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#it’s all very. modern art museum in my head
simpjaes · 16 days
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ONE OF THE DAMNED GIRLS PT.1 (P.SH)
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Moving to a city with wild nights and charming days felt like the perfect choice in your head upon finishing college. Hours away from home, you accept a job at a local museum ironically placed dead between a large historic cathedral and a booming gothic nightclub. You were meant to curate the art, not be curated yourself by a local priest who found you with buckled knees outside of said goth club. ― part two here!! | MINORS DNI
PAIRING ― vampire park sunghoon x afab reader  
WORDCOUNT ― 20.4k
CONTENT ―  modern vampire sunghoon, cathedral/chapel settings, blasphemous behavior, false holy facades, the main vampire trope i use is the act of drinking blood, luring, and living forever, heavy manipulation and toxic behaviors, mentions of reader being alt/goth
SIDE CHARACTERS―  jungwon as your very very best friend who has an installation at the museum (you guys are attached at the hip), jay as the hot bisexual bartender at the goth club, some goth guy named balor 
!WARNINGS! ― dubious consent (due to the act of mind manipulation), hunting and playing victim, a lot of blood: blood sucking, wounds/puncturing, menstruation in a sexual light, manipulation, near-death experiences, fainting, talk of death, acts of mind control/luring 
NOTE ― here is part one of the first vampire fic i've ever felt compelled to write in my life. shout out to me, myself, and i for being entirely deranged and coming up with on a whim based on a song a lovely anon sent to me. this is semi-proof read, and does require two parts to get the full story.
tags under cut
smut tags [ these tags refer to both parts of the fic] ― big meat sunghoon, biting, A LOT OF BLOOD, sucking and drinking of blood obv, pussy eating (once while reader is menstruating, and another time where she isn’t), deep penetration, rough sex, unprotected sex bc like…he’s dead so lmfao, missionary, scratching, dirty talk, body worship, praise, jungwon is involved in a bit of an erotic situation but there is not smut involving him, 
other tags [ these tags refer to both parts of the fic]― depictions of death, anti-religious language, the act of dying including intense descriptions of the feeling, mentions of pimping and human trafficking, corrupt government, dead nuns, funerals
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Upon moving to this city, all you have in your mind is the future. Of what could possibly come of you here? The museum is truly beautiful, propped in the center of the historic district, a mere ten or so blocks from your newly renovated apartment. 
Years worth of study has led you here and honestly you’re sure you never would have found this city as lovable as it is if it weren’t for those credit hours you poured into art history and architecture. Truly, you feel at home here. Especially working within the historic district at that beautiful museum. 
The rest of the city is quite modern. A bit boring to look at if you’re being honest but, thankfully, your place of work offers much for the eye to devour. The museum itself is quite victorian, with rococo styling throughout. Many could call this an eye sore, but you find yourself loving every inch of the place. You feel like a willow wisp in the clutches of that museum, and honestly you’re more than excited to grow bored of seeing such beauty on a day to day basis. 
Across the street sits another old building, also victorian in style. The large and tacky sign glowing with neon lights that reads “AFTER LIFE” goes to show that it’s very clearly a club. And the attire of those who go to and fro through the doors only further proves that it’s more than just that. It’s a goth club. 
Which, arguably, high-school you would’ve died to be able to attend. Thankfully, that little goth girl inside of you still lives strong and surely the club will be a place you’ll frequent during your free time. It’s not too hard to dress the part considering you are an art loser. The majority of your clothing consists of black, colored hair, and wild make up anyway. All you gotta do is forego the ratty coveralls or the typical business quirky you go for at work and you’re good to go. 
Last but not least regarding the charm of the historic district, your favorite site. One that is so profound to you and likely everyone else who visits this town mostly because, well, there isn’t much mention of it on any website regarding the city. In fact, you weren’t aware that such a place existed here until the day you came to view your apartment for the first time. 
Seeing it loom from the apartment window very nearly had you sign the lease without so much as looking at the cabinet space or the bathroom setup. 
No, nothing in that historic district, absolutely nothing in this city, rivals that of the cathedral that towers above both the club and museum. 
There, parked just three blocks down from your place of work, sits the cathedral. Clearly old but well maintained, you can just tell that the building has seen more than enough through the passing decades. The arches are pointed and towering, and the flying buttresses only further your heart to beat with love and admiration for what men could build at one point in time. 
You’ll never understand why the preferred style these days consists of primary shapes, anyway. Boxes, cones, spheres. Never twisting hallways or nooks and crannies to hide in. You miss the depth of which buildings used to be. Inside practically a maze, outside a wondrous presentation of knife-sharp features. So intricate, so many lines to trace.
What a shame to find yourself living in a space that’s a mish-mash of perfect boxes, but it’s not so bad when the window offers a daydream, at least. 
You’re in love each time you gaze upon the building, actually. It’s a forever reminder that no human being on this earth could make you feel such excitement. Perhaps you’re just a nerd for gothic architecture though. Honestly, it’s a shame that this cathedral seems to be a forgotten gem despite how it’s blatantly visible at almost any view point in the city. 
Fortunately for you, this only goes to show that the historic district is just that. There for those who admire, and not for those who gawk. There seems to be rarely any stray humans making their way down this street without at least an inkling of interest in the ancient life that’s been breathed here. 
If anything, the streets are filled with what you can assume to be open-minded individuals. Your first day at work showed that much. Tattooed bodies, pierced faces, wild hair, even wilder attire. Yes, you feel right at home. 
And despite the excitement of living in a new city where you seem to fit like a puzzle piece, life can still grow boring after a certain amount of time has passed. For you, it’s taken about three weeks of training, well-slept nights, and cozy days. 
Even through the summer, the nights still have a chill in the air. Which is nice but even your night-time walks have become an auto-pilot task that offers nothing new to your forever hungry brain. So, with the weekend fast approaching, you figure there’s no better time than now to dust off those hot platform boots you bought on a whim years ago and have yet to wear. 
You’re going to the booming “after life”. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Well.
“After life” is certainly a perfect name for the club if the intensity of the drinks alone is anything to go by. Inside is adorned with stark black walls and silver trim, loads upon loads of purple and red curtains, women and men near-nude wrapped in straps and chains. 
It only took two drinks to see the black painted walls as a beautiful void in space with wonderful dancing bodies falling into it. You can’t stop smiling through the warmth in your cheeks and dancing to deep bass with husky voiced music. Your arms stay in the air as you dance, and you welcome any dancing partner up until your third drink. 
God, the drinks are strong. Or perhaps it’s just the specific drink you’ve grown partial to. One they call “Red Death”, which according to the handsome bartender, was quite popular in the 90s. You see exactly why it was so popular, considering it basically hit you like a fucking truck in the middle of this club and has you stumbling out the front door without so much as remembering why your feet are moving in the first place. 
Unsure of how much time has passed since you got here, you nearly forget the extra five inches under your feet as you stumble your way through the heavy doors in front of the club. A kind bouncer with the whites of his eyes tattooed helps you with your balance as you step out, chuckling and noting that you’re definitely new here.
His strong hold on you is kind and gentle compared to the bouncers outside of the clubs back home, and despite how drunk you are, you still feel as safe as you do inside of your own apartment when he gives you a small “woah there.”
Thankfully, he keeps to himself after helping you regain balance, once again unlike most bouncers at clubs. You’re left to your own drunken plans now as you wobble around the building in search of a bench to sit on and sober up. Thankfully, that very bench is found sitting lonely on the backside of the building. You can still hear the muffled music from inside, but you’re currently spinning and able to hear just about anything, you think. 
You hear your ass thump to the ground when you try to take a seat, missing the bench completely and falling a full two feet with your head hitting the bricked wall behind you. 
Honestly, all you can do is laugh at yourself as you hold your head. The fall didn’t hurt, and thank fuck no one is around to have witnessed that from you. To think your senses are enhanced at this moment is quite a feat, considering you were so focused on hearing everything that you completely forgot to determine which of the two benches in your drunken vision was the real one.
And as you accept your seat on the ground as the space you’ll sober up in, your senses prove yet again to at least be slightly more amplified than usual. 
A heavy scent of cinnamon wafts through your nose as you breathe in the brisk summer air and immediately you try to adjust your eyes to whatever the scent is coming from. Or, whoever.
Then, a cold hand on your shoulder. You didn’t even see him before smelling or feeling him, but somehow, your vision adjusts immediately as if you’re not drunk at all.
In fact, looking at the man is entirely sobering. 
“Child, temptation has you by the throat.”
“I’m no child.” You scoff at the voice reaching your ears, frustrated as you try to chase the fizzling drunk feeling. A waste of money, you could say, to lose the dizzy feeling so fucking fast. 
The man stands in front of you, clad in black, offering a gentle smile. 
You can imagine you look a mess, sitting on the ground outside of a night club, but that should be expected you’d think. 
“It’s a figure of speech.” The man shrugs with a chuckle. “Now, now. Allow me to help you, my dear, you are in no shape to be left to your own devices.”
You look up at him, noting that the man appears to be a priest. What kind of priest wanders around goth clubs this time of the night? 
Then again, you don’t even know what time it is. What you do know is that you’re nearly entirely sober now for some fucking reason, and you absolutely can be left to your own devices. 
“No, I’m fine. I don’t live too far.” You shake your head at him, but he pulls you up anyway. 
Oh, a rush of woozy nausea. Your ankles buckle immediately upon trying to stand and the man simply keeps his smile aimed at you. 
“My conscience will not allow me to leave you be.” He says, taking your arm and leading you further down the street.
You’re unsure as to why you don’t fight him on it now. There’s a feeling in your body that tells you to go with him, and who are you to fight it? 
Strangely enough, your eyes sparkle as he leads you straight to that very cathedral that floods your thoughts on most weekdays during work. So big, so beautiful, so otherworldly to see so closely. 
You stare up at the towering building even as he helps you through the doors, and then your eyes immediately adjust to the vaulted ceilings and darkened stained glass windows with only the moonlight shining through. 
God, it’s more beautiful inside. 
You’re entirely mesmerized by the building, blinking up at every inch of the walls and ceiling. It’s pristine inside compared to the outside, and the floors shine so beautifully even in the low-light. Your boots stomp with each step against the well-maintained floors, to the point you can feel the vibrations running from your toes to the top of your head. 
You can feel your skin tighten at the viewing experience, every hair on your body raising in euphoria, pupils growing wide and dark. You smile, feeling your face flush as if you’ve got a man between your legs. There is no man though though, no. Just big arches and echoed footsteps.
It’s simply too beautiful to comprehend with a semi-drunken brain for the first time. 
The man saunters through the building with you in tow a bit too quickly than you’d prefer though. You try to soak in the image of the main chapel before he leads you away from it, and thankfully you caught a decent look at the gold and silver adornments surrounding a centered altar. The figure within the altar didn’t quite get more than a glance, but you could have sworn it was no religious figure that you know the name of. 
And then, within three blinks, you’re in a corridor where whispering nuns look on. Their voices sound high-pitched even in a whisper but it slows your heart rate down to that of near sleep. Drowsiness overtakes you as you blink out of sync, barely able to comprehend that you should be at home rather than in this wondrous and magnificent building with a strange priest. 
Still, even as the corridor grows less and less extravagant, where the stomping of your boots on the floor turns to that of breaking up dust and weighing down creaking wood, you find it all the more beautiful behind your heavy-lidded eyes.
The deeper into the cathedral you go, the older it becomes. Where electricity turns to candles, and then candles turn to pure moonlight shining through stained glass windows. 
Even up the spiraling concrete stairs, you feel your feet carry you more than the priest with his back turned to you. He wouldn’t need to lead you through this building at all, as the feeling in your gut would likely have you explore the place inch by inch if you were given the permission. 
Still, even while your mind is sober but your body is drunk, you find it hard to believe that people still reside here. Never once seeing anyone come from the cathedral since being in this city. And trust, you have honestly stared at it day after day during work. 
That means nothing to you now though, considering you’re inside the building, being led to a small room for sleep where your sleepy eyes devour the small bed against the wall.
The man who led you here lends no more words or thoughts to you as he steps inside, presents the room to you, and then quickly leaves with that same smile he gave you outside of the club. 
A nun replaces him with light and silent footsteps, running past you to fluff the flattened pillow on the bed. Another came in behind her with a small bowl of crackers and a glass of water. She holds out the bowl and glass, urging you to take them from her. 
Naturally, you do. Popping a cracker into your mouth and instantly feeling it soak up any saliva in your mouth, leaving it feeling dry and sore before you sip the water. And with a nod from the two nuns, they leave you be. 
This room appears to be that for refuge, surely for those the church takes in when they’re in need of a warm bed and some food. 
You smile, saying nothing as you sit down on the bed and place the glass and bowl on the small ledge by the window. There, you take off your boots and flop back without so much as sinking under the thin covers, and you fall asleep as if there’s nowhere else on this earth you’d rather be. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The sun feels warm against your face when you stir from your slumber. Your eyes feel heavy though, so you simply lay here and breathe in the strange heavy air. Your eyebrows furrow at the feeling of the bed beneath you. Stiff, hard, uncomfortable. Clearly, you’re not at home. 
And, well, that’s when the happenings of last night dawn on you. You can barely comprehend what the helpful priest looked like, better yet how long it took for your feet to carry you to this room.
When you open your eyes and squint to look out of the stained window, most of the city is distorted through the tinted colors, but you can tell that you’re quite high up in the building. Then again, the throbbing in your feet could have probably told you that. 
Still, sitting in this bed now feels much more uncomfortable than it did when you initially laid down. Your head pounds as you pinch the bridge of your nose, squinting around the room and trying to grasp your memory. 
The only thing you remember is the cold hand that guided you here and every beautiful inch of the cathedral. Which can only mean, you have no fucking idea how to get out of here.
Oh, the horror and embarrassment of needing to search for someone to help you leave feels unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Surely, if you’re silent with your feet, you can search the halls until you manage to find a back door, right? At least the route would be scenic and interesting if you can manage it.
And, well, you do try. Searching for a staircase the moment you leave your room simply because you know that the only way home is down at least a hundred steps. Strangely enough, your instincts seem to know exactly where to go. 
Somehow.
Your socked feet carry you straight downstairs and to the main cathedral. You weren’t necessarily expecting to find a room full of people upon entering the space either. After all, if it were Sunday perhaps you’d have to drag your hungover ass past a crowd participating in Sunday mass. 
Despite never seeing a soul enter this cathedral save for yourself and that priest. 
Weird, there are a few people with bowed heads sitting in the pews of the main chapel. All appear to be clad in black and gold, one or two others with silver. Not entirely cloaked but still incredibly eerie from behind as you look on with each silent foot step. 
And suddenly, your body freezes. 
There, at the center of the altar stands a stoic man. Posture so straight you could argue he is nothing but an ancient statue. Behind him, you note that there is an actual statue of a figure standing much the same, far too distant to make out the face of. 
Only for a moment do you recall glancing at the statue from the night before, noting how it resembled no god nor deity that you’re aware of. It doesn’t even resemble a human the longer you stare at it, actually.
Ah. Yes. The vibes in this cathedral are off. From your feet somehow knowing the place as if it’s your own home to the silent chapel bowing their heads to an even more silent man standing frozen in the center. If at all, you feel like you’ve been caught in a photo, stuck with your feet on this single tile with the front doors just out of your reach. 
That is, until one of those whispering nuns makes her way to you, tapping your shoulder with a nod and a very quiet, “Shall I see you out?” 
And she does, opening the large doors for you and closing them behind you without so much as a sound. 
Strange, because you remember the echo of those doors closing from the night before. But whatever, you guess, as you’re assaulted with the bright afternoon sun forcing your eyes to tear up. 
You take a step through the flash-bang of summer air, slowly adjusting your eyesight to the very museum you work at. Bustling with your co-workers who are made to work this weekend, you try to avoid being seen. After all, as a new employee, the last thing you need is to be perceived as a hungover mess while walking out of that weird fucking cathedral with nothing more than socked feet and a pair of stompers held against your chest.
And so, you make the short trek home, thankful for the walkable city but entirely unthankful for the charming weather your realtor promised for this time of the year. It’s fresher than you’d like for it to be outside today, the warm sun keeping you at a perfect temperature while the cold breeze offers a shiver here and there. 
You’re not sure why it pisses you off. It’s probably the headache that only pounds harder and harder with each step you take. 
Finally, you make it to your apartment. You feel cold when you step inside the lobby and make your way up. Somehow you feel even colder when find yourself at the window, gazing at the same cathedral you just spent the night in, looking hazy in the afternoon sun. 
It looms there in the city, with its elder rooted walls and pointed arches. Still so beautiful, still so mysterious, still so fucking luring. 
Even after sleeping there, and even after you felt the vibrations inside skew your comfort, it stands out not only in the city, but in your brain. With the modern city only forcing it to stick out like a sore thumb, you can argue that the city could be just as old and still that cathedral would offer a shiver down your spine. 
Your head pulses at the sunlight shining through your window, forcing your eyes from the darkened haunt, and you’re quick to make your way to the kitchen to rummage for something to help with the headache. 
And by the time you flop down on your couch, you drift back to sleep, realizing that you’re not entirely sure if you slept at all the night before. Despite waking up, despite not remembering a thing from after you laid down, and despite feeling rejuvenated in every aspect aside from sleep. 
That rejuvenation strangely drains you more as you drift to sleep, finding it so unnatural that you willingly slept in a maze filled with no face you can put a name to.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Making your first friend feels good. Weeks worth of pretending and hoping you and your co-workers would somehow become besties outside of the museum walls fell short, after all. Not that you don’t consider them friends, it’s more so just the fact that they’re all a bit too stoic and up-tight for you. 
You’re quite a bit younger as well. You can tell that they lost their spark for creating art years ago, if they ever even created it in the first place, anyway. It’s all just curating, curating, curating for them. An eye for beauty only, which is respected and appreciated but still, no eye for fun outside of these walls though. 
That’s where Jungwon comes in. A young artist with first-installation jitters dimpling his cheeks as he offers the smallest “hello” that you think you’ve ever heard from another person. 
He’s similar to you in the way he dresses. He works hard, amazing you with each piece of his collection that’s pulled from a tightly packed box, filled with bubble wrap and slammed with “FRAGILE” stickers. 
Arguably, you don’t need to be friends with your co-workers when you have artists like him coming in and out every few months. He’s quite lively, very excited, and almost clumsy in the way he carries himself. 
You were endeared with him the moment you met him and honestly just three days in, the two of you are practically attached at the hip as you push and work hard alongside him to set up the installation as perfectly as possible for the following weekend. 
And, well, the first showing went off without a hitch. His smiling face could have been seen for miles, you think, as you watch him mingle and blush at each compliment and critique of his work.
So bright. 
So full of life.
The exact person you’d want to be around. 
“Jungwon–” You elbow him in the side as he nods and shakes hands through each farewell while the museum comes to its close for the night. “It’s Friday.” You smile. 
He nods you off, paying close attention to each face that came to visit his work. And only when the halls are empty does he make his way back to you with a deep exhale and a loud, relieved groan. 
“Finally.” He huffs, blowing a strand of his hair up and into the air. “Just fifty nine more days to go.” 
You roll your eyes fondly at him already counting down until the two of you are scheduled to take down his work. 
“You do know you only need to be here for opening night, right?” You laugh.
“Well, yeah.” He shrugs. “But it’s my first installation, I worry some kid will come wipe his snotty nose all over my hard work.” 
You chuckle, he chuckles, and then you turn to face him. 
“So, it’s Friday.” 
He bounces on his feet. 
“Yeah, glad to see you seem to grasp the idea of fleeting time and whatnot.” He looks at you with a mischievous smile. “What about it?”
“We should go out. The club across the street has really strong drinks for half the price as most places.” 
You watch as Jungwon’s eyes shine when they flick behind you to glance out the window. Then his face falls, his eyebrow raises, and he tilts his head. 
“You do realize we’ve been here for like, eighteen hours straight, right?” 
You nod casually with a shrug.
“I live super close by, if we get tired, you can just crash on my couch.” 
He pretends like he thinks it over for more than two seconds before ultimately accepting the offer of fun. 
“Cool. Wanna meet me there in an hour? I should probably change and stuff first.” 
You eye over his outfit, and then give yourself a quick glance. 
“Good plan.” You smile, backing away and throwing your bag over your shoulder. “An hour. Be there.” 
You both nod in agreement and go your separate ways. Sleepy, but entirely willing to celebrate Jungwon’s huge accomplishment with drinks that have already proven to be too strong. 
The hour passes quickly, wearing that same pair of boots for a second time now that you have the perfect place and reason to stomp around in them. This time, you even go as far as darkening your lips and smearing your mascara just a smidge. After all, you’re definitely gonna get drunk and your makeup will be smeared by the end of the night regardless. 
You gasp upon seeing Jungwon’s chosen attire, offering him an “Ooooh” the second you walk up to him. He had been leaning against the front doors of the museum, as if he’s simply an on looker and not a working artist with a top-notch showcase within those walls. 
He lends you a matching “Ahhhh” upon seeing your chosen outfit. Both of you somehow match in a way that makes this appear more like a date night rather than friends getting drinks. Which is kind of cute and a welcomed idea if the two of you have one to many and accidentally start making out or something. 
It feels platonic enough to laugh off in the morning, anyway. And really, while his boots don’t lend him extra height, he stomps around in them much like you do your own. With his black knit sweater littered in frays and pulled yarn, and his hair intentionally messed up. 
“Wonnie,” You offer the nickname easily as you grab onto his arm and check the street for cars before beginning to cross. “I think some eyeliner could finish off your look.” You laugh as the two of you practically prance with heavy boots to the club. 
He smiles at the nickname, hiding his face only slightly in his sweater when he blinks back at you with sparkly eyes. 
“Really?” He smiles, dimples on full display for the tattooed bodies lined up outside, already checking out the artist. 
“Yeah, oh–” You huff, digging in your small shoulder bag. “I have some, let’s do the finishing touch.” 
And when the two of you stand at the back of the line, you do just that. Carefully holding his cheek in one hand and lining the lower lashes on his left eye. 
He doesn’t even close his eyes, and instead looks up into the night sky with that same dimple showing. Blinking every few seconds at the sensitivity, ignoring the fact that his eyes start to prickle at the feeling. 
“It tickles,” He chuckles in a hushed whisper, never having a friend be so close to his face like this before. “How do you manage to do this every day?”
“I guess you just get used to it after a while.” You focus on the way the darkened color brings his eye to seem more catty than it already was, taking your thumb and swiping the bottom lid to smear the charcoal makeup.
You note how innocent and shining his other eye looks compared. Nevertheless, you go to rest your hand on his other cheek now.
Just for a moment, his eyes flash down to look at you. So, so close to his face. Instantly, you lend him a pause and your own smile. 
“You’re blushing.” You laugh, holding your hand steady in wait as he shifts his weight to the other leg out of natural nervousness. 
“Sorry,” He whispers out, blinking frantically to prepare for his other eye to tickle. “I’m not used to being this close to someone.”
Ah, you don’t believe that for a second.
“Look up.” You instruct, already lining his other lashes. “Feels like I’m putting the finishing touches to a masterpiece.” You add in a lame chuckle, feeling a little flustered yourself the more you note how his eyes water at the tickle. They shine so pretty.
He laughs out at your comment, a hand shooting to your wrist as you smear the liner on him. Not to be intimate or anything, just simply to steady your hand more.
“I guess I am kinda the canvas like this, huh?” He comments, standing as still as he can while looking up at the moon. “Hey–”
“Hm?” You say, pulling your hand back now and doing the same with your thumb to smear the make up into perfection on his flawless little face. 
“What kind of gum is that?” He asks, blinking a few times before adjusting his eyes properly and pretending like he can’t feel the waxy substance caked on his lashes. 
“Just regular spearmint.” You give him a half smile. “Why, you want a piece?” 
He nods, mostly because if he had known you were going to get this close to his face, he probably would have already had some type of candy in his mouth.
Again, it’s not like he has feelings or anything. It’s just, well, it’s always intimate to have someone so close to you. In your space. Your bubble. No one ever gets that close unless they want to kiss. Or, he guesses, if they’re putting eyeliner on you. 
“You look really cute,” You comment now, stepping back after giving him a piece of gum and looking over how the smeared makeup really does complete his look. “Should’ve brought one of my chokers too. Now that, yeah.” 
“Huh?” He tilts his head as the two of you move up the line. “You’re really into this kind of scene aren’t you?”
You nod shyly. 
“Was a total mall goth back when I was a teenager. I would’ve stalked you around the mall if you looked like this back then, really. Totally my type.”
He lends a bashful blink and a half-hearted laugh, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking to the ground. 
“Well, when I was a teenager I looked like the person who invented calculus.” 
“And now you’re just a little work of art, huh?” You continue the cringey art-jokes, mostly because you like the way he tries to pretend they’re funny rather than utterly horrifying. 
And he does smile at it, ears flowing with heat as he blushes. He probably wouldn’t feel so shy if it weren’t for the fact that he also heard compliments all day about his art. He’s a bit sensitive right now.
“I guess so.” He accepts your compliment like all the others, lifting his shoulder to his cheek with a squinted eye. It’s nice to feel like the world’s favorite person for a night, truly.
And the conversation is even easier from here on out. Albeit, a bit flirty but it stills platonic enough to where the two of you are just…in a comfortable little bubble surrounded by faces you don’t know. Perhaps playing the part of being two individuals who came to a club together rather than separately and alone. 
As the hours pass, there are several strangers approaching the two of you. Words of “need a third?” and “well aren’t you two just fucking perfect?” 
Jungwon basks in it, snickering quietly with you but never denying a single accusation. The two of you play along. Drinking, dancing, and then more drinking. Up until Jungwon decides he’s held his bladder long enough and is off in search of a bathroom while you make your way to the bar. 
For more drinks, of course. Not to hit on the bartender you met the first time you came here.
“Another red death?” The man with inky red hair smiles at you, already grabbing a glass and starting your drink. 
“Yes but, can I actually–” You pause, glancing at the other man behind the bar. 
Red haired man laughs knowingly with a nod and a side eye before pointing silently at his co-worker and raising a brow at you.
You nod back, dipping your face only slightly when you see him take two steps back and whisper to the man. 
Instantly, you feel a bit more shy over asking to be served by this guy but goddamn. His dark hair looks slightly damp when his eyes glance to you upon whatever is being whispered in his ear, probably from something spewing in his face after being shaken up, or perhaps from sweat. 
You try to avoid eye contact under the man’s gaze when he walks over and in front of you. Sharp jaw, silver chain, loose black t-shirt revealing equally as damp collar bones.
God. The shirt is sticking to him. 
“Babe, my eyes are up here.” He laughs, holding an empty cup and leaning on the bar towards you. “Had a little too much to drink again?” 
You nod, dazed by his dark eyes before immediately shaking your head. 
“Red death, please. Two of them.” 
The man nods with a knowing smile. 
“I saw that you came here with someone.” 
He’s flirting. Mostly for tips but it’s not like he hasn’t been known to take people home from work before so, wherever it goes is where it goes for him. 
“Jay, can you grab me the-” The red haired bartender says from behind, and Jay, presumably, hands him a bottle without so much as letting him finish the sentence. 
“He’s cute.” Jay continues talking to you, enjoying the way you don’t realize how you fold in on yourself. “Any reason as to why you asked me to make your drink?”
“Um, oh,” You were gonna be bold, but you feel Jungwon suddenly clinging to you from behind, eyeing the bartender just like you are. “I just think you make them better.” 
“Did he just say I’m cute?” Jungwon whispers behind your ear, watching the man’s hands as he makes the drinks with expert knowledge. 
“You’re both cute.” The bartender smirks, looking between both of you and then offering a wink. “This round is on me.” He adds, sliding both cups forward and brushing your hand just for a moment before turning his attention to someone else. 
Honestly, it’s like you and Jungwon are the same person at this moment when you grab your drinks and you turn to face each other. 
Both of you, bouncing on your feet with whispered squeals over the hot bartender including both of you in the compliment. 
“Oh my god.” You stare forward, tasting the drink and noting that there somehow seems to be more alcohol in this one. “He’s so–”
Jungwon nods to you excitedly, sipping his drink quickly before glancing behind you and meeting the eye of the bartender again. 
“He was just looking at your ass.” He comments, flipping his body to cling to your arm and now turning his back to Jay “You think he’s gonna check mine out too?”
You nod with a snicker, the song changing and the tempo instantly drowning your thoughts. 
“I love this song!” You shout with drunken glee, already making your way from the bar but keeping that little thought that hopefully, Jay will keep glancing at the two of you simply because it’s fun to be watched by a hottie. 
And Jungwon just goes with your flow. Dancing with sticky sweet lips, eyes glazed over from the music and mood. His makeup looks more beautiful now paired with strands of his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. 
You don’t think you’ve ever seen dimples so fucking deep before, and it’s almost painful to remember his face without that smile plastered on it. 
“Wonnie,” You grab him by the shoulder and pull him against you, ignoring how his hair dips into your drink for a moment. “I think you’re my best friend.”
And the way he pulls back with a gasp, smiling wider? It shatters your heart just so it can grow larger. 
“I am?” He does a little bounce through his dance move, eyes shining in the strobe lights, flashes of red and purple shading his cheeks, only deepening those dimples. “Really?”
Never have you enjoyed spending time with someone like this. Never without crushing hard, never without wanting to take them home and fuck them until you can’t walk. Jungwon is different though. He really does feel like a long lost best friend, like the part of you that has been missing for far too long. 
The moment you met him, you clicked in a way that didn’t involve a dick or a hole. I mean, sure you’d probably fuck him for funsies but there’s really no point in it because you feel perfectly happy, perfectly fulfilled, just having him spend his free time with you. 
Surely when he has to travel back home, you’re going to cry. 
“Why do you have to live so far away?” You pause your dancing, making yourself sad at the thought that he will only be here for a few weeks. “Who am I gonna hang out with when you leave?”
Jungwon lends you a pouty sound, a coo, almost. 
“I only live an hour away.” He laughs, leaning forward and plastering his sweaty forehead to yours with a slurred shout so you can hear him clearly. “I’ll come see you all the time!” 
And with that, the mood seeps right back into your veins as the smile overtakes you. 
You dance with him, forehead to forehead for a long, long, while. Up until the club is so crowded with people that Jay couldn’t possibly be paying attention to anything other than making drinks, and you couldn’t possibly pay attention to anything other than the music vibrating the alcohol in your stomach. 
It’s almost suffocating, as you feel a pang in your chest of overheated anxiety. You breathe in, smelling the fifth piece of gum that Jungwon slipped from your pocket on his breath. You exhale, smelling your own sweet alcohol breath before pulling back and dragging Jungwon by the hand into the only corner not packed with people. 
“You okay?” Jungwon slurs as he sways in front of you, eyes trying their best to seem concerned. “You look like you might get sick.” 
You nod, feeling your mouth fill with warm saliva indicating that you should probably go to the bathroom now. 
“Okay, lets get you to-” 
You cut Jungwon off with an off balance sprint to the bathroom and somehow he keeps pace with you, gripping your shirt and refusing to lose you in the crowd. 
Unfortunately, as you press on your stomach to somehow hold down whatever is trying to come up, you notice how there’s a very long line for the bathroom. 
And it’s still suffocating in here. 
And your mouth tastes too sweet. And the music is too loud.
“Let’s go outside!” Jungwon shouts against your ear, vibrating your brain as he navigates you through the crowd himself, pressing you up against the front doors of the club before pushing you outside with him close behind.
The waft of breezy summer air instantly fills your lungs and your stomach settles at the space you have to yourself now. 
You stumble forward, making your way around the same concerned bouncer from before who only smiles at you and Jungwon struggling to find your footing. 
And, like the best friend you knew he became, he tries his best to be the sober friend right now. His voice wavers and crackers when he speaks, but his hands are firm on both of your shoulders as he presses you against the wall behind you. 
“Stay here.” Jungwon says with concern still in his voice. “I’m gonna run back in and get us some water, okay?” 
And you nod in a daze as your eyes follow him when he disappears back inside. You note how he says something to the bouncer before opening the doors, and surely he simply asked that the guy keep an eye on you. 
“You should probably eat something soon, sweetheart.” The kind bouncer comments to you in the night air, stepping closer to you and standing just against the wall next to you.
You feel protected by him, so there are no alarm bells ringing. 
“You know I can’t let you back in, right?” He chuckles as he speaks to you calmly. 
“Oh, I bet.” You laugh, breathing in the air again and again, still not regretting the fun you’ve had for the past few hours. “Just gonna sit here and wait for Wonnie, he’ll help me get home.”
“Good, good.” The bouncer confirms your words, still standing protective next to you when you hear the doors fly open and a few seconds of booming music before it’s muffled again. 
Jungwon flops down in front of you on the sidewalk now, two water bottles in hand with a smile on his face. 
“Jay gave me these.” He smiles. “He said if we can handle waiting til closing time he can drive us home.”
You laugh sheepishly. Unfortunately, you’re a bit too drunk and you know you probably wont make it another hour and a half with an additional however much time it’ll take for him to close up the club before needing to pass the fuck out. 
“I think I’ll have to take him up on that next time.” You slur your words. “You’ll help me walk home right, Wonnie? It’s a short walk.” 
Jungwon nods, still doing his best to act as sober as he can, but the bouncer shuts him down fast.
“Oh, I don’t think so buddy.” The bouncer laughs. “You’re both fucked out of your mind.” 
You laugh, Jungwon laughs, and the bouncer throws in his own hearty sigh. 
“Fuck–” You have a sudden, sober thought. “The tab. Jungwon, did we pay the tab?”
He pauses, eyes widening. 
“Shit.” He explains before jumping up on unsteady feet. “Can you help her call for a ride?” He slurs out at the bouncer, only disappearing inside again when the kind goth nods at the request.
And as you sit here in the silence after the bouncer helps you order a ride, a few minutes pass. Your eyes are out of focus as you stare up into the night sky before closing them. 
You could fall asleep right here on the sidewalk if you’re not careful. 
Another few minutes pass, now a loud slam of the doors rings in your tired ears now and you jolt out of the drowsy state, opening your eyes thinking you’ll find Jungwon rushing to you but instead, you note how suddenly you’re entirely alone. 
You don’t know how long you’ve sat here, or where the bouncer went, better yet why Jungwon isn’t back yet but what you do know is that suddenly, you’re mind is sober and fucking assaulted by the smell of cinnamon.
You glance around, trying to focus on the scent and where it’s coming from when– oh.
There, walking down the sidewalk is that fucking priest from before. Tall, clad yet again in black clothes, and he simply pauses his step in front of you. 
“Again?” The man calls out to you with an amused voice, lending you his hand, but you don’t take it. 
Instead, the doors suddenly fly open and Jungwon stumbles out again, nearly tripping over his own feet with an apology of “sorry, jay was trying to convince us to–”
“Uh, hi?” Jungwon interrupts himself as he takes note of the man standing in front of you. “The fuck are you?” He checks the man out, not quite able to focus on him in full.
The priest nods his head at both of you, staring Jungwon up and down before landing his eyes back on you. 
“Get her home safe.” He says nothing else before continuing his nightly stroll. 
And, well, you do get home safe. 
You and Jungwon are a mess of limbs in the short ride to your apartment, and an even messier pile of idiots by the time you make it inside. The couch is long forgotten by the time you close your front door, feeling Jungwon follow you all the way to your plush bed with drunken groans and giggles.
There, you flop onto the bed fully clothed without so much as a happy “goodnight” and you’re both drifting off to sleep. Jungwon’s heavy limbs are thrown on you as he loosely spoons you. Like he’s still trying to take care of you despite the fact that you no longer feel sick, and you’re both perfectly safe behind your apartment walls. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Have you no shame? 
Fuck no. 
What about Jungwon? Nah.
Both of you have a pep in your step by the next Friday, waiting for the museum to close so Jungwon can walk home with you and get all dressed up and ready for another fall into the infamous “after life”.
“We should try to stay until closing, maybe Jay will bring us home this time.” Jungwon wiggles his eyebrows as you put his eyeliner on for him again. 
“We’re gonna have to look real good then, yeah?” You smile at his pretty smeared eyes, reaching your hand up and ruffling his hair.
And you do. Both of you dress up in the darkest, blackest, sexiest fit you can find in your closet. Jungwon is sporting one of your pretty, sheer lace undershirts beneath his own unbuttoned black cardigan, pants tight and low on his waist. 
You, with another semi-transparent shirt. Sheer, showing all the goods if you hadn’t put on a nice fitting bralette under it. Cute skirt that shows your thighs, the stompers, of course. 
And the finishing touch this time? Matching chokers. 
“Cute.” You comment, leaning forward and popping a minty kiss to the tip of Jungwon’s nose. 
“You too.” He smiles, pinching your waist before turning to face your vanity mirror and checking himself out. 
