dawn !!

The first week back feels like being thrown in a washing machine.

Lectures. Group assignments. A lab partner who can’t stop chewing gum like it’s a contact sport. Your dorm radiator hisses all night like it’s haunted. You’re too tired to think about much, except for the fact that Seungmin is, somehow, everywhere again.

Not that that’s unusual. He’s always been there. Same classes, same café runs, same sarcastic comebacks that once felt harmless and now feel… different.

Because summer happened.

And now, every time you pass him your notes in class and your fingers brush, you’re aware of it. Every time you sit across from him in the library and he pushes your favourite snack across the table without looking up from his laptop, you’re aware of it. Every time he yawns and tips his head back against the dorm couch, hoodie tugging just enough to show the line of his throat —

Yeah. Aware.

But you’re both pretending. Like always.

Friday, 9:03 PM – Your Dorm Room

You’re hunched over your laptop, notes spread everywhere, hair falling into your face. Seungmin drops into the seat across from you with his usual annoyed sigh, the one that says “you’re doing something wrong and I’m here to witness it.”

“You look dead,” he says, chin propped in his hand.

“You look like a Victorian child ghost,” you mutter back.

He smirks, lazy. “Still cute, though.”

You look up at him sharply. He doesn’t flinch. Just shrugs and starts pulling out his own notebook like he didn’t just lob a grenade into the room.

“Stop saying things like that,” you mumble, turning back to your laptop.

“Like what?”

“Like… that.”

“Why? It’s true.”

You glare. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re failing this assignment if you don’t fix that header spacing.”

You groan. He laughs. It’s stupidly warm, soft, real, the kind of laugh that makes your chest tighten in a way you’re refusing to name.

10:42 PM

“Why are you still here?” you ask, scrolling through your paper while he’s sprawled across your bed, very much not leaving.

“Because you’d get distracted without me,” he says, flipping through one of your textbooks like he owns it.

“I’m already distracted with you here.”

“Exactly. Equal results. At least I get to bully you for it in person.”

You throw a pen at him. He catches it without looking. Show-off. There’s a beat of quiet after that, the kind that stretches thin. He’s still lying there, half-propped on his elbow, watching you type. His gaze is warm and when you finally glance back he doesn’t look away.

Your fingers freeze on the keyboard. “Seungmin,” you say carefully.

“Mm?”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re—” you stop, biting your lip.

He tilts his head. “Like I’m what?”

You slam your laptop shut. “Never mind.”

He grin, that slow and infuriating grin of his, like he knows.

11:56 PM – The Hallway

He insists on walking you to the vending machine downstairs because “you’ll trip over your own feet if left unsupervised.” You bicker the whole way there. You always do. But when you’re standing side by side, waiting for your chocolate bar to clunk into the tray, his arm brushes yours. Neither of you moves.

“Are you coming to the Giants game tomorrow?” he asks casually.

You snort. “In what world would I do that?”

“The one where you owe me for all this free tutoring.”

You narrow your eyes. “And what do I get out of it?”

“A good seat. And me.”

You stare at him. He shrugs, unbothered, like that wasn’t the boldest thing he’s ever said. “Fine,” you say eventually, trying to sound annoyed and not like your pulse just jumped. “But I’m wearing the rival team shirt.”

He groans. “You’re actually trying to get booed, huh?”

“Maybe I like watching you suffer.”

“Maybe you like watching me.”

You choke. He just smirks, holding the vending machine door open for you like the menace he is.

Saturday, 1:14 PM – Campus Courtyard

You spot him before he spots you, sitting on the low stone wall, scrolling his phone, baseball cap tipped low over his face like he’s auditioning to be cooler than you by default.

“Why do you look like a paparazzi photo of a celebrity trying not to be recognized?” you ask, dropping into the spot next to him.

He doesn’t look up, just tilts the brim of his cap up a fraction. “Why do you look like you’re about to betray me on national television?”

You grin, spreading your arms. “Because I am.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

You tug at the hem of your shirt with mock-innocence. “What, this old thing? Just a casual little outfit.”

“Rival team logo is not casual,” he deadpans, finally putting his phone away. “It’s an attack.”

“Consider it a peace offering to literally everyone else at the stadium.”

“Peace offering to who? The security team that’s gonna have to drag me off you when you get booed?”

You swing your bag onto your shoulder. “I thrive under pressure.”

He stands, towering just enough to look down at you with that half-annoyed, half-smug Seungmin expression that you’ve learned means he’s secretly delighted. “Thriving is a strong word for someone who spun like a Beyblade on a baseball field two months ago,” he says, starting to walk toward the subway.

You trail after him, scowling. “You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

“Not even a little.”

By the time you reach the Stadium's Entrance line, the crowd's already buzzing, vendors yelling, the smell of popcorn and hot dogs hanging thick in the air. Seungmin walks just ahead of you, weaving through people like he was born for this.

“You’re way too comfortable in chaos,” you mutter, trying not to get elbowed by a group of overly enthusiastic fans.

He glances back, smirking. “You’re just bad at crowds.”

“I’m bad at crowds when I’m following someone with legs twice as long as mine.”

He snorts, holding his arm back for you to catch. You hesitate and he notices, eyebrow quirking. “You can grab on, you know. I’m not gonna charge you for VIP escort service.”

You roll your eyes but catch his wrist anyway, his skin warm under your fingers. His smirk tilts higher, not that you’re looking.

Seungmin led you both through the crowd, inside the stadium, hell, at one point he even shifted your hold on his wrist so he is actually holding your hand. Your ears are red. Red as a fucking tomato while he navigates you both to your seats.

“These are… actually really good,” you say, settling into the seat beside him, trying not to gawk at the clear view of the diamond.

“Obviously,” he says, popping open a soda. “I wouldn’t subject you to bad seats for your first real baseball experience.”

“My first real baseball experience was you yelling at me for three hours in a field, remember?”

He glances at you sideways, smirking. “Yeah, but this one comes with snacks.”

A vendor passes by, and Seungmin casually flags him down, ordering popcorn without even asking you. He just hands it to you, no comment.

When the game finally starts, the stadium erupts. Seungmin lights up like a kid on Christmas, already yelling stats you only half understand. You lean back, chewing popcorn. “You’re unironically so hot when you’re yelling at strangers.”

He whips his head around so fast you almost laugh. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say sweetly, tossing another piece of popcorn in your mouth.

He stares at you for a beat before turning back to the game, muttering, “You’re insufferable.” But his ears are red under his cap.

By the fifth inning, he's in full Giants Boy mode now, clapping, leaning forward, muttering “come on, come on” under his breath. You, however, are busy making commentary about him instead of the players.

“Seungmin, you look like you’re going to combust.”

“I am combusting,” he says without missing a beat.

“Should I be concerned?”

“Only if we lose.”

“You’re terrifying.”

“You chose this life,” he says, still not looking at you.

And then, the crack of a bat, the crowd ROARS, Seungmin is on his feet in one motion, throwing his fist into the air. Instinctively, you stand too, startled by the sheer volume. And without thinking, he grabs your hand. Fingers curling tight around yours, warm, firm, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t notice at first, too busy yelling, but when the cheer dies down and he finally looks at you —

You’re already looking at him.

His smile falters just slightly, softens, like he’s seeing you properly for the first time all day. His thumb brushes your knuckles once. Absentmindedly. And yet, he doesn't let go. But neither are you.

The game winds down with a buzz still thrumming through the crowd. Seungmin claps once as the announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, his grin still half-pinned to his face, and you’re almost distracted enough not to notice that he hasn’t let go of your hand.

Almost.

When he finally looks down at you, there’s a split second where you swear he’s going to say something — something dangerous, something too honest — but then his mouth quirks sideways instead, like he’s switching gears.

“You survived,” he says.

“Barely,” you shoot back. “I think my hearing’s permanently damaged.”

He rolls his eyes, tugging you along with him as the crowd begins to spill toward the exits. “You should thank me. This was peak baseball education. Free, too.”

“Free? You made me pay for my own soda!”

“I paid for the popcorn.”

“You ate half the popcorn!”

“It was for the good of the team,” he says, dead serious, weaving through the mass of people like he’s been doing it his whole life.

You snort, letting him pull you along, still holding your hand, still not even trying to drop it, and you’re trying really, really hard not to think about that.

When you finally hit the street outside the stadium, the air is cooler, tinged with the smell of street food and something almost sweet from the vendor carts. Seungmin finally glances back at you, eyebrow raised.

“Tteokbokki?” he asks.

Your stomach growls before you can answer. You narrow your eyes. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

He smirks, tugging you toward a side street lined with carts. “I always plan good meals after good games. Professional habit.”

“And what exactly about that game was good?” you tease, sidestepping a group of kids in matching jerseys.

He stops just long enough to give you an incredulous look. “We won. You clapped. You even smiled when they hit that double in the eighth inning.”

“That was just me being polite.”

“Sure it was,” he says, clearly not buying it, leading you right to a steaming tteokbokki cart.

The ahjumma running it gives him a bright smile when she sees him. “Back again, Giants boy?”

You blink, turning to him. “Back again?”

Seungmin scratches the back of his neck, suddenly bashful in a way you’ve never seen. “I, uh… come here sometimes. After games.”

“Sometimes?” the ahjumma laughs, already ladling steaming rice cakes into a paper bowl. “He eats here almost every weekend. Spicy level three, right?”

You grin at him, delighted. “Wow. Regular status. Should I get your autograph?”

He shoots you a look, cheeks faintly pink. “Don’t start.”

“Too late. Regular Seungmin, I’m honoured to be in your presence.”

“You’re about to be honoured with no tteokbokki if you keep talking.”

You gasp dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He smirks, taking the bowls when they’re handed to him and passing one to you. “Eat before you starve to death being annoying.” You follow him to a bench nearby, settling in with your bowl, the smell already making your mouth water. The first bite is molten, spicy, glorious. You make a small sound of approval before you can stop yourself.

Seungmin glances at you, smirking. “That good, huh?”

“Shut up,” you mumble, taking another bite. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying it.”

“I always enjoy it. But you? You’re eating like you’ve never seen food before.”

“I had a long day watching you scream at strangers.”

“And you loved it.”

“Debatable.”

“Not even a little,” he says, tilting his head as he watches you blow on a rice cake. “You were totally into it. You even cheered.”

“I was peer-pressured by thousands of people!”

“Mm. Sure.”

You’re about to argue back, but then a string of melted cheese snaps from your chopsticks to your mouth in the most embarrassing way possible. You scramble to catch it, failing miserably. Seungmin freezes for half a beat before bursting into laughter. A real, unguarded laughter, leaning slightly away as he tries to hold it back. “You—” he manages between laughs, “you look like you’re fighting a monster!”

“Shut up,” you groan, finally managing to scoop the cheese into your mouth. “It’s hot!”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, still grinning as he takes a slow bite of his own, obnoxiously neat in comparison.

You glare at him, cheeks puffed with food. “You think you’re so much better than me, huh?”

“I know I am,” he says, perfectly calm, which only makes you scowl harder.

You jab your chopsticks in his direction. “Bet you can’t eat it in one bite.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Wanna lose that bet?”

“I’d love to watch you choke on molten cheese.”

His grin turns wicked. “You’re evil.”

“You like it.”

And for a split second — longer than it should be — his smile softens just slightly, eyes locking with yours in a way that makes your stomach flip. “Yeah,” he says, quieter this time, almost too soft to catch. “Maybe I do.” You blink, caught off guard, but before you can answer, he pops a piece of tteokbokki in his mouth and leans back against the bench like nothing happened.

You stare at him. Hard. “...What?” you manage, voice catching slightly.

He blinks, all fake innocence now, chewing his tteokbokki like he didn’t just nuke your entire brain. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You—” You point your chopsticks at him accusingly. “You can’t just say things like that.”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Like what?”

“Like that,” you hiss.

“Like what exactly, traitor? Be specific.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

His mouth quirks, maddeningly calm. “Do I?”

You squint at him, your pulse a traitor all on its own. “Seungmin.”

He doesn’t answer, just pops another rice cake into his mouth and chews, completely unfazed while you’re sitting there, gripping your chopsticks like they might snap in half.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, turning back to your food, stabbing a rice cake like it personally offended you. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the way his shoulders shake slightly. He’s laughing at you.

“You’re insufferable,” you say.

“Mm. You’ve mentioned,” he hums, leaning back against the bench casually. Then, after a beat: “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know.”

Your head snaps toward him so fast it’s a miracle you don’t sprain something. “Seungmin—” But he’s already reaching over, stealing one of your rice cakes right out of your bowl like he owns it.

“Hey!”

“Payment for my suffering,” he says, eating it in one neat bite.

“Suffering from what, exactly?”

“Being here with a known Giants hater,” he says, deadpan, licking a bit of sauce off his thumb like he doesn’t realize you’re staring at his hand now instead of his face. “Honestly, I deserve an award.”

“You’re—” you stop, scowling, because the only word you can think of right now is ridiculous, but that doesn’t even begin to cover it. Because he’s not ridiculous. He’s Seungmin. Seungmin who teases you until you want to scream, who looks at you like you’re the only person in the stadium, who caught you in his arms two months ago and kissed you—

Your stomach flips. Hard.

And apparently you’ve been staring at him too long, because when you finally drag your gaze up, he’s watching you. Not smirking. Not teasing. Just… watching. The noise of the street fades for a second, replaced by the soft thud of your own pulse in your ears. You clear your throat, snapping yourself back to reality, jabbing your chopsticks into your bowl again. “You’re still an ass.”

And just like that, his smirk returns, slow and dangerous. “You love it.”

“Delusional.”

“Adorable,” he corrects, leaning in just slightly, and your breath catches for a second, because it feels too close now, like if you moved an inch, your knees would touch, your shoulders would brush, your whole carefully maintained balance would just—

You scoff, pushing his shoulder lightly with yours to disguise the way your chest tightens. “Eat your tteokbokki, Giants boy.”

When you’re both finished, Seungmin stands, tossing the empty bowls in the bin nearby before turning back to you with that same maddeningly easy grin.

“Come on,” he says, holding a hand out to you.

You raise an eyebrow. “What for?”

“Clearly you need more baseball education. My dorm. Game replays.”

You gape at him. “Game replays? That’s your idea of post-dinner entertainment?”

“Yes. You’re welcome.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he says simply, and when you reluctantly take his hand to stand, his fingers curl around yours again, definitely not casually, and definitely not by accident. They curl around yours like he means it.

And honestly, he does.

The walk back to campus feels weirdly quiet. Not silent, not awkward, just quiet in a way that makes you hyperaware of everything else. The sound of your sneakers scuffing the pavement. The way his thumb brushes your knuckles every now and then. The way you keep almost saying something and then shutting your mouth, because what would you even say? You almost jumped him on a baseball field two months ago. You did kiss him, technically. And now he’s holding your hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world, tugging you along toward his dorm as if you didn’t just spend an entire summer pretending nothing happened.

By the time you reach his floor, you’re about two seconds from combusting. Seungmin unlocks his door, glancing over his shoulder at you. “You coming in, or do I need to roll out a red carpet for you?”

You scoff, stepping inside. “Your hospitality sucks.”

“It’s a dorm, not a hotel.”

You toss your bag onto his desk chair, turning to look at him and immediately realize he’s standing closer than you expected. Close enough that you can smell the faint mix of laundry detergent and whatever cologne he always wears without meaning to. Your brain stutters. Couple-close. You’ve been couple-close all day.

Seungmin seems completely unfazed, kicking his shoes off before tossing himself onto his bed. “Sit,” he says, nodding at the space next to him.

You cross your arms. “Wow, so polite.”

“Do you want to learn baseball or not?”

“Not.”

“Sit anyway.”

You roll your eyes, but you sit, careful to keep a few inches of space between you. He notices. Of course he notices. His eyebrow arches slightly, like he’s daring you to keep that distance. He pulls up a replay on his laptop, propping it on his knees. The sound of the crowd fills the room, muffled through his speakers.

You glance at him, unimpressed. “This is tragic. Are you seriously making me watch sports analysis of the same game we just saw?”

“Educational purposes,” he says smoothly.

“Mm-hm.” You pop your head into your hand, elbow resting on your knee. “And what exactly am I learning here?”

“That I’m always right.”

You snort. “You’re never right.”

His gaze flicks toward you, eyes glinting. “Oh yeah? You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“Funny,” he says, leaning back slightly, arms crossing over his chest now. “Because you’ve been looking at me like I’m right about a lot of things lately.”

You whip your head toward him, heat rushing to your face. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

His mouth quirks. “You tell me.”

“Seungmin,” you warn.

“What?” he says, voice all fake-innocent. “You’ve been staring since the game.”

“I have not!”

“You definitely have,” he counters, shifting slightly closer now, laptop forgotten. “You’ve been looking at me like—”

“Like what, exactly?”

He tilts his head, his grin softening just slightly, that teasing edge dipping into something deeper. “Like you’re waiting for me to do something about it.”

Your heart lurches. “You’re full of yourself.”

“And you’re full of excuses.”

You’re glaring at him now, but he doesn’t back down. Neither do you. Finally, you snap, jabbing a finger at him. “You think you can just say stuff like that and—”

“What, like this?” he interrupts, leaning closer.

“Seungmin—”

“Or maybe like this,” he murmurs, closer now, his face inches from yours.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, but your voice catches halfway through.

“You love it when I'm annoying,” he breathes, and this time his tone isn’t teasing. Your pulse is pounding. His eyes are locked on yours. The air between you goes still, heavy, loaded. And before you realise, before you even take another deep breath.

He kisses you.

His lips are on you. His. lips. are. on you.

And not tentative, not an accident. No no. This is on purpose. Done with intent. Seungmin leans into that kiss fully, hand sliding to the side of your jaw, pulling you closer like he’s been dying to do it since that stupid summer evening. Your brain short-circuits. Your hands fist into his shirt without thinking, pulling him closer, because apparently you’ve been waiting just as long.

And when you finally break apart, you’re both breathless, staring at each other like you’re not sure what universe you’ve just stepped into.

“...You’re such an ass,” you whisper again, because it’s the only thing your brain can manage.

His lips curve into a grin, softer this time, almost shy if it weren’t Seungmin. “Yeah,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your cheek once before dropping. “But you really do love it.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he kisses you again before you can get a single word out. This one is worse. Or better. Or both. Because now you know exactly how it feels, and your body responds like it’s been waiting for this, like it’s been ready for weeks, maybe months, maybe since that stupid baseball field when he caught you before you hit the dirt.

But you still melt into that kiss and your fingers twist tighter in his shirt. Because, fuck, his lips are... perfect against your own. His hand slides to the back of your neck this time, careful but firm, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he lets you go. When he finally pulls back, his forehead lingers against yours. His thumb brushes the edge of your jaw, softer now, almost hesitant.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low, warm against your skin.

And you want to say yes. God, you want to. But your chest feels too tight, and your brain? Your brain won’t shut up. Because this is Seungmin. Your Seungmin. The one who’s been your person through bad professors and late-night deadlines, the one who memorized your coffee order, the one who stayed up at 3 a.m. with you watching dumb videos because you couldn’t sleep.

And if you mess this up—

You blink, heart hammering, and the words tumble out before you can stop them. “This… this is gonna make things complicated.”

Seungmin’s expression flickers, just for a second, before settling back into something unreadable. “Complicated how?”

“You know how,” you whisper, pulling back just slightly, enough to breathe but not enough to break the space between you. “We’re—us. We’ve been… like this for so long, and if this goes wrong, if we screw this up, I don’t—” Your throat tightens. “I don’t want to lose you.”

There’s a beat of silence. His hand stays at your jaw and his gaze doesn’t waver. Seungmin then finally exhales, a soft huff that sounds almost like disbelief.

“Are you seriously worried about that?”

You blink, stung. “Yes, I’m worried about that! This isn’t—this isn’t just kissing some random guy, Seungmin, this is you. My best friend. And you just—” You gesture vaguely at him, at this. “You kissed me. Twice. Like it’s not a big deal.”

His brows lift, and for the first time tonight, his voice sharpens, not angry, never angry, just firm. “You think this isn’t a big deal to me?”

Your breath catches.

“I’ve wanted to do that since…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. “God, I don’t even know how long. But it’s been a while. So yeah, I kissed you. Because I meant it. Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this.”

You stare at him, stunned, because Seungmin doesn’t talk like this. He teases. He deflects. He hides behind sarcasm. But right now? He’s looking at you like every word is true. And then he adds, softer now, “You’re worried about losing me? Newsflash, traitor. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your chest tightens. “You can’t promise that.”

He shrugs, a crooked half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe not. But I can promise I’m not kissing you just to mess around. I don’t…” He exhales again, softer this time, thumb brushing over your cheekbone like he’s trying to make you believe it. “I don’t do this with just anyone. You know that.”

You swallow hard, still staring at him, still scared, still buzzing. You even open your mouth to argue again, but he catches it with another kiss, again. Except this one is slower, more passionate, his hand sliding to your waist this time, like he's giving you every second to pull away.

But you don't.

So when you part from that perfect kiss again, you're both leaning into each other, air is warmer between you. Warm and different. But a good type of different.

You press your forehead to his, voice quiet, a tiny, almost-shy admission. “This better not ruin us.”

“It won’t,” he says without hesitation, like it’s the easiest truth in the world. “Not unless you run away first.”

You snort, weakly, because that’s such a Seungmin answer. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He smirks, thumb brushing your chin. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes but don’t move away, your fingers still curled into his shirt. “Shut up and play your stupid game replays, Giants boy.”

He grins, tugging you gently closer against his side until you’re practically tucked into him. The laptop is still on, now playing muted game highlights, but he doesn’t even glance at it. His arm rests lazily against the back of the bed, fingers brushing your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You try to focus on the screen, really, you do. But his warmth, his stupid heartbeat against your arm, his smell—all of it—is way too distracting.

And of course, he notices.

“Hey,” he murmurs, glancing down at you, voice low enough that it cuts through the sound of the crowd on the replay. “You’re not still freaking out about this, are you?”

You blink, startled. “I’m not freaking out.”

One of his eyebrows lifts. “Sure.”

“I’m not,” you insist, maybe a little too fast.

“Uh-huh.” His mouth quirks. “If it reassures you that much, though…”

Something in his tone makes you glance up. His smirk is already there, infuriating and dangerous. “…lemme just take you out on a proper date,” he says, voice casual, like he’s talking about something as simple as passing the salt.

You freeze. “A… date?”

“Yeah.” He leans back slightly, still watching you with that damn smirk. “A real one. I’ll even ask you to be my girlfriend if that helps you stop looking like you’re about to explode.”

Your face heats instantly. “You’re—what?”

“Don’t look so shocked,” he says, grinning wider now. “What, you think I was planning on kissing you forever without actually doing something about it?”

“I—Seungmin—!”

“Relax,” he interrupts, leaning closer, his arm brushing yours. “I’ll do it properly. Dinner. Maybe flowers. I’ll even wear a nice shirt. Not for me, obviously—”

“Obviously,” you deadpan, trying desperately to hide your burning cheeks.

“—but for you,” he finishes, voice dropping just slightly.

You stare at him. Hard. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he says, laughing softly, tilting his head like he’s committing your expression to memory. “It’s cute.”

“Stop calling me cute.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s—you can’t just—ugh!”

He’s laughing outright now, leaning back against the headboard, the picture of relaxed smugness. “You’re really bad at taking compliments, you know that?”

“I hate you,” you mutter, turning back toward the laptop just so you don’t have to look at him anymore.

“Mm, no you don’t,” he says easily, reaching over to nudge your chin so you’ll look at him again. “But nice try.”

You swat his hand away, glaring. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still sitting here,” he points out, grin softening just slightly, almost fond now. “So I’ll take that as a yes.”

“A yes to what?”

“To the date.”

You blink. “I never agreed to—”

“Too late,” he says, shrugging, eyes twinkling. “I already asked. You didn’t say no. That’s basically a yes.”

“Seungmin.”

He cuts you off with a grin that’s both smug and—annoyingly—warm. “Relax, traitor. I’ll make it worth your while.”

You try to come up with a snarky reply, but all that comes out is a strangled, “You’re so—ugh.” He chuckles, finally turning back to the laptop like nothing happened, one arm still draped around you like it belongs there.

You shift under his arm, trying to find the right words, but they all feel stuck somewhere in your chest. “Seungmin,” you start, quieter this time.

He hums, eyes on the laptop now but clearly listening.

“I just…” You glance down at your hands, twisting slightly in your lap. “I’m still… kind of scared, okay? Like, this is—”

He cuts you off immediately, like he’s been expecting that. “Complicated. Yeah, I know.”

You look up at him, surprised. He glances at you finally, his expression softer than you expect. “But hey,” he says, voice steady, no hesitation at all, “you don’t have to be scared. Not with me.”

Your chest tightens.

“And also,” he adds, smirk curling back onto his face, “too late anyway. You’re already my girlfriend.”

Your brain stutters. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You didn’t say no. We kissed. That’s binding, sorry.”

You gape at him. “That’s not how that works!”

“It is now.”

“Seungmin.”

“Shhh.” He presses a finger to his own lips dramatically, turning back to the screen with fake seriousness. “We’re watching baseball replays, girlfriend. Focus.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” he asks, grinning without looking away from the laptop.

“Because you’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re still sitting here,” he says again, smug as ever.

You cross your arms, glaring at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, you been telling me, uhh... all day.” he says, leaning slightly closer, his arm tightening just a bit around your shoulders. “But I’m your insufferable now, so stop overthinking and watch this home run, okay?”

You stare at him for a beat, torn between smacking him and melting into the mattress. Finally, you sigh, leaning against him despite yourself. “…You’re such a menace.”

“Mm. And you love it.”

You roll your eyes, but when his thumb brushes lazily against your arm and he murmurs, almost too soft to hear, “Seriously, don’t be scared. I’m not going anywhere,” you believe him. Because, for some odd reason, you finally let yourself relax into him a little more, letting his warmth and the sound of the crowd on the screen blur together until your heartbeat finally starts to settle.

Yeah.

You’re his girlfriend.

And you hope he actually brings flowers and not a potted plant to that promised date.

…Though, honestly, you’d probably like the potted plant too. You’d name it Seungmin Jr. just to annoy him. That thought makes you snort. Out loud. Not at all discreet. And that causes Seungmin to glance down at you immediately. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, biting back a grin.

He narrows his eyes, suspicious. “You’re thinking something stupid.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” he says, shifting slightly to look at you. “I can see it in your face. What is it?”

You pause dramatically, then deadpan, “If you bring me a potted plant on our date, I’m naming it Seungmin Jr.”

He blinks. “...You’d name it after me?”

“Yes. And then I’d tell everyone Seungmin Jr. is much easier to deal with than Seungmin Sr.”

He stares at you for a long moment, then huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love it,” you shoot back automatically.

He smirks, leaning back against the headboard, arm tightening around you again. “Yeah,” he says, soft but sure. “Yeah, I do.”

You blink, cheeks warming, but before you can reply, he turns back to the screen, grinning. “Now shut up, girlfriend,” he says casually. “You’re blocking my view of the best play of the season.”

You roll your eyes, leaning into him anyway. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Giants boy.”

