One More Tomorrow
⋆𓃦⋆.˚ pairing : vampire!changbin x reader ⋆𓃦⋆.˚ summary : You are dying. Changbin knows he should love you enough to let you go. Instead, he loves you enough to become selfish. He asks you for forever, knowing it may cost the very humanity that made him fall in love with you. ⋆𓃦⋆.˚ warnings : RATED M. 18+ / Minors DNI. Vampire AU, established relationship, yearning, angst (happy ending), terminal illness, discussions of death and immortality, grief, emotional manipulation (well-intentioned), biting, penetrative sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, body worship, graphic depiction of death. ⋆𓃦⋆.˚ word count : 4.6k Read on AO3!
He lowered himself onto the floor before you, settling back on his heels. You remained seated at the edge of the bed, your bare feet resting against the cool wooden floor. With a tenderness that bordered on reverence, he gathered your hand in both of his, lifting it slowly until his lips found the pulse at your wrist. He lingered there, his thumb coming to rest over the steady beat beneath your skin, as though trying to commit its rhythm to memory.
“Please,” he whispered, the word trembling apart in his throat. He rose from where he knelt, closing the little distance between you. His hand shifted against the mattress beside your hip, gently bracketing you. “Let me turn you before it’s too late.”
The first tear escaped before he could stop it. Another followed, then another, slipping hot and silent down his cheeks.
He hadn’t met your eyes all night. His gaze drifted instead to the blanket gathered beneath your hands, then to the floorboards, finding refuge anywhere that wasn’t your face. Only after a long, fragile silence did he finally force himself to look up. The grief in his eyes belonged to a man already standing beside your grave.
“I would sooner bury myself than stand beside your grave.” His voice came rough, stripped of everything except the truth. “So don’t ask that of me.”
He swallowed hard, “This isn’t how your story was meant to end. Life owed you years it never gave you. I’m only asking you to take back what should have been yours all along.”
His voice broke on the last words. “Please… let me return it to you.”
“I’m not afraid of dying, Changbin.”
Your thumb swept gently beneath his eyes, catching the tears before they could fall any farther. When your palm came to rest against his cheek, he leaned into the touch without thinking. His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment, as though he could still pretend your warmth alone was enough to keep the world from changing.
“I’m afraid of surviving it.”
His brows furrowed, but still he listened.
“I’m afraid I’ll wake up one day and stand before my mother’s grave,” Your voice faltered, the words growing smaller until they barely escaped your lips. Another tear slipped free despite your effort to hold it back. “and feel nothing.”
The silence that followed settled between you with unbearable weight.
“I don’t want forever if forever asks me to stop being human.”
For a long moment, he simply looked at you. There was no panic in his expression now, only a grief so quiet it seemed to hollow him from within.
“You think becoming like me means losing yourself.” His voice had softened into something almost reverent. “What if I made that impossible?”
Reluctantly, he let your hand slip from his cheek, only to cradle it once more between both of his. With infinite care, he guided your palm against the stillness beneath his ribs, where no heartbeat waited to greet it.
“I have watched centuries turn people into strangers.” His eyes never left yours. “I won’t let that happen to you.”
His fingers tightened around your hand, not enough to hurt, only enough to anchor himself. “If one day you forget the sound of your mother’s laugh,” His voice caught briefly before steadying again. “I’ll tell you every story you’ve ever shared with me until you remember it yourself.”
He drew a careful breath. “If your hands ever stop reaching for flowers, I’ll fill our home with gardens.”
The corner of his mouth trembled into the faintest, saddest smile. “If grief ever grows so quiet that you can no longer hear it, I’ll sit beside you until it remembers how to speak again.”
Moisture gathered in his eyes once more, though he made no attempt to hide it.
“I am not asking you to become someone else.” The words came almost as a plea. “I’m asking you to stay exactly as you are, for longer than this cruel world ever intended.”
You couldn’t answer him. At least not yet.
Your lips parted, only for the words to dissolve before they could take shape. You swallowed against the tightness in your throat and brushed away the tears that blurred your vision, drawing in a slow, weary breath that did little to steady you. You wanted to answer him.
Changbin understood your silence better than any reply, and you also understood why.
He had become strangely restless these past few weeks, more insistent than ever before, because he could smell what every doctor had only dared to imply. Death was drawing closer. Yours. Your death.
Your kidneys were failing. Years of dialysis had bought time, nothing more. Each treatment left your body a little weaker than before, as though life itself was slowly withdrawing from your bones. Yet the illness was never the heaviest burden you carried. That place belonged to the guilt that settled deeper inside your chest with every passing day.
