The couch is too small for both of them, but Woonhak doesn't seem to care. She has Jongseob crowded against the armrest, one knee wedged between her thighs, her mouth already on Jongseob's neck like she's trying to prove a point.

"You're so tense," Woonhak mumbles against her skin, teeth grazing just enough to make Jongseob's breath hitch. "Relax."

"Don't tell me what to do." Jongseob's hands fist in the back of Woonhak's shirt, pulling her closer anyway.

Woonhak laughs; low, mocking, the kind of laugh that makes Jongseob want to shove her off and kiss her stupid at the same time. "You're literally clinging to me right now."

"I'm not—"

"You are." Woonhak pulls back just enough to look at her, dark eyes gleaming. Her thumb traces Jongseob's bottom lip, pressing down slightly. "Your mouth says one thing, but your body? Totally different story."

Jongseob wants to argue. She really does. But then Woonhak's thumb slips past her lips, and her brain short-circuits.

"That's what I thought," Woonhak murmurs.

She kisses her then, hard and messy, all tongue and teeth and zero finesse. Not romantic. Desperate. The kind of kiss that says I don't know what this is but I can't stop. Jongseob kisses her back with the same energy, because that's the thing about them; they're never soft with each other. Soft would mean something. Soft would require talking about feelings, and neither of them is willing to go there.

Woonhak's hand slides under her shirt, palm flat against her stomach, and Jongseob gasps into her mouth.

"Cold," she hisses.

"Shut up." Woonhak's fingers trail higher, nails dragging just enough to leave red marks. "You like it."

Jongseob bites her lip and Woonhak groans, pulling back to watch the way her teeth sink into the skin.

"You're so annoying," Jongseob says, breathless.

"And yet." Woonhak's hand stills, right below her ribs. "You keep coming back."

Jongseob's jaw tightens. It's true, and they both know it. No matter how many times Woonhak pulls away, no matter how many times she acts like Jongseob is just another warm body, Jongseob keeps showing up. Because when Woonhak looks at her like this— like she's the only thing in the room worth seeing— it feels like enough.

It isn't. But it feels like it.

"Maybe I'm just bored," Jongseob says, forcing her voice flat.

Woonhak's eyes flicker, something sharp and dangerous behind them. "Bored?"

"Yeah." Jongseob shoves at her shoulder, trying to flip their positions. Woonhak doesn't budge. "You're not that special, Hak."

Woonhak grabs her wrists, pins them above her head in one swift motion. "Liar."

"Get off—"

"Say it again." Woonhak's face is inches from hers, breath hot against her lips. "Say I'm not special."

Jongseob's heart hammers. She feels the heat of Woonhak's body pressing her into the cushions, smells the faint vanilla of her perfume mixed with something sharper— frustration, maybe. Or want.

She opens her mouth to say it. To lie again.

Woonhak kisses her before she can, swallowing whatever bullshit is about to come out. Rougher this time. Almost punishing. Jongseob's wrists ache under Woonhak's grip, and she arches into it, because that's what she does. She takes what Woonhak gives her, even when it hurts.

When Woonhak finally pulls back, they're both breathing hard.

"You're such a mess," Woonhak whispers, and there's something almost tender in her voice now, buried under all the sarcasm. "You know that?"

"You're one to talk." Jongseob's voice cracks, and she hates it. "You can't even decide if you want me or not."

Woonhak goes still.

"I want you." Too fast. Then, quieter: "I just don't know what that means."

Jongseob stares at her. For once, Woonhak isn't smirking. Her face is open, raw in a way Jongseob rarely sees. It makes her chest ache.

"Then figure it out." Jongseob's voice is sharp. "Because I can't keep doing this."

"Keep doing what?"

"This." Jongseob gestures vaguely between them. "The back and forth. The—you kiss me like you're trying to kill me, and then you leave. And I'm supposed to just... wait? Be okay with that?"

Woonhak's grip on her wrists loosens. She looks almost guilty, which is maybe the worst part.

"I don't mean to," she starts.

"Yes, you do." Jongseob cuts her off, voice cutting through the haze. "You know exactly what you're doing. You just don't care enough to stop."

The silence that follows is heavy. Woonhak's eyes search hers, and Jongseob can see the war happening behind them— the part of her that wants to run, and the part that wants to stay.

Finally, Woonhak leans down, presses her forehead against Jongseob's.

"I care," she whispers. "I just don't know how to show it."

Jongseob's throat tightens. "Try."

