#i was so sick while writing half of this

[a-lonely-dunedain]

my problem rn is that I really like the idea of putting Ethedis in a sickfic scenario right? love the designated healer character getting forced downtime and being tenderly cared for for a change. that's the good stuff. BUT, dangit Tolkien, apparently elves can't even get sick >:( so I guess the only way to knock her into forced downtime is to use the good ol plinko and stab her a bunch or something. the lore forced me into this you see, there was simply no other way.

[telesodalite]

Woe, unfinished, mildly edited, fulfire fic tid-bits be upon you

-

Like a magnet, his optics kept drifting back to Misfire's face. His stupid, strangely charming face.

For a short while, after Clemency, it had been that face that haunted some of his nightmares. His recalls blurring the lines between the strange reality of Misfire's hands reaching into him to lock his fuel pump back into the very spot he'd pulled it from, and the fear that just as easily he could pull it out again. They had been bloody dreams. Dreams that had him startling awake, gripping his chest in the vain attempt to close what wasn't open, before spending the rest of the day avoiding Misfire's optics.

But now things were different. Not Misfire's face. No, that hadn't changed much. But Fulcrum's dreams had definitely changed. To say the least of what all rolled around in his processor as he slept nowadays.

Some of those newer dreams had crept to the forefront of his mind as he sat there on the couch, staring as the lights of the screen reflected dully across Misfire's plating in hazy blues and greys.

The lighting made his colors seem muddy and faded, but Fulcrum didn't really care, nor did he care to think what it made himself look like. He was too busy bringing an empty engex can to his lips while he watched the crinkle of Misfire's nose as he barked a laugh at something Fulcrum didn't catch onscreen.

He'd started noticing it months ago, all the ways the silvery mesh of Misfire's face would scrunch up with his emotions. Those little crinkles along his optics and nose when he laughed or glared. The creases indented along his cheeks when he grinned. Fulcrum found himself quietly logging away these little details. Idle notes and observations that had suddenly started piling up in the corners of his processer.

He… He'd never really done that before? He'd never really noticed those sorts of things in other mechs.

The faces and expressions of his past colleagues never seemed terribly important. All the details of every smile and frown were never worth filing away, outside of few notable moments where those expressions reflected his work performance. But besides the smile that meant promotion, and the frown that meant he'd screwed up, nothing else was noticeable. Nothing was worth remembering.

But now the memory of every genuine laugh that bubbled out of Misfire sat comfortably besides memories of warm joyful optics that Fulcrum found himself collecting every time Crankcase cracked a rare half-smile for him, or when Krok placed a reassuring hand against his back, or the times Spinister spontaneously pointed out something odd but ultimately nice about his stupid frame.

He didn't really know why he was doing it, memorizing all these mundane little things, just to have them flit through his processer randomly. Maybe it was because those expressions, those details, felt… comforting? Comforting in such a strange and unfamiliar way. But, a good way. A good sort of strange, much like the mechs themselves.

-

-

He had stared for a long moment, the credits and their rolling tune playing somewhere in the background as Fulcrum stared back. But Misfire was never one for personable silence, even as the sound of some likely long dead Iaconian orchestra filled the room.

"What is it?" He asked, a small chuckle escaping him as he brought a hand to his face, "Don't tell me I've poured it all over myself again."

It had taken Fulcrum longer than usual to unstick his glossa from the roof of his mouth as he watched Misfire run a thumb over his lips, but eventually he had coughed out a small, choked, "No."

That had earned him an odd look at first, but with their fields loose and open, Fulcrum could almost feel the exact moment something clicked in Misfire's mind, as the idle comfortable static he projected in pulsing waves evened out into something openly curious and almost subdued.

It wasn't often Fulcrum felt him that clearly.

Misfire tended to keep his field fairly close, though, maybe not as close as the others did, what with how Crankcase kept an iron grip on his, and how Krok's always held an air of strained control, even when it slipped from him. But still, Misfire's was always hard to read, no matter the reach or depth of his field.

Even then and there, with it loose and unfiltered and buzzing with the engex running through his system, there was an ever present undertone of something indescribably jumbled about him, like too many feelings at once, each too vast and hurried for Fulcrum to really feel or understand.

It always seemed to stir the passive anxiety Fulcrum must've been forged with when Misfire's field brushed against his own. As facing the indescribable vague mess of Misfire felt like trying to untangle a pile of live-wires he couldn't even see.

It was almost frustrating in a sense, the need to try and sort and understand what wasn't even his to begin with. But at the same time it was almost exciting as well. It was like a game, like a puzzle he had yet to solve.

-

-

Finally letting his own can go tumbling to the floor to join Misfire's, Fulcrum had brought a hand to cover his face as he drew his legs up and leaned back against the arm of the couch, trying to suppress the fit as the sly look slipped from Misfire's face at the sounds.

While Fulcrum had laughed, and… snorted, embarrassingly, he had felt Misfire's field change again, brushing something fizzy and almost warm against his plating as Misfire's features softened.

"I'm looking at you," Fulcrum had said then between gulps of air, letting his hand fall from his face as he reached out to poke at Misfire's chest, "Dumbaft."

His finger had lingered over the thick plating there for maybe a little longer than necessary, drawing Misfire's attention as it slid down a little before pulling away.

Looking back up again with his helm angled slightly, Misfire had followed the sight of his hand leaving his plating to where Fulcrum let it fall between them.

"Wow…" Misfire had chuckled a little dryly, "I was gonna make it real easy for you. I was going to say something like, ''Do you like what you see?'' or-… or something like that. But now you've ruined it. Good job."

Meeting Fulcrum's optics again as he pulled his own hand back from Fulcrum's shoulder, he brought it to rest between them as well.

"And you're laughing at me," He said next, faking a small pout as his hand drifted closer to Fulcrum's, "Which totally ruins the whole vibe I was going for really. I mean, it's sort of hard to be all nice and suave-like when you're being laughed at. Total vibe killer. Bit of an ego killer too if I'm being honest. So thanks for that loser, thanks for saying I have a funny face."

With Misfire's fingers brushing distractingly past his own, Fulcrum didn't think before the words stumbled out of him.

"I like your face."

It came out almost matter of fact sounding, Fulcrum's laughter having died down while Misfire complained about it. But at the same time the words felt so simple, they came out so easily, and in a weird way they felt nice to say. But Misfire's optics had widened in surprise, his frame frozen and his field suddenly struck quiet, and despite the engex numbing his usual nerves, Fulcrum felt a sudden pang of anxiety because of it.

The silence in Misfire's field was terribly alien. It felt wrong, and something in Fulcrum spiraled to think he had caused it. But slowly, almost as if it were creeping forward, an odd almost scrutinizing uncertainty fanned outward in a careful wave. Misfire moved with it, leaning closer as he searched Fulcrum's expression for something.

"Oh yeah?" He'd said lowly then, and that sly look returned. But that vague uncertainty didn't fade with it, if anything, Fulcrum felt it strengthen. Caught between what he saw, in Misfire's easy smile and dimmed optics, and what he felt, in the growing hollow distance within their fields, Fulcrum found himself frowning and pulling back.

-

-

Growing frustrated with himself, and wanting that feeling back, he had pushed forward, shifting onto his knees as he reached for Misfire's face before the other could pull away from him entirely.

"I like your face." He said firmly, maybe too firmly. His expression still drawn into a frown as he pressed his fingers into Misfire's helm, brushing his thumbs across the silver mesh he'd been staring so intently at before. "I like your optics, and your nose. I- I like the way you smile. When you really smile, and when you laugh. I do. I'm not lying."

