⚠️ // bite my muse / from ayato maybe??? he's definitely hungry 😌
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓 is effortless to grasp, but difficult to master. envy had spent almost an entire week worth of time, resources & exertion just to cut some loose ends.... only for the police to piece them back together as clues. it’s inconvenient. tiresome, even. the silent house suddenly booms from the old door that whacks open, followed by heavy footsteps & a slam of car keys against the living-room table which most likely knocked over an incense but no matter, the young serial killer is simply too weary to care. he just takes the jacket off & tosses it at one of the two armchairs before falling back against the couch, at long last, sinking into much needed rest.
it doesn’t take long for him to drift off. with one hand hanging off the ledge & the other lost somewhere under a vintage pillow, he visibly softens, looking stunningly angelic & innocent unlike the cold-blooded murderer many people came to know. even the svelte body appears more hospitable than domineering, with the ivory skin & hair like a shining fall of black curls glowing with a kiss of moonlight. oh, what some wouldn’t give to bury such hauntingly beautiful image...
is this why he followed him home... ?
the young rebellious prince, both prideful & arrogant, weaving among the dusty furniture & shadows with ghostly grace ── not once waking the dreaming youth. not even as he climbs onto the same couch & with glistening eyes, lowers, just to sink own fangs deep into his wide open neck. it takes a while, perhaps much longer than most, but eventually envy does stir, waking nigh disorientated to the ongoing situation; ❝ mn... ? ❞ he can’t think straight. everything is just so slow & blurry, forcing a lone dark brow to crook as warm trickles of blood roll down his cold, ivory skin. the long lashes flutter in puzzlement, & then, wait... hold on. is someone... on top of him? groaning softly, the young serial killer grasps weakly onto the dark smear before him & sensing the fabric of a sleeve, feels own wretched heart just stop.
no, no way. suddenly digging the black nails even deeper, envy exhales a shaky breath & attempts to push the intruder off as well as refocus with the dark eyes switching from the arm towards the moonlit hair, & then the soft sounds the other makes, only to whisper in a low, warning tone, ❝ g-get... your── ❞ those words die rather quickly however, for the gnawing pain turns into a wave of pleasure, stealing yet another shaky breath from those murderous lips. ❝ ahh... ❞ how strange. why is he feeling so hot all of the sudden? bending one of the legs, envy plants his boot against the couch as though it’d somehow help in grounding the scattered thoughts but, nothing. his body is completely defying the non-existent emotions, causing one hell of inner uproar.
what is it that i’m feeling, exactly? why on earth can’t i just shove him? did i... bleed too much? why am i... bleeding? what is he── ❝ ngh... ! ❞ feeling the other suddenly pull out, envy hazily looks up & the image he sees is not at all the one he’d expect; a most enchanting young man, dressed in a dark aristocratic suit with blood that covers his mouth like a lipstick gone wild. it drips down his chin, staining the swan-like throat. his emerald eyes glowing like the moonlit forest lakes as he runs a sleek tongue across the bloodstained fangs. & ohh, dearest mercy...
this is exactly how obsessions begin.
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