(scene one) The door opens just long enough for him to be tossed in, cheekbone smarting and head swimming as he collides with the solid, freezing slab of concrete that makes up the floor. A low noise of pain escapes him before he can bite it back, and he shoves up onto his hands and knees as the door slams shut and locks with the thud of a bolt so deafening that Din flinches. 

 As his pain fades, shoved to the background so he can focus on his surroundings, he realizes two things. There is a man pressed into the opposite corner of him, shrouded in shadow while his fingers curl in the hem of a too large shirt. The second thing he realizes is that he's bleeding, heat dripping down his cheek and catching in the stubble along his jaw. 

 The third thing he notices as he reaches up to prod at the cut on his cheek is that he shouldn't be able to see the man's eyes.

(scene 2)  Again he speaks, voice stronger this time and half his face illuminated by the light from the window. It casts him in stark shadows, defining the hollows of his cheeks, the sunken look that makes his eyes seem too large for his face.

 Some little voice in Din’s mind whispers they’re starving him, and he’s thrown abruptly back to when he’d first found Grogu. 

:: ::

It was almost 9 pm when the wind began to pick up outside Margo’s half-opened window. It usually wouldn’t have bothered her–she loved the ominous rustle of the trees and the way the wind’s magic made her feel as if she could fly. But tonight, it was whipping jet black hair into a frenzy in front of her face, making it almost impossible to read the book of potion ingredients that sat in front of her. At first, she had tried tucking the offending strands behind one ear, then another. When the hair tie she used to secure it into a curly knot atop her head broke, she groaned in frustration, her head slamming on the desk with a dull thud.

“Alright you fucking mop,” Margo growled to her curls. “I’ll close the window.”

She was surprised to find the rest of her room dark when she moved away from the incandescent lamp that lived on her desk. The enchanted item had slowly increased in brightness as the sun had given way to its rival, assuring that Margo’s studies weren’t bothered by such trivialities as not having enough light to read.

It took only five long strides for Margo to cross her room, but in that time her mind had moved from the conveniences of being a modern witch back to the potions test she was going to take the next day. Mutely, she recited the four fundamental potion bases and what effects they could help achieve. She was on the third when a bright flash of lightning pulled her from her thoughts and stilled her hand on the window sill.

That explained the way her hair was behaving, at least. There was a thunderstorm brewing, and her hair’s natural propensity to disobey increased whenever electricity stirred in the air. She closed the window and went back to her desk; she had more important things to worry about. By the time the deep roll of thunder disturbed the air, she was tucked back in her chair, nose buried in her book.  

Margo didn’t look up again until her senses drove her to do so. There was a slight tingling in her thumb–a witches sixth sense that told her another being was coming her way. Eventually, she didn’t need any of her preternatural senses–the loud clacking of heels against old wood floors announced the arrival easily enough.

Mildly annoyed, Margo sat back. It was too much to ask for more than a few hours to herself–especially when her sisters were involved. She had barely taken a full breath before the door to her room was slammed opened revealing Serena, dressed in what had to be her most revealing outfit all year. The leopard print skirt was tight and short, struggling to fully cover the entirety of her ass. The top–well Margo wasn’t sure if she could call it a top. It was more a flimsy piece of mesh and two strips of fabric to cover her breasts. But if anyone could pull it off, it was Serena. It was not just her amazon like appearance that made this possible, but also the obvious confidence that rolled of her and the way she commanded attention as soon as she entered a room.

Much like she did now.

But Margo had known Serena too long to be intimidated by her.

Raising an eyebrow tauntingly, Margo asked, “Trying to catch an incubus?”

The sharp sound of Serena’s heels was the only response as Serena moved deeper into the room to sit on Margo’s bed. The bed was raised to allow space for storage underneath. Often times, Margo found herself leaping just to get on to it, but Serena was tall enough that she could sit down without a struggle.

Finally, Serena met her eyes again. “Not everyone has a hot vampire boyfriend drooling over them, Mar. I definitely wouldn’t mind an incubus.”

