⊱ synopsis: guided by revenge, Jennie has made a habit of hunting the daughters of powerful men. And Y/N was meant to be one of them.
⊱ pairing: vampire!jennie x fem!reader
⊱ warnings: +18 (MDNI!), vampirism, blood loss, blood drinking, character death, graphic violence, blood, gore, murder, homophobia, public intimacy, sexual content, manipulation, forced marriage themes.
⊱ a/n: hello everyone! I apologize it took me so long to post this chapter, but I've been feeling unwell and didn't have the strength to write. However, I AM BACK and I'm sad the story is almost coming to an end🥹 Just a few chapters and it's done!
Enjoy!!
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Chapter VIII
“sinking in my teeth, I buy time.”
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
Jennie lay awake as morning came softly, the only comfort of her cursed nature being the ability to watch Y/N through the night, untouched by sleep.
Pale dawn light filtered through the heavy curtains, slipping into the room in quiet streaks that crept slowly across the floor and the bed.
Jennie remained where she was—beside Y/N, close enough to feel her presence, yet deliberately positioned just beyond the reach of the light, never allowing it to touch her.
Y/N slept undisturbed, her breathing slow and even, untouched by anything beyond those walls. One hand rested loosely against the sheets, close to where Jennie’s had lingered hours before.
Jennie’s gaze lingered on her, tracing every soft detail with a care that bordered on devotion and something else.
Her hand moved, hovering for the briefest of moments before daring to brush a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s face. The gesture was so light it could barely be felt.
And yet, to Jennie, it felt like a transgression far greater than any she had ever committed before.
“Mother would not forgive this,” she murmured, the name lingered in the silence, heavy and unspoken.
For just a moment Jennie allowed herself to imagine remaining like this: not as a predator, nor as a servant, nor as an instrument of Mother’s will… but as something else entirely.
Something that might be allowed to stay.
Y/N stirred. Not fully awake, just enough to turn slightly beneath the sheets, her brows faintly drawing together as though caught between sleep and something else.
Jennie stilled. For a moment she did not move at all, only watched, as though even that small movement might pull her back.
Y/N slowly opened her eyes, still sleepy and unfocused at first until they landed on Jennie. Almost immediately, a small smile appeared on her lips, soft and content.
Her whole body ached pleasantly, still warm with the memory of everything that had happened only hours before.
“Good morning,” she murmured quietly, her voice rough from sleep.
Jennie looked at her for a moment, almost as if she had been caught doing something she was not supposed to.
“Good morning.”
Y/N shifted beneath the blankets and immediately regretted it, a quiet sound escaping her as she felt the ache in her body. Jennie noticed right away, the corner of her lips lifting slightly.
“That bad?” she asked.
Y/N let out a sleepy laugh, pulling the blankets closer around herself. “You make it sound like I survived a war.”
Jennie hummed faintly. “Did you not?”
That only made Y/N laugh again, softer this time, her eyes never really leaving Jennie’s face.
The room fell quiet for a moment, warm and unhurried, and Y/N felt something in her chest soften at the simple fact that Jennie was still there beside her.
She watched the brunette quietly for a moment before shifting closer almost without thinking, drawn by the lingering warmth beside her.
“You're staring,” Jennie murmured. Then, with a softness that surprised even herself, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from Y/N’s face. “You seem very calm for someone who spent half the night beneath me,” she teased quietly.
Y/N groaned at once, pulling the blankets up to hide part of her face. “Please don’t remind me.”
A low laugh escaped Jennie before she could stop it. The sound made Y/N peek out from beneath the blankets almost immediately, visibly offended.
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
“I am,” Jennie admitted easily, the faint smile on her lips only making Y/N more embarrassed.
Y/N mumbled something incoherent under her breath before moving closer without really thinking about it, resting herself carefully over Jennie just enough to steal a soft kiss from her lips.
“You"re infuriating."
Jennie’s hands settled naturally against her waist. “And yet you're still here.”
Y/N tried to hide her smile at that by leaning down and kissing her again, slower this time, lingering just a little longer before pulling away.
Without warning, Jennie switched position so that she was above Y/N, her hair falling like a cascade, hiding them from the rest of the world.
For a moment, Y/N let herself sink into it completely, into the warmth of the bed, into Jennie’s touch, into the dangerous comfort of pretending nothing existed outside that room.
But the thought returned anyway, settling heavily in her chest.
“I'm supposed to marry him,” she admitted quietly, her fingers loosening slightly against Jennie’s arms. “In a few months, this will all be over and…” She hesitated, her eyes dropping for a moment before finding Jennie’s again. “I do not want it to be.”
Jennie’s expression changed almost imperceptibly at that. The softness remained, but something heavier settled beneath it, something quieter and far more difficult to hide. “What other possibility do you have?” she asked softly.
Y/N’s fingers tightened slightly against her. “Why can’t we simply leave?” she whispered. “Stay together somewhere far away from all of this?”
For one moment, the thought tempted Jennie more than it should have. To leave and keep Y/N close and never look back. But reality returned just as quickly.
Nothing about this was simple. She had come here for a reason. She was still what Mother had made her—a predator, whether she wished to be or not. And, worse, if Jennie disappeared with her, Mother would not stop searching until she found them.
Until she found Y/N.
Jennie lowered her gaze for a brief moment before gently brushing a strand of hair away from Y/N’s face, avoiding her eyes when she finally spoke again.
“We should prepare for breakfast soon,” she said quietly, as though the conversation had never happened at all.
Y/N frowned immediately. “Jennie—”
“The servants will notice if you remain here much longer,” Jennie continued softly, still refusing to meet her gaze. “And I suspect your father would not appreciate finding you in my bed.”
The attempt at teasing was subtle, but Y/N could still feel the shift beneath it.
Jennie was avoiding the question, and somehow, that answer frightened her more than a refusal would have.
Y/N stayed where she was for a moment longer, still looking at Jennie as if something might shift if she simply held on to it a little more. But Jennie had already stepped away from the moment, putting distance between them with quiet, practiced ease.
Only then did Y/N finally sit up.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
By the time Y/N reached the dining room, breakfast was in progress.
Jennie was already there, calm and composed, her attention resting somewhere just beyond the table. At the head, Albert presided over the room with Victoria on one side, engaged in low conversation with Benjamin and Augustus.
Their presence filled the table with the kind of quiet authority that made everything feel more structured than necessary.
Y/N paused only briefly in the doorway before stepping in. “Good morning,” she said politely.
There were a few acknowledgements in return, subtle shifts in posture, the quiet adjustment of servants who moved to set her place without interrupting the flow of conversation.
Augustus looked up. “Ah. There you are.”
Y/N nodded once and sat down, opposite to Jennie.
The conversation around the table continued uninterrupted, flowing easily between politics, travel, and the endless formalities that seemed to occupy every breakfast in this house.
Y/N tried to pay attention, but it became increasingly difficult with Jennie seated across from her, calm and unreadable as ever, listening to the conversation with such effortless composure that it only made Y/N more aware of her presence. She was trying to focus on what Victoria was saying when she suddenly felt a light touch against her ankle beneath the table.
Y/N nearly startled, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass before she managed to compose herself again. At first, she tried convincing herself it had been accidental, some careless movement beneath the table in such a confined space, but that thought disappeared the moment Jennie’s foot brushed against hers again, slower this time and unmistakably deliberate.
Warmth rose immediately to Y/N’s face as the touch lingered instead of retreating, sliding lightly along her ankle before slowly moving higher beneath the fabric of her dress.
Her breath nearly caught.
Instinctively, she lowered her gaze for the briefest moment, though the long tablecloth concealed everything from view, leaving only the unbearable awareness of Jennie beside her.
And when she finally looked back up, Jennie was still listening to Albert with calm attention, her expression perfectly composed, as though she was entirely unaware of what she was doing beneath the table.
Y/N tried desperately to focus on the conversation again, but it became nearly impossible once Jennie stopped pretending the touches beneath the table were accidental.
What had begun as something light and teasing soon turned bolder, Jennie’s foot brushing deliberately higher beneath the fabric of her dress before sliding back down with maddening patience, only to repeat the motion again moments later as if she was quietly testing how much Y/N could endure before reacting.
Y/N’s entire body felt unbearably aware. She kept her posture straight with visible effort, fingers tightening around her fork each time Jennie’s touch lingered just a second too long.
“Y/N,” Victoria’s voice pulled her back so suddenly that she nearly startled.
“Yes?” she answered a little too quickly, praying the breathlessness in her voice would not be noticed.
Victoria smiled politely across the table. “I was asking whether you had decided on the flowers for the engagement dinner. Augustus mentioned you were still uncertain.”
Y/N swallowed carefully, trying to gather her thoughts while, beneath the table, Jennie’s foot slipped between her thighs with slow confidence, the teasing touch enough to draw the faintest hitch in her breathing.
“I… not yet,” she managed after a moment. “I thought perhaps white roses would be appropriate.”
“An elegant choice,” Albert commented approvingly.
Y/N nodded faintly, though concentrating on the conversation had become almost impossible.
“White roses suit her,” Jennie said calmly, her voice smooth and composed despite the way her foot remained resting lightly against Y/N's core beneath the table.
The faintest trace of amusement lingered in her expression when Y/N immediately reached for her glass in a desperate attempt to hide how flustered she had become.
Y/N nearly choked on her water when Jennie’s foot brushed against her clitoris, the sudden sensation making her cough lightly as she hurried to set the glass back down.
“Careful,” Benjamin remarked absentmindedly, barely glancing up from his conversation.
“I'm fine,” Y/N managed quickly, her face burning with embarrassment as she reached for her napkin in a desperate attempt to recover what little composure she still had left.
Across from her, Jennie looked entirely unbothered. If anything, there was something almost satisfied in the faint curve threatening the corner of her mouth as her gaze lingered on Y/N for a brief moment before returning calmly to the conversation around them.
Y/N, meanwhile, could barely focus on a single word being said.
Every time she believed Jennie had at last ceased, the touch returned once more beneath the table—subtle enough to escape every other gaze in the room, yet entirely impossible for Y/N to ignore.
When she finally looked up, she found Jennie already regarding her, the faintest trace of amusement softening her otherwise composed expression.
Y/N returned the look with a glare that, had it not been so visibly flustered, might have carried some threat.
Jennie’s smile only deepened, unhurried and infuriatingly calm.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
Two days later, they were back home.
Y/N went into her garden to enjoy the quiet freedom of being back. She settled beneath a tall tree, letting the late morning sun filter through the leaves and fall softly across the grass around her.
Jennie was there too, but slightly set apart where the shadow was deeper, the umbrella resting loosely in her hand out of necessity. She had already been there for some time, seated with a small sketchbook open in her lap, her attention quietly fixed on the page. The pencil moved steadily across the paper as she drew.
Y/N did not notice at first. She was too busy enjoying the warmth, her eyes half-closed as she leaned back on her hands, completely at ease in a way she rarely allowed herself to be indoors.
Only when the sound of pencil against paper became more noticeable she glanced over. “You draw?”
“Sometimes.”
Y/N shifted slightly on the grass, curiosity getting the better of her as she leaned just a little closer, trying to see the page.
Jennie noticed immediately and tilted the sketchbook away with quiet precision, just enough to keep it out of view without breaking her rhythm.
“It's not finished,” she said simply.
Y/N let out a small, unconvinced sound and gave up, eventually letting herself fall back onto the grass, lying there with her arms relaxed at her sides as the warmth of the sun spread gently across her skin. It was quiet in a way that felt rare inside the mansion.
Behind her, Jennie remained in the shade beneath the tree, her sketchbook still open in her lap as her pencil continued to move without pause.
Y/N didn’t think much of it at first. She was too comfortable, too wrapped up in the feeling of the sun and the soft breeze to question anything at all. It was only after a while that she tilted her head slightly, glancing back over her shoulder.
A few moments passed in silence, broken only by the faint scratch of pencil on paper.
Then Jennie spoke, almost like she was thinking out loud rather than addressing her directly.
“It suits you like this.”
Y/N blinked and turned her head again. “What does?”
Jennie finally looked up, just for a moment, her expression calm and unhurried as her eyes met Y/N’s across the grass.
“The light,” she said simply.
There was a short silence after that, not uncomfortable, just unfilled.
Y/N shifted a little where she sat, watching her for a moment longer than she intended. Jennie had gone back to her sketchbook, as if the conversation had already ended for her.
“I never asked you before,” Y/N said eventually, softer now, “but… why are you traveling alone?”
The pencil stopped.
Jennie didn’t look up right away. When she did, her expression was still controlled, but something quieter had settled behind it.
Y/N hesitated, realizing too late how it might have sounded. “I mean— you never speak about your family. Or anyone you came with.”
“I'm an orphan,” Jennie replied.
“Cholera,” she added after a brief pause, her tone almost mechanical, as if the word belonged to someone else. It was a story she had rehearsed for a century—though not entirely a lie. “I enjoy traveling, so it has been my purpose ever since my parents’ passing.”
For a moment, the words sat strangely in her mouth.
She had always been able to reshape them, to bend them into something acceptable, something that made sense to people who asked too many questions. But how did one explain survival when death had already come for you? When the sickness had reached her too… and yet she had not been allowed to stay dead.
Because of Mother.
Y/N didn’t know what to say, her lips parted slightly, then closed again. Sympathy settled quietly in her expression, but no words came. After a moment, she simply shook her head faintly.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Jennie didn’t answer, she only looked at her for a brief moment before lowering her gaze back to the sketch, the pencil moving again a little slower than before.
The silence between them stretched just enough to feel uncomfortable.
Y/N stayed like that for a moment longer, unsure what to say before she finally pushed herself up onto her elbows and then to her feet. The grass clung lightly to her dress as she moved, and she brushed it away absentmindedly while walking over to Jennie.
Jennie didn’t stop drawing when she approached, only shifted the sketchbook slightly as if already aware of what she was about to do.
Y/N leaned in just enough to see the page properly, curiosity soft in her expression.
It was her.
Not in a dramatic or exaggerated way, not like a portrait meant to impress or reveal too much. Just Y/N, lying in the grass exactly as she had been moments ago, the angle slightly tilted as if seen from Jennie’s perspective. The lines were steady, careful, almost quiet in the way they captured her—her posture, the way her head had fallen back, the softness in her face under the light.
“You drew me,” Y/N said, more to herself than to Jennie.
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation in Jennie's voice, no explanation either, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Y/N studied the drawing a little longer, her expression softening without her noticing. “I didn’t realize you were looking that closely.”
“I always look at you closely, Y/N,” Jennie said quietly, still drawing as she spoke, as if the words were simply part of the same movement as her hand. “I notice you—the way the sunlight touches your skin and makes you look like you belong to it more than to anything else, the way you bite your tongue when you are concentrating, the way your eyes change when you win at chess, like it means more than it should. I notice when you’re gone, even for a moment longer than I expect. I notice how your breath changes right before you speak, how it catches in your throat right before you laugh… and how it always stills right before I kiss you.”
“Oh, Jennie…” Y/N murmured, softer than before, unsure what she was supposed to do with the warmth building in her chest.
Jennie finally looked up then, just briefly, calm as ever, as though nothing she had said was out of the ordinary. “I notice you,” she repeated gently, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
Y/N didn’t answer right away, not because she didn’t want to, but because something in her chest had gone strangely still, like everything Jennie had said had settled too deeply to be turned into words immediately. When she finally looked at her, it wasn’t with surprise anymore, but with something softer, something that made it difficult to hold her gaze for too long without feeling it.
Jennie had stopped drawing at some point, the pencil resting loosely in her hand while the sketchbook remained open in her lap, untouched now, as if she had forgotten it was there at all.
Y/N shifted closer without really thinking about it, the grass brushing against her dress as she knelt beside her, her voice coming out quieter than she expected when she finally spoke her name.
“Jennie…” she reached out before she could second-guess herself, her fingers lightly catching Jennie’s sleeve, not pulling, just holding for a second as if to confirm she was real, and that small contact seemed to change something neither of them said out loud.
The kiss came naturally, without hesitation, as if it had simply been waiting for them to stop pretending there was any distance left between them.
Jennie’s hand rose carefully to her, not claiming, just resting with quiet certainty as if she had always known where it would end up. Y/N didn’t pull away, not even when the world around them softened into something distant and unimportant.
The kiss shifted into something quieter, something that lingered even as they slowly broke apart. Y/N stayed close, her breath uneven in a way she didn’t try to hide, and Jennie didn’t move away either, as if distance had suddenly become unnecessary.
For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then Jennie reached for her again, her hand settling gently at Y/N’s waist as she drew her a little closer like it was the most natural thing in the world. Y/N let herself be pulled in without resistance, her fingers finding Jennie’s jaw.
Their foreheads nearly brushed, their breathing too close to be ignored, and the space between them felt smaller than it had ever been.
Jennie’s gaze dropped briefly to Y/N’s lips before returning to her eyes, slower now, quieter in a way that made everything feel heavier without needing words. Y/N’s hand moved without thinking, resting against Jennie’s shoulder, grounding herself there as if she needed something real to hold onto.
“You always do that,” Y/N murmured, almost smiling, though her voice was softer than she intended.
“Do what?” Jennie asked, though she sounded like she already knew.
“Make me forget about him.”
That earned the faintest shift in Jennie’s expression, something subtle passing behind her eyes before she leaned in again, slower this time, letting Y/N meet her halfway. “He doesn’t own you.”
“You do?” Y/N teased softly, though her voice came out quieter than she intended.
Jennie didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze lingered on Y/N for a moment too long, something unreadable and steady settling there before she spoke again.
“I don’t want to own you,” she whispered, her voice low and close, “I want the privilege of being the person you give yourself to willingly.”
Then, another kiss followed, slower this time, as if neither of them was in any rush to let go of the moment.
Y/N’s grip tightened slightly at Jennie’s shoulder as if instinctively anchoring herself, while Jennie’s hand stayed steady at her waist, holding her there without needing to.
Jennie’s lips traced a slow path along Y/N’s jaw, lingering for a moment before moving to the line of her neck and then settling gently against the skin of her upper torso. Then, with slow and gentle movements, she lowered the neckline of her dress, revealing her left breast, allowing Jennie to lean in and press soft, lingering kisses against her nipple.
Y/N froze for a moment, her breath catching before she managed to steady herself again. “Shit.” Her hand lifted slightly, unsure where to go before letting it rest in Jennie's hair.
Jennie didn’t speak. She only watched her for a brief moment longer, her gaze greedy, her lips even more so, sucking at the hard nipple like it was her favorite sweet.
The touch was unhurried and precise, but it made Y/N moan nonetheless. She swallowed, unable to look away properly anymore, her eyes fixated on Jennie's.
Jennie looked back at her, her expression steady, while her tongue did all the work of answering for her.
In the meantime, her hand rested on Y/N’s breast, gripping it neither harsh nor unkind, only firm enough to be unmistakable.
Jennie’s lips lingered against Y/N’s skin while her hand rested steadily at her waist, keeping her close with an ease that made it impossible to think about anything beyond her. Y/N’s fingers remained lightly tangled in Jennie’s hair, her breathing uneven as the brunette pulled at her skin with her teeth, entirely absorbed in her.
Neither of them noticed the footsteps approaching through the garden.
“What the hell is this?”
The voice shattered the moment so suddenly that Y/N physically jolted, pulling back too quickly as panic crashed into her all at once.
Augustus stood there, staring at them with open disbelief, as though his mind refused to understand what he had just witnessed. But the shock lasted only a moment before something uglier settled across his face.
“You are my future wife,” he said harshly, almost sounding unable to believe the words himself, “and I find you here with— with another woman?”
The final words came out sharp with revulsion, like even saying them aloud offended him.
Y/N stepped away from Jennie so quickly she nearly stumbled over the grass, her face burning with humiliation. “Augustus—”
“No.” His voice cut through hers instantly. “No, absolutely not.”
His gaze moved between them again, lingering on the closeness that still remained no matter how quickly they had separated, and whatever composure he had left seemed to snap entirely.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” he demanded, now looking directly at Y/N. “Do you have any idea how disgusting this looks? If anyone else had seen this—”
“Augustus, please—”
“Do not defend this.”
The disgust in his expression only deepened each time his eyes landed on Jennie, as though her mere presence beside Y/N was enough to offend him.
“This is unnatural,” he said coldly. “Shameful.”
Y/N’s breath caught, but before she could respond, Augustus went on, his tone tightening into something final rather than emotional.
“The wedding will be moved forward. You will come to London with me immediately after tomorrow’s hunt,” he added, “if you wish to avoid your father hearing of what I have witnessed here.”
