Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Han Chae-Ah’s period is about as awful as her temper.

Both her and Chae-Son had always had bad periods, yet for some reason (divine punishment, maybe, if their grandmother was to be believed) only Chae-Ah’s came with equally bad cramps. Normal meds never really did much for her, but thankfully it was manageable most of the time. She’d had to use a sick-day leave or two at the taxi company every so often, but it wasn’t like she truly couldn’t work; it was simply inconvenient for her to do so and she would just rather spare herself the trouble when possible. 

In fact, the most annoying part of her period had always been how heavy the flow was, rather than the dull ache and the casual excruciating spasms of pain; she still grieved the many pants and skirts she’d ruined with blood stains as well as the sizeable dent that buying that many toiletry products made in her annual budget.

...Which is why she does appreciate the fact that Park Yoon-Soo bothered stocking up her bathroom with them, though she’d sooner perish than tell him that. It’s weird that he managed to get her the exact brands she usually used, but for once Chae-Ah will give him the benefit of the doubt. 

(The bastard even got her a heat pad, for fucks sake.)

So when her period inevitably arrived, at least she was prepared.

Park Geurim made no mention of it when Han Chae-Ah came into the kitchen late into the morning; instead, they simply exchanged pleasantries while he cooked her breakfast. If not for the way his nose scrunched up every so often, she might have believed him to be truly oblivious.

It’s only fair for him to not kick up a fuss, since she too made an effort to not treat him differently after his sudden 'growth spurt', but the acting is appreciated: bodily issues are awkward enough on their own, whether supernaturally caused or otherwise. So Chae-Ah tried not to hold it against him when he excused himself to hole up in his room instead of asking her to hang out as usual. He had warned her beforehand that this wasn’t personal or anything, but it still felt a little insulting. 

The matter had first crossed Han Chae-Ah’s mind a few months prior, back when Geurim had been staying over at her apartment. She'd had a lot of questions back then, but avoided this one because... Well, it felt weird to ask. Until, of course, the day when they drank together at the park:

“So...  Can you guys tell when someone has their period?”

Geurim, an actual grown man stuck in a child’s body, choked on his beer before mumbling:

“What?!”

"Periods. Menstrual blood,” she clarified, “you know, the blood that comes out of-”

“I know what a period is!” He whisper-screamed back.

Chae-Ah had given him a few seconds to wipe the alcohol that had spilled over the side of his mouth before raising a brow at his lack of an answer.

“Yes,” he relented, red faced. “It’s blood, of course we can smell it… But because there’s other things mixed up in it it smells different then normal blood. We don’t… We’ll be able to tell, but it’s not like-”

“Then technically you can drink it?” 

Geurim shot her an exasperated look.

“I guess...? I obviously haven’t tried it, but it doesn’t really smell… good?"

“Excuse me?”

"Most vampires actually tend to avoid it if they can help it. Look, it’s a matter of taste rather than drinkability, ok? Like… You’d put gasoline in a car, but you wouldn’t put whiskey, would you? It’s not quite the same, but you can think of it like that. The blood also wouldn’t be fresh when you served it, so it's just too much trouble. Fresh blood has the highest nutritional value; that’s why Park Yoon-Soo keeps the emergency food stock alive back at the mansion, rather than just blood bags.”

“Ah… I see...”

She’d refrained from asking further questions that day, partly because Geurim looked like he’d combust if she didn’t drop the issue and partly because Park Yoon-Soo’s diet preferences made her suddenly nauseous. 

But oh well, even if the smell of her period kept Geurim away from her for the week, at the very least it would allow her some peace of mind by keeping the other vampire away too.

Fortunately, she seems to be correct in that assumption: despite her lingering in the kitchen long after Geurim left, Park Yoon-Soo missed his cue and didn’t make an appearance. It was a bit odd, considering how nowadays he all but materialized behind her at very the moment she finished eating to bully her into doing the dishes (even though Geurim already washed most of it? there's only a mug, a knife, a fork and a plate left, for fucks sake, what’s wrong with you, I said I’ll do it later, fucking hell?!), but she wasn’t complaining

He’d started bothering her more often after the night she fed him for whatever reason. Much to her annoyance, it became routine for him to lounge around her favorite communal areas of the house, always ready to nag her for every little thing she did (do you truly have nothing better to do, jerk?!), and he did so with an unusual degree of touchiness to top it off.

Why would he do that when he had been more than willing to ignore her before was beyond her, but so were most of things he did. She suspected it to be a power play of sorts. Maybe he was trying to intimidate her? Regardless, Chae-Ah’s pride didn’t allow her to back down; god forbid he won whatever twisted little game he thought he was playing with her.

These new patterns of behavior had been weird enough by themselves but they became even more concerning when not a week after he'd been fed, Park Yoon-Soo had visited her room again, claiming to be hungry. That day, she had sent him away and surprisingly, he didn’t argue much. But he had been oh so kind to remind her that ‘it didn’t particularly matter if he was indeed starving or if he just wanted a snack’: she had agreed to feed him whenever he got hungry and she could not put it off forever.

Which was… true.

Ugh.

She had indeed agreed to those terms, to her own detriment apparently, as it turned out that, for a creature that allegedly should only have to eat once a month, Park Yoon-Soo sure got hungry often. 

The most maddening thing about it is that she truly had no one else to blame but herself for the oversight. Sure, Geurim had mentioned vampires ate once a month or so, but… Chae-Ah forgot that he probably meant a vampire usually drinks at least a bag’s worth of blood, if not more, and that would last them a month. 

…Still, wasn’t it too soon?  She wasn’t even sure if she could do it again: feeding him drunk had resulted in that compromising incident, but feeding him sober would also be unbearable. It’s only been a few days since she sent him away, but he was bound to try again and what would she do then?

Ah, she’ll cross that bridge when she comes to it.

The rest of the day is spent mostly in her room, watching dramas and naping, getting up only to switch a pad, reheat her compress, go to the bathroom or eat. She didn’t once run into either of her housemates, aside from spotting Park Yoon-Soo at the piano downstairs once, but even then he didn’t acknowledge her, so she also ignored him.

