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spookyserenades · 4 months ago

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Sanctity - Chapter Two

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Vampire!AU, yandere!AU, horror, themes of the supernatural and mythology, historical topics, vampiric powers, religious themes, violence, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, toxic behavior including stalking, torture, and manipulation, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Word Count; 20.3k

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WELCOME BACK! I love you all. I'd like to highlight some warnings here for this chapter straight off the bat: there are major dub-con moments in this chapter of sexual nature. Multiple character deaths, suicidal thoughts, abuse, and quite a bit of graphic gory scenes are included in this update. Please know this is a work of HORROR FICTION as well! This got especially macabre because it's like ice age in New England LMAO. I hope you all enjoy this update and kisses from yours truly, Dana <3

WARNING! There are instances of DEATH, gore and dubious consent. This work of fiction does not remotely reflect members of BTS in reality. The boys are written to be toxic in Sanctity (yandere). Please be warned if this is triggering to you.

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

How much time passed, Y/N did not, nor would she ever, know. Bit by bit, the first thing that returned to her was her sense of smell– something thick and smoky filling her nostrils, maybe an offertory incense blend from the chapel. The second sense was her hearing, and still expecting the Sanctuary’s bell tower to wake her up, her body went stiff when she heard old-timey music and several different male voices. Shit– the next thing she was aware of was her recent memories.

Eyes flying open, she was laying down on some kind of upholstered settee, still wearing the velvet mini dress from dinner, which was almost hiked up around her hips. Horrified and woozy from both her blood being drained, multiple glasses of wine and liquor, and her state of exposure, she sat up abruptly. Staring down at her freshly polished toes, bare and lacking the fancy heels she was wearing earlier, Y/N froze at the sound of her name being called while she pulled her dress back down, her mind jumping to a conclusion that one of them actually touched her while she was unconscious.

“Finally awake? You’d think after that meal, you’d at least be able to stand on your feet once Seokjin bit you. He hardly took anything,” Jeongguk approached her first, holding a cue stick and staring down at her with a smirk. He had ditched his sports jacket, the first few buttons on his white shirt pulled free and his tie hanging limply around his neck.

Scrambling to a fully seated position, Y/N saw that her shoes were nowhere to be seen, and she had been carried by someone into the billiard’s room adjoining the space where they had dinner. Perhaps one of the vampires removed her shoes so she couldn’t use the stilettos as a pointed weapon. Sick to the back teeth of being teased and manipulated, especially when she felt her neck and wrist throbbing and saw how perfectly healthy Jeongguk had become after drinking her blood, her eyes narrowed nearly shut.

“I’m sure it was the fucking wine glass he slit my wrist into was what prevented me from having normal goddamn footing,” Y/N fumed as best she could with a completely dried-out throat, Jeongguk’s smirk widening and showing his teeth at the outburst.

“What a filthy mouth you’ve got, ma chérie,” Hoseok teased through laughter, all while leaning over a massive pool table and aiming his cue at a white ball. The new nickname from the ex-pirate, whatever language it came from, had her feeling belittled and repulsed– even if Hoseok’s drawl was soulful and spellbinding. It was as if in her slumber, she had managed to grow an even stronger spine.

“My name’s Y/N, not whatever you just called me. Not pet, not ‘little girl,’ not ‘dove’. If you’re all going to torture me, at least afford me the favor of not patronizing me,” Y/N stood, making sure to make pointed eye-contact with both Hoseok and Jimin; the latter of which was lazily draped on another settee across the room with a cordial glass and a lit cigar.

“Ah, true colors. I hoped you were as meek as you pretended to be yesterday afternoon, but it seems my initial suspicions were correct. How tiring,” Seokjin was by the fireplace, not sparing her a glance as the flames illuminated his side profile. He appeared to be the only one with his suit still flawlessly intact, one of his hands buried in the pocket of his slacks while the other braced his weight on the marble mantle.

“Who carried me in here?” Y/N ignored Seokjin, trying to find her shoes. For some reason, her bare feet on the marble had her feeling more vulnerable than her disheveled dress.

“No one violated you, girl,” Seokjin snapped, all while ignoring her request to remove pet names from his vocabulary. The fog of Jeongguk entering her mind and offering up her secret thoughts to the eldest vampire made Y/N wince, spurring her foolish outburst to go beyond the reach of her control.

“That wasn’t my question,” Y/N’s hands balled into fists, so blind with rage and the instinct to battle for her life that she snapped. “Stay out of my head, you!”

Y/N all but spat at Jeongguk while pointing at him, the young vampire still wearing that infuriating grin, Y/N storming past him with her feet slapping against the Italian marble to confront Seokjin. Again, a part of her was screaming that Jeongguk could be her kin as he watched, with his youthful appearance– the only thing that had her storming by was the demonic color of his irises.

At first, she was blasting by the youngest vampire and barreling towards Seokjin, however, a palm covered in buttery leather wrapped around the base of her throat that stopped her in her tracks effectively, harshly. Met with cold, glowing red eyes, Y/N could hardly crane her neck up at Namjoon towering over her, Seokjin sighing from behind Namjoon.

“If you must know, pest, I brought you in here. Watch your tongue and know your place,” Namjoon’s fingers flexed against the sides of her throat, dark hair in his eyes when Y/N felt the rush of blood in her arteries frantically trying to find a place to go. Paired with the sting of the leather rubbing against Seokjin’s earlier bite, Y/N heeded Namjoon’s warning and nodded as best she could just so he would let her go.

“Did you not see what Namjoon-ah could do during dinner? If his power can affect Jimin that strongly, what do you think it can do to you?” Seokjin cut in softly, snapping his fingers once. With the sharp sound that contrasted the vampire’s dulcet tone, Namjoon released Y/N’s throat immediately, leaving her to double over and gasp for breath. “Let’s make one thing clear. You can curse at us as much as you please, but do not think you are above being punished for rash actions. I can promise you, I am not a merciful man– Namjoon-ah even less so.”

Y/N felt defeat again, the spark of rebellion in her extinguished thoroughly. The shiny black shoes and pressed pants in front of her seemed blurry, Namjoon towering over her like a steel wall. When she could straighten up again, Y/N flinched at the vampire’s expression: hateful, but the mean smile on his face created sweet little dimples on his cheeks, which contradicted just about everything else about the vampire. His expression, in the best translation Y/N could come up with, was someone contemplating just how to tear another piece by piece with relish.

“Will you drain me dry like your last acolyte?” Y/N rasped, addressing Seokjin but still staring straight at Namjoon, as if one small movement from her would have him lunging.

Hearing Jimin’s light snickering from across the room did nothing but heighten Y/N’s humiliation about being put in her place once more. Glancing at him, she spotted Yoongi in the corner, a sketchbook in his lap and apparently not paying any attention to the spectacle. Also disinterested was Taehyung, leafing through a newspaper and puffing on a cigar he was sharing with Jimin.

“Maybe,” Seokjin hummed, letting Namjoon fall back into the shadows beside an old phonograph still playing age-weathered music. “Maybe not. Behave, and there’s no reason to fear for your life.”

“She wants to shorten her sentence, Seokjin,” Yoongi finally interjected, fingertips covered in inky charcoal. Darkly, Y/N thought that perhaps Yoongi might be the one with the most sense, and that wasn’t saying much.

“Ever play pool, Y/N?” Hoseok asked suddenly, injecting enough snark into the girl’s name rolling off of his tongue to have her grimacing.

“Doubt she’s ever even played checkers, Hoseok,” Jeongguk replied, yanking his tie dangling over his shoulder and tossing it on the floor. While leaning over the table to take his own shot, Y/N’s vision focused on the lean, hard-muscled frame Jeongguk had: the thin button-down he had on strained against his toned arms and his sides as he lined up the pool cue between his index and middle fingers. Namjoon aside– there would be no way she could ever be a match to Jeongguk alone.

“Is it permitted for me to retire now?” Y/N spoke through gritted teeth, muscles in her legs twitching when the petty side of her personality threatened to theatrically curtsy. Distantly, Jeongguk’s mouth corner curled up in amusement– catching the mental image she conjured.

“Say goodnight first, won’t you now?” Jimin trilled, voice curling seductively over the mosaic ceiling, and right when Y/N thought that she had recovered from Namjoon’s chokehold, Jimin was casting another deeply-rooted spell on her. “Taehyung has a question, don’t you?”

Taehyung. The one who so casually dared to impersonate someone close to her, to pretend to be Joseph. While she dreaded nothing more than even looking at the very vampire, Jimin’s roots were so quickly penetrating her bones she found with horror that she was no more than a puppet on a string for him.

Not even seconds later, Y/N was stumbling over her own bare feet to get to the seating area where the two young vampires were– Yoongi still off to the side, Taehyung lowering his newspaper and passing the lit cigar to Jimin. While hyper aware of Jimin’s hold on her, Y/N’s attention was conquered by Taehyung’s intense, stony expression. Clearing his throat, the shiny gel that was previously taming his midnight waves during dinner was cracking, leaving piecey curls hanging in his face.

“Tell me, now. Was my answer sufficient?” Taehyung began, tracing his pointer finger over his moistened lower lip, almost cherry red in color thanks to her blood affording him a complexion.

Y/N’s eyebrows knit in confusion, every nerve in her body pulsing with a dim throb the longer Jimin kept her docile and hypnotized.

“Huh?” Y/N’s eyelids were heavy, so she found herself batting her eyelashes more frequently than she normally did. “I didn’t ask you anything.”

“Master Taehyung was referring to his reply to you during dinner. Was his reply more or less something ‘Joseph’ would say? Was it enough, dove?”

Jimin was staring at his nails, one of his trim shoulders slipping out from under his loose shirt collar, and Y/N– to her mortification– immediately thought that the garment had become quite useless, so why was Jimin even bothering to keep it on at all? To deepen her mortification, an amused snicker coming from Jeongguk had her wishing the stained glass lamp above him would come loose and sever his head from his shoulders. Jeongguk’s laughter only became louder when reading her murderous thoughts, the sound of it lively and boyish– not the laughter of a lethal creature.

Y/N paused, rewinding her memory to dinner. At that time, she really believed that her friend Joseph had been permitted to visit her. Like a bucket of glacial water dumped over her head when realizing her own naivety, she also realized it wasn’t just Jeongguk who could reach into her mind– Jimin could do it, Seokjin could do it and share the way into her head with everyone else. Jeongguk wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Joe– oh. You, I suppose. You said something about never forgetting me and writing frequently, no?” Y/N, under the puppet strings Jimin was using to keep her steady, was able to study Taehyung’s face with rapt interest; her rational self locked away in some dark corner of her mind. “I think that’s when the coherent part of me sensed something wrong. Joseph hates writing letters, and he’d never talk so sentimentally. Yeah, we were close, but like cat-and-mouse siblings.”

“Still, hyung. Jeongguk mentioned he could not accurately understand the girl’s thoughts at that moment. It seems… peculiar,” Namjoon’s voice, all velvet, filled the room, addressing the eldest vampire still watching the flames in the fireplace.

“Peculiar? No. The most sound theory is that her thoughts were too animal and stupid for Jeongguk to hear, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin wasn’t fond of entertaining mysteries or anything that required him to put time and energy into, particularly if the subject matter surrounded a human being. “Forget it. We always deal with issues promptly, and I’m not deeming the girl’s slow mind an issue yet.”

“I suppose I can’t blame myself for not knowing what your acquaintance would say word for word. Jeongguk only had time to go through a handful of memories.”

Y/N didn’t like Taehyung’s dry, holier-than-thou attitude. He had zero decency to look her in the eye, rather looking through her and down his nose. Y/N sensed he was the type of man who had never heard the word ‘no’ in regards to anything.

“Things have to happen in a timely manner, Y/N, you see? Everything is about timing– that is something I’ve learned again and again– Jeongguk had about half a second to comb through your mind before you would dissolve into complete hysterics. Complete hysteria from you, you’d have a drunk pirate giving you something worse to cry about,” Taehyung continued, giving Hoseok a deliberate, uninterested look when mentioning the ‘drunk pirate’. Hoseok wasn’t paying attention, too busy chalking up his pool cue to bother participating in the conversation.

For a moment, all that Y/N could hear was a whooshing in her ears as Jimin’s hypnosis began to withdraw, her body promptly trembling with exhaustion as she stood before Taehyung. His tan suit, perfectly pressed, complimented his skin tone now that it was darker, his complexion probably resembling the healthiest peak of his human life. The gray veins over his temples were gone, and there were moles here and there splattered across his face.

“That’s all… hmm, Jimin. Why don’t you call up to the second floor to make sure the human’s chambers are prepared for the night,” Taehyung gave Y/N one last cursory glance before plucking up his newspaper again.

Y/N didn’t even hear Jimin waltz his way to an old-fashioned intercom system, murmuring something seductive into the device while his shirt began to pool around his elbows and expose nearly his entire chest and back. She only tuned in when she felt bizarre about standing in front of Taehyung so clearly dismissing her, a spark of hope at the idea of the privacy of her bedroom making her abruptly turn on her bare heels.

“Awww, Juliana. That won’t do. Make sure her sheets are heated, too,” Jimin purred, Y/N getting the feeling that he was purposefully trying to prolong her time spent in the billiard’s room. “There will be a frost, come morning…”

Y/N separated herself from Taehyung’s proximity, trying to edge her way to the closest door, but unfortunately it was the one that was being watched by Namjoon still cloaked in the shadows. As she tried to look for an escape while hoping Jeongguk was distracted to notice her plotting, Y/N silently began to shuffle sideways.

Not that she got very far– as soon as Y/N reached a leather ottoman halfway to an unguarded door, she yelped when she lost feeling in her legs and promptly crumpled onto the piece of furniture. Her arms tried to brace her fall, but those limbs, too, were limp and refusing her brain’s command to move herself.

“Nngh, ow! W-what?! What’s happening to me?” Y/N panicked, voice shrill and bouncing around the lofty room. Her body was completely limp, unable to flinch away even when someone began to arrange her legs by parting them, her dress riding up the back of her thighs again.

Ascertaining who was touching her sans-permission was impossible, due to the fact that her cheek was squished against the ottoman and her line of sight was limited to a glass case filled with cigars. Humiliation licked Y/N’s skin with white-hot heat, no doubt in her mind the scrap of lace covering her modesty was somewhat on display as she was shaped to be bent over the ottoman.

“Stop, s-stop, please. I can’t move—”

“Silenzio,” a deep, gritty voice was mere inches from her ear, the foreign word close enough to silence for her to get the hint. The record that was playing on the gramophone began to crackle, the needle scratching the label and needing to be flipped. “Stay put.”

“Like she can help it. You’ve paralyzed her,” Hoseok scoffed, trying to hide the fact that he was getting off on beating Jeongguk at their game of pool. It was looking like Hoseok would be driving Jeongguk’s Mercedes around town come morning.

Paralyzed. Y/N had not a semblance of an idea of what she had done to cause offense to Yoongi, who was carding her hair over her shoulders methodically, but all she could do was lay there helplessly. His fingertips were warm on her forearm when he draped tresses over her waist in a sensual position, even going as far as to adjust how her fingers were splayed over her hip.

“Master… master Y-yoongi…?” Y/N’s breath came out choppy, her diaphragm somewhat crushed thanks to her awkward weight distribution against the ottoman.

“Noisy,” Yoongi murmured to himself, detached. Rolling his eyes, Hoseok set his cue down, approaching Yoongi and his current model with his hands on his hips.

“If she’s so noisy, paralyze her face. You’re a complainer who hates solutions,” Hoseok watched while Yoongi gingerly stretched one of the girl’s arms out so it was hanging off the furniture.

Yoongi would go on and on about how he was capturing ‘yearning’, but to a vampire (and former buccaneer) who stole art for value, the girl was being positioned to get fucked against the ottoman. Pushing a hand through his hair, Hoseok snorted to himself. Now that he had a sufficient, consistent nutrient source, he could visit the girls at the cabaret again. It had been far too long since a woman had been under him and his mercy.

“To paralyze the face would make the subject unworthy of being painted,” Yoongi replied plainly, like it was a practiced response, and with emphasis on his words the artist ever so slightly turned the girl’s head with a loose grip on her jaw. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and pretty crystalline tears gathered in her eyelashes, eyeliner smudging perfectly. It was like Yoongi’s lucky day.

“You’re an odd–”

“Hoseok. Let Yoongi be done with it so she can leave,” Seokjin cut Hoseok off before he could start a cock fight. Jimin was already shivering with excitement at the idea of a dramatic altercation, and Seokjin caught it before he’d have to discipline him again.

“You’re an odd immortal,” Hoseok ignored Seokjin, though physically, he retreated. That was good enough for Seokjin, who kept one eye on the younger vampire returning to his rum and billiard’s game.

All the while, Y/N locked herself away in her own head. Perhaps, if she could reach some kind of meditative state, she could compartmentalize. The best she could do was focus on keeping her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to look at the vampires for a second longer, and the sensation of tears dripping down her cheeks.

“Are you resurrecting your proclivity for lewd portraiture, Yoongi?” Namjoon commented, straightening up at the sweet scent of hopeless tears, greedily soaking up the sight across the room. “That original collection of yours remains your finest work.”

From where he was, he could see the arch of the girl’s back jutting her hips backwards, and in consequence, and the fleshy curves of her ass cheeks were just exposed enough to reveal lace between her legs. Namjoon, with amusement, knew that if he got just a little closer, he’d be able to smell her.

“I wouldn’t coin that as lewd, Namjoon, just sloppy and lacking all of Yoongi’s former risk. It must have been some time since you have lain with a woman,” Jeongguk disagreed, aware that he was toeing a very thin line between a cold scoff from the elder vampire or experiencing his molten wrath.

Namjoon, in a rare moment of mercy, hardened his expression, tearing his gaze from the apex of the acolyte’s thighs. The leverage that Jeongguk caught a perverted thought coming from Namjoon was enough, apparently. On the other hand, the youngest vampire was enjoying a morsel of information he pried out of the girl’s mind seconds prior all to himself, just for that moment: the acolyte did not mirror dirty thoughts that the coven was having. In fact, the more Jeongguk sifted through her memories, he realized with delight that she didn’t know the feeling of her own arousal– yet. Maybe Yoongi had observed that, keenly taking it upon himself to milk her confused, humiliated response.

“Give Yoongi a month. He’ll have that acolyte stripped down completely and posing face down, ass up by then.”

Electric, enticing fear zapped through Y/N at the blithe, unflinching prediction that came from Seokjin out of the blue, and the scent of it triggered a heavy spill of lust to settle over the room. Jeongguk could feel it, and he knew his elders did too– though Seokjin was the picture of nonchalance. Jeongguk couldn’t think of a time when Seokjin preoccupied himself with pursuits of the flesh over the last century, therefore hearing him speak with plain vulgarity was jarring.

“I’ll have to sit in on that session,” Jimin purred, hanging up the intercom with a grin. By then, he was aggravated with his infernal top, letting it fall from his elbows and pool to the floor in a heap.

In a flash, he was behind Yoongi, eyes sweeping over the charcoal sketch the elder vampire was working on. Yoongi’s hand moved so quickly across the paper, it was almost impossible to track. In fact, Yoongi had already sketched four different versions of the scene in front of him and used up an entire box of charcoal. Yoongi, with aggravated sigh, set his sketchbook down and tossed the empty box of charcoal across the room and into the roaring fire. Jimin, slyly, leafed through the sketches, comparing each to the actual model, a flirtatious impressed hum leaving his chest.

“You should see these, dove. If you had wings, they’d be broken…” Jimin caught her eye, his posture stiffening at the tear her teeth made into her lower lip. He knew she was incredibly frightened, though he couldn’t help it, he wanted to up the intensity; the reward was far too tempting. Turning on the charm again, Jimin started to stalk towards her with one hand on his belt.

“N-no!” Y/N whimpered pathetically, immediately thinking the worst when Jimin began to get closer. No matter how hard she tried to squeeze her thighs together, she couldn’t curl in on herself like she wanted to. “Oh, please–”

“‘If you had wings, they’d be broken’. God, is that how you made your fortune in theater and movies?”

“Hoseok, you still haven’t read Jimin’s plays? Or seen one of his films at the cinema?” Jeongguk spoke through chortles, really starting to feel the nourishment of the acolyte’s blood in his body. He felt alive again.

“Usually sleep through ‘em, or I’m getting blow–”

“Yoongi, release her from Paralysis if you’re finished. Hoseok, head to the cabaret if you wish to keep drinking and whoring,” Seokjin finally moved away from the fire, his expensive loafers clicking against the floors.

Jimin was only a few feet from Y/N, the vampire half-clothed and eager to rile her up a bit more before Seokjin could spoil the fun. To Jimin’s surprise, however, Y/N’s fear spiked acutely when Seokjin appeared, the eldest vampire kneeling beside her and blocking her view of him. With Seokjin so close, so suddenly, and fearing his status, Y/N’s tears came faster.

“Please, just please! I just want to go upstairs! I d-don’t– I don’t want to…” Y/N broke down, and with Seokjin’s request to lift Paralysis, Yoongi watched as his power left her and the girl began to shake like a newborn fawn. Seokjin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Master S-seokjin, please, I want mmph–!”

Seokjin pressed his palm over the young acolyte’s mouth, half to shut her up, half to somewhat cover up the scent of her bloody lip. It was a charged situation– one he had complete control over, of course– but keeping the peace was important to Seokjin.

It was abhorrent to him that he needed that nuisance of a little girl, one causing so much unrest, as he scanned the ruined makeup running down her cheeks. Though, the vitality thrumming through him and the rest of the coven was undeniable, thanks to her. Seokjin was about to call for the acolyte’s maids, lips dropping open, when she made things infinitely more dangerous.

Since she had never been paralyzed by Yoongi, her body didn’t know how to come down from his influence. With her desperate pent up energy, unable to engage in fight or flight, once her shivering dissolved, Y/N’s limbs began jerking. With Seokjin’s hand still over her mouth, her back arched in order to get air to her crushed diaphragm, and instinctively, her thighs snapped shut.

However, something unexpected struck through her when her legs pressed together, something she could only describe as warm and aching, and it caught her so off-guard that a strangled, confused moan left her lips and was muffled against Seokjin’s palm. A primal and unfamiliar urge had her wanting to chase that feeling, Seokjin’s surprised, wide eyes in front of her had the throb return, if not for a second– her hips squirming against the ottoman eagerly.

Studying him through watery eyes, Y/N felt like she needed to light a candle to Seokjin’s beauty, the jitteriness that came with Yoongi releasing her from paralysis causing her to seek out stability. Her index finger curled around Seokjin’s blazer cuff as if to anchor herself. It felt like minutes, but it was likely seconds, where every vampire in the room froze completely, not a whisper of sound following her muffled mew.

“Astonishing,” Taehyung broke the silence, setting his newspaper down and getting to his feet. Things took an interesting turn, for once.

“Do not,” Seokjin commanded, but a breath though still firm. Y/N fidgeted, attempting to moisten her dry lips but only managing to give Seokjin’s palm an embarrassing kitten lick– which had him recoiling and pressing his hand more harshly against her face. “Control yourself, acolyte.”

Y/N didn’t know what that meant. Sure, the raw fear was still there, vehement hate flooding her body when Taehyung entered her line of sight, but the seductive drag of his fingertip tracing over her fragile shoulder blade elicited another unsure whimper.

“P-puh-mm,” Y/N switched to pleading again, wanting to jump off the great cliff where the mansion was settled beside more than ever. Seokjin’s gaze hardened, his throat bobbing.

“Seokjin, come on. Look at her!” Hoseok was positively delighted, spotting arousal pulsing between her legs from miles away– not to mention smelling it. “Moaning and crying like a bitch in heat.”

“Enough,” Seokjin barked, though the demand was strangled.

Do not speak a word.

The eldest vampire’s voice cut through the fog in Y/N’s head urgently, and at once, he removed his hand from her face. With absence, he wiped the blood from her torn lip on his pristine pant leg, Y/N breathing heavily from her mouth now that it was free.

One word from you and I’ll leave you here with the young ones.

That was a dark enough threat from Y/N, though with mortification, she thinly whined at the thought of Seokjin making good on his promise– mistake. Bonelessly, she started to lift her torso from the ottoman, her skin hot and tacky, all while each vampire in the room tracked her every movement.

“Is she going to get sick?” Yoongi remarked with disgust, tucking his sketchbook away. He was decidedly ready to paint; and yes, it would be something to toy with the flustered acolyte, but capturing her misery would end up being more erotic to him.

“She doesn’t know what she’s feeling,” Jeongguk revealed blandly, smugly, leaning one of his trim hips against the billiards table. “She wants– probably you, Seokjin, to touch her, but she’s too dim to know that.”

“So all of that ‘purity’ propaganda about Sanctuary acolytes is true? They’re clueless virgins?” Hoseok had to swallow a great laugh, almost pitying the mortals.

“Just like the old days… Most girls had not the slightest idea what happened in the bedroom,” Jimin contributed to the conversation, an unsettling edge to his voice that had Y/N sniffling.

Jeongguk began to fish around in her head more intensely, but Y/N felt her cheeks grow hot while her thighs squeezed together in pulses. Reading the acolyte’s thoughts, he hummed wickedly at the girl wondering what was so bad about being compared to the Virgin– the revered mother the Sanctuary worshipped.

“She’s untouched,” Jeongguk revealed, Hoseok’s interest piquing sevenfold. Eyes glowing, Hoseok was standing beside Taehyung in a flash, a forearm resting on the younger vampire’s shoulder. Venom was flooding Hoseok’s mouth as soon as he caught a whiff of the wetness beginning to seep into the acolyte’s underwear, and Taehyung was thinking about all of the ways he could break her.

Again, Y/N had no idea what the vampires were talking about. Nor did she know what was happening to her body, her skin sweaty and hyper-sensitive, and she couldn’t bear to look away from Seokjin. He looked like he was thinking very hard, red eyes sweeping over her body struggling to release what was building up inside of her. It took every ounce of strength she had left, but Y/N managed to struggle off of the ottoman, rocking backwards on her bare heels to a kneeling position. All the while, the finger curled around Seokjin’s jacket turned into a fistful of desperate fabric, the eldest vampire’s breath catching in shock over her sheer audacity.

“Help, it h-hurts,” Y/N whispered, throat dry. Beginning to come to the conclusion that coming down from Yoongi’s paralysis was what was making her feel so raw with nerves, she tried to plead with Seokjin despite his threat to leave her with the young vampires– the ones looking at her like she was dessert. “Master Seokj-jin, please, I want to–”

“Fuck?” Hoseok cut the acolyte off helpfully, filling in the blank that she was unaware existed. Things were spiraling out of control, and Hoseok was so entertained by Seokjin’s patience hanging by a thread that he decided to take things up a notch– perhaps finding out if he could elicit more of her slick to ruin her underwear. “A virgin begging for cock like a slut. Soaked pussy just from a few simple touches and words.”

The foreign, husky words from Hoseok had Y/N’s pulse quickening, humiliation licking her skin. To add to her mortification, she felt something wet rolling down one of her thighs, and when she looked down between her legs, she squeaked in alarm. With her free hand, shakily, her fingers swiped through the slick thinking it was sweat, but when she brought her hand up to take a closer look at filmy strings coating her digits, all hell broke loose. Seokjin cursed, sending out seven different mental commands– with additional forceful suggestions for staff that was still working– but even that wasn’t enough, so with a borderline bone-crushing embrace, Y/N was caged in his arms and as far away from the youngest vampires as possible. Jeongguk, Taehyung, and Jimin stared hungrily at the girl, trembling like a lamb, edible.

“Hoseok, I told you if you wanted to fuck like a rutting animal, go see your whores,” Seokjin’s voice was loud, furious, and Y/N couldn’t breathe in his arms. Despite her acute fear and dislike for Seokjin, Y/N’s body reacted on its own, pressing backwards against his strong chest for protection. “Leave, Hoseok. Yoongi, this is your doing and there will be consequences. Remove the fledglings from the room. Go.”

There was no space to argue with Seokjin. His covenmates hadn’t seen Seokjin so enraged, not for decades, and before Jimin could pout and add fuel to the flames (or sink his teeth into the delicious acolyte), he was torn from the room with Yoongi’s grip around his wrist. One by one, in a split second, Yoongi collected the youngest vampires, and Hoseok was long out the door with the cabaret set as his destination.

Once the immediate threats were gone, Seokjin all but shoved Y/N out of his reach, the girl caught by someone else before she could hit the floor. Nearly collapsing into his weight completely, leather gloves slipping over her dewy shoulders, Y/N at least knew who was touching her this time. That time, too, she realized she didn’t mind Namjoon touching her. After a prolonged period of time absorbed with Seokjin’s presence, Y/N was ashamed to admit that Namjoon could steal it effortlessly. Namjoon, like Seokjin, was infuriated; Y/N could tell by the way his jaw clenched dangerously.

“Get her out of my sight before I do something I’ll regret,” Seokjin spoke through his teeth, but the volume of his demand was deadly quiet. The sound of it had a tingle rolling down Y/N’s spine, her skull still throbbing from Jeongguk sifting through her past, and Y/N thought that she might faint again. “Exercise restraint, Namjoon-ah.”

Surprise flickered in Namjoon’s eyes. Seokjin, normally, would have had him using Pain Illusion on the acolyte for her little stunt– even if she couldn’t help it.

“Hyung?”

“I have calls to make. Take her upstairs,” Seokjin pushed a hand through his short choppy bangs, and he disappeared like he never was there in the first place.

Y/N winced when Namjoon tightened his hold on her with purpose, his expression turning rock-solid. The throb between her legs didn’t grow any weaker. Namjoon’s nostrils flaring, Y/N’s fear returned when a cold grin spread across the vampire’s face, his sharp fangs on display. However, if it weren’t for the fangs, Namjoon had one of the loveliest smiles in the world, and that broke Y/N’s heart, distantly. The vampire cocked his head and misread her train of thought.

“You’re absolutely terrified of me, aren’t you?”

Y/N’s head snapped up to make eye contact when Namjoon spoke, realizing her attention was lingering on the shape of his lips. Going rigid when the vampire stooped low, he got a firm hold of her naked calves. With one swift movement, Y/N was hoisted into the air and slung over Namjoon’s bulky shoulder. The immortal speed made her nauseous, a strangled sound coming from the back of her throat, one gloved hand squeezing the arm slung over his opposite shoulder, and the other cupped over the sensitive backs of her knees. Not allowing her to recover at all, Namjoon had the girl inside of her bedroom before she could take a breath.

“Do not make me ask again, woman,” Namjoon cruelly dropped the girl from his hold only to pin her to a nearby wall by her hip. She groaned, Namjoon noting that if he applied just the slightest additional force, he could shatter her hip bone.

“I need to s-sit down… where is N-nadia?” Y/N managed to get out, at war with how to answer him and praying furiously for someone to save her. She was having a primordial reaction to everything that had happened, and it was sapping the energy out of her. Namjoon snatched up one of her forearms in annoyance, the limb like a twig under his leather gloves. “No! Ow, no, I mean y-yes!”

Y/N could not take it anymore. She was hot, cold, contorting in pain and shivering with something else. She offered the truth. Sure, she was scared, but there was something else that was nameless to her. Was it… curiosity she felt?

“No? Let me offer you some advice,” Namjoon tsked, briefly wishing he could look into her mind like Jeongguk. “Don’t lie like that to Seokjin. Next time, he’ll have me skewer you.”

Y/N flinched, remembering the sword Namjoon had strapped to his back, and the fact that he was once commissioned to cut people down. His smile returned, scenting the dread pressing down on her.

“See? Though, didn’t the butler tell you not to reveal your fear?” Namjoon ignored the venom that was pooling on his tongue, swallowing it quickly so he could keep up the taunts. Seokjin didn’t want to punish the human, but Namjoon wanted to. “Now we know what fear does to you.”

The girl was blinking at him, which had the immortal pausing. She was fixated on his mouth again, which caused a snarl to rip from behind his teeth.

“What are you looking at? Are you so consumed by lust that your brain has melted?” Namjoon paired his words with a vicious yank of her arm, the hand on her hip moving to pinch her jaw. The back of her head hit the wall, Y/N crying out and completely powerless to self-preserve. “Tell me what you were staring at.”

“I don’t want to.”

Namjoon, in all his years of dealing with acolytes, had never encountered such a stubborn one. It had something dark possessing him, the thrum of her frightened pulse a stark contrast to the song her body was singing. Then, when he realized how close he had brought her wrist to his face, Namjoon caught the acolyte’s arousal still clinging to her fingers and acted on a baser desire that he hadn’t experienced in centuries. With one last pull, the acolyte’s fingers were in Namjoon’s mouth, the girl squealing in surprise.

“What are you doing?! That’s d-dirty,” Y/N cried, Namjoon’s wet tongue curling around her digits, his gaze still menacing and unfeeling. She dissolved on his palate, and with a quiet groan, Namjoon realized that her arousal tasted just as good as her blood. “I, hngh–”

Y/N focused back on Namjoon’s lips, which is what got her in that situation in the first place. Pursed around her soaked digits, she felt one of his fangs scrape against her index finger, and she pictured his smile in her mind again; the polar opposite to the demonic expression he was wearing at that moment. Perhaps, if she told him what she was looking at, he’d finally leave her alone.

“Please! I was just admiring your smile!”

Whatever Namjoon was expecting the acolyte to say with her fingers nearly down his throat, it wasn’t that. Almost as if she dumped water over him, Namjoon’s eyes glazed over, his grip growing just weak enough for Y/N to pull her hand away from his mouth and fangs. Catching her breath, Y/N used his distraction to slip away, ducking under his arm. She knew that she wouldn’t get very far; indeed, Namjoon was quick to grab her by the back of her dress, the material tearing slightly with the force.

“What did you just say to me?” Namjoon, for the first time to Y/N’s ears, spoke softly. The vampire, appearing to be unseeing, scanned her face, and Y/N almost got the feeling that he was seeing someone else in front of him.

“I-I mean, you scare me, but when you, um. Your smile? It’s–” Y/N gulped, relieved that whatever was making her body produce what Namjoon had sucked off of her fingers was beginning to subside, pure exhaustion and defeat gripping her instead. “Beautiful. It’s beautiful, makes you less s-scary. I’m sorry if that offends you! Master Namjoon, but please, can you let me go?”

Y/N’s pleas barely had effort behind them. Bone-deep fatigue and confusion had her bedroom fading in and out of view, and all she desired was the down quilt on her bed to sink into. Soaking in her response, Namjoon released the girl, ancient memories coming back to him and making him promptly turn on his heel. He needed to come to his senses– the dim acolyte was not the woman in those memories, no matter that those precise words had only been spoken to him only once before, under very different circumstances. He was at the door before the human could collapse onto her bed, still aroused and uncertain.

“One more piece of advice, acolyte,” Namjoon, still in the same, low tone, spoke. “Rather, a warning.”

A muffled, sad little moan came from Y/N, who was turned away on her side. She hadn’t even bothered to clean herself up, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of the air hitting the damper areas of her body and the dull agony of her fresh wounds.

“Innocence is a dangerous thing to possess around a vampire. Wise up, or you’ll be swallowed whole.”

Y/N was sick of hearing things she didn’t understand paired with threats, so she offered no verbal acknowledgement to his stupid advice. Not that Namjoon stuck around, the door shutting and leaving Y/N finally, finally alone.

Her elation over that fact was temporary. A metal tinkling sound coming from where Namjoon was just standing had her eyebrows furrowing, something heavy sliding into place resolutely. That was when Y/N bolted upright with horror, the movement opening the punctures created by Seokjin’s earlier bite.

Namjoon had locked her into the bedroom from the outside.

“You reek of cum,” Taehyung, irritated that the elder strolling into the office was late, unbathed, and had a lace bralette hanging out of his suit pants. Taehyung, bitter venom filling his mouth, stuffed his pocket watch back into the pocket of his suit vest. “Abhorrent.”

“No showers at the cabaret. Let’s get this over with,” Hoseok shrugged, not as eager to prolong a dramatic meeting of the minds after he had fucked his way through the showgirls all night.

“Sit down. I’ll make this brief,” Seokjin was all business. He spent the better part of his morning jumping down Yoongi’s throat, the artist still literally licking his wounds– tongue swiping over a bloodied– thanks to the acolyte– and torn lip.

“Where’s Namjoon?” Hoseok interrupted Seokjin, realizing the immortal that filled any room with negative energy was absent. “You’re agonizing over my lateness, Taehyung, but not his?”

“Namjoon-ah and I will talk after,” Seokjin’s temple throbbed, using a handkerchief to clean the blood from one of his rings that cut into Yoongi’s lip.

It was a gloomy, dark morning. The sun had barely even risen, so the low sources of lighting in the already moody office came from lit sconces and the fireplace. Jeongguk, by the window, tracked droplets of water coasting down the glass plane. With immortal eyes, he could detect the warps and imperfections in the hundred year old glass. It was far more entertaining than getting chewed up by Seokjin. Absently, the youngest vampire rolled up the sleeves of his cream colored sweater, caught off guard by the healthy caramel glow to his skin in contrast. He must have been walking around like a specter for too long, without a good donor.

“Yoongi has been told to keep his work to his bedroom. From now on, if he wishes to have the acolyte model, it will be contained to that space,” Seokjin began, giving Yoongi a scathing glare. Yoongi’s mind was elsewhere, the front of his button down stained with blood and muted pigments of paint.

“Well, that doesn’t seem so bad, hm? You aren’t going soft, are you, Seokjin?” Jimin, a touch tipsy from the night before and dressed in nothing but a patterned silk robe, was leafing through a first-edition copy of one of his early plays– something Hoseok collected years ago, apparently. “Hoseok! Where did you get this? You don’t even have the decency to read my tragedies, but you are comfortable stealing valuable copies?”

“Ah. That was from some gout-ridden aristocrat’s collection when we docked in Jamaica–”

“Last night will not be repeated,” Seokjin cut through the idle, infuriating chit-chat, Taehyung appearing just as relieved that the eldest was moving things along in a timely manner. “I will not allow this coven to be reduced to a pack of animals simply because of a human. I do not care if she is a tempting muse to you, an entertaining plaything, or a virgin to defile. No one is to touch the girl unless to feed.”

The silence would be considered unsettling by anybody, mortal or otherwise. Yoongi was the only one who wasn’t absolutely bewildered by the strictness of Seokjin’s order, considering he had already been briefed during his beat down. Normally, the head of the coven would let the six younger vampires toy with their acolytes as they pleased, indifferent– but not that time around.

“How are we to feed without touching her, Seokjin? Are we koi in your royal garden, waiting for you to decide when our next meal is? You had the first bite. Before now, you didn’t take issue with us having our share of fun with the acolytes,” Taehyung frowned, hands in the pockets of his suit curling into fists. “Perhaps Seokjin has decided to return to how we fed when I first joined the coven,” Jeongguk offered softly, Seokjin nodding in the slightest. A dismayed harrumph came from Jimin, who was rolling his eyes and pulling a mother-of-pearl comb through his raven hair.

Jeongguk began to remember his early days as an immortal, head tilted, and tried to flick through Seokjin’s head in curiosity. He was met with the usual iron wall that surrounded it. Seokjin raised a manicured brow, Jeongguk’s gaze returning to the window.

“So… That’s all well and good. But why are there layers to this? Yoongi can arrange her into Kama Sutra positions but we aren’t to touch her point blank?” Hoseok wasn’t exactly broken up over the fact that he wasn’t to touch the acolyte, just annoyed with the special exceptions.

“You are being dull on purpose,” Seokjin sang blandly, leaning back in his leather chair. “I meant none of you are to engage in anything sexual with her. Fledglings– and immortals with no self control, such as yourself, Hoseok– do not do well entangling themselves with acolytes such as… Y/N.”

“Such as ‘Y/N’? Elaborate?” Taehyung politely requested, leaning against the door of the office. His office, really, the one he built for his summer holidays a century ago, he noted with mild bitterness, smoothing out his tweed suit with precise pats. At wit’s end, Seokjin put his head in his hands, so exasperated he cursed in his ancient native tongue.

“Her innocence and purity draws you in like a moth to a flame, I realize that, but I’m tired of applying for new acolytes. Two things are of greater importance that deserve my attention. First, I refuse to let you all revert yourselves into baser creatures thus tarnishing our reputation, which directly affects the second pressing matter. This week, the gala we are hosting with Berwind. Everything has to go smoothly.”

“... So, we can touch her. Just not–”

“Spare me, Hoseok,” Seokjin’s voice was hoarse, strained, and he had dealt with more tumor-inducing conversations in the past 24 hours than he had in decades. “Push her around if you want, I don’t give a shit. Do not try to seduce her.”

“But she thinks we’re all so handsome,” Jeongguk murmured, half amused, half kicking the hornet’s nest. “That’s like asking us to walk around with satchels over our heads.”

“All humans think we’re handsome,” Jimin countered, bored. He’d find it an insult worthy of death if the girl didn’t revere his beauty.

“Stop whining and do as I say. You all have work to do before the gala. Taehyung, have Edmund fetch Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin snapped, the scent of mortals filling the room and making him cover his nose and mouth with a delicate palm to block it.

“Alright, ‘boss’. Let’s see how long these new rules last,” Hoseok let his fangs drip with venom. He despised being ordered around, but the benefits of remaining in the coven and under Seokjin’s protection outweighed the cons. Seokjin usually came around, especially once the human would begin to get on Seokjin’s bad side. “I’m taking a bath until dinner.”

“That means he’ll be piss drunk again,” Jeongguk pointed out, once Hoseok had ditched the room, and Yoongi slowly rose from his seat.

Yoongi had been fiddling with a filbert paint brush during the entire conversation, mind solely focused on the painting he had spent the whole night working on. As he began to excuse himself from the room, Jimin caught a hold of the tail of Yoongi’s untucked button down. Often, he’d let Jimin watch him paint; Jimin wrote screenplays while Yoongi would stretch canvases in peaceful silence. Yoongi, paying no mind to his younger covenmate, used the filbert brush to pin up his shoulder-length paint-caked locks with a fledgling anchored to the back of his shirt.

The artist was rather grateful Seokjin hadn’t torn into him as much as he could have– Yoongi chalked it up to good behavior and keeping to himself for the better half of the last century. Sure, he was agitated that Seokjin warned him to keep the Paralysis to a minimum, which was a nuisance, but perhaps it would be an artistic challenge for him. With a melodic hum, Yoongi licked the last of the blood off of his lips, eyes glowing when he and Jimin both left the office quietly.

Though, Jimin was quiet for other reasons. Like Hoseok, Jimin was a spiteful vampire. The young acolyte already proved to be the brightest spark of entertainment he had seen from humanity since Old Hollywood, the excessive comparison floating around in Jimin’s lofty mind making Jeongguk dread the upcoming few days. With that, Taehyung and Jeongguk considered themselves dismissed, Seokjin only getting a moment to recover from the theatrics before launching into somewhat of a show himself.

“Namjoon-ah, come in, please,” Seokjin, hand still dragging over his face, hadn’t the slightest explanation for Namjoon’s lapse in judgement the previous night. The sting of betrayal from somebody who quite literally died for loyalty, sacrificing his very soul, was so strong it had even Seokjin’s chest tightening.

The doors swung open, Namjoon’s powerful strides bringing him into the office in less than three steps. Unfortunately, the human girl that was ushered into the room behind her had Namjoon freezing, carmine eyes narrowing.

Y/N, who had been scrubbed utterly raw by her maids that morning as per Seokjin’s request, was currently entirely under Seokjin’s influence. From the moment her eyes opened at dawn, Seokjin could sense her panic from the bedroom above her– and to prevent any further nonsense, he mentally Compelled her to be nothing but his temporary puppet. Namjoon, as if he sensed he’d be in some hot water that morning, had his sword strapped to his broad back, his large gloved hands settling over the leather belt strapped around his hips.

“Hyung. I felt you were too lenient on her,” Namjoon began, the picture of confidence. It elicited a low chuckle from Seokjin, torn between being too fond of Namjoon and ready to exact his punishment without mercy.

“Okay, little acolyte. You can sit now,” Seokjin released Y/N from his spell only after she absently perched on a seat on the opposite side of the mahogany desk. Sucking in a deep breath, he waited for the girl to start babbling stupidly.

“OH! You,” Y/N’s fingernails cut into the upholstered chair she sagged into, one hand shooting up to the back of her neck urgently, her outrage focused on her former mental captor. If Jeongguk’s power crushed her skull, and Jimin’s bruised her marrow; Seokjin melted her very spinal cord.

“You too, Namjoon-ah, sit.”

Namjoon’s jaw worked, Seokjin staring at him through his dark curtain of eyelashes and waiting for him to ultimately obey. He always did.

“I did what I thought had to be done. She’s completely unharmed,” Namjoon impulsively came up with a half-baked excuse, Seokjin pausing with a cocked head in his palms to remember that not so long ago, Namjoon was one of the fledglings too.

“What!? Not true! Y-you! He! He locked me into the room!” Y/N exploded, pointing angrily at Namjoon like an unruly child.

“I know.”

“You’re angry I locked her in? We do that to all of the acolytes,” Namjoon scoffed, suddenly wishing he had just shown the human to her early grave when she cursed at him under her breath.

“I’m angry that you went over my head. This is unlike you, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin projected the scene of Namjoon taking the acolyte’s soaked fingers into his mouth into his mind, from Namjoon’s very own perspective. Namjoon swore, thinking Jeongguk deserved his neck wrung for daring to use his maddening mind-reading on him.

“Excuse me. Did you just say you lock in all of the acolytes?” Y/N spluttered, body sagging into the chair even further when she realized Seokjin didn’t care she was imprisoned overnight. She was ignored by both vampires coldly.

“You’re going to punish me.”

“No.”

“No?” Namjoon leaned back in his seat, settling an ankle over the opposite knee, again drilling holes into the side of the human woman’s face with a glare. None of the arousal that clung to her the night before was evident, just a cocktail of edginess and despair. “Then what, Seokjin? I’ve proved my loyalty. Perhaps I had too much to drink.”

“You’ve proved your loyalty,” Seokjin repeated in agreement, rising from his seat with his hands clasped behind his back. “Which is why I’m giving you a new task. Around the clock.”

“Okay,” Namjoon drew out the syllables of his response, Y/N wiggling in her seat like she wanted to bolt. Why was she even there? When Namjoon thought he knew Seokjin’s every move, he was proven otherwise time and time again. It must have been instinctual for an eternal crown prince to keep his subjects on their toes.

“The gala we’re hosting for Edmund Berwind is just the first of many this winter,” Seokjin began to slowly pace around the intimidatingly masculine office, Y/N comparing him to a lethal black snake circling its next meal. “Last night aside. Besides myself, Namjoon-ah, you hold the most power in the coven. This winter I have to play politics and I will not have time to make sure this acolyte stays alive in order to sustain us.”

Y/N shuddered, not needing to be a vampire to feel the electric tension steadily climbing to a fever pitch. Namjoon, pearly dust coating his tongue from grinding his teeth so intensely, fiddled with the hilt of his sword, eyes liquid red.

“What do you need from me, hyung?” Namjoon stared at Seokjin’s back, turned to him and the acolyte by a large bay window. Namjoon wondered if Seokjin was taking any pleasure in drawing things out.

“Namjoon-ah. Since you seem to take a particular interest in the little girl, I imagine that to a vampire with weaker restraint, she’s a duck sitting in a pot of potatoes and leeks,” Seokjin began, head turning slightly so Y/N could gape at his flawless side profile– his lips, nose, and long lashes were highlighted by early morning light.

“Particular interest–?”

“You’re to be her bodyguard.”

Again, there was a ghostly silence, one that Seokjin relished in. The girl was still somewhat loopy from him controlling her all morning, but Namjoon’s outright shock had Seokjin humming.

“Bodyguard? Seokjin hyung, you know I respect you. Jeongguk was a former bodyguard. He is more suited for the job. I do not want to be near this woman,” Namjoon protested sharply, unaware that that was the precise reason Seokjin selected playing bodyguard as punishment for Namjoon. Y/N, in similar fashion, recoiled and clutched her roiling gut.

“Jeongguk is the youngest fledgling,” Seokjin quickly replied, as if Namjoon was daft to even suggest such a thing. “Jeongguk also has the mind of a stunted teenager. He has tenderness that lingers. He cannot be tasked with something like this, not yet. You are to watch the acolyte and make sure she is not only protected from our guests, but the rest of the coven as well.”

“This is a test.”

“This is a warning, Namjoon!” Seokjin hissed, spinning around. “Remember yourself. Wake up, and do your job. Give me her bedroom key.”

Seokjin, in a blur, was standing above Namjoon, a palm dangling in front of the younger’s face. Namjoon’s fangs flashed, digging around in the pocket of his slacks, and offered up a gilded skeleton key with grave reluctance– almost like it was his death sentence. Smart enough to realize that she had absolutely no irons in the fire to protest, Y/N numbly watched Seokjin fashion a necklace for Namjoon out of a fine spool of wire produced from the desk, one with the key to her bedroom dangling as its grand pendant. Namjoon, still as ever, held his breath when Seokjin dropped the necklace over his head.

“Take her to the Sanctuary to pick out acolytes for Saturday evening. Bring Jeongguk to weed out the weak of mind,” Seokjin upped the ante by sending Namjoon on an errand with the acolyte, the addition of Jeongguk monitoring his thoughts no doubt sending Namjoon into murderous rage. “Keep your hands to yourself and your mouth shut, acolyte. Go.”

Dismissing the two, Namjoon’s power crackling like electricity over his knuckles, Seokjin leaned a hip on the desk, plucking up the landline receiver. Y/N’s mouth was agape at the mention of the Sanctuary– the run-down Gothic cathedral a place she never knew she could miss, but did, desperately.

While processing the possibility that she might get to see her friends once more, even if it was just to give them a proper goodbye, Y/N was yanked upwards by the back of her sweater. Namjoon had a fistful of her wool collar in his glove-clad fist, the vampire so enraged by his newly appointed ‘job’ that he didn’t even have words of malice in his vocabulary to spit back at Seokjin that could encapsulate it.

“I can walk,” Y/N righted herself with a scoff, shockingly cognizant despite everything that had already happened the first hour she was awake. Namjoon let go of her sweater, his striking face twisted up in disgust, tearing from the office like his heels were on fire.

Y/N adjusted the fit of her sweater, swallowing down her trepidation. Many things became clear to her, as she eyed Seokjin speaking to someone on the phone in a lilting foreign language. First and foremost, she had just become the most well-protected acolyte in the nation with Namjoon as her bodyguard. Second, Seokjin had not only inadvertently confirmed how necessary her well-being and survival was to not only the entire coven, but to himself as well. Y/N accepted that fear would always be there, and she’d endure moments of humiliation like she had the night prior. She’d experience pain and psychological torment. But she’d survive.

“아니, 창덕궁은 아니고–” Seokjin’s eyes flashed, angry that the acolyte was gawking at him like a dolt and not following her newly appointed bodyguard. He lowered the phone from his lips slightly, snarling a threat. “Get going, little girl, before I bite you again.”

Scowling, Y/N cupped a palm over the punctures he left in her neck, barely covered by the cut of her sweater’s collar. The vampire was still barking into the phone when one of the staff members began to shut the office doors behind Y/N, his voice carrying into the hall.

“내 생각에는 경복궁이 우리의 필요에 더 잘 맞을 것 같아요–”

The grand wooden doors cut off Seokjin’s dulcet tones effectively with a hollow clang, and paired with it, three maids surrounded her in a flurry of winter hats and coats to bundle her up.

“Oh, Nadia–” Y/N gasped, a friendly face appearing before her at long last. Her maid fastened a pair of fur earmuffs over Y/N’s head securely. “Please tell me you’ll be coming along on this errand!”

“Afraid not, Miss. Typically, I would join you, but with the gala preparations this week, I must send you with a list to take to the market. The masters will accompany you on the way to the Sanctuary,” Nadia gestured to the large ballroom overlooking the sea, dozens of staff members on their hands and knees scrubbing the marble floors. “You’ll have a merry time at the market this time of year, Miss. I’m sure the masters will treat you to a hot drink.”

Y/N thought diamonds raining from the sky seemed more likely than Namjoon or Jeongguk willingly purchasing her a treat, the latter of the two vampires unfortunately coming into her view when Nadia led her to the mansion’s front door. Y/N hadn’t seen the youngest immortal since Yoongi escorted him from the billiard’s room the night prior. Y/N’s heart was doing something funny in her chest at the sight of him, like it was taking dips and tumbles in the cavity, Jeongguk’s cream-colored sweater giving the vampire an almost innocent appearance.

“Nadia, don’t you have a scarf for the acolyte?” Jeongguk ignored the desperate desire to use Telepathy on Y/N, who was reluctantly waddling over to him with a pout on her small mouth. “It’s important for human women to keep their thyroid warm in the winter.”

Y/N coughed back an incredulous laugh, not believing for a single second that Jeongguk truly gave a rat’s ass about her thyroid. If anything, the comment gave her the creeps, shattering the angelic image he was falsely projecting.

“Yes Master Jeongguk, I have this cashmere–”

“Give it to me, Nadia,” Jeongguk cut the maid off, crooking a finger at Y/N and beckoning her forward. He snatched an oversized scarf from Nadia with graceful finesse, wrapping the material around his palms.

Y/N was at the point, so early in the morning and already tired of games, that she simply slouched her way to the captor summoning her without putting up a fight. Besides, Namjoon was probably around the corner, and Y/N knew she was pretty much invincible with him as her ‘bodyguard’. She could endure some teasing from Jeongguk, she told herself, as she anxiously focused on the faint scar on one of his cheeks.

“Here you go,” Jeongguk was murmuring pleasantly, beginning to wind the scarf around Y/N’s neck. While stiff, she maintained her composure, not wanting Jeongguk to get the best of her when he started tucking the ends of the scarf into her coat’s collar. “All bundled up, there you go.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned, sincere words coming from Jeongguk tainted by a condescending cadence. Without thinking, she brushed his knuckles away from her jawline, Jeongguk snickering and limply dropping his hand to his side.

“Developing an attitude problem now that you’ve become Seokjin’s princess?” Jeongguk stooped, his large doe eyes sparkling with youthful mischief. It made Y/N’s heart act up again. “Even Namjoon’s to be waiting on your hand and foot. Pretty nice setup, huh?”

“Isn’t it too early for this?” Y/N squinted, backing up several paces so Jeongguk’s sweet breath wasn’t wafting over her face anymore. “Sure, I have an attitude. Wouldn’t you?”

“You know, you’d make a fairly interesting immortal,” Jeongguk crossed his arms over his chest, broad back resting against a solid pillar by the front door. Y/N couldn’t hear it, but Namjoon was tearing up a training room in the basement just below their feet, picturing the martial arts foam dummy down there was the acolyte he was eviscerating with his sword.

“That… sounds like a threat. Or a death sentence,” Y/N squeaked, never considering the possibility that she herself could be turned. Jeongguk’s face split into a grin, picturing the girl frozen in time forever, pure and skittish, her eyes like rubies.

“It’s two sides of the same coin, Y/N. It’s a threat, and it would be a death sentence,” Jeongguk, all but purring, watched the wheels turn in her head. She was confused once more, her weight shifting from foot to foot. While the fledgling enjoyed her nervous response to his presence, he realized, with a frown, that the acolyte seemed to find him the most approachable amongst the coven members. He’d have to change that, swiftly. “Don’t you know how vampires are made?”

“I don’t wish to know,” Y/N quickly shook her head, striding to the grand front door in order to get a move on with the dreaded errands. Besides, Jeongguk looked far too eager to describe something unpleasant.

“Well, to start. We’d have to drain you of almost all of your blood,” Jeongguk disregarded her, not that Y/N was surprised, her fingernails scraping against the front door when thunderous footsteps pounded up a stairwell just beyond Jeongguk’s shoulder. “You’d be dying. Before you’d take your last breath, however…”

“We’re going,” Namjoon stormed by Y/N and the taunting fledgling, Y/N gulping audibly when she saw the sweat rolling down his temples and the unsheathed sword in his grasp.

Finding it the perfect opportunity to leave Jeongguk and his gory stories in the dust, Y/N made haste after Namjoon, the length of her coat’s skirt collecting dust and moisture from the previous night’s storm.

“Get in the back,” Namjoon jutted his chin towards the cushy black sedan she remembered seeing the day she met the vampires, the car already running and filling the air with silky looking exhaust.

Clamming herself up, Y/N obediently slid into the back seat of the sedan when Namjoon yanked the door open for her, a mew of awe leaving her when she landed on the soft leather booth. Taking in the cabin, Y/N traced over the vents closest to her, the glossy wood buffed to a bright shine.

“Oof–” Y/N grunted, a heavy object tossed over her lap. With a shriek, she shoved Namjoon’s sword off of her and onto the floor, relieved that it was sheathed but horrified that she was anywhere near it. Namjoon slammed the door shut, cutting the chill that was coming from outside, the sheer force of the action jolting the car around.

“Put that on the seat next to you. If you had any idea how much that was worth, you’d be kneeling on a chapel floor until you bled,” Namjoon was suddenly in the seat directly in front of her, not even turning to make eye contact when he addressed her.

With trembling hands, she lifted the sword, the scabbard made of a black lacquered wood, urgently placing it as far away as she could. There was a blood red tassel hanging off it, the strings somewhat frayed with time, and engraved inscriptions along the sides of the scabbard that Y/N could not read.

“Hoseok fucked with my seat again,” Jeongguk dropped into the driver’s seat, his fast movements a blur as he adjusted his mirrors. “You never let me finish, either, Y/N.”

Y/N wished she could go back in time and smack herself for insisting on the vampires calling her by her actual name. Something about a deadly creature knowing and using that particular intimacy felt wrong, Y/N nervously biting her lip as Jeongguk turned to pull out of the carport. Flashing his fangs at her, Jeongguk paid no attention to Namjoon burying himself in some boring book about martial arts to distract himself, the girl shrinking into her scarf for feeble protection.

“When you’re drained, taking your last breath… one of us could either kill you or wait for you to die,” Jeongguk switched the radio on, quiet hip-hop pulsing through the expensive speakers in the cabin. “Then you have to be fed.”

“What are you even talking about? How can you feed me if I’ve been murdered?” Y/N narrowed her eyes, wondering if Jeongguk thought she was slow.

“One of us would feed you immortal blood, and it would revive you as an immortal yourself. A fledgling,” Jeongguk went on as if she hadn’t poked holes in his tale, the iron gates at the front of the property swinging open to a wintery, meticulously paved street.

“Why on earth would we ever turn that pest?” Namjoon murmured blandly, the sound of his leather gloves rustling against the pages of a book again sparking Y/N’s interest. It appeared that Namjoon never actually took those gloves off, for some elusive reason. “Can’t we carry out this task in silence?”

Jeongguk chuckled, but knew not to push his luck. Namjoon was one toe out of line from taking his frustrations out on bystanders at the market, which would be a pain to clean up. He settled into his seat and rolled down the windows, his skin sensitive to the elements with the acolyte’s blood nourishing it. As cool rain ran over his forearm, Jeongguk smirked to himself– it was only a matter of time until Jimin would be requesting pints of the acolyte’s blood to dump in his nightly bath. He was ripped from his thoughts of Jimin bathing in a marble pool of crimson when the girl actually dared to speak, almost mocking Namjoon’s final comment.

“Why on earth would I ever want to be turned? I’m already chained to you for the rest of my human life. To be trapped with you in immortality would be an eternal hell that I would have no escape from. Not even death would be kind to me.”

“Hosting parties here in the winter is something I never envisioned during construction,” Taehyung wound the silver chain to his pocket watch around his wrist, a line of maids brushing by with armfuls of holiday decorations. “It was intentionally designed for summer parties, keeping outsiders out.”

“You’ve mentioned that before, Master Taehyung. Especially during the winter holidays. You must detest them,” Edmund managed to keep up with his immortal employer by breaking into a near jog, scratching down a list of to-do’s as he went. The old butler had a weight lifted off his shoulder that morning, the acolyte off-property and out of the lion’s den, at least for a while.

“The loggias open to the lawn and gardens. They’re useless in the winter. We should be hosting in the New York townhouses,” Taehyung continued to complain, using the butler as a sounding board.

“Shall I order the evergreens today?”

Taehyung sighed, his delicate nose wrinkling up as he imagined the sappy, pungent smell of Christmas trees permeating through his estate. From where he was in the great hall, he could simply tilt his head just so, and with vampiric vision he could make out every brushstroke painted onto the ceiling fifty feet into the sky. Similarly, his hearing picked up every whisper from the servants in the hall, their heartbeats, and the continuous ticking of his pocket watch. Passing a hand over his gelled curls, Taehyung resumed his lap around the first floor.

“I suppose. I cannot believe Seokjin put me on decorating duty. He can be such a… prince,” Taehyung frowned deeply, mulling over how he had managed to get himself in that spot.

Sure, Taehyung was still a ‘fledgling’, but he was older than Jeongguk, who was actually permitted to take the acolyte on a trip to town with Namjoon. Classic Seokjin, showing favoritism for both the youngest vampire and the second-in-command. It made Taehyung want to spit venom onto the floor, but he always considered himself a gentleman, so he swallowed it down with a wince.

“Like the holidays, Master, you seem to detest town, too,” Edmund, with mild amusement, made sure to prioritize Taehyung’s preferences for the decor– if he didn’t follow the businessman's directions to the letter, there would be cruel and unusual punishments. “Perhaps he was sparing you from the throngs of people asking for your audience.”

“Do not kiss my ass, Edmund,” Taehyung peered down through his thick lashes, hands stuffed in his pockets. There was no bite to his words, Taehyung actually appreciating Edmund’s discreet and meticulous work over the years, but he still had to maintain his immortal authority. “Seokjin picks punishments that create a slow torture, ones that unravel a person. I didn’t do too much to offend this time, but I still have to handle ‘festivities’ when I’d rather focus on the business.”

“I heard…” Edmund’s cerulean eyes darted around the hall before he and the fledgling reached the secluded grotto beneath the marble staircase. “Namjoon has been appointed as a sort of bodyguard to the acolyte.”

“Wherever did you hear that, old friend?” Taehyung grinned maliciously, stooping to get a good look at the elderly human. After years of being worn down without losing his mind, Taehyung didn’t mind that Edmund possessed an agenda, as long as it wasn’t conflicting with his own. “Eavesdropping again?”

“Simply trying to get up to speed on how things will be working from now on,” Edmund, even with his years of service, always preferred to deal with the vampires when they had recently fed, their appearances closer to humans than the ghoulish, starving versions of themselves. Presently, Taehyung appeared like a healthy young man that stepped forward in time from the Gilded Age. “You don’t mind filling me in, do you?”

“Namjoon cannot tolerate humans, especially ones that lack the intelligence of the world. Being a bodyguard to one is the ultimate punishment for him, so he must have royally fucked up somehow. Jeongguk is the only one who knows how Namjoon fucked up other than Seokjin, which is why he’s driving Namjoon around. Insult to injury. That, and Seokjin is testing Jeongguk’s self-control, which will wear thin quickly.”

Taehyung knelt on one knee, dipping his hand into the chest pocket of his vest. Using a Prussian blue handkerchief, the silk slippery when he used it to polish a spot of marble making up the basin of the grotto beneath the main staircase.

“Forcing Yoongi to paint without Paralysis is torture for him. Being barred from playing his little games is no doubt leading up to a spell of hysteria from Jimin,” Taehyung folded the handkerchief with care, then tested the febrile water bubbling in the grotto with a satisfied hum. “As for Hoseok… Well, he escalated things with his vulgarities last night. Seokjin’s response was to send him to local churches to keep up on our donations.”

“Which leaves dealing with the cabaret to you,” Edmund, though considered to be ‘old’ for a human, was quite sharp. Taehyung hated many things: tardiness, interacting with extroverts, dealing with party planning, but most of all, Taehyung despised lowly human perversions.

“Come sundown I’ll be at a cattle auction hosted in a brothel,” Taehyung grunted, straightening up and trying to hide his surprise that his limbs moved so fluidly. “No use in fighting it. Seokjin is manipulative, but it is how we have stayed powerful for so long.”

“Manipulative? That is one of the kindest ways you have described me in decades, Taehyung,” Seokjin, melting into the crooks and nannies of the vast estate, made his presence known, the head chef cowering behind the eldest vampire. “You’ve hardly finished coordinating decorations. You wouldn’t have to traipse around the red-light district after sundown if you lit a fire under your ass.”

“Are you implying that I’m lazy?” Taehyung scoffed incredulously, Edmund excusing himself to ‘order the evergreens’. “The greatest businessman in history. Lazy?”

“The greatest businessman in American history. You still brag about your achievements like a petulant child of nepotism,” Seokjin glanced at the clipboard the head chef was holding with trembling hands, pointing at something and clicking his tongue. Taehyung felt his skin rippling, like Glamor was trying to turn him into a demon with leathery skin. “Leave the rest to Edmund and just go to the cabaret now.”

“Hoseok usually handles the cabaret. What am I even supposed to be negotiating in that cesspool?”

“You’re supposed to be picking out entertainment for the lecherous variety of guests that will be here this week. Must I spell it out for you?” Seokjin was out of sight as soon as he was in it, ordering the chef around again. “Has anyone unpacked the crates of liquor yet–”

Taehyung’s face split into a disbelieving grin, a rough chuckle tearing through his chest. There were days Taehyung longed for Seokjin’s power and influence, and moments where reality struck him. With his skin still threatening to take on the appearance of something otherworldly– beyond his control– could Taehyung even wield the power it took to head a vampiric coven properly?

Glancing around the grand summer home he painstakingly designed for himself a lifetime ago, Taehyung sighed as he began to transform himself into a man who no one would recognize in the streets. Not only a widely known vampire in town, but the businessman who put Newport, Rhode Island on the map many years ago, Taehyung morphed into the perfect replica of the young man handing him his car keys– who stumbled sideways in shock when he saw a clone of himself staring back.

Gentle, fuzzy orchestral music played loudly enough to have bottles of turpentine rattling against each other, Yoongi groaning from behind the wet canvas he was agonizing over. A pile of discarded palettes sat at his feet, unsatisfactory swatches of colors smeared all over the plastic heightening his aggravation. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the shade of the acolyte’s hair just right.

“On the average day, I admire your process. Judging by appearances, you’ve deviated from that process. Where am I to sit, your lap?” Jimin returned from his ‘break’ from writing in Yoongi’s bedroom to take a leisurely two-hour long bath, dressed in his typical satin attire.

Yoongi, out of pure frustration, launched a palette knife across the room and out of the half-cracked bay window. It was true: at least fifteen canvases in various sizes were tossed about the room, paint still tacky and smudged, the fabric tarp protecting the Oriental carpets caked was in pigments, and not even Yoongi’s bed– where Jimin typically lounged to pen down his screenplays– had a free spot where a box of supplies didn’t occupy. Yoongi himself looked like a trainwreck, long glossy hair gathered into a ragged knot at the back of his head, reeking of paint thinner, and clothes basically destroyed by the mediums he was using.

Jimin, slightly mournful that his silk pajamas were going to be ruined, dropped himself onto one of Yoongi’s thighs, raising an eyebrow at Yoongi’s agitated expression. Usually, he would have pushed Jimin off by then, too wrapped up in what he was painting to endure Jimin’s flirting. Blinking, Jimin turned his head, leaning forward on Yoongi’s thigh to get a look at the painting causing the older vampire so much grief.

His work was as fine as ever. In fact, Jimin had half a mind to smack Yoongi across the face. Of course, the painting was of the acolyte, but it portrayed her taking a sip from a champagne flute during the previous night’s dinner. The colors were vibrant and lifelike, and the acolyte was so well depicted that Jimin could imagine the girl stepping out of the canvas. Yoongi even managed to capture how beautiful the ruby necklace Jimin picked out for the acolyte was, which made Jimin spring up from his perch and place his hands on his hips.

“You’re being ridiculous. How could you possibly be unhappy with that portrait?” Jimin accused, the cloud over Yoongi’s head darkening. “The hair isn’t right,” Yoongi murmured, plucking up another tube of paint to lighten the tones on the top of the acolyte’s head, where the chandelier picked up on her natural highlights. “I can’t get it right without her here.”

“Well, she’s playing with others right now. It’s not your turn,” Jimin snarked, finding the notebook he was using for his latest screenplay under an old smock Yoongi only used to wipe paint from his hands. “Besides, is she Botticelli’s Venus? How complicated can her hair color possibly be?”

“You were too preoccupied with how her tits spilled out of the top of her dress to notice her hair,” Yoongi went for a petty low blow, which was unlike him. Jimin paused, clutching his notebook to his chest and studying his elder for a moment.

Jimin always thought Yoongi was beautiful, but when Yoongi found a new muse, he glowed and took on something angelic. However, that particular time his glow was dimmed, thanks to Seokjin’s restrictions on Yoongi’s access to his newfound muse, and stress brought on by perfectionism was extinguishing the light almost completely.

“You haven’t been this neurotic about details since the portraits you worked on for Marilyn Monroe, and that acolyte is nowhere near that level of femme fatale,” Jimin cocked his head, perturbed that Yoongi wasn’t giving him the time of day. He couldn’t have that. “Yoongi, put the blasted paint down.”

With practiced ease, Jimin used a stronger dose of Hypnosis on Yoongi than he did the acolyte. Yoongi, promptly, felt his filbert brush clatter to the ground, a gritty purr coming from the artist. He didn’t have the patience to entertain Jimin that day, but it seemed Jimin had other ideas, pushing the palette out of Yoongi’s grasp and using a crooked finger to tilt his chip up.

“Release me, Jimin,” Yoongi narrowed his eyes, his ancient bones aching from Hypnosis wrapping around them. “You do not need to Hypnotize me to gain my attention.”

“Clearly that’s not the case,” Jimin snapped, letting go of his elder covenmate and withdrawing his power slowly. “You’re completely consumed. She’s your latest muse.”

Jimin watched, with an almost human interest, blood pool in Yoongi’s cheeks. When a vampire has fed, within moments the mortal blood revives the stagnant vampiric blood– black in color– and the immortal’s body is restored to its height of health. Essentially, the mortal and vampiric blood become one; the blush across Yoongi’s cheeks was something Jimin had not seen in at least fifteen years. It was worse than he thought.

“I would not go that far… muse…” Yoongi looked away, out the window and towards the sea. “No. Just a new subject to paint.”

“Sure,” Jimin scoffed, bored suddenly. With a huff, he meanly pushed a stack of sketchbooks off of Yoongi’s bed with a bare foot, collapsing on his side and cracking open his leather bound manuscripts-in-progress. “I have no issues admitting the acolyte has inspired my work. You know I’ve suffered from a block lately. Your stubbornness vexes me.”

“If it ‘vexes’ you so much, go entertain yourself with the girl’s maids. Pick out her wardrobe for the week and leave me in peace,” Yoongi retrieved his paint brush from the floor, using featherlight pressure to diffuse the harsh lines making up a lock of hair on the acolyte’s head. “Turn down the music while you’re at it.”

“Cold,” Jimin grinned, one of his fangs piercing through the cap of his pen once he brought it to his mouth. “Turn the music down yourself. I’m comfortable now.”

It was diverting to bicker with Yoongi, who usually behaved like a mute hermit living in the mountains– the artist could stoop to a level of sarcasm that Jimin perfected before he even became immortal. Yoongi grunted noncommittally, only breaking away from his canvas for a moment in order to slam the radio off, built-up strength in his limbs due to Paralysis begging to be used.

Yoongi couldn’t remember what it was like to work without Paralysis. In the beginning, when Yoongi was a young, human man, he took any menial job he could to keep him off the streets of Tuscany. Not once, prior to meeting his mentor, did Yoongi allow himself the luxury of dream of being a fine artist. He was too busy exterminating vermin that often holed up in his ramshackle one-room thatched-roof mud hut while he was selling fruits in an open air market to have dreams. Yoongi shook out his arms and legs, the sounds of Jimin scrawling his loopy cursive over parchment grating on his delicate ears.

“Are you writing a play or a movie script?” Yoongi mumbled, jealous that Jimin’s creativity seemed to be flowing like a babbling brook. The jealousy spiked when Jimin flipped through his notebook, revealing that he had written what seemed to be two different productions already– Paralysis started to stiffen Yoongi’s own body spitefully.

“Actually, I wrote a ballet and a short horror film. Working on something more classical now, a novel… think Mary Shelley…”

“You wrote a ballet,” Yoongi confirmed flatly, Jimin giggling and setting his pen down to tease an obviously envious Yoongi. “When was the last time you even danced ballet, let alone create a show?”

“Just because you’ve stopped dropping by during my practice times, doesn’t mean I’ve quit, Yoongi,” Jimin, in a singsong voice, rolled over on his stomach to kick his legs in the air, already envisioning complicated choreography and elaborate, decadent costumes gracing worldwide stages. “Enough of this. Take a walk, you’re distracting me.”

Jimin, with glee, returned to his manuscript, loving that he could gloat. Sure, a part of him– a part the size of perhaps a grain of rice– that felt bad for Yoongi, but it was so overshadowed by centuries of immortal narcissism that Jimin didn’t even realize that part of him still existed.

“You’re the eldest fledgling, but you behave like the youngest. Disgraceful. Messy,” Yoongi changed the subject, kneeling to the floor by the bed. Face level with Jimin, Yoongi tilted his head. “Hedonistic.”

“I’m a vampire, Yoongi,” Jimin didn’t spare his elder a glance, and even though he was writing at a nearly impossible to see speed, no ink stained his sturdy fingertips. “Maybe you should lean into your nature like you used to, and you’ll paint something actually worth viewing.”

“You’re suggesting I ignore Seokjin’s orders.”

“Since when have you obeyed them? Seokjin gives you a rather long leash because you’re boring. He gave you an out. He doesn’t care if you Paralyze the acolyte, he just wants it contained to this bedroom. If anything, that should excite you,” Jimin put down his pen, fangs on display when his mischievous smile returned. With a manicured nail, he scraped umber pigment off of Yoongi’s cheek, directly below one of his eyes.

Yoongi considered this, letting the fledgling remove paint from his face and hair, something dark and twisted steeping into his system. Jimin was absolutely right, and it pained Yoongi to admit that to himself. Since when had he been so idle?

“Jeongguk accused me of lacking risk…”

“Normally, I’d tell you not to listen to that cretin. But the point remains,” Jimin curled his lip up in disgust, picturing the brute youngest fledgling, who had none of the artistic proclivities he and Yoongi shared.

Yoongi seemed to be processing things, his eyes almost wine-colored as he stared at Jimin. At one point, there was a time Yoongi couldn’t stop painting him; the round false innocence of his cheeks and lips, his graceful dancer’s figure. It then dawned on him, his entire expression brightening, which had Jimin halting his task of removing Yoongi’s turpentine-soaked oxford shirt.

“Sit in next time. Model with her,” Yoongi grasped onto one of Jimin’s wrists, his sharp nails cutting into the fledgling’s creamy skin. A trickle of blood, a shade of pinot noir, slid down his wrist bone: the shade of Jimin and the acolyte entwined.

“Oh?” Jimin’s grin only widened seductively. “There’s the risk that made your fortune.”

Reinvigorated, Yoongi let Jimin shrug off his grip, the playwright dragging his tongue over the crescent-shaped cuts marring his perfect skin. As Yoongi stood, his shirt dropped to the floor, his chest the only part of his body spared from paint splatters.

“After the gala, when Seokjin is less concerned with appearances to the outside world, we’ll see how a session goes,” Yoongi turned, raking a hand through his filthy hair. Under his nose, Jimin was slyly using the callbox to fetch a staff member to run another hot bath. “Just the three of us.”

Yoongi frowned at the idea of Jimin inviting Hoseok– who enjoyed partaking in some of Jimin’s twisted, sometimes perverted, games. Sniffing indignantly, Jimin got the message loud and clear.

“Well, Hoseok can–”

Jimin was swiftly shut down when Yoongi was hovering over him again, his wrist recaptured. Body loosening deliciously when Paralysis washed over him, Jimin watched Yoongi plant a large palm beside him on the bed, trapping the fledgling in place.

“Just the three of us.”

Yoongi repeated himself firmly, squeezing Jimin’s wrist enough to have his breath catch, and without a smart retort, Yoongi smirked at the blood flowing from his cuts. Almost like he was consummating a grave, corrupted promise, Yoongi wrapped his lips around the wounds he created, sampling both the fledgling and the human girl as if it was the fountain of youth. Outside, thunder cracked down over the glacial sea, disguising blissful, selfish sighs.

“Miss? You seem distracted this afternoon,” Juliana’s voice is what cut through the fog, Y/N absently gazing into the polished silver mirror.

Her cheeks had filled out with the consistent rich foods she was being fed around the clock. There was no attention paid by her to the butterfly needle sticking out of her arm, drawings now a daily– sometimes twice daily– occurrence. Y/N suspected that the blood bags were delivered bedroom to bedroom like room service, and though she hated needles, her maids drawing her blood was much better than teeth in her neck.

It had been a couple of days since her outing with the two vampires, and Y/N felt herself moving through her life like a mechanical part of something much larger. It was the afternoon of the great ‘gala’ that the coven was throwing, which meant Y/N was roused from her bed prior to sunrise for a hasty breakfast before being manicured to perfection.

It was a miracle, but the vampires had mostly left her alone after she had returned from the Sanctuary with Namjoon and Jeongguk. With convenient bags of her blood for them to feed on, it really wasn’t necessary for the coven to interact with her. In fact, other than Namjoon’s constant presence lurking in her shadow, the only other vampire she had to speak with was Seokjin, who gave her a detailed list of how to behave at the gala.

Y/N didn’t know why she even had to be present during the event. She would have much preferred holing up in her bedroom with perhaps a book all night. Wincing when Juliana pulled the needle from her arm, Y/N cleared her throat, eagerly spreading a soothing ointment over the injection site.

“Miss?”

“Hm?” Y/N shivered, fingers twisting into the fur blanket draped over her lap. Y/N had become intimately familiar with the vanity she was sitting in front of; sometimes, she swore she saw spirits in the silver mirror. “Sorry?”

“I mentioned that you seem distracted. Perhaps anticipation for the gala? The decorations look glorious,” Juliana was merry, all of the staff was, but it hardly rubbed off on Y/N. She had never been to any kind of party, and not knowing what to expect had her stomach turning.

“Oh… yes. Anticipation,” Y/N lied, drawing the corner of her mouth up into a half-smile. Dressed in only a silk nightgown, Y/N too consumed by her anxiety to bother covering up her nipples peeking through the fabric, she was spun around on her stool. Her bed was littered with gowns, all shades of cream or off-white. “What am I wearing?”

Another thing Y/N got used to, much like Namjoon keeping close tabs on her even if he wasn’t physically present, was Jimin picking out her clothes. Not just outfits for dinner, but her daily attire as well, down to the jewelry and shoes. Y/N no longer had much agency at all, and that was revealed to her when she was taken to the Sanctuary.

Two Days Prior to the Gala

Y/N had a lump forming in her throat when Jeongguk pulled his car into the Sanctuary’s gravel drive, the stone cathedral exactly how she remembered it just a week ago. Her legs were still cold from walking around the market, where she was treated like a ball-and-chain by the two vampires in the front seat. She was correct, earlier: there were several stands serving hot chocolate to the wealthy citizens of Newport, but neither Namjoon or Jeongguk offered to purchase one for her, even if it was to stop the chattering of her teeth.

Jeongguk was sent into various shops by Namjoon, who remained by Y/N’s side on the cobblestone sidewalks. At one point, while Jeongguk was inside a flower shop ordering centerpieces, Y/N strayed all but three feet away from Namjoon to take a look at a stall selling roasted chestnuts. It had been a mistake: Y/N was yanked backwards promptly, and the rest of the time spent at the market involved her being led around like a dog on a leash– Namjoon dragging her by the scarf around her neck.

In a blur she could hardly understand, Y/N was toted from the backseat and began to chase after Namjoon before he could choke her with her own scarf. The Sanctuary was unchanged, and though it had been just shy of a week, Y/N took in the sights of the front drive like it was brand new to her. Instinctively, when she spotted Mrs. Sloane at the entrance, Y/N flinched sharply into a solid body beside her– Jeongguk– and at that moment, she didn’t know who she’d rather be left alone with.

“I–I thought vampires could not come onto Sanctuary grounds,” Y/N breathed, thinking of Meredith and how horrified she’d be to know that two wolves were amongst the lambs.

“Quiet, AB-. I see you continue to flap your gums despite the honor you were bestowed,” Mrs. Sloane greeted Y/N in the only way the old woman probably knew how: nastily. While Namjoon simply copied the stone gargoyles beside the entrance, still, Jeongguk snickered at Y/N’s scolding. “Good day, Masters. It has been some time since we have had the pleasure.”

Y/N wanted to bust a gut like a rabid hyena. Jeongguk appeared increasingly smug, puffing out his chest importantly, while Namjoon simply adjusted the fit of his leather gloves.

“We’ve gathered a group of acolytes for you to choose from for your gala.”

Y/N’s friends and acquaintances. With a wobbly lower lip, she and the two vampires were led to a detached office building beside the Sanctuary, where only wardens were permitted to enter.

“You believe that moronic propaganda? Did you think we’d burst into flames stepping foot on sacred ground?” Jeongguk leaned forward, his voice floating over Y/N’s shoulder, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Promptly ignoring him, Y/N edged closer to Mrs. Sloane of all people. Though Mrs. Sloane had treated her like livestock, she still had her humanity.

The room the three of them were led to was quite large, perhaps the size of a gymnasium, and it was apparently treated like a storage room. There were boxes of incense and votive candles stacked everywhere, as well as phlebotomy equipment. Jeongguk, with amusement, rifled through a box of tourniquets.

“Bring them in,” Mrs. Sloane barked towards an open door, the acid in Y/N’s stomach steadily climbing up her throat when she heard shuffling.

