like something someone who’s not a whore would do, does it, little lamb?”

You shake your head in denial. Reaching up to him, dragging the tips of your fingers down his chest. With each exhale, with each minute that goes by, it becomes harder and harder to fight your cravings. Thrusting your hips up, gyrating in the air, trying to entice Minho into touching you. Unable to sort the words in your head to form a coherent sentence.

“But you’re fine with being a whore aren’t you?” Minho nods, pouting just slightly. When you’re not nodding along with him, he grabs you by your hair, forcing you to nod along with him. “What a good little lamb. From here on out, you’ll only be a whore for me, ok?”

Minho releases your hair from his clutches. Licking his palm, he drags it down from your navel to your cunt, pausing a moment to bury his fingers within the hair on your mound, slightly tugging at it. He teases you for the moment; fingertips feathering lighting against the skin of your inner thighs. He brings his fingers back to your cunt, dragging down your slit, teasing into your wetness. Minho circles over your clit with two fingers, watching your face as you bite your lip. Two of his fingers slowly slip inside of you soon after, thick, already knuckle deep inside of you.

Minho’s free hand finds a new position, tightening around your neck. The roughness of his hands is missed when he slides his hand down your chest, cupping your breast. He leans down, sucking your nipple into his mouth, coating it with saliva, teeth slightly grazing against it. He continues scissoring his fingers into you, thumb pressing down flat against your clit. Minho moves his thumb in tender circles, still applying pressure. Swollen lips leave a mess of spit on your breast, dripping onto his hand.

He lifts his head from his original position, eyes covering every inch of you. Once his eyes land on your cunt, Minho kneels—a quick kiss planted at your clit before he attaches his mouth to it, sucking you in. Warm, wet mouth slurping and licking, voice vibrating against your cunt. You moan into your hand, but Minho snatches it away; a quick, stern look up at you. The more he hears your moans, the sluttier and messier that Minho gets; moving away slightly to spit against your cunt, watching as it drips down to his fingers. All before he’s back at it, slurping and moaning against your cunt.

“Fucking cum,” Minho talks into your cunt. He speaks his demand into you. The climax hits you hard, cum spraying all over Minho’s face, even drenching a bit of his hair. It takes Minho and yourself by surprise, and you’re almost ready to cover your face in your hands, but Minho flashes the most gorgeous smile to you. Face soaked, licking his lips to taste more of you.

If he wasn’t firm about his desire to devour and conquer you, he was now. Minho fully undresses himself, cock hard and heavy, leaking and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s like your minds come together. Just with a touch you know the things that Minho wants to do to you. Your desires are equal and because of it, you’re a step ahead of him. Your eyes land on him, completely sucking into the visual of his cock. Large but not too veiny, a shade or two darker than the rest of his skin and it’s absolutely glorious. He’s thick, the tip of his cock heavy and shining with precum. It’s hard to keep your appetite for lust contained, and for a moment, you wonder why you’re even holding back—you’ve seen just a glimpse of freedom, is it too much to indulge and savor the taste of what you’re becoming?

Your movements are faster than what the logical part of your brain can comprehend. One moment you’re spread open and the next, you’re straddling Minho, hand caressing his face. Minho looks at you with such an insatiable gaze. He hadn’t read it in the cards that you could possibly take control of the situation, and it enthralls him—what a wonder you are. You grind against his cock, sliding your slick cunt across his shaft. Pressing your hands to his chest for balance, adjusting the speed of your grinding until you’ve finally found the spot that sets off the fireworks within your brain. Unfortunately, it’s not enough for Minho, grabbing your hips and pressing you onto his cock, controlling your movements. Other than the added pressure, Minho guides your hips just a tad bit faster.

Sliding up, you reach behind to hold Minho’s cock into your hand. It has a bit of weight to it and is slick with your juices. You tap the head of his cock against your cunt a time or two, then slowly sink down, engulfing him into your cunt. The thickness of his cock gives you a fervent sensation, cunt fluttering to take more of him, inch by inch.

You throw your head back as you continue riding Minho. There's a brief, but slight sting of pain when you open your mouth to moan. When you look towards Minho, mouth agape, he looks back at you with such adoration and awe—the first time you felt his genuineness for something other than rage. Minho helps you continue to ride him, his hands on your hips to guide you up and down his cock. You bring your tongue up to lick your lips when you finally notice the feeling of the fangs protruding from your gums.

The feeling of exhilaration encompasses your whole being. You can’t help but let out a laugh at the current situation. You feel elated. You feel powerful. Pure and utter bliss slowly peeking out beneath the many layers of lust.

“Bite me, my dear, go ahead.” Minho reassures you, a hand soothingly rubbing against your thigh.

You indulge in the opportunity. Sinking completely down on Minho’s cock, crying out at the sensation of being filled by him. You press your nose against his neck, breathing in Minho’s scent before you sink your fangs into his skin. You can feel the shift in your eyes when you drink from him. His blood tastes immaculate like this. What divine nectar he carries within. It’s insanely sweet—not exactly in a tart or sugary way; he tastes similar to fresh fruit.

You continue to drink from him, tongue licking haphazardly, unwilling to let any of Minho’s blood go to waste.

From his blood to his cock, Minho is all around you. You feel so full of him, and you are in every sense of the word. His arms wrap around you, caging you in as you take your time feeding from him. He moves a hand between the two of your bodies, thumb pressed against your clit to rub in circles. You gentle rock against him, slowly increasing the speed of your hips once you realize you’re fairly latched onto him. Unwilling to free him from your hold, you would die like this if needed.

Your climax hits you and transforms you into such a state of pure ecstasy. Every nerve in your body is electrified, and the blood of Minho amplifies that. Minho has you under a spell: blood coursing through your veins, cock pinned deep, spilling his cum inside of you. He’s so cold to touch, but you’re both on fire. It’s way too much yet you’re still captivated by him. Sent into overdrive, your body gets heavier—it's hard to control and you continue to take and take from Minho. It’s no problem to him, though; hand on your back to soothe as your body becomes stiff atop of him.

You awake in Minho’s arms, not completely sure of where you exactly are. The second you open your eyes, you’re not nearly ready for how extraordinarily bright the lights in the room are. You groan in response, but Minho is alert to soothe you.

“Be still, my little flower.” Minho is whispering, purposefully; he knows first-hand how troubling it can be to be reawakened like this. But still, his voice rings around your head.

How strange. You can hear every little sound a lot clearer, a lot louder. The initially faint crackling of the fireplace now louder than before despite the distance. The heat of the fire reaches you as well, blazing, although it does not stick. The ticking of the clock is a doomful reminder of the passage of time. Then you look at Minho, and you can hear how hollow he is. There’s an absence within him, a huge, dark, cavernous hole. He is nothing more than a host for whatever this disease is that he has given you. A man without a soul.

And still. He holds the entire world in his hands.

“There’s so much I have to teach you,” Minho expresses this with great excitement. He presses a chalice of blood to your lips and just a whiff of the smell puts you in a daze; salivating and feigning to taste. “Now here, drink up.”

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