1 - 20 of 56 Works by witchpointe
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She silences him with a kiss so delicate, he can’t explain the blood.
“You're a carnivore living on weeds.”
She rubs her face against his chin, his cheek, licks at the smear of blood on his lip.
Hongjoong puts a hand over hers. “Think about—”
“We're so much alike.” She finally opens her eyes. Mingi, wide-eyed and fog-brained, thinks she looks just as drunk as he is—but she hasn't had a sip. She spreads her legs farther to inch closer. “Out of place, out of time.”
“Is—Is she okay?” Mingi asks, pressing as far back into Hongjoong as he can.
Seonghwa tries to kiss him. Mingi moves his face to the side.
“Hongjoong?”
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imprinting [ noun ]
rapid onset of hormones, pheromones, and empathetic link, typically endured during sexual intercourse, that establishes a long-lasting behavioral response between a vampire and their human mate
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(three pairs of polyamorous soulmates and how they navigate the romanticism and brutality of such an ideal)
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Gyehyeon likes holding Yongseung's hand. Always for short, excited, appropriate, doled out slivers of time, Gyehyeon has Yongseung's hands in his own. Then he pulls away and Gyehyeon flushes the urge to reach back out. He feels the ghost of Yongseung's knuckles against his own hours later. And he looks at Yongseung's hands, wherever they are, clutched in a blanket or holding his phone or balancing a cup, and asks himself the perpetual, acidic question.
Why can't I hold his hand?
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"Can't." She paws at his stomach, next to her face.
In truth it's an admission of how far she's already under, and maybe a plea for mercy; she doesn't want to safeword but she can't handle too much more of his harshness. She feels fragile, body and mind, and it's so sacred; this is the only place she feels small.
"Aw, kitten." His hand comes to cradle her chin and they share a long look, her vision seeming to bleed at the edges to center him even more. His fingers loosen. "You're already there. How cute."
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Yeonho introduces him as Yongseung, a friend, a dangerous word that Yeonho emphasizes at Gyehyeon like a yank on a leash, even though it’s been hundreds of years since Gyehyeon ate one of his friends. Naturally, it makes Gyehyeon interested, if smelling like an indulgent spice wasn’t enticing enough. Gyehyeon nods and greets him, sure to repeat Yongseung aloud to drive home his human humanity in the primal depths of his mind.
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Gyehyeon goes to take another drink to shut himself up, but Minchan grabs his hand and takes the bottle, as easily as prying a toy from a child. If he were more sober he might protest, because it feels like losing, but his head is swimming and his mouth is dry and Minchan hasn’t let go of his hand, even though the bottle is gone. He pushes the sleeve of Gyehyeon’s cardigan up, only a few inches, and traces a prominent vein up and down Gyehyeon’s wrist with his thumbs. He watches his fingers work silently, and Gyehyeon knows he’s lost in thought. The touch feels intimate in the dark room, important in the absence of everyone else.
“I could say a lot right now,” Minchan says slowly, “but you wouldn’t remember in the morning. Maybe that would be a blessing, but it wouldn’t be fair.”
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There's a difference in their foundations. Yongseung feels nothing when he ends a life; Gyehyeon feels everything, every time, just like the first time. Yongseung keeps his bodycount and its runoff locked so deep that he couldn’t access it if he wanted to. (He doesn’t.) Gyehyeon gives himself a new scar with every kill, a collection of jagged reminders down the length of his thigh that no one will ever get the best of him again.
There are thirty-seven scars on Gyehyeon’s thigh, and Yongseung has memorized their location and shape, if not the corpses they belong to.
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"I remember because you still tasted like the chocolate frosting." Gyehyeon fidgets with his hands in his lap. "The dark rum you were drinking, too, but the chocolate was fresh. You tasted too sweet, but it was you, so it didn't matter."
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There’s nothing like the feeling of being fang-deep in flesh, nothing on earth like feeling a body go limp from the bite. The dominance is cosmically right; Junhee is chosen to hold life and death in his jaws and know, above all else, the choice is his.
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“I can’t fight what’s in your mind,” Hoyoung says, an apology in his tone like he wishes he could. “And you don’t have to tell me what it is. But I can tell you how I honestly see you. I'd like to do that for you.”
Honestly. What a gamble. But he’s willing to listen, if only because Hoyoung’s voice is soothing with depth from sleep, and all his attention is on Gyehyeon, and that alone quiets some of the voices in his head.
He drags his face from the pillow, turning to chance a look at Hoyoung. It’s a gift of trust, even if Hoyoung doesn’t realize it; to reveal his tears and his red eyes. A certain ugliness that has nothing to do with his face. To let anyone see how easily they have an effect on him is to open a door just for the opportunity for them to slam it in his face.
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“Do you see something you like?” Gyehyeon asks, pouting through a smile.
