We Got Two Fics In The Drafts Y'all:

We got two fics in the drafts y'all:

"Look at you. Humping that bear like your life depends on it. Go on, don't stop just because I'm here." ft. (mean dom) Kim Sunoo

And

"You love having them watch you, don't you? I can feel it, baby. So wet." ft. (sugar daddy) Bang Chan

Reblogging this so I can come back and watch on repeat when needed

literally WHY tho… like

Yeah that can be stressful. I'm sure you'll do great! I'm doing really good thanks bae ☺ What do you study?

Hii DJ, how are you?

hi hi~ i’m doing alright ☺️ going back to school soon so a little stress but nothing i can’t handle. how are you love?? 💗

𝔖𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔢𝔡 | 𝔒𝔫𝔢

A/N: I finally made a start! I sincerely hope you enjoy it <3 The biggest thank you to @un06 for helping me every step of the way.

Synopsis: You live in a village where girls are offered to the vampires that live in the woods that border the town. You're next. And you're in for a surprise.

Warnings: swearing and mild violence

Part one / Part two / Part three

It’s a beautiful day. The air is warm enough to heat your skin, but not too hot where it’s an effort to breathe. The scent of flowers and fresh-made goods is everywhere, accompanied by the sound of casual conversations and children’s laughter. The town centre is busy today. It seems almost the whole village is out enjoying the first day of summer– a welcome relief from the gloomy spring just gone.

It’s a beautiful day… and yet there’s tension in the air.

You know everybody can sense it. That they’d rather focus on their daily errands than the practice planned for tonight. Maybe they can ignore it. But you can’t dismiss the unease in your stomach as you near the town square. The flutter in your chest as you pass through, seeing the council workmen erect the post and pile logs for the bonfire.

You quicken your pace, your hold on the paper bag in your arms tightening like a vice.

***

Your skirt swishes around your ankles as you practically leap through the front door. You gently close it behind you and lean against it, taking a moment to breathe in the comforting scent of your grandmother’s house. You exhale slowly, shedding the bad feeling from outside and letting it melt away as you make your way down the hall toward the kitchen.

Not much has changed around here since you were little. The same faded leather couch and sturdy coffee table sit in front of the same roaring fire that you’d spent hours upon hours in front of playing and reading. The same elaborate tapestries and oil paintings are arranged neatly across the slightly-yellowed walls. The same stale smell of cigarettes lingers from when your grandfather was still alive.

A lot has stayed the same, except the photographs that used to flow through the house.

Back when you were young, you used to admire the pictures of your mother. Her life. From her as a toddler sitting on your grandfather’s lap, to her sitting by the river as a teenager, to her wedding photos with your father. Your grandparents wanted to remember all the little things. They wanted their daughter to as well. So they captured the memories of your mother and displayed them proudly around the home. Then, obviously, there were the family photos. Ones including you and your older sister, Emily. Your grandmother’s house had always been like a photo album; a gallery for your family’s memories.

Now, a lot of those photos are gone. Taken down, shoved into chests, replaced.

You walk into the kitchen and place the groceries on the counter, taking your time to unpack the ingredients. As you fill a pot with water, there are footsteps behind you and your grandmother appears.

“Where’s my greeting, hm?” The corners of her thin lips are turned up in that cheeky smile of hers. Your grandmother may be from a different generation, but her spirit has always been ahead of her time.

You look over your shoulder as you shut off the tap, mirroring her smile as you place the pot on the stove. “Sorry, Nanna. I thought I’d make a start on dinner, so you didn’t have to.”

Her smile widens, growing warmer. She comes up beside you and squeezes your arm affectionately. “Thank you, darling.”

You turn and start peeling vegetables. Your grandmother falls into line next to you and dices them, the two of you working together under comfortable silence.

***

It’s quiet at the dinner table, aside from the occasional sound of cutlery against a bowl. You’ve barely touched your stew. You’ve spent the past ten minutes swirling your spoon through it rather than actually eating. Your appetite is gone, the anxious knot in your stomach from earlier taking its place. You look at the dining room window, concealed behind the drapes. If they were open, you’d be able to see the town square. The podium where the mayor will give his speech. The soon-to-be-lit bonfire that will serve as a beacon. The thick post where a girl will be bound by midnight.

It's a scene you’ve witnessed only once in person, but is now engraved into your memory for good. Your parents had only taken you because you’d asked. You’d only asked because Ella Nuttal was the sacrifice that winter. The baker’s daughter, your friend. In hindsight, you wish you’d never gone. Even if it was to say goodbye. You’re sure her desperate cries for help will haunt the back of your mind until you’re nearing death and most of your memories are gone.

Your grandmother’s voice breaks through your reverie. “What’s wrong?”

You look at her, chewing your lip as the imprints of the images linger behind your eyes. “I don’t know… Something feels off.”

She sets down her spoon, the room so quiet you can hear the soft clink. “Always does these times of year.”

You shake your head. “I know. But it isn’t that. It’s more like...”

Understanding dawns on her features. “Intuition?”

You nod. “Yes.”

