Chapter Text
Healthy Food #4 – or HF4 in Minho’s phone contacts – was always easy to feed from, but also very bland. Her sexual energy reminded him of white rice and white chicken; unseasoned and overcooked, but healthy enough to sustain.
He visited her every Wednesday morning at 11 because she didn’t work that day and Minho needed the food for the upcoming days at the club. Bartending took energy and had the advantage of being an easy place to feed even from a distance.
Clubs had an abundance of sexual energy and Minho was sometimes able to snack at the workplace without coming off as a pervert or voyeur. People in clubs mingled and Minho just happen to benefit.
He also had free range of the hook ups he could find there; which was how he’d met Healthy Food #4, and also Junk Food #11 which he had fed from two days ago.
It sucked to need hook ups to survive; it sucked even more that he needed to pace himself as he fed to avoid killing anyone. In a sense, Minho was perpetually on the edge of starvation just so he could keep on living a free life. He couldn’t risk bringing attention to himself. He did not want to be declared a criminal, had no intention of ending up on the Controlled Creatures’ list or worst; killed like a beast.
Therefore, he had a carefully curated schedule.
On Mondays, he met Junk Food #11.
On Wednesdays, he fucked Healthy Food #4.
On Fridays, he met with Spicy Dish #7.
Saturday was for any hook ups he could find that might later qualify for his weekly roster. It was a challenging existence to depend on people’s sex lives to survive; especially when they tended to figure out how exhaustion fucking Minho truly was.
Then, there were those who wanted to settle and have an exclusive relationship; Minho couldn’t do that or else someone would die. Either himself or his food source.
He never explained it, preferring to remain vague as to why he wouldn’t settle. Still, it led him to frequently needing to readjust his hook ups, finding new ones, new flavors, not the ones he preferred, just the ones he could get. It led him to go hungry sometimes, to struggle to get up in the afternoon and need to put up an energetic front at work while physically, he was on the brink of exhaustion and starvation.
His whole life was a precarious race for sex that his bigot parents called promiscuity despite having been told of his condition by the physician who had diagnosed him at the age of 12.
He’d learned a lot since then; he’d learned how to make his lovers come without fail. He’d learned how to read the cues and interpret the gasps and sighs and little twitches.
He learned that quick orgasms fed him less than the longer ones; he learned that foreplay fed him sometimes more than the finale when done right; he learned that edging made the sexual energy more potent and resulted in more sustenance for Minho.
He learned.
Right now, he was fucking Healthy Food #4 slowly, primarily because she was a petite creature that probably didn’t have the constitution to handle a rough fuck. More than that, he knew she would come without fail if he kept up a steady rhythm, thrusting into her from behind while his right hand was stroking her clit in slow, gentle circles.
He breathed in through his mouth and slowly drank the arousal coming from her. Bland – but whatever. He did so several times as she crescendo’ed to her climax. Minho timed himself to breathe in his dessert; a climax that was the equivalent of vanilla ice cream – also bland, but food all the same.
He continued to thrust within her as she rode her climax, her vagina was softly contracting around his cock and he increased the speed a bit as he stopped moving his hand between her legs – she was always oversensitive after coming and he knew that by now.
He grabbed her hips and started fucking for his own orgasm; he was cautious not to go too deep – else he might hurt her – and was content with short in and out’s that rubbed the tip of his cock against her soft inner walls. Even with the condom he always wore, the feeling was really nice and he came with a satisfying orgasm and a small intake of Healthy Food #4’s residual sexual energy as it faded completely.
He pulled out and gently released her hips; she lay on her stomach, obviously fatigued but when she turned on her back, he saw she was smiling. “I’m always so tired after we shag,” she said softly, “I wonder what it is about you? It’s like sex with you’s a workout in itself, ya know?”
Minho smirked that uneven smirk he always did whenever someone said something that hit a little too close to home, “must be why you’re in such good shape,” he replied while touching her smooth stomach and kissing it for good measure.