It had been an overall peaceful day, even though she had been in differing levels of pain for most of it: a perfect, vampireless, day.

And Han Chae-Ah would like for it to remain vampireless… Except she’s now debating wether or not she should go ask Park Yoon-Soo where he’s keeping the wine, since she scoured the kitchen for it only to return empty handed.

The bottle he'd offered her that day had been very cold. If he wasn’t keeping it in the refrigerator and there was no wine in the pantry or cabinets, then where did he get that from…?

She really shouldn’t have napped for so long in the afternoon; it left her feeling like death warmed over and was now giving her insomnia despite it being ridiculously late. Her cramps had returned with a passion late into the evening and while meds didn’t usually work, a few sips of alcohol would be able to send her head-first into unconsciousness for at least nine delicious hours. 

Yet… to ask Park Yoon-Soo for anything-

Ugh. 

Alright, alright, fine. She’ll do it. Fucking hell.

And thus, she drags herself down the hall in her pajamas, stoping in front of his room, fist raised. After reconsidering everything at least twice, she decides to forgo knocking and lets herself in.

Or she would have.

Park Yoon-Soo, ever the creep, opens the door first.

Han Chae-Ah instinctively slams it shut.

“Ah, none of that,” he is quick to place a foot in the doorway, peeved, yanking the door open once again, indifferent to the fact that she hadn’t let go of the knob yet.

“What are you doing?” she protests, barely avoiding tripping over his slider, reaching over to hold onto him in order to regain her bearings and avoid faceplanting into his carpet.

Park Yoon-Soo is silent, watching her with that cryptic look of his.

A single beat passes. 

Not watching, she realizes following his gaze to the hand she locked around his left forearm. Waiting.

She removes it, her palm itching as if he had burned her.

“What do you need?” is all he offers. Not surprised, despite the late hour. His words are undoubtedly disinterested, and so are his movements, but there is something distinctively uncanny about it; it feels a bit like she's watching a documentary on animal planet.

Park Yoon Soo’s in nightwear, hair disheveled just enough to suggest he might have been asleep; yet his suspicious demeanor told her otherwise.

Yeah, this feels like a trap. 

“You know what, forget it,” Han Chae-Ah mutters, taking a step back towards the hallway.

“You came all the way over here,” he insists, leaning on the doorway way too casually. “What is it?”

It’s hard to tell what exactly he means by doing that. Does he want her to stay… Or does he want for her to think that he wants her to stay so she’ll leave? What is he doing there that he needs her gone?

Nasty son of a bitch, Chae-Ah bristles and, in a split second decision, she walks past him, into the master bedroom.

Much like his house in Seoul, it wasn’t some sort of gory victorian dungeon as one might have expected (though Geurim told her that there was, indeed, a dungeon beneath the mansion; their special pantry, he had called it). Everything is freakishly clean; stainless, spotless, fingerprint-less surfaces everywhere you look. The decor followed the same basic ass modern aesthetic as the rest of the house, simple in both proportion and texture, generic enough to have been pulled out of any design magazine available in a supermarket line.

The room is bone-chilling in its subtle wrongness. Asleep? It didn’t look like Park Yoon-Soo had so much as touched anything, let alone lived in this room for a month. 

It looks somewhat similar to her own room here, aside from the unaturally tidy homeoffice space to her left. The big windows also face south, and she could guess that there is an ensuite bathroom hidden beyond the walk-in closet. His bed is larger than hers (impeccably made, not a wrinkle in sight), but the main layout is the same, including a sitting area with a coffee table and a large bookshelf. 

However, where her shelves are filled top to bottom with the most random ass AI-generated-looking itens possible, Park Yoon-Soo’s actually contained books; a lot of them, actually, all perfectly arranged on the top shelves while the bottom of the wall seemed to have been converted into some sort of built-in wooden cabinet with glass sliding doors; behind the glass one could spot at least seventy different bottles of-

“Wine,” she observes with slight wonder before realizing she spoke out loud. “Of course, it’d be here.”

“Should it be somewhere else?” his breath tickles her right ear.

Chae-Ah nearly jumps out of her skin, spinning on her heels to face him with at least five curses on the tip of her tongue threatening to spill over.

Yoon-Soo looked quite smug, still hunched towards her in order to speak directly into her ear, as though they weren’t the only two people in the room.

She scowls harshly, but refrains from flipping him: she’s here on a mission.

“Lend me a bottle,” Han Chae-Ah spits out at once.

“‘Lend’? Are you planning on giving it back?” 

Fuck you.

“Fine, give it to me, you bastard,” she all but growls, “is that what you wanted to hear?”

Probably not, because Park Yoon-Soo’s eyes narrow, his aloof expression giving way to an intense stare down that immediately had Chae-Ah glancing at the ajar door.

“Look, forget it, if you’re gonna be like this-”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t have it,” he interrupts, dangerously calm.

There’s something about his tone, she can’t quite put her finger on it-

Ugh. Han Chae-Ah flinches, pressing down against her lower abdomen. What the hell. Ouch ouch, fuck!

The brutal spasm has her leaning against the back of the couch, not quite sitting down yet not really standing up either, eyes squeezed close.

“...Does it hurt a lot?” Park Yoon-Soo asks, switching back to his oddly detached tone as easily as he switches the channel to the news whenever he spots her watching a drama in the living room (even though you have your own TV in your room, bastard, what the fuck?!).

“Like you give a shit,” she snaps.

This had been a terrible idea from the start: she should have just sucked it up and re-heated her compress, maybe soaked into a hot bath in despair for a few hours, literally anything else would have been preferable.

The pain is back to being dull, but the damage to her pride is done, she really doesn’t want to see this bastard gloat-

Except Park Yoon-Soo’s not looking at her, nevermind gloating.

Instead, he’s crouched down by the fancy-looking wine cellar.

One of the glass doors has been slid to the side, overlapping on top of another, the cold refrigerated air rapidly spilling over to brush the exposed skin of her ankles. He reaches for a few bottles; some he immediately puts back, others make him pause and read the label. More than once Chae-Ah notices him inspecting the corks.

