#vampire! sunghoon

[ambi01]

its one of my fave vampire hoon ff on tumblr.

raspberry stains

vampire!sunghoon x fem!reader

❦︎ synopsis: left alone on the streets of your small village you are offered the opportunity to trade your life for only a small price to pay. You are given to vampire prince sunghoon who has not had a taste for blood for almost a lifetime. Not because he does not feel hunger but because he has not found the one that temps him. ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings: vampires, blood, blood drinking, angst, dark themes, reader held against her will, biting, no protection, creampie, prob forgot some sorry

⋅˚₊‧ wc: 18.5k ‧₊˚ ⋅

❦︎ ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: sacrifice (eat me up) -enhypen an: thank you to my bestie @luvsicktyun who sent me an ask after we watched so much en o'clock together on a late friday night. I do not think ill be writing a lot for enha and I will not be taking requests for them! I do hope you enjoy this tho bc I love vampires so much <33 this is not proofread pls forgive me sweet angels I am a monster

[m.list]

To be a gift was to be a blessing. Young girls and boys were picked up off the streets of dying villages, rampant with sickness and filth. The heavily coated royal servants cased the roads, their scent fragrant and foreign. Even if they were not turned they still had that enticing pull to them, lined with the beckoning aura of the vampires just by association. Or maybe it was because no one in your village had seen such decadence, that slow prowl, ruby red gems dripping from chains slung around their bodies showing you who's kingdom they belonged to. 

You had only heard stories of the vampires sending to find feeders outside of their kingdoms. Not stolen, kidnapped, or captured. Persuaded by the idea of a full belly that none born to this kind of poverty had ever experienced since falling away from their mothers. It's why when the servant leaned down next to your half-stiff body, trembling from the cold wind, you let him. Let him breathe in the scent of you, eyes closing as you send a prayer for some kind of savior from this cold hell you had been born into. Fingers numb as you held them, knowing that as tight as you had gripped it should have hurt, knees pulled to your chest, the half moth eaten blanket wrapped around you the only relic you had from once living between four walls and not against one. 

“Have you ever been fed from before?” It was that single question that made you blink back to reality, looking at the pale face inspecting you. He was a vampire, you could tell from the faint ring of red around his iris’ but it didn't scare you as you had been told it should have. Even if you would be taken away, anywhere would be better than the cobble street digging into you, staining your clothes. It wasn't a bed as you had tried to convince yourself every night as you faded to sleep. If they locked you in a cellar you're sure even if it's cold it would at least keep you dry from the snow, blocked from the wind. 

“Never,” the word sealed your fate like a fresh wax stamp. They had not believed you, not fully. They turned over your wrists, tipped your chin looking over your neck and any hot spot most vampires liked to drink from often, just to make sure they found no puncture marks. You were weak and malleable, easy enough to pick up and carry away like the bodies they carted after the plague. 

You didn't ask questions, not when they handed you broth to drink, breaking the unintentional fast you had found yourself stuck in. not when they led you out of their horse-drawn carriage and through the back doors of a towering stone castle. It had been a long journey, one you spent most of your time relishing in because of the momentary block from the constant wind you had been subjected to while on the streets. But you should have watched the way in so you could have had some hope of knowing the way back out. 

Be grateful, you didn't say the words out loud but they kept on a persistent loop in your brain, rattling around your skull until you wouldn't think any other thoughts but that one demand. You should be grateful, everyone you knew would have told you the same thing. You had food coming at the same hours every day, new clothes that were nicer than you had ever worn, made of fabrics you had never seen in your town's shop before it was run down and ransacked. And they kept you in a small room with a fire, tended often by a maid who did not look at you. But it was all a very pretty cage. 

And after a full belly and a right bed to sleep on your mind was clearing. Every little thing that you had been told about the vampires was coming back to you in small spurts. They did not take nicely to anyone besides themselves and their feeders, on occasion, but even then the feeders were their property and not their friends. And you knew even if they were being nice, making you stronger, and dolling you up, it all came at a price that you would have to pay in blood. 

You didn't know how painful the cost would be, the stories were filled with conflicting reports. You had known a girl who had taken a vampire lover once and she had come back hazy-eyed and begging to see him again. It was not the kind of inhibition you would have wanted to lose. The girl you had once known had come back hollow, not in the sense of being bloodless but of being bound to a feeling that was unlike any other. And that made you scared. Even more so than horror stories that had come back about the burning that set place in one's veins the second they had been bitten, the draw of blood being sucked clean from them had felt like a hot iron branding them in thin lines all over their bodies. Pain was one thing, loss of oneself was another. 

You had wanted help, you had not cared about what would happen to you when you were starving, cold, and so so alone. You would have let them bite you right then without a second thought but you had time to think over what it all meant now. You would be stuck here, bound and passed around like a bottle of cheap wine they found for a good deal because to them you were just a thing to be owned and put away once done. Sure they fed you but it was only in turn to feed themselves. They clothed you but only so that they could look at something pretty while they took from you. At least they had you warm with a bed you could rest on but you're sure that blood warmed was better than blood cold. 

The thoughts of leaving showed up even before they came in with the pearl necklace. The length of the pearls strung together is worth more than you had thought possible for a piece of jewelry. The beads looked like white opal, heavy against your collarbone as they fasted the necklace securely. A long trail of them beaded down in a row dangled down your back as if it was a long lead. Because it was a collar, not a fashion statement. You were nothing more than a pet for them and you knew it the second one of them pulled on the string while trying to see if it was in place. The movement had sent your hand to your neck, fingers slipping between your windpipe and the beads, tugging on them to try and see if there was any give and finding none at all. 

It had made you cry, feeling the pearls cold, the weight down your back made you straighten, wanting to get away from the feeling, the shock of them like frozen fingertips on your spine. They set out clothes for you, silk and chiffon, flowing around your waist and legs, your wrists wrapped in soft mesh cuffs sprayed with a faint perfume. They were making you look appealing, pinching your cheeks, your lips, trying to get more blood flow through them.  

“He will find you very pretty,” one of the many handmaids muttered as she pressed a cloth to the corner of your eyes, collecting the tear that had threatened to spill. “The prince enjoys pretty things,” 

You watched the way your chin trembled in the mirror, your teeth clenching to try and get the image out of your head of some prince who would want something pretty to feed from. It only made you want to run from the through, from this castle dawned in candlelight and heavily velvet-covered curtains. You haven't seen the sun in over a week, not unless they let you walk up the winding stairs from your room to the kitchen. The soft light comes through the diamond-patterned glass. But they didn't take you down to pick what you wanted for dinner anymore after you had tried to run. 

It had happened in a blink, the door was open, the cold air sweeping in around your ankles the second you made it down the last step. It had been a split-second thought, your body had already been on edge, flight or flight taking over your every sense but you hadn't had an opening or outlet to get the feeling out. And so the second you had seen that bright light, blinding from only having seen the light of the fire in your room for so long, you took the opportunity and fled. 

They had caught you and you didn't even have it in you to fight it anymore. The words going round and round, again and again, be grateful- be grateful- be grateful- 

“You won't be staying in here for long, most gifts stay with their charge,” a handmaiden comments, fixing your skirt making sure it's laid exactly where she wants it to be. “And I've seen your room, it is very nice,” as if that was supposed to make you feel any better as if it would stop the tears from slipping.

They could set you up with everything you had ever wanted but it would not make you forget that once you had complete control over everything in your life. Yes, you had been in the streets, half alive with no hope, willing to take any option to get you away from it. But now all that was settling over you was fear. Your stomach always turned, everyday you twisted your hands together, worrying at your nails, twisting the mesh cuffs around and around your wrist, trying to distract yourself from the bugs making a home in your belly. You wonder if other gifts had felt butterflies or the same mayflies you had; the kind that picked over dead things and not sipped from vibrant flowers. 

It felt wrong to enjoy something that felt like dying even if you didn't know what it felt like to have teeth scratching over a vein just yet. This was supposed to be a blessing but all you felt was the feeling of being trapped, lured in with a small chunk of cheese like a mouse right before it was snapped in half. You were wiggling, each tear a squeak, a cry for help. But no one who set a mouse trap that was intended for death helped save the mouse they had captured. 

They made sure the pearls would never come off. Welding the latch shut after you had hidden them. The weight of them stuck and still not familiar when they finally got you ready to be gifted. They had prepped you enough, fed you enough to bring life back into your face, and the person you saw in the mirror was one you would have never recognized at first glance. She was not you and you hated the one who would have you because they had done this.  

When they brought you from your room they twisted the pearls until the lead was in front, easy to pull you along behind the servant they had sent to bring you down. You did not fight this time, not when all their eyes were on you and you felt as if you had given up on yourself. Not only were you scared but you were done. You had missed the opportunity to make it out, they had been fast, and there had been nowhere to hide before you hit the treeline of the surrounding forest. If you ran again they had people who would see exactly where you were at any time, and you didn't know the woods or the way back to your village. There was nothing to do but give in. 

They had gone over the list of things you would have to do for the vampire you would be assigned to. The long list was told to you over and over again. But they kept up the same few points, never let another feed from you, you were to be theirs alone, listen to them at all times, and follow them close. It felt silly to be treated like a puppy with attachment issues. 

It wasn't until they had brought you to the throne room that you first laid eyes on Sunghoon. In an instant he had caught you in his stare, almost as quickly you saw the slight tremor in his nose, a twitch that was stilled within the second you had seen it. He swallowed thickly, jaw working as he took you in. Everyone turned to you, looking over what they had done to make you as close to perfect as you needed to be as a gift. 

Your throat was tight with so many eyes on you. The rows of vampires make the air smell too sweet and alluring. Your body was telling you to run, pulse pumping and hammering in your ears. Sunghoon sat at the raised dais with his father, the throne he sat on only slightly smaller, still forged in gold, intricate patterns of ivy surrounding his head like the laurels worn by the gods. 

“I got you a gift,” the sultry voice of the king was heavy in the empty air. A room full of still vampires was like a room full of statues, his voice carried between their bodies echoing even if he did not speak up louder than if he were ordering tea. “It's good luck to be gifted a feeder on a solstice and I'm sure you will find her to be very sweet, my men went out looking for only the most decedent of feasts for you,” 

And Sunghoon could smell the sweetness on you, the perfume sprayed to your wrists only highlighting the temptation you should have brought to him. For a second he could feel his fangs tingle for the first time in what felt like forever and he had wanted to let them down but then he caught that faint hint of something bitter. His stomach flipped, and he tried to keep his face clear; tried not to let his weakness show. You were scared, the fear tinting your blood with something he couldn't quite put his finger on. 

Sunghoon had spent years unable to explain why he found it so hard to feed when it was all but expected of him if he wanted to live. He had never met a starving vampire, he had known the hungry, seen them in the streets fighting over meals but it did not feel as if they were being carved open from the hollowness. Sunghoon had been hollow for what felt like years, only stomaching drops of blood at a time before they threatened to come back up. He had never seen a vampire sick like he got, had never come across someone who shivered at the scent of a perfectly healthy girl so willing to turn her wrist to his waiting mouth. But he could not bring his fang forward to do the job, not when he smelt that faint thread of fear in their blood. 

They had been tainted even if only a little bit but it was there poisoning them. And he could smell it on you even across the room, your beating heart loud to his ears, echoing the promise of being full. He did get hungry, he was always hungry, and you did tempt him, but he knew that fear was marbling your blood like the fat marbling a steak, others found it gave the blood a spice that was needed but to him it only made him cringe. 

You were a gift and he could not turn you away, not when it would show weakness to those who did not know how much of a struggle it was to feed. He would look as weak as he felt when he was so empty. And if you were scared he didn't want to make it worse by trying to feed and coming away unable, then it only colored the blood with the taste of disappointment and that was worse for him to stomach. 

“Thank you, my king,” it was the only response he could muster, eyes finding the pulse point at your neck, watching the thumping vein like he was expected to. But as he watched he could scent the way it made you feel, could tell the others envied him as they smelt that spicy sweetness as it flooded the room. The only other feeder here was his father's, the pearl necklace chained to the side of his seat as he had her standing right by his side. 

He knew that having a feeder always available was a display of wealth, always a meal ready whenever he even felt the urge. But anything would be better than subjecting someone to be tied to his side when he was already broken. A vase that had cracks in it so that anything added would spill out of him. He didn't want to keep you any more than you must have wanted to stay by his side. Royal feeders could not be fed on by anyone else and so he knows that you were unmarked by anyone else's fangs. And he would not be able to show you that it wasn't supposed to feel bad, that he had been told it was a pleasurable feeling if one found the right match, but Sunghoon had mourned that he would never find the one. 

The nights had passed with him thinking about how it was the last thing he wanted. He had lived this long with the hunger he could spend the rest of his life like this. It didn't even hurt anymore, didn't ache as it had when he was a child. Back then it had been an unbearable pain, trying to swallow fast mouthfuls to make sure that even a bit would get down, but it was only for a small time that it would curb any hunger he felt. He would curse and cry over the pain, beg to be like anyone else, and he had tried to use his compulsion on a human once, but still, even under the spell he could taste it, the overripe fruit flavor like sickening wine on his lips, staining his teeth and making him break apart into a mess of pleads. 

He wanted to be like the others, even in their disgusting overindulgence, anything was worth wishing for when he was so empty. But no amount of blood could make him feel the same joy they felt when everyone else fed. So he was okay with being alone, okay with the thirst, the pain of being empty. But it was not your cross to bear, he did not want you to worry over him, hating him he could stand, he would weave that into an excuse as a reason to send you back wherever it was they had found you. But he could not say that now with the audience before them waiting for his elation at the perfectly sweet gift his father, his king, had given him. 

The staff member was quick to pull you along by your pearls but at least when they pulled you forward they did not choke you as it had when they pulled you backward. He left you right at the first step, the black and white marble, glossed and reflecting the candlelight back at you. When the pearl chain was dropped it was heavy against your chest and for the first time you found comfort in the weight of it, the only thing that was now a constant, something familiar in the room of unfamiliar. 

Sunghoon stood, his head dipping down as he bowed, bent halfway, one hand on his stomach and the other at his side before righting himself and meeting you at the bottom of the steps. He reached out and you flinched, eyes screwed shut, worried to feel the brush of his fingers on you when he grabbed the pearls to tug you up the steps to stand right next to the throne he had gotten up from. But the ghosting of his fingers did not come, your eyes peeling open to look down at where he held his palm up for you to place yours. It was a soft invitation that you did not want to accept. 

He was so very pretty when you looked up at him, eyes following the moles on his skin like connecting the stars to make a constellation in the night. He looked at you blankly, lips set in stone, still a faint shade of pink, eyes lazy and waiting for you to put your hand in his. You could hardly see the red line around his iris, so dark it was fading into the darkness of his gaze. You watched the way his mouth opened only the smallest bit, take it, the words not even spoken so that it would only be caught by those looking at him and not heard. He blinked, slow, lashes matching the dark strands of his hair handing on his brow. 

You followed his command, scared he would take the pearls and tug you like the other one had. He was cold, skin silky smooth as your fingers graced his, not wanting to give him access to your palm as if that would make it any better to have your hand in his. “Careful of your skirt,” he muttered looking down at the way the fabric pooled on the ground, easy enough to step on while you made your way up the dias. Your free hand twisted in your dress, picking it up so that you could have your slippered steps unblocked as you followed him. He did not pull you along, did not lead you, he was there as someone to make sure you did not fall and that was it, dropping your hand the second that you made it up safe. 

Next to him on the armrest of his chair, a loop was welded in, the perfect spot to hook your pearls to and make sure that you wouldn't run. But he did not attach it, only let you stand there like some coat rack next to a door. Your lips pursed, you had been told not to cry, warned over again that it was not something they wanted to see; you were to be grateful, not tearful. 

But Sunghoon could scent the saltiness building behind your eyes, could tell you were about to cry just by the way you had been shot through with sadness in a second. He had no way to make it better, not when they still had an hour to sit in the throne room to watch the rest of the gifts brought in. From all over people had traveled to give solstice gifts to the crown for good favor. He had no time to get away and he knew the second they dismissed everyone he would have to explain himself to you. He could already predict the way you would smell then, the sadness maybe even twinged with disappointment, that's how they usually were. 

And it wasn't as if you didn't smell divine to him already. He wanted to taste you, his father was right, you were the sweetest he had ever come across, but this was still overtaken by fear. And now being closer to you he could feel the ache in his fangs more prominently, a twinge that hurt along his gums. But it faded when the tears threatened. 

You stood there, looking out over the people, watching as they came up one by one and gifted things, placing them on a pile at their feet. You should have been tossed right amongst the jewels and lavish wines tainted with blood. You were no better than the spoils they collected now, only you had a heartbeat they were kind enough to recognize and put to the side as ‘extra special’ but it was only a ruse. 

It took forever for them all to finally be dismissed for dinner and it was then that real panic began to sink in. You watched the way they picked themselves up, working their way out the door chatting, and going over what was waiting for them in the dining room. But your eyes were glued ahead watching how freely they walked, watching how they went left and not right where you knew the kitchen was tucked away for the feeders and remaining unused by the rest of them. If he took you out the same way you could run, head right and since your pearls were in front of you it might be easier to slip by without being tugged back. 

But it was a pipedream you knew as much and it's why the tears did not stop at your lashes but finally slid down your cheeks without a sound. 

“For tonight could I gain permission to skip over this feast?” The prince's voice was heavy, the question sinking into you like a stone thrown into the lake. He wanted you alone. 

“Of course,” it was no secret from the king the struggle Sunghoon had. It was less a secret how much he had tried to rectify the situation. You were the last option in a long list of failures, the king did not need his people watching the way his son would react if he could not take in even a mouthful of one of the most tempting feeders found in over a century. 

His finger touched the tip of your elbow, a light command for you to follow after him as he stood up. He lifted his hand out again for you when you reached the steps, your sniffling loud even to your own ears as you pressed your fingertips to his, letting him lead you down the way you had come up. “And Sunghoon,” it made the boy next to you pause in his tracks, the edges of his lips dipping, lips pursed as he waited for his order, “try this time,” 

“Of course father,” but even you could tell it was strained, half said because he was expected to. 

The prince did not grab your pearls only expecting you to follow behind him as his footsteps echoed in the hall, so much louder than your soft slippers they had given you. Something that you had realized was so that you wouldn't run; in the woods, you would need more than something so easily pierced through by a lone thorny branch. The thought of escaping only passed briefly once, your heart rate quickening at the idea made Sunghoon turn around, the doors already closed to the throne room, but it didn't mean his father would not be able to hear him. “No,” he didn't need to elaborate, not when you were so clearly turned to not follow him. 

“I-” but he cut you off with a shake of his head, waving a pale hand in the direction of the stairs. 

He did not move until you did, waiting for you to make it next to him before he continued his ascent up to wherever it was he was planning on keeping you. The castle was too large for you to remember the turns he had taken before reaching his room. Your mind was overrun with the fear of what would happen the second he closed the doors behind the two of you to focus on the left and right turns. Your breathing was coming out in huffs more focused on coming out through your nose, every drawl in from your lungs feeling erratic and strange. 

The hallway to his rooms was long and dark, none of the candles lit as you felt your feet start to drag, every step slower and slower as he pushed open his door. He stood there with his arm extended, half in the dark, a soft glow of the fire inside fanning over his pale skin. He did not pressure you to go forward, let you stand there and look at him, trying to catch your breath, trying to right your mind and not turn around again to run. “I just want to talk,” he spoke low so that you wouldn't get scared by the sound. 

If before you had found yourself to be caged they were testing how easy it was to recapture you now, how easy it was to get you to follow commands. But you had nowhere else to go so shakily you raised your hand to wipe at your tears, nodding as you made the last few steps towards his door. You don't want to touch him as you pass but it's inevitable in the small space, shoulder brushing his chest. It makes you shudder, you try and pull yourself together but the sound of the door closing behind you is enough to make it worse. The tremble cascading down your limbs that even the warmth from the fire does not help to calm. 

The space is large enough to have been the biggest room you had ever seen, taking up more space than even the one they kept you in before with some of the other girls. The fireplace itself is larger than the one in your local town's bar, neatly tended and cleared of ash. A neat set of a couch and chairs sat right in front of the flames, perfect to cozy up and read from the bookshelf that was tucked into the corner. It was dark, the windows covered with the same thick red velvet curtains as the rest of the castle. It blocked the moonlight you're sure would have been coming in to cast the bed in a silver glow. 

To the far corner, there was an archway into a bathroom, the tub partially covered with a dark wood divider. There was only one other door, half hidden behind the sheer canopy of the bed was right next to a dark nightstand with a book, left open with a thin-bladed letter opener as the bookmark. You could hear the girls telling you how lucky you were to be given to the prince of all people, not a lesser royal aristocrat with no space but to send their feeder back down to the waiting hall next to the kitchen where they had first brought you. 

But even that had felt better than this. You would have been amongst humans like you, not stuck so far from where everyone was that you would have to pray you could find a way out. And it wasn't your room, it was his room that you were invading. The sheets were still slightly rumpled from where he must have been sitting before leaving. It made your stomach turn again, even if you had shared with all those other girls you wouldn't have been trapped as severely as you were now. 

But Sunghoon did not move further into the space after closing the door, the survey of the room was quick so that you wouldn't have your back to him. And there he stood taking you in his hands by his sides, palms turned up. “I'm not going to feed from you, not now, and even if my father asked me to try I won't, not unless you want that but I can tell it's not in the cards right now,” he gets the words out in a rush, “the room is mostly yours now, you can have the bed, it's better than what they expected you to sleep on but I have no qualms about taking the spare room,” he nods to the door half hidden, “I won't bother you, and later we can have the wardrobes switched so that you have the space,” 

The shock was quick, he was giving up the space for you, a prince shoved in a closet and for what? To make you feel less scared? It wouldn't change the situation, it wouldn't make you come around. “I don't want your pity,” it was the only word you could think of to classify the situation. It felt like pity, it was more than you had thought or asked for but it didn't make you any less fearful. 

“It's not pity-” 

“What is it then? Some kind of truce? A scheme? If you're going to take my blood, just take it and get it over with, pretending you won't will only make it worse,” the words are bitter to your tongue but they come out just as you had wanted them. His brows drew close, lips downturned. If you were to be nothing but a blood bag to him you didn't need to be treated nicely, you knew the truth of the situation and it was not in your favor. Let him take from you, let him be a monster but you would not let him play nice when he was anything but. Giving you the bed was not a bandage to the situation but something to make it feel as if you owed him for this small grace. 

“I'm not pretending, I do not want to feed from you, and so I won't. Believe me or not I do not care but I'm not going to shove you in the closet like some petty gift I did not like and won't remember until next spring. You can have the room and it's for my own conscience that is true but also because it's right,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, taking the long way around the edge of the room so as to not get close to you, your eyes following him as he goes. “We can talk in the morning,” it's the last thing he says before he picks up his book from the nightstand, closing it around the blade you wished you could have kept before disappearing behind the door. 

The soft slam is enough to make you let out a breath, the huff bringing forth a new wave of tears as you shake your head, ashamed to be crying in the first place. You didn't want to lay in his bed, not when it was still wrinkled and near the door he had gone through. You didn't want to sleep at all, not here, not when you didn't know what would happen when you closed your eyes. But you did know you wanted warmth so you curled yourself up against the bookshelf near the fire. Your back was guarded and both doors in your eyeline as you tried to get yourself to stop crying. 

Sunghoon could hear the constant stream of tears, his book tossed to the floor next to him while he looked up at the ceiling from where he lay in bed. The tingle in his gums had gone, his stomach sick as he took in the unease of the situation. He didn't think he would have left you alone to cry but it had felt like the only thing he could do with everything he had been given. He wanted to say sorry, apologize for everything but not knowing if that was the right thing to do.Leaving you felt right, staying in the small bed, the small room, felt right. He didn't need the space anyway, didn't want it, and he could care less about anything else so long as you didn't think he was some hungry monster looking to drain you dry when it was farthest from the truth. 

But it was impossible to convey that to you when you were so terrified, he could tell you were on the brink of giving up, that if he had turned away from you for even a second you would have run off. It was easy to let you go, he wanted you to have what you wanted but if you ran he would have to explain your absence. They would know it was a lie if he said he overfed to the point of you dying, he wouldn't smell like you not even faintly, he wouldn't have a body to prove it, and it was almost an impossible thought with his track record. If his father thought for a second that Sunghoon had fed so much as to kill a feeder he would have been ashamed for wasting a gift that he could have kept to keep him sustained for years. 

He could not just let you go without consequence for that action, he needed to let you go after explaining that you were not the one. But his father had gifted you to him in front of so many people. Sunghoon knew that even if he could not feed from you, he would be told to keep you even if it was to show off a lie. People questioned why Sunghoon wasn't around at feasts, questioned what kind of king it would make him if the time ever came if he could not indulge like the rest of them. His father hadn't called him weak but he could see the word in his eyes when he confessed time and time that he could not drink from a vein. 

They had given you pearls, that royal leash a life sentence whether you knew it or not. You would be tied to him until he found a way to get you out but running right now was not an option. And just like him he could tell that you got no sleep, your heartbeat never slowing down, the fear still keeping its constant trek through your bloodstream. He could not stop thinking it over, listening to your soft crying, it only made him feel like he was turning himself inside out keeping you here. He didn't want to be a captor, didn't want to be the person who was tied to another just because it was expected of them. 

And when he saw you there, sitting watching the fire before you noticed him he could see the beauty behind the teartracks. They had made it so that you would look like a goddess, a blessing for him that would keep on giving, and yet neither of you felt very blessed. Not when you noticed him move just enough to catch your attention. Your heart is hammering as you push yourself to stand on weak legs. Your eyes lined in sleep, hand twisted in the dangling pearls that fell right to your navel. 

“You must be hungry,” even if he could not feel the hunger anymore he knew that others kept up a comfortable schedule with the feeling if it went past curtain times. “I can take you down to the kitchen or I can have someone bring your meals here, whatever it is you want,” 

You caught onto the hope of seeing the kitchen, of walking past a window to feel the sun, of being so close to the exit you knew. “The kitchen,” you kept his eye, trying to show him that you were watching him, but it felt like you were playing a game of who would back down first, a game you didn't think you would win at all. 

“And after?” he tilted his head, his clothes wrinkled from his resting, the hollows of his eyes showing faint bruises from restlessness. 

“After?” Sunghoon didn't need to scent your blood or hear your heart when you had the fear written so clearly all over your features. 

“I don't find it fun to be locked up in the room all day, if you wanted to go to the library, the gardens, wherever it is I can take you,” 

It felt like an illusion of freedom, he would not leave you alone, you were nothing more than a prisoner with her guard going around from room to room before he took his payment at the end of the day. But the gardens sounded enticing, and learning about the castle felt enticing. If going around and looking at every corner of your cell to find a loose bar you could slip from was an option you would take it, watched or not. He had not come out of the room all night, you had waited and he did not once even try the door knob. If you could find a way out today, finally count the turns on the way down and up you would be able to sneak out tonight. Your wardrobes were not switched and you could take anything you needed to make yourself unrecognizable before leaving. 

Your fingers twisted in the pearls, tight enough for you to feel the pull as if leading yourself to speak. “The gardens…” 

Sunghoon nodded once, “We can go after you have had a proper meal,” he gave you space to get yourself ready and waited by the door for you when you were done. He held the door open for you again just as he had when letting you in. and this time you made sure to know the way down not needing to know the way back up. You counted the right turns, the left, the amount of stairs you took, and where the kitchen doors were. 

But you weren't hungry, too busy thinking over the map in your head and how it was forming along with all the other information you were keeping, like how many people you had passed. Left, right, right, stairs, left, right, left, door. It seemed so easy but you knew if you were scared it would flicker out like a candle near an open window. Sunghoon collected things for you, taking the basket with the two of you as he led you down to the gardens. 

You had believed for a long time vampires could not step foot in the sun and that would have made all of this so much easier if it was true. But the vampires were only annoyed in the sunlight, eyes sensitive but not to the point they could not see. And most of the time it was grey in the sky, the clouds low most mornings just like this one where the fog settles over the emerald green hedges. Here they did not have to worry much about the direct sunlight because there hardly was any around. 

The fresh air was more than enough to make you relish in one small victory on a growing list of losses. Even with the soft mist clinging to your lashes, cooling your heated cheeks it was enough to make you crack a sad smile. It had been so long since you felt anything besides worry and panic. But your smile didn't last for long, not when you lowered your head and could feel the weight of the pearls still around your neck. As much as they had become a habit to hold it was not a comfort but a reminder of being stuck and bound to them. 

Sunghoon watched the way you toyed with the necklace, not even noticing that you were doing it as you watched the sunset later in the day. He did not ask when you wanted to go in, did not ask if you wanted to go anywhere else, just gave you the space to breathe even just a little bit. But he watched how your fingers tightened when it was finally dark, your food untouched in the basket he carried back up to the room. He placed it down on the nightstand when the two of you made it back. 

Your nerves were on high alert being in private with him and he could tell. “You should try to eat and get some rest tonight, tomorrow we have to spend dinner with the others, and it's best to be ready,” 

Dinner, vampires didn't eat anything else to sustain themselves. You knew they could but it did little to help curve their hunger. Most of them drank from a vein or a glass tainted with liquor, most of them enjoying blood laced with wine. But you knew that they would not be sitting around sipping from glasses over light conversation. Sunghoon didn't know how to explain his plan without confessing how burdened he felt. “I didn't lie when I said I wouldn't drink from you, I will keep my promise but we are still expected at the table,” 

You watched the way he swallowed, his lips turned down. He felt small, the confession right at the edge of his tongue but it would not come free, “I-” he watched the way your knuckles flexed, fist twisted around the contract the two of you had found yourself bound to. And he couldn't even hold up his end of the deal. “I'll find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” 

But Sunghoon had nowhere else to go, if anyone found him outside his room they would gossip. His father would hear eventually and know that he had not tried, he would know he had failed again over something so small, something that was supposed to be so natural. And so he sat right outside the door, hoping that thinking of him being somewhere else even if he was still a doorway away would help you find even a wink of sleep. But he could hear the sound of your pacing footsteps working round and round the room. 

You worried at your lip, tugging at the pearls around your neck and trying to pull them free for even a moment's breath. He said he wouldn't try unless you said he could, he said he wouldn't but you had no way of knowing if he was telling the truth. You hardly knew him at all, didn't know if he was known for being deceptive and you could not afford to be lied to, not when it felt so lasting to be here. You would not only have to live with being fed from but would have to live with being played for the rest of the time you were sitting around here. 

And it wasn't even about being bitten. You knew that you had given yourself up to it, knew it the second you had let them pick you up without saying anything, you had turned in so much to be here and you would sit here and try to make it okay. Tomorrow it would not surprise you if he lied and bit you right there at the table in front of them all, it wouldn't surprise you if he went back on what he said because you expected it. And at this point, it did not matter anymore because your mind was working again and again, be grateful, be grateful, be grateful.  

You would have to be grateful, stomach the upset, and swallow your pride. So you sat at the side of his bed, sinking into the mattress just enough to know that if you fell back it would envelop you like the petals of a flower. And you felt so tired after being up for so long. And even with the soundtrack of your mantra ringing around in your skull you picked up the same rhythm of the floor plan. Said it again and again like counting sheep, laying over the sheets that still smelled of him. That faint scent of white flowers was sweet and alluring. 

It was upsetting to like the way the smell of him made you feel. Vampires were made to be the kind of beings you could not resist even if your body was telling you that something was not quite right about the situation. You knew fight or flight and being in a room full of them only triggered the sense. But here, warm in his bed, looking up at the canopy that he must have looked up to a thousand times, resting your head on his sweet smelling pillow you could not find it in yourself to want to run. Not until after you rested at least. 

But you did not tuck yourself in, facing the door and watching the handle as if that would provide you comfort with your eyes closed. You breathed in, deep and swallowing the scent you drifted off, half awake for your body wouldn't let you fall into true sleep. Sunghoon could tell this as he leaned against the wall, half wishing he would have gone into his new bed to rest but if you were to get little sleep so would he. He wanted you to trust him, not to trick you but just so that he could show his true intentions. 

So early before you had even snuck to take a quick bath without him around, he went to the kitchen and collected as many red fruits as he could, dark crimson cherries, the beads of a pomegranate, and the soft easily ground raspberries, anything that would stain his lips the color of wine. He folded them up into a soft cloth, tucking them behind his back as he went back up to the room. By then you were already changed and watching the door, waiting for him. 

But he did not burst in through the door as you had expected since this was his room and only partially yours, no, he knocked, knuckles light on the hardwood, he could have been confused with a branch hitting the side of the house with a soft breeze. The soft patter of your heart quickened nonetheless. Shoulders tightening, limbs locking, your flight was slowly turning to freeze without your permission. 

“You can come in,” the words were necessary but sickening to pull forward. 

Sunghoon was rumpled, eyes soft as he looked down at his hands revealing the bundle of fruit. He had crushed a cherry on his walk up when he passed a staff member, the juice slipping down his palm and wrist. You had only seen the red for a brief moment, the faint trail of it having your attention before he opened his hands for you to see the rest. “I know it's crazy,” he already felt small even suggesting his plan. 

This wasn't something that was expected of a prince, of any vampire. It was something that he had done when he was young, hiding away from the truth and still believing that his father couldn't tell he wasn't getting enough in his system. It felt worse letting someone in on his secret. “For the dinner, you're going to have to put some of these fruits in the mesh cuffs you have on. If they are already stained they won’t think anything of it,” 

It didn't make any sense to you as to why he would go to such lengths to keep up his promise to you. You could feel yourself pushing back at his kindness, he was slotted in your mind as an enemy and any amount of niceties would not place him anywhere else. “When it's time I'll grab your wrist and bite the fruit not you,” 

“Why?” your confusion was a mix of distaste and curiosity, your brows drawn together as you looked at his red-stained fingers. “Why not just bite me and get it over with?” 

He swallowed thickly, throat bobbing as he dropped any eye contact he had held with you. You took the opportunity to look over the moles on his face, finding the trail of them, already remembering as if it had been the map out of this room, only you didn't need to repeat it to yourself; it was as if you had already known the path. “I don't want your blood,” he clenched his jaw after he said it as if that was too much to have slipped out in the first place. 

You don't know why it felt like he had slammed a door in your face, the weight of it heavy and fitting so neatly against its frame. It shouldn't have hurt, your mind trying to recoil from the pain you shouldn't feel and yet did. You had wanted to be the one to twist the lock, press your back against the wood, and keep your feet planted. But here he was doing it all on his own. And before you could ask again, the why so close to being dropped between you like a thin glassed champagne flute, he left you with nothing but the maroon cloth stuffed with fruit and your waiting question. 

Before it had felt as if you had been given some kind of grace to work with. He had said he wouldn't feed from you like it was a gift you should thank him for. But now he was standing in front of you and saying he didn't want your blood, not that it was something he was holding himself back from. The words were settling over you and tightening around your limbs, you shouldn't feel anything except relief not worry about something being wrong with you. There was no reason to be thinking over this when you didn't want it in the first place, no reason to let the confession sink you so low. 

But you would do what you needed to do nonetheless, turning around and tucking the fruit against the mesh at your wrist. He would have his mouth there, close to your vein in only a few hours and it set your nerves aflame. Not only would it be him around but everyone else, the other vampires who would have teeth stained with blood instead of fruit. You would see the other feeders, the ones that you were supposed to be replicated after. You would see what rumor had been real, would it hurt them, or would it feel like bliss? 

Either one felt like a death sentence, slowly losing one's self with or without you noticing, one tricking you into believing it was okay and the other tearing you apart. It was all you could think about when he finally came back, his clothes changed and hair done to hang perfectly around his face. He first looked down at your wrists, laid next to you at your side neatly hiding the faint stain showing up. “It shouldn't take too long,” he whispered, fingers playing with the pearls slung across his chest. 

It was the first time you had seen such a chain on him, it matched your pearls perfectly, the latch made so that he could hook you up to follow him without him having to tug you along with his own hands. It wasn't fear that was slinking through you now but anger, hot and ashamed. “You're not tying me up,” you drew the line there, he could bite you all he wanted before he found you chined to him with anything more than a speech written contract. 

You backed up, legs hitting the bed and stilling you in your place. “I'm not going to be paraded around like that, like I'm a purse at your side, a dog at your feet,” you spit the words, letting them land at his feet and sticking to the world around you. It already felt like a curse to have the stupid chain around you no matter how expensive, no matter how pretty it was, nothing more than a reminder for him that you were little in comparison to him. 

“I didn't say you would be, I have to wear it, I don't have to use it,” he tugged on his own pearls looking down at them for the first time, “they want us down soon and I want to go over the plan again,” he looked up, catching your eyes to make sure you were listening. You nodded to let him continue, “I won't bite you, my fangs won't even come out, I just need to stain my mouth and your wrists, nothing more and nothing less, okay?” 

“Okay,” you would have to believe him now more than ever, this was a test that both of you would have to pass for both of you to feel comfortable in the situation. The trust is stretched thin enough to fall apart or be strengthened. 

Sunghoon could tell you were scared the second he was at his seat with you next to him sitting on his armrest. If he had even been tempted to feed tonight it would have been washed away the second the others came in and you were faced with them and their bruised necks and wrists. The faint puncture marks made by fangs over and over again only looked worse in the candlelight. Your hands twisted in your lap, wrists turned in so that no one could see the stains already made. Sunghoon wanted to say anything to calm your nerves, whisper it if only someone would not be able to hear but he could not. 

His father sat next to him at the head of the table, already ready to get the dinner over with as fast as the two of you did. He didn't want to see his son make a fool of himself if he couldn't even try to drink. He had seen Sunghoon unable to let his fangs down, watching him pull away with hardly a drop on his lips before he had to leave. He didn't care if he was putting him on the spot now with trying but he needed to know that he could get it done, needed to know he would make an effort as much as he could. 

But you could hardly pay any attention to anything else besides the girl in front of you. Dressed as you were, the gauzy fabric of her dress flowed around her like a breeze while she took her seat at her vampire's armrest. She didn't seem scared, she seemed excited to sit there, leaning back against him. Her faint smile was hazy, looking from his hand in hers. It didn't settle your fears but set them in stone, her wrist covered like yours, dots of blood staining the mesh. 

But It felt wrong to witness them the second the meal started, the intimacy shocking you more than the feel on sunghoons hand on your arm. In this room he was the only constant, his soft fingers tapping against your skin to get your attention. But it was hard to turn away the second the man in front of you flashed his fangs, the sight of them making your knees weak in the worst way. The soft hum of approval from the feeder he sank his teeth into slid across the table in a wave. Her lashes fluttered, pressing her wrist closer to his mouth without even having to be asked. She wanted it to happen, wanted him to take the long sips he was indulging in. No one was paying any attention to Sunghoon and you when they were so consumed by their own meals. 

Sunghoon slid his hand down to your wrist, the feeling traveling up to your elbow, the hair on the back of your neck rising as he looked up at you for approval. Sitting like this, with you higher, looking down on him and his asking gaze, you felt like drowning. Because for a split second, you wanted to know what it felt like, hoped that in some way you would know even just a little bit without him going too far, taking too much. And you were scared that with one look he would know you were thinking about him in that way, thinking about him doing the one thing he said he would not because of you but because he didn't want to do it.

Every soft movement he made with your hand in his was torture, fear slinking back into you, the spicy scent of it flooding his senses. He was so close to having your wrist at his mouth, your eyes stuck on him as he pulled up the mesh just enough so that he could make it look like he could get his teeth into place, the fruit trapped in the fabric. 

Your breathing was pulling closer together, each puff tumbling into the next, mouth slightly open as you watched his lips part. He didn't take his eyes off you, teeth in a neat row already looking as if they were tipped with fangs but unlike the man across from you, they did not elongate. His lips ghosted over your pulse point, the thrumming of your rushing blood soft against his mouth as he took in the first raspberry, the crunch mimicking the way it would have been when piercing into your skin. If you had to play the part you did it well, gasping as if it had been you he had bitten, shocked by the way his lips felt so gently against your delicate skin.

He pressed in further, hand wrapped around yours as you curled your fingers around his. The pitted cherry was next to find its demise at his sharp teeth, the juice of it slipping down your arm like a thin line of freshly spilled blood. Your free hand twisted in your skirt, watching the way he faked the look of pleasure from that first bite. 

You shouldn't feel this way, shouldn't feel like you wanted him to just slip up, have his teeth scrape against your skin if even just a scratch. And he was so gentle with you, lips pressed like a soft kiss, feeling the warmth of you against him made him hum, it had been so long since he had felt heat like this so close to him. He tried to keep his teeth as far away from you, he didn't want to scare you much less make it seem like he was on the verge of lying. Because he might have been lying to everyone but he couldn't lie to you, not when you needed the truth the most. 

Sunghoon watched the way you wet your bottom lip, watching his mouth, his throat as he swallowed. It felt dangerous and intimate, twisted in deception and staining his judgment. And for a second, the width of a hair, he could smell your blood go clean, whether it was in his imagination being this close to you or reality he had to pull away. And the spicy sweetness flooded over him again when you saw the way his mouth was stained like he had glass after glass of red wine. He licked his lips, wiping at the edge of his mouth, and tried to stomach the faint ribbons of hunger unraveling in his stomach. 

He tried to ignore it, ignore the fact he knew it was wrong, and yet how wrong could it be to hope that you could curb his hunger even if it was only an inkling of the feeling? But the memory of the way he had rejected the last drop of spiced blood was still fresh in his mind. He would not try again, not now, and not when you hadn't offered. But you had been pressing back on his mouth, pressing your wrist to him like you wanted him to do it or maybe it was his own delusion teasing him with the idea. 

And you would not look at him with his lips tinted a new shade of pink, the crawling on your skin closer to light touches and not the feel of spiders. He had not lied, he had kept his word and you didn't know what to do with that. 

You kept your distance on the way back to the room, distracted enough to climb into his bed the second he had gone to his. You didn't fight the sleep that came over you either, the days of unrest coming back to have you pay your dues. Nothing was without a price it seemed because even in sleep you were plagued with the reality of the day. In your dreams, you begged Sunghoon to bite you; held your wrist out for him, and let him take your blood. You could see his fangs and watched them right before he pushed them into you. The pain felt blinding, racing up your arm until it circled your heart, squeezing until you felt yourself snap up in bed, half a scream caught in your throat. 

Panting you held your hand over your heart, skin slick with the cold sweat you had broken out into only seconds ago that had felt like an eternity. Your subconscious was telling you no to the temptation pushed in front of you. You knew vampires held a power to pull people in, knew them to use it against even the strongest of people. And now you understand it all. He was calling on something deeply instinctual inside you, the surface layer of it making you fearful but whatever was underneath was dangerous and bewitching to your right mind. 

You could not go back to sleep after you were up already. Sitting with your back against the headboard waiting for him to come out of his room while you tugged on the pearls at your neck, not strong enough to pull them free. For a short time, you had even walked over to his bookshelf to look through the boring titles he had stocked up. No more letter openers waiting between the pages as you flipped through tome after tome. It's why the second he came out from the little room he had been sleeping you asked him to go to the library. 

Sunghoon was surprised by you asking him to go anywhere, you wouldn't talk to him if you didn't have to and you knew not to leave the room without him unless you did have a plan to escape. He jumped on the opportunity to please you, a silent thank you written into the action for the night before. 

He could not stop thinking about your soft gasp, the way you had watched him so closely. He had grown up with so many people's eyes on him, watching every little move he made and scrutinizing every wrong turn. It was not uncommon for any aristocrat, even one held as high as he was to want one moment without eyes on them. During feedings had been one of the few moments of peace he could have in a room full of people, that was until people started to watch out to make sure he was getting food in his system. But you did not make him feel nervous, did not make him feel as if he needed to be ashamed of what he was, of what he could not do and tried so hard to accomplish. You had watched him in awe. 

He liked to have your eyes on him, watching the way they fell to each spot on his face, the one right under his eyes, to the one on the side of his nose, and down to the edge of his lips. Your eyes lingered, tracing the shape of his mouth, the line he ran over his bottom lip with his tongue. He wanted you to look at him like that again because if you could persist he could drink his fill of your features, trace the line of your nose, the shape of your eyes, your lips, without fearing that you would get too scared to look at him ever again. 

When you looked at him like that he was not the monster he felt you saw him but just a boy trying to find his footing amongst the rest of them just like you were. He hated to know what your blood smelled like fearless, the sweetness enough to ache his teeth in just the right way, the kind of temptation that he was told to stay away from indulging so fiercely in.

But it was a distant scent, gone as quickly as it had shown up and yet he was stuck thinking about it as he sat with you in the library. He had given you space, let you go around and around to find whatever it was you wanted to look at. Finding his seat to rest with his book but his mind did not stop moving, he watched you; followed the invisible trail you drew with your movements. You traced your finger over the spine of each book you came across, reading the names to yourself. He tried to guess the next one you would pick, stacking up the titles that seemed to have grabbed your attention enough for you to pull it from the shelf in the first place, looking for a correlation if there was any except the face they had caught your eye. 

You were calmer here in the new space, even when there was not much sunlight except for a small window set into the ceiling. Just the small bit of light it let through even on a grey day was better than nothing at all. And you felt better having Sunghoon sitting around knowing he had held himself back even after being so close to your vein, even when around all the blood in the room. But it didn't put you at ease, not entirely with your dream still so close to the surface of your mind. You had never felt pain as you had imagined while asleep but even just a touch of that pain would have felt all consuming. 

Picking up a book you skimmed the first few pages, flicking between the yellowing pages catching the smell of aged paper and ink stopping randomly on a page you did not care to read. You had the intention to find a book to read but it didn't have to be instantly and Sunghoon was giving you enough space to take all the time you needed to find one. But you could spend so long just doing exactly that, turning to random pages looking for something to pull your attention long enough to want to start from the beginning. And just as you started to find that interest you slide your finger along the single page you had in hand. 

It was quick, the pain didn't even register until it was too late. The bubbling of blood bright red and nauseating. It was nothing but a thin line, right across the pad of your pointer finger, slicing the fingerprint in half like the visual representation of you being split down the middle. You felt heavy right at your center, a fist around your stomach, churning up your worry while the rest of your limbs felt so separate and far away. 

Sunghoon could smell the blood as soon as that first bead donned your finger, pricked like a sleep-entrance princess. The cinnamon sugar scent you had been carrying turned gingery and intense around the room in an instant. Chest heaving you stood frozen watching how the line darkened with each passing second. He didn't want to make it so obvious that he was making his way to you but there was no way around it when he was in front of you, wrapping your finger up in his handkerchief instead of delighting in your slip up. 

“It's okay, it's small, nothing too bad,” he tried to soothe, your hand curling around his, clenching around the cloth as if it was the only thing keeping you from that pain made from your dreamscape. Vampires were strong, you're sure that if he wanted he could rip the handkerchief in two without any struggle, just as easily as he could have split your skin like the thin sheet of paper with the edge of one fang. The fabric was keeping nothing from him, not while it soaked in the color of your blood like it would wine, the stain so close to the raspberries that had been left on your mesh cuffs only the night before. 

It was hard not to think of him as you had in your dream, but here there were no fangs present, just his understanding eyes and steady hand in yours. It was not as it had been in your mind with him lunging for the opportunity to hurt you. Having him this close to you made the power of him flood your mind. Every time he got near you found yourself leaning in and not away, the time together only bringing him closer past the borders you had built around yourself.

You tried to remind yourself that this is what they did, lured you in, with their intoxicating aura, cunning and clandestine. But even as you said it to yourself, let the warnings ring out like a dinner bell. You couldn't make the thought stick any more than you could the idea that you needed to be grateful. For this small second, you were nothing more than just someone who couldn't take their eyes off of the person in front of them. Needing to be closer, needing to find whatever it was you were missing in yourself and get it from him. 

The papercut was so far removed from your mind, everything blurring as you leaned closer, breathing in the same air as he did, each inhale slowing your pulse until you were just about to press your lips to his. The ghost of him just brushing your mouth is the kind of feeling that would haunt you for years to come. Both of you tugged away from the other as the sound of the library door opening echoed, the quick slink of the guillotine cutting the moment away almost as fast as it had started. 

The realization of what had almost happened was blinding, cutting across your vision and clearing your head as you turned away from looking at him. You had read about vampire compulsion and knew that even if they were not trying it could slip free and confuse even the strongest person. You refused to believe it was you alone who had leaned in, refused to believe it was you who had wanted him to be so close to you in the first place. But you could not stop thinking about the round shape of his bottom lip, thinking about how it would fit so perfectly between your own. 

“Dinner is soon my prince, I was told to give you fair warning,” the butler who had come in muttered, Sunghoon giving his full attention to him as if he could not bring himself to look at you. All you could focus on was the numbing of your fingers from how hard you held them, tightening and tightening with each passing second that you had to think about what had almost happened. 

Wanting to kiss him was unlike wanting to be bitten by him. Being bitten was in your contract, what you had been told would happen between the two of you. Being kissed was not something that should have been crossing your mind when he was going to be the person to ruin you. You could live with him taking your blood, knowing that if anything happened between the two of you that would be it. But the magnetism was not only calling the iron in your veins but pulling back your steely inhibitions. 

So much so that when you found yourself on the edge of his chair that same night, raspberries tucked in the stained mesh cuffs, pressing your wrist to his mouth without him even having to ask. His fingers curled around yours the same way, holding your hand, and wishing he was leaning back in, just enough to breathe in the same air again. Because even Sunghoon could feel his resolve tumbling down the cliff of his restraint, slowly chipping away at the hold he had because his gums ached, throat sore, his teeth scraping against your waiting vein. 

Your gasp was almost as sweet as he knew your blood would be flooding his taste buds. The need was shocking enough for him to pull away from you, keep your wrist at a distance because he was worried if he was any closer, if he smelled your blood go clean for even a second like the last time he would not be able to keep his fangs back. And he felt disgusted with himself from the thought of not being able to hold himself back. 

He did not want to be like the monster you must have thought that he was. Monster enough to not be able to stop himself and yet you were not thinking about him in that way. All you could think about was that you wanted it, wanted it so bad that you held onto his hand harder, waiting for him to bring your wrist back up. You could feel the part of your sanity leaving you, the part that had kept you in line long enough to think of an escape plan. 

The word makes you find yourself again because while you go back up the stairs you don't even think about remembering the way back down. And it's the first night that you don't worry about him coming out from his room while you sleep. The sheets now still partially smelling of you mixed with the faint intoxicating smell of him, the pillow lulling you to sleep without much effort at all. 

It was the first night you could feel the tiredness pulling in your limbs enough to where it didn't matter if you were scared it only mattered that you fell asleep. Aided by the ease you were feeling about wanting him closer to you than you should. 

Sunghoon could tell the second you were asleep, breathing evening out, heart rate slowing down but it was the sweetness that did him in. The scent curled through the air, his deep inhale made the smell coat his throat, his mouth filling with venom, gums burning, body shaking. He didn't even remember making it out of his room, the darkness of his shadow pooling over you as he was backlit but the dying flames in the fireplace. But he could see the soft line of your neck, the delicate curve leading to the back of your hairline, the shell of your ear. The thin skin covering your eyes, down the shape of your cheek until he was looking down your jaw back to the curve of your neck, right over where he could see the soft rhythm of your pulse. 

He didn't even feel himself open the door, his hands balled into fists by his sides, nails digging into his palms, knuckles whitening from the tightness. Watching the faint rise and fall of your sleeping chest, the way your lips parted just slightly. He could associate your mouth with wanting to bite you because of how often he found himself looking at your lips the second his teeth were close to your vein. 

And for the first time in what felt like years Sunghoon felt his fangs push through his gums, digging into the unfamiliar spots of the soft flesh of his inner lips. Because you were too sweet to hold back from, the just ripe scent of fresh raspberries and the soft decadence of vanilla.

He was telling himself to pull away, to get away from the edge of the bed, lock himself in his room, and think about nothing else, think about everything that had nothing to do with you and your enticing blood. But he could not stop the thoughts from invading his brain; if before he had been physically sick he knew that this was a different kind of plague overtaking him. The kind that would have him stop at nothing to get to you, the kinda they wrote about in dystopian books about chaos and destruction. He felt like every bit the monster you must believe him to be and yet he could not find it in himself to care at all because he just wanted one taste, the smallest bit, a drop if anything else. 

It takes everything in him to stop from reaching out one finger, he wants just to feel the flutter of your pulse, just to know that there, underneath your unresisting skin was the warmth and cure to his hunger that he had not even known that he had been searching for. It had been so long since that he had even felt the soft fist in his stomach, the tightening working its way up his esophagus. The feeling was so close to how he believed it to feel for you that first day standing in the hall, stuck there standing in the doorway trying to catch your breath. It's that image that makes him leave, the fear he had scented then, had seen written all over your face, your body. If it had taken you everything to step foot into his room he would give his all to walk away now. 

So he ran, half stumbling to get away from the bed, the canopy swaying around the bed you lay from how close he had been to giving in and taking from you and not leaving you with the trust you had been working to give him. The door slamming is what woke you, he had not meant it but he didn't know how much he was trying to keep his distance. If he had stayed just right outside he could have smelled the fear course through you in an instant but even then he was holding his breath to make sure not even a bit more of the temptation could slip past his restraint. 

But you sat up, heart picking up its speed as you looked around in the darkness, the embers in the fireplace glowing so low that they mixed in with the ash, fading down into nothing but a pale blanket of twilight. He was gone, you knew as much, his door half open could not have slammed itself. Your hand had found its way up to your throat, feeling the clammy coolness coming over you from the adrenaline finding its home around your joints and in your stomach. 

The pearls you wore were warm and unwanted, a reminder of exactly how your plan had been fumbled through fingers wishing to run through Sunghoon’s dark hair. You tugged on the necklace, the leash, pulled until you could feel the pearls dimpling your skin. It felt impossibly tight to think about wanting him when still bound like this. In a single glance, anyone would know that you did not belong anywhere except under the blood-hungry. If you broke the necklace and collected the pearlescent beads they would keep you sustained long enough to go far away from here. 

But in his bed, smelling the faint white floral scent of him surrounding you mixed with the heady perfume of the wood burned fire it was so difficult to pick yourself up and run. It was worse because you wanted him to want you. Why must it only be you who had to resist the pull from the other, shouldn't it have been the other way around? Didn't they tell you that he would have wanted- needed to have you around him? That he would crave you with everything in him after only a few feedings since vampires got so attached and territorial over their feeders. 

You had found yourself in a thorny bush, pinched and kept in place, any slight movement left you with the stinging pain of betrayal. Flowers were supposed to be pretty not painful and yet all you could feel were the sharp thorns. He was supposed to be in your place, stuck and begging to be released by you; your blood the shears to snip away the twisted branches. But he didn’t want you, no lasting desire woven into what was supposed to be a tapestry of temptation after temptation. 

There was no lying in the reason why you picked yourself up off the bed, even less when you felt the tears start. To be unwanted was worse than to be here wanted with his teeth in your vein because at least then you could pretend you didn't enjoy it or let yourself know how much you truly did enjoy it and just succumb. 

So you ran, did what you said you would, and stumbled down the empty hall washed in nothing but darkness. The curtains were drawn close, the plush velvet carpet that ran over the center of the hardwood soft and slippery under your barefoot. You didn't even notice you had left your shoes behind in the room, thin and slippered or not it would have been better than nothing. 

The castle groaned, the shudder of the wind hitting the stone was nothing short of frightful when gust after gust was shaking the trees lining the property. The rain pattered on the thick glass windows even if you couldn't see it, it echoed in the empty halls like a warning. But you couldn't stop yourself now, not when you knew that if you saw him even for a second you wouldn't want to go back, beg him to know why you, why not you? As the lightning started to crack, thunder rumbling felt underfoot as you pushed the doors open to the empty kitchen that you had been waiting to do. 

The glow that cut across the sky lit up the whole expanse of grass and trees, the stretched limbs of the winter empty branches twisted, curling, and frightening for the second that they had been exposed by the lightning. The thunder was so close that you could feel it sync up with the unease washing over you. The rain was too loud to think and if you stepped out you would be drenched and cold by morning. Frozen over like a lake in late January. The tears came harder than before wanting to be back in his room as a redundant decorative house plant he kept alive because watching it die would be more hassle. 

Sunghoon had gone all the way to the kitchen when he had left. Picking over the stocks of what they had to have them ready for you in the morning when you woke up. In some twisted sense of an apology for something you didn't even know he had done. And had tried to make sure that he could stop the hunger. Trying to stomach a handful of raspberries as if that would help him any but it would give him no sustenance. He could not go down to find a new feeder, refused to go out and try to find anyone who was willing because it had never felt right, he had never been hungry for anyone until you. 

His fangs wouldn't even go back up, not when he felt as if you were invading every part of him, his flesh so weak that he was yearning to be close to you. Not only did he want his mouth pressed to your neck to eradicate his hunger but so that he could let his lips find places to remember, places that would make you feel just as weak as he did. 

Then he knew you were there, the loud wash of the rain echoing in the kitchens the second you had pushed the door open. He had started to learn the rhythm of your heart just as he had known his own, softly beating faintly behind his ribcage making room to take you in without him even realizing it. He knew the only reason you would be down here was to run, he was not dense enough to believe you had wanted to stay all of the time, not when you were so fearful of him in the first place. He had known of only a few feeders who had regretted their decisions to come here and even then the stories were few and far between.  

He wanted you to stay and it wasn't only because he had found himself craving you but because he had been missing something for a long time. Not only this feeling but some kind of twisted friendship or even just acquaintanceship. He had never felt so lonely, not until he wasn't alone anymore. Having someone to match up his breaths with even if they were a room away felt better than sitting alone in his room with nothing and no one to think or lean on. 

And now you were leaving, standing just at the edge of the doorframe with the wind beating the rain down on you. Your dress already so thin had turned sheer with the wetness, your chin dripping with droplets of water and tears. He ached to see you so ready to run. He had never before begged for things that were outside of his control, he could find balance within the chaos of others' decisions because like so many he never had an option to change things on a whim like so many people before him. He knew being a prince set him up higher; people believed he had the world right at his fingertip but it was nothing but emptiness sitting around a fireplace waiting to feel the same kind of hunger as everyone else around you. 

He wanted you now even if he had said he wouldn't, he would let you go, he would- but his fingers curled around your arm tugging you inside, away from the pelting rain, and into the circle of his arms. You were soaked clean through, shaking in his grasp but instead of pushing you away, you pressed in further. 

You don't need anything more than to smell the faint white flowers that had been left on the pillowcases. You pulled him closer, the thin tunic he wore twisting in your grasp as you pressed your face into his chest, knowing you shouldn't and yet needing it nonetheless. It didn't matter if he was also getting wet just from holding you and you didn't care if his coolness was not warming you but making you shiver harder. “I don't want to leave,” it was so easy to say it this close when it felt as if it was only you and him and nothing in between. 

They were words you didn't think you would say out loud let alone words that you had come to fully understand until they were leaving you. But here right against him, where you really wanted to be, it was hard not to say them. 

“Don't go, you don't have to if you don't want to but if you want to leave I can find some way to make it happen,” the words felt wrong, he didn't want you to leave but he wouldn't let you suffer. But you only held on, shaking your head and letting him hold you. 

“I hate this,” you grit out, wishing you knew why you felt this way. You knew yourself and this was so consuming, this need for him to want you back. Before it would not have mattered, the steps down from his room to this very door would have been going around your head, Left, right, right, stairs, left, right, left, door, not the constant echo of his deep voice telling you, ‘I don't want your blood,’ the line itself had found a way to worm under your skin. That worm burrows holes in your sound-minded reasoning, your weak heart, and even weaker flesh. “I hate that I don't want to leave and I hate how you don't-” 

“How I don’t what?” Sunghoon was finding it hard to take in full breaths because instead of flooding with fear when in his grasp you were leveling out into calm serene. The swirling scent of you overwhelmed him, feet planted so stiffly and it was the only thing he could focus on this close trying to keep his fang back. 

You push away keeping your fists in his shirt, his arms still circling you if he let go you would be back out the door in the rain. But you only looked at him, taking in the sight of his dark eyes searching you for an answer you didn't want to confess to. Saying it out loud, asking him all your questions would pull you apart into nothing but empty bones hollowed out as cleanly as the promises you kept for yourself. You had said you would run, promised yourself that it would be so easy to get out if you just had the way and now you stood here in his arms like it was nothing at all. But it was clawing up your back, stringing itself across your shoulders and around your neck like a damned albatross you had been burdened with; forced on you by your own hands. 

But you couldn't keep it in anymore, the words spilling free like a knocked over glass of wine, deep and crimson, “I hate how you don't want me and I hate that even if your need is the only reason I'm here it should be a blessing and all I can think was that I was gifted a curse. I hate myself for wanting you so bad when you don't even think about wanting me,” 

The words were like the slamming of a door, the lock heavy and twisting true as he took in your admission. He had wanted nothing more than to prove you wrong, wanted everything in him to give in but he couldn't. Not like this with you on the verge of leaving, not when you feared him still if even only a little bit. He wanted to give you everything you wanted, he needed for nothing, not until he felt this bewitchment overtake him even now opening his mouth to get the words out he felt his gums tingling. 

Sunghoon had teeth that already faintly resembled fangs, the permanent outline to tell you exactly who he was even under all the promises not to bite you. But now, his lips only just parted. You watched as they elongated, they were only a bit longer, but you could see the definition. Seeing the others with their teeth in the other feeders had been scary, all the malice written over their faces even if it were only what you had painted in your minds over their lustful glances and soft hands. But now you could see why the other feeders had leaned in at the sight, turned their wrists and chins so willingly at the sight as if they were nothing but marionettes to be controlled by the sight of their vampire coming to take from them. 

Seeing him, brows tight, and ashamed, he looked nothing more than a boy looking for forgiveness at the knees of your confession and you wanted nothing more than to give him the grace he so desperately sought after. You leaned in, entranced by his becoming call, every mole on his porcelain skin leading you back to the soft shape of his eyes and the plush pink of his lips. 

You were magnetic, pulling him in closer to you, not even from the faint ripples of hunger but from the allure of your every passing breath where you looked at him like that. He did not care about what you had thought about him previously, not about anything else except this moment where you wanted him and he needed you. 

Just one brush of his lips against yours was all that he sought after. He was so close to kissing you just like he had been in the library, so near the edge of a cliff he could not fall from and ever return, if there had been any rope tied around him it was his sanity and it had gone slack snapping halfway down once he muttered, “all I ever do is crave you, my appetite so unfulfilled not only because I'm struggling to resist you right at this very moment but because there is nothing else, no one else I have ever wanted more than you. It feels so unreasonably dangerous to subject you to my burning need and yet…” he let the soft puff of breath fall over your lips, taking it in and swallowing it down as if it were a star you had trapped in a jar. 

He was so close when the thought passed over you, the fading memory of the reason why you had run. The split second was like ink in a pool of clear water, unraveling like the fingers you had fisted around his heart and soul because he could not take for you when you did not want it, not when he could smell that spicy sweetness mixing together. But even then he wanted to try, just a drop would do no matter the burn, he wanted it. 

But he did not kiss you, he led you back up to your room, clenching his jaw and holding his breath all the way back up the stairs. He kept his mind on the next step he had to take and not the way the fabric of your dress clung to your skin, not the way the soft roar of your blood was the only sound he could focus on even through the storm hitting against the walls. The second he had let you go to bed and he found himself in the privacy of his own small space he could not stop the thoughts. 

He was starving. Completely empty of anything he had ever felt before. He had believed he had known hunger back when he was young, believed he would never feel anything worse in his life because there was no cure. He had felt in his bones there was no cure except time and suppression but this hunger had broken something in him. He had believed himself a stone mountain, the waves of hunger hitting the side of him gone dry only now he was beginning to believe he had been hollow the whole time, a cave that had been shown the light after the tidal wave came tumbling through to make the echoing emptiness known. 

He had known of the desolate expanse of his insides but had never felt as if they ran so deep. But he was a mess of nothing but clawing realization, it wasn't just that he wanted you, it was that he felt as if he would die without you. How he had distanced himself for so long, how he found himself restraining even now was taking most of his thinking because if he listened in he could still hear the pitter patter of your half asleep heartbeat waiting for him in the other room. The soft sound mixed with the mewl of his name. 

You were calling for him, drunk on a dream you tossed in the sheets, the fabric twisting around your legs, bunching your dress around your hips as you turned. It was some kind of sense that let you know that he had left his room. Eyes flickering open seeing him half hidden behind the gauzy canopy. Everything felt so sudden the second you said his name in that breathy whisper again he was half hanging on by a thread, finding himself leaning over you all over again. 

He loved to see you like this, whining and laying back against his pillows, tucked under him with the sweet aroma of your trust wafting from your blood. “Sunghoon,” his name is like a plea for something only he could provide. Because he knew the feeling, your name in response was the only answer he could find as he took in inhale after inhale of temptation. His fangs ached as he held back. 

You lifted your hands until they cupped his face in your palms, pushing back his hair hanging by his ears. It had taken so little time to memorize his features even when you told yourself that you shouldn't have, but there was no way you could forget about a face like his. With one finger you trace across his nose, watching his lashes flutter, brows coming in together as he groans. Your finger seeks out the sound, not from his throat but at his lips, following the shape of his cupid's bow. 

There was no resistance as you pressed your finger between his lips and pressed against his fang. Your shocked gasp was followed by a flood of the spicy smell of your fear but for a moment your blood was clean of anything but sweetness. You watched as Sunghoon’s eyes went unsteady, hazy from that one drop. The wash of the taste took over everything he could think about and it did not fix any emptiness but widened a cavern of uncontrollable need. 

It was fast, his hips sinking into yours, keeping you locked in place, your finger gone from his mouth as both hands found homes in his hair, gently holding as you found yourself frozen still waiting for his next move. Because he was at your neck, fangs brushing over your pulse now beating erratically just beneath the surface of your thin skin. It was taking everything not to bite down, even just the faint tracing, the feel of how fragile it was to break through and take everything he had been waiting for. 

“Do it,” but it felt nothing short of wrong for him to hear those words coming from you. He wanted it, could feel the way he would have begged to have more, and yet he could not take it without knowing you wanted it truly. 

The coolness of his body pressed against you and the drag of his teeth sent a shiver down your body, arching up into him, giving more room for him to bite you. It was in that movement that you felt how hard he was for you. Your moving hips only make it known, your begging gasps not only for his mouth but all of him. “Please,” it was desperate and caught in the back of your mouth as you whined again. 

Everything about you was so consuming, the way your fear was replaced by the sweet smell of your arousal. Your hands pulled him in closer, legs opening to push him into the cradle of your hips. And then he bit down. 

It was a flood of pure unadulterated euphoria, the first taste had been nothing like this, sweet, yes, but not the sugary saccharine flavor that had now overwhelmed him to the point of uncontrollable pulls of mouthful after mouthful. He did not think that he could find a way to ever be full, not when all he wanted to do was drink. To devour you whole and never apologize for what he had done, monster or not. 

And for you, the venom was numbing bliss, body going slack and malleable in response, nerves set to feel every feather light touch he gave. He was curving into you, pressing you harder into the mattress as you hummed, that hazy moan rippling through the air as you finally understood why people gave up so much for this one feeling. Nothing would be able to top this, not when you were slipping into some unknown part of yourself and finding that nothing had ever felt better. You would let him go on until you could not think but it was easy enough to do that because thoughts came in half-formed sentences, everything was by touch and sensation, stripped down to nerves that only sought out pleasure. 

Sunghoon had practiced restraint all his life, he had never had to pull away from something or someone because he hadn't wanted to be there in the first place. But pulling away he found was harder than starting in the first place. Addicted in nothing more than half a second. But he knew he would have to stop and breathe, to let you breathe. His mouth stained red, he kissed over the puncture marks he had created, relishing in the tremble each brush of his lips made your body react with. “No, don’t stop-” the whine followed by the roll of your hips against him. “More, I need more,” 

“Just a second, too fast and I won't stop next time,” he kept his trail going, kissing and re-kissing over the bloodstains in the pattern of his lips from your jaw back down to your collarbone. He wanted to make a mess of you, teeth lightly scratching down the column of your throat loving the sound of your sensitivity. His body was trembling with the need to sink into you in any way he could consume you, body and soul. 

But it wasn't what you wanted, this whole time you had been waiting for this one moment, struggling to think you would enjoy it and now you were taught that you had been keeping yourself away from a feeling you never wanted to be out of. If he had asked for your wrist you wouldn't hold your hand behind your back but press it to his mouth. Your hands moved down his body, feeling the thin material of his shirt and needing to get your warm hands on his skin, needing the sensation to feed into your sensitivity. 

And for the first time, Sunghoon was flushed, pink cheeks and lips deepening in color. Your blood was so close to how he had looked stained with raspberry marrow. “You look so pretty like this,” he whispered, thumb moving to brush at the soft skin under your eye like he would catch a tear. “Where have you been hidden all my life?” 

But it didn't matter about before, not when he was all you could think about at that moment, all you could feel as you rolled your hips under him, needing him to understand that it was more that you needed. And he wanted it too, working on instinct, pushing up your thin nightgown following the line from your thigh up your hip, his fingers digging into your soft flesh at the sight of you. Neither of you worried about stripping completely, Sunghoon’s white tunic thrown aside and his pants unbuttoned by your nimble hands.  

Your gasp at the stretch of him pushing into you was so like the breathy shock from the first sight of his mouth on your wrist. Clawing at him you pulled his body in closer letting him sink in as much as he could and you felt full and unbelievably greedy. One hand dragged through the silky strands of his hair, cupping his skull and pressing his face back into your neck where he breathed in the delicacy of your pleasure, hot open mouth pressed over the marks he had already made resisting from drinking again just yet. Your other hand found itself scratching at his toned back, legs widening for him. 

If holding back from your blood had been difficult on its own, being this close was taking all the restraint he had mustered for years. He gave shallow languid thrusts, pressed right against a spot far enough to make your lashes flutter with every movement. You were slipping from your sane mind as if you had even been there for a long time. But his hold on your hip and the other hand fisting the sheets in a deadly strangle were the only thing grounding Sunghoon to himself without surrendering to nothing but needy instinct that ripped at his restraint. And you were whispering, lips hardly moving as you leaned your head back giving him more access to your fluttering pulse point. “Please, Sunghoon- please,” 

He let his hand on your hip slip lower, wedged between the two of you he found your clit, rubbing soft circles to match the slow thrusts he found himself unable to contain. You whined as his nose brushed over the bruised space he had created, his panting inhalation twisting your insides into a tight knot that only he knew how to undo. And when he bit down again he was overtaken by the complete sense of unquenchable thirst. 

For you everything was tumbling together in perfect ecstasy, his fingers, his body, his mouth, he was so in tune with you and you alone that it was easy to find yourself falling over the edge. Your moans and trembling body under him only make him lose a part of himself that he had been holding. His fingers once placed on your clit moved away so as to not overstimulate you now wrapped around your neck, gently holding you in place as he takes one final mouthful of a cure he never knew he would have found. 

He pulled his mouth away from your vein, fingers curling around the pearl necklace you wore, the willpower it had taken to do so focused solely on iridescent beads under hand. And then he followed after you, filling you with everything he had, shivering as he moaned into the hollow of your neck, into your ear. The necklace snapped as he leveraged thrust after thrust into you drawing out both of your highs as the sound of spilling beads against the hardwood floor rained down. The bed is a mess of the pearls, all of them slipping and trapping themself in any spot they could find between the two of you. 

You didn't want to let him go, not after the two of you were done and he was still slowly pumping his release into you and finding new places to kiss along your skin. “I would sacrifice so much to have you like this over and over again,” the rumble of his words vibrating against your chest, his voice deep and husky against your ear. 

He had taken the words right from you, as if he had reached into your head and pulled them into existence. Fear had been warping the mirror of your reality, the fear of the unknown blacking out the first instinct you had when faced with a single question, ‘Have you ever been fed from before?’ 

You had reached out and let them take you and it had been in a state of desperate worry that you did not know how much of yourself you would have lost to him if he bit you even one time. But being here, feeling the warmth of your blood under his skin settled your unease. It was never a question, not after knowing what it felt like to be had, not after knowing how it felt to be fed from. “You have me already,” you whispered, his ghosting lips catching the words right as they left you. “Just don’t hurt me,” 

“Never,” hurting a blessing felt like a crime he would never come back from. Kissing you until you tasted your blood on his tongue; until your heartbeats had synced. 

🏷taglist: @xylatox @cutehoons02 @cyjhhyj @izzyy-stuff want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! I do not write for enha this is my first time and I don't know how much ill be writing for them in the future this is for the taglist for this fic only!

[cutehoons02]

Bad Desire

Desire:Unleash Jake pt Jay pt

*pairing: CEO vampire Park Sunghoon x human intern Girl

*trope: Enemies to lovers

*synopsis: Park Sunghoon’s wish was to never fall in love again after losing his soulmate. But what would happen if an intern barely 22 years old and, on top of that, human joined his Marketing department? You and he are light and darkness: you're fun and carefree, while he’s cynical and cold with everyone. But opposites attract, especially when he tastes your blood, which for him becomes both his cure and his sweetest poison. What will happen between a young woman fresh out of university and him—one of the most famous vampire CEOs in the world, 270 years old but with a human identity that says he’s 27?

