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philmonjohn · 2 months ago

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A Call to the Children of the Global South: The System That Made My Father Disown Me

I didn’t write this living testimony for virality. I wrote it because silence almost killed me. Because truth, even when ignored by algorithms, remembers how to survive. If this resonated with you — even quietly — share it with someone else who’s still trying to name their Fracture. That’s how we outlive the system. - Philmon John, May 2025

THE FRACTURE Several months ago, when I, a South-Asian American man, turned 35, my father disowned me.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t cry. He simply stopped calling me his son.

My father is a Brown, MAGA-aligned conservative Christian pastor, born in Kerala, India, and now living in the United States. His rejection wasn’t provoked by any breach of trust or familial responsibility, but by my coming out as queer and bisexual — and by my deliberate move away from a version of Christianity shaped more by colonial rule than compassion.

I became blasphemy made flesh.

My mother and sister, equally immersed in religious conservatism, followed suit. Most of my extended family — conservative Indian Christians — responded with quiet complicity. I became an exile in my own lineage, cast out from a network that once celebrated me as the Mootha Makkan, the Malayalam term for “eldest son”.

This break didn’t occur in isolation. It was the culmination of years of internal questioning and ideological transformation.

I was raised with warmth and structure, but also under the weight of rigid theology. My parents cycled through different churches in pursuit of doctrinal purity. In that environment, my queerness had no safe harbor. It had to be hidden, managed, controlled — forced into secrecy.

Literal, cherry-popping closets.

Even my childhood discipline was carved straight from scripture — “spare the rod, spoil the child” was not metaphor but mandate. I was hit for defiance, for curiosity, for emotional honesty. Control was synonymous with love. The theology: obedience over empathy. Is it sad I would rather now have had a beating from my father, than his silence?

I would’ve taken the rod — at least it acknowledged me.

Instead, Daddy looks through me.

THE INHERITANCE And I obeyed. For a time, I rose through the ranks of the church. I led worship. I played guitar in the worship band. I wasn’t just a believer — I was a builder of belief, a conductor of chorus, a jester of jubilee and Sunday morning joy — all while masking a private ache I could not yet articulate.

In the last five years, I began methodically deconstructing the ideological scaffolding I had inherited. I examined the mechanisms of theology, patriarchy, and colonial imposition — and the specific burdens placed upon firstborn sons of immigrant families. Who defines our roles? Who benefits from our silence? Why is this happening to me?

These questions consistently pointed toward the dominant global structure: wealthy white patriarchal supremacy. Rooted in European imperialism and sustained by centuries of religious and cultural colonization, this system fractures not only societies but the deeply intimate architecture of family.

What my family experienced is not unlike what the United States of America continues to experience — a slow, painful reckoning with a foundational ideology of white, heteronormative, Christian patriarchal dominance.

My family comes from Kerala, home to one of the oldest Christian communities in the world. But the Christianity I inherited was not indigenous. It was filtered through the moral codes of Portuguese priests and British missionaries and the discipline of Victorian culture. Christ was not presented as a radical Middle Eastern teacher but as a sanitized figure — pale, passive, and Western.

In this theology, Christ is symbolic. Paul is the system. Doctrine exists to reinforce patriarchy, to police desire, to ensure control. When I embraced a theology rooted in love, empathy, and justice — the ethics I believe Jesus actually lived — I was met not with discussion, but dismissal.

To my family, my identity wasn’t authenticity. It was apostasy.

THE RECKONING In 2020, the ground shifted.

I turned the triple decade — 30 — as the COVID-19 pandemic erupted.

Remote work slowed life down, and I had space to think deeply.

That year, the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, and countless others triggered a national and personal reckoning.

I turned to K-LOVE, the Christian radio station I grew up with, hoping to hear words of solidarity, truth, or even mourning. Instead, there was silence. No mention of racial justice. No prayers for the dead. Just songs about personal salvation, void of historical context or social responsibility.

As Geraldine Heng argues in The Invention of Race in the European Middle Ages, race was not merely a modern invention void of scientific basis — it was already taking shape in medieval Europe, where Christianity was used to sanctify, encode, and sell racial hierarchies as divine order and social technology.

As Ademọ́la, also known as Ogbeni Demola, once said: “The white man built his heaven on your land and pointed yours to the sky.” That brain-powered perceptive clarity — distilled in a single line — stays with me every day.

With professional routines interrupted and spiritual ties frayed, I immersed myself in scholarship. I entered what I now see as a period of epistemic reconstruction. I read widely — revolutionaries, poets, sociologists, historians, mathematicians, theologians, cultural critics, and the unflinching truth-tellers who name what empire tries to erase.

I first turned to the voices who now live only in memory: Bhagat Singh, James Baldwin, Frantz Fanon, bell hooks, Octavia Butler, Gloria Anzaldúa, and Vine Deloria Jr. Each carried the weight of revolution, tenderness, and truth — from anti-colonial struggle to queer theory to Indigenous reclamation.

I then reached for the veteran thought leaders still shaping the world, starting with Noam Chomsky, Naomi Klein, Shashi Tharoor, Eduardo Bonilla-Silva, Susan Visvanathan, Geraldine Heng, George Gheverghese Joseph, J. Sakai, Vijay Prashad, Vilna Bashi Treitler, Claire Jean Kim, and Arundhati Roy — voices who dismantle the illusions of empire through history, mathematics, linguistics, and racial theory.

In the present, I absorbed insights from a new generation of public intellectuals and cultural critics: Ta-Nehisi Coates, Jared Yates Sexton, Cathy Park Hong, Ibram X. Kendi, Nikole Hannah-Jones, Heather McGhee, Mehdi Hasan, Adrienne Keene, Keri Leigh Merritt, Vincent Bevins, Sarah Kendzior, Ayesha A. Siddiqi, Wajahat Ali, W. Kamau Bell, Mary Trump, & John Oliver. Together, they form a constellation of clarity — thinkers who gave me language for grief, strategy for resistance, and above all, a framework for empathy rooted in history, not abstraction.

I also turned to the thinkers shaping today’s cultural and political discourse. I dreamt of the world blueprinted by Bhaskar Sunkara in his revolutionary The Socialist Manifesto and plunged into Jacobin’s blistering critiques of capitalism. The Atlantic’s longform journalism kept me tethered to a truth-seeking tradition. The Guardian stood out for its global scale and reach, offering progressive, longform storytelling that speaks to both local injustices and systemic inequalities across the world. And Roman Krznaric’s Empathy: Why It Matters, and How to Get It helped crystallize my core belief:

Be a good human. Practice empathy.

That’s the playbook, America. Practice empathy. Do that — and teach accurate, critically reflective history — and we have the chance to truly become the greatest democracy the world has ever seen.

And this empathy must extend to all — especially to trans people. In India, the Hijra community — trans and intersex folk who have existed visibly for thousands of years — embody a sacred third gender long before the West had language for it. But they are not alone. Across the colonized world, the empire erased a sacred third space: the Muxe of Zapotec culture, the Bakla of the Philippines, the Fa’afafine of Samoa, the Two-Spirit nations of Turtle Island, the Māhū of Hawaiʻi, the Sworn Virgins of the Balkans — each of these communities held space outside Western gender binaries, rooted in care, ceremony, and spirit. Some align with what we today call trans or intersex, while others exist entirely outside Western definitions. Colonization reframed them as deviants.

And still, we must remember this: trans people are not new. Our respect for them must be as ancient as their existence.

THE RESISTANCE As I examined the dynamics of coloniality, racial capitalism, and Western empire, I realized just how deeply imperial power had shaped my family, our values, and our spiritual language. The empire didn’t just occupy land — it rewrote moral codes. It restructured the family.

I learned how Irish, Italian, Greek, Hungarian, and Albanian immigrants were initially excluded from whiteness in America. Over time, many adopted and embraced whiteness as strategic economic and social protection — and in doing so, embraced anti-Blackness and patriarchal hierarchies to maintain their newfound status. Today, many European-hyphenated Americans defend systems that once excluded them.

And over time, some Asian-Americans have followed the very same racial template.

At 33 — the age Jesus is believed to have died — I laid my childhood faith to rest. In its place rose something rooted in clarity, not doctrine.

I didn’t walk away from religion into cynicism or nihilism. I stepped into a humanist, justice-centered worldview. A system grounded in reason, evidence, and above all, empathy. A belief in people over dogma. In community over conformity.

I didn’t lose faith. I redefined it.

I left the pasture of institutional faith, not for chaos, but for an ethical wilderness — a space lacking divine command but filled with moral clarity. A place built on personal responsibility and universal dignity.

This is where I stand today.

To those with similar histories: if your roots trace back to Africa, South Asia, Southeast Asia, Central Asia, East Asia, the Middle East, Latin America, the Caribbean, Oceania, or to Indigenous and marginalized communities within the Global North — you are a Child of the Global South. Even in the Global North, your experience carries the weight of displaced geography, the quiet grief of colonial trauma, and a genealogy forged by the system of empire. Your pain is political. Your silence is inherited. You are not invisible. They buried you without a funeral. They mourned not your death, but your deviation from design. However, we are not dead. We are just no longer theirs.

White supremacy endures by fracturing us. It manufactures tensions between communities of color by design — placing Asian businesses in Black communities without infrastructure and opportunities for BIPOC folk to share and benefit from the economic engine. Central to this strategy is the model minority myth, crafted during the Cold War to present Asian-Americans as obedient, self-reliant, and successful — not to celebrate them, but to invalidate Black resistance and justify structural racism. It’s a myth that fosters anti-Blackness in Asian communities and xenophobia in Black ones, while shielding white supremacy from critique. These divisions are not cultural accidents; they’re colonial blueprints.

And these blueprints stretch across oceans and continents and time.

In colonial South Africa, Mohandas Gandhi — still shaped by British racial hierarchies — distanced Indians from Black Africans, calling them “kaffirs” and demanding separate facilities. In Uganda, the British installed South Asians as a merchant middle class between colonizers and native Africans, breeding distrust. When Idi Amin expelled 80,000 Asians in 1972, it was a violent backlash to a racial hierarchy seeded by empire. These fractures — between Black and Asian, colonized and sub-colonized — are the legacy of white patriarchal supremacy.

Divide, distract, and dominate.

We must resist being weaponized against each other.

Every Asian-American must read Minor Feelings by Cathy Park Hong. Every high schooler in America must read and discuss Jared Yates Sexton.

Study the systems. Name them. Disarm them.

Because unless we become and remain united, the status quo — one that serves wealthy cisgender, heterosexual, white Christian men — will remain intact.

This is A Call to the Children of the Global South. And An Invitation to the Children of the Global North: Stop the infighting. Study and interrogate the systems. Reject the design.

To those in media, publishing, and the arts: postcolonial narratives are not cultural sidebars. They are central to national healing. They preserve memory, restore dignity, and confront whitewashed histories.

If you want work that matters — support art that pushes past trauma into structural critique.

Greenlight truth. Platform memory. Choose courage over comfort.

Postcolonial stories should be the norm — not niche art.

Jordan Peele’s Get Out was a cinematic breakthrough — razor-sharp and genre-defying — in its exposure of white supremacy’s quiet machinery: liberal smiles, performative allyship, and the pacification of dissent through assimilation. The Sunken Place is not just a metaphor for silenced Black consciousness — it’s the empire’s preferred position for the marginalized: visible, exploited, but unheard.

A system that offers the illusion of inclusion, weaponizing identity as control.

Ken Levine’s BioShock Infinite exposed white supremacy through a dystopian, fictional but historically grounded lens - depicting the religious justification of Black enslavement, Indigenous erasure, and genocidal nationalism in a floating, evangelical empire.

David Simon’s The Wire exposed the institutional decay of law enforcement, education, and the legal system - revealing how systemic failure, not individual morality, drives urban collapse.

Jesse Armstrong’s Succession traced the architecture of empire through family - showing how media empires weaponize racism, propaganda, and manufactured outrage to generate profit and secure generational wealth.

Ava DuVernay's Origin unearths caste and race as twin blueprints of white supremacy - linking Dalit oppression in India to the subjugation of Black Americans. Adapted from Isabel Wilkerson's Caste, it dismantles the myth of isolated injustice, revealing a global system meticulously engineered to rank human worth - and the radical act of naming the system.

Ryan Coogler’s Sinners — a revelatory, critically and commercially successful film about Afro-Asian resistance in 1930s Mississippi — exposes the hunger for speculative narratives grounded in historical truth.

Across the Spider-Verse gave us Pavitr Prabhakar - a Brown superhero who wasn't nerdy or celibate, as Western media typically portrayed the South-Asian man, but cool, smart, athletic, with great hair, in love, and proudly anti-colonial. He called out the British for stealing and keeping Indian artifacts… in a Spider-Man movie. That moment was history reclaimed.