At last, he settles on one.

“This one is similar to the one you had the other night,” Park Yoon-Soo mentions, twirling it in his hands, “a bit more earthy, overall bolder.”

Unbothered by her glare, he opens a nearby drawer, producing a single glass; the same from the aforementioned night, if she’s not mistaken. He rises back to his full height, placing the bottle on the coffee table before approaching her to push the glass into her hands.

Han Chae-Ah eyes the wine suspiciously, then turns her inquisitive gaze to him.

“I’m not gonna give you any blood for that,” she states.

“I didn’t say anything,” Yoon-Soo chuckles, sadistic amusement shinning through despite the softness with which the words rolled off his tongue.

“You didn’t have to. Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

And there it is, his tell: so quick that you might blink and miss, he looks away before doubling down on their stare contest.

She should have known better than to volunteer for a game of metaphorical 3d chess with this man, really. Park Yoon-Soo is nothing if not a micromanaging bastard who has a million ulterior reasons for anything he ever does; his unclear intentions stain his every action and his hidden motives corrupt his every word. 

He handed her the glass but not the bottle; he’s not saying anything, but the implication is there all the same.

What a soulless motherfucker.

This is likely what he’s been waiting for. It would explain why he wasn’t shooing her away like Geurim had, even though she is on her period and why he had been so eager to get her inside his room. He'd planned for this scenario from the beggining.

Han Chae-Ah scowls.

“It’s the third time this month, do you have no shame?”

“We have a deal,” Park Yoon-Soo shrugged. “I need to eat.” 

She considers her options:

Drink some wine and let him bite her. No. Absolutely not. Her pride can't take another blow today.

Give up the wine and go back to bed. Better, but then this would have all been for nothing…

Technically, she could also just grab the bottle and walk out. He’d probably let her, right?

If he didn’t want her to leave, she physically wouldn’t be able to, but then again, if he just wanted her blood, there would be no reason for him to resort to this sort of machinations instead of just taking it by force. It’s not as if he is opposed to torture or anything of the sort.

Then why is he doing this instead?

…Because he wanted for her to come to him herself, that much is clear. Whatever it is that he wants from her needs to be freely given, or at the very least, cannot be taken forcefully.

Fuck, this is so annoying: she’s missing something. Something big. A final puzzle piece, the key element behind his actions. It’s obviously not about the wine, but it’s not just about her blood either. What exactly is his end goal? Does he know she knows more than she let on about Geurim’s blood? Is that what this is about?

“I’m already losing blood as is,” Han Chae-Ah reminds him with a glare, “have some fucking conscience.”

Park Yoon-Soo snorts as if she’d just said something funny, and steps closer. His footsteps are barely audible, but they might as well be deafening considering the silence they’re currently immersed in. He stops a few feet away from her; that unreadable look giving way to a lazy smirk.

“Okay, then let me have it.”

“...What?” the delayed reaction slips through Han Chae-Ah’s lips louder than intended.

“Let me have it,” he repeats, slower, each syllable dripping with poisoned honey, “the blood you’re losing. Let me have it.”

Her jaw drops. Surely he’s not- 

“You- you… Are you out of your mind?!”

“You’re already losing it anyway, right?” He’s now so close that his criminally expensive bergamot shower gel is all she can smell, as if he took away all the oxygen in the room. She cannot breathe, but her legs are rooted to the spot, the back of the couch behind her keeping from stepping away. “Let me have it and you can drink my entire cellar dry if you wish.”

Maybe it’s the shock, but her mind has now gone blank.

“Stop trying to scare me, Park Yoon-Soo,” she says, her voice not her own, as if she’s having some sort of out-of-body experience. “I know vampires don’t drink this kind of blood. It tastes weird or whatever.”

“We don’t usually drink it, yes,” he nods diplomatically but the way he’s looking at her is nothing but predatory, “but I can do it for you, as a favor.”

Han Chae-Ah scoffs.

“Who the hell is doing who a favor!”

Park Yoon-Soo doesn’t answer her. Not verbally, at least.

His eyes flash with a familiar unnatural yellow glow that gives away what his words don’t.

Could it be her blood still smells appealing to him? Even now…?

“What, do you want me to hand over an used tampon or something?” Chae-Ah argues, trying to push down her own embarassment at the thought. “It wouldn’t be fresh, you know.”

“Well, then I’d just have to get it fresh, no?”

“‘Get it fresh’?! You-” she nearly chokes, feeling her face burn. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Do you?” Park Yoon-Soo chuckles darkly, caging her in further.

“You cannot be serious!”

But he is.

Now that he’s this close she can see he’s not exactly as composed as he wants to make her think he is. All the smugness he mustered for this proposal is strained, skin deep only. His desires betray him; it’s in the sheer desperation in his expression, in the fisting and unfisting of his fingers on the backrest on either side of her, in the hyperventilating he’s trying to keep under wraps.

And it finally hits her. The wine is an excuse and the blood is a bonus; the actual end goal here is-

How dare he.

Han Chae-Ah wants to deck him across the face.

She does so.

Yoon-Soo doesn’t dodge, but neither does he react in any significant way and it somehow makes her even angrier.

“You shameless dog!” her voice trembles with rage and it takes nearly all her strength to push him back a couple of steps. The realization that she only manages to do so because he let her push him aggravates her even more. “You ruined my fucking life and now you decide that you like me?!”

“What, am I not allowed to?” And there it is, the glowing eyes, the proof of his less than noble motivations. “You really don’t have much to lose here. Let me have you, Han Chae-Ah.”

“I don’t fucking like you, bastard!” She explodes, no longer caring to keep the volume of her voice appropriate. Let Geurim fucking hear them. “You don’t get to ask me this!”

“I know,” he approaches again, slowly, looking away for a single moment, “Don’t worry: I know very well you won’t ever like me. I’m not asking you to. It’s not an issue.”

“But you said-”

“That I’ll get it fresh,” he repeats, straight-faced, “even with the matter of taste-”

Well, trying to look straight-faced.

