Archive of Our Own

A howling wind swept through the city streets with a high-pitched whistle, driving snowdrifts against the corners of buildings and parked vehicles. An ice storm was gathering (inevitable, merciless), and soon the roads would glaze over in treacherous sheets of ice; halting traffic, closing highways, and turning the next morning into a frozen hellscape.

The flickering streetlights casted lengthy, distorted shadows across the pavement like reaching hands eager to claim whatever unfortunate soul wandered into their path. Hidden amongst these shadows… a predator lurked. This skulking predator was a true creature of the night, an eerie immortal bound by the quiet curse of a never-ending existence.

The approaching storm’s lightning flashed, illuminating the unforgiving and angular planes of the man’s nearly bloodless face. He looked ethereal… and metaphorically starved.

Darkened eyes, ones that would narrow into slitted pupils during a feeding frenzy, reflected the lighting with an unmistakably bestial gleam. His silken hair was pulled back into a meticulous high-ponytail, a few errant locks fluttering forwards to frame facial features carved with almost cruel precision.

The man stood tall, his body containing all long lines and graceful lethality; for example, his incisors were far sharper and lengthier than any mortals since they were made for rending rather than mercy. Fortunately, those dangerous fangs were currently hidden away. The man’s jaw was tightly clenched, the perfect picture of pure unwillingness, while his hands flexed and unflexed at his sides.

Chu Wanning craned his head back to stare at the flickering neon sign, a dull sense of dread settling in his abdomen like a stone sinking through turbulent waters. He was dressed in pressed slacks and a white cashmere sweater that he had resigned himself to potentially ruining… afterall, what was a ¥10,500 replacement compared to the gravity of his current situation.

Truly, his severe expression and forbidding presence had no business in a place like this. And yet there he stood, stubborn, feet planted on the snow-covered asphalt as though rooted by sheer will. Chu Wanning would not turn back. Not tonight. Not when he had come here for a purpose he was unwilling to abandon.

Beside him came the incredibly unimpressed snort of a man whose distaste was evident in every venom-laced word. “Again. Once again, returning to this wretched hellhole,” the Elder sneered, voice dripping with the kind of long-suffering resentment only an immortal could perfect; each syllable was weighted with centuries of cultivated disdain.

Then, predictably, his unwilling companion launched into the reminder that Chu Wanning had now been forced to endure for the 3,799th time. “I still don’t understand why we don’t solve this problem by locking him in my barn,” the Elder remarked in a rather conversational tone. “He’ll either fall in love with you, or he’ll simply have no one else left to look at.”

Having long grown accustomed to such vaguely threatening declarations, Chu Wanning merely shifted his judgmental gaze towards the man standing at his side. He offered no immediate rebuttal, as experience had taught him the futility of arguing with someone so deeply committed to his own displeasure.

The Elder looked almost stereotypically vampiric; he was dressed in impeccably pressed (and outdated) formalwear with a leather briefcase clutched tightly in his hand. A touch of silver threaded through the hair at his temples, and the fine creases around his eyes betrayed the older age at which he’d been turned.

He was the kind of man who looked personally offended by the invention of fluorescent lighting, and who undoubtedly held strong opinions about how blood had tasted better in the 1500s.

Confronted with only disapproving silence, the older vampire’s expression quickly soured into something just as unapproachable as Chu Wanning’s own. “So judgmental. Just lock him in the fucking barn, and you’ll be thanking me,” he muttered once more (the 3,800th repetition), unshaken in his conviction.

This, unfortunately, was the Tanlang Elder.

Chu Wanning’s gaze drifted back to the flickering neon sign. His eyelashes gathered a fine dusting of snowflakes as he stared ahead with the hollow acceptance of a man approaching his own execution. The wind picked up sharply, whipping his longer hair behind him as the dread settled heavily in his chest, cold and immovable.

In a large, looping, offensively cheerful font, the glowing letters announced themselves to the world: Husky Emperor’s Love Bakery | Sit. Stay. Enjoy.

Chu Wanning was here… for a baking class.

Chu Wanning was 279 years old; i.e., nothing but a decrepit old man whose desecrated bones should have long turned to dust. Throughout his extended lifetime, Chu Wanning had watched the existence of vampires become undeniable as technology caught them on camera and dragged them into the public consciousness. He’d endured relentless persecution, survived decades of lingering suspicion and violence, and eventually witnessed the world settle into its uneasy acceptance of his kind.

Vampires remained the only confirmed “supernatural” beings in existence; though, in truth, their origin lay not in mysticism but in a mutation appearing amongst humans in starving, war-torn regions. While vampirism was contagious, only those carrying a rare genetic marker could be turned, sparing roughly 99.6% of the human population from fearing such a possibility.

Vampires could even tolerate small amounts of regular food, though their primary nutritional requirement was a specific amino acid found only in human blood. Modern society had long since commercialized it and now synthetic formulas lined the pharmacy section of supermarket shelves, eliminating the need for feeding on living humans entirely.

(Having said that… the ‘Vampire/Human Feeding’ fetish had become a remarkably popular porn subcategory in the last decade, enthusiastically indulged in by both parties)

While longstanding prejudices still lingered, each passing year saw fewer crimes committed against vampires. While relationships between the two species were improving, most of his kind tended to gravitate towards ‘vamp4vamp’ relationships, as the children these days called them. Chu Wanning wouldn’t know, he’s fucking old and decrepit.

279 years… was a very, very long time, indeed. At that age, there was hardly a skill Chu Wanning hadn’t already conquered, and he was rapidly running out of new hobbies to master before boredom devoured him whole. An inhuman creature could only collect so many academic degrees.

Therefore, months ago, Chu Wanning had attended a baking class. Baking (and cooking…) remained one of his few unexplored disciplines. The activity was essentially a branch of science and engineering, what with its unforgiving mathematical precision and surprising need for adaptability (just cleverly concealed beneath several kilograms of butter). In his opinion, that made it a perfectly admirable craft.

Chu Wanning hadn’t even properly signed up.

That fateful day… he had been downtown speedwalking past Husky Emperor’s Love Bakery when his eyes caught on a half-faded flyer advertising weekly evening baking classes.

An evening baking class… Chu Wanning had stopped in consideration. He had always gravitated towards sweets within his limited tolerance for human food, and it was rare to find hobby classes offered around sunset. Younger vampires could handle daylight without issue, but Chu Wanning’s own eyes (old, decrepit things that they were) had long since lost that resilience.

Most of the flyer’s bullet points had been erased by the unrelenting weather, but one thing remained legible: a class, by sheer coincidence, was scheduled to begin in five minutes. Before he could even reconsider, Chu Wanning found himself impulsively stepping inside the bakery.

And then, of course, disaster struck.

Chu Wanning had arrived dressed far too formally, far too stern and unapproachable, his long hair pulled back and his expression set in its familiar forbidding glower. He had not been the least prepared (emotionally, socially, or aesthetically) to partake in a baking class of all things. And yet… upon entering, he had come face-to-face with the kindest, warmest human man he had encountered in nearly three centuries.

Mo Ran.

The young man couldn’t have been more than twenty years old, all honeyed skin and an impossibly gentle disposition. Dimples flashed whenever he smiled, brightening his features with both boyish cheekiness and effortless sweetness. His hair had been styled into a wolf cut, looking as though sunlight itself had lovingly ruffled each tousled strand into place.

When he turned around, that brightness had hit Chu Wanning all at once, cutting straight through the burdensome gloom that the vampire carried around like a second skin. At that moment, Chu Wanning was simply… entranced.

Mo Ran radiated an intoxicating vitality. Life gathered inside his arteries in dizzying abundance, and Chu Wanning (ancient, hungry, and embarrassed by the depth of it) felt that ache sink all the way down to the marrow of his bones.

Mo Ran himself had seemed momentarily awestruck by the vampire’s sudden arrival, freezing mid-action while his eyes widened in a way that made Chu Wanning’s stomach tighten with anxiousness.

A familiar twist of self-disgust curled through Chu Wanning as he remembered how vampiric he must have looked. Inhuman. There was something unmistakably otherworldly about him: the bloodless pallor of his skin, the barely concealed savagery of his fangs, and his gaze sharpened by an immense hunger satiated only by feasting upon humanity. Disgusting.

Of course Chu Wanning’s appearance had thrown the younger man off. He probably didn’t see many vampire customers in a place like this. Stupid. He was so stupid. Why would a vampire take a human baking class?

But then… Mo Ran had smiled brightly and hastily approached, introducing himself as the bakery’s co-owner and class instructor before kindly asking if Chu Wanning was waiting on someone. It was an odd question, but Chu Wanning supposed it was reasonable enough. A vampire showing up alone to a baking class must have seemed strange.

Under the overwhelming effect Mo Ran had on him, Chu Wanning’s composure had simply… collapsed. Humiliatingly. The first absurd excuse that crossed his scrambled mind tumbled out before he could stop it. “They cancelled,” he had said.

Utter nonsense. Chu Wanning had come here alone, entirely of his own accord. Yet he unhesitatingly lied to the most handsome man he had ever seen. Like an idiot dazzled by a sun he was never built to withstand.

Mo Ran had looked conflicted, for reasons Chu Wanning couldn’t fathom. “Oh, they cancelled? Was it a fight?” The young man eventually asked, his concern genuine… so genuine it only twisted the knife of guilt deeper into Chu Wanning’s chest.

Chu Wanning had nodded stiffly, eager to end the damning conversation before he could further embarrass himself.

Mo Ran, sensing Chu Wanning’s unwillingness to explain, had graciously abandoned the subject and ushered him into the makeshift classroom instead. Mo Ran had settled him at the instructor’s table with a strangely conspiratorial wink, cheekily declaring Chu Wanning his partner for the evening.

When Chu Wanning tried (far too late) to confess that he hadn’t actually signed up, Mo Ran waved him off without a second thought. It left Chu Wanning very, very confused. But, perhaps…

All the other participants were already neatly paired off. In comparison, Chu Wanning must have looked painfully pathetic in his solitude since his nonexistent friend conveniently “cancelled”. Naturally, Mo Ran must have taken pity on him.

The tiramisu lesson had progressed around him, but Chu Wanning retained almost no memory of it; only the sound of Mo Ran’s laughter, unrestrained and joyous in nature. That, and the moment of utter catastrophe when Chu Wanning squeezed the piping bag of mascarpone cheese too firmly, causing it to violently burst in a gloopy mess across the workstation.

Mortified, Chu Wanning had profusely, sincerely, relentlessly apologized for getting cream everywhere. Mo Ran had merely grinned and wiped down the countertop with effortless ease, asking cheerfully, “What do you know about getting cream everywhere, huh?”

For some inexplicable reason, the entire class had laughed good-naturedly at this atrocious innuendo. Chu Wanning had simply stood there, vaguely horrified. Humans, he forthrightly decided, were irredeemably strange and unforgivably crass.

Questionable inclination for sexual innuendos aside, Mo Ran had been devastatingly kind. He had patiently walked Chu Wanning along with the whole class through every step, explaining each instruction with simple language so as not to overwhelm novice bakers with technical jargon. It hadn’t been condescending in the least.

And when the class ended, after the flour settled and the others filtered back out into the cold, Mo Ran had approached with earnest eyes and all but begged Chu Wanning to return for another class, reservation be damned. This was definitely not a profitable business model.

But then Mo Ran had noticeably paused, a sudden self-consciousness turning his posture stilted. “Of course, I mean…” he had awkwardly trailed off, scratching at his neck in embarrassment while Chu Wanning’s eyes instinctively followed. “Only if you two get over your fight…” Mo Ran had seemed weirdly fixated on the imaginary argument rather than on anything practical.

The hesitation hadn’t suited him at all. A young man like Mo Ran should have been laughing radiantly, completely unburdened by such melancholy; his spirit was made for sunlight, not shadows. Yet there he solemnly stood… peering down at Chu Wanning with uncertain eyes braced for rejection.

It was that moment that undid Chu Wanning completely. He had fallen in love that day, swiftly and irrevocably, with the sleeves of his pressed dress shirt dusted in a fine layer of cacao powder and a smear of mascarpone cheese bright against his cheek. Like a lovestruck fool, he had given Mo Ran his promise to return.

It was no surprise, of course, that someone as chronically gloomy as Chu Wanning had very few friends. In truth, he could count them on a single hand: one human couple (old acquaintances from the Xue household who began sponsoring Chu Wanning when financial misfortune struck), and one vampire (the Tanlang Elder, whose continued presence in his life was more a matter of begrudging longevity than affection).

Across 279 years, Chu Wanning had watched countless people drift in and out of his orbit, their lives flickering briefly before time swept them away. Such was the nature of his age (old, decrepit, unyielding) and of being the one left standing when everything else moved on. Surely, Mo Ran would be the same.

But one evening… during one of the Xue family’s infamously lavish (and unnecessarily overindulgent) gatherings, Chu Wanning had made the fatal mistake of speaking. In a moment of unguarded weakness, he had confessed what had happened during the baking class, imagining it would feel like unburdening himself to a priest: a quiet admission, released into the air and forgotten forever.

It was not forgotten.

Instead, he found himself instantly besieged by the Xue husband-and-wife duo, both of whom latched onto the story with predatory enthusiasm. They had interrogated him with relentless cheer until Chu Wanning admitted his plans on returning for another baking class. Worse still, the Tanlang Elder was conscripted into accompanying him, dragged along as supervision and, apparently, moral support.

Chu Wanning had known the Tanlang Elder’s wife well enough (one could even say they’d shared a close friendship). Before her untimely passing, she had extracted one final promise from her husband: that he would look after Chu Wanning until the younger vampire found someone of his own.

The promise had been devastating for everyone involved.