*tags: Sunghoon at first is cynical and not at all friendly but slowly softens, love to tease, humor, blood, vampire bites, rebels vampires, talk about the death of Sunghoon’s soul mate, a lot of kisses and forges, the protagonist loves touching Sunghoon, needy Hoon, needy protagonist, masturbation, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) cowgirl, +18, pet names (CEO,Hoon) (baby, little girl)

18k (💙)

The world had changed. Humans and vampires had been coexisting for decades; they worked side by side in corporate offices, attended the same universities, and exchanged hearts on dating apps. Some even found their soulmates on vampire-specific platforms like Love Alarm and yes, some of them even got married. All it took was compatible blood, the right chemistry... and making sure no one, in the heat of passion, sank their fangs too deep.

Some said the children of these unions were miracles: half-human, half-vampire, rare, mesmerizing, and often dangerous. Some were born fully vampires and those? The tabloids called them children of chaos. You, though, had never paid much attention to those stories, not until today.

It was your first day as a marketing and communications intern at Park International, one of the most powerful and mysterious companies in the mixed world: Founded and run by the feared and respected “brothers” though not by blood Park Jay and Park Sunghoon, two ancient vampires with deceptively youthful faces.

Officially, they were 27. Unofficially... Jay was 375. Sunghoon, 325. Vampire magazines called him "The Winter CEO." “Colder than a corpse, more beautiful than a curse.”

Sunghoon Park was the man everyone wanted as a future husband yet no one dared approach. His skin was pale like imperial porcelain, his feline eyes pierced through souls, and those scattered beauty marks across his face looked like cosmic signs meant to drive you insane. His black hair fell in rebellious strands over perfect eyebrows that moved with his thoughts. His body, always hidden beneath tailored dark suits, was athletic, composed, and threatening even when still, and every movement was calculated like a deadly dance but it wasn’t just his looks that inspired fear.

It was said he had fired 49 interns in just three years: Humans, vampires, and half-bloods; no one lasted more than two weeks under his supervision. Some had cried, others moved abroad. One rumor claimed a human fainted just because Sunghoon told him, "You're as boring as a bag of lukewarm blood."

And you? You were going to be intern number fifty, the one everyone assumed would meet the same fate or worse. Except there was one problem. You weren’t like the others, and your blood… wasn’t like theirs, you’d find out too late, maybe but the moment Sunghoon Park laid eyes on you in that icy office, lit by a single artificial light, something ancient would stir inside him and for the first time in centuries, his predator instincts would awaken.

Working for the Park Society has always been one of your dreams. One of those that feel unreachable until the moment you find yourself there, standing in front of the building you’d seen a hundred times in photos, in university internship brochures, and on TV. Now it towered among Seoul’s skyscrapers like a temple of glass and darkness. You stepped out of the subway with your heart beating a little faster, a mix of fear and excitement rippling across your skin like a shiver. You adjusted your jacket, tightened your grip on your bag, and looked up at the building. Park Society: Marketing, Communication, Design for both small and major businesses, and Advertising. It was every creative marketing student’s dream and future. You walked through the revolving doors and the first impact was… disorienting. Human employees moved quickly but seemed dazed, with bags under their eyes, oversized coffees in hand, ID badges always askew, and voices too loud. Vampires, on the other hand, were something else entirely: elegant, deadly in their poise, dressed in fabrics that looked like they were woven from darkness itself. Some were sipping blood from pocket-sized bottles like it was the most natural thing in the world. No one spoke. They walked, watched, subtly sniffed the air and a jolt of adrenaline hit your stomach. It wasn’t fear. It was electricity and you couldn’t wait to start working. You reached the turnstiles and swiped your badge, but nothing happened. The gate beeped again and again, refusing to open. You tried once more. Still nothing.

“Oh come on, don’t do this to me today…” you muttered, tapping the badge against the sensor. A vampire security guard: tall, blonde, and looking like she’d stepped straight out of a horror fashion film turned slowly toward you, staring as if you were a mosquito buzzing against her window. -No entry for little girls with faulty badges. Go home and watch your dramas,- she said with a cruel smile. You gave her a half-smile, trying to hide your nerves. “Well, if I had to go home every time technology hated me, I’d have been unemployed for months. But thanks for the warm welcome.”Then, in a softer tone the one you always used around vampires to avoid triggering any… lethal reactions you added, “I’m just the new intern, it’s my first day. I hope it’s not also my last, especially over a broken pass.” You gestured to the gate, hoping she’d open it, but the vampire raised an eyebrow and said nothing. You bit your lip to stop yourself from snapping. Just then, a human guy about your age walked up with a kind smile. He looked friendly, with slightly curly brown hair and a proudly crooked tie. His face reminded you of one of your classmates.

'Don’t mind Camilla. She’s the gatekeeper of hell. Your badge’s deactivated for the day's classic system glitch. You can come in with me.' He winked, scanned his badge, and the gate clicked open with a metallic sound. He gestured for you to follow. 'Welcome to Seoul’s chicest hell,' he said, watching you closely. “Thanks,” you said with a smile, already feeling a little more at ease. “Have you worked here long?” you asked as you crossed the massive lobby toward the elevators. 'Three months. Marketing department. You?' “Communication.” You took a deep breath, hoping you'd see him again, then added, “Under the supervision of the CEO… Park Sunghoon.” His smile faltered just a little, and he looked at you as if searching for the right words. 'Wow. You’re either brave… or clueless.'

He laughed, though it didn’t sound like a joke. The silence in the elevator that followed was filled only by the soft hum of background music. You were rising slowly very slowly toward the 25th floor: the CEO’s territory. 'If he fires you on your first day, come find me. I’ll buy you a coffee… or one of those blood bars vampires love, though I’m guessing you prefer more… human snacks.' You smiled, but deep down, you weren’t sure whether to laugh or shiver. When the elevator doors opened, the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. You glanced at the black carpet, the smoked glass walls, and the air smelled of burnt wood, metal, and freshly spilled blood and at the end of the hallway, the silhouette of a man in a suit stood beyond a wall of glass. Him. Park Sunghoon and without even meeting his gaze, you already felt him beneath your skin.

The secretary seated at the desk in front of the large black glass door glanced up at you—quickly, professionally, but with a faintly amused glint in her eyes. She wore a dark tailored suit and blood-red lips drawn with perfect precision. Without even asking for your ID, she typed something into her computer.

“Name?” You studied her carefully, and if everyone on this floor was like her, they could devour you in a single bite. You said your name with a serious voice, and she replied,

'Oh. So you’re the one who applied to work under Park Sunghoon.' You nodded, and she picked up the phone with glossy black nails sharp, like dipped in ink and pressed a single button. 'CEO Park, the intern has arrived. Right on time, just like you said.'

Something twisted in your stomach, and then you heard a deep, velvety, razor-sharp voice come through the receiver: “Let her in.” The secretary gave you a knowing wink and a quick thumbs up. You smiled faintly. “Break a leg…” you muttered under your breath.

You smoothed your skirt, took a deep breath, and grabbed the handle. The door opened silently. And from that moment on, you had crossed the threshold of your most beautiful hell… though you didn’t know it yet.

The room was large, with glass walls overlooking all of Seoul—you could see the hills, and the Han River in the distance. It was minimally furnished: cold, elegant, perfectly tailored to its occupant. And seated behind a sleek black desk, was him: Park Sunghoon.

His face was bent over the file he was reading, his white shirt impeccably pressed, sleeves rolled up to reveal sculpted forearms. When he heard the door close, he slowly lifted his gaze and it felt as if something cracked in the air. His eyes pierced through you, no emotion in them, only that ghostly amber shade, slightly feline, that read your soul in an instant. You tried to appear confident, to hide the way your heart was racing… especially in that vulnerable part of you. Even though your hands were sweating, you tucked them between your skirt and thighs, clasping them together with poise. You took two steps forward and introduced yourself:

“Nice to meet you. I'm your new intern. My name is—”

Before you could finish, you heard his hoarse voice the one you had learned to recognize from countless interviews and university videos. Your breath caught as he replied coldly.

“I know who you are,” he cut in with a flick of his hand, not raising his voice. “Degree in Communications and Marketing. Average résumé and you're already talking too much. I didn’t tell you to speak.” You froze mid-breath, your eyes widening slightly but you didn’t look away and that’s when he felt it—that faint irritation creeping into his body.

The moment you stepped in, it hit like a wave of heat in the middle of winter. Your blood and more than that, the scent of your skin was toxic to someone like him. There was too much sweetness in you, too much innocence and that scent… it was everything he should ignore: warmth, life, instinct.

“What the hell is in her blood?” The bite of self-control came instantly. It was a pull—ancient, dangerous, one he hadn’t felt in centuries and yet, there you were. Standing there, glowing, with the look of someone completely unaware they were walking a tightrope suspended over a den of predators and he was predator number one.

But you didn’t look down, you didn’t blush, you met his eyes with a gaze that was both insolent and curious and for the first time in decades, he felt something that wasn’t just thirst.

“Let’s see…” He picked up your résumé, fingers long and sharp gliding over it as if reading the file of a soon-to-be-judged victim.“You’ve worked with human agencies,” he said, looking back up. “Never dealt with vampires, right?”

“No. But I studied with vampire classmates, I know how to behave. I even took a course that was 80% half-bloods and vampires, so I’ve learned how to study and work with them.” Sunghoon raised an eyebrow dark and sharp like a blade an expression that made him look even more like a predator ready to strike.

“Studying is for kids. Working is something else entirely.” He stood up. He was tall too tall, even for your 170 cm. “Working with me... with a vampire CEO... isn’t for everyone.” He walked around you slowly not in a vulgar way, but like someone analyzing a problem… or a temptation.

“You know you’re the fiftieth intern to walk into this office?” He gave a half-smile. “My guess? Two weeks, and you’re gone.” You looked at him with a bold, cheeky smile you didn’t even know you had in you. “Two weeks, you say? We’ll see if you can get rid of me that easily... or if I’ll be intern number fifty-nine.” His eyes darkened slightly.

“You’re far too cheeky for an intern who’s never met me before.” His voice was low, emotionless, but the sharp tone cut through the air between you. You swallowed your nerves and lifted your chin slightly. “I’m just trying to make a good impression. I don’t want to be the fiftieth intern to quit.” You smiled—tense, but genuine. “...Or worse, the one who gets fired on the first day.”

The corner of his lips curved upward a smile, but one that felt more like a warning than approval. “You’re lucky today’s not one of my worst days.” He took a step closer.

“But if you do want to get me to fire you… you could always ask Mr. Park Jongseong instead. Maybe he’ll like me better!” You said it without thinking-half a joke, half a desperate way to say (I don’t want to end up blacklisted like all the others) but as soon as the name Jay hung in the air, the mood shifted.

Sunghoon looked at you with daggers. “Mr. Jay Park doesn’t handle marketing and communications. He’s in strategic operations. So... not your savior.”

“Shame.” You gave a small smile and rocked slightly on your heels, but inside, your heart was pounding, you had no idea how to handle someone like him and as Sunghoon’s eyes roamed over you, slow and calculated, you wondered if he could actually hear how anxious you were to be standing there in front of him.

Then, with a smooth motion, he took three sheets from the table and placed them in front of you.

“Three questions. Answer well, maybe you stay.”

“I’m listening,” you said, folding your hands over your legs.

“One: How would you present a product line for Ultra-Light-Sensitive Vampires at a human daytime event?”

You had already looked it up online and heard about the infamous trick questions Sunghoon was known for, so you answered confidently: “With soft visual communication, warm tones, and a storytelling approach centered on adaptability, highlighting the shared experience between vampires and humans. I’d partner with human ambassadors to break bias and invite high-profile state figures to legitimize the event.”

He gave a slight nod but didn’t say if it was the right answer.

“Two: How would you handle a social media crisis if a royal-status vampire; like myself was accused of biting a human hostess without consent at a press fair?”

“Media blackout for the first few hours. Then a joint statement from the Blood Bank and the Human-Vampire Council. Plus, an exclusive interview with the hostess, along with public compensation and a formal apology.”

He watched you closely, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Last one. What’s the first mistake a human intern makes in a company where 70% of the staff is a vampire?”

“Talking too much, maybe,” you said, eyes dropping slightly, half-ironic.

“Correct. Talking too much.” He grabbed a thick dossier over a hundred pages and dropped it in front of you with a thud. “You have one week. I want a draft of the rebranding revision plan on my desk every day, we’ll see if you can work.”

“It’ll be done.” Your voice was steady, even if your knees weren’t.“You’ll have a desk. Don’t expect this one.” He gestured to his own black, sleek, perfect. “It’ll be a tiny workstation, shared with twenty others. You’ll adapt.”

“I adapt well, Mr. Park,” you replied with a touch of sarcasm. “I’m human. It’s in my DNA.” For half a second, it looked like the corners of his mouth twitched. Just barely. “Go. The secretary will show you where to settle in.”

You were about to turn when a pen slowly slipped off the edge of his desk and fell at his feet. You bent down to pick it up, the movement is instinctive and that’s when it happened. As you bent down, your ponytail shifted to the side, revealing your neck bare, delicate, pulsing with a scent that was both sweet and impossibly clean, like fresh laundry.

Sunghoon held his breath. In the span of a heartbeat, his eyes darkened ever so slightly. His pupils stretched, and the slow rhythm of your heart, the flow of blood just beneath your skin was an irresistible pull. It was far too dangerous for his sanity to observe your skin from that close and he spoke before even realizing it.

“Don’t come into my office without a reason again.” His voice was flat again, but sharper, like a blade. “And... keep your hair down. I don’t want to see it tied ever again.” You straightened up instantly and looked at him, a little confused.

“…Alright.” You gave a slight bow, turned, and walked out composed, steady but the moment you were outside, your hands began to tremble. Back inside the office, Park Sunghoon closed his eyes for a moment and for the first time in years, his fangs sharpened not because of blood.

Because of you.

It had been two weeks since you first stepped into the headquarters of the Park Society, and though each day felt like a test of endurance, you were still there: alive, whole, not fired and so far, Sunghoon hadn’t yelled at you or lashed out, which was already a major achievement. Maybe even a small miracle, considering the stats.

You’d made a few friends among your colleagues mostly humans, especially Jin, the guy who had helped you on your first day at the turnstiles. He had become a sort of support system for you, always ready with a joke, always a little too sweet, but in the end, he made you feel less alone.

Vampires were another story, they watched you in silence and rarely spoke, but it only took a single look to understand they were keeping tabs on you, and sometimes, between coffee breaks and meetings, someone would whisper:

Don’t make him angry.

Don’t provoke him.

Don’t hold his gaze too long… and above all, don’t fall for him.

As if that were something easy to avoid. Park Sunghoon had authority in his blood, power in his voice, control in every step, and yet, something in his eyes spoke of things you couldn’t quite decipher: something ancient and dangerous, something that wanted desperately to bite and never let go.

That day, there was an important meeting: the launch of a joint campaign between vampires and humans on a topic you were directly involved in Vampire Idols and their Gen Z and Alpha fans. It was your first official presentation, you wore a simple, elegant outfit, your hair down (as he had ordered), and you’d rehearsed all night.

The room was full: seven, eight people half human, half vampire seated around a long black marble table. When Sunghoon entered, silence fell like a switch being flipped. No one dared speak as he sat at the head of the table. You locked eyes with Jin across the room; he gave you a quiet thumbs up, reassuring.

Then Sunghoon turned he saw everything. He always saw too much, his gaze landed first on Jin, then on you… cold, unreadable, and behind his closed lips, his fangs twitched ever so slightly.

“Begin.”

He said it to you. No introduction, no preamble, just that so you took a breath and started. Your voice trembled just a littlebut you were prepared. You spoke about inclusion, about building more interaction between idols and fans both on stage and on social media. You spoke with passion, with emotion, with humanity. Some nodded, others looked skeptical, but Sunghoon…he stayed silent and that silence was unbearable. You wanted feedback, you wanted someone anyone to speak but he just watched you: Eyes locked on yours, cold and intense a tension wrapped itself around you, forcing you to speak each syllable with surgical precision and then it happened.

He pushed his chair back, eyes lifting from his tablet, and he stood up slowly, too slowly, and started walking toward you. One step at a time. You didn’t know why, but your entire body stiffened. Had you said something wrong? A word? A chart? A footnote?

He stopped behind you, too close and you swallowed hard. You felt his cold fingers brush slowly against your back as if to “correct” your posture… or maybe for something else. Maybe to feel, for the first time, the warmth your body gave off. A shiver ran through you, starting exactly where he’d touched you, a current shooting up your spine and he felt it.

Your vibration, your quickened pulse, the warmth of your blood, the living flesh and the scent of that blood he had spent two weeks trying and failing to ignore, every single day.

“There’s a mistake here,” he said, his voice sharp, but calm. “And… here, too. Be careful with wordplay. Double meanings can cost you a partnership.” You corrected it on the spot, your hands trembling just slightly.

His scent enveloped you a fragrance that whispered of elegance and wealth: mint, a trace of moss, and something sharp that clung to his skin and then, just like that, he turned back to the room.

“For a first draft, made by a freshly graduated little girl… it’s decent. We’ll consider it.” Neutral. Almost dismissive but to you, in that moment, it felt like a small triumph. The meeting resumed, and Sunghoon didn’t speak again but in his thoughts there was only you.

The presentation with Sunghoon had gone beyond expectations.

You had worked hard and slept little, and in the end, it had been worth it: you’d been put in charge of developing the entire campaign for the project between the fans and the vampire idols. Even him the cold vampire with icy eyes and razor-sharp teeth had said your work was “decent,” which, in his language, sounded almost like an award.

That evening, the office was silent, lights dimmed, keyboards already turned off. Just a few vampires still working, you glanced at the clock: 9:45 PM. You’d been buried for hours in graphs, drafts to revise, and social media ideas. You blinked slowly, exhausted.

"Maybe I’ll just die in here, in front of an Excel sheet... so romantic! While everyone else is out partying..." You grabbed your bag and headed toward the elevator. You pressed the button and sighed and that’s when you felt it. That scent: unmistakable, slightly spicy, yet fresh, dark, elegant and you turned your head slightly… and there he was.

Park Sunghoon.

Their shirt unbuttoned just enough, glasses resting casually on his nose, gaze sharp even in the shadows. He looked like he had just walked out of a gothic novel without even trying.

"Leaving already?" he asked, voice deep, gravelly and the tone hit you instantly: low, almost… hypnotic. "I’ve finished everything. Tomorrow I’ll correct the last few details." A slight smile curved the corner of his lips, it almost looked… human. "Diligent," he said. Then, a short pause. "At least you’ll die for a noble cause." You stifled a laugh but stepped into the elevator with him. His scent followed you, like an echo beneath your skin.

"Subway or taxi?" he asked, not looking at you. "Taxi. I feel safer." He nodded and said nothing else, until the 22nd floor. There was a sudden jolt a metallic screech echoed around you; the lights flickered and then everything stopped.

The elevator was stuck, your breath caught instantly, and your heartbeat pounded like a drum. The walls started to close in and your chest tightened, and your throat closed up.

You barely whispered, “No… no, no, no...” You pressed the alarm button multiple times no response, your body started to move in jerks, panic setting in fast, and tears welled in your eyes, he said nothing at first and just looked at you but he could hear it, your heart racing, blood pumping too fast. Then he took one step forward. Just one but it closed all the space between you. “Look at me.” His voice was different now.

Deeper, softer almost a whisper that slid right into your bloodstream.“You’re having a panic attack. There’s no danger, you’re with me, you’re safe, Y/n.” You shook your head, trembling, but he kept going like his words were weaving directly into your mind. “Breathe with me.” He held out his hands. You took them without thinking.

They were cold much larger than yours but steady. You had always noticed them: those long fingers, those elegant hands…and now, they felt like an anchor in chaos.

“Just like that... Good, breathe again, match my rhythm.” You looked into his eyes, they were darker than usual. Hypnotic. His voice filled you like warm light in a dark room and slowly, breath after breath, the panic began to fade. His thumb slightly chilled drew slow, careful circles over your skin and the way he calmed you with such a simple touch…frightened you more than the situation itself. You stared at him, heart still pounding but for entirely different reasons now.

“Now you know what it’s like, little one.” His voice dropped even lower.

“Fear, control. The need to trust someone. If you ever find yourself in a situation like this again, think of something beautiful… or someone. Even if they’re not with you, someone who could calm you down just by being there. Little by little, it’ll pass. Are you feeling better now?”His fingers pressed lightly against yours, and you nodded, your heartbeat was slowing, but your skin still burned a silent spark passed between you a low, dull vibration, like a call pulsing under the skin.

“What is this in your blood…” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

“It’s... dangerous. Sweet. Warm.” He was looking at you with a hunger that wasn’t just for blood but he dimmed it. Or at least held it back, he didn’t want to scare you. You were already scared enough.

“Don’t ever stay alone in an elevator if you’re afraid.” You lifted your gaze. “I didn’t think you cared about my anxiety,” you whispered, as he kept touching you a faint, almost ironic smile curled on your lips. “I don’t care,” he replied flatly, “but if you faint and die here, I’ll have to hire another intern. And that’s annoying.” You laughed, still shaken, but lighter now. Then you dared to tease him, your mind a little clearer.

“And what if I didn’t have you to calm me down?” He leaned in slightly, his face just inches from yours. “You won’t need anyone else,” he said. “I’ll be enough to calm you down… in any situation.” And for a second, it felt like your lips would meet almost, barely but then the elevator jerked, jolting you both.

You pulled back instinctively, not quite sure what he meant by that last line. “Let’s go,” he said softly but as you stepped out, your heart was still beating strangely, erratically and him… behind those glasses, he looked like he was trying to figure out whether it was your heart going wild or his control that was starting to break.

It had been three months since that first encounter, three months in which you had managed to stay, to work, to shine; even Sunghoon seemed… satisfied, or at least, he hadn’t fired you yet and for him, that was almost a declaration of love. Jin, the guy you’d met on your first day, would sometimes glance at you with a mix of irony and concern.

'I don’t know what you did to Park Sunghoon… but it’s obvious you’re different.' You’d laugh, even though your heart beat faster every time Sunghoon called you into his office. You liked challenging him, answering with sarcasm, lowering your lashes but holding his gaze, and… he seemed to tolerate it. No, he seemed to expect it.

It had been decades since he’d wanted to wake up and go to work, not to see the numbers always glowing green on the financial reports, but to see you. To hear your voice, to keep you close even if not directly under his eye. Just knowing you were there, and nowhere else, was enough but something had changed. Since he touched you in the elevator since his cold fingers had brushed your warm skin your dreams were no longer the same: Every night carried the same torment, feverish dreams.

Visions that left you breathless, skin damp, lips parted in an unspoken whisper. “Sunghoon…” His name on your lips as you twisted in the sheets and in those dreams…he wasn’t just your boss, he was the predator. The forbidden lover, the vampire who slipped into your room at night silent as a shadow while the moon spilled silver over your naked body.

You dreamed of him above you, hands on your thighs, fangs bared, mouth just a breath away from your neck, he spoke in that deep, hypnotic voice that made your stomach clench and then… the bite. Always the bite, always that moment when his teeth sank into your flesh, and you moaned from pleasure, yes but also from fear.

From the want that coiled and burned into a single, molten spasm. One night, you woke up screaming his name, heart pounding like you were being chased, you looked at the clock: 3:33. Always the same time, always the same vivid, erotic dream and you weren’t the only one. Sunghoon, in his office on the twenty-fifth floor, stood staring out the window, pupils dilated. There was nothing outside but your scent lingered.

On the pen you’d touched, on the pages of the report you’d signed, on the armrest of the chair where you had leaned back. He studied you in silence every time you entered, but for months now, his control had begun to crack.

Her blood is calling me, he thought.

It was sweet. Spiced. Like burnt honey. Like a curse hidden under sunlight and he who had stopped wanting centuries ago was starving. Starving for the feeling of sinking his fangs into something alive.

He found himself thinking of you when undressing, your name slipping between his teeth in an ancient tongue, fists clenched to keep from coming to find you, touching himself in the shower with fangs bared, whispering your name like a prayer and he dreamed of you. Yes, he did: Dreamed of you beneath him, naked, breathless, dreamed of your heartbeat racing under his palm, of your throat, the pulse of your skin tightening under the pass of his tongue.

“If I had her, even for one night, I’d never give her back.”

And it drove him insane because you were human, small, brilliant, reckless but something in your blood had tethered him, and in your eyes… there was light. Too much light. The light that blinded a creature made of shadow and control, one evening, after hours, you crossed paths with him in the hallway.

He was dressed in black, shirt unbuttoned, tie loosened-predatory elegance that made you hold your breath.

“You look tired,” he said softly, his voice like a whisper beneath the skin, watching you type at your computer.

“I work for you!" you replied, trying to smile, to hide the fact that every night he invaded your dreams in his truest form, as a vampire, fangs deep in your skin. He gave a faint smile one of those cold, cutting ones but something was stirring in his eyes.

“Sleeping poorly, intern?” he asked. You blushed. “A little…” you murmured.

“Too many thoughts?” he stepped closer. You held your breath he was too close. Too close.

“Too many dreams,” you whispered without thinking and his eyes gleamed.

“Be careful what you dream,” he said, slow and low, voice almost sensual, as it slipped beneath your skin. “Because sometimes dreams become calls… and certain creatures… they answer.” You turned away, a shiver crawling down your spine, you didn’t know if he was playing or warning you, you looked back at him, unsure.

“Don’t play with fire,” he added behind you, his voice darker now. “If I were you… I’d let it sleep.” But you couldn’t. Every night, it returned more vivid, more real. The blood dripping down your chest from your neck, his hands on your thighs, his lips on yours, stained with your blood and every morning, your skin woke up tense, your senses starving, his name still on your lips.

The corporate resort was hidden deep in the mountains outside Seoul, a luxurious, quiet place thick with tension, where most of the biggest brands eager to partner with K-pop groups made up of vampires came to hunt for talent. You had been working there for days for the elite summit, cut off from the world, and now it was 10:40 PM.

You, exhausted but still fighting, had opened your laptop in the private lounge, sinking into a sofa far too elegant for someone who had just worked twelve hours straight. Sunghoon, flawless as always in his black suit, sat not far away, his face carved into the shadows, his gaze lit by something you couldn’t quite read.

“Look at this,” you said, showing a video of a concert you loved idols dressed in custom-made faux leather from an up-and-coming Asian brand, tailored perfectly to vampire bodies. The music blasted from the speakers modern, free, alive. A rush of youth and passion filled the room as the screen showed seven vampires, each with a different style, singing in harmony to a track with rap undertones and a touch of romantic pop. He looked at you like you’d shown him a failed science experiment.

“What is this?” he said, staring at the seven performers on your screen with clear dismay. You rolled your eyes at the cynicism in his voice and held back a sigh. “It’s music. Real music. It speaks to us, to Gen Z-you know, people born 20 years ago, not just your aristocratic, emotionally extinct clients from 200 years back.” “Your generation listens to anything that screams and moves,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. “You’re not too old to get it, right? I bet deep down you love music too. You should act like it and explore new ways like your young vampire does.”

You didn’t mention to Sunghoon that you’d been talking with the “baby vampire” in their group, Ni-Ki, who had a ton of crazy but brilliant ideas for the brand’s social strategy...

“I’ve watched empires fall, darling. Don’t tell me you’re talking about… Ni-Ki?” You raised your eyebrows. “Yes. He’s a vampire too, but younger. And he likes this. You know his ideas for social media are insane, and we’re getting massive engagement thanks to the way he’s merging human and vampire culture.”

His eyes darkened instantly. He hated hearing another man’s name coming from your mouth.

“Don’t mention Ni-Ki. Especially not around me.” You smiled and looked at him with that sharp, knowing gaze. “Are you jealous, CEO Park?” He stood up slowly, and every movement felt like a calculated threat as he walked toward you, the air tightening around his tall, predatory frame. “You… have no idea what you're waking up inside me,” he whispered, leaning over you and in a flash, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you up.

The laptop crashed to the floor with a dull thud. Your breath caught in your throat and your back hit the wall.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered.

He looked into your eyes those dark, ancient, hungry eyes your mind recognized every time you closed your eyes becauseyou dreamed of them constantly… “Stop me, Y/n… because if you don’t, I won’t be able to stop myself from touching you or kissing you.” You looked at him, lips slightly parted, but no sound came out and then he took your face in his hands and kissed you. It wasn’t like the kisses you used to give boys back in university for fun. This one tasted like claiming. His lips crashed onto your hot, fierce kiss that was wild and starving. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, exploring, stealing your breath, while his hands pinned you in place, holding you tight against him.

His body pressed into yours cold, hard but at the same time radiating heat. Then you felt a small bite on your lower lip his sharp canine piercing it. Your blood trickled slowly across your tongue, but he was faster. He didn’t want to waste a single drop none for anyone but him. Because only he could worship you, only he could possess you. He drank your blood, your soul, your essence and let out a low moan like your taste was something he’d been craving for centuries. You gasped, feeling something deep and dark vibrate inside you, a desire that made your knees weak, the same one that always woke you up soaked in heat and need, haunted by dreams no, nightmares that always had one name: Sunghoon.

You reached up and grabbed his hair, pulling slightly on those soft dark strands sliding through your fingers. He growled.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, pulling back just enough to let you breathe.

“Then show me,” you whispered against his mouth, and he ran his fingers along your throat.

“Your heart’s beating too fast, darling… I can feel it everywhere.” He licked your lip slowly, savoring the last drop, and then moved down to kiss you again, kissing and licking your skin as he tasted the scent rising from your neck.

“Do you feel it? My control is breaking. For you. Only for you and that hasn’t happened in centuries,” he said, his voice laced with something like sorrow.

“Then let it break,” you whispered, breathless, your body burning. His hands moved lower, exploring the skin beneath your shirt, and his bites turned into kisses, and the kisses into promises. But everything still hung on the edge balancedbetween passion and danger. Between you… and the predator who, by now, had been obsessed with you for months.

Since that kiss, Sunghoon had changed or rather, he had returned to his natural state: cynical, distant, sharp like an ancient blade. When you brought him new ideas for marketing campaigns or social formats for young vampires, he replied with the same scornful sarcasm, arms crossed, chin slightly tilted down as he stood above every thought you dared to have, and yet… every project, every draft, every presentation was read, corrected, and annotated by him.

The next morning, a small smile tugged at your lips when you saw his notes edits on how to reshape your slides, andcomments where he told you it was good work. He was watching you, following your progress, listening in on meetings but always silently. That day, you’d walked into his office with yet another proposal in hand.

“New concept: young vampires, underground night events, hybrid playlists, Ni-Ki style but less...” “Are you planning to bring up that brat every two days?” he cut in, not even looking up from his screen. You crossed your arms. “It’s called targeting. You should know what that is… or are you too ancient to understand?”

He slowly lifted his eyes to you, scanned you from head to toe, and let out a low growl.

“Watch your tone, girl. You’re here to learn, not to play trend-hero. You’ve stayed because you’re good but with one snap of my fingers, I could fire you in an instant,” he said, gruffly. “And you’re here to be a CEO, not Dracula having a midlife crisis.”

You smiled, defiant, folding your arms over your sweater, and for just one second, you saw something in his eyes, the smallest flicker of a smile but he turned away, ice-cold. “Out. And next time, bring me something serious.”

That evening, in the lounge, Jin had sat down next to you. He was sweet, human, young, with an honest gaze, and had been flirting with you for months now but you felt nothing. Because your twisted mind only wanted to feel Sunghoon’s lips on yours again, his strong hands on your hips, or cupping your face.

“Are you free tomorrow night? There’s a wine tasting at a place just down the road…” he said, touching his hair, clearly trying not to look nervous. You laughed at how his cheeks turned pink he was cute, and he made you feel at ease.

Unlike… him. You didn’t notice right away that Sunghoon was there, in the shadows, standing still, silent, eyes fixed on the two of you. He had heard the entire conversation, and his fangs had already lengthened, and his hands had gone even colder and he would not let anyone take you away from him, especially not some human boy. Later, you received a message on your work phone. You already knew who it was from.

Office 74. Now. — S. You walked in moments later, confused, he’d seen you two hours ago.

What could he possibly want now?

But the moment you entered, his face hit you like a cold wave. He was standing near the window, hands behind his back, shoulders tense, jaw clenched.

“You asked for me?” you said, staring at his perfect profile, speckled with small beauty marks that only made him look more like a vampire carved from myth. He turned. His eyes were fire beneath the ice, locked on you with terrifying precision. “Don’t let them touch you or ask you out. Ever again.” You stared at him, a little stunned by the words that had just left his mouth. “Wait… what did you just say?” He took a step forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t let anyone get that close. Not to you.” You scoffed and almost laughed. “Why? Are you jealous? He just asked me for a drink or maybe you’re jealous because he’s human and can control himself. Or maybe...”

You didn’t finish a red the alarm shattered the air a blaring siren, followed by a cold voice: WARNING. UNAUTHORIZED PRESENCE IN THE BUILDING. REBEL VAMPIRES DETECTED. CODE RED.

The sound was a nightmare to any human caught in a red zone invaded by rogue vampires. At university, it had happened only twice and both times, you’d been surrounded by others. Vampires but now, it was just you and him. Sunghoon grabbed your wrist immediately. His eyes had changed.

No longer human predator eyes, dark, wild. He pulled you tightly against him.

“Stay with me. Don’t move not one step away, and I swear nothing will happen to you,” he said, looking at you the same way he had the first time he saw you frightened, and only he had managed to calm you. “Sunghoon…” you whispered. “Silence.” His voice was an order, he pushed you against the wall, shielding you with his body, eyes fixed on the door. “If they touch you, I’ll tear them to pieces, if they even graze you, I’ll destroy them. You are..” But he didn’t finish because, at that moment, the faint scent of your blood still lingering on his lips from days ago made him lose control.

Just for an instant and you understood. It wasn’t just desire, it was obsession, fear of losing again, fear of losing his soulmate and this time, he would fight even to the death. The door creaked open with a sinister groan, and then you saw him.

The vampire who entered was nothing like Sunghoon, nothing like Jay, nothing like the others who wore suits and blended into the human world, not like the students you’d studied with. No. He was filthy. Beast-like.

His eyes were blood-red, and coagulated, and his hands… covered in something that looked like mud, flesh, and blood. The stench was unbearable, Sunghoon gripped your wrist tighter. His voice came low, icy, sharp like a ritual blade.

“Close your eyes. Now and don’t move. Trust me for once.” You obeyed. It was all you could do but you heard everything.

The vampire’s voice is slimy and cruel. <Well, well… what do we have here? A little girl with no vampire mark yet… what a sweet scent. So alive, so… soft. I’ll turn her, make her mine, and drain her ‘til the last drop.>

Your heart exploded in your chest, and your hand searched for Sunghoon’s arm in the dark. Then his voice. Cold. Rough. Right by your body.

“Take one step near her, and there won’t be enough of you left to bury.”

The vampire chuckled. <And who are you supposed to be? Her brother? Her guard? Humans are making everyone weak. Especially those who love them. Those who protect them…>

Then came a sound...a crash, a scream, another. None of it was Sunghoon’s. Then a dull, sickening thud. You opened your eyes just a sliver just enough to see him crouched over the monster, hands soaked in blood, eyes pitch-black, fangs bared. He was the predator a god of the hunt. The kind of vampire who hated rebels, the kind all his brothers especially Jake and Heeseung had sworn to eliminate but even he was wounded. His breath was ragged, one arm pressed to his side.

“Sunghoon?…” you asked in a low voice.

“Close your eyes!” he growled, turning toward you with a brutal expression but it wasn’t aimed at you, it was the blood, the fight, the beast within him. You collapsed to the floor, trembling, and he came to you, gripping your waist and pulling you up with a strength that defied the pain in his body.

“Out of here. Now.” You both left the room. The hallway was empty, but the air reeked of metal, adrenaline, and vampires. When you turned to look at him, you screamed. His face was streaked with blood, his shirt torn, deep wounds carved into his chest.

“Oh my God, Sunghoon! You’re hurt! You....” He silenced you with a hand over your mouth cold, but steady. “Stop shouting. I’m fine. It’s just blood.” “You don’t look fine! You need help!” Sunghoon looked down, then let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

“Wounds don’t kill a centuries-old vampire. But stubborn little girls? Those are lethal.” He grabbed your arm and draped it over his shoulder. The contact was strange, intimate, warm, and cold all at once.

“Come on. Take me wherever you want, and I’ll let you play nurse… just don’t look at me like I’m dying, or I might bite you just to scare you.” You scoffed of course even now he had to act tough, you entered an emergency room: a survival station, with medical kits, blood bags, and bandages. You made him sit down, trying not to shake.

“Take off your shirt.” He looked at you with a sharp smirk. “Where are we going with this, intern? Not exactly professional behavior for a girl like you.” “Now’s not the time to be a jerk, Sunghoon! You’re covered in blood!”

He sighed and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a broad chest and a deep cut along his side. The dark blood still flowed, and you stared at his body.

“Holy shit…” you whispered as your eyes traced his toned chest, pale skin, and the faint blood smears over thick biceps.

“Like what you see?” he murmured with a teasing chuckle just a mask, hiding pain, rage, and what you'd just witnessed. You pressed a gauze pad to his wound, and he let out a low groan. You looked at him, suspended between panic and something deeper. “Why did you do this for me?” you asked quietly. His gaze darkened.“Because he was here to take you. And I… I can’t let anyone take you away. Not again.” You looked at him, confused. “Why?” you asked, and he spoke low his words sinking into every part of you. “Because you’re not just blood. Not just scent. You’re… dangerous to someone like me.”

You looked up at him, hearing the teasing note in his voice, and his bare, blood-streaked chest rose slowly under your fingers. The wounds were deep, and the pain made him groan softly but he didn’t complain. Not him. Never.

“You need proper treatment, Sunghoon…” you whispered, fingers gently brushing his side while dabbing the wound with a wet gauze. He clenched his jaw, eyes shut for a moment, and his fangs had grown longer, sharper, glistening. “Are you okay?” you whispered. He opened his eyes there was a spark of hunger and irony.

“I’ve felt better since you started touching me… but if you keep going, I might want something else.” A crooked smile played on his lips, and you swallowed but your voice was clear. “Is that your way of saying… you want my blood?” His expression shifted. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you gently toward him.“That’s not a question you ask a vampire you know that. Not even one like me. Because the answer is always yes. Especially if your blood is… special.” He leaned toward your neck, inhaled, and brushed your skin with his lips. “…and I believe it is. Which makes it worse.”

“Worse than who?” you whispered. His jaw tensed.

“Let it go.” But you stared at him. Stubborn.

“Do you want to taste me?” Sunghoon turned toward the wall as if holding himself back but you stepped closer and slowly touched his wound. The growl that escaped him was rough, deep, almost erotic, and then you whispered: “You saved my life. If you want to… you can.” He turned to face you; his eyes were black, tinged with red, his fangs extended.

“You don’t understand what you’re offering, little girl.” You tilted your head, revealing your bare neck.

“Then tell me. What’s your favorite part? My lips?” A crooked smile tugged at his mouth.

“Your lips are a constant invitation to sin… but there’s not enough blood in them to heal this.”

“My neck, then?” you whispered. “Mmh… the neck. Symbolic. Vulnerable. But also so... basic.” He took a step closer.

“Or your wrist. I could feel the pulse there alive, hot. But if I’m being honest…” He paused. A wicked smile spread across his face as he licked his lips slowly, erotically.

“Your thighs. They promise something sweet.” You shot him a mock-offended look.

“You’re disgusting,” you said, slapping him lightly on the chest. He laughed. “I’m honest.” You bit your lip.

“Better the neck, then.” You stepped closer and saw his gaze shift. “Is that why you told me months ago not to tie my hair up?” He nodded. “Yes. Every time you do, it drives me mad. I always want to press my nose to your neck… and my mind always imagines sinking my fangs right into you.” You swept your hair to the side, offering your bare skin, Sunghoon stood still, chest rising slowly. “Lie down on the couch,” he said. “You’re the one who’s hurt you should be the one lying down.” His expression darkened. “Do it.” His voice was rough and you obeyed.

He reached you and climbed on top of you, his hands on your hips, then he started kissing your neck slow, wet, warm and you let out a soft moan without meaning to and he laughed, a low, scratchy sound. “You moan so sweetly… and I haven’t even bitten you yet.” He kissed you harder, almost a bruise, then ran his fingers still slightly bloody along your cheek. “You’re insane, but at the same time brave. You don’t understand what you might unleash in me if, when I sink my fangs into your skin, I find your blood tasting like some ancient blessing I won’t stop wanting you.” Then his eyes met yours and it was no longer a game, he opened his lips and his fangs sank into your skin. A sweet pain, deep, a warmth that spread through your whole body. You felt emptied, but at the same time… full. You gripped his hair the moment you felt his fangs break through your skin and he… moaned. Not from the wound, but from the taste of your blood flowing into his mouth like holy water, because it had been centuries since he had sunk his teeth into anyone’s skin.

God, forgive me he thought as his fangs sank into your flesh, and it was the end for him but also a rebirth, the end of his control and centuries of discipline. You had the sweetest blood he had ever tasted sweeter even than the girl he once loved…the one they killed, the one they took from him. Your body and your blood tasted like innocence and sensuality at the same time, like damnation. He felt every heartbeat between his lips, every gasp, every drop of your desire mixing with fear, and it was the most erotic thing he had ever tasted. Because he felt it you wanted to be bitten, and you weren’t doing it for fun, you were doing it for him, and your blood had a rare and dangerous flavor even for someone like him. It was something he had never encountered in 270 years.

The one biting you, drinking you like a man starved of blood, your blood, was your boss, the CEO everyone feared, the man who treated you like just a pawn… and who now was touching you as if your flesh were sacred. You felt his fangs pierce your skin but at the same time his lips sucked greedily, and it was like a jolt, a sharp, living pain and then… a deep warmth as if he were sucking your soul through your skin. Your body tensed, but Sunghoon’s hands held you still not with force, but with power, and you… didn’t want to move. Your blood was leaving your body but there was no panic, because deep down, you trusted that man, and all you could feel was a strange heat between your legs. An animal impulse, and a moan half pain, half arousal escaped your lips, and a thought burned in your mind, searing hot: I want it again.

When he pulled away, his lips were stained with your blood, and he gently caressed the spot where he had bitten you. "Now I'll heal faster. But you… you've become a problem," he murmured, licking the wound to soothe it, while you held him tighter and whispered, "Why?" "Because I tasted both heaven and hell the moment your blood touched my lips. And it's as sweet as you."

You were still dazed, and lightheaded, your legs weak, the warmth of the bite throbbing on your neck. Every heartbeat felt like a soft pull toward what had just happened. Sunghoon hovered above you, braced on his arms, his eyes cold, sharp, and hungry as if you were something forbidden that he could no longer resist.

“Can I take your shirt off?” he asked, voice husky and dangerously low. You nodded, uncertain whether it was from shock or full awareness. Slowly, he unbuttoned your blouse, each motion deliberate, reverent. When it fell away, he saw the faint imprint of his bite on your pale skin proof of his broken restraint. Your simple black bra revealed the rise and fall of your breathing. His eyes darkened, and he bit his lip, still tasting your blood an instinct flickering across his face.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. As he gently parted your thighs, you wrapped your arms around your chest, blushing.

“Don’t say that… You’ve seen prettier girls,” you murmured. He leaned in, his cold fingers brushing yours, moving them away. “I’ve lived for two and a half centuries. I’ve seen all kinds of women. But none…” he said, breath grazing your skin, “…have ever had a body I wanted this much.” Your back arched slightly at the confession. He kissed you slowly, with a tension that made your pulse race. His tongue, the same that had just tasted your blood, explored your mouth, and his hands gripped your hips like he feared losing you. Your mouths melded, breaths mingling, tongues teasing, until he smiled against your lips with that sharp, cocky grin you knew too well.

“You like teasing me…” he growled, lifting you slightly. “But now I’m the one who wants to play.” With a flick, your bra unclasped. Your breasts bounced lightly into view. He cursed softly in Korean, then whispered with that brazen vampire arrogance: “Your body is killing me. You've been my obsession since the day you walked into my office, girl.”m He bent down, taking one breast in his hand. You moaned softly. His lips closed around the other, licking, sucking, and when his sharp canines brushed the sensitive bud, your back arched fully.

“A-Ah… S-Sunghoon… slower…” you moaned, fingers tangling in his hair—pleasure tinged with fear. He groaned from your touch, then looked up at you, lips still wet. “You moan so sweetly… and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

His touch was gentle at first almost human but there was nothing human about him. His cold hands moved with confident precision over your breasts, thumbs circling your already hard nipples. His mouth followed, sucking and biting with mock tenderness. You moaned a choked sound lost in the dimness of his room and he loved it. Those soft, breathy sounds were his, and his alone, forever.

“So responsive…” he murmured against your skin with a crooked smile, sucking greedily on a nipple. “You’re such a little treat.” His tongue left a wet trail down your stomach, pausing just below your navel. He looked up at you, eyes burning with primal hunger. “I want to eat you.” His voice was low and rough. You swallowed hard, unsure what “eat you” meant for someone who’d just fed from your neck.

“Not your blood… That’ll be another addiction. But right now, I want to devour you until you forget how to speak.” You instinctively squeezed your thighs together. “Sunghoon…” you whispered. “I won’t hurt you,” he said darkly. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

The way he said it, it wasn’t a promise. It was a sweet curse. And you? You didn’t stop him. Instead, you scratched the back of his neck and whispered, “Don’t be an asshole.”

He smirked. “Too late.” With a slow, predatory motion, he slid your skirt down. When he saw the black lace of your panties, a soft curse slipped from his lips.

“Fuck… You’re built to make me lose control.” Then, with a low, wicked laugh: “You came here for an internship... and you’ll end up signing me your soul.” He inhaled deeply along your inner thighs and felt how wet you were just for him, exactly as it should be. His cold breath made you shiver.

“I could lick you for hours… but I’ll save biting your thighs for later. When you’re ready to scream my name like a prayer or a curse,” he chuckled, fingers grazing your skin.

“You bastard,” you gasped, trembling with both fear and arousal. “Love.” When you tried to close your legs, he grabbed them firmly, voice cold and commanding: “Open. I want to taste all of you. Don’t you dare close them again?”

You obeyed, heart pounding, as he slid down your panties. Seeing how soaked you were, he muttered, “Goddamn... Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you?” Without warning, he grabbed your hips, placed your legs over his shoulders, and leaned in. His tongue met your clit with slow, ravenous precision, savoring you like the rarest prey. You cried out his name once, twice—pulling at his hair as he devoured you, eyes fixed on you with one truth blazing in them: You’re mine. And you’re not escaping.

Sunghoon’s tongue moved in slow, deliberate figure-eights over your center, drawing shameless moans from your lips. His eyes never left your pupils blown wide, the gaze of a predator savoring his prey before the final bite.

“God, you’re shaking… You want to come, don’t you?” His voice was gravel and heat against your skin, and you writhed under him, desperate for more, for his tongue deeper inside you. “Can I use a finger?” It wasn’t a question it was a warning. Because before you could answer, he slid a finger into your heat, and you gasped,

“Y-you’re… such a bastard, that’s… that’s not fair…” He chuckled, low and amused. “Says the girl who’s not even twenty-three and moans like someone just promised her eternity.” Then his tongue flicked your clit again, making your back arch with a cry.

“Stop,” you panted through pleasure but instead, he added a second finger, thrusting deep into your aching cunt, making you scream his name. “Asshole!”

“Guilty,” he laughed. “Don’t lie, stubborn little human. You love feeling yourself under me like this…” His fingers moved harder, faster, setting your nerves ablaze. You were beautiful flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes glassy with lust, and the sweetest whimpers slipping from your mouth.

To him, you were divine. “Look at you come alive under my touch… You were made to be devoured.” He paused only to press his lips to your inner thigh, his sharp canine brushing your skin.

“I could have had you already bleeding, trembling but I don’t want just your blood,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours.

“I want every breath, every spasm… and I want them now.” He went back to licking you, faster, with his fingers thrusting relentlessly.

“Sunghoon… I’m going to…”

“Don’t come yet,” he growled. “Not unless I say so.” You threw your head back, a soft sob escaping as he pinned you in place, watching you unravel with cruel delight. He wanted this—wanted you helpless under his control. Then, in a low, perversely sweet tone:

“Now. I want to see you break for me. Show me, my little girl, who’s been teasing me since the day she walked in.” He teased your clit with a fang and you screamed, a cry of ecstasy laced with fear. You grabbed his hair and pulled him closer as your body shattered in his arms.

He muttered something low, filthy, feral but then, in a gesture that left you stunned… he kissed your forehead. A tender, unexpected, almost human gesture that seemed to surprise even him. “You’re not like the others,” he murmured. “She… the only one I ever loved, died centuries ago. And you… you’re a problem.” His hand traced slowly along your side, gentle, possessive. “But you’re a problem I’ll never let go of.”

It had been exactly one week since that night. One week since Sunghoon had kissed you with hunger in his eyes, had licked you with dark devotion, and had saved you from a vampire attack leaving you with one final mark: his bite. A small indentation on your skin that hadn’t faded. It burned when he was near… or when he wasn’t near enough.

For two whole days, he hadn’t shown up at the office, you figured he might’ve been away, maybe in a meeting in Gangnam or at one of the company’s satellite branches but by the third day, anxiety crept in. You approached Jay’s office hesitantly. He was the other CEO. Another vampire but different: less cynical, calmer, his amber eyes carrying a rare flicker of compassion for someone centuries old.

“Um… Jay?” He looked up from his tablet. “Yes?” he asked, curiosity in his gaze.

“Can I… ask about Sunghoon? He hasn’t been around.” Jay stared at you, hesitating for a moment, as if unsure whether to speak. “He’s… resting. He hasn’t been well.” The moment he said it, your heart skipped Sunghoon, unwell?

“What do you mean not well? He’s a vampire, he shouldn’t…” Jay sighed. “He was attacked. At night. Nothing fatal, but…” He looked down, searching for the right words.

“He’s having trouble feeding.”

“He can’t drink blood?” you asked, stunned. Jay nodded slowly. “Not… from blood bags. He says it tastes… flat. He rejects it.” A pause. Then: “It’s better if I don’t tell you more.” But you didn’t let it go.

“Jay, please. I need to know. Is it my fault?” Jay stared at you, his eyes shimmering faintly.

“No. But maybe… you’re the reason.” Silence fell. Then he added softly: “When a vampire tastes something rare, something they desire… everything else becomes poison.” Your blood ran cold, and you left his office and immediately searched online and the results were mixed but some sources were clear:

“When a vampire drinks blood that’s compatible with their lineage, often from a kindred soul, a dependency may form. Emotional and physical. In rare cases, it manifests as a deep sexual, mental, and spiritual bond. Sex with a bonded vampire is described as… consuming. It gets into your bones, your mind, and carves into your soul.”

You kept scrolling, curiosity growing. “The human may choose: become a vampire, or live and die alongside the vampire. The bond remains even beyond death.”

But that wasn’t what you were looking for, you just wanted to know how he was and so, raised in a loving human family, you did the only thing that felt right.

You cooked, no gourmet dishes, no blood. Just heart. When you finally arrived at his apartment, night had fully settled in. Above you, the moon hung like a white eye, silently watching. In your hands: a bag of warm containers, a blanket… and a foolish little hope.

You inhaled deeply and dark thoughts crowded your mind:

What if he opens the door and loses control?

What if he doesn’t open it at all?

What if he still wants me—but only as food?

Then you knocked once, twice. The silence lasted too long. Then you heard footsteps, slow and heavy like he was dragging himself forward. The door opened. And there he was—not the Sunghoon you saw every day in a suit and tie, always polished, always with a blood bag in hand. No. He was pale, disheveled, dark circles under his eyes deeper than ever and those eyes, God, those eyes burned into you. "You…" he murmured. His gaze flicked to the bag in your hand, then to you, then to your throat. "Why are you here?" he asked, his voice sharp, accusing, and you cursed Jay for telling you he was sick telling you he couldn’t feed properly from the blood sent by the Blood Bank. "I brought… something. Warm food. No blood, I swear." You tried to smile. "Just… something I made. With my hands." He didn’t move. The door didn’t open any wider. "You should leave," he said cynically, already trying to close the door, trying not to breathe in the scent of your skin calling to him like a drug. "Sunghoon…" you said softly. "You don’t get it, do you?" he growled. "Having you this close… it’s dangerous. For both of us. The smell of your blood…it's nauseating. It's all I want. And I’m not in the mood for human food unless that food is you." You shivered but didn’t step back.

Slowly, you brushed your hair aside, baring your neck to Sunghoon’s eyes, it looked like an invitation to sin and it was. His gaze shifted. His fangs elongated. His nostrils flared. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself in reality. “Damn it…” he hissed. “Don’t act like a reckless girl. Don’t play with monsters, you might get hurt, and there won’t be a way out.” You pushed him gently. He didn’t move at first. But then, he gave in and let you step inside. His apartment was cold, gray, frozen in time. You looked around. “Wow… a vampire’s place. Obsessed with work and shadows. Just missing the coffin in the living room.”

He stayed silent an oversized gray hoodie covered his broad shoulders, and his sweatpants looked strangely out of place on him yet made him seem more human, more real. As you wandered through the living room, your eyes landed on a photo under the TV, facedown and cracked at the corner of the glass. You picked it up carefully, your hands trembling it was him. With a girl. They were in each other’s arms. The photo looked like it came from another time. She was beautiful, with long fair hair and, an ethereal face. And from the way he looked at her… he had loved her. Maybe he still did. You felt him behind you cold breath, fingers brushing the edge of the frame. “If you don’t want the food… throw it away. Maybe I should just go,” you muttered, trying to leave, but a tear escaped. He caught your wrist and in a second, turned you to face him. You crashed into his cold chest, frozen between his arms like a refuge. He cupped your face, brushing your flushed cheeks.

“You’re a stubborn fool.”

“I…” you stammered. “I just wanted to know if you were okay.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, seeing how his anger had faded into something much sadder.

“It was my fault…” he whispered. “She… she died because of me.” He held you tighter like he was afraid you’d disappear like she had. “How?” you asked, voice cracking.

“She loved a human and to protect him, she sacrificed herself and I… I was too weak to stop her. She was older than me stronger, more prepared. I loved her in silence for decades, but she… she fell in love with a human. A pathetic man who couldn’t protect her, who couldn’t be with her forever. One she wanted to save… from me but she didn’t realize it wasn’t me she needed to protect him from.

More than a hundred years ago, no human could be with a vampire—not really. Hybrid love didn’t exist.” His voice grew rougher.

“I let her go. I thought that was love. I thought if I gave her space, she’d realize the only one who could love her completely—the only one like her was me but when the hunters found them… she chose to die for him. To die without fighting as if I was the monster, and he the innocent.” He swallowed hard. “I was too far. Too late. When I found them… they were dying. In each other’s arms.”

Something cracked inside you, not just for the tragedy, but for how he bore it like he was the only one to blame for all the horror in the world.

“Sunghoon…” You lifted a hand to his cheek. His skin was cold, but he didn’t flinch. You felt how broken he was and how much it had hurt to lose her to a human who hadn’t deserved her.

“It wasn’t your fault.” He closed his eyes and leaned into your warm touch.

“You’re not a monster. You’re just someone who loved too much… and lost.” Slowly, heart pounding, you rose on your toes and kissed him. At first, it was soft barely more than a brush of lips. Then a breath, it was like something shattered inside him, his arms crushed you to him not to hurt, but to claim and his mouth devoured yours with hunger no longer just emotional.

His tongue sought yours, his fangs grazed your skin he kissed you like he wanted to tear away every part of you that was still human…and yet he held you like you were the most alive thing he’d ever touched.

"You're so warm..." he murmured against your lips. "You burn me." And then he collapsed letting himself fall back onto the couch with a sharp breath. It looked almost like a bed, wide and grey, built for sleepless nights. You followed him silently, straddling his lap.

His chest rose in erratic bursts he hadn’t fed since biting you. His eyes devoured you, and even though your body trembled slightly, you didn’t back away.

You kept kissing. Your hands tangled in his hair, he clutched your waist, and as you moved slightly against him, you felt him hard beneath you ready, restrained by a discipline that was about to snap. "You deserve another chance," you whispered against his ear, kissing the lobe gently. "You deserve to be loved again."

He growled softly. "No. I don’t."

"Yes, you do. You deserve a bit of light too… in this whole world of shadows." Something in him broke. He held you tighter and pulled you even closer until you felt melded to him. His eyes flared, glowing more intensely.

"Little human..." he murmured, voice low and grim, "don’t say things like that unless you’re ready to pay the price."

"What price?" you asked, not looking away.

"My darkness, the part that doesn’t forgive, that takes, that never lets go. The part that wants to make you mine. Forever." You rocked your hips again, the contact making you both shudder. He gripped you harder, whispering, voice hoarse and rough as the night outside:

"If you keep grinding like that on me… I swear, I’ll make you forget every human thought you’ve ever had." His cold hands slid under your oversized hoodie the one you’d grabbed from home, maybe hoping it would shield you, maybe not.

His fingers brushed your skin. The touch was electric. He leaned down, breath grazing your neck.

"This neck…" he rasped, "is an invitation to sin." Before you could respond, his fangs brushed your skin. He didn’t bite, no, the torture was in the restraint. In holding back the urge to claim and consume you.

"You’re mine. You know that, right?" he finally said.

"Even if you don’t want it. Even if you’re scared. I… will never let you go." You bit your lip as you looked at him—his chest rising under the dark hoodie. Your eyes dropped to the skin beneath, and you leaned in gently, tenderly, with a softness you knew would crack something inside him.

"Can I… kiss where they hurt you?" you whispered. He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, gaze shadowed but amused.

"Didn’t take you for a war-scar collector," he said dryly. "I knew you had a Florence Nightingale kink, but this? New level."

You didn’t answer his jab. Your hands slipped under his hoodie slowly. His skin was cold and smooth. Beneath your fingertips, a subtle shiver. His body reacted barely but enough.

The contrast between your warmth and his chill made it impossible not to feel. "Are you… trembling?" you whispered, with a hint of a smile.

He said nothing but his eyes had darkened. He hated feeling vulnerable especially because of a foolish little human who had carved her way under his skin.

You lifted his hoodie gently when the light hit his torso, you gasped. The scars were there some thin, others deeper, old cracks on porcelain. They didn’t mar him. They made him ancient. Beautiful. You bit your lip at the sight of him.

"You’re… beautiful," you whispered, tracing a scar across his ribs. "Don’t say bullshit," he muttered. The words came out sharp and bitter. "You’re just a sweet little girl turned on by monsters. A little sadist, a little naïve. Don’t throw romantic crap at me."

You rolled your eyes and huffed. "Oh God, not this again. Don’t tell me you're still playing the asshole CEO in here too. Pretty sure you left the tie at the office."

You looked around. "In here… people breathe. Or in your case don’t die. I’m alive. I feel something for you and I hate it when you act like a jerk."

For the first time, a laugh slipped from his lips. Low, hoarse. “You’re insolent.” “I’m honest.” You smiled at him faintly, then leaned down slowly and started kissing him. Your lips touched the first mole under his eye, then the one on his cheek, then more. Small, dark, scattered like a constellation in a winter sky. “I love them…” you murmured, moving down to his jawline, his chin, his neck. You kissed him, sucked gently, feeling his cold skin warm under your mouth. He stayed still, but the tension grew beneath you like a rope tightening, ready to snap—and his hand grabbed you under your ass, pulling you close with force, making you feel how hard he already was beneath your soft sweatpants. “You can’t compete with me at giving hickeys,” he hissed in your ear, his voice thick with desire. You looked up, a half-smirk playing on your lips. “You’re wrong, I’ve already beaten you, and other guys have left marks on me—but gold hasn’t sunk their canines into my pale skin,” you said, giggling, and his face changed. A shadow of raw jealousy flickered through his body, and for the first time he was caught off guard: “W-What the fuck are you saying? I… I don’t even want to think someone touched you before me.” You smiled, continuing to suck on the skin at the base of his collarbone, leaving a dark red mark. “Uh-oh, Park Sunghoon is jealous? Of who, a girl, and a human one at that!”

He literally growled, and his hand under your ass pulled you even lower, pressing you against his now-hard cock, throbbing beneath his sweatpants. You rocked slowly, feeling his desire grow beneath you like a wave ready to crash over you. “Christ, you’re… damn hot.” His hands trembled as he held you still. “Fucking human girl, what are you doing to me…” he hissed against your throat. “I swear, if you keep going like this, I’ll fuck you until you don’t even know your own name anymore.” Your hair brushed against his skin as you leaned lower and Sunghoon felt a faint tickle, almost imperceptible but enough to make his fingers twitch against the couch. Your kisses followed an invisible line on his body: from his neck, to his chest, to his belly, where his abs tightened beneath your lips as if they were made of living stone. You reached the edge of his V-line, just above the waistband of his sweatpants, and stopped there, looking at him with a sly smile.

“So who are you training for, huh? If you spend your time playing cold, cynical vampire with everyone… including yourself?” He let out a half-snort, raising an eyebrow. “I train to stay strong enough not to break the idiots who decide to mess with someone they shouldn’t.” “Ooh, touché.” You giggled, then bent down again. Your mouth began exploring the pale skin below his navel, where thin dark hairs formed a line disappearing under his pants. You sucked gently on that spot beneath his belly where you saw him tremble and moan softly, and he growled, his stomach contracting under your touch.

“Careful, little one…” he muttered, his voice thick and rough. “You’re playing in a field you don’t know how to dominate.” But you ignored him, slowly and provocatively untying the sweatpants’ drawstrings with your fingers, then confidently pulling them down just a bit. He propped himself up on his forearms, watching you with red eyes full of held-back desire, and when you saw his black boxers, the clear shape beneath the fabric leaving nothing to the imagination, you climbed on top of him slowly, letting yourself fall onto his hips. You started rocking gently, rubbing against him, feeling every reaction, every shiver running through his body. “Look how hard you are for your little human intern…” you whispered in his ear, nibbling his earlobe. Sunghoon half-closed his eyes and growled, but there was something in his breath, the way he swallowed... “Christ… you’re such a little… tease, you know how easily I could break you...” He stammered, and it was rare to see him like this—it made him even more beautiful, more desirable, more yours. With a smooth motion, you took off your sweatshirt, and he liked how comfortable you felt with him. His eyes immediately went to your breasts struggling to escape your lace bra.

“Last chance, little one.” He spat the words out between his teeth, harsh, broken by a thread of wild desire. “You can still stop, after this… I won’t be responsible for myself.” You looked him in the eyes, without hesitation, and said, “I don’t want to stop, and neither do you from what I see.” You smiled at him, then slowly slid your hand under the waistband of his boxers, and when your fingers met his skin, he moaned. Not a fake, controlled sound, but a real moan low, strangled, animalistic. “You’re just a… damn insolent girl…” he whispered, almost angrily, grabbing you with both hands under your ass to force you to grind harder against him. “A sadist who gets herself into trouble, who wants to get into my fucking trouble…” but his body said otherwise he wanted it, he wanted you. His cock was perfectly shaped, the glans swollen, wet, slightly reddish, veins pulsing along the base with strength, and a pearly drop of desire gleamed at the tip like a forbidden invitation.

You, surprised, muttered something under your breath, a small “oh God, it’s big…” that slipped out without meaning to, and Sunghoon tensed. “Don’t do that,” he hissed. “Don’t bite your lip in front of me and don’t stammer like you’re shocked, you wanted this, you asked for this situation.” He looked you up and down, his chest rising and falling slowly. “Christ…” he whispered, then grinned through clenched teeth. “You just murmured how… big it is? Are you trying to kill me?” You didn’t answer; your hands, trembling but warm, closed around him with an almost reverent gentleness, and your skin against his was a complete contrast: life against death, warmth against ice, love against the desire to possess you. “You… are… damn… dangerous…” he stammered, almost with hatred, but not toward you, toward himself. “With that smallmouth and warm hands… you’re the most human thing I’ve touched in centuries, and I can’t…” His words stumbled and you looked at him, surprised. Sunghoon never stammered, he wasn’t human enough to do that—but there, under your hands, he was naked and weak because of you. You leaned down slowly, brushing his cold skin with your nose, down to his lower belly, and began to gently stroke his throbbing cock, and you heard Sunghoon say to you: “Don’t think you can do this… without consequences, I don’t want just pleasure, little one…” he whispered with a strangled voice.

“I want all of you, and if you let me in, you won’t come out anymore.” You started to tease him with your tongue, slow, careful, like you were exploring, and every little kiss you left on his tight, stretched skin was a challenge, a silent declaration: I’m not just the intern who brings you reports in the morning. Sunghoon barely gasped, almost imperceptibly, but he did as you started giving him small kisses and even little licks around the tip, and you raised your head to study his face his eyes were already watching you with primal hunger. “Do you like it?” you asked in a faint voice, barely daring. He wet his lips with his tongue, pupils black and dilated. “Keep going.” His voice was low, almost hoarse. “I want to see how… talented a little intern playing at driving an ancient vampire crazy can be.” That tone hit you right in the chest slightly mocking, but full of challenge and for that, you didn’t back down. You opened your mouth wider, your hands trembling but holding him firmly as you started exploring him more boldly. Your tongue traced every vein, every curve, and with every broken moan that slipped from his lips, you felt more confident, stronger. You began licking and sucking him more fiercely, one hand around his base and the other steady on his thigh as you balanced yourself—and then you felt him move.

He lifted slightly, muscles tense, and began slowly thrusting his hips, making space between your lips with deeper pressure. You coughed softly, eyes watering slightly as you tried not to lose control while he pushed his shaft deeper and deeper into your little mouth you were truly beautiful with your lips covered in him and the tears slowly falling down your face, and a growl vibrated in his throat as he grabbed your hair. “Don’t forget who’s in charge, human.” His voice grew rougher, and he stammered something you couldn’t understand, and you realized he was fighting himself. It wasn’t just desire; it was hunger, frustration, the damn fear of letting go completely but his body was already lost. And when he saw you cry a silent tear rolling down your cheek as you tried not to let go he broke into a cruel half-smile.

“Look how you finally shut up…” he murmured, almost pleased. “Maybe I should do this more often.” You tried to retort, with a sharp look, but then you felt his finger, cold and icy like snow, brush along the edge of your panties. A touch so subtle yet so loaded that your entire body shuddered and made you squeeze your thighs tighter and he chuckled, and this time he stammered: “H-Holy hell… you’re… soaking wet and you’re… sucking me… like you’re trying to make me lose fucking control.” The tone was a mix of hatred and desire. Hatred toward himself, toward that weakness only you made him feel, and his hand gripped your hair tighter not to hurt you, but to anchor you to him. “You’re a stubborn… insolent, human girl… and you’re playing with something you can’t even understand. Use that mouth properly. Make me feel good… for once.” Your tongue brushed the tip of his member, gathering a drop of pre-cum that tasted like iron and desire. He moaned softly, bringing a hand through your hair to guide you harder, and you started moving first slowly, then letting yourself go to the rising rhythm of his thrusts. Each plunge grew more determined, and deeper, and your breath grew ragged, but you didn’t stop. “Shit… I’m gonna come,” he growled, voice broken, almost incredulous. “Take it all, every fucking drop.” You nodded with watery eyes, cheeks wet with tears and saliva, and when you felt him tremble, with a guttural growl he filled your mouth. The taste was strong and salty, and you swallowed without protest, moaning yourself, and when he pulled back, shiny strands dripped onto your lips. “Look at you…” he chuckled softly, voice low and rough like coarse velvet. “You’re a work of art, with my excitement on you.”

You squeezed your thighs, a shiver ran down your spine, and he wiped your face with a damp handkerchief and then pulled you onto his legs as if you were as light as air. His lips rested on your neck, his canines brushed your skin without piercing it, and you trembled because your body wanted only him. “I want you,” you whispered in a thin voice, your hands on his broad shoulders. “I want you inside me.” He stopped a crooked smile on his lips. “Be careful what you ask for, girl, I might give you more than you can handle.” You rocked gently on him, feeling his member grow again beneath you. “Please…” you murmured, your voice broken by need. “So desperate?” he laughed. “Show me how much you need me, take off your panties, and show me how ready you are.”

You lowered them slowly, blushing, and he grabbed them and threw them away while chuckling at the sight of your arousal showing through your panties, then whispered to you. “Is it you who wants me so badly? Then ride me. Show me you’re not just a curious girl but a woman who can take even a centuries-old vampire like me.” You blushed, but you wanted him too much to resist. “I’m not a girl,” you warned him, climbing on top of him. “And you’re not untouchable.” “No,” he whispered as he brushed your intimate lips with the tip of his sex. “But you, little human, are dangerously mine and you don’t even realize it.” You lifted yourself slightly, your hands firmly on his broad shoulders, and his gaze was glued to your body, attentive, feverish, and in a moment you slid down slowly until you felt him fully enter you. A broken scream escaped you, held halfway between pleasure and vertigo as you felt his cock slide inside your poor pussy that held him tight and you felt full, invaded, crossed by him, and your hips trembled against his.

“Mine…” he stammered, his voice hoarse and his hands gripping your hips with growing force. “Fuck, you’re so tight… so warm…” You gasped, clinging to him. “It’s so big…” you stammered, your voice choked by pleasure. He laughed. “You are a girl, you know? … and already so desperate to feel me inside.” “Don’t call me that…” you moaned, but your protests dissolved when he moved slightly inside you and a shiver ran down your spine. “Oh no? Then prove it,” he teased you. “Show me how well you can ride a monster, little human.” You raised yourself slowly, then lowered again and began to ride him with uncertain but fiery movements, and his eyes never left yours, red as freshly spilled blood, and every moan of yours seemed to ignite him even more. “And you?” you gasped. “Do something too… I don’t want to do it all alone.” “You’re demanding for being just my intern,” he hissed with a grin but then lifted himself, almost sitting up, his arms around your back, and you screamed in surprise as he pinned you against him and you felt his cock pushing into you and felt it all the way to your stomach and he took control of the rhythm, thrusting into you with growing force and you screamed, your forehead pressed to his shoulder, your nails digging into his skin from overstimulation. “Do you feel how mine you are?” he growled in your ear. “Do you feel how deeply I’m taking you?”

Your body against his, him inside you, deeper and deeper, your folds tightening around him with almost desperate spasms, hot, alive, so different from anything he’d known in centuries of death. “So tight…” he gasped against your neck, his voice broken, ruined by hunger. “So human…” His thrusts became more dry, more fierce, and you couldn’t control your voice anymore: you moaned, and stammered his name like an invocation, as if he was dragging you into an abyss of pleasure with no escape. His hands moved on your hips, then your neck, then on the marks you still bore from that night he saved you. “Can I bite you?” he asked, his voice strangely sweet, trembling. “Yes,” you whispered. “I can’t resist you anymore, make me yours, Hoon.” “Where do you want me to bite you?” he asked, his canines brushing your skin. You closed your eyes, your heart racing wildly. “Wherever you want.” And he did it, sinking his teeth into your skin while holding you tight against him, while you bounced harder and harder, more and more desperate, until reality and desire merged into a single, infinite explosion.

His canines sank into your skin and a shiver ran through you as the pain mingled with a pleasure that brushed on ecstasy. He sucked slowly, with restrained greed, as if tasting your blood was holier than sex itself. “Damn you…” he growled between sips. “You’re my favorite drug… and my curse at the same time.” You screamed from both pleasure and pain and your body trembled, every fiber taut on the edge. “I want to come… please… let me…” He pulled away slowly, his mouth red with your blood, and his tongue slowly traced your lips, gathering the last drops as he soothed the wound, then grabbed your nape and kissed you. A full, hungry kiss, and you tasted your blood sliding from his mouth to yours, it was sweet, it was metallic, it was ours and you didn’t realize that from that moment on you were completely his and at his mercy.

“My favorite girl…” he murmured in a low tone, merciless but full of adoration. “So good at making me lose control…” A hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your center with cruel precision, and with his thumb, he teased and tormented your swollen clitoris and you moaned shamelessly. “Come for me,” he ordered, “now, show me what happens to a human when a vampire takes her beyond every limit.” “And you?” you gasped, in a thin voice. “You want to… I want you to fill me…” His eyes shone a darker red. “You don’t know what you’re asking for…” he growled. “If I fill you… if I mark you… you’ll be mine forever.” His hips moved with a rhythmic, brutal force and the wet, dirty sound of his thrusts burying themselves inside you filled the living room, punctuated by your broken moans and his curses clenched between his teeth. Every thrust took your breath away, every deeper plunge made you squeeze your thighs around his hips as if you could cling to something. “Look at how you take me, little one…” he growled against your ear, sinking his teeth into your lobe. “Your body is sucking me in like it never wants to let me go, and maybe it was made for me for this…” It hurt, but it was the kind of pain you wanted, the one you sought, and your eyes rolled back as you felt that knot low in your belly tightening more and more, ready to burst. Your body trembled, wet, hands on his shoulder blades, fingers digging into his smooth, cold skin.