And there it was. The reason why Margo had thrown herself so wholeheartedly into her studies that night.

A warmth started to spread on her cheeks and to the tips of her hair as she blushed. “Shut up,” she grumbled, hating the way just the mention of his name sent her pulse skyrocketing.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Serena said as she played with one of the many earrings up and down her lobe. “Maybe you should invite him to the party tonight.”

Margo rolled her eyes and ignored the girl on her bed in favor of her text. “I’m not going to the party tonight, Serena. I already told you that.”

“Oh for Circe’s sake, Margo.” Serena’s voice was colored with annoyance. “Just come to the party. Live a little.”

Margo kept her eyes focused on the page in front of her. Under Fire Potions, she began reading the uses – poison, hallucinogens, mind-alterations, etc. Serena got increasingly agitated behind her, but Margo continued to ignore her.

When Serena grumbled, “Margo?” Margo finally gave her the response she had been looking for.

“I said I am not coming.” Margo gestured wildly to the mess of notebooks, sticky notes, and highlighters strewn across her desk–though this was not the only reason she would be missing out on the festivities.

Margo had other plans come the witching hour. She tried not to let her face betray that fact, knowing that Serena would not take lightly to her ditching her party for a boy.

“You’ve been studying all night. Take a break and come celebrate with us.”

Margo had argued with Serena enough to know that a simple no might not suffice. Instead, she uncapped a highlighter and grumbled, “Serena, if you don’t leave me alone I’m going to hex you green for the next 24 hours. Then, neither of us will be able to enjoy the party.”

Such use of magic on school grounds was, of course, strictly forbidden. But Margo would happily risk probation for the few minutes of blissful quiet it would bring. Luckily, no one had to hex anyone. Serena accepted her defeat and left Margo’s room, muttering, “Your loss.”

Margo and Serena were both students at the University of the Arcana. They were the world’s worst kept secret. The things that mortal beings feared most were real and living among them, though not with as much horrific tendency towards the cruel as mortals liked to believe. Or, at least, no more so than the mortals themselves. Witches, vampires, demons, shapeshifters–they were human just like everyone else, just a different subclass of humans.

Part of the human experience, unfortunately, was going to a university and getting a degree. Here, Margo studied horticultural magic. It was a degree with which, as her mom liked to remind her, she could go on to become a pharmacist. That was not her plan. She wanted to own a greenhouse someday–maybe do some rudimental medicinal remedies for people in her community. She often dreamed of this simple life on a countryside somewhere.

For now, she was forced to live on a campus large enough to be a country of its own. Not only that but the sorority Gamma Nu with which she had pledged required her to live with twenty-nine other student witches. As much as she hated it–it was a campus requirement. No student witch was allowed on campus without pledging to a coven. That, unfortunately, meant that her sorority sisters never gave her a moment of peace.

Serena had only left Margo’s room for twenty minutes before the heavy bass of some modern hip-hop song began shaking her room.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Margo yelled to no one in particular. The tips of her fingers began to spark blue as she itched to hex someone. It seemed that her sisters couldn’t be bothered to cast a privacy spell on their party, thus subjecting Margo to the loud, rhythmic thumping that would make studying impossible.  

Regretfully, she was terrible at noise redirection spells. Any attempts to soundproof her room would end in disaster. Her plans for the night, to study and retain all that she could before he came, we’re steadily being foiled by distractions at every turn.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to steer her mind to a different route. She just needed to change locations. If she trudged around disgruntled enough, the house would recognize her need, and provide her with a solution. The house was sentient, as all witch abodes were. Something about the excess magic in the air caused them to develop a mind of their own. Sometimes, it was more harm than good, as the house had been known to get rid of entire rooms when it was in a mood. But, just as often, it had been known to give a witch exactly what she was looking for.

Holding out hope, Margo packed up her belongings and slipped out of her room.

“Okay house,” she said pleadingly, hoping it could hear her over the thundering of the music and the storm outside. “Show me someplace quiet I can study.”

