Seth…?

Platonic intimacy is a concept that has always wracked your brain. 

What touches are friendly?

Does it still count as innocent when gentle touches and glances linger a moment longer than they are supposed to? You still weren’t clear about what was normal or not, but you could always tell when something felt different. 

That’s how it was with Chan. It had always been that way with him. 

You aren’t sure what it was, but every time that Chan would wrap his arms around you after a long practice, your chest tightened in a way that never happened with the other members. You always shrugged off Hyunjin’s sweaty embrace, but you always welcomed your leader with open arms. Maybe it was the way that the hug settled with you longer after Chan left. Maybe it was something deeper — but that couldn’t be true. 

The other members noticed this too. The boys always joked about Jeongin having favorites when it came to skinship, but the jokes quickly shifted once you joined the group. You were known as ‘Chan’s favorite,’ both within the group and amongst the fandom. Sure, Chan naturally gravitated toward you with affection, but the way that you exclusively melted under his fingertips is what truly made the jokes explode and the shippers go crazy. 

Fans started calling you ‘Chan’s last but first baby.’ You were the last member to join the group, but it was obvious that the bond that the two of you had outweighed his relationships with the others. Chan says that he doesn’t have a favorite, but everyone has heard that all so familiar lie. It’s the same lie that parents around the world share from birth. 

Even as Chan denied his favoritism, the whole ‘baby’ thing started to catch on to him as well. It didn’t affect you much when the fans would refer to you as being his baby. However, the moment that pet name left his lips, you were in complete shambles. 

“What are you going to order, baby?” Chan asked casually, leaning over to peek at your menu as if it wasn’t the same one that you had. 

Immediately, you choked as your brain processed his words. 

“Chan!” you whisper-shouted at him. 

“What? Are you still deciding what to get?” his brows furrowed in confusion, but you took note of the playful glint hiding in his eyes. 

“You can’t just call me that. Especially not while we are recording!” you scolded him, still maintaining a quiet enough voice to not draw the attention to the two of you. By now, the tips of your ears were already turning crimson. The last thing that you needed was to go viral for being flustered in this moment. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chan shrugged with a slight pout on his lips. “I personally think that Stay would love the nickname.”

“You are so annoying,” you teased, lightly bumping him with your shoulder. “You just want to torture me for the fans’ enjoyment.”

“Torture?” Chan mocked offence. “If anything,” Chan smirked before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I think that you are enjoying this, baby.” The pet name rolled off of his lips again, this time in a teasing whisper. 

“I hate you,” you groaned, slumping into your chair, trying to shrink away from Chan. Even as you were covering your undeniably warm face, you could tell that all eyes were now on you. 

“Y/N hates Chan-hyung?” Hyunjin dramatically gasped.

“No fighting at the dinner table, boys,” Minho stifled a laugh at the sight of your crumpled figure. 

It is safe to say that the fans were fully fed with that minute of content. There were many speculations about what had happened between scenes when recording. One moment the camera was focused on Seungmin, and then the next you were shown furiously blushing beside an overly-giddy Chan. A decent amount of people made accurate predictions as to what made you flustered when Chan called you baby a few more times throughout the video. 

A few months after that recording is when you finally came to terms with the fact that you had feelings for Chan. 

As much as you did not want to feel that way about your leader, he made it nearly impossible to not swoon every time that he walked in the room. The pet names were only the beginning of the ever-growing flirting coursing through Chan’s veins. 

The thing that started all of this mess is what affected you the most: physical touch. 

With each passing week, Chan grew bolder with his touches. During dance practice, his hands would always find themselves lingering on your skin. He swore that he was trying to guide your movement, but Minho insisted that your form looked great the first time. 

Any time that the other boys had a chance to get close to you, Chan always found a way to squeeze himself in. Jisung wants to sit next to you during movie night? Not a chance. One time, Chan used the excuse of needing snacks to steal Felix’s spot curled up into your side. You couldn’t tell if your heart was reacting to the sad pout on Felix’s lips when he returned or if Chan alone truly had that much of an impact on your wellbeing. You later decided that Chan was the sole culprit of your arrhythmia when your pulse continued to skyrocket as the man beside you slowly drifted to sleep. Even in his sleep, Chan somehow managed to tighten his grip on you, his fingers melting into the sliver of skin on your hip exposed from your bunched up hoodie. 

The cherry on top of it all were the innocent pecks he scattered across your body.

Sure, Chan had also started giving tiny kisses to the other members as well. There was the occasional shoulder kiss when he swayed with Han. There was that time that he kissed Jeongin’s cheek on his birthday — much to Jeongin’s dismay. However, none of those moments compared to the way that Chan approached you. Each feather-like kiss felt dramatic and intentional. 

Of course, you still have to assume innocence in his actions. He wasn’t making any grand gestures. He was simply placing a kiss to the top of your head, your cheeks, your temple — places that could easily be excused as friendly. 

Though, why were you the one that received this skinship the most?

That was a question that you didn’t linger on for too long. While you had accepted your feelings for Chan, you also acknowledged that misreading his actions could be detrimental to your friendship. So, instead, you stayed quiet. 

You instantly regretted your silence the moment that Sol was hired onto the team. 

Once your regular makeup artist had to take a few months off for maternity-leave, Sol was hired to fill her space for the time being. Chan immediately reacted to her presence, and you hated every bit of it. 

Chan was a natural flirt, but it always felt different with you. The moment that you saw him interact with Sol, your heart stumbled at the familiar energy flowing with his words. Sitting side-by-side as Chan was getting his makeup finished, you couldn’t help but feel nauseous at the blatant flirting occurring beside you. When you dared to sneak a glance at the man beside you, you instantly recognized that playful pout adorning his lips.

It hurt to see that his eyes weren’t on you — they were on Sol, the beautiful woman who was definitely doing more than her job entailed to ensure that Chan was pleased. Chan clearly wanted a reaction, but — unintentionally — the biggest reaction of all seemed to be the pain that lingered in your chest with each passing word. 

You knew that things were going downhill when you started spotting Sol outside of her scheduled work hours. 

Like many times before, you had found yourself wandering around the dorms with nothing to do. With it being super late, most of the members weren’t even awake for you to bother. Though, there is one man who is always awake at the most ungodly hours: Chan. 

Scuffing your shoes with each step up the stairs, you felt a sense of nervousness that was foreign to this routine. You often visited Chan in the studio late at night; you weren’t sure why you felt anxious now.  In hindsight, your body was likely warning you for what was to come. 

The moment that you reached the familiar door to the studio, you hesitated. Your hand slightly hovered over the doorknob as you heard faint voices through the hardwood. 

Was 3racha working on something tonight? You could have sworn that you saw Changbin earlier today. 

Shaking off your confusion, you wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, the cold metal bringing you back to reality. Cracking the door open, you wished you had stayed at the dorms instead. 

Rather than interrupting a production-session, it seemed that you interrupted an intimate moment between Chan and Sol. The two of them were nestled on the couch in the back of the room, sitting way closer than any two coworkers should.

“Oh, shit. Sorry,” you immediately apologized, already wanting to flee the scene. 

Chan coughed and adjusted his posture, “Nah man, you’re good. What’s up?” The tone of his voice carried a clear message: ‘I am establishing that we are just bros.’

Man? Chan hadn’t called you that since your debut. It was obvious that Sol was causing him to act differently toward you. Not that she was intentionally doing anything to persuade him — she just brought an energy that Chan clearly gravitated toward. 

“You good?” Chan snapped you back into reality. 

Raising your eyes to look at him once more, you were met with Chan’s confused face and Sol’s bright, beaming smile. 

Shaking your head in an attempt to ground yourself, you murmured, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just heading back home.” A lie that Chan saw right through. 

“Alright, bro. If you say so,” he chuckled, Sol giggling alongside him. “Get home safe.”

You couldn’t bother to reply as you sulked your way out of the room. The bubbly laughter that followed your departure only caused the pain in your chest to grow stronger. 

You didn’t go back to the dorms that night — you couldn’t. You didn’t want to know what ungodly hour Chan finally crept back home. Instead, you snuck into the dance studio down the hall where you ultimately cried yourself to sleep. Chan never texted to make sure that you had made it home safely. It wasn’t until morning that Minho discovered your frail body curled against the polished floors, cheeks stained with tears from the night before. He didn’t ask any questions. 

At first it was subtle, but Chan’s isolation eventually became hard to ignore. He was pushing you away so that he could continually grow closer and closer to Sol. 

What hurt the most is that Chan wasn’t distancing himself from the other boys — only you. He still snuggled up to Felix, Hyunjin, Changbin — literally every member but you. 

You tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t intentional, but you knew that wasn’t true. On top of avoiding you himself, he also dismissed any skinship that you tried to initiate as well. That couldn’t be excused as simple negligence. It felt as if you were being replaced — which was silly from an outside perspective, but it definitely hurt nonetheless. 

Eventually fans started to notice your gradual relationship decline. All across social media, people speculated the many reasons why Chan no longer even glanced your way in content.

Being in this industry for so long, you knew better than to read the comments. Under these circumstances, you couldn’t stop yourself from hours of endless scrolling. 

Are Chan and Y/N in their divorce era?

Why are my dads fighting? I don’t like this :( 

Did you all see the look that Chan gave Y/N? That was harsh. 

On top of the speculations, a decent amount of hate comments sprouted as well. All of them were targeted toward you. Many fans struggled to accept the addition of a ninth member once you joined the group, so it was understandable why you were the easiest to target in a time of confusion. 

Y/N had to have done something. Team Chan!

When I find out what Y/N did to break Chan’s heart, I swear —

Why is he still in the group? Clearly even Chan is put up with him these days. 

Comments like that couldn’t bother you, because you were already thinking about those things yourself. It was hard to pretend that you started to feel unwanted in your own group. Especially when you witnessed Chan defend the other members constantly. Yet, now that you were the victim of online-tormenting, Chan’s bubble was complete radio-silence. 

On one of your days off, you allowed your self-doubt to fuel your day. You had initially planned to use the day to clear your mind, but the universe had other intentions for you. 

Late into the evening, you had managed to drink yourself numb. While your tears had stopped a while ago, it was clear that you had spent most of your day drowning in your own sobs. When Chan returned home earlier than usual, he found you curled up on the couch, one too many empty bottles of soju sitting on the coffee table. Upon seeing the red staining your cheeks, Chan instantly came closer, concern written all over his face.

“Y/N…” he pouted, “What happened?” 

When Chan placed his hand on your arm and started rubbing reassuring circles against your skin, you lost it again. The alcohol had only inhibited your ability to cry for so long. The feeling of Chan’s skin against yours for the first time in weeks was enough to trigger the dam hiding behind your eyes again.

Wordlessly, Chan scooped you into his arms as your sobs continued to get louder. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” you managed to blubber through your drunken tears. 

“What? Can’t do what anymore?” Chan tried to get you to talk through whatever storm was happening in your mind. 

“This — the band — I don’t know,” you hiccuped in between your babbles. 

“The band? You’re not thinking of leaving are you?” For a moment, you could have sworn that the look in Chan’s eyes was one of pure fear. You couldn’t decipher if it was genuine or a result of your drunk mind grasping for any glimpse of hope. 

“The fans hate me,” you sobbed. “They keep telling me to leave and I think they’re right.”

“You know that isn’t true,” Chan tried to reassure you. “There are so many people that love you.”

“Not you, though.” Your words were barely above a whisper, but Chan heard them. He immediately stiffened at your mumbling. 

“What?” Chan treaded slightly as he asked for clarification. You could already tell that he was slowly trying to back away without making it obvious. 