The words fell too neatly into place, leaving no room for doubt or argument.
Y/N went still.
Jennie, beside her, did not speak or react, only watching in a way that remained outwardly composed, though something in her gaze had subtly shifted.
Augustus looked at Y/N again.
“This is not a request,” he said quietly. “It's the condition for your silence.”
Then, as if the matter were already resolved, he turned away once more—never once acknowledging Jennie as he did so.
The sound of his footsteps faded quickly across the garden path, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than before.
For a moment Y/N didn’t move, then it hit her all at once.
London, within the week.
Leaving.
Her chest tightened sharply as panic rose so quickly she could barely breathe through it. Her gaze snapped to Jennie immediately, searching her face as if she might suddenly say something, stop this, undo it, anything.
“Jennie…” she said, too fast, too desperate. “No, I can’t leave. I can’t just—”
Her voice broke slightly as she stepped closer without thinking, reaching for her sleeve, holding on like that alone could keep everything from falling apart.
“I don’t want to go.”
Jennie's expression remained still, composed in a way that made it impossible to read what was happening beneath it. Only her eyes shifted slightly, just for a second, as if something painful had passed through her that she refused to acknowledge.
Y/N didn’t notice that part fully. All she saw was the distance that was beginning to form, and it terrified her more than Augustus ever had.
Y/N didn’t let go of her sleeve, her fingers tightening instead as if holding on harder might stop everything from slipping away so quickly.
“You can’t just stay silent. Tell me something! Jennie, please, tell me something!” She swallowed, trying to steady herself but failing. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me we can leave, go somewhere else, anywhere but here. Not him. Not London.”
Jennie's gaze dropped briefly to Y/N’s hand still holding her sleeve before she spoke, her voice low and controlled. “You don’t understand what leaving would mean.”
“That’s not an answer,” Y/N whispered immediately, her grip tightening again. “Jennie, please… just look at me.”
When Jennie finally met her eyes properly, something unreadable passed through her expression, restrained in a way that made it feel like she was holding back more than she was saying. “I didn't want it to become like this,” she said quietly.
Y/N shook her head slightly, frustration breaking through the fear. “Then stop it. Stop all of this. You can, I know you can.”
Jennie hesitated for a moment before her hand lifted, hovering in the air as if she wasn’t sure she was allowed to touch her, and then finally rested over Y/N’s fingers still clutching her sleeve, not pulling them away, just holding them there.
“But I cannot keep you safe if you stay here,” she said, softer now, as if the words themselves weighed more than she wanted them to.
Jennie stayed still for a moment longer, her hand still resting lightly over Y/N’s fingers, like she didn’t quite have the strength to let go yet. Her gaze lingered on her, quiet and heavy in a way Y/N had never seen before, stripped of its usual certainty.
“Maybe you should go.”
Y/N blinked. “Jennie—”
But Jennie had already moved.
Slowly, she released her hand from Y/N’s sleeve and stepped back, creating space between them with an ease that didn’t feel natural, like it cost her something to do it at all. She didn’t look away immediately, but when she did, it was brief, almost as if holding Y/N in her gaze any longer would make everything harder to justify.
And yet, that wasn’t the truth of it.
Because there was no simple version of this.
If Y/N stayed, Jennie would be the one who had to end it. That was what she had been sent for, what she had always been meant to do, no matter how quietly the thought now twisted against her ribs. And if Y/N left, it didn't mean safety either, not really, not when Mother would not allow her to simply disappear without being found again.
There was no version in which Y/N remained untouched by what Jennie was. No version in which she stayed and survived her. No version in which she left and was not eventually brought back.
Jennie turned away.
No more words followed, just the quiet sound of her footsteps fading back into the garden, leaving Y/N standing there alone with something she could not see, but that was already beginning to break her apart.
The brunette felt a burning sensation under her cold skin, a voice filling her mind, pressing into her thoughts until there was no space left for anything else.
She didn’t want to do it, but she had to.
Mother had decided.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
Augustus had gone out alone the next morning, a rifle resting in his hands as he moved deeper into the forest outside the estate.
He wasn’t in a hurry… at least at first. He carried himself with the kind of confidence that came from assuming control over his surroundings, even if the place itself was unfamiliar. The woods were quiet in a way that felt too complete, too watchful, as if they were holding their breath around him.
The further he went, the less certain that confidence became. The trees no longer felt like a simple backdrop to his hunt, but something denser, more enclosing, as though the forest itself had begun to close in around him without changing at all.
Jennie followed at a distance behind him.
Augustus didn't notice her, but he started to feel it. Not a sound, not even a movement. Just the sense that the silence was no longer empty.
He turned quickly, lifting the rifle as his eyes searched the trees around him.
“Who’s there?”
No answer came, but a moment later he heard another step somewhere behind him, too slow and deliberate to belong to an animal.
His pulse quickened instantly.
“Show yourself,” he snapped, turning again as he tried to follow the sound through the darkness between the trees.
The forest had become unbearably quiet. Even his own breathing sounded too loud now, uneven as his grip tightened around the rifle hard enough to ache. Every time he stopped moving, it felt like something else moved instead, just out of sight, circling closer without ever fully revealing itself.
Augustus swallowed hard and took a slow step backward, the barrel of the rifle shifting nervously with him as his eyes moved through the trees.
“I know someone is there.”
The realization settled over him slowly but completely: he was no longer the one hunting.
The thought had barely crossed his mind before he turned again and froze.
Jennie stood only a step away from him. She had approached so quietly it felt wrong, almost impossible, and for a second Augustus could only stare at her, panic finally visible across his face as he instinctively raised the rifle between them.
Jennie lunged at him before he could react, her claws tearing into the skin of his neck hard enough to cut off the rest of his breath and leave him choking helplessly in his own blood.
The rifle slipped from his hands as he collapsed backward into the grass.
Everything after that happened quickly.
The flowers beneath them, the grass, even the bark of the nearby trees became stained a deep, violent red while Jennie fed from him with sharp, practiced movements, precise in a way that made it painfully clear she wanted it finished as soon as possible.
She had never truly been given a choice. Mother had made sure of that long ago. And for the first time, Jennie hated it. Because until Y/N, it had never felt wrong.
But now, as Augustus’ struggles weakened beneath her hands and his chest slowly stopped rising altogether, something inside her twisted with a grief she could no longer separate from the hunger itself.
When the light finally disappeared from his eyes, Jennie pulled back slightly, blood staining her mouth as a tear slipped down her cheek.
☾ synopsis: Late nights. Closed doors. Something that only existed in the dark. Wanting Jennie was easy. Being enough for her was the hard part.
☾ pairing: jenniekim x producer!fem!reader
☾ contents/warnings: 18+ (MDNI) angst, unhealthy dynamics, situationship, jealousy, smut, fingering, dry humping, sexual flashbacks. English isn't my first language so please bare with me🫶🏻 PLUS, THIS FF IS ONLY ME GOING FERAL AFTER THE MET GALA
☾ a/n: hello everyone! i’ve been feeling a bit sick these days, so i haven’t had the chance to keep working on my vampire!jennie x fem!reader fanfiction. i’m still writing it, of course! in the meantime, i didn’t want to disappear completely, so here’s a little oneshot while you wait ♡
Enjoy!!
☾ run from the sunlight m.list ☽
“I CAN'T BE YOUR MIDNIGHT LOVE,
WHEN YOUR SILVER IS MY GOLD.”
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ✩ ☾ ✩ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Being a producer meant spending her life in studios, surrounded by voices that were never hers.
Y/N started small. No one knew her name. Just another credit buried at the bottom of a track, another pair of hands behind the sound.
But then came Chappell Roan.
One song. That was all it took.
It climbed the charts faster than she could process, her name suddenly everywhere — interviews, credits, people finally saying it out loud like it mattered.
After Chappell came Billie Eilish.
Bigger rooms. Longer nights. Louder expectations.
And then came the person who ruined her life.
Jennie Kim.
When Jennie asked specifically for her to work on her first solo album, Ruby, Y/N thought it had to be a mistake.
People like Jennie didn’t know people like her. And yet, somehow… she did.
The first time Y/N met Jennie, it wasn’t supposed to mean anything.
Just another session. Another artist. Another song to finish before sunrise.
The studio was dimly lit, the soft glow of the equipment filling the room with a quiet hum. Y/N was already there, headphones around her neck, scrolling through files on the screen when the door opened.
Jennie showed immediate interest in Y/N — in her work, in the way she moved through it like she belonged there. The compliments came almost too quickly, right after a brief shake of her hand, like she had already decided something.
Y/N wasn’t used to that.
She brushed it off the only way she knew how, focusing on her setup, on the familiar comfort of buttons and sound levels, pretending it didn’t settle somewhere under her skin.
They worked for hours that day. At some point, it stopped feeling like a first session. It felt easier than it should have. Natural, in a way that didn’t quite make sense.
And every now and then, Y/N felt that attention. Not on the screen, not on the music — on her.
She never looked up long enough to confirm it, but she felt it linger anyway, like something just out of reach.
Y/N could remember vividly the first piece of clothing slipping to the floor, forgotten the moment it left her skin. She could remember the quiet gasp that followed, swallowed almost immediately by Jennie's greedy mouth, like it wasn’t meant to be heard.
Everything after that blurred together.
Warmth. Closeness. The disorienting feeling of being pulled in without ever really deciding to move. Limbs tangled, hands unsure for only a moment before they weren’t anymore.
It hadn’t felt reckless. It had felt… inevitable. Like something that had been building from the very start, finally breaking through all at once.
Things went like that for months — writing and producing, spending more time in the studio than anywhere else, talking about things that had nothing to do with music until comfort settled between them without either of them really noticing.
At some point, they started finding excuses to stay a little longer after the other producers left for the night, the studio quieter and smaller somehow, intimate in a way it probably shouldn’t have been.
The kisses only happened then, when no one else was around to see them, easy to dismiss in the dark even as they slowly turned into wandering hands, muffled sounds and tangled bodies against the couch while Seoul City played softly in the background, already finished with nothing left to fix, making everything feel softer than it should have.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, without really meaning to, Y/N realized it wasn’t something small to her, not something she could just brush off once it was over, not something that would stay behind when the night did.
Ruby came out not long after.
What they had spent months building in quiet studios and late nights was suddenly everywhere, no longer theirs in the same way it had been before.
It didn’t take long for it to take off.
Streams, charts, interviews, The Ruby Experience— everything moving faster than Jennie could keep up with, the album turning into something bigger than either of them. Bigger than the moments it had come from. Bigger than whatever had been happening between them.
Because that hadn’t stopped. If anything, it only got worse.
They kept finding their way back to each other, in between schedules, after long days, in the few quiet hours they could still call their own. It wasn’t something they talked about, not really. It just… kept happening.
Getting closer without ever naming it. Crossing lines without deciding where they were. And every time it got close to becoming something real, something that might actually exist outside of closed doors and late nights, Jennie would pull back just enough.
Not completely.
Just enough to remind Y/N what this was… or what it wasn’t.
Jennie didn’t want to commit. She never said it like that, not out loud, but Y/N understood it anyway.
All Jennie gave her were nights of skin against skin, promises of things changing whispered in the dark — only to disappear by morning. She would drive to Y/N’s apartment almost every night, get her fix, and be gone again by sunrise, like none of it was ever meant to last past the quiet hours they shared.
It started small — a toothbrush left by the sink, then a shirt, then her favorite pajama set — little pieces of her scattered around the apartment like they meant something more than they did.
Y/N had suggested, more than once, moving things to Jennie’s place instead, but those suggestions were always met with immediate refusals. It was easier this way — easier for Jennie to leave in the morning without waking her, easier than having to ask Y/N to leave if it was her own apartment.
And slowly, without either of them really acknowledging it, Y/N’s whole place began to scream Jennie’s name, while Jennie’s didn’t carry a single whisper of Y/N’s.
Still, Y/N stayed, because it didn’t matter what Jennie Kim said they weren’t. For her, it was enough — every crumb taken like a starving woman.
“I want you to stay,” she whispered in the dark, tracing every mole on Jennie’s back as though she were a canvas and Y/N the one meant to remember it. “Just for tonight.”
“You know I can’t,” Jennie murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead like it was the easiest thing in the world, just as easy as leaving.
“You could.”
Jennie paused, her jeans in her hands, and for a moment she didn’t move, like she was actually considering it, like something in her might give — but then she looked away.
That silent answer was enough, and Y/N knew she would bottle up her emotions for the sake of keeping her.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
People started speculating when Y/N was seen more often with Jennie.
Lunches together, nights at clubs, moments that should have gone unnoticed — until one video almost slipped through, Jennie drunk and leaning in too close, her lips brushing against Y/N’s before anyone could look away.
It was dismissed just as quickly, Alison stepping in to laugh it off, insisting it had been nothing more than a hug.
Fans didn’t believe it, of course.
Every time Jennie got close to someone, people were quick to turn it into something it wasn’t.
And it didn’t help how close they were — the way Y/N was always there, just a step behind or right beside her, slipping too easily into spaces that weren’t meant for anyone else.
It showed in the small things — in the way they moved around each other, in the glances that lingered a second too long.
And when they weren’t together, it didn’t help that paparazzi caught Y/N on her own, a Gomdeuki keychain clipped to her carabiner, hanging loosely from her jeans like it didn’t mean anything at all.
The comments didn’t take long. Neither did the ship videos on TikTok, the edits, the endless theories.
rubyjendeuki: am I the only one noticing how often Y/N is around Jennie lately?
blinkforever: Y/N is so lucky omg
jenbias96: lucky for what exactly…
protectjennie: I don’t like her idk something about her feels off
rubyjennie_era: y’all just hate her because she’s close to Jennie
0t4blinkeu: y’all are reaching, she’s just her producer
jeny/n_defender: are we forgetting the video at the club rn ?? be fr😭
0t4blinkeu: it was just a hug btw. jen is straight
The threads kept growing, turning small moments into proof, into stories, into something bigger than either of them had ever said out loud.
And somehow, that was enough to ruin something that had never even properly begun.
“Can you not wear that, please?” Jennie asked one day, her eyes following the keychain hanging loosely from Y/N’s jeans.
Y/N’s hand moved almost instinctively, fingers brushing against the small plush as it rested against her hip, the familiar weight of it suddenly harder to ignore.
“Why?” she asked quietly, even though she already knew the answer.
Jennie didn’t answer right away.
Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she finally looked away, like the words had to be chosen carefully.
“It’s just… better if you don’t,” she said, tone light, almost casual, like it wasn’t a big deal.
Y/N’s fingers stayed on the keychain.
“They’ve been paying more attention lately,” she added after a second, softer now, like she was trying to make it sound reasonable. “I just don’t want things to get… complicated.”
“Things became complicated the moment we fucked in the studio,” Y/N replied, her tone sharp and unforgiving, months of pent-up frustration finally spilling over. "And at my apartment… and after every concert for the Ruby experience."
"They became complicated when you left your toothbrush in my bathroom," she added, her voice tightening. "And your shirts in my closet."
Jennie’s expression shifted almost instantly, something tightening in her jaw as she let out a quiet breath.
“That’s not fair,” she said, a little too quickly, like she’d already been bracing for it. Her arms crossed loosely over her chest, not quite closed off, but not open either. “You knew what this was.”
“No, actually, I didn’t,” Y/N scoffed. “We didn’t exactly have that conversation when my head was between your legs.”
Jennie’s expression hardened almost instantly. Her shoulders tensed, jaw tightening as she let out a sharp breath, eyes snapping back to Y/N with something colder this time.
“That’s not what this is,” she shot back, quicker now, like she didn’t even need to think about it.
“You’re acting like I forced you into something,” she added, her tone edged, defensive in a way that didn’t try to hide itself. “Like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”
She crossed her arms, more closed off now, putting space between them even without stepping back.
“I never said it was anything more,” Jennie continued, the words coming out faster, harsher. “You don’t get to turn this into something I didn’t promise.”
“I’m not the only one, Jennie,” Y/N snapped, frustration bleeding into her voice as she tried to hide the disappointment. “Your fans are starting to notice.”
Jennie exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair as she looked away for a second, like she needed the distance. “That’s exactly why I’m asking you to… back off a little.”
Y/N was mad. Not loud, not explosive — but the kind that sat heavy, sharp under the surface. “Why do you do this only with me?” she asked, her voice steadier now, but no less cutting.
Jennie frowned, her brows pulling together as she finally looked back at her, something defensive flickering in her eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“You never act like this when people speculate about you and your other friends,” Y/N said, the words coming out faster now, frustration slipping through before she could stop it. “It’s the same thing with Deb right now and you don’t seem to mind.”
Jennie’s expression shifted, something sharper settling in as she let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking her head.
“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” she shot back, tilting her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just enough to sting. “You’re jealous?”
The truth was… Y/N was jealous.
Ever since Jennie had been seen more often with Deb, people hadn’t just started speculating — they had started calling her Jennie’s girlfriend like it was something real, something official. So yes, Y/N was jealous, but Jennie didn’t need to know that.
“Don’t twist it, Jennie!” she snapped, the control she had been holding onto finally slipping. “Answer the fucking question.”
“It’s different!” Jennie shot back, the words coming out sharp, defensive. “Those are my friends.”
A brief pause.
“Deb is… just a friend.”
This time, her voice softened, the edge fading just enough to be noticeable.
Y/N’s breath caught slightly, her hand tightening around the keychain, fingers pressing into the plush like she needed something to hold onto.
“So you don’t see me as just a friend?” she asked, a hint of something fragile slipping into her voice — something dangerously close to hope.
Jennie didn’t answer right away.
For a moment, she just looked at the girl before her, something unreadable flickering across her face, like she was standing on the edge of something and didn’t know whether to step forward or pull back.
Her gaze dropped briefly, jaw tightening, a quiet breath leaving her lips as if she was forcing herself to decide.
“No,” she said finally. The word came out flat, too quick and too final. “I don’t see you as a friend.”
For a second, it almost sounded like something else. Like it could mean more. But then she shook her head slightly, taking a small step back, putting space between them.
“We worked together,” she added, her voice steadier now, colder. “That’s that.”
Y/N’s brows furrowed, disappointment settling in before she could even try to hide it.
For a split second, she had thought they were finally going somewhere — that whatever this was could finally take shape, become something real instead of something half-lived in the dark.
She was wrong.
Her grip tightened around the small plush keychain, the soft fabric of the little bear worn from how often she carried it, familiar against her skin.
Then, slowly, she stepped closer. She reached for Jennie's hand, turning it over just enough to place the plushie in her palm, her fingers lingering for a moment as she closed Jennie’s hand around it.
“There,” Y/N said quietly, her voice steady in a way she didn’t feel. “That should make things less complicated.”
And then she pulled away.
For a second, Jennie just stood there, her hand still half-curled around the small plush bear, like she hadn’t fully processed what had just happened. “Y/N—”
The name came out quieter than before, stripped of the sharpness, but she didn’t know what to follow it with.
Y/N didn’t answer. Instead, she turned away, moving toward the bedroom with a kind of quiet purpose, like she needed something to do with her hands.
Jennie stayed where she was, listening to the soft sounds of drawers opening, fabric shifting.
When Y/N came back, there was a small pile of folded shirts in her arms, and Jennie recognized them instantly.
Y/N stopped in front of her, not quite meeting her eyes this time as she pressed them into her hands, right over the plush keychain she was still holding.
“These are yours,” Y/N said, her voice even, almost distant. "Take them back."
No accusation. No softness either.
Just… final.
Jennie blinked, caught off guard, her grip tightening around both the shirts and the small bear, like she didn’t know what she was supposed to hold onto first.
“You’re overreacting,” she said finally, but the words came out weaker this time, like they were meant to convince herself more than anything else.
Even she didn’t sound like she believed it.
“I guess I should give yours back,” she added, quieter now.
Y/N shook her head, the movement small but immediate, her expression tightening with something that looked a lot like disappointment.
Most of her favorite shirts were still at the brunette's place — taken by Jennie one by one from Y/N's closet, because she always claimed they were warmer. They carried the memory of quiet moments in the kitchen, of Y/N fucking her on the counter with nothing but one of those shirts on, until cooking was forgotten altogether.
“No,” she said. “Keep them.”
Y/N let out a slow breath, her gaze dropping for a second before lifting again, steadier now, colder.
“I don’t want anything that reminds me of you.”
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Just like that, everything stopped — no more late-night drives, no quiet mornings, no messages left unread, because there were none to begin with.
Jennie disappeared from Y/N’s life as easily as she had slipped into it, leaving behind a silence that stretched longer than anything they had ever shared, until days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and Y/N slowly learned how to live with it, even when her fingers still hovered over Jennie’s name out of habit, finding nothing on the other side.