And oh there it was again, that little curl of warmth in Misfire's field. Almost a tangible thing, like a brush of ventilation, but Misfire wasn't venting. His mouth hung open ever so slightly, but no breath left him as he stared at Fulcrum with widening optics.

Spurred on by that tiny bloom of warmth, Fulcrum chased after it with slightly slurred words and clumsy hands as he tried to fix whatever he'd done wrong, hoping with each word that Misfire might soften and smile again.

"I like your expressions, and- and I like your voice," He said, glancing down at Misfire's parted lips, and laughing softly, nervously, as he continued, "Even when you say something so stupid. I like- I like the way it sounds. I like your accent, I like the way it makes your words sound. I- I like your- your mouth?"

Once more that weird but nice feeling settled in Fulcrum's chest. Those simple words felt good to say. It felt like a weight off his shoulders, like an admission he'd been waiting to say. About what and why? He wasn't really sure. But the warmth grew, and Misfire took a sharp vent inwards, and that felt right, so Fulcrum kept on.

"I like your helm," He said with a smile, reaching up to brush his fingers over the jutting finials there, before dropping his hands to settle lightly over Misfire's chest. "I like your frame, the colors of it. I like your-"

Before he could finish, Misfire was surging forward, knocking their helms together and nearly bruising the mesh of their noses as he tried for, and just barely missed, Fulcrum's lips.

-

👁👁👍

[sarcosmiiic]

#grians the ONLY ONE who can even see mumbo now and he likes that concept A Whole Lot that's the kinda greed they talk about in the bible

1

2

i didnt know how to respond to this (not ur fault im just braindead <3) but the bible mention has had this song stuck in my head for the past day so. :3

new grian skin just dropped

[singeart]

11, 18, and 20 plz!!!!!!! :3

11. How long, on average, do you spend on one piece of artwork?

This took me a few hours, maybe 2-3?

More complex pieces like this one always take at least 10 to line and render and that doesn't count the sketch phase which can involve many do-overs and which I haven't kept track of before because it would make me sad lol 🥲

18. How many WIPs do you currently have?

I'm actively working on:

7 drawings

2 fics

💀

20. Any advice for artists working through burnout or an art block?

When I'm feeling uninspired after finishing a big piece I've found it helps to just watch a couple of movies completely unrelated to the shows I make fanart for. Usually afterwards I feel refreshed and ready to get back into things so my advice would be to engage in media outside your usual genre (or medium), then rinse and repeat until something sparks inspiration 👏

Thank you!! ❤️

[hl-obsessed]

.

[franeridan]

on god lycahugo was written for me specifically I'm in shambles I will never be able to get up ever

[sillywizardfrog]

18.02.25

Woke up with a slight, but annoying headache, an itchy throat and an already overstimulated body from too much sun. Got ready, poured myself cooled down coffee and had to pull myself together to not rant to myself the whole time, before going upstairs to my laptop, where I'm now sitting (on a broken vintage chair of course), the even colder coffee next to me and my document open with absolutely no clue how to continue the story...

- - -

Update a few hours later: My husband just repaired my chair and its so much better. Ive spent the last few weeks wiggling around the whole day bc the ball bearing (? is this how its called???) was broken and he replaced it.

Also met my daily goal of reaching the next page in my doc, haven’t looked up the word count, but wrote about 1 3/4 pages, so its about 400 to 600 words today? Given my mood its more than I anticipated when I woke up this morning, so a win is a win I guess.

[harlotofandraste]

boss went to the office sick last week, on a call she joked about how "she's gonna give it to all of us haha" now i am sick, most likely from her and joke's on her if I don't feel well tomorrow morning then I'll not work as is my legal right and she will have to deal with me not being there

[holeforzenin]

TOJI FUCKING YOU WITH HIS GUN ૮꒰ྀི⊃´ ꒳ `⊂ྀི꒱ა

Tw - gun play, dubcon. Don’t take this seriously, I was like half asleep while writing it :( Not proofread.

“You’re so disgusting baby, can’t believe you’re getting off from this” Toji scoffs in a condescending tone. He callously digs the nuzzle of his gun further into your bare cunt with brutal force that made your legs tremble.

The foreign sensation had your toes instinctively curling in the air because of the startling touch of the cool metal pressing into your delicate core.

“N-no, g-get it out!” You pleaded fearfully, your voice quivering as you desperately tried to wiggle yourself off his lap. His strong grip on your thighs only tightened, preventing your escape. You could feel the warm pool of slick gradually welling up around his gun as it slowly sank deeper into your drooling cunt.

“No? Then why’s this pussy so wet, you’re soaking up my gun like a pathetic little slut, baby” he chuckled wickedly at the irony as he peered down to where you’re seated on his lap, your back is flushed against his taut abs— feeling the warmth of his body enveloping yours.

He unawarely licks his scarred lips at the pretty mess encircling between your plush thighs. An evident wet patch is forming around his gun and he can’t help but coo at how messy you are, despite how dangerous it is.

Or maybe that’s why you’re so messy to begin with.

“You know I can pull the fucking trigger right now and you’ll die but I bet that didn’t cross your mind, did it?”. He taunts mockingly, starting a slow pace in your cunny and watching how the inviting little hole happily swallows the gun deeper in. “As long as you have something stuffed in this greedy pussy, that’s all you care about, huh?”.

You immediately released a delicious moan when the gun’s trigger brushes against your throbbing clit, rubbing against it and creating a new wave of pleasure. You felt a rush of embarrassment as your body betrayed your own resistance.

Toji’s eyes lit up with pure satisfaction, taking pleasure in your helplessness.

“Fuck— you’re so sick Toji!” You exclaimed before thrashing your head back against his hard chest, a shuddering sigh escaping your lips as your eyes clenched shut tightly. Your heart thundering in your chest as the cool metal invaded your most intimate part.

“Awe but you love it, don’t you baby. s’why your little cunt is drooling everywhere”. His breath is hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine because of how it gave you goosebumps.

You wanted to deny it, to fight against the forbidden pleasure he was forcing upon you but the way your eager core was clenching with need around the unfamiliar object wasn’t making it even slightly possible.

He pressed his gun further, inch by inch until you were fully impaled by the steel. The metal widened the entrance of your cunny, forcibly stretching it open as he fucks in and out. The sight of his muscular forearm tensing and bulging with his motions didn’t help your cunt from soaking the object one bit.

He deftly maneuvers the arm that had been holding your thighs, positioning it underneath to allow him to bring his hand up to delicately tease your hard nipples, gently rolling it between his rough fingertips. You arched against his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. “Need you to cum f’me baby, cum on daddy’s gun yeah? You can do it”.

His words are like fuel to the fire, igniting a need deep within you. You can feel the tension coiling tighter, the gun’s trigger teasing your sensitive bud with every thrust and working against your favor.

“N-no…I..fuck!” You struggled to form coherent words as Toji’s skilled movements pushed you closer to the edge. You can feel the way his clothed erection is throbbing underneath your ass, poking against you like it’s trying to bore a hole into your body.

“Come on baby, y’can do it, cream on it f’me” his voice is commanding, leaving no room for refusal. The gun was repeatedly hitting your sweet spot, prodding and poking against it for your arousal. It made your resistance crumble, your body surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Mmph! Toji— stop–fuckk!” You cried out, your nails digging into his hefty forearm as you rode the wave of ecstasy. Your juices was steeping out and soaking both him and the weapon. The sticky cream decorating his gun and leaking onto his lap. He licks a long stripe of your face with a proud grin as he keeps plunging it in and out of you.