Cute is right. Jay’s probably gonna fall to the floor when he gets a look at the two of you. 
And, well. The night is a blur. 
Jay does, in fact, eye the two of you with that sharp smirk like he did last weekend but you, unfortunately, drink far too much yet again. 
Jungwon slowed down a bit towards midnight but he kept an eye on you for the most part. Trying to secure the ride for both of you by orbiting around the bar and making flirty talk with both bartenders when time allowed it. 
You stayed on the dance floor through it. Sometimes dancing with Jungwon when he comes up behind you with clingy hands and updates on the Jay situation, but after a few songs he’d wander off again. 
It’s nice, kind of. Having someone with you that can maintain control through your own drunken stupidity. You don’t mind dancing alone, after all, you’re not entirely alone giving the pretty men and girls who come by to dance with you every other song when Jungwon isn’t around.
And of course, around the same time as last time, you find your mind feeling suffocated by the time the club is at capacity. 
You sway on the dance floor in search of Jungwon, unsure of which way the bar is because your eyes simply can’t adjust to the darkness and flashing lights by this point. 
Dimples. You need to find the sunshine face in this void of darkness. 
And you search. 
And search. 
Until you’re stumbling out the front doors alone, knowing that if Jungwon is looking for you, he’ll probably know you stepped out to breathe at some point. 
Just like the week before, the crip summer air outside instantly settles your stomach and breathing comes easier. You feel more sober than you thought you were as you sit here, making small talk with the bouncer who finally introduces himself to you. 
“That’s a good name for a big goth teddy bear.” You mock the man. “Balor.”
“In the flesh.” The man waves you off. 
And then, suddenly, the bouncer is stepping closer to you with a stiffened shoulder, the air outside shifting to something else for him, but you’re completely unaware of it. 
“I need to step inside for a moment, will you be alright for a few minutes?” He knows he shouldn’t step inside, but in all fairness, it’s kind of the protocol at this point. 
Considering that man has made himself very clear that if he’s near the club at all, it’s for good reason and he’s not to be interrupted. At least, that’s what code is for the bouncers here at this club. 
It’s a shame though, to know he has to leave you to the night. You’re a fun girl, peppy and sweet, not rude or hard to make small talk with on the long nights of work. Maybe you drink a little too much, but still. It’s not like the bouncer knows why he is to leave the sidewalk when a certain someone wanders by. What he does know is that more often than not, he’ll sink away inside only to resume his position alone, with no one left on the sidewalk.
Probably just a pimp. 
Or human trafficking. 
He isn’t sure, but time and time again he has been told to leave it be. That it’s nothing wretched. That it’s simply a territory that isn’t their own. 
Still, you nod to the bouncer. 
“If you see Wonnie, can you scold him for letting me get lost?” 
You miss the look of concern on the bouncer’s face. 
“Hey, come back inside, I’ll help you find him.”
“Oh, hello again.” A voice echoes from around the corner, causing the bouncer’s shoulders to fall as he immediately offers you a small “I'll find him–” before disappearing behind the heavy doors with haste. 
And then, cinnamon. The spicy scent wafting through you so fast that you’re almost dizzy. 
More dizzy than you already were, anyway.
“Have you learned nothing?” The priest walks up to you, chuckling and raising his eyebrows. 
“Weird ass priest.” You say, paying no mind to the happenings of just now, totally unaware of the energy surrounding you.
“And to what god do you believe I pray?” He tilts his head as he stands in front of you, hands behind his back, leaning down at the waist to position his face in front of yours. 
The question makes you look up at him with a skewed brow. 
“The usual one?” You ask, rolling your eyes at the silly meeting. 
Again.
A third meeting. 
“Ah, the usual one.” He mocks, nodding his head before standing back up and towering over you. “Do you seek him out?” 
You nod momentarily, having never been religious but at this moment, as drunk as you are and as alone as you feel with this strange man, only god could answer your curious question as to why you keep meeting him. 
As to why you’re always all on your own when he appears. 
As to why he forces a hope in your mind that god is really out there, and he’ll protect you when the bouncer isn’t here.
“Was that a nod?” He smiles at you, landing a cold hand on your shoulder. 
“Yes,” You whisper out, feeling heavy and more and more dizzy by the moment. Not from the alcohol but from something else. “Do you know where I can find him?” 
Your voice calls out on its own to him. You don’t recall wanting to ask him that, nor do you recall even thinking those words before saying them.
“He’s right here, love–” The priest pulls back, presenting the space in front of him before turning his hands inward and presenting himself to you. “I am God.”
You freeze, a rush of cold running through your veins. Surely you’re hearing him wrong despite that voice echoing those words in your head three, four, five, six times. 
“Isn’t that considered blasphemy?” You try to play it off in a joke, hiding the chill down your spine. 
Pretending you’re not interested. 
Wondering why it is that you are, actually. 
“Perhaps on any other street.” He confirms for you, now crouching down and showing his face plainly to you. “Do you keep secrets?” 
Your body nods before you can think to do it yourself, and you narrow your eyes for a moment at him. He’s…insane looking. Unnaturally flawless. Like those little speckles of moles on his face were placed with perfected intention. 
You’re mesmerized as he looks at you, eyes glancing to each part of your face, watching your expression change and fall, then rise and– he chuckles fondly, deeply. 
“I believe you.”
Why do you feel proud of that?
“Come back with me, yes?” 
There’s a long pause as you fight to think for yourself. If Jungwon were here with you right now, surely you’d be more grounded than you feel right now. Surely, you’d be having a heated conversation involving some sort of shared fantasy over that bartender. 
What was his name again? 
J…J-
Your eyes adjust to the face in front of you as you lose your train of thought. Something inside of you pulls. You can’t tell if it’s your heart or your thoughts but it appears to be instinctual when you replay his invitation in your head. On any other night, with any other man, you’d say no. 
Under these circumstances alone, you should be running away. 
This man. Dressed as a holy priest, walking to and fro from what you assume to be his home within that unnatural cathedral, presenting himself as god.
You should stand up and disappear into a crowd of rowdy dancers. 
You should find Jungwon and cling to him. 
You should push him away, and you should be recoiling by his cold hand that brushes your cheek. His voice shouldn’t feel so good in your ears. Like a siren, something inside of you doesn’t want you to run. 
“Temptation has you by the throat, my dear.” He smiles as his hand brushes your warm cheek again and again. “You seem rather fond of the feeling.” 
And now he flashes his teeth to you. Glistening brighter than the moon, he appears all but natural to you at this moment when you spiral internally at how fucking beautiful he is. Surely this guy is just a turbo goth that truly lives the life. Probably gives his heart to satan and only fucks during a full moon. 
And oh, wouldn’t you know.
You glance up at the sky again, the moon full and nearly pulsing in the sky like it’s a living being itself. Then your eyes fall back to the priest, his smile still present. 
A weirdo. A freak.
But…aren’t you too?
You barely feel yourself stand up and take a step forward under his arm. You follow the scent of him if nothing else. Heavy in your nose, like a hidden treasure cloaked by the darkened fabric draping over his body.
You want to smell it deeper. Maybe if he were to take off those clothes you could–
“By the throat.” He mumbles quietly as he leads you away from the club. 
Away from familiarity. Away from Jungwon. Away from the public.
There, straight back to that damned cathedral.
You’re more unnerved this time though, because the moment you step through the doors, you cannot, for the life of you, recall what you were supposed to be doing. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Waking up with a weight on your side, you smile at the feeling of what you assume to be Jungwon next to you. As you lay here, not quite comprehending what happened in the blur of the night before, you start to take note of something. Color. 
The light behind your closed eyelids don’t match the yellow-white light of the sun shining through your bedroom window. No, you’re seeing colors. 
Blue, red, green– 
“Wonnie?” You call out, squinting your eyes open, not quite processing the room before you feel a pit in your stomach. “Wonnie?”
Holy shit. 
You thought it was a dream.
You thought coming back to this cathedral was nothing more than a drunken dream. That the weight on your side was more than just a misplaced pillow. 
And as you lay here in a room that isn’t yours, and most certainly a different room compared to the one you slept in previously here, you try to think. 
Was it not a dream? 
The way the priest held you close and inhaled you? The way he put you to bed and left you here in the darkness? The way you– oh. 
This feeling in your chest, pulling, pushing, weighing so heavy. Something inside of you wants to see him despite your uncomfortable awakening. No, you need to see him. This feeling, you know now, only becomes more aggressive when he’s near too. Which can only mean he isn’t far outside of this room. 
You think hard about him and what you can remember outside of the blur in your head. He’s attractive. His face is otherworldly, with eyes so dark you hate that you can very nearly see yourself floating in them. 
The image of his face sits clearly in your hungover brain as you try to think. The feeling of his cold skin against your face, his lips, his…
Red.
Panic washes over you when you jump out of bed, ignoring the head rush and the way you immediately topple over and onto the floor. You need to go home, you need to find Jungwon and make sure he made it somewhere safe last night. You need to find your phone, and your…purse? 
Your shoes?
Where the fuck are your things?
You plant your hands against the cold wooden floors, staring straight down as you try to think. Still, nothing comes but blurry images of the club and then solid images of Sunghoon flashing like still photographs behind your eyes.
Are you losing your goddamn mind? 
Finally, you take a deep breath and stand on your feet, rushing for the door and expecting it to open easily, just like this time. But no. It’s locked. You’re fucking locked in. Which is– fuck, you can’t think straight. And while you still recognize that you’re not expected at work today, surely Jungown is worried, right?
He’s probably looking for you. Hell, with the way his nerves get to him, you wouldn’t be surprised to know he’s plastered posters all over the city looking for you. 
He’s definitely looking for you. 
Fortunately though, only a few minutes of pure panic pass when you hear the door unlock and a pale-eyed nun opens the door for you. She instantly sees the fear in your eyes when you take a timid step back. 
“Oh, you poor dear–” She coos out, lifting her brows in pity. “Do you not remember?” 
You hear her sympathy, feeling your body shiver with relief at her safe and calm voice. Looking up at her, she can already see the question in your eyes. The need for an explanation. 
“You did request that I lock the door for you. You were just simply petrified when–”
You gasp at her choice of words, not remembering a single bit of fear from the night before. 
“Petrified?” You whisper carefully, wrapping your arms around yourself and nervously looking around the room. 
The shrouded woman purses her lips, glancing away from you. 
“I do believe Master Sunghoon startled you. He meant no harm, my dear.” She tries to calm your nerves, but the information only stiffens your shoulders more. 
“Master?” You question with hesitation. “Do you mean Father? Reverend?” 
“Oh.” She purses her lips tighter now, a small smile breaking out at the corners of her lips. “It’s worse than I thought. Please, come with me.” 
You shake your head, backing yourself up against the wall. 
“It’ll only be a minute,” She waves her hand for you to come. “You’re not in danger, I assure you.” 
And as you stand here, knowing that you likely have no choice but to follow her, you hope that her words indicating no danger are truthful. You kind of need them to be, after all. 
“Come now, dear.” 
Reluctantly, you follow her. 
All the way up a too-dark spiral staircase, down two long and dark hallways with vaulted ceilings, and upon rounding a corner, you smell it and you fucking feel a tug in your chest. One that drives you to walk a bit faster, nearly in front of the nun as your feet carry you to where you feel you’re supposed to be. 
She chuckles when you reach the large double doors before she does, dipping her head at you before seemingly gliding back down the hallway in silence. 
Before you can even knock on the doors, they open with a rush of air hitting you square in your face. It nearly knocks the breath out of you at first, but you inhale deeply the same scent of cinnamon before your breath is actually caught in your throat. 
There stands the priest. Or god…or whatever he is. 
“Terrified.” He clicks a knowing tongue at you, stepping to the side to invite you into the extravagant room. “Just when I thought you I had you, too.” 
You stand in silence in front of him after stepping inside, that tug in your chest trying to pull you directly against the man. Still, you refrain with furrowed brows as you remain silent.
“And yet, here you stand.” He softens his frustrated voice, leaning comfortably against a wooden desk behind him. “The human brain truly is fascinating.” 
“Human brain.” You repeat his words to him in an attempt to process them.
“Yes, of course. Yours in particular.” The priest, in his night clothes of a loosened white shirt and long pants makes his way to a bookcase. You watch his slender fingers pull a ratty old book out before he flip through the pages. “I’ve heard about people like you.” 
You pause as you watch him push a pair of gold-trimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, a memory flooding to the forefront of your mind as you recall last night to your best ability. 
Again, red. 
“I used to be like you.” He just talks, offering no context but keeping his sharp gaze on you despite having the book open in his hands. 
You find yourself nodding as you listen, feeling your hand raise to your heart as you try to ignore the way the priest, Sunghoon, takes a deep inhale. 
There’s nothing that follows his inhale. He doesn’t release that breath as he stares at you and instead just…smirks.
“Last night, you believed me to be god.” He smiles wider now. “You stood in that very spot and undressed  yourself.” He takes a step closer to you now, tilting his head with his words. “Do you know what you did next?” 
A shaky breath leaves your lips and a shiver runs through you again and again as you shake your head at him. Forgetting just for a moment how to speak. 
“You got on your knees and you prayed.”
You drink the thick air in the room like a glass of wine, swallowing harshly, struggling to maintain any type of steady heart beat. You feel allured, aroused, mesmerized, embarrassed. 
“What–” Inhale. “Did I pray for?” 
Exhale. 
“Me.” 
Inhale.
Within a split second all the memories come crashing through your skull. Rattling images of that very instance where you were on your knees, right here, fucking praying. Your hand instinctively shoots up to your neck, and there, you feel the drainage points. Two small pricks, just like in all of those movies you watched growing up. Sore, swollen, hot to the touch. 
Well, goddamn. 
There goes your balance. Your eyes start to blur and you feel yourself fall. Only, you don’t. You can’t when you hear him drop the book to the floor and feel his cold body shoot up and against you to hold you up. 
He says nothing at first as he looks down at you, and you couldn’t say anything if you wanted to. You look up at him in a daze, trying to focus, trying to think, but all you can process is the way he inhales again, deeply.
“You ran.” He whispers to you, studying your face and the way your body went from limp to almost holding up on its own in a shorter time than he expected. So strong, you are. Such a fighter.
He inhales again, seemingly drowning in the smell of you before rolling his eyes up and closing them just for a moment. Then, he groans before looking back down at you with eyes almost as dazed as yours.
“You didn’t run away, though.” He adds.
Even as he releases his hold on you, he smiles and inches his face closer and closer to yours. Almost as if he’s making an attempt to stare straight through you. 
“I wouldn’t have stopped you, love.” 
Your body feels weak as you soak in the truth of last night, your lips instinctively wanting to kiss him. No longer do you feel the need to run away, or to find Jungwon. You’re no longer afraid, even. 
Words can’t explain how you feel right now.
“Why didn’t you leave?” 
You have no answers for him when you hum out as a response. In fact, you’re not sure if you’ve ever had the ability to answer questions in the first place. 
All you feel is euphoria as he continues to talk to you, sweetly smiling and lowering his voice to something that drips like thick syrup down the walls of your brain. 
“I can trust you’ll be back then?” He hovers his lips over yours, watching you pucker them for him before backing away with another deep inhale of your scent. “Or would you rather I come pick you up from the vomit-covered sidewalk again?”
You find yourself laughing at that, smiling as you blink at him. 
God, he’s so charming. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Sunghoon had shoo’d you away shortly after, and you managed to make it home in a daze of sunlight and uncanny admiration.
You’re not sure if you can ever feel normal again after that. In fact, you’re quite dissociated and disconnected to the world until you find Jungwon slumped at the entrance of your apartment, sound asleep. 
Like a guiding light, his presence grounds you so fast that you feel more dizzy than you did in Sunghoon’s arms. Like your spirit is slammed back into your body and reality is hitting you again. You crouch down in a rush with light taps to Jungwon’s face, those bright eyes widening the moment he realizes that you’re here. 
“Where were you?”  He whispered drowsily, his dry throat forcing his voice to crack as he shifts his body comfortably against your door. 
Immediately, your face is apologetic and your voice is soothing in repeated apologies. 
“I’m sorry, Wonnie–” You hiccup, nearly wanting to cry. “I ended up going home with someone, I didn’t mean to leave you there alone.” You continue, pushing your hands under his arms and hoisting him up to stand. “I’m sorry.” You continue, and continue. “I should have left my keys with you, or–”
“Hey,” He whispers sweetly, finally standing on his own and stretching his arms out with an even drier sound. “It’s okay, you’re the one who missed out.” 
You tilt your head in question as you reach for your shoulder bag, the one Sunghoon had tucked within his desk drawer, and pull out your keys. 
“Oh?” You smile at his lack of care, but part of you kind of shatters at it. 
What if you really needed help? How long would it have taken Jungwon to see the red flags? Then again, how long is it going to take for you to see the red flags?
“Oh yeah.” He nods to you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as you push open your door and push him inside. “Jay brought me here, he stayed for a little while, even offered to bring me back to his place.”
You’re a little jealous. You did miss out, it seems. Still, you feel…fond of what you went through last night. Despite the feeling of rot within you when you think about it. Knowing it’s weird. Strange. Unnatural.
A vampire? Really? Surely not. 
“Why didn’t you go home with him?” You ask, making your way to your room right behind Jungwon, paying no mind to him as you undress and throw on a t-shirt. “Why’d you sleep at my door?” 
Jungwon shrugs, now taking his own outfit off while rummaging through your closet for a shirt you probably got from an ex boyfriend. 
“Well,” He looks at you now, really looks at you. “I’m fine if you wanna go home with people but I was a little worried, wanted to make sure you’d actually make it home.”
You pause as you dress yourself for a second sleep, feeling something in your chest flutter out of you at his worry. So he did see the color red. 
Not as brightly as you did, but he still saw it. 
“I really am sorry.” You furrow your brows as you watch him put that over-sized shirt on and lay on your bed. “I promise, I won’t do that again.” 
“You’d better not.” He chuckles, blinking at you and waiting for you to come lay with him. 
“Let me go get us some water first, I think we have a lot to sleep off.” 
He nods happily to you, only one dimple peeking out at you when you turn to head for the kitchen.
And after that, it’s nice. Not much sleep happened though, mostly just a lot of water chugging and pillow talk before Jungwon shifts with a gasp.
“What the fuck is that?” He bolts up, hovering over you and practically pinning you to the bed as he forces your face to the side. 
You know exactly what he’s looking at and explaining it isn’t the hardest thing in the world. After all, you were very drunk last night. So drunk that you’re sure you woke up today still drunk. 
A vampire? Hah. There’s no way. You were right to think Sunghoon is just like, really goth. Embarrassingly so. Probably thinks he’s a vampire lord or something. 
That pull in your chest? The inhales with no exhales? 
It’s all an act and, well, you’re kinda into it if you’re being honest, being hunted and all. The dude is hot as hell, and you don’t mind exploring a little bit of his world. 
“Well…” You trail off, lending your looming friend with the smeared eyes an embarrassed smile. 
“Those look deep.” His voice drips in concern as he keeps your face turned. “Did it hurt?”
You feel his fingers touching the two puncture wounds. Gentle, warm fingers. They pulse at the touch and sting when he pulls them away to let you turn your face back to him.
“To be honest, I don’t remember feeling it.” You think he’d probably panic if you told the truth right now. About how you were clearly too drunk when it happened. About how you prayed to a man only for him to pierce your neck and drink you up like you did to the drinks just hours prior. You aren’t even sure if you had sex with the guy.
To you though, sober or not, you probably would have still left with Sunghoon last night. With that flawless skin and those dark eyes. Sober or not, if he’s into biting and blood, you’re into it too. More than willing to play his victim. 
The fact that you were probably far too drunk at the time doesn’t bother you much because even now, with a grasp on reality, you’d like to think you’d let him do it again. If anything, just to feed your own curiosity.
“Wow, you really are into some freaky stuff–” Jungwon comments playfully, rolling back off of you and then taking a breath. “Make sure you clean them. Who knows where the mouth that did it has been.”
All smiles when you’re with Jungwon, honestly. So much comfort and concern, so much laughing and safety. If it weren’t for him, you honestly wouldn’t know how you’d be feeling right now. And it’s nice knowing that he opts to sleep over with you again. Seemingly preferring your apartment over the home he dropped a hefty wad of cash on for a two month stay. 
The feeling of having a best friend swells inside of you with each passing day, and his presence here allows you to go to work and sleep through the night without much more thought to Sunghoon. You love this city and you love the little artist that found himself at your doorstep even more. 
Hopefully he meant it when he said he’d come visit you all the time once his time here is over. Unlike you, who changed your mind the moment you saw Jungwon asleep at your door. 
“I can trust you’ll be back then? Or would you rather I come pick you up from the vomit-covered sidewalk again?” Sunghoon had said to you. You remember it despite the state of your mind at the time, and you also remember nodding to him. 
He seemed satisfied with your confirmation, yet since then you’ve felt no push or pull. No need to have him sucking on your neck or making you feel like he’s a demon wearing the skin of an angel. 
Perhaps you’ll just need to be sure you don’t find yourself drunk and alone on the sidewalk again.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
By mid-week, Jungwon looks sad to know he needs to go back to his respective space for a little while. Not because he wants to, and not even because you want him to. 
It’s simply because you need to be alone. You’ve always needed to be in your own space when this happens anyway. 
Month after month after month. For years and years. 
It never gets comfortable and you’ll never understand why you’re fated to hurt so badly every twenty two days. 
Going to work is already difficult enough, bloated in your quirky outfits and smiling through the twisting knots in your gut. Having Jungwon in your space when you very nearly want to strangle every person who asks you how your day has been would only lead to more owed apologies. 
“It’s not forever, Wonnie.” You genuinely smile through the pain at his narrowed eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.” 
“Oh, I’m being dramatic?” He throws his arms up and motions at you. “You just told me you need a few days to bleed out on your kitchen floor.” 
“Well, yeah...” You laugh and he frowns. 
“I have a sister, you know.” He rolls his eyes. “Who’s gonna buy you snacks and bring you microwaved water bottles?”
“Jungwon.” You land your hands on his shoulders and force him to look at you. “I really just don’t like when people are around me when I'm on my period.” 
He blows a strand of his hair up before pursing his lips, accepting the fact that maybe he’s a bit too clingy. Then again, you’re the only person in this city he knows and arguably the only person in this world he’s managed to grow so close with.
Given the fact that the two of you only met like, what? Two weeks ago? He should probably tone it down and not make an attempt to change your lifestyle just so he can sleep next to someone. 
“Fine.” He huffs, frowning harder. “But if you need snacks or–”
“I’ll call you.” You shake his shoulders before forcing him into a bear hug. “Thanks though.” 
And with that, you go your separate ways at the end of the work day and try to ignore how the pain medicine did close to nothing all day to help with the twisting in your abdomen. 
Still, you’re relieved to know you can tough out the next few days in silence due to Jungwon backing you up on your false-sickness nonsense nearing the end of your shift. 
“I feel like I’m coming down with a fever.” You whined to your boss, happy that the first day cold-sweats from your period makes it appear as just that. A fever. 
“She’s been a bit out of it all day. If you need me to help out on the down-low while she’s recovering, I don’t mind.” Jungwon had added, smiling at your boss and not at all bothered by the unpaid work he’ll probably have to do for your sake. 
A great friend he is. You’re lucky to have met him. 
An amazing friend, really. For helping you find space for yourself in crowded clubs and within your own bed. For lending a hand at work and showing up every day for your shifts despite simply being an artist that’s presenting his work there. No where is he needed within that museum outside of, well, you. 
And he’s always there. So for him to not be here now, when you’re making your way to your apartment door? It feels...wrong. Mostly because, as alone as you are when you walk inside and as silent as it is, you don’t entirely feel as alone like you once did here. 
Still, you go about your nightly routine and fall into bed with those same cramps in your gut. It’s not long before you’re drifting off, pleased to know that at least when you’re sleeping, there’s no pain in your body. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
A strong scent wakes you, forcing your eyes open in the darkness of your room. 
Familiar. Warm. Spicy.
Cinnamon.
A tug, just a little pull inside of you brings you to your feet as you wander through your apartment. Straight to the front door. Straight out of the front door. 
“You know where I live?” You whisper drowsily, rubbing your eyes and walking straight into his grasp, ignoring the feeling of sticky blood leaking out of you just from getting out of bed alone.
“No.” Sunghoon speaks against your hair, rubbing your arms as he holds you against him. 
“Oh.” You accept his answer with a nonchalant feeling inside of you. Who even cares how he ended up here? 
“Come back with me?” He whispers, already taking a step back and smiling wickedly when you instantly follow, forcing your nose further against his chest and up to his neck. “I hear it dripping, love, come.”
And you do. All the way downstairs and into a car with heavily tinted windows. 
You feel comfortable, safe. 
The cramps in your belly are nowhere near as you slowly but surely come to your senses. Half-awake but feeling buzzed next to him. Still, you smile while keeping your nose planted up and against his neck even as he drives. 
You like the sound of his little laughs each time he tries to push you back to your seat, and you like even more the way he mutters to himself through it when he relents and lets you do as you please. The short drive in the dead of night doesn’t offer much in terms of danger anyway. 
And slowly still, your mind clears. Breaking out of the buzzed fog when he brings you through the cathedral
 silently. Past the pale-eyed nuns with pursed smiling lips, past the windows and hallways. 
No longer are you buzzed by the time you make it through those heavy doors of the extravagant room. The same one you prayed in. The same one you nearly fainted in. The same one you tried to forget. 
“How do you feel?” He asks just moments after the doors close. 
You can sense the slightest bit of hesitation in his voice when he asks you that, only now realizing that you’re in your pajamas and fucking staining them.
“What do you mean?” You ask, squeezing your legs together in an uncomfortable show of what’s happening between them. 
“Are you awake?” He asks now, still slightly hesitant in front of you. You can almost see him hold himself back. 
From something.
“As far as I know.” You tilt your head, glancing around the room. “Um, can I go to the bathro–”
“Can you read that clock?” He interrupts you and points to the candle-lit wall. 
“Three thirty–” You pause, squinting to make sense of the exact minute. “three.” 
He smiles at the fact that you’re entirely awake with him this time, despite the drowsy lure he had you in when he appeared at your door. 
You’re here of your own free will, and you’re not running. 
“Do you want to go home?” 
You’re confused by the questions. As confused and drunk as you felt upon stumbling out your apartment door, you very much came here willingly. If anything, you’re just a little weirded out by the fact that you were paying such close attention to him that you missed the way blood seeped through your clothes. 
“No?” You offer back to him before taking a deep breath. “Can you show me where the bathroom is though?” 
And before you can even comprehend it, Sunghoon is right up against you. Looming and staring down as his hands rest on your shoulders before sliding down to your waist. 
“Now, now.” He chuckles, lowering his face just an inch, resting his lips on your forehead. “Why would I want to do that?” 
“Because I’m gross right now?” You laugh awkwardly, trying to take a step back but realizing that his grip on you tightens. 
“Oh, have you forgotten?” He laughs out, lowering himself more, dragging his lips all the way down your face, neck, chest. 
“Ah, wait–” You panic when you feel his nose against your stomach, threatening to go lower. “I’m like…” You’re embarrassed to say it now. 
After all, you came here with the clear indication of fucking. Period or not, you’re not afraid of a little bit of blood but…this.
“Sunghoon, I’m on my period.” You finally speak into the room, trying to push his face from your stomach. 
“I know.” He smiles, pressing his nose harder against your stomach. “Drove me crazy all day.” He dips his face down instantly, inhaling deeply between your legs.
Something inside of you is insanely turned on by his blatant interest in you. 
“All day?” You ask, hands reaching for his hair as he drags his nose straight through the mess you’ve made. 
“Could smell it, darling.” He laughs, pulling back and looking up at you. “Smells so sweet, not gross. Delicious.”
Why the fuck is the blood smeared against the tip of his nose so alluring? Jungwon was right, you really are into some freaky shit. Then again, it’s not so weird considering you’ve never done this before. Everyone’s gotta start somewhere when it comes to kinks, right? 
“Can smell something else too.” He looks back between your legs, ignoring that you are trying to act like you don’t want to let him. “You’re aroused.” 
Oh. 
And just as you’re preparing for some sort of pressure between your thighs, you feel a waft of cold air rush up your body when he stands and grabs your face with both hands. 
“You never came back.” He hisses against your lips, dragging you back and further into the room with him. “I had to sniff you out like a fucking dog.” 
Your mouth falls open at the spiteful shift in his voice, following his movements all the way into the room until he’s spinning around and pushing you from his hold. You fall back against something insanely soft, and instantly you moan at the feeling of silk against you. 
Barely able to catch your breath, he’s over you. He’s on you. Tucking his face into the crook of your neck with a low rumbled growl in his throat and inhaling over and over again. 
Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. 
And you can feel him nose his way all the way up to your face, opening his eyes and staring straight through you with slack lips just over yours. 
You’re mesmerized by him at this moment. Never has a man acted this way with you and it’s insane to think you’d ever be satisfied with someone who wouldn’t. You almost strain your neck to kiss him, and you truly would have if it weren’t for the fact that you feel him sink his hand into your shorts.
Not even a second to truly comprehend how ice-cold his fingers feel when he slips them down and slides two of them into you. He watches your face when he does it, his own slack lips turning to a smile when you moan out at the smallest of pleasure he wants to offer you. 
“Oh, look at you,” He coos, feeling your arms shoot around his shoulders when he continues to slide the digits in and out of you. “So sticky, what a pretty little mess.” 
You groan in embarrassment at the act, knowing full well that you’ll have to face the fact that you like it at some point after he’s finished with you. You don’t mind admitting it so much now though. The way his fingers slide through the thick mess, forcing the scent of brass to mix with his own cinnamon aroma? To die for, truly. 
“I could just eat you up–” He chokes in a whisper this time, struggling to maintain his composure from the sickening sweet smell of your blood. “Would you like that?”
You lift up instantly, kissing against his slackened smile. It’s one sided, as he simply lets you do it and nothing more. Mostly because he, himself, is spiraling into a frenzy of what he needs more than what you want. It’s all pleasure the same though, as he feels your tongue trace against one of his sharpened teeth.
Just a small bite. Just a taste.
“Ah–” You pull back in a wince, the flavor of blood hitting the back of your taste buds as you look up at him with confusion.
He doesn’t allow much looking though, as you hear that same rumble from his throat right up against your lips. You feel his tongue lick you up, slurping the blood straight from your new wound and moaning through the flavor of it. 
His eyes flutter closed as he tries to hold down his thirst, knowing that his fingers are fucking dripping with this same sweet, red slick. It wouldn’t take much now for him to break and let it all drip down his throat. He could end this now if he’s not careful.
And when he opens his eyes again as he pulls back from your sweet tongue, he notes the look of confusion still on your face. His eyes roll in fond annoyance at you for that, only because you have this stubborn need to question despite having the clear answer bleeding from your mouth. 
“You’re still trying to pretend you don’t realize?” He asks, whispering real close to your lips, darting his tongue out and offering a small kitten lick as he buries his fingers deep. 
Your lips open for him in a moan and he licks into it again. Your still bleeding tongue only drives him further and further from a stable mindset. No one, not in hundreds of years, has tasted this fucking sweet. He almost can’t savor it with the way his body rises from slumber at the mere fucking scent of you from ten blocks away. 
His cock pulses for the first time in decades for you. God, he feels more alive than he did when he was actually cycling blood through his veins. 
“You just sliced open that pretty tongue on my teeth.” He chuckles, basking in the warmth he can only feel with you beneath him. “My fangs, love.” His fingers continue their slide all the while, the sounds of squelching blood filling his ears more than your soft groans for more. “Still, you seem to deny what this is and what I am.” 
You can hear his words, but comprehending them isn't quite as easy. Like, yes, he’s got a vampire kink. Whatever. 
“I get it, you’re kinky.” You huff out, missing the way he stifles a laugh at your denial of the truth. 
“You’re a stubborn one–” He smiles, flashing the same fang that sliced through your tongue. “It’s a bit frustrating. Perhaps even endearing.” 
And then, suddenly, his fingers come to a halt and he waits for you to look at him. Just as you go to speak, he’s sliding his fingers out of your mess so quickly, shushing you with his red stained digits. 
“Now, listen.” 
It’s silent. More silent than you ever thought the world could be. 
“Do you hear it?” 
You shake your head, feeling his fingers leave a trail of your blood against your lips as he drags them away and up to his own mouth. 
There, he hangs his fingers from his mouth, licking gently and tasting thoughtfully before sliding them further in. He sucks them clean in an erotic show of his blood-lust before letting them fall from his still licking tongue. Then, he’s slotting them right back between your legs, wanting more to taste. 
“No? You don’t hear how loud it is?” He asks now in a lower tone, still thirsty, still in need, dipping down to lick the blood from your face. “All that blood in you, bundled up right–” His fingers press hard against your clit. “Here.”
Your body jolts in pleasure, eyes rolling back at the mere sensitivity he forces your body into. God, kinky is right. He knows how to use words. His voice is so elegant while spewing the filth, so proper.
“Ahh, that feels good, doesn’t it?” He questions you in a moan that mimicked your own, now lowering himself from your face and kissing down your clothed chest. Down, down, down. “Do you think you’ll believe me when you feel the blood drain out of you?” His voice echoes in your ears, reminding you of the vampire-like thirst he’s trying to act upon. 
And when he slips your shorts down your legs, you don’t even protest. Which at this point isn’t weird at all. The dude is insanely into it and you can’t help but feel like you can vibe with it if he keeps acting like this. He’s good at roleplaying. 
Instead of an embarrassed protest, you respond to him by spreading your legs and presenting the red mess he’s smeared all over you. Inviting him.
He glances up at you as he watches, saying nothing, thinking nothing except for the fact that– you are perfect. 
In every way, spread out and dripping blood, perfect.
You feel an intense jolt of pain shoot through your body just seconds later, followed by a loud and almost animalistic moan from the man between your legs. You lift slightly as you try to look down at him, witnessing the way he sucks the flesh of your thigh into his mouth, blood weeping from the new wounds his teeth create.
So much blood. He’s the one drunk now, utterly fucking mesmerized by the amount of it you pour for him. Your fleshy thighs offer the freshest, he couldn’t help but take a sip before giving you what your quivering body is truly begging for. He has to quench the genuine thirst before playing with his food, at least. 
And as you watch him it’s like you’re nothing but a piece of meat at this moment. He’s sucking and sucking against your thigh until you’re sure your toes are numb. They’re tingling, and you can physically feel the blood being pulled from you. As if his teeth are two syringes seeping it out of you. 
Af if they are. Not because they actually are, right?
And by the time your toes are effectively filled with static, he finally releases the fleshy bite on your thigh. You stare down, listening to him smack his lips and lick the corners of his mouth, seeing the way he doesn’t make eye contact with you at all before he’s turning his attention and burying his tongue into your crimson coated cunt. Without warning, but with so much eagerness with his tasting lips. 
Your eyes flutter with a loud and strained gasp, eliciting a groan of his own to bubble into the blood that falls against his tongue with each passing pulse of you. He licks in time with your heartbeat, which is fucking insane that you can tell he does it. Never before now have you heard your heart beat so loudly, so frantically in your ears. 
And you would be embarrassed, perhaps even worried that the taste is awful. Maybe it’s too much for him, maybe this kink is all just for show and this is a limit he’s only willing to try once before realizing himself that he doesn’t necessarily like drinking the blood from a woman’s pussy…except– Sunghoon gives you no reason to feel like any of that is true. 
No, no. Oh no. He’s fucking relishing in it and you can tell by the way he moans and skews his head to dig his tongue deeper. You can tell by the way he smothers himself, not coming up for air for even a second of the time he’s spending down there. 
And god, you can feel the mess of it all. Sticky, smearing all over your thighs when his fingers trace you mindlessly before gripping your thighs just to pull you down the bed, closer against his face, sliding his tongue ever deeper.
Moaning, fucking slurping it out of you without so much as a breath. 
He’s not breathing.
And now? You panic, focusing more on the time he’s spending burying his mouth and nose into you than the feeling of it. Your hand shoots down into his hair, pulling his head back and away from you. 
Then your breath is caught in your throat at the sharp image. His eyes blown out, widened at you. Nose, cheeks, chin, tongue all glistening with sticky crimson slick, and a smile.
He smiles at you. 
At least before his tongue is clicking and he’s poking it into the side of his cheek before reaching back, grabbing your hand, and shoving it out of his hair before sinking his face right back between your legs. As if to show you that he was annoyed by that. 
You don’t get to think about it though, because this time he’s licking you more frantically than he already was. Fast tongue flicking and fucking you, his teeth dragging against your pussy lips, refusing to let you believe that he wants to breathe fresh air right now. 
Your hands find purchase in his hair yet again though, and you feel him grip your legs and stiffen his shoulders to keep his head in place just in case you try to pull him from you again. You hear the deep growl. You feel it rumble against you as if to warn you to keep your hands to yourself if you’re not going to let him do exactly what he said he would fucking do. 