“S-Sunghoon, I…” you gasped, your voice broken by a high moan. “I’m about to… I’m about to come…” He didn’t slow down in fact, he kissed your neck, right where he had bitten you a few minutes earlier, the mark still fresh and sensitive, and his warm breath on your skin clashed with the chill of his body. You shivered and then exploded: a fierce orgasm tore through you from within, a wave of raw pleasure that made you cry and moan against his chest; and you screamed from pleasure as you felt your excitement drip from your folds, soaking his cock and making a messy mix of excitations between yours and his, who was about to come but wasn’t done with you yet. You felt your walls clamp spasmodically around his cock as you trembled, helpless, exhausted, your body still shaken by small spasms. “So good…” he hissed, his voice deep and hoarse. “You came all around my cock, like a good little grateful whore.” You blushed, but couldn’t help moaning again the way he spoke to you made you feel dirty, used… and alive; you let yourself go against him, your voice thick: “I-I'm tired… I can’t take it anymore…” Sunghoon laughed softly, that cold and perverse laugh that made you tremble every time. He took your chin between his fingers and lifted your gaze to his.

«You’re tired? Baby… I’m just getting started.» With two slow, deep thrusts, you suddenly felt yourself filled and his cock swelled inside you, then he came with a snap of his hips and a low, animalistic growl. His seed invaded you, warm, making you gasp from the overwhelming fullness. “Shit…” he cursed, holding you close. “Look what you make me do, it’s amazing to be inside this wet, sweet pussy, you’re fucking perfect for me.” He stayed inside you, his body tense, his breath still, and you could still feel him throbbing, and you… you couldn’t even move. You just stayed there, legs trembling, your head against his chest, and the contrast between his cold skin and the warmth he left inside you gave you chills. Then he moved, lifting you slightly to pull out, and a thick, whitish strand began to drip down between your thighs. “Look how you drip for me,” he murmured, pleased, with a wicked half-smile. “You took it all, huh? To the last drop… good girl, my little girl.” You stammered something, confused, your cheeks flushed and your legs still weak. “S-Sung… you came… so much… inside me…” He laid you down on the couch that felt more like a bed, caressed your thigh, and bent to kiss your sweaty head. “Now close your eyes, I’ll protect you, no one will hurt you as long as you’re mine.”

He seemed sincere and sweet but something in his eyes said otherwise. It was the way he looked at you… like you were food, like with every kiss he held back the urge to sink his teeth in and claim you forever… because he was a vampire, a monster who had already lost once but would never lose anyone again in his life, especially you, and he was selfish, dangerous and now… he wanted only you. Your body, your blood, he wanted all of you to the last drop.

That morning, the first movement was a hesitant attempt by your legs, but a weight held you anchored to the bed not oppressive, actually reassuring, warm and cold at the same time, like a blanket made of flesh and ancient blood. You slowly opened your eyes, stretching just a little under the black silk sheets that caressed your bare skin. You wore only a shirt that wasn’t yours, and Sunghoon’s scent wrapped around you.

A thin beam of light filtered through the half-closed curtains, touching the dark room like a timid caress. When you turned, you found him there, lying face down, his head turned toward you, his eyes calm and eternal as they stared at you. One of his arms rested over your stomach, his bicep tense as if holding you with almost involuntary energy, like he feared you might slip away from him… just like maybe it had happened before, with someone else. “Finally…” he whispered with a crooked smile. “I knew you humans loved to sleep, but not this much.” You tried to get up, but a moan slipped from your lips. Your legs hurt, tense and sore, and the spot where his fangs had bitten you throbbed deeply, almost sensually, like someone had pierced you with tiny stings, causing a slight pain. You looked at him and blushed; his gaze softened, and he lifted you carefully back among the pillows without a word. He watched you seriously as if searching for a sign of your pain or discomfort, but what he found was much more disarming. “Are you okay?” His voice was rough, and controlled, but more… human, as if he feared he had crossed too many lines with you last night. “Yes… I’m fine, but someone was thirsty last night if I recall correctly…” you replied with a tired but amused tone. “Of course, I’m a bit weak, Sunghoon.” He lowered his gaze, a guilty but pleased smile touching his lips. “You offered yourself, and I only accepted. Remember this: if you’re not sure, never offer your neck to a vampire, especially one like me, little girl.” Then, in a softer tone: “But I don’t want you to feel bad, even if sometimes… I forget what limits mean.” You smiled softly, your voice sincere and trembling. “I don’t know how to explain it… but with you, I feel… safe, even if you’re a fucking vampire.”

Something changed on his face, a micro-movement, almost invisible, and the mask of the cold, impenetrable CEO cracked just a little. His eyes darkened, became more real, and something strange he hadn’t felt for centuries perhaps only when he was still human, stirred inside him. Then he leaned over you and his fingers brushed your cheek. He kissed you gently a slow, long kiss that made you forget the strength in your legs and the cold of the sheet. The world went dark for a moment. There was only you and him, his taste, his tongue, his mouth that sucked your soul. But then, without warning, you felt the teeth. It wasn’t violent like before, nor aggressive. He sank his fangs slowly into the soft spot between your neck and shoulder, and the pain was minimal like an electric shock followed by a rush of heat and a strange, guilty pleasure crossed you. You moaned softly as you clung to his shoulders, your body tense while he sucked slowly as if savoring every drop. You felt yourself burning inside, but you didn’t want him to stop, and when he pulled away, leaving the red, shiny mark of his mouth on your skin, you looked at him with an expression that mixed with indignation and desire. “You did the teeth thing again…” you muttered, poking him with a finger on his chest. He laughed, that damn perfect smile playing on his lips. “You tempt me, little one. You’re a constant invitation to sin.” He said, pulling you close to him. “You know you could at least ask before sucking me?” you whispered. “You know you could at least pretend you don’t enjoy it so much?” he retorted, leaning down to brush your lips with a kiss, then stopped, his gaze serious and deeper.

“I… didn’t want to. But now it’s too late.” “Too late for what?” you asked while caressing his face. “To stop, to let you go, to not want you every night, every hour, beneath me, in my hands, between my teeth…” He stroked your neck where the blood still pulsed. “I want to mark you, make you mine, bind you, change you, maybe…” he said but couldn’t look you in the eyes because he knew what he wanted was too much for you. You chuckled, almost to break the too-heavy tension, a timid, real sound, so yours that even Sunghoon seemed suspended for a moment in time. “You know… it’s crazy. You spent months treating me with that asshole superior tone, those cold jokes, those looks like I was just an annoying intern…”

Sunghoon’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling, then he looked at you, and for a moment, in his features, you saw the boy who was before the CEO, before the vampire. Maybe, just maybe, it was an illusion you wanted to cling to. “I don’t even know how it happened,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair. “That a heartless bastard like me found himself tied to a stubborn, sweet… and so irritating little girl.” You smiled and moved closer, gently stroking the small, irregular, almost hidden moles on his face. You did it often; you knew it annoyed him to be touched there, but this time he didn’t pull away. “I don’t want to transform, Sunghoon. Not yet,” you whispered, your voice fragile but firm. “I understand you’re afraid of losing someone again. I know she broke you, but I… I’m only twenty-two. I want to live, I want to laugh, do stupid things, go dancing, I want to stay human even being with you for a while, and then, in time, we’ll see how things go between us.” He looked at you skeptically and silence filled the bedroom, then almost whispered to himself: “You’re not like her, you won’t die like her, I won’t allow it.” But his tone, his gaze… wasn’t a promise, it was a threat to fate itself, as if he swore war on time, death, on you—and you didn’t understand.

You curled up against him, your face on his cold chest that now felt almost warm, and he held you, a hand tangled in your damp hair. “I’ll do anything for you,” he said. “I swear, I’ll protect you from everything.” Except himself, he thought, because deep in his immortal heart, while holding you so tenderly, a rotten thought grew, pulsed, and took root. “I love you, little girl,” he said as he held you close, but what he meant was that every time he sucked from you… every time his fangs broke your skin… he left something inside you. A slow, invisible, sublime poison and he would never ask your permission to become one with you. He wouldn’t respect your twenty-two years or your dreams of a normal girl. No. He would take you, one sip at a time, one bite after another until he extinguished every human beat inside you—and no one would stop him, and you would never know when the change began. “I love you,” you whispered, and he… kissed your forehead.

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[solefi]

To Be Devoured

𓂃𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

| 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢'𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

〻(muse.) park sunghoon

〻(wc.) 15.1k

〻(genre.) vampire au! smut. dark romance.

〻(cont.) fem! reader. description of female anatomy. unprotected sex. making out. soft dom! hoon, but he turns into hard dom! hoon. virginity loss. fingering. cunnilingus. multiple positions. overstimulation. squirting. mentions of cum. mentions of blood. hoonie feeding. basically porn with no plot.

She is already limp under him, but Sunghoon is a man of his world. His beloved begged to be used, claimed, broken—and he's going to deliver.

You lie beneath him, your breath feathering the air between you, shallow and trembling. The room is lit only by the silver wash of moonlight through velvet curtains, painting your skin in soft shadows he traces with his eyes—eyes that have seen centuries pass, but have never lingered like this. Never stayed.

His touch comes slow, deliberate. Fingers that once crushed bone and wielded power like a god now ghost along your waist, reverent. As though he’s afraid to break you. As though you’re made of something more fragile than glass and more precious than anything he’s ever known.

He exhales softly through his nose as his hands travel upward, brushing the dip just beneath your ribs. You flinch slightly, more from the intimacy than surprise, though the coldness of his skin also plays a part. He notices. Of course he does.

“You’re trembling, my love,” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-rich. 

Then his hands shift again, climbing higher, until they find your breasts. He cups them with both hands, gently—thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks, slowly, like he’s learning you by memory. As though this moment could stretch on forever, and it still wouldn’t be long enough for him.

He leans down, lips hovering just over your collarbone. You can feel the coolness of his breath. Hear the restraint in it.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” he whispers, the words sinking into your skin. “It’s so loud… like it’s calling out to me.”

He doesn’t move to take more—not yet. He just holds you, listens, worships with touch alone. His thumbs stroke you, coaxing soft gasps from your lips. You feel the tension building in the pit of your stomach, slow and warm. It’s not overwhelming, not yet. But he’s not rushing.

He’s savoring.

Because tonight, he’s not just going to take your purity. He’s going to earn it—inch by inch, breath by breath.

He doesn’t move up or down, not right away. He just stays, thumbing your nipples with careful strokes until your back begins to arch beneath him, and your breath trembles again, this time from want. 

“Patience,” he says, soft but firm, a smile in his voice. “Let me love you slowly.”

His hands slide back down, fingers splaying over your stomach. He traces the soft plane there, dipping into the gentle curve of your navel, brushing featherlight over the sensitive skin just below it. Your hips twitch instinctively, but he hushes you with a press of his lips to your shoulder.

Then he begins to move—lower, but not where you ache. Not yet. His mouth follows the path of his hands, scattering kisses along your ribs, your side, the curve of your waist. His fangs don’t touch you—only his lips, plush and cool, searing heat in their wake.

He shifts, nudging your thighs apart with one knee, settling between them without pressing forward. His palms wrap around the outside of your thighs, slowly sliding down until he’s at your knees.

And then he does something simple—he kisses the inside of your knee.

You hadn’t expected it to feel that intimate. But it did. You felt it high in your chest and low in your belly. That place between your thighs pulsed with sudden, aching heat, as though your body understood before your mind could. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim.

He stays there a moment, as though your knees, your thighs, deserve the same worship as your lips or breasts. Then another kiss, a little higher. Then again. And again.

He kisses the hollow of your ankle, the tender dip where shin meets foot, then moves back up—taking his time. You feel his lips on the swell of your calf, soft and lingering. You didn’t know that part of you could be so sensitive. But under his mouth, it’s like your skin has bloomed—become something fragile and new.

Each time he lifts his mouth from you, the air feels cold. Each return is a blessing.

By the time his mouth reaches the softest part of your inner thigh, your fingers are clutching the sheets.

He chuckles softly, eyes flicking up. “Even here, you taste like devotion.”

He doesn’t go further. Instead, he shifts to your other leg, starting over—kissing the outside of your knee, your calf, even your ankle, before trailing back up. You feel every breath, every brush of his lips as if it’s branding you.

Only when he’s kissed both thighs, both hips, and every inch between does he rest his cheek gently on your lower belly, just below your navel. His arms encircle your waist, holding you like something irreplaceable.

“I could stay here forever,” he murmurs. “Do you understand that? Your body… It’s not just beautiful, it means so much more. And by the end of tonight, it will belong to me.”

Then he kisses just above your mound, achingly slow. Not quite where you want him—but close. His lips hover, teasing.

Your skin is aflame, not with fire, but with something slower—thicker. Every kiss Sunghoon lays on your body leaves behind a pulse, like an echo that ripples through your nerves long after his lips have moved on.

He shifts slightly and presses a kiss just below your hipbone. Then another, on the opposite side. His hands stroke your thighs, smoothing down the tension, murmuring something low in a language you don’t recognize. It sounds ancient. Reverent.

Your breathing comes faster now. You feel open. Not just your body, but something deeper. Your chest feels exposed, your heart trembling inside your ribs. You don’t feel afraid. Just… vulnerable. Raw. Like you’re giving yourself away, piece by piece, and every piece matters.

Then he moves higher.

His mouth finds the underside of your breast—a place untouched, unnoticed. And he lingers. He kisses there softly, then drags his lips to the side of your ribcage, and then to the curve of your breast, never quite reaching your nipple. It’s maddening. And exquisite.

Every brush of his lips pulls a new sound from you—a gasp, a whimper, a whispered plea that you don’t even realize you’ve made.

You feel like you’re floating. Like your body is unraveling in slow motion.

He’s doing this. With just his mouth, his hands, and that impossibly calm voice that cuts through your haze like silk.

“I can feel you surrendering,” he says, lifting his head to look at you. “It’s beautiful.”

And it is. You’ve never felt so seen before. So known. Not just your body, but the hidden parts of you. The secret hunger you never voiced. The craving to be touched not just with lust, but with purpose.

And he gives it to you.

His hand slides back up your chest, palm warm now from your skin. He cups your breast again, this time brushing his thumb slowly over your nipple, watching how your lips part.

You feel everything: the rush of heat between your thighs, the fluttering in your stomach, the way your toes curl into the sheets. It’s overwhelming—but not too much. It’s just enough to make you ache.

He leans down again and kisses the top of your breast, then just beneath your throat, and finally, your lips—slow, deep, like he’s drinking from you.

You taste yourself in his mouth. Want. Wonder. Need.

And still… he’s holding back. Worshipping you with lips and hands, teaching you the art of desire—before he even thinks of taking what you’ve offered.

His hand begins its descent.

You feel it, even before he moves—just the intent in his posture makes your thighs tighten, your breath catch. One hand stays on your waist, holding you steady, grounding you as the other travels lower, fingertips tracing that familiar path over your navel, your belly… until it hovers just above the place where your heat has been building for what feels like hours.

You can feel yourself clenching—wanting, waiting.

He watches your face as his fingers finally brush down, between your thighs. His touch is light at first, barely there, but even that sends a jolt through your entire body. And then he finds you.

Two fingers slip between your folds, slow, precise. He parts you gently, stroking down the center until he finds the source of your wetness. He doesn’t push in. He simply lingers there, sliding his fingers through the slick arousal pooling at your core.

His breath catches faintly, and his eyes darken.

“My love…” he murmurs, his voice hushed and reverent, “You’re drenched.”

The words shouldn’t make you blush as hard as they do—but they do. He’s not mocking. He’s marveling. Like your body has given him a secret, and he’s honored just to witness it.

He brings those fingers up, just slightly, and spreads the wetness across your folds with practiced gentleness. Each movement is slow, exploratory, like he’s studying the way your body reacts—how you twitch when he brushes your clit too lightly, how your hips rise when he glides lower again.

“You ache for more,” he says softly, kissing your temple. “I can feel it in the way your body pulses under my hand.”

Then, without asking—because your body has already answered—he slides two fingers down again. This time, he presses inward. Just enough to feel the resistance.

You tense, instinctively. You never imagined it would feel like this. The stretch is foreign, but his voice, his hand on your leg, the warmth in his gaze… they guide you through it.

“Shhh…” he whispers, stroking your thigh with his free hand. “Let me in slowly. Let me prepare you. You’re so tight, sweetheart. So perfect.”

He draws back just a little, circling your entrance, gathering more of your wetness before trying again, pushing his fingers in with agonizing care. 

The moment his fingers breach you—even just a little—your entire body seems to fold inward around the sensation. It’s not pain. It’s not even discomfort. It’s pressure—a firm, stretching fullness that sends a ripple of awareness from your core to the edges of your limbs.

Your breath catches. Your thighs tense. Your walls clench around him instinctively, like your body is trying to hold him there, to make sense of the invasion.

You feel impossibly full, and he’s barely inside you. The realization sends a dizzying heat through your belly—tight and low—and your body pulses around his fingers again, your entrance fluttering.

“You’re doing beautifully,” he breathes, now buried just the first knuckle deep. “You feel like heaven. You don’t even know how badly I want to lose myself in you.”

But he doesn’t.

He’s still patient. Still gentle. His fingers move in slow, shallow thrusts, coaxing your body open inch by inch. Preparing you. Worshipping you with every stroke.

And all the while, your heart beats wildly against your ribs. Your skin burns. Your thoughts dissolve into a haze of need.

Because you know what’s coming.

And the thought of him replacing those fingers with something deeper, something more—it’s enough to make your body tighten around the digits already inside you, your hips rising greedily to meet them.

And he feels it.

You’re soaking.

You didn’t know you could be this wet. But you are. You feel the slick heat coating his fingers, easing their path as he slowly presses deeper—just a little more, pausing again as your walls tighten reflexively.

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “Let your body open for me.”

You try. You let your lungs fill, and as you exhale, your body gives just enough. He sinks in a little farther, and your jaw drops, a soft moan slipping from you before you can stop it.

His fingers curve gently inside you, stroking the tender walls—not rough or fast, just steady, exploratory. You can feel the ridges of your inner muscles reacting to him, gripping him, trying to memorize the shape of him.

And god, the stretch.

It’s not overwhelming—but it feels. You feel everything. Every inch he moves, every subtle shift in angle, sends a cascade of sensation up your spine.

Your thighs tremble. Your stomach tightens. Your lips part around a breathless gasp as he curls his fingers ever so slightly—and that… that makes your entire body jolt.

A spike of pleasure blooms inside you—quick, sharp, then slowly unraveling. Your inner walls clench around him in response, and your wetness gushes, coating his hand.

You hear the soft sound of it—your arousal—and it makes your cheeks burn, but also… something else.

Need.

Raw, consuming need.

Because now that you’ve felt this, now that your body is giving way to him, you want more. Deeper. Harder. You want to be taken. Not carelessly—but like this. Like you matter. Like your pleasure is everything.

And he knows. Of course he knows.

“You’re gripping me so tightly,” he says, voice low and warm against your ear. “Your body wants this. It’s begging.”

His fingers slide out slowly, and you whimper at the loss—but then he pushes back in, deeper this time. Your walls stretch again, fluttering around him, and it’s almost too much.

Almost.

But not quite.

He begins to move in a rhythm now—slow thrusts, each one sending a new wave of sensation through your lower body. It’s not just your core that reacts. Your nipples tighten, your thighs quake, your mouth opens around soft, helpless moans that echo in the quiet room.

And you can feel the tension building.

It coils low in your belly, a warm, tight knot of pressure that grows with each stroke of his fingers, each brush of his knuckle, each shift in angle as he curls just right.

Your hips begin to rock into his hand without thought. You’re chasing it now. The pressure. The high.

And Sunghoon watches, his gaze dark, hungry, but still so unbearably gentle.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Let go. Let me feel you cum around my fingers.”

And you know he will keep going. Keep working your body until it shatters around him. Because this isn’t just sex. It’s worship. And you’re the altar.

Your hips have taken on a rhythm of their own now, rolling against his hand in small, desperate movements. You’re not thinking anymore. You can’t. The pressure coiling deep inside you is too tight, too fierce. It’s all-consuming, every nerve in your body trained on the place where his fingers slide in and out of you with reverent precision.

Sunghoon stays focused—never speeding up, never slowing, just holding you there on the edge, perfectly balanced between madness and release.

And then he curls his fingers again.

There.

You cry out—sharp and breathless—your back arching as that spot inside you explodes with pleasure, the wave hitting so hard it steals the air from your lungs.

“Oh—” The sound tears from your throat, ragged and raw.

Your walls clamp around him, fluttering wildly. You can feel the gush of wetness pouring out of you, soaking his fingers, your thighs, the sheets beneath. But there’s no room for embarrassment. There’s no room for anything.

Because the climax crashes over you in a rush of heat and light, white-hot and unrelenting.

Your hands clutch at the sheets. Your thighs close in around his wrist, trembling violently as the pleasure crests, then crests again, pulsing through you in waves that don’t stop. Your breath comes in sharp, broken gasps. Your heart hammers against your ribs, loud and frantic.

And through it all, he never stops.

His fingers keep moving, slow but firm, dragging every last drop of sensation from your shuddering body. You can feel yourself pulsing around him, squeezing, trying to milk the pleasure for all it’s worth. Your core clenches with each aftershock, your body not ready to let him go.

You’ve lost control. Completely.

Your lips part in a silent moan, your neck arched, your whole body stretched tight around the center of that pleasure like a string pulled to breaking.

And still… he doesn’t stop.

He watches your face, drinking in every twitch, every helpless sound you make. His free hand strokes your hair back from your damp forehead, his voice a low murmur, threading through the haze:

“That’s it, sweetheart… Look at how beautifully you fall apart for me. You were made for this. For me.”

The words only send another shiver through your spine. You didn’t think you could cum harder. But you do. Your body convulses, hips jerking uncontrollably as another wave seizes you. You gasp—sob, almost—your voice cracking from the intensity.

You don’t know how long it lasts.

All you know is the weightlessness. The loss of yourself. The way your mind blanks, drowned under the sheer power of your own pleasure. You can’t speak. Can’t think. You can only feel—and it feels like you’re being remade from the inside out.

When the wave finally begins to ease, you collapse into the mattress, boneless. As he withdraws his fingers, your body clenches around the absence. And from that perfect, trembling space between your thighs, a glistening string of arousal stretches—clinging to his fingertips, to your folds, like your body refuses to let him go.

The sight alone is obscene.

Delicate. Vivid. Sacred.

His gaze darkens. His cock throbs, twitching with need—restrained only by the years he’s mastered his own control. But this… this is different. No kingdom has ever made him feel like this. No blood. No war. No century.

Only you.

Your scent is rich now—intimate, warm, laced with the raw edge of climax. It clings to his fingers, to the air, to him. He lifts his hand, the one slick with your arousal, and parts his lips.

And then he tastes you.

Slowly.

His tongue glides along the length of his index finger, savoring the silken wetness, letting the flavor bloom on his tongue. Salty-sweet. Earthy. Utterly you.

His eyes flutter closed for just a moment.

It’s not just the taste—it’s the meaning of it. The fact that this wetness came from you, from the body he worshipped, from the pleasure he coaxed out of your untouched core. You gave him this. Not through pain or force, but through the softest surrender.

And now you’re lying there, boneless and glowing, your thighs still parted, your chest rising and falling like you’ve run miles through a dream.

He opens his eyes again and stares at you. There’s reverence in his gaze—but also something darker now. Hungrier. Deeper.

“I’ve tasted many things in my life,” he says, his voice low, tight with restraint. “But none have ever stayed with me.”

He slips the second finger into his mouth. Slower this time. Watching you.

“But you,” he murmurs around it, his eyes heavy with desire, “You linger. You ruin me.”

He swallows slowly, and for the first time tonight, his composure falters. He shifts—his body hard and aching, the press of his arousal unmistakable. He’s still holding back. But only barely.

Your pleasure has marked him.

Not just your arousal on his tongue, but your trust. Your body, so soft and willing beneath his. Your moans. Your trembling thighs. Your first orgasm given entirely to him.

And now—he wants more.

He wants to take you fully. To feel that wet, trembling heat stretch around the full length of him. To bury centuries of restraint between your thighs and lose himself in the warmth of your purity.

But not yet.

He leans over you, brushing his lips along your throat, and whispers:

“Do you feel what you’ve done to me?”

His hips press down—just enough for you to feel the weight of him against your entrance. Still clothed. Still restrained. But solid. Throbbing.

You’re still trembling, your body soft and spent, slick and open. But he doesn’t let you fall into the haze of afterglow. Not yet.

Not when he is trembling, too.

“I haven’t even claimed you yet,” he says, his breath hot against your skin, “and already… I belong to you.”

There’s something in the air. It feels changed. Charged. You feel it before he moves, like a storm building beneath the surface of his skin. He looks at you, and his expression is… ravenous. But not wild. No. This is the kind of hunger born from centuries of control finally cracking.

You’ve woken something inside him.

His hand slides back down between your thighs, gentle but insistent, spreading you once more. And you don’t resist. You can’t. Not when your body is still aching, your core still pulsing faintly, needy even in its sensitivity.

He settles between your legs again, lowering himself slowly, as if in reverence to something sacred.

And then you feel it.

His breath.

Warm and steady, ghosting over your already-wet folds. It makes you shiver. Your thighs twitch, instinctively trying to close, but he places a firm, commanding hand on your hip to keep you open.

You glance down, and his eyes are locked on your center like a starving man denied too long.

“I need to taste you again,” he says, voice like gravel softened by silk. “I haven’t felt this kind of hunger since the night I was turned.”

You open your mouth to speak, to say yes, to tell him to take what he wants—but the words catch in your throat.

Because he doesn’t wait.

His mouth descends, and this time… he doesn’t hold back.

The first stroke of his tongue is broad and slow, dragging from your entrance to your clit in a single, devastating pass. The contact steals your breath. Your hips lift off the bed, and a broken sound escapes you—half-moan, half-shock.

He groans against you. Deep. Like a man drinking ambrosia. Like he’s been dying for this.

And then he dives in again.

His tongue works you open with expert pressure—circling, flicking, then flattening again. He laps at your folds like a man possessed, the soft sounds of his mouth against your soaked heat sending heat racing up your spine.

You can feel the wet slide of his tongue parting you, dipping just inside your entrance, then dragging upward to swirl around your clit. Every motion is deliberate. No hesitation. No mercy.

Your legs start to shake.

You reach for something—anything—hands scrambling until they find his hair, soft and thick between your fingers. You clutch at it, not pulling him away, but closer.

“Sunghoon—” His name spills from your lips, cracked and desperate.

He hums in response, the vibration rippling through your entire pelvis. You cry out, your body jolting.

He doesn’t stop.

He devours you.

He alternates between slow, languid licks and short, fast flicks of his tongue directly over your clit—each one sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through your core. And just when you think you might fall apart again, he flattens his tongue and sucks gently, then harder.

Your whole body locks, and it is on fire.

Your vision goes white at the edges.

The tension that had only just begun to fade is rebuilding with terrifying speed, the coil snapping back into place, tighter and hotter. 

And through it all, he holds you open with one hand on your thigh, the other wrapped around your hip, anchoring you to the bed, to him.

You’re soaked, breathless, legs trembling around his head. His mouth is relentless—each swipe of his tongue building pressure deeper in your core, making your clit ache with hypersensitivity. You can feel it growing again—that hot, maddening tension—but it’s just out of reach. You’re teetering, clutching the edge with fingers made of smoke.

You need something.

And then you feel it.

His fingers.

They return without warning—slick and sure, sliding back into you with the same reverence as before, but now paired with the hunger of a man who wants to feel you cum hard.

He groans against your clit as your walls stretch to take him again, two fingers plunging into your heat with a wet, obscene sound that only makes your stomach clench tighter.

You cry out—sharp and loud—your hands fisting the sheets now. The stretch is deeper this time, the sensation more intense. Your inner muscles flutter around him, soaking his hand as he begins to move in rhythm.

He matches the thrust of his fingers with the rhythm of his tongue—sucking your clit into his mouth, then releasing, licking with rapid flicks before diving deep again.

It’s too much. It’s perfect.

Your body locks up, thighs squeezing around his head, your hips rolling up helplessly into every thrust. You feel your orgasm approaching fast now, sharp and violent, like a wave you can’t outrun.

And he knows.

He feels the way your cunt clenches down on his fingers, how your moans break apart, how your stomach tightens like you’re trying to hold it in.

He pulls his mouth away for just a second—just enough to murmur into your wetness:

“Don’t fight it. Let it take you.”

Then he curls his fingers just right—pressing into that perfect spot inside you with precision that no mortal lover could ever match.

And your world shatters.

Your orgasm slams into you without warning, without mercy. Your body bows off the bed, your mouth falling open in a silent scream before sound finally tears free—raw and high-pitched.

Your cunt pulses wildly around his fingers, sucking them in with every clench, gushing wetness in a flood of release that spills over his hand, your thighs, the bed.

You can’t stop shaking.

Your legs are convulsing, your chest heaving, your vision going dark at the edges. You’re sobbing now—not from pain, but from the intensity. You didn’t know your body could feel this much. Could give this much.

And through it all, Sunghoon stays between your legs, holding you through the storm. His fingers keep stroking you, drawing out every wave, prolonging it until you’re gasping for breath, trying to pull away—but your body won’t let go. It wants more. He gives you more.

Only when you collapse back against the sheets, utterly spent, does he finally withdraw his fingers—slowly, carefully, watching the way your soaked walls twitch at the loss.

Another string of your arousal follows his hand, glistening between his fingers. He looks at it like a man holding something holy.

Then he brings it to his mouth and sucks each digit clean—eyes fixed on you.

Your body is still twitching, trembling, flooded with the aftershocks of your second climax, but Sunghoon isn’t done.

Not even close.

He lifts his head for a moment, mouth wet with you, lips glistening, eyes burning with something wild and unrelenting. And then, slowly—deliberately—he slides his hand back between your thighs and spreads you open with two fingers.

The cool air hits your soaked, swollen folds, and you gasp. You can feel how wet you are—see it in his eyes as he gazes down at your cunt like it’s the most sacred thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

He spreads you further, opening you completely.

And he stares.

There’s awe in his face. Hunger, too. But deeper than that—devotion. Like your slick, twitching little hole is the center of his universe.

“Look at you…” He breathes, voice rough, reverent. “So wet, so perfect… your body still quivering from the pleasure I gave you, and yet you’re begging for more without a word.”

He leans closer. His breath skates over your exposed folds. Your thighs twitch.

And then—he dives back in.

But this time, he doesn’t just lick you. He enters you with his tongue.

You cry out—shocked by the depth, the invasion, the heat. His tongue pushes inside you, wet and thick, writhing as it seeks every inch of your soft, sensitive walls. It’s not a flick. It’s not gentle.

It’s devouring.

Your back arches as he fucks you with his mouth—tongue plunging in and out of your dripping hole, working you open again from the inside. The sounds are obscene—slick and wet, your arousal smeared across his lips, dripping from you onto his chin.

And just when the sensation starts to push you toward madness—he adds his fingers.

His free hand slides up, two fingers finding your clit with terrifying accuracy. He doesn’t start slow. He knows you’re ready. He circles it firmly, rhythmically, matching the thrust of his tongue with the press of his fingers.

The dual stimulation is too much.

You scream—sharp and breathless—your thighs trying to close around his head again, but his shoulders hold you wide open. Helpless. Exposed. Completely at his mercy.

Your cunt clenches around his tongue, your body dripping wet, your clit throbbing under his touch.

You can’t think.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t do anything but feel.

Every flick of his fingers sends electric pleasure shooting through your core. Every thrust of his tongue floods you with a deeper, wetter ache. Your hips move without you, chasing the rhythm, grinding against his face.

And he growls against you—low and deep, the vibration sending a shock straight through your clit.

You nearly cum again right there.

Your voice breaks into whimpers. Your hands clutch his hair, desperate for something to hold onto. Your body is unraveling, piece by piece, soaked and pulsing and begging for release.

And Sunghoon?

He’s in ecstasy.

Buried between your legs, his tongue deep inside your cunt, his fingers sliding slick and fast across your clit—he’s feasting like a man starved for centuries.

The sounds between your legs are soaked and obscene—his tongue plunging deep inside your cunt, his lips suctioned around you like he’s drinking your soul, his fingers working your clit with practiced urgency. He’s relentless. Unstoppable.

And you’re breaking.

The pleasure is no longer a slow build—it’s a current now. An unstoppable wave rising, rising, rising, and this time… it doesn’t crest gently.

It snaps.

It starts right there—right where his tongue is buried inside your dripping core. A sharp, crackling bolt of sensation that ignites your womb and then spreads, fast and wild.

Like electricity.

It surges outward, up your spine, down through your thighs, wrapping around your nerves like fire in your blood. Your toes curl. Your calves lock. Your back arches violently off the bed, your muscles seizing as the orgasm detonates through you.

You scream—raw and breathless—your voice splintering in the air.

Your cunt clamps down on his tongue, convulsing in rhythmic spasms, so tight it nearly traps him there. Your walls pulse with frantic contractions, milking him for something he can’t give—but he stays inside you, fucking you with his mouth as your body floods his lips with your release.

You gush.

Soaked and helpless, your climax pours out of you in waves, wet and hot, coating his mouth, his chin, your inner thighs. And he moans into you—moans, like the taste of your orgasm is a drug, and he needs every drop.

The sensation only intensifies—his fingers don’t stop, circling your clit with wet, rapid precision that sends aftershocks tearing through your already-oversensitive flesh. Your legs shake. Your stomach tightens. Your hands slap at the sheets, grasping for something solid in a world that’s crumbled beneath the weight of your pleasure.

You can’t speak.

You can’t think.

You are nothing but pleasure now. A body undone. A girl trembling at the hands—and tongue—of a creature who was made to worship you.

And he takes everything.

He holds you open as your orgasm ravages you. He lets you ride it, scream through it, sob against the air as your body pulses again and again, your clit aching, your core soaked and twitching, until finally—finally—the wave begins to pull back.

And even then… he doesn’t stop.

He slows. Softens. Gently licks the mess from your folds, savoring every drip, every shiver of your exhausted body. He kisses your inner thighs, your mound, your belly. Worships you in the aftermath of your own destruction.

You’re panting. Trembling. Every nerve still echoing with the ghost of your climax.

He moves up, hovering above you, his lips swollen, his face slick with your arousal, his eyes dark with awe.

“You broke so beautifully for me,” he whispers, voice rough, reverent. “And you’ll do it again.”

Your chest rises and falls with the weight of three climaxes, each more devastating than the last. Your thighs are limp, your skin flushed and damp, your core still twitching with little aftershocks that ripple through you like echoes.

And still… Sunghoon doesn’t move to take what you’ve offered him.

He lifts his head from between your legs, lips glistening with your essence, and just looks at you—gaze heavy with something older than time, something more primal than lust.

And then… he leans in again.

But not to your core. Not yet.

His mouth finds your belly, just beneath your navel. He kisses you there softly, lips slow and deliberate, as though the skin there matters more than anything else in the world.

He presses another kiss—lower, deeper. Right over the space where your womb rests.

His hands stroke your sides as he kisses you there again. Slower. More lingering this time.

“You carry your pleasure here,” he whispers, voice like dark velvet, warm against your skin. “It blooms behind this soft flesh. I can feel it… It calls to me.”

Another kiss. Then another. His mouth moves in lazy, worshipful patterns across your lower abdomen, marking the center of you—the place from which your desire poured, the space that will soon take all of him.

Your breath hitches.

The attention there—over your womb—feels different. Intimate in a way that sex alone never could be. It makes something flutter in your chest. Something deep. Something tender.

But then he shifts again.

His mouth trails down your hips, then slowly, sensually to the insides of your thighs—those trembling, well-used muscles that still bear the proof of how thoroughly he’s taken you apart.

He kisses just above your knee, where the skin is soft and delicate. Then higher.

And higher.

His hands stroke along your thighs as his mouth works its way upward, pausing to press his lips into the sensitive junction where thigh meets hip. He lingers there, lips and tongue working slow circles, as though tasting the memory of your climax from your very skin.

You twitch.

Your legs part a little wider—reflex, invitation, surrender.

He smiles into your skin.

“Even after everything I’ve given you… Your body still calls for more.”

It’s true.

Though you’re weak, breathless, flooded with warmth, there’s still a glow beneath your skin—a need that never truly dulled. The ache is deeper now, quieter, but it’s there. Nestled low in your belly, where he kissed. Where he’ll soon be.

And he knows.

Which is why he kisses the inside of your other thigh, just as slowly. Just as soft. His fangs brush the skin, not biting, just grazing. A reminder. A promise.

Your body shivers in response.

And you realize: this is still foreplay to him.

Not because he wants to draw it out… but because you deserve to be unraveled, adored, prepared like a temple before he dares to step inside.

His breath fans against your soaked folds, warm and intimate, and then you hear it—his voice, low and rough, nearly a growl veiled in silk.

“But you need rest, my love…”

You inhale sharply.

“…because once I start…”

His lips brush your entrance, and your hips jump.

“…I might not be able to stop.”

The words land on your flesh like a touch—hot, possessive, deep.

And your body responds.

A pulse starts low in your belly, tight and hot. Your core clenches—clenches—around nothing, a fluttering, instinctive reaction to the promise in his voice. Your clit throbs, still tender from the climax he stole from you moments ago, but already aching again.

You’re wet. Wetter. Soaking in response to just a handful of whispered words.

Because it’s not just what he says—it’s how he says it.

The reverence.

The restraint.

And beneath it, the quiet, throbbing threat that once he takes you—once he lets go of the centuries of control holding him back—there’ll be no turning back.

You moan. Soft. Breathless.

Your thighs fall open farther on instinct, exposing your spent, glistening cunt to his mouth, as if your body is answering for you: I don’t want you to stop.

But still, he doesn’t move.

He simply hovers there, letting the heat of his breath kiss your folds, letting his words sink into your core like silk-wrapped daggers.

And you feel it—your womb fluttering with anticipation, your slick walls spasming lightly, the ache between your thighs transforming from soreness to craving.

You should be spent.

But you’re not.

You’re awakening again—set aflame by nothing more than the promise of what he’s holding back.

And he knows it.

He smiles softly, eyes hooded with desire.

“You see?” he whispers, his lips grazing your swollen clit. “Even exhausted, your body begs to be claimed.”

When he rises over you, you’re still gasping in the afterglow of that last orgasm—every breath shallow, your chest rising and falling in soft tremors. Your skin is flushed, damp, and hypersensitive. Even the sheets brushing your thighs feel like fire.

And then he kisses you.

Really kisses you.

It’s not a gentle press of lips this time—it’s hot and wet, all tongue and teeth and heat. He takes your mouth like he owns it. Like he’s been starving for the taste of your moans. His tongue parts your lips, sliding deep with confidence, exploring you with a hunger that makes your toes curl.

You let him. You want him to. That’s the truth you’ve been holding inside this whole time.

You don’t just want to be touched.

You don’t just want to be loved.

You want to be used.

And he knows it.

Your mouth opens wider under his, letting him in, letting him take. His tongue tangles with yours, slow but deliberate, tasting you, marking you. His lips are plush and firm, but then you feel something sharper—fangs, grazing your bottom lip, teasing without piercing. A soft whimper escapes you.

The kiss alone sends a jolt straight down your spine, right to your already aching core. It clenches instinctively—empty, fluttering, wanting. Your thighs twitch. Your nipples harden again, oversensitive but alive. Even the softest brush of his fingers along your waist makes your muscles seize and flutter beneath the surface.

You can’t keep still.

Your body writhes beneath him—subtle shifts of your hips, your thighs spreading wider, your hands clutching the sheets and then relaxing, only to tense again. You’re trembling in waves now. His kiss is too much. But it’s also not enough.

Everything feels tripled.

Your mouth feels like it’s burning. Your lips are swollen from the pressure of his. Your tongue aches to follow his own. And when he growls low into your mouth—low and possessive—it vibrates through your whole skull, down your throat, right into your chest like a shockwave.

You moan into his mouth, and your hips roll upward without thought, trying to find friction against the press of him above you. There’s nothing there yet—not his cock, not even his hand—but your body wants it. Your cunt clenches around the emptiness, slick and pulsing with new need.

You feel tears at the corners of your eyes—not from pain, not even from pleasure—but from how much you want. From how deeply the need runs now.

You’re unraveling all over again, just from the pressure of his mouth on yours.

He pulls back slightly, and your lips chase his—needy, shameless. You’re panting now, open and wet and trembling beneath him.

He smirks, lips shiny with your spit. His voice is ragged when he speaks.

“You’re shaking again,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your jaw. “And I haven’t even touched your cunt this time.”

You whimper at the word. The way he says it—low, vulgar, reverent—makes your walls flutter again.

“I think you like being ruined,” he says. “You want to be used, don’t you, little one?”

His voice is low, taunting—but soaked in reverence. Every syllable curls around your skin like smoke, warm and thick and inescapable.

You nod.

It’s the only thing you can do. Your body won’t let you speak. Your lips are parted, swollen from his kiss. Your chest is rising in sharp, shallow gasps. Your heart pounds like it’s trying to escape your ribs.

And then the word spills out of you—yes—fragile, broken, desperate.

You feel it tremble out of your throat.

His expression shifts instantly. The tension he’s held back for what feels like hours—the centuries of restraint braided into his every breath—begins to unravel.

His lips curve into a smile, but it’s not soft this time.

It’s sharp. Dangerous.

A glimpse of his true nature blooms behind that smile—his long, perfect fangs gleaming faintly in the low light. It should make you flinch. It doesn’t. It makes your thighs twitch.

Then he leans in—so close his lips nearly brush your ear—and he promises it:

“Oh, my love…”

A kiss to your jaw, wet and slow.

“I’m going to break you.”

The words don’t just make your breath stutter—they reach inside you and pull. Your core clenches hard, slick and aching. Your back arches. Your nipples tighten painfully, every nerve lit up in response.

You feel everything.

The ache. The hunger. The pulse between your thighs, louder than your heartbeat. You’re still trembling, still soaked, still wrecked from the orgasms he’s already given you… But now, your body craves destruction.

Not violence. Not carelessness.

Ruin.

The kind that’s slow. Deep. Intentional. The kind only he can give.

And he knows it.

He gazes down at you like a god at his offering—his lips parted, his fangs glinting, his body ready. His hips press forward, not fully, but enough that you feel the weight of him now—heavy, hot, restrained no longer.

And you… You don’t flinch.

You open your legs wider. You tilt your hips upward. You offer yourself with a breathless gasp and eyes half-lidded in submission.

Because this is what you’ve wanted all along.

To be undone. To be remade.

To be ruined by him.

You can still feel the echo of your last orgasm humming in your thighs, soft tremors that haven’t quite let go. Your body is stretched open, slick and sensitive, every nerve along your skin tuned to the soft drag of the sheets, to the warm air kissing your swollen core.

And then he descends again.

You gasp.

You’d thought he might press forward—finally, finally fill the emptiness inside you—but instead, his hands return to your thighs, gently parting them again, spreading you wide like you’re something delicate… delicate, but his.

Then his mouth lowers.

And he begins to kiss you there.

Not just a lick. Not a flick. Not teasing.

Wet kisses. Messy. Open-mouthed. Devotional.

He kisses your cunt like it’s your lips—no, deeper than that—like it’s the center of your being. The place he’s been waiting to worship for centuries.

You can hear the sounds—his tongue dragging over your folds, the faint, obscene smack of his lips pressing into your slick entrance. He groans into you as he kisses low, then higher, then right at your clit—just a soft, swollen brush, and your body jerks.

He doesn’t pause.

He kisses you again.

Another open-mouthed press right against your folds, and this time, he lingers. His tongue flattens against your entrance, then slides up slowly—slow, wet, deliberate—before pulling back and pressing another kiss lower, right at the spot where his tongue had been buried moments ago.

Your thighs tremble.

You feel your cunt clench helplessly, empty, aching, fluttering at the lips just from the kiss.

And it feels like a kiss—not licking, not oral technique—but intimacy. Pressure and mouth and breath. He’s making out with your pussy, and it’s not just pleasure—it’s too deep for that. It’s possession.

You moan, broken and quiet, your hips rocking into his face, but he doesn’t speed up.

He’s patient.

Each kiss is a statement.

Each press of his lips says mine.

He groans softly against you, and the vibration sparks a fresh jolt through your core. You can feel your arousal thickening again—smeared across your thighs, dripping down your folds, warm and endless.

And still, he keeps kissing you.

His tongue pushes between your lips, dipping just inside your fluttering entrance before pulling out to swirl around your clit, then lower again. You’re not sure how long he stays there, mouth locked to your cunt, lips wet and moving, tongue sliding and tasting and worshipping—but it’s long enough that you lose the ability to think.

You melt.

You float.

Your body is trembling again, that same raw, desperate sensitivity tightening back into something dangerous. Another orgasm? No—something else. Deeper. Slower. A fullness that hasn’t even happened yet, and still your body prepares for it.

He moans softly into you.

You hear him whisper something, but it’s muffled by the slick sounds of his tongue against your cunt. You feel the hot puff of his breath against your swollen lips, and it sends another twitch through your thighs.

And all the while, your mind whispers: He’s making love to me with his mouth. Not for show. Not for dominance. Because he wants to. Because he needs to.

Because this is part of the ruin—breaking me not just with force, but with unbearable devotion.

His mouth is still locked to your cunt, lips slick with your arousal, his tongue moving in slow, reverent circles like it’s his only language. He licks and kisses and breathes into you like your body alone is keeping him alive.

You’re whimpering again, legs trembling, your back arching off the bed in small, uncontrolled pulses. Every time he presses his lips to your entrance—slow, wet, aching kisses—you feel the tension building again, the need winding tighter in your belly.

And then he pauses—just barely, lips still ghosting your folds—and speaks.

His voice is low and shaking now, rough with want, thick with centuries of hunger he’s barely kept chained.

“Will you let me take everything from you, my love?”

He kisses your clit, tender and slow.

“Will you let me satiate my hunger with your body?”

The words hit like lightning.

You cry out—your voice sharp, a moan twisted with desperation. Your thighs clamp around his head, hips rolling upward into his mouth, your hands fisting the sheets as your answer tears from your throat:

“Yes!”

It’s not polite. Not soft. Not whispered.

It’s screamed, breathless, raw and aching, your entire body echoing the word. Every pulse of your core, every twitch of your oversensitive clit, every wet contraction of your cunt—all of it screams yes.

Yes, take me. Yes, ruin me. Yes, I’m yours.

He moans—moans into your cunt—and the vibration sends another shudder rolling through you. His tongue dives back between your folds, kissing you deeper, hungrier, like your answer finally unshackled him.

He devours you now, tongue pushing deep into your entrance, his nose brushing your clit with every movement. His kisses become wetter, messier, more desperate. You can feel his mouth sealing over your core, as if he’s trying to drink the sounds from your throat, the tremors from your thighs, the heat from your womb.

And you give it to him.

Your body rolls, rocks, offers. You sob his name like a prayer. You beg without words, every breath a plea for more.

And he gives you everything.

Because that yes wasn’t just permission—it was submission.

And he’s waited centuries to be given someone like you.

You’re gasping, soaked, trembling, your legs still parted wantonly as he finally pulls back from the mess he’s made between your thighs. His mouth, chin, and cheeks are slick with you—glossed in the raw, intimate proof of your pleasure. Your arousal shines on him like a mark of devotion.

He rises slowly, crawling up your body with the grace of a predator… and the gaze of a lover.

Your skin burns beneath him—everywhere he kissed, everywhere he touched. You feel open, split wide by sensation, and yet not taken. Not fully. Not in the way your body now aches for.

And then he leans down—not between your legs, but higher.

To your face.

You expect heat again. Fire. Teeth. Tongue.

But instead…

He kisses your lips.

Soft. Slow. Chaste.

His mouth brushes yours with the barest pressure, a whisper of contact. No urgency. No devouring.

Just him.

His lips are warm and slightly sticky from where he tasted you, but the kiss is gentle, reverent. Like he’s sealing something sacred.

And it wrecks you.

Your heart stutters in your chest. Your face flushes hot. After all he’s done to your body—spreading you, tasting you, worshipping and wrecking you—this is what makes you blush.

This innocent kiss.

Because it’s not about possession.

It’s about love.

His fingers cradle your jaw as his lips hover for a heartbeat longer, and you feel tears sting the corners of your eyes—not from pain, or even overwhelming pleasure—but from how deeply you are seen.

Owned. Yes. Used. Yes. But also… cherished.

You gasp quietly into his mouth, and he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.

His eyes are soft now. Still dark. Still dangerous. But softened around the edges, like velvet stretched over steel.

“You are everything,” he whispers. “And soon you’ll also belong to me.”

And you nod again, this time without shame. Without fear.

Blushing. Trembling. Ready.

You watch him rise over you, the heat of his body sinking into yours even before he touches you. His eyes roam slowly down your form—your parted legs, your glistening thighs, your flushed chest—and then they lift again, meeting your gaze.

Silent.

Heavy.

And then he begins to undress.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t tease. He simply removes—button by button, layer by layer—and with every inch of pale skin revealed, the warmth in your face spreads like wildfire.

You’ve felt his mouth between your legs. You’ve screamed for him. You’ve begged him to take everything from you.

And yet, watching him bare himself—watching centuries of composed elegance stripped away before your eyes—it undoes you in an entirely new way.

His shirt falls from his shoulders, revealing sculpted muscle beneath porcelain skin, lean and powerful, lined with strength earned across lifetimes. His pants come next, slow and fluid, and then—he stands before you, naked.

And beautiful.

God, he’s beautiful.

The lines of his body are impossibly perfect—his chest broad, his waist narrow, his thighs strong and commanding. And his cock…

Your breath catches.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy. Already hard, flushed at the tip, arousal pulsing down the length. And all you can think is—that’s going inside me.

Your face erupts in heat.

You cover it with both hands, a helpless squeak catching in your throat, your thighs pressing together on instinct. Your body still aches to be filled, still throbs between your legs—but your embarrassment blooms too fast, too real to hide.

And for a moment… It’s quiet.

You hear nothing but your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then you hear him chuckle.

Soft. Warm. Disbelieving.

You peek between your fingers, and he’s staring down at you with his head tilted slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

And his voice—his voice is full of something deep:

“How,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “can you be so adorable?”

There’s wonder in his tone. Not mockery. Not pride. Awe.

As if, after everything he’s done to your body—after hearing you moan and beg and scream his name—he’s still stunned by the softness in you. The blush. The shyness. The contrast of your purity, even now, when you’ve given him everything.

He kneels back between your legs, his hands finding your wrists.

Slowly, gently, he pulls your hands from your face and leans in close, brushing his lips against your temple.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he whispers. “You’ve never been more beautiful than you are right now.”

And you believe him.

Even as the blush lingers, even as your chest flutters wildly, you believe him. Because the way he looks at you isn’t just hungry anymore, it’s devoted.

He doesn’t move right away.

He takes you in with one last look—your flushed skin, your parted lips, the way your legs fall open for him like a flower blooming under moonlight. Your cunt is glistening, folds swollen, the evidence of your pleasure coating your thighs, your heat radiating up into his hands.

He exhales softly, then shifts—settling between your legs with the same care one would show a sacred relic. And then you feel it.

The press of his cock.

Heavy. Hot. Smooth against your slick folds.

Your breath stutters.

He doesn’t push in yet—no. He slides it up first. Slowly. His shaft drags through your wetness, collecting it, slicking himself in the mess of your arousal.

And your body responds.

The thick ridge of him glides along your entrance, up through your folds, and then—there. His tip bumps against your clit.

You gasp.

Your legs twitch.

The contact is light, but after everything he’s done to you, it sends a jolt straight through your belly. Your clit pulses, oversensitive and needy, and you shivers beneath him.

He does it again.

Another long, slow stroke of his cock through your folds, bumping your clit at the top, then sliding back down to your soaked entrance.

You moan this time—a soft, broken sound—and he groans above you, the sound low and guttural.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your cunt as his length glides through you again. “Your body wants me so badly.”

You can’t speak. Your breath is caught, hands gripping the sheets, hips lifting slightly to meet the next stroke.

And then he stops.

The head of his cock nestles at your entrance.

Right there. Poised. Waiting.

He leans over you, bracing himself with one hand beside your head, the other guiding his cock to your core.

His forehead brushes against yours.

“This is it,” he whispers. “I’m going to feel you for the first time. Every inch.”

You nods. Your eyes shimmer. Your legs open wider.

You're ready.

And then—he pushes.

The tip breaches you.

And your world changes.

It’s not fast. It’s not brutal. It’s deep. Stretching. You can feel every ridge, every vein, every impossible inch of him pressing into you, and your body, tight and untouched, yields around him.

Your breath catches in your throat.

It’s not pain. It’s fullness.

Unbearable fullness.

He groans again—sharp this time, as your slick heat wraps around his cock like a vice, tight and hot and pulsing with life.

“God,” he breathes. “You feel… incredible.”

You clutch at his shoulders, your eyes fluttering closed, your mouth open in a soft, helpless moan.

It feels like he’s opening you from the inside.

Stretching you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

Your walls flutter around him, trying to adjust, your body trembling as he sinks deeper—inch by inch—holding your eyes, holding your hips, murmuring soft, steady praise as your virgin cunt welcomes him inside.

Emotion swells behind the pleasure.

He’s inside you.

Truly inside.

Your first and only.

And he’s not just taking your body—he’s claiming the hidden, aching part of you that always longed to be known. To be seen. To be used and loved in the same breath.

Tears prick your eyes—not from pain, but from the depth of it all.

You feel filled. Not just physically, but emotionally. Spiritually. Like something inside you has finally been answered.

And then… he bottoms out.

Fully sheathed.

Pressed to the hilt.

His hips nestle against your ass, his chest against yours, his cock deep in the clutch of your heat.

They both freeze for a moment.

Breathless. Wide-eyed.

“I’m inside you,” he whispers, voice thick with awe, his breath shaking against your lips. “Finally.”

You feel it—all of him, every inch of him stretching your virgin walls, pressing into places that make your toes curl, your stomach flip, your chest ache with the weight of something too big to name. He’s deep. So deep. You feel the throb of him inside you like a heartbeat not your own.

And yet—

It’s not enough.

Your body is on fire. Every inch of your skin is vibrating with overstimulation, your cunt fluttering around his cock, struggling to adjust to the girth, the length, the impossible fullness—but beneath the stretch, beneath the overwhelming tightness…

There’s hunger.

The kind that makes your mouth open on instinct. The kind that comes from the marrow of your bones. The kind that demands.

“Hoonie…”

Your voice is breathless, trembling.

He looks down at you instantly, his eyes wide, his mouth parted, sweat clinging to his temples. He thinks you’re overwhelmed. He thinks you need gentleness.

He doesn’t know that what you need is more.

You reach up, grab his face in both hands. Your fingers shake, but your grip is firm. You hold his jaw—force his gaze to see you.

And then you speak.

Not meek. Not blushing.

“I want you to fuck me.”

His breath catches.

“I want you to use me.”

His pupils dilate.

“I want you to ruin me, Hoonie. Break me. Breed me. Fuck me like you’re in heat—like your life depends on it.”

He goes still.

Frozen.

Your nails dig into his cheeks, your legs wrapping around his waist, locking him inside you. You arch your hips up, grinding your soaked cunt around his cock, still stretched, still adjusting—but your mind doesn’t care. Your body doesn’t care.

You’re already wet. You’re already split wide. You’re already his.

Now you want to be wrecked.

“Please,” you whisper. “Take me. Don’t hold back. I want to be fucked like you’re losing your mind.”

And that’s when you see it.

The snap.

The worship flickers. The restraint uncoils. And something else fills his eyes now.

Possession.

Raw. Unfiltered. Ferocious.

He growls—growls, low and deep in his chest—and then his hands are gripping your thighs, spreading you wider, locking your hips to the bed.

“Oh, fuck, my love…”

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing hard through his nose, trying to hold the last thread of control.

But you feel it trembling.

“You want to be fucked like you’re mine?” he breathes, his voice a rasp of barely-contained need. “You want to be bred like a filthy little thing in heat?”

You moan—yes, yes, that’s exactly what you want—and your hips try to rise again, but he slams them back down.

“Then don’t take it back,” he warns, his voice low, feral. “Because once I start… I will not stop until I’ve emptied every last drop inside you.”

And then he pulls back.

His cock slides out slowly, dragging against your soaked, stretched walls, and you feel every inch leaving you. You gasp, your core clenching, already aching from the loss.

Then—he slams back in.

The first thrust knocks the air from your lungs.

Not because it hurts—but because it’s too much.

Too deep.

Too fast.

Sunghoon doesn’t ease into it. Doesn’t hold back. The second you gave him permission—begged for it—he became something else entirely. Something darker. Something real.

And your scream echoes through the room, your nails raking down his back as he begins to fuck you exactly how you asked—like an animal, like a beast in heat, like a man finally giving into the hunger you unleashed in him.

He’s still Sunghoon. Still your lover. But now he’s a creature of need, and you are the only thing that can satisfy it.

His hips slam into yours again, and your entire body bounces beneath the force of it. The impact sends another pulse of heat through your core, your cunt clenching desperately around him, still trying to adjust to the girth of his cock, still fluttering from the stretch of your virgin walls.

But he doesn’t slow.

He thrusts again.

And again.

The rhythm builds, brutal and fast, and your body is struggling to keep up. You feel it—your slick squelching around his length, dripping from where he’s pounding into you, your clit catching friction with every push of his hips, overstimulated and screaming in silence.

Your mouth falls open.

But nothing comes out.

You want to cry his name, but it’s like your brain can’t form the shape of it. All you can feel is the stretch. The impact. The hot ache of his cock splitting you open and owning you.

Your walls try to grip him with every thrust, but he’s too big, too fast, and the fullness becomes unbearable. Your core is clenching—a desperate, fluttering attempt to take him deeper, to hold him in place, but he just keeps fucking into you, your cunt squeezing and sucking and dripping as your body tries to survive the assault it begged for.

You’re burning.

Sweating.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes—not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelm.

Your legs twitch around his hips, your hands scrabbling at his back, your head tilting to the side as you gasp brokenly—

“Sunghoon—ah—too much—”

He growls, fucking into you even harder, his hands pinning your wrists to the bed as he leans in and whispers:

“You said you wanted to be used. You said you wanted to be broken.”

And gods help you—your cunt tightens at those words.

Because it’s true.

You wanted this. You need this. And now your body is being reformed around him. Every thrust reshapes you. Every wet slap of skin against skin writes a new truth into your womb: you are his now.

Your nipples are painfully hard, your clit swollen and throbbing, your voice reduced to mewling little moans that barely make it past your throat.

You’re losing control.

Losing yourself.

And deep down, beneath the shock and overstimulation and unbearable fullness…

You love it.

Because this is what you asked for. Not to be loved sweetly. Not to be kissed like a flower. But to be fucked—like prey caught beneath something ancient and starved.

And Sunghoon?

He’s just getting started.

You don’t even realize what he’s doing at first. One moment you’re pinned to the bed, your body jolting with every brutal thrust, your vision swimming, mouth open around moans that don’t even sound human anymore—

And then his grip tightens.

Rough hands grip your hips—no longer soft, no longer careful—and he pulls. Your lower back lifts off the bed, and your ass rises with it, dragging your slick body higher into his lap.

You cry out—loud, raw, uncontrolled—as your legs fall wider, your spine arching as he holds you there, suspended in the air.

And then he thrusts.

Deeper.

The change is instant.

His cock drives into you at a new angle, hitting a place so deep, so unforgiving, that your whole body seizes. Your head jerks back into the pillow. Your thighs shake violently around his waist. Your cunt clamps down around him like it’s trying to keep him in that spot.

You scream.

You can’t help it.

It’s not pain—it’s too full, too much, the angle making every thrust feel like he’s punching the air out of your lungs. His cock grinds against your womb now, thick and unrelenting, and your body reacts like it’s been bred for this.

Your hips are no longer yours. They’re his, suspended in the air, pulled into every brutal, rutting thrust.

He’s fucking up into you now, hard and fast, his cock slamming into your cunt with wet, obscene sounds that echo louder than your moans. Your slick is smeared across his thighs, dripping down his balls, everywhere.

Your body is twitching uncontrollably—your stomach tightening, your nipples stiff, your cunt gushing.

And your mind?

It’s shattering.

You’re not thinking anymore.

Your thoughts have been reduced to three desperate truths:

He’s inside me. He won’t stop. I need this.

You can’t form words. You can barely see. Your hands claw at the sheets, at his arms, at nothing. Your mouth opens around a choked cry—his name, maybe, or just a noise that lives where language fails.

The stretch is unbearable. The depth is devastating.

And still he fucks you—grunting, panting, growling into the air like a beast finally allowed to rut. His hands grip your hips so tightly you’ll have bruises. You want them. You want the proof.

He leans over you, your legs still high, still folded open, his cock buried deep in your cunt as he thrusts again, again, again, and it feels like he’s not just inside you.

It feels like he’s inside your soul.

You feel broken.

Beautifully, brutally broken.

And there’s only one thought left in your mind now, floating through the haze:

‘He’s going to break me open and fill me.’

And gods… You want him to.

He’s still fucking you like he’s in heat. Like there’s no one else in the world but your soaked, trembling body clinging around his cock. His grip on your hips is bruising, your thighs suspended in the air, your back arched off the bed—his thrusts punching into you with brutal precision, again and again, deeper than your body should be able to take.

Your cunt is soaked, stretched, pulsing, overflowing—but somehow it still wants more.

And then he throws his head back.

It’s sudden. A snap of the spine. His chest expands, his cock buried to the hilt inside your womb, and for a moment, everything freezes—except him.

His mouth opens.

His fangs drop.

And he moans.

Not a groan. Not a growl.

A moan—thick, hoarse, pornographic. It’s so raw, so deeply broken, it sounds like his soul is being pulled from his body through your cunt.

It fills the room like thunder.

And that’s it.

That sound—that is what takes you under.

Your orgasm detonates with no warning. It doesn’t build. It erupts.

Your entire body locks—arms stiff, legs trembling, back arched like a bow. Your mouth opens around a silent scream, and your cunt clamps down on his cock so violently it’s like your body’s trying to milk the pleasure straight out of him.

Your vision goes white.

Your ears ring.

Your stomach clenches. Your thighs shake. Your hands claw at the sheets as wave after wave of brutal, blinding pleasure floods you—sharp, hot pulses radiating from your core, all the way to your fingertips.

It’s your fourth. Or maybe your fifth. You don’t even know anymore.

You just know that this one breaks you.

You sob.

A ragged, breathless, desperate sob—half pleasure, half surrender—as your cunt gushes around him, slick pouring out of you, soaking everything. You can hear it—wet, obscene, like a flood of need pouring down his cock and onto the sheets.

And he feels it.

His head snaps forward. His fangs glint. His eyes are wild.

He growls—deep and low, like your orgasm is a trigger inside him, too—and he thrusts harder, chasing his own edge now, fucking you through your orgasm, into the madness beyond it.

And your body?

It’s done.

You’re twitching. Gasping. A tear slips from the corner of your eye as your cunt continues to pulse helplessly around him, every nerve lit up, every breath a struggle.

But inside all that—inside the shattered pieces of you—there’s one glowing truth:

You wanted to be broken.

And he is. Beautifully and completely.

You’re still coming. Still twitching, still clenching, your cunt fluttering in frantic, helpless pulses around his cock. Your back is arched, your throat raw from your cries, your mind barely holding on—

And then he strikes.

His head snaps down, and his mouth crashes against your chest—your right breast, lips closing around the soft swell of flesh just above your nipple.

And then—the bite.

Fangs pierce your skin with a sharp, sudden pressure that steals your breath.

You gasp—a choked, high-pitched sob that turns into a moan as your nerves catch fire. The pain is brief, bright, but it melts into something hotter, something deeper.

Because the moment his fangs sink in—he feeds.

You feel it. The suction. The pull.

Not just blood—you.

He’s taking something from you with every pulse of his mouth. Not just your body, not just your cunt, but your essence. Your life.

And you give it.

Your hand flies to the back of his head, fingers sinking into his hair, holding him there, pulling him tighter against your chest as he drinks. You need it. You need him to feed from you like this—desperate and starved and yours.

And gods, your body responds.

You clench again around his cock—harder this time, tighter, impossibly so. Your walls grip him like a fist, like your body is trying to milk him in rhythm with his feeding.

And he moans.

Mouth full of you, blood slicking his lips, his cock buried inside your gushing cunt—he moans into your chest, and the vibration rolls straight through your ribcage like a second heartbeat.

It’s too much.

It’s everything.

Your thoughts stutter, scatter, and dissolve into primal, burning instinct.

All you can feel is:

He’s drinking me. He’s inside me. He’s mine. I’m his.

There’s something dizzying in it—the pull of blood, the rush of endorphins, the painful pleasure blooming behind your nipple. Your skin is buzzing, hypersensitive, your clit still throbbing, your cunt still soaked and stretched wide around his cock.

Your body starts to float.

A high beyond orgasms. Beyond touch.

You’re not even sure if you’re crying or laughing or moaning anymore.

It’s all too much.

And still, you hold him to your breast, cradling him like a lover, like a monster, like a god, your legs wrapped around his waist, your body arched to give him everything.

Because you want it.

You want to be emptied.

Ruined.

Fed from.

And in this moment, you don’t care if it kills you. Because you’ve never felt more alive.

His mouth is sealed to your breast, his fangs sunk deep into your tender flesh, the pull of his feeding strong, rhythmic, relentless. Each draw from your veins is slow, greedy, intimate. You feel it—your blood flowing into him, your warmth feeding his cold hunger.

And it turns you on.

More than it should.

Your head tips back, lips parted in a soundless cry. Your hand stays tangled in his hair, clutching him to you as if you’re afraid he’ll stop. As if your body needs to be emptied by him, drop by drop.

And then—

His other hand moves.

It slides between your bodies, down your trembling stomach, over your slick mound.

You barely register the movement—until his fingers find your clit.

And press.

You scream.

There’s no other word for it.

His touch is firm, deliberate, circling your swollen clit with practiced ease, and your body jerks, helpless and oversensitive, the shock of pleasure blending with the strange, blissful drain of his feeding.

You don’t know where the sensations begin or end anymore.

Your nipple is hard against his cheek. Your cunt is still stretched wide around his cock. Your clit is throbbing under his fingers. Your blood is flowing into his mouth.

And you’re losing yourself.

Your thighs try to close. Your hips jerk up. Your cunt clenches around him, milking his cock with desperate, fluttering pulses, your slick soaking the sheets beneath you.

And he moans into your chest.

The sound is low and vibrating, and it echoes through your breast, down your spine, into your womb.

His mouth sucks harder.

His fingers move faster.

And your body gives in.

Your back arches.

Your toes curl.

Your entire body tightens like a wire about to snap—

And you shatter.

Your orgasm hits like a storm.

You cry out—raw and wrecked, tears spilling down your cheeks as your body convulses under him. Your cunt pulses violently around his cock, tighter than ever, soaking him in another flood of release. Your clit throbs against his fingers, your breast aches beneath his mouth, and your chest heaves with every broken sob of pleasure.

You’re gushing. Trembling. Clawing at him like you’ll fall apart if he ever stops.

And he doesn’t.

He feeds.

He rubs.

He fucks you through it—still buried inside you, still drinking from you, still pulling every last drop of pleasure from your ruined, sensitive, offered body.

It feels endless.

It is endless.

And when it finally begins to fade—when your limbs go slack, your eyes heavy, your lips parted in soft, stunned whimpers—he finally slows.

His mouth lifts from your chest.

His tongue licks the wound—soft, reverent—closing it with a kiss, sealing the mark that will never fade.

And he looks down at you.

Blood on his lips.

Eyes blown wide with something beyond hunger.

And he says, voice rough, hoarse, ruined:

“Now you’re mine.”

You’re so gone, you only notice him slipping out of you when your cunt twitches at the loss, empty and aching, still fluttering in the aftermath of your orgasm. Your limbs are heavy, useless, your chest rising and falling with ragged, open-mouthed breaths. You feel like liquid—spread across the bed, broken in the most beautiful way.

But he’s not finished.

You hear the shift of the mattress. Feel his hands curl around your waist—tight, intentional.

And then—he moves you.

In one smooth, effortless pull, he flips you onto your stomach, your cheek pressed against the sweat-dampened pillow, your mouth parting with a soft, surprised gasp. You try to lift yourself, but your arms buckle, too weak.

And he doesn’t let you recover.

He grabs your hips and raises you.

Your ass lifts high, your knees pressed into the sheets, your thighs spread open by the positioning of his hands. You’re bent perfectly—spine arched, ass exposed, your soaked, swollen pussy on full display, still dripping with the mess of your last climax.

You can feel how open you are. How wrecked. How used.

And yet—your body reacts.

Your cunt clenches at the exposure, the cool air hitting your wet skin, the knowledge that he’s behind you now, staring. Silent. Waiting.

He hasn’t touched you.

Not yet.

But you feel his eyes—burning into you.

Sunghoon kneels behind you, his cock thick and slick, heavy in his hand, still glistening with your juices and desperate for release. But he doesn’t thrust back inside. Not yet.

He watches.

His eyes trace the curve of your spine, the lift of your ass, the wet gleam of your slit as it twitches with overstimulated need.

You’re breathing hard. Twitching. But you don’t move.

You can’t.

And he still doesn’t touch you.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

Because he does.

Too much.

You feel the tension in the air—coiled like a beast between you. His hunger. His need. His possession.

And then you hear it—his voice, low and reverent, almost in awe:

“Look at you…”

His hand slides over your ass—slow, reverent—just one palm smoothing over the soft flesh, watching how your body twitches at the touch.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers. “And still offering yourself.”

He grips your ass, spreading you slightly, and groans when your folds part for him—wet, raw, open.

“You asked me to fuck you like an animal,” he breathes. “And now you’re here… trembling… leaking… mine.”

He leans forward, one hand pressing down between your shoulder blades, making your back arch more, your cheek sinking deeper into the pillow, your ass lifting higher in response.

You barely register the shift behind you—his weight adjusting on the mattress, his thighs sliding between yours—until you feel it:

The blunt, hot press of his cock at your entrance.

You whimper, your fingers tightening into the sheets, your cheek mashed into the pillow, ass lifted high as your swollen, twitching cunt flutters around nothing. You’re already so wet, so open, so used, but that thick head stretching your folds again pulls a sharp, broken gasp from your lips.

He slides the tip up and down your slit once—coating himself in your slick, collecting it like the precious thing it is—and then—

He slams into you.

In one brutal, wet thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, forcing your body to take him, stretch again for his impossible girth, your walls clamping down like they’re trying to refuse—but they don’t. They yield. Barely. Desperately.

You scream.

Your vision flashes white. Your knees nearly buckle beneath you.

The stretch is excruciatingly perfect—a mix of pain and pleasure so intense it steals your breath. Your cunt flutters violently around him, juices flooding down your thighs, soaking the bed beneath.

And he doesn’t give you a second.

He fucks into you.

Hard. Brutal. Deep.

His hips slap against your ass with wet, punishing sounds, cock driving into you over and over again, spearing through the tight grip of your cunt like it’s nothing. His hands hold your hips so tight your skin burns, pulling you back into every thrust, using your body like he owns it.

Because he does.

Your back stays arched, your ass bouncing with every impact, your moans turning to cries, to sobs, to broken little pleads that mean nothing—because you don’t want him to stop.

You want this.

You need this.

Your cunt is gushing, soaked beyond logic, pulsing around him in chaotic spasms that only drive him faster.

He groans behind you, filthy and low, his breath ragged, sweat dripping onto your back as he fucks you like you were meant to be taken from behind.

“Fucking—perfect—” he growls, each word punctuated by another violent thrust. “So tight—so wet—so ready to be bred.”

Your orgasm builds again—somehow. You don’t even know how your body has anything left, but it does. You feel it like a rising scream, coiling in your belly, dragging you toward another edge you swore you’d already fallen from.

And he knows.

He feels it in your cunt—how it tightens, how it pulses.

And he chases it.

He fucks you harder, the sound of skin slapping skin wet and lewd and endless, your moans turning into screams again, your vision gone to stars as he ruins you from behind.

His hands find your shoulders now—gripping them, slamming you back onto his cock with every thrust, using your body like a toy, like a vessel, like a whore who asked to be ruined.

You did.

And now, he’s delivering.

The world doesn’t feel real anymore. Everything is rhythm, motion, heat. His cock driving into you over and over—deep and brutal, dragging across every hypersensitive inch of your walls. Your body is already ruined, already wrung out, but he doesn’t stop. His pace is punishing, merciless, and your mind can’t keep up.

You’re drooling into the pillow. Eyes glassy, lips parted, breath sobbing from your lungs in short, frantic gasps. Your cunt is a mess—gushing slick with every thrust, stretched to its limit, used.

And your voice?

It’s gone.

Replaced by incoherent babble.