“Fuck yes, that’s a good girl, baby. Look at that fucking mess, shit” he groans as his hardened cock twitches with desperate need to be buried inside of you.

He quickly pulled the gun out of your soppy pussy and brought it up to your face for you to witness. Your essence was leaking everywhere as he showed you the mess. “See that? You’re nothing but a fucking whore that wants always something buried up your cunt. But s’okay baby, that’s why I love you”. He hummed contentedly with a warm kiss on your temple.

“Clean it” that was all you heard before he stuffed the gun into your mouth, making you gag around it as you tasted the sweet remnants of your own essence. The taste melts on your tastebuds, making you whimper. You swirled your tongue around the metal, sucking off your cum.

“That's it, baby,” he growled in a hoarse tone, thick with desire, urging you to continue. “Keep sucking it, get it all wet, and soak f’me so I can bury it in your other hole next”.

[adreamfromnevermore]

AU Where the Justice League forms as usual except for one slight difference where Bruce just so happens to have been the one superheroing for the longest. (Excluding Diana, who got up to it in World War 1 and then mostly didn't while she learned about Man's World)

Bruce helps form the Justice League, ignoring all of the comments as they come to the sudden realization that Gotham's baby cryptid story is actually a man in a very intimidating armored suit who can and will break your arm if you cause problems for him. They are unaware that this is not the first team he's led, and actually he's used to teams full of mostly teenagers who also happen to be his children. This should be easier, this team is primarily adults.

He realizes rapidly that he doesn't understand these people.

His kids take bonding activities to mean learning a dozen different ways to break someones leg. That doesn't fly with these people. And that is most of Bruce's ideas, hell when he was a kid Alfred took every opportunity to get him out of his room and mostly that was with the agreement that Alfred would teach him how to defend himself. He's come by it honestly.

This team is not easier. They have more drama than when his house was actually full of kids. It's insane. He doesn't know what to do with it, usually he just sent the kids to their rooms or grounded them from patrol. That doesn't work here.

He comes to a strange crossroads. That falls apart when he forgets who he's working with and snaps at Hal with a full room of heroes that the next person to throw a punch or an insult without a reason too will be sparring with him.

A long standing rule in the batcave that worked two fold to prevent infighting between the kids and too ensure that they were well and truly trained.

It works wonders. No one says a word out of line for the rest of the debrief. Bruce becomes the unofficial mediator of the league over Clark because anytime he walked in on a fight it suddenly became 10 times more civil out of sheer terror of what he'd do to them in a sparring match.

Eventually they actually meet his kids. Well, one kid.

Half way through a mission (one of the rare ones in Gotham) the Bat comes to a complete stop at the edge of an alley. Every single league member on the team comes to a stop behind him. Slowly from the shadows of the alley a man in a red helmet stalks out to greet them.

"You don't call, you don't write"

"Red Hood."

"Don't Red Hood me! We've been worried sick!"

"I was at the cave last night."

"You didn't answer my texts B. You always answer my texts."

Somehow it ends with big and scary following them through the rest of the mission with a running commentary of how much Bats has let him down in his failure to respond in a timely manner to a text send less than an hour before he ran into them in the alley. It only ends when Red Robin shows up.

And even then it only ends because Hood can't keep himself from throwing a punch and Bruce has to snap at him that if he throws another one they're sparring when they get home.

And by god is Jason giving up the chance to punch his brothers.

[kyurilin]

"plan ahead for a healthy and happy holiday" YES THANK YOU CVS I TRIED TO PLAN AHEAD BUT YOU DROPPED THE BALL ON REFILLING MY ADHD MEDS FOR THE THIRD TIME IN 2023 and frankly if they fuck me over again on today the 29th when they've told me since the 18th that it will be ready i will be punching a pharmacist for flat out lying :)

[tddyhyck]

sudden urges [ l.dh ]

pt 1 (can be read as a stand alone)

pairing ⇢ enemies with benefits!haechan x afab!reader

warnings ⇢ 18+, car sex, squirting, wet & messy, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, oral (m receiving), light nipple play (kinda), food play (ig), unprotected sex, oppa kink, crying, mean names and pet names, pussy slapping, hair pulling, cheating/affairs mentioned, creepy old man mentioned

word count ⇢ 6.9k

playlist ⇢ red line_5sos / turn your phone off_pinkpantheress & destroy lonely / sweet as sin_ten / bite_troye sivan

a/n ⇢ how do we feel about 1 more regular part and then maybe a part from hyuck’s pov?? also, in my world hyuck is the readers oppa so it’s not really a kink all the time

masterlist

you didn’t want to call him but you didn’t really have anyone else who you could call. well you did but he was the first person you felt like talking to. which wasn’t how it was supposed to work. shivering on the curb while your finger hovered over his name on the screen. sighing you tapped it crossing your fingers and toes that he picked up.

“hey,” he whispered lazily as if he didn’t pick up halfway through the first ring.

“uh hey,” you poked at a hole in your tights.

“miss me?”

“can you come get me?” you blurted before he could even finish. the line was silent for a moment then you heard rustling.

“send me your location.” you breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing as you pulled the phone away to send a quick message. the line was still silent while you waited for it to say read.

“what are you doing over there?” you could practically see his face, eyebrow quirked up and jaw tense big brown eyes staring through you.

“just had to drop some papers off.” it was half true. you did ride the bus over and drop off a stack of papers to your professor.

“that’s all?”

“stop interrogating me, goddd,” you groaned, tugging the hole on your tights, ripping it more. “i’ll tell you when i see you.”

“i’ll be there in 5 i guess.” you heard keys jingle.

“i’m on the sidewalk near building F,” you offered.

“he just made you wait outside? what an ass can’t even drive you home and leaves you to sit outside in the snow?” haechan grumbled into the phone.

“he uh,” you pause realizing how bad it was about to sound.

“wife?” he simply asked. you’d only talked to haechan before about it mainly because he always pried and because you didn’t want lectures from everyone else. there wasn’t a desire to make him like you so you didn’t hide the bad things from him.

the professor was married and you knew that from the beginning, but he had swore they were separated. you believed him until his wife invited half the department to a dinner party where she flashed heart eyes and he doted on her. it made you sick, she was maybe a few years older than you while he pushed retirement.

it wasn’t that you felt obligated to agree when he asked but he was the one giving you credit hours and promising to write recommendations. when he first approached you it made you feel special and admired like you were a four leaf clover picked in a field. now it didn’t feel so special when you realized he did this all the time.

“unhuh,” you murmured. the line stayed silent and you could hear him turning on a blinker “thanks for coming. i didn’t want to bother anyone, they're all so stressed and losing their minds over that exam.” it wasn’t a lie they were prepping for an exam, but for some reason you wanted him to distract you with banter.

“i took the bus though you know, and brought like the biggest stack of papers i finally finished grading. but it stopped running- the bus, guess it was the weather.” you tried to fill the silence rambling on about nothing.

“didn’t think i would take so long, but i had to bring them by i dunno why he makes me. it’s so much easier to just file them away in the office but he always has me come by so he can check them. like i’m incompetent. i wrote the key so i would know.”

“because he wants to fuck you.” haechan mumbles.

“huh?” you ask.

“i’m here.” he pulls into the parking lot and hangs up. you shiver when you stand up before he pulls up in front of you. opening the door you slide in savoring the warmth.

“what did you say?” you question before putting your bag down.