So, you don’t pull him away. Instead, you play in his hair with your weak hands. Twisting and twirling strands of it between your fingers until he’s pulling his tongue back on his own. 
A shock to you, truly, that he does it at all. But you guess it makes sense when you feel another sharp pain in your thigh, right below the preview bite he had given you. 
Just when you were gaining feeling back in your toes too. 
And he goes back and forth like that for a while, until his face is utterly soaked in diluted blood and pussy-slick. Until he needs to look at it pulse, and watch how beautiful you still, fucking still, have more to pour out for him. 
He’s amazed, really. Never has he served himself a woman that’s openly bleeding for him like this. After all, he prefers to drink his dinner from the carotid artery and be done with it. He was far more creative back in the day though, you know, when his cock still worked. 
Most of his sexual pleasure came from drinking alone. Never getting hard but always reaching climax in one way or another when he gets that last, delicious drop of blood from his victims. But now? Oh, now. You’ve stirred his arousal back to life. Not from pure hunger, but lust.
It’s been so long that he’s lusted. So, so fucking long since he’s cared enough to fuck his prey or give in to the temptation of menstrual blood. In fact, he can’t even recall ever allowing his victims to fall away from the drowsy lure he puts them in. Many of them didn’t know what was happening to them before death and he preferred it that way. 
Until you. An average looking commoner with insane fucking blood. Devilish blood. Divine, demonic, angelic, fucking celestial tasting blood. 
After all this time, he’s had beautiful face after beautiful face. He’s had men, women, celebrities, false-prophets, and even purely divine bodies.. But you…oh no, he can’t simply kill you like those utter throw-aways.
There was a reason he didn’t end you the first night. Something in him caught fire on the taste of your drunken blood. The alcohol you had ran through his veins along with a taste he’s never once fathomed existing. It was the first time in hundreds of years where he forced himself to let you walk out of his quarters. 
Blood with no comparison. So thick, so sweet, so…damning. How could he have just killed you there? How could he pretend like it’s not addicting? Like he didn’t want you to continue producing more and more of it, all for him to drink up?
Of course he wants all of it. He wants to drain you to your last fucking drop, but then he’d never taste it again. Not in thousands of years, at least. So now, as his cock pulses awake and your heavy flow only produces more and more for his hungry mouth to lick up– fuck.
It’s been so long since he’s felt something for a victim like this, and even longer since he’s wanted to use his cock. No, needing to use it. It feels almost foreign to him now after so many centuries, to fuck and eat at the same time. To indulge in all the pleasure, and not just the one that keeps him alive. To want you to feel the pleasure too, to need you to want him without the false sleep forcing it.
You. 
You’re the one. You’re the one he’s going to keep. For as long as you’ll let him, and when you stop letting him, he’ll have no choice but to lure you again. Forever. All for him. 
“Love,” He rasps out, staring at the way your pussy shines so prettily in front of him, the pulse drawing him to near starvation despite being drenched in his meal. “Never have I wanted to fuck before I–” 
Kill, is the word he almost used. It’s instinctual, but instead he releases a moan from his throat at the mere thought ignoring that instinct. Drinking, sipping. Forever just a fucking appetizer and never the full meal. He can settle. He will settle.
Never. Truly never has he wanted to stop himself from drinking just to fuck and he needs you to know that. The feeling is too erotic for even him to comprehend right now, meshing with his hunger and making him feel –-
Gods be damned, he could kill you. 
He should kill you. Given the fact that he has never let a meal leave this room without being drained entirely. Never while they’re awake and fully aware anyway. Insanity. You’ve made him go insane, losing his wits enough to treat you as something more than a victim.
Despite hunting you as one. Despite never having to hunt anyone like he has you. Wanting you to be here willingly. Wanting you to love the feeling of his thirst. Wanting you to learn how good the drain feels. Wanting you to know what he is and needing you to love it. 
Needing you to stay alive. 
Insane. 
He’s fucking losing it.
He knows that if he can never smell this scent again, if he can never taste it, or have your fingers in his hair, if he can never want to fuck again? Oh, he’d crumble. 
He’d take a walk at noon.
You’re not dying tonight. In fact, never shall you feel the cold slab of a morgue freezer if he has anything to do with it. No blood wasted when it comes time for you, and no life truly lost either. 
If just for the sex. If just to quench a never ending thirst. 
If just to live in insanity.
“Before you–” You release in a breath that he chases. As if craving the life under him like an animal. “Before you, what?”
“Kill.” He whispers as he swallows each breath of yours, tasting the sweet sleep that you once held in your body. His own eyes feeling drowsy as if you have your own lure on him now. 
Even the panicked gasp you release at his choice of word there, he swallows it, kissing you hard in a drowsy groan and smearing the blood all through the kiss, letting your breath rumble out of his mouth as if the moan were from his own lungs. 
“So vacuous.” He chuckles now, feeling the pleasure of his cock jolt through his body. He presses himself between your legs, relishing in the sticky blood seeping straight through his sleep pants. “Do you feel that?” He continues, rutting against you as if he’s a virgin of all that he’s experiencing right now, licking each smear of blood from your cheeks and chin. 
“Ah, Sunghoon,” You groan, but you try to be serious in your tone. Feeling the orgasm that once was bubbling up settle back in your stomach. “You’re making a mess.” 
“Mm, I am.” He mutters mindlessly, pressing harder against you now as the taste settles in his throat. “Love, tell me. You feel it?” 
Of course you fucking feel it. 
The nod you lend pleases him, knowing that it’s not just his imagination. Finally, he can feel the warmth of a living being wrapped around him. Finally, he doesn’t feel so cold. 
“You can’t fathom what it is that you do to me,” He continues his sweet talk, running his lips down to your neck, leaving trails of that blood all the way before immediately piercing his teeth into the same wounds he left on you already. He feels your pulse against his teeth when he sucks and only groans weaker against you as he ruts. 
“Ah–” You wince in pain again, feeling the wound reopen with a cold and sharp prick. The pain ignites something inside of you to press your hips up, sliding yourself against his red-drenched pants. 
He chuckles into his bite at your willingness, his hands reaching straight down to shove his pants down in one movement. Euphoria runs through him at the feeling of your warm blood against him when he presses back against you.
Really, the feeling alone paired with the taste of your fresh blood yet again only drives him to keep going. After all, he has all the time in the world. His intention to keep you here only lends him the ability to press his length straight into that bloody, sopping wet hole of yours. The one pulsing for him, the one that lends his favorite smell, taste, and feeling in the world. 
His teeth are forced to retract when he throws his head back at the sensation of sinking deep into your cunt, one fluid motion reminding him of how much he loved this feeling before. How often he’d fuck, and fuck, and fuck until suddenly, he just– couldnt. 
You’ve ignited so much life within him, even while doing nothing more than lying here bleeding. No longer does he feel bored with the world considering he’s managed to find you in it. He could possibly even love you if you let him.
Especially with the way you react nearly the same as he does. As if you haven’t fucked before. As if you’ve never mixed scents with another being before ever coming to this city to chase your own demise. The little sounds you make could be so much more than what you think they are. 
They’re so similar to the ones you make when he bites, when he sucks, oh, so so similar. So deeply seeped in pleasure, pain, hesitation.
“Darling, are you afraid?” Sunghoon manages to say as he feels himself warm from inside of your tense body. “Do you believe me now? Do you understand now?”
You frantically shake your head at the tear of his cock spreading your walls open around it. That one slide rendering you near faint considering the amount of blood he’s taken from you already. The feeling of…ice. It’s in you, running from your veins all throughout your body. So, so, fucking cold. 
No, no, no. No living being on this earth could feel this hard inside of you while being this…oh. His hands have been cold on you too. Always. His scalp under your fingernails as you scratched. His lips, his tongue, all of it was freezing until your blood was coating him. Everything about him is ice.
Still, you shake your head through the pleasure, cock warming him both literally and unintentionally. He just sits inside of you, feeling the beat of your heart gush that same blood past his length and out of you. Your eyes slightly open to look at him, afraid of what you’ll see. 
He’s smiling. His eyes are…brighter.
“C–cold.” You manage to stutter out, nearly feeling brain freeze from the way he pulls his hips back and plunges into you again, warm blood splashing out and against his pelvis, coating your thighs more. And oh, that bite on your thigh, it’s dripping again. 
“So cold, yes?” He chuckles when he dips down, moving his hips steadily in and out of your sticky mess. No longer thirsty, just…aroused. “Do you understand?” 
You frantically shake your head again, grabbing onto him from over his shirt. You’re panicking inside, your fingers gripping so tight, trying to find heat. Needing heat. 
How did you not think about this more? It took this to recognize that he never warms? And he’s smiling at your panic? 
God, but it feels so, so fucking good. 
“Love,” He coos at your panic, pistoning his hips easily with the slide, bringing both of his hands to your face and forcing you to look at him. “I’m dead.”
Ah. 
So he is. 
Yet, the feeling of him inside of you feels better than you’ve ever had. The way his hands hold your face, the way his eyes blow out for you, the way his entire face is tinted in red. He’s so alive yet…
Entirely dead. 
“You’re afraid?” He asks through his own forgotten pleasure, wanting you to stay but entirely willing to put you to sleep so this doesn’t have to end. 
“Sunghoon,” You interrupt any words he’s about to give you, opting to continue fighting the truth when you note the softer tone of voice he uses despite the quickening pace of his hips. “Harder.”
Oh, the fire within burns colder than it ever has at those words. He doesn't even need to pull you? You don’t want to pretend this isn’t happening? You’re accepting him? 
If you want him to go harder, he’ll make you feel like no other. Harder he goes, using all of his pent up frustration of not being able to drain you fucking dead, all of his strength, all of everything he’s missed out for the past centuries– all of it. It’s behind his thrusts now as he slams into you. The blood that splatters out only makes the moment all the more grand to him. 
Breaths leave you with each slam, the sticky sound from below being drowned out by the sheer sound your heart rate in your ear. You’re still panicking, but you can’t help but want more. After all, surely what’s left for you after he’s done is….no, it’s not real.
He feels the fear pulse around his cock and moans out at it, the squeeze so tight, the gush so delicious. This entire room smells of you, and he wants it to be fucking drenched in you. The fear inside of you right now only intensifies the pleasure, and he knows he should be calming you through it, he knows he should tell you that you’re making out of this alive, but–
The way the heart beats so frantically when one is terrified. You’re dripping with fear, the smell of your blood intensifies with each petrifying pulse squeezing his cock to the point he feels his own heart make an attempt to pulse. Your life runs through him entirely out of fear that you’ll lose it. 
He can’t tell you, not when your body reacts so flawlessly. Exactly how it’s supposed to react. So delicious is that fear, he wonders if it makes your blood taste any hotter. He dips down, sinking his teeth into your neck once again and confirms his suspicions. It does taste hotter, sweeter, and it pumps itself so beautifully against his eager fangs. Almost as if you truly bleed for him, because he’s not even needing to suck for it at this point. 
It just drips, and pours, and bubbles out all for him to swallow up. 
You push through it though, the pain is so good, and if this is what it’s like to die, perhaps you’ve found yourself in a lucky position. At least you’re not being ripped to pieces by a stranger, or crushed beneath your own car on a highway. At least this way, you’re being held and seemingly adored.
And the fear, excitement, and pure adrenaline in your body forces it out of you. A rush of heat slamming Sunghoon right in his gut when you convulse under him. Legs shaking as you moan out both in disbelief and intense ecstasy. The blood tastes even sweeter now for him, so sweet that he has to pull back in a guttural and demonic growl.
It’s been so, so long since he’s felt a woman cum around him. His own body reacts in an instant, releasing his own thick secretion into you as you shake through it. Sweating, panting, drooling, crying, bleeding. All for him. 
And the explosion behind his eyes is a reminder to keep you alive. He forces himself to keep the inhale from happening as he plunges into you one last time, coating the inside of your bloody walls with a flurry of freezing ropes. Amazed at the feeling he has long forgotten, his body shakes through it and renders him near psychotic for the release. 
You continue to shake with him, shivering at how the man makes you feel as if you’ve been lying in snow for days, but you keep your eyes closed. 
You’re terrified of him, of this, of the truth hitting you square between the eyes as if it wasn’t obvious all along. Fantasies, legends, fairy tales. How many of them are based in reality? 
You know what’s coming now, based on those same stories. 
The last bite, the drain, fuzzy images, death.
And you embrace for it, trying to relish in the post-orgasm bliss before it happens because you know there’s no way to run from him. If he’s truly what he says he is, there’s no chance in this world that you can stop him. You’re going to die, and the strange way in which your brain accepts the inevitable is more calming than petrifying. 
You never knew you’d be able to prepare for it like this, but here you are. Waiting for it. Accepting it. And when you feel the air of his body shift down to you, right up against your neck, you squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath.
His cold hand tilts your face and all you can do is anticipate as you feel his teeth graze the abused and swollen marks there. 
Here it is. 
You inhale deeply, hoping that if there’s an afterlife, this last breath will be a good memory for you until–
A kiss.
He kisses the wounds. He licks them. He nuzzles his cold nose against them, and then he pulls out of you and lays directly on top of you. 
It’s silent as you lay here, still trying to prepare to fucking die and he’s just prolonging it? 
“Get it over with.” You gripe, frustration dripping out in your weak voice. 
It’s laughable, really, that you’ll sound so argumentative and petty over the loss of your life. So laughable that even he’s chuckling about it, right against your ear with no breath fanning against your skin. 
“Get what over with, darling?” He asks, not having felt this drowsy drained state in so long. 
Your mind is racing though, seemingly trying to think of everything that has ever happened in your life onto everything you wish still could happen, only to consistently land on the fact that you don’t want to believe what’s happening. 
You know very well the denial you’re forcing yourself into, even in the face of demise, you don’t want to believe any of this. 
“I still can’t believe that you’re— No,” You dead-pan before taking in a terrified breath, still keeping your eyes closed. “They’re not real.”
“I’m very, very real.” Sunghoon argues back, infatuated with the denial you try to keep. “You know that I am.” 
“So, you have to kill me then?” Your voice gets smaller as you accept the truth little by little, your breath shakier. “Fucking get it over with then, stop trying to savor it, it’s not like I can run now, right?” 
You still like the way he laughs, so breathy despite having no breath of his own. And through that laugh, he lends another kiss before you feel all of that weight lift from you and dip onto the bed next to you instead. 
“Don’t beg for it.” Sunghoon warns, pulling away from you and forcing his instinct to remember the release of the orgasm he just had. “I won’t be able to stop myself if you ask me so prettily.” 
You pause, your eyes opening against your will as you look at him. He’s facing away from you, but you can see the damp blood drying in the strands of his hair. Your eyes trail down, a puddle of blood staining nearly the entire lower half of the bed and it’s still dripping out of you. 
Or perhaps, that’s whatever it is he fucking shoved into you and fucked out of himself. 
“None of this is happening.” You say to yourself. “I did not just fuck a vampire.” 
“You’re right.” He comments with another laugh. “A vampire just fucked you.” 
Well. You’re still not ready to believe that. Even with the absence of heat, even with the lack of breathing. 
“Prove it.” You ask, unsure as to why you’re wanting it both to be real and just a dream.
You back away when he immediately does as he’s asked. Turning to you and crawling over you. There, he lowers his body, chest to your cheek. 
“Listen.” He says, reaching to hold your face and press it up and against his chest. “Anything?”
You wait, listening for a thump, anything to prove he’s wrong. Fucking any sound at all to blow his cover. 
You’re frozen as you listen, your body going into fight or flight as the seconds turn to minutes. Unfortunately, your body is not a fighter, nor a flier. You’re stuck with his hand on your cheek, holding you so tightly against something you wish was alive. 
A little thump, thump, thump could be the most relieving sound to you, but no. There’s nothing. 
You pull away from him now, body still frozen but head running a mile a minute. How many proofs does he need to provide for you to understand that it’s not fantasy? 
And finally, you feel your body jerk away from him on its own. He’s startled by the movement and you use that short second to roll off of the bed. You do your best to stand, but your brain immediately pulses in pain. Your vision goes fuzzy, dizzy.
Right, you’ve lost a lot of blood tonight. To think your toes aren’t still numb, to think you’d be able to stand without dropping to the ground.
“Thousands of years.” Sunghoon stands quickly, stalking over you and wrapping his arms around you. There, he presses you back on the bed and straddles your hips. “I’ve never told another soul and let them live to remember it– until you.”
You shake under him, the weight feeling more dead now than it ever has. He’s heavy as he holds you down, but somehow his grip on you is gentle. His voice is soft. His eyes are hesitant. He’s not holding you here to hurt you, it seems.
“My love, I told you time and time again,” He glances away from you, feeling something within him shrivel at the thought that now you’re unwilling. “Is it different now? To find that I’ve told no lies to you?” 
Still, he soothes you as you try to comprehend reality. You think hard through the dizzy fog of blood-loss, running more with your mind than your body. He did tell you. And you’re still alive. He just drank and drank from you, and you’re still alive. 
He came to your apartment, he told you he smelled you. 
He’s never lied. 
You just refused to listen. 
He drank you, he fucked you, he held you, and now he’s holding you. 
“I don’t want you to fear me.” Sunghoon admits with sad eyes, trying to ignore how long it’s been since he’s felt sad at all. 
So many emotions you force him to feel, this was not one he was looking forward to. 
“How can I not be afraid?” You breathe out in slurred speech, as if to mock him, because you now know that he truly can’t do it himself. 
“It’s too late to be afraid.” He says apologetically. “You’d have died weeks ago had I wanted it.” 
Why are you still falling in love with his voice? With his stupid grammar, and his horrifying dead-skin? Even with the fear in your stomach, why does this make your heart flutter?
“I’ve never felt so full,” He admits now, releasing his grip on you slowly. He can smell your heart slow, knowing you’re starting to calm now. “Until now.” 
You stare up at him as your eyes recover back to clear vision, in awe of how gentle a killer is being with you. Inspecting the way he’s drenched in your blood, yet you truly still are breathing. He could have killed you time and time again. 
But he didn’t. 
He’s never once lied to you about what he is, and still you struggle to believe what he says. Even when his words match his actions. Sure, he’s a vampire, but he’s not going to kill you? 
What reason do you have to believe him save for the blatant truth behind it? Do you want to believe him? Would you rather be dead?
He knows you can’t fathom the truth so quickly though, and that’s why he’s being gentle. He has nothing more than patience to give to you, if it’ll end in your acceptance anyway. The fact that he can hear your heart beating correctly again only gives him hope that he’s right about not having killed you on the first night.
After all, he truly hasn’t lied to you. Never has he felt full, even after killing several a night. Always hungry, always thirsty, always needing more and more of the syrupy life strangers offer to him under his lure. But you. Entirely aware, flowing with blood that drives him crazy…you’ve managed to fill that desire in him. 
Why should he lie to you? Why would he kill you if there is no need? Despite fighting the instinct, he’s satiated by you. His cold body warms with yours. He will never get enough of you, so how on earth could he just…take that away from himself?
And you do stop fighting. In fact, you lay with him in a bloodied mess and sleep. Despite wanting to ask questions, wondering if he can even sleep at all. Your body is tired, your mind is still petrified, and your hands still cling to the source of it, unsure if you’ll make it to morning at all.
Still, somehow, this feels holy. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
PART TWO
971 notes · View notes
henderdads · 3 months
Text
Happy happy birthday to @thefreakandthehair!!! Love you to the moon and back ✨🌙🌃🩵
Steve carefully leads Eddie down the streets of New York City, giggling as Eddie complains about the blind fold that Steve had insisted he wear.
“I just know I look insane.”
“Come on! We’re almost there I promise.”
“Stevie, I know you have a whole itinerary planned but blind folding me did not have to be a part of it… especially while we’re outside and not in our hotel room.”
“You keep that on and we can use the blind fold for other reasons later.”
Eddie sighs. “I’m holding you to that.”
“Okay, stop here.”
Eddie does as instructed and lets Steve place him where he wants him, waiting anxiously for him to take the blind fold off.
He blinks as the light hits his face, finding himself standing in front of the Museum of Modern Art.
“Why are we…?” He trails off, turning to find Steve smiling softly at him.
“We’re here not just to explore the museum, but because there is a very specific work of art I want you to see.” Steve explains.
Eddie shoots him a questioning look, but allows Steve to take the lead as they head inside.
They spend some time going through the museum as they admire all of the artwork until Steve stops and turns to Eddie.
“Remember when you told me about your mom’s favorite painting? How it was her dream to see it in person?”
Eddie stops for a moment as his eyes grow wide with realization. “Yeah it’s…”
“Starry Night by Van Gogh.” They say in unison, both of their smiles growing wider.
Steve reaches his arm out, signaling for Eddie to take the lead as they round the corner, coming face to face with the original piece.
“Oh my god…” Eddie rasps, taking in the detail of the painting.
Steve gently squeezes Eddie’s shoulder before putting his arm around his waist, pulling him in close as they marvel at the piece.
“It’s beautiful.” Eddie says, a single tear streaming down his face.
“I know she’s not technically here to see it, but I thought bringing you would be the next best option.”
Eddie turns to face him as his smile grows wider. “Steve I… I don’t even know what to say.”
“I never met your mom, but if she was anything like you then I’m sure she was amazing.”
More tears fall down Eddie’s cheeks as he grabs Steve to pull him in for a hug.
“Whenever you’re ready, I want to know more about her.”
Eddie lets out a wet laugh as he squeezes Steve tighter.
They continue to look at the painting for a little longer before deciding to move forward through the museum, Eddie telling Steve some of his favorite stories about his mother, Steve watching the whole time as Eddie shines brighter than any star he’s ever seen.
254 notes · View notes
widowsofchaos · 26 days
Note
could you please do prompt 168 with carol x fem reader? if you’re comfortable writing that of course:)
𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐭
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synopsis: Trying to find peace at your job’s gala, but a familiar haunting shadow finds you once more.
pairing: dark!Carol Danvers x brown!fem!reader
ao3 // modern au // 5k words.
warnings: dubious wlw smut (forced stimulation, vaginal fingering), stockholm syndrome, toxic established relationship, domestic violence, mention of childhood abuse.
a/n: Carol’s outfit reference. title is a reference to the song, Mary by Alex G. requested 168. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” from this dialogue prompt list. dog metaphors, because I must write pain. Channeled my inner amy dunne for Carol. I’m sorry that I’m just finishing this 2 years later, but I hope whoever requested this, I hope you see this! <3
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“She became the parent, the lover, the friend you’ve always craved for—- and yet, here you are,”
The truth can sting, just the sharp tip of a knife, flickering at the raw flesh. Poking and prodding till there’s small plots of ichor forming.
“——broken…” Her index finger arched, halting her words, still a vivid memory, “…. but not beyond repair.”
A scoff escapes.
“What is love without hate, I guess.” Unconsciously it spewed from your lips, the vowels felt like acidic vomit. A pregnant silence arose.
That all knowing head tilt, with those observant eyes—- always earned uncomfortable tension within you.
“Love isn’t meant to be confused with hate.”
The cigarette burns slow between your clenched fingers, nursing three fingers deep. Brown liquor swishes against the carved rocks glass, its clear silver grooves twinkles under the gala’s vermilion hues.
Fragments of words compulsively knock against the walls of your brain; as you mull at the gala’s open bar. A scorned woman who just wants peace, and quiet. Lingering stains of hurt that can last a lifetime settles to silence for once in a long time.
Showered an ugly duckling with affections, and built the pillars of security. Growing up in a childhood filled with anxiety and fear of attachments, lingering stains of abuse from the very beings who birthed you into this world.
She cleaned you, bandaged the scars, and assured you that she was the only one who adored you—- persisted that she was the only one who would.
Now, fighting violently in the legal battlefield of divorce, these past weeks have been mentally exhausting —- all whilst handling the burdening responsibilities of your profession.
Your very mind and hands helped craft this sophisticated gallery.
Your boss, Mr. Laufeyson, opened a new exhibit in the National art museum—- Norse history, one of his niche fixations. A man birthed on Norwegian soil, but raised in the monarchal land of England.
An established man who often seeks to explore the rich culture of his ancestors with much sophisticated adoration, and esteem. The Norse exhibit is now the largest section of the institution, with vast collections of rare artifacts protected behind hard stainless glass.
He breathed down your neck for long weeks, you had the task of restoring each piece that had been brought in, nearly breaking your damn back from all the hovering.
A gala bustling with a sea of middle-class folk, and self-proclaimed aristocrats of New York. You sought solace at the open bar, smoking a stogie—- and slipping into the whiskey.
It wasn’t a preferred choice, but it helps give a quick kick to your nerves. Seeking solitude away from pressures to gallant with faux professionalism, and an particular noisy friend, who should be presenting the Norse gods section.
Earlier, she was pestering with a thousand questions flying by the mouth —- if you ever gave thought to rekindling with Carol.
Dissociating into a mindless static, flickering at your clear square nails, as your cigarette burns slowly. At first, the mention of this exhibit with your boss months ago sent you into a frenzy of joy, but now—- it’s a dreadful experience.
All you long for is to start your weekend, to cuddle with your daug—-
“What an incredible scent you have—-”
Oh God, no.
“—- is that Histoires de Parfums, 1969?”
Fuck.
“I haven’t been around that perfume in a long time.”
It’s as if she can smell you a mile away.
A sensual, purring voice whispers near you. A shadowing silhouette eclipses the shimmering ceiling lights from your peripheral vision.
Your lips wrinkle, restraining the foreboding tears of frustration. Tightly nodding, swallowing a sob. Your breathing becomes heavier.
A hum, “It really smells wonderful.” With precision, the shadow sits onto the empty seat beside you.
“Thank you.” A forced smile curls at your mouth.
“With that scent, I’m surprised you’re not being hounded by the men here tonight.” A subtle wordplay, are you looking for anyone tonight?
As if your mind has forgotten all the bad, and reminisces on the good, all the fun, all the beauty that once blossomed.
“It’s not men I'm looking for.” You whisper, snuffing the cigarette into a provided ash-tray. A creamy hand strokes your knuckles, and your skin shivers under your blouse.
A jolt to your groin, and your breath hitches. All she can do is just touch you, and it’s as if you can get on your knees, and forgive her for everything.
“Why?”
You can see that pearly grin, from the corner of your eye, teasing and twisting.
“They’re too easy to hunt?”
You exhale a chuckle, eyes still trained onto the glistening counter.
“They bore me.”
“So—” Her voice lulls as a moan, “—- see anyone worthwhile?” Her fingers curl around your glass, twirling it by the rim. Your lipstick stain faces her direction, and bold as always, she lifts for a sip. Connecting the lip stain to hers, her eyes never leave yours.
It’s not tacky, nor forceful. How she moves is as if it is her nature.
Your eyes gaze over your shoulder, taking a full look. Finally, to drink in the force of nature that is your estranged wife—- Carol.
Her blonde tresses cascade on her shoulders, milky breasts on display. A pristine, black dress, that cuts and splits at the chest hem, polished nails, and clean skin. Her dress halts near her knees.
“Well, I have my eye on a blonde tonight.” You say timidly. Tenderly, your eyes glance fleetingly, a quick trace over Carol’s bodice, nearly losing your composure.
A pregnant pause.
That pretty pink mouth stretches smugly, as if the cat that got the cream. The hooks caught the flesh.
“You like blondes.”
Her tone lingers as an open question, guising the truth.
“Just one in particular.”
Sinking now, the hooks are tugging.
“Really?” Carol leans, her eyes hooded. “Which one?” Pretending to scan her eyes across the ocean of people.
But your eyes remain fixated on her. As if you were a lost puppy, just gazing at its human. Lucidly, influcating between the spaces of yearning, and guilt.
How at ease Carol is, as if nothing was wrong. The charming woman, the woman you thought she was. The woman she wanted you to think she was.
“The one in the black dress.” You say softly, and defeated brown eyes.
Carol’s eyes gaze back at you from the corner of her oculus, downcasting with a mirth, humming a chuckle. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” She shakes her head, an enticing warning.
A dangerous but delicious fruit hanging at your reach. She wants you to take the bait, urging you to—- to get you back in her grasp, and if she does, she won’t let you go.
This game, a cat and mouse play, is all too familiar. Playing as strangers, attracted together by lust, and curiosities—- the type of curiosity to feel the other’s flesh, subtle carnality. Act out, with playful words, pretend to be different people.
It slowly suffocates you, a twang in your chest, a reminder that this isn’t normal.
She isn’t normal.
Carol can be an array of personalities, she can be the doting wife, the whore in bed, the mother—- she can be the bitch with a violent mouth. Different faces for different folk, no one knows her true self, and she’s good at it —- real good.
So, when you tried to seek help from friends, they couldn’t believe it, nor did they want to. You’re not surprised that Carol snuck into the gala—- your co-worker, Maria, who you thought was a true friend —- the matchmaker from hell, let her in, unknowingly allowing the terror onto you.
But, that’s no surprise. Maria has been Carol’s right hand since their days in the Air Force.
None of your friends believe you—- and, it’s hurtful to admit, you’re too scared to speak about all the hurt Carol made you endure over the years.
Barely spoke of the discomfort Carol used against you, and all your shared friends thought you misinterpreted. All saying that Carol is just head-strong, and that you two are perfect together.
Carol feeds the fire with a ‘She’s just going through a tough time.’
Boundaries aren’t respected, everyone trying to push you back together, inviting Carol in social events —- to the point where you didn’t go out anymore, and just drowned in work.
“I like challenges.” Carol softly leans in, her breath fans the bare skin of your shoulder, “All the more fun when I win.” Her voice drops low, to a wispy whisper.
Her body heat engulfs you, and your eyes droop with haziness for a slick second. You can’t—- not again. No matter how intoxicating she can be, how delicious, it’s not worth your peace.
You’re too drunk for this.
“This cat is too tired to entertain.”
“Who said you were the cat?” Carol’s brow arches, halting you in your step. Carol’s infliction hardens, from the corner of your oculus, you can see the clench of her jawline. That pretty mouth morphed into a restrained frown, the same one you see before a punishment.
An offense has been made.
“I didn’t realize the roles were switched.”
The mask slips.
It’s always her way, her rules. Because no matter how clever, how coy the mouse can be, the cat always wins.
“You’re getting brave on me?” Carol asks.
And now the mask has been dropped.
“I think it’s best I leave.” You quickly collect yourself, a bit wobbly from the alcohol. Leaning against the counter to regain your composure, trying to stand upright.
Not this time. You won’t fall for her charm.
Carol sucks her teeth, “You’re seriously going to leave? Aren’t you tired of this childish bullshit?” Crossing her arms against her chest, lips wrinkling into a scowl. Carol talks as if scolding a child.
Your body twists in a haste, “My bullshit?” Your teeth are gritting harshly, hissing. Angry eyes pierce over the hill of your shoulder, fingernails digging into the leather of your purse; if not the leather, her eyes preferrable.
But this is a place of work, no matter how elegant the night is, you will scream if you have to—- just to escape her. You click your tongue, shaking your head in disbelief.
“I mean I’m usually amused by your brattiness,” Carol laughs sarcastically. “But, now it’s gotten too far.” Her fingertips graze your arm, toying with you, soft and playful—— her fingers grasp your arm in a clutch, earning a whine.
Her eyes are hooded, nearly tugging you downwards. A whine bubbles at the pit of your throat, too terrified to even move.
“You have to come back home.” Carol says, a strain to be sweet, but it’s as if a monster tries to be human. “I miss you.” She purrs, but her eyes … are cold, and agitated.
You remain silent, closing your eyes shut, gliding down in your seat. “Carol… have you signed the divorce papers, yet?” Your eyes stay glued to the sticky counter.
Carol chuckles, “You’re going to try to talk business to me, and you can’t even look me in the eye?” Her baby pink polished nails thump against the bar, thump thump thump.
“I don’t want to fight anymore.”
“And neither do I.” She sips her drink, smirking into the cup, “But it seems my wife likes to play games.” So light, so sarcastic, chastising you as if this was a running joke on your end.
“Carol, for fucks sake.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “You made me go crazy.” You bite on those words, full teeth. Fingers curling into makeshift claws, vowels spilling as acidic vomit.
“Controlled me, like I was your puppet.” Your fingers curl and slither in gesture. “Manipulated me against the world, against our friends.” Your mouth opened again, the words weighing heavy against your mouth, but a hum interrupted.
“Look up at me when you talk.” Carol says, your eyes peer up through your lashes, owlishly. “If you’re going to lie, you might as well make it convincing.” She licks her lips, tasting the remnants of her liquor.
“I —- I—” you can’t find the words to even respond. You stare at her incredulously, she will never admit to it. Even now, she has you questioning your own sanity, if it was even worth fighting against her.
It’s not worth screaming about it. Not anymore.
“I have to go.” Swiftly, you stand up, with a bated breath.
“That’s how you talk to the mother of your child?”
Stiffening, as the hairs that align a cat’s spine, “Don’t you dare!” Your index finger pointing, shouting in a hush. “Stop using Kamala against me—” your voice wavers, throat nearly choking a sob, “You did enough of that in court.” Big brown eyes sheening wet, the last nerve shot.
Trying to maintain a level of calm, eyes fluttering back and forth around, seeing if anyone has witnessed your outburst.
“I don’t even have to do that,” Carol’s open palm gestures to your rigid stance, “she can see perfectly fine how erratic you’ve been.” Carol hisses, making your nose scrunch up.
Kamala adores — idolizes— Carol. So memorized by her strong, willful mother, since she was a waddling baby.
You haven’t dared utter a bad word about Carol in-front of Kamala, fearing to shatter the fragile bubble you curated as a shield for her. You wouldn’t let her witness the court meetings, especially the negotiations of joint custody.
By every fiber of your being, you’ve tried to make this separation as discreet as possible—- but Carol has been a devil, bulldozing those efforts. To make you appear as the bad parent.
You can’t stand her lawyer, Carol hired one who hails from Hell’s Kitchen—- fitting since he’s a thorn upon your rib. Subtlety bringing up your mental health, questioning your abilities as a mother —- no doubt, Carol was chewing his ear off about your past.
All Kamala knows is that her mothers are splitting up, with foreign lawyers, and that she now has to split weekends—- those pained brown eyes, her puffed cheeks, it kills you deeply—- all the guilt weighs on you, it feels as if you’re to blame for all the problems.
“You’ve taken so much from me, Carol.” You lean in, kneeling at her eye level. “My dignity, my peace— shit— even my sanity.” Your body anxiously fidgeting, breath quickening.
“But I will not, let you take my child away from me.” Your fingers dive into your purse, fumbling with irate, snagging the last cash you had—- with the finality of this conversation, slamming the money onto the marble countertop.
You carried Kamala, incubated inside you for nine months, fed her from your breast—- you will not lose her, not over your cold dead body.
“Goodnight, Carol.”
Sharply, you turn on your heel, leaving Carol without turning back. Walking with a gait, faking confidence, but truly at your core, a gnawing sense of uneasiness.
-
The corridor stretches as a miniature maze, the more you descend out of the gala, the less crowded it is. Turning left and right, trying to find the exit.
The ambiance is of grainy gray, the tinted blurred windows are foggy with the night’s shadows.
The echoes of clicking heels are faint, your mind doesn’t register, as your own feet and mind are stuck on auto-pilot.
“There she goes again,” an agitated voice snags your attention, brows furrowing, “always acting like the little victim.”
Not granted the chance to realize, in a flash, just as quick as you turned your head, rough hands grab you by the curve of your shoulders, throttling you against the chilled wall pavement.
Earning a hiss, and a gasp, stinging pain births and stretches along the muscles of your spine. Quickly, your fingers fruitlessly try to claw at Carol’s, but all it does is make her more enraged.
Carol thrashes you once more against the wall, and another for good measure; airy gasps of pain escapes you, tears beading at your lashes. That militant discipline seeps from her pores, it’s not a stranger to you, the rough edges of her touch is a familiar bruise.
“It may have worked with the rest of the world,” Carol barks in your face, nose to nose, “but it’s not going to work with me.”
Sniffling, your chin wobbles, trying to restrain a sob that burns your throat raw.
Carol hums, that tut of a sympathetic mother, “Look at us.” Her thumbs rubbing your shoulders, pressing on the blooming bruises. “I don’t like it when we fight.
Eerily, she influcates from predator to savior, “You always get erratic, and you know it upsets me.” Leaning in, her pink lips press a kiss on a falling tear.
“Where’s my special girl?” Carol whispers. Fear is beating inside of you, buzzing as tv static. Staring at Carol through your hooded lids, terrified, and confused.
Carol purrs, awaiting for an answer.
“I’m here.” Barely a murmur, you speak softly.
Carol thrives off of her aggression. But it’s not the traditional masculinity that some women possess in their personalities. She feels it’s the only gift her father ever gave her.