“You hate me, Chan. You’ve made it so clear,” you sniffled as his warmth slowly faded away. 

Chan harshly grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to make direct eye contact with him. 

“What are you saying, dude?” His brows were furrowed and his body was tense — he knew exactly what you were talking about. 

“That!” you exclaimed pitifully. “‘Dude.’ What happened to ‘baby’? Huh? You used to be so sweet to me.” Your lip quivered as you watched his face turn in disgust. 

“Don’t-” Chan tried to dismiss you. 

“Don’t what?” you immediately retaliate. “Don’t point out the obvious? Everyone knows that you are pushing me away, Chan. The other members, fans, me! Everyone had noticed.”

“You’re just drunk, man,” he sighed. 

“No. You don’t get to do that.” For once, your anger was starting to point toward him rather than yourself. 

“Do what?” Chan scoffed. 

“Hurt me over and over again and pretend like I am insane.” Chan slightly flinched at your words, but you couldn’t even notice in your state. 

“I didn’t say that you were insane. I said that you were drunk,” he tried to justify his words, but there was no use. 

“Me being drunk doesn’t take away the fact that you can’t even look at me anymore. When was the last time that you hugged me? Kissed my forehead when I needed it?”

“I’m not ignoring you on purpose, man.” Chan rubbed a hand over his face, trying to lie his way out of this conversation. 

“Bullshit,” you spat through clenched teeth. “You are replacing me with her and you know it.”

“Oh my God. Is that what this is about?” Chan’s voice rose with disbelief. “You’re mad that I am talking to Sol?”

“Everything that you used to do with me — I see you doing them with her,” you hiccuped, growing smaller under Chan’s intense glare. 

“Don’t make this something that it isn’t. Nothing that I used to do with you even begins to compare to how I treat her.” This argument pierced right through the anger protecting your feelings. 

“So now you aren’t even going to deny it? You’re treating me differently because of her,” your voice shook as your breathing grew short. 

“She is different,” Chan grimaced, pointing a finger toward you. “You need to lose whatever this shit is, man. I’m not putting up with it. Quit being so fucking weird.” 

With that, Chan abruptly stood up and stormed out of the dorm. You aren’t sure where he was headed, but you had an inkling. 

As you were left in silence, all that you could do is focus on his last words to you. 

“Quit being so fucking weird.”

What was weird? Calling him out? Falling for him? Assuming that he felt the same way?

The next morning, Chan called for a meeting before everyone’s solo-schedules. You were slightly terrified that this was the end of idol-life for you. Surely Chan had reported you to management and he was about to announce your departure from the group. 

Unfortunately, you would have rather heard that than what Chan actually had to announce. 

Walking into the studio, all of the other members were already present. There were nine people in the room all staring at you; your eight members and her — Sol. 

Chan didn’t wait long to announce that he and Sol had decided to make their relationship official. He clarified that he wasn’t hiding anything from anyone and that this step in their relationship was fresh. They had only started dating the night before — presumably after he stormed out of the dorms. His whole reasoning was that he didn’t want to hide any secrets from the boys, but you knew better than that. While Sol smiled around the room, Chan’s eyes were solely locked on you. Chan only wanted to announce this to the group to get under your skin. Boy, did it work. 

Other than Chan’s eyes burning a hole in your head, you felt another person glancing your way. Minho, somehow managing to read your mind, gave you a sad look as he noticed the devastation in your eyes. After everyone else had left, Minho was the one to stay behind and comfort you as you cried yet again. 

You aren’t sure how Minho connected the dots, but you were glad that he did. Many times after Chan and Sol became official, the minsung dorm became your place of solace. Han never questioned why his hyung was suddenly sleeping on their couch rather than his own bed. For that, you were grateful.

Over the next few weeks, Chan’s presence in your shared dorm slowly increased. It’s not that he wanted to be home more — he clearly was just trying to get under your skin. Between nonstop giggles and moans, you were losing your sanity. 

Another tell-tale sign of his intentions was revealed once you started leaving the moment that you heard him come home. After a while, you knew when to leave before Chan even began his shenanigans. The first time that you decided to storm out at the sight of Sol, you noticed Chan’s brow twitch in the slightest; it was miniscule, but undeniable. It affected him that you were leaving, whether he would admit that or not. 

Eventually, you got in the habit of going straight to the minsung dorm rather than your own. You had enough of your belongings there that it practically felt like your own home. The love and warmth that flowed from their dorm was something that had been completely drained from your own living space.

Minho and Jisung never made you feel guilty for taking up any space. Regardless of how many nights you spent sprawled out on their couch, they always greeted you with a gentle smile the following morning.

The only thing that made you feel any sense of guilt was Jeongin. You felt bad for leaving the younger boy in the dorm to deal with Chan’s overbearing love life. On many nights, he’d send you pleading texts that simultaneously brought bubbling laughter and heartache.

⭑ Ayen ⭑

Hyuuuuuuung

Why did you abandon me :(

How am I supposed to play overwatch when all that I can hear is performative moaning

Save me

I think that I might feed Channie hyung the hair that I keep finding in the sink if he doesn’t quiet down

“That’s gross,” is all that you could reply with a faint smile adorning your saddened face.

Chan didn’t reach out. At least, he didn’t at first.

Deep down, a part of you knew that he had grown to love mind games with you. Yet, it was obvious that Chan was too afraid to actually confront you with anything. Since the first and last confrontation, it’s been nothing but exploitation from the sidelines. The more hurt you seemed, the happier the relationship was.

Maybe this is why you were surprised when Chan texted you late one night.

It was a weekend, everyone was supposed to take an off-day, but you know how Chan is. Much to your surprise, he actually took the day to rest.

Well — maybe rest isn’t the best term to use.

Chan used this Saturday to drink away the stress constantly carried with him. It started out as one glass of wine with Sol to celebrate all of his recent hard work, but one glass quickly turned into two. Two glasses quickly turned into three. By the end of the night, Chan had downed a whole bottle (and a half) of red wine all by himself.

It had to have been the liquid courage that motivated him to message you.

Chan ♡

Y/N..

Inwish you were hwre

Sol made samgyetang

Your favorite

When you didn’t reply, Chan carried on.

You don’t even use your own bed anymorr

You’ve been spending too much time with Minho and Jisung

I sont like it

You simply replied with: “I am not your boyfriend.” Your message wasn’t read until the following morning. Unexpectedly, your message was left on open.

Filming content started feeling like a chore rather than your job. The weekend-long skzcode that the company had planned for the summer was something that you had been dreading since the initial debriefing. The plan was to have you all film a survivalist-style show while you camped in the great outdoors. In reality, the nine of you would be staying in a cushy cabin right outside of view of the cameras.

The cabin only had four rooms for ten people — the additional person being none other than Chan’s other half, because God forbid they are apart for three days. Two of the rooms had multiple beds, similar to a primary school sleepover. The other two rooms had solo beds, one of which was already guaranteed to sleep Chan and Sol. With that being said, sticks were drawn to see who else would luck out with the other solo bed.

Much to your disdain, Minho and Jisung were paired together with Hyunjin and Jeongin. However, with the rest of the drawings, you somehow managed to luck out with the solo room. Based on your expectations for this schedule, this may have been the best outcome anyway.

The recording itself wasn’t the worst experience. You had easily learned to plaster a smile on your face and stick closer to any member other than Chan. Sure, the company may give you shit for your actions later down the road once they read the fans’ reactions, but you preferred your own sanity for the time being.

Once the night had fallen and the filming crew had gone to their respective hotels, that is when the dread really started to kick in. It was too late in the night to escape outdoors, but also way too early to excuse yourself to sleep. Instead, you settled next to Minho and pretended to actively listen to whatever story Hyunjin was retelling for the hundredth time.

In reality, all that you could focus on was her — Sol.

This was the first time you truly sat down and experienced her personality outside of work. Any other time, you ran from her unless she wielded her makeup brushes. However, sitting here and subtly watching her just exist, your guilt began to gnaw in a different manner.

Every time that Hyunjin made some dramatic gesture during his story, Sol lit up and burst into laughter. With each bump in the story, the expressions on her face were nearly cartoonish. She was so authentically herself, and you understood what Chan saw in her.

Based on the way that Sol interacted with the rest of your members, you couldn’t hold any resentment towards her. How can you hate someone who reminds you so much of yourself? Sol is practically everything you are — but Sol is a girl, something you’ll never be.

Overthinking on whether it is your fault or Chan’s that your initial bias formed, you hadn’t even realized that everyone had moved on to closing out the night. It wasn’t until Minho nudged your shoulder that you were snapped back into reality.

“I’m going to grab a few drinks. What are you feeling?” Minho mumbled just loud enough for you to hear. You didn’t miss Chan’s lingering glare as you leaned closer.

“Whatever you’re having. I definitely need it about now.” The two of you shared a sad, knowing smile before Minho retreated.

“You want anything, baby?” Chan spoke loud enough for you to hear, but he was speaking directly to his girlfriend. Hearing the pet name shattered your spirits a little more, knowing that’s what he used to call you before all of this mess.

When Sol smiled and kissed his cheek, Chan stood and followed where Minho and the others had gone. All that was left was you and her.

“You doing okay?” she asked with a gentle, sweet voice.

When you looked up, there was genuine concern etched on her face. You wondered what her perspective of this whole situation is.

“Oh, yeah. I’m just tired,” you shrugged off, avoiding this conversation to the best of your ability.

“Oh, okay. Chan’s just been pretty worried about you,” Sol tried to comfort you, but sadly only made things worse. You still respected her attempt at kindness, nonetheless.

The awkward silence didn’t last long as the sound of Han’s bellowing laugh and clinking glass filled the living area. Slowly, everyone filled the room once more, and then the night truly began.

By the end of the night, one too many people had drunk themselves sick or asleep. Minho barely managed to convince Jisung to head upstairs to sleep for the night.

While you were rather drunk, you weren’t nauseated or sleepy enough to justify leaving the crevice of the couch where you had spent the last few hours. Instead, you watched as people disappeared one by one.

Eventually, all that remained were you and your least favorite couple. Sol was already knocked out, snoring on her boyfriend’s shoulder. The only conscious people in the room were you and Chan — if you could even call yourselves conscious.

Getting flashbacks of your last drunken encounter with Chan, you made the smart decision to head to your room, even if you weren’t all that tired. Knowing that you had more recording to do tomorrow evening, it was best that the arguing was saved for another time.

Thankfully, Chan seemed to be on the same page as you. The second that you started your stumbling journey across the room, Chan followed suit, scooping Sol into his arms effortlessly. You’d always glorified his strength.

Shaking your head, ignoring the slight tinge of blush on your cheeks, you made your way into your room. You didn’t have time for thoughts like that.

The only thing swimming in your mind was Chan. As much as you despised the way he treated you, sometimes you still miss the way things were before his relationship. The physical touch, the kisses — all things that he now gives to someone else.

You felt shameful as you thought back to the way his muscles flexed when he lifted Sol onto his shoulder. You had always wondered what it would be like for him to manhandle you in that same way.

Rubbing your hand over your face, you decided that forcing yourself to sleep might cure the thoughts running through your brain. You couldn’t bother to properly prepare for bed, so you instead opted to simply discard of the clothes you had on. You were sleeping by yourself anyway.

Just as you were throwing your shirt to the corner of the room, you heard a rustling sound outside your door — someone was messing with the door knob. Before you could ask who was there, Chan drunkenly stumbled into the room, finally getting the door to cooperate.

“Chan? What are you doing?” you asked, brows knit with confusion. The door clicked behind him.