“i said he wants to fuck you. that’s why he makes you bring some bullshit papers.” he rests his elbow on the window leaning his head on his hand looking at you lazily. he turns the heat up while you buckle your seatbelt.

“i know that but he won’t give me the credit unless i bring them by,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

“that’s so fucked up. you should report him.” he eases off the brake pulling away from the sidewalk.

“it’s not a big deal.” you sigh still picking at the hole on your leg. “it’s just sex.”

“is he better than me? actually if he is don’t tell me,” you roll your eyes hitting his chest.

“shut up,” you shift in your seat.

“well is he?” he smirks, coming to a stop, looking over at you, hands low on the steering wheel. you shrug but he can read the answer on your face. he reaches over, snapping his fingers in your face and pointing to his own.

“i asked you if he fucks you better than me,” he emphasizes.

“no,” you mumble, looking away again. you know he’s smiling to himself gloating.

“where do you wanna go? are you hungry?” you shrug in response, cheeks pink from your admission. “ice cream?”

“can we eat it at the park?” you ask perking up at the thought of a cool and creamy sweet treat.

“of course.” he turns the wheel heading to your favorite ice cream spot. “can’t believe you want that when it’s like, negative degrees.”

“my love for ice cream is greater than my desire to be warm. plus we’re in a car you have heat we’re fine.”

“can’t believe he made you sit out in this,” he motions with a hand to the sky. grey and dreary, clouds full of snow and sleet that had been spilling periodically throughout the day.

“she would have seen me.”

“well he should have thought of that before asking you to come over. what if you get sick or hurt or someone snatchesd you. then who will grade his papers?” you roll your eyes at his dramatics. he pulls into the familiar parking lot, the neon sign bright but missing the i-c-e so it just says “homemade cream.” he pulls in behind a car already waiting at the window.

“probably some other pretty but stupid girl. it doesn’t matter i’m fine and you picked me up.” you grin nudging his shoulder. “did i wake you up?”

“well not exactly i was going to nap but then my phone rang and this hot girl was on the line all like ‘oppaaaaa please can you come get me from this evil villains house and take me for ice cream and can you pay for it pleaseee ooooppa.’” you gawk at him mimicking your voice quite well for what it’s worth.

“i do not sound like that,” you groan, hitting him again.

“you kinda do though,” he grins, releasing your wrist.

“so you think i’m hot?” you smirk teasingly lean close to him.

“no i just hang out with you because of your personality,” you hit him again, but he grabs your hand when it meets his chest. you rip away before he can interlace your fingers.

“if you keep hitting me i’m gonna hit you back and that would look bad to future employers.” he turns away as you smile, listening to him give the order. strawberry on a cone for you as always and a hot coffee for him. when the worker leaves you lean forward chin on his shoulder.

“i like it when you hit me sometimes,” you whisper. you swear you can feel the hair on his neck stand up. “you know down there.”

“shut up,” he nudges you away before the worker brings his card and receipt then leaves again to make the order.

“just being honest, oppa,” popping the p sound before running fingers over his knee. he jerks, bouncing the leg and brushing your hand away. you huff, air blowing on his ear making him shiver. the window opens and he grabs your ice cream, passing it to you before he grabs his drink with a thank you.

“mmmm,” you moan when you taste the ice cream. sweet and creamy and perfect.

“look at the sign,” pointing to the burnt neon with a grin.

“you know a thing or two about homemade cream,” grinning he taps your leg.

“and you know a thing or two about begging for it.” you smile to yourself, leaning back in the seat crossing your legs.

“begging seems dramatic doesn’t it?” he questions. you grab your phone ready to find the familiar voice memo he had sent you. you up your volume fully before pressing play.

‘heyyyyy, i’m like so fucked up right now,’ he tries to grab your phone as his voice plays from it. ‘i’m walking to your place at least i think i am. fuckk- are you even awake. i’ll sit outside, i don't care.’

“turn it off, oh my god,” he groans, one hand clenching on the wheel while the other presses against his ear..

“nuhuh.”

‘i had a dream about you. i think it was a dream i don’t know. um, wait but there was you, you were there and you finally rode my tongue. i want you to so bad. you’re too freaky to not ride my face at least once. do i need to beg on my knees for it?’

“you’re evil,” wincing as he hears his slurred voice playing back.

‘if i do will you? please. you taste so good and fuck - like so good. now i’m thinking about it. getting hard like a loser over thinking about pussy.’

“i sound so pathetic.”

“yeah you do. it’s hot.” grinning before taking another swipe at your ice cream.

‘shit - anyways uh i’m coming over i know you’re alone. at least i think you are… what if you have a guy in your bed. i’ll jump out of your window then when you look at him you’ll get sad. that’s fucked up but i want you alllll to myself sometimes.’

you turn the audio off before he starts professing his feelings. you’d never talked about the last few minutes of the voicemail. a quiet acknowledgment of the open secret between you both. you weren’t actually sure if he remembered all that he said.

that night you’d opened the door to him on his knees begging for you, but he fell asleep on your couch 10 minutes later with a silly look on his face.

“i still want you to ride my face,” he admits.

“you’re obsessed with eating pussy.” you laugh into your ice cream.

“is it such a crime to love your pussy?” raising his hands after parking in your usual spot turning the car off.

“we’d all be arrested if it was.”

“we can share handcuffs.” he offered a wrist to you and you held yours next to his.

“not the first time,” you tease as you pull away. you tug the lever beside you leaning your seat all the way back and kick your feet up on the dash.

“hey hey no shoes on my baby i just got her detailed,” he scolds grabbing your ankles and lugging you off. groaning, you lift your feet and rest them over his lap.

“yeah i didn’t care about these sweats anyways,” he deadpans looking at your shoes.

“they’re not muddy,” you say, pulling your legs away before reaching down to pull the shoes off. you put your now shoeless feet on his lap again and he doesn’t complain. silence settles for a moment aside for him sipping his coffee and you licking your ice cream contentedly.

“how long are you stuck grading his papers?”

“eh maybe two months. i hope he gets sick of me before then.”

“unlikely.” he mutters to himself, reaching up he fiddles with the sunroof, opening the shutter letting in the orange glow of the street light.

“do you think his wife knows?” he turns his head at your question. “she’s got to right? he probably did the same thing to her too.”

“do you want her to know?” the ice cream is melting too quickly.

“maybe. i don’t know. what’s better? it would be best if they were in an open relationship and she knew but was okay with it.”

“well that’s best case,” he leans his own seat back looking over at you at eye level.

“worst case?”

“she knows and hates you?” he suggests, making you groan.

“she’s so sweet too. fuck, i’m so terrible.” you close your eyes not wanting to look at his.

“he’s a manipulative geriatric asshole and you were vulnerable and naive. he’s terrible for taking advantage of all these girls.” he reassures, patting your arm softly. a weird moment of humanity between both of you.

“i’m not going over again.” you announce.

“good girl,” he pats your head now.

“don’t do that.”

“what?”

“be nice.” he laughs a real full belly laugh and it makes your stomach twinge weirdly.

“i’m soooo nice.” he looks up out of the car sunroof.

“yeah and i'm a worm,” you roll your eyes and his hand slides over your leg he laughs again

“you think i'm mean,” he pouts, poking your leg.

“name one time you were nice to me?”

“hmm,” he pauses a finger tapping his chin before he leans over cupping your ear to whisper. “what about the time i made you cu-“

“lalalala i can’t hear you,” you cut him off, pushing his face away.

“you need new tights,” still smiling as he prods at one of the holes in the sheer material covering your skin.