The Tanlang Elder had never refused his wife anything, and he certainly could not deny her final, dying wish. Given Chu Wanning was almost certainly destined to die alone, that meant he would be forced to endure the Tanlang Elder’s company for the rest of wretched eternity.

And so, under the dubious banner of moral support, the Tanlang Elder accompanied Chu Wanning to every subsequent baking class, lending credibility to the ridiculous lie that Chu Wanning had indeed intended to come with a friend.

His version of moral support, however, was relentlessly deranged. At every opportunity, the Tanlang Elder insisted that Chu Wanning should simply lock Mo Ran in his barn and Stockholm Syndrome him into love, as though this were a practical, time-tested solution and not a severe criminal offense. If Chu Wanning hadn’t personally witnessed the Tanlang Elder meet his wife through entirely normal avenues, he would have assumed the man had resorted to such methods himself.

Speaking of suspicious barn-based activities... “I will not lock Mo Ran in your barn,” Chu Wanning finally said, irritation lacing his tone. The Tanlang Elder had been staring at him with such insistent expectation that it was clear he would not relent until Chu Wanning responded.

Though Chu Wanning might have been beyond senile, unpleasant to look at, and shamefully awkward… he was not morally corrupt. The thought of forcing Mo Ran to love him (of caging that laughing young man within some horror-esque situation) made Chu Wanning’s stomach twist with revulsion.

The Tanlang Elder immediately rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath about cowardice. “Fine,” the older vampire snapped, voice clipped with impatience, "Just enter the goddamn bakery already and let’s get this hellish night over with.” Said the man who brought his own suitcase of personal cooking utensils.

They could scarcely stand the sight of one another, their mutual hostility evident to anyone paying attention.

Dread churning inside his stomach, Chu Wanning forced himself towards the bakery’s double doors and pushed them open with a muted swing. Light flooded outwards at once, spilling into the wintery darkness and rendering their figures a little less dreary, a little less carved from nightmarish shadows.

Along with the light came the unmistakable heat of a place powered by too many ovens and an overworked AC unit that couldn’t quite keep up. The result was an enveloping coziness, a soaking warmth that felt especially welcome in the dead of winter.

The building’s interior radiated a deliberate homeliness, without a trace of corporate brutalism in sight. Husky Emperor’s Love Bakery was decorated with cheerful devotion: its walls lined with colorful illustrations of their cartoon mascot wearing a tasseled crown, Taxian-jun the Siberian Husky. According to the bakery’s quote-unquote lore… Taxian-jun was once a fearsome emperor, now retired from ruling the mortal realm to preside benevolently over pastries.

Surrounding Taxian-jun were dozens upon dozens of photos submitted by customers, each proudly showcasing their own pets (dogs and cats alike), often posed besides the bakery’s exquisite confections. The employees jokingly referred to the collection as Taxian-jun’s Harem, though Mo Ran always found the term distasteful and passionately insisted that Taxian-jun was, in fact, a true romantic at heart and faithful to only one.

The door chimed when they stepped inside, the delicate ding! announcing their arrival with far more enthusiasm than either of them felt. They were amongst the last to arrive; Chu Wanning had watched several people slip in earlier while he’d stood outside, immobilized beneath the glowing neon sign. Everyone had greeted them with polite smiles and cheerful waves.

Surely, they all hated him.

The begrudging pair, stiff-backed and silent, made their way towards the backroom designated for classes. The moment the wooden door creaked open, the Tanlang Elder all but barreled past Chu Wanning, clearly determined to reach the aprons first… no doubt to ensure his favorite one was still available.

Beyond the threshold lay an interior room swathed in gentle heat from the humming ovens, and the air was steeped in the sweet scent of sugar. Several workstations were neatly arranged throughout, nearly all of them occupied by pairs of people dressed in colorful aprons.

It must have been the evening timing, Chu Wanning reasoned, that made this baking class so popular with couples. Baking was also considered romantic by human standards, wasn’t it? That would explain why every participant had arrived in pairs, standing intimately close at their private stations.

Chu Wanning’s gaze drifted over the room almost unconsciously… and then caught on him.

Mo Ran stood at the instructor’s station, arranging piping bags of decadent fillings and portioning out bowls of an almond flour mixture with a well-practiced grace. At the sound of the door opening, he glanced upwards and, in an instant, his entire face lit up.

Life rushed into those deepened amethyst eyes like starlight flooding a pitch-dark sky. He straightened with a kind of instinctive joy, his energy shifting so visibly that one could almost imagine the invisible husky tail wagging furiously behind him. The image felt fitting, especially paired with his purple apron screenprinted with the regal likeness of Taxian-jun.

This was Mo Ran in his entirety; warmth made flesh, sunlight poured into human shape.

He wore his collar a little looser than usual, the open line of his throat drawing the eye with an ease that felt almost weaponized. Everything about him emanated an unselfconscious masculinity; his broad shoulders, the stretching pull of fabric over musculature, and the apron cinched tightly around his waist in a decidedly not work-appropriate manner.

“Wanning!” Mo Ran enthusiastically called, voice magnetic and threaded with all the things Chu Wanning shamefully (humiliatingly) let himself want on the loneliest of nights. Mo Ran used his first name so easily, so familiarly; Chu Wanning could no longer remember when Mo Ran had decided they were close enough for such liberties.

Mo Ran hurried over, brushing almond flour off his large hands as he closed the distance in a few unhesitating strides. He stopped just inside Chu Wanning’s personal space, crowding him, as he murmured, “Chu-xiansheng… you made it.”

The sudden proximity pressed against Chu Wanning’s vampiric senses, overwhelming in a way he refused to acknowledge. Really… it was too much.

The steady, powerful rhythm of Mo Ran’s heartbeat was deafening. Chu Wanning could hear it clearly over the hum of ovens and human voices alike, each beat a vivid marker of life as blood rushed warm and fast through Mo Ran’s veins. He hated that he noticed. He hated that he could not stop.

“Don’t act so surprised, I haven’t missed a single class,” Chu Wanning sharply replied, the words snapping out before he could soften them. Too rude, too cold. The moment the words left him, regret tightened in his throat. He should have said something gentler. Something truer, like I wouldn’t have missed one for the world.

Mo Ran only beamed harder at the harshness, his smile brightening until his dimples stood out like sunlit crescents. He nodded with almost frantic enthusiasm, stepping closer as he reached out and… and… and then gently took Chu Wanning’s elbow. The innocent touch sent heat tingling through Chu Wanning’s entire arm.

It felt… good. The sensation was mortifying in its intensity, a reminder of how starved Chu Wanning was for contact he had long pretended not to want.

“Of course you haven’t,” Mo Ran reassured him immediately, his hand warm and steady where it remained around Chu Wanning’s elbow. The younger man’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial murmur as he leaned in, “I made some osmanthus cakes during the morning shift… would Wanning like to--” He was interrupted.

Mo Ran’s moment of unprofessional favoritism was abruptly shattered by the Tanlang Elder’s approach. “Start teaching the goddamn class already, I’m here to make macarons,” the older vampire sneered with disdain, standing there dressed in an olive-green apron covered in hand-embroidered wildflowers and kitchen herbs. It even had a laced trim.

The Tanlang Elder didn’t bother with courtesy; he simply flung an apron (pink, irredeemably pink, and patterned with frolicking white kittens) straight at Chu Wanning. It hit him squarely on the shoulder. He could have easily avoided it with a flicker of movement, but Mo Ran’s hand was still resting on his elbow… Chu Wanning hadn’t had the willpower to pull away. Pathetic, he knew. Shameful, he also knew.

Mo Ran’s mood nosedived in an instant, the brightness in his expression dimming. Immediately, he relinquished his hold on Chu Wanning’s arm to pluck the offending apron from his shoulder. Mo Ran patted the invisible dust off like it personally offended him, before handing the kitten-patterned fabric back over. Confusingly enough… there was a quiet apology written in the gentle tilt of his brow.

Why the hell was Mo Ran the apologetic one?

The friendliness on Mo Ran’s face vanished as he turned a sharp glare on the Tanlang Elder. The shift was startling, like sunshine collapsing into stormclouds. “Tanlang Elder…” Mo Ran begrudgingly addressed the man, the honorary title sitting awkwardly on his tongue as though he found it ill-fitting, unwieldy, and altogether undeserved.

One day, Mo Ran had asked what the Tanlang Elder’s actual name was. Chu Wanning, genuinely baffled by the question, had replied with perfect seriousness, “It’s Tanlang Elder.” When Mo Ran had tried again (‘no, like, what’s his name, name…’), Chu Wanning looked at him like he was an idiot.

“I’m honestly shocked you showed up,” Mo Ran scoffed while crossing his arms over his apron-covered chest (squishing poor Taxian-jun). “You spent the entire crème brûlée class complaining because I wouldn’t let you bring your personal blowtorch and made you share--” the older vampire had already walked away. Gone.

Mo Ran shot the Elder one last, suspicion-laced glare as the Tanlang Elder stalked off to their workstation and began unpacking his briefcase of kitchen utensils. For reasons Chu Wanning still didn’t entirely understand, Mo Ran had maintained a fiercely one-sided rivalry with him ever since their first introduction.

Clearly, Mo Ran held absolutely no affection for the Elder… though, in all fairness, the Tanlang Elder was profoundly unlikable in general.

“Don’t make trouble, Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning scolded stiffly while pulling the apron into place and knotting the ties with curt, practiced motions. The fabric sat neatly against his front, kitten-patterned absurdity at odds with his rigid posture.

The Tanlang Elder undoubtedly deserved every ounce of the young man’s ire but, still, Chu Wanning didn’t want Mo Ran to seem callous or ill-mannered in front of the newcomers in tonight’s class. They might misunderstand him, and that thought made something in Chu Wanning tighten unpleasantly.

The imaginary husky tail behind him drooped as Mo Ran’s voice softened into a wounded little simper. “But Wanning, he…” Mo Ran was interrupted when Chu Wanning (mustering every scrap of courage he possessed) reached out and awkwardly patted the human’s shoulder in consolation because yes, indeed, the Tanlang Elder did deserve it…

Hold on.

He… He touched Mo Ran. Without the human’s explicit permission. The realization hit like a blow, and Chu Wanning promptly panicked at the sight of Mo Ran’s stunned expression. What human would want to be touched by a vampire? What prey animal would ever welcome the caress of an apex predator?

Without another word, Chu Wanning swiveled on his heels and fled in sheer mortification with quickened steps.

His cowardly retreat didn’t get him far; their workstation sat directly besides the instructor’s table. While there were no official table arrangements, Mo Ran always positioned Chu Wanning within easy reach as though quietly determined to guide and support his admittedly lackluster baking skills.

Chu Wanning had initially found this arrangement faintly insulting until the Autumn Cakesickle Impalement Accident. After that, perhaps the extra instructor’s guidance was… warranted.

When Chu Wanning approached, the Tanlang Elder shot him a knowing look filled with schadenfreude. Chu Wanning pointedly ignored the Elder in favor of examining the kitchen tools neatly arranged throughout the countertop: the gleaming metal bowls, pristine whisks, silicone spatulas, optional gloves, the intimidating hand mixer, and the silicone mat marked with perfect circles.

After organizing his own neighboring workstation, Mo Ran clapped his hands together, the sharp sound reverberating through the room and drawing everyone’s attention as chatter dwindled. “Welcome to Husky Emperor’s Love Bakery!” Mo Ran called out cheerfully, dimples flashing as he beamed at the gathered attendees.

“I’m Mo Ran, the bakery’s co-owner and your instructor for the night. Tonight we’re making French macarons, not to be confused with the coconut-based macaroons!” Mo Ran heavily stressed the distinction with a pained expression. “Macarons are an intermediate level dessert, but undeniably one of the most romantic!”

He claimed that about every dessert. Even during the experimental bread pudding class.

Mo Ran launched into a brief explanation of the recipe, claiming that it required careful hands and special attention. Then… he enthusiastically encouraged everyone to pull their partners close, to hold their waists or steady their fingers if needed, using the fragility of the process as an excuse to be shamelessly affectionate.

A wave of laughter rippled through the room as couples immediately shifted closer, brushing shoulders and whispering in each other’s ears. Mo Ran looked entirely pleased with himself.

For reasons beyond Chu Wanning’s comprehension, Mo Ran always tailored his lessons to the couples in the room, and it left Chu Wanning mildly bewildered by the sudden outbreak of intimacy… Beside him, the Tanlang Elder lifted two eggs with grave deliberation, holding them up to the light and weighing them in his palms.

When Mo Ran’s gaze drifted over and caught the Tanlang Elder scrutinizing eggs, his lips thinned before muttering an absolutely scathing, “Unless you’re incapable of affection.”

What the hell was Mo Ran going on about. A faint crease formed between Chu Wanning’s brows as he only wondered, not for the first time, whether Mo Ran realized vampires could hear even the softest under-breath grumblings. Probably not. Humans were astonishingly careless with their volume.

“First, we’ll start with separating the egg whites,” Mo Ran announced to the class once he was finished cursing the Tanlang Elder’s entire nonexistent bloodline. “It’s vital to keep the yolks out, so…” his smile sharpened into something unmistakably wicked, “pick one person to be your designated egg handler. Someone with steady hands. Good grip. Really knows how to… handle things without making a mess.”

Several couples dissolved into delighted snickers as partners nudged each other suggestively. Mo Ran just grinned wider, dimples deepening like he knew exactly what he’d just implied. How ridiculously childish.

Chu Wanning pulled on the provided gloves with the seriousness of a surgeon preparing for an operation, then gravely stared down at the metal bowl before him. If macarons required precision, then he would simply become precision. He reached towards the carton of eggs… only for the Tanlang Elder to smack his hands away with a resounding crack!

Another sharp clattering rang out from the neighboring workstation; Mo Ran had dropped his metal spatula. The younger man’s head snapped toward them immediately, eyes blown wide with unconcealable alarm.