A handful of acolytes, mostly from the AB+ group, were pushed into the room hastily in a rush of white linens. The sight of the bleached and starched clothing Y/N used to wear day in and day out had her feeling dizzy, and if things couldn’t get any worse, an acolyte no older than seven was part of the group as well.

“The acolyte beside you is the only one in the area with AB- blood. We’ve brought in all of our AB+ and B- typed acolytes, for your choosing. The head of your coven requested how many–?”

“Fifteen.”

Just one word was the first thing Namjoon uttered since they arrived, and the sharpness of his tone had even Mrs. Sloane stiffening. Y/N, helpless, squirmed in place as the acolytes she had lived with for years stared at her like a Hollywood star. She must have been something to behold; dressed in a fine designer coat, matching cashmere mittens and scarf, and well groomed and fed. Y/N didn’t realize how starved for nutrients she truly was, as she noticed the lack of color in the other acolyte’s complexions, the thinness of their cheeks.

“Remove the children from the room,” Namjoon crossed his arms over his chest, his sword tucked into the crook of his elbow. “Feeding on children is a waste of time and energy.”

“Yes, Master,” Mrs. Sloane snapped her fingers, and Y/N sagged in relief when four acolytes under the age of eighteen were escorted back to safety. “Now… how will you select the group of fifteen?”

Namjoon’s jaw clenched, lips pursing, as he scanned the line of humans cowering in fear and awe. None of them had the same perfume-scented blood Y/N had, but Namjoon was expecting that. He really didn’t care either way which acolytes were picked, it wasn’t like Namjoon himself was going to be feeding from them.

“I have an idea,” Jeongguk, who Y/N temporarily forgot was even present, dropped a pack of blood tubes onto the concrete floor and stepped forward. Trying not to budge, Y/N’s breath caught when Jeongguk hummed and looked her way. “Y/N, you go ahead and pick them out of us.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open. Jeongguk wanted her to select people she grew up with for hordes of vampires to feed on at a party? Once aware that the coven she was placed with held little humanity, it was revealed that they had none. Jeongguk’s expression was positively delighted, taking in Y/N’s abject horror.

“Go ahead, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane encouraged, her tone dripping with either jealousy or spite. Y/N thought if Mrs. Sloane wanted to serve vampires so badly, perhaps she should have taken her career to the cabaret. “Make haste. These acolytes have work to do, unlike yourself.”

“I cannot choose,” Y/N breathed, the twinkle in Jeongguk’s eyes brightening when she shrunk backwards. The acolytes in front of her began to murmur, as disobeying orders from a vampire was a serious offense. “Please, don’t make me…”

“Very well,” Jeongguk grabbed her by the shoulder, making her look directly into his soulless eyes. Y/N knew what was coming before Jeongguk even entered her mind, her skull starting to pound as he sorted through memories. “Warden. We’ll take the thirteen healthiest in this room.”

Y/N’s lower lip was wobbling again, noises all around of people being shuffled to and fro.

“That’s two short–”

“Find me the acolyte Joseph. Y/N will be pleased to see him at the gala, no? And…” Jeongguk held up his hand to cut Mrs. Sloane off, eyes narrowing playfully when he found what he was looking for. Y/N frantically began to shake her head and chant ‘no’, but it was far too late. “The pretty blonde girl with the princess curls. Meredith.”

The memory had Y/N’s anxiety spiking acutely. Agonizing for days over the fact that her inability to fulfill Jeongguk’s request resulted in putting her friends in danger, she hardly got much sleep. Juliana meticulously hid her dark circles behind a skin tone matched concealer, and despite the inner wars she was fighting, Y/N’s appearance was sparkly and flawless.

Skimming a hand over one of the gossamer dresses laying on the bed, nausea reared its ugly head. The cream color of the garment had her thinking about the uniforms of the acolytes. While Juliana was busy comparing the gowns to one another, Y/N began to pace slowly, trying to come up with some elaborate scheme to save her friends. When contemplating escape routes and disguises, Y/N got a whiff of sea salt and cedarwood. A pleasant smell, yes, but one Y/N had just begun to associate with a particular immortal.

“Are you trying to pace your way through the floor, ma chérie?” Hoseok was in her doorframe once more, and apparently Seokjin had managed to convince him to wear a suit. It was the most dressed up Y/N had ever seen him, and she hated to admit to herself that he looked good in pressed black pants. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

Y/N looked down, her silk nightgown skimming her thighs and hugging parts of her body too closely. Swiftly, she wrapped her arms around herself to shield from Hoseok’s greedy roaming eyes. Hoseok loved to act falsely concerned about Y/N and her well being, but Y/N quickly found out that all Hoseok was was a drunken lech. In fact, once Y/N got over the size of the watch on his slim wrist, she saw the bottle of rum he was taking swigs from.

“Do you not like the dresses Jimin picked out for you? How rude,” Hoseok tore his gaze from the swell of the girl’s hips to get a look at the gaudy gowns littered around the room. Turning up his nose, he scoffed at the selection. “It’s like he’s trying to turn you into Dracula’s bride.”

“I hate the color white,” Y/N blurted out, her maids all stopping what they were doing to gape at her. During the handful of incidents when Y/N dared to complain to the vampires, staff was not around. “The acolytes. We always had to wear white linens. I never wish to wear the color again.”

“Do you?” Hoseok purred, setting his rum onto one of her nightstands. Running his tongue over his fangs, Hoseok found the human girl’s terrible filter entertaining. “Then don’t wear white. Simple as that.”

“What?” Y/N stopped pacing, gawking at Hoseok like he grew a second head. He couldn’t be serious, Y/N’s brief astonishment washing away into suspicion at a hat’s drop.

“Don’t wear white, chérie. There’s a storage room in the basement stuffed with gowns flown in from every fashion capital in the world, all tailored to your size. What color do you want to wear?” Hoseok liked to play with his food, and the sickly-sweet tablespoon of hope directed towards him from the human girl was enough to keep up the ‘nice guy’ act.

“Are you toying with me?” Y/N saw through the act, drinking in his sharp jawline and alcohol reddened cheeks. “Won’t… Master Jimin be upset?”

“Jimin will survive. He’ll pout, but he can’t help his melodramatic tendencies. So pick a color, Y/N,” Hoseok grew impatient, the friendly act starting to become forced.

Y/N, still processing the unnatural consideration from Hoseok, studied the vampire. He was just as handsome as all the others, in an almost elvish way, his features angular. Truly, he was a vision– even down to his sun-weathered hands. Her mind then went to colors, but all the vibrant hues dancing through her mind made her frown.

“Black.”

“Fitting,” Hoseok shook his head, snapping his fingers. “Juliana, fetch the girl her black dresses. The rest of you, get rid of anything remotely off-white in her closet. Happy, chérie?”

“Why do you talk like that?” Y/N spoke through the flurry of her maids tripping over their feet to fulfill Hoseok’s request, the vampire’s drawl odd to Y/N’s ears.

“Are you referring to my accent?” Hoseok raised a brow, plucking up his bottle of rum again. “I’ve spent centuries in New Orleans, pet. I believe humans call it a Southern drawl.”

Y/N nodded without understanding. The furthest south Y/N ever went was Little Compton, which was still in the state of Rhode Island. Taking a swig of his rum, Hoseok smirked as the beginnings of trust in him began to form in the acolyte’s head. Before she could go completely schoolgirl on him, Hoseok began to take his leave with a threat filling the air.

“By the way, chérie. I believe you’ve forgotten I can predict your every move. You will not successfully take yourself and your friends away from here tonight. I can Track you to the ends of the Earth.”

Despite the fact that it was November, Y/N ended up selecting a sleeveless, short floaty dress made of chiffon. The garment was unlike anything she had ever seen, rippled fabric attachments slipping over her elbows, and it displayed some of the parts of her body she was growing fond of: her legs and chest. After Hoseok’s reminder that she was trapped, instead of cowering in fear, Y/N decided to play the game.

It was futile to try and escape. It was dangerous to try and help her friends. What Y/N could do was exploit some of the weaknesses of the coven– hence the sultry dress– and keep one eye on her friends during the gala, if possible. Wrapping her hand around the banister she was guided to by Juliana, Y/N took a moment to look down at the bustling, decked-out great hall.

Pine trees studded with multicolored lights outlined the hall, and the empty room was transformed into a festive holiday party. Cocktail tables were placed, candles and trays of libations placed on top, and there was an orchestra clumped in one corner of the room playing lively music. The fires roaring had the room feeling quite toasty, but the sight of dozens of vampires milling around in finery has a shiver rolling down her spine. With the cursory glance, Y/N did not spot Sanctuary whites, which had her heart sinking. Clearing her throat, Y/N rolled her shoulders back and began her descent down the red carpeted staircase.

Mingle, but do not say anything moronic. Eat, drink, dance. Do not cause any kind of scene. Do not let vampires touch you outside of the coven. You are here as an accessory. Do not embarrass us.

Seokjin’s voice entered her mind, Y/N miraculously not tripping down the stairs in her stilettos, turning her chin to the side. Near the center of the room, Seokjin was speaking to a vampire that physically appeared to be in his late forties. His short hair was swept off his forehead, and he was in a fine tuxedo that Y/N had no doubt cost a small fortune. A strong hand pinching a champagne glass, Y/N watched him actually smile at the vampire he was talking to, but the grin never quite reached his carmine eyes.

“Oh! Thank you,” Y/N was approached by a staff member almost as soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, handing her a glass of bubbly. In one go, Y/N drained the flute, and it was replaced with a fresh one straight away. Glossed lips wrapping around the glass, her eyes narrowed when Jimin started slinking towards her. “Here we fucking go…”

“Dove, that’s not what I chose for you,” Jimin cocked his head, the buttons on his shirt loose and revealing his jutting collar bones. “Though… this is quite the choice, too.”

Jimin dragged his eyes up and down the girl’s figure, which was softer and curvier than it was just a week ago. Mouth filled with venom, Jimin giggled and threaded an arm through the girl’s, reveling in her stiffness when he started to pull her through the crowd.

“That there is Sarah Berwind. She’s the guest of honor’s wife,” Jimin pointed to an elegant female vampire, dressed in a midnight blue gown. Her silvery blonde hair reminded her of Meredith, though when the vampire turned her head, there were kohl-lined red eyes giving her a reality check. “Over there, a few artists Yoongi invited. Yuki, the lovely woman in gold, she made her fortune in jewelry…”

Y/N didn’t particularly care about any of the vampires Jimin was pointing out. Her focus was solely on finding her friends, to somehow protect them from excessive harm. She knew Meredith was probably beside herself. Her attention was stolen when Jimin came to a stop, near the edge of the room. Jimin had led her straight to Yoongi at the edge of the cleared dancefloor. Y/N blamed Yoongi entirely for Seokjin assigning Namjoon to her as a bodyguard. The artist was listening to a gangly looking vampire, Yoongi’s long hair glossy under all of the lights.

“So this is your newest source of inspiration. Bellissima,” the gangly vampire drank her in, Y/N’s skin crawling as his eyes lingered over her breasts. “I hear you are to begin modeling with Mr. Park here.”

Y/N was lucky she had been practicing her poker face all night. She had not a semblance of an idea of what the vampire was talking about, but the thought of sitting with Jimin for hours in various poses made her want to vomit into a passing by champagne bucket. Yoongi’s expression was stormy when she didn’t reply right away, Y/N translating the look into a warning.

“Yes, sir. I can hardly wait,” Y/N lied, her voice high and sweet. Yoongi, stone faced, thought the girl was laying it on too thickly, but the dolt of an immortal beside him bought the lie instantly. Fledglings. “When are we to start modeling, again, Master Yoongi?”

“Wow. Your coven still has acolytes using titles?”

“Our coven is old-school, and that’s the way it should be. That’s all, Damien,” Yoongi waved a hand, the vampire Damien sucking his teeth but getting the hint. He disappeared into the crowd. “You do not have to be a sarcastic little bitch, acolyte.”

“Excuse me?” Y/N squeaked like she was slapped, Jimin laughing and stroking the back of her head.

“Your behavior tonight is being watched. I suggest you hold your honeyed tongue,” Yoongi’s voice was gruff and low, and Y/N could feel it in her chest. Before she could respond, the music cut off, and someone was clinking a knife against a glass.

“Welcome to The Breakers. The orchestra has composed a waltz for tonight, and I’d like to invite you all to the dance floor,” Seokjin, the perfect picture of geniality, addressed the partygoers. “As the designer of this estate, Taehyung Kim will be leading the dance, accompanied by our coven’s acolyte.”

Y/N’s head swiveled like a barn owl’s, dozens of pairs of vampiric eyes were on her. Seokjin’s wicked smile finally reached his eyes, knowing Y/N would be mortified by the spectacle. The silence deafening, Jimin’s arm was replaced, that time by an arm clad in familiar tweed. Taehyung, with his shiny gelled waves, peered down at her impassively.

“I do not know how to dance the waltz,” Y/N panicked, knowing that every immortal in the room could hear her strained whisper into Taehyung’s ear.

“You will,” Taehyung murmured darkly, and Y/N’s spine went rigid when a new skill was downloaded into her head from Seokjin. If Seokjin could simply Compell knowledge into her head on a moment’s notice, what else could he make her believe?

In the center of the dance floor, Y/N knew exactly how to stand, effortlessly collecting Taehyung’s broad palm, her free hand sliding up the lapel of his grey jacket and resting over his sluggishly beating heart. Like he had done thousands of times before, Taehyung slung his forearm around the small of Y/N’s back. Without further ado, the orchestra struck up a swelling, vibrant tune, and they were off. Y/N didn’t even have to think as her feet moved in time with her partner, maintaining eye-contact as they danced across the floor. In mere seconds, couples of vampires joined the two of them, so at the very least, Y/N wasn’t the complete center of attention.

Taehyung was one of the most elusive vampires, aside from Yoongi. In fact, she had spoken to Taehyung the least during the week she had spent at The Breakers, mostly because he was often away on business or walking the grounds of the estate by himself. Though undead, his palm was warm against hers, and Y/N slotted her fingers between his just to feel how her blood brought him back to life. He moved gracefully, leading them around the dance floor, all while drinking in every inch of her face.

“Where are my friends?” Y/N asked after a few moments, on edge that she hadn’t seen a single human aside from staff since the evening began. For all she knew, Meredith or Joseph could have four vampires latched onto them while she danced with the devil.

“What’s the point in telling you? Nothing you do can change their fate,” Taehyung’s baritone voice was flat, punctuating his point by dipping Y/N low to the ground. He was so close to her face, Y/N could see that his eyelids were different from one another.

“Then there’s no harm in telling me where they are. I simply want to say goodbye,” Y/N argued, slightly breathless when Taehyung pulled her back up. One of her long, pointed nails traced along the handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket.

“I thought you were told not to weave fallacies. You continue to believe you can outsmart us,” Taehyung spat back quietly, the fact that they were quite close to the wind section of the orchestra disguising his words from other guests. The set of the human girl’s mouth was firm and unbudging, Taehyung somewhat respecting her for digging her heels in. She might look meek and mild, but the acolyte had a strong moral compass– a death sentence. He decided to throw her a bone. “The acolytes are in the library, the cabaret girls were placed in the music room. Seokjin doesn’t want you near either of those rooms tonight.”

“He seems preoccupied schmoozing with the ‘guest of honor’,” Y/N couldn’t even see Seokjin, but the last time she did, he was still chatting away with the graying vampire named ‘Berwind’. “If there’s nothing I can do to protect them, afford me the decency to apologize to them.”

“Apologize? Isn’t it a great honor for you holy rollers to even be in the presence of vampires? With that logic, they should be kissing your feet for the opportunity to be here.”

“Obviously, that’s not the case. While I might still hold onto the hope that I can outsmart one of you, you hold onto the belief that acolytes end up at Sanctuaries on their own volition.”

There was a count of eight where Taehyung and Y/N stared each other down, flawlessly in sync as they waltzed. She spoke no more, nor did Taehyung, for the remainder of the song, dewy sweat coating her skin from both the undivided attention and exertion from dancing. When a final note of a viola rang out into the air, Y/N held her breath as they bowed to each other, Taehyung brushing his lips over the back of the girl’s hand reluctantly.

“Do what you want, but reap what you sow.”

Taehyung evaporated like smoke. His duties were carried out, he played the game. Decorated, played nice, and danced with the human girl. Whatever happened after that, Taehyung couldn’t find it in him to care.

Meanwhile, arms still extended and molded to Taehyung’s shape, Y/N was left entirely by herself, by the grace of God. It was comical, really, how she was able to scamper from the dance floor, clinging to the walls and feeling her way to the library. Another song was already beginning, mortal vital fluid and liquor intoxicated vampires elegantly swaying in throngs. Peripheral vision caught Jeongguk pouring his champagne flute over the décolletage of a short, dark skinned vampire woman, his fingers tangled in her silken braids and his tongue dragging down the skin of her throat.

Jittery, Y/N was halfway to the library when she heard something quite queer. A muffled, high-pitched sound coming from the front entrance of the mansion had her freezing. The foyer had twin doors on the right and left: the ladies’ reception room, and the male counterpart directly across. Ice crystals formed in her gut, the sounds growing more agonized. It was a chorus of voices wailing, Y/N ducking into a hallway that connected to the foyer in order to find the source of the sounds. Not a soul was in the foyer, not even the human boys that handled valet, Y/N’s knees knocking together when a particularly horrendous female scream pierced her ears.

“HELP, PLEASE! OH GOD, PLEASE! DON’T KILL ME!”

Y/N’s skin flashed ice cold. Of course, she stupidly sprung into action, her stilettos falling off in the process, darting towards the gentleman’s reception room. She was human, after all. A desperate cry for help could not be ignored.

“N-NO! NO, NO, YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED T-TO, YOU! YOU, YOU–”

Y/N pushed the heavy door open, bewildered, not understanding the sight in front of her at all. It was like the most horrific nightmare her brain could conjure, but it was real, it had to be. Her subconscious never considered something so evil.

There was a young woman dressed in a fringed flapper dress, crouched and cornered on the floor and trembling so hard Y/N thought she was seizing. That, and she was nearly doused in crimson blood, shielding herself from the vampire standing over her, his foot crushing her ankle bone with a sickening crunch. The woman shrieked horribly, the whole floor covered in streaks of crimson. That wasn’t even the worst of it. Not even three paces away was a messy heap of limbs, limp and useless.

Delicate, white-blonde curls matted with blood. A dimpled smile ironed out into a slack-jawed scream of desperation. White linens now permanently stained with clots of gore, motionless and skin nearly blue. Tossed in a pile, mangled and drained, were Meredith and Joseph, open-eyed and dead.

The scream that came from Y/N was molten core in origin. It pierced through the merriment of the holiday party like banshee’s wail, the last piece of Y/N’s heart exploding into pieces. Joseph’s beautiful amber eyes were glassy and unseeing. Meredith’s hand was weakly curled around Joseph’s stained shirt sleeve. Nothing but the sound of her own screams registered to Y/N.

What happened next, Y/N would never be able to get out of her mind. By the time her howling brought the orchestra rooms over to a startling halt, the vampire tormenting the young cabaret worker had Y/N pinned to the wall by her throat. It was Edmund Berwind, the moustached ‘guest of honor’ who had drained her two closest friends dry, stinking of liquor and death. Crushing her vocal chords, Y/N’s screams turned into choked barks, her nails scraping fabric wallpaper from behind her.

“Aren’t you sweet, honey? I’ve heard–”

Y/N didn’t get the chance to hear what else Berwind was about to taunt her with. While the cabaret girl sobbed in agony, cradling her flattened ankle, Berwin was torn from her and Y/N could only collapse beside the corpses of her friends.

He entered the room like the Grim Reaper. Whooshing through the air with precision was a metallic sound followed by wet, repulsive squelching. Namjoon, in one fell swoop, unsheathed his sword and slashed forward, severing Berwind’s top half from the bottom. Arterial spurts of blackened immortal blood sprayed the entire reception room, as well as dowsing Y/N completely, the viscous hot fluid running down her face.

The body fell directly next to Y/N. Desiccated intestines spilled from both cavities of the bodies, followed by other equally ancient organs, Y/N’s skin coated with the blood of her former friends and the gore of a slain vampire. Berwind’s body was still twitching, the severed lower half contorting grotesquely while the top gushed liters of blood, gore, and tissue. Y/N was still screaming, soaking in gore, waiting for the angel of death. She hadn’t been able to spare her friends in time, and she was sure to meet her end considering how furious her ‘bodyguard’ seemed. It was all over.

Namjoon found a spare pillow set on a cushy chair, using it to mop the filthy mess Berwind made on his sword. With disgust, he used the wallpaper to clean his gloves, large streaky prints staining the walls. Weeping hollowly, Y/N stroked Meredith’s lifeless curls from her face, anticipating her momentary death. One hand slipping over one of Berwind’s eviscerated kidneys spilling onto the floor, Y/N glanced at Namjoon one last time.

“I Compelled her to avoid being touched.”

Namjoon didn’t answer Seokjin, who promptly locked the door to the reception room. Namjoon kicked the top half of Berwind’s hemorrhaging corpse, fat with too much blood, off to the corner of the room. Using his jacket sleeve to remove eviscerated organs from his face, Namjoon sheathed his sword and laughed at his elder.

“I’ll leave you to clean up the mess this time, hyung.”

Please do not repost or translate my work. Thank you!

462 notes · View notes

jeonstudios · 7 months ago

Text

fontana di trevi | 01

you seek out a vampire to help you with something.

pairing: vampire!jk x sadgirl, blood donor!reader

genre: vampire au, angst, fluff (really a sadgirl fic lol)

word count: 7.6k

warnings: blood, needles, talking about how you euthanize cows and such? suicidal thoughts (not graphic or elaborated? very straightforward?)

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/2

It’s a freezing cold December night when you step into the dark alleyway, your thighs having gone numb under your jeans a while ago. The sun set hours ago, and the only light present is that of a few scattered streetlights.

Your pulse quickens as you take another cautious step. Something moves further in, where the light barely reaches, and since there’s no snow yet, you hear the slight crunch of frozen fall leaves under… footsteps. From the dark, a tall figure approaches slowly in a way that would have anyone’s blood chilling.

“I have a proposition,” you state, trying to stand somewhat tall.

"A proposition?” a low voice inquires, and you have to tilt your head up to look at the face that emerges from the shadows. “I’ll fuck you, but I’m not turning you for sex.”

“That’s not what—I don’t want sex or to be turned.”

He directs his full attention to you, and in turn, you get a better glimpse of his features. He looks like a man; incredibly handsome with jet black hair, eyebrows, and eyes, but his skin is paler than anything you’ve seen, and there’s the tiniest smudge of something red tinting the corner of his mouth. Though his eyebrow is raised, he doesn’t look very entertained.

“You can have my blood. All of it, if you just take it quickly.”

He lifts his hand to slowly wipe the red from his face. The outfit he wears—a black leather jacket and black pants—looks human but is definitely too cold to wear this time of year.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t simply take it if I wanted to? Why would I need your permission?”

“I’m just saying. Take it if you want it?”

He looks at you, seemingly at least a little intrigued by the odd human in front of him. You definitely understand that most people run the other way at the sight of this big, intimidating being.

“You realize ‘all of it’ means you’ll be dead, right?”

You nod. “Do we have a deal?”

“Regardless of if I wanted to or not, I literally just… ate, so I physically can’t. Not for another week or so.”

You feel your shoulders drop slightly, and you blink, trying to improvise a plan.

“Okay, well… Do you want to meet here in a week, then?”

At that, he tilts his head. “You want to die here, in a dirty alleyway?”

“I don’t care. So yes or no?”

“If you want me to do this, give me something in return first, okay?”

You look at him in confusion. “You’re getting my blood?”

“Who's to say your blood is even good?”

Trying not to let his words discourage you, you look around, thinking. Maybe you should’ve played harder to get? At least in the sense of giving him a hunt? You don’t want to waste any time, but he might not be your best option.

“Fine, do you know if there are other vampires around here? How do I find them?”

It took you three weeks to even find this one, and maybe it was more luck than anything, so setting off on another search doesn’t sound too exciting. These creatures really do live in the shadows.

“No, listen. Whether your blood is delicious or not, it would certainly be helpful to have it. But…”

“But?”

“Let me stock up on it first. Meet me at my place and let me take some every week for two months and then I’ll take the rest.”

You look around again, unsure if you should just try to find someone else. Two months is not ideal; it’s too long, and you’re sure you could manage to find someone else in the meantime.

The vampire senses your hesitation and takes a step closer.

“You want it to be quick, which means you’re scared of pain. People around here, my kind, tend to drag it out. Pain and fear equal adrenalin, which gives the blood a certain… flavor that some enjoy. Agree to my compromise, and I’ll make it quick and practically painless.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles, barely a hint of one, but it feels wicked and makes a cold shiver run down your spine. You know he’s not trustworthy, but he’s getting a lot out of the deal, and you have nothing to lose, really.

“Okay. What’s the address?”

In the middle of the day a week later, you find yourself in front of a big two-story house. It’s nice, looks pretty expensive but… like a regular house? It’s painted white and definitely not blood-red or even black. Aligning more with your expectations is how the house is partially obscured from the road by huge, towering spruces and how it seems to lie just a little bit further from the neighboring houses. There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground now, but you’re not sure whether it’ll stick.

After confirming that no, there is no door bell, you lift your fist to knock on the door. Vampires have crazy good hearing anyway, right? You’d assume so, given the fact that they’re always portrayed as super fast, super strong, super… attractive, and with super hearing, super vision, just… super all around. The mythical creatures don’t officially exist to the world, but in your little town, everyone knows they do. And they do. You found one. So if they drink blood and are super attractive—at least this one—it’s not too weird to assume there’s more truth to their pop-culture portrayal.

You can see how the town’s vampire believers and enthusiasts shake their heads in disappointment at your relative indifference, but truth be told, you’d probably be more curious about the vampire whose home you’re about to step into if the situation was different. Or maybe you’d have some self-preservation and run the other way?

The door opens almost soundlessly, and when you look up, you meet those black, bottomless eyes. It really is his color, you think, your gaze drawn to the short-sleeve, black button-down he’s wearing, the top three buttons or so left undone. With it, he’s wearing black pants on the looser side. He looks incredibly handsome, and very effortlessly so. His hair is shiny and looks soft, and like it naturally falls into that slight side-part.

“Are you gonna come in or just stand there and ogle me?” He isn’t smiling teasingly; he just looks at you, unimpressed.

“Sorry.”

He turns to retreat back into the house, and you’re left to enter through the open door. There are no lights on inside, and when you close the door behind you, cutting off a majority of the daylight, you start to feel like you’re truly inside a vampire’s home. Still, it’s light enough for you to follow said vampire’s back after hastily removing your coat and folding it to leave over the boots you step out of. Since you assumed he needs access to the veins in your arms, you picked out a gray t-shirt and a black zip-up hoodie that’s a little too big on you, paired with jeans. Nothing fancy—you’re not there to impress him.

With quickened steps, you catch up to him as he wordlessly leads the way into his kitchen, a place you doubt he uses much. Vampires don’t actually eat, do they? Either way, the room is clean and feels almost... sterile, despite the walnut cupboards and dark gray countertops.

On the short end of a wide, matching walnut dining table, a bunch of supplies are laid out. He gestures to one of the two chairs positioned around the corner of the table, but as you sit down, he turns to leave.

“Uhm, I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, pulling the zipper of your hoodie down and slipping one arm out. “I mean, I’m sure it can’t be that complicated in… theory, but I don’t think I can do it on myself.”

“I’m just gonna wash my hands,” he explains, and there seems to be a very slight trace of emotion in his voice and on his face that you interpret as amusement. He thinks you're dumb.

Oh. Well… does it really matter if his hands are squeaky clean or not?

Water hits the sink with a familiar sound as you focus on the table, inspecting the supplies. There’s a needle with a tube attached to it, a tourniquet, some syringes, antiseptic wipes, and a few empty blood bags. A voice in your head wonders if maybe he changed his mind and will simply take everything at this moment because those bags look pretty big, and you’re not sure you can fill them and still walk out of this place.

The water stops, and you sit pretty and wait until he positions the other chair in front of you, a little to the side. You’ve never been a fan of needles or having your blood drawn, so you focus your eyes the other way, to a specific part of his kitchen window and the overcast outside. You hear the sound of paper and plastic ripping, and you feel his cold fingers place and tighten the tourniquet around your upper arm and feel for your veins before he wipes the area clean.

“Scared of needles?” he teases arrogantly, and you see how he reaches for the sharp object on the table.

“Bodily reaction. I can’t help it,” you explain before holding your breath and waiting for the poke.

It comes soon after; an uncomfortable but not too painful prick. With one hand, he moves some things around on the table, and you try to keep as still as possible, loathing the feeling of a needle jolting around in your vein.

“You’re not curious as to why I know how to do this stuff? Or worried that I don’t?” he wonders, releasing the tourniquet and seemingly fastening the needle to your skin with some tape.

“No. I guess it doesn’t surprise me; blood and vampires seem to go hand in hand.”

He surprises you by letting out a quiet chuckle before placing a red stress ball in your hand. “Squeeze this. I’ll be back to change the bag in a few minutes.”

Nodding, you watch him rise from his chair and leave the room.

Left to your own devices and with the filling blood bag taped to the chair’s armrest by its thin tube, you close your eyes.

The house is entirely silent, and you have no idea where the vampire went. After he moved the stuff around on the table, you were able to count exactly three blood bags with a printed 450 ml on them. That adds up to somewhere between one and one and half liters and around 30% of your blood volume if you’ve calculated correctly. According to your brief research, a human doesn’t typically survive losing more than 40% of their blood unless given emergency medical attention. You probably won’t feel too great after today, but you most likely won’t die. You think.

Slowly, the minutes start to tick by, but you feel okay so far. You’ve got a good rhythm going for the stress ball, squeezing, holding, releasing. Squeezing, holding, releasing. The silence has your mind wandering.

“You can stop for a bit.”

The vampire’s sudden voice has your eyes flying open. He hadn’t made a single sound, returning to the kitchen. Catching your breath, you nod, keeping the ball still in your hand. You don’t look at the needle in your arm, but you see the bag full of dark red that the vampire sits down and trades for an empty one, attaching the tubes before he fastens them in the same way to the armrest.

When he’s done, he lifts his hand, and you spot one of his fingertips covered in red. For a split second, he observes it, and then he puts the finger to his tongue. At first, it’s weird to see, and you almost want to tell him that it’s not hygienic to taste other people’s blood. That is before you remember that other people’s blood is what sustains him.

He looks to be assessing something, and suddenly, you’re worried he might not like it.

“B positive," he focuses on you, but you give him a slight, confused shrug because you have no idea what blood type you are or what it means in this context.

“Is that… okay?”

“It’s… meh. Not the most common but also not the rarest. Most of my kind prefer A or even AB, though.”

“Oh."

Of course, your blood is substandard. You nod toward the filled bag on the table. “Will you have any use for this then?”

Truly, it would be just your luck to not even have the scary creatures, who roam the night in search of victims to drain, want your blood.

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter. I can always use it as a backup if I don’t get the chance to feed in time. Squeeze.”

Per his order, you resume squeezing. The rest of the process goes relatively smoothly, although you’ve started feeling a lot… weaker by the time the second bag is full and the vampire is about to switch it for the third.

There’s a lot about blood and the human body that you don’t know, and you’re silently wondering what the recovery rate is and if you can really give him this much every week. Does he plan on taking less next time or has he not taken it into consideration?

“Why do you want to die?”

You blink at his bluntness, looking at his uncaring face. He obviously doesn’t care to hear the longer story, and you don’t care to tell it, so you settle for a shorter, more condensed version.

“There’s something wrong with me. I don’t belong here.”

“Didn’t taste like it.”

“Maybe not physically.”

He doesn’t dig further, but when your blood starts trickling into the third bag, the vampire stays seated. You still close your eyes, afraid that you’ll stare at his face otherwise, and he didn’t particularly seem to like that.

You’re not sure if it’s just the blood loss or a combination of having slept poorly for the last few weeks and being in a calm, silent environment, but you’re feeling tired. Really tired. And cold.

“Squeeze harder,” his voice instructs, void of emotion. You do your best to follow his instructions, squeezing the ball tighter even though it’s getting difficult.

“We’re done.”

You open your eyes, finding the vampire much closer than before and his fingers swiftly removing the needle from your arm.

“Okay, so… uh…” you start, finding it hard to choose words or even think of what you want to convey in the first place. “Do I come back… same time… next week?”

“No. Make it two weeks.”

You look at him, confusion written across your features, but it’s hard to focus your eyes on his face. It’s blurry, and there are dark spots infiltrating your vision.

“I took as much as I could, and while you won’t have time to replenish everything in two weeks either, I’ll at least get more out of you than in just one week.”

He smiles, and if you had the energy and maybe (mostly) the common sense, you’d be scared by the way he truly looks so wicked.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

The vampire takes the stress ball from you and rises from the chair with the used supplies in his hands. You grip the armrests best you can, but your right hand slips, and you stumble a little, trying to stand. It’s so incredibly cold, and you feel dizzy, nauseous, and weak, putting your hoodie back on properly.

Very quietly, you hear him move around the kitchen, and while he hasn’t explicitly told you to leave, you’re very much assuming he wants nothing else. So on unsteady legs, you make your way back to the front door, where you grab your coat to haphazardly put it on, and you step into your boots, unable to bend down to tie them properly.

You’re able to make it to your old but trustworthy car that you parked on the street, but when you sit down in the driver’s seat and close the door behind you, you realize that you definitely can’t drive as it’s proving more and more difficult to even keep your eyes open. You can’t walk home, you have no one to come pick you up, and even if there probably is a bus stop somewhere around here, you don’t think you’d make it there.

So with your last burst of energy, you pull the lever under the seat to push it back a little, leaving your boots on the floor as you bring your feet and knees up. Your coat finds a new purpose as a makeshift blanket, and you cover as much of your body as you can with it. Fully knowing that as you close your eyes, you might never open them again, you don’t care that much. Dying is what you want, anyway.

Surprisingly, you do open your eyes again. It’s dark when you do, and it’s so, so cold. Your heart is beating hard as it tries to circulate blood that just isn’t there anymore, and it’s with a low groan that you move, trying to reach for the phone in the pocket of your coat.

It’s seven p.m.. You met with the vampire at two p.m., and the visit took less than an hour, which means that you got into your car at maybe a bit before three, and so you’ve been passed out for four hours. It takes you a while to come to properly, and even when you do, you feel weak, groggy, and stiff. Ideally, you shouldn’t drive, but you have no other means of getting home, so you decide on a route consisting of smaller roads with lower speed limits and less traffic.

It’s no wonder you feel like you’re on death’s doorstep because when you do some further Googling on blood donation and blood volumes at home, you calculate exactly how much someone of your size would have. And you find that the vampire took 38% of that.

Three weeks later, you’re knocking on his door again. He opens it, an eyebrow raised and looking even more unimpressed than last time.

“I’m sorry I didn’t show last week, but I was sick,” you inform, hoping he’ll accept your apology. “Didn’t think you would’ve wanted to see… that.”

“You’re right.”

That’s all he says before he turns, leaving the door open for you just like last time. Well, you take that as a sign that you’re forgiven, and so you follow him inside.

Trying to keep up with him, you’re feeling even smaller and weaker around the tall vampire than before, and truth be told, you are. Because according to those Google searches, while it takes the body only approximately 24-48 hours to replace the blood plasma, it takes four to six weeks to replenish the red blood cells and recover fully. And that’s from having one bag of 450ml donated; you left three and it’s only been three weeks since. Essentially, the vampire is taking your blood a lot faster than you can produce it.

Like last time, you sit down on the same chair in his kitchen, but since he wasn’t expecting you, he has to retrieve the supplies from elsewhere. You remain quiet while he organizes everything, stealing a few glances at him in the meantime. This time, he’s wearing a black t-shirt and black shorts, and you’re amazed at just how… ordinary he looks. In the best way possible, of course.

Without being too tight, the shirt does a very good job at showing off his physique: it hangs wonderfully off his shoulders and dips slightly between his pecs. It exposes the prominent veins stretching across both his arms and hands, and you wonder if vampires also ‘live’ in the way that he has a heart that pumps blood around his body. Or if he’s really ‘dead’ or ‘undead’ like some media describe them?

“What?” he questions, having caught you staring.

“You look very human,” you say quietly. “Like a college guy.”

An athletic college guy. The one who’s just a little too handsome to be exact.

The trace of amusement that flashes across his face is so faint that you’re not sure you didn’t simply imagine it. He doesn’t respond to your observation, only sitting down and reaching for your arm. His large hands feel a little warmer against your skin than you remember them doing last time, and you turn your head when he prepares the needle. There’s a pinch and then the immediate relief when he loosens the tourniquet.

“Here,” the red stress ball is placed into your hand again. Looking down briefly, you watch your own hand squeeze it, but the red fluid flowing through the transparent tube is too off-putting, and so you close your eyes again.

A minute or so passes while you keep squeezing the ball to some sort of rhythm tied to your breaths. It won’t be long. Soon, everything will be over.

Somewhere, you lose track of time, and to regain some sense of reality, you flutter your eyelids open. Only to see the vampire stare coldly at you. You freeze.

“I thought you left,” you admit, the surprise clear in your voice.

“I’m keeping an eye on you,” he explains, face still stoic.

You look at him dumbly. “No offense, but why? The point is to kill me, anyway?”

“No, it’s to take as much as possible,” he corrects you. “To a reasonable extent. And then kill you. Here, let me change the bag.”

You close your eyes once more as he switches the full bag to a new, empty one. The dizziness comes a lot quicker than it did three weeks ago, but then again, you’ve been feeling more or less weak and faint ever since that first donation.

“Okay, we’re done.”

You look at him, surprised. “Already? But you didn’t even fill the second bag fully?”

“I took too much last time, and like I said, I want to get as much out of you as possible.”

For the first time, you think you see a hint of a discreet fang when he gives you a blood-chilling smile.

The process of removing everything is quick, and before you know it, you’re putting your feet into your boots again. You feel faint, like your knees might buckle under you any second, but you don’t feel weak to the point of passing out for hours in your car; you do that when you’re home in bed instead.

Suffering from what you gather is immense anemia, you don’t have the energy to really do anything between your visits to the vampire besides lie on the couch and watch TV. You quit your retail job the Monday after finding him in that alleyway, confident (and correctly so) that you wouldn’t be able to handle really any job at all.

Even rotting away on the couch with your eyes glued to the screen, you can barely understand what the shows are about. Your brain struggles to place the people and remember the plot lines, and you find yourself almost daydreaming instead. Though it’s mostly just flashing images of the vampire whose name you still don’t know.

If your heart wasn’t already so strained, it would beat harder for him in some kind of fear-filled attraction. He’s absolutely gorgeous—and there’s definitely something almost drawing you to him—but he’s also so, so intimidating. If the end goal wasn’t to die, you’d for sure be running for the hills and looking over your shoulder late at night.

Next time, there’s a slight smile pulling on the vampire’s lips when he opens the door.

“Still alive?”

You chuckle quietly, looking down at your boots. “Unfortunately.”

Taking off your coat reveals another simple outfit with no other purpose than granting the vampire access to your arms while keeping your freezing body warm. This time, it’s a thick, brown cardigan over a t-shirt, paired with somewhat baggy jeans.

The contrast between your clothes is almost funny. Even indoors, you’d be freezing in the half-open thin, white dress shirt he wears messily tucked into black, also thin-looking slacks. The gap in his shirt makes you want to reach out and touch his pale chest, but of course, you keep your hands to yourself.

Once again, you follow him inside, and while you don’t need him to, he guides you to the same spot in his kitchen where the stuff is all laid out.

Sitting down, you slip your arm out of the cardigan and place it on the armrest. The vampire washes his hands and then comes to sit down in front of you, reaching for the tourniquet to position it around your bicep. With the elastic band tightened, he rips open an antiseptic wipe to clean the inside of your elbow, and then, he prepares the needle like always.

You look away, holding your breath until the pinch comes and for a few seconds after.

“The whole thing about vampires losing control around blood… I take it that’s just storytelling?”

“Depends,” he answers, and despite not looking at him, you just know he’s got one eyebrow raised and a hint of a cocky smile on his lips. “If we’re hungry and someone happens to bleed around us, yeah, it can be more… tempting. Also depends on what sort of blood we prefer.”

“And you don’t like mine,” you state, your foggy brain concluding it the reason he seems to not care about the vulnerable blood right in front of him.

He laughs this time, a really nice sound that has your strained heart almost skipping an important beat. “I changed my weekly feeding to Thursdays, so I’m still quite full. And your blood isn’t vile, it’s just not what I personally go crazy for.”

“Oh,” you let out, looking at him before something dawns on you. “Wait. You eat once a week only? How much do you eat then? Or… drink?”

He nods toward the bag he just secured to your arm. “Someone of my size typically only needs about two of these a week to survive and not maniacally hunt and kill, but to really thrive? Between two and three liters, so four to six bags. I usually go hunting Friday or Saturday night when most bars and pubs are full. It’s surprisingly easy to find a few drunks stumbling around who won’t even realize what happened the day after.”

“So you don’t… kill?”

“Not if we can help it. There’s been… an increase in vampires around here, and if people drop dead? No, it’s less suspicious and only a little more work to find a few victims instead of draining one dry.”

“Makes sense.”

“Mhm. I typically don’t have to beg women to come with me, either.”

Something ice cold travels through your body at that last sentence. You wonder whose blood was on his lips that night when you found him.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this, though? You seem like you’d tell me to mind my own business.”

Even more, you can’t believe you asked.

He smiles. “I don’t know. Like I said, people will occasionally find out what I am, find me fascinating, and ask a thousand questions. I’ve always thought it to be incredibly annoying, and I’m not really supposed to tell them anything even if I wanted to—which I don’t—but it’s been… odd, not being questioned by you. At all. Almost boring, like I’m not interesting to you.”

His answer surprises you, and for a moment, you imagine teenage you, not bubbly per se but at least a bit more naive than the current version. Would she be the type to annoy him? You don’t think so.

“Objectively, you are interesting, but I can’t believe how brave people are? If things were different, I wouldn’t have gone out looking for a vampire in the first place. And if I somehow stumbled upon you, I would’ve run the other way because you’d terrify me.”

Slowly, he smirks at your honesty.

“I scare you?”

You’d be lying if you claimed the cold, calculating aura around him didn’t.

You’re not sure if he has any super powers like in the movies, but honestly, he wouldn’t need to be able to lift a bus to kill you. The scariest thing about him isn’t how he could end your life in a hundred different ways either way, it’s how he could drag it out and extend your suffering before doing so. Of course, your body and instincts find him scary, but in a way, your mind… doesn’t? Then again, you’re here because your mind wants him to kill you.

“I don’t know.”

“Hm,” is all he says, his eyes falling to the blood bag. “I have to change it. Hold on.”

“Okay,” you mumble, finding it hard to concentrate. Your heart beats so hard it hurts, but at the same time, your breathing is slowing down. Closing your eyes, you feel him move stuff around.

“How are you feeling?” he suddenly asks, but it doesn’t sound like he cares too much.

“Honestly? Terrible,” you admit, keeping your eyes closed.

You keep still when you feel his hands on your arm, but then you hear a little… rip.

“Fuck.”

Curiously, you open your tired eyes, seeing the vampire hold the empty bag up to inspect it.

“This was the last one I had. This brand is fucking terrible quality; how do you make blood bags so weak they rip?”

“You don’t have anything else to collect it in?”

He sighs defeatedly, “No, it needs to be in these kinds of bags so I can store and freeze it properly.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’ll have to stock up on them and maybe take more next time.”

You nod slowly and understandingly. That will probably be the last time, then.

About a week and a half later, you find yourself on a bench downtown, your hands in the pockets of your coat to keep them warm. It’s Saturday, and on the other side of the street, a few people are standing in line to be let inside your town’s best version of a nightclub. You’re not certain what exactly brought you here, and you’re sure that if the happy, club-dressed people took the time to observe their surroundings, they’d notice you staring and look at you weirdly in turn.

“Hello?”

Registering the almost rude-sounding voice, you blink as you turn your head. It’s a guy.

“Huh?”

His face looks skeptic, and he’s got his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He’s not wearing a jacket or coat of any kind over his white t-shirt, so you gather he’s in the middle of a night out. Probably left a bar for a smoke and spotted you.

“I asked you what your name is? Like three times?”

He’s good looking with black hair and dark eyes, but the tone of his voice is very unattractive, and you have no interest in him whatsoever, knowing he isn’t just looking to be your friend.

“Oh. Uh…”

You don’t say it. It’s not that you don’t remember your name or that you’re making a conscious effort to deny him the information, but it’s like your thoughts are at a standstill.

“Beat it.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. His lips didn’t move.

“And who are you?” he asks, irritation dripping from his words, and this time, his lips are moving. However, his eyes are not on you but on something behind you.

Just as you’re about to turn around, the man in front of you leaves. His steps are quick, his mission abandoned.

“What are you doing here?”

Of course. It clicks the moment the vampire comes into view, and you’re surprised you didn’t immediately recognize his deep voice. He’s wearing that same leather jacket and some black pants, an outfit still very much inappropriate for winter. Though, something about him feels… wilder, almost a little uncontained? You can’t put your finger on what exactly.

“Uh, people-watching,” you inform as he rounds the bench, sitting down next to you.

Because he’s beautiful like no other, you glance discreetly at his face. He’s so masculine, but in certain lights, you glimpse something softer. You particularly like his nose and its rounded tip. It gives him such an attractive profile, you think, gaze traveling over his features and lingering on his dark eyelashes.

“Why? Isn’t it cold as hell for you?”

“Uhm, I don’t know? And I guess?”

From looking straight ahead, he turns his head, redirecting his full attention to you. The light from the closest street lamp reflects in his dark eyes.

“Is there any truth to that whole ‘vampires are designed to lure humans in’ thing?”

He grins. “I lure you in?”

“You’re more intimidating than you are attractive, actually,” you admit earnestly, wincing a little on the inside at how it came out a bit like an insult. He’s definitely attractive, and maybe the fact that he is so attractive is part of why he’s also so intimidating. “I’m just wondering what you looked like before.”

“I’ve always looked like this,” he explains casually, once again peering out over the cold, dark street. “Vampirism doesn’t change anything besides, like, skin impurities and conditions. I would’ve shown you a picture, but there were no cameras around when I was human,” he smiles cheekily.

“Anyway, you should go home. It’s really cold and not really safe at this time either,” he encourages.

You nod, realizing that he wants to protect his backup supply. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll see you next week.”

“Mhm.”

You expect him to get up and leave, confused when five seconds pass and he hasn’t moved. The feeling seems to be mutual because he turns his head to look at you again.

“So, are you leaving or not?”

“I am.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You look away, clearing your throat a bit awkwardly and realizing that you might just have to tell him, since he doesn’t seem to be leaving before you. “I don’t think I… can. I walked here, but I think I overestimated myself.”

The vampire looks you over briefly, probably just to be sure, but you both know that your main health concerns aren’t visible.

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, not that far. Like less than a ten minute walk, but I…”

“What’s your address?”

“124 Conch Street.”

“Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up.”

Puzzled, you follow his instructions and slowly rise to your feet. Though you’ve been sitting stranded on the bench for almost two hours, the dizziness returns the moment you stand.

But the vampire isn’t satisfied. “Get up on the bench and undo your coat up to your waist.”

This time, you give him a skeptic look.

“Just do as I say,” he holds his hand out for you.

Slowly and still confused, you take it, and with his aid, you step up onto the bench.

To your surprise, he lets go, and before you know it, he’s unzipped your coat from the bottom up to your waist, positioned himself in front of you, and grabbed your thighs. Instinctively, you place your arms around his neck as he hoists you onto his back and starts walking.

“What are you doing?” you breathe quietly.

“Taking you home in an inconspicuous way. It looks like we’re a couple, does it not?”

“Definitely an odd and unexpected couple if so, but I guess?”

“You’re a pretty girl, you know?”

Your lungs hold your breath for an extra second before slowly releasing it, and then you hum, but it’s only to actually provide him with an answer. You definitely don’t think you’re anywhere near pretty enough for someone like him. He doesn’t call you out on your vague answer.

You’re not the most common sight, couple or not, and people still watch you as you pass them. Unsure as to how to meet their curious gazes, you don’t; turning your head forward instead. When you’re so close, you inevitably catch his scent, only to find that he doesn’t smell like a whole lot. There are traces of soap, laundry detergent, and maybe a hint of cologne, but not much else. No lingering smell of sweat or anything like that.

He walks you through the city and past the alleyway where you first found him. It’s quiet, except for the muted sound of his footsteps as well as those of a man a bit ahead, evidently hurrying to get home and away from the cold.

“Are there more vampires here?” you wonder, looking around the silent street and thinking it might not be as empty as it seems.

“Yes,” he confirms casually.

It has your brain working, and the surroundings reminding you of why you’re with him in the first place.

“How are you going to kill me?”

If he’s caught off guard by your straightforward question, he does a good job of not showing it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. But I’d rather not bleed out,” you say, body aching at the mere thought. Although you’re certain there are much worse ways to go, you really don’t like the feeling of severe blood loss.

“It’s the easiest way though,” he explains. “It’s not as easy to drain a body without a heartbeat to move the blood around.”

“Are you familiar with livestock?” you ask, thinking back to what your three-year-older cousin once told you as you biked past a field of cows one summer when you were ten. “You can kill the animal and then ‘deblood’ them by hanging the body upside down and cutting their throat. The blood will drain easily. Do you have a bathtub?”

“You’re… a person though, still,” he says, and though he doesn’t falter in his steps, you can tell your words don’t sit quite right with him. “There’s no dignity in an ending like that. And don’t you care what happens to your body?”

To say you’re surprised is an understatement. You thought vampires were all bloodthirsty monsters, only biding their time until they can rip someone new apart. The messier, the better. The vampire, who’s carrying you on his back, made no effort to appear nice either. At least not at first. Now, you don’t even know.

You shrug slightly. You’re not a spiritual person, and you’ve never believed in something like an afterlife. “It’s just meat and bones. I won’t be here anymore, and no one’s going to be looking for me, anyway. There’s no use in keeping things ‘pretty.’”

He doesn’t say anything in turn, and you wonder how much about you he knows. How much about your life he realizes.

The vampire’s smooth movement lulls you further into relaxation, and you lean your head partly against your own arm, partly against him. He doesn’t say anything.

Way sooner than if you would’ve walked with your own two legs—if you would’ve made it home at all—he puts you down in front of your apartment complex. You search your pockets, locating your keys in the left one.

“Going home now? Since you can’t enter without permission,” you joke tiredly, unlocking the front entrance with the key fob.

The vampire raises his eyebrows. “I might as well make sure you don’t somehow trip and spill all my blood on the way to your apartment,” he smirks, grabbing the door and opening it wide without breaking eye contact. “And you shouldn’t believe everything you see or read.”

The smile he’s wearing as he makes a show out of stepping inside the building is another chilling one. You can’t say that you expected him to hit an invisible wall or anything, but for some reason, it would’ve almost felt… nice if that were the case. Considering your situation, you’re not sure why.

The elevator is empty and waiting for you, and after getting inside, you press the button for floor two, the vampire coming to stand beside you.

“Is there anything that is true regarding vampires?” you ask quietly as if someone would hear you inside the elevator.

“Besides the fact that we drink blood?”

“Yeah. Are you like, immortal and stuff? Super old?”

He chuckles. “Kinda. I don’t think anything’s truly immortal, but we do have a longer life span, yes.”

“What about senses? Can you hear my heart beat right now?”

“Yes. It sounds like it’s about to burst through your chest.”

Yeah, because it’s strained to hell and back, trying to keep you alive even in the condition you’re in.

“And super speed, super strength and all that?”

“Mhm, although we’re not so fast we go blurry. Are you impressed?”

“I don’t know? What do you use it for? I can’t think of even one thing having those powers would improve in my life.”

“Tough crowd,” he chuckles, avoiding your question as he follows you out of the elevator.

You understand that being physically superior is helpful when you’re a literal predator, and yeah, maybe being able to walk a tiny bit faster to work every morning would’ve saved you some time, but what else? Oh, yeah, one time, you had to throw away a jar of pickles because you simply could not get it open. Being stronger would’ve definitely helped you then.

Reaching your door, you’re quick to unlock it and pull it open to head inside, ignoring the two envelopes lying on the floor in your hallway. The vampire stays at the door, watching as you start to remove your coat two or so steps away from him.

“Are those… bruises?”

Turning your head as you make your way to the wardrobe to put the coat away, you see the vampire looking almost worried. You look down at the skin on your arms.

“Yeah.”

“Let me look at them,” he urges, holding his hand out.

“Why? They come with anemia; why does it matter?”

“Still, I want to see. Come over here.”

Despite looking oddly insistent, he makes no effort to actually enter your apartment.

Your eyes widen as you look at him. “You really can’t come inside without an invitation, can you?”

He sighs exasperatedly. “Technically, no, I can’t step inside unless you give me permission.”

It makes you laugh a little in wonder. “Wow.”

He rolls his eyes, but you can tell it amuses him a little too.

“Listen, I’ll be fine until we meet again and if the bruises are still there, you can look at them then. I kinda don’t actually want to invite you in, is that rude of me?”

“No, it’s not. Very reasonable, actually.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you Friday?”

He nods politely and steps back. “See you.”

You watch him leave, his footsteps sounding through the hall as you bend down to pick up the envelopes you’ve been ignoring for days. They’re probably bills, and you’ll be dead soon, so who really cares if you pay them or not?

Mindlessly, you approach the door to close it, your focus on the white paper in your hands. You put your finger under the fold to rip the first envelope open, wincing when the paper cuts through your skin instead.

Holding your finger up, you inspect the damage and the little bead of red that’s forming next to the invisible cut. You look at it, furrowing your eyebrows at how you feel like something’s… missing? A moment later, you realize what it is, and your body freezes.

The footsteps have stopped.

It dawns on you, as you look at the blood, what the vampire was actually doing tonight and why he looked wilder than usual. Early Saturday night, lurking around the clubs until he found you and had to abandon his plans.

He was hunting.

Your eyes widen and your heart stops as you hear it. One footstep. Then another. And another. They’re speeding up, and soon enough running toward you.

Before you’ve had a chance to shut the door, it flies wide open. Panicked, you move farther into the apartment, but you fall backward and by pure instinct, crawl back as quickly as you can.

Despite claiming that he couldn’t enter without your permission, the vampire falls to his knees, then all fours, to reach you. You’ve never seen anything as scary as the bloodthirsty creature grasping the air, trying to get you. He moves so quickly, and his hand is just about to grab your foot when it’s like… he’s held back by something.

You're breathing heavily, trying to understand what’s happening. Why doesn’t he just move another three centimeters? He licks his lips in frustration, exposing fangs that are definitely longer than you remember. Meeting his eyes, they’re cold like never before, and he exhales angrily. He’s still reaching for you, and frozen in your spot, you look over at him, briefly wondering if his feet got stuck or something when it hits you.

He can’t step inside.

You sit there, your feet mere centimeters from his grasping hand when there’s a sound down the hall, and in a split second, the vampire seems to snap out of it. He looks at you, appearing to realize what he’s doing and somehow gaining control over himself. Looking around, he gets up, and he leaves. Quickly and without a word.

Wide-eyed and with your heart beating painfully, you remain on the floor, wondering what the hell just happened. Even when his footsteps are long gone, you’re too afraid to get up and close the door, worried that he’ll return and be able to reach you.

You’d like a very serious word with whoever established the ‘no entering without permission’ rule but also decided that the vampires could cheat it by keeping their feet outside and crawling inside.

You sleep a little uneasy the following nights, thinking a lot. Of course, your thoughts are mostly occupied by those cold, black eyes, thirsty for your blood.

<previous | next> happy halloween <3<3

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jeonluvz · 12 days ago

Text

VIRTUE & SIN

Dracula Jeon Jungkook x Sacrifice F!Reader

On the night of a rare blood moon, you return to an ancient, forgotten cathedral deep in the woods—drawn back by its haunting beauty, hoping to paint. But as you step through the crumbling archway, you’re seized by a cold, unrelenting grip. Jungkook stands before you: a vampire cloaked in flowing black silk, his crimson eyes burning through the dark. His long, wavy hair frames a face both beautiful and merciless. He doesn’t bare his fangs, but you feel the threat in his silence as his hand tightens around your neck, pinning you against the cathedral doors. The air around him is icy, his strength inhuman, his presence inescapable. You’ve stumbled into his sanctuary—and he’s not letting you leave.

WARNINGS: Read more, for mature audiences.

WC: 24k

It started days ago—maybe weeks. The stories had always been there, whispered between locals who never dared venture too far past the tree line. An old cathedral, they said, swallowed by the forest centuries ago after some unspeakable thing happened on its altar. A holy place desecrated. A godless place now avoided.

You didn’t believe in stories. You believed in light, and shadow, and form. You were just looking for somewhere new to paint.

That’s all.

You’d wandered too far off the trail, chasing the way the sun cut through the leaves like stained glass. That’s when you saw it—partially hidden behind a wall of ivy, a jagged spire breaking the treeline like a splintered fang. The cathedral. Real.

Your breath caught at its beauty, at the weight of silence pressing down around it. It didn’t feel abandoned. It felt asleep. The kind of sleep that shouldn’t be disturbed. But curiosity held your hand tighter than caution did. You’d walked the perimeter, brushed moss off old stone, peeked through broken windows. You told yourself you’d return with your brushes. You even smiled, thinking it would be your secret place.

But something followed you out of the woods that day.

You felt it first on your neck—like someone standing too close behind you in a crowded room, except the forest was empty. Then, in your dreams: red eyes just beyond reach, long fingers slipping through your hair, the pull of a voice that never spoke. You knew something had noticed you. You felt it when your back was turned. When you left the lights on. When you started painting your own face without meaning to.

Still, you told yourself it wasn’t real. That you were being foolish. That you’d imagined the presence watching you through the branches.

And yet.

You packed your things and went back on the night of the blood moon.

You told yourself it was just for art.

But some part of you—a deeper, darker part—knew it wasn’t. You weren’t seeking beauty anymore.

You were answering a call. One you pretended not to hear the first time.

The trees part like curtains as you step into the clearing, breath caught in your throat. The abandoned cathedral rises from the earth like a memory no one dared to bury—stone blackened by time, vines clutching its bones, yet impossibly, impossibly alive tonight.

You push open the weather-worn doors with a creak, expecting dust and silence. But what greets you is something else entirely.

Light.

Hundreds of candles float midair, flickering without flame, their glow casting golden halos on the cracked stone floor. They hover in impossible stillness, lighting the nave like a dream—soft, sacred, and wrong. Your eyes widen in awe. You don’t speak. You don’t breathe. The world outside is forgotten.

And then the wind shifts.

Not a breeze—a presence.

It moves through the cathedral like a storm that doesn’t disturb a single flame. You feel it before you hear it, and you hear it before you see him.

The wind slams the great doors shut behind you. In the sudden echoing boom, he’s there.

The entity

He doesn’t walk. He arrives—as if the shadows built themselves into him. Long black silk moves with the whisper of death, molding to a body sculpted by something ancient and cruel. His hair is damp with mist, falling in dark waves around his face. Eyes like fresh blood in candlelight lock onto you, and you don’t have time to run.

His hand is already around your neck.

Not tight. Not yet. Just enough to steal your balance. Just enough to remind you that you are nothing but a guest in his forgotten temple.

“You came back,” he murmurs, voice smooth and cold as winter stone.

“You shouldn’t have.”

His grip doesn’t tighten—but the air does. Like it’s shrinking around your lungs. Your feet barely touch the ground, held steady only by the strength of his arm, which is cold as stone and just as unyielding. The flickering candlelight paints red into the hollows of his eyes, and it’s not a trick of the light.

He is furious.

Not loud. Not wild. But seething. His gaze cuts through you, slow and deliberate, like he’s deciding what part of you to curse first. A silent war burns behind his eyes—restraint vs. wrath—and wrath is winning.

Your breath trembles in your throat as your eyes meet his. You don’t speak. You don’t move. But he sees the fear.

And something dark curls through his lips.

“M’lady,” he says, the words soaked in disdain and old-world elegance. “How idiotic of you to come back.”

The cadence is regal, mocking, spoken in the lilting tone of someone centuries out of time. He says it like a verdict. A spell. A warning too late.

The candles flicker once—violently—and settle.

His eyes stay locked on yours, and though he has yet to bare fangs, you feel them. Waiting. Hungering.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you like one might study a caged animal that wandered into fire. Amusement flickers across his face, but it’s razor-thin—too cruel to be called a smile.

“Humans,” he sneers, licking his teeth slowly, deliberately. The movement is fluid, predatory, and his tongue drags across where his fangs should be—hidden, but promised.

“So dumb. So terribly eager to die for wonder, for beauty, for stories they were warned never to believe.” His tone stays elegant, as if reciting poetry meant to insult. Then his voice drops lower, richer.

“It’s feeding time,” he says, almost purring. “And I so happen to have the feast of the century.”

Your eyes widen. Your breath turns sharp in your chest.

His face lowers to your neck—close enough that you feel the cold of him brush your skin before his mouth even touches you. You panic, heart pounding, instincts screaming for flight even though your body cannot move.

And he stops.

A growl simmers in his throat, not loud—but displeased. His hand presses you tighter to the stone door behind you as his breath ghosts over your neck.

“I don’t like my blood panicked,” he murmurs, and now there’s ice in his voice. “That’s child’s play.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his stare heavy with reprimand and threat.

“I like it obedient. Warm. Still.” A pause. “Willing… or broken.”

The candles flicker again—closer now, their flames bowing toward him like servants.

The silence shatters.

Behind you, the great cathedral doors groan, then snap shut with a sound like bone cracking. The lock turns on its own—ancient iron grinding into place. You flinch. The sound echoes like a death knell, final and heavy.

You’re trapped.

Jungkook doesn’t move away. His lips are parted slightly, glistening, his tongue sweeping slow across them as he tastes the air between you. His other hand rises—fingers brushing lightly down your arm, cold enough to make you twitch. He feels your pulse beneath your skin, just beneath your jaw.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He hums.

“’Tis a blood moon, dear,” he says softly, reverently, as if reciting a divine truth. “I am fourfold stronger than on any pitiful day.”

His eyes roll half-shut for a moment, savoring your fear like the scent of wine. His voice holds its ancient lilt, thick with restrained hunger. “Flesh is warmer under it. Blood runs sweeter. And yours…” His eyes snap open, red and ravenous.

“You’ve been ripening for me since the day you crossed my threshold.”

You try to speak—but no sound leaves you. There’s nothing left in your throat but breath and heartbeat.

He sees that.

His gaze drags slowly down your body. Not with lust—yet—but with hunger. As though he’s studying his next course, deciding where to begin.

“Speechless,” he murmurs, tone steeped in mock sympathy. “Good. You’ve finally learned the language of prey.”

He doesn’t sink his teeth in.

Not yet.

Instead, Jungkook lingers—his mouth hovering just above your neck, breath colder than any wind you’ve ever felt. But his hold softens slightly, his fingers no longer clutching but cradling your throat. Like he’s choosing to keep you alive.

And that’s what makes it worse.

He inhales again, long and slow. You feel the tremor ripple through him, not with restraint—but reverence.

“You smell of fear,” he whispers, voice low and heavy like smoke. “But beneath it…”

His nose brushes your skin—your jaw, your collarbone, the hollow of your neck. You shiver as his mouth opens, lips grazing—not biting—just tasting.

“Desire.” His voice wraps around the word like silk on steel. “As if some part of you wants to be chosen. Touched. Taken.”

His hand releases your neck only to slip down, fingers dragging along your side, then resting over your racing heart.

“You didn’t come here for art,” he murmurs, mouth now right at your ear. “You came to surrender. You just didn’t know it yet.”

He tilts his head again, long dark hair brushing your cheek. His voice is intimate now, coaxing.

“Do you feel it, my sweet little muse?” His lips ghost your pulse again, then pause. “The way the cathedral holds its breath with you inside it? The way your soul leans toward me, even as your body shakes?”

His other hand comes to your waist, slow, sure, possessive.

“You came to be devoured, and you will be. But not alone by teeth.”

He leans back just enough to look you in the eye.

“I want your mind first. Your obedience. Your warmth wrapped around the cold in me.”

He smirks—beautiful, merciless.

“Now tell me, m’lady… Shall I begin?”

You finally find your voice, though it shakes, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

“Who… who are you?” Your breath comes too fast, too shallow, still under the heavy weight of his presence. Your eyes flicker nervously to the side, but you can’t escape. Not even if you tried.

Jungkook’s smile deepens—dark, knowing, dangerous. He leans in just enough for you to feel the press of his body against yours, the icy chill seeping into your skin through the layers of your clothes. His red eyes gleam as if he’s enjoying your fear, yet there’s something else in them too—something ancient, something alive in a way nothing else is.

“You don’t know?” He muses, as if the answer were obvious. “Foolish of you, to wander into my lair without knowing the true name of the beast.” His voice is rich, dripping with the weight of centuries.

He steps back just enough to let you take him in—fully.

The cathedral’s dim, flickering light dances over him. The long, flowing black silk of his clothes clings to a body carved by time. Muscles shaped by centuries of power, eyes sharp and piercing, his jawline cut like it was made to be admired, worshipped. His hair falls like a dark wave around his face, catching the light with every slight movement. He’s perfect—impossibly perfect.

His smirk widens when he sees where your gaze lingers, reading your thoughts as clearly as if they were written on your skin.

“Ah…” He purrs softly, voice laced with quiet pride. “Centuries… and good blood, keeps this man young.” His old-world lilt stretches the words, making them sound like some twisted poetry. “And more than that, m’lady—alive.”

He steps closer again, his gaze locking onto yours like a spell, a chain. “I am Jungkook, or perhaps better known as Dracula. A name spoken with reverence and fear, passed down through your little human histories.”

His hand rises slowly, fingertips tracing the air between you as if caressing the invisible thread of connection that pulls you toward him. “I’ve walked these woods, these lands, far longer than your kind can dream. I’ve seen kingdoms rise, and I’ve seen them fall.”

The weight of his words settles on you. The way he speaks makes your blood run cold—and yet, there’s something else. You feel his presence seeping into your mind, erasing the fear, replacing it with a strange desire. His power wraps around you like a warm, suffocating blanket.

“Now…” His voice is a whisper, dangerous and intimate all at once. “You know my name. You’ve found your way into my world. Do you fear it, m’lady? Or will you let me show you just how good it can feel… to belong to me?”

Your voice barely comes out—thin, shaky, caught between fear and something you don’t dare name.

“So… you drink blood?” you ask, hesitant, eyes locked on his in the dark.

The change is instant.

Jungkook’s expression hardens, and for the first time, his fangs flash—long, pale, perfectly sculpted. Not bared in hunger, but in displeasure. A warning.

He steps closer.

“I do more than drink blood,” he says, his voice thick with contempt and pleasure. “I eat flesh. I fuck. I consume.”

Each word is spoken slowly, like a strike.

“I feel better than any man—human or fang—could dream of, m’lady.”

His accent wraps around the vulgarity like silk wrapped around a dagger, old-world elegance dragging filth into the divine.

“Why do you ask… my little sacrifice?” The last part is soft, cruelly affectionate.

His hand rises again, fingers cold as marble, and he rubs your neck—where his grip had been. You flinch. His thumb brushes over the skin, slow and possessive, until he finds it.

The bruise.

A smile curls at the edge of his mouth when he sees what he’s done—dark skin blooming beneath your throat like a mark of ownership. “Look what I’ve done,” he says, almost to himself. “So delicate. And already ruined.”

But there’s no apology. Just pride.

He leans in again, this time slower, mouth near your ear. “That bruise… is a promise, dear. Not of mercy. But of what’s to come.”

He grabs your arm—rough, possessive, his fingers like iron—and without another word, begins pulling you through the cathedral.

“Come, come now dear,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, his voice still soaked in that elegant, archaic lilt. “I need to get you bare.”

His tone is decisive, like it’s not up for discussion. You stumble after him, his grip unrelenting, as he moves with inhuman speed—gliding, dragging, commanding the very air around him.

He leads you toward the left, past the shadowed pews and crumbling altar, toward a tall, narrow door half-covered in ivy and candlelight. It groans open at his touch, revealing a steep staircase of cold stone spiraling downward.

The air grows denser as you descend. The light shifts—no longer candlelight, but something softer, more unnatural. You feel the past pressing in around you, walls breathing memory and death. And desire.

At the bottom, the stairs open into a chamber carved from ancient stone—thick and quiet, like the inside of a tomb.

But it’s not empty.

There, set against the far wall, lies a bed—massive, low, draped in red velvet so deep it looks black in the low light. Thick curtains hang from the stone arch behind it, spilling down like blood, their fabric old, regal, untouched by time. Golden rings at the top gleam faintly. It’s all wrong in its beauty—too perfect for something hidden underground. Too clean for something dead.

Jungkook doesn’t stop walking until he’s nearly at the foot of the bed. Then he turns, finally facing you again.

Not a speck of dust on him. Not a thread out of place. The silk of his shirt clings perfectly to his chest and arms, catching the low light like polished obsidian. His hair falls in soft, deliberate waves. His eyes—still glowing, still red—drag over you.

He looks more god than monster.

And that, somehow, is worse.

He tilts his head slightly. “Surprised?” he asks, voice low, amused. “You thought I’d be rotting? Filthy?” His mouth twitches at the corner, not a smile—a dare.

“I am not a beast.” His hand rises, slow and graceful, fingers curling like he’s beckoning you to kneel. “I am something older. I ruin beautifully.”

He steps closer again, hand brushing the side of your face, then your shoulder.

“And you, little thing… You’ve already started to feel like a good feast.”

You stand frozen—your back to the stone wall, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between fear and disbelief. The air is too still, too thick. You can hear nothing but the echo of your own pulse and the faint shift of his silk clothes as he steps closer.

Jungkook watches you. No mercy in his eyes. Just hunger. And something darker—possession.

He licks his lips, slow and deliberate, tasting the air between you like it carries your soul on it. “Still frozen,” he murmurs, almost fondly. “Like prey.”

His fingers rise, brushing your collarbone lightly—tracing the line of your clothes. The cold of his touch sears into you. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t tear.

He unwraps.

The first button gives under his fingers.

Then the second.

Then the third.

One by one.

He watches your face the whole time. Not your body. Your reaction.

“You’re not moving,” he says, lips curving into something wicked. “Not resisting. Not fleeing. And yet… your heart…” He presses his palm flat over your chest, right where it pounds. “So loud. So sweet.”

Another button undone. The fabric slips, exposing your shoulder.

“Let me show you something,” he whispers, stepping behind you now, his hands trailing the garment down your arms. “Your body may freeze in fear… but it answers me just the same.”

Your clothes fall to the floor in silence.

The cold air hits you. But it’s his gaze that burns.

He circles you once, slow, eyes devouring every inch with the patience of a creature who has waited.

“You wear mortality like a veil,” he murmurs. “But I see through it.”

He leans in, breath skimming your shoulder, lips brushing just beneath your ear.

“And tonight, I claim what’s beneath.”

Jungkook doesn’t rush.

He could—he’s strong enough to tear you open like paper—but instead he savors this. You. Your helplessness. The silence in your throat. The tremble in your breath.

His fingers graze down your spine, featherlight. Then up again. Just skin to skin, slow enough to feel your shiver roll through his touch. His body is so close behind you, and yet not quite touching—just heatless presence, taunting.

“You’re soft,” he murmurs, voice rough velvet. “Too soft for a place like this.”

His hand curves around your hip. Squeezes. Possessive. Filthy.

“I can feel the blood moving in you… thick and warm,” he whispers against your neck, not quite kissing you, just hovering. “Like honey in a glass jar. Slow. Sweet. Desperate to spill.”

He laughs under his breath. It’s low. Cruel. And somehow, even that is sensual.

“You’re trembling like a virgin,” he growls, his mouth so close now that you can feel his lips shape the words against your skin. “Is that it, little lamb? No man’s touched you right? Or are you just not used to being touched by hell, himself?”

His fingers glide across your stomach, then back down, then circle up again just beneath your chest, skimming everything he knows will make you squirm. “You humans are so fragile. So quick to break. And yet…”

He cups your jaw, turning your face toward him. Those red eyes blaze—burning through your soul.

“You walked into my cathedral like you wanted to be ruined.”

Then he leans in, lips just barely brushing your ear, voice dropping into a rasp.

“Tell me,” he growls, tongue flicking against your earlobe, “when I take you—do I rip you apart slow… or do I make you scream fast enough to echo off every holy wall in this tomb?”

“Please,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out. “Just… don’t make it painful.”

Your voice cracks like something inside you has finally given up the fight. No resistance. No denial. Just raw, trembling surrender. You weren’t pleading for mercy—you knew better. There was no tomorrow for someone in your place. Only tonight. Only him.

Jungkook stills behind you.

Then you hear it.

A laugh—quiet, low, amused, the sound of a predator entertained by how easily the prey gave in.

“Oh… my sweet little dove,” he breathes, voice soaked in mockery. “You beg so easily. It’s almost… disappointing.”

His hand slides around your waist again, this time lower, fingers spreading against the base of your stomach as he presses himself to your back. You can feel the hunger in his body now. All that cold, coiled tension.

“You think I’d hurt you?” he croons, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “No, no, no. You’ve misunderstood me, m’lady.”

His fingers drift upward again, ghosting under your chest. “I don’t hurt blood I intend to drink.”

Then his hand wraps lightly around your throat from behind—not choking, just holding, like he wants to feel every swallow, every panic-breath, every heartbeat thudding against his palm.

“I’m a vampire,” he purrs, voice thick with that ancient, formal lilt. “And blood is… precious to us. Sacred. Especially blood like yours.”

He moves, slow and deliberate, his lips dragging along your jaw. “And to me, it gives life. Power. Desire.”

He presses a kiss—cold and lingering—just beneath your ear.

“So be good, little thing,” he whispers darkly. “And maybe… just maybe I’ll think about sparing you.”

Then his tongue flicks out, tasting the throb in your pulse, and he hums with approval.

“But hell, you make it hard. You’re so warm. And you tremble like you want to be taken.”

He steps around to face you now, hand still at your throat, eyes glowing like coals.

“I could drink you slow. Lick every drop. Fuck the life out of you until there’s none left to scream with. But if you’re very good…” he smirks, cocking his head, “I might just leave enough for you to crawl out of here.”

Jungkook stands in front of you, towering—every inch of him hunger made flesh. His hand slips from your throat slowly, fingers dragging down the center of your chest as he steps back, just enough to look at you fully.

“You look like you’re praying,” he says, voice low and wicked, gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, then slowly—so slowly—down your bare form. “But prayers don’t reach this place anymore. Only I do.”

His hands rise to his chest, undoing the first clasp of his black silk shirt. The sound of it—quiet, deliberate, metallic—clicks through the cold air.

“I’ve worn this for decades,” he says, slipping the garment open inch by inch. “Silk from dead kingdoms. Threads soaked in centuries. And now, finally… I get to take it off for you.”

The shirt falls from his shoulders, revealing muscle that’s carved, defined, impossible. His body looks like it was forged by hunger, by time, by blood itself. Cold to the eye, but burning in its power.

You can’t look away.

His smirk deepens.

“Oh, look at you,” he breathes, stepping closer again. “So quiet. So compliant now. Like you want to be undressed by a monster.”

He slides a hand over his own stomach, then down to the laces at his trousers, voice thick and condescending. “Shall I keep going? Shall I show you what eternity builds, little sacrifice?”

Then he leans in, chest brushing yours, his hand snaking back around to cup your throat again.

“I could make you beg,” he whispers darkly. “Make you crawl. Make you thank me for what I take. Because you will feel it—my mouth, my cock, my fangs. Every inch of me that’s been starved of warmth.”

He tilts your chin up with two fingers, eyes glowing redder now, closer to the edge.

“But you asked so nicely… ‘Just don’t make it painful.’”

His lips ghost yours, not kissing—just hovering. “I don’t do pain, little one.”

His tongue flicks out, wetting his bottom lip.

“I do ruin.”

He doesn’t touch you again just yet. He stares.

Like you’re already naked beneath him. Like the very sight of you is making restraint a sin he’s barely managing to keep.

You see it now—clearly—what hides behind his control. The want. The ache. It’s written in the way his chest rises heavier with each breath, how his jaw tightens, how his fingers twitch at his sides like he’s holding back from grabbing you and devouring.

His body is a marvel—impossibly sculpted, broad, powerful, every line and muscle more defined than anything you’ve ever seen. Not human. Not fair. It’s the kind of physique forged in deathless time, by hunger and discipline, by a need to be feared and worshipped.

And you can feel it. All of it. The cold radiating off his skin like a warning, but his eyes burn so hot it makes your insides twist.

He tilts his head just a little, eyes dragging over your bare form again, more lingering this time. More predatory.

“You feel it, don’t you,” he murmurs, voice dropping like honey turned to poison. “This… pull.”

He steps close again—so close his chest nearly brushes yours, but not quite. Just heatless air, just tension, just his stare raking over you.

“Your skin tightens. Your thighs press together. You can’t tell if it’s fear or want. That’s what I do, little mortal. I blur the lines until you’re begging me to cross them.”

His hand lifts, brushing your cheek—tenderly. Like a lover.

But then his thumb grazes your bottom lip.

Pushes in just enough for you to taste his skin.

And he smiles. Feral. Gorgeous. Dangerous.

“You want to know what I taste like, don’t you,” he whispers, voice curling around your spine like smoke. “You want to know if eternity’s hunger can be sweet.”

He leans in again—mouth near yours, breath just as cold and slow as the moonlight.

“But you’ll have to ask me for it, darling. Nicely. On your knees, maybe. Like the offering you are.”

Jungkook’s smirk widens at the thought, a wicked glimmer in his eyes as he steps back just enough to leave space between your bodies—but not enough to let you escape the intensity of his gaze.

His voice drops even lower now, huskier, a perfect blend of authority and temptation.

“You’ve been so quiet,” he taunts, eyes flicking down to your trembling form, that soft breath escaping your lips. “Almost as if you’re afraid to say what you really want. You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?”

He takes a slow step forward, his movements deliberate, measured—like a predator playing with its prey before the final strike.

“I could make this easy on you, sweetheart. Just give in. Let me feel your blood—your body—just as I want to,” he whispers, running the back of his fingers lightly along your arm, then up to your shoulder, feeling the goosebumps rise under his touch. “But I won’t. Not yet.”

He steps closer, so close you can feel his body heat even through the air that separates you. His lips are so near, but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.

“You want to know if eternity tastes sweet?” His voice is a velvet rasp. “Then show me how much you’re willing to beg for it. I’m not giving you anything you haven’t earned, little one.”

A finger trails down your throat, softly. Light. The same path his thumb took earlier, but now it feels like a promise. “I could ravage you, take what I want, and leave you crumpled beneath me. Or…”

His voice turns teasing again, amusement lacing every syllable as he circles you, one hand trailing over your waist, the other hovering just behind you. “Or, I could have you begging me. Wanting me so badly you forget what it was like to resist. But no more of this silence, hmm?”

He finally brushes his lips against your ear, a teasing whisper. “Tell me, sweet thing, what do you want from me? If you’re not too afraid to say it.”

His hand presses at your lower back, guiding you toward the bed but stopping before you make contact. “Say it.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, laced with trembling hope. “It’ll be quick?”

For a moment, Jungkook stills—but only just. His hands remain where they are, exploring you slowly, confidently, like he already owns every inch of you. His thumb grazes your hip. His palm brushes over your stomach. Every movement is deliberate. Possessive.

Then his tongue swipes across the bottom of his lip, wetting it as he studies your face—your fear, your question, your fragile hope.

And he smirks.

That old, cruel, regal smirk of someone who’s lived too long and learned too much about how to break humans open without even trying.

“In truth?” he drawls, voice thick with that timeless accent, low and curling like smoke around your ears. “*I want to. I do. But this blood—your blood…”

He leans in, nose brushing just below your jaw, where your pulse flutters wild beneath your skin.

“…it feels like it needs to simmer some more.”

He says it like a chef eyeing a perfect meal not yet ready to be touched. Like you are a delicacy he intends to savor, not rush.

“You taste scared still. Raw. Untouched. And I do so hate to dine on something undercooked.”

His teeth graze your throat—not biting, not yet. Just a scrape, a warning, a promise.

“Let it warm. Let it plead with want.”

And his hands roam again, slower this time, but firmer. He’s not rushing you. He’s ripening you.

Jungkook pulls back just slightly, just enough to let your skin cool from his breath—and then he straightens.

His hands go to the waistband of his trousers, slow, like he’s showing you something sacred. His eyes never leave yours, even as his fingers tug the dark fabric down over those impossible hips, revealing the sharp V-line, the lean strength, the unholy beauty carved into every inch of him.

“Your eyes say you want to run,” he says quietly, tilting his head just enough for the candlelight to catch in his eyes, still glowing, still blood-moon red. “But your body? Your body says it wants to be wrecked.”

He steps out of the pooled fabric and brushes a hand through his long, dark hair, pushing it back from his face. It falls in elegant waves, wild yet regal. Ancient. Timeless. His chest rises and falls slow and steady, like he’s controlling every breath, every urge—barely.

Then he kneels.

Not like a servant.

Like a beast preparing to feed.

His mouth hovers just above the place where your shoulder meets your neck, his breath trailing cold over the skin. You feel every molecule of air between his lips and your body.

His fingers press lightly to your waist, pulling you close enough to feel the graze of his abs against your stomach. He groans—low, guttural, as if you make him hungry in ways even blood doesn’t.

“Mmm,” he hums, the sound vibrating into your throat. “You smell like trembling prayers and heat. I could keep you like this for hours… just trembling. Just ripening.”

He presses the flat of his tongue to the curve of your neck and drags it slowly along your pulse, tasting without taking.

