#quest 001
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UNPROMPTED || ALWAYS ACCEPTING! || @cgear
cgear asked: "DEMON?" It was unclear whether he sounded offended or scared- maybe a mix of both? "I AIN'T NO DEMON!!! And ehhh, I ain't no scaredy-meowth but demons ain't real, right?" Yeah, despite what he said he sounded pretty scared.
[Nanashi had seen and encountered just about everything; sure, he was only fifteen, but he'd been studying demons for years now. That, combined with his current predicament as an undead demon-hunter, meant he should be able to identify ANYTHING he came across...so why didn't he recognize this goofy-looking cat?]
[Of course he assumed the cat was another demon- it had every other indicator, including the ability to talk. He figured that this little guy might be an asset, given that he'd never seen it before...though he'd been unpleasantly surprised by that sort of assumption before. Maybe his dad was right; "assumptions make an ass out of you and me."]
[After all, the cat-like demon didn't seem to understand what it was, let alone that demons had infested the city. Maybe it wasn't a demon...? Nanashi had heard of cats before, but he'd never seen one. He'd been under the assumption that they were all extinct. Did cats talk...?]
❝ If you're not a demon, then what are you? ❞ [Nanashi kneeled to meet the cat's level, studying its mannerisms; no, it couldn't be a regular cat. To his knowledge, they didn't stand on their hindlegs...and he was fairly certain that cats didn't have coins on their heads, unless Lucky Cat statues were anatomically correct.] ❝ And have you been living under a rock for the last 25 years? This place is crawling with demons, like, 24/7. ❞ [...Maybe someone had kept it as a pet in the underground district?? A really SHELTERED pet, but still...that wasn't unheard of.]
#cgear#cgear; 001#🍀 || quest complete! (answered.) || 🍀#{ OUGHHHHGHSHGSH ILL NEVER BE OVER THE TIMING OF THIS }#{ meowth my BELOVED }#{ also i feel so brilliant for coming up with the 'above-ground is pokemon; underground is smt' concept bc like... }#{ mikado (above-ground) is so sanitized bc it's run by angels and pokemon is like the pg version of smt and KJFSNDKJ??? }
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who: @saffroninsilk when and where: flashback thread in shenlong, yiti quest details: in an attempt to secure an exclusive silk trade agreement with the shenlong silk guild, akhirah deals with the guild leaders being wary of outsiders, requiring akhirah to prove his house's reliability and commitment. the negotiations are complicated by a rival merchant from volantis, who seeks to undercut the tarth offer. the twist: during the negotiations, a rare and valuable silk shipment is stolen by bandits. akhirah knows he must track the thieves through dense bamboo forests - and is not expecting for the guild to allocate a lady of house westerling to his responsibility.
the rain drummed steadily against the tiled roof, a muted, rhythmic hum that filled the safehouse with its quiet insistence. the air smelled of damp earth and aged wood, laced with the subtle perfume of brewing tea. akhirah sat cross-legged before the low table, his back straight despite the creeping stiffness in his limbs. before him, the old woman moved with slow, deliberate grace, pouring the pale green liquid into delicate porcelain cups.
he exhaled, watching the steam coil into the air. this had already taken longer than expected. the silk guild had wasted no time in sending him after the stolen shipment, yet they had also insisted he take lady malee westerling along—a decision that still made little sense to him. he glanced at her briefly across the table. she did not belong here, not in the dense bamboo forests they would soon be tracking through, not in the path of armed thieves. yet the guildmasters had been insistent, their reasons left as veiled as their expressions.
the old woman placed a cup before him, and he nodded in thanks before lifting it to his lips. the moment the tea touched his tongue, sharp heat bit into his flesh, and he barely withheld a curse, setting the cup down with careful restraint. his jaw tensed as the sting settled in. wonderful. he had crossed the jade sea, bargained with wary merchants, and now he was being undone by a cup of scalding tea. his gaze shifted to malee. he had not expected her presence, nor the responsibility that came with it.
it was one thing to lead men into battle, to safeguard his house’s interests in court, but to be entrusted with the safety of a westerling in foreign lands? that was an entirely different burden. she was capable, that much was clear—keen-eyed, sure-footed, unshaken by the quiet weight of the room—but capability would not stop an arrow loosed from the shadows. the old woman regarded him with a knowing smile, as though she had seen his thoughts laid bare. he met her gaze evenly, unwilling to let his frustration show.
"time tests patience," she murmured, voice like rustling paper. "and patience tempers resolve."
akhirah inclined his head slightly, though he had little patience left to temper. they should already be riding out, following the silk’s cold trail before the bandits disappeared entirely. instead, he was here, sitting in a stranger’s home, drinking tea while the storm raged beyond the walls. his fingers curled against his knee. "we'll have to ride at first light," he said finally, his voice measured, though firm. "with or without the guild’s blessing." he turned to malee then, searching for any flicker of hesitation in her face, his head remaining leaning against the wall behind him.
"you understand what we’re walking into?" he asked, quieter now. "this is not some courtly game. they will not care for your name if the knives come out." the rain answered in silence.