“Lucky? No,” he says, smirking. “Skilled. I caught you fair and square.”

And you hate how much you’re smiling when you mumble, “Menace.”

“Yours,” he replies, not missing a beat.

And just like that, it feels easy.

You and Seungmin have been best friends since the first year of university—bonded over a shared love of sarcastic comebacks, matching dark academia pens, and the mutual hatred of your professor's existence.

Somewhere between project deadlines and late-night ramen runs, the friendship just... stuck. He became the person who knew your order before you said it, who memorized your fake laugh vs your real one. You became the person who knew when he needed space and when he needed someone to sit in that space, quietly, next to him.

And yes, you’ve had fights. He still won’t forgive you for liking the wrong baseball team.

“Wrong” being... anyone but the Giants.

You wore a cap from their rival team once to school—on purpose—and he refused to look at you the entire day. Wouldn’t even speak to you in third period.

Now, it’s summer. Classes and exams are over. You’re sprawled across the sunlit steps of a neighbourhood café, sipping iced coffee when you say it.

“Okay, don’t laugh, but... I’ve never actually played baseball.”

You meant it casually. Offhand. But his head turns so fast you wonder if he gave himself whiplash.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Not even in PE? Not even wiffle ball?”

“Not even tee-ball,” you say, grinning. “Are you judging me right now?”

“Absolutely.”

A pause. Then, almost too quickly to seem normal, he says, “Wanna learn?”

You blink at him. “Right now?”

He shrugs. “I’ve got a glove and a bat at home. The field’s, like, two blocks from here. Unless you’re scared.”

“Oh, please. I’m gonna smoke you.”

That gets a scoff. “You don’t even know how to hold a bat.”

“Teach me, then, Coach Kim.”

His mouth quirks. You pretend not to see the way he fights a smile. You always pretend.

Twenty minutes later, the sun’s hanging just low enough to stretch gold across the field. The grass is uneven in places, broken up by dirt patches and lazy summer bugs. A warm breeze skims your skin.

Seungmin stands by the first base line, glove slung over one shoulder, bat in the other. He’s in a sleeveless tee, hair swept up by the wind, and when you walk up wearing his least favourite team’s logo across your chest, he stops mid-step.

“You did not.”

You grin. “What? I figured I’d dress for war.”

“That’s not war,” he mutters. “That’s betrayal.”

“Bold of you to assume I was ever on your side.”

“Oh, you’ll be begging to switch sides once you see how bad you are.”

He tosses you the glove. You catch it with a bit too much flair, which only makes his eyes narrow. “Don’t embarrass me out here, rookie.”

“Who said I’m here for you, Giants boy?”

He rolls his eyes, spins the bat once in his palm, and says it without thinking: “You’re lucky I like you.”

You freeze. He does, too. But then he’s already walking away, toward the pitcher’s mound, calling over his shoulder: “Let’s go, traitor.”

“You really weren’t kidding,” Seungmin says, watching you hold the bat like it personally offended you.

You blink at him. “I am holding it right.”

“No, you’re holding it like it’s a lightsaber.”

“Oh come on, like you wouldn’t join the rebellion.”

He groans. “Okay. That’s it. Give me your hands.”

You expect him to just point. Maybe mimic the movement. What you don’t expect is for him to step in behind you, one arm reaching around your waist, the other curling gently over your hand on the bat.

He’s right there. Not just close—there. You can feel the heat of his chest at your back, the steady rhythm of his breath brushing your temple. One of his hands lightly adjusts your fingers, the other—hesitating for just a second—guides your shoulder into place.

“This is… okay,” he mutters, voice lower now. “Hands stacked. Elbows up. And, um, feet—hold on—”

He shifts one of your feet with his, nudging the side of your sneaker. Your brain has officially stopped functioning. So has his. Because the second he realizes how small your hand is in his, how soft your skin is, how your hair smells like you, he’s absolutely panicking. On the inside. Outside, he’s keeping it together with a perfectly blank expression, but inside?

💥🔥🚨 INTERNAL MELTDOWN 🚨🔥💥

“Okay…” he murmurs, swallowing. “Now just… swing smooth. Like—wait, I’ll show you.”

He moves with you, hips ghosting behind yours, arms guiding your follow-through. His breath stutters just slightly when your back presses against his chest.

You say nothing, just glance over your shoulder—right into his face.

He’s already looking at you. Eyes soft. A little wide.

You’re both suddenly, violently aware of how close your mouths are. You shift a little. So does he.

“Seungmin,” you whisper.

He blinks, like snapping out of a spell. Steps back so fast he nearly stumbles. “You’ve—uh. Got the form now. You’re good.” He clears his throat. “Like. Fine. Whatever.”

You lower the bat, heart thudding. “Did I pass basic training?”

He won’t look at you. “Barely.”

But you catch the flush on his ears and narrow your eyes watching him as you twirl the bat lazily in your hands, pretending not to feel the way your pulse is still echoing in your throat.

Seungmin, meanwhile, looks like he’s trying to reformat his brain in real-time. His voice is flat when he says, “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You square up again, wiggling your fingers dramatically. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

He snorts. “You look like you’re about to summon a Pokémon.”

“Don’t mock me, Coach Kim.”

“Then stop acting like I dragged you here against your will. You volunteered for this.”

“I volunteered to learn,” you shoot back. “Not to be emotionally violated in the form of public athletic humiliation.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Big words for someone who’s about to miss five pitches in a row.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

He jogs to the mound and lines up. You catch him biting the inside of his cheek as he stares you down like he’s trying really hard not to smile. Or combust.

He throws an underhand toss. You swing.

Miss.

“Okay, that one was a practice round—”

“Sure it was.”

“Again!”

Second toss. Swing.

Air.

He blinks. “You might be the worst person I’ve ever seen hold a bat.”

“Say that again and I’ll throw it at you.”

“You’d miss.”

You glare. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The words fly out before you can stop them. His entire face glitches. “Sorry—what?” he calls, hand cupped to his ear, pure evil in his grin. “Didn’t hear that.”

“I said you’re rude!”

“Not what it sounded like—”

“Just pitch, Giants boy!!”

He throws another. You hit the ball this time, barely. It rolls weakly toward the pitcher’s mound. Seungmin watches it. Then looks back at you, utterly unimpressed. “That was so sad I think the bat cried.”

“Shut up—”

You charge him. You don’t mean to. But the embarrassment burns so bad, you sprint forward to hit him with the glove—just once—just enough to wipe the smug look off his stupid beautiful face.

He dodges. Barely. Grabs your wrist before you can swing again. And you both freeze. Your chest heaves. His fingers are around your wrist light but firm. You’re closer than you thought you’d get.

Again.

“You’re kind of a menace,” he murmurs.

You raise an eyebrow. “You like it.”

He doesn’t let go. “Maybe I do.”

And suddenly it’s not a joke anymore. It’s that moment again. Too close. Too quiet. Too something. But this time, you’re the one who pulls back first. “Still hate the Giants,” you say, tossing your glove up and catching it again, acting cool. “And your pitch sucks.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“Oh, I already do.”

“Alright, traitor. Bat up. Let’s go again.”

You plant your feet. Raise the bat. Narrow your eyes like you’re staring down a final boss.

Seungmin is unimpressed. “You look like a gremlin trying to lift Thor’s hammer.”

You flip him off with one hand. “Shut it.”

“Not even in the ballpark of intimidating.”

“That’s funny, coming from someone who looks like he skipped leg day for the past four years.”

“Excuse me?” he gasps, hand to chest like you mortally wounded him. “You take that back.”

“Make me.”

He blinks. Then smirks. “Okay.”

He pitches. You swing. You spin in a full 360 and almost fall over.

“OH MY GOD,” Seungmin shouts from the mound, cackling. “YOU SPUN LIKE A BEYBLADE—”

“I slipped!!”

“You whiffed the air like it owed you money!!”

You glare at him as you steady yourself. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Correction: I’m the only reason you haven’t knocked yourself unconscious with that bat.”

“I could knock you unconscious.”

He shrugs. “Try it. I’ll add it to your record of great achievements in failure.”

You make a face. “Wow. You really flirt like this, huh?”

That shuts him up. Only for a second.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he deadpans, walking toward you with a smirk he absolutely did not earn. “This is how I treat all my hopeless causes.”

“Excuse me!?”

“I mean—at this point, we’re not even training. We’re surviving.”

You toss the bat at him. He catches it one-handed, casually. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’ve got the coordination of a baby deer.”

“Do not bring Bambi into this.”

He points the bat at you. “Bambi could out-swing you.”

“Seungmin.”

“I’m just saying—”

You run at him. He yelps, full squeaky scream, and takes off around the bases. You chase him halfway to third before giving up, winded, doubled over from laughing too hard.

He walks back, smug and victorious. “That’s the most cardio you’ve done all year.”

“Shut up, I’m gonna puke.”

“Should I write that on your jersey?”

You flip him off again. He just grins. And—god help you—so do you. But then, even as you are panting, you reach over and snatch the bat out of his hands, staring him down. “I wanna try again.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Even after what just happened?”

You glare. “That doesn’t count.”

He walks a slow circle around you, chin in hand like a judgmental game show host. “Mm. I don’t know. Pretty sure we all witnessed it.”

You point the bat at him. “Seungmin.”

He smirks. “Fine. Try again. For the fans.”

You scowl. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” he sings.

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t launch into orbit. He lobs the ball underhand. You swing. Miss. Again.

You turn to him slowly. “Okay. That was—warm up.”

He looks absolutely pained. “I thought you had your warm up.”

You stomp your foot. “Let me go again!!”

Another toss. Another miss.

“You’re… honestly…” he squints, lips twitching, “...kind of iconic for how bad this is.”

You drop the bat to your side, shoulders slumping. “I swear I’m trying,” you say dramatically, pouting. “This is humiliating. I feel like a clown.”

“You’re not a clown,” he says gently.

You blink.

“You’re the whole circus.”

“SEUNGMIN!”

He laughs, hands on his knees, nearly doubled over. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry—I just—your face!!”

You try to tackle him again but your limbs are too weak from giggling, and he easily sidesteps you.

“You’re evil,” you mutter.

“I’m honest.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m your best friend.”

And that, somehow, is the worst part. Because it’s true. Because he is. And you’re still standing there, clutching the bat like it might protect you from how warm he makes you feel.

He steps closer.

You raise your chin. “Fine. One more try. And if I miss again, I’m going home.”

He squints. “Swear?”

You nod solemnly. “Swear.”

He holds out a pinky. You stare. “Dead serious,” he says. “Baseball oath.”

You roll your eyes but loop your pinky around his anyway. “Baseball oath.”

He lets go of your pinky slowly, like it’s something delicate before speaking again. “Alright,” Seungmin says, backing up to the mound. “One more.”

You take a breath. Square your shoulders. Raise the bat.

He watches you with this half-soft, half-smug look on his face—like he’s proud and exasperated at the same time. “Don’t close your eyes this time,” he calls.

“I didn’t—”

“You did, like, two swings ago. Fully flinched like I threw a grenade.”

You grip the bat tighter. “Swear to god, if I hit this, I’m aiming for your face.”

He grins. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried.”

He throws the ball. You swing.

CRACK.

The ball flies. Not far, not pretty—but far enough to count.

You gasp. “OH MY GOD—”

Your body spins with the motion—off-balance, dizzy with adrenaline—and suddenly your foot catches on the dirt. You're stumbling. Tilting sideways. Falling. But Seungmin’s already running. He catches you around the waist just before you hit the ground, arms wrapped tight, pulling you up into him with a soft thud.

Chest to chest. Breathless. Too close.

You blink up at him. He’s already looking at you. His hands still on your waist. Yours braced against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering.

“I—” you start, but the words get tangled in the heat between you.

His gaze drops to your lips. Yours do the same. And without thinking—without meaning to—you lean in. Just a little. Just enough. And so does he. Your lips brush. Barely. A whisper of a kiss. A blink, a breath—then gone.

You both freeze. Wide-eyed. Neither of you moves. The sun dips a little lower. The air goes still.

You open your mouth. He lets go like he’s been burned. “Uh—y-you… you hit the ball,” he says, stumbling a step back. His voice cracks. “That was—good. I mean—you almost died, but still.”

Your cheeks burn. “Thanks, I think?”

He’s staring anywhere but at you. The bleachers, the sky, the base behind you.

You rub the back of your neck, trying not to combust. “So. Um. Did that count as first base, or—?”

Seungmin chokes on nothing. “WHAT—”

You burst into laughter, face hot, adrenaline still buzzing.

He glares. “You’re so annoying.”

“Let’s—uh,” Seungmin suddenly says, way too quickly, clearing his throat like he’s resetting his entire internal system. “One more round. For the road.”

You blink. “Training’s not over?”

“Oh, it should be,” he mutters, turning toward the mound again. “But you’ve still got the hand-eye coordination of a brick.”

“Excuse me—”

He doesn’t respond. Just throws you the ball. You catch it with a little too much force. “You better run,” you warn, winding up.

“I dare you.”

You throw it high and off-center—he still catches it, of course, just to rub it in.

You play for a few more minutes, not really focused on skill anymore. Just tossing the ball, swinging half-heartedly, talking smack. But every time your hands brush as he passes the bat back to you… you both feel it.

The static. The shift.

At one point, you lean forward to scoop a ball from the grass, and when you stand up, he’s right behind you. Not close-close, but… enough. You glance at him. He looks at you.

And nothing happens. And everything does.

Eventually, he claps his hands. “Alright. That’s enough public humiliation for you.”

You sigh dramatically. “Thank god. My dignity was hanging by a thread.”

He hums. “You had dignity?”

You throw the glove at him. He catches it one-handed again like he’s showing off on purpose. You both walk over to the bleachers. The air is cooler now, the sky smeared in amber and pink. You sit a step above him, knees drawn up, chin resting on them.

He tosses you a water bottle without looking.

You catch it. “Thanks.”

A beat of silence.

Then he says, voice low, “You hit the ball. That counts as a win.”

You glance at him. He’s not facing you, just staring out at the field, tapping his knuckles lightly on the step between his knees.

You smile. “Even if I almost ate dirt?”

He huffs. “Especially then.”

Another beat.

You sip your water. He rakes a hand through his hair. The silence is comfortable, almost. Almost. Your leg bumps against his lightly. He doesn’t move.

“I still hate the Giants,” you murmur.

“Good,” he says, glancing sideways at you. “I need something to insult you for.”

You smirk. “Oh, just say you love me and go.”

He looks at you for real this time. And for a second, just a second it almost sounds like he will. But instead he says, “Nah. I’m keeping it in my back pocket for when you strike out in front of actual people.”

You shove his shoulder. He shoves back.

A breeze drifts by, lifting the edge of your shirt sleeve, brushing your forearms. The kind of breeze that says summer’s not over yet, but something else might be starting.

You lean back on your hands, stretch your legs out. “So what now?” you ask, half-lazy, half-curious.

Seungmin shrugs. “Dinner?”

“Are you buying?”

He scoffs. “You’re the one who demanded private lessons and then delivered the most tragic baseball performance in recorded history.”

You shoot him a look. “I hit the ball.”

“Barely. I’m not even sure it moved.”

You kick his shoe lightly. He kicks back, just enough to make you wobble a little on the bench. You nudge his knee with yours again—this time slower, intentional. It lingers. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he glances at you sideways. His tone is easy, almost amused when he says, “If we do dinner, you’re not wearing that cursed team shirt.”

You grin. “Make me.”

A small silence before Seungmin blinks once, then tilts his head. “Alright.”

And finally, he stands. Just like that. Casual. Unbothered. You stay seated, watching him dust dirt from his palms.

“You coming, rookie?” he calls over his shoulder. He’s already walking, the sun catching the edge of his hair, painting him in amber. “Or do I have to carry you?”

You roll your eyes, gather your things, and jog to catch up. You don’t bring it up—the near-kiss, the way he caught you, the way his fingers stayed a little too long. He doesn’t either. But when you fall into step beside him and your hands brush again and he doesn't pull away?

You know. He knows.

It’s not nothing anymore. It just isn’t everything yet. Not yet. But maybe soon.

...

The café is warm and quiet, tucked into a corner of the city where everything feels slow and curated. Jazz plays softly through the speakers, and the hanging lights above each table give off that soft golden glow that makes everything feel more intimate than it should.

You chose the booth by the window. Partly for the view, partly so you could look like you weren’t desperately scanning the room every time the front door opened and it's thirty-seven minutes past the appointed time.

It’s not like him to be late.

Chris—at least the Chris you used to know—was punctual. Thoughtful. Someone who would’ve shown up early and probably brought flowers and smiled that boyish, dimpled smile that made your stomach do flips.

You’re on your second latte now because the first one went cold while you kept glancing at the entrance like an idiot. This one’s mostly foam, but your hands need something to do. You pull out your compact and reapply your lipstick. Again.

God, this is ridiculous.

You keep telling yourself he’ll walk in any minute now. That he probably just got caught in traffic. That maybe he’s circling the block trying to find parking. That he’ll be here, and it’ll be worth it. That all this effort—all this nervous energy and too-tight hope—will mean something.

The bell above the door rings and you don’t look up. You’re tired of looking up. Tired of the tiny jolt of anticipation that always dissolves into another stranger, another group of friends, another barista returning from break.

You take a sip of your latte and slump slightly into your seat, letting your shoulders relax for the first time in an hour. And that’s when you feel it. A presence. Eyes on you.

You glance up, expecting… no one. Expecting just another unfamiliar face. But what you see is a black leather jacket. Tousled blond hair. And that unmistakable, shit-eating smirk.

Felix. He’s standing near the entrance, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket, head tilted just slightly like he’s amused. Like he meant to find you here.

You blink, completely thrown, stomach dropping as your brain tries to piece it together. He sees your confusion—and it only makes his grin deepen. He walks toward your table like he belongs here. Like this is a game and he’s been playing it longer than you realized.

And the worst part? He looks good. Too good. The kind of good that makes your throat dry.

You sit up straighter, every nerve ending suddenly on high alert. What the hell is he doing here?

This was supposed to be a date with Mr. Bahng's son. Chris. Not with the boy who makes a habit of testing your patience. Not with your student. Not with Felix.

You duck your head instinctively, hand lifting to shield your face like you’re invisible behind a half-full latte and a smear of lip gloss.

But it’s too late. Felix has already seen you.

You hear his boots before you see him—the confident thud of them crossing the café floor. You keep your eyes locked on the swirls in your coffee, praying he’ll just pass by, that this is some bizarre coincidence.

But of course it's not. Felix stops in front of your table. Then, without asking, without a shred of hesitation, he sits right across from you. One arm slung over the back of the booth, legs stretched comfortably, as if he’s been doing this with you every Friday night for years. And that smirk. That goddamn smirk. That smug, lazy, self-satisfied smirk that tells you this isn’t just a coincidence.

You stare at him, jaw tight, but before you can get a word out, he speaks. “Your date is here.”

You scoff. Audibly. “Felix, just because we’re off campus doesn’t mean you can do this.”

He raises his brows, all innocence. “Do what?”

You narrow your eyes. “Whatever this is. Showing up, sitting down—ruining my night.”

“I’m not ruining anything,” he says easily, resting his chin on his hand. “I am your night.”

You blink. “You’re—what?”

“I’m your date.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Nice try.”

But your heart stutters because he’s not joking. He’s not being sarcastic. He’s dead serious.

“No,” you say quickly, voice sharp. “No, you can’t be. It’s supposed to be—”

You stop yourself because you never actually said Chris’s name aloud. You just assumed because who else would it be?

Felix shrugs. Then, slowly, he pulls his phone out of his jacket and turns the screen toward you. There it is. A message thread from someone labeled Mom.

One message in particular, sitting bright and brutal on the screen: "Felix sweetie, don’t forget. Café Verona, 7PM. You’ll be meeting her there. Be nice. Your dad will be so happy if this works out."

No. No, no, no.

Your breath catches in your throat, your lips parting but no words coming out. Your brain tries to string together logic—maybe it’s a prank, maybe he hacked a phone, maybe—

But your name is there. The café’s name. The time. It’s real.

You stare at the message again, then at him, your voice cracking when you finally manage, “But—Mr. Bahng said—his son…”

Felix lets out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah. His stepson.”

He watches you with something gentler now beneath the smugness, like he knows the floor has just been pulled out from under you. “You didn’t know?” he asks casually. “He married my mom eight years ago.”

The air around you thins. You grip the edge of the table like it’ll keep you grounded.

Mr. Bahng. Your second father. Your comfort in this city. And Felix—the boy who’s made it his mission to get under your skin—is his stepson.

You feel it all at once. The burn of humiliation. The dizzying confusion. The heavy drop in your stomach like the whole night has collapsed under its own weight.

Your voice barely makes it past your lips. “This… has to be a mistake.”

But you know it’s not.

Felix leans back in the booth, watching you unravel with maddening calm, and that smirk returns—less teasing now. More… inevitable.

“Guess you’re stuck with me tonight, Professor.”

...

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER ONE

or you can read it on my Patreon:

CHAPTER TWO

or you can read it on my Patreon:

CHAPTER THREE will be posted July 25th.

Or you can read it early on my Patreon:

[ ✮ ] background info ∿ 9th member!reader 𓈒𓈒 y/n is friends with so many idols and celebrities, it’s a mystery among fans as to how she is so connected with everyone ⋆ she has done collaborations ( solo / group ) with enhypen, ateez, d4vd, hannah bahng, sabrina carpenter, katseye, etc. 𓈒𓈒 y/n is the same age as minho, and was hyunjin and innie’s senior at SOPA ⋆ she is japanese-korean, and is multilingual (she can speak korean, english, french, and japanese fluently).

[ ✮ ] content warnings ∿ will be updated whenever chapters are posted.

[ ✮ ] y/n y/l/n — a new girl member added to a boy group stray kids (jype).

[ ✮ ] stray kids — a self-produced k-pop boy band (jype).

✿ series masterlist

[ chapters release every sunday. ]

00 — prologue : worthy. ⭑

01 — profiles : y/n’s friend group. ⭑

02 — profiles : skz. ⭑

03 —

04 —

05 —

06 —

07 —

08 —

09 —

10 —

✿ taglist

@seraphicloves @aurihyos @itzzzzzzyyyyydaaaaa @doliveiraa @iaminejghafaswife @bbxbby @elizalabs3 @sellomaybe @staytinyarmy @lexlikesbts @sm4llestw3istthateverlivedd @namchanhyung @rikisgalore

— comment to be added.

© hyuneskkami 2025 ␥ don’t repost my works onto other platforms, or edit and post them even on tumblr, without asking me first ⨾ don’t steal my works, steal my heart instead ⨾ reblogs and comments are more than appreciated 𑁤

“I miss pussy.”

He feels bad for blurting it out like that, but only slightly. A weird break between performances coupled with more beers than he’d like to count have him feeling loose in regard to his brain-mouth filter. He doesn’t have much of one to begin with, but even then, he thinks he would have a bit more tact.

“What?” Felix asks, deep voice drawing everyone’s attention.

Jisung shrugs, picking at the label on his beer bottle. “I miss pussy. Like, real bad.”

An image pops into his head when he thinks about it more — a memory from what feels like a millennia ago.

Soft, glistening thighs, slick with arousal that drips from the cunt between them. The prettiest he’s ever seen; a delectable mound of flesh that Jisung can’t wait to get his mouth on. The sticky sound that accompanies the act of thumbing the folds open makes him sigh with content. The feeling deepens as he reveals a cute, pudgy clitoris and a pulsing hole that can only be described as hungry.

“Jisung,” the voice turns his name into a siren call. Hips jut forward, a silent plea for him to follow through with his promise. “Please.”

In real time, Jisung groans the same way he had in the memory. He can feel the way his mouth has begun to water, enticed by the phantom scent of eager pussy, dick chubbing up between his legs. Someone whistles and it makes heat prickle the skin of his throat and face. He reaches to adjust his erection, feeling a bit like a pathetic virgin.

“Are we not enough for you anymore?” Felix asks, pouring. The look in his eye tells Jisung that he’s teasing, but it doesn’t stop Jisung from trying to explain.

“No!” He shouts, eyes wide. “That’s not what I—“

“Unbelievable,” Minho spits, but it’s said with less venom than a normally angry Minho would use.

“You have access to more dicks and holes than you know what to do with and you’re still hungry for more.”

Jisung ducks his head, chin to his chest and almost sheepish, but part of him (his dick) likes the way Minho teases him — a little mean, and a lot of sexy. Minho knows this, as confirmed by the lingering smirk on his lips.

“Kind of disrespectful, don’t you think?”

“Kind of whorish of him, actually,” Jeongin scoffs.

“No—,” Jisung denies, “It’s— It’s not—“ he looks around for help, eyes bouncing from member to member in search of someone to aide in his defense.

“It’s not just any pussy though,” Chan fills in, watching as Jisung’s body deflates of tension at being understood. Chan grins, undeniably soft where his first kid is concerned.

“You miss pussy, but like, there’s more to it than that, right?” — Hyunjin asks, eyes squinted in Jisung’s direction — “Like, you’re missing one pussy in particular?”

“Yeah,” Jisung nods eagerly, “Just one.”

“Whose pussy do you miss, ‘Sung?” It’s Changbin who speaks this time and Jisung finds it funny that this conversation has become a group affair given the circumstances.

“You mean he’s had more than one?” Seungmin jabs before Jisung can answer, evil cackle ensuing.

Jisung only glares, fully preparing something say slick right back, but the next few things happen so quickly that Jisung find himself speechless. There’s a hand fisted in Seungmin’s floppy locks, one that Jisung recognizes to be Minho’s. Minho gestures with his free hand for Jisung to continue speaking and he does, but not before Changbin is telling Seungmin to keep quiet,

“Hush, Puppy,” the older male rasps, side-eying Seungmin as if to question his bratty behavior.

Seungmin doesn’t speak, just blinks dopily from where he’s seated. Now, with Seungmin caught between Minho’s literal grasp and Changbin’s undeniable brat-taming aura, Jisung musters up the courage to put a name to his desire.

There’s only one pussy in the entire cosmos that would have any of them so gone over that they’re still thinking about it months down the road. Despite knowing the outcome, it doesn’t stop the room from erupting in a chorus of agreements with Jisung’s next word. And that’s all it is — just a reverent, breathy utterance of a name that has all eight of them reminiscing.

Yours.

“Fuck,” Jeongin groans, his own mind suddenly filled with memories of you and your sweet, little cunt. “Why’d you have to bring her up? Now I’m thinking about Noona’s pussy, too!”

“We’re all thinking about it now, you little shit,” Changbin grunts, dragging a hand down his face.

Jisung balks, mildly offended. He takes back what he said earlier about almost feeling bad for bringing up the fact that he misses pussy. They asked him a question and he answered. What— did they want him to lie? Jisung hasn’t had pussy that wasn’t yours in over a year! He’d even go as far as to say he’s not the only one either; in fact, he’s willing to bet all the won in his wallet that the rest of the guys are in the same exact boat. Besides! It’s not like it’s a crime to think about you.

“I miss it, too,” Felix says, looking like he’s pained. He gulps, adam’s apple bobbing with the action. “Miss how wet it gets. Never have to use lube, you know?”