The fans noticed. Once again.
rubyjendeuki: y'all, jennie and y/n broke up??
jeny/n_defender: y/n's not wearing nini's keychain anymore😭 I'm a child of divorce
jenbias96: or maybe they just worked together and then went their separate ways??
0t4blinkeu: fr, these fans are so delulu💀
Y/N read every comment, every day. Sometimes, just to get a reaction out of Jennie, she even liked the ones claiming they were a couple.
But nothing ever came from it.
No text, no call, nothing.
At some point, Y/N convinced herself that the only way she would ever see Jennie again was on billboards or in paparazzi pictures.
Until the Met Gala after party.
The invitation came months later, the museum filled with familiar faces and industry names, people used to living under constant attention, now gathered in a space that still managed to feel strangely intimate despite everything.
Y/N almost didn’t go, but work had a way of finding her anyway, and she ended up there behind the DJ booth instead of among the guests, keeping her focus on the music, on something she could control, letting the bass drown out anything that tried to resurface.
She told herself she didn’t think about Jennie anymore.
That held up until she noticed her.
Jennie was already there, moving through the crowd with the same ease as always, laughing, close to someone in a way that felt just a little too intentional before drifting closer, not directly, but enough for it to stop feeling like a coincidence.
Close enough that Y/N couldn’t ignore her.
From behind the booth, everything should have felt distant — reduced to sound and light and movement — but it didn’t.
Not when Jennie was right there.
Not when Y/N could feel it, the weight of her presence, like something pulling at her attention no matter how hard she tried to keep it on anything else.
Jennie let herself be guided toward the dance floor, her hand slipping into someone else’s as they spun her lightly, the white fabric of her long skirt catching the light with every step.
She danced like she always did — relaxed, controlled, every movement intentional without ever looking rehearsed. Her head tilted back slightly as she smiled, her sunglasses slipping just enough down the bridge of her nose for her eyes to be seen.
And every now and then, almost carelessly, she looked up.
Not at the crowd.
At Y/N.
From behind the booth, Y/N kept her hands steady, her focus locked on the console like nothing had changed, like the air hadn’t shifted the moment Jennie stepped closer.
But she felt every step, every movement, every second Jennie stayed just a little too close. Close enough to break something all over again.
When Jennie followed a few friends behind the DJ booth, Y/N knew she was doing it on purpose.
She moved closer than necessary, letting herself fall into the rhythm of the music, her body brushing against one of them as she laughed, easy and careless on the surface, like she was just having fun.
Like it didn’t mean anything, but it wasn’t true. Y/N knew Jennie too well for that.Every movement was deliberate, studied down to the smallest detail, every shift of her hips timed perfectly with the beat — and with her. Like she was waiting for a reaction.
At first, it could have passed as just another glance over her shoulder, something easy to ignore if it hadn’t lasted a second longer than it should have.
Jennie kept moving like nothing had changed, her body still in sync with the music, still too close to someone else, still laughing like she was just there to enjoy the night — and yet her eyes found Y/N’s and didn’t leave.
There was nothing careless about it.
Y/N felt it before she could even think about it, the way her chest tightened, the brief hesitation in her hands over the console before she forced herself to keep going, to focus on the music instead of her.
After a moment, Jennie leaned in, her breath brushing against Y/N’s ear, close enough to be felt even over the music.
“Can you play my song?” she asked, her voice raised just enough to carry through the noise, lingering there for a second longer than necessary before pulling back.
Y/N didn’t answer.
Her fingers moved over the console instead, precise, controlled, like nothing about the moment had affected her at all as she queued up the track without hesitation, letting the first notes slip into the room as naturally as if it had always been the plan.
“No…” Jennie murmured when Y/N played Jump, a faint smirk on her lips as her gaze lingered on the producer. “I meant Damn Right.”
She didn’t step away after saying it, staying close enough for it to feel intentional, like she had slipped back into Y/N’s space without asking.
Y/N didn’t reply, her attention dropping back to the console as her fingers moved almost automatically, switching tracks without looking at her, even though she could still feel Jennie there, too close to ignore.
As Damn Right filled the room, the memory came back to Y/N all at once, blurred at the edges but sharp where it mattered — Jennie's jeans on the studio floor, her body pressed against Y/N’s, the way she had dry humped against her thigh like she couldn’t get close enough, soft whimpers slipping past her lips as she fell apart against her.
The memory was still vivid in her mind —how Jennie's pussy soaked through her own black panties, dampening the fabric of Y/N’s jeans.
Y/N kept both hands on the console, her focus fixed on the controls even as she felt Jennie move closer again, the space behind her shifting just enough to make it impossible to ignore.
There was a brief pause, like Jennie was deciding how far to push it, and then she slipped past, ducking slightly to move between Y/N and the edge of the booth, close enough that their bodies almost brushed.
Her hands settled on Y/N’s hips like it was nothing, like it was familiar, like it had always been allowed.
Y/N took a deep breath, her gaze drifting over the crowd of celebrities partying without a care in the world, phones raised as they recorded moments that would blur by morning.
“What are you doing?” she asked through gritted teeth, turning her head slightly away. “People are recording.”
“I know,” Jennie murmured against her cheek, her voice low, almost lost under the music. “I don’t mind.”
There was a brief pause, just enough for the words to settle, before Jennie reached for Y/N's hand, guiding it between her legs, like she didn’t expect to be stopped.
Y/N pulled back immediately, like she’d been burned. “Are you fucking crazy, Jennie?!"
Jennie only smiled at that, slow and unbothered, like the reaction was exactly what she had been waiting for.
“Relax,” she said, tilting her head slightly, her gaze dragging over Y/N’s face in a way that felt too familiar, too intentional. “You didn’t seem to mind before.”
She stepped closer again as she said it, not enough to draw attention, just enough to make it impossible to ignore. “Or is it just a problem now that someone might see?”
“Look who the fuck is talking,” Y/N shot back, her voice low but sharp, the frustration finally slipping through. “You didn’t want people to know, remember? That’s the reason we—”
She stopped herself, the words catching in her throat as the rest of the sentence fell apart before it could take shape, because what was she even supposed to say?
that’s why we broke up?
that’s why we’re not together anymore?
They had never really been anything to begin with.
For a moment, Jennie just looked at her, something unreadable passing through her expression before her gaze dropped, like she didn’t trust herself to hold it.
Then, instead of stepping back, she moved closer slowly, almost carefully, like she was testing the space between them.
Her hands found Y/N’s sides, not as bold as before, not teasing this time, just… there, grounding herself as she leaned in, letting the music take over the silence she didn’t know how to fill.
She pulled her just enough to close the distance, their bodies falling into the same rhythm, like it was something they already knew, something they didn’t have to think about.
No words.
Just the weight of it, of everything that hadn’t been said, settling between them as Jennie rested there, closer than she had any right to be, like she didn’t know how to let go.
Y/N didn’t stop her.
Her hands stayed on the console as Jennie leaned in, her lips brushing softly against her neck, familiar enough to make her exhale.
For a moment, Y/N just let it happen, one hand settling on Jennie’s lower back while the other stayed on the console.
Then Jennie smirked at Diplo, leaning in just enough to mutter something Y/N couldn’t catch.
Before Y/N could think too much about it, Jennie took her hand, her fingers slipping between hers with an ease that felt too familiar.
“Come with me,” she murmured, already pulling her away from the booth, guiding her through the crowd until the noise softened behind them and the lights dimmed slightly.
“Jen, I can’t just leave the booth—”
"I told my friend to cover it for you."
Jennie didn’t stop until they reached the bathrooms, pushing the door open and slipping inside, the music now muffled, distant, like it belonged to a different world entirely.
The music dropped to a dull thud behind them as the door shut, and Jennie didn’t let go, turning to her immediately, still too close, like she hadn’t planned on stopping.
Jennie didn’t say anything, just pulled her in, her hand firm against Y/N’s jaw as she kissed her like she had been holding it back for too long.
It wasn’t hesitant, her lips pressing hard against hers, insistent, almost impatient, like she needed to feel it again to believe it was real.
Y/N inhaled sharply, caught off guard by the force of it, by how familiar it felt, how easily it pulled something out of her she had tried to bury.
Jennie didn’t pull away, her grip tightening slightly as the kiss slowed but didn’t soften, making sure Y/N felt every second of it.
And she did.
In fact, she moved first this time, her hand sliding from Jennie’s jaw to her waist, gripping just enough to turn her, guiding her back until the edge of the sink met her hips.
Jennie let out a soft breath against her lips as Y/N lifted her slightly, settling her on the counter without breaking the kiss, like she couldn’t bring herself to stop now that she had started.
Jennie pushed herself up slightly, her skirt sliding higher along her thighs, revealing the delicate lace underneath as her gaze stayed fixed on Y/N’s. Then she reached for her hand, guiding it down, pressing it flat against her core.
Y/N understood what Jennie wanted right away and didn’t hesitate, circling her clit with her thumb. "You always find a way to get what you want, Jennie.”
“It’s not like you ever say no to me.”
Y/N let out a quiet, humorless breath, her thumb still tracing her bundle of nerves, feeling the heat starting to spread there. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” Jennie shot back, her voice lower now, less teasing but no less intense. “Because you’re still here.”
Y/N’s jaw tightened, hooking her fingers into Jennie's underwear and pushing them down so she could wiggle out of them.
“And you’re still doing this,” she murmured, her fingers sliding between Jennie's folds, spreading her open and gathering the arousal on her fingers. “Like nothing ever changed.”
"Maybe nothing did." Jennie gasped, clenching around nothing, hands gripping the sink below her.
"No, nothing did," Y/N answered as her fingers moved into her entrance, angling just right, like she still knew exactly what worked with Jennie. "You still throw yourself at me like a bitch in heat."
"Fuck—" Jennie moaned loudly when Y/N hit the spot inside her over and over again at a relentless pace. Her palm brushing against her throbbing clit with every single movement.
Her legs began to shake as the girl before her added a third finger, stretching her out around her digits.
"You always come so easily," Y/N mocked as she kept thrusting her fingers against Jennie's sensitive walls. "It's embarrassing, really."
"Shut up."
But even as Jennie said it, her legs moved in sync with Y/N’s deep thrusts, betraying her, head back against the mirror.
A faint, knowing smirk tugged at Y/N's lips as her grip tightened just slightly, her voice dropping when she spoke again, quieter now but edged with quiet confidence. "Just let me see your pretty face when you come all over my fingers.”
Jennie didn’t need to be told twice, her grip tightening painfully against the girl's shoulders as her orgasm washed over her and Y/N’s name kept falling from her lips in broken breaths, repeated over and over like a prayer she still whispered at night when she was alone, with no one else but herself to keep her company.
Y/N didn’t stop, not even when Jennie’s body went slack. She wanted to savor the moment just a little more, keeping her fingers inside long enough to feel the way Jennie's pussy still throbbed around her digits.
“Fuck, I missed you," Jennie stayed where she was on the sink, slightly breathless, her hands still resting on Y/N like she hadn’t fully come back to herself yet. Her lipstick was ruined, her hair messier than before, and for once she didn’t seem to care.
Y/N stood between her legs, her gaze fixed on her for a moment longer than necessary before she let out a quiet breath and looked away first.
The tension was still there, heavy and familiar, lingering in the small space between them even after everything had settled.
Jennie’s fingers brushed lazily against Y/N’s arm before a faint smile pulled at her lips. “I want more.”
“We can go to your hotel—”
“No,” Jennie cut in softly. “Take me to yours.”
Y/N’s smile faded almost immediately.
Of course.
Nothing had changed. Jennie was still afraid of letting her into her world, still keeping her at a distance even now, even after everything.
No commitment. No staying.
And Y/N hated that a part of her still couldn’t say no. So she only nodded and took Jennie’s hand.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The next morning, Y/N woke up with an ache deep in her bones, fading marks scattered across her skin and cold sheets beside her.
Jennie was gone.
Just like every other time.
For a few seconds, Y/N stayed there staring at the empty side of the bed, already knowing what she would find before she even reached out.
Nothing.
No note. No text. Not even the sound of the shower running somewhere in the room.
Just silence.
She let out a slow breath and pushed herself up, wincing slightly as she searched the floor for her leather jacket, expecting to find it mixed somewhere between last night’s discarded clothes.
But it wasn’t there.
Before she could even react, her phone lit up violently against the nightstand, notifications flooding the screen one after another.
Videos from the after party.
Clips of her and Jennie standing too close behind the DJ booth, Jennie’s hands on her, the way they looked at each other impossible to explain away this time.
And then pictures from that same morning.
Jennie somewhere in New York, coffee in hand, sunglasses on despite the early hour, wearing Y/N’s jacket like it belonged to her.
But that wasn’t what made Y/N’s breath catch.
Clipped to Jennie’s bag was a small keychain with Y/N’s initial hanging from it.
All the posts exploded with comments.
rubyjendeuki: y/n's initial on jennie's keychain, hello???
jeny/n_defender: JENNIE WAS SPOTTED LEAVING THE AFTER PARTY WITH Y/N AND DIDN'T GO BACK TO HER HOTEL UNTIL THIS MORNING WEARING Y/N'S JACKET FROM LAST NIGHT. JENY/N IS SO BACK!
0t4blinkeu: or maybe she just borrowed a jacket damn😭
jeny/nnation: borrowed the jacket, spent the night there, wore the initial… right
blvckpinknini: not her carrying y/n’s initial around like a girlfriend without actually being one 😭
rosiemynumberone: even i have to admit the closet is made of glass now shyt
jeny/n_era: wearing y/n’s jacket and carrying her initial around after months of silence is actually insane behavior
Y/N kept scrolling through the comments long after she should’ve stopped, rereading the same pictures and videos until everything started blending together.
The jacket, the keychain, Jennie leaving in the morning like she had nowhere else to be.
It was stupid how much those small things still affected her.
Her phone buzzed again.
Jennie.
Y/N stared at the name for a second before opening the messages.
Jen: flying back to korea
i finally have some time off and i intend to spend it at my apartment
another text.
Jen: you should come and get your jacket back
Y/N’s eyes lingered on the screen a little longer than necessary, her heart betraying her almost immediately despite everything.
But what really made her smile was the next text.
Jen: you can stay if you promise to cook breakfast in the morning :)
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ✩ ☾ ✩ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Thank you so much if you made it this far! This was my second attempt at writing smut and I hope you liked it! If you have any suggestions on what I should improve, let me know!
⊱ synopsis: guided by revenge, Jennie has made a habit of hunting the daughters of powerful men. And Y/N was meant to be one of them.
⊱ pairing: vampire!jennie x fem!reader
⊱ warnings: +18 (MDNI!), vampirism, blood loss, blood drinking, smut, first time, light power dynamics, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), fluff.
⊱ a/n: hello everyone <3 I’m sorry it took me a bit to post this after saying it was ready, but I accidentally deleted all the smut i had written over two days and had to rewrite everything🥲 also, this is my first time ever writing smut, so please be gentle with me… I was a little shy while writing it and I think it shows😭
i hope you enjoy it <3
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Chapter VII
“Let's keep the night glowing, I don't ever wanna stop.”
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
After the kiss, everything blurred.
Y/N could not have said how they left the balcony, nor when the music and voices faded into nothing. The world beyond Jennie seemed to dissolve entirely, reduced to fragments she could no longer piece together.
She did not remember the journey to Jennie’s chambers. Not the corridors they crossed, nor the doors that must have opened and closed along the way.
Only the feeling remained—Jennie’s presence, close and unrelenting, guiding her forward through something that no longer felt entirely real.
It was as though time itself had slipped, stretching and folding in ways she could not follow, leaving her suspended somewhere between one moment and the next.
And somehow, no one stopped them. No one called after them. No one seemed to notice they were gone at all.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single candle. The curtains were drawn, though not completely, allowing a trace of moonlight to slip through and settle across the floor.
Jennie stepped inside, and Y/N followed without hesitation this time.
The door had barely closed behind them when Jennie moved. Her hand found Y/N’s wrist first—gentle, but certain—drawing her just close enough that the space between them disappeared entirely. And then, without giving her time to think, she leaned in.
The kiss was not tentative. It carried something restrained for far too long—something that had waited, watched, held back until it no longer could. And yet, even in that urgency, there was control. Always.
Y/N stilled at first, the suddenness of it stealing what little composure she had managed to gather, but it lasted only a moment.
Her hand rose, uncertain before it settled against Jennie’s shoulder, as though testing something she did not yet fully understand.
Jennie slowed. Not enough to stop—never that—but enough to allow her the space to choose.
Y/N didn't pull away.
If anything, she leaned closer.
The room seemed to fall away around them, the quiet pressing in, the outside world reduced to nothing more than a distant memory. There was only the warmth between them, the steady pull that refused to loosen its hold.
Jennie’s hand shifted, no longer at her wrist but higher now, brushing lightly along her arm, as though memorising the shape of it. Careful, almost reverent. And yet beneath it—something else. Something far less patient.
Jennie stilled only for a moment. Then, whatever fragile restraint she had managed to hold onto, gave way—not entirely, but enough.
Her hand tightened at Y/N’s waist, drawing her closer still, until there was no space left between them. The contact was immediate, undeniable, and it sent something sharp and unsteady through Y/N’s chest.
The kiss changed, it deepened—not rushed, not careless, but heavier, more deliberate, as though Jennie was allowing herself to feel it fully now. As though she had stopped pretending she could remain untouched by it.
Y/N’s breath faltered, her fingers gripping more firmly at Jennie’s shoulder, then shifting—no longer hesitant—as they moved upward, finding the line of her neck.
Jennie reacted. Not with words, never with words, but in the way her hold tightened, in the brief, almost imperceptible pause before her control slipped again. Her head dipped, her lips no longer at Y/N’s mouth but brushing lower, slower now, as if she was choosing each movement with care—and failing, all the same, to keep it measured.
Y/N felt it—the shift, the danger in it.
Jennie’s lips lingered just short of touching, her hand tightening faintly as if grounding herself in something real—something solid, something other than the pull beneath her skin.
“You do not understand,” she said quietly, though her voice lacked its usual certainty. “What it is you place in my hands.”
Y/N’s breath trembled, but she did not step back. If anything, she tilted her head just slightly, closing whatever fragile distance Jennie had tried to preserve.
“You can take it,” Y/N said, a hint of desperation threading through her voice. “Take my body and my soul… take my nights and blur them into days. Hold me until there’s nothing left that isn’t you.”
A choice.
Clear.
Unmistakable.
Jennie’s gaze flickered—something unsteady passing through it, rare and dangerously close to undone—and whatever remained of her restraint faltered once more, her lips finding her again, slower this time, but no less consuming. As if she already knew there would be no turning back from this.
Jennie’s hands did not hesitate as they found their way behind Y/N’s back, unlacing her corset with steady movements that betrayed a quiet impatience.
“Too much clothing for my liking,” she murmured.
Her lips followed the line of Y/N’s jaw, slow and deliberate, lingering just enough to draw out every reaction before trailing lower, to the sensitive curve of her neck.
Y/N’s breath hitched softly, her fingers tightening against Jennie without thought.
But it was only when Jennie’s touch dipped lower—when her lips brushed on the valley of her breasts—that the reaction came fully, a sharp, unguarded gasp breaking free before she could stop it.
"So warm."
Everything had blurred into something indistinct—thoughts slipping away, replaced by sensation, by the quiet pull that kept her exactly where Jennie was. Her awareness narrowed to Jennie alone: the way she touched her, the way she held her, the way everything else seemed to fall away in her presence.
Her dress slipped from her shoulders without her noticing, the fabric falling away as she remained lost in the warmth of the moment, aware only of the brunette.
It was only as the intensity began to soften, her breath slowly evening out, that the rest followed.
A faint chill brushing against her skin, the quiet around them. And then—the realisation, settling in gently, almost too quietly to resist.
With it came a hesitation, subtle but undeniable, threading its way through everything she had just felt.
Her hands moved almost instinctively, shifting as though to gather what remained of her dress, to cover herself—clumsy, uncertain, as if the sudden vulnerability had caught her unprepared.
Jennie noticed at once.
Her hand closed gently—but firmly—around Y/N’s wrists before she could retreat, stopping the movement without force, yet leaving no room for it to continue.
“Don’t,” her gaze lifted to meet Y/N’s, steady and intent, something warmer beneath it now—something far less guarded. “You have nothing to hide.”
Y/N faltered, her breath uneven, her fingers stilling where Jennie held them. There was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, something almost fragile, as if she had not expected to be seen so clearly.
Jennie’s hold softened, though she did not let go. “Look at me,” she murmured.