“Ha, seriously, how can you be this shameless?” She accuses, digging her nails into his forearms. He somehow snaked his hands from the couch to her waist, locking her in his hold with a vice-grip that doesn’t loosen even as she draws blood, the scratches healing mere seconds after she inflicts them over and over. “You’re so full of shit! Matter of taste, my ass! You love my blood, don't you? You’re fine around other people’s, but mine drives you crazy! That’s why you’re even asking! Did you think I wouldn’t fucking notice? Let go!”

And he does let go, but he lets go of her body only; his eyes are still holding her soul hostage.

“It’s fucking pathetic! Even now,” Han Chae-Ah continues, “you look like you want to eat me alive.”

She regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth. Not because she’s wrong, but rather because she’s right: he looks like he’s dying to swallow her whole. 

For a moment she fears he’ll charge at her and actually do it. 

Well, at least she needs to think it’s fear. It’s fear that has her holding her breath before he lets out a frustrated groan, removing himself from her personal space to collect the wine bottle from the coffee table. It has to be fear that makes her hands treble when he offers it to her, from a safe distance, the couch standing between them.

It has to be, because she’s not sure if she could handle it being anything else.

“Think about it,” he says at last when he leads her out of his room, closing the door on her face. “I could even help with your cramps if you ask nicely, you know.”

Chae-Ah storms down the hallway back to her room and throws the bottle against the wall. 

It smashes into a million little pieces.

The next morning, Chae-Ah somehow manages to wake-up feeling hungover despite not having drank a single drop of wine.

‘Let me have you.’

He wants her. He fucking wants her.

The irony of it all refuses to let her rest.

She’s always known him to be an immoral bastard who liked to play with his food, but to think he’d go so far as to lust after her of all people-

It’s crazy. He's fucking crazy. There’s no other word for it. But it made a stupid amount of sense:

The sudden touchiness he seemed to have acquired overnight, the lack of an actual bite behind his words during their arguments, all the endless staring and smirking and following her around the house. He wanted her. And he wanted her to know that he wanted her.

…Well, either that or he had actual real feelings for her.

Yeah, no. It was unlikely for that to be the case; Park Yoon-Soo knew of love only about as much as she did, which wasn’t a lot. Definitely not enough to love anyone, nevermind love her specifically. 

No. What he felt for her had to fall somewhere in the obsession spectrum.

Now that is something she had experience with. And therefore, something she could use against him, so perhaps this wasn’t all too bad of a discovery. Knowledge is power and god knows Chae-Ah could use any amount of power that came her way.

She had prayed for something to use against him for so long. Something more effective than Geurim’s fondness of her, something less dangerous than his addiction to her blood…

But what the fuck, that’s not what she meant! she buries her face in a pillow. Park Yoon-Soo wants to jump her bones? What is she even supposed to do with this information!?

Han Chae-Ah is aware that the moral implications of contemplating letting your enemy essentially eat you out tend to be very clear in the sense that it’s generally frowned upon, and when your enemy also happens to be a sadistic blood-sucking murderous creature who imploded your life and nearly got you killed on multiple occasions over a petty comment you made, there really isn’t a lot of gray area to explore.

But she could theoretically use this as a bargaining chip.

Whatever phrasing Park Yoon-Soo wants to frame this under, the fact remains that he is still the one who needs something from her. It's why he had tried to make her think it was her idea: however humiliating this would be for her, the bigger humiliation is still his.

If she could use this to renegotiate their original deal she could stipulate firmer terms and a more strict regiment rather than being pushed around by his ‘whenever I get hungry’ condition. Once a month, maybe once every five weeks? She could also use it to get him to leave her alone once and for all.

…But how the fuck would she even face him afterwards?! He is too much of a bastard. How can she even consider this!?!?

Ugh.

This entire situation is giving her such a horrible headache that even her cramps are paling in comparison.

Let’s say she decides, in a moment of insanity, to renegotiate their promise using this as bargainship. She could always just drink through it. It would make it hard to remember what happened. She barely even remembers what happened the first time they drank together aside from climbing into his lap and then the hazy fever dream she had in which they made out-

Oh. Oh no.

Her face burns with shame just thinking about it. What the fuck did she do that for!?

He had looked so shocked- Oh fuck. Did she actually bring this down upon herself?!

Great. This is so fucking great. 

Ughh-

She cannot possibly comply with this while sober. Her pride won’t let her. Han Chae-Ah had some sketchy morals, but she wasn’t so far gone as to allow herself to hit rock bottom. Or maybe this already is rock bottom. Maybe even bellow rock bottom, maybe she had accidentally fallen to the very center of the earth by even considering it.

If she were to do it, she’d want to be drunk for it. 

Wouldn’t that be dangerous tho…?

She hadn’t thought about it the first time around, but drinking around Park Yoon-Soo had been very dangerous. He could have done anything to her in that situation and she wouldn’t have been able to stop him. Things are different now that she knows he sees her like that. He could-

Well, frankly, if he wants to do something to her there is very little she can do about it, considering just how much stronger than her he is, even without taking supernatural shit into account. But at least she would know if she were sober. She would be able to protest and have the knowledge that she fought him on it.

...But he hasn’t done anything like that so far. 

What a strange asshole he is.

She hates herself for the twisted relief that came from knowing that. Is she stupid? Park Yoon-Soo is a monster, but he isn’t that kind of monster? He’s a murderer, a blackmailler, a sadist, but he’s not a rapist?

He’d back off if she told him to? Does she truly believe that?

Yes, the answer comes with no hesitation.

Things had never been truly great with Nam Hae-Won, but even at their best, consent had always been... rather murky. He was so pushy! And then when it got, indeed, really bad, he definitely wasn’t listening to anything she had to say at all. 

After surviving that she hadn’t had the nerve to be intimate with anyone else, with the mere thought of trusting someone enough to even try sounding absurd. Yet, whatever terrors Park Yoon-Soo put her through, she never once feared him as she once feared Nam Hae-Won, not even when he nearly choked her to death or put a dead person in the trunk of her car.

Ah, she really must be going nuts.