A glitch in the wealthy white patriarchal matrix.

Dev Patel’s Monkey Man is a visceral fable of vengeance and resistance, where the brutality of caste, corruption, and religious nationalism collide. Amid this chaos, the film uplifts the Hijra community who stand not only as victims, but as warriors against systemic violence. Their alliance reframes queerness not as deviance, but as defiance — ultimately confronting the machinery of empire with what it fears most: a system-breaking empathy it cannot contain.

The vitriolic backlash from white male gamers and fandoms isn’t about quality — it’s about losing default status in stories. Everyone else has had to empathize with majority white male protagonists for decades. Diverse representation in media isn’t a threat to art — it’s a threat to white supremacy. It’s not just a mirror held up to the globe — it’s a refusal to let one worldview define it.

Hollywood, gaming studios, and the gatekeepers of entertainment — if you want to reclaim artistic integrity and still make money doing it, we need art that remembers, resists, and reclaims — stories that name the machine and short-circuit its lies. The world is ready. So am I.

Today, efforts like Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation, and the Federalist Society are not merely policy shops — they are ideological engines: built to roll back civil rights, impose authoritarian values, and erase uncomfortable truths. They represent a hyper-concentrated form of white supremacy, rooted in unresolved Civil War grievances and the failures of Reconstruction.

Miraculously, or perhaps, blessed with intellectual curiosity and natural empathy, through all of this, my wife — a compassionate, steadfast partner and a Christian woman — has remained by my side. She has witnessed my transformation with both love and complexity. While our bond is rooted in deep respect and shared values, our spiritual landscapes have diverged. Her faith brings her solace; mine has evolved into something more secular, grounded in justice and humanism. We’ve navigated that tension with care — proof that love can stretch across differing beliefs, even as the echoes of religious conditioning still ripple through our lives.

I am proud of her increasing intellectual curiosity and her willingness to accept me for who I am now, even if I wasn’t ready to accept myself when we met.

But our marriage has defied the splintering that white supremacy specifically creates: hyper-capitalist, hyper-individualistic, fractured families and societies.

As Children of the Global South — descendants of peoples who survived enslavement, colonization, and erasure — we carry within us the urgent need for stories that do not turn away from history, but confront it with unflinching truth.

In the pain of losing my family, I found a deeper purpose: to tell this story — and my own — any way I can. A sudden rush of empathy, pity, and love struck me: My parents’ and sister’s rejection was not theirs alone — it was a lingering Fracture left by colonization and global exploitation, tearing apart families across generations. As Children of the Global South, we still carry those wounds.

Make no mistake: white supremacy leaves wounds — because it is the system. And unless it is dismantled, both the Global South and North — and their collective Children — will remain trapped in a dance choreographed by empire — built to divide, exploit, and erase. Any vision of democracy, in America, will remain a fragile illusion — if not an outright mythology — built on a conceptually false foundation: white supremacy itself.

A cruel, heartbreaking legacy of erasure — passed down through empire — indoctrinating God-fearing Brown fathers to erase their godless, queer Brown sons. Preaching shame as scripture. Teaching silence as survival.

I reject that inheritance.

Empathy as praxis is how we reject that inheritance. In a world engineered to divide, it rebuilds connection, disarms supremacy, and charts a path forward. If humanity is to survive — let alone heal — empathy must become our collective discipline.

And perhaps what cut even deeper for my father — beyond my queerness — was that I no longer validated his role as a pastor. In stepping away from the faith he had built his life upon, I wasn’t just rejecting a belief system. I was, in his eyes, nullifying his life’s work. For a man shaped by empire, ordained by colonial Christianity, and burdened with the role of moral gatekeeper, my departure from his manufactured worldview may have landed as personal failure. But it wasn’t. It was never about wanting to hurt him. I love my father. I love my mother. I love my sister. It was never about them — it was about the system that taught them love was conditional, acceptance required obedience, and dissent unforgivable. That kind of pain is real — but its source is systemic. I still want to be Mootha Makkan — not by obedience, but by truth. By love without condition. Not through erasure, but by living fully in the open. Not in their image, but in mine.

Yet, and yes, I also carry the wound — but I also carry the will to heal it.

THE CALL I believe in empathy. I believe in memory. I believe the Children of the Global South are not broken. We are not rejected. We are awakening.

Children of the Global North: join us. We are not your enemies. We are your present and future collaborators, business & creative partners, lovers, and kin. We are building something new — something ancient yet reawakened, a pursuit of empathy, and a reckoning with history that refuses to forget.

If this story resonated with you, kindly share it, spread the word and please comment. I’d love to hear from you. Your voice, your memory, your Fracture — it matters here.

You are not alone. All are welcome.

Thank you so, so much for your time in reading my story.

You can also email me directly: vinesvenus at protonmail.com I'll be writing more on Medium as well: https://medium.com/@vinesvenus/a-call-to-the-children-of-the-global-south-the-system-that-made-my-father-disown-me-fecad6c0b862

#queer #exvangelical #global south #colonialism #religious trauma #deconstruction #lgbtqia #longform essay #history #queer history #queer community #queer pride #mental health #agnostic #ex christian #atheist #empathy in praxis #empathy

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cutehoons02 · 17 days ago

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Blood Sacrificies

Desire:Unleash Sunghoon pt Jay pt

*pairing: Hacker nerd vampire Jake x influencer Girl

*trope: he fell first (obsession) she fell harder

*synopsis: Jake has only one wish in life: to drink forever the blood he’s obsessed with—the only blood he can actually feed on. But something happens that drives him crazy: you, the only girl who doesn’t seem to notice him, are the one donating his favorite blood. You donate it because you have a rare condition—your body produces too much blood, and if you don’t donate regularly, you suffer from severe dizziness, vomiting, and could even die. But this is a secret, because you're one of the most popular girls in Korea and a social media influencer with millions of followers. When Jake finds out you're the girl behind the uncomfortable blood bags he's been drinking from, he blackmails you and forces you to let him be the only one who can “help” you—biting you once a week. But what would happen if one of you fell in love? You’re a human with dreams, and he’s a 130-year-old vampire who, on paper, is your age—but behind that, he hides a dark identity.

*tags: Jake at first wants only for blood, corruption, blackmail, fluffy, love to tease, fashion/influencer girl slightly spoiled and thinking about herself, Jake emanates dark vibes but also from golden retrievers, blood, types of blood, bites, bite description, a lot of kisses, fake innocent girl, needy Jake, masturbation (male) unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) shower sex, pet names (baby,princess) (nerd,jakey) +18, statement

17k (🦷)

The world between humans and vampires had long been established.

There were no more wars; only tense silences. The fragile balance of a hybrid civilization was tested every single day. Vampires had to feed without killing, they had to register, obey strict laws enforced by the Blood Bank regulations and the edicts of the Vampire State, and coexist with humans with the dizzying variety of blood types and the intoxicating scents that constantly surrounded them. Those who broke the rules were labeled "rebel vampires" aggressive, manipulative, and uncontrollable. To keep them in check, universities and governments had created parallel networks, teams of expert hackers- vampires, humans, even warlocks- tasked with exposing the lawbreakers.

Jake was one of the best. A full-blooded nerd, with a degree in mathematics, a PhD in quantum physics, and above all a brilliantly cursed mind when it came to systems.

Jake wasn’t like other vampires.

While 90% of them were content with any blood, Jake fed exclusively on AB Rh-negative.

The rarest, the purest, the most... yours, and he was utterly obsessed with it addicted, even. Every week, a single bag would arrive at the Blood Bank. His type and when he drank it…he felt something no vampire was ever supposed to feel: an erotic, almost spiritual pleasure.

For most vampires, Blood Bank bags were indistinguishable-practical, clinical but for Jake, Saturdays were sacred. He lived for the moment he could either walk into the Bank or receive the package at home: Those sealed blood bags, filled with your blood. Of course, he didn’t know it was yours not until that cursed day when everything changed—for you, and him.

The Blood Bank was teeming with vampires, each with their code granting access to special rooms where they could drink from blood bags or, for those who preferred it, pick up sealed packs to take home. He was sitting in the designated room, where his blood type was marked on the wall, waiting to drink. But the moment the first drops touched his tongue and slid down his throat, he knew something was wrong: the scent from the bag had changed.

Jake noticed it instantly, as the ruby liquid grazed his palate. It wasn’t the same. It no longer had that warm, deep note... the one that used to scream inside him every time his tongue touched the vial’s spout.

He drank. One sip, two... then stopped. His fangs had emerged, of course, they had, it was still blood but they hadn’t tapered the way they usually did, and his breathing grew shallow. His heart (if he could still call it that) was beating too slowly. And he didn’t feel that jolt of electricity, that erotic surge, that always came when he drank blood. Especially yourblood.

He placed the container on the lab table, staring at the red liquid trembling under the cold neon light.

“What the hell…” he muttered, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt tighter over his arms, too long, too thin.

The lab door opened with a hiss of sterile air.

-Oh, Jake. Still here? It’s late. Why haven’t you finished all your bags- The Blood Bank supervisor: a vampire who looked about seventy, but was probably over five hundred gave him a warm, familiar grimace. He had known Jake since the first time he’d shown up, one of the rare vampires who could only feed on one very specific type of blood.

-I’ve never seen you leave a single drop behind. What’s going on, kid-Jake shot to his feet, red eyes gleaming.

“It’s not… it’s not the same as always. This isn’t the blood I drank last week,” he said, irritation sharp in his voice from the lingering taste.

-What do you mean?- the supervisor asked, puzzled. “The AB Rh negative blood bag I get every week. This one’s different. The chemical profile is off. The iron levels are higher. The glucose composition is different. And the smell... The smell is completely wrong.”

-Jake…- “I want to know why. I want to know why you changed my donor.”The supervisor sighed. He opened an old tablet, tapped the screen a few times, and scrolled through the data. Then he stopped.

-Anonymous donor. Code ‘MF020-Z’. The last donation: was two weeks ago. The donor signed off. Chose to stop contributing. No explanation given.-

Jake went pale. His hands turned colder, as if someone was ripping away the only thing that still kept him warm kept him alive, these past five years. He’d gone through several donors, but you were his favorite. He didn’t even know who you were, but your blood was pure addiction, poison, and longing all at once.

“They… don’t want to donate anymore?” he murmured, lips tight in a pout. -It happens. Sometimes donors change their minds. Too tired, too drained… or they just stop. They can’t donate forever. What’ll you do when the person with this code dies? Jake, you need to understand humans have the right to choose. And don’t worry, there will always be someone out there with the blood type you need.-

“It can’t happen to me.”

-Jake...-

“I need that blood. I’ve been fine for five years, even with slightly lower glucose or iron levels. But my body will feel the difference.” His tone was too human, too childish and the supervisor realized just how fragile he was under all that brilliance. Jake said nothing more. He walked out.

He returned to his bunker in the university basement, where the hum of servers drowned out his thoughts. He still had a couple of your bags left in his apartment, and now more than ever, he was determined to find out who you were.

Twenty-four hours later.

The code was burned into his mind: MF020-Z

He wasn’t supposed to access the donor database. It was locked down multiple layers of protection and if anyone found out he’d violated privacy protocols, he’d be slapped with a lawsuit and a massive fine. But to discover who had kept him alive for the past five years, Jake would do anything and Jake was a hacker a desperate one; and when you put those two things together, even the gods start to tremble.

So he slid on his nerdy glasses, and his noise-canceling headphones, and started typing. Encrypting. Bouncing through firewalls. Masking his IP.

“Who are you, MF020-Z?” he whispered, fingers dancing over the keyboard as he entered the code into the Blood Bank’s account database. Then, he saw it. The file opened after nearly two hours of relentless hacking, and Jake couldn’t believe his eyes.

Your photo. But most of all your name, bolded above the blood type he’d been drinking for years. That blood had come from your body. And you were the only girl who had ever truly driven him mad from the first moment he saw you in the computer science classroom.

Name: [YOUR NAME]

Age: 22

Major: Communication and Marketing

Status: Influencer – verified profile

Last Donation: Two weeks ago

Reason for Stopping: Confidential

Jake’s breath caught. He shoved his chair back and slammed his head into the backrest, he knew you, of course, he did. Everyone at the university knew you. You were one of the most popular girls on campus, one of the hottest influencers in the state. You’d taken a basic coding class with him. Sat in the front row with your oversized Apple headphones, and designer sunglasses: Prada, Miu Miu, Céline. Hats of all kinds. Bags that cost more than his entire apartment.

A clean girl dream, styled like someone who had it all and you’d smiled at him once in a while. Maybe just to be polite. Because to you, he was the loser in the back row. The one in faded hoodies, stammered when he spoke to you, the one who watched you from afar when you ordered matcha vanilla lattes at the campus café, the one who’d had a crush on you since day one.