And when he reaches just below your ear, he whispers, voice thick and devastating:

“You want me to bite, don’t you.”

His fingers flex against your waist again.

“Not yet. I want you sweet. I want you crying from it.”

He looks up from your neck, hair falling in front of one eye, and smirks.

“Be patient for me, little offering. The best things bleed slow.”

He feels it the moment your breath hitches—that quiet, involuntary quake that betrays you. The way your hips shift just slightly, your thighs pressing together as if instinct is fighting reason. And that’s what he wants. Not permission. Proof.

Jungkook smiles against your neck, a cruel, hungry thing. “There it is,” he murmurs, his voice warm and wicked like a silk noose. “Your body’s finally learning who it belongs to.”

His hands slide down your back, slow and sure, fingertips grazing your skin like he’s mapping it. Worshipping it. Claiming it.

“You’re softening for me,” he continues, voice like a spell. “Your skin’s getting warmer, your blood sweeter. I can smell it.”

He brushes his lips along the side of your throat, not kissing—tasting—his nose buried in the hollow just below your jaw as he inhales deeply.

“Mm,” he groans low. “There’s nothing like this. Nothing.”

His hands tighten suddenly at your hips, grinding you slowly into his body so you can feel just how hard he is—how much he’s holding back.

“See what you do to me?” he growls. “I’ve lived through centuries of blood and war and pleasure and death, and still—still—nothing tempts me like humans trembling in my hands.”

His voice slips into a rougher edge, a possessive sound under the smooth accent. “Do you know how hard it is for me not to ruin you right here? Against this cold stone, with your hands clawing at me and your voice begging me to stop?”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, hair tousled, lips stained from kissing your pulse.

“But you’re not ready yet. Not quite. I want more from you.”

His hand slips between your thighs, just barely pressing through what little fabric remains, teasing the heat gathering there.

“You’re starting to ache, aren’t you?” he whispers, licking his lower lip again. “You’re so close. Just say it. Say you want me.”

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath cool but ragged now, his control splintering with every second.

“Beg for it, and I might make you feel something no human ever has before.”

You swallow hard, your voice barely a whisper—fragile, cracked, but still there.

“Feel something no human ever has…?” you echo, wide-eyed, chest rising fast under his grip. “What do you mean?”

That grin. That cruel, ancient grin crawls across his face like a shadow catching flame. His laugh is low—genuine, dangerous, and devastating. He leans in, his lips brushing your cheek as he speaks, his voice like black velvet dipped in sin.

“Oh, darling…” he murmurs, letting the syllables drag. “You poor, breakable thing.”

His fingers—those long, death-born fingers—trace your throat, featherlight at first, then firmer, circling your pulse like a predator playing with its food.

“I mean ecstasy,” he breathes, lips near your ear now. “I mean your soul clawing at the edge of your body because it cannot hold the pleasure I’ll wring out of you.”

His hands clamp harder now—one gripping your waist possessively, the other wrapping around your throat with exact, careful pressure.

“I’ll make you feel your own heartbeat through your spine,” he growls, dragging his fangs—still hidden, still threatening—along your skin. “I’ll tear pleasure through your nerves until you forget your name and remember only mine.”

His voice drops lower, eyes boring into yours with something feral underneath—something old.

“Have you ever been devoured, little mortal?” His thumb brushes your lips now, rough from restraint. “Because that’s what I do. I ruin. I consume. I take. And I make you thank me for it.”

He presses against you again, harder, undeniable now. He’s not just toying—he’s holding back a storm.

“Say the word,” he whispers, teeth flashing, “and I’ll give you something no man of flesh could ever dream of giving.”

He growls low when he feels you kiss him back with trembling need—your lips parting, your breath catching, your body no longer resisting but responding. That’s all the permission he needs.

In one swift, fluid motion, he grabs you tighter, lips never leaving yours as he starts moving—walking you backward, his body guiding yours with the kind of force only centuries of power could carry.

Each step has weight, dominance. His hand on the back of your neck, his other still gripping your waist like he owns it—because in his mind, he does now.

Your knees bump against velvet.

And then you’re falling—gasping as your back hits the bed, soft but firm beneath you. Before you can fully take in the crimson sheets, the old stone around you, the massive crimson curtains drawn like a stage, he follows—he pounces.

He pins you beneath him, a knee between your thighs, one hand on your chest, his body everywhere. He’s not just on top—he’s above, towering over you, hair falling forward in waves of inky black as he stares down at you, red eyes lit with unholy want.

“Look at you,” he purrs, hips slowly grinding into yours, just enough for you to feel how hard he is. “Flat on your back in my bed… trembling like a sacrifice and breathing like a lover.”

He leans down, mouth brushing your cheek, voice hot in your ear. “You taste divine. And now you feel darker.”

His hands roam again, slower this time—savoring. He explores like you’re something forbidden he waited too long to claim. His lips return to your throat, but this time they linger longer, more possessive, more dangerous.

You feel his restraint fraying. The way he grips your thighs tighter. The way his hips press into yours with more urgency. The way his teeth scrape along your skin like he’s tasting the line between worship and devour.

“You’re sworn by me now,” he whispers against your neck.

His breath grows heavier, colder—like mist curling through the cathedral air. You feel it right before his mouth dips, slowly, hungrily, down to your neck. His lips press to your skin first, soft—almost reverent.

Then he licks.

A long, deliberate drag of his tongue up the curve of your throat, stopping just below your jaw. He groans, low and deep in his chest, like the taste itself stokes something feral in him.

“Mmm… this…” he murmurs, lips brushing where your pulse pounds. “This is what I starve for. Warm, willing… sinful. The church cries at this grave from your innocence”

His tongue flicks out again, slower now, tracing the fluttering vein like he’s savoring the anticipation more than the blood itself. You feel his breath against the damp trail, his nose brushing your skin as he inhales you like perfume.

Then he stills—mouth hovering.

“You’re trembling,” he says with a smirk, voice low and velvet-dark. “I adore when they tremble. It means the body knows before the mind ever does.”

His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head to bare more of your neck. “And your body, darling… it’s already spoken for.”

He sees it in your eyes—the fear mixed with something else. The way you look at him, desperate, vulnerable. It drives him mad

“Jungkook, please….be gentle.. W-with me”

He watches your pleading gaze and feels the weight of your words settle deep into him. Gentle.

His lips curve into a wicked smile, dark and full of satisfaction. He leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck as he feels your pulse race beneath his lips. His fangs graze your skin, teasing, not yet sinking in, but just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

With an almost lazy drawl, he murmurs, his voice thick with that haunting, old-world accent, “Gentle, you say?”

He laughs softly, the sound dark and rich with amusement. “Ah, my sweet little prey…” he continues, his fingers trailing down your side, brushing along the curves of your body as though he’s deciding what he wants to claim next. “You beg for gentleness now, but let me assure you, this… this will be nothing like what you’ve known.”

His hand moves to your throat again, just resting there, teasing the line of pressure, but not enough to cut off your breath completely. “You may beg, but I don’t listen to pleas. I give what I want, what you need… whether you ask for it or not.”

He dips his head lower, his lips brushing against your skin in soft, torturous kisses. Then he pulls away just enough to meet your eyes, his red gaze sharp, full of dark promise.

“Do you want gentleness, my little sacrifice?” he asks, voice like honey and fire. “Or do you want me to take you as only a creature like me can?”

The soft whine escapes you before you can stop it, a sound that drives him wild. He hears it—the surrender, the pull toward what you know he can give, whether you’ve fully accepted it or not. It’s a plea, but it’s something more: a signal that you want him to take control, to claim you in a way only he can.

He smiles, a dark, twisted thing that shows how much he enjoys it—the power, the control, the fact that you’re his now. His eyes flare with intensity, glowing like crimson embers as he watches you, feeling your surrender in every inch of your body.

“Good little one,” he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction, and that single phrase makes a shiver run through you. “You wanted me to take you, didn’t you?”

His grip tightens around your throat just enough to make you dizzy, but not enough to stop your breath entirely. He leans in, brushing his lips against your ear, his voice now a dark promise.

“I’ll show you what it means to be the property of me,” he purrs, his other hand sliding down to your waist, his fingers pressing against your skin like he’s marking you.

His body presses against yours, hard and possessive, a reminder that there’s no escape now. His lips hover over your neck once more, his fangs just barely brushing the skin, teasing, knowing that the moment he sinks them in, everything changes.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, almost a growl now. “It’ll be a charm you’ll never forget. No turning back from this.”

He moves then, not slow, not gentle—he’s on top of you, fully in control, and you feel his power in every movement, every shift of his body against yours. He drags his mouth down your neck with purpose, his hunger a force of nature that overpowers everything.

The tension is unbearable as he stops just at the edge, his lips lingering for a moment. “Ready, little one?” he whispers, and you know it’s no longer a question. It’s a command.

And with that, he takes.

He doesn’t give you time to breathe, doesn’t give you time to think. His lips crash against yours, rough, demanding, as though he’s trying to brand you with the intensity of his kiss. His teeth graze your lip, sharp and hungry, and his grip on you tightens—like he’s trying to consume you in every way, pulling you deeper into the kiss, deeper into his world.

You can taste him, feel his need, his dominance pushing against your own. His body presses into yours, his chest hard and unforgiving, and you can feel every inch of him. There’s no tenderness here, no gentleness, just raw desire and a thirst that goes beyond flesh, beyond the physical.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth without warning, exploring, claiming. The kiss is possessive, and you can feel the burn of his desire in the way he holds you, in the way he forces you to kiss him back—his hunger is undeniable, and it’s all-consuming.

His breath comes in short bursts against your lips as he pulls back just enough to speak, his voice low, almost a growl. “You’re almost ready.”

He doesn’t hold back any longer. His kiss turns feral, deeper, more urgent. His hands grip you harder, pulling you against him with force, as if trying to fuse your bodies together, as if he can’t get close enough. The passion burns hotter, darker, and you can feel the raw power of him, his hunger spilling over into everything.

His lips are bruising, teeth scraping against your mouth as he forces you to meet him, to give yourself to him. He doesn’t wait for you to respond; he takes what he wants, relentless and unyielding.

His hands move to your hair, gripping it tightly, yanking your head back to expose your throat, your skin quivering under the roughness. His breath is harsh against your neck, and then his mouth follows, leaving fiery trails of possessive kisses, harder than before.

You can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, every movement sharp and precise, as if each second with you is a moment he’s claiming, marking, owning.

“my blood,” he mutters into your skin, voice dark and thick with lust. “All for me.”

His hands trail lower, exploring, rough and unrelenting, as though he’s making sure you’re fully his—body, mind, and soul. He pushes harder, deeper into the kiss, like he’s sealing his claim with every touch, every bite, every motion.

He grips your legs, effortlessly pulling them around his waist, and you feel the hard press of his body against yours, each inch of him a reminder of how much control he has. The heat between you is suffocating, overwhelming, and his body fits against yours with the precision of someone who has claimed you before, knows you intimately even in this moment of newness.

With a low growl, he pushes himself closer, forcing you back into the bed beneath you as his mouth trails down your neck once more, his hands roaming over your body with possessive urgency. You feel the shift, his dominance evident in the way he moves—never asking, never hesitating, only taking what he wants.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice thick with hunger and a touch of mockery. “Feel that?,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “The way your body melts into mine? You’re already mine, in every way. I don’t need your consent to make it real. You’ll beg for me by the end of this.”

His fingers dig into your skin, pulling you even closer as he starts moving against you, the pressure building with every movement, the friction between you undeniable. He’s rough, raw—like he’s marking you, staking his claim in the most primal way possible.

“Tell me you enjoy this,” he demands, voice rough with desire, as his hands explore your body. “Tell me you want me to take you, to make you mine.”

His grip tightens on your legs, pulling you even closer as you resist, and that only seems to ignite something darker in him. The frustration in his eyes flickers, but it’s soon replaced by something far more dangerous. He leans in, his breath hot and sharp against your ear as he feels your resistance, his voice low and almost predatory.

“You don’t want this?” he growls, a twisted amusement in his tone, “How foolish.” His hand moves to your throat again, a steady pressure that reminds you just who is in control.

“Humans,” he sneers, the disgust evident in his voice. “You think you have choices. You think you have the power to deny me. But look at you, so fragile, so… easily shattered.”

His fangs glint as he smiles down at you, the cruel smirk only growing. “You’re all the same, aren’t you? Weak, fragile little creatures with your false sense of power.” His eyes gleam with red-hot fury. “You think you can play hard to get, but you’ll give in, just like the rest of them.”

With each degrading word, he leans into you, pushing his body harder against yours, forcing you to feel the weight of his hunger, his need. “I’ve lived for centuries,” he continues, his voice like dark silk, “and you’re nothing but a fleeting moment in my world. I’ll take what I want from you, no matter how much you resist.”

He moves against you, grinding his body into yours, his hands possessively roaming your skin as he forces you to submit. The pressure builds, and every movement from him reinforces the idea that he’s beyond your control, beyond any human limits.

“So go ahead,” he mocks, his voice dripping with disdain. “Keep pretending like you can deny me. But you’ll beg soon enough. Every human does.”

And with that, he presses harder, relentless, the heat of his body suffocating, his words cutting through the space between you like a blade.

His hands shift, fingers becoming claws, digging into your skin with an almost primal force. You can feel the raw pressure as he grips you harder, as though he’s trying to hold you in place, to mark you, to claim you in the most physical way possible. His body presses harder against yours, almost crushing, as his mouth hovers just above your neck, sensing the rapid pulse beneath your skin, like a heartbeat calling out to him.

He inhales deeply, the sound of his breath ragged with hunger. “So weak… so fragile,” he mutters, his lips barely brushing the skin of your neck as he feels your pulse racing beneath his fingertips, beneath his mouth. The tension between you is electric, and you can almost feel the hunger in his eyes as they flicker with dark delight.

He leans in, his fangs scraping lightly against the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath cool against the heat of your body. “I can feel it,” he whispers, his voice a low growl, “the way your pulse quickens for me… How it speeds up when you’re fearsome.”

His claws dig deeper into your skin, and you feel a sharp sting as the sensation of being marked, being taken, surges through you. He’s toying with you, enjoying the control, the way you shiver under his touch. His mouth moves to your neck, his teeth grazing just beneath your pulse, teasing, testing.

“Don’t pretend,” he continues, voice dark, dangerous. “I know you want this… even if you’re too proud to admit it. You’ll break just like the rest of them.”

His grip tightens once more, his claws drawing a small line of blood, and as your pulse throbs beneath his touch, he presses harder against you, feeling the tremor of fear and desire in every movement you make.

He slides one strong arm beneath your back, wrapping it around you possessively, dragging your body flush against his cold, unyielding frame. The motion is swift and commanding—there’s no space left between you now. His muscles flex as he holds you there, his grip tight, as if daring you to even try and pull away.

Then his mouth is back on your skin—hot despite the chill of his body—pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, then your throat. Each kiss lingers, lips dragging slow and deliberate, as if he’s memorizing the taste of your skin. He groans softly, the sound vibrating against your neck like a low warning of the hunger still brewing beneath the surface.

“Mm,” he hums, voice thick with dark pleasure, “your blood sings to me. Your fear, your heat… it’s intoxicating.”

He kisses higher now, along your jaw, then back down again, tracing your pulse with the tip of his tongue. You feel the sharp edge of his fangs graze you, but he doesn’t bite—he savors. Teases.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs between kisses, breath cool but voice molten, “what you’re making me exude.”

His arm tightens around you, and with every slow, hungry kiss, he pulls you deeper into the nightmare you can’t seem to wake from—one where danger and desire blur until you’re not sure which one you’re responding to.

His hand slides downward, slow and deliberate, the drag of his fingers over your skin sending a fresh wave of heat through your already tense body. His touch is cold, but his intent burns—every movement practiced, possessive, and deeply aware of what it does to you.

He keeps his arm wrapped tight around your back, holding you to him like he’s staking a claim, while his other hand moves lower, over the curve of your hip, then between your legs. He rubs there—firm, unrelenting—watching your reaction with a cruel kind of satisfaction.

“There it is,” he murmurs, eyes locked on you, voice smooth and dripping with hunger. “You feel that? That’s your body betraying you, sweet thing. So wet, so ready, and I’ve barely grazed you.”

His fingers work in slow, purposeful circles, teasing, pressing harder every time you flinch or gasp. The red in his eyes glows brighter, and his mouth finds your neck again, kissing rougher now, more desperate.

“This is mine,” he growls, rubbing harder, his words sinking deep into your skin like a curse. “Every drop of you—blood, body, breath—it all belongs to me now.”

His palm presses deeper, and he slows—just enough to feel it. The blood rushing through you. The throb of your pulse beneath his touch. His fingers drag lazily over the heat between your legs, and he exhales a low, predatory sound, eyes flicking down to watch the way your body reacts to every teasing motion of his hand.

“Ah…” he breathes, voice dipping into something darker, almost reverent. “I can feel it. Your blood… it’s moving faster now. Right here.” His fingertips graze just enough to make you twitch, and he grins as if he’s discovered something sacred.

He watches his own hand as he continues to rub you, the muscles in his jaw flexing with restraint. “So warm,” he mutters, mostly to himself, though his eyes flick up to yours. “So human. So helpless.” He presses a little harder now, drawing a slow, deliberate circle that pulls another reaction from you—one he drinks in like it’s just as sweet as blood.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, licking his lower lip again, watching the way you squirm. “Do you hate it? Or is it the fear that makes it feel this good?” His finger slips lower—barely a stroke, barely a touch—but enough to make your body jolt.

“Such a sensitive little thing,” he coos mockingly. “I could play here for hours. Just watch you fall apart on my fingers… until you beg me to take the rest.”

He dips lower again, dragging the wetness over your skin, staring at it with dark fascination, as if you were bleeding for him already. “You’re ripe,” he says, voice rough now. “And I haven’t even sunk my teeth in yet.”

His thumb slides into place with unsettling precision, pressing into that sensitive spot with slow, calculated pressure. He watches your body jolt beneath him, the way your hips shift involuntarily—like instinct has taken over and your body is answering him before your mind can catch up.

“There we are,” he mutters, eyes narrowing with wicked satisfaction. “You move so sweet when you think you’re not supposed to.”

He circles with his thumb, firm and unrelenting, and your legs tense beneath his body. He doesn’t stop—if anything, he sharpens the pressure, dragging out the movement just to feel every twitch, every gasp.

“That little shake,” he murmurs, leaning in so his breath brushes your cheek, “it’s the blood. Rushing everywhere. It sings to me when you’re like this.”

Your breath stutters, hips shifting again despite yourself, and he lets out a dark chuckle.

“Keep moving,” he says lowly, voice like velvet laced with threat. “Let me feel what desperation does to you. Show me where it aches.”

He presses harder, thumb slow and firm, his free hand gripping your thigh to keep you open—exposed. His red eyes lock on your face, drinking in your helplessness like it’s the finest wine he’s ever tasted.

“So effortless,” he whispers. “So very, very easy to unravel.”

His touch turns torturously slow—he’s no longer just teasing, he’s studying you. Reading the way your body pulses under his hand, how every twitch, every breath, every tremor answers him. His thumb glides through your slickness with practiced cruelty, circling, pressing, retreating—only to return harder when you shift or whimper.

“There,” he murmurs, almost to himself, watching the rhythm of your blood surge beneath your skin. “I can feel it building. Like a tide under your flesh. You’re trying so hard to hold still, aren’t you?” His voice is thick with hunger, low and reverent, like he’s savoring something sacred.

He leans closer, lips barely grazing your cheek as he works you with measured intent. “Every beat. Every drop. The blood rushes down when you’re like this… soaked and wanting.” His tongue drags lazily along the edge of your jaw. “You don’t even realize what you’re giving me.”

Then he slows again—too much—just when you start to chase his rhythm. His eyes flick to your hips, your thighs, how your body pushes toward his hand even now.

“You want more,” he says, smirking darkly. “Even if you’re afraid. Even if you should be running.”

His fingers slip lower, gathering everything your body’s given him, then he brings them back to your clit—pressing, slow and unrelenting—his gaze never leaving your face.

“I could play with this flow all night,” he growls, voice sharp with lust. “Watch it flood, feel it heat, make it scream. You’re already bleeding desire for me, little thing. And I haven’t even bitten you yet.”

He feels it—your body swelling under his touch, the heat rising, blood rushing thick beneath the surface like it’s begging to be claimed. His thumb doesn’t stop, but his eyes darken further, pupils blown wide with want. His nostrils flare slightly, catching the scent of your arousal and the pulse pounding in your veins, and his lips part.

“Ah,” he exhales, voice catching on something primal. “You’re ripe now. I can feel your blood blooming under my hand… swelling just for me.”

His mouth dips lower, hovering over your skin, and he drags his tongue slowly across his bottom lip—then licks the corner of his mouth, tasting the air, savoring the heat radiating off you like it’s already on his tongue.

“It calls,” he says, voice trembling with restraint. “Your blood sings, your flesh swells… and I—” he cuts himself off with a groan, mouth finally descending to the place just below your jaw.

He doesn’t bite.

Not yet.

He kisses first—slow and heated—right where your pulse pounds the hardest, letting his tongue flick out to taste the salt of your skin, the heat, the life. His fangs graze but don’t pierce, teasing you like everything else.

“Let me taste your sweet nectar,” he growls, muffled against your neck. “Let me drink the ache you’re trying so hard to hide.”

And his hand doesn’t stop. His thumb keeps rubbing, circling, coaxing more of that need out of you—more blood, more heat, more helpless want—for him to swallow whole.

His hand stills for just a breath—then he shifts, sliding down with liquid grace, eyes never leaving yours. His mouth finds the place his thumb had worked so mercilessly, and then—

He replaces it.

Warm lips parting, tongue slow, deliberate—he presses his mouth to you like he’s worshipping, like he’s claiming.

His thumb, slick with you, lifts to his mouth. He slides it past his lips and sucks, slow and deep, tongue curling around it as his eyes flutter shut in something close to ecstasy.

“Mmm,” he hums, letting it slip free with a wet sound. “You taste like heat and life. And you’re swelling for me.”

Then he lowers again. This time—mouth wide, tongue flat—he licks the swollen ache of you with long, dragging strokes. No mercy. No hesitation.

“So warm,” he whispers against your folds. “So full of blood… I could stay here for hours. Lick until your pulse breaks against my mouth.”

He groans into you, tongue flicking, teasing, then circling with the same relentless rhythm his thumb once had. His fingers spread your thighs wider, holding you open as if you were an offering—something sacred to be devoured.

And he does.

Slow, then faster. Savoring every movement. Every taste. Every swell of blood under your skin.

“Keep giving it to me,” he growls into your cunt. “Let your blood pour for me, little one. I want to feel you fall apart—on my tongue.”

He pulls off slowly, leaving you trembling, your body yearning for more of the pleasure he had just given. His breath is heavy, sharp against your skin as he looks up at you, a dark, predatory gleam in his eyes. He lets his tongue flick out, licking his lips with satisfaction, eyes still locked on yours as he drinks in your every reaction.

“Patience,” he murmurs, his voice thick with hunger. “It’s not time yet.” His fingers trace along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending small jolts through you.

He moves up, placing a hand on your chest, his thumb brushing over your nipple in a teasing motion. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?” he muses. “So desperate for me to finish what I’ve started. But it’s not just the blood, is it?”

He leans closer, lips barely brushing your ear. “You want to feel me inside you, don’t you?”

His fangs flash briefly as he smirks, then pulls away just enough to look you over, eyes dark with desire and amusement. He seems to savor every moment of your hesitation, knowing how close you are to giving in completely.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, voice low and teasing. “When I’m ready, I’ll give you all of me.”

He watches you with an almost predatory focus, his red eyes gleaming with dark amusement as you squirm beneath him. The way your body tenses and moves, desperate for him to continue, is an intoxicating sight. Each shift, each breath you take, only fuels his need.

“So sensitive,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with satisfaction. “Look at you, all squirming, trying to hold on.”

He leans closer, his body pressing against yours, but still, he holds back. His lips ghost over your neck, just enough to feel your pulse thrum beneath the surface, but not enough to bite. His hands move down your sides, gently caressing, but the slow, deliberate touch only seems to heighten the tension.

“You think you can take it, don’t you?” he teases, his voice rich with mocking pleasure. “But your body is betraying you.”

He watches as your body writhes beneath him, as if every inch of you is calling out for more, for the release he’s holding just out of reach. His eyes flicker to your face, drinking in your reactions, savoring the control he has over you, the way you’re teetering on the edge, unable to escape the pull of his presence.

“You want more,” he says softly, voice laced with amusement. “But you’re not quite ready yet.”

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin as he watches you squirm. His eyes, now darker with desire, flicker down to your body, his gaze almost possessive.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust. “Like the finest wine… a richness I can’t get enough of.”

He moves his hand to your thigh, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin, tracing slow circles. His lips graze your neck once again, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss before he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes.

“Every inch of you is perfection,” he continues, his tone smooth, as though he’s savoring the words just as much as he savored every drop of your blood. “The taste… it lingers in my mouth, intoxicating. I could keep going. I could take my time and let it all flow into me, filling me with you.”

His hand moves lower, brushing against you with delicate pressure, enjoying the way your body reacts, how it trembles beneath him. “You’re nothing like any human I’ve had,” he whispers, his voice growing darker with possessiveness. “Your blood… you’re almost made for me, little one.”

He pulls away slightly, eyes flickering with hunger. “You feel it too, don’t you? The pull. The way my mouth just craves you.”

He moves in close again, his lips pressing against yours with a mix of hunger and tenderness, as though tasting you again is the only thing that matters. His kiss deepens quickly, his tongue slipping past your lips with insistent pressure, as if he’s trying to draw out every drop of desire that he knows you’re hiding within. His mouth is insatiable, each kiss more demanding than the last, his hands gripping you tighter as he feels the blood flowing faster beneath your skin.

As his lips brush against yours, he pulls back just enough to murmur, “I need to feel it…” His breath is shallow, ragged, his eyes dark and heavy with hunger. “I want to taste your blood again, feel that pulse…”

Before you can respond, he kisses you again, but this time, his mouth moves down your neck, lips finding the tender skin where your pulse beats strong and fast. He lingers there for a moment, feeling the flow of blood just beneath the surface, his fangs grazing lightly against your skin as he teases, savoring the warmth of you.

“Mmm…,” he hums into your skin, a low sound of pleasure. “You feel it too, don’t you? The way your body just responds to me.”

His hand tightens around your waist, pulling you closer, the pressure building between you as he continues to kiss your neck, feeling the rapid flow of your blood with every passing second. The sensation seems to drive him mad, making his movements more urgent, more intense. He can’t get enough.

He pulls back slightly, his lips still brushing against your skin, leaving a trail of heat as he looks down at you with a wicked grin. His eyes burn with a dark amusement, watching the way you react, how your body trembles under his touch.

“You’re so easy,” he murmurs, voice dripping with teasing mockery. “So eager to give yourself to me, aren’t you?”

His fingers trace your jawline, then slide down to your throat, feeling the rapid pulse of your blood beneath his fingertips. He presses just hard enough to make you feel the pressure, but not enough to hurt, his touch taunting.

“Tell me,” he whispers, his voice low and sultry, “do you want me to take it? Do you want me to taste that blood of yours again? Or are you still playing the reluctant little thing?”

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as he nibbles lightly on the soft skin, savoring the way you flinch at his touch. “Don’t be shy now,” he chuckles darkly. “You can beg for it, if you want.”

He moves his hand lower again, brushing against your body, enjoying the way you flinch with each stroke, each movement of his fingers. His lips hover just over your neck, his fangs brushing against your skin as he waits, taunting, teasing—waiting for you to give in completely.

“I can make you beg, you know,” he growls softly. “All you have to do is ask.”

He kneels before you, his movements deliberate, his eyes dark with hunger and anticipation. His gaze locks onto yours, intense and possessive, as if he’s studying every inch of you, every breath you take. The air between you is thick, heavy with unspoken desire.

“You must taste me,” he says, his voice low and commanding, laced with the weight of centuries of power. “I only drink the strong blood, the blood that has been touched by desire, by fear, by surrender… like yours.” He leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin, the intensity of his gaze never wavering.

His hands move to your waist, his touch gentle yet firm as he pulls you towards him, urging you to close the distance. “I have waited for this moment,” he continues, his voice a velvet growl. “To feel your lips on mine, to taste you, to make you part of me.”

The dark red of his eyes glows even more brightly as he watches you, waiting for you to respond. “Don’t be shy,” he whispers, his words dripping with dark promise. “I know you want it, want to feel me. To give yourself to me.”

He leans in closer, his lips brushing lightly against your skin, and his hands grip you tighter as if to remind you that there is no turning back now. His eyes are full of possession, and the desire to make you his runs deep in his veins.

“Taste me,” he says again, his voice now a growl, as he positions himself closer, ready to give you the dark pleasure he’s been promising. “Let me show you how a true vampire feeds.”

He helps you sit up with a firm yet gentle grip, his hands strong as they guide you, keeping you steady as your body trembles slightly. His touch is commanding, but there’s an odd tenderness to it, a contrast to the hunger in his eyes. The coldness of his skin brushes against you, sending a chill down your spine.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice low and deep, the accent heavy with authority. “Stay with me, don’t look away.”

He watches you closely, his red eyes gleaming in the dim light of the cathedral, a silent command for you to obey without words. His fingers trace the curve of your neck, feeling the pulse that races beneath your skin, sensing the tension in your body.

His lips curl into a small smirk, and for a moment, he just watches, enjoying the way you react to his every move. “Do not be afraid, dear,” he says softly, his voice almost soothing, though his words carry a darker edge. “I won’t hurt you… unless you beg for it.”

With a flick of his wrist, he gently tilts your head to one side, exposing the delicate skin of your neck. His eyes flicker down to the vulnerable spot, and he leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your skin.

“You must taste me,” he repeats, his voice now barely more than a whisper, a command wrapped in velvet. “You are spoken by me now. Let me show you what it means to belong to one.”

His lips brush against your neck again, but this time, you can feel the sharpness of his fangs just beneath the surface, poised to take what he desires. He waits, letting the tension hang in the air as his fingers tighten slightly around your waist, pulling you even closer, as though drawing you into his world completely.

He helps you sit on your knees, his hands firm on your shoulders as he guides you into position. His touch is almost possessive, but there’s a strange gentleness in the way he arranges you, as if he’s taking care to make sure you are perfectly placed for what’s about to come. The tension in the air thickens, and his eyes never leave yours, watching you with an intensity that feels both consuming and dangerous.

“Kneel for me,” he whispers, the words dripping with command, but there’s an undeniable edge of satisfaction in his voice as he adjusts you. “Show me you understand your place.”

The way he speaks, the power in his tone, makes your heart race. It’s as if every movement, every word from him is meant to remind you that you’re in his domain now. You feel exposed, vulnerable, yet something about the way he holds you in place makes you feel as though you can’t look away, even if you wanted to.

His fingers brush lightly over your skin as he straightens, his gaze flickering down your body before meeting your eyes again. “Such a beautiful thing, ready to be claimed,” he murmurs, his voice almost a growl.

He steps closer, the air between you thick with the tension of what’s to come. His eyes glimmer with hunger as he watches you, waiting, almost daring you to make the next move. His body is poised and ready, but it’s clear that he’s enjoying the control, the slow build-up as you remain in this position for him.

“You are mine now,” he whispers, leaning in close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin, a mixture of cold and desire. “And I will feed, whether you like it or not.”

His words are chilling, yet they stir something deep within you, a mixture of fear and yearning, as he waits for you to react.

As he moves behind you, his presence surrounds you like a dark shadow, and the coolness of his body presses against your back, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands come to rest on your shoulders, gripping you firmly, but the pressure is steady and possessive, guiding you without a word.

“Stay still,” he commands, his voice low and thick with intent. You can feel his breath against your neck, the heat of his body radiating through his cold, silky clothes, adding a strange layer of tension to the air. His fingertips trace slowly down your back, sending a wave of chills over your skin as his touch lingers just a little too long.

He moves closer, his body pressing against yours as he shifts behind you, his chest brushing your back with a quiet hunger. The coldness of his skin contrasts sharply with the warmth of yours, intensifying the feeling of helplessness as he takes full control. His lips hover near your ear, and he whispers softly, “I want you to understand what it means to kneel before me. To be mine.”

His hands glide down your body, firm and possessive, feeling every curve, every inch of your skin, until they settle on your waist. You can feel the growing tension, the hunger radiating from him as his fingers flex, pulling you closer to him. Every inch of his touch is calculated, meant to remind you of your vulnerability.

“I don’t share,” he murmurs darkly, his voice thick with desire, as he leans forward just enough to let his lips ghost over the back of your neck, the cold tip of his fangs brushing against your skin. “You will learn what it means to serve me, and in return… you will taste what few have ever had the privilege to taste.”

His words are heavy with promise and threat, and the pressure against your back builds as he moves, shifting closer, until you feel his breath just behind your ear. There’s no escaping him now—he has you exactly where he wants you.

He presses his hips harder against you, letting the rigid heat of his arousal grind into the base of your spine, and leans his mouth close to your ear with a low, breathless chuckle.

“You feel that?” he murmurs darkly, voice thick with wicked satisfaction. “That’s craving.”

A cruel, slow smirk curves his lips as he lets the words linger, savoring the way your body tenses beneath his. His palm drifts up your front, fingers splayed, feeling your heartbeat thrum wildly against his cold touch.

“Not just for blood,” he adds, dragging his lips along your neck, voice softer now but laced with danger, “—for heat. For flesh. For every frightened little sound you make when I touch you here.”

His hand slides lower again, teasing, possessive, his breath hot against your ear as he drinks in the scent of fear, compliance, and something deeper—something you try not to admit is growing between your legs.

“That’s the blood moon, sweetheart,” he whispers, teeth grazing your throat. “It makes demons honest.”

With a slow, deliberate shift of his body, his hips grind forward—just enough to make you gasp—and he catches the sound with a wicked grin. His hands clamp down on your hips, firm and unrelenting, thumbs digging into your skin as if marking you as his.

“Ah—there it is,” he murmurs with dark amusement, voice curling like smoke around your ear. “A slip… how telling.”

He rocks against you again, this time slower, more intentional, letting the tension tighten like a noose. His smirk deepens as he watches your body respond, helpless against the cold, dominant weight behind you.

“You pretend to resist,” he continues, fingers tightening with every word, “but your body—it sings to me. A siren’s call… from prey who wants to be caught.”

His breath ghosts down the nape of your neck as he leans in closer, lips brushing your skin, never quite biting, always teasing. And with a growl low in his throat, he murmurs:

“Let’s see how long you can keep pretending.”

Your fingers grip the sheets tightly, knuckles white with the tension that runs through your body. The fabric crinkles beneath your grasp, but it’s no match for the force of his body pressing against you. You can feel every inch of him—his chest against your back, his rigid form, the heat of his presence that fills every space around you.

His movements are slow, deliberate, each one calculated to leave you trembling. As he presses further into you, his hips grinding against yours, the full weight of him sinks deeper, and you can’t help but feel him—whole—inside your every breath, your every thought. The tension between you is unbearable, the heat of your pulse mingling with the coldness of his body, a strange contrast that makes your skin prickle with both fear and need.

“Do you feel that?” he breathes against your ear, voice thick with desire, as his hands grip your hips, pulling you back against him. “Every inch of me? You’re so perfectly made for this…”

His breath fans across your neck as he moves with slow, agonizing precision, letting you feel the full force of him—his hunger, his dominance. And yet, in that moment, you’re trapped between fear and something else, something that pulls you deeper into his web.

“Inch by inch, m’lady,” he purrs, his voice dark and commanding, laced with an insidious pleasure as he continues to move against you. His hands tighten on your hips, guiding your body with a practiced precision, pulling you closer, inch by inch, until every nerve in your body is on fire, straining against the unrelenting tension.

His breath is hot against the back of your neck, each exhale a whisper of danger and desire. You can feel the weight of his body pressing down on you, the hardness of him digging into you, a constant reminder of his dominance.

“Every movement, every shift, a reminder of your place,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your skin as his hands move with possessive certainty. “Every inch of you calls to me.”

His smirk is sharp as he watches you squirm beneath him, his eyes darkened with lust and hunger. Every part of you is at his mercy, and he’s taking his time, savoring the effect he has on you, enjoying the way your body reacts to each push, each slow, deliberate motion.

“Slow and steady,” he muses with a dark chuckle, his voice smooth, almost melodic in its teasing. “Keeps the heart going, they say.” His gaze never leaves you, dark eyes tracking the way you lean forward into the bed, as though instinctively seeking support, seeking something to anchor yourself as he slowly, deliberately pushes you further into a place where resistance is no longer an option.

His hand grips your hip, steadying you, guiding you in the way he wants, the weight of his body pressing you deeper into the bed with each deliberate move. He enjoys the way your breath catches, the way you surrender to his pace, the way your pulse flutters and races beneath his touch.

“Your heart… so precious,” he continues, the words slipping from his lips like a slow, intoxicating poison. “I can feel it speeding up, eager for more. Every inch, every movement, you give yourself over to me.”

He leans forward, his chest pressing against your back, his breath hot against your ear. “Slow… steady… but never still,” he whispers, his voice thick with lust and dominance. “That’s how I’ll keep you… until I’ve taken every drop of you, m’lady.”

He lets out a soft, almost satisfied growl, the sound vibrating against your skin as he continues to move, his hands still gripping your hips, guiding you into his every motion. “Heart so heavy,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a twisted mix of affection and amusement.

You can feel the weight of his words settle over you, the way your heart seems to echo his every breath, every shift of his body. He knows the power he holds over you now—your pulse is his to command, and he’s making you feel every beat, every thud that resonates through your chest.

“So full of life,” he continues, the heat in his voice growing darker. “But I can hear it, feel it… it’s heavy with desire. And fear.” His thumb presses harder into your pulse, watching you, feeling how your body trembles, caught in the pull of his dominance.

“Such a delicious contradiction,” he purrs. “Your heart races for me, even as you try to resist.”

The words hang in the air, thick with the promise of what’s to come as he continues to hold you in place, the tension building with each slow, purposeful thrust. His control over you is absolute—your heartbeat, your fear, your desire… everything he can feel, he owns.

He picks up his pace, the sound of his movements echoing in the quiet room as he listens to the rapid, frantic rhythm of your heart working beneath him. His sharp eyes remain locked on your body, sensing every change, every shift in your pulse. It’s like he can hear it—the desperate beating, the tension in the air, and the way your body responds to his every movement.

“I can hear it,” he whispers, his voice low and dark, filled with a twisted satisfaction. “Your heart… working so hard for me.” His hands tighten on your hips, guiding you, pressing you deeper into the bed with each deep, forceful push. His breath quickens, his fangs almost visible as he feels the heat radiating off your skin, the sweet anticipation building in the air.

“Such a beautiful sound,” he murmurs, smirking at the frantic beat. “I can feel it… racing for me. It calls to me.” He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the side of your neck, his voice almost a growl. “I can make it stop. Or I can make it burn. Your choice, m’lady.”

His movements become more urgent now, the sound of his hands gripping the sheets beneath you as he moves faster, the pace increasing with every beat of your heart. He’s intoxicated by the way you respond, by the way your pulse spikes, and he’s not going to stop until he’s made you feel every ounce of that tension, every ounce of the control he has over you.

His fangs, sharp and unmistakable, glint in the dim light as he becomes rougher. The hunger in his eyes is unmistakable, a dark, primal desire as he feels the rhythm of your heartbeat quickening beneath him. Every thrust, every movement, is meant to break through your resistance, to claim you fully, as his.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he growls, the sound thick with lust, the air thickening with his dominance. His grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he presses deeper, harder, each thrust deliberate and punishing.

The harsh, unmistakable slide of his body against yours matches the ferocity of his breath—slow, deliberate, but every bit as powerful as the hunger in his gaze. “Your blood, your pulse… everything about you calls to me,” he murmurs, voice hushed but intense, each word dragging out like a promise of something far darker.

His fangs graze your skin, teasing at the edges of your neck, tasting the air that swirls between you both, and his breath quickens, caught in the frenzy of his need. “I could sink my teeth in right now,” he hisses, voice raw, “but I want you to beg for it.”

His movements grow rougher, more demanding, as if he’s marking you with every inch, claiming your body as his own, pulling you deeper into the frenzy.

“Please, just drink it” you plea, words slipping out like curses under your breath.

He pulls back slightly, his lips slick with your blood, a twisted smirk curling on his face as he licks his tongue across them. “Mm… that’s gratifying blood,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with satisfaction. The words hang in the air, each one dripping with dark pleasure.

He watches you, his eyes dark, red, and full of hunger, as though savoring every drop that remains. The hunger is still there, but it’s mixed with something more—something dangerous and possessive. “I told you,” he continues, his voice soft but loaded with meaning, “it’s the strongest blood that keeps me going.”

His hand moves to trace the curve of your body, his touch lingering, almost possessive, as he watches the way your body responds to him. “You’re a rare find,” he whispers, his fingers brushing your skin, feeling the pulse beneath. “And I’ll be sure to savor you in every way.”

His gaze lingers on your form, his lips still tasting the remnants of your blood. There’s an eerie calmness in his presence now, the hunger still there, but now coupled with the satisfaction of having claimed you.

He smirks darkly, his eyes narrowing as he watches your body, the way it moves beneath him, the way your reactions come so effortlessly. “So easy to satisfy,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hips roll slowly against yours, his gaze fixed on the way your body responds to each movement, as if savoring the power he has over you.

His hands trail over your skin, feeling the way your breath hitches, how every small touch, every motion, makes you shudder. “I could do this forever,” he whispers, his smirk widening as he watches you, the pleasure he’s giving you almost as intoxicating as the blood he’s taken.

The tension builds again, slow and deliberate, as his control over your body deepens. The slow pace, the teasing rhythm, it’s all part of the game for him—a game he’s winning with ease.

He looks down at you with a dark, satisfied smirk, his voice laced with twisted amusement as he murmurs, “Humans feel promising.” The words are almost a revelation to him, a reminder of just how easily your body responds to him, how effortlessly he can command pleasure from you.

His hands trace the contours of your body, each touch deliberate, measuring the way you react, the way your pulse quickens, and the warmth of your skin beneath his cold touch. “So delicate,” he continues, his voice soft but tinged with a dark edge. “So responsive… It’s almost a gift.”

His hips shift slightly, the rhythm slow but unyielding, as he continues to savor your every reaction, his smirk deepening as he watches you. You’re a plaything, something to be enjoyed, and he’s in no rush.

He picks up the pace, his movements becoming more deliberate and forceful, as he feels the tension in your body rise. His grip tightens on your hips, pulling you closer to him as he begins to thrust with a stronger rhythm. His eyes never leave you, watching every small reaction, every slight change in your expression as you start to tremble beneath him.

“You’re so delicate,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, as he continues to move in and out of you with a deep, unrelenting rhythm. “So easy to claim, to break down…”

His breathing becomes heavier, and he leans down to bite at your neck again, feeling the warmth of your skin against his lips, savoring the intimacy and the power that comes with having you completely at his mercy. The hunger that had simmered before now flares up, and he becomes more relentless, a sense of urgency building as he moves faster, his body pressing hard against yours.

“Mm, hm… You make the crows flock,” he groans, throwing his head back with a low, wicked laugh, voice soaked in pleasure and mockery.

Outside, the wind howls faintly through the cracked stained glass, and somewhere in the distance, the eerie cry of crows cuts the silence—drawn to the blood moon, to the scent of heat and sin that clings to the cathedral air.

Jungkook’s muscles tighten as he snaps his hips harder, head still tilted back, his throat exposed in a rare moment of wild abandon. “They smell the death of innocence,” he purrs, lowering his gaze back to you with glowing red eyes. “And they know I’m feeding well tonight.”

His pace is ravenous now, primal, his cold skin blazing with heat from the friction and the thrill of it. The crows were just a warning—the real danger was right here, inside you, possessing you inch by inch.

A guttural growl rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating through your body as Jungkook slams deeper into you. The sound is raw—half pleasure, half hunger—as if holding back some ancient beast just barely chained beneath his skin.

“Fuck,” he hisses between clenched teeth, the moan that follows low and drawn out, dragged from his throat as your body clenches around him. His breath comes harder now, colder against your skin, sharp fangs glinting just beneath his parted lips.

“You feel…” he pants, voice rasping as he leans over you, the sound almost broken by lust, “divine.”

Another growl escapes him, louder, closer to a snarl—his control fraying. His nails bite into your hips as he rolls them into you, deeper, harder, more unrestrained, chasing that edge like it’s his last breath. The cathedral groans around you, as if it too bears witness to something unholy.

His lips brush your ear, voice thick with dark amusement and desire as he growls through a twisted grin,

“In the very heart of divine art… thou soundeth like the devil herself.”

With that, he drives into you harder, rougher, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs. His body presses close—unrelenting, heavy with hunger—as his hands roam your trembling form, every touch a claim, every thrust a punishment.

“Blasphemous, yet beautiful,” he murmurs, fangs flashing. “A sound fit not for prayer, but for sin.”

Jungkook’s head tilts back again, a guttural moan spilling from his throat—hungry, elated, almost worshipful.

“Gods above, I do love it…,” he growls, hips slamming harder, his voice thick with heat and ruin. “Give me more. Cry louder for thy devil.”

His grip bruises as he pulls you back against him, body trembling from the force of his desire. His mouth lingers by your ear, breath cold and ragged as he speaks low and wicked:

“Let them hear what thou truly art—mine, ruined, taken… made for this.”

And he thrusts again, deeper, faster—every movement dragging you closer to surrender, every sound you make only fueling his madness. His hunger was far from sated—he wanted all of you. Over and over

He slams in—deep, unforgiving—bottoming out with a force that makes the air leave your lungs. The sound that rips from his chest is part growl, part moan, dark and guttural.

“Fuck—yes,” he snarls, his voice tangled in that strange mix of eras—half modern hunger, half gothic reverence. “Tight little thing… takin’ me like it’s thy sole purpose.”

His eyes flicker, glowing red beneath damp lashes as he grins down at you, breathless but relentless.

“So deep now, little lamb… ‘tis not sin if thou wert made for it.”

And with that, he rolls his hips again—slow first, then snapping forward harder, slamming into the end of you like he’s trying to brand it. Like he wants to ruin you for anything but him. Forever.

His head snaps back, hair wild around his face, and a raw, feral scream tears from his throat—ragged, echoing off the cathedral walls like a beast unleashed.

“AH—fuck, yes!” he roars, voice cracking with the force of it, a brutal mix of ecstasy and madness. The sound is ancient, primal, something that doesn’t belong in this world.

He looks down at you, eyes glowing, chest heaving. “You… you were made for this,” he hisses through his teeth, pounding into you so hard the stone beneath the bed groans. “Mine—by blood, by bone, by every cursed thing that keeps me breathing.”

And he screams again—louder this time, as if breaking, as if everything inside him has finally snapped.

Your scream rips through the cold air, sharp and broken—a cry torn from somewhere deep, where fear and pleasure blur into something primal. The cathedral seems to echo with it, as if the stones themselves remember what it means to be alive.

Jungkook shudders, body seizing for a breathless moment before a crooked, dark grin spreads across his face. His eyes blaze brighter—red like burning embers, lit with hunger and triumph.

“That’s it,” he growls, voice shaking, nearly laughing with twisted delight. “Scream for me—let the woods hear who owns you.”

He slams deeper, harder, using your cry as fuel, as proof, as possession. The sound drives him wild—like blood on his tongue, like music composed for monsters.

“Louder, darling—don’t go quiet now. The night’s still young, and so are we.”

His body tenses, muscles rippling under the pressure of his restraint slipping—every last ounce of control breaking away, replaced by pure, raw, unrelenting primal instinct. He growls low, deep in his throat, a sound that vibrates in your very bones as his thrusts become wild, uncontrolled, and ferocious.

“Taken gratefully” he snarls, his voice raw, primal, and dripping with hunger. “Every scream, every moan, every drop of blood—I own it all.”

His fangs flash, sharp as daggers, and his grip on your body tightens—his hands bruising, pulling you impossibly close, as if he’s trying to merge you with him, consume you whole.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t think. He moves with pure animalistic drive, his hips slamming into you with brutal force, like a beast ravaging its prey. His breath is ragged, almost frantic, as he loses himself entirely in the madness of the moment. His eyes are wide, red, and burning with an insatiable need.

“I’ll take it all—every inch of you,” he growls, voice turning into something feral, untamed, as if he’s no longer just Jungkook, but something ancient, something far darker.

His back arches, powerful and rigid, as if every muscle in his body is drawn taut, stretched to the breaking point. His head snaps back, the long strands of his hair falling over his shoulders like dark waves, revealing the full intensity of his face—eyes glowing, fangs bared, a primal snarl escaping his lips.

A guttural moan rips from his throat, raw and unfiltered, as his body pushes against you with unrelenting force. He moves deeper, harder, the intensity of the moment overwhelming both of you. His hands grip your hips like he’s trying to fuse you to him, hold you in place as his pace becomes erratic, desperate, a frenzy of need and hunger.

“You’re mine… all of you,” he grinds out between heavy breaths, his voice low and dangerous, almost predatory. His chest heaves, and you can feel the sharpness of his breath against your skin as he continues, driven by an almost feral need.

Every inch of him moves with purpose, as if there’s nothing else in the world but this moment, this unrelenting need to claim you. His head tilts back further, eyes dark with desire, and he roars, the sound ripping through the silence of the cathedral, echoing off the stone walls.

“You were created for this,” he murmurs, his voice breaking as the rhythm between you becomes more frantic, more primal, like he’s fighting against something much darker inside. The sheer intensity of it all, of his body working against yours, fills the air with a heavy, almost suffocating tension.

And in that moment, he becomes something more than human—a beast, possessed by hunger, pleasure, and the need to dominate.

The sound of a heavy slam reverberates through the cathedral, shaking the stone beneath you. The force of it echoes, sharp and sudden, like a thunderclap in the stillness of the night. It’s as if the whole building trembles under the weight of Jungkook’s primal need.

His movements become more forceful, almost frantic, each thrust harder than the last, as if he’s lost all sense of restraint. His body presses into you with raw, unrelenting power—slamming against you in rhythm with the crescendo of his own hunger.

The sound of his body colliding with yours is drowned out only by his harsh breathing, the occasional growl escaping his lips as he loses himself deeper in the moment. His grip on you tightens, fingers digging into your skin as if to mark you, to claim you completely. His breath is heavy, ragged, a low, deep growl of satisfaction rumbling from his chest.

Every inch of him feels like a storm—unstoppable, wild, consuming. His back arches again, this time more violently, his head thrown back as his movements become more erratic. The cathedral, with its towering, silent presence, is filled with the echoes of his desire—the slam of his body, the growl of satisfaction, and the unmistakable sound of him claiming what’s his.

He curses under his breath, voice thick with frustration and hunger, barely coherent through the intensity of the moment. “So long… so damn long…” His tone is low, guttural, a raw rasp as his body pushes harder against yours. “You don’t know what you’ve awoken, do you?” he growls, lips brushing against your ear as he drives into you again, each movement a mix of desire and anger, like he’s releasing centuries of pent-up need.

“So long without…” He curses again, more to himself than to you, his body trembling, his fangs grazing your skin. “You, this… I’ve waited… I’ve needed this.”

The words are broken, rough, torn from him as his rhythm quickens, each thrust matching the fury of his emotions—longing, rage, and desperation mixing in a volatile storm. His eyes burn redder, darker, as if the very essence of his hunger is consuming him from the inside out.

“You were meant for this… you were meant for me,” he mutters in a near growl, still cursing as he feels the tension in his body build to something almost unbearable.

Your body slides down flat against the bed, every part of you feeling the heavy, intense weight of Jungkook’s body pressing against you. The force of his movements, relentless and powerful, leaves you breathless as you barely manage to keep yourself upright under him. His hands grip the bed around you, his knuckles white as he fights to hold onto control, though it’s clear he’s teetering on the edge of losing it.

“Stay with me,” he demands, his voice thick with desire, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. The pressure of his body pushing into yours is overwhelming, each motion sending a wave of heat through your veins, forcing you to feel every inch of him as he moves inside you.

His hips drive deeper, and you can feel him growl in pleasure, the sound vibrating through his chest as the slamming of his body against yours echoes like a punishing rhythm. His fangs scrape against your skin, and the coldness of his touch contrasts sharply with the heat building between you. His red eyes burn with an almost predatory gleam, and the primal need in him is now impossible to ignore.

You can feel every inch of his hunger, his rage, and his desire mixing together in a volatile, almost desperate frenzy as he goes faster, harder. His body trembles with the effort to keep control, but he’s slipping, losing himself in the moment, in the sheer pleasure of having you beneath him, claiming you in the only way he knows how.

He stops suddenly, his body still against yours, panting heavily, as though struggling to catch his breath. His chest rises and falls rapidly, the tension in his muscles taut, every inch of him shaking with the exertion. His eyes, glowing red, never leave you as he leans down again, lips brushing against your neck. You can feel the heat of his breath, the coldness of his fangs, and the predatory need that still pulses through him.

He gently touches your pulse, feeling it race beneath the skin, before he sinks his fangs into your neck with unbridled hunger. The sensation is sharp, sending a shock of cold pleasure down your spine as he drinks deeply, his hands gripping you tighter, pulling you closer as if to claim every drop of your blood.

He groans into your skin, the sound a mix of pleasure and satisfaction, his fangs brushing your pulse as he drinks, enjoying the taste. He pauses, pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you with a twisted, dark grin playing on his lips. Then, he leans in again, almost reverently, to drink even more, his thirst insatiable.

The sensation of him feeding, of his mouth on your neck, is a blur of pleasure and pain, sharp and intoxicating. His hands roam over your body again, feeling the way you react to him, and he growls in satisfaction, deepening his hold on you. He’s lost, only thinking of the blood and the feeling of power that comes with it.

“So sweet,” he murmurs into your skin, his voice low and rough, as he continues to drink, savoring each drop, as if he’s tasted nothing like it in centuries.

His fangs sink deeper into your neck, his voice low and dripping with a mix of satisfaction and dark amusement. He pulls back slightly, still feeling the thrum of your pulse beneath his lips, and whispers, “I may have been cast to hell, but heaven must still pity me to bring a body like this into my home.”

His words are as cold and contemptuous as the rest of him, but they carry a strange reverence, as though he’s claiming you not just for himself, but as something almost divine—a gift, a prize. His red eyes lock onto yours, full of unfiltered lust and pride as he sees you, breathing shallowly beneath him, completely at his mercy.

The room around you seems to pulse with his hunger, his desire, as he shifts his weight, grinding against you just slightly, reminding you of his strength and the control he holds over your body. His words are a reminder of the twisted world he lives in, and the way he sees you—both a temptation and a conquest.

His hands claw at your body, marking you, making sure you feel the full weight of his presence, while his lips press against your neck once again. The cold of his fangs contrasts with the heat of his breath, making every part of you keenly aware of just how much he wants you.

“Such a lovely thing,” he mutters, lips barely brushing your skin. “I would have made you mine, even if heaven had denied me.” His tongue flicks against the wound he’s left, savoring the taste, before he moves back to drink once more, his eyes never leaving yours, as though daring you to move, to escape, to fight.

But you know, somewhere deep inside, that escape is impossible.

He presses his lips to your back, the coldness of his mouth sending a shiver down your spine. His hands, firm and unyielding, glide along the curve of your body as he takes in the sight of you—broken and enthralled, caught in the web of his control. His eyes, glowing with an eerie red intensity, trace every movement you make, watching you with hunger and satisfaction.

As you remain frozen beneath him, his voice comes low, almost a whisper, but full of dark promise. “I could make you immortal, mortal.” His lips graze your skin again, feeling the rise and fall of your breath. “Your blood and body—an offering to hell itself.”

His words drip like molten honey, dark and heavy, making the offer feel tempting and terrifying at once. The thought of eternity with him, bound to him, devoured by him and yet kept alive in his twisted version of immortality is almost more than you can bear. He feels the tremor in your body as you process his words, and he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

“Would you like that, my little sacrifice?” he breathes, his teeth just barely grazing your shoulder. “To live forever, not as you are, but as mine. The blood of the damned coursing through your veins, forever feeding me.”

He pauses, his hands trailing possessively across your body, waiting for you to speak, to make your decision. “You would never age, never die,” he continues, “but you would never be free either. You would be bound to me, your very soul mine.”

His lips hover near your ear, his words slow and deliberate, full of dark affection. “All for me.”

You let out a soft huff, your chest rising as your breath shudders beneath him—and he stills, grinning against your skin like the devil sealing a pact.

“With blood sweet as that… full like that,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust and ancient power, “the blood moon above us, and this sacred ground beneath?” His tongue traces the line of your spine, slow, reverent. “A cathedral… abandoned by God but not by me.”

He presses himself deeper against you, his hips aligned, his breath heavy. “All I’d need—” he growls low, like thunder rumbling in a cave, “—is to release.” His hand wraps tightly around your side, holding you still as if claiming dominion. “And I could make… or happen… my sacrifice.”

A beat. Then his voice drops lower, almost intimate, “You, spread beneath me. Blood ripe. Altar warm. I could open the gates of hell right here with what’s inside you.”

His fangs flash, barely held back. His body tense with restraint.

“Shall I, my little lamb?” he taunts, “Shall I summon eternity with your ruin?”

He pulls out slowly, almost reverently, before guiding your body onto your back. The velvet sheets beneath you contrasts sharply with the searing heat left behind on your skin. His red eyes rake over your form like a wolf savoring its prize, and he smirks, fangs just barely showing as he hovers above you.

“Thankfully you’re arousing,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement and something darker, “I don’t need to throw your body out like the others.”

His hand glides down your side, fingers brushing your waist, your hip, your thigh—claiming.

“Pretty face,” he murmurs, leaning close to your cheek. “Curvy body…” his palm spreads over your stomach. “And heat… warm as the sun.”

He exhales a low breath against your neck, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin. “It’s almost poetic. The sun never touches me—yet here you are. Burning under me like it never left.”

You look up at him—wide-eyed, lips parted, your breath shallow. There’s no hatred in your stare. No screaming. No fighting. Just… mercy.

That makes him pause.

His smirk twitches, falters for a beat.

“Mercy?” he scoffs, voice low and venom-laced. “After what I’ve done to you?”

He tilts his head, studying you like you’re an unsolvable riddle. His hand tightens on your waist—not cruel, but possessive. There’s a war in his eyes now. Hunger. Guilt. Obsession.

“You pathetic, radiant little thing.” His voice dips, words trembling with a mad kind of reverence. “Even now… even ruined, used, bitten… you pity me?”

He laughs, but there’s no humor. Just something ancient cracking in his chest.

“You’re worse than the priests who blessed this ruin before I slaughtered them. They didn’t beg. They didn’t look at me like I could be saved.” He leans closer, lips brushing your temple, a whisper full of decay and longing:

“You don’t know what you’ve done… mercy is a curse to something like me.”

He stays still.

Too still.

His chest rises, but it’s shallow—controlled, unnatural, like he’s holding back something monstrous from slipping through the cracks.

His eyes trace your face again, slow, devouring. He doesn’t blink.

Then—

“You shouldn’t have looked at me like that,” he says, voice hollow, like it’s coming from a memory instead of the man in front of you. “Not with mercy. Not like her.”

His hand lifts, fingers trembling as they brush a lock of hair from your cheek. He lingers there, cold skin pressing into your warmth like he wants to feel alive again.

“They all begged. They all wept. She didn’t.”

A strange smile twists his lips, wrong and wistful, as if he’s seeing someone else through your face.

“She said I was damned. But she loved me anyway. She said I was still a man.”

His smile cracks—gone, shattered. A breath bursts from him like a sob strangled in iron.

“Then she ran.”

His nails dig into the sheets by your head. His eyes are wild now—too red, too empty.

“I drank her dry.”

The confession hangs in the air, cold and heavy, like a noose.

He leans in, his forehead pressing against yours. His voice drops to a whisper, raw, shaking with something unholy:

“You don’t understand what it does to a man to be worshipped and feared all at once. To be kissed… and called a monster in the same breath. To be touched… and still alone.”

He grabs your wrist, guiding it to his chest.

“Feel that?” he whispers. “Nothing. Not a heartbeat. Not a soul. You pity this?”

His smile returns—warped, glass-sharp.

“Maybe you’re sicker than I am.”

His shadow swallows the candlelight as he looms over you, body tense, breath still despite the heat rolling off him in waves. His eyes—bright, blood-red—pin you in place like a predator circling the last trembling heartbeat of its prey.

He doesn’t touch you yet. He just watches.

“Let’s see,” he murmurs, voice low and crackling like fire behind stone. “If you break like the rest. Or if you’re made to belong to me.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, restrained. Barely.

He leans in—slow, a ghost of movement—and his nose brushes yours. You feel the air stir as he breathes in your fear, your heat, your confusion, like it’s a scent he knows how to read.

“You’re shaking, little lamb. And yet…” His eyes flick down, lingering too long. “Your body hasn’t run. What does that say about you?”

One hand presses down beside your head. The other hovers near your throat—not touching, just threatening.

“Are you the victim here?” he hums, smile sharp as his fangs. “Or something darker pretending to be soft?”

He tilts his head, watching for your reaction. Watching for the crack.

“Answer me. Speak. Or I’ll decide what you are for you.”

The silence clings to the air like incense—thick, sacred, unbroken. Your lips part, but no sound escapes. Only breath, shaky and shallow. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, refusing to speak, refusing to give him what he wants—whatever that is.

His face doesn’t move. But something shifts.

The pressure changes.

His pupils dilate, swallowing the red for just a breath, and then it snaps back—brighter, angrier, hungrier.

“Silent?” he whispers, as though the word offends him. His palm finally lands on your throat—not squeezing, just laying there, cold and commanding. “Defiance in the form of nothing. Cowardice disguised as quiet. Or perhaps…”

He leans closer, mouth by your ear.

”…you’re begging in the only way you know how.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you again. His thumb strokes your jaw with a cold kind of tenderness that makes your skin crawl—and burn.

“You’re unraveling. Bit by bit. I like it.” He grins, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll either shatter… or you’ll become. And either way, you’re mine now, aren’t you?”

The candles flicker as the room tightens around your shared silence. He lowers himself slowly, until your foreheads touch.

“One more moment,” he says, teeth flashing beneath his breath, “and you won’t remember who you were before me.”

His lips crash into yours—rough, devouring, like he’s sealing something ancient with your breath. His hips grind forward, hard and slow, pressing into the cradle of yours with unbearable weight. There’s no patience in the way he moves, only intent. Possession. Hunger that’s tasted the edge of madness and decided it liked the flavor.

His hand curls around your jaw as he kisses you deeper, thumb brushing your cheek like a mockery of tenderness. The cold of him seeps into your skin, but his pressure—his need—is hot, overwhelming, primal.

“You’ll stay silent now?” he growls into your mouth, lips still grazing yours. “Even when I press like this?”

He rolls his hips again, slower this time, deliberate. Cruel. Testing.

Your breath catches—still no words. Just the helpless arch of your body, the shudder in your chest, and the silent surrender in your eyes. You give in, not with sound, but with everything else. Your silence screams, louder than any plea.

Jungkook growls low and feral, the sound vibrating from deep in his chest as he slams his hips harder against yours. The restraint in him finally snaps.

“That’s it,” he snarls, eyes glowing like dying embers ready to reignite. “You submit without a sound. How utterly divine.”

He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head, his body pressed flush against yours. “You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you? Driving me mad. Mad with your quiet… with your blood… with your keeping.”

The bed groans beneath the force of him, his pace unrelenting now, teeth bared just over your throat—danger trembling on the edge.

His voice is low, filled with dark promise as he speaks against your skin, the words sinking deep into your senses, twisting your mind as much as his body does. His grip tightens, his hold unyielding as he pushes into you, inch by inch, until you can feel every breath, every shift of muscle.

“Like an offering, a true one,” he mutters, the words vibrating against your skin as he continues. “I shall use it all, then. Your blood, your body, your soul. You shall be immortal. Bound to me, forever.”

He shifts again, a brutal push that makes your body strain, your pulse racing in spite of the silence. There’s no room for retreat now, just the weight of his dominance, the inevitability of what he’s making you become. His eyes—those deep red pools—burn into yours, watching as he claims you fully, watching the surrender written all over your face.

His breath hisses out, sharp, as he moves with renewed intent. Each thrust is slow, deliberate, designed to break you down. “You’ll never escape me now,” he growls. “Not when I’ve tasted what you are… what you could be. Immortal… a sacrifice and a queen in one.”

His lips brush your ear as he breathes against you. “Feel it, don’t you? Feel it all coursing through you… your blood… your soul… mine.”

The pace quickens again, ferocious in its finality, as if he’s determined to finish what he started, to bind you to him, to his dark desires.

No more silence—only the sound of his name in the air between you.

The words drip from his lips like venom, every syllable a reminder of the control he holds over you. His voice is smooth but cruel, taunting, almost as if he’s savoring the way you’re unraveling before him, piece by piece.

“That’s what a good offering does, M’lady,” he murmurs, the edges of his words sharp as he presses deeper. His gaze never leaves yours, dark and insistent, as if daring you to resist, daring you to break.

His body moves with calculated precision, the rhythm relentless, and each thrust forces you to feel the weight of his dominance, of what he’s taken from you and what he’s prepared to keep. “You belong to me now,” he whispers, his breath hot on your neck, his hands tracing the lines of your body with cruel intention. “Every bit of you… the blood, the soul, the heart… all of it, bound to me, to my hunger.”

The pressure builds in your chest, the weight of his presence pressing down on you as he takes, claiming you as if he already knows the inevitable conclusion. “A perfect sacrifice… so sweet, so willing… This is your fate now.”

His pace becomes more frantic, more urgent, his hands gripping you tightly as his body moves with a wild hunger, as if the very act of claiming you could give him more power, more control. “M’lady… there’s no turning back.”

He buries his face against your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, a low growl vibrating in his chest. His hands grip you tighter, pulling you closer as his body aligns with yours, feeling the heat, the tension, the weight of the moment. With a swift motion, he wraps his arm behind your back, anchoring you to him, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every movement as he presses against you.

“You are delicious,” he whispers in a voice thick with hunger. His lips brush your skin as he leans in, kissing the curve of your neck. The sensation of his teeth, his fangs barely grazing against your flesh, sends a shiver of both fear and desire through you. “And I will make sure you never forget the blood moon.”

The grip around your back tightens as he shifts, pulling you into him even more. His movements become more deliberate, as if savoring each moment, feeling the pulse of your heartbeat under his touch. His voice lowers, almost a purr, as he continues, “I’ve claimed you, body and soul. You’ll never be the same. You’ll never want to be human.”

The weight of his presence, the power he exudes, it’s suffocating, but in a way that makes it impossible to look away, to resist.

His name slips from your lips, soft and hesitant, and it makes him pause for a moment, his breath coming in slow, deliberate inhales. His red eyes flicker with something deeper, something more intense. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips hovering over the delicate skin of your neck, his fangs barely visible.

“You speak my name like that,” he murmurs, the words heavy with something unreadable, “it makes me wonder… if you’ve already accepted what you are to me.”

He leans down again, brushing his lips gently against the curve of your neck, trailing his kisses lower, as though savoring the moment, feeling the pulse beneath your skin. “You don’t know what you’ve started, m’lady.” His voice is thick, almost possessive, but there’s an edge of something darker, something that feels like an unspoken promise.

His hands slide to your sides, pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours once more. The warmth of your skin against his coldness, the sharp contrast, makes him shiver with something primal. “Once you taste this life, you’ll never crave anything else.”

He rises slowly, towering above you now on his knees, his chest rising and falling with restrained hunger. The candlelight from the cathedral flickers across his bare torso—defined, pale, otherworldly—casting shadows that dance along the etched lines of muscle and collarbone. His dark hair falls partially over his face as he looks down at you, red eyes burning like coals beneath the veil.

“Look at you,” he breathes out, voice thick with indulgence, laced in that old, decaying elegance of another time. “Stretched below me like a relic waiting for worship… or ruin.”

He runs a hand through his hair, slicking it back, then places it on his own thigh, framing the image of control and tension. The way he holds himself—shoulders pulled back, spine straight, body coiled—tells you just how much he’s restraining. Not for your comfort, but for the ritual. For the power in waiting.

“We’ve not yet reached the peak of this hour, my offering,” he growls low, eyes scanning you. “Shall I show you what it means to be devoured by something eternal?”

He leans in, his breath hot at your ear as he begins to rock his hips—slow, deliberate, claiming each inch with the weight of centuries behind him. His voice coils around you, thick with that archaic cadence, as if spoken from a different age.

“Sun or moon… doesn’t matter to me, lamb,” he murmurs, a cruel smirk ghosting his lips. “You’ll burn the same under me. Be it light or shadow, you were made to be taken.”

Your eyes stay closed, but he watches your body respond—each breath, each twitch, each surrender of muscle. He keeps the pace maddening, not fast, not gentle—just punishing enough to remind you this was never going to be tender. This was ritual. Sacrifice. Hunger wrapped in silk.

His fingers dig into your thigh, his other hand braced near your ribs, feeling your heart beat faster with every rock of his hips.

His hand glides upward, slow and claiming, until his fingers find the swell between your thighs. Without hesitation, he begins to strum—methodical, almost cruel in precision. Every movement syncs with the roll of his hips, each touch designed to pull you deeper under.

“Tremble for me, little lamb,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low, old, laced in something between a threat and worship. “Your body sings sweeter than any hymn I’ve heard in this cursed cathedral.”

His eyes burn red as he watches your reaction, fingers growing bolder, teasing the edge of your sanity with every flick, every grind.

You arch helplessly, breath catching in your throat—and he feels it, revels in it. His mouth lowers without pause, claiming the left nub between his lips like it was his birthright. Tongue circles, then sucks, slow and possessive, making your spine curve harder beneath him.

“Ah… still so responsive,” he growls, muffled by your skin. “Even after all this, you rise for me like the dead to their master.”

His hand doesn’t stop either—stroking lower, darker—while his fangs scrape gently across your tender flesh in warning and promise.

He keeps sucking—long, slow, relentless. His mouth latches harder, tongue swirling, pulling soft moans from you like confessions. Your nipple grows tight between his lips, and he groans against it, the sound low, reverent, wicked.

“M’lady, your body speaks sweeter truths than your tongue ever could,” he murmurs, before biting down just enough to make your breath hitch. He doesn’t stop. If anything, he feeds on your reaction—suckling harder, wetter, like he’s starving for the taste of you.

His hand spreads wider across your ribs, holding you in place as his mouth claims and consumes. Every flick, every pull, feels calculated—like worship twisted into torment.

He shifts, moving to the right with dark purpose, his thumb pressing harder against your other nipple, strumming it relentlessly. His mouth follows, trailing kisses and nips down to your skin, his movements urgent but controlled, as if savoring every ounce of reaction he pulls from you.

“So perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, eyes gleaming with an almost manic hunger. “Each part of you… such a sweet offering. How can you deny me?”

His thumb strums quicker, pushing you to the edge of sensation, teasing you with every subtle change, while his lips hover just over your skin, waiting for the next tremor to sweep through you. His hands, possessive and relentless, trace every curve, making sure you feel every ounce of him.

His voice is almost a hiss as he speaks, the words a mix of desire and disdain, his eyes burning with something primal. “Made for life these are, but cursed to death this is.” He strums lower, his hand dragging slowly across your body, down to where the tension builds in your core. The touch is electric, sending a shiver up your spine as he focuses on the rhythm, keeping you on the precipice of surrender.

His other hand slides down, gripping you tighter, his body leaning into yours, pressing with a force that leaves no space between you. “I will claim everything… and leave you nothing but the taste of me.” His voice is dark, thick with authority, as if he knows exactly how to unravel you, piece by piece.

He moves with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving your chest, watching each rise and fall of your breath. His gaze is hungry, yet controlled, as if savoring every second of the tension building between you. The air feels thick, heavy with his presence and the silent promises of what’s to come.

His hand moves to your waist, fingers tracing delicate patterns along your skin, teasing and leaving a trail of heat wherever he touches. “So delicate,” he mutters, his voice low, laced with a dangerous edge. The intensity in his eyes never wavers, his focus solely on you as he inches closer, making every movement feel like an eternity.

He shifts with sudden eagerness, his movements more urgent now, as if he’s been holding back for too long. His hands grip your body with a renewed intensity, pushing you closer, pulling you deeper into the moment. His breath is heavy against your skin, as if he can’t wait any longer, the primal hunger in his gaze flaring to life.

“I told you,” he breathes, “You make this unbearable, but oh—how sweet it feels.”

His pace quickens, the heat of his body pressing against yours as he loses himself in the rhythm, the hunger now consuming him fully. The once calculated and controlled nature of his touch gives way to something more desperate, more raw, as he takes what he desires, his body moving with a force that speaks of the centuries he’s waited for this very moment.

He leans over, his body still hovering above yours as his gaze drifts to the towering cathedral walls, the ancient stone structures casting long shadows in the dim light. The flickering of candles barely illuminates the cold, hard surfaces, giving the space an almost otherworldly feel. He inhales deeply, eyes narrowing as if he’s lost in the stillness of the space, caught between the centuries-old cathedral and the raw, primal need driving him.

“These walls,” he mutters, “They have seen more than any mortal could fathom. They bear witness to the blood of sacrifices, of souls entwined in ways even the heavens cannot understand.”

His voice lowers to a dark, haunting tone as his hand moves to your neck, his thumb grazing it lightly, feeling the pulse beneath your skin. His eyes darken as he locks onto your gaze once more, the hunger never fading.

“And now, you too are a part of this… legacy,” he adds, his voice almost a whisper, filled with a twisted satisfaction.

He looks down at the velvet sheets, the rich fabric pooling around you both, his grip tightening around you as his eyes burn with an intensity that could scorch the very air. His jaw clenches, teeth grinding as a low growl rumbles from his chest. The sight of the soft, luxurious sheets beneath you only seems to fuel the fire inside him, the contrast between the comfort of the fabric and the raw, brutal energy he exudes.

“This… this must be heaven! All of it!” he roars, the force of his voice echoing off the stone walls, making the cathedral feel even colder and more distant. His hands grip the sheets beneath you with enough force to tear them, the tension in his body palpable as he takes in the sight before him. “You think you’re the first to fall prey to this hunger?” His voice drips with venom, a twisted satisfaction in his tone. “This is the price of being chosen. You belong to me now.”

He leans forward, eyes flashing with possessiveness, his body pressing down on yours as the weight of his words hangs in the air, suffocating, all-encompassing.

The walls around you begin to warp, the once holy and ancient stone now tinted with a sickening red glow, as if the very cathedral itself was being consumed by the hunger he carries within. Jungkook’s breath quickens, his pupils dilating with a dark, insatiable need. The air thickens, as if the building itself is closing in on you, the weight of his presence overwhelming. His voice, now low and guttural, shakes with the intensity of what he’s feeling.

“Do you feel that?” he growls, his hand gripping your waist as he pulls you closer, his body practically vibrating with the force of his need. “The walls, the heat, the blood… everything is drenched in it. And you—” he pauses, his voice a rasp, thick with hunger, “you are the center of it all.”

His eyes flare with an almost supernatural fire, the red glow of the cathedral reflecting in his irises, transforming him into something inhuman, something ancient. Every inch of him seems to burn, his body pressed against yours with an almost frantic urgency. “I can taste it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear, his voice vibrating with dark promise. “Your blood, your essence… it calls to me.”

With each passing second, the air grows heavier, the red glow intensifying, as if the entire cathedral is aligning with his desire, his hunger. “You belong to me now. In every way.” His words are both a promise and a threat, his hunger driving him forward, and there’s no turning back now.

His voice turns colder, the warmth of his hunger replaced by a chilling, almost detached tone. He pulls back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression hardening, becoming more predatory.

“You think this is a gift?” His words hang in the air, sharp and devoid of mercy. “You’re wrong. This is not some offering of kindness. This is fate. And you’re trapped in it.”

You feel a cold shiver run down your spine, your stomach turning as the weight of his words sink in. His gaze doesn’t soften, his eyes colder than ice, and the intensity of his stare makes you feel small, like prey. His grip tightens, a reminder that you are no longer in control, that your fate has already been sealed.

“Your blood, your life… it’s not mine to cherish,” he continues, his tone flat, as if stating a fact. “It’s mine to take. To use.”

He lowers his voice even more, so low it almost vibrates through your bones. “And you? You’ll beg for it, because you won’t have a choice.”

There’s something deep and unsettling in his words, an overwhelming sense that whatever happens next, there’s no escape from this twisted fate he’s weaving. The room feels colder still, the air pressing down on you, and a sinking feeling takes hold in your stomach.

He pulls out, craving another sensation.

He helps you sit up, his hands firm but almost possessive as they guide you into position at the edge of the bed. The movement is deliberate, as though he’s ensuring you remain in his control, your body now fully exposed to his gaze.

Once you’re sitting, he steps in front of you, his figure towering over you, the darkness of the room accentuating the sharpness of his features. His eyes—still glowing with an unsettling intensity—pierce through you, as if reading you, studying every reaction, every breath you take.

There’s a quiet, heavy tension in the air as he doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, he observes you, the silence between you both thick with unspoken meaning. His presence alone feels like an inescapable force.

Slowly, he leans forward, bringing his face close to yours, his breath warm against your skin as he speaks, his voice low and commanding:

“Do you feel it?” he asks, almost a whisper, though there’s no doubt that the question holds more weight than just a simple inquiry. His eyes flicker to your lips, and his smirk returns—this time colder, sharper, as if he’s savoring the control he has over the situation. “The hunger… the power… it’s mine, and you will understand that soon enough.”

He pulls back just enough to let you breathe, but the suffocating presence of his dominance remains. His hands hover near you, just out of reach, teasing you with the promise of contact but withholding it for now, letting the tension build.

“You’ll cum for me another night, tonights. My night,” he murmurs, almost to himself, the words carrying an unsettling certainty.

He guides your hand lower—slow, precise—until your palm rests against the thick muscle of his thigh. The heat of him seeps into your skin, and his hand doesn’t let go. Instead, he presses your hand harder against him, making you feel the tension coiled beneath the surface. His thigh is stone—taut, strong, every line carved from need and restraint.

“Feel that?” he says lowly, eyes half-lidded and watching you like prey. “That’s control. That’s patience. And both are running thin.”

He moves your hand slowly, dragging it upward along the hard line of his thigh, closer to where his desire pulses hotter, heavier. His breath catches as your fingers graze higher, and he smiles darkly—teeth just barely showing, the glint of something possessive in his gaze.

“If you’re going to touch me,” he mutters, voice edged with gravel and heat, “then touch me like you understand what I rule, sin, filth and death.”

His hand doesn’t leave yours. Instead, it folds over your fingers, guiding them with slow, deliberate pressure. You feel the weight of him under your palm, the way his breath shudders through his chest as your touch drags along the thick line of him—hard, hot, and pulsing with restraint that’s barely holding.

“That’s it,” he breathes, voice deep and full of warning. “Nice and slow. Let it ache.”

He watches your face, red eyes glowing like embers in the dim light, feeding off every twitch of uncertainty, every hint of surrender. His grip tightens slightly, helping you stroke again—longer this time, the motion slick and obscene between your joined hands. His jaw tenses, hips subtly pushing into the rhythm you’re building together.

“You’re doing well, lamb,” he says, tone mock-gentle but laced with hunger. “But this isn’t mercy.”

His hand slips away from yours, slow and reverent, as if this moment deserves to be witnessed rather than controlled. He steps back half a pace, enough to let you work him alone, but close enough that his heat still coils around you like smoke. His eyes don’t leave your hand—not once. They’re dark and wild, glowing red, like he’s watching a sacred ritual unfold.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dipped in awe and hunger. “Bare on your knees, hand wrapped around me like it’s your calling. Do you even realize what that looks like?”

He doesn’t need to answer—his expression says enough. His chest rises and falls heavily, each breath edged with restraint and lust. His thighs twitch under your touch. Still, he doesn’t move. He lets you do it. Lets you touch him like an offering laid at the altar, each stroke a kind of prayer. Your pace—hesitant at first—finds a rhythm, and he groans softly, head tipping back, throat exposed like he’s submitting in return.

“It’s devotion,” he growls, looking down at you again. “You worship without even knowing you do. That’s what I like. Not obedience—belief.”

His abs tighten, hips subtly rolling into your hand again before he forces himself still.

He grips your wrist, stopping your hand mid-motion, his eyes locking with yours—dark and commanding, yet intense with a predatory hunger that hasn’t faded. His touch is firm, possessive, like he’s claiming every inch of your attention.

“Not yet,” he growls, voice low and full of tension. “You think I’ll just let you have it all this easily? No. Not until I’ve had my fill.”

His grip tightens slightly as he leans forward, his breath hot against your skin, hovering near your ear.

“You’re mine to play with now. But you will wait.”

The way he speaks—it’s not just a command, it’s a warning. He’s controlling, testing, pushing your limits with every word, every movement. The air between you thickens, and despite his grip, the room feels alive with the unspoken tension that hums in his touch.

He lets go of your wrist but doesn’t move away. Instead, he watches you, measuring you, sensing how far he can push without breaking.

He glances down at himself, a smirk curling on his lips as he observes the effect his presence has on you. His gaze lingers for a moment, taking in the hard, undeniable evidence of his desire. The way his body tenses, every muscle drawn tight with anticipation, only adds to the power he exudes.

His eyes flick back up to meet yours, sharp and piercing. “Do you see it?” he asks, his voice dripping with dark amusement, a low rasp that carries weight.

He steps closer again, his movements deliberate, measured. His hand gently caresses your cheek, before trailing down to your neck, his fingers barely grazing your skin. He watches your reactions closely, as though reading each shift in your expression like an open book. “You’ve made this difficult, you know,” he murmurs, though the satisfaction in his voice is unmistakable.

