#vampire!hyunjin

The front door slams shut, cutting off the distant, muffled thrum of the Halloween party they’d just fled. Nine bodies tumble into the house, a glorious, tangled heap of velvet, netting, fur, and lace, instantly shedding the last of their public restraint. The living room is dark save for the sickly green glow of a forgotten string of Halloween lights draped over the mantel, casting the worn furniture in eerie shadows that make their elaborate costumes look even more dramatic.

Chan, dressed like Wriothesley with his wolf ears and tail, tears his grey vest off, the motion aggressive. His realistic wolf ears slipping in his hair, and his thick, swaying tail knocks over a decorative pumpkin. He is the first to try and grip reality, running a hand through his damp hair. “Okay, okay, everyone. Let’s get this mess off, we need to shower, and then beds now,” he orders, already fighting the feral urge that costume has amplified all night.

Minho, in his witch costume, laughs, the sound low and dismissive as he flicks his voluminous dark purple velvet robe off his shoulders. It pools on the floor and his wide-brimmed hat goes sailing onto the coffee table with a soft thud.

But your attention is not on the two oldest but on Jeongin. Mostly because he hasn’t stopped semi-glaring at you since you left the party. Your cracked white face paint shifts at you look at him feigning innovent as he pulls at layers of delicate ruffles and lace. He looks so pretty tonight, his sheer, iridescent blue fabrics and gold netting are still damp from spilled drinks, and his usual composure dissolves into pure, needy urgency as he crowds you against the wall. 

He kisses you desperately, smashing his lips against yours, a violent, open-mouthed clash.

Jisung is uselessly leaning against the wall, witnessing the aggressive exchange, lets out a frustrated whine, his own body instantly tightening with need. His bright green Saiki K school uniform and the absurd pink power-control headpiece contrast sharply with the raw hunger in his eyes. He's trying to look detached, but the tension is already making him hazy. He spins around, trying to pull Minho into action, begging, “Hyung, help, I’m getting blue-balled just watching them! Do something!”

Minho doesn't even glance at Jisung. He is intensely focused on the mess you and the maknae are making. Giving up on the witch, Jisung instead grabs Felix, who is still floundering in his white robes, dragging the angel into the center of the room with a cold, needy grip.

You let out a muffled noise of surprise as Jeongin backs you up quickly, your combined momentum sending you tumbling heavily over the back of the plush sofa. The sound of the collapse, followed by a thick silence punctuated by wet, desperate kissing, is the signal the rest of the house needed.

Felix, the Angel, is utterly undone, nearly tripping over the simple, impractical white robes and worn wings that drag on the grime.

With the biggest, most cumbersome costume, Changbin, leans over you both. His immense black and red Dragon wings dropped against the wall, he shoves the heavy props against the wall, his intricate black and green scales makeup glinting sweatily, already done with the pretense.

“What did you do to upset the Maknae like this, huh?” Changbin asks, utterly ignoring Chan's increasingly strained attempts at routine.

Jeongin pulls his mouth away from yours just long enough to gasp out his answer, his eyes wild and desperate. “She kept teasing me! All night! She was talking to some dude.” He throws himself back at you, smashing his lips against yours again, one desperate hand clawing at the delicate ruffles and lace of your doll costume, trying to tear your front open.

You pull your face back, managing a sharp, breathless whine. “I wasn’t! I was just being friendly, you’re just being possessive, Jeongin!”

Seungmin, the sleek black Demon, stalks forward, having watched the entire exchange with a possessive smirk, tapping his tiny plastic pitchfork against his thigh. The description of your subtle, successful provocations from the party is all the ignition he needs. He shoves Changbin aside, grabbing you, instantly taking control of you and his only dongseong. He initiates a dominant, messy physical encounter, pulling you up and open-mouth kissing you, then Jeongin, marking his neck aggressively sinking teeth into the skin. Jeongin immediately follows the Demon's lead, embracing the sheer, public messiness.