And when Y/N did—there was no hesitation in her expression anymore.
“Beautiful,” Jennie said quietly, like the word itself required no further explanation.
Her thumb brushed lightly against Y/N’s wrist, a gesture far gentler than the one that had stopped her before.
Then Jennie sank to her knees before her, the movement slow, deliberate—almost reverent. As if it wasn't Y/N she faced, but something far greater. Something sacred.
Faith had long since abandoned her—years ago, perhaps longer—but in that moment, it returned in a different form.
Not in prayer, not in devotion to any distant Creator but here, in front of her.
Jennie’s gaze lifted, steady and unshaken, as it settled on Y/N with a quiet intensity that bordered on worship.
If she believed in anything at all now, it was this.
It was Y/N.
Y/N felt unbearably exposed, her nerves tightening under the weight of Jennie’s gaze as it traced the very curves artists might have once tried to capture—now laid bare before her.
As if sensing her nervousness, Jennie softened, her lips brushing gently against her stomach, leaving slow, lingering kisses in their wake. Her touch was unhurried, deliberate—yet her eyes never left Y/N’s, holding her there, as though every reaction mattered.
Y/N’s breath faltered almost immediately. Her fingers twitched at her sides, unsure where to rest, what to hold onto, as the sensation sent a quiet shiver through her. She was far too aware of it—Jennie’s cold touch, the contrast of it against warm skin, the way it seemed to linger even after each kiss.
“Jennie…” she breathed, though the name came out softer than intended, unsteady. Her gaze dropped, drawn by the intensity of Jennie’s stare. It made everything feel sharper—every movement, every reaction—impossible to ignore.
Her hand moved then, almost without thought, finding Jennie’s hair as if seeking something to steady herself.
Jennie didn't look away. Not even as Y/N’s fingers found her hair, not even as her grip tightened slightly, betraying the effect she had on her. If anything, her gaze seemed to deepen, darkening with something that was no longer entirely restrained.
Her lips lingered a moment longer, then moved again—slow, deliberate, like she was tracing something she intended to remember.
Y/N’s breath grew uneven, each exhale softer than the last, her body reacting before her thoughts could catch up. There was something overwhelming in the way Jennie moved—unhurried, certain, as though she knew exactly what she was doing, exactly what it would cause.
“Jennie…” she tried again, though the name barely formed this time.
Jennie stilled at that only for a second. Her gaze lifted, meeting Y/N’s once more, searching, measuring—waiting for anything that might stop her.
Y/N held her gaze, her chest rising and falling too quickly, her fingers still tangled in Jennie’s hair. There was a flicker of something in her expression—uncertainty, perhaps—but it didn't last.
Jennie stopped for a moment before her tongue lapped on her sex—unhurried, precise—tracing her in a way that felt deliberate, almost reverent, as if she were committing every detail to memory.
"You're already so wet."
Those words, combined with Jennie’s unhurried, precise movements of her tongue, pulled a soft and unsteady gasp from Y/N, her grip tightening in Jennie’s hair without thought.
Jennie stilled for a moment, her eyes closing briefly as she took in the sensation, letting it linger. There was something overwhelming in it—something rich, intoxicating in a way she had not expected.
“You taste like a heaven I was never meant to enter… and yet I cannot help but crave."
Y/N barely had time to respond before Jennie moved again, parting the slits with two fingers as her tongue resumed—slow, deliberate, leaving no room for thought.
Her tongue was flat at first, tracing Y/N's cunt from her entrance to the clit, lingering there for a moment. Focusing on the bundle of nerves until it was red and swollen.
“Fu—” the younger girl stopped herself abruptly, the word dying on her lips as realization caught up with her. A flicker of embarrassment crossed her expression, her gaze faltering as though she had said far more than she intended.
She looked away for a moment, her grip tightening slightly, warmth rising to her cheeks.
“I—” she tried again, softer this time, though the words refused to come due to the intense pleasure Jennie was giving her.
"Don't," Jennie demanded, looking up with her mouth glistening with arousal. "Don't hold back."
"Fuck!" Y/N finally said when Jennie's tongue dived into her— not slow and teasing anymore, but hard. Wet. Precise.
"I know you're gonna come on my tongue," Jennie teased, her voice low and smooth— far too composed for the affect she was having.
"Let me feel how you come."
Her tongue didn't falter, nor did it slow, her movements steady, unrelenting in a way that made it impossible to think of anything else. Her hand guided Y/N's leg with quiet certainty on her shoulder, shifting just enough to draw her closer, to hold her exactly where she wanted her.
Y/N felt something.
Then—
A soft, broken sound slipped from her lips before she could stop it, her grip tightening instinctively as the tension finally unraveled all at once, leaving her breathless in its wake.
"Fuck, Jennie!"
Jennie didn't stop. Not immediately. As if unwilling to let the moment pass so quickly, she remained just as close, just as steady, drawing out the last traces of the orgasm with a quiet, deliberate intent that made Y/N’s breath catch all over again.
Her hand tightened slightly, grounding her, holding her there as the aftermath settled in waves—slower now, but no less overwhelming.
Only then did Jennie still, gradually and reluctantly. Like pulling away required far more restraint than she wished to admit.
“Are you alright?” she asked softly, her hand brushing over Y/N’s hip in a slow, absent motion. “Tell me—how was it?”
Y/N let out a breathless, incredulous laugh. “Are you serious? Fuck.”
“Language,” Jennie murmured, a hint of amusement in her voice as she pressed a lingering, almost playful kiss to Y/N's inner thigh before rising to her feet. “It’s not as though I’m finished with you.”
Before Y/N could respond—before she could even attempt to gather herself—Jennie’s hands found her again.
She drew her closer with ease, lifting her as though the effort meant nothing at all, her hold steady, certain, leaving no room for doubt.
Y/N let out a soft sound of surprise, her hands instinctively finding Jennie’s shoulders, holding on without thinking as the world seemed to shift once more.
Jennie's gaze remained fixed on her as she carried Y/N the short distance to the bed, her movements unhurried despite the quiet certainty behind them.
Only when Y/N was settled against the sheets did Jennie pause, her hands lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, her eyes tracing her face with something far softer than before.
“Is it alright if I still want… more?” Y/N asked softly, a hint of shyness in her voice as she rose slightly onto her elbows, her gaze lifting to find Jennie standing at the edge of the bed.
Jennie’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.
“I shall take that as a compliment,” she murmured, her tone light with quiet amusement as her hands moved to the laces of her own corset, undoing them with unhurried ease.
Y/N’s breath caught almost immediately. Her gaze dropped before she could stop it, drawn to the slow, deliberate movement of Jennie’s hands as they worked at the laces, each motion unhurried, controlled—as if she was fully aware of the effect it had.
For a moment, she forgot to move entirely, her body still but her thoughts anything but. There was something almost disarming in the ease of it, in the quiet confidence Jennie carried, as though nothing about this required effort.
Y/N’s fingers tightened slightly against the sheets beneath her, the fabric bunching beneath her grip as she tried—unsuccessfully—to steady herself.
Her eyes should have looked away, but they didn't. Instead, they lingered, tracing the slow shift of fabric, the subtle reveal of skin, each second stretching longer than it should have.
“Jennie…” she breathed, softer now, her voice unsteady in a way she could not quite hide.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen another woman undressed,” Jennie murmured, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Her fingers worked at the last laces with practiced ease, slow enough to be deliberate, each movement measured—fully aware of the way Y/N was studying her, memorizing her now bare body.
“I find that rather difficult to believe.”
With an ease that felt almost effortless, Jennie shifted, settling over Y/N—one knee on either side, her presence cold and inescapable without ever feeling forced.
"I actually haven't," Y/N admitted.
Jennie’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, something quiet and knowing in it now, before her lips curved just slightly.
“Shall I show you, then,” she murmured, her voice soft, “what you have been missing?”
Y/N didn’t answer. Not right away.
Her gaze lingered on Jennie, softer now, less overwhelmed and more… curious. As though something in her had shifted—not gone, not the uncertainty, but changed into something quieter. Something that wanted to understand.
Slowly, she pushed herself up a little more, her movements careful, almost hesitant.
Jennie didn't move. She only watched.
Y/N’s hand lifted, pausing midway as if giving herself one last chance to stop—before finally reaching forward. Her fingers brushed lightly against Jennie’s breast. Tentative. Testing.
She stilled at the contact, her breath catching slightly, as if surprised by the simple reality of it. Then, slowly, her touch grew more certain, her fingers tracing upward with quiet curiosity, as though learning something entirely new.
"You're so soft."
Her fingers continued, slower now, more deliberate—no longer just touching, but exploring, as though she was committing every detail to memory.
Her thumb and index finger pinched at Jennie's nipple, watching it harden under her curious fingers.
“It feels right… touching you,” Y/N murmured, almost as if she was still trying to understand it herself.
“It feels right,” Jennie whispered in return, “to be touched by you.”
Her hand found Y/N’s free one, guiding it gently to her other breast, pressing it there just enough for her to feel the steady presence beneath her palm.
“Like this,” she added softly. "Feel them."
“I don’t quite know what I’m doing,” Y/N admitted with a soft, nervous laugh, her voice tinged with shyness.
Jennie’s expression softened almost immediately.
“It’s alright,” she reassured gently. “You don't need to know."
Her hand lifted, brushing lightly against Y/N’s as she guided it with quiet care.
“I will show you.”
With that, Jennie’s lips found their way to Y/N’s neck once more, lingering there before pressing closer, her touch slow, deliberate. She traced the delicate line of her pulse, drawn to it in a way she could not ignore.
Y/N’s breath caught instantly.
Jennie felt it—the steady rhythm beneath her lips, the quiet insistence of it, calling to something far deeper than she cared to admit.
Her hold tightened slightly.
Just enough.
Temptation flickered, sharp and dangerous, as her focus narrowed to that single point, to the warmth beneath her skin, to the pull that whispered for her to sink her fangs in the soft skin and just take.
For a moment, everything else fell away.
Her lips remained where they were, her control holding—barely.
However, she did not give in.
Not yet.
Then, slowly, she moved, her lips trailing along her collarbone with quiet intent, choosing control over instinct.
Y/N’s breath faltered beneath her, her fingers tightening instinctively against Jennie before shifting—uncertain at first, then more sure—as they moved to hold her closer.
When she gently bit down and simultaneously rubbed the nipples, Y/N moaned, a delicious sound that sent a jolt straight between Jennie's legs.
She swirled her tongue on the hard nipple, playing with it until the girl before her became impatient.
Y/N’s hand shifted again, sliding slightly, holding her there as though asking her not to stop.
“I want…” she whispered, hesitating for a moment before finding the courage to continue. Her fingers tightened faintly. “What you did before…”
“You want me to make you come again?” Jennie teased, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. Her hand moved with quiet certainty to cup Y/N's sex, slow and deliberate, as though she already knew the answer long before asking.
Y/N only nodded. Words failed her entirely, her throat tightening as the moment settled too deeply for her to speak. Her eyes slipped closed almost instinctively, as though hiding might soften the vulnerability she felt—shielding herself from the weight of Jennie’s gaze, from the way it seemed to see far too much.
A faint warmth rose to her cheek. However, her eyes flew open at the sudden touch of Jennie's fingers inside her hole— only for the touch to disappear just as quickly, leaving her with a deep craving inside her.
“You had best use your words,” Jennie murmured, her tone low, edged with quiet command as her hand lifted, guiding Y/N’s chin upward—firm enough to hold her attention, not enough to hurt.
Y/N’s lips parted instinctively, her thoughts scattering under the weight of it.
“Yes—” she rushed out, her voice breathless, unsteady. “Yes… please.”
“Good girl,” Jennie smirked. “Now it wasn’t that hard, was it?”
“No…” Y/N breathed, the word barely more than a whisper as it slipped from her lips. Her voice trembled slightly, her chest rising unevenly as she tried—and failed—to steady herself under Jennie’s gaze.
“Relax now,” Jennie whispered at last, her touch softening as her fingers moved with careful, deliberate intent on her slits, collecting the juices there.
“It may feel unfamiliar at first,” she continued, her voice low, steady—meant to reassure. “But I will take care of you.”
Her gaze remained on Y/N’s, searching, making sure she followed, that she trusted.
“I promise,” she added more quietly, her tone gentler now, “I won’t let it be anything but good for you.”
Y/N’s breath trembled softly as she adjusted to it all, her body still learning, still catching up—but her gaze never left Jennie’s.
There was something different in the way Jennie looked at her now, something quieter, deeper, like the moment had shifted into something she could not quite name.
Her hand moved almost without thought, finding Jennie’s arm and holding onto her—not out of fear, not entirely, but because the closeness itself suddenly felt important.
“I trust you,” she whispered.
With that confirmation, Jennie met warm, wet folds against her fingers once again. As soon as she started moving, rubbing small circles into the bud beneath her fingers, Y/N let out a breathy moan, one that made the brunette feel dizzy with lust.
“It does feel unfamiliar… but good,” Y/N gasped, her hips moving instinctively against Jennie’s hand.
“Greedy,” Jennie laughed softly. Her hand repositioned so she could slide a finger into Y/N's core. "Take a deep breath. Grow used to the sensation."
Y/N whimpered, not expecting to feel so much from so little, her body reacting before she could even begin to understand it.
"I want more."
Jennie could already feel it. She could feel it from how Y/N's walls clenched around that digit only. How her core seemed to ask for more.
How it asked to be filled.
She moved in and out for a moment, savoring the heat and pulsing of her inner walls, before sliding a second finger to join the first, drawing a longer moan from Y/N.
Jennie’s eyes fell shut for a brief moment, her lower lip caught between her teeth as the sensation settled deeper than she had expected.
"I couldn't imagine you would feel so tight," Jennie groaned, curling her fingers just right as she settled into a rhythm she did not break—fast and precise. Just enough to draw an instinctive arch from Y/N’s back.
“Jennie…” Y/N gasped softly, her legs trembling as her breath grew uneven. “Jennie… please.”
"You feel it?" Jennie teased. "I'm deeper than is dick could ever be." To prove her point, she pushed deeper, hitting the spot that would make Y/N's vision blur.
Y/N's fingers tightened instinctively where they rested against Jennie, gripping her as though searching for something steady—something to hold onto while everything else felt uncertain.
A soft, unsteady sound slipped from her lips, more startled than afraid, her head tilting slightly without thinking, as if trying to understand the feeling rather than escape it.
“Fuck…" she whispered, her voice breathless, broken. "I think I'm gonna—"
"Come for me, babygirl."
After that, the brunette lowered her head once more, her lips brushing along Y/N’s inner thigh, leaving slow, deliberate kisses in their wake—lingering just enough to leave their mark.
Her lips lingered for a moment longer before her teeth followed, sharper this time, pressing just enough to break the skin.
Y/N gasped softly at the sudden contrast, the sensation unfamiliar—strange, yet not entirely unwelcome. Her attention remained fixed on Jennie, on the way she moved, the way she held her, as though everything else had fallen away.
Jennie's mouth stilled as soon as she felt it, the faintest trace of warm blood meeting her lips, her control tightening instantly around the instinct that followed.
Her fingers curled again and Y/N's cunt clenched around them like it had its own heartbeat. Like all was need was Jennie, deep inside.
She let herself go.
It felt like a bow drawn slowly to its limit—pulled tighter and tighter, the tension building with every second… until it finally gave.
The release came all at once, sharp and certain, like an arrow loosed with perfect aim, leaving nothing untouched in its wake.
For a time, neither of them spoke.
The room lay in a fragile stillness, as if even the air itself feared to disturb what had passed. Y/N rested where she was, her breath uneven, her strength not yet wholly her own, and Jennie remained at her side, unmoving.
She could do nothing but lie there, her chest rising and falling unevenly, her body still trembling faintly as everything slowly settled.
She felt… light. And exhausted. In the most beautiful way.
Her fingers loosened where they had been gripping Jennie, slipping instead into something softer, almost absent as she tried to gather herself again.
“Jennie…” she whispered, her voice barely there now, softened by the aftermath.
Jennie, in contrast, remained perfectly composed. Untouched by the same disarray.
Her breathing steady, her movements unhurried as she lifted her gaze to Y/N, watching her with quiet intensity—taking in every detail, every unguarded reaction.
For once, she did not despise her damned nature. Not when it allowed her to explore Y/N all night, free from exhaustion, free from anything that might pull her away.
Her hand moved, slower this time, brushing lightly against Y/N in a grounding gesture, as though reminding her she was still there.
“Easy,” she murmured softly.
Y/N let out a small, tired breath, her eyes fluttering open just enough to find Jennie again.
With quiet care, the brunette reached for the covers and drew them gently over the girl under her, tucking them close in a gesture that felt almost instinctive—protective, despite all that she was. Only then did she settle beside her once more.
She sat close, near enough that the space between them seemed hardly there at all, her gaze fixed upon Y/N with a quiet, searching intensity. Her hand found its way to her lower stomach, her touch light and careful as her fingers rested there.
“Does it pain you?”
Y/N stirred, her eyes opening just enough to find Jennie’s. “No… it does not.”
Jennie’s thumb brushed faintly against her skin, a small, absent motion that betrayed her unease.
“Are you certain?” she asked, more gently now, though no less intent. “You must not say so merely to ease me.”
“I would not,” Y/N murmured, her voice still faintly unsteady after the recent activities.
Jennie studied her a moment longer, as though reluctant to trust even that, before her hand lifted to brush a loose strand of hair from her face, her fingers lingering there in a touch that was almost hesitant.
Her hand shifted once more, finding Y/N’s and holding it gently, her fingers curling around it as though grounding herself.
“You should rest,” she said at last, the firmness in her voice softened by something far more careful.
Y/N’s eyes were already drifting closed. “Will you leave?”
“Not this time."
The answer seemed to settle something unspoken between them. Y/N’s grip slackened as sleep claimed her, her breathing evening into something calm and steady.
Jennie remained as she was, her hand still holding Y/N’s, her thumb tracing slow, absent patterns against her skin while her gaze lingered upon her face—watchful, intent, unwilling to look away.
“I was not meant to spare you,” she murmured, the words scarcely more than a whisper in the stillness.
Her expression softened, though the weight of it did not lessen. “And yet I would sooner condemn myself than see you harmed.”
The confession faded into the quiet.
Jennie did not move. She did not leave. And though the guilt remained, it no longer kept her at a distance.
Not tonight.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
I hope you guys enjoyed it <3
As I mentioned before, this was my first time writing smut and I got a little shy, so it might not be as good or as explicit as I originally wanted. But that doesn’t mean nothing will happen in future chapters 👀
⊱ a/n: Hello everyone! Sorry it took me a few days to post this chapter, but it ended up being so long that I had to split it into two parts and add a little more content so it wouldn’t feel too rushed. Chapter 7 will be up soon since it’s already ready. Enjoy!!
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Chapter VI
“isn't the view spectacular?”
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
The journey to London felt longer than it should have.
Perhaps it was the silence.
Or the way it settled between them, thick and unspoken, stretching with every mile the carriage carried them further from the manor.
Y/N had not meant to fall asleep.
And yet, at some point along the way, the steady motion of the carriage had lulled her into it, her head coming to rest—unwittingly—against Jennie’s shoulder.
Jennie had not moved.
Not once.
She remained as she was, her posture unchanged, as though the slightest shift might disturb her. Her gaze did not turn to the window, nor to the others within the carriage, but lingered—quiet, watchful—upon Y/N.
When Y/N stirred at last, it was not the city that reached her first, but the quiet awareness of coldness beneath her cheek.
She stilled.
Then, slowly, she drew back, her breath catching softly as realization settled in.
“My apologies,” she murmured, her voice still touched with sleep.
Jennie’s gaze held hers for a brief moment. “There's no need,” she replied, her tone even.
Nothing more was said.
Across from them, Benjamin remained composed, his attention elsewhere, while Augustus continued his light conversation, unaware—or unwilling to notice.
The carriage slowed.
Then stopped.
“Welcome,” he said, a faint smile settling on his lips, “to my home.”
A servant stepped forward at once, opening the carriage door.
Augustus descended first, turning back immediately as he extended a hand toward Y/N.
She hesitated only for a moment. Then, with careful composure, she placed her hand in his and allowed herself to be guided down.
Her shoes met polished stone, and she withdrew her hand as soon as it was proper to do so.
Her gaze lifted.
The house stood before her.
Not merely grand—but expansive, set apart from the city itself, its grounds stretching wide behind wrought-iron gates and high stone walls that spoke of privacy as much as wealth.
Tall windows framed by pale stone, a sweeping drive, and a line of servants waiting in perfect stillness along the entrance.