Your father worked until exhaustion hollowed the lines of his face, chasing overtime simply to keep your treatments going. Your older brother, Chan, had quietly abandoned the future he’d dreamed of, giving up university without complaint so another month’s hospital bill could be paid instead. Every pill you swallowed, every machine that kept your body going, felt as though it had been purchased with pieces of their lives.
You couldn’t bear to ask for another sacrifice.
You had met Changbin eight months earlier, long before he learned to fear losing you.
It had happened on a night so ordinary that neither of you could have imagined it would alter the course of your lives. You had been lying beneath the stars in your small garden, absentmindedly counting constellations while the rest of the house slept, when a sharp crash shattered the silence. By the time you reached the hedges, you found a stranger collapsed among the flowers, bleeding so heavily the earth beneath him had turned black in the moonlight.
You hadn’t known what he was. You only knew he was most likely dying.
So you dragged him, inch by inch, into the little garden shed behind your house, cleaned wounds no human should have survived, and stayed beside him until dawn. Only to learn later that he was a vampire.
He had been ambushed by a group of extremist vampires who saw his kind as a betrayal, and your quiet neighborhood had simply become collateral to the violence. At three in the morning, he had expected every light in the street to be dark.
Instead, he found you. Or, you found him in your garden.
From that night onward, falling in love with you was easy. Easier, and far quicker, than Changbin had ever allowed himself. Across centuries of living, loving humans had always ended in grief, so he had learned to keep his distance before his heart wandered too far.
But you were... different.
Your quiet courage toward both life and death fascinated him. Never, in all his years, had he met someone so accepting of a short life without ever surrendering to it.
He watched you kneel among your flowers every morning, tending each stem with patient hands. Even when disease claimed a blossom, you whispered an apology before trimming it away, promising it that it would bloom again when it returned to the compost.
He watched you spend lazy afternoons beneath the old tree with your aging cat asleep across your lap, talking to the sleepy creature until both of you dozed off. And your elderly neighbor always found you there at sunset, gently waking you before the evening grew cold, you always thanked her with the same bright smile before pressing fresh vegetables or flowers you harvest that day from your garden into her hands. Then you would disappear inside, humming softly while preparing dinner for your father and Chan, filling the little house with warmth that had nothing to do with the stove.
Your life was made of quiet rituals, stitched together by ordinary acts of love, and Changbin found himself hopelessly captivated by every one of them.
Nothing lived forever, yet you loved every form of life with the same gentle sincerity, never asking them to last longer than they were meant to. Changbin had lived for centuries, and somewhere along the way he had forgotten how to look at the world like that. He spent his lifetime crossing paths with people consumed by greed, ambition, or violence, but your quiet selflessness became the first thing in years that had brought him peace.
And now you had told him you intended to stop taking your medication. Not because you wanted to die, but because you believed your father and Chan deserved to spend what little they had on a future that would still exist after you were gone.
Changbin had never been angry with you. He couldn’t be.
If there was anyone he blamed, it was fate itself. God, perhaps. Or the world. Or whatever merciless hand had decided that the person who cherished life most should be granted the least time to live.
Changbin settled back onto his heels once more before bowing his head between your thighs, pleading the same selfish plea. He would stay there until his knees bruised if that was what it took to hear you say yes. He had offered to pay for every treatment, every hospital visit, every medicine that money could buy, and every time, you refused. So his last desperate resort was to turn you into one of his kind.
It was the only future he could still offer you. As an immortal, your illness would finally stop. Your suffering would end, and the world would continue without ever having to lose your presence.
Centuries had sharpened his instincts, and lately, death clung more heavily to your scent than ever before. If his wealth could no longer buy back the years your illness had stolen, then perhaps his blood still could.
You didn't know much beyond this neighborhood and the little house you'd spent your whole life in. But you knew what people said about vampires. They said immortality wore away at the heart. That centuries dulled every feeling after witnessing one too many loved ones die, until love became little more than memory, grief an inconvenience, and kindness slowly gave way to indifference. They became cold. Detached. Ruthless. Not because they were born monsters, but because immortality had shaped them into people who could no longer afford to feel everything.
Yet nothing about the man kneeling before you resembled those stories.
But still, you couldn’t bear the risk. You couldn’t bear the thought of standing before your mother’s grave one day and feeling nothing.
And if Changbin loved you because you loved life more than anything, then what if immortality took that away? What if the person he fought so desperately to keep was the very person he lost?
“What if…” Your voice barely rose above the hush of the room. “What if fifty years from now you wish you’d let me die, Changbin?”