“you don’t think it gives me an edge?” lifting your leg slightly showing off the ripped black fabric.

“you don’t need an edge, you're mean enough.” you fein surprise trying to kick him but he grabs your leg before you can. squeezing your thigh when he pulls it against his warm body.

“you think i’m mean?” you copy him.

“i can name at least 100 instances.” you roll your eyes. “ok, just one?” he grins over at you before saying.”probably when we met and you called me the hunchback of notre dame.”

“but it made you work on your posture.” you point out. he nods in response. “you were just as mean, i only said that after you said i looked like helga from hey arnold.”

“you were wearing that same pink outfit,” he defends.

“i was a powerpuff girl,” you grumble.

“how’s the ice cream?”

“devine.” he’s looking over at you with big stupid brown eyes. staring back at him you lick over the remaining creamy treat. swirling over the cone collecting the pink cream on your tongue. you’re being overly provocative letting some of the ice cream slide out of your mouth and onto your lips.

“if it’s so good don’t let it go to waste.” thumb brushes over the drip, swiping it into your mouth. you don’t hesitate to suck the melted strawberry off of his finger moaning at the taste. he pulls away spit sticking to his thumb before he licks it. he’s so disgustingly gross and sexy it’s annoying. what light that shines from the sunroof makes him look too golden, too delicious, too warm.

“so sweet,” he sighs. big brown eyes still watching you when you wrap your lips around what’s now a sad hill instead of a full scoop.

“can i have some?” before you can answer he leans in grabbing your face pulling you to meet him. his tongue laps into your mouth collecting the cool sweet liquid. it makes you burn, hot cheek in his hand as he leads you. turning your head to deepen the kiss. the melting treat drips over your fingers as his lips melt into yours.

using the hand that is still on your leg, now gripping the flesh, he pulls you over. settling you on top of him, mouths still open exchanging hot breaths and spit. pulling away you sit back feeling the bulge pressed against you. catching your breath as you look down at him, lips red and puffy, eyes dazed. you press a finger to them to see how soft they are and he licks your digit.

“do you want some more?” moving to switch your hands. bringing the pink sticky fingers to his lips. he sucks them greedily, tongue splitting your fingers licking between them lewdly. watching as you grind against him, knees pressed tightly on his sides while he holds your hips. trailing your fingers from his mouth you slide them over his lips and down his chin. slippery still from his spit you move them finger painting his neck.

“did you fuck him?” it catches you off guard but you keep your fingers on his neck feeling his pulse under them. “like today did you?”

“no. he-“ you pause, deciding if you should share. “he came in his pants and then his wife called.” haechan laughs hard, making you shake on him.

“what a fucking loser.”

“why do you ask?” you bring the messy cone to your mouth again tasting what’s left.

“i don’t want to sound weird.”

“tell me,” you pout bouncing on him. he groans, squeezing your hips to stop you. you can feel his growing hardness against your inner thigh and it makes you clench.

“is it jealous if i say i don’t want to fuck you if he just did. i don’t want my dick near his.” he offers.

“who said we were going to fuck?” raising an eyebrow at him.

“please, mommy,” he whimpers, sitting up face in yours, clasping his hands making puppy dog eyes.

“stupid,” you mumble, pushing his face away, head hitting the seat with a thud.

“can i be honest?” he nods eagerly, hair bouncing against the headrest.

“i don’t even know the last time we did. he keeps nutting before i even get his pants off. plus it’s kinda small, no hate to the micros but like,” you pause using your finger to measure around 4 inches.

“it’s not doing anything.” he’s giggling under you again, this time his cock pressing against you with each shake of his body. you can feel the wetness slipping from you pooling in your tights.

“god, how can a guy like him be married and seduce beautiful young women while having a fast finishing micro. double homicide but he gets rewards.” he shakes his head.

“money,” you rub your fingers together.

“so i’m bigger?”

“obviously.” you roll your eyes finishing the last of your ice cream at least what hasn’t turned to soup.

“so let’s see.” you lean back putting the cone in the spare cup holder. he peaks under your skirt noticing your lack of panties.

“see what?” you watch him stare between your legs so you flip the skirt up for him. “this?”

“don’t distract me.” he closes his eyes, pressing his head back. “i can fuck you better, have a way bigger dick, and buy you ice cream.” he counts each “pro” on his fingers.

“what’s your point?” reaching for his lifted fingers you pull them to your core rubbing them over your tights.

“just that.” he pauses moving his fingers against you letting the seam of your tights brush against you cunt. “i’m a much better option.”

“like to date?” you laugh loudly but continue grinding down seeking more of his touch. you don’t catch the way his eyes dull at your reaction. the idea of him being more than whatever he was to you a joke. he could still dream and dwell on you for hours and days and weeks.

“ew no, just to do these activities,” he replies his other hand slithering over your ass.

“yeah we hate each other, remember?” you smirk down at him as he grabs your ass kneading the flesh.

“oh yeah sorry. don’t let me forget how much i despise you.” he groans pressing the tips of his digits against the tights. moaning when the seam catches against your clit again, you grind down.

“wouldn’t be so fun if we liked each other, or something.” breath catching in your throat as he swirls around your clit. you don’t see the way he looks up at you when you say that. he wonders if you can tell. it makes him mad the way your so oblivious to his affection for you.

“yeah people who like each other don’t do this.” he moves his other hand to your center, gripping the tights and yanking. the middle seam tears easily exposing your cunt to the cool air of the car.

“haechan,” you squeal. “i liked these.” you pout slapping his arm. he keeps going sliding his fingers between your lower lips, collecting slick.

“i told you.” he pauses a finger teasing over your entrance, tapping your waiting hole. “you need new ones.” he fucks a digit into you hard. you whine as he begins to flick his wrist curling the pad of his middle finger into you.

“but i liked these,” whining and digging your nails into his shoulders.

“you can keep them.” his fingers are fast moving to curl against your sweet spot. “wear them for me.”

“i hate you,” voice shaky as you grind down, his palm pressing against your clit.

“i know,” he leans up, lips ghosting over your neck. using his other hand he unzips your oversized hoodie making you shiver.

“i do. fucking hate you,” you moan when he bites your now exposed skin. you grab his hair in response, tugging him away.

“tell me all about it baby, let it out,” he looks up at you. finger working faster in you.

“hate when you look at me like that,” you whimper, closing your eyes, savoring the ghost of his thumb over your clit.

“what about this?” thumb rubbing circles around you swollen bud while his finger continues curling inside of you. grip tightening on his shoulder and in his hair with a gasp.

“hate it,” peeking down watching his wrist flicking fast and hard. your tummy tightens hearing the squelch of your cunt filling the car.

“and this?” he has that grin on his face watching you melt in his hands like your ice cream when he adds a second finger.

“so much,” you whimper. “hate it so much.”

“poor baby. let it out,” he licks over your neck nibbling lightly at the bare skin. the heat spreading over your tummy feeling the knot tightening. so close and you want it.

“hate me so much you’re gonna cum?” he tuts. you hate him you really do. his hand slithers pulling the top of your camisole down letting your breast spill out. squeezing the flesh before pinching your nipple. clenching around his fingers at the tug of his pointer and thumb on the hard nub.

“you think about me when you’re alone, don't you?” he questions, thumbing your nipple and clit at the same time, sending shockwaves through you. “gushing in your panties when you think about how much you hate your oppa?”

“fingering your cunt wishing it was me?” his words make your toes curl more than his fingers. you’d never admit it to him, your mind trailing to him when you can’t sleep. opening yourself up imagining he was there telling you dirty things. your vibrator is fine but he’s so much better.