She won’t do it. It had been an absurd idea to begin with. His clinical insanity must have been rubbing off on her…

Rubbing off…

Resist it. Don't even think about it. Fucking resist it. Of all times to start getting back her sex drive… with Park Yoon-Soo, of all people!

Objectively, the bastard is good-looking. You’d have to be blind to say otherwise. He has a handsome face, an athletic body and a lot of money. But that was it. His personality is so unbelievably garbage that even if he wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer (which he is, she reminds herself) Han Chae-Ah would still find it hard to describe him as agreeable.

...Fine, he is also annoyingly consistent in his bastard ways and more dependable than any undead creature had any business being. How fucking sad it was that he’d blackmailed and terrorized her for weeks, murdered people in front of her eyes, drank blood on a regular basis and he yet still somehow ranked above her own family on basic human decency…?

But still! No!

Well, she didn’t have to sleep with him, necessarily, to use his lust against him. That’s not what he even asked for.

‘I’ll get it fresh.’

Oral sex.

She’d never had it because Nam Hae-Won hadn’t been interested in it, but she is nearly 30 and she’s been to prison. Han Chae-Ah knows what it consists of, even if she has no experience with it. If done correctly it would feel great, right? Better than even one’s own fingers, if her fellow inmates were to be believed.

The dead girl that Park Yoon-Soo put in her trunk had been on date with him; they had been in an area full of motels. It had been why Chae-Ah even made that stupid comment at church in the first place. He probably had a lot of experience…

Or maybe not, maybe he could get no feedback on his skills because he killed all his previous partners before they could tell him that he is bad in bed.

She’s not curious about this. Absolutely the fuck not, this is her final answer, she won’t have sex, oral or otherwise, with Park Yoon-Soo, not even if he begged her, not even to escape the binds of their contract, not even if he were the last man left on earth!

With decisiveness in her gait, Han Chae-Ah goes downstairs and prepares to greet Geurim.

Except Geurim is nowhere to be found and across the kitchen island Park Yoon-Soo is cooking in his place. 

She’s hit in the face with the delicious smell of breakfast; the nearly done pancakes, the cooling-down coffee, the freshly cut fruit. All of it executed to perfection, as if designed to lure her in, to get her stomach grumbling.

It probably is.

If she wasn’t so hungry, Chae-Ah just might have left anyway, just to frustrate him, but her last meal had been more than 12 hours ago and she is starving.

Unlike usual, Park Yoon-Soo makes no effort to interact with her; he keeps his distance and remains silent, washing the dishes himself while she eats, continuing to do so after she’s done. He simply remains in her sight, calm as a cucumber, avoiding making eye-contact, but Han Chae-Ah knows better than to trust appearances: this is a taunt if she’s ever seen one.

Much like when he put the wine in that coffee table without a word, his actions speak louder than any words ever could. He knows, and she knows, and he knows that she knows because he planned it to be so.

He’s not saying anything because he doesn’t have to: he knows exactly what’s on her mind and it pleases him immensely. 

It’s pissing her off so badly she thinks, not for the first time, that maybe her grandmother was onto something and this is indeed a godly punishment she’s facing for the crime of being born as such a vile woman. God himself must have put Park Yoon-Soo in her life to punish her, because surely if Hell can be a place on Earth, it is here, right now, with him.

Han Chae-Ah grits her teeth, pouring herself a cup of water and disappearing back upstairs, feeling Yoon-Soo’s stare on her back all the way up.

The nerve of him. To look completely fine as if he didn’t offer to give her an orgasm in exchange for drinking her period, cooking for her as if nothing fucking happened, acting all suspicious.

Bastard. As if she’ll fucking take him up on that offer.

I must have gone crazy too, Han Chae-Ah theorizes. The stress finally got to me and my mental health has declined so very significantly that my judgment can no longer be trusted.

As is, she is currently holding on to Park Yoon-Soo’s headboard with white knuckles, hovering just a few inches above his face, wearing only her tank-top. Her pajama pants and underwear discarded by the foot of the bed, much like her conscience apparently.

She’s so tense she thinks a single movement could make her snap in a half. If asked, she would not be able to explain just how exactly she justified waltzing back into this room in the dead of night, yet it is undeniable that she had done so, completely sober.

Underneath her, Park Yoon-Soo rests lazily in one of his many robes, his relaxed stance a stark contrast to her own. His body seems so at ease one would think this is a position he finds himself in often.

But the longer she looks, the more the cracks in his little facade show through.

Yes, he looks relaxed, but deliberately so. A deeper look revealed just how much effort he was putting into looking unbothered: his muscles tensed and untensed before her eyes, his Adam's apple moving up and down as he swallowed in anticipation, the tips of his ears just as red as her face.

And if nothing else, the look in his eyes always betrayed him.

Hungry, unnaturaly yellow in it’s desire.

Han Chae-Ah knows that the word ‘bloodlust’ doesn’t exactly apply here, because Park Yoon-Soo doesn’t look like he wants to harm her, per say. But still, ‘bloodlust’ is the one word that comes to mind to describe the expression he is making as he stares at her so openly like that.

The tension between them only grows the longer she remains still, but she cannot trust herself to do anything but stay still. So far, their relationship has always followed some sort of ‘push-and-pull’. A constant crossing of each other lines, a tangling of paths, an inescapable loop, both predictable and unpredictable. If she crosses this line, there really isn’t going to be any going back. She had been decisive when she barged in here to negotiate, but part of her hadn’t expected him to agree to her capricious terms so easily. Surely she can’t be the only one with reservations about this-

Park Yoon-Soo searches her face with an uncharacteristically concerned look that is almost touching. She doesn’t know if he finds what he had been looking for or not, but his response is both comforting and aggravating:

Before she can rethink this any longer, he crosses the line first.

The velvet-like texture of his robe brushes against her knees as his hands slide up and down her legs in a sensual soothing caress. His skin is cool, but the touch feels scalding and it takes a lot of will-power to not flinch away. To his merit, he keeps it mostly respectful (as much as you could consider respectful in this sort of scenario) and Han Chae-Ah starts to relax, flexing her fingers around the headboard bar, feeling the blood-flow return to them.