“It’s very cute that you try to fight me.” Carol mocks, her knuckles stroke your cheek. Carol hums, her eyes tracing over every facial feature.
“Let me see if she missed me.”
A string of no no no slip from you meekly.
One of Carol’s hands graze over your shoulder, twirling her fingers into your hair—- gripping between her fingers tightly. To then cup the nape of your neck, her thumb pressing slightly over your pulse point.
As she has you pinned by the scruff, her other hand flows down your cavlices, to your clothed breast—- she snags the collar to expose skin.
Groping a handful of your tit, she mutters still so soft, traveling down the path of your navel—- with a quick precision, Carol snatches your groin; more like clawing.
A sharp gasp escapes you, and all she does is laugh.
A quick glance at the end of the hallway, praying that nobody turns the corner. Carol snickers. “Afraid someone will catch us?” You exhale a huff, nose flaring.
“I remember you used to be quite adventurous.”
“That’s when I was young and stupid.”
Her eyes narrow, pinching your vagina in her hand even tighter. With her knee, she wedges her thigh between your shaky legs, spreading you more open.
Slithering her hand through the stitched fabric, her knuckles stroking your sensitive skin. Your breathing becomes heavier, and all she does is smirk.
Moving your panties to the side, Carol’s makes herself home to your body. Ashamed to feel yourself grow wet, and Carol moans.
“It seems she missed me.”
All unbridled frustration hits the hilt, you cry in a stretched whine, thrashing in her hold. In need to escape, you wanted to go home, away from her.
All these weeks of trying to flee from her, do the right thing to gain custody, to live a good life, give your daughter stability —- all of it goes down the drain by her simple touch.
Beating on her arms with fists, slapping and trying to knee her in a weak spot. Carol’s eyes darken—- as if she’s bored of the insolence.
Carol pushes her weight onto you, pinning to the wall. And her fingers don’t cease on her assault.
“I hate you.” You choke on a wail, your head tilting up as a child.
“I’ve saved you.” An expert circular motion of her fingertips, sending a jolt to your bundle of nerves.
“Who else can say that?” Carol leans in, her head tilting, as her lips meet your cheek.
Softly, she kisses you, caressing and grazing against the skin of your cheek.
“I took care of you, and you just want to leave?” Carol’s pink tongue slithers between her lips, licking and nibbling. Boldly, her fingers dove between your folds, playing with your wetness.
“You wanted a savior, baby, I’m it.” The bridge of Carol’s nose traces yours, humming at the wet sensation of your tears. “You were nothing before me—-” another finger plunging inside you, “—- and you will be nothing after me.”
“I — I — would rather be alone.” You say with a stammer, lips wet with tears. Mouth curling into a brave scowl, regaining some bravery, “I’ll be fine.”
Carol’s face leans a little back, tilting her head mockingly. “When I say nothing after me, I mean it—-” Carol’s teeth bare as fangs, “you’ll be buried six feet deep, before I let you go.” Her fingers grip the nape of your neck, tugging you in.
“No one can ever have you.” She whispers.
Your eyes are owlish, you don’t doubt her…. her time in the boot camp was extensive, you felt her trained strength many times—- she loves like a knife. Many bruises healed over the years.
Not brutal beatings, but very handsy.
A glimmer of fear suffocates you, your body keels as a leashed dog.
Her fingers slither against your peach fuzz, slipping between your mound, toying with your wetness. Splitting your velvety folds apart, Carol vulgarly strokes you with her fingers sloppily, staining the hem of your panties.
Carol grinds herself onto your thigh, you can feel a wet spot pooling at her silk panties. Your fingers are digging into her forearms. A rough dance of humping and grinding, both reaching for a high.
Your wet walls can’t help but suck her inside, clenching tight. Fiercely plunging in and out—— it’s been some time. Since the last time, you were touched. It’s bordering on painful, a bit tight.
You did entertain another for a while. A woman you met at a bar. Short dark chestnut hair, a soft posh english accent, a bold yet cheeky mouth. She said her name was G’iah, you never met anyone with such a name.
Despite the attraction, the idea of offering yourself physically was too overwhelming. But, the emotional energy was wonderful. It was a breath of fresh air.
You just couldn’t bring yourself to love another.
Skin screaming for touch, yet your heart is trying to fight back. The flesh only reminisces the good, but all the hurtful memories are chained to your mind.
Carol’s mouth ajar, hovering over the meat of your cheek. Your face scrunches, eyes tight, a whine boils at your throat. She breathes a chuckle. She always finds amusement in your misery.
Carol loves to play God—- the Old Testament God. In the carnal sense, and in spite. Worship her, and only need her, obey every command, but commit a sin—- and she shall see to it, that her pettiness will rule over your life.
Her fingers spread, your slick connects to her fingertips, flickering the gossamer thin threads between her expert fingers, diving into you.
Her teeth grazes your cheek, her warm breath cascading against your mouth. Torn between closing your thighs to stop her, or thrust your hips into her hand.
Carol’s tongue slips out, and kitten licks your parted lips. Her pink tongue licks your canines, inhaling your breath. Sweet scent of liquor coats your tongue, Carol suckles into her mouth, moaning at the taste.
A lewd pop comes from Carol pulling back on your tongue, as her fingers curl harsher. Bordering on pain, the pleasure is electric. Pulsing through you, as her thumb toys with your swollen clit.
Her moans are animalistic, you can feel her pussy splitting, a sensation of silk and waxed bare skin. Her clit is grinding fully onto your thigh. It feels so damn good.
A part of you wants her to cum on you. To use you.
Carol’s face tilts away from yours. Her brown eyes swirl with malice, narrowing for a split moment. A smile stretches.
“Kamala would be so hurt to lose her mommy—” Carol’s words earn a mean eye from you, but all she does is laugh humorlessly. “How could you abandon our child?”
Like a stab to your heart, Carol just twists the edge deeper. Her fingers still deep inside you, clenching in need for her to finish— to get you right at the precipice.
“I would never leave Kamala,” you speak with a strain, a rough slice at your throat. “I love her.” Bordering on pleading, your eyes water-sunk.
“Then why do you make her cry?”
“What?”
“Every night she asks why her mom isn’t home,” Carol leans more of her weight on your belly. Her fingers fucking you harshly, hitting that sweet spot so perfectly. Your juices are now soaking down her hand.
“She cries till she falls asleep. She thinks you hate her.”
Torn between rutting your hips into her palm, grinding and fucking her fingers as if it was one of Carol’s toys —- and the need for space, to free yourself from these clutches.
Salty tears fall to your wrinkling lips, shaking from silent tears.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Carol says, her voice smooth and affectionate. Her lips pouted, “We can be together again.” Her shiny blonde hair kisses her lashes, in the grainy city lights, she looks innocent.
“Don’t you want to be a family again?”
She pushes her fingers further, slowly playing with your clit— and then stops, edging you. She can feel your spongy walls nearly spasming. Carol knows how to play the strings of your flesh.
Damn her.
“I do.” Your voice gurgles in a sob.
You know she’s tricking you… and you enjoy it.
In some deep seeded—- an absolutely fucked —- part of you, relishes in it. Because it’s all you know. But, it’s that glimmer of tenderness, the kisses, and honeyed words that pulls you back in.
Back to mutilate yourself on her knife over and over again. And isn't that what love is? Carol would say, time and time again, after the dust settles from her fits of rage.
Wet squelching floods your ears, echoing throughout the empty hallway. Your hand trails to her waist, gripping her dress, roughly grazing the smooth skin of her waist.
Legs entangled, and Carol’s thrusts are getting faster, sloppy. Her moans are getting high-pitched, away from primal and more girlish.
You cling to her, in this moment, you just need to feel anything. And you know she needed it too.
A burst of euphoria, hanging onto each other, as if both would fall apart. Carol felt it, how you spasmed on her fingers. Clenching so tight, trapping her hand for a moment.
Bated breaths dance against each other, hair flying by the breeze of huffing. Yours are gasps of relief.
In a desperate plea, you reach for a kiss, but Carol pulls away.
“I hope you learned something …” Carol hisses, her fingers stroking between your slippery folds, agitating your over-stimulated clit. The meat of your thigh quivers, tailbone pinching as you try to mesh into the wall, far from her.
Carol takes her fingers out, leaving behind an empty feeling—- like a void. Without blinking, Carol unabashedly suckles on her two fingers, tasting you.
“I hope you make the right decision.” Carol whispers against her tips. Pulling her warm weight off of your bodice, a chill sweeps against the tepid sense of your belly.
Carol hums for a moment with a stony face. She tugs on the collar of your dress, the top of your bosom exposed —- it was a stiff gesture.
Without a word, Carol posed her spine, and walked away, a snide side-eye.
Leaving you behind with an ache between your thighs, love bites across your chest, and fresh bruises. Left behind in the chilled hallway, and in wrinkled attire —- as if you were a used whore.
Your head falls, crying into your chest. Your fingers pulling your dress down, your inner thighs tender. Your fingertips touch the wet spot Carol left behind near your knee.
A pause.
It’s wrong, but you crave her taste. Suckling your fingertips into the cave of your mouth.
You can still smell her fragrance lingering—- and yet, you crave it, hoping it clung to your dress.
-
Timid footfalls carry you through the high-end residential hallway. Bated breath, and in wrinkled clothes, you lift and loosely drop your luggage in your grip. Pacing back and forth, trying to salvage any scrap of courage to knock.
Your head is bowing down, chin to chest. A stop in-front of the door. The reasoning motivating your surrender blurs—- is it for Kamala only, or is it also that a loyal dog who always forgives?
A silent white flag has been waived.
A lonely dog always comes back.
Dull steps creep closer, syncing with the beat of your heart. One unlock, and another follows. Defeat seeps from your pores, a bone-rattling warning siren echoing in the rush of your ears.
The door knob slowly twists, as if she’s mocking you. But not a second more, the door creaks open. Green eyes blink back with mirth, and a smile.
No words are needed.
Carol hums, stroking your hair, fingers gliding down the terrain of your neck, guiding you inside by the nape of your neck.
-
Awaiting on the bed is a silk nightie, and skincare, curated by Carol’s choice. Pristine, wrinkled-free silk. Not one flaw in sight.
She knew you would come back. A cocky woman, and yet she’s never wrong. A stir of irate coils in your belly, but it’s snuffed before it can disrupt.
-
In the dark, you tip-toe down the hall. Elated and relieved, it felt like a century crept by, but it was only a week of separation.
Weekends weren’t enough. You needed to see her everyday.
Brown fingers slowly grasp at the knob, twisting open. The white walls are adorned by the flash of a night light that glows small stars glimmering against the ceiling.
A room of action figures, anime, music posters and a wall dedicated to her drawings. That familiar scent that never really went away, that baby smell that clung to her as an infant.
Kneeling into her bed, curling under the blanket. Legs curling underneath you, knees bent, as you caress Kamala’s scalp, furling her hair behind the shell of her ear. Your brown fingers melt into the onyx shine of her tresses.
Her sleepy cheeks puffed, she looks like a sleeping cherub. Silently, tears cascade against the hill of your nose, staining the pillow sheet.
For months, you’ve tried to conjure ideas on how to run away from this life with Kamala, but all your ideas end up in the possible reality of being arrested with charges of kidnapping, and never seeing your daughter again.
The truth of the matter is -— you will crawl skin bare in the deepest parts of hell just for her. Suffering silently in these marital ruins, for the sake of being able to raise your only child, is what you will do.
You don’t know what you want with Carol —- you don’t have anything else to offer as a wife, besides submitting your entire being as a sacrificial offering.
It��s all she ever wanted. Wholesome love is seen as a defect in Carol’s eyes, a trait taught to her by her father. Control over everything is what brings her peace. And being cared for is what brings you solace.
The only person in the world Carol doesn’t unleash her wrath upon, who she adores entirely, is Kamala. Never once has Carol raised her voice, nor her hand at Kamala.
It’s disturbing, to see Carol be so genuine in her affections.
But, you’re ever so grateful. Despite being a masochist, under all the rubble harboring in your cavity— is a little girl suffocating for tenderness. For anything, just for someone to hold her.
Carol is a peculiar creature, and yet she has driven you to the brink of madness over the last stretched months, because she can’t bear to lose you —-- that has to mean something, right?
But as you lay here, wallowing in the dead silence, staring at Kamala slumbering —-a thought came to you; a lingering fear. Paranoia gnawing at you, chewing away bit by bit.
You wouldn’t want Kamala to suffer like this one day.
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kittybeansbarnes · 8 months
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I Wish I Were Heather
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Warnings: ANGST OMG SO MUCH FUCKING ANGST 😭. Bucky is a dick head. Cheating. Cursing. I actually feel bad for Steve?? Mentions of of sex and sexual acts (mlm) manipulative behavior, physical assault (nothing too bad, just pushing people into walls) choking. No happy ending.. Let me know if I missed anything.
Word count: 1.3k
A/n: this is basically a second part to Love and Lies but it can be read as a stand alone. I finally rehomed all the puppies!! It was stressful but I’m glad I found them all a good home. (The next part to ask me tomorrow should be up by Sunday) Today really pulled me out of my writers block. Ideas have been flowing out like crazy!! (Not beta’d) it’s the back story. Please send in any asks you have about this relationship!☺️
Pairings: modern!Steve x modern!bucky; modern!Bucky x fem!reader
——————————————-
Bucky never considered himself a selfish man.
Growing up he had very little and having 3 sisters meant he had even less. His parents raised him to be a provider, to take on the role of a family man. They expected more from him than they did his sisters since he was the oldest and only son. White picket fence life, a nice car, house, wife and children all in that order before 35.
So when Bucky got the chance to drift from all that, he took it.
Steve was an escape to Bucky. Someone who expected very little from him and gave him so much. Or so he thought.
———————
When Steve first met Bucky it was in Art History. He couldn’t help but think Bucky belonged in a museum with the pieces they studied. Lucky for him they got paired for assignments and that’s where it all began.
It started as simple study sessions. Going over to each other's place. Then the lingering glances, focusing too hard at the words coming from Bucky's mouth. Then the touches. That’s when Steve knew his feelings we reciprocated. A gentle hand on his thigh. Fingers trailing across his shoulders when Bucky passes by him.
The first time they had sex Steve could’ve sworn Bucky was the one. He called his Ma that day to tell her all about him.
Then it happened. Bucky invited him to a hangout with his friends at Shield. The on campus bar was the place to be on a Friday night but not the best place to get your heart broken.
The first thing Steve does when walking in is look for Bucky. When he finally spots him he can’t help but let his face split into a wide grin. Moving past the sea of people to the booth Bucky is sitting at.
The next thing he sees nearly brings tears to his eyes. Bucky's arm wrapped around your shoulders, kissing you deeply.
He debates whether he should head back or brave it. He chose the latter.
——————
Bucky feels a tap on his shoulder Internally cursing himself for forgetting he invited Steve.
“Steve, hey man you showed up.”
A sad look crosses Steve’s face “yeah, of course I did. You asked me to” he says softly.
Bucky gives him a sympathetic look. “Um yeah. This is my girlfriend y/n”
Steve flinches as if Bucky hit him. His heart shatters as the word slips from Bucky's mouth. He can’t believe it. He won’t. All this time it’s been a lie. And you. You with your sweet smile and soft eyes. All hellos and warm hugs that Steve doesn’t register. He doesn’t hear the question you asked him about how he met Bucky or the concerned look on your face. He doesn’t even feel when Bucky leads him outside with the excuse that he needs to talk about their next project and how it’s too loud in the bar.
He doesn’t register anything until the cool night air hits his face. Making him shiver.
Looking up at Bucky to see him staring at the ground, as if he were ashamed of himself. As if he never meant for this to happen but how couldn’t he? How couldn’t he see this coming? The silence is too loud. He straightens his stance, trying to wipe any trace of emotion from his face.
“Why?”
Bucky looks up “I don’t know”
Steve rolls his eyes scoffing “really? That’s it. All these months and you can’t give me at least a decent excuse? Just ‘I don't know’?” Steve nearly shouts. His voice breaking. So much for no emotion
“Look I never meant for this to happen-“
“Oh really you never meant for it to happen? So what you just tripped and slipped into me? All the flirting, the teasing touches. All of that meant nothing? It wasn’t supposed to happen?” Steve interrupts, anger finally finding him.
“NO” bucky shouts “that woman in there” he points to the bar “she’s everything! She’s my future wife and mother of my children. I won’t leave her for a couple mistakes I made”
“Oh yeah, a couple. What would she think if I told her right now about how you fucked me any chance we got. Or how far I can fit my cock in your mouth huh? How would she feel about that”
Bucky pushes Steve into the brick wall behind him. Hand coming up to his neck, applying a light pressure. “You wouldn’t. You aren’t man enough. You’re weak. You know I fuck you too good for you to ruin whatever chance you’ve got with me” Bucky sneers
This isn’t the bucky he fell for. This is the power hungry demon who’s taken him. This can’t possibly be the same man he fell in love with. The man who took his virginity.
Steve pushes him away. Breaking into sobs and crumbling to the floor.
Bucky sighs, eyes rolling at the blondes dramatics. “Get up Steve. You look fucking ridiculous. You knew what this was when it started”
Steve shakes his head “no, no. I thought this was more. I thought I meant to you than this”
Bucky's cold eyes stare into his eyes. All traces of the man he fell for gone “what? How could you ever think this could be more? You had to have known what this was?”
“Known? How could I have known you didn’t want more when you were fucking me? When you told me you love me?” Steve cries out.
Bucky rolls his eyes again “Steve you know that was in the heat of the moment. I can never love someone like you. Can you imagine what my parents would say if I brought you home?”
Steve just stares at Bucky with a blank expression. Numbness filling his body. Tears running down the blonde’s face. The final nail to the coffin. Bucky’s ashamed of him. The man he’s devoted a year to telling him he’s meant nothing. That he means nothing, what they have, what he wants to build. All of it’s gone.
Bucky sighs at Steve’s expression, placing a “comforting” hand on his shoulder “look let’s just not complicate this yeah? What we have is good right now. We don’t need to make this any bigger than it is.”
“No. Fuck you Bucky.” Steve gets up pushing Bucky back. “I know this meant something. You’re just too afraid to admit it. I’m not weak. Watch me” the blonde heads to the bar making Bucky's eyes widen.
Bucky's hand grabs him before he can get too far, taking him further into the alley. He collided with the wall once again. A pressure on his head from Bucky's hand pulling his hair “no. You won’t tell a single soul or I swear to god Steve I will ruin you. You really think anyone will believe you? You? You’re nothing without me Steve.”
Bucky's lips crash into Steve harshly. The blonde, unable to resist, kisses him back. His mind may not want him but his heart craves the attention of Bucky Barnes. He’s right after all. Steve is weak.
All that comes from the alley is the sound of skin hitting skin and Steve's broken moans.
They head back in a couple minutes later. Steve’s eyes are red and puffy raising your concern.
“Oh my god. Are you ok?”
Bucky answered for him before he could “yeah. Don’t worry baby doll, just some family problems is all.”
You place a hand on top of Steve “oh Steve I’m so sorry. If there’s anything we can do to help. Bucky and I are here for you.” You smile sweetly at him, making him want to throw up and snatch his hand from your hold but he doesn’t.
“Thank you, y/n. I’m sure everything will be fine.” He grits out through clenched teeth.
The night dissolves into talk amongst friends and lots of alcohol. Yeah…Steve is weak.
Tags: @blackhawkfanatic @barnesboo1967 @tenaciousathleteoperatorgarden
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i-draws-dinosaurs · 2 years
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Soooo I have some exciting news!!!!
A couple months ago, I submitted an entry to the Waterhouse Natural Sciences Art Prize, a pretty fancy art contest hosted by the South Australian Museum. This was the piece I submitted, a papercraft lightbox entitled “An Outback of Ice and Sea”, and it’s taken a good month of my life getting it all together!
And I am very excited to announce that I have been selected as a finalist! Any of y’all who are in South Australia, you’ll be able to come and see my work (and a whole bunch of others’) on display at the SA Museum from the 4th of June to the 7th of August!
This piece is a scientific recreation of the Bulldog Shale formation, an opal-rich fossil locality in the desert of my home state of South Australia. 110 million years ago, this place wasn’t a desert, but an icy inland sea near the South Pole that was brimming with life! Every animal species in this artwork is based on fossil evidence from the region, down to the crinoids and brittle stars and bivalves!
The star of the piece is Umoonasaurus demoscyllus, a small plesiosaur with crests on its head that was local to this area. The Umoonasaurus is pursuing Ptyktoptychion eyrensis, a giant relative of modern-day ratfish while belemnites and ammonites bod in and out of the seaweed. And overhead amongst the icebergs, the giant pliosaur Kronosaurus queenslandicus looms.
I’m so proud of this piece as something that I’ve poured hours of love and research into, and I’m so thrilled to have been selected to be a part of this exhibition! The details on the museum website are here if anyone’s curious, please do let me know if you got a chance to see the exhibition in person!
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Hello I hope you're well! :) Myself and some friends are DRIVING TO WALES this weekend, do you have any recommendations for things to do in Aberystwyth? We ARE heading to swansea to eat at Welsh House one evening (can't not) but would like to do minimum driving for the rest of the trip b/c of DRIVING TO WALES (from ireland) (over the sea) (Very far) (we're not american).
Aaahhh, welcome!! So exciting! Aber is absolutely delightful and I love it. It's got an old Victorian cliffside railway that's pretty cool, and if memory serves there's a restaurant and a camera obscura and frisbee golf up there. Who thought frisbee golf on a cliff was a good idea? Unclear. They were right though.
Do you like steam trains? Aber has one of those, it takes you up the valley and back. If you do it, sit on the left side on the way out and the right side on the way back - that gives you the view. There's coastal paths running both north and south if you fancy a longish walk, and you can usually see seals. Two beaches. There's an arcade on the pier. Might be some fun things on at the Arts Centre up at the top of the hill on the uni campus. Often there are dolphin-spotting boat trips.
Um, what else, what else... Oh, the National Library of Wales! That's there. There's a castle. The museum is very cute, it's a converted theatre in the middle of town. V smol. There's a billion pubs, though if you fancy Respectfully Immersing yourself a bit, the Llew Du is the dedicated Welsh speaking one - Welsh speakers fucking love Irish people gushing enthusiastically about the language, and if you give ordering your drinks in Welsh a go, my god they will adore you.
And, if you're coming to Swansea anyway, there's an even bigger and nicer beach here, a smaller and worse castle, and three museums: the big modern waterfront one, the little quirky old one next door, and the specialised Egyptology one. And two boardgame cafes. So extra stuff there!
(Actually also while Swansea Castle is indeed worse than Aber's, it has a second in Oystermouth thats much better. So if you're in a castle mood, there's that)
Plus! All the usual other stuff in towns and cities, there's escape rooms and crazy golf and cinemas and that. Hopefully that gives you enough to go on!
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fluffyprettykitty · 1 year
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Hi love!
Congratz on 1800K followers! It's so awesome and I'm very excited for you!
Sorry that it's quite late and thank you for still accepting my request, no rush at all.
May I request,
WandaNat x Reader going on a museum date please? Maybe like Louvre museum or Smithsonian museum. (Those are two museums I really want to go someday.) For the AU, maybe modern AU, WandaNat are rich older women and they really spoil Reader. 😁 thank you!
Cheerio!
pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female reader x Wanda Maximoff
word count: 300 words
warnings: swearing
summary: Visiting a museum with your two girlfriends.
a/n: thank you so much bb for this ask, thank you for always being my friend, ily for all of your love and support!
Main Masterlist ・❥・
Natasha Romanoff Masterlist ・❥・ Wanda Maximoff Masterlist
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"God, this museum is endless. We have been walking for hours.
"Definitely more than two."
"Relax, it's only been thirty minutes."
"Baby is getting tired, look at her, nat."
You frown your eyebrows together slightly pouting.
"You know. That's how people build them with enough room to look at the paintings and statues and placards and everything else while everyone has their own space."
"So maybe we shouldn't have booked the whole gala for just us three."
"Or gotten us some roller skaters."
"Nah, we absolutely should. If not us then who?" Natasha shrugs and winks at you. "Now, let's go to the next section, you guys have been staring at nothing for so long."
"Hey!" Wanda retorts feigning annoyance. "We have been looking at art."
"That's not real art though. Real art if over here." Natasha points guiding you both to an vast room adorned with a couple of beautiful marble statues.
Both yours and Wanda's mouths open in shock at the marvelously surrounding your eyes.
"That's where the fun begins. After that there is a whole miniscule replica of old town houses and families including their utilities."
"You studied the fucking museum before we came." Wanda looks at the red haired woman with a stern expression.
"Oh, not only that. I also came here last week just to make sure I would enjoy all the art in the quietness of the crowd."
"Are you calling us uncultured?" It was your turn to act shocked joining Wanda as Natasha just walked further down the room.
"No you do that all by yourself." She shrugs again heading out of a door and you both burst out in giggles, the sound echoing against the room.
Oh, you wouldn't have your life any other way but by the side of your two lovers.
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for updates please follow @fluffyprettykittylibrary
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apomaro-mellow · 1 year
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OP's post
As far as jobs go, this gig wasn't too bad. Eddie wouldn't call him a connoisseur of the fine arts by any measure, but he knew how to appreciate passion that went into every work. He wasn't there to gawk though. He was there to guard. A friend of Wayne's worked the night shift and had gotten Eddie the job during the day.
So he got to patrol a pretty swanky art museum and broaden his horizons. And the pay wasn't half bad either considering how cushy it was.
Like most art museums, the exhibits were divided by era and country of origin. Sometimes whole side rooms dedicated to a single artist. There were mostly paintings and statues housed here, with the occasional odd exhibit like masks or minature figures. There was an annex building across the street that held the collection of modern and post modern art.
Eddie typically preferred the kookier stuff there but he enjoyed being around the classics. Especially the statues. Especially Steve.
In the hall for marble statues, there were many the depicted the human form in all its beauty, but none were as beautiful as the one simply titled 'Steve'. That definitely seemed like an underwhelming name for such a magnificent piece. But in the couple of months he'd been here, Eddie had grown to love the simple name.
Steve was carved in a lounging position and when Eddie first saw him it looked like he was waiting for a lover. There was a cloth carved into him that draped in such a way to only just barely give him modesty, leaving the rest on display. Had it not been stone, it looked like the slightest breeze would expose him. Like most of his peers, Steve's body looked strong and sturdy. And yet the way he was posed and positioned made him look soft.
Eddie didn't notice the first time he looked but after passing through and looking enough (leering, gazing, obsessing) he realized Steve even had a glorious patch of hair on his chest. Now that was rare. All these bare chested figures and very few of them showed any body hair outside the one atop their heads.
And that mane of his. Thanks to policy, Eddie had to keep his own locks in a tight bun under his hat. Steve's hair, thick and luxurious flowed freely. Eddie thought more than once to touch it, sure that despite the marble it was as soft as it seemed.
Another eye catching feature was the scarring on Steve's back. To make something so exquisite and then put the suggestion of violence... Sometimes Eddie wanted to look up the history of Steve's creation.
So greeting Steve became a normal part of his guard route. Even when he technically wasn't supposed to be in that wing, who was gonna stop him?
"Morning gorgeous", he'd greet some mornings as he passed by, coffee in hand.
Sometimes, when the room was mostly clear, he really would just stand and stare, taking it all in. He could look at most of the art for only so long before he lost interest (except for some of the landscapes, some of them were breathtaking and literally took him to a different world) but Steve.... Steve was something he could look at for hours.
And he would've if the crowds didn't come by to get a gander as well. So he did his job, made his rounds, kept people from getting too close to the art and then clocked out around 4.
"Night Stevie", he said on his way out, even though Steve's pedestal was out of his way to the exit.
It was all pretty nice until they switched him to the night shift unexpectedly. Eddie was a night owl by nature, but he preferred to use that time leisurely. That and he was more likely to come across an actual thief at night.
And also museums were kinda creepy at night.
He took a deep breath and leaned on a statue of the goddess Nike.
"Let's make a deal. I do my job, you slice and dice anything that comes through those doors."
As he bargained with the stone goddess, he thought he heard voices down the hall. Must be the other guards. For sure. Besides Eddie, there were like, five other guys doing patrols or watching the cameras. They were all Wayne's age though, so not a lot in common.
Needing a balm for his nerves, he ventured towards Steve's way.
"Heya beautiful. I knew comin' to see you was the right choice." The moon came in through a sky light and made Steve glow. "I'll come back for you Stevie, probably more than once if I have a choice."
Eddie was walking past Steve when he heard a voice reply to him.
"I'm glad you came tonight."
Eddie froze, and carefully turned.
Steve was looking over his shoulder.
"You....you're...."
Steve got up from his lounging position to stretch his arms and back and it sounded like rock grinding gently on rock. Eddie could hear similar sounds all around him. All of the statues were moving. All of them.
Eddie was still frozen solid in place. Almost like he and Steve switched places. Steve was sitting upright on his stand, that cloth still just barely covering him.
"Did you mean all those things you said?", Steve asked.
Eddie didn't know what he meant but he never lied so he just nodded.
Steve curled in on himself, bashful looking and Eddie wanted to wrap him up.
"You really think I'm beautiful?"
Eddie found his voice because if there was one thing he could say right now it was what he thought of Steve.
"Like an angel. Like a vision. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen." This time Eddie stepped closer to Steve, still in shock but not afraid. "So, I am in fact totally mesmerized by you and by what's happening, but what the hell is happening?"
Steve held out a hand and Eddie took it without question. It was still cold and the surface was hard like stone but somehow flexible like a real hand.
"I'll explain on the way", he said, stepping down so that he was on his feet. He was about the same height as Eddie.
Eddie had about a million questions. But Steve's voice was as attractive as the rest of him so he could listen all night.
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demonslayedher · 2 months
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Things that went through my head while watching this episode: --This was a great episode to notice during the OP that in the clip right after Muichiro throws the sword and Tanjiro goes rushing forward in a strike presumably with that sword, you can see Yoriichi in the back lined up next to Tanjiro--almost like the pose Tanjiro strikes with Pillars in the OP! (Hmm, how are they going to do that for the Pillar Training Arc?)
--Kanamori, in some not very well-placed exposition, says that Tanjiro asked him to be understanding of Muichiro, and that is why as Muichiro's new swordsmith, he looked into who used to smith his swords. First of all, when? We only saw Tanjiro interact with Kanamori the day or two before this all goes down, but Kanamori already has Muichiro's new sword ready and stashed away in the same shop where Haganezuka is busy putting his life on the line for polishing a sword even before Gyokko shows up. The first we see of Tanjiro even hearing of Kanamori being responsible for Muichiro's sword is when Muichiro woke him up maybe an hour or so ago. This means Tanjiro had to have known this and had an opportunity to talk to Kanamori long before he even witnessed Muichiro in the Swordsmith Village. Perhaps Tanjiro brought it up as general advice to Kanamori who expressed feeling pressure for being assigned to a Pillar, and Tanjiro just wanted to be encouraging to him based on what little impression he had of Muichiro at the Pillar Meeting and whatever he heard from Shinobu (and Shinobu did tell Tanjiro Muichiro's name, at the very least). But also, perhaps Kanamori started this endeavor to understand Muichiro after completing his first sword for him, because Tanjiro only said this to him yesterday? In which case, was this truly a matter of Tanjiro seeing that Muichiro is in need of that kindness, or was it Tanjiro throwing his hands up and saying, "I don't know what to make of him, you try!"
--And that, friends, is how you can dig too deep into canon to find fanfic ideas.
--Kotetsu-kun truly is a brave kid whose response to seeing his friends in pain was to attack instead of run away. I love how close-knit everyone in the village is, they all know (and recognize!) each other by name. --Muichiro is the kind of person who would walk around a modern art museum saying, "I could do that." Kotetsu would be the one saying, "but you didn't." Gyokko, of course, is the worst of modern artists. There must be a modern day AU which Gyokko leans a bean in Chicago and Muichiro starts a "paint the bean pink" event.
--Gyokko deserves some credit here for his cleverness! Although what Muzan would have preferred is Gyokko finding Ubuyashiki or the blue spider lilies, Gyokko has honed in the Corp's weapons and focused his efforts on eliminating those. Maybe he was merely lucky to have found a clue about the village, but he developed a technique, I assume specifically, to deprive swordsmen of their Breath.
--Being taunted for having "a dull life" and an existence with no meaning sure adds weight to that "I was born to be happy" statement. --Kimetsu Academy answered some of my wishes by having Uzui-sensei and Gyokko hang out and talk art, but what I really want is to see Shinobu see those fishes.
--I love the BGM and sound effects for Love Breath. Mitsuri is just so special, you guys. I love hearing her in this Taisho Secret showing off her sword skills to Tanjiro & Nezuko, and a sound that lives in my head rent free is the the sound she made in the previous episode's Kimetsu Academy short as she falls to her knees. --One of my favorite background characters in this whole series is the guy who tried to protect Tecchin by charging at the fish monster with a naginata. ----First, naginata. I have bias. ----Second, such upstanding character! That is not a man who runs away even when the swordsmen have been slain. ----Also, while Tecchin and the other guy who got his head bumped are shameless in fishing for Mitsuri's care and attention, this is the guy who had the view up her skirt and who made no mention of it whatsoever. ----That might be because he was so rightfully distracted by the sight of her sword instead, and he gave us some smoother exposition with which to appreciate it. --Another random thing, but I love the nighttime lighting in this season! The BGM in general feels more experimental and sometimes takes me out of it (opposed to how the Yuukaku spin plunged me deeper into it), but when it slaps, it slaps, like on the new variation as Tanjiro attains a lightsaber Red Blade. Also also, there are a lot of characters in this one with peculiar and kind of old-timey ways of speaking (Kanamori, Tecchin, Hantengu's clones, etc.) that are still distinct from other characters (like Rengoku). I don't know how much of it comes across in translation, but my ears enjoy the extra characterization.
--I love--and the first time I watched this, my friends loved it too--how Nezuko and Tanjiro take turns carrying each other when they lose consciousness. It keeps the pacing fast and desperation high, while also illustrating their bond really well. What also gets me is how Tanjiro frets and tells her to let go of the sword because her fingers will get cut. It doesn't feel like a big concern because we know she's already lost a forearm and being impaled through through the torso and neck tonight, but any reasonable brother doesn't want to see his sister's fingers cut off, much less sliced with a sword at all.
--I love how Sekido is the only demon around here whose perspective is worth anything
--Quickly jumping to the end of the episode to note how we see the base of Aizetsu's neck and the top of his head still intact, so that implies that Genya munched on the bottom half of his head. In general I'm not much into ship content, but I know there is a fandom for Aizetsu and Genya out there, and I do find the idea of it being one-sided infatuation on Aizetsu's part an amusing premise. With that in the back of my mind, I could also imagine Aizetsu mistakenly thinking Genya was going to make out with him and how quickly and shockingly he'd have his hopes dashed. --Okay, so, HINOKAMI KAGURA WITH A RED BLADE AND THE MARK, TIME TO DIAL UP THE ANIMATION
--And they do
--And it's so sad Haganezuka doesn't get to see it --Like, after how much the fight with Rui blew up and the internet collectively lost their minds, we tend to just expect this from Ufotable, so the beauty they accomplish doesn't always stick out because they have to work harder and harder to stand out from what they've already given us, but this attack on Karaku, Urogi, and Sekido is a thing of wonder and it is highly worth appreciating.
--The lighting! The fluid motion and changing camera angles! But also the ability to show changes in expression, and to differentiate Tanjiro in the marked state from his usual state.
--But, again, the timeline has me in knots. Tanjiro says he was "always" thinking about that last strike on Gyutaro and how it felt different, but when would he have had time to do that, since he's spend so much of his wakeful life, like, fighting for his life against a mechanical doll? He's of course had downtime, but given the Taisho Secret in the hand-out at the early Mugen Ressha showings, I suspect comatose Tanjiro spend a lot of time analyzing and replaying that moment and doing image training. --On the first watch, when Tanjiro is thinking about how his will is tied with that of everyone around him, and even if he can't do it, someone else will take over for him, it's easy to get wrapped up in "THAT'S RENGOKU" or "this is foreshadowing all the hands in that truly final battle with Muzan!" but, I can't wait to think back to this scene when he's talking to Giyuu in the next season. Giyuu is the first person he thinks of, but also, Giyuu's hand is absent from among the ones on Tanjiro's back.
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mistress-ofmagic · 1 year
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Around the Realms in 80 days- Chapter 18
Pairing: Reader x Loki
Story summary: You have fallen through a portal during the convergence into Asgard and come face to face with Thor, and his brother Loki. With no way to return, you must travel with the two men and their hoard of asgardian soldiers to get back home. Things get from bad to worse when you have to share a tent with the god of mischief himself.