#c: malee#malee 001#where the sea meets the road of silk it is there fates intertwine (malee westerling)#im so excited!!!!#im doing all the quests for akhirah it makes me giggle sm
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#Best Sneaker Releases February 2025 Week 4 Nike Air Max 1 Low Poly “Adventure” Nicole McLaughlin x Vans Slip-On RS Air Jordan 4 NET “Triple#Sharkicks1#We’re nearing the end of the second month of 2025 and it’s clear that brands are back in midseason form as Nike#Vans#Jordan Brand#adidas#New Balance and ANTA have all prepared notable drops to look out for this week. Before we give you the full rundown on which pairs in parti#let’s first look back at the last seven days and review which sneaker headlines stood out.#Nike had two new silhouettes draw eyes last week — Wale previewed the GT Future at NBA All-Star Weekend and the Swoosh unveiled its new $10#As for Jordan Brand#it would seem that the Jumpman team hasn’t forgotten about the Air Jordan 5’s 35th anniversary as first looks at Awake NY’s “Arctic Pink” c#Converse offered a closer look at what to expect from Shai Gilgeous-Alexander’s upcoming SHAI 001.#Elsewhere in the industry#Salehe Bembury officially teased his forthcoming New Balance 991v2 “Colors Be The Palette” after an early pair leaked. We also got a first#7. We also previewed Bad Bunny’s new adidas Ballerina silhouette in “Bold Gold.”#Now that you’re up to speed on what’s been going on in the sneaker space#let’s take a look at which key pairs are dropping this week#starting with the latest from Nike’s .SWOOSH platform. Once you’ve made your way through the list in its entirety#be sure to slide by HBX to shop styles that are available now.#Nike Air Max 1 Low Poly “Adventure”#Release Date: February 26#Release Price: $150 USD#Where to Buy: .SWOOSH#Why You Should Cop: Nike is again bridging the gap between the physical and digital worlds thanks to its web3-oriented .SWOOSH platform. It#this time taking on a Tomb Raider-based color scheme with its “Adventure” colorway. In order to purchase a pair#.SWOOSH members have to complete a digital quest that will grant them access to the sneaker when it drops this week.#Nicole McLaughlin x Vans Slip-On RS#Release Date: February 26 and 27#Release Price: $130 USD#Where to Buy: Nicole McLaughlin and Vans
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@bornatnightt
"hold on, you're uh... you've been with us at the ranch, right?" they'd been such a big group & silas had been so busy trying not to strangle alejandro & then there'd been that damn horse. he'd needed that fight in the end, needed it to cool off, but it appeared like they'd been led there for nothing. unless the cowboys tricked everybody. he'd been so close when the zeus kid stopped them.
now, silas didn't necessarily support taking down innocent people, but he'd really ...really wanted to. gods, he did. he knew he wasn't the only one who didn't quite trust them, but ... they didn't have too many options, did they? go against the group? nah. "we never got t'fight, but... what's it you do? if ya don' mind me askin'." silas had yet to fight side by side with everybody yet, find out what their powers were & categorize them in ... well, synergy or not.
he found that in fights like they were facing, with unknown enemies & barely any time to prepare - with constant adjustments to the enemy playstyle being key, it was even more important to know what every teammate was good at.
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@speedchasing. [text]: I found a cat on the way home and now it’s mine. But it hates my guts so this should be fun. TEXTS.
[ sms ] y'know, animals are great judges of character. [ sms ] maybe your vibes are off.
[ sms ] that's what cloud says sometimes. [ sms ] are your vibes off, mister?
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@moraypower.
"Hey, hey..." You take a long, hard look at their shield. Something in that head of yours is cooking, but it might taste a little funny... or maybe that's just the sugar you're trying to ignore. "Bounce me off that shield of yours here and I can clear the log ride of monsters easy." You gesture to a dip in the stream where, every so often, a log plows its way through. Each and every one of them is always packed with monsters, but you know you could handle it. Anything to get some actual amusement from this amusement park!
"Then we can ride to our heart's content, yeah?"
#moraypower#moraypower : 001.#in character.#event : sugar quest iv.#horrible idea don't listen to him
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[ Intro Post ]
[ Those cards of promises I discarded, were they retribution for my incessant taking? ]
mod may apply headcanons to muse. will attempt to keep this to a minimum
mod is @stuffedsand, you can call me mod sandy or whatever suits your fancy
Mod will speak in the tags a LOT please don't mind them
muse can be t1, 2 or 3 depending on ask and mod's discretion.
might be ooc at times... mod isnt very good at rp
Will reflect the style of the other. Type about as much as you expect me to respond with.
[ ASKS and SUBMISSIONS are OPEN ]
[ TAGGING for rp is OK! please do tag me :p ]
-- banner and pfp is drawn by me :) im shameless promoing go look at my art @doodles-in-sand
ABOUT MOD
can call me Sandy or variations of my main user
mod is a minor
mod uses any pronouns
please pardon grammatical, punctuation or spelling errors!! I tend not to capitalize my words + dont have autocorrect on my computer
INBOX RULES
-- NO NSFW . mod is minor. certain jokes may be allowed, but chances are they wont be appreciated
-- magic anons very very appreciated. Stacking of spells may happen at mod's discretion.
-- i dont do ships! sorry lol I'm not confident in writing them + im aroace so im extra unfamiliar with it
-- if you want a trial specific character answer, do say so in the ask! else i may respond with the wrong trial :p
-- will still take t1/t2 rp prompts. uh. but if you act like hes dead hes going to be dead. that might be the default for a bit so please do specify
TAGS
[ I'm indispensible ] -- Important posts (like this one)
[ lying replacing with hope ] -- rp tag
[ ethics are a delusion ] -- angst tag (tentative)
[ what do you mean innocent? ] -- joke tag
[ gardener ] -- ooc tag :)
[ how peculiar... ] -- magic anon
[ invitation I can't take back ] -- submissions
[ connecting you and me ] -- asks
[ 001 - 010 ] -- other prisoners
[ Es-kun ] - Es
[ indistinct flowers ] -- interaction with non rp blogs/anons
[ a new hobby ] -- shidou's drawings
[ memories dyed blue ] -- MOD's drawings (aka not drawn by muse)
[ Please don't forgive me ] - trial 1
[ prolong my life ] - trial 2
[ wilted ] - trial 3...