Chu Wanning froze as the Tanlang Elder thrust several different eggs into his palms; they were the eggs that he had clearly spent an unreasonable amount of time selecting. “Not those, use these instead,” the older vampire said curtly, the expression of a man who believed the fate of nations rested upon egg quality. “They’re the good ones.”

And indeed they were (a coppery brown and perfectly unblemished), but that hardly excused the hand-slapping audacity. Chu Wanning’s eyes narrowed as he hissed at the offense, “Touch me like that in public again…” His words trailed off in an unspoken threat, yet he only received an exasperated eyeroll in return.

The threat dissolved into the air, unanswered and unacknowledged. Chu Wanning swallowed his irritation and forced his focus back onto the counter in front of him. After mentally bracing himself, Chu Wanning lifted one of the Tanlang Elder’s “good” eggs and tapped it gently against the rim of the bowl. Nothing happened.

He tapped again, slightly harder this time, and a thin spiderweb crack raced across the entire shell, ominously delicate. Before he could salvage the situation, he overcorrected, striking too sharply; the egg all but exploded in his hand, shards scattering as the yolk burst free and slid in a bright, mocking trail straight into the waiting whites below.

For a long, miserable moment, both he and the Tanlang Elder simply stared at the ruined bowl, watching the punctured golden yolk swirl into forbidden territory with slow, inevitable corruption. “Nearly three centuries alive,” the Elder said at last, voice flat with contempt, “and defeated by an egg. Pathetic.”

Chu Wanning couldn’t exactly disagree with the damning statement, especially as the egg whites slid down his gloved fingers like a quiet condemnation. He was reassured only by the sight of another couple across the room watching in mounting horror as their own egg shattered in their hands. They began frantically fishing out pieces of shell.

Suddenly, Mo Ran was hurrying towards them with another bowl cradled in his hands. “Wanning! It’s alright! Don’t be embarrassed, lots of people have trouble separating the yolks on their first try,” His voice was gentle and reassuring as he set another bowl of egg whites down, nudging it closer to Chu Wanning. “Here, you can just use mine.”

Chu Wanning had not been embarrassed, at least, not until Mo Ran said the word out loud in that sympathetic tone. Heat prickled at the tips of his ears as he bristled like a startled cat. “Who said I’m embarrassed?” he muttered, the words snapping out before he could swallow them back down.

He’d done it again. Too harsh. Mo Ran didn’t deserve the brunt of his temper… and what made it worse was that Mo Ran didn’t even look offended. He only looked more concerned, as though Chu Wanning’s harshness was something fragile he wanted to soothe.

Before Chu Wanning could speak again, apologize, the Tanlang Elder jabbed a finger toward the clean bowl. “Give me another bowl as well,” he rudely demanded. “He’ll just ruin it again, and I refuse to be dragged down by his incompetence.”

Mo Ran froze. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a tightness in his jaw that startled even Chu Wanning. “Of course,” Mo Ran said through a clenched jaw. “Wouldn’t want you to suffer the agony of sharing.” Turning on his heel, Mo Ran went to fetch another bowl with tensed shoulders, muttering yet again something distinctly unflattering under his breath as he walked.

Once the Tanlang Elder was sufficiently appeased, Mo Ran returned to the front of the class and announced the next step: making the meringue.

“It’s important to gradually pour in the granulated sugar as you beat the egg whites,” Mo Ran instructed. “Don’t dump it all in at once. We want to ease it in, let the mixture accept it properly... Who else out here easing it in…?” His smile sharpened at the edges, dimples deepening with mischief as he tossed the room a wink, much to the laughing delight of the humans.

Tasteless.

The Tanlang Elder, having acquired his own pristine bowl, seemed to forget (for one blessed moment) that other beings existed. He turned away from Chu Wanning completely, sleeves rolled back as he began whipping his egg whites by hand, the whisk slicing through the mixture with relentless precision. The Elder refused to touch the hand mixer, casting it a scornful glance as if it were an insult to centuries of vampiric arm strength before devoting himself fully to his task.

Chu Wanning watched the demonstration with concentration as his grip tightened around the handle of his own electric mixer, bracing for combat. Surely… there was little he could fail at while using a hand mixer, of all kitchen appliances.

Fate, it seemed, was cruel. Chu Wanning switched on the machine and, misjudging the setting, sent it roaring to life at its highest speed. The whisk aggressively tore through the egg whites, throwing streaks of foam up the sides of the bowl and spattering flecks of egg across the workstation.

Of course…

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Tanlang Elder glance over from his hand-whipping. He looked decidedly unimpressed as he observed the disaster before remarking, almost idly, “My barn suggestion is sounding better by the minute.”

Once again, Mo Ran’s head snapped towards them with imaginary husky ears perked high. He quickly scanned the classroom, ensuring everyone was fully absorbed in their meringues. Satisfied, Mo Ran promptly abandoned his post and headed straight for Chu Wanning’s station, his steps quickened by an almost comical sense of urgency.

“Wanning,” Mo Ran called his name coaxingly as he drew near. “You’re gonna let me help this time, right?” The question was light, almost playful… but hidden beneath was an incredibly urgent plea, pressed thin and shaking with restraint.

Mo Ran was really serious about these egg whites…

Chu Wanning opened his mouth to refuse on instinct, but Mo Ran was already moving. He stepped in close behind him, slipping into his space as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Mo Ran’s chest brushed his back with the barest contact, warmth seeping through the thin barrier of cashmere.

Then, even more devastating… calloused hands slid over Chu Wanning’s on the mixer handle, enveloping his fingers in a grip both steady and infuriatingly gentle. Mo Ran adjusted the angle of his wrist as though it belonged to him, guiding the mixer in smoother circles through the bowl.

“See, Wanning? Like this…” Mo Ran murmured, leaning forward just enough that his breath brushed the sensitive skin at the nape of Chu Wanning’s neck.

Chu Wanning’s breath hitched, ancient instincts shooting awake as he swallowed back an animalistic snarling. A vampire did not expose his throat; it was a gesture of submission, of prey. He was meant to bite, bite, bite. He wanted to bite.

And yet… he couldn’t make himself move.

Mo Ran glanced sideways at the Tanlang Elder with the eagerness of someone expecting a fight, clearly braced for an explosion… but the Tanlang Elder didn’t so much as twitch; he had retreated fully into his own obsessive work, arm moving in a ruthless, tireless rhythm as he beat his meringue by hand in pursuit of perfect consistency.

Mo Ran’s expression faltered, offended.

For Chu Wanning, the crisis was of an entirely different kind; with Mo Ran pressed close behind him, the loose collar of the young man’s shirt had fallen open just a fraction more to further expose the sturdy line of his throat. Just a mere head turn away…

It hovered on the edge of his vision. The skin there was warm and sun-flushed, the faint golden undertone of his complexion looking all the more inviting. Beneath the smooth skin, his carotid artery pulsed in a maddeningly hypnotic rhythm. To a vampire’s eyes… that vulnerable stretch of throat was practically haloed.

The scent of him (masculine pine threaded with the sugary sweetness of amber-colored tree sap) curled around Chu Wanning like a feast. And he was so, so hungry.

Chu Wanning forcibly wrenched his gaze away from that traitorous patch of skin as he tightened his jaw, disgusted with himself for even noticing. His eyes narrowed into a baleful glare as he fixed them on the whirling whisks. “You’re shameless,” he snapped in a revolting redirection of his own anger. “Standing so close, wearing your collar like that in front of everyone… Button it properly.”

Mo Ran laughed softly behind him, unoffended by the insult, and a warm huff of air brushed against the shell of Chu Wanning’s ear. “Is Wanning worried about me? My modesty?” He murmured in an inexplicably teasing manner. Bold!

His larger hand tightened slightly over Chu Wanning’s gloved own while he slowly poured in the granulated sugar, steadying the mixer as the meringue grew thicker and glossier. “I wore it like this on purpose,” Mo Ran continued lightly, “If someone decides to take advantage of my exposed neck… well, maybe I was asking for it.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Take advantage of what?! Was this a sick joke about vampires?! Chu Wanning felt a complicated mix of indignation and the achingly bone-deep urge to step further into that solid embrace standing behind him. He shouldn’t, couldn’t.

Xue Zhengyong (after bullying him) had once taught Chu Wanning that humans showed friendship and goodwill by teasing and cajoling others. This was merely Mo Ran being friendly, Chu Wanning had to repeatedly remind himself. Very friendly. And extremely reckless with his throat.

When the egg whites had whipped into a satiny meringue, Mo Ran finally eased the hand mixer away; the mixture clung lovingly to the beaters, lifting in a glossy peak that stood perfectly upright without so much as a tremble. “See? You want the peaks firm enough to stand at attention,” Mo Ran said, tone slipping back into that instructional cadence.

Then, the young man paused and tilted his head, amethyst eyes brightening with mischief as he childishly added, “Wanning, what do you know about a stiff peak…?” The innuendo was abysmally obvious, even to Chu Wanning.

Mo Ran looked heartbreakingly young with that mischievous glint in his eyes. Far, far too young for someone as ancient and decrepit as Chu Wanning, whose centuries sat heavy in his bones.

Chu Wanning stared at the meringue, then at him, and then (as if the weight of the double meaning crashed in all at once) flattened his expression into something undoubtedly unimpressed. “Nothing,” he deadpanned truthfully, because he quite literally lacked that certain anatomy.

Mo Ran laughed, delighted, as though Chu Wanning had said something far wittier than he actually had. “I never took Chu-xiansheng as a casual liar,” he managed between chuckles, “You definitely know something, since you and--…” Mo Ran’s laughter was abruptly snuffed out.

Mo Ran’s gaze drifted past Chu Wanning’s shoulder to where the Tanlang Elder was beating his meringue by hand with military precision, peaks already infuriatingly perfect. Whatever warmth had been in Mo Ran’s expression cooled at once. “God, I can’t fucking stand that guy… what’s his name again?”

Accustomed to this relentless line of questioning, Chu Wanning responded automatically without a shred of irony, “It’s Tanlang Elder.”

Before Mo Ran could press further, a flustered voice called from across the room, “Mo Ran!” A human couple hovered anxiously over their mixing bowl, their egg whites still limp and refusing to hold any shape at all. “Our meringue is… sad!” one of them whined, holding up the hand mixer dripping with defeated foam.

Reluctantly, Mo Ran straightened and removed his hand from Chu Wanning’s, the warmth withdrawing like the sudden closing of an oven door. “On my way!” Mo Ran heartily assured them before flashing Chu Wanning one last lingering smile (it was inexplicably proud, as though the successful stiff peaks were some shared, secret accomplishment between them).

Then Mo Ran was gone… weaving through the maze of workstations to go rescue yet another doomed batch of egg whites.

It left Chu Wanning all alone with the hand mixer cooling in his white-knuckled grip, the memory of strong hands covering his, and a bowl of perfectly beaten meringue he no longer trusted himself to look at too closely… for multiple reasons.

Watching Mo Ran kindly instruct the other bakers, Chu Wanning let out a quiet sigh weighted with far too much unspoken feeling. As always, Mo Ran explained each step with endless patience and even cracked dubiously sexual jokes whenever someone seemed disappointed at a failed bake, just to lighten their mood. He was really… far too kind.

Which meant Mo Ran’s kindness towards him was nothing special, and certainly nothing worth foolishly replaying over and over again whenever Chu Wanning closed his eyes. This was how Mo Ran treated everyone: a constant stream of warmth, freely given, like bread set out on the dining table. Chu Wanning knew that.

It wasn’t Mo Ran’s fault that he was the one mistaking a shared plate for a private offering.

“You’re so fucking gloomy,” the Tanlang Elder snorted from Chu Wanning’s side… the comment landed with all the familiar shape of an insult, but none of its usual venom; the edge had dulled somewhere along the way.

When Chu Wanning glanced over, the Tanlang Elder was busying himself with folding the green food coloring into the perfectly glossy meringue. The expression on the Elder’s face… was vaguely pitying. Which was awkward, ill-fitting, and somehow a thousand times worse than derision.

After checking in with all the other participants, Mo Ran returned to his workstation and announced the next step: folding the almond flour and confectioners’ sugar into the meringue to create the batter. He lifted his own stainless steel bowl to demonstrate, explaining how to gradually fold in the dry ingredients while preserving the precious air they had just spent so much effort whipping into the mixture.

Mo Ran encouraged everyone to guide their partner’s wrist, to fold in unison and treat the motion like a shared breath rather than a chore. “You’ll know you have it when the batter flows off the spatula in a smooth ribbon and slowly melts back into itself. This is the hardest step…” Mo Ran suddenly paused, a wicked glint sparking in his eyes, before rushing out in a single breath, “I can tell everyone what else is har--”

Chu Wanning stopped listening. For the sake of his opinion concerning Mo Ran, he simply refused to hear the rest.

Chu Wanning steeled himself for the task, bracing both shoulders and inhaling with quiet resignation. He lifted his spatula (carefully, gingerly) only for the bowl to vanish beneath his hands with an inhuman speed; the Tanlang Elder had snatched it away without warning. Before Chu Wanning could even protest, the Elder added a few drops of pink food dye to his meringue and thoroughly mixed it in.

“You’re going to mess this step up,” the older vampire explained (forthrightly declared, really) before also grabbing the pre-portioned bag of almond flour and sugar mixture. “So I’ll do it for you.” Perhaps he was still feeling sympathetic. That, or he simply didn’t trust Chu Wanning within ten meters of a spatula.

Chu Wanning raised one sardonic eyebrow but didn’t argue; he had no illusions about his utter lack of stirring technique. The last time he’d tried, he had somehow managed to curdle buttercream frosting. He hadn’t even known that was possible.