Hyunjin, though silent, is experiencing his own moment of duress. Felix’s words send him spiraling down memory lane. Sure, it’s been a few months, but Hyunjin could never forget how messy your pussy gets. Fragments of memories play over and over again in his brain, nothing but phantom echoes of your moans and the sound of your creamy cunt.

“Look,” Hyunjin says, propping your head up with his hand. He angles your neck in such a way that you won’t be uncomfortable, but it also forces you to stare down at where his cock is half buried inside you.

“Look at how messy you are, how messy you’ve made me.”

“S-Sorry,” you gasp up at him, eyelids fluttering when he slides all the way back in. You can literally feel how each stroke pushes wetness out of your cunt, leaving it frothing at the base of his cock and slipping down your back side.

“Don’t be sorry,” Hyunjin coos, savoring the sight of your pussy gushing all over his dick before he leans in to lock his lips with yours. “I fucking love you messy.”

“Yeah,” he rasps, mouth suddenly feeling dry. He takes a swig of his beer like it’s going to help the issue. “I’ll second that.”

“I think I miss how sensitive she gets. It’s so easy it is to make her come just by playing with her clit.”

If Jeongin hadn’t been staring in his general direction, he wouldn’t have been able to tell who’s speaking. Nonetheless, he feels it viscerally when Seungmin’s words hit him in the gut; he fights the urge to whine as a flashback hits him. Hard.

“Wait, w-wait,” you whine, high and pretty, “It’s too much!”

Jeongin can only cluck his tongue and shake his head, fingers curling deeper into your cunt. You’ve come for him twice already, surely you can come a third time — even though you were ready to tap out after the first one. He knows you’re close; you’re clenching around his fingers like crazy, hips jumping every time he lets his knuckles catch on the sensitive skin of your entrance. Jeongin hears you sniffle, body sagging as it loses the ability to fight.

“That’s right,” he coos, bringing his thumb up to circle the twitching and neglected bud of your clit. “Stop fighting it.”

You gasp, chanting little, broken syllables of his name as he works you closer to the edge. Jeongin doesn’t even care that his dick is hard, covered in your slick, and hanging neglected between his own legs when you look like this. Nothing matters more than making you come. Not here, not now, and certainly not when you’re crying in his bed and squirting all over his sheets.

“I’m with Seungmin-hyung on this one,” he croaks out, “tapping out after one round is crazy work.”

“Tight,” Changbin mumbles solemnly, thick fingers gripping even thicker thighs. “Miss how it just —,” he pauses, hands coming together to squeeze the air, “hugs my cock. Still amazed at how such a tiny hole can fit all of us like a glove.”

Changbin’s eyes are wild, pupils dilated so wide that he looks nearly unrecognizable. Minho doesn’t need a mirror to know that Changbin’s expression is being recreated on his own face. The thing is, Minho doesn’t get affected by shit like this; his self control is impeccable! Yet, here he is, sporting a half boner in front of seven other guys as he thinks about how snug your pussy feels when he’s inside it.

Minho’s hands have a death grip on your hips. He grits his teeth to stay focused, to retain basic decency instead of losing his marbles like a caveman. He doesn’t think anyone can blame him though, not like this. Who wouldn’t lose their shit when a pretty woman is bouncing in their lap? A pretty woman with a tight and hot, little pussy that she keeps trying to spear open on his dick.

“You’re gonna — fuck— hurt yourself,” he grits while making no move to bring you to a halt.

“Hurts now,” you whimper pitifully. You corkscrew your hips and manage to sink down on him a bit further, leaving Minho to beg internally for the higher powers to have mercy on him.

“Hurts so good though,” you whine, squeezing Minho’s hips with your knees.

Before he can say anything, your mouth is on his, slipping that devious tongue of yours into his mouth almost instantly. Feeling the way you melt as the kiss goes on, sparks fire in Minho’s veins. Call him crazy but he can feel your pussy get wetter. It clenches when he bites your bottom lip, gushes when he licks to soothe it, and all of a sudden you’re properly seated in his lap with a creaky moan.

“Shit,” he curses, hyper aware of current state. “Don’t you fucking move; there’s no way I’m coming first.”

“You okay there, kitty-hyung?” Seungmin teases, finding entertainment in the older man’s struggle, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“If you value your life, Kim Seungmin, you’ll shut the fuck up right now,” said man grumbles, before letting out a gruff sigh. “Changbin’s not wrong though; feels like I’m gonna break her every single time.”

By the end of it all, Jisung feels deranged.

Logically, he understands that he’s (mostly) to blame here — after all, this whole situation started because of him — but, like, come on! He’s losing his mind! If his own recollection of you isn’t enough to kill him, everyone’s reasons for missing you in their beds will surely do the trick. His dick is leaking at this point, needy and angry in the confines of his pants. He misses your pussy so bad; he misses you so bad. So much so that he’s ready to say fuck the contract, fuck the NDA, and fuck JYP in the form of catching the next flight to wherever you are.

Dispatch would have a field day with that one, for sure. And fortunately — or unfortunately, from Jisung’s point of view — Chan would have him beheaded for being reckless and horny. It’s not the potential of his ruined reputation, or even being murdered by his leader, that keeps him rooted right where he’s at though. Dispatch wouldn’t only drag him and the rest of the group through the mud, they’d ruin you, too. Fans would tear you apart, call you mean things and dox your information like half of them aren’t grown men who’re pushing closer to the thirty every day.

Jisung can’t have that. Yes, he needs you something fierce, but not by any means that would call for risking your safety just so he can get his dick wet. Instead, he turns to the one person who hasn’t spoken since the beginning. The only one of them who can put an end to his suffering: Chan.

“Hyung,” Jisung rasps, turning to where Chan is seated. The older man is refusing to make eye contact, full lips pulled into a straight line.

The rest of the room seems to catch onto Jisung’s whims, all of them choosing to stare Chan down too. Chan can feel their eyes on him in the way heat crawls up his neck, prickling his skin along the way. He shouldn’t indulge them; he should hold strong, tell them how ridiculous it would be to make you fly out while they’re on tour nonetheless.

“Hyung,” Jisung tries again, “Hyung, please.”

“Jisung,” Chan says back, still refusing to look at him. “Jisung, you know that’s not—“

“C’mon, Chris,” Felix cuts, pretty lips pursed in a pout.

“She— She might be busy!”

“Bullshit,” someone coughs, followed by the clearing of their throat.

It was a futile protest and Chan knows as much. He saw the eye rolls some of his members gave at his response; they know just like he does that the probability of you being too busy is slim-to-none. Truthfully, he doesn’t even know why he’s resisting so hard — outside of the tour, that is. It has been awhile and the kids miss you like crazy which would be enough reason to call you alone. Hell, Chan misses you like crazy and if you knew of the struggle he’s having right now, you’d probably threaten to castrate him in his sleep.

Amidst his mental monologue — and as if they’d anticipated further refusal — Jisung and Felix seem to have a moment of twin telepathy. Chan doesn’t see them coming, but ultimately knows he’s fucked when he suddenly has a lap full of them. He’s a sucker for any of his kids on a normal day, but Jisung — his very first — and Felix — his little taste of Australia — hold a special place in Chan’s heart. One that they clearly are using to their advantage.

“Chan,” Jisung mumbles, all chubby cheeks and batting lashes, arms slinging around Chan’s neck like it’s just the two of them, “Channie-hyung.”

“Please?” Felix asks, voice even lower than normal. One of his tiny hands comes to play with Chan’s hair, and he even kisses the line of Chan’s jaw for a critical double-hit. “Please, Chris?”

“Call her. Channie-hyung, please call her. Tell her how badly we need her; she’ll come.”

“Yeah, do it for us, Hyung,” Hyunjin joins in, drawing Chan’s attention. Hyunjin’s long limbs spread out in a stretch that appears more provocative than it has any right to be, making Chan’s dick kick in his shorts.

“I—,” he begins, unprepared for the unanimous chorus of ‘Hyung!’ that interrupts him. Cruel of his boys to all gang up on him like this — downright heinous.

“Okay,” he croaks, trying to ignore that Felix is still working his mouth over the skin of Chan’s neck. Or the fact that someone’s hand is snaking into the pocket of his shorts. “I’ll call her.”

“Great!” Changbin claps his hands, giddy smile taking over his face.

“Lino-hyung will book the flight!” Seungmin shouts while pressing Chan’s phone into his hand and nearly taking out his eardrum in the process. “And I call first dibs!” He says, cackling like an evil minion.

Finally, the focus is off Chan as chaos erupts, everyone fighting to be the person that gets to have you first. It’s Chan’s turn to roll his eyes now; there’s sort of an unspoken rule that first (and last) “dibs” belong to him. Chan doesn’t usually exercise his superiority when it comes to activities with you, but considering the moves they pulled on him to get here tonight, he thinks this time might just be the first.

“Brats,” Chan murmurs under his breath as he unlocks his phone to get to your contact.

His finger hovers over your picture briefly. He lets himself take a deep breath, then clicks on your number like he said he would. The phone rings and rings for a few beats, not doing anything to quell Chan’s nervousness. He thinks of hanging up and trying again, but then the picks up and out comes your voice, thick with what Chan only assumes to be sleepiness, meaning that he’s woken you up from.

“H-Hello,” you mumble, sounding so cute that Chan forgets every con that he had towards calling you in the first place.

“Hi, baby,” he croons through the speaker, desire running rampant at the sound of your sleepy voice. The next question is more of a formality than a true question, especially when he sees Minho already dropping the link to your flight confirmation into the group chat.

“Wanna take a trip?”

there’ve been several times where you and chan have had heated make out sessions, but never has he attempted to touch you anywhere else bellow your waist (and you’re very grateful for that). you guys have never actually talked about this topic. you’ve been going out for a few months and it’s starting to become something you need to discuss, yet you’re terrified of what he would say. you’re terrified he would think you’re broken. that if he knew, he wouldn’t want you that way anymore.

you actually don’t even know if he wants you in that way. yes, you are grateful that he hasn’t made a move passed those make out sessions, but to be honest you couldn’t help but think if that was because he was just being the gentleman he is, or him just not being interested in doing anything else beyond that. cause to be true you DID want sex with him. you desperately want to have the sex life everyone else has cause, i mean your boyfriend is HOT, in fact he’s one of the hottest people you’ve met and he makes you so horny it’s ridiculous. yet you were stick, you were so stuck, cause even if you want him you feel like you couldn’t have him. cause why would he want to be stuck in this messed up situation? when he could have someone that isn’t as broken as you, someone who isn’t broken at all actually. guess you kinda have to talk to him know, cause the more time passes the more it gets in your head, the more time passes the more you actually love him, and if this conversation ends badly… the harder it would be to let go if he decided he didn’t want you anymore.

you were on your friday schedule movie nights, this time taking place in your apartment. you both were now curled up in your sofa under the warmth of your blanket after just having dinner and catching up of what each of you did during the day. after a while you guys turned on a movie on the tv and got comfortable there. the movie was a rom-com so it naturally made you guys be a little clingy towards each other, and just when you were starting to feel at ease in chan’s body warmth it was like your head knew it was overthinking time. why? just why? you thought why does your head does this to you out of nowhere?

without even noticing your body got stiff as you were laying over chan’s chest, he of course noticed so he started rubbing your arm up and down maybe thinking you were cold, but that caused you to slightly flinch and grow yourself small. fuck…

“hey” he said as he slowly pulled you closer to him and looked down at you “you ok, baby?” you could sense confusion and concern in his voice and it made you feel so guilty.

“yeah, i’m ok” you respond as you try to sound as neutral as possible, but still laying very stiff over chan’s body, trying to keep focus on the movie to attempt to ignore all the thoughts in your head.

“you sure baby? you seem really tense…” you didn’t even answer him, there’s was a lot going on in your head, it was like you were dissociating from reality, movie long gone in your head and going back to those times, reliving those moments where you felt the most vulnerable, where you felt small, helpless, disgusting. used…

since your lack of response, he asked “are you cold? is this position uncomfortable?” hearing his voice again made you break your train of thoughts and go back to reality and your current situation. he tried to reach your hand but since now you were aware you avoided it and broke free from his chest, yet you tried to do it as gentle as possible cause you really didn’t wasn’t to hurt his feelings by pulling away from his touch, but you had to be honest. the last thing you want when your head goes those places is to be touch, any kind of touch.

you want to tell him, you want to just get it over with but, how do you even start that conversation? you guys weren’t even doing anything close to sexual, yet you still got all panicked out.

“i-….” you don’t even know what to say, how the hell do you explain yourself?

“is there something wrong, baby? you know you can tell me anything” there was still concern in his voice but now there was care as well.

“i- … c- can i ask you a question?” you felt your heart pounding in your throat

“yes, baby of course” he wanted to hold your hand in hopes to make you feel more at ease, but he got the hint that you didn’t want him to touch you right now.

you took a deep breath preparing to start the conversation you’ve been prolonging. “ha- have you ever…” you stopped mid sentence but he knew better than to rush you so he just waited in silence for you to talk “have you ever wanted.. or… have you ever thought of… going further… than like.. making out?” you said, eyes fixed on the floor. you hate to be the one to bring out the topic for the first time. would he think it’s to soon? would he think you’re desperate?

“i mean…” he started getting nervous at the sudden topic and started giggling to try to hide it and ease the tension “to answer your question yes i have… but if you’re wondering why i’ve never made a move, well… i just wanted to be sure we were on the same page, and i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable if you didn’t want to go there yet”

“oh” it’s all you managed to say. of course chan wasn’t like them, like those people who once took advantage of you, but you still didn’t expect him to be this considered and sweet, he was being so respectful towards you without even knowing your situation, and still you accused him secretly of not wanting you. you felt so stupid for thinking like this and guilty of having this issues while being with someone as sweet as chan.

“why are you asking, baby?” he said in a loving and curious tone. but he somewhat felt that you brought up the conversation for something more serious other than to just ‘be on the same page’ so he started panicking “wait, did i make you feel uncomfortable? i promise i never meant to push you, i’m so sorry if you felt like-“

“wait, no!” you cut him off to his rambling “no, channie. you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong” that made him release a breath he was holding but still he needed to know what was getting you like this.

“then whats wrong, babygirl? i kinda get the feeling you didn’t brought this up just to have ‘the talk’. you know you can tell me anything, right? is there something bothering you?” you still felt like your heart was gonna come out of your throat, but seeing him being so considerate made you get the courage left to just get it over with.

“chan… im about to tell you something that i probably should’ve told you a while ago and i’m so sorry i didn’t do it before. but i i’m gonna ask you to please just don’t say anything until i’m done cause this is already so hard for me. and if at the end you wanna end things then it’s totally okay, no hard feelings, i’ll accept if you don’t want to deal with it cause you totally don’t have to, you’re to good for it and-“

“hey, hey” he says so softly almost in a whispering tone. cutting you off, trying to catch on everything you just said and wanting to calm you down “y/n you’re okay. it’s okay. just take a deep breath with me, yeah?…” he inhales deep hoping you mimic his actions and you do “…and out” and you both exhale. “in again, baby” you do inhale a second time “and out again…” he sighs in relief seeing you more relaxed, as best as you can be right now “that’s more like it, baby” he says as he smiles at you with those beautiful dimples.

he takes a shot and offers you his hand, opening it in front of you and he’s happy to see that you do take it in yours, so he squeezes it slightly to help you ground yourself. “whatever you have to say, it’s okay. i promise i’ll listen till the end, but i promise you i’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“don’t promise…” you say, in a sad tone now, but trying to be realistic and understandable of him “i just want to let you know that you don’t have to deal with it if you don’t want to” you try and keep a steady voice to not cause him any pity but at the end your voice ends up breaking.

“baby…” his heart breaking at the sound of your voice. but he decides not to argue with it “can you go ahead and tell me…?”

you take another deep breath, trying to gather up the courage till you finally speak. “i- i guess. we- we never really talked in depth about my ex… not that we had to but, some things happened and… and i don’t really wanna get into detail but, we were together for a few years but overall, throughout the relationship, he was- he was very manipulative, and toxic, and… abusive… sexually.” you let out a shaky breath before you continue “took me months after we broke up to finally realize that he abused me and… i just wanted to ‘warn’ you i guess, cause… that’s like my only experience sexually speaking, and i haven’t been with anyone after that.” you take a small pause as you stare at the floor unable to look at his face “it happened years ago but… i still get flashbacks some times. and, baby, i’m so thankful that you’ve never pushed me into anything, you’ve done nothing wrong, i haven’t felt pressured at all.” you confess as you lift your face to now look at him in the eyes while you squeez his hand “and i’m not gonna lie… i do want you that way. i’ve been wanting to go further for a while whenever we make out i’m- i’m just afraid that… i guess.. i guess i’m nervous to be intimate again. i don’t want to be doing something and have a flashback in the middle and end up ruining it for me and you too…”

you both stay silent for a moment, letting it sink in before chan speaks up “babygirl…” he starts as he reaches with his other hand to reach yours, so now he holds you with both “babygirl, you are so strong. you’re so damn strong and i’m so fucking mad you had to go through that… cause baby, you are the sweetest, most loving and kind person i’ve met. i can’t imagine someone being so fucked up in it’s brain to do that to you, to hurt you like that” you can see he’s starting to get emotional by how his voice was beginning to shake “my baby, thank you for trusting me to tell me something like this… i just hope you know that it’s not your fault at all, you didn’t have to go through that, baby. and i would never ever do something you don’t want me to, i will never rush you into anything, i’ll never persuade you into anything. but i want you to know that we don’t have to jump into anything you’re not ready for, or that you feel uncomfortable”

you didn’t notice but tears where already rolling down your cheeks. they were inevitable. his words were literally everything you’ve been wanting to hear for years. to be validated. to be seen. to not be the one to blame, cause oh how many times you have blamed yourself.

“babygirl, please don’t cry…” he says as he caresses your knuckles with his both hands. “can i hold you?”

and you nod, because this time you do want his touch. you let down your walls, and you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him, to trust him in your most intimate self.

he softly lets go of your hand and lifts his arms open wide for you to settle yourself in between them. you gently close your distance with him and you wrap yourself around his torso for you to cry harder against his chest.

you stay like that for a few seconds, with him holding you close, one hand resting on the back of your head, the second one rubbing up and down your back “thank you” you manage to say in between sniffles and hiccups.

“baby…” he starts

“no, chris” you stop him pulling away from his chest, whipping your tears and looking at him “really… thank you. i thought you were gonna want to leave, but you said just the right words”

“baby, don’t thank me for doing the bare minimum” he says as he lifts his hand to put a strand of hair behind your ear “i told you, this was not your fault. there’s no reason for me to leave. i love you so much baby. all i wanna do is make you feel loved, and safe. ever.”

“i love you, chan” you respond after a few more sniffles, feeling more calmed now “but… i…”

“you what, babygirl?” he encourages you.

“i… want to be intimate with you…” you confess a bit embarrassed

“mhm you do, babygirl? you sure?” and you nod slowly with a hint of shyness “i want to try…”

he takes your hand and caresses it again “i want to too, baby. but i don’t wanna rush you. not before and not now that you’ve told me this” he states and you can’t help but think that you won the lottery with this man “how about we take it one step at a time? we don’t go all the way in right away, but we take it one step further each time. how does that sound, baby?”

you nod at him giving him a soft smile “that sounds really nice, baby”

“i’ll just have to ask you something, babygirl” he says and you nod in confusion “communication is key. so you’re gonna have to tell me at all times how fare we go, what pace we go, when we start, when we stop, when we continue and most importantly, your boundaries, baby. i’ll never proceed without your verbal consent, okay?”

you let out a shaky breath, almost as a relieved sigh. not that you were expecting anything bad for him, but still relieved to hear those words coming out of him. you nod again “i love the sound of that” you confess, as you nod again, your smile, growing wider.

“i’m so glad to see that smile back, baby” he says as he brigs his hand to caress your cheek with his thumb in the softest way possible while he smiles too.

you lean in his touch while looking up at him, your sight flicking between his eyes and his lips “i love you, chris”

“i love you too, babygirl” he noticed your eyes flicking but he doesn’t make a move, he just stares at you the same way. his hand not leaving your soft face.

but you lean in closer, you lean in making a small pause when your lips are slightly touching, you rest your forehead against him before finally closing the distance between your two sets of lips. and this time feels different, you don’t quite know if it’s a new type of intimacy, if it’s a deeper love, or if it’s desire. but you know that you’ve finally found your sun, you’re finally where you needed to be.

💌: this has been sitting incomplete in my drafts for like a year and a half. i never intended to published it, it was honestly just my way of releasing my thoughts and finding comfort but it’s only now that it felt right to finish it and even tho it’s incredibly scary, i did decided to share.

to the writers with SA comfort in their stories, just wanted to say thank you for giving me the courage to actually do this. this feels so personal and scary to put out there but i feel like i healed a bit more <3. and to readers who have suffered from SA/abuse, just know that it’s NEVER your fault, don’t blame yourself for what other people did to you, you’re not alone. if someone needs a safe space to talk, my dms are always open <33

english’s not my first language i apologize any mistakes!

╰┈➤ Masterlist

“Absolutely not,” Seungmin said flatly, flipping through the half-scribbled draft Jisung had shoved at him.

Jisung sat slouched in the chair across from him, hoodie half-zipped, legs spread like a sulky teenager. “Why not?”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, holding up the crumpled sheet of paper. “Because this isn’t a legal agreement. This is—” He squinted, reading aloud, “‘Rule #1: Don’t freak out if I get bitey during sex (actually maybe do, it’s kinda hot).’”

Jisung groaned, leaning back in his chair. “It’s supposed to make her comfortable, Seungmin. I don’t want her reading some super serious Luxe Health contract like she’s signing her soul away.”

“She is signing something about her blood,” Seungmin deadpanned.

“Yeah, but—” Jisung gestured vaguely. “She’s human! I can’t just shove a 20-page legal doc at her. She’ll panic. I want it to be… I don’t know… funny.”

Seungmin pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “why do I even bother.”

“You want funny?” Seungmin finally said, flipping open his Luxe Health-issued tablet. “Fine. But we’re keeping the legal baseline intact. No Luxe Health vampire is getting flagged for ‘casual feeding misconduct’ because you thought it was cute to doodle smiley faces next to the signature line.”

Jisung perked up. “So… you’re helping me write it?”

Seungmin gave him a flat look. “Only because Minho will have my head if you try to do this yourself and accidentally write, quote, ‘Rule #5: Kiss me after feeding, or I’ll be sad.’”

“…Okay, but that is an important rule,” Jisung muttered.

Seungmin ignored him, already typing. “We’re making this legally binding but… fine, I’ll allow your dumb little ‘fun rules’ section at the end if it keeps her calm.”

Twenty minutes later, the two of them sat hunched over Seungmin’s tablet, Jisung leaning way too close, adding commentary while Seungmin scrolled through Luxe Health’s official templates.

“Okay, clause one,” Seungmin said, tapping the screen. “Feeding frequency. I’m putting down ‘no more than three controlled feedings per week unless mutually agreed.’”

“Make it say ‘as much as she wants,’” Jisung said instantly.

Seungmin sighed. “That’s not how—”

“Please.”

Seungmin gave him a long, judging stare before typing. “…Fine. But if she faints, you are filing the medical report.”

“Deal.”

“Clause two: Bond safety. She has to know about soulbond risks.”

Jisung perked up. “Okay, but can we add a little note like, ‘Don’t worry, you’re already stuck with me anyway’? With a smiley face?”

Seungmin did not look up from the screen. “I hate you.”

By the time they finished, the “formal” document had somehow turned into:

THE BLOOD DOLL AGREEMENT (v1.0, Seungmin-Approved) ✔️ Feeding limits: “Whenever she’s cool with it (she’s the boss).” ✔️ Emergency care clause: “If I ever hurt you by accident, I’ll fix it immediately and hate myself forever.” ✔️ Emotional safety clause: “Tell me if I’m being a dumbass. (I will probably still be a dumbass, but I’ll listen).” ✔️ Seungmin-mandated boring legal paragraphs. ✔️ Special Jisung Section:

“You can say no anytime. No guilt, no whining.”

“Neck kisses are not always feeding. Sometimes I just like your neck.”

“Post-bite cuddles required.”

“Rule #5: Kiss me after feeding, or I’ll be sad.”

Seungmin signed off with a long sigh. “I can’t believe I just legalized this.”

Jisung grinned, snatching the tablet. “You’re the best, Seungmin. Really.”

“Don’t thank me. Just… for the love of Luxe Health, don’t show this to Minho.”

The restaurant was way fancier than anything you’d expected Jisung to pick. Candlelight, soft jazz playing, crystal glasses that looked way too expensive for him to be casually swirling water in.

But the real shock?

Jisung.

Standing by the table in a perfectly tailored black suit jacket, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, no tie, hair pushed back just enough to look sharp but still messy enough to scream him. His rings caught the candlelight every time he fidgeted—because oh yeah, he was nervous as hell.

You stopped mid-step, grinning slowly. “Well, well, Mr. Responsible Adult. Look at you.”

Jisung’s ears immediately went red, but he smirked anyway, sliding a hand into his pocket like he was trying to look smooth. “Don’t get used to it. The second this dinner’s over, I’m back in hoodies.”

You laughed, taking your seat across from him. “Shame. You look good in a suit.”

The smirk faltered just a little, his blush darkening as he sat down. “Stop saying things like that if you don’t want me to forget why we’re here.”

You tilted your head, amused. “And why are we here, Ji?”

His cocky facade cracked instantly. “…Right. That.”

The waiter came, took your order, and left—leaving Jisung tapping his rings nervously against the table.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re acting like you’re about to confess to a crime.”

“…Technically, Luxe Health would consider it a crime if I hadn’t filed paperwork,” he muttered under his breath.

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing!” he said way too fast, pulling something from his jacket pocket.

You stared as he slid a sleek Luxe Health tablet across the table toward you. “…Ji, what is this?”

He winced. “Okay, please don’t freak out, but—uh—it’s a contract. Kind of. But, like, not scary! Seungmin approved it and everything.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “A contract? For what?”

Jisung took a deep breath, his fingers drumming nervously on the table. “For you to… officially be my blood doll.”

You blinked at him. “…Your what?”

“My blood doll,” he repeated, his voice softer, his eyes darting between yours and the tablet like he expected you to throw it back at him. “Look, it’s not—okay, that sounds bad, but it’s not bad. It’s—it just means I’d only feed from you. You’d be… mine. Officially. Protected. Luxe Health would register you, so no other vampire can touch you.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “…You’re asking me to sign a vampire feeding contract at a fancy restaurant.”

“Yes,” Jisung said immediately, leaning forward, desperate. “But, like, a nice one. It’s not just legal crap, I—I made it… uh… comfortable.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Comfortable?”

He nodded frantically. “Look at the special section. Please.”

You scrolled, your lips twitching as you read aloud:

“Post-bite cuddles required. Neck kisses are not always feeding. And Rule #5: Kiss me after feeding, or I’ll be sad.”

Your grin broke into full-on laughter. “Oh my God, Ji.”