His head snapped up. He searched your face in utter disbelief, hoping to find even the smallest sign that you were teasing him. When he realized you weren’t, he gave a disbelieving scoff, the hurt in it plain to hear.
“Do you know what you’ve done to me?”
He opened his mouth, only to close it again, swallowing whatever irritation that had rushed to the surface. Instead, his gaze drifted toward the little garden beyond the window, where the last light of evening rested across the flowers you had spent months nursing back to health. He couldn’t trust himself to look at you. Not after hearing the most devastating thing you had ever said to him. He feared that if he met your eyes now, the careful composure he’d been clinging to would come apart entirely.
Only after a long moment did a hollow laugh finally escape him.
“It’s absurd.”
His eyes lingered there, somewhere among the roses and climbing vines.
“I’ve met people who hated their lives and somehow lived to ninety,” He laughed bitterly. “And I’ve known immortals who spent centuries who have all the time in the world, yet waste it on cruelty.”
“But you,” His eyes finally met yours. “You find reasons to smile in flowers that haven’t even bloomed yet.” His thumb trembled against your hand. “You make dinner for your family even after spending all day in the hospital.”
His voice broke. “You love being alive more than anyone I’ve ever known.” He shook his head. “So don’t ask me to watch you die.”
His thumb brushed absentmindedly across your knuckles, as though grounding himself in the warmth still waiting there.
“If life insists on wronging you, then let me be the one who sets it right.” Silence settled between you once more. Then, with a sadness so gentle it almost broke you, he smiled.
“You taught an immortal how to love living things again.”
Fresh tears slipped down his cheeks. You reached up instinctively, catching them with your thumb before they could fall. He closed his eyes beneath your touch. When he spoke again, his voice was scarcely more than a breath.
“Give me forever,” His forehead leaned lightly against your hands on your thighs. “…and I’ll spend every day of it proving this world was always meant to have you in it.”
You looked at him for a long moment, letting every word settle into the silence between you while tears continued to trace down his face.
Then, at last, you nodded.
Changbin froze. Disbelief flickered across his face before it melted into quiet gratitude. He rose from his knees until he stood before you, cupped your face with trembling hands, and kissed you, his own wordless way of thanking you for choosing tomorrow.
Changbin’s hand slid gently behind your head, guiding you backward until your back met the mattress. The kiss never broke. He followed without hesitation, catching himself with both hands planted on either side of your head, hovering above you as though afraid his weight alone might hurt you.
“Will you let me do it tonight?” Changbin whispered against your lips. There was unmistakable urgency in his voice, and you understood why. Time was running out, and neither of you knew how much of it remained. You had already thought about this for a long time. Tonight had only reassured you that, whatever future awaited you, Changbin would stand beside you through all of it.
You answered with nothing more than a quiet hum and the faintest nod. Relief washed over his face before he kissed you again, slowly this time, savoring the fragile miracle of your answer, drowning in gratitude and the hope of a tomorrow he thought the world had stolen from you.
Changbin hovered above you, the old mattress sighing beneath him. His dark gaze, usually sharp as obsidian, held a softness that was almost painful as it traced the lines of your exhaustion.
His lips found the fluttering pulse at the base of your throat, a warm press that drew a shaky sigh from you. He lingered there, breathing you in, the fading scent of damp earth from your garden beneath the warmth of your skin, the fragile salt-sweetness of your skin. His lips moved lower. He kissed the delicate ridge of your collarbone, each press a silent apology, a whispered oath.
His knuckles brushed the worn hem of your nightgown where it pooled at your waist. He paused, lifting his eyes to yours.
You held his gaze for a long moment before answering with the smallest smile, a trust that tightened his throat. With excruciating slowness, he gathered the thin cotton, bunching it gently in his fist, revealing your body inch by vulnerable inch.
Moonlight washed over your bare skin, illuminating the stark reality. Yellow and purple bruises lingered where needles and IV lines had claimed your skin again and again. A thin, faded surgical scar lingered along your forearm, another silent testament to how many times your body had been asked to endure. He saw it all, the history of suffering written across skin that still felt impossibly soft beneath his hands. A low sound escaped him, part groan, part sigh. He loved your body fiercely, loved its resilience, the stubborn life still beating within it. Yet the evidence of you dying was a physical agony for him, a constant, vicious reminder of the clock ticking down to silence.
"So beautiful," he murmured, the words thick, brushing his lips against the vulnerable skin of your stomach. "Every part of you." The tremor in his voice betrayed him. Beneath every word of admiration, you heard the fear he could no longer hide.