Notes: Oh hi there! Welcome to another chapter (this Is pretty good timing for me, two chapters in a month? Who says I don't feed you! This was a fun chapter to write, I did a lil bit of breaking the 4th wall here lol! I know a lot of you hated Latte to begin with because she was a lil nervy and didn’t always stick up for herself (Im only going off on what I would be like guys lmao some of us are very soft and not at all brave or heroic) and I know she’s a bit of a reluctant hero or an anti-hero, she'd much rather be chilling somewhere with her coffee than faced with this shit! 
Anyway, enjoy!
Read this story on a03!
find all parts to this story on Tumblr here
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Jesus Christ…” You muttered under your breath as you stormed off, leaving Stark Towers behind you. 
“Uh…Latte?” 
You span round to face Oliver, who was having to do a fast pace walk to catch up with you.
“What?” You asked rather sharper than you intended. 
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, that’s so embarrassing. It’s been…”
“Stressful morning?” Oliver grinned good-naturedly.
You sighed. “Kind of.” 
“I can’t imagine. Where do you want to go?” 
“Honestly I don’t know the city at all.” You forced a smile, trying to forget L-O-K-I and enjoy the rest of your day. 
“Where would you recommend?” 
Oliver smiled again. He was a smiley person, you noticed. Unlike he-who-shall-not-be-named who usually looked unimpressed at best, especially when you were around. He looked cute again today; it felt strange seeing him without his lab coat on, as if he was missing something somehow. He was wearing jeans and a graphic tee-shirt, his brown hair tousled again as if he constantly runs his hands through it, and his hazel eyes seemed to light up when he smiled. His face was open and sincere, again unlike Loki who was closed and harsh. Maybe there was something to be said of their life experiences though; while you didn’t know much about Oliver and his life, you doubted he had ever tried to take over an entire planet and been defeated and imprisoned. 
Still…suppose you can never be too careful. Enough tinder dates had taught you that.
You realised you had been staring at him and hadn’t listened at all to his response. 
“Sorry, what did you say?” You asked sheepishly. 
He laughed, “I suggested we could go to the museum of modern art? Or if you would prefer to just see some sights we could go to times square…?”
“Museum sounds good. Sorry, I’m a little distracted.” 
He chucked as you started heading off in the direction of the museum together. The day continued to be pleasant enough and you actually began to enjoy your stroll despite the way the morning had gone. 
Oliver broke the cordial silence.
“So then, I guess the number one question…how did you get landed with the task of being Loki’s…companion?” 
“Companion?” You screwed your face up. 
Oliver laughed, “well, whatever you’d call your relationship.”
“I try not to call it anything.” You muttered under your breath.
You begin to explain the situation to Oliver, and the rollercoaster that was yours and Loki’s so called “relationship”. 
Oliver gave a low whistle after you finally finished regaling him with your sorry tale of woe.
“Man…that’s heavy.” 
“Horrible isn’t it.” You sighed glumly. 
“I can’t believe you got kidnapped!”
“Kidnapped, bullied by trolls, meeting Loki, it’s been the worst of times.” 
He laughed and you scowled at him.
“It’s not funny, my life is a Shakespearen tragedy.”
“No no, of course not, I’m sorry. Is meeting Loki really as bad as being attacked by trolls?”
“Far, far worse.”
For some reason, Oliver seemed to think you were joking and laughed. 
 But…you do seem to find yourself in some scrapes don’t you.”
“Scrapes find me, I am merely a passive entity to which disaster finds.”
“I find that a little difficult to believe, given that by the sounds of it you basically begged to stay here.” Olivers eyes twinkled with good-hearted mirth. 
“That’s…that’s beside the point.” 
“Of course, of course. You know…I’m not so sure though.” 
“About what?”
“If I didn’t know any better, and despite all your complaining, I’d say you rather enjoy traveling around with Loki.”
You spluttered, “What? What are you trying to say?” 
“Loki this, Loki that. I’m just saying, for someone who hates him so, you do enjoy talking about him.”
You stared at him, horrified. An awful though suddenly appeared…over the past few weeks had you managed to pass the Bechdel test? 
“That’s not…” The words got stuck in your throat. 
Maybe Oliver could tell how nauseated you were because he said gently,
“I’m joking Latte. It sounds like you’ve been through hell and back. You’ve been so brave I’m not sure many people could do what you have done.” 
You blushed and stuttered for a different reason.
“I’m sure that’s not true. Besides I didn’t really have a choice. Sink or swim I guess. I was pretty cowardly to begin with, I let Loki scare the shit out of me. I’m not…a brave person, I’m not particularly tough.” 
“I would disagree, the story you just told me would suggest otherwise. Jesus knows I couldn’t have done half the things you did, I would have laid in the corner and cried.”
You snorted.
“Arguably, that’s pretty much what I’ve been doing.”
“You’re the hero, you have to go through some sort of journey.” Oliver winked at you. 
“Oh please, I’m definitely the anti-hero, the people at home watching the inevitable film of my life will be screaming at the tv I’m sure.” 
“Well, anti-hero or not, I’d watch that movie.”
You really wanted to make a snide comment about that making Loki the villain in this particular story, but you kept your mouth shut given that Oliver seemed to think you were infatuated with the Asgardian God. Definitely not true, by the way. 
“Sure, ‘my life as the worlds worst avenger’ coming to cinemas soon.”
“I think I’d prefer ‘How to train your fire demon.’” Oliver joined in. 
“Or, ‘Asgardian Psycho.”  You snorted, thinking back to Loki.
“What about ‘An Earthling in Asgard?”
You grinned, “it’s good, but a little on the nose, plus I’m not just in Asgard anymore, I’m quite the realm traveler.” 
“Fine then, how about ‘Around the Realms in 80 days.” 
You laughed, “That’s not bad, you never know with the rate things are going I might end up doing just that.”
“How are you feeling about your upcoming trip?” 
You sighed, a little wave of anxiety settling into your stomach. 
“Pretty nervous. I’m not sure who I think I’m kidding being here in the first place, and now apparently I’m traveling to a dangerous realm of fire and brimstone, where I’ll probably get myself killed no doubt.” You paused,
“Sorry, I don’t mean to offload! It can’t be much worse than the current state of things anyway.” 
“Please, don’t feel bad!” 
“Maybe some modern art will cheer me up. Hey, actually, how did you find out my stupid nickname?” You asked, realising he had been calling you your misnomer. 
Oliver laughed sheepishly,  
“Well, I heard Thor call you that when he was talking to Stark yesterday.”
“Oh god, what did he say?”
“Only good things!” Oliver hurried to reassure you. “Just discussing your amazing performance with the demon in the cell.” 
“Hm, I don’t believe you but for the sake of my self-esteem I won’t press further.”
After a short walk, you made it to the museum and followed Oliver inside. You insisted on paying for your own ticket, of course. 
You had just about settled into an enjoyable afternoon, wandering around the exhibits when your phone starting beeping. You ignored it at first and then your phone started ringing. 
You stared at it and blinked twice as Loki’s named popped up on your phone. It had also been him texting you apparently. The message flashed on your screen.
                   Loki: There’s an emergency 
“Is everything okay? You look ill.” Oliver asked. 
“This can’t be good.” You sighed. “Let me take this.” 
You walked over to the entrance of the exhibit as to not disturb everyone there. 
“Loki?”
“Hello little mortal, enjoying yourself on your, what do the young midgardians call it, A date?” Loki spoke lazily.
“Its not a date!” You hissed loudly into the phone, raising some eyebrows around you.
“It’s not a date.” You repeated again quietly as you turned your back. 
“I think the lady doth protest too much.”
“Seriously what is wrong with you?”
“Not much, what’s up with you?” 
You could basically feel Loki’s irritating grin through the phone.
“God you give me whiplash. What do you want Loki I’m busy.”
“Not too busy to pick up the phone I see.” You could hear a smug tone to his voice.
“I only picked it up because you said it was an emergency.” 
“What emergency could I possibly need your help with.”
“Okay, goodbye Loki.” 
“Wait, actually there is an emergency.”  
You sighed and rubbed your forehead. Man, this god was going to turn you grey. 
“What?” You snapped. You were in no doubt there was no emergency and Loki was ringing you to just mess with you. 
There was a pause on the phone. You considered hanging up before he finally continued, 
“Stark has arranged for a movie night tonight and we all have to attend.” In his defence Loki sounded very glum, as if something horrible had truly happened. 
“That’s not an emergency Loki. Now excuse me while I go back to my not date.”
“Where are you?” He asked.
Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, and you looked around you, scared incase he popped up from behind a statue or something. 
“Were in the museum of modern art. Why?” 
“No need to sound so distrustful.” Loki sounded amused, “I had no idea you were such a connoisseur of fine art, you never struck me as the type.” 
You bristled at his insinuation that you were not sophisticated enough to enjoy art. 
“I actually love going to museums. Just because I don’t walk around acting like I’m the dogs bollocks doesn’t mean I’m not cultured.” 
“Do you have to use such crass language when we speak?”
“Do we have to speak at all?” You retorted back, still scanning the room slightly just incase he showed up. 
“I visited your planet with Odin and Thor when I was a child and we visited a place called Rome, they had a great number of many museums.”
“Oh? Was this when Julius Caesar was still in power?”
Loki ignored your comment, 
“Of course, not as many as we have on Asgard. Since you are so interested in museums I can visit together the next time we visit.” He spoke lightly.
You paused, was Loki asking you out? And not just because he had to because of the whole babysitting thing?
“Uh, yeah. I guess I didn’t think that I would go back though, to Asgard. Odin wasn’t mighty pleased I was there in the first place.”
“Odin is not usually mighty pleased about anything, especially if I’m involved.” He kept his voice light and humorous, but there was something deeper underneath. 
The admission came as a surprise, you weren’t that used to Loki speaking about his feelings (kind of) so easily and you were stumped for a response. 
“Well New York has plenty of museums too.” You offered, unsure of what else to say. 
“Indeed.”
The phone went quiet again. It really was unsettling how quickly the two of you seemed to go from arguing to tolerating each other, and even more unsettling, the occasional moments of companionship with a hint of friendship. 
Not that you were sure he would put you in that category with  the way he had recently snapped at you; when you’d tried to enquire about his parenthood and just before you came on this not date. Although he had also magicked your up a new wardrobe and seemed to get very upset when he thought you were dying so that had to count for something, right?  
Come to think of it, you never actually really addressed the whole “friendship” thing after that long talk the other night on the balcony, where Loki had finally stopped acting like a dick for long enough as to apologise for his actions and have a serious conversation about where you stood with him. He had really opened up then, about how he felt about getting close to mortals. You supposed you couldn’t really be too shocked then, when he seemed to distance himself from you a little the last few days. 
The hot and cold act was not enjoyable but was almost understandable if you saw things from his perspective. You just had to be careful not to get burnt or frozen in the process. 
Not that anyone wants to look at things from Lokis perspective for too long, they’d get a migraine. 
Look at you being all mature and shit! 
You thought back to those nights of sharing a tent with Loki, it felt so long ago now despite not being long ago at all. You had been so scared of him then, so unsure of how he would react next. 
Now? Well he was still a mystery and could still be a complete arse, but perhaps he was opening up to you, slowly. You needed to be patient but only to an extent right, he was obviously a complex guy; not that that gave him a right of passage to be a knob. 
“What are you up to then now?” You asked.
To your surprise, Loki played along. 
“Well now you’re gone I get to enjoy some peace and quiet for once, reading my books.” 
You almost hit back with “so that’s why you called me then, is it?” But stopped yourself. You realised then that Loki was bored. That’s why he’d been so annoyed that you had spent the afternoon with Oliver. Probably. 
I mean, aside from you and Thor, it’s not like he had a lot of friends from what you had seen. Another thing the two of you actually had in common. You didn’t have a lot of friends here either. 
You bit down on your nails, an old habit you had whenever you felt anxious about something.
“Stop that dreadful noise or I shall put the phone down.”
Only paying half attention, you stepped back into someone and banged your side pretty hard. 
“Ow, dickhead.” You muttered as they shot you a dirty look and walked off. 
“What? What’s happening?” Loki barked. 
“Oh nothing, just this asshole walking into me.” 
“Was it that Midgardian boy?”
“What midgardian boy?” You asked absent-mindedly. “Oh shit, Oliver.” You suddenly remembered your not-date probably wondering what the hell you were doing. 
“Anyway, I should get back to…I’ll see you later.”
 “yes.” Loki said stiffly “I’d hate to keep you from your beau.”
“Nobody says beau anymore by the way. S’later.”
“Goodbye mortal.”
You hung up your phone and quickly went to rejoin Oliver. 
“Hey, sorry I took so long.”
“Everything okay?” 
“Literally fine, he just wanted to complain about Tonys movie night or something.” 
“Look at you, movie nights with the Avengers!”
“I know, I’m going up in the world. Careful what you say to me now, I’ve got the force of Earths defenders on my side.” 
Oliver chuckled and held his hands up. 
“I see that. Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you.” 
You turned back to the photography exhibit, wondering what it would actually be like to visit a museum with Loki one day. 
                                                                   ***
You wandered back into the towers later that evening. After the museum, you had gone for a few drinks with Oliver and, as it was, you were feeling rather tipsy. 
Actually, this was the second time you had been tipsy in the last few days, you reminded yourself, better not make it a habit. 
Still, Oliver was cute, right?
Not rip-my-clothes-off-and-take-me cute, but cute all the same. 
He was very sweet and funny too and although you maybe saw him as friend-material at the moment, that didn’t mean something couldn’t happen in the future. Plus it was nice to have a friend that wasn’t a hundred year plus old god. 
You could get used to the city living, although there was a part of you that missed the Asgardian country side too.
The atrium into Stark Towers took your breath away, you felt far too unsophisticated to be staying there. It was not the sort of place you’d ever particularly imagined yourself but you were going to enjoy your time for as long as you had. Grinning, probably overly familiarly in your slightly drunken state, at the security and receptionists on the ground floor you made your way over to the lift, preparing to stand there for all of eternity due to the many floors. You decided to turn your phone back on to check for any messages you missed after turning your phone off earlier to save battery. 
Two missed calls and a few texts from Loki?
Loki: When are you retuning mortal it is nearly dark?
Loki: Mortal?
Loki: Answer my calls right this instance or there will be consequences.
Loki: Loki, Prince of Asgard. 
You snorted and replied.
You: Why did you text me your own name, weirdo. What’s up?
And for the fun of it, you sent him a little gif of the “wazup” scene in Scary Movie.
Making your way up the many floors in Starks state of the art lift, you waited for Loki to reply. 
Loki: How dare you not answer me when I asked you to. Clearly, you needed reminding of who I am. Secondly, what, in all of the nine realms is that?
You: Firstly, I’m not just at your beck and call Loki, I was a bit busy. Secondly, It’s a gif. It’s just like a moving picture that you send to be funny.
Loki: Busy? With that midgardian boy? Disgusting. I didn’t find the moving picture particularly amusing. Please don’t send me one again. 
You: Get your mind out of the gutter. 
You were hit with a sudden inspiration. You quickly searched for the gif you wanted and found it. Who knew there were so many Loki gifs. The particular one you were after was Loki shouting “kneel” to the ground in Stuttgart during his last soiree to Earth. 
Loki: ?
Loki: It is imperative that you tell me how you acquired this.
You laughed out loud to yourself, as you put your phone away wishing you could see Loki’s face as you had send that gif. 
You figured, given the time, that Stark would have already started the film night, so you headed towards the most likely lounge areas on the penultimate floor. Your guess was right, and you could see through the glass doors the Avengers sat around watching what you were pretty sure was Kill Bill. 
The sight made you giggle, and you remembered you needed to try very hard at not being a little bit drunk. You were pretty sure the Avengers all thought you were slightly strange to begin with, you needed to change their mind. 
You shushed yourself aloud, and prepared to enter quietly and normally. Quietly and normally. Quietly and normally.
You pushed the door slightly and entered. So far so good, no one had particularly noticed you entering. Quiet and normal. Excellent. You scanned the room, looking for an empty seat. Your long distance eye sight wasn’t great as it is thanks to years of starting at screens and it was pretty dark, but you thought there was one free near Thor so you headed over silently.
That was, until, someone very rudely had put a pouff right in your way and you tripped up, slamming your knees into the side of a sofa. 
“Shit” You yelled, rather loudly. 
All the Avengers in the room turned and started at you. 
“Nice of you to join us Wonderland, please come in.” Stark said, dryly. 
You grinned wildly, deciding it best not to say anything, and took the closest seat. 
“Mortal.” A low voice spoke to your left.
“Oh for gods sake” You muttered and glared at Loki for the audacity of sitting where you were now forced to sit. 
Loki seemed amused by this reaction and smirked at you irritatingly. You glared even harder and then faced the TV. 
“You’re back very late.” Loki spoke softly next to you, with a note of contention in his voice.
You decided to ignore him, and tried to focus on the film. You’d never actually seen Kill Bill all the way through and coming in half way was pretty confusing. Loki tried again. 
“I hope you haven’t been fraternising with your mortal boy?”
“Stop accusing me of fraternising every three seconds, and it’s none of your business even if I was." You huffed out of the corner of your mouth, as to not disturb the rest of them. 
Loki looked annoyingly happy that you had risen to the bait.
“I’m going to get popcorn.” You mumbled, and stood up to head towards the back of the room where the snacks and were. 
You stood up too quickly and had to grab the sofa and a blink a couple of times until the black dots stopped floating in front of you. You suppressed the need to giggle and made your way over to the back, being very careful to watch where you placed your feet. 
The lights were on towards the back and you squinted to get used to the light change. You hummed about the snack bar; Stark, or more likely someone who worked for him, had thought of literally every snack you might need to watch a film.
Pick and Mix, chocolate, popcorn, and plenty of treats you’d never even seen before. 
“What are these?” A voice spoke behind you.
You jumped in the air, very nearly spilling the popcorn you had picked up.
“Jesus Loki.”
You looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but you were pretty far back and out of ear shot around this area. 
“Can you not?”
“Not what? He asked, with a fake innocence.
“Not…do whatever you’re doing now.”
“I’m merely standing here.”
“And here I was thinking you had better things to do than stand and talk to Midgardians.” You repeated his words from earlier back at him.
Loki rolled his eyes at you. 
“You surely know how to hold a grudge.”
“I surely do bitch.” 
He didn’t find this very funny and shot you a displeased look. 
“You are drunk again.” 
You tutted and made double sure no one was listening.
“I’m not drunk Low-key.” You elongated his name as you helped yourself to some more sweets “I am a little tipsy maybe. Also you make it sound like all I do is constantly drink.”
“Well you have been drunk twice in barely as many days.”
“That was your brothers fault remember?” 
He let out a long suffering sigh, as if he didn’t particularly want to remember. 
“What are you eating?” He crinkled his nose up as you scuffed another gobful of popcorn. 
“Popcorn.” You said, with your mouth half full.
“Are mortals taught any table manners at all?” He asked, disapprovingly. 
“Do you not have popcorn on Asgard.”
He looked down at the spread of snacks. 
“No.” He said carefully.
“Well what do you eat for sweets then?”
“I suppose we have nuts and grapes.”
“Some nuts and grapes? Christ no wonder you’re so highly strung.”
You gathered a plate up for him with selection of all the amazing confectionary Earth had to offer. “Here, try these.” 
You stared at him in excitement as he ate a handful of Haribos. 
“Well?”
“Hm. I’m not sure I enjoy this texture.”  
“Try this next!” You very nearly shoved some popcorn into his mouth  in your excitement and then realised that would probably get you killed, which would have been messy in Starks fancy lounge; so you just pointed to it instead. 
Watching Loki try new things was surprisingly very entertaining to you. It was unusual to see Loki look so unsure of himself, as normally he swanned around cocky as anything. 
You sighed, thinking back once again to the other night on the balcony. Loki was very good at brushing over any moments of vulnerability, even though he occasionally showed it in moments like this.
With his slightly furrowed forehead and quizzical expression as he tried earthly sweets was the epitome of vulnerable. 
Loki made eye contact with you while you stared at him and swallowed his sweets down. 
“Why are you looking at me like that mortal?” He asked, suspiciously. 
“Nothing.” You smiled to yourself
“Now you are smiling like a loon. I hope you are not loosing your mind over that boy. We have a mission to complete, or have you forgotten?” He frowned at you, disgruntled.
“How could I forget the fact I’m heading to a burning wasteland soon.” You said sadly, thinking of your up and coming trip which, at best, ends in your death. 
“There is no reason to be nervous. You have proved yourself rather difficult to maim.” Loki stated, deliberately.
“Physically maybe but I’m going to need a hell of a lot of therapy when this is over.” You muttered. “Suppose I should enjoy this last moment of calm before the storm.” 
“What storm?” Loki asked cautiously. 
“It’s just a figure of speech.”
“Hm.” Loki made a non committal humming noise. 
“Let’s go finish off the film, I need the escapism.” 
You sat back down together and tried to refocus on the film. You mind kept wandering however and  you remained restless. 
Were things between you and Loki changing? How many Loki gifs could you send of himself before he murdered you in your sleep? 
And, most importantly, what fresh hell awaited you in the realm of fire? 
A/N: Who enjoyed my fourth wall break (kinda?) haha! Also keep tuned folks for some more plot (finally) after a couple of plot-less chapters!
Taglist:
@creationsbyme  @kikster606  @slytherinintj13  @th0rswh0res  @huntress-artemiss  @jannieka394 @stefffrs  @misswimberly @thedistractedagglomeration  @yoongissidebitchh  @purplekitten30 @mischief2sarawr  @johnmurphys-sass 
@lonadane  @imalovernotahater @lokisgoodgirl  @laliceee @dlwrish  @paetonnn
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simpjaes · 10 days
Text
ONE OF THE DAMNED GIRLS PT. 2 (P.SH)
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Moving to a city with wild nights and charming days felt like the perfect choice in your head upon finishing college. Hours away from home, you accept a job at a local museum ironically placed dead between a large historic cathedral and a booming gothic nightclub. You were meant to curate the art, not be curated yourself by a local priest who found you with buckled knees outside of said goth club. ― part one | MINORS DNI
PAIRING ― vampire park sunghoon x afab reader  
WORDCOUNT ― 21.8k
CONTENT ―  modern vampire sunghoon, cathedral/chapel settings, blasphemous behavior, false holy facades, the main vampire trope i use is the act of drinking blood, luring, and living forever, heavy manipulation and toxic behaviors, mentions of reader being alt/goth
SIDE CHARACTERS―  jungwon as your very very best friend who has an installation at the museum (you guys are attached at the hip), jay as the hot bisexual bartender at the goth club, some goth guy named balor 
!WARNINGS! ― dubious consent (due to the act of mind manipulation), hunting and playing victim, a lot of blood: blood sucking, wounds/puncturing, menstruation in a sexual light, manipulation, near-death experiences, fainting, talk of death, acts of mind control/luring 
NOTE ― you must read part one to understand the story. anyway i did not mean to go in so deep with jungwon, i just really fucking adore him please forgive me. anyway, this is briefly edited. if you see a typo, shhhhhh, i don't wanna know.
tags under cut
smut tags [ these tags refer to both parts of the fic] ― big meat sunghoon, biting, A LOT OF BLOOD, sucking and drinking of blood obv, pussy eating (once while reader is menstruating, and another time where she isn’t), deep penetration, rough sex, unprotected sex bc like…he’s dead so lmfao, missionary, scratching, dirty talk, body worship, praise, jungwon is involved in a bit of an erotic situation but there is not smut involving him, 
other tags [ these tags refer to both parts of the fic]― depictions of death, anti-religious language, the act of dying including intense descriptions of the feeling, mentions of pimping and human trafficking, corrupt government, dead nuns, funerals
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“My love, let me.” 
You sit up only to be eased back onto the soft mattress. Pillows plush against your head as Sunghoon dabs away at each puncture he’s left on you. 
“You know you can’t sit up so quickly, just rest and let me.” 
You’re littered with his bites by now and you only grow more and more enamored with the feeling of it. Or, perhaps you just enjoy the fact that he’s fixated on drinking from you. Multiple times a day, until your fingers and toes are numb, until you can barely stand without dropping to the floor. 
Enamored through all of it, really. With the way he bites so gently only to suck harder and harder until his fingers grip and pierce through your skin much like his teeth do. He’ll hold you so hard through it, forcing arousal to run through you every single time he goes for that artery in your thigh. You think that’s his favorite spot to bite, if the dozens of wounds there are anything to go by. Truly, you’re enamored with him, always wanting to give him more just so he stays with you longer. 
You seem to have lost yourself in the lust of it all. The fantasy, the desire. On the brink of insanity, you know you’ve grown obsessed with what Sunghoon does to you, and it’s to the point that you don’t question yourself like you normally would. Your desire for this is too strong, far too intimidating to doubt. 
But since that night, he always leaves you with blood against his lips. Aroused, frustrated, confused. Never once letting a hand stray too far, never letting his lips trace anywhere but to your wounds or new expanse of skin that needs to be bitten. 
For days now you’ve been here. You lay here one full day since you were supposed to be back at work too, just waiting for the moment Sunghoon will do more than just drink from you. Mostly for a confirmation. It feels like you’re forcing yourself to go missing for this alone and every night you lie awake in this room waiting, wanting more from him now than you think you ever have.
The room you're in now is lonely, though adorned nearly as beautiful as the one you were in the night Sunghoon stole you away. You know the place you want to be is just down the hall, but your legs won’t carry you there no matter how much you try. He’s rendered you bed ridden and you miss it there, with his silk sheets and candle lit walls. 
Then again, maybe it’s not the room at all that you miss. Maybe it’s just Sunghoon.
You can’t help but note that when he’s on you or next to you, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. But when you’re alone, you feel your skin crawl with such immense anxiety that you nearly want to scream out for him to come back. Several times already you have called out for him mere moments after he’s left the room. It gives you hope in knowing that each time, he does return to you even if just for a moment. 
All of it is very arousing when he comes to you, but it’s killing you inside to know that he does nothing more than feed off of you. You get nothing out of it but his presence, and perhaps he expects that to be enough. It’s driving you insane to give everything you have to him so willingly, knowing he hasn’t offered anything back to you. 
The fact that you want this, you want him, and you want to be the only blood he craves? It’s a feeling you’ve had to accept, because trying to deny it at this point would only lead you down a more destructive path. As if the one you’re on now isn’t already killing you, if not physically, emotionally. You want to be the person lying in his bed again so badly. You want to show him that you’re no longer terrified. You want to give him equal arousal and interest. 
But he doesn’t offer it. No, he simply bites. 
“I can do it.” You say to him in a frustrated sigh. “I’m not helpless, you know.” 
He’s taken aback by the way you rip the gauze from his hands, sitting up and scooting away from him when you dip it into the bowl of alcohol. Your head spins at the act, but you push through the weakness anyway, knowing he doesn’t like the distance you’re creating between him and you. 
You don’t like the distance either, but it’s helpful to know he doesn’t ignore it. 
“I’m aware.” Sunghoon narrows his eyes at the way your heart is beating for him right now, taking the gauze back from you and gripping your arm to pull you back and against him. “Why are you being difficult?” 
He cleans a wound just under your jaw as he looks at you, waiting for you to answer him. You stare back as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, not wincing at all like you previously had when he lets the alcohol burn the swollen punctures.
“Hah, so you can’t read minds?” You confirm for yourself, though you had the suspicion that he couldn’t. “You just keep doing this–” You continue, trying not to sound as if you’re nagging. “And nothing else.”
He tilts his head as he moves the gauze to another part of your neck, knowing full well what it is you want. 
“Nothing else?” He repeats in a sly question. “Is there more you want?”
You nod slightly, feeling the cold alcohol send a shiver across your skin, your head finally clearing of the dizziness just from sitting up.
“Name it.” 
Somehow, you lose the ability to ask for what you want. It feels silly to be mad that he hasn’t given you any sexual pleasure despite feeding off of you for days now. Is it insane that sex is all you want in return? Should you ask for financial compensation or something? 
“Ah.” He answers for you with an all-knowing smirk, his nostrils flaring as he inhales your scent. “You want pleasure, yes?”
“Do you not?” You ask simply, and he pulls back with the gauze to look at you dumbfounded. 
For a solid twenty seconds the two of you stare at each other before he’s dropping the gauze into the bowl and pulling you against him in full, turning your body so that your back is to his chest. His strong arms are still cold, but you feel warm enough against him like this.
“It pleases me to know you want it.” He smiles against the top of your head. “Unfortunately, I have other things to tend to.” He continues, pausing to hold you a bit closer. “I still have to feed, love, and I still need to maintain order here. I cannot just spread your legs every waking minute.” 
You’re not asking for him to fuck you every waking minute. It makes you feel as if he’s annoyed to even use such words regarding this. Still, your cheeks warm at his sweet voice. 
“As much as I’d like to.” 
Oh. Your cheeks aren’t just warm, they’re on fire at those words. You’d grasp at anything right now, despite feeling like an afterthought. You don’t like that you’re not a priority to him, even though he fucking feeds on you consistently. To the point you can’t even stand for a full minute without fucking fainting from blood loss. Still, you accept his words and try to think of the positives over the negatives. 
Unfortunately, you’ll never be satisfied with just his words and a mere ten seconds later you’re right back to questioning, doubting, and feeling upset. 
So he can feed this often, but not even slip a finger into you through it? 
Priorities. He has to feed, he said? Does he not already?! 
“Wait, Sunghoon, you do feed.” You argue. “On me.” 
He shakes his head at your ignorance of believing he’ll ever truly have enough of you. Even past death, he’ll never have enough. Which is precisely why you’re still breathing. 
“There are needs I have that you’ve yet to understand. You satiate the hunger, yes, but that is nothing more than a feeling, not a truth.” 
You try to comprehend his words but fall short. Only because that would mean–
“You’re becoming afraid again,” He comments on your heart rate. “Calm yourself, darling, the need within me is no fault of my own and I’ll continue to keep you from seeing the act take place.”
There’s silence from you as you try to calm yourself down. Of course he has to feed, but…is that not what he’s already been doing to you? Your heart isn’t racing from fear, it’s racing from–jealousy.
“So, mine isn’t enough?” You feel your heart shatter a bit when you voice it, knowing full well that for him to be full, he likely has to kill.
Why are you jealous? Well, if you’re so irresistible like he says you are, why does he hold back? Why are you still alive? Does your blood not taste as good as whoever else he’s been having at? Why does he keep you around, but no one else? Maybe they’re the ones who are irresistible, and you’re just a placeholder for if he can’t find his meal for the night. Maybe he’s just using you. 
“Hmm.” Sunghoon thinks hard at your question. “You’re feeling envious?” 
You don’t respond to him or the way he clocks your jealousy, and instead shake his grip off of you before grabbing the gauze yourself again.
He watches you take the material and dip it into the liquid, moving it down your legs and to the assault of wounds against your thigh. 
“You’re truly strange.” He licks his lips at the sight of your thighs, listening closely to the artery you have there, always so hungry for more but knowing he need not drink for the time being. After all, he’s just eaten. “Almost as unnatural as I am.” 
You have to force back a smile at the truth of his words though, softening at the way he compares you to him like the two of you fit together perfectly. The jealousy rages within you, but so does this strange adoration you have for him. 
“To think I don’t crave you? Have I not shown you already?” 
“Hmm, you might need to remind me.” You’re being playful now, trying to get what you want. Entirely thankful for the way he solves every problem you have with him in your head even if just for a moment.
You think you’ll always miss him on a deeper level than just sitting and speaking though.
“When can I leave the room?” You ask now, suddenly. “When can I come back to your room?” 
Sunghoon doesn’t fight his own smile, loving the way you stay of your own free will, even while upset with him for not giving you more than that single night of love making. 
“Not yet, love.” He mutters now, knowing that it’s not likely for you to be able to make it down the hallway without calling for his help, also knowing that he can’t give you what you want again so soon. 
“Oh.” You look at him, face falling. “Let me guess, because you have better shit to do.” 
“Still so envious.” He shakes his head with a laugh. “You’ll learn soon enough how I need you.” 
Just, not yet. 
After all, he drinks you until he has no choice but to stop. Multiple times a day, draining you until it’s near dangerous. The fact that you enjoy it drives him to do it more and more. 
You think it’s easy for him to utilize self-control around you? You think he doesn’t want to experience you in every way you can offer? With those pretty sounds you make? God, he misses the way your body hugged his cock so much. You’re out of your mind to think he’s holding out on you because he doesn’t want it. Because you're not good enough? Stupid, stupid girl. 
He needs it. He wants it. He’s fucking obsessed with what you do to him.
You’re truly not the only one trying to adjust to this situation. He has to be very careful with you, and having sex with you could very well break the resolve he’s forced into himself. A simple touch from you that feels too good could have him acting on a split second decision, drinking until you’re dead and cold, just like him. 
Essentially, he has to train himself to your scent and taste. Sure, he’s been fucking nearly every victim since his cock started working again, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’d rather it be you. In fact, the only reason he’s fucking them is to satiate the need to destroy everything that you are for his own desire of having you. 
The issue is that his drive to kill is insanely high, smelling you just down the hall makes every new victim taste better. It makes his cock fuck harder, it makes their bodies feel almost good enough for him to release. But they’re not you, and it’s rendering him unable to control himself. 
His recent victims? Oh, it ends so gruesomely. He feels overheated in the moment, drenched, fucking feral when he makes his kill. Wishing it was you, ignoring the scent of the person beneath him just to smell you from a different room. 
If he gets his hands on you when he’s in that state of mind again, you’ll be gone forever. That’s something Sunghoon wouldn’t be able to live with. Already he’s controlled himself through it once and that may very well have been the hardest thing he’s done in his life. He can’t promise that he can hold back again.
Until he can feed and fuck without feeling his instinct grab him by the throat, he cannot do more than small feedings with you. That alone is training all on its own, because every single time he feeds, he struggles not to take all of it. 
Bit by bit. Sunghoon has to take you piece by fucking piece. And your willingness to do it, entirely awake and aware, makes it all the more difficult. 
He can’t tell you this. Not yet, at least. You’d know the danger you’re in. Nor can he pretend like he will let you leave out of fear. He needs to keep this peace with you until he can truly enjoy you in a way that will ensure you’ll be alive and well after the fact.
And so, he changes the subject, grabbing you even tighter and hugging you in the way any modern boyfriend would. This. This is something he can handle.
“Are you bored of me carrying you across the room?” He asks. “Do you miss walking on your own two feet that much, if just to make it to my room?” He smiles now, making jokes with you that feel a bit dry when it hits your ears. 
“Are you implying that I’m a slut?” You laugh at his attempt to make you smile, slapping against his cold arm playfully. “That the only reason I want to leave this room is to come into yours and fuck you?” 
He shrugs from behind you, hugging tighter, wanting to be under your skin with that beating heart.
“Am I not right to assume? You little harlot.” 
Well, he got you there. 
And you laugh with him about it, living in your little fantasy world like this never has to end. Reality looms taller than Sunghoon does, unfortunately. 
He can feel your heart rate pick up when your laugh slows down. 
“But, Sunghoon, I can’t stay here for much longer like this.” You drop it on him like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and oh how he wishes you could just disappear with him. “I haven’t been home, my phone is there and I’m sure people have been calling.”
His eyes darken at your words as he pushes you from his grasp. Already you wish to leave? After complaining to him about what he doesn’t give you? Is that why you’re saying this right now? No sex means you’ll leave? 
Serves him right for not using the pull on you. He should have kept hold of your mind rather than relish in your willingness. 
“I’ve missed work already.” Your voice gets smaller as you watch him move from the bed and stand in front of you, the scent of cinnamon assaulting your nose along with his darkened and intimidating facial expression. “I– I’ll–come back. I promise.” You cower immediately.
Sunghoon shakes his head at you. 
“Did I not make myself clear?” He deepens his voice, unsure of how to handle his own internal panic. “Never have I let a commoner leave this cathedral alive and knowing the truth.” 
“Are you–threatening me?” You ask, scooting away from him and accidentally knocking over the bowl of alcohol with your foot. 
“Did you not just say you envy the others? Envy dying by my hand?” He questions you back, looming over you in an intimidating stance. Suddenly much, much taller than reality.  “Every time you’ve said you’d come back, you’ve done no such thing. Have I upset you this much?”
You frantically shake your head. 
“No, no!” You lift your hands in defense, reaching out to his towering figure. “I want to be here with you! You just said yourself that you have things to tend to, so do I! If I don’t show up at work, or at least have my phone, people will have the fucking cops out and looking for me!” 
Sunghoon softens, cinnamon air fading out within a second. He feels only slightly ashamed of his immediate outburst when all you can offer back to him is truth. Perhaps you’re the only one living in the real world, even if he’s been living in it for far, far, longer. 
You’ve pulled him into a fantasy, just like he has for you. He truly let himself forget that you’re no victim that’s meant to die. You can’t just disappear without question, and already it has been days. 
Still, you can’t just leave him. 