“I miss you,” he pouted, face completely flushed. Whether that is from the alcohol he consumed or something entirely different, you couldn’t be sure.

“I- You don’t get to just say that, Chan,” you sighed, regardless of how your chest tightened at his words. It was hard to stand your ground when you were intoxicated and he was already on your mind. Looking into his eyes easily reminds you of why you’re upset with him in the first place. Your mind is battling a war between longing and anger.

“It’s true, Y/N. I miss you so much, baby,” he slurred. You immediately froze at his words.

“Baby?” you barely whispered.

“You spend too much time with Minho and Hannie now,” Chan accused, his brows furrowed as he circled back to his last drunken text messages that he had sent weeks ago.

“And you spend too much time with Sol,” you scoffed, the alcohol giving you courage that you didn’t even know existed.

“But I wanna spend time with you, Y/N. You’re my favorite.” There were practically tears in Chan’s eyes as he mumbled his words. Regardless of the drunken disconnect, you heard every single word loud and clear.

“Oh yeah? How would Sol feel about that?” you asked, both out of curiosity and guilt.

“Will you quit saying her name?” Chan whined, his shoulders slumping further with each passing second.

“Why? She’s your girlfriend, no?” God how you wished he’d say no. In a sober state of mind, you would have easily kicked him out of your room and back to his girlfriend. However, a mixture of the alcohol and his pleading eyes is making you feed into the chase.

“Can you just — stop talking for a sec,” Chan hiccuped in between his words, trying to compose himself. Slowly, he took gentle but confident steps toward you, steadily closing the gap between you two.

“Why’s that?” you murmured, your breathing starting to go unsteady the closer Chan got.

“I just wanna think about you,” he pouted right before you. “Nothing else,” he whispered, shamelessly raking his eyes over your half-naked body. His fingers reached out, slightly grazing where your hips peaked out of your jeans.

“Just me?” You felt childish asking for validation, but this is all that you had dreamed about for months. You had to make sure that you weren’t simply hearing things.

“Just you,” Chan whispered with a husky voice. His eyes darted back to your face before flickering to your slightly glossy lips. He ran his thumb across your lip, simply fascinated with how you looked this close.

Before you could overthink it, Chan took initiative himself. Digging the pads of his fingers deeper into your side, his other hand swiftly moved to cup your jaw. Pulling you closer, Chan crashed his lips into yours with hungry desire. You took a sharp breath in, not entirely expecting Chan to take control like this. It only took a moment before you melted into his embrace and started to kiss him back with an equal amount of vigor.

“I’ve thought about this for so long. Thought about you,” Chan admitted when he pulled away to catch his breath.

“Yeah?” you replied, obvious yearning laced in your voice. “Show me what you’ve thought about?” you tested him.

Chan simply smirked before crashing his lips into yours once more. His hand that rested on your waist slowly crept around and landed right on the swell of your ass. His fingers needed your flesh through your jeans, matching the pace of his tongue gliding against your own.

Wordlessly, Chan walked the two of you back toward your bed. Once your knees hit the mattress, you became slightly unbalanced and immediately fell to the bed. Through his intoxicated lens, Chan swore he had never seen anything more beautiful than you giggling beneath him, lips even shinier than before.

Scooting you further up the bed, Chan crawled on top of you, picking up right where he left off. When the distance between your bodies closed further, you began to feel an unmistakable podding against your thigh — Chan was incredibly hard. This realization made you whine, grasping the edges of his white shirt.

“Off, please,” you pleaded, tugging at the cotton material. Chan nodded, seemingly as eager as you. When he lifted his shirt over his head, you let out a shameful whimper at the sight of his body.

You’d seen Chan shirtless a countless amount of times. However, nothing compared to how he looked now: desperate and glistening with sweat as he caged in your body.

“You like what you see?” he cockily replied to your whimpers, using this as an opportunity to slowly grind against your leg. You know for a fact that your own erection was easily seen through your jeans — Chan was getting off on teasing you.

“Channie, please,” you whined, grinding the air as you searched for some sense of relief.

“Easy, baby.” A puff of air escaped his lips as he tried not to laugh at your blatant neediness. Nonetheless, he gave you exactly what you wanted — truth be told, it was mainly because he wanted it more.

Teasingly slow, Chan worked his way around your jeans, fingers brushing your erection as he inched toward the button and zipper. With one hand dangerously close to your crotch, he expertly undone your jeans with his free hand. When you lifted your hips once more, Chan wasted no time freeing you from your constraints of denim.

The moment the cool air kissed your bare skin, you gasped. Suddenly aware of how exposed you were, slight insecurities started to creep in your mind. You and Chan had seen plenty of one another, but you spread out, flushed, leaking at the sight of him? This is uncharted territory.

Any lingering doubt faded when you saw the hazy look in Chan’s eyes. Pupils completely blown out, he was entranced by every inch of your body. Though he looked uncertain about what to do next, it was for sure that he wanted this.

“Is this for me?” Chan quipped, wrapping his hand around your cock. You rapidly nodded as Chan slowly pumped your length.

“Want you to fuck me, Channie,” you cried, already needing more than just his hand.

“Yeah? Think you can ride me, baby?” Chan asked, thought it seemed like the fantasy was entirely his.

Chan’s free hand slid between your legs, inching closer to your hole. Completely filthy and unexpected from the man you know, Chan let a long string of saliva fall from his lips, slowly falling to the fingers that inched closer to your entrance. With precise thought, Chan began to tease your ass with his slightly lubed fingers.

“I wanna see you on top of me,” Chan groaned as he plunged the first finger into your tight hole.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as you imagined how full you’d feel on top of him. Before you could respond, one finger became two — Chan was getting impatient. There was a slight sting, but you couldn’t care less since Chan was the one pleasing you.

When Chan finally felt like you were ready enough to carry on, he retracted his hands from you completely. You whined, now clenching around nothing.

“Patient, baby,” Chan teased as if he wasn’t rapidly fighting to get his jeans off.

Your eyes widened when Chan’s erection sprung free from his jeans. He was big — much bigger than you had imagined. You’d seen him half hard through his sweats during practice before, but nothing could’ve prepared you for reality.

Before you could ogle at his dick for too long, Chan swiftly grabbed your hips and tossed you further in bed. It didn’t take long for him to join you, lying against the headboard, legs spread to leave nothing to the imagination.

As much as you would love to live out all of your fantasies with Chan tonight, the need to have him inside of you outweighed any other desires. Unfortunately, skipping foreplay was a must.

Chan spit on his hand before stroking himself a few times. His eyes encouraged you to lean up and straddle him.

“If it’s too much, let me know,” Chan whispered, kissing you way too gently for whatever this was.

You winced in fear even before his tip pressed against your ass. You knew to expect pain due to the lack of preparation and lube. Regardless, lust overpowered then need to slow down.

When you finally lined yourself up directly above Chan’s dick, he couldn’t help but slightly thrust up. You cried out as Chan slowly inched inside of you. The pain was blinding, but you knew that it would be worth it. By the time you had sunk completely onto his cock, your brain was scrambled. The stretch and fullness was something like you’d never experienced before.

Eventually, once you felt well-adjusted, you began lifting your hips, slowly making a rhythm as you began to ride Chan’s dick.

“Baby, you feel — fuck — so good,” Chan panted once you had found a good pace. At his praise, you completely zoned out.

During the intense pleasure coursing through your body, your mind was running a million miles an hour. All that you could think about were the many nights where this was all that you dreamed about. The idea of actually having Chan like this was unrealistic in your mind. Yet, here you were, making him feel like heaven on earth.

With your thoughts running rampant, the all so familiar coil in your belly began to grow embarrassingly fast. Absorbed in your fascination with Chan, you leaned forward and began leaving wet, open mouth kisses along his jawline, traveling down his neck. Your teeth nipped at his soft skin as you felt yourself growing closer and closer.

“Chan — I —“ you panted.

“It’s okay, baby. Me too,” he admitted breathlessly.

Pulling back to see his glazed over eyes was enough to push you over the edge. Your hand flew to cover your mouth to conceal any loud moans that inevitably escaped as your orgasm wrecked your body. Hot spurts of cum leaked from your tip, painting Chan’s chiseled chest.

The sight of your release covering his own body was enough to trigger Chan’s orgasm as well. Shakily, Chan pumped himself into you one last time as he emptied his seed into you.

Totally spent, your body collapsed on top of his. Gently, Chan lifted you off of his softening member. He sat you back down, still straddling his hips as you laid on his chest.

Just as you had felt content enough to doze off into much needed rest, Chan began to whisper in your ear.

“I wish that Sol was you, Y/N,” Chan admitted with a hazy voice.

With these words, a small moment of clarity finally peaked through your intoxicated trance. Guilt settled in your stomach before sleep could take hold.

The morning welcomed you with the smell of sweat and sticky skin. You were confused for a moment until you recognized the weight of another man in your bed. You didn’t even have to fully look up to remember that Chan had ended up in your bed the night before.

Regardless of the pounding headache you had, your mind was clear enough to instantly fill with regret. You slept with a taken man — disgust for both yourself and Chan was overpowering any other thought in your mind.

Simultaneously frantic but carefully, you eased your way out of bed and stumbled toward your suitcase. The two of you had slept completely naked, curled up beside one another all night long. With shaky hands, you opened your suitcase and grabbed the first pair of sweats you could find.

After throwing on your clothes, you realized that you couldn’t stay in the room for any longer; each slight glance at Chan made you sick with panic. Not knowing whether you needed water or air, you dizzily walked the stairs that led to the common area.

Your frazzled brain calmed for a second once you reached the bottom of the stairs. Han was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. It was uncharacteristically early for him to be awake.

“Morning, Y/N,” Han’s soft voice cut through the air.

You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

“Everything okay?” Tears started to sting your eyes at Han’s question. “Oh, hyung. Come here,” Han pouted, patting the empty cushion next to where he sat.

The moment that you sat next to him, Jisung threw an arm behind your back — a reassuring reminder that you are surrounded with support. When you didn’t speak, Han took a good look at figure, seeming like he was trying to read your mind.

“You slept with him. Didn’t you?” You froze at his words.

“How did you—“ your jaw was slack with shock.

“I went to pee last night and I saw Chan walking into your room. Based on that and the creaking that followed, I’m not stupid,” Jisung explained, immediately making you even more embarrassed.

“I am so sorry,” you choked, ears red at the thought of your close friend hearing you fuck your leader.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m sure that you’ve heard worse from Minho and I,” Han laughed, causing your shoulders to relax in the slightest.

“I just-“ you paused, a slight tremble in your voice, “I can’t believe I did that. I feel so gross.”

Jisung immediately wiped away the tears that you didn’t even know were falling.

“What about it makes you feel gross?” he inquired, his eyes showing his genuine intent to listen.

“I slept with a man in a relationship. I’m a home-wrecker,” you took a sharp breath in, trying your best to hold back the tears.

“So you aren’t grossed out at the fact that it was Chan that you slept with? Just the fact that he has a girlfriend?” Han pressed further. This was a question that you hadn’t yet reflected on yourself.

“I- I don’t think so,” you pondered as you processed this idea for the first time yourself. “I mean, I’ve wanted…that for so long. I never would have wanted this to happen under these circumstances, though.”

“And you still feel something for him? After all of this?” Han’s voice was nonjudgmental.

“Yeah. Without a doubt,” you finally confessed after a moment of silence. As much as you hated yourself for still wanting Chan all for yourself, you knew better than to lie to Han. Jisung was one of the few helping you throughout this whole situation.