As your fingers trace lightly across his abs, you feel the taut muscles beneath your touch, each movement a reminder of the power he holds. His body reacts to your fingers, a subtle tension in his jaw as his eyes follow your hand’s path. There’s a flicker of something dark, something possessive in his gaze.

He watches you with quiet intensity, the air between you charged, almost electric. His breath catches for a moment, but he doesn’t move, not yet. “Careful,” he says, his voice low, almost teasing, though there’s a dangerous edge to it. “Touch me like that again, and you might not want to stop.”

The words are a warning, but there’s something about the way he speaks—calm, controlled—that makes them feel like an invitation. His hand moves to your wrist, not pulling it away, but guiding it gently back to his body. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, an almost possessive gesture, before letting go.

He doesn’t say anything more, but his eyes, dark and calculating, linger on you, as though waiting for your next move.

Your fingers slip down to his waist, brushing along the firm, warm skin just above his hip bones. The ridges of muscle shift beneath your touch, and you feel the slight twitch of tension ripple through him—control warring with want.

He exhales slowly through his nose, watching you with eyes that burn a deeper red now, the veins around his irises barely restrained. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you,” he murmurs, more statement than question, his accent thickening as his desire mounts. “Worship comes in many forms. Keep going.”

He doesn’t touch you, not yet. He lets you explore, letting you offer yourself, and in doing so, submit. His restraint is taut, barely leashed—he’s letting you play just long enough before he takes control back completely.

His smile turns feral—sharp, proud, darkly amused. The corners of his lips twitch as he watches you move, hands resting at his sides, knuckles flexing with the effort it takes not to grab you.

You aimply then replace your hands with your mouth, kissing at his waist. Lips wrapping around his cold body.

“Ah,” he exhales like a man touched by divinity. “The lamb does kneel…” His voice drops, velvet-wrapped gravel, laced with hunger and reverence. “And with a mouth that could make angels fall.”

His head tilts, hair falling slightly into his eyes as he watches every motion—hungry, reverent, possessive. “Show me then… how deep your devotion goes.”

His smile vanishes—replaced by something darker, deeper. He grips the edge of the velvet sheet behind you, veins on his arms rising with restraint. His hips tense, thighs like stone beneath your hands, but he doesn’t move. He watches. He lets you worship.

“Yes,” he breathes, eyes locked to yours, glowing faintly red in the low light. “Don’t just taste—take.”

His voice sharpens, old and commanding, like a creature that’s ruled centuries and bled kings.

“Show me that mouth wasn’t made for prayer, but for sin. For me.”

One of his hands lifts—slides through your hair, gripping the back of your head not to force, but to feel. To claim.

His hips twitch, breath caught, and he snarls—“Fuck—look at you.”

He watches his length vanish inch by inch, mouth parting, fangs gleaming, like he’s witnessing sacred ritual.

“You serve better than the saints,” he groans, “and I’ve made martyrs scream less sweet.”

His other hand drifts across his abs, down to your wrist, not to stop you—but to feel your pace. Feel your power.

“Deeper,” he whispers like a curse, forehead leaning against yours, “Let me feel the fall of you.”

He jerks back like something snapped inside him.

The restraint shatters. That old-world calm, that noble patience—gone. What’s left is pure hunger, animal and ancient.

“Enough,” he growls, voice no longer velvet but iron, and in a flash he grips your jaw, tilting your head up.

His eyes blaze red, pupils slit, fangs fully bared. “You wanted a taste, didn’t you? Then kneel for him right.”

He drags you closer, chest heaving. His abs tighten as he stands taller, shadow spilling across you like a crown.

His cock throbs, flushed, slick from your mouth, and he grabs its base, tilting your face toward it.

“This isn’t worship anymore,” he snarls, “this is a ritual. Mine.”

And then—he thrusts. Deep. One hand on your skull, the other on his hip, controlling pace, depth—domination.

“Take it,” he snaps, watching your lips stretch around him. “That’s right—look at you, gagging for it.”

He moans, guttural, hips rolling. You feel the velvet sheets at your knees. His thighs quiver against your cheeks.

His tone softens—mocking, reverent.

“My sweet little offering. Made to ruin, made to serve.”

He groans—low, wrecked—as your throat tightens around him, and he loses it.

“Yes—yes, just like that,” he hisses, pushing in deeper, the blunt head forcing past the limit.

His hand fists in your hair now, anchoring you. Not yanking, just owning. His hips roll forward slow and cruel, keeping you stuffed full, breathing through your nose, barely.

“Your throat… takes me like it remembers.” He growls the words. “Like it missed me.”

You gag and blink up, tears gathering—and he smiles like the devil given form. His chest shudders.

He doesn’t stop. His cock glides in and out, saliva coating him, making it obscene, wet and slick and perfect.

Each thrust now ends with a grind of his hips against your face, forcing your nose to his skin.

“You think this is what makes me spill?” he pants. “No, lamb. You’re not just a mouth. You’re a grave.”

He twitches in your throat, moans again—louder.

“You’ll choke on me before I come. Earn it.”

He sees it in your eyes—the way you sink, obedient and soft, yet gleaming with intent.

You want to disappear under him, to be ruined and remembered.

Your mouth adjusts, your hands on his thighs grounding him, holding him there—then one hand slides to cup him, gently, knowingly, owning his pleasure right back.

He chokes on a moan, hips stuttering.

“Fuck,” he growls, head tipping back. “You’re not just a lamb—you’re the knife too.”

You moan around him, and his legs shake. His hand tightens in your hair, but you don’t stop. You take him deeper, needier, hollowing your cheeks, worshiping him with your throat and tongue and heat.

“That’s it. Show me you’re mine,” he pants.

“Show me who that perfect mouth belongs to.”

He watches you, eyes red and wild—torn between devouring you and falling apart in your hands.

You don’t back off.

You double down.

Slow strokes of your tongue, lips sealed firm around him, pressure perfect, pace cruel. You look up at him—eyes glassy, mouth full—and he breaks.

His thighs tense under your palms. He grabs a fistful of your hair, not to guide but just to feel something real. Something to keep him from collapsing.

“God—” he rasps, chest heaving, hips jerking shallowly. “What are you doing to me?”

You hum low in your throat, and it vibrates through him. His abs twitc. He’s sweating, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring like an animal cornered by its own hunger.

“No one’s ever—fuck—done me like this,” he breathes, voice rough, broken open.

His eyes are wild, lips parted, and for a second, he’s not the vampire, not the monster.

Just yours.

He doesn’t even get a warning out.

Just a strangled, guttural sound tearing from his throat as his hips buckle forward and he loses every ounce of control. His hand tightens in your hair—not harsh, but desperate—as he comes hard, spilling deep while his whole body convulses. His thighs tremble under your touch. His head drops forward, dark hair falling over his eyes as he pants through clenched teeth.

“Fuck—fucking hell,” he growls, voice low and ruined, like it’s been dragged through fire.

He looks down at you in disbelief, lips parted, chest still heaving. His hand slides from your hair to your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth almost reverently.

“You were made to destroy me,” he whispers, tone twisted between awe and something darker. “And I’ll take that challenge any day.”

He collapses beside you, his body still quivering with the aftermath of release. Without hesitation, he pulls you to him, arms strong and insistent, drawing you close. His mouth finds your neck, the sharpness of his fangs brushing against your skin before he sinks them in once more, pulling the blood from you with a deep, rhythmic hunger.

The warmth of his body presses against you, and despite the earlier cruelty, there’s something tender in the way he holds you now—almost protective, as if you’re something precious that he can’t let go of.

His grip on you tightens, fingers digging into your side, keeping you anchored to him as he drinks greedily. His movements are slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every drop as if it’s the last of its kind. The low growl in his chest vibrates through your body, a mixture of satisfaction and something darker still—an insatiable thirst, a need that might never be quenched.

“So sweet,” he mutters, lips brushing your skin as he pulls back momentarily. His eyes glow with that dangerous, fiery red, pupils dilated in hunger and possession.

He could drain you. He could take it all. But instead, he holds you—his gaze softening, a fleeting moment of vulnerability beneath the monster he’s become.

“You’re immortal now m’lady?” His voice is low, almost a whisper, as he watches the flow of blood on your skin—knowing it’s not just your blood he claims, but your essence for eternity.

And you don’t resist.

The words drip from his lips like venom, smooth and intoxicating. “On a blood moon, my life line. You packed with me, darling. So glad you were the offering I left hell for.” His voice is thick with possessiveness, every syllable laced with something ancient and powerful.

You were no longer just a human to him. In his twisted world, you were more—an offering, a possession, something to be claimed, worshipped, and, ultimately, devoured. Dracula's sin, a sin that if died would banish him from earth for good.

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jincapableoflove · 1 month ago

Text

Bloodstained Oath | One-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre: immortal knight! jungkook x vampire queen! reader, vampire au, fantasy, dark romance, SMUT, angst.

Summary: You are untouchable. Feared and worshipped by all. And he's the knight who has sworn himself to you. When you finally call him to your chambers, he offers everything, his blood, devotion, and his very being. After all, you are no ordinary woman. You are a creature of the night, and Jungkook has longed to be yours.

Word count: 5.6k+

Warnings: unprotected sex, bloodplay, biting, devotion/worship, oral (m receiving), dom/sub, jungkook is a sub, edging, slight pain play, marking/claiming, overstimulation, light breathplay. (lmk if I missed smth)

MOODBOARD

A/N: minors dni. count how many times I used the word 'devotion' in this fic lmaoo

Slash.

Your blade cuts through flesh like a knife through wet parchment. The soldier barely has time to gasp before crumpling at your feet, eyes wide in shock as the life drains from them. You don’t stop to watch them fall. Another comes at you, sword raised in a desperate arc, but it’s slow. Clumsy. Predictable.

A flick of your wrist, and your steel pierces their throat.

The battlefield reeks of smoke, sweat, and the sharp metallic tang of fresh blood. The cries of the dying mix with the clash of steel. The sky above is thick with storm clouds, swirling dark and furious as if the heavens themselves bear witness to this slaughter.

And beside you, he fights.

Jungkook moves like a wraith through the carnage, every strike precise, every motion an extension of his unwavering devotion. His sword is slick with the blood of your enemies, his armor streaked with crimson, but his expression remains unreadable. He never falters. Never hesitates. If you turn, he is there. If you advance, he follows. He is as much a part of your being as the dark and endless power that flows beneath your skin.

And the battle is over before it truly begins.

The last of the opposing army collapses under the weight of your might. Those still standing are stripped of their weapons forced to their knees in the mud. Their leaders are dragged forward, their bodies shaking in fear. The field is silent now, save for the ragged breathing of the survivors and the occasional pained groan of the wounded who still cling to life.

Victory is yours.

It had been inevitable the moment your secret was exposed. Only your inner court knew the truth of what you were. Someone had let the secret slip. Someone had turned the kingdom against you. Whispers of the Queen’s unnatural longevity, of her insatiable hunger, of the power lurking in her veins were well spread now.

At first, they had dismissed it as a myth. But then the whispers turned to fear. And fear breeds rebellion.

So they rose against you, gathering armies under banners of righteousness. They spun tales of salvation, of freeing the land from the “monster” who sat upon the throne.

And now, they kneel. Trembling and waiting for judgment.

Jungkook stands at your side, as he always does. The blood-splattered sword still clutched in his hand, his breathing steady despite the massacre. His hair is damp with sweat, dark strands sticking to his forehead, but his posture remains unshaken.

And even now, with bodies strewn across the battlefield, with the scent of death thick in the air, he looks at you as if you are a goddess.

The captured traitors kneel before you, their wrists bound and heads bowed in fear. They know what is coming. Some weep. Some pray to whatever gods they believe in. None will be heard.

“Please have mercy,” one dares to whisper, voice hoarse.

Mercy? You smile cruelly. “Let this serve as a lesson.”

With a tilt of your head, Jungkook moves. And one by one, the betrayers fall beneath his blade.

His movements are precise, methodical. There is no hesitation, no wasted motion. A sword raised and then a clean, effortless beheading. Blood spills into the soil, pooling at your feet. He does not flinch, does not falter. He has done this before. He will do it again.

Your most loyal knight. A perfect executioner.

But still, you watch him closely. His hands are steady. His gaze never wavers. But would they tremble if he knew you were watching him the way he watches them?

When the last head rolls, silence falls over the battlefield. Your remaining army stands at attention, waiting. The air is heavy, thick with expectation.

Jungkook turns to you then, falling to one knee. His sword rests at your feet, and then his dark eyes flicker upwards to meet yours.

You notice his hands twitch at his sides. Always ready. Always waiting.

A thought takes root in your mind, one that has lingered for far too long. You tilt your head, voice low, teasing.

"Tell me, my knight. Does your devotion extend beyond the battlefield?"

Jungkook does not hesitate.

He bows his head, breathes the words like an oath.

“My Queen, I am yours.”

The air in the palace is thick with the scent of burning incense curling in slow tendrils toward the vaulted ceiling. Somewhere beyond these walls, the echoes of victory can be heard, laughter spilling from drunken lips, the rhythmic pounding of drums, the distant sound of celebration as your court feasts in your honor.

Yet here, within the throne room, there is only silence.

You sit upon your throne, fingers tracing absent patterns against the cool metal of your crown. It is a symbol of power and dominance, showcasing the centuries you have ruled. But at this moment, it is nothing more than cold weight against your skin.

Victory should be satisfying. It should be absolute. And yet… something lingers. Something unfinished.

You know what it is.

With a flick of your wrist, you summon him. The guards bow, disappearing into the halls to retrieve your knight.

Jungkook.

Your most devoted, your most trusted. And yet, the one who has unsettled something within you for longer than you care to admit.

The wait is not long. It never is with him.

He enters without hesitation. His steps are disciplined each movement precise and controlled. He bows low, but his eyes never leave you.

His armor gleams under the dim candlelight, polished as if to erase the evidence of battle. Yet traces remain. Stubborn stains on his gauntlets, dark smudges along the edges of his breastplate, the last remnants of war clinging to him like a shadow that refuses to fade.

There is no fear in his gaze. No hesitation. No uncertainty.

He stands before you as he always has, as if he has always known you would call for him.

His devotion is unquestionable.

But as you watch him, as you take in the quiet intensity of his stare, the way his hands remain at his sides yet never truly still… you wonder if he even knws the depth of his own obedience.

You rise from your throne, slow and deliberate. The faint clink of your jewelry is the only sound as you step forward, circling him like a predator sizing up prey.

Jungkook does not move. His posture remains impeccable, his shoulders squared, and his chin lifted not in defiance but in unwavering submission. His expression is unreadable, but you know him well enough to sense what lingers beneath the surface.

Tension. Restraint. A quiet anticipation that vibrates in the air between you.

You test him. Fingers grazing his jaw, tilting his chin up just enough to force his gaze to yours. A lesser man would flinch, would shy away from your touch, uncertain whether it is a gift or a warning.

Jungkook does neither.

He remains perfectly still, his breath measured and controlled. But you feel the unspoken war raging beneath his calm exterior. His hunger is not for power, not for freedom.

No, it is something far more primal. Far more dangerous.

You wonder if he has spent centuries waiting for this moment. Waiting for you to look at him, not as a knight, not as a tool, but as something more.

He has given you everything including his blade, his loyalty, his blood.

But is that truly all he desires?

You do not grant him what he seeks so easily. That would be too simple. Too merciful. Instead, you test him. A test with words.

“Would you give me anything I desire, Jungkook?”

His answer comes without hesitation. “Yes, my Queen.”

His answer is steady and certain. But is it instinct, or something deeper?

You step closer, close enough that the candlelight flickers in his dark eyes. His breath remains even, his shoulders squared, but you know him too well. You see the slightest tension in his throat, the way his fingers flex before stilling at his sides.

“You have given me everything,” you murmur. “Your loyalty. Your strength. But do you give it freely?”

For the first time, there is a pause. So brief, so fleeting, it might have gone unnoticed if you weren’t watching him so intently.

Then, reverently, he answers.

“What is freedom to a man who has only ever lived for you?”

Satisfaction hums through you at his reply. It is the answer you expected, the answer you demanded, and yet it still pleases you to hear it fall from his lips.

Without another word, you turn, stepping past him, knowing he will follow.

He does.

Your steps are slow, deliberate, echoing through the dimly lit corridors as you lead him toward your chambers. You do not look back, yet you feel his presence. There is no hesitation in his footsteps, no question of where this night will lead.

When you finally reach your doors, you pause only to push them open, stepping inside without waiting. He follows as if drawn by an unseen force, as if this is inevitable.

The heavy doors shut behind him, the iron lock sliding into place with a finality that seems to settle between you both.

Jungkook stands before you, shoulders squared, gaze steady. No surprise lingers on his face, no uncertainty. If anything, there is something else in his dark eyes, something like quiet acceptance.

Almost as if he had been waiting for this. Expecting it.

You tilt your head, watching him, searching for any sign of fear. You find none. Lifting a hand, you trace your fingers along the collar of his armor, feeling the warm metal beneath your touch. Then, softer now, more dangerous, you ask,

"Will you give me your body, your blood? Would you let me consume you?"

His breath shudders, but his answer does not waver.

"Yes. Anything."

That’s all it takes before you pull him toward you, baring your fangs.

Your hands move with urgency, pushing aside the heavy layers of armor that shield him. The breastplate clatters to the ground, followed by the straps and clasps of his pauldrons. Beneath the steel, his tunic clings to his skin, damp with the heat of battle, the lingering scent of blood still fresh on him.

Jungkook does not resist. He never does.

His chest rises and falls, controlled but uneven, as you tilt his head to the side, exposing the column of his throat. The skin there is marred with old scars, remnants of wars fought in your name. Yet, he offers it freely, tilting into your touch, showing is full submission.

And then, you strike.

Your teeth sink into his neck, piercing skin and flesh, and a gasp wrenches from his throat. His body tenses, then melts into you as though he was made for this. Made for you.

You feed slowly at first, savoring the way he trembles, the shudder that rolls through his frame. He does not pull away. If anything, he leans into it, his hands gripping your waist, fingers pressing into you as if to anchor himself.

The act is unmistakably intimate. Erotic.

His breaths come in shallow pants, growing heavier as you drink from him, your fangs buried deep in his flesh. The wet, sinful sound of blood sliding over your tongue fills the space between you. You feel the way his pulse flutters beneath your lips, how his body tenses when you drink a little faster.

The hunger in you stirs, insatiable. The blood seeps from the wound, trailing down his throat, and you press your tongue against it, lapping at the warm liquid before soothing the punctures with a slow, deliberate drag.

A shudder wracks his body, a breathless sound spilling from his lips, raw and wanting.

And still he does not pull away.

By now, his arousal is undeniable, straining against the confines of his pants. The evidence of his desire presses against the fabric, aching nd desperate, but he says nothing. He wouldn’t dare.

Your hand drifts downward, fingers trailing along his abdomen before slipping lower, cupping the rigid length of him through the thick material. Even through the fabric, he is burning, his cock heavy and throbbing in your palm.

Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath, his body going rigid for a moment before he exhales, shuddering. His hips twitch ever so slightly, barely perceptible but you notice.

His need is palpable, almost suffocating in the way he holds himself back, trembling beneath your touch, yet refusing to beg. He wants more. more friction, more of you but he knows he has no right to ask for it.

So he takes what you give him, whimpering when you press your palm harder against him, dragging slow, deliberate strokes over his length. The friction is both a relief and a torment, not nearly enough to satisfy, yet too much to bear in silence.

A strangled moan catches in his throat, and his fingers tighten around your waist. He wonders how you haven’t reprimanded him for touching you, how you allow his hands to rest upon you so freely. The thought only makes his restraint waver further.

He wants to explore. To let his hands roam, to feel the curves of your body beneath his fingers, to worship you in ways he has only imagined for centuries. But he does not dare.

So he remains still, trembling, waiting, hoping.

You are pleased with his reactions, the way he trembles under your touch yet holds himself back, waiting for your command.

So you decide to be merciful just a little.

“Undress,” you say, voice smooth and commanding. “Lay yourself bare for me.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. His hands move with practiced efficiency, unfastening the ties of his tunic and pulling it over his head in one swift motion. The fabric falls to the floor, revealing the expanse of his chest, skin scattered withth scars from healed wounds.

His fingers work at the laces of his pants next, undoing them swiftly. There is no shame in his movements, only purpose. He is shedding more than just clothing; he is offering himself to you, wholly, completely.

The moment he tugs down his undergarments, his cock springs free, hard and eager, flushed at the tip.

Your eyes trail down, taking in the sight of him. The length is impressive, thick enough to stretch, with prominent veins running along the shaft. A bead of precum gathers at the tip, glistening under the candlelight.

It almost makes your mouth water.

Jungkook lies himself down on the massive bed, his body tense with anticipation. His chest rises and falls with slow, controlled breaths, but you can feel the heat radiating from him, the barely restrained need coursing through his veins. He is waiting for you to take what is yours.

But you are not so kind as to grant him relief so easily.

You climb atop him, your body pressing flush against his, your weight a deliberate reminder of his submission. His cock twitches against his abdomen, but you ignore it, focusing instead on the way his lips part ever so slightly as you lean in.

Then you kiss him hard.

Jungkook gasps into your mouth, and you take advantage, deepening the kiss, your tongue claiming him in a way he has only ever dreamed of. He tastes of devotion, of longing, and you drink him in, reveling in the way he trembles beneath you.

Your fangs descend, sharp and eager, and you sink them into his lower lip, puncturing the soft flesh. A sharp inhale—his body stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away. Warm, coppery blood floods your mouth, rich and intoxicating, and you moan as you suck at the wound, savoring every drop.

Jungkook’s hands hover beside you, uncertain. He has fantasized about this moment for centuries, imagined all the ways he might worship you if ever given the chance. And yet now, with you consuming him, he doesn’t know what to do.

But one thing he knows for certain: he must not defy you.

Jungkook waits patiently, his hands hovering just shy of your body as if he dares not touch without permission. You revel in his obedience, but you are not yet satisfied. You lean in, pressing your lips to his ear, whispering dark, sinful things, watching for the cracks in his restraint.

His breath hitches, his fingers twitch at his sides, but he does not break.

Not yet.

His hands finally come to rest against your body, ghosting over the fine fabric of your royal robes. The heavy garment is embroidered with intricate gold patterns, the deep crimson fabric flowing like blood with every movement. It drapes over your shoulders, cinched at the waist with delicate chains, leaving only hints of skin visible. It feels like a barrier he is not yet worthy of removing.

You pull away from the kiss at last, leaving him breathless. His lips are swollen, slick with the remnants of his own blood. His head spins slightly, whether from the loss of blood or the sheer intensity of your presence, he does not know.

You sit up, bringing him with you, guiding him to move as you wish. His hands find their place on your body, worshipful, mapping the curves and dips of your form as if committing you to memory.

Then, he hesitates slightlyhis gaze flickering up to meet yours, seeking permission.

You offer him the barest nod.

Emboldened, his hands cup your breasts through the fabric, molding around them, squeezing slightly. His thumbs graze over your nipples, teasing through the layers of silk and embroidery, but you offer him no further mercy.

You watch as frustration flickers in his darkened gaze. He wants to feel your skin beneath his hands, to see you bared before him. But he knows better than to demand.

He will have to earn it.

Your hand trails downward, fingers wrapping around the thick length of his cock, the heat of him burning against your palm. His breath stutters as you stroke him slowly, teasingly, letting your fingers glide over the flushed tip where precum beads and drips onto your skin.

You spread the slickness down his shaft, your grip firm but agonizingly measured. He groans, hips twitching into your touch, though he restrains himself from outright thrusting into your palm.

"Already so desperate," you murmur, watching the way his muscles tense beneath you. "And I’ve barely even touched you."

A moan escapes him when you finally lower your head, lips brushing over the sensitive tip before you take him into your mouth in one smooth motion.

His fingers clutch at the sheets before moving to the back of your head, hesitant at first, then bolder when you don’t stop him. His grip tightens as you suck harder, tongue tracing every vein, every ridge.

Your pace quickens, the obscene sounds of your mouth working him over filling the chamber. His control begins to slip, hiip stuttering forward, his need overcoming his restraint. He starts to fuck into your mouth, his groans raw, breath ragged.

But just as he nears the edge, just as his thighs tremble and his grip turns bruising, you pull away.

His cock slips from your lips with a wet pop, slick and throbbing, denied the release he so desperately craves.

Jungkook lets out a frustrated, needy whine, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes are dazed, his lips parted, his expression utterly wrecked.

You simply smile, dragging a finger across your swollen lips before tilting your head.

“Are you pouting, my knight?” you tease. “How unseemly.”

You lean back once again, taking your time, unfastening each clasp, each layer of fabric that conceals your body from his desperate gaze. Your fingers move with deliberate slowness, teasing the anticipation that already has him trembling.

The first thing to go is the heavy outer robe, the rich fabric slipping down your shoulders, pooling at your feet like discarded silk. Next, the delicate material covering your torso, barely shielding the bare skin beneath. You tug it down, exposing the soft swell of your breasts, but you not fully, just enough to torment him, to watch the way his cock twitches in response.

His breathing grows uneven, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to reach for you.

“You’re holding back,” you observe, amused.

Jungkook swallows hard, his jaw tightening. “I have to.”

You hum in approval and continue, letting each remaining piece of clothing slide down your form, revealing inch by inch of bare skin. His eyes darken, pupils blown wide with hunger.

And then, as you shift slightly on the bed, his gaze catches on something else. The faint, glistening stain beneath you, the proof of your arousal soaking into the sheets.

His breath hitches.

You smirk, tilting your head. “See what you do to me?”

His cock twitches again, the need in his expression almost unbearable. But he still does not touch. He waits because you have not given him permission.

You spread your legs for him, your fingers trailing downward, parting your slick folds with a slow, deliberate motion. The tiny pink pearl at the center of your arousal glistens in the dim candlelight, and Jungkook gasps, his hands flexing at his sides as if physically restraining himself from reaching for you.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his voice hoarse with longing. “May I…?” He hesitates, swallowing. “Do I have the luxury of tasting you, my Queen?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Not tonight.”

A flicker of disappointment crosses his features, but he does not argue. He wouldn’t dare.

“This is your reward,” you remind him, tilting his chin up so he meets your gaze. “For fighting so fearlessly beside me. For all those centuries of devotion.”

His breath shudders as he exhales, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him as if to ground himself.You spread yourself wider, letting him see every glistening inch of what he’s denied. “Tonight, you take. And I will give.”

You lift yourself onto his lap, your thighs framing his hips as you settle against him. The moment your soaked folds press against his length, Jungkook lets out a strained moan, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. But you don’t grant him what he craves.

Instead, you roll your hips, dragging your slick heat along his length, coating him in your arousal. The friction is intoxicating, a slow torment that has you both gasping. His cock twitches beneath you, so hard it aches, while your pwn need pulses, demanding more.

He groans, fingers digging into the sheets as if holding himself back. “Please…” he rasps, voice wrecked with desperation.

You shush him, pressing a single finger to his lips. “Not yet.”

He exhales shakily, his thighs tensing beneath you. He is so close already, you can feel it in the way his body trembles, in the way his cock jerks against your clit with every glide. He’s terrified he’ll spill before you even take him inside but that’s exactly what you want.

You halt your movements abruptly, lifting yourself just enough to deny him the pleasure he was chasing. His breath hitches, a frustrated whimper slipping past his lips, but he knows better than to protest.

Placing both hands on his chest, you push him backward until his back meets the mattress, his body fully beneath yours. You grip the base of his cock, aligning his tip with your dripping entrance, teasing the head against your slick folds. His breath stutters, muscles taut with anticipation.

And then, slowly, you sink onto him.

The stretch is exquisite, a delicious burn that has you both moaning in unison. He fills you so perfectly, your walls clenching around him as you take him in inch by inch. His fingers twitch at his sides, his restraint admirable, but you can see the way his throat bobs, the way his eyes glaze over as pleasure overtakes him.

Leaning back, you brace your hands against his strong thighs, lifting yourself slightly before rolling your hips. Jungkook lets out a strangled groan, his hands fisting the sheets beside him. His eyes flutter shut, lost in the pleasure coursing through his body.

But that will not do.

“Open them,” you command, your voice firm.

He obeys instantly, dark eyes locking onto yours. They’re wild with hunger, with devotion.

Your nails dig into his thighs, sharp enough to break skin, a thin trail of blood beading at the surface. But if he feels the pain, he does not show it. His pleasure is too consuming, too overpowering. And so, he gives himself to you fully, offering his blood, sweat and tears to you like he always has.

His vision turns hazy pleasure clouding his thoughts, but his eyes never stray from you. He watches, entranced, as your breasts bounce with every movement, your body moving above him like something divine, yet here you are, claiming him, taking everything he has to give.

He feels it building, the telltale tightening in his abdomen, the coil about to snap. His breath stutters, his hands twitch where they grip the sheets, but before he can even manage to stammer a warning, his release overtakes him.

His body shudders violently beneath you, pleasure ripping through him as his cum spills inside you, hot and thick, painting your walls in spurts. The sensation is blinding, overwhelming, pulling a guttural moan from deep in his chest.

But you do not stop.

You keep moving, keep bouncing on him, greedily milking every last drop, your walls clenching around his still-sensitive cock. His whimpers are near-pained, overstimulated, but he does not beg you to stop. he wouldn’t dare.

Not when he belongs to you.

The heat of you around him is unbearable, intoxicating. Even as he shudders from the aftermath of his release, his cock twitches, hardening again inside you. The warmth of your walls, the way you squeeze around him, milking every last drop—it’s too much, yet not enough.

He is lost in you, in the way your slick coats him, in the sensation of being fully sheathed inside your tight, wet heat. It is maddening, the way you move, the way your body clenches down on him like you never want to let him go.

His hands tremble as they grip your waist, not to control but to ground himself to remind himself that this moment is real, that you are truly allowing him to have this, even if only for tonight.

The pleasure builds faster this time, his cock throbbing inside you, desperate for another release. He can feel your walls fluttering around him, your own peak drawing near.

“My Queen,” he gasps, voice wrecked, “I’m close.”

Your pace does not falter. Instead, you ride him harder, faster, pushing both of you over the edge.

He spills inside you again just as you come, your walls clenching down around him in a vice-like grip. His moans mix with yours, your cries of pleasure perfectly in sync. The feeling is euphoric, all-consuming, leaving him breathless beneath you.

He has never felt more complete, more worshipful. Even in pleasure, he is nothing but yours.

You pull yourself off him with deliberate slowness, letting his length slip free from your warmth, leaving him raw and sensitive. He barely has time to catch his breath before your mouth is on him again, lips wrapping around his overstimulated cock.

A sharp gasp leaves him, body twitching violently at the sudden contact. The pleasure is unbearable now, his sensitivity turning every flick of your tongue into something dangerously close to pain. But he does not push you away.

His queen, his goddess, the only being he will ever worship, is indulging in him, in his body, in his weakness. He exists for you to ruin.

His hands fist the sheets, muscles locked as his body fights against the onslaught of sensation. He groans, voice breaking, and you hum around him, sending vibrations through his length. He knows he won’t last, can’t last under your relentless hunger.

His hips jerk involuntarily, his entire body shuddering as his release tears through him again. This one is painful, forced from his exhausted body, his cock barely able to keep up with your immortal stamina.

A strangled moan escapes him as he spills into your mouth, the last remnants of his pleasure drawn from him until he has nothing left to give. His vision is blurred, his limbs trembling.

And then you kiss him.

His breath catches as your tongue slides into his mouth, the taste of his own seed spreading across his tongue. A cruel reminder of how utterly you have taken him, consumed him, claimed him.

You straddle him, hand at his throat, pressing down.

His body reacts instantly, his muscles coiling beneath your touch, a sharp inhale drawn between parted lips. But it is not fear that darkens his gaze. It is something else, something raw and consuming. His pulse flutters against your palm, quick and eager, a silent plea without words.

Beneath you, he is utterly vulnerable.

Your grip tightens. He exhales shakily, a strangled sound caught in his throat. You can feel him growing hard again, his body responding to the cruel intimacy of your touch. He doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t fight you.

His devotion is absolute. Even as the air leaves his lungs, even as his vision begins to blur at the edges.

You lean in, your lips grazing his ear as you whisper softly, like a lover’s confession, yet laced with something far deadlier.

"I know what you did."

A shudder runs through him. His breath catches. His fingers twitch against the sheets, as if resisting the urge to hold onto you. To anchor himself.

But he does not beg.

He does not deny it.

Instead, he smiles.

As if this was always meant to be. As if this is what he wants.

Your grip tightens further, pressing deep into the delicate skin of his throat, cutting off the last remnants of air. His body jerks beneath you, muscles tightening, chest heaving in a desperate, instinctual attempt to pull in breath. His lips part in a soundless gasp, but no words come.

His eyes remain locked on yours. Glassy and devoted.

Even as the fight leaves his body.

Even as his pulse weakens beneath your fingers, fading into nothing.

Even as his body finally stills, lips parted, frozen in the ghost of his final worship.

You end him.

Jungkook is immortal but only because you willed it so. He has always been untouchable to the rest of the world, his life tethered to your mercy alone. And now, as you stare down at his lifeless body beneath you, the realization slams into you, cold and final, like a blade driven straight through your chest.

He let you kill him.

He never betrayed you to defeat you. That was never his goal. No, his crime had always been one of devotion, not treachery. He forced your hand because there was no other way. He knew you would never let a traitor live.

A final act of love, masked as betrayal.

And even now, in death, his body betrays his yearning. His arousal lingers, stiff and undeniable, a grotesque echo of his devotion. His final gift to you.

For centuries, he had yearned to be more than just your knight. He had watched you take countless lovers, while he stood guard outside your door, hearing the sounds of pleasure that would never be his. It had gutted him, wounded him more than any battlefield ever could.

You had gifted him immortality as a token of his loyalty, his unwavering service. But in doing so, you had condemned him to a fate crueler than death. To live on forever, knowing he would never be anything more than a weapon at your side. Knowing that no matter how many lifetimes passed, he would never be the one you reached for.

So he did the only thing he could.

He betrayed you.

Because he knew that you would never let a traitor live.

The room is silent. The air is thick with the scent of blood.

Jungkook's body lies beneath you, utterly still, his skin cooling beneath your touch. You should feel satisfied. You should feel victorious.

Instead, there is only a hollowness, a slow, creeping thing curling inside you like smoke.

You stare at him, the man who had knelt before you in unwavering devotion, the warrior who had spilled blood in your name, the fool who had loved you enough to orchestrate his own demise. He had yearned for this, had wanted to be consumed by you in every way possible. And you had granted him his wish.

Then why does it feel as if something vital has slipped through your fingers?

Your fangs remain stained with his blood, the taste of him still thick on your tongue. You should have savored it more. Should have recognized what it meant when his hands had trembled against your skin, not with fear, but with desperate reverence.

Perhaps this had been his final lesson to you.

Perhaps his betrayal had not been a betrayal at all, but the greatest act of devotion.

You sit in the silence, staring at the body of the only one who had ever truly belonged to you. And for the first time in centuries, you wonder…

Had you ever belonged to him, too?

taglist: @sftlrmin @mar-lo-pap @jnghs @sebastianlover @darklove2020 @satisfied18 @fancyearthquakecreation @solephile @senaqsstuff @kooko007 @sky-23s-world @11thenightwemet11 @youngdreamlandfun @eakth @miraclekay97 @jksusawife @svnbangtansworld @mellyyyyyyx @skatazz

lmk ur thots <3

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smileyoongle · 10 months ago

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Pairing- VampireKing!Jungkook × Human!Reader

Genre- Arranged Marriage AU (Sort of?), Enemies to Lovers, Soulmate AU

Summary- Jeon Jungkook was known to be a tyrant, destroying anything and everything to get what he wanted. And this time, he wanted you.

Warnings- Mentions of blood, gore and murder scenes, eventual smut, JK is definitely a hard dom and mad possessive, vampire bites and blood sucking.

A/N- Even though I have tagged the people who asked to be tagged, there will be no taglist for this series from here on. I only tagged you guys to sort of let you know this series has started. It's a big struggle to keep all those usernames up to date so you might wanna turn on the notifs :)

Please find the introduction to the world of Amour Mort here!

You ran through the forest, tears in your eyes making it difficult to see the path ahead, but you could tell you were venturing deeper into the more dangerous side. At the back of your mind, you were very aware that you shouldn’t be here past midnight, and that if someone found you breaking curfew, you would probably be executed by the throne, thinking you were some sort of rebel revolting in the recent uprisings. But all of that paled in comparison to the despair gnawing at your soul.

The branches clawed at your skin, leaving angry red marks, but you didn’t slow down, only realizing you had come here barefoot when tiny stones began hurting the bottom of your feet. You were being chased—not by a person, but by your own thoughts and the relentless ache in your chest. Your father’s words would not stop playing in your mind, your palms pressing against your ears as you closed your eyes in an attempt to silence his voice.

"You're nothing but a burden to me. I wish you had never been born!"

Suddenly, a sharp pain seared through your right foot, sending you stumbling and falling to the ground with all the air being knocked out of your lungs. You winced, letting out a whimper as you managed to look back, gasping at the bear trap that had clamped around your foot. Its teeth dug into your flesh, and blood pooled on the dead leaves beneath you.

“No…” you cried out, sobbing at your misfortune, the pain from your wound shooting through your leg in waves. A thought came to you: maybe this is how you die, completely alone and unloved, with no one to care that you weren’t at home right now.

‘That’s not true! Lila cares…’

Your mind screamed at you, your sister’s pretty face popping into your head. Well, this was true; your sister did care about you. But really, there was only so much she could do when your father did not even acknowledge you as his daughter. You still remembered the party where a guest mistook you for a maiden working in the mansion. It had truly hurt you, but there was nothing you could say, not when that is probably what your father wanted the world to think. A part of you thinks he hates you because your mother died just five days after you were born, but how could you, a mere baby, be at fault for that?

Gathering all your energy, you began to drag yourself to a tree nearby, wincing and whimpering with every wave of pain that washed over you. You could even feel the burn on the skin of your forearms where it rubbed against the rocky and muddy ground, convinced that the sleeve of your dress was beginning to tear. Were you even going to make it back home? Did you even want to make it back home?

Upon reaching the giant tree, you pushed yourself up, managing to rest your back against the trunk, finally getting a good look at the steel trap wrapped around your foot. Meant for animals, it was likely a tool for the poorer vampires who couldn’t afford human slaves and fed on animal blood instead. It was the one law that favored humans: vampires were forbidden to feed on them freely. But nonetheless, it was always the innocent ones who had to pay the price. The night-walkers were given the gift of strength and brutality that they used against the weak, be it you or an animal.

Your chest rose and fell quickly, your breathing growing harsh, and your vision growing blurry. It was the blood loss, and you couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. Either you were getting used to it, or your body had started focusing on the fact that you were dying instead. Whatever was happening, it was not good, and you had no idea how to help yourself.

“You shouldn’t be here. Not at this time.” A voice broke through the darkness, making you jump in surprise, your eyes immediately landing on a man’s silhouette standing just a few steps away from you. Your heart hammered in your chest, and, swallowing thickly, you pressed yourself further against the tree, hoping that would make you disappear.

Was this someone who was going to turn you in? Maybe the cause of your death was going to be execution and not a bear trap?

Your silence only prompted the man to move closer to you and into the moonlight filtering through the trees, your lips parting as you took in his face. He was truly breathtaking, with black hair that fell across his forehead and eyes that seemed to pierce through the night. There was black ink peeking at you from under the collar of his black shirt on his neck, more patterns emerging from under his rolled-up sleeve right up to his knuckles, making you wonder just how much of his body was tainted like this.

“N-neither should you,” you said bravely, though your voice was small and weak.

He chuckled in response, making you purse your lips as you watched him kneel down beside you, your body subconsciously shifting backward even though there was nowhere to go, every single thought in your mind long gone in the presence of this man.

His eyes slowly moved across your body, taking in your tear-stained cheeks, your tattered dress, and your bloody foot, tutting at the condition of your wound.

“This is why you shouldn’t be here, little human,” he said, your eyes widening as you caught a hint of amusement on his face, your blood running cold at the realization. Your breath was caught in your throat, and you were suddenly very aware of the blood you were soaked in, your eyes nervously flitting between him and your poor foot. If you had to die, you didn’t want to do so at the hands of a vampire. In fact, you couldn’t even imagine the pain that was probably about to suffocate you when he ripped your heart right out of your chest.

“Please don’t kill me,” you begged, staring into his eyes with tears in yours, shaking your head when he smirked and leaned in closer to you. Closing your eyes, you let the tears fall freely and turned your face away from him, his breath fanning your neck and making you whimper.

“You must taste exquisite.” He inhaled deeply, your chest heaving as his words made your heart thump harder in your chest. This has to be it. He was going to drain your body right now, and no one was going to find out ever.

Preparing yourself for the attack, you closed your eyes shut and gripped the skirt of your dress, thinking about your family for the last time before your life was taken from you.

“But I’m not going to do that.” Came his voice, your eyes slowly opening as you glanced over at him, noticing the sudden distance he had put between the two of you. A frown etched on your forehead, your tears drying up on your cheeks as you processed his words. He was not going to hurt you?

“I’m too old to lose control over a bit of blood.” He gestured nonchalantly towards your foot, shocking you at how he thought this was just a bit of blood. You were literally going to pass out soon.

“Wh-why are you here?” you stammered, biting your tongue when his expression hardened, his eyes sending daggers your way and letting you know that you shouldn’t have asked him that. Silence engulfed you both, your eyes failing to look away from him. It was almost as if he was holding you prisoner under his gaze, a flash of guilt disappearing from his dark eyes as soon as it came.

“I had to get away before they caught up to me,” he confessed, a cool breeze ruffling his hair as he stood up and stared down at you, his eyes reading the confusion in yours.

“Who-”

“My sins,” he responded before you could even ask, his thick boots crunching the leaves on the gravelly path as he walked in front of your stretched-out leg and sat down on one knee. A flash of lightning struck through the sky at that very second, as if to show that the heavens had heard his confession too. And when the thunder illuminated his face, you could swear you had seen the very face of evil.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked, tilting his head as you swallowed thickly, shaking your head hesitantly. But you knew he didn’t believe you when he let out a small laugh. It sounded bitter to your ears, like he was mocking you for being so weak yet trying to fool him at the same time.

“Well, you should be.” In one quick motion, his hand ripped apart the trap into two pieces, your flesh being freed from the sharp claws that were jammed into it. Dots filled your vision as your lips parted in a silent scream, your chest hurting as if you were having a heart attack, and maybe you were because you felt your body go limp as your eyes rolled back into your head.

Strong arms held you before you could hit the ground, your head suddenly resting against a firm chest as your breath came out all raggedy. You could feel sweat beading on your forehead, your body not having any energy to even let you open your eyes for a second.

“W-why…” you breathed out, your voice a bare whisper in the night. And the next thing you knew, you felt a hand pressing against your lips before a metallic taste filled your mouth. With all the energy left in you, you opened your eyes wide and grabbed the tattooed arm feeding you blood, your attempts at pushing it away failing miserably.

“Sshh, you need this. You need me,” the vampire whispered above you, his chin resting atop your head as he ran his free hand through your hair. Knowing that you couldn’t fight him off, not like this, you gave up and swallowed the disgusting liquid that made your body feel warm all of a sudden. You could hear your heart pumping and your breathing steadying as the blood worked its way into your system, your senses sharpening, and your strength slowly returning.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled his arm away, and you let out a string of coughs, gasping for air while the awful taste lingered on your tongue. It was truly ironic how the blood of someone dead could heal a living being. How a killer could give life to someone. And you were sure that this man who had saved your life was a killer too. Why else would he talk about his sins catching up to him?

“What did you do that you had to run away?” you asked as soon as you found your voice, your tired eyes glancing up at the man holding you. His eyes flitted between your eyes and your lips, sending shivers down your spine when he brought up his thumb and rubbed away some blood from the corner of your mouth.

“What’s your name?” He avoided your question smoothly, pretending you hadn’t spoken a word to him. Frowning, you thought about it for a moment, wondering whether it was a good idea to tell him who you were. But at the same time, you weren’t a very valuable human. There was really nothing he could want from you that would make him hunt you down.

“Y/N,” you said, averting your gaze to your foot, which was now void of any wounds. Your skin looked completely smooth and untouched except for the dried blood staining it, leaving you staring in awe.

“Well, Y/N,” he started, regaining your attention, “you’re gonna find out tomorrow.”

You frowned at his words, wondering if this implied that he was going to see you tomorrow to tell you what sin he had committed. Too lost in your head to notice that he had stood up, you saw him offer his hand to you. Your fingers hesitantly took hold of his cold ones. With ease, he pulled you up as you slightly lifted your dress and examined your foot, pleased with the fact that there was absolutely no pain anymore.

“This is-” You turned to glance at the man, only to be met with darkness. The vampire was gone, the forest was silent, and you were alone once again.

______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @scuzmunkie @girl8890 @adasboredom @acrazybiotch374 @tutnotmytea @leilei-9 @yoonjinhusbands @kumakoyan @ttanniett

#bts #bts imagines #yandere bts imagine #jeon jungkook #bts vampire au #vampire jungkook #vampire king jungkook #jungkook x reader #possessive jungkook #obsessed jungkook #hard dom jungkook #jungkook smut #amour mort #smileyoongle #dark jungkook

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hamburgerndsprite · 3 months ago

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Sprite's Favourite Fics {Bangtan Fics} Part 1

Note: This is my first time creating a list of my favorite fanfics. I’ve been on Tumblr for quite a while, and it can be exhausting to sift through all my liked posts to find a specific story. So, I'm putting together this list to make it easier for myself and others looking for some good fanfics to read. I’m still a bit unsure about how to structure this list, but let’s give it a try! Also, all the moodboards are edited by me and therefore I request everyone not to repost them as theirs.

[Masterlist]

[OT7]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ Coming Home by moonstruck-poet

Pairing- Kang Taehyun x sister!OC, BTS x platonic! OC Summary - Kang Ari comes back from the military for a couple of days to surprise her brother on his birthday.

➺ The Gateway to Your Heart by justimajin

Pairing: OT7 x Reader Genre: Fluff, Cuteness, Sprinkles of Angst ↳ Magic Shop AU Words: 7.2k Warnings: None! Summary: ❝You gave me the best of me, so you give you the best of you.❞

➺ Requested Drabble by minniepetals

Genre: CEO AU Synopsis: “I love you and I thought everything was okay but I guess not...“

[KIM NAMJOON]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ Nervous by etherealacoustic

Pairing - Kim Namjoon x Female! Reader Summary - Your husband Namjoon and BTS get an invitation to the White House. He's nervous so you comfort him.

➺ His Goodluck Charm by etherealacoustic

Pairing - Kim Namjoon x wife Reader Summary - It'll soon be Namjoon's performance but you had been travelling and were not present during the start.

{SERIES}

➺ Nine Months by gimmesumsuga

Summary: “Your due date has come and gone. Namjoon’s excited and you’re uncomfortable, but you’re both equally as impatient to meet your little girl.” Pairings: Namjoon x Reader Rating: 15+ Warnings: Pregnancy, Birth, and all the icky bodily fluids that come along with it.

➺ A Dangerous Game by chaoticpuff17

Genre: A Yandere Mafia Au

➺ Guilty by xjoonchildx

pairing: namjoon X reader summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

[KIM SEOKJIN]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ Real by Jiminrings

pairing: seokjin x reader wordcount: 13k glimpse: single dad!jin has all the money to blow off in the world but not time, and swim instructor!y/n just nEEDS to meet this student’s dad who’s never there to pick her up :D ft. someone’s ex that just had to be an olympic swimmer

{SERIES}

➺ The Profit & Love Statement by justimajin

↠ Pairing: Seokjin x Reader ↠ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst ↳ Office AU ↠ Word Count: 105.9k / 24 parts ↠ Summary: The workplace isn’t for everyone. It can be mundane and repetitive, with some describing it like a nuisance and others as a blessing. You’re the kind that leans more towards the latter and while it does make you an ideal candidate for many things, nothing could have prepared you for the whirlwind that is the new employee.

➺ The a-listers by httpknjoon

pairing | actor!jin x famous!reader genres | humor/crack, fluff, angst, actors!au plot | Meet Y/N and Jin, two of Hollywood's hottest celebrities and couple — or are they? Media and fans have been wanting to hear a confirmation for years now. But you two are always good at confusing everyone. Watch as everyone else play this guessing game of what's the relationship between Y/N and Jin.

[MIN YOONGI]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ CEO Yoongi by jungshookz

→ pairing: min yoongi x secretary reader → genre: ceo!au, clumsy!y/n because that’s always nice, jimin is ur best friend, floofy fluff, a touch of nsfw aka office sex → wordcount: 21k+

➺ Requested Drabble by jungshookz

summary- oc has this big ol crush on yoongi and she’s like hella shy around him and they’re paired up for a project and oc is debating if she should say “can you help me” or “can you hold this” but it comes out like “can you hold me” and cheeky yoongi actually does it hehe

➺ Like flowers we bloom by cupofteaguk

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader genre: bad boy au | fluff warnings: slow burn, some knowledge of flowers, yoongi is a meanie in the beginning </3 word count: 5k summary: in which a garden isn’t the only thing you’re building with Min Yoongi

➺ No Choice (next to you) by gukyi

pairing: yoongi x reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 13k summary:the pros of your last-minute senior year apartment sublet: cheap, furnished, close to campus, in a gorgeous old victorian conversion home, and right next to the greek takeout place. the cons of your last-minute senior year apartment sublet: min yoongi, senior member of the beta tau sigma fraternity, and his party-throwing, vodka-loving, ruckus-making fraternity buddies, are your neighbors.

➺ One Chance by out-of-jams

↠ Summary ↞ Min Yoongi was a lot of things. A musical genius, a guy with a bad reputation, your assigned partner for your final project. And the last thing you ever would have expected. Word Count: 7.4k Warnings/Genre: College!au. Music producer!Yoongi x Singer!Reader. Fluff. Explicit language. Some angst. Mentions of alcohol. s2l. Oneshot.

{SERIES}

➺ It's a Reverse Basket by justimajin

⇝ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader ⇝ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst ↳ Basketball AU, Crossdressing AU ⇝ Word Count: 90.5k / 21 parts ⇝ Summary: The goal has never been in your favor, and despite all your best efforts, you don’t think it ever will be. But that’s right when you finally get the chance to turn things around, to do things the way you’ve always wanted to, and to go after what you truly love. However the problem isn’t if you can do it, it’s how much are you willing to do...?

➺ Love is... on tour by httpknjoon

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader genre | enemies to lovers synopsis | Tell everyone you know, Love Is... On Tour! Popstar!YN is set to start her sophomore world tour with her new hit songs, sparkly outfits, and talented live band. There are 352 days of this tour, which means 352 days of YN and her new bassist, Yoongi getting on each other's skin in every way possible.

➺ Fail-Safe by Jiminrings

pairing: yoongi x reader glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration. alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least. warning: [ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

➺ Greedy by xjoonchildx

Pairing: yoongi x reader Summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now. until you.

[JUNG HOSEOK]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ No Time For Love by Jiminrings

pairing: doctor!hoseok x nurse!y/n wordcount: 3k glimpse: "If something happens to you, you come to me — not to the receptionist you like chatting with on your lunch breaks."

➺ Base Line by Jiminrings

pairing: hoseok x y/n wordcount: 3k glimpse: hoseok swears that you’re intolerable, but maybe that’s just because you don’t greet him good morning like you usually do

{SERIES}

➺ Guarded by xjoonchildx

Pairing: Hoseok x reader Summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you. now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

[PARK JIMIN]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ A Bite of Sin (M) by sangsanghaebwa

Genre: Smut, vampire!AU, (a bit of angst?) Word count: 4748 Description: After one fateful accident your entire life changes, but so does Jimin, leaving you bitter and lonely until you both break down. Warnings: Mature content

➺ While You're Sleeping by parkdatjimin

warnings: heavy angst, reader unleashes some insecurities to Jimin while he's sleeping, mentions of divorced parents and anxiety wc: 1.6K

➺ To Love You by alessiamalfoyzabini

Pairing | wanted!Jimin x princess!Reader Word Count | 16,1k Summary | You have been separated from your beloved and your kingdom is under the rule of a heartless man, but all is not lost.

➺ Sweetheart by indgio

↳ pairing park jimin x f!reader ↳ genre e2l / lawyer!au / wc 2.8k ↳ warnings very heated make-out session LMAO / ft. bff!taekook / oc is honestly just full of rage

➺ Blooming Days by bluekyun

Genre: fluff, smut, angst & humour Word Count: 15.390 Rating: NC-17 Summary: A typical night for you begins at the library in your favorite chair underneath the lamp in the corner, only to be picked up at 3am by your best friend, Jimin. Despite having slept over in his room several times before, this certain night in Sigma house leads to far more than you ever imagined. But what is to come of your friendship once you reveal those two little lines that will change your lives forever?

➺ Rebound by out-of-jams

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Word Count: 7k. Warnings/Genre: College!au. s2l. Explicit language. Alcohol use. Slight angst. Jealousy. Pining. One shot. PG 16. ↠ Summary ↞ Who cared if Kim Taehyung slept with other people? You sure as hell didn’t. That was what friends with benefits meant, right? No, it didn’t matter that you were halfway in love with him. And no, you sure as hell weren’t going to try and make him jealous with a complete stranger. Nope, not at all. Right? Right.

➺ What I did for Love by krreader

pairing: park jimin x reader genre: angst ; fluff ; mentions of smut summary: Park Jimin had long given up on hope of finding love and thought being a sugar daddy was just an easier way to get what he wanted. but when you start developing feelings for him, to a point where he knew you loved him, he couldn’t help but wonder what love might feel like...

{SERIES}

➺ Heartburn by Jiminrings

pairing: jimin x reader glimpse: you know it’d happen eventually and you’ve been preparing yourself for the impending hurt — you just don’t want it now. Not now when it’s nearing jimin’s little sister’s birthday; not now when you can swear love isn’t the only thing you can put on the table. alternatively, jimin emotionally cheats on you while your wedding’s six months away. warnings: heavy angst (pls i am once again apologizing to the people that cried bc of this ily), emotional cheating, emotional constipation n baggage, insecurities, broken relationship w parents, intense longing and hurt i can't put into words + specified tags in each installment!

[KIM TAEHYUNG]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ Falling in crayolove by jungshookz

✎ pairing: kim taehyung x reader ✎ genre: kindergartenteacher!au, workingman!au, F L U F F, tiny bit of angst at the start :-( but this is literally 98% fluff; y/n and taehyung are like two little kids with little crushes on each other ✎ trigger warning(s): implications of getting an abortion!! ✎ wordcount: 10.5k ✎ summary: y/n is a single mom and taehyung is a single kindergarten teacher. emma knows exactly what she needs to do.

➺ Stuck with You by jungshookz

❥ pairing: kim taehyung x reader ❥ genre: university!au, enemies-to-lovers, fratboy!tae??, comedy that’ll either make you chuckle out loud or roll your eyes and snoRT or maybe u won’t laugh that’s cool too, domestic fluff because i want to go grocery shopping with tae toO (but also fluff in general!!), smutty smut so make sure to read this with your phone’s brightness lowered all the dang way, hi @ librarian!namjoon!!! fratboy!jungkook is also in here ❥ wordcount: 37k ❥ summary: kim taehyung becoming your new roommate is definitely up there on the list of the worst things that have ever happened to you.

➺ In Bloom {M} by untaemedqueen

Pairing: Tattooed&Pierced!Taehyung x Wife!Reader WordCount: 6.2k Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut Summary: A tattoo artist taehyung, and a florist's wife reader, have their shops side by side, and one day they fight, and taehyung feels bad because of which he visits her with their daughter but she’s very angry, so he plans a trip to take her to a garden where they met for the first time and they make up, with some smut and the reader revealing she’s expecting.

➺ Swoon by minisugakoobies

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader Genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, non-Idol!AU Word Count: 3.6k Summary: “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” Warnings: swearing, kissing, Tae's wearing his red leather jacket from his Paris trip, we've also got Disco Jungkook and Harley Quinn Jimin in here

➺ Soft Spot by v-hope

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader Genre: Fluff Word Count: 2k Summary: "where Tae is super soft for the reader who is a part of the staff and everyone starts noticing."

{SERIES}

➺ Catching a Case of Doctor Blues by justimajin

⇢ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader ⇢ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst ↳ Doctor/Surgeon AU, Enemies to Lovers AU ⇢ Word Count: 67.4k / 20 parts ⇢ Summary: When asked about Dr. Kim, a string of beautifully aligned words are ready spew from your lips. You could possibly go on and on about how his wonderful stubbornness wasn’t similar to talking to a brick wall, or how his observation skills were especially great in preparing your blood vessels for a drastic rupture or even how one gracious stare of his nearly had you on the verge of ripping your essential documents in half. But it seems that, perhaps, there was a lot more to Dr. Kim then what meets the eye...

[ JEON JUNGKOOK]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ Requested drabble by jungshookz

summary- jungkook and yn do this thing where they fake marriage proposals to get free stuff in restaurants until jungkook is actually seriously proposing to his long time gf yn and she doesn't get the clue

➺ if-then by Jiminrings

pairing: jungkook x reader wordcount: 7k Glimpse: you're an alien in prince jungkook's planet — both literally and figuratively. alternatively, jungkook gives his nickname for you to someone else in a fit of anger, and you've never been more upset. Warning: [ fluff, angst, painfully oblivious n dense alien koo, mutual pining (yes MUTUAL!!!!), the glaring concept of not being good n whole enough to deserve love (yikes but i Swear it gets better), mentions of injuries ]

➺ Mature by Jiminrings

pairing: jungkook x reader wordcount: 8k Glimpse: the good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back — the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed. alternatively, crushing on jungkook who's in your friend group is, has, and will never be a good idea. Warning: [ push n pull fic YIPPPEEEEE, fluff, angst, So Much Yearning, friends to lovers trope, jealousy, dunking on a stewpid jk (as one does), arguments that kinda hit home, redemption!! ]

➺ Out of Gas? {M} by 97kuu

Paring: Jungkook x reader! Genre; jungkookbestfriend! Friends to lovers! WC; under 3k Summary; It was a setup between Taehyung, namjoon and Jungkook to get him to hook up with you in the car. However, his guilty heart and physical desire revealed that he wanted more than what he was willing to confess that night..

➺ Fifth Wish by Jiminrings

pairing: jungkook x reader wordcount: 18k Glimpse: jeon jungkook, world-class socialite and nepotism baby, should be out every night to celebrate while he’s at his prime. why should he fake-date his bodyguard instead? alternatively, jungkook regularly throws coins to wishing wells with only one desire in mind — to get rid of you. Warning: [ angst, unrequited love (at first), emotional constipation, jk is Very Frustrating to be with, so much pining, the constant repetition of the notion that one must amount to something to be deserving of love, rlly wholesome fluff, mentions of blood n injuries, whole 360 redemption arc dw i am not evil ]

➺ Tutus & Tiaras (M) by 1kook

DILF!JK SPECIAL! rating m (18+) word count 10k summary: your first pregnancy through the lens of your husband

➺ Gamer Boy {M} by hoebii

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader Genre : Established Relationship!Au, Smut Rating : 18+ Warnings : sexual content, unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism I guess? Wc : 2.3k

195 notes · View notes

lo1k-diamonds · 5 months ago

Text

Down Bad 💜 PJM (Part 1)

Kissing you was not on the agenda, and it threw him off. How the fuck was he supposed to let go of you now?

PAIRING: Vampire!Jimin x human(f)reader

SUMMARY: You find the cure to your clumsiness in becoming Jimin’s dance partner. But twirling in his arms risks more than just your heart, especially after he bites you.

WORD COUNT: 18.7k (Total: 31.5 k)

GENRE: Soulmates AU, angst, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: typical vampire-related warnings (blood, biting, scents, feral moments), arguing, fighting, graphic depictions of cuts, bites, and wounds (including blood), angst, multiple smut scenes (unprotected sex), including praise kink, oral (f rec), penetrative sex, pleading, bit of a dom!Jimin

A.N. Here we have it, my Christmas gift this year. For some reason, I've been... unexpectedly insecure about my writing, so this story was somewhat... more difficult to perfect than usual. I'd like to thank @downbad4yoongi, @pars-ley, @colormepurplex2 and @hisunshiine for working through it with me and helping me reach this final version - by far the most fleshed-out and intriguing, even if it became huge. Also thank you to @itaeewon for the beautiful banner! This is my entry in the upcoming @bangtanwritershq 4th Quarter Writing Event: Monster Mash!

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs

“Hey! Good to see you!”

You smiled at Jung Hoseok and adjusted the strap of your gym bag on your shoulder with a small smile. His pearly whites showed a gorgeous smile that once wouldn’t have had you wondering how he hid his nature so well.

“He’s already here in the backroom with a few other contestants,” Hoseok continued as he circled the reception counter of his gym to reach you. “Do you need help with anything? Need to change?”

“Changed at home,” you replied quietly, motioning the hands still inside the pockets of your closed coat. It was freezing outside due to the snow, and you still didn’t have the guts to open it up. Your toes were blueish from the chill, and you wiggled them a little; maybe you shouldn’t have put on your open-toed heels before coming.

“Alright, good.” He nodded affably before raising his hand in the direction of the corridor you knew so well. Still, he walked side by side with you, intending to escort you. “How was your Christmas?”

You told him about your grandmother’s wailing, entirely compensated by her delicious cooking, and how you helped your sister with your baby nephew. “He just looks at me with such wide eyes, and I instantly feel like a fraud, you know?”

You huffed, a bit discouraged, as Hoseok laughed and pushed the door open.

“There she is.” Taehyung grinned, skipping in your direction. He was the image of tall perfection, hiding a soft teddy bear personality underneath his dazzling eyes and handsome features. Some were just born like this, and you doubted his nature was the only reason for it. “I thought you might get cold feet.”

“My feet are pretty cold,” you mumbled, looking down, and he chuckled, eying Hoseok, who was smiling too.

“Are you ready?”

Taehyung towered over you as he stood by your side and waved Hoseok away, and the strain on your neck from looking up reminded you of how this was supposed to be different. How you had been excited about this moment for a year; trained, planned, dreamt of it… Only for it to turn out so different.

Only for that uncomfortable strain to make you grimace slightly and press your fingers into the back of your neck. “Yeah, let’s warm up.”

You let him guide you across the room, then put your bag down and draped your coat over a chair, revealing your red, sparkling dress that ended just above your knee. You had to rub your arms for some warmth, and Taehyung waited for you without touching you, and you appreciated him for it. You knew he wouldn’t do anything inappropriate, but…

You sighed and raised your arms, signaling you were ready, and he grabbed your hand. He spun you a few times to loosen you up, then pulled you closer to start what you instinctively assumed were a few of your Cha-cha-cha choreography moves.

It wasn’t enough to pull your thoughts away from the pit they invariably fell back into. Taehyung wasn’t the problem; he had always been respectful and treated you with utmost care. Jimin picked him after everything that happened, and you trusted his judgement. After all, Jimin—

You were twirled across the dance floor, spinning beautifully with your delicate arms floating at your sides as you were supposed to, but then you gasped. Your heels didn't find purchase on the floating wood floor; you were spinning too fast. You couldn’t discern Taehyung in the blur around you nor call out to him, overwhelmed as you were. Your arms flailed, further taking you off course, and suddenly, a smear of a reflection caught your eye right before your right side collided with an immovable object. Whatever you smashed into sent you sprawling on the floor in an unceremonious heap.

You groaned and closed your eyes to avoid the wave of nausea that threatened to sweep over you, then felt a few shattered glass pieces falling from above you like a short drizzle. For a second, you were too dazed to comprehend what just happened. But then you winced and sat up, feeling countless prickling sensations all over your leg, arm, shoulder, and even your cheek.

You winced as something sharp dug into your skin, and you turned your palm up. Dusting off whatever debris and mirror glass had bothered you there made you aware of the big glass shard nestled into your arm's soft flesh.

Someone kneeled beside you, but you didn’t hear them. Your first instinct was to remove the foreign body from your arm, and as the glass clinked on the floor, you gasped.

“Shit!” You were surprised, pressing your palm to your arm to stop the torrent of dark crimson blood.

It dripped between your fingers, and you looked up, searching for help, but what you found cooled you to the bone. Taehyung had shifted back, still on his knees, and one look into his eyes told you everything you needed to know before your eyes drifted across the other contestants. Some were the same as him, hence why they were frozen, unnaturally static as they observed you.

Your eyes turned back to Taehyung; he winced, and that was good enough for you.

You jumped to your feet with as much speed as you could muster, regardless of pain, and stormed out of there without bothering to look back. Sounds of struggle still reached your ears before the heavy doors closed behind you, but you kept running down the hallway. People would stop to look at you; some were frozen inside their classes or in the machines room, and so you kept running with fear gripping your heart. You couldn’t tell how they were looking at you, seeing that there were one-way mirrors between you. No one should know you were on this side, running, and yet there they were, with their eyes fixed on your rushing form. It made your stomach twist, and suddenly, it felt as though everyone was the predator, with only you left as the prey.

You rushed for the exit but quickly realized by the looks of the people you crossed along the way that you’d never make it. You knew what the sting of a bite felt like, but at that time you were elated, in love; this would be different. You were safe with Jimin, no matter what he said, but he wasn't here. He left you, and those were different.

This would be the death of you.

So, in a last-ditch effort, you swerved left and disappeared behind a door that said, Staff Only. You raced down the stairs and reached the basement, where a boiler room lay quietly under the purr of plenty of machines. You didn’t care how dark and damp it was; you used your whole strength and body weight to push the old, stuck metal door closed, then pulled the lever into place so the door would be locked.

Your heart raced inside your chest louder than the machines, and as your breathing calmed, you considered if maybe your reaction was disproportionate.

But then a smack to the door, what sounded like someone trying to push it open, startled you into jumping away from it. You could swear you heard hisses and growls, though who knew over the noise? Still, you backed away to the opposite corner and sat on the floor, curling your knees to your chest, and fought the tears as you pressed your wound again.

You had no idea how to get yourself out of this one. Maybe a friendly vampire would come to get you out.

14 months earlier

“Take my hand.”

Jiyu’s voice from above made you sniffle and look around. The waiter you collided harshly with was already sitting up and apologizing profusely while he stayed on his knees to collect the glass and porcelain shards all over the floor. A few colleagues of his were helping him and while the manager tried apologizing to you, and Jiyu smiled and reassured her, you kept your eyes low.

The entrance bell chimed with the old lady you had dodged leaving the café slowly, and your eyes fell on the treacherous step responsible for the whole ordeal.

“Hey,” Jiyu called your name, drawing your attention to her hand. You finally took it and allowed her to pull you to stand. “Are you burned?”

You looked down; besides the brown stains and whipped cream on your white blouse, you were fine.

“I’m not, it’s fine.”

She nodded, a sigh of relief crossing her lips quietly, before she ran a hand through her long, black hair. “This can't continue. I mean it,” she insisted when you scoffed playfully. This was your daily life; you were too clumsy to take two steps without tripping. “I don't think you'll survive me moving out.”

“I’ll be fine,” you retorted automatically.

You knew of her worries about you, but it was becoming silly. Sure, you were the type to collide with waiters, almost get run over by bikes, and constantly have things go wrong. But that didn’t mean Jiyu should not move in with her fiancé just to stay by your side.

After a million apologies from both the waiter and you, Jiyu finally opened the door for you to exit into the early evening ahead of her. The bell chimed above her head, and she said, “You know what? You’re coming with me.”

“Where?” you asked curiously.

“My Zumba class,” she revealed as she laced her arm with yours.

You were effectively dragged with her. “No, I’m— I’m not good at it and— I’m not sporty like you and—”

“Maybe that’s the problem!”

Her humor didn’t resonate with you as you both crossed the street to make your way to your apartment. “But I have nothing to wear!”

She snorted, “But I do.” She could feel your shoulders squaring as you walked stiffly beside her, and she poked you with her elbow. “Come on, it will be fun! I promise!”

When two hours later your ass met the floor for the fourth time that day, you groaned and knew it would be blue and sore in the morning. You were confused, not about sitting on the floor, but by the turn of events. Exercising was supposed to help you, but you couldn’t follow the instructor’s directions while moving and making sure to stay in your assigned spot. Jiyu was next to you and tried helping, but you stumbled over your own feet. Not even she could save you from yourself.

And her worried eyes as she reached out to check on you only made you feel worse.

“Maybe you should rest a bit.”

You accepted the instructor's hand to get back on your feet and left the room, hearing them resume class as you grabbed your things and wandered off to the reception to wait for Jiyu.

“Hey!”

You turned to look at the tall, gentle-smiled man at the reception. Jiyu had called him Hoseok, and he was very nice — he owned the place and let you try the class for free.

“Shouldn’t you be in class? It’s not eight yet.” He checked the clock on the wall behind him before turning back to you with raised eyebrows above inquisitive eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“I just… I’m no use,” you confessed with tearing eyes and a quivering chin. You were tired and sad, and Jiyu was probably disappointed besides worried.

“What? Nonsense! How about coffee? Come with me.”

You normally wouldn’t have gone, but you were feeling so low that it was easy to drag your feet behind him into a new hallway. He was cheerful and comforted you the whole time as he took you to the staff break room, even taking your arm to pull you out of the way of a door that abruptly opened across the hall.

He sat down with you after pouring you both coffees, and as you explained your plight to him, he listened attentively.

“Hmmm,” he mused. “Jiyu had the right idea, but to start by attending an advanced Zumba class was not the right move. But dancing is definitely the way to go — it will strengthen your core muscles and help you with your coordination. How about private classes?”

You looked down at your half-drunk coffee and sulked further. “I don’t know.” You remembered the look on the waiter’s face, and your shoulders slumped. “How can I do that to them?”

“Who? The dance instructor?” Hoseok burst out laughing before giving you a gorgeous grin. “Don’t worry. He’s perfectly equipped to handle it. In fact, I know just the one. He can do miracles.”

He kept selling this trainer to you, mentioning the many dance competitions he had won and how he was the gentlest, most patient soul, having worked so hard to be such a good dancer, and eventually, you nodded. Your sad eyes raised to meet his, and you gritted your teeth in determination; you could do it. He was a professional, after all, and you wanted to fix this annoying trait about yourself.

A week after your first encounter with Hoseok, you were back at the gym for your first class and you were a bit nervous. Jiyu advised you to take comfortable clothes and sneakers, and you even picked an oversized jumper just so you could hide your hands in the sleeves in case you started picking at your nails or the skin surrounding them.

Hoseok walked you to the dance room and kept it casual, reassuring you that this would be great for you, and while you wanted to listen to him, you couldn’t. The most stunningly handsome man had just entered the room with the gentlest smile as he neared you both, and you forgot how to breathe. He talked about something with Hoseok, and you kept blinking up at him, mesmerized. He raked his fingers through dark, lush strands of hair to pull them out of equally dark eyes of such an intensity that your heart skipped a beat. And yet, while his eyes and beauty were off the charts, his smile was dazzling, gentle, and warm. Everything about him glowed grace and delicateness, especially as his soft hair fell over his eyes as he crouched, searching for something inside a duffel bag nearby. You couldn’t stop looking at him and wondered if you’d be so lucky to have him.

“Oh, this is Jimin,” Hoseok said apologetically, probably noticing you were lost. “He’ll be your instructor this evening.”

Jimin glanced at you and smiled, and your stomach did cartwheels, hitching your breath. Something warm made you flush as you shuddered from head to toe with a single thought in your head — him close, eyes closed, kissing you and nuzzling you like you were his whole world.

He got up, giving something to Hoseok, and you blinked, rubbing your cheeks in an effort to ground yourself. Those thoughts were completely inappropriate and—

“What’s your name?”

You peered up at him and stammered your name out.

He simply smiled again and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

You grabbed his hand with your eyes transfixed on his, and Hoseok raised an eyebrow beside you, shaking his head softly.

“You’re set, have an amazing time! And don’t be hard on yourself. You’re only just starting.”

Those last words as the door closed behind him broke your trance away and made you swallow dryly. Even then, you didn’t want to make a fool out of yourself in front of Jimin.

“He’s right.” Jimin smiled to put you at ease, but his next words made your stomach twist with nervousness. “I’ve heard you’re a bit clumsy.”

“That’s an understatement,” you mumbled instantly, and he smirked.

“Let’s see, shall we? I’ll turn the music on.”

You bit the inside of your lip as you tried to focus on his instructions, but it was hard. The fear of messing up was too great; you felt like a kid on the first day of school.

You should have known your clumsiness would have flared even harder in the presence of an instructor; you were as good as cursed. Tripping on your suddenly untied shoelaces after not even ten steps into the warm-up routine was just devastating.

At least until Jimin laughed and picked you up from the floor by pulling your hands. “Oh, I see. This is going to be fun.”

Your big eyes looked up at him in wonder, but then he kneeled, turning his gaze down so he could tie your shoes for you. Your cheeks flushed even more as you stammered quiet thank yous, and in a flash, he was done.

He smiled contentedly at you. “Ready?”

You hurried to get back in position by his side, and everything got back on track. That was possibly the first time you didn’t feel embarrassed or apologetic for tumbling down. On the contrary, you wanted to laugh it out, too.

When the class ended, you felt quite good about yourself. You were tired and sweaty, but your smile was as big as his. You couldn’t recall his words of encouragement throughout, or the amount of times you tripped or stumbled, only that you were dead set on feeling like that again. Especially by his side.

Hoseok entered the room not long after the music stopped. He found Jimin toweling his face as you drank water and seemed pleased. “So?”

Jimin looked at you, giving you a subtle nod to share your thoughts, and you tried not sounding as eager as you felt, “I liked it…”

Hoseok nodded as though he expected more information, and glancing at Jimin, he caught the hint of a hidden smile disappearing under the towel. “Alright… so, second class?”

“Sounds good,” Jimin agreed, putting the towel over his shoulders and hanging onto it. “In two days?”

You nodded as unenthusiastically as you could and, after settling a few details, left the two men to go home.

*****

Hoseok turned to Jimin as soon as you walked out the door and asked again, “How was it?”

Jimin’s eyes were still on the door. His silence made Hoseok tilt his head, intrigued by the weird turn of events. Your reaction to Jimin wasn’t entirely implausible — Jimin was undeniably charming; it was only natural to stare and drool. But Jimin’s reaction to you was odd. Why would he ask your name when Hoseok had already told him? Not to mention, Jimin was not the type to get close to his students. He was not touchy with them and was usually distanced and professional — so why would he choose to take your hand rather than just to bow? The way he lingered with that connection while looking at you was all the weirder, but it continued even now that you had left, with his eyes fixed on the door as though he could still see you walking away behind it.

Jimin finally licked his lips and grabbed his bag. “She’s…”

Jimin seemed distracted while he searched for words and Hoseok tried helping, “Clumsy—”

“A ray of—”

Hoseok’s eyebrows twitched in surprise. “What?”

Jimin began walking away, and it seemed to Hoseok like he wanted to escape that conversation.

So he followed him. “Hey, if you’re uncomfortable because she’s—”

“No,” Jimin’s reply was instant as he stopped to face his hyung. “She’s just… the clumsiest ray of sunshine I’ve ever seen.”

Hoseok nodded slowly. “It’s not often we get to see that…”

Jimin’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing else, and Hoseok let him go. Both knew he was not just talking about the sun, but whatever else was happening, Jimin preferred to stay quiet.

12 months earlier

So you started your tri-weekly meet-ups. You appreciated Jimin agreeing always to have the class at the same time after dinner, which made it easier for you with work. No matter how many times you tripped on your feet or lost your balance from a simple side step, you didn’t give up. His hand catching you every time before you could get hurt was surely a reason for you to not hold back, but even as it became less necessary, you found he was always there, supporting you however you needed.

It started fun and cheeky, back when he still needed to catch you multiple times per lesson. Two months later, he still occasionally teased you about your stiff Hip Hop moves but never made you feel bad about yourself. On the contrary, he smirked every time you needed him and eyed you in this way that always warmed your cheeks, especially when an arm circled your waist or a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“I’m going back to my hometown to visit my family for Christmas, so this is our last lesson of the year.” You smiled just as he stopped the music.

He returned to you with a gentle nod. “That sounds fun.”

You scoffed playfully, “Hardly. My older sister is pregnant, so I have no drinking buddy for New Year's Eve.”

He smirked as you put everything inside your duffel bag and got out a thin jacket. “Maybe you need a new one.” You put the jacket on despite still feeling so hot, and increasingly so; was he offering? “How about dancing with somebody new?”

You physically recoiled but disguised it as just adjusting the jacket before you grabbed your thick winter coat. “And risk stepping on their feet? No, thanks.”

“What if they want you to?”

You looked at him quizzically, and he raised his hands, beckoning you closer.

Your heartbeat still quickened whenever he’d look at you with that playful smile dancing on his lips, and as usual, you took his hand, letting him have his way.

He pulled you closer, causing you to lose your balance and step on his foot. You gasped, about to apologize and pull back, but he grinned and pulled your hand to force your balance to shift. Your foot pressed into his harder as your other foot raised from the floor, and he pulled you flush to his chest. Your other hand pressed to his firm chest, making you huff and look up. All that awaited you was a gentle smile and sparkling eyes. Then his eyebrows raised playfully, and you gasped.

You were floating. No, you were hovering. Your feet rested on his, lulling you to a mimicry of a slow dance. His arms stayed around your waist, supporting your back gently, and you looked up at him again with stars in your eyes. That was the first time you danced with someone.

The holidays came and went, as did the stroke of midnight, without a dance or a kiss in sight, but you didn’t want them. Jimin just chuckled when you revealed the lack of a dancing partner on those occasions, hence no reason to dance, but you had sheepishly shrugged. You didn’t want to dance with anyone else.

You realized you harbored feelings for your dance instructor. Almost three months into your classes, it was hard not to. Your sister noticed something was up; you were at ease with her and uninterested in partying, and she tried poking you, but you had nothing to say. Jiyu had suspicions, and once you told her the truth of the matter, she had just sighed. She had moved out with a clear conscience since you were at significantly less risk of injuring yourself, but now she was worried about something else.

“It’s harmless, innocent, I promise,” you told her when you visited her to see her new place.

“I just don’t like the power dynamic… You pay him to teach you, and he has a role of authority.”

“So… you’re saying he’d never look at me twice if he wasn’t paid to and that he has power over me because he can dance better than me?”

She huffed in frustration, “You know exactly what I mean.”

You shrugged. “You may be right on the first part—”

“That’s not what I—”

“— but it doesn’t change anything. I’m not paying him to go on dates with me. Nothing is ever going to happen, I know that.”

It hurt you a little bit to admit that, but you were at peace with it. You thought there was no harm in your crush until you realized that every week of improvement brought the inevitable end to your classes. Of course, he would have better things to do than spend three hours a week with you. After all, being less clumsy did not make you a worthy dance partner for such a fantastic professional.

But to your surprise, he suggested something else once you could do Zumba, Hip Hop, and Cize.

“I want us to try this,” he suggested with his bottom lip between his teeth as he showed you a colorful poster. It featured a couple entwined in a dance, and reading it, you gasped.

“What?”

“It’s a regional competition of Latin dance styles. I’d like us to participate.”

You widened your eyes at him. “I can’t do that!”

“Would I have suggested it if I didn’t know you could?”

His intense dark eyes felt like a caress down your neck, and you sighed. “If you think so…”

“I know so.” He put down the poster, and you shrugged.

“I guess we can try—”

He grabbed your hands and pulled you closer. “We can do it. We have the whole year to train.”

Your heart was beating so fast, flushed to his chest again while looking up at him. Naively, you thought maybe he also didn’t want the lessons to end. He surely didn’t have to be so enthusiastic about it, telling you all about his ideas for the competition. He had so many ideas, he had already taken notes of some choreography moves he wanted to train with you and the styles he thought would suit you best. Jimin was excited about spending the next year training with you, and it made you smile.

10 months earlier

“Ugh, it’s just no use!”

You pushed yourself off Jimin and turned away with annoyance gritting your teeth. Your dress swooshed around you as the taps that always accompanied your steps made you cringe, and even Jimin's soft voice didn’t make it go away.

“Stop worrying about it.”

“I can’t!”

You couldn’t even face him; you didn’t want him to see your tears of frustration.

“Why not?”

He respected your need for space, staying exactly where you left him, and you bit your tongue.

One of Jimin’s worst ideas was for you to wear heels to every class from the moment you agreed to the competition. He said it was necessary, otherwise you’d have different mindsets attached to different shoes, and you believed him, but damn. You struggled to get used to it; you felt the looming threat of falling more sharply than ever before, even months later.

He caught you every time, of course, but you kept stepping on him like just now and it just unnerved you. You weren’t good enough to dance by his side, to be by his side, to—

A sob shook you silently, and you looked at the ceiling so you wouldn’t cry. “I’ll just embarrass you.”

His chuckle from behind you shook you more than his touch on your arm as he spun you around.

“You won’t. You’ll be perfect.” His smile was dazzling as his hands settled back on your waist, and heat emerged on your cheeks instantly.

You couldn’t help it, no matter how many times he had pulled you close to him like that in the last couple of months. It was part of the routine, of course, but your silly, palpitating heart didn’t know better.

He tapped your temple with a fingertip. “You’re so much better than you think you are.”

You stared at him with stars in your eyes and thought for the hundredth time how it was impossible not to have a crush on him.

“Let’s go again, come on. Ready?” He smiled softly like he always did before resuming the lesson, and you nodded, also accepting it was all it would ever be. A silly crush on your dance instructor turned dance partner.