The Tanlang Elder’s intervention was practical (merciful, even, in its own abrasive way), and Chu Wanning idly watched as he folded in the dry ingredients with ruthless efficiency, turning the batter a blushing pink.

Mo Ran looked over with his brows drawn tight, genuine anger flickering across his face when he saw the Tanlang Elder snatch Chu Wanning’s bowl. For a moment, it seemed like he might stride back over and say something… before someone at another workstation called out for help and pulled him away again.

Once the macaron mixture had been folded to the desired consistency (some pairs celebrating their glossy ribbons, others inexplicably picking stray bits of eggshell from their bowls), it was time to transfer the batter into piping bags and begin piping the shells onto the marked silicone mats.

The room swelled with merry chaos: the scrape of batter from metal bowls, the rustle of oversized piping bags being unfurled, and the delighted laughter of humans comparing their piping skills.

Chu Wanning approached this task with sober determination as he carefully spooned his reclaimed batter into the piping bag. The batter refused to funnel neatly and clung stubbornly to the sides, but he was eventually able to coax it down. Once completed, he twisted the piping bag closed with deft hands, exhaled a steadying breath, and cautiously gave it a test squeeze.

Naturally, as it always did whenever a piping bag entered Chu Wanning’s hands, history repeated itself.

The seam of the piping bag ruptured, sending a violent burst of macaron batter exploding outward like doughy shrapnel. Several globs of pastel-pink batter launched themselves directly at the Tanlang Elder, splattering across his sleeve, his neatly buttoned collar, and even the lovingly embroidered wildflowers on his apron. One particularly fat glob landed in his salt-and-peppered hair.

There was a moment of absolute silence.

The Tanlang Elder went utterly still, his expression carved into a stunned tableau of disbelief. Three long seconds ticked by… before he exhaled sharply through his nose. “I hope your macarons burn,” the Elder viciously spat, every syllable hammered with an ancient disdain.

Chu Wanning, for his part, regarded the ruined bag in his hands with the unimpressed resignation of a man who had witnessed genuine tragedy and now calmly added this to the list. “I hope your barn collapses,” he responded swiftly in kind.

The Tanlang Elder seized the nearest dish towel and started wiping himself clean as he grumbled irritably under his breath about modern vampires and lack of fine motor skills. He did not notice the glob of batter still clinging to his hair.

Chu Wanning did… and said nothing.

Once restored to a grudging level of acceptability, the Tanlang Elder rounded on Chu Wanning at once. He roughly thrusted out his hand, fingers flexing with impatient demand. “Give me that,” he snarled, snatching the ruptured piping bag the moment it came within reach. “I’ll fucking do it for you. Again. Absolutely pathetic.”

Across the room, Mo Ran acted as though he had just witnessed a heinous crime. He abruptly changed course and marched over (for the third time) with a murderously offended expression that stood in ridiculous contrast to the cartoon Taxian-jun the Siberian Husky apron.

Mo Ran looked… truly angry. There was a rarely seen harshness churning in his eyes, a ferocity that scrunched his brows together and crinkled his nose like a snarling dog.

Mo Ran planted himself at the edge of their workstation, shoulders squared, the air around him pulled tight. “Do you ever let Chu-xiansheng exist without criticizing him?” he demanded, the words edged with something dangerously protective.

The sharpness in his tone shocked Chu Wanning more than the sentiment itself. Even more troubling… The angrier Mo Ran got, the faster the human’s heart pounded; each accelerating beat thudding against Chu Wanning’s ears like an approaching drum, a living pulse flooding his senses and making his empty stomach cramp.

The Tanlang Elder didn’t even pause in his piping. “No,” he replied flatly, the single syllable delivered unapologetically as he finished another row of perfect pink macaron shells with a practiced flick of his wrist.

As if a furious 20-year-old human simply did not register on the list of things worth acknowledging… like a barking puppy.

Mo Ran visibly spluttered, as though the sheer bluntness had slapped him. “You’re not even letting him learn,” he pressed, stubborn, his voice climbing in volume with every word. “You’re just taking control! Is this how you fucking act at home?!” By the time the last word left his mouth, it came out almost as a shout, sharper than he seemed to intend.

A few nearby patrons (who had actually paid legitimate money for this class and were simply trying to fold almond flour into meringue without becoming collateral damage) looked over, eyes wide with the sort of interest typically reserved for reality TV.

Chu Wanning had no choice but to intervene before Mo Ran caused a scene in front of his customers. “Mo Ran, it’s fine,” he reassured quietly, touched by the young man’s concern yet ultimately fearing the inevitable repercussions. “I’m used to his petty remarks.” Do not count his heartbeats, Chu Wanning pleaded with himself, do not count them.

That had, apparently, been the wrong thing to say.

When Mo Ran swiveled his head towards Chu Wanning, his facial expression was flooded with horror and devastation so earnest it bordered on tragic. “You’re used to them?!” The young man repeated, voice cracking with naked disbelief. “You shouldn’t be!” It was shouted across the makeshift classroom, echoing across the space with an intensity that startled even Mo Ran himself.

Chu Wanning barely registered the words because he could hear Mo Ran’s heart racing in a frantic staccato beat; indignant, heartbroken, and vividly alive. Who was all that heartbreak for…? Chu Wanning wondered semi-absently, swallowing down the saliva that reflexively pooled in his mouth.

Then, Mo Ran blinked hard… and the fire in his expression faltered as the echo of his own shouting finally caught up to him. His broad shoulders drew inwards as the weight of the room pressed back; rows of workstations, curious eyes, and the quiet reminder that he was standing in front of a class.

“I’m sorry,” Mo Ran murmured, taking a deliberate step back and finally giving Chu Wanning space to breathe. His jaw tightened as if he were physically biting down on words he wanted to say. “This isn’t the right time to… It’s a much more private conversa--… fuck,” he cursed, dragging a hand roughly through his hair, “I’m, shit, sorry. This is unprofessional of me… let me go… check on the others.”

Mo Ran reluctantly walked away, though he kept glancing back over his shoulder with the forlorn persistence of a very large dog dragged from a fight it hadn’t finished.

He looked genuinely, deeply upset… too upset, for such a mundane topic such as piping pastel-pink macaron batter. Mo Ran acted as though Chu Wanning had confessed to being kicked every morning before breakfast and every night before dinner, instead of merely getting criticized for his lackluster baking.

For the first time ever… Chu Wanning had the incredibly distinct, disorientating feeling that he and Mo Ran were not talking about the same thing at all…

Before he could dwell on it further, the Tanlang Elder snapped his fingers directly in Chu Wanning’s face and shoved a container of sprinkles under his nose. “Pay attention,” he demanded flatly. “Which decoration do you want for your macarons? Nonpareils, edible pearls, or sanding sugar?”

☆ ⋅ ˚₊ - ´ ദ്ദ🍰(˶˃⤙˂˶)و ´- ₊˚ ⋅ ☆

“You really are vile by nature, beyond remedy,” Chu Wanning said solemnly, his brows drawn together as unmistakable disappointment settled into his features. The damning words landed with crushing certainty, brutally honest and leaving no room for hopeful reinterpretation.

Before him lay the undeniable evidence of Chu Wanning’s own inadequacy to nurture, to guide, and to strengthen.

His macarons.

His… pitiable macarons.

The wind howled against the windows as the storm pressed relentlessly on, frost feathering across the glass in creeping patterns. Winter gnawed viciously at the city outside, but inside the bakery… there was only warmth, only shelter, a fragile pocket of calm held together by heat and light.

The industrial-sized ovens hummed, radiating gentle waves of warmth that mingled with the rich scent of sugar and toasted almond flour, enveloping the classroom in a sweet, fragrant embrace. The baking class began wrapping up and gradually dissolved into late evening chatter.

The other (paying) patrons drifted between workstations with the easy intimacy of shared success, laughter spilling freely as they compared their finished macarons. Fingers brushed edible pearls into place, gold leaf was applied with nervous care, and more than one person shamelessly stole a taste of filling straight from the bowl. From across the room came a sudden, anguished hiss of ‘another fucking eggshell!’

Those who finished even earlier gravitated towards the bakery’s entrance, where an enormous cardboard standee of Taxian-jun the Siberian Husky stood posed in regal stillness; his printed expression was undeniably proud and performatively benevolent as he was promptly inundated with attention. Humans eagerly gathered around him and posed, smiling as they snapped photo after photo.

Warmth pooled in every corner of the room, a comforting demonstration of the human instinct for connection; something fundamentally foreign to Chu Wanning’s life of near solitude.

Chu Wanning regarded his assembled macarons with quiet condemnation. His incompetence was nearly awe-inspiring… not even Mo Ran’s prepared fillings (rich chocolate ganache and delicate Italian buttercream) could redeem what emerged from his monstrous hands.

The shells were catastrophically lumpy, and some collapsed into themselves as though having surrendered midway through baking. On several, the delicate “foot” of a proper macaron was all but nonexistent, leaving the cookies tragically barefoot. What a blasphemous batch of cookies… the French would have Chu Wanning dragged into the streets and staked through the heart for his crimes against pâtisserie.

Worst of all… some of them were burned. Actually burned.

“I don’t understand how this happened,” Chu Wanning muttered to himself, lifting one misshapen macaron between two fingers. “The temperature was uniform, and all trays were rotated evenly.” It made no sense.

Chu Wanning stared at the burnt underside in exhausted disbelief, the corners of his mouth tightening into a barely perceptible frown. His batch had gone into the oven alongside several others, at the same time, under the same conditions… Mo Ran had personally overseen the process, and the Tanlang Elder had interfered excessively.

And still, somehow, reality itself had decided that Chu Wanning’s macarons deserved punishment, deserved being scorched… the very fate of his macarons was blighted.

Once, Chu Wanning had tried to joke (in a disastrous attempt at friendly humor) that Taxian-jun must have cursed him. He never made that same mistake again… because Mo Ran had looked genuinely horrified and had immediately, earnestly insisted that Taxian-jun would never do such a thing to Chu Wanning’s baking.

Chu Wanning slowly set the deformed macaron down amongst its equally fallen brethren. Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful. “If affection were measured by pastry… mine is beyond salvage,” he hissed in self-pity, a private admonishment meant for no ears but his own.

Unfortunately, the workstation was being occupied by another vampire.

The Tanlang Elder delicately placed the last of his mint-green macarons into a decorated metallic tin, each one a vision of textbook perfection. “That mutt falling in love with you is possible...” the Elder began, pausing to admire the immaculate beauty of his own creations. The dried fleck of macaron batter was still in his hair. “Granted, he’s locked in my barn.”

Chu Wanning exhaled heavily, a bleak thing that carried 279 years of resignation, before sweeping his deformed macarons straight into the rolling trash bin. Where they belonged.

From across the room, Mo Ran moved with well-practiced ease, circulating between the workstations while praising good technique and coaxing smiles out of the disheartened. When his gaze flicked back toward Chu Wanning and the Tanlang Elder, concern flashed across his features as though he were bracing for yet another catastrophe.

The concern was unwarranted since it was, in fact, merely dessert. But, for Chu Wanning, dessert had never felt so damning.

He had no intention of ever confessing (such an idea was laughable, bordering on obscene), but some humiliating part of him still held onto the faintest, most childish of hopes. That, perhaps, by some miracle… if he could bake something properly, something worthy of being offered… then Mo Ran might somehow feel what Chu Wanning could never speak aloud.

As though affection could be kneaded into dough, or sincerity folded delicately into meringue. Foolish idiot. Chu Wanning has lived for nearly three centuries and yet found himself entertaining the same naive fantasies as a crush-ridden human youth. Absolutely absurd.

The evening class eventually drew to a close. One by one, the human patrons bundled themselves into coats and scarves, laughter trailing behind them as they disappeared into the whistling snowfall beyond the windows. Mo Ran dutifully thanked each person for coming as he rolled down the windowshades, signaling the bakery’s closing for the night.

Without asking permission (or without even appearing to consider that permission might be required), the Tanlang Elder claimed the bakery’s sink and thoroughly washed his personal kitchen utensils. He dried each piece meticulously with a husky-themed washcloth before packing them away in his leather briefcase and snapping it shut with a certain finality.

French macarons and briefcase in either hand, the Tanlang Elder turned towards the door and flicked an impatient gesture for Chu Wanning to follow. The message was unmistakable: lingering was pointless, perfection had been achieved, and it was time to leave.

Another baking class had finished… Chu Wanning felt the familiar ache of sadness settle within his chest as he removed his kitten-patterned apron. Not regret. Never regret. He had never regretted the time spent in Mo Ran’s presence, content to simply stand nearby and watch the young man laugh and move and exist. It was enough. It had to be.

He would see Mo Ran again in exactly one week anyway, for the bakery’s Special Edition Christmas Sugar Cookie Decorating class. The Tanlang Elder had already lectured Chu Wanning at length about royal icing consistencies, flooding techniques, and “beginner-friendly” wet-on-wet designs. The man had also, without consultation, purchased nearly ¥700 worth of pearl luster dust and assorted fancy sprinkles.

They were nearly at the front doors, boots brushing against the threshold with the wintery chill seeping through the seams, when Mo Ran suddenly caught up with them.

Mo Ran’s steps were hurried, and when he opened his mouth, his voice came out restrained… as though he’d been debating the decision all the way across the room. “Chu-xiansheng, can I speak with you for a moment?” Then, after a deliberate pause, he added a rather ominous, “Separately.”

The request alone was enough to make Chu Wanning’s step falter. When he turned around, he was met with an expression he had never seen on Mo Ran before: grave, stripped entirely of his characteristic warmth and easy cheer. The boyish sparkle in his amethyst eyes had vanished, replaced by something achingly serious.