“Mmm—ah! Hoonie—fuck—so deep—please—too much, I—ah!, I can’t—I—”

He doesn’t slow. Doesn’t even falter. His grip on your hips is brutal, fingertips digging into your flesh, slamming you back onto his cock with a force that makes your ass bounce and your body jolt. He’s growling behind you now, panting like an animal in rut, his cock so hard inside you it feels like he’s splitting you in half.

And your brain breaks.

The pleasure is too much. The fullness is too much. The sound of him, the feel of him, the need building in your chest—it all breaks open into one singular thought:

“Fuck—feed from me!” you scream.

It rips from your throat—sudden, raw, desperate.

“Hoonie—please—bite me—feed from me again, drink from me—fuck!, I need it, please, please, please, please—!”

Your hands claw at the sheets. Your body arches, thighs trembling, cunt clenching around his cock like you’re trying to pull the bite from him.

And behind you—you feel him freeze.

Just for a breath.

Then his voice, low and wrecked:

“You want me to feed again?”

You nod wildly, tears in your eyes, your body twitching and shivering under him. Your voice cracks into sobs:

“Yes! I need you to—I-I need to feel it, Hoonie please, I can’t—I need it—drink from me while you fuck me, I-I want to give you everything—please take everything, please—!”

His hand slides from your hip to your throat, tilting your head back and exposing your neck. He growls against your throat. Not the cold, controlled sound of a predator.

It’s giddy.

Almost playful.

“God,” he pants. “Listen to you… begging for my bite like a good little toy.”

You whimper, breath catching. Your hands scrabble against the mattress, nails clawing for something to ground you, anything to hold on to as he keeps you right on the edge of unraveling.

He’s still inside you.

So deep.

His cock is throbbing, thick, soaked in your slick, buried to the hilt inside your wrecked, overstimulated cunt. Without slipping out, he moves.

One of his hands grips your waist. The other slides beneath your stomach, pulling you up slightly. And then—

He shifts position.

Still behind you, still connected, but now he plants one foot on the mattress, rising into a half-kneel, half-squat.

And the angle—gods—

Your mouth drops open.

His cock grinds deeper now, dragging against your front wall with every thrust, hitting something dangerous, something brutal. His new position gives him total leverage—power and angle and reach—and he uses it.

He thrusts.

Hard.

Sharp.

Deep.

And you shriek.

Your vision swims. Your mouth trembles. Your legs go limp beneath you, your back forced into an even deeper arch. Every nerve in your cunt fires at once—blazing—as his cock spears into you with obscene precision.

He moans now—high and shameless, the sound of a man with a woman wrapped perfectly around him, wet and ruined and his.

“Fuck, you feel that?” he gasps, his voice cracking with laughter, feral delight in every word. “This little cunt’s never letting me go again.”

You babble something—words melted into moans—but he doesn’t slow. Doesn’t care.

His foot plants harder, thrusts sharper, slamming into you from beneath. Your body jolts with every impact. Your breasts sway. Your back arches perfectly, your neck still exposed to his mouth, waiting.

And he revels in it.

He hovers there for a moment, mouth open just over your skin, his fangs dragging along your throat, not biting yet—teasing. The tension of his breath, the heat of his cock, the stretch—it all blends into something unbearable.

“You begged for it,” he says. “So tell me again, love…”

His hips grind forward, cock grinding into your soaked walls.

“Tell me whose girl you are.”

His thrusts grow crueler.

Deeper. Sharper.

Each one lands with a wet slap, your ass slamming back into his hips as he drives himself into you from below, one foot planted firm on the bed, the other knee grounded for leverage. Your body jolts with every impact, breasts swaying, skin slick with sweat, your moans turning into broken sobs of overstimulation.

And still—he doesn’t bite.

Not yet.

He’s waiting.

Hovering over your throat, fangs dragging along your pulse like he’s tasting your fear, your surrender, your worship.

“You begged me to feed,” he growls into your skin, his cock grinding in deeper with the next thrust. “So say it. Say who you belong to.”

You’re sobbing now, cunt clenching, your legs trembling.

But you speak.

“Yours—I’m yours—Hoonie, I’m yours, I’ve always been—”

He grunts, fucking you harder.

“Say it again.”

You scream.

“I’m your girl!” you cry. “I’m your—fuck—I’m your toy, your meal, your whore—please! Please bite me—feed from me again, I’m yours, I’m yours—!”

That’s all it takes.

He snaps.

With a growl that’s half lust, half unholy hunger, his fangs pierce your throat in a single, savage motion. No warning. No gentleness. Just teeth sinking in right where your pulse pounds the loudest.

You wail.

Your back arches impossibly tight. Your cunt explodes around him—clenching, pulsing, gushing as your orgasm detonates in the same instant his fangs break your skin. The pleasure is blinding—a burst of white-hot light behind your eyes, your walls fluttering wildly around his cock, milking him, soaking him, screaming for him.

And he drinks.

Gods, he drinks—deep and steady, groaning against your throat as your blood pours into his mouth, as your body twitches and clenches and gives.

You feel the pull. You feel the bond—the ache in your womb, the twist in your soul, the devotion that burns like fire beneath your skin.

He’s not fucking you anymore.

He’s using you.

Feeding and fucking and owning you all at once, your body trembling, overstimulated, your breath stuttering through parted lips as you try to survive the dual invasion.

Your body is in chaos—shaking, clenching, gushing. Your cunt contracts around his cock in wild, erratic pulses, and then—like a dam breaking—you squirt. A sudden, hot release rushes from deep inside you, soaking his thighs, splashing against his stomach, dripping down the insides of your legs.

And that’s when he loses it.

You feel it before he even moves—his entire body tensing, his cock twitching violently inside you, so deep, so thick, so full—

Then he groans.

A deep, guttural, wrecked sound that vibrates against your throat as his hips slam into you one last time.

He buries himself to the hilt.

And he cums.

You feel it—hot and thick, a flood of heat spilling into your womb, wave after wave as his cock throbs and empties inside you. It’s not a release. It’s a claim.

You gasp—sharp and high—as his seed fills you, stretching the already ruined ache inside you wider, deeper, hotter. Your cunt is still spasming, milked dry and still milking him for more. Every pulse from him matches a pulse in your clit, every twitch of his cock pressing more heat inside you.

And gods—there’s so much.

You feel it flooding you. Dripping back out around the base of his cock, running down your thighs, mixing with your slick and sweat and scent. You’re overflowing with him.

And through it all—he’s still drinking.

His fangs are still deep in your throat, his lips sealed tight, your blood sliding down his tongue, into his chest, into the very core of him.

It feeds him.

It connects you.

And in that moment—flesh locked to flesh, blood flowing, his cum flooding your cunt—you don’t just feel taken.

You feel chosen.

He growls again—quieter now, weaker, spent—and finally, finally, his mouth releases your neck.

He licks the wound slowly, reverently, sealing it with a kiss, then rests his forehead against your back, both of you panting, trembling, wrecked.

He’s still inside you.

Still leaking into you.

And all you can feel is this:

You are full. You are claimed. You are his.

You can’t move.

You’re limp beneath him, your body trembling with aftershocks, every muscle twitching from the inside out. Your skin is wet—sweat, slick, blood, his release. Your thighs ache from how wide he forced you open. Your cunt is throbbing—raw and filled and fluttering around his cock, still buried so deep it feels like he’s part of your body now.

And he’s still inside you.

You feel him—hard still, thick, even softened just slightly, he’s overwhelming. He’s not pulling out. He’s not letting anything go. His hands still grip your hips, now gentler, but firm. Holding you there. Holding you in place.

And then—

He shifts his weight, leans over your back.

You whimper, a fragile noise, and his body presses against yours, skin on skin, cock lodged deep inside your twitching cunt. He drapes over you like a blanket of heat, fangs brushing your shoulder now, his voice low, thick, dripping with the afterglow of pleasure and pride.

“Perfect,” he murmurs.

You shiver beneath him.

“Look at you,” he whispers against your ear. “Still clenching. Still dripping. So full of me.”

You moan, weak and broken, your body twitching with the reminder—his cum leaking out around his cock, sliding down your thighs, your pussy fluttering in soft aftershocks that just won’t stop.

He rolls his hips once—just a slow grind, not even a thrust—and you sob into the pillow.

“Sensitive?” he teases gently. “You wanted to be fucked like an animal in heat, didn’t you?”

You nod, breath caught in your throat, tears slipping down your cheeks—not from pain, but from sheer overwhelm.

His hand slides to your stomach, palm resting over the low curve just above your womb. He presses there, firm, possessive.

“You’re holding so much of me,” he whispers, almost in awe. “My girl.”

Another slow roll of his hips.

Another broken cry from your lips.

And he moans softly, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he feels your cunt squeeze around him again.

“Keep me inside,” he breathes. “Let me stay here. Let me watch what I’ve made you.”

And you do.

You stay just like that—cunt stuffed full, body limp, back arched, cheek to the pillow—his. His cock still pulsing inside you, his hands resting on your trembling skin, his voice low and reverent.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs. “Inside and out.”

He doesn’t move for a long time.

He stays there—cock still buried inside your ruined, pulsing cunt—his weight pressed over your back, his hands gentle now, resting on your hips, stroking lazy, reverent circles into your damp skin.

You’re still trembling.

Your body is sore. Sensitive. Soaked in sweat and slick, and him. His cum leaks from your stretched hole in thick, slow drips, pooling between your thighs, seeping into the sheets—but he doesn’t pull out.

He won’t.

Not yet.

He groans low in his chest, head dipped between your shoulder blades, voice breathless and awed.

“Still so warm,” he murmurs, hips giving a subtle, instinctive roll that makes your breath catch. “Still milking me like you want every last drop.”

You whimper, weak, your fingers twitching against the sheets.

And he smiles.

Not cruel. Not mocking.

Proud.

His hand moves up, over your back, then down again—slow, soft, possessive.

“Mine,” he breathes again. “Every inch of you.”

He finally shifts—gently this time—pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he slowly lowers you both down, careful not to slip out. You whimper as he brings your bodies down together, side by side now, his cock still buried deep as he wraps himself around you.

You feel caged. Kept. Held.

And you’ve never felt safer.

He nuzzles into your neck, brushing a kiss to the healing bite mark on your throat, then another to your jaw, your temple, your sweat-damp hair.

You’re still trembling in his arms, cunt fluttering faintly around him, overstimulation fading into a full-body hum.

And he adores it.

“Shh,” he whispers, one hand sliding to your stomach, resting possessively over your womb. “You did so well for me, little one.”

You sigh—tired, bliss-heavy, floating.

“You let me break you,” he murmurs against your ear, “and you’re still here. Letting me stay inside you. Letting me hold you.”

His voice cracks slightly, fangs gone, his hunger sated.

“You’re everything.”

His hand strokes your thigh, sticky and wet and trembling beneath his touch. You feel the mess between your legs—the slick of your orgasms, his seed still leaking out in hot pulses around his cock—and you don’t flinch.

You love it.

You love him.

And in the soft silence that follows, he whispers one last thing—low and reverent, meant only for you:

“I’ll never take from anyone else again.”

[gyuuberryy]

fatal trouble

pairing: vampire!sunghoon x reader

synopsis: your roommate is hot. really really hot. and odd too. really really odd. after a strange experience with him, you slowly start distancing yourself from him. but, it becomes exceptionally hard with your feelings coming in the way. how are you supposed to protect yourself if you can’t resist him? the answer is you don’t need to. your fates are intertwined and there's no letting go.

genre: roommates to lovers, vampire au, soulmate au

warnings: suggestive content, mentions of nightmares and blood, jealous!sunghoon, 

note: dropping this before i go on hiatus for a month due to school work. i haven't proofread it that well i hope there are no mistakes. also im obsessed with vampire aus, enhablr needs more of them fr!! i hope you enjoy reading this!

word count: 6k

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

the soft glow of your laptop screen illuminated your face, casting long shadows across sunghoon's pristine white sheets. you were sprawled out on his bed, legs crossed beneath you, surrounded by a chaotic scatter of textbooks and papers. the quiet hum of the air conditioner filled the room, broken only by the intermittent clicks of your keyboard.

sunghoon sat at his desk, a silhouette against the darkened room, save for the focused beam of his desk lamp. his fingers danced across the keyboard with an almost rhythmic precision, the soft glow of the screen reflecting in his dark eyes. you’d grown accustomed to the sight of him engrossed in his work, a solitary figure lost in the world of ones and zeros.

you’d known each other for a few months now, the kind of acquaintance born out of shared living space and the occasional group project. as roommates sharing the same major, your apartment had become a de facto study hub. computer science had thrown you together more often than not, and tonight was no exception. 

“hey, did you get the part about the algorithm?” your voice, a whisper in the quiet, cut through the comfortable silence.

sunghoon glanced up, his eyes a deep, almost unnatural shade of red in the dim light. for a moment, you were struck by how different he looked compared to the daylight. “yeah, i think so. isn’t it something about minimising the time complexity?”

you nodded, your eyes scanning the code on your screen. “exactly. i’m just having trouble with the implementation.”

a comfortable silence settled over the room as you both focused on your respective screens. the only sound was the rhythmic tapping of keys and the occasional sigh of frustration. you glanced up at sunghoon, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of his monitor. his long, slender fingers moved with an almost hypnotic grace across the keyboard.

there was something undeniably attractive about his focused intensity. his features, normally sharp and aloof, softened slightly when he was engrossed in his work. it was a side of him you rarely saw, and it was oddly captivating.

you shook your head, mentally scolding yourself for such thoughts. he was your roommate, nothing more. and besides, there was no way he could be interested in someone like you.

“hey,” sunghoon’s voice cut through your reverie, “i think i figured it out.”

you blinked, startled. “oh, really? want to explain it?”

he nodded, sliding his chair back and standing up. he walked over to your side of the bed, his tall frame looming over you. as he leaned in to point at your screen, his scent washed over you – a subtle blend of wood and something else, almost sweet, that you couldn’t quite place.

you felt a strange warmth creeping up your neck as he hovered over you. his proximity was unnerving, yet strangely intoxicating. you swallowed hard, trying to focus on the code in front of you.

sunghoon's breath was warm against your ear as he leaned in closer, his voice a low rumble, "try this." his finger hovered over your keyboard, about to demonstrate.

you felt a shiver run down your spine, not from the cool night air but from the inexplicable sensation of being so close to him. his scent, a mix of something woodsy and faintly sweet, was intoxicating. you tried to focus on the code, to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

he typed a few lines, his fingers brushing against yours. the contact sent a jolt of electricity through you. you forced yourself to concentrate on the screen, trying to understand the changes he made.

"see?" he said, straightening up. "it's simpler this way."

you nodded, still reeling from the physical contact. "thanks," you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper.

sunghoon stepped back, a small smile playing on his lips. "no problem," he said, turning back to his own computer.

you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. it was just sunghoon, your roommate. nothing more. but the way he had acted, the way he had touched you, it was making it hard to think of him that way.

the room was quiet again, the only sounds the soft clacking of keyboards and the occasional rustle of paper. you were deep in thought, trying to wrap your head around a particularly complex problem when a question popped into your head. on impulse, you asked, “so, sunghoon, what do you do in your free time, when you’re not, you know, studying?”

sunghoon paused, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. a flicker of something, perhaps surprise or amusement, passed across his face before he responded smoothly, “free time is a luxury for a computer science student, don’t you think? but when i do find a spare moment, i usually spend it reading or exploring new coding languages.”

his answer was polite, but it felt rehearsed, as if he'd prepared a response for just such a question. a sense of curiosity sparked within you. you’d always thought sunghoon was a bit of an enigma, but this was a new level of intrigue.

curiosity, a persistent itch, prodded you to ask something more than just about schoolwork.

“hey, i was curious about this” you started, your voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner, “where are you from?” it was a simple question, one you would normally ask any new acquaintance, but there was something about sunghoon that made you curious about his past.

he paused, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. for a moment, there was a stillness in the room that was almost palpable. then, with a casual shrug, he replied, "oh, just a small town. nothing interesting." the response was swift, deflecting your question with ease.

confused, you returned to your code, but your mind was racing. there was something off about sunghoon, something that had intrigued you from the moment you met him. you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there were strange little details that had started to accumulate.

there were those odd instances – like the time you'd woken up in the middle of the night to find the kitchen light on and sunghoon standing at the counter, completely motionless, his eyes glowing an eerie red. or the way he seemed to have an uncanny ability to appear and disappear without a sound. and then there was the peculiar lack of a reflection in any mirror in his room.

these memories surfaced, sharp and clear, as if your brain was piecing together a puzzle it didn't know existed. you shook your head, dismissing the thoughts as overactive imagination. after all, sunghoon was just your roommate, a fellow computer science student. nothing more, nothing less.

a yawn escaped your lips as you stretched, the late hour finally catching up with you. “i think i’m going to call it a night,” you announced, rubbing your eyes. the weight of the unanswered questions about sunghoon was beginning to feel heavy.

sunghoon nodded, his gaze fixed on the computer screen. “alright, good night then. i’ll probably stay up a bit longer.”

you nodded in response, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. as you stood up, you glanced down at the floor. something was off. the soft glow from sunghoon’s computer cast long shadows on the floor, including a distinct one from his chair. but there was no shadow of sunghoon himself. the spot where his shadow should have been was empty, an inky void against the illuminated floor.

a chill ran down your spine. your heart pounded in your ears. your mind raced, trying to come up with a logical explanation, but nothing made sense. you snatched up your bag, your movements jerky and panicked. without a second thought, you fled back to your room, the door slamming shut behind you. you fumbled with the lock, your hands trembling. only when you heard the satisfying click of the lock did you allow yourself to breathe.

your heart pounded in your ears as you leaned against the cool metal of your door. the realisation of what you had seen was slowly sinking in. no human lacked a shadow. it was impossible. a chill ran down your spine.

you tried to rationalise it away. maybe there was a draft, or a trick of the light. but deep down, you knew better. something was profoundly wrong, and it was connected to sunghoon. the friendly, quiet roommate you thought you knew was now shrouded in an unsettling mystery.

you glanced at the clock. it was late, and exhaustion was starting to creep in. you needed to sleep, to clear your head. but how could you sleep with this looming over you? you decided to distract yourself by pulling out a book from your shelf, hoping the words would drown out the unsettling thoughts.

as you turned the pages, your mind kept drifting back to sunghoon. his unusual behaviour, the absence of his shadow, it all fit together into a terrifying puzzle. you tried to shake off the feeling, but it was like a persistent itch you couldn't scratch.

sleep finally claimed you, but it was restless. your dreams were filled with shadows, long and menacing, closing in on you. you woke up with a start, your heart racing. the first light of dawn was filtering through your curtains. you got out of bed and went to the window. the world outside looked ordinary, peaceful. but you knew the truth was far from it.

something was wrong with sunghoon, and you were determined to find out what.

the days following your unsettling discovery were a blur of forced normalcy. you tried to interact with sunghoon as if nothing was amiss, but the weight of your knowledge cast a long shadow over your interactions. you found yourself avoiding his gaze, your voice trembling when you spoke to him.

sunghoon seemed oblivious to your discomfort at first. he’d always been a quiet person, so his reserved nature didn’t raise any immediate suspicion. however, as the days turned into weeks, his patience began to wear thin.

"hey, are you free to study together tomorrow?" he asked one evening as you were both making dinner. his tone was casual, but you could detect a hint of underlying disappointment.

your heart skipped a beat. you’d been avoiding his study invitations, coming up with increasingly elaborate excuses. the truth hung heavy in the air, a tangible thing between you. you hesitated, your mind racing.

"i... i’m really busy tomorrow," you stammered, your voice barely audible. "maybe next week?"

disappointment flashed across sunghoon’s face before he masked it with a forced smile. "sure, no problem," he replied, his voice flat.

as he turned away, you couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. you'd hurt him, and you knew it.

the night was a descent into terror. you dreamt of shadows, long and menacing, closing in on you. sunghoon was there, but not as you knew him. his eyes burned with an unnatural light, and his form was distorted, monstrous. you were running, but your legs were leaden, and the shadows were gaining on you. a scream built in your throat, but no sound escaped.

you woke with a start, drenched in sweat. your heart pounded like a drumbeat in your chest. panic washed over you as you gasped for air. you were disoriented, unsure of where you were. a noise from the living room startled you, and you jumped out of bed.

the light was on, and there, standing in the doorway, was sunghoon, his face etched with concern. before you could react, you found yourself lunging at him, your hands grasping at his neck. he didn't fight back, instead, he held you tightly, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

your sobs racked your body as you clung to him, finding solace in his warmth. he shushed you softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. gradually, your breathing began to slow, and your body relaxed.

when you finally calmed down, sunghoon gently guided you back to bed. he sat on the edge, running a comforting hand through your hair. you clung to him, your fear slowly dissipating.

in the quiet that followed, you felt a strange urge to confide in him. your voice was barely a whisper when you began, "i dreamt of you... as something... different."

sunghoon stiffened, but his grip on you didn't loosen. something flashed behind his eyes, but he listened intently as you recounted the terrifying details of your nightmare. when you finished, he was silent for a long moment. finally, he whispered, "go back to sleep," and you felt him lean down to kiss your forehead.

with that, he quietly left the room, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

the days that followed were a careful ballet of avoidance. you moved through your days with a practised detachment, constructing an invisible wall between yourself and sunghoon. the weight of your decision pressed down on you like a physical burden. despite the burgeoning crush that had blossomed in the quiet corners of your heart, you'd created a formidable wall between yourself and sunghoon. his enigmatic nature, coupled with the unsettling discoveries you'd made, had convinced you to keep him at arm's length. it was a lonely existence, a self-imposed exile that offered a semblance of safety.

your days were a monotonous cycle of lectures, assignments, and solitary meals. you'd found solace in the company of your classmate, lee heeseung, his cheerful demeanour a stark contrast to the storm raging within you. yet, even as you laughed and shared stories with him, a part of you longed for the quiet intensity of sunghoon's presence.

in the vast, impersonal lecture hall, you’d sought refuge in the anonymity of the crowd. but even here, you couldn't escape the weight of your decision. a persistent sense of being watched gnawed at you, a constant reminder of the eyes that followed your every move. and you knew very well who it was. it was during one such lecture that the tension reached a breaking point.

you were engrossed in your notes when a subtle shift in the atmosphere caught your attention. a cold prickle ran down your spine as you slowly turned your head. there, in the row behind you, sat sunghoon, his gaze fixed intently on you. his expression was a complex interplay of emotions - longing, pain, and a flicker of something darker.

your heart pounded in your chest as a wave of guilt washed over you. you'd hurt him, pushed him away without a second thought. in that moment, as his eyes held yours, you realised the depth of your own cowardice.

not to mention, with each passing night your nightmares had intensified. each night a descent into a darker, more terrifying realm. sleep, once a refuge, had transformed into a battlefield, leaving you exhausted and on edge. the physical toll was evident - dark circles shadowed your eyes, and your skin had started to take on a sickly pallor.

despite your deteriorating condition, you continued to maintain your distance from sunghoon. guilt gnawed at you, but fear held you captive. yet, in the aftermath of each nightmare, you found yourself seeking solace in his presence. he’d sit by your bed his silent vigil a comforting anchor in the storm of your nightmares. his touch, gentle and reassuring, had become a lifeline, pulling you back from the brink of despair.

one particularly harrowing night, you woke up screaming, your body drenched in sweat. sunghoon was by your side almost instantly, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. as your fear subsided, you began to recount the nightmare, your voice trembling.

"i... i dreamt of a place," you managed to say, your words halting. "a dark place, with... with strange symbols."

sunghoon's grip tightened around you. "and you were alone," he finished for you, his voice low and soothing.

your eyes widened in shock. how could he know what you had dreamt about? you hadn’t even managed to complete your story. yet, sunghoon had described it perfectly, as if he had been there with you.

a chill ran down your spine. you pulled away from him, your eyes filled with fear and confusion. sunghoon simply looked at you, his expression unreadable, before turning and leaving the room.

what did this mean? how could sunghoon know about your nightmares? the answers were as elusive as ever, but one thing was certain: the line between the ordinary and the extraordinary was blurring, and you were caught in the crossfire.

the nightmares ceased as abruptly as they had begun. you woke each morning feeling refreshed, the spectre of terror finally lifted from your shoulders. a sense of relief washed over you, but it was tinged with a strange melancholy. the nightly visits from sunghoon, a comforting ritual amidst the chaos, were now absent.

initially, you welcomed the return to normalcy. the constant fear and exhaustion had taken a toll on you, and the ability to sleep soundly was a precious gift. but as days turned into weeks, a nagging sense of unease crept in. sunghoon's absence, once a welcome respite, now felt like a void.

you started noticing subtle changes in him. his eyes, once bright and alert, were now shadowed by dark circles. his once sharp features seemed softened by fatigue. it was as if a weight was pressing down on him, a burden he carried alone.

a pang of guilt struck you. perhaps your avoidance had contributed to his deteriorating condition. you wanted to reach out, to offer support, but fear held you back. what if your presence only made things worse? what if you discovered something terrifying?

you longed to reach out to him, to offer solace and support, but the words remained trapped in your throat. the fear of rejection, of further pushing him away, paralyzed you. it was a cruel irony that the person you yearned to comfort was the one causing you the most pain. 

the afternoon sun beat down on the bustling campus as you made your way towards the nearest convenience store. the promise of a refreshing popsicle was the only thing that could lure you away from the confines of your dorm room. with a popsicle clutched in your hand, you emerged from the store, ready to face the world, one frozen treat at a time.

just as you were about to savour the first bite, heeseung materialised beside you, his infectious grin lighting up his face. "arcade?" he suggested, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. you nodded, the prospect of a distraction proving too tempting to resist.

you split the popsicle down the middle, the sweet, icy treat a welcome respite from the oppressive heat. as you handed one half to heeseung, a strange sensation washed over you. it was as if a cold draft had swept across your skin, a shiver that had nothing to do with the melting popsicle in your hand.

instinctively, you turned around, your heart pounding in your chest. there, on the other side of the road, stood sunghoon, his figure cast in the harsh sunlight. his eyes, usually guarded, were fixed on you with an intensity that bordered on hostility. a scowl marred his usually indifferent features, and his jaw was clenched tightly.

you offered a timid smile, a feeble attempt to bridge the chasm between you. but his gaze remained unwavering, cold and unforgiving. with a final, contemptuous glance, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

a wave of guilt and confusion washed over you. you'd hurt him, you knew that. but the intensity of his reaction was unexpected, almost frightening. as you turned back to heeseung, you forced a smile, determined to push the unsettling encounter to the back of your mind.

the encounter with sunghoon left a bitter taste in your mouth. his hostile glare had shattered the fragile peace you'd been cultivating. as you and heeseung made your way to the arcade, your mind raced, trying to decipher the meaning behind sunghoon's outburst. had your avoidance pushed him to the brink? or was there something more sinister at play?

the arcade, with its flashing lights and the cacophony of sound, offered a temporary escape from the turmoil within. you lost yourself in the rhythm of the games, the competitive spirit temporarily drowning out the unsettling incident. yet, even as you laughed and cheered with heeseung, your mind kept drifting back to sunghoon, his angry gaze burning into your memory.

as the afternoon wore on, a sense of unease settled over you. the carefree atmosphere of the arcade couldn't mask the growing storm within. the incident with sunghoon had opened a wound, a raw and painful reminder of the complex dynamics between you.

you glanced at heeseung, his laughter infectious, and felt a pang of guilt. he was doing everything to lift your spirits, to distract you from your troubles. but your mind was elsewhere, trapped in a labyrinth of doubt and fear.

the walk back to your dorm was a solitary affair. the campus, usually bustling with activity, seemed deserted. with each step, the weight of your worries grew heavier. the encounter with sunghoon had forced you to confront the reality of the situation. you couldn't continue to bury your head in the sand, hoping that the problem would resolve itself.

the weight of the day pressed down on you as you unlocked the apartment door. exhaustion tugged at your limbs, but the lingering unease from your encounter with sunghoon kept your mind racing. 

as you stepped into the living room, a jolt of surprise ran through you. sunghoon was standing in the kitchen, his silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the refrigerator.

there was an unnatural stillness to him, a predatory calm that sent a shiver down your spine. his eyes, when they met yours, held a strange intensity, a glint of something dangerous lurking beneath the surface. "fancy seeing you here," he said, his voice low and measured.

you forced a smile, your heart pounding in your chest. "just got back," you replied, your voice barely a whisper.

he approached you slowly, his steps deliberate. "we have that new assignment," he began, his voice low and seductive. "maybe we could work on it together tomorrow?"

your mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse. "i'm... i'm pretty busy," you stammered, avoiding his gaze.

sunghoon's expression darkened. with a swift movement, he closed the distance between you, cornering you against the kitchen counter, his hands grabbing your hips. his proximity was unnerving, his scent, a mix of wood and something faintly sweet, filling your senses. you could feel his breath on your skin, hot and heavy. 

"don't lie to me," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. "i know what's going on."

his grip tightened around you, and you winced. 

"it's nothing," you insisted, your voice trembling. "just... busy."

"busy with heeseung?" he spat out, his jealousy evident in his tone. his eyes narrowed, and you could see the anger simmering beneath the surface.

your face flushed with embarrassment. he was taking this the wrong way. “it’s not like that,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper.

sunghoon's grip tightened, pinning you against the cool surface of the counter. his breath was warm against your skin, and a strange sensation, a mix of fear and excitement, coursed through your veins.

“don’t lie to me,” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “you're avoiding me.”

you didn't know why, but the power dynamic between you and sunghoon was intoxicating. he had never behaved this way before let alone showcase jealousy so blatantly. it was hot. you felt a blush creeping up your cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. 

before you could respond, you found yourself leaning in, your lips brushing against his. it was an impulsive act, a desperate attempt to silence him, to end the confrontation. but, to your surprise, he responded, his lips moving against yours with a gentle intensity.

the world seemed to slow down as the kiss deepened. but as quickly as it had begun, it ended. you pulled away, your heart pounding in your chest.

overwhelmed by a rush of emotions, you turned and fled to your room, slamming the door behind you. you leaned against the door, panting, your mind racing. 

the realisation of what you had done hit you like a tidal wave. you had kissed your roommate, a person you were actively avoiding due to a growing sense of fear and unease. the implications of your actions were terrifying. you'd crossed a line, a boundary you had carefully constructed to protect yourself.

a series of frantic knocks on the door jolted you out of your stupor. it was sunghoon, his voice muffled through the wood. "open up, please," he pleaded. your heart pounded in your chest. you couldn't face him now. you needed time to process what had happened, to regain control of the situation.

the knocking continued for a few minutes before finally ceasing. silence enveloped the room, heavy and oppressive. you slid down the door, your body trembling. what had you done?

morning arrived with a sense of foreboding. the thought of facing sunghoon filled you with dread, but the need to uncover the truth was stronger. you waited until the sound of his footsteps faded down the hallway, a sign that he had left for his morning jog.

with a deep breath, you crept into sunghoon's room, a sense of trepidation gnawing at you. the room was immaculate, a stark contrast to the chaos that often reigned in your own space. everything had its place, every surface spotless. there were no hidden compartments, no secret drawers, no clues to the enigmatic man who inhabited this space.

disappointment washed over you. you'd hoped to find something, anything that would explain the strange occurrences, the unsettling behaviour. but the room held no secrets, only a sense of emptiness.

your eyes scanned the room, searching for any hidden compartments or secret passages. everything seemed ordinary, almost mundane. disappointment was beginning to creep in when your gaze fell on a small cabinet tucked beneath sunghoon's desk. it was always locked, a tantalising enigma that had piqued your curiosity countless times.

today, however, there was a change. a key was lodged in the lock, an open invitation to delve into the forbidden. a wave of hesitation washed over you. you were invading his privacy, crossing a line you had sworn never to cross. but the allure of the unknown was too strong. curiosity, like a relentless tide, pulled you forward.

with trembling hands, you grasped the key and turned it. the lock clicked open with a satisfyingly smooth sound. you slid open the cabinet door, your heart pounding in your chest. a mini-fridge, small and unassuming, greeted you. a wave of relief washed over you. so this was the secret? a hidden stash of snacks?

you reached out to open the fridge door, a smirk playing on your lips. but as the cool air enveloped you, your blood ran cold.

inside, lined up neatly on the shelves, were rows of blood bags. the crimson liquid glinted in the dim light, a chilling contrast to the sterile white plastic. the sight was so surreal, so utterly horrifying, that for a moment, you thought you were hallucinating.

your mind went blank. a wave of nausea washed over you as you stared at the horrifying contents of the fridge. this couldn't be real. this was a nightmare, a twisted hallucination. but the cold, hard truth stared back at you, undeniable and terrifying.

the world tilted as your legs gave way, sending you crashing to the knees. blood bags. sunghoon kept blood bags. your roommate, the seemingly normal guy you knew, was a… vampire? the very concept seemed absurd, ripped from the pages of a fantasy novel. yet, the evidence sat before you, a stark reality that defied logic.

panic clawed at your throat, but a desperate hope flickered within you. maybe it was a medical condition. maybe he had a strange blood fetish. anything but a vampire!

"vampires don't exist, do they?", you mutter to yourself still in shock.

"yes, they do," a low voice confirmed, sending a tremor through your entire body. you spun around, scream caught in your throat. sunghoon stood in the doorway, his face unreadable, his eyes a bottomless well of emotions.

shame washed over you in a tidal wave. you felt exposed, not just for snooping, but for the fear and disgust that clouded your mind.

jumping out the window, a ridiculous notion moments ago, now seemed like the only way out. here, trapped in this surreal nightmare, your only escape seemed to be a dramatic leap from the fourth floor. it wouldn't kill you, right? you’d only break a few bones at best, which you were absolutely okay with. 

with a burst of adrenaline, you scrambled to your feet and bolted towards the window, desperation fueling your actions. but before you could reach the latch, a hand clamped around your waist, pulling you back with an iron grip. "don't even think about it," sunghoon's voice was a low growl, the air crackling with unspoken emotions.

you were pinned against his chest, his warmth a stark contrast to the chilling terror that gripped you. his eyes, no longer cold and distant, burned with a mix of anger and concern.

his words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the wildness of your actions. you struggled against his hold, your fear fueling your resistance. but there was an undeniable strength in him, a power that held you captive.

"please, let me go," you gasped, your voice trembling.

sunghoon's grip loosened slightly, and he took a step back. his eyes held a mixture of concern and something else, something you couldn't quite decipher. "i won't hurt you," he said, his voice soft. "i need to explain."

your eyes met his, a mixture of fear and confusion swirling in their depths. sunghoon seemed to read your mind, his expression softening as he took a step closer. he sighed, a heavy exhale that seemed to carry the weight of centuries.

"i know this is a lot to take in," he began, his voice low and steady. "but i need you to trust me."

you nodded, your mind racing. there was something about his tone, a vulnerability beneath the hardened exterior, that compelled you to listen.

"i'm a vampire," he said, the words hanging heavy in the air. "it's not how i wanted things to be, but it's the reality i've been forced to live with."

he paused, his eyes searching your face for any signs of revulsion. but to your surprise, a strange sense of calm washed over you. this was the answer, the missing piece to the puzzle.

he went on to explain his existence, the centuries of solitude, and the desperate hope that had brought him to you. he talked about the blood bags, a necessary evil to sustain his life.

he continued, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability. "i’ve been alone for so long. i've tried to live a normal life, to blend in. and then i met you."

his gaze softened, a tender look replacing the earlier intensity. "you're my anchor, my reason to keep going. your nightmares, the ones you've been having, are a connection between us. we share them, a soulmate bond, if you will. it's the only way for me to experience human emotions, to feel truly alive."

the revelation was mind-boggling. a vampire? your soulmate? it was a story straight out of a gothic novel. yet, as he spoke, a sense of peace washed over you. there was a truth in his eyes, a vulnerability that resonated with your own.

without thinking, you reached out and hugged him. your arms wrapped around him, offering comfort and acceptance. he froze, surprised by your sudden embrace.

"i don't care," you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. "i'll figure it out. we'll figure it out together."

he returned the hug, his arms tightening around you. his face was buried in your neck, his breath warm against your skin. you could feel his heart pounding against your chest, a rhythm that mirrored your own. in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his embrace, fear and confusion faded, replaced by a sense of hope and possibility.

"i'm so sorry about the nightmares," he murmured, his voice filled with regret. "i stopped sleeping for a while, trying to find a way to stop them. i hated seeing you scared, all because of me."

your heart ached for him. he had sacrificed his own well-being to protect you. anger and concern warred within you. how could he be so selfless, so reckless? you pushed against his chest, needing to see his face, to read the emotions swirling in his eyes.

"don't be stupid," you scolded, your voice stern. "you can't just stop sleeping."

you gently pushed against his chest, trying to create some distance between you. you needed to see his face, to gauge his sincerity.

"stop," he whined, his voice laced with playful annoyance. "just stay like this for a little longer."

his words were a stark contrast to the seriousness of the situation, but they had the desired effect. you froze, your body responding to the unexpected shift in tone. sunghoon's grip tightened around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. his lips brushed against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. the warmth of his breath mingled with the scent of his skin, creating an intoxicating blend that clouded your senses.

you were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, fear and confusion replaced by a growing sense of intimacy. the line between platonic comfort and something more was blurring, and you were dangerously close to crossing it.

his voice dropped to a low octave, a husky rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "i can't stop thinking about how your lips felt against mine last night," he confessed, his breath warm against your skin. he pulled back, his eyes holding yours, a mischievous glint in their depths. 

"can we do that again?" he asked, his voice laced with playful arrogance.

before you could respond, his lips were on yours, claiming your mouth with a fierce urgency. the kiss was a whirlwind, a tempest of emotions and sensations. his tongue explored your mouth, demanding entrance, while your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. the kiss was different from the one you had shared the night before, filled with a newfound urgency and intensity. his tongue explored your mouth, a dance of desire and longing. you could feel the heat radiating from his body, a warmth that was both intoxicating and terrifying.

his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer. with a swift movement, he lifted you onto the bed, his lips trailing a path of fire down your neck. he nuzzled your skin, his breath creating a tingling sensation. "you smell so good," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "i had to stop myself from pouncing on you the first time i saw you." 

"from now on, you're sleeping in my bed," he declared, his voice firm. "i need to make sure those nightmares don't come back. and besides, i like having you close."

as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. in this moment, with sunghoon holding you close, everything else seemed to fade away. the line between reality and fantasy blurred, replaced by a single, undeniable truth: you were in the arms of a vampire, and you were dangerously close to falling in love.

his lips trailed down your neck, with such heat that it left you breathless. he nibbled at your skin, his teeth gently scraping against your sensitive flesh. the sensation was both painful and exhilarating, a heady mix of fear and desire. you gasped, your body arching involuntarily. 

"i'm not going to bite you," he promised, his voice laced with a hint of mischief. 

"not yet, at least."

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[ambi01]

Same yn same he is soo hot and there is no reason to be that hot

ㅤㅤ DEVOURㅤ﹑ㅤpark sunghoon

ㅤ ﹙158O﹚────sunghoon is hot and he doesn ’ t know it ｡⠀

𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗋⠀ 雨，⠀loser vampire bf sunghoon x fem readerㅤ゛AMOUR⠀，skinship, fluff, petnamesㅤ﹙◜ᴗ⁠◝⁠﹚ㅤsunghoon biceps meal yeah .. this is very self indulgent ><

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ REBLOG FOR SMOOCHES !

the eerie silence of the apartment doesn’t escape sunnghoon’s attention. his footsteps feel oddly loud against the tiles, a sigh rolling off his tongue as he steps inside the kitchen; and a familiar voice cuts through the quiet.

“i think you should choke me,”

nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared your dear boyfriend for the words that leave your mouth as soon as he walks out of the shower.

with his head whipping towards you, he freezes in stance— jaw dropped, eyes wide open, head tilted in confusion.

“huh?” sunghoon gives you a questionable look, blinking him to some logic— anything to make sense of your words. “wouldn’t that be life threatening?”

and you shrug. “i could be into that,”

sunghoon doesn’t think he has met anyone like you in his seven hundred something years on earth.

his fangs amused you instead of scaring you the first time he told you he is a vampire. you went around for weeks wanting him to bite you— turn you— but he successfully talked you out of it.

now that you have found a trace of normalcy in the five weeks that you have been dating him, your mind finds amusement in his biceps.

“last time,” he pops a cherry in his mouth, shifting weight from one leg to the other. “you wanted me to headlock you,”

“and that was hot as hell,” you insist, eyes gleaming with mischief. if sunghoon didn’t know any better, he’d think you might have gone insane.

and you could be— evidently— the veins on his arms and hands do nothing except making you gulp, only onto that last string of sanity.

you don’t think your pretty face, vampire of a boyfriend realises just how hot he is, really.

he thinks it’s a plain obsession— well, one is supposed to be obsessed with their lover. he catches you ogling him when he’s changing the bulb and thinks it’s because you want something.

according to sunghoon, there is absolutely no reason for you to zone out while looking at his hands except that they are pretty, well maintained and manicured.

you also don’t think he knows you joined the same gym as him to watch him workout and not to accompany him in following a healthy lifestyle and improving your heart’s health. simply looking at him heals you enough.

even now, he is standing clueless about why your eyes have zoomed in on his biceps. sunghoon stretches his arm, unintentionally flexing his muscles and it drives you crazy. his sweats hang low on his hips and it’s a sight to see.

you need him and he can’t catch a hint.

“so is that a yes or no?” you make your way to the kitchen, standing behind him as he reaches out for the coffee mugs placed on the top shelf.

you wonder if he puts them there deliberately to tease you, giving you that taunting flash of a slip of his waistline as his shirt rides up when he raises his arm.

your boyfriend shakes his head with a sigh, clearly failing to understand the logic behind your request. “you’re weird,”

“just once,”

“no,” a curt reply.

you’re really testing his patience.

“c’mon, sunghoon, it’s—”

“darling,” and it’s quiet again, aside from your heartbeat echoing in your ears when he easily cages you against the counter, between the very arms that make you weak in the knees. “i am not doing anything that risks your life,”

stupid.

you want to tease, explain what you mean, but your words are lost. sunghoon is hot and his lack of self awareness is life threatening because he is standing close— so close, you can feel the scent of his cologne intoxicating your senses.

you can still see the remains of water on his neck, droplets making their way down his skin. his face is a little flushed from the hot shower while yours is from how hot he is making you feel.

sunghoon’s eyes trace your face up and down, almost setting your heart ablaze when you feel his gaze on your lips for a brief second.

“understood?” he mutters, low and quiet, tucking a finger under your chin to make you look at him, eye to eye, soul to soul.

and you can only gulp when he leans a little closer, pressing himself against you. “yes,”

“good girl,” and he’s gone, stepped back, focused on his coffee, once again unaware of how his actions have left you trippy and dazed.

it is quite infuriating because he does not do it knowingly. sunghoon barely tries and your world shifts a little, stomach flipping and chest fluttering.

unaware of your inner turmoil, he turns around and switches on the coffee machine.

your fingers trace over the edge of the counter mindlessly, mind in a trance half because of what happened, and half due to the sight of his muscular back.

another glance— a quiet step in his direction, lower lip tugged between your teeth and your arms snake around his torso from behind, a cheeky grin forming on your lips as you poke his biceps with your index finger. you’ve never been the one to give up. “can i bite?”

and sunghoon gives up, hands up in the air. “babe, i am the vampire in the relationship,”

[arxiwon]

[Thread] What Vampire!Enhypen Would Do If Their Girlfriend Was Dying

1. Jungwon 🩸 | The Reluctant Savior

Jungwon freezes, his mind racing between his morals and his love for you. He knows what he has to do, but turning you into a vampire means cursing you with immortality. His hands tremble as he cradles your dying body. "I can't lose you... but will you forgive me for this?" he whispers before sinking his fangs into your neck, sealing your fate with his.

2. Heeseung 🩸 | The Desperate Lover

Panic sets in as Heeseung sees the life fading from your eyes. He’s lived through centuries, but nothing has terrified him more than losing you. "No, no, no—stay with me!" His voice breaks as he bites into his wrist, pressing it against your lips. "Drink, baby. Please. Live for me." He refuses to let you go, even if it means turning you into something monstrous like him.

3. Jay 🩸 | The Broken Protector

Jay has spent his entire existence keeping you safe, yet now, you're slipping away in his arms. "This isn’t how it’s supposed to be," he grits out, his jaw clenched. His instincts scream at him to turn you, but deep down, he fears what eternity might do to you. "If I do this, there's no going back," he whispers, his fangs grazing your skin. But as your heartbeat slows, he makes his choice.

4. Jake 🩸 | The One Who Begs

Jake is wrecked, his body shaking as he holds you. "You promised me forever," he sobs, pressing desperate kisses to your forehead. His throat burns with hunger, but he refuses to take you without your permission. "Please, just wake up and tell me it’s okay," he pleads, knowing time is slipping away. In the end, he can't let you go. He bites down, choosing damnation over loneliness.

5. Sunghoon 🩸 | The Ruthless Decision

Sunghoon watches the light fade from your eyes, his usually cold demeanor cracking. He’s spent years guarding his heart, but with you, he let himself feel. And now? You're dying. "I won't let this happen," he declares, voice like steel. Without hesitation, he bites into your neck, ignoring the consequences. "You’re mine," he growls, holding you tightly as your transformation begins.

6. Sunoo 🩸 | The One Who Hesitates

Tears well in Sunoo’s eyes as he clutches you. "You'd hate me for this," he whispers, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to take away your humanity, your warmth, your light. But as your breathing grows shallow, he realizes there’s no choice. "I'm sorry," he murmurs before his fangs pierce your skin, his own tears mixing with your blood.

7. Ni-ki 🩸 | The One Who Loses Control

Ni-ki isn't thinking—his mind is blank except for one thought: save you. He acts on instinct, his fangs sinking into your neck before he even registers what he's done. The moment he feels your body jolt in his arms, he exhales shakily. "You scared the hell out of me," he mutters, pressing his forehead to yours. "You're not leaving me. Ever."

Which reaction do you love the most? Would you accept becoming a vampire for them?

[elikajinnie]

priest vampire sunghoon plsplspls

P: VampirePriest!Sunghoon X Fem!Reader (18+)

Warnings: Mature Themes, Explicit Content, Blood, Power Imbalance, Religious Themes, Obsession, Moral Dilemmas, Vampirism, Temptation, Forbidden Desire, Profanation, Blasphemy, Suggestive Content, Touchstarved!Sunghoon, Stalking, Supernatural Elements, Seduction, Emotional Turmoil, Hints Of God Complex, Gothic Elements, Feral Behaviour, Body Worship, Begging, Corruption, Death, Destructive Obsession, Slight Smut (munch!hoon), Implied Mind Control, Dirty Talk, Sadistic Behavior, yall hes messy.

Synopsis: A summer visit home becomes a tempting mistake when you're dragged to church and meet the priest, Sunghoon. Mysterious and cold, he ignites a dangerous desire within you, drawing you closer. But what you don’t know is that he’s barely holding himself back from worshiping you with the hunger of centuries. After all, it’s been lifetimes since he let himself corrupt someone so divine.

a/n: For all my fellow girls who crave to be desired in a way that’s inhuman, proceed.(Commentary and reblogs are appreciated! MDNI!!!)

now playing : night crawling by miley cyrus | judas (80s ver.) by gabriella raelyn | oxytocin by billie eillish | take me back to eden by sleep token

Desire is a dangerous thing. It is the ache in the pit of your stomach, the throb beneath your skin that no logic can quiet, no reasoning can soothe. Everyone knows it, in one form or another of this insatiable yearning, this quiet hunger that stirs within, threatening to consume all that is good, all that is right.

It begins innocently enough, a glance, a word, a touch—but once it takes root, it grows like a vine, winding its way around the soul, suffocating the senses. Desire doesn’t come with warnings. It doesn’t come with kindness or restraint. It doesn’t care about the fragile nature of human hearts or the sanity of minds. It is a predator, relentless and cunning, knowing that the weaker the will, the more easily it can take hold.

Humans were made to want, to need, to crave—but it is those who are already broken, or those who have yet to understand the depth of their own weakness, who fall hardest. Once it has taken root, desire doesn’t fade. It doesn’t relinquish its grip once it has tasted blood. It grows, claws its way deeper, burrowing into the marrow of a person’s soul until they are left nothing more than a hollowed shell, a slave to their own longing. And the more it pulls them in, the more they fight against it, the stronger it becomes.

The mind, fragile and worn, will betray the body, and in the face of such overwhelming need, there is no escape. When desire has settled its claim, it will never leave, not until it has destroyed everything in its path. It is relentless, unforgiving, and it promises only one thing: satisfaction, at any cost.

With no summer plans in sight and a quiet ache for the familiar, you didn't hesitate much to spend your vacation back home. The long, warm days seemed endless and devoid of anything exciting, and the thought of retreating to your childhood home, where everything was comfortingly known, felt like a relief. Yet, as you pulled into the driveway, something felt off.

The house, once a place of chaotic warmth, was now adorned with crosses—large, ornate ones hanging on every wall, their dark wood contrasting sharply with the usual homely decor. The smell of incense was heavy in the air, cloying and thick, almost suffocating. It curled around the doorway like a persistent, invasive presence.

The familiar sound of your parents' voices calling your name from within was the same, but there was a coldness to it, an undercurrent of something...different. You paused, your hand resting on the doorframe, taking in the unfamiliar sight of your own home, now draped in the symbols of something you hadn't thought about in years. Something that made your pulse quicken, though you couldn’t quite place why.

You shook off the strange atmosphere that clung to the house, ignoring the overpowering incense and the rows of crosses in favor of hugging your parents, who were as warm and welcoming as always. Their smiles, though slightly strained, put you at ease for a moment.

You escaped to your old bedroom, which, thankfully, hadn't been changed. The faded posters on the walls, the cluttered desk, the soft bed you used to sleep in—it all felt like nothing had shifted, like you were just a kid again. You unpacked quickly, not giving the house or the unsettling changes much thought. It was easier to pretend everything was the same.

After a quick change into something more comfortable, you decided to head out into town, hoping to clear your head and reacquaint yourself with the familiar streets. You hadn't been back in years, and the nostalgic idea of revisiting old hangouts, grabbing a coffee at the local café, and catching up with old friends seemed like the perfect way to ease into your summer.

But when you stepped into the small town, the reality felt different. The streets were quieter than usual, and as you passed by the few pedestrians, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle detail that seemed almost... unnatural. Almost every person you passed had a cross hanging from their necks, large and prominent, some of them shining with a strange intensity under the sun. It wasn’t just one or two people—it was almost everyone. The sight of the crosses clashed with the warm familiarity of the town, making your skin prickle with unease.

You didn’t know why it bothered you so much. It wasn’t like people hadn’t worn crosses before, but this... it felt wrong. There was something in the way they wore them—too purposeful, too synchronized. The way they all seemed to move in the same rhythm, eyes cast downward or forward, never meeting your gaze. It felt as though the town itself was holding its breath, waiting for something. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were the outsider, the one who didn’t belong.

The longer you wandered through the town, the more that strange feeling grew in your chest, like something was tightening around your ribs, constricting your breath. You couldn't ignore it. Something had changed in this town. Something... off.

Determined to get to the bottom of it, you started searching for a familiar face. Someone who could shed some light on the unsettling shift in the atmosphere. That’s when you spotted Wonyoung, one of your old friends, lingering by a jewelry kiosk in the mall. She looked the same but there was a certain distance in her eyes, a coolness that hadn’t been there before.

You walked up to her, and her face lit up with recognition. The reunion was warm, like slipping into a favorite sweater, but something felt strange in the way she held herself, how she glanced around the area before speaking.

"I didn’t expect to see you back here," she said with a faint chuckle, her eyes flickering nervously to the others in the mall, all of them with crosses around their necks.

You couldn't hold back any longer. "Wonyoung, what’s going on? Everyone... everyone is wearing crosses, and they all seem so... strange. Why? Is there something happening here I don’t know about?"

Wonyoung hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the cross around her own neck before meeting your eyes. There was something in her expression—reluctance, maybe fear—that set off another alarm in your mind.

"It’s... the church," she finally said, her voice low, as though speaking louder might draw unwanted attention. "The local church. We got a new priest a few months ago. And after he came, it’s like the whole town shifted. More than half of the town became his parishioners, and they all started wearing these." She tugged at the chain around her neck. "It wasn’t like this before. People didn’t used to... worship like this. Not so openly."

You frowned, trying to process the information. "So it’s the priest?" you asked, trying to connect the dots. "What’s so special about him?"

Wonyoung shifted uncomfortably, as if the words themselves were heavy. "I don’t really know, but he... he’s different. The way he speaks, the way he looks at you—it’s like he’s pulling you in, making you want to... believe, to follow. People feel like they need to be closer to him, like he’s some sort of... beacon."

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, "What about you, Wonyoung? Are you one of his followers?"

Wonyoung shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, her fingers playing nervously with the chain around her neck. She seemed torn, as if battling with something inside her before finally looking up at you. “I really wasn’t at first,” she admitted, her voice quiet, almost apologetic. “I mean, I didn’t really believe in all of it. But... after my parents dragged me to one of his sermons, things started to change.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts, her eyes drifting downward. "At first, it was just like any other service, but there was something about the way he spoke. The way he looked at everyone—it felt... different. He has this presence, like he sees right through you. It made me feel... seen, in a way. And then, it wasn’t just the sermon—it was the people. The congregation. They all seemed so... together. Like they were all part of something bigger than themselves, something important. I guess I started to like that feeling. The idea of belonging.”

Her voice trailed off, and you could see the conflict on her face—the way she was fighting against her own admission. You could tell she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the path she had found herself on, but there was also a longing in her eyes that made it clear she had been drawn in, just like everyone else. It was as though this priest, this man, had found a way to pull at something deep inside her, something she didn’t even realize she was missing.

“It’s not just about religion anymore, though,” Wonyoung continued, her words more hesitant now. “It’s more about... him. And how everyone around him seems to glow with this... certainty. He makes you believe. Not just in God, but in him. It’s... unsettling, but it’s also... comforting.” She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking back up to yours. “I know it sounds strange, but I don’t know how to explain it. I didn’t want to become one of his followers. But now I don’t know if I can walk away.”

You couldn’t ignore the chills creeping up your spine. There was something in the way she spoke, in the way she seemed almost resigned to it, that made you realize how deep the grip of this man had taken hold.

“I don’t know what’s happening, but something’s wrong here,” you whispered, your stomach twisting. “Do you think... do you think he’s changing people?”

Wonyoung blinked at you, then let out a soft, incredulous laugh—as if you’d told her the punchline to a joke only she didn’t find concerning. “Changing?” she echoed, shaking her head. “What are you talking about? How would he? That’s crazy.”

Her tone was light, but there was something behind her eyes—something flat and unreadable, like a door that had quietly shut.

“Listen,” she continued, brushing her hair behind her ear, her fingers still lightly grazing the cross around her neck. “If you saw his sermons, you would know. He’s not dangerous. He’s...” She paused, her eyes softening, distant. “He’s everything this town needed.”

That struck you more than anything else she’d said. There was a strange calm in her voice, too smooth, too rehearsed. You looked at her—really looked—and suddenly it hit you. Wonyoung was different. Not just in the way she spoke, but in the way she carried herself. There was a quiet rigidity to her posture, a steadiness to her smile that hadn’t been there before. She looked like Wonyoung, sounded like her—but something underneath had shifted. Subtle. Deep.

You felt a chill curl up your spine, but you didn’t press it. Something in your gut told you not to.

Instead, you forced a weak smile and nodded. “Yeah... maybe you’re right.”

Wonyoung smiled back, satisfied, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed at all. But as you watched her turn and walk away, slipping into the slow, measured crowd moving through the mall like a school of sleepwalkers, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just spoken to someone who was no longer entirely herself.

With a hundred questions, zero answers, and a gnawing curiosity you couldn’t quiet, you made your way back home. The air outside was cooler now, dusk creeping across the sky, soft shadows stretching long over the sidewalks. The town looked normal—peaceful, even—but everything felt off.

When you finally stepped inside your house, hoping to decompress and rest before you started investigating whatever was happening around you, you were immediately met with your parents standing in the hallway. Their faces were calm, expectant.

“There you are,” your mother said, smoothing down her blouse like it mattered. “Go get dressed, we’re leaving soon.”

You blinked. “Leaving? Where?”

“Church,” your father replied. One word. Final. “We don’t want to be late.”

Your stomach turned. “Church? Now? It’s almost dark.”

Your mother offered a thin, practiced smile. “Evening mass. It’s a special service tonight. Father Park asked everyone to attend.”

Father Park. That had to be him. The priest. The one Wonyoung had talked about with such unshakable reverence. The one who had supposedly arrived just a few months ago and already had the town in his grasp.

You hesitated, your pulse picking up slightly. “Since when do you go to church at night?”

Your father’s expression didn’t shift, but there was something steelier behind his eyes. “Since he came. Evening masses are more... intimate.”

You stared at them, a thousand protests forming behind your lips, but none of them made it out. The weight of their stare, calm but expectant, like they already knew you’d say yes, made it feel pointless to argue. So you nodded slowly, feeling like your body moved on its own.

You stared at them, a thousand protests forming behind your lips, but none of them made it out. The weight of their stare made it feel pointless to argue. So you nodded slowly, your limbs moving before your mind could fully catch up, as if something unseen had already been decided for you.

You slipped into your room, closing the door behind you with a soft click. For a moment, you just stood there, your back against the wood, the silence of your childhood bedroom pressing in around you like a cocoon. You exhaled shakily, trying to shake the eerie numbness clinging to your skin.

You hadn’t planned for this. You hadn’t packed for church. Especially not church at night.

Dragging your suitcase onto the bed, you rifled through the contents with vague frustration. What did people even wear to mass now? Especially one led by a priest who seemed to have the entire town wrapped around his finger?

Eventually, your fingers landed on a dress—simple, dark, soft to the touch. It wasn’t overtly modest, but it wasn’t scandalous either. It hugged your figure in a subtle way, with a neckline just high enough to be respectful. Pretty, but not loud. You threw a cardigan over it for good measure, telling yourself it was just for warmth—but you knew it was more than that. You didn’t want to stand out.

As you slipped it on, brushing down the fabric, you caught your reflection in the mirror.

A beat passed. Then two. And for the first time since coming home, you felt it settle inside you.

Anticipation.

You didn’t know what was waiting at that church, but some part of you—some reckless, curious part—wanted to find out.

You did your final touch-ups in the mirror—lip balm, a quick brush through your hair, and a spritz of the perfume. Just enough to feel composed. Presentable. Your heart beat a little faster than it should’ve as you stood, smoothed down your dress, and stepped out into the hall.

The moment your parents saw you, they lit up—not in the way parents usually do when they’re proud, but more like they were relieved. Like your compliance had sealed something.

“You look nice,” your mother said, adjusting a curl behind your ear, too gentle.

Then your father opened the door and gestured out. “Come on. We have to walk. Father Park hates lateness.”

You blinked. “Walk?” you echoed, eyes flicking toward the car parked in the driveway. “But the church—”

“No time,” your mother cut in, already nudging you outside with a gentle but firm hand on your back. “It’s a beautiful night. You’ll see.”

You wanted to protest, to at least ask why, but something in their tone—their urgency masked as casual suggestion—made your words die in your throat. So you didn’t fight. You just started walking.

The three of you moved in near silence. The only sounds were the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of cicadas in the trees. Your parents walked on either side of you, not speaking, not even glancing your way. They didn’t seem nervous, but their stillness made you feel like you were walking through a dream. One that didn’t entirely belong to you.

As you moved farther from the heart of town, the houses became more spread out, the streetlights dimmer, the woods thicker on either side. The church sat near the outskirts—always had. Nestled close to the forest line, surrounded by whispering trees and low stone walls draped in ivy. You’d walked this path before, years ago, but it felt different now. Hollowed out.

You remembered the church from before. The old building was nothing fancy—a faded wooden structure with white-trimmed windows and a creaky steeple bell that only worked half the time. The sanctuary had always been small but warm. The former priest, Father Yoon, had been kind, if not a little pushy. He talked too long during sermons and tended to ramble about the “youth losing their way,” but there had been nothing sinister about him. Just an old man trying to hold on to something that was slipping from him.

But as the forest began to thin and the roof of the church came into view, you felt a cold pull in your chest.

This wasn’t the same church anymore.

Visually, it had changed. The building was larger now, its structure taller, more imposing, a solid black silhouette against the night sky. The wood, once faded and weathered, now seemed sleek and unnatural, as if it had absorbed the very darkness around it. Thick, twisted vines crawled up the sides of the church, their tendrils blackened by the night air, creeping like living things—like they were trying to claim the building, wrap it in an unsettling embrace.

The tall doors of the church stood wide open, as if welcoming the town. And the people, those same figures you had seen earlier, drifted in one by one, filing through the entrance with the same slow, synchronized steps, their faces unreadable. The flickering lights inside cast long, eerie shadows across their faces, but none of them looked at you as you approached. They simply moved forward, as though they were part of something that had already begun, a ritual too far gone to interrupt.

You didn’t know when you had started walking slower, but now you found yourself frozen at the edge of the churchyard. The old feeling of comfort was gone. All you could feel was the weight of the place, pressing down on you. The church, once a simple, humble place, now seemed like a fortress. And the vines—those strange, living things that clung to its walls—looked almost alive in the moonlight, as if they were growing in time with each passing moment.

You took a deep breath, your feet moving almost involuntarily as you stepped into the building. The moment you crossed the threshold, a heavy stillness settled over you. It was different from the church you remembered—much different. The walls, once simple and light, now held a dark, polished sheen, reflecting the pale light of the lamps that hung from the ceiling, casting long shadows across the room. The flickering light from the lanterns seemed almost too warm, too intimate, but it did little to chase away the cold feeling crawling up your spine.

The large windows, once clear and bright, now let in the moonlight in sharp slivers, casting long beams that split the room into dark patches and pools of light. The entire space felt like it was bathed in an eerie glow, the pale light falling onto the rows of benches, now arranged neatly and facing forward. It felt more like an arena than a place of worship, the rows of seats rigid and orderly, leaving no room for deviation, for choice. All eyes would be on the stand, on the pulpit where the priest would stand, a figure of unquestionable authority.

You instinctively looked toward the altar, but your gaze was pulled away by something else. To the side, there was a confession booth, much larger than the one you remembered, and something about it made your skin crawl. It seemed too close to the shadows, too hidden in the corners of the room. But it wasn’t just the booth—it was the staircase that caught your attention.

A spiraling staircase that curved both up and down, disappearing into the dark, unknown spaces above and below. You could feel the weight of it—the spiral seemed endless, its steps disappearing into the shadows like they led to places you weren’t meant to see. The stairs felt wrong—too grand, too foreboding, and there was an unsettling sense of movement in the air, as if something was waiting there.

You stood frozen for a moment, your heart beating harder in your chest, fighting the overwhelming urge to flee. The place felt like a trap, as if it was waiting for you to step further into its embrace. Your parents were already sitting quietly in one of the pews, their faces serene, unbothered by the strange atmosphere. You wanted to join them, to blend in, to pretend nothing had changed.

But before you could take a single step, the tall entrance doors groaned shut behind you.

You turned just in time to see a woman—dressed in long, flowing black robes with a white veil pinned tightly over her hair—close and latch them with practiced ease. Her movements were graceful, reverent. You guessed, by her modest attire and solemn expression, that she must be a nun. She gave no one a second glance as she walked forward, past the rows of silent, seated townspeople, her footsteps echoing in the heavy stillness.

Suddenly aware of your own lingering presence at the back, you scanned for an empty seat. Your parents were far ahead, already facing the altar with their heads slightly bowed. Everyone else sat perfectly still, their posture straight, their gazes fixed downward. There was no room beside them, and no time to hesitate. You slid into an empty space near the back, away from the eyes of the crowd, trying to quiet the unease gnawing at your spine.

The nun reached the front and turned to face the congregation. Her voice rang out, soft yet commanding.

“Please rise for Father Park.”

At once, the room responded. People stood with eerie synchronicity, the sound of movement uniform, mechanical, almost rehearsed. You stood too, though slower than the rest, feeling out of step, like a foreign body in a ceremony that wasn’t meant for you.

And then you saw him.

He emerged from the spiraling staircase behind the altar, rising slowly from the depths of the church as though he had been waiting below, nestled in the dark. You held your breath as his figure came into view—and your breath caught.

He was beautiful.

But not in a way that felt safe.

Tall, composed, with black hair slicked back from his forehead, his pale skin nearly luminescent under the flickering lanterns. His features were sharply drawn—angular jawline, high cheekbones, and a mouth set in a line of quiet, unreadable discipline. His eyes scanned the room with unsettling precision, dark and penetrating, like they were cataloging every soul in the pews.

Young. He was young—too young to be the man everyone had spoken of with such reverence. He looked more like a model than a priest. And yet, every inch of him radiated power. Control.

He reached the altar without a sound, his long black coat brushing the floor as he moved. When he lifted a gloved hand and made a simple gesture, the entire room sat down as one, the wooden pews groaning softly beneath the movement.

You hesitated, then sat too, your eyes never leaving him.

The gloves. Black, elegant, and tight over his fingers. He wore them as though they were part of his uniform, but something about them struck you as... odd.

His gaze swept across the hall like a blade, slow and calculated, dissecting each face with unnerving precision. When he began to speak, his voice carried easily through the church—deep, smooth, laced with an unfamiliar accent that made his words drip like honey and iron all at once.

He spoke of sin.

Of temptation.

Of how the human soul was weak by design, always yearning, always reaching for things that could destroy it. He spoke of how one must repel sin, reject desire, cast away pleasure in favor of purity. His words should’ve been cold, should’ve sounded like warning bells—but they didn’t. They drew you in, low and rhythmic, like a lullaby sung too close to a flame. There was something dangerous in the way he spoke, something addictive in every syllable that left his lips.

“Sin does not scream,” he said softly, walking slowly behind the altar, gloved hands moving with controlled grace. “It whispers. It waits. It watches until your soul is quiet... and then it moves.”

But then—he looked at you.

And everything stopped.

His voice halted mid-sentence, mid-thought. His eyes locked onto yours across the room like a vice closing around your throat. You felt your heart skip, then stumble. You swallowed hard, unsure why his gaze felt like it had pierced straight through your skin, straight into your spine. He didn’t blink. He didn’t look away.

You didn’t notice the way his chest rose with a sharp inhale, like he’d caught scent of something he hadn’t expected. You didn’t see how his hands tensed, knuckles pressing through the leather of his gloves, the sound of creaking fabric just barely audible. You didn’t hear the quiet swallow as he forced down the sudden pooling of saliva in his mouth.

But you did notice when he spoke again.

Because he didn’t look away from you when he did. Not once.

“And yet,” he began again, his voice lower now, richer, like wine left to darken in the bottle, “the greatest danger of sin… is not when it arrives like a beast at your door.” He took one slow step forward. “No. It is when it comes softly.” Another step. “When it wears beauty like a mask. When it makes you want it. When it looks you in the eye and asks if you’re still strong enough to say no.”

Your fingers curled slightly against the edge of the bench, a strange heat crawling up your spine.

“It is not the devil who is hardest to resist,” he murmured, eyes still on yours, voice barely above a whisper, “it is the angel… with blood on their hands.”

His words struck something deep inside you—so quiet yet so thunderous it echoed in your bones. The air in the church shifted, thickened, like every person in the room had collectively forgotten how to breathe. But he didn’t break eye contact. Not once. As if the rest of the congregation had vanished, as if the sermon itself had been for you all along.

Your breath hitched. Something deep in your stomach twisted—not out of fear, but something stranger, something heavier. His voice, his presence, the way he spoke of sin as if it were a seduction rather than a warning… it lit a fire under your skin. One you didn’t know you’d been carrying.

He finally looked away, but the spell didn’t break.

You barely registered the rest of the sermon. His voice faded into the background, low and reverent, but you heard none of it. All you could think about was the way he had looked at you—like you were something he’d been waiting for. Like he knew things about you that even you hadn’t admitted.

When the final prayer was said and the congregation rose to their feet, the room began to shift back into motion—shuffling feet, quiet murmurs, coats being pulled on, doors creaking open. You stayed seated longer than you meant to, but your parents found you quickly, their smiles gentle, as if nothing about tonight had been strange at all.

“We’ll head home first,” your mother said softly, brushing a hand over your shoulder. “You should go introduce yourself to Father Park. He’s always eager to meet new faces—especially returning ones.”

Your father nodded in agreement. “He'll appreciate it. And it’s only polite.”

Polite.

That word rang hollow in your head as you hesitated, watching them disappear out the church doors without another word. The crowd had thinned fast, most people filing out with the same calm, synchronized rhythm they’d arrived with. And up at the front, near the altar, Father Park still stood.

Tall. Still. Unmoving.

He wasn’t addressing anyone. He wasn’t pretending to be occupied. He simply stood there, watching the people as they passed him with slight nods or murmured goodbyes. His hands remained behind his back. His presence was quiet, but it filled the entire space, commanding without effort.

You swallowed hard and made your way down the center aisle, your footsteps softer than they’d ever been. Each step forward felt louder in your ears than it should have, like the church was holding its breath again just for you.

He wasn’t watching the others anymore.

His head turned the moment you approached, and then—his eyes found yours again. And this time, they didn’t leave.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. Didn’t even pretend not to stare.

His gaze stayed locked on you, dark and unreadable, and something about it rooted you in place. There was no smile. No welcoming gesture. Just a long, piercing silence and that look—like he’d been expecting you long before you ever stepped foot in this building.

And then, finally, in a voice like velvet stretched tight over steel, he spoke. “I’ve never seen you around before.” His words weren’t a question, but a quiet observation. His voice carried no warmth, but it wasn’t cold either. It simply was, like truth laid bare. You felt it settle in your spine, low and humming, as though your name were perched on the tip of his tongue without ever being spoken.

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of how small the space between you felt, despite the cavernous size of the church. “I’m just visiting,” you said, doing your best to sound composed. “I came back for the summer. My parents—” you glanced toward the doors, “—they still live here.”

He hummed softly, a low, thoughtful sound that sent a ripple of heat down your neck.

His gaze drifted down your figure and slowly returned to your face, unapologetically. Not lewd. Not hesitant. As if he had every right to look, to see. The weight of it made you feel exposed, like you were standing beneath a spotlight instead of the flickering lamplight of the altar.

“I see,” he said finally, tone unreadable. “The summer.” He repeated it like the word itself was strange on his tongue. Like it was new. Or irrelevant.

There was a long pause, the kind that might have been awkward if not for the sheer gravity of his presence. You had the strangest feeling he wasn’t just studying your appearance—he was studying your soul, peeling back the layers of your thoughts, tasting your fear, your curiosity, your desire.

You shifted slightly under his gaze, unsure of what to say next.

“Well,” he said, voice just above a murmur, “then I hope you plan to stay a while. Summer can be... transformative.” The way he said it—low, the faintest touch of something darker beneath his words—sent a jolt through you. His tone wrapped around your spine like silk and thorns, and before you could stop yourself, your thighs pressed together instinctively, your body reacting before your mind caught up.

You hoped—prayed—he hadn’t noticed.

But he had.

Of course he had.

Father Park’s eyes didn’t flicker, didn’t change. He didn’t smirk, didn’t taunt. His expression remained perfectly composed, his features carved from something cool and ancient. But deep beneath the surface of that carefully maintained mask, he had felt it—that flicker of want in you, the smallest tremor of hunger responding to his voice.

And he savored it.

Not outwardly, no. That would be undignified. Unrefined. And if there was one thing Father Park had mastered over the centuries, it was control. He had honed it like a blade, sharp and precise, learning to curb his desire, to bury his hunger beneath layers of stillness and sacred words. But even the most disciplined predator knew when to watch, when to wait. And now, watching you struggle to keep your expression neutral, your posture steady, he knew—you felt it too.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said softly, as if it were nothing more than a polite gesture. But beneath those words, there was a deeper pulse, something that stirred the air between you like a warning… or a promise. His eyes lingered just a second longer than they should have. Then, he tilted his head slightly, voice dropping even lower—intimate, like confession. “If you ever find yourself burdened,” he said, “if you ever feel your demons clawing at the edges of you… come to me.” A pause. “I can help you repel your sins. I’ll guide you. Cleanse you.”

The words sent another chill down your spine, but not out of fear. There was something in his tone that suggested he already knew your sins. Or worse—that he was ready to create them.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat and nodded—silent, unsure of what else to say.

He studied you for a moment longer, unreadable behind the perfect stillness of his face. Not a twitch. Not a flicker. Just that unshakable calm, carved into him like stone.

Then, without a word, he turned.

His footsteps were silent, impossibly so, as he moved through the dim light of the altar. The shadows clung to him, rising like smoke, curling around his figure as if they knew him—as if they welcomed him back. And just like that, they swallowed him whole. One blink, and he was gone.

You stood there, motionless in the now-empty church. The last few traces of candlelight flickered low on the walls, casting long, twitching shapes across the pews. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was thick. Watchful. Like something in the walls was still awake.

Only when your chest began to ache did you realize you were holding your breath.