“I see.” He says, reaching down to grab at the hands you have clinging to his clothes in an attempt to calm himself more than you. “Shall I retrieve your device for you then?” 
You slowly nod, looking away from him and ignoring the fact that as much as you do want to be here with him, the fact that he just implied that you can never leave is a bit– um, intense. So, you don’t argue when you nod to him. If anything, to keep the peace.
“I’ll see to it that you have it in your hands by tonight. And in time, I’ll invite you back to my quarters.” Ending his sentence with a bribe to keep you here felt fitting, and he’s thankful for the way you accept it. 
You nod quicker now, entirely satisfied with his words when he steps back and away from you. 
“Now, please finish cleaning your wounds. I don’t want to taste infection in you.” 
Despite feeling better about it, wanting him still, those words hurt you. You feel insulted by the time he leaves you alone in the room. Like if you got an infection he’d simply lose interest in you, or perhaps end this love of your blood he has. 
He may even just go ahead and kill you if that were to happen.
It drives you to clean yourself twice over. Three times over. Unwilling to lose the feeling of someone biting you so gently, unwilling to die because your use to him has run out. And it feels like you clean yourself all day. To the point you’re probably making yourself more susceptible to infection rather than protecting yourself from it. 
And in this room, time doesn’t exist. There’s a window indicating where the sun is in the sky, but hours and minutes are meaningless. Only when the sun is up do you start counting, knowing that Sunghoon will only visit you during nightfall. 
You clean yourself for what you assume to be hours upon hours, all the way up until the sun falls and you hear the door creak open. You expect to see Sunghoon coming in for his routine of drinking from you, but instead, you find a pale-eyed nun rush to you with your phone and immediately leave after. 
A quick presence is gone within a moment, but you pay no mind as you look down at your phone. You’re thankful for the fact that it’s probably been on the charger all four days you’ve been gone. Considering, well, there’s no electricity this high up in the cathedral, you’ll have to save your battery as best as you can. 
So many missed calls. 
Even more missed texts. 
Dozens of emails. 
Jungwon.
In the morning after you left your apartment, he checked in with you. All throughout the day too. It wasn’t until that same night where his texts became frantic. A little, “i’m coming over, fuck you if you get mad at me for it.” followed by “are you mad at me? why won’t you respond?” 
You couldn’t help but chuckle at that.
Really though, it hurts your heart to have forgotten about him entirely during your time here. Reading through his texts, you see him fight with himself over your absence. Up until yesterday, where he texts you from the museum. 
A glaring “stopped by again today only to realize your apartment was unlocked this whole time. i’m with your boss now, we are calling the cops if you don’t respond within the next ten seconds.” 
A full day late, you respond quickly. 
You: wonnie!!! i’m sorry! I got sad and went home to see my mom. totally forgot my phone at home…and to lock the door i guess
You: you know, hormones lol 
Immediate spam. Your phone vibrates aggressively back to back with his frantic texts. 
Wonnie: you have to be fucking JOKING
Wonnie: NOT A SINGLE WORD FROM YOU. YOU COULD HAVE CALLED WORK OR
SOMETHING FROM SOMEONE ELSE’S PHONE. I WAS AT YOUR PLACE EVERY DAY.
Wonnie: i CANNOT believe you!!!!!!!!!!!
Wonnie: your whole ass apartment was unlocked and you weren’t there! anyone could’ve walked right in!!!!! are you stupid or something? 
Wonnie: are you home now?
Wonnie: i’m so mad at you FUCK
Wonnie: i got so scared
Wonnie: im coming over
You panic. 
You: wait, i’m not home yet. I didn’t mean to stay so long, I promise ill be home soon and fill you in on everything. 
Wonnie: call your boss. 
Wonnie: ill deal with the cops, then im gonna be waiting outside of your apartment
Wonnie: don’t ever fucking do that shit again, been crying all morning
Wonnie: i hate you so much right now, im never talking to you again
Wonnie: get your stupid ass back home 
You smile fondly at his worry, but the smile is short lived as you know you probably can’t leave here. Not only from the fact that Sunghoon appears to be unwilling to let you leave but you…don’t want to.
Still, you do need to call your boss, and you make quick work of it. Sitting dissociated through the mindless scolding of your terrible lie of an excuse, and then the following call from the local police department. 
Arguably, speaking to the police was easier than knowing you’ll have to lie to Jungwon again. At least the police are aware that you’re a grown woman who can disappear if she wishes. Jungwon, on the other hand, requires a little more care and consideration. 
You’re tired by the time you lay your phone down, unable to keep your eyes open as you drift off. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Some time later, you wake to the same familiar scent of Sunghoon wafting from under your door. It doesn’t process yet in your brain that you’ve not smelled it since the night you wandered from your apartment. But now? Oh, it’s strong. 
It’s very, very strong. 
Your drowsy eyes look to the door as your legs carry you there, and out you go. Down the hallway, straight to those big doors, straight through those big doors.
The scent burns in your throat the moment you step inside, blurry eyes witnessing two figures right there on the floor. The only clear thing you can make out are his darkened narrowed eyes, only because your brain refuses to process the act taking place in front of you at first.
He looks…rabid. Hair is a mess, sticky and dripping with thick metallic liquid. 
Oh, it sounds so loud. The squelching and the smacking of skin. Your stomach drops, the pit inside of it flourishing with nothing short of rotted desire. 
Right there on the floor of his room lies a woman seemingly experiencing god. Sunghoon is moaning with his eye trained on your shocked figure. He ignores the woman’s aroused grasps against his arms to keep his eyes trained on you. And he just…smirks through it, licking his lips, rolling his eyes back only for them to fall right back to you.
The squelching rings in your ears as he moves faster, feverishly chasing a hunt he’s already got lying beneath him. Almost as if catching him in the act aroused him more than he already had been. Like he’s showing you how much more he’d prefer someone else over you. 
He moans your name inwardly again and again, as if to call you forward to him but your feet can no longer move as you process the act with each call of your name. 
He’s fucking her. He’s devouring her. 
Not you. Her. 
You can feel your heart shrivel at the act when you stumble back, a twisting pain in your chest that you feel silly over. You barely know Sunghoon, but somehow it feels like he’s given you more of himself than he has anyone else. He speaks that way to you, anyway. Always with the words of “I’ve never done this, until you.” 
That was a lie. You’re seeing it now with your own two eyes and you’re paying for believing that you, somehow, could be special. And the pain in your chest travels all throughout your body at the fact that you let this man bite you. You let him take and take until you could barely stand, until you could barely think, until you were right on the cusp of death. 
And you still want to do that for him. But now? He’s grown bored of you. Perhaps he intends to let this woman live too. Perhaps she’s silly enough to fall for a sweet vampire’s words too.
You stumble back more, forcing your legs to work with you rather than against you. It’s like your body has a mind of its own when he smells so welcoming. Cinnamon, spicy, sweet, painful cinnamon. Such a suffocating smell, easy to give in to and grow weak for. At least for you, that’s how it feels. 
When you force yourself to turn around, only to continue stumbling down the hallway, your eyes work against you now too. You knew it would happen though and it’s not something you can stop. The burn and blur of tears prickling at the corners, your throat scratchy and sore. 
You try to hold it in, feeling as if life is being suffocated out of you all the way down. Down, down, down. Past the nuns, past the beautiful and intricate interior, and straight out of the big front doors of the cathedral. 
No goodbyes. 
The breezy night air smacks you hard, forcing a sobbed breath out of you. You dry heave for a moment, squeezing your eyes shut so tight just to try and regain control of yourself and your emotions. The images behind your eyes flash back and forth. You’ve not just witnessed death, but the pleasure of death. Well, if he kills the woman, anyway. 
And you still can’t fathom it. The way you feel, the way you’re reacting, the intense desire for death if it means Sunghoon wants you that badly. Never would you have guessed that a feeling so deeply terrifying exists. But it does, you’re witnessing it overtake the deepest parts of you right now. 
Fuck, you didn’t want to leave but you did. And now here you are, freed from a grasp that you still want so badly. 
Your lungs burn and your chest hurts more than the swollen puncture wounds all over your body. Everything is burning. It’s too, too, hot inside of your skin right now and there’s nothing more you’d rather do than to crawl out of it and freeze. 
Still, you do your best to control the emotions within you. You take a short look around only to feel the head rush hit you now like it should have when you stood from your bed. Right, the blood in your body likely isn’t enough to keep you upright for long and you know you’ll likely not make it to your apartment in this state. 
But you try. Your eyes are out of focus and your legs are clumsy as you try to walk. Down the sidewalk you go, until–
“Woah, little lady.” 
You hear Balor’s voice echo in your ears. The sound of safety feeling so, so far away. 
You can’t even thank him for it because your vision blurs more at the feeling of big, leather clad arms holding you upright, and then– you’re out.
You’re not sure how much time has passed by the time you’re able to hold your eyes open again, but when you do, Jungwon is here and so is that hot bartender you forgot existed. And as you try to comprehend where you are, you learn very quickly that you’re in the back room of the club with concerned eyes focused on..not your face, your body.
“Let’s get you home.” Jungwon’s concerned voice settles in your ears, and only now do you feel his warm hands soothing you against your shoulders. 
“Or maybe a hospital?” Jay offers, also inspecting your skin and the weak state of your body as you try to sit up. 
“No, no. I’m okay, really.” You say, immediately starting to cry out. “Please, just take me home.” 
And so, home is where you go. Jay drives both you and Jungwon there with a kind voice and worried eyes. You see him make the attempt to hug you before leaving, but Jungwon is quick to stop him with a small shake of his head. 
“Let me know when you’re feeling better.” Is all Jay says when he leaves, which, you’re sure he didn’t intend to leave but of course, Jungwon. You can see that he wants to be the one here with you and he insisted to Jay that he’s got you. 
It heals your heart a little bit, but doesn’t change the fact that you’re embarrassed for not only Jungwon to be pulled into your mess, but Jay too? 
You’re humiliated. 
And by the time Jungwon has undressed and redressed you, ignoring the intense smell of alcohol against your skin for now, he’s immediately lying next to you, clinging to you really. 
 You’re aware of what he saw when he removed your clothes. You heard the breath he took in, you saw his confusion at how the clothes you had on were very much not from your closet. He’s going to ask, and you knew he would.
“You’re really cold.” He says in a cracked voice, gentle and sweet as he tries to warm you up. “You weren’t with your mom, were you?” 
You weakly shake your head. 
“You were with that guy you told me about before.” He says now, grabbing you tighter pretending he doesn’t know just how many wounds you have under your clothes. He can’t help but hold you tighter, even if it hurts you.
“What did he do to you?” 
Your throat starts to burn as you cry again. You can barely process what’s happened yourself and explaining it to someone else only feels that much harder. 
The pulsing in your head is too much, you can’t even think straight right now. 
“It was–” You try to calm down, breathing in deep but avoiding eye contact. “It was consensual, don’t worry.” 
Jungwon’s eyes narrow, staring at the deep bite marks on your neck. He’s quick to lift himself up, ripping your shirt up and off of you without so much as trying to be gentle. His panic is blatant and he’s entirely unable to hide how pissed off he is right now.
“No, it wasn't.” He dead-pans as he presents your own body to you, his voice coming out harsher than usual. “You’d be out of your fucking mind to think i believe that this was consensual.” 
He glares at the swollen marks, unsure as to what to do with himself. 
“Fuck,” He scoffs your name along with the curse, throwing his hands up. “Fucking look at them.”
You turn away from him now, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively in an attempt to not peer at what you wish you could have more of. You know what this looks like though, and you’re really trying to see things from his perspective. 
But…It’s hard after everything you’ve witnessed yourself. 
‘It was.” You say again. “I practically begged him to keep doing it.” 
Jungwon falls silent as he counts. 1, 2, 3, 13, 25, 56, 72, still more.
“I wasn’t going to come home, you know.” You sigh out at the silence of his counting. 
More silence. 
“Was gonna stay and never leave.” 
“What? Why?” He panics more at the admittance, dropping down over you and forcing your arms from yourself, trying to pretend he didn’t re-open some of your wounds by tearing your shirt off of you. 
You can hear your best friend crying at the way you hide from him, all bloodied and bruised, but you keep your eyes closed even tighter. All he can do is lend you the entire weight of his body, enveloping you in all of his warmth and care, using his entire body to shield you from even the air in your room. 
“What did he do?” Jungwon pleads for an answer with a cracked whisper. He needs context. Anything to explain the state of you right now.
“You wouldn’t understand.” 
“What did he do?” He presses again, voice only cracking more as he cries along with you. 
“It’s more so what he didn’t do.” 
Silence again. 
“What did he fucking do?” 
You take in a deep breath, sighing out against your best friend’s fluffy hair, humming at his warmth and how much you’ve missed it. 
There’s nothing you can say to make him understand, all you can do is try because hearing him like this is, arguably, just making it more painful.
“I just really liked him, and I guess he didn’t like me so much in the end.” 
Jungwon chooses to take that at face value, opting to not let you out of his sight from this moment forward if he can help it. At one point with you, he was worried about being too clingy. Truly, he was afraid he would annoy you by attaching himself. Never has he grown so close to a person so fast and never has he gained such comfort within someone else’s bubble like he does with you. The comfort is still there, but no longer does he give a single fuck about clinging too much. You clearly cling too.
If you cling enough to let a man abuse your body like that, you’ll be able to handle him clinging just as much, enough to care for you, and enough to not fucking leave your side. He’s not going anywhere, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.
After all, he’s not stupid, but he’s willing to act as dumb as you need him to if it means you’ll let him keep you within arms reach. In his head, there’s no way you fell into something with someone who could do this to you without reason, and it appears it’s not a question he’ll get a clear answer from you any time soon. 
It doesn’t matter if his installation will come to an end at some point. He can’t just leave you here when there’s some strange man running around biting the fuck out of people like a rabid dog. Abusing his best friend? No. He won’t have it and he doesn’t care if he has to force you to accept his protection.
He can’t do much for you, but he’s willing to at least be here with you. 
“Hey, it’s okay.” Jungwon soothes you, clinging tighter just to feel some of those reopened wounds bleed onto him. His voice is a stark reminder that there’s more to feel in your body than just pain. “I won’t let him near you again, okay?”
You nod, still crying as you cling back, trying to ignore the images in your head of Sunghoon. 
“Okay.” You lie, missing him too much already, the faint scent of cinnamon still in your nose. 
And you fall asleep like that. Warm. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
You hate calling it an “escape.” You carried yourself out of that beautiful cathedral against your body begging you to stay. Still, even now with Jungwon clinging so warmly at night, you wish you had never left. 
Even the pain of seeing what Sunghoon does behind your back, the jealousy that came with it, you would have stayed if only to prove your worth to him. Being so close to death is exhilarating, and you find yourself feeling entirely empty and void of any emotion that brings joy because of it. 
This isn’t depression, nor is it simple envy. This sadness within you sinks lower than you thought possible, so deeply rooted within you that you feel death itself couldn’t even allow a safe escape. After all, if vampires are real, who's to say you won't end up as a tormented ghost forever searching for a man who can never die?
Damned if you live, damned if you die, so to say. You can’t have Sunghoon either way, you can only have him while suffering. 
And oh, how you miss the cold. You miss his cold. You miss the fear too. You miss the way he’d laugh with no breath against you and drink from your thighs like he needed more. You miss the way your wounds would pulse in pain and lend little reminders of the teeth that pierced them. Even now, they’re healing so well.
And it still hurts.
It hurts to know he said, while holding you, that he craves you. That he very much wants you but has things to tend to. The fact that he needed to tend to fucking other women while drenched in their blood? Things to tend to. 
Because to Sunghoon, real life women, breathing women, are minimized to things to tend to.
Fucking vampires. 
It’s been a week now since you left and it hasn’t gotten easier. During the week, Jungwon hasn’t so much as let you shower without the bathroom door open. You guess that’s fair. 
Still, it has only been a week. A week of everything moving fast, a week of Jungwon, a week of slow and dreadful acceptance, and a week of smelling nothing but faint, ever so slight, cinnamon. 
By now you know it’s him. Like he’s truly dug his claws into you and doesn’t intend to let you forget all that he took from you. Always that fucking smell, from the first night you met him until now. Yet he is nowhere to be seen, even when you stare at the cathedral after the sun goes down. 
No one has left. No one has gone inside. 
Part of you even found yourself worrying if he’s eaten. Hah. Funny.
Still, you’re forced to live in reality now. Nothing but healing wounds, meaningful days, and reminders that you let yourself fall as quickly and painfully as possible. 
You’re entirely dissociated, as if you’re gliding rather than walking, as if each day passes in a second rather than a twenty four hour time span, as if you’re truly empty now and not filled with the blood you thought meant so much. 
Somehow, you find comfort in the emptiness though. Jungwon fills the space as best he can too. He always accepts your rejections of going to update Jay at the club just to sit between your legs on the living room floor and try to make you laugh through silly faces riddled with concern.
You assume he’s in contact with Jay anyway, letting him know that you’re not quite dead yet. 
The days blur together now, up until two weeks pass, three weeks, four, five weeks.
Thankfully, by the fifth week, it’s gotten easier. Each day you just have to remind yourself that you can never forget Jungwon again like you did before. He’s the one who helped you through this, and to think you’d ever make him go through this again is insane. In fact, he’s the reason you finally feel good inside again. 
He’s like medicine, which is cringe and lame as fuck to say but it’s true. Internally, he’s made you feel better. Yet, right beside all those happy warm feelings lies everything else. Distress, sadness, anxiety. 
They still seep out of you too. Every night, really, after the daytime wears off and Jungwon runs out of things to distract you with.
“Why do you have to look at me like that?” Jungwon says sweetly, sprawled out on your bed in his pajamas as he watches you pace around your room. “I swear, it’s like everything I say to you goes through one ear and out the other.” 
You pause in your step, sad eyes reaching his face. 
“I already told you I’m not going home.” He repeats himself for what feels like the thousandth time to you. “I’m still getting paid, I have enough to last me if you let me stay here before finding work.”
After all, it’s not like Jungwon has anything to go back home to. Save for an annoying sister who probably wanted him to move the fuck out of her space anyway. He’s the last person on this earth to be afraid to up and move out with a near stranger.
You’re not so much a stranger to him though, and the need to be by your side far outweighs anything else right now. 
“Yeah, but, eventually.”
Never have you been one to worry about fleeting time. Never until you met that dead motherfucker. You worry about not what is happening, but what will happen. The inevitable. You no longer welcome it. 
It’s not death that brings the anxiety though, it’s just…the clock. 
With the ticking, the tocking, and the changing of seasons. Everything lasts both too long and not long enough. At this moment, the fear is Jungwon leaving at some point in your life. For any reason at all, really. 
He’s been by your side since you found your way back to him. A nuisance at times, yes, but you’re attached. To an unhealthy degree, you are fucking attached to him at the hip. He’s your only grounding force on this earth and you think he’s picking up on it. 
To the point he’s offered to drop his entire life an hour away just to stay for you. 
Yes, Jungwon recognizes how toxic and unhealthy the friendship has become, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He can’t just leave, nor does he want to. Even if he’s the one who leaves to get your mail, he’s the one who cooks, and he’s the one who holds you close at night, reminding you that time doesn’t have to mean a damn thing if you try hard enough to forget about the man who doesn’t experience it at all.
There’s no way you can get through a single day without him right now, and the thought of having to do it in the future scares you. 
You know it’s pathetic. You know you have no right to keep him in a box next to you as a comfort, you know he’s still got a life to live and romance to find. But…you hate it. 
“Eventually what?” He quirks a brow at you, having been concerned for you and the shift in your entire personality yet again tonight. You’ve changed for the worse, and it terrifies him to see you act so gone. 
“You’re gonna leave me here alone.” Your voice is small, cracking when you say it only because you hear the words ring in your ears. 
A pathetic whine, as if you’re speaking to someone else and not Jungwon. You’re not you anymore. No, you’ve become obsessed with the looping memories and feelings that took a mere four days to fall in love with. 
Addicted to emptiness but begging for Jungwon to forever be the crutch you stand on. 
You’re selfish and you have no fucking right to do this to him.
“Hey…” He rolls out of bed and steps up to you, easily putting a soothing hand against your shoulder. “Do you want me to stay?”
You nod. Knowing this same situation happens nearly every night. You panic, he soothes. You beg, he reminds you that he’s the one who offered in the first place. You ask him to stay, he confirms by asking you to let him.
And to him, he knows this is anything but a romantic partnership. You very much need someone here who is willing to play dumb but remain hyper aware. He wants to be this person for you because of his own selfish reasons too. 
It’s not all for you.
For one, he wants the girl back that he met last month. Secondly, he wants to see you learn and grow, because he knows you have a long and beautiful life ahead of you (and he better be fucking part of it.) And lastly, he’s never felt needed like this and there’s something in him that craves to be important too. 
It’s not too difficult for Jungwon to find people that’s important to him. Really, it never takes much. Perhaps someone held the door open for him, he’d probably jump in front of a bus for that person not two seconds later. But to feel just as important to someone else? 
He needs to be here with you. As toxic as it may seem to outsiders, Jungwon sees nothing wrong with being the person you need simply because you’re the person he needs too. 
“Then stop saying stupid shit.” He mopes now as he pulls you back to your bed and holds you much like he always does, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re always okay at work, but I swear the second we come home you’re falling apart.”
You freeze, falling apart instantly. 
“I wish you’d tell me what happened.” He says now, jumping into the typical routine of calming and soothing you. “I don’t know what to do when you get like this.”
You wish you would tell him too. 
But if he knew, that hope of ever seeing Sunghoon again would crumble. Already, Jungwon swears to you that he will never let this happen to you again. But you want it to, so, so badly. 
Even if you’re taking advantage of his care by letting him treat you like a child who can’t escape a tantrum, he really flipped his whole life because you chose to live in a crisis. 
You chose to do this to yourself and to Jungwon. 
Finally, you look up at him with your fingers gripping him.
“I ask so much from you.” You sniffle when you say it, immediately calming yourself and feeling like a fucking idiot for doing this. “I feel like I’m going insane.” 
He nods.
“You kind of are.” He confirms for you. “And you have to talk about it eventually, it’s just going to keep hurting if you don’t.”
He’s right. He’s always right. 
And like always, every single time you imagine how you’ll tell him, nothing in your brain can form a sentence. But you do try and by now, accustomed to your pain, you feel like something needs to be said before he grows tired of you too. 
“I don’t know why, but I wanted him to kill me so badly.” 
Saying it out loud doesn’t feel as good as you wanted it to, not with the way Jungwon’s face immediately contorts into panic.
“Wha-”
“But he wouldn’t do it.” You shake your head, refusing eye contact. “He’d do it to everyone else, but not to me.” 
“Wait, what?”
Maybe choosing to say that of all things was a mistake. After all, you did appear stumbling down the street near death already. Jungwon isn’t going to take what you’re saying lightly and you were stupid to believe otherwise.
“Have you ever smelled cinnamon?” You continue, trying to skew the conversation from his panic.
Jungwon is flipping his shit trying to make sense of your words. You wanted this guy to kill you? Well, he damn near fucking did and even now, while he’s not around, you’re practically dead already in terms of everything but breathing. And what the fuck do you mean he’d do it to everyone else?! 
Are you referring to an emotional death? Trying to make this shit sound poetic? Or did you really want to die? 
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jungwon’s voice is stern but shaky. “Kill you how?” 
You shake your head.
“I don’t know.” You offer, knowing you’re just making it worse. “I wanted him to want me that badly.”
Jungwon drops his arms from you to pull back, dead-pan staring at you because he doesn’t know what to do or say to that. He forces himself to think of the reality of the situation. You’re just being poetic. You’re just being dramatic. 
He’s the same way when someone hurts him too, but still. Using such heavy words scares him, and he can’t just sit here and tell you it’ll be okay anymore. 
“But he doesn't.” Jungwon musters up the courage to say it, knowing you’re going to cry. “This weirdo literally tried to eat you alive, and he still doesn’t want you.” 
And you do cry again. 
“And now, you’re letting him kill you anyway?” Jungwon scoffs. “You’re begging me to stay here with you, just so I can watch you not even make an attempt to fucking get over it?” 
You know he’s telling you what you need to hear, doesn’t change the fact that you don’t want to hear it. The only thing you want to hear is Sunghoon and his lying words, telling you that Jungwon is full of shit. 
The worst part about it is that, it’s not even that you’re suicidal. You’re not. You like being alive. You’re just…you don’t know. You don’t fucking know why you wanted and still want Sunghoon to kill you.
Perhaps it’s because it would mean he needs you that much.
But he doesn’t need you, you’re not irresistible. 
And that hurts you. That man fucking slithered into your heart and made a nest there. You can’t get him out no matter how much you try. 
“He broke up with you. You were together for like, what? A few days?” Jungwon minimizes the situation unintentionally, panicking at the way a person he’s grown so close to has managed to be utterly fucking ripped apart by a singular man. “He broke up with you. That’s it. It’s time to stand up and move on, there’s better people out there that–”
“No.” You shake your head. “I broke up with him, I guess, if you can call it that.” 
Jungwon softens, tilting his head. Now he’s getting somewhere. 
“Why, then? Why did you break up with him when you didn’t want to?” Still, Jungwon is glad you chose to. Clearly you’re not as absent minded as you pretend to be. Seeing how littered your body was with pain, you knew you needed to leave, right? You weren’t really just going to let this guy wither you away, right?
“He was with someone else.” 
Jungwon shakes his head in pity. 
“What a scumbag. A total freak.” 
“But like, he needed to do it, I guess.” You try to explain without truly explaining. “I got mad and left because he was doing something he needed to do with someone that wasn’t me.” 
“He needed to cheat on you? Are you hearing yourself?” Jungwon questions, throwing his arms up. “He’s a nympho, babe, he probably manipulated the fuck out of you to make you think this way.”
And at that, you give up on talking about it. You feel too tired to continue. 
“I guess so.” You whisper out with a shrug, sniffling up the tears.
“He doesn’t deserve you. You can’t just…die for people.” Jungwon says, realizing that even he doesn’t follow his own advice. He’d probably die for you himself, but not because he craves it.
He’ll never understand why you wanted this man to “kill” you. In whatever way you meant, no one is worth owning that much of you. 
Jungwon hums though, knowing you’re tired now. He isn’t exactly being as soothing as he’d like to be right now but never has he seen a person act like this over a break up. Cheating hurts, of course, but you barely knew this guy. There’s no way there isn’t something else going on for you to say such insane fucking things. 
“You must’ve lost your damn mind to let someone do that to you.” Jungwon says against your hair, his soft voice not matching his words in the slightest. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“Me either.” You admit, feeling the insanity bubbling in your stomach and hating it. 
Still, the scent of cinnamon. 
“Do you smell it though?” You ask now, voice even weaker. 
Jungwon inhales deeply, releasing his breath with all of the frustration in his gut.
You feel it fan across your cheek warmly, minty, and you smile. 
“Cinnamon?” He asks, remembering your question from before. “Yeah, sometimes I can smell it.” 
You smile bigger now. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Another two weeks pass, only this time you are coming back to yourself. Which is strange, really. You were beginning to think you’d never feel like a person again after the first month passed. Then, within another few weeks you’re almost entirely back to yourself. 
You’re still a bit dissociated, which is likely due to the trauma of what you experienced and put yourself through but thankfully, the ticking-time spans you grew to hate forces itself now to be your new form of comfort. With each passing second, hour, day, and week, you’re slowly able to not forget, but accept and move on. 
Still, you know it’s going to fuck you up for years to come. You’ll always have the feeling of emptiness deep inside no matter how much the space shrinks. You have no choice now but to try and fill your life and time with things and people who matter to you. At least this way, you know that you matter too. 
And with this time spent away and healing, the scent has faded too. You can even go to work now without holding your breath or your eyes being forced to look at the source of the smell. In fact, you avoid taking even a glimpse of the looming cathedral. You don’t keep cinnamon in your apartment now either. You don’t take it with any of your beverages or food items, and you certainly shouldn’t be smelling it in the air anymore. 
Sometimes it’s still there though, turning your stomach in a way that’s both needy and sick. You still miss him and the feeling of ice, but you know better now. Why give up the ability to breathe without your throat burning? Why give up being a person that Jungwon actually wants to be around now? 
After all, you’ve started feeling so much better to the point that even he feels okay leaving you alone from time to time. Showers are back to being private, you can check your own mail, and a few times you were even able to go to work without him trying to force his way inside like his installation was still sitting on display. 
Which, it isn’t, by the way. Your boss had his name and face blacklisted, but still on most days he waltzed in like he owned the place. Every single time buckling the knees of your boss, every single time being allowed to stay. 
Thankfully, push came to shove and he landed himself a job there with you, his employment became official just today, actually. And as professional as the place was for you when you approached with your resume, it’s definitely not professional at all. They did pay Jungwon under the table several times just for doing shit you were supposed to be doing. 
The point is, even if Jungwon wasn’t able to make the effort to keep good on his word regarding moving into your apartment to stay beside you, he still likely would have pushed to at least work with you. 
Thankfully, he gets to do both those things. 
And despite the fact that he feels okay leaving you alone from time to time, there’s still an immense amount of anxiety about being away from you for too long. He knows that in time, it’ll pass and the two of you can live both near each other and apart, but for now? Might as well call him your husband because there’s no way in hell he’s gonna be doing his own thing without you. 
That leads to now. The same day Jungwon secured his employment, the same day you made it through without a single breakdown, the same night Jungwon needs to actually go back home to move his shit into this apartment with you.
“Come with me.” Jungwon comments, but you know it’s more of a demand. “You can meet my sister, just ignore if she makes jokes about us dating or something.”
You laugh. Genuinely, you laugh.
“Jokes? We both know you’re in love with me Jungwon. I’m just waiting for the ring at this point.” 
He laughs with a shrug, knowing he probably would marry you at this point, if just to protect you from all the people who wouldn’t care for you as much as he does. 
“Really though, come with me?” He asks again. “I’m still a little worried about leaving you here.”
“You’ll be back in the morning,” You start, trying to calm him down. You genuinely do feel okay right now. “I’ll just be sleeping the whole time, I'm tired anyway.”
Jungwon nods fondly, aware that it’s only practical that he make the move during the night hours. After all, his sister won’t be home otherwise and he does miss her. It’s true that you’ll probably just go to bed and he’ll be back before you even wake up tomorrow.
Still.
“You could just sleep in my old ro–”
“Wonnie.” You walk up to him and grab his face with both hands. “I’m fine.” 
He smiles at you, always loving the way you do your best to reassure him even through your worst breakdowns. You’re not breaking down right now though, and he can’t help but believe every word you say when you’re looking at him like this. 
“I swear to god if I come home and you so much as have a single bite mark on you, I’m burning this fucking city to the ground.” 
You roll your eyes, the memory stinging only a little bit. By now though, you’ve almost entirely forgotten how it felt in the first place. 
In fact, you’re shocked by the way you acted after leaving. So outside of yourself. Truly, you think you were going insane and Jungwon was right to confirm that for you. You’re lucky you had him here with you, because you likely would have ran right back into that fucking cathedral and–
Yeah. You would have done something dramatic. 
You didn’t though. And sure, you now know vampires exist or whatever but Sunghoon has not bothered you even once since you left. You hope he’s simply moved on so that your resolve doesn’t break. Jungwon worked so hard to make you feel better, and you worked just as hard. You can’t just feel bad that you don’t remember what Sunghoon’s fangs felt like against your skin.
If anything, you hope Sunghoon is freaked out by you leaving and knowing his secret. Maybe he thinks that if he tries to approach you again, you’ll tell everyone about what he is and what he did. Not that it would end with him in jail or anything. You’d probably end up in an asylum, actually, but still. 
And to Jungwon’s threats of arson, you simply pinch his cheek, being sure to sit your thumb right in his dimple. 
“Strictly no vampire kinks.” You smile at him, crossing both of your arms in front of yourself to create an X. 
“Good.” Jungwon nods back as he puts on his shoes and heads for the door. “Call me if you need anything, I’ll keep my volume turned up. You’ve got Jay’s number too, he can be here quickly if it’s an emergency.”
He feels content knowing that you’re about to be stuck with him for as long as he can manage. It’s just one short trip back home. A mere six or seven hours spent away while he packs the shit his sister probably “forgot” to box up for him, loading up the rented van, and then unloading it here. 
It’s just a short trip. You’ll be sleeping through it anyway. 
And when he’s gone, you feel tired. Keeping good on your promise of going to bed almost immediately. The feeling of being alone for the night is a bit uncomfortable, so sleep comes easy as a means to escape the inevitable over-thinking you’d probably do otherwise. 
No overthinking. 
It’s just a short trip. 
Jungwon will be back before you wake up. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Ah, to think it’s over. 
To think he’d leave you be? To think he wouldn’t be looming around every corner watching, waiting? If it weren’t for Jungwon, these weeks wouldn’t have passed so easily for you, that much is certain.
As if they were easy for you to get through at all. Jungwon, the very person who got you through it, was the reason he stayed away, the reason you were able to heal. 
Jungwon was the ward.
Was. 
Deep in your sleep it’s like your body knows. The same scent fills your nose just seconds after your sleep brain feels the goosebumps spread across your skin. Instantly, you wake up and back to insanity you go
You truly wake up. 
Your legs aren’t being carried by any force other than you own, and your mind is crisp and clear in your thoughts as you jump out of bed. 
Not walking, running to your apartment door. You swing open the door and don’t even look at him before slamming your entire weight against his chest and clinging like a lost child. You can feel the familiar cold fear filling your body, knowing that if he truly wanted to, he could kill you right now. 
All of the progress you made burns away within seconds. You’ve never felt so elated to ruin your own life. 
Even when he pushes you away, nothing at this moment could make you let him go. He’s here, he’s standing right there. Your fingers grip as he pushes you back in silence, stretching his garment out far beyond the bounds of which it was sewn to withstand. It rips, and still he shoves you further back from him all while stalking forward. 
Walking you back into your apartment, just to let the door slam behind him as he stands with a narrowed gaze fixated on you. 
You glance up at him only for a moment, loving the crazed look in his eye. Adoring that he must have missed you to appear so full of life like this. You can only compare his eyes now to the same eyes you saw when you ran away from him. 
As if they were burning on you. Or perhaps, for you? 
He’s dangerous, your body feels it instantly and all you can do is lean into it.
“That’s all it took for you to leave me?” Sunghoon bellows out in a spiteful voice, the sound sending pleasant shivers down your spine. “Had your blood boiling over some minx? I told you I didn’t want you witnessing it.” 
You soak in his voice like it’s your last supper, missing it so badly, adoring it even more. He speaks as if weeks haven’t passed, as if it’s a mere hour after you ran from him. You move forward to cling again, unable to think of words to say and opting to show how much you regret leaving through your actions.
Still, he pushes you away from him. A bit harder this time, to the point you almost topple over onto your back. You keep your balance only because it feels like you’re fucking floating just looking at him right now.
“I tried to pull you back to me, why did you fight it so hard?” He continues to fuss, as if he’s been thinking over and over again about all the words he wants to spit at you. Like he’s punishing you, and yet still struggling himself not to cling back. “Never has your aroma been so empty, so faint.”
You’re in shock but your body yearns for him, thankful to go back to square one. Like you’re special. Like you meant something enough to him that he’s here looking like he may give you what you’ve wanted all along. 
“Countless women. Countless men. Never you, and now you manage to hide from me?” His hand shoots to your neck, pushing you back further into your apartment. “How?” He grips dangerously tight as he continues to spew his breathless words. “You masked yourself with that– that floral boy, didn’t you?” 
You listen to his spiteful words like your favorite song, falling into each vibration of his vowels and consonants. Never has he spoken so much, and never have you heard his voice waver the way it is now. You can’t help but follow his movements with a smile on your face, swallowing through this tight grip on your throat. 
“You cannot fathom how hard it was to stop. Do you understand how much I want to fuck every last drop out of you? You should be thanking me.”
Oh, you’re so proud. So, so, fucking proud. The glee runs through you at his needy words, even if you know better. He’ll always feed on people who aren’t you, and he’ll always probably fuck them too. 
But does he show up at their house? Does he grow frustrated with them like this too? 
“Did you kill her when you were done?” You ask out through his choking hand, so confident that it makes him freeze on the spot.
He’s genuinely shocked that you’re not scared. You’re not intimidated. You don’t feel bad. No, you feel proud of being hunted. Like you take enjoyment out of his suffering, much like he does for you. 
On his part, it’s not intentional. You have to suffer to be next to him. 
Never has a person made him suffer too though. Fucking never would he have allowed it. God, he’s infatuated with you, utterly obsessed.
“Of course I killed her.” Sunghoon admits with his brow rising up, feeding into your ecstatic reaction of his death grip on you, only gripping tighter now. “Does that please you?” 
You’ve never been happier. 