Hyunjin, whose face is unnaturally pale and carries a subtle crimson stain on his lower lip from the fake blood, moves silently, his teeth catching the low green light as he watches the chaos with thinly veiled hunger. The sight of Jisung and Felix, who have devolved into a whiny, useless mess of tangled limbs and grinding bodies, is too much. Drawn by their pathetic need and his own craving for maximal physical closeness, Hyunjin moves, his hands immediately hovering over Felix’s hips to guide their motion for maximum, focused pleasure.

Chan stands frozen, his chest heaving under the strain of watching the collapse. He is fighting the dangerous thrill of the mess, the sloppy sounds that promise the absolute loss of control he needs to avoid. The sight of Seungmin's fingers digging into your lace, Jeongin’s sheer desperation, and Hyunjin's predatory focus all confirm that this night is going to be raw, uncontrolled, and devastatingly honest, a total abandonment of the routine he had planned.

Minho moves in on him, not with aggression, but with cold, surgical intent. He doesn't grab a hand or a shoulder; he closes his fist around the base of Chan’s thick tail, pulling him roughly toward the center of the room where the air is thick with pheromones and discarded fabric.

“You still think about bedtime?” Minho’s voice is a low, challenging growl, his breath hot against Chan’s exposed neck. “Look at the mess, Hyung.” Minho’s hand slides down, finding the insistent, needy bulge straining against Chan’s trousers. “You want to be here, Channie. You know you want to spend time with our needy babies.”

Chan’s last vestiges of control crumble, the desperate, high-pitched whine from Felix mixing with your own breathless pleas for relief, shatters all amounts of his self control. Minho wastes no time with lingering touches, he uses the thick length of Chan’s wolf tail as a handle, dragging the boy over to the sofa cluster, pulling him into the immediate vicinity of Hyunjin and Jisung. Minho practically rips Chan’s pants down, letting them fall around his ankles, then shoves the older man onto his knees right beside the edge of the plush sofa.

Minho doesn't stop to admire his handiwork. He grabs Chan’s jaw and slams his mouth down in a punishing kiss that silences the room again. It is a primal, territorial claim, and everyone freezes, a collective intake of breath. Minho is demanding submission from the oldest, and the sight is devastatingly effective.

Changbin is the first to move again. He grabs the front of Seungmin’s black jacket, hauling the Demon entirely off of you and Jeongin. Changbin settles Seungmin into his lap against the wall, his thick thighs anchoring the demon. Changbin’s hand slips instantly under Seungmin’s pants to grasp his thick, straining member, running his hand up and down to jerk the boy off with brutal speed. Seungmin’s breath hitching into a pained, high-pitched whine against Changbin’s neck, his back arching sharply as Bin begins to hump him aggressively, his eyes never leaving the scene on the sofa.

You and Jeongin take advantage of the sudden space. He pulls your face back for one last frantic kiss before beginning his descent. Your gaze remains locked on the chaos, but you can only gasp as Jeongin kisses a scorching path down your throat, over the delicate lace of your bodice, until he reaches your hips. He pushes aside your ruined panties, his mouth latching onto your core.

The pressure is agonizing and immediate, your hips instinctively bucking against his face. You can only call his name, "Jeongin, please," but your voice is thin and desperate. He ignores the plea, instead lapping at your heat like a starved animal. He finds your clit, sucking it deep and hard, a possessive sound pulling from his throat. You can't think, only feel, and your hands fly to his damp, blue-dyed hair, tugging on it to pull him in closer, a silent command for more.

He pulls his mouth away just long enough to breathlessly whisper, "See? Only me. Just open up for me."

Hyunjin is draped over the back of the sofa, his face glistening with effort, a stark, predatory mask of pleasure. He pushes Jisung and Felix past their limits, the raw need of the Vampire demanding their absolute submission. He clamps his strong hands grasping Felix's hips and pushing his hips to rub against the bulge in Han's pants, both boys whining as they kiss each other.

Hyunjin leans close, his voice a low, encouraging growl against your ear, "That's right, make a mess of those little clothes. Cum for the Vampire, I want you both ruined."