“It was her. It’s always been her. The blood… it was hers.” Jake buried his face in his hands. His lips trembled. He felt like crying (but his body hadn’t allowed itself that release in a long, long time.)

So instead, he collapsed onto the bed, a giant mattress with black covers that smelled of something dark and citrusy, set atop stacked server crates. He still held your half-empty blood bag in his hand, drinking from it like it was his only reason to exist and maybe it was.

After a few minutes of silent sobbing and cursing the world, Heeseung walked in his work partner, roommate, and one of his closest friends.

'Bro, where the hell have you been? You disappeared for two days.' Jake didn’t answer, his lips were stained red, he buried his longish hair into the pillow and groaned softly.

'Did you binge again?' Heeseung asked, walking closer like an older brother checking on his little one. Sometimes Jake overindulged in the rare blood he was allowed to drink and it left him a mess but Heeseung could see Jake looked physically fine.

It was the expression that was off.

“It’s not my blood,” Jake muttered, clutching the bag to his chest like a child hugging a stuffed toy. 'What? What do you mean, Jake?' Heeseung said, serious now. “My blood. The one I always drink. The one that keeps me calm, that makes me feel… alive. It’s gone the donor stopped and I’m obsessed.” 'Jake… I’m sorry. But you know donors can stop after a few years. It’s their right.'

“It’s her. The girl. It’s always been her. She’s my worst nightmare,” Jake whispered, curling up against Heeseung. 'What girl?' Jake turned to him, eyes shining.

“Her. [Your Name]. The popular one. The one everyone wants. I was drinking her blood and didn’t even know it. Every time I looked at her, I felt something and couldn’t explain it. Sure, she’s gorgeous and completely my type—but now I get it.

It’s because she was inside me. Her blood every week feeding me and now…”

'Oh… shit.' Jake nestled into Heeseung’s arms, still hugging the bag like a lifeline.

“Why did she stop, Heeseung? Why doesn’t she want to donate anymore? I didn’t do anything to her. She doesn’t even know me. I respect her, I do, but I need her. I need her blood. I need to feed… and I need to possess her.”

Heeseung crouched beside him, lost for words, Jake’s eyes welled up with blood-tinged tears.

“I want to talk to her. I want to give her everything. I just want her to let me stay close. I just… I just need to feel her inside me again. Just one more time.” and in that moment, Heeseung realized the youngest vampire in the room had crossed a line. he wasn’t just dependent anymore.

He was obsessed nd it was about to get worse.

Being the most popular girl on campus came with perks. Free notes even for exams you haven’t picked yet, frat party invites even if you’d only shown up once, for the photos and then… the brands. A storm of packages, every week: lipsticks, heels, smartwatches—even a vampire perfume that “lasts longer than the smell of human blood.”

TikTok, Instagram, a devoted community hanging on your every word but popularity had its price. Your real life—the one where you secretly donated blood every week for nearly five years, didn’t exist online. You had a rare mutation: adaptive hematic overproduction. Your body made too much blood, sometimes it gave you headaches, other times nausea, or full-on blackouts. But the Blood Bank… paid a fortune.

Your blood was AB Rh-negative, the rarest, purest kind. In a world where vampires had to feed without killing, your blood was liquid gold. You earned €2000 a week, just for donating, it wasn’t something you could just… give up but two days ago, the nurse wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“We’re sorry. Your rate’s being cut by 60%. They found another compatible donor. She has 0.3% more iron. The new protocol requires offer equality.”

You crossed your arms, pulling your Acne Studios trench tighter.

“My blood isn’t just chemistry. It’s desirable. It’s unique. And I’m not about to be paid like some random chick with a needle in her arm.”

“We don’t make the rules,” muttered the vampire secretary, scrolling your profile.

Your voice dropped to a whisper. “Then I’m not donating anymore.”and that was that or so you thought.

That afternoon, you were lounging in the library café. Legs crossed, eyes bouncing between your phone and laptop. Your matcha was lukewarm-vanilla matcha, your go-to “I didn’t sleep but I look flawless” drink.

Seated at your usual glass table, you scrolled mindlessly anew comment on your satin lingerie post, alike from someone with 32k followers, a DM from a Japanese skincare brand.

Same old routine—until your eyes widened, your bank balance had dropped and not for a Chanel bag or a Tokyo flight, you hadn’t donated in a week. And now, no money. Your pout was instant, childish even but with a razor edge, your followers loved.

“I need a new plan… or maybe I make them beg to take me back.”

And then you felt it that stare, sticky, too silent yet screaming. Your eyes lifted across the lounge: Jake Sim.

Black hoodie. Messy hair. Eyes down on his laptop, nerd glasses on, except when he looked at you and he kept looking at you. Like he knew something, it annoyed you. But it also… made your skin tingle.

Jake was weird, he knew everything about Wi-Fi networks but blushed if you bit your hair tie a loser, sure but also someone who knew way too much, specially for someone over 100 years old with those adorable little fangs that peeked out when he smiled. Jake had discovered your dirty little secret.

He felt your heartbeat, tracked the way your blood surged. He had hacked the entire donor database to find you and now, he couldn’t stop looking.

He watched you like a collector who’d found his missing masterpiece, locked behind bulletproof glass. He could still taste your blood in his throat (your blood) and it made him ache.

His fangs itched for your pale, perfect skin, he looked away and tapped on his keyboard… but when your drink neared its end?

His game began.

The chair across from you slid out. Slowly, you rolled your eyes before even looking up.

“Jake Sim,” you muttered. The vampire-nerd sitting across from you or, as you privately called him: “My personal stalker dressed like a broke Calvin Klein model.”

He’d followed you on every account, liked every post: notifications on you were sure of it, he’d like your story before Instagram even finished uploading it and he didn’t even hide it.

Not even a little, Jake tilted his glasses down and gave you a lopsided grin: Classic sexy-outcast-with-too-many-secrets expression.

His fangs peeked out slightly, he propped his chin on his hand, elbow on the table, looking calm but bold, too bold...

You folded your arms over your chest almost instinctively. As if shielding your heart. Or your blood.

“Jake, do you need something? Or are you just here to compliment my new modeling campaign?” He stretched like a smug kitten, that’s when you saw it: Beneath the oversized hoodie, a hint of pale skin and below that a perfect V-line. Sharp. Carved. Leading right down to the waistband of black Calvin Klein boxers.

Jesus Christ, you thought.

His brown eyes were lit with something wicked, his lips curled into a smirk.

“Good question,” he said, raking a hand through his hair like he was in a shampoo ad. Jake was a dangerous cocktail: Smoldering eyes, puppyish grin, big veiny hands, if he weren’t a vampire (and so weird), you might’ve flirted with him one night… after an Aperol Spritz.

“You done scanning me? Or are you checking for a serial number under my belt?” You sighed, crossing your legs a little slower this time, knee exposed, tilted your head and went in for the kill.

“Jake, just because you’ve got a V-line and the hands of a guy who knows his way around a screwdriver, doesn’t mean you’re interesting. You’re still the same stalker-nerd with dark circles from too many incognito tabs.”

His laugh was soft, sweet and dangerous. It had that tone the kind that made you feel like he was about to tell you something forbidden. Or worse: Something true.

“Not nice to tease a guy, you know?” “Oh, right. Forgot. You’re a vampire.” “Especially one who knows things... no one else does.”

You froze, just a second then sat up straighter. Controlled. Icy.

“Explain.” Jake licked his lip just slightly. You saw his fang catch the skin. He seemed to like it, then… he pulled out a neatly folded note. Laminated, placed it on the table slowly, deliberately. His gaze never left yours, nothing goofy about it now. Just pure, calculated confidence.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning boredom. “Jake, I don’t have time for your games.” “Oh no?” he whispered. “Then why are you sweating through that perfect skin of yours?” His laugh was low. Slippery and then he added, voice laced with mischief: “Come on, princess. Fake it better. You’re an influencer, right?”

It was like he’d slapped you with a velvet glove his words burned so soft, so sharp. Your gaze finally drifted down…to the paper and something in your chest shifted.

Your heart gave a jolt. You recognized that plastification, that print that had haunted you for five years now. With trembling fingers, you opened it. Your eyes betrayed you before your words could.

MF020-Z

Your code.

Your throat dried up, and your hands began to shake, but you forced yourself to wear the mask of innocence. “I don’t know what this is…” you murmured, your voice falsely neutral.

Jake looked at you calmly, but his eyes were hungry and glassy; he could hear your accelerated heartbeat, the imperceptible tremble in your wrists, and the way you were denying the obvious.

“Think carefully. You’re not stupid.” His voice was soft, but it cut like ice. He lifted his gaze from the paper and locked eyes with you.“MF020-Z” he repeated. Loudly. In the middle of the room. “How do you know that code?” you asked in a low voice. “Because… I do recognize it, okay?”

You followed the words with a grimace, trying to blur it out a bit, keep him hanging. Jake straightened, narrowing his eyes. “Why don’t you donate blood anymore?” You bit your lip and sighed. Then, finally, you snapped. “They found someone else. Almost like me. Just 0.3% more iron. And they don’t pay me like before.” You said it fast, in one breath, as if it might hurt less that way. Jake looked at you, unmoving, then rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, revealing strong forearms, with thin veins running like blue circuits under his pale skin.

“I used to drink your blood.” He said it quietly. Almost… with melancholy. You nodded, barely. Then, in a whisper, said: “I don’t donate anymore.”

“Why?” he asked, slightly gruff. “Because they don’t pay me like they used to.” You lowered your gaze, slowly admitting your secret. “I have a condition actually, a fucking blood disorder. I produce way more blood than normal. They did tests every month and paid me a lot. I needed that money…” Jake didn’t respond right away. “How much?” The question was sharp. Direct. Professional, almost.“Two, three thousand euros per donation.”

He cursed under his breath, turning to the side. “Shit. I can’t believe the Blood Bank gives that kind of money to humans. Honestly, if I were human, I’d do it too…”. “I know,” you replied, shoulders sagging. “But I needed it. Clothes, travel, stuff. But also to keep my body in balance… if I don’t remove blood regularly, I get sick. I can have dizziness, headaches or worse. And each year it gets worse if I don’t donate at all.”

Jake stared at you. Something in him cracked. It wasn’t just desire anymore—it was some brutal, primal form of protection. “So if they stop paying you, you risk getting sick. Dying, even.” You nodded, slowly. “And no one knows?” “No one. Just my parents. And now you. So I want to know, Jake, what are you going to do with that information?”

Jake studied you. The corners of his lips twisted into a crooked smile a broken laugh, sweet but sinister, like something ancient and dark, was rising in his cold veins. It was the sound of a vampire holding himself back. A laugh, just barely scratched, caught in his throat too low to be human, like his larynx was made of smoke and iron.

“I could pay you myself.” He said it in that low, calm, almost seductive tone, but cold like a blade dipped in ice. His eyes studied you with unsettling, precise attention. You immediately looked away from the code, curling your lips in irritation.

“No.” “You haven’t even heard my offer, princess.” “I don’t care. I’m not selling myself to a vampire especially not to you, Jake.” His smile sharpened. He leaned forward slightly, the veins in his hands taut against the surface of the table. “You’re already selling yourself. You just prefer to do it quietly.” An elegant stab that’s what he’d just delivered. You squinted your eyes, baring your teeth slightly.

“Are you trying to insult me, or just turn me on?” “Maybe both,” he said, looking at you like you were a five-star meal.“I’m trying to save you.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “I need money, Jake. Nothing else.” He stood, folding his arms across his chest.

“You need protection too. The rebels… they can smell you. You have no idea what they’d do for a bag of your blood or you, whole. They’d tear you apart, break you into pieces just to get a taste, and then leave you to die drained.” A chill ran down your spine. But you didn’t let it show.

“And you? You don’t risk anything, do you?” “I could die without that blood. So yes, I risk it too.” “So we’re fifty-fifty,” you said with a slightly bratty tone. “Damn… you’re too clever to be an influencer.” You smirked slightly. “I study communication. I know how to sell myself and how to read the market. And you, Jake, are a buyer way too impatient.” He clenched his jaw. That nerdy smile shattered, replaced by something more primal—a desire that wasn’t just for your blood… but for all of you.

“I’m offering a deal.” You stood still, one eyebrow raised. “I protect you. Every day, I bite you. I take your blood when the pressure gets too high, I save you from your condition. And I protect you from the rebels, my bite leaves a mark. It 'claims' you. No one will touch you.” His tone dropped, hoarse. “And I’ll pay you. I’ve got a great job, you know that. I’ve got money, I’m not desperate but I want your blood. Every drop. Especially to keep living… like I always have.”