For a minute, the only thing she saw was a little black ball of fur that dashed past her feet, following the music downstairs. Witches didn’t have familiars per se, but that never stopped her sisters from ironically adopting every black cat they came across.

“House?” she asked impatiently. A door banged open down the hall.

“Thank you,” She whispered, making her way to the door. It led to the library, which was one story down on the eastern wing, but the laws of physical space did not much apply there.

She couldn’t bring herself to fully step inside, however. This was obviously one of the house’s jokes.

The library was soundproof, that much Margo did know. But it was also haunted by two loud, gossipy ghosts.

“Oh dear,” a larger woman said from her position knitting by the library’s fireplace. If not from the way she was tinted silver and slightly translucent, one might not have known she was undead. “Elizabeth, come see! The studious one did not get invited to the party.”

From somewhere on the banister of the second floor came a tinny laugh. “Well, that’s no surprise to me!” Elizabeth responded. “Look at the way she dressed.”

Margo resisted the urge to pull at her old sweatpants and the UA sweatshirt she wore. “Shut up,” she grumbled. Before shutting the door, she added, “I was invited by the way! I didn’t want to go.”

She ignored Elizabeth’s pointed, “What kind of girl doesn’t want to go to a party?” The sound of which lingered until much after Margo had closed the door.

The house rumbled underneath her, making it clear it was laughing.

“House!” she snapped, annoyed at his antics. Another door appeared in front of her in that instant. This time, she did step inside it. It was the abandoned potions laboratory she hadn’t known existed. A quick survey of the place revealed it was in the basement. Which, happily, seemed to be enchanted, for all the noise of the party disappeared as soon as she closed the door.

It was perfect.

Margo toiled over the cauldron in the laboratory for hours, using whatever preserved ingredients she could find to build practice potions. Having always been a tactical learner, this made the art of potion making so much more accessible to her. The fire underneath the cauldron burned hot, causing her to shed her sweater for the loose grey tank underneath. Eventually, she piled her hair up and away from her face, to avoid the way the steam had caused it to stick to her cheeks and the back of her neck. The ingredients were old school–more animal than plant-based, as she preferred to work with. But Margo made it work nonetheless. 

                    Eye of newt.

                    Toe of frog.

                    Wool of Bat.

                    Tongue of Dog.

Round and round the boiling pot she went, throwing in the ancient ingredients and murmuring incantations, learning the form way better than any text could teach her. She was so lost in the art of it all, she was sure nothing could pull her out.

Then the witching hour came, and a sharp prickling sensation in Margo’s thumbs told her that someone was looking for her. Or something. It was much bigger and much more powerful than Serena–it sent her witch’s sense haywire. She knew just who was it was. She had been waiting for him all night. For a moment, she debated going up to the party, finding him, and dragging him back down to the basement. But, there was a spell she knew, old and powerful, that would bring any creature to her in an instant. Of course, with ancient magicks, there was always a chance of attracting unwanted, much more dangerous attention.

Sighing, she lifted up a quick prayer to Hecate, then said, “Fuck it.”

Turning away from the cauldron, she recited the old but powerful spell.

By the pricking of my thumb, Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks.

She closed her eyes for a breath, and when she opened it, he appeared in front of her like an apparition. At first, he was nothing more than a blur of black and silver. He had entered the room at full vampiric speed, and her eyes had to take a moment to adjust, to register what she was seeing.

Her heart began pounding in her chest, not unlike the rhythmic thumping of the bass she had heard earlier. Run, her instincts told her, recognizing that there was a predator, much larger and much deadlier than her in the room. She tried to calm the pounding she could now feel in her throat, with a breath. It came out shuddering.

Now that her eyes were fully adjusted, she could see the way his pupils dilated, no doubt at the sound of the rush of blood through her veins. As he advanced on her, she took a few steps back. Eventually, she was stopped by the edge of the table next to where the cauldron still bubbled over.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

Vampires were at the top of the human food chain. Because of that, everything about them was designed to draw prey in. Luke was no different. The way he talked was an aphrodisiac, the smallest hint of an old French accent rolling off his tongue lasciviously, drawing a longing from her core. She felt the moment her body realized that she was in no immediate danger, and her heart started hammering for an entirely different reason.