Everything about it spoke of certainty.
Of wealth long established.
Of decisions already made.
Of a future she had not chosen.
Jennie stepped out last. She didn't look at Augustus. Her gaze lingered, instead, upon Y/N—measured, unreadable, and just a moment too long.
They had barely stepped inside when the doors closed behind them with a quiet finality.
The entrance hall was vast, lined with marble and gold, the kind of space that seemed designed less for comfort and more for display. Every detail felt deliberate, measured—untouchable.
“Mother is waiting,” Augustus said, already moving forward.
Y/N followed, her steps slower, her gaze drifting across the unfamiliar surroundings as servants passed silently by.
Jennie remained just a step behind her.
Close enough.
Always close enough.
They were led into a drawing room bathed in soft afternoon light, where two figures stood waiting near the tall windows.
A woman first. Poised. Impeccably dressed, her posture straight, her expression composed into something that resembled warmth without quite reaching it.
And beside her—
a man.
Older, quieter, his presence less immediate but no less imposing, his gaze sharp in a way that missed very little.
“Augustus,” the woman greeted, her voice smooth as silk. “You’ve returned.”
“And with company,” she added, her eyes already settling on Y/N.
Assessing.
Measuring.
Augustus stepped forward. “Mother, Father—this is Y/N.”
A pause.
Just long enough to be felt.
“How lovely,” the woman said at last, though her gaze lingered in a way that suggested evaluation rather than admiration. “Augustus has mentioned you in his letters.”
Y/N inclined her head slightly, her hands folding together to keep them still. “I hope only good things.”
The woman’s lips curved faintly. “That depends on one’s expectations.”
A subtle answer.
A sharper one than it appeared.
Y/N glanced over her shoulder at Jennie, her eyes soft—but laced with something far less steady.
Jennie noticed.
She stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. A quiet gesture. Reassuring and grounding.
“And you are?” the woman asked, her gaze turning from Y/N to Jennie with quiet deliberation.
“Jennie.”
No title. No formalities. Not even a full name.
“Victoria Grosvenor,” she replied, her tone smooth and unyielding. She did not nod. Did not soften. There was no courtesy in it—only quiet authority.
“Albert,” the man added simply, though his gaze lingered far longer than necessary.
Victoria’s eyes returned to Jennie, measured, deliberate. “We were not expecting… additional guests.”
The pause was intentional. And sharp.
“Y/N insisted,” Augustus intervened smoothly, his hand settling at the small of her back in a gesture that appeared natural—yet lingered just enough to feel otherwise. “She claims she does not go anywhere without her companion.”
A faint smile touched Victoria’s lips. “Of course she doesn’t.”
Albert just laughed, patting his son's shoulder. "Well, good luck with your lady's whims from now on, son."
Y/N’s expression didn’t change, but Jennie felt the tension beneath it.
“You better make yourself presentable,” Victoria said, her gaze fixed on Y/N. “The gathering begins in a few hours.”
“My maids will show you to your chambers,” she added, gesturing lightly toward the staircase.
Two maids stepped forward at once, lowering their heads in a movement so slight it seemed rehearsed—careful, almost fearful of doing too much.
Y/N hesitated, her gaze flickering back to Jennie. “Jennie…?”
There was something in her voice closer to fear.
Victoria noticed.
“I will have a word with her,” she said smoothly, a smile curving her lips—pleasant in shape, but empty of warmth. “I am quite curious to know more about your… companion.”
The word lingered.
Measured.
Deliberate.
Y/N didn’t move immediately, but the maids did. Gentle hands guided her toward the stairs, insistent despite their softness, until she had no choice but to follow. Her gaze remained on Jennie for as long as she could.
Jennie did not look away.
Not even once.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
By the time the maids were nearly finished, Y/N could hardly recognize herself.
The dress clung to her figure in a way that felt less like elegance and more like restraint, the fabric pulled tight across her ribs, laced with such precision that every breath felt measured, controlled.
“Just a little more,” one of the maids murmured behind her, tightening the corset with practiced hands.
Y/N tried to inhale, but the air seemed to stop halfway, caught somewhere between her chest and her throat beneath layers of fabric and expectation.
“It’s too tight,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended.
“It must be,” the maid replied gently, her hands never slowing. “It suits you.”
Another pull, sharper this time.
Y/N’s fingers curled against the edge of the vanity, her knuckles paling as she steadied herself, the room beginning to feel smaller, closer, as though the walls were inching inward with every breath she failed to take.
“Please,” she added, softer now. “I can’t—”
The maid paused, only briefly, before finishing the final pull with a firm motion and tying the laces neatly in place.
“There,” she said, stepping back. “Perfect.”
Y/N stared at her reflection, her waist drawn in unnaturally, her posture forced upright, her body held in place not by grace but by constraint.
She lifted a hand slowly, brushing the fabric at her chest as if she might loosen it herself, though she already knew she wouldn’t.
“Breathe through it,” the other maid suggested quietly. “You will grow used to it.”
Y/N swallowed, her breath shallow and uneven, her chest rising only just enough to sustain her as she kept her gaze fixed on the mirror, searching for something familiar in the girl staring back at her and failing to find it.
For a moment, her thoughts drifted to Jennie, to the contrast of her touch—cold, yes, but never suffocating, never confining, never something that took from her without asking.
The reflection did not change, but something in her gaze did, a quiet realization settling beneath the surface as the tightness of the corset pressed in and her breath refused to deepen.
For the first time since arriving in London, she felt it clearly, undeniably—
she was trapped.
Y/N’s hands tightened around the edge of the vanity as she tried to inhale, the breath coming shallow and uneven, caught somewhere in her chest no matter how hard she tried to pull it in.
When the door opened, she didn’t turn, too focused on keeping herself steady, on holding on to something solid while the room threatened to shift beneath her.
“Mrs. Grosvenor is expecting you downstairs.”
The voice was familiar. Sharp with others, never quite with her.
“I’ll take care of Y/N.”
There was no hesitation in it, no space left for protest, and the maids understood it immediately, exchanging only the briefest glance before stepping out and closing the door behind them, leaving the room in a quiet that felt suddenly heavier.
Jennie crossed the distance without pause, her presence settling beside Y/N as her hands found her—first at her arms, steadying her, grounding her, and then moving with quiet certainty to the laces at her back.
“Easy,” she murmured, softer now, as her fingers worked quickly, loosening the corset just enough to ease the pressure that had been holding her in place.
The shift was immediate.
Not freedom, but relief.
Air rushed in too quickly, Y/N gasping as her chest finally expanded, her grip tightening once more before slowly beginning to loosen as her breathing steadied, fragile but real.
Jennie stayed close, her hands still at her back, not pulling away, as though she didn’t trust the moment to hold if she did.
“Breathe,” she said quietly, her voice low and steady.
Y/N did.
And this time, the air came easier, filling her lungs without resistance as she remained where she was, held together by the quiet certainty of Jennie’s touch.
“I can’t do it, Jennie… I can’t,” her voice broke slightly, smaller than she intended, fragile in a way she hated but couldn’t hide.
Jennie didn’t answer right away.
She stayed behind her, close enough that Y/N could feel her presence more than see it, their reflections overlapping in the mirror—hers trembling, Jennie’s still.
For a moment, Jennie just looked at her through it, as if reading something she didn’t say out loud.
Then she leaned in.
Her lips brushed Y/N’s shoulder—soft, almost absent, but grounding in a way that made her breath catch again, not from fear this time, but from something quieter she didn’t know how to name.
“Ssh,” she murmured.
The sound settled between them.
Y/N’s gaze didn’t leave the mirror. Neither did Jennie’s.
In the reflection, Jennie was too close. Closer than she needed to be. Close enough that Y/N could see the way her expression softened when she thought she wasn’t being watched. Close enough that there was no real space left between comfort and something far more dangerous.
Y/N swallowed, her fingers tightening faintly against the edge of the vanity as she tried to steady herself. Yet, she didn’t move away.
Instead, slowly, she turned.
Not fully at first—just enough that her eyes met Jennie’s in the mirror before meeting them directly.
Jennie didn’t step back. She didn’t need to. Their distance had already disappeared somewhere between breath and silence.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
The room felt smaller again, but this time not because of the corset, not because of fabric or pressure—because of proximity.
Because of choice.
Y/N exhaled softly, weaker than before. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be.”
Jennie’s gaze dropped briefly to her lips before lifting again, steady. “You don’t have to know,” she paused before adding: “not yet.”
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
The ballroom was already full when they arrived, music flowing through the space like something alive, slipping between chandeliers of crystal light and polished marble floors while laughter rose and fell in careful, practiced waves.
Y/N followed just behind Augustus, her steps measured, her presence announced only by proximity, not by acknowledgement. He greeted people as they passed, exchanging words that never quite included her, his hand occasionally guiding her forward as though she were part of the introduction without ever needing to be named.
She smiled when it seemed appropriate. Nodded when it was expected. But most of the time, she simply moved with him, learning quickly that she did not need to be spoken to in order to be positioned.
Jennie stayed close.
Not behind her. Not in front. Just there. A quiet constant in a room that refused to settle.
At first, people looked at Y/N—briefly, politely, as one might glance at something new entering a familiar space. Then, slowly, their attention drifted away, not abruptly, but naturally, as if there had never been anything there to hold it in the first place.
Conversations continued around her rather than with her, voices overlapping in a rhythm she could hear but not enter. Even when she shifted slightly, the room adjusted without noticing, making space without ever acknowledging her presence.
Augustus eventually let go of her hand without ceremony, his voice smooth as he excused himself toward another group, leaving her standing where she was as if it were entirely natural for her to remain behind.
And somehow, it was.
Y/N stayed still, surrounded by movement that did not include her, the weight of the room pressing in without ever touching her directly.
Her fingers tightened faintly against the fabric of her dress.
She looked for Jennie.
Found her immediately.
Jennie was not far, speaking to no one in particular, but watching everything at once. And when their eyes met, there was no change in her expression, only recognition—steady, unwavering, as if she had never stopped seeing her in the first place.
Y/N held her gaze for a moment longer than she intended, something in her chest tightening in a way she couldn’t explain, before looking away again, still standing in the same place, still surrounded by people who moved as if she were not there at all.
She smiled when Jennie lifted her untouched champagne glass slightly in her direction, a quiet gesture meant only for her, something that didn’t belong to the rest of the room.
Then Jennie nodded once toward the balcony in a silent invitation.
Y/N understood immediately.
For a moment, she simply stood there, breathing in air that didn’t feel watched, nor measured.
Jennie was already by the railing, glass in hand, though she never truly drank from it—only held it, as if it belonged to the performance of the evening rather than to her.
“You were suffocating in there,” she said quietly, still looking out over the city.
Y/N let out a small breath that almost became a laugh. “Was it that obvious?”
Jennie turned her head then.
“Only to me.”
The words settled between them without needing anything else.
Y/N stepped closer to the railing, letting her fingers rest against the cold stone, grounding herself in something real for the first time that night. Behind her, the ballroom kept moving, full of voices and music, as if she had never left.
In front of her, the gardens stretched far into the night, wide and carefully kept but still soft in the dim light. Paths curved through the greenery, disappearing between hedges and trees, while flowerbeds spilled over with blooms of every kind.
The air carried their scent—sweet, almost overwhelming at times.
Roses, mostly.
A faint breeze moved through the leaves, making them shift and whisper quietly around her, and somewhere farther away, she could hear the soft sound of water from a fountain.
The full moon hung high above, its light brushing against her skin, cool and gentle.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The breeze moved again, catching a loose strand of Y/N’s hair, and Jennie’s hand lifted almost instinctively, brushing it back into place with a touch so light it barely lingered.
Still, it stayed.
Y/N’s fingers tightened slightly against the stone. “isn't the view spectacular?”
“Yes."
But Jennie didn't look at the gardens at all.
A pause before she spoke again.
“You didn’t have to follow me,” she said quietly to fill the silence, her fingers tightening slightly around the stem of the glass she still wasn’t drinking from.
“I know,” Y/N replied, her gaze lifting toward the night sky as if she could trace familiar constellations between the scattered stars, as if naming them would make the world inside feel less heavy. “But I wanted to.”
Jennie let out a soft breath that almost passed for a laugh. “You act like a lost puppy looking for an owner.”
Y/N made a sound in response, something caught between a scoff and a laugh, before lowering her gaze back to Jennie. “More like someone who finally understands what she wants.”
“And what do you want?” Jennie asked quietly, though the answer was already there, sitting between them like something neither of them had dared to name out loud.
“You know what I want.”
Y/N’s voice was softer this time, but there was no hesitation in the way she turned toward her. She wasn’t half-facing the garden anymore, nor hiding in the space between railing and night air. The balcony, the lights below them, even the distant sound of the ballroom—all of it faded slightly as she stepped closer.
Jennie noticed every part of it.
The shift in her posture. The way her breath changed. The way she no longer looked away.
Then Y/N spoke again, quieter now, almost careful in its honesty.
“Are you going to push me away this time, too?”
For a moment, Jennie didn’t respond. Not because she didn’t hear her, but because something in her had stopped reacting the way it usually did.
Her gaze stayed on Y/N longer than it should have, as if she was measuring distance that was no longer there, as if she was trying to find the point where this should have become too much—and not finding it.
Her fingers tightened once around the glass she still wasn’t drinking from. Then she lowered it. The base touched the stone railing with a soft sound that felt louder than it should have been in the silence between them. “Why would I push you away?”
Y/N didn’t reply immediately. She didn’t need to, because she was already close enough that Jennie could feel the warmth of her presence more than see it, close enough that the space between them no longer felt like space at all, just a thin hesitation neither of them was using.
Y/N’s gaze flickered—just once—to Jennie’s lips. And then back up.
Jennie noticed.
Something in her expression shifted, subtle but undeniable, like a decision being made without permission. Her hand didn’t move, didn’t reach, didn’t retreat.
She simply stayed there. Still. Present.
Y/N leaned in slowly, closing the space between them with a certainty that surprised even her, her breath shallow but steady as she stopped just before Jennie.
Jennie didn’t move away.
That alone was enough to make her hesitate for half a second, her gaze dropping briefly to Jennie’s lips before lifting again, as if confirming she was really still allowed to do this.
Then she closed the distance completely.
The kiss was soft at first—careful, almost testing, like she was waiting for resistance that never came.
Jennie didn’t react immediately. Not because she was frozen, but because there was nothing in her that needed to catch up to it. Her hand at Y/N’s waist tightened slightly, not pulling her closer, but holding her steady as Y/N leaned in a little more, as if reassured by the lack of rejection.
Y/N shifted, adjusting instinctively, her fingers curling lightly against Jennie’s sleeve for balance as the kiss deepened—still slow, still cautious, but no longer uncertain.
Jennie responded after a moment, her lips moving against Y/N’s with a controlled slowness that felt deliberate rather than hesitant, as if she was choosing exactly how much to give in real time.
Her other hand rose, this time more firmly, resting at Y/N’s back just enough to close the space that was left between them without forcing anything.
Y/N exhaled softly against her, a small, instinctive sound, before leaning in again, this time without stopping herself.
The kiss lasted longer this time. Steady, growing warmer in a way neither of them acknowledged out loud.
It was only when Y/N’s fingers loosened slightly against Jennie’s sleeve that the moment began to ease.
Jennie didn’t waste a second. Her hand closed around Y/N’s wrist, steady and certain as she guided her away from the balcony without hesitation.
Not back toward the ballroom. Not toward Augustus. But deeper into the house.
Toward her room.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
I apologize again for making you wait, but I hope I made it up to you with this chapter. The next one will be even better!
⊱ synopsis: guided by revenge, Jennie has made a habit of hunting the daughters of powerful men. And Y/N was meant to be one of them.
⊱ pairing: vampire!jennie x fem!reader
⊱ warnings: +18 (MDNI!), vampirism, fainting
← prev ☽ next → ☾ masterlist
Chapter V
"I just wanna be right where you are."
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
“I can’t believe you decided for me,” Y/N said, crossing her arms like a petulant child—though she had every reason to.
The past few days had left her restless. Angry. Frustrated.
Jennie hadn’t spoken to her since the kiss, a stranger was soon to be her husband and, beneath it all, something was wrong.
A quiet, persistent weakness she couldn’t quite name.
It had started not long ago—subtle at first. A lingering fatigue. A strange lightness in her limbs, as though her body were not entirely her own.
Her nights had become restless.
Broken.
She would wake with no memory of having slept at all—only the faint ache beneath her skin, and the lingering sense that she had not been alone. Sometimes, her hand would drift to her neck without thinking. As if searching for something… or remembering.
Her father had called for the doctor. He had said it was nothing. Told her to drink more water. Nothing more.
Y/N didn’t believe him.
And Jennie? Jennie had not come near her during the day. Not once.
Yet somehow, she felt her presence more than ever. In the quiet. In the dark. In the moments she could not quite remember.
“I knew no man would ever satisfy you. You’re quite proud,” Benjamin replied, his tone flat. “It’s settled. You will marry him.”
Y/N threw her hands up in frustration and turned away—but the movement made her head spin. The room tilted, forcing her to grip the back of the couch for support.
Alison hurried over with a glass of water, but Y/N pushed it away, “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it,” Benjamin replied, unmoved. His gaze lingered on her only briefly—calculating, rather than concerned. “You will compose yourself,” he added coldly. “Augustus is still here.”
Y/N let out a sharp breath, her grip tightening against the couch.
The thought alone made her stomach turn.
Jennie stood at the doorway. Silent. Watching.
Her gaze flickered briefly to Y/N’s hand, still gripping the couch—then, slowly, to her neck. Something unreadable passed through her expression.
Y/N’s face looked pale, her lips dry and colorless. Even the soft rose in her cheeks had faded. Stolen away, little by little, by Jennie's quiet feeding.
“You don’t look well,” Jennie said quietly.
“I said I’m fine!” Y/N snapped.
Y/N was out of the manor before anyone could say another word.
Her weak legs barely carried her to her mother’s old horse—the only possession she had left of her.
She forced herself onto the saddle, vision blurring, the world swaying beneath her.
“Y/N!” Jennie called out, her tone sharper than intended. “You’re in no condition to ride.”
Y/N tightened her grip on the reins, forcing the horse forward despite the blur in her vision.
The world around her swayed—trees, sky, ground—blending into one unstable motion.
Each breath felt heavier than the last.
She blinked once. Then again. The edges of her sight darkened. Her body tilted slightly in the saddle too much.
Everything was too much.
And then—
nothing.
Her grip loosened, her head fell forward as she lost consciousness.
“Y/N!”
Jennie moved before she thought.
The distance between them meant nothing.
In a blur, she was at the horse’s side, one hand gripping the reins, the other steadying Y/N before she could fall completely. Her eyes flickered over Y/N's face. Pale, cold and unresponsive.
Something tight twisted in her chest. Not hunger. Not instinct.
Something worse.
“You reckless imbecile!" Jennie lifted Y/N from the saddle with ease—far too easily—drawing her into her arms as though she weighed nothing at all.
For a moment she didn’t move, just held her there. Still. Her gaze lingered on Y/N’s face—too pale, too quiet—before drifting lower, to her neck.
Jennie’s fingers hovered there, not quite touching. The skin was faintly marked. Barely noticeable. Unless one knew where to look.
Jennie adjusted her hold, more carefully this time. Almost… gentle. “Let's get you inside,” she said softly.
It didn’t sound like comfort.
It sounded like a decision.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
The room was quiet.
Y/N lay motionless against the pale sheets, her breathing shallow, uneven.
Jennie stood at the foot of the bed. She hadn’t moved since she brought her inside. Her gaze traced the lines of Y/N’s face—lingering, this time, not out of habit.
Something in her chest tightened. Something she hasn't felt in seventh years.
She stepped closer with slow steps, as if approaching something fragile. Her hand lifted— then stilled mid-air.
She could hear it, fhe faint pulse beneath Y/N’s skin. Weaker than before. Too weak. Jennie’s expression hardened. Her hand lowered, brushing just briefly against Y/N’s wrist.
Cold against warm.
Jennie looked at her for a long moment and something shifted.
Y/N stirred faintly.
A slow, shallow breath.
Then another.
Her fingers twitched against the sheets before her eyes finally fluttered open.
Everything felt… heavy.
Blurred.
For a moment, she didn’t recognize the room.
Then—
Jennie.
Standing beside the bed.
Watching her.
Y/N blinked, her vision struggling to focus. “Jennie…?” her voice came out weak, barely more than a whisper.
Jennie didn’t move at first. Her gaze remained fixed on her, unreadable. “You lost consciousness,” she said at last, her tone even and controlled. “You shouldn’t have ridden.”