You stared at him for a long second. Then you stood up, your hair whipping over your shoulder with a sharp movement. “I don’t want money from any vampire. I’m not desperate, Jake. I just want my freedom and for the Blood Bank to treat me as I deserve.”You turned on your heels to leave but he was faster. He caught your wrist, gently, but firmly so firmly you couldn’t ignore it and then… he brought it to his lips, closed his eyes, and inhaled slowly.

Jake had to restrain himself from biting you right there in front of everyone because if he did, they’d label him a rebel. His nostrils flared, then slowly closed as he drank in your scent. His nose brushed against your skin.

“You know… I could break you right here, right now.” His whisper was glacial, vampiric, and full of restrained hunger because even though he was feeding off that disgusting bank blood, he only truly wanted yours. Then… a fang grazed your vein. It didn’t pierce-just touched your skin, like a threat. Like a promise that someday, you’d give in.

“Jake…” Your voice broke. “Don’t.” “You’re letting yourself die,” he whispered. You yanked your wrist back and stepped away, heart racing. You didn’t even look at him but you knew he was still watching you.

You hated going to parties: the sweat, the sticky cups, the cheap alcohol, the music way too loud, and people grinding against each other like dancing necessarily meant dry-humping in clothes. You were on a different level. You would’ve much preferred a refined drink on an elegant rooftop near the Seoul Tower, surrounded by soft lights and thin glasses, sophisticated music, and not sticky bodies or boys looking for the next girl to slide their dick into before vanishing like ghosts. You were on another level, and the only reason you were there was because your best friend was part of the campus student council and had organized the party for a “good cause.” So there you were, dressed in dark jeans, an aesthetic tee from an emerging Korean brand with a matte silver logo embroidered across the chest. On your feet: platform boots. And over your shoulders: your usual black leather jacket, patched with cities you’d traveled to around the world. Whispers followed you everywhere. Some said you’d modeled for a vampire-themed perfume campaign. Others said you were dating a human CEO or that you’d been seen with a mysterious vampire in the library but you ignored them. Sure, there were cute guys around. But it had been almost two weeks since your last blood donation, and your body was starting to scream. The pressure in your temples pounded like a war drum, and you would’ve paid gold just to feel normal again. You’d taken a pill two hours before, but with the music blasting in the living room, each beat felt like a slap inside your skull. You moved toward your best friend, who was laughing with a guy who had feline eyes probably half vampire and you whispered in her ear: “I'm stepping out for some air. I just need to breathe.” She immediately turned, concerned. 'Hey, are you okay? You look pale.' “I’m fine. I’m not dying tonight, don’t worry.” You winked at her more so at the guy she was talking to, who was seriously cute and slipped outside. The yard was crowded. People drinking in the pool, others playing beer pong with glowing cups, someone making out hard under the terrace, and more bodies grinding to the beat.

You rolled your eyes you didn’t want any of that. You found a bench behind the house, partially in the shadows, and sat down with a sigh. You leaned your head back, gazing at the stars and the full moon, and thought about how beautiful it was to be alone, how maybe you should spend more time by yourself but the silence, the almost peace, didn’t last long.

Three guys approached. One with bleached blond hair, one with a regrettable mullet, and one with his shirt unbuttoned down to his navel.

-Hey there, gorgeous. All alone out here?- said the blond with a sly grin.

'You need company?' asked the one with the tragic mullet.

--You’re way too hot to be hiding,-- added the shirtless one, showing off a chest way too jacked for your taste.

“I need a miracle, not three clowns begging for attention,” you said, eyeing them as you pulled out your phone, opening the chat with your best friend so they'd see you were “busy.”

They hesitated. One coughed, and the other tried to laugh it off.

-Damn, you’re sharp. You need to relax, babe,- said the blond. “I need you to disappear. Like, right now. I want to be alone.”

They glanced at each other. One raised his hands. 'Wow, okay. Hot but bitchy. Classic. Like most girls who don’t know how to have fun!'

You rolled your eyes and let them go as they walked off grumbling, you allowed yourself a tiny smirk but the headache was still there. Pounding. You groaned softly from the pain and that’s when you smelled it.

Mint. Something citrusy. But also… something warmer. Like wet wood and fresh blood. It passed behind your neck then a cold breath.A deep, damp inhale… at your throat.

“You’re an easy target, you know that?” The voice. Jake. “You sit with your back to the house… to the pool… It’s like you’re asking to be found.” You opened your eyes slowly and tilted your chin up. He was there.,standing behind you, one hand resting on the bench, his gaze calm and sharp. His brown eyes gleamed like a liquid under the moonlight and his smile… the same as always. Half nerd, half predator in disguise.

“Jake. What a surprise. Or maybe not,” you said, touching your forehead. “I saw you the moment you stepped into the party.” He slid down to sit next to you, that spiced scent with a citrus note wrapping around you. Ripped jeans and an oversized hoodie unzipped halfway down his chest revealing pale, smooth skin. His hair was slightly longer than the last time you saw him, he looked like a disaster dressed up as a dream… or maybe your worst nightmare.

“You look terrible,” he said, smiling too softly for a vampire like him. “Thanks. You’re the first to say it so sweetly,” you replied, closing your eyes. “Blood pressure headache?” You didn’t answer. He already knew. He watched as you brought a hand to your forehead. “Let me guess: you took an aspirin. Like that could help.” “You’re not my doctor, Jake,” you said, clenching your jaw. “No. I’m worse.”

He leaned in slightly, his knee brushing yours. “You want to wait until you faint? Until your blood explodes? Until some stray picks up your scent before I do and bites without knowing what you're going through?”

When you opened your eyes and looked at him, you whispered, “I’m telling you no.” His face was a breath away from yours, his fingers grazing your side. You looked at him with hate… but also something deeper. Something more… damned. He tilted his head, studying you, hearing your blood race faster. He whispered like a child starved for candy,

“I just want to save you.” You looked up and murmured, “Or consume me?” He chuckled, raising his hands. “Maybe both.” He lowered himself slowly, inhaling the scent of your neck. He could feel the blood rushing faster in your veins. He could sense your fear of what might happen. He could feel you were about to give in.His lips touched your skin, he didn’t bite, he just… stayed there, on the edge. He could’ve sunk his fangs into that inviting skin like a moth to flame, but he didn’t. He respected you. He exhaled softly as he took in your scent for the first time fruity, like figs and something vanilla and then looked up at you again, whispering almost to himself:

“You’re a damn poison.” But you heard it and that’s when you leaned in and kissed him. Jake froze-no, went still, like time cracked. He wasn’t sure if it was a cruel trick played by his blood-starved mind. But then, his lips moved against yours an ancient, desperate instinct. Devoted. He tasted your lips: strawberry lip balm and something that tasted like summer and damnation. You caught the hint of citrus on him, mixed with a faint metallic note.

Blood. You were 99% sure it was your blood he slid a hand around your back, pulling you flush against him. Your fingers tangled in his hair you tugged lightly and thought about how soft it felt.

“Mmh..” he moaned into your lips, frustrated like a wounded pup.“You’re… too… dangerous.” But he didn’t stop kissing you, his tongue slid across your mouth, and you pulled harder on his dark strands. He devoured you like he’d waited far too long to realize you were the answer to all his vampire problems. His breath was warm but controlled, and his fangs brushed past your teeth, searching for space. The kiss grew deeper. Rougher. His.

“Take some…” you whispered against his mouth, “...of my blood.” You expected a bite on the neck or wrist something poetic, like in Twilight or The Vampire Diaries but Jake didn’t follow clichés.

He was a Gen Z vampire. One single, precise pressure almost imperceptible a fang pierced your lip. You felt the skin split just a thin layer and gasped softly. A human sound. Unintentional. One drop. Then two. The sweet iron taste mixed between your mouth and he didn’t stop kissing you, his tongue sucked gently, rotated with yours, kissing and drinking at the same time.

You felt violated and awakened as if your body no longer belonged to you as if you were finally alive.

“You’re insane…” you whispered with a broken smile, your voice barely a thread as you gently pushed him back. You saw his lips stained with your blood, his tongue licking them slowly, like trying to remember the taste he’d longed for all these years. “I know,” he said, eyes half-lidded. “But now that I’ve had you again… now that I remember what your blood tastes like—on my tongue, in my teeth, inside me, I’m not letting you go…” He kept licking your lower lip, soothing the wound with his warm, soft tongue, as if promising to heal you after breaking you. Then he pulled back a little and you saw his eyes.

They weren’t brown anymore they were tinted red, he ran his thumb beneath your lip and, with a wicked smile that promised nothing good, whispered:

“From now on… this blood is mine. You are mine.” A shiver ran down your spine. Part of you wanted to run. The other… wanted to bite him back. Even if you weren’t a vampire, you wanted to know, feel, what they felt when feeding. He looked at you again, lips still stained with your taste, and whispered in a voice both arrogant and adoring:

“You’ve gotten yourself into one beautiful mess, baby.”

Your latest videos had blown up—views were skyrocketing, and so were the comments but something about it kept you up at night. Among the emojis, the praise, and the compliments… some words felt too precise. Too… vampiric. Some users used slang only rebellious vampires would know, others talked about your blood like they'd sensed something but you had never shown a single drop.

You didn’t cut yourself, didn’t mention it and yet, they knew. Some influencers, just to win vampire approval, let themselves be bitten live for clout and cash others sold their blood and maybe you were thinking you did it too.

But you did it for a reason: your illness. Not for likes or followers, Jake had known for weeks maybe that’s why he had said: “Move in with me. You’d be safer.” He had tried to sound casual, but the hunger in his voice gave him away. He’d already decided, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, sure. And how am I supposed to pay for two rents?” “You don’t,” he said, cocky, leaning back against the hood of his car. “You’ll stay for free… and pay with your blood.” That know-it-all tone made you roll your eyes. Especially that smirk, that smirk he used to corrupt people and that way he looked at you like you were his.

His property. Without even asking. You swallowed hard. It was just about the blood you told yourself. Just like all the others, you were the girl everyone wanted for all the wrong reasons. No one had ever bothered to understand you.

No one except Mia—your best friend. She was the only one who knew your mood swings, your fainting from blood overload, your silent nights spent wondering if it was even worth existing in a world where you were a source, not a person. When you crossed the threshold into Jake’s apartment, you expected something dark, gothic, maybe full of coffins and creepy stuff.

Instead… it looked like the lair of a brilliant nerd: a bookshelf packed with manga, old vintage consoles, controllers stacked like trophies a rug with the Bloodborne logo and a life-size cardboard cutout of a Death Note character. There were blue LED lights under the ceiling, a full wall of Funko Pops...some still wrapped, lego sets you'd never seen before, amassive PC the air screamed NERD.

Jake gave you a tour of the place like an overexcited puppy, showing you every corner like it was sacred.

“This is my fridge… there’s nothing in it. I mean, before you stopped donating blood, it was covered in your packs!”

“This is the bathroom—we’ll have to share it because the other one’s Heeseung’s.

But I’ll make as much space as you want. I bet you have a ton of creams, makeup, soaps, deodorants… probably in flavors I didn’t even know existed!”

“And this is my room. I know we’ll have to share the bed, but it’s one of the biggest king-size ones I could find—and don’t touch the katana. It’s seriously sharp.”

He surprised you. He was genuinely happy to have you there not just for the blood or maybe it was also for that…but there was something else in his eyes. A childlike excitement you’d never seen in him. In fact, in no one at least, not while they were around you.

When you stepped into his room, you noticed the huge, unmade bed that smelled faintly of lavender. The desk was overflowing, two massive monitors, cables everywhere, external hard drives, and black screens filled with running code.

The air smelled of metal, plastic… and blood and that’s when you saw it. A used blood bag tucked in the corner. Vacuum-sealed and unmistakable, the label was too familiar. Your code, clear as day the one they used every time you sat down and they prepped the tubes and needles.

You stiffened.

“Seriously?” you muttered, arms crossing over your chest. “You’re an addict? A junkie? Obsessed enough to keep my blood bags like souvenirs?” He turned, caught red-handed, and tried to snatch it before you could but you were faster. You held the bag between your fingers and pointed at the label. “This is my blood code. You drank it all, huh? Did you cry when they told you I wasn’t donating anymore?” Jake ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting away. He mumbled,

“Maybe a little… but only when I was drunk and in withdrawal, okay? I’m just a vampire who needs a specific blood type to survive…” He said it with such a pout that most girls would’ve melted into his arms but the problem was there was nothing left pulsing in his chest or maybe… there still was. You let out a laugh as you tapped the empty bag.