His face turned scarlet, and he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Seungmin told me this was stupid. I wanted you to feel safe, okay? Not—”

You cut him off with a soft laugh, reaching across the table to tug his hands away. “Ji. It’s not stupid. It’s… actually kind of sweet.”

He blinked, lowering his hands slowly. “…Wait, really?”

You smirked, leaning forward. “Yeah. But you didn’t have to drag me to a fancy dinner to ask me this.”

“I—” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted it to be special. You… you’re special to me.”

Your grin softened, your chest warming. “…So, if I sign this, I’m officially yours?”

His rings buzzed faintly as his hands clenched in his lap, his voice low. “…Yeah. You’d be mine.”

You tilted your head, teasing again. “And you’d be mine, right?”

His blush deepened, but he smirked faintly. “You already have me. Completely.”

You tapped the sleek tablet with your finger but didn’t sign it yet, leaning back in your chair instead, smirking at him. “Before I agree to anything,” you said, crossing your arms, “we need to revisit something.”

Jisung blinked, confused. “…What?”

You raised an eyebrow. “The other night. You, in the kitchen, at three in the morning, chugging a blood bag like it was Gatorade.”

Jisung’s ears immediately went red, his cocky suit-boy façade cracking in an instant. “Oh my God—”

“No, no,” you cut him off, leaning forward, resting your chin in your hand. “Explain. Because I thought you were just a little bitey, not… full-on vampire fridge-raiding at ungodly hours.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I knew you were gonna bring that up.”

“Of course I’m bringing it up!” you said, trying not to laugh. “Ji, you looked like a kid sneaking ice cream before dinner. Except, you know… it was blood.”

Jisung dropped his face into his hands with a muffled, “I hate everything about this conversation.”

You bit back a grin, leaning closer. “So? Why the blood bag if you have… me?”

His head snapped up at that, eyes going wide. “Because I’m not an asshole!”

You blinked. “…What?”

“I don’t wanna overfeed from you!” he said quickly, his hands flying in a frantic gesture. “You’re human, I can’t just drink whenever I want—you’d get dizzy, or sick, or hate me, or—or—”

You raised an eyebrow. “So instead, you sneak around in your own kitchen like some secret vampire raccoon?”

Jisung groaned, slumping in his chair, muttering, “Seungmin warned me you were gonna make fun of me.”

You laughed, reaching across the table to nudge his hand. “I’m not making fun of you. It’s cute.”

“…Cute?” he echoed, looking skeptical.

“Yeah,” you said with a soft smile. “You’re careful. Even when you’re starving. That’s… very you.”

He stared at you for a second, then looked down, trying to hide his shy smile, his fingers drumming against the table nervously. Your eyes glanced down at the tablet again. “Once I sign this, you won't be scavenging for blood bags in the fridge at 3AM right?”

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and serious now. “…If you sign that, I won’t need them. You’d be all I need.”

Your heart skipped, and for a second, all the teasing warmth in the air softened into something heavier, deeper. You bit your lip, glancing back at the tablet. “…Then maybe I should sign.”

Jisung froze, watching you like his whole world depended on it. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah. But only if Rule #5 stays,” you said firmly, crossing your arms.

Jisung blinked at you, looking so relieved he almost smiled—but then froze, realizing you still hadn’t signed. “…Wait. You’re still holding the tablet. Why are you still holding the tablet?” he asked cautiously, eyes narrowing.

You leaned back, one eyebrow raised. “Because, Ji, you just casually dropped vampires are real on me yesterday in your kitchen at 3AM while you were drinking blood like a Capri Sun. I have questions before I sign something that literally makes me yours.”

Jisung winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Fair.”

You leaned forward, fingers laced under your chin. “Okay. First question. Vampires are real. Like, actually real? Not just you? There’s more?”

“Yes,” Jisung said instantly, nodding. “A lot more. There’s—uh—different types, but you don’t need to worry about that. Luxe Health regulates everything.”

“Luxe Health,” you repeated slowly. “Like the hospital stuff you told me you ‘worked in medical research’ for?”

He winced again. “…Yeah. Sorry about that. ‘Lead Hemalchemist & Magical Encryption Architect’ is my real job title and it doesn’t exactly sound like a normal human job.”

You blinked, processing. “…You’re a vampire scientist.”

“I—yeah. Basically.”

You stared for another beat. “Holy shit, Ji. No wonder you were so bad at explaining your job before.”

Jisung buried his face in his hands. “Please stop making fun of me.”

“Okay, next question,” you said, ignoring him. “This whole blood doll thing—what exactly does it mean? Because I feel like I need to know if I’m about to be some vampire version of a pet or… I don’t know, a blood ATM.”

Jisung’s head shot up instantly, his expression horrified. “What?! No! God, no—it’s not like that. It’s—it’s…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to gather himself. “It’s… trust. And safety. It’s a way of saying you’re mine, but not in a bad way. You’d be registered with Luxe, which means you’re protected. No other vampire can touch you. Ever. And I—” His voice softened, his rings buzzing faintly against his fingers. “I’d only feed from you. You’d be… everything to me.”

You blinked, your teasing faltering for a second. “…So it’s… kind of like… dating? But with paperwork?”

Jisung let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Except with bite marks and way more cuddles.”

You smirked despite yourself. “Okay, that part doesn’t sound too bad. But—Ji—this is huge. Like, vampires are real, and now you’re asking me to basically sign up to be your… whatever this is.”

“My blood doll,” he said softly, almost shy.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile softened. “You know that’s the dumbest name for it, right?”

He shrugged helplessly, leaning forward on his elbows. “Yeah, but I don’t care what it’s called. I just want you.”

Your heart skipped again, his voice quiet, honest, almost raw.

“…You really mean that,” you said softly.

“More than anything,” he said instantly, his eyes locked on yours. “You have no idea how hard it’s been not saying anything. I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you—for so long.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by how open he was being, then finally let out a breath, glancing back at the tablet and back at him, eyeing him up and down, still holding the tablet and now smirking again. “Okay, one more thing before I sign this. How the hell did you even become a vampire? Like, did you piss off the wrong one? Did you—what—trip and fall into someone’s fangs?”

Jisung groaned instantly, sinking a little in his chair. “Oh my God, do we have to—”

“Yes,” you said firmly, grinning. “Because if I’m about to sign up for this whole ‘blood doll, yours forever’ thing, I need to know how you ended up like this.”

Jisung muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like Seungmin was right, this is humiliating, before finally dragging his hands down his face.

“…Fine. But you’re not allowed to laugh.”

You tilted your head, already fighting a smile. “No promises.”

Jisung sighed dramatically, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “So. It started at a club,” he began, voice resigned. “Three years ago, I was cocky, stupid, and definitely two shots past making good decisions.”

You raised an eyebrow, already grinning. “Shocking.”

“Shut up,” he muttered before continuing. “Anyway, she was—uh—this girl in a red dress, dark eyes, hot as hell, and I thought I was being smooth. Asked if she wanted to dance. She asked if I tasted good.”

You snorted, covering your mouth. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t laugh yet,” Jisung groaned, his ears turning red. “So we ended up at my place, things got heated, neck kissing, whatever—and boom, no warning, she bit me.”

You blinked. “…She just bit you.”

“Yup. Full-on fangs. And I—uh—” His face went scarlet. “…I panicked. And bit her back.”

There was a long beat of silence before you burst out laughing, nearly knocking over your water glass. “YOU WHAT?!”

Jisung groaned louder, burying his face in his hands. “I panicked! She bit me first! What was I supposed to do, just take it?!”

“You bit her back? Like—with your human teeth?”

“Yes! I was drunk and angry and—shut up!” he said, his face red enough to match the tablecloth.

You were crying now, wheezing. “What did she do?!”

“She laughed so hard she fell off the bed,” Jisung grumbled. “And then she vanished. Poof. Gone.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to hold in your laughter, but your shoulders were shaking. “Oh my God, Ji. That’s… that’s the dumbest vampire origin story ever.”

“Yeah, well guess what?” Jisung shot back, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “I woke up twelve hours later on the floor, naked, with the sun trying to kill me and hearing my neighbor cry about his failed Tinder date through the walls. So, yeah. Best night of my life.”

You were gone now, laughing so hard people were starting to stare. “Oh my God, I can’t—”

“And before you ask, yes, I ended up in the ER. Yes, I yelled at the blood bags. Yes, Chan found me like that.”

You choked on a laugh. “Bang Chan?”

Jisung groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “He showed up, looked at me, and literally said, ‘You bit back, didn’t you.’”

You were crying again, your grin wide. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. He gave me these rings so I wouldn’t burn alive or implode. Then hired me. The end.”

You stared at him, still laughing, shaking your head. “Wow. All this time, I thought maybe it was, like, tragic or romantic, but nope. You got laid, got bit, panicked, and turned yourself out of spite.”

Jisung muttered, pouting now, “Seungmin told me not to tell you.”

You leaned forward, grinning wickedly. “Oh, I’m never letting you live this down.”

“Great,” he mumbled, sinking lower in his chair, ears still red.

The waiter chose the perfect moment to appear—right as you were still wiping tears from your eyes from laughing at Jisung’s tragic-not-tragic vampire origin story.

“Your entrees,” the waiter said smoothly, setting down two steaming plates between you.

You grinned, still holding the Luxe Health tablet in your hands. “Thanks.”

Jisung, however, barely glanced at the food. He was staring at you, his chin propped on his hand, pouting so hard it was almost comical.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He tilted his head, rings tapping against the table. “Are you gonna sign? Or are you just gonna hold that thing all night and keep making fun of me?”

You smirked, setting the tablet just slightly out of his reach. “Mmm, maybe I like watching you beg.”

Jisung groaned, dropping his head dramatically into his hands. “You are evil.”

You laughed, picking up your fork. “Relax, vampire boy. Let me eat first.”

His head shot up instantly, scandalized. “Eat first?! You’re seriously making me wait?!”

“Yes,” you said simply, popping a bite into your mouth. “Because I can. You’re the one who wants me to sign your vampire boyfriend paperwork, remember?”

Jisung let out a low whine, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. “Please. I’ve been waiting for this for three years, don’t make me suffer through dinner too.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think, chewing slowly just to mess with him. “Three years, huh?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, voice dead serious. “Do you know how many times I almost told you the moment we reconnected? How many times I had to stop myself from biting you every time you laughed too close to me? Every single day since we reconnected has been torture. Please just sign before I lose my mind.”

Your grin softened just slightly at how honest he sounded, though you still teased, “Wow, dramatic and hungry.”

“Both true,” he muttered, glaring at your untouched signature line.

You finally picked up the tablet, twirling the stylus between your fingers. “…You’re sure about this, Ji? Like, really sure?”

His rings buzzed faintly against his skin as he leaned closer, his voice soft but firm. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

Your teasing grin faltered, replaced by a softer smile. “…Okay, then.”

And with one smooth stroke, you signed your name.

For a second, Jisung just stared, like his brain short-circuited at the sight of your signature glowing on the screen.

Then his rings buzzed sharply, and he let out a breathless laugh, sitting back in his chair, completely dazed.

“…Ji?” you asked softly.

He looked up at you, and the cocky smirk was back, but softer this time, almost reverent. “You’re mine now.”

You smirked back. “And you’re mine.”

The waiter came back a second later with drinks, catching Jisung still staring at you like you’d just rewritten his entire world.

“Everything okay here?” the waiter asked, glancing between you.

“Yeah,” Jisung said, not looking away from you, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Perfect.”

The second the apartment door shut behind you, Jisung’s self-control cracked like glass.

You barely had time to slip your shoes off before his hands were on you—pulling you close, kissing you like he’d been starving for this exact moment. And maybe he had been, because there was nothing careful or measured about it; it was hungry, desperate, his.

“Ji—” you gasped against his mouth, your fingers gripping his shirt as he practically walked you backward toward the bedroom.

He groaned low in his throat, his rings buzzing faintly where they slid along your waist, up your ribs. “You signed… you’re mine now—”

“Yours,” you agreed breathlessly, tugging at his unbuttoned shirt as you stumbled into his room.

That word—yours—made something snap in him. He kissed you harder, practically lifting you onto the bed, climbing over you like he couldn’t get close enough. His hands roamed, frantic, tugging your shirt off like it offended him just by existing.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered against your skin, kissing down your throat, slower for a second, almost reverent—until his lips hovered right over your pulse, and his breath hitched.

The hunger was there, thick and heavy in his voice. “Can I?”

You tilted your head for him, your voice soft, certain. “Do it, Ji.”

The first press of his fangs was gentle—a soft scrape, almost testing—and then he sank in with a low, wrecked groan, his hands gripping your hips like he was holding himself back from losing it completely.

Your gasp turned into a shaky moan, your back arching as heat shot through you, the pull of his mouth sending a dizzy rush straight to your core.

“Fuck,” Jisung groaned against your neck, feeding deeper now, drinking slow but hungry, each swallow sending little vibrations into your skin.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging him closer. “Ji—”

At that, he growled softly, his hips pressing into yours, hard and already straining against his pants.

“Mine,” he muttered against your neck, his voice low and wrecked between swallows. “All mine now—fuck—”

“Yours,” you gasped, your hips shifting under him. “Always.”

He pulled back just enough to lick over the bite, sealing it gently, his lips smeared faintly with your blood. His pupils were blown, his breathing heavy as he looked down at you.

“Still good?” he rasped, thumb brushing your jaw almost nervously despite the way his body was practically trembling from restraint.

You smiled up at him, flushed and wrecked already. “More than good. Ji… fuck me.”

Jisung let out a low, wrecked laugh, pressing his forehead to yours for half a second before kissing you again—messy, desperate, blood-sweet.

He tugged his shirt the rest of the way off, your hands already pushing at his sweats, and then he was sliding them down, finally kicking them off as he moved between your legs.

“Wait.”

He froze immediately, his dark, blown-out eyes searching yours, panic flashing for a second. “What? Are you okay? Did I hurt—”

You smirked, tugging him down by the waistband of his sweats. “I wanna suck you off first.”

For a second, Jisung just stared—like you’d just short-circuited his already hunger-fried brain.

“…Wait. What?”

You shifted, pushing at his chest until he sat back slightly, straddling his hips to get him to sit against the headboard. “You heard me.”

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, his ears turning red as his hands hovered uselessly at his sides. “…You—right now? Like this?”

You grinned, sliding between his legs, tugging him fully down onto the bed. “Exactly like this.”

“Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a shaky hand through his hair as you settled between his thighs. His cock twitched, already hard and leaking against his stomach, and the second your hand wrapped around him, he let out a low, wrecked groan.

“Baby, you don’t—fuck—you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you cut him off, stroking him slowly, teasing, watching his head drop back against the pillows. “You’ve been so good to me tonight, Ji. Let me take care of you.”

His eyes fluttered shut, his rings buzzing faintly against his fingers as he gripped the sheets, trying not to thrust into your hand already.

“Shit,” he hissed, his hips twitching as you leaned down, licking a slow stripe along the underside of his cock. “God, you’re gonna kill me—”

“Not planning on it,” you murmured against him, kissing the flushed tip before taking him into your mouth.

The sound Jisung made was downright filthy—a choked-off groan, his hips jerking despite the way he immediately tried to hold still for you.

“Fuck—fuck—” His hand flew to your hair, gripping gently but tight enough to show how close he already was to losing it. “Baby—holy shit, feels so good—”

You hummed around him, taking him deeper, and he cursed loudly, his head thunking back against the headboard.

“God, you look so—” he cut himself off with another groan, his hips twitching helplessly as you bobbed your head, your hand stroking what you couldn’t fit. “So pretty like this—mine—”

You pulled off just long enough to smirk up at him, breathless. “Yours. Always.”

The way his eyes darkened at that was almost dangerous.

“Fuck—if you keep saying that, I’m gonna—” he choked out, his grip tightening in your hair. “I’m gonna cum so fast—”

“Then cum for me,” you said, voice low, wicked, before taking him back into your mouth—deeper this time, your tongue sliding along the thick vein underneath as you sucked harder.

“Fuck—” Jisung groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, his thighs tensing under your hands. His hips twitched despite his desperate attempt to stay still, his rings buzzing so hard they almost hummed against his fingers.

You hummed around him deliberately, the vibration making him let out a broken, wrecked sound that went straight to your core.

“Baby—shit, you’re—” His words cut off into another groan as you took him deeper, your nose brushing his lower stomach, gagging softly around his length. “Oh my God—” Jisung’s grip in your hair tightened, his other hand bracing against the sheets as his self-control snapped another inch.

You pulled back just barely to breathe, stroking him quickly with your hand before sinking down on him again, even deeper this time, letting yourself choke a little as you swallowed around him.

Jisung lost it.

“Shit—baby, I can’t—” His hips jerked into your mouth helplessly now, short, desperate thrusts he couldn’t hold back, his voice low and broken. “You’re so good—fuck, you’re so good for me—taking me so well—”

You moaned around him at his words, and that set him off further, his thrusts a little rougher now, his cock sliding deep into your throat as you let him use your mouth, gagging softly but not pulling away.

“God, mine—” he groaned, his head tipping back, his fangs glinting as his lips parted, panting. “All mine—you look so fucking perfect with my cock in your mouth—shit—”

Your eyes watered from the depth, drool slicking your chin, but you didn’t stop, sucking harder, hollowing your cheeks as you stroked what you couldn’t take, letting him thrust shallowly into your mouth.

“Baby—fuck—I’m gonna cum—” Jisung warned, his voice hoarse, frantic now.

And finally, he let out a loud, wrecked groan, his hips jerking as he spilled into your mouth, his head dropping back as he panted your name, almost whimpering with how hard it hit him. You swallowed every drop, licking him clean as you pulled back, your hand giving him a few more lazy strokes before letting go.

Jisung slumped against the headboard, flushed and wrecked, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His rings buzzed faintly as he dragged a shaky hand through his messy hair, staring down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“Holy… fuck.” he rasped, voice rough.

You grinned, crawling up to straddle his lap, kissing him softly, deliberately licking the corner of his mouth where a little bit of your blood from earlier still lingered. His hands immediately gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, and to your surprise—his cock twitched against you again, already hardening despite how recently he came.

“…Ji?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

His dark eyes flicked up to yours, his mouth curving into a dangerous grin.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

Your heart skipped, heat pooling low in your stomach at the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. He sat up straighter, his hands sliding up your sides, fingers brushing under the hem of your dress. “Take this off for me, baby,” he murmured, his thumbs stroking your skin, “wanna see you.”

You tilted your head, teasing despite the way your pulse was already racing. “What if I don’t?”

His grin widened, his rings buzzing faintly against your skin as he leaned in, kissing your jaw, then down your neck. “Then I’ll do it for you.” Before you could reply, he was already tugging at your dress, pulling it up and over your head with quick, almost impatient hands. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he muttered, his gaze trailing over you now, taking in every inch like he was trying to memorize you.

You were still in your panties, straddling his lap, and you felt him twitch under you as his eyes lingered on your tits, his breath catching.

“Ji…” you teased softly, but your words turned into a gasp as his hands came up, cupping your breasts reverently.

He leaned forward, closing his mouth over one nipple, sucking softly at first, then harder when you let out a quiet moan. His other hand squeezed your other breast gently, thumb circling your nipple.

“Ji—oh my God—” you gasped, your fingers digging into his hair as you rocked slightly on his lap, feeling his cock growing harder against you.

He groaned against your skin, switching to your other breast, sucking and licking like he was starved for you. “Taste so good everywhere,” he muttered, voice muffled, his fangs barely grazing your soft skin. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

You whimpered as you shifted on his lap, grinding against his cock through your panties, making him hiss low in his throat.

“I'm insane for you,” he growled, pulling back just enough to look up at you, his pupils blown wide.

Then his hand slid down, between your thighs, pressing against your clothed clit, rubbing slow circles that made your hips jerk.

“Already so wet for me,” he rasped, pushing your panties aside now, his fingers sliding through your slick folds, teasing your entrance. “You want me to make you cum on my fingers first, baby?”

“Yes—fuck—yes,” you gasped, rocking into his touch.

“Good girl,” he murmured, kissing your collarbone as he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right while his thumb rubbed your clit in slow, deliberate circles.

“Ji—oh my God—” you moaned, your head falling back, your hips rolling against his hand.

He groaned softly, watching you, his cock twitching hard under you as he fucked you with his fingers, his mouth still trailing kisses over your tits. “Gonna cum for me? Wanna feel you squeeze my fingers, baby—”

“Ji—” you gasped, your walls fluttering already, heat building fast.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his thumb circling your clit faster now, his fingers thrusting deeper. “Cum for me, baby—let me feel it.”

And you did, moaning his name as you clenched around his fingers, your thighs trembling around his hips.

Jisung groaned, pulling his fingers out slowly, licking them clean without breaking eye contact, his voice wrecked. “You taste so fucking good.”

You were still catching your breath when he gripped your hips, lining his cock up against your entrance. His voice dropped, darker now, hunger and need mixing in his tone.

“Now I’m gonna fuck you, baby. Wanna feel you cum on my cock this time.”

Jisung didn’t give you much time to catch your breath.

The second his cock pushed into you, both of you groaned—loud. He filled you to the hilt in one slow, deliberate thrust, his hands gripping your hips tight, holding you still as he buried himself deep inside.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his forehead pressing briefly to your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. “You feel so good—so fucking tight, baby—”

“Ji—” you gasped, rocking slightly against him, already needy.

His head snapped up, his dark eyes locking on yours, and you barely had a second to inhale before he growled low, almost feral, and started moving.

He set a brutal pace immediately—his hips snapping up into you hard and deep, making you bounce on his lap with every thrust. Your tits moved with each impact, and Jisung’s hands came up to hold them, thumbs brushing over your nipples again before sliding back down to grip your ass.

“Ride me, baby,” he groaned, helping you move, guiding your hips as you started to bounce on him, meeting every thrust. “Fuck—yeah, just like that—taking me so good—”

“Ji—oh my God—” you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders as you moved faster, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the room.

His rings buzzed against your skin, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide. “You’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind—”

And then he tilted his head, his gaze darting to your neck, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Ji…” you panted, breathless, “do it—”

You didn't have to tell this man twice. He surged forward, his mouth latching onto your neck as his fangs sank in again, making you gasp, your hips stuttering as pleasure and the dizzy rush of his feeding hit you at once.

“Fuck,” Jisung groaned against your skin, drinking deep, his thrusts growing even harder, rougher, like tasting you only made him hungrier. “God, you taste so good—mine, mine—”

You whimpered, your walls clenching around him as you bounced harder, your body trembling as the pull of his feeding mixed with the relentless pace of his thrusts.

“Ji—oh fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me, baby,” he growled against your neck, his voice low and wrecked, blood-sweet. “Wanna feel you cum all over me while I drink you—”

That tipped you over.

Your orgasm hit hard, your whole body shaking as you cried out his name, clenching around his cock as he fed, drinking deeper, groaning into your skin as if your pleasure made you taste better.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he panted, finally pulling back just enough to lick over the bite, sealing it gently. His lips were red, his chin slick, and he looked feral—but so fucking gone for you.

“Gonna cum, baby—gonna fill you up again,” he muttered, snapping his hips up hard one last time before groaning loud, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your uneven breaths and the slow creak of the bed as Jisung’s hips finally stilled, still buried deep inside you.

His forehead rested against your shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around you like he was scared you’d disappear if he let go. His rings buzzed faintly against your back, the vibrations softer now, almost soothing instead of frantic.

You shifted slightly, running a lazy hand through his damp hair. “You alive there, vampire boy?”

A muffled groan came from your shoulder. “Barely. You wrecked me.”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I wrecked you? Ji, you just fed on me and almost fucked me through the mattress.”

Jisung let out a weak, breathless laugh against your skin, finally pulling back enough to look at you. His lips were red, his chin still faintly slick from where he’d fed, his hair a mess, and he looked gone—but in the softest way.

“You’re perfect,” he said, still panting slightly. “Literally perfect. I don’t deserve you.”

You snorted, flicking his shoulder lightly. “Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I like you enough to let you use me as your personal Capri Sun.”

His jaw dropped, mock-offended. “Capri Sun?! Baby, you’re—no, no, you’re not a juice pouch, you’re—” He gestured wildly, still inside you, clearly too brain-fried to find the words. “—you’re like… the world’s best vintage wine. Rare. Expensive. If anyone calls you juice again, I’ll fight them.”

You grinned, leaning in to kiss his nose. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me,” he shot back, his cocky grin slipping through the post-sex haze.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. “…Yeah. I do.”

Jisung blinked, his grin softening instantly into something warmer, quieter. “…Say it again.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What, you didn’t hear me the first time?”

“I heard,” he said, his voice low and a little shy now, “I just… wanna hear it again.”

You softened, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. “I love you, Ji.”

His grin turned into a full, bright smile, his hands squeezing your waist gently. “I love you too, baby.”

For a second, it was quiet, soft, almost too sweet—until your stomach growled loudly.

You blinked. “…Okay, maybe I need food before I pass out.”

Jisung immediately perked up, sitting back slightly (still very much inside you, which you noticed). “Say no more. Snacks. Bed snacks.”

You laughed as he reluctantly slipped out of you with a soft groan, helping you settle under the covers while muttering to himself.

“I’m making you ramen. And ice cream. And maybe… toast? No—wait, you like toast at night, right?”

You giggled, pulling the blanket around yourself. “Ji, you’re acting like you didn’t just drink half my blood.”

“That’s exactly why I’m feeding you,” he called from the kitchen, already rummaging through cabinets like a man on a mission. “You need sugar, and I need to prove I’m a responsible vampire boyfriend.”

You smiled to yourself, curling into his pillow, still blissed-out and warm.

THE NEXT MORNING

Jisung knew he was late the second he stepped out of the elevator into the main Nocté Labs conference room.

And he also knew he was fucked when every single head turned toward him at once.

“Morning,” he muttered, running a hand through his still-messy hair, tugging nervously at the collar of his hoodie. (Yes, he wore a hoodie to a meeting where everyone else was dressed like they were about to sign vampire peace treaties.)

The smell hit before the comments did.

Hyunjin wrinkled his nose first, lounging lazily in his chair, tapping a pen against his notebook. “Wow. That’s not even subtle.”

Felix beamed instantly, his bright smile way too knowing. “Oh my god, Ji—you finally did it!”

Jisung froze, his ears immediately turning bright red. “What? No—I didn’t—”

Seungmin, without looking up from his tablet, raised a brow and cut in flatly, “You smell like sex and blood. And Rule #3 specifically states that blood dolls are supposed to be eased into feeding, not turned into personal buffet tables overnight.”

“I DIDN’T—” Jisung started, only for Changbin to snort from his spot at the table, leaning back with his arms crossed.

“Sure you didn’t. You’re practically glowing. And you’re late.”

Minho, sitting next to Chan like the ever-judgmental executioner he was, tilted his head slowly, scanning Jisung with a look that made his skin crawl. “You fed and fucked in the same session, didn’t you?”

Jisung sputtered, his face now fully crimson. “WHY DOES EVERYONE KNOW THIS?!”

Hyunjin smirked, leaning back in his chair, unbothered. “Because you smell like her. Everywhere. Everything about you screams I just made her cum so hard she passed out. Congrats, by the way.”

“HYUNJIN!”