“I know,” she responded, trying to sound cavalier. It was why she had thrown herself so wholeheartedly into her studies that night. At some point in the afternoon, she had received a text. It was just five words, yet it had made her toes curl with desire. Witching hour. I’ll find you. The modern monster’s equivalent of a booty call. Margo, not one to betray her studies for a man, had spent all afternoon with her nose buried in a book. Now that he was right in front of her, she was confident enough in what she had learned that she had no trouble stepping away from the cauldron for the night.

Instead of getting closer to her as her whole body ached for, Luke moved to survey in the room. In turn, she surveyed him. His movements were cat-like, each motion deliberate and graceful. The white, silk shirt he wore was unbuttoned halfway down and tucked into a pair of black leather pants. A peek at the smooth expanse of his chest made Margo yearn to reach out and touch, but she stayed backed up against the table, allowing him to walk the layout of the lab.

“Pilar said you were somewhere studying,” He referenced her housemate easily as he walked around the room almost aimlessly, first glancing into the still bubbling cauldron, then the ingredients that lined the shelf. Ungraciously, she felt jealousy rise to the surface, sending pinpricks of magic down her spine. Margo was well aware of Luke and Pilar’s brief tryst a few months before, and in moments like these, when her senses were bridled by lust, she couldn’t help the primal instincts of possessiveness.

“Potions test.” She responded. Then, because she couldn’t quite put the thought out of her mind, she added, “Pilar needs to mind her own business.”

She was proud of herself when the words didn’t come out sounding shaky or hoarse.

“She’s worried about you, ma chérie. All you do is study.”

Margo tramped down her envy and reminded herself that she hadn’t spent all day studying just so she and Luke could fight about his over-friendliness with his ex. Instead, she tried to focus on nudging Luke’s eyes back to her with a suggestive comment. “I’m not studying right now.”

At her goading, Luke finally gave her the attention she craved. He turned to look at her, his smirk dangerous and promising.

“I prove to be an adequate distraction, no?”

She didn’t see him move. Rather, one moment, he was across the room with a jar of dragon scales in his hand, and somehow, in that same instant, the jar was back on the shelf, and he was next to her, tucking an escaped curl behind her ear.

Immediately, she heaved her chest up to him.

The way he tutted was almost regretful as he traced the line of a barely visible scar, one that he had left on her chest less than 24 hours before. “Oh, ma chérie. You’re already addicted to my touch. I can hear how your blood sings for me.”

Bowing his head, he gently brought his lips to the scar that rested just above the swell of her bosom. “Are you ever,” he paused slightly as if choosing his next word carefully. “Scared of this?”

Scared of this. Scared of them. Historically, witches and vampires did not come together for anything more than sex and political alliances. But, there was something deeper between Luke and Margo. The memory of how indignant she had felt when Serena mentioned her hot vampire boyfriend rose to the surface. Even now she had a hard time with the state of their relationship-how quickly she had come to fall in love with her predator. He often reminded her of the power that he held over her and how her sense of self-preservation became nonexistent whenever he was around.

Luke nipped at her skin lightly, not enough to draw blood. It wrenched her from her thoughts and into that moment with him. When her heart stuttered, he stared up at her, a wolfish grin playing on his face. In moments like these, they both regressed to their animalistic impulses, running on deep, primal instincts left over from their ancestors.

“You forget, Hemmings, that I’m powerful too,” Margo muttered a quick incantation, and this time, the speed with which Luke moved was not due to his vampiric abilities, but rather the invisible bands of wind that twisted around him, pulling him off her, and restraining his wrist. His attempts to burst free of his magical binding was futile. He pulled at his invisible restraints and bared his teeth in warning to her.

The animal inside him did not like to be tied up.

She ignored the way her blood roared in her ears, focusing only on the fact that if it sounded loud to her, it would be deafening for Luke.