His mouth found the swollen bud of your clit, tracing it with the broad, wet flat of his tongue. A sharp gasp tore from you as your back arched involuntarily from the mattress, not in pain but from the overwhelming rush of sensation. He murmured something against your hip, too low to decipher, a vibration that sent another shockwave through your belly. With careful hands, he coaxed your thighs wider, settling himself firmly between them. The world narrowed to this, filling his senses until nothing else existed. You. Only you.
His tongue parted your folds with reverence, seeking the slick heat hidden within. A low, appreciative hum vibrated against you as he tasted you deeply, his tongue licking broad stripes. He breathed you in, a deep, shuddering inhalation, your scent saturating him, a drug he craved beyond reason. "Changbin," you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair, to anchor yourself against the tide building inside you.
His fingers followed his tongue, stretching your tender flesh. You gasped again, the intrusion both foreign and desperately welcome. His mouth returned to your clit, working it with devastating precision while his fingers began a rhythmic exploration within you, curling, stroking. He added a second finger, stretching you insistently. Your inner walls fluttered, trying to accommodate. He murmured encouragement against your skin, the words lost in the wet sounds of his ministrations. A third finger joined, stretching you with exquisite care, the burn a counterpoint to the relentless pleasure radiating from his mouth. He felt your body tense, the flutter around his fingers growing steadier. Your breath came in short, sharp pants.
He lifted his head, lips glistening. His thumb replaced his mouth on your clit, rubbing firm, relentless circles while his fingers continued their deep, curling thrusts inside you, pressing insistently against that hidden, swollen place. He met your dazed eyes. "Come for me, love," he commanded, his voice a dark rasp that vibrated through your bones, pure and undeniable. "Let go."
It wasn't a request, it was a threshold crossed. Your cry was ragged, tearing from your chest as your body seized, contracting wildly around his invading fingers. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and shocking, radiating out from your core in waves that left you trembling. He didn't stop, his thumb relentless. His fingers holding deep within you as you pulsed and clenched, drawing out the convulsions until your whimpers became a ragged plea for mercy. Only then did he slow, easing the pressure, letting you ride the high while his fingers remained buried within your warmth. He watched you, the flush high on your cheekbones, your chest heaving, utterly ravished. Beautiful.
He withdrew his fingers slowly, holding your gaze as he lifted his glistening hand to his lips. He cleaned them, his tongue swirling over each digit, savoring your taste. The intimacy of the act was profoundly vulgar, profoundly possessive. You watched as he rose onto his knees. His eyes never left yours as his hands went to the buttons of his white silk shirt. He undressed with a deliberate, unhurried grace that was pure theatre. The slow reveal of powerful shoulders, the sculpted planes of his chest defined by moonlight and shadow, the stark ridges of his abdomen. He lowered the silk trousers next, revealing the thick, straining length of his cock, flushed dark red and rigid, veins standing out like cords. It twitched against his stomach, heavy with need. The contrast between his restraint and raw need was utterly devastating.
He crawled back over you, the heat radiating from his bare skin enveloping you. He settled between your trembling thighs again, one hand guiding himself to your slick, swollen entrance. The broad, velvety head nudged against you, still sensitive and wet from his earlier doing. He paused, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any flicker of discomfort.
“Easy now,” he murmured before pressing forward, sinking into you with infinite slowness. Your nails bit into his biceps, the stretch still significant despite his careful preparation. His jaw clenched, the cords in his neck standing out, every ounce of his control focused on holding back, on not hurting you. Changbin studied your face, your slight gasp, the flutter of your eyelids. When he was fully seated, buried to the hilt in your tight, welcoming heat, a shudder ran through his body.
His forehead pressed against yours for a brief, sweat-dampened moment. "Can I move?" he whispered raggedly. At your shaky nod, he began to move. Shallow pulls and gentle rolls of his hips that allowed your body to stretch further, to accept him completely. Gradually, the slow drags deepened. Each thrust gliding deep within your slick channel, the delicious friction sparking along your nerves despite the earlier climax. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you, a slow, insistent build this time. He felt it too, the renewed fluttering tension gripping his cock.
"I love you," he murmured against your temple, his hips snapping forward a little harder, drawing a cry from your lips. Tears blurred your vision as your hand found his cheek once more. "I know," you whispered, your thumb brushing away another tear. "And I love you too, Changbin."
"I'm not afraid if it's you." You smiled between unsteady breaths, the confession leaving your lips with surprising ease. Changbin's own smile trembled in return.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for everything."
The pressure mounted, undeniable. You were climbing again, your nails digging slightly into the powerful muscles of his back. "Changbin," you gasped out, “I’m close.”