She exhales. A soft sigh. “Well then I don’t know what to tell you. God may have gifted some of us a sixth sense, but that doesn’t mean we always know what to do about it.”

The corners of your mouth turn down and you look down at your lukewarm stew. “I suppose you’re right.”

Your grandmother clucks her tongue, causing you to look back up at her. She offers you a small but reassuring smile. “Don’t stress, darling. There will be times when your mind tries to trick you. I was in the bank once, and I was standing near this gentleman. There was something a little odd about him. My gut was telling me to leave, that he was going to hold up the place. But then he simply did what he had to and left.”

Her anecdote makes you feel a bit better. Maybe you are getting worked up for nothing. Maybe it’s just that the night of the Offering has you on edge. You take a breath, consciously relaxing your spine and shoulders. You chuckle. “Thanks, Nanna. I needed that.”

She smiles again and picks up her spoon. “You’re welcome, dear.”

You wrap your fingers around the ornate silver spoon and take your first mouthful of dinner. As you thought, it’s lukewarm and the carrot and beef aren’t as tender, but it’s still delicious.

***

As you wash the final plate and place it on the draining rack, there’s a knock at the front door. You look over your shoulder, in the general direction of the noise.

“I’ll get it,” your grandmother calls from the living room. You hear the modest heels of her shoes move across the floorboards in a steady click, clack, click, clack rhythm.

You leave the kitchen, heading down the hall toward the stairs. Now that your chores are done for the night, you plan on settling in your room and reading for a bit. You reach the foot of the staircase just as your grandmother reaches the door. You begin climbing the steps as she turns the lock and opens it.

“Samuel, Raymond!” You can hear the smile in her voice and the corners of your mouth twitch in response. But you do wonder why Sam and Ray are here. You shake it off as you continue up the stairs and their voices fade into a string of muffled words in the background.

And then you falter.

You frown and strain your ears. You can just make out Ray’s voice. Impatient and harsh. You hear your grandmother’s voice. Small and surprised.

Your heart starts to pick up speed, goosebumps prickling your arms and neck. Your muscles tense and you grip the wooden railing so tight your knuckles hurt.

They’re here for you.

There’s a shout, followed by a crash and a shocked cry. Heavy footsteps approach the stairs and you run. Taking the steps two at a time while trying to stay light on your feet. You can’t let them hear you. Adrenalin courses through your veins as you dash into your grandmother’s room at the end of the hallway. You shut the door as quickly but quietly as you can. Your eyes dart around the dark room, desperately searching for a place to hide. They land on the dumbwaiter on the right wall. You climb into the tight box, curling in on yourself to fit. You close the small square door before reaching for the rope, tugging on it and lowering yourself out of sight.

Then you wait.

Even from here, tucked away inside the wall, you can hear Sam and Ray searching for you. Doors being thrown open, frustrated voices, furniture being moved around.

Your heart is beating powerfully in your chest. So hard you can almost feel it against your leg. You bury your face between your knees, body shaking almost violently. You try taking a deep breath but your chest is too tight.

There’s a muffled bang.

They’re here.

Your arms tighten around your legs and you bury your face further into your knees. You hold your breath, trying to hear what’s going on through the ringing in your ears.

“… don’t have time for this.”

“Relax. She’s gotta be in here somewhere.”

After a minute of rummaging, you hear the closet door slam. “Dammit!”

“Maybe she snuck downstairs,” Sam suggests.

“Wait a minute.”

Your heart skips a beat.

Ray’s footsteps come closer. Closer. They stop, just outside the dumbwaiter. You itch with the urge to run, feeling like you could jump out of your skin. But there’s nowhere to go. You’re trapped.

The hatch lifts, scraping against the edges of the square opening like fingernails on a chalkboard. You bite down on your lip until a metallic taste spreads into your mouth.

You remain silent, even after Ray spots you. He chuckles and grabs the rope, pulling it and slowly bringing you into view. He sneers, eyes raking over your quivering form. “There you are, princess.”

He seizes your arm and drags you out, the ledge digging painfully into your soft flesh before you fall to the floor. You wince, flipping onto your butt and scrambling backward.

Ray clucks his tongue before grabbing your ankle and pulling you back. “No, no, no. You’re not going anywhere, darlin’.”

Sam steps forward and grabs your arm. Ray takes hold of the other and they haul you upright. As they lug you down the hallway, your head is spinning, your vision is swimming and suddenly nothing feels real. A dull pain shoots up your ankle as it snags on one of the steps, but you barely notice.

The men lead you through the entryway and you finally see your grandmother. Unconscious. Sprawled on the floor beside the tipped-over side table, pieces of the broken vase scattered around her.

“Nanna!” you scream, tugging against the men’s grasp as you experience a rush of clarity. They hold you back and haul you past her limp form, out the front door. “No!” you cry, still fighting. Oh god, what if she’s dead? What if she’s dead?

Tears stain your cheeks as you desperately try to escape, but the men ignore your attempts, carting you toward the town square.

***

Your stomach drops when you arrive. It’s been years since you came to an Offering, and even then, it’s a completely different experience when you’re the one being offered.