Felix just giggled, way too delighted. “Don’t be embarrassed, hyung! You look happy! She’s your soulmate, right? Seungmin was literally waiting for this to happen.”

Seungmin finally looked up, adjusting his pendant, his voice dry as ever. “I wasn’t waiting for it to happen. I was waiting for you to handle it responsibly. Which you clearly didn’t.”

Jisung groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I hate this. I hate all of you.”

Chan, who had been silent the whole time, finally sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before speaking, his voice calm but way too amused for Jisung’s liking.

“Ji,” Chan said, leaning back in his chair, “congratulations on the bond. But next time? Don’t show up to a meeting smelling like round two. Or three. Or however many times you went at it.”

Jisung wanted to die.

“I’m going home,” he muttered, turning toward the door.

“No, you’re not,” Chan said casually, flipping to the next page of his briefing. “You’re sitting down, you’re writing your report on that new venom modulation formula, and you’re doing it while not texting her every five seconds.”

Jisung froze mid-step, scowling. “…I hate this job.”

“You love this job,” Chan replied easily. “Now sit.”

Jisung plopped into his chair with the most dramatic sigh he could manage, slouching down like a sulking teenager. The rest of the table ignored him—at least, for the first ten minutes.

Chan had the agenda up on the main holo-screen, Minho sat stone-still, eyes scanning every document like a predator waiting to strike, and Seungmin was already tapping notes into his tablet with military precision.

The meeting started smooth—too smooth.

“—hybrid gestation serums are stable at sixty-three percent success rate,” Seungmin reported, scrolling calmly through the data. “We’ll need an updated list of donors cleared for secondary trials.”

“Good,” Chan said, leaning back slightly, his tone all business. “Minho, updates on containment?”

“Handled,” Minho said simply. “The rogue incident in Singapore has been neutralized. Retrieval clean. No leaks.”

“Perfect,” Chan nodded, moving to the next file. “Felix, post-bond stabilisation reports?”

Felix, sitting bright and cheerful as always, gave a sunny little thumbs-up. “Four successful sessions yesterday, one couple cried a lot—but no venom relapse, no psychic overload, everything’s syncing fine.”

“Good work,” Chan said again, his voice sharp and clean.

Even Jisung had almost forgotten he was dying of embarrassment… until—

“So, hyung,” Hyunjin cut in lazily, not even looking up from where he was twirling his pen, “did you at least clean the bite marks off her neck before you sent her home?”

The entire table froze.

Jisung’s head snapped up, his face turning bright red instantly. “HYUNJIN—”

Minho’s pen paused mid-scratch, his sharp gaze lifting slowly, almost intrigued. “He didn’t.”

“I—THAT’S NOT—”

Felix, of course, gasped dramatically, grinning like Christmas came early. “Oh my god, hyung, you didn’t? She went home with marks?”

“SHE’S MY BLOOD DOLL, IT’S FINE!” Jisung blurted before realizing what he just said out loud.

Seungmin, who had been typing steadily through the entire conversation, finally set his tablet down with a sigh so heavy it could have crushed a human spine. “Rule #12: ‘All visible bite marks are to be properly healed or glamoured in public settings to avoid legal scrutiny.’ Did you even read the contract you made her sign?”

“I READ IT! I—” Jisung sputtered, his ears turning scarlet. “—I just… forgot.”

Minho tilted his head, his expression unreadable but his voice far too calm. “Forgetting rules that protect her safety? Should I be concerned?”

“NO, SHE’S FINE!” Jisung yelled, sinking further into his chair, practically vibrating with frustration.

That’s when Chan—Bang Chan, Supreme Leader of the Bahng Empire, usually the embodiment of calm control—let out a quiet chuckle.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“What?” Chan said casually, leaning back in his chair with the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Let him enjoy his first proper bond.”

Jisung froze, eyes wide. “Wait—you’re taking my side?!”

Chan smirked, shrugging lightly. “I didn’t say that. You’re still an idiot. But you’re a happy idiot, which is… rare for you. So I’ll allow it.”

Hyunjin snorted into his hand, Felix giggled outright, and Seungmin muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “unprofessional circus.”

Minho simply sat back in his chair, still watching Jisung like a hawk, but even he looked faintly amused—though you’d have to be insane to point it out.

The meeting did continue after that… technically.

The rest of the morning crawled by in what could only be described as “productive but humiliating.” After the meeting, everyone returned to their respective offices.

Jisung tried to focus on his coding, tapping furiously at his keyboard as strings of glowing bloodcode streamed across the monitor. He was almost managing to forget the teasing—until Jeongin showed up.

The younger vampire wandered into the office sipping from a blood pouch like it was a juice box, leaning casually against Jisung’s desk.

“Hey, hyung,” Jeongin said with a bright, innocent smile that meant he was about to ruin Jisung’s life.

Jisung didn’t look up. “No.”

Jeongin blinked, pretending to be confused. “I didn’t say anything yet.”

“I can feel it,” Jisung muttered, typing faster, his rings buzzing faintly as he worked.

Jeongin tilted his head, sipping his pouch. “Sooo… is it true you bit her and forgot to heal it? Hyunjin says she’s probably walking around looking like she just came out of a vampire porno.”

Jisung froze mid-keystroke, slamming his head lightly onto the desk with a groan. “I hate all of you so much.”

Jeongin grinned, unbothered. “Don’t worry, hyung. She probably likes it. Girls love a good bite mark, right?”

“Jeongin, leave.”

“No can do. Felix told me to remind you to log your feeding report or Seungmin’s gonna yell at you again.”

Jisung threw a pen at him. Jeongin dodged, still grinning.

By noon, Jisung was deep into debugging a venom encryption formula, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair a mess, rings faintly humming as he worked. He didn’t even notice the door opening—until the smell hit him.

Warm. Familiar. You.

He turned so fast his chair nearly tipped. “Baby?”

You stood there, holding a takeout bag, smiling. “Thought you might forget to eat if I didn’t show up.” For a second, Jisung just stared, blinking at you like you’d descended from heaven itself.

“Hyung, you’re drooling,” Jeongin said helpfully from the corner, still sipping his blood pouch.

Jisung shot him a murderous glare before crossing the room in three strides, pulling you into a quick, tight hug. “You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

You grinned, holding up the bag. “I wanted to. Besides, you fed on me last night. Gotta make sure you don’t starve and code yourself into a coma.”

Felix’s voice piped up from the doorway, bright and teasing. “Aww, look at our little power couple!”

You blinked as more heads started poking into the office—Hyunjin lounging against the doorframe with his usual lazy smirk, Seungmin looking disapproving as always, and even Chan peeking in from the hall.

For one full second, the room was quiet.

Then Hyunjin broke it.

“So this is the famous Capri Sun.”

You blinked. “…The what?”

Jisung groaned loudly, burying his face into your shoulder. “Don’t ask. Just—don’t.”

Felix giggled outright, Minho’s faint chuckle could be heard down the hall, and even Chan cracked a grin.

You raised an eyebrow at Jisung, amused. “I really want to ask.”

“Don’t,” he muttered again, pulling you closer, glaring at everyone else over your shoulder. “She’s mine. Nobody talk to her.”

“Possessive and embarrassed,” Hyunjin teased, waving lazily. “Cute.”

Seungmin sighed, already walking away. “At least heal the bite next time. Please.”

You tilted your head at Jisung, smirking. “You really didn’t heal it?”

“BABY,” Jisung groaned, hiding his face in your neck again, his ears bright red. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

“Leaving?” you echoed, laughing.

“Lunch in my office. Door locked. No witnesses.”

You sat cross-legged on his desk, eating ramen from the takeout bag while Jisung sat in his chair, turned toward you, his knees brushing yours.

He was watching you like you were the only thing in the room, chin propped on his hand, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“…What?” you asked, grinning at him.

“Nothing,” he said quietly, almost shy. “Just… I really love you.”

You softened instantly, reaching out to tug him closer. “I love you too, Ji.”

His grin turned wicked again as he leaned in, whispering against your lips, “Good. Because after work… I'm hungry, like very hungry. Work makes me hungry.”

You laughed, kissing him softly. “God, you’re insatiable.”

He smirked, kissing you back. “Only for you, baby.”

Han Jisung had always been loud.

Loud laugh, loud footsteps, loud way of saying your name when he spotted you across the street like you weren’t already running toward him. The two of you had been inseparable since you were eight—his house was where you learned to eat kimchi pancakes without crying, yours was where he stole your Wi-Fi to marathon anime until your mom kicked him out.

By high school, he was still loud, but he had grown into it. There were guitar picks in his pockets, scribbled lyrics in the margins of his math notebook, and that restless energy that always made you feel like if you stood too close, you might catch fire.

You did catch fire. Quietly.

A crush that started as little things—his stupid grin when he called you “shorty,” the way he shoved snacks into your hand before you even asked. By the time you were twenty-one, you couldn’t look at him lying on your living room floor, head pillowed on his arms, without wondering what his lips would feel like on yours.

You never said anything. You didn’t want to ruin the best thing you had.

And then—

One night, he just… vanished.

No fight, no goodbye, nothing. His number went straight to voicemail. His family didn’t even know where he’d gone; his mom just said he was “traveling” and sent you polite smiles when you asked too many questions. Weeks turned into months. Months turned into a year.

You tried to move on, but he lingered in little ways. Every time you heard a loud laugh in public, you turned your head. Every time you passed his favourite convenience store, you slowed down, half-expecting him to walk out with instant ramen in hand.

PRESENT DAY — THREE YEARS LATER

The message sat in your phone for a full hour before you pressed send.

Hey. Are you ghosting me forever or can I at least buy you ramen?

You didn’t expect a reply. You’d already convinced yourself he was long gone, living some secret life you weren’t meant to know about.

But three minutes later, your phone buzzed.

[JISUNG] Ramen? …I guess I owe you that much.

Your chest tightened.

Jisung stared at his own reply long after sending it, thumb hovering over the screen like he could unsend it with sheer willpower.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

He was sitting in his Nocté Labs office, monitors glowing with bloodcode encryption scripts, silver rings clicking against his desk as he spun them nervously. Somewhere, a fetal-compensating serum bubbled in its enchanted vial, a reminder that he wasn’t human anymore.

Three years ago, he’d thought cutting you off was the only way to keep you safe. Nocté Labs had given him control—biometric venom locks, soulbond stabilisers, rules to keep people like you alive. But the second your name lit up his phone, it all burned away.

You were the only piece of his human life left untouched.

And now you wanted ramen. With him.

He ran a hand through his hair, heart pounding in a rhythm he hadn’t felt in years. His fangs ached. He could already imagine the sound of your laugh, the heat of your skin if you leaned in too close.

This is a bad idea.

Jisung was still staring at his phone like it might bite him back when the office door slammed open.

“Hyung, you forgot to lock the venom cabinets again—”

Jeongin’s voice cut off when he spotted the look on Jisung’s face.

Felix peeked over Jeongin’s shoulder, holding a blood-stabiliser vial in one hand. “Uh… why do you look like someone just told you your bloodcode got leaked?”

“Get out.” Jisung’s voice cracked halfway through the words.

Jeongin ignored him entirely, strolling in like he owned the lab. “Oh my god, you’re blushing. Are you blushing? What did you do?”

Felix followed, setting the vial down carefully before leaning against Jisung’s desk with a cat-like grin. “Better question—who texted you?”

Jisung slammed his phone face down on the desk. “No one. Work. Go away.”

Felix raised an eyebrow. “Work doesn’t make your fangs ache, mate.”

Jisung’s hand flew to his mouth instinctively. “They’re not aching!”

“They’re definitely aching.” Jeongin leaned closer, squinting at him like a nosy younger brother. “Wait—holy shit, did she text you? The human? The one you were all—” Jeongin flailed his hands in a vague heart shape “—about before you disappeared?”

Jisung groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “Do you two have literally anything else to do?”

“Not if this is happening,” Felix said cheerfully. “So… are you going to see her? Please tell me you’re going to see her. You’ve been sulking over her for years, Ji.”

“I’m not sulking—”

Jeongin snorted so loudly it made the serum vial bubble over.

Felix just grinned wider. “You are sulking. But that’s fine. Honestly, you need this. Just, y’know—try not to eat her.”

“I’m not going to eat her!” Jisung hissed, sitting up so fast his chair nearly tipped.

“Right,” Jeongin said dryly. “Because you’re totally great at self-control. What was it you said last month? ‘Oops, I almost drained a whole bloodbag because I smelled hair conditioner that reminded me of her.’”

Felix covered his mouth, laughing into his hand.

Jisung’s ears went red. “That was—okay, first of all, that’s different, and second of all, shut up.”

Felix patted his shoulder like he was encouraging a toddler. “You’ll be fine. Just… keep your rings charged and don’t stare at her pulse like a creep.”

Jisung’s head dropped into his hands. This is a terrible idea.

But his phone buzzed again.

[YOU] Still up for ramen? 7pm? Tomorrow?

And just like that, his heart started hammering all over again.

Felix and Jeongin exchanged a knowing look.

“Hyung,” Jeongin said, voice wickedly amused, “you’re so going to frenzy.”

“Shut. Up.”

But he was already typing back.

[JISUNG] 7 is good. I’ll see you tomorrow.

The moment he hit send, Jeongin started fake-clapping like he’d just won an award.

“Congrats, hyung. Can’t wait to see this turn into a full-on feeding PSA.”

Felix shoved Jeongin’s arm lightly, grinning. “Don’t listen to him. You’ve got this. Just… maybe eat before you go. Like, a lot.”

“I know how to control myself,” Jisung muttered.

“Sure,” Jeongin said, deadpan. “You definitely won’t stare at her throat all night like you did with the receptionist last week.”

“THAT WAS—”

The lab door opened again before Jisung could finish yelling.

“Everything okay in here? I heard yelling.”

The three of them turned.

Bang Chan stood in the doorway, dressed down in a soft grey hoodie and joggers, hair pushed back with a cap like he’d just come from the training wing. Casual, easygoing—and absolutely not buying the innocent act for a second.

Jisung’s stomach dropped. “Hyung, nothing’s—”

Chan’s eyes flicked to the phone still in Jisung’s hand, then to Felix, who was obviously trying not to laugh, and then to Jeongin, who grinned like a little traitor.

“…Oh,” Chan said slowly, stepping fully into the room. “Her?”

Jisung groaned. “Don’t you start.”

But Chan just smiled, the kind of soft, knowing smile that made Jisung want to throw something at him.

“Relax,” Chan said, leaning against the counter like he had all the time in the world. “You’re allowed to see her. You’ve been miserable since you cut her off.”

Jisung tried to glare. “I’m not miserable.”

Chan raised an eyebrow.

Felix snorted so loudly he had to turn it into a cough.

Jeongin, the absolute menace, added, “Hyung’s been practicing blood encryption codes at 3AM just so he wouldn’t think about her.”

Jisung wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Chan, completely ignoring his suffering, crossed his arms casually. “You’re feeding before you go, right?”

“Yes,” Jisung muttered.

“And you’re keeping your rings charged.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not sitting too close if you feel yourself slipping.”

Jisung groaned again. “Yes, Mom.”

Chan only smiled wider. “Good. You'll have fun.”

NEXT DAY

The ramen shop hadn’t changed.

Same faded red awning, same cracked vinyl seats, same handwritten “cash only” sign taped crookedly to the register. Even the smell was the same—rich broth and sesame oil clinging to the air, wrapping around you like a memory.

You sat in your usual booth, tracing the same scratch in the wooden table where Jisung once carved an uneven smiley face with his chopsticks.

It felt like no time had passed. But it had. Three years. Three years since you’d seen him, three years since he’d vanished without a word, three years since you stopped letting yourself wonder why.

You adjusted your jacket, nerves buzzing.

And then the door opened.

Jisung.

The first thing he noticed was your heartbeat.

He smelled it before he saw you—warm, steady, alive—cutting through the scent of broth and fried garlic like sunlight breaking through clouds. His fingers tightened on the doorframe, silver rings humming faintly with stabilizing magic as if they could tether him to his own body.

Then he saw you.

You were sitting exactly where you always used to, chin resting on your hand, looking around like you were waiting for him to yell his usual “You better not have started eating without me!”

His chest ached.

You looked… the same. But not. Softer somehow. Older, maybe, but still you.

When you spotted him, your eyes lit up, and for a split second, Jisung forgot how to breathe.

“Jisung!”

The sound of his name in your voice nearly knocked him out.

“Hey,” he managed, sliding into the booth across from you, trying to keep his movements calm. His fangs ached just being this close.

You grinned. “You look different. Older. Less… I dunno… chaos-gremlin?”

“Wow, thanks.” His laugh cracked halfway through.

But you were still smiling, teasing him like nothing had changed, and he—he wanted to bite you so badly it hurt.

You leaned your elbows on the table, chin propped on your hands, leaning closer than you should have. “So? Where’ve you been hiding all this time, huh? Witness protection? Secret double life?”

Jisung swallowed hard. If only you knew.

“I’ve been… working,” he said finally, voice tight.

You rolled your eyes. “Working. What are you, like, a mad scientist now?”

“Something like that.”

Your laugh—God, your laugh—bubbled up, warm and familiar, and his rings buzzed against his skin, absorbing the spike of hunger that shot through him.

When the waiter came, you ordered like always—two bowls of tonkotsu ramen, extra egg, extra garlic.

Jisung didn’t even glance at the menu. He just watched you, his hands tight in his lap, reminding himself every five seconds: Don’t stare at her throat. Don’t stare at her throat.

But when you laughed again, leaning forward to nudge his arm, hair brushing your shoulder—he did. He stared at your throat for exactly two seconds too long before snapping his gaze back to the table like it burned him.

You tilted your head. “You okay? You didn’t even put your order in.”

The waiter was still standing there, pen hovering expectantly over his notepad.

“Oh, uh—” Jisung sat up straight, fumbling with the menu he didn’t need. “Same as hers. Please. Extra egg. And, um—garlic. More garlic. Actually, double garlic.”

The waiter blinked. “You already said extra—”

“Triple, then.”

The waiter gave him a look but scribbled it down anyway before walking off.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You hate garlic.”

“Maybe I changed,” he said quickly, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

You snorted. “Yeah, right. You didn’t even change when you turned twenty-one.”

His head jerked up. “…What?”

“You look exactly the same as you did back then. Like—exactly. Same baby face, same dumb hair.” You gestured vaguely at him. “It’s kind of unfair. What’s your secret? Good genes or dark magic?”

Jisung stared for a beat before forcing a laugh. “Uh… good genes? Have you seen my mom? She’s literally aging backwards.”

You grinned, satisfied with the answer, while he tried not to look like he was dying inside. Eventually, the ramen arrived, steam curling up between you like a shield.

“So…” You took a sip of broth, propping your chin back on your hand. “What do you do now, anyway? You said you’re working, but you’re being all weird and secretive about it. What are you—like—government spy? Hacker? Wait—are you in witness protection?”

Jisung nearly choked on air.

“What? No!” He waved his hands frantically. “I—I’m just… I work in, uh, medical research.”

“Medical research?” Your eyebrows shot up. “You? The guy who once asked me if fevers were caused by microwaves?”

“Hey, I’ve gotten smarter!”

You grinned. “Okay, fine, smart guy. What’s your fancy job title then?”

Jisung froze. His mind went blank.

You tilted your head, waiting, clearly enjoying watching him squirm. “C’mon. Impress me.”

“Uh…” He fiddled with his rings, brain scrambling. Lead Hemalchemist and Magical Encryption Architect was not going to work on a human who thought “hemo” was a brand of vitamins.

So he blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“I’m… a medical data consultant.”

You blinked. “A what?”

“Y’know. Medical… data. Consulting.” He gestured vaguely with his chopsticks, as if that would make it sound more legit. “I…uh…design systems for… uh… tracking blood transfusions. And, like… storage. Totally boring stuff. Very normal. Lots of spreadsheets.”

You squinted at him. “…That sounds suspiciously specific.”

“It’s not! It’s just… boring office work. Definitely not mad-scientist stuff.”

You grinned, leaning forward. “Which means it’s totally mad-scientist stuff.”

He groaned, slumping in his seat. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m right.”

“You’re—” He stopped when you tilted your head, watching him with that soft, teasing smile, the one you always gave him when you knew he was lying but let him get away with it anyway.

And suddenly, Jisung forgot how to breathe again.

Because you were close. Too close. Your pulse was fluttering under your skin, warm and steady, and he could hear it louder than the chatter of the shop, louder than his own frantic heartbeat.

The tips of his fangs brushed his lower lip.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away, gripping the edge of the table so tight his knuckles went white.

You tilted your head, curious. “You okay? You’re acting weird.”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, way too quickly.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Jisung, you’re gripping the table like it owes you money.”

He laughed nervously, easing his hands off the wood. “Just… tense. Been working too much.”

You hummed, sipping your broth. “Well, you’re stuck with me now, so no work talk. Tonight is for ramen and catching up.”

“Right. Ramen and catching up,” he repeated, mostly to convince himself not to lunge across the table and sink his teeth into your pulse.

The conversation drifted easily after that.

You twirled your noodles lazily, filling him in on the last three years like you were just picking up where you left off.

“I finally graduated,” you said, a proud little smile tugging at your lips. “Took me long enough, but hey—degree in hand. Been working at a media firm now. Boring sometimes, but I like it.”

Jisung nodded, trying to focus on your words instead of the way your pulse flickered at your neck every time you leaned forward.

“And, uh…” Your smile softened a little. “My grandpa passed last year. Peacefully, though. He would’ve liked to see you again.”

Something in Jisung’s chest twisted. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice softer than he meant.

You gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. He always liked you, you know? Said you were ‘a little loud, but good for you.’”

Jisung huffed out a weak laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I was loud.”

“Was?” You raised an eyebrow, teasing.

“Okay, fine. Am.”

You laughed again, warm and familiar, and Jisung slowly started to loosen up a little. The ache in his chest easing; he even started eating.

“So,” you said after a moment, leaning closer over the table again, chin in your hand, eyes twinkling. “You gonna tell me why you actually look different? Like… you didn’t age. At all.”

Jisung froze.

You tilted your head. “Seriously, I remember you having baby teeth before you left, and now—”

You stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing.

“Wait.”

Oh no.

“Jisung.” Your gaze zeroed in on his mouth. “Why are your fangs so long?”

His whole body went still.

“What?”

“Your teeth. Were they always that sharp?” You leaned even closer, curiosity written all over your face. “No, wait, seriously, smile for me. Were they like that before? I swear they weren’t.”

Jisung instinctively covered his mouth with his hand, leaning back so fast his chair squeaked against the floor. “Uh—they’re just—braces! Old braces thing. Messed them up. Totally normal.”

You blinked. “…Braces don’t make your canines sharper, genius.”

He cursed silently, running through a thousand excuses in his head. “Uh—they’re… dental caps. Cosmetic. Trendy.”

You narrowed your eyes, but your grin turned mischievous. “So you are hiding something. A mad scientist and fake vampire teeth? What’s next, Jisung—secret cosplay career?”

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can we not do this here?”

But you just laughed, completely oblivious to how his fangs were aching now, his rings humming against his skin, desperately trying to stabilize his hunger.

And God help him, he was looking at your throat again.

Finally, Jisung reluctantly lowered his hands from his face, cheeks flushed red. “Can we please stop talking about my teeth?”

You grinned, propping your chin in your palm. “Nope. Not until you smile properly. C’mon, show me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why? Embarrassed?”

“Yes—no! Just—ugh.”

You leaned forward, grinning wider. “C’mon, Ji. I used to watch you snort-laugh milk out of your nose. You can survive me looking at your teeth.”

Jisung groaned dramatically, but you just stared him down until, with a resigned sigh, he bared his teeth for half a second before ducking his head again.

“There. Happy now?”

You squinted, pretending to study him like a scientist. “Huh. Yeah, definitely sharper. Not bad, though. Suits you. Gives you that whole mysterious bad-boy vibe.”

Jisung choked on air. “Bad boy? Me?”

You shrugged, smirking. “What? You disappear for three years, come back with sharper teeth, and act all secretive? Total bad-boy energy.”

“I’m not—”

“Totally bad boy.”

He sighed, stabbing at his noodles with his chopsticks, mumbling something that sounded like, “If I was a bad boy, you wouldn’t be sitting here teasing me.”

But you were too busy stealing one of his eggs to hear him.

The two of you ate for a while after that, slipping back into the easy rhythm you used to have. You talked about work, about a coworker who kept reheating fish in the office microwave (“Seriously, I’m filing an HR complaint for the smell alone”), and about how you almost adopted a cat but the landlord said no.

Jisung listened, occasionally laughing, his posture slowly relaxing as he actually took bites of his ramen. He could eat normal food—vampires could—but it never really did much for him. Still, right now, it felt good. Normal.

You tilted your head at him mid-bite. “You’re quiet. You were never this quiet before. You’re usually halfway through a bad joke by now.”

Jisung blinked. “…I can tell you a joke if you want?”

“Go on.”

He chewed thoughtfully, then deadpanned, “What’s a vampire’s favorite fruit?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh no. What?”

“A blood orange.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hand, but you were laughing, bright and helpless. “Oh my God, you’re still such an idiot.”

Jisung smiled despite himself, watching you laugh, warmth blooming in his chest so sharp it almost hurt.

At some point, you stole another one of his eggs, leaning across the table to pluck it right out of his bowl.

“Hey!”

“You weren’t eating it.”

“I was saving it!”

“Not anymore.” You popped it in your mouth, smirking victoriously.

Jisung rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “Unbelievable.” But he was smiling, a real one, and for a moment he almost forgot he was supposed to be keeping his distance.

Until you leaned forward again, close enough that your hair brushed your shoulder, pulse fluttering like a drumbeat he couldn’t tune out.

And just like that, the hunger came rushing back.

His fingers tightened around his chopsticks, rings humming faintly as they absorbed the spike of heat in his veins.

You didn’t notice. You were still smiling at him, casual and unbothered.

But Jisung couldn’t stop staring at your neck.

You were mid-story about your new coworker who “absolutely refuses to refill the printer paper like it’s beneath him,” but he was barely hearing the words. All he heard was your heartbeat, steady and warm, like it was calling to him.

His rings hummed faintly, soaking up the spike of heat running through his veins, but they could only do so much. He shifted in his seat, trying to focus on his noodles, pretending he wasn’t fighting the urge to lean across the table and—

A familiar scent cut through his spiraling.

Several scents, actually.

Oh no.

He didn’t even have to look up to know. He smelled them the second they walked in.

“Are you kidding me,” Jisung muttered under his breath.

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.”

But it was definitely not nothing, because when he finally risked glancing toward the door—

There they were.

Changbin spotted him first. Of course he did. The man was impossible to miss—broad shoulders, casual bomber jacket, silver hoops glinting under the ramen shop lights. He raised an eyebrow the second he noticed Jisung sitting with you.

Then Hyunjin walked in, tall and effortlessly pretty, brushing his hair back with a lazy smirk like he owned the place. His eyes flicked to Jisung, then to you, and his smirk widened.

Minho was next, gliding in like a shadow, coat perfectly tailored, expression unreadable—until his mouth curved into the faintest, smuggest smile.