Both boys lie tangled on the cushion beneath him, their costumes, the ridiculous bright green of Saiki K and the soaked white of the Angel, now clinging to them. They are a whiny, whimpering mess, having both cum in their pants from the relentless assault. Hyunjin is not satisfied. He gives a low, predatory hiss, "On your knees, both of you. You don't get to rest yet."

He shoves their shoulders, forcing them off the sofa and onto the stained floor beneath the eerie green light. The boys obey instantly, scrambling to kneel at his hips, their wet pants sticking uncomfortably to the carpet. Hyunjin settles back onto the couch, legs spread wide, and exposes himself to the two boys. Felix's lips are slick with drool, and Jisung's eyes are half-closed, Felix lapping at the base ad Jisung sucks on the head.

The Vampire is insatiable. His hips buck wildly, driving himself deep against their faces with a furious, rhythmic force. Felix, despite his exhaustion, tries to rub his own slick length against Jisung’s thigh, seeking a shared comfort even as he obeys Hyunjin’s silent commands. Jisung, completely overwhelmed, focuses entirely on taking in Hyunjin’s length, his cheeks hollowed out and his jaw aching. He tries to rub his own body closer to Felix, seeking connection as their wet pants now rubbing together uselessly.

Hyunjin stares at the ceiling, his head tipped back, only issuing low, guttural sounds of command and pleasure, entirely consumed by the feeling of their mouths around him. With a final, ragged snarl, Hyunjin buckles, his hips slamming as he floods Ji’s mouth. The Vampire is spent, his breath coming in high, desperate gasps as the thick, hot release pours out of Ji’s mouth into Felix eager one. He immediately collapses back against the couch, his thick cock finally going soft in their still-clinging mouths.

On the floor, Seungmin is screaming into Changbin’s shoulder, completely consumed by his hyung’s rough touch, his own climax pulling violently from him. Changbin chuckles, a dark, satisfied sound, as the Demon in his lap groans, Seungmin’s release finally soaking his hand. Changbin doesn't stop, his hips rocking harder against Seungmin's now-slick backside, his grin wide as he watches the chaos unfold.

Minho doesn't ease up. Chan, now stripped naked and kneeling beside the sofa. Minho is already spreading his cheeks, his wet fingers plunging deep inside. The sight of Chan being so utterly dominated by Minho is intoxicating. You feel your muscles clench, Jeongin's face still pressed urgently against your core. The pressure Jeongin is applying with his mouth builds to an impossible peak, and the sight of Chan being used so thoroughly shatters the last of your resistance. You cry out, your body buckling, and you flood his face and mouth, your entire body twitching violently with the force of your release. Jeongin doesn't pull away, he instead laps up the juices, his eyes wide as he looks past your trembling body at the chaotic scene. The raw, desperate sounds of Chan's cries for release, mixed with the sharp, metallic taste of your climax, overwhelm him. A low, guttural noise escapes him, and he immediately follows you, coating the inside of his own sheer blue pants with a thick, hot load.

A desperate, hitched sound pulls from Chan, his strong body trembling from the violation. Minho pulls his fingers free, slick and wet, and with brutal haste, slams his own thick length into the newly gaping hole.  Chan screams Minho's name, a sound of agony and pure, animalistic relief. Minho thrusts hard, driving him into the plush fabric of the sofa as Chan begs, "Please, Minho, let me, it feels so good, let me cum, please..."

Minho doesn't grant the release. Instead, he grinds his hips deeper, trapping Chan's frantic pleas in his throat. "Oh, you want it, Hyung? You want me to ruin you? You like being the messy one, don't you, letting me wreck that tight little hole?" Minho's words are ice-cold, his dominance absolute as he continues to drive his body into the begging leader.

Chan is getting railed, his knees sliding on the damp carpet, the thick wolf tail still attached between his legs whipping uselessly as his body is utterly governed by Minho's rhythm. The sight is brutal and beautiful, the raw honesty of Chan's submission undeniable. You watch, mesmerized, as Chan's eyes flutter shut, the effort of holding back too much.