And he moans out at the way you shyly nod, seemingly experiencing euphoria at his admittance of murder. Oh, if only you knew how good you smelled that night. Blood pumping for him, blood boiling in emotion for him. The woman didn’t last more than a minute after you left him. He couldn’t resist at that point. 
Seeing you, smelling you, fucking someone who he wished could have been you. 
He’s not prepared at all for this, for you. So willing, wanting what he’s trying to avoid doing to you.
That’s why he’s here though. Unprepared, but unable to resist any longer. He has pulled and pulled, every single day trying to lure you back to him against your will. He thought he was going to have to take you tonight against your wishes. 
But your eyes are sparkling for him. 
“No one’s heart has ever beat quite like yours when looking at me.” Sunghoon whispers now, falling and spiraling into this moment with you, losing his composure entirely. “So loud, each pump fucking gushes.”
“And I'll chase it every time.” He continues to ramble in a way that sounds like he’s in physical pain, like the amount of time you’ve stayed away from him genuinely hurts him. 
You still can’t respond though, your words are caught up in your throat right where his hand squeezes and you couldn’t even if you wanted to. He knows it too, and he didn’t intend to let you answer anyway because genuinely, he’s fucking losing himself. 
His hungry lips chase forward near instant after saying those words to you, not biting, just kissing. Tasting you rather than the blood that drives him. 
Because for some reason, that’s what he craves right now. 
“I beg.” He cries out against your tongue, relishing in the feeling of your life clutched in his hands, not even sure himself of what he’s begging for.
“Sunghoon,” You choke out his name with a gentle voice, pulling back from his bruising lips and throwing your arms up around his shoulders. “I bet you could smell my heart shatter too.” 
He moans at the strained words first and the out of body experience you lend to him second. His soul is always trapped within this dead skin, but you ascend him. 
Here, standing with his hands on your throat, you hold him? You say sly, mocking words? Oh, he can give you the world. He can give you anything you want. He can be whatever you want. Never has a person had this hold on him, and never could another person be able to do what you do. 
He can’t just let you go. He tried already. He’s supposed to be the one with the ability to hunt, lure, and pull. How is it that you do it to him? Your blood alone does it. The fact that all you need to do is exist within the same city and he’s ripping his bedroom walls apart wanting to get at you? He needs you. 
No. You’re not going anywhere this time. He’ll give up the taste of your sweet blood if he has to. The taste of your wet tongue is enough to satiate him by this point. The feeling of your neck beneath his hands, your pretty eyes urging him to strangle the life out of you.
He’d do it too. All you’d have to do is ask. He would do anything for you at this moment, no matter the cost. He will take anything you offer.
“Oh–” He groans first, licking his lips. “I could almost taste it.” His eyes darken more, somehow, as he leads you through the apartment. All the way until that same gaze causes your legs to buckle. He can’t help it by this point, after all, he knew coming here would end up this way.
There’s no self control when his hands release your neck, your buckled legs forcing you to fall against the floor, and he gladly topples with you. His hands immediately shoot to either side of your head, holding himself up just so he can dip down and inhale you. 
Fuck, he missed the way your skin smells more than he remembers. And trust, missing you was a daunting experience for him before he got here.
He inhales all over you, again and again. He trails his nose against both sides of your neck, up your cheek, into your hair, down to your neck again.
“So delicious.” He moans mindlessly. “Never have I missed someone so terribly.” 
“You were with someone else.” You continue your confident scolding with a scoff, only because of the way he’s losing himself on you. This is all you could ever want and reminding him of why you left feels elating. 
“My love,” He starts, speaking right up against your ear as one of his hands trails from your cheek to your waist. “My loyalty to your life is what I offered.”
Goddamn the confidence running through you smells stronger than anything he’s ever experienced. As if you didn’t already drive him to do things he never once considered. Oh, now? With you like this? He would die ten times more for you and you alone, if he could, anyway. 
“Do you not recognize that I would have drained you to death, if I didn’t want you here with me?” 
He lifts his head now, looking at you with so much adoration. 
“You’re not a simple meal, when will you understand that?”
And when you snicker at his desperate praise, he cannot fucking control the feelings within him.
“Your little floral friend is going to be devastated,” He admits with a rumbled voice, alluding to the inevitability of him coming here tonight. “You’ve begged me for this, and now I’m begging you.” 
You pause, feeling the butterflies in your stomach release in a deep breath. 
“Die for me.” Sunghoon whispers, dragging that same wandering hand straight between your legs and dipping into the wet heat he’s been missing so badly. No blood, just thick, hot, wet slick. “I beg.” 
You can barely comprehend his words through that ice cold feeling of his fingers pressing into you. He hums in the silence, looking straight into your eyes with the question. He’s very aware of the weight behind it too. 
“My love, please.” He continues, losing composure by the seconds as he feels how warm your wet walls are hugging his fingers. “Not in a thousand years have I wanted someone more than you.”
He continues pressing his fingers in, moaning himself at how good it feels, only to feel your moan fan against his cheeks in turn. It’s something that drives him only further from the self-control he fought so hard to keep. That warm breath represents the life within you that he intends to snuff out. If at all, to keep  you forever. 
“And not for a thousand years more–” He’s starting to babble, his once clear thoughts racing at being surrounded by everything that is you. “Please.” 
And his fingers only quicken with his thoughts, rendering you unable to answer even if you tried. The idea and confirmation in his head of not truly killing you drives him wild. It would be death, nonetheless, but not true death. For weeks he has suffered over the thoughts, always telling himself that he would never fate someone to a death such as his own. 
But you, oh you. The sublime blood within you pulled him harder than he believes he pulled you. Never in his thousands of years has he experienced such a thing, nor did he know such blood existed within a person. It drives him to feel for you. To adore you. To be entirely enamored with the fact that you have shattered him from within at both the thought of losing your blood, but wanting to take all of it. 
Still, he craves the taste of you to such an extent that you truly will die tonight, whether it’s against your will or not. It’s too late for him to reason with himself, feeling your walls wrapped around his fingers, seeing you act so mischievous towards his antics from before. At this point, just a blink of time compared to how long he’s lived, the decision is clearer than anything he thinks he’s ever had to choose. 
If he can’t have all of your blood, you’ll waste it on a death not nearly as beautiful as he can offer. 
If he can have all of your blood, perhaps he doesn’t have to lose you along with it. After all, it’s not just the blood at this point that makes him feel like a blood-drunk beast. No, no, no. It’s everything that is you. Your skin, the secretions of your body, the way your hands grip and the way your eyes blink. Blood-drunk, yes, but more so just drunk on you.
He can settle without the breath and without the blood if you’re willing to share meals with him for the remainder of time this earth has in the universe. 
Sunghoon’s mind is racing at the thought. Working too fast for him to focus on everything at once, but he tries. Tucking his fingers deep, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck and inhaling as deeply as he can. 
You’re feeling like you’re on top of the world in the way he falls apart on you, unable to comprehend that this is actually happening. Every word he’s said to you rings in your ears as if it were spoken in a language you can’t understand. With his fingers working you open, with his lips on your skin rather than his fangs…
You feel…different. Like he feels differently. 
And you can’t stop yourself from basking in the thought that he killed that woman. What was once jealousy that he didn’t want you enough to kill you has twisted and morphed into the thought that he kept you alive because he couldn’t stand not having you.
Every whispered word confirms it, and still you can’t comprehend fully what it is he’s trying to say. 
So, you focus and try to comprehend the feeling in your body that he’s offering instead. You have yearned for this cold within you. Missed it so badly you went insane. 
To think you’d ever truly get over him is arguably more insane than wanting him to kill you at all.
“Did you hear me?” He whispers against your ear, shoulders shifting with each plunge of his fingers, other hand clinging to your waist so tightly, almost pulling you to him. “You could be beside me,” He moves his lips across your neck, resting his lips against the moan you let out. “Forever.”
Oh, it clicks. 
And just as it clicks, he can hear your heart rate gushing the same blood he intends to take from you in full. Gushing, rushing through each vein and valve within you. Oh, he could truly devour you whole with how you’ve deprived him of this. He could leave not a trace of you left for the world to remember, but no. That would be worse than the beheadings that haunt his nightly visions. 
The sound of it rushing through you, god, it makes him feel like a mad man. He can’t help but prevent your timid answers in the midst of red hot desire. He pulls his hand out of you, spreading his palm against your healed thighs instead and spreads your legs out wide from under him. 
He’s quick to move down. No kissing, no biting, nothing like what he wants to do. He needs to satiate his desire somehow, and he doesn’t want to waste a single drop of your blood until the time comes. 
And when he pulls your sleep-shorts and panties off of you, he’s immediately licking a languid stripe up your glistening cunt. He remembers how it looked in red, the thought sending his body into overdrive at the taste of you now compared to that night. 
Still so sweet. Almost as good as the blood. Ah, it serves as a reminder that perhaps he can give up the blood after taking it from you. This alone is enough. So creamy, so slippery. 
Yes, yes. A confirmation. It’s you, not just your blood. It’s you he won’t live without. Your mind, your voice, the wet you spill, the cum you’ll let him fuck out of you. 
It’s always you. 
And he hums into it, licking into you as far as his tongue can manage. He braces both hands on your thighs just to spread them further, skewing his head to reach deeper, deeper, fucking deeper. Tasting you, smelling you, utterly obsessed with you. 
All you can do is shoot your hands down, forever waiting to feel his teeth sink into you but only feeling pleasure. So much pleasure. All of his freezing body parts just send consistent shivers up and down your spine. It’s like you can feel him under your skin when he does this, even with his hair tangled in your fingers as if you’re appreciating him for all of it. 
It’s so good. With the way he doesn’t need to breathe. He keeps his tongue in you, and even still you feel as if you don’t need your clit stimulated at all with the way he’s working his mouth so aggressively. And it’s good with the way his fingernails dig into your skin not yet enough to cause blood, unlike before. Good with the way he hums into you through it all, the same way he did when he’d feed on you.
Ah, it’s just, it’s good. It’s dreamy. All of it feels like a fantasy up until he does pull back. 
You look down in time with him looking up, those pretty eyes no longer looming and dark. Still crazed to an extent but you know they’re for you. 
“Sunghoon,” You whisper out, watching him closely with the way his eyes roll back at even hearing his name on your tongue so prettily. “Why aren’t you feeding?” 
You feel his fingernails leave more half moon shapes in your skin at the question. His eyes open in a half-lidded stare at you now, lips falling slack.
He looks so pretty, with the wet coating of his plush and pretty lips, your hands still tangled in his hair. 
He still just looks at you. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink, and doesn’t answer. 
“You’re so quiet now.” You comment, feeling shy with the way he stares at you rather than your open pussy right in front of his mouth. “Say something.”
And within a single blink, his face is right up against yours, one hand still keeping your leg spread open, the other pinching your chin as he continues to stare.
“Let me have you.” 
You hear his words clearly this time, breath caught in your throat up until he kisses it out of you. He breathes you in deeply, trying to drown himself in all that is your life before what he will inevitably do. 
“Let me.” He pleads again, his eyebrows falling as if he’s in genuine pain to say it. 
Your arms reach around his neck, staring at him with so much confirmation in your eyes. You’d let him have anything he wants. Anything. 
And he groans at you, releasing your chin just to reach down to get his length out, appearing as though looking at you like this alone is enough to make him crumble to dust. He’s been aching this whole time too, since before he even left the cathedral. Borderline edging himself from both the pleasure of your body wrapped around him and the pleasure within you that would satiate his hunger just for a moment. 
He misses the feeling of you so badly. The warmth, the slide, the way you cling to him like nothing he could do would scare you. 
Just….one last time, he wants to feel warm. 
And he chases for the heat inside of you, sliding in without breaking eye contact, without waiting, without savoring it. 
It knocks the breath out of you again, forgetting just how cold it is when he settles in deep. So fucking deep. 
You wince in pain before moaning out to him, whispering his name in a drawn out sigh.
“Ah, my love,” He groans at your reaction, his hips immediately moving. “My pretty, pretty, love.”  Your walls hug him so perfectly, taking every inch with just a tiny wince.  “Will you still sound so lovely?”
You don’t understand the question, but you nod to him, wanting nothing more in this moment than to prove your worth to him. To please him. 
Such an insane woman, he thinks. Letting him take you and have you in whatever way he wishes. Whether living or dead, he truly believes every mindless nod you give to him. It’s clear, you’re just as deeply infatuated with him as he is with you.
Both of you would give and take happily, no matter what it is. 
And fuck he can feel your living pulse against him with each fast and torturous thrust, snapping his hips so quickly into you. He can’t help but fuck hard and with purpose. Slamming in and out with echoed slaps and mindless groans. 
Everything that you are could end him in an instant and all you can do is moan out for more. 
Oh, he gives it. Of course he does. He will give you anything. Everything. 
And it only becomes harder to resist when he kisses against your lips again, swallowing each moan of his name, exhaling it back out to you with the sound of your name. A mantra of two people, facing only death together and loving every heart-wrenching second of it. 
The cold within you flourishes with each sound in his throat, you squeeze around him, your legs hug against him, your arms wrap tightly against his neck as he kisses you. Your body can’t withstand the speed of his cock slamming into you for much longer without coming undone.
And he doesn’t stop, seemingly never growing tired. Up until he feels your body clench entirely around him, he clings back at you at the feeling, whispering handsome words and proud promises. 
“Already?” He grunted out first, hearing your blood rush and your muscles tense. “Ah, can hear it rushing through you, let it go, love.” 
And you do, you let it go despite wanting it to last longer. So, so much longer. 
He lends you a choked and inward groan at the way you react to his relentless thrusts, flexing his abs and pointing his cock as deeply into you as he can reach. And for the second time, Sunghoon feels the warmth of you spill over him. Prettier than the blood, your voice so, so, sexy choking out a string of curses just for his ears to adore.
“There you go.” He coos through it with his own groans, savoring every squeeze and squelch, adoring the sounds you make for him. 
And as he watches, he can’t help the feeling inside of him. Your heart is beating so fast through the pleasure only he can offer you, and he keeps doing it. Fucking you through the orgasm only to not stop after the fact either. 
It’ll be the last time he’ll ever feel heat like this on him. He can fuck any and every victim, but none will feel as good as you. Partially because you aren’t being manipulated, he has no hold on your mind right now. You’re not gripping and moaning because you’re in a daze, you’re doing it because you fucking want it.
God, having sex for the sake of sex is something he hasn’t done in a long time before you. Enjoying in the pleasure, fucking suffering through all of it. Truly, for him, if this is the last time your body will be warm, he’s going to take his goddamn time making sure you’re well aware of just how good you could have it if you let him keep you forever. Cold and dead, he’ll still love the feeling of your body.
So much that still, even with your orgasm dripping all over him, he pushes and he pushes. Thinking only of how he plans to drain you in more ways than once tonight. He can hold off for as long as he can with his own pleasure, because this alone is fucking bliss.
And he doesn’t care if he’s knocking the breath out of you, only because he knows that soon enough, you’ll never have to worry about breathing again.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
You’re unsure as to how long Sunghoon has been lying with you like this, but you were able to get a bit of rest against him. Even with your fingers feeling like ice wrapped up in his, you feel safe and at home here. 
Not because you are at home, but because he’s here with you. 
The night outside your window tells you that you’ve not been sleeping for long, but you can barely recall coming to your bedroom at all with him. He must have carried you here and cuddled himself up against you. 
You stir in his grasp, peeking an eye up at him. 
“You’ve rested enough?” Sunghoon smiles at you with saddened eyes, his pupils still blown and hair an absolute mess.  
You shift against him, turning to face him entirely. 
As he looks at you, all he can do is remind himself that he’s never considered fating someone with this curse until finding you. With your pretty jealous words and your intense need to have him take you out of this world all together. Never has he given the chance for another person to know him so deeply and have them react with only fondness and desire. 
This is his chance, isn’t it? To find forever? 
As monstrous as he is, he does still have desire. The feeling of loneliness isn’t meant to be grown accustomed to. For him at least. All of his fellow vampires have companions, and he swore he’d never do that to another person. 
Perhaps it’s because many of the vampires he has mingled with took their companions by force. He could see the disdain in their eyes, and that’s not something he thinks he could live with. But you don’t look at him like that. You slept soundly next to a man wanting to kill you. Actively struggling not to do it with each and every breath you take. 
And oh, since the start of his curse, the need to taste that last famed drop lured him to every meal he’s feasted on up until now. Such a delicious flavor, truly the best sensation running down his throat. To have you offer that last little sip to him? Ah, fuck.
 The feeling in his stomach flutters at the thought of turning someone for the first time. Knowing that someone will be you. Knowing that you wouldn’t be a companion filled with resentment and agony at your new life. 
It’s electrifying. Like his heart could beat again at any second because you truly make him feel like he’s never experienced death at all. Despite being surrounded by it, despite experiencing it himself, despite taking lives daily for thousands of years. 
It’s amazing to him, to love someone so much he’s willing to fate them with eternal thirst, congealed blood, glitter and gold, beautiful and ugly, accidental lures before intentional ones. 
Death.
Vile, cold, damp skin. Safe light of the moon, dust in the sun. The only threat is that of life itself.
Light. Sharp pointed dogwood stakes. Beheadings. 
But…a companion.
The life he could live with you, oh the joy that runs through him is far too beautiful. The forever life. Eternity. Living through it all, far surpassing the roaches and bacteria of this earth. With you. 
So many things you’ve forced him to understand. Loneliness, despair, want, need, envy. It’s been so long since he’s entertained petty mortal feelings, but you forced them into him and out of him. The only need he’s grown accustomed to was hunger and thirst. Never love, or warmth, or want. 
Oh, forever. The two of you could starve after draining every living soul. All it takes is for him to take that last gush of blood from you. 
Without the lure. Without the manipulation. 
Never would he perform the rite without your pleasant voice telling him to. Never would he want to spend eternity with a woman so luring who would want nothing more than to be the blade slicing through the bone in his neck. 
That legendary, utterly delicious, last drop of blood that he’s tasted so many times before. It’s different this time only because the blood isn’t for him and him alone now. He has to share it, and it pains him to know that none would taste quite like yours. 
The hardest part would be controlling his instinct of swallowing it instantly, rendering you dead and unmoving for the eternity he wishes to have you. 
A new feeling. 
Anxiety. 
Your death would be slow, a cold and dreary one, but it wouldn’t be lonely. He’d make sure you feel so good through it. He wouldn’t spill a drop. You’d be clean, avoiding a gruesome death otherwise. 
And time would be against him, because upon taking that last drop, he’d barely be able to savor it before continuing the rite. A final sip that he can’t even swallow. A final sip that must be fed to you. Blood leaving your veins only to slide down into your emptied stomach through dead lips.
There, a final exhale, and then forever inhales. 
You’d look so beautiful dying next to him. He’d hold you through it. 
Is fate so dreary in a moment like that? Where is he feeling something akin to love for the first time in lifetime after lifetime? Is he selfish to need you so badly? 
“You could have it all.” He inhales the words at your drowsy face nearing sleep again. The silence you lended after his last comment kept him in his head, and now he wants out of it. 
He hugs against you so tightly, trying to keep you awake despite knowing he likely fucked you too long and too hard.  Still, he wants to encourage a life with him for you. 
“I can give it all to you.”
You’re silent at his words as you listen to him. You soak them into your sleepy head and smile.
“Sunghoo-”
“I beg of you.” He answers for you, grabbing your face tightly and landing an immediate kiss against your lips. A deep kiss, one that…oh. He’s crying. 
You feel the cold wet hit your cheeks as he kisses. He does it before you can even move your own lips against him, but you do start to kiss him back. Your brows furrow in concern at this new emotion he’s showing to you, but your handles are gentle when you caress his cheeks through it. 
“Die for me.” He whispers through the kiss, trying not to let you pull back at the words. He knows now that you heard them loud and clear.
Oh.
Why is there nothing in this world that you want more?
“It’ll only hurt for a little while.” He tries to make it sound pretty with his soothing whispers, not yet realizing that he hasn’t cried in several centuries. “You’ll come back.”
“Are you asking me to–?” You breathe out for him, once, twice, and then never finish what you were trying to ask simply because he makes himself very clear.
“You can be like me, my love.” 
Your body pulses in fear, but the adrenaline hits you in all the right spots as you break eye contact to cling instead, this time shoving your nose up and against his neck. Wanting nothing more than this dead skin, needing nothing more than a man who wants to kill you. 
But Sunghoon doesn’t want to end you, no. He wants to keep you forever. 
And forever is different with Sunghoon. It’s never ending. 
Are you even prepared to never see an end? With the man whispering so sweetly to you? Absolutely. 
Would a split second decision like this ruin your life forever? What's forever anyway? When you have many lives to ruin and many more to deem a success if you choose to go with him. 
Die. Only to live forever? 
You nod once, then you shake your head. His arms wrap around you tightly at your indecisiveness. He’s content enough just knowing you’re considering it and truly, he’s trying to be patient. Waiting and well aware that the question is likely the hardest decision you’ll ever need to make. 
“I’ll beg again and again.” He whispers, feeling your panicked lips try to calm your breathing against his neck. Still, you’re clinging to him tightly and it makes him feel…happy. “I cannot fathom a death for you that’s not this. Forever gone from me.” 
You shake your head again, but then…you nod. 
“Will it hurt?” You ask, feeling your heart rate threaten to kill you before Sunghoon even gets the chance himself. 
“Tremendously.” He chuckles at the ignorance, though even he barely remembers the pain himself these days.
 “Only for a little while, darling. I told you.” He licks his lips, anticipating the blood running through you to run through him soon. The hunger is almost overcoming him now and if you don’t agree, he very well may end up killing you regardless.
And the thought pains him. 
If there was ever a time to hold himself back, it’s now.
“Don’t die without me here with you. Now or ever.” He continues in a sweet voice, trying to control the wavering breaks his throat is trying to force out of him. 
“Can I…” You stop yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can I have a minute to think?” 
“Oh course,” He smiles to hide his frustration, pulling you back by your shoulders and sitting himself up against your bed. “But, the sun rises in three hours, and that’s three hours of fighting my urge to do it without your confirmation.”
You pause, finding comfort in the fact that he’s willing to suffer through your inevitable acceptance. There’s no way you’ll end up saying no to him, only because of how badly it hurt when you walked away from him. It rotted within you for weeks, and even when you thought you were better…all he had to do was stand outside your door to have you running to be in his arms.
What’s a bad decision when you could have lifetimes to make up for it? Even if said decision is what gives you those lifetimes. He’s asking for you to stay with him. To be with him. Isn’t that what you want?
But to die…
And you only cling to him through the fear, hoping he can save you from what he’s offering. He’s the comfort and the ultimate end. 
Or, perhaps, the ultimate beginning.
You’re not sure. You only found out vampires are real like two months ago. It’s not exactly something you can comprehend so quickly, but it is something you know you want more than anything if it means you can be next to Sunghoon. 
“Will it ease your fear if I talk about what it’s like to be me?” Sunghoon offers both a reason to give you insight, as well as distract his own mind during this moment of distress.
You nod immediately, hugging yourself so tightly to his side and trying to keep your nose up and against him simply because that brings you the most comfort. Smelling the faint cinnamon, feeling him against you. 
“I’m the first of my family to reside here, but I’ve been here for thirty years. Commoners aren’t aware as I try to remain hidden save for when I need to hunt.” He starts, continuing after hearing the way your heart calms. “But, city officials know very well who I am, and where I come from.” 
You listen, trying to take in his words as truth rather than fantasy. 
“I was born in seventeen thirty eight, overseas. Every few hundred years I’ll relocate simply because it becomes boring watching the same country grow and be destroyed. I ran from many wars, have lived many lives.” 
Oh. Okay.
“I know every language. I’ve lived every life you can imagine, worked every job you can think of to rid myself of boredom.” 
“So you weren’t always pretending to be a priest?” You try to make light of the fear within you, almost, somehow, wanting to snort at his choice of current lifestyle. 
“Ah, no.” He chuckles for you, rolling his eyes at how you mock him in the face of your own death. “I was a banker before this, I despised it. Only lasted about seven years before relocating here.”
A pause, you hear him chuckle. 
“I really despise numbers.”
In the calmness of his voice, within his gentle grasp, you feel comfortable. 
“Did you come for the cathedral?” 
He nods, holding you against him even tighter.
“History is protected, whether it be land, buildings, or people. It felt fitting to be a priest if I was to stumble inside parading as a drunken man needing a place to stay.” 
“How did you become, uh, what did she call you? Master?”
“Ah,” Another scoffed chuckle at your ignorance. “Did you believe them to be alive?” 
You freeze, body stiffening at the shock. They were fucking dead?! This whole time?!
“I slept in a cathedral full of fucking vampires?!” 
“You did.” He smiles. “But they are very well aware of what’s mine.”
He loves the way your face looks when you process words. He is more aware than you think of how insane all of this must sound to you. Yet, still, he has never truly lied to you. 
“They needed an order, so I brought that order. Thus, Master.” He smiles as he motions towards himself with you still in his grasp, as if he’s playfully boasting his own intelligence over the vampire-nuns. 
You pull back to look at him, feeling a bit calmer now in the way he describes countless lives and knowledge. You can’t experience any of that with the life you have right now. In fifty to sixty years you’ll be in an urn on your mother’s fireplace. 
Why would you want that when you could be in a bed with silk sheets? Or perhaps by then you’ll be able to travel elsewhere with Sunghoon, finding new beds with even softer sheets.
And only now do you realize that Sunghoon didn’t put you in danger at all. In fact, he knew he was dangerous and forced you to live. Even when you asked him to kill you. He…
Oh. Wow.
“Now, what is it, you think, that made you so special in regards to that woman you found me with? What is it, love? What do you believe kept me from ending your life to sustain my own?” And goddamn does it feel good to finally say it. Sunghoon loves the feeling of the words coming out of his mouth, finally spilling it all to you and seeing you only react with cheeky curiosity. 
“Why is that? Can you tell me?”
You’re silent as you think of his questions, unable to answer at all.  
“No…” You breathe out, knowing he can feel the hot breath against him only because his hand squeezes your waist. 
“I suppose after how long I’ve wandered this earth, even I am left with curiosities and questions too.” He smiles when he says it, thankful to know he hasn’t yet experienced everything there is. “I’d like to know why you have this hold on me too, darling.”
“Maybe it’s because I want it?” 
“Perhaps, yes. If you didn’t I likely would have savored every ounce of you already and for that, I should be thankful.” 
He shifts now, pressing you down against your bed and hovering over you with dark and sparkling eyes. His lips immediately go to your neck with the hunger he feels. Talking isn’t enough anymore. Holding you isn’t enough. He hasn’t eaten in days, and the fact that he could hold off even until now is strange to him. 
“Unlike many, you do not seek death–” He drags his lips against your skin, relishing in it. “You exist alongside it happily, you welcome it.” He continues to talk, his teeth now retracting against your skin and leaving little swollen scratches with each drag. “Perhaps had I not chosen to be a priest during this lifetime, you’d have already said yes.” 
“A singer? A dancer? Anything you wish for, I’ll become.” He smiles when he feels the goosebumps plump up under his teeth, and it’s so, so, hard not to bite. “So, won’t you stay? “
He listens so closely to your heart and breathing, nearly moaning at the need for it. 
“Watching you wither to death by anything other than my own teeth would surely have me seekinga dogwood.” 
Ah, so the fantasy movies and novels aren’t all wrong? So strange, truly, that he lives in a cathedral of crosses made from the very wood that could kill him. 
“We could be anything, go anywhere, dine on meals you merely taste but never need.”
He nods his head against your skin, hoping you’ll nod along with him, knowing that you will. 
“You could be mine, forever.” 
You’ve accepted him already, you just haven’t said so yet. He doesn’t mind sweet talking you though, reminding you of everything he can and will provide.
And to you, every single word he mutters is pretty, and everything you could ever need or want is right here. 
“I could be yours, forever.”
“I think–” You breathe out, hands now reaching up to scratch through his hair. “there is nothing I could want more than this.”
And the moment he gets that final word of confirmation out to you, he bites. The words you mutter drive him to it. He couldn’t even kiss you in appreciation simply because his instinct takes over. He lets go. 
Finally, he can let go. 
The need to control himself is no longer here, and it feels astounding. 
The sting is deep and it rings within you so loudly that you could hear the puncture vibrate your brain. Your ears burn at the direct puncture, and already you can feel his hands bracing you through it. As if he knows he’s never bitten you so deep in your pulse point like this. 
But the intention behind it somehow feels better than anything you’ve ever experienced. This is what you were jealous of and now you can only agree with your past self. There was good reason to be jealous of feeling this from him. Except, unlike that woman, he’s holding you through it. He’s grunting against your neck and swallowing large portions of your blood as the seconds pass. Losing himself with you. Almost as if he’s dying with you.
And he drinks, and drinks, and drinks, to the point your toes are feeling the sleep overtake them, then your legs, all the way up and down your body until your fingers are too weak to keep gripping against the locks of hair on the back of his neck.
You feel his fingers soothe you through the weakness when he pulls back, keeping his promise of not wasting a single drop. There is no blood smeared on him, only a trace of it on his inner lips as he watches your weakened expressions. 
He isn’t intentionally draining you so quickly, but…fuck. The blood. That glorious scent and taste was already too much to bear, but now? Knowing he gets all of it save for the best and final sip? He genuinely can’t help it. Controlling himself now after how long he’s held back? 
Darling, you asked for this. 
And his body reacts in aroused euphoria. Already he feels an orgasm bubble up just witnessing you die for him. Even then, he barely feels the heightened pleasure because the mind, dead or not, simply cannot comprehend the pure potent pleasure he’s experiencing.
He spills out all over himself, while you spill out for him. Your life, your very being. 
How can he not be terribly, horrifyingly, utterly stupendously in love with you? 
“My love, the light in your eyes will come back soon.” He smiles as he watches what happens to you through this, and then throws his head back in manic pleasure with a deep and animalistic moan. Arguably, even his eyes hold more life than yours right now. 
So, so beautiful. 
You’re too weak to speak, but you shake your head. Nothing is a pain to lose, nothing except him. 
And you find comfort in the way he sinks his teeth right back into those puncture marks. Sucking more and more out of you with a content smile on his face. He doesn’t think he could ever feel happier, knowing you’re giving him everything, and he wants nothing more than to return the favor to you.
Oh, how he wishes it were you sucking the life out of his veins. You’d be so gentle, you’d look so pretty losing your mind like he is right now. 
You continue to feel your body grow numb, up to the point that your heart rate slows at the loss of blood. To the point you can tell he’s sucking harder and harder just to get more. You feel a weight shift inside of your body, it writhes and chokes every inch of your innards. 
Shrivelling, spiraling, cramping. 
If you could curl in on yourself right now, you would, but you’re too weak even for that. You can’t even twitch a finger against Sunghoon at this moment as you feel everything within you dehydrate and search for life. 
It hurts. 
Badly. So badly that at this moment, you can’t remember a single thing that has ever felt good. In fact, everything is painful. Life is painful and horrifyingly full of things that will hurt you. But–Sunghoon is here. That much, you still recognize. Even through the pain, and even through the twisting inside of you, he remains constant. He’s soothing you through it well past the comprehension of your dying brain. 
You can’t shiver at the loss of warmth, but you do try to take a breath. Working your weak body to near exhaustion just at the act of trying to expand your lungs. And oh, you can’t even open your eyes at the way the last breath doesn’t come. You must have lost it already. 
And then, darkness. 
Nothing. 
And it feels like this for an eternity. Nothing to see, nothing to feel, nothing to fear or love. 
Absolutely fucking nothing. And to think humanity has built governments off promised afterlifes? To think anything ever mattered in the first place? The emptiness soothes and relieves your still working soul, wisping in the darkness for eternities more it seems. 
To the point names and faces leave you, and all you can think, feel, or hear is that of unfilled space and pure, deafening, silence. You cannot feel content, or peace, or happiness here. You just feel nothing. And it truly feels good to be nothing. 
Until there's warmth. You feel it somewhere hugging you, or perhaps inside of you? Do you even have a body to hold warmth now within this vast void of darkness? Why do you hear…?
Feelings come back to you tenfold. Seemingly experiencing everything you’ve ever felt and lived through all at once. That deafening silence becomes louder, louder, louder, until– it flourishes in the pit of your belly.
So much chaos within you. Swirling and bubbling in such a way that it fucking blooms in this darkness. You feel like you’re burning, freezing, dying, living, fucking drowning all at once. 
That flourish forces the nothingness out of you. As comfortable as this place is, there is nothing and you want something. You need something. You crave…something.
A little dribble running down your throat leaving a trail of warm, blooming heat. As if you just swallowed a sun-ray itself. Only now can you feel your body again enough to know where the heat is coming from. It blossoms within you, increasing each sense within your body tenfold. 
It doesn’t hurt. 
Only now do you recognize that it’s silent again, as if you were slammed into a wall by the force of the god you now know does not exist. You feel yourself restrict under skin, you feel cold, you feel…heavy. 
And the silence is still too loud to be so restricted. You miss the sounds of what you must have unintentionally listened to every waking moment of your life. The only true soundtrack of a living, loving, and heat-radiating being. 
No heart-beat. No whirring of blood. No rumbling in your stomach. Nothing.
And yet still, it doesn’t hurt. 
Just a bouquet in the pits in your belly. Your precious life, all summed up in that single diluted sip of blood. 
And somehow, someway, you regain your strength faster than it took for you to lose it. You open your eyes on instinct and the world is glowing. Sunghoon is glowing. As lifeless as you are, and as empty as your brain is at this moment, you reach out to him immediately.
But he has yet to let go of you since all of this started. He stayed. He held you, just like he said he would. 
“Did it hurt badly?” Sunghoon calls out to you, helping your mind awaken again. 
He barely remembers the pain he went through when it happened to him. Truly, pain is so temporary, so meaningless to indulge but, the curiosity still sits with him. 
After watching you for upwards of two hours to both die and come back to life, he can’t help but wonder if it was anything like what he experienced. 
Even with that curiosity though, seeing you open your eyes for the first time in your new life fills Sunghoon with overwhelming glee. To the point he feels like a child, wanting to ask so many questions, thoughts shifting from this, to that, up until all his thoughts run together and all he can do is squeeze you in his grasp. 
He’d have pulled down the stars if he could just so it could be your first view of the afterlife with him. But alas, he couldn’t step away even for a moment. He needed to be with you, not just for your sake, but his own. 
You’re cold now, but oh, the blood within him could satiate him for hundreds of years. It’s gone from you now, and he fears not missing it. Not when you’re here. Not when you chose to be here with him. 
You weakly nod to him, amazed at being able to do it again. Already the pain you’d previously felt feels like a long lost memory as you stare back at him. 
“I’m sorry.” He smiles through the apology, unable to pretend he means the words at all. “I didn’t intend to drain you so quickly. My poor love, you must have felt miserable.” 
You nod again, feeling him so tightly against you.
Only just realizing that he’s holding you. Your body, it’s coming back to you. You can feel sensations again. 
“I feel–” Your voice cracks with a dry throat and you inhale.
On instinct, you try to exhale but your throat just gets drier and drier. 
“I–”
Sunghoon coos, shushing you with a gentle kiss. Lending you his own saliva because if there’s one thing he can remember, it’s the act of learning how to…not breathe. 
“Slowly, love, slowly.” He smiles when he pulls back, watching you swallow around his gift and instantly droop your eyes again. 
“You’ve only just died and you have all the time in this world to speak, no need to do it now.” 
And he’s right. You’re spinning, yet balanced. Fuzzy yet smooth. You are everything and nothing at this moment with your glowing after-death aroma. Sunghoon smiles, cradling the back of your head. 
Finally, he’s gotten to drink you in full. No true death, and he feels more elated than he ever expected. Almost lulled to sleep at the scent of you disappearing. Never will he taste your blood again, but you. He has you now. Knowing you had a taste at all is enough. Knowing that he has broken for you enough to beg you.
To beg you to die for him just to be with him on a level deeper than thirst. 
Never once has he wanted someone like this.
And never once had he expected you to agree with him. 
The moment is sweet with him, and still you’ve yet to comprehend the truth reality of your life now. You know at least, that it could take longer than you’d have had previously to figure it out. You did this to be with someone, and that someone is right here next to you. Smiling, clinging, seemingly ecstatic to know he’s no longer alone. 
A forever companion, truly this time. 
And as sweet as the moment is, time still moves even after becoming ageless. 
“The sun will rise soon,” Sunghoon hums at your reluctant gaze at the window. “Shall we go home?”
You would nod. Truly, you would, if it weren’t for that suffocating scent entering your nose. 
Roses? No, tulips?
Lavender? 
Your belly pangs, a dry and itchy feeling overtaking your entire being. To the point that Sunghoon clinging to you can’t even calm the itch. The world stops at the scent, so strong and sweet. 