Woonhak kisses her again, softer this time. Slower. Like she's trying to memorize the shape of Jongseob's mouth. Not frantic or desperate— careful. Intentional.

When she pulls back, her eyes are shining.

"Harder," Jongseob whispers, almost like a dare. "Love me harder."

Woonhak's breath hitches. Her hand comes up to cup Jongseob's jaw, thumb stroking her cheek.

"Okay," she says softly. "Okay."

And she does.

creds: red lace by @pixopix, black lace by @strangergraphics, please support by @dollywons ♡

tags: @tsanho ⸝⸝ @pupillary ⸝⸝ @taestulipss ⸝⸝ @leehanaholic ⸝⸝ @beomtomie ⸝⸝ @mwotgata ⸝⸝ @kaixlix ⸝⸝ @haede-shi ⸝⸝ @ivehan ⸝⸝ @angelwings-fly ⸝⸝ @kjunebuggie ⸝⸝ @niiqv ⸝⸝ @haniipie [wanna be tagged in my next fic? comment on the reader registry!!]

you sigh, standing up and brushing off your clothes. “thanks for the food. it was really good.”

“it was just pasta,” woonhak protests, but he grins at you nevertheless.

you grab your sweater and pull it on, glancing outside at the swaying trees across the street under the amber lamplight. “it looks windy out there.”

“does it?” woonhak’s voice carries a note of concern, and you turn back to him with a smile.

“it’ll be okay!” you grab your backpack and head over to the entrance of his apartment. slipping your feet into your shoes, you kneel down to tie the laces. “bye, woonhak.”

“wait!”

you look up at him getting up from his chair, waving a hand at you as he disappears into his bedroom. “wait there!”

you stand in the doorway, confused, shoelaces only half-tied as you stand back up. you hear him rummaging around, the soft thud of the closet door closing, and then he’s back, rushing towards you with a smile on his face and folded fabric in his hands.

“come here,” he says softly, his fingers beckoning you towards him. something in your heart stutters as you oblige, taking off your shoes again to join him in the middle of his living room.

woonhak unfolds his jacket from his arms, stepping into your space to drape it around your shoulders. “you’ll be cold with just what you’re wearing,” he murmurs. he glances up at you, and you can see yourself reflected back in his dark irises.

oh.

heat rising to your cheeks, you can only nod mutely. you grab the sides of the dark brown fabric, feeling its softness between your fingertips. it’s solid, it’s warm. you pull your arms through the sleeves, and all you can think about is how he probably never thinks twice about wearing this jacket on a cold morning.

he’s the one who wears this.

and now it’s you.

as you zip up the jacket, he moves over to his chair, where he’s kept a scarf hanging over the back. he picks it up, shaking it out as he comes back over to you. “this will help you too”, he says, wrapping the knit fabric around your neck.

what makes your heart pound so hard in your ears isn’t the fact that you’re wearing his clothes, not really.

it’s the fact that he’s so gentle.

earlier, with giving you the jacket. and now this. he loops the scarf once, twice around your neck, adjusting it so the hanging ends look even to any onlooker. he pulls the edges up around your ears, his knuckles brushing your cheeks, and you pray to whatever god is looking down on you that he doesn’t notice the heat radiating off your skin.

“all good?” he asks softly, and you nod.

“warm and toasty,” you croak out after a moment, and the smile he gives you is somehow so unlike him, yet perfectly woonhak at the same time: small, yet it puffs up his cheeks and crinkles the edges of his sparkling eyes.

“okay,” he breathes, his hands resting on your arms for just a moment longer before he steps back. “i’ll let you go now.”

i don’t want to leave, you think, but you turn anyway. away from the warmth of woonhak’s apartment, away from the warmth of him.

well. perhaps you’re not quite turning completely away. after all, with woonhak’s jacket and scarf, it kind of feels like his warmth is surrounding you.

like a hug.

he watches as you crouch down, tying the laces of your shoes properly this time, and smiles as you stand back up. “bye, y/n,” he says, giving you a small wave.

“bye, woonhak,” you say, waving back. “thank you for the jacket. and the scarf.”

his smile grows wider. “it’s nothing. stay warm out there, okay?”

“mhm,” you nod, and you know that no matter how strongly the wind blows tonight, you’ll be warm.

٠ ࣪⭑ © starriniqhts 2026, all rights reserved.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ want to check out the planetarium's other exhibits?

You're supposed to be free of thoughts of him. Right. Then why the fuck is your drunk mind conjuring up his snaggle-toothed grin…?