He says it easy enough that it could be a joke; Yongseung could joke his way through not confessing. But he doesn't really want to. He wants Gyehyeon to know that he wants him, and he wants Gyehyeon to want him in return, and right now the idea of rejection seems impossible with the way Gyehyeon bites into his lip and then flicks his tongue out to wet it.
“Yeah,” Yongseung says, breathes it really, something soft between them like an offering. “I've liked it for a while now.”
“Maybe you should do something about it,” Gyehyeon whispers as he leans in to press the barest of kisses to the corner of Yongseung's mouth. He pulls back and makes eye contact again, another challenge. “Instead of always looking.”
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Donghun’s cheeks burn, as does his chest under the heavy sweater. Really, the touch isn’t enough to do much for him alone, but the idea of it—flanked by classmates, by order and decency and downright boredom, has him closing his eyes and licking his lips. He doesn’t want to be caught. The reality of it horrifies him, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking about what ifs—
Series
- Part 1 of A.C.E Fest Bingo
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Yes, he’s Donghun, he has been for longer than he hasn’t. Slowly, like a thread unraveled, he remembers all it means to be Donghun, from the tiny pointe shoes and angry bruises of his childhood to the house that looms before him—he can see it now that his eyes have adjusted, smaller than it has ever seemed before. All three stories not quite as grotesque in its abundance as it once was. It’s simply wood and plaster, the grain apparent beneath the paint, a few of last year’s fallen leaves stuck in the gutter. Home.
Series
- Part 22 of All Flowers in Time Bend Towards the Sun
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Sometimes, Dongheon’s hands still flutter around Gyehyeon in nervous jerks before he tucks them away. It’s ingrained to show affection with touch, in a thousand little ways that he never thought about until Gyehyeon—a side hug, ruffled hair, the squeeze of a hand. Gyehyeon has never asked him to change his nature, only the way in which he does it. Words, not hands, Dongheon reminds himself. Gyehyeon doesn’t like to be touched. Until he does—but that’s wholly different.
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“I don’t care that you joust. I don’t care who wins. Your tournaments bore me and it’s cruel to the horses. But I do care when the wounds are deep, Junhee.” Donghun fits the edge of the blade into the wound, light, precise with attention, as if it were the first incision of one of their surgeries. Fresh blood blooms around the blade. Donghun bends down and blunt teeth dig into his neck; not the sweet, crisp pain of their usual love bite, but a warning in the crescent brand of Donghun’s jaw. “I’m the only man allowed to leave marks that stay.”
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"You need to drink," Byeongkwan says. "I don't know much about your physiology or whatever, but you need it."
They might not know scientific specifics, but they know enough from things Donghun has said to know that Yuchan is suffering the vampiric form of dehydration, that his paled skin and sunken eyes are a danger. Delirium will follow, a delirium in which he will be a danger to humans. That's why vampires keep feeders; it shouldn't come to this.
"I don't want to," Yuchan says.
Byeongkwan smiles tightly. "Me neither. So let's get this over with quickly?"
Series
- Part 21 of All Flowers in Time Bend Towards the Sun
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Junhee's never harbored justice as a concept, never imagined his parents as wronged. The truth is, he doesn't know why his family was targeted. But thanks to Yuchan he understands vengeance, he's earned it for both of them, and it smells the same as all the other souls he's reaped, right or wrong.
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“The sound of a heartbeat calms me down. I’d like to listen to yours.”
Sehyoon stares. The words might sound like a pickup line, but the impression Junhee gives them is exposed, like maybe he just handed Sehyoon a wooden stake and bared his chest. If that even works on real vampires. Sehyoon supposes he should ask about that.
Instead, Junhee just looks tired, disheveled in a way Sehyoon hasn’t seen. Clean, put together, and still with an air of class that leaves him feeling sacrosanct. But something is inherently wrong, and if Sehyoon can help with this simple thing—this very simple thing in which Sehyoon is clearly his only choice, now—it feels selfish not to.
Series
- Part 20 of All Flowers in Time Bend Towards the Sun
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Yuchan’s face is flushed and blotchy and his sloppy rutting against his wrist is adorable, but the hesitation in his stare makes Junhee want to devour him. The clarity this gives them is like being swallowed themselves, the confidence they glean that was missing before, an insight into Yuchan’s state of mind—he wants this, he wants Junhee, and more than anything, he wants to be praised and commanded and used. The rush is piercing; the surety in what they both need, where before there had only been doubt.
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“There’s no hiding after this,” Junhee says against his lips, pressing his hand into the small of Donghun’s back. “I’ll know you inside out. I’ll know all of you forever.”
Donghun presses each of his fingertips against Junhee’s thumb claw, a succession of feather-light touches punctuated by a look that might be reverence; after a long moment of head-tilted thought he drives it into the skin under his collarbone and tears down. Junhee feels Donghun split underneath the point; from chest to belly he opens himself on Junhee’s nail, gasping with every inch. The weight of the declaration isn’t lost on Junhee: Yes, forever. Take what is yours.
Series
- Part 19 of All Flowers in Time Bend Towards the Sun