[ monstrous flower ] - es quested shidou (bonus [ the es quest special ] for his very bad no good . three eternities ( creds to nott for . Well for es questing him lol )

Images are taken from official milgram mvs OR drawn by mod. Further credit will be on the individual post if required
[ monstrous flower ] was added because he's funny. And also I think four threads is reason enough to give him the official tag
#[ i'm indispensible ]#[ lying replacing with hope ]#[ gardener ]#[ how peculiar... ]#[ invitation I can't take back ]#[ connecting you and me ]#[ 001 ]#[ 002 ]#[ 003 ]#[ 004 ]#[ 006 ]#[ 007 ]#[ 008 ]#[ 009 ]#[ 010 ]#[ Es-kun ]#[ indistinct flowers ]#[ Please don't forgive me ]#[ prolong my life ]#//...i intended for the tags to be triage related since the blog theme is throw down themed but...lets say throw down has more usable lines#//many sorrys if this shows up on maintag. im sossososo sorry if it does#[ a new hobby ]#[ memories dyed blue ]#[ ethics are a delusion ]#[ wilted ]#[ what do you mean innocent? ]#[ monstrous flower ]#[ love that won't perish ]#[ the es quest special ]
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↪ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓 : percy jackson quotes. currently accepting, expect slow to post.
“ you cannot control your parentage , but you can choose your legacy . ” from @lightningstruck's : medea fogarty.
KILLERS OF DREAMS, PARENTS SLAUGHTER THE RISING HOPES OF THEIR CHILDREN ! rhys of course, is not spared of this— the revelation of his father 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, as he stands in front of medea and attempts to keep standing on both feet. this wasn't like the young man, nothing shook rhys ( not even death ) and yet ... he has the pallor of a ghost and trembles like one too. his father is a titan, and not just any titan— 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚝𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏.
made from a handful of stars, the dumont child's creation went against the gods & ushered in a new type of half blood ... all of this explained to rhys and medea upon the mountain where atlas presides. it is as if the mysteries 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚛𝚑𝚢𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 were unravelling all at once- by leaps and bounds of parchment- he was being strangled by the truth.
" ... what legacy? any legacy i make— it'll tie back to him. he made me, medea. with his own fucking hands, he made me. "
#medea & rhys: 001#lightningstruck#closed.#putting this in the quest he goes on#when he discovers who his papa is
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only a few chapters into the a.mber s.pyglass and i am already disowning season 3 and will not be including the events of the third season in my writing because what the holy fuck is this nonsense??? anyways, once i'm finished with it, i might make some adjustments to my verses to blend seasons one and two (since it's what i mostly draw from for my lee) and the a.mber s.pyglass and apply it for my lee lives au. PREPARE FOR THE DIVERGENT PART OF MY CANON DIVERGENT PORTRAYAL.
#*001. ham is my jam // ooc.#{the show really built up iorek's quest to avenge lee in s1 and s2 then removed it completely from s3}#{are you fucking SHITTING ME???}
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Often times, Agnes did not find herself smiling sincerely. She'd come to the Stumble Inn on the premise of finding a place she could sleuth for information undercover, yet within it she had found some oddity of a family, something haphazard and strange, but wondrous as a result. "You do, and I intend to be around to watch as you break free from your moldings, Deja." Agnes stood, lingering momentarily before she rolled her shoulders with a stiffer smile; how often she had left behind places, but this was the first one that truly felt like a hell home and not a house. "Be well until my return."
"Ah, free pep talk." Deja doesn't flinch at the touch but she gives it a second. Agnes was not a touchy feely person and she knew this because she herself was one of those people. She'd grown up in an affectionate household, she often had to remind herself that not everyone wanted a hug. But after those initial few seconds, she turns her hand to be able to intertwine their fingers together just so she could give Agne's hand a quick squeeze. Withdrawing the touch altogether, she sinks a little into her chair and thinks twice before protesting. "Well, I've got a lot of time to figure it out, don't I?" Baby steps, she was going out with Seraphiel more, she was meeting Zeliha in places that weren't just the inn. There was indeed an entire world beyond the front door of the inn and she was starting to see it.
#deja 001.#˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🌿:✧˚. ⋆ feat: deja.#˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🌿:✧˚. ⋆ interactions.#˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🌿:✧˚. ⋆ location: eterna. / lysara.#˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🌿:✧˚. ⋆ plot drop: living stone.#lets wrap this and i can give you something new for when deja returns from the road quest!
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UNPROMPTED || ALWAYS ACCEPTING! || @wrongtrain
wrongtrain asked: "I have never been to an actual subway before!" He chirped, following Nanashi a little bit too closely as he looked around. This place was a lot different from Hilda and Hilbert's world. A lot of buildings were in poor condition, but they all seemed to be in different stages of deterioration, like some had been abandoned a long time ago while others had only been abandoned recently. He liked the ones that were more or less completely destroyed! He could see the remnants of human life inside of it that way, without having to take a full detour from their destination. He also quite liked that there wasn't a sun, honestly. It was always so bright whenever he departed from the Velvet Room with either of the wild card possessing twins, but he didn't have that problem here! He could look up at the sky as much as he wanted without worrying about blinding himself by mistake. Though it was definitely making him pay less attention to what was under his own two feet, and he kept tripping and stumbling on jagged cracks and holes in the road.
[If Nanashi hadn't thought it before, he was thinking it now: this guy was fucking weird.]
[Maintaining a chipper attitude whilst walking through the literal ruins of Tokyo was...not impossible, but uncanny. He and his sister were guilty of childlike optimism, sure, but they'd been born and raised here -- this guy looked old as Hell. There was no way he would be a stranger to their fallen Tokyo, but he acted like it was brand-new and fun. It was...weird, not seeing an old fart who was miserable and hopeless over Tokyo's current state.]
[His bright and cheery attitude might even be welcome, if it wasn't for the fact that his eagerness came from the destruction of Tokyo. It was like he was admiring it. For once, he could see where Nikkari and Manabu were coming from with their repetitive insistence that "this is no game." It was hitting Nanashi now, of all times, that their country was incredibly far-gone.]