But, of course, this is Park Yoon-Soo, and he does nothing without having at least five secondary motivations at all times, so out of nowhere he switches up, groping the curve of her hip forcefully, prompting a small startled noise from her lips. 

The gesture calls back her eyes back to his, as if inviting her to glare at him once he teases pulling her down the rest of the way, despite not being allowed to.

Bastard.

True, she did not say he couldn’t do that, specially because he’s making a show out of the fact that he’s not using his full strength, but it pisses her off nonetheless. Damn him. He’s testing her; tethering on the edge of breaking their agreement but giving himself just enough leeway to argue he is still following the rules she imposed.

They have renegotiated their previous promise and this is what he has asked for instead; he’d only feed from her once every three to four weeks, but wether they’d do it this way or through other means it was up to her. He was not to bother her about it and if he broke the rules, she’d be allowed to punish him as she saw fit, within reason.

Right now, he cannot move her without her consent, cannot complain or nag her and must listen to her every order, unless he wishes for Chae-Ah to call off the entire thing. 

So he’s making his impatience known in another way.

She refuses to indulge him, so she does her best to focus on something other than him. 

There’s a painting above the bed, directly in front of her. It seems renaissance-inspired, or maybe it is an actual renaissance painting. The room is darkly lit through a single generous slice of moonlight, which makes it hard to distinguish any details on it, but it seems to be biblical themed. How amusing. It’s a sizeable thing, easily rivaling the flat screen on the opposite wall, with a heavy-looking elaborate golden frame. It’s odd and it clashes with the decor in the room, as well as with every other art piece in the house. 

Han Chae-Ah briefly considers pulling it from the wall and dropping it on Yoon-Soo’s head to make a run for the door.

However, as if sensing she was starting to get ideas, Park Yoon-Soo once again calls her attention back to him, apparently not very fond of being ignored. He has moved in order to angle his neck, looking a bit awkward, but placing his hands dangerously close to her ass, no longer looking at her eyes, watching her like hawk.

Not watching, she realizes following his desperate gaze. Waiting.

A drop of blood is about to fall. He’s preparing for it, making sure it won’t go to waste even without being able to move her.

...This must count as torture. Surely it must. While Park Yoon-Soo looks like he’s beyond the point of being embarrassed by anything, she feels like she’ll never be able to look at herself in a mirror ever again. The shame should be enough to make her call it off, but instead, Chae-Ah holds on for dear life to the headboard, forcing herself to look down.

The drop falls perfectly on his tongue.

He is a monster; he has the teeth of a monster, the eyes of a monster, the face of a monster. But when he swallows and hums quietly, oh so obedient in the way he meets her eyes, flexing his hands on her hips to ask a question instead of giving in to the feral hunger she knows he must feel, he looks ridiculously human.

Enough that she lets her guard down for a second and nods.

He angles her slightly, moving her into a position that lets him relax his neck, but does nothing else. He doesn’t pull her down, doesn’t grope, doesn’t bruise, doesn’t pounce and Han Chae-Ah can’t tell if she’s disappointed or not.

Their eyes meet again.

Park Yoon-Soo looks at her proudly, as if he wishes to be praised. It’s hard to tell wether he is being sarcastic right now, what with the darkness and the unyielding sexual tension, but it doesn’t particularly matter.

Good behavior, genuine or not, should indeed be rewarded. The last thing she wants is for him to decide to just do whatever he wants. The thing about ‘push-and-pull’s is that they are all about balance. If she pushes too much, no matter how obedient Park Yoon-Soo looks right now, he will push her just as hard, if not harder, later.

But right now, Han Chae-Ah has no interest in doing anything but pushing him. 

Letting go of the headboard with one hand, she buries it in his hair, caressing soothingly at first, only to pull sharply, earning herself a gasp of pleasure.

A second drop purposefully misses his mouth, falling near the corner of his lips.

All at once, his hold on her, which had been so far half-hearted at best, turns into an iron-clad grip that brands the shape of his fingers into her skin: there’s no way it won’t bruise. His eyes narrow and he licks his lips, fighting against her grip on his hair to not miss the third drop. Or the fourth.

The timing between drops has now shortened considerably, for obvious reasons, and she knows he knows why, which is the very reason she refuses to let him proceed, hovering above him stubbornly, even as the idea of sinking down on his face grows more and more appealing.

“Chae-Ah,” he murmurs. He has let go of her, probably for her benefit, tearing into the sheets instead, destroying his own mattress to avoid ripping into her skin. His hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat, his eyes are wild and his breathing is so heavy she can feel it ghosting her skin. 

It wasn’t a complaint, not really. 

“Chae-Ah,” he calls again, quietly, yet insistently. 

Defiantly, like a wolf trying to convince her he’s a sheep.

She allows for herself to drop closer to his mouth, still out of reach but considerably closer, before returning to her previous position, relishing in the frustrated groan that escapes him, a reminder that he is not the one with the power right now. 

“Beg me,” she commands and she doesn’t know if she imagined it, but Yoon-Soo’s pupils seem to dilate even further, “come on, can’t do it? Or is it that would rather die than beg m-”

“Will you let me have you if I do?” 

No, she’d like to answer. As if, is what she’d say in literally any scenario in which he asked her this other than this one, but right now he's speaking directly into her wet cunt, looking so pathetic and meek she wants nothing more than to drown him.

“Beg,” she repeats instead, tightening her grip in his hair.

“Please, Han Chae-Ah,” he whispers, and it sends a shiver down her spine. “Please let me taste you. Please let me make you feel good. Please.”

Part of her wants to deny him more. To see just how far she can keep playing this game, how much he will allow himself to be pushed around. Another part wants to know just what exactly is the price tag attached to Park Yoon-Soo’s submission. Because there is one; there always is with him.

But mostly she just wants. Wants… what, exactly? 

The answer comes to her when she meets his eyes, sees the triumph in them, the look of someone who had just achieved his goal. 

Metaphorical check-fucking-mate.