With a final, broken cry, Chan's body convulses violently, a sticky, white mess spurting onto the floor and splashing against his stomach, the mess finally free. "There you go, baby," Minho growls, and with a few final, powerful thrusts, he ignores Chan's spent body and empties his load into the greedy hole, filling him until the excess spills down the leader's trembling thighs.

The room falls silent, the only sounds the labored, desperate breathing and the wet, thick dripping onto the carpet. You’re all still tangled, draped over the furniture, spent and ruined, their costumes now pathetic markers of the control you attempted to maintain. The All Hallows Eve night is over, leaving behind a sticky, satisfying, catastrophic mess. 

“Now, can we go to bed?“ groans Chan from his messy puddle.

Sunmi gave her a sarcastic look, "it already looks crazy."

She wasn't wrong. The bite mark on her shoulder was being stubborn. Despite a lack of infection, it was refusing to simply scab over and get on with healing. While she wasn't actively bleeding anymore, it was still gross - a disgusting raw mess that was always slightly moist. So Tempawan was left with packing gauze onto it, holding it in place with ribbon-like medical tape.

"Fair enough," Tempawan sighed, "I got attacked by a dog."

Sunmi's eyes widened in shock.

"How on earth? What happened?"

"I don't really remember," Tempawan shrugged, "I went out on Wednesday night and then… woke up in a hospital room on Thursday."

"Jeezy creezy," Sunmi muttered, "well, director Kang was looking for you yesterday."

"I think this," she gestured towards the bandage that was visible under the edge of her collar, "will give me an excuse for missing a day or two of work."

"Not really his job," Sunmi shrugged, then looked a little embarrassed.

"Can," she gave Tempawan a secretive smile, "can I see?"

Tempawan rolled her eyes, but leaned forward to indulge her friend. She winced slightly as she peeled back a strip of tape, "I'll warn you, it's kind of gross."

With an encouraging nod from Sunmi, she shook her head and slowly revealed the glossy puncture marks.

Sunmi gasped, physically recoiling.

"Holy…"

"Yeah," Tempawan pulled her foundation cushion out of her bag. She flipped it open, using the mirror to check the wound. "Like I said: gross."

"No kidding. Does it still hurt?"

"Not really," she started re-securing her bandage, "but that's only because the doctor gave me some medicine. It's worse when I sleep."

Satisfied with her gauze placement, Tempawan clicked shut the compact. She quickly readjusted her top so it didn't tug against the patch.

"Well," she stood, resigning herself to her fate, "I guess I should go see the director. If you don’t hear from me, I've been fired and you should come get me from the bar."

=====

"Director Kang?"

She cautiously peeked around the door to the director's office. Everyone knew that if it was propped open, they were free to enter. But she didn't particularly want to enter. Even though her absence was undeniably excusable, even with the proof still leaking into bandages on her neck, she was convinced she was going to be in trouble.

"Is that you Miss Shim?"

Kang Seungyoon didn't look up from his computer. His fingers were flying across his keyboard with an urgency that Tempawan recognized as just gotta finish this email.

"Yes sir."

He vaguely nodded towards the seat in front of his desk, eyes still glued to his screen, "take a seat. This will just be a second."

Tempawan stiffly dipped into the chair. It was probably comfortable when you weren't nervous, but she was trying to be on her best behavior.

The room was silent, save for the muted taps of the director's fingers on his keyboard. Finally, the tap-tap-tap was punctuated by a click from the mouse.

"Alright," he leaned his head back, rolling his neck and shoulders, "sorry about that. It was somewhat urgent."

"Not a problem sir."

"Now then, I wanted to che-"

Tempawan’s eyes had strayed to her own fingers as she waited, but the abrupt way the director cut off his own words alerted her to the fact that he must have finally looked at her.

Like so many things that one would hope others wouldn't notice, the bandage on her neck appeared exigent. Well, perhaps not the bandage itself. The accompanying bruising however seemed to trigger empathy, even in strangers… such as the barista that handed her coffee over this morning.