Sunghoon smells it too though, and he knows. He’s experienced it time and time again, though he’s long since learned how to control it, clearly. He purses his lips in frustration. You’ve only just come back, and he’d very much like to get you home with him so that you can learn and grow accustomed to this life. You need to realize that you haven’t even experienced the hardest part yet. 
Disappearing. 
After all, his intention was to hunt for you, teach you, comfort you. There’s so much to do now that the deed is done, and he hadn’t prepared for interruptions such as this.
Unfortunately, he knows very well the thirst. You won’t be able to control it, especially considering he knows this scent too. He has to force himself to try and lend you alluring words, but they seem to go through one ear and out the other. 
Your brain is empty at the scent. 
“Ah, what a turn of events.” He tics his tongue with a smile. “I smell him too.”
Your eyes do not reach Sunghoon at all, but he understands. Even with the jealousy in his gut. 
A key clicking into a lock, a turn of the knob. The sound is amplified in your ears along with the scent. 
“Wake up and help me unload all this shit!” 
Oh, what a shame. 
You really loved Jungwon. 
“Can you smell it flowing through him?” Sunghoon smiles at the light in your eye now, endeared by the way scent ignites you entirely. As envious of Jungwon as he is to hold certain parts of you when he couldn’t do it himself, seeing the way you react arouses him beyond belief. 
Your first feeling of thirst. 
“Shall I greet him?” 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Jungwon peers at the stoic figure that appeared from your bedroom. His first thought is that he’s going to kick your fucking ass because number one, this better not be who he thinks it is. And number two–
There is no number two. A mere three seconds after stepping into his new home with you, his mind goes fuzzy. Thinking only of you, of needing to see you, of needing to make sure you’re okay. 
He wants to know if you slept well, and if you were able to have any sweet dreams without him here. 
“Jungwon, I take it?” Sunghoon lends him a lively smile, impressed by the pull you unintentionally lay on the guy. 
“Ah, yeah.” Jungwon weakly scratches the back of his neck before feeling his body move on its own. “Where is she? I need to see her.” 
It’s a pity, really, but Sunghoon has seen it time and time again with his own victims. A weak mind, one that is easily broken and even easier to lure. It’s kind of cute really, seeing how breathing humans cling to what balances them. 
He almost feels bad for taking you from Jungwon, but he doesn't only because he hates that he has to see you drink from someone you were attached to. He knows it’ll hurt you when you realize, and he no longer wants to see you hurt after witnessing your death.
As beautiful as it was. 
Jungwon truly chases you, stepping through the apartment and dropping everything in his hands without care. He heads straight to your room, swallowed in a somber smile and a welcome scent. One that he doesn’t know is death.
“Wonnie.” You rasp sweetly. “Come here.” 
There’s no reluctance within him, even upon hearing Sunghoon close the door behind him and lock it. Even when the man looms at the door, watching, narrowing his eyes at you in jealousy. 
You ignore it as you grow enamored with Jungwon at this moment. Is this what his life smells like? So pretty, it truly fits him. 
And it drowns out all of your thoughts. The flowers, like a fresh spring day with no worry. You think it’s your favorite smell in the world as you inhale him with each step he takes toward you. 
For Jungwon, even upon feeling you grip his shirt, pulling him closer than he’s ever been to you without the excuse of comfort, he pays no mind. He missed this bubble he shared with you, the single night with his sister almost felt like agony to be away from you.
After all, the love he holds for you is truly deeper than romance. There is no need for any physicality between the two of you, yet…he welcomes it at this moment. In fact, he’s entirely aroused, stiffening in his pants at the sheer blissful anxiety your uncanny smile and shining eyes lend to him. 
Did you truly miss him so much? 
“You look so pretty…” He trails off, closing his eyes as he feels you caress his warm cheeks. “Your hands are so cold, let me—ah” 
You’ve never felt an instinct quite like this. You could truly hear it, the pulse of his heart. You can still smell his sweet scent, and you truly weren’t in control of your own body when you gripped him, lifted, and sank your teeth right against his pulse point. 
Jungwon moans at the bite, drifting off entirely at first contact. 
All while Sunghoon continues to loom. Watching with weight in his pants. The way you bite so messily, spilling blood and wasting it as it trickles down Jungwon’s throat. The small sounds your mouth makes as you suck has him throbbing non-stop, to the point he almost needs to hold onto something just to keep from jumping on you, just to keep from tasting Jungwon himself.
And, oh, his pretty love, you have so much to adapt to. 
It appears he does as well. 
As he watches the furrow of your brows at the first taste falling to that of relief and pleasure as you drink, and you drink, and you drink, until–
Sunghoon smirks now, quirking his brow at how you stop yourself before he needs to step in and separate the two of you. In all honesty, he was unsure if he’d be able to give in and stop you either. After all, killing Jungwon now would prove easier than letting him live.
The fact that you stopped yourself though. Perhaps your mind grew more stubborn and strong-willed through death. He nearly cannot believe that you aren’t draining the man dry right now. 
And you aren’t even sure yourself why you do. The feeling in your gut is full and satiated, but the grip Jungwon has on you only grows more and more limp. You love the way he clings as much as the taste, and even through his slumber, he clinged so tight. 
Not so much now though, and that scared you. So, you let go. 
If only because truly, you do love Jungwon. Enough to no longer pull him into your messes despite forcing him to become one at this moment. What’s even more scary is though, even with all of the endearment you held towards him in life, the feeling is only amplified now. These new bitter and floral scents pulsing through him makes you want to protect him from any leech wanting to drink it out of him.
Even if you’re the leech. 
Ah, he tasted like honey suckle, and it dropped down your throat like honey too. Warm, gentle, pretty. Just like him. 
And you have to continue to keep yourself from sinking your teeth into him. Your stomach is greedy, wanting more, but too in love with the life he has and willingly wanted to share with you as a best friend and forever comfort. 
Forever for Jungwon is nothing but a moment to you now, but it’s one you hope he enjoys, at least. 
And when you hold him against you, so weak and sound asleep, you look at Sunghoon. The tears fall so, so, cold against your cheeks. The heightened senses within you become overwhelming with the horrifying silence and intense smell of floral blood wafting through your nose. 
“Much like you, he won’t remember. You lured him deeply, love, did you know that? He was asleep from the moment he saw you.” 
You pause, nodding as the tears continue to fall. 
“Brilliant.” He compliments now, moving to hold you as you cling to Jungwon. 
“Sunghoon, did my blood taste like that?” 
Sunghoon kisses you once, sucking Jungwon’s blood from your tongue. 
“Ah,” He chokes. “Absolutely not.”
You pause at his scrunched nose. 
“You were much sweeter.” He whispers sweetly, fondly, tilting his head to kiss against you again, licking the mess of Jungwon’s blood from your lips, chin, and neck. Still, he chokes it down. “I’ll miss it.”
“What did it taste like?” Your weak and dry voice falters repeatedly, but you need to speak right now.
“You tell me.” 
You only slightly remember the flavor as you were brought back. Warm, blooming, spicy, sickeningly sweet. 
“I have never tasted anything compared to it…” 
“Exactly.” Sunghoon smiles, inhaling deeply and lending no breath against your skin when he scrapes his teeth there. “Like the sun.” He hums, nosing down to your neck and inhaling again, arms only slightly trying to push Jungwon out of your grasp. “Like the one thing that could get me killed.” 
You cling tightly to your best friend though, not wanting any more harm to come to him. Still, you stare at Sunghoon’s sweet words, finding yourself smiling at all that is to be gained rather than lost. 
Your life. The light outside, the light in your eyes, the warmth. 
Not Jungwon though. 
“You don’t intend to leave him be, no?” Sunghoon furrows a brow at how your face rises for him, but falls instantly at inhaling Jungwon’s blood. 
You frantically shake your head. 
“We’ll figure something out, love.” He says now, looking away from you and doing his best to ignore the envy that fills him time and time again when this floral-boy is near. 
He told you he’d do anything for you, give anything to you. 
If that includes Jungwon….
Ah, always so fucking stubborn. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The sun rises and falls. 
Repeatedly, for months. 
Jungwon wakes himself with the warm sun hitting his face, the bed just as warm from his own body heat. He loves this space, and adores the way that even if it’s only him, he never feels lonely with that pretty smell in the air. 
Every morning when he wakes up, and every night before he goes to bed.
The shock of learning the inevitable still hurts him from time to time, but still, he smiles with that dimple you threatened you’d steal right off his face if he chose not to show it to you. 
His hand reaches to his neck, the single wound you gave him and apologized profusely for after. It’s healed well.
And when his phone vibrates in the middle of the day, he wonders why you’re awake. 
You: wonnie
Wonnie: wat
You: come over
Wonnie: was wondering why you were trying so hard. nearly suffocated this morning. 
You: and you were fighting it? asshole
Wonnie: be over in a few, stinky
And as strange as it is, Sunghoon doesn’t mind that you wouldn’t let Jungwon go. After several conversations needing reassurance that you’re not trying to spend your forever elsewhere, anyway.
Really, to think you’d die for him but want someone else? Sunghoon truly is insane, but so are you. 
And it works. 
Because Jungwon loves insanity, even if he hates Sunghoon with a passion. Even if he can only see you with Sunghoon in the room too. Even if you’re dead. 
You’re still his best friend, and he doesn’t mind helping you disappear as long as it’s not from him. 
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
not me accidentally making this a sunghoon ft.jungwon fic. 
let me make this incredibly clear. jungwon are reader are not romantically in love, though they do love each other deeply. in a way where finding out one of them is a goddamn vampire doesn’t change a single thing or feeling. 
remember that this is fiction, it isn’t meant to be realistic.
pls do not rant at me about how much jungwon is in this fic either. i wrote it that way on purpose. if you don’t love best friend jungwon then im very sorry for you and hope you get well soon!!! 
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here4kpopfics · 2 years
Note
Kelly, my love! Congrats on 200 followers! Here's a prompt for you and challenge, pairing is reader x Namjoon 😘 let's make it soft and fluffy. 💖
Person A finds out Person B's wallpaper is a photo of both of them.
This took a turn. SORRY. Also thank you Jess ily 💜
Pairing: Namjoon x reader and platonic yoongi x reader
Genre: Fluff. Humor/Comedy?
AU: Established relationship
Wordcount: 2292
Summary: You can't find your phone so you borrow your boyfriend's and find a picture that you didn't know existed that drags you down memory lane. 
Warnings: None really. Reader doesn't appreciate art as much as Namjoon. Yoongi's a secret soft boy. Language.
Rating: PG13
AN: This took a turn. I can't write short things anymore. I'm sorry. This is essentially a step by step walk through that I did at the Met earlier this year just without the boyfriend. and had the same reaction to the pieces reader does. I just miss New York. Enjoy! No beta readers. I kinda edit as I go so no final edits Hope you enjoy! It's finally not Jungkook!💜
Masterlist
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“Fuck where did I put you, you stupid expensive piece of metal and plastic?” Sighing in defeat you head to your room and knock on the door to your bathroom where your boyfriend who was just out of the shower.
“Joonie, can I call my phone with yours?“ You think of a weird place in your room and rush over to it. “I can’t find it. I know I left it…somewhere…in the house. I think…” you trail off, turning around in your spot trying to retrace your steps. You’re mid spin when the door opens and your boyfriend leans against the doorframe, arms crossed across his chest. 
“You’re going to make yourself sick.” You stop spinning and look at him. Taking a second to admire the lack of clothing, save pajama pants hanging a smidge too low on his hips.
“Damn.” Is all you can say. 
“Thank you, I think? Why do you need my phone again?” He hands you his phone anyway and you grab it, still admiring your view. 
Oh right. The phone. Your very important phone. “I need to call my phone. I can’t find it.” You quietly admit as you open the phone and are greeted with his lock screen wallpaper. A photo of you and him that you’ve never seen before. “What’s this?” Turning his phone to face him. “When did we take this? That is me right?” You bring the phone back to your face to confirm it’s you and not some random woman standing with your boyfriend’s arms wrapped around them admiring your favorite art piece at the Met. 
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“Alright, where do we want to start?” Your tour guide asks as Namjoon lightly tugs your arm, pulling you back to him as you’re walking forward without looking up, almost running into a group of children. You’re bubbling with excitement, looking over the map. You love the Met. You came once as a kid on vacation to New York with your family and you were in such awe of everything around you, especially the statues and the relics from the past. While the exhibits changed over the decades, you felt the nostalgia all the same. 
“I think it’d be cool to start straight away with Modern and Contemporary art. Then we can go from there.” Namjoon sounds so casual about his excitement. Like this was just something he did every day. And it basically was at times. When he had time off, if there was a museum to see, he’d go - no questions asked. It was a little irritating but you understood he had his passions just like you did. You both enjoy art, but completely different styles. Which is why you now have a small pout plastered on your face. “What’s wrong, y/n?” 
“Nothing.” You sigh, playing with the corner pieces of the map. “Every time we go to a museum we go straight for modern and contemporary.” you mutter quietly, accepting that this was how it was going to go.
“Where would you like to go, miss? Any particular piece that you want to see?” The tour guide asks and you nearly curl in on yourself. You know your boyfriend didn’t hear you, he’s too tall to hear your mutters sometimes. You didn’t take into account the people around you. You perk your head up, avoiding the look of confusion on your Namjoon’s face. Glancing between the map and the tour guide, you try to come up with something that will make everyone happy when a deeper, bored sounding voice sounds next to you. 
“She promised me there was something about musical instruments.” You look up at Yoongi, silently thanking him. You did promise him. Museum dates with Namjoon were great and all, but at times it felt like he was dating the art and you were the third wheel, forced to take photos for his instagram and follow him around looking at art you felt like you were too stupid to understand. So you begged all of the members to come with. Jin said absolutely not. Hobi was going to go shopping in SoHo with Jimin. Tae had some fancy model shoot you didn’t bother asking about. And Jungkook was going to work out all day. You had to bribe Yoongi, going on about the antique musical instruments and the promise of food and caffeine. 
Yoongi nods, stuffing one hand in his jacket pockets, leaning over your shoulder to point at the map with the other, outlining a path. “So, what if we start there, I’ll get my fix of this place out of the way, and then we can go through the early European paintings, through the modern and contemporary, back through the recent European art and sculptures, then Greek and Roman art and sculptures, all the way across to Asian art, down to Egyptian art, and then we let y/n have her fun in the arms and armor, medieval art, and the european sculptures and decorative arts. If we want, we can take a look at the American wing and the temporary exhibits after lunch.” 
You, Namjoon, and even the tour guide gawk at Yoongi and you smile, looking up at Namjoon who just slowly nods. “Yeah that sounds like a plan.” 
“Then shall we go?” The tour guide gestures toward the staircase to the music section and Yoongi follows behind, while Namjoon intertwines his fingers with yours, pulling them to his lips and giving them a kiss before leaning down to whisper to you.
“Is there a reason why hyung decided to come with us?” You shake your head and smile.
“Nope. He’s just been living and breathing work, convinced him to come and see someone else’s art for a bit instead of his own. And antique musical instruments are cool.” He kisses the top of your head before whispering ‘okay’ and you pull him with you to catch up to the others. 
You follow Yoongi’s suggested path exactly the way he offered, and it’s the perfect path, honestly. All three of you enjoy the different instruments. Namjoon goes from piece to piece, admiring each one individually and discussing them with the tour guide while you and Yoongi go back and forth from room to room pointing at different instruments, trying to guess what it does, the country it came from, and a very broad guess of the century. You tried to keep your voices down, allowing Namjoon to do his thing, but Yoongi has a warped sense of humor that just clicks with you. So every now and again, one of you will accidentally let out a laugh that is much too audible, causing Namjoon and the tour guide to look at you like you were insane.
You made your way through the planned route. Namjoon was a child in a toy store in the modern and contemporary area. You were the same with the sculptures. Finally, you entered the Asian Art exhibit. This time you and Yoongi actually looked at the art and stayed quiet. You slipped your hand into Namjoon’s as you entered, greeted by a giant mural, about 25 feet tall and double in width, of the Buddha of Medicine Bhaishajyaguru. All three of you looked up in admiration. You mindlessly pulled Namjoon with you so you could get a better look at the details. The tour guide started rattling off the information that was on the plaque card in front of you. You could’ve just read it, but that would mean looking away from it. It’s from 1319, the Yuan dynasty. The canvas is made from clay and straw. Fact after fact, you barely listened. It wasn’t until Namjoon tugged on your hand that you finally looked away and at him. “Are you okay?” he quietly whispers, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. You just nod and smile, oddly feeling emotional.
“I think I get it now.” you whisper back, perking up a bit more.
“Get what?” his head tilts to the side, but he’s holding back a smile.
“I don’t understand modern stuff. I wish I did, baby. I’m sorry. But this? This I get. This is the past. This made it through centuries and is still here today. Look at it. It’s still in relatively amazing condition.” You’re rambling now and neither of you care. He lets you, leading you further into the exhibit, a giant grin on his face, forcing your favorite dimples to be put on display. You travel through the rooms, joining him in going from piece to piece like he’s been doing the entire time, and gasping at every relic you come across. You audibly gasp when you enter a room with only a few pieces, but they were magnificently huge statues of various buddhas. There was a woman in the room sitting on one of the benches. She had a giant drawing pad on her lap and was focusing on one specific statue. As much as you wanted to look into them further, you pulled Namjoon and Yoongi out of the room, the guide following suit, so she could concentrate in peace. 
The next room you were taken to was the Korean Art room. Yoongi wandered off to a random piece. You and Namjoon start at the one closest to the door. You stick to this path for a bit until you turn your head to make sure Yoongi doesn't stray too far. But your eyes stop looking when you land on it. You drop Namjoon’s hand from yours and walk away, beelining straight to it. It’s gorgeous. Black with white splattering, yellows, and blues with a hint of red swirling around in the bottom right where it looks like cement underneath. It’s breathtaking.
You’re lost staring at it for who knows how long. You don’t even notice Namjoon wrapping his arms around your waist, prompting you to subconsciously stand on your tippy toes so he can place his head on your shoulder without having to bend down awkwardly. His feet shuffle underneath yours so you can rest them against his while maintaining the extra height. “Something caught your eye, baby?” he asks in a slightly teasing tone. You still don’t respond, eyes following the yellow and blue swirls. So he whispers the plaque card to you before the tour guide can make his way to the both of you. You smile, tears forming in your eyes as you keep staring at it. Your hands made their way to his arms and gave them a gentle squeeze. 
“Why am I about to cry?” you whisper, laughing softly.
“Mmm, because you’re feeling the art, jagi. You’re not judging the way it was made or figuring out why it is the way it is. You’re feeling the emotion that was put into it. You get it now? Not like before with the mural. But like really get it?” You nod, hand leaving his arm to try to prevent the tears while chuckling under your breath. 
“Yeah. I get it. I love this. I’d hang this up in my apartment…”
“I’ll see if I can get it for you.” Your face turns so fast, thinking he was serious. But instead, you’re met with his big silly grin and those perfect dimples. “I’m kidding. I would if I could, jagi.” You huff, slumping against him as he stands up straight, letting your feet go back down to your normal stance. You rest the back of your head against his chest and sigh. He just chuckles, kissing your head and you both continue to admire the art piece until Yoongi finally reappears, asking if you could do lunch now instead of later. 
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“So who took this photo?” you’re still looking at it, while remembering what it felt like at that moment to finally understand what your boyfriend would drone on and on about. 
“Yoongi did.” He states, grabbing the phone back from you and sitting on your bed, pulling you onto his lap. “He took a bunch that day. He sent them all to me when I had to leave you the next day. See?” He finds an album marked MetDate and starts scrolling through them. There’s you looking at a gothic organ. Namjoon in his signature “looking at art” pose. You and Namjoon holding hands through the Greek statues. An adorable selfie of Yoongi smiling his gummy smile while you two are whispering to one another looking all cutesy in the background. He got the moment when you two stood in front of the Buddha of Medicine Bhaishajyaguru mural and the one that is now his wallpaper. Namjoon with his arms around your waist staring at the only contemporary piece to make you cry.  You smile, scrolling through them again.
“Who knew Yoongi was a big softie?” Namjoon tightens his arms around you, kissing your cheek. 
“It’s a secret. Don’t tell.”
“I won’t. I want all these photos though. Send them to me. Please?”
“First we need to find your phone, jagi.” You gasp, jumping off his lap.
“Right! The stupid phone! Right right right. Call it please. I’ll go stand in the living room and see if I hear it.” You bolt into the living room and wait for the ring. After a few tries and in different rooms, you finally find it in the pantry next to your cereal. How did it get there? No clue. But the second you found it and did a happy dance, you ran back to your boyfriend now laying on the bed. You jumped onto the bed, curling up into his side and demanded he send you the photos so you could change your wallpaper too. 
You also send a text to Yoongi just saying thank you and you appreciate him with no context. His response? “Ew.”
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*The art mentioned:
Buddha of Medicine Bhaishajyaguru (Yaoshi fo)
(another angle so you can see the size of it)
The room of varying Buddahs
Perdu X (Sadly no longer on display)
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rivetgoth · 2 months
Text
One of the most notable recent examples of why I love modern art came from seeing the piece “Privatization” by Carolyn Lazard at the Museum of Contemporary Art a few weeks ago.
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This picture doesn’t capture the haphazardness of the placement. You walk into one of the gallery rooms, and there are 3 air purifiers scattered about the corners of the room, seemingly at random. This strikes you as a little odd and you kind of note it in the back of your head because it’s the only room in the museum to have air purifiers. You kinda think, “Maybe they had a ventilation problem?“ and may very well move on.
Unless you notice that there’s actually a label on the wall with a short blurb, and you see the words “MEDIUM: HEPA filter purified air,” and you realize that these air purifiers ARE an art piece.
The piece was on living with chronic illness, and it was presented in such a way in order to bring awareness to the subtleties of the things that someone who lives with chronic illness or disability has to be aware of that those who do not… do not. I was so fascinated by the way this piece made use of the gallery space to achieve this. It really effectively achieved what it set out to do: Create a piece that so casually fits into the space of the gallery as a utilitarian tool that the majority won’t even notice it, except that it’s just slightly off. The average person will NOTICE it, but they won’t pay it close attention, or question it deeply. A family member I was with didn’t even realize it was an art piece. I loved the way it existed to engage with the physical space of the art museum, the way it required an inquisitive viewer to go through this mental process of noticing, questioning, ignoring, barely even fully comprehending it, the way it demanded an investigation of its existence in order to be understood, and the way this functions as a microcosm of the life experience the artist was trying to articulate through it. It was a really neat, subtle thing to do.
I was also really intrigued by the use of completely plain, basic, unmodified air purifiers. They were frankly pretty ugly, and not in a “cool” or “punk” or “grunge” way. This was the sleek, blank, glossy white of a modern iPhone charger. It felt really sterile and impersonal, one could make an argument that on their own they made the gallery room less “pretty,” really cemented in aspects of modern aesthetics, commercial production, and industry standards that I think most people, but especially those visiting art museums, let alone making art themselves, have grown tired of, to put it lightly, and I can’t help but feel that this was also an intentional decision... Especially within the context of a name like “Privatization.”
What’s interesting is I didn’t really like this piece all that much, in terms of my own personal aesthetic preferences. I mean, in the sense that… it’s not the kind of modern art that grabs me, specifically. I understand the decision to use the industry standard air purifiers but I’m more, and I mean this fully as a personal opinion, a fan of art with a little more of a fantastical element, I suppose? As an example of what I mean—and this is NOT meant to force these two artists into conversation, just my positing a simple aesthetic comparison—is Briccs 2 by Lauren Halsey, one of my favorite pieces of modern art I’ve ever gotten to see at the MOCA, a really striking city street made of mirrors and rainbows and hand drawn graffiti, large enough to walk through like a hallway. Halsey’s works have been described as Afrofuturist urbanism. I think the dreamlike, fantastical element here really grabs me, that’s the kind of modern art that tends to really speak to me the most. I could go on about this piece because I LOVE it, but I’ll save that for another day.
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But anyway, that’s not a criticism of “Privatization.” I guess I say all that specifically to emphasize that when it comes to this piece, it wasn’t that I was like, “Wow! I love this!!” It wasn’t about it speaking to the depths of my soul or even just my more shallow aesthetic eye. It was more that I was just SO impressed by how thought provoking it was and how the ideas it was centering were executed. I’ve never seen an art piece make use of its space within a museum like that before, and engage with its viewers with the knowledge of being in the physical space of a museum gallery in such a way. Angel and I probably talked more about this piece than any other during our visit that day, debating its meaning and the artist’s intentions and if it was successful or not. I think that’s really impressive. I think art that demands conversation is the best. The spatiality of the piece and the mental journey it sends its viewers on in order to provoke thought and spark conversation about the subtleties of daily life we can often take for granted was really, really neat. I love modern art.
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ashiemochi · 1 year
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heya ashie <3 ignore if not allowed but I was curious if you could share a lil drabble of Leon celebrating So Ah on her birthday (or literally any other special occasion), I miss them <3
"Leon, please, I wanna sleeep~"
"No time, birthday girl. Jetlag nap can wait."
The Han girl only drawled out a whine from beneath her blankets, earning a chuckle from her boyfriend. Having just returned from her assignment with the BSAA, all she wanted was to sleep for three days to recover from the mission.
But Leon wanted her up and ready for her birthday already -- that passed while she was with the BSAA. He even made breakfast as she was waking up, passing by the front door as she went. She barely glanced at the boxes and bags of gifts that sat by the door -- gifts from her family.
She could only guess that a box or two were new paint, new sets of clothes from Minji, and most likely another gigantic canvas from Jaehyun. The rest were a surprise -- as gifts usually were.
Leon's affection today was on a new level. Sure, So Ah experienced it before but today, it made her feel extra special.
As she drank from her mug of mocha, she licked her lips and looked over at Leon who was putting the dishes away. He already gave her a gorgeous butterfly hairpin, a new set of pencils of different sizes and a sketchbook as she had mentioned before that she was running out of space to doodle.
But he seemed a bit too excited to take her out.
"Leon?"
"Yeah?"
"Are we going somewhere?"
A chuckle.
"Of course, we are. It's your birthday."
A whine.
"Can't we spend it at home? Watch movies or - oh! You can paint with me!"
Leon looked at her with a smile, wiping his hands away with a towel as he walked up to her. Tossing the towel aside, he leaned down on the counter with his arms, tilting his head slightly to the side with a faint smile.
"How about this; I take you to see your big gift then when we get back home, you can teach me how to paint," Leon suggested, earning a small giggle from her.
"Okay, where are we going? Just so I can know what to wear." So Ah asked innocently but Leon read through her trick very quickly.
Leon snorted, shaking his head as he straightened up and took her empty mug, "Nice try, Picasso."
"Ugh, fineee," She huffed lightheartedly as she got up and then walked around the counter to his side as he was washing the mug. She stood on her tiptoes to plant a quick peck on his scar, causing him to grin as he heard her footsteps skip out and up the stairs.
-
So Ah was an artist who preferred old art rather than modern ones; like Vincent Van Gogh -- her utter favourite. Leon knew what she liked more but also knew she's been trying to step out of her comfort zone recently.
She just didn't like the way she was painting lights or skyscrapers.
Leon thought all she needed was an inspiration -- and so, to the Artechouse Museum he took her.
At first, So Ah was a bit confused as she had never known about this museum before but he could tell from her eyes that she was excited to see art. She had her sketchbook and pencil with her to try and recreate some art but what she did not know...
"Oh, my God."
All the exhibits were glowing. Literally. Just gigantic walls of immersive art of bright colours that reminded her of some futuristic city. She never liked neon colours, but the way they were contrasting greatly with the dark rooms made her never want to blink her eyes.
Leon stood next to her, watching the glowing clouds of pink, blue, yellow, and white float around. She looked up at him in awe but had no words and he felt his lips twitch at the childish glow in her doe eyes.
"You didn't..." She trailed away, remembering telling him about her issue with painting lights.
Leon chuckled, "Oh, but I did."
He should've known she'd pull a Green Life when she started speeding through every exhibit, but instead of her going alone like she usually does when her emotions skyrocket, her hand was holding his as she would let out astonished sounds at each art piece. Some were immersive.
Like the exhibit with beautiful pastel colours and lilies. The girl would wave her arm, and the flowers and swirly colours would follow.
Another exhibit was purely glowing blue crystals, grass, candles - you name it. They'd move and shift their form like a mirror or sway as if a gust of wind rushed inside.
Leon thought she had enough when she had her sketchbook out to doodle a quick sketch of the city on the wall -- but he had one more exhibit to show her.
Setting a hand on her arm, he caught her attention and he nodded his head to the side with a small grin, "C'mon, there's one last thing I need to show you."
She let him lead her through the corridor of luminescent colours before they reached a massive dark room. From there, So Ah went completely speechless, releasing Leon's hand as she entered the room. The exhibit was called In Peak Bloom.
While the background was a mixture of white, blue and dark blue, the thousands upon thousands of vibrantly coloured flowers made everything pop more. They were flowing and moving around aimlessly but the moment she stopped in the middle, it seemed as if the exhibit started tracking her movements -- and soft melodic music started playing in the back.
Slowly she'd raise her hand and a wind of flowers would go up, swirling in circles. With each move she made, making the colours mix, a trail of piano notes would be heard, going along with the plants.
And she heard her heartbeat pounding against her ribs, dropped her arms and the flowers went down before scattering around at the impact.
Leon stood next to her with an intrigued look, choosing to try and move the petals and they ended up tracking his movement too. So Ah looked up at him similar to a puppy dog looking at its owner.
"Okay, this is very impressive. What do you think of this?" Leon asked, eyes set on the flow of the art piece and when he heard nothing, he looked down at her, "So Ah?"
Her cinnamon eyes were practically glistening, gazing up at him with utter awe. She was overwhelmed. She didn't know what to say -- so she didn't speak. Instead, her hand went to his, gently tugging him down to press her lips against his.
His free hand went up to her jawline, pulling her closer to deepen the kiss and she felt him smile against the liplock. When they pulled away, Leon pushed back a strand of her hair behind her ear, a soft loving look on his face.
"Happy birthday, buttercup."
She was happy they didn't spend her birthday at home -- she'd choose this moment over anything any day.
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todays events
first we went to an art musuem, which would be exciting buttt it actually wasn’t that good. i wasn’t told that we were going to the area so i dressed trad goth which got me called a “lesbian slut” by two college aged guys which like.. wtf ?? also during this time i wasn’t speaking but i was with my family who were talking and also people in this area r veryy like talkative ?? ig so that just led to a lot of just uncomfortable interactions bcs like my mom just started talking to them like for me (and like not in a helpful way, like in a way were she was just Deciding how i feel abt stuff and going abt telling ppl it despite her having no way of knowing ?? which like isn’t anything new but i still hate it everytime like. i think i am very good at masking, generally people can’t tell that i’m autistic, but obviously i’m not able to be like that 24/7 so there r times where it is just like obvious and this was one of them and as. soon. as that happens my mom just starts treating me like some sort of pet and that makes it clear to everyone else that they should do that too ?? and like again it’s not like she was talking for me to like be helpful at all she was just talking For me). anyways also during that same museum visit it was weird people were like talking to me and for like a solid fifteen minutes or so i genuinely could not decipher a word anyone was saying like yk when u head that someone talked but it doesn’t sound like words for a few seconds so u ask what and then ur like ohhh wait ik what u mean ?? well it was like that sort of i hesr u talking but just akdixyjsdocushccyyhsixizjdhdj and not words except my brain never deciphered it and it went on for quite a while and it was reallyyy inconvenient.
but then we went to another art museum in like the one cool part of town and it was sooo cool. it had like artist studios and it wasn’t quite like a typical style but it had so much cool shit. it had some super cool modern art that my mom then started like loudly hating on for a weirdly long amount of time (this mildly annoyed me bcs i loved it but i wasn’t abt to say anything to her abt it so). anyways that was great
then we around some shops to get lunch but my mom got really upset and started yelling ittt kind of sucked but wtvrr. then she let me walk around alone for a while(thank god) and there’s this place i found that had sm cool like outdoor art like i wanted to stay there foreverrrrr
after that we stopped by the grocery store bcs my aunt needed to get more while we were out and i got a lot of stares bcs we were back in the icky part of town. but while we were there i found this like bright pink snake thing and i got like mesmerized with it for a few minutes before i realized i had lost my mom and brother but then i found them anddd then we went back to my aunts house
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leupagus · 2 years
Note
PLEEEASE any sort of modern AU, PARTICULARLY washed up rocker Ed. There are a few fics in this vein but not enough. THANK YOU ETERNALLY.
Getting Louis to sleep is fairly straightforward: a few chapters from the latest Wings of Fire book and he's out like a light, drooling trustingly into his pillow. Alva, who selects and reads her own books, ta ever so, usually needs an argument or two before she can lay her weary head to rest. Divorce is the theme for this evening, though not quite in the way Stede's been dreading for the past few months.
"Why didn't you get divorced sooner?" she demands, shoving her seventeen different Pusheens into a vaguely better arrangement so that she can sleep amongst them and suffer only mild hypoxia. "Doug is so cool, he took us to the museum and we got to paint our own versions of the portraits. And he has a cat."
"Well, if your mother and I had gotten divorced sooner," Stede points out as he settles her blanket over her shoulders, "Then your mother wouldn't have taken that art class in January, and hence wouldn't have met Doug, since he only moved here from the States in December."
Alva is only temporarily stymied by this, pointing out that perhaps Mum would've found someone even better, like someone with a dog. Stede meekly agrees, and pinky-swears that anyone he himself falls in love ought to at least have a convertible or a pony or a swimming pool.
Mary and Doug are back by nine, slightly wine-flushed and trying to tell Stede about the Lyft driver's cologne while they pull out the various desserts they'd nicked from Mary's gallery opening. "Sort of a rotted cinnamon? Flavor? I can still taste it," Mary says, dropping an absent-minded kiss on the top of Stede's head as she passes his chair on the way to the kitchen. Stede collects the essays into a haphazard pile — Frenchie's the only one getting an A thus far, with a somewhat bewildering theory about colonialism and split infinitives that is oddly compelling — and opens the boxes.
"It did kind of get into your respiratory system," Doug admits, setting out the plates quietly — any louder and the kids will be up in a flash demanding that they share, and none of them want that. "How was everything on the home front?"
"We watched Moana again, and Alva wanted to know when Disney was going to make a movie about the Heartman. I told her that's probably not a family-friendly sort of story, which she took offense at, since the Heartman only carves out bad children's hearts and there are apparently a few of her classmates whose deaths could be very funny. At which point Louis asked what the Heartman was and the evening got a bit away from us."
"Oh Christ, he's going to have so many nightmares," Mary sighs, plunking some silverware down on the table. "Stede—"
"It's not my fault! Besides, it's part of his heritage!"
"Just because we were born in Barbados doesn't—"
"You should try this chocolate cake pop," Doug says, waving it between Stede and Mary like someone in a dinghy, desperately flapping a white flag between two battleships. "Has a raspberry center that'll really knock your socks off."
Stede frowns, but he takes the cake pop. It really is delicious. "Anyway, it's fine, he got much more traumatized by what happened with Luna and the Othermind in the latest chapter."
"Spoilers!" Doug says, cheerful, as he digs into a tiny cheesecake. Stede fights back a smile, which fails completely when he catches Mary's eye. They all sit down and grab more treats, and Stede gets to tell them about his insane new client. Or Oluwande's insane old client — but until he comes back from paternity leave, it's up to Stede not to mess things up.
"So this weirdo musician offered you a job helping him write lyrics," Mary says, "And invited you to his exclusive performance tonight? And then you watered his plastic plant?"
"Please don't say that like it's a euphemism," Stede sighs. "It was a very realistic-looking fichus."
"I'm sure it was." She taps her fingers absently against her thumb as she stares into the middle distance, the way she always does when she's thinking. It used to worry him, before — about what she might be working out, what she might be trying to fix or change or realize. Now, he's startled to discover it's… cute. "If he's paying someone to mind his fucking plants, he's got to have money, right? So was he not offering enough?"
"I know I'm a mere adjunct professor right now," says Stede, sniffing a bit, "But it wasn't the money that was the issue."
"Who is this guy, anyway?" Doug asks, snagging a coconut ball. "Country music star or something? One of the Mumford sons?"
"Mmm, no, no one I've ever heard of. An Edward Teach? Used to be in a band called—"
"Blackbeard?" Doug shoots out of his chair so fast it clatters to the ground; from down the hallway Stede can hear the telltale double-thumps of small children alerted to adults having fun without them. "Ed Teach from Blackbeard invited you to an exclusive concert tonight?"
"…yes?" Stede says, glancing from Dough's round eyes to Mary's covered ones. "Should be starting in a bit, actually."
"Honey, I love you, me and your ex-husband have to go," Doug says, and drags Stede out of his chair just as Louis comes round the corner, demanding to know if there's any biscuits.
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