As you let him twirl you around as he pleased with every new step of the choreography you were training, trusting him wholeheartedly, you considered that he didn’t make it any easier for you. He didn’t have to tease you about the perks of wearing heels — you could finally reach his chin — or about how you spun so beautifully into his arms. He made a point of saying it, praising you every time you twirled and landed softly back into his arms, and you had to remind yourself constantly that he was just doing his job.

Jimin always held you and spun you like the world was that room, making you feel confident and beautiful, at least until your thoughts got in the way.

You almost tripped with the last step, but he pulled on your hand harder, making sure you landed safely against his chest. He kept you in his arms, both of you winded as you recovered.

He pulled away and brushed your sweaty hair out of your face, trying to look at you, and whispered, “Are you okay?”

You closed your eyes and nodded, always appreciating that contact and closeness more than you probably should. You never said anything about it, even now that he took longer and longer to let you go.

“Let’s repeat that last set,” he finally said as he gently let go of you.

You agreed and glued your eyes to the floor, trying to purge your thoughts so you could focus properly.

He restarted the music a bit before the set he was talking about, then returned to you. “Ready?”

His attentive eyes always made sure you were, and you nodded and raised your hand. He took it, restarting the dance on the right beat after a short countdown.

You were focused, concentrated not only on your feet or the choreography, but also on your balance. Yet, that last move was tricky; you tripped.

He caught you at the last second, his firm grip the only thing between you and the wood floor. Then, he held you to him again, only this time, he fitted your legs around him like a koala bear in his arms.

“You okay?” he asked, brushing your hair away so he could look at you.

You nodded, not once worried or hurt despite his strength, and rubbed your cheek against his, appreciating his closeness yet again. Suddenly, though, it was gone. A set of plump lips gently brushed your skin instead, tracing your flushed, sweaty cheek, covering you in goosebumps until his lips found yours.

You trembled in his arms, barely believing that feather-like touch was gracing your mouth, but it was as sure as his firm hold on you. It wasn’t an accident or a mishap because he kept going; he brushed your hair aside and kissed your lips softly as though he had wanted to do that for a long time.

You’d never forget the look in his eyes when you pulled away, needing to breathe but, most of all, to believe that it was really happening. His eyes had a fierceness to them, making you wonder about his thoughts: what did he make of this?

A surge of emotions whirled through you as he carried you across the room. He sat down and simply held you on his lap, and that class ended like that — with you both letting that closeness sink in.

7 months earlier

Jimin should never have kissed you, he knew that. Once he did, the truth was out, and it could never be ignored again — his feelings weren’t platonic.

For as long as he held you in that firm embrace afterward, his mind was ravished by thoughts of inevitability and fate.

At first, he didn’t believe it. He didn’t even know it could happen. He had heard the stories about his kind finding their muses, those special humans one would find in a lifetime whose spirit spoke to a vampire uniquely, but he figured them to be rumors. Dreams ushered by the elders to keep the younglings from going too crazy, in case they happened to touch one such human and make their matching vampire mad.

But then he met you, and certain things just made sense to him. He could never get tired of your stumbles, your scent awoke his senses, and when you moved near him, he just answered in tandem. But what made him certain, despite his initial denial, was that when you smiled, he saw light. Not concrete light, but a glimmer that he had never seen before and that he couldn’t help longing to see again.

He was inspired; he convinced himself the days spent planning your classes and how he could make you shine even more and brighter were due to your improvement, not his need to think about you incessantly. The competition was an excuse to keep working together, and he had given it so much thought and planning, he had most of the choreography figured out before you even said yes.

But then he kissed you, even when he promised himself he didn’t need that, and that he’d stay away for your sake. Of course, beautiful stories about the eternal love between a muse and a vampire were still told, but so were the cautionary tales. Sometimes, things went wrong, be it because of jealousy, unbridled fascination, or tragedy. Undoubtedly, there was always hurt — for the human, whose life would never be the same again, and for the vampire, whose existence would forever spin around one single axis. Once, he thought that was ludicrous. Who’d want that? But now he had met you, and he didn’t want anyone else. The very thought seemed senseless.

But he vowed to stay away from you for your sake — if you never got involved, you’d never have to suffer through such things. You’d never fully step into his world, and you’d be able to live your human life to its full extent.

Kissing you was not on the agenda, and it threw him off. How the fuck was he supposed to let go of you now?

He tried, though. You kept coming to class and, while he was perhaps a bit more attentive than before, he kept the space between you. He focused hard on the choreography, wanting to make sure you’d shine as brightly as he knew you could. It did sadden him that you never mentioned the kiss, but he would never bring it up and make you uncomfortable — seeing you smile as you twirled around was all he needed.

He thought that was all you needed, too, but then you showed him it wasn’t so. In the third class after he had first tasted you, you twirled into his arms as part of the choreography, but then you grabbed his cheeks and crashed your mouths together.

Your kiss was hot and hungry as your hips swiveled together with his, and he lost his mind. He grabbed you closer and groaned into your mouth, desperately drinking every drop of your taste. Even with his eyes closed, he could see light in the darkness, no matter how faint, and the enticement was powerful. The more you kissed him, the more his heart gave in, quickly promising you everything you could ever desire, even if rationally he knew he shouldn’t.

I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t.

That day, as you smiled up at him, he convinced himself that a middle ground was possible — he could just give.

The intimacy of what you were doing was undeniable, he could recognize that. Dancing like you two did, touching and breathing closely, brought you close. But as he took you on that learning journey with each new step in your routine, he figured he could give you whatever you’d ask and keep himself in check. That way, he’d keep you safe and free and content, and he wouldn’t break his promise.

He started with the Cha-cha-cha choreography as the first dance of the competition. The dance was playful and flirtatious, and you focused very hard on each distinct step so you could claim an unspoken reward — stolen kisses.

Then came the Rumba, with smooth, flowing movements that had your heart beating intensely inside your chest; he could hear it. Every time he pulled you closer and guided your hips close to his, he noticed your blood rushing to your cheeks and who knew where else, deepening your breath. Often, he glued his nose to your cheek or touched your foreheads together as he moved your waist in movements that made his imagination fly, despite his self-castigation. The kisses that followed became fiery hot in time, and although he felt the urge to dive deeper into you every time, he always held back.

Surprisingly, Tango was the hardest for you. After seeing how you excelled at the others, he thought it would have been easier. Even though he insisted it was all about trust and letting go, the intricate footwork and required precision drove you insane. You had to worry about your feet all the time, and it just didn’t work. You confessed you were a bit overwhelmed, but he wouldn’t give it up. That just meant more training and more time to be close to you.

“Stop worrying,” he said, swinging your bodies around with your chests glued together. “You’ll always land on your feet, or I’ll catch you.”

You swallowed and nodded.

“Keep your back arched, and I’ll spin us.”

With your heart racing, you did before he pulled you firmly back into his arms.

“Raise your leg.” He raised your knee to his waist. “When I pull your hand up like this, it’s your cue to bend back. Our feet are locked, and I’ll grab this leg.” He tapped on your knee around him, “and arm as you reach back to the floor. I have you,” he promised, and you let go slowly.

You didn’t dare bend too far back, but he caught you just as if you had, swaying you for a second before giving you the cue to step away and mirror him.

“Good.” He smiled. “Now close.”

You knew you were supposed to raise your hand and bring it slowly behind his head, gluing your foreheads, and you did, but then you stopped. He did the same, with his eyes focused on yours, not half as winded as you.

He kept you close and connected, eyes fixed on every line of your face. “That’s it, you’re perfect.”

You couldn’t blush any more than you already had, but you could try and pretend it was just the exertion.

“We’ll get there,” he assured you. “Soon, you’ll be ready for me to raise you high and spin you around.”

You raised your wide eyes. “I can’t do that!”

He smiled. “You can.”

“No!”

“How else am I supposed to show you off?” Your lips parted in shock as he brushed your flushed cheek with all the sweetness in the world. “This is all about you and letting you shine. No one will be able to take their eyes off of you.”

“But I’m not the experienced dancer here,” you whined, confused.

“No, but you are exquisite.” He pressed you harder against him; that close embrace wasn’t enough. “Irresistible, delectable even, and you’ll show it with every move of your hips,” his words were slow, pausing to guide you with a deliberate, deep hip swivel. “Every time your heel touches the floor.” He leaned you back ever the slightest, and the tap echoed loudly in your heart. “And every time you hold your breath, making them all wait…”

He smiled and you blinked, dazzled. Your body was moving, responding to his every push, pull, and subtle shift in weight and pressure. You could be coordinated and sharp if you didn’t think about it. Letting him direct you into raising your leg around him and falling backward, arching your back to the max with tension stretching you from head to toe.

He smiled, pulling you back, and you fell into his arms, his lips finding yours.

You kissed him as passionately, reveling in the way he had sought your kiss for the first time in a while. You didn’t doubt he liked it when you touched him, but you had felt discouraged about being the one always searching for him. After a while, it made you hesitate, wondering if you were stepping over the line and making him uncomfortable, and so that untamed kiss washed away your worries.

Not only that, but it gave you the green light to feel more. You didn’t just want his company, his attention and affection; you wanted to fulfill that tension, that unspoken promise. He wasn’t just showing you that you could dance. He showed you that you could do it — you could dance by his side and be, too.

Your mouths never parted, with tongues sharing desires and heavy breaths never quite deeply enough. You couldn’t care less about breathing, though; you were burning up, gripping his shirt over his shoulders as you ground your hips still pressed to his.

Your back hit the mirror, making you gasp in surprise, yet as he kissed down your jawline and neck, you smiled. It was as though he had finally stopped resisting and touched you like flames licking at your silhouette. One of your legs surrounded him, welcoming his excitement rubbing your core deliciously, and you moaned, ready to ignite.

Only he pulled away and tried to breathe despite your lips on his cheek lowering to his neck.

“I can't.”

He sounded tortured and your blood froze. Your head fell back to the mirror to face him, not hiding the fear taking hold of you at his words. Why couldn’t he—

“No, it’s not that,” he reassured you, whispering as he cupped your cheek. “I just—” He was breathless and lost, and looking into your sparkling eyes, he finally gave in, “Not here. Not like this. It— It wouldn't be right.”

“Come home with me, then.”

Your whisper had him looking into your eyes with a glint of anxiety. “If you’re sure.”

You smiled. “I am.”

*****

That night, you took Jimin home. He hesitated to pass the threshold of your apartment, and you just grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. That simple gesture was enough for him to settle his hands on your waist and his lips on yours.

You weren’t just kissing or stripping as your lips and tongue tasted, your skin rampant with goosebumps and your core wet with need. You were connected; every press of his fingers guided you, while every brush of his plump lips over your exposed skin conveyed secrets. Elation made your heart sing. Your senses were heightened; every whisper shook you, and every graze set you alight.

He let you touch him and explore however you liked, even when your fingers first traced down his neck and onto his shoulders, gripping his muscles through his shirt. His response was instant, pulling you closer, deepening your kiss, urging you with sweet whispers to keep going, and you didn’t hesitate. You pulled every article of clothing from his body greedily, entertaining his kisses while you waited. Anticipation made your heart thrum faster until the last barrier disappeared.

The white tee shirt fell on your carpeted floor with a muffled sound, contrasting your silent focus. His body was firm, his skin flawless under your gentle touch. You don’t think you had ever felt the urge to touch and know someone like this before, and you blamed it on his perfect body. Why was his chest so smooth, with round dark nipples, while his stomach was delineated with taut muscles on a delicate frame?

You shook your head and quickly dragged your fingers up his chest to his shoulders to pull him close, falling into a passionate kiss as you placed his hands on the hem of your shirt. He felt slightly cold to the touch, and you wanted to heat him up. Luckily, with the way he followed your kiss, you doubted it would take long. You guided him to your bedroom between kisses, leaving your clothes and inhibitions behind, and parted your lips from his only when you sat on the bed.

You moved back on your elbows with your eyes on his, offering yourself clearly to him despite the way you were trembling. His eyes drank you up silently, tracing every line and curve of yours so intensely you could feel his scorching gaze. Your nipples perked as your chest heaved under his gaze, aching for him before his eyes trailed lower, below your navel. You weren’t shy about opening your legs more, letting him see how dripping wet you were for him, and that was when you noticed his fists beside his hips, and a raging boner matching the tension on his features.

You raised your hand, ready to coax him to come closer when he seemingly relaxed. He kneeled on the bed and traced down your legs as he settled between them.

“Jimin,” you pleaded, needing him closer.

Yet he simply nuzzled down your inner thigh. “Not yet, little light. This is all about you.”

You whimpered, needing his touch all over you, and as he pecked your delicate skin, you trembled from head to toe in anticipation.

“Slowly,” he whispered, and you squirmed a little. He looked up, only to find your hands taking your breasts in full, squeezing them, and his eyes darkened. “That’s it. Touch them, make yourself feel good.” He traced the back of your thighs with his fingers until he squeezed your ass, making your legs open limply. “So perfect,” he murmured, tracing kisses just a little closer to where you wanted him, but not yet. “I wish I could squeeze all of you at the same time,” he sighed, and looking up, hummed. “Do that again, little light.”

You squeezed your breasts again, and a sensual moan fell from your lips.

“That’s it, so good… pinch them. Come on.” He smiled, grazing his teeth on the junction between your thigh and sex. You trembled and did as he said, pressing your nipples between your fingers, only to hump your hips toward him. He laughed darkly against your skin, sprinkling your mound with kisses. “Good, so good… I want you as wet as can be. What do you think? Should I check?”

You whimpered incoherently as he dragged his lips to your lower ones and parted them with his tongue, letting your slick coat it. His short growl was enough to make you flush, but the way he gripped your ass to pin you down under him made you clench.

You felt his sigh deep inside your core as he lapped his tongue in circles, taking every single drop of sweetness.

“All for me, little light.”

You contained your moans, feeling your face and chest so hot, you thought your very sweat would evaporate. You only noticed the way you were curling into yourself, lost, when he grabbed your hand in his hair to loosen your grip.

“Let me take care of you,” he coaxed, kissing your fingertips before leaning to nuzzle your clit. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It made your heart skip, and you finally laid back down. He placed your hand back on his head with a mischievous smile before diving in again, and you bit your lip, knowing you were melting, just giving him more of what he wanted. You didn’t know why, but the way he reassured you made it so you could relax and forget yourself, focusing simply on the pleasure. His tongue was restless, but his nose on your clit was gentle, almost a tease, as though poking a reaction out of you. You weren’t shy about sighing, moaning, or grazing his scalp gently now, but when he gave your clit a few circular rubs, you started shaking and let out a deep moan.

He kept his touches so light, his kisses so feather-like that you couldn’t help but moan and combust with each new lap. His dark eyes stayed on yours while his pink tongue leaped over you with utmost gentleness and led you down a path where, in the end, you felt like a supernova — a star about to burst and be set free.

Your climax made you moan and shake; you would have forgotten who you were if not for that single point of contact. You searched for him, and he grabbed your hands, instantly giving you the direction you needed. But while he coaxed you gently down to earth, you became anxious.

“I want you,” you breathed, looking down at him, still kissing your inner thighs as if he didn’t intend on leaving that spot.

“You have me, little light.”

“I need you,” you insisted.

“I know, and I'll give you everything you want.”

His tone was losing its lightness, but you were not sated. “Then give me… you,” you sobbed when his lips skimmed your folds, shaking you with a shiver. “Jimin, please.”

He squeezed your hands before latching his lips more firmly to your core, grunting and fluttering his eyes closed, but it wasn’t enough for you. You whimpered his name, pulling his hands to you, and he chuckled, “I’m trying, but—”

“No, you. I need to feel you inside me,” you pleaded, trying your best to describe the urge unsettling you from the inside out. “I'm so empty, I need you, please!”

You only noticed you had managed to pull him over you like a heated blanket when his face was hovering above yours. He cupped your cheeks with a line of worry between his eyebrows. “This is about you.”

“This is about us,” you instantly corrected, also cradling his lovely cheeks. “Please.”

His eyes peered at your features, and his hesitation hurt you. It hurt him, too. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, and he wished he could be truthful with you. You were everything he had ever wanted or ever would; his reluctance to continue was not out of uncertainty of his feelings or lack of desire for you. It was because he didn’t know if he’d be able to control himself with you. He knew what drinking someone drunk on lust tasted like, but they weren’t you. He couldn’t help his curiosity, but he could never endanger you like that. Not without you knowing the risks. On top of it, what if he marked you? Claimed you? He could feel his selfish, untamable urge to do so, to link you to him forever.

But how could he do that without telling you about him? Without changing your life forever? Without revealing that he had been lying to you? That the person you were lying with, who he was, was not what you thought?

“Jimin,” your quiet voice brought him back, and his heart made the decision. He just wanted to erase that deep sadness from your features and show you that with him, you’d never find anything but love.

He kissed you, vowing to himself for the hundredth time that he’d give you everything he could, and never hold you back or hurt you. To seal those promises, he dragged his lips and tongue down your jaw and neck. A whiff of your scent there as your jugular thrummed against his lips made him groan, but he trailed lower to your sternum, promising right to your heart.

You squeezed your breasts around his face and he smiled, obliging your desires. He grabbed them over your hands and nipped at a nipple, appreciating how you writhed under him. Your legs squeezed around his waist, humping your hips as though you could align yourself with him, and it was sweet. It was wild, untempered, and the thought that perhaps you felt as strongly about him as he did about you almost made him adjust so he could join your bodies as one.

But he groaned into your chest as he teased you and reminded himself that this was about you. So he pulled away and lay next to you.

A wave of cold invaded you, making you look at him with worry again. Did he really not want to—

“Get on top of me, little light,” he instructed, extending his hand to you. You eyed it, and he gave you a dazzling smile. “Come on, I want to see you.”

You pressed your lips and took his hand, letting him guide you as he had countless times before. You straddled him just like he asked you, and when his eyes moved down your body, you stayed put. A part of you feared you weren’t to his liking, but the way he drank your every detail, tracing his palms up and down your curves, soothed you quickly. Instead, you let the way he touched you relax you into lowering yourself down his chest.

He kissed you instantly, wanting you to get lost in him. You were easily overwhelmed, shuddering with his curious fingertips tracing your every line. Meanwhile, his lips pecked your cheek and jawline whenever you dared breathe, only to steal your breath away seconds later by kissing you again. This intimate rhythm distracted you enough to let him gently push and pull your waist over him. You found yourself moving in a steady sway, noticing only how it was making you burn and lose yourself when a moan pushed out of your lips.

You broke away from the kiss, noticing under your lowered eyelids how his lips chased yours.

“Good?” he asked, lips peppering every inch of skin they could find as he covered you with hot breaths. “Do you like it, little light?”

You would have smacked his shoulder out of embarrassment, but his hands pressed your hips down the slightest, and your clit on his hard shaft made you moan breathlessly. Your cheeks flushed as you hid in his neck, unable to stop your hips.

He suckled your exposed neck, feeling you exude heat as pleasure overtook your senses. “You’re doing so well,” he cooed, gently brushing your hair away. “You sound about to cum again—”

You froze and pushed away to face him. Despite the heat clouding your judgment, you realized what you were doing — just humping him, using him for your pleasure selfishly. When, in fact, you wanted so much more at that moment.

“Why did you stop?”

He caressed your cheek, and you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” His tone was ever so gentle, even as his brow furrowed.

You nodded, “I got carried away.”

He smiled, “That’s good.”

You shook your head shyly. “No. I want to feel you, please,” you whispered to his lips, reminding him of what you had requested earlier.

He sighed and pecked your lips once, cupping your cheeks. “You can do whatever you want, little light. I want to feel you, too.”

You pressed a kiss to his lips before rising to your knees and looking down. You could barely process the perfect body underneath you or the starry eyes looking up at you. Jimin was so perfect, with his smooth muscles matching astonishing features, not to mention his perfect hard cock glistening under you. You rolled your hips, grinding your slit on him just a bit more, and the friction drew a moan out of you as you sank your teeth into your bottom lip.

You grabbed his dick and gave him a few flicks of your wrist, but he was already as hard as can be. He was also the image of pure sin, gripping the sheets as he fought to keep his eyes from rolling back.

“Do you like it? This is what you do to me,” he managed to say with a low groan, and you bit your lip.

“Me?”

“You.”

His eyes opened to set on yours, and you could instinctively read the hunger behind them. It could have intimidated you, but instead, you brought his cock closer to your entrance as though you finally understood each other. You couldn’t phrase it, but that desire you saw in his eyes was a reflection of your own. You wanted to feel him deep inside you, parting you open to fit with you in ways no one else could, and he wanted the same. You could feel it and know it as you sank on him.

He groaned and pushed himself further inside you, letting your tight walls squeeze a dream-like haze over him. You both moaned with the connection, and he had to hold back from biting you and drawing blood as he hid in the crook of your neck. Not even because he wanted your blood, but just because he couldn’t control the way he needed to become a part of you.

You moved your hips, and he groaned again, needing to still you seconds later. That unique, euphoric sensation lacing every wave of pleasure brought tears to his eyes, even more so when you pecked his forehead. Every time you moved, he saw sparks of white. It was beautiful and heavenly, and he knew he’d want it for the rest of his days.

You restarted your hips, moving in a way that his cock bottomed out, and he tensed again, unable to stop you and overwhelmed by everything you gave him.

He could only breathe when you stopped again, moaning for him with your lip tucked between your teeth as you swiveled your hips to grind your clit on him. “I won’t last.”

He kissed your shoulder with closed eyes and knew you felt his hard dick throb inside you. No matter what, he’d let you have your way. He just couldn’t say no to you.

Your moans echoed across the room as you rolled your hips harder, making good use of his slicked length inside you, but it was only when he joined in, fucking you hard and fast, that you lost sight of yourself. You closed your eyes and let him take you, your desperate moans the only hint he could have to how close you were.

Until you sobbed his name, crashing down around him in waves of frenzied bliss. He fucked you slower, cupping your cheeks to keep you looking at him the whole time, and you almost cursed him. You had never felt so connected and complete, all while you trembled and cried your pleasure, staring directly into his gorgeous dark eyes.

His strangled name out of your lips as you peaked made everything come cascading down for Jimin. That single moment rewrote him and changed him, because as you came, and your body and blood sang to him, he swore he saw light. It made him cling to you, the only ray of light in his darkness, and the pleasure that washed over him as he joined you washed him clean. He wasn’t just Jimin, and he wasn’t just a vampire, he was yours. Undoubtedly, for the rest of his days, regardless if he ever claimed you.

You let your forehead fall to his as your hushed breaths filled the room, and he hugged you closer.

“I was made for you,” he whispered, then pressed his lips to yours before he’d confess more of the turmoil inside him.

“So was I.”

6 months earlier

“You always let me eat the whole popcorn tub,” you giggled as you dragged him outside the cinema and into the night as your dress twirled around you. The temperatures were rising, and Jimin liked seeing you in dresses.

“I know you like sweet things.” He shrugged as he followed you, ignoring the few people leaving the late-night session alongside the two of you.

“Still, not even one? You make me feel bad for letting you pay half.”

You were grinning, so he didn’t take it too seriously. At first, comments like those made him freeze and think of excuses, but a month was enough to know that you didn’t really care.

“Buy my ticket next time,” he suggested, pulling you closer to cross the park hand in hand. He knew you thought it was for safety, but it was just for the pleasure of it. No one would dare come close to you two, and if someone tried, he’d avoid it before you even realized the situation.

You walked side by side and raised your eyebrows, “Are you saying you want to do this again?”

He squeezed your hand, “You know I do.”

You chuckled and stayed quiet, turning your head up to observe the breeze move the tree canopies above your heads as you walked the city park. Lately, you had been there so many times that he knew the way back to your place like the back of his hand. He couldn’t help his smile as you observed the night sky with a light purse of your lips.

“How about we go see the stars next time?” you asked, turning to him.

“So you don’t buy me a ticket?”

“What?” You chuckled and shook your head once you realized his tease. “Of course, I’ll get you a ticket. But on another day, we could go see the stars. We can’t really see them from here.”

You stopped to look at the sky, and he mimicked you, though your wonder was far more interesting.

“There’s this place outside the city…” he suggested. “It’s a bit of a drive, but it will be beautiful on a summer night.”

Your lips curved playfully. “Sounds like a good idea. Should we make it a weekend?”

He pursed his lips. “No, I can… drive us back.”

You nodded and looked down, taking one step to resume your walk, when he pulled you back to him.

“I’m not saying no to a weekend away with you,” he clarified, looking intently into your eyes. “We can plan something better than just star gazing.”

You hummed in thought, though you didn’t move away, letting your hands rest on his chest. “I’m sure it would involve cuddles at some point.”

“Cuddles?” It was his turn to hum, exaggerating as he swayed you in his embrace. “You’re right; that does make it much better.” You smiled cheekily, and he pinched your pink cheek. “We’ll plan something.”

You smiled, getting on your toes to kiss him when your phone rang. You pulled it out of your handbag and picked up the call in one swift movement that made Jimin sigh.

“Don’t tell me you’re still out?” you asked Jiyu in disbelief, knowing it was about three-thirty in the morning.

He raised an eyebrow, though he tried not to give away how much he could hear of the conversation.

“Yeah, we’re still out! And you are too, so get your ass here!”

“We’re just out of the cinema,” you started, glancing at him.

“So you’re already out of the house! And bring Jimin. It’s high time he hears some truths!”

“Are you drunk?” you asked gently, and the roll of high-pitched grumbles that followed confirmed it.

“You just never go out anymore! It’s all his fault! I never see you anymore, and it’s not because I moved out! Would I even see you if we still lived together?! You’re just out on dates every night or whatever!”

“We also watch movies at home and snuggle—”

“I don’t care!” There was a sniffle. “I don't know if I like him! I trust Hoseok, but ever since you started dating, I just don't see you! You're busy every night!”

“We are…” you started, looking at him before glancing away, “getting to know each other.”

Her voice sounded strangled, “Just get your ass here, or I’ll never forgive you!”

Jimin could hear the others’ awwws and don’t be like that, and knew Jiyu was crying. You looked at Jimin again and bit your lip; so you knew it, too. “Where are you? Okay, I know where it is.” You turned, looking around to situate yourself. “I’m fifteen minutes out. See you soon.”

Jimin had a light frown on his face as you put your phone away.

“Jiyu is at Club Gabbia,” you told him with a bit of a shy smile. “I haven’t seen her in a while, or the others, so I’ll join them before I go home.”

He pursed his lips, wondering why you weren’t inviting him to come along when it was clear Jiyu needed reassurance. “It’s not safe for you to go alone…”

You smiled while you shook your head. “Jiyu is with the girls, and they’ve had a bit to drink… I’m sure you’d be annoyed.”

“Not as long as I’m with you.” The words flew out before he could stop them, and he raked his fingers through his hair. “I just wouldn’t be at ease knowing you were by yourself.”

You nodded slowly. “I should tell you that… if they see you, they won't let you get away. Only Jiyu knows you, and they’re… curious,” you settled on a word, and he nodded. “And they’re also drunk, so they might be a bit too much.”

“Are you trying to convince me not to meet them?”

His tone had amusement, and you sighed. “Just telling you what to expect…”

He grabbed your hand and turned down another path, “Club Gabbia… I think I remember where that is.”

He led you calmly down the stone path, asking you things about your friends so you’d relax. He preferred to hear you talk than to worry about his problems — like the fact that Jiyu already noticed how close you were to Jimin. Only one month had passed, and you spent every night together, either out on a date or home snuggling — getting to know each other, as you said.

Some would say that meeting your friends would complicate everything, but he couldn’t let you go alone or create even more friction with Jiyu. After all, you would always gravitate towards him; that was inevitable, but you were not bonded. He had made sure to keep that side of him in check precisely so you wouldn’t change or sacrifice your life to be with him. So you could walk away one day. Perhaps pretending to be a normal guy would help you with this.

You reached the club and entered quickly, and Jimin’s hand tightened around yours as you guided him upstairs. The whole structure was black metal, an industrial concept that made it seem like the building was still under construction. He tried focusing on the floor, but the flashing lights almost made his sensitive eyes cry. On top of this, the open concept meant that the booming noise from the dance floor echoed up, making him grit his teeth. Clubs were too much for creatures like him.

“I don’t believe it!”

A couple of shrieks and shouts ahead told him which table had your friends before you headed that way. Jiyu was sitting in the middle and didn’t get up like the others to greet you two. Instead, her eyes lingered on him while you greeted everyone and told them about being nearby.

“So you never go out clubbing?” Jiyu asked, raising her voice so he’d know she was talking to him.

“Not my thing,” he replied with a tense smile. “I prefer the bars downtown,” he added with a shout, making a point. “Easier to have a conversation.”

Jiyu pursed her lips, and you raised your hand to her, inviting her to get up and hug you, which she did. She was pouting, drunk, and Jimin only smiled to himself—he understood the feeling; he would also get jealous if he were in her shoes.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” A friend of yours smiled boldly, and you let go of Jiyu, who you were talking to by speaking in each other’s ears as you hugged.

“Girls, this is Jimin.”

They started giggling and teasing, and he found them amusing. You looked flustered as they asked if he was your boyfriend, and your reply was bashful. “We’re getting to know each other.”

He didn’t correct you, and a playful smile rested on his lips when he pulled you to sit next to him. He didn’t think you were downplaying what you two were doing; you were likely just afraid of saying something that he wouldn’t agree with. It was funny to him because you were so beyond “girlfriend” or any other human designation, and you didn’t even know it. Little did he know, however, that his smile was interpreted the wrong way.

Your friends were keen on getting to know him, asking him a myriad of unexpected questions. Fortunately, his handling of humans as a dance instructor meant he had a well-rehearsed story and was totally unfazed. Jiyu had the hardest questions, interrupting only when there was an opportunity to dig a little deeper. How many siblings did he have? Were his grandparents still alive? Did he own his apartment?

He didn’t take it personally and answered everything according to the fictional story Hoseok had drafted for him back when he started at the gym. It wasn’t enough, he thought. Jiyu kept analyzing him, scrutinizing his worth. Even you realized this, grabbing her hand and leaning into her ear to tell her to take it easy.

It didn’t help that he refused drinks vehemently and couldn’t hide how uncomfortable he was. Jiyu perceived it as disliking her questions, but it was really the nauseating flashing lights.

Your friends got on the bandwagon and joined the questioning, though their questions were more playful. Had he ever dated seriously, or did he prefer dating around? When was his last long-term relationship? Was he available to teach them to dance, too?

He wasn’t ready for those, and it didn’t feel right to answer them when you had never touched such topics just the two of you. Fortunately, that was the moment you decided to leave.

“It’s almost five, and I’d like not to be a zombie tomorrow.”

Jiyu agreed, and so did Jimin. “I’ll take you home.”

He was eager to leave before the sun showed and made it uncomfortable for him. Not that he’d instantly combust, but he hated the sun-induced rash even after just a few minutes of exposure.

Your other friends tried their best, but you were out quickly, taking Jiyu to a taxi where she eyed Jimin one last time with a small head bow.

“I don’t think she likes me,” Jimin told you when the taxi moved away.

“She’s just looking out for me,” you replied, letting him guide you by the hand out of the crowd. When you got to a side street, it was easier to walk side by side and talk. “I’m sorry about the others, though.”

“Hmm? Why?”

“They were… kind of intrusive, no? And that last question…”

His thumb brushed circles on your hand as he tried recalling. “About being available for more classes?”

You huffed and looked away. “Said like that, it sounds innocent, but… it was not an innocent question, and I…”

He looked at you, and you instantly stiffened.

“I mean, of course, you’re free to give anyone classes. I just…”

He stopped and pulled you close to make sure you looked at him. “It bothers you?”

You took a deep breath and nodded. “Their insinuation? Yes.”

“I see,” he hummed as he grabbed your other hand. “I’m not teaching anyone else one-on-one, but even if I were, this,” he squeezed your hands, “wouldn’t happen. We might have met through dancing, but we’re much more than that. You’re special to me.”

You blushed, looking up at him with stars in your eyes, and he chuckled when you got on your tiptoes to kiss him.

5 months earlier

“Well done, everyone.” Jimin smiled as he stopped the music and clapped along with everyone in the class. “Have a safe trip back home!”

The sweaty attendees of his class bowed and expressed their appreciation before starting to disperse, and Jimin turned his back to grab his things.

“We’re going out for a drink, Jimin-ssi.”

He turned to face one of the usuals smiling at him with a flushed, cheeky smile. He couldn’t recall her name.

She pointed behind her at a group of seven or so people from that same class. “Want to join us?”

He nodded at them in acknowledgment but instantly shook his head. “No, I got somewhere to be.”

“Come on, Eun-Yeong,” one of them called. “Can’t you see Jimin-ssi is going home to his girlfriend?”

Her scowl was instant as she turned to glare at the guy, and Jimin chuckled, “Well…”

“Oh,” Eun-Yeong suddenly said as realization spread over her features. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you— I’m sorry.” She bowed deeply, and Jimin grabbed his things.

“No worries. You enjoy yourselves and get home safely.” He gave them all light head bows before heading straight to the exit into the warm night.

The days were longer now, which meant not as much time to be with you. While he was inside the gym, it was fine, but he couldn’t stay so long in the morning, which annoyed him greatly.

He walked to your place on autopilot, wondering about what his students had said. Girlfriend. Would you have said yes if you were asked? He hoped so, considering. Though he knew there was a chance you wouldn’t, and he’d understand.

It was his fault. He knew that for humans, dating and seeing each other every day meant being serious, and he was serious about you — he just didn’t want you to know.

Yes, he was yours, body and soul, but no, he had never told you that. He never revealed much about himself other than the made-up human story, and so it felt wrong to even touch on establishing a relationship. Because it would have been based on lies, and he didn’t want that, even though it had to stay that way.

With time, he became certain that he wouldn’t hurt you, even when lust-crazed. He would know, you spared no efforts trying to get him there. Whether you edged him for hours or begged him to fuck you while you two were dancing, you had understood two things about him: he’d never say no to you, and you were safe in his embrace.

This made it even more cruel that he never expressed how he felt about you, nor did he let you do it. You would look into his eyes with such endearment, and he’d kiss you to shut you both up, or you would cry his name as you came and while he chanted his love for you a thousand times in his head, he prayed that you wouldn’t say it. Even though he knew you felt it, and even though you never defined what you two were.

You had never expressed that being an issue for you, and he didn’t need to define it because he knew what you were to him. If anything, he knew you loved him because your blood told him so.

Not that he had ever tasted you like that, of course. He had grown confident that he could control that aspect of his nature and keep you safe and blissfully ignorant. Your blood still sang to him, though, but that was not an issue. It called to him, but it wasn’t what shot him up to the sky, letting him float among the stars under the glow of the moon. That elation that accompanied touching you, making his heart sing, had nothing to do with the prospect of sinking his teeth into you. It was just quite simply the way you were together; it was just you. He couldn’t get enough of your taste, be it your fruity slick, your flowery-scented skin, or your ambrosia-like kisses. He was so in love with you, that spending his nights by your side was all that mattered, blissfully ignoring the elephant in the room.

At least until that conversation reminded him of all this, only for your sweet smile to make him forget all about it as soon as you opened the door for him.

“There you are,” you quipped, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

He held you and gave you a quick peck before coming inside.

“I always ask, but,” you started, already in the kitchen while he took off his shoes. “You’ve eaten?”

“As always, I have.”

You shrugged and grabbed a Twinkie. “I blame your schedule for my midnight snacks.”

He agreed and joined you on the couch. “I’ll take responsibility and make you burn the calories.”

He winked, and you chuckled with your mouth full; it was adorable. You hugged a pillow and put your feet on his lap, and he took them to press the balls of your feet. It was almost routine by now — you trained in high heels, and he massaged your feet.

“How was your day?”

You swallowed hurriedly to answer him, “I met Jiyu to hash out the last details of our summer trip.” You reached for the cup of iced tea you had left on the coffee table to push the cake down, waving your hand as though much had been said, but you weren’t going into details. “She insisted again that it wasn’t normal for you to not come along, and she went on this super paranoid tangent,” you laughed, putting the cup down. “She says that you act like a married man, always leaving, not introducing me to your family, never joining us on our trips, and I just had to laugh because she’s so dramatic.”

You were laughing with it but he couldn’t match you. He only pursed his lips for a moment, “It’s silly.”

“Right? I mean, we’re too young to get married, and we’ve only been together for like five months, and…” You paused, seeing that a light demeanor similar to yours could not be found on the other side of the couch. Jimin looked rigid, staring at your feet without ever stopping his digits digging into the sole of your foot. “Just because she is marrying her high school sweetheart, it doesn’t mean others have to do the same as her.”

You pulled your foot from his touch and he gritted his teeth, but kept his eyes low.

“Then she was going on about how it could be fun to go on double dates and so on, but don’t worry, I shot her down. You don’t have time for that type of thing.”

“I work at night.”

“She suggested during the day, but I told her you were a night owl type of guy.”

You got up from the couch, taking the cup with you to pour the tea down the drain and rinse it, and he stayed behind. He couldn’t think of anything to say; he didn’t want to admit he’d been lying, but he didn’t want you to think he didn’t care. He cared, so he couldn’t make it serious. He couldn’t go on trips with your friends or meet your family, and certainly not introduce you to his. This way, he could make sure that one day you could walk away and live the rest of your life in peace.

Which was ironic considering the way his heart was tightening painfully from just feeling the slightest disconnection between you. He didn’t want you to misinterpret him or distance yourself, so how would he ever let you go?

The cup clinked as you put it down, drying your hands with a towel. “So, as you know, I’ll leave tomorrow.”

He got up to join you, suddenly restless. The detachment in your voice was like a jab to his heart, and when your eyes raised to his, he felt it more sharply.

He grabbed your hands, and you looked down. “Will you come water the plants? The week I’m gone?”

“I’ll come every day,” he said quietly, hurting with the way your eyes stayed hidden. “I’m not married, and I don’t have anyone else, I’m just—”

He hesitated, and you offered, “A night owl?”

He nodded, looking away and pressing his lips. He gripped your hands, struggling with what to say and what path to take when you smiled.

“You’re not ready, it’s fine. I get it.” Your tone was soft, but he could see through you in the rigid lines of your face. “I have friends that dated for years and never introduced their partners to anyone, it’s fine. I mean, they’re not together anymore, but—”

His lips crashed to yours, his hand darting to hold your head in place when he suddenly backed off with wide eyes and blown pupils.

“What?” you asked, gripping his arms unceremoniously. You wanted him to kiss you, you didn’t know why he stopped. Thinking about all this made you insecure, so you needed to feel him close.

He licked his lips and looked at your mouth, and for a second, you thought he’d ravish you.

But then he raised your chin. “You picked skin on your lip?”

You pressed your lips. “I… do that sometimes—”

“You can’t. You can never hurt yourself like that again. Okay?” His tone was firm and commanding, and you blinked up, slightly befuddled by his strong reaction. He caressed your cheek. “What if it scars? Or hurts? How would I kiss you?”

“You’d have to wait,” you mumbled, seeing the worry in his watery eyes.

“I can’t, I need you.” His quiet confession made your stomach fuzzy as he kissed your lips again, groaning into your mouth.

In seconds, you were lost in the kiss and sitting on the counter with your legs around him. He kept tracing his hands over you firmly, possessively, and you matched his fervor. You could swear he felt insecure as well, and you didn’t want him to. You loved him, wanted him and a future with him, dreaded the upcoming week without him, and didn’t want him to feel uncertain about you.

But you realized that he wasn’t ready to talk about feelings or relationships, and while a year ago you would have shot down the notion of being with someone without knowing where you stood, with him, you just… Let it go.

Because everything felt so right as he picked you up and carried you to bed. He undressed you and revered every inch of you revealed to him, and as always, you felt special, seen, and important. All you needed was for him to look at you like that, with such longing, and touch you with such care, almost like he was thankful you existed. It was selfish, perhaps, but you had never felt that way before, and it wasn’t just him. You knew you reflected that same myriad of feelings in your eyes, in your touch. It didn’t matter if you were yet to meet his parents or become officially his girlfriend or if he was too busy to go on trips with Jiyu. This was your decision, and you would pick him, always.

You welcomed his kiss, and although normally, Jimin would take his time preparing you and worshiping you, he couldn’t wait this time. He aligned himself with your entrance and pushed in, settling as deeply as you would take him. It forced a groan out of him and a moan out of you, but when he looked at you, he knew you were fine; better than. You crossed your legs behind him, and he knew that expression of yours; you wanted to feel him, and he wanted nothing else.

Your heart and blood were calling to him louder than ever before, and he knew his was answering the same way, even if you couldn’t hear it. He could only show you, which was why he was fucking you hard, grabbing the back of your neck to him so you’d let him nuzzle your jugular as he thrust into you frantically. The slap of skin wasn’t enough, not even your moans were, so he suckled your skin, just to feel your heartbeat in his mouth. It was the closest he’d ever be to tasting and hearing your love, and it drove him wild. He needed you. Needed you in his life, in his mouth, in his body, and in his own blood. Needed to be a part of you, your life, and your body. He needed to mark you just as much as he needed to love you, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell you, even if he heard your love in your sweet heartbeat and smelled it in your blood. He couldn’t tell you, especially because he could. Because you already loved him, but you didn’t even know the truth.

Your voice vibrated on his lips as you moaned, tightening your warm, velvety walls around him as you sank your nails into his shoulders, and he closed his eyes. He knew you were about to find rapture, so when you jumped, he tumbled right after you, mixing his moans with yours as he came, trembling, same as you.

Your heart was racing as you kissed his head, caressing his hair gently, and he stayed put, just listening. He didn’t know how to keep you by his side, but he just couldn’t lose you.

1 month earlier

You were happy that night when Jimin entered your bed, slipping in behind you, hugging you awake.

You had met for training earlier in the night, and you had teased him relentlessly. With only one month away from the competition, you deserved compensation for your improvements, and you didn’t care about trophies.

He jokingly pointed out that he still caught you when you tripped, and you chuckled, “Maybe I do it on purpose so you’ll catch me.”

He hummed as though he wasn’t convinced, and you bit your lip.

“So come over and give me everything I deserve?”

He sighed at your pout, and you smiled victoriously when he said, “Maybe.”

You knew he was busy helping Hoseok with the competition, since it was happening at the gym. They’d pull all-nighters to get everything ready, and that meant you had less time with Jimin. You missed your movie nights and star gazing. You missed him, it was hard for you.

Jiyu had noticed his absence and your sadness, but even she had to admit it was likely tough for Jimin. “Plus, he’s participating, can you imagine? Must be super stressful.”

You sighed and snuggled closer to him; what mattered was that at least tonight he’d sleep at home. Or rather, with you. You finally felt at home.

Despite settling quietly behind you, Jimin was hard, and you weren’t shy about rubbing your ass against his crotch to make double sure. He groaned quietly with his hand on your waist, and you wasted no time, pulling your pajama pants and underwear down your legs.

He groaned into your hair when he felt your soft, warm skin, and you pleaded, “Please.”

You knew you had him when his hand traced your curves under your shirt to squeeze your breast and tease your nipple.

“My little light,” he sighed, making you squirm. “I missed you.”

You were easily set ablaze, dragging his hand lower to settle between your legs. “I missed you, too. Please.”

His fingers were quick to catch your wetness and spread it to your clit, and you closed your eyes as you gripped the sheets. No matter how much you enjoyed it when he gave to you, focusing on your pleasure before his own, that was not what you needed tonight.

“Jimin,” you called, writhing more into his chest. “Fuck me. Please.”

He must have expected and welcomed your request because he didn’t waste a second. His lips pressed to your neck as he opened his pants only to enter you, groaning softly in your ear in tune with you. He knew the way inside you now like the back of his hand, just as he knew how to give you exactly what you wanted.

You needed to feel him hard and deep. You needed him to cover you with love bites just so you had something other than the soreness between your thighs to remember him by once he left at dawn.

You moaned when he gripped your hip harder, melting and tightening around his cock. You loved it when he fucked you like this, a steady rhythm meant to make you feel good and drive you both insane as the two of you teetered on the edge of your volatile emotions for as long as possible. Only tonight you knew that wouldn’t work for either of you; you were bound to pop quickly out of sheer longing. Distance makes the heart go fonder and all that, which right now meant that you were craving to cream his cock and hear him groan his pleasure in the form of your name as he nestled inside you, filling you with his cum. You wanted it enough that the slightest touch turned you on — and he was slamming into you full force.

You moaned his name and worked against his ruts to feel him as deeply as possible. “Fuck, don’t stop,” you pleaded, feeling a gut-ripping fire start to flare in your lower stomach. It was going to blow and take everything with it, and you wanted nothing else. “Harder, please!”

You loved when he bit down your neck as he fucked you so hard you saw stars; it was perfect. He was still the Jimin you knew, the one you wanted, yours—

“Fuck, I’m—” Your words vanished as you moaned, your mind slipping past you with your orgasm as you kept mumbling, “I love you—I love—”

You groaned harder when a prick on your neck made you squirm a little, but instantly the bee sting-like sensation vanished as your orgasm took a new breath. Something exciting and exhilarating was making you soar high. It was as though you were floating as your heart pumped pure bliss, nearly exploding with happiness. Your only thought beyond the white waves of pleasure was that Jimin was right there with you, joining you, taking this leap together. You could feel him coming deep inside you as his arms kept you tethered to him, and you needed nothing else.

Coming down, you were like a feather waiting for the breeze to gently put you down. Of course, Jimin couldn’t wait to kiss you, so he turned your head up to connect your mouths. A ferric taste invaded your tastebuds, but you thought nothing of it. Not until he pulled away with wide, spooked eyes and you frowned. What was that on his mouth?

You whimpered when the stung-like sensation returned to your neck, and you touched it. It was wet, and you knew that smell.

You got up from bed. “Ah shit, it’s going to stain the pillows—”

Suddenly, the world was spinning, and your head was too light. You frowned as you stumbled, but a firm hand grabbed your arm to keep you steady.

You smiled, about to thank Jimin for catching you, as always, when your eyes fell on the mirror and found a gruesome image: your white pajama top was crimson because you had two small holes in your skin, pouring blood down your neck. Behind you, Jimin was hugging you to him, and his mouth and chin had traces of crimson.

“What the fuck?” You moved away from him to see better in the mirror under the moonlight, but he didn’t let you go.

“Wait.”

You tsked, “You bit too hard!”

You faced him in the mirror, a bit angry, and he couldn’t meet your eyes. “Let me close it.”

You blinked, stupefied by his answer. “What?”

“Here, just let me—” He leaned down into your neck and swiped his tongue across both holes, and you shuddered from head to toe. “There,” he said quietly, and you pressed your hand to your neck in bewilderment.

He stepped away, and you looked in a mirror; you still had blood stains all over your skin and clothes, but you weren’t bleeding out anymore. Because he licked you.

What?

You spun on yourself, frowning with a surge of questions rattling in your brain, only for them to abruptly stop. Jimin was gripping his hair a few meters away from you, and he looked absolutely panicked.

“What just happened?” you asked, as though you needed him to confirm it, else you would start thinking you were imagining things.

“I bit you,” he mumbled, glancing at you before looking away. His eyes glistened with such emotion, your heart tightened in response.

Still, you shook your head. “Yeah, but why go so far?” You looked at your white pajamas as though you needed to confirm the evidence was still there.

“Because I fucked up!”

He was clearly anxious, and you blinked a few times, bafflingly waiting for more information. He didn’t open his mouth, so you insisted, “Well, okay, but why? I mean, clearly biting me like this without asking me first—”

“Asking?!” He turned to you with wide, glossed eyes, and you frowned again. Why was he looking at you as though you had lost your mind? “What the hell are you saying?!”

“Well, obviously! I’m okay with you having a bite or blood kink or something, but you have to talk to me first so that we can—”

“Stop! Okay, stop, just—”

He covered his face with his hands as though he needed a moment, and the silence in the room almost made him believe time had stopped. If it weren’t for your heartbeat.

He fucked up. He tried so hard to pretend you could be together, to convince himself that he wouldn’t hurt you, that you were safe, that—

He sighed. He tried so hard to convince himself that he wouldn’t have to tell you.

He opened his eyes. “It’s not a kink. I’m not human.”

You raised your eyebrows. “What does that mean?”

You were confused, but at least you gave him the benefit of the doubt instead of laughing. Maybe now you could sense the danger you were in.

“I’m a vampire.”

Your eyebrows skyrocketed as you eyed him from head to toe, and then frowned. “What?”

“I’m a—”

“No, no.” You waved your hand as you squinted your eyes. “You’re— You’re a specimen of a fictional species?”

“Now you know we’re not just fictional,” he replied darkly.

His lips pulled back, his tongue licked over his teeth, and then you saw them — his teeth were different. It was as though they elongated seamlessly before your eyes. They were still crimson with traces of your blood.

“You need blood.” You shook your head. “I mean, you— You feed on people?”

“No,” his answer was sharp and firm. “Of course, there are instincts and appropriate places if— No, I don’t. I haven’t in years.”

You stayed quiet, eying him as though you could catch him lying. “You did bite me.”

“It’s not the same.”

“How?”

He heaved a deep breath. “You’re— You’re not just someone I want to—” Your eyebrow twitched, daring him to speak openly, and he did. “You’re not someone I just want to play with for the thrill. You’re not someone I want to risk killing because I lost control. You’re not someone I want to endanger or bring into this world to just get torn apart by—”

His features twisted into a grimace as he stopped himself, and you observed as the conflict continued, hurting him inside and out. You didn’t know what he was talking about, you couldn’t follow his train of thought.

“Is that why you never told me? Or maybe it's the opposite.” You looked down, remembering a talk you once had with Jiyu. “I’m nothing serious to you, so why bother telling me. Right?”

He was already shaking his head before you were done. “No, not right. If you were nothing serious, I wouldn’t have bothered even looking at you twice.”

“But you never told me.” You shrugged.

“For your safety.”

“Knowing would put me in danger?” You arched a skeptical eyebrow. “How would anyone know I know?”

He chewed on his lip. “That’s not the only problem.”

“Then what is?”

You crossed your arms over your chest and, as the seconds ticked by in silence, felt his cum starting to drip down from inside you.

You huffed and searched for your underwear and pajama bottoms in between the sheets. His eyes stayed on you as you put your clothes back on. He also tucked his dick away and composed his clothes, but he didn’t answer your question.

By the time you were left standing, looking at him again, the quiet had already chipped at your patience. “Maybe the real problem is that you can’t seem to be honest?”

His jawline hardened. “I just wanted you to be safe.”

“From what?”

“From everyone!” He threw his hands up at your caustic tone. “From everything, from hurting, from— From me!”

You crossed your arms over your chest again. “Well, that didn’t work, did it?”

He growled and turned away, and you bit your tongue. You were angry, but saying that did not help.

“I shouldn’t have said that, I—”

“No, you’re right.”

You instantly straightened your back; his tone was cold and detached as he turned back to face you.

“It was the one thing I wanted. To keep you safe from this side of me. I thought I could do it because no matter how good you smelled, or sweet you tasted, I stopped wanting your blood long ago.”

Your heart was beating harshly, anxiety gripping you as you waited for the other shoe to drop. “Then… What happened tonight?”

He pursed his lips for a moment, and you saw his inner battle before he looked away. His eyes held resolution when they faced you again. “You spoke your heart, and I… couldn’t keep it in anymore.” You were confused, and he chuckled, “It’s not your blood, or rather, not to feed. I didn’t want to feed on you, but I do want… to bite you.”

Your heart pumped strongly inside your rib cage, a mix of relief and —oddly— acceptance spreading through your veins. “That’s… that’s fine, I—”

“That is not fine.”

His tone was so absolute that you frowned. “What? Why?”

“Because you have no idea what it means.”

He turned away to leave the room, and you followed him, confused and agitated. “Well, because you won’t tell me! Maybe if you told me, I could decide differently, but—” He started putting on his shoes, and you sucked in an aggravated breath. “Won’t you face this with me?!” You couldn’t believe he wanted to leave instead of explaining everything to you properly. “Besides, it’s my body and my blood! Shouldn't it be my decision?”

He only glanced at you, a single look worth a thousand words — you had no idea what you were talking about.

“Fucking explain it to me, then,” you bit back at him as he grabbed the doorknob and stepped outside.

He turned to you with such a blank expression, your anger made you clench your jaw.

“This was a mistake on my part.”

“Biting me without warning? Sure—”

“Letting this… happen.”

He waved between you, and you weren’t sure you were breathing right or hearing properly, but suddenly, there was an agonizing sting in your chest.

“I should have known it wouldn’t work out. It was naive of me, I’m sorry.”

Your disbelief and pain morphed your features, but before you could say something, he was already stepping back and away.

“Let’s stop it here.”

It took you a second to react, but you did. “Wait!”

But stepping into the corridor, you saw no one. You looked both ways, confused, but then the building's front door slammed from the floor below yours, cutting through the silence, and you gritted your teeth.

You threw on a coat to withstand the November cold and a pair of boots for the snow and ran after him.

Or so you thought. Thinking about where you should go made you realize you didn't even know where he lived. It never bothered you as much as it did now as you kept running.

But at least you knew where he worked, and it wasn't far. You saw the building lit up like a mirage in a desert of snow and made your way straight for the twenty-four-seven gym.

*****

Hoseok frowned as the doors that led to the staff area slammed, but he didn’t have time to say or do anything because, suddenly, his priorities shifted. His mouth salivated as his vision narrowed, a tension tingling down his spine as a sweet scent hit his nose. His first instinct was to rush to the reception counter and check the surveillance cameras — maybe a human had gotten hurt, though it was weird because—

You rushed through the automated front door with conviction, scanning the lobby before turning to Hoseok, who was speechless. He instantly could tell that you were the problem; how could you smell so sweet?

“Is he here? Is Jimin here?”

Hoseok was already stepping toward you with his hands in the air to stop you; this was bad. “Are you hurt?! You have blood—”

“I'm not hurt,” you cut in, and the scrutiny in your eyes froze him midway. “How do you know about the blood?”

He could see that your coat covered you from ear to knee. So he could follow your train of thought; how would he know of any blood, unless…

“You're one, too?”

Your question interrupted whatever excuse he was about to give.

He eyed you a bit reluctantly before nodding. “You smell strongly of blood. It's dangerous, you—”

He stilled again with a shudder down his spine. He could feel someone's eyes on him and knew that he could not touch you. No matter what.

Hoseok’s erratic behavior or the fact that you also didn't know that he was a vampire didn’t seem to bother you.

You shook your head to focus. “Is Jimin here? Did he come here?”

Your voice wavered with a cry, and Hoseok glanced back before focusing on you. “Did something happen?”

“He told me he's—” You swallowed. You were trembling along with your voice. You gripped your cold fingers. “He left. We—”

Hoseok did not react; he didn’t really understand what you were saying, and your presence there was too dangerous.

You brushed your palms down your face to wipe the tears and tried again, “We've been… seeing one another for… almost a year, and he never told me he… isn't human, and tonight… he bit me.”

Hoseok’s eyes glistened, but he stayed put. “I'm sure that was very traumatic.”

“What?” You frowned, confounded, even as he kept an expectant gaze on you. “I'm not traumatized! Or scared! Or in danger!”

“You don't know about—”

“Shut up!” Your outburst quieted him and you groaned, “I'm sorry, I just— I'm tired of being told I don't know. Of course I don't know! He didn’t tell me anything! And now he ran off without telling me anything! Does that make sense?! With one breath, he says I'm not just anyone, and with the other, he fucking leaves me without any explanation!”

Tears broke down your face again, and this time, you couldn’t help your grimace, turning to hide it for a moment. It hurt you so much. It was so confusing but the more you had time to think about it, the more it hurt.

Your shoulders shook with a sob. “I love him— I told him as much, and now— It's like I have no idea what is happening.”

“Hey,” Hoseok said from behind you as you sniffled and tried controlling your bawling. He was trying to calm you, whispering as you cried, but he couldn’t move, not even one step closer to you.

You turned back to face him, with red eyes and wet cheeks. “You're one, too,” you sniffled, “so tell me the truth. Is it me? Did I do something? He said we were a mistake, so— Is it because I'm human? I don't understand; does it matter?”

Hoseok shook his head. “It's a personal thing. Some will never think of a human beyond prey while others can… see more when they find someone special.”

His tone was gentle, but you didn't catch what he meant; you simply pressed your eyes with your palms to hide. “So I'm neither. Not a human to feed on and not special enough to learn about him.”

“You can't make assumptions like that,” he tried, worry marring his features, and you sniffled and cleaned your face again.

“He left me. Assumptions are all I have.”

“I'm sure he'll talk to you when he's ready,” Hoseok was confident as he declared this, and you shook your head.

“He looked at me like I… was already worthless,” your voice broke down with new tears, and Hoseok raised his hands again, but you stopped him. “It's fine, I… I'm emotional right now, I… I should think about it, too, right? I mean… I love him, but do I even know him?”

Hoseok’s expression hardened. “You do.”

You pressed your lips with skepticism. “Thank you for listening, Hoseok. I… I'm happy you were here.”

You waved weakly and left the same way you came, and Hoseok stayed put, watching you go. “Should we keep an eye on her? At least until she makes it home?”

“She lives just around the corner, and I can hear her heartbeat,” Jimin said, pushing the doors out of the staff area to join Hoseok in the lobby. “I'll hear it if something happens.”

Hoseok’s eyes were inscrutable. “So you did bite her and drink her blood.” Jimin pressed his lips and tried stilling his tongue from licking around to get more of your lingering taste. “And she's still walking about,” Hoseok declared pointedly, then insisted. “She didn't bleed out.”

“Of course not,” Jimin scowled, annoyed that Hoseok even mentioned it. “I closed the wounds.”

“Oh, of course,” he said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. Jimin’s expression stayed harsh and Hoseok rolled his eyes. “She wasn't scared of you or upset by the fact that you bit her, so what is it? Why are you running away from her?”

“Because it’s not safe for her.”

“You closed the wounds instead of feeding on her.” It was not a question but an attempt at making the younger vampire realize what he had done. Seeing as Jimin’s expression was unmovable, he sighed, “Are you sure she's not safe with you?”

“I bit her!”

The disgust twisted Jimin’s face and Hoseok was unfazed. “So?”

“I could have killed her!”

“Could you, though? You closed the wounds so easily… meaning you didn't want to feed. You want to mark her…” he hummed in thought, and Jimin bit down on his lip. He couldn't deny it, and so Hoseok continued, “That's why you bit her, but you were able to stop and put her first. Because she's yours, isn't she?” He kept probing, trying to get Jimin to say it, but he remained quiet. “Are you sure you would hurt her?”

“I just did!”

Jimin’s annoyance flared with a deep hate, and Hoseok hummed, “Sounds to me like you hurt her more by hiding your nature from her. You heard her — she loves you.”

“Well, she shouldn't!” he finally burst out, with glistening eyes promptly hiding as he turned away. “She doesn't know me!”

“I wonder if that's true,” Hoseok said calmly, contrasting with Jimin greatly. “If you're also hers, and all that.”

A shudder warmed Jimin's blood at the thought, but then he shook his head. “She wouldn’t know.”

“She might. She's a muse, after all.” Hoseok’s voice had a tone of wisdom, and Jimin didn’t bother denying it. “They probably sense these things.” Jimin was looking away, but Hoseok was happy he said it; it was important for Jimin to think about it, too. “You're sure you didn't mark her?”

“No, I… stopped in time.” He swallowed hard as he remembered.

Cumming inside you was bliss, but doing so drunk on your blood while you chanted your love was euphoric. He had been completely overwhelmed, with both your loves crashing inside his chest, stealing his reason. He loved you so much, he—

He cleared his voice, “Why?”

Hoseok’s eyes were still on the door. “She… smells sweeter.”

Jimin's fists closed by his sides as he searched inside his chest and focused. He could hear your stable heartbeat and sense you were arriving home safely, but that was it. What if he had hurt you in ways he couldn't sense? More than breaking your heart, what if he had done enough damage that you wouldn’t be able to walk away unscathed like he promised?

“I… I'd feel it, right?”

Hoseok finally turned to him. “I don't know. We don’t know anyone who has found their muse to ask, either. Besides, you already love her. I'm not sure if a bond would feel much different.”

Jimin closed his eyes with a muted groan and raked his hands through his hair multiple times; he had loved you for so long, it felt like his whole life. He also didn't know if there would be a difference.

“What are you going to do?” Hoseok asked, and Jimin stopped to look at him. “You can't leave her in the dark like that. You can't.”

His insistence printed on Jimin's heart, but he still looked away. “It's better this way.”

“What?” Hoseok frowned. “Why?”

“It's not safe for her.”

“Sounds to me like she's safer with you than anyone else. No one dared to come near her with you around, even when she smelled so injured and sweet.”

Jimin pressed his eyes for a moment; he couldn't help it. He could hear the other vampires in the vicinity, the same as Hoseok. The humans, too, same as everyone else. But it was his kind that smelled the traces of blood on you, which could have been dangerous, but not while he emitted such an aura — he would destroy whoever would dare to touch you. As simple as that. He couldn't control it, you were—

He sighed, “I'm keeping her safe. It's my fault she was bleeding, so…”

“So?”

“I have to protect her.”

“Do you?”

Jimin huffed, starting to dread Hoseok questioning his every thought.

“I mean, sure.” Hoseok shrugged. “She smells sweet, but no one would dare harm her in this neighborhood. You know our rules.” Jimin's jaw twitched, and Hoseok wondered, “So why do you think she needs protection? Maybe you could kill two birds with one stone and protect her while you love her.”

Jimin's jawline hardened. “I can love her from afar.”

“But why would you? Seems to me like she wants you close.”

“We can't be together,” he whispered, and Hoseok chuckled. Jimin insisted, “If she becomes mine… her life as she knows it will end. Eventually, at least. Family, friends… she'll have to let go of what she knows. She won't ever build a family. She'll have to sacrifice everything and step into this dark world she doesn't understand.”

“Sure… But you're her fate,” Hoseok said casually, and Jimin couldn’t deny it, even if he looked down. “Maybe she doesn't even want all those things humans want. Have you asked her?”

Jimin's lips pursed before he pressed them quickly. Hoseok didn't wait for an answer; he patted Jimin's shoulder and got back to his place behind the front desk, leaving the youngest to his devices. He knew Jimin hadn't asked you. They both knew there was so much left unsaid and unexplained by Jimin, just as they knew why that was.

Jimin was too afraid of your decision.

>Click here for Part 2<

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chimcess · 1 month ago

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— The Lost Boys: the masterlist

"Teenage brothers Jungkook and Jung-Hyun relocate with their mother to a quiet town in Northern California. As Jung-Hyun bonds with two like-minded comic book enthusiasts, Namjoon and Seokjin, the more brooding Jungkook becomes captivated by Y/N. However, he soon discovers that Y/N is entangled with Jimin, the charismatic leader of a dangerous local vampire gang."

Status: Complete

01: Welcome to Santa Carla 02: Never Grow Old, Never Die... 03: The One Thing About Living in Santa Carla

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kittyscupcakeandbunny · 6 months ago

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My BFF is a Vampire

18+

CRIMSON EYES 🩸

Characters: ot7 x reader

Warnings: This story contains nsfw content (descriptive blood, gore, etc.) as well as sexual content. Mentions may include violence, self harm, attempt to suicide, consumption of alcohol and blood, male and male sexual content, explicit sexual interactions, sharp objects, knife play, blood play, death, description of injuries, themes of major horror/psychological horror and also explores obsessive behaviors and codependency. Many characters are morally gray. The story will contain aspects of the show Vampire Diaries and the BTS Wings era.

>If you are sensitive to any of these themes please do not proceed with the story.<

Genre: supernatural, fantasy, vampire, reversed harem, best friends to lovers.

🩸My Master List🩸

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨 • 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 >

Chapter One🩸

The night felt cooler then usual. That for Spring Villa was uncanny but nothing about this town was near close to normal, I felt breathless. Running through the woods with nothing but the full moon above me to light up the path between the tall trees, the cold air burned inside my lungs.

I couldn’t stop even if I wanted too, my feet seems to move on their own. I should hide, I knew that. His presence became more obvious as the sound of his footsteps behind me became louder and clearer.

Every breath I took.

Closer.

Every step away.

Closer.

Until I couldn’t breath anymore, falling miserable on the cold wet path of the night. I could hear him laughing behind me, his deep breathy chuckled bitterly echoed around me.

I needed to get up.

But I couldn’t. My body wasn’t mine, I couldn’t move even if I begged myself to.

Vision getting blurred the more I tried to breath but no air was coming to my lungs, until the horrified feeling of a cold hand closed around my neck turned me around.

I couldn’t see his face even when he was so close to me, all I could see was his red eyes staring at me as he took my last breath.

The loud beeping noise of my alarm woke me up abruptly, I was breathless completely covered in cold sweat once again. I looked over the small vintage silver clock over my nightstand, glad it was still early in the morning and I had more then enough time to get ready to work at the Spring Grill.

A sight left my lips once I was finally able to catch my breath, once again I had the same dream. By this time I should’ve become used to them, It has been years since I started having weird nightmares, every damn night. It became unbearable and at some point I had to go to the hospital once after waking up screaming, I don’t remember anything from that night just that the nightmares continued since then. I used to take pills to help me sleep and at first they helped but as time passed they simply stopped working and I was too tired to ask for more, because of my reputation the doctors could’ve locked me at the mental facility and feeling helpless I just stopped taking them, I gave up on trying to stop the nightmares. They won’t go away no matter what I do. What’s the point fighting?

The day had just started and I felt restless.

Tired from knowing exactly what would happen after I opened the door of my room and went downstairs, knowing exactly how my day is going to start and how is going to end. Every day is the same for me. I wished I could say something about it but there is nothing especial about my life in this town.

I was known for being the weird girl, psycho girl down the street with an alcoholic mother who every neighbor hates now.

I used to be someone just like everyone, I had dreams like every other girl in high school did and I wanted more from life than anyone else did. I was alive.

For years I tried so hard not to let my parents actions get the best of me but now I feel like I can’t bearly breathe, my mother drank all her emotions away with alcohol till the bottles are empty just like herself.

I’m no better then her. Hiding away my scars with a jacket so no one knows it. Not that they would care anyway.

Once I’m pleased with my appearance after getting ready, making sure to hide the dark circles under my eyes with make up. I hold on tight to the door before opening in a breath, immediately holding my breath as I walk down the corridor to the stairs. A sight of relief washes over me as I notices she’s still asleep in the couch as I walk over the door as quietly as possible.

Mom was passed out again and thankfully on the right time for me to leave unnoticed by her.

Another sight of relief leaves my lips as I could finally breath in the cold air of Spring Villa, it was not always that I could leave home without any trouble caused by my mother. I was always grateful when I could.

And for just this once I could actually smile. Even though I knew everything would crash down when I get home later at night. For now I let myself breath for once.

Making my way through the empty streets till I get to the Grill, it won’t be a long walk anyway. Spring Villa was not known for being a big city, you could walk pretty much all around here and you could never be late. Every place here was placed right next to it, especially the neighborhood that’s why you can’t keep secrets in his town. People are so noisy here.

The center of the city was much more busy today, more tourist must have come since Halloween is in two months now. The perfect time to spread the old reports about the city’s history of a serial killer. People are so empty it makes me sad for them, but in all honesty sadness is all you can find in this city.

Once I finally get to my destination I open the wooden doors to the Spring Grill immediately being embraced by its warm interior, making my way to the staff room quickly changing into the Grill apron marking my shift as I leave the staff room. Today I’ll be serving tables in the morning and later I’ll serve at the bar.

No one minds my presence here so I just embrace my own thoughts and begin my work.

For the entire day I’ve been working, I wished it lasted longer. Contradicting I know. Even though I was tired like hell and my feet hurt just as bad; Even though I could already feel sweat running down the back of my neck and my arms felt like jelly from holding heavy trays with food and drinks for hours, the thought of heaving to go back home was never a pleasant one for me.

My shift was almost done and I moved as slow as possible with no desire to go home I was still behind the bar in case any costumers come for a few drinks, it was night already yet the Grill was just as agitated as it was in the afternoon. People didn’t care for their safety anymore, they would stay up all night drinking at Spring Villa even though our little city was known for a serial killer case, all they wanted was something to gossip about anyway and here, it was the serial killer case still unsolved after years.

Quickly to my distraction a costumer just made his way to the bar, he sat on the barstool asking for a bottle of beer. I made my way to get it for him filling a cup with ice and putting in front of him as well as the opened bottle, he thanked me without looking my way throwing a few dollar bill over the bar to pay.

I simply took it. I wasn’t used to kindness in this place, no one here seemed to know what it meant anyway.

The sound of the ring above the door signs for more costumers and I immediately looked up to see who it might be, noticing the familiar faces as he also noticed me from further away.

My best friend.

He was the only one who knew who I was and still chose me to be his friend, Jungkook wasn’t like the people from Spring Villa. He had an energy around him that even from afar you could tell he was special. He wasn’t even from here. He shined wherever he was and always became the life of the party, his smiled was a punch in the stomach of everyone one from this city, a face that was a constant reminder of how different and full of life he was. The truth was no one knows we’re he comes from or any of his friends, not even me. I never bother to ask him too. I always assumed he could tell me whenever he felt ready for it and apart from that, there was nothing we didn’t know about each other.

I only knew a few of his guy friends, with Jungkook there were seven of them and they all lived together with the oldest of the group in his house. I never asked him what his friends did for a living or what they’d were here for as it wasn’t Jungkooks place to say anyway and we both hated gossip. I knew he wasn’t like the other people who only came here for the serial killer case and that was enough for me to not ask questions. I was closer with him and his friend Jimin, who’d usually hang around with us the most, the others were much busier and didn’t stick around us much so I haven’t meet them yet and bearly knew them.

Seeing him together with his friend Jimin and the white haired Hoseok was something for the eyes to see, from any distance you could tell they were not from this small city.

From the way they all dressed so sophisticated and the way they walk, talk, even breath to every detail on them you could tell they where perfect. No one here was at their level, people tended to do everything to keep it to themselves so it doesn’t call for unnecessary attention to themselves. I still remember when they first came here, everybody talked about them for three months and so many rumors began to rise about them. The boys kept things to themselves and only talked to a few people from town, so gossip about them were all over the town as soon as they stepped foot in here. It wasn’t like any other tourist who came to town, they came to stay and that made the rumors about them grow even more especially since they all looked anything from normal.

Hoseok was well know because of his white hair and the signature sunglasses he wore all the time, some said he was blind and some said he had devil eyes. People said all sorts of things about them for their looks and I honestly thought the people in this town were just being mean at this point, these people never seemed to have something to do and were always on someone else’s business. The few things I heard about Jimin was; how he was always out with a red haired man at night, always at the company of a woman or a men and by far he was the most popular with people.

Jungkook was the rumored bad boy, always up to something bad and some people spreed that he was in a gang, that he was a criminal and today we just laugh at that. I couldn’t even begin to imagine him as such rumors portrayed him.

I didn’t care much about it, after a few weeks talking with Jungkook he told me the oldest of his friends Jin was the son of one of the founders of Spring Villa and that’s way they came here, they were staying at his late fathers house the mansion on the other side of the city.

I was surprised no one know anything about the founders of Spring Villa - since gossip was their priority around. But people only talked about what they wanted and what they wanted to hear, even when it wasn’t true.

I watched as Jungkook parted ways with his friends who took one of the tables on a corner and make his way to the bar were I was, a smirk playing around his lips as he did so. He looked incredibly handsome tonight, like usual. He wore a black outfit, never a fan of colors as he would always tell me, a leather jacket over the long sleeve shirt and loosen jeans ripped on the knees.

I replied with a smile of my own, watching as he sat on the bar stool in front of me.

“when is your shift ending tonight?” he asked, as soon as he took the bar stool in front of me. A playful look glimmered in his eyes, by his tone I knew he would ask me to join later.

“in an hour, why?” I said, cleaning over the bar in front of us to place a glass with ice for him, turning around to get him his usual whiskey.

“perfect, we’ll have enough time to get a few drinks before going to the bonfire that’s happening by the lake” at his words I turned around quickly looking at him dumbfounded.

“we? who said I was going?” I teased.

“I did” he said as if it was nothing, pushing his glass towards me to fill it, scoffing playfully I did so.

He looked up at me with biggest puppy eyes ever, leaning his head slightly to the side. I chuckled knowingly.

“oh no, I know this look…” I tell him as I filling another glass of whiskey for him. “…and it won’t work. Jungkook you know I hate parties.”

“Yeah but… this is different” he says, almond eyes shining through his long lashes as he stared at me with a sly smile.

“really how?”

“I’ll be there” he said drink all of the liquid in his hand in one gulp. “my friends too, so come please?”

I looked over the table his friends were sat at, they were looking over us too. No wonder, Jungkook must’ve told everyone one he knew I was going already. Not that many people would care if I showed up or not, he was the only one who does care.

If this was the only way to not go home tonight, might as well just grab the chance. For once I could walk out of my sad blue and gray routine.

“ok I’ll go with you” I finally tell him, filling his glass one more time.

“I knew you would” his eyes seemed to light up above his smirk in that moment, making my heart skip a beat. It was a different kind of look, one I have never seen before.

I would be the biggest lier if I ever say I didn’t had a crush on him, Jungkook was one of the most handsome men on Spring Villa ever since he step foot here. All woman and men lined up in front of him for a chance to be with him, he was definitely a catch.

Anyone could tell he was hot just by looking, he had his own special charm to make people fall in love with him instantly. Not only did he had a beautiful body that you could definitely tell was all toned even under all the dark loosen clothes he wore but, he had his way with everybody and all it took was one look and a charming smile from him and you would fall on his knees, he didn’t go by anyone unnoticed. People here either loved him or hated him, no in between. I knew from the moment I first saw him that nothing could ever happen between us, that’s why we have such strong friendship.

I couldn’t help but let my eyes wonder from every now and then, every time I would notice him looking away I let myself get a glimpse of his beautiful body and his beautiful face.

But he was much more then that to me, he was my best friend. One of the only ones I had and I wouldn’t let anything mess that up, even my own feelings. I would push anything aside to keep him by my side, even if is my heart.

He deserves more. More then I could ever be.

“oh right…” he suddenly said “you like girls right?”

“what!?” I exclaimed, flushed at his sudden question.

“what, what?” he lifted his eyebrows up surprised “you never said anything about boyfriends and I never saw you with a guy, I’m starting to wonder….”

“no…” i like you, you idiot. Is what I want to say, but I can’t and I shouldn’t. Never. “Don’t just assume that kind of thing…”

“well then what do you like, I need to know so I can set you up with someone for the bonfire” he said.

“I like boys, and you don’t need to set me up with anyone.”

“ok.”

“besides is not like anyone is interested in me or what so ever” I began to angrily clean the bar top.

“ok, sorry for pushing kitty” he said, stoping me from cleaning with his hand over mine.

I immediately looked up at him, heart beat skipping a beat as I gulped down. His eyes scanned my face, i tried my best not to show how the nickname affected me focusing on the light in his eyes as they seemed to shine different tonight almost making them look brighter like whiskey mixed with wine. I was completely lost in him again, too much to notice his cold hand over mine as his smile brought my attention to his lips. Wet and pink.

“you’ll take our table for the rest of your shift right?” he asked softly.

“of course, who else can put up with you guys?” I tell him.

He only chuckled nodding towards me, he got up from his seat and gave me one last smile before turning around to go back to the table with his friends. I wished i could tell that smile went past me and didn’t effect me as much as he always did, he was my only friend why did such feelings had to rise from my chest every time i was with him?

Once again i shut that door in my heart to stop them from rising again.

For some reason the past hour felt like an eternity, i carried on serving Jungkooks table for the rest of my shift as they order as much they could drink for the time being before it was time to go to the bonfire, Jungkook was with two of his friends tonight and it always amazed me how much they drink and don’t even looked halfway drunk. I knew they were seven although it has difficult to see all of them together at the same time, i only knew their names through Jungkook and a few things about them as he would tell me sometimes. How they all meet one by one as the years passed through trips around the world.

He mentioned how he first meet Hoseok when he went to a contemporary dance concert at a music festival and at the same week he meet Taehyung who were there to play violin at the festival, he said they all clicked with each other immediately and a few months later they run into Jimin in a party as well as Yoongi as they already knew each other. It seemed Yoongi already knew Jin the oldest and Jin knew Namjoon from birth as they grew up together away from Spring Villa.

I haven’t meet the older friends yet, they all seemed to be occupied with something as Jungkook would always tell me. He admire his friends very much from how he always speaks so passionately of them to me from time to time. So far i only knew Jimin since he and Jungkook were always together as well as Hoseok who sometimes tags along with the two, although they were very closed to each other i never saw them with the other three.

One look at the clock and a sight of relief left my lips as i notice my shift was about to end, making my way towards the staff room to change and hit the end of my shift, I quickly take my things from my locker before walking out of the staff room. I wished i knew he would invite me out for the bonfire, I would have put a bit more of an effort into how i looked before going out.

Whilst making my way towards their table I tried to fix my hair the best I could, untying the messy bun i did earlier to work and letting my hair fall messily down my back. I watched as the three of them seemed to be heaving a fun conversation before Jungkook turned towards my direction a smirk on his lips as he looked me up and down rising his eyebrows playfully.

“are you guys ready to go?” i said, once i finally stood in front of them catching their stares.

“yes boss” said Jimin, while getting up from his seat being fallowed by the two others.

“are we walking there?” i asked Jungkook taking his side while we made or way out of the Grill.

“yeah, is not that far from here” he took a cigarette from his pocket lightening it up while we walked down the cold streets of Sping Villa.

The smoke filling the humid air around us, it hadn’t rain in a few days here which was honestly a miracle. That was unusual in a city that rained more than anything, at times like this i really wondered if the reason why the serial killer just wasn’t caugh because the rain cleaned his traces.

How lucky and convenient for someone to attack this small town, I couldn’t help but think about it from time to time. Even though i would always brush this thoughts away from my mind now letting Jungkook and his friends voice fill my head as we make our way to the bonfire on the west side of town. Although it was away from the town it didn’t took too long for us to get there, a bonfire in Spring Villa was rare due to the heavy rains that were present every day here. People must been excited about it, something i was unfamiliar with. All senses of joy for me were short lived, I didn’t have a choice but to give up on them. Not because i wanted but, because they were stolen from me each time.

I looked up at the sky watching as the full moon shined above me, the sky never looked so clear before. Full of stars to replace the clouds and cover us and more light.

It felt warmer to be under the moon for once, I couldn’t remember the last time i saw her.

“you okay?” Jimin whispered over my ear, one arm closing around my neck as he showed me a smile.

“yeah” i replied his smile.

Out of all of them - or at least, the ones i knew - Jimin was the most touchy person, Jungkook could get clingy sometimes but usually only when he needed something in return. Even though he was a men after all, i never once felt uncomfortable close to him. He always had a soft energy around him that just brings you into him each time, it took some time before we got close enough to be like this though with each other. The first time we meet he couldn’t even look at me without shying away, it was cute.

I circle my arm around his waist and we make our way together.

“oh… i see why don’t have to set you up with anyone…” Jungkook said, playfully beside me eyeing us together.

“hey, his my friend too” i glare at him playfully.

“see? she’s mine too” Jimin taunts beside me, pulling me from the shoulders as he closed around me a deep chuckle filling the air from his chest.

I chuckled with him too distracted by his smile and hands around me to notice we were the only ones laughing, too absorbed by his eyes over mine to look anywhere else.

Everything just felt like slow motion whenever i was with them, i could bearly see through it all. And i loved every little second of it - anything to stay out of home.

I didn’t liked parties much, I never understood what was so special about them. Maybe if you have friends it is more enjoyable to be partying, since for a long time people didn’t wanted to be close to me I just shut myself down from everything I could.

Until Jungkook showed up I had no one by my side, now with him and his friends I can actually enjoy a bit of fun.

Just like I predicted it didn’t took us much longer to arrive at the bonfire, I watched around us all the young people laugh over the loud music with red cups in hands. Some danced, some just sat around the big bonfire drinking and just talking while some were courageous enough to be swimming at the lake.

Jungkook guided us to a big fallen tree in a corner closer to the lake to sit there, him and Jimin left quickly to get us some drinks and Jungkook came without Jimin saying his getting something stronger.

I took one beer from him as Hoseok did the same, sitting between the too boys.

“oh god I hate this…” immediately regretted taking a sip of the cheap drink.

“what? The party?” Hoseok asked beside me.

“no… this disgusting liquid” I turned to the white haired boy putting the bottle down.

“oh, not everyone does” he chuckled. “what do you like drinking?”

“sweet!” Jimins loud voice interrupted before I could answer.

He sat in front of us all giggly with which I assumed was a stolen bottle of strawberry Smirnoff.

“she likes the strong and sweet drinks”Jimin answered for me.

“you’re right, thanks Jimin.”

He gives me a wink fallowed by a small nod opening the bottle for me to have a sip, we all drank a few times together and I remember mentioning that I hated beer and preferred sweeter drinks and wine, I didn’t know he would remember as we usually were completely nocked out drunk.

“want some?” I offer to Hoseok.

“oh yes…” he took the bottle from my hand, cold fingers brushing over mine.

A chill went down my body for a second and a hugged myself, watching as he drank a good amount lips slightly wet from the drink.

He handed me back the bottle, the fire shining on the dark glasses on his face.

“isn’t it too dark for you?” i playful ask.

“a little…” he smiled, taking it off.

I tried to hide my surprise when I saw his eyes for the first time, the fire reflected in them wildly almost like a reflection on a mirror. His eyes were of a blue so clear to a white shade I could swear o saw galaxies in them, I can’t understand why he would want to hide them he looked even more beautiful without the glasses.

I don’t question him anymore deciding to enjoy the time with them by drinking some more, I let time completely go forgotten for now watching the fire burn in front of me.

At some point i knew i was completely drunk already, the bottle in my hand wasn’t the same from before and my body felt lighter. Everything that was coming out of Jimins mouth seemed to be the most funny joke I’ve ever heard, he kept me entertained for the most time taken me to dance a few times even.