“Can I give you my opinion?” Jisung carefully asked. You simply nodded in response.

“I’ve seen this before: what Chan is going through,” he elaborated. “I saw this same thing happen with myself when I first met Minho.

“I didn’t want to admit that there was a possibility that I could be interested in men. I knew that I felt different around Min, but I didn’t want to admit that to myself.

“It took me so long to finally be content with the idea of being bi — being myself. Y/N,” Jisung paused to make sure that the two of you locked eyes, “I’m not sure if or when Chan will get to that point.

“Coming from experience, it’s hard,” he sighed in reflection. “But, Jesus…Chan is so stubborn sometimes. He loves to be in control so much, and I think he’s scared that his emotions are one thing that he can’t control.

“All that I’m saying is: I don’t want you to keep hurting yourself chasing someone who may never be able to love you the way that you deserve. Because you deserve so much more than what Chan is willing to give right now.” Han slid his arm down just enough to squeeze your shoulder in reassurance. His touch grounded you, made you realize that he — unfortunately — had a point.

Before you could respond, muffled sounds of screaming were heard from upstairs. You couldn’t make out everything perfectly, but it was clear that Sol was yelling at Chan. “You’re fucking kidding me,” is the one phrase that you’re sure you heard at least three times throughout the shouting match.

You somehow managed to tense up further at the sound of a slamming door. Upstairs, Sol had stormed out of the bedroom, angrily preparing to leave with her bag in tow.

When she did storm down the stairs, you barely glanced at her out of the corner of your eye. The sight of her absolutely broken destroyed you. Her face was still puffy with sleep, only now it was also ruined with tear stains. An innocent bystander in your story, a victim in her own — Sol looked heartbroken.

The front door was shut with force as Sol left with her belongings. The moment she left, you crumbled. The tears that you fought so hard to hold back poured out of you uncontrollably. Without a second thought, Han pulled you closer, holding you through your sobs. All of the pain and guilt from the last few months was all crashing in on you at once.

Upstairs, Chan was frantic. He regrettably was found in your bed, covered in hickeys just moments ago. He had barely had a chance to recall what happened the night before when Sol began to tear him to shreds. With Sol gone, Chan now had to decide if he would confront you or his potential ex-girlfriend.

You trembled in Han’s arms, scooting closer as if to hide away from all of your problems. Unfortunately for you, your biggest problem came walking down the stairs moments after Sol left.

The moment that Chan stepped downstairs, his eyes locked onto you. The sight of you being cradled by his younger member caused an unsettling sensation in his chest. After last night you really ran to Han?

Conflicted with anger and sadness, Chan too stormed out of the cabin. It was clear that he made his choice between you and Sol.

The deafening slam of the door echoed through the home, only accompanied by your loud sniffles. Undeniably, everyone else was awake by now.

In a home filled with people you love, you had never felt more alone. With Chan and Sol out the door, the hole in your heart began to swell further and further. You never expected any of this to get this bad.

At the end of the day, you are the one left to pick up the pieces. Han’s advice sat heavy on your shoulders as the rest of the world began to rise and carry on. Chan made his choice, and now it was time to make yours.

The photographer yelled at the staff to get the AC unit fixed before he thrashes the whole set. You held a small fan pointed at the model, growing envious of his comfort—the way his skin was dry and his breaths at ease, you let out an audible sigh.

“Maybe you’d wanna point that to yourself,” he said, a wide smile plastered across his face. In different circumstances you might have found him funny, but the heat weighed on you. You gave him a fake smile, and went on to stare blankly at the wall, conjuring the image of your soft bed at home. “No like for real, you look like you’re gonna pass out.”

Of course he’d say that, sitting in the middle of the room with nothing but Calvin Klein boxers on; Which, you thought, looked good on him. The hems of his underwear stretched on his thick thighs, the garment well filled with his package you might add. Not that you stared at it. Of course not. 

“I’m fine, sir,”  you answered, swallowing dry before resting a hand on your hip. Sweat started to bead in your temples, the room slowly turning hazy. 

“You sure?” he flexed his muscular arms to fan his hands at you, you swore they were as thick as your head. You nodded, the world looked like it was spinning from the movement. In one moment you looked at his broad chest, and the next you could only see his ankles—the floor against your whole body bringing you to sleep. 

You woke up to a different room, much smaller and colder. Cold air brushed on your face like an ice bath. Michael was holding the fan in front of you and he wasn’t almost naked anymore, he was covered in a black robe. 

You cursed, touching your aching forehead as he passed you a bottle of water. “They’re still fixing the AC, the photographer is going fucking crazy,” he said, taking a swig of his waterbottle. 

“He’s like that all the time,” you straightened your back, anxious of being this close to him. “I’m surprised he hasn’t imploded yet.”

He laughed, the robe undoing as he did revealing the hard contours of his abdomen. You choked on the water, startling him. You’ve been near celebrities for most of your job, but being this close to Michael and seeing his handsome face and the defined muscle covering his whole body, you couldn’t help but admire. “You like what you see?” he said, untying the rest of the robe to reveal the boxers underneath, sporting a semi-hardon. 

“What?” you stuttered, you couldn't believe what you’re experiencing. A part of you wants to drop down on your knees and say yes, but the moral voice inside your head was grasping for an ethical answer. He spreads his legs wider, his hand palming the erection. 

“Shit’s still not going, might as well get something out of it,” he said, groaning as his hardness peeked through the elastic band. It was thick, the print of it was evident through the cotton. Your throat went dry, the sweat dried up, and a sharp chill ran down your spine. “So?”

You gently stroked his clothed sex eliciting a deep grunt from his mouth. Pulling down the elastic to touch the hardness, you couldn’t comprehend how thick it was. You cursed, stroking his heated cock with eagerness. 

“Yeah, just like that,” Michael said, pulling his head back on the small couch. His hand wrapped around your waist pulling you closer. Beads of precome glistened the tip of his cock, you toyed with it, the wetness on the sensitive head made him tightly hold onto your shirt. He squeezed his eyes while while trying to hold back a moan. “Why don’t you suck it for me,” he requested, guiding your head down to his crotch. 

The cotton was taut on the hardness. It took quite a bit of effort to pry it out to its full glory. Your mouth was left agape, a long vein ran across the shaft leading to the aching tip, already beading with precome. Taking in a deep breath you braced yourself for its size. You first toyed with the head, kissing and licking while tasting the saltiness of his arousal. Taking your time, Michael let out a guttural moan as you took him in, gagging at the girth. Tears started to well, your jaw aching when you let out a choked cough. 

“Fuck–just like that,” he said, his lips swollen from biting. You let his cock out with a pop, passionately staring right back at him as you engulfed his length. He takes hold of both sides of your face, guiding each stroke of your lips. His eyes spoke to you with lust, which only motivated you to hollow your cheeks making the suction stronger. While his cock was in your mouth, you used your tongue to stroke his shaft, licking the border to the head.  “You take that cock so well, boy.”

“It’s so thick,” you said, peppering the shaft with kisses. Michael’s view was impeccable, tears down your cheeks, your lips swollen and glistening with saliva. He put a hand behind his head in a state of bliss, another hand on your head helping bob on his cock. You used two hands to stroke while tasting his precome. The sheer panic brewing inside your chest, that in any moment someone could come in, was enough for you to suck on it with more vigor. “Stand up, I wanna fuck you now.”

He helped  undress you, each garment thrown somewhere inside the trailer. You planted your hands on the sofa, your knees sinking on the cushion. A drop of saliva falls to his hand, the other holding onto your hip. He strokes himself before steadily sheathing his cock inside you, stretching the tight muscle. You yelped, squeezing your eyes shut while your fingers dug into the fabric of the sofa.

Once his base hit the curve of your ass his arms wrapped around your waist, his neck licking and kissing your neck up to your ear. He pulled back, your muscles relaxing from the absence. He quickly thrusts himself back in, you gasp at each stroke. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

The small room filled with the sounds of your cries and his deep grunts, the trailer practically rocked from the pounding. Your body tensed and ached in all the right places, your lower back hurting the most from the arching. Michael fondled the roundness of your ass, marvelling at how it jiggled. You tried to match his pace, rolling your hips to stroke his cock. 

The noise abruptly stopped after a knock on the door. “Mr. Jordan? We can start the shoot in 5 minutes, we sincerely apologize for the delay,” your co-worker said. Michael didn’t stop fucking you by the way. The slaps of his skin on yours was still loud, he simply covered your mouth and bit his lip in a poor attempt to quiet your voices. 

“Yeah, I’ll come,” he said, your hole felt so warm and tight it made him roll his eyes. “I’ll come in a bit.” 

“That good, huh?” you said, your voice shaking. Your co-worker probably left already. He steadied his grip on your waist, pounding as hard as he could, the sweat covering his body making his muscle glisten under the light. 

“You have no fucking idea,” his thrusts became erratic, a series of strong slaps of skin and thickness stretching your hole. The head of his cock rubbed sensually on the sensitive spot inside you, making you inebriated by your inhibition. “I’m so fucking close. You ready?”

You nodded, your breaths already labored. Michael reached his climax with slow loud claps, his warm come flooding your insides. He collapses on your back, his broad frame hot and sticky on your skin. 

“I don’t think I can come out there like this,” Michael whispered after a few minutes, his breathing slowly becoming more stable, his cock still buried inside you. 

You take his hand and place it on your sex, already wet with your own release. The warmth of his body felt so sensual that you were hungry for more. “Maybe they can wait for a bit more too,” you tempted, rocking your hips to tease him. 

“They absolutely can,” he said, kissing your lips while his cock hardened again. 

end.

“Come on in, you motherfuckers!”

The scream tore through the night, wild with desperation and fury, Grace’s voice reverberating from inside the Juke Joint breaking on rage and despair

Both you and Remmick turned your heads at once, predator instincts snapping to attention.

Remmick’s arm was cinched tight around your waist, the other sunk deep into the pocket of his trousers, thoughts heavy and wordless as he listened to the muffled chaos inside. His curls hung damp across his forehead, shadowing the blood-bright gleam of his eyes.

Your arm curled tight across his shoulders, clutching him close to bent into every few heartbeats, pressing quick, messy kisses along the slope of his throat, dragging your mouth across the stubble roughness of his jaw, tongue darting to lick the sticky residue of what he’s fed on earlier. Every kiss pulled a small vibration from his chest, half chuckle and half growl, a sound that lit your skin.

When Grace’s scream shattered the silence, a breathless chuckle came from him, low and guttural, fangs flashing wet behind his lips. 

He turned to you, quick and sudden,  those bright red eyes that matched in intensity your vermilion ones. His grin widened obscenely, teeth bared in a blood-soaked snarl, arm clamping tighter around your waist. 

That stare dropped to the side of your throat and lingered.

The scar there glowed pale in the dim. A hundred years hadn’t dulled it, the mark of the night he’d made you his. So many times since then he’d bitten you, drank deep from the curve of your neck in the blur of blood and sex, but those marks always faded. 

All except that one, the scar is always permanent. A proof. The truest brand of belonging and his gaze worshiped it every time.

“Easier than I thought,” you murmured low into the curl of his ear, words rough with adrenaline, a crooked smile splitting your lips. 

His breath came in a ragged laugh against your jaw, head tipping slightly as he muttered, “Aye. Fast, then. Let’s be quick ‘bout it.” Already tugging you forward with force that brooked no refusal. 

Tonight he’d stand among his kin again, after centuries apart.

The two wide doors creaked as they swung, hinges groaning like the house itself knew it was about to die. Remmick stepped in first, dragging you tight at his side, the vampires trailing like wolves behind him. Inside, the survivors clustered in trembling packs, stakes and rifles raised to fight.