More than wanting her, what Yoon-Soo desires is for her to want him just as badly as he did her. Even if only temporarily.

This conniving son of a bitch.

“I despise you,” she confesses. It’s not a secret, but it feels like one at the moment.

“I know.”

“You've ruined my life.”

“I know.”

“I can’t forgive you.”

“I know.”

She’s not sure if he’s saying that to assure her or himself.

“Please,” he begs again and for the first time, maybe ever, she believes him to be completely sincere.

“Fine,” Han Chae-Ah concedes out loud, with words, like a normal person, because she’s not a fucking sociopath, unlike some people. If he wanted this, he now would have to take responsibility for it. “Do as you fucking please.”

True to his nature, Park Yoon-Soo smiles darkly at her before wrapping his arms around her thighs, rather than just his hands, spreading her legs further, obscuring the bottom half of his face. His nose brushes lightly against her clit and she bites back a surprised yelp, supressing a moan when he forces her to put her full weight on him.

Yoon-Soo bites harshly at the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, then kisses her skin lovingly in something akin to worship.

Han Chae-Ah rethinks the idea of dropping the painting on his head when he manages to earn an actual moan from her by sucking a mark dangerously close to her groin. After this first one, he does it over and over again, as though to make her replicate the sound, but she refuses to let him hear it, letting go of the headboard to place that hand over her mouth.

“What are you doing?” She allows herself to ask once trusts her voice not to tremble.

“As I please,” Park Yoon-Soo responds as if the answer is obvious, pulling her away to admire his work.

Ah, her and her foolish tendency to use ambiguous wording around the loophole menace she’s sitting on top of.

She squirms in his hold in protest. This new grip he has on her is not as agressive as the one from before, but much more effective, as she cannot move at all; not away, not closer. 

It should bother her more than it actually does.

“What?” he asks in mock concern.

“You know what,” she hisses, closing her eyes. “This was your idea. Get on with it, you bastard.”

By some miracle, that is enough. Almost mindlessly, he brings her down on himself again.

Han Chae-Ah sucks in a sharp breath and lets out a minor curse against her hand.

His tongue is so warm and wet and smooth; she can’t help but want to arch into its touch. He licks the excess wetness gathering on her outer lips first, making his way closer and closer to her center until he finally dips his tongue inside. He groans into her and she forgets her decision to muffle her sounds for a second, letting out a desperate whimper before biting into her forearm to remain silent. 

Park Yoon-Soo pushes his tongue deeper, drinking her in and she opens her eyes to look at him on impulse.

His eyes are fixed on her face, silently forbidding her from looking away, making her watch as he ate her out slowly, burning the sight into her mind.

Fuck, her thighs quiver when he squeezes the flesh under his hands.

His tongue widens, flattens and starts making softly pointed rhythmic strokes at his own leisure until he settles on a pace that has her convinced he must be trying to kill her. Chae-Ah’s hips protest against his hold; she wants to grind down, to get more friction, yet he does not allow for it, keeping her in place before diving back inside her with an obscene slurping sound.

“Park Yoon-Soo,” she warns, pulling harshly on his hair, earning herself a deep moan that resonates into her cunt.

The grip he has on her slackens enough that she can now ride his face as she wishes, clenching her thighs around his head without crushing him. The wider range of movement compromises her stability on top of him and Han Chae-Ah finds herself once again needing to make a split-second decision.

Damn you, she bucks into him, doubling down on her own grip onto his hair, small noises filling the empty room as her hand abandons her mouth to secure a hold onto the headboard.

She closes her eyes, trying to slow her breathing to keep some semblance of control, but Park Yoon-Soo clearly doesn’t appreciate the gesture: he leaves her slit to tug on her clit with his teeth and she nearly screams, his grasp no longer relaxed as he keeps her from kicking him in the face.

Chae-Ah opens her eyes to glare at him, but he has shifted back into the very picture of subservient devotion as though nothing happened, kissing, sucking and licking at her clit with a consistent pace he had denied her priorly, going back to her opening to indulge in the mess of blood and arousal there every so often. His groans vibrate against her skin and she can’t help but groan back in response, hypnotized by the picture he’s giving her.

He looks good like this; like he likes it. Like he’d want nothing more than to spend the rest of his damned life like this.

Is it a bit scary that he’s so good at it she considers letting him.

Han Chae-Ah’s heart beats wildly in her ears and she wonders if she' running a fever again. Every single part of her body feels overheated; her breathing is ragged, her top sticks to her skin due to the sweat dripping down her back, and her hair tickles her face, threatening to slip out of its low ponytail and suffocate her.

Someone has been moaning, over and over again. It sounds like her, but surely it cannot be, because she’s never heard herself sound like this.

Somewhere bellow, Park Yoon-Soo says something. Wether it was a taunt, a question or an instruction remains unclear, but whatever the case, he seems to understand that Chae-Ah can’t hear him, because he doesn't repeat himself.

Instead, he abandons her slit for good, flickering her clit and then sucking it into his mouth with a vengeance, the friction absolutely unraveling. He strokes it, over and over and its so much that it borders on being too much while also being not nearly enough and the realization that he’s going to make her cum dawns upon her.

He knows it too, apparently. She grinds, bucks and clenches and he keeps on going, sucking harder, moving faster, gripping the flesh of of her thighs so tightly she cries out, eyes falling shut.

She’s so so close.

And then he stops. Han Chae’s eyes snap open.

This son of a bitch.

There it is, the price for making him beg earlier. 

He holds her stare, but it does nothing to placate her wrath.

“You-” The rest of the curse gets swept into a tortured groan when he starts using his thumb to draw tight circles on her clit, his other hand moving to support her ass when she shifts her center of gravity away from his face.

“Go on,” he moans loudly when she unceremoniously yanks on his hair. “Ask for what you want.”

God, she hates him.

“Y-Your fingers-” she manages, refusing to meet his gaze, searching for meaning in the renaissance painting instead, hanging on to the last thread of pride he still hasn’t fucked out of her.

“Hm, what about them?” Park Yoon-Soo smirks. She cannot see it, but she can feel it.