Y/N let out a faint breath, her head sinking deeper into the pillow. “I didn’t want to stay,” she murmured.
A pause.
Her eyes shifted, studying Jennie’s face. “You came after me.”
It wasn’t a question.
Jennie’s expression didn’t change. “I prevented a fall,” she replied.
Y/N almost smiled.
Almost.
“Of course you did.”
Silence settled between them again.
Thick.
Different.
“I got you something,” Jennie said after a moment.
She reached beside her and placed it gently on Y/N’s lap.
Y/N blinked, then stared.
The chessboard.
The very same one they had stopped for days before. “Oh, Jennie… you didn’t.”
“I did.”
Y/N let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, her fingers brushing over the polished surface as if afraid it might disappear.
“I can’t possibly repay you for this,” she said, her voice bright despite the lingering weakness. “It must have cost a fortune.”
Jennie’s gaze lingered on her for a moment too long. “Cost?” she echoed.
Y/N looked up at her, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Jennie…” she began slowly. “Did you steal this?”
There was no real accusation in her voice—only a strange mix of disbelief and amusement.
She knew it was wrong. She should have been upset, but the thought of Jennie remembering that small, passing moment—the way she had looked at the chessboard—made it difficult to feel anything but… warmth.
Even now.
Jennie only smirked, picking up a pawn between her fingers. “Care to play?”
Y/N mirrored the expression, already reaching for the pieces as she began setting the board.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
“So… pawns can only move forward?” Jennie asked, her brows knitting slightly. “One square at a time?”
There was something almost unusual in her tone, like… confusion. It didn’t suit her.
She had lived long enough to understand most things without effort.
And yet—
this?
“I don’t understand the appeal,” she admitted quietly, studying the small piece between her fingers.
Y/N smiled faintly.
“Only one step,” she confirmed. “Except for the first move. Then they can advance two.”
“However, they capture diagonally,” Y/N added. She reached for another piece. “This is the knight. It moves in a L shape.”
Jennie let out a quiet groan. “Perhaps it’s better if you simply show me," and yet, she moved a black pawn forward anyway.
Jennie didn’t laugh, but the corner of her lips lifted slightly.
Y/N lifted her pawn and placed it on e4. Jennie responded with her own on f6, making Y/N shake her head as her hand moved another pawn to d4.
Jennie paused, a confused expression crossing her face, before pushing another pawn forward to g5.
“Ha!” Y/N exclaimed, moving her queen to h5#. “Checkmate!”
“What?!” Jennie stood up immediately, her jaw slightly dropped. “Already?! We just started playing.”
“Fool’s Mate,” the younger girl explained with a satisfied expression. “Checkmate occurs after just two moves.”
Jennie stared at the chessboard for a moment longer than necessary. “…That seems unfair,” she said quietly. “You cheated,” she added, though there was no real accusation in her tone—only something closer to reluctant amusement.
Y/N smiled, already gathering the pieces. “It’s not cheating. It’s strategy.”
Jennie watched her. Really watched.
She now noticed the soft gaze her eyes held, her delicate movements, the way she holds everything like it's made of glass.
Something subtle shifted in her expression. Almost imperceptible. Like she had found something unexpectedly enjoyable.
“Then I demand a rematch,” Jennie said, softer than before. For a moment, it almost sounded like she meant it for no reason other than wanting to stay, but the thought passed quickly.
It couldn't be, right?
Then, the door opened without warning. Benjamin stood at the threshold, unmoving and watching. His gaze moved slowly across the room—taking in the chessboard, the scattered pieces, the distance between them. His eyes lay on Y/N first, then Jennie. Lingering just a moment too long. Something in his expression sharpened.
Not anger yet.
Y/N,” he said at last. Something in his expression sharpened. His voice was even, but it cut cleanly through the silence.
Y/N straightened almost instinctively.
“Father—”
“You will come with me,” he interrupted, stepping further into the room. “Augustus has made arrangements for the evening. The theatre.”
“You will attend. All of us.” His eyes flicked to Jennie for a second time. “Except her.”
Y/N stiffened. “No.”
The refusal came instantly. Jennie’s gaze shifted to her. Something in her chest tightened again. This time, she did not look away.
“You forget yourself,” Benjamin said at last. His voice remained calm. Too calm.
“I will not go,” Y/N repeated. "Jennie proved herself a good company. She's very much needed in my life since Cassandra moved to Canterbury."
Silence followed. Longer this time.
Benjamin watched her, not with anger but with interest. Then, slowly, his gaze shifted to Jennie. Lingering, measuring. Something in his expression changed. “Very well,” he said.
Y/N blinked. “Father—?”
“You may join us,” he continued, his tone even. “But do not mistake this for indulgence.” His eyes rested on Jennie just a moment longer.
Consequently, he turned without waiting for a reply.
“Screw you,” Y/N muttered under her breath, giving her father—or rather, the door—the middle finger.
Jennie let out a soft laugh, the sound quiet but genuine, as if she wasn’t quite used to seeing Y/N like that.
“Let’s get you dressed,” she laughed, already moving toward the wardrobe. The moment she opened it, the faint scent of Y/N’s perfume drifted toward her—familiar now, almost distracting.
Y/N lingered where she stood. “Alice and Alison can help me.”
Jennie didn’t even look back. “Don’t be silly," she pulled out a floral dress, turning only then, her gaze settling on Y/N. “Come here.”
There was something in the way she said it—not forceful, not soft either. Certain.
Y/N hesitated for just a second. Then she stepped forward. Slowly. Turning her back to her. Her fingers brushed the fabric of her dress, fumbling briefly before falling still, as if she had already surrendered the task.
Jennie moved closer. The distance between them disappeared in a breath. Her hands found the back of the dress, fingertips grazing the fabric before slipping, almost inevitably, against Y/N’s skin.
Cold.
Y/N’s breath hitched, subtle—but not enough to go unnoticed.
Jennie felt it. Of course she did.
Her hands steadied, then continued, fastening each clasp with slow, careful precision. Too careful. Too slow.
Her touch lingered as it moved, brushing the same spots twice, as if memorizing them… or testing herself.
Y/N didn’t move, nor did she speak. She only breathed—a little uneven now—as Jennie worked behind her.
Jennie’s gaze lifted without her meaning it to, drawn upward to the line of Y/N’s neck. Bare and unprotected. The pulse beneath her skin was faint—but there.
Jennie’s hands slowed, then stopped. For a moment, neither of them moved. The room seemed to hold its breath with them. Jennie’s fingers hovered at her back, no longer fastening anything, just… there.
“Jennie…?” Y/N whispered softly.
Jennie blinked.
She finished the last clasp in one smooth motion and stepped back. “It’s done,” she said quietly. Her voice was steady again, but she didn’t leave.
And Y/N didn’t turn away.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
The theatre was already alive when they arrived. Soft candlelight flickered along the walls, casting long shadows across velvet seats and gilded balconies, while voices murmured and laughter echoed faintly in the background.
Y/N walked beside Jennie, her arm brushing against hers every so often—intentionally—and Jennie noticed. She said nothing, her gaze drifting instead across the room, slow and observant, as though she were taking in more than what was meant to be seen.
“You’ve never been?” Y/N asked softly, her arm slipping more naturally against Jennie’s.
“I have,” Jennie replied. “Just not like this.”
Not with you.
The words lingered in her mind, unspoken.
Y/N smiled faintly, as if unaware.
Or perhaps—not entirely.
The theatre dimmed as the performance began, the murmur of voices softening as attention shifted toward the stage.
But not entirely.
Y/N sat between them—Augustus on one side, Jennie on the other. A careful arrangement. A deliberate one.
Augustus leaned slightly closer. “Are you comfortable?” he asked, his tone polite, measured.
“Yes,” Y/N replied, though her attention seemed to drift elsewhere.
Jennie didn’t look at her. Not directly. And yet she was aware of everything—the subtle shift in her posture, the quiet movement of her hands, the faint, uneven rhythm of her breath beneath the swell of music.
The back of Y/N’s hand rested lightly against the space between them.
Jennie’s fingers moved before she fully decided to, slow and almost absentminded, until they brushed against hers.
The contact was light.
Barely there—
but enough.
Y/N stilled for a brief moment, her breath catching softly, her fingers tensing before easing again, settling closer instead of pulling away.
She didn’t move.
She didn’t want to.
Jennie felt that.
Felt the choice in it more than the touch itself.
Her hand shifted slightly, turning just enough for her fingers to rest more naturally against Y/N’s, their skin meeting fully now, no longer accidental, yet still unspoken.
Warm.
Alive.
Y/N’s fingers responded after a moment, slower this time, as though testing the feeling before curling—just slightly—around Jennie’s.
The gesture was small.
Careful.
But unmistakable.
Jennie’s gaze lowered, drawn to their hands as they adjusted against one another, the contact deepening without force, without urgency—just the quiet press of skin against skin, the subtle shift as their fingers settled together as if they had always known where to go.
She didn’t pull away.
Not this time.
Augustus noticed the stillness.
Not the touch—but what followed it.
His gaze flickered toward Jennie, lingering just a second longer. “You seem distracted,” he remarked.
Y/N turned her head slightly toward him. “The play is rather slow.”
Jennie almost smiled, her fingers remaining where they were—light, unclaimed, and yet no longer something either of them could pretend not to feel.
Augustus leaned back, his expression tightening just enough to be noticed. “Perhaps something more engaging would suit you better,” he said.
His tone remained courteous.
His eyes did not.
Jennie finally turned her head, just slightly, enough for their gazes to meet.
There was no smile this time.
Only something quiet.
Certain.
Unmoved.
And still—
she didn’t let go.
Augustus didn’t miss it.
Not the touch itself—but the way Y/N had gone still, the way her attention seemed to drift somewhere just beyond him, no longer fully anchored to the stage or his voice.
His gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have. Then his hand moved. It settled over Y/N’s other hand, the one resting in her lap, his touch warm, steady—perfectly proper, perfectly acceptable, and yet unmistakably claiming.
Y/N stiffened beneath it, the reaction small but immediate.
The contrast was impossible to ignore.
Warmth on one side. Cold on the other.
Jennie felt it before she saw it, her attention shifting without turning her head, attuned to every subtle change in Y/N’s posture, in the quiet rhythm of her breath that faltered just slightly. Her gaze lowered then, drawn to where Augustus’ hand covered Y/N’s.
For a brief moment, she said nothing.
Did nothing.
Only watched.
Then her eyes lifted again, meeting his. Augustus was already looking at her. Composed, as always. But there was something else there now—something sharper, more deliberate.
“I trust the performance will improve,” he said quietly, his tone smooth, almost conversational. “It would be unfortunate for the evening to be… wasted.”
Y/N nodded faintly, though her focus wavered. “Of course.” Her voice sounded distant, even to herself. Yet her hand did not withdraw from Jennie’s. Not entirely, at least.
Her fingers shifted instead, loosening for a moment under Augustus’ hold before settling again, brushing lightly against Jennie’s as though drawn back without thought.
A quiet insistence.
Jennie answered it—not by tightening her grip, not by claiming, but simply by remaining there, her touch steady, present, unyielding in a quieter way.
Augustus’ gaze flickered between them once more, brief but no longer uncertain.
This time, he understood. His attention returned to the stage, posture composed, expression unchanged. But his hand remained where it was.
And so did theirs.
For a while, nothing more was said.
The performance continued, voices rising and falling on stage, but the tension between them lingered—quiet, persistent.
Then—
Augustus shifted.
Not enough to draw attention.
Just enough to speak without raising his voice. “I do not believe we have been properly introduced,” he said, his gaze still fixed ahead.
The words were meant for Jennie.
Jennie turned her head slightly, her attention settling on him without urgency. “Jennie,” she replied.
No title. No courtesy. Just her name.
A pause followed, subtle an measured.
“Miss Jennie,” Augustus corrected smoothly, finally looking at her. “It is unusual to see such… familiarity in public.”
His eyes flickered briefly—downward, to where their hands still rested close.
Augustus—”
“It is nothing,” he interrupted gently, though his tone suggested otherwise. “Merely an observation.”
Jennie held his gaze, unmoved. “And what is it you believe you’ve observed?” she asked, her voice calm, almost curious.
That, more than anything, seemed to unsettle him. Augustus’ expression remained composed, though something in it tightened. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that boundaries exist for a reason.”
Jennie’s fingers shifted ever so slightly against Y/N’s—not retreating, not claiming—just enough to be felt. “Then perhaps,” she replied, her tone just as measured, “they are not always placed where they should be.”
Silence followed.
This time heavier.
Augustus regarded her for a moment longer, as if weighing something he had yet to fully understand.
Then, at last, his attention returned to the stage.
The conversation, it seemed, was over.
But the meaning of it remained.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
The rest of the performance passed in a blur.
Applause rose, polite and measured, as the curtains fell, and the audience began to stir. Velvet brushed against velvet, voices returned, the theatre coming back to life around them.
Y/N barely noticed.
Not when one hand had been warm, and the other—unmistakably not.
They stood together as the crowd began to move toward the exit, Benjamin already rising with quiet authority, as though the evening had unfolded exactly as expected.
“I trust the performance was satisfactory,” he remarked, not truly asking.
“It was,” Augustus replied smoothly, offering his arm to Y/N with practiced ease.
She hesitated and Benjamin noticed.
Of course he did.
“Y/N,” he said, not raising his voice—yet it carried all the same.
A reminder of who has authority and who does not.
Y/N’s fingers tightened at her side before she finally took Augustus’ arm.
Jennie saw it, but said nothing.
Even if she had wanted to, the words wouldn’t have formed. Not here, not now, not with Benjamin watching and Augustus still close enough to matter.
There was no real reason to speak anyway, she told herself.
She was here for a purpose. A clear one. Something simple, almost easy to understand when said out loud.
To make men suffer, to remain detached from all of this. Unmoved.
And yet she found herself lingering just a moment too long on Y/N’s hand before forcing her gaze away, as if that small hesitation hadn’t existed at all.
They made their way out together, the night air cool against their skin as the theatre doors opened. Carriages lined the street, lanterns flickering, voices blending into a distant hum.
Benjamin walked slightly ahead.
Always ahead.
“I believe the evening has made one thing quite clear,” he said after a moment, his tone calm, deliberate.
Augustus glanced at him, already understanding.
Y/N did not.
“Our arrangement should be formalized,” Benjamin continued. “Without unnecessary delay.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Y/N slowed. “Formalized… how?”
Augustus spoke this time, his voice composed, almost reassuring. “A small gathering. An announcement of our engagement.”
Y/N stopped entirely. The movement forced the others to do the same. “A gathering?” she repeated.
Benjamin turned to face her then, his expression measured, patient—as though explaining something obvious. “It is the natural progression,” he said. “Surely you understand that.”
“I don’t recall agreeing to anything,” Y/N replied, her voice quieter now, but steady.
Benjamin’s gaze sharpened, though his composure never slipped. “You were not required to.”
A pause.
“I gave my word.”
The weight of it was absolute.
Y/N swallowed, her jaw tightening as her gaze flickered—briefly, instinctively—toward Jennie.
Just for a moment. But it didn’t go unnoticed.
Not by Jennie.
Not by Benjamin.
Jennie stood slightly apart, silent, her expression unreadable—but her attention fixed entirely on Y/N.
Benjamin followed that look. Something shifted behind his eyes. Recognition or, perhaps, suspicion. “Is there something you wish to add?” he asked, directing the question to Jennie at last.
The air seemed to still.
Jennie met his gaze without hesitation. “No,” she replied simply.
A lie.
A deliberate one.
Benjamin held her gaze for a moment longer, as though weighing the answer—measuring what had not been said.
Then he looked away.
“This is settled,” he concluded.
Final.
Unquestionable.
Y/N didn’t respond.
Her hand had lowered at her side—close enough that, for the briefest moment, Jennie’s fingers brushed against it again.
Light. Almost imperceptible, but intentional.
Y/N didn't dare look. And yet— her fingers moved in return.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
I think this is my longest chapter so far! I hope you'll like it because the story is halfway done.
After I finish writing it I'm thinking of making a villain!mermaid!jennie x sailor!fem!reader.
⊱ a/n: hello, everyone! I bet you're getting tired of the slow burn, but I promise things are gonna change. Just stay tuned and enjoy!
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Chapter IV
“Daylight makes me feel like Dracula”
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
Days and nights blurred together, filled with fleeting moments of ease and Jennie’s quiet feeding. She took and took without hesitation. As if Y/N were nothing more than another piece of prey.
Which, in truth, she was.
At last, the sun broke through after days of heavy skies.
“We’re going out,” Y/N said with a smile, her tone leaving no room for refusal.
Jennie looked up from the book she had borrowed from her, the reading glasses resting low on her nose—a carefully maintained illusion.
She adjusted them slightly, though her vision had long since surpassed such human limitations. “We can’t go out. You’re not allowed to.”
Breaking rules had never been a problem for Jennie. But going out in broad daylight? That was different. It risked revealing too much. And that was something she couldn't allow.
“That didn’t stop us these past nights of sneaking out,” Y/N said as she sat beside her, tugging at Jennie’s sleeve like a petulant child denied something sweet. “Don’t resist it, Jennie. It’s such a beautiful day.”
“Alice and Alison will talk.”
“I gave them a generous tip in exchange for their silence,” Y/N replied with a small smirk, clearly proud of herself. “Say yes, say yes, say yes!”
Y/N’s constant repetition distracted Jennie from her book. Her finger, tracing the edge of the page, pressed too deeply. Paper sliced her skin and she hissed softly. Thick, dark blood welled from the cut—unnatural, too dark to belong to something human.
Jennie’s expression tightened.
"Jen–"
Before Y/N could notice, the brunette abruptly stood. “I’m fine!” she said quickly, already stepping back. But her hand curled slightly behind her, hiding the wound. “Just— I’ll go get ready to go out.”
Y/N observed for a moment as Jennie stood so abruptly. The color of her blood was so dark it almost looked black— dead.
It couldn't be.
It must've been her imagination.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
The streets were alive with movement. Carriages rolled past in steady rhythm, voices overlapping in a careless melody, women engaged in leisurely strolls.
The sunlight touched everything—stone, glass, skin. It reflected off the closed gas lamps.
And Jennie did not step into it.
She stayed just within the edge of shadow, where the buildings bled into the street.
Y/N didn’t think much of it. She didn’t particularly enjoy the sun either, though for a completely different reason than Jennie’s.
Everytime she wasn't shielded from tall buildings and the sun kissed her skin, she could feel that burning sensation beneath, a dryness in her knuckles, and the red in her eyes beginning to surface again.
She knew she was seconds away from revealing her nature.
Luckily, Y/N carried a sun umbrella. Sensing the brunette’s discomfort, she opened it without a second thought. “You must really despise the sun.”
Jennie was beyond grateful. Her eyes returned to a darker red, and the tension in her knuckles eased.
“You could say that.”
Y/N sighed in contentment as she finally enjoyed a sense of normality. She was confined to that manor most of the time and lacked friends, so having Jennie in her life had truly changed things for the better.
“I missed walks like these!”
“I apologize if I seem rude,” Jennie said, her voice calm, “but I couldn’t help noticing that your only company seems to be the books you read.” Her tone held none of the judgment Y/N was used to—only quiet curiosity. “So I can’t help but ask… don’t you have any companions?”
Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line, though her steps did not falter.
“I have a dear friend,” she said at last, “but she lives in Canterbury. Two days from London, and four from here. Too much trouble for my father.”
Jennie hummed softly, as if merely acknowledging the distance. She had been to Canterbury not long ago for the same reason she had been in every other city before.
“I haven’t heard from her in four weeks,” Y/N added. “The last time she wrote, she said she wasn’t feeling well.”
Jennie stopped. So abruptly that Y/N stumbled forward, her hand instinctively catching Jennie’s arm.
“What kind of unwell?” Jennie asked, her voice quieter now.
“She didn’t say.”
Jennie swallowed. “What is her name?”
“…Cassandra.”
The name lingered in the air longer than it should have.
Jennie didn’t move. For a moment—just a moment—something in her expression shifted. Too subtle for Y/N to name— but not absent.
“I see,” she said at last. Her voice had returned to normal. Carefully so.
Y/N was far too oblivious—too innocent to suspect, too innocent to ask. It came as no surprise when her attention shifted elsewhere.
“Oh, Jennie! Look!” she exclaimed, pointing at a chessboard displayed behind the glass of a shop. “I’ve been wanting this for so long!”
“Why don’t you buy it?” Jennie asked, brows knitting slightly, as though the question itself made little sense to her.
“My father won’t allow it,” Y/N explained, her palm against the glass. “He says chess is not a game for a woman. Too much logic.”
She paused, her gaze lowering. “Little does he know I’ve read dozens of books about it.”
“He’s not here,” Jennie said simply.
“He gives me very little money each month,” Y/N explained, her voice softening. “At the beginning of every month, he asks how much I have left and keeps track of every expense.”
After a moment of silent contemplation, Y/N resumed walking. Not a single word was spoken. as if she were used to wanting things she would never ask for.
Jennie glanced at the chessboard once more. Just for a second. Long enough to remember where it was.
They didn’t walk far before Y/N’s attention was stolen once again: a small shop, its windows filled with delicate fabrics and hats arranged with careful precision.
“Oh—” she breathed, almost to herself.
Jennie followed her gaze.
Hats of all kinds lined the display—wide-brimmed, adorned with ribbons, lace, and flowers far too extravagant for everyday use.
“You should try one,” Jennie said.
Y/N hesitated. “I’m not supposed to—”
“Try it,” Jennie repeated, softer this time.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of perfume and pressed fabric.
Y/N reached for one, her movements almost reverent, as though she feared ruining something simply by touching it.
She placed it carefully atop her head, turning slightly toward a mirror.
Jennie watched in silence. “You like it,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“It’s… nice,” Y/N admitted, though her fingers were already moving to take it off.
Jennie stepped closer.
“Don’t,” she murmured. Her hand rose—hesitating only for a fraction of a second—before adjusting the brim slightly. The touch was brief, but deliberate. “It suits you.”
Y/N smiled—soft, fleeting—before setting the hat back in its place. “I’m not supposed to desire what doesn’t belong to me.”
“Everyone craves something.”
Y/N silently agreed. Her gaze lowered to Jennie’s lips, then rose again to her eyes, and it didn’t go unnoticed by the brunette. “What does your heart crave, Jennie?”
Freedom. A heartbeat. Air in her lungs. The privilege of lying under the sun without pain. Jennie could make a list of everything she craved and could never have.
“I crave many things,” she said at last, her voice so low she wasn’t sure the other girl had heard her. “But most of them…” she paused, “I can’t have.”
Y/N wanted to speak, to act. But the words didn’t come. Courage didn’t come. She simply took a step back and made her way outside.
Jennie followed silently, shielding herself under the umbrella and Y/N instinctively linked her arm with hers. And Jennie didn’t pull away.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
“It’s over there,” Jennie said, nodding toward a field at the edge of the city. The sun was covered by the clouds, enough for Jennie to not feel discomfort.
There were bows made of lancewood, worn targets, and arrows meticulously crafted with feathered fletching.
Y/N picked up the bow carefully, studying it. She had read books about archery before, but practicing with her own hands was far beyond her skill.
Her stance was wrong from the beginning; the arrow would fall short more than once.
Jennie stepped behind her without warning. “Relax your shoulders,” she said quietly. “Your stance is wrong.”
Y/N froze.
Jennie’s hands reached forward—slow and deliberate—correcting her grip. One at her wrist, the other at her waist.
Y/N could feel the coldness of Jennie’s touch against her bare wrist. She wanted to point it out, but the pressure of Jennie’s grip made her breath catch instead.
“Like this,” Jennie murmured. “Don’t think.”
Y/N swallowed.
“Take a deep breath,” Jennie added. “Release.”
The arrow flew through the vast field, hitting the edge of the target. "I almost had it."
“You did well,” Jennie whispered, but she still didn’t move away. And Y/N didn’t know why she hoped she wouldn’t.
She swallowed, her head turning slightly to the side—but it was enough for their noses to brush.
“Jennie…”
Jennie didn’t move. Not away. Not closer. Just… there.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath with them. Jennie’s gaze dropped—briefly—to Y/N’s lips. Then back to her eyes.
“Focus,” she murmured, though her voice had lost its earlier steadiness.
“I am focused,” Y/N murmured, her gaze never leaving Jennie’s.
“On the target,” Jennie corrected softly, “not on me.”
Y/N didn’t look away. For a moment, it seemed like she wouldn’t. Then, slowly—reluctantly—her eyes shifted past Jennie, toward the distant target.
“Good,” Jennie said, quieter now. “Now release.”
The arrow slipped from Y/N's fingers. It struck closer to the center this time. But neither of them looked at it.
“Did I do well?”
“Perfect,” Jennie said. But she wasn’t looking at the target.
Then Jennie took a step back, as if she's been burned. She had to come to her sense, to remember why she was there for. “We should go.”
“But we just got here,” the younger girl complained, her brows furrowing.
“I’m just—” Jennie stopped, searching for an excuse. “It’s almost tea time,” she added quickly. “You wouldn’t want to miss it.”
Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but Jennie didn’t give her the chance to utter a single syllable before walking away.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
The tea room was quiet compared to the streets outside. Soft chatter filled the space, delicate and controlled, like everything else in the room. Porcelain cups rested on polished tables, the scent of brewed tea lingering in the air.
Jennie chose a table near the window—though she kept herself carefully out of the direct sunlight. Y/N sat across from her, still slightly breathless from having to catch up.
“You left rather abruptly,” she said, trying to sound composed.
“I had my reasons,” Jennie replied simply.
She reached for the cup placed in front of her, but didn’t drink.
Y/N noticed, reaching for her own cup. “Is something wrong with it?”
“I don’t need it.”
“I understand what you mean,” Y/N replied, taking a small sip. “I don’t really like tea either.”
“We’re always expected to do things we don’t want to,” she added, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste. “We were given free will, but it always feels like humans are trapped beneath rules they made up themselves.”
Jennie wasn’t paying attention to Y/N’s words. Her focus had drifted elsewhere... An elderly woman sat alone at a nearby table. Her red, curly hair was disheveled, falling loosely over her shoulders. Her clothes were old-fashioned, worn. Her eyes—wide and unblinking—stared directly into her soul, if she had one.
“Oh, that’s Margaret,” Y/N explained when she followed Jennie’s gaze. “She was an aristocrat until her husband left her for her sister.”
She paused.
“Poor Margaret never recovered,” she added quietly. “She went mad and started reading tarot cards. Everyone has been avoiding her since.”
“Why is she staring at me?”
Y/N blinked, slightly caught off guard by the question. She turned her head a little more to follow Jennie’s gaze, squinting as if that might help her understand something clearer. “I don’t know,” she admitted after a moment. “She does that sometimes. Just… stares.”
She hesitated, then added with a small, uncertain shrug, “Some people say she’s a psychic, or something like that. But most people just think she’s crazy.”
Just as she said that, Margaret stood and made her way toward them.
“You’re the devil in disguise!” she hissed at Jennie, grabbing her hand. “You’re the devil in disguise!”
Y/N immediately rose to her feet, placing a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Margaret—”
“Stay away from her!”
Margaret slapped Y/N’s hand away, shoving her hard enough to make her stumble backward. Her palm knocked into a cup with enough force to shatter it, sending sharp porcelain across the table. Y/N hissed as a shard cut into her hand, blood dripping onto the floor.
Jennie had to physically restrain herself from reacting at the scent. Her eyes darkened, turning a sharper shade of red. She stood completely still for a moment, eyes closing briefly, before turning away.
“Jennie!”
Y/N watched as Jennie disappeared into the streets, her steps fast both for the burning sun and the smell still lingering in the air.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
When the sun had set and the manor began to feel quieter, the door slammed shut as Y/N stormed inside. Jennie was sitting on the couch in the living room, still trying to steady herself from the intensity of the evening.
“What was that?!” Y/N exclaimed, reaching her with a few furious steps. “You left me there!”
Jennie didn’t respond. She didn’t even flinch. She simply observed her.
“I can’t believe you left me there, Jennie!” Y/N continued, voice rising. “Friends don’t act like this!”
“Friends?!” Jennie suddenly stood, taking a few steps toward her. “We’re not friends, Y/N. I’m not good company for you.”
“What nonsense are you talking about?!” Y/N raised her voice. “We sneak out, we talk, we laugh together. This is what friends do!”
“Friendship is not the reason I’m here,” Jennie confessed—too quickly.
A mistake.
“Then what is the reason?”
“You shouldn’t want me near you,” Jennie replied simply, her gaze shifting away. “You know nothing about me.”
“I know enough,” Y/N breathed out.
And before Jennie could stop her—she leaned in.
The kiss was not gentle, nor hesitant. It was everything Y/N had read about in books, everything she had seen through the windows of theatres. Her hands came up to Jennie’s face, cupping her cold cheeks as if afraid she might vanish if she let go.
For a moment, Jennie didn’t move. Her breath would have caught if she had been human— but she wasn't.
Abruptly, she pushed Y/N away. “Are you out of your mind?”
She shouldn’t have reacted like that. She shouldn’t have let the kiss linger in her mind the way it did.
It meant nothing. It had to mean nothing.
“I’m so sorry. I thought—”
“Thought what?” Jennie scoffed, hiding the turmoil inside her.
Before Y/N could react, the front door opened and she immediately turned toward the sound.
Her father had returned—and he wasn’t alone. A man stood beside him. One Y/N had never seen before.
“Father,” Y/N began, her voice tightening. “I wasn’t expecting you home so early from your trip. Did something happen?”
Benjamin only smiled, patting the man’s shoulder, completely ignoring Y/N’s worry.
“This is Augustus Grosvenor,” he said with a satisfied smirk. “From Westminster.”
He paused.
“Your future husband.”
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
Well, writing this chapter was a rollercoaster of emotions. I hope you guys like it and I would appreciate it if you stayed tuned for the next chapter! I'm writing it right now and will be out in a day or two!
The next morning the manor fell into its usual rhythm. The dining room alive with the sound of cutlery hitting the plates.
Benjamin sat at the head of the table, the morning paper held high enough to cover most of his face. He didn't notice Y/N's dull expression as she stepped into the room, her fingers brushing lightly against her neck.
"You're late," he muttered from behind the paper, his tone flat.
"I apologize," Y/N reached for her teacup, though her movements lacked their usual precision.
Jennie noticed. Of course she did. She was well aware of what was happening to Y/N.
Benjamin turned a page. Uninterested.
Y/N’s fingers drifted to her neck again. “I feel rather strange this morning,” she added, almost to herself.
Jennie looked at her, pretending to blow on the porridge she couldn't eat.
Y/N glanced back, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.
“I thought—” she hesitated, her brows knitting slightly. “Did something… bite me last night?”
“No,” the brunette replied calmly. “I left shortly after you fell asleep.”
Benjamin turned another page, the sound of paper filled the room.
Y/N held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. “I must have imagined it.”
“Must have been a bad dream,” Jennie said softly, lowering her gaze to the uneaten food in front of her—already too full from the blood she had taken the night before.
But Y/N was certain of what she was saying. She remembered casual conversations with Jennie— then a sharp sting but no clear imagine of what or who attacked her.
“Did you hear what I said?” Benjamin asked, his tone clipped with annoyance at his daughter’s apparent lack of attention.
“I beg your pardon?” Y/N blinked, forcing herself back into the moment and turning her full attention to him.
“My departure,” he said flatly, already rising from his seat. “It was postponed to today. I told you.”
Y/N blinked.
“Of course," she murmured. “I remember.”
"I expect you to stay home," Benjamin remarked. "You're not allowed to go out."
Y/N furrowed her brows, disappointment crossing her face. "What? Why is that?!"
"You humiliated me in front of Thomas Sinclair," he stated simply, his eyes cold and unyielding. "You don't deserve the privilege of such leisure."
And then, he left.
No goodbye. No “I love you.” Not even a glance back.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
When darkness came and the night kept Y/N from sleeping, her thoughts swallowed her whole.
The walls seemed closer, the air heavier. Every face in the tapestries looked as though its eyes were fixed on her.
She sat on the bed with a sigh, her head in her hands. Not even the warmth of a candle could lull her into rest.
Jennie could feel it from the other room, that uneasy heartbeat in Y/N’s slight body.
Therefore, she rose and stepped out of her chamber, her movements soundless.
Every painting along the walls seemed to judge her for what she was about to do—as though she were dishonoring years of quiet submission.
She paused outside Y/N’s door but didn't hesitate before turning the knob.
“Can’t sleep?”
Y/N jolted upright, startled by the sudden voice. “Y-yes,” she said quickly. “I struggle with sleep as well.”
Jennie hummed softly, as if considering something. “Get dressed.”
“W-what?” Y/N whispered, her voice low, afraid she might alert the maids. “For what reason?”
“We’re going out.”
“We can’t,” Y/N replied at once, the very thought tightening her chest with both fear and excitement. “Father said—”
“He is not here, is he?”
Y/N hesitated, her eyes were wider.
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her nightdress, her gaze drifting toward the door—as if it alone could decide for her.
It was wrong. She knew it. Every rule she had been raised with urged her to refuse.
Jennie stood there, waiting.
Not insisting, just hoping for a positive reaction.
Y/N swallowed. Then, almost reluctantly—
“Give me a moment.”
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
“This is such a bad idea,” Y/N whispered into the night. The cool air hit her face—sharp, but not unwelcome. The sound of her heels echoed along the otherwise quiet road. “We should turn back. Father will kill me.”
"If he discovers I'm out here at night—"
Jennie rolled her eyes at Y/N’s continuous lament, then stopped with a quiet sigh. "Do you always complain so much?"
Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“Do you truly wish to spend your life confined as a housewife,” Jennie continued, her voice calm but cutting, “or would you rather live—if only for a moment—before some insufferable man decides what you are to be?”
A silence followed.
Y/N looked away first, back toward the manor. If the walls could speak, they would be judging her.
And yet she could not bring herself to care in that moment.
There was something in Jennie’s gaze that pulled at her—quiet, not insistent.
Y/N finally felt like she had a choice.
“…Fine,” she said at last, barely above a whisper.
“Good,” Jennie replied simply. “Then come.”
The streets were quieter than Y/N had ever seen them at this hour. Gas lamps flickered against wet stone, casting soft halos into the night.
Jennie walked ahead without hesitation and Y/N followed.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a narrow door tucked between two buildings—unassuming and almost hidden.
Y/N hesitated. She could hear faint laughter and the muffled notes of a piano seeping through the walls.
“This is it?” she asked quietly.
Jennie glanced back at her.
“Yes,” she said. “This is it.”
The moment they stepped inside, Y/N was engulfed by noise and the heavy scent of cigarette smoke.
She looked around, taking in the unfamiliar space.
Only then did she notice something peculiar.
“They’re all… women,” she said softly, her tone neither judgmental nor unkind, just surprised— and curious.
“Disappointed?” Jennie asked, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
Her gaze drifted briefly across the room—over the easy laughter, the careless bodies, the living.
Fresh prey.
And yet, she felt no hunger. Feeding from Y/N had been enough to keep it at bay.
Y/N let her eyes wander a little longer before shaking her head. “No.”
She allowed herself to observe. To study the women—how they behaved when no husband stood over them.
The room was alive in a way the manor had never been.
Women spoke freely, laughed too loudly, leaned into one another without hesitation. Glasses were raised without ceremony, words spilling out without fear of consequence.
“You have never found yourself in such a place, have you?” Jennie asked, her voice softer than before.
“I haven’t.”
Y/N’s astonishment did not go unnoticed under Jennie’s watchful gaze.
The younger girl took a step forward, suddenly aware of the attention around her.
Some women looked at her with curiosity, others with something sharper.
The two girls found a seat on a couch along the side of the room. Y/N’s gaze lingered, studying the dynamics between the other women. Her surprise deepened when she noticed two of them—close, far too close.
Kissing.
Not in the polite, fleeting way she had seen before. But in a way she had only ever known between a man and a woman.
“Those two…” she began, her eyes fixed on them a moment too long, the line between curiosity and impropriety blurring. “They’re… committing adultery.”
Jennie followed her gaze, her expression unreadable. “Does it trouble you?” she asked.
Y/N hesitated, her eyes still drawn to them.
“I don’t… think so.”
Jennie studied her for a moment longer than necessary. “Then why call it something so severe?”
“Because—” Y/N faltered, as if the word alone could prove her point. “The Bible says—”
“Do you truly believe everything men wrote thousand years ago?” Jennie asked, her voice quiet, but edged with something sharper.
Y/N paused.
Did she believe it because she had faith or because she had been taught to?
She allowed herself to watch them a moment longer. Something stirred within her, unfamiliar and unsettling, her breath catching as one of the women let her hand rest gently at the other’s neck.
Jennie grinned.
“You travel a lot, don’t you?” Y/N asked suddenly, as if the thought had only just occurred to her.
Jennie looked at her. It amazed her how the younger girl could shift her attention to something else completely in the blink of an eye.
“I do,” she replied simply.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Y/N’s eyes lit with quiet fascination.
“That must be… incredible,” she said softly. “To see so many places on your own.”
Jennie didn’t respond right away. Instead, she watched her for a moment. “It’s quiet,” she said at last. “Most people prefer company. I don’t.”
Jennie and Y/N were interrupted by a woman—supposedly a waitress—who placed two glasses filled with a dark drink on their table.
Unannounced.
“How many places have you visited?” Y/N asked, clearly excited at the thought. Being a nomad had always been a dream of hers.
“Too many.”
“Impossible,” Y/N let out a small laugh. “You’re only… how old are you?”
Jennie looked at her through lowered lashes, her index finger tracing the rim of the glass. A faint smirk appeared on her lips.
“Old enough.”
“You’re always so mysterious,” Y/N whispered, her hand now dangerously close to Jennie’s.
Jennie noticed. But she didn’t move away.
Y/N, suddenly brave and reckless, gripped her glass and brought it closer to her lips.
“It’s just a drink,” Y/N laughed, lowering the glass only slightly. “What harm can it do?”
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
Y/N no longer cared to keep track of time.
Her feet—finally free from the heels she had always despised—moved easily at the center of the room.
The other women clapped along, laughter rising as Y/N danced without a care in the world.
The drink in her hand spilled with every careless turn, staining the fabric of her dress.
She didn’t care.
Not anymore.
The warmth of alcohol spread through her body, loosening every rigid part of her, softening the voice that had always told her to behave.
Jennie watched her for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her gaze.
“Come,” she said, offering her hand.
Y/N hesitated for only a second before a laugh slipped from her chest.
Then she reached out—grabbing Jennie’s hand and pulling her forward with a force that surprised even her. She didn't notice how cold Jennie's hand was.
Y/N danced until her feet ached and the alcohol made it hard to stand. The room seemed to spin around her— or perhaps it was her own swaying too far.
Her vision blurred.
All she could feel was a presence at her neck—lips tracing the rim of her collar, close enough to steal her breath.
Then— a sharp sting. The same as the night before.
Y/N’s body went limp in Jennie’s embrace.
Around them, the room carried on, oblivious. She looked just like another girl who had drunk too much.
But Jennie’s bloodstained lips told a different story.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
When Y/N regained consciousness, the sun was already slipping through a gap in the curtains, the light sharp enough to make her squint.
She pushed herself up, but her legs gave way beneath her.
The short distance from the bed to the mirror left her aching, a dull heaviness settling into every limb.
Her reflection did not comfort her.
The usual rose in her lips had faded, her skin drawn pale and unfamiliar.
Her hand rose instinctively to her neck, fingers brushing the spot where a faint sting lingered.
As if on cue, Jennie entered unannounced, carrying a tray with lunch.
“You’re awake.”
“What time is it?”
Jennie hummed thoughtfully. “It’s past noon.”
“Past noon?” Y/N echoed, startled. It was unlike her to sleep so long. “I don’t feel well at all. I think I should refrain from drinking again.”
Jennie let out a soft chuckle, carefully restrained—though it did little to hide the quiet satisfaction beneath.
“I know I already asked you this, but… did something sting or bite me?” the younger girl asked, brushing her index and middle fingers against the base of her neck.
Her eyes remained fixed on her reflection. She could feel a small bump where it had stung.
“No,” Jennie replied, her lips curving into an innocent pout. “You were quite out of yourself yesterday. You must have hurt yourself.”
Y/N paused. Her fingers stilled.
She was no fool—nor was she easily misled, despite the softness of her appearance.
And yet, she said nothing.
For now.
“You’re probably right.”
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
If you made it this far, thank you so much for the support!
Chapter four is already finished and I'll post it in a day or two.
If you don't want to miss it I can add you to the tag list🫶🏻
⊱ a/n: hello, everyone! I couldn't wait to post chapter two so… here it is! I also have chapter three ready and I'm working on chapter four right now! Enjoy🦇
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Chapter II
“In the darkness, I would never leave.”
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
When the sun rose the next day, the manor came to life.
Jennie could hear the muted clatter of pans in the kitchen, a scent drifting through the halls—one that stirred nothing within her.
Hunger did not belong to her.
Sleep did not belong to her.
She spent her nights in a quiet stillness, filled only with something colder— a revenge that had never truly been hers.
The brunette waited a few more hours, so no one would suspect her true nature. From beyond the door, she could hear Benjamin speaking to Y/N about the man who was soon to ask for her hand in marriage.
She could smell the younger girl's blood from her room. She could hear the hesitation in her tone.
At last, Jennie moved to the mirror. She ran a hand through her hair, disturbing it just enough to resemble sleep and look human.
"Good morning." She feigned a yawn as she took her place across from Y/N. The table was set with a vast breakfast— enough to make any human's mouth water.
"You overslept." Benjamin observed. Not unkind, just… annoyed. It was clear he was not one to tolerate such behavior.
"I apologize," Jennie inclined her head once. "Sleep is something I struggle with."
A white lie.
"I envy your ability to look so composed in the morning in spite of your lack of sleep," Y/N giggled, resting her elbows on the table without noticing.
Jennie let a smirk tugged at her lips. Subtle, mistakable for a genuine smile.
The fact that Y/N was already showing interest in the brunette made everything easier for what she had been sent here to do.
Not by choice. Never by choice.
The Mother’s words still lingered somewhere beneath her thoughts—quiet, absolute, carved into her existence like scripture.
Men like Benjamin always reached for things they believed they could own.
And daughters like Y/N were always the price.
"Y/N, don't slouch." Benjamin sighed, as if he has told Y/N a thousand times before.
She just apologied. Quietly.
Alison stepped into the room, speaking in a low voice. “The carriage is ready for your departure this afternoon, sir.”
Benjamin nodded without hesitation. No words were needed.
Y/N looked up from her plate.
“Father…” Y/N set her fork down carefully. “The weather has not improved. The roads are still wet from days of incessant rain. If you travel today, the eastern route will be unsafe. The carriage could overturn on the slope.”
“Y/N," her father snarled.
Y/N hesitated. “I am only saying that postponing by a day would—”
“You are only speaking,” he interrupted, raising a hand to stop her. “About matters that do not concern you.”
The silence that followed was sharp.
Jennie pretended to focus on the breakfast she had not touched. She idly poked at the egg yolk.
However, something in her shifted. Y/N definitely wasn't like the other girls she fed herself from. The others didn't question their fathers, nor did they talk back.
This hunting was becoming… more interesting.
Afterwards, interrupting Jennie's train of thoughts, Benjamin rose slightly from his chair.
“You are a daughter, not an advisor.” he adds. "Now retire to your chamber and make yourself presentable for the Sinclair family. Their son has shown greater interested in you. Act like a proper candidate for a wife."
Y/N lowered her gaze. "Yes, Father.”
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
A short while later, the manor had changed its rhythm.
Footsteps echoed more frequently through the corridors. Doors opened and closed with purpose. The quiet order of the household had shifted into preparation.
Y/N stood in her chamber as her two maids moved around her, adjusting fabric and tightening seams.
“The waist needs to be more defined,” Alice murmured.
Y/N did not respond.
The dress pressed against her ribs—structured, precise, unforgiving. A corset that left little room for comfort, and even less for breath.
“You must appear composed,” the maid added. “The Sinclair family values presentation.”
Y/N’s fingers curled slightly at her sides.
“I don't enjoy wasting my respectable presentation on a man who has yet to grow into his beard," Y/N sighed.
From below, the front doors opened.
Footsteps followed. Her father's voice blending with another one.
Male. Unfamiliar.
Y/N was guided one final time in front of the mirror. Her eyes rolled, as they did many times before the encounter with suitors. Dreams of exploring lands she had yet to visit vanished in the abyss whenever she was met with unkind eyes— scrutinizing her as if she's a livestock raised for slaughter.
With a final sigh, Y/N moved.
And Jennie lurked in the shadows.
Watching.
Waiting.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
The first meeting with the Sinclairs son was… awkward.
Thomas, as the boy was said to be called, looked ill at ease. Not a word was spoken as they sat across from one another. His lips held a smile that looked more like grimace. Y/N was tempted to laugh at him. Nevertheless, she remembered her manners regardless of whether he deserved them or not.
So she spoke first.
"“I hope the journey was comfortable?” She asked. "The weather as been burdensome these days."
The boy nodded too soon, letting his nervousness show. "Me and your father exchanged letters prior to this meeting."
Y/N nodded, unfazed.
"He told me you are fond of reading, so I thought it would be appropriate to entertain you with one you might enjoy," Thomas added quickly, his hands placed the book into her lap with clumsy movements.
At first, Y/N smiled. It was such a thoughtful gesture that she considered the boy to be a tolerable husband.
However, when she looked down, her smile vanished.
"Wives handbook," Y/N read with a tone that held nothing but disgust. "Pregnancy, in the lying-in room, and after delivery."
"Yes." Thomas smiled, as thought he had offered something impressive. "It's crucial. So the mother knows how to behave when the child arrives."
"And what exactly do you intend to do?" Y/N asked, not carrying any politeness in her tone.
Thomas furrowed his brows, as if she just asked him to solve an equation. Not that she expected him to know how to, of course. "I do not quite understand your meaning, miss."
“So you expect me to carry a child, while your duty ends the moment it is conceived?” Y/N scoffed softly. “You intend for me to bear all responsibility while you take none for the child itself?”
“I am a man,” Thomas stated simply, as if it were fact enough to end the discussion. “It is the mother’s duty to care for my son.”
“Son?” Y/N looked up, hiding the urge to roll her eyes. “So you assume it will be a boy? That a daughter would hold no value to you?”
“A boy is able to carry on the family name. A girl cannot be more than a good housewife,” Thomas said simply, as if it were an unquestionable truth.
Y/N’s expression darkened.
“Then you are worse than the Desprez opening in chess,” she replied coolly.
Thomas tilted his head, clearly unfamiliar with chess.
Y/N exhaled through her nose. “It wastes time in the game,” she explained.
Then, after a brief pause:
“And now you are wasting mine.”
Thomas rose to his feet immediately, the insult striking deeper than he had expected.
Y/N was not the innocent, composed girl she appeared to be.
That much was now clear to Jennie.
And she enjoyed it.
Perhaps a little too much. She had always preferred prey that fought back.
“Keep your daughter at bay, sir, and train her to be a respectful wife,” Thomas declared coldly to Y/N’s father. He wasted no time retrieving his coat. Then his gaze fell on her—briefly—before returning to Benjamin. "Otherwise, no reasonable man will take her hand in marriage.”
Benjamin looked momentarily mortified. His daughter had ruined yet another opportunity. “I deeply apologize for my daughter’s behavior,” he said. “She tends to grow flustered around strangers.”
“I cannot keep her on a leash,” Thomas replied. “She is too much trouble.”
A pause.
The air grew heavy, tightening around Y/N’s throat. She braced herself for what was to come.
“I wish you a pleasant journey,” Thomas added curtly.
“My trip to London has been postponed,” Benjamin explained, his tone returning to polite composure. “The carriage could overturn on the slope due to the recent weather. It would be too dangerous."
Y/N made a face at that. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze hardening for just a moment before she forced it away.
Those were the exact same words she had used that morning.
The door closed behind Thomas with a dull, final sound.
Silence followed. Heavy and unforgiving.
Benjamin did not look at his daughter immediately. He adjusted his cuffs instead, as if restoring order to something that had slipped.
Then—
“What was that?” he asked. Not loud. Worse… controlled.
Y/N did not answer. She was aware her behavior caused her father dishonor.
“You had one task,” Benjamin continued. “One. To present yourself with grace, and you failed.”
Y/N’s expression remained composed. “I spoke the truth,” she said quietly.
“The truth is irrelevant,” Benjamin's gaze snapped to hers. “Perception is not.”
He paused for a moment.
“You will not be given many more opportunities,” he added. “And I will not tolerate you ruining them over… pride.”
Y/N said nothing. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.
“Return to your chamber,” he finished.
The younger girl turned on her heels. Her steps heavy on the stairs until they came to a stop in front of Jennie.
She did not move immediately. Neither did the brunette. For a moment, the room held both of them in the same stillness.
Then Y/N turned and walked past her, close enough for Jennie to notice all the restraint and anger in her shoulders.
Jennie’s gaze followed her, slowly and thoughtfully. There it is: Not weakness, not submission. Something far more interesting.
Jennie smiled, just slightly.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
That same night, when the cold swallowed the last trace of the sun’s warmth and every shadow seemed alive with quiet unease, Jennie decided it was time to act.
The brunette had not seen Y/N all day since she humiliated her father. The manor had long since fallen asleep, so she assumed the younger girl had done the same.
No one would notice the horror unfolding behind Y/N’s door.
Except—
Y/N was standing on the balcony, a cigarette held loosely between her fingers.
She startled at the intrusion, the cigarette now hidden behind her back.
Jennie froze.
A low laugh slipped from Y/N’s throat. “I thought it was my father. He would kill me if he knew," she took a drag. The nicotine burned her chest, but she couldn't bring herself to care. “What are you doing here?”
“I cannot sleep,” Jennie lied. Her feet had already carried her forward before her mind could catch up. “I didn't know you smoked.”
“I take them from my father whenever he proves particularly unpleasant,” Y/N replied, the smoke blending with the scent of lavender in the room. “It's amusing to watch his expression change when he notices they are missing. He would never suspect me.”
Jennie didn't respond.
She was still studying Y/N, listening to the rhythm of her heartbeat. “It was admirable what you did today,” she said quietly.
“These are not words I hear often,” Y/N replied with a soft, almost sad chuckle. “The last time I heard them was from my mother.”
“Where is she now?”
Y/N took another drag, as if carefully choosing her words. “She loved horse riding. It was her entire life… and the reason for her death.”
"I'm really sorry," the brunette said sincerely.
Y/N shook her head, as if trying to hide her tears. "It's okay. I was nine. I don't even remember her that well."
A lie. One Jennie could detect immediately.
"For what it's worth… I think she would be very proud of you."
Y/N smiled.
A comfortable silence settled between them. They didn't need to fill it with casual conversation.
Until—
“They don't want wives,” Y/N sighed, her voice threaded with something sharper than mere frustration. “They want replacements for their mothers—so they may be tended to all their lives.”
Her grip tightened slightly around the cigarette.
“They want heirs. A name carried forward, no matter the cost. And the wives—” she let out a quiet, bitter breath, “—the wives are expected to endure it. Silently.”
A pause.
“At times, I wonder,” she added, her gaze drifting into the distance, “if men are even capable of loving women… or if they simply seek to impress one another.”
Jennie let out a soft chuckle, her expression shifting into quiet amusement at Y/N’s words.
“Men are remarkably confident in their intelligence,” she said lightly, “and yet many of them would be quite lost without someone to tend to even the simplest of things.”
Y/N laughed.
“And they are expected to rule a nation?” she scoffed. “It's absurd.”
For a moment, it almost felt easy.
The laughter faded slowly, dissolving into something quieter.
The night pressed in around them again.
Y/N took another drag from the cigarette, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as she exhaled. “I suppose it does not matter what I think,” she murmured after a moment. “It will happen regardless.”
“You speak as though you have already surrendered,” Jennie said quietly, her gaze lingered in her.
Y/N let out a faint breath, not quite a laugh this time. “Have I not?”
A pause.
The question lingered between them, heavier than the ones before. Jennie stepped closer, not enough to startle the younger woman but enough to create a sense of intimacy. “You have not,” she replied softly.
Y/N turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting Jennie’s in the dim light.
There was a softness in them—unexpected, almost kind.
But the moonlight caught something beneath it. An unnatural color. A deep red Y/N hadn't notice before.
It was as if her gaze held something that did not belong to this world.
Y/N swallowed hard. Jennie could hear it—the blood rushing through her veins, steady and warm, the pulse at the base of her neck laid bare before her.
“Your eyes—”
Jennie didn't let her finish. Her fangs sank into her neck with precise, practiced ease.
Y/N gasped, the sound breaking into a soft hiss of pain as her body slackened in Jennie’s arms.
Jennie fed from her without hesitation.
The taste flooded her senses—metallic, warm, overwhelming in its intensity.
She stopped only when Y/N’s body began to lose consciousness in her arms.
Then, complete darkness.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
Another chapter posted. I hope you enjoyed it!
Feedback is appreciated. I'm curious to know what you think🫶🏻
⊱ synopsis: guided by revenge, Jennie has made a habit of hunting the daughters of powerful men. And Y/N was meant to be one of them.
⊱ pairing: vampire!jennie x fem!reader
⊱ warnings: +18 (MDNI!)
⊱ a/n: Howdy! I've had this idea since the Dracula remix with Jennie came out but never had the courage to write it, especially because I don't engage with writing fanfictions (I've written just a few, but I stopped three years ago). I usually stick to poetry so I apologize in advance if this is gonna suck, lol. Besides, English is not my first language, but I tried to replicate the victorian style in the dialogues as much as possible!
Enjoy!!
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Chapter I
“run from the sunlight, Dracula.”
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
Jennie's feet stopped where the road ceased to be certain.
The manor rose from the pale land like something unwillingly preserved—stone darkened by years of weather, windows dim as if they had forgotten how to reflect the sun.
She didn't move at first. Not because she hesitated. Because she was listening.
The air here was different, warm with lives that believed themselves safe.
Her fingers curled once, gloved and patient. She looked, for all purposes, like a young woman arriving with no more intention than a social visit. A guest. A formality.
But she had not come for hospitality.
She had come because the Mother had spoken. And the Mother did not speak lightly.
The girl was inside.
Daughter of a house that called itself respectable. Daughter of a man who believed himself in control of outcomes, of futures, of flesh and name.
The ground was damp beneath her shoes, but Jennie didn't hesitate. The manor stood before her now in full, and for a moment she allowed herself the smallest pause—an assessment, not admiration.
Jennie could smell it faintly. She could almost taste the metallic tang in the air.
Blood.
Salty, inviting.
Her mouth had already begun to water, even though the last trace of it still clung to her fangs from the previous victim.
She smiled, though there was no warm in her smile. Just pure determination.
Then she walked to the door and masked her expression, replacing it with one of innocence.
The door opened after a few minutes Jennie knocked. She didn't move immediately. Instead, she allowed the silence to stretch just long enough to suggest hesitation—just enough to appear what she was not.
Tired.
Human.
Harmless.
When she finally stepped forward, her posture softened.
The door revealed a man. Well dressed. Controlled. The kind of man who measured people before words were exchanged. For a brief moment, he did not speak.
“Good evening,” Jennie said first. Her voice was gentle, carrying a note of the innocence that didn't belong to her anymore. "I apologise for disturbing you. I find myself in need of shelter for the night.”
She paused, her gaze softened. Her frame—small, delicate—began to tremble on command.
It was a performance.
The brunette hadn't felt cold in a hundred years. Not since the turning. The air did not bite her skin. The wind did not make her shiver. Her breath did not catch, nor falter, nor betray her.
There was no breath left in her. No life. Only imitation.
“I'm travelling alone,” Jennie added, as if that would make the man pity her.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “This is not a public inn,” he said.
“No,” she agreed softly. “I did not expect it to be.”
Silence again.
She let it settle.
Then, carefully:
“I can continue on, of course. But the road behind me is… uncertain. And the nearest village is still hours away,” she added with smooth precision, as if she were reading from a script. She had done this so many times before that sometimes she almost convinced herself of her own innocence. “I would be grateful only for a roof. A chair, perhaps. Nothing more.”
The man studied her.
Not unkindly—just carefully.
He had a daughter to protect, after all. But the girl standing before him played her part so well that he found himself unable to refuse.
He nodded.
She smiled.
“What would your name be?” The man said. His tone was polite, but his eyes remained sharp.
"Jennie," the brunette lowered her head just enough to appear respectful. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical after a century of repetition. "Jennie Kim."
“Benjamin Blackthorne,” he replied, mirroring her polite gesture. His shoulders remained straighter, his posture making it clear who was in charge. "You may call me Mr. Blackthorne."
There was a brief pause, their eyes glued on one another as to evaluate who's the prey and who's the hunter.
“This way, if you please.”
The corridor beyond the entrance hall was narrower than the façade suggested. Warmer too, though not in any way that invited comfort—only enclosure.
“As I am often in London,” Benjamin continued as they walked, “the household is managed in my absence. There are two maids. They tend to what is required.”
No elaboration followed. None was expected.
They passed a closed door. The faint sound of movement behind it suggested work continuing without interruption.
“My daughter keeps to her own pursuits,” he added after a moment. “She is a quiet child. Inclined toward reading.”
A pause. He almost looks disappointed at his daughter's inclination towards knowledge. “A habit I still don't quite understand for a woman."
They moved further down the corridor.
They reached the drawing room without further comment.
The door was already open.
Warm light spilled into the corridor—soft, controlled, carefully maintained. A fire burned low in the hearth, more for appearance than necessity.
And then she saw her.
The girl stood near the window, half-turned toward the light as if she had been interrupted mid-thought rather than mid-task.
A book rested in her hands.
Not decorative. Not ornamental.
Used.
At the sound of footsteps, she looked up.
The movement was small. Unhurried. As though she had been trained not to react too quickly to anything.
Her gaze settled first on her father.
Then shifted.
And stopped.
On her.
The moment stretched—not because anyone moved, but because something in the air did not follow the expected rhythm.
The girl blinked once, then lowered the book slightly, though she did not close it. “I was not informed we had a guest,” she said, her gaze already fixed on the woman beside her father.
Mr. Blackthorne remained composed, his hands resting neatly behind his back. “Her name is Jennie,” he replied simply. “She requires shelter for the night.”
The girl gave a small nod of acknowledgment. Her attention did not waver. It settled on the stranger instead—steady, curious, unhurried.
Only then, prompted by a quiet clearing of her father’s throat, did she adjust her posture. “My name is Y/N,” she said. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Jennie.”
A faint pause settled between them as Jennie scrutinized Y/N like she was trying to read her soul.
Y/N's dress was modest in design, made of soft fabric that fell neatly to the floor without drawing unnecessary attention. The color was pale—deliberate, unremarkable, chosen more for propriety than preference.
The bodice was structured, carefully tailored to hold its shape, and beneath it, a corset pulled tightly around her waist—tight enough to keep her posture straight, tight enough to make breathing just a little more difficult than it should have been.
"The pleasure is mine,” Jennie said at last. Her voice was soft, smooth like silk. As though she had chosen it from memory rather than instinct.
A small, almost polite smile touched her lips, but it did not quite reach her eyes. Her gaze remained steady on Y/N. Longer than etiquette required. Longer than was comfortable. Long enough to make Y/N's gaze drop to the ground.
Consequently, her father interrupted them again.
“It is time to go to bed, Y/N. Tomorrow is an important day, and I want you well rested. The man who is to take your hand in marriage would not be pleased with a disheveled appearance.”
Y/N nodded once, almost imperceptibly.
Jennie narrowed her eyes slightly, studying the dynamic. She had lived long enough to witness a century of quiet submission—fathers to daughters, husbands to wives, brothers to sisters.
As soon as Y/N retreated to her room, her father spoke again— this time to Jennie:
"She's soon to be taken in marriage," he explained. "There are several suitors from good families who have expressed interest in my daughter. It will be convenient for our name."
Jennie didn't speak.
She wanted to. However, she was well aware the man in front of her did not appreciate his decisions being questioned— especially when it came to something as ordinary as fathers exchanging their daughters' futures with wealthy families.
"I see," Jennie murmured softly.
An arranged marriage was not an issue for Jennie's plan. It wasn't the first time the brunette found herself in front of such matter— she just made sure daughters didn't live long enough to see it fulfilled.
"Alison will show you to your chamber," Benjamin stated, interrupting the stream of thoughts that began to form in Jennie's mind. "Breakfast is at seven. Alice is very precise with her time so she expects everyone to be seated by then."
Then he called for the maid.
Alison arrived immediately, her steps quick but controlled— as if she had done this a thousand times before. Which she had.
Jennie could see it in the way her gaze never met Benjamin's. "This way, miss."
Jennie followed.
The corridor was quieter than the rest of the house, colder now that the faint warmth from the chimney couldn't reach it. Alison's presence filled the silence— her steady breathing, the quiet rhythm of her heartbeat. Jennie's fingers tightened around the fabric of her dress at the presence of life ahead.
Inviting.
However, it was not the moment yet.
Y/N first.
⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆ ━━━━━ ⋆༺𓆩☾𓆪༻⋆
Well, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have no clue how many chapters long this will be, but I've already written a few and I can't wait to show you.