The same woman who had damned her companions raised a bottle wrapped in cloth and fire, hurling it at you both with all her fury.

Remmick surged in front of you, arm snapping up to catch the bottle’s arc, twisting his wrist and sending it spinning wide. It shattered across the floorboards, fire blooming in a rush, flames eating hungrily at the dry wood.

Everything collapsed into motion from there. You and Remmick surged forward, the rest behind you, a tide of hunger and violence. Stakes raised, rifles blasting sharp cracks into the smoke, the air thick with screams and gunpowder. 

Grace threw herself at her husband and staked him deep, wood punching through ribs, both of them catching alight together in one last, tragic blaze. Stack and Mary dove into human throats, pulling two bodies down, ripping the fight out of them in wet, tearing gasps.

Gunfire thundered, echoing off wood and tin.

Remmick lunged at the nearest man, slamming him down, fangs tearing straight into the exposed throat. The gush was immediate, hot arterial spray geysering hot and fast across his face, soaking his curls, sluicing down his chest. He groaned as he drank, blood spilling over his lips in sheets while he ground the man into the boards, body arched as he tore flesh in sheer rapture, crimson slicking every line of his mouth.

Another survivor came from behind, stake raised in fury and ready to strike. 

Fangs tore his neck as you leapt without thought, in one savage bite the sweet and thick with adrenaline taste flooded your tastebuds. 

You moaned into his neck as he spasmed, hand clutching at your shoulder with fading strength, the other trapped in your grip, stake trembling uselessly in his fist as you drained him. His knees buckled under you, his weight sinking until he was just meat, empty and slack. Ripping free from the gash on his neck with a gasp, blood stringing your lips and flung the body aside like waste.

Remmick rose, blood slick and glistening across his chest, curls dripping red. Grin wild and feral, pride and lust cutting deep into it, mouth open enough to bare every fang that you wished so deeply in yer neck at the moment. He looked at you like he wanted to fuck you there on the burning floor and your body ached to let him.

Another man charged, stake raised high, but Remmick caught his wrist with one hand, twisting until the bone gave with a crack. The stake clattered useless to the ground. 

Remmick flung the man at you, a gift tossed into your arms that you caught by the jaw, grip iron, forcing his head to tilt and exposing the artery to sink in, teeth splitting him open, blood surging hot and fast across your tongue.

Smoke drove a stake straight into Bert’s chest, Annie drove her own sharpened wood through the chest of another vampire before he could lunge.

Remmick charged her instantly and she splashed at him the liquid held in a glass jar of oil and garlic.

“Ahhh, you motherfu—“ The side of his face smoked, blistering raw as the garlic burned into flesh, bubbling in patches, wet lesions opening along his cheek.

A choked scream rattled out of your throat before you even meant to make it, blood flooding down your chin as you dropped the man you were draining. He collapsed in a twitching heap at your feet, gurgling, hands clawing at the air while the last of his lifeblood pumped from his shredded throat.

Your own face didn’t burn physically but the agony blasted through you as if your skin were peeling. A hand shot up to the side of your face, palm pressed hard against skin that wasn’t burned yet still felt aflame. Pain dragged your spine into a curve, the phantom echo of his flesh boiling imprinted directly into your skull from your shared memories.

Stumbling a half-step, vision red, before your gaze snapped sideways just in time to see Annie wrestled down by Stack. His body slammed hers against the boards, hunger pouring off him in waves. The irony was cruel, almost laughable and you did laugh under your breath. Family eating family, once bound together by love, now tearing into each other.

Smoke charged, muscles coiled with the desperate need to save Annie, but Remmick caught him first. In a blur, your lover seized the man by the throat, flipping him flat as though his weight was nothing at all. Smoke hit the boards with a slam, the air rattling from his lungs. Remmick loomed over him, red eyes glowing like hellfire, grin stretched cruel across his blood-drenched face.

You staggered toward them, the phantom pain dulling but leaving your nerves raw. Smoke’s eyes shot up at you, rage and desperation shining in his eyes. Your hand landed firm on his cheek, pressing his head sideways, forcing his gaze toward the sight of Annie pinned under Stack.

His body bucked, but you held him steady, the weight of your hand unrelenting as you forced him to watch right when Stack’s teeth tore into Annie’s throat.  He pulled back for just a moment, lips soaked, eyes flashing gold as they darted to his twin. He chuckled breathlessly, fangs dripping, before dropping his mouth back down to the wound, drinking deep with hungry snarls.

The sound of your own laughter rose, sharp and wicked and Remmick joined it, the two of you a duet of cruelty above Smoke’s strangled gasps. Together you lowered your heads toward the strong line of his neck, mouths opening wide, fangs gleaming.

The sharp crack of Pearline’s rifle shattered the moment. The bullet slammed into Stack’s side, body jerking as blood sprayed from the wound. A second shot came from Sammie’s rifle that joined Pearline’s and both you and Remmick were thrown off Smoke.

Remmick staggered as the bullet tore through his abdomen, a wet thud followed by a guttural grunt, body folding for a second “oooh—” he huffed before he forced himself upright.

You hit the floor hard, chest bursting with a sudden sharpness, a white-hot stab through your ribs. 

“Ye alright, love?” Your hands flew to your chest, nails clawing at your shirt as you muttered, breath short, “Fucker—got me right in the heart.”

Remmick’s palm pressed firm to your back as his head bent close, voice rough but steady, a dark promise wrapped in low words. “I’ll give ye a piece o’im too, darlin’. Ye’ll have yer fill.” He dragged you upright with him, steadying you with his arm slung under yours.

Through the haze of smoke and flame you watched as Smoke, trembling, lifted a stake high above Annie. Her eyes found him in that last desperate moment and he kept the vow. With a scream choked through his teeth, he drove the stake down, wood tearing into her chest. 

Mary’s cry cut through the chaos, high-pitched and ragged. She lunged in grief, but Stack caught her by the arm, dragging her back. His grip was iron, pulling her toward retreat even as her eyes burned at the sight of her friend’s death after being so close to being part of a new family.

Your hand clutched to your chest while Remmick’s palm held firm on your arm, dragging you step by step. Together, the two of you pulled back through the smoke, retreating outside the Juke Joint as the flames ate higher.

You stumbled once, boots sliding on the slick ground and hissed through your teeth, “Where the hell’re ye takin’ me?” Then, despite the war still roaring behind the wood on yer left, your mouth split into a grin, fangs flashing wet. “This ain’t the time t’ celebrate, Remmy~ We can fuck later once we’re done wi’ those last ones.”

His chest rumbled, low and dark, the sound halfway between a chuckle and a growl. He didn’t slow or spare you more than a hungry glance, curls hanging wild over his brow, his grin split wide with blood. “Always needy, aye?” he muttered, accent soaked thick as whiskey, words rolling like they were meant for your bones. “Can’t get enough of me, can ye, darlin’?” He yanked you closer to him mid-run, his breath hot in your ear as he promised, “Once this is done I’ll keep ye full o’ me cock ‘til yer ruined and yer throat’s screamin’ my name, an’ it’ll be our celebration ‘til forever.”

Heat shot through your stomach like you’d been gutted, your grin stretching wider, sharp and filthy. “I’ll hold ye to it,” you gasped, letting him drag you tighter against him as you sprinted side by side, his fingers locked in yours. “Now tell me, where the fuck are we goin’?”

Abruptly, he stopped once you’ve reached the far side of the Juke Joint. The screams of the old black man reached you here, torn apart as the others fed on him after he offered himself as bait. You tilted your head toward it instinctively and Remmick moved with sudden precision.

He pressed up close to you, chest flush, arm curling tight around your waist until you couldn’t move. His free hand shifted right before your eyes, knuckles cracking sharp as his fingers elongated, nails darkening into long, curved claws that gleamed wet in the firelight. He lifted one to his mouth, pressing the sharp edge against his lips to hush you.

Then his clawed finger pointed upward. You followed it, eyes dragging to the extension of wood above, a narrow platform, with a thick door bolted into its frame. 

Realization hit you like a hammer that those last few survivors were planning their escape there.

Your arms wrapped around his neck before he could even gesture, body moving to him on instinct. Without a word, his arms locked under you and the next second the ground vanished from beneath your feet when he floated.

The air tore around you, weightless, stomach lurching as his body floated straight upward. Your head nuzzled in the crook of his neck, the scent of iron filling your nose. The strange suspension of gravity unhooking itself from you made every nerve prickle.

You remembered his words once: “Y’gotta want it, darlin’. Want it so deep ye can’t stand bein’ on the ground anymore. Then the air will hold ye too.” And yet, even after a century, your own power flickered and failed in comparison to his. Floating, growing claws always come harder to you.

He never grew cruel for your failures, nor stopped teaching. You remembered his hands pressing your shoulders back in a ruined barn, coaxing you to call the monster forward. His laugh when you stared attentively at your hands to force sharp blades on them.

His body slamming you against the wall seconds later, fangs buried in your shoulder as punishment and reward alike. Lessons always ended with you ruined, bent and bleeding, fucked open until you sobbed. Him whispering against your skin, “That’s how ye learn, darlin’, open yerself to me, all the way.”

The platform groaned beneath your boots when you landed in sync. His arms loosened, and you unwrapped yourself reluctantly, immediately leaning in to press a kiss to his mouth. 

Supposed to be quick, it wasn’t. His lips were drenched in blood, the taste dragging you in deeper. He purred, tongue licking hungrily at your own soaked lips.

The heavy wooden doors clicked open in front of you, the lock shifting. You broke away unwillingly, lips torn from his, mouth chasing after yours, hungry even in the space of an inch. A red string of spit and blood stretched between you, trembling before it snapped and fell.

You breathed into him, voice low, recalling with a grin, “Feels just like that fight in Memphis, ye remember?” Another night, another bloodbath. His chest heaved, grin cutting through blood as he nodded, then stepped forward.

The door swung wide and Sammie and Pearl stumbled out, Smoke had his back turned to you both, guarding the stairs.

When Sammie and Pearl caught sight of you and Remmick, they both recoiled a step, eyes wide at the sight of you two covered in gore.

Remmick bared his claws, lips peeled back in a grin soaked with cruelty. “Sammie—” he lunged, movement blindingly fast, his clawed hand snapping around Smoke’s neck. He wrenched him off his feet and hurled him down like he weighed nothing. Then Remmick swung for Sammie, who barely had time to raise his guitar as a shield.

Smoke had rolled to grab his pistol, but you leapt for him, slamming his body down, knees pinning his hips. Both hands clamped his shoulders to the floor as he snarled up at you, one hand flying up to seize your throat. His grip was human strength at its peak but it paled in comparison to Remmick’s crushing hands. 

There really was no struggle for you to force through it, inching closer, fangs dripping, jaws parting as you aimed for his neck. His eyes widened as you bore down, hunger vibrating your bones.

Pearl drove a stake into Remmick’s back to get him off from Sammie, missing his heart, not deep enough, but the wood pierced flesh and Remmick howled.

Agony ripped into you at once.

The pain hit your back in the exact same spot, phantom but unbearable. Your muscles seized, chest locked up, body jerking like the stake had pierced you as well. Nerves flared white-hot, spine on fire, every inch of you shaking as if your own ribs had been shattered. You clawed at your back though there was no wound, eyes rolling from the intensity.

Smoke saw his chance. His hand snapped from your throat to your hip, fingers iron-tight as he rolled and flung you sideways. You hit the boards hard, ribs jarring as he scrambled for his pistol.