You exhaled and turned, slowly making your way toward the doors. Each step echoed louder than it should have. Louder now that the room was empty… or nearly empty. You didn’t dare look back again.

The moment the heavy doors creaked open, the cold night air rushed in to meet you, sharp and clean against your flushed skin. You stepped outside, pulling your cardigan tighter around you as the chill seeped through the fabric.

You took one final glance over your shoulder, eyes drawn back to the church.

It loomed, silent and black against the sky, its sharp steeple cutting into the clouds like a blade. And there, just faintly visible under the pale shimmer of moonlight—you saw them.

Ravens.

Perched in a loose cluster along the roof’s edge, their glossy feathers barely shifting in the breeze. Unmoving. Watching.

Dozens of them, gathered like sentinels.

You stared, unease curling in your gut. It was too late for birds. Too cold. Too quiet. And yet they remained, still and silent, like they, too, were part of whatever lived in that church now.

You turned away.

And this time, you didn’t look back.

You didn’t go to the next sermons.

They were all held at night—just as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, as if darkness itself were a requirement for gathering. That alone felt peculiar, unsettling even, though no one in town seemed to question it. Your parents asked you, more than once, voices soft and hopeful, if you’d join them again. “Father Park mentioned you,” your mother had said one evening, her tone casual, but her eyes too careful. “He’d be happy to see you return.”

You only offered a weak smile and the same excuse each time: “I’m not feeling great.”

They didn’t press, but they always left looking disappointed.

The truth, though—you wanted to go.

God, did you want to go.

Not for the sermons. Not for the hymns or the words meant to lift your soul. You wanted to go for him.

For Father Park.

The man who had looked at you like you were a secret he’d been waiting centuries to uncover. The man who spoke of sin like it was sacred and watched you like he knew exactly what kind of thoughts had crept into your head at night. Thoughts you shouldn’t have about a priest. Especially not one so young. So sharp. So... seductive.

He didn’t belong in a place like this. Not in a pulpit, not with scripture in his mouth. He belonged in smoke, in silk, in shadows.

He was a contradiction. A temptation wrapped in control. And he was a change.

Something new in your otherwise familiar world. You came back to this town to revisit old memories, to walk down quiet streets and remember who you were before everything got complicated. You didn’t come here to be unraveled. To ache for something you couldn’t name. To feel seen in a way that scared you.

And that—that—was what compelled you to stay away.

Because you knew if you went back, if you looked into those eyes again…you wouldn’t leave untouched.

And maybe that was what terrified you most—how ready a part of you already was. How your thoughts betrayed you late at night, imagining things that had nothing to do with salvation. Things that didn’t belong in pews or beneath stained glass windows.

Things that had everything to do with him.

You told yourself you were doing the right thing, that distance was control. That ignoring the magnetic pull you felt was a kind of strength. But each night you stayed home, while your parents filed into that dark church along with the rest of the town, you couldn’t help but wonder what you were missing.

Was he thinking of you?

Did he look toward the door, expecting to see you slip in late, breathless and repentant? Did he preach the same way, with the same quiet hunger in his voice, now that you weren’t there to watch him?

You didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. Because deep down, you were afraid of the answer. Afraid that yes, he was waiting. And worse—that if you returned, he would welcome you with open arms and fire behind his eyes.

So, you stayed away.

But every time the sun dipped low and you saw your parents put on their coats, every time you watched the quiet procession of neighbors walking in unison toward that looming black church at the forest’s edge, your heart thudded with something shamefully close to longing.

You weren’t avoiding temptation. You were circling it. Waiting for it to notice. Waiting for it to come find you.

But temptation was hungry. Temptation was patient.

It lingered in corners, nestled in silence, waiting for your resolve to thin like parchment under fire. It didn’t need to rush. It knew your name. It knew the rhythm of your breath when you dreamed of things you wouldn’t dare say aloud.

Temptation could be salvation or damnation—depending on how you knelt for it. Temptation could whisper like a prayer or choke like a curse. Temptation could wear holiness like a mask and still be made of sin. And temptation… could take any form wanted. Any form needed. Any form desired.

And desire—desire was the real sickness. The quiet rot that lived inside every person who ever wanted something they couldn’t have. Desire could bring a weak-willed human to their knees in a second. Strip them bare, not of clothing, but of reason, of restraint. It was intoxicating, relentless, and it never asked for permission.

And you weren’t built to resist it.

All it would take was one push. One glance. One word spoken too low, too close to your ear. Just one carefully timed breath against the hollow of your throat, and you’d fall.

Because temptation knew how to play the long game. And desire, when tangled in the hands of something eternal—something ancient and starving— wasn’t just dangerous.

It was fatal.

It didn’t knock. It seeped in. Through cracks in the walls, through dreams you barely remembered upon waking. It laced your thoughts, curled itself around your tongue when you tried to speak of anything else. It made the air taste different. It made silence feel watched.

And so it came for you, not with violence but with a whisper. A scent. A memory that didn’t belong to you.

The feeling of velvet against your skin though you hadn’t touched anything. The echo of your name when no one had called it. The pulse between your legs when you hadn’t even been thinking of him or maybe you had.

You told yourself you were strong. That distance was protection. But all the while, temptation waited, watched, just beyond your reach.

Because you could avoid the church. You could dodge the sermons. You could pretend not to miss the way his eyes burned through you like holy fire. But you couldn’t hide what was already inside you. And he knew that. He didn’t need to chase you. He only needed to wait.

Because something like you... something soft and full of quiet hunger would come back on its own.

The question was never if.

It was when.

And after all… you could only be strong for so long. Restraint was a thread—thin, fraying, stretched tighter with every passing day. And deep down, you knew it: your resistance was a performance. A little show you put on for your own conscience.

Because you were weak. Not for everyone. Not always. But for pretty men in black, with sharp eyes and sharp tongues. Men who wore their darkness like a second skin, who carried danger in their posture and poetry in their voice.

You were weak for men who spoke softly but left bruises on your thoughts. Especially when they looked at you like you were the answer to their own damnation.

And Father Park... He was every one of your weaknesses stitched into a single man.

A priest who dressed like a funeral. Who spoke like sin was an art form. Who gazed at you like you were both temptation and redemption wrapped into one trembling body.

He made holiness feel obscene. He talked about purity while looking at you like he wanted to ruin it. He spoke of sin in that velvet voice, low and reverent, and you found yourself wondering, how would that same voice sound pressed against your ear? Whispering not scripture… but filth?

It was a thought you tried to smother. But it grew. Festered. Bloomed in the dark like something unholy. And no matter how far you stayed, no matter how long you avoided the church, the truth was simple:

You were already halfway on your knees. All he had to do… was reach.

And reach he did...

It was late—later than you realized. The clock had long slipped past midnight, and the house was silent, wrapped in the kind of stillness only small towns knew. Your parents had returned from the evening’s sermon hours ago, murmuring softly about the beauty of the night’s message before retreating to their room like obedient sheep. Unlike you who was still awake, you could not sleep. Not when your thoughts were so loud. Not when his voice still echoed in them, warm and sinful and patient.

So you sat in the dark, curled on the couch in nothing but an oversized T-shirt, the TV screen casting dull flickers across the room as some late-night program droned in the background. You weren’t watching it. You were just existing, caught somewhere between dread and longing.

And then came the knocks. Three sharp raps at the door.

You froze, breath caught in your throat. Who the hell would be knocking this late? Your parents were fast asleep. There were no lights on in the neighborhood, no cars passing by. The silence outside was thick, unnatural. Brows furrowed, you rose slowly, bare feet silent against the floorboards as you made your way to the door. For a moment, you hesitated. That strange, gnawing pull gripped your stomach again—like you already knew, on some instinctive, animal level, what waited on the other side.

Still, your hand reached the handle. Still, you turned it.

And when you opened the door—you stopped breathing.

Father Park stood there. Still cloaked in black. Still composed. Still devastating.

His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d been walking through wind or shadow or both. The collar at his throat was pristine, every inch of skin covered, but something about him felt more… real this time. Less untouchable. Or maybe it was just the absence of the altar between you.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice soft—too soft for the hour.

You stared at him, heart hammering wildly, words stuck somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “What are you—” you began, but your voice came out weaker than you intended.

He tilted his head slightly, gaze sweeping over your face, down your bare legs, pausing just long enough to make your skin prickle before returning to your eyes. His look wasn’t vulgar. It was far worse.

It was intentional.

“I noticed you haven’t returned,” he said, the hint of something unreadable in his tone. “And I was... concerned.”

Concerned.

A priest concerned for his wayward sheep. That’s what he wanted it to sound like. That’s how it should have sounded. But it didn’t. It sounded like a warning. Like a whisper against the skin. Like the first drop of blood in the mouth of something that had waited too long.

You swallowed hard. And still, you didn’t shut the door.

Instead you cleared your throat, trying to mask the tension in your voice. “I… I haven’t been feeling well,” you offered, casting your eyes slightly downward, pretending the floorboards were suddenly fascinating. It was the safest excuse you could manage. Safe, distant, neutral.

But he didn’t budge. Didn’t even blink. Instead, he tilted his head slowly, eyes still locked onto you, his expression unreadable—but focused. Focused in a way that made your skin warm and crawl all at once. “It’s been two weeks, my dear,” he said smoothly, almost scolding, but with something far too tender laced into the words.

My dear.

The way he said it—it shouldn’t have meant anything. Just a phrase. A polite gesture. But your heart stuttered anyway, and you felt your fingers twitch at your sides. You didn’t respond right away. Just shrugged, feigning indifference, as if the simple petname hadn’t sent heat straight to your core. As if you didn’t want to lean against the doorframe and let him call you that again.

You didn’t notice the shift in his shoulders. Didn’t see how the leather of his gloves creaked slightly from the force of his grip behind his back. How his fingers were curling into fists, nails biting into his palms through the fabric. He had to resist. He had to.

“I see…” he murmured, voice low now, laced with something darker beneath the calm. “Are you feeling any better now, then?”

The question was innocent on the surface, but it didn’t feel that way. Not in the way he said it. Not in the way he was looking at you—like your answer might decide everything.

You met his eyes again, slower this time. And you saw it—just for a second.

The restraint.

The tension under the surface. The crack in the porcelain. Like he was holding something back. Barely.

And for the first time since you opened the door, you wondered:

What would happen if he stopped?

He looked so put together. Always immaculate, always composed—like nothing ever touched him. Not the heat, not the dark, not even desire. Everything about Father Park was controlled, from the way he spoke to the way he moved to the way he watched you with eyes that never seemed to waver.

But you wondered… what if he did waver?

What would he look like when ruined? Would his voice shake? Would his breath hitch the way yours did around him? Would those hands tremble if you let them touch you?

Would he beg?

The thought—so sudden, so shamefully vivid—made your lips part slightly. Your gaze softened, glassy, as your mind drifted somewhere far less innocent than the front door of your parents’ home. You didn't even realize you'd spaced out, lost in fantasy, letting the silence hang too long between you.

And to him, it was a gift. You weren’t looking. Weren’t guarded.

So he inhaled.

A slow, silent breath through his nose—deep, indulgent, hungry.

And God.

You were divine. The scent of you—warm skin, subtle perfume, something sweet and alive underneath it all—it hit him like a revelation. His chest rose with it, and for a brief, uncontrollable second, his eyes flashed—deep crimson, glowing beneath the surface like dying embers stoked back to life.

But you didn’t see it. You were still in your head, still dreaming. And the moment passed quick, the red bled away, and when your eyes finally flicked up to meet his again, he looked the same.

Put together. Unshaken. Holy. At least on the surface. But beneath the surface, temptation was coiling tighter in his chest, aching beneath layers of practiced restraint. His voice remained calm, smooth as silk, as he asked, “May I come in?”

The question lingered in the air like incense—faintly sweet, quietly intoxicating.

You blinked, lips parting slightly. The question shouldn’t have caught you off guard, but it did. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the hour, maybe it was the way he looked standing there—too composed for someone knocking on a door past midnight. Or maybe it was just the way he asked, like it wasn’t really a request at all.

“...Why?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended, uncertain. You didn’t mean it to sound suspicious, but it did. And not because you feared him. No, that wasn’t it. You feared yourself. Feared what yes might mean.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he tilted his head—just slightly—and looked at you. Really looked at you. Like he was deciphering a language only he could hear, or quietly marveling at a puzzle he'd already solved. The silence between you stretched, but it didn’t feel empty.

Then, finally, he spoke—soft, measured.

“You seem… restless.”

You swallowed, throat dry, fingers tightening on the edge of the door. You couldn’t tell if it was a guess or a confession. You didn’t know how he knew—but he did.

You shrugged, brushing off his so-called concern with forced nonchalance. “I’m fine,” you muttered, eyes flicking past him like the night beyond the porch suddenly held something worth seeing. “Just haven’t been sleeping well. That’s all.”

He didn’t press. Of course he didn’t.

Father Park never needed to press.

Instead, he nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on you a heartbeat longer than necessary, like he was waiting for something—an opening, a flicker of doubt, a confession you weren’t ready to give. But when none came, he simply straightened his posture with the grace of someone who was never truly off-balance.

“The doors of the church remain open for you,” he said, voice smooth, patient. “Should you ever feel the weight of your sins… should you ever need to speak them.” His eyes seemed to gleam then—not with judgment, but with something deeper. Something hungrier.

Then, without warning, he murmured something else. The words rolled off his tongue in a language you didn’t understand, soft and ancient. Latin, you guessed. Whatever it was, it wasn’t meant for your ears to grasp—it was meant for something older. Something listening. And then he bowed. A slow, elegant dip of his head—formal, reverent. Like you were the altar.

“Good night,” he said simply, his voice velvet and dusk.

You barely managed a faint reply before he turned and walked off into the night.

Only… it didn’t look like walking. His steps were too fluid, too quiet, like his feet barely touched the ground.

You remained in the doorway, frozen, watching his figure slowly disappear down the street. The night swallowed him in pieces—first his silhouette, then the glint of his collar, and finally the memory of his voice, still echoing softly in your ears.

You closed the door. But the heat he left behind stayed with you.

He hadn’t fed in awhile.

The hunger coiled in his gut like smoke—writhing, gnawing, whispering to him in the dead hours of the night. A low, constant hum beneath his skin. He was used to it by now, the ache, the restraint. It was part of wearing the mask. Part of being Father Park.

An alias. A role. A cage.

Sunghoon had worn many names before this one, walked through centuries with different faces, all while pretending to be something he wasn’t. He never stayed anywhere long. It was too dangerous, too exposing. And, frankly, too lonely.

He hadn’t had a home since the one that mattered burned to ash, centuries ago—its scent still carved into the deepest parts of his memory: smoke, blood, charred skin. After that, he stopped trying to belong. He didn’t need comfort. He needed survival.

When he found this town—small, crumbling, reeking of hollow faith and rotting piety he hadn’t planned to stay long. Just long enough to feed. To satisfy the ache. The church had already been dying, its sermons empty, its people desperate. The original priest had been pitiful, really. A man praying on his knees outside the chapel, begging his silent God for a miracle.

And a miracle had come.

A miracle with crimson eyes and hunger in its mouth.

Sunghoon hadn’t hesitated. He’d stepped out from the trees like an answered prayer, calm and quiet, then ripped into the priest’s throat with such force that the man didn’t even have time to scream. He’d fed under the cross that night, blood soaking the soil like a new form of baptism. By dawn, he wore the collar.

And just like that, Father Park was born.

It was supposed to be temporary. A few weeks, maybe a month. Just long enough to drain the desperate faithful who wandered in, seeking salvation. He would give them a taste of something divine, and take so much more in return.

But then you appeared.

He hadn’t expected you.

The first time he saw you walk into his church, he felt it—the stillness, the hum beneath his skin sharpening into something feral. The hunger shifted. Changed. Focused.

You weren’t like the others. You weren’t hollow. You weren’t praying for salvation. You were temptation incarnate.

And worse—you didn’t even know it.

You smelled like warmth and sin. Like something he had no right to touch, and every right to take. Every moment he looked at you, listened to your voice, watched your eyes flick toward him like you couldn’t help it—he unraveled, just a little more.

He couldn’t leave. Not now.

Not until he had a taste of you.

Just one taste.

But he already knew one would never be enough. No. He couldn’t have just one simple taste.

Sunghoon knew himself too well. A taste would never satisfy. A drop would only drive him mad.

He needed the whole meal.

He needed your blood on his skin—hot, slick, divine—trailing down his throat, staining his clothes, slicking his chest. He needed it under his claws, beneath his tongue, between his teeth. He needed to taste you completely, until you were part of him, until no part of you was untouched, unclaimed.

He needed to feel you everywhere—your scent in his lungs, your warmth pressed to his cold flesh. You on his lap, your thighs trembling around him. You under him, breathless and pliant. You over him, riding out his hunger like it was your penance. You on your knees before him—not in worship of something above, but of him. Only him.

You’d pray for salvation, and he’d answer with ruin.

He wanted to hear it—your voice cracking, your pleas faltering, his name spoken like a hymn and a curse. He wanted you to whisper it like he was your God, and scream it like he was your undoing.

He could only imagine how sweet you’d taste, how delectable your innocence would be on his tongue. It wasn’t just hunger—it was need. An ache in every cell of his body to feel your heartbeat where his had long gone quiet. To wrap himself in your warmth, where he was nothing but cold shadow.

Sunghoon didn’t pray. Not really. But for you? He would.

He’d pray for your soul, not to save it—but to make sure it was pure. So when he sank his fangs into your throat, when he dragged you into the abyss with him, it would mean something. He wanted to ruin you for anyone else. To mark you so thoroughly the idea of another even looking at you would be laughable.

He’d pray for your goodness. So he could be the one to strip it away.

And once he did. You wouldn’t want to be saved. You would want to be worshipped. By him.

And he would worship you in ways no God ever could. With lips, with teeth, with devotion carved out of centuries of hunger. He would fall to his knees not for salvation—but for you. His altar. His sacrifice. His sin.

You were his undoing. His Armageddon.

He, who had survived kingdoms rising and burning, lovers dying, centuries of silence and solitude—you were the one thing he couldn’t survive. The one soul too bright, too soft, too dangerous.

And he wanted to ruin you the way you had ruined him.

He wanted to crack you open like you’d done to him. Take your name in his mouth like blood and never spit it out. Fill your veins with him until there was nothing left of the girl who opened her door in a T-shirt and bare thighs, blinking sleep from her eyes like she wasn’t already calling down a monster with her softness.

And yet... Even as he hunted, prowling the woods for a young couple who had dared to scoff at his sermon, dared to turn away from his church—he felt it. That snap deep inside him. That shift.

The taste of their blood was warm. Familiar. Easy.

But it was wrong.

They didn’t satisfy him. Not even close. He drained them quietly, quickly, like routine. Left their bodies beneath the roots of an old oak and stared at the sky, blood drying on his hands.

Something had changed. Something in him had broken the moment he first caught your scent. And now… he realized the truth.

He needed you more than he needed blood. More than he needed to feed. More than he needed to survive.

You had become his only craving. Not the chase. Not the kill. You.

And he would starve before he tasted anyone else.

You didn’t know why.

Maybe it was the way the night air had felt heavier lately. Maybe it was the dreams—warm hands, whispered words, lips that never touched but always hovered too close. Or maybe… maybe it was just him.

But the next sermon, you went.

You didn’t protest when your parents knocked gently on your door, their voices laced with hope. You just nodded, and they seemed surprised. You didn’t explain. What could you even say?

That you were going for God? No. You were going for something much more dangerous.

This time, you dressed differently. Carefully.

White. Soft. Lacey.

A dress that clung in just the right places, short—but not too short. Modest enough for the occasion, yet just enough bare skin to invite attention. You told yourself it didn’t matter if he noticed. But you wanted him to. You needed him to.

The church was already full when you arrived, the lanterns burning low, casting golden light that made the air feel thick, like honey. Your parents found their usual spot near the middle, but you lingered further back, sliding into a pew alone, heart quietly pounding.

And then he entered.

The moment his black-clad figure emerged from the shadow of the spiraling staircase, the room fell into reverent silence—yet somehow, it got louder in your chest.

His gaze swept over the congregation like always. Calm. Composed.

Until he saw you.

His eyes locked onto you like a pin striking the center of a map. Unblinking. Unmoving.

And you held your breath—just for a second—waiting for something. A flicker. A shift. Something.

But his face didn’t change. Not a twitch. Not a blink. His expression remained carved in stone, as unreadable and perfect as ever.

And to your surprise… you felt a flicker of disappointment.

He didn’t react. Not to the dress. Not to you. Not to the white lace you chose deliberately to contrast everything he wore.

But what you didn’t see—what you couldn’t see—was the way his jaw clenched behind the collar. How his fingers twitched once at his side. How his fangs pressed, achingly, against his gums.

You only saw the mask. Because he was practiced. He was patient.

But inside?

He was scorching.

It was worse than the burn of sunlight on his skin— that searing, instant agony that blistered through every inch of him when he miscalculated the rise of dawn. Worse than the sting of silver slicing through flesh like butter, hissing and smoking as it left behind angry, rotting welts. Worse than the pain of holy water splashing across his face during a too-close encounter with the faithful fool—his skin peeling, his body convulsing in silent fury as he choked down the scream.

Worse than all of it.

You were worse.

Because this burn was deep. Slow. Consuming.

You sat there in white lace like a vision sent to torment him, thighs pressed together, your lips slightly parted as your eyes searched his face, so eager to find a crack in his armor. You didn’t know it, but you were glowing in that pew—like the church light was drawn to you, wrapping around your shoulders, kissing the hem of your dress, illuminating the softness of your throat.

You didn’t know what you were doing. Or maybe… you did. Maybe some part of you wanted to be his undoing.

Sunghoon clenched his jaw tighter, forcing the sermon to fall from his lips like scripture—fluid, measured, and holy. But behind the collar, behind the mask of Father Park, he was falling apart.

His gaze lingered on your legs longer than it should have. Drifted higher. Imagined.

He imagined that lace torn. Imagined you beneath him, arching into his mouth, crying out for a God that wasn’t listening—because he was already there. Your God in black.

And still, he did nothing. Even if he wanted to do everything.

He remained still, stoic, and composed—while inside, he was chaos incarnate.

His mind conjured the most sinful visions: You, back arched beneath him, lace torn and forgotten. Your breath hitching as his tongue traced devotion into your skin. You on your knees, flushed and desperate, whispering his name like a prayer—like a plea.

His control tightened like a vice.

He couldn’t let his fangs elongate—not here, not now, even if the hunger ached in his jaw, even if he could already taste the phantom sweetness of your blood. He couldn’t let his claws slip free, though his fingers twitched inside the leather of his gloves, aching to grip you, to drag you closer and feel your pulse flutter beneath his hands. He couldn’t let the growls building in his chest rise to the surface, those low, guttural sounds that threatened to betray him—remind the room, remind you, that he was not a man preaching salvation, but a predator resisting collapse.

And most of all—he couldn’t let his eyes shift.

He couldn’t let you see the way his irises burned when his hunger overtook him. That deep, infernal red that gave away every secret, every need. You weren’t ready for that.

But God, how close he was to unraveling.

He was a storm held in human shape. A monster beneath silk and scripture.

And you, sitting there in white—unknowing, or perhaps too knowing—were dragging him to the edge of something he hadn’t felt in centuries.

Not just lust. Not just hunger.

Obsession.

And if he gave in.. if he so much as slipped once..

There would be no sermon. No prayer. No salvation.

Only him. And you. And the ruin that would follow.

Sunghoon's voice didn’t falter as he continued preaching, but every word tasted like ash in his mouth. The scripture meant nothing now—it was noise. Hollow syllables meant to distract from the war inside him. Each verse a chain he tried to wrap tighter around himself, each sacred word a blade digging into his tongue to keep the monster in check. Because if he let himself slip—if he gave in to the need that had been festering since the moment he first laid eyes on you—he wouldn’t just taste you. He’d devour you.

He’d press your hands together like prayer and kiss the blasphemy into your skin. He’d feed from your throat and moan into your mouth. He’d drag you to the altar and make you his, body and soul, until even your shadow belonged to him. Until you forgot what it meant to be untouched.

You weren’t just a passing temptation.

You were his trigger. His fall. His holy, aching obsession.

And still, he stood there, perfectly composed, delivering holy words with a voice that belied the beast underneath. Every syllable burned on the way out, and every breath he took felt like it could be his last if he didn’t have you soon. Because this was no longer hunger. This was starvation. And all it would take was one moment—one crack in his restraint, one slip of your voice, one glance too long—and the leash he’d kept wrapped around his nature for centuries would snap.

And God have mercy on you if it did.

Because he wouldn’t.

When the sermon ended, Sunghoon didn’t linger.

He didn’t offer his usual soft nods or faint smiles to the congregation. Didn’t shake hands or murmur blessings. Didn’t wait at the altar as the people filtered out in quiet, orderly lines, looking to him like he was the answer to all their empty prayers.

He left.

The moment the final word left his lips, he stepped down from the altar, black robes whispering behind him like smoke. You watched him move, confused at first by the sudden shift in routine. Usually, he stayed. Usually, he was still as stone, watching over the exit like a shepherd guiding his sheep home.

Not tonight. Tonight, he moved like a man about to come undone.

He disappeared behind the velvet curtain at the side of the altar, the shadows greedily swallowing his form. You blinked, your heart thudding like a warning in your chest. Your parents stood beside you, speaking in hushed admiration about the sermon, the scripture, how powerful his words had been tonight. You barely heard them. Your eyes were still locked on the altar.

You hadn’t missed it.

The way his voice had deepened just slightly when he looked your way. The way his gaze lingered a second too long. The slight tremor in his hand when he turned a page of his Bible. He had been holding something back.

You felt it.

And now he was gone. Vanished behind the curtain before anyone could ask anything, before anyone could see the cracks in that perfect mask.

But you’d seen enough. You weren’t just imagining it anymore—the tension, the flicker in his eyes, the near-tremble in his voice. No man, priest or not, looked at someone like that without wanting.

And Father Park wanted you. Even if he tried to bury it beneath scripture. Even if he ran.

That only made you more certain.

You stood in the pew, still and silent as the congregation began to file out around you, their murmurs dull in your ears. Your parents were already gathering their things, already walking ahead, already assuming you’d follow.

But your gaze stayed locked on the curtain he’d vanished behind.

You hadn’t come here just to look pretty in white and hope. You had dressed for him. And if he thought slipping away into the dark would shake you loose from whatever was blooming—slow and burning—between you, then he didn’t understand you at all.

You weren’t going to give up.

You wanted him. In every forbidden, dangerous way. And judging by the way he fled the altar tonight, he was closer to breaking than you’d even hoped.

So fine.

If he was going to retreat, you’d step up your game.

Push harder. Closer. Deeper.

Until the mask cracked for good.

From the moment the moon climbed high to the edge of sunrise, Sunghoon lived in torture.

He writhed on the bed deep beneath the church—his sanctuary and prison both, far from the sun’s reach. The underground chamber, cold and lightless, echoed with the ragged sounds of his breath. The stone walls were marked from past nights like this—scratches, splinters, the stains of restraint shattered.

The bedding beneath him was torn to shreds, clawed apart in a frenzy of desperation. The mattress hung in ribbons, shredded fabric and stuffing tangled with broken seams and the scent of him. His sweat soaked through what little remained of the sheets, dripping from his pale chest, his collarbone, pooling on the bedding beneath him. He was burning, despite the chill that filled the air.

And his fangs—those cursed, aching things were fully extended, sharp and gleaming, bared as his jaw hung open in a soundless snarl.

Drool slid messily from his parted lips, thick and sweet-smelling, rolling down his chin, his throat, streaking the length of his bare chest like a mark of surrender. His hands gripped the remains of the bedding, nails tearing through again and again as if punishing it for not being you.

Because all he could think about was you.

Your thighs, trembling and slick against his hips. Your voice breaking into the quiet with breathless, needy whines. Your mouth, your neck, your blood—oh, your blood, how it would coat his tongue, how it would taste running warm into his throat. You, crying out his name like a prayer he didn’t deserve. You, arching into him, full of trust and ruin.

He was in heaven and hell at once. Your name repeated in his mind like liturgy, every syllable a curse.

The chains of his control, the very chains he had forged over centuries were shaking, screaming, cracking under the pressure. He tried to breathe, tried to think, but all that came was you. That white dress. That skin. That scent.

His crimson eyes snapped open in the dark, gleaming like embers, then rolled back into his skull as his body jerked with the weight of his need. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat, echoing through the stone chamber like a dying vow.

He was unraveling.

And he couldn’t hold on much longer.

Not when his control only worsened with time.

Because now—you came to every sermon.

Without fail.

And each time, you came dressed like temptation in human form. Sweet, sinful contradictions that made his restraint decay piece by piece. Dresses too soft, too clingy. Skirts that danced just above your knees when you walked. Delicate lace, bare collarbones, slivers of skin that shouldn’t have meant anything… but drove him mad.

It wasn’t what you wore, really. It was the intention behind it. The subtle awareness in your gaze when you met his. The faint, knowing curl of your lips when you caught his stare.

And God, the scent of you.

It filled the church before you even stepped inside. Honey and something warmer—something ripe. It clung to your skin, to the air, to the wooden pews long after you’d left. It filled his lungs with every breath he took, poisoning his sermons, tainting his prayers. Every time you passed him, it wrapped around his throat like a noose made of silk and sugar.

So after each sermon—each torture—Sunghoon would retreat. Down the hidden stairwell. Past the flickering lanterns. Into the cold black of his underground chamber where God couldn’t see him anymore.

And there he came undone.

Every. Single. Time.

He ripped the bedding to shreds. Tore the covers from the mattress. Clawed at the stone walls until his knuckles bled, fangs bared and glistening, chest heaving with curses that echoed like a demon trapped in a confession box.

The scent of you lingered on his clothes. In his hair. In his mouth.

And he would groan into the silence, bucking into the ruined sheets, imagining you—imagining your fingers tangled in his hair, your nails raking down his back, your breath stuttering against his ear as you begged him for more.

He couldn’t preach purity and self-denial when all he wanted was to ruin you—to bury himself so deeply in your body, your blood, your soul, that not even heaven could pull him free.

And with every passing sermon. He got closer to doing it.

His breaking point was simple. Almost laughably so. Not a scream. Not a mistake. Not a betrayal.

Just you. Walking into his church at eleven o’clock at night.

He should’ve known. Should’ve sensed it the moment you stepped through the doors. But he didn’t need to. Your scent announced you before your footsteps even touched the stone. Sweet, warm, ripe—a siren’s call dressed in sinless skin.

He had grown used to you tormenting him during sermons. Used to your stolen glances and your skirts that clung just a little too tightly when you knelt. He could survive those moments—barely.

But now?

You came during confessional hours. Late. Alone. When the church was dark, when no one else came but the desperate and the damned.

From your parents, you knew he offered confession every Sunday at 11 p.m.—something about it being “quiet and intimate.” They told you proudly how devoted he was, how even the most broken souls found healing in his presence.

But you didn’t come to be healed. You came for something else.

You slipped into the church like you belonged there—soft, silent, sinful—and made your way straight to the confessional booth. The air inside was cold, the wood old and dark, polished by centuries of secrets whispered into velvet shadows. And on the other side of the screen, he waited. You knew it. You felt it.

That he was alone. That he was listening.

The thought made your heart flutter.

You stepped inside your side of the booth and sat slowly, letting the silence stretch. Letting it build.

Then, with deliberate slowness, you unbuttoned your coat. And tossed it aside—carelessly, deliberately, like it meant nothing.

He heard it hit the wood. Soft. Thoughtless. Reckless. And it broke him.

On the other side of the thin wall, Sunghoon’s body tensed so hard it hurt. His hands curled into fists against his thighs, the leather of his gloves creaking as his knuckles went bone-white. His breath hitched, shallow, audible. His fangs pressed painfully against his tongue. His eyes burned, pupils thinning to slits, then bleeding red as the image formed in his mind—you, shedding your coat like you were undressing in front of him. Like you knew he was listening. Like you wanted him to hear every move.

The monster inside him—starving, frantic, unhinged pulled its leash.

He didn’t breathe. He didn’t speak. He just sat there, trembling from the force of restraint.

The booth was too small. Too quiet. The air thick with your scent and something far more dangerous—intention. He could hear everything—the soft rustle of fabric, the creak of wood beneath you as you shifted, the exhale you let out like a tired confession in itself.

And then, you sighed. Soft. Slow. Purposeful.

His fingers twitched where they lay.

Through the latticed screen, shadows danced across your outline, just enough for his eyes to catch the movement as your hands drifted over your bare thighs. You rubbed slowly, absentmindedly, like you were comforting yourself—or enticing him.

Then your hands moved higher, subtly gathering the hem of your dress, pulling it up inch by inch. And though he couldn’t see much, he felt it. Knew it.

And when you leaned forward, close enough that he could hear your breath against the screen, only a sliver of wood separating you from the thing you were daring—you spoke.

“Forgive me, Father… for I have sinned.” Your voice was a whisper soaked in honey and fire, and it made his stomach twist violently.

His fangs throbbed. His claws pushed against the inside of his gloves. His thighs pressed together, muscles locked, as he tried desperately not to make a sound.

You continued, slower now. “I’ve had… thoughts. Wicked ones. Cravings. I think I’ve been tempting someone who shouldn’t be tempted.”

Your fingers brushed higher.

Sunghoon’s mouth parted, but no words came. Only the sharp sound of his breath through gritted teeth. His entire body was burning.

You knew exactly what you were doing. And he was seconds away from doing everything you wanted.

All it would take was one more word. One more movement. One more sin.

And Father Park would be gone, replaced by something far darker. Far hungrier.

He felt his fangs grow, aching and full in his mouth, sharper with every word you spoke like scripture meant to break him.

He went through the motions—his routine—voice low and even, asking softly, “What a burdensome sin you feel, child.” But the word child caught in his throat, tasted wrong when applied to you, who sat on the other side of the screen not as a lost soul seeking guidance… but as a devil in white lace, seducing him with every breath.

And you just hummed, as if the very idea of confession was sweet on your tongue. You kept up the act, voice dripping with falsified guilt, your thighs pressed together, breath hitching as you spoke of impure thoughts and shameful dreams. Of desire.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

He didn’t care now. He didn’t care that drool was sliding down his chin, that it dripped from his parted mouth like he was starving—because he was. He didn’t care that the leather of his gloves had ripped where his claws had pushed through, splintering through the seams with sharp, glistening hunger. He didn’t care that the scent of you was driving him insane—warm, slick, sweet, like sin and innocence tangled together. His eyes were red now—fully glowing, animal and furious, wide and locked on the screen that separated you. The only thing keeping you safe.

And even then, barely.

He inhaled, deeply, shamelessly, like your scent was holy. His shoulders shuddered, lips parted around the weight of the groan he bit back.

He could hear your heartbeat.

Louder now. Faster. Racing.

He could feel the pulse fluttering in your neck, between your thighs, in that trembling, lusting heart that beat just for him in this moment. You wanted him. You wanted him to break. And that knowing—that truth—drove him to the edge of madness.

He saw your sin. He felt your want. He tasted your need in the air like blood.

And Sunghoon was barely a man now. Barely a priest. Barely holding on. Because the thing that sat on his side of the booth… wasn’t thinking of salvation anymore. It was thinking of you—under him, crying, clawing, moaning, begging.

“Is it normal to have impure thoughts, Father?” Your voice was breathy—soaked in false innocence, laced with heat. “I feel so hot all the time around him… I dream of his hands on me. His lips on mine. I dream of sin, Father. And I like it.”

He gripped the edge of the booth, knuckles bone-white. The wood groaned beneath his strength, cracking under the force he tried and failed to temper.

Your voice dripped into him like poison, thick and slow, coiling around his restraint. Every word you spoke was a match. Every sigh, a spark.

Then you leaned back. Then you spread your legs.

And then—

You whined.

Soft and wanting, a sound made for him, like a prayer that could only be answered in blood and broken vows. The growl that left his throat was deep, inhuman.

Something snapped.

The confessional shook as the door of his booth was ripped open, hinges groaning in protest as it slammed against the wall. You barely had time to gasp before your door was wrenched open, light from the altar flickering against the silhouette in front of you.

Sunghoon stood in the frame like a fallen angel, hair disheveled, his black clothes rumpled and hanging off his frame in that terrifying, unholy way that made him even more beautiful. His chest rose and fell with shallow, furious breaths. His eyes burned—glowed—with that feral crimson that no longer tried to hide what he was.

His fangs were out. His gloves were ruined, claws fully bared. And his perfect, stoic face was twisted in hunger.

The silence between you stretched, thick with heat and the scent of your arousal. He looked down at you, seated, legs parted, lips slightly parted in surprise, and the sight broke something in him for good.

"What... what are you?" you whispered, breath catching in your throat. There was fear there, yes—but not enough to make you move. Not enough to make you run. Just enough to make the air around you feel electric.

He stood before you like something carved from your worst and sweetest fantasies—towering, trembling, no longer hiding what he was. His eyes glowed like blood spilled beneath moonlight, locked on your throat, your chest, the heat between your parted legs. His jaw twitched, and slowly his tongue slipped out to trace along one of his fangs. He licked the drool from his lips, but more spilled from the corners of his mouth, thick and obscene, stringing down his chin in slow, shining ropes.

And then he smiled. Not kindly. Not softly. Predatorily.

“Something that should’ve left this town the moment it saw you,” he said, voice low, trembling with want. “Something that should’ve let you stay innocent.”

The scent of incense still clung to his robes, now tainted with sweat and the raw edge of his hunger.

“But you kept coming back…” he continued, tilting his head slowly. “Kept looking at me like you wanted to be hunted.” He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the unnatural cold radiating off his skin. His lips hovered just beside your cheek, and the thick, wet drip of his drool landed hot against your collarbone as he whispered:

“I haven’t fed in weeks.” Another breath, sharp through his nose, shuddering. “And you smell better than blood.”

You gulped, throat tightening around the weight of your breath, your fear, your want. You hadn’t even realized you were trembling—not until you felt it, the sharp contrast of him: Sunghoon’s bare, cold hands sliding over your warm skin.

At some point, he’d rid himself of the gloves. There was no barrier now. No mercy. Just the sharp drag of claws over flesh.

You gasped—head snapping back, spine arching as his claws gripped your thighs, too tight, too possessive. The points knicked your skin, slicing clean without hesitation. Blood welled up instantly, dark and warm, trailing down your thighs like liquid sin. It hurt. But it hurt so good.

A choked sound left your throat—half a cry, half a moan.

Sunghoon leaned in, lips brushing your ear, breath cold and heavy against your skin. And then he spoke.

“Little angel… I’m about to taint you.”

His voice was not human. It rumbled deep in his chest, echoed through your head, vibrating along your spine like a voice buried beneath the earth, rising just for you. It clung to your skin like a brand, a vow, a curse.

And then he kissed you.

No—he devoured you.

His lips slammed into yours, fast and brutal, a messy clash of fang and tongue and desperation. The sharp points of his fangs cut your lips, your tongue—thin lines of blood mixing with the flood of his own drool, slick and thick between your mouths like a dangerous, heady concoction.

You tasted copper and heat, the cold of him, the burn of you. There was no rhythm—just need. Raw, unholy need.

His kiss wasn’t something that asked. It took.

Your mouth, your breath, your will.

He kissed you like he was starving. Like every second his mouth wasn’t on you was agony. His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, your waist, sliding up your back and down your front, trembling from the force of restraint unraveling inside him. You could feel the cold of his skin and the sharp scrape of his claws dragging against your flesh, reverent and ravenous all at once.

And then he broke the kiss, only to trail his mouth down your jaw, to your throat, to your collarbones, lips slick with blood and spit as he tasted every inch like it was sacred. His breath hitched against your skin, cool and shaking.

You barely had time to gasp before his hands slid beneath your dress, gliding up your torso with possessive ease, fabric pushed away carelessly. The chill of the air hit your bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the sensation of him—the cold weight of him lowering, dragging you closer.

And then, without a word, he dropped to his knees.

You felt your breath catch. Felt the confession booth spin. He knelt like you were divinity. Like you were the altar.

Strong hands yanked you forward until you were perched right at the edge of the seat, and before you could even process it, one of your legs was thrown over his shoulder, the position intimate—vulnerable. You could feel his breath on your inner thigh, your skin sticky with the blood still dripping from the earlier cut.

And then you saw it, saw how his gaze lifted—locked on your neck.

His mouth was open, drool now running freely down his chin, and his fangs—those inhuman fangs—were fully bared, far too long, far too sharp, glistening with saliva that dripped in slow, heavy strings onto your skin. And suddenly, he started to beg.

“Please…” he whispered, voice cracked, hoarse, ruined. “Just a taste. Just a taste, I swear.” His lips kissed down your leg, slow, wet kisses that made your toes curl, that made your heart beat harder. With every inch downward, he whispered again:

“Let me taste you, little angel…” Another kiss. “Let me worship you…” Another, slower this time, his tongue flicking out, collecting a drop of blood from your skin. “I’ll be good. I’ll serve. Just let me have it…” He sounded mad—feral—like a deity cast out of heaven, crawling back to the altar on his knees.

His breath ghosted hot against your inner thigh, wet from his lips and heavy with need. He nuzzled into your skin like a beast trying to burrow into warmth, his nose brushing your pulse point, his red eyes lifted to yours—dazed, wild, pleading.

Tears rimmed the corners of his glowing eyes, but they didn’t fall. They shimmered, catching the low light of the church like broken glass. His tongue peeked out again, dragging slowly along your thigh, tasting the copper tang of your blood with a choked sound of reverence. “Please…” he whimpered again, voice slurred, almost drunk. “Just a taste, angel… just a drop.”

You could only stare—caught between horror and something far darker, something that twisted low in your gut like a forbidden thrill. Your breath caught, chest rising and falling as you whispered, barely audible, “You’re the devil…”

He smiled against your thigh, fangs glinting. “For you?” he rasped, voice thick with devotion and lust, “I’ll be anything you want, angel.”

Your fingers gripped the edge of the seat beneath you, white-knuckled. And then—without thinking, without hesitation—you leaned down, your lips ghosting near his ear, your whisper a challenge, a surrender, a summon.

“Then come and taste…”

You barely got the words out before he pounced.

There was no hesitation, no hesitation left in him—he moved like a storm unleashed, like a starving wolf tearing into paradise. One of his clawed hands flew up to your head, gripping your hair, tilting your face to the side—exposing your throat.

You gasped—no, whimpered—as his mouth moved to your shoulder.

And then—he bit.

Fangs pierced deep, sharp, brutal, slicing into muscle with terrifying ease. Your body seized as white-hot pain bloomed and then instantly melted into something blissful, devastating.

You screamed. Not in fear. Not in pain. But in ecstasy.

His mouth latched to your shoulder like he belonged there, sucking greedily, desperately, the wet, obscene sound of feeding filling the confessional like a hymn to madness. He groaned into your skin—low and feral, the sound vibrating through your bones. Your blood filled his mouth, spilling over his lips, slicking down his skin, and still—he didn’t stop.

He drank like it was salvation. You moaned like it was rapture.

And somewhere, buried in the pain and pleasure and ruin—

You realized the truth:

You had given yourself to a monster. And loved it.

When he finally pulled back, there was nothing holy left in him.

His entire front was soaked in your blood—neck to chest, sleeves to stomach. The white shirt beneath his unfastened cloak was ruined, stained crimson and clinging to his skin. His lips glistened, smeared with red, and he licked them with a guttural groan, head tipping back as his eyes rolled into his skull, overwhelmed by the taste of you.

“Delicious…” he murmured, voice heavy, cracked open in pleasure.

You lay slumped back against the booth, limbs trembling, twitching, eyes fluttering as your chest rose and fell in uneven gasps. Your skin was pale now, damp with sweat, mouth parted as you stared up at him—ruined and still wanting more.

And Sunghoon hadn’t had enough. Not nearly.

He looked down at you again, this time with hunger that had shifted—deepened. Not just starvation now. Not just thirst.

Possession.

He bent low again, pulling both of your legs up and over his shoulders, wrapping them around him with a strength that made your breath catch. His mouth descended on your thighs—hot, open-mouthed kisses pressed into the softest skin, slow and searing.

Marking you.

Over and over, he kissed, groaned, let his fangs drag lightly across the surface, each scrape making your toes curl. And then he bit again, not deep, not like before, just enough to break the skin, to draw small, perfect wells of blood. He sucked, moaning against your leg as if your taste was the holiest thing he'd ever known.

And you let him. You wanted him to.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking it hard, making a mess of the usual slicked-back strands. He groaned when you did it, hands gripping tighter at your thighs, claws dimpling your skin.

“Sunghoon…” you whined, breathless, head thrown back. The way you said his name—like a curse and a prayer—made him shudder against you.

Sunghoon kissed you like a man who had never known softness, only hunger—like your thighs were the first silk he’d ever touched and he meant to devour every inch. Each kiss turned sloppier, more feverish, his tongue dragging over your torn skin, mixing blood and spit and sweat in hot, open-mouthed reverence.

You held him there—gripping his hair tight, not just guiding him, but claiming him, like he belonged between your legs, on his knees, feeding from your body like it was divine.

And to him, it was.

You felt it in the way his fangs pressed teasingly to your inner thigh, not biting—threatening. Testing how far you’d let him go. How far gone you were.

And you were.

You were drunk on the feel of him. On the low, guttural groans that rumbled in his chest every time your fingers yanked harder, every time your breath caught when he sucked just right. Your head lolled back, body lax, shivering and twitching from blood loss and arousal, but you didn’t stop him. You opened your legs wider. Arched your hips up. Let him bury himself deeper against you.

He growled—an animal sound vibrating against your skin.

When he finally pulled back to look up at you, his mouth was smeared with red. His eyes were blown wide, pupils sharp and crimson and starved. “Mine,” he declared, voice hoarse, blood-wet.

And with his fingers tightening on your thighs and his lips finding your skin again, you knew this wasn’t about sin anymore. There was no church, no cross, no God above that could save you now.

Not from him. Not from yourself. And not from whatever you’d just become together in that confessional. Because you hadn’t just given him a taste. You’d offered yourself up.

Sunghoon moved with a suddenness that stole your breath. One moment, his mouth was still worshiping your thighs, fangs grazing your trembling skin and the next, he was lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

Your gasp was swallowed by the heat of his body pressed against yours.

One arm hooked securely beneath your thigh, the other gripped the curve of your ass, claws digging just enough to make you gasp again. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, body clinging to him as if it were instinct—as if you’d always been meant to fit there.

He didn’t speak. Just turned and carried you from the booth, footsteps slow but purposeful, like he was parading you through his house of worship, defiling its silence one step at a time. The church was silent and sacred and wrong around you both, your blood still hot and damp between you.

And you—bold, trembling, ruined—took your chance.

You leaned in and kissed him.

Your lips found his in a desperate, messy collision. You didn’t care about the blood, about the taste of iron or the heat of his tongue claiming yours. You kissed him like you were starving for him too. Your hands cradled his face, fingers sliding through his hair, tugging, pulling him deeper into you as he groaned into your mouth.

The kiss was violent and wet, his lips parting around a breathless moan as you dragged your teeth over his bottom lip. He pressed you harder to his chest, clawed fingers flexing around your thigh as he kept walking.

Down the aisle. Past the altar. Toward the hidden stairwell cloaked in shadow.

You broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, breathless against his lips, “Where are we going?”

His eyes locked with yours—red, wild, glinting like polished garnet in the dark. “To where I keep what’s mine,” he answered.

The door creaked open with a groan, heavy and ancient, like it hadn't welcomed anyone but him in centuries. The air that met you was cold, dense, and rich with the scent of stone, old incense, and blood.

Sunghoon stepped through the threshold without hesitation, and the moment the door sealed shut behind him, the world above might as well have ceased to exist.

This space—this dark, secret chamber was his. And now, it was yours, too.

He crossed the room and lowered you onto the bed with reverent ease, like you were the most sacred offering he'd ever laid eyes on. Your back sank into the ruined, claw-torn mattress, the scent of him surrounding you—musk, blood, devotion, lust.

And then he was on you.

His body hovered above yours, his frame broad and trembling with hunger as his lips found your neck again. He kissed your pulse, slow and open-mouthed, tongue tracing the spot he’d already bitten, teeth grazing, not biting—not yet.

Then lower. To your collarbone. To your chest.

You shivered beneath him, your hands reaching to grip his arms, nails dragging against the fabric of his ruined shirt as he slid the hem of your dress further down your chest, exposing more skin to his mouth, his touch, his worship.

His breath was ragged as he muttered something against your skin, the words rolling off his tongue like silk—Latin, dark and fluid, foreign but intimate. Each syllable was reverent, hushed, like a prayer or a curse meant only for you.

You didn’t understand a word of it. But the way he said it. The depth in his voice, the possessive tremble, the soft growl. It made your breath catch. It made your thighs clench. It made you need.

He caged you beneath him, hands on either side of your head, his body pressing down just enough for you to feel the weight of him, the danger of him—fangs inches from your throat, breath ragged with restraint and desperation. "You're mine now," he murmured lowly, switching back to a voice you understood, though his lips still brushed your shoulder. “Body… blood… soul. Mine.”

And though you should’ve felt fear, all you felt was heat. And you didn’t dare deny it.

Sunghoon pulled back, breathless, a string of blood-slick saliva connecting his lips to your collarbone before it snapped and dripped onto your chest. His eyes never left yours as his fingers went to the buttons of his bloodstained cassock, undoing them slowly, one by one, like he wanted you to feel every second of his unraveling.

And when the last layer fell from his frame, you could only stare.

His body was sculpted—inhumanly so. Pale, marble skin stretched over muscle, defined and taut, like he had been carved by the hands of something ancient and cruel. His chest glistened, smeared with your blood and his drool, both clinging to every line, every dip of his torso.

Your mouth parted in awe.

Sunghoon tilted his head, red eyes shining like molten garnet as he leaned closer, his voice low and thick. “I need another taste…” he growled.

Without hesitation, you tilted your head, baring your neck for him again, breath catching with anticipation. But he paused, a slow smirk ghosting over his lips.

“…No,” he murmured. “Not there.”

Confusion flashed in your eyes for just a moment—until you saw where he was looking.

Down.

His gaze burned past your collarbone, over your stomach, lower, darker, hungrily until it settled between your legs.

Understanding bloomed like heat in your gut.

“I need to taste every part of you, little lamb,” he whispered, reverent and possessive, like he was claiming you not just as prey but as sacrifice. “Every inch.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you met his gaze. And then—silently, shamelessly—you spread your legs for him, slow and wide, offering yourself fully.

A holy gesture, turned sinful. An invitation no demonic creature could ever resist.

Sunghoon’s eyes rolled back for a second, fangs bared, and he let out a sound that was almost a purr—but too low, too broken, too hungry. And then he lowered himself between your thighs like a worshiper before an altar. Ready to make you his religion.

He descended between your thighs like a man starved of meaning, of warmth, of purpose—and now he had all three in the form of you.

You, trembling beneath him, blood-slicked and bare. You, spread open like an offering laid at the altar. You, who smelled like sin and salvation tangled together in skin.

Sunghoon didn’t rush. No, he savored.

His claws, still stained slid along your thighs as he lowered his mouth, his breath ghosting over your most sensitive skin. You felt it, the way his nose brushed you, how he breathed you in, groaning like your scent alone was enough to unravel the centuries he’d spent chained by control.

And then his mouth was on you.

It wasn’t gentle.

His tongue was hot and soft, but his hunger was savage. He licked into you with slow, devastating intent—then faster, greedier, dragging obscene sounds from your lips. His fangs grazed delicately near where you were most sensitive, not biting but always a threat, a promise.

Your hips bucked and he growled, arms locking tighter around your thighs, keeping you spread, keeping you right there.

Like he was feasting. Because he was.

Between each lash of his tongue, he whispered against your heat, voice low, words murmured in Latin again—litanies not meant for the divine but for the damned. You didn’t know what he said, but your body answered, arching into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling, sobbing out his name like a prayer.

He moaned against you, the vibrations deep and devastating, and then finally he bit. Sharp. Precise. Deep enough to make you cry out not in pain, but in rapture. Blood welled again, and he drank from you there, tongue lapping it up like nectar, like he was tasting divinity.

“So sweet…” he groaned, face buried between your thighs, voice ragged and soaked in lust. “I knew you’d be sweet everywhere.”

Your vision blurred, your moans dissolving into whimpers as your body trembled, flooded with heat, with loss, with bliss. He didn’t let up. He didn’t stop. He worshipped you with his mouth like a man who had been denied heaven and finally found a Goddess willing to open the gates.

Summer didn’t last long. Of course it didn’t. Nothing that sweet, that intense, ever did.

But Sunghoon wasn’t something that faded with the season. He was yours. Fully, endlessly, eternally and he planned to stay that way. If you returned to the city, he’d follow. If you crossed oceans, he’d swim through them. If the sky cracked open and swallowed the world whole, he’d hold your hand through the flames. Convenient, really, when your boyfriend was a centuries-old vampire willing to follow you to the ends of the earth with nothing but a hunger for your blood and a hand on your waist.

You loved him. God, you loved him.

He was everything from your wildest dreams—beautiful, obsessive, dangerous. And it didn’t help that he looked at you like you were made of stars and sin.

And maybe, maybe… you liked to tease him.

A lot.

Even if it did end up biting you—hard—when he finally snapped and ruined you for hours after, leaving you trembling and marked in places no one else could see.

But you couldn’t help it. Teasing him was too easy.

You abused the fact that he couldn’t step into sunlight, casually opening the curtains in your room and lounging in the beam just to watch him pout in the shadows, shirtless and fanged, like a wounded predator denied his prey.

You abused the fact that silver burned him, which just so happened to become your new fashion statement. You wore a silver ring to bed and rested your hand over his chest as he hissed, and you only giggled when he snarled and bit your neck for the fourth time that night. You even got a dainty little silver necklace with a charm that sat right above your cleavage, just to make him snarl every time you leaned forward.

And oh… you abused the oldest rule of them all.

He couldn’t enter a house without an invitation.

You’d wait at the threshold, in nothing but lace, smirking as he stood seething outside your door, clawing at the frame like a beast denied his prey.

“Let me in.” “Say it.” “Little lamb, I swear—”

And you’d smile, thighs clenched sweetly, looking pretty, and purr, “No.”

Until the minute you finally gave in, invited him in with a smirk and a raised brow, was when the teasing always bit you back. Hard.

Because the moment you whispered “Come in,” he’d pounce. You’d end up ruined, spread and marked and soaked in the kind of pleasure that only something eternal could give. There was no waiting, no warming up. You barely had time to blink before your back hit the mattress, your clothes were halfway gone, and your wrists were pinned above your head by hands colder than ice and stronger than steel.

His mouth would find your throat first—always. Like a ritual. He’d kiss the places he’d bitten before, tongue tracing the scars he’d left like ownership, like a collector admiring his finest piece.

And then?

He’d ruin you.

You’d end up sprawled, legs trembling from being held apart too long, thighs marked up in crimson and violet from his claws, his lips. Your body ached—in the best, filthiest ways. You’d be soaked, not just in sweat, but in drool, blood, and his obsession. The sheets damp beneath you. Your voice hoarse from the screaming he always pulled out of you.

Because Sunghoon didn’t just take. He overwhelmed. He made you feel like nothing existed outside of him—nothing could.

“Still feel like teasing, little lamb?” he’d whisper, fangs dragging across your collarbone as you writhed beneath him.

You’d try to answer—but your voice would be wrecked, your mind hazy, your lips swollen, breath catching in short, desperate gasps. Your hands would still be buried in his hair, sticky with sweat, and your thighs would tremble from the aftershocks of how he broke you.

And yet—he was never done.

Because the part you loved most? The part that made your core throb and your heart race, no matter how many times he did it?

Was when he got you down on your knees.

When he’d pull you gently—almost lovingly—from the wreckage of the bed, guiding you to the floor like you were porcelain and his. And you’d go, obedient and dazed, letting your knees hit the ground as you looked up at him.

That look he gave you.

Sunghoon would stare down at you like a king before his throne, chest heaving, pale skin streaked in your blood, lips parted, fangs still glinting wet in the low light. His ruined shirt would hang half off his body, exposing the way his abdomen flexed with restraint and need. His eyes—red and blown with hunger would lock onto yours as you sat there, breathless, bruised, waiting.

And God, the power in it.

Because no matter how strong he was, how ancient or monstrous—he looked at you like you were the one who held power. Like you were the altar now. Like he wanted to fall to his knees, too. (Sometimes he would.)

He’d trace a claw along your jaw, tilting your head back just a little more, and say in that low, velvet voice, “Look at you. Perfect. On your knees for me, just like you should be.”

And you’d smile—slow and wicked—because the teasing always came back around. Because the moment you looked up at him with parted lips and that gleam in your eye, you knew he was about to lose control again. Sunghoon was the devil—not in name, but in nature.

And you... You were his corrupted angel.

You sat perched on his lap, back arched sweetly, fingers curled into the fabric of his ruined shirt, head tilted like you still wore some semblance of grace. From a distance, you looked almost pure—like a painting brought to life, divine and glowing under the flicker of candlelight.

But purity had long left you. Your eyes told the truth. So did your hips.

Because your lower body was moving—slow, deliberate, rolling against him in a rhythm you both knew too well. Every grind made him groan low in his throat, hands gripping your hips, guiding you, matching you, until your movements became one long, drawn-out act of sin.

There was nothing innocent left in you.

Not after the blood. Not after the nights of screaming his name beneath holy arches. Not after the way you let him bite, let him break, let him own.

Whatever innocence you had once carried, whatever glow had lived in your chest, had long since been stripped, blackened, burned out like soot. A ghost of holiness now cloaked in the ashes of delightful depravity.

And he loved you for it.

“Look at you,” he rasped, mouth brushing your shoulder, his voice rough from worship and want. “You used to be so pure… Now you ride me like you belong to the dark.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The way your body moved—grinding deeper, slower, tighter said enough.

You did belong to the dark. You belonged to him. And in his lap, corrupted and worshiped, you found heaven again, carved from hell.

The best part of this new life—this life soaked in crimson and devotion—wasn’t just the power, or the ruin, or even the sin.

It was him. After feeding.

When Sunghoon returned from the hunt, he was a different creature entirely. Not the composed, cold priest with honeyed words. Not the teasing, obsessive lover who knelt between your thighs and murmured prayers into your skin.

No—this version of him was feral.

His front would be soaked—chest and jaw smeared in blood, dirt clinging to the folds of his coat, hair wild, eyes glowing brighter than any flame. His movements were sharp, precise, a predator fresh from the kill, buzzing with adrenaline, with dominance, with the high of power surging through immortal veins.

And that was when he didn’t take any of your teasing. Not a single smug look. Not a lifted brow or sarcastic hum. Not even the hint of your bratty tongue.

Because the moment you opened your mouth with anything other than submission, he’d be on you—fast, like a strike of lightning, slamming you into the nearest surface with a growl in your ear and his claws already tearing at your clothes.

He wouldn’t ask—he’d take.

And you loved it.

You loved the way your body responded—how it knew when he came through the door like that. You loved the force, the hunger, the way he’d drag his bloodied hands along your skin, leaving marks that stained just as deep as his fangs.

“You wanna tease me now, little lamb?” he’d snarl into your throat, voice ragged as he rutted against you like he’d die without it. “Go on. Say something smart. See what happens.”

But you wouldn’t. Not then.

Not when his hand was around your throat, when your legs were thrown over his shoulders, when your voice was already breaking from moans and whimpers. When the only words you could manage were his name, over and over, as he ruined you with reckless, starved precision.

That was your favorite version of him. Not holy. Not gentle.

Just yours. Bloody. Breathless. And starving for you.

So screw you. You loved yourself a ruined vampire.

Blood on his chest, sin in his eyes, your name always on his tongue—sometimes in reverence, sometimes in warning, always with a hunger that made your knees weak.

You loved the way he shattered control when it came to you. How centuries of restraint, of silence, of cold detachment melted into madness the second your fingers tangled in his hair or your voice dipped just enough to tempt him.

You loved how he kissed like he was still starving, how he touched you like he feared you’d disappear, how he whispered filth into your skin like a prayer—your name his only gospel.

And you didn’t care that he wasn’t human. Didn’t care that he’d killed. That he burned in the sun. That he fed on the blood of the unfortunate.

Because he knelt for you. Because he would burn the world for you.

What more could you really want?

You had a vampire who worshiped your body, ruined your soul, fed from your love like it was his last salvation. You had a monster who touched you like you were the only thing left that mattered in an eternity of rot and ruin.

So yeah.

Screw purity. Screw salvation.

You’d take your blood-drenched, snarling, fanged lover over any mortal fantasy.

Because you didn’t need heaven. You had him. And he was hell in the best way possible.

a/n: this was supposed to be short and only suggestive, but screw it..

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[hypndiary]

ㅤㅤ𓉸ㅤ ㅤ🪓⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ ㅤ𝔇𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄ㅤㅤ ؑㅤ ㅤ✙ㅤ ㅤ▭▬

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ當夜幕降臨ㅤㅤ ⠀⠀▉▊ㅤ ㅤㅤ༒ㅤ ㅤㅤ⚔️

[muertecitos]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀🪓⠀⠀━━⠀⠀𝗆𝖾𝗺𝗲𝗇✟𝗈 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗶. ⠀⠀( 𝟣𝟨𝟩𝟫 )

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀፧⠀⠀التشريح بعد الوفاةㅤ𒂝 ⠀⠀ޠ⠀⠀⠀·

[vampirte]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀🪓   ꯭ ⎯⎯ ⠀⠀欲望 : ᴜ𝗻ʟᴇ𝗮s𝗵⠀⠀𖥻1874

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ليلة دامية⠀ ▐⠀⠀ ܢ⠀╊⠀ ⒦.⠀

[theothernads]

• ── ❛❛ 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟕 ❞ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆

─────────────────────────────────

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ִֶָ࣪☾. 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: In a world where vampires exist, the city of Seoul is not safe. With the most notorious in the Facility 007, everyone thought that the city would be kept at bay with murders being stopped and for terror to stop haunting everyone in the night. That's what you thought when they were captured and stopped the vampirism from spreading by biting normal humans. However, you made a mistake in assuming that these seven would give up, and you underestimated their desire for power and control when you were invited for an internship to said Facility 007. It should have been easy enough. But one myth and night changed everything, and now, you have to figure out how to play your cards right if you want to take them down.

── ִֶָ࣪☾. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: vampire!Enha×f!reader. ❀ .⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

── ִֶָ࣪☾. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: biting, violence, chainsaws, blood, fighting, lots of death, Enha are MEAN ASFAWK, handcuffs, vampires (duh), needles, and violence <3

╰┈➤ don't proceed if you don't like that.

ִֶָ࣪☾. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 20.6k ☰ ִֶָ࣪☾. 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘: ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

— ִֶָ࣪☾. [𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒]: okay. So. I have returned with the fic!! It took a while to edit and I'm not even that satisfied with the outcome BUT, I know people are waiting so, I decided to just put it out and let yall judge! I... um. Yeah. I did enjoy writing this one actually. I have a new idea for a Hoon fic but MAFIA. BUT NOT THE CRINGEY KIND 😭. Anyway, hope you enjoy. And yes, the word count did go up somehow💀. Anyway, pls let me know how you like it/dont like it.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ REBLOGS, LIKES+ COMMENTS are appreciated<3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱‧₊˚━━━━━━━━━━━━━

FACILITY 007.

The most highly guarded prison to accommodate the most notorious vampires to ever roam the streets. Each prison was made with soundproof walls, ropes at the ready, and a seat built into the plain walls, reminding prisoners of their inevitable sentence.

These vampires made the news within hours; their trademark were black masks that covered the cheeks and nose with narrow gaps where the teeth would be of a horrid creature. 

Each of their kills were brutal and malicious, with people drowning in their own blood, limbs left at awkward angles, and sometimes, the bodies were too unrecognisable to even have an autopsy performed. And for any of it to go on the news. 

The hunt for them was hasty—they were picked up on the CCTV in town when it all happened, and the police were already staged there. In all honesty, you expected more precision and flair in their crooked plans, but you had been proven wrong when leather cuffs were latched onto their wrists as Seoul's personal mark of retaliation.

They scared you, of course. But, for your mother, it was a light at the end of the tunnel for her research. Instead of killing those vampires (which you strongly insisted on), the authorities handed them over to this research facility, all locked up, studied, and examined down to the T. They were homed in the West Wing, whilst you and your mother stayed at the East Wing, where the labs were situated.

Now, where do you come in?

You hated those no-good vampires, and there was absolutely nothing to persuade you to ever go near one…

Except.

Except your mother offering  an insightful internship at her facility to gain experience since you were in the final year of your biomedical course. There were perks that came with having a crazy scientist as your mother. And, you accepted it with a single breath.

It was a little hypocritical when you agreed to it, but experience was a dream that barely came by commonly.

What you didn't accept is the part where you had to go to the West Wing and administer drugs directly to said vampires. The drugs, as much as you know, suppressed their strength or any traces of vampirism that lived in their bodies. It made it easier to handle their abilities where the Facility only had humans working.

Your mother already had an excuse precisely stitched.

"If you ever want to study something, you cannot be standing away from the microscope,” she had said to you over a bland tomato sandwich. 

“You can if you have other colleagues,” you had argued back to her, making her narrow her gaze with that authoritative, motherly fire.

“Then you will never understand your specimen. Nor become a real scientist.”

Which leads to now.

It was a gloomy day in Seoul, the temperature enough to induce a shiver up your spine, but not enough to convince you to wear a coat. The West Wing was a maze—a cream and monotone maze that only had emergency buttons every few metres. Your footsteps echoed and broke through the icy air lingering in the air. But, the loudest thing was your heartbeat. It beat the silence.

The thick drum of each beat sent you breathless; you wouldn't be surprised if the vampires saw you coming from the way your heart was practically singing to them. 

You clutched the thick, brown file to your chest as you entered the elevator, swallowing down the apprehension that came with your first official job without your mother.

Another ding, and the elevator soared up, adding to your nausea.

It's fine. You were fine and you would ace this task even if you weren't being graded. Just go in, administer the drugs, get out, and then repeat about seven times. Then, you could sprint out of there.

Easy.

The grey doors opened revealing the long hallway and the double doors at the end, two guards stood with thick, black guns and a face of certain security. Violence wasn't your thing, but seeing guns in the arms of (hopefully) capable guards eased the anxiety stinging up your spine.

When you walked up to them, you fished out the lanyard beneath your white lab coat and beamed a polite smile at them. “Intern Song Y/n here.”

The one on the right glanced and the one on the left pressed a secret button at his waist. The buzz of the doors rang through your ears, and you pushed through with another tide of silence. It was even creepier here.

It wasn't dark—no—it was even brighter here, cream walls lined with the normal emergency buttons, and there were only two single doors opposite each other, locked and with keypads. The silence waited and lingered over you, but was knotted with something tense and anticipating.

Okay, right or left? It didn't really matter when each door had a monster strapped behind them and could easily strip you of your blood. You opened the file and saw the first name. 

Lee Heeseung—the oldest of the lot, observant and critical, but insanely quiet. He was restrained with a single rope around his torso, leather cuffs around his arms, and a single chain around his ankle. 

Great, you were practically meeting the ghost of the group. You always thought to yourself that having chains was better for the arms, but apparently they could use those as weapons. You had to agree. They were monsters but it didn't mean said creatures couldn't be resourceful.

To the left you went. After showing the guard your ID, you popped in the code and entered the lab. The chill breathed down your body, the hum of the equipment thrumming steadily over the metal table and counters. The door slammed shut behind and you flinched.

“Fuck these stupid doors,” you said to no one but yourself. Hastily putting the file down on the middle table, you caught sight of the blinds over a large plane of glass where light peeked in from behind it. Without hesitation, you sauntred to the blinds and pulled, the secrecy lifting to reveal what was behind.

You almost jumped once more when you spotted the lone figure sitting with a hung head, black locks falling over his eyes, totally still as if time didn't affect him. The ropes around his torso and the metal chain around his ankle told you that you had met the older vampire.

Lee Heeseung. 

You don't know what you were expecting but this creature was much more depressed than you anticipated. Of course, no one likes being trapped in a windowless room, but you thought he would have his red eyes on you already. Or maybe he's asleep? You can't blame him.

Your thoughts were broken when a door slammed behind you and another heartbeat joined yours with careful footsteps.

You whipped your head around, prepared to hit the intruder with your fists, but relaxed when you saw a familiar male.

“Taehyun, gosh, you scared me,” you said in exasperation. The male walked over with his brown, floppy hair, white lab coat and a small smile of satisfaction.

“Mission successful.” he nudged you in the arm once close enough. In return, you nudged him back and breathed, glad that it was your fellow friend rather than a stranger with fangs.

“What you doing here?” you asked, walking away from the window. Taehyun glanced over his shoulder before joining you with a playful smirk.

“Supervising. It's your first time administering the suppressants, right?” He grinned.

“Yeah. And your smile is not helping,” you said, observing him and his smile. As if he knew something you didn't, and he probably did since he has always been in the West Wing ever since you started your work here. You want to be like him, to fearlessly exit the elevator without a speck of apprehension. To be confident, really.

Taehyun leaned on the table in front with his elbows before noticing the anxiety soiling all the fun that came with being a scientist. “You're nervous.”

“Great observation, Terry.” you muttered before he laughed again.

“Look, it is simple. Heeseung, from what I know, doesn't really speak to me, and he is tied up the most among them,” he said, looking at the table as if was going through a mental walk-through of it. 

Simple. That's what you told yourself all of last night, but you underestimated the anchor of your anxiety. It was much heavier and it completely left your skills stranded in the middle of what felt like a vast ocean. And you didn't know how to lift it with your bare hands. You sighed and cleared the sweat on your palms by wiping it on the sides of your coat. Taehyun chuckled under his breath, and you glared daggers into him.

“Shut up, will you? Not everyone is experienced.”

“Just go in,” Taehyun said as he straightened himself before you. Then, his eyes drifted over your shoulder and tensed somewhat. “Hey, he's expecting you anyway.”

When he said that, your heartbeat spiked so hard, but not as hard as your head snapping to the glass behind you. 

Heeseung was awake, and those dark eyes behind his locks still managed to cut right into your gaze and chop it into ten pieces. There was a permanent frown on his lips, skin glittering under the fluorescent lights, fists curled between his lap. But even as you dared to stare, you couldn't miss the intrigue bleeding into his gaze, then consuming him fully as he lifted his chin with a slow precision. 

You swallowed hard, feeling as if your whole body had clicked into a safety lock just by simply being visible through the glass. And still, he stared.

“See, I told you he is expecting you!” Taehyun patted your back, jolting you out of that tense state and making you huff.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Okay, so, go in and administer the drug first. Then, the blood drink should be fed to him through the straw. He is not like the others, since he keeps his fangs to himself.”

“Keeps his fangs to himself?!” you exclaimed incredulously as Taehyun led you to the door with a steady hand on your back. You currently held a blood bag with a plastic opening that could pass as a straw, and a syringe with a safety cap over the needle.

Taehyun nodded as if it was a normal breakfast routine, grinning down at you. That didn't help in the slightest but it was too late because you were in front of the sliding door already.

“Do the others bite?” you inquired once more, trying very hard to stall. He caught on and sighed as he crossed his arms with mirth. The genuine worry sparkled in your gaze. To keep your confidence up, he gripped your shoulders firmly. 

“Don't think about it. I'll tell you the answer after you do this.”

Damn, a stupid bargain. With a huff, you faced the door, breathed once for the anxiety to dissipate as if it was as light as dust being carried away by the breeze.

The door slid open and you entered, closing it behind you before registering the utter silence in here. There was no equipment in here, so no hum, and it sounded as if Heeseung didn't breathe. So, it was just you.

The room was a plain grey and you faced Heeseung with the most tense shoulders known in mankind, all the advice that was given flying out your body. 

His eyes never left you, head slightly turned with attention. Your files were right: he was insanely observant. He's probably judging how fast your heart was skipping its scheduled beats.

Whatever, you don't have all day. You have six more vampires to take care of after him. 

With an inhale, you stepped forward a few steps until you stood before him, the syringe at the ready. You didn't know if you should introduce yourself. 

Did Taehyun introduce himself? Does he know you're different?

All those questions flooded your brain as you screwed the cap off, facing the criminal before you. This time, his chin was lifted more, staring shamelessly. You swallowed again before digging for a small plastic packet with a wipe.

“You're different.” his voice made your shoulders jump again, but you nodded once, stoic.

“Thanks?”

“Not Technician Kang,” he reiterated again. You nodded again once, gesturing for him to tilt his head. Heeseung blinked once, the attention sharpening and slicing your skin, but he did as you asked, exposing the right side of his neck.

“I am not Technician Kang, you're right.” you wiped the side of his cold neck before bringing the needle to his skin and letting the sharpness sink deep in.

Heeseung didn't react much, but his jaw clenched, as if this routine was nonsensical—annoyed. When the drug flowed into him, his veins splayed out like a map, black, winding up his neck and disappearing under his black shirt, and he shifted, rolling his neck.