[God, now HE felt old. Old people were the only ones who lamented Tokyo's current state.]
[Emmet hammered in the idea that he was a total outsider with his next statement, though. He'd never been to a SUBWAY? Y'know, the shelters that EVERYONE in Tokyo had taken residence in??? Where was this guy from, Mikado?]
[Actually, that might explain the weird wardrobe...]
❝ What the fuck are you talking about? ❞ [Nanashi stopped in his tracks, sparing an inquisitive glance to the stranger.] ❝ Aren't you a little old to have never seen a subway? Are you from Mikado or something? ❞
[Honestly, it was a good thing that Flynn had changed the game in regard to the public perception of Mikado, otherwise Nanashi would really have a bone to pick here.]
#wrongtrain#wrongtrain; 001#🍀 |v| puppet on a string. (002.) |v| 🍀#🍀 || quest complete! (answered.) || 🍀#{ SDKJFJKSD nanashi here like wtf is wrong with you }#{ where did he come from where did he go...where did he come from cotton eyed joe }
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your camera roll as paige’s girlfriend — p. bueckers x fem!reader.



001. posted to your friends only story, showing just how many sanrio plushies your girlfriend had bought you.
002. showing paige all the trufru's you picked up for her + kk.
003. you found this on pinterest, saved it, then sent it to paige simply because it described your relationship so well. paige was no doubt a “yapper” while you were more of a listener. that’s why you worked so well.



004. you were jokingly taking pictures of paige as she posed with her ipad, which might be her most prized possession. most nights kk would walk into the living room just to see you two doing stuff like this, or playing roblox. ever since you got with paige, you started healing your inner child.
005. driving in the car with her, it was an often occurrence that at some point throughout the ride, her hand would end up on your thigh.
006. date night at top golf.



007. this one was taken, then posted to instagram.. just to capture one of the silly things you’d find paige doing often.
008. after practice, there was nothing your girlfriend loved more than to cuddle in bed after a shower. she put on the matching hello kitty pajama pants you’d left out for her, and hopped into bed to cuddle. after a few minutes of watching tiktok’s on your phone with her, she turned on the playstation and played twd as you watched.
009. while waiting for a cab in the city, you snapped another quick silly photo of the girl. this photo has since become her contact photo just because it makes you laugh whenever you look at it.



010. the two of you had gone to the gym, paige always did, and you'd decided to start going aswell. in all honesty, you were going just to stare at her.. not that she minded.
011. you sat next to the blonde, as she got her hair and makeup done. it wasn't what she usually spent her days doing, but she'd been going on side quests lately and had many photoshoots. watching as the makeup artist's enhanced your girlfriends features, you snapped a pic.
012. late night walks were common among you, kk, and paige. kk, who seemed like your child, moped and walked slowly behind you and your girlfriend. pulling out her phone to take a snap for streaks, kk sent the picture to you, figuring you'd like it.
taglist: @bveckers @kmoneymartini @cosmopretty @charlottehughess @aubreygriffin @favreader23 @miaroman @alyrasturnz , divs by @/anitalenia
#paige buckets#paige bueckers#paige bueckers x reader#paige x reader#womens basketball#uconn#uconn lives#uconn huskies
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@wxldhxrt
"hey kiddo, how's the wolves?" it'd been a few days since silas last saw greyson, though they didn't talk much (or at all) during the missing children mission. greyson was getting better & better summoning his animal friends, it seemed. impressive. it was so different from what he did. although, he seemed to be the odd one out in camp. they all had magic at their disposal of some sorts & then there was silas, who ...punched. if hard. it was ... he wasn't sure if he felt like he didn't belong, or like he was less than them, but he tried to focus in improvement instead.
"you been practicing with any other animals?" animals were his favorite & one might say silas felt a sting of jealousy when he saw the young godling surrounded by them day in, day out & even able to shift into one.
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@poeticphoenix sent ;; Genesis is just gonna give Aerith a smooch.
Well! It's a little surprising, and frankly, it makes her blush just a touch, but Aerith quickly comes around to the idea and throws her arms around their neck. Pleasant! The kiss is quick, of course, and once it ends Aerith pulls back but leaves her hands on their shoulders — she's got this shit eating grin on her face now, all big and wide with teeth.
"My, my, couldn't resist my charms, could you?"
#poeticphoenix#001. | amaryllis ﹆ ic#aerith's quest to kiss every soldier begins with genesis and zack
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►DANCING WITH THE DEVIL #004: FINALE [Sunghoon.]
Parts ‣ #001 | ‣ #002 | ‣ #003 | ‣ #004: Prelude | ‣ #004: Finale

Abstract: Eight years have passed since you betrayed Park Sunghoon, leaving his fate shrouded in uncertainty. You thought you'd left that world behind, but the serial killings in the capital city —which bore a haunting resemblance to that in your past—pulled you right back into the shadows you once escaped. What began as a quest to prove your worth soon unraveled into something far more sinister: a labyrinthine network of power, deceit, and danger hidden beneath a veneer of opulence.Now, amidst the grandeur of a castle steeped in blood-soaked tradition, you find yourself, once again, entangled with Sunghoon—a ghost from your past whose motives remain as inscrutable as ever. The stakes are now higher, the games deadlier, and survival feels like chasing a mirage. As you navigate a web of twisted rituals and deadly alliances, the tension between you and Sunghoon ignites once again.But this time, the game is different. With whispers of betrayal and lingering wounds threatening to consume you both, you must decide if trust is a risk worth taking—because in doing so, you are not just exposing the truths they've hidden, but also the feelings you’ve fought so hard to suppress and bury.