Reaching out to the potions table, Margo grabbed a knife she had been using earlier, wiping any traces of ingredients from it with a quick, cleansing water spell. Then, she held it up to her breast. Both her and Luke tracked the way the cool blade as it came to rest against her skin. The grey tank top, as unattractive as Elizabeth’s ghost would find it, did the job of sparking Luke’s interest. She wore no bra underneath, so it hung low on her ample bosom and was thin enough that her nipples all but poked through.

She pierced the skin right where Luke had scarred her before. In response, Luke’s pupils dilated further until his blue eyes were almost completely black, and his breath began to get ragged. Now, it was her turn to smirk.

“I might be addicted to your touch,” she purred. “But you’re addicted to my taste.”

Luke impossibly broke free of her binds and had his hands gripping at her sides in a second. He buried his face in her neck, not going for her blood until he got express permission to do so.

“Can I?” His voice was rough and riddled with want. She nodded once, and Luke dropped his mouth to her heart vein and started to drink deeply.

Nothing that Margo had experienced in her 21 years of life was as erotic as a vampire drinking from her chest. In popular culture, vampires drank from their lover’s neck. That was too impersonal of an action, Luke had informed her. Vampires drank from a mortal’s necks when they planned to drain them and leave them for dead. There was something much more sacred about their relationship, something that made the idea of taking blood from that public place repugnant to him.

As he sucked deeper on Margo’s chest, a shiver of lust set inside her aflame. She could feel herself grow wet from the pull of blood out of her and into him. It was an aphrodisiac, and she was powerless against the feeling it brought. From the way Luke flexed his fingers at her side, she could tell he was just as affected by it as she was. He pulled away to thrust his erection against her.

“Wanna drink while I’m inside you,” he begged.

She didn’t trust her voice not to come out in a ragged plea, so she nodded mutely, already reaching for the hem of her shirt to pull it over her head. Luke hoisted her up unto the table she had barely noticed digging into her back. Instead of returning to the wound on her chest, already closed from the healing properties in his saliva, Luke went for her nipples, sucking on one as he rolled the other between his forefinger and thumb.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered almost reverentially.

He started on a path downwards, kissing her stomach, licking into the dip of her belly button. “You know,” he began as he knelt in front of her, fingers already poised to remove her sweatpants. “Since the change, I’ve questioned my belief in a higher power. But when I do this with you, I know He’s real. Nothing else but an omnipotent deity could have created an angel as beautiful as you.”

Margo bit her lip. Having spent some time with the romantic era poets of the mid-1800s, Luke was prone to outbursts like these in the midst of sex. Margo liked to tease him about it.

“I’m no angel,” she retorted a slight quirk of her lips. “I’ll be right there in hell with you, Luke Hemmings. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Luke took a moment to respond, choosing instead to remove her sweatpants and panties. Then, he placed a few chaste kisses to the inside of either thigh, letting his scruff rub lightly against her teasingly. Margo’s hand shot out, running through his hair a few times, before trying to lead him to her folds.

Instead, he chose that moment to respond to her earlier comment. It was always like this with them. Push and pull. Two opposing tides of want, dragging their sex in different directions. “You are too intoxicating. The devil will try to steal you from me.”

Luke brought his mouth back to her stomach, lapping at the salt of her skin. He nibbled slightly, causing her to release a shuddering breath.

“The devil can’t have me,” she cried between gasps. “I belong to you.”

That was just the motivation the vampire needed. “And I to you,” he growled. It was a guttural sound coming from deep within. In the next moment, he brought his tongue to her, pressing it against her clit.

He spent his time worshiping her folds, before adding one finger inside her. Margo’s legs fell open wider in response, inviting more.

“How does every inch of you taste so good?” He asked in another bought of reverence. Margo’s only response was a cry of euphoria as Luke’s fingers scissored in and out of her, drawing immeasurable pleasure. For a few moments, she basked in the sensation of a lover taking his time to reduce her to cries and shudders. When she came the first time, she was so lost in this sensation, she wasn’t cognizant of the little sparks of magic flittering off her, falling to the tables and the floor.