You took the syringe and tossed it into the green waste bag tied to your lab coat. Next, the blood bag in the large pocket of yours. This was going perfectly. Minimal speaking and you were nearly done.

What a success.

“But you know who I am, right?”

Damn it, you thought too soon. 

“Who doesn't?” you replied, trying to ignore the slight tremble as you opened the small straw to the blood bag. Heeseung narrowed his gaze but the smell of blood hit him, and he scowled when you brought it closer. Confused, you held it away slightly.

“Something wrong?” you asked. Heeseung's gaze pinned right into the blood bag, as if that was the next annoying thing.

“You still insist on feeding us those… animal leftovers,” he muttered with disgust. You looked to the label and saw it was cow blood that he was straying away from. Gosh, he was picky about blood? You hid the awkwardness down below and sighed.

“Well, if you don't want to drink it, you won't get anything else,” you explained, but you were so sure he knew that already. Heesseung sighed deeply through his nose, the frown deepening before he lifted his chin in defeated acceptance. With that, you led straw to his chapped lips.

The blood rushed through the straws, the bag emptying with alarming speed to satiate his hunger. 

You could guess the facility kept them on the cliff of starvation. Not enough to send them insane out of hunger. It was a little cruel but in your head, it was compensation for all those crime scenes decorated with blood and organs that should never see the light of day.

You put the empty bag in the green disposal bag once done and stepped back with your anxiety shifting away a little. It wasn't as bad as it seemed.

Heeseung stared again, licking his bottom lip, savouring whatever would last him until next time. You just gave a tight smile, then regretted it, and quickly walked away, out the sliding doors with the burn of his gaze etched into your back.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The next Vampire afterwards was Nishimura Riki, who existed just opposite Heeseung. 

Taehyun let you in, already having the blood bag and suppressant drug at the ready on the table. This was kind of the last thing on your mind, and you swiftly turned to him.

“So, do the others bite?” You asked again, remembering the bargain he made. Taehyun huffed but there was no sign of avoidance either. 

“Well, from what I know, Jake seems to have inhibition problems. Sunoo, too. Jay, Jungwon, and Sunghoon seem a bit more… controlled, but you never know,” he explained with a shrug. 

You don't understand how he is so chill about it. Just the thought of one of them biting you was enough to send a storm to stir in the very cavern that was your mind and thoughts. All conflicting thoughts flashed past each other until it felt as if they were on the verge of striking your brain with lightning. 

You shook your head slightly to jostle your head right before snagging the blood bag and syringe into your pocket. “Doesn't really help, Terry.”

A humoured laugh escaped him as he walked over to the similar blinds from the other room and pulled it with one, firm tug.

The curtain lifted to reveal another figure with jet black hair falling over his eyes, sharp eyes already finding yours to make you breathless, and elaborate knots tied around both hands. The additional ankle chain was easy to spot, too. The bindings shouldn't have given you so much composure, but how could you stop yourself when the anxiety sunk a hole in your chest.

“So, you ready?” He asked from behind you. Instead of giving an answer, your mind clutched at any information regarding Riki. 

You know he was the youngest of the lot, but he easily could go from zero to a hundred. It was go big or go home for the youngest vampire, exceeding all boundaries of peace to pursue any shadow of violence and make it his own. Sarcastic and mischievous, too.

“I think so. He's not a biter so…”

“I don't know. Riki is a little unpredictable,” Taehyun added with contemplation. You sighed and waited for Taehyun to lead the way to the sliding door. Once before it, you forced the composure to calm the storm. They could probably sense your emotions, the little jumps in your fear, and if they could wield that, you wouldn't be helping yourself.

Determined, you slipped into the room and welcomed the ultra silence this time before shutting the door.

Riki's feline gaze followed you with every step you took closer, scanning, and then a cruel smirk graced his lips. You don't know what's so funny—you preferred it if he was depressed and acted like a normal, contained prisoner.

“New heartbeat, I knew it,” he purred quietly as you got another sanitising wipe, ignoring the fact you knew he could probably pick it up.

“Congrats. You guessed right,” you said with a tight tone of no-nonsense. Riki slumped his shoulders, smirking as if it was a funny situation he found himself in.

“Could hear it for a while. Let me guess,” he said with a bored tone as you got the wipe out. “You visited Heeseung hyung.”

Strange. He knew who else was on the floor with him. You thought that your mother never told them of their locations, keeping only two on each floor. The thoughts sparked and stung your nerves, making you stiffen slightly in caution.

Riki smiled again, empty and sinister.

“I'm guessing yes.”

Not answering his correct assumption, you went to wipe the left side of his neck when he blanched back, making you halt, annoyance igniting your chest. Riki simply turned his face to the left, exposing his right side.

“This side please,” he demanded quietly but you could tell he was amused. 

You didn't sigh nor huff, and you swiped the wipe in the correct area before doing the same as before, and sinking the needle into his flesh to release the drug.

Riki grunted softly as black veins appeared out of the blue, revealing its path over his neck, travelling underneath his skin. He released a breath, leaning back.

Next part—feeding him through the straw, to which he obliged much quicker than his elder brother. He didn't even take a break and departed with a sigh, collecting the last of it with a lick of his lips.

“I see you're not picky with blood,” you mumbled, disposing of the used bag. Riki scowled.

“Well, I don't want to die, do I? It still tastes cheap and flavourless,” he grumbled, meeting your gaze from where he sat, that same intrigue consuming his dark eyes, and forcing you to move away.

“Fair point.” You nodded before heading to the sliding door that was the exit. Before you fully left, Riki straightened himself, that same interest curling around his sharp gaze and cutting into your thoughts.

“You might want to control that heartbeat. The others might want to take it right out that pretty body of yours.”

You left much quicker that time, and even slammed the door shut before even thinking to release a breath.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“See, that wasn't so bad.”

“Taehyun, he said the others would rip my heart out,” you reiterated with a slightly pitchy tone, brows furrowed in worry. 

Taehyun chuckled again for the hundredth time in your distress. Currently, you and him were on your way to the second floor, where the next two vampires were situated and locked away. The files were stuck to your chest, holding them as if you were being watched.

“I told you he's unpredictable. I also wouldn't believe a word he says,” he replied as he stepped out the elevator, greeting the similar sight of two guards arming the double doors leading deeper into the facility. With no choice, you tagged along behind him.

You don't want to believe anything these vampires say, but they're cunning and deceitful. Telling a lie and truth was probably as easy as breathing, their perception of it blurry in the lines. 

They probably don't care about the differences if it means gaining something out of it. Like blood, you think. Which meant being confident and rigid with your instructions was the most important thing right now. You weren't the one locked away in a box of a room with your thoughts being the only other companion. Control was something you had if you knew how to use your own strengths.

Once identified, you and Taehyun sauntered deeper in until having to make the same decision of left or right.

“So, which one first?” He asked, turning back to you. 

Well, you flipped open the file to the table marked ‘2nd’ and scanned down the page. If you go right, you would meet with Park Jongseong—another silent creature, but well-spoken with a tipping temper that could go one-eighty within a second.

If you go left, Kim Sunoo would be waiting for you—his bloodlust knew no end, usually impulsive and seemed proud of his tendencies. Danger at every corner, really.

“Let's go right."

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Just like normal, the lab was chilled, silent with the hum of machines in the background and the grey blinds pulled at where the huge, glass window was. Taehyun went to the fridge whilst you pulled the blinds.

With a tug, you lifted the barrier to reveal a sitting figure, again with jet black hair, a leg crossed over one another with a single ankle chain, and his hands were bound on his lap. He leaned back against the wall, head slightly tilted as if time had started to remind him of his long isolation here.

Even then, you saw the sharp gaze through the strands of his hair, and the curiosity simmering with a careful heat, as if waiting for the right moment.

You forced your eyes away and Taehyun came with the blood bag, syringe, and a comforting smile.

“You ready?”

“As ever.”

Once again, you slipped into the quiet room, everything still except your steady heartbeat. You purposely kept the beats under a limit, not wanting these vampires to dig their mockery into anything you may not be able control.

Jay was like Heeseung: his head was slightly turned and stayed fixated as you walked closer. You dug out the sanitary wipe as he dragged his eyes over your features.

“Another round of drugs,” he stated, something hard weighing his tone. You didn't feel bad, and just nodded. Jay rolled his eyes underneath his bangs and let you clean the side of his neck curtly before sinking in the syringe.

As before, black veins travelled up underneath his skin, the black liquid illuminating his veins to you. He hissed and snapped his gaze to you.

“When will you stop giving those… drugs?” He muttered, fighting through the discomfort. You paused, not really having an answer because you're simply an intern.

“I'm just an intern helping out,” you finally said, and a twinkle of realisation swept over his gaze. Okay, maybe you shouldn't have revealed that. But what would he do with said information? It's not like he can spread his epiphany to anyone beyond the prison.

“So, you're new?” Jay said with a slight scoff. 

“I am.” You agreed, getting the blood bag and nearing the open straw near his lips, but within a second, his bound hands snapped to your wrist, and you nearly jumped.

The storm in your head struck your heart, the beats now unstable and harsh, knocking the wind out of you as you attempted to tug your arm back. Jay curled his fingers tighter.

He smiled ever so slightly, letting his nose dip to the pulse beneath your wrist, as if he was listening to the apprehension crawling back up your nerves and screaming out to him.

“Jongseong—”

“Smells better than that… bag of disappointment,” he cut you off, dragging his nose further up your wrist. You swallowed hard, nearly squeezing the blood bag and spilling the contents. The voice in your head tried to ice the anxiety and panic, settling it back down.

“Too… bad,” you mumbled before snapping your hand away and he faltered for a second, something hardening in his eyes. Without waiting, you held the straw to his closed lips.

Jay contemplated, eyes stuck to your fingers, but he relented, shoulders slumping as he parted his lips. It was as if he stalled enough for you to glimpse the sharp fangs glinting under the light before he took the straw in, a silent threat clear enough to warn you of what he truly was. Staying motionless, you let him finish the bag and he departed with a click in his jaw. 

Though, he didn't speak again. He only analysed over the relief cooling your features, the way your anxiety didn't quite sink away with your blood. It remained in the edges of your heartbeat, enough to speak to him.

When you disposed of the bag, you left without a word and with his gaze clawed in your back.

You need to wear gloves.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Kim Sunoo was awake. Too awake for your liking. There was no clock within the rooms, but he didn't need one. It was as if every tick of a second was taken account of all in his head.

You bit your bottom lip, chewing it in contemplation as you stared through the glass where Sunoo sat, this time with hands bound behind him, a single chain coiled around his ankle. His black hair rained over his eyes, and he smiled when he saw you scan him over.

It wasn't the friendly smile, of course, but knowing, insane. As if he had you all figured out, but he was building up a wall of his own defenses in place.

Taehyun returned with a blood bag and syringe, placing it in your pocket without asking. “You good?”

You hummed in agreement, nodding. “All of these guys love to stare.”

“They're not normal, remember? And you're new, so its natural,” he explained, guiding you to the sliding door and putting in the code. Made sense, but it didn't do anything to ease the bewilderment clouding your lungs with thick clouds.

Your breath came out with a small quiver.

With a slide of the door, you were in, and was consumed by his hum. Brief hum. The first of the lot. You glanced over and brushed the hair away from your eyes before approaching like before. 

“Gosh, not that blood bag again? I would love for something richer,” Sunoo began as you stood before him. When you gave no reply, his jaw tightened, but his smile widened as you ripped the sanitary wipe open. As long as you willed things to go your way, then it will be okay.

Except, the universe hated you and wanted to shit on your smooth-ish day.

Just as you were to make contact with the side of his neck, Sunoo stood with an audible sigh of relief. You jumped back, faltering in disbelief.

He shook each leg as if they were cramped and bolted with tension, and then rolled his shoulders within limit. 

The exasperation crawled back into your heart and swelled there, and Sunoo noticed it with the perk of his head. 

“I'm sorry, but being bound makes one… squirm,” he said cheekily. You certainly didn't appreciate it, but you honestly were too busy remembering if Sunoo was a biter or the restrained one. You stood awkwardly with the wipe, eager to get it over and done with.

“Fair enough,” you muttered, sending Sunoo to grin and his pupils to dilate ever so slightly.

“I am glad you understand. But alas, you are here to drug me again, no?” 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and nodded with a tiny, tight smile, keeping up with the courtesy. Sunoo's smile remained as he heard the pulse of your heart skip again. To your dismay, he simply leaned down, exposing his neck with the tilt of his head, expecting you to be jolly with it.

You weren't. Obviously. He was taller but you had to make due with what he had, even if you wanted to protest.

Swiftly doing the same job of cleaning, injecting, and disposing, you retrieved the blood bag, popping open the straw as Sunoo sat down with resignation, something hardening to stone beneath his mischief.

There were no complaints as he drank the blood, and your muscles grew antsy, hands faltering a little making the straw jostle. Sunoo bit into the straw before licking his lips of whatever was left, examining the way your eyes strayed to the sliding door. He grinned.

“You can leave now,” he taunted under his breath, but you heard it and disposed of the bag with teeth grit.

“Yes. Thanks for the cooperation,” you curtly replied. 

“Enjoy it whilst it lasts,” he whispered as you left through the doors, the buzz indicating the lock jolting into place.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“How many more, Terry?” You groaned, bumping your head with the file repeatedly. The elevator moved up steadily as Taehyun pressed the third floor with familiarity. But at your sulky tone, he laughed.

“Three more. I'm surprised you started complaining this late.” He mused.

“I've been complaining the whole time.”

“Well, you better hold it because the last dude is on the fourth floor, completely alone,” he explained. The elevator doors opened with a ding and you followed with questions breaking past the dam that was supposed to be your calm. You rushed to his pace.

“Alone? Why is he the only one up there?” You inquired, already flipping through your file.

“The higher we go, the more caution we need. The last dude is probably written in your notes somewhere. Forgot his name,” Taehyun said as he flashed his ID to the guards. You did the same before entering the deeper hallway, the cream corridor decorated with two main doors. Taehyun sighed and stretched his arms upwards.

“Left or right?”

Good question. You flipped your file to the ‘3rd’ tab, and then read down the page hastily.

On your right was Sim Jaeyun—quiet and calculating, someone who was like the dark horse. Only existing in the shadows but a plan crafted by him meant perfect execution and skill.

On your right was Park Sunghoon—a no-bullshit vampire, even more calculating and a violence that he hid all too well, knowing he craved dominion over his actions.

Again, no good way.

“Left it is.” You sighed.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The blinds were pulled as if on instinct and there he was sat, leather cuffs bound around his wrists and the standard chain around his ankle. Of course, he didn't stare immediately, but you thought you saw his head slightly itch, as if he heard something new. Something new to prey on.

“Okay, you know the drill. I should just leave you alone.” Taehyun placed the bag and syringe into your large lab coat pocket. 

“Don't you dare,” you shot back at him before guiding yourself over to the sliding door.

Taehyun did a fake salute before you went in, and the door slid shut behind you as always. The silence didn't shock you as much, but you still expected to hear at least one of them breathing a little loudly.

But no. Their breaths were all timed, in sync, and connected. 

The stranger thing with Sunghoon was that he didn't speak. Not as you wiped his neck, not when you injected the drug, not when you let him feed off the animal blood. It was incredibly unnerving, and the lack of words or comments sent your stomach tightening in discomfort. It ate at your nerves.

When you were done, his gaze ran over your figure once before he looked down again, but you knew his ears were alert, keeping note of your heartbeat.

Even Taehyun was surprised as you and him left Sunghoon's suite. He blinked rapidly.

“Man, he was easy.”

“I would rather he talked. The whole time, I felt like he was going to rip my arteries out,” you countered. Taehyun smiled nervously as he punched in the code to Jake's lab suite.

“That would be interesting for me, you know?”

“Shut up, Terry!”

As routine, Taehyun went to retrieve the blood bag and syringe whilst you lifted the blinds to reveal a dejected Jake. 

With his fringe containing his gaze, he kept a neutral expression with his hands also bound by the same leather cuffs, and a single chain to his ankle. Though, his body was ridden with tension and expectation despite the stillness sweeping over him. 

“Okay, nearly done. You're doing great,” Taehyun said. Agreeing with a hum, you went in without a word, and you walked up to him with no hesitation this time. Jake glanced. You froze.

Cold and dead. That is what came to your mind first when Jake's gaze flickered to you, and it had the same ability to dissect your skin and trigger every goosebump.

With a second to gather yourself, you got the syringe and twisted the cap off. Jake shifted.

“What a pretty heartbeat,” he murmured as if he was in a trance. Oh gosh, maybe vampire Riki was right about one of them just seizing your heart. You just gave a look before wiping his neck, burying your tremble.

“Fresh. So fresh,” he whispered again, and you prepared the syringe, wishing you could just pause your heartbeat so they would stop pointing it out.

With no reply, Jake let the corner of his lips tilt up. “And you know it.”

Your hand nearly shuddered but you forced yourself to sink in the needle a little more harshly than intended. Jake grunted loudly, almost recoiling, but with your hasty actions, the drug emptied out into his system, the black veins appearing in a simultaneous flow up his neck.

You would apologise, but your throat was sewn shut, and you grasped the blood bag wordlessly, holding it to his lips. Disbelief and repulsion became stone in his eyes, but he drank, fangs flashing as he closed his lips around the straw.

His words, admittedly, did bother you. They were so targeted, well-thought, and now you knew that Jake constructed his words just as well in the deeper shadows of his mind. Not too slow, not too fast. Just enough to rattle whatever foundation your confidence was set on. He was made to break those pillars holding you together.

The blood was finished and Jake sat back, fists resting on his thighs. He smirked again as you stood straight, maintaining distance.

“Gosh, I would prefer your pulse on my lips instead,” he said as if it was a confession meant to please you.

It did the opposite and you had no strength to even reply because you headed for the door with another gaze marking your back.

And you left.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Taehyun led you to the fourth floor, this one being brighter and guarded with three men instead of the usual two. You mentally counted this vampire to be the last.

“More guards?” You stated as the men let you into the bright corridor. Taehyun hummed in agreement, hands in pockets.

“We had to. According to what I heard, this dude's bloodlust is on another level. But… he's weirdly talkative,” he replied as he took you to the door, punched in a code and entered with you close behind.

This time, you flipped the file open to the last page and read through with urgency.

Finally, Yang Jungwon. The last vampire and supposedly the leader, the one seen always at the crime scene with a cunning smile and a skill built for hunting blood. He was intelligent, twisting, but it seemed that he didn't work well enough now that he was caught and locked away..

As Taehyun did the normal, you went to the blinds and pulled them up. As soon as you did, a figure stood right at the glass, tall, arms crossed over slightly as leather bounds coiled his wrists, the chain at his ankle, and his blonde hair barely concealing the dark eyes simmering with something intense. You yelped when you were forced to face him, and he smirked as he swept his eyes over the alarm tightening every muscle. Your pulse raced.

So much so for keeping control over it.

Taehyun, on hearing your startled sound, came and sighed when he observed how Jungwon was standing, waiting. He was ready to scare you, and you let him.

Embarrassed, you gulped hard and took the blood bag and syringe from Taehyun. Wordlessly, he led you to the sliding door. Before you went in, he held your arm gently.

“Careful. Keep calm,” he whispered. It was oddly strange to hear his seriousness, but you nodded and slipped into the prison room, exhaling.

Silence didn't greet you this time. It was broken by Jungwon making a hum sound, feet padding along the floor.

“Your heart practically jumped out your chest,” he mused, grinning only slightly to no one but himself. You swallowed hard, trying to keep all corners of your composure together. If you didn't get a hold of yourself, he would just hold it over your head.

Taking a few steps in, you observed him circling once, and then back before he stopped and stared more intensely than the moment at the glass.

Your features burned and tingled as he took in each inch of you.

“You're… new. Familiar, but new,” he muttered, mentally noting it as he stepped closer. You didn't move.

You're doing your own analysing.

“I'm an intern,” you replied quietly. Jungwon parted his lips in realisation, an epiphany that dawned on him like moonlight. He tilted his head in fascination.

“Right, right. Your impatience resembles another scientist here. Hm, and the same eyes, same type of scent,” he muttered again, walking himself through some thoughts that you unfortunately couldn't pinpoint.

Then, he turned again. “Your mother is the senior scientist here. Oh, I mean… researcher.”

You didn't expect him to guess so quickly or to even pay so much attention to your mother, or you. At your silence, he clapped once, mocking.

“I'm right. Yes, of course. Your mother decided to drug and feed us like experiments. Makes me wonder what she will do next…” he walked closer to you, and you didn't move back despite his brooding height.

“Maybe, she will keep us, take our blood, keep our blood, and well… research our DNA, maybe try to locate the exact origin of our… monstrosity.” He smiled again with something slow and precise. As if he was about to pounce. “But, let me tell you something, Intern Song.”

Jungwon strode to you so quickly that you almost jumped back, but the tension locked you in place. He leaned down slightly, tilting his head as excitement sparked alive in his gaze. It easily melted whatever assurance you scraped together. How annoying.

“We don't… just own this monstrosity. It is not… simply carried in our genes. No…” 

He let his face close in around your neck, and you turned away slightly, clenching your fists.

“We embody this, we own this monstrosity. We are it.” He breathed, and then closed his eyes when he inhaled your scent and senses the pulse jumping in your neck.

“So, tell your mother… to quit her prying.”

Finally, you broke away and stepped back and relaxed only a fraction since his chain limited him. Then, you glared.

“We are only taking your blood and keeping you here because we need to reverse your effects on those you have bitten.” You gripped the sides of your lab coat.

He didn't look surprised, but more pleased. As if he found what he was looking for and he was spot on. And now, you were humiliated that you let him get to you.

“I see.” He simply shrugged and walked back to the bench built into the wall. That was your sign to get this over and done with. Determined, you stepped towards him and retrieved the syringe hastily, and he watched with a callous gaze, analysing again as if he was building some mental profile of you. You wished so deeply to punch him, but you simply wiped the area on his neck and injected him with the suppressant drug. 

Like the others, black lines travelled through his veins, decorating his skin, and Jungwon silently endured it, shutting his eyes briefly before they fluttered open again, silence gripping his muscles suffocating them.

Wordlessly, you got the blood bag's straw open and nudged it towards his lips, but he took his time to glance down, stare at your fingers and wrist, before taking the blood.

He drank slowly, you noted. Much slower than the others, as if he enjoyed this type of blood. He didn't exude the same disgust like the others. You could tell he was thinking, though. Scheming away and it was all locked away in the dark place of his mind.

When he finished and you were busy disposing of it, Jungwon straightened his back, letting his eyes strayed to your neck, your collarbone slightly hidden beneath the lab coat, and then to where your heart resided. Slightly hasty, but soft. You were annoyed.

“You know, Intern Song, you can't cage monsters for long,” he began saying, letting his head tilt. That same anchor of unease hit you in the middle of the chest as your gaze returned to him.

He smiled, leaning forward but his chin flitted up to you with something hidden and proud. “Because we all have to face them at some point. They always manage to… sneak past every type of defense at the most unexpected times.”

You ripped your attention away from him and walked to the sliding door to hear his voice suddenly right behind you. Whipping your head around, Jungwon already loomed over you, ropes straining against his wrists, the chain to his ankle taut as his gaze hardened.

When did he even move? Even the chains were silent in his presence. A shudder consumed your heartbeat.

“Goodbye… until next time, of course,” he murmured, muscles almost twitching to get closer and break the restraints’ boundaries.

Each breath got caught in your chest, and you rushed out his cell, locking him in behind you. Even then, another gaze was burned into your back, adding to the six others that had already marked you.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The next day was busy as always. With autumn nigh and here, more and more younger students were chosen to tour the facility, specifically the East Wing for the laboratory research held there.

The West was undoubtedly too risky to explore, especially with criminals residing within them. You wouldn't wish the experience on anyone; the vampires’ silent schemes were hidden yet their aura echoed and sunk into your bones, making it hard to forget.

With the clouds latched onto the city of Seoul, you walked with Soobin, another gentleman like Taehyun, to where the reception would be. Before the small tour, you read some facts and data on the place, preparing yourself for any questions related to your own experience here.

“How many students?” You asked him as he pushed up the bridge of his glasses. 

“Well, five of them were chosen. Smaller means more containment,” he said with a small smile. Which was true. It kept your own sanity strung in place if anything happened. God forbid, it did.

When arriving at the main area, you and Soobin introduced yourselves before setting off with the students. Three girls and two boys with pens and notebooks in hand, and with a visitor ID hanging around their necks.

First, it was showing them the labs, without going inside. Soobin took the lead, explaining how they tested and repeated the routine all in order to figure out how certain cells would react with chemicals.

Then, you took the lead of explaining how the facility was strict with their routines, keeping the environment locked away from contamination and such.

It was pretty simple until a student raised his hand nervously. Soobin, delighted, smiled and let him speak.

“Um… can't you show us something different? It's also where the vampires are kept, too, right?” He said, spreading his hope to the other students who also straightened their postures in expectation. 

You gave Soobin a panicked side-eye, and he returned it with equal measure before blinking back at the students. He clamped his hands together, smiling sheepishly.

“Um… well, I can show you one room, but don't touch anything.”

The students nodded obediently and Soobin began to lead the way with you by his side. As much as your questions threatened to break out, you followed along until he reached a room and punched in the code, taking the students in.

It was a clean room, grey walls but what shocked you was the weapons encased in glass, sparkling under individual spotlights within the case, and the iconic black masks caged in another glass row.

There was a range of weapons—a metal hacksaw with sharp edges protruding on the frame, glittering with violence; a mace where the ball at the end of the chain had metal thorns jutting out the surface, almost making your skin crawl from the promised murder it could commit; a metal bat with barbed wire wrapped around the weapon itself, metal edges hanging off the frame.

It wasn't even the worst part because your eyes finally laid on the chainsaw, the metal shining under the spotlight, the stories and previous blood of victims almost ingrained under the surface.

You swallowed hard, but the students seemed to enjoy it, mumbling amongst themselves of how ‘insightful' it was. 

As much as you were also curious to know why these were here, you couldn't contain the unease clamped around your chest, weighing it down.

It didn't matter now because Soobin clapped his hands together and smiled at the students to bring their attention back.

“These weapons were used to commit the heinous murders by the vampires,” he began, walking along with you to the hacksaw. Underneath, the metal label had the number ‘07' engraved in it, like a knell that you mentally heard when you stared for too long.

“I heard of a myth,” a boy said behind you. “That there's a blood moon that they ready themselves for.”

That was new for you. Despite working here, you never bothered to dig deeper into the vampire and their lore, their past. Well, you never bothered because killers weren't worth your time and you didn't care. So, you found yourself glancing at the student with equal interest as the others.

When everyone turned to him, he smiled sheepishly.

“It's just some reading I did before coming here. I read that every two hundred years, these vampires get stronger in their abilities than last time.” He glanced around the group. You tensed.

“So, they were weak to begin with?” A girl asked with a slight scoff, as if she didn't believe that murderers could possess any type of weakness. 

“Well, I don't know exactly. It's all just theory. Well, it's believed their bloodlust grows stronger as well as their abilities.” He answered thoughtfully.

You tried to recall any type of information—one thing these vampires could do was release venom to turn normal people into a more unstable version of them. Not quite the same, but their sanity would loosen until it was hard to find the ends of it and tighten it all over again.

So, if their abilities included bloodlust, venom, and any other personal powers, it basically meant these creatures would be unstoppable if they reached a certain threshold.

And for these vampires, you have no idea how much strength they have preserved underneath their psychotic surfaces, but you honestly didn't want to dig past and see.

And for the patients in the private part of the East Wing, from what you know, they haven't completely turned. They were teetering on the edge, but the lab scientists were all trying to pull them back before they fall into vampirism. That was the whole goal for your mother. To find their fraying sanity and sew it together again.

Soobin, intrigued, hummed along and nodded. “I think I reason about it but honestly, I don't know if these vampires actually have that… ritual.”

“It would be useful to study,” another student said, and quite honestly, you had to somewhat agree and disagree.

Having them under the facility's roof was already dangerous enough—you didn't want to wait for an opportunity for them to power up and supposedly find a new path to wreak irreversible havoc.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The whole week went by and gladly, you weren't asked to administer the drugs again. Your mother still thought it was a valuable lesson, but you kept some details to yourself. She seemed so chill about it, and you didn't want to reveal how easy it was for you to drown in the anxiety of it all.

Right now, though, you glanced outside to the chilling night, the moon concealed behind the murky clouds. The light was prominent, almost glowing behind the blanket of misty water. 

She was still out there. As if the moon was holding her breath, concealed for a reason, waiting to bestow her moonlight on the world below. 

Shuddering to yourself, you entered the lab with those annoying plastic glasses and your hair tied back. The lab was bustling, as usual, with your mother at the centre of it.

She was standing before this rack of small vials, the dark blue liquid still, waiting to be given, and she wrote fervently in her notebook. When she saw you, she smiled and ushered you over.

“You look oddly excited,” you noted. She waved you off with her hand.

“Just my life's work,” she replied in equal retaliation, reminding you her stubborn genes definitely passed to you. She noticed you scanning her notes and moved it closer.

She pointed to the patients’ names. “They were all bitten so, are being turned as we know it. But, with our drugs, we managed to delay it.”

You nodded because you knew this. “Okay? So, what's the news?”

Her turmoil returned with the crease of her brow.

“Whatever cells were infected with the venom, we managed to stop its process, but today, I was overlooking their conditions and it seems that the cells are being turned again. As if… the venom just overrode the drugs given.” She glanced at you with worry. That didn't sound good.

“It could be a mutation?” You suggested but she shook her head.

“Venom doesn't behave like a virus or bacteria. It can't… change itself, but it can interact with patients' DNA and induce change. But how likely is that to happen to all the patients there?” She explained with confusion laced in her tone. “And besides, my drug should work in finding the infected cells and stop the venom changing them. But, it's like the venom is immune to it.”

Definitely not good. If the constricted drug didn't work anymore, it meant having to make a new one. Not only that, but when you tried to connect the dots, it either meant someone wasn't administering the correct dosage or someone put more venom into their bodies to shatter all use of the current drugs. 

But how likely was it that all the patients had the same exact change? Not likely at all. And now, your suspicions clutched at your nerves, chewing on them.

She shut the file with a slam and gazed at the blue vials before her in little circular tubes, pointing at them.

“I made a stronger dose. Taehyun is testing it on some blood samples,” she said with a pensive sigh. You nodded along and, at that moment, Taehyun returned with a sealed box and a file underneath it. With a desperate gesture to him, he came to where you and your mother were and probably with news.

She beamed at him with expectancy, but he simply sighed with a sheepish smile. That was the code for an unsuccessful finding.

“I gave the stronger dose as asked, but…” he opened the file with an easy flick. “The drug was killing normal, healthy cells as well. So.”

She touched her temples again, stress seeping through her and catching you and Taehyun in its grasp.

“Great. So, we can't even use this one either.” She muttered, moving the multiple blue vials aside. Taehyun nodded solemnly whilst your gaze wandered to the window, to the moon that peeked out in the corner, a pink tint blushing across the surface. You squinted, but the sound of your mother mumbling brought you back.

Something bubbled in the back of your mind.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

6 PM. 

You were engrossed in your notes, scribbling away in your book as your gaze flickered from the computer to your words.

The thought of those patients suffering from possible vampirism and the strong venom brought you back to one moment: the students you and Soobin toured last week, and the conversation of the blood moon.

Sure, it was a myth, but myths were usually born with a small seed of truth. You just needed to get an actual sense of it.

Hence, you were hunched over the computer, finding any type of useful Internet search.

As said before, the blood moon happened every two hundred years where the vampires usually gained strength until becoming unstoppable. Natural abilities would develop vastly, their desire for blood would consume and bury their sanity, and their venom… would work quicker and harder to turn a person.

Bingo.

Hastily staring out the window, you glimpsed the deeper blush of the moon, light bleeding through the clouds and making your hunch even more believable. You have no idea if your mother will believe you with this… shaky basis, but an explanation was an explanation.

And you had to deliver.

Packing up your things, you recalled your mother leaving with Taehyun, but you don't know where. Taking your little notepad, you set off to find the pair. 

The halls were scarce, but you still waved as people passed you to do their business. After asking a few people, you ended up in the West Wing, the familiar cream halls hushed and eerie, your shoes rhythmically tapping along. Apparently, he came here to do the normal drug rounds about thirty minutes ago. You wished he didn't because it meant having to retrace your footsteps to the vampires. They all gave you the creeps. Evidently.

Whatever. Get in, and then get out. Simple mantra to follow.

After going through the first three floors, you ended up at the fourth, punching in the code and entering the chilled and thrumming lab.

Taehyun stood with his back to you, sorting through some papers and turned when he heard you come through the door. 

You were glad the blinds to Jungwon's window were closed. If you had him staring, you're sure he would be able to read your lips.

“Hey? You look eager,” he said with a smile, returning to the documents. Rushing over, you held out your notepad and flipped to the scribble of notes you had enthusiastically collected.

“I might know why those patients are turning to vampirism more rapidly,” you began saying, and then looked around the lab to notice your mother wasn't even here. Your shoulders deflated. Taehyun noticed.

“She went to a meeting. But, go on with the theory,” he said, leaning on the counter with his elbows. It would have been helpful to explain it once, but her responsibilities must have been stretching your mother four ways. You straightened yourself.

Enthusiastic about sharing your ideas, you went to read out your notes when the lights knocked out and darkness flashed through the room in a blink.

You gasped, glancing up to look for Taehyun who also made a few footsteps, worried and cautious. Your muscles tightened, as if there was a physical knot within.

“Tae?” You uttered, squinting as the dim safety lights peeked from the ceilings. It was barely helpful because Taehyun was a mere silhouette rather than a being with colours and facial features. He stepped towards you.

“This is weird. We should get out of here,” he said with a sharp edge of caution. 

“Agreed,” you mumbled, glancing up from your notepad only to jump slightly.

That's when you saw it, or… him.

Another dark figure standing dangerously close to Taehyun's back, head tilted, but the sparkle of his fangs instantly shot you with panic. You reached for Taehyun.

“Terry—”

Upon the looming figure behind him, he turned and the figure lunged, tackling Taehyun until his back collided with the table.

A startled scream escaped you as the familiar blonde attempted to claw Taehyun in the neck, but your friend kneed the vampire in the thigh, sending him with a stumble. Taehyun breathed hard but he wasn't done as he charged at the vampire with limbs ready for fight. Adrenaline flooded his system as he landed another punch at the creature, a low growl escaping him.

You realised you couldn't stand there and do nothing, not when the adrenaline hitched up your chest like spikes digging into soil. The refrigerator was in the corner and that's where you went.

With your heart slamming in your ribs, you hauled it open and the bright light stared back at you, stacks of syringes in packets ready to be used. There was no time.

Snagging a syringe, you peeled it open and took it out, swiftly unscrewing the cap over the thin needle.

Just one of these should do the trick. When you kicked the fridge shut, a loud crash shot through the room as Taehyun was thrown over the table and to the hard floor, and the vampire easily hovered over him, fist drawn back with a promise of malice. Taehyun yelled out in pain, hands fumbling to shield himself in a panic.

That was it. 

Wasting no time, you dug the syringe into the vampire's neck, pushing the drug all the way in.

A snarl escaped him as he rolled his neck, black veins fading in and travelling up his skin. It was enough for Taehyun to crawl away with sharp, ragged breaths, towards the door.

The syringe remained in his skin, as if it didn't bother him. What faltered your very thoughts was how he simply stood, anger rolling off him like you threw a stone into a still lake, forcing ripples to drift outwards.

The fear froze up your legs, and you tried to force yourself to move, but you could only take a simple step back.

Then, he turned and Jungwon's frown dug into his face, his hand plucking out the syringe, and within a single breath, he crushed it into pieces.

Shit.

Why wasn't he weakening? Since when did he escape? How was he so strong? 

And you remembered the blood moon, the pink tint that swallowed it and your breath shook as well as your heartbeat.

His gaze twitched, as if he heard it, too. Jungwon took a step forward. You took one back.

That's when the lab door shut with Taehyun rushing out in a panic, leaving you alone with… him.

Great. Alone. Defenseless.

“You think that will hurt me anymore?” He said lowly, stalking you with a practiced slowness, as if he knew there were no cuffs to restrict him, as if he tasted liberation. Breath hitching, you turned to run, but he was quicker.

He swiped your arm and yanked you close to him, and you yelped, bumping into his chest with trembling breaths. Tipping your chin up with a bruising grip to your jaw, he leaned down, enough for you to spot the crimson blood in his eyes.

“Here's what's going to happen,” he murmured darkly, drinking in the fearful whimper that fell from your lips. “Since your… friend left you, you're stuck with me. Meaning…”

His nose just about grazed your neck to hear the marathon your pulse was running at. “You're going to help me get my brothers out. And… well, you're great leverage.”

Your hands fumbled, clawing at his wrist, but he flexed his grip, and you let out a cry when his strength grew inhumane. You felt like your jaw would break. He scoffed.

“How did you—”

“I think we both know the answer to that. And, no more questions. We have much to do,” he interjected, letting go of your jaw only to drag you along with him to the door.

As he did, an alarm blared, red lights circling the room, and a robotic voice yelling “lockdown”.

Metal shutters fell down the door, sealing it shut, but Jungwon rolled his eyes at the hindrance.

“What are the procedures in the lockdown?” He asked with a slight shake to your arm. When you didn't reply, he snapped his eyes to your stunned form, and glared.

“What. Are. They?” 

You snapped out of the terror gripping your lungs, a shaky breath leaving you. Besides, there was no choice with the way he was burying his nails into your arm.

“All doors… and windows are sealed shut, lights stay like this. And there are cameras in here and outside to oversee anyone. Guards will be at their stations,” you replied quietly as he contemplated silently. After a few seconds, he straightened himself and dragged you along with him to the door.

With a harsh shove of the shoulder, the hinges flew and the door broke open into the hallway, hitting the opposite wall. You flinched, but Jungwon paid no mind, acting as if it was paper.

The hallway was the same, the red light circling in the dark corridor, the ends of the hallway shadowed with darkness as if there were things hiding in there. Shutters were closed at the next door as well, but his care ceased to exist. 

When approaching the next door, he put a strict finger to his lips directed at you. You didn't need to be told twice and you clenched your jaw obediently. 

Leaning his ear to the door, he closed his eyes briefly, stayed, and then opened them once more. Crimson. A much darker shade and you had to stop yourself from tugging your arm away from his grip. You're afraid he might rip your veins out if you do.

He obviously must have heard something because he gripped you out in front of him, now holding your shoulder, and with one hand, he clenched his fists and crushed the metal as if it was cardboard, and tore it away, flinging it to the side

The terror flooded your chest, forcing your breaths to come out ragged, your heart thundering in panic.

“You better stop panicking. It's too tempting,” he mumbled behind you. With one last shred to the shutter, it was enough for the normal door to show

Again, he shoved the door off the hinges, silence chilling the other side where the elevator stood not too far. The guards should be here, the three that guard him. You kept that to yourself.

An eerie stillness hummed in anticipation, the very sound wrapping around you like metal, chilling your nerves. Jungwon walked you forward a few steps with slow caution.

Within a second, a bullet rang out behind you with a shrill shriek, hitting somewhere on the far side when Jungwon swiftly dodged it, annoyance flooding him.

Jungwon wasted no time and shoved you to the floor, rolling you away from the danger as you grunted from the pain rippling up your hip. You sat up, the ringing making a home in your ears.

Another bullet.

Jungwon rolled his shoulders, craning his gaze to the two guards on his left, and the other on his right.

He took the right first, lunging with an insane speed that you barely knew when he flew. He clutched the young man's collar, ignoring the  scream, and threw the guard at the others.

In response, one guard caught him with a stagger, but the dude who wasn't burdened with a person clicked his gun and aimed like a mental routine. It wasn't enough. 

Jungwon pounced, snatching the gun only to smash it into the head of the dude with a sickening thud that hurt your own head.

Dude number one dropped. The other two scrambled away, but Jungwon scoffed, anger crawling up his shoulders and fists.

You shakily breathed, getting to your feet with haste, hating how the trembles anchored your legs. It wasn't the time to be choked with fear. The exit was right there for you to seize.

 You headed for the stairs at the side. The elevators didn't work in a lockdown annoyingly enough, but the grudges could wait until later. You would love to have a talk with the head of security. All these useless thoughts were grounding you to whatever hope was left in the dirt of it all. Of making it out alive.

Another sickening crack rang out, a scream, and then the sound of a man gurgling, as if choking for air.

The sounds alone made you sick, but you coaxed yourself to reach the stairwell. As you pushed it open, a sudden hand grasped your nape and whirled you around with a cruel hand. You cried out, meeting with the same malicious gaze, his blonde hair messy but his stare was sharp all the same. Only now, the restraint was running thinner, close to snapping.

“You're not running. Unless you want to end up like those three,” he threatened as the anxiety bled into your nerves. With no reply, he pushed open the stairwell that was bathed in a fading red light and darkness. You followed the grip on your upper arm, swiftly stepping down and trying not to trip like your heartbeat.

Arriving on the third floor, he slowed again and closed his eyes as if trying to distinguish something that you couldn't hear. When he opened them, he pushed you through the doors first.

You stumbled into the hallway, meeting the two guards standing before a shuttered door with shaky breaths. They glanced at you, and when you tried to tell them about Jungwon, a person blurred past before you could comprehend.

The guard barely knew what hit him and a fist knocked his jaw out of place. He fell back.

The second guard stood no chance when he raised his gun only to be pummelled in the stomach with a forceful kick. You flinched as his back collided with the wall, a thunderous echo making it clear his spine was rearranged. Jungwon didn't spare a blink as he took the guns from each writhing guard sprawled on the floor for his own. He beckoned you with a sharp look and you reluctantly approached him. 

Jungwon brushed his knuckles before ruining the doors like paper once more. The metal flew as he swung it to the side, and he dragged you with him.

Upon the next dark hallway, you saw two figures, tall with scarlet eyes that glowed stronger than the red warning lights. In other words—more trouble.

Sunghoon and Jake stood whilst you shuddered as their gazes spotted and scrutinised your figure with recognition that felt like thorns to your skin.

“You're here.” Jake glanced to an approaching Jungwon. He hummed in response as if obvious.

“Yeah. Was a little late because someone here tried to drug me again,” he sneered and all their gazes pointed to you again. 

Gosh, it was simply a procedure. Considering the drug didn't even work, he was being awfully salty right now. He had a lot of it despite the lack of blood he would have normally consumed.

You didn't need their judgement right now, not when they could so easily kill you. You lowered your gaze slightly and Jungwon let go of you, but this time, you stayed in your spot.

You had to stay smarter than sorry.

“Do you think Sunoo and Jay are out?” Sunghoon spoke for the first time, and the coldness in them sent chills to freeze your spine. Jake made a sound of possible agreement.

“They could. But we said we would meet them there.” Jake sighed, his fangs glinting at you in a threat. 

“Even if they're not out, she knows the codes anyway. Or we can break past the doors,” Jungwon murmured, running a hand through his hair. 

Through all this, one thing that you caught was the fact that they planned this. About meeting each other, breaking out the prisons—it was all initially planned and webbed together in a way that was unpredictable. You felt stupid for thinking this myth wouldn't exist when it was the only plausible explanation for their dramatic strength. Ripping through metal shutters, escaping the coded prisons; no drug could have foretold that.

A new question simmered in your head: did they plan to get into this prison then? But why? What would they achieve with that?

You were clutching at straws, loose ends, and it made your heart skip a beat. All three of them glanced and you felt like crawling into the ground. Jake licked his lips.

“One bite?”

“No, hyung.” Jungwon scanned over the fear fluttering over your eyes with intrigue and restraint. “I doubt she would survive even a small cut. She wouldn't be so useful then, would she?”

Jake rolled his eyes and grumbled: “fine.”

Whether that gave you relief or more anxiety, you had no idea. You tried to calm your heart with a deep inhale and exhale.

“No point of loitering here. Let's go.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Like before, when you and the other three arrived on the second floor, the guards were taken out so swiftly that you couldn't even react, nor warn them of it. They forced the security doors open, metal decorating the floor and forcing you into the hallway with two doors that would have Sunoo and Jay locked in.

Sunghoon barged into the left with no problem, and Jake to the right. And in the midst of all this, you wondered if your mother was okay, whether Taehyung (despite him abandoning you) was surrounded by safety. No more deaths, you told yourself. Both of them were smart. Much more than you, a simple intern. It was the only thing keeping you from sinking into a hole of panic. But the edges were fraying, your feet were slipping.

Jungwon remained standing behind you when his head perked up curtly.

Footsteps. Hurried and heavy, filled with metal and hostility.

The sound reached you as well, and you turned to the doorway with broken metal edges and failed security. 

“For Hell's sake,” he muttered before zeroing in on the multiple armoured guards with guns, helmets and radios buzzing to life, all approaching strategically.

They only flooded the doors and when they saw you, one of them put a hand up to the others behind him. Jungwon easily shielded himself with you and, despite your struggles, he kept you in one place, a malicious sparkle glinting past his eyes like a tide.

“Release her. Now.” One dude yelled, pointing his gun in your direction. Your heart jumped. Jungwon tilted his head, not moving you an inch. 

Oh, man, you were about to die today. Tugging away again, Jungwon gripped your nape with his free hand, and your breath hitched, pain tingling in your skin. The grip was a display of power, control, that he would make the decisions.

You froze again.

“Release her, otherwise we will be forced to shoot,” the man shouted again as a threat. A chuckle slipped past Jungwon.

“Feel free. I mean, I could bite her for a quicker death, if that's what you guys want?” He mused, challenging them even more by lowering his lips to your neck. You recoiled hard but didn't get anywhere with your nape caught in his grip.

The man and the guards all froze, obviously caught in a dilemma. Jungwon smiled again, lifting his chin with pride. “There we go. Now, if you don't mind, we will keep her safe as long as you keep away.”

“We?” The main guard repeated in a low voice. As he said that, two figures emerged from each side, silent, predatory. You watched as the vampires, none other than Jay and Sunoo, joined the group, a hunger visible in their stares and straight lips.

You had the slight hint that you were inevitably screwed. Possibly more than you thought.

A wave of apprehension crossed over the guards drowning them entirely, and you were afraid these vampires could sense it.

Sunoo hummed in approval. “Gosh, Jungwon, let me get a bite from one of them. Their heartbeats are too enticing past that poor excuse of an armour.”

Jungwon chuckled, gripping your nape harder, forcing a whimper to catch in your throat, tension locking all your muscles.

“Sunoo, let's control ourselves. We have much more to do.” Jungwon glanced at his brother, who smiled only a little but it was full of that same insanity you had witnessed a week prior. That he was picking apart these soldiers just to play with them.

Jay cracked his knuckles, eyeing them silently. “Let's get it over with.”

That was when Jungwon swung you behind him, and you stumbled to the floor. You grunted, landing on your knees, and when bullets rang out like a cry of oncoming violence that whistled in your ears, you abruptly shielded your face.

The guards lunged, guns aimed at the ready. But the vampires dodged easily, and they practically flew to the men, eyes glowing red with morbid intent.

The first guard was crushed into the ground, a hand pinning his throat to the floor as he gasped out in terror. Sunghoon grinned.

Jay clicked his neck and dove head first, fist flying for a man's shoulder, and the other colliding past the visor and into his face. Screams ripped from his throat and others, but it was simply a sound of succes to him. If he had a heartbeat, it would have been thriving from how alive he felt.

Sunoo strode in, then progressed into a run as he leapt to the wall at his right, catching the men off guard when he pounced, and swung his claws at them; fabric ripped and the men backed away, tripping over each other, but Sunoo grabbed the opportunity and jumped atop some of them before punching through the helmet, denting the metal itself. The man screamed in half terror and pain, limbs flailing aimlessly, but soon fell limp to the ground. Sunoo hummed.

Jake easily went into the heat of the storm and swiped a gun, power surging through him as he turned the metal, clicked it and let the bullets fly.

With the mean wearing vests, Jake snarled and aimed for the neck instead. As time slowed down for him, he briefly froze, aimed, and fired.

The bullet ripped through the uniform and the smell of blood flooding out skin tickled his nose. But there was no time to dwell.

Jungwon's speed advantaged him greatly, moving in a coloured blur and testing his knuckle's ability to endure each cracking punch. When bullets grazed him, his eyes snapped to the perpetrator, and he lunged, clutching their throats and tightening the grip until the squirming body turned limp and void of light.

The smell of death pervaded the air, and you couldn't handle it. You knew they were criminals, but seeing it first hand was embedding a new type of trauma into your heart. 

They were distracted, though.

Shakily looking to your right, the emergency exit was lit green, but with a shuttered door over it. The keypad next to it glowed like an opportunity and you saw your chance.

Pushing yourself up, you buried the trembles and anxiety down where it was hard to remember, as if it was a fleeting emotion that didn't exist.

You got to your feet, jaw clenched so tightly that you thought your teeth would turn to dust.

As soon as you reached the keypad, you flipped the plastic cover up and began to search your brain for the codes.

All fire exit codes were the same as the codes for the normal doors. The ones that now had ripped metal defending them.

This was the second floor. And if you remembered the pattern of Taehyun's fingers…

“0203..?” You whispered and began to put the numbers in despite the sounds…

Sounds. 

There were none. None of struggling, screaming, or bullets. Your whole body locked into place, unable to move for a moment.

You turned slowly and a hand seized your throat, ripped you away from the fire exit, and you shrieked. The next thing you knew, your body met the ground, your throat still contracting with panic, blood rushing with nerves. 

When you opened your eyes, you saw the five of them standing over you in a circle, knuckles tinted with fresh red, barely a scratch on the surface of their skins. 

Jungwon looked pissed.

“You don't fucking listen, do you?” He sneered ruthlessly, fists clenched. His voice alone sent another wave to rock your heart. Your breath hitched, holding back tears of pure anxiety.

“Hey, relax. It's not like she can outrun us anyway,” Sunoo said with a permanent smirk of mischief. 

Jay tilted his head in consideration. “One bite—?”

“Oh for Hell's sake, no!” Jungwon snapped at the older one, who simply shrugged, used to his temper.

“Gosh, let's just go. Riki and Heeseung are waiting,” Jake said, rolling his eyes with impatience. With a huff, Jungwon hauled you up by the arm and looked to one of the opened doors leading into the prison labs. Within two seconds, he blurred in like the wind, then out but returned with something slender and long. Trembling, you glanced to see him circling rope, the same type that was used to restrain them, around his palm, his gaze unmoving, merciless when it returned to the apprehension thrumming in yours.

You recoiled in refusal but a few hands gripped your shoulders whilst Sunghoon and Jake held out your arms. The panic spiked in you.

“S-stop, wait—”

Jungwon didn't listen and when he came closer, Jake and Sunghoon quite literally crushed your wrists together as you struggled. It was a losing battle from the start.

The rope came around your wrists a few times until he made something intricate and caged you within it. Tears lined your eyes, heartbeat spiking that you didn't care if they heard it anymore. They let go of your shoulders but Jungwon kept a hold of the end of the rope by looping it around his palm once or twice.

“Now, you won't run.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Going down to the first floor, the guards were practically useless because they were knocked out when Jay and Sunghoon dislocated their jaws and probably their internal organs as well.

Sunoo crushed the metal shutters, revealing the normal door and shoved it off its hinges to the dark hallway with two doors still closed.

“We'll take care of it,” Jake said before nodding to Sunghoon. They both disappeared into a separate doorway, and you looked around discreetly.

You can't run with Jungwon keeping your hands on a leash, the guards were knocked out, there were now seven vampires free. If you even attempted another escape plan, you would be asking for a death wish.

Another spike of panic hit your heart, and Sunoo glanced. Jungwon raised an eyebrow at the older one before glaring. “Don't even ask.”

Disbelief swept over Sunoo, a petulant pout appearing briefly. He crossed his arms.

“Oh come on, what are you keeping her for anyway if not for a snack? Do you know how long we had to snack on that animal shit?” Sunoo glanced at your lowered head and trapped hands. Jungwon scowled. 

“As much as I also had to have the same blood.” He sighed, head flickering back and forth to hear for any intruders.

“Then, one bite. Just a scratch—”

“Hyung. She is the daughter of that crazy scientist that keeps testing us,” he said. Jungwon tugged once on the rope and you winced, pain tingling in your skin. “So, she could be helpful as leverage, and she probably knows the in and outs of the building.”

“And, after that?” Sunoo prompted, causing Jay to snort behind you. It wasn't the least bit amusing to you, but Jungwon gave a cold smile.

“We'll see.”

That alone sent prickling anxiety to sting your spine and you shifted uncomfortably. Now, you had a deadline—one before they bit you and God knows what.

The doors slammed open again, causing you to flinch and snap your gaze up to spot the last two vampires: Riki and Heeseung.

The oldest one lifted his gaze again in recognition when he saw you, but you honestly didn't have the guts to meet anyone's gaze. Riki smiled and sauntered over, rolling his wrists and neck.

“Finally free. And fresh food—”

“I got first dibs,” Sunoo interrupted and disgust rolled over Riki's face.

“No way, that's not even fair. I wasn't here to even call—”

“That's enough, both of you.” Jungwon snapped his gaze to his fellow brothers. They shut up, but the war of their petty fight continued with their sharp gazes. Slowly, Jungwon's gaze panned to your avoidant eyes.

“Now that all of us are in one place, our plan can continue,” he continued. Heeseung shifted, rolling his arm about to loosen the rigidity sleeping in his skin.

“Yeah, well. We need to get rid of those pesky guards. No doubt they're waiting below with the guns at the ready,” Heeseung mumbled and the others murmured in dejected agreement.

“If they're going to fight with their weapons, we need ours,” Riki scoffed, crossing his arms. Jungwon tugged on the rope to catch your attention. You glanced reluctantly.

“Where are our weapons?” Jungwon asked with an unyielding tone. 

You could lie. They know you're a simple intern so, maybe if you just weave a white lie, you wouldn't be aiding them in any more violence. The idea alone sent your heartbeat to race in readiness. Heeseung caught it; swift and drumming in anticipation and he frowned more.

“Don't you dare lie.” He said darkly, causing all of them to loom over you like threatening clouds that were about to drown you in blood or something. With that idea out the window, you swallowed hard to gather your voice.

“... E-East Wing. Ground floor.” You dropped your gaze to the ground.

“And, the cameras,” Jungwon said, flickering his gaze to the black lens focusing on them silently. The others looked as well, faces thundering with disdain for the over-technical facility. 

Gradually, he lifted his chin again to the others.

“As long as those cameras are looked at and work, they will send more of their men,” Jungwon said, curtly tightening his palm around the rope. Jay smirked.

“So, we need to get rid of whoever is in the control room.” He glanced at you again, and the scrutiny ran down your head, past your lowered eyes and then your lips. With a tug, Jungwon lifted your gaze.

“You wouldn't happen to know where that is, would you?” He purred, making your skin crawl, but managing to shake your head.

“I'm o-only an intern. I don't know.” You clenched your fists harder in the bounds.

“Great,” Sunghoon muttered before picking up a piece of scrap metal and hurling it at the camera with a whoosh. It hit the target with a swift slice, and the camera jostled and broke until it sparked, hanging by the wires.

“And we need to get those… those humans to turn completely,” Jungwon muttered, contemplating his control and the exact route to reach that destination. 

“They're still here? Then, we can just bite them again. Our venom will work completely,” Sunoo suggested, licking over his fangs at the thought of biting into fresh flesh again. Heeseung nodded.

“It will. Especially tonight.”

You grit your teeth.

You knew these vampires were strong. Stronger than ever. The blood moon would make sure they carved their power and control into everything. But, how do you even go about defeating them? 

You rewinded everything these past few weeks and days, down to the hours before the facility broke into chaos. Then, it hit you like a fleeting arrow.

The trial drug your mother was working on. The one where Taehyun claimed it killed normal body cells as well. One would have to assume these vampires still had healthy and normal body cells to that of humans, but it was worth a shot. The only hard part was baiting them to go into the East Wing labs on the second floor without them deciphering your plan and making their threats real.

“I doubt they kept those humans,” Riki snorted, crossing his arms. You perked your head up slightly.

“You mean the patients in the East ward?” 

They all snapped their gazes to you, intrigued but some were cautious, building up their own defenses.

“Patients?” Heeseung repeated slowly, almost as if the idea of these people being healed was a ludicrous idea.

“Yes. It's… one of the main reasons that people work at the facility,” you replied quietly, fighting through the hope that considered sparking away and setting your mind on edge. They didn't believe you. You knew it, but your stare remained before Jungwon sighed.

“We need to split, so more ground is covered.” 

The split ended up being so that Jungwon, Sunoo, Sunghoon, and Jake went to get the weapons and take out the man in the control room; Heeseung, Riki and Jay would go with you to the East ward.

Despite all this, you hoped your mother would still be hiding in the lab, thinking of ways to shut down these vampires once and for all.

Or incapacitate them if death wasn't a door discovered meant for these vampires.

Concern ached and clutched at your nerves when you thought about Soobin, Taehyun, and your mother in the path of safety.

You grit your teeth as Heeseung held the end of the rope, Jay behind you, and Riki leading everyone. The hallways were still basked on emergency red light circling the area, and you wondered if the moon out there was the same furious colour.

As all three cautiously stalked through the corridors, you began to speak.

“You guys knew the Blood Moon would happen tonight…” it wasn't a question but a statement, something accusatory. Heeseung tightened his grip on the rope, not sparing a single glance.

“Why wouldn't we?” He kept following Riki, who turned back once.

“I thought it was a myth.” You mumbled again and Jay scoffed behind you, walking closer to your back.

“Myths always have some kind of truth behind it, an event that makes it real,” he said with something certain. Of course. They have probably never told anyone that they keep track of the moon, waiting to bloom with strength. Smart because no one saw it coming. Not even the Facility.

“Why? What story?” You pressed again and Heeseung tugged you abruptly, and you stumbled to him and his eyes simmered with annoyance.

“You ask too many questions.”

“Nah, let me explain,” Riki took, sounding pleased, over as he continued walking. Heeseung scanned your blinking eyes over once more before following.

“Since your institution probably won't take this seriously, I'll say it.” Riki threw a glance at you. “It starts with our parents. They made a deal with the devil. God knows what, but we were born.”

Jay made a sound of slight disagreement. “You know that the deal was made so we would survive in that… village. It was small, but sickness always hit them.”

“Yeah, yeah. Plagues and stuff. But, our parents made sure they would keep us alive. Hence, the deal,” Riki turned the corner, eyeing the dark corridor that led to the East Wing. Still abandoned and circling with red lights. Heeseung spotted the camera, and walked, tugging you along.

“Clear. The cameras aren't making that fuckass sound,” he muttered to the others and you were led along.

Jay continued behind you. “We were kept in one, large cottage. Cosy, but they didn't let us go out even once.” 

“Like your mother,” Riki snickered in sarcasm, and you ignored the jab.

“We were kids, we didn't know why. We thought they were protecting us,” Jay said again, something hardening into betrayal underneath. 

“But, you guys were turning?” You finished off and Riki shrugged.

“Not exactly. We didn't feel anything of the sort. Not until Jungwon hyung went out into the forest one day,” he explained, piquing your interest as you and the others disappeared into the darkening halls.

“Jungwon went out without permission, but when he came back, he was covered in blood, mouth to toe. But he wasn't crying,” Jay picked up.

At the thought of a young Jungwon basically drowning in blood made your stomach curl a little, all appetite fleeing your body. Riki chuckled slightly.

“Don't forget how he dragged a human back to the house,” he replied, deepening the horror into your skin.

Your steps slightly faltered but Heeseung tugged harder on your chafed wrists, and you winced. Jay gave you a nudge forward.

“Right. The first of many.” But Jay wasn't speaking out of revulsion—it sounded like reverence, as if it was a blessing in disguise. “And from there, it was like a domino effect. Jungwon first, Sunghoon and Jake, then Sunoo and I. Then, Heeseung hyung and Riki. Each one of us turned and so, our bloodlust grew. It's pathetic how our parents didn't protect us, but protected the village from us.”

Their parents knew but didn't even bother to tell them. Did they know before or after? Did they ever try to stop them? What happened to that village? 

All those questions returned to the surface, wanting to be picked and answered, but your voice had shrunk upon hearing the origin of all their violence.

“Hey, our parents made us like this, and I'm grateful.” Riki shot an impish look at Jay, who rolled his eyes.

“Well, I can't lie and say it wasn't liberating. It was. It felt like we had no walls to keep us in. And each of us have different abilities. We only learned that later.” Jay glanced at the curiosity fluttering in your eyes.

“So, you didn't have those to begin with?” You looked over your shoulder briefly, but kept walking. In response, he shook his head.

“Why do you think we have the Blood Moon?” He replied slyly.

“To kill as many people as you can?” You remarked with a jab that made Heeseung huff, tugging you more in a sharp warning. You silenced yourself, but Jay chuckled.

“One can say that. But what's the point of killing when we can share the curse? It's liberating, Intern Song, and I feel upset that you can't see it,” he murmured, his voice suddenly hovering too close, eyes burning over the curve of your shoulder and neck.

Your heartbeat spiked and he grinned in silence. Whatever Soobin and the students had said about them achieving high strength wasn't fake after all. Clearly. And the urge to get the trial drug and stop these vampires grew beneath your anxiety like a scar never fading. Not only that—they wanted more people to turn and embrace the horrific fate that was immortal bloodlust.

“You're lucky, Intern, you get to witness one of the most important Blood Moons,” Riki said as he began to tear apart the metal shutters shielding the door. He tossed it aside whilst you pondered over your plan. 

As soon as he did, the plan to take out the guards was swift, each one taking less than ten seconds to make them drop to the floor, breathing or not. Seeing so many of them still and limp brought something heavy to tug on your throat and cry. But, there was no time to breathe.

Heeseung was already dragging you along with the rope, not bothering to stop when you had to sidestep the dropped guards with baited breath.

The walk up to the second floor was hasty but you followed anyway, your own plan growing beneath the dirt. More metal shutters were put in place on the next floor but Jay kicked it down until the dark lab hallway was present. The familiar doors were still barricaded, but your focus was on the door at the end, the one that held the research lab.

“Take us to the humans,” Heeseung said beside you. Without argument, you led them towards the end and then slowed with shaky breaths.

If you were correct, there are probably guards behind the doors and it meant an opportunity to buy time and unlock the cupboard. You glanced between the two doors and all three of them narrowed their gaze in suspicion. The way they stilled at your contemplation, trying to pick the edges apart for the truth behind it.

Heeseung tugged you back harshly until you bumped into his side and a hiss escaped your lips. There was no care in his scarlet eyes as he lowered his face, exhaling with an unstable composure on the verge of snapping.

“You're hesitating,” he sneered darkly. Your gaze flickered, to him, to the wall, and then to the ground before he yanked on your hands again. You winced, glancing again.

“Which damn door?” He snapped now, impatient and with warning. Taking a shaky breath, you turned your head to the ward door. If you took them in there, you know you could easily step away from the action and into the lab room, carrying out your own plan.

“There.” 

Riki was already ripping down the door, and opened it. Heeseung pushed you inside and darkness shrouded the room. The hum of ventilator machines remained, a slight blue hue from the emergency lights keeping the room from complete pitch black.

Your breath caught in your throat as the three vampires saw the curtains pulled around the patients, their gazes scanning, but hungry. It was as if they had reached a point of achievement.

Jay took the first step towards the first curtain before him and began to tear the fabric away. As soon as he did, a man in armour stepped out, gun aimed and ready to shoot. Jay recoiled with visible annoyance.

Heeseung snarled and tried to keep his grip on you, but you pushed him towards Jay, causing them to stumble into the wall.

Rage flashed past Riki's face and he lunged for you only for another guard to step out the curtain and catch him in motion. They crashed to the floor, and the ward room became a tornado of instant chaos. 

A guard fell when Jay swiped his leg beneath the dude, forcing him to fall onto his back with an aggravated yell. The gun was swiped and Heeseung caught it, opening fire at the other few guards popping out the curtains in defense. Even Riki was warring with violence, using only his hands to claw at the dude that tackled him, digging his nails into the neck of him. A scream ripped his throat, but he didn't care. It all passed him like the wind. Blood coated his fingers and the floor, but his attention was needed where more guards were charging at him. He rose with a newfound darkness storming his eyes.

That was your chance. 

You stumbled back, and broke into a run to get to the adjoining door leading to the labs. Like before, you flipped open the plastic covering to the keypad, punched in the code like muscle memory and watched as the metal shutters lifted and the sliding doors came into view. Your heart was thundering.

You tried your best to open the door with your bound hands, and you instantly slipped in and shut it behind you, putting in the same code so that the shutters swallowed the door again.

A grunt left you as you bumped into a counter, breathless, hopeful, but also overwhelmed. You had the chance to actually take a breath after being suffocated by those vampires’ demands and internal hunger. Not only that, but the fact they could have sunk their fangs in and drained you of life was also another reminder that hammered into your brain with no aim. There was no guarantee that the others haven't gotten their teeth messy. More persuasion to hit these vampires where they won't see it.

 You clutched your shirt at your chest from the pure adrenaline coursing through and weighing each breath down more than normal.

“Y/n?”

That motherly voice came from the side in the darkness followed by more footsteps, hushed whispers and some metal clinking together. Stunned, you straightened yourself to squint into the darkness. From the other room approached your mother, Taehyun and Soobin, worry stitched into their eyes, and then relief as they hurried to you. Some guards came, but retreated once they saw it was you.

Instantly, you ran to her, the tears you locked away returning as you dug your face into her shoulder. Her grip was strong when she hugged back, distress locked into every muscle. You were just glad she was alive and breathing.

“Oh gosh, your hands,” she exclaimed, lifting your bound wrists. Soobin gasped slightly whilst, Taehyun instantly grabbed scissors, the huge ones, before returning to you. Time ticked on but he deftly worked through them. The knots were annoying to work through, but when your hands fell free of the restraints, you hugged Taehyun as well.

He stiffened, a slight warmth rushing up his cheeks but he smiled softly, hands patting your back in reassurance. That you were back in the grounds of safety. He pulled you back by the shoulders.

“Where were you? I'm so sorry for abandoning you. I was going to go back but—”

“No need.” You wiped your eyes and looked at your bewildered mother. “I know how to defeat them. Well, it's a possibility.”

All three swiftly followed you deeper into the lab, to the adjacent room where the fridges remained shut and locked, science equipment sterilised and on display, and the dim emergency lights still blue and thrumming.

“You said that the trial suppressant was killing healthy cells as well. Normal ones.” You gestured to your mother. Realisation struck her just as hastily and then, concern. Her steps were careful when she approached, as if she wanted to disagree. You didn't understand in the slightest.

“We can't just kill them. The Facility built this on the basis we research them,” she countered eagerly, making you shake your head in vehement refusal, wanting to shake the sense into her.

“They bound me! And, they're going to keep getting stronger if we don't stop them. Those guards can only hold off so much,” you explained with equal desperation. When she still floated in silence, you glanced at Soobin who fiddled with a pen, but he wasn't exactly shocked. Just unsure.

“Soobin told me that these vampires get stronger with every Blood Moon.”

She grimaced. “That's all a myth, honey.”

“No, it isn't. Those monsters admitted it. And it's the only reason that the patients are converting back to vampirism after steady weeks of testing. I was going to tell you but…” you sighed, holding onto the counter at the landslide of thoughts suffocating your head. All three went silent, distant guns and movements making your nerves jump. Time was slipping away from you no matter how much you wanted to capture it.

“Please. Listen to me. We need to kill these vampires before they even think of turning anyone else,” you said again, and even held her arm as her gaze flickered and jumped between the conflict raging furiously within her. “I know their plan.”

With a defeated exhale, she nodded and your shoulder slumped with relief. But even then, uou wouldn't allow yourself rest if the mission wasn't done.

Soobin and Taehyun said they would guard outside; your mother was preparing the syringes, making sure to quickly line them up; and you were in the fridge, checking for the trial drugs’ blue liquid.

You were conscious of the time again, the lack of it anchoring deeply in your chest. What worried you more was the fact that there were probably more dead bodies out there. Their personal cemetery.

“Have you found them?” She asked from behind you. A distant scrape, bullet and tear echoed in the distance, but you swallowed down your anxiety.

“No.” You shoved boxes out the way as you looked down the icy box. Another scrape.

“It should be at the bottom. I left it there,” she said, shuffling behind you with plastic and glass, hastily tinkering.

Following her instructions with your chest curled in knots, you stacked all irrelevant boxes until you found the glass one with blue vials down below. 

Bingo.

You hauled it to the counter before frantically stacking everything back, and shut the fridge. 

“You found it?” She breathed, coming beside you. You nodded, taking one into your hands and feeling the weight of it all within your palm. As if you held the world by just your fingertips, too. Maybe it was knowing you had the capability to end the spread of bloodlust and corrupted immortality. All by your human hands.

She picked up the remaining in the rack and returned to her station, wearing gloves eagerly and opening the screw of one. 

“I'll help,” you declared calmly. Rushing to the gloves on the other side of the room, you failed to notice the shriek of metal, a hungry growl of a machine, something menacing on your path. It was stupid how easily your composure dampened. The only thing in your head was getting those vials into those vampires and stopping them.

Another nefarious growl roared in the lab, running through the surfaces and up your bones. It was so close, your silicone gloves forgotten mid-pull.

And then, the ravenous metal sliced, a blood-curling scream echoing out after and capturing your muscles in ice. 

Your breaths felt heavy, every part of you screaming to not look, but you did anyway.

Your knees weakened, hands fueled with tremors as you held yourself by the counter to see your mother trembling in place, her hands cupping her bloodied side. There was so much of it. You couldn't even tell what was her skin, what was fabric, heart thundering in panic, as if trying to weave something out of pure denial.

You had to look away because it was fake. Clearly. And only then you saw the four figures looming behind her, still, calm as if this was normal. None of this was normal.

She parted her lips, trying to say something, but you saw the exact moment the light escaped her eyes and her body dropped, her bloody hand sliding off the counter and nudging the remaining vials. The thud was a single knell in your ears.

The denial hit you hard. 

She wasn't dead. She wasn't. She was your strong mother that had a head of steel and tackled every problem with her own constructed weapon. She wasn't one to just accept death. You waited for her to speak, maybe stand and stumble over to you.

But when her body slumped on the floor, standing in her place was a chainsaw, the metal still but coated with copper and red torment. 

And Jungwon holding it, blonde hair a mess, his black mask returned to the lower half of his place, but his scarlet eyes pinned you to a place.

You couldn't breathe. Your legs weakened and you whimpered, dropping to your knees in denial, harsh, ragged breaths falling past your lips in large gulps, hot tears blurring your vision like a constant tide you were drowning under.

It wasn't real. You were dreaming. And your mother wasn't dead. She was just there. 

The heavy tug on your sternum pinned your breaths, your lungs, until it felt like your own body would collapse in on itself. You were doubled over, tears drenching your cheeks before you knew it.

Footsteps.

You couldn't hear them. You saw them before your blurry gaze, and when you looked up, you sobbed, unrestrained.

All seven of them looming over you like a miserable promise. Sunoo held the hacksaw, head tilted in sick curiosity and you swore a smirk flickered behind the narrow gaps of the black mask; Riki held the metal bat with barbed wire and thorns, a bloodied smile worn; Jay held the spiky bludgeon, the ball attached to a chain, emotionless; and Jungwon in the middle of it all, holding that metal monster with ease, familiarity. 

Recognition.

When he reached out to you, something in you snapped, and a shriek tore past your lips as you scrambled back, hitting the cupboards behind you. Your skin flared. As if them getting near brought thorns to prickle your skin and render you in pain.

A flash of annoyance rekindled, but he simply took a step forward, making your heartbeat rage terribly. You knew they heard it.

“Get up,” He demanded just as darkly as before, as if he hadn't ripped your mother away from the world. You shook your head, your sobs growing hastily. 

Jungwon's gaze narrowed and Heeseung's hand snapped to your arm, hauling you up forcefully and keeping you near. 

Breathing was hard for you now, and you continued to cry, all thoughts weighing down like stones planted into the planes of your skull.

“Shut her up,” Sunghoon said with distaste behind that monstrous mask. A hand clamped over your mouth, effortlessly silencing your sobs to hiccups and whimpers. You couldn't even find any of your strength to resist, exhaustion sinking into your bones. 

Her screams haunted you, the look in her tearful eyes. More tears arose, knocking at the walls of your eyes, and you couldn't deny the truth of it anymore. That denial dissolved into solid grief, the type that binded deep in your lungs, making each breath sting and seize your chest.

They all walked closer and your whines grew loud and panicked. Heeseung tightened the grip on your mouth, pressing your head back into his chest, refusing to free you.

Your pulse drummed desperately, as if urging yourself to struggle, but you couldn't. The vials were still on the counter where your mother was slaughtered, taunting you. It irritated you to no ends that your solution was right there, silently mocking you for being caged and surrounded.

The mere thought crushed all your composure again, and again until it was just dust.

“Intern Song,” Jungwon said calmly as he stood right before you with dark, crimson eyes, the colour almost a display of your mother's innocent blood staining his sanity. 