“or do you hump your pillow thinking about me? it’s not as good is it?” you shake your head mouth opened gasping.

“leaves you wanting more? wanting your oppa’s cock to help you.” his words pull you closer. you bounce on his hand chasing the release.

“moaning for your oppa all alone.” leaving open mouth kisses along your neck when he whispers, “gonna let it out for your oppa?”

“hate you,” releasing onto his fingers with a whine cunt tightening around them. your fingers tug at his hair and he moans into your neck slowing his hand but still slowly pumping into you. thumb still swirling around your nipple when you look down watching the slow flick of his wrist and see the wet spot on his sweats.

“don’t tell me you came in your pants too?” you tease, breathily.

“all you, sweet cheeks,” pulling his fingers out sticky string connecting to your pussy as more slick dribbles out onto the grey material. he brings them to his lips savoring your taste on his tongue. his other hand falls from your chest settling on your tummy rubbing circles with his thumb. your tit still hanging out as you release the grip you had on him your fingers quickly find his waistband. pulling down the fabric you release his cock.

“no panties?” looking up at him grinning as he leans back head resting on his arms.

“i was trying to be fast.” you take his cock in your hands pumping the length. pushing your ass back to bend down and take him in your mouth. he hisses between his teeth when you wrap your lips around his tip. bobbing your head he reaches down to brush your hair out of your face. you pull back releasing him before spitting messily onto his cock.

“fuck,” he groans as your hand speeds up using your spit and his precum to glide over his length. you look up at him through your lashes watching him bite his lip. he stares back at you, before taking him back in your mouth, sucking him slowly.

“you’re so fucking hot,” gripping your hair with his voice raspy. “i hate you too,” his hips buck when you laugh, mouth vibrating around him. continuing you bob your head letting his cock bump the back of your throat when your nose touches his pelvis. you linger swallowing around him.

“fuck fuck fuck,” he groans, using your hair to pull you away. releasing his cock with spit dripping out of your mouth onto his pants. his chest heaves your hand lazily pumping his length. you wipe your mouth before sitting back up. you wiggle forward on him sitting so your cunt presses against his member.

“do you have condoms,” you turn rummaging in the glove box.

“maybe,” he mumbles, watching the way the head of his cock disappears between your folds.

“bro,” you lift a pair of your panties from the box.

“oh yeah you left those,” he says nonchalantly, holding your hips dragging you over his cock. rolling your eyes, continuing to look, attempting to ignore the hardness bumping your sensitive clit, searching for a foil packet but only finding ketchup.

“can we just do it raw?” you side eye him contemplating. “i’ll pull out.”

“it’s gonna be messy.” you sigh, shutting the compartment.

“you like it that way,” his eyes are staring between you. you're grinding on him without his help so he moves his hand to spread your pussy watching the slick coat his member. a mischievous look on his face when he tugs at the ripped tights opening them more.

“hey,” you shriek, slapping his hand. he doesn’t flinch, hands laying across your thighs as he moves his thumb to lift the head of his cock against your clit, groaning at the pressure. you keep your pace hips rocking back and forth. you grip the hem of his shirt pushing it up on his chest.

“shit,” he whimpers, precum pumping from the slit as he grabs your hips to stop you.

“up,” you lift yourself shimmying forward. he holds himself guiding to your entrance and lifting his own hips while you slide down. you groan in unison when you sit fully. you don’t move for a second savoring the fill of his cock. but his impatient hips jump, jostling you over him, making you double over.

“fuck,” you whimper leaning over him hands under his shirt, your hair falling in his face. you push against him, nails digging into his skin and start riding him. ass slapping against his grey sweatpants any sound muted by the fabric. the head of his cock bumping your sweet spot with every bounce.

he reaches around gripping your ass using what’s left of your tights to move you up and down faster, deeper. moans fill the car along with ripping fabric beside the building steam.

“so deep,” you whine. he leans up, hips meeting yours, face now only centimeters away. you shriek when his hand slaps against your ass.

“like it when i hit you down there,” he repeats your stupid comment from earlier has him hitting your skin again. he grips your tights pulling you up and down on him.

“i meant,” you lean away pushing on his chest for leverage with one hand the other going to your clit. “here.” you wince slapping softly over your sensitive bud.

“let me try again,” his hair falls in his face and he leans into you. his mouth latching onto your nipple and slapping your clit harshly. you shake overwhelmed by the suction on your chest, repeated hits to your g-spot, and slick fingers thrumming your clit.

“there?” he asks, releasing your nipple while still tonguing the bud. you nod furiously, tears building in your eyes overwhelmed.

“aww don’t cry little doll,” he teases using his teeth to pull the other side of your top down before sucking the nipple into his mouth.

“so much,” you whimper, hands threading in his hair roughly.

“thought that was how you hated me?” his breath is so hot like the tears you feel on your cheeks. he continues pounding into you, hips driving deeper with each thrust.

“yeah,” you can’t form a thought just his hands, and his tongue, and his fingers, and his cock, his dick, him, him, him.

“cat got your tongue,” tugging your bottom lip. you mumble nothing but everything at the same time feeling yourself come undone slowly but all at once. whining again when his tongue laps at your nipple. his fingers swirl quickly on your clit.

“s’ full,” you moan. he slaps your clit again making you shake clenching tightly around him.

“oppa’s cock to much for you?” you shake you head, core tightening as your release approaches faster and faster.

“want it,” you whine, nodding mouth opened spit dribbling down your chin, cock drunk.

“gonna cum because you hate me again?” he grins up at you. you squeeze around him in response, hearing him hiss. speeding up his finger on your clit sending you over the edge.

“oppa,” you whimper, arching into his hold as you cum. hot pleasure fills your body as your hips jerk. pussy pulsing around him but he doesn’t slow down continuously bumping your sweet spot over and over.

“let it out for your oppa,” cooing, he feels the puddle growing on his pants. the pads of his fingers don’t stop causing your release to spray over his lower half.

“oh my god,” you whimper leaning into his shoulder. hips shuddering as he still moves in you.

“you’re so tight,” your cunt still squeezing around him as he slows. heavy breathing into his neck while you come down he slowly ruts into you. finally pulling back looking at the mess you made on him.

“sorry,” you whimper, overstimulated from the fullness.

“it’s fucking hot,” he replies as you push him back to the seat. he looks pretty brown eyes blown wide and staring up at you, his hair sticking to his forehead. you’re determined to have him fill you up. suddenly needy for his hot cum in you. your fingers move the hem of his shirt farther up, pads brushing his nipples making him shiver.

“what are you doing?” you start moving your hips again, swiveling them.

“what does it look like?” you deadpan fingers pinching his nubs. he whines head tipping back with closed eyes.

“cum in me.” you whisper against his stomach. tongue flicking over his sticky skin as you bounce on him. he peers down at you watching you slither up his chest before tonguing his nipple.

“fuck,” he whimpers biting his lip. his hands holding your hips start to pull you up and down on him. quivering from sensitivity with each drag of his cock.

“nuhuh,” you move your hands to stop his. “let me.” you lift your ass up before slapping back down the squelch and slap of skin fills the car. your hands hold his wrists hovering over your skin, but he reaches for you needily.

“wanna fuck you.” you whine flicking his nipple with your tongue. “make you cum.” pausing licking up his chest to his collarbone. “fill me up, oppa,” you whisper into his ear.

he’s keening at every word and every squeeze of your tight cunt around him. pulling back, releasing his hands, using yours to press l against the steamy window for leverage and the other finding your clit.