It was not until Luke muttered, “Shit,” that she opened her eyes to see smoke rising from a hole burnt into the hardwood floor.

“Fuck,” she cursed, still panting. “My bad.”

They glanced at each other for a brief moment, taken by the heat of each other. Then, they devolved into laughter. This wasn’t the first time Margo had burnt something in the midst of their passion, and it wouldn’t be her last.

Luke stood and picked her up amid their laughter. In response, she wrapped her legs around his waist and peppered her face with kisses. “Take us back to your room,” he begged. He raised one foot in the basement of the old house as Margo whispered her incantation, and when he put it down, they were back in her second-floor room.

“God, I love magic,” He breathed, depositing her on her bed.

“Me too,” she responded, and with a wink, all his clothes disappeared. Luke was unconcerned with their dematerialization, knowing from experience he would find them neatly folded at the foot of her bed the next morning.

Crawling on top of her, he slotted their mouths together in a motion they had done so often it became ritual. They spent a few blissful moments, rubbing unbidden against each other. But Luke was impatient. Soon, he was pinning both her wrists above her head with one large hand and entering her slowly.

At first, his thrusts were slow, deliberate, as he got used to the feeling of being inside her. Then, when his movements started to become more erratic, Margo bared her chest to him, knowing exactly what he wanted. His teeth pierced the scarred flesh easily, and he moaned at the first drop of blood that made contacts with his lips.

He released his hold on her hands then, so his were available to wrap his hand around her throat, grip at her side and play with her clit or nipple as he saw fit. The animal in both of them moved about in unrestrained movements as they devolved into hands, teeth, and hips. He drank until it felt like the open wound in her chest was somehow connected to her pussy, each deep suck causing her walls to contract.

She groaned, one hand in his hair, the other in the sheets. It was heaven for her, but for him, it was even better. Curious, Margo had once asked what it felt like to make love to her and feed from her at the same time. He said it felt like being burned alive in the best way possible. Passion consumed every inch of him, setting him aflame.

When he pulled back from her chest, they were both seconds away from climaxing. Immediately, he brought one finger to her clit, playing with it as he thrust inside her. She came, and he followed. This time, a soft glow of light radiated off her in pulses, matching the pulses of her orgasm. Her magical reactions to him were getting stronger.

She turned her attention to the man now draped atop of her, breathing in deeply, taking in the heady scent of the room.

“Smell something you like?” she teased, knowing he liked the smell of them tangled together in the room. Luke loved being unable to smell where he ended and she began.

“Yeah,” he breathed in response, still visibly affected by Margo’s blood. Margo laid there a few minutes running her hand through his hair, waiting for him to come down from the high she had caused.

When Luke was back to himself again, he flipped them, so she was lying atop him. With a quick incantation, Margo brought the blanket gently over their shoulders. Peacefully, they settled in for the night.

“I love you, mon cœur,” Luke uttered the sentiment first.

Margo repeated it.

“Wake me up at 8?” She wanted to get some last minutes revisions done before her test at 10 and one of the best things about having a vampire boyfriend? He didn’t need sleep, so she had a personal alarm. Margo thought the kiss he placed atop her head was an affirmative and a goodnight all in one. He had one more thing to say.

“Le suprême bonheur de la vie, c'est la conviction qu'on est aimé; aimé pour soi-même, disons mieux, aimé malgré soi-même.”

The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; loved for ourselves, or rather in spite of ourselves.

It was a quote from his late friend, Victor Hugo. In moments of reminiscing, Luke thought back to the time he’d spent with the author and poet. He had told her once that he never believed he would find the happiness Hugo spoke about. But he found it with her.

She squeezed his side gently, a silent admittance that she loved him as well. 

:: ::

Part 2: Man or Beast

end notes: shout out to anyone who recognizes the names margo, serena & pilar who are elle’s sorority sisters from legally blonde the musical lmao. let me know what you think! love yall!