But I couldn’t keep up with his energetic self, body tired from working a whole shift at the Grill.

Then again he would pull me out to dance again this time taking the white haired boy with us, the three of us drunk as hell dancing together with the people around the bonfire.

The hot heat warmed my body and for once I felt the happiest for once, nothing matter in the world anymore and all my problems had evaporated completely from my mind.

When Hoseoks cold hands took mine into his to dance bringing my body closer to his, I let him. Giggling like an idiot with my cheeks hotter then the fire burning beside us, when he brushed my hair back exposing my skin I simply let him.

I could feel his drunken giggles over my face as he spin me around, hands holding my waist but it wasn’t his anymore. Looking up I’m meet with Jimins sweet eyes and smile.

Every cell in my body was being pulled towards him, as if I was in a dream a state I could no longer control my body and only watch what was happening.

Watching as my body leaned forward into his, the only moment I felt like my body belonged to me when I felt the shivers running down my skin as he brushed the hair away from my shoulder, eyes staring down at my lips the more he leaned into me.

Just then before he could move another centimeter closer, Jimin was pulled away from me as well as the dreamy state I was in.

All together I felt my senses come back, the sound of loud music and people’s talking around us, the smell of fire burning. Jungkook stood in front of me anger clearly reflected on his features as he stared silently at Jimin who looked at him with the same intensity.

I watched the two of them confused, feeling a gentle pull at my arm from behind me I turned quickly looking up and Hoseok.

He muttered a “let’s go” and I fallowed him wherever he was going, turning back a few times to check on the two males we just left.

We stood closer to a truck filled with all sorts of drinks, Hoseok grabbed a few water bottles from it and we stood close to a big old tree. I could see all the bonfire from here as well as Jungkook and Jimin leaving together into the dark entrance of trees.

After drink half of the water I looked up at Hoseok who still looked where the two boys just went.

“what happened?” I asked him, feeling completely lost. “was it something I did?”

“no y/n…” he turned to me, clearly trying his best to hide what he truly felt in that moment “you didn’t do anything it’s just… they have something’s going on right now, it’s a bit complicated.”

“oh… oh” the realization hits me like a brick.

From the time I’ve been friends with Jungkook I knew that both, men and woman were always there for him trying to get with him. I just never saw him with someone before and now everything made sense to me, he had something with Jimin.

That thought made things more complex to me, I just couldn’t understand why he never mentioned to me before. We were friends.

After some time had passed I realized that maybe that was because of me, Jungkook must’ve seen all of that and now they are fighting.

I couldn’t bear that, I never knew that could happen and before I even know I was already making my way into the dark trees without Hoseok noticing.

If they fight because of me I have to clear things out, beyond that I felt terribly bad for Jungkook.

Walking into this tress at night made me feel uncomfortable, it was a clear reminder of my nightmares and I felt the fear growing inside of my chest the deeper I went through that darkness.

I could still hear the loud music and talking of people from here but as I carry on walking I heard loud hustles from the other side, I didn’t felt the need to rush there until I heard Jungkooks voice.

My feet moved on it’s on I was rushing through the bushes, fallowing his voice as I felt some bushes hit me all over until I stomp into the unexpected scene.

My breath got stuck in my throat but everything looked so clear that my whole body went cold.

Jungkook was pressed on the tree as someone held him by the neck, a painful expression reflected on his features as the men who held him there was glued to his neck.

It wasn’t until said men leaned back from him and I realized it was Jimin, exposing all the blood on his face it finally came to me what was happening. Jungkook fell to the ground hand over his neck, a painful groan leaving his lips .

All I could do was watch, feeling my body cold as ice completely frozen at the spot as jimins face covered in blood turned towards me. A gasp leaving my lips as his eyes burned over mine, red eyes like crimson blood.

I immediately turned to leave finally finding the will to move my frozen body but, all to my surprise he was right there in front of me with a bloody smirk on his lips.

No.

My vision began to blur into darkness, my own body completely giving up on standing and I felt weak in my senses.

No.

All I could see was his red eyes before I fall into the darkness of my mind.

I could feel my lungs burning as i breathed in and out the cold air, i was running between the trees again the darkness of my surroundings where swallowing me the deeper i ran into it.

Every cell in my body burned getting more restless as I desperately rushed through the woods, completely exhausted and out of breath my vision blurred and i felt my body give up on me falling miserably into the wet grass.

Turning around breathless a shadow presence like the dark night sky made his way slowly towards my body on the ground, i wanted to get up, run again my body wouldn’t listen to me.

I felt my body completely froze at the sight the closer he got to me, the moon light slowly illuminated more of his presence each step he took.

The more clear i saw him the more anxious i felt, just then as he stood completely above me i realized i knew who he was. I could no longer breathe as his red crimson eyes stared into mine with complete darkness, for the first time in years i see the face of my nightmares.

He falls to his knees in front of me, blood dripping from his mouth as a smile i never saw on him grows on his lips. I felt at loss at the sight of Jungkook, still not believing in it but there he was ready to take me as one of his victims.

I woke up in a rush cold sweat dripping from my forehead, my chest was hurting instantly feeling as if I had rubbed a marathon my body ache in pain and my head was foggy as if I was under water for a moment until I wasn’t and high pitched sound echoed through my head.

Once it faded away I was able to breath normally, looking around to see I was in my room. I couldn’t make out how i felt in that moment, everything still felt like a dream.

But that couldn’t be.

The memories of last night were a blur in my head, I couldn’t place my thoughts together weakly trying and the more i did the more my head hurt tears forming in my eyes i felt so helpless. Not being able to control my own my mind anymore no matter how much i tried to, all of a sudden everything became to much to understand then with the sound of rain hitting my window i could finally feel my mind emptying and i was back to myself, as if i was high on a dream I remembered one by one of last night events.

I was at the bonfire with Jungkook and his friends when he and Jimin went in the woods, how unease I felt at the knew informations about his relation with him in that moment deciding to fallow them in the woods only to be meet with the sight of Jungkook body falling on the ground with blood covering his neck as a Jimin stood there in a way I never could imagine.

The red eyes I could swear I’ve seen it before, the same one in my nightmares.

The same ones i dreamed were Jungkook, and the blood dancing on their lips.

All i could think was how much had i lost my mind to project such nightmare on Jungkook and Jimin, him out of every person i knew. The thought made me sick and i wish i could understand why that was happening to me, worried i might have actually gone insane.

By the moment I had collected my thoughts my head was spinning and I quickly got up, rushing to the bathroom to take my meds and throw some water on my face.

Everything that happened last night was a complete mess, what was supposed to be a fun night between friends was flipped insanely into another nightmare of mine.

All i could think now was Jungkook, what could have happen after i blank out last night. I stil couldn’t understand how i got back home, what could have happen to my friend and who did that to him.

My hands were shaking as I searched for my phone it was still so early in the morning, the sun has bearly appear although you couldn’t really tell as the dark gray skies covered Spring Villa in rain, after finding it I quickly called Jungkook to make sue he was okay but every time it went straight to voicemail.

Growing worried each time i spear no more time to leave my room running down the stairs without a single thou in my mind as I exit the house.

Not him.

I kept repeating that in my head.

I felt desperate, not even sure what I should do in that moment I just hoped in my bike and made my way to the only place i knew someone would be able to tell me what in the hell happened to Jungkook, his oldest friend mansion on the west of Spring Villa.

I have no idea where he could be right now and if someone knew what happened that night it has to be Hoseok and I hoped I could find them at their house, i didnt know who else to turn to right now and it only made my feel more helpless. My friend could be in danger and all i could do was find someone else to do something about it.

Tears were forming under my eyes the cold weather as usual was enough to make me shake under it, rushing through the empty streets a light rain began falling as if on quote Spring Villa was back to its grey days.

I passed a few police cars and an ambulance closer to were the bonfire happened last night, I couldn’t help the immediate stop watching as they closed half the road with yellow tape. Just then a the sky roared in anger, a light thunder shined above us as if to say something.

A few people who watched closely to were I had stopped were gossiping about what I thought would never happen again in this shitty town, but under all of their usual comments and half ass words of comfort to the people around there was one that felt like a punch in my stomach blurring anything else they were saying was the phrase;

“They found a body of a young man on the woods”

With a racing heart I rushed past them, repeating in my mind prayers - please not him.

After a long while I spotted the old mansion on the west hill, my legs were hurting from biking around so fast. My body cold from the rain, I couldn’t think about anything else besides him. The possibility that someone so close to me turned out to be the monster in my dreams.

It never one occurred to me to go their house before, it was never something I felt comfortable with and Jungkook never invited me over. I never questioned it I wasn’t the type to push someone about their lives, we build our friendship over our trust with each other . I knew who he was and he knew about me, we had that and it was enough.

But now after last night I felt desperate, he hasn’t returned my calls and even though it was so early I had to make sure he was fine. Especially when the serial killer was back.

I quickly made my way towards the entrance nocking on the heavy wooden door, I waited before moving once again impatiently I felt my self grow even more worried.

Before I could nock a third time the door was open revealing a tall men with red hair and amber eyes, I stood there staring into his eyes fist still mid air In front of me embarrassing.

“yes?” he blurted, voice deep almost like a growl as he looked me up and down no expression on his face.

It didn’t go unnoticed by me how he clearly was inspecting my presence there with judging eyes, then I realized he was still in his sleeping clothes feeling my embarrassment grow even more for waking him up so early with my sudden presence but i had a reason for coming here and despite everything else I held up the courage to speak up.

“is Jungkook here?” i questioned, trying my best not to let any of my insecurities shine through. Still feeling the awkwardness

“who’s asking?” he then asked, a bored look on his features. The awkwardness was stone cold.

I almost groaned out at his words, something bad must’ve happened to Jungkook and he was playing around as if everything was completely fine. My body was begging to grow hot with anger.

“I’m y/n, his friend…” i rushed the words, feeling more impatient at his calmness. “is he here? Is he okay?”

Before he could say anything the door opened fully and to my relief it was Hoseok, just like the men with red hair he too was still in his sleeping clothes confused as he walked to me.

“y/n? what are you doing here so early?” he mumble, voice deeper then usual and a bit hoarse.

“I’m sorry it’s just…. about last night when I saw Jungkook… he-“ I couldn’t even mutter the words without feeling a hole swallow me from my chest.

“hey it’s okay, Tae go back I’ll take care of her” he spoke to the red haired man, making his way closer to me holding my shoulders carefully.

The red haired men looked at me before giving Hoseok a nod turning on his heels to go back inside, the door was shut closed leaving me out alone with Hoseok who seemed a bit more worried this time.

“Hoseok what in the world happened last night?”

“I’ll tell you come here” he pulled me towards the side but i stood there growing anxious, I can’t wait any longer for an explanation. He looked into my eyes as if realizing exactly what i meant. “you blackout in the woods last night.”

“yeah I know that but Jungkook…” I interrupt, nothing about me was important to me.

“he took you home” he blurted

“he did? But…”

“listen y/n, we were having fun last night then you black out in the woods and Jungkook was searching for you everywhere” he carry on explaining, and I couldn’t believe it or i just didnt know what to believe in anymore. “when we found you he immediately brought you back home.”

“but I saw…”

“what?”

Was it all in my head then?

He had no reason to lie to me about such thing, still it didnt felt right what he was saying. I knew what I saw last ight, despite all the alcohol and my meds i knew i saw Jungkook being attacked by something or someone.

But if Jungkook was fine as Hoseok said then, all of this was just another illusion. What I saw last night wasn’t real. I was falling into that miserable trap in my head, I couldn’t help but feel completely lost as darkness fell upon my back.

I’ve been acting out of my mind this whole time without a care in the world, trespassing boundaries by coming here like a crazy woman asking for Jungkook to some of his friends when he was safe and sound.

“I’m so sorry Hoseok I just…. I heard about a body found in the woods” I tell him “he didn’t answer my calls so I was worried something happened to him.”

I decided to tell him what made me worried enough to come all the way here, leaving out the fact that i was mentally unstable and had a nightmare with his friend so real i thought he was dead.

He gave me an apologetic smile.

“is okay… you were just worried about him” he replied.

I watched as he looked at me with those eyes, the same ones everyone else did when they got a glimpse into my turbulent mind. I hated that more then anything and the fact he was now staring into my eyes with the same look mad me realize he might as well just be like everybody else, and I felt a crack in my heart.

“can you tell him to call me then, please I need to talk to him” I mumbled, looking down unable to meet his eyes.

“of course y/n…” he gave me a small hug “you should rest now is still pretty early in the morning, I’ll make sure he calls you as soon as I see him.”

“yes, im sorry Hoseok for showing up like this…” looking everywhere but his face, a need to run awa creeping into my mind.

“is okay, I understand where you’re coming from y/n” he answered softly.

I didnt spear another look at his direction as i turned on my heels to leave. That was my walk of shame back home and I didn’t know if i would ever be able to look into his face again without feeling completely embarrassed. I almost let it slip my worst nightmare, most people from Spring Villa already knew about my past and i didnt wanted to more people to find out about it. It burned almost, how much that part of me contributed to my own down fall but there was nothing i could do about it. I had tried everything I could and nothing ever seems to work. My mind has been playing games over me for so long, I should’ve known it was all in my head before packing and going to their home.

I was worried for what I saw and all of it wasn’t even real, just a coincidence.

I sighted looking at my own self in front of my small bathroom mirror, tired eyes and messy hair all over the place. I took a good look at my self feeling more pathetic the more i looked, i was tired. Physically and mentally.

It honestly took me so long to leave the bathroom, to get out of my head. This illusions ive been heaving ever since my brother left the world, this nightmares i thought were gone but now were back stronger then ever took everything i had.

I sat down in bed, the small container with meds in my hand. The rain continued to pour down outside, the darkness slowly rising more above in the skies just like my heart it was almost unbearable to tolerate all of this conscious, taking the meds in one gulp i waited for the effects to start and so on slowly my body began to drift into the deep sleep.

For once, let me sleep without a single dream in mind. No more nightmares.

But the pills stopped working a long time ago.

I walked a dark path of a long corridor, my stpes were muffled by a red carpet that fallowed the floors of the corridor.

I wasnt tired.

I wasnt running.

No one was coming to get me, my heart beat calmly on my chest and nothing happened.

I could see some lighter further ahead on the left and fallowed till im inside a big room, the enormous fireplace illuminated the room and from the fire i could make out two couches on each side and a small tea table between them.

My attention was focused on a painting above the fireplace which i could tell was the “The fall of rabel angels” from Pieter Bruegel the Elder.

The sudden deep chuckle behind me makes me turn around quickly, fear rising up my chest but i see nothing. Taking steps slowly closer to the fireplace until I feel myself collide with someone, turning on my heels im meet with amber eyes and a re haired men.

The fire burned brighter behind him and in an abrupt movement he takes me by the neck, turning my self aaround so my back is against his body he holding my chin forcing me to look into his amber eyes as i watch them slowly fade into red crimson.

“don’t worry, this wont hurt…”

Was all he mumbles into my face before showing his fangs, an almost demonic face staring into mine i could feel my whole body panicking colder then ever felt.

I could still hear his deep laugh as i lost consciousness, eyes feeling so heavy being forced to open as my body shakes in his arms. I was abruptly woken up cold sweat sliding down my neck making me feel even more uncomfortable, the loud noise of my phone ringing waking me up fully.

I took it not looking who’s the caller.

“hello?” my voice was still muffled and raspy, throat dry.

“y/n? Are you okay?” jungkooks rushed voice said on the other side.

I felt my whole body immediately wake up at the sound of his voice. He was okay.

I didnt know what to say in that moment it felt unreal but i was so relieved to finally hear his voice, everything seemed to fall back to its place in that moment.

“I’m fine, i was so worried about you….” i tell him honestly “I’m so sorry i even went to your house.”

He chuckled and i cold almost picture his teasingly smiling.

“i know that…. I’m flattered you care that much for me” he said.

“how could i not? You are my best friend.”

“I know. Sorry I made you worry that much, i wont do that again kitten.”

I looked at the clock on my nightstand as it marked half past nine, stomach rumbles in hunger. An entire day has gone already and invent had single bite of food.

“oh my was that an alien?” he said, a deep laughter coming from the other side of the line.

“you heard that?” I exclaimed embarrassed, cheeks hitting up.

“hard not to, have you not feed the family of aliens in your stomach?” he playfully says, I could definitely picture the grin he had on his face as he said that.

“i will right now…” i groaned.

“yes do that, ill see you tomorrow at the grill?”

“yeah… text me the time” i tell him.

“will do boss, bye.”

“bye, Jungkook.”

With that i hung up the call, feeling the smile grow on my face.

For as much as my nightmares and illusions bring the bitterness of me i could always count on Jungkook to change that, he was always able to filter out all of that darkness from my heart.

Hearing my stomach roar in hunger again i’d decide to finally commit to feeding it, feeling completely refreshed now knowing my best friend was fine and safe i made my way downstairs to get some food.

The sight i saw as I went downstairs was almost enough to make me regret it completely my decision and alsmot go back to my room, watching as my mother sat in the couch with one of her boyfriends drinking beer as they’re watched a football match smoke do cigarettes filling the small tv room.

I felt like throwing up but I wouldn’t let this be the end of my day, taking my purse i took the back door and decided to go have dinner at the one place i knew would be opened this late. The Grill.

The light rain hasn’t stopped since it started today, deep in my heart I knew the air in Srping Villa had changed again. A feeling I was hoping I would never felt again ever since this small town was turned upside down, but all was gone.

My thoughts were in pieces and for at least the end of this night I just wanted to forget everything and enjoy a meal.

That was my only concern the moment I sat down in on of the tables close to the bar at the Grill, French fries in front of me and a cup with coffee. The only thing they would serve at this late night but o was grateful for it.

I was quietly eating my fries listening to the low voices around me, there were only a few people at the Grill tonight. Certainly the accident that happened last night did shaken some sense into people’s minds for once, a reminder that this place was not only a tourist attraction but it had its stories.

I dared to look up once I was almost finished eating my food, inmost chocking upon the scene a few tables away from mine on the corner.

There was the red haired men I meet earlier at Jungkooks house and Jimin, they seemed to be in a fun chat with two girls sitting between the two of them.

I could see how Jimin would push aside the hair of the girl beside him, clearly expressing flirtatious acts towards her.

It would take a genius to understand what was happening there, knowing it isn’t made me feel any better too.

As they got up and walked to the exit I tired my best to hide my presence, not waning to make anything more difficult.

Watching as Jiminclosed one arm around the girls neck, as they left the Grill.

I still remember Hoseoks words at the bonfire last night, that couldn’t be my minds doing. I knew he told me Jimin and Jungkook had something going on together and that was what made me even more uneasy.

If they do then why would Jimin be going out with that girl?

Why would he do such thing to Jungkook?

I immediately scensored myself, it’s none of my business I shouldn’t be even thinking about such things.

But as his friend also, I should at least make sure I’m no just jumping to wrong conclusions. I could be just misunderstanding what was happening.

Not daring much to overthink it I got up making my way to the exit, I was afraid I might’ve lose them by now but they were still close by. Walking a few feet behind them making sure to keep a good distance I fallowed as they walked around the night streets, so far nothing had happened.

Once I saw them take another turned I stoped - this is wrong, I shouldn’t be fallowing them like this.

With a sight I turned back to leave but ended up crashing with someone else.

“I’m so sorry….”

I mumbled turning around before harshly being pulled back.

“Hey!” I stare angrily at the girl who pulled me back.

The girls says nothing at first, she had grin on her face as she looks at me up and down. She didn’t look like someone from around here and I sure never saw here in town before, the girl was taller then as she wore heels, a dress glued to her body and a jacket over it.

“Watch your tone little girl… you’re no match for me” the girl says, taking a step closer to me till she’s nearly a centimeter away.

The more I stared at her the more I stared to feel a dimly tingling sensation over my body, it was making me feel colder and uncomfortable. I could feel my brain screaming and gut in unison for me to run, that something didn’t felt right. But I was paralyzed in that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to speak or move.

“Well since your here… let’s make this the best of it, hum?” The girl pulled me by the wrist.

I try to pull away from her grip but I was suddenly struck by a painful feeling as she bite into my wrist, a loud groan comes out of my mouth as I feel her sharp teeth rip through my skin.

Her eyes where completely black as she stared at me, I try to fight her, to pull her back but it was impossible she was so much stronger.

In that moment all I could hear was my own heart pounding in my chest, my entire body was shivering and my legs were shaking. The pain burned through my entire arm.

It was so fast that I could nearly process the moment the girl was ripped off my arm, I fall to my knees breathing quickly as I look up to the red haired men I saw this morning holding her against the wall by the neck.

I looked the red hair in panic, but I couldn’t tell who he was anymore. A chill spreads down my spine as his eyes were no longer the amber color I knew but red just like blood, in a second he bit into the girls neck and I watched in horror as blood splattered across the air, the girl groan out in pain and I looked away as the sounds of flesh being ripped off continued. No, this can’t be real - i begged.

It’s just another illusion of my mind, I’m sure I’m heaving another dream.

I could feel my whole body shake with my have breathing, heart racing faster by the seconds I was completely losing myself into panic.

Holding tighter to my burning arm, blood wetting the surface of my shirt and everything around it. The smell of it was getting stronger, something I knew but wasn’t used to it.

It wasn’t until I felt a grip into my shoulder that was able to move again.

“no!” i exclaimed, fearing it was red hair now ready to end me aswell but i felt myself slowly calming as im meet with Jimins worried expression.

“it’s okay y/n….” he murmured. “it’s me y/n.”

He helped me get back up on my feet, hands holding my shoulders he looked into my eyes.

“i’m so sorry for this” he said.

My eyes looked behind him were the red hair men stood, blood dripping down his lips as he smirked.

I didn’t know what to say, my mind was blank in that moment I didn’t know what was real.

“oh no… you’re…”Jimin said between pauses looking down at my arm “hurt…”

He sounded much lower and I notice the change in his eyes the moment he looked at me bloody arm, how hos brown eyes faded into red crimson pointy fangs showing.

“what happened here?!”

I blinked a couple times before looking up at the worried face of my best friend.

“Jungkook?” I called breathless.

Upon Jungkooks voice I felt myself wake up fully, and with that came the realization of the situation.

I pushed Jimin away rushing towards Jungkook and almost falling over my own feet, feeling my body getting colder and vision blurring.

He quickly catches me and I let myself be immersed into his warmth.

Leaning away I searched for his eyes.

“what is happening kook?” I asked.

He sighted looking at the two men behind me.

“opsie…” even without looking I could tell that wa the red haired men, his mocking deep voice.

“I’ll explain everything y/n I just need to make sure you’re…” he stopped, looking down between us to my arm.

I stared in panic as his eyes faded into bloody red eyes.

They were all the same.

“you’re hurt…” he said.

I feared I had lost myself completely in my insanity but this felt too real to be another illusion form my mind, too painful to be unreal.

The same as I saw in all my nightmares.

“Jungkook…. What are you?”

…..

Notes: this is it for the first part of the story, taglist? Comment if you want to be tagged! I love you guys hope you like this one, until the next one! 🫶☺️

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 24 days ago

Text

Vampire's Kiss | Chapter Five

Pairing | Vampire!Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 7,5k

Warnings | +18, smut, oral sex, kiss on kiss (!!!❤️), Jungkook is a super sexy vampire and his eyes change color, breast worship, body worship, pussy worship, our vampire boy is a real gentleman, sweetness and adoration, it's Jungkook's first time with a human woman so he's surprised by certain reactions of MC's body, big dick, foreplay, mild biting, Jungkook keeps his instincts at bay (poor boy. ..), vaginal sex, care after sex, at the end of the chapter some anxiety …

⤷ Summary | Humans have finally unveiled and accepted the centuries-old existence of vampires, in a modern world people share their lives with these peculiar and mysterious creatures, but it is not all roses.

Will two souls belonging to such different species be able to be together?

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! ❤️ I am back with the fifth chapter of VK and I warn you, it will be mostly smut! A reader asked me to continue the story and having chapters ready I took the opportunity to publish this one! I know you are waiting for the story about Yoongi that I promised in March, unfortunately my life is full of work and it's like my happiness has been sucked away by a dementor 💀. But even though I am progressing slowly, the story is almost towards the end so I hope to publish it soon! In the meantime I leave you with this chapter and thank you as always for your support, I love you ❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie - @peterstarkchrishiddleston - @reallygenerouskoala - @btsuga-d - @angelicsmilesworld - @jimincrystal - @velvet-stardust2002 - @ke1k029 - @pantara - @lennieharper - @takemeaway5402 - @jkslaugh97 - @jaisilver

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Entering the elevator like two rowdies, Jungkook's lips take possession of yours as if they have always belonged to him, one of his hands goes up to hold you still and with his tongue voluptuously traces each flap of soft skin, he seems intent on not wanting to let you go and you taste the firm flavor of wine with pleasure from his own soft, rosy tongue. Your eyes flutter when, he not content, he sneaks under your dress with his other hand, brushing against one of your thighs with ardent curiosity, squeezing the flesh as if that was always the place of his hand.

He pulls away from you slightly to whisper, “That's the way you want me, isn't it?” he emphasizes those words by pushing your pelvis against his, you moan against his lips and a flush of arousal gets the better of you, apart from your panties there is nothing else to protect you from his presence, “I wanted to be good to you, I wanted to be a real knight,” he murmurs an expletive, squinting his eyes dark with lust as he inhales the air.

“But I want a vampire” you sigh against his lips.

His irises glow red, you wordlessly admire that peculiar coloring, but he holds you in a needy, strong embrace, as if to keep you from seeing them, his shoulders tremble slightly at your admission, “Your scent is everywhere, baby” he murmurs in your ear in a persuasive voice, "Think of how many humans will come in here and without realizing it will breathe you in" your heart loses a beat at the idea, your intimacy throbs without you being able to hold back the tremor, it is exciting to think of such a thing.

Jungkook goes back to nibbling your lower lip, licking it occasionally, you chase it with all your might, unable to stop.

“But don't worry, my darling... only I know how delicious your scent is” with a gentle ‘ding’ the elevator doors open, inviting you to get out as soon as possible, Jungkook guides you out without ever taking his eyes or hands off you, you read the desire in his every action and it surely reflects your own as well.

In front of your door you frantically search for the keys to open it, and once you do the boy is not slow to enter, almost tumbling in because of your haste, you have no time to laugh, he slams the door violently, making you jerk in surprise.

He voraciously swallows your exclamation into his mouth, enjoying the warmth that he lacks, and you reciprocate with transport, wanting him to feel pleasure in more ways than one, and if that means making him feel your human warmth, then that's okay too.

You tighten your arms around his neck, wanting to breathe him in and make him yours, you will declare yourself satisfied only when you have succeeded in imprinting him in you forever.

His fingers trace the contours of your waist, climbing higher and higher, until he reaches the edge of your breasts, eagerly squeezing your body, not allowing himself to really touch it.

You pull away breathlessly, “What are you doing?”

“I need your permission,” he whispers, making you smile.

“Do vampires need permission to touch a woman, kind of like the little story that you can't cross the threshold of a house without the master's invitation?”

He shakes his head gently, his dark eyes again shining with an amused sparkle that you watch spellbound.

“No, I just want to make sure you really want this.”

Butterflies flutter to your beating heart, you caress a snow-white cheek softly, “I want everything you can give me, Jungkook and I definitely want this” you deliberately emphasize the last word, honestly you have dreamed of such a moment too many times, you want to enjoy it in reality too.

As if to show him you mean it, you accompany him to your room. You turn on the lights and he finally see where you spend your nights thinking about him, he surrounds your hips with a bright face, lowering himself to give you a kiss on the forehead.

“You have no idea how happy you're making me, if we don't go further tonight I'll still feel satisfied, you know? Even just your presence means a lot to me.”

You think his reassurances are awfully nice, you press a hand to his chest, at the level of a heart that is no longer pumping life, you want to be the one to restart it, and you wave him over to the bed covered with soft sheets, he sits on the edge next to you, sighing in pleasure tilting his head back as you plant a soft kiss on his skin, right where a lovely little mole shows off, you continue further and further toward his well-defined jawline, his skin as smooth and velvety as the petals of a rose, you lightly clench your teeth on his flesh in a small provocative gesture, but you can go no further, he puts an end to your seduction plan before it can even be implemented and like a hawk he swoops down to capture your lips again, plundering your mouth without hesitation and with his hands on your shoulders he forces you to surrender to his strength, bringing your back to match the mattress beneath you.

Without any more embarrassment or indecision his strong hands cup your breasts, probing their shapes carefully, and you have to move away from his ravenous mouth to catch your breath. He smoothly continues his attentions and tickles your nipples with curiosity, pinching them playfully from above the light fabric of your dress; instinctively you spread your legs and arch your back, unknowingly giving him a chance to settle between them, heedless of the strong presence that goes hardening in his denim pants.

His dark eyes leave out no expression that takes shape on your face with each of his slow caresses, amused by the stiff tips pushing at the fabric, trying to get his attention.

“You're not even wearing a bra...” he blows in your ear, uncontrollable shivers traveling straight to your core, which clenches with pleasure, begging him to take any action.

“It-it's the dress, not... “ you stammer, the boy hums thoughtfully and your breath stops as he drops his head to your chest, from your view you can only see his hair, but you can clearly feel the slight bite he leaves at the stiff tip of one nipple, it's delicate, but you can sense how sharp his teeth are, and a jolt of pleasure stronger than the others makes you sigh in delight, with one leg you wrap around his side to keep him from pulling away, while a more lascivious moan escapes from your throat at the light sucking that follows the bite.

His large hands glide like snakes over your hot thighs, and move up your bare skin confidently, taking the rest of your dress with them past your hips, then higher and higher, and with a few quick gestures you are naked under his eager gaze, were it not for the panties - lace - that still conceal your intimacy with regard, except then you feel a damp stain on the fabric, you should feel embarrassment, but Jungkook looks at you as if you were a goddess and that helps you get over it.

He does not focus on your bare breasts as you expect, rather he takes his time to simply look at you, before giving you a sweet, lingering kiss on the cheek, even as he pulls away you feel tingling where he has just kissed you, your eyes becoming slightly moist. You feel there is something different with him, a level of intimacy you have never experienced with anyone else.

“You are so beautiful, you leave me breathless,” he murmurs fondly, before leaning over you.

Then it's just a slow, meandering descent into carnal sin, his tongue darting over one of your turgid little buttons with adoration, watching in amazement as it swells and turns scarlet under his insistent, curious tongue, as if he had never seen such a reaction to his own touches before he met you, and as he leaves a trail of wet kisses and bites with each of your moans, he unhesitatingly sucks every patch of skin his attention rests on, where he cannot reach with his mouth, he leaves it to his hands to take care of it, kneading the flesh of the other breast with appreciation, putting pressure on the other sensitive nipple each time you pull at his strands. After a deep moan he pushes his cock harder and harder against the sheets, the thought of what he is hiding under all those clothes does not leave your thoughts, you want to have him naked on top of you, inside you, and he does seem of the same opinion.

Jungkook pulls away from your breasts battered by his teeth and glistening with his saliva, his own lips are swollen and moist, his lip piercing glistens mischievously against the tip of his tongue, which leaves one last wet trail. The sight is so erotic that you try to kiss him once more, but with a devious smile he pulls away returning to your body, with little open-mouthed kisses that make you shiver with impatience. He is eating your body with painful slowness.

“Quietly, baby,” he whispers on your belly, you squeeze your eyes shut whimpering, the pain of unfulfilled pleasure between your legs is unbearable, "Be a good girl and you'll get your present," he chuckles cruelly, his hands returning to caress the inside of your thighs, reveling in their softness, each touch is always a greater trail of wet kisses that Jungkook deposits on the skin of your lower abdomen, never venturing down where you most demand his attention, never giving you the satisfaction you so much seek.

His hand travels up your soft skin like a cloud, going to graze the edge of your briefs, a choked moan escapes your lips at the idea that he might finally please you, he sneaks under the fabric and touches your hot pussy with sensual calm, shivers run through your entire body as an exclamation escapes him; “Oh, God...”

Your gaze flies to him, his face shows a surprised expression that immediately leaves him. With your heart in your throat you wonder why he said those words.

“What is it?” you ask with a dry mouth, he swallows softly.

“You're so wet, and hot.... I didn't expect that” any strange doubt is swept away with a laugh, which is promptly silenced by his thumb moving over your swollen clitoris carefully, he plays with it slowly, taking his time to study the way it contracts and makes you drip, you drop your head between the pillows breathing heavily, the sensation is divine and finally that pain in a small part shuts up, giving way to a pleasure that sends hot flashes to the tips of your hair. You feel so wet and soft that you would even be ready to welcome him into you right away.

His face moves lower and you arch your back slightly, reacting to the chaste kiss he leaves on your still-covered mound, you clench the sheets in your fists, your breathing getting heavier as the vampire lays more light kisses, but he suddenly stops with the circular thumb motions and you are tempted to scream in protest, before you notice his fingers latching onto the edge of your briefs to pull them off.

“I wonder... will you be as sweet as your perfume?” a sly smile makes room on his face as his eyes chain you in a silent plea.

“Jungkook, please... stop making me wait, I want you,” you beg him to get a move on, you can't stand all that procrastination anymore, and for a moment you have the idea of telling him to go to hell.

“I want you too, you don't know how much, my love” you widen your eyes at the way he just called you, just in time to see his tongue licking your glistening entrance, going all the way up to your clitoris, there his lips latch onto that pulsing, stiff pearl of arousal, his tongue rolls over it once more and, oh fuck.

“D-Don't stop!” you exclaim, your legs stiffening as his fingers sink into the flesh of your thighs to keep them wide open, as if to prove that he is the one getting much more joy out of what he is doing.

You are petrified with bliss, your hips moving toward his mouth in desperation and in response with the polished tip of that soft muscle he moistens your soggy opening, moving back and forth slowly between your sagging and trembling folds.

One of your hands reaches up and clasps his silky dark strands, begging him to stay there and feast on you, and not letting him say it twice he sprinkles your pussy with several sloppy, wet kisses, only to resume sucking the tender pink bud soon after, taking it gently between his teeth in agonizing torture, you murmur disconnected words that even you can't understand, you are burning all over and a long moan leaves your throat when his tongue collects the transparent essence gushing from your trembling slit, he closes his eyes continuing that wonderful smooth and wet movement, small spasms take control of your limbs and you look for a moment to recover away from him, but his index finger gently penetrates the slit he is playing with, making space between the walls that immediately tighten around him, tormented by pleasure. Your legs imprison him in a grip that would leave a normal human being breathless. He soon adds another finger, working his way in a little hard, but you love with all your soul that slight burning sensation from long abstinence. You whimper asking for more, thrust your hips into his face, and he separates his lips from your folds, leaving behind a glossy trail that smears his chin.

“Ssssh. You're too tight, I might hurt you,” he admonishes you, but you shake your head.

“That's not true, you just want me to beg you to fuck me!” you growl and something in his eyes changes, they get darker and he pushes his finger more roughly inside you. You hold your breath at the change in speed, his fingers reaching places that would have been impossible for you to find, it's getting more and more complicated trying not to go crazy.

“I just want to make you beg me to fuck you, is that it? No, honey... Here the one begging to fuck you is me, but as a gentleman I'm preparing my lady properly, can't you see my efforts?” he growls, before giving quick, short licks to your scarlet clit, which vibrates desperately under his care.

“J-Jungkook... Wait, I don't want to come like this,” you whimper again, inhaling when he adds a third finger, your pussy swallowing the new intrusion with delight, moving rhythmically with him, your belly sending waves of pleasurable heat to the rest of your body.

The boy pulls away slightly, without stopping moving his fingers, churning between the walls as your clitoris throbs unceasingly in search of more attention. He himself looks a mess, the blackness of his eyes completely absorbed by the dark red of his true nature, his lips are pregnant with your taste and he licks them carefully, cleaning up every trace of you. He is beautiful. He is not hiding and this makes you smile slightly.

“You're so warm and sweet, baby,” he moans, pressing his forehead against your thigh, you're wet with sweat and you notice that his hair is curling because it's damp in turn. Fuck, it's terribly sexy and you spontaneously clench around his fingers still inside you, “I'd stay here eating you for hours and hours, your taste is more delicious than the blood I'm used to drinking” he confesses tightening his lips, forcing himself to let go of your heat, a part of you is sorry.“I'll do as you want this time” he brings his two glistening fingers to his mouth, sucking them as he looks at you greedily, those damn intense eyes of his communicate the desire he hides behind an innocent face.

He gets down on his knees on the bed, beginning to unbutton his shirt and you immediately go to help him, curious to see what he looks like under his clothes, he lets you do it with a small smile, which you kiss immediately, you can't get enough of his mouth.

As the buttons are opened, more and more alabaster skin is put on display, with well-defined, massive muscles that your fingers graze with desire, you caress each bundle of muscles and his wonderful narrow waist, admiring him as if you had a work of art in front of you.

You attach your lips to his neck without a second thought, licking him gently before sucking his soft skin, his hands settle on your hips, clasping you to his chest to give you more access to his neck, while your smaller ones reach for his belt, which you open quite quickly, barely registering the sound of metal falling somewhere on the floor, you again provocatively bite the space between his shoulder and neck, and this time he lets a faint gasp escape, kissing you under your ear and then further and further down to your throat, never opening his mouth too much. Yes, that's his weak spot. Something in your bite turns him on, something that perhaps ... also wants to push him to bite you.

He pulls away slightly to unzip his jeans, you are not ashamed to watch him free his cock from his pants, his boxers do nothing to hide the powerful shape he usually tries to keep at bay, there is a darker spot on the fabric, at the height of the tip, and you swallow.

“I've never seen a naked vampire, to be honest,” you say almost shyly, he smiles releasing his boxers, showing you his erection, and you widen your eyes at the sight.

None of your previous partners were this size, not to mention just magnificent, on the rosy tip shines clear liquid and the soft skin perfectly envelops that size which, you know, is hard as marble, you felt it as it was pressed against your thigh, he must have been in a lot of pain.

Jungkook takes his cock in his hand teasingly, giving himself some preparatory caresses with languidly half-closed eyes, his skin is so clear that you can see his blue veins, Jungkook as a vampire mixes such an elegant yet vigorous beauty that it makes your mouth water.

“You're the first human I've ever tasted like that, and believe me when I say I found you delicious...” you blush as you reach for his cock, gently tightening your grip on that velvety, stiff skin, you run your thumb over the tip, sprinkling that liquid all over his rod pulsing between your fingers, you feel like taking him in your mouth and tasting him, knowing what gives him pleasure and at what speed he'd prefer to fuck your throat, Jungkook gently stops you, ”Not now, sweetheart... later you can have as much fun as you want, right now I just need to get inside you,” he whispers in your ear, pinning your hand against his cock and pushing you back onto the bed, you quiver under his hands like a cat in heat, and maybe that's just what you are.

He nibbles gently at the column of your neck and tilts your head to give him a better angle, you enjoy the gentleness used to keep from tearing your skin apart and open your legs inviting him to do what he wants with you, he takes a moment to go back to teasing with his fingers the bundle of nerves that makes you whimper lustfully, the fingers are soon replaced by his cock.

He presses on your folds pushing back and forth, wincing with a moan with each caress. He embraces you in need and with an emotional warmth you've never experienced before. You push your fingers over his shoulders, sinking your nails into his skin as he catches your entrance without really going in, he slowly kisses the lips of your delicate slit with his cock before penetrating inside you in one sinuous lunge, you immediately feel yourself split in two and moan open-mouthed, his hips end up pressing against yours and you feel wonderfully complete with him inside you.

He remains still between the yielding flesh that welcomes him, you see him close his eyes, inhaling slowly.

“Fuck...” he blows through his teeth, a few drops of sweat beading on his forehead, and you dislodge a few wisps of his hair that have clung to his forehead, "You're amazing, how have I lived so far without you?" he trembles as you clench around him at those words, and not content he goes deeper.

You move your pelvis against his and he slowly starts moving again, stepping out slightly and then stepping back in gently, feeling his full weight against your body is an all-encompassing sensation that you will never tire of. He drags his lips down your chest, reattaching himself to one of your nipples shamelessly, sucking and pulling on it with his dangerously sharp teeth. Increasing the power of his mighty lunges, your soft walls twitch with delight as his length comes to stimulate a specific spot inside you, fuck, he's so big you can feel him reach all the way to your stomach, you arch your back unable to do anything else but stand there and take it. You almost cry when the pearl hidden between the folds throbs unbearably, begging for attention that Jungkook seems unwilling to give you for the moment.

You drive your nails into his shoulders, a scream manages to escape your mouth at the umpteenth time he enters you more forcefully.

You cast a glance down between you, his lower abdomen seems moist with something, the inside of your trembling thighs is too, and then you understand, that is your out-of-control arousal, a sigh from him catches your attention.

“Do you see how beautiful you look as you take me like a good girl?” he growls an inch from your lips, making you gasp before he kisses you hard. You willingly take his tongue into your mouth, sensing the aftertaste of your flavor lingering in him, a shuddering, uncontrolled breath makes room in you, his pelvis collides faster with yours, his lips fall back on your sweat-soaked neck, and there you notice something very different.

Something long and sharp is dragged across your skin, which ripples shivering under his care, you intuit that it is the tip of his fangs, he continues to drag them gently with each forbidden thrust of his hips. The knowledge that you could receive a bite at any moment makes you stiffen, making the stretch of your cunt that much tighter, your heart pumps blood fast, arousing you like never before, and Jungkook's eyes widen, invested by all those sensations assaulting you, “Holy-!” he exclaims, before increasing the pace of his uncontrolled lunges, dragging you with him into a vortex of insatiable enjoyment.

You meet the thrusts with your pelvis asking for more, your walls flicker around his cock, willingly welcoming each of his overpowering lunges, with your hands he grasps your thighs tightening them around him, he tilts your pelvis toward his planting wet kisses and light bites in the hollow of your neck, imagine what you might feel on receiving a bite from him, perhaps a mix of excruciating pain and mind-numbing pleasure, your pelvis twitches repeatedly, an intoxicating sensation warms your belly and you tremble violently, Jungkook holds you close to him as his fingers return to torture your swollen clit.

“Oh! Shit,” you sob in shock.

He slows down his thrusts and continues to stimulate you in quick circles that you try to escape, "Ssh, ssh...come, baby.... I know you can do it, you're my obedient human, right?" your breath catches in your throat, pleasure expanding from your tight walls to your stiffening clitoris before a long series of pleasurable jolts work their way throughout your body, concentrating in one powerful orgasm that leaves you breathless.

Jungkook resumes with hard and fast thrusts, continuing to murmur how wonderful and perfect you were for him, taking advantage of your orgasm to trigger his. In the throes of overstimulation you feel his hot semen deliciously invade your pussy, reaching your belly and you gasp at his final lunges, just at that moment his teeth bite lightly into your flesh, without piercing your skin as you would have expected, you feel the stiffness of his shoulders under your hands, before he begins to lick the spot he has chosen, just at this instant he is showing you exceptional self-control.

Jungkook remains inside you a little longer, his head pressed against your breasts, letting your heartbeats lull him as you run your fingers through his wet strands. Even after he comes, his size barely changed, he fills your intimacy smoothly.

“How was I, for a human?” you giggle with a dry throat, he smiles against your skin.

“I don't think I can describe it in simple words,” he brings one of your hands to his lips, affectionately kissing your knuckles , “The only thing I know is that I would repeat everything from the beginning.”

You shake your head, your eyes are beginning to close, “Oh, please ... give me a moment to breathe,” he untangles himself from your legs and immediately you have to deal with several things.

The uncomfortable sensation of his sudden absence hits you hard, and at the same time your legs are screaming in pain, you close them with difficulty, and when you do, his semen is pushed slightly out of your intimacy. You gasp, your only concern now is taking a shower.

The fact that he cum inside you is not a problem, a human and a vampire cannot have children after all.

That thought leaves you a little bitter in the mouth, in truth, but you can't help it.

“I need a shower...will you join me?” you ask shyly to the figure lying on his stomach, your eyes immediately falling on his sculpted buttocks and trying hard not to open your eyes wide, indignant you wonder how you dared not touch that heavenly work, designed by the angels themselves.

With a smile he nods and gets up smoothly, “Lead the way.”

You go to the bathroom together, where waiting for you is a shower large enough to accommodate you and his immense size, he does nothing sexual as he helps you rub your skin gently, you lean wearily against his chest, selfishly letting him do all the work, his hands quiet as he cleanses you from the fragrant lather of your favorite bubble bath.

“Now we'll dry off, hmm?” you nod absentmindedly at his words, barely registering the towel dabbing at your skin, you're tremendously tired, you just want to sleep, to witness this a yawn escapes your control. He laughs lightly, guiding you to the bed completely naked, not that there's a problem, it wouldn't be the first time you've slept with only sheets to cover you.

You notice in the half-light his figure looking for something and frown, “What are you doing?” you murmur, he stops his movements.

“I'm going home- I wouldn't want to disturb you,” he replies unsurely, you narrow your eyes, aware that he can see you in the dark.

"Disturb me after all I've let you do? Don't be an idiot and go back to bed, Jeon," you mutter, he accordingly gives up the search for his clothes and joins you with a smile.

He wraps his arms around your sides and drops his head against your shoulder, sighing quietly.

“Does that mean I passed the test?” he asks with amusement, you smile slightly with your eyes closed.

“With flying colors... it would mean you won't get rid of me so easily” you squeeze one of his hands between yours, pressing it against your chest.

“I'm glad to know that” he kisses your lips lightly, before settling in better, his chest against your back giving you a kind of security that helps balance your heartbeat.

That night you fall into a dreamless sleep, totally relaxed and exhausted.

You open your eyes slowly, looking confusedly at the window of your room, it is open and only the curtains protect your privacy, you wonder if you had forgotten it open last night, then a gentle ache between your legs reminds you of what happened on that bed and a squeal of embarrassment escapes your lips, you press the pillow to your face with a huge smile plastered on your face.

As you inhale you realize that his scent permeates every corner of your sheets, and you enjoy that fresh, masculine fragrance that still makes you feel wrapped in his arms. You would gladly stay in bed all day, if it weren't for your work, which certainly doesn't like to make life easy for you; Jungkook probably had the same thought, given his absence-maybe he ran home to get ready.

You kind of regret not waking up with him, but at least a note or message has to be there, right?

You struggle to lift yourself up, God--how are you going to walk in such conditions? You've been shot down like a beast in the middle of hunting season.

You look around, at the bedside table, at the bed itself--nothing, no romantic note as often happens in the movies. You check your phone and there too, no message.

You slowly get out of bed with tight lips, noticing only now that you are no longer naked, you are wearing one of your nightgowns that you surely didn't put on of your own accord, but why get dressed you rather than leave a message?

Maybe it's a vampire thing...

“I'm starving,” you mutter, not at all in the mood to start cooking anything, it's 7:00 a.m. and your shift will start at 8:15, you shake your head; milk and cereal sound better.

You put on your bunny-eared slippers and walk into the kitchen with the mood under your feet, still mulling over the fact that Jungkook might as well have written you something-.

“What the...” frozen, you stare wordlessly at the boy with his back turned who is preparing something in the pan that smells delicious, “Jungkook?” is more of a question than an exclamation, the boy gives no sign of being surprised to find you standing there. Of course, his senses must have picked up on your movements in the bedroom.

He turns slightly with a gentle smile, "Good morning, baby.... did you sleep well?" you don't miss the mischievous spark behind his words, you cough embarrassed.

That's why he didn't leave anything behind, he's still here.

“But what are you doing here, don't you have work today?” you ask, puzzled.

He's wearing the same clothes as the night before, but they're clearly more rumpled from the evening on the floor they spent, but he doesn't seem to mind.

“I called Yoongi, said I was feeling unwell and that he could take Namjoon my place for the morning shift, as for what I'm doing here- I'm taking care of my human, of course. Bacon and egg sandwiches is good, right?” he shows the contents of the pan and nods at the appetizing appearance, can he cook now too?

He looks pretty confident as he picks up cutlery and ingredients in your kitchen, a suspicion tingles in your mind, “Jungkook... but did you sleep last night?”

He shakes his head cheerfully, “Actually no, we vampires don't sleep at night,” you open your mouth slightly, then close it again.

Gosh, what did he do then all night?

Then how do vampires even work during the day?

“Take it easy, I enjoyed hearing you talk while you slept,” he says, taking two plates and two glasses, you widen your eyes.

“What?”.

His smile turns slightly wicked.

“You clung to me, but you kept repeating that you were cold” he chuckles and you would like to dig your own grave, ‘It's normal, we vampires have a different body temperature than yours, so I helped you a little’ he says pointing to what you are wearing, "Then I thought that after all the activity we did, you would be hungry so I studied the situation in the kitchen, memorizing the places where you keep the items, by the way, you should do the grocery shopping" he scolds you before putting the steaming plate in front of you.

That's one of the things your mom always scolds you too, you never feel like cooking and prefer to eat instant stuff from the supermarket, heck... you didn't expect such a lecture even from a vampire.

You take to eating in silence under his watchful gaze, the sandwich is seasoned to perfection and you don't mind continuing, evidently satisfied he takes to eating too, you remain spellbound for a few moments, can a person appear sexy just by the way he bites into a sandwich? You watch those lips close around his bite and the memory of what he did between your legs the night before pops into your mind. You clear your throat, searching for a way to calm your body's reactions.

“No need to hide, Y/N ... I really enjoyed it too, and if I think back on it I can think of many other ways to have fun” you choke on your eggs and immediately run to take a sip of water.

“You can't think of such things when we're eating!” you blurt out with teary eyes, in response he snuggles into his own shoulders with a tender smile.

“But even yesterday I was eating, yet you didn't complain.”

Oh, gosh. What happened to the boy who at first didn't even dare mention certain practices for fear of making you uncomfortable?

“You really are impossible...” you say wearily, your entire body seems to have been torn apart, and to your surprise he intertwines your fingers, leaving a gentle kiss on the back of your hand, your heart missing a beat.

“Just kidding, you know,” a faux-resentful snort escapes you, before you hear your cell phone ring.

Reluctantly you let go of his hand, “It must be for work, I'll be done in a moment.”

You go to the bedroom, casting a glance at the messy sheets, swallowing before grabbing the infernal thing, reading the name you turn to stone.

Sweet Jimin.

You pluck up courage and answer, keeping your voice low, you don't know to what extent vampire hearing works, certain is that you want to prevent Jungkook from learning certain details.

<<Jimin...>> you mumble his name like it's a curse, and in a way it is.

<<Y/N... please don't do that, I already feel like shit for what happened at the party>>.

You hiss his name one more time, <<Not now, I can't talk>>.

<<What? Why?>> he looks confused, taken aback, and you hold back the snort that was about to escape you.

<<Let's just say I'm in company ... in very good company, and it's not exactly the time to talk about such things, you know ... I too can have someone who wants me all to himself>>.

<<I never said otherwise, don't make me out to be a heartless being, now... I told you a thousand times it was not my intention to interrupt->> you inhale between your teeth to shut him up, you look alarmed at the bedroom door, but nothing is moving.

<<All right! I'll talk to you later, okay? I really don't have time now>> you hiss before shutting the phone in his face.

You're really running out of time, you're in danger of being late for work, and you run to get ready in the bathroom as fast as you can, when you get back to the kitchen you find two probing eyes, two beautiful probing eyes, waiting for you.

You're not really mad at Jimin, at the end of the day he's not really at fault, but remembering the role you're going to have to play once again nausea comes back to grip your gut, you have Jungkook now. You don't want to mess it up.

“Um... It was Jimin,” you say uneasily, Jungkook holding his chin with his hand, studying you carefully.

“I know, but you don't need to tell me, you and he are friends, right?” you look at him nervously.

Of course, you are friends, so why do you feel so uncomfortable telling him about Jimin? He knows absolutely nothing and never will, you can rest assured.

“Yes, yes! We are friends, but he just has a lot of time on his hands,” Jungkook melts into a small smirk.

“Give him time to find a girlfriend and we'll see if he still has time to call you” you freeze on the spot, he doesn't know Jimin has a girlfriend?

“But did something happen at the party? He seemed anxious to talk to you,” he continues, and at least you can tell him that, after all it's about your relationship.

“He feels bad about what happened at the party, you know--his inappropriate interruption, he doesn't know we're dating.”

Jungkook nods, intertwining his fingers, “Don't you want to let him know for the time being?” that question slightly unsettles you, doesn't it! You simply haven't had a chance to talk to each other face to face anymore.

“No, no! That's not it at all, what the heck are you saying? I haven't had a chance to tell him, as you explained yourself, you're working like hell too... in truth I expected you to be the one to tell him.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Me? Why me?”

With a catlike smile you approach his figure, going to trace his features with your fingers, stopping at his well-delineated jaw, “Don't you males usually mark your territory?” you ask sarcastically.

He follows your caress with half-closed eyes, “Us males, huh?” he is quite amused, “I've already marked what I had to mark tonight, believe me, every vampire will know you're mine... especially Jimin” he grabs your hips, pushing you onto his muscular thighs and in response you bring your arms around his neck, placing your nose in the crook of his neck. You enjoy his scent, which is now mixed with yours as well; he must have showered using your products, and this makes you stupidly excited.

“That's not fair,” you mutter, ”How will the vampires know that you are mine? I don't have anything in particular I can leave on you.”

He flinches slightly so he can look at you, there is joy shining in his eyes, “Baby, I have your scent everywhere, maybe you won't smell it, but it won't go unnoticed by vampires,” you are still not completely convinced. You want to see with your own eyes something that binds him to you.

“You haven't convinced me, Jeon... I have to be sure.”

In response he cradles your lips in another sweet kiss, you sense a hint of moisture when he opens his, inviting you to taste him again, you don't let him tell you twice and sink your hand into his hair as he takes possession of your mouth again.

His hand travels down your side, feeling and squeezing the flesh hidden by your shirt, you tighten your thighs around his waist in an attempt to calm the pleasurable throbbing between your legs, but groan in annoyance when your phone starts ringing again.

You reluctantly pull away, notice his eyes no longer as black as a raven's feathers, but a shade that wanders to reddish brown; he must have gotten nervous, too.

“It's definitely work this time,” you mutter a few inches from his face, "I have to go.”

You make to get off, but his grip on your wrist stops you, you stare at him confused, his expression so serious that you feel strange.

“At dinner I made you a proposition and I threw it out for a laugh, but I was serious. Come work with me.”

The butterflies in your stomach multiply to such an extent that they catch your heart and make him take flight, you smile at the sight of his face so serious and determined, having to admit that his proposal is not bad at all. But there is always a but.

The two of you. You could stay together as well as you could break up. In the last case it would be rather awkward to work together. You don't feel like giving him a straight answer.

“With you, or for you?” you ask amusedly, his smile showing off his perfectly white, sharp canines, but it's wonderful for you to see that smile come to life so closely.

“Does it really matter?” he asks mischievously, "It would be exciting either way," his hands slide down your thighs, slightly lifting the light fabric covering them, scenes from the night just past come to life in your mind, but you shake your head away from his bewitching figure.

“I will think about it, Jeon... You'll have my answer soon.”

You arrive at the office in a subdued mood, not wanting to leave Jungkook alone, but work was calling. Before leaving home he promised he would tidy up a bit before leaving in turn, this makes you smile.

A vampire cleaning a human being's house? That would be a moment to frame.

You walk in sullenly, trying not to point out your rather odd walk, Jungkook went pretty hard the night before, but you're not complaining about sore legs and your most sensitive pussy, you're loving this, and the image of Jungkook fucking you in the copy room becomes more delirious.

As you expect, Valentine is there taking calls with an annoyed look. She doesn't even make eye contact with you, and for that you are grateful; perhaps she realized that she had been bugging the wrong person and would now stop pestering you with her idle chatter.

You sit down, ready to suffer your boss's anguish already early in the morning, open the notepad you always keep in your desk drawer to read that day's appointments, but something else catches your attention.

On the open page of the mass of papers used to take notes or scribble phone numbers is a small post-it note folded in on itself.

You cast a suspicious glance at Valentine, but she is not paying even a little attention to you.

You take a deep breath and open it, unsure of what might be written there. Maybe it's from the boss, but it's strange. If there was something he wanted he would have come and yelled it in your face, he's not the type to write post-its and hide them, then!

Bad choice.

You widen your eyes.

You study your surroundings, the knot in your stomach returning to weigh down your breath.

“Valentine?” you call in her direction, she gives you an annoyed look, but does not look away.

“What do you want now? I'm busy.” the instinct to growl at her is suppressed, but it remains there, below the surface.

You show her the post-it note with an icy stare.

“This is a joke on your part, isn't it? Are you trying to scare me?” she narrows her eyes in response.

“Oh, no! I had nothing to do with it this time, look elsewhere for the culprit,” she blurts, turning away.

With her out of the way, you already know who to suspect with more confidence.

Someone knocks on the door and you gasp at the sound, Valentine breaks into a smile, and you... You look up fearfully, from the glass door Yoongyu is smiling at you.

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spookyserenades · 8 months ago

Text

Sanctity - Chapter One

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Vampire!AU, yandere!AU, horror, themes of the supernatural and mythology, historical topics, vampiric powers, religious themes, violence, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, toxic behavior including stalking, torture, and manipulation, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Word Count; 22.8k

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Hello my loves! For those who do not know me from Trouvaille, this is Dana! I am very pleased and excited to share this brand-new series with you. It has been a longtime desire of mine to write a story with vampires. Sanctity was born from a love of history and a past with yandere stories. I sincerely hope you enjoy this first chapter and the love that was poured into it!

WARNING! There are instances of gore, including cutting. Suicidal language is used, so please be warned if this is triggering to you.

Next Chapter

The bell struck six in the crumbling belltower, two young men in white robes pulling on the rope to swing the massive metal fixture to and fro. The haunting sound sent a murder of crows scattering across the steadily darkening sky when they were startled from their perches on the Sanctuary’s roof. Y/N peered out of the arched window curiously, halting her task of wiping down the glass with an old, weathered rag, distant yearning filling her as she watched the black birds fly away to the greater unknown.

“Y/N, it’s time to wash up for dinner,” Meredith, a fellow ‘acolyte’ and friend, reminded her, setting aside the wooden broom she was using to sweep the hallway they were working in.

Suppressing an agitated grunt, Y/N simply nodded, rising from her knees and adjusting the cream linen skirt she was wearing, the hem of it dirtied from skimming the old stone floors all day. Following the blonde girl, the wispy curls on her nape appeared silver in the darkened, wintery hallways, Y/N wondered when the Sanctuary would allow them to light the sconces in the frigid building so the acolytes wouldn’t be numb and stiff by the end of the unforgiving November evenings. Not that the wardens actually cared one way or another if the acolytes were cold, as long as they were alive, blood still running through their veins, resources wouldn’t be wasted on a few paltry fires.

“You know, electricity exists. Doesn’t it bother you that we’re forced to live like fucking peasants during the Black Plague?” Y/N seethed, Meredith’s posture growing stiff as she nervously looked around. Not a soul was in the hallway with them, so Y/N rolled her eyes at the blonde’s haughty reaction. “Relax, Mere. No one’s around.”

“You shouldn’t swear, Y/N. They’ll punish you,” Meredith whispered, her angelic blue eyes wide with concern. Y/N scoffed, her aching fingers curling into fists as they continued their way to the dining hall.

“Working all day for nothing is punishment enough. What’s the prize? Becoming a walking transfusion one day?” Y/N, despite her agitation, lowered her voice when Meredith began to look truly frightened. “I’m sorry, Mere. There aren’t any vampires here, you know that, right?”

“Of course I do. They never come on Sanctuary grounds. I wish to continue being your friend, Y/N, but I do not wish to invite punishment onto myself,” Meredith swallowed, looking a touch guilty. “I’ll meet you at the table.”

Y/N sighed, watching the girl spirit away, a flurry of white skirts and matching billowy blouses. After so many years spent in the Sanctuary, Y/N realized she shouldn’t be as bitter as she was, but the winter months brought out the aching in her.

“Talks like a fuckin’ walking pamphlet,” Y/N muttered, heading straight to the large basins lining the outskirts of the dining hall, cringing at the icy water that came from the taps as she scrubbed at her dirty fingernails.

At the very least, the dining hall was one of the warmest sections of the Sanctuary, thanks to the heat from the kitchens and the singular fire roaring in a brazier placed in the center of the room. The Sanctuary, free of 21st century comforts, was always crusted in ice in the winters and stiflingly hot in the summers. Sniffing the air, Y/N tried not to frown– food from the Sanctuary’s kitchens were never very tasty, even if she was often starving enough to eat a leather boot at the end of a day’s work.

“What’s tonight’s mystery meat?” Y/N got in line, retrieving a tray for herself, and leaning up to whisper her joke into her other friend Joseph’s ear. Unlike Meredith, the dark haired man snorted, mirth flashing in his eyes.

“Oh, the usuals. Beef organs or tuna. Paired with lentil slop, shitty kale salad, maybe a sweet potato if we’re lucky. Don’t forget the out-of-season orange and singular square of dark chocolate for dessert, too!”

This time, Y/N did not hold back her light groan, startling a timid acolyte in front of her and Joseph, the girl dropping her hardened, ‘fortified’ bread roll onto the counter. Both her and Joseph bowing in apology slightly while they contained their snickering, Y/N shuddering when a slimy piece of beef liver was slapped onto her plate by a kitchen acolyte.

“I can’t take these organs anymore. Why can’t we have a steak? Steak is rich in iron,” Y/N sat beside Joseph at one of the long tables, her ass smarting against the stone bench. Meredith, across from her, eyed her carefully, using her spoon to push mushy lentils around on her plate.

“You’ve been eating organs for ten years now, squirt, aren’t you fond of them by now?” Joseph teased, prodding at the gory looking organs on his own plate with a fork.

“For once, I just want a bowl of pasta. I mean, come on, vampires eat the best food in the world, and they don’t even need it to survive. Just pure hedonism,” Y/N continued, peeling the orange that came with her dinner considering everything else on the tray looked absolutely revolting.

Every meal served to the acolytes in the Sanctuary was required to be chock-full of ingredients with an abundance of iron and Vitamin C, allegedly making their blood more nutritious and appetizing to vampires. So, in order for vampires to eat like kings, mere human acolytes ate like cavemen.

“You’re especially salty this evening,” Joseph remarked, a flicker of surprise flashing over his face. Meredith had ironically grown quite pale, considering the supposed iron-rich meal she was eating should have had a glow rising to her cheeks. “Make sure none of the wardens walk by while you’re still on your soapbox.”

“You can hear their boots from a mile away, I’ll shut up well before they’re in earshot,” Y/N pinched her nose as she stuffed some lentils down her throat so she wouldn’t have to taste the foul mush. “I’ll stop now, don’t wanna upset you, Mere.”

“Thank you,” Meredith murmured quietly, her eyes softening. Y/N knew that Meredith understood where she was coming from, but complaining about their situations did nothing to get them out of it, in the end. “When we’re back in our dorm… it’ll be okay.”

Nodding, Y/N’s lower eyelid twitched at the thought of her bed– hard as a rock and no better than a bale of hay to sleep on, but kept her promise and changed the subject promptly.

“What was your task today, Joey?”

“Ugh. Joey,” Joseph shivered, nudging Y/N with his elbow. “The usual. Raking dead leaves and preparing the garden for the snow.”

“It’s going to be a cold winter,” Meredith remarked, her gaze turning to the stained-glass windows overlooking a frosty courtyard.

“Maybe if we’re lucky, one of us will get out of here. Be able to stay in a warm building, with wool blankets, fires lit in every room…” Joseph twirled one of his dark curls around an index finger contemplatively, Y/N frowning at the unsaid. The only way that would happen would be if one of them got picked to become a human blood bank at the end of the week. Joseph read her mind. “Tomorrow is the Drawing.”

Drawing day happened monthly. Each acolyte in the Sanctuary was required to report to the infirmary wing and offer up a pint of their blood to be sent out around the area for vampires to “sample”, like some kind of wine tasting that could be delivered to one’s doorstep. Days after the Drawing, there would be a chance that word would be sent from a coven that they were interested in a sample, and the matching acolyte, in consequence, would be delivered to the coven to be a live-in blood donor.

The Drawing happened for a reason. While vampires held the most power across the globe, it was agreed decades ago, after many conferences held by vampires and human world leaders, that solitary vampires must go through a Sanctuary in order to receive a human to feed on. It was during that time when solitary vampires began to form covens to decrease demand for a human donor, and Sanctuaries were born. It was also that time where vampires roamed rampant, claiming any human on the street to drain dry. The death toll was climbing at an alarming rate, so a compromise was reached: vampires could not “hunt”, only go through a Sanctuary to select a donor, one they’d keep indefinitely.

Y/N often weighed the pros and cons of being selected for The Drawing: at the Sanctuary, she could keep her blood but spend her days freezing, eating nasty food, and scrubbing the filthy building. If she was taken in by a coven, sure, she’d have luxuries– good food, riches, warm clothes. But she’d be at the mercy of vampires, notoriously vicious and unforgiving creatures. That, and she’d be fed on constantly by the sadistic beings, likely for the rest of her life.

“That’s why we got extra organs today. Figures,” Y/N shrugged, once again pinching her nose to choke down a sliver of meat. “I’m beat. Gonna head back before the final bell. You can finish my portion, Joey.”

Joseph grimaced at the nickname, but eagerly reached for her tray anyways, Meredith watching Y/N slip from the hall. Delicately dabbing her mouth with a frayed cloth napkin, Meredith sighed.

“She’s always like this the night before the Drawing,” Meredith’s voice was sympathetic, resigned. “She never got used to it, even after all these years.”

“Can you blame her? She was living under the radar, forging her blood type results most of her life before she was caught. I’d be jaded too,” Joseph pointed out around a mouthful of soggy kale. “You’ve been here your whole life, Mere. Y/N and I knew what it was like before living here. Having freedom.”

“I know that, Joseph,” Meredith, to her credit, had the decency to look chastised. “I never said I do not understand. I suppose since the Sanctuary is all I know, I do not yearn for freedom in quite the same way.”

Joseph collected his and Y/N’s trays, smiling at Meredith wistfully. He often thought that life would be simpler if he began to think like her, but it was difficult to let go of freedoms after they’d been tasted before. He remembered the days where he could wander in untamed forests, on the outskirts of town, where he could pick wild fruit and bask in the summer sun. Joseph recalled Y/N telling him about her life of drifting, hiding– the excitement, the footloose feeling of it all. Smiling at his other friend still, he stood from the stone bench.

“The freest we’ll be is if we’re chosen after a Drawing. And even then, we’re birds in cages.”

Even though she had pulled two pairs of wool socks on her feet before passing out in bed, Y/N’s toes were icicles when the obnoxious morning bell clanged through the hollow halls. Starting to regret not eating much dinner, Y/N’s stomach was turning uncomfortably as she sat up in bed. The roiling in her gut was not just because she was hungry, but the familiar unease that festered there each morning of a Drawing day. As she watched Meredith, who happened to be her roommate, pull the threadbare curtains back on their barred window dutifully, Y/N sluggishly removed her nightgown and dressed herself in the dreaded white linens she was forced to wear on a daily basis.

“Hopefully I won’t pass out today,” Y/N joked, knowing that Meredith was usually much more relaxed about complaining when they were in the privacy of their shoebox-sized room.

“They’ll give you juice if you do. Just keep your eyes closed and focus on your breath,” Meredith gestured to the stool at the foot of her bed, encouraging Y/N to sit.

Humming, she did so, staring at the ceiling as her friend began to braid her hair. Meredith’s careful fingertips raking through her tresses calmed her down enough to stop the acid in her stomach from rising into her mouth. Meredith was singing quietly, a hymn, from the sound of it, and Y/N was thankful for the peaceful start of the day, no matter how cold and nauseous she was.

“You won’t have to go to the infirmary until after lunch, right?” Y/N attempted to distract herself from the fact that she’d be the very first to get her blood drawn.

“Mm-hmm. B+ is scheduled for after the midday meal,” Meredith stopped singing, using a scrap of old cream fabric to tie off the braid hanging down Y/N’s back. “So I’ll see you in the dining hall, then I’ll meet you back in the west hallway to finish cleaning anything we didn't yesterday.”

“Thanks, Mere,” Y/N reached back, passing her hand over the braid her friend weaved, wishing that there was at least a mirror somewhere. Y/N hadn’t seen her reflection in years, except for blurry images in the surface of the Sanctuary’s garden fountain; the wardens rejected vanity amongst acolytes. “I’m gonna get it over with, head straight for the infirmary.”

“Are you positive that’s wise without breakfast? You hardly touched dinner, too,” Meredith’s pale eyebrows shot into her hairline, worry etched between them.

“I’m worried if I eat, the spinach smoothie will make another appearance as soon as they get the needle in my arm,” Y/N pictured the tasteless breakfast she normally had coming up for a round two and shuddered. “It’ll be okay. Just like every time, right? I’ve been here for years. The local vampires don’t seem to like my blood very much, or at least the ones that this Sanctuary sends it to.”

“Good luck, Y/N. See you at lunch,” Meredith didn’t comment on Y/N’s attempt to brighten up– she knew the stakes were as high as Y/N did.

God must have felt particularly cruel the day he decided to bestow Y/N with one of the world’s rarest blood types: the coveted AB-, a sought-after type for many vampires. Apparently, all of the blood types had different tastes, but Y/N hardly believed that. Blood was blood; tinny, salty, and a nauseating reminder of fragile mortality. There was a reason she had hidden from the world for many years, drifting from place to place. Those with AB- blood were hardly at Sanctuaries for long before a coven would promptly request them as their live-in donor. Y/N was basically living on borrowed time– she often wondered if her bitterness leached into her bloodstream and spoiled the ‘product’.

Dragging her palm along the stone walls of the Sanctuary’s hallway, Y/N barely registered the crowd of acolytes passing by on their ways to the dining hall in the opposite direction from where she was going. Y/N was the only acolyte in that particular Sanctuary to have AB- blood, so naturally, she was by herself every Drawing day first thing in the morning, and the top priority of the wardens. Swallowing thickly, the scent of rubbing alcohol had her gagging as it filled her nostrils when she neared closer to the infirmary.

Of course, the infirmary wing was cold as ice both temperature wise and atmospherically. In contrast to the Gothic interior of the rest of the Sanctuary, the infirmary was somewhat modern (or was once, in the 80’s), sterile, and covered in pastel vinyl flooring. Her Mary Janes squeaked against the tiles, nervously wringing her hands together as she stared at the plastic dentist’s chair in the corner of the room, the clump of wardens setting up the apparatus to collect blood. Clearing her throat, Y/N pressed her lips together in a line as one of the wardens turned to her– Mrs. Sloane, a severe 60-year-old woman who ran the Sanctuary like the military. Y/N had an acute dislike for the woman, who saw her and the acolytes as nothing more but cattle to raise.

“AB-, come here. Everything is ready,” her voice was dry, sharp, like a whip cracking down. It had her flinching, but she obediently trudged towards the crinkled old chair, mostly out of fear of having to kneel in the chapel for several hours in punishment if she didn’t follow orders exactly.

Knees wobbling, she lowered herself onto the chair while Mrs. Sloane eyed her like she was a slab of wagyu beef she was preparing to sell to the highest bidder. Biting her lip, she swiftly shut her eyes, heeding Meredith’s earlier advice. Perhaps she could prolong her anxiety attack if she kept her eyes shut the entire time, flinching in the seat when someone was not-so-gently rolling up the sleeve on her left arm past her elbow and swiping an alcohol wipe over her sensitive skin.

“We’ll be taking more than usual today,” Mrs. Sloane announced, and Y/N’s plans of staying blind were foiled when her eyes snapped open in shock.

“W-what? But taking more than a pint is dangerous, is it not?” Y/N’s voice came out panicked and thin, Mrs. Sloane scowling at her nastily.

“Silence. It is not your place to question,” Mrs. Sloane scolded, Y/N’s breathing becoming fast and shallow. “A new coven has arrived in the area. They have requested a large sample of AB-.”

Dread flooded through every cell of her body, horrified that she was about to be drained dry, two pint bags on the steel table beside her. Barely having time at all to process that there was a coven of vampires that were new to the area, and that there was a great chance that they’d select her as a donor, Y/N yelped when one of the wardens pinned her wrist down and another slid the hollow needle in her arm. Seeing stars dance in her field of vision, Y/N whimpered at the sting of the needle, feeling sick when she felt the warmth of her blood flowing into the tube connected to the pint bag resting on her arm. She absolutely loathed the feeling of her blood leaving her body, like her very life force was being sucked out, and before she could actively close her eyes, they shut involuntarily when they began to water.

“Calm down, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane sounded like she was spitting through her teeth, Y/N unable to feel her limbs. “You should be grateful. You’ll have the rest of the day off to recuperate.”

Y/N hardly heard the woman. Ears ringing, she was drifting away, a cold, sticky sweat coating her forehead. While she was struggling to form a coherent thought, one of the wardens must have switched out the full bag for the empty one, and by then, Y/N lost consciousness.

Several moments later, Y/N not knowing exactly how much time had passed, someone was snapping in her face, jamming a straw in her mouth. Nearly choking on the orange juice that was being squeezed down her parched throat, her eyes opened blearily and all she could see was blinding white light from the fluorescence above her.

“You may sit here for no more than five additional minutes. Then return to your dorm until the dinner bell,” Mrs. Sloane’s arms were crossed, annoyed that Y/N was holding up the line of acolytes outside waiting their turns.

Though she was pretty much completely drained of energy, Y/N’s mind was moving a thousand miles per hour. With a new coven in the area, there was a very real possibility they’d be interested in her blood, considering the rarity of the blood type. She gleaned no additional information from Mrs. Sloane– typical– but how many vampires would be in that coven, if God forbid they chose her? Three, four? Four was typically the largest a coven would get, and the thought of four of them latching onto her at once had her leaning over in the chair and emptying the contents of her stomach into the bucket on the floor.

It didn’t matter that she’d be free of the Sanctuary. Though she’d live lavishly, she’d have constant open wounds and would be psychologically tortured by the creatures. Suddenly, meals made purely of beef liver and beds constructed out of pallets seemed much better than cake and down feather mattresses.

“Your time is up. Go back to your dorm. The midday meal will be delivered to you,” Mrs. Sloane barked, hauling Y/N up by her wrist. Feet faltering, Y/N swayed and scrabbled for the drywall, blindly feeling her way to the main hallway again.

Dazed, her arm throbbed where the needle had been inserted, and the only positive that came from that morning’s events was the fact that she’d get to lay in bed all day instead of scrubbing floors. Y/N wasn’t sure how she managed to find her way back to her dorm room, but before she knew it, she was wrapping two blankets around herself and curling up in bed.

She was woken up by Meredith hours later, the blonde bringing her a tuna sandwich on a undoubtedly stale roll. Choking it down like a wolf, she tried not to cry when Meredith gingerly wrapped a cloth around her arm, which was cruelly left to clot on its own by the wardens.

“It’s going to be me this time,” Y/N announced dully, eyes on the overcast sky outside her barred windows. “I can feel it.”

“There is no way to know–”

“A new coven has moved to this town,” Y/N cut her friend off, Meredith’s hands stilling. Withdrawing her touch from Y/N’s arm, Meredith appeared tentatively unsure.

“To Newport?” Meredith’s light eyebrows pulled together, disbelieving. Newport wasn’t exactly a magnet for vampires, most of the ones that resided in the area weren’t in covens at all, just solitary vampires. A new coven spelled danger for Y/N. “I heard that a vampire built one of the famous mansions by the ocean. Do you think one of the vampires could be him?”

“Well, if he is, then I guess I’d get to live like a princess. You know, the one that got locked in a tower with a dragon and shit.”

Y/N had a bad feeling. Not that she was one to have premonitions, but trusting that feeling in her gut is what helped her to survive years before she was brought to the Sanctuary. Meredith stroked the back of her head in an attempt to comfort her, but Y/N knew she was just as nervous as she was. Because the coven requested so much of her blood specifically, and was the only person in the immediate area with AB- blood, if the vampires liked her blood her fate was officially sealed. Swallowing bile, she shook her head, not wanting to put the cart before the horse yet.

“I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. I’ve been around for a while, none of the local vampires have been interested. Maybe my blood tastes like dirt, and I’ll be here until I’m elderly.”

“It’s okay to worry, Y/N. However,” Meredith sat on the side of Y/N’s bed, the old wood frame creaking with her weight. “There are many others here with rare blood types. Perhaps they will prefer AB positive.”

“Perhaps,” Y/N agreed, beginning to sit up. “Shall we go to the hall and finish the windows?”

“I have to go to the infirmary wing, it’s my turn. You should rest, Y/N,” Meredith helped her stand, Y/N furiously shaking her head.

“If I stay here until dinner, my thoughts will continue to spiral,” Y/N shoved her feet into her well-worn shoes, slinging her braided hair over her shoulder. “Thank you for bringing me lunch. I’ll get started on the windows and wait for you.”

Y/N headed out first, leaving Meredith to prepare herself for her drawing. The blonde often liked to pray before the process, Y/N not knowing whether she was praying to be chosen, or praying to be skipped over. She didn’t have the stomach to ask.

By herself in the west hallway, she picked up the rag she abandoned the previous evening with a rough sigh. The sky opened up and ice-cold rain began to pelt the windows, crows eerily taking shelter in the eaves of the bell tower. Y/N felt like their beady eyes were on her, able to see through the glass and spot her wiping the window. Shuddering, she couldn’t tear her sight from the birds, the superstitious side of her insisting that they were some kind of omen.

Two days later, Y/N was trudging through the hollow halls after dinner, which she again excused herself from early. There had been no news about the results of the Drawing, but it didn’t stop her stomach from turning over in anxiety all day long. Hands coming up to rub her biceps, she glanced at the full moon outside of the large arched windows, slightly obscured by thin, dark clouds.

Kicking a stray stone as she turned the corner to the wing with the dorms, she paused a few feet from her and Meredith’s door with a frown. Light spilled out from the open dorm, more light than would have been possible coming from the small candles she and Meredith were allowed for nighttime reading. Besides, Meredith was still in the dining hall, so the door shouldn’t have been open. Fear sunk into her bones, making a sticky heat flash over her skin with dread. Mustering her remaining courage, she crept towards her room like a mouse.

Torches were lit up in the usually empty sconces, three wardens, including Mrs. Sloane, rifling through Y/N’s small dresser and nightstand. There was a large, old-fashioned suitcase box on her bed. Horrified and confused, Y/N accidentally bumped into the creaky door and snagged Mrs. Sloane’s attention.

“Congratulations, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane was sickly sweet, and it didn’t suit her whatsoever. “The coven has chosen you. Help pack your belongings, you leave tonight.”

“What?” Y/N’s world was spinning, vision getting spotty. “Leave? T-tonight?”

“Yes, girl. Are you hard of hearing? Pack your belongings, we are to bring you to the coven in less than an hour,” Mrs. Sloane went back to her snarky self, Y/N holding onto the door in a desperate attempt to stay upright.

Mrs. Sloane reached for the pocket of her apron, where she kept a metal ruler so she could strike those who disobeyed her, Y/N stumbled into the room and shakily tossed her white skirts into the suitcase to avoid being struck. Hardly able to form a single coherent thought, Y/N moved woodenly, so shocked that tears didn’t even roll down her cheeks.

“You are lucky. The coven that requested you consists of some of the wealthiest vampires in the world. You will want for nothing,” Mrs. Sloane tossed the final garment Y/N owned into the suitcase, another warden closing it up and bringing it out to the hall. Y/N had to hold her tongue, considering she was about to shout but I’m going to live with monsters. “All seven of them have wealth, in fact. They are rumored to have great powers, as well.”

“S-seven? Did y-you just say seven?” Y/N gasped, flinching when Alfred, the burliest warden in the Sanctuary, grabbed her arm and began to pull her out of the room. She had never heard of a coven so large, and it made every cell in her body light up with sharp panic.

“Yes, seven. Make haste,” Mrs. Sloane and Alfred hauled her through the Sanctuary, confused acolytes coming from the dining hall making space for them to pass. Y/N recognized the look on some of their faces, relief that they hadn’t been chosen.

“But, my friends! Please, let me say goodbye,” Y/N begged, tears finally starting to form when she spotted Joseph in the crowd, his eyes wide and mouth dropped open. Somewhere, Meredith was probably thinking about the book they were going to read together that night.

“There’s no time. You’ll get to write letters,” Mrs. Sloane refused, a whimper coming from Y/N’s throat as tears began to pour down her cheeks, getting one last look at Joseph who was mouthing something to her. Miserably, she couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say, Alfred yanking her to the tall front doors, frigid air blasting her in the face as they opened.

In the courtyard, a place Y/N had only been once or twice when she was first brought to the Sanctuary, there was a horse-drawn carriage. Y/N, had she not been in the greatest shock of her life, would have laughed– wouldn’t it have been easier for her to be taken in a car? Hardly having the time to look back at the Sanctuary she called home the past ten years, her knees knocked together when she was pushed into the carriage with her luggage. Unfortunately, she wasn’t allowed privacy to cry when in the carriage, Alfred clambering in after her with a grunt.

Y/N didn’t talk to Alfred, mostly because he rarely spoke. At least he let her silently weep for a few moments, Y/N beginning to process the gravity of the situation. With watery eyes, she looked outside the carriage window, the gothic Sanctuary becoming distant as the horses trotted on. Her dread was temporarily numbed by the opportunity to see beyond the Sanctuary, land she had not seen in years. The trees lining the paved streets were barren, gray, and the hard-packed dirt had not a blade of grass. Even then, Y/N hadn’t seen such beauty in so long– a small taste of freedom before she was locked away for life again.

Her tears continued to flow even when she greedily took in the sights of the town of Newport, the homes of the wealthy humans who did not have to give up their freedom for vampires, shops that had closed for the day, parked cars on the sides of the streets. It was odd to see the vehicles, considering she had been living in an analog manner for so long, Y/N wondered if she’d ever know what the inside of one looked like.