"Y/N?" You hear Jongseob call from your right. Or is it your left? What is direction, really?

"L/N Y/N!" Another loud yell from the other side—that sounds like Lily, your other blond, more sober friend. But all of it is white noise when the only thing you can focus on is the face up in front, mouthing the exact same word you've heard multiple times already.

Your name.

And you don't know why you do it. Or if there is a reason at all. Maybe it's all muscle memory, the invisible pull of you to him despite how big an impact time has made on the stretched-out string.

"Y/N?"

You blink, tongue tasting like daquirie and dread.

Because why the fuck are you in a club, facing your ex boyfriend of all people when you should be living up your victory at successfully ignoring the asshole for a whole year!?

Because you're an idiot, your brain supplies uselessly.

"Uh…" he tries again, and this time your vision is refocused enough to map out the details. His light brown hair he's run gel through for the night, the cropped tee that he should be shivering in and you're kinda pissed that he isn't, the snakebite piercings you've had the pleasure—wait, no, fuck!—the…horrors…of tasting.

He's the same, and still somehow, not.

"Hey," you mumble, readjusting your balance on the drink-spilt floor. "What are you doing here Woonhak?"

He looks at you for a couple breaths. Then, realising you're still floating in the haze of whatever concoction you'd had last, softens his voice to reply. "Well it's a club…I'm…clubbing?"

Bullshit. "You hate clubbing. You said it gives you a heat stroke. And that the DJ makes you want to eat your music production diploma. And feed it to your neighbour's dog—"

"Okay, okay," he stops you exasperatedly, moving closer to avoid bumping into the crowd of mindless party-goers around the two of you. "Good to know your memory is perfectly fine when it comes to me."

And maybe he means to say, when it comes to complaining about me, but the slip-up makes tingling heat crawl up your neck.

The alcohol—that has to be it. You'll blame it on the alcohol for now. It has nothing to do with Kim Woonhak's big brown eyes, or his lips that always quirk to one side, or the gentle dips of his nose, or—

"Stop it!" you scold yourself out loud, slapping your hands to your red hot cheeks. "Water. Get me water."

He doesn't wait to follow your order; it's instinctive, it seems like. In record speed, you're ushered closer to the bar, further away from your group of friends who may or may not be losing their minds looking for you (you'll explain to them later with a couple bats of your lashes and some dramatic vows to bake them cookies as compensation), and you feel a cool glass of water pressed into your palm.

"Thank—" you choke back the words when you realise who you're about to thank. He doesn't deserve it. So you look him in the eye and down the whole thing, hoping the daggers pierce a nice, painful spot in his heart.

"So…." he starts, hands deep in his jeans pockets, voice hesitant. You hope that's fear. "How have you been?"

"Been great. Swimmingly great. Extraordinary, actually!" But your exaggerated peppiness is short-lived. "What about you? Did your plans go to shit already…I thought you were supposed to backpacking through Europe right now? Is that why you're here instead?" you bite back passive-aggressively. The pettiness does not go unnoticed by Woonhak's sorry eyes.

"That's…plans changed," he concedes. There's a shift of the beam-lights, leaving a soft glow over his face; you catch a glint near his mouth, and then you curse your entire existence for being so affected by his stupid piercings. "Life had just…sucked me dry, y'know," is his vague-ass excuse.

The shittiest reason he can give to you after declaring on a random Tuesday that he was no longer going to be tied down to a 9-to-5 that paid decently well, quitting his job without even giving you a heads-up, and asking you—no, assuming you would, follow him to the ends of the literal earth because he was on a journey to find himself.

Find himself. In this economy!?

Ugh. You remember how you wanted to strangle his stupidly long neck and sit him down to knock some sense into that thick skull of his. But you didn't. You stayed stubborn and broke up with him, well into the second year of you being together, expecting him to beg for you to take him back and choose you over the hippie lifestyle of 'finding oneself' when there are debts to pay and mouths to feed (yours).

You're still mad he didn't choose you; he'd just cried the whole time according to what Jaehyun had relayed, then sorrowfully booked a ticket to Italy in his journey to get through the break-up.

And now he's here, standing like time had frozen over and him with it.

"Did you find someone else?" you ask, tongue loose as ever. Your chest hurts from imagining a 'yes' from him. What if he did? What if he's happy when you're not? What if they're better than anything you've bee—

"Never," Woonhak says in a sincere whisper, "only ever been you." It's weighty one, and his fingers twitch over the bar-counter, with a kind of thirst you know you feel too.