“feels so good, oppa,” you whine when his cock hits your sweet spot again. he finally moves his hands using his thumbs to spread your pussy watching the sticky connection as his cock disappears in you.

“fuck i’m gonna cum,” he groans as you pull him closer to the edge.

“cum for me oppa,” you whimper fingers circling your clit and nipple.

“love it when oppa fills up my cunt,” hips fucking into you and his head falls back as he pumps hot seed into you with a moan. you keep moving your hips, milking his cock. letting the tip abuse your insides trying to cum again.

“unhuh,” you whine, overstimulating him as his cum starts to slip out of you. it sticks to your inner thighs, strings connecting you.

“shit, stop, fuck,” he grabs your hips stopping your movements.

“i’m so close though,” you whine, fingers still padding against your clit. he pulls you off of him with a groan, cock lazily slapping onto his pelvis. you move your fingers fucking two into your puffy pussy but it’s not enough it never is.

“help me,” you whine and he adds a finger beside yours fucking into your cunt pumping his load back into you. you bounce down meeting creamy digits as he curls them.

“let me show you,” he coos using his finger to push the tips of your own into you making you moan instantly.

“it’s gonna,” you moan out, gripping his wrist. “come out.”

“what happened to that tight little cunt? did oppa fuck you loose?” you whimper and he adds a second finger watching your hole swallow four fingers with ease. the pads of his fingers helping you curl yours, pressing just right. you feel so close just a little more you think rubbing your clit faster and harder.

“fuck i’m,” your hips start to shake. “i’m.” you can’t finish, crying out.

“one more time, for your oppa,” he directs more than asks.

you garble out curses as you cum. squirting onto your hands and his spent cock. your wrist slowing but he keeps going coaxing the streams out of you. you can’t think of anything, your body buzzing and shivering with waves of pleasure. it feels like it’s never going to end each bump of your own fingers inside you makes you spill more.

“no more, can’t,” you mumble, grabbing for him. mind numb and cunt pulsing out small dribbles.

“so greedy,” he tells you, pulling out with you, one final spurt hitting his dick. you lay your hand on his thigh but he slaps your cunt making you cry. his sticky fingers rubbing against you slowly. he feels what’s left of his cum start to pool on his fingers, mixing with all you gave him.

cupping his fingers he scoops it from you making you quiver again. before he can move his hands you grab his wrist pulling his fingers to your mouth slurping the mixture onto your tongue.

“fuck,” he hisses, watching you diligently sucking every drop from him. “so fucking nasty.”

sitting back on his thighs with a huff looking down to inspect the damage. his pants are practically dark grey now and his shirt even has damp spots. your fingers spread your lips so you can peak at your pussy, wet and swollen still slightly pulsing.

“i gotta put some towels or something in here. this is like the fourth time.” you giggle pushing your hair out of your face.

“sorry,” you puff.

“next time i'm just going to open the door and let you make a mess on the pavement.” you roll your eyes but the thought of him holding you up for anyone to watch while you squirt makes you tingle.

“you're so freaky. don’t tell me you want me to,” he reads your mind.

“shut up,” you push him away.

“next time i’ll just bend you over the hood.” you whine legs squeezing his. your both still catching your breath the air in the car hot and muggy. you groan as you slide from his lap into your seat.

“i’m going to have to get her detailed again.” he mutters looking between your legs where the slick rubs on his seat.

“sorry,” you grin. he looks around to see if anyone is outside but it’s empty. he always parks far away from the entrance, behind the permanently closed pool. it’s rare that anyone pulls up near you. he tucks himself in his ruined sweats lifting his hips to pull them up before opening the door. the rush of cool air hits you, making you close your legs quickly.

haechan rummages in the trunk, he did keep towels and a change of clothes. after the first time you made a mess he secretly stockpiled items for you. a sweater here, some pants there, a duplicate of your favorite blanket.

he pulls out one of his sweatshirts, tugging his own shirt off, tossing it in a small basket he put back there. he shivered pulling the clean one on quickly. he grabbed two towels before walking back to the door handing you one.

“i thought you didn’t keep towels in here?” you question grabbing the towel and shifting it under you.

“i’m not known for telling the truth.” he wipes over his seat cleaning up the mess. he walks back to the trunk as you lean your head against the seat, sighing.

he puts the towel on top of his shirt, grabbing wipes and two pairs of sweatpants he closes the trunk with an elbow.

“here,” his voice makes you open your eyes. he’s holding wipes up and you grab them. pulling them out you wipe over his seat, he’s standing outside swiftly pulling off his pants. you look up his ass in your face and you can’t resist slapping it.

“b word,” he shrieks, turning to you, almost falling, he hopes on one leg, tugging the pants over his shoes. his refusal to call you a bitch makes you laugh. he’s so tender.

“hey you can only call me that during sex,” you scold.

“that seems like the last place i should call you that,” he points out, stepping into the sweats.

“but i like it,” you pout, closing the wipes watching him jump into his pants.

“because you,” leaning in before tapping a finger on your nose. “are a freak.” you bite at his finger but he pulls away too quickly grabbing something off the roof.

“here,” he holds your own pants to you.

“i’ve been looking for these,” you groan, ripping them from his hands. “how long have you had these?” he shrugs getting back into his seat. not bothering with your tights you slip your skirt down letting it pool on the floorboard. he sits his seat back up starting the car again and blasting the heat. you pull the pants over your legs enjoying the soft warm fabric.

“why do you have my pants,” you prod poking his side.

“in case you needed them,” he states plainly.

“awww you’re so sweet,” you pinch his cheek. “do you like me or something?”

“gross,” he blurts, side eyeing you. “do you want me to drop you at your place?”

“please,” you respond, scrolling on your phone. the car is quiet except for the heat blowing through the vents. “thanks for picking me up by the way, and the ice cream.”

“no worries,” he mumbles, turning the wheel.

“do you have more of my clothes?” you open the glove box pulling your panties out.

“just some leggings and shit in the trunk,” he tells you casually.

“why are you stealing from me,” you sigh, making him chuckle.

“i’ll just get pee pads instead. is that better?”

“god that’s weird. i never do that with anyone else,” you admit.

“wait what?” he stops at a light, looking at you grinning.

“i mean i’ve come close but never like,” you pause motioning, “that. the first time was with you.” you see his ego growing beneath his skin already regretting what you said.

“you’re saying only my dick, my fingers, my tongue can get you like that,” he’s smiling to himself and it’s so annoying you want to slap him and kiss him. you shake your head, getting the last thought out of your head.

“don’t get a big head or anything. i shouldn’t have said it.” you roll your eyes picking at fuzz on your pants.

“if it helps you’re the only one who can make me cum by just playing with my nipples.”

“i’m sure you can do that all by yourself.”

“i’ve tried.” he says flatly.

“you’re too impatient. you just want to nut as fast as possible when you’re alone.”

“well duh why would i want to drag it out if i’m alone and not playing with you. i don’t even jerk off that much anymore, i just edge myself for you.” you dwell on what he said. he makes it sound like you’re the only one he’s hooking up with.

“you don’t edge yourself for-“

“no.” he interrupts you before you can start listing people. “i don’t hook up with anyone else.”

“what?”

“i don’t hook up with anyone else.” he repeats.

“i dunno, that’s a little too intimate, haechan,” you tease, trying to seem like you don’t care. part of you wants to think about what it actually means and another part wants to ignore him and be oblivious.