He removed the condom, wrapped it in a tissue and threw it in the trash next to the bed. Then, he got up, headed to the bathroom while still naked and grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet. He soaked it in hot water and brought it back to Healthy Food #4. He’d learned to specialize in aftercare to take away the focus from the exhaustion and make it seem like his lover’s afterglow was simply really intense.
He went to wipe her thighs with the cloth, but she took it from him. They always did that; he tried to help and she would refuse out of shyness. It was one of the ways Minho ensured a complicity and intimacy between them. It led them to overlook the tiredness and drained state he induced. It was a way to apologize, but also to manipulate into sidetracking his lovers from cutting ties with him.
Because ultimately it was always how it ended. They ghosted him, had ‘other plans’, or met someone. Those who were content with just hooking up ended up figuring out how tiring hooking up with Minho was. He had tried a few times not to feed during sex to offer his hook ups a break to avoid rising a red flag in their minds warning them he was clearly the cause of it. However, it brought another issue he had to address quickly; his own hunger.
It meant he needed to find someone else. It was no wonder so many Incubi were into the sex trade; however, that market was much easier for women – Succubi – than men. Then, there was also the risk of such a profession so tightly related to human trafficking and human traffickers.
Minho had never wanted to head down that road and he sometimes wondered whether that was a good decision or not. Still, he continued to try and make it work with the schedule and the hook ups.
While Healthy Food #4 cleaned herself up, Minho headed to the bathroom again to wash up too. He had lube on his cock and thighs; he cleaned up and washed his hands. When he came back to her bedroom, she was lying under the covers in her bed, blinking drowsily.
Minho took the wet cloth from the bedside table and brought it in the bathroom; he set it on a hook against the wall to dry and returned to the bedroom to dress.
“Don’t fall asleep just yet,” he teased as he laid a hand on her hip and shook her, “you need to lock up behind me, remember?” he was teasing, but deep down he was alarmed, Healthy Food #4 crashed more heavily after each hook up. He put on his boxers, socks, pants and shirt quickly.
She grunted in reply, got up slowly and with difficulty. Minho held her by the arm and helped her put on a bathrobe. He half carried her to the door and put on his shoes as rapidly as he could before opening the door, “I’ll see you next week?” he said with a soft smile while he knew it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Yeah, sure,” she spoke tiredly before closing the door and locking it.
Minho exited the building and the cloudy weather outside reflected his state of mind. He felt energized and somewhat fed; yet, he knew right now, Healthy Food #4 was feeling weak and would take a few days to recover. She’d likely sleep for a part of the day and watch TV for the rest since she’d be too weak for much else.
He was not okay with that. Resented himself for inducing such a state – wishing it wasn’t the case. But he didn’t know how else to feed. The world didn’t have a system for him; didn’t have grocery stores and restaurants for their kind; didn’t have food trucks and buffets. He was alone in this and mentioning his condition to humans had only brought him scorn and rejection. Therefore, he kept his mouth about it and handled it best he could.
It wasn’t ideal and he had learned to accept he would never be the good person he’d wished he’d become. He hadn’t turned out into the grown up his parents were proud of; he would never be the man a woman would gladly marry. He would never have the perfect life his parents had wished upon him no matter how much he, too, might have wanted it.
Minho was a promiscuous creature who needed sex with humans to survive.
There was no cure for what he was; it was just how things were.
He walked home grateful for his meal, but also deeply divided. He thought of texting Healthy Food #4 to make sure she was okay, but thought against it. It felt shitty to pretend he cared while he was working so hard on not caring. Because caring would just hurt in the long term – another thing he’d learned early.
Back in his flat, Minho showered and gamed all afternoon and later that day, he got ready for work.
The club was one of the most famous ones in the entire neighborhood and opened early as a restaurant before turning into a club at the later hours. It was packed every night from Wednesday to Saturday and Minho was there without fail for his eight-hour shift.
Bartending was easy when you’ve done so for years. The job was interesting, paid well – especially when one flirted, and Minho flirted a lot. It got him good tips, hook ups and snacks along the way.
