杏

the familiar landscape of your bedroom seems staged, despite nothing being out of place. you hold your breath, the air carrying a subtle current—faint dried leaves—a scent that does not belong here among your laundry and clothes. a shadow by the closet is too deep. you stare at it, and it seems to stare back, a pool of absolute darkness that drinks the light around it. your own pulse becomes a frantic drum in your ears, a loud, vulnerable rhythm you are suddenly desperate to hide.

then, you feel it. pressure. the attention of a focused gaze on the beating vein in your throat. it feels like a cold fingertip resting gently against your brain. there’s no malice in the touch, not yet. you want to move, to scream, to reach for the light, but your body is leaden, caught in the slow and thick syrup of dread. the only thing you can do is lie there, listening to the deafening thunder of your own heart.

“do not be afraid.” the darkness speaks, low and gentle. there’s a sense of calm in the way it articulates each word, so your body betrays your judgment. you recognize this feeling, this voice, you recognize the shadow that engulfs all light from your sight. you embrace it, alas.

his hands around you, cold and lifeless. moving in familiarity like they knew every inch of your skin, his breath hovers over the most sensitive parts of your neck, exposing your vulnerability to a hunger so vast it feels like stillness.

“it’s just me” he says, golden eyes finally meeting yours. his soft hair tickles against the palm of your hands, a provoking urge to run them through it, and you listen.

“is it?” the dread doesn’t fade, and your instincts aren’t all soothed just yet. jingyuan sighs and shakes his head slightly, his body tenses up a second too long for you to notice. his presence shifts into a ripple of cold that is almost… protective. the weight receding a fraction, like a guardian turning to face a new threat.

and then he arrives.

corruption at its finest. the scent grows thick and metallic, tasting of wet pennies and old blood at the back of your throat. it carries the cloying sweetness of decay beneath perfume, the rot of roses in a sealed coffin. the shadow he casts bleeds; it's a stain that seeps from the corner by your door, spreading like a bruise across your walls, and he pressures too. he slithers across your cheeks, your neck, the back of your hands, a sensation of being slowly smeared with something foul. you feel seen in the worst way, assessed, inventoried, portioned out. it’s messier than usual, wrong.

jingyuan perks up beside you the moment blade’s physical form manifests on top of you, ready to lunge at your throat. he raises his forearm up to blade’s mouth, letting him bite and take from his own blood instead. the dark-haired growls in frustration but doesn't stop. you adjust your position to a sitting one once a few droplets of blood start falling on your face. you wipe them off with your fingers and stare.

“there you go. easy now.” jingyuan encourages blade, the latter tries to growl in annoyance but it ends up turning into a low whimper. his breathing slows, and he settles more comfortably half-straddling you, he starts licking up his mess from jingyuan’s forearm when he notices the drops on your hand, and brings it up to his lips to kiss it away.

he’s definitely calmer now, the mara-driven bloodlust resting to a foggy thought, and you can tell he's satiated, albeit not so happy that his meal wasn't you instead. he looks at your flushed face and eyes that shy away from his, characteristically unimpressed. he leans in then, pressing his forehead against yours.

“you missed me, right?” it comes off less than a question and more as a matter of fact. you barely miss the way he holds his breath for your answer nonetheless. you nod gently.

“admit it out loud then.” his voice comes out as a hushed annoyed grumble that triggers a small giggle out of the white-haired by your side, jingyuan moves to sit more comfortably beside you, grabbing your hand on his own and bringing it up close to his face. he starts placing soft, gentle kisses up your arm. he feels the rushing of your blood flowing through his entire body just by the mere contact of your skin.

“i missed you.” you whisper. blade huffs and buried his face in your neck and licks, you freeze. “stop teasing,” jingyuan scolds half-mindedly. “‘m not.” blade responds before taking a deep inhale, he’s too full to actually bite, but you won't ever stop being so tempting. you bring your free hand up his back and bury your fingers into his hair, relinquishing in the way he utterly melts against you.

on the other hand, jingyuan keeps kissing your arm. slowly, as if the adoration he harbors would be enough to break you if he ever were to release it all at once. “why is it you that always gets to bite?” blade asks, nose deep in your neck, hands possessively around your waist. jingyuan lets out a deep hum of faux contemplation, seemingly uninterested to bring his attention to anything other than you, his eyes are closed, focusing on your pulse throbbing inside his head.

he can’t help but lick the inside of your wrist too, and he gives an open-mouthed gasp as he opens his eyes to silently plead for your mercy. you give him a single nod, and you see the physical restraint he had been practicing this entire time fade away in an instant.

he leans in, face dangerously close to yours. he studies your expression with a small grin, from the way your eyes widen at the sudden proximity, to the sight of his lips becoming too tempting to tear your gaze away. he’s amused, and he is but a breath away from kissing you before deciding to lower his head down to the unoccupied side of your neck. you close your eyes once he starts kissing you there, and blade doesn’t stay behind.

you know better than to squirm around at the sensation, in fear of deepening the wounds inflicted. so you remain as still as possible, letting your body drift away from this realm, and drown in the waves of pleasure shooting from the tip of your toes to your head. jingyuan’s tongue making sure not a single drop goes to waste, while blade takes it upon himself to distract you from the slight sting of fangs with kisses on your temple, always a bit harsher than intended.

some would refer to you as a bloodbag,—if anyone were to find out, that is—but you’re more than happy to be in this position, that’s why they chose you. you wouldn’t mind dying doing what you love, would you?