Parts ‣ #001 | ‣ #002 | ‣ #003 | ‣ #004: Prelude | ‣ #004: Finale
Genre: vampire!sunghoon | horror | thriller | fantasy | romance (or is it? 😋)||| wc: ~13.2k
Featuring: Anton from Riize. [ PSA! ] There's also a Jaeyun here -- this is actually Enhypen Jake lol. Soz, no one fits the role that Jaeyun has in here better than Dark Blood Jake so I plead you guys to just go along and imagine that the Jake in Part 1-3 and Jaeyun in this Part are two different people ((who happen to look alike)) HAHAH
Warnings: blood; violence; injuries (some are self-inflicted); suggestiveness (some are forced); mentions of crimes (missing persons, murder, serial killings); manipulation; toxicity; trauma.
A/N: because Part 4 is too long, I had to split it into two parts and this is the 2nd part, the Finale. So if you're new to Part 4, please start with the Prelude first if you haven't :>

— xi
The gates groaned open, their rusted hinges echoing like a death knell through the oppressive stillness. Beyond them, the maze stretched into darkness, its towering hedges jagged and irregular, as if the structure itself had grown wild and angry over centuries. You stood among the others at the entrance, the flickering torchlight casting distorted shadows across their pale faces. Fear lingered in the air, clinging like smoke.
The host’s voice rang out, its unnerving cheer slicing through the tension. “Thirty minutes!” he announced. “That’s the grace period you’ve earned, dear victors. Thirty minutes to navigate the maze and claim your freedom. Once the thirty minutes is up, your claimants will descend and should you get captured then your fate is sealed in blood and eternity."
The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the night, and chaos erupted. Humans surged forward like a desperate tide, plunging into the maze’s gaping maw.
It didn’t take long for the maze to reveal its true nature.
Branches lunged like claws, snagging at clothes and tearing through skin. You flinched as a woman ahead of you stumbled, her sleeve caught and shredded. Blood welled from her arm, the crimson stark against her pale skin. A man further ahead tripped, his cry piercing as a hidden root twisted around his ankle, sending him sprawling. His hand scraped against a jagged stone, a deep gash splitting his palm.
“It’s a... trap,” you muttered under your breath, the pieces clicking into place. Every twisted path seemed designed to injure, every branch poised to tear flesh. Every movement, every stumble left behind the scent of blood, marking them like a beacon. The maze wasn’t a challenge; it was a slaughterhouse, designed to render them helpless before the hunt even began.
You glanced back toward the castle, your breath catching as you spotted the vampires in the Grand Hall beyond the glass-paneled windows. Warm light spilled out, casting golden reflections on the darkened grounds. They lounged at long tables, wine glasses glinting in their hands as they laughed and gestured. It wasn’t chaos to them; it was entertainment. A grotesque theater of blood and desperation, framed perfectly for their amusement.
Resolve hardened in your chest. You weren’t going to play their game.
Turning sharply, you broke away from the panicked crowd and ran back toward the castle. The thought struck you with chilling clarity as your feet pounded against the ground: the staff had been dismissed, the mortals were in the maze. The castle wasn’t just the safest place to escape the hunt—it was the perfect trap as inside those walls, only vampires remained.
There was no way you would let the maze tear you apart piece by piece. If they wanted a game, you’d give them one on your own terms. And so with bold and calculated steps, you headed back, but instead of the Grand Hall where vampires lounged with glasses of wine in hand, reveling in their twisted theater of blood and desperation, you headed deeper—to the cellar you’d stumbled upon yesterday while frantically searching for a first-aid kit after finding Sunghoon bloodied at the foot of your bed.
Back then, you hadn’t paid much attention—your mind consumed with stopping the bleeding. But the sight had lingered: towering racks of bottles and colossal barrels stacked like monoliths. Most importantly, you recalled how the cellar was situated directly beneath the Grand Hall—a precarious foundation for a room already weathered by centuries. Its position alone made it a powder keg waiting for a spark.
Now, as you descended the spiral staircase once more, your steps were deliberate, your breaths steady. The cellar stretched before you, even larger than you’d remembered. Rows of barrels lined the space, their labels faded but still legible in the dim light: port, sherry, even brandy. The air was thick, carrying the faint tang of aged wine and the sharper bite of spirits—a volatile combination.
You moved quickly, tipping barrels one by one. Thick liquid gushed out, pooling across the stone floor in a growing lake. As the pungent scent of wine filled the air, an idea struck you: a trail. The fire couldn’t stay confined to the cellar—it needed to climb, to reach the vampires in their gilded cage above.
Grabbing an uncorked bottle from the shelves, you dipped it into the pooling wine and began creating a path. The liquid splashed as you worked, leaving a continuous, glistening line up the stairs and toward the hall’s entrance. When the first bottle ran dry, you spotted a smaller cask labeled lamp oil. Without hesitation, you tipped it into the mix, thickening the trail. Your hands moved with precision, painting a path meant to spark chaos.
At the top of the staircase, you paused, heart pounding. The torchlight flickered in your grip as you surveyed your work. The lake of wine and spirits in the cellar. The trail snaking upward. The puddle pooling at the hall’s threshold. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. You recalled overhearing a maid speaking about the Grand Hall—its ancient foundations riddled with cracks and shored up by makeshift supports. If any place in the castle would collapse under fire, it was here.
But, as your surveyed the trail you'd left, you knew it wasn’t enough. You needed chaos. You needed to bait them. You need to cover all the loopholes. Maximise the impact.
So you swiftly reached for the dagger concealed in your garter belt, your eyes darting for a spot to make the sacrifice. Your forearm. Without hesitation, you pressed the blade against your skin, slicing deeper than ever before—this time, you needed more. A sharp sting shot through you, making your breath hitch, but you didn’t falter. Blood welled instantly, warm and vivid, tracing the edge of the wound like liquid fire. With hurried yet deliberate steps, you smeared your blood on the walls leading down to the cellar.