That evening, he ended up in one of the backrooms with a guy who’d been eyeing Minho hungrily all evening. He simply couldn’t pass the opportunity; he stroked the man’s cock while breathing his inebriated aroused energy until the man came with a moan and several spurts of come on Minho’s fist. He mentally qualified the guy as Salad Bar #1 – a first for him he thought morosely; it was so hard to find quality cuisine nowadays.
He washed his hands while Salad Bar #1 panted and gathered his wits.
“Fuck, that was the best handjob I’d ever gotten,” he drunkenly said with a satisfied chuckle, “I heard you were good, but wow – ” Minho pulled on some paper towels to dry his hands.
“You’re okay to head home on your own?” he asked Salad Bar #1; he sounded a bit motherly – in fact he sounded like his own mother – but he couldn’t help it.
“Oh, you’re cute and hot,” Salad Bar #1 replied with a goofy grin, “don’t worry about me,” he said while straightening up, “I’m more than okay.”
Minho opened the door of the bathroom and glanced back at Salad Bar #1, “guess I’ll be seeing you again,” he said with his trademark smirk before closing the door. He felt both happy and shitty at his own behavior. However, with Healthy Food #4 gradually becoming weaker, maybe working on a plan S – or was it T at this point? – wasn’t such a bad idea.
He closed up the club with two of his colleagues and headed home as he usually did. He walked the streets in the middle of the night with the streetlamps as only company.
The walk home was a ten minutes’ walk that he always enjoyed. He typically lazily walked with his hands in the pockets of his jacket and his hood on. He had his earphones on and was listening to music while absent-mindedly watching where he went. By now he knew the way home by heart, having used the same route every night after work for years.
He knew the corner shop would be opened, it always was at night; he knew the owner would be there – an elderly man who never smiled – he would be seated at the cashier seat, doing either crosswords or sudokus.
He knew the dented, dark blue trash bin in between the two red brick buildings always smelled of greasy food since the restaurant on the other side left their garbage in it. Sometimes, Minho would see homeless people going through that trash since a lot of the wastes were edible.
He knew all the windows from the grey building would be dark at this time of the night; all but one; the person living on the top, left floor would be up, lights on and doing God knows what.
Soon, he would walk in front of the park; a green area with trees and a water fountain in the middle. Last summer, kids had poured dish soap in the fountain and the entire park had been flooded by the bubbles. It had been closed for six weeks during which the city employees had had to empty the whole thing and clean it in its entirety. The tax payers had been fuming; there were rumors of security cameras being installed, but Minho had yet to see any signs of those around.
The park was very dark at this late hour and Minho thought he saw a tall and slender figure roaming through the trees; most likely a homeless person – there were many in this town.
He kept on walking trying not to stare while still keeping an eye on the outline since it was coming closer to him. He walked a bit faster and removed his hands from his pockets – just in case.
It was odd how he went from watching the outline of the very slim man to suddenly losing sight of him; it was then Minho realize he’d been keeping track of a shadow while the man himself was actually much closer than he thought.
It wasn’t a man – not exactly – he was way too tall, way too thin and his face wasn’t human at all. Minho walked backward hurriedly, not caring that he was stepping down the sidewalk and into the street.
In a move so quick Minho could barely see, the slender man was holding Minho by the wrist and pulling him toward the darkness of the trees so strongly, he stumbled and ended up falling forward, scratching both his knees and the palm of his free hand.
The slender man’s eyes were all black with dark veins around them; his mouth was a black gaping wound with black, cracked lips; Minho let out a shout of horror as panic went through him like a lightning bolt.
He was screaming and kicking his feet frantically as the creature kept on dragging him with strength Minho couldn’t rival. He ended up lying on his back on the cold ground with the slender man’s knee on his chest.
The sucking sound he made reminded Minho of a drooling creature slurping on something wet; it was disgusting, but more alarming than that was the creature’s face, right in front of Minho’s as it continued to press him down while making that disturbing sound.
Minho was so afraid he was registering reality in short segments of consciousness as he attempted to dislodge himself from under the creature’s weight. With his hands, he was trying to push the monstruous face away from his own, panicking as he touched the gaping mouth, his fingers slipping inside the black hole between his lips.