It unsettled him more than anger ever could and (for once) his stomach was vaguely nauseated. Without a word, Chu Wanning lifted a hand and gestured for the Tanlang Elder to go on ahead. The Elder required no further prompting; clutching his tin of immaculate macarons like a well-earned trophy, he departed with visible satisfaction, utterly unbothered.  

Everyone else had already left.

It was just him and Mo Ran, alone, in the bakery’s front lobby where the hum of the ovens suddenly felt far too loud in the empty space. Mo Ran hesitated, fingers flexing at his sides as if bracing himself. He looked… nervous. The sight made the dread coil tighter in Chu Wanning’s chest.

Why did Mo Ran look so nervous? A thousand disastrous possibilities raced through Chu Wanning’s mind at once. Had Chu Wanning overstepped, crossed some invisible line? Where? When? Had Mo Ran been secretly disgusted with his actions?

Or perhaps this was the moment Mo Ran would smile apologetically and explain that his vampiric presence was… unsettling. Unwelcome. Threatening, even. Chu Wanning’s fingers curled faintly at his sides in an involuntary, shameful betrayal of the composure he so carefully maintained. But before he could fully spiral--

“Is everything okay,” Mo Ran began carefully, eyes searching his face, “at home?”

The question was so unexpected that it took Chu Wanning several moments to recover. His fingers uncurled. Okay at home…? Chu Wanning dazedly nodded his head. There was, objectively speaking, nothing wrong at home. Unless one counted the Xue family’s cat; a rotund, shameless creature named Veggie Bun.

Veggie Bun had recently taken to positioning herself directly under Chu Wanning’s beloved bird feeders. She sat there for hours, frightening the birds away despite being far too fat to ever catch one. It was irritating. Deeply so. But hardly a crisis worth mentioning.

Mo Ran drew in a slow, steadying breath, then another, as though bracing himself. Slowly, ever so slowly, Mo Ran reached out a hand and… gently closed it around Chu Wanning’s own…

Chu Wanning froze.

His hand.

In Mo Ran’s.

The world narrowed to the warmth of that skin-to-skin contact, terrifying in its intimacy. Chu Wanning’s thoughts scattered into useless fragments as his gaze snapped downwards. There was no barrier between them now, neither shirt sleeve nor plastic glove.

“The Tanlang Elder…” Mo Ran gritted out between clenched teeth. “He demeans you. He strips you of your autonomy. He verbally berates you.” The words fell one by one, spoken with the solemnity of someone who had rehearsed this moment far too many times in his head.

Mo Ran was still holding his hand.

Chu Wanning couldn’t tear his gaze away from the contrast: his own hand looked grotesque by comparison, with veins standing out stark and blue beneath bloodless skin… utterly swallowed by Mo Ran’s tanned grip. It was warm. Beyond warm. Chu Wanning could feel the steady thrum of Mo Ran’s pulse beating at his wrist.

“Wanning…” Mo Ran called his name gently, and Chu Wanning snapped his head up at once, as though caught doing something wrong. Mo Ran looked genuinely pained, the expression pulling tight across his features as he lowered his voice to a whisper, “Why does he treat you that way…?” There was no need to clarify who he was.

“That’s just how he is,” Chu Wanning replied after a beat, dismissive and utterly distracted. “It’s normal.” Their relationship had remained fundamentally unchanged for well over a century, combative and sharp-edged, since their first meeting. In the face of that history… what were a few harsh words?

Frankly, if the Tanlang Elder were to suddenly soften now, to offer kindness, Chu Wanning would assume something was profoundly wrong. A personality-altering curse. A life-debilitating head injury. Rabies, perhaps.

Mo Ran, inexplicably, looked stricken. The devastation showed plainly on his face as his fingers tightened around Chu Wanning’s hand, seemingly without realizing it. His voice came out rough, frayed at the edges, when he finally spoke, “If he treats you like that… then why are you still with him?”

What a strange way to phrase that question. Was Mo Ran questioning… why the Tanlang Elder continued showing up for classes? “Vampiric oaths cannot be broken,” Chu Wanning said somewhat absentmindedly, because Mo Ran’s heartbeat had quickened mere centimeters away. The sound was deafening, echoing through his head until it drowned out everything else.

The Tanlang Elder had promised his late wife that he would watch over Chu Wanning; a vampire's promise did not decay alongside the body it was sworn for, nor did it erode beneath the weight of grief. Once spoken, an oath was insurmountable.

And even if that promise had not existed… Both vampires were sponsored by the Xue family, and Xue Zhengyong (along with Madam Wang) had relentlessly encouraged (forced) the man. Between ancient vows and modern benefactors, the Tanlang Elder’s presence was inevitable.

That, and the Tanlang Elder really fucking enjoyed baking.

Mo Ran stared at him in confusion as though Chu Wanning had begun speaking an unfamiliar language. After a long, long moment, Mo Ran eventually said, “I… understand…” He very clearly did not. The words rang hollow the moment they left his mouth, and Mo Ran’s expression had collapsed into helplessness. “So… vampires are bound like that. For life?”

It was then that Mo Ran (unfortunately, regrettably) released Chu Wanning’s hand, the comforting warmth he shared vanishing in an instant. Gone. While Chu Wanning silently mourned the loss… Mo Ran dragged his hand through his shorter hair, disheveling it completely as he drew in a low, shuddering breath.

The human nervously glanced around the bakery’s front lobby, towards the glass doors and the fully-drawn window shades, as though checking to see if anyone might still be lingering. They were alone. When he looked back at Chu Wanning, there was a hard, determined glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Then…” Mo Ran harshly swallowed. His throat bobbed, the tendons in his neck shifting beneath warm skin, and Chu Wanning’s gaze (against his will) tracked the movement with humiliating precision. “Wanning, are you… fuck--” Mo Ran broke off with a breathless curse. “Are you… hungry?”

The question was a physical slap to the face. Chu Wanning went perfectly still, frozen. His carefully maintained neutrality cracked at the seams, eyes widening slightly in terror before he could suppress it. Hungry. That single word reverberated through his skull. Hungry? Was he… hungry?

No. Chu Wanning was starving. It gnawed at his insides every goddamn night, a constant ache beneath his ribcage and pounding behind his temples. Hunger was the background noise to his very existence, the only quiet companion that had never left with the passage of time.

Had it shown? Had Mo Ran seen it in the way Chu Wanning lingered too close for too long, like a creature measuring the striking distance? Hunting? Had the hunger carved itself into his posture, into his gaze with a nauseatingly predatory gleam? Was it obvious?

Mo Ran took in Chu Wanning’s stiffened posture and immediately panicked. “Sorry! God, that was probably breaking, like, every social boundary ever--” the young man visibly cringed mid-sentence “--fuck! I’m sorry, Chu-xiansheng, I’m so sorry…” Mo Ran spluttered as he frantically waved his hands, the words tripping over each other in a rush of sincere apologies. Well, maybe not too sincere, since…

“But…” Mo Ran dragged in another harsh inhale, steadying himself, before his voice dropped into something dangerously earnest, “But if… if I can be so bold. Wanning, could you… at least drink from me?” Then, Mo Ran held his breath, eyes fixed on Chu Wanning’s face, as if waiting to see whether he would be devoured or dismissed.

“Mo Ran!” The name violently tore out of Chu Wanning. “Have you lost your mind?!” The audacity of it! The sheer nerve! A human (standing there with his heart thundering in his chest) offering himself so carelessly, so earnestly, as though he had even the faintest comprehension of what such an offer meant!

Mo Ran didn’t retreat in the face of Chu Wanning’s fury. If anything, he stepped closer. Chu Wanning reflexively backed away, but he could only move so far before the edge of a nearby table pressed into his lower back. Mo Ran readily followed, crowding into his rapidly depleting space.

Chu Wanning didn’t understand. He really didn’t understand at all. Why would Mo Ran want that? “Y-You really have lost it…” Chu Wanning hissed furiously, his continued attempt to pathetically hide behind a mask of anger. It failed to conceal the way his legs trembled.

The younger man loomed now, not threatening, not aggressive… but overwhelming in his unblinking intensity. His presence filled the air.

“Wanning can think I’ve lost my mind, but…” Mo Ran’s voice came out hoarse, almost pained. His amethyst eyes shone, wet at the corners, fixed on Chu Wanning with frightening sincerity as he continued, “If there’s no room for me there… then let me be useful.” He swallowed. “Can I at least be your food?”

Mo Ran had leaned forwards as he spoke, his shirt collar slipping open further. His throat was right there, unguarded, and Chu Wanning felt his attention dragged helplessly to that vulnerable stretch of skin. Too close. Too exposed. Too alive.

In a moment of desperation, Chu Wanning pressed the palms of his hands flat against Mo Ran’s chest (over that ridiculous purple apron with a screenprinted Taxian-jun the Siberian Husky) fully intending to push him away. He found, with quiet horror, that he had no strength to do so.

Worse so. Now a living heartbeat thudded directly under his fingertips.

“I’ll feed you, Wanning, I’ll keep you full. I’ll make sure you’re never like that again. Never starving, never hurting,” Mo Ran insisted (promised) almost deliriously. That hoarse voice wavered despite himself, the man’s breath gasping, as if convincing Chu Wanning mattered more than the air in his lungs. “He can’t do that for you, can he? Only a human can. Only me.”

Mo Ran was no longer trying to sound reasonable, or act reasonable, for that matter; his eyes darted wildly across the room, landing on metal edges, corners, anything remotely sharp. “Fuck. Should I just cut myself?” The words spilled faster from his mouth. “That’s what they do in the movies, right? I don’t care if it hurts. If that’s what Wanning needs, I’ll do it--”

“No,” The refusal was immediate, vicious. Chu Wanning’s hands curled into fists against Mo Ran’s pounding chest at the sickening thought. The idea of Mo Ran hurting himself, for Chu Wanning of all creatures. Especially since… feeding didn’t have to be painful. “That’s. Not. Necessary,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

His jaw hurt. His teeth hurt; an animalistic ache that throbbed with need, begging to pierce, to drain, and to feed. Chu Wanning refused to lift his gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on his own fists pressed against the solid warmth of Mo Ran’s chest. Anywhere but the exposed line of the human’s throat, the steady pulse beating just beneath the skin.

Chu Wanning really was starving. He had been hungry for so long he’d forgotten what it meant not to be. Hungry enough… to entertain the idea of…

Mo Ran must have noticed it (the feral edge that Chu Wanning hated anyone witnessing), because his face brightened with uncontainable joy, the imaginary husky tail once again wagging furiously behind him. “So you’ll drink?” Mo Ran asked with unmistakable giddiness. “You’ll drink, right? Wanning, please. For me? Please, please, please.” He outright begged without any semblance of shame.

But Mo Ran didn’t wait for permission (perhaps knowing that Chu Wanning would sooner burn in eternal damnation than voice his approval).

Instead, he boldly grabbed Chu Wanning's waist and ushered them sideways with quiet determination. Once they reached their destination, Mo Ran flipped their positions, lowering himself onto one of the bakery’s benches and drawing the startled vampire down with him in one smooth motion.

The result was dizzying; Chu Wanning was suddenly caught between Mo Ran’s arms and settled squarely into his lap, the impact knocking the breath clean from his lungs. He was… on Mo Ran’s lap… Chu Wanning felt his entire worldview violently shift.

Mo Ran caught the unease flickering across Chu Wanning’s face and rushed to reassure him at once. “Just drinking,” Mo Ran asserted as he enthusiastically nodded his head. “It’s just drinking, nothing more. I just want to do this for Wanning.”

And then, utterly undoing any sense of restraint or propriety, Mo Ran harshly tugged the loop of his apron free and wrenched his collar aside to further bare the column of his throat, overly eager. It was entirely excessive… and unnecessary. It had already been far too exposed. Mo Ran was truly shameless.

Chu Wanning furiously glowered at the younger man, but his body betrayed him… his (old, decrepit) knees came down onto the cushioned benchseat on either side of Mo Ran’s thighs, bracketing him with ease. Perhaps, the shameless one here had always been Chu Wanning.

“Right here, Wanning,” Mo Ran said simply, guiding Chu Wanning’s attention to where it belonged as the young man tapped at his own neck. Tap, tap, tap. His pulse leapt beneath his fingers, visible. “Bite here.”

Chu Wanning had not fed for a long, long time. Ever since synthetic formulas had entered the market decades ago, he’d been a loyal purchaser, clinging to the cold convenience of glass bottles and measured doses rather than the warmth of a living pulse. It was cleaner, too. More controlled. But it was never satisfying.

Truth be told… he despised feeding directly from humans. It was never worth the mess; the obligation of maintaining social ties with humans participating in the feeding arrangement, or the lingering disgust Chu Wanning felt at his own animalistic behavior, as though centuries of discipline and restraint amounted to nothing at all.

Hunger was bearable. Shame was not.

And then… Mo Ran.

The urge to feed from the gentle young man was as powerful as it was mortifying, clawing at Chu Wanning’s senses until his thoughts blurred at the edges. But the truth (his most carefully guarded secret) was… What he wanted had never been blood alone.

Yes, Chu Wanning was hungry, but he could endure that hunger. He just wanted… something of Mo Ran… inside of him (something warm, something living), proof that the young man had given some irretrievable piece of himself to old and decrepit Chu Wanning. How shameful.

Hands returned to wrap around Chu Wanning’s waist and squeezed just slightly, grounding, anchoring. The steady pressure drew Chu Wanning back into the present.

“Come on, you’ve got this, Wanning,” Mo Ran murmured in a coaxing tone, the kind meant for skittish animals and fragile people. Was Chu Wanning fragile? “You’re hungry, so let me do this for you. Please, I really, really want to.” The plea cracked at the edges despite his efforts, desperation bleeding through the gentleness.