You watched through the haze of pain from the hive-mind, still choking on phantom pain, as he leveled the barrel at you. Before the shot rang, Stack surged from the stairs, slamming into his twin, both crashing to the ground in a mess of limbs and snarls.

Scrambling upright, you dragged yourself to Remmick’s side to yank the stake from his back in one pull, blood spilling thick down his spine. He growled, grabbed Pearline by the throat and smashed her back against a beam. His jaws tore into the right side of her neck, blood fountaining.

You grabbed her flailing arms, pinning them easily as her nails clawed at you before lowering your mouth to the other side of her neck, fangs plunging deep and the rush of her blood burned down your throat. 

Her scream broke muffled between you both.

Sammie lunged again, desperate, but Remmick caught his wrist mid-swing. 

Pulling free from Pearline’s neck and ready to dive at Sammie yourself, the crack of a gun split the air.

Smoke, on his feet again after pinning down his twin, had his pistol raised. He aimed straight at Remmick’s chest and fired three times in quick succession. The bullets slammed into him, ripping wet holes, blood spurting. The pain almost no existent si ce those bullets couldn’t harm you and him but the force of the impact sent him down on the floor.

Before you could even attack, Smoke turned the gun in your direction. The barrel flashed and the bullet cracked into your forehead. Your skull rang like a bell as you hit the ground instantly, vision shattering into fragments.  The shot hadn’t killed you, but your brain reeled, synapses on fire, every sense distorted as it progressively healed. The boards beneath you twisted, firelight stretching too long, bodies multiplying in your sight.

“Keep runnin’! Make it t’sunrise!” Smoke’s voice roared, clear even through the ringing in your head, directed at Sammie.

Remmick’s bloody hand dragged his body across the floor toward you. His voice was hoarse, raw, muffled by the distortion in your ears. “Darlin’ ye okay?”

You groaned, head lolling, hand fumbling until it found his arm. The strength of him, solid and hot beneath your palm, steadied the spin. “Go—go on. I’ll catch up. I’ll reach ye soon.”

Sammie stood frozen on the high platform, his whole body trembling as his eyes darted back and forth to Smoke still wrestling for control, pinning down his vampire-turned brother, and Pearline collapsed on the floorboards nearby, clutching at her torn throat with both hands. Blood slicked her fingers, her eyes wide and wild with terror, mouth working around words that came out broken and wet. “Go, Sammie... go—” she begged, her voice thin, desperate, knowing too well what her fate was. She would bleed out and rise as something else, no matter how much she clung to her faith.

The conflict in Sammie’s face was raw, torn between saving her, saving Smoke, saving himself. At last, he chose. He leapt from the platform, boots cracking against the ground below before he got up and limped through the flames, vanishing into the smoke-thick night.

Your own head swam, vision warped, still recovering from the gunshot that had smashed your skull. But even through the distorted haze, you saw Remmick move, stalking to the edge of the platform where Sammie had disappeared and then rising from the boards, floating into the open air with a slow, terrifying grace, glowing red eyes locked forward.

You closed your eyes and let the hive bridge between you, memories and moments bled into you, sight tilting into his. For a breathless instant, you were no longer watching but experienced everything from his eyes.

Through his vision you saw the ground streaking beneath you as he glided after Sammie, the boy limping away from the Juke Joint, one hand holding his guitar, dragging his body toward the lake. Sammie lifted his stake high when Remmick caught him, swinging desperate. Remmick caught it effortlessly, strength unshakable.

His hand slashed wide, claws singing as they ripped across Sammie’s face. The force of the blow shredded skin and sent him spinning sideways. His stake flew from his grip, guitar flung with it, both clattering into the water’s edge. Then his body toppled, crashing into the lake with a massive splash, limbs thrashing against the current.

The memory broke as you staggered, gasping back into your own skull. You sat up, blood drying sticky on your skin, head clearing in sharp fragments. The vision left you with a final image, the twins separating, not both dead. 

Why were they both still alive?

You didn’t have time to dwell, stumbling to your feet and hurling yourself from the platform. Air whipped across your ears before you landed with a crack, knees bending and when you looked to the side, you froze.

Mary and Stack were running together from the burning ruin, their hands knotted tight, silhouettes small against the blaze. They turned back just once, their faces lit raw by the fire. Their wide eyes, scared and devastated, seared into you, the image burned deeper than the bullets you’d taken tonight.

They resembled so much you and Remmick, all those years ago. Running from the sun when dawn cracked too soon, from hunters who tracked you through generations. Running because you had no choice but survival, the only anchor being his hand gripping yours.

Those memories ached too deep and deep down, you hoped to them a good life full of love and hope, before you turned your back, blood crusting along your mouth, to sprint toward the lake where the others waited.

The night cracked open as you arrived at the water’s edge lined with all the freshly turned vampires in front of the juke joint, observing Remmick. Pearline was among them now, her gash wide on the neck, fangs stretching long past her lips as she grinned with the manic glee of rebirth, her eyes locked on the man she still loved who was currently struggling in the grip of your monster.

Smoke was coming. He staggered across the shore, stake gripped in his hand, chest heaving. Remmick stood with his back to him, still holding Sammie in his claws, oblivious to the threat creeping closer.

Fear ripped your ribs wide. Terror unlike any stake threatening your life or the sun ready to roast you alive. The thought of watching him die strangled you in place.

Soon your body left the ground, feet no longer touching dirt, air rushing cold against your skin as you floated in the air, shaky, trembling, but aloft. Your hands curled and cracked, bones lengthened, nails darkening, claws jutting sharp from your fingers, not as monstrous as his but enough to glint like daggers in the firelight.

You flew clumsy, too fast and unsteady, body crashing down on Smoke, the two of you rolling hard into the water with loud splashes. Your claws dug shallow into his arm, leaving red lines that burned through his skin. He snarled, eyes flashing hate as the pain cut deep. His hand jerked, the stake nearly driven down, but you caught it, both your palms straining against the wood.

He roared, muscles straining, veins bulging while pushing with everything in him, but you twisted your arm, his bones threatening to crack under the strain, until he let go before you could break his arm. A shove from your feet hurled him back into the water. With one savage swing, you launched the stake towards the lake, the splash loud as the wood disappeared beneath the black water.

Smoke fell back, coughing, chest heaving, the weight of the world pressing him down.

Not so far, Remmick’s laugh rolled low, guttural, rich with pride. He had Sammie still pinned by the jaw, claws hooked around the boy’s face, forcing his head upward.

“Look at me darlin’,” he growled, accent thick, words broken with heat, darker and heavier, vibrating with satisfaction that his lover, his eternal other, had just taken to the air and hurled Smoke aside like some half-born god. He tilted his head, watching you with eyes like burning coals as you stalked toward the man you’d attacked and his grin stretched wider, fangs dripping.

He wrenched Sammie’s face back toward him, claws tightening on his jaw, fingers long and curved points grazing dangerously near the boy’s temple, but it was his grip on his jaw that controlled him, forcing to look only where Remmick wanted.

Sammie whimpered, tried to twist away, but Remmick dragged his head sideways with brutal ease, shoving his gaze toward the line of vampires.  “Look,” Remmick rasped, the word a command, his brogue thick and curling, each syllable rolled out like smoke. “See ‘em? Every last one who fought to save ye. All mine.”

Remmick shoved Sammie’s head harder, his claws biting into the bone of his jaw, forcing him to hold Pearline’s stare. “Ye see yer sweet girl?” he hissed against his ear, voice hot and intimate, so close it could’ve been a lover’s whisper. “She could be yers again, ye know. She could be what he is to me.”

His eyes snapped to you then, glinting red and ravenous, his grin curling wicked. “A hundred years ago he saved me life ‘nd I sank my teeth into his throat an’ never let go. M’ everythin’. When he laughs, I want t’ tear the world apart just t’hear it again. Had him scream me name wi’ blood on his lips more nights than ye’ve even drawn breath.” His voice cracked into a low, guttural growl, dripping with lust and devotion in equal measure as memories flooded his mind.

He bent lower, claws flexing cruelly against his face. “That’s what ye could’ve had wi’ her. That bond that never ends. Ye’d never sleep alone again. She’d be the last face ye’d see when the sun rose, the one gnashin’ at yer throat and ye’d thank her for it.”

His claws dug deeper into Sammie’s jaw until the boy whimpered, eyes closed in fear as he started to pray.

All the freshly turned vampires said the broken Catholic prayers under Remmick’s spell while he did the same, tone impossible to tell if it was meant in a mockery way or a comforting one.

The water rippled around Smoke as he crouched low, chest heaving after the crash you’d forced him into. He was distant from you, not far, eyes burning with fury, shoulders trembling with the effort of steadying himself and you stood opposite him on the water, hands no longer yours.

You looked down. The skin of your fingers stretched unnaturally long, bones lengthened, nails warped into curved claws. They flexed on instinct, scraping together, dripping water and blood. The sensation was alien yet strength thrummed through them, sharp and alive. It was wrong and right, uncomfortable in a way but exhilarating, a strange rebirth humming under your skin.

Your eyes slid back to Smoke, voice carrying through the damp night, calm but cutting. “Ye surprised me, y’know, when ye staked Annie. Woman ye loved deeper than yer own breath. Ye could’ve had forever wi’ her, made her yer world.”

Smoke spat water, lips curling back from his teeth. He pushed himself to his feet, shoulders stiff, voice low and rough, but still hard as flint. “She made me swear, if it ever came to it, I wouldn’t let her turn into no monster like you.” He sneered at the word.

The insult should’ve bit, but instead it pulled laughter from your chest, deep and bitter. You flexed your claws, letting the wet gleam of them catch his eye. “Keep the compliments to yerself. Besides, yer brother’s a monster too. Same as me.”

That landed. Smoke’s body jolted, his face twisting. The reminder cracked him, the grief spilling through the anger in a visible wave. He growled, shaking his head and when his voice came again it was barbed with raw hurt. “Tha’s on you. You ‘n him. Stack ‘n me, we was fixin’ t’start over. Whole goddamn family, all of us. We had it  an’ y’all gone ruined everythin’.” 

The water parted around your trousers, spraying sharp as you surged forward. Anger and grief helped you float in the air again. You didn’t touch the water so much as cut across it, floating fast, a hiss of displaced air in your wake.

In a heartbeat you were on him, your claws snapping his jaw in a brutal grip, the other hand clamping his bicep until you felt bone strain under your fingers. He stiffened, teeth bared, but you held him pinned, a silent threat in your grasp of how easily you could break him.

“A new life, huh? That what ye called it? Like Chicago weren’t enough?” Your grip on his jaw tightened, forcing his eyes to yours, voice shaking with a blend of fury and grief that cut sharper than your claws. “All that  stuff ye stole and bought yerselves a dream while folks like me buried our families. My parents are in the dirt ‘cause of men like ye who take what they want ‘nd leave the rest of us with nothing. And now ye dare talk to me about ruinin’ things?”

Your voice cracked, grief bleeding into wrath, the old wound tearing open in the middle of the night air. “Ye should be thankful I’m even thinkin’ of turnin’ ye and let ye be wi’ yer cousin and brother, by yer side forever.”

Smoke’s teeth clenched so hard you could hear the grind, eyes wet with rage. He forced the words through them, voice like broken glass. “He found himself the perfect company, didn’t he? Someone fragile ‘nd weak. Easy t’manipulate and t’bend ‘til you’re doin’ anything he wants.” His lips peeled back, mockery sparking in his tone. “Tell me, does he whisper that he loves ya every time ya spread y’self for ‘im like a good sl—”

The rest was strangled in his throat. Your clawed hand dropped fast, clamping his neck in a crushing grip, long thumbs dragging across his windpipe, pressing hard, tilting his chin sideways, exposing the thrum of his jugular. His breath sputtered, cut short, eyes bulging as your fangs dipped closer.