Director Kang's reaction did not inspire her to meet his gaze, but she couldn't so blatantly avoid it without coming across as rude. Or would he go easier on her if she played up the "traumatizing event" angle?

Her decision was made for her when she heard the unmistakable sounds of the director standing up and moving.

She looked up and saw him cross the office to open the door.

"Come. We'll have the clinic staff take a look at it."

He stood by the door expectantly.

Tempawan hesitated. She wasn't sure exactly why, but she was gripped with the idea that she might get pulled from the trial. And if she got pulled, that probably meant that Dhia would get pulled as well. And if Dhia got pulled, she'd have to start over with a new fertility clinic. One that she'd have to pay for, rather than getting paid by.

"Miss Shim?"

She shook her head, finally standing up.

"Sorry," she bowed quickly, "I got a little lost in thought."

Director Kang took a step back into the office, letting the door close again.

"Is there an issue?"

He sounded sincere. As sincere as a professional could, anyway. He even looked sincere - a faint frown creasing his brow, but not reaching much further than that.

"It's just…" Tempawan licked her lips nervously, "it won't impact my eligibility, will it?"

The director's face relaxed slightly. He even allowed himself a small smile.

"You don't have to worry about that," he reassured her. "I just want to make sure my team's health is properly looked after."

=====

Working for a multinational corporation definitely had benefits. Working for one that was aggressively expanding its medical research divisions had even more.

Tempawan shivered slightly as a cool gel was applied to her wound. After a few minutes, the dull ache was nearly gone.

“This isn’t anything addictive, is it?”

“Not chemically or physically,” the clinician assured her, “just in the way that, say, your favorite food might be addictive.”

Tempawan frowned, trying to parse that sentence before deciding to be straightforward.

“So it’s not an opioid?”

The clinician laughed, shaking her head.

“Absolutely not. Regardless of addiction concerns, opiates aren’t nearly as effective as they’ve been advertised to be.” She shook her head, “they’re more effective at making patients lose lucidity than actually stopping pain.”

“Oh,” Tempawan nodded, not entirely sure if that was true or not. “Then what is this?”

“Marketing is still working on a name for it. We just call it The Slime,” the clinician laughed.

“I’m assuming since you’re laughing that everything is okay?” Director Kang asked from behind the privacy curtain.

The clinician shot Tempawan a smile that landed somewhere between embarrassed and conspiratorial. They had both forgotten the man behind the curtain.

"I think everything is all set," she spoke in a more professional tone now, "the hospital you went to did a good job."

=====

"Not to sound like some sort of drug dealer," Vasilisa hummed, "but I'm assuming if your ending your business with me that you've found a new supplier."

The witch stood over an electric rice cooker. Her familiar, a chubby fuzzy thing, was handing her vegetables to chop. Hyunjin nodded, before remembering that she had her back turned and starting to speak.

"Ye-"

"I see."

He hated it when they did that. He didn't know for sure, but he was pretty sure that the witch could see through her familiar's eyes. Or maybe they were connected telepathically. Either way, he hated it.

"It's not some shady donor scheme, is it?" She kept her back to him. The round rodent moved aside, scrabbling the unused ends of vegetable into the sink as the witch started on some cut of meat.

"No ma'am," Hyunjin murmured. "It's… ah…"

He paused, realizing that he didn't actually know where Chan and his company obtained their blood.

"It's a…?" Vasilisa prompted him to continue.

"It's through my new job."

The witch huffed slightly, but still didn't turn to face him. An uncomfortable silence fell as she worked the extraneous fat off the hunk of meat.

After plopping all of the ingredients into the rice cooker, she finally spoke again.

"That sounds like something one of those trafficking rings would say."

Hyunjin frowned. He had to admit, even if only to himself, that he didn't actually know what Bang Chan's source was.

"I don't think they'd do that. Their business seems to be somewhat based on keeping people safe."

He watched her hands go still. Her fingers twitched, the motion mimicked by her familiar. Were they talking - thinking? - about him?

Vasilisa turned on her heel, fixing a hard look on Hyunjin.