All your near-death interactions with vampires teaches you one important thing: they do not think when it comes to fresh blood when desperation hits.They are creatures of impulse and in the desperation stoked by an inferno—yet another exploitable weakness—the smoke and heat would confuse their senses, leaving the scent of fresh blood as their only compass. Thus, just like how the maze was meant to draw blood—you’d turned their weapon against them, your blood would lead them straight to the hottest part of the castle.
Once you decided blood had strategically been spread enough in certain key locations, you wrapped a torn fabric from your gown tightly—trying to staunch the bleeding before you set your plan in motion.
Your torch flickered ominously, its light casting jagged shadows across the stone walls. It was time.
Crouching low, you ignited the flammable trail at the midpoint of the staircase. Immediately, flames surged to life, spreading upward and downward with terrifying speed. The fire roared as it consumed the path you’d created, its glow painting the narrow corridor in hues of gold and crimson.
You didn’t wait to see the inferno take hold. Spinning on your heel, you darted into a nearby passage—a maid’s shortcut you had overheard during your time wandering the castle. The narrow corridor was damp, the air thick with mildew, but it offered a chance to slip past the chaos you’d unleashed.
When you emerged, the familiar Eastern end of the Corridors of Treachery loomed before you, its twisting halls stretching endlessly into shadow. But this time, you didn’t falter. One last thing, you thought, your steps confident and resolute as you opened a door—the Library.
This was your next target.
The blaze below would cripple them, but the knowledge contained in this room—the ancient texts, the records of their lineage and power—it needed to be destroyed. If the castle was to fall, their legacy must, too, for every words here were like poison, waiting to be unleashed by the next power-hungry bloodsucker.
Your steps were steady as you made your way to the shelves, already knowing where to go. The Obsidian Testament waited for you in its usual place, its ominous presence untouched even amidst the growing chaos. The moonlight spilled through the tall windows, catching the hidden coat of arms engraved on its cover—a silent reminder of Sunghoon’s bloodline, regal and intricate, yet tainted by the weight of its history.
Without hesitation, you lit the edge of the book, watching as the flames began their ravenous work. The coat of arms—so proud, so immovable—gradually crumbled under the heat. You hurled it onto a growing pile of texts, the fire spreading hungrily across the brittle pages.
Let it all burn.
“I knew it was you—" a voice pierced through the sound of crackling flames and the ominous groan of weakening wood.
Jaeyun.
He strode forward with a deliberate, menacing pace, his hand sweeping back his golden hair in a single, frustrated motion. The movement exposed his sharp, angular features. Gone was the mischievous grin that had once softened him, replaced by a cold, predatory expression that turned his beauty into something terrifying.
“I was going to grant you an escape and this—" he roared, “is how you repay me?!”
“As if,” you spat scornfully, “I saw the layout of the maze the other day from the tower–it’s a labyrinth, all towering hedges and twisting paths. No flowers, no statues, no space for anything but confusion. So the moment you told me of statues as the hint for escape, I knew you were trying to bait me."
He scoffed, dragging his sword behind him, the blade scraping against the ground with a grating hiss. The nearby flames cast flickering shadows across his face, making his sneer all the more menacing, “I get it now. You chose me exactly because you needed me here. If you had chosen Sunghoon, you knew I’d left the castle and gone after you–"
You stepped back instinctively, his sneer slowly twisting, faltering into a grimace that betrayed the quiet fury simmering beneath the surface. “You chose me,” he continued, each word dripping with venom, “to trick him. To let him escape this carnage you’ve been planning.”
He didn’t flinch as burnt books tumbled from the crumbling shelves, landing in smouldering heaps around him. His grimace deepened, a bitter edge curling his lips. “How disgustingly cliché.”
“You read too much fairytales.” you hissed, your voice cutting through the crackling of the flames. “I chose you because I knew what a narcissistic, overconfident, manipulative prick you are. I knew you’d let your guard down the moment your name is picked and that is all I needed to take this whole place down. To take the rot down.”
The taunt landed like a strike, and Jaeyun lunged. His speed was startling, and before you could react, your back slammed against a nearby wall. The impact forced the breath from your lungs, your body pinned as his eyes—blazing with a fury to match the fire—bore into yours.
Fuck, you thought, the heat pressing against your skin, the air growing heavier with smoke. At this rate, even you might not escape the fire.
But you’d banked on this. Vampires were slaves to their emotions when pushed to the brink. Jaeyun could have fled. He could have saved himself. Instead, here he was, his rage blinding him to the inferno that threatened to consume them both.
“I can still reap you now,” he snarled, his fangs elongating to their full, menacing length. “You’d be my 100th you know. Two cycles of reaping, countless bodies left in my wake, and still standing. Do you think your little bonfire will end me? Pray harder.”
His hand tightened around your throat, pressing you harder against the wall. The pressure wasn’t just threatening—it was exactly what you needed. His body leaned closer, his focus narrowed to you and his fury. This was the calculated risk you’d taken: baiting him to lose control, to get close enough for you to finish this. And he had proven you right.
You could have fled, but you hadn’t. You’d gambled on his inability to walk away from the stage you’d set ablaze. Jaeyun, the cunning puppeteer, wouldn’t let his masterpiece burn without trying to stop it. His pride wouldn’t allow it. And now, blinded by anger, he failed to notice the flames inching closer, the smoke curling around his form.
“Big talk,” you rasped, your voice steady beneath his crushing grip. “And yet… you’ve already lost.”
His eyes narrowed, a flicker of confusion cutting through the storm of rage. For a split second, his body tensed—but then his gaze dropped.
There, plunged deep into his abdomen, was your dagger. The blade caught the firelight, its hilt adorned with a small charm bearing Sunghoon’s crest. The ruby glinted wickedly, its light reflecting the chaos of the flames around you.