The air carries a weighted kind of heat, and you can taste as well as smell the woodsmoke drifting from the fire and over the square. Majority of the village has gathered, surrounding the mayor’s podium and the post as they wait. The low hum of their chatter is like white noise.

“Out the way!” Ray yells over the chatter as he and Sam jostle their way through the crowd.

People exclaim and turn, complaints dying on their tongues as they lay eyes on you. Mouths agape and eyes wide, soft gasps escaping their lips as they whisper to the people next to them.

There’s a squeeze around your heart. This isn’t the first time you’ve been the talk of the town. Not the first time people have regarded you with sympathy and pity.

They say bad things come in threes. In that case, you should’ve known something else would happen. Just another thing to break your world apart. Well… This is number three. Maybe this is finally the end.

Who are you kidding? Of course it is. There’s not going to be anything after this. Once those vampires come for you, that’s it.

Sam and Ray drag you over to the post and slam you against it, your spine hitting the wood with a loud and painful thud that knocks the wind out of you for a few seconds. Sam brings your wrists behind you and ties them around the post. Then your ankles are bound and you’re trapped in place.

You almost feel numb. Your mind racing with so many fragmented thoughts that it’s difficult to put your finger on just one emotion.

You’re scared of being taken. Scared of the unknown. Scared of getting hurt. Scared of dying.

You’re worried about your grandmother.

But you’re also angry. Angry that the mayor chose you. Angry that life has thrown you yet another curveball. Angry that you were just beginning to move on from Emily and your parents and it was all for nothing.

You feel a prickle along your waterline and you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

The square goes quiet. A robust young man steps up to the podium. His oily hair catches the light of the moon and nearby flames. He smooths out his suit as he clears his throat. He adjusts the microphone and looks out at the crowd.

“Good evening, people of Riverfield.” He pauses. Glances down. Sighs. “I never know what to say on the night of the Offering. I can’t say welcome, or thank you for coming because being here is not a positive thing. It’s a goodbye. We are handing yet another young woman to the vampires that have prowled our woods for the past several decades.” Another pause. “When I took over this role from my father, I didn’t want to continue this practice. However, I came to realise that I wasn’t willing to risk the lives of the town just to test whether or not it was needed. So, as awful as it is, we are gathered here again. This time to say goodbye to Y/N.”

The mayor looks over at you, and you see the guilt in his eyes. And you want to believe him. Believe his seemingly genuine words and face. But almost anyone can act. And at the end of the day, he still chose you, and you’ll still be gone.  

“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I can’t say anything to make this better. But please know we will all miss you, and I hope that whatever comes next for you is painless and peaceful.”

He looks up at the clockface set in the wall of the church and a few other people follow his gaze.

6:53pm.

“We have seven minutes until they arrive,” the mayor calls. “Everybody please return to your homes and take care. Goodnight.”

And just like that, everyone starts to leave. Just file out of the square and leave you behind.

***

6:58pm.

You stare at the clock as you frantically attempt to fray the rope binding your wrists. Your arms hurt from moving up and down, and your wrists sting with splinters. But it feels like you’re getting somewhere.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you mutter, screwing up your features as you feel the rope going slack.

6:59pm.

It finally breaks and you pull your hands free. You bend down and untie your ankles, staggering forward and feeling the pins and needles shoot up your leg. You curse under your breath, looking around and trying to decide what to do. You can’t go home. You don’t know what the consequences would be for escaping; it’s never happened before. But you doubt it would be pleasant. You look over your shoulder at the road leading out of the village.

The church bell tolls, making you jolt as the heavy clang vibrates the atmosphere.

7:00pm.

Your heart speeds up as adrenalin floods back into your bloodstream. They’ll be here any second. You have no other choice. You turn and bolt for the road.

You wince, almost losing balance as you attempt to run with a dead leg. You recover, ignoring it. It will go away soon enough. You’ve got to get out of here.

You cut across the square– past the church, the community hall, the school. You keep your eyes locked on the road out, letting the adrenalin and your instincts guide you. As you get closer, your chest feels lighter. A sense of relief spreading over you at the thought that you’re going to be free.

Then a stab of pain shoots through your foot.

You cry out, lurching to the side and falling to the ground. You sit up, clutching your foot and looking down to see a shard of glass poking out. You look around and see a broken beer bottle lying in the grass nearby.

“Shit.”

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself, before yanking the glass out of the wound. You whimper a little, chucking it to the side.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?”

You freeze as a man’s voice calls out to you. You force yourself to look up, heart in your throat.

Oh god.

Oh god, no.

You scramble to your feet, staring wide-eyed at the unfamiliar men standing at the edge of town square. And you don’t have time to think. You run for your life.

To be continued...

Taglist: @un06 @naviiy @lilyuwon @kangseulgithegreat @seungielvr @saturdayssvillain @wonen-only @msauthor @nshmrarki @sakanelli-afc @b3tt7boop @yunjinswifee @lucycarlisleswife @lol6sposts @fandommaniac07 @strxwbloody @toodeloosoo @jungwonmeover

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reblog to send your mutuals a hug. maybe just the thought is enough to cheer them up 🥺