“H-how long will it take?” Y/N asked timidly, not confident Alfred would respond, but she tried anyway. The middle-aged man looked up from his Bible, giving Y/N an unfeeling look.

“We are no more than ten minutes away, now. Wipe your sorry face,” Alfred responded coldly, Y/N’s heart racing when she dabbed at her cheeks obediently. “You will not shame our Sanctuary by showing the coven how miserable you are.”

Y/N had never heard Alfred speak so many words. She was starting to think that was for the best, his words like a slap across her face. Part of her pondered if she’d ever hear a kind word again. Lapsing back into silence, Y/N sniffled up the remainder of her tears, the shock beginning to wear off and her survival skills kicking in. If she wanted to remain sane, and not give the vampires an inch before they took a mile, she had to appear unafraid and unaffected. Strong, confident, and indifferent, but pure, so if not to anger them. Vampires and their purity– ironic.

The houses– if one could even call the structures that– became grander and grander the further they traveled. The massive buildings made the ginormous cathedral the Sanctuary called home look like a garden shack. Y/N had a hunch, as they turned down a road that had imposing iron gates lining yards that looked like parks, that the coven she was to belong to resided in one of the famous Newport mansions. Passing by a white marble monstrosity, Y/N shuddered. The homes looked empty, cold, and imposing. Grand, yes, but the kind of display of wealth that had someone like Y/N, who lived her entire life struggling, clenching her fist in fury.

“Won’t be long now. Straighten yourself out. The staff is to greet you,” Alfred slapped his Bible shut, grasping for the handle of Y/N’s suitcase.

Breathing shallowly, Y/N’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head when the carriage brought them to the largest iron gate on the street, initials TK welded between filigree at the top of the barrier. As if by magic, the gates began to creak open, Y/N stunned by her first glimpse of actual electricity illuminating the gatehouse. Of course, she had seen it prior to her life at the Sanctuary, but it was odd to see the night lit up after living by candlelight. Gnawing at her nails, thinking that she could be shocked no further, an audible gasp tore from her when the carriage pulled through the driveway of great trees, an imposing mansion coming into view.

Y/N had never imagined such a building could ever be constructed. It would take a person hours to walk the entire floor plan, the grounds aside. Y/N was struck by a memory from earlier that week, when Meredith brought up the mansions by the ocean. One of the members of the coven must have been the man that built it, and the only other thing Y/N knew was that the mansion was settled on a steep cliff jutting into the sea. One she could potentially careen herself off of, if need be.

Her elbow was tightly grabbed again when the carriage stopped before the covered front entrance, bright lights nearly blinding her as Alfred shoved her out of the carriage, Y/N freezing instantly when she felt a foreign touch on her forearm to steady her. Eyes adjusting, she frantically looked up, not ready to deal with a vampire right off the bat. To her great relief, a blue-eyed– not red-eyed man, one dressed in a fine suit, righted her with a tight smile. A human, presumably a member of the mansion’s staff.

“I–I– I’m sorry,” Y/N managed, cursing Alfred colorfully in her mind. So much for confidence.

“Quite alright, acolyte…” the man prompted in a British accent, the first whisper of kindness Y/N had in over an hour.

“Oh. Forgive me. Acolyte Y/N,” she replied quickly, accessing the back of her brain where cobwebs and her etiquette surrounding that event resided.

“Sir, you may leave. Acolyte Y/N will begin her duties under our watch now,” the man in the suit removed his touch from Y/N’s forearm, not a single strand of silver hair on the man’s head out of place.

“Contact us if there are issues,” Alfred hardly got out of the carriage, his scarred face twisting into a smirk. Y/N wanted to spit on him.

“Of course,” the man replied, tight smile still on his lips, standing importantly beside Y/N until the carriage was well on its way back to the gate. “He’s a cup of tea, isn’t he?”

Y/N blinked, not knowing whether or not to agree, if it was her place. Turning to the man, whose posture had loosened up and a more genuinely friendly expression taking over his features, Y/N nodded slowly.

“Forgive me. I’m Edmund, head butler here at The Breakers. Pleased to meet you, Miss Y/N,” Edmund extended a gloved hand to Y/N, who hesitantly shook it. Was he trying to get her guard down by feigning gentlemanly behavior? “I take care of important matters inside of the estate. If you have any needs, you can seek me out. Of course, you’ll have personal maids, as well. Come, let’s get you out of the cold.”

Reeling, Y/N watched Edmund effortlessly scoop up her luggage, timidly following him to the door that was opened by an older man, also dressed in a sharp suit. With a house that size, Y/N realized that the staff must have been numerous to keep everything functioning smoothly. It was somewhat of a comfort that the staff she encountered so far seemed to be humans, likely ones with low status and common blood types.

Not even the imposing exterior of the building could have prepared Y/N for what the mansion looked like inside. In just the entrance alone, exquisite stone work, massive tiled floors, and tall ornate lamps illuminated by real light bulbs had stars circling around her head. Now that she was inside, she started to feel nervous again, waiting for a vampire to pop out from behind a thick stone column. In awe and in fear of her surroundings, she jolted when a young woman appeared from the left, carrying a tray.

“This is Nadia, she’ll be your head maid. I’ll take your luggage to your room, and Nadia will show you around the first floor before you retire. She’ll answer any questions you have.”

Edmund bowed to Y/N, which had her blanching in embarrassment. The butler disappearing further into the estate, Y/N turned to Nadia when the young woman cleared her throat lightly.

“Miss, I’ve brought you some cocoa. Hopefully it will warm you,” Nadia presented her with a large porcelain mug on the silver tray, a thick, sweet smell hitting her nostrils and making her nearly tear up. The only chocolate she could have at the Sanctuary was a square of bitter 100% cacao on Wednesdays and Sundays, not something decadent and rich like the cocoa she was being offered.

“I can have this?” Y/N squeaked, not daring to take the mug lest it was some kind of trick. Nadia cocked her head, confused by the question.

“Of course, Miss. Unless you don’t like chocolate, I can prepare you some tea instead,” Nadia began to lower the tray, Y/N waving her hands urgently to stop her.

“N-no, no, you don’t have to do that! Thank you, I’ll take it,” Y/N wrapped her hands around the ceramic mug, the warmth soothing her frozen fingers. “Um, you can call me Y/N if you want, please.”

Y/N was already weirded out, and people addressing her by formal titles was definitely a camel back-breaking straw. Nadia set her tray aside, watching Y/N take a shaky sip of the cocoa. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted, and she couldn’t even find it in herself to be embarrassed when she drained the whole mug in five seconds flat. The drink was thick, rich, and warmed her from the inside out. She both wanted to cry and beg for a second mug.

“You must be freezing, shall we head into the hall? It’s much warmer there,” Nadia gestured forward, Y/N glancing at what appeared to be a giant ballroom in front of her. Gulping, she nodded, following the woman timidly. So far, not a single mention of the vampires that allegedly lived in the mansion. “If you’d like, I can draw you a hot bath when we get to your bedroom. I’ve filled your dresser with warm clothes for you to sleep in, too, I’ll put them on your bed… This is the Great Hall. I imagine the coven will hold parties here from time to time.”

Y/N didn’t know where to look. Between the sheer size of the space, the ornate artwork painted on the ceiling, and the endless colors swirling around the room, her vision finally landed on the enormous fireplace roaring at one end of the hall. It was then when she noticed it was the first time since mid-October she wasn’t chilly. Prior to that evening, Y/N had a lot of assumptions about vampires. One of the assumptions was that they would prefer to live in a cold and dark environment, but the mansion she was standing in was toasty and brightly lit.

“It’s… big,” Y/N managed weakly, Nadia leading her to a red-carpeted staircase. All she could do was follow, wanting to ask the maid a few questions about the coven, but she knew that vampires had superior hearing and she didn’t want to attract the attention of one of them.

“Yes, but you will become accustomed to it. I can help you navigate the interior and grounds until you know your own way around. Oh, right here. This is a portrait of Master Taehyung. He built this estate,” Nadia paused on the landing, where the staircase split into two directions.

Whipping her head upwards, she soaked in the lines of the old painted canvas, Nadia’s first mention of the vampires making her heart stop dead in her chest. The man depicted in the painting was beautiful, which was typical for the creatures, but Taehyung nearly took her breath away. Dressed in a Victorian-style suit, the vampire had a cold, stern expression. His dark wavy hair was parted down the middle neatly, and of course, the vampiric red irises staring back at her made her stomach turn in fear. Schooling her features, Y/N bit her lip at Nadia’s expectant expression.

“He’s, um. Handsome,” Y/N offered, hoping that her voice wasn’t wavering, Nadia nodded, resuming her ascent up the stairs.

“Master Taehyung made his fortune in steamships, railroads, and shipping in the mid-1800’s. He’s a legendary businessman,” Nadia informed her, Y/N cringing that she referred to the creature as a ‘man’. Nadia herself didn’t seem to have a problem with the vampire, and in fact, her voice almost implied that she admired Taehyung. “All seven of our masters are impressive men.”

“Wait, they’re all male?” Y/N stopped in her tracks, feeling the blood drain from her face. She was hoping for a coven of mostly female vampires, theorizing that perhaps they’d be less vicious.

“Yes, I’m sure you know that it’s atypical for a coven to be both so large and of all one gender. The masters are like-minded, which is why they chose to form the coven,” Nadia explained, stopping at a door at the end of the hall, beside a breezeway that likely looked out onto the ocean. “Here we are, this is where you’ll stay. The rest of the bedrooms on this floor are occupied by five of the masters, Masters Seokjin and Namjoon prefer the bedrooms on the third floor due to privacy of the quarters.”

Y/N swallowed, stepping into her new bedroom, which was bigger than four dorm rooms at the Sanctuary smashed together. The walls were covered in an intricate pink floral wallpaper, all of the upholstered furniture a matching shade of blushing rose, and the marble fireplace was lit already. The room was decidedly feminine, Y/N’s eyes catching on a painting above a nightstand depicting dancing women. Nadia, as she was bumbling around the room selecting clothes from a dresser, noticed Y/N staring at it. It was expertly painted, precise.

“That is one of Master Yoongi’s pieces, depicting the Nine Muses of Greek mythology,” Nadia placed flannel pajamas on Y/N’s new bed, which looked plush and was piled high with thick pillows. “Master Yoongi is a painter, an artist. Very famous.”

“Really?” Y/N knew nothing about art, let alone Greek mythology. She didn’t have the luxury of studying those things.

“The hour is growing late, Miss. I can tell you more about the masters in the morning. They will not be back from the affairs that called them away tonight until midday tomorrow,” Nadia pulled out a pocket watch from her apron, heading towards a door by the back of the bedroom. “I’ll run your bath, and leave you to rest. You’ll be woken in the morning for breakfast.”

Moments later, Y/N was left alone in her very own bathroom, not a communal one like she was used to at the Sanctuary with cold water taps. The bathtub had steaming water filling the room with humidity, the scent of lavender oil somewhat easing her frayed nerves. Chewing her lip, she decided she might as well indulge in the hot bath, considering her muscles were beyond stiff and there was no way she’d be able to fall asleep right away, if at all.

Part of her wondered what kind of ‘affairs’ that the vampires were involved with. If it were her, and she had accumulated all of that wealth and immortality, she’d spend her days lazing around. The other part of her was thanking the sky that none of them were in the building; she had more time to prepare herself to meet the creatures the following day. Stiffly, she began to untie her skirt, letting the fabric hit the floor. Y/N supposed never having to wear those skirts again was a bit of a silver lining. Kicking it to the side, Y/N’s vision caught on something silvery and polished– an actual mirror. Eagerly, she dashed to the sink it was fixed over to catch a glimpse of herself for the very first time in ages.

Unable to help the gasp that came from her mouth, Y/N didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. The image of herself she had in her mind was her fifteen year old self, not the twenty-five year-old reflected in the polished silver. In awe, she traced her sharpened jaw and cheekbone, lacking teenage fullness, and she realized that she had forgotten the color of her eyes. Tearing up a little, she turned from side to side, getting a look at her figure– even going as far as removing the rest of her clothing in curiosity. Poking at areas of her body she was unfamiliar with in the mirror, like the curve to her hips, Y/N felt rather odd. The whole evening had her entire world turning upside-down.

After several moments, she tore her attention from the mirror, only feeling slightly guilty of vanity, and tentatively dipped a toe into the bath. The water didn’t immediately dissolve her skin and bones, so she slowly sunk her body into the porcelain basin with a ragged groan. Maybe she had died and went somewhere beautiful, because being treated like royalty so far was not something she predicted. In the back of her mind, she reminded herself not to get too comfortable. She hadn’t even met the coven yet, and for all she knew, they could be horrible individuals. Nadia didn’t speak of them in that way– but maybe the maid wouldn’t dare.

Y/N sat in the bath until the water became lukewarm and her skin was pruny. Limbs loose, she wrapped herself in a plush towel that was waiting for her on a rack that actually heated the towel. While the ends of her hair dripped water on the tiled floor, she bent down, looking through a chest beside the sink with interest. Each drawer held essential and non-essential toiletries, some things Y/N had never even heard of. Picking up a bottle of ‘skin oil’ and ‘hair detangler’, she blinked in confusion. Was it Nadia who stocked the drawers for her? Or were the vampires considerate enough to provide her with a toothbrush and facial cleanser?

Head full of cotton, she decided to ignore all of the products she was unfamiliar with and simply brushed her teeth and combed her hair. Peeking out of the bathroom door to make sure that no one had entered the room while she was bathing, Y/N tip-toed across the richly carpeted floor towards the ridiculously large bed. The fire was still going, warming the room, and Y/N hesitantly slid into a pair of flannel pajama pants left out for her. The elasticated waistband hugged her hips perfectly, and as she buttoned up the top and pulled on fluffy socks, she speculated about how Nadia managed to figure out her measurements. The Sanctuary probably had some sort of file on all of her personal information, which had her skin crawling.

While she was still on edge, her body was so relaxed from the bath that with slight resignation, she maneuvered herself under the sheets and heavy blankets, clasping a hand over her mouth as she sunk comically into the mattress. The bed hugged her in all directions, like getting to sleep on a cloud, and as she stared at the ceiling in awe, Y/N squirmed around to get in a cozy position curled up tight on her side protectively.

The lights would remain on, that was for sure. Y/N was never afraid of the dark per se, but in a new environment, she wasn’t risking things watching her from the shadows of the old estate. While memorizing the shapes of the intricate carvings on the ceiling, Y/N tried to make a mental list of everything she knew about vampires in general, and the specifics of the ones she was about to serve.

Over the centuries, there were several old wives tales that were circulated by humans surrounding vampires; but Y/N hardly knew which ones were fact or fiction. There were the superstitions passed down through common blood-typed, lower class humans that would work as maids and butlers to the vampires, the awe-inspiring, intimidating tidbits wealthy and influential humans would spread after doing business with the creatures. Then, of course, was the probable propaganda Y/N and her fellow acolytes were spoon-fed in Sanctuaries.

Y/N started with what she knew was just plain phony: vampires did not have an aversion to the sun and could walk around in daylight as they pleased. They did not flee from crosses or garlic, and they could not be exterminated by a stake through the heart. Acolytes were told that vampires could not be killed, and had few, if any, weaknesses. That was enough to have Y/N shivering, even beneath all of her blankets and flannel pajamas.

The older the vampire, the less in-touch with humanity they became. There was a recalled memory, a boring lecture in the Sanctuary’s dusty chapel, which consisted of a hazy memory of Y/N copying down ‘Oldest known vampire is aged 1,291 years, but some may be even older’. Y/N couldn’t even fathom living to be in her forties, let alone how it must be to live for over a century. On the other hand, ‘younger’ vampires– under three hundred years old– tended to be bolder, and adapted to modern times with greater ease.

Vampires needed human blood to sustain their powers, immortality, and to keep their internal organs functioning properly. While considered to be undead, a vampire’s heart kept beating, lungs brought in oxygen, and they could even digest human food if the creatures had consistent access to blood. Squeezing her eyes shut tight at the image of a vampire tearing into a rare steak, Y/N started to count off the things she found out from Nadia about the particular coven that requested her from the Sanctuary.

First, there was only a brief visual she had of one out of the seven, ‘Master’ Taehyung. Y/N prayed she wouldn’t have to use a title on any of them, but it was likely out of her hands. Sure, the portrait depicted a handsome young man, with all the airs of importance and wealth– but Y/N couldn’t get his unearthly red irises out of her mind. Taehyung was the vampire that commissioned the construction of the mansion she was currently cowering in, apparently a business tycoon that dominated during the Gilded Age. The next piece of information she got was ‘Seokjin’ and ‘Namjoon’ living on a separate floor for additional privacy, which made her nervous for some reason. Which was more dangerous, vampires in the bedroom next door to her, or those hidden in spots she hadn’t even toured yet?

The last thing she learned about one of the vampires– Yoongi– from Nadia is that he was evidently a famous artist. Cracking one sore eye open, she stared at the elaborately framed artwork above her nightstand again, noticing the fading of the paint and how it aged the piece. How old was the painting, and how old was Yoongi? Shutting her eyes once more, she sunk deeper into the mattress and pulled her blankets over her head. Nadia promised she’d answer any additional questions Y/N had over breakfast, so Y/N miraculously fell asleep by coming up with a handful of queries.

“Miss, hello? The sun has risen,” Y/N sat up in her bed with a sharp gasp, her hair hanging in her face like a nest. Whipping her head around frantically, she couldn’t believe she actually managed to get some sleep in a brand-new setting so easily. Knocking on the door, as well as a mousy, unfamiliar voice had her stumbling to her feet frantically. “May I come in, Miss?”

“Um, uh, yes, come in,” Y/N panicked, smoothing her wrinkled flannel shirt into place and hastily raking hair from her face. The door creaked open, a young woman who wasn’t Nadia hurrying in– her uniform pristinely pressed.

“Good morning, Miss Y/N. I’m Juliana, I work under Nadia. I’ll be helping you with your morning routine, while Nadia handles more important matters– coordinating breakfast, of course,” Juliana gave Y/N a slight bow, Y/N’s mouth dropping open at the gesture.

Before she could respond, Juliana began to draw the great curtains around the room open, the blinding white light of the early winter morning flooding into the room and stinging her eyes. When her vision returned to her, she gasped again at the sight just beyond the windows. Unable to help herself, she tripped towards one of the windows, grappling for the sill so she could steady herself.

Her room overlooked the backyard– if one could even call it that– and beyond the manicured grass and gardens was the vast, unending ocean once the landscaping dropped off of the famous cliff. It was like her eyes couldn’t absorb enough of the scenery, and impatiently, she pressed her forehead to the glass plane to gawk at the icy, gray ocean.

“In this drawer, here, we’ve placed warm pants for you– leggings, jeans, corduroys. If you prefer skirts and wool tights, those are hanging in your closet, and your tops and sweaters are in this armoire, here. Underthings are located in the lingerie chest beside you,” Juliana opened up various drawers, light on her feet and peppy, her curly brown hair bouncing with her movements.

“Lin… lingerie?” Y/N tasted the unfamiliar word on her tongue, attention effectively stolen from the gorgeous view beyond her windows.

“Forgive me. It’s another word for your undergarments, such as brassiers?” Juliana clarified, raising her brows and crossing the room. Y/N had not a single clue what she was talking about, following her like a duckling.

“Oh! I’ve never…” Y/N suddenly felt immensely awkward, peering into the drawer that held garments she hadn’t worn while at the Sanctuary– the thick, burlap material of the Sanctuary tops were all she got, not delicate lacy scraps of fabric that seemed to exist for the sole purpose of cradling her chest. “Um, okay. I can… wear whatever I want?”

“Yes, yes, as long as you’re comfortable, Miss,” Juliana took Y/N’s confusion in stride, moving towards the fireplace. Taking up a fire poker, the maid prodded at the glowing embers in the hearth. “I hope you were warm enough while you slept. The fire tends to go out in the middle of the night.”

“Y-yes, I was fine. Plenty of blankets,” Y/N chuckled nervously, not used to being so diligently cared for. Would it always be like that? “Um… have they returned?”

“They? You mean the masters?” Juliana paused, replacing the fire poker back on the rack. “They’ll be back before noon.”

“Okay,” Y/N was proud of herself for keeping a tremble out of her voice, Juliana gesturing towards a vanity by one of the windows.

“I can comb your hair, Miss, then leave you to get changed,” Juliana herded Y/N to the cushy stool, Y/N once again blinking at her unfamiliar expression. Contrary to the circumstances, her expression told the story of someone who got plenty of rest the night before. “I’ll wait by the stairs to show you to the breakfast room.”

That time, Y/N didn’t reply. She was too distracted by the feeling of the young maid gliding a fine comb through her hair gently– and with a sharp twist in her chest, she was reminded of the last time someone did her hair– Meredith, on the day of the Drawing. Holding her breath, she waited patiently for Juliana to comb through every snag on her head, surprised when she finally pulled away without braiding Y/N’s hair. Usually, Sanctuaries insisted that acolytes keep their hair braided if female, and cropped short if male. Juliana, however, left Y/N with her hair flowing free.

“Alright, Miss, take your time getting dressed. I’ll wait for you by the staircase,” Juliana smiled sweetly at her through the mirror, setting the comb back onto the vanity before she took her leave.

Y/N had a newfound feeling of determination when she absorbed her reflection, suddenly. She was going to get as much detail about the characters of the vampires from members of the staff as she could before the seven of them returned to the mansion. Swiftly, she pawed through various drawers for clothes, stomping to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Tugging on fleece-lined leggings, she cursed at herself in the mirror when it took her several minutes to figure out how to hook a brassier around her bust. The top she selected was a large slouchy sweater, one that hid her figure and hung loosely around her thighs. It made her feel a bit more protected, not having so much skin exposed. There weren’t any shoes in her closet, so she awkwardly stuffed her feet into her Mary Janes from the Sanctuary.

With a huff, she headed to the hallway, the mansion looking completely different during the day. Early winter sunlight flooded into the building, making the colors of the interior appear vibrant and excessive. Able to retrace her steps from the previous evening, Y/N didn’t have any trouble meeting Juliana at the top of the grand staircase.

“Right this way, Miss,” Juliana started down the stairs, Y/N glancing at the portrait of Taehyung on the wall. She hadn’t noticed before, but while he certainly seemed cold, there was a sort of melancholy look on his face.

“Juliana, did um… Master Yoongi paint that portrait?” Y/N launched into her interrogations, the maid cocking her head to look at the painting Y/N was referring to. Y/N had to fight the urge not to cringe when using the ‘master’ title.

“Hmm. I never thought about that! Master Yoongi is mostly known for his work from the Renaissance. Now that you bring it up, however, the attention to detail does look quite a lot like Master Yoongi’s handiwork,” Juliana continued down the stairs, Y/N grasping onto the banister for stability. If Yoongi’s famous artwork was from the Renaissance period, he’d have to be over 500 years old. “Do you like to read, Miss? The library is full of rare books. Master Hoseok has collected them from around the world for hundreds of years. Nadia can show you the way after your breakfast.”

“Oh–”

“Good morning, Miss Y/N, I hope you had a restful sleep,” Edmund was at the bottom of the staircase, interrupting Y/N’s response to Juliana. “Juliana, you’re needed in the laundry.”

“Yes, sir,” Juliana straightened up importantly, bowing at Y/N again. “Have a nice breakfast, Miss.”

Edmund stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching Juliana hurry away out of earshot. The polite smile sort of slipped from his face, attention turning back to Y/N shifting from foot to foot by the staircase.

“Y/N, after your meal, I’d like to speak with you in the pantry. Have Nadia show you the way,” Edmund said quietly, gesturing to the left. Tightness in her chest increased when he said that, following him through the hall.

There was what appeared to be a grotto under the staircase, water trickling from a fountain and a couple of seats facing the structure. Briefly, Y/N thought that that would be a wonderful spot to read. Led to a sage-green room, Y/N blushed furiously when Edmund pulled out a chair for her at the round table in the center of the room. There was only one fine porcelain plate set in front of her, along with silver cutlery and crystal glasses.

“I’ll tell them to send out the food. Please enjoy,” Edmund announced, filling one of Y/N’s glasses with water from a metal pitcher. The butler was gone before she could ask him any questions, but moments later, at least ten staff members were filing into the room.

Y/N’s eyes immediately bugged out of her head. A vat of creamy scrambled eggs, a platter of toast and pastries with jam and butter, plates of crispy bacon and breakfast potatoes, cinnamon-scented oatmeal, even a board with cheeses and bowls of every kind of fruit one could ever wish to try. Staff arranging everything meticulously, she could only blink as someone poured her a mug of coffee with cream and sugar left on the side, as well as a large glass of orange juice.

“W-wait, this is… this is all for me?” Y/N hadn’t seen food like that well, ever. Everything looked gourmet and prepped with love and care. She wouldn’t be able to eat everything, but she was going to try her hardest.

“Yes, Miss. The staff eats before the sun rises,” a young man answered her, setting down a plate stacked with waffles and a gravy boat of syrup. “Meals will be quite large like this until we figure out what your favorite foods are. I hope that’s alright.”

“O-of course,” Y/N felt herself flushing again, swallowing down a mouthful of saliva that was flooding her palate dangerously. “Thank y-you.”

“Enjoy. Call if you would like anything else.”

With that, the staff left her alone in the room, and Y/N didn’t know where to start. She compared the silence of the room to the loud chatter that she would listen to in the Sanctuary’s dining hall. Slowly, she sniffed the steaming coffee in front of her– she had never tasted it. Taking a small sip, she cringed at the bitterness, understanding at once why the bowl of sugar and fresh cream was left beside the mug. Not wanting to waste anything, she stirred cream and sugar into the mug until the drink tasted decent. With eager, shaky hands, Y/N stood with her plate and began to pile food onto it.

Y/N worked herself around the table. Ignoring the feeling of gluttony, she tried every single thing that was left out for her, her plate stacked so high she snorted at herself when she sat back down. To her embarrassment, she moaned in pleasure when she swallowed her spoonful of eggs– buttery and topped with chives. Urgently, she nibbled on a strip of bacon, the meat hanging out of her mouth as she tore a croissant into pieces. Everything she put into her mouth was the most delicious thing in the world, and she felt like a ravenous bear trying to bulk up for the winter.

She stopped eating only when her stomach felt it was going to burst, pushing a bowl of peaches and cream away with a grunt. Y/N did try everything, but it looked like she hadn’t even made a dent in the feast. Wiping her face with a fine cloth napkin, she clumsily got to her feet like a milk-drunk baby. Instantly, several staff members swept into the room when she stood to clear the table, Nadia’s familiar face appearing.

“How was your breakfast, Miss?”

“I’ve never had such delicious food,” Y/N admitted, absently trailing after her head maid through a door connected to the breakfast room, probably leading her to the pantry. “The chefs here must be very skilled.”

“Master Seokjin insists that we hire the finest chefs in the world. Though he is a vampire, he has culinary interests,” Nadia replied, Y/N finding it hard to walk with how stuffed she was. “Edmund told me you two were going to speak. He’s likely going to give you a formal tour and tell you a few things about the manor, day-to-day routines…”

Y/N turned that over in her mind. The look on Edmund’s face earlier had a sort of graveness to it, which she didn’t think matched up to explaining house rules. Y/N decided to keep her mouth shut, hoping at the very least she’d have her questions answered. Suddenly, they were in a room filled with dark wood shelves holding china and crystal stemware, and when Y/N looked up, there was a loft that held even more shelves and dishes. Edmund was by a table in the center of the room, taking notes.

“Thank you Nadia. I know you had some errands to run, so I’ll show Miss Y/N around until the masters return,” Edmund looked up from his notepad, Nadia nodding once before turning on her heel to leave the room.

“Alright, one moment, Miss Y/N…” Edmund said in a chipper tone, moving around the room to shut the doors quickly, which had Y/N suddenly growing nervous– was he trying to soundproof the room, keep the conversation quiet?

“Oh, dear. You do not have to be frightened of me,” Edmund put his hands up when Y/N began to cower in the corner of the room. “I want to offer you information before the vampires return.”

“R-really?” Y/N released the breath she was holding, timidly getting closer to the table Edmund had returned to. He had a grandfatherly look about him, kind and warm. It was not lost on Y/N that he didn’t refer to the vampires as masters.

“It was lucky that they were called away yesterday. I fear you wouldn’t have been prepared had they been here. Now, listen; this is very important. Most of the staff treats the coven like gods. I am the only one in this estate who you can talk about the coven negatively.”

Not a good start, Y/N thought, shivering.

“Negatively, sir?”

“Child. Looks can be deceiving. I know you that in the hours you’ve been here already you have been treated gently. The coven will not follow suit. They are cruel, heartless creatures. You must do everything in your power to not upset any of them,” Edmund enunciated clearly, Y/N’s heart dropping in her chest. “The powers they possess are extremely dangerous. They do not have emotions like you or I.”

“The way Nadia talked about them… painted a different picture,” Y/N uttered desperately, Edmund looking out the window wistfully.

“I’ve been with the coven for decades, while they lived in Europe. Nadia has only been around for five years, and she does not deal with the coven as I do. She has not seen what they’re capable of.”

“Are you telling me this because you feel bad for me?” Y/N suddenly became defensive despite her terror, hating when she was pitied in any circumstance.

“No, child. I want to help you. I want to warn you, before they come back and they size you up,” Edmund shook his head, looking down at the notes he was taking earlier. “You are dealing with four vampires that are very old and disconnected to humanity. The younger three are wild and reckless. It's important to remember this.”

“How old…”

“I’ll tell you a bit about each of them specifically in a moment. My largest piece of advice to you is never directly show the coven you’re afraid of them. Of course, they’ll be able to scent it on you, but do not give away your fear verbally, or you will be backed into a dark corner and toyed with.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathed, then dreading the coven’s return to the estate.

“You asked how old they are. I’ll start with the eldest, who is the most respected vampire in the coven– he has seniority, you see, due to his age and his status. Seokjin is 879 years old, and when he was human, he was a crown prince of a Korean monarch,” Edmund began, using a handkerchief to dab his dewy hairline. “He may appear very calm and unaffected, but he absolutely despises humans. He hardly tolerates the staff, and we know not to bother him unless necessary. Under no circumstance should you lie to him, ever. I’ve seen him kill many staff members and even associates over being deceived. One more thing about Seokjin… the ‘power’ he has. Vampires call it ‘Compulsion’. He has the ability to make telepathic suggestions to others in order to control their thoughts, even wipe memories. He can convince a man to jump to his own death, or forget his happiest memories.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. All of the questions that she had come up with before falling asleep completely fled from her mind, and all she could do was grip onto the wooden table with slick palms. Over 800 years old– Seokjin was ancient, otherworldly, and sounded like a monster.

“On the other hand, the youngest in the coven, Jeongguk– just 124 years old. He has the gift of Telepathy, so you must learn to control your thoughts around him. If somehow, Seokjin is unable to find out you lied to him, Jeongguk can tear through your thoughts and report it back to him,” Edmund continued, tapping his notepad with his pen. “Quite a few in the coven have much experience with violence. Jeongguk, when he was human, was a bodyguard to Al Capone. When he was turned, he was not only a bodyguard, but he read the minds of enemy gangs to relay back to Capone. He’s strong and lacks empathy, so he kills without mercy.”

“How… will I be able to control my thoughts? He’ll know I’m terrified, he’ll…”

“I can teach you, when they’re away on business. It is difficult, but can be done. Child, let me finish telling you what I know before they’re due back.”

Y/N clammed up, growing more petrified by the second by each word that came out of the butler’s mouth. By the time he had run through the basic personalities of each of the vampires, Y/N had a cloth soaked in cold water pressed to her forehead. For lack of a better word, she was fucked.

“I’m sorry to tell you all of this,” Edmund said quietly when he was finished, regret flashing over his face. “Just know, you have someone here who is on your side. I’ll do everything I can to protect you from their wrath, or at least train you to handle it. Fortunately, you’re needed by them– while they may be cruel to you, they need you alive in order to sustain themselves.”

“Spectacular,” Y/N wheezed, wishing she didn’t eat so much breakfast. She didn’t want it to make a second appearance. “To think I was going to press you for information. I don’t know if I was better off in the dark or not.”

“Certainly not. You know what to expect this afternoon, somewhat. Keep your guard up, and try to keep your fear in check, and the introduction can go smoothly,” Edmund insisted. “Perhaps… while you wait for their return, you can peruse the library, as Juliana suggested.”

Edmund began to open the doors again, and Y/N understood that meant their conversation was as good as over.

“Edmund?”

“Yes, child?’

“Won’t they know that you warned me about them? Will you be punished?”

“Don’t worry about me, child. The coven knows how I feel about them, it’s earned me a teaspoon of respect. Besides, no other butler in the world wishes to work for them. Rumors of their behavior, you see,” Edmund placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, smiling faintly. “Come. I’ll give you a brief tour and then escort you to the library.”

About fifteen minutes later, Y/N was left by herself in the dark, intricate library. Hardly giving the alleged ‘rare’ books collected by Hoseok a glance, she sank down into a chair by the fireplace, staring into the flames blindly. Curiosity killed the cat, and Y/N hardly knew what to do. Every single one of the vampires were murderous, unfeeling monsters with horrifying powers. Powers they’d likely be using on her any moment.

Y/N didn’t know who she was afraid of the most. Seokjin sounded menacing, Jeongguk dangerous and immoral. The others, she didn’t even know where to start sorting out what she learned. There was Hoseok, Y/N’s eyes shifting to the weathered books on the shelves, who was once a pirate over four hundred years ago, and had the ability to ‘Track’ people by scent. Edmund told her that Hoseok could find anybody without fail and even predict their future moves. He was greedy, fond of drinking, and impulsive.

She wondered if it was Namjoon she was most afraid of. His power was definitely the worst one: with eye contact and focus, he could inflict pain on others compared to being burned alive, a power called Pain Illusion. Apparently, he was once a Korean military general roughly four hundred years prior, and once turned, he became a sword-for-hire. Edmund told her that he enjoyed the kill, enjoyed watching others suffer, and was second to Seokjin as far as the hierarchy of the coven. Like the elder vampire, Namjoon had a disdain for humanity. Edmund told her to be especially careful around Namjoon, as he was a known sadist.

Head in her hands, she groaned. Yeah, Namjoon definitely was the scariest. The other three were no daisies, either, but the thought of having to experience what Namjoon’s Pain Illusion felt like was enough to have her heart racing.

Apparently Taehyung is the most deceiving of the bunch. He had all of the etiquette of a Gilded Age businessman, but Edmund relayed that he was absolutely ruthless when it came to his affairs and could Glamour his appearance. Jimin, a famed playwright of romantic tragedies the same years Jane Austen was active, was notoriously manipulative, hedonistic, and a feared Hypnotist. Finally, the artist, Yoongi– apparently studied under an artist named Leonardo da Vinci, and was secretly known for using his power of Paralysis on his models so he could paint them for hours without interruption.

That tacky sort of nervous sweat began to roll down the notches of Y/N’s spine. None of the vampires sounded friendly at all. Y/N knew that it would be wishful thinking to expect all of them to be somewhat tame, but she had hoped for at least one that wouldn’t be insane or murderous. Hugging her knees to her chest, Y/N counted her breaths to calm down. Heeding Edmund’s initial advice would be wise; trying to keep her thoughts bland, maintaining aloof confidence. Not bursting into tears, or trying to hide behind Nadia’s skirts.

Chin resting on her knees, Y/N closed her eyes. She wondered what Meredith and Joseph were up to. In the mornings after breakfast, typically they'd have study and silent prayer in the chapel. Y/N considered herself to be somewhat of an atheist, so usually she’d daydream while on her knees, eyes glazed over. Meredith would let Y/N lean her shoulder on hers, and Joseph would make sure she wouldn’t fall asleep and get punished. Sadness filled her at the thought of her memories. It was likely she’d never get to see Meredith or Joseph ever again. Too busy wallowing, Y/N jolted in her seat when Nadia appeared in front of her, repeating her name several times.

“Miss, the masters have returned. We must greet them outside,” Nadia offered Y/N a thick winter jacket, Y/N audibly gulping. She’d run out of time.

Heart thundering in her chest, Y/N shrugged into the maroon felt coat, shuffling after Nadia with resignation. It was like the a monarch was coming, countless members of staff hurriedly heading to the front entrance or flying up the stairs with various linens. Deciding to think of only her friends, Y/N replayed scenes of the two of her closest kin harvesting vegetables in the gardens during the summer months. Reading with Meredith by candlelight in dramatic voices. Horsing around with Joseph in the hallways when they were supposed to be dusting statues.

Outside, the grounds were clearer to her in the daylight. In the spring, the landscaping was probably breathtaking. Quietly, she stood between Edmund– the head butler, and Nadia– the former giving nothing away regarding their private discussion surrounding the coven. Holding her breath, Y/N watched the large iron gates swing open, the purr of car engines filling the quiet street.

Biting back a surprised noise, Y/N supposed she shouldn’t have been stunned to see a line of luxury cars pulling into the drive. The first in line was a sleek, vibrant-blue colored sports car, followed by a cushy looking black sedan, two black SUVs, and two more small sports cars– one in cherry red and the other canary yellow.

No one said a word. Y/N counted the vehicles again– there were only six. Again, she was thinking about the excess of wealth. Would it kill them to share cars? Bouncing on the balls of her feet, the blue sports car’s doors opened first– upward, like a spaceship. In succession, the rest of the roaring engines cut off and Y/N stared blankly at the carport’s carved stone ceiling to put off matching names to faces. She hadn’t even considered how old they looked physically, were they middle aged– Christ forbid, were they teenagers?

“Master Seokjin. I trust everything went well?” Edmund bowed deeply, Y/N urgently copying the movement when the butler glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“Who’s this little girl?” Seokjin ignored Edmund’s question, Y/N’s eyes on the highly polished loafers that were just in front of her.

Y/N finally straightened up to take a look at the vampire in front of her, and all of the oxygen was sucked out of her lungs when the most beautiful face she had ever seen was studying her right back. He appeared to physically be in his early thirties, but the faraway look in his eyes gave away his true ancient age.

Tall, broad, and dressed in an expensive looking suit, the dark-haired vampire had his full mouth twisted into disapproval. With his short, choppy bangs, they gave a perfect view to sculpted eyebrows, a pallor to his flawless skin, and of course, the red eyes narrowing while he waited for an answer. Y/N felt like she had to look away, so her eyes slid from Seokjin’s statuesque face to the second figure disembarking from the blue sports car, the passenger.

“This is Acolyte Y/N, from the local Sanctuary. The AB- donor. She arrived last night,” Edmund bowed again, this time at the second vampire storming up the steps to the front door.

“Take this upstairs, Nadia,” the second vampire, again, an exceedingly gorgeous man, barked. While his voice was rich and smooth like silk, he curled his nose up in a snarl when he spotted Y/N beside her head maid.

“Yes, Master Namjoon,” Nadia grunted when a briefcase was shoved into her chest, Namjoon scoffing once at Y/N before disappearing into the mansion. Three things Y/N noticed about him: the skinny Asian-style sword strapped to his massive back, the thick leather gloves on his hands, and the air of total hatred coming off of him in waves.

“Didn’t think she’d be such a… scrap of a thing,” Seokjin sounded bored, almost disappointed she wouldn’t put up a strong fight.

“The Sanctuary diets aren’t particularly nutritious. She’ll gain more muscle and mass after a few weeks with our great chefs,” Edmund reassured the eldest vampire, whom Y/N wished would stop staring at her and simply go inside.

“Make sure she’s present for dinner,” Seokjin drawled, lifting an eyebrow at Y/N. Was… she for dinner? “I have calls to make. Tell the chefs twelve courses tonight, rich food. The little girl needs more meat on her bones to be of actual use.”

With that, Seokjin brushed past the butler, Y/N’s head already spinning. Next thing she knew, there were three more vampires stalking towards her and Edmund, Y/N wondering which one was the one that could read her uneasy thoughts.

“Oh? A little dove!” A borderline childish voice is what caught her attention first, wicked delight coloring his tone.

If his eyes weren’t so frightening, the grin stretching across the vampire’s face could have been on the cover of a magazine. He flicked his overgrown black bangs out of his face, biting down on his plump lower lip with a sharpened fang. Contrary to the chilly weather, all he wore was a loosely buttoned, thin white shirt, revealing a large strip of his pale bare chest.

“Jimin, don’t get carried away like last time. You’re always breaking your toys,” One of the others, leaning against a stone column, picked his nails while tsking. That particular vampire wouldn’t even spare her a glance, his wavy dark hair curtaining his face. While his body was lean, hands were extremely weathered compared to the rest of his smooth, pushing-30-years-old complexion.

Knees wobbling from that remark, the third vampire, who was eyeing every inch of her thoughtfully, noticed the movement with a slight smirk and a narrowing of his feline-like eyes.

“Aw, that wasn’t my fault, Hoseok. Don’t listen to him, little dove! We’re going to have fun together,” Jimin, evidently, pouted, but the effect didn’t soothe her when she saw a psychotic glint reflected in his irises. “Ugh, I hate traveling. I hope there’s wine in my room…”

Jimin winked at her as he slunk inside. Rolling his eyes, Hoseok, the most casually dressed so far in a simple dark turtleneck, trailed after, Y/N noticing how sharply cut his jawline was and the geometrically perfect way his nose turned up into the air.

“Master Yoongi, is there anything I can get for you before you resume painting?” Edmund cleared his throat, the long-haired vampire finally stopped smirking at Y/N, shaking his head silently. As soon as Yoongi stopped looking at her, she felt like she could breathe again, her fingertips twitching. “We’ve purchased fresh oil paints, as per your request.”

Wordessly, Yoongi was in her presence at once, and the next, with a blur, he was gone.

“Vampiric speed,” Edmund murmured, Y/N swallowing thickly. She had forgotten that not only did they have individual powers, but they had strength and speed, as well. Only two more to go– Taehyung and the mind reader, Jeongguk. “You’re doing well.”

The driver of the second car that had pulled into the driveway, the black sedan, finally cut the engine. The second SUV, the first of which belonged to Hoseok, had long since been turned off but no one emerged from it.

“Master Taehyung typically likes to take a walk around the grounds after returning from business. Here, however, is Master Jeongguk,” Edmund schooled his features, him and Y/N robotically bowing at the final vampire she was to greet. The mind reader.

“Hello,” Y/N blurted impulsively, much to her chagrin. The youngest vampire appeared to be around her age, perhaps a year or two older, and besides his ghostly complexion and red eyes, Jeongguk looked remarkably like a human man– perhaps like Joseph, but far more muscular.

“Edmund, I’m assuming this human is the AB- acolyte?” Jeongguk completely ignored Y/N, which had humiliation pulsing through her body painfully. “Let’s see, you. Look at me.”

Y/N froze, Jeongguk stooping to make his face completely level with Y/N’s. Suddenly, the grip she thought she had on her thoughts melted away into nothing, and she got lost in the doelike quality of the youngest vampire’s eyes.

“Typical, Edmund. Warning her about us? All you did was terrify her,” Jeongguk murmured, his youthful voice but a coo. Y/N knew not to trust it, especially when his chilled index finger jabbed into her cheek. “Who’s Joseph, AB-? A lover from the Sanctuary?”

Y/N’s tongue turned to stone in her mouth. Like his covenmates, Jeongguk was extremely handsome, but taunted her coldly. Luckily, she had motor function, shaking her head in the slightest. Tongue probing into the meat of his cheek, Jeongguk stood to his full height, the dark brown trench coat he was wearing hiding just how truly large he was.

“You’re fortunate you’re the only butler available to us. Your head would be on a pike, if it were up to me,” Jeongguk, in a mild tone, addressed Edmund, who simply looked at the vampire placidly.

“Yes, sir,” Edmund took a leather bag from the vampire, Y/N unable to believe how easy it was for Jeongguk to enter her mind– her memories pulled from her mind to his in hazy flashes that had her skull throbbing.

“Y/N,” she flinched when Jeongguk addressed her by name, whipping her head around to watch him stalk up the stairs behind her, wearing a murderous smirk. “Wear something pretty to dinner, alright?”

Acid began to crawl up her throat, and when Jeongguk disappeared in almost a mist, Edmund placed a grandfatherly-like hand on her upper arm.

“Relax now, Y/N. You did well. Very well. You won’t see any of them until dinner. Returning to your bedroom for now would be wise, Nadia will help prepare you for the meal,” Edmund whispered, gripping Jeongguk’s bag in one of his hands. “Head in, child. You’ve been in the cold long enough. Soak up the warmth, while you can.”

It was a miracle that Y/N didn’t make deep dents in the carpet of her bedroom as she paced back and forth. Escorted to her room after meeting six out of the seven vampires, Y/N was left to her own devices that afternoon. Nadia had left her a stack of books to entertain herself before dinner, Y/N thinking that she’d rather swallow shattered glass than sit at a table with the monsters.

Halting, Y/N stood in front of one of the windows, hands coming up to brace herself on the windowsill. The ocean was choppy thanks to a biting wind blowing in from the North, the color of it almost black. Was it too late for her to jump off of the cliff? If she made a run for it, would anyone catch her before she could fall to her merciful death?

Eyes glazed over, her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms. Suddenly and inexplicably, the hair on the back of her neck stood up, like a cold draft of air swept through the room. Ears picking up movement, Y/N spun around, a startled yelp coming from her mouth at the sight of the figure at her door. One of the vampires actually sought her out, lazily trailing his crimson eyes up and down her form. Tripping backwards, Y/N’s back was pressed into the icy windowpane. The vampire boldly stepping into the light, Y/N realized who it was before he even opened his mouth.

“Be careful, little dove. It would be a shame if you fell through the glass and cracked that skull of yours open before we even had a chance to play,” Jimin teased, though the taunt was far from an innocent jest.

“W-wha–”

“I said, careful. Think about how to speak to me before you stutter out something disrespectful,” Jimin sneered, crossing the room in a split second. Flinching, his face was mere inches from hers, his skin so pale it was almost translucent. His eyes, while certainly red, were sort of a dulled tone, and there was nothing good-natured about his expression at all.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, voice cracking. Jimin seemed to accept the apology, tsking and backing up a degree. Y/N forced herself to remain calm, the vampire pushing up the sleeves to his blouse. His chest was even more exposed than it was before, his muscles seemingly carved from white marble.

“That’s better, dove,” Jimin hummed, falsely sweet. “You can’t wear those rags to dinner. Juliana!”

Jimin’s voice was sing-songy, the vampire putting his hands on his hips and tapping his foot impatiently. Swallowing with great unease, Y/N’s palms were slick as she held onto the windowsill. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps flooded into the room, Y/N’s fright easing a degree when Juliana and several other maids joined her and the vampire in the bedroom. At once, Y/N’s eyes went owlishly wide, each of the maids carrying brightly colored gowns, stacks of velvet boxes, and more pairs of shoes than she could count.

“The latest fashions… Chanel and Dior, Cartier jewelry. Fashion design has come a long way these last few centuries– not bad for a bunch of humans,” Jimin seemed like he was talking to himself, plucking a heavy looking necklace up from the open case Juliana was holding. Y/N still couldn’t get over the childlike lilt to his voice, paired with the unsettling confidence he carried, cautiously returning eye-contact when he sauntered towards her.

“Dressing your new doll, Jimin?” Hoseok appeared in the doorway, Jimin still entirely focused on getting Y/N pinned to the window. The older vampire had a bottle of liquor in his grasp, an amused smirk on his face. Y/N felt ill.

“Rubies suit her, don’t you think, Hoseok?” Jimin bit down on his lip with a fang, like he did earlier. Then, his voice took on a silky tone, an index finger curling in her direction. “Come here, dove.”

Y/N didn’t want to comply, but after nearly a heartbeat, everything in her body was telling her that it was okay, more than okay, to get close to Jimin. She wanted to, needed him, it felt like she could hardly breathe. In a darkened corner of her mind, Y/N’s rational self realized Jimin was using Hypnosis on her, and there was nothing she could do to resist his his call. Moving on autopilot, Y/N almost stumbled over her feet to close the distance between herself and the vampire.

With a satisfied, wicked grin, Jimin tilted his head, looking down at her through his dark lashes. Spellbound by his presence– how had Y/N gone her entire life without him? Unprompted, she gathered her hair up and held it over her shoulder, exposing her bare neck to the vampire. Excitement flashed through her when Jimin licked his lips, and when his chilly fingers traced along a fluttering vein by the base of her throat, Y/N squirmed in delight. So removed from herself, as if in a trance, she obediently stayed still as Jimin clasped the necklace around her throat. Past the haze, she could hear an amused snort coming from Hoseok watching by the doorframe.

“Isn’t that nice?” Jimin hummed, adjusting the jewelry so it sat perfectly on her clavicle. Boldly, he tugged at the neckline of her sweater, exposing more of her skin, the strength in his touch stretching out the flimsy wool with ease.

“Very obedient, pet. Juliana, get her ready for dinner,” Hoseok snarked, taking a swig from his liquor.

Slowly, like roots of a tree pulling up from the earth, the influence Jimin had over her mind and body untangled from her being with a deep ache. Different from the throbbing, disorienting pain that filled her brain when Jeongguk infiltrated her thoughts, Jimin’s affect gripped her entire being as if her bone marrow was bruising. With a whimper, Y/N staggered to the side, Juliana promptly righting her by one of her arms. Jimin had used his vampiric speed to join Hoseok at the door, winking at Y/N trying to catch her breath.

“Here, Katie. Make the human a pre-dinner cocktail. She looks like she’s going to suffer from a paranoid break. I abhor hysterics,” Hoseok loudly placed his glass bottle of booze on one of Y/N’s nightstands, addressing an older woman who was holding several silky dresses in her arms.

With that, the two vampires shut the door behind themselves, the sounds of their expensive shoes marching down the hallway, leaving Y/N to figure out what just happened. The necklace around her throat felt like a ten-pound weight, and if the room wasn’t full of maids who acted like nothing happened, she would have ripped it off and pelted it at the bedroom door. Noise buzzing around her, rustling of skirts, the only thing that kept her on her feet was Juliana’s arm slung around her lower back.

“Alright, Miss, let’s get started on your bath,” Juliana said airily, Y/N feeling a single tear slip down her cheek, which she hurriedly swept away with her sweater sleeve before anyone caught it. “I have the most lovely hairstyle in mind for you. Master Jimin seemed to like that necklace on you, so we’ll pick something red to go with it.”

Y/N was astonished. Juliana was in the room when that whole interaction happened, was she not? Did she not see how Jimin hypnotized her, and was she not disturbed by it? Perhaps it was something only Y/N and the two vampires could sense happening, but Y/N had never felt more vulnerable and alone. Hollowly, she let Juliana herd her into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat, she wasn’t fully listening to the maid, tracing her fingers over the polished stones around her neck.

“The chefs have been working so hard today on the meal, it’s going to be wonderful, Miss Y/N! I helped the executive chef select ingredients at the finest market in town,” Juliana tested the water coming from the bathtub’s tap, pouring various vials into the water. “I picked up some moisturizing rose oils, bubbles, and powdered milk for the bath. I even managed to find dried flowers, which is rare for this time of year. Come, I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“H-huh?” Y/N squeaked, not wanting to strip her clothes off in front of somebody else.

“It’s quite alright, Miss. We’re your personal maids, there is no reason to be bashful,” Juliana insisted, keeping her eyes low, but helping Y/N to her feet. Too afraid to protest, Y/N stood statue-still as the maid carefully removed the necklace Jimin put on her and handed it off to another nameless maid. “Have you ever heard of a spa day? Think of it as that!”

“Spa day?” Y/N repeated stupidly, blushing furiously when she was left in just her brassier and the scrap they called underwear. Juliana turned, allowing Y/N to remove her undergarments and get into the mass of perfumed bubbles piling up in the tub. “Never heard of that… is that a holiday?”

“No, Miss,” Juliana giggled, her cheeks pink with merriment. “You’ll just enjoy some beauty treatments. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to do things like this, so you’ll have to forgive us if we go overboard with spoiling you.”

Dumbfounded was the only word for how Y/N felt. At that point, she was going to get whiplash from being treated like a princess by the staff at one moment, and like a toy by the vampires the next. Bitterly, Y/N came up with the hypothesis that the reasons she was getting ‘spoiled’ was either out of pity, or that the vampires wanted their toy shiny and flawless. Katie, the older maid from before, appeared with a crystal glass filled with some kind of bubbling liquid, a slice of a blood-red orange floating amongst real ice cubes.

“As per Master Hoseok’s request, Miss. It’s a blood orange rum sour, his favorite,” Katie slightly bowed, a wisp of gray hair falling from her low bun. Alarm bells went off in Y/N’s head.

“Blood?”

“It simply refers to the color and variety of the citrus, dear. Not actual blood,” Katie’s mouth twitched, like she was trying not to laugh. Y/N took a sniff of the drink, recoiling slightly at the burn in her nostrils. She knew it was alcohol– something she never tried before.

“Alcohol isn’t allowed at the Sanctuary. They tell us it’s bad for acolytes,” Y/N felt like a lamb going up for slaughter, unsure and anxious. Warm water was being poured down her back from a cup, where Juliana was slowly soaking the strands of her hair to wash, and it made her shiver.

“Well, dear, you’re here now. You may drink as much as you or the Masters deem suitable,” Katie bowed again, whisking away back into Y/N’s bedroom to select her dinner outfit.

If she knew anything about alcohol, it was that it had the ability to steel one’s nerves. Which was something she desperately needed- so bravely, her eyes fluttered shut and she took a hearty swig of the cocktail. The first thing that washed over her palate was bright, juicy citrus, but when she swallowed, the burn of alcohol made the contents of her stomach sting. Grimacing, she willed herself to drain the glass, wondering when she’d feel the effects. Gut boiling, she kept her eyes shut as Juliana worked shampoo into her hair.

“You have such pretty hair, Miss Y/N,” Juliana complimented, Y/N’s cheeks hot– not just from the compliment. A haze, a pleasant one, had her humming. Was it the way Juliana was massaging her temples, or was it the booze flooding through her system? “Anything else we can get you? Another drink?”

“Okay?” Y/N replied, just a tad bit more comfortable with asking for things. Juliana called out for Katie while she rinsed Y/N’s hair, the warm water making her sigh.

And when she had another drink in her hand, Juliana wrapping a hot towel around her conditioned hair and a third nameless maid using a sandy scrub to slough off flakiness from her years-neglected skin, Y/N started to feel giddy. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad– being pampered sure was nice, and Y/N had always been strong-willed. Edmund was right, earlier; the vampires needed her alive, so they wouldn’t dare kill her. To Y/N’s knowledge, there wasn’t another human in the nearest Sanctuaries with blood as rare as hers.

It was like she could feel her backbone growing, only peeling one of her eyes open when something odd was gliding up her legs. Cocking her eyebrow curiously, she watched the third maid– Mei– use a razor to shave downy hair from her legs. Strange.

When she was sufficiently scrubbed, shaved, and presented with oil and lotion to apply, Y/N was left in the bathroom to dry off and slide into a terry cloth robe. Wobbling a little when she got out of the tub, Y/N giggled as she slathered herself with a floral scented lotion, her legs foreignly baby-soft. The cocktails were certainly doing their job, Y/N pinching her cheeks in the mirror and fixing a determined look on her face.

She was always the brave one amongst herself, Meredith, and Joseph. Why should she dissolve into a puddle of helplessness and meek responses? Even though she was being made over into a perfect angel for a group of demons, she held significant power. She didn’t need the coven to survive, but they did.

With renewed courage, Y/N returned to her bedroom. That time, only Nadia and Juliana remained, both of them waiting for her by the old vanity that was littered with appliances, jewelry, and cosmetics. The sun was starting to set, making the sky a burnt orange over the silver ocean.

“How’re you feeling?” Nadia smiled at her through the mirror when Y/N sunk down onto the stool, Y/N returning the expression. She thought that might have been the first time she smiled in the previous 24 hours.

“Relaxed,” Y/N answered honestly, sitting still while Nadia worked a silky product through her hair. Juliana, however, began selecting various powders and tubes and comparing them to Y/N’s complexion with a concentrated pout.

“Fantastic! I’m pleased to hear,” Nadia seemed to glow, like it was her life’s duty to pamper and please Y/N.

Lapsing into silence, Y/N stared at her reflection while Juliana began to dust her face with powder, and Nadia fired up a device that seemed to dry her hair. Buzzed, she watched the two maids make her up into a princess that Y/N used to read about with Meredith, her unruly hair manipulated into a pretty style, shimmering ruby gloss being painted across her lips.

Once the ‘hair dryer’ was switched off, Y/N dared to ask a question that popped into her mind when she got to the bottom of her second cocktail in the bath. Rolling back her shoulders, she got Nadia’s attention while she was sliding a sparkly hair clip into Y/N’s hair. When the query left her lips, both of her maids' expressions went from merry to grim– which wasn’t encouraging.

“Nadia, what happened to the coven’s previous donor?”

“Where is the human sitting?” Yoongi crossed his arms over his chest, a dull ache all over his body. It had been too long since he had fed on human blood, and his immortal body was feeling the deprivation. “Might I suggest… not next to Jimin?”

“Why, do you want that little girl at your side instead?” Seokjin hardly looked up from the documents he was signing, already seated at the head of the dining room table. “You’re not the greedy type, Yoongi. Leave that to Hoseok.”

Yoongi curled up his lip into a snarl, but would not offer a retort to the elder vampire. Really, the only one who had the balls and Seokjin’s grace to allow challenging was Namjoon. With a sigh, Yoongi took his usual seat, his fangs aching. Since they returned to the estate, the scent of AB- blood intensified Yoongi’s longing to have a taste of that sample the coven received earlier in the week. Idly, he traced the veins on the back of his hand– usually pale blue, but with the lack of blood flowing through his system, they were nearly dark gray.

“Which documents are those?”

“From the UN. They want us to sit in on an Assembly in December,” Seokjin sounded terribly bored, mostly because he was to death. Another human war he’d have to offer expertise on, expertise that would probably be ignored. After all, Seokjin and his covenmates were really only invited out of fear.

“What a pain in the ass,” Hoseok arrived at the table, collapsing onto the seat beside Yoongi. Kicking his feet up on the polished table, narrowly missing the china that was set there, Seokjin’s pen-scratching stopped. “I hate New York City. Filthy place. Should have burned it down when I still had my ship.”

“Was New York even established when you still had a ship, Captain Morgan?” Seokjin snarked, staring once pointedly at the bottle of rum in Hoseok’s hand, and then at his boots on the table. “Put your feet down, now.”

Hoseok rolled his rust-colored eyes but obeyed, knowing not to anger Seokjin unless he wanted Namjoon to use his ‘gift’ on him. Taking a swig of the rum, Hoseok frowned– the longer he went without human blood, the duller his taste buds got. He only tasted a flat note of cinnamon, not even the sting of the liquor. Hopefully, he’d get a taste of the mousy acolyte that night.

Snapping his fingers sharply, a staff member appeared out of the shadows to take the signed documents from Seokjin. With mild annoyance, he checked his watch for the time; he told Nadia, the human’s maid, to have the girl at the dinner table at 8 PM sharp. Nadia still had ten minutes before her life was in danger. Seokjin couldn’t stand humans who couldn’t follow simple directions.

“Is twelve courses really necessary? We’ll be here for hours,” Hoseok complained, mostly because he’d have to hear the chefs drone on and on about the ingredients of each dish and the beverage pairing that went with it.

“You saw how pathetically frail that human was. If she is to serve us, she needs to gain weight,” Namjoon thundered into the room, his tread heavy and confident. He sat closest to Seokjin, on the left, his expression made of stone. Again, Hoseok rolled his eyes.

“I agree. With just a few gulps, I could drain the little dove dry,” a melodious voice joined the conversation, Jimin giggling when he sunk into his chair just across from Namjoon. Annoyed with the buttons on his shirt, Jimin tugged the last one free, letting both sides of the garment hang loose.

Namjoon set his jaw in warning, already bracing himself for how insufferable Jimin would become with the arrival of the girl. Namjoon thought it was beneath him to interact with humans unless necessary, while Jimin preferred to see just how far he could push them. Jimin simply grinned back at Namjoon, slow and seductive, a muscle pulsing in the elder vampire’s cheek.

“Control yourself, Jimin. You’re on thin ice,” Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his voice airy and high. His voice had even forced Namjoon somewhat stiff. “Taehyung, have you contacted Berwind?”

The owner of the estate the coven currently called home made his entrance, still in his tweed suit from earlier. Taehyung looked exactly like he did in the portrait of himself hanging above the grand staircase. It’s like time, for Taehyung, stopped in 1869.

“Wait, why?” Hoseok straightened up, with distaste on his face when Taehyung took the opposite head of the table– across from Seokjin. “That guy is a blowhard.”

“Well, the blowhard might be our newest partner for marine affairs. You want a new ship, do you not?” Taehyung pointed out blandly, rubbing the grayish veins over his temples. “We’re going to have to host a party soon. He won’t agree to anything unless we get a selection of acolytes and fine wine.”

“She has five more minutes…” Seokjin murmured to himself, secretly wishing Nadia would give him an excuse to blow off steam. “Where is Jeongguk?”

“Hyung,” Namjoon cleared his throat to get Seokjin’s attention, pointing to the door leading into the butler’s pantry.

Jeongguk emerged, his hands shoved into his pockets as a very sheepish looking set of sous chefs followed him with silver trays.

“I don’t know why they expected us to eat food when the lack of blood has stolen our sense of taste,” Jeongguk drawled, a chef shakily placing a cordial glass in front of Seokjin.

It contained the remainder of the AB- sample, the acolyte’s blood. The glass was hardly on the table before Yoongi snatched it up, draining it in one go. Anything to relieve the ache. Even after five hundred years, Yoongi could never get used to the feeling of being starved.

“So sorry, Masters,” one of the chefs bowed, Namjoon’s eyes narrowing. Normally, he would have broken a limb for the forgetfulness, but he didn’t have it in him that evening. “Hors d'oeuvres will be out momentarily.”

Jeongguk scoffed, glancing curiously when Seokjin started tutting as the youngest vampire began to take his usual spot beside Namjoon.

“What’s wrong?”

“Leave a space between you and Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin ordered firmly. “The human will sit between you two, lest she decide to flee the table, you two will be able to restrain her swiftly.”

Jimin pouted, his lips stained with the blood he sipped from his cordial glass. Seokjin was about to get up to deal with Nadia failing to follow his order when every vampire in the room paused, clumsy footsteps hurrying in the direction of the dining room. Covered poorly by expensive perfume was the scent of unease, alcohol, and mortal vitality.

“Cutting it close, Nadia,” Seokjin purred, the maid blushing as she ushered the young acolyte into the dining room.

The girl, dressed in a velvet ruby cocktail dress, fidgeted with the short hem of the garment while gawking at the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Her racing pulse was audible and visible; veins fluttering at the base of her throat.

“I apologize, Master Seokjin. I’m afraid Juliana and I got carried away with dressing Miss Y/N for dinner. It has been a while,” Nadia bowed, the human acolyte flinching when Jimin was abruptly at her side. “Please, enjoy dinner. I’ll take my leave, now.”

“Oh, our little dove! You’re in the Mugler dress, your maids chose so well…. Matches the rubies perfectly,” Jimin cooed while poking the choker around her neck, the rest of the vampires knowing that there was nothing sweet about Jimin’s approval. Jimin, despite the raised brow from Seokjin that was directed towards him, took up one of Y/N’s trembling hands, dragging her further into the room.

“Thank you,” Y/N breathed, intimidated and sounding like she was far from flattered. Jimin delighted in the way her body completely locked up with his touch, her palm slick with perspiration.

Stumbling in her heels, Y/N had no choice but to be escorted to the table by Jimin, her large eyes widening when she realized who she was to be seated between. Pulling out her chair like a perfect gentleman, Y/N snatched her hand back as soon as she tumbled onto the velvet cushion. Jimin didn’t seem to care, simply smirking, stalking back to his own place at the table. There was a pause, Y/N glancing around the room at both the fine decorations and the vampires, fingers still twitching at her dress hemline. It was likely she hadn’t worn something so revealing before.

Y/N blinked when her sight landed on one of the heads of the table, the vampire in the portrait on the staircase staring back at her blankly. He looked precisely like he had in the painting, down to the light-colored suit. Sure, his face was a bit more drawn and he was much paler, but it was almost like he stepped out of the canvas like a realm-walker.

Nervously, she peeked to the left, where Namjoon was, the vampire taking a sip of a red liquid from a small glass, his leather gloves still on his large hands. He caught her gaze from the corner of his sharpened eyes, Y/N knowing at once what he was drinking– far too viscous to be wine, too red, it had to be blood. Whose blood it was, exactly, Y/N hoped she’d never know.

“It’s yours, of course, remnants of the sample. Humans are so dim,” Jeongguk easily read her thoughts, not even having to put in effort to enter her mind. Even with the lack of effort, he could tell Y/N was uncomfortable with him probing around in her skull, the girl wincing and rubbing her forehead.

“Do not sap her of energy yet, Jeongguk. She must eat so she can be useful,” Seokjin sighed, still tasting her on his tongue. Though she was malnourished, her blood was still the finest he had tasted in centuries.

“What were they feeding you at that sanctimonious dump, pet?” Hoseok, still lazily slouching, drawled. Y/N hesitated, not knowing whether or not to reply, making Hoseok grow impatient. “Speak when spoken to. Articulate.”

“U-uh, um… organ meats, mostly. Lentils and kale,” Y/N squeaked, her complexion a touch green.

“Poor little dove. How repulsive,” Jimin pouted, the expression teasing.

Y/N opened her mouth, fidgeting in her seat, Taehyung watching her mortal movements with fascination– they could never quite sit still. Before she could speak again, squirming under the weight of seven ruby gazes, staff members dressed in suits and white gloves came from the butler’s pantry carrying dishes. One of the staff members was carrying a silver ice-bucket with a bottle of wine, Y/N eagerly waiting for more alcohol to take the edge off. Whatever she had earlier had long since worn off.

“Good evening, Masters, Miss Y/N,” a man in a chef’s uniform began, standing beside Seokjin at the head of the table. “Tonight’s hors d'oeuvres is oysters rockefeller with Sambuca and garlic-buttered sautéed spinach, paired with Clos des Bouquinardieres Muscadet. Please enjoy.”

Jeongguk laughed when he read Y/N’s mind trying to wrap around unfamiliar words. Rubbing her forehead again, she stared at the odd thing placed in front of her. As someone poured wine for her– to her disappointment, only about an inch of liquid splashing into the glass– she was immensely curious about the seashell placed delicately on a tiny plate, containing something breaded within.

“Never had seafood before?” Hoseok raised a dark eyebrow, ignoring the oyster and going straight for his wine.

“This is seafood?” Y/N blurted, Jimin finding her innocence quite entertaining. She was like a young girl he’d write as his heroine in one of his tragedies. Hoseok, however, glared at Y/N’s failure to answer his question. “I’ve just had t-tuna before… M-master Hoseok.”

“Master! Look at that, the pet is already learning her place,” Hoseok’s laugh was boisterous, bouncing off of the great walls, a thin whimper leaving from the back of Y/N’s throat. Namjoon had heard whimpers like that millions of times: pure, involuntary fear. It made him smile behind the rim of his wine glass.

“Enough. Eat,” Seokjin’s voice was a hiss, plucking up the small fork specifically for shellfish. “Yoongi. I want you to get in touch with some artists in Italy. We’ll invite them here when we host Berwind, you know how much he loves being in the company of talent.”

Yoongi chewed the oyster thoroughly, relieved that he could actually taste the flavor after just a small sip of the acolyte’s blood. All of the painters Yoongi once knew, the ones he actually wished could be present during a party, were long since dead and gone. He’d have to write to modern artists, who would be frothing at the mouth for an opportunity to meet Yoongi. What a bore.

“I’ve seen Gianluca Traina, his work isn’t half-bad. I can reach out to him and Agostino Iacurci,” Yoongi leaned back, letting a staff member take his plate. His hands itched to paint, loathing that he’d have to sit through eleven more courses. In particular, as he watched the young human girl cautiously raise a fork to her mouth, he wanted to capture how she looked when she tasted a flavor brand-new to her. “They’re no Boticelli or Michelangelo, though.”

“Too bad your mentor wasn’t turned,” Namjoon spoke up, though Yoongi knew Namjoon really didn’t care one way or the other.

“Da Vinci would have hated the modern age,” Yoongi muttered nonchalantly, Namjoon scoffing at the name-drop. Not that the human would have known who the artist was, Namjoon confirming that she had no idea who Leonardo da Vinci was when she peered at Yoongi vacantly, draining her wine glass with a shaky grip.

Y/N felt the wine burning in her stomach, stuck between relieved that she was being ignored for the moment and filled with anticipation for the next time the attention would be on her.

“Next we have the amuse-bouche. Pickled baby beets with herbed goat cheese, candied kumquats and basil chiffon. With it we have Sancerre.”

The chef reappeared, the next small plate and glass of wine placed before Y/N. The food, so far, were like works of art, and Y/N almost felt bad eating it. Especially when she thought about the bland, mushy pile of goo her fellow acolytes at the Sanctuary were picking at while she ate like a queen.

Mercifully, all the vampires talked about for quite some time was the event they were planning for the following week, and they left Y/N alone. Her guard was not coming down any time soon, so she stayed quiet as a mouse through each course.

Acorn squash soup garnished with pepitas, purple radish microgreens and sage oil with prosecco. Native lobster, roasted heritage carrots, carrot puree, buttermilk puree, spiced crumb and chardonnay. Kale and brussels sprout salad with maple-candied pecans, honeycrisp apples, pomegranate and lemon vinaigrette with sauvignon blanc. Ingredients, flavors, and textures Y/N never even dreamed of before. By the time she stuffed the last slice of apple from her salad into her mouth, Y/N was already feeling quite satiated, and the wine was dizzying up her head. Or perhaps it was Jeongguk still fishing though her mind.

“Seven more courses, human. Don’t think you can leave this table before then,” Jeongguk reminded her mildly, her suspicions confirmed. Thankfully, she caught herself before she could grumble at him.

“Tell me, little girl. Did you spend your entire life in that Sanctuary?” Seokjin asked, curious about how much she knew about vampires. That, and he was concerned about her purity; though judging by her innocence, he didn’t predict that to be too much of a problem.

“No, Master Seokjin,” Y/N replied, apprehensive towards a round of questioning.

“Elaborate.”

Swallowing, Y/N glanced down at the fish that was just delivered to her, stomach turning. She found it hard to look at any of the vampires for too long, but Seokjin’s face was so hauntingly beautiful, it hurt to look at.

“I was brought to the Sanctuary ten years ago, when I was fifteen. I grew up on the outskirts of town and was raised by my grandmother. When she passed away, I drifted until I was caught by wardens who were testing human’s blood types on the street.”

“I’ve noticed those vans around town. Wardens drive them around looking for new acolytes,” Jeongguk remarked helpfully, when Hoseok looked distantly confused.

“You have the rarest blood type in the world. How is it that you were not immediately sent to a Sanctuary upon your birth? It is the law,” Seokjin was frowning, extremely annoyed. Fifteen years of alluding a system set up so meticulously led him to believe she’d be wayward.

“I was born off of the grid, not in a hospital. My grandmother faked my blood results later on, when we were visited by Sanctuary wardens,” Y/N spoke softly, too afraid to raise her voice. She didn’t like the sharpened edge to Seokjin’s tone.

“I don’t understand how an elderly woman could have pulled that off,” Hoseok said, his mouth flattened into a line. “What happened to your parents, pet?”

Y/N flinched, reluctant to give up a vulnerability to the predators. She knew she wouldn’t be able to conceal her thoughts, however, with Jeongguk still prying into her head. With the fish cleared away, a roasted chicken was put in front of her– this time, with a glass of red wine. Before answering Hoseok, she sucked down the velvety liquid.

“My mother died in childbirth, I never knew her. Apparently my father was just a fling, I didn’t know him, either. It was just me and grandma,” Y/N pushed a strand of pasta around on her plate, doodling shapes with the tip of her fork in the creamy sauce.

“The little dove is an orphan. How tragic,” Jimin’s excitement was paramount. There was nothing he loved more than a heroine with an ill–fated past. Y/N was disturbed by the twinkle in his eyes, barely able to finish the rest of her chicken.

“Um, it’s alright. You can’t really miss what you never knew,” Y/N spoke impulsively, like she was talking to Joseph or Meredith rather than seven vampires who were effectively perfect, lethal strangers.

“Adorable,” Jimin gushed, licking his lips. Yoongi, beside Jimin, pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated with Jimin’s theatrics. It came naturally to Jimin, being a writer of dramas and screenplays, so Yoongi couldn’t actually fault him for it, but it was dreadful to withstand.

Blood rushed to Y/N’s face, the three youngest vampires in the dining room becoming coiled and ready to pounce. Seokjin simply held up his hand disinterestedly, a silent order for the fledglings to get control of themselves.

“Oh! What’s this?” Y/N had become incredibly loosened up thanks to the seven various wines she tasted over the course of the evening, cocking her head at the small silver dish placed in front of her.

“Miss, it’s a lime sorbet with mint to cleanse the palate before the second main course,” A staff member poured a bubbly wine into a skinny flute for her, presenting a miniature spoon for Y/N to use.

“Sor-bet…” Y/N repeated slowly, scooping up some of the treat, the iciness washing over her tongue bizarre and making her audibly exclaim. A frozen sweet wasn’t something she was able to have at the Sanctuary, and it brought a tear to her eye.

“They brought out the Dom Perignon, what do they think, we have the Pope here?” Hoseok lifted his champagne flute to his face, watching the bubbles dance in the glass.

“Is it expensive?” Y/N dared to ask, a distant part of her screaming to shut up. Hoseok’s expression darkened when she addressed him, so she instantly corrected herself. “Master Hoseok.”

“Taehyung will only drink expensive wines. That champagne you so hastily gulped down is the most expensive vintage wine that money can buy, pet,” Hoseok smirked, Y/N becoming embarrassed that she did, in fact, knock the drink back.

“You paint me as a snob,” Taehyung frowned, earning a dry chuckle from Jeongguk.

“Take a look around this place, for Christ’s sake. Of course you’re a snob,” Jeongguk remarked, gesturing around the lavish dining room they were seated in.

Y/N was positively stuffed. In fact, she clasped a hand over her mouth when a rack of lamb and rice replaced her empty sorbet dish, not wanting to eat another bite. She felt if she did, the velvet dress she was in would rip open.

“You will eat it all,” Seokjin barked when Y/N made no motion to pick up her fork, the sound making her flinch into Namjoon’s thick shoulder. The vampire stiffened, a disgusted look on his face, Y/N’s skin flashing with heat. “You will eat it, or I’ll allow Jimin to go over there and force-feed you.”

That threat terrified Y/N, Jimin’s grin widening when she caught his eye. Without another second spared, Y/N began cutting through the meat, much to Jimin’s disappointment. With a bereft sigh, Jimin leaned on his elbows, craving some trouble he could stir up.

Diligently, Y/N picked her way through the final courses, nearly gagging on the rich chocolate truffles that ended the meal. She was laughed at again– that time by Hoseok, when she asked if she could really eat the ‘gold leaf’ dusted on top of the dessert. The final drink that was offered was an espresso ‘martini’, which is what careened Y/N out of tipsiness and straight into dizzy intoxication. Giggling for no particular reason, Y/N started folding her napkin into different shapes, forgetting who her company was.

“She’s a pretty little dove, isn’t she?” Jimin held his face in his hands, ravenous even though he had plenty of human food in his stomach.

“Those words are familiar,” Jeongguk deadpanned, Yoongi spotting where things were going a mile away.

“I bet she’d look pretty all drained, too. Like the last girl,” Jimin’s voice was dreamy, and it was fortunate that Y/N was too distracted by her cocktail to pick up on what he was going on about.

“Watch it,” Jeongguk warned, not wanting to end the evening with Jimin’s dramatics.

“Oh, come now, Jeongguk… don’t you want to pin her down, fangs in her throat?” Venom flooded into Jimin’s mouth, watching Y/N’s pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “We could always find another, too, after we drain her. You take a wrist, I’ll–”

“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin interrupted quietly, looking up towards the chandelier. The whole table went silent, Jimin’s mouth slamming shut, regret all over his sculpted face. With a grunt, Namjoon stood from his seat, slowly stalking around the table.

Y/N’s attention towards the vampires was recaptured when she noticed Namjoon, eyes dark and determined, approaching Jimin. The silence deafening, Y/N watched curiously when Namjoon bent low, face close to Jimin’s. Even Y/N could sense Jimin’s fear, and it made her instantly nauseous.

Namjoon gripped Jimin’s sculpted jaw, his gloved hands rough against Jimin’s skin, and for a moment, Y/N thought Namjoon was going to kiss the younger vampire. Narrowing his eyes, Namjoon squeezed Jimin’s jaw, Jimin going absolutely rigid when they made eye contact, the martini glass Jimin was holding shattering in his grasp. Horrified, Y/N watched Jimin shake, eyebrows scrunched up in agony, and she realized Namjoon was using his ‘gift’ on Jimin. For what, she wasn’t sure, but it was terrifying that he could inflict so much pain on even a vampire.

“Enough,” Seokjin called, Namjoon releasing Jimin’s jaw at once, and the younger vampire gasped for breath, his body sagging over the table. “I told you you were on thin ice, Jimin.”

“Sorry,” Jimin heaved, only apologetic because he had to suffer from Namjoon’s Pain Illusion. The sensation of being burned alive was unbearable, but he didn’t regret what he said. Besides, it was trouble that he was craving earlier.

“No you’re not,” Namjoon hissed, Y/N unable to process how scary Namjoon looked, standing beside Seokjin with his arms crossed. Y/N swore to herself, in that very moment, she would do everything in her power to avoid Namjoon using Pain Illusion on her.

“Can we wrap this evening up now?” Yoongi asked, peeved. He wanted to isolate, to paint.

“Not yet,” Seokjin twirled an empty wine glass contemplatively, his eyes then on Y/N. “Come here, little girl.”

“W-what? Why?” Y/N asked with dread, still nauseous. Seokjin clicked his tongue, agitated.

Come here, little girl.

That time, Seokjin’s voice was in her head rather than out loud. Forgetting that he could use Compulsion, she felt her skin crawling hearing his dulcet tones inside of her head. Staring at her expectantly, Y/N was frozen in her seat. Seokjin snapped his fingers, and Namjoon rounded the table again, hooking one of his gloved hands under Y/N’s bicep. Roughly hauling her to her feet, she was effectively dragged to the head of the table, Y/N starting to hyperventilate and panic. Namjoon’s grip was bruising, her skin smarting when he let her go.

Sit.

Seokjin’s voice in her mind was firm and authoritative, spreading his legs expectantly. Y/N’s eyes bugged out of her head– there was no way on God’s green planet she was sitting on that vampire’s lap. Still borderline hysterical, she did the only thing she could think of: beg and plead.

“P-please, please. Don’t hurt me,” Y/N had a tear running down her cheek, Seokjin’s expression hardening at the sight.

Sit down.

Suddenly, Y/N’s spine went rigid. Seokjin’s mental suggestion didn’t seem so bad, then. Even though she was still crying and breathing heavily, her body moved on its own, lowering herself onto one of Seokjin’s thighs. The power of his suggestion, his Compulsion, was impossible to override, so embarrassingly, she was perched on Seokjin’s lap. The vampire curled a hand around her waist, his hold ironclad, to keep her in place. Panic setting in further, Y/N continued to beg the eldest vampire pathetically.

“Please, I’m begging you,” Y/N whimpered, Seokjin setting his wine glass down and tracing his fingers over a steak knife beside it.

“Jeongguk, Taehyung,” Seokjin sighed, exhausted. The little girl was proving to be difficult, so he’d need some persuasion to keep her quiet. Confused, Y/N looked at Jeongguk, more tears slipping down her face when she felt him worming her way into her memories.

“I do not know if you’re aware how a coven operates…” Seokjin began, Y/N finding it hard to focus on his voice while Jeongguk was in her head. “But as the head of the coven, I must be the first to bite you. However, my covenmates… they’re starving.”

Chest heaving, Y/N hated the sturdy feeling of Seokjin’s chest pressed against her back. He was cold, plucking up the steak knife and totally indifferent to her hysteria.

“Y/N, it’s okay!” A familiar, cheery voice had her head snapping in an opposite direction, pure amazement washing over her at the sight of the person across the table.

It was Joseph, from the Sanctuary, dressed in his usual white linens and grinning at her. The sight of him had her tears drying up, even if she had no idea how her friend had gotten there. She didn’t even notice he had taken the spot that Taehyung once sat in.

What Y/N wasn’t aware of was how Joseph managed to arrive at The Breakers. It was simple: Jeongguk found memories of Joseph in the acolyte’s mind, Seokjin pried the image of Joseph from Jeongguk’s report, and sent it to Taehyung, who then Glamored himself as the acolyte’s friend. The visual of her former friend was enough to have Y/N calming down somewhat, Taehyung keeping up the act by using words that ‘Joseph’ would.

“I bet that meal was a lot better than the Sanctuary slop. We had canned tuna tonight.”

“Joey? How did you get here?” Y/N breathed, watching Joseph (Taehyung) push a hand through his dark curls, one of his common habits.

You are going to be calm while I do this.

Seokjin’s voice, a siren’s call in her brain, told her. She wasn’t entirely focused on the vampire whose lap she was sitting in, hardly aware that he was holding onto her wrist with a cold hand. All of her panic went away instantly, melting on Seokjin’s lap, limp for him.

“Just visiting. Actually, it’s really nice here, isn’t it?” Joseph replied, Taehyung wondering just how close the two of them were as he saw Y/N through Joseph’s eyes.