Jaeyun’s grip faltered, his hand loosening slightly as blood, dark and thick, bloomed through his shirt, and you didn’t hesitate. Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you shoved him off, wrenching the blade free as you bolted out of the library. The flames roared louder now, licking hungrily at the walls, their heat pressing against your back.
But you didn’t make it far. A force barrelled into you, slamming you to the ground with a weight that knocked the air from your lungs.
“Fucking get off me—” you gasped, twisting under his grip.
Jaeyun was on top of you, pinning you with an iron hold. His nails had elongated into claws, sharp and gleaming in the firelight. He pressed them against your neck, just enough to draw thin lines of blood.
“Look at you—squirming like a wounded rabbit. How adorable,” he murmured, his voice soft but dripping with cruel amusement. His weight crushed you against the stone floor, unforgiving and cold beneath you. He forced your head to an unnatural angle, his claws digging deeper, anchoring you helplessly in place.
"Haven't you heard? struggling makes the blood sweeter," he drawled, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, his breathing hot and heavy, "so go ahead—struggle all you want, you are just sweetening my feast."
His tongue dragged across the cut he’d made, slow and deliberate, a mocking gesture that sent a shiver of revulsion down your spine. “Ah,” he exhaled sharply, shuddering in such a revolting way, “there it is—so much sweeter when you fight.” The words dripped from his lips like venom, each syllable a mockery of your helplessness. He lingered, the softness of his lips a deliberate contrast to the sharp sting of his claws. It was as if he was deliberately prolonging the act to rattle you—to cut where it hurts the most: your autonomy and dignity.
“Do you think he tasted you like this?” he whispered, his lips brushing the edge of the wound in deliberate malice and intimacy, relishing in your revulsion and savouring the power he held over you and every flicker of your discomfort. “Or is this my privilege alone?”
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. “I wonder…” he murmured, his voice curling with mock tenderness, “does he know how much sweeter you become when you squirm?” His claws pressed harder, the sharp sting blossoming into pain, his next words cutting deeper than his nails ever could. “Or is that just for me too?”
The sharpness of his teeth grazed your neck, far too close, far too sharp—sharper than you remembered Sunghoon’s ever being. Your breath hitched, panic clawing at the edges of your mind, the firelight around you seeming to flicker with your racing pulse. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable—
But then instead of pain. You felt the weight lifted.
A rush of air and heat overwhelmed you as Jaeyun was torn away. Your body trembled, the world tilting for a moment. When you clambered back to your feet, you saw them—two figures clashing across the corridor, their movements a blur amidst glowing embers and smoke-choked air.
Sunghoon and Jaeyun.
The firelight cast jagged shadows across the walls, illuminating the ferocity of their battle.
Sunghoon’s strikes were calculated, but desperation bled into each swing of his blade—precise yet strained. His strength, though formidable, seemed frayed at the edges, each swing costing him more than the last. As he stepped closer to the firelight, you saw it clearly: the cuts marring his face and the dark smudges of ash clinging to his disheveled clothing. He must’ve faced other vampires on his way here, you thought.
In contrast, Jaeyun moved with unnerving ease, his blows quick and unrelenting, each one a chilling display of power. The oppressive heat and smoke clawed at the air, suffocating and disorienting, but Jaeyun seemed untouched—his strength unfaltering, a cruel testament to the reaping cycles that had forged him into something far beyond human, even vampiric.
“You came just in time, Romeo.” Jaeyun sneered, sidestepping a blow with maddening grace. "Did you see how perfectly she fits in my hand?" he taunted as he swung his blade, forcing Sunghoon back, "ah—and her taste. Her warm skin. The way she shivered. You know, if you hadn't interrupted, I’d have heard her make that sound again. You know the one—soft, breathless, perfect."
It was revolting to hear him say those filthy words but at that moment your dignity took a backseat for all you could think of was Sunghoon. As if Jaeyun knew exactly how to play with someone's mind, Sunghoon’s strikes came faster, heavier—but clumsier. Fury bled into every swing, the precision of his usual attacks dulled by anger. Then their swords met with a thunderous crash, the force sending sparks flying as both pressed forward, neither giving ground. Sunghoon’s chest heaved, his labored breaths a stark contrast to Jaeyun’s unnerving composure, his taunting smirk growing wider.
Jaeyun continued, his voice dripping with cruel amusement, “but I guess you wouldn’t know, would you? She has never let you touch her like that, has she?” His grin sharpened, his next words a venomous whisper. “Not the way she let me, at least.”
Sunghoon charged again, his blows landing harder than before, but Jaeyun danced out of reach, his blade glinting in the firelight, "—because she will never accept you the way you are Sunghoon," his voice was laced with mock pity, "you're just another bloodthirsty beast."
Then, with a sudden shift, Jaeyun lunged, forcing Sunghoon back with a flurry of heavy strikes. “You should’ve stopped pretending to be noble and reaped her,” he hissed, his blows driving Sunghoon toward the corner. “That’s the only way you’ll ever have her.” His grin twisted into something darker as he leaned closer, delivering the final barb. “And maybe—just maybe—it would’ve brought back the strength you used to have because this…” Jaeyun’s blade pressed closer, his eyes gleaming with disdain. “—is just pathetic.”
You swallowed thickly for the odds doesn't seem to stack up for Sunghoon. Your body reacted instinctively to go after him, but his gaze stopped you cold. The sharp jerk of his head said it all: Run.
But you couldn’t.
Then their blades clashed again, the sharp ring echoing through the suffocating heat. Sunghoon’s strikes, though deliberate, were slower now, his movements burdened by the corner he’d been forced into. The stone wall pressed against his back, leaving him little room to manoeuver. Yet even there, with Jaeyun bearing down on him, his defiance burned brighter.