“You’re seriously such a loser. A tech nerd, addicted to the blood of a popular girl. Do you even hear how insane that sounds?” He stepped closer, his gaze darkening. “Insane? Maybe. But I’m not the only one who wants it. You know that, don’t you? How many comments were under your last videos?How many sniff their screens hoping to catch a whiff of your blood?”

Your stomach twisted because he was right. Jake took the bag from your hands, tossed it aside, and leaned in, his voice low, nearly a whisper.

“You attract vampires. But I… I can keep them away, i can keep you here safe and maybe… now and then… a little taste.”

His eyes flashed red for just a second just long enough to make your entire body hum. You wanted to push him away. But your body…had other plans.

Jake wouldn’t admit it, but he thought it every single time he opened the fridge.

Everything had changed since you moved in, goodbye expired ramen. He hadn’t eaten plain toast in weeks because every night, you made something for both of you. The kitchen had become your favorite kingdom. Goodbye stacked blood bags, lined up like beer cans and goodbye to the bluish-purple LED lights that once made his apartment look like a post-apocalyptic cyberpunk lair.

Now...his fridge held coconut milk, avocado, dragon fruit, and vibrantly colored vegetables. Even the pasta had turned into little heart shapes and the bathroom… Christ. It looked like the set of a girly K-drama: peel-off masks, glittery bottles, a weekly rotation of fragrances and that 14-step skincare routine that both fascinated and terrified him. You’d even taken over half his closet: pleated skirts, pastel tops, oversized hoodies with phrases like “Blood Sucker? Only if he’s hot.” Sometimes Jake reached in for a hoodie and ended up grabbing one with strawberries on it, your scent still clinging to the fabric.

His drawers? Invaded by neon tank tops and a rainbow of lingerie. Where once lay his boxers, now lived strings and lacy things barely worthy of the name underwear and even if his mind screamed don’t be a perv, he couldn’t lie he was happy. Fucking confused, but happy.

That night, he took you to the bunker. The place where he worked, tracked, hacked and monitored every rogue vampire who dared creep too close to Seoul’s red zone. He didn’t say it out loud but he wanted you to see his world. To understand it. To know he wasn’t just some guy who craved your blood. He wanted you to trust him. To see more of him. The bunker was hypnotic chaos: dim lights, metal walls, each station equipped with at least three monitors, mechanical keyboards, and facial recognition systems.

The screens showed maps painted in red zones (dangerous, rebel-infested), green zones (safe, protected 24/7), and orange zones (rare sightings, occasional rebel activity).

Running code. Thermal signals. Vampire IDs. Names. Faces. You were studying visual communication for crisis management in vampire-human diplomacy. Your pink laptop glowed. Your manicured nails clicked across the keyboard and Jake couldn’t stop watching you. He brushed your arm every time he passed on purpose and you knew it.

He loved physical contact. Weird for a vampire but Jake? He was more golden retriever than Dracula... except when his eyes turned red, or his fangs lengthened when he was turned on… or pissed off. He’d give you looks that said, You’re mine and every time you stretched, lifting your shirt just a little too high, he forgot to breathe.

He was breathing you, tracking the sweetness from your warmest points: your neck (god, that neck), your wrists (where he felt your pulse every damn day).

“Jake, you’re drooling on your keyboard,” you murmured, eyes still on your screen. He grunted, rolling his eyes. “Pff, I’m tracking rebel movements in Gangnam, dumbass.” “Oh, of course,” you smirked, biting your cheek. “Rebels… or are you just obsessed with looking at me like I’m the hottest thing on Earth?” Jake shot you a look—half embarrassed, half hungry. “Anyone else coming in here?” you asked, stretching a leg under the table to brush his knee. He cleared his throat. “Hee’s taking over in an hour.” You nodded, then looked straight into his eyes with a half-innocent, half-hellish smile. “You hungry?” Jake stiffened. His eyes betrayed the desire he was trying to suppress. His fangs sharpened barely. “I thought we were ordering food…” he muttered, trying to stay cool.“We are,” you said, standing. “But that’s not what I meant.” You slowly walked around his chair, then turned it toward you.

Jake stared, jaw tense, barely breathing he ran a hand through his long hair. “What are you doing?” he whispered, already losing composure. “Shhh… stop thinking,” you murmured. You straddled him slowly, confidently. His hands instinctively found your waist and you swore you could feel his heart beating. Which was insane vampires didn’t have a heartbeat. But with you? Jake always felt… human. Almost. Your hands rested lightly on his chest. He looked at your lips, your eyes, your throat that tasted like strawberries and life and sin.

“You’re a damn poison,” he whispered, voice wrecked. You smiled, ruffling his soft hair. Then leaned to his ear. “Then bite me.” His fangs lengthened but he didn’t go for your neck, not this time. His lips met yours, slowly, deeply, hungrily. The kiss tasted like sugar and starvation and when his fang grazed your lower lip, you gasped.

The copper tang of blood, his tongue. His kiss devouring yours. You bit his lip gently. He groaned into your mouth.

“Fucking mine,” he growled, and bit again tasting every drop, your blood warm against his lips. Your hands tangled in his hair, your heart pounding in your chest and for a moment you thought, maybe… maybe I like being tasted. As long as it makes me feel alive.

When you finally pulled away to breathe, his eyes were glowing red. His lips were stained and you asked, low: “Has anyone ever bitten you?” Jake raised an eyebrow. His hands still gripped your hips. His eyes scanned your face, your curves, everything.

“I’m a vampire, baby. I bite. I don’t get bitten.” You pouted, genuinely annoyed. “Not fair.” “Life isn’t.” He pulled you closer. “I want to try.” “Try what, exactly?” His voice was both turned on and intrigued. You leaned in, chest pressed against his, voice hushed like a confession.

“I want to know what it feels like…to leave my mark. Before you leave yours.” Jake blinked, stunned. “You’re insane.” “Maybe. But at least I don’t collect blood bags!”

You smiled before he could reply, you moved against his lap. Slow. Teasing. Deliberate. His groan was low. Rough. Almost a growl. “Shit… you’re a walking temptation.” “And you’re a blood-obsessed mystery.” You leaned in your nose brushing his neck.

He smelled like mint, citrus, and something clean but ancient. You kissed his skin open-mouthed, wet, slow. Jake leaned back in the chair, fingers digging into your hoodie.

“This isn’t the time… or the place… to get me hard, sweetheart.” You giggled, lips grazing his throat. “Relax. I’m just… studying my next victim.” Each kiss left a warm trail on his pale skin. Then, as your mouth latched on gently sucking you felt him groan.

Low. Hoarse. Ferocious. “God… if your fans saw you like this. Riding a vampire. All pink and cute…” You smiled against his skin and sucked harder. Jake tensed, his grip on you tightening. And you? You didn’t stop. You bit him—lightly. Left a mark.

When you looked up, Jake’s eyes were glassy, red-tinged, fangs barely showing beneath parted lips. You were breaking him and he was one second away from snapping.

“You’re… cruel,” he hissed. “No. Just curious.” And you licked the mark you’d made. “You’re teasing me… baby, and we don’t like being teased.” “I’m not teasing you, Jake. I’m just studying your body.” Jake groaned, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “If you keep this up, I swear—if Hee walks in, I don’t care. I’ll bite you. Here. Now and I won’t hold back.”

“And what if I want that?” You said it innocently. Jake lifted his face, red-eyed, panting. Vampire vs man. And you? You sat above him. Queen of his weakness.

“Then say it,” he whispered, showing you his fangs. But instead you slid off him. Returned to your pink laptop. Typing like nothing had happened. You left him there: Hard. Hungry and ruined.

The Olive Young atrium was crowded, with warm lights, low music, the scent of Korean products, and smiles filtered through filters and live streams. You and three other influencers, including Aria, the vampire with the sculpted face and violet lips, were testing the month’s bestselling skincare and fans pressed forward with phones raised and hungry eyes, humans and vampires mixed as if the world wasn’t a dangerous place.

You were laughing, talking with two excited girls in line, and mentioning your favorite serum when Aria suddenly tensed. Not like she had seen something, but like she had smelled it.

“Everything okay?” you asked her under your breath. She shook her head and her pupils had just dilated, she gave a signal to one of the security guards but didn’t have time before a scream tore through the air from the lower floor, followed by two more, and the music stopped.

Aria grabbed your hand with a cold and strong grip.

-Follow me, now,- she ordered. Your body froze and your instinct didn’t tell you to follow her, even though she looked protective she was still a vampire, a powerful vampire who wanted to take you away, far away, and Jake told you that you could never trust vampires 100%, you could only trust him because he knew how to control himself with you and with your blood and so you turned sharply, you didn’t want to follow her and reached into your pocket and called Jake.

“Where are you?!” he answered instantly, his tone sharp.

“Second floor in the skincare section, something happened, there’s screaming and a vampire told me to follow her but I...” you didn’t finish the sentence because he said, “Shit, go down the stairs now and come down, don’t run, just go down the stairs without being afraid and without screaming, nothing will happen to you, baby.”

Your heart was pounding like a drum and you followed his instructions as soon as you saw him at the base of the stairs, dressed in black with cold and alert eyes, you thought nothing could hurt you, but on the second-to-last step, a cold and rough hand yanked you with inhuman strength and your breath caught, you were pushed against the wall and your body hit it with a dull thud. The metallic smell of blood hit you like a punch and in front of you there was a rebel vampire: not like Jake, not like Aria, not like Jake’s friends, he was deformed in the face, feral, and blood was dripping from his hands and mouth and his eyes weren’t seeing: they were craving.

<Your blood… is too precious to be among these… humans,> he growled while pulling you towards him. You didn’t know what to do and you put your arms around your face and screamed, “Jake, I’m here, please…” without knowing who you were saying it to. To him? To Jake? You felt his cold breath on your throat and the pain was coming, you knew you wouldn’t be able to live anymore but then. BOOM.

The skincare display table flew to the side and Jake grabbed it and threw it with all his strength against the rebel vampire the wood smashed into his head and his grip on you released, Jake was growling and his eyes were red, deep, terrifying, and his fangs were visible, his veins pronounced. “Run,” he ordered with a cavernous tone. You were petrified and shook your head but he repeated, “RUN NOW, Y/N!” You ran quickly out of the store and threw yourself into the first café on the ground floor, where other people had taken shelter and you collapsed behind a counter. The vampire police sirens echoed right after and ten minutes later, when you walked out of the atrium, Jake was standing. The rebel vampire was on the ground, his face bloody, his hands tied with silver chains and the guards were loading him into a special vehicle but before getting in, the vampire looked at you. A silent whisper from his torn lips: I’ll find you. Your blood calls me. Jake saw you and heard what the rebel vampire had whispered and ran toward you his hands immediately went to your cheeks and he brought his face close to yours, his eyes still fierce but full of something you had never seen: fear, fear of losing you….

“If he had bitten you, you would’ve never woken up as yourself again,” he said, holding you tightly and you whispered his name, “Jake…” He shook his head, his voice rough. “This isn’t a game anymore. You… you have to be mine, without my bite you’re not protected by anyone and the rebels could sense you even from far away.” he said with a firm look. “Are you saying it to save me or to possess me? I don’t understand anything anymore Jake, all of this is too much…” he took your face in his hands and said, “I can’t separate the two things anymore but tonight you’ll be mine, Y/N.” He kissed your forehead, the most chaste and most threatening kiss you had ever felt from him and you understood that there was nothing more to be done.

The soft glow of violet and blue LED lights hovered along the walls of the apartment—no longer just his. The scent of coconut and vanilla blended with the faint citrusy trace of blood, which Jake could sense even from across the room.

You were sitting on the bed, wearing one of his oversized hoodies—pearl gray with a faded logo from some 80s band, legs bare and crossed, scrolling through the news on your laptop. Your face was lit by the screen, a cute pout forming as dark thoughts swirled in your mind, but you weren’t ready to break down yet. Not now.

Jake shut the bathroom door, his hair still damp and messy from the shower, and walked over in silence. With one steady hand, he slowly pushed your laptop lid closed.

“No more reading, troublemaker,” he whispered, voice calm but in that low register, he used when he was being serious. His eyes were dark and deep, and they landed on you like they wanted to read straight through your skin.

“I know it hurts you, but this isn’t how you protect yourself.” You looked at him, annoyed. “A fucking rebel vampire nearly drained me dry today. Excuse me for wanting to understand what the hell is going on. Or should I just wait for someone else to tear me apart like I’m their favorite fucking snack?”

Jake bit the inside of his cheek, and a rare, nervous twitch flickered across his face.

“You’re so damn stubborn I could hate you for it… if you weren’t so fucking mine.”

You turned away from him and curled up under the covers.

“Sure. ‘Yours.’ Just because my blood keeps you alive…”

You felt the mattress shift behind you and his hand settled on your side with a gentleness that threw you off Jake was so physical, always tugging or pulling just to feel your warmth.

