So is the LOM couple gonna be together until the end of time being each other’s soulmate through sickness and health SAY YES😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 and I hope they never feel guilty for it towards hyunjin ever!
haha YES they will be together forever, that's how i always envisioned it anyway. generally i don't think they'd feel guilty towards hyunjin but on a bad day, i cant say the thought would never cross their minds.
Vampire!Chan who feeds on no one but you. Ever. Even when he’s away for tour, he holds out until he’s back home to you, hunger thrumming so vividly in his veins it’s become its own entity. He can practically taste the sharp iron of you on his tongue before he even gets there.
Still, feeding with you is a sacred affair. He makes it so. He never bites until you’re panting and slick with want, because your blood flows best when your heart is hammering. The sweeter the anticipation, the richer the taste. Your bedroom is a sanctuary, the sheets clean and cool, always waiting for him.
You’re tangled in them when he returns. You’ve been sleeping on your stomach, your cheek pressed to the pillow, one arm tucked beneath it, the other thrown out. Your tank top has ridden up to expose the soft curve of your hip, and your shorts are twisted. You’re dead to the world, utterly oblivious.
Chan slips from the balcony doors like smoke, silent and fluid. He doesn’t make a sound as he crosses the room, though he’s loathe to put distance between them. The hunger gnaws at him, but another instinct, a deeper one, reins it in. He wants to watch you for a minute. Just a minute.
He sinks to the floor by the bed, resting his chin on the mattress. The scent of you is a balm. Soap, sleep-skin, the lingering sweetness of the body lotion you’d applied after your shower. He breathes it in, slow and deep, letting it calm the thrashing thing inside him. Your left wrist dangles from the edge of the bed, limp and right beside him. Chan nuzzles his nose against it, directly above your veins. He can feel the steady pulse of your life there, a hypnotic metronome against his lips.
He’s so thirsty. He could end it right now. A quick nick, a few deep swallows, and he’d be sated for weeks. But no. That would be a sacrilege. He wants the whole experience. Your waking, your gasp, the way your eyes will find his in the dark. He wants the way your fingers will curl into his hair, not in fear, but in a kind of desperate, instinctual welcome.
He drags his tongue over the delicate skin of your wrist. The salt of your skin is a promise and he can't help the way his eyes roll to the back of his head just at the simple taste. And the smell–the smell is a hundred times stronger here, so close to the source. The scent of you, blood and sweat and want, is a drug.
You stir, a soft sigh leaving your lips. Your fingers twitch, brushing against the hair falling over his forehead. It’s an innocent touch, but it sends a jolt through him so potent it nearly whites out his vision. He has to grip the sheets, knuckles white, to keep himself from sinking his teeth in then and there. Control. He needs control.
He moves away, unbuttoning his coat as he stands. He lets it drop to the floor with a soft thud. His shirt follows, and then his jeans. He’s naked in the dim light from the street, a pale silhouette. The sight of him should be alarming, a predator in your bedroom, but you’ve only ever known him as this. As yours.
When he turns, your eyes are open and you're looking right at him.
You don't speak, just watch, eyes trailing over his naked body as he makes his way back to the bed, his movements fluid and unnaturally graceful. He slides in behind you, a cool line of skin against your back. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His chin finds your shoulder.
“Missed you,” you murmur, your voice rough with sleep.
“Missed this,” he replies, his lips grazing the skin behind your ear. “Missed you.” His nose traces the line of your throat, and you tilt your head to give him better access. He nips at your earlobe, a sharp, quick sting that makes you gasp. His hand slides down, splaying across your stomach, fingers dipping just below the waistband of your shorts.
You arch into his touch, a silent plea. He answers by sliding a finger through your folds, finding you already wet. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Were you dreaming of me or are you just quick?"
A small laugh escapes your lips. "Bit of both. You did just preform a little strip show. Might have something to do with it."
He grins against your neck, the sharp points of his fangs scraping lightly. “Did you like the show?” He circles your clit with his thumb, slow, deliberate circles that have you squirming against him.
"I always like your shows." You quip, your fingers sliding down his torso and wrapping around his cock. He's hard, already leaking. A sharp inhale from him, and his hips buck forward into your palm. "You look hungry."
"I waited," He gasps against your skin, gently pushing away your hand. He doesn't want to cum now, not yet. He needs to taste you first. "For you."
He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him so that you're straddling him. The thin fabric of your shorts does nothing to hide the heat of you from where you're seated on his stomach. He reaches up, hooking his fingers into the neckline of your tank and pulling it down, exposing one breast. He latches on, swirling his tongue around the peak before sucking it into his mouth.
You gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He works you over, his other hand sliding down to grip your hips.
"I don't know why you insist on waiting every time," You purr, running your fingers through his hair, urging him closer. "Jeongin has expressed his interest in helping you out, letting you feed on him."
He considers it, for a fleeting second. The thought of Jeongin, warm and willing, his throat bared in an offering. But the thought is sour, the imagined taste of him thin and metallic compared to the complex, layered flavor of you. Jeongin is an appetizer. You are a feast. The idea of feeding from anyone else is like considering eating ash when a banquet is laid out before you.
"Jeongin doesn't taste like you." He murmurs against your skin, moving to your other breast. His hands are on your ass now, kneading the flesh, pulling you impossibly closer. "No one does."
"Such a flatterer," you breathe, but your back is arching, pushing yourself further into his mouth. He bites down gently, not enough to break the skin, just enough to make you cry out, a sharp, beautiful sound that goes straight to his cock. He wants to hear more. "I still think you should let him try. He's an eager one. Eager to please."
"He's eager to get his throat ripped out," Chan says, pulling back to look at you. Your pupils are blown wide, your lips parted. "I'm not gentle when I'm hungry."
"You're always gentle with me," you counter, and the absolute certainty in your voice unravels something inside him. He is gentle with you. He has to be. You are the only thing that keeps the monster at bay.
"Because I love you," he says, and the words are raw, stripped of any poetic flair. They are the simple, brutal truth. "And I want to eat you alive. Do you see the contradiction?"
"I do," you whisper, leaning down to kiss him. It's a slow, deep kiss, a mingling of breath and saliva and unspoken promises. Your tongue traces the sharp point of one of his fangs, a gesture of trust that still manages to steal the air from his lungs. "That's why I love you."
He flips you over, suddenly, pinning you beneath him. Your legs wrap around his waist, and he can feel the heat of you through the thin cotton of your shorts. He rocks against you, a slow, torturous rhythm. He can feel the thread of your pulse, can see the blue veins beneath the skin of your throat. He leans down, licks a long stripe from your collarbone to your jaw.
"Chan," you whine, your hips bucking up to meet his. "Please."
"Patience," he chides, but his own patience is wearing thin. He wants to be inside you, wants to feel you clench around him as he drinks. He wants to be buried in you in every way possible. He tugs at your shorts, and you lift your hips to help him pull them off. Your tank top is next, and then you're naked beneath him, pale and perfect in the moonlight.
He takes a moment, just looking. The way the light catches the dust motes in the air around you, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the dark, wet patch on your stomach where you’d been sitting on him. You're a work of art, and he's the only one who gets to see it.
He settles between your thighs, his cock nudging at your entrance. He doesn't enter you, not yet. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, and kisses you again. This kiss is different. It’s hungrier, more desperate. His fangs scrape against your lips, and you taste the faint, coppery tang of your own blood.
You moan into his mouth, your legs tightening around him. "Please," you beg again. "Chan, I need you."
That’s it. That's the breaking point. The plea in your voice, the way your body is arching up to meet his, the sheer, unadulterated want that’s pouring off you in waves. He can't wait any longer.
He sinks into you in one smooth, deep stroke. The feeling of you, hot and tight and slick around him, is so overwhelming that he has to stop, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He can feel your heartbeat against his lips, a frantic, fluttering thing. He can hear it, too, a rapid, thumping rhythm that drowns out everything else.
You're panting beneath him, your fingers tangled in his hair. "Move," you gasp. "Please, move."
And he does. He starts with slow, deep rolls of his hips, pulling out almost completely before sinking back in. He sets a deliberate, punishing pace, designed to drive you both to the edge and keep you there. The hunger is a roaring fire in his gut, but the pleasure is a cool, soothing balm, and the two sensations are at war with each other.
He wants to drag this out, wants to make it last for hours, but he knows he can't. He's been waiting for too long, and the need is too strong. He can feel the change happening, can feel the predator taking over. His vision sharpens, the colors in the room becoming more vivid, the sounds of the city outside fading into a dull hum.
He finds the perfect spot on your neck, the place where your pulse is strongest. He licks it once, twice, a slow, deliberate motion that makes you shudder. "Look at me," he murmurs.
Your eyes flutter open, and they find his. Your pupils are blown wide, your expression is one of pure, unadulterated bliss. You’re not scared. You have never once been afraid of him.
"Chan," you breathe.
He bites down.
The rush is instantaneous, a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated sensation. The taste of you is a symphony on his tongue, a complex mix of iron and salt and something that is uniquely, intoxicatingly you. It's better than he remembered, better than he'd imagined in the long, lonely weeks on the road. The fire in his gut is flares, a deep, spreading warmth that makes him feel whole again.
You cry out, a sharp, choked sound that is equal parts pain and pleasure. Your body arches off the bed, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling so hard it should hurt, but he barely feels it. All he can feel is you, the hot slide of you around his cock, the desperate, rhythmic pumping of your heart, the rich, life-giving liquid flowing into his mouth.
He's losing control. He can feel it, a fraying at the edges of his consciousness. The human part of him, the part that loves you, that wants to cherish you, is being swallowed by the ancient, ravenous thing that lives inside him. He should stop. He knows he should stop. He's had enough to suffice for weeks.
But he can't.
His hips snap forward, a brutal, unforgiving rhythm that has you seeing stars. You can feel the strength in him, the barely leashed power that's thrumming through his entire body. He's holding you down now, one hand on your hip, the other wrapped around your shoulders, pinning you to the bed. You're completely at his mercy, and it's the most thrilling thing he's ever felt.
"Don't stop," you gasp, your voice a ragged, breathy whisper. "Chan, please, don't stop."
It's the wrong thing to say. The words are gasoline on the fire of his hunger. He growls against your skin, a low, primal sound of pure, unadulterated possession. He wants to devour you, to consume every last drop of you until there's nothing left. He wants to crawl inside your skin and make a home there.
The thought is so terrifying, so abhorrent, that it shocks him back to himself.
He pulls back with a strangled cry, ripping his teeth from your neck. The loss is immediate and agonizing, a hollow ache in the pit of his stomach. His fangs are still out, his lips slick with your blood, his chest heaving with ragged, unnecessary breaths. He looks down at you, at the dazed, blissed-out expression on your face, at the two neat puncture wounds on your neck, already beading with blood.
Horror washes over him, cold and sharp. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, his voice a hoarse rasp.
You just smile, a slow, languid curve of your lips. You reach up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, your thumb brushing against your own blood on his lips. "You're shaking," you note, and he is. His whole body is trembling with the force of his want, the effort of reining himself in.
"I took too much," he says, the words thick with self-loathing.
"No," you say, your gaze steady and unwavering. "You took exactly what I wanted to give you."
He wants to believe you. He wants to believe that this is a gift, that you're not just a victim in this twisted, beautiful dance. But the evidence is right there on your skin, in the pale, slightly clammy feel of your flesh beneath his hands.
He shifts, moving to pull out of you, to put some distance between them, to give you a chance to recover. But you stop him, your legs tightening around his waist, your hands gripping his arms.
"Where do you think you're going?" you ask, a hint of a challenge in your voice.
"You need to rest," he says, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
"I need you to fuck me," you counter, and the bluntness of your words makes him flinch. You're always like this after he feeds. Bolder, more demanding, as if some of his own untamed nature has been transferred to you in the exchange.
He hesitates, caught between the primal urge to claim you completely and the overwhelming need to protect you. You solve the dilemma for him, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate circle. The movement sends a jolt of pleasure through him, and he can't stop the low groan that escapes his lips.
"See?" you murmur, a triumphant glint in your eyes. "You're not done. And neither am I."
He's lost. He knows it. There's no fighting you, not when you look at him like that, not when your body is calling to his, a siren's song of blood and sex and love.
He gives in.
He starts to move again, a slow, deep, grinding rhythm that's designed to make you fall apart. He leans down, his lips hovering over the wound on your neck. He doesn't bite, not again, but he can't resist the urge to taste. He licks at the blood, a slow, gentle lap of his tongue that makes you shudder.
"Channie" you whine, your hands sliding down his back, your nails scoring his skin. He's so close, he can feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, the familiar tightening in his balls. He wants to wait for you, wants to feel you come apart around him, but he's not sure he can hold on.
"Let go for me," he murmurs against your skin. "Let me feel you."
And you do. Your back arches, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you. Your inner walls clench around him, a series of tight, rhythmic spasms that pull him right over the edge with you. He follows you into the abyss, his own release a blinding, deafening rush of pleasure that leaves him empty and spent and whole.
He collapses on top of you, his weight a comforting pressure, his face buried in the crook of your neck. He can still taste you, can still smell you, and the hunger is finally quiet, a sated beast purring in the depths of his soul.
You're the one who breaks the silence. "Jeongin's going to be so jealous," you say, your voice a sleepy, satisfied murmur.
Chan lifts his head, a real smile, a genuine, untroubled smile, finally gracing his lips. The thought of the others, of the world outside this room, feels distant and unimportant. Here, with you, he's just a man in love.
He shifts to the side, pulling you with him so you're tangled together, a mess of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek.
He looks at the wound on your neck, the two small, dark marks that are a stark reminder of what he is. The pride he feels is a dark, twisted thing, but it's there all the same. You wear his mark. You are his. And he is yours.
"Does it hurt?" he asks, his touch gentle as he traces the puncture wounds.
"A little," you admit, nuzzling into his hand. "In a good way. Like a good workout. A pleasant ache."
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound in his chest. "You're something else."
"You knew that when you picked me," you say, your eyes drifting shut. You're exhausted, spent, and completely at peace.
He watches you drift off to sleep, your breathing evening out, your body relaxing against his. The streetlight outside casts a soft glow across your face, illuminating the smattering of freckles across your nose. He wants to memorize every detail, to burn this moment into his memory so he can carry it with him when he's away.
He presses a soft, gentle kiss to your forehead, a stark contrast to the primal violence of just moments before. He'll clean you up, he'll change the sheets, he'll bring you water in the morning. He'll take care of you. It's the least he can do.
He settles back against the pillows, pulling you closer, and just watches you sleep. He's a monster, a creature of the night, a predator. But here, in this room, with you, he's just Chan. And for now, that's enough.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY CUTIEEE!!!! I had like the BIGGEST moot crush on u and girl you should've seen me when I got that follow back omg I was ECSTATIC. still lowkey fangirl over u nd just know Im the president of the official aeryn fanclub ☝🏻☝🏻☝🏻have an amazing bday ml ur unc now :P
TYYYY QUEEN. no cuz i've been in love with u and ur writing since i discovered it u rlly are just that bitch i fear 😭i get so happy whenever i see ur user pop up on my dash fr. honestly lets just make out atp 🤷🏻♀️
AERYN AERYN AERYN !!!!!!! omd happyhappyhappiest twennythird birthday to you my sweet sweet girl ! ! ! ᢉ ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀི っ
i gen hope today is noth short of wonderful for you ! i hope you're spoiled rotten, surrounded by people who looove & appreciate you, and reminded over and over again js how deeply cherished you are <3 .. 23 ooks so pretty on you already leobbytwin ♡
i also need to say this because i don't think i tell you enough .. i admire your writing soso much. every time i read or even reread one of your works, i'm like how does your brain even come up with this ?? you have SUCH a beautiful way of bringing emotions to life, and your fics always leave a little kissmark on me long after i've finished reading them .. getting to read your work, for free even, is gen such a privilege, and i'm sososo happily grateful our paths crossed on the sillyblr because i would've been missing out on SUCH an incredible writer and an even lovelier person ! (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶)
thank you for always sharing your creations w all of us, for making people smile through your works, for being you and for also being an adorable mutual and friend of mine ! ! ! i hope this new year brings you so many reasons to smile, endless inspiration, great health, exciting opportunities, anddd all the happiness your bigbigbig heart can hold .. if anyone deserves it, it's you ! ❤︎
happiest birthday once again, my angel .. i'm rooting for you always ! today, tmr, and foreverandeverandever ! please take care of yourself, eat LOTS of yummy food, make beautiful memories, and know that there are so many of us cheering you on from all over the world !! i love you lots, birthday girl .. have the most magical day ever !! ᵔ ⩊ ᵔ｡)ଓ ♡︎
also i would LOVE to write a fic for you on your birthday and post it shortly .. unfortunately im running short on #good ideas .. if you .. perhaps .. have any .. in that gorg brain of yours .. ?
AHHH omg this is sooooo swEET my cute lovely yawwniiiiii i love you sosososo bad fr. i gen feel like ur a little sister to me fr, i have such cuteness aggression for u rn GIMME KISS MWAHHH (づ￣ ³￣)づ
yk whats so funny i wanted to write a fic for u on UR birthday but i also had no #good ideas so i ended up not doing it 😭 i'll get around to it tho, i promise!!! even if it might be mega late... as for me, u can literally write anything and i'd eat that shit fr
no matter what know that you've got me in ur corner bby ilysmmmmm <3 <3
STOP WITH THE AAANGST IM BEGGING😩😩😭 (you write it so well queen. TOO well…😭)
my mom used to read some stuff i used to write before i discovered fanfiction and would ALWAYS yell at me for writing "sad things." that was like ten years ago at least. you can't take the angst out of me i'm afraid. however!!! i will say that i think the fic i'm writing will probably have a happy ending lol. rejoice
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