“You can amass all the power and influence you want,” Sunghoon said through gritted teeth, his blade locking with Jaeyun’s in a deadly stalemate. His voice was low but cutting, his eyes blazing with quiet fury. “But you’ll never be able to claim something you’ve never had the right to.”
"The blood you take," Sunghoon shoved him back with a surge of strength, their blades separating with a hiss of steel, "won't make yours anymore purer. It just taints you irreparably."
Jaeyun froze for the briefest moment as if the words had landed exactly where they were meant to. The smirk on his lips faltered, not gone but strained, like a mask beginning to crack.
"That is probably why," Sunghoon continued, his strikes growing sharper, each one cutting closer, "my very existence riles you so isn't it? even when I've never made any moves to challenge your house of cards?"
Jaeyun’s movements lost some of their calculated ease, his strikes heavier but less precise, each blow betraying his frustration. The tables had turned and now it was Jaeyun’s turn to be riled up, his composure unraveling with every word.
Sensing the shift, Sunghoon adjusted his stance, lowering his weight in anticipation. Jaeyun lunged, his overconfidence driving him forward—but Sunghoon was ready. With a blur of motion, he pivoted sharply, driving his shoulder into Jaeyun’s chest with brutal force. The impact sent Jaeyun sprawling backward, skidding across the debris-strewn floor until he collided with a broken pillar.
Sunghoon didn’t hesitate. Before Jaeyun could recover, he closed the distance with unrelenting precision, dropping to one knee and driving his blade into Jaeyun’s exposed abdomen. The force of the strike pinned Jaeyun to the ground, his body jerking under the weight of the blow. Blood bloomed instantly, dark and thick, pooling across the cracked stone beneath them. Jaeyun hissed, his hands clawing at the blade embedded in his torso. For a moment, it seemed as though Sunghoon had won. You held your breath, hope flickering to life.
Then, Jaeyun’s lips curled into a bloodied smirk. “You're nowhere enough,” he rasped, his voice laced with venom, “—of a challenge Sunghoon.”
It was only then you noticed it—Jaeyun’s own blade, slick with Sunghoon’s blood, had been driven deep into his flank. You hadn’t seen the strike. Neither had Sunghoon. But there it was, protruding cruelly through his abdomen, crimson spreading across his shirt like spilled ink.
“Sunghoon!” The name tore from your lips, sharp and raw. You stepped forward instinctively, but before you could reach him, the ceiling above groaned ominously. A massive chunk of debris collapsed, slamming into the ground between you and them.
The impact sent you stumbling back, coughing as a thick cloud of smoke and dust billowed around you. “No—” you rasped, your voice cracking as you strained to see through the haze.
Sunghoon gritted his teeth, his knuckles tightening on his blade, though he didn’t withdraw. Nor did he stagger nor falter. Instead, he shifted his weight forward, his strength bearing down on the blade, every ounce of effort ensuring Jaeyun couldn’t push him off.
“You sure about that?” Sunghoon rasped, his voice hoarse and strained.
Jaeyun’s smirk twisted into confusion as his eyes darted down. Horror dawned as he saw Sunghoon’s blood streaming from his wound, dripping steadily onto the gaping injury in Jaeyun’s abdomen—the wound you had inflicted earlier. The reaction was instantaneous. Frost-like patterns spreading outward from the contact point, jagged and unrelenting, crystallising his torso and limbs, locking him in place. His claws scrambled at the stone floor, scraping against it in desperation as his body stiffened. His voice cracked, teetering on the edge of panic. “No-no—you—“
You recalled an excerpt from The Annals of Kings—a fleeting detail about how the blood of a Pureblood, though inert on the skin of another vampire, becomes lethal toxin when mingled with another’s wounds—an alchemical reaction born of their cursed lineage. And therein lay the tragedy: the blood they so revered—the symbol of their purity, power, and immortality—was also their undoing. The very essence that granted them supremacy over all others carried the seeds of their destruction, a cruel paradox embedded in their existence.
You realized then what Sunghoon had allowed Jaeyun to do. He hadn’t just been defending himself; he had turned his own wound into a weapon. Sunghoon had weaponized the very thing their kind held sacred, knowing it would be Jaeyun’s end—even as it left him vulnerable to his own impending collapse. In heaving, ragged breaths, Sunghoon rasped, “I only finished what she started—". His eyes met yours for a fleeting moment the weight of his gaze—the unspoken truth behind his sacrifice—struck you harder than any blow.
Jaeyun regurgitated, his body stiffening as the crystal consumed him entirely, his face locked in a mask of rage and terror. A sharp crack echoed through the hall as his crystalline form splintered, into ashen dust, swirling briefly in the fiery glow before dissipating into the suffocating smoke, vanishing as though he had never existed.
Sunghoon staggered back from the remains, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His hands moved to the blade embedded in his flank, his fingers trembling as he gripped the hilt. With a sharp, agonized groan, he wrenched it free, the sound of metal against flesh almost drowned out by the crackling flames around him.
The moment the blade left his body, blood poured from the wound in thick, unrelenting streams. His face, already pale, lost what little colour it had left, the crimson staining his hands stark against his ashen skin. He swayed, his frame lurching unsteadily as though the weight of the air itself had become too much to bear.
And then he pitched forward, catching himself on trembling hands before he collapsed entirely. Blood dripped from his wound in heavy rivulets as his body sagged against the stone floor. For a moment, he seemed almost unrecognizable—so human in his fragility, so far from the invulnerable figure you had known.
You should have ran away then.
The exit was there, your path to freedom blazing clearly through the smoke and flames. You could have escaped—left behind the horrors that had haunted you, the chaos that had led you to this moment.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you ran toward him. Through the flames and falling debris, through the suffocating heat, you reached him. His weight sagged heavily against you as you tried to pull him upright, your arms straining with the effort.
His face was pale, slick with sweat, and streaked with soot. Blood continued to pour freely from his wