#this is like. part dark/horror part jungwon feeling conflicted part poly enha tenderness

[many-gay-magpies]

@loabivey @honeyseungz @angelhee @affectionaterainoflove @yixiangs @jungwon-luv-bot-pt3

so uh yeah i wrote a thing ! lulu and artzyy's discussion about vampire jungwon had me feeling things, on top of this brilliant fic i read yesterday, so... here u go hsfhchfvc

wc: .9k, tw for blood, smoke, vague descriptions of a car crash and descriptions of a dried-up corpse. other than that i think that's it, but if you see anything you think i missed let me know!

and with that i present to you: blood bonds.

He can feel the blood on his hands. He doesn't know how he got here.

The scent alone is enough to have his mind reeling again—but he's full, now, satiated, and he no longer feels the need to hunt, to feed as he once did.

Jungwon slowly blinks awake, taking a moment to survey his surroundings. Memories start to trickle back in as he does, far away and faded as if from a dream—how he'd stopped a car in the middle of a street, clambered up onto it's windshield; how good it had felt, to taunt them, to see the fear of it's inhabitant through the rain-fogged glass. How good the blood had smelled; sweet, sickening, the catalyst to his blackout.

He's in a car, Jungwon realizes. Not only that, but the car had swerved off the road some time ago, and now sits with its front properly bashed in by the post of a streetlight; an impact that had left Jungwon unharmed. He sits in the lap of a body, white-skinned, shriveled, limp; a man or a woman, he doesn't know. Two puncture marks sit on the right side of it's neck, though any amount of blood that could have been pouring from them is long gone, now.

No. Not gone. Jungwon licks at his fangs and tastes the last bitter remains; shivers, perturbed. Guilt prickles in his chest, but not nearly as much as he thought there would be.

Maybe it's the haze he has yet to fully shake, but everything feels strangely idealistic, unreal—he feels guilty, yes, but more than that he feels good; really, really good. He doesn't need to look in a mirror to know that his skin is practically glowing, his cheeks plump and eyes bright, the warmth of another's blood flowing like wildfire under his skin. He feels more alive than he's never been, and laughs at the irony of it, the taste of just how false that statement is like copper on his tongue.

He tries to reach through the haze, tries to grasp for any inch of panic he might be feeling, but the only things his fingers close around is this light, bright sensation; ecstasy and relief at the final satiation of his hunger. He's never been drunk before, or high, or any of those other things, but he imagines this is what it might feel like.

Jungwon carefully extracts himself from the body beneath him, stepping out onto the cold pavement. Smoke rises in a column from the car's front, bringing warmth to the once-chilled night, but Jungwon is warm enough on his own that he has no need for it.

A thought comes like a bolt of lightning: I need the hyungs. Because as guiltless as he is now, he'll have plenty to feel guilty about later, when his lapse in control finds them on the run again.

A few seperate thoughts turn around in his mind, old ancestors rolling in their graves in time with his quieting breath. He needs to get rid of the body, take it somewhere safe until he can figure out what to do with it, and he probably needs his hyungs' and Riki's help to do it. The consequences of someone finding it here—sucked dry and bloodless, with a human-sized bite mark in the side of it's neck—are more than any of them can afford.

A part of him knows, too, in the back of his mind, that the euphoria won't last forever—sooner or later the rush he has will drain away, and when it does, he'll need to find someone to cry on; someone who won't be crushed by the weight of his guilt.

If, a voice in his head whispers, if you even feel it. He shoves the voice away.

Jungwon looks at the corpse in the driver's seat with the same disconnected grief as someone looking into the casket of a relative they knew only distantly. It was a man, Jungwon recalls vaguely. Wearing a pressed business suit, the blazer of which now sits discarded on the passenger seat floor, the collar of a crisp white button-up stained with blood. He wonders what kind of life he'd had; if he had a partner, children he was leaving behind. Children Jungwon made him leave behind. He hadn't meant to, hadn't wanted to, but-- but.

His grief is slow, sludgy, like a pool of black tar, and the tears don't come even as he wonders if they should.

---

Heeseung knows what's happened as soon as he sees him. If it isn't the glow of his skin, the fullness of his cheeks, it's the dazed look in his eyes; the telltale dregs of euphoria that have yet to make their leave.

Although on second thought, maybe it was the blood that did it, trickling down his chin and staining his teeth and lips rust-red.

"I didn't mean to do it," he says quietly. In the background, Jay and Jake drag the body out of the car, and Sunoo and Sunghoon watch with Riki to make sure no one sees.

"I know," Heeseung says, voice soft. "I know you didn't." Then he opens his arms, and Jungwon falls in as readily as if he was born there.