It was humiliating. Chu Wanning could feel the heat of mortification creeping up his neck, blooming hot at the tips of his ears. He slowly, hesitantly, lifted his hands (pausing midair as if waiting to be struck down by the heavens) until Mo Ran met his gaze with that soft, encouraging look that made refusal feel impossible.

Only then did Chu Wanning brace his palms against the broad slope of Mo Ran’s shoulders. He was acting so bold… Chu Wanning trembled as he leaned closer, drawn towards the tantalizing line of Mo Ran’s neck; the same stretch of sun-kissed skin that had haunted his sight for months on end.

Am I really allowed this? The thought struck Chu Wanning with quiet disbelief. Was this really happening? Or was this all an elaborate hallucination, a byproduct of starvation, longing, and inhaling far too much smoke from his ruined macarons?

Chu Wanning opened his jaw, fangs catching the bakery’s warm lighting as venom-laced saliva gathered along their sharp edges; an unmistakably inhuman thing. Frightening. Ancient. And yet… when he finally bit, there was nothing savage about it.

There was no unnecessary violence, no tearing pain like those crude horror films insisted upon depicting. Only precision. His fangs sank into Mo Ran’s neck with practiced care, eliciting barely more than a startled breath from the younger man.

Somewhere in the distance, muffled as though heard through water, Chu Wanning might have registered Mo Ran’s deepened voice murmuring rushed praises, but it vanished the instant the first taste of blood touched his tongue.

Because it was warm, just as Chu Wanning knew it would be.

The sensation spread across his senses in a way that stole all coherent thought, liquid heat bursting against his tongue as though life itself had been poured directly into him. And sweet. Of course it was sweet. Mo Ran had always been sweet, down to the very marrow of his bones.

This was it. This is what Chu Wanning wanted. Not sustenance, not survival, but the intoxicating knowledge that it was Mo Ran who filled him. Mo Ran’s very essence was inside him, forever. The following fullness from feeding was merely an added bonus.

Mo Ran’s tanned hands remained firm at his waist, and thumbs slipping lightly under his cashmere sweater to trace slow circles into the pale skin hidden beneath. But Chu Wanning didn’t notice, because something unexpected happened to his body, something warm and disorienting that stole his attention entirely.

Heat unfurled through him in a slow, dizzying wave, blooming low in his core until his thoughts scattered and his limbs went momentarily weak. Why was it so hot all of a sudden? Chu Wanning thought with a vaguely pinched brow. Was Mo Ran’s blood warming him from the inside?

It felt weird. Without realizing it, Chu Wanning shifted restlessly as he continued drinking, constantly adjusting his wobbling position with unsteady movements until he found himself straddling just one of Mo Ran’s thighs. It felt very, very weird.

Mo Ran immediately noticed, a breathless laugh tearing from his chest as his hands tightened instinctively at Chu Wanning’s waist. “Does Wanning feel good? Fuck…” Mo Ran’s laughter died when he cursed under his breath, sounding vaguely strained. “Good job, baobei, keep drinking. Fuck, that’s so fucking hot.”

Good? Does he feel good? The word landed with startling clarity, clicking into place like the final piece of a puzzle. Good.

Oh, that was it. That was the exact name of the sensation radiating through him, comforting and dizzying and entirely unfamiliar. Chu Wanning realized it somewhat deliriously, squeezing his eyes tightly shut while squirming all the harder. And then, with all that restless shifting, his lower body brushed against Mo Ran’s thigh and… and…

Pleasure. A shock tore through Chu Wanning with a gasp. With it, his mouth’s hold on Mo Ran’s neck loosened, and a thin spill of blood escaped; it tracked down the younger man’s throat before soaking darkly into the collar of Chu Wanning’s cashmere sweater.

“No, no, no, don’t stop, Wanning. Not until you’re full,” Mo Ran said urgently. A tanned hand lifted from Chu Wanning’s waist to gently fist into his hair; fingers carefully slid through the dark strands, tugging the high-ponytail slightly loose in the process. Mo Ran guided his head gently, but insistently, back towards his bared throat.

But he didn’t want to drink anymore. Chu Wanning refused to listen and detached himself entirely from Mo Ran, despite the human’s heartbreakingly pathetic sound. Chu Wanning bowed forwards instead, pressing his forehead to Mo Ran’s sweaty collarbone while heated panting spilled past his lips.

It had been pleasurable. Good. Chu Wanning repeated the same grinding movement against Mo Ran’s thigh, and oh--

Oh… he was aroused. Wet, too, if the slight stickiness between his thighs said anything. Chu Wanning was desperately grinding his… his clit against Mo Ran like a stupid dog humping it’s owner’s leg. And it had felt really, really good.

Involuntarily jerking his hips, Chu Wanning made a devastating and fractured sound against Mo Ran’s throat, before instinct guided him to lick up the fallen trails of blood. It would be unbecoming (wasteful) to leave any behind, after all. That’s when Mo Ran stiffened below him.

“Is Wanning… getting excited?” Mo Ran breathed, unadulterated shock painting his elated tone as his amethyst eyes snapped downwards. Both hands had made their return against his waist. “Wanning, what did I just feel down there?” Excited fingers tugged at the hem of Chu Wanning’s sweater, eagerly plucking the remainder loose from his pressed slacks.

When Chu Wanning made a questioning sound in his throat, Mo Ran’s hands hastily jerked free from his pants as though burned.

His voice turned husky with panic as he rushed to reassure him, “Sorry! Sorry, I just… fuck. I wanted to see… No, you’re totally right. I promised. Just drinking.” Mo Ran swallowed hard, and his apologies rang insincere considering his eyes never strayed from Chu Wanning’s lower body.

“I just want to help you, Wanning. Just a little bit. Here, let’s… let’s do this…” Mo Ran said shakily, like his composure was starting to crumble. Hands (always touching him…) grabbed Chu Wanning’s sides and started guiding his hips, rocking him back and forth against his clothed thigh. Grinding.

The friction was muted, dulled by layers of fabric, and yet it sent a pleasurable thrum through him all the same. He had endured hunger, pain, centuries of restraint… but this new sensation was unfamiliarly overwhelming in a way that made his thoughts scatter uselessly.

Especially since the rocking never stopped, hurried and insistent, as though Mo Ran were afraid Chu Wanning would come to his senses and walk away if they paused for a singular moment. Dummy. How could he walk away when he’d already lost all the strength in his legs?

A soft moan slipped from Chu Wanning’s throat before he could swallow it back, torn loose by the rising sensation. He was too far gone to feel disgust at his own wretched voice, too steeped in the moment to care.

Mo Ran, however, stilled for a fraction of a second. A deep sound rumbled up from the human’s chest (Chu Wanning could feel every maddening vibration), before it spilled out as a helplessly devastated, “Fuuuck.” Hands grew rougher. “There you go. Wanning is so… so fucking hot. Just focus on feeling good, baobei.”

It did feel good. The movement of his hips, the grinding pressure against his clit… Chu Wanning was soaked through his underwear. He could feel the wetness clinging to his skin as his breathing grew unsteadier. It was throbbing.

He was painfully sensitive. It had been a long, long time. So long since he had allowed himself even the smallest indulgence, that the simplest motion sent sensation cascading through him, too bright, too sharp. The rocking alone was enough to leave him breathless, his mind nothing but a mantra of Mo Ran, Mo Ran, Mo Ran.

The young man’s pupils were blown wide, almost entirely eclipsing the magnetizing purple, as devotion bled heartily from his intense gaze. “Is Wanning gonna make himself cum using my thigh? While all full from my blood?” Mo Ran breathed excitedly, far too eager for someone who remained untouched.

Mo Ran’s heated hand slipped under Chu Wanning’s sweater, palm splayed, as he pressed into the softness of the vampire’s stomach. Like he needed to test the confirmation himself. “Are you full, baobei? Was it enough?”

Chu Wanning wrapped his arms around Mo Ran’s broad shoulders, pressing his face into the hollow of Mo Ran’s neck and deliberately shook his head where the human man couldn’t see. No, he wasn’t full. While he might have fed on enough blood to leave him lightheaded and (finally) quiet the ever constant ache behind his ribcage… he really wasn’t full at all.

Because Chu Wanning was greedy. Because what he wanted had nothing to do with hunger, and someplace inside him remained painfully, unbearably empty. Aching. Pulsing.

He nuzzled into the addicting warmth of Mo Ran’s neck, lips brushing the faintest kisses there. Not intending to bite. Not anymore. Having Mo Ran’s blood inside him should have left him satisfied, but now Chu Wanning wanted something else too.

“Wanning,” Mo Ran murmured directly against his ear. Just his name, breathed like a confession. “Take whatever you need, baobei, I’ll give you everything.” He sealed the promise with a trembling kiss tucked behind Chu Wanning’s pale ear, pressed deliberately to the hidden mole as if he had always known it was there.

A kiss. A single kiss behind the ear, that’s all it had been. But it affected him far more than he’d been prepared for.

Chu Wanning barely registered what was happening beyond the sudden, overwhelming rush of mind-numbing pleasure as his own climax took him completely by surprise. Oh god. It was incredible. It was toe-curling, breath-seizing, and nearly eyeroll-inducing. Also, pussy-throbbing.

A fresh wave of slick poured out of his core, leaving his underwear soaked beyond salvation. It shouldn’t be possible to be this wet…

Eventually, the high faded. Chu Wanning’s thoughts blurred around the edges as he sagged slowly into the younger man’s readily waiting arms. His mind and body felt really heavy. Blood-drunk. Regrettably, though, not cock-drunk.

Chu Wanning rubbed his cheek against the warm column of Mo Ran’s neck again, boneless and pliant, with an uncharacteristically soft sound of contentment. Mo Ran was shaking beneath him. Subtly, at first, and then not at all subtle. Only then did Chu Wanning’s bleary-eyed gaze drift downwards, where he finally saw… Oh.

There was a sizable tent in Mo Ran’s jeans. It was… it was huge… Straining. Chu Wanning couldn't tear his eyes away.

“Fuck,” Mo Ran cursed between ragged pants, looking rather… disheveled. There was a fevered brightness shining in his eyes, wild in a way that made Mo Ran look painfully young and sickeningly obsessed. “I’m not… really thinking clearly anymore.” The admission slipped out without resistance, recklessly honest. “Wanning was just too fucking sexy… can we go a little further?”

Further? By some miracle, he remembered the earlier promise. “You said… it was just drinking,” Chu Wanning absentmindedly muttered, the words coming out slightly slurred on his useless tongue. The younger man’s blood was still undeniably smeared across his lips like smudged lipstick.

Just drinking… What a liar.

But Chu Wanning’s hand still reached out on instinct towards that defined tent in Mo Ran’s jeans… except his arm was abruptly seized. Mo Ran’s large hand clamped down firmly on his wrist, yanking forwards (so impatient…) until the palm of Chu Wanning’s hand met with denim, cupping Mo Ran’s hardness.

The contact made Mo Ran groan low in his throat, while Chu Wanning stared in slight wonderment. His fingers twitched. He’s never… touched a cock before… It felt so hot through the rough fabric. He wanted to hold it in his hands. Measure it.

Before Chu Wanning could get in an exploratory feel, Mo Ran abruptly shot up into a standing position; Chu Wanning found himself hauled upwards with hands braced under his thighs before he could even register what happened. The air whooshed around his prickling ears. He was airborne… and his hand was cock-less.

Chu Wanning’s bliss-softened brain barely reacted (too loose, too dazed) as Mo Ran determinedly plopped him down onto one of the bakery’s tables and stepped between his spread thighs. Mo Ran… between his thighs… Chu Wanning shivered at the sight.

Quick reassurances rushed out of Mo Ran’s mouth all at once. “I won’t take it too far, I promise,” he said breathlessly, then faltered in an uncomfortable moment of self-reflection, “I mean, I already promised that-- shit. I just… I just need to see, Wanning, I really need to see… Then we’ll stop.”

See what? Chu Wanning thought deliriously, but his unspoken question was quickly answered as Mo Ran started eagerly stripping him of his clothes. His blood-stained cashmere sweater (¥10,500 of the Xue family’s money, wasted) was tugged over his head with reverent care, and his pressed slacks pulled off and draped over the cushioned benchseat.

Eventually, Chu Wanning found himself reduced to nothing but his white cotton panties, a degree of nudity that should have been immediately mortifying if his mind had been functioning properly. As it stood, Chu Wanning merely frowned in displeasure because… he hadn’t chosen to wear his fanciest pair of underwear today.

They were plain. Cotton. With only the tiniest lace trim along the edges. Tasteful, restrained, and chosen because Chu Wanning had thought the lace lent a more mature appeal at the time of purchase. No one in their right mind would find them attractive.

Just as a hint of unease started prickling at Chu Wanning’s head… he caught sight of Mo Ran’s dumbfounded expression.

Mo Ran stood frozen in front of him, mouth parted with disbelief, eyes openly drinking in the sight of Chu Wanning as though he’d stumbled upon something holy. “Wanning has been hiding such a pretty pussy?” His breath stuttered once, twice, before leaving him in a faint, trembling exhale. “I knew I felt it earlier and, fuck, baobei, it was driving me absolutely crazy.”

Chu Wanning’s frown grew harsher. What was so groundbreaking about a cunt? There were more important matters at hand... Chu Wanning leaned forwards, bravely reaching out a hand towards the obvious bulge in Mo Ran’s denim pants… but was thwarted once more when Mo Ran moved. Idiot.

Shaking hands traced the delicate lace at the edge of Chu Wanning’s panties, fingertips teasingly slipping in only a few centimeters before hesitating. They twitched, stroking lightly, as though they didn’t dare press any further.

Mo Ran’s breathing had stalled entirely, voice rasping out a simple, “So fucking wet, baobei.” His darkened eyes were obsessively fixed upon the spreading dark spot soaking through the white cotton panties; watching as the fabric turned translucent where it clung obscenely to Chu Wanning’s covered cunt.