Apprehensive whines left your body, and you couldn't hold it together. Everything felt wobbly, loose. They managed to destroy everything holding you together. Heeseung pressed his palm to your lips even more.

“I need you to listen, and listen well,” he continued, ignoring you. His gaze flickered over your hazy and teary eyes, the sight fueling a darkness within, making him smirk.

“You need to do a job for us,” he said with another pur. You shook your head with muffled sobs and Heeseung sneered, stilling your head. Jungwon smiled coldly and it sent something heavy to curl in your stomach. Sunoo smiled, tilting his head. It only looked worse with those black masks.

“There's a reason why we haven't killed you, lovely,” he said with a false sweetness. The others shifted, but it was Sunghoon that appeared at your side within a swift second. A shudder seized your spine.

Sunghoon leaned down with that air of control. “You're going to help us make a serum… a venom.”

This time, your breaths halted, eyes creasing in confusion. It didn't make any remote sense. Even in your state of grievance. They could just bite people and get it over with. Why do they need you?

They saw the mental questions arising and Jake scanned you over with mirth.

“You see, only us seven can turn vampires in one go. Anyone we turned cannot do it to the same ability,” Jake explained as he flexed his knuckles, his dead eyes boring into yours. You glanced away.

“And we need it done quickly. With the Blood Moon, we have become stronger and need to spread… our curse. The serum can be quicker if the humans do some of the jobs for us,” Jay continued, and all of them held that expectation in their straightened postures and cold gazes.

Riki finally stepped forward, the bat resting on his shoulder as if he was carrying an old friend. You whimpered.

“And you're going to help us do that,” he finally said before they all pinned you with their gazes.

The tears remained but your sobs had been buried by the pure striking shock of what they wanted you to do. Obviously you can't do that. To even go against why you accepted the internship at the facility in the first place would unravel all your sanity, your reasoning. The only things you had left to keep. Deciding to do good wasn't just a personal thing—you were confident when you knew what the destination was, when knowing that your aid contributed to something positive. Even if a fraction. 

Not to mention that your mother worked so hard, putting all her time and sleep into helping those patients regain their old life. For you to break that legacy would be ending her work, betraying her. And now, with her body lying a few feet away, the refusal caged the offer from ever reaching you. You didn't even blink in contemplation.

Jungwon ground his teeth, dropping the chainsaw with a heavy clunk. A flinch broke through you, but he didn't care. Heeseung released you wordlessly only for Jungwon to slide his hands through your locks and yank your head back. You cried out abruptly, hands clawing at him in a weak attempt to unfurl his violent grasp.

It didn't work.

“I don't think you heard us clearly,” he muttered dangerously, tugging your strands back further as you whimpered, more tears slipping down your cheeks. “You will make the serum, and you will do so without me asking once more.”

“A-and… if I don't?” You managed to croak out, fighting the storm of emotions. Jungwon tilted his head until his nose grazed your trembling neck again, holding you there.

“Then I will bite you. Right here.” Jungwon physically prodded his fangs in warning at the side of your neck, and you tried to push his chest. He remained, and chuckled with that same control he rediscovered and kept in his grasp. “And I will turn you into what you hate the most. A monster.”

He pulled away only a little but it was still so close. You couldn't process it. Everything was frozen, woven in a deep web of problems. And the solution? You couldn't even figure it out. It was all loose, tangled.

Silence gripped your throat, eyes searching his but it was just stone hard and unyielding. And exuded power that he wouldn't be denied. 

Pain tingled up your scalp as he tightened his hand, and you winced again, then shook your head.

“Don't m-make me—”

“You don't tell us what to do,” Jungwon snapped, yanking on your hair again, sending another crack of pain through your head. A hoarse cry left your throat.

Riki rolled his eyes, his bat swinging down with slight force and striking the back of your knees. Another burst of pain sprung up your buckling legs, and Jungwon wrapped his free arm about your waist as you struggled to deal with the dilemma and pain. Your hands braced with no choice on his chest and another wave of indecision submerged you.

It was clear he didn't care. Those cruel, crimson eyes were waiting, but the patience was quickly dissolving, and so was your time.

“Will you do it or do you need another reminder?” Heeseung remarked darkly behind you. 

Looking at your choices from every angle, there was barely a route where you escaped safely. If you run, you would get bit; if you go along with it, you would be aiding these notorious criminals into turning the city into their own personal army; if you don't do anything at all…

“Well?” Jungwon pressed on, causing you to snap back to reality. You had to keep yourself alive. The small spark melted your hopelessness, but it was something.

You won't stop fighting for yourself, nor your mother. But if you had to fight, you couldn't get yourself killed before the battle even started.

With a defeated slump of the shoulders, your gaze lowered and he smiled, loosening the grip on your hair, but not completely.

“Smart girl,” he purred before he let go and Sunoo approached, lowering his mask deftly. Defensive, you stepped back.

“What are you—?”

Sunoo dismissed your words easily, like dust. He grinned in anticipation. “Don't you remember? I got first dibs.”

The initial panic climbed up your chest, and you stumbled back again. Jake grumbled as well as Riki.

“I wanted a taste,” Riki muttered. You weren't listening to them anymore because you glanced at Jungwon.

“You said if I agreed, I wouldn't be bitten!” You exclaimed with ragged breaths, backing up until you bumped into Sunghoon. His hands latched onto yours like cuffs and you abruptly yelled.

Jungwon shrugged, picking up his chainsaw again, but a smirk curled ever so slightly at the corner. “I said I wouldn't bite you. I never said anything about the others.”

Why did you ever trust his word? 

Sunoo strolled over with a skip in his step, the anticipation thrumming through him like waves that did nothing to calm your frantic struggles. You shook your head with trembling breaths, begging.

They all watched like it was the most normal thing ever, as if this was a sick routine.

“Sunoo, please—”

“Oh, it'll only sting a little,” he teased, cupping your face and forcefully exposing your neck. In a desperate attempt, you kicked at him, but his hand gripped your thigh and eased it down harshly. 

“Tsk, tsk, I'm not turning you. Just want a little… snack,” he whispered, removing your hair and the lab coat that seemed useless now, and he inhaled deeply.

This can't be happening. None of this was real. But no matter how many times you denied the situation, the more your body felt crushed under it all. 

Especially when Sunoo prodded his fangs, humming like he inhaled a sweet song, and you shrieked. Sunghoon held you too easily by the arms, and Sunoo kept you in place by the jaw.

There was no preparation that could make you endure the pain.

Nothing at all.

The moment Sunoo's fangs broke through your skin, a sudden explosion of pain struck through your neck and shoulder, an agonised cry leaving your tight lungs. All your muscles flexed, tightened and a thousand painful knots curled into your flesh.

That was only the surface, the mere opening of your flesh, not even enough to draw blood. But it was enough for tears to coat your eyes again, your head to thrash, nails digging crescents into your palm.

“Stop—!”

Sunoo boldly sunk his teeth all the way in and an immediate dizziness consumed you, your head losing strength, pain sweeping over you like the heaviest tide in a hurricane. At this point, voices blurred and your knees buckled. You couldn't think past the barrier of your vessels cracking, and allowing his intruding fangs to disrupt like a visitor you never asked for. A thief for your blood.

Pain ignited and struck you once more, hitting you with one, hot bolt of pulsing pain through your neck and shoulder.

You couldn't comprehend thoughts, words. Everything twisted and kept you oblivious except the fact that Sunoo greedily took your blood, each motion sparking more agony to tighten and bolt your muscles. You think he hummed, and then delved in deeper.

Keeping your eyes open was a strain you were falling under.Your body fell into the arms of someone. You forgot who. But it didn't matter. Sleep and rest felt more embracing, warm, and away from the roots of reality.

The darkness, for once, was something you gladly fell into.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The first thing you registered was the heavy ache crushing down on your neck, rippling from the bite spot and then reaching up your head and shoulder.

Everything was muffled. Silent, even. Too silent.

Peeling open your eyes, clean, grey walls shone in your surroundings, the stillness corrupting your thoughts despite the pain.

The ground was cold, and not far ahead, there was a window with a grey barrier drawn down, and the striking realisation flashed through you.

The prison cell.

With a burst of energy born out of panic, you shifted your body only to hear and feel leather and metal near your hands. Horror weighed deep in your chest at the leather cuffs around your wrists, and when you peered down at yourself, the chain coiled around your single ankle.

This was worse than you thought. Everything was going down hill, and breaking. Your sanity was unravelling from all the stress sinking into your bones, and your throat felt dry.

Shakily breathing, you fought through the web of pain gripping at every nerve and stumbled to your feet; the agony straining your neck worsened, and you weakly groaned.

The window was cold as you stumbled to it, hands landing with a thud, a futile display of fight, determination. If there was anyone listening, you didn't care. Your forehead landed there, exhausted.

“Let me g-go,” you whispered, weakly banging the glass once more, the movement sending another shot of pain to ripple from your neck and everywhere.

It wasn't just the bite spot. No. Everything was drowning. Your mother was dead as you know it, and her body was probably going to be swept away like litter; you don't know where Soobin or Taehyun were.

They were probably as good as dead.

And the other scientists? Their fates were undecided. How did it even come to this?

Tears welled in your eyes at the thought of trying to take down these vampires after everything that happened.

A rustle sounded, and the blinds went up to reveal Jungwon holding the strings with a controlled stare, as if he knew he held power over you.

Heaviness weighted in your chest, forcing your hands to weakly tap the glass again.

“Y-you monster,” you whispered but you were sure his hearing caught it. The words didn't go missed by him. He tilted his head, pinning your gaze with pleasure or amusement.

“I know. I don't need a reminder, Intern Song,” he spoke through the glass mockingly. The spark of anger twinkled in your eyes, the way your brows creased.

His gaze snapped to your neck, the dry blood staining the agonising wound, and his pupils dilated slightly before meeting your teary gaze again. 

“Now you know,” he began saying, leaning closer to the glass to display those blood crimson eyes of his. Your fists clenched as you steadied yourself on the glass, teeth grit, not being able to help the frustration twisting your face and chest. “How to be kept like a mouse in a facility, to be controlled and experimented upon.”

“We're not the s-same,” you remarked in a contempted murmur, breathless. Jungwon smirked at that, leaning his shoulder on the window after crossing his arms. The controlled demeanour, the time spent to taunt you—it all infuriated you. You wanted to strangle him.

“Exactly. We're not the same, Intern Song. Isn't that why we were kept here? I'm simply returning the favour so you can help us with something,” he explained so easily. Another spark of pleasure lit up his face when he glanced at you. “And that's helping with the venom. Like you agreed to.”

“Before your stupid b-brother bit me,” you retorted again, making him snap his cutting gaze to you.

“It's only natural, you know? It's what happens when you deprive us of what we are truly meant to consume,” he countered sharply, leaving no room to argue. Speaking of his brothers, you failed to see any of them in the lab room, and your worry returned to the surface. He sensed the sudden spike in heartbeat.

“Don't worry. They're just… having a snack here and there.” 

Tremors ran up your back, gripping your chest and making each breath ragged, shaky, and filled with anger. You grit your teeth, banging your cuffed hands on the window even more.

“You won't get away with this!” You yelled but it lacked the anger you wanted to give. It sounded desperate, as if you had lost the fight already. Jungwon didn't even blink and shrugged.

“You're not convincing anyone. Even yourself,” he said before walking to the side door, opening it and the room suddenly shifted to become unsettling and suffocating. 

His steps were easy, silent as he stalked you, and you stumbled back a bit. The chain pulled taut when you tried to distance yourself too quickly, and you fell back onto the ground, wincing when your spine tingled with pain.

The shadow of his loomed over you like a reminder of your entrapment, taunting you even more. Jungwon knelt down as you curled away but he gripped your cuffed ankle, yanking until you held yourself up by the forearms. You groaned in agony, the sensation radiating from your wound and up your skull.

“And, Intern Song, I only have so much patience with your words and actions. Quite frankly, you have exhausted me with all your escape attempts,” he said with a dangerously low voice that cut into you to prove the point. When you glanced at the ground, he pulled on your hand with a silent threat, making you meet his gaze.

“Anymore of that, and I will let each of them drain your blood until you can barely speak. Do you understand?” He warned, expecting an answer. A nod was all you could manage, but he violently shook your hand, and you cried out weakly. “I said. Do. You. Understand?”

“Y-yes,” you uttered hastily. Jungwon tilted his head, as if satisfied, let go of your hands and began to walk towards the door that led to your freedom. Before he exited completely, he turned to you over his shoulder. You tensed.

“Enjoy your time in Facility 007.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱‧₊˚━━━━━━━━━━━━━

— ִֶָ࣪☾. [𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒]: so, do yall want a part 2(?). Hope you enjoyed!!

REBLOGS, LIKES+ COMMENTS are appreciated<3

.𖥔 ݁ ˖[Taglist]: @sourkiki @codyl-angdon @luvksnn @aoivanilla @immelissaaa @chovero @kettyperdi @ch4c0nnenh4 @tojiworshipper @strxwbloody @fancypeacepersona @yuyxann @riribelle @cakeforwonu @heeshlove @pjselee @yollohblbl

[alfaire]

you've got blood on your hands ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿ 🩸🦷

and I know it's mine, so get off your low and let's kiss like we used to ܆ ͙ ͙۪۪˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ॱ⋅.˳. ♱ 𓉳̸

[hooned]

And yet, here you are on national television. Why?

Because I want to be seen. To remind you that I exist. To remind myself.

[cutehoons02]

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LOVE SOMEONE?

(SCENE) ᡣ𐭩 What kind of vampire version boyfriend can be the Hyung Line and where you firts met them...

(TAGS) minor do not interact, +18, vampires mood, a lot of tension, manipulation, fluffy moments, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) vampire bites, blood, a lot of kisses, masturbation (f.m) fingering, cowgirl, normal sex, doggy sex, clingy, fake innocent protagonist, good girl, bratty girl.

ᡣ𐭩 REBLOG AND COMMENTS!

*english is not my native language!

JAKE (CLINGY BOYFRIEND VAMPIRE)

The alley reeked of stagnant rain and blood. You ran. Your heart hammered. The heels bounced on the wet asphalt. You shouldn’t have been there alone at that hour. But you ended up there. And now, someone—something—was chasing you. He was fast. Too fast to be human. 'Don’t scream, little one…' the rough voice hissed from behind you, as a cold arm grabbed you around the waist, and his warm breath grazed your neck. Then: a strike. A crash. A growl. A figure hurled him away. You screamed, collapsing to the ground, as the “bad” vampire was grabbed by the throat and torn apart in a hiss of dust. Your confused gaze landed on a face you had never seen before. Golden, deep eyes. A tight jaw. Still and fierce beauty. Jake. “You’re safe now…” he murmured, kneeling beside you, his hands trembling. “Please, don’t faint, okay? Look at me. You’re okay now, I swear I won’t hurt you.” But your vision was already fading. Your heart slowed. His hands were cold… so cold. Yet, they weren’t frightening. They were sad. Sweet. Desperate. The last thing you heard was his broken voice: “Stay with me… please…”

The next morning. Opening your eyes was a challenge. Everything throbbed: your temples, your throat, your back. A groan escaped you, and you immediately heard it: a quick movement in the room. Someone was there. Someone you… knew? “Shh… Don’t move too much. You’re hurt… I found you…” The voice was low, calm. Warm. But you recognized it. It was the voice before the darkness. You sat up abruptly, clutching the blankets to your chest. “Stay away from me!” Jake raised his hands, as if to surrender. “Wait, no—I don’t want to hurt you. I saved you, remember?” His eyes… they were sincere. Pained. His lips moist with unspoken words. His hair was messy, as if he hadn’t slept. He looked… like a beaten dog. “You’re… a vampire,” you murmured. “Yes,” he nodded. “But I’m not like him. I don’t—I don’t hurt people. Not you.” Your voice trembled. “Then why are you here? Why did you bring me… where are we?” “My house,” he replied, looking down. “I couldn’t leave you there. And I didn’t trust the others. Not even your own.” Then he looked into your eyes with tenderness: “You’re… important. I don’t know why. But you are.”

Days passed. You heal slowly. The wounds are deep, but strangely, they begin to close faster. Every night, even if you don’t see him, Jake enters the room. He watches you, motionless, kneeling by your bed. Then, slowly… he licks your wounds. With precision. With respect. But with a hunger he cannot hide. Until one night… “…Jake…” His name slipped from your lips in a whisper as you slept. And he stared. He stood up to leave, but your hand closed around his cold wrist. “Stay.” He looked at you. Confused. Stunned. “I’m grateful… for what you did. And…” you hesitated, “…I want to understand. I want to understand you.” He lowered his gaze, a nervous, tender smile, like a boy caught in the act. “I should leave. I really should,” he said. “But you don’t want to,” you replied. “No,” he admitted. “I want to stay. I want to… watch you breathe. Is that stupid?” You smiled. “A little.” “I can do even dumber things,” he whispered with a smirk. “Like asking if I can sleep here. On the carpet. Or on the ceiling, if you prefer. I can stay in mist form too.” You laughed. His joke was childish, but it was sincere. Strangely… sweet. Jake looked at you with bright eyes. “I swear I won’t do anything you don’t want. But… if you want me to stay, say the word. Just one.” And you said it. “Stay.”

It had been weeks since Jake had saved you. But since that day… You had never been alone again. You found him everywhere. Lying in your bed in the morning, with a sleepy smile and messy hair. Behind you while you cooked, his arms wrapped around your waist and his cold lips kissing your shoulder. One time, you almost dropped a knife from shock. His only response was: “I had to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself with those sharp things… let me cut the vegetables.” And of course, he did it with his claws. But the worst—or the best—came at the most private moments. Like that afternoon, in the mall dressing room, when you tried on a red bralette and black panties with red details. You had looked at yourself in the mirror, satisfied. Then, his voice behind you: “Take it off.” You spun around quickly. “JAKE! I told you not to pop up out of nowhere when I’m trying on lingerie!” He licked his lips, his eyes fixed on your chest. “I’m not doing it on purpose…” he murmured. “It’s like… a radar. My body just brings me to you when you wear things like that.” “Psychopath,” you muttered, laughing. “Possessive,” he corrected, stepping closer, “and you love it.” Then he said it, with those golden eyes and that low voice that made your bones vibrate: “Tonight… I want to see you wearing only that.” You raised an eyebrow. “Only that?” Jake bit his lip. “Only that. And maybe… a bow.” “You want a bow?” you teased. “Yes. Red. Like blood.” You looked at him mischievously. “Did you get yourself a gift, vampire?” “Yes. My favorite. You!”

That evening – Your room at the campus

Books everywhere, scattered notes, open highlighters. You were studying for the comparative species history exam, trying to figure out when vampires had been officially recognized in human law.

Then: knock knock. On the window. You smiled even before getting up. When you opened it, the wind carried with it the scent of the night… and him. Jake. Messy blonde hair from the flight, full lips pulled into a dangerous smile, intense eyes, and sharp canines clearly visible.

“Hey, princess of the dark,” he said, landing on the windowsill with feline grace. “Don’t you ever use the door?” “Too mainstream,” he replied. Then he looked at you with burning eyes. “But for you… I might consider it.” He entered without waiting for an invitation. As always. And he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck. His breath was like ice on your warm skin.

“You know how beautiful you are, right?” he murmured, his voice rough. “Your blood smells like desire. Like honey and thorns.” “Jake…” you sighed, your legs going weak. He pulled back for a moment. “You’re my drug. You know that?” You looked at him with an ironic smile. “You’re obsessed with me.”

Jake flashed a cheeky grin. “Of course I am. You’re everything I want. To drink. To touch. To fuck.” Your breath trembled. He slowly slid his hands under your shirt. They were cold, as always, and the contrast with your warm skin made you moan softly.

“Jake… they’re cold…” “I love how you react to me. So alive. So mine.” Then he looked you straight in the eyes. “Are you wearing that set?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Want to see it?” “Show me.”

“Good little puppy,” you whispered, lifting your shirt just enough to let him catch a glimpse of the red lace on your belly. Jake closed his eyes, gripping the edge of the table to avoid losing control.

“Christ. You’re a curse.” “You asked me to wear it,” you teased him. “I didn’t think I’d survive.”

“Shame, then…” You brushed your thumb over his lip. “Because tonight, I’m not letting you leave here alive.” Jake swore. Loudly.

“Damn… okay. Now you’re officially cruel.”

He lifted you in his arms with frightening speed, and you gasped as he carried you toward the bed. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get my gift. Just the bow is missing…”

Jake stood over you slowly, as if touching something sacred. His gaze burned. There was no longer only desire in there; there was worship, hunger, and something deeply romantic, as if it were the only beautiful thing left in his immortal world. "You're the most perfect thing I've ever seen," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

He leaned over and began to storm our necks with hungry little kisses, alternating them with yeast bites and hickeys. His canines grazed the skin without ever really sinking, but they were plenty to trigger shivers down his spine. "Jake, I told you not to bite," you half-loudly admonished him, pulling his blonde hair hard, sinking his fingers into his thick, shiny hair. He moaned against your skin, laughing in that deep way that made your soul vibrate. "I love you when you're like that. When you command me, you drive me crazy.” Then you hear him moan. "I can't take it anymore if you're my damn thing. My drug. Every part of you calls me. I need you. To feel your skin. To lose myself inside of you.”

You giggled, stunned by the intensity of his voice. You pushed him gently, and he let me tip him over, lying on the bed under you, eyes wide open and red with hunger, but not blood. He straddled you on him, and you looked at him with a mischievous smile. "Strange for a dead man if you are flushed,”

Jake bit his lip, trying to keep control. "Shit stop " You pulled up his shirt with a slow, seductive gesture. “I want to see everything that is mine.” And he, without thinking twice, raised his arms, giving you free access to his sculpted body. You began to kiss him, first the chest, then slowly along the line of the abs, tracing them with your tongue, savoring each muscle as if it were created for you. Jake was shaking, unable to stand still. When you rubbed on his boner, through his pants, he moaned loudly, his hands clutching the sheets. "Christ, princess, you're sending me out of my head and you're damn good…” "Is it too much for an immortal vampire?" you teased him, brushing his jaw with your nails. Then you whispered in his ear, "Raise your hips,” Jake stammered, taken by surprise. "Wait, wait, if you're serious? Now?!”

"Does this sound like a joke to you?" you muttered, slowly lowering your pants. When his boxer appeared, tense against his throbbing erection, you threw an innocent fake look at him. "Is all this for me?” Jake nodded, eyes full of desire. "Always. Just for you.” Slowly, you took them off, and his body immediately reacted to the touch. "You are so sensitive Jake. Everything. But tonight you are mine.”

His erection pressed against the tissue of the boxer, already wet from the tip. You looked at him. “For me?” "Always for you. Just for you.” When you released him completely, his cock jumped against his abs, swollen, pulsating, beautiful. You licked your lips while he held his breath, in the grip of an animalistic tension. You began to kiss the tip, savoring every drop of liquid that had already leaked. He bowed, with a muffled groan. "Christ …[name], if you continue like this…” “So how?” you whispered, slowly licking it along the entire length. “Damn… tempting creature…” With the tongue you played, teased, and caressed. Then you took it in your mouth, deep down, and hon moaned loudly, his voice choked. His canines protruded now, red eyes completely lost in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck you … fuck you … you are… too…” His hands clasped your hair, but trembled. He was your prisoner, the vampire who could kill with a glance … but who now stuttered under your touch. “So loud to be a vampire… " you teased him again, pinching his thigh. Jake screamed, a choked blasphemy came out of his lips as he unwittingly pushed inside your mouth. When you started moving faster, he had tears in his eyes, teeth sticking into his lips, and veins in his neck stretched like strings.

"I'm … coming, love … fuck … I'm -” Then you heard it. He burst like a fountain, warm and abundant, and you did not stop, drinking everything, hands still caressing him to prolong the pleasure, even when he trembled under you. White threads dripped from your lips and along your hand. You ran your tongue over your fingers and looked at him with a smile. “Possessive. Vulnerable. Delicious.” He looked at you lying, exhausted, his chest rising, his cheeks incredibly reddened. “You are a public danger.” “And you're the most adorable vampire I've ever seen.” "Don't say it out loud… You will ruin my immortal reputation.” But then he laughed. A raspy laugh, tired, completely in love. And you knew you had him.

His chest lifted with an almost animalistic tension. His hands caressed your hips with caution, as if afraid that you might vanish. You were there. Hot. Deadly. And yet you were the one with the power at the time. You giggled, mischievous. “You like me so much, huh?” Jake rose slightly on her elbows and brought his lips to your breasts, leaving playful little bites- his canines barely exposed, as if reminding you who he really was. "Jake” You stopped him with a firm whisper, taking him by the hair. “I don't want you to bite me.” He sulked, adorable, his red eyes veiled with desire and frustration. “Not even a little? Just to feel your heart racing harder?” "No. I want to hear from you … but not like that.”

The vampire below you sighed, giving up, but slowly slid along your body. It's member-already hard, already throbbing-rubbed against your moist folds, ripping out a moan that left you trembling. “Then let me at least get inside you.” His voice was hoarse, broken, and pleading. “I want to hear you all, I want to know that you are there… that you are mine.”

Nod. And with a slow, conscious gesture, you guided him inside you. He entered with a subdued expletive, his head thrown back, while you groaned along with him. It was too much. Too good. Too real. Too intense. "Fucking goddess…" he muttered, clinging to your thighs. "You are perfect… you are made for me…" You began to move, first slowly, then with increasing confidence. Your hips moved smoothly, sinking on him with power, alternating moments when he was pushing inside you, and others when you bounced against him, hands resting on his shoulders, strong to stay balanced.

He moaned, praised you, degraded you with words that made your soul vibrate. "Look how you take me… how I slide inside you…Every part of your body cries out my name. Is that what you want? Being fucked and loved like I'm the only one controlling me?” When he took you by the waist and rose from lying down to sit down, remaining within you, you screamed, surprised by the deep pleasure of that new corner. “Be… I'm coming,Jake "Yes, love … come for me.” he whispered with a grin, as his thumb crept between the two of you and began to stimulate you with perfect, targeted movements. "Hold me … drive me crazy” With one last deep push, you felt the orgasm explode inside you — a hot, shattering wave that made you shake against her chest. Your name moaned, as your body convulsively clasped around his. “It's too much… " you gasped, exhausted and trembling.

"No, baby … I have to come again … and I will do it inside you.” The way he said it, the possessive tone, the burning desire… left you breathless. It wasn't a threat. It was a promise. Prayer. Sentence. He held you tight and sank even deeper, with fierce thrusts but full of need. His kisses were frantic, his eyes filled with something beyond desire: adoration. And when it came, it was with a broken groan, the body stiffening against yours, the breath severed, as it sank into you, filling you, trembling, vulnerable, alive. You remained so, united, while your bodies were still contracting slowly. He squeezed you, lips in your neck, but without biting. “Now you are mine.” “So are you, sticky vampire.” He smiled, his smile tired and sincere. “And I'm happy about it. I don't want anything but you.”

HEESEUNG (PERFECT BOYFRIEND VAMPIRE)

Two years

It had been two whole years since you'd first met Heeseung. He was carrying cookies that his "aunt" had supposedly left him. He was kind, always smiling, with that calm, soothing voice that felt like a lullaby every time you passed him on the landing. He was… perfect. Too perfect. Never a word out of place. Always considerate with the elderly, always have a warm smile for the children in the building. But there was something. A shadow lingering behind those eyes—always just a bit too glossy. The fact that you’d never seen him out during the day. That his apartment always seemed shrouded in darkness. And then, his friends. Three other guys. So breathtakingly beautiful, it was almost painful to look at them. But their presence made the air go cold. No one knew anything about them. Yet, every time you crossed paths, your heart would pound so hard it felt like you had to run and hide. That evening, you were just on the couch. Soft music is playing, a scented candle is lit, and your favorite book is in hand. A finally normal night.

Ding dong.

The doorbell made you jump. You weren’t expecting anyone, you approached cautiously, and peeked through the peephole.

Brown hair with reddish highlights, it was Heeseung. But… he looked like he was swaying. You opened the door abruptly. Your breath caught in your throat.

His face was streaked with blood. His lip was split, red stains all over his white shirt—or what was left of it. He was breathing heavily. And smiling.

“Do you have any sugar? I suddenly got this crazy craving for… something sweet.”

His voice was hoarse. Almost a growl. You felt the blood freeze in your veins. Instinctively, you pulled the door halfway closed, leaving just a sliver between you and him.

“I... I would never hurt you,” he murmured, sounding almost disappointed.

“That’s exactly what serial killers say!” you snapped, eyes wide.

He chuckled softly. A tired, almost mischievous smirk.

“Touché. But I promise… I’m too weak to even touch you. At least, not the way I’d like to.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“…You’re a pervert.”

“Only when I’m mortally wounded and knocking on the doors of good girls,” he muttered, swaying.

You sighed. Looked into his eyes. There was something strangely vulnerable there. Something pleading.

And something dangerously magnetic.

You grabbed his arm—cold, marble-like—and pulled him inside.

His body was heavy but controlled. Like a wounded predator still ready to pounce.

“Couch. Now. And try not to bleed on everything.”

When he sat down, he let out a low groan. Then cursed through gritted teeth.

“Shit… even near the belly button. Terrible place for a fang.”

You spun around.

“If you wanted an excuse to show me your abs, you could’ve just asked. No need to nearly get yourself killed by… by what, exactly?”

He laughed, quietly.

“Noted. Next time, I’ll be more straightforward. Like: hey, I wanna show up half-naked at your door, open up.”

You slapped the back of his hand on instinct.

He looked at you, surprised. Then smiled again—this time genuinely amused.

“Hey… if touching me is your reaction to every innuendo, I might start making them more often.”

You knelt beside him. Blood was trickling from his abdomen, and when you lifted the torn shirt, you had to hold your breath.

Perfect, even wounded.

Beneath the pale skin, the cut was deep. But his body seemed to be… healing. Slowly. As if something ancient pulsed inside him.

“What the hell are you, Heeseung?”

He looked at you. For the first time, serious. No smile. Just truth.

“Something that doesn’t deserve to be near you. But I can’t stay away.”

Your heart thudded.

But you didn’t look away.

Maybe because you were drawn to danger.

Or maybe… because beneath all that blood and mystery, there was a man who looked at you like you were the only light he’d ever known.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, slicing the air in golden beams.

He was still there. On your couch. Or at least... it looked like he was.

“Ugh...” Heeseung groaned, his voice deep and hoarse, barely awake. He moved slowly, pushing himself up on his elbows. His shirt was still open over his chest, and the gash near his navel now looked like nothing more than a faint scar.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, approaching carefully, a small bowl of clean gauze in your hands.

“Like an ancient scroll...” he whispered. “My skin’s centuries old by now. It’s learned to heal on its own. But... the older I get, the longer it takes.”

You stared at him, brow furrowed.

“So you are...”

“A vampire?” he let out a low, sensual chuckle. “You didn’t figure that out on your own? With my nocturnal habits, corpse-like complexion, and this overwhelming need to... stay close to you?”

You stepped closer, your fingers resting against his cool skin.

“Let’s just say I had my theories.” You looked at him, a mix of challenge and curiosity in your gaze.

“But now I want to see how true they are.”

Your fingers slid along his abdomen, warm, alive.

He let out a low groan, eyes fluttering shut.

“Damn… your hands. They're... so warm.”

“That’s because I have blood running through me. You, on the other hand—”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

He pouted, irresistibly, lifting his gaze just a little.

“You shouldn’t talk about your blood like that. Not around me. It makes me want to suck it from you slowly. Drink it while you moan my name.”

You froze. Eyes wide, breath caught in your throat.

“You’re joking, right?”

“No.” He shook his head. Then, much softer:

“But I’d never do it without your permission. I promise.”

Then added, with a wicked grin:

“I only say it because… your blood… your personality… and your body… are all I want.”

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

“So that was… some kind of confession?” you asked, trying to play it off.

He laughed. A deep, satisfied sound.

“Call it what you want. But if you let me enjoy your hands on me a little longer… I might call it our first date.”

You resumed treating him, even though your hands were trembling slightly.

The wound on his abdomen was nearly gone. But as you reached lower—just above the waistband of his boxers—you felt him shiver beneath your touch.

“Mmh… you’re really good at this. But if you keep touching me there, I might start saying or doing... indecent things.”

“Like what?” you asked, innocently.

He opened his eyes. His dark irises seemed to burn.

“Like telling you I want you sitting on my lap, your warm hands tied behind your back. Or letting you bite my neck while I slowly slide into you. Or asking you to scream my name until the neighbors call the cops.”

You froze. Your heart was hammering in your chest. You didn’t know whether to run… or stay and hear more.

“…you’re insane.”

“No, babe. Just very honest. And very, very hungry.”

The silence between you thickened.

“You know what the funniest part is?” he added, standing up as if he’d never been hurt.

You stepped back.

“What… do you mean?”

He smiled. One of those smiles that ignites a fire in your core.

“The wound? The weakness? All fake. A little act. A plan I orchestrated with my oh-so-‘scary’ friends. I had to see if you'd open the door. If you'd come closer. If… you’d touch me.”

Your eyes widened.

“What?!”

“I needed to mark my territory.” He stepped closer.

“And now… I know I want it.”

He leaned in, eyes locked with yours. A breath away from your lips.

“You’re mine. You just don’t know it yet.”

Months had passed since that night. Months in which you had tried to keep your distance. Months in which he had done everything to make you fall. Heeseung had apologized in every possible way. With sweet words and guilty glances. With dinners he had cooked, nocturnal bouquets of flowers, gifts left on your doorstep. He had even taken you on a picnic in broad daylight, with your skin slightly sizzling in the light, just to show you that he would endure the sun for you. And sometimes, when you looked at him… he seemed truly perfect. Kind to the neighbors. Be considerate with the children. He held your coat when you were cold. He washed your hair in the shower. He read your favorite books to you while you fell asleep on his bare chest. Every gesture was gentle, measured… human. But beneath that calmness, there was an animal. You could feel it. You saw it in his eyes every time he passed you too slowly. When he brushed your wrist with his thumb. When he inhaled your scent and closed his eyes, as if it was the only thing keeping him alive. Heeseung had desired you for over a hundred years. And now that he had you, now that he could touch you, kiss you, look at you… …he couldn’t stop. That night, you were sleeping deeply. The pajama was light, with the soft fabric rolled around your thighs. The open window let in a light breeze that brushed your skin. You were dreaming of something warm. Something intense. Something… wet. Until… A whisper caressed your ear. A cold breath, but intimate.

“My good girl… sleeps so sweetly.”

A hand caressed your side, slowly. Cold lips brushed your neck.

“Please… let me taste you. Just a little. I promise I’ll behave.”

You moaned softly, still caught between sleep and wakefulness. You instinctively turned, finding him there.

Lying next to you. His eyes red with desire. His bare chest. His breath controlled… with effort.

“Hee…” you whispered, still confused.

“Sleep, darling. Just let me… kiss you.”

“Kisses… yes. Bites… no.”

You said it with a thick voice. But he… chuckled.

“We’ll see if you still say that in a few minutes.”

His lips began to move down. From your neck to your chest. His hands slowly lifted your pajama top, revealing your bare breasts beneath. The contrast between his cold mouth and your warm skin made you shiver.

[Heeseung's thoughts:]

“Warm. Always so hot. It smells of life, fresh blood… repressed desire. God, how did I live a hundred years without feeling this taste on my tongue?”

He kissed you between his breasts, then went down again. Along the belly, up to the elastic of the shorts that slowly pulled off with the fingers. His hands stroked your open thighs, as your breath became heavier.

"You're all mine, you know?" You groaned, nodding without even realizing it. Then he lifted his head, his face between your legs. "Where do you want me to bite you, mmh? Tell me, good girl. You want to feel it here… — - kissed your inner thigh, slowly — "…or here?— - and went up to the neck, where he just laid the canines, touching the skin — "…or maybe here?— - a light caress to the bare breast, followed by a slow, moist kiss — "…or maybe on your wrist, so I can feel the pulse explode under the tongue."

You shook your head, panting. "I don't know … Heeseung, I…"

"You have to choose. Because when I bite you, it won't just be hungry. Will… link. And I never bite without wanting to hold something forever."

His look was serious now. Excited. But deep. You hesitated. The body was burning, the blood was pulsating strongly. He smiled, tilting his face.

"Or do you want me to decide? Because I assure you, I could do it here." He stroked you between your legs, right above your most sensitive part. "And your blood … would be sweeter if taken while shouting my name."

You woke up with burning skin. Not of fever … but of desire. And it was all his fault. Heeseung was there, next to you, crouching on the bed, with unkempt hair, eyes gloomy with hunger, and hands already on your body.

Your pyjamas were pushed up, pulled away slowly with almost devoted care, while his cold lips caressed your neck, whispering words that sent you into confusion. "My girlfriend sleeps so well … But do you know that you move even when you dream? What do you say, my name in a law voice? You torture me without wanting to."

His hand went down between your legs. A groan eluded you as you tried to tighten your thighs, but it was already too late. "Shh, just let me feel how hot you are…" His fingers grazed your clit with maddening slowness. "All this innocence, and you are already so wet for me. Look at that good girl…"

He whispered to you with a smile on his lips as you felt the heat explode. "No … not there…" you gasped as he teased you, and nodded with feigned patience. But his fingers slipped lower. Slowly. Inexorably. "So … just tell me where you want me to bite you." You shook your head, still too confused, too excited. "Hee, please … I don't want to… don't hurt myself. Don't let me die."

He looked at you with deep, dark eyes, lowering himself to rest his forehead against yours. "You will never die because of me. And I won't transform you until you're ready. But I can't resist anymore. I want you too much." One of his fingers sank into you. He slipped too easily. Your body welcomed him without hesitation, as your breath broke.

"Look how you slide … You're a damn temptation, you know?" He penetrated you with a second finger, and you moaned louder. "Your thighs … are they good for you?" he asked in a playful but hungry tone. Nod, between breaths. "But please be kind…"

He smiled, and that smile was dangerous. "I won't hurt you, good girl. But don't pretend you don't like it. Your body is already begging me." Then you heard it. His canines grazed the inside of your left thigh. A moment later, the skin broke. Bite. Deep. Intense. And a throaty sound came out of his throat as he began to suck your blood.

[Heeseung's Thoughts:] "God, his blood … is fire. Life. Desire. It runs down my throat and drives me crazy. How did I wait so long? It's mine. Only mine. No one else can taste it. No.”

Feel his breathing become more labored, hos lips kiss you, suck you, nibble you. And while he drank from you, his fingers did not stop moving inside your pussy, faster, more decisive.

"A-ah … Hee…" you moaned, unable to stop. "Please … don't stop … I feel … I feel that I'm…" "Come for me, love. So I can savor it all." He kissed your newly made wound, licked it with her tongue to seal it while teasing your clit with her thumb. And when you reached orgasm, you shouted his name.

The tears came down, not just from the pleasure… but from the confusion, the need, the fact that you could no longer understand where the desire ended and where the love began. Heeseung looked at you as you shook. His fingers were wet with your moods. Your thighs are still dripping blood and pleasure. He licked his lips. Satisfied. Lose.

"You know what?" he whispered to you, kissing your forehead. "This was only the first time. I've waited a hundred years… But now that I've had you, I'll never stop."

Your breath is broken, your body still tense from the orgasm that tore you with his fingers. But Heeseung is not done with you yet. He can't get enough. His gaze burns with hunger, his lips dirty with your blood as he watches you with predatory eyes, his pupils dilated, his chest rising irregularly.

Without saying anything, he shows you the last veils — his underwear slips off. It is long, venous, already covered with a pearly veil of desire. You can not restrain yourself: you look at it, praise it, touch it with trembling and curious fingers.

"Beautiful…" you whisper, almost in a trance, as your hands explore its length. He grabs you by the hips, fingers pressed hard to your bare skin, and looks at you with a fierce gaze, but full of twisted adoration.

"Are you sure you're a good girl?" he whispers in a scratched, red-hot voice. "Because I'm going to fuck you like I'm the opposite." Your heart skips a beat. Open your legs slowly, hesitantly, and ask him not to be too violent. Your voice is small, vulnerable. "I have not… a lot of experience…"

He smiles, and the smile is as sharp as his canines. "I can be slow … or I can make you scream until the sun rises." Approaching your ear, the voice is a sweet poison. "You choose." It doesn't even give you time to respond. It penetrates you with a single lunge, deep, raw. A moan runs from his lips as you arch his back, surprised, his legs instinctively closing around his hips.

"Christ…" growl quietly. "Look how you take me… you're perfect." You gasp, you tremble. "Move slowly… Please…" Heeseung bends over you, starting to move with slow, deep, hypnotic thrusts. He fucks you like you've been his for ages.

Every blow makes the bed shake, but there is sweetness hidden behind the brutality. He kisses you between strokes, caresses your throat marked by his bites, and squeezes your face in his hands while staring at you. "Do you feel how wet it is for me?" murmur. "You are so tight… like no one has ever really touched you. It's the first time you've felt so full, isn't it?"

"It's too much…" groans, the voice broken. He stops your face, forcing you to look at him. Black eyes pierce your soul. "Don't say bullshit. Your body knows exactly who it is. And now I take every part of you."

It sinks stronger, deeper. It makes you feel like you want to scream, cry, come all over him at the same instant. He caresses your inner thigh as he moves inside you, leaving bites on the already marked skin. "I've waited more than a century for this. For having you like that, trembling under me. Do you understand that?" He stares at you, as if looking at something sacred. "Do you understand what you are to me?"

You scream with pleasure, your voice broken, desperate. "Heeseung… I want to come… please…" His smile writhes into something dark, smug. "And to think that before you didn't even want me to touch you. And now you beg me to make you come… you little hypocrite."

His hands move between your legs, his thumb starting to stimulate you as he continues to push inside you. "Come for me. I want to hear you squeeze me as you scream my name." And when you do-shaking, shaking, out of control — he holds you tight, as if he could tear you apart and put you back together only with his body. A monster, a god, a lover who never learned to let go.

Your body shudders, upset with pleasure. You can't even hold back: a scream explodes in your throat as you come around his cock, tight, shaken, completely submissive to that burning sensation inside you. "Hee… I'm too sensitive… " you gasp, your face turned upside down, tears mingling with sweat on your hot skin. But he laughs, low, dirty. That kind of laugh that makes your legs tremble.

"Sensitive?" he takes you by the chin, forces you to look at him. "And I just want to sink even deeper into you. Can I, my love? Can I destroy you properly?" He's not waiting for an answer. He manipulates you with cruel slowness, his fingers caressing the spot where he is still inside you, brushing your clitoris with a barely hinted touch, just to make you jerk.

Then he moves, slowly — at first — almost tender-and then begins to push with deep, uneven, hungry strokes. "Look how you take me…" he whispers, his voice scratched. "Like you were born just for this."

Then feel his mouth on your neck. His canines touch the skin in a sacred moment, full of tension. They sink-but barely, like a broken promise-and he sucks only three drops, small, precious, as if he were tasting a rare wine for hundreds of years. Your groan breaks into a sob. Cry from pleasure.

The darkness, the mild pain, the pleasure that overwhelms you again as he comes inside you with a throaty cry, sinking every drop of his seed into your trembling body. "Very good…" it whispers against your skin, as you squeeze it hard, as if you could hold it inside forever. "Look how beautiful you are when you take everything like this."

"Enough… you are unbearable…" you admonish him, his voice broken, but your expression betrays the opposite: shiny eyes, ajar lips, all full of him. When he slowly detaches from you, feel the warm little filaments of his seed dripping between your thighs. He looks at you, pleased, and with a sweet and degrading smile, caresses your marked skin. "Dirty little human… all filled with my blood, my seed… so it should always be."

You let yourself go over him, exhausted, your head on his chest still uneven from breathing. Damp hair frames your face, and he kisses you softly on the forehead. "Mine. You've always been. You will be forever." His words sound like a statement, but they carry the weight of an immortal oath. You feel them slipping on your skin like a sweet chain. Tremble, vulnerable. But also safe.

"Heeseung … I love you…" he whispers. He closes his eyes, as if that moment were sacred. Then he squeezes you harder, the voice a dark whisper. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you up in the morning…and I'll show you how sweet I love you."

But his "sweet way" has nothing human. It's not breakfast in bed. It is to see you trembling, full of him again. It is still savoring your blood, mixing your pleasure with its hunger. It will wake you up with slow bites and thrust into you, without giving you respite. Because Heeseung loves you. But he's a monster. And you love him anyway.

SUNGHOON (PROFESSOR BOYFRIEND VAMPIRE)

Faculty of Law, 10:37 a.m.

Classroom C. Law of the Duties and Powers of Vampires.

A course that once sounded like science fiction—until society stopped sweeping blood under the rug.

As always, you were seated in the front row.

Short skirt, good-girl turtleneck sweater, notebook open, pen in hand.

But your tightly pressed thighs told a different story.

"It’s not my fault Sunghoon talks about international treaties like he's whispering dirty things in a bedroom."

The tenured professor was absent—a centuries-old vampire, dull as dust, who walked and talked like an ancient scroll.

Today, as had been the case for the past few months, the lecture was left in the hands of his substitute.

Park Sunghoon.

Vampire. Twenty-six on paper, with the cold, detached gaze of someone who had already lived far too long.

He entered. Silence.

No one breathed as he walked between the desks.

Dark jacket, shirt buttoned all the way up. No smile—just a steady voice as he laid the papers on the desk.

"Today we’ll discuss Article 17 of the 2022 Blood-Crown Pact, which regulates the legitimacy of mental coercion by vampires in legal contexts."

His tone was low, clear, lethal.

Every word slid under your skin and yet, he never looked at you. Not once. No extra glances. No hesitation.

As if you didn’t exist.

"Maybe he doesn’t notice me. Or maybe… he’s avoiding me."

You raised your hand. Blood-red nails.

He looked up. Silence in the room.

"Miss (Your Name), go ahead." His voice was lower. Slower.

"With all due respect, Professor… you stated that mental coercion is only legitimate in emergency contexts. But according to more recent legal interpretations, a vampire may use it to prevent irreversible harm—even before an emergency occurs. Am I wrong?"

A blade. No one ever spoke to him like that. He stared at you, not for a second. For too long. Time froze.

"That’s it. He hates me. Or maybe… he’ll eat me."

"Interesting." Sunghoon stood up.

He walked toward you. Each step was a heartbeat.

"You’ve just challenged my interpretation with a partial reading of a poorly cited case. But I like that you tried."

He stopped in front of your desk.

"I’d like to discuss this further with you. After class. Office 2.13. Don’t keep me waiting."

And just like that, he walked back to the desk.

Your heart was pounding.

Cold. Brilliant. Arrogant and damn irresistible.

Office 2.13 – 5:06 p.m.

You knocked. Two sharp raps.

"Come in." His voice slipped through the door like a thin blade. You opened it and stepped inside.

The room was cold, like the heat had never been turned on.

The lights were dim, curtains drawn. The dark wood of the bookcases seemed to swallow every sound and there, in the middle of that frozen silence, sat him.

Park Sunghoon.

Behind his black glass desk, typing rapidly on a matte-finish laptop. To his right, resting casually, a half-empty blood bag.

The red liquid dripped slowly along the plastic, and for a moment, you thought:

"He drinks while grading exams. Magnificent."

You stepped closer. He looked up. His eyes didn’t have the hunger of an ordinary vampire. They were colder. Smarter. More dangerous.

"Come here. Take a look—since you're so brilliant."

He tilted the screen toward you. On the document was your argument—the one you'd used to “correct” him in class.

And below it… a proposal sent to the High Council of Vampires.

"Wait… he used my thesis?!" You smirked, cocky. "I may not be a vampire, but I clearly know more than some of you."

Sunghoon stopped. Slowly closed the laptop. He stood, with surgical calm, and fixed his gaze on you.

"Care to explain how you dared to correct me?" A pause. His eyes slid over your body. "Or are you just reckless?"

You smiled, just a little. That teasing tone you used when you wanted to be noticed.

"I’m not afraid of you, Professor. Or your fangs."

You were going to provoke him until he bit. He took a step toward you. Then another. Now he was inches away. You could feel his cold breath on your skin.

His canines, white and gleaming. A smear of dried blood on his lower lip. He leaned in. Too close.

"You should be." His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "You smell… dangerously tempting."

He inhaled softly, eyes half-lidded.

"Sweet. Fresh. Like ripe fruit ready to be bitten. If I were an older vampire… you’d already be drained in the courtyard."

A shiver ran down your spine.

"Is he saying that to scare me? Or to… prepare me?"

"You're not scared, are you?"

He studied you. His tone was neutral, but something simmered beneath it. You didn’t answer.

"Good. Because you’re going to work with me."

He handed you a sheet. An extracurricular project for outstanding students. A special assignment.

Working with him.

Extra hours. Night sessions.

Access to restricted documents. Private meetings.

Just you and him.

"Do you accept?" He looked at you with eyes that already claimed you. You swallowed.

But your pride spoke before your instincts could.

"I accept."

(What could possibly go wrong, right?)

Sunghoon smiled. But it wasn’t kind.

It was the smile of someone who had just caught something.

"Perfect. We start tomorrow night. Eight p.m. Bring your intellectual appetite and wear something comfortable."

The months with Sunghoon passed like elongated shadows across the cold marble of the faculty halls.

Every evening, every meeting, every paper edited together with him… was like burning slowly. You fed on everything—Korean ramen, Indian curry, margherita pizza at three in the morning—

While he drank in silence from sterile blood bags provided by the Blood Bank ut every time his fingers got too close to your skin… you felt something inside him struggling to break free.

It wasn’t hunger.

It was a hunger for you.

In class, he was strict. Cynical.

"Miss (Your Name), your analysis is incorrect. Again."

But then, with a low and cutting glance, he’d murmur under his breath:

"Maybe if you stopped wearing such short skirts… You could focus better."

And every time, you challenged him with a defiant smile.

But he looked at you like he was undressing you with his eyes, slowly, precisely. At night, during private study sessions in his office or the small faculty-only room in the library, things were different.

The margins of the legal texts he gave you were filled with handwritten Latin phrases.

“Me ardere facis.”

You make me burn.

“Exsanguis tuae vocis sonitu.”

The sound of your voice drains me.

“Me consumis ut nox solem.”

You consume me like night devours the sun.

You never mentioned them. But every time you read them… your thighs clenched.

A few nights later, while reviewing your thesis draft, he made you sit on his lap.

You were confused, but you didn’t move. He said nothing. Just took your wrists and made you hold the book steady while he annotated it.

His cold breath brushed your neck.

Then… without a word, his fingers slid beneath your skirt, adjusting your position with glacial precision.

You shivered. And then… his nose touched the curve of your neck.

A barely-there bite. Almost a kiss. Almost a promise.

"Pro…fessor…"

Your breath trembled.

"Ssshhh."

His voice was low, calm, surgical.

"Hold still. I’m looking for inspiration…"

The tip of his tongue traced a spot where the blood pulsed closest to your skin.

You moaned, unintentionally.

"So bold in class… and now you tremble from a touch?"

His hand grazed your back, slowly.

"You’re wet, aren’t you? Because you like that I’m the one in control." A pause. "Don’t pretend to be surprised. You know I want you. But I prefer you like this—silent, in my hands."

He had access to everything.

Your academic records. Campus surveillance. He knew where you were, who you spoke to, how long you stayed out of the dorms.

But he wasn’t jealous. He was calm. Clinical. Deadly.

With other students, he was harsh, sarcastic, impatient.

With you… he was cold. But obsessively present.

Whenever you left his classroom, his fingers always brushed yours too slowly as he returned your papers.

He touched you without really touching you.

And you… were going insane.

Was he manipulating you?

Yes.

Was he desiring you?

Even more.

Was he owning you?

Not yet. But it was only a matter of time. And you…were letting him.

The clock in the teachers' lounge read 10:21 PM.

Twenty-one minutes late.

The hallway was empty, the faculty cloaked in that thick silence that felt more like a crypt than a university.

The light in his office was on. As always. As if he never slept.

And maybe… he didn’t.

You still had on the dark red lipstick he hated, and the scent of prosecco clung to your skin.

Your collarbones sparkled faintly from the birthday glitter.

A birthday you hadn’t told him about.

Or maybe you had. Maybe you’d told him in just the wrong way, on purpose—just to see if it would get under his skin.

You did that a lot with him. You pushed. You provoked.

Hoping he’d lose control.

You opened the door slowly, without knocking.

And he was there.

Sitting behind the desk, jacket off, tie loose. Glasses perched on his nose.

His gaze fixed on you like he was reading you from the inside out.

“Good,” he said. “At least you’re alive.”

His voice was low, like a sheet of ice threatening to crack beneath your feet.

You forced a smile. “I said I might drop by after dinner…”

“No,” he cut in, closing the book in his hands. “You said might, and that was the only honest word you used.”

He stood.

The way he moved always gave you chills: slow, perfectly controlled. Like he never quite touched the ground.

He came closer, unhurried. His dark eyes never left your face.

“You’re twenty-one minutes late, you reek of sugar and alcohol, and you showed up in a skirt that makes even the air feel ashamed.”

“I thought I’d make up for it with my stage presence.”

He laughed softly. But there was no joy in it—only disdain. Or maybe hunger.

“You’re not making up for anything. You’re provoking.”

He walked past you, moving behind you. His breath was barely audible. But you felt it on your neck.

“You think I can’t recognize a challenge when I see one?”

You turned slightly, uncertain. “I haven’t done anything to deserve that tone.”

“No?”

With a sharp motion, he grabbed your wrist—not violently, but with that quiet strength that always made you forget he was anything human.

He guided you to the front of the desk. His voice had changed. Deeper. Thicker.

“Bend over. Hands on the wood. And don’t speak.”

“Sunghoon—”

“Don’t.” His hand landed on the back of your neck, pushing you forward with fierce gentleness.

“Don’t give me orders in my house.”

The wood was cold beneath your palms. Your heart beat too fast. But it wasn’t fear.

It was something deeper. More dangerous.

It wasn’t the first time he became… like this.

Controlled. Cold. As if constantly fighting between desire and duty.

He had kissed you. Touched you. Even let you sit on his lap while he corrected your thesis.

But he had never asked you to be his. Never said you were.

And yet… he acted like you were.

Always.

You heard the buttons of your shirt being undone, the collar folding down. Then, his voice by your ear.

“Twenty minutes late. Twenty-one strikes.”

His hand came down on your left cheek. Sharp. The sound shocked you.

You held it in. A low moan.

“Count,” he murmured.

“…One.”

The second came harder.

“Two…”

By the third, you couldn’t help but gasp.

Your blood pounded between your legs.

Each strike wasn’t punishment—it was attention. Desire.

It was him, reminding you that he saw you.

At the fifth, without thinking, you whispered:

“…Sir…”

He stopped.

The silence was sharper than any slap.

You felt his cold hand trace the back of your neck, then rise to your chin.

He turned your face toward him.

His eyes were black. Glossy. Too glossy.

“Say it again.”

“Sir…”

A tremor passed through his jaw.

“Finally,” he murmured. “Finally you understand who you are here.”

He released your face and let his hand slide down your spine, his fingers tracing the curve of your back.

Then, his breath at your neck.

“Shame it’s too late for gentleness.” He lowered your panties slowly, surgically. And you stopped breathing.

Then—no warning—his lips on your neck. A kiss.

Cold. Wet.

Then… a bite. Gentle. A promise.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered. “And it’s not from pain. It’s because you like that I dominate you.”

You gasped, slick and fevered.

“Then why don’t you claim me?” you hissed. “You act like my boyfriend, but you never say it. Why don’t you tell me I’m yours?”

There was silence.

Then, his voice changed. It was almost… human. Hurting.

“Because if I say it,” he answered, “I’ll never be able to let you go.

And I… I don’t know if I’m ready to truly ruin you.”

Giggle. A broken, hysterical sound, full of shame and pleasure. Tears ran down your cheeks, warm and silent. But it was not pain. Not anymore. It was surrender. It was true.

"You know, don't you?" you murmured between breaths, your voice broken and your eyes shining. "You know I'm your soul mate. You know that, too."

The sound of your heart seemed to fill the room. Strong. Sincere. Unconscious. His hand stopped halfway through yet another slap. Stay there, suspended. Tend. Trembling. The silence that followed was different from everyone else's. Dense. Heavy. It lasted a second too long. Then two. Then three. When he spoke, his voice was a knife on bare skin.

"Stop saying things you don't understand." Hiss. Icy. Sharp.

"Stop challenging me. To provoke me. You know what you are to me … and what I become when you remind me." He leaned over you, his long, sharp body towering over you like a living shadow. It didn't weigh, yet it crushed you.

The power he emanated was almost tangible. His breath grazed your back of your head. His voice was almost a bite. "Look how easy you are. A spanking and your thighs are flooded. You made yourself beautiful today … for whom? You thought I wouldn't notice?"

He took you by the hair with cruel precision, forcing you to look up at the glass of the bookcase. The reflection that looked at you was not that of the model student. Nope. You were disheveled, flushed, wet, stripped of your dignity, and… more alive than ever.

"Look where you're at," he whispered. "With your face on my desk and your ass uncovered. Everyone sees you as a brilliant student. But I … I know how much you like to be my docile little bitch." A groan eluded you, involuntary. A desperate sound. Ravenous. He lowered his head. He smiled against your skin. "Tell me you're mine." It was not a request. It was a command. And you wanted it.

"I am…" you gasped. "I want to be. Please … take me." A dry sound. Zipper. Time stopped. You just turned around, anxious. The heart exploded. You wanted to see him. You should have seen him. His underwear was already on the ground, abandoned as an offering.

His body … pale, perfect, carved like cursed marble. And his erection… cruel. Impressive. Beautiful. It was beautiful. But most of all … it was dangerous. A hungry god. Your god. You, just his adoring prey. And he knew it. He looked at you from above, eyes ajar, veins at the pulsating temples. The narrow jaw. The slow smile, corrupt, full of power.

"Hands against the table." The voice was low, velvety, unreal. "Back straight. Open hips." You obeyed, trembling. His icy hands closed around your hips. Strong. Decide. Then … he penetrated you. One push. Slow. Inexorable. As if it were entering your soul. You heard it. All. In. Too. A groan escaped from your lips. Fingers clung to the edge of the desk as if to save themselves.

"Hoon …" you stammered. "It's too much…" "That's enough," he corrected you, sinking again, with that slowness punished and precise. "Because it's mine. And that's what you're made for. For me." Every shot was controlled, restrained. A chained fury. Every push was like he wanted to brand you from the inside. "Did you really think that your short skirts had no consequences?" he hissed, his teeth clenched. "Or that I could come to me late … without paying the price?"

He stopped. Motionless inside you. He punished you. "Move," you gasped. "Please … please, Hoon…" He smiled at your spine. "Look how you beg. How good you are at being my good whore when you need it. But the truth is, even if you hate me, even if you challenge me, you always come back to me. Because only I make you feel that way."

Then he moved. First slowly. Then stronger. Deeper. Every blow is a punishment. Every groan is an adoration. And you groaned. Not as a girl. From him. Not as a student. From belonging. "You are mine," he hissed at your skin. "You always have been. And no one will ever touch you. You're my human. My secret. My damage."

The room was full of obscene sounds. Skin against skin. Broken breath. Your hushed sobs. And when you stooped even more, offering yourself, opening up, destroyed, consumed, lost… he kissed your back. Gently. The only kind gesture. But it was enough to make you tremble. You were his. And you would have been, even if it meant burning.

Scream. A broken cry, pure pleasure climbing up your throat as he held you tightly against the table, nailing you with body and desire. His thrusts became deeper and deeper, more and more cruel. As if he wants to destroy you and rebuild you at the same time. "H-Hoon…!" you stammered, your voice broken," I want to come … please, let me come…" He chuckled. That slow, corrupt laugh that made you feel naked inside. "You deserve it, really?" he asked, the tone poisonous, sadistic.

"Because I'm not convinced." Nodded strongly, the hips moving alone against his pelvis. "Yes … yes, I deserve it, please…please…" "Polite little bitch now, huh?" he hissed, squeezing you even harder. "When you moaned my name in front of that damn glass you didn't look so innocent." His thumb reached your clitoris, touching it with quick and precise movements. Your body gasped. The pleasure exploded in waves that took your breath away.

"S-yes, yes… more… do not stop!" you groaned, bent under him. And he giggled again. "Here she is. That's how I like you." A few moments later, you came with a cry that broke the air. A red-hot, devastating pleasure ran through you all while he kept pushing inside you, hard, deep. Your moods ran down his thighs, hot, sticky, the intimate creases throbbing around his cock.

"Good girl," he praised you, panting. "You tightened so much as you came…" He kept pushing. Faster. Stronger. His breathing became uneven against your back. "Can I come into you?" he asked, his voice hoarse, restrained, on the verge of the end.

"No…" you groaned, trembling. But then — a heartbeat-and you changed. «You. Yes, you can. I want you inside." He stopped. Just a second. "Say it right," he ordered. "I want to hear it." "I'll take the pill," he whispered, between sobs of pleasure. "You can come inside me, Hoon. Fill."

The sound he made was almost a growl. "So we talk." With a violent and deep thrust, he came into you. But it was at that exact moment — when the pleasure overwhelmed him-that he really lost control. He sank his face into your neck, and his canines emerged. There was no hesitation, no mercy.

He bit you. A sharp, hungry, deep bite. Not to kill you. Not to feed. To tie you up. To claim you. Because it wasn't enough to come inside you — he had to brand you. The pain was a spark, immediately followed by an even blinding wave of pleasure. You felt his hot seed explode inside you, as blood dripped from your neck and your body stretched under his. His hips trembled. His breath became bestial. The white filaments of his pleasure dripped between your thighs, warm, dense. And as it came off your neck, with a broken sigh, the tongue passed gently over the wound, barely healing it.

His eyes — dark, red, tired-stared at you as if you were the most sacred thing ever touched. "Now yes …" he murmured against your skin, " … now you are mine in everything." When he broke away from you, slowly, he gently turned and squeezed you to your chest. His arms strong, his hands trembling. He hugged you like he was afraid of losing you. Tears came down from your eyes, this time without shame. Hot drops that slipped on his bare pecs, wetting his pale skin.

"It's hotter than usual…" you whispered, surprised, still immersed in ecstasy. He looked at you. An expression you've never seen before. Almost … tender. "Only with a soul mate," he said softly. "Only then … the heat returns.» You giggled, still shaking. A broken sound, but sincere. "So … is that why you seemed less glacial today?" He took your face in his hands. He did it with care. With devotion. "You look beautiful when you cry for me. But your tears must only be of pleasure. Only joy. Just ecstasy."

He looked at you, seriously. Eyes full of ancient promise. "From today … you are bound to me. This is my deal. My invisible mark. No other vampire will touch you. No one else will hear you. You're … mine." Then, in a simple and strangely human gesture, he bent down and took a sweatshirt from the chair behind the chair. It was black, smelling of him. He gently poked it into you. He helped cover you. And then he kissed you on the forehead.

You smiled. Mischievous, even tired as you were. "Are you really my boyfriend?" Your voice was cheeky. Theatrical. He laughed, this time with a poisonous sweetness. "I always have been. It just took you a while to figure it out." "You're a weird boyfriend. Dark. Vampire. Professor." "And you are brash, stubborn, and too awake for your own good. But you're mine." He squeezed you more. The heart beat slowly, but sure. And for the first time, you felt protected.

JAY (BODY-GUARD BOYFRIEND VAMPIRE)

Being the daughter of an American diplomat—at least from the outside—must have looked like a fairytale. Designer clothes. Exclusive invitations. A last name that opened doors like a golden crowbar. But the truth was, every night as you stepped through the gates of the villa, the emptiness wrapped around you like a coat two sizes too small. Your father was there. But not really. And the silence in that house always seemed to swallow you whole—like a hungry mouth. The only place you could breathe was on campus. The cafés. The university hallways. But ever since that damned article about your father’s political crusade for “vampire rights” came out, even that had become hostile territory. Hissed insults. Anonymous messages. Stares that burned your skin. Jimmy, your long-time bodyguard, had lasted two years. Then his wife got pregnant, and apparently, a newborn was more dangerous than you. Now you were alone. Or almost. You were at your desk, the warm lamp light spilling over your business economics textbook. A page full of charts you knew you’d never really understand. Then, three knocks on the door.

“It’s open!” you called, expecting Sophie with the latest campus gossip. But when you looked up… it was your father. Double-breasted suit. Tired smile. Eyes already drifting over your room—messy, as usual.

'Ever think about calling pest control for this battlefield?'

You got up with a shrug. “For your information, this battlefield just found the underwear I’ve been missing for three days.”

He laughed, then pulled you into a hug. Strong. Warm. Dad. For a second, time stood still.

'I missed you, my little girl.' “I missed you too, Ambassador of Disaster.”

You felt him chuckle against your hair.

But then—you tensed. Because... someone else was there. Behind him.

When you pulled away and looked up… you saw him.

A man.

No. A weapon in a tailored suit.

Black. Precise. Sharp. Tall, powerful, with a jaw sculpted by a too-generous god. Hair slicked back. Eyes… Brown. But veined with red.

A hue that pulsed—like embers under ash.

He looked young, yet ancient. Human… and not. His skin too flawless. A golden sheen, as if the sun had touched him once before being banished forever.

You let out a barely-there, ironic whisper as your gaze swept him from head to toe:

“Uh. Who’s the Matrix cosplayer?”

Your father sighed.

'That cosplayer is your new walking umbrella. Jay Park. Your new bodyguard.'

“...Excuse me?”

Jay simply nodded. No smile. No emotion. But his eyes…They were scanning you. As if he already knew every inch of your skin.

Every habit. Every dream. Every moan.

And in that moment, you understood only one thing:

You were no longer alone. And maybe… no longer free.

You’d never believed in hell—Until they literally moved it into your room.

The bed came in carried by four men. Black, minimal, perfect. Just like him. Jay Park. Half-blood. Cold. Unbearable. Beautiful.

Your father had left for a mission in the Middle East, with one very clear instruction:

“He’ll follow your every step. No arguments.”

Of course, you were going to argue.

“Let me get this straight,” you said, hands on your hips, staring at the bed now placed beside yours. “You need to share my oxygen just to do your little shadow-with-a-license job?”

Jay didn’t even turn around. He was sliding a holster under the pillow. “I don’t breathe.” “Oh, what a shame. So you can’t even sigh about how boring you are?”

He looked at you. Slowly. Sharply. His gaze was like a scratch on bone.

“The perimeter’s too wide. I can’t guarantee your safety from outside this room.” “I feel like I’m in prison.” “This isn’t prison. It’s a safety protocol.”

You stepped closer. Arms crossed. Goosebumps. Not from fear. From him.

Jay Park looked like he’d stepped out of a forbidden painting. A chiseled jaw. Broad shoulders beneath a black shirt. That neck—long, strong, biteable. His hands were large, precise, cold. And his eyes. Those eyes. Brown, with streaks of crimson—like sunset trapped inside, trembling.

You were 22. On paper, he was 24. In reality? One hundred and seventy. Your very own ancient stalker.

“Tell me,” you sighed, mock-dramatic. “Are you here to protect me or torment me?”

“Both, if necessary,” he said in that voice that never rose. Never shouted. Never hesitated. You, on the other hand, exploded.

“I don’t want some silent shadow watching me sleep! I want privacy. I want to do what I want. I want to live!”

He didn’t answer right away. He studied you. He had that infuriating way of watching you like he was calculating your breaths per minute.

Then he spoke.

“Privacy? Fine. But if someone slaughters you in the bathroom while you’re putting on lip gloss, who’s going to tell your father? You?”

You burst out laughing. Bitter. Furious. Amused.

“You’re an insufferable half-blood bastard, you know that?”

He raised one eyebrow. The only sign of life.

“Better you hate me than end up dead.”

Silence. For a moment. Too long. Too full.

You stared at him. And something inside you curled in on itself. How could someone so cold… make you feel warm?

Your thoughts:

Why the hell does he have to be so gorgeous? And so damn calm? He follows me like a shadow and drives me insane. Sure, he’s good with weapons, but what could he do with those hands? Those hands... so disciplined, so strong. On my neck? On my hips? No. Stop. He’s your bodyguard. He’s half vampire. He’s… too much.

His thoughts:

She hates me. Good. Better that way. But those eyes. That mouth. The way she moves like she doesn’t know how desirable she is. Or worse—like she knows exactly. I can’t afford distractions. I can’t. But when she smiles, something in me breaks. Damn it, I’ll be the one to kill her if she keeps looking at me like that.

Then he turned.

“Here are the rules.” “Rules?” “Agreed upon with your father.”

He tossed you a printed sheet. Ten bullet points. The first: “Jay has the right to enter any space you occupy—including the bathroom.”

You laughed. Again. Bold. Shameless.

“Screw you, Robocop.” “I’d rather not have to, but you’re pushing me to consider it.”

And then… it happened.

For a second, your eyes locked.

And the fire that had been burning silently under your skin… sparked into something visible. Uncontrollable.

But neither of you moved. Neither of you gave in. Not yet.

Two months had passed since Jay started living with you.

Two months of sharp silences, rules written in invisible ink, and stares that spoke too loudly, even when no one said a word.

You were convinced your father had hired Jay to protect you. In reality, it felt more like constant surveillance. A cold, elegant shadow that knew every step you took before you even made it. He knew where you drank your coffee, which perfume you wore, which shoes you put on when you needed to feel safer. He had learned it all. Too quickly.

And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It didn’t help that he was beautiful in a way that felt almost cruel. That kind of beauty that made you want to touch it just to see if it was real. Dark hair, pale skin but not lifeless, brown eyes streaked with red as if something inside him burned, refusing to die.

That night, you decided to provoke him. To test him.

You carefully chose the shortest nightgown, the one you had bought for laughs with your friends, never thinking you’d actually wear it. But now… it was perfect. And you were tired of being looked at from afar, like some risk to be contained.

You entered the room with light steps. He was sitting on the bed, legs crossed, a book open in his hands. He didn’t look at you immediately, but you knew he had heard you. He always heard everything.

“Jay,” you whispered, feigning innocence. “Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t respond, but he turned his face just enough. His gaze landed on your legs. Slowly, it slid up to meet your eyes.

“In your long vampire life… have you ever had anyone?”

His lips barely moved. “Just one.”

You moved closer, sitting at the edge of his bed. The mattress shifted, but he stayed still. Only his eyes betrayed him, following every small movement of your thigh, revealed by the silk of your nightgown.

“And where is she now?” “Mortal,” he murmured. “And dead.”

You froze. Then tilted your head. “She thought she was your soulmate, didn’t she?”

He didn’t speak for a second. Then: “She did.”

“But you didn’t.” He shook his head slightly.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, moving closer still, your eyes locked with his. “They say vampires can feel it… when they meet their soulmate. That their blood warms. That the hunger changes.”

He stared at you. His eyes seemed redder now. Sharper. “That’s exactly why I’m sure.”

Your heart hammered. But your smile didn’t falter. In fact, you challenged him. You slowly lifted your leg, pretending to adjust yourself more comfortably on the bed. The silk of the nightgown slid further.

“You should go to sleep,” he said, his voice raspy, rougher than usual. “I’m not tired.” “I don’t care.”

“Jay…” you whispered his name like a secret. And that’s when it happened.

In an instant, he was standing, right in front of you. His dark eyes, red at the edges. His hands tense at his sides, veins visible under the white skin. “Stop.”

You stood too. Your breath trembled, but you didn’t pull back. “Do I scare you… or do you just want me to believe it?”

He suddenly bent down, his face only inches from yours. “If I really scared you, you wouldn’t be this close.”

And that’s when he showed them. His fangs. Long, sharp, beautiful.

He bit you with his gaze, not his teeth. But it was worse.

“So… tell me something.”

His figure was an elegant shadow near the window, moonlight brushing his broad shoulders, the black shirt half open, dark hair tousled as if he had run his hands through it for hours, trying to hold himself back.

“You never stop talking, do you?” Jay replied without turning around, his voice deep, sarcastic, filled with that typical boredom that concealed a burning obsession beneath his skin.

You approached, barefoot, the barely perceptible sound of your steps on the wooden floor. “No. And you like me this way, admit it.” You smiled, mischievously. Your nightgown was short, sliding over your skin like silk, exposing your shoulders and bare legs.

He barely turned around. His eyes, as black as night, had a red hue, deep and threatening. His lips were slightly parted, his fangs visible for just a second. “Talking too much with a vampire is the fastest way to get bitten, you know?”

“Mmm, interesting…” You stopped in front of him. Your gaze was clear, but heavy with restrained desire. “Then I’ll bite you first.”

Jay stared at you in silence. Then he slowly lowered his gaze to your lips. “You’re a nightmare.”

“And you’re my personal bodyguard. So… who’s worse?” You ran your fingers over his chest, tracing the line of his heart. It was warm—too warm for a vampire.

Then, in a low voice, you asked, “But what if… I’m your soulmate?” You looked at him as if searching for confirmation deep within his dark eyes.

His body gave a slight jolt, imperceptible, but you noticed it.

He didn’t answer right away. He just stared at you as if he wanted to devour every word. Every beat. Every drop.

“Don’t say things like that.” His voice trembled just slightly, scratched by something deeper. “You can’t play with a vampire’s feelings. I could break your heart. Or worse… I could never give it back.”

You smiled softly. “Who said I want my heart back?”

You placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles under your fingers. He was a living sculpture, beautiful and lethal. And when you locked eyes with him, that innocent and provocative look combined, he lost all resistance.

He was the first to lean in. His kiss was slow, too slow, as if he were tasting a poison that would destroy him. His lips were cold at first… then they warmed, pressing against yours. You opened your mouth immediately, curious, bold, and your tongue sought his, with a nearly impatient moan.

“You damn curious thing,” he whispered against your lips, his voice raspy. “You don’t know how to play fair.”

“Who said I wanted to play fair?”

When you kissed him for real, it was all fire and hunger. His hands slipped into your hair, gripping forcefully as he pulled you closer. His chest was hard against yours, his breath heavy, irregular. You shifted your body, and he fell back onto the bed, you on top.

“Stop…” he said, his eyes shining with danger and desire. “This is wrong. Go back to bed. Sleep.”

“No.”

You moved slowly on top of him, feeling his reaction beneath you. He closed his eyes for a second, almost in torture.

You moved your hips slowly, teasing him, and he growled through clenched teeth, placing a strong hand on your thigh, then sliding it down to your ass and pulling you even closer, making you feel every inch of his arousal.

“Feel how warm you are for me,” you whispered, blushing but smiling. “How can you say we’re not connected?”

Jay opened his eyes. He looked at you like you were the only light in a damned world.

“Shut up. You… don’t know anything.”

And then he kissed you. With force. With need. He bit your bottom lip, and you gasped softly as you felt the blood come out, but he didn’t pull back. He licked it. Sucked it gently, as if every drop was gold.

“So good…” he murmured against your lips. “Your blood… it’s too good.”

You looked at him, surprised, fascinated. “Would you drink me dry?”

He laughed, but it was a rough laugh. “If I do… I’ll never let you go.”

“Then do it.”

Since the night you kissed, something had changed in Jay. Not that he had ever been particularly open or easy to read — he remained your mysterious, cynical half-vampire bodyguard, with eyes as black as ink and a soul worn down by too many solitary nights — but now, he was everywhere. Everywhere you were.

He followed you with his gaze even when he pretended to be reading. He studied you as if you were an unsolvable mystery… or a threat to his sanity.

Even now, sitting at the far end of the empty library in the estate, he was watching you.

You were hunched over your modern history books, chewing on the tip of a pen, your legs folded on the chair, your socks slipping a bit. A tender, innocent image — too innocent for a vampire with miscalibrated instincts.

“Stop it,” he said softly, but his gaze never wavered.

You looked up and smiled, all light and provocation. “Stop what?”

“Torturing me.”

“I’m studying.”

“You move your legs while you study. And you chew on your lip.”

“Oh.” You pretended to think about it. “Am I distracting you?”

“No. I’m calculating the diplomatic risk of tearing you off that chair and biting you for half an hour. Let me finish my calculations.”

You laughed quietly. You stood slowly, making your bracelet jingle on your wrist. You approached his table. He looked at you without moving, leaning back in the dark leather chair, fingers intertwined on the table where maps, ancient grimoires, and a dagger your father should never have known about were scattered.

“What are you studying?” you asked sweetly, sitting next to him and sticking your nose between his papers.

“Night defense strategies. Protection from rebellious packs. Poisons. It concerns you.”

“Aww, my little vampire is protecting me…”

Jay let out a low sound, almost a restrained growl. He glanced at you sideways, his eyes briefly flashing red.

“You know I don’t like when you use that tone.”

“But you’re my secret boyfriend. It’s the least I can do.”

“Your father would send you to a monastery if he knew.”

“Yeah, and you’d be my guard there, too.”

He chuckled, dark and tired. “Yeah, but I’d sleep in your bed. Like now.”

That evening, in your secret room at the top of the villa, Jay was different.

More silent. More real.

He often cooked something for you — he said it didn’t make sense to feed you only sandwiches and sarcasm. He’d watch you while you ate, in silence, and then he’d lean in to taste something straight from your fork. One time, you had provoked him by saying he looked like a 1950s husband. He had bitten your neck.

Literally.

A little. Just a pinch. Just enough to make you tremble.

“That’ll teach you to talk too much,” he had said that time, his fingers tightening on your waist.

And you had smiled at him, cheeks flushed, asking if he liked biting you whenever you were disobedient.

He looked at you with that predatory face, tired of holding back.

“No,” he had said. “I like biting you even when you’re doing nothing.”

You often slept together. Officially because you were afraid of extreme vampires, and he had to protect you. Unofficially, because by now, he could only fall asleep with you on top of him.

He held you as if you were the only warm thing in his world of eternal cold. His chin resting on your head, arms crossed around your waist. Sometimes you’d wake up feeling his lips on your neck, whispering words you couldn’t understand. Other times, he simply watched you sleep. And if you woke up and talked too much — like usual — he’d silence you with a slow, distracted kiss, as if he couldn’t help it.

Every day, he became more protective. Every night, more dependent on you.

Yet, no one knew. Only you.

Only you knew that Jay, the coldest guard in the villa, would cook you pasta at three in the morning when you couldn’t sleep. Only you knew that he had a weakness for the smell of your wet hair. Only you knew that if a guy looked at you too much during a diplomatic lunch, Jay would spend three days grinding his teeth.

And only you knew how his hands trembled when he caressed your back, as if every touch risked breaking you.

“You get more obsessed every day,” you had whispered to him once, as you slipped under the sheets.

He didn’t deny it. He had just slowly moved your hair from your face and said:

“No. I don’t obsess. I… possess you. And you still don’t realize it.”

The villa was lit with golden lights and elegant music, but the atmosphere was unabashedly youthful: young heirs from diplomatic families, sons and daughters of senators, half-blood creatures, well-dressed humans, and vampires pretending to be harmless.

You wore an emerald green dress, flowing against your body like living silk. It hugged your curves gracefully and left your back exposed, where the subtle reflection of your bare skin was visible. Your legs, your shoulders, your neck — everything shone, everything screamed temptation.

And him... Jay was there. As always. Silent. In a corner of shadow. His eyes slightly reddened, jaw clenched, gloved fingers trembling just a little. His posture was tense, like a rope ready to snap. He wasn’t here as your boyfriend. He was your bodyguard. So he couldn’t touch you. He couldn’t brush against you. He couldn’t claim you.

He watched you as you smiled at everyone, as you spoke with that curious and sweet voice, as you moved your hands and hips with a grace that was slowly destroying him.

Every boy who approached you was a stab in the chest. Every smile you gave, a poison. But Jay was trained in control. And yet...

Then he arrived.

Blond, tall, elegant. Blue eyes. Smooth talker. The perfect type to irritate Jay to the core. And he wasn’t just “any type.” He was a vampire. One of the old ones, hungry, who knew how to disguise his intentions well. Jay knew immediately. He felt it in the heartbeat. He saw it in the eyes: too red to be normal. He was covering them with illusory lenses. But Jay wasn’t fooled.

And yet you... you laughed. You didn’t know who he was. You had no idea.

Until he placed a hand on your exposed back. A cold touch. You stiffened. You tried to pull back, but he grabbed your wrist with force.

“Let go of me...” you whispered, frightened, glancing around, but everyone seemed too far away. The blond looked at you with those ravenous eyes, and you felt the adrenaline rising to your chest. “What do you want from me?!”

And then... it happened like lightning.

Jay tore him away from you. Lifted him literally off the ground and threw him against a marble column, which cracked with a dull sound. The vampire boy screamed, but Jay was already on top of him. His eyes completely red. His fangs bared. His hands trembling with pure rage.

“You shouldn’t have touched her.” Jay’s voice was low, animalistic. “You shouldn’t have even looked at her. She’s mine. Understand? She’s my girlfriend.”

The vampire coughed blood. He smiled. “You’re... getting weak for her... you know that, right? She... she’s your downfall...”

Jay snapped his neck. Slowly. Coldly.

“Shut up.”

You turned, still trembling. Your eyes were teary, your breath broken. “J-Jay...?”

He looked at you. For a second, he was unrecognizable. Then he grabbed your wrist, and without a word, he dragged you out of the hall, ignoring everyone. His hands tightly gripping yours, his pace quick. He dragged you up the stairs, through the deserted halls of the villa, to your room.

As soon as he closed the door, he released his grip. The silence was worse than screams.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” he snapped. “You didn’t know that guy. He could’ve killed you. He was an unstable vampire. And you... YOU... were laughing with him.”

“I didn’t know!” you shouted. “I’m not like you. I don’t hear them. I thought he was just being nice!”

“There’s no such thing as nice in here.” He turned suddenly, furious. He turned his back on you, hands in his hair. “You don’t get it...”

“No, it’s you who doesn’t get it!” you yelled. “One moment you treat me like I’m yours. The next, you talk to me like I’m just your responsibility! But I love you! And you...? What do you intend to do, Jay?! Do you want to love me or protect me like a damn child?!”

Silence fell again.

He turned. He looked at you.

Then he reached you in three steps and kissed you.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It was furious. Desirous. Desperate. His hands grabbed your hips with too much force. His lips crushed against yours, as if he wanted to brand you. He bit your lower lip just a little. The blood trickled slowly, and he licked it, growling low.

“You don’t understand how much you hurt me,” he whispered against your mouth. “You’re burning me alive. And I can’t stop.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

“Then don’t stop.”

Jay closed his eyes. He held you tightly against him.

And, finally, he whispered: “You are my primary weakness. And I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

The room was quiet, except for the sharp sound of your hinge that Jay was slowly lowering. With light but firm fingers, it slid along the curve of your back, leaving a liquid shiver wherever it touched you. The green dress fell silent, like an autumn stripped leaf. You, standing in front of him, with only white panties on and a bra, barely shook, but not cold. Of desire. Waiting.

"You're shaking," he whispered, his pupils red like freshly spilled blood. "I'm not cold…" you replied, with a half-smile, short of breath. "You're just too … close." "Not enough." In a flash, he was in front of you. He pushed you slowly onto the bed, with the delicacy of one who is about to worship something sacred… or devour it. He leaned over, slowly kissing your neck, where there were still signs of his jealousy. Then he went further down. His lips reached your breasts. And there, without any haste, he began to torment you with his teeth: small playful bites, then more intense, which made you moan.

"J-Jay … ah -" Your hands clung to his hair, gently pulling them, while your back arched under him. A groan escaped from your lips, too sincere to be restrained. "I hate you…" he whispered, trembling. "No," he answered against your skin, in a hoarse voice, " you adore me. And you like it when I torture you like that…"

Then he just sank one of his canines into the soft edge of your breast. Pinch. A measured bite. And you screamed, but it was a cry broken by pleasure, not pain. "Your blood…" he whispered, as he slowly licked the little trace with his tongue. "It is sweet as poisoned honey. A sentence I want to drink to the end."

His lips descended again. He kissed your belly, then your navel, with slow, adoring movements. You looked at him with shiny eyes, lost in the liquid red of his. And yet you were still smiling, in the way that drove hoo crazy. "Are you going to stop or find out how wet I am -— You didn't finish. He grabbed you forcefully but without violence.

"Open your legs." The tone left no room for doubt. You obeyed, docile, but with a flash of defiance in your eyes. And he looked at you. Your white panties were damp. "So wet for me? So poisonous, yet so innocent. You're a living oxymoron." He slowly lowered the edge of the fabric with his teeth, with the same hypnotic rhythm as a spell. You didn't talk anymore. You were breathing hard. When the panties were on the ground, he lifted up on you, his mouth still moist with your taste.

"You are so beautiful … but without even this veil … you are mine. Perfect. Vulnerable. And ready to be branded." Then you felt the heat of his body on yours. Its length against your bare skin. He wasn't human. It was burning. "You do this to me, you know?" He caressed your hips, with eyes that said everything. "You make me lose my hunger … and at the same time you make me uncontrollable."

His black hair tickled your inner thigh as he moved slowly, his hot, hungry tongue grazing your already swollen, sensitive clit. The contrast between his innate vampire coldness and the scorching heat he made you feel was heavenly torture. Choked moans came out of your lips, one after another, more and more desperate.

"Damn it…" he muttered between licks, his voice hoarse and wounded with desire, "I've never heard any moan like you. You stutter … you cry … like you're made for my touch." Your body trembled, and despite the pleasure that passed through your bones, you frowned and looked at it with a pout. "I don't want to hear about others…" you whispered, almost hurt. "Don't even think about it. He laughed, low and deep, like thunder in a black sky. Without warning you, he pushed two fingers into you with measured, but firm force, tearing a surprised cry from you.

"There are no others. There will never be." His words grew fiercer as he began to move his fingers inside you with hypnotic rhythm. "You are the only one. The only one to make me lose control… the only one I want to protect, tie to me, forever."

You nodded, lost, your mind clouded by increasing pleasure. When I accelerated, pumping harder, you screamed in a choked voice: "I'm going to come…Jay"

He bent over again, his mouth on your skin stretched, and with a light bite — not enough to hurt you, but enough to send you freaking out — pinched your clit between your lips. Your body bowed violently, the discharge of orgasm exploding inside you like a storm, and you screamed his name, trembling. "That's how you do it," he whispered in a dirty voice, as he continued to lick you, savoring every drop of your excitement. "My sweet, dirty girl… my ruin, my obsession. You're perfect…"

Your fingers trembled slightly as you unbuttoned his pants, your heart pounding into his chest as if trying to reach him. The fabric slowly slid down the hips, revealing the noticeable bulge in the dark boxer. You looked at him with a sweet, innocent, almost timid air, Jay squinted, his jaw clenched, as if struggling with something inside himself. Then he nodded quietly. "Take them off." You did it, gently, discovering his taut, imposing erection, the veins pulsing along its entire length and the glans barely pearly with desire. You looked at him with a mixture of amazement and adoration. "You are … magnificent," he whispered, his voice broken.

"As if I was sculpted just for me." A low growl came out of his lips as you stroked him softly, his soft hand drawing light lines on his hard member. He leaned over you, beginning to nibble at the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving small marks like promises etched on fine skin. "Stop it…" he growled through his teeth, " or I lose control. I want you. Hour."

He made you open your legs firmly, but with almost surprising care. He took a pillow and placed it under your pelvis to get up better towards him, then stroked your feet, teasing you with a sharp smile. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you inside me, Jay … now. I can't resist anymore." His body moved in a flash, his hips wedged between your wide-open thighs. And with a single, smooth movement, it sank into you. Your voices merged into a long, tense, almost desperate groan.

"You're… you're like that…" you stammered, your hands grasping him hard as you felt his warmth and hardness fill you. "Perfect," he whispered in turn, her forehead leaning against yours. "So tight, so hot … damn it." He began to move, slowly, with deep and measured thrusts. Each movement was a precise dance between torture and bliss, his gaze glued to your face as you moaned without restraint. "Look how you melt for me…" he muttered in a poisonous voice,

"I'm taking you so well that you can't even speak. A good girl so docile beneath me … yet so dirty." He increased the pace, his thrusts becoming stronger, fiercer. Every shot made you jump, every grunt coming out of his chest felt like an explosion held back for too long. "I've been waiting for you for years. Years!"he almost screamed, with a deeper blow that left you breathless. "And now I can't stop. I don't want to stop." "I'm … I'm coming again!" you cried, your legs shaking around his hips, your body trying to hold him in as long as possible. He growled again, his voice full of desire and brutal tenderness: "Then come. Come while I fuck you like you're mine. Because you are."

His thrusts became deeper, more precise, each stroke that sank you shook the pillow under you and made the pleasure explode in your belly. You felt that you were about to fall again, carried away by those hot waves that left you breathless.

"Wait," Jay growled, clutching your side with possessive force. "I want to go with you."

"N-I can't ... Jay... it's too much..." you sobbed, your face wet with pleasure and tears. He lowered his face to your ear, whispering in that low, broken tone that made your every nerve vibrate: "Good girl ... you'll do as I say. Expect. You are my sweet, obedient ruin."

You started crying with pleasure, your throat producing broken moans as it kept hitting you deeper and deeper, each thrust centered right there—on your most sensitive point—as if it knew every corner of your body by heart.

"T-too much... it's too much,..." you stammered, your voice broken, almost pleading. His fingernails scratched his back, looking for a foothold while he held you tight, his forehead leaning against yours.

"You feel it, don't you?" hiss. "My cock, so deep in you... so wet for me. Jesus, you're wrapping me up so well."

Then, between blows, his breathing became more hoarse, irregular. "I will fill you ... I want you full of my sperm... I want it to drip out of you for hours..." That thought blew you up. Your body clasped tightly around him, as if to hold him inside with visceral force, while your voice broke into desperate sobs and babbles. "I'm ... I'm coming!"

"So good... yes, come for me..." And with one last deep, animalistic lunge, Jay moaned your name against your throat and poured into you. You felt every wave of its warm seed fill you, your body shaking above yours, as it gently nibbled at your neck, leaving a sign that smelled of eternal bonding.

"Finally..." he whispered, kissing the small wound he had left you. Then he retreated slowly, with a subdued groan, while your bodies were still looking for each other even if they were now empty. He squeezed you tight, an arm around your naked waist, and kissed your damp hair, your chest still vibrating beneath you. You snuggled against him, his face hidden between his neck and his skin still warm.

"Jay ... I ... I think I love you," you stammered with a thread of voice, the awkward, tender confession, as if you had just handed your heart into his hands. He was silent for a moment, as if your voice had cut him inside. Then he squeezed you even more. "I love you too," he replied, without hesitation. "You are mine. You always have been." A little later he said, easy: "Now sleep. You're safe."

He felt your breath calm against his chest, your body cradled by his, and your arms enveloping him as if you never wanted to leave him. But his eyes remained open. Dark thoughts crept like smoke into his mind.

“They want it. I know. Those humans, those vampires ... anyone. They look at her too much. They want it. But they don't understand that she's mine.“

He watched you as you slept on him, your lips barely ajar, your eyelashes shaking slowly, your skin still shining with the pleasure he had torn from you. You had soft legs open and untidy, and his seed, hot and white, was still slowly dripping from your thighs. A vision that sent blood to his head, again. Yet, in the darkness of the room, with his cold heart beating only for you, a rotten thought took shape. "Take the pill...” He knew. You told her in a light, naive voice, like nothing. And yet, that little information tortured him.

“Every time I come into you... Your body rejects it. It protects you from me. Even now ... as my seed fills you, your body expels it.” He gritted his teeth. He knew. And he hated it.

He swallowed slowly, his gaze glued to that white drop that ran down from your skin. “I want to look at you after every orgasm... and see you drip out of me.”

“I want to see you get up with wet thighs and feel my smell dripping between your legs.”

“I want you to get pregnant. Even if you're not ready. Even if you don't want it. I want to make you mine from the inside.” He smiled, an expression that no human could ever interpret as love. He was hungry. It was delirium.

“Imagine... your belly growing. Inflate. Because inside there is something of mine. You who tremble, fragile, but full. You who can no longer run away from me, because I live in you.” And then, the darkest thought.

“And if even that child was not born... I would fill you again. Again. And again. Until your body understands that it does not have to expel anything. Until you surrender to my seed. Until you become what you are meant to be: mine.”

He squeezed you tight, as if he could prevent you from waking up from his thoughts. And while he kissed your hair and whispered sweetly that he loved you, he was already planning when to make that little white box disappear that every morning saved you from him.

----------

What story did you like the most? Would you also like Ni-Ki, Sunoo and Jungwon?

💌 vampire taglist: @azzy02 @iluvblackk @skzdelf @hollxe1 @averiesimss @heewenos @bllcksa @yollohblbl

[versocanibal]

⠀ /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ©🦾ㅤ ㅤㅤ𝐯͟𝐨͟𝐥.͟ ㅤﷺ⒛ ㅤ 𝗯𝗶𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘀. ㅤܓܢㅤ

[zerocoded]

summary: your estranged grandmother left you exactly one thing in her will: a sprawling luxury apartment in the heart of seoul — the kind of place that could singlehandedly cover your entire college tuition if you ever decided to sell it. now you had a penthouse all to yourself, a pink-tiled kitchen you weirdly adored, and a hopeless, slow-burning crush on the absurdly attractive neighbor who barely looked your way.

authors note: FINALLY the vampiric side of this story is here guys. this is the first chapter of the story! woo! pls don't scold me for getting one or another term wrong, i'm just going with the flow and buildt my own lil vampire world. pls read the warnings and tags for a safe reading!

warnings and tags: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF VIOLENCE RIGHT AT THE BEGINNING • mentions of sex • this one is SUGGESTIVE AS HELL • dark themes such as depression, melancholy, killing • vampire!sunghoon x collegestudent!reader • gore, mentions of violence and blood • description of violence • sunsun briefly mentioned >.< • sunghoon and his complicated emotions bc he is more vampire than human • feral!sunghoon hehe • soulmate concept • horny!sunghoon i said what i said.

word count: 11.2k

previous chapters: series masterlist.

sunghoon first drank a person dry when he was seventeen — back when the world still lived with vampires walking down your street and the politics was ruled by his species. 

no secrecy, no masquerade. just power in daylight.

it was an unknown woman. someone he’d never seen before. he was freshly turned, barely aware of his own body, teeth still foreign in his mouth. and he felt horrendous. but she wasn’t a person to him then. she was food. not in a poetic, tragic, immortal thirst kind of way — just literally something to quench his throat.

he didn’t think. didn’t hesitate. just lunged. no bloodlust. no rage. just a single, selfish instinct: survive.

she didn’t scream. not that he remembered. just dropped her bag and blinked at him like maybe she recognized what he was. and maybe she did. back then, everyone still knew what vampires looked like. he drained her in minutes. no name. no face. just blood on his hands and the realization that there was no going back.

he tried to bury that memory. didn’t work. six hundred years later and she still showed up in his dreams sometimes. not to haunt him — just to exist. like a marker in time. like a before.

as the years passed, and as his human family faded into names and gravestones, the edges of his morality blurred. at first, the guilt lingered. the disgust. the need to justify. but the horror dulled with time, like anything else. he got used to it.

something that once made him sick became familiar. acceptable. survivable. humans killed too — just not usually for survival. 

sunghoon stopped feeling guilty. he stopped trying to be good. he grew stronger. he crossed the hundred-year mark still feeling seventeen — still haunted by the same impulses, still cautious around mirrors, still careful not to breathe too deep when blood was near.

he drank every day. animals. humans. bags. whatever worked.

he moved constantly — cheonan, busan, seoul. he collected names like coats. wore lives for a while, then shed them when they grew tight. he had his firsts over and over. first love. first enemy. first time someone called him a monster and meant it with kindness.

he watched his species disappear — not with fire, but with time. they stopped ruling. stopped showing up in stories. stopped walking freely under moonlight. the world modernized. vampires faded.

the old families either went into hiding or died off. the politics fell apart. the bloodlines fractured. and those who survived did so by staying quiet.

sunghoon didn’t mourn the loss. not of his species, not of the hierarchy, not of the golden era they all used to whisper about like it meant something. he didn’t care enough to. the rise and fall of vampire dynasties bored him. power came, power vanished, and no one stayed alive long enough to deserve the reverence. even those who did were too obsessed with their own myths to notice the world had moved on without them. 

sunghoon didn’t hold onto anything. not names, not allegiances, not bloodlines. he adapted. that was what kept him alive. he shrank into smaller lives, traded castles for concrete, survival for silence. learned to be quiet. learned to be still. learned to find comfort in disappearing. and it worked. for a long time, it worked.

he met sunoo first. sharp smile, sharper mind. one of the few vampires who didn’t seem to care about reverence or legacy or dramatic soliloquies on immortality. sunoo had the kind of presence that felt both impossible and familiar — like someone you dreamed about once but never met. there was something beautifully fake about him, something deliberately crafted. he wore his charm like a tailored suit, always too much, always too precise. he was born in the early 1800s, bitten at sixteen, and made the transition into darkness like he’d been preparing for it his whole life. there was no tragedy in him. no guilt. no hesitation. 

it was sunoo who brought him into the rest of the group. 

they weren’t a coven. they never said that word out loud. they didn’t swear oaths or drink each other’s blood or hold hands in the dark. it wasn’t like that. it was looser. stranger. more real. just seven vampires who understood each other well enough to stay in orbit. they didn’t pretend to be a family, but sometimes it felt like one — the dysfunctional kind, the kind where everyone was too ancient or too damaged to pretend things were normal. they watched each other’s backs. they left each other alone when it mattered. they fought, disappeared, reappeared, and didn’t explain themselves. and somehow, that was enough.

when the world got louder — faster, smaller, harder to disappear in — they found places like seonghyeon jaega. places built for ghosts. cold towers with private greenhouses and reinforced windows and high-tech silence. and they stayed. not together, not always. but close enough to feel it.

sunghoon had built his life on distance. distance from his instincts, from his past, from people. and they’d all respected that. even sunoo. even heeseung. no one ever questioned it.

sunghoon was the strongest, after all.

not just in theory. not just in the way people threw that word around like a compliment. but in the literal, biological, almost unbearable sense of it. strength seeped into his bones over centuries. sharpened with every decade he endured. the longer he existed, the more his body adjusted to the weight of time.

his senses were merciless. scent, especially — far beyond what the younger ones understood. he could isolate the copper tang of a paper cut from three floors away. he could tell what someone had eaten that day by the way their skin warmed. he could smell heartbreak if it lasted long enough.

his body, too, had changed with the years — became something more than fast, more than agile. he didn’t run anymore. he glided. his reactions came before thought. his hands moved faster than intention. his strength didn’t flex, it simply was. he carried it like breath — unspoken, constant.

and then came the others abilities. the ones that only surfaced after enough time passed that you forgot what it meant to be normal.

telekinesis came first. subtle, at first — a shift in the air, a vibration in his fingers when he wanted something without reaching. then flight, eventually. not graceful, not winged — just weightless. effortless. a quiet undoing of gravity when he wanted out. and shapeshifting, too. nothing dramatic. just mist, mostly. shadow if he focused hard enough. escape routes. distractions.

for sunghoon, taste had always been amplified — the good, unbearably rich; the bad, violently sharp. sweetness lingered longer. bitterness cut deeper. everything he consumed left an imprint, a truth he couldn’t ignore.

they weren’t powers he used often. not anymore. they were reminders. consequences. the price of age and hunger and survival layered over centuries.

feeding wasn’t necessary anymore.

not really. not in the way it used to be. the sharp, relentless hunger that once carved through his body had dulled somewhere around his five-hundredth year. it didn’t disappear — it just… faded. softened. like an instinct that no longer demanded center stage.

he still needed to live, of course. but the urgency was gone. the chase, the thrill, the aching pull beneath the ribs — all replaced by something quieter. something colder.

now, he fed out of habit. sometimes for convenience. sometimes for the novelty. rarely for the need.

going outside to hunt had become an unbearable task in the modern world — too many lights, too many cameras, too many people with opinions and phones and a tendency to notice things. it wasn’t like it used to be, when the dark belonged to him.

so sunghoon stopped pretending it did.

he drank from bags — neatly sealed, government-sanctioned, barcoded and chilled like a health product. they came once a month, delivered to the building with no name on the invoice. courtesy of the korean government, and their quiet, terrified need to keep certain residents content.

sometimes he shared prey with sunoo — the real kind, not the processed version. usually when they were bored, or irritated, or just wanted to feel something sharp again.

and sometimes he fed from partners. not often. only when the silence got too loud and he needed a body to remind him he still had one. but even that had grown rare. none of it made him feel more alive. just less human. 

sunghoon hadn’t fed for pleasure in decades.

it was too messy. too loud. too close. the intimacy of it — the weight of someone’s pulse under his hands, the vulnerability — none of it appealed to him anymore. he’d outgrown the romance of it. outgrown the myth of it. now it was just routine. bags in the fridge. a few shared moments with sunoo when the craving aligned. nothing worth remembering.

so when it happened, it caught him off guard.

not the hunger — that came later. the awareness.

it started quiet. like a wrong note in a familiar song.

he’d been tending the camellias, trimming the older petals, half-lost in the rhythm of it — when something shifted. the air. the scent. the feel of the room. subtle, but immediate. it wasn’t a change he could name, not right away. just a disturbance. a flicker of something alive in the greenhouse where nothing new was supposed to happen.

and then she spoke.

just a voice. soft. cautious. human.

it was stupid, how fast everything inside him turned. the stillness cracked. the control fractured. the distance — the one he’d spent centuries cultivating — shortened with one exhale.

he could taste you.

not literally — not yet. but it was there, hovering behind his teeth, pressed into the roof of his mouth like a memory he hadn’t earned. like instinct. like déjà vu in his blood.

and it was the same taste.

the same one he remembered from that night at seventeen, when he drank his first kill dry and realized what desperation really was.

the same taste from when he was thirty-two, tangled in the arms of a woman who claimed not to be afraid of monsters but still flinched in her sleep.

the same warmth that haunted him at fifty-five, when a stranger in lyon stroked his hair in a moment of kindness and something in him ached — deep, low, unfamiliar — because it reminded him of the mother he couldn’t picture anymore.

you carried all of it.

the echo of his first vampiric partner — the one who taught him how to survive without apology.

the sweetness of the man in busan, who kissed him like he wasn’t cold. who knew what he was and didn’t care.

the pull of that forbidden love in cheonan, quiet and soft-spoken, who whispered poetry into his collarbone and died too early.

you tasted like the chaos of his lover in the 1700s, all fire and rebellion and blood on the cuffs of her coat.

you were all of it. none of it. new, but terrifyingly familiar.

and in the greenhouse — in that too-warm air, among the bloom and steam and scent of earth — all of it came back.

too fast. too much.

he told himself it was nothing. just his mind, playing tricks. some leftover instinct bubbling up from boredom. that was the only explanation. because something so atrociously delicious — something that burned so sweet — couldn’t possibly be living just steps from his door.

he hadn’t felt hunger like that in a century. not real hunger. not the kind that started in the chest and reached the throat before he even knew he was reacting. not the kind that called to him.

so he blamed the air. the stress. the isolation. maybe the new batch of blood bags was going stale. maybe he needed to go out again. hunt properly.

he considered asking jay to take him next time — a rare gesture, since jay preferred to be left alone on those nights. but sunghoon thought, maybe, just maybe, if he fed on something live and strong, it would quiet the noise. dull the edge of it. replace you with something else.

it was logical. clinical. smart.

but it didn’t work. because every time he imagined it — fangs sinking into warm flesh, blood rushing to the surface — it wasn’t anyone else he saw.

it was you.

and that’s when he knew: this was something worse.

because this wasn’t just hunger — the kind he could soothe with a bag, or drown in routine. it wasn’t just scent or instinct or that sharp, familiar prickle at the base of his neck when prey wandered too close. it wasn’t even just the unbearable sweetness of your presence — that rare, full-bodied taste that lived somewhere between memory and desire. it was something else entirely. something he didn’t have words for, because he’d buried the language centuries ago.

it was interest. it was thrill. and it was annoyance so sharp he could feel it under his skin.

sunghoon didn’t believe in love anymore. hadn’t for a very, very long time. to him, love was a decaying superstition — overused in stories, romanticized in war, commodified by humans who lived too briefly to understand permanence. love was what people chased when they didn’t want to be alone. sunghoon chose to be alone. it was cleaner. safer. quiet.

he didn’t feel attraction, either. not in the way the younger ones still did — with their flings and fleeting obsessions, their need for touch and novelty. he’d outgrown it. or maybe it had withered. the need for someone else’s presence — their heat, their voice, their heartbeat — had dulled over time, eroded by too many years of watching everything he cared about rot or disappear.

so when you moved into the apartment across the hall — all warm blood and curious glances and too many layers of clothing — he didn’t think twice. he didn’t feel pulled. he felt tired. and every time he passed your door in the hallway, he waited for you to vanish from his awareness. for your scent to fade. for you to just become another tenant — faceless, nameless, unimportant.

but you didn’t.

you lingered.

not just in the air. in him. and he hated that.

he started avoiding you. sidestepping your presence. changing his routine so he would focus on anything else. he flinched at the echo of your voice behind elevator doors and held his breath when your perfume — subtle and frustratingly pleasant — drifted under his doorway. 

he didn’t say a word about it. didn’t ask if the others noticed. didn’t dare to ask. he kept it to himself like something shameful. a sickness.

and for the whole first week you had moved there, he believed it was working.

until niki started talking.

he heard it one evening — a quiet conversation in the kitchen when the others thought he was still out feeding. jake and niki, laughing under their breath, trying to be discreet. 

niki talked about your voice first. said there was something magnetic in the way you made silence feel like a choice, not an absence. he talked about your sarcasm — how you never laughed at your own jokes, how sometimes you didn’t even realize you were being funny. he mentioned the way you dressed like someone who had more opinions than money, and how somehow, it worked.

he didn’t say anything about your scent. nothing about the weight of your presence or the blood moving under your skin. he didn’t mention how the air changed when you walked by.

he just talked like a boy. about a girl. like it was simple. like it was normal.

and that’s when sunghoon knew something was wrong. not because niki noticed you — that was inevitable, niki noticed everything, but because he didn’t.

niki didn’t feel what sunghoon felt. didn’t hear the blood singing in his ears or taste the sweetness of you on the back of his tongue long after you’d left the room. didn’t freeze when you got too close. didn’t panic.

and sunghoon… was panicking.

at first, he told himself it was impossible. that the universe wouldn’t be cruel enough to tie his eternity to someone born in the 2000s. someone with a chipped bear mug and a towel on her head and a habit of walking into greenhouses like she owned the place.

and then there was the concept itself — the one he never believed in.

soulmates.

ridiculous. sentimental. dangerous.

and yet — completely normal in the supernatural world.

soulmates weren’t some rare, mythical occurrence like humans liked to believe. in their world, they were common. at least, they used to be.

before the silence. before the erasure. back when supernatural creatures still roamed openly, before treaties and hiding, before blood was something you stored in fridges and rationed like guilt — soulmates happened all the time. like instinct. like gravity.

wolves found theirs by scent. witches felt theirs in magic. banshees heard them in dreams. but vampires… vampires were different.

they were cursed with choice.

vampiric soulmates didn’t always arrive the way you expected. sometimes it was another vampire, older or younger, someone who understood the ache of eternity. that was easy. manageable. sustainable. other times, it was a witch, or a shifter, or something else born with power under their skin.

but sometimes — cruelly, unfairly — it was a human. and that’s when things got complicated.

because when the bond chose a human, the vampire did not remain unchanged. the body noticed first. the blood stirred. the senses sharpened to the point of madness. the human’s scent became an aria that clung to the throat. their heartbeat a metronome echoing through the vampire’s ribs like a drumline of need. their skin, their breath, their presence — all of it turned into a feast. and the vampire? they starved.

it wasn’t love. not at first. it was hunger. it was obsession. it was the frantic animal urge to claim, to taste, to own. vampires who prided themselves on centuries of refinement, of control, of superiority — they cracked like porcelain. they stopped feeding on others. they stopped sleeping. they stopped thinking. because the human was there, near, just a wall away, just a hallway down, just breathing, and that was enough to undo the very nature of their existence.

and the shame of it — oh, the shame — came in the way they enjoyed it.

the bond made them stronger. faster. lethal in a way no age or training ever had. the moment they touched their soulmate, truly felt them, the vampire became a weapon without mercy. not for conquest, but for protection. not to dominate the world, but to shelter one fragile life from it. they became beasts with only one commandment: keep them alive. keep them yours.

and what made it worse — what twisted the knife — was that the vampire knew, in the deepest, most ancient part of themselves, that the human would never truly understand. that they would never feel the full gravity of what they were holding. because how could they? they bled. they aged. they forgot things. they broke.

and still, the vampire craved them.

not just their blood — though that alone was euphoric, enough to knock centuries of memory into silence — but their laugh. their thoughts. the way they frowned when concentrating. the way they cried during movies they’d already seen. the way they didn’t realize they were powerful now — that they owned something ancient and merciless.

vampires were gods, once.

and humans soulmates turned them into worshippers.

sunghoon hadn’t even tasted you, and yet he already knew: it would ruin him.

because soulmate blood wasn’t just a metaphor. it wasn’t poetry. it wasn’t some romantic nonsense about desire and devotion. it was real. measurable. chemical. old-world biology twisted into something unholy and precise.

sunghoon had studied it once, long ago, when he still cared about knowledge more than survival. soulmate blood showed different under glass. more viscous. warmer. magnetic in a way even witches couldn't explain. the pheromonal imprint changed. the plasma shimmered differently under fluorescent light. some vampires said they could see colors in it — taste seasons, hear songs, dream in languages they didn’t speak.

and the taste? that was the part no one could put into words.

it didn’t just satisfy hunger. it rewired need. 

to drink from a soulmate was euphoric. addictive. like swallowing starlight or touching the divine. for some, it drove them mad. for others, it made them human again — briefly. terrifyingly. because it reminded them of what they could no longer be.

in yang jungwon’s coven, they didn’t talk about soulmates.

not really. not openly. but the silence spoke loud enough. and sometimes, in the late hours — when the halls of seonghyeon jaega were too still, and someone had drunk a little too much, or remembered a little too sharply — the whispers came.

the stories starts to spill from their lips: sunoo had fallen once. a witch, born in the 1900s, with eyes like stormlight and a voice that could lull even the most vicious hunger into sleep. her magic was soft — never explosive, never aggressive — just constant.

she made him laugh in ways no one else could. she loved him without fear. but she didn’t have what he had. no eternity. no second chance. and so sunghoon watched as his closest friend loved her through her aging, her illness, her final breath. sunoo never let anyone see him cry, but after she was buried, he didn’t speak for three years. sunghoon used to curse their species for it. curse the gift of forever. it wasn’t kindness. it was cruelty — to outlive love like his friend had.

park jongseong treated love like it was entertainment. a game to be played, to be won, to be discarded. he had centuries of admirers — humans and otherwise — who fell too fast, too hard. he let them. but once, long ago, even jay had a weakness. a girl. small, bright, unbearably soft. she adored him. never questioned what he was. loved him like he was a boy, not a monster. and jay, terrified of what he might do to her — of what loving her back would turn him into — left her in the winter of 1932. sunghoon remembered the exact date. jay never said her name again.

jungwon came from bloodlines. royal ones. one of the last remnants of the ancient vampire dynasties, before the fall, before secrecy. he’d been introduced to a partner at an early age — one chosen by elders, meant to preserve power, keep legacies intact. but jungwon never settled. never loved. he preferred chaos. death. the rush of power over the burden of tradition. his soulmate, if he ever had one, was lost to the flames of his own defiance.

niki — niki was different. too wild. too fast. too full of hunger for life in all the wrong places. love didn’t interest him. not in the eternal sense. not when there were clubs and rooftops and neon lights. he didn’t need anyone to complete him. he had himself. and that was enough.

and then there was jake.

jake had found his soulmate.

six years ago, he left for busan and came back with a girl — soft-spoken, bright-eyed, her pulse loud in the quiet. she followed him everywhere. touched his wrist when she spoke. called him “angel” like it was his real name. and jake… jake melted. he didn’t feed around her. didn’t hunt. he carried her bags and kissed her hands and swore he’d never turn her unless she begged him to. and even then, he wasn’t sure. they were still deciding. the idea of taking eternity from her — or forcing it onto her — made his voice shake.

heeseung had a soulmate too, once. long before sunghoon met him. he never said much about her. just that she was gentle. curious. loved painting. she grew old beside him. wrinkle by wrinkle. white hair. slower steps. he didn’t stop her. he didn’t turn her. he let her choose. and she chose time. chose humanity. sunghoon never asked why. only knew that when she died — when she was just bones in a silk dress — something in heeseung went with her. he was never the same.

so no, they didn’t talk about soulmates. but they all knew what it meant.

and sunghoon, for the first time in centuries, was beginning to suspect he had one.

and she lived across the hall.

he wasn’t about to ignore all the signs. sunghoon was tired, but not stupid.

he knew exactly what was about to happen the moment niki crossed the threshold, all casual arrogance and thinly veiled delight. heeseung barely looked up from his book, but sunghoon clocked it immediately — the way niki’s hoodie smelled different, the way his steps dragged with satisfaction, the way his eyes flicked to sunghoon a second too long.

he had disappeared for half an hour. no warning, no real excuse. left with a half-broken cable in his hand like he was on a righteous tech mission, like any of them gave a fuck about that printer anyway. sunghoon didn’t ask where he was going — didn’t have to. he had heard him go.

he had counted each step niki made to your door. heard the hesitant knock, your voice on the other side — sweet, amused, a little annoyed. a voice that didn’t match the heartbeat he could now recite from memory. your pulse had been steady. bored, even. like niki’s lies weren’t working this time.

sunghoon scoffed in the dark, the sound barely a breath. it didn’t matter what niki said. what mattered was the way your presence lingered in the hallway now — your scent soaked into the fabric of niki’s sleeves, the warmth of your laugh echoing against stone and glass. you hadn’t laughed like that for him. not yet.

he hated that he cared.

he hated that he was standing in the middle of their shared living room, staring at the threshold like something sacred had just been defiled. and most of all, he hated that part of him wanted to be the one defiling it. not with lies. not with excuses. but with something real. something sharp and final.

at that moment, sunghoon didn’t react. not with words. not with a glare. just stood there, quiet and cold, as the younger vampire disappeared into the hallway with a lazy wave announcing he was about to take a shower.

sunghoon didn’t move. didn’t breathe. didn’t even responded the boy.

the air in his lungs felt stuck, like smoke in a sealed room. it curled up his throat and clung to his tongue. the scent hadn’t faded yet. it was stronger now, fresh — clinging to the sleeves of niki’s hoodie, his fingertips, his neck. your scent was alive in the room. too alive. like a pulse under his skin.

sunghoon didn’t acknowledge the coldness spreading through his fingers at first. didn’t allow himself to look at the door or trace the last place your voice echoed in the hallway. he stood still, spine straight, gaze blank — because if he moved, even a little, he was going to shatter something.

it had only been two weeks. not even a full month since you entered their lives like a joke. like a trick of fate. like a test.

you were a human, for fuck’s sake.

fragile. absurd. beautiful in a way that made his hunger ache. you walked around their building like you didn’t belong to anyone. like the air didn’t follow you, like your blood wasn’t loud in your veins.

he made himself still for a whole minute. exactly sixty seconds, counted like a punishment — each one pressed down into his bones as if restraint could be measured by silence alone. his spine stayed rigid against the back of the sofa, arms locked to his sides, legs twitching just barely beneath the faded blanket thrown across him. he could hear the others still moving in the apartment — water running, a faint door closing, jake’s voice low through the wall — but none of it anchored him.

he tried to count past the ache, to focus on the ambient hum of the building — electricity in the wiring, the gentle creak of the heater, even the uneven rhythm of niki’s too-heavy steps heading into the shower — but none of it drowned out the sound of you. not in his blood. not in his head.

he curled his fingers once, twice, then exhaled a long, cold breath.

then he moved.

pulled a hoodie over his shirt. didn’t bother checking the time. didn’t think about what he’d say if someone saw him. his body moved on instinct — one step, then another, across the polished floors of seonghyeon jaega. no hesitation. no excuses. just silence and purpose and something sharp curling inside his ribs.

he told himself it was a walk. nothing more.

a breath of air. a reset. he told himself the greenhouse was still his — technically. and if you were there… well. that was just coincidence.

he was lying, of course.

but he crossed the threshold anyway.

his hand on the glass door. your scent already thicker than the oxygen. and still — he stepped inside.

knowing exactly what he was doing.

—— 

you were already there. of course you were.

tucked between the vines like you belonged. standing in front of the floor to ceiling glass, completely unaware of the storm you’d just invited in. the glass above you fogged faintly from the cold — january pressing soft breath into the air — and the plants around you seemed to lean in, conspiratorial, as if they too were listening.

sunghoon didn’t move at first.

he stood in the doorway, jaw tight, breath shallow, watching the way the light brushed your cheekbones. it was the soft kind of light — golden, filtered through the greenhouse glass and filtered again by the pale warmth of the moon outside. it kissed your skin like it knew you were loved.

and you smelled like everything he wasn’t supposed to want.

not just blood. not just a craving. you smelled like memory. like heat. like something that had always belonged to him, even if he hadn’t known it until now.

sunghoon hated it, this feeling, this neediness. he found it ridiculous, weak. it made him scoff and go insane because of the fact that these feelings even belonged to him in the first place. he hadn’t exactly ignored you before, but this felt like the first time he was seeing you. 

your hair was healthy, untouched by bleach or heat, the kind that held shine even in cheap lighting. your skin looked like it had never met stress — no deep lines, no breakouts, no strain. but there was something else too. something more honest beneath the surface.

you moved like someone who’d known work. like someone who’d carried weight too early. your body held the kind of tired grace that came from long days and quiet sacrifices — not the aesthetic kind, but the real, human kind. melancholy clung to you in places only someone who had known wars could notice. the corners of your mouth. the pause between your jokes. the softness behind your sarcasm.

you were healthy. he noticed that first — in the flush of your skin, in the steadiness of your breath, in the light pressure of your footsteps next to him. it hit him in strange, unspoken ways: the kind of observation that should’ve passed as mundane, but didn’t.

and he felt… giddy. embarrassingly so. at the knowledge that you were alright. that you weren’t frail. that your blood ran strong. that you didn’t smell like rot or fatigue or sadness.

he was happy you were healthy.

or at least it seemed.

and that alone was enough to make his mind spiral. because what kind of creature — what kind of predator — stood perfectly still in the hallway of his own greenhouse, hoodie half-zipped, smiling quietly to himself just because his neighbor’s pulse beat in the right tempo?

he should’ve been alarmed.

instead, he let the warmth settle. a selfish, possessive warmth. like he’d just discovered something worth guarding.

here you were, in an overused coat that looked two sizes too big, maybe not even yours. collar slightly torn. threadbare at the sleeves. probably something inherited or borrowed or stolen from a roommate.

you didn’t match the scenery — that luxury glass room, the curated flora, the eerie stillness — and yet you made it all feel like yours.

and that was what made sunghoon pause.

for the first time in centuries, he felt interested.

he saw you before you saw him. your silhouette cast in soft golden light, hunched near the orchids like you were afraid to break something, like you were trespassing in a church. it made something tighten in his chest. 

sunghoon opened the greenhouse door and let it fall shut behind him with purpose. not loud enough to startle, but loud enough to be known. to make himself visible. audible. present. you turned immediately. 

your eyes found him fast, then dropped just as quick. the wave of surprise on your face was quickly drowned in embarrassment, your posture straightening, hands suddenly awkward. like you'd been caught stealing something. like he had the right to punish you for it.

he hated that the thought made him feel powerful.

he should’ve left.

but he didn’t.

he stood under the arch of ivy with his hoodie sleeves rolled up and his eyes trained on you, and tried not to breathe too deeply. because even from here, he could already smell you.

"sorry that i’m trespassing again," you said. self-deprecating. lighthearted. all nerve and bravado. he didn't answer at first. not because he was angry. not even because he wanted to intimidate you. but because he didn’t trust his voice to come out human.

you turned your back to him like it was no big deal. like you hadn’t just stumbled into a landmine. like you weren’t carrying that scent.

he watched you pretend to care about the view — the skyline stretched beyond the glass panels, city lights blinking like tired stars, pale against the winter-dark sky. your arms crossed loosely, like you were trying to appear casual, but your fingers fidgeted near your sleeve, tugging at loose threads. he could tell you were stalling. buying time. saving face. and he let you.

later you spoke again. softly. something about how you hadn’t noticed this side of the greenhouse the night before. how it was beautiful.

he agreed.

but not in the way you meant.

because the skyline didn’t make his hands itch. the frost on the rooftops didn’t make his throat dry. it wasn’t the curvature of the city that kept pulling his eyes back to you.

it was the way your heartbeat slowed as you talked — no longer startled, just steady, like a drum muffled under layers of warm fabric and fragile bone. sunghoon could hear it. could feel it. a muted cadence, too human, too easy to track. he didn’t need to see your veins to know where they ran; he could sense the trail of heat beneath your skin, each artery drawing delicate maps along your neck and wrists and the soft bend of your elbow.

again, his eyes locked on your neck — the dip just below your jaw where the pulse beat steady and exposed. it was the same spot he’d noticed yesterday, the same one that had tested his control ever since.

sunghoon noticed you trying to make small talk.

"you can keep coming here, if you like," he said, eyes flicking to the orchids. "it’s nice during winter."

you glanced at him over your shoulder, moonlight brushing your eyes like silver paint, catching just enough to make them glint — almost like a spark. "is this special treatment because i became friends with one of your roommates?"

he tilted his head, slow and deliberate. "are you talking about riki?" 

"riki? i swear it was niki." you said innocently.

god, even the sound of another name — even if it belonged to his little brother — sliding from your mouth made something primal stir beneath his skin. it was stupid, ridiculous, but his throat still tightened, jaw clenching with the effort not to react.

sunghoon laughed. a soft sound, almost accidental, but real. it cracked something in the silence — made the space warmer, brighter, like a sliver of dawn sneaking past blackout curtains. his canines caught the light when he smiled, sharp and white, and he didn’t miss the way a flicker of tension rippled down your spine. 

his first instinct was to pull it back, to school his expression into something safer, quieter — hide the very obvious reminder of what he was. but his stupid predator side? it liked the way you startled. liked it too much.

"yes, niki," he said. "he goes by that too. he’s… troublesome. don’t fall for his traps."

"thanks for the concern, but i think it’s too late. he literally invaded my apartment earlier today."

he raised a brow, all practiced nonchalance — pretending he didn’t already know. pretending he hadn’t counted the exact number of seconds riki stood outside your door. pretending he hadn’t listened to the entire conversation through the walls, his cursed hearing tuned perfectly to the sound of your voice.

"printer emergency," you added, like that explained everything.

sunghoon’s mouth twitched — the smallest shift, the closest he ever got to amused acceptance. "sounds like him."

you nodded, then hesitated. he noticed, of course. he always noticed. you were proud of something — proud of surviving the conversation, proud that he hadn’t told you to leave yet. 

again, all of your reactions were almot alluring to him. unbearably so. everything you did — the way your mouth moved when you talked, the rhythm of your breathing, the subtle raise of your brow when you got bold — it lodged itself somewhere beneath his skin like glass. 

sunghoon tucked his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, a quiet attempt at restraint, fingers curling tightly around fabric like it would keep him grounded.

he kept his distance — always. two feet, at least. just far enough that he wouldn’t feel the brush of your scent, the accidental graze of your plasma. just far enough that he could pretend he wasn’t seconds from falling apart.

not just your perfume, or the soft shampoo that clung to your hair. he could smell your blood — rich, warm, devastating. he could feel the way it called to him, ancient and undeniable, wrapping invisible hands around his body and dragging. it settled into his ribs like a bruise. pressed against his shoulders like weight. coiled low in his stomach like something shameful. 

just standing here — just existing in the same space as you — was enough to make him crumble.

you didn’t even realize it. didn’t see the way his gaze followed the shift of your shoulders, the tilt of your head, the way your fingertips brushed against petals like you were asking them for permission. you walked slowly, aimlessly, but there was something reverent in it — a quiet grace, like you instinctively knew this place mattered. like the night recognized you. your hands ghosted over the camellias, the ones he’d planted in silence, one by one, over years that stretched longer than any human lifetime should. 

he didn’t move. didn’t even blink. the air between you stayed untouched, his body locked in place as if the slightest shift would shatter whatever fragile thing this was. he watched the way you crouched to smell a bloom he nearly lost to frost last winter. you looked at it like it was a miracle. like it was new. no one had ever looked at his flowers like that — heck, no one has even visited this place before before you.

sunghoon saw the way the moonlight hit your skin — soft and pale and impossibly radiant — like you weren’t part of this world at all. 

he watched the rhythm of your steps. the slight sway of your hoodie. he watched your pulse quicken as you spoke again.

"do you all live here? for how long?"

he didn’t answer immediately. the question felt too close to truth.

you turned slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder, to check if he was listening — and of course he was. he hadn’t moved. still half-shadowed beneath the overgrown ivy, posture relaxed in that practiced way of his, like someone who knew how to stay unnoticed even while watching everything.

"a while," he said. vague. distant. safe.

"like... years?"

"give or take."

"that’s not an answer."

he knew that. obviously. he wasn’t trying to lie — just stretch the silence in a way that would make you tilt your head like that. and maybe push you a little. he liked the way you challenged him without realizing. like you hadn’t decided if you were interrogating him or flirting. like maybe you thought you could do both.

"it’s the only one you’re getting."

he saw the way your mouth twitched before the smile broke through — a flash of amusement that pinched the corners of your eyes. you weren’t fooled. you knew he was dodging the question, and you didn’t mind. 

"you’re worse than niki at evading questions. are you all like this?"

he almost smiled. almost. you were tenacious. dangerously so — the kind of sharp that slipped in gently before anyone realized they were bleeding. his hands, finally, slipped out of his hoodie pocket, fingers flexing like he’d only just remembered they were there. he brushed a piece of ivy from his sleeve, buying time, trying not to look too entertained.

"maybe it’s a roommate requirement."

"what, like a quiz? ‘how mysterious are you on a scale from 1 to dramatic rooftop monologue’?"

this time, he let the smile come. small. subtle. but there. it didn’t reach his eyes — not fully — but it was real.

"you’d fail."

"rude."

"you talk too much."

"and you brood too much. balance."

he looked down, shaking his head like he didn’t know how you kept getting away with this — poking at the edges of him like it was a game. the tension that usually sat stiff along his spine eased, just slightly. your words untied it like warm fingers at a knot.

"actually, you’re the one who should be asking questions," you challenged, turning to face him completely now, voice bolder than before. "i got here first."

he blinked. caught off guard by your logic, your shift in tone. you bent down mid-sentence, plucking a dead leaf off the path and crumpling it gently between your fingers without even thinking. he noticed that. the softness in your habits. the strange, unconscious claim you were making on the space.

"trespassing doesn’t count as arrival." he said.

"semantics," you said. "i was emotionally distressed. that grants me squatters’ rights."

he exhaled — a quiet breath, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. something in between.

"you’re unbelievable." sunghoon added.

"and yet, here you are," you said, waving a hand lazily between you. "still talking to me. maybe you’re the crazy one."

he looked at your hand as it dropped back to your side, then glanced at the distance between you — yes, he was the crazy one for sure. 

he didn’t answer. didn’t deny it. just watched you with that steady, unreadable look — the kind that made you feel like he was seeing things you hadn’t even figured out about yourself yet.

"do you always go out with your pink phone case?" sunghoon wasn’t exactly skilled at small talk — never had to be. most of the time, his looks did the work long before words were needed. but he wanted to try this out with you, to see how further you could go with bickering.

you frozed visibly and sunghoon found that cute, again. your body went still like a deer clocking danger, and for a second, he wondered if you’d bolt.

"wait, you noticed that?"

"hard to miss." his voice was calm, neutral — but there was something else behind it, something amused. he was, indeed, curious about your fashion tendencies and strange personality — he never met someone like this before.

your mouth opened, then shut again. the fluster was almost adorable. "it’s for the aesthetics. i like pink."

he hummed low in his throat, and the sound felt less like a judgment and more like he was filing that away. sunghoon was cataloguing you the same way he catalogued the orchids — by color, by softness, by how long they might last if left alone.

"don’t make that face."

"i didn’t make a face." he, in fact, knew he made a face.

"you did. very i-expected-black-but-of-course-it’s-pink."

he tilted his head slightly, eyes dragging down the length of you in an unhurried glance — not invasive, not flirtatious. just curious. deliberate. actually, a little flirtatious. sunghoon was having fun with your ridiculous attraction to bickering.

"i expected lavender, actually."

"do i give off lavender vibes?"

he didn’t answer right away. just kept looking — one slow pass over your frame, then back to your face, where his gaze settled like a weight.

"sometimes. but mostly… chaotic rose gold." he should’ve said red. the most beautiful red he’d ever seen — vivid, warm, almost fluorescent under moonlight. but he didn’t. he couldn’t explain that to you — not without unraveling everything. not without telling you what his eyes really saw beneath that old coat you wore like armor.

the way your blood moved, the way it pulsed — bright and alive and maddening. if he said it out loud, he was certain he’d scare you off.

you squinted at him. "that’s not a real vibe."

"it is now." god — he wished he could shut you up sometimes, make you stop asking stupid questions, put your mouth to better use. 

"you just made that up," you bickered, eyes narrowing with playful defiance.

"it’s a pretty color," he replied, quieter this time.

you blinked. the pause that followed was short but sharp. "are you calling me pretty?" of course that was your question. of course your brain went there. always halfway between a joke and something that might be real if said twice.

sunghoon almost laughed. not out loud — he didn’t do that often — but the impulse flickered in his chest like static. 

fuck pretty. you were beautiful in the kind of way that made language feel inadequate. he hadn’t yet found a color — or a century — that could match your particular brand of aphrodisiac ridiculousness. and still, instead of saying any of that, he did what he always did. he teased. because it was easier. because you were entertaining as hell. because the way you reacted was worth it.

"no."

"that’s rude."

"you should be at your apartment." he should’ve been in his too. should’ve walked away minutes ago, maybe hours. but he was too stubborn. too weak when it came to you. and entirely too invested in the way your mouth dipped into a small, exaggerated pout. like you knew what it did to him and were daring him to admit it.

"are you saying i’m ugly, then?"

he raised a brow, slow and deliberate — like even he couldn’t believe he was still making conversation with you. and honestly? he couldn’t. he was, in fact, in full disbelief.

“beauty is about preferences. you can think a flower is pretty, but someone else might think it’s not the best.”

you stared at him. unblinking. deadpan. the silence stretched long enough to be comical. "are you a walking inspirational monologue coach? is that your side hustle? why are you always showing up late at night like some poetic batman?"

he didn’t respond right away — just lifted his gaze, slowly, toward the ceiling above you both. the glass was fogged around the edges with condensation, the moonlight blurry and pale through it. it reflected faintly in his eyes. "plants prefer quiet," he said, almost like an afterthought. "and so do i."

"you’re so weird."

he didn’t flinch at the word. didn’t take it as an insult. if anything, the edge of his mouth twitched — just enough to make you wonder if maybe he liked being called that.

you moved like you didn’t belong, and yet, like everything around you bent to accommodate your presence. sunghoon watched in silence as your fingers traced the rim of a ceramic pot, your steps soundless over the tiled floor, like the greenhouse had decided you were welcome. there was something deeply unsettling about it — how gently you treated the space, how you smiled at nothing in particular, how your eyes flicked from vine to orchid like you were cataloguing beauty for the first time. he’d lived here for decades, and still, he’d never looked at this place the way you just had in the past minute.

he tracked the way your coat swung with your movement — that oversized, frayed thing that should’ve made you look disheveled, careless. but it didn’t. it made you look soft. careful. something cherished. and in that moment, sunghoon hated that he noticed. hated the heat that pooled beneath his skin just from watching you exist. it wasn’t just attraction. not quite. it was deeper, quieter, more dangerous — a kind of reverence. he was memorizing the curve of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, the way the faint glow of a heat lamp kissed your skin like it belonged to you. 

you stopped to lean over a low bed of succulents, muttering something under your breath. maybe you were reading the labels. maybe you were talking to the plants. maybe you were just breathing. sunghoon had no idea — he couldn’t care to hear it, too focused on the way your pulse ticked softly under your skin. 

his eyes wandered upward, pulled by the shift in the air and the sudden realization that he was staring like a creep. 

outside, the night had thickened into a velvet navy, the moon hanging low and unbothered. stars dotted the sky in fractured patterns, and the light pollution did little to mute their defiance. he tilted his head, just slightly. 

he found himself walking toward the far side of the room, where the glass stretched from floor to ceiling, framing the city in one perfect, crystalline cut.

this was where you had stood when he first saw you tonight — silhouetted against the skyline, as if you’d stepped straight out of a dream. he reached the glass and stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at the cityscape below. buildings pulsed with neon veins, cars like blood cells tracing glowing arteries. it was alive in its own way. chaotic. overwhelming. and yet, for the first time in what felt like years, sunghoon didn’t feel like the outsider looking in.

sunghoon didn’t register the silence at first.

the city beyond the glass pulled at him like an old memory, something bright and sad and too loud for his thoughts. below him, seoul pulsed like a living thing — all light trails and blinking signs and buildings reaching up like they were trying to touch the stars. and there he stood, centuries old, hands buried in his hoodie, jaw clenched against a world that had outgrown him in a thousand ways. and still, he watched. still, he breathed. still, he remembered the curve of your voice as you spoke just minutes ago.

your words looped in his head, ridiculous and youthful. “semantics. i was emotionally distressed. that grants me squatters’ rights.” 

you spoke like you didn’t care who was listening. like you had nothing to lose. like the world had never tried to kill you for the way you laughed. you sounded like someone who still believed people were good. and for all his control, for all his hunger, that part — that unbreakable faith in your tone — made something crack in his chest.

you were young. not just in body — but in spirit. in rhythm. everything about you screamed 2000s baby. your banter came fast and offbeat, the kind of sarcasm that trailed internet culture and late-night jokes. sunghoon had been born in a time when people bled for less. when language was stiff and precise, when words were weapons. you, on the other hand, used yours like water — splashing around, not caring who got wet.

he tilted his head slightly, gaze still fixed on the glittering mess of lights below. it wasn’t fair, the way you got under his skin so quickly. talking to you wasn’t just conversation — it was a kind of test. you teased without cruelty. you challenged without threat.

sunghoon blinked slowly, the city’s lights still dancing in his vision like fireflies under glass. the silence had settled comfortably around him, thick and undisturbed.

he had been so deeply entangled in his own thoughts — in the skyline, in your voice echoing faintly in his mind — that he didn’t notice the shift in air. didn’t register your footsteps, soft and deliberate, until your presence was suddenly there beside him, pressing at the edge of his senses like a silent warning.

he inhaled. finally. deeply. and then stilled.

it hit him all at once.

your scent.

too close.

he blinked, startled, as if waking up from a deep sleep. his senses sharpened immediately — pupils contracting, spine pulling taut, fingers curling faintly. he hadn’t heard your footsteps. hadn’t felt your breath. you were still a whole foot away — not even brushing against him — and yet, it didn’t matter. the scent of you wrapped around his skull like smoke, like a perfume laced with venom.

copper and honey. lightning and softness. heat and blood.

it hit him like a storm — not the kind that screamed through windows, but the kind that crept beneath skin.

his pupils dilated instantly. not just with hunger — no, this wasn’t just thirst. this was desire. shameful and uninvited. it coiled in his gut like something ancient and unholy. his breath caught in his throat, like oxygen itself had become too thick to inhale. he tasted your blood on his tongue and you weren’t even touching him. 

his nose twitched. he winced. and then the worst part: the step back. one, two, three — four. fast and clumsy. like shame. like retreat. like he needed to put the world between your body and his instincts. he hated that he moved like that. hated how vulnerable it made him feel.

but it wasn’t pain he wore on his face. not really. it was something worse.

temptation.

you smelled like warmth. like heat under skin. like all the fairytales about vampires and their soulmates. blood moving fast through delicate veins. and it wasn’t just hunger clawing at him now — it was arousal, low and dirty in his belly.

“are you okay?” you asked — voice soft, unsure, but to him it rang like a bell through fog. it echoed in his head, ricocheting off the walls of his skull because his senses were heightened tenfold now. 

you should be worried about yourself — about your safety.

if you could see even a fraction of the things sunghoon was thinking, god, you’d run. not walk — run. you’d leave the greenhouse, the building, the city, maybe even the country. he wouldn’t blame you. because right now, his mind was split down the middle: half man, half monster. both wanted you.

he wanted to do things to you that had no business being thought about this close to midnight. things with his hands, with his mouth, with his teeth. he knew every way he could break you — every point of weakness, every place you’d shudder and sigh and cry if he so much as grazed the surface.

and the worst part? he could do it. right now.

he was stronger. faster. older than empires. and every part of him knew it. his muscles twitched with power. his fangs ached. his throat burned. you — soft, warm, real — were within reach. and all he had to do was move.

sunghoon didn’t answer your question right away.

he couldn’t. his mouth wasn’t ready to form words — not that kind of words. not the kind you deserved.

he was still staring. still breathing like he’d sprinted across the city just to get here. lungs full of fire, throat dry with restraint. his jaw flexed once, then again, the muscle ticking as if it might hold him together. but it didn’t. nothing could. not with you standing there like that — oblivious to the fact that you’d just shattered centuries of control with nothing but your scent.

he was trying to be still. trying to be good. but his body wasn’t listening. his tongue flicked out across his bottom lip, slow and distracted, the motion instinctive, like he was tasting the air — tasting you.

fuck, he could taste you right now.

his fangs had dropped without warning. he didn’t even need to check. he felt them. his irises, too — they must’ve flared, because your own expression flickered.

“you should go,” he rasped — but what he meant was: run.

because every inch of him was thrumming. wired. starving.

he was trying so fucking hard to be good. to stand there like a man, not a creature. to act like your blood wasn’t singing to him — not just calling, but begging.

you had no idea what you looked like through his eyes. skin flushed from the walk. pulse fluttering like a trapped thing beneath your throat. lips slightly parted in concern. the scent of your shampoo tangled with your warmth and that heat under your skin — god, the heat — and all he could think about was sinking into it. tasting it. claiming it.

you stood a single step too close, and it undid him. his hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms to keep himself still, to keep himself honest.

“did i… do something wrong?” your voice echoed in his empty chest. 

he could hear your heartbeat.

not just hear it — feel it.

a wet, rhythmic echo behind his teeth, and his fangs were already halfway descended. he could taste his own venom. it burned.

“no,” he said, forcing a breath through clenched teeth. “it’s not you. it’s me.”

sunghoon could see you hesitating, your fingers curling slightly at your sides. “do you want me to call niki? or a medic? are you sure you’re alright?”

his name. he wanted to hear you say his name.

not because it would soothe him, but because it would break him completely — and god, wasn’t that what he deserved?

your voice echoed in his skull, soft and round with concern, and it only made things worse. did he want you to call niki? a medic? like you were the one worrying for him, when he was the thing you should be running from.

for a moment, sunghoon wanted to shove his hands into his own chest and claw the desire out.

but instead, he stood still — burning from the inside out — every sense tuned to you and only you. he could hear the blood moving in your veins like a river; he could see it, nearly, that strange fluorescence he’d always been able to conjure, glowing beneath your skin in hypnotic rhythm. you were illuminated from the inside, and fuck, it was unfair. you didn’t even know what you were doing to him.

was it like this for other vampires?

were they reduced to this? weak? delirious? painfully, achingly aroused over a single step too close?

because his desire was already straining in his pants, aching against the tightness of denim, and all because you smelled like jasmine and clean sheets and sugar-drenched blood. all because your concern made his stomach turn in a way he couldn’t define — like he wanted to hurt you and worship you in the same breath.

he couldn’t look at you anymore.

couldn’t bear the confusion in your eyes, the slight tremble in your fingers.

so his voice came out shredded, low and coarse, every word a forced exhale through sharpened teeth.

“please. you can leave already.”

“should i go find one of your roommates?” he saw you take a step forward. a small one. cautious. maybe kind. maybe stupid. and his body snapped.

the moment you moved, the moment your scent hit him like that — stirred and fresh and closer — it was like someone had struck a match inside his skull. his back arched slightly, chest tightening, fangs dragging painfully against the inside of his mouth. his jaw clenched so hard it creaked.

“fuck—” he spat, the word seething through his teeth. “just stay right there. don’t move.”

and god, the sound of it — the command in his own voice — it only made the fire burn hotter.

his hands were trembling. actually trembling. like a boy in a fever dream, like something shameful. his fingers twitched with the urge to grab, to press, to taste. to see if you were as soft and warm and wet as he imagined. and he hated himself for it. hated the way he looked at you like prey. like a puzzle. like an offering.

you froze — and for a moment, he wanted to thank you. for listening. for not pushing him over the edge.

but you just stood there, breathing, and that alone was too much. the rhythm of your pulse in the air. the curl of your fingers. the way your mouth parted ever so slightly — not out of fear, no, but confusion. like you were still trying to understand what kind of creature was unraveling before your eyes.

“please,” he said again, the word shredding in his throat. raw. needy.

it was the closest he’d ever come to begging in his entire immortal life.

and still, you didn’t speak. didn’t scream. didn’t run. you just nodded — slow, careful — and stepped back, one inch at a time, the door calling your name behind you.

he watched every second of it.

you nodded. backed away. left. finally.

sunghoon felt the slightest flicker of relief the moment he heard it — the soft, clean click of the door shutting behind you. then, seconds later, the metallic chime of the elevator. gone. safe. away from him.

he could breathe again. not well — but enough. his lungs filled too fast, too shallow, as if they weren’t made for it anymore.

but the relief was fleeting. already splintering.

because now that you were gone, now that you were out of reach, the hunger had space to speak. to scream. to ache.

it wasn’t just thirst. not anymore. this was something older, more violent. possessive. every fiber of his body burned with it — fingertips twitching, jaw tight, vision still full of the way your body curved under that stupid hoodie. his instincts coiled like wire in his spine. follow her, they hissed. don’t let her get far. prey doesn’t get to leave.

his hands curled into fists. fingernails biting into palms. palms sweating. chest cold. 

sunghoon stood there — motionless, wrecked — for three and a half goddamn minutes.

until he snapped.

not out of rage, not even out of panic — but need. raw, instinctive need. his legs moved before his mind could catch up, carrying him toward the back of the greenhouse like he could outrun the phantom of your presence. as soon as he knew the coast was clear, he shoved through the rear door and stumbled deeper into the structure. vines clawed at his sleeves; glass glinted too bright. he didn’t care.

he needed out. even if it was just in pieces.

his hands found the window latch, and he threw it open without grace. the winter air poured in sharp and cold, biting at his skin, slicing clean through the little heat in his blood.

he needed air. he needed space. he needed to not want you.

park sunghoon knew restraint. he had been taught discipline in another life — back when his heart still beat in earnest and his mother would scold him for eating too fast, for speaking too loud, for wanting too much. those memories were fragile now, dulled by centuries and dust, but some of them — the important ones — still clung to the corners of his mind like cracked porcelain. 

he remembered how to slow his breathing.

he remembered how to wait.

and more importantly, he remembered why.

he stood there, bent slightly against the greenhouse windowsill, letting the wind lash at his cheeks and the smell of damp soil cling to the edges of his clothes. his throat still burned. his gums still ached. but the feral pulse in his chest was no longer a roar — it had settled to something more manageable, something he could keep inside his ribs without destroying everything around him. 

barely.

his gums ached — raw and swollen from where his fangs had begun to cut deep into his lower lip. the taste of blood was subtle, metallic, but his own didn’t satisfy him. it never did. the venom gathering in his mouth numbed the edges, made the sting duller, but not enough to quiet the need. not enough to bring peace. his body pulsed with heat, with tension, with hunger coiled so tight in his gut it bordered on pain.

his vision — completely red now. not figuratively. literally. the world had blurred into hues of crimson and black, every shadow a threat, every light too bright. he couldn’t see the plants anymore, the glass, the faint outline of the cityscape. everything was filtered through the lens of thirst. need.

and his thoughts — god, they wouldn’t shut up. they echoed off the corners of his skull, each louder than the last: take. bite. taste. claim. over and over like a chant, like a prayer twisted into something violent and starving.

restraint was a thing he was used to clinging to. he had worn it like a second skin for centuries. but tonight…

tonight, park sunghoon knew the ache wouldn’t pass on its own. not this time.

his control wasn’t breaking — not yet — but it was bending, dangerously. and he knew, with a clarity that hollowed him out from the inside, that this wouldn’t stop until he sank his fangs into something. until blood — warm and real — hit his tongue and silenced the madness for a few precious seconds.

the moment the ache hit him — real, tangible, like fire in his spine and static in his teeth — park sunghoon did what he had done so many times before: he redirected. because if he didn’t, he’d lunge. and if he lunged, he wouldn’t stop. and if he didn’t stop, you wouldn’t walk out of here alive.

so he set his mind on something else. on someone else.

he summoned the memory of blood that wasn’t yours — colder, simpler, nameless. he let it coat the edges of his hunger like wax over flame, sealing the worst of it in, letting the image of you blur and fall away. he reached for impulse, for routine. for the safety of distraction. 

he stood from the floor with a grunt, wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, and began to move. out the back entrance. down the stairs. into the winter.

park sunghoon needed a distraction. something messy. something human. something that didn’t smell like you.

author's note: i am so sorry i ended this here, but as i was writing it felt so off to NOT let this moment breathe for a little hehe. next chapter we will have our lovely couple going crazy again and yes, i will make sunghoon feral because that is my favorite genre of men. also, sunghoon is a hot 633yo vampire, OF COURSE HE BAGGED MEN AND WOMEN EQUALLY. send me a request • my masterpost

taglist: @ikeugirly, @vixialuvs, @hoonprksung, @kyunlov.