And finally Seungmin, calm as ever, hands in his pockets, his silver hex-pendant catching the light. He didn’t smile. He just raised one eyebrow in quiet amusement, like he was already writing a full report about this in his head.

“No, no, no,” Jisung hissed under his breath, ducking slightly in his seat.

You tilted your head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” he said too quickly, forcing a grin. “Everything’s fine!”

But across the room—

Changbin was already leaning against the counter, subtly tilting his head in Jisung’s direction like really? This is happening?

Hyunjin nudged Minho with his elbow, whispering something that made Minho’s smirk sharpen.

Seungmin didn’t even whisper—he just looked Jisung dead in the eye, raised an eyebrow, and mouthed focus.

You glanced behind you, confused. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing!” Jisung said again, voice cracking slightly.

You turned back to him, clearly unconvinced. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m always weird!” he said, laughing nervously, nearly knocking over his chopsticks.

You narrowed your eyes, but let it slide, going back to your noodles.

Jisung, however, could feel the others watching him.

Hyunjin was clearly trying not to laugh, hiding it behind his hand.

Changbin looked like he was two seconds away from walking over just to mess with him.

Minho tilted his head, tapping two fingers against his chin like he was taking notes on Jisung’s very obvious blood hunger.

And Seungmin? Seungmin just sipped his water, calm as ever, but his pendant glinted every time Jisung’s gaze darted to you—reminding him that Seungmin could tell he was lying through his teeth about being “fine.”

Jisung wanted to sink into the floor.

You broke his spiraling with a soft laugh, waving your chopsticks at him. “You’re so tense. Seriously, what’s going on? You used to be all chaotic energy, now you’re sitting here like you’re being watched.”

Jisung forced a smile. “Haha. Yeah. Watched. Totally not what’s happening.”

But across the room, Hyunjin raised his glass toward him in a cheers motion, smirking like the menace he was.

Jisung was going to murder all of them later, especially because them here? That meant he was way more aware with the four pairs of vampire eyes watching him like he was tonight’s entertainment. But, you somehow, didn't notice. And that was good.

You slurped the last of your broth with a satisfied sigh, leaning back in the booth. “God, I missed this. Nothing beats greasy ramen with you.”

“Yeah,” Jisung said softly, his chest tightening at how natural that sounded. “Missed this too.”

You smiled at him, warm and unguarded, and for a second, the hunger quieted. Just a second.

Then the waiter dropped off the bill.

You reached for it automatically, but Jisung snatched it up so fast the paper nearly tore.

“Jisung, I can pay for my own food—”

“Nope.” He stood, already fishing out his wallet. “I got it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Ji, seriously—”

He shot you a cocky grin, flashing his card with a little dramatic flair. “What, you think I work in medical research for fun? I don’t make money for no reason.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Wow. Look at you, Mr. Responsible Adult. Fancy job, buying people dinner—what’s next, you gonna start wearing suits?”

Jisung smirked, just a little too smugly. “I do wear suits sometimes.”

“Oh my god, stop. You in a suit? I’d pay money to see that.”

“Careful,” he said, sliding his card to the cashier. “I might hold you to that.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “You didn’t have to pay,” you said, smiling anyway.

“I wanted to,” he replied, surprising himself with how honest it came out. “You’re worth it.”

You blinked, caught off guard, before laughing it off. “Wow, cheesy and responsible. Who are you, and what have you done with the real Jisung?”

He grinned, slipping his own jacket on. “Guess I grew up a little.” And turned into something you’d run from if you knew the truth, he didn’t say.

You stepped out into the night, the city air cool against your cheeks. “Well, grown-up Jisung,” you said, glancing at him with a teasing grin, “should we keep this reunion going? Or do you turn into a pumpkin after 9PM now?”

He snorted. “Please. I’m still me.”

“Good.” You pointed across the street where a neon sign flickered lazily above a small bar. “One drink? For old times’ sake?”

Jisung hesitated for half a second. Alcohol… was not great for vampires trying to keep their control in check. It lowered restraint, blurred lines. But you were looking at him, hopeful, warm, and how could he say no to you?

“Yeah,” he said finally, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “One drink.”

“Beer?”

“Beer,” he confirmed, already bracing himself for what was definitely a terrible idea.

The bar was cozy, dimly lit, and thankfully not crowded. You grabbed a booth near the back, sliding in with that familiar ease that made his chest ache.

The waiter barely had time to ask before you said, “Two beers, please. Something cold and cheap.”

Jisung raised an eyebrow. “Cheap? You know I can afford—”

You shot him a look. “Don’t start, Mr. Responsible Adult. Cheap beer tastes better when it’s nostalgic.”

He laughed, hands up in mock surrender. “Fair enough.”

When the drinks arrived, you clinked your glass against his. “To… finally seeing your face again after three years.”

He smiled, soft and genuine, lifting his glass. “To… you still putting up with me after three years.”

You smirked. “Who says I’m putting up with you? Maybe I’m just here for the free ramen.”

“Ouch.”

“Truth hurts, Ji.”

But your grin was too warm to be anything but teasing.

You drank. One beer turned into two.

You started talking about random things—your work stories, embarrassing uni memories, that time he fell off his bike when you were kids because he tried to do a “sick jump” over a curb.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You still remember that?”

“I’ll never forget it. You cried for like, twenty minutes, and then insisted you weren’t crying, you were just sweating from your eyes.”

Jisung peeked at you through his fingers, ears red. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

Somewhere between laughing over old memories and sipping your second beer, you scooted closer in the booth. Completely casual for you, absolutely devastating for him.

Your knee brushed his under the table.

You didn’t notice.

But Jisung did. Oh, he definitely did.

His rings buzzed faintly against his skin, trying to dull the sharp spike of hunger, but it wasn’t enough. Your scent was warm and rich, your pulse just a little faster from the alcohol.

You looked at him, smile soft, cheeks slightly flushed from the drinks. “You’re quieter than usual. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Jisung swallowed hard, forcing a crooked grin. “Nothing. Just… enjoying this.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Hmm. You’re acting suspicious.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

And he was—so much a liar.

Because the truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about how close you were, how easy it would be to lean in, press his lips to your pulse, taste you. And with every second, it was getting harder to stop himself.

You swirled the last bit of beer in your glass, your cheeks flushed pink, eyes just a little glassy from the alcohol.

“So,” you said slowly, leaning your cheek into your palm, voice softer now. “You gonna tell me why you disappeared?”

Jisung froze.

You tilted your head, studying him, too tipsy to bother hiding the question. “You didn’t even say goodbye, Ji. Three years. You just… left.”

Jisung gripped his glass tighter, rings humming faintly against his skin, grounding him before the rush of guilt and hunger completely drowned him.

“I…” His throat felt tight. “It wasn’t—It’s not that I didn’t want to stay.”

“Then why didn’t you?” you pressed, leaning in closer. Your voice wobbled slightly, maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the truth slipping out. “I thought—”

You cut yourself off, biting your lip.

Jisung stared at you, heart pounding. “You thought what?”

You looked down, frowning at your glass. “…I thought I did something wrong. That maybe you didn’t… want me around anymore.”

Jisung’s stomach dropped.

“No,” he said instantly, voice rougher than he meant. “No, it wasn’t you. It was never you.”

“Then what was it?”

Your eyes lifted to his again, wide and earnest and warm, and it hit him harder than any hunger spike had tonight.

He swallowed, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I… had to go. For your sake. I thought…” He looked away, jaw tightening. “I thought staying would hurt you.”

You frowned, confused. “Hurt me? Ji, you’re literally the least dangerous person I know.”

Oh, if only you knew.

His lips twitched into something between a smile and a grimace. “Yeah. I guess I’ve changed.”

You blinked at him, tilting your head. “Not that much. You’re still you.”

“Am I?” he muttered under his breath.

You didn’t hear him. You were leaning in again, closer now, voice soft, almost teasing. “So you do admit you missed me.”

Jisung’s breath hitched.

Your smile turned mischievous, cheeks pink from the alcohol. “C’mon, say it. You missed me, didn’t you?”

His rings buzzed faintly against his fingers, heat rushing through him, not just hunger but something heavier, warmer.

“…Yeah,” he said finally, voice quiet, raw. “I missed you. A lot.”

You blinked, a little surprised at how honest that sounded. Then you grinned, soft and tipsy and happy.

“Good,” you said simply, leaning your head into your hand again. “’Cause I missed you too.”

For a moment, it felt… easy. Warm. Like nothing had changed.

But then you tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly, that tipsy boldness kicking in. “Okay, but that doesn’t get you off the hook.”

Jisung blinked. “Huh?”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” you said, sitting up straighter. “Why did you disappear? I’m serious, Ji—I want the real reason. No vague ‘it was for your sake’ bullshit.”

Jisung froze. His stomach twisted.

You were looking at him now, sharp despite the flush in your cheeks, fingers tapping idly against your glass like you were waiting for him to spill every secret he’d been holding.

“I—” He forced a smile, panic flashing behind his eyes. “I told you, it wasn’t you—”

“Not good enough.” You leaned forward, elbows on the table, determined. “You don’t just vanish for three years because of nothing. So? What happened? Come on, I want the truth.”

The truth? Oh, sure, you’d love the truth. “Hey, surprise, I got turned into a vampire after a feeding went wrong and now I want to drink you like a fine wine.”

He couldn’t say that. Obviously. So he did what Han Jisung always did when cornered.

He lied. Badly.

“I…” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. “Okay. You want the truth? Fine. I… got sick.”

Your expression softened instantly. “Sick? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because!” He waved his hands vaguely, warming up to his own bullshit. “It was… bad. Like, hospital-bad. And I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want you to worry.”

You frowned. “Ji…”

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning into the lie like his life depended on it. “I thought—if you saw me like that, it’d just make things worse. So I stayed away until I was… better.”

You stared at him, eyes searching his face. “You were in the hospital? For how long?”

“Uh…” He hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Months. Like, on and off. It was… a thing with my blood. Weird genetic condition.”

Okay, technically not a lie, but definitely not in the way you thought.

Your brows knit together, concern filling your face. “Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve been there in a second.”

He swallowed hard, guilt punching him in the chest. “I know. I just… didn’t want you to see me like that. You had your own life. I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

You were quiet for a long moment, chewing on your lip. Finally, you sighed, leaning back in the booth. “That’s… really stupid, you know.”

Jisung blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re my best friend. You could’ve called. I would’ve shown up. Every day, if I had to.”

Jisung’s chest tightened, his throat thick. “…Yeah. I know. I’m sorry.”

You gave him a soft smile, tipsy but genuine. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Han Jisung. Otherwise I’d be mad at you forever.”

He let out a shaky laugh, forcing a crooked grin. “Guess I should thank my good genes, huh?”

You smirked. “Guess so.”

But you were still watching him closely, curiosity lingering in your eyes, like you knew there was more he wasn’t saying. And Jisung? He was just grateful you weren’t asking any more questions—because one more push and he might’ve actually cracked.

You tilted your head, your smile turning a little more mischievous now, the kind of grin that always got you two in trouble when you were younger. “So… if you were gone all that time, does that mean you forgot how to flirt? Or are you still hopeless at it?”

Jisung choked on his drink. “What?”

You laughed, cheeks flushed pink, resting your chin in your hand as you watched him sputter. “I mean, you disappeared for three years, came back looking all grown-up and mysterious… figured you might’ve picked up a new skill or two.”

He stared at you, caught somewhere between flustered and offended. “I can flirt.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? Prove it.”

His brain short-circuited. “What—right now?”

“Why not?” you said, voice soft but teasing, leaning just a little closer across the table. “C’mon, Mr. Responsible Adult. Show me what you’ve learned.”

Jisung could feel his rings humming faintly, grounding him against the spike of heat rushing through him—except this wasn’t just hunger now. It was you. Your smile. Your warmth. The way your pulse fluttered when you looked at him like that.

And God help him, maybe the beer was hitting harder than he thought, because before he could stop himself, he smirked.

“You really want me to flirt with you?”

You blinked, slightly surprised at how confident he suddenly sounded. “…Yeah. Go on.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, voice dropping just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You look good, you know. Better than I remembered.”

Your cheeks went pinker. “Oh, wow, good genes and smooth lines. Who are you?”

“Your best friend,” he said, grinning, but softer this time. “Who maybe missed you more than he should’ve.”

Your heart skipped, and you laughed nervously, looking down at your glass to hide your smile. “Okay, fine. That was… not bad.”

“Not bad?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Ji.”

He grinned wider, leaning back in the booth with mock arrogance. “Too late.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way you kept sneaking little glances at him wasn’t exactly subtle.

By the time you finished your drinks, the tension had settled into something warm and charged—your laughter softer now, your movements slower, your knee brushing his under the table like it belonged there.

When you slid out of the booth, he stood too, automatically steadying you with a hand at your elbow when you wobbled slightly.

“Easy,” he murmured, his fingers brushing your arm just a second too long.

You looked up at him, cheeks pink, smiling faintly. “Walking me home?”

“Of course.”

And he didn’t even hesitate, because saying no wasn’t an option.

The night air was cool when you stepped out of the bar, and you shivered slightly, tugging your jacket tighter.

Jisung noticed instantly. “You cold?”

“I’m fine,” you said, but he was already shrugging off his own jacket, draping it over your shoulders before you could protest.

You blinked up at him. “Ji, I said I’m fine.”

“And I didn’t ask,” he said, smirking faintly. “Humor me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling, pulling the jacket tighter around you. It smelled like him—warm and clean, with that faint, sharp undertone you couldn’t quite place.

A taxi pulled up, and before you could say anything, Jisung opened the door for you.

“You don’t have to—”

“Yeah, I do,” he said simply. “I’m not letting you walk home alone at night.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Look at you, all protective. What’s next, walking me to the door like a proper gentleman?”

“Obviously,” he said, dead serious, sliding into the seat beside you.

You laughed, tipping your head back against the seat as the taxi pulled away.

The cab was quiet except for the low hum of the engine, streetlights flashing soft gold across your face as you looked out the window.

But then you shifted, turning toward him, your knee brushing his again. “You really haven’t changed that much, you know,” you said, your voice warm, a little tipsy-soft.

Jisung glanced at you. “…You think so?”

“Yeah.” You tilted your head, studying him. “Still sweet. Still protective. Still terrible at hiding when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” he lied immediately.

You grinned, leaning closer, your shoulder brushing his. “Sure you’re not.”

Jisung’s fingers tightened on his knee, his rings buzzing faintly, trying to stabilize the sharp rush of heat in his chest.

“Y’know,” you continued, your tone softer now, teasing but with something heavier under it, “if you keep being like this, I’m gonna start thinking you missed me for more than just… friendship.”

Jisung’s breath hitched.

You looked at him, your eyes half-lidded from the alcohol, your smile small but mischievous. “Did you, Ji? Miss me like that?”

He stared at you, pulse pounding in his ears.

Say no. Say something stupid. Don’t say the truth.

“…Maybe,” he said anyway, voice low.

You blinked, your grin widening slowly. “Maybe? That’s all I get?”

Jisung smirked faintly, though his chest felt like it was about to explode. “Maybe’s all you get… for now.”

You laughed, leaning your head briefly against his shoulder. “Still cheeky. I like it.”

Jisung froze as your head rested there, your warmth seeping through his shirt, your scent so close he could barely think. The taxi driver turned down another street, the ride too quiet except for your soft hum of contentment.

The taxi slowed to a stop in front of your apartment building, the neon lights from a nearby convenience store casting soft glows across the sidewalk.

Jisung shifted immediately, pulling out his wallet before you could even move.

“Ji, I can pay for the—”

“Don’t even start,” he said, handing the driver cash. “Let me do one nice thing without you arguing, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Fine. But next time, I’m paying.”

“Next time, huh?” He smirked as he stepped out, circling around to open your door. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You hopped out, tugging his jacket tighter around you as the night air brushed your cheeks.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said softly as you stood in front of the building, looking up at him.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he replied, voice quieter than usual.

You smiled, warm and tipsy, tilting your head slightly. “Don’t make it another three years before we hang out again, okay?”

He nodded immediately. “I won’t. Promise.”

“Good.”

You gave him one last smile before turning toward the building entrance. Halfway up the steps, you looked back over your shoulder.

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

Jisung’s chest tightened, and he grinned faintly. “Yeah. I will.”

You nodded, satisfied, and disappeared through the glass doors, the lobby light swallowing you up.

The second the doors shut behind you, Jisung’s entire cool, calm exterior shattered.

“Oh my God,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. “What the hell was that, Jisung? ‘Maybe’s all you get for now’?? Who even says that?!”

He started pacing in front of the building, running both hands through his hair.

“‘Maybe.’ Great. Real smooth. Real smooth. She probably thinks you’re an idiot. Or worse—cocky. Oh my God, you smirked. Why would you smirk? You’re not Minho!”

He stopped pacing for half a second, then groaned and started again, faster this time.

“And what was that in the taxi? ‘I missed you a lot’? Congratulations, you’re officially the king of oversharing under alcohol influence. Fantastic.”

He stopped, throwing his hands up to the empty street. “And why did you smell her like a creep, huh? Like—‘Oh, I’m Han Jisung, big medical research guy, totally normal, definitely not imagining biting my best friend’s neck in a taxi cab.’”

He groaned, crouching down on the sidewalk for a moment, burying his face in his hands.

“God, you’re pathetic.”

He stayed crouched there for a long moment, trying to steady his breathing, but it wasn’t working. Because under all the self-loathing and embarrassment, something worse was crawling up his throat: hunger.

You’d been so close, so warm, your pulse practically singing to him the entire night, and he hadn’t fed properly in two days because he’d been too busy overthinking this whole reunion.

Now it was hitting him all at once.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered, standing abruptly, pacing again. “You’re fine. You’re fine. Just… go home. Don’t be stupid.”

But his rings were already buzzing like mad, straining to stabilize him, and his fangs ached every time he so much as remembered how you’d leaned against his shoulder in the taxi.

“Shit,” he hissed, dragging a hand down his face. “No, nope, not gonna frenzy in front of her building. Absolutely not.”

He turned to leave, walking quickly down the street, head ducked, trying to focus on anything except the way his senses were sharpening—every heartbeat, every whiff of blood in the air amplified tenfold.

And then someone brushed past him too close.

A random guy, maybe early twenties, laughing into his phone, the smell of fresh, clean blood practically slamming into Jisung like a truck.

He froze.

The guy didn’t even notice, just kept walking, chatting casually—

And Jisung’s control snapped.

One second, he was standing there, breathing hard, and the next—

He was dragging the guy into the shadows of a narrow alley, moving faster than the human eye could register.

“Whoa, hey—what the hell—” the guy started, but Jisung had him pinned gently but firmly against the wall, hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” Jisung muttered, voice low, almost apologetic. “Really, I’m sorry. This isn’t personal.”

The guy’s eyes went wide just as Jisung’s fangs sank neatly into his shoulder, precise and controlled despite the sheer hunger roaring through him.

Warm, clean blood hit his tongue, and Jisung groaned under his breath, head tipping forward as he drank deeply. Not too much—never too much—but enough to take the edge off, enough to calm the frantic buzz in his veins.

The guy sagged slightly against the wall, dazed, his heartbeat slowing to something calm and steady under Jisung’s venom.

When he finally pulled back, licking a drop of blood from his lip, Jisung sighed, leaning his forehead against the wall beside the guy’s head.

“…I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly, easing him back upright. “You’re gonna be fine. Just… eat something salty tomorrow.”

The guy blinked up at him, glassy-eyed from the venom haze, mumbling something incoherent.

Jisung patted his shoulder. “Yeah, good talk. Go home.”

The guy nodded vaguely and wandered off, stumbling slightly, already forgetting most of what had happened.

Jisung leaned back against the alley wall, breathing hard, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Great,” he muttered. “Real great. First night seeing her again and I’m already biting random people in alleys. Classy, Han. Real classy.”

He groaned, dragging a hand through his hair.

“And you still want her,” he muttered bitterly, tipping his head back against the wall. “God, you’re screwed.”

THE NEXT DAY — NOCTE LABS, 10:47 AM.

Jisung sat hunched over his workstation, three monitors glowing with endless lines of bloodcode encryption. His rings clicked nervously against the keyboard as he worked, muttering under his breath.

“Okay, just… re-route the venom lock parameters, crack the bonding glitch, and definitely not think about her smile. Easy. Totally fine.”

He typed faster, eyes darting between scripts, jaw tight.

“Not thinking about her,” he said out loud this time, as if repeating it would help. “Not thinking about her laugh. Not thinking about her pulse. Not thinking about how she looked leaning against my shoulder last night—”

“Ooooh,” a cheerful voice interrupted.

Jisung’s fingers froze mid-keystroke.

Felix was leaning against the edge of his desk, grinning like the menace he was. His freckles practically sparkled under the lab lights, and his tone dripped with mischief.

“You got it bad, hyung.”

“I—what? No!” Jisung’s voice cracked as he spun around in his chair. “I don’t—You don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

Felix raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “Mm-hm. Sure. Totally normal to be muttering about someone’s smile while coding venom-response locks.”

“I was talking to myself!”

“Yeah. About her.”

Jisung groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Oh my God, go bother someone else.”

Felix ignored him completely, crouching so his chin rested on his folded arms against Jisung’s desk. “So you reunited. How is she? Is she pretty or prettier? Wait—don’t answer that, I can already tell from your face.”

“I’m not answering anything!” Jisung hissed, turning back to his screen.

Felix smirked. “You’re glowing, you know that? Like… glowing. That’s not normal, hyung. Unless…” His grin widened. “Wait. Oh my God. Did you just—”

A new voice cut him off, smooth and amused.

“Find your soulmate?”

Jisung froze. Slowly, he turned his head to see Hyunjin leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, his smile infuriatingly knowing.

“Oh no,” Jisung muttered under his breath. “Not you too.”

Hyunjin strode in, elegant as ever, perching himself on the corner of Jisung’s desk like he owned it.

“Wow,” Hyunjin said, studying Jisung like he was a particularly interesting piece of art. “You’re vibrating. Seriously, your rings are buzzing so loud I can hear them. When was the last time that happened?”

Felix gasped, delighted. “Wait, really? That’s like a soulmate-level reaction, isn’t it?”

“Mm-hm,” Hyunjin hummed, smirking. “And judging from the mess of emotions coming off him right now? He hasn’t told her yet.”

Jisung slammed his head gently against the keyboard. “I hate both of you.”

Hyunjin tilted his head, smirk soft but sharp. “So, when are you going to tell her? Or are you just going to keep drinking ramen with her until you snap and bite her in public?”

Jisung groaned, covering his face with both hands. “I hate you both so much.”

Felix patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Aw, don’t worry, hyung. She’s gonna love you back. Probably already does. You were always the hopeless romantic type.”

Hyunjin smirked wider. “Mm. Hopeless romantic, sure. But I give it a week before he cracks and drinks from her. Any bets?”

Felix lit up instantly. “Oh! I say five days.”

“I am sitting right here!” Jisung yelled, spinning back to his screen, cheeks burning.

Felix just giggled again, and Hyunjin looked far too pleased with himself.

“Five days,” Felix repeated cheerfully.

“Three,” Hyunjin countered, smirking. “Maybe less.”

“Shut up!” Jisung snapped, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Some of us are actually trying to work here!”

“Oh yeah?” Hyunjin drawled. “How’s that going for you?”

“I’m fine!”

The lab door slid open with a soft whoosh.

In walked Jeongin, looking perfectly calm as he strolled over, sipping casually from a slim silver pouch—blood, of course.

“Morning,” Jeongin said mildly, raising the pouch slightly in greeting, like this was all completely normal.

“Morning!” Felix chirped.

“Morning,” Hyunjin echoed, smirking.

Jisung didn’t look up, too focused on glaring at his screen. “Morning.”

Jeongin raised an eyebrow, glancing at the obvious tension in the room. “What’d I miss?”

“Jisung found his soulmate,” Felix said immediately, grinning.

“I did not!”

Hyunjin snorted. “Oh, he definitely did. You can smell it on him. Buzzing like a bad perfume.”

Jeongin blinked, then sipped from his pouch again. “Huh. Good for you, hyung.”

“Not good for me!” Jisung shouted, typing faster, his rings buzzing louder with every second.

“Relax,” Jeongin said calmly, leaning against a counter, completely unfazed. “Soulmates are supposed to be good for you.”

“Not when you’re trying not to bite them!”

That made Jeongin pause for a fraction of a second. “...Fair.” He took another slow sip.

Jisung muttered something under his breath, furiously working on the venom-response lock coding he’d been assigned for the day.

“Not thinking about her,” he whispered to himself again. “Just focus. Fix the lock. Don’t think about her pulse, or her smile, or the way she looked at you last night—”

A loud error chime cut him off.

Jisung froze.

Felix’s eyes widened. “Uh… what did you just—”

On-screen, bright red text flashed: CRITICAL BLOODCODE FAILURE – SYSTEM OVERRIDE COMPROMISED

Hyunjin let out a low whistle. “Ohhh, he broke it.”

Jisung’s face drained of color. “Oh no. No no no no no—”

The lab intercom crackled to life, and then—

“HAN JISUNG.”

It was Chan’s voice, sharp, clipped, and filled with the kind of authority that made even Hyunjin raise an eyebrow.

“Did you just crash my primary biometric venom lock sequence?”

Jisung winced like he’d been shot. “…Maybe?”

There was a long pause. Then Chan’s voice again, dangerously calm. “My office. Now.”

Felix tried and failed to hold back a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. Hyunjin was grinning outright.

Even Jeongin looked mildly amused, lowering his pouch. “Good luck, hyung.”

Jisung groaned, slamming his head down onto his keyboard.

Felix patted his back, still giggling. “Tell Chan it was soulmate brain! Maybe he’ll understand!”

“Shut up, Felix.”

Hyunjin smirked. “Three days. Bet’s still on.”

“SHUT UP, HYUNJIN!”

Jisung stood outside Chan’s office door, staring at the sleek silver panel like it was going to eat him alive.

He could hear Chan pacing inside—heavy, deliberate footsteps, the faint metallic clink of his rings.

“Okay,” Jisung muttered under his breath, dragging his hands down his face. “You’ll just say it was a momentary lapse. Totally fine. You’re a professional. A genius. Definitely not distracted by—”

The door slid open automatically.

Chan stood there, arms crossed, his dark button-down sleeves rolled up, gaze sharp as a blade.

“Inside,” Chan said, voice calm but absolutely not happy.

Jisung ducked his head and shuffled in. “Hi, hyung.”

“Sit.”

Jisung sat.

Chan stayed standing for a moment, scanning his monitors where the CRITICAL BLOODCODE FAILURE alert was still flashing. He sighed, finally sitting across from Jisung, folding his hands on the desk.

“Do you want to tell me,” Chan began slowly, “why you crashed my primary venom lock system this morning?”

Jisung shrank in his chair. “...No?”

Chan raised an eyebrow.

Jisung winced. “I mean—yes! Totally yes. Uh… It was an accident?”

Chan stared at him for a long moment, expression flat.

“Jisung,” he said finally, tone shifting to that quiet, leader-voice he only used when he really meant business. “You’ve never made an accident like this. Not once. So what’s going on?”

Jisung opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Chan tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. “...Is this about a girl?”

Jisung choked. “WHAT?! No!”

Chan didn’t even flinch. “It’s about a girl.”

“It’s not—”

“Hyunjin already messaged me,” Chan interrupted, pulling up his phone. “He said, and I quote, ‘Hyung, don’t be too mad at him, he’s in soulmate brain.’”

Jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m going to kill him.”

Chan ignored that, leaning back in his chair and just watching Jisung, deadpan.

“I—she’s just—” Jisung peeked through his fingers, cheeks bright red. “She’s not anyone, okay? She’s just… someone I used to know.”

Chan raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Someone you used to know who apparently makes you break million-dollar lab systems.”

Jisung groaned louder. “It was one mistake!”

Chan’s expression softened, just slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “...So you like her.”

Jisung froze. “…Maybe.”

Chan smirked faintly now, leaning his chin in his hand. “More than maybe, judging from how wrecked you look. You fed last night, right?”

Jisung blinked, caught off guard. “What? How—”

“You’re calmer today than you should be,” Chan said matter-of-factly. “So you fed. But it didn’t help, did it? Because it’s not just hunger. It’s her.”

Jisung groaned, dropping his head onto the desk with a dull thunk. “Can we not do this right now?”

Chan chuckled softly, sitting back. “You’re hopeless. But listen—if she really is your soulmate, you better figure it out before you frenzy around her. You don’t want to hurt her.”

Jisung peeked up at him, guilt flickering in his eyes. “...I know.”

Chan’s expression softened even more, turning serious again. “Then be careful. And, Jisung?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t crash my venom lock system again. Next time, I’m making you re-code it from scratch. By yourself.”

Jisung groaned again. “I hate my life.”

Chan smirked. “No, you’re just in love.”

“SHUT UP, HYUNG!”

LATER THAT NIGHT

Jisung sat cross-legged on his couch, hoodie half-zipped, hair still damp from a shower. His apartment was quiet, except for the faint hum of his monitors in the other room.

He stared at his phone.

At your name.

At the text thread that had been stuck on “Delivered” since earlier that afternoon, when you’d sent:

[YOU] Home safe last night? :)

He’d answered in record time, of course:

[JISUNG] Yeah. Thanks for last night. It was… good seeing you again.

And you’d replied hours later, casual and warm as ever:

[YOU] Good. Next time, ramen’s on me, okay?

Now he was sitting here, staring at his screen like an idiot, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “Be normal. Totally normal. Not like you spent all day being roasted alive by Felix, Hyunjin, and Chan for being in ‘soulmate brain.’ Just… text her.”

He typed:

[JISUNG] You owe me, remember? Ramen, your treat. Don’t back out now.

Then deleted it.

Typed again:

[JISUNG] You busy tomorrow? We could hang out.

Deleted that too.

Finally, with a groan, he flopped back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“Just invite her, idiot.”

He sat back up, cracked his knuckles, and typed fast before he could overthink it:

[JISUNG] Hey. Random idea, but… wanna come over tonight? Nothing fancy. Just… hang out. Like old times.

He hovered over the send button for a solid ten seconds, heart hammering.

“Be cool. Be cool.”

He hit send.

The read receipt popped up almost instantly.

Then:

[YOU] Tonight? [YOU] You’re not secretly luring me into a pyramid scheme or something, right?

Jisung snorted, smiling despite himself.

[JISUNG] Definitely not. Just me. Snacks. Maybe terrible old movies if you’re lucky.

There was a pause.

Then your reply came:

[YOU] ...Okay. Gimme an hour. You better have snacks, Han.

Jisung stared at the screen, grinning stupidly before it hit him.

“Oh my God,” he muttered, sitting up straighter, panic and excitement mixing in his chest. “Oh shit, she’s actually coming over.”

Thirty minutes later, he was tearing through his apartment like a man possessed.

“Okay, okay, clean enough. Don’t look desperate. Snacks—snacks are good. Drinks—what do humans even drink at night besides beer? Oh God, do I have beer?!”

He darted into the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets until he found two decent beers and a bag of chips that wasn’t expired.

“Perfect. Totally normal. Totally not losing my mind over this.”

His rings buzzed faintly against his skin, soaking up the low hum of hunger that was already creeping back in.

“Calm down,” he told himself, pacing the living room now. “You can do this. Just… don’t stare at her neck. Or her pulse. Or her—”

The doorbell rang.

Jisung froze.

Then whispered under his breath, “Oh, I’m so screwed.”

The doorbell chimed again, soft but insistent.

Jisung's heart was hammering. He took a deep breath, ran both hands through his hair, muttering, “Be normal. Totally normal. Don’t act like you’ve been pacing for thirty minutes. Just open the door.”

He walked to the door, every step feeling like a countdown to disaster, and finally pulled it open—

And immediately forgot how to breathe.

You stood there in the hallway, casual as anything, wearing an oversized hoodie (not his, thank God or maybe unthankfully), shorts just peeking out beneath the hem, hair loose around your face.

Soft. Warm. Perfect.

“Hi,” you said, smiling up at him, cheeks slightly pink from the cool night air. “Wow. You actually look nervous. Should I be worried?”

Jisung’s brain short-circuited for half a second.

“I—I’m not nervous,” he lied instantly, leaning on the doorframe like he wasn’t currently vibrating out of his skin.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Sure. Totally chill. Totally not weird.”

He stepped aside quickly, trying to look casual. “Come in.”

You walked past him into the apartment, glancing around as you tugged your hoodie sleeves down. “Wow. Clean place. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Jisung shut the door, cheeks heating. “It’s always clean.”

“Mm-hm.” You shot him a teasing look. “Did you vacuum just for me?”

“No,” he lied again, way too fast.

You grinned, flopping onto his couch like you owned the place. “This is nice. Feels… very you.”

Jisung hovered awkwardly for a second before finally sitting beside you, careful to keep just enough distance.

You noticed immediately.

“Relax, Ji,” you teased, nudging his knee with yours. “I don’t bite.”

Jisung swallowed hard, forcing a crooked smile. “Yeah. Lucky you.”

You tilted your head, amused. “You’re acting weird. Like… weirder than usual.”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, turning to grab the beers from the coffee table as a distraction. “Here. Beer.”

You took it with a smile, cracking it open. “Thanks. Cheers, bestie.”

He clinked his bottle against yours, forcing a grin, ignoring the way his rings buzzed faintly against his fingers.

You took a sip of beer, leaning back into the couch cushions like you belonged there.

“So,” you said, glancing at the TV, “what terrible movie are we watching?”

Jisung grabbed the remote, flipping through his streaming queue with one hand. “I was thinking… something awful. So bad it’s good. Maybe the one with the killer snowman?”

You snorted, nearly choking on your drink. “Oh my God, Jack Frost? You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Jisung said, smirking faintly. “Classic cinema.”

“Terrible cinema.”

“Exactly.”

Minutes later, the movie was playing, and you were both sprawled on the couch, surrounded by a mess of snacks—chips, a half-empty bag of candy, and a bowl of popcorn you’d immediately claimed as yours.

“This is actually the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” you said through a laugh, throwing a piece of popcorn at the screen.

“Hey, don’t disrespect art,” Jisung replied, pretending to be offended.

“Art?” you scoffed. “This snowman just killed someone with a carrot.”

“Iconic.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning, and tossed another piece of popcorn—this time at him.

It bounced off his chest, landing in his lap.

“Really?” he asked, deadpan.

“Yes,” you said, smirking. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Jisung’s eyes narrowed, his smirk sharpening. “You sure you want me to answer that?”

You blinked, surprised at the shift in his tone—lower, warmer, a little too smooth.

“…You wouldn’t,” you said, trying to sound confident.

He grinned, leaning forward slightly. “Wouldn’t I?”

You squeaked when he suddenly lunged, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it at you.

“Jisung!” you laughed, swatting at him as pieces rained down around you.

“Fair’s fair!” he laughed back, dodging your attempt to grab the bowl.

The two of you ended up in a ridiculous tangle, laughing, grabbing at each other’s hands, trying to wrestle control of the popcorn. At some point, you ended up half on top of him, one knee on the couch, your hand braced against his chest.

And suddenly, everything went quiet.

You froze, breath catching as you realized just how close you were. Jisung didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just stared up at you, his chest rising and falling under your palm.

Your laughter faded, replaced with something heavier, warmer. “Ji…” you said softly, voice almost teasing but not quite. “You gonna keep staring at me like that, or…?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his rings buzzing faintly against his skin. You shifted slightly, your thigh brushing his, and Jisung’s breath hitched, his self-control cracking just a little more. You noticed, tilting your head, your grin turning slow and playful. “You’re acting weird again,” you teased, but your voice was softer now, more curious than mocking.

“Am I?” he murmured, eyes flicking briefly—dangerously—to your throat before he forced them back up to meet yours.

You smiled, leaning just a fraction closer, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath. “Mm-hm. Weird. Nervous. Like you’re… hiding something.”

He swallowed hard, forcing a shaky smile. “Maybe I am.”

You tilted your head, a slow, daring smile tugging at your lips. “Then show me.”

Jisung’s breath hitched. And just like that, every scrap of self-control he’d been clinging to all night snapped. He surged forward before you could say anything else, his hand curling around your jaw, pulling you down into him.

The kiss was nothing soft or careful—it was heated, messy, his mouth crashing against yours like he’d been holding himself back for years.

You gasped against him, surprised for only a second before you kissed him back just as hard, your hands fisting into the front of his hoodie. Jisung groaned low in his throat, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his other hand gripping your hip as you shifted closer, straddling his lap without even thinking about it.

“God, you’re—” he broke away for half a second, his breath ragged, eyes dark as they locked on yours, “—you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grinned breathlessly, your lips already red and kiss-swollen. “Good to know.”

He growled softly at that, surging back in, kissing you harder, deeper, like he couldn’t get enough.

Your hands slid up into his hair, tugging lightly, and Jisung nearly lost it, groaning into your mouth as his fingers dug into your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

You shifted against him, a soft, involuntary sound escaping your throat—and that was it.

That sound wrecked him.

His rings buzzed faintly, struggling to stabilize the sharp spike of hunger and need flooding through him, but it wasn’t enough. He broke from your lips, panting, burying his face against your jaw, kissing down your neck—messy, open-mouthed kisses that made you shiver.

“Ji—” you gasped softly, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your skin, his voice low and wrecked, fangs barely grazing the curve of your neck. “Please—tell me to stop.”

You tilted your head just slightly, giving him more space, your breath coming faster. “Not gonna do that.”

Jisung froze for half a heartbeat, his entire body going tense. Then he groaned—low, desperate—and kissed you again, harder than before, his hands roaming now, sliding under your hoodie to grip your waist, your back, like he couldn’t decide where to touch you first.

You broke the kiss for just a second, breathless, smiling against his mouth. “You’re so not fine right now.”

“Yeah,” Jisung panted, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes blown wide, “you have no idea.”

And then he kissed you again, deeper, hungrier, pulling you flush against him, the movie long forgotten, the snacks abandoned, the world narrowing down to just you and him and the way you tasted under his hands.

The couch creaked under you as Jisung kissed you like he was making up for every second of the last three years—hot, frantic, hungry.

Your hands slid under his hoodie, and when you tugged, he broke the kiss just long enough to yank it over his head, tossing it somewhere onto the floor.

And that’s when you froze.

“Ji—oh my God,” you breathed, your eyes widening as you took him in.

Because somewhere between human-Jisung and now, he’d clearly changed.

Black ink curled under his collarbone, peeking out from under the neckline of his T-shirt.

“You have tattoos now?!”

Jisung smirked faintly, though his breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling fast. “Not the reaction I was expecting.”

You ran your fingers lightly over the one peeking from under his collarbone, tracing the lines, and he shuddered under your touch.

“God, you look—” You caught yourself, cheeks flushed, before finishing, “—different. In a good way. Definitely in a good way.”

“Yeah?” he asked, voice low, teasing but with something darker curling underneath.

“Yeah,” you said honestly, meeting his eyes again.

That was all it took for him to crash back into you, kissing you harder, deeper, his hands sliding under your hoodie now, gripping your waist firmly as if he couldn’t get you close enough.

“Ji—” you gasped when he dragged his lips down your neck again, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make your pulse jump.

“Don’t,” he rasped against your throat, his voice wrecked, “don’t say my name like that, you’ll kill me.”

You laughed breathlessly, tilting your head slightly to give him more space. “Not my fault you’re acting like you haven’t kissed anyone in years.”

“I haven’t,” he muttered against your skin, the confession slipping out raw, desperate. “Only wanted you.”

Your heart skipped, but before you could reply, his hands were tugging your hoodie up, pausing only when you raised your arms to let him pull it over your head.

The second it hit the floor, his gaze flicked down—hungry, starving—and you felt heat rush through you under that look alone.

“Ji,” you teased, grinning despite your own flushed cheeks, “you’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?” he said hoarsely, already leaning in to kiss you again, his hands skimming your sides, your ribs, sliding around to your back like he couldn’t decide where to touch first.

Your fingers grabbed at his T-shirt next, tugging at the hem.

“Off,” you murmured against his mouth.

He didn’t even hesitate, sitting back just enough to pull it over his head—and oh God.

Your eyes widened again.

“More tattoos,” you whispered, your gaze tracing the way the ink adorned his side.

Jisung smirked faintly, leaning forward, caging you in against the couch. “You can look later,” he murmured, his voice dropping low, “right now, I need—”

He cut himself off with another kiss, rougher this time, almost frantic, his hands sliding up your thighs, tugging you closer until you were practically straddling him.

And then you shifted just slightly, grinding down without meaning to, and Jisung groaned, low and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your shoulder for half a second.

Then—suddenly—he shifted, his control slipping entirely.

In one quick, fluid motion, he grabbed your waist and turned, laying you flat against the couch cushions, your back sinking into the soft fabric as he moved between your legs, bracing himself above you.

You blinked up at him, breathless, your heart hammering. “Ji—” His eyes—God, his eyes—were blown wide, dark and glinting, hunger swirling in every inch of his expression. And then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts, tugging.

“Ji—wait—” you laughed breathlessly, startled but not stopping him, “you’re—impatient much?”

“I told you,” he muttered, his voice dropping even lower, “I can’t stop.”

His hands slid firmly down your hips, dragging your shorts lower, his rings buzzing faintly against your skin as if even they were trying to ground him. But they weren’t working. Not this time.

Because he was starving.

And you smelled so warm, so alive, your pulse thudding so loud in his ears it was maddening.

When he tugged your shorts down your thighs, you laughed again, trying to tease him through your own rising heat. “Wow, Ji. Didn’t know you were so—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, leaning over you, his mouth crashing against yours again, his hands gripping your thighs now, pushing them apart as he settled between them, caging you in completely.

The kiss was desperate, messy, his tongue sliding against yours like he needed to taste every part of you.

Your fingers scrambled for his shoulders, clutching at him as you kissed him back just as hard, heat pooling low in your stomach. “Ji—” you started, but the look he gave you shut you up immediately.

“Let me,” he rasped, his voice low, rough, his fingers tightening on your thighs. “Please. I need to taste you.”

Your stomach flipped at the sound of his voice—hoarse, desperate—and all you could do was nod.

He hooked his fingers into your panties, tugging them down and discarding them. You gasped as the cool air hit your skin, but before you could tease him for how fast he moved, he was already settling lower, pushing your thighs wider apart.

“Ji—”

“Shh,” he muttered, kissing along your inner thigh, his fangs grazing lightly but not breaking skin, teasing, making you shiver. “I told you, I can’t stop.”

And then his mouth was on you.

The first swipe of his tongue dragged a broken sound out of you, your hips jerking involuntarily.

“Fuck,” Jisung groaned against you, his voice muffled, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise as he pulled you closer. “You taste—God, you taste so good.”

He didn’t pace himself, didn’t bother with teasing—he dove in like a man starved, licking into you with messy, eager strokes, sucking at your clit before sliding his tongue back down to lap at you again.

Your back arched, your hands flying to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you gasped his name.

“Ji—oh my God—”

At that, he groaned low, the sound vibrating against you, making your legs shake.

He pulled back just enough to pant against you, his breath hot on your skin, before licking another long, slow stripe up your center. “You’re so wet already,” he said hoarsely, his voice wrecked, “all for me, yeah?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—” you gasped, tugging at his hair, trying to pull him closer even though he was already pressed between your thighs.

Jisung smirked against you, nipping lightly at your inner thigh before going back to your clit, sucking harder now, his tongue moving faster, relentless.

You were already trembling, your breaths coming out quick and shallow, and he was eating you like he had no intention of stopping, his pace growing more desperate, almost frantic, like the taste of you was driving him insane.

“Ji—fuck—you’re—gonna—”

“Cum for me,” he growled against you, his grip tightening on your thighs, holding you still even as you squirmed under him. “Wanna feel you cum on my tongue.”

The words were a growl against your skin, and before you could even gasp out a reply, Jisung dove back in, hungrier than before.

His tongue moved in desperate, erratic strokes, dragging from your entrance to your clit in long, sloppy licks, his mouth working you like he couldn’t get enough.

“Ji—” you moaned, tugging at his hair, but he just groaned in return, the vibration sending a sharp pulse of heat straight through you.

He pulled back just barely—only enough to spit, hot and messy, right over your clit before diving back down, licking it up greedily like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your hips jerking, but his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you flush to his mouth.

“Stay still,” he rasped against you, his voice wrecked, before pushing his tongue deeper this time, thrusting into you in long, deliberate strokes.

Your head tipped back against the couch cushions, a choked cry ripping from your throat. “Jisung—oh my God—”

“Mm,” he hummed, his tongue fucking into you harder now, his hands spreading you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “You feel so fucking good around my tongue.”

The heat in your stomach coiled tighter, sharp and overwhelming, and every filthy, desperate sound spilling from his mouth only pushed you closer.

“Ji—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to suck your clit hard before pushing his tongue back into you, faster now, relentless. “Cum for me again. Let me taste you.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair, your back arching as that coil finally snapped again.

“Jisung—fuck!” you cried out, trembling as you came, clenching around his tongue as he groaned low, drinking you down like he couldn’t get enough.

He didn’t stop, not even when you tried to wriggle away from the oversensitivity—if anything, he held you tighter, his tongue still pushing into you as if he was trying to wring every last drop out of you.

“God, you taste—so good—can’t stop,” he muttered between licks, almost to himself, his voice half-crazed, like he was drunk on you.

“Ji—please—” you gasped, your thighs trembling around his head.

He finally pulled back, panting hard, his chin and lips slick, his hair a mess, his eyes blown wide with hunger.

And when he looked at you, sprawled and panting under him, his tongue darted out to lick the taste of you from his lips, and he groaned low, like just looking at you wrecked him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice rough. “I need to be inside you.”

His hands flexed on your thighs, like he was trying to ground himself, but the way his cock strained against his sweats betrayed him completely. Jisung finally stood, dragging you forward on the couch with one hand as his other shoved his sweats and boxers down in one rough motion.

You gasped, your eyes widening at the sight of him—thick, hard, flushed, the head already leaking.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, staring before you could stop yourself.

Jisung let out a strained laugh, his cheeks flushing but his expression feral, hungry. “You can’t say shit like that right now—”

“Why not?” you teased, still breathless, licking your lips as you looked him over. “You’re big, Ji. Didn’t know you were hiding that.”

His cock twitched at your words, and he groaned low in his chest, running a hand over his face like he was seconds from losing it completely.

“Stop talking,” he muttered hoarsely, stepping back between your legs, grabbing your thighs. “Or I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

Your grin turned wicked. “Promises, promises.”

That was it—his restraint snapped.

He pushed you back against the couch cushions, hands firm on your thighs as he lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock brushing against your soaked folds.

“Ji—” you gasped, your hips jerking instinctively.

“God, you’re so wet,” he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder for half a second as he dragged the tip through you, coating himself in your slick. “All this… just for me?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, voice shaking. “All for you.”

His hips twitched at that, and he bit back a growl, kissing your neck once, quick and messy, before pushing forward—

The first thrust was slow, deliberate, stretching you open, making you moan his name brokenly.

“Fuck—you feel—so good,” Jisung groaned, his forehead pressing to yours, his eyes squeezing shut like he was trying to hold himself back. “I can’t—I can’t go slow, baby, I’m sorry—”

“Then don’t,” you gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Just—fuck me, Ji. Please.”

His eyes snapped open at that, blown wide, his expression wrecked. “God, you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, before slamming his hips forward, burying himself fully inside you in one sharp thrust.

You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he groaned, low and guttural, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as he started moving.

The pace turned brutal fast—deep, rough thrusts that made the couch creak beneath you, his body pressing you down into the cushions like he wanted you closer, deeper.

“Fuck, Ji—” you moaned, your head tipping back, the sounds spilling from you only spurring him on.

“Feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his mouth dragging along your throat, his fangs brushing dangerously close. “So tight—taking me so well—God, I can’t stop—”

“Don’t,” you gasped, your legs tightening around him, pulling him deeper.

“Baby, I’m—I’m gonna bite you,” he warned, his voice trembling, his thrusts growing even more desperate.

You tilted your head, giving him your neck, your voice soft but wrecked. “Do it. I trust you.”

The words hit him harder than anything else tonight.

Jisung’s breath stuttered against your skin, his thrusts faltering for just a fraction of a second—because you trusted him. Fully. Completely. You tilted your neck for him like you weren’t scared, like you wanted him.

And that—God, that shattered him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice raw, almost pained. “You have no idea what you do to me.” And clearly you didn't have no clue. Because to you? Simple bite, but to him? That meant he could finally taste you. So, he surged forward, his lips dragging over your pulse before his fangs sank into you, sharp and deep.

The sting made you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders, but it melted almost instantly into heat—warm, dizzying heat that pulsed all the way through your body.

Jisung groaned low against your neck, the sound guttural, almost animal, as he drank. Your blood hit his tongue and his hips snapped forward, harder than before, his pace turning rough and frantic, like feeding only made him hungrier in every way.

“God, you—” he panted between licks, his thrusts relentless, “you taste so fucking good—sweet—perfect—”

Your moans grew louder, your body arching into his with every thrust, the mix of pleasure and his mouth at your throat sending you spiraling fast.

“Ji—fuck—you’re—oh my God—”

He growled low, fucking you harder, deeper, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as he pinned you to the couch. His rings buzzed faintly against your skin, struggling to stabilize him, but they weren’t enough—not when you were clenching so tight around him, dripping, taking every thrust like you were made for him.

Your head tipped back further, exposing your neck more, and he groaned against you, licking over the bite before sinking his fangs back in.

You whimpered at the sharp sting, your hips jerking up to meet his, and his rhythm stuttered for a second—like he was barely holding on.

“Baby, you’re—fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned against your skin, his voice wrecked. “Taking me so good—so tight around me—God, I can’t stop—”

“You—don’t—don’t stop,” you gasped, your words broken between moans, your hands clawing at his back now.

“Never,” he rasped, his thrusts growing erratic now, slamming into you harder, the wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting filling the room.

You felt dizzy, drunk on him, cockdrunk, the bite sending warm, tingling waves through you as he fed, his hips pounding into you so perfectly you could barely think.

“Ji—fuck—gonna—”

“Cum for me,” he growled against your neck, his words muffled as he drank, “cum for me again, baby—I wanna feel you squeeze me—”

Your body obeyed before your mind caught up, your orgasm hitting hard, your walls fluttering around him as you cried out his name.

Jisung groaned loudly, hips jerking as he fucked you through it, feeding harder, deeper, like the taste of you coming around him was making him lose his mind completely.

“God, you’re—so good, so perfect—” he panted, finally pulling his fangs from your neck to press his lips to the bite, licking at it like he couldn’t stop himself. “Mine—fuck—you’re mine.”

You barely had time to process the possessiveness in his voice before his thrusts grew sloppy, desperate, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as his own orgasm hit, hot and deep, spilling into you as he groaned your name like a prayer.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breathing and the soft creak of the couch as Jisung finally slowed, thrusting lazily through the aftershocks.

He kissed your neck again, softer this time, licking at the bite like he was apologizing to your skin.

When he finally pulled back to look at you, his lips were red, slick, faint traces of blood at the corner of his mouth, his hair damp and messy, his eyes still dark but softened now, heavy-lidded and dazed.

“You okay?” he rasped, his voice hoarse, almost shy now despite what he’d just done.

You smiled up at him, flushed and blissed out, brushing sweaty strands of hair from his forehead. “More than okay, Ji. That was—” You laughed breathlessly. “—fucking insane.”

He groaned softly, dropping his head against your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He stayed there for a long moment, buried deep inside you, his chest pressed to yours, his breathing still rough against your skin.

You shifted slightly under him, wincing at the dull throb in your neck, and laughed breathlessly. “Okay… wow. Your fangs are no joke, huh?”

Jisung froze, his whole body going tense.

You tilted your head to look at him, amused. “Seriously, Ji, I didn’t think you’d actually bite me. Like, for real. That was… hot, though. Kind of kinkier than I expected from you.”

He groaned softly, hiding his face in your chest like a guilty puppy, his hair brushing against your bare skin.

“You have no idea what you’re saying,” he mumbled against you, his voice muffled.

You blinked down at him, raising an eyebrow. “What? Why are you acting all shy now? You just fucked me into next week.”

At that, Jisung let out a low, strained laugh, still refusing to lift his head. His arms tightened around your waist, and he nuzzled closer, his messy hair brushing your collarbone.

“Ji,” you teased, brushing your fingers through his hair, “what’s with the hiding? Are you actually embarrassed after all that?”

He muttered something against your chest you couldn’t catch.

“Hmm?”

Jisung groaned, finally lifting his head just enough to glance at you, his cheeks flushed, his lips still red and slick. “You’re—God, you’re gonna hate me when you find out.”

“Find out what?” you asked, amused, stroking his hair again.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, dropping his head back against your chest, clearly choosing to bury himself in denial instead.

You giggled, completely oblivious, shifting a little under him only to feel exactly where he still was—hard, warm, and very much still inside you.

Your eyes widened slightly, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Ji… are you still—?”

He stiffened, his arms tightening on you automatically. “…Yeah.”

You bit your lip, glancing down at him. “You’re not moving.”

“Trying to behave,” he muttered, his face still hidden against your chest.

You grinned, your fingers sliding lazily through his damp hair. “And if I told you not to behave?”

That got his attention—his head tilted up slowly, his eyes still dark, pupils blown wide, lips parting slightly.

“Don’t—” his voice dropped lower, raspier, “—don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it,” you said softly, smiling at him.

His breath hitched, and then his head dipped back to your neck, kissing over the bite softly, his hips shifting just barely—his cock twitching inside you.

“You have killed me, officially.” Jisung murmured against your neck, kissing over the bite, his hips rocking just slightly, his cock twitching inside you.

You laughed softly, still stroking his hair. “Ji… are you actually getting hard again?”

He froze for a second, his forehead dropping to your shoulder like he could hide from the question. “…Maybe.”

You grinned, biting back a laugh. “Maybe?”

He lifted his head just enough to glare at you playfully, his cheeks flushed, his lips still kiss-swollen. “Don’t sound so smug about it.”