“You’re not mine because of the blood.” Then a sigh, because everything had started with you giving it to him.

“Or at least… not only because of that. You’re the most alive thing I’ve ever held in my hands, and I… I’m a disaster with anything alive.”

You turned slowly, a tear staining your cheek—you hadn’t even felt it fall and Jake was right there, eyes red but glassy, his chest bare beneath the unzipped hoodie he wore. He still smelled like you; he’d probably used your shower products again. But nothing beat the scent of your skin, and he never denied it was the best thing in the world.

He looked at you like he was starving, but not just for blood.

“I want to bite you, yeah,” he said quietly, leaning in,

“but I also want to wake up to you cooking weird pink stuff in the kitchen. I want to keep finding your tank tops in my closet and your hair products in my sink. I want you to keep annoying me while I’m coding and to sit in my lap while I try to stop a vampire riot.”

You burst into a laugh—part bitter, part tender.

“That sounds like a love confession… in binary code.”

“It’s the best I’ve got.”

He paused, then added more seriously,

“Will you let me try? To take you, to protect you… and to bite you—properly?”

You looked at him.

Your heart was pounding.

Was this the moment? After everything that had happened?

You looked hard at his face—your mind told you not to trust him, that he’d only break you, but your heart… your heart beat only for him.

So you nodded.

And Jake smiled—not his usual sharp, cocky vampire grin, but a small, nervous one, full of something fragile and real.

“Good girl.”

His lips met yours, first slow, as if he were afraid to break you, and your trembling hands caressed his bare shoulders, then slid into his soft, slightly damp hair, and he shivered faintly when your fingers played at the nape of his neck. His tongue sought yours, and you moaned into his mouth, a weak and sweet sound that seemed to ignite a fuse inside him. Jake chuckled against your lips. “You’re already this sensitive… just from kissing?” His hand, cold and precise, slid beneath the hoodie you wore, tracing the curve of your side. “Relax. I’d never hurt you, you know that, right?” “I know,” you whispered. “But it’s all… too new for me.” He kissed the corner of your mouth softly. “I’m not like the other vampires, and I don’t want to be like the other men.” Then the moment swelled with new electricity and he made you raise your arms and, with slowness almost reverence, he pulled the hoodie off you, and when he saw you naked under the room’s dim light, he held his breath and wondered how something so alive, so real, could stand beside someone like him. He had to treat you the way one treats rare blood, not just for its taste, but because you didn’t know it yet but you were his, and maybe, just maybe, he was yours too. “Christ…” he murmured, and his eyes shimmered red. “You’re… you’re perfect, and you don’t even see it, because sometimes you pretend to be full of confidence, but I see it when you pout about your body.” He began to cover you in kisses, slow and warm, on your neck, your shoulders, between your breasts, and his fangs brushed your skin but he held back as if he were building a ritual, not just a gesture. “Jake…” you moaned when his tongue played with your nipple and his teeth grazed it. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this,” he murmured against your skin. “I swear I’d rather die, but I’ll never hurt you.” “Don’t stop,” you gasped at the sensation of his mouth on your body, and in that moment, he realized maybe you were his sin but also his salvation. Jake was starving for you and kept biting and sucking your hardened buds like they were nectar, alternating caresses and kneading your breasts as he laughed softly, that broken, pleased laugh that made your skin tingle.

“Not there…” you whispered with a shaky breath, a restrained moan between your lips as you gripped his hips to pull him closer, Jake looked up, eyes red and hazy with desire and hunger. “Oh no? Then… where do you want me to bite you first, sweetheart?”

You barely opened your eyes, still dazed, and bit your lip in slow, deliberate motion.

“On the neck…” you murmured. He let out a low, amused laugh, almost incredulous.

“Seriously? That basic? I knew you influencers were basic, but I didn’t think this much.”

He pinched your side, teasing, but you shot him a glare that could’ve set him on fire.

“And you? Where would you have done it?” Jake looked down, suddenly darker, and smiled with a hint of shadow.

“Better you don’t know, sweetheart.”

You stared at him, brows furrowed.

“No, Jake. I want to know. Tell me where you want to bite me maybe it’ll be for another time.” That’s when he slid a cold, icy finger down the inside of your bare thigh, and your skin lit up like fire.

“Here,” he said softly. “Here the blood pulses stronger, it’s sweeter… more intimate.”

You blushed and stiffened. “Not a chance!” Jake chuckled. “For now, sweetheart… but one day...it’ll happen.”

He didn’t let you answer. He moved over you again, like a blanket of shadow and desire, and began kissing along the left side of your neck, then lower, beneath your collarbone; every kiss was a damp, warm caress.

“You have skin that speaks, you know that?” he whispered.

“It says ‘take me,’ even when your mouth says ‘wait.’”

And then you felt a small scratch on your neck, and a shiver rushed through your body one of his fangs had lengthened, sharp as a scalpel, perfect.

“W-wait…” you stammered. “Jake… is this… is this happening?”

But he didn’t answer, afraid you’d change your mind, and instead gently cupped your skin and first soothed it with his tongue—and then sank both fangs into you, right beneath your neck.

The scream burst from your throat, a mix of pain and pleasure so intense it blurred into one. The scream burst from your throat, a mix of pain and pleasure so intense it blurred into one. Your eyes rolled back, your body arched, your hands tangled in his hair, you pulled hard as tears streamed down your cheeks and you thought:

“He’s drinking from me, he’s possessing me, and I… I want it. Even if it scares me, I want it.”

Jake groaned against your skin, blood slipping past his lips.

“Christ, it’s better than I remembered. It’s warm, alive, sweet, and spicy at once. It’s mine, mine, and mine.” Your blood entered his mouth and he savored every second of your nectar on his tongue, and when he swallowed, a low growl rose from deep inside him.

He thought he’d want to feed from you every day but when he finally pulled back, his lips were slick with red, and his eyes locked on you, more human than ever. He looked at you with a hunger that wasn’t just physical there was something more, something he barely dared to admit to himself.

At first, it had all been about your blood. But for the first time in his life, his heart his dead, still heart had started to beat again. Even if faintly, it beat. And only for you.

“I missed you, you know that?” he whispered. “And you’ve gotten yourself into trouble, haven’t you, my little influencer nightmare… Because now…”

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear.

“Now you’re my favorite meal. And I never planned on stopping.”

You had been living in Jake’s house for almost three months now, three months in which his world — nocturnal, ancient, layered, and cruel — had slowly merged with yours, full of clothes, makeup, and lights that shifted color depending on a TikTok video, trending audio, and tons of gifts sent by brands.

You still woke up to Instagram collaboration notifications, and half-written RSVP emails for events and shoots, but thetruth was… now you were sleeping in a house where the windows had leaded glass, the doors were sealed with runes, and there was a freezer full of blood with labels like O+ elite and rare A, no coagulation.

Since he had bitten you for the first time, something had changed. Not just inside you — the strange hunger you felt when you looked into his eyes, your skin sparking when he passed close to you, or the constant urge to be near him but others felt it too.

The other vampires now looked at you with suspicion, respect, or… hunger. Because now you were marked. And not just by anyone by Jake.

And Jake wasn’t “just another guy”: he was a young vampire, sure, only 130 years old, but respected, strategic, brilliant, and… dangerously charming. With you, and with every girl around him.

And you, the human influencer, had drawn the line. Because your heart beat louder every time he was near, and you didn’t want to suffer when he’d inevitably leave you like everyone else had... he could bite you, he could protect you, but you weren’t his. Your relationship had… shifted. Now, he didn’t touch you like he used to. He could sense how hard you were trying to act normal, but something was off. You didn’t tease him anymore and didn’t make those sarcastic comments about your blood. And your eyes cold, distant.

You let him bite you, yes. But without smiles. Without jokes. Without surrender. And Jake? Jake was turning into an emotional disaster… with fangs.

In the control room of the underground bunker, between electric cables, overheating servers, and monitors full of thermal maps, three vampires were witnessing the emotional collapse of their immortal friend. Jake sat with his back to them, eyes glued to a screen where he was tracking the movement of a rogue cell but anyone could see his mind was elsewhere.

Jay sighed and tossed a bag of synthetic blood onto the desk.

-Please drink something. Or I swear I’m gonna start thinking you’re dehydrating because of your crush.- Jake ignored him and rolled his eyes, and Heeseung raised an eyebrow and sat on the table right in front of him.

<Come on, bro. It’s obvious. You’ve got that abandoned golden retriever stare. Not very 130-year-old vampire of you.> Sunghoon burst out laughing, closing the laptop in front of him, probably filled with marketing graphs.

-No wait, he’s right. You know that look puppies get when their owner stops paying attention to them? Big glossy eyes, full of devotion? That’s exactly Jake.-

Jake rolled his eyes again. “You’re all ridiculous.”

Jay chuckled. -No, you’re the ridiculous one. You’ve made that girl your primary source… and your greatest weakness. Deadly combo.-

Heeseung pretended to jot something down in an invisible notebook.

'Symptoms of the Golden Retriever Vampire:

– Nocturnal irritability

– Sensitivity to physical distance from the chosen one

– Absence of playful banter from human partner = emotional breakdown

– Gentle biting paired with painfully restrained longing

– Passive-aggressive jealousy toward any male within 5 meters of her.'

Jake slammed his fists onto the table. “I’m not jealous, and she’s not my weakness. It’s just… I’m confused. And she is too.”

Sunghoon stared at him for a moment, his expression suddenly serious.

Silence fell across the room. Jay’s little daughter, Jenù, looked at Jake, the youngest of the group and offered him her tiny hand, warm compared to Jake’s because she was a half-blood. She didn’t understand the adult talk, but she wanted to be part of it too. Jake kissed her small fingers gently and wrapped his hand around hers.

Then Jay, with a smirk: -So, my friend… how do you plan to survive your only source of nourishment, when someone else is the one making her laugh?- Jake said nothing, jaw tight. Heeseung leaned forward.

'Or worse… what if one day you fail to protect her, and they take her from you? A rogue. Or time. Or even her fear of what you are.'

Jake stood up slowly. “That’s not going to happen.”

Sunghoon looked at him with ancient eyes. <Then maybe it’s time to admit it. To her or yourself.>

Jake knew it. His friends genuinely adored him and wanted the best for him. Jay, Sunghoon, and Heeseung, three vampires with centuries on their backs and a deadly sense of humor had figured it out a long time ago: Jake wasn’t falling into sin… he was falling in love.

And what better way to uncover the mystery of your feelings… than a game?

That afternoon, Jay with his CEO instinct and Cold War strategist brain asked Lira, a vampire with a never-concealed obsession for Jake, to stop by the red room in the bunker and help out.

The room where Jake worked. The same room where he was going to invite you after class. When you crossed the threshold of the bunker, with your backpack slung on your shoulders and your high ponytail swaying, you greeted a few students, two masked vampires, and even a werewolf on security duty. Then came the red door and Heeseung was there to greet you, stirring instant ramen in front of the microwave.

“Oh? You here?” he said with innocent eyes. “Jake didn’t mention anything… what a surprise.” You stared at him for a second and thought Weird. He doesn’t even tell his friends I’m coming by anymore?

He gave a half-smile. “Maybe he wanted to surprise us. It’s been a while since Korea’s most popular influencer stopped by.”

You lowered your gaze. It was true. Things with Jake had been… weird, for quite a while.

“Wanna come in with me?” he offered.

You waited for the ramen to finish heating, then followed him inside.

As the door opened, a laugh his laugh hit you like a punch to the gut. Jake. That bright, joyful laugh you had heard a thousand times… but never aimed at anyone else. The scene looked like something out of a movie. A girl, her back to you: Lira. You knew it instantly. She was laughing with him, and to your horror, she had her hands on his hoodie like she wanted to touch his heart through the fabric.

Jake turned slightly and saw you like he had sensed your presence the moment you stepped in. And for a second, his smile softened and turned… nervous. Even if he was a vampire and couldn’t blush, you swore you saw something blush-like flicker across his face.

You bit your lip and walked in.

“Hi, everyone,” you said, setting your laptop down on the table with more force than necessary a loud, deliberate thud echoed through the room, laced with passive-aggression.

Jay’s little daughter, Jenù, waved at you with her tiny hand, trying to save face and your heart you gave her a strawberry candy, her favorite. She sat happily beside you while you fought to avoid looking in Jake and Lira’s direction.

And yet… every time you lifted your eyes, there they were. Laughing. Whispering things you were dying to know and way too close for your liking.

You shoved your earbuds in and hit play, but your heart was pounding too loud. And everyone knew it.

Sunghoon, amused, winked at Jake. Jake ignored him, but for a second… he looked regretful.

And you?