"Bang Chan isn't trying to use you due to your…" her nose crinkled in distaste, "past hobbies, is he?"

Hyunjin shook his head quickly.

"No ma'am," he protested, "Chan doesn't even know about what I am- I mean was! What I was."

Something moving faster than you is scary enough for humans.

For vampires, it's downright terrifying.

Before he could even finish blinking, Vasilisa's ladle was under his chin. He resisted the urge to gulp down his nerves.

"That's right Jinnie. Was. Because we know better than to mess with that shit again," she tapped the ladle against his chin, firm, "right?"

He managed a jerky nod. It earned him another tap.

"Right, Jinnie?"

This time, he forced words out.

Bonus: Before vs After

The room is draped in shadows from the sliver of moonlight slipping through the barely open heavy curtains. Candles, tall and flickering, cast long, hungry orange tongues across the black satin sheets, illuminating the sheer, dark canopy above the bed. The air is thick and heavy, smelling faintly of cedar and the sharp, coppery scent of anticipation.

Hyunjin is pressed against you, his body a cool contrast to your skin, flushed with heat. Tangled beneath the canopy, your bodies are barely covered, the silence broken only by your ragged, uneven breathing. His hands, pressing an unignorable weight on your skin, skim the curve of your collarbone. They are familiar touches, yet today they feel restrained, laced with a heightened animalistic hunger he so rarely lets you witness. His eyes, usually warm, are dark predatory pools, glints of red shining through every time you move in his hold.

You grip the silken strands of his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel the cool edge of his jaw against your neck. “You’ve made me wait long enough,” you murmur, the words tight and demanding.

He chuckles, the low, husky sound vibrating deep against your chest. “My love, I want everything.” He breathes his promise against your skin, a soft hiss of air that raises gooseflesh. The subtle, metallic tang in the air only grows stronger, fueling the desperate need coiling low in your stomach.

Hyunjin shifts, maneuvering you until the vulnerable junction of your neck and shoulder is exposed to him. You feel the cold tips of his fangs as he tests the skin, a momentary, sharp pressure that is more promising than pain. Your breath hitches.

His teeth sink in, carefully, deeply. A sharp, dizzying warmth radiates from the point of contact, mixing the clean sting of the bite with a wave of heady pleasure. A muffled cry escapes your lips as Hyunjin’s large hands reflexively clench hard around your waist, anchoring himself to you.

You let your head fall back, indulging in the dizzying sensation as he drinks. He makes a deep, ragged sound of satisfaction that is utterly devoid of human restraint, his tongue working against your skin to ensure every drop is captured.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are heavy-lidded, dark with satiety and lust. He licks the immediate wound closed, his tongue a warm, rough contrast to the cooling bite. But he leaves one thing behind: a slow, shimmering drop of blood, thick and crimson, pooled at the edge of the mark.

The sight and scent of it seems to do the job. Even before he moves, the undeniable press of his straining hardness is emphasized between you, a sharp, immediate physical response to the fresh blood. He doesn't give you time to recover. Hyunjin leans in, taking your mouth in a deep, consuming, and possessive kiss. His mouth is still slick with your essence, transferring the warm, metallic taste of your own blood directly onto your tongue. It is a dizzying, pure moment of shared, primal intimacy.

As the kiss deepens, a drop of the excess blood that has trailed down your chin escapes, tracing a slow, crimson path toward your lower lip. He breaks the kiss just enough to track the fallen drop. He uses the tip of his tongue to slowly, deliberately lick the blood from your lip and chin, ensuring not a single drop is lost to the sheets below.

A shared gasp of air follows, your breaths thoroughly mingled, shallow, and increasingly labored.

Hyunjin breathes out against your mouth, his voice a low, heavy sound of total possession. “Perfect. You taste like mine.”

The shared consumption ignites something animalistic, stripping away the last remnants of slow desire. With a growl torn from his chest, he presses your bodies completely flush, beginning a frantic, driving force against you. It is pure, desperate friction, driven by a need that is now impossible to contain.