Out of nowhere, pain came like lightning cleaving your skull in two. One second your claws were crushing Smoke’s throat, fangs a breath away from sinking in, all interrupted by an explosion of agony against the side of your head. 

Your vision flared white, sound collapsed into a shrill ringing, grip slackened, claws dragging free of Smoke’s skin as you staggered back, both hands flying to clutch the left side of your skull.

You reeled, stumbling across the water’s edge, head swimming with nausea and molten pain. Turning blindly toward Remmick, the sight you caught through the blur gutted your insides.

Sammie, wild-eyed, had swung his guitar, smashing it into the side of your lover’s face.

The silver-plated resonator panel had lodged deep and you observed in horror as Remmick’s clawed hand came up, trembling with rage as it hooked into the panel. He ripped it free with a screech of tearing flesh, the silver sizzled where it had been pressed into him and smoke billowed hot from the ruined side of his head.

He turned then and he was monstrous.

Half his face was gone, caved in like a mask collapsing inward. Meat and bone tangled together, shards of splintered wood still sticking out. Where lips and cheek should have been, there was only skin peeled back, muscle shredded away.

His fangs, once something he could bare at will, were now permanent, jutting forward from the ragged wreck of his mouth. The skin that once framed them was gone, so they looked longer, sharper and feral. You could see past the canines, past the front row of teeth, to the deep saw-edged molars glistening with blood, every one of them too sharp and jagged, mouth split too wide to look human. 

It was no longer a man’s mouth but more a muzzle torn open mid-snarl.

Dark gas curled from the wound, white vapor hissing where silver had branded him. Blood slid thick from the corner of his mouth, slow threads catching the moonlight as they trailed down his chin and dripped down in the water. His shirt clung to his body in tatters, ragged cloth soaked crimson, stretched tight against the carved ridges of his chest and stomach.

Sammie squirmed in his grasp, but Remmick only tightened his claws around the boy’s jaw. The talons dug in until blood welled, red eyes blazing as he leaned in, closer and closer to the pulse in Sammie’s neck, ready to rip him open.

Arms snapped around your waist while you observed with your mind a chaos of suffering and surprise.

The air drove out of your lungs as Smoke tackled from behind, thick arms caging yours to your sides. His grip was iron, dragging you sideways across the water. You thrashed, snarling, claws slicing at empty air but you were slowly about to break free the more you forced your arms open in the cage he created.

A worse agony came from the horizon right in front of your struggling form.

The sun, that pale red disc rising slow but merciless. Its light speared across the lake, catching your skin and instantly smoke hissed from your flesh, every inch of your body on the edge of burning.

The smoke rose thick off you, wisps trailing into the dawn. Your muscles failed, strength bleeding away as the sun rose higher, its touch spreading across you like fire. Every movement grew weaker, every kick slower the longer you got closer to dying in Smoke’s arms.

Smoke choked in pain, his face twisted in pain as the heat from your skin touched him too but he clung to you, hissing through clenched teeth. “Burn, sumbitch, burn.” He spat, voice thick with hatred.

You tried to rip free but your body betrayed you, energy draining with each second of sunlight. The smoke off your skin thickened, the edge of flame about to catch.

Then the world broke open.

In the blink of an eye Sammie’s body landed on the water like a rag doll, intact and still humanly alive. 

Remmick blurred forward, vampiric speed cracking the air like a whip as his body smashed into Smoke, clawed hands wrenching him away from you, tearing the man’s grip from your frame and were flung free.

The water caught your body as it crashed into it hard, the cold a shock against your seared skin, steam exploding and starting to catch fire where the sun still struck you.

A clawed and bloodied hand seized you. Remmick’s grip locked tight on your arm and dragged you upward, lifted clear of the water, body limp, as his ruined face twisted with effort and his body created a shield of shadows from the sun that was about to scorch you full. 

The two of you rose into the air again, but it was shaky, uneven, every muscle in him straining. He was as weak as you, the sun sapping his strength as it burned along his skin too.

In the haze of vision distorted by the pain, you saw all those vampires you turned this night burn together.

The two of you landed rough, stumbling onto the side of the Juke Joint where shadow still was present. 

Hitting the boards hard, barely managing to stay on your feet before his arm crushed around your waist, keeping you upright. Your head lolled against his shoulder, vision swimming, too weak and scorched to know where he was pulling you. All you could feel was the tremble in his body, the rasp of his breath, the scent of his burned flesh.

He half-dragged, half-carried you, shoving through the treeline at a desperate pace. The forest canopy broke the sunlight, shadows shielding you both enough to keep your bodies from open fire. He didn’t slow, grip bruising into your ribs, chest pressed to your back, dragging you mile after mile as the forest swallowed you both.

It felt endless, each step scraped your nerves raw, skin still smoking, body heavy as stone but he would not stop.

At last, an old cabin, sagging in the clearing, boarded over and forgotten. Remmick snarled, shoving you against the wall as his claws ripped the planks from the door. Wood splintered, nails squealing loose. He kicked it open with a crash, then hauled you inside.

The place was completely abandoned, the only reason why you and him could step in.

Collapsing as your body was thrown to the dusty floorboards, his presence following close after. The door slammed shut behind you, the darkness of the cabin swallowing the two of you whole as the forest outside burned gold with the sunrise.

The boards beneath you were warm as coals, each breath dragging like smoke into your chest as you clung low to the floor of the abandoned cabin. The sunlight had carved you raw, peeled your strength down to the marrow, so even the effort of pressing yourself up on your palms ended in collapse, ribs clattering to the planks with a dull thud. 

It was silent all around except for a faint, wet thrum that broke through your shredded senses. 

A heartbeat, fragile and quick, prey-small.

Your head turned, sluggish, eyes burning in their sockets to hunt the sound. The tiny pulse rattled again, the uneven skip of fear from a rabbit. Somehow it had slipped through a crack in the boards, trapped in this ruin. You forced your knees to lift you, trembling limbs quaking beneath your own weight, each shift forward an agony, muscles screaming as if they belonged to someone already half-dead. The little creature held still in the corner, beady eyes fixed on you.

Dragging yourself nearer, inch by ragged inch, lips parting, breath broken with a faint growl. When you were near enough to strike, you did not pounce on its still form but toward where instinct screamed it would flee. And true enough, it bolted right into your reach. Your claws snapped closed around its body, bones shifting beneath your grip, the fur hot and thrashing against your palm.

Fangs pierced before the creature’s shriek even left its throat. The neck gave easily, hot blood surging into your mouth. Copper and iron drowned your tongue, the sweetness of life pouring down while drinking hard, throat working, every vein in your body screaming for more. 

The temptation to drain it empty clawed at you, but you wrenched your jaws back with a guttural growl, blood frothing down your lips as you tore yourself free. Your head snapped back, hair clinging wet to your temples, chest heaving. You clutched the still-living rabbit in one clawed hand, its heartbeat now sluggish but present.

The agony burned away, blistered skin across your arms smoothed, blackened veins retreating, the raw welts of sunlight sealing shut as fresh flesh gleamed pale beneath. The pain that had nailed you to the boards bled out until only strength filled the marrow again. You knelt there in the dim light of the cabin dripping with prey’s blood, lips slick red as you turned toward him.

Remmick sat against the wall like a corpse at rest, legs stretched limp, back pressed hard to the board, chin dipped low and oozing blood down on the ground. Crimson, irises staring into the floor like. 

He looked carved from wrath, silence stretched taut around him, the stink of blood and ruin cloaking every breath.

You crawled toward him, the rabbit still twitching weak in your hand. Each inch across the floor made your chest quake harder until, at last, you stopped right in front of him. 

Slowly, his head rose. The fresh burns across his cheek where silver had kissed him, the deep rents in his flesh that hadn’t sealed, the monstrous flare of fangs too long to look human, crimson locked into your own vermilion glow.

Blood still dripped down your mouth and it fell onto his ruined shirt, dark circles spreading across the already stiff fabric and he didn’t blink or flinch. 

Your hand lifted the rabbit, blood-slick claws cradling it as you offered it out.

He only watched you with that burning gaze. 

The rabbit squirmed once and you set it gently beside his thigh, a gift trembling in its dying heart. His gaze never left yours, even as the warm drops from your chin pattered next to him.

Fear slid into you then, the kind you hadn’t felt in a century for him. 

Desperate to touch the back of his thoughts and read what broiled there, but the weakness still clung to you and no memory would come despite the hive connection. His wrath was silent, sealed inside and you were blind before it.

Your thoughts clawed wild through your skull, trying to piece him together and understand him. 

He was wrathful for your weakness. You dragged yourself into a death you should have been too old and wise to stumble into, ruining his night. Made him let Sammie slip through his grip and cost him the chance to take what he’d sought for centuries.

He could have bitten Sammie. 

One more second under the sun and you would have been nothing but ash, forgotten at the lake’s edge, but he would claim what he’d burned for across lifetimes.

Why? Why had he let Sammie slip through his claws? Why had he chosen your weak, near-ash body over the goal he had chased for centuries? His kin was in reach, the ability that could have restored everything he lost and still he had dropped it.

Your throat tightened, lips sticking as you whispered, voice raw, “Remmick...” His gaze didn’t shift. Not once. Those eyes stayed hooked in you like nails, unblinking, pupils drowned in bloodlight. You licked your lips, tasted copper and forced the words. “Why’d ye save me?”

The silence that followed was unbearable. His stare was so heavy it felt like weight pressing down your chest, your ribs creaking under it. A tremor shivered through your body, breath catching sharp as your mind churned through a hundred years of him and none of it looked like this. He had never seemed so monstrous and distant.

Remmick had always been a man with two hungers. One gnawed outward, reaching into the past, desperate to claw his kin back from the grave and feel the voices and songs that had once filled his young life. 

The other hunger folded inward, deeper, darker, rooted in the marrow of his solitude.

For centuries he had carried that ache like a brand, loneliness that no slaughter could drown, no amount of people he turned would satisfy. 

He had looked at you a century ago and he recognized himself. The way grief had gutted you after your solitude, the way loneliness had left you empty as a drained carcass. 

A mirror of his own ruin.

That was why he had claimed you, not because he needed another soldier or even just because he hungered for your blood (the best meal of his life). He had wanted to strip that sorrow out of you because he could not strip it out of himself. To bind you so tight to him that neither of you would ever be alone again. 

And for all the feral drool and brutal hunger for blood, beneath the predator’s mask, there had always been something older and heavier, a desire not to be abandoned and not to starve on solitude again.

But that desire warred with the other, the centuries of obsession, the compass that had driven him across states, across decades, following whispers of music that might resurrect his kin. 

The dream of reunion, the one thing he had never abandoned until now.

Your own body had been writhing in Smoke’s arms, the sun burning you from the outside in, your skin blistering, smoke lifting off you in pale strands while screaming in pain. 

In front of him Sammie had stood, throat bared, helpless, the last key to everything Remmick had ever hunted. One bite and his kin would come back with those new abilities he would have gotten from Sammie.

But his gaze had flicked from Sammie’s throat to you, burning alive, thrashing weakly in another man’s grip and it split him open.

One desire was centuries old, etched into his bones. The other was a hundred years old, rooted in the monster’s twisted form of love. For one breath he stood on the edge of both, torn between grief and devotion, the compass of his eternity spinning wild. 