“is it? i like being intimate with you,” he meets your eyes quickly, fingers crawling up your leg.

“that sounds so serious,” you breathe deeply.

“don’t tell me you didn’t like that?” recalling how you felt less than 15 minutes ago. squeezing your legs together and your eyes closed. “i know you. you hate that i do, but i know how i make you feel. i’m confident in that.”

you stay quiet the only sound coming from the heat and wheels on pavement. his hand still rests on your thigh, fingers softly thrumming. you don’t really have an answer or any witty remark. he’s right. he does know your body better than anyone you have ever been with. you hate to admit he knows you better too. reading your mind with ease and his humor is just as dirty and weird. deep down you know how you feel for him but you can’t, it breaks the unspoken rule between you too.

“why do you have to be so,” you groan, his hand smooths over your leg.

“i think you know how i feel about you,” he mutters, turning onto you street.

“huh,” you heard him.

“we’re here,” he pulls up beside your apartment.

“thanks,” you whisper, grabbing your bag and shoving your panties in. opening the door and haechan rolls the window down as you slam the door.

“don’t forget,” he holds your skirt up and you grab it from him.

“thanks.”

“good night.”

“good night, and just so you know, i don’t know how you feel about me.” you tell him, pulling back before turning to walk to your door. you want to look back and see his face but you get your keys out and turn them in the lock.

he sits watching you turn the door knob and disappear into your house. he sighs, eyes closing and leaning his head back rubbing his eyes with his palms.

[inkskinned]

how odd, to watch the creative writing exercises of angry men in the comments of instagram. you noticed it first in the comments of conventionally attractive women - but then it started appearing everywhere else, too.

a young man talks about what lunch he's packing his wife. there is a little story under it, with 300 likes, fabricated from nothing. "this is pointless. if you treat her like this, she will take the lunch to her office and fuck her boss and divorce him and take all his money."

you scroll. a young woman talks about what lunch she's packing for her husband. it is always uglier when the subject of the video is a woman, you've noticed. "you sit on camera and you smile and you are cheating with the neighbor and then you're going to lie about being sexually assaulted by your husband and -"

you stop reading. it has 567 likes.

where did this even become a thing? people making up stories in their head, disgusting long-winded assumptions about intention and sexual disgrace. the evil twin of fanfiction.

like - it's just a lie. it's a lie that they are telling, baldfaced and assumptive. the undercurrent is of course misogyny, but the trouble is that they're so fucking certain. that's what makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise. there is this pervasive, inventive desire for them to be right. that they must be right. all women are cheating, lying, gold-digging bitches. no exceptions.

in the reverse, when women say i'd rather meet a bear in the woods than a strange man - men funnel in from the sides. they defend each other with a vibrance and capacity for empathy you wish applied to like, the other half of the population. a man could be saying i absolutely did kill her and these creatures in the comments would rise up with king shit. she made it happen. they love each other to the point of this sick strange self-gaslighting, a fervent and unhinged cognitive distortion. all men are good, wonderful people. all women are terrible, conniving, seditious, annoying.

and when did it become okay to just, like... say that kind of a thing? at one point, you find yourself typing out a witty and snappy retort. why are you spending so much time fantasizing about other people babe. but as you stare at the screen, some part of you pictures this man in public, saying these things to your face. his soapbox, high and mighty. his mirrored sunglasses and his empty life: tired and lonely.

what a sad and horrible loop he's locked in. he is terrible to women, so women don't talk to him, which he uses as an excuse to act more terribly. he blames this "failure" on women, rather than on his behavior. it cannot be that he is the problem (that the solution is to just put his ego down and accept women as equals) - he begins to invent a sculpture to replace the flesh frame of each person he sees.

it isn't just a woman posing on the beach. it is now a slut with a desperate need for each person to crave her body. it isn't just a woman yelping with surprise during something upsetting. it is a hysterical, unhelpful cretin who will probably make things worse instead of better. it isn't a person.

someone's very sweet wedding vows get moderate attention on instagram. in the comments, a man says good fucking luck you'll waste your life providing while behind your back she's absolutely fucking the best man. this will be so cringe in 2 months when she walks out on you.

you think - is that what you need to be true? is that what you need to happen, for the world to make sense to you?

[biteyoubiteme]

raspberry stains

vampire!sunghoon x fem!reader

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

⋅˚₊‧ wc: 18.5k ‧₊˚ ⋅

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

[m.list]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It's not pity-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[jadevine]

Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

Update March 1, 2024: Hey there folks, here's yet another update! I reposted Part 2a (the "medieval warhorses" tangent) to my writing blog, and I went down MORE of the horse-knowledge rabbit hole! https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/741423906984951808/my-post-got-cut-off-so-i-added-the-rest-of-it Update Jan 30, 2024: Hey folks, I've posted the updated version of this post on my blog, so I don't have to keep frantically telling everyone "hey, that's the old version of this post!" https://thebalangay.wordpress.com/2024/01/29/preindustrial-travel-times-part-1/

I should get the posts about army travel times and camp followers reformatted and posted to my blog around the end of the week, so I'll filter through my extremely tangled thread for them.

Part 2 - Preindustrial ARMY travel times: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask

Part 2a - How realistic warhorses look and act, because the myth of "all knights were mounted on huge clunky draft horses" just refuses to die: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/732043691180605440/helpful-things-for-action-writers-to-remember

Part 3 - Additional note about camp followers being regular workers AND sex-workers: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/740604203134828544/reblogging-the-time-looped-version-of-my

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I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance" per day. For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND, so by the time you're done slogging through drier patches of wetlands or squeezing through trees, a deceptively short 10-15 miles in rough terrain might take you a whole day to walk instead of the usual half-day.

If you are traveling in freezing winters or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

Traveling in TOO-HOT weather is just as bad, because pushing yourself too hard and getting dehydrated at noon in the tropics will literally kill you. It's called heat-STROKE, not "heat-PARTY."

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

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UPDATE January 13: Several people have gotten curious and looked at maps, to find out how a lot of cities are indeed spread out at a nice distance of 20-30 miles apart! I love getting people interested in my hyperfixations, lol.

But remember that this is the space between CITIES AND TOWNS. There should never be a 20-mile stretch of empty wilderness between City A and Town B, unless your world explains why folks are able to build a city in the middle of nowhere, or if something has specifically gone wrong to wipe out its supporting villages!

Period pieces often portray a shining city rising from a sea of picturesque empty land, without a single grain field or cow pasture in sight, but that city would starve to death very quickly in preindustrial times.

Why? Because as Bret Devereaux mentions in his “Lonely Cities” article (https://acoup.blog/2019/07/12/collections-the-lonely-city-part-i-the-ideal-city/), preindustrial cities and towns must have nearby villages (and even smaller towns, if large and prosperous enough!) to grow their food for them.

The settlements around a city will usually be scattered a few miles apart from each other, usually clustered along the roads to the city gates. Those villages and towns at the halfway point between cities (say 10-15 miles) are going to be essential stops for older/sick folks, merchants with cargo, and large groups like noble’s retinues and army forces.

Preindustrial armies and large noble retinues usually can’t make it far past 10-12 miles per day, as denoted in my addition to this post. (https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask )

[sunyandmony]

IT'S DONE IT'S DONE DONE DON-

The fic is done..... Took long enough with all the tests and things that came up😭

Now just gotta transfer all the words here.... Delete the messes within and be done.... It changed so drastically ever since I started it, trust me. I am insane...

Give me about an hour and I'll queue the post for about two hours later. Alright? Adios

🚶‍♀️