Mistake number 1: you stare at his hand for too long. They're objectively nice hands—long fingers and all. Nice knuckles. Pretty tendons. A deft wrist.

Mistake number 2: you're not subtle enough to stop your study. He notices, and he notices how your sight traces the dip of his neck and up his mouth and lands at the silver there. He gulps.

Your wine-soaked brain blares red—'BAD IDEA', it screams in all caps. It's not too late to go back from this; you can just pivot on your feet and leave. Leave and never look back and risk the chance of never seeing his face again.

Your heart, however, it sings a little, beats harder and calls his name.

Mistake number 3: your hands on his shirt, pulling, his mouth landing against yours. It tastes like beer. You don't mind.

And fuck, it's a kiss you indulge a little too much in, with all the desperation that comes from seeing him for the first time after an eternity, but knowing his mouth inside out like you've memorised it a thousand times over when you still could.

For a second, Woonhak doesn't respond. You sense his awkward fingers at your sides, the stiffness of his body, but right as you're about to pull back and apologize, maybe run, he grabs your upper arm and crushes you back against his mouth.

Heat. Everything is heat and sugar. When your lips taste the metal, it's like awakening a buried part of you that you've been to scared to dig up. Smell remembers—taste remembers, whether you yourself do or not. There is a thumb working at your jaw, coaxing the hinges loose so there's a tilt of an angle, for better access.

And fuck, yeah, you're so stupid for this. But Woonhak tastes so sweet and you missed this and it feels like he wants you after all this time when you've been convincing yourself he was practically over you by now. So you detach from him, just long enough to say, "Do you wanna get out of here?"

Woonhak blinks, as though in a trance, or as though he's doing long division in his mind with the exact cluelessness of a lobotomized fish.

"The…bathroom?" he suggests after figuring it out.

Your lips curl into an offended sneer. "No, not the bathroom, what? Outside."

He appeases you with a thumb brushing over your wrist. "Like your place?"

"No, you idiot. Like your car. You're stupid if you think I'm letting you back into my house. I just got it deep cleaned and got rid of your disgusting perfume stench; god knows how it lasted for so long."

"Hey, it's not a stench—"

"One more word out of your mouth and you leave the bar alone tonight, got it?"

The sharp edge to your warning has him swallow the rest of his sentence and nod with feverish obedience. You grab him by the shirt and drag him through the mass of sweaty bodies and out the front door.

He clambers for his keys, almost panicking until he finds it in his pocket and grins wide as he opens the backdoor of his car (a new one you haven't seen before. Looks rental), and decides to be a gentleman when he holds it open for you instead of jumping in headfirst like you'd expected him to.

And maybe that's the thing about expectations—a little subversion is all it takes for you to find it absolutely, irrevocably, senselessly hot.

You're pulling him in before you know it, climbing into his lap and pushing him back against the leather headrest as he has half the mind to lock up. Moonlight spills everywhere—on the curve of his cheeks, on his fluttering lashes, on the glint near his mouth—and his car smells like him, metallic and sweet, his musk lingering everywhere like a memory.

The hunger is palpable, and you dive in like a starved woman.

Your friends are going to kill you for this later, but for now, your brain is just Woonhak, Woonhak, Woonhak, melting into the feeling of how warm his mouth is. It's so cold outside, wind nipping, but he's a furnace in winter. On a particular tug, his teeth grazes your bottom lip and draws out a hungry whine out of you.

You've always hated those stupid teeth of his—how they peek out through his smile and makes all your inhibition go to shit. You hum into the kiss, making him grin into you. You can feel it even if you can't see. "Lower."

"Hm?" he asks half-mindedly, lost in the sensation of the push and pull, of your fingers in his hair.

Instead of answering with words, you pry him off of you and lead his mouth to your jaw, shrugging off the jacket that's covering your shoulders to expose skin.

And Woonhak—he might be kiss-drunk and dumb, but he knows how you make your demands.

"I—I shouldn't," he stutters, lips shiny. "What if—"

"Oh for fuck's sake, it's not the first time." You roll your eyes in annoyance. "Leave a mark, so I can look at it later."

"Y/N…."

"Kim Woonhak," you mimic, but your patience is thin. "This is your one fucking chance to get something right. You're the one that left me. And for what? Fucking Romania?"

He has enough shame to give you an apologetic grimace, but seeing you regard him with annoyance still, he nods several times to agree with you. "It wasn't as good as I expected," he placates, giving you those puppy-eyes.