Your hands find his back, nails scoring light trails into the cool skin of his shoulders as you match his raw urgency.

To deepen your pleasure and ensure your release, Hyunjin slips a hand beneath the dark fabric of your remaining clothes, fingers finding your aching core and applying desperate, skilled pressure. The internal rhythm he initiates immediately intensifies the frantic nature of your grinding friction.

Your breathing becomes the central sound of the room, choked, wet against skin, sounding like the total loss of control. “Please… faster,” you manage, your voice tight with a plea for the release he is building.

He doesn’t answer with words, only a heavy groan of your name as he drives the friction higher, the rhythm of his hand and his body converging into a single, brutal pace. His fingers curl inside you with practiced precision, each thrust dragging along that sensitive spot until your legs shake with the effort of holding on.

You clutch at him desperately, nails raking red trails across the smooth, pale skin of his back. He would probably bleed if he could but he welcomes the sting nonetheless, groaning into your mouth, his tongue invading you with the same hunger as his hand below. The mingled taste of your own blood still lingers between you, metallic and intoxicating, making his kiss feel like both devotion and consumption.

Hyunjin tears the last barrier of fabric away with little care, leaving you utterly exposed beneath him. His cock presses insistently against your slick entrance, the swollen head sliding through your folds, coating itself with the wetness already spilling from you. The sharp contrast of his cool skin and your molten heat makes you shudder.

He pauses only long enough to drag his lips across your throat, tongue tracing the still-bleeding mark, savoring it as if your pulse alone could sustain him. His fangs graze, threatening, promising, before he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes glow with raw hunger, every inch the predator about to claim its prey. Then he thrusts in, deep and merciless. Your cry splits the silence as your body stretches around him, the sudden fullness making your walls clench hard. He hisses at the sensation, forehead pressing to yours as he bottoms out, his entire length buried inside you. For a heartbeat he holds there, the tremble in his arms betraying just how tightly he’s holding back.

When he finally moves, it’s with brutal, grinding force. Each thrust drags your body higher on the sheets, his hips slamming into yours in a rhythm that grows faster, rougher, unrestrained. His hand finds your throat, not to choke but to anchor, holding you in place as his fangs scrape once more against your tender skin, a silent reminder of his power over you.

The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, blending with your broken moans and his guttural growls. Every drive of his cock hits deep, ruthless, angled to push you closer to that edge. His other hand dips back between your thighs, thumb circling your swollen clit in relentless, punishing strokes, doubling the pressure until pleasure becomes nearly unbearable.

“Mine,” he snarls against your ear, punctuating the claim with another hard thrust that makes you see stars.

Your body arches violently beneath him, release tearing through you in a hot, shaking rush. You convulse around him, squeezing his length so tightly it wrenches a feral, strangled groan from his throat. He pounds through your orgasm, unrelenting, using your spasms to drag himself closer.

The moment he finally lets go, it’s devastating. His hips slam forward and stay there as he buries himself to the hilt, his release spilling deep inside you in thick, pulsing waves. His fangs finally pierce your skin again, timed with his climax, so that the sensation of being filled is bound to the sharp ecstasy of being bitten. The combination makes you sob his name, trembling, utterly undone. Hyunjin growls into your throat, drinking deeply as his body jerks with the last aftershocks. He pulls back only when he’s sated, lips and chin stained crimson, his cock still sheathed inside you, keeping you stretched and claimed. His tongue laps lazily at the fresh punctures, sealing them closed again with gentle care even as his weight pins you down.

You’re left gasping, limp, your body trembling from overstimulation and the consuming force of him. He licks the final trace of blood from your neck and kisses the wound softly, a stark contrast to the savagery from moments before.

“Perfect,” he whispers hoarsely, chest heaving against yours. His eyes, though heavy with satiation, still glow faintly red as he pressed a bloody kiss on your lips. “Thank you Doll.”