“You’re literally still inside me,” you teased, your grin widening. “Pretty sure you don’t get to act pouty when this is your fault.”

He did pout, his lower lip sticking out as he buried his face back against your chest with a dramatic groan. “You’re impossible.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “You love it.”

“Unfortunately,” he muttered, voice muffled against your skin.

You smirked, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “So… round two, or are you gonna keep pretending to be responsible?”

Jisung lifted his head slowly, his dark, still-hungry eyes meeting yours. “…You’re evil.”

“Take that as a yes,” you teased.

He groaned, hiding his face again. “God, you’re gonna ruin me.”

“You already said that,” you whispered, laughing softly.

“Yeah,” he said, his pout muffled against your chest. “…Still true.”

He sighed dramatically, kissed your collarbone, and muttered, “Give me five minutes.”

You laughed so hard you almost shoved him off the couch.

The days (and nights) after that first frenzy blurred together fast—because you and Jisung had apparently decided to make up for three years of separation by… well, fucking like rabbits.

It started on his couch. Then his bed. Then his kitchen counter. Then your kitchen counter. The shower. His office once (don’t ask). There was even an ill-advised quickie in his car when you insisted on teasing him mid-drive.

You were both insatiable, giggling and wrecking each other wherever you could get away with it.

And through it all, Jisung still hadn’t told you.

Not about what he was. Not about the fact that he wasn’t just “into biting” —that he’d been feeding from you every time he sank his fangs into your neck, every lazy aftercare lick stealing another taste.

You didn’t notice. Or maybe you did and chalked it up to kink. Either way, you were blissfully oblivious, lying curled up in his bed most nights, marked and glowing while he stared at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

But Jisung was dying.

Because he wanted more.

He wanted you. Fully.

Not just quick bites mid-fuck, not just sneaking sips when you were dazed and cockdrunk—he wanted to claim you properly. Make you his.

His blood doll. His mate, if he dared.

The thought alone made his chest tight, his rings buzzing faintly every time he caught himself staring at your neck for too long.

Which is why Seungmin cornered him.

“No.”

Jisung froze mid-step in the Nocté Labs hallway, blinking at Seungmin leaning casually against the doorframe to his office.

“…No what?” Jisung asked, pretending to be clueless.

“Don’t even try it,” Seungmin said flatly, sipping from his coffee. “You’ve been scent-marking her for a week straight and you still haven’t told her? Pathetic.”

Jisung’s ears went red instantly. “Scent-marking? What the hell—”

“You’re practically walking around smelling like her blood,” Seungmin cut in smoothly. “Felix noticed. Hyunjin noticed. I noticed. Hell, Changbin doesn’t even care about gossip and even he noticed. You’re lucky Minho hasn’t dragged you into containment for unsanctioned feeding.”

Jisung groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Seung, come on—”

“No, you come on,” Seungmin said sharply. “She’s a human, Jisung. You’re feeding from her like she’s already your blood doll, and you haven’t given her a choice.”

“I’m careful,” Jisung argued weakly, but Seungmin’s unimpressed stare didn’t budge.

“Careful doesn’t mean honest. She’s going to find out eventually. You want her, right?”

Jisung’s jaw tightened. “…Yeah.”

“Then stop being a coward and claim her properly,” Seungmin said bluntly, turning to leave. “Because if you don’t, Minho’s going to file for a formal review, and I am not cleaning up that paperwork.”

Jisung groaned louder, collapsing into his office chair the second Seungmin left.

“God,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so fucked.”

The soft creak of the bathroom door opening was the only sound in Jisung’s quiet apartment. You padded out on bare feet, half-asleep, one of his hoodies drowning you to mid-thigh.

You were halfway back to bed when you noticed the glow of the fridge light spilling into the dark kitchen.

“Ji?” you whispered, rubbing your eyes.

No answer.

Curious, you shuffled closer, peeking around the doorway—

And froze.

Jisung stood with his back to you, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, head tipped back as he drank straight from a blood bag.

Not wine. Not juice. Blood.

The crimson liquid slid down his throat, the fridge light catching on the faint glow of his rings as they buzzed weakly against his fingers, stabilizing his energy.

He sighed, low and relieved, pulling the bag from his mouth—and that’s when he noticed you.

“—Oh, fuck.”

There was a full three seconds of silence where you just stared at him.

At the blood bag in his hand. At the smear of red on his lips.

Then you blinked. “…You… drink blood.”

Jisung winced, setting the bag down on the counter way too fast, his hands shooting up like he was caught stealing cookies. “Wait—okay—I can explain—”

“You drink blood,” you repeated, louder this time, eyes wide.

“Yes, but—”

“Like—human blood?”

“Yes, but—”

“Are you a vampire?!”

Jisung groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God, this is not how I wanted you to find out.”

You stood there for a second, still blinking, your sleep-hazed brain trying to catch up.

“…So… vampire.”

“Yes,” Jisung muttered, looking like he wanted to crawl into the fridge and disappear. “Normal vampire. Turned. Not dangerous. Please don’t freak out.”

You tilted your head, still staring. “…You’re seriously a vampire? Like—fangs, blood, no sunlight?”

“Rings for sunlight,” he mumbled, wiggling his fingers.

You stared a second longer… then grinned. “Oh my God, this explains so much.”

Jisung blinked. “…Wait, you’re not screaming?”

“Should I be?” you asked, walking closer. “You bite me during sex all the time. I thought that was, like, your thing.”

He flushed instantly, his ears turning red. “It’s—not just a thing, okay? I was—feeding. A little.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “You’ve been drinking my blood?”

“Yes but—shit—okay, wait, don’t be mad—”

You tilted your head, smirking. “…Is that why you’re so obsessed with my neck?”

Jisung groaned loudly, covering his face. “I hate this. I hate everything about this.”

You, on the other hand, just stared at him, half-amused, half-baffled. “…You’ve been drinking my blood,” you said again, slower this time, like your brain was still rebooting.

“Carefully!” Jisung blurted out, lowering his hands just enough to look at you with wide, panicked eyes. “Like—tiny amounts—nothing dangerous—I swear!”

You blinked at him, then frowned, pointing toward the bathroom. “I… need to pee.”

Jisung froze. “What?”

You gestured vaguely, still half-asleep. “I woke up to pee. This whole—vampire thing—was not on my 3AM schedule. So I’m gonna pee first, and then… maybe we talk?”

Jisung opened his mouth, then shut it again, running a hand through his hair like he was seconds away from losing his mind.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pacing one step before calling after you as you turned toward the bathroom. “Wait—wait!”

You glanced back, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

He stood there in the dim fridge light, hair messy, rings buzzing faintly, looking like a kid caught stealing candy. “…Let me take you to dinner tomorrow. A proper one. And I’ll explain everything.”

You squinted at him. “Dinner?”

“Yes. Dinner,” Jisung said quickly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket like he was trying to look casual and failing miserably. “Not, like—blood dinner. Normal dinner. Food. Talking. I’ll tell you everything. No secrets. Promise.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “…Fancy dinner, or ramen again?”

He hesitated, then smirked faintly despite his panic. “Whatever you want. But if you make me wear a suit, you’re paying.”

You grinned, already heading toward the bathroom. “Fine. Dinner. You better tell me everything, vampire boy.”

Jisung groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “God, I’m so fucked.”

“Still gonna pee!” you called back cheerfully.

TO BE CONTINUED.

he sighs and steps away from the door, and you can hear the creak of the porch swing through the speaker when minho plops down on it. 

“it’s cold out here.” 

“you’re dead, stupid,” you reply back, and the curl of your fingers takes your breath away a moment later. 

minho’s silent on the other end, and you drop the phone from between your ear and shoulder to the pillow beside you, tapping the speaker button on your screen. 

you know for certain he can hear the slick noises of your fingers bullying themselves inside your cunt. you’re so wet it’s just that loud, but he’d be able to hear it regardless. enhanced hearing and whatnot. 

any other time, minho would have barged inside the house you share with your best friend, door hinges be damned. 

see, minho knew your lease was coming to an end. you might have just skipped out on a few details in order to have one last bit of fun in your rental house for old time’s sake before moving in with him. minho has been to your place countless times, has walked in like he owns it more than you can remember. once you invited him inside, he could come and go as he pleased. and he did. 

your name was on the lease then, but it isn’t anymore. 

unbeknownst to your beautiful, beautiful minho, you signed the lease fully over to your best friend yesterday. now that the ownership of the house has changed, minho can’t come inside without your best friend’s explicit permission. which you oh so conveniently forgot to mention while he was on his way over. 

“you’re dead, stupid,” he mocks back. that’s true. he had to turn you. “jagi. let me inside.” 

“come in, lino,” you sing-song through the phone, teeth snagging your bottom lip while your fingers slip from your cunt to rub sloppy circles all over your clit. “i’m so lonely, my minho. i’m naked and lonely and no one is here to touch me…” 

he growls, and your teeth ache in response. you kick your feet in excitement. no matter how many times you tell him to come in, he won’t be able to, and you both know it. 

“where is she?” minho mutters. your best friend. “tell her to let me in. i’ll even ask her nicely.” 

you’re going to get it for laughing at his expense, but you can’t help but giggle. your best friend and your boyfriend share an unwavering, mutual respect for one another, yet they don’t always see eye to eye. some witchy-vampire thing that goes way back. 

“it’s a nice day today. i think you should stay outside a little longer and enjoy the sunlight. you’re wearing your ring, aren’t you?” oh, you’re definitely going to get it. 

but he’s so fun to play with. 

your head turns away from the phone fitfully as your fingers catch on the swollen little bud of your clit, legs spreading wider on their own accord. “oh, min- minho,” you whimper. you can see him now, cellphone pressed tight to his ear and nose angled high. he can hear you without the phone, and you know he can smell you too. 

that hitachi wand he bought you for your last birthday would feel so good right about now, but you’re too desperate to move your hand away from your cunt for even a second to grab it. 

“sweet jagi,” minho croons. you’d swear he was a siren if you didn’t know any better, voice tender and airy and so very enticing. “it feels so good, doesn’t it? but it could be better. you know i can do it better. stop and get your friend, alright? tell her to let me inside so we can play…” 

he’s back at the mouth of the door again. you can hear his fingers tapping on the wooden frame once more, and you shudder when you pull your fingers away from yourself. the desperation to make yourself cum is suddenly overridden by the desperation to finally obey your sire. you end the call and leave your phone on the bed, approaching your closed bedroom door without a second thought to spare. 

the door cracks open with a gentle push of your finger, and with a whiff of the air, you can tell that your best friend is in her bedroom on the other side of the house. she’s quick to answer when you call her name. 

she opens her door and leans against its frame. 

“yeees?” she asks slowly. she already knows what you want. 

“would you be a doll and let minho in? he’s- he’s been waiting outside.” you ask, making sure to bat your eyelashes and give her your best puppy dog eyes through your barely cracked open bedroom door. 

“what if i don’t want to?” 

“i could compel you, you know?” you can’t. you couldn’t compel a witch no matter how badly you wanted to. she cocks her head and the lights in your hall flicker. 

“ha! i’d like to see you try.” 

she loves to give you a hard time, but she dutifully leaves her post against her door and complains her way down the hall. 

“don’t ever involve me in one of your weird, vampire sex things again, you freaks. and light a candle when you’re done! i’m leaving, by the way. like, leaving right now.” you hear the jangle of her keys when she picks them up from the counter and rush to climb back onto your bed. “ah, wonderful. lee minho. please, come inside. or whatever.” 

it’s eerily silent when the front door slams shut. it has you giddy. your own heart pounding in your chest is the only thing you can hear, overpowering the rhythmic thump of minho’s heart pumping that you’d usually be keenly aware of.  

however, your nose tells you he’s in the house, but where? you have no clue.

you’re contemplating getting up and locking your bedroom door to really mess with him, but before you have the chance, it’s flying open and banging against the wall adjacent to it. minho’s on you in a flash, so quick that you can’t even get your bearings straight before he’s pressing you against the mattress and sliding a mean hand up your thigh. his hands are rough, but the little smile on his face is anything but. 

“you think you’re so funny, hm?” he asks, cocking his head and slipping two fingers right inside. “keeping me from what’s mine.” 

“i’m hilarious,” you breathe. “you tell me so all the time.” 

your hips buck against his probing fingers. he lets you ride them for a moment, but minho’s quick to pin you down by your thighs when he feels you’ve had enough. 

“you’re being a brat. i think it’s time you listen to me and do as you’re told. is that clear?” 

all you do is huff in response, and you turn your head away from him in defiance. 

“jagi. i’m not asking.” 

minho grips your cheeks in his hand until your lips poke out in a pout, and he forces your head to turn back towards him. your stomach flips in anticipation when your eyes lock; you know what’s coming. 

he kisses you softly on your pouted lips before his pupils begin to dilate, and yours immediately follow suit. 

“you’re going to keep playing with this needy pussy just like you did on the phone with me earlier, yeh? but just when you get close, right when you start to tumble over the edge, you’re going to pull your hands away. you were so mean to me, jagi, i think this is what you deserve. mm, yes. that’s good.”

“yes, that’s good,” you parrot, dazed and entranced, and he kisses you once more. 

minho blinks; you blink, and you shake your head free of his grasp. he laughs at the look of bewilderment on your face and thumbs at the confused scrunch of your eyebrows. 

“why are you looking at me like that?” you ask. wasn’t he just fussing at you for being a brat? 

“because i love you,” is all he says, and it still makes your heart race even though you can tell he’s up to something. minho pulls himself off of you and settles comfortably against the headboard. “you should continue what you were doing earlier.” 

it’s like your body moves on autopilot. you scoot as close to him as you physically can before throwing a leg over his and slipping your hand between your thighs. you’re surprised he’s letting you touch yourself at all after the stunt you pulled, but you won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. your gut tells you you’re missing something though, you just can’t put your finger on what. 

“it feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks against your hair. it does feel good. your pussy’s been soaked, and it’s pruning your fingers. you dip two fingers into your hole to gather more wetness to spread on your clit. a strangled gasp leaves your lips at the noise it makes, slick and dirty, and minho hums his own approval. 

he lets you use his thigh as leverage as you grind against your own fingers, leg pushing down on his whenever you drive your hips against your hand. 

“i’m gonna cum,” you whimper. you’ve waited so long. 

minho smiles and peppers a kiss to your ear. “yeah?” 

two sticky fingers press harshly down on your clit. you can feel your release coming, can almost taste it in the air. it burns in your belly, swirling and building as your hips thrum in their search for your pleasure. 

your cunt gives its first throb as you begin to cum, and your hand slips away before you can even register that it’s moving. 

the first instinct you have is to bring your hand back to finish the job, but you can’t. your mind won’t let you. a pained keen leaves your lips, and minho holds you while you squirm through a ruined orgasm. 

“m-minho! minho, nnnn- wha- what? why? minho, please!” 

a kiss to your cheek, a smile against your temple. 

“hm? what’s wrong, jagi?” 

“w-why? why? i can’t-”

“you can. do it again.” 

you tuck your face against his chest but readily comply. minho sits up straighter so he can hold you close, one arm around your shaking shoulders and the other arm resting on one of your spread thighs. your clit is sensitive, achy with an unexpectedly ruined orgasm. this time, this time you’ll cum, you swear it. 

your wrist is starting to hurt, but you don’t pay it any mind. you’re desperate to cum, desperate to cum for minho. so much so that you’re drooling into the cotton of his t-shirt. you open your mouth and clamp your teeth down on the fabric; minho doesn’t even react when you begin to gnaw on it. 

he knows what your frantic, garbled mumbling means the second you start, and he smells your tears before he sees them as you’re forced to ruin your second orgasm. 

your legs clamp shut this time in an attempt to feel any last dreg of pleasure, but minho is quick to pry them open and claw at your thigh until you’re whimpering. 

“aigoo, my baby. what are you crying for, hm?” 

“min- minho, minho, i don’t know wh- why i can’t. why? i want to cum!” you could throw a tantrum. you want to. you want to kick your legs and holler and roll around on your bed until you get your way. 

“silly, you’ve been cumming,” he coos, wiping your tears and licking the salty wetness from his thumb when he’s done. 

his hold on you changes every time you touch yourself. now, he holds you like a baby and rocks you gently while your fingers are squashed between your slicked thighs. your movement is tempered like this, but it still doesn’t stop you from trying to really make yourself cum again. 

your cramped, tired digits rub back and forth against your clit; it’s sensitive and achy due to two unsatisfying orgasms, but you don’t want to stop until you cum right. you can do it. minho sucks a deep kiss into the thrumming pulse point on your neck. 

“yes, yes, i- m’gonna cum, i can. i’ll cum, i’ll cum-”

the third ruined orgasm doesn’t come as a surprise, but it still makes you cry into his shirt when your hand slips from between your thighs without your permission. 

“alright, alright. enough of that. i hate seeing my jagi cry.” 

“no you don’t,” you snivel with a pitiful headbutt to his chest. 

“ah, you’re right. you’re so pretty when you do. i just want my turn now.” 

minho shucks off his drool-covered t-shirt and rearranges you until you’re laying on your back. your limbs barely work, flopping uselessly wherever minho manhandles them. you can’t even grab onto his hair when he bullies himself between your legs and kisses sloppily up your spread thighs.  

“i’m hungry,” minho purrs, and you tilt your hips up closer to his face. if he’s hungry, you’ll happily let him eat. he watches you arch your back and rock your hips with a glint in his eyes, letting you debase yourself for his viewing. your brain finally catches onto what he means when the white of his eyes turn dark red and his veins begin to protrude out from under them. 

you can’t complain too much when a sharp bite to your thigh is just as pleasurable in its own unique way. it’s euphoric. whether it’s because it’s minho who’s biting you or because of the venom in his saliva when his fangs elongate, you can't say. your body goes taut, hands clenching into fists at your side as minho’s fangs pierce the tender skin of your inner thigh. 

minho hums against your skin as he drinks. he doesn’t feed from your thighs as often as you feed from his, much prefers the intimacy of feeding from your neck or looking into your hazy eyes while he bites into your wrist. 

your blood is a delicacy to him, and you know it. he’s told you before, and you’ve experienced it yourself when you feed on him. vampire blood has a smoother aftertaste than that of humans or animals. minho closes his eyes and lets his hands pet at your sides while he feeds. 

it’s a shame when he pulls away, but you’re blessed with the sight of a sated minho. remnants of your blood drip from his fangs, smearing red across his swollen lips and his chin. you can feel your own mouth watering in response. pavlov’s dog. minho’s fledgling. 

“want,” is all you can manage through the rush of your near bloodlust, and minho’s arm snakes up to your open mouth. 

he doesn’t even flinch when your now extended fangs pierce the skin of his wrist, but he coos when your uncoordinated limbs move to hug his arm to your chest. 

you drink frantically from his wrist, wanting more more more, but you can only take so much at a time. his blood seeps slowly from the corners of your mouth in your haste to take in as much as you can before swallowing in needy gulps. 

all you’re focused on is the feel of his skin and his warm blood flooding your mouth, so you’re shocked out of your stupor when minho’s bloodied lips find the still slick heat of your cunt. his hand falls from your lips when you cry out, but he’s quick to cover your mouth with a rough palm so he can eat in peace. 

his red-stained tongue circles your clit like it’s candy, and when he burrows his face further into your cunt, some of your leftover blood smears against your pubic mound. 

you’re getting it all over, is what you want to say, but you can’t with his mean hand covering your mouth. 

minho’s fangs have since retracted to their normal length, but the residual saliva from his feed makes your cunt tingle in ways it only can when you come into contact with his venom. 

the sounds are filthy. you’re thankful it’s only you and minho in the house because there’s no doubt the noises coming from your bedroom are blaring. if it’s not the wet clicking noises of minho’s devious tongue flicking against your swollen clit, it’s the muffled cries you’re making behind his hand. 

if you were in your right mind, you’d notice he’s being even more thorough than usual when he eats your pussy. minho’s spit seeps down to your hole, and he uses two fingers to swipe it up before bullying them inside. 

“hugging me tight already,” he muses. minho purses his lips in a sloppy kiss and shakes his head from side to side while his fingers work you open. 

it’s not until the tingling on your clit fades into numbness that you realize what he’s doing, and your legs kick out in defiance. 

“mmmph!” it’s muffled by his hand that still covers your mouth, but you finally muster enough strength to shove his hand away. “minho! minho, no, please don’t be mean!” 

“i’m mean? oh, jagi. you were mean to me earlier, don’t you remember? i’m just giving you the punishment you deserve.” 

oh, if it’s not the consequences of your own actions. 

his tongue dips down to lick where his fingers spear you open, and you can’t feel it at all, nor can you feel his steadily thrusting fingers. 

“i-!” you’re going to cry again. “minho, i’m sorry! i just- i wanted to play, that’s all. i’m sorry. pleasepleaseplease don’t, i can’t feel- can’t feel anything.” 

“i’m sorry too, baby.” his voice is so sweet, so gentle. so condescending. “you made me do this.” 

you can only tell he removes his fingers because you see him do it. you weren’t lying when you told him you can’t feel anything down there, the venom left over from his feed numbing you inside and out due to his dexterous tongue and sneaky fingers. 

the slap to your pussy comes as a surprise. your breath catches on a gasp, throat clicking with viscous spit. it doesn’t hurt at all, but the sound of it is enough to have you trembling. 

his teeth are tinted red when he smiles that devil bunny smile you hate to love so much. minho doesn’t even bother taking his sweatpants off all the way, just tucks the band of them under his sac and situates himself on his knees between your spread legs. 

minho sheaths himself inside slowly. for whose benefit, you don’t know, but he grunts when he stills balls deep in your cunt. 

“so soft inside,” he murmurs. “such a wet pussy.” 

you’re pathetic; tears are already brimming in your eyes again. you want to feel how hard his cock is, you want to feel the way he makes a home for himself inside of you. 

“minho,” you mewl. “does it feel good? can’t- i can’t feel, you have to tell me. please tell me.” 

“your pussy is perfect.” 

that makes you whine. all you can do is lay there and let minho use your body to get off. your breasts bounce with his thrusts, he shifts you up the bed with how good he’s fucking you. 

his head hangs low as he watches himself slide into the gummy wetness of your cunt, hair dangling and bouncing when he moves. his hands are balled into fists, and they press against the mattress on either side of you. 

“my little doll,” he grits. “just a- ah, ahh fuck- a fuckhole. you were so mean, jagi, aren’t i so nice to fuck you still?” 

“yes! yes, fuck me! please, minho i was bad, i’m sorry. will you- keep- please, keep fucking me until you cum.” 

he pushes your knees to your chest and raises into a squat, his thighs press tightly against the backs of yours. his cock slips free and he’s the only one to fuss, but he takes the base of his cock in his hands and slaps the mushroom head against your clit. 

minho looks big like this. he towers over you, shoulders wide set and chest bulging. a droplet of sweat drips from a wet strand of hair and onto your cheek. he watches it roll down into your hairline as he sheaths himself inside again. the slick noises your cunt makes has your chest heating up right away, and minho catches your arms before they can reach up to cover your face. 

“take it. just let me in,” he says, and you nod. 

the angle is deeper this way; the slap of minho’s skin against yours is nearly deafening. 

“you’re clenching so hard on me, jagi. gonna cum, hm?” 

are you? can you? you can’t feel a thing. can’t feel the way his cock wrecks your little hole or the new addition of his fingers rubbing uselessly at the stiff bud of your clit. 

“i can’t fe- feel anything, minho, i dunno?!” you cry. your chin quivers when you look up at him, but there’s a frantic look in his eyes when he nods his head back at you. the laugh that bubbles out of his mouth is almost maniacal. 

“you’re going to. i don’t have to compel it out of you either, hm? ahh, jagi. oh, jagi, there. you’re cumming. you’re cumming, baby, i can feel it. keep-”

if he tells you so, you believe it. you must be cumming for him. the only further proof you need is the sudden burst of wetness you feel against your thighs. it’s loud, and your cunt contracts so violently that it pushes minho’s cock from inside, splashing against his stomach and soaking his sweatpants. 

a moan bursts from behind your lips when he slips inside again, and his own breathy moan follows suit. he loves your noises, loves how desperate and high pitched they get when you’re waiting for his cum, so you keep it up despite the lack of sensation you feel. he fucks you rough and fast in his haste to cum too, and you’re shamefully a little disheartened you can’t feel the overstimulation you know would be setting in by now. 

“please cum inside me. my minho, my minho, please? i love you. i love you. i’ll be good now, baby, please?” 

he stops breathing when he cums, pressing deep inside and stilling as he empties it inside where it belongs. his belly trembles and his thighs do too, and you’d giggle at the little whine that leaves his lips if you weren’t so focused on trying to feel his cum spilling inside despite your numbness. 

minho’s toes crack whenever he eases back on his haunches and guides his softening cock out of your hole. he doesn’t even bother pulling his pants all the way up before slumping to the side and smushing his cheek against your sweaty shoulder. 

he rests a small hand on his favorite emotional support boob while you both come down together. 

“i can’t believe you made me squirt and i didn’t even feel it,” you mumble. you squeeze your thighs together. still nothing, but you can feel his leaking cum smearing against the plush of your thighs. 

“i can’t believe you actually managed to uninvite me into this house on a technicality. that’s cruel. you’re cruel and mean.” 

“you can’t call me cruel and mean after i squirted for you!” 

minho jiggles your boob in his hand and pinches your nipple until you swat at him. 

“yeah, and now i have to walk out of here pantless.”

ok HI here are some facts if you've never seen the vampire diaries or just some facts about this universe specifically!

vampires have to be invited into a residence by the living owner of said residence. your rental house was leased by both you and your bestie, so you could invite him inside. now that ownership has changed to just your best friend, she is the only person who can. even after you died and became a vampire, he was still able to come inside since the ownership of the house hadn't changed. until now :)

the ring you mention to minho on the phone is a daylight ring. vampires will burn in the sunlight without it, so you and minho having a daylight ring is a necessity! even if you're inside and you walk by a window during the day without your ring on, your ass would catch on fire lmao

original vampires (the lee family... minho, felix, hoseok, taemin, chaeryeong?? shit, idk. i'm just naming lees i like lolll) are the first ever vampires to walk the earth. that's why they're called originals. original vampires can compel regular degular vampires (and humans, and vampire hybrids!) which is why minho is able to compel you. non-original vampires cannot compel other vampires, so it doesn't work the other way around, but they can compel humans.

compulsion is mainly done by making eye contact with whoever you want to compel and stating whatever it is that you want them to do. when someone is under compulsion, they won't remember the act of being compelled. so basically, you don't remember what minho made you do to yourself until he tells you about it afterwards, hence the dubcon tag. so in this case, he'll have to tell you he made you ruin your own orgasm three times as part of a punishment lmao

vampires can feed from other vampires, but it takes a very long time and a lot of dedication for it to be a sustainable way of life. it's very rare for that to happen, so you can feed on whatever you like! humans, animals, blood bags.... you and minho feed on each other in bed because it's sexy. not to actually gain nutrients. the numbing venom is something i came up with though, sorry i didn’t make that very clear, but i thought it would be a fun little addition!