He was moving his head to the side to put distance between them, but the monster was aggressively adjusting, moving its head sharply like a bird would to keep them aligned.
Minho was pushing with his legs, trying to move up and away but his limbs were feeling tired, heavy. With his arms, he continued to attempt to push the creature away from him, only it seemed to be getting stronger while Minho himself was getting weaker.
Terror settled as Minho understood he was being drained, “HELP!” he shouted to the darkness around him; his vision was blurry now, he was crying. The creature’s face was so close to his own, he could see the dark veins around the eyes and mouth, he could hear the rabidness as it fed and Minho could only cover his own face to stop the gaping mouth from touching his own.
The weight on his chest felt heavier and Minho was struggling to breathe; he was still panicking but his body lacked the energy to fight it off. He tried rolling over on his side to crawl away, but man wrapped his thin, bony fingers around Minho’s neck to hold it. A sob escaped him.
Bright light suddenly shone behind the slender man’s frame and he heard someone shout. The tall, heavy monster above him froze and started collapsing on itself. Its bones cracked and broke, its skull and face became dented and collapsed within as well; then, there was a dry crack and the slender man turned into a wooden log that landed next to Minho’s chest. The whole thing had happened in few seconds only.
Minho was shaking so hard, he couldn’t sit up, “are you okay?” someone said and Minho nervously looked toward the voice as a man approached him slowly. His hands were glowing and so were his eyes – a hunter?
Minho struggled to sit; sobs were still escaping him; his vision was blurry as tears went on spilling from his eyes. “I – I – ” he was hiccupping and looking around nervously; when his eyes landed on the log, he scrambled away from it.
“Take it easy,” the man spoke soothingly, “the slender man was sealed, you’re safe now.”
Minho stared at the man, then at the log, then at the man again, “sealed?”
The hunter nodded, “yes, the slender man’s energy is sealed in the log and the monster itself no longer exists.”
Minho was supporting himself in a sitting position with both his hands in the dirt under him; gradually, the adrenaline rush that had overcome him earlier faded and his arms gave out under him. He would have face planted were it not from the hunter catching him with a startled, “whoops! It’s okay, I got you,” he spoke quickly, then he repeated a soft, “I got you,” as he wrapped his arms around Minho’s tired and trembling frame.
“Are you injured?” the hunter asked him gently and Minho shook his head, “no…I’m not hurt,” he stuttered in reply, because he wasn’t physically injured.
“Do you want me to call an ambulance? Do you have someone that can help you?” the hunter continued to question him and Minho shook his head.
He’d been robbed of his life energy and what he needed most was to feed. Hospitals wouldn’t be able to help him with that. As for his hook ups, in the state he was in, there was no way he’d be able to get someone off.
“Alright,” the hunter replied, “my name is Chan, what’s your name?” it sounded so soft, the way he spoke, the man was being so sweet, Minho wondered if he was always like this, or if he was putting on a façade to sooth Minho in his traumatized state.
“Minho,” he simply said, having no energy to elaborate on anything more. His brain was foggy, unfocused and he was struggling to concentrate. His body was getting weaker and weaker as the remnants of the adrenaline rush continued to fade and the full extent of the creature’s feeding was settling on Minho.
“Can you tell me where you live, Minho?” Chan asked in a gentle voice while he was still supporting Minho’s weight with his own body. The man felt warm against him and Minho realized how cold he felt. It was as though his body couldn’t keep itself warm anymore. He shivered and his teeth started chattering along with the trembling of his body.
He tried standing up, but only managed to weakly move his feet in the grass; he was so tired; Chan’s body was warm and he opened his mouth to tell him his address, except the world started to spin and the streetlights dimmed further away; Chan felt more comfortable than ever as Minho’s body slumped down and more of his weight settled on his savior.
He distantly heard Chan nervously say, “Minho, stay with me, hey!? Stay wi– ”
Everything went dark and Minho felt like Chan’s chest was swallowing him whole. It felt nice; peaceful even. He thought he could stay there for a while.