“I-I guess?” Y/N answered, still staring at her friend in disbelief. She froze when she felt something cold and sharp against her wrist, looking down to see that Seokjin had the steak knife against her skin. “Wait, what are you–”

“Y/N, I think you’ll be happy!” Her friend interrupted, distracting her. Taehyung inwardly smirked at how easy it was to fool her.

“H-how? Ah!” Y/N yelped, Seokjin dragging the knife’s blade across her flesh, cutting into the skin. A three inch long gash was created, blood immediately spilling down her palm, Y/N out-of-body when Seokjin placed her wrist over the empty wine glass.

“Look at me, Y/N. It’s alright. Hey, remember when we used to weed the garden together and see who could pull out the most dandelions?”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N’s voice was far away, somehow relaxed in Seokjin’s arms and talking to her friend even though her wrist was just slit. Joseph was right, it was alright, everything was okay, and she’d be fine. “You’d always win.”

“That’s right, squirt. You could never beat me.”

His nickname for her had a stab of pain rocking through her. It really was Joseph!

“J-joey,” Y/N began, feeling lightheaded from the blood flowing from the gash on her wrist. “What were you trying to tell me when they took me away?”

Joseph seemed puzzled, Taehyung unfortunately not having an answer. Thinking on his feet, he composed himself, leaning forward, and came up with a response the girl would likely be satisfied with.

“Oh, I said that I’d write to you every week. That I’d never forget you.”

Y/N didn’t reply, her expression wiping blank. Taehyung didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Surprisingly, Jeongguk couldn’t even decipher what she was thinking when he probed into her skull. All he felt coming from the girl was deep remorse.

Then, Seokjin lifted her wrist again. Trembling, she turned to get a look at his perfect face, gasping sharply when the vampire brought her hand close to his face. Full lips parting, his tongue dragged along the cut he made on her wrist, and Y/N gawked in awe as she watched Seokjin’s eye color go from rusty to deep, dark red.

“Vampire venom can cauterize wounds,” Taehyung’s low voice rang out, and when Y/N turned her head, Joseph was gone and Taehyung had returned to his seat. It was then that she realized she had been deceived, and her heart dropped. Joseph was never truly there, it was Taehyung Glamoring himself to make her docile.

“Pass it around,” Seokjin spoke from behind her, his grip likely leaving a deep bruise on the small of her waist while Namjoon reached for the wine glass– nearly full to the brim with her blood.

With horror, Y/N watched Namjoon take a deep gulp from the glass, color returning to his skin which took on a golden tone. His eyes, too, became richer in color, and in a daze, Y/N was still as the glass made its way around the table, each of the vampires seemingly coming back to life as soon as her blood touched their lips.

Stay still, little girl.

Seokjin, still ordering her around mentally, started to gather her hair in one of his fists, pushing it over her shoulder to expose the column of her neck. Helplessly, all Y/N could do was squeeze her eyes shut, knowing what was coming.

A pair of cold, but plush, lips parted against her throat, the eldest vampire collecting her in his arms firmly as razor-sharp fangs brushed her skin. Gripping the edge of the dining table, she shrieked when she felt Seokjin’s fangs sink into her neck.

There was a stinging sensation– probably the venom– but a head-to-toe pain flooded through her all at once. It was repulsive to feel Seokjin’s temperature immediately heat up, his chest becoming warm like a human’s, all because of her blood flowing into his mouth. Unable to move due to his supernatural strength keeping her caged, she felt hot tears pouring down her cheeks while Seokjin latched onto her. The recognizable sensation of blood leaving her body, the sensation she hated more than anything, was intensified now that it was literally being sucked out of her.

“Please,” Y/N wheezed, broken. Everything was spinning, and her vision was dimming.

Finally, Seokjin’s fangs retracted, the girl like a rag doll in his lap when he used his tongue to stop the bite from bleeding further. Though she was slight, simple, and weak, her blood was life-giving, and some of the best blood he had ever tasted. The emotion he was feeling, using the back of his hand to clean up the trail of blood dripping down his chin, was comparable to human amazement that he hadn’t felt for over eight hundred years.

Y/N was completely shaken. Over the course of several minutes, she was manhandled and maimed, deceived and manipulated, and bitten. It was more horrible than she ever could have imagined, her head fuzzy and the side of her throat throbbing painfully.

Get up.

Seokjin’s voice haunted her, and she never wanted to hear it again. She knew, however, it was just the beginning of him residing in her mind, and it made her want to use the bloodied steak knife he used on her to cut her own throat. His mental suggestion was so powerful that she actually ended up struggling to her feet, finally out of the eldest vampire’s proximity.

“What did I tell you all? She’s a good little pet,” Hoseok, the picture of vitality with her blood in his system, chuckled, Y/N’s knees buckling before she collapsed on the floor.

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jeonstudios · 6 months ago

Text

fontana di trevi | 02

you seek out a vampire to help you with something.

pairing: vampire!jk x sadgirl, blood donor!reader

genre: vampire au, angst, fluff (really a sadgirl fic lol)

word count: 9k

warnings: same as last time basically: blood, needles, suicidal thoughts and intentions

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 2/2

“Thanks,” you smile politely as you close the car door, hearing the Uber drive off behind you. The walk up to the house is no different than last time, yet it definitely feels different. Both because of what happened almost a week ago, but also since you’re hoping this will be the last time.

What certainly is different is the surprised look on the vampire’s face as he opens the door to see you standing there with your hands in the pockets of your winter coat.

He himself is wearing a black hoodie, and once again, black shorts. His hair looks a little messier than how you’re used to seeing it. Almost like he’s been sleeping. Vampires don’t sleep, though, do they?

“I… didn’t think you’d show,” he admits honestly, nonetheless opening the door wider for you, and as you enter, you can’t help but think that he looks… almost cuddly.

Of course, he still gives off the usual intimidating aura, and he should probably be even scarier to you considering what happened last time you met him, but… you don’t know. Perhaps you’re just so deprived of human touch that a bloodthirsty vampire’s cold embrace seems inviting.

This time, he waits in the hallway while you step out of your shoes and remove your coat.

“Yeah, I still want this. I just… wasn’t prepared,” you explain rather vaguely, knowing that he understands exactly what you’re getting at anyway. You want to die but on your terms.

“It wasn’t my intention. To do what I did.”

You meet his eyes. It’s not an outright apology, but it feels eerily close to one.

“You were there to… feed, weren’t you?”

He nods. “Didn’t get the chance to on Thursday or Friday.”

It’s your turn to nod in understanding. For a short moment, you stand there, looking at each other.

Until you break the silence. “So, can we start?”

“Sure,” he agrees, turning around to head toward the kitchen.

Like the first time you showed up to his house when he didn’t think you were going to, he has to bring the supplies from wherever he keeps them. You take your spot at the table, slip off your cardigan, and wait.

The vampire returns with his hands full, placing the stuff down on the table before he pulls out another chair and positions it the same way as always. But his focus lies on your skin.

“These are new bruises?” he asks, carefully grasping your hand and very gently lifting it to better inspect the yellowing marks covering your skin. “You always bruise like this after?”

You follow his gaze. There are currently three bruises on your right arm, none the same as the night he almost killed you. Two are yellow and from when you bumped into a dresser at home a few days ago. The third is purple but smaller and its origin a mystery. If he wanted to see bruises, he should’ve seen the ones on your legs after you fell when he attacked you.

“Not the first time, but yeah. Usually just from the needle site, but lately, it’s all over. I guess I’m a little deficient in something,” you joke quietly, but the vampire doesn't laugh.

“Why does it interest you so much? Do you have some kind of medical degree?” you ask, thinking back to when he first asked you why you didn’t wonder about his apparent knowledge.

“Not officially, but being dependent on humans like we are to some extent, you tend to pick up on stuff, and having been around as long as I have, it’s even more unavoidable. But I’ve never seen bruising this severe from blood loss.”

Fair enough. Your body should definitely try to keep the little blood remaining inside your veins, where it belongs.

He starts prepping your arm, but instead of looking away, you close your eyes. Are you imagining things or has he been… softer lately? Making sure you got home safely instead of leaving you to your fate, almost worrying about your bruises, and being gentler in the way he attaches the needle? Then again, he’s only making sure you can give him as much blood as possible, and he also would’ve probably killed you if he’d gotten ahold of you last week.

“I take it you’ve killed before?”

There’s a few seconds of silence, but then he answers, and there’s nothing hidden in his words or voice that reveals something more.

“I have.”

“How do you…,” you start, unsure of how to phrase your question. “I mean, what do you do… after?”

“Are you asking…?”

“How do you… dispose of them? And… I guess, how will you dispose of… me?”

It’s not really a sensitive question for you, so you’re not sure for whose sake you’re so careful. You doubt the vampire really cares.

You hear him exhale. “I guess it depends on the circumstances. I haven’t planned anything.”

You wince when he sticks you, more painful this time for some reason. The ball is placed in your hand like always, and you start to squeeze it.

Your curiosity isn’t that dire, so you’re not disappointed by his answer. Maybe he’s not even being honest, and it’s for your sake? Which brings you back to why he’s being extra gentle. The only other explanation you can think of is that he feels sorry for you. Maybe he just truly wants to spare you unnecessary pain and worry in the last moments of your pathetic life? Because this is it. With how shitty you’ve been feeling these last couple of weeks and especially since last time, you know it won’t be long. Today’s the day.

One bag. He can take one bag and after that he’ll have to end it. That way, you don’t have to bleed out, and he’ll get as much blood as possible. If he takes your advice about how to drain the rest, well, that’s up to him.

You’re startled by the sound of knocking, opening your eyes to see the vampire rise from his chair, seemingly sharing your surprise. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Nodding, you close your eyes again, getting as comfortable as you can in the chair while wondering who’s at the door. A vampire friend? A vampire partner? Surely, he doesn’t hang out with humans on the regular? You always got the impression, both from him and vampires in pop culture, that they don’t really care for humans. In fact, a dirty human only pesters a vampire’s environment unless they’re actively dying.

Your heart hurts. It’s beating heavily inside your chest, a feeling you’ve grown somewhat used to over the weeks, but it feels undeniably worse. Like every beat is a painful and exhausting accomplishment. Your breaths grow heavier too.

Surely, it’s been more than a minute. Is he on his way back? If he were a human, chatting with another human at the front door, maybe you would’ve heard them, but you can’t discern anything.

It feels a little like your head’s in the clouds, and you’re not sure if your eyes are still closed or if they’re open and you just can’t see anything. You have a feeling that not only can’t you hear the vampire, you can’t hear anything anymore.

Realizing that this is it, you try to call for him quietly to tell him so, but although you’re pretty certain you’re dying, for some reason, you don’t want to interrupt whatever he’s doing with his visitor.

“Fine, alright, I’ll talk to him, but please, this is not a good time.”

“But he’s being an ass, and you were the last person he spoke to before he left for fucking Iceland.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes at his friend, Yuqi. With how much she and Taehyung love each other, there’s a surprising amount of drama.

“I don’t wanna get involved. I’ll call him later.”

“Fine, get back to me after. If he doesn’t answer, I’m taking the first flight.”

“Vampire?”

Yuqi, who was just about to turn around to leave, stops in her tracks.

“What… was that?” she asks, standing still before discreetly scenting the air. “Is that… blood?”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen. He’s used to smelling blood whenever you’re there to leave it, but not this much. Quickly, and without regard to Yuqi, he turns to rush back into his kitchen, eyes going even wider at the vision in front of him.

“Vampire?” you call out quietly again from the chair, eyes closed and unknowing of his return. You seem out of it, bordering on unconscious, and it’s not without reason. Jeongguk curses himself for not double checking the blood bag when he knows that brand is prone to ripping because the bag isn’t full; it’s broken, and your blood is dripping into a big puddle of red on the floor.

You think… you’re being… carried? By someone firm and… warm. You like that.

“I’m not warm," a low voice comments. "At least I’m not supposed to be.”

“I’m dying… right?” you mumble, feeling how the vampire puts you down on something soft.

“Probably, yeah.”

He does something to your arms, and you can’t figure out what, but you realize it has something to do with collecting the remaining blood when you’re gone.

There’s another voice.

Next time you open your eyes, you feel… different. And upset. You’re not as dizzy as you’ve become accustomed to, and the room doesn’t spin when you sit up on the bed. Your body hurts, but it feels more like you’re simply tired and beat than extremely weak. Most importantly, you feel, which means you’re not dead.

As if he could sense your awakening—or just possesses superhuman hearing—a door opens to reveal the vampire. He's wearing other clothes, grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt, and his face doesn't give you anything.

“What happened?” you question, looking around the room that’s clearly a bedroom. “And where am I?”

“You passed out. There was a hole in the bag, so the blood was just leaking onto the floor. I had my friend steal some from the hospital, and I gave you a transfusion. Yuqi also brought some clothes and stuff for you, so you’re staying here at least until tomorrow. Then you’re free to leave whenever you want.”

“I… don’t understand. Why would you—why not just let me go then?”

“I changed my mind.”

You look at him, bewildered and trying to find the words. “What do you mean you changed your mind? We had an agreement?”

“I know, but I changed my mind. I’m not doing it. If the blood matters to you, the bags are in the freezer.”

“Why–what would I do with blood?” you question in frustration. Is he offering it back in case you want to drink it? Try to put it back inside your veins? Apparently, you’ve already had transfusions, so you have exactly zero use for frozen bags of blood. “Why can’t you just get on with it? Why not let me die?”

“I do not. Want. To,” he hisses.

You stare at him in silence, feeling confused and betrayed. He looks away but doesn't seem affected. No shame, no regret, no anything but a moment of frustration to breach otherwise calm determination.

“Here’s the stuff,” he gestures toward a duffel bag by the foot of the bed. “You have a bathroom right outside, and I’m gonna order some food for you. You should take it easy; I wasn’t able to give you as much blood as you really need, and unfortunately, what I’ve previously collected isn’t fit to give back. Since it’s been frozen and stored improperly for that kind of purpose, there would be a risk of clotting.”

You look at him from where you’re sitting on his bed, and he looks back at you. The irritation you feel grows beyond what you’re capable of conveying, and so it turns into defeat. It makes you angry, how he managed to back out of giving you what you wanted at the very last second. You spent months upholding your end of the deal, and when it finally came time for him to do the same, he didn’t.

“Don’t bother,” you lie down slowly, your back facing him where he stands at the door. Silently, you curse your body for feeling so tired; ideally, you’d stomp out of there, slamming the door behind you. “I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Your own clothes are still wearable. The few stains of blood are relatively small and dried, and the vampire already placed you on his bed, so you don’t feel like you’ll do any more damage by sleeping in them. The house is quiet, but you don’t think he’s left it, which begs the question of where he is. And also if he sleeps and if he does, then… where? He never gave you a tour or anything, so you have no idea what the rest of his house looks like. Whatever; you don’t care, anyway.

His sheets smell clean, though, and it doesn’t take you long to pass out, truly exhausted.

When you wake up, you can’t find your phone, and without any other time measuring device, you don’t know what time it is. It appears like the sun rose not too long ago so that narrows your guess a little bit at least.

Sitting up slowly, you take a deep breath. You feel… okay. A bit sore almost, but more energetic than you have in a while. Unfortunately, it’s not necessarily a good thing in your book.

Sighing, you put your feet to the hardwood floor. They carry you with only a little dizziness, and you set your sight on the bedroom door. It opens smoothly, and you peer out, looking for the bathroom the vampire mentioned. There’s a door immediately to your left which you guess must be it, and so you head toward it.

After successfully finding the bathroom and using it, you decide to continue the search for your phone. Since you thought last night would be your last and therefore arrived by Uber rather than driving, it means that without your phone, you have no way home.

You make your way down some stairs, recognizing the hallway as the one the vampire has led you through what feels like countless times. Last time you remember having your phone was in the kitchen, so that’s where you steer your steps.

As luck would have it, the kitchen is also where the vampire happens to be. Upon your entrance, your eyes immediately fall on the tall man where he stands, leaning back against the counter. Although he surely heard you approaching a long time ago, he only turns his head slowly toward you when you’re well into the room. He’s hard to read; doesn’t offer much.

“Do you know where my phone is?”

The vampire twists his body to look at the counter behind him, sliding something toward you. You take a step closer, inspecting the device when it’s in your hands. Three percent.

“Do you have a charger I can borrow?”

“Yeah,” he answers with a nod and pushes off the counter, leaving the kitchen. You wait, quietly wondering what exactly goes on inside his head. He seems unfazed by the whole ordeal, which doesn’t necessarily surprise you. But what you still don’t quite understand is why he claimed to have changed his mind. Could it be that he just didn’t want to deal with your body?

The vampire returns with a white charger in his hand, his skin cold against yours when you accept it from him. Finding a fitting outlet near the table, you plug the charger in and sit down, gazing out through the window while you wait for the phone to charge enough for the trip home. The vampire has gone back to leaning wordlessly against the counter, and you ignore him.

Opening your phone, you find that the only unread notification you have is a spam email. Why are you surprised? With a small sigh, you lock the device again, hoping it’ll charge faster if you don’t use it. Forty percent should be enough.

It’s snowing outside, and you watch the big snowflakes fall slowly and silently to the already white ground. Waiting like this gives you time to go over all the things you’ve done wrong in your life.

Next time you unlock your phone, the battery has reached thirty-seven percent. You open the Uber app to see that a car can arrive in ten minutes. You confirm it, noting the time as eleven twenty-three. You’ll wait five more minutes before you start getting ready, which honestly is just putting your shoes and coat on.

The seconds pass slowly one after the other. You wonder briefly how long it took the vampire to clean because, although you didn’t notice the blood dripping to the floor while it was happening, you understood that there was a lot of it. Must suck for him to have it wasted like that. The question is also why he would waste even more blood by giving you a transfusion? If he went through the pain of acquiring bagged blood, why not just drink that?

At eleven twenty-nine, your phone’s battery is at fifty-two percent. You unplug the charger from the wall, and as you stand, you place it on the table with a quiet ‘thanks.’

“Going home?” the vampire wonders, black eyes watching you. He looks casual, but there’s that hint of softness shining through again.

You pass him on your way to the front door. “Yeah.”

“Reconsider,” he encourages, and you know he’s not talking about your journey home.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Yes,” he follows. “Whatever’s troubling you doesn’t matter. There’s so much for you to see and do, so many places to visit and people to meet. Your life is so incredibly short, and you won’t have time to see even a fraction of the world as is.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” you say, bending down to put your boots on.

“Have you even been outside of this town?”

Why is he trying to control you? He doesn’t know you; he doesn’t care. It’s not like you’ll magically be fine after his ‘cheer up, pal,’ and ending your life is not a decision you have taken hastily or easily.

“No.”

“Don’t you want to see what’s out there?”

“Of course. But it’s not…” you straighten up to look at him, frustration dripping from your words. “Don’t you see that I’m all alone? I don’t have anybody, no one to experience things with, and much less the money to just up and leave. Sure, maybe I could get a loan and travel through Italy for two weeks, but then what? I’ll be miserable and in debt.”

The vampire tilts his head, looking at you with his black eyes but not saying anything. He just doesn't understand. You put your other foot into your boot and reach for your coat before he can try to persuade you again for whatever reason.

“Whatever,” you sigh, “I’ll be going.”

He doesn’t stop you from opening the door, and he doesn’t follow you when you leave, one boot undone and with your coat held to your chest. Irritation turns to sadness and defeat as you wait for the Uber to arrive, taking the opportunity to actually put your coat on and tie your laces properly. Snow falls around you, and when you're done, you stand there, waiting pathetically by the side of the road in the cold. You’re back at square one.

Despite having slept for countless hours at the vampire’s house, you head straight for your bed the moment you return home. For another few hours, you sleep, and then you spend a few more lying there in the dark, thinking.

It’s seven p.m. on a Saturday. You’ve wasted a lot of time, months even, waiting for the vampire to get what he wanted and follow through on his part. But that’s over now, so what are you waiting for right now?

Two and a half hours later, you put your boots back on and throw a lighter jacket over your shoulders, one that allows easier access to your neck.

Still not feeling your best, it takes you fifteen minutes to walk what the vampire did in six, carrying you on his back. You don’t understand him. He acted like he didn’t want you to die, but if he cared about you at all, he would’ve backed out earlier and not waited until his actions brought you within an inch of your life for what, the third time? Was he hoping you’d stay alive so that you’d hopefully continue donating your blood, even if less frequently?

Although nearing his feeding grounds, you’re hoping not to run into him. He did state that he changed his feeding days to Thursdays, and last week, when you did run into him, it seemed like a coincidence. Besides, this place is your best bet tonight; even the vampire admitted that there were others there last time. Surely, they’re around here somewhere tonight as well.

Since you assume vampires don’t want unnecessary attention, you stake out near the same club as last week, but this time, you hide in the shadows around a corner. Then, you wait for a victim.

Thirty minutes to midnight, a woman stumbles out through the door, a bouncer holding it open for her. She’s obviously had a bit to drink, and as she clumsily fixes her little cross body bag and sets off along the street, you look around from your hiding spot.

But you don’t see or hear anything; not a dark figure moving nor the sound of footsteps. Still, you follow her, hoping for the best. Wanting to keep your distance, you instead find it hard to keep up with her, which is saying something about your current health.

About two hundred meters from the club, she suddenly slows down, her attention seemingly drawn to something in an alleyway. You weren’t sure exactly how the vampires hunt, but by how the woman begins to slowly drift inside the dark alleyway of her own accord, you guess they do have some kind of pull. Most women, even when slightly drunk, typically try not to do… that.

You quicken your steps as much as possible without breaking into a sprint. Not only do you want to speak to a vampire; if you can take that woman’s place and leave her unscathed, it’s an added bonus. Before you’ve caught up, the woman slowly and quietly disappears, and when you turn the corner with your phone in hand and flashlight turned on, you spot a man holding her to his body.

Evidently hearing you approaching, the man has placed them against the wall, halfway obscured by a dumpster and hoping you’d walk past them, which you would have if you weren’t so focused on the woman and your mission.

The man squints in the light, and you very clearly discern long fangs. You take another step into the alleyway, but what you didn’t expect was to be grabbed from another direction.

Gasping, you feel strong arms hold your back against someone’s chest, effortlessly keeping you immobile.

“What can we offer? Though you smell like vampire already?” The man who holds you says, sounding surprised, and your phone is taken from your hand and the flashlight turned off.

Obviously, they assume you’re one of the freaky ones looking for vampires because any normal person would run. Your reason for wanting to find one is different, though.

“I have a proposition,” you stutter, not too scared but uncomfortable with how the man noses at your neck. Despite knowing that if the vampire bites, it’ll most likely be your neck, you can’t help trying to pull away. It’s just another bodily reaction.

Your words intrigue him, and he moves, creating just a tad bit more space between your bodies and looking down at you with a curious smirk.

“A proposition, you say?”

“You can have my blood—all of it—if you take it right here and now.”

“What’s the catch?” he asks, raising an eyebrow much like a certain vampire you know. “What’s in it for you?”

“There is no catch. I want to die.”

The other vampire, curiously listening to your conversation, whispers something in the other woman’s ear, and lets her go. She stumbles away from him and then casually leaves the alleyway, turning the corner calmly as if nothing happened.

You meet the vampire’s puzzled yet curious eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with my blood if you think I’m trying to trick you into something. Except that it’s apparently B positive which I understand is not that desirable, but—”

“You’re Jeon’s human?”

“Uh—what? Who?” you ask, confused but slowly putting two and two together.

“Fuck, should we?” the other vampire questions quietly.

“Jeon,” the closest one to you starts, “is the vampire you smell of. He’s been very persistent no one touches his human.”

“Yeah. Can’t blame him. If I was lucky enough to have someone offer to be a walking blood bag, I wouldn’t let them outside at all.”

“I’m not… I’m not anyone’s, and I’m not a walking blood bag,” you explain, feeling belittled. “He made me a promise that he broke. He was going to help me die in exchange for my blood, but he just used me to collect blood, and then he didn’t deliver.”

The two vampires look at each other, and you feel like they didn’t really pay attention to anything you just said.

“I don’t know, man. I’m not sure I wanna get on his bad side.”

“But he’s too arrogant,” the first one complains. “If I want something, why should he prevent me from getting it? He doesn’t own the supply here. I’m a thousand years old; I shouldn’t need to ask for permission.”

“Dude’s like three thousand years old, though? You don’t need to ask permission; you can literally choose anyone. Except this one, for some reason. I don’t think I would if I were you.”

“Our agreement is over,” you try to enter the conversation the two vampires are holding over your head.

“Well,” the one holding your arms peers down at you, “He said that under no circumstances is anyone allowed to touch you.”

You scoff, growing irritated again, “Okay, well, are there any vampires around that aren’t such wimps? If I can’t find anyone to just snap my neck, I’m going to the train tracks and then my blood will be wasted.”

That’s a lie, of course. There’s a reason you picked death by vampire; you’re too scared to do it any other way, and no matter how much you want to die, you can’t subject anyone else—like a poor train driver—to it. Vampires are cold and heartless. They don’t care.

“Hold on. Wait,” the vampire holds you tighter when you haphazardly try to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Look,” he says to the other, “He can’t tell us what to do. Besides, if he gets angry, we can just say that she said their agreement was over, and we did her a favor out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“You don’t have a heart; you just want to annoy him.”

The vampire grins. At first, it’s a boyish smile directed at his friend, but when he slowly tilts his head down to look at you, it turns almost sinister. “I think I’m gonna do it.”

You gulp. No matter how much this is what you want, it does scare you. Mostly because you’re afraid it will be painful.

“Is there a way you can kill me first? I don’t want it to hurt.”

The smiling vampire shakes his head.

“No.”

You thought death was supposed to be a void. A void of darkness, devoid of physical matter, emotions, and thoughts. But it hurts. It hurts so much.

Then, a void does take over.

Jeongguk knew you’d try again. If he wouldn’t kill you, you were going to find someone who would. And despite hoping that you would’ve changed your mind, he was unfortunately right. He spent an hour roaming the dark streets around the town’s attempt at a nightlife, but he didn’t come across you. Not until he visits the same place where you first found him, a place he wouldn’t take as your first choice since you ran into him there a week earlier.

He’s spent hours and hours these last weeks with you on his mind; the little human who wants to die so badly. It’s just something about you and your willingness to die that doesn’t sit right with him, and you won’t leave his thoughts. It’s not his business, he told himself as he saw you curled up and unconscious in your car. Who is he to tell someone what they should do with their life? If anything, respecting your wishes and consuming freely donated blood is easier and more ethical than taking it from plastered people who aren’t really sure what’s going on, right?

The scenes replaying the most in his head are more recent. It’s the way you suggested he kill and butcher your body, saying no one would look for you anyway, and how you called for him, unknowing that your blood was dripping to the floor but still trying your hardest to squeeze that ball for him. Your fingers were barely moving, but you tried since he wanted that blood.

He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, trying to convince you to live, but he guesses that he simply needs to know that you experienced some good things in life too. He can’t let you end it this way, as a lifeless body, discarded somewhere where no one will find you.

Anger, frustration, and an odd feeling of helplessness flood him as he takes in the sight of the vampire in the process of draining you dry. He rushes into the dark alleyway, the vampire looking up from your neck just as Jeongguk strikes. There’s not much of a fight after that. The first vampire stumbles backward, and Jeongguk grabs your lifeless body from him as the second vampire approaches, eyes wide and with his hands raised shoulder height.

“Easy, man.”

“I fucking told you to leave her alone.”

The dazed vampire grumbles something, but Jeongguk doesn’t pay him any attention. He places your body down on the snow-covered ground and looks at your pale face while searching for a pulse right under your jaw.

“She wanted to die.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jeongguk growls. “How much did you take?”

There is no pulse.

“At least three fourths. Possibly more.”

Jeongguk shuts his eyes. There’s no coming back from that.

You’ve lost and regained consciousness due to blood loss one too many times by now, but this time, it really feels different. Opening your eyes, the sunlight filling the room irritates your eyes, forcing you to squint for a few seconds.

Without moving, you focus on something. The vampire. Jeon, was it? You watch as he rummages through his closet, practically soundlessly, taking out a few items and looking them over before settling on what looks like two black shirts, one long-sleeve and one short-sleeve. Then he digs out a pair of shorts and another pair of sweatpants.

You’re not used to seeing him in direct sunlight, but now, the rays filtering through the half-opened blinds paint him in a new light, and you let your eyes linger on his arms as he folds the clothes. The green t-shirt he wears is doing a great job at highlighting his veiny, muscular forearms as they work. Light and shadows play along those very defined muscles, accentuating them further.

Your first impression of him was a cold one, one that slowly warmed a little over time both physically and mentally. But in this light? Without even touching him, he looks… warmer to you. Inviting, almost like when he wore that black hoodie.

You sigh quietly and pull the blanket that’s thrown over you closer. The vampire hears and turns around, placing the clothes at the foot of his large bed.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

You take a moment to consider his question. Though you’ve certainly felt better in a lot of ways, you don’t feel the way you’ve come to associate with severe blood loss.

“Cold. And tired, but in a weird way.”

Weird is probably the best way to describe how you’re feeling in general. You feel light, but not weak. Tired, but not sleepy.

He nods understandingly, “It’ll pass.”

You catch his gaze, holding it for a quiet moment. “You changed me, didn’t you?”

It’s the only explanation you can come up with. That vampire was hungry, and you remember slowly losing control in his grasp, both over your body and consciousness. With how many near-death experiences your body has endured in the last weeks—all blood loss related—there just wasn’t any chance you’d survive another draining.

“Yeah.” He looks away, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I couldn’t…”

You think you understand well enough what he’s trying to say, although you’re not too sure of his reasons or how to feel about it. He couldn’t let you die. In a way, you’re disappointed because you were finally getting what you wanted, and dying has proved itself to be surprisingly difficult for you.

But you’re not angry; not like you were after the vampire saved you the first time. He mentioned once that not even vampires are immortal, so at least you know that you’re not doomed to an eternal life in suffering; you can always try again if you want. However, you’d be back at square one when it comes to options, but you don’t really feel the urgency anymore. At least not at the moment.

He turns his head toward you, meeting your eyes with his deep, dark ones. “Let me show the world to you.”

Surprised to say the least, you mumble a quiet “What?”

He angles his body further toward you, and you see that despite the softer look on his face, he’s certain. “I want to show you everything the world has to offer. All the good things; the magical places and people.”

Not sure what to say, you just stare at him.

“Vampires are not immortal,” he continues. “If you really don’t want this, I’ll help you die. I promised. But please, think about it. No catch, no expectations.”

“But why… Why would you want that?”

You’ve been alone for so long, unable to keep people around and interested, so why would this being be?

“Because I found that I really didn’t enjoy draining you of your life, especially when you were already so low to begin with. I want you to get the chance to experience the good things life has to offer, and I can’t help but want to be around when you do.”

“You don’t know me though.”

“I kinda want to,” he says, standing up with the cheekiest smile you’ve ever seen on him. “Think about it, okay? I’m not expecting anything from you other than that you consider.”

Still very much processing his words, you feel a cold shiver wreck your body, something the vampire notices.

“I’ll get you another blanket. Your body is still in the process of changing, and with that comes a decrease in temperature. It’s normal to feel cold.”

He’s about to leave when you call for him.

“Wait. What… What's your name? Your given name?”

He stops, and he smiles again. “Jeongguk. And I know yours already; it was on your door.”

You sleep for a little while longer, but when you start to feel better, you also start to think. You’ve been so certain for so long, and you still are—you think—but… either way, you’d like some answers; a clearer view of the whole picture.

“Jeongguk?” you call, unsure how loud you need to be. It feels strange to use a name for the vampire.

It doesn’t take long before the door opens. “Yeah?”

“I have some… questions.”

He nods, stepping into the darkness that is his bedroom and closing the door behind him.

“Light sensitive?” he nods toward the window, where you’ve pulled the curtains closed over the blinds.

“Yeah… Is that normal?”

“It is. So is feeling sensitive to sound, touch, smell; basically all the senses. But it will pass pretty quickly.”

“Okay. Well, can you… tell me everything about being a vampire? I didn’t think you slept, but you do? Or why do I still sleep?”

He rounds the bed to sit next to you, and you feel it sink as he gets comfortable. Slowly, you turn to face him, watching him lean back against the headboard.

“So, basically, we can do all the things humans do. For instance, you’re still programmed to breathe, but it’s more of a habit and a way to smell than a means of survival.”

While he speaks, you try it. It’s strange, holding your breath and not feeling that strong, strong urge to take in air after a while.

“You can eat human food, but it’s not what sustains you, so most vampires don’t. It gets kinda boring after a while; you’ll see what I mean. Most also don’t sleep as they consider it a waste of time, but you can if you want to. I do pretty regularly. I find it… peaceful, and when you get older, it can be nice, getting a break between days.”

Hearing him talk so casually and almost… softly has you smiling slightly, unable to help it. So he had been sleeping when you knocked on the door, and his hair was all messy, and he looked so cuddly? You don’t know why, but you like that thought.

“You can exist in sunlight, you can consume garlic. Mirrors work for us as well. We don’t age like humans, but we can die if we’re pierced through the heart by something wooden—”

“—You mean staked?”

He looks at your wide, amused eyes and rolls his. “Yeah. Staked. Anyway, you’ll notice that your senses are heightened, and you’ll become stronger too. Not stronger than me, though,” he grins. “As for the blood, you can survive on any.”

“Any?”

What does he mean by that? Human and animal?

“Human, animal, vampire,” he says, the last one surprising you.

You blink, taken aback. “Vampires drink from other vampires?”

“We can. It’s not as common as feeding on humans as it’s mostly… a pretty intimate thing to do.”

“Oh, okay.”

Thinking about it, you guess you can see why. Having someone so close, feeding on you without the power imbalance of prey versus predator that feeding on humans entails, must feel… intimate. More of a give and take.

“You’ll need to feed in about a day or two, so you can choose. I have more human blood than just yours as it might be weird to drink your own blood, and I can get animal blood if that feels easier. Or… if you want to, you can drink from me.”

You look at him questioningly. “Didn’t you just say that it’s an intimate thing?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but if it would make for an easier transition for you, I don’t mind. I’ve taken a lot of blood from you, after all.”

“Okay,” you nod, briefly biting your lip. “I’ll think about it. About all of… this.”

Is death the thing you wanted above all else, or was it to get out of the life you were living? Now that your old life is, in a way, over, you’re not sure. Regardless, there are other worries still plaguing you. You look—almost stare—at his pretty face.

“What?”

You bite your lip nervously again. “What if you change your mind? I’m assuming this was quite a rushed decision on your part. What if I don’t live up to your expectations? I barely knew how to navigate this world as a human, there’s no way I could… manage on my own as… as a vampire.”

Say you decide to give it a shot; what do you do if he grows tired of you?

“Changing someone is not something we take lightly. We don’t…” he looks around, seemingly searching for the right words. “We don’t change anyone if we’re not prepared to guide them, at least through the first years. Usually, vampires only end up turning their romantic partners, so for most, it means staying together for life. Regardless, it’s a big decision.”

Noticing your wide eyes, Jeongguk smiles and chuckles. “I’m not saying you have to hang around me for the rest of your life, and I won’t ask you to play my wife or anything, but I won’t abandon you.”

It’s surprising enough to hear that vampires not only regularly fall in love with humans but take changing someone so seriously. But you’re even more surprised to hear him use the word ‘wife.’

“Your wife?” you ask, truly bewildered that word was even in his thoughts. “You said vampirism doesn't make you much prettier?”

He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “It doesn’t. But you didn’t need to become prettier anyway.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I’m telling the truth? Don’t you remember what I told you when I carried you home that night?”

‘You’re a pretty girl, you know?’

Of course you remember, but it doesn’t mean it was true.

You roll your eyes. “You were feeling bad for me.”

“Hm,” Jeongguk looks away, thinking. “Okay, do you remember the very first thing I said to you?”

“That you weren’t going to turn me?”

“For sex, yeah. But I said I’d still fuck you.”

The smile he gives you reminds you more of the vampire that took your blood once every fortnight than the one who saved you. You don’t know what to say, and he seems to realize that, his smile turning softer.

“Like I said, I would’ve fucked you because you were pretty even as a human. Also, about luring said humans in? You will not have a problem with that if that’s something you’re interested in. I kinda want to see you do that, actually,” he grins, sending a shiver down your spine. “Hot.”

Jeongguk is sitting spread out on the rented apartment’s low couch, reading the back of a bottle of red wine when you pass him. It’s hot—a lot warmer than what you’re used to from your little hometown—and you sigh as you open the door to the balconet wider and fresh air starts to play with your dress. The weather doesn’t affect you like it used to, but some aspects are still more enjoyable than others.

“I think I like Rome,” you place your hands on the railing, looking down at the scene two stories below you. It’s just after ten p.m., and people are dining outside the restaurant below you, their happy chatter accompanied by the romantic sound of street musicians. The air is humid, and besides the moonlight, the street is mainly illuminated by lights from the restaurant and surrounding shops.

You hear Jeongguk put the bottle down on the glass coffee table and stand up, something your human ears wouldn’t have picked up.

“We can stay longer if you want,” he offers quietly from right behind you.

Turning around, you let your gaze travel over his white dress shirt, held together by two single buttons—the rest lazily unbuttoned—and exposing most of his drool-worthy chest. He smirks, looking down at you, and you’re hit by how he hasn’t changed that much since you first met him in that alley. You’ve just gotten to see more sides of him.

You hold your breath, carefully reaching your hand out to pinch the fabric of his shirt between your thumb and index finger, pulling a little on it and nodding.

“Then we’ll stay,” he smiles, slowly stepping back and taking your hand softly in his. His skin feels warm against yours, and it’s almost like some sort of electric current courses through you. You grin as he pulls you toward him, moving to the slow and sensual music drifting up from outside.

Jeongguk lifts your hand above your head and twirls you. It makes you smile even wider, and you decide to place your arms loosely around his neck. He doesn’t object, just looks down at you, still smiling.

One thing you'll never get used to is how handsome he is. Soft, black hair parted across his forehead, dark eyebrows and eyes, and a dimple that pops out when he smiles. One day, you’ll kiss his nose, you promise yourself. He looks so carefree, peering down at you like nothing else really matters; a mindset not too difficult to follow with him.

“How come everything is so… easy?”

He tilts his head, trying to make sense of your words as he places his hands on your waist. “Well… do you feel cared for?”

You think about it. All the new people—vampires—you’ve met so far are very funny and kind. They see you, and they listen to you. Especially Jeongguk’s friends, and even more so, Jeongguk. He’s easy to be around, and he’s been incredibly sweet to you, understanding that you’re going through a big change and that your previous life wasn’t all that great.

So you nod.

“Do you have anything that worries you?” He continues. “A looming anxiety regarding something?”

“No.” Turns out that Jeongguk and all his friends are filthy rich and also very generous, which means that you have no rent to pay, no stuff to buy, or bills to pay. Nor do you have people to impress or time-sensitive achievements to stress over.

Jeongguk’s smile turns extra cheeky. “Do you perhaps… also care a little bit for someone?”

You’d blush if that was something you could do. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”

He chuckles before he turns a little more serious. “Jokes aside, there could be many reasons. Like I said, not feeling lonely or overly anxious surely helps a lot, but also stuff like… the change of scenery and seasons. But also…”

“Also…?”

He looks at you with a searching gaze, as if he’s trying to figure something out. “Tell me, did you ever see someone about how you felt?”

You shake your head.

“So you never got a diagnosis or medication?”

“No.”

“Then, maybe… you weren’t ‘only’ sad, and vampirism corrected some chemical imbalance in your brain. It could also explain why things are easier.”

Maybe. You thought that your mother dying was the catalyst for your sadness, and without seeing the point of the world, you got “weirder,” and the few people in your life withdrew. Then it was just you, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t connect with people anymore. But maybe, like he said, it wasn’t ‘only’ feelings. A small part of you wishes you would’ve tried to get help, but a bigger part—although sad for the years you spent suffering—thinks this ending might be better.

He continues to sway your bodies, and you rest your head against his chest. When you left with him three months ago, one month after he changed you, you weren’t entirely certain where things would lead, because despite definitely feeling attracted to him, you didn’t really know him. But as the days pass, you don’t regret it, and you’re pretty sure you’re more than halfway to head over heels. You can’t deny that he gives you butterflies.

Sighing, you catch the scent of his naked skin against your cheek, reminded of something.

“You smell good. I remember thinking that you didn’t smell like anything?”

He laughs as you move your face slowly over his chest and up to his neck, smelling him.

“Do I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathing him in and closing your eyes. There’s the same notes of laundry detergent, soap, and cologne, but also something unique to him. He doesn’t smell like a human, but… almost. It draws you in, that’s for certain.

“Are you hungry?” he wonders quietly.

“Not sure,” you answer honestly. It’s turned out to be harder to tell than you imagined.

“Well, if you want it… go for it.”

“Like this?” you ask, pushing on his chest with a smile. He lets you walk him slowly back toward the couch, and when the back of his knees hit the edge, he sinks down onto it.

“Mhm,” he hums happily.

High on the vampire equivalent of adrenaline, you straddle his lap, only to be caught off guard by his scent again. “No, but really, you smell so good.”

He chuckles. “Vampires who are more… compatible tend to smell good to each other.”

His revelation has you sitting back, curious but almost a little worried. Despite the details of your relationship being... a bit unclear—mostly due to his unwillingness to pressure you, you think—you can't help but want him to like you. “Does that mean that I smell good to you as well then? I mean, I remember that you didn’t like my blood?”

“You smell incredible to me. Almost addictive,” he reveals quietly, softly, resting his hands on your thighs, and you think your human heart would’ve raced. “And about your blood… I lied.”

Though grinning happily, there’s at least a trace of regret in his eyes.

“You lied? About not liking my blood?”

“Yeah. B is actually one of the more highly regarded blood types. I’m also B, but negative.”

You shake your head at him before carefully leaning in. With a soft touch of your lips, you locate the pulsating artery in his neck, gently angling his head away with your hands. Then, as you’ve done regularly for the last months, you pierce his skin with your fangs.

“I’m kinda surprised you still believed I didn’t like your blood,” he continues, though it sounds a little strained, like he’s trying to keep still. “If I didn’t like your blood, I wouldn’t have needed to change my feeding days to the day before you came. Nor would I have tried to attack you.”

You listen to his words, but you’ll have to process them better later because his blood is pretty much the only thing on your mind. His blood and his body. It took you a few times to get over the mental association with blood and drinking it, but now, it’s not something bad. It tastes and feels good, energizing you in a way food just doesn’t anymore. And it’s a chance to bond, making you feel closer to him.

He likes it too, if his body language is anything to go by. You know he tries to stay still to give you the best chance to get what you need without distractions, but the little… almost purring sound that reverberates from somewhere deep in his chest is hard to miss. As is the way his hips shift almost unnoticeably, but you haven’t spoken about that.

Being smaller and recently changed, you don’t require nearly as much blood as he does, and as soon as you feel the urge filled, you run your tongue over the wound to close it, just like he’s taught you to.

“Good?” he asks when you pull back, and you nod, licking your lips.

You keep your eyes on his skin, knowing that it only takes a second for the wound to heal but up to two weeks for the scar from another vampire's teeth to fade to nothing.

“All of the vampires we’ve met, they’ve looked so… amused when they understand I drink from you. Why is that? I get that it’s ‘intimate’ but they were pretty much all couples, weren’t they? Not that we’re… you know…”

You haven’t spoken about that, either, really.

It confused you, more so since you last week stumbled across a local couple smiling very cheekily when they saw the scar on Jeongguk’s neck that he’d made absolutely no effort to conceal.

He laughs. “It’s because only I have marks.”

You look puzzled. Yeah, sure, but you don’t understand why that would be amusing.

He looks at your confused face and continues. “The fact that you drink from me but not I from you usually means that I’ve submitted to you. That I belong to you. Which is not very common when I’m so much older than you. It’s usually the other way around if anything.”

“Oh,” you exclaim quietly, lifting your hand to your neck. “Should I…? Do you… want to feed from me? Cause I’m not sure that I…”

You don’t like the idea of losing blood. You know that Jeongguk has said that as a vampire, you quite literally can’t run out, but you don’t like it. Thinking about someone biting your neck has images from the night you died flashing before your eyes. You don’t remember much, but you remember being scared and how much it hurt. Surely, it would be different to let him bite you, but… you don’t know. You can’t help but feel like maybe you should? Don’t you kind of owe it to him?

“I want to, of course I do, but not that badly. I get that it’s an uncomfortable concept for you, so that’s why I haven’t brought it up. If you ever feel comfortable enough, we can try, because it’s very hot, but otherwise, it doesn’t matter.”

You lower your hand, smiling carefully down at him. He runs his hands over your thighs softly.

“So, you’re really just… ancient?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah? You’re literally older than Jesus?”

He rolls his eyes, still smiling.

“Jokes aside, doesn’t it get boring? You were kinda grumpy when I first met you.”

“Truth be told, it does. I’ve seen everything, mostly even many times over. But getting to see everything with you is like getting to experience it for the first time all over again.”

“That’s kinda… cheesy,” you chuckle, but you can’t deny that it makes you feel warm inside. “Yuqi said you probably needed a change of scenery as well.”

“So what if it’s cheesy? It’s true," he grins, and it's your turn to roll your eyes. "And, yeah, she might’ve been right. I guess vampires get lonely too sometimes.”

Although he's still smiling, you can't help but hurt a little, thinking about him feeling lonely too.

“So then, what’s next?" you ask. "When do we leave for Portugal?”

“Depends on when you want to. I’ll just tell Taehyung we’ll meet them later. As for now, you know Fontana di Trevi?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna take a dip?”

“What? Isn’t it pretty shallow? And probably… illegal?”

“What are they gonna do? Stop us?” He smiles a wide, happy smile, his white fangs almost glimmering in the romantically dimmed light.

<previous | next> author's note: i hope you liked it!! please reblog if you did <3<3<3

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aphroditelovesu · 1 year ago

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jincapableoflove · 2 months ago

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Bloodstained Oath [COMING SOON]

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre: immortal knight! jungkook x vampire queen! reader, vampire au, fantasy, dark romance, SMUT.

Smut warnings: bloodplay, biting, devotion/worship, slight pain play, marking/claiming, overstimulation, light breathplay.

Word count: 5k - 6k (approx.)

A/N: just finished with the outlining of this fic. I've never written vampire stuff before so this should be fun. I'm also venturing into diff kinds of smut hehe hopefully this turns out well

[TAGLIST OPEN]

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hisunshiine · 7 months ago

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—eternal reign | knj |

🥀 pairing: vampire king!namjoon x concubine!namedreader 🥀 au/genre: arranged marriage au, joseon era au, s2l, fluff, smut, angst 🥀 rating: M 🥀 wc: 7,748 🥀 warnings: some Joseon Dynasty research, reader starts as a concubine, mentions of murders, minor character deaths (off screen, minimal detail), patriarchal society, this is a vampire story, so some things come with the territory, like: mentions of blood, dubious consent, blood drinking, bleeding, scars, predator/prey feelings, explicit smut: unprotected vaginal sex, blood play, marking, eating out, nipple play 🥀 an: I used some of the historical figures of the Joseon Dynasty, and while I researched a lot for accuracy of this time period to respect the culture to the best of my knowledge, some historical information has been shifted and molded as this is a fiction story. For more information on Korean Coronation Events. Dual POV of 3rd and 2nd person, but the reader is named.

special thanks to the beta readers: @moonleeai, @colormepurplex2, @downbad4yoongi, @heathfritillary-blog, and @pars-ley

🥀 summary: In the shadowed courts of the Joseon Dynasty, a new King rules—one who holds a centuries-old secret that could unravel the kingdom. Namjoon, cloaked in mystery, is forced into a political marriage with the cunning yet unknowing Taelani, who soon discovers that her husband is no mere mortal. Drawn into his dark legacy and a web of alliances that could seal their fate, Taelani faces a choice: fulfill her family’s long-hidden destiny or defy it in pursuit of a forbidden love. As whispers of blood and betrayal rise, the throne itself may be the ultimate sacrifice.

🥀 an#2:🎃This wicked treat was written for Theresa - @mrsparkjimin18 as part of the “Sweet Tricks & Wicked Treats” BWHQ Fic Gifting Event 🎃and was also written for the @bangtanwritershq’s 4th Quarter Writing Event: Monster Mash

masterlist ❁ ao3

Joseon Dynasty year 1483

🥀🥀🥀Namjoon🥀🥀🥀

Namjoon never expected to sit upon the sacred altar in Changdeokgung Palace, as the recipient of the Three Cheers from the crowd, where the people hurrahed for his longevity and for the dynasty.

“We are meant to rule from the shadows,” the memory of his grandfather’s voice flits through his head as if he’s standing beside him. “An absolute and eternal reign relies on the eternal flame which burns with our dedication and loyalty, and which must remain out of sight from those who wish to douse our light.”

And yet, mere hours ago, under the beating heat of the Korean sun, he participated in the Transfer of the State Seal with Queen Sindeok, listened to the Three Solemn Calls, watched as the Three Kowtows were performed, and returned it with the Four Ceremonious Bows.

The room around him is loud, and Namjoon struggles to focus for a moment as he gazes across the crowded space. The gilded walls encapsulate the refreshments and revelry as the noble families celebrate his ascension to ruler of the country. He looks around, eyes finally landing on his family members split between being wall flowers blending in and meteor showers glittering as they shine across the night sky.

He takes an unneeded deep breath, sighing in his discomfort. He knows it was his idea; something had to be done to maintain the balance in the realm, but he’s not used to being a figurehead for something so much larger than himself—for the very thing he sacrificed everything for to protect.

“Ah, Yi Bang— I mean, King Namjoon, my apologies,” the greasy-haired Chief State Councillor Jeong Dojeon bows lowly in apology at using the given name of the prince and not his newly appointed royal title now that the transition to king has been completed.

That is one upside to this position, Namjoon thinks as he stares at the man. Even if I must hide my identity, at least I am able to keep my true name.

“I wanted to present to you my family’s gift for your coronation.” His eyes, small and squirrely, gleam with a dark intent that Namjoon has always detested. As one of the government officials appointed by the previous Queen’s father, Dojeon craves ultimate power, pushing for the Councillors to make decisions for the King, instead of enacting and enforcing the King’s decisions. “This is Jeong Taelani, my eldest daughter. She is now yours, Pyeha.”

The honorific term is not lost on Namjoon. The Chief State Councillor’s schmoozing actions are as oily as his hair, but Namjoon’s not a squeaking door, and his disdain only grows as he tracks the sweep of Dojeon’s hand towards the girl next to him, as if he needs a concubine to loosen him up.

But Namjoon has to work hard to school his features back to stoic boredom when his eyes fall onto the—unable to believe he called her a girl—beautiful woman standing a pace behind her father.

Red hanbok lace and silks flow over her curves. Gold threading is woven intricately at the hem, along the cuffs engulfing her delicate hands, and at the lapels that tie above the swell of her breasts, glimmering, resplendent swirls that captivate him. He doesn’t show it, though. Despite his next words, his tone is full of boredom and his eyes barely linger on her.

“Thank you, Dojeon, she is a true beauty.”

The older man smirks, rubbing his bearded face thoughtfully. “She has been trained for, ahem, her position—assisting your every need—in the palace her whole life, and vetted through the steps to be placed here just last week. I am sure that you will find her to be up to your standards.” He bows once more, this time much lower, before backing away from the elevated seating area and disappearing back into the party.

“Emperor,” Taelani bows deeply, her knees gracefully meeting the floor as she pays him the respect of a ruling monarch. Her voice is a deeper honey sound, more seduction than the tittering pitch of the female nobles Namjoon is used to.

“Jeong Taelani,” Namjoon tests her name in his mouth, her jasmine fragrance invading his senses as she resumes her previous standing position. Her large eyes look away from his gaze quickly, but that’s all he needs to feel the heat of the lightning they struck him with. He can feel his pants tightening—thankfully, his gujangbok covers his crotch from the view of both Taelani and his attendees.

He stiffens, feeling something else begin to lengthen in need, and he turns his eyes swiftly away from Taelani, looking at the palace guards nearest him.

“Please escort Taelani to her chambers, and send for the Huwon guards. I will meet them shortly.”

🥀

Sharpened ivory glistens under the moonlight before piercing the unblemished bronze skin of the woman’s throat, his venom silencing the beginnings of a guttural shriek before it can really begin. He settles in the gazebo with a jimil nain, or lady-in-waiting, straddled across his lap. Her throaty sounds transition instead to a pleasurable moan as she attempts to grip the lapels of his ceremonial robes.

He grasps her hands, pulling them away from him and moving them behind her back, clutching both wrists in one hand so his free hand can resume controlling her head for his monthly feeding. One that he should not have needed just yet, thanks to the retaliatory massacre last week, but he ignores that fact for now.

The blood fills his mouth, sharp pulls draining the essence from the woman as her movements against his body slow. He’s thankful—her body is not the one he craves to be writhing above him in pleasure, despite her lovely sounds and curves.

He has to play this role smartly. His family’s legacy is on the line. He withdraws his fangs, feeling the dull ache of thirst dissipate fully as his blood lust retreats. The woman is nearly unconscious, and the two guards who brought her approach her limp form silently.

“Thank you,” he says to his younger brothers, both adorned in the traditional wear of the Naegeumwi Royal Guards. They take the woman from him as he stands before the youngest of the two, Jungkook, takes her fully and holds her almost in a lover’s embrace. Namjoon looks at them as he steps several paces away and Taehyung, his other sibling, approaches him and straightens his robes to help him look presentable again.

“NaBi was the only one we could get on such short notice,” he explains quietly as the sounds of Jungkook feeding crescendos and subsequently drops as he heals the bites on the now sleeping woman’s neck. “She was already in Kook’s room waiting for him.”

Namjoon runs his fingers over his silks, tightening the belt at his waist. “Tell him I’m sorry I didn’t mean to mess up his feeding schedule. The hunger just took over and I…”

“He understands.” Taehyung places his hand on his older brother’s shoulder. “We’ve never taken on something like this, so we didn’t know what to prepare for. We’ll move more of the feeders into the palace in various positions, and Jimin can oversee them. Your plan was the best one, and we will find a way to make it work.”

Jungkook cradles the woman’s body in his arms bridal style as he steps towards the door. He and Taehyung lead Namjoon out of the garden and back towards the main palace. Jungkook turns to the left down a hallway after they enter shelter as Taehyung and Namjoon continue toward the Emperor's chambers.

“Have Jimin order more of the blood tea for the feeders. I’m not sure how often I’ll need to feed now that…” he trails off as they walk, thoughts conflicted with this strange turn of events. He stops once he reaches the doorway of his room. “And Taehyung? Discretion, please.”

Namjoon feels the tension leave his body once he is in his own space. He didn’t expect to feel the voracious pull to feed so soon—he drank more than his fill merely a week ago. Typically, he feeds once a month, so the blood lust he just quenched is strange. Could it be because of his new concubine? Her scent is oddly alluring to him, and his attraction to her is undeniable. He hasn’t ever experienced such a thing, but maybe one of the elders knows something more.

🥀🥀🥀Taelani🥀🥀🥀

Confused. That’s how you feel as you are led away from the king, his eyes regarding you cooly before you disappear into the quiet halls of the palace. Your slippers and the silks you wear are the only sounds you hear as you are shown the pathway to your quarters, and then the low hum of the maids' voices as they help you undress and prepare for bed.

The next week continues much the same as your first night in the castle. The other court members are seemingly always busy, leaving you bored and unsure of yourself. On the one hand, you are happy that you haven’t been called upon like you were warned would happen—like you’ve been trained for. Your womanhood remains intact, something you did not expect to happen, but it allows your time of the month to come and go without any issues.

A part of you did fear that your menstrual cycle would agitate the new king should he come upon you that first night, but instead, he had shied away, allowing you time to spend in the royal library reading and writing letters to your sisters. At the end of the first week, you squeal with happiness when a courtier brings you a sealed parchment marked with your family’s crest.

Dearest Taelani,

How have you been? We are so pleased that you’ve had time to write to us. Is it nice there? I so wish we could have joined you on the trip, but Father said no. Are the rumors true? Is the king as bloodthirsty as his predecessors? Is there war on the horizon? Will you be able to throw a fancy ball so we can visit? I know you’re his only concubine right now, do you think you will become his wife? Father is not telling us much, and he’s making it seem like we shall never get to travel to see you.

Don’t forget us!

As if you could ever forget your sisters. And a ball sounds like a lovely idea…really. You wonder if the king would allow you to do such a thing and if your father would allow your sisters to come. Maybe if the king demanded their presence. Your sister made a good point that right now, there’s no one else to compete with for his affections. If you can charm him, is there a possibility..? If only he would see you or talk to you. How else could you convince him of this one favor, or even that you’re worthy of a more legitimate role?

It couldn’t be so easy as to show up at his bedchamber tonight and try and convince him with a well-placed massage? Could it?

Deciding to reign in all of your thoughts, you hold off on writing back so as to see first if you could plan a soiree of some sort, and turn back to the book you were reading before the courtier arrived. It was not written all that long ago, but it details some of the more recent history of the country, including the king’s grandfather.

You had always thought it to be an urban legend, the stories whispered in the dark about when his grandfather was in power, but as you read through the history of the family, you realize with each story of the king’s grandfather that he truly was blood thirsty for power—he apparently murdered all of his older siblings for the throne.

There is a massive family plot to the south of the palace that holds his deceased siblings, and ever since, despite the number of enemies the crown has acquired over the years, his family line has been the only one to rule. Every attempt to maim and murder the royal family has been thwarted, and the groups leading the coups are never to be seen or heard from again. Bloodthirsty isn’t even half of it.

Closing the handwritten tome, you gather your skirts about you so that you can climb off the comfortable lounging spot. You have spent all week reading through to try and understand this family that you now reside with, but all you seem to find is death and despair. Through the window you can see the sun is setting, and now that you have a plan in mind, you decide to seek out the king instead of waiting for him to come to you. With your cycle gone, you feel confident enough to seduce King Namjoon. As his first concubine, you are sure you won’t be the last, but you want to make an impression.

As a woman in this world, your power is lacking. The power you do hold will be in the sons you can bear for the king, and in the ability to wield your feminine wiles to seduce and keep the king wrapped around your finger. Best to start now.

🥀

The palace corridors are well-lit as you traverse the pathway towards the king’s chambers. You made a quick stop at your own rooms, shedding the hairpins that bound your hair tightly, allowing your tresses to fall in subtle waves from the earlier styling. You also shed some of the layers you typically wear, allowing you to show off more of your curves.

There doesn’t appear to be anyone outside the door to his room, so you slip in easily, taking a look around. The room is tidy, with barely anything on display on the walls or in cabinets to show his personality. Cold, just like he was the first time you met. A few minutes pass as you observe what you can, until voices outside the door alert you to the king’s approach. You position yourself on his bed, sitting at the edge with a leg crossed over the other and your palms behind you as you lean back slightly.

Your loose hair is over one shoulder, and you attempt to flutter your eyes demurely as King Namjoon steps into his bedchamber.

🥀

Ten minutes later, you stand in your own room again, confused by what had occurred. The King, a young, virile man, sent you out after you all but threw yourself at him. If anything, he seemed in a rush to get you out of his rooms, all but promising that you had nothing to worry about when you voiced not carrying out your duties.

“I know you worry about your standing in the palace, but you have nothing to fear. I will not be taking in any other women—you are the only one for me. You will be my Queen Consort. So please, you don’t have to stoop to these levels. You are excused.”

You definitely hadn’t prepared what to do in the event that the King said you didn’t need to seduce him and that you would be his Queen Consort. All of the stories the women told you about had prepared you for losing your virginity and other sexual acts to seduce the King and win his favor. Nothing they shared with you implied you wouldn’t have to do anything sexually with the man and he would raise your status one step, though a large one in the eyes of the nation. A wedding already in the works, unbeknownst to you. How strange this new king is.

🥀

The royal wedding that everyone has been waiting for a month to arrive is nearly here, with you in your red gowns of silks and satin, awaiting your cue for the ceremony. As much as you’ve enjoyed not having to behave wantonly, a part of you is drawn to your betrothed, and you realize: you want to. His movements as he walks through the palace, the grace with which he moves and speaks, all of these small things seem to thrum through your body, lighting all of your nerve endings on fire.

Why he denies himself the access he has to your body, you aren’t sure, but you hope that this wedding means that will come to an end. Maybe he’s just been waiting for tonight to consummate the marriage, instead of behaving how you were warned all men with power behave.

Everything is a blur as the hours pass, the sun crossing the sky until it descends below the horizon, allowing the moon to rise into its rightful place. With all of the revelers now sated in thirst or hunger or desire, they’re all sequestered away in the places that allow them to unwind. Most of the palace is now quiet, and you tiptoe with feather-light steps across the bedchamber towards your newly betrothed.

The King sits at an ornamental desk, metallic paints wrapping around the curves of the furniture as he leans over and writes, the scratches of the quill on the parchment revealing the short strokes he writes in Hangul. He’s shirtless, wide shoulders unblemished and you want nothing more than to mar the skin with signs of pleasure.

Your fingers lift to lightly trace along his right shoulder, but before you can touch him, his left hand grasps your fingers as he half turns to face you. You let out a small gasp in surprise—you didn’t think he would have heard you sneak up on him.

“Perhaps you should head to bed, Taelani, it was a long day.”

He barely looks at you as he speaks, and you feel yourself wilting. It’s fascinating, but deeply disturbing to you that it seems like he’s attracted to you but keeps turning you away. Everything you’ve been told about men is wrong. You want him to have his way with you, and he can’t be bothered to even stop drafting a letter to look at you for more than a second.

You feel yourself pouting, and it seems to work for a moment. Namjoon’s eyes soften, and he tugs you closer when you attempt to pull your hand out of his.

“I know this is not the most normal of situations, but I won’t stop you from seeking out your needs. You can take up with anyone as long as it is discreet, and any children you should bear will all be raised as if they are my own.” You freeze as he releases his hold on you and turns away, back to his missive.

You step away from him, trekking backward until the backs of your thighs touch the silk sheets on the bed. Embarrassment heats your neck and cheeks, because you do not understand why your husband turns away from you. It makes you feel…unwanted. Sitting down, you can only blink as you attempt to understand the man before you. But nothing thus far has made any sense.

🥀

The movement of the bed slowly wakes you, and you stretch your limbs out as your eyes blearily try to take in the low lighting in the room.

“...need the Huwon guards as soon as possible, I will meet them there.”

You stay still when you hear his voice, your brain instantly becoming more alert as you try to hear more of his request, but it only grows quiet again as the door shuts. You can barely hear his footfalls as he flits about the room, and you sneak a peek through cracked eyes as you keep your breathing level. He’s grabbing his upper garments and re-dressing, and in only a few more moments, he’s slipping out of the door.

You get up, immediately grabbing for your robes as you slip from the satin sheets to follow your new husband.

You stay as far back as you can, drifting between shadows as you make your way towards what you now know is the Huwon Secret Garden. While the garden grounds themselves take up a large expanse of the palace area, there is a beautiful and intimate pagoda of sorts that lies in the rear after crossing a small bridge with a tiny waterfall. You lose sight of Namjoon, but you know he must be headed there, so you continue on your way, avoiding the minimal guard presence.

Approaching the enclosed garden pergola, a gasping moan sounds and you quicken your steps, evermore the curious. Peering through one of the open slats of the enclosure, you see your king—your husband—with his arms wrapped around another woman. His mouth is to her neck as she straddles him, and though her face is hidden between the shadows and behind his bulky build, you know you heard the pleasure she felt. When he pulls back from her, you watch, entranced, as he laves his tongue along the skin he’s just marked. A burning jealousy shoots through your veins until a cloud moves out of the moonlight and a beam shines straight through.

Your eyes widen as they take in the elongated fangs, the blood dripping from the corners of his mouth, and the way the woman now lay limply in his arms. Spinning on your heel, you flee back to your room, praying that your pounding heart calms enough before he returns.

🥀🥀🥀Namjoon🥀🥀🥀

It’s almost debilitating to Namjoon having his new wife around him. It’s been only a week—one mere week of his eternal life—and you have made him into a ravenous, salacious blood fiend. This lust for the iron-smelling essence that runs through mortal veins, and one in particular more so than the others, means that he hasn’t been handling all of the new changes to his life well.

Going from the shadows and becoming the face of the nation he loves so much, that his whole family has given their lives for, is not exactly what he expected. He is much more used to using violence with his bare hands—and teeth—for their gain. Having to navigate politics with his wife’s father, Chief State Councillor Jeong Dojeon, is a whole new experience for him.

Not to mention that he’s insatiably drawn to his titillating wife, but knowing that her father is actively working against the reigning family has Namjoon’s guard up. The way she keeps trying to throw herself at him… Admittedly, he knows he’s spied on her letters and conversations, and she seems none the wiser to what her father is doing, but too much is at stake for him to risk it without knowing where she stands for sure.

Namjoon stretches his arms above his shirtless torso, then sets down the quill to mull over the letter he needs to finish and send to the front lines of their war efforts against the rival faction. They’ve quieted down some, ever since their attack on the true prince which led to an almost absolute destruction of said rival faction, but money will unite anyone against a common enemy if paid enough.

His ears perk up as he takes in the thrumming melody of your heartbeat as you move around the adjacent bathing room to your communal bedchamber. It’s late, much later than a person would typically bathe, and without the aid of maids, but he’s in no hurry to overwhelm his senses with you. He focuses on the sounds; of the water draining from the side of the palace, of the soft garments sliding along your skin as you dress, and he tenses—readying himself for your scent to overtake him as he turns and stands to face your re-entrance into the room.

Beautiful. Your large eyes are bright, warm even, and the way your body gracefully moves in that—he forcefully exhales as you approach him in an ornately sewn, semi-transparent lace robe. The vision of your full breasts with lace flowing over the peaks stuns him momentarily, and he allows himself a moment to drink you in. He’s so focused on trailing his eyes along the cupid’s bow of your full top lip that he doesn’t realize you’ve spoken to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

“Oh,” you look down demurely, taking him by surprise. “My king, please. I would like just a moment of your time.”

“Of course,” Namjoon replies, but hesitates as he sits back down, unsure of what could have triggered such a formal conversation. Though, to be fair, he knows he hasn’t been the best conversationalist with his own wife.

He watches as you pull a small, stuffed stool closer to him and sit on it regally. The robe parts with the movement and he’s able to see that only a thin sliver of fabric covers your mound. Everything else is revealed to him. Your navel, your thighs, so much skin…

“I know that you’ve given me permission to seek out other men, but I—I don’t want that.”

Namjoon is still as he reigns in his impure thoughts and focuses all of his attention on you. “What is it that you want?”

“I want my husband. I–don’t you also feel—I just…” you sigh, and the weight of your next words would bring Namjoon to his knees had he not been sitting. “I know who you are. And I don’t care. I—”

Namjoon stands to his full height, eyes slightly narrowed at your small frame.

“You know who I am?” he questions with disdain. Of course, you were too good to be true and exactly what he expected of your father.

“Yes, you may be the king, but more than that, you’re my husband.”

Namjoon pauses, listening on, but can see how tense you remain to continue speaking. “And what exactly don’t you care about?” He questions.

“I don’t care that you’re a—a vampire,” you rush out and continue speaking. “So please, don’t hold yourself back from me, I don’t want you to seek out your pleasure from others in the castle when I’m right here.”

His brain reels with an overwhelming amount of thoughts as you look up at him from where you sit, shoulders tight and lifted towards your ears as your chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath you take as you wait for him to speak.

You know he’s a vampire. How, he isn’t sure, because he knows that your father is not aware of that fact. No, he only assumed that your father had figured out that he was not the true prince, and instead a cousin filling in for the role, and shared this information with you. Nope, you meant you knew that he was immortal and knew of his late-night proclivities. He slowly lowers himself into the chair he vacated, wholly unprepared when you throw yourself forward onto your knees before him.

“Please, I’m right here. I only want you to touch me. No one else.”

Unable to resist, Namjoon does touch you, reaching beneath your arms to lift you to him. Even while standing, your eyes are only a few inches above him as he sits, and you step between his parted legs when he gently tugs you further into his space.

“I didn’t realize that my words made you feel unwanted.” Namjoon speaks slowly as he gathers his thoughts to organize his words. “I’m unsure how you came about this information, but I.. th-there’s some things we should clear up.”

Your eyes appear to study him intently, brows inching closer as your face wrinkles with apprehension. The flooding of your veins as your heart rate increases leads Namjoon to pause and hold his breath before speaking.

“There is a reason that I have been so distant, and yet have only sought out to take one wife and no others. It came to my attention that your father has been one of the main financial supporters of a rival political party that supports more control from Chief Councilors and less from me. This money helped supply weapons and mercenaries, and there was an…attempt on my life recently. It was nearly successful at bringing down this clan’s reign and ending our family line.”

You gasp as he reveals this partial truth, and say, “I swear to you, my king, I knew not of such plans, I know my father has ambitions and a dislike for the lack of his power due to the crown, but not that he would steep to such levels for gain.” Namjoon can feel the way your pulse reacts as he holds your wrists in his large hands. You truly were not aware, and this knowledge helps quell any lingering doubts he has about sharing more information with you.

“I believe that you had no knowledge of his plans or his financial support. But, because of that event, it is what led me to say yes to you as my concubine. You see, I felt that by having his daughter in the palace and by my side, that he would pull back his support of any rivals, and even decide to stop pushing for less control, especially since any heir would be his own grandchild to be on the throne.” Namjoon knows this last part is a lie, since he could not provide you with any children and the plan that is in place would not allow any child of yours to be on the throne, but he can’t tell you that.

You nod, eyes rapt with attention as they pour over his face, gleaning any additional information you can.

“My king, I do not support my father in his ventures. I promise you, I…he has never been much of a father to me. More like a tyrant or like…like he believes that my life does not matter more than what I am able to provide for him. You have saved me from him in so many ways, and I just want to show you my gratitude. I want you to feel my appreciation.”

Your tone holds not an ounce of seductive undertones as you continue, “I care not that you are a vampire, I—” he allows you to pull free from his hold, turning your hands so that your palms lay on the outsides of his and you guide them carefully through the opening of your robes to your bare bosom, cupping his hands around your full chest. “I ache for you, Namjoon. I have never felt such a desire before, have never sought out the affections of a man. In truth, I’m terrified, but not because of what you are, but because I have never crossed this line before.”

And Namjoon, still a man with carnal desires despite his blood lust, wants to be the one you cross that line with. He can feel the weight of your breasts as you move closer, stepping in such a way so that you can straddle him—which you do moments later. He feels his hands tighten around your chest without your fingers leading the motion, and the tiny, breathy moan that you release brushes against his lips from your proximity.

He’s hardening, lengthening; his cock pressing against your clothed heat and his fangs inching from his parted lips, both aching to open you up for him. And just as the circling press of your pert nipples to the pads of his thumbs begins, you cover his mouth with yours, moaning for his ears only as you lean into his touch at all junctions where your body touches his.

It’s intoxicating; your scent wraps around him and the feel of your blood thrumming within your body as you tremble from the pure lust that seems to ooze from your pores as you, you! devour his lips with no care of his fangs. Your tongue is tentative, but curious—seeking to glide along his and taste all of him.

When you pull back, he presumes to breathe since he need not this human action, his fang nicks your tongue on retreat. That one drop makes his muscles spasm—you pull back from him faster as his touch turns painful for a moment and then you are flying, landing on the bed in a frenzy and in a blink Namjoon is pressed to the wall farthest from you, his fists clenched tightly as he holds himself back from you.

“There is…still much you need…to know and understand.” Namjoon strains to get the words out, actively fighting his thirst for his wife—for you—whose blood has never been tasted by another, and whose tight cunt has never been taken by another. “Please, walk slowly to the door and get the Huwon guards…”

“No, please, Namjoon, I want—”

“Now!” he roars, watching fear filter into your eyes as you spring from the bed and rush towards the door. With a speed rivaling light, he is in front of you before you can make it three steps from the bed. His predator instinct couldn’t allow you to leave the room now. Grasping you under your thighs, he lifts you effortlessly, drawing his nose along your neckline.

Instantly, your fear melts away from your body, leaving you boneless as he deposits you forcefully to the bed you just vacated.

“You will take me, and I will drink from you, and then, I will tell you everything, but I can’t…can’t let you go. I must have you.”

🥀🥀🥀Taelani🥀🥀🥀

The gentle husband whom you had straddled mere moments before, who had kissed you with a softness that you have never known, was no longer the man above you. Instead, a predator climbs onto the covers as you scramble backwards, but his hand grips your wrist and slides you along the silk sheets back underneath his body.

His hands box in your head, with his knees bracing either side of your hips. Your heart is pounding, and you freeze beneath him, finally understanding why he said to walk slowly.

“Grandfather, what do I do if I encounter a bear or something of the like in the forest?” Five-year-old Taelani asks as she walks along her family grounds with her maternal grandpa.

“My dear Taelani, you must never run if you encounter a large animal. Predators are wired to chase after prey. Be steadfast, like a deer or a hare. Freeze and watch first. They may not mean you any harm, but if you should run, they cannot stop themselves.”

Going stockstill seems to work, just as you remembered learning about as a child. Namjoon mimics this, freezing his own body and his dilated eyes close as he leans closer into you and…inhales.

“I’m sorry, but I—I need to feed.” His voice is tense, a quiet murmur that fills the silence.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” you say, proffering your own neck. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

“This is not—I wanted this to be different, I don’t want to hurt you. You deserve—”

“—a husband who will make love to me, and feed from only me. Because I am yours, and you are mine.”

His eyes open with a blazing, hungry stare and before you can do anything else, he descends on your lips with a fierceness. His hands move from the sheets to your robe, ripping it open to expose your dusky nipples to the chilled air. He grips the hem of the clothing preventing you from full nudity and all but destroys it as he pulls it from your body in a feral show of strength.

“Mine.” His words are a low growl before his mouth is once again on yours, this time his hands now free to roam your body without clothing to hinder him. His deft hands move in symmetry to cup your breasts, giving them a supple squeeze before drifting down your hips and he moves his body lower along yours so he can hook his arms around the backs of your thighs.

The silks beneath you allow him to easily slip between your skin and the satin, giving him the right angle to push your legs up and bare all to him. You shiver in anticipation, feeling how wet you are by the air now meeting the heat between your thighs. You want him. The throbbing of your clit makes you want to clench your thighs together for some relief, but the way he’s holding you won’t allow it.

His kisses trail lower, mouth hovering over your nipple until his lengthened teeth graze the sensitive skin. Arching your back, he takes this as a sign to suck the peak into his mouth, tongue swirling as you moan. He switches sides, treating them equally before continuing lower, tongue dancing across your navel. The caress of the wet muscle has your body jumping with desire.

“Oh!” You can hardly keep quiet when his tongue tastes you, laving flat across your open warmth before making short, quick passes along your clit. Your hands grip the sheets in desperation—for him to stop, for him to continue—the pleasure is overwhelming.

“You taste…divine,” his voice rumbles, and you try to keep your eyes on him but squeeze them shut when his mouth returns to devour you. Sensual, plump lips kissing you, sucking you, tongue fucking you—you writhe beneath him. His hands press you wider, keeping you open as your muscles fight against the pleasure and threaten to close around his head.

And he doesn’t stop. Not until you're dripping, and the lower half of his face is glistening with you. You barely register his movements, can barely tell that he’s naked and climbing above you until he’s suddenly in your eyeline. Floating…that’s what this feeling is, like floating on a cloud, carefree. And when the blunted tip of his cock nudges at your still quivering heat, you widen your legs and welcome him, urging him to fill you.

And, oh! You don’t expect the pressure to build as he thrusts within you, and you cry out in pain, in pleasure, in ecstasy at the fullness he brings as your walls quiver around him.

Your hands tighten on his shoulders as he begins to move with more gusto, continuing to keen at the feeling—all of the feelings—and slowly the pain lessens and he glides with less stilted motion, bottoming out again and again and again.

A rhythmic chanting sounds, and it takes a few moments for you to recognize your own voice, so laced with desire and lust, pleading for him. “Please, gods, don’t stop, please!” along with a guttural reply, “I won’t,” filling the bed chamber that surely the others in the palace must be awake and able to hear. Namjoon appeases your request and his hips continue to piston fluidly, his strong thighs creating a cacophony of sounds as they meet the backs of yours.

An inhale, sharp and stilting—a grunt, with hips stuttering—his fangs piercing the tender skin at the crook of your neck as you feel the blood weeping from your vein as he drinks deeply of you. And you shatter from the ecstasy, like a fallen vase of porcelain, pieces scattering like twinkling stars across the galaxy in a vibrant bursting of flames.

🥀

“I am…older than I look.” You lay with your head upon Namjoon’s chest, fingers dancing along the smooth, glistening skin of his chest. His voice reverberates in your head as his low timbre continues. “And I am not truly the Queen Mother’s son, but her relative.”

You tilt your head to look up at him.

“I died a little over 50 years ago. Many of my family within these walls are like me. Forever frozen in time. When my father was just a boy in 1390, his uncles and aunts all fell ill of the fever. One by one, they passed away, and his father, fearing death, sought out the answer to life. When all was said and done, the only one to survive the fever was my grandfather’s youngest brother. In order to secure his place on the throne, stories spread that the youngest son killed all of his older siblings for power. In reality, my grandfather helped spread this and protected him all the while from assassination attempts.”

Looking with wide eyes at him, you almost can’t believe that what he says is true. Almost.

“This became our family’s mission. To protect the youngest sibling's line. For all of the children born to the older siblings who did not pass from the fever, upon approaching their 30th year and after having a family if they so wished, would endure the change and live forever. We have grown in our numbers and have always worked to protect the one line that history can know about. The Queen Mother’s great-grandfather is that youngest sibling. Merely days before I took the throne, her son, the true heir, was murdered.”

With a gasp, you sit up, clutching the satin sheets to your naked breasts.

“In order to hide that this attempt was successful, I stepped into his place and took the throne. And the Queen Mother will have another child, one who we will raise as our own and be the next successor, rightfully restoring the line to power once more.”

“I have so many questions, I can’t even begin to list them!” you pout, stifling a yawn at the late hour. You understand that you will have to raise the Queen Mother’s son as your own child so that the correct lineage remains on the throne, but what of your own children?

“We have plenty of time for your questions, my love. Maybe I shall answer some of them as I tell you more?”

As Namjoon continues to regale you with his tale, spelling out exactly how your lives will be, you settle back into his body and listen intently to his deep tenor rumbling against your cheek, curling your naked body around his own, until you fall asleep.

🥀🥀🥀

Epilogue

Eighteen years have passed since Taelani first entered the palace as Namjoon’s concubine.

Eighteen years since you learned the truth about your husband and his family, and full of questions and curious for more information, had kept him up the following nights with all of your thoughts until he lay you down and forced you quiet with his lips on yours and his hands seeking other truths between your legs.

Now, you are a mother to twins—at least, as far as the kingdom was concerned. Your daughter, Seojin, is truly yours and Namjoon’s, a miracle that even Namjoon’s family had not anticipated. Due to most everyone else in his family waiting until they had chosen a mate and had kids to turn, this was an unprecedented event. And Seojin’s twin brother, Jiho—though not truly siblings—but instead cousins, is the answer to keeping the family line on the throne.

Queen Mother Sindeok had hidden away, where she bore a son and then quietly returned to the palace with you and Namjoon, cradling a secret that only your family knew. A secret that she bundled tightly for the trip back and handed into your arms a mere day before your Seojin was born.

By royal decree, the news of the double royal birth spread across the lands, and in short, the Queen Mother’s pregnancy had never happened. Instead, Taelani, beloved Queen Consort to King Namjoon, had given birth to twins—a boy and a girl, heirs to a prosperous future. Together, the twins' birth was celebrated by the populace and secured the power that Namjoon’s grandfather had cultivated over the years, maintaining their hold of the throne their line refused to give up.

The birth of your twins also made sure that your father no longer tried to challenge the current rulers for power over the people. The Chief Councilor must have immediately withdrawn his money and support of the rival factions, as their attacks and their false propaganda dwindled to almost nonexistence.

With the belief that his grandson would take the throne, as the twin who was born minutes before his sister, your father seemed to think better of his past alliances, and instead made to be a better grandfather to them than he was a father to you, in the hopes that his name would be next to theirs in historical records as a formative familial link to the throne.

You still watched over his actions, even now, knowing that he may no longer hunger for the death of the emperor, but that his gusto for power and manipulation was never far from the surface. You and Namjoon had raised your children well though, teaching them to think for themselves and avoid manipulation tactics from even the most persuasive of grandparents.

At eighteen, Seojin showed no outward signs of her father’s affliction, but for a glint in her eyes that she could do more, hear more, see more, smell more—than her human counterparts. Her brother Jiho was smart, empathetic, and set to be a great ruler, carrying on the legacy his forefathers set before him.

It may have been a little over a decade since you joined your husband in an everlasting life, but you have never regretted that decision, not even for a moment. Standing next to him as he pens his speech for Jiho’s coronation, you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair as you stare out at the full moon, large against the backdrop of the stars and dark clouds.

“My love, come to bed,” you suggest, wanting to lay with him, to embrace him, to love him.

“One more line and I’ll join you,” he promises with a smirk. He still looks the same, jovial eyes crescenting as his lips quirk up at you. “Strip, and I’ll make sure to keep you warm.”

His lustful gaze watches as you step backwards towards the bed, eyes staying on his face.

A few moments later, he replaces his quill and caps the ink, fingers tugging at his pants to loosen them from his waist. Your giggles carry with the evening breeze as it whistles quietly through the slats in the window, rustling the parchment Namjoon was writing on and drying the last lines he had written.

“And for our country, with Yi Jiho as emperor, this nation will finally have all we have fought for: strength, power, and a promising future.”

And for you and Namjoon, your sacrifices eighteen years ago continue the legacy of a kingdom destined to be ruled by a lineage of

eternal reign.

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