You thought, Maybe I should’ve gone for someone like Jay. Stable. Mature. Not this loser who doesn’t even know if he wants me or just my blood.

Ten minutes passed. Then you saw Lira touch his hair.

And with a syrupy voice, she said, “Your hair is so soft… I could touch your little strands for hours.”

You stood up abruptly. Heeseung chuckled and you turned to Jake.

“What kind of game is this?”

Jake looked at you for a second, then shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You rolled your eyes. “Did you invite me here to study or to watch your groupie put her hands all over your hoodie the one I always wear at your place and let her touch your hair? As if that’s something you let everyone do?”

Lira turned around. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was yours.” She meant the hoodie but you understood something else.

You smiled. “It’s not. Nothing about him is.” Jake turned to you, slightly shaken by your tone but, of course, he played the vampire.

“Are you jealous?” he asked, with that damn beautiful half-smile. You stared at him like you could rip his soul in half, while his idiot friends stifled laughs.

“No. I’m just wondering why you laugh so much with her. Normally, that’s something we do.

When you’re not too busy… biting me. Or ignoring me afterward.”

The silence in the room turned thick.

Jay pretended to check thermal maps, but he turned up the volume just to hear better.

Heeseung muttered a quiet 'uh-oh.'

Sunghoon was already seated with an apple in his hand, enjoying the show like a Netflix drama, with Jenù in his lap.

Jake ran a hand through his hair, visibly awkward, then took that classic golden retriever boy step toward you.

“You’re the one who’s been weird lately. You avoid me. You barely touch me when I bite you. You won’t even look at me.”

“Oh, so now you want cuddles while you suck the life out of me? Do you want me to pet your head while you mark me? Tell you you’re doing a good job?”

You stared at him, frozen. Jake bit his lip and in that second, you understood. He missed you but he didn’t know how to say it and he hated it.

Because he wasn’t just any vampire. He was Jake. The golden retriever is straight from hell and you… you were you.

All thorns and cotton candy, all Instagram and unresolved trauma. With a rare illness and a heart that beat only for him. So you stood, sliding your chair back, and took a step toward him. He looked at you like you were about to slap him.

And in a way… you did.

You leaned toward his ear and whispered: “Go ahead and play your little scenes with Lira. But remember this, vampire…if one day I decide you’re mine, no one will even dare look at you.

Because you’ll always need me…And I might not need you.”

You turned and walked away. Heart racing. And fully aware… that you had just declared war and told him the truth to his face.

When you stepped outside, it was raining, but you didn’t care. The drops stuck to your jeans and slid slowly down your neck, but you kept walking anyway. Your backpack slung over one shoulder, your hood up, eyes locked ahead.

Not toward the apartment you shared with Jake, but toward your real home. The one that smelled like beauty products, the one with too-pink cushions and the latest LED fairy lights.

“You’re pathetic,” you muttered under your breath, not even sure who you were talking to. Him? Yourself?

Maybe you’d been wrong to trust him. Maybe you were falling for him and the thought alone made you sick. You were the one who set the rules.

You were the one who said, “You’re not mine.” And now? One laugh… one stupid vampire grazing his hoodie and you felt shut out by your damn boundaries.

“Whatever. Tomorrow I’m going back to the blood bank,” you grumbled.

“Screw the contract. I’ll take half pay, at least I won’t get bled dry by a golden retriever on command.”

But then you felt it. His hand cold but somehow warm grabbed your wrist like it was the only way to stop you from slipping away.

“Hey,” Jake said, low but firm. “Wait.”

“Stop chasing me like a wet puppy,” you snapped.

“It’s not cute. Not romantic. Not even functional.” He pulled you back slightly and smiled that half-smile bastard expression that knew exactly what it did to you.

“I’d say it’s very functional. I mean, look where you’ve got me. In the rain, with jeans stuck to my thighs. Romantic? Feels like one of those early 2000s movies you always watch.” You glared at him even though he looked annoyingly gorgeous wet hair, and breath heavy from running.

“Go back to your anemic Lira. I’m sure she enjoys wet pants. Her fashion choices seem limited to latex and desperation.” Jake burst out laughing that warm, full, cursed laugh of his and ran a hand through his soaked hair.

“Anemic and no fashion sense... wow, you must be mad if you’re dragging someone for their outfit, Y/n.”

You scoffed and started walking again.

“You know that’s the way to your old apartment?” he called behind you. “Our place is the other way.”

You spun around.

“There is nothing ours!” Your voice cracked more rage than sadness, more fear than truth and Jake stepped toward you, then another step, until he was inches away.

“So it didn’t bother you,” he said softly. “That someone else touched me. Made me laugh. Breathed the same air that’s usually yours.”

You looked at him, eyes glistening, and shook your head. “No.”

But your gaze dropped. “Say it to my face, baby.”

“No.” Still with your head down, he stepped closer. Just one palm away from your lips, he brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers slowly, like he was reading you.

“Your heart’s beating like a war drum,” he whispered.

“And you know I can hear it from miles away. You’re jealous. You were jealous the second I smiled.” You didn’t answer a tear slipped down your cheek. Jake followed it with his eyes and left his hand there.

You bit your lip, trembling, unsure what to say or do. You looked into his eyes those dark, gleaming eyes that had seen a century and a half of history and right now… they were all for you. And without thinking, without saying anything, you kissed him.

You were tired of pretending. Tired of not saying how you felt. So you kissed him first just like that night at the party. Except this time… there was no fear. This time, there was something else between you and him. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you back like he’d been waiting weeks to do it properly. There was hunger in your kiss restrained desire but more than that. Jake had wanted you from the first moment he saw you. Not just your blood, but every rebellious inch of your personality. You, on the other hand, couldn’t make sense of anything anymore. You’d had a thousand people’s attention in your influencer life, but he was different. He was hungry. He was patient. He was darkness that knew you better than you wanted to admit.

As soon as you entered his apartment, Jake pushed you firmly but without brutality against the wall. His eyes, a deep red, glowed like embers behind his foggy glasses. His tongue made its way into your mouth with a fierce yet precise impulse, and you grabbed his hair, making him murmur softly, almost amused, "Always so impatient..." as he tightened his fingers around your waist.

You quickly undressed him, pulling off his rain-damp hoodie, and he did the same with yours, revealing the trembling skin beneath your shirt. He looked at you seriously and said only: "Shower. Now."

You nodded, more with your heart than your head, and let yourself be led to the bathroom. The hot water started to flow, but Jake didn’t seem interested in the temperature; his lips immediately sought the mark of the bite left on your neck, and while kissing you slowly, he whispered against your skin: "I like that you don’t hide it — many girls are ashamed. It’s mine, and you know it."

His hands settled on your breasts, and he asked in a husky voice: "Raise your arms."

You obeyed, and with a precise click, your bra slid off. His eyes clouded with desire and amazement. "Damn... they’re perfect." He grabbed your breasts with his large hands, adoring their softness and shape, teasing them because they were perfect for his big hands. Sometimes he squeezed them, then bent down to suck one nipple slowly. You moaned softly, surprised by how every touch of his was measured yet hungry.

"J-Jake..." you stammered, lost in that whirlpool of pleasure, "I'm trembling... I’m cold," you shivered through your teeth, and he paused for a moment, looking at you with an unreadable expression, then growled softly: "If I were human, you’d feel warmth — but I’m not. Is the vampire version of me enough? It’s the only real part I can give you."

You nodded and caressed his lips, telling him that for you, just him was enough. So he slowly slid your jeans down, as if every inch less of fabric belonged to him. You, with trembling hands, took off his sweatpants and were left only in your underwear for the first time. You saw him like this: in black boxers, lean and powerful, with that almost mythological beauty only a century-old vampire could have.

"Wow," you said, ironic but with a voice cracked by desire, "not bad for a nerd who spends his days hunting and encrypting rogue vampires."

He smiled boldly: "You better get used to it. You won’t get rid of me that easily."

Jake pulled you into the shower without hesitation. The hot water poured down, contrasting with the black glossy tiles, almost cold to the touch. But you didn’t give him time to take control. You pushed him firmly against the wall, your hands on his wet chest, and rose slightly on your toes — not because you were too short, but because you wanted to dominate him even for a moment, to see him lose control.

You started kissing his neck like that night in the bunker when everything really began, and he murmured softly, with a strangled tone of pleasure and frustration as he felt your warm breath on his pale skin: "You always know where to hit... damn you."

Then he reacted: he pushed you against the warm stream, his hands moving with soap over your body, slow and skillful — but you stopped him with a whisper, brushing his lips with your fingers: "Let me... I want you to feel good."

Your lips moved down his collarbones, then to his abdomen, where the water highlighted every muscle line as if carved from marble. Your warm fingers traced the contours of his abs, while you looked at him with a mischievous smile.

"What are you doing, Jake? Did you sculpt yourself on the computer? You’re literally always sitting there — how do you have such defined abs? Is it my blood making you so beautiful?"

He glanced sideways, holding back a smile, but his eyes grew redder and his fangs protruded slightly, a sign that his hunger — for you, for everything — was growing.

"Don’t provoke me, or there will be no control left." His voice was hoarse, darker, as if something was telling him to take you and make you his. You continued with soft but firm kisses along his belly until you reached his navel, where a thin strip of fine hair drew an elegant, bold line downward. You licked your lips, eyes fixed on his.

"Can I take them off?" you whispered, in a tone that left no room for refusal, and Jake nodded but blushed slightly. "Only if you promise not to look at me like that... or I won’t be responsible for myself."

You slowly slid off his boxers. The steam wrapped your bodies, and when you took them off completely, he revealed himself in all his vulnerable power. You looked at him, surprised and amused, as you saw his cock twitch slightly against his abs, hard with a slightly reddened tip and thick while losing a bit of pearly white slickness.

"Wow... I didn’t think I’d have this effect on you. It’s just me, you know." Jake rolled his eyes with an exasperated but tender smile. "You’re not just anyone, believe me." For a moment, it was like seeing him naked in the truest sense. His wet hair fell over his eyes, the steam caressed his face, and his expression, without barriers — it hit you more than anything else.

You bent down slowly, and that’s when you heard his voice, more fragile than usual, almost pleading: "Baby... don’t do it."

But you didn’t want to listen, maybe because you wanted to see him lose control, or maybe because in that moment you wanted to possess him as much as he wanted to possess you.

Your hands wrapped him slowly, and Jake held his breath as if something inside him was about to explode just from your touch. The warm water poured over his broad shoulders, his tense arms, but he seemed almost unaware of it — it was only the contrast between your warm skin and his that made him tremble.

"You can’t... touch me like that," he murmured, low, deep, broken.

You looked up at him with a barely-there smile on your wet lips.

"No? I thought you liked it." He took a half step back, his back against the dark, cold tiles again, his chest rising and falling visibly with difficulty.

"I like it too much... that’s the problem." Then he added, clenching his jaw: "I’m not made for slow, gentle things... I am hunger. And you’re my greatest temptation."

You leaned in a little more, letting your lips barely brush the hard tip of his desire. He moaned softly, a guttural sound, almost feral.

“Fuck...” he hissed as one hand slid into your wet hair. His length was hard and heavy, and it felt so perfect in your hands. You started moving with more determination, your hands gliding slowly, measuring every reaction coming from his mouth. He closed his eyes, his breath growing more and more uneven. When you bent down again, licking his skin carefully, as if memorizing every inch, you felt him tremble. A quick lick on the tip, and Jake placed a hand on your head, urging you to take him deeper, and you coughed lightly. “Breathe through your nose, baby, I know you can do it, yes, be a good girl for me.” Those words heated you even more.

Your fingers stroked him more boldly, and he moaned louder, lowering his gaze to you as you looked up with the eyes of a fake innocent girl while sucking and taking his cock properly into your mouth and pumping him with your hand at the same time.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said in a hoarse voice, “or this will end too soon.”

You took him all at once in your mouth, letting instinct guide your actions even further. You puffed out your cheeks and wrapped your tongue around the veiny underside, your head beginning a slow bobbing motion to accommodate how big he was inside your mouth, and Jake threw his head back, fingers clutching the tiles—the only surface giving him any relief.

You hummed softly at the sight of him so vulnerable and lost only for you, for no one else.

“Shit, baby,” he whispered at the sight of you taking him so well in your mouth and your thighs rubbing together to ease some of your own excitement. Jake’s head was thrown back, his long neck exposed, as he bit his lower lip roughly, but his dark, possessive gaze was fully fixed on you as if you were the center of the entire world—and you had never felt so turned on in your entire life.

“Baby... baby, please...”

“Please what?” you asked, your voice velvety and teasing as you pulled him slightly from your mouth and pumped him with your hand.

He clenched his jaw, trying to stay clear-headed. “I beg you... don’t tempt me like this. Don’t make me lose control.”