You don't have anything against Romania, not really. Or any of the other locations your ex boyfriend ditched you to go explore like some idiot. You have no qualms at all.

But if he doesn't get his mouth on you right now, you just might.

"Holy shi—" You slap a hand to your mouth to stop yourself from letting out an embarassing reaction. "Hm, there," you mumble through watery eyes as he works to suck a splotch onto your neck, a spot above the collarbone.

"Just one?" he asks as he leaves a kiss over the bruise.

"Use teeth. How I like," you instruct.

"What!?" he asks, looking panicked. Like you'd asked him to put a knife to your throat of something.

"It's just teeth for fuck's sake. Just a little bite. Now go on."

"Y/N, I don't think that's a good idea—"

"Woonhak," you grip him by the jaw, making him meet your eyes. "How long has it been?"

He gulps. "A year."

"365 days to be exact. You left last December. Right?"

"Right."

"So you want me to make it another 365 days so you can be the one that waits this time? You want me to leave, yeah?"

"No, wait—" He launches an arm at the door-handle where you're teaching for. "Okay! Okay, yes, alright. I'll…bite."

You grin in victory, shuffling a little to make the angle easier. He mumbles something like, insane woman, and you giggle at that because he isn't wrong. You are insane for thinking it would be easy to get over this guy. You're insane for being here, all on your own will and want, in his lap in his car, asking him to sink his teeth into you.

You're insane when you tip your head back at the feeling of enamel on flesh, fingers pressing against his shirt, then around his bicep when it begins to sting. It's like a dance. Rhythm and muscle memory. You've done this a hundred times before, in various degrees of urgency, but every single time with red grooves marking your neck and warmth pooling underneath it, bringing a blush to your cheeks whenever you were at work, dying under the humdrum of routine.

Your brain is a haze when you feel him tense on you, his hands tightening where they grip your waist, a little desperate, and a little like he's putting up a fight to hold back. "Don't," you mutter with the worry he might do that. "Don't stop."

He shivers at your order and gasps into the wound, and before you can tease him about the reaction, his canines sinks right through your shoulder, quick and sharp. You gasp. "Woonhak—"

"Hmm…" He's lost in the rush, mouthing at the spot with more ferocity until you feel your own head spinning, the world blurring around its fringes. His smell is all you can think about, and the lightheaded, airy weightlessness you're floating on. What is this?

It's different from the other times. A prickle of pain rises again, and warmth spreading over your neck. When you spare a look at Woonhak, his eyes have gone half-lidded with…greed? Love? You can't tell. But he parts for one second before diving back in—and in the gap between, you see it.

Red.

On his lips, coating it. Blood. The glint of fangs.

Fangs?

"Hey did you shave your teeth or something?" you ask despite the delirium climbing inside of you. His mouth—you've mapped it out many times before—and it looks different. The canines are more pointy. They've got blood on them.

He doesn't know if he's supposed to answer or not it seems, because he just goes back to laving over the wound as though thoroughly entranced. Then another bite that sends electricity down your veins. And he's lapping at it, like a….like a….

"Vampire."

You can't linger on the thought for too long when he's running his mouth on your neck, moving up the other shoulder, dragging a thin smudge of blood across the surface and singeing your nostrils with the iron smell.

And then you sense it—beneath the perfume and the absence of body heat from Woonhak—under the darkness blanketing the dashboard. A silhouette. In the passenger seat up front.

A shriek leaves your mouth when you come to your own conclusions, the sound startling Woonhak out of his almost-psychedelic worship.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!? KIM WOONHAK WHAT—"

His head swerves to where you're looking at, your eyes blown out of their sockets. He almost gets a whiplash from how fast he turns back to you. "I can explain—"

"That's a fucking body up front!" you burst out, almost falling over with the force. "IS HE DEAD!!?"

Woonhak flails for an explanation, coming up empty before fixing you with a sheepish grin instead. "Babe, I can explain."

"Oh, don't 'Babe' me!'. What the fuck is going on!"

"Well…" He tries to figure out the best way to lay out his explanation, each of them looking like a dumb option from the what you can tell. Then he just opens his mouth, pulling the underside of his cheek with a finger to tap at his fang. (Fang!) "Shee thish. I wash turned."

You pull his wrist away from the thing, a strangely instinctive part of you worried he'll puncture his finger somehow. "What?"