The air in your bathroom is thick and heavy, saturated with steam and the scent of your body wash. You step from the shower, your body flushed pink and damp, trembling slightly in the shocking transition to the cool tile. The massive mirror is completely fogged with condensation. Hyunjin walks in, dry and impossibly perfect, as usual. The open door lets air in that plunges the humidity into a sudden chill. He closes the distance slowly, his eyes dark with admiration. He lifts a cold hand, his fingertips tracing the damp skin of your shoulder.

"You are so beautiful," he murmurs, the words soft against the steam. His cold hand finally wraps around your burning wrist, the temperature contrast shocking, and he guides you back against the counter until your hips press against the cool marble. "Stay here, my love. Let me see all of you."

His eyes are locked not on you, but on the fogged glass. With a slow, deliberate motion, he lifts his cool hand and runs it across the center of the mirror. The steam instantly vanishes, revealing your reflection, a flushed image of your naked body, starkly framed by the surrounding fog. He then steps back, positioning you so that the reflection provides a full, explicit view of your vulnerable neck and torso.

"Look at yourself, my love," he murmurs, his voice a low, possessive drone that seems to vibrate from the glass itself. "So pretty all flushed from your shower."

You stare at your own reflection. The space behind you is empty. Hyunjin is right there, his chest pressing against your back, his breath cool on your ear, but the mirror shows nothing but the dark wall behind you. You are being held by an invisible force.

He begins the tease, tracing the line of your collarbone with his cool finger. In the reflection, you see your skin prickle and flush, but the hand causing it is absent in the glass. He slips his hands to your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. In the reflection, your hips are held by the sheer power of an empty space.

He leans in, his sharp fangs grazing your neck. "I want you to watch," he commands, his voice a possessive snarl. "Watch me leave my mark."

He sinks his fangs in deep. The pain is sharp, shocking, but the focus is on the mirror. In the reflection, you see the sudden, dark crimson well up and run down your pale neck, but you see nothing biting you. Only the perfect, small bloody proof of possession blooming on your skin, caused by an unseen master. Your legs begin to shake, and a raw moan tears from your throat.

His cold hand, absent in the reflection, slips between your legs, fingers finding the slick, hot core. He uses his thumb to stroke your clit, his cool touch shocking against your burning skin. The simultaneous agony of the bite and the shattering pleasure of his touch forces your back to arch. He groans, his tongue lapping at your blood, matching the rhythmic pressure of his unseen hand.

"Watch yourself, my love," he demands, his voice a possessive snarl, muffled by your neck. "Watch how quickly I can make your body a trembling mess."

He finally pulls back from the bite, licking the wound clean, his breath cold against the throbbing skin. He spreads your legs with his hands, guiding his cold, hard length to your heat. He uses his cold, hard length to enter you from behind, lifting you slightly onto the counter. The steam-free reflection provides a full view of your body being taken.

He begins the pace, and it's harder, faster, demanding. He grips your hips and slams into you, pushing your weight forward until you lean fully against the cold glass. Your breath comes in frantic gasps, fogging the edges of the mirror around the clear viewing space. He presses his invisible hand against the glass, leaving a shocking, distinct cool print right next to your head in the reflection, anchoring his presence visually. You are forced to watch the reflection, your hips bucking, your pussy slick and spreading around his unseen length. The sight is devastatingly intimate.

He grinds deep into you, his voice a possessive, soft hum against your ear. "Look at how beautiful you are for me," he whispers, "Your body is already begging to break. Let go, my darling. Come for me right here in the glass."

You shatter, your body convulsing violently against the cold marble counter. You scream his name, a desperate sound of defeat, watching the reflection of your own body seize and break. He drives into you one last time as his release hits, filling you with a hot, final surge of his eternal essence.

He pulls out, but keeps you pinned against the mirror, forcing you to observe your slick, spent reflection and the fresh bite mark. He traces the still-bleeding mark with his tongue, licking up the excess blood with a possessive, sated sigh. He presses a soft, cold kiss directly onto the wound before he pulls away entirely.

a/n: comment what you'd prefer i can take that into account. i will most likely do the opposite of the one i usually write if not.

a/n: comment what you'd prefer i can take that into account. i will most likely do the opposite of the one i usually write if not.