Fuck.

Without slowing down his thumb on her clit, the tip of his finger threatens to dip into her. It’s a very careful, teasing motion that grows even more taunting once it rips an embarrassing whimper from her throat.

Chae-Ah allows herself to make eye-contact again.

Maybe he takes mercy on her or something: she currently cannot bring herself to give a fuck, moaning a broken variation of his name when he pulls her back to sit on his face, replacing his thumb with his tongue. He is once again, unbelievably dutiful, keeping his strokes uniform while one of his long fingers fully sinks inside her.

There is barely any time to get used to the feeling before he curls it in a beckoning motion, repeating it a couple of times until he finds a spot that has her snapping forward, accidentally knocking her head against the painting with a hard thud.

Not mercy, she thinks. Of course not, my mistake.

“Chae-Ah,” He hums, his voice reverberating into her very bones. Another finger joins the first, stretching her around them, making her clench and twitch helplessly. Fuck. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

She’s under no illusion that Park Yoon-Soo won’t stop again if she does not comply with his demands. He might even be hoping she refuses to comply, really. 

A third finger slips inside and Han Chae-Ah abandons all hope to keep her pride. His fingers curl and press back and forth over the delicious spongy spot he’s found in the same tempo as his tongue on her clit-

“Make me cum,” she begs, barely coherent, “Please, make me cum.”

The response is immediate.

“Good girl,” the words burn against her skin as he speeds up again and she all but breaks in his hands. “Cum for me, Han Chae-Ah.”

He sucks at her clit sharp and fast, his fingers burying themselves inside her with a perfect curl, so precise and purposeful that she can’t do anything but cum with a silent scream, shaking and convulsing on top of him. Mid-climax, he widens his tongue to lap at her with broad strokes, greedily indulging in the mess he’s made of her.

Park Yoon-Soo seems delighted in a way she’s never seen him before, and it’s frankly a little bit unsettling.

When she lets go of his hair to try and unseat herself from his face, his free hand, which had previously been squeezing her thigh, hooks itself underneath her leg, not allowing for her to leave. His fingers are still inside her, moving in that beckoning motion again and again, even as her orgasm waned. Her hips stutter, spasming around them, and she tries to push herself away.

“Enough” she warns, overwhelmed.

He doesn’t budge, but his eyes, unnaturally yellow, slightly unhinged, seem to ask her a question.

Han Chae-Ah is not sure how she feels about it; her brain still hazy, flickering back and forth between the leftover pleasure and the borderline painful overstimulation. This is it not against her rules; she didn’t exactly tell him to stop. 

She could tell him to, if she wished.

But in what just might be the most stupidest of all the stupid decisions she made today, she nods, using his invitation to tangle both of her hands into his hair as an excuse to stray her gaze.

The gesture spurs him on, and even as she whines and thrashes in his hold, he doesn't let up, fingers moving inside her consistently as he explores her folds with his tongue, occasionally sucking more bruises onto her thighs, building her up higher and higher until her whole body is pulled taut like a wire. 

At this point Park Yoon-Soo is pulling against her grip in his hair with enough force that she might accidentally rip out his hair. She might even do it on purpose.

"Look at me," he coaxes, almost gently.

When it falls on deaf ears, she can picture his eyes narrowing in annoyance and frustration. He speeds up his motions: moving his fingers more ruthlessly, letting his tongue drag more roughly, squeezing her more tightly.

Fucking her harder.

“Look at me,” he commands harshly and Han Chae-Ah can’t help but think she prefers this to his insincere softness. Stripped down of any pretenses, this version of Park Yoon-Soo does not have time to play games: his cruelty is left bare without his smoke and mirrors, but it is nothing she has not seen before.

She meets his eyes and doesn’t dare look away, even as she burns alive, from shame, anger and desire, all at once.

“So fucking wet, Chae-Ah,” he taunts viciously, letting her see his face, arousal and blood dripping down his chin, and he makes a show out of licking his lips. “All of this for me…?”

Fuck.

Both of them moan when she clenches down hard around his fingers.

Some time later she’ll think of something clever she could have said here, perhaps her most colorful insult to date, but Park Yoon-Soo, ever the bastard, kisses her clit once, then twice, before sealing his lips around it and sucking sharply again.

Her forehead hits the painting once more.

“Fuck you,” is all she manages to come up with.

He laughs with cruel mirth against her, but it somehow doesn’t sound unkind.

True to her assessment, he plays no further games, efficiently dragging her over the edge yet again, this time with his name on her lips. He brutally fucks her though this orgasm, but his fingers slip out before it ends, with the final moments being dedicated to lapping up her release.

Chae-Ah’s thighs are still shaking when he lets her go at last, but she doesn’t fall over and that itself is a victory.

They’re both still hyperventilating when he sits up and she deems appropriate to rest alongside him against the headboard until they're recovered.

Park Yoon-Soo has fluids dripping down his chin and all over his nose, but he simply licks away at his fingers with a satisfied sigh. 

It occurs to her she’s still half naked, in his bed, in the middle of the night, but she fights the instinct to flee immediately in favor of watching what he would do next. 

Not watching, she notes, a bit amused, waiting.

Despite the throbbing erection under his robe being glaringly obvious, he doesn’t say a thing about it. Instead, he opens the drawer of his nightstand, grabbing something and placing it next to her on the bed.

A box of tissues.

Han Chae-Ah inspects it quietly.

Ah, this bastard really is something.

He didn’t put it in her hands, but he didn’t hold it out to her either. 

As far as complex mind-fucking power plays go, this one is rather crude, because it doesn’t really feel like one.

Probably because it’s not.

Chae-Ah picks up the box, yanking out two tissues at once and Park Yoon-Soo gets up, turning his back to her while fussing over something in his office space, giving her some semblance of privacy.

Once she’s good, she briefly goes into his bathroom, discarding the tissues and checking the second cabinet under the sink for pads. 

And sure enough, they’re there.

(It is infuriating, but he did not exaggerate in his promise: her cramps are gone the next morning. 

…She still comes to see him again later that evening, regardless).