"I was turned. In Romania," Woonhak supplies with more clarity, returning his hands to your waist to keep you from jumping off again. "I…I went to this breakup retreat up in the mountains, you see. They were supposed to help regaining control over your life if you were still…hung up on someone." He sucks in a deep breath, trying to see if you believe the insanities coming out his mouth. "Turned out it was not a retreat. It was a coven…of vampires. We were gonna be their meals, not their patrons. Guess I should have seen it coming from the coffin-style beds and lack of sunlight….whoops!"

You let the words settle into you, rolling it over to see if you can spot a lie on his face. Woonhak is easy to read, you know him inside out, and he isn't lying, that's for sure.

"So let me get this clear," you start, crossing your arm, completely forgoing the fact that there is a dead person barely a foot away from you. "You're a vampire."

"Fledgling, yes." He nods, nervous.

"You bit me because?"

"Because you asked."

"Okay, so…." There's a headache running up your neck, fury booking inside. Then, "What I'm hearing is—you've been using me like a juice-box all this time!?"

"You told me to bite! I didn't wanna…but then I kinda lost control because you taste pretty nice and—"

"Don't try to fucking flirt your way out if this!" you scold, huffing. "You drank my blood."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Yeah."

His expression falters, a little forlorn. You only now notice how pale he's gotten since you saw him last. How there's a rim of red around his pupils, his lips lacking colour if not for your blood-stain.

"Did you…hate it?" he asks, scared of your answer.

You think about lying, saying yes, you despised the feeling and him, but you can't. Not when he looks at you like that—like the same Woonhak who'd left you heartbroken. The same one you'd left with a matching broken heart, too.

"No," you gulp.

His next question comes immediately. "Did you miss me?"

Every bone in your body is telling you to fucking run. He's a vampire for god's sake. You'd only learnt about the existence of the supernatural like five minutes ago, but you're already so comfortable with entertaining the idea because it's attached to a pretty face and a skillful mouth.

You really are insane.

"If I say yes, will you bite me again?" You raise a brow, eager to gain control of the situation again. "Not enough to kill, but harder."

He tunes all of it out to zone in on the part he cares about the most. "You'd trust me to not hurt you?"

You ignore that in favour of climbing off of him and clambering to the driver's seat, and for a second, Woonhak freezes at the sudden shift in your demeanour.

Until you say, "I'll help you hide the body," jutting a thumb towards your side like there wasn't a corpse slumped over there. Like you have more pressing matters than the rando your ex had just sucked dry of life. "And then we go to my apartment."

Woonhak blinks incredulously. "I thought u said you won't let me in there again?"

You roll your eyes. "I won't if you keep mouthing off."

As always—and as predicted—Woonhak obeys. Soon you're in the front seat of his stupid car after having stashed a stupid body in the trunk, driving off to a lake to dispose of any evidence. You're not sure which truth will warrant a dramatic chide from Jongseob, or a shocking swoon from Lily—the dead body part, or the getting back with your ex part.

But hey, can they blame you? When your ex is a hot vampire who is also unfortunately the cutest man on Earth, sometimes you make mistakes.

And if its a mistake as hot as Kim Woonhak, then you'll willing to make it more than once.

fin.

a/n: reader is crazy but aren't we all a little? (*nervously looks around*). okay but the lore is kinda wacko in this lol and the man woonhak killed is not confirmed to be a bad or a good person, so the morality in this fic is up in the air anyways. i like crazy morals in fiction so therefore I write it 🩷 if there are questions regarding my vampire lore then drop by the inbox and I shall feed your (blood)thirst 😉

now the important note: veryone is obligated to go wish @moesthinking a very happy birthday for being the awesomest person alive! i would never in a million years have written something like this if it weren't for them. i love this person to bits and so should all of you!!!!!!

perm tl: @lovehakie @leehanaholic @ivehan @syunet @moesthinking @gentiliana @athenaisonlinee @wnouzi @amarecerasus @defnotsanni @cl4ir0l0v3r @knrejj @fayepz @nemoihan @ruuroom @woonbabie @i-am-not-dal @tenshi-sama @mwotgata @kazukazukiiii @qeeun-didi @izhypen @bee-the-loser @beomtomie @snoopymyung @dj-ami @itsmooniebaby @sycamoretree222 @yesongi @w3willris3 @nineooooo @nichozzystuffs @f-a-t-e-l-e-s-s @renvrr @mirouie @aer1z @velvetmae @geniejunn @elysianssoul @ihanzzn @cinnamorollhyuka @starriniqhts

thank you for the support, ily ♡⸝⸝