But it was too late. Jake rested his forehead against the wall, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other trembling at his side. His hips moved slightly toward you, as if his body betrayed him.

“I’m... I’m about to...” he whispered, almost ashamed.

You continued, with more intensity, mercilessly. When you looked up into his eyes, you saw him bring his hand to his mouth, biting his knuckles to keep from screaming.

“Damn it...” he hissed, his eyes clouded with pure crimson light.

And then he lost all resistance. His body tensed, his breath broke into a sharp moan, and his pleasure exploded—deep, hot—as you welcomed him, your eyes locked on his. For a moment, time seemed to stop: no war, no blackmail, no secrets.

As he spilled into your mouth, you swallowed his warm seed, and the strands of cum coated your neck. He let himself fall back against the wall, exhausted, looking at you as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He whispered, in a faint voice, “You... you’re a damn miracle, and I don’t deserve you at all.”

Jake looked at you as if you were burning alive before him, as if your naked skin was a vision he could never bear for too long without giving in. His hands lifted you, grabbing your thighs and raising you with disarming ease. Your body pressed against the cold wall, in a shock that only intensified the already burning heat between your legs.

Your breaths intertwined with his, and you laughed softly, cheeky, while he stared at you with red, dilated eyes—not just from desire… but from hunger. The hunger he had for you, only for you, from the first moment he saw you in class with those pigtails, that sky-blue Miu Miu cardigan, and that white skirt with those long legs he had dreamed of wrapping around his hips—and maybe that perverted desire was coming true.

Your panties slid off, pulled down with a slow, precise, almost ceremonial gesture, and you stood naked before him, your legs wrapped around his waist, your chest rising quickly, lips parted.

Jake kissed your neck, at first softly, then with growing urgency. His tongue traced hot circles, his lips sucked gently, and every touch was a silent plea. The way he buried his face in your skin made you feel like he was worshipping and devouring you at the same time.

“I want you…” you whispered, breath broken. He stopped and looked into your eyes.

“Me too. But I want to make you feel good. Not just take you.”

His voice was a hoarse whisper, yet there was a tremor beneath it, as if he wanted to hold back, afraid to lose himself too quickly. But you, drunk on his presence, his scent, his body pressed against yours, didn’t want gentleness; you wanted urgency and the need to feel him inside you. Without waiting for a reply, your hand slipped between you, grasping his hot, pulsing shaft again. He was already hard, already throbbing, the skin tight and warm under your fingers.

“You’re already ready…” you hissed. “Already this hard for me.”

Jake let out a deep, guttural growl that vibrated against your chest, and his hips instinctively contracted beneath your touch, as if fighting himself not to explode too soon.

His lips returned to your neck, this time hungrier, and he began to bite you softly but firmly, his canines pressing on your skin without breaking it. He kissed where he’d bitten, licking the mark and sucking your skin as if it were his—because it was, though not fully yet, for you would become his when he slipped between your folds. His damp hair tickled your chest and jaw as he gripped your hips, then grabbed your ass with both hands impatient, possessive. You continued stroking him slowly, your movements a bit sadistic, almost trying to drive him crazy.

“So big…” you whispered, cheekily. “It seems impossible you need all this just to suck a little blood…”

He lifted his gaze, pupils dilated, with wild, shining, pleading eyes that wanted you for himself alone.

“It’s your fault…” he whispered. “It’s your scent, your blood, your skin, the way you areyou’re a curse…”

“Do you want me? Really want me? Not just for the blood.”

Jake stopped to look at you; his lips trembled, he couldn’t speak, but his body said everything. He trembled slightly, his fingers digging into your flesh, and his breath grew more and more erratic.

You tightened your grip and teased him more because you wanted to hear him say that you weren’t just a sack of blood in human form to him—but more… “Say you want me. Say you need me—not my blood, but me.”

The moan that escaped him was almost a sob. “Yes… yes… please. I want you, I need to feel you. Inside, to fill you. Let me in… please… let me make you feel good and belong to you.”

You smiled wickedly and without warning, you jumped on him completely—your arms around his neck, your legs tight around his waist, like a koala hungry for skin and pleasure. Jake held you up with an ease that wasn’t human, and his pelvis pressed immediately against you. You felt his cock rubbing slowly against your already wet folds, soaked from minutes of suspended desire.

“So soaked…” he murmured through clenched teeth, lips on yours. “You’re ready for me. I can feel it.”

He rubbed against you, every movement slow, heavy, controlled only in appearance. His glans slid between your intimate lips, finding every fold, every edge that made you shiver.

“Stop… or I’ll dig inside you right now.” he hissed, voice trembling as you continued teasing him.

“What if I don’t want you to stop?” you bit his lip gently and saw his pupils dilate. “What if I want you to do it right now?”

Jake clenched his jaw, looking at you as if you were something that both destroyed and rebirthed him.

“Then get ready, because I won’t let you go until you’re screaming my name…” His breath mingled with yours, hot and ragged, his hands gripping your thighs with that ancient yet restrained hunger. The vampire who had studied you from afar for years now held you tight in his arms naked, wet, trembling but not from fear, from desire.

Your hips moved against his instinctively, as the heat of his cock rubbed slowly against your already swollen folds. Your skins slid over each other with a wet, growing sound.

You pulled his hair, tilting his face toward yours. Your lips no longer trembled from the game: they were both prayer and provocation.

“I can’t resist… I want you inside me. Now.”

Jake didn’t speak. But his gaze darkened and with a low, animalistic growl, he let the tip of his shaft slip just inside you, then pulled back. Again, once more maybe punishing you, or savoring every second of your waiting.

“Asshole…” you moaned. “You know you’re about to lose control too. I see it.”

He didn’t deny it... it was true. His red eyes shone with obsession, and he confessed it with a hoarse whisper: “I’ve been watching you for years, couldn’t tear myself away. You’re mine, always have been, always inside me.”

He wrapped you tightly, and your legs closed around his waist as he sank deeper inside you. Every centimeter was a burst of pleasure that made you shudder, and when he brushed the deepest part of your body, a scream escaped your lips. Long, sincere, broken only by the moan that exploded in his throat.

“You’re so tight…” he gasped against your neck.

“And you… so big…” you murmured through clenched teeth, struggling to wrap your arms around his neck.

He stayed there, inside you, motionless for a long second—a suspended moment where it felt like the whole world had stopped. Then your voice came, broken by need: “Please… make me yours, fuck me however you want but don’t stop.”

Jake smiled against your skin with that cruel sweetness only he could wield. Then he slowly pulled back, almost all the way out to drive you crazy, and thrust back in with a force that made you jump. Your body moved against the wall, a fluid, sensual bounce that ignited every nerve.

The rhythm grew fiercer but not rushed measured and carnal at the same time and his hands held you like he could either shatter or protect you, and you felt it, deep in your bones. The tears that ran down your cheeks were of pleasure, but also of opening up, of surrender.

“Your pussy…” he whispered, panting as he plunged deeper. “Takes it so well. You’re made for me.”

You felt his cock sliding perfectly inside your poor pussy, which greedily sucked him every time he slipped deeper. Small moans escaped your mouth, and you screamed his name—not “Jake,” but “Jakey,” as only you called him, as only you could make him lose all control.

And he lost control. He grabbed you with both hands, lifting you higher, tighter against him, while his cock moved inside you with new, desperate force. Pleasure grew darker, deeper, like a current pulling you both along.

“I won’t last…” he murmured, voice broken. “Not like this… you’re too perfect, baby.”

You looked at him, crying and smiling at the same time, “I beg you… make me come… I can’t take it… Jake… I need you…” He thrust deeper, with more force, with more darkness, then lowered a hand and his thumb found your clitoris; he brushed and stroked it in perfect, slow, cruel circles that drove you crazy and made you scream. “So sensitive…” he murmured. “I’m driving you insane, huh? Look how you tremble under my fingers… you’re my personal slut, and you love it.” You were embarrassed by how true it was. “Yes…” you sobbed. “I’m yours… fuck me… make me come, Jake… I beg you…” “I want to feel your pussy squeeze me until I break. Come for me, baby, now.” And you did, your body broke in an orgasm that overwhelmed you like a tide, while he kept thrusting mercilessly inside you. You felt invaded, consumed, worshiped and ruined all at once, your legs trembling, your voice a broken scream. Jake cursed, trembling against you. “So… so tight, again… God. You’re perfect when you’re so vulnerable and so full of me, I want to see you dripping with my seed.” “Yes… yes!” you screamed. “Come inside… fill me… make me yours… I’m on the pill.” You grabbed him by the hair, pulling him to you, and bit the skin under his jaw, marking him, and he growled with an animal sound and thrust even deeper, until the very end, then you felt it. That warm, liquid heat, deep inside, that muffled moan he whispered in your ear: “Damn, you’re too much for someone like me, you’re the ruin of my eternity.” His seed flooded you, warm, vibrating, and you moaned, wrecked, still shaken by the aftermath of the orgasm, while he stayed inside, sniffing your neck as if to calm himself. “Fucking perfect,” he whispered with an exhausted smile. “I’ll never let you go.” And you, still trembling, knew you didn’t want to even try. Jake was still inside you, still merged with your body, still fused with your pleasure, and every little movement of his made your skin pulse. Every breath was shared, you trembled, your legs still wrapped around his hips, and a little whimper escaped your lips. It was too much, and wonderful — it was too wonderful. “I don’t want to leave you…” he whispered in a hoarse voice, burying his face in your damp hair. “Never.” You gently pulled his hair, a soft, tired gesture. “Jake… you’re too much…” He laughed with that dirty and adoring tone that made you melt. “You took all my cock, like the little slut you are… and now you say it’s too much?”

He made you blush even though you didn’t want to, but then, slowly, with a caress more than a movement, he withdrew from you. A warm, whitish thread slid slowly out of you, pulling along viscous, dense strands; you felt empty instantly as it left, empty and tied to him like never before. Jake kissed your hair softly and held you gently, something you never thought a nerdy obsessed vampire would do, and carried you under the warm shower spray. The water started to slide over your sticky, sensitive skin, washing away the marks of pleasure… but not the effect. “You’ve got my bite marks everywhere,” he said softly, running a sponge between your breasts with a teasing slowness. “Well, don’t complain if I want to show them off to everyone,” you replied, pinching his side. He laughed and ended up nibbling your shoulder without breaking the skin. “My little influencer is also vain.” You washed like that: with tender touches, dirty jokes, and fingers that couldn’t stay still. He held you every couple of seconds as if he was afraid you might vanish, kissed your neck, sniffed your blood softly, played with your breasts under the water, and occasionally gave you a smack that made you moan and laugh together. Then, finally, you dried off, he put a big oversized shirt on you, smelling of him, and a pair of boxers that hung adorably loose on you. He stayed in low-slung sweatpants and was bare-chested, his hair still dripping and messy like a boy and dangerous like a legend. You slipped under the sheets, and he gently settled you in his arms. His face buried in your neck, and his fingers traced circles on your back.

The silence was sweet, intimate, and alive, while you stroked his soft hair and wondered why he hadn’t bitten you during the act of your carnal pleasure and asked him… “Jake… why didn’t you bite me while… we were making love?” You felt his body tense for a moment, and he muttered something barely audible. “Because if I bit you… I’d lose control and I love you too much to ruin a first time together that special.” He slowly lifted his face, and his eyes, which moments before were dark and hungry, were now strangely human, moist, shiny, and full of warmth. “It wasn’t just sex for me,” he whispered. “You’re not just a sack of blood, okay? I love your blood, yes, but damn, I also love your laugh. I love watching you put on makeup and get pissed about your events. I love when you insult me and then look for me with your eyes, you’re… everything, you’re too much, and I’m a fucking nerdy vampire with no life, no shame who wants you all for himself and yet…” He brushed his hair awkwardly, looking into your eyes. “I love you.” You stayed silent for a second, two, then chuckled softly, nervous, as if you wanted to break the tension. “Don’t laugh,” he mumbled, trying to get off you. “Come on, fuck-” But you grabbed him by the nape and kissed him hard, sure of all the feelings you’d had for him for a long time, and when you pulled away, you whispered: “Stupid. How could you not understand that… I love you too?” Jake looked at you as if you had just rewritten the laws of his immortality and gave a goofy smile, one of those beautiful, rare, pure ones almost like a human boy with his first crush, and praised you with whispered words, collapsed next to you, and stayed there, his head on your chest. Then you felt something, a little prickling a fang brushing your skin. “Shall we celebrate this confession, sweetheart?” he said, with a hoarse voice full of dark promises. “If you bite me while I’m sleeping, I’ll dig your heart out with a teaspoon,” you warned him. And he laughed but didn’t let you go.

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