He leaned forward, whispering into your mouth “I’m here. I’ve got you.”, He captured your mouth then, his kiss deep, slow, and final. A wordless goodbye to the fragile human warmth he cherished. When he broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours again. His lips trailed down to the vulnerable column of your neck, his tongue swiping over the frantic pulse there in a silent plea, an apology. A tremor wracked his frame.
Beneath his skin, you felt it, the subtle, terrifying descent of his fangs, sharp points pressing against his lower lip. The air crackled. He turned his face, burying it against your neck, his breathing ragged. "I'm sorry," he choked out, the words thick with unshed tears. "God, I'm so sorry."
But he didn’t move.
His canines were already grazing the skin of your neck, giving you goosebumps. His hips slowed down. His breath trembled against your skin, warm and uneven, as though his body itself was begging him to stop. His eyes slipped shut.
One more heartbeat. That was all that remained of the life you had always known.
His hand tightened where it cradled the back of your head, not to keep you still, but because he feared he might lose the strength to do what you had asked of him.
Sensing his hesitation, your fingers tightened around his hand. "I'm still here," you breathed. "I'm not changing my mind."
“I’m sorry, love,” he whispered again, the words barely more than a broken breath. “For what this will take from you, and how selfish I am to still want to save you.”
His forehead rested against your neck for one last fleeting moment, committing your warmth, your pulse, your fragile humanity to memory before he finally made the irreversible choice.
At last, he surrendered to the impossible choice. His canines finally sank in.
For a single heartbeat, there was only the sharp puncture of skin giving way. Venom flooded from his fangs, racing into your bloodstream. The pain was unbearable. White-hot and jagged, far sharper than any needle, any scalpel, any ache your human body had endured.
The venom spread like acid beneath your skin. You felt it descend from your neck into your chest, then your stomach, before spilling through your limbs until pain eclipsed every other sensation. Your eyes stung. Your throat tightened with every ragged breath, each inhale scraping through your lungs like sand dragged across raw flesh. Even your tongue ached, heavy and unresponsive, stealing every word from your mouth.
Then, just as suddenly, everything went numb. Sound became distant, as though the world had slipped beneath deep water. Somewhere beyond the roaring in your ears, you finally heard him. Through the haze of pain, his voice reached you, “Come with me.”
You forced yourself to cling to it, to focus on that voice and nothing else. Everything around you dissolved into darkness and distant noise until Changbin became the only thing you could still hear. His voice rough with agony and need, his thrusts relentless, driving into your wet heat even as he lapped frantically at the bite on your neck, his tongue cool against the searing wound. “Stay with me, love. Don’t leave me.”
You couldn't make another sound. Tears slipped silently down your cheeks instead, your body suspended between unbearable pain and blinding pleasure. Your inner walls clamped down on him as you reached your second climax in rhythmic spasms, while the slow, terrifying reality of your human body shutting down eclipsed every other sensation. He roared his own release, his cock pulsing violently as he emptied himself deep inside you, his hips grinding against yours, prolonging the convulsive pleasure-pain that rocked them both.
He kept moving through your climax, through his own, his tongue still working feverishly at the bite, sealing the wound as the venom coursed through you. The transformation burned, but he held you through it, his arms the only thing keeping you together.
Your heartbeat began to slow. Each beat arriving a fraction later than the last. Then the spaces between them stretched wider still, until the frantic rhythm that had accompanied your entire life started slipping quietly into silence.
Your breathing followed. Every inhale grew shallower, every exhale weaker, as though your human body had reached the end of the journey it had fought so hard to survive.
Changbin felt it. His tears spilled freely down his cheeks. He had dreamed of this moment for weeks, begged for it, prayed for it, yet nothing had prepared him for the terrible contradiction of watching you die even as he knew you would live. Grief and hope crashed together inside him until he could no longer tell them apart.
He brushed the damp hair from your forehead with trembling fingers.
“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
Your gaze found his through the haze of pain. Even as your vision blurred and the strength left your body, you never looked away. The corners of your mouth lifted into the faintest, trembling smile, fragile enough that it seemed it might disappear with your next breath. It wasn’t reassurance for yourself. It was for him.
He counted each fading heartbeat, mourning the last moments of the woman he’d fallen in love with while waiting, with equal desperation, for the immortal who would open her eyes again.
He would be there. Through this burning, through the coming darkness, through the eternity he had just condemned them both to share. He held you, buried deep within your shaking body, as the old life burned away.
And when the time came, he would be there to welcome the first breath of your new one.
© dose-of-changbin 2026. Feedbacks are appreciated! <3