The next he dove to keep hell from takin’ you.

Tearing you from Smoke’s arms, dragged your body against his own as the sunlight licked him too, scorching his skin raw. The hiss of his own flesh rose into the air, curls igniting at the edges, skin blistering alongside yours. He chose to burn if it meant keeping you breathing one more night.

He had spent centuries swearing his kin were his only purpose and salvation. But in that split-second choice he proved the truth his hunger had hidden from even himself: the one being who had seen him at his most monstrous and not run or tried to pierce a stake through his heart, but stayed.  Chosen him, lied for him, sheltered and loved him, even when it meant ruin.

His drive had always been about the ache of loneliness, the hollow gnawing him open from inside and you had already filled it. He hadn’t named it, wouldn’t dare to, but the truth sat plain in the way his burned hands had locked around your body, dragging you from fire, taking the sunlight’s bite.

Eternity meant nothing if you weren’t in it with him, reminding himself of the vow he’d made the first time he lay with you, a hundred years ago, after painting your enemies across the dirt with their own blood and carbonized bodies. 

He would destroy anyone to protect you.

His hand rose slow, every tendon blackened and split by the cruelty of the sun, palm settling against your cheek, the burn of it was near unbearable, heat radiating from the ruin, but the cradle of it was tender. 

His jaw shifted, split by ruin and from that broken mouth came a low rasp, distorted by the gash the guitar had carved in him.

“Safe now... tha’s all tha’ matters.”

The words were wrecked, wet and thick and the sound of them knotted your throat until swallowing hurt worse than the blisters the sun had left. You looked down, lashes clumped with blood, vision blurring with a tear that broke loose despite the steel you tried to hold. It slipped past, cold at first, then hot where it touched your cheek, streaking down until it merged with the blood that smeared your lips, chin, throat.

His claw tipped your chin up, merciless in its command, forcing you to meet him again since he couldn’t bear your eyes turned away when they belonged to him. His crimson stare dragged you back to him with a force that had nothing to do with the claw at your jaw.

Your lips parted, words torn thin, almost breathless. “Now tha’ we know who t’ hunt, it’ll be easier, aye?”

The change in him was slow, visible as fire dimming. The wrath that had made his body monstrous bled from his eyes, replaced not by peace but by hope and relief. 

He nodded, a tiny movement, but his gaze softened as it stayed on you. The beast eased back, fraction by fraction, because you were still there, kneeling before him, loyal as ever.

Finally his gaze slipped down, breaking from your face to drag across your shoulders, then to your hands where they rested on your knees, claws not as long or deadly looking as his.  “’Bout time ye got those.” His voice rolled low, ragged and ruined, deeper than you’d ever heard it, yet with a strange intimacy in the distortion.

A faint laugh cracked from your throat, your eyes dropping to the claws. “Only took me a hundred years t’ catch up.” The words were dry, bitter-sweet, because they were nothing compared to his. Still, you flexed them once. “I’ll miss it ye liftin’ me through the air when I couldn’t yet. Us floatin’ together.”

A sound left him then, half chuckle and growl, distorted, but playful in its jagged edges. “Ye’ll still feel it for a while,” he rasped, breath wet. “Saw how ye crashed int’ tha’ bastard tryin’ t’save me.” The scarred corner of his mouth twitched, almost a grin, but it split into a shadow of something darker as drool gleamed at his fangs.

You chuckled too, weak, breathless, dropping your head in shame before lifting it again. “Glad I saved ye from a stake in the back at least. Would’ve been embarrassin’, aye? A hundred years of terror, brought low like a drunkard in a bar brawl.”

One moment his ruined face loomed away, the next there was no space left between your faces, his breath hot and metallic on your lips, voice cracking deeper, distorted into something monstrous, but the intimacy in it made your gut clench. 

“Best we wait fer dark... in our own way.” The meaning coiled in the words, not subtle but soaked in heat, his grin stretching wider, closer, until his forehead brushed yours.

Drool pooled on his chin, heavy, thick, spilling down in rivers. The torn side of his face gaped open, fangs laid bare like a wolf’s maw, glistening wet where spit and blood clung. It dripped from there as well, sliding from teeth never meant to be exposed. Each thread caught the dim light, every tremble of saliva making them shine.

A century together hadn’t dulled it: he always grew ravenous when his mind turned toward you. No matter if you were no longer human or had been with him for a hundred years, the hunger burned hot as the first night. The thought of your body under him, of the things you’d done and the things still left undone, made him salivate like a beast.

Your breath cracked, voice breaking as you leaned closer, whispering the promise: “Feed first, ye need it.” But even then your tone trembled with restraint, like you were one shudder away from begging him to take you right there.

He purred, low and wet, blood-slick heat spilling against your lips. An idea sparked in him, a grin cruel and intimate as he murmured, “Adorable ye are, darlin’, when ye fuss over me.”

Then he moved, sitting himself on his knees, and one clawed hand pressed your chest, pushing you back until your spine hit the boards. The now dead rabbit was in his other hand, its neck a ragged mess where your fangs had torn it. He held it above you as he hovered above, claws crushing tighter until blood welled fresh from the wound.

The gash hovered over your face and the blood began to fall. Thick droplets pattered against your forehead, cheeks and lips. Opening your mouth and letting it in, the hot taste sliding down your tongue, but you didn’t swallow, only let it pool, cold iron sweet across your teeth.

His claws clenched tighter, bones cracking in his grip and more blood poured down, a rain of crimson painting your face, soaking your throat, dripping into your open mouth until you were drenched in it.

Ripping what he had on like paper, dragging through fabric and flesh alike until your body was bared beneath him. He dragged the rabbit’s carcass above your skin, squeezing it until the blood ran down in sheets, painting your chest and stomach, the hollows of your hips until you were a canvas, streaked red from throat to navel.

When the body was drained to nothing he flung it aside, broken like fruit crushed to pulp. Then he dropped down, ruined mouth opening wide, tongue dragging across your body in thick, wet stripes, lapping up the blood he’d poured. 

Every few licks his fangs caught your skin, biting sharp and left marks.

When he reached your throat, his fangs sank deep, not with a careful pierce but with a brutal bite that claimed flesh he already owned. His jaw locked, the points sliding into the scar he had carved there a century ago and this time there was no restraint or gentleness. He bit down until pain and pleasure tangled so thick you couldn’t separate them.

Mouth sealed hard, suction greedy, pulling blood in heavy swallows that made his throat vibrate against your skin, each drag matched by the rumble in his chest, a growl so low and guttural while he was devouring.

A dragging tide that left you dizzy, cock throbbing harder the more he took. His ruined cheek pressed against you, smearing blood and drool across your collar, the ragged wound letting you feel the jagged textures of him in ways no whole man could ever give. 

His hands roamed rougher now, claws scouring your chest and abdomen, leaving shallow slashes that wept blood for him to taste later while he sucked harder, deep and obscene. Each swallow dragged another pulse of pleasure through your cock while he lost himself against your throat, even as your claws tore his back bloody in return.

Abruptly he then moved higher, ruined yet handsome face hovered above yours, mouth opening wide to kiss you, hungry and feral, tongue diving deep into your mouth to drink the blood that lingered there.

Lips crushing yours, fangs scraping, tongue greedy as it dragged across yours, pulling every taste he could find.

The boards beneath your spine still held the heat of fire and blood, dust rising in faint clouds every time your body shifted against them, but you barely felt it. 

What you felt was his weight looming above, ruined face dipping closer, the torn side pressed so near that every droplet of spit and blood falling from the gash slicked your skin. His clawed hands, once blackened and brittle from the sun, began to knit themselves back together before your eyes. 

Felt the grip grew steadier, where raw char had been, pale flesh crawled back into place, splitting with seams of wet red that sealed in slow pulses. His cheek, blistered and burnt, smoothed until only that deep, jagged gash across the side of his face remained, a window into his monstrous jaw, a maw too wide with fangs glinting in drool.

A grunt broke from him, low and guttural, rattling his chest, distorted by the ruin of his mouth so that it sounded less like a man and more like some beast devouring its prize. Those claws kept roaming in erratic hunger, scoring lines across your chest, abdomen, thighs, crosshatching your body in fresh red marks that burned when the air touched them.

You dug into him in turn, your own claws dragging across his back. The cuts you left were shallow, half by accident and the other half by the desperation of clutching at him while he drank. Still new to them, forgetting they were even there until they broke his flesh but every scratch only seemed to spur him on.

One clawed hand tore apart your trousers to then grip your thigh hard enough to bruise, dragging it up and pressing your leg high until you hooked it around his waist yourself, desperate to anchor him closer. His hips shifted, the heavy bulge in his trousers slotting against your clenched hole. The heat of it made you hiss, fangs flashing as you gasped, “Remmick— need somethin’ t’ get out o’ here come nightfall.”

He pulled back from your throat, lips wet and shining, strings of blood and spit stretching from your neck to his mouth before collapsing in slow arcs across your chest. 

“Don’t care.” That voice was a ruined growl, thick and distorted. His eyes raked over you, crimson and merciless while those bloodied claws slid down your chest, over your abdomen, marveling at the marks he’d carved into your skin.

One hand dropped to his belt, the buckle snapped, leather sliding loose as his trousers opened. His cock came free, heavy and hard, slick already with blood smeared across it from his hands, from you. He grinned, jagged, obscene, and rasped, “Want every bastard left breathin’ t’ see ye drippin’ me.”

The head of his cock forced itself inside you, thick and wide, tearing you open with blood as lube. Your hole stretched brutal around him, clenching, resisting then giving. He groaned as he sank deeper, his ruined face dripping blood and spit onto your chest. You gasped sharp, claws digging at his back as you felt him split you open, your body burning, then melting around the sheer size of him.

When he bottomed out, he didn’t pause, only pulled back and slammed forward again, heavy thrusts that drove the air from your lungs. His cock was thick, dragging your insides raw, every stroke scraping deep.

His mouth returned to your skin, biting and tearing. Each bite left a fresh gash, teeth dragging blood that he licked hungrily. He marked your chest, shoulder, the edge of your jaw, feeding and fucking in the same rhythm, his growls vibrating through every wound.

The sight of him above you was almost unbearable. His face, still torn open, fangs gleaming slick with drool and blood, mouth gaped wider than human, spit streaming from both lips and the ragged gash. His eyes glowed hot, crimson drowning their whites, locked on your face as if daring you to look away. Blood dripped from him as much as it did from you, pooling on your chest, smearing into the sweat between you.

His thrusts grew faster and deeper until your body convulsed around him as you shattered, cum spilling between you. The connection between you carried it to him, your pleasure ripping through his chest. 

His cock swelled inside you, growl breaking the air as he came, flooding you thick, hot, heavy, hips grinding as if trying to press it deeper into you and keep it from ever leaving.

Bliss was a luxury he didn’t allow. 

Before you could even catch your breath, he was moving again. Harder and relentless,  hips slamming yours, cock forcing through the cum he’d just left inside, fucking it deeper, fucking you open again.

His hunger was endless for your blood, body and devotion. His ruined face hovered close to yours, mouth dripping, breath hot and wet against your lips while panting from the bliss you procured him. He watched you twist under him, face contorted in pleasure and his own expression carved monstrous satisfaction.

Drool hung from his torn cheek, streaking down to mix with the blood slicking your throat, but his crimson eyes never wavered from your face. Each thrust rattled the both of you, his cock hammering deep, yet his gaze softened in its own monstrous way, something raw and breaking bleeding through the red glow while he watched you with such intensity.

In that moment, Remmick knew with absolute certainty that he would choose you again and again.