Then… Mo Ran gathered the courage (the audacity) to press forwards as he whispered, “Wanning looks so fucking adorable in his cute panties… so he walked around my bakery wearing these all night? Fuck, if I had known…” The younger man rubbed his fingers against the soaked cloth, directly over his pussy, and Chu Wanning forgot everything about Mo Ran’s cock in order to keen.

That also felt good. It was the barest of pressures, but to Chu Wanning’s overstimulated and sensitive self… it was enough for his mind to slip back into that heated haze.

Mo Ran cautiously pulled the white cotton panties aside to expose the glistening pussy beneath; it was sticky from Chu Wanning’s earlier release, the soft curls of hair there pitifully drenched. Mo Ran’s hands jerked backwards as though physically shocked (like he’d done something morally wrong), and the fabric snapped back into place.

Mo Ran’s throat bobbed harshly again while his hands trembled. “Fuck,” he cursed, also again. “Wanning. I won’t stick it inside. It doesn’t count as cheating if I don’t stick it inside, right?” He was practically incoherent now.

What doesn’t count? Chu Wanning’s breaths started hitching, unable to comprehend Mo Ran’s ramblings. Cheating? Cheating on what?

“It doesn’t count,” Mo Ran desperately repeated, more so to himself than anyone else, before he started frantically fumbling with his clothing; the purple apron still hanging crookedly off his waist was ripped free, and his shirt met the same fate flung unceremoniously on the unswept floor. Mo Ran urgently unzipped his jeans, pulled down his boxers and… Ah.

An absolute unit, was the description that immediately came to Chu Wanning’s mind. That was his first thought. And his second thought? That won’t fit. Chu Wanning stared, and stared, and stared…

Simply put… Mo Ran’s cock was intimidatingly huge. Too big. Too thick. Chu Wanning stared some more, watching unblinkingly as the wretched thing twitched as if explicitly aware of his attention. Absolutely shameless… he really, really, really wanted to hold it in his hands.

Mo Ran laughed, clearly meant to mask the nerves creeping into his voice, “Don’t be intimidated, Wanning, I’ll behave, I’ll behave. I promise I won’t put it in…” He’s made a lot of “promises” tonight.

Chu Wanning was promptly manhandled in a way he would have normally balked at if his brain wasn’t currently melted into mush. His bare legs were lifted into the air as Mo Ran expertly repositioned him, and Chu Wanning found himself lying on the table (forced to prop himself up on his elbows so that he could keep staring).

Mo Ran wrapped a muscular arm around both Chu Wanning’s legs, pinning the limbs securely against his sun-kissed torso and shoulder. Mo Ran was still laughing as he fed his cock through the tight passage of Chu Wanning’s thighs that he created. The laughter was now slightly hysterical in nature.

Between Chu Wanning’s thighs… a heavy cock was resting against sodden white cotton panties, separated by a mere barrier so thin it barely deserved the name. They were soaked through, now fully translucent, offering only the illusion of modesty.

It was rather obscene.

Chu Wanning watched, entranced, as Mo Ran suddenly flexed his hips with a devastatingly low-pitched groan, thrusting his cock between gloriously slippery thighs. Back and forth, and back and forth again in a nearly hypnotic rhythm.

“Good job, baobei, you’re doing so well. Wanning’s only responsibility is to feel good,” Mo Ran sounded undone by the sight of him, praise enthusiastically tumbling out in a breathless rush as he gratefully used Chu Wanning’s thighs like a cocksleeve.

Every motion pressed the blunt cockhead against Chu Wanning’s covered clit, sending pleasurable shocks shooting up his spine. Embarrassingly breathy little ‘ah’s started spilling unconsciously from Chu Wanning’s lips as that heightening sensation from before returned because it did feel so, so, so good.

Mo Ran wasn’t satisfied for much longer. He reached out and shamelessly (greedily) hooked the soaked cotton panties to the side to reveal the precious mound hidden beneath. A debauched groan tore from Mo Ran’s throat when the underside of his massive cock was enveloped between the snug warmth of Chu Wanning’s glistening pussy lips.

Not inside. Just… there. Outside.

Despicable thing… Chu Wanning glared at the angry-looking cockhead rubbing against his slick-coated thighs and swollen cunt every time Mo Ran excitedly thrusted his hips. Over and over. Unfortunately the glaring… quickly dissolved into brows pinched in pleasure after a particularly harsh grind because right there, right there!

“This is as far as I’ll go, Wanning, I promise,” Mo Ran began reassuring him, sounding vaguely deranged, as he subconsciously squeezed Chu Wanning’s thighs tighter against the hard line of his torso. “Fuck, as much as I want to fuck Wanning’s little pussy… I promised, and I meant it this time, I won’t put it inside and no one will know--”

Chu Wanning had long stopped listening to Mo Ran’s incoherent rambling, his blood-drunk mind only focused on those terrible words: I won’t put it inside.

This situation was absolutely devastating to Chu Wanning, and he whined in mounting displeasure. Hadn’t he said it from the beginning? He was greedy. He didn’t want this, these maddeningly surface-level touches. He wanted a part of Mo Ran inside him. First, it was his blood and now… he wanted his cock inside.

Mo Ran hadn’t noticed the quiet sound of frustration, likely mistaken for another moan. Neither had he noticed the way Chu Wanning gritted his jaw to restrain the overwhelming urge to bite; not to feed, but to vent his boiling frustrations. He was absolutely livid.

Why was Mo Ran not fucking him?

Unable to contain it any longer… “Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning furiously hissed out loud, baring his sharpened teeth and demanding the younger man’s total attention. “Inside. Now.” It was a command.

Mo Ran’s head snapped up at once, the lingering haze of ecstasy still etched across his features, but it quickly morphed into pure shock at the sound of that scolding tone. “Wanning?” He said incredulously, hips momentarily stopping. “W-What did you just say?”

Chu Wanning refused to repeat himself, since Mo Ran had heard him perfectly well. A well-familiar sense of vampiric pride surged up his stiffened spine, and he impatiently kicked his legs free of Mo Ran’s hold (much to the gawking human’s shock). Instead, he spread his legs and wrapped them tightly around the masculine abdomen in front of him.

Fine. If Mo Ran wouldn’t act, Chu Wanning would.

Brimming with fiery determination, he quickly reached downwards and roughly grabbed at Mo Ran’s cock (earning himself a surprised yelp), and… and Chu Wanning was momentarily distracted by the hefty weight of it in his hands. Just as he knew it would, it filled his palms perfectly--… Focus!

Chu Wanning stubbornly positioned that fat cockhead against the outside of his pussy and pushed, because he knew his body. He knew he could take it. After all, Mo Ran’s addictingly sweet blood lingered within him, leaving all his muscles slack in pure hunger-sated bliss. And plus, Chu Wanning really, really wanted it.

Not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

Both parties gasped when Mo Ran’s cock forcefully sank a few centimeters into that soaked heat; the blunt cockhead popped past the initial resistance with a lewd squelch! noise. The tip (just the tip) stretched Chu Wanning’s pussy open, open, open.

Even though he was slicked up enough, loose enough… Chu Wanning made a broken moaning sound as the feeling of too full too fast too much swamped his senses, but he refused to stop.

He refused to stop because Mo Ran was finally inside him. After all these months, Chu Wanning had finally achieved his greatest desire, and his mind was overfilled with a peculiar sense of smugness. Mo Ran had happily chosen Chu Wanning, of all people, to wet this disgustingly monstrous cock.

Something inside Mo Ran snapped when Chu Wanning started trying to force more in. The young man’s hands gently pried off his naughty fingers, but before Chu Wanning could angrily protest… “If Wanning wants to be fucked, I’ll gladly do it,” Mo Ran said hoarsely, body shaking as the slipping restraint he’d been clinging to shattered all at once. “God, baobei, I'll make it good for you, I’ll make it so good.”

Mo Ran anchored him instinctively, one hand firm at Chu Wanning’s waist while the other steadied his paler thigh. Centimeter by centimeter, Mo Ran slowly (ever so slowly) fed that huge cock into his eagerly awaiting cunt, and it was…

Wonderful. Chu Wanning shuddered in response, squirming despite himself. The pressure, oh god, the pressure was mind-numbing when combined with the fact that it was Mo Ran. Chu Wanning could feel him twitching, hot and heavy, against his slicked internal walls.

After what felt like eternity, Mo Ran finally buried himself fully, and the breath they had both been holding broke at once into a shared, trembling exhalation. All inside…

And it was indeed very, very warm. The warmth settled through Chu Wanning in a way that left him truly satiated. Not just fed, but full… and also stretched to the absolute maximum as his pussy throbbed in pleasure around the massive cock invading it.

Chu Wanning, sparkling lights shining brilliantly in his eyes, couldn’t tear his gaze away from where they were connected. Enthralled. Even more enthralling… when Mo Ran pulled out with another sqlick! sound, his straining cock was covered in a faint sheen of Chu Wanning’s pussy juices. It even caught the bakery’s warm lightning, glistening.

Mo Ran hurriedly thrusted forwards again, driving his greedy fucking cock in further, deeper, like he couldn’t bear to spend a millisecond outside of Chu Wanning. “What a pretty, pretty pussy, baobei, taking my cock so nicely… So sexy, Wanning is always so fucking sexy,” Mo Ran blissfully groaned in admiration.

Considering the sheer amount of slick Chu Wanning was producing, more lewd noises easily followed. Squelching. Schlicking. The sounds reverberated through his mind with impeccable audio quality. Chu Wanning felt like he was going insane.

Fingers, once again, tugged those absolutely drenched white cotton panties (the ones he was still, inexplicably, wearing) to the side… so that Mo Ran could obsessively watch the way Chu Wanning’s swollen pussy lips stretched around his thick length.

Then, without warning. “Wanning is too tight, does he fuck your pussy like this?” The question tore out of Mo Ran like it had been clawing at his throat for weeks. Hair-raising anger rolled off Mo Ran in damn near palpable waves as he viciously spat, “That fucking bastard doesn’t deserve to.”

The words weren’t for posturing or bravado; they were grief-stricken, spoken by someone who couldn’t stomach the maddening idea that Chu Wanning had been treated as anything less than precious.

What the fuck was Mo Ran talking about now. Chu Wanning was so thoroughly thrown that he had to scrape together enough remaining brainpower just to wonder who, exactly, Mo Ran was referring to. Was this… roleplay? A cheating roleplay?

Humans, Chu Wanning ultimately decided, were truly incomprehensible creatures. Eventually he settled on saying nothing in a stubborn refusal to encourage such baffling bedroom behavior, and perhaps later he would even scold, reprimand, discipline--

“Baobei, baobei, baobei,” Mo Ran breathed, his voice shaking with urgent need, every syllable reeking of desperation. Hands clamped down on Chu Wanning’s waist before yanking him back to meet Mo Ran thrust-for-maddening-thrust, and Chu Wanning started seeing stars.

“I could treat Wanning so much better than he ever could. I’ll keep you fed. I’ll make you cum every single fucking day, as many times as Wanning possibly wants,” Mo Ran whispered, frantic and earnest all at once. “Please… choose me instead, okay? Wanning, choose me.” He was still roleplaying… Was it a kink?

As if making due on his promise, Mo Ran’s hand drifted downwards and his thumb started rubbing tight circles around his ignored clit and--!

Chu Wanning nearly jackknifed into a sitting position with an indignant, “Mo Ran!” The younger man’s name came out as a broken shout, overwhelmed by the sheer limb-tingling pleasure because it was too much! Too much, too fast!

It was impossible! He couldn’t take it, couldn’t take both sensations at the same time! His hand shot downwards and clamped itself around Mo Ran’s thick wrist to… to either stop him or desperately hold on, Chu Wanning didn’t exactly know… too distracted by that incredible heightening sensation unfurling within his heated core.

Mo Ran only got wilder. The man’s chest sharply rose and fell in ragged pulls of breath… panting, like the dumb mutt Mo Ran always jokingly claimed himself to be (Chu Wanning never liked those jokes). Mo Ran started rubbing Chu Wanning’s throbbing clit even harder, accompanied by toe-curling thrusts with his weighty cock, as if trying to please, to pleasure, to worship the far, far older man lying underneath him.

Chu Wanning squirmed restlessly at the onslaught with several pitiful whines. Really, it was way too much. He had already been halfway to achieving his second release, and that was before Mo Ran (incredible, generous Mo Ran) touched his clit.

The wet squelching sounds rang noisily through his ears, while that unfairly huge cockhead insistently pounded against that deep part inside him, bullying him. Or perhaps… stretching him open far past what Chu Wanning thought possible, carving out a warm space just for Mo Ran inside. Only Mo Ran. Always.

That very idea ended up being what tipped him over the line. His orgasm mercilessly slammed into him, and Chu Wanning scrambled to clutch at Mo Ran’s forearm and wrist in a desperate attempt to hold onto something. His mind flooded with endorphins as his pussy spasmed in hard-earned euphoria, squeezing the twitching cock inside like it wanted to milk it dry.

Chu Wanning’s mouth opened in a long-winded moan, his fangs peeking behind blood-stained lips. Look at him… an ancient vampire reduced to a sloppy, quivering mess by a fresh-faced young man. His entire body shook with the glorious aftershocks, and a pleasantly numb feeling spread throughout his pliant limbs as Mo Ran continued fucking into him with relentless fervor.

Mo Ran groaned low in his throat. “That’s it, Wanning, fuck, there you go,” he murmured, hands sliding up-and-down along Chu Wanning’s sides in a steady, grounding touch. It felt good. “There’s my pretty Wanning, cumming so beautifully on my cock. I’ll give you so much more if you let me, baobei. You’ll be mine for tonight, right? No one else’s?”

Chu Wanning blinked dazedly in post-orgasm bliss, while he graciously allowed Mo Ran to use his sopping pussy to focus on chasing his own climax.

The words had been shockingly possessive, and even Chu Wanning’s blood-drunk and fucked-out brain groggily paused at the tone. Mine, Mo Ran had said. Would a casual one-night stand utter such words? Seems unlikely…

With eyes half-lidded, Chu Wanning tilted his head and studied the human man before him in slight wonderment. Sweaty, for one thing. Definitely disheveled to the point of debauchery... and also radiating that intoxicatingly vivid vitality. But setting aside all of that--

Mo Ran looked… both desperately aroused but also wholeheartedly enamored, watching Chu Wanning with devotion-filled eyes that soaked up every detail laid bare before him. That single look conveyed and confirmed everything Chu Wanning had wondered.

Ah… Chu Wanning thought simply. It seems highly possible… that this man liked him too.

Overcome by some emotion, Chu Wanning released the death-grip on Mo Ran’s wrist (that would definitely give the younger man a suspiciously shaped bruise later on…) and made a beckoning hand gesture. Come here, please.

Because he was so, so good… Mo Ran instantly recognized the gesture for what it was and obediently leaned forwards over Chu Wanning, partially resting his dense weight against him. Mo Ran was quite heavy, but Chu Wanning found the crushing pressure comforting. Perhaps that was something else to explore another time…

Even though his hips refused to still, Mo Ran looked at him imploringly from mere centimeters away, as though awaiting instruction, permission, anything at all. Their breaths brushed each other’s lips, shared. So close.

“I’ll be yours,” Chu Wanning readily agreed, the simple answer to Mo Ran’s possessive questioning posed earlier. And not just for the night, he added only in his thoughts, because whatever bravado had carried him this far had finally fizzled out. He hoped Mo Ran heard the unspoken words anyway.  

Mo Ran looked utterly undone by Chu Wanning’s easy agreement, his amethyst eyes widening in both disbelief and reverence. Seriously… the man was so ridiculously handsome, even drenched in debauchery. “Wanning,” Mo Ran eventually managed to croak out, throat bobbing, before bowing his head and burying his sweat-damp hair into the older man’s shoulder, nuzzling.

That’s all it took. Mo Ran flexed his hips and heartily groaned into Chu Wanning’s shoulder as that ridiculously oversized cock spilled deep into the other’s welcoming cunt with several hard jerks. Mo Ran was actually cumming inside him… Chu Wanning realized semi-deliriously with an overwhelming happiness.

A different type of warmth flooded Chu Wanning’s senses and he found… he quite enjoyed it. Especially since it was so abundant. It filled every hidden corner of his insides to the point of actually overflowing; spilling outwards around Mo Ran’s cock and dripping down his sticky folds in fat globs that had Chu Wanning squirming at the unfamiliar sensation.

It was very satisfying.

“Was it good baobei…?” came an exhausted voice buried deep in Chu Wanning’s shoulder; it was Mo Ran, still hiding his face while shuddering from intense aftershocks. His weight settled more fully atop Chu Wanning, no longer braced or careful, just there. Warm. Solid. “Is Wanning finally satisfied after being fucked full?”

That second question was definitely not worthy of a response.

Instead, Chu Wanning lifted a weary hand and patted Mo Ran’s disheveled hair with fond amusement. Once, twice… and then a third time because he just couldn’t help himself.

☆ ⋅ ˚₊ - ´ ദ്ദ🍰(˶˃⤙˂˶)و ´- ₊˚ ⋅ ☆

The aftermath found them tangled together in the bakery’s dining area, their forms enveloped by warm lighting while the kitchen’s ovens cooled in the hushed background. As their harsh breathing gradually slowed, awareness crept back into Chu Wanning’s mind and his body prickled with the first stirrings of discomfort.

Dried blood was still smeared across his face, flaking off in itchy chips. The mess between his thighs felt sticky, his aching (practically geriatric) back felt stiff, and sweat-matted hair stuck to his temples. Very uncomfortable. Perhaps… doing it on a restaurant table hadn’t been the wisest of ideas.

Chu Wanning refused to imagine the unfortunate customers who would unknowingly sit here tomorrow, lest he combust into mortified flames.

Mo Ran immediately noticed his pained grimace, because he quickly tucked himself back into his ruined jeans and started cleaning Chu Wanning up. The young man moved with reverent urgency, sacrificing his own discarded apron to speedily clean the embarrassingly messy situation (poor Taxian-jun…) to the best of his abilities before Chu Wanning could get self-conscious.

Then, Mo Ran carefully dressed Chu Wanning into some semblance of dignity, pulling the vampire’s ruined cashmere sweater over his head and tugging his wrinkled slacks back into place before (futilely) trying to smooth the fabric flat with his palms. When Mo Ran’s attention turned to his face… fingers gently wiped the dried blood off his chin and cheek with almost ceremonial care.

Only when the human was satisfied (when Chu Wanning looked properly “taken care of”) did Mo Ran ease him into a sitting position against the edge of the table. Mo Ran remained standing between his legs like he belonged there, hands lifting to carefully tame Chu Wanning’s disheveled hair as he leisurely coaxed the mess back into a ponytail with affectionate strokes.

Meanwhile, the entire time Chu Wanning was trying his hardest to think of something to say (should he scold Mo Ran? Enthusiastically thank him?… Silence him forever?) Thankfully, Mo Ran spoke up before Chu Wanning ultimately decided his fate.

“Wanning,” Mo Ran whispered with a sudden gravity that put the vampire immediately on high alert. “Wanning, Wanning, Wanning. Let me bring you home. Please. I’ll run you a scalding hot bath and serve you a huge slice of German chocolate cake. The good one! With double the filling.”

The words tumbled out of Mo Ran in a breathless rush as he looked at Chu Wanning with naked desperation, continuing, “You don’t deserve to go back to your place and see him of all people. Let me take care of you tonight, at least.” His dark eyes were bright and imploring like a street dog sitting painfully at a roadside market, begging for even the smallest scrap of kindness.

“Who’s ‘him’…?” Chu Wanning finally asked. The words came out slightly delayed, as though they had to push their way through fog before reaching his tongue.

Disoriented, Chu Wanning tried to make sense of what (who) Mo Ran had been referring to all this time. Him. Who was this mysterious man? Surely… surely this still wasn’t part of that peculiar roleplay; some continuation of that imagined infidelity kink. If so, it had gone too far. Much too far.

Mo Ran blinked at him. His head tipped to the side in a small, unconscious tilt, bewilderment written plainly across his face. “The Tanlang Elder,” he said slowly, as though the answer should have been self-evident. “Obviously…”

Chu Wanning’s confusion only deepened. “Why would I see him?” he eventually asked, incredulity threading through each word. “In my own home, no less?”

The idea was absolutely absurd. Chu Wanning despised company. He tolerated it, at best, and even then only under specific circumstances. His home was his carefully guarded territory; a place where even centuries-old vampires knew better than to intrude uninvited.

The only consistent exceptions were Xue Zhengyong, Madam Wang and, by extension, their son Xue Meng; Chu Wanning had been tutoring Xue Meng for many years now and held a great fondness for that darling of the heavens. The Tanlang Elder, by contrast, had crossed Chu Wanning’s threshold only under the gravest of circumstances.

At Chu Wanning’s strong vehemence… something peculiar crossed Mo Ran’s face as his brows drew together in thought. Mo Ran occasionally called himself stupid (much to Chu Wanning’s immense ire)… but this was the look of a man quietly slotting pieces into place, no further explanation required.

“Because…” Mo Ran tentatively started, then trailed off in uncertainty. “You and the Tanlang Elder are… in a romantic relationship… right?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Horror. Horror drained what little color remained in Chu Wanning’s already pale face, his expression cracking into something utterly unsalvageable. For a long, awful moment, he couldn’t even speak… only stared at Mo Ran as though the young man had just admitted to establishing a tyrannical regime.

“Mo Ran…” Chu Wanning finally gritted out between clenched teeth. “What could have possibly warranted that assumption.”

“You… You both kept showing up to my couples baking class,” Mo Ran said slowly, like he was bracing himself even as the words left his mouth. “Every Friday night, the romantic lessons explicitly tailored for couples… with all the deliberate innuendos,” he added as he gestured vaguely around the room as though the ovens themselves could testify.

A couples class.

This whole time.

This whole, entire time.

Chu Wanning’s thoughts imploded into white noise as understanding slammed into him all at once, brutal and merciless. The paired humans. Mo Ran’s shamelessly flirtatious tone, the winked encouragements, the carefully cultivated intimacy threaded throughout every goddamn lesson.

Even that very first conversation all those months ago… Mo Ran had asked Chu Wanning so casually if he was waiting on someone.

It all aligned with horrifying clarity.

Once again… white-hot mortification suffocated his senses and burned the tips of his ears. Chu Wanning’s fingers clenched Mo Ran’s belt loops before he thought better of it, knuckles whitening with the literal bone-creaking strain.

When he finally spoke, his words came out rough, scraped raw from his rapidly swelling throat. “I didn’t know,” Chu Wanning admitted hoarsely, ducking his head in utter humiliation. “We can’t stand each other. He only started coming because he promised his late wife he’d help me pursue someone I--” His voice faltered pathetically, fizzling out, pride warring viciously with honesty.

Chu Wanning swallowed roughly, eyes fixed stubbornly on Mo Ran’s still naked chest instead of his face; it would be a far more distracting sight if Chu Wanning wasn’t currently fighting off the impulse to jump off the nearest building. “I kept coming back because of you,” he finished, barely above a whisper, the closest thing to a confession he could manage.

Mo Ran stared at him, frozen. It was visibly noticeable when the realization hit, because every muscle in Mo Ran’s body spasmed. “You’ve… you’ve been coming here to pursue someone,” he repeated slowly, tone dropping onto something almost awestruck. “And that’s… me?”

Idiot, of course it was. But he owed Mo Ran at least this… Chu Wanning steeled his nerves and nodded sharply in confirmation.

Mo Ran made a strangled sound in his throat.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, hand flying up to rake through his already-disheveled hair for the nth time this evening. His expression cracked wide open into something vaguely wild. “So you’re not… you’re not in some horrific, soul-crushing relationship with that… that guy? God, what’s his fucking name again?”

“Tanlang Elder,” Chu Wanning deadpanned automatically, still refusing to look at him.

“Shit!” Mo Ran let out a breathless laugh, too elated to feel anything other than pure happiness. “Just tell me his actual name, already!”

Mo Ran surged forwards before Chu Wanning could properly react, tanned hands coming up to cradle his face with unrestrained urgency. Warm palms pressed into his cheeks, squishing them slightly, before Mo Ran leaned in and kissed him squarely, fiercely, like he’d been holding back the impulses for months. Perhaps he had.

Chu Wanning was helpless, completely uneducated in these matters, so he resigned himself to sitting there, allowing Mo Ran to have his way with him. His hands only trembled slightly.

Mo Ran’s kisses were relieved, with laughter breaking through every other one. Mo Ran kissed him again and again, grinning against his blood-stained lips, utterly unashamed in his joy.

“Wanning…” Mo Ran murmured between kisses, voice wrecked with overflowing happiness. “Wanning, I love you, I love you, I love you,” he whispered those incredibly precious words against his lips, his cheeks, his temples.

Mo Ran was always so bright… and now he was radiant in his glowing affection, openly smothering, with hands warm and confident as if he had finally been permitted to touch. How had Chu Wanning not noticed the reciprocated feelings sooner? They were both idiots.

“God,” Mo Ran sighed as he pulled back just enough to look adoringly at Chu Wanning. “I kept thinking… if that’s how he treats you and you think it’s normal… Fuck, Wanning, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to help you without… without crossing lines. Without scaring you off.” The relief in his voice was nearly palpable.  

Then Mo Ran placed one last kiss flat against his forehead. Unfairly enough, Mo Ran moved before Chu Wanning could properly process the situation (or even try… to return a kiss…), scooping him up with the strength of a man who lifted 20kg sacks of flour every day. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Chu Wanning let out an indignant sound and instinctually clutched at Mo Ran’s broad shoulders, the half-hearted protest instantly dissolving on his tongue when Mo Ran laughed again. The sound was beautiful. Mo Ran should always be laughing.

“As the co-owner, I live in the apartment above the bakery,” Mo Ran announced breathlessly, excitement spilling over itself as he bounced lightly on his heels, like he couldn’t stay still. “So, Wanning… stay the night. All the nights. Weeks. Months. Forever, it’s all fine.”

Mo Ran punctuated every sentence with affection, showering Chu Wanning in multiple kisses as if love were something he could physically layer on, until his new vampire lover had no choice but to feel it in its uncensored entirety.

Chu Wanning, held too securely and cared for too openly, was immediately overwhelmed.

Hiding his face against Mo Ran’s (sturdy, grounding, unmistakably masculine) throat, Chu Wanning spoke without really thinking (still a little frazzled from too much warmth, too much affection). “Out of curiosity… who’s the other owner?” The question slipped out in a distracted little murmur.

Really… Mo Ran had always introduced himself as the bakery’s co-owner, never elaborating beyond that simple fact. So who was this unspoken owner? Would they object to Mo Ran abandoning his proper closing duties? Or disapprove of Mo Ran dragging an unsettling (old, decrepit) vampire upstairs into the apartment above their shared business?

Mo Ran didn’t hesitate for even half a second. Maybe if he had, Chu Wanning would have assumed he was joking.

“Oh,” Mo Ran said brightly, his dimples deepening as he smiled like this was the simplest answer in the world, “it’s Taxian-jun.”

☆ ⋅ ˚₊ - ´ THE 🍰 END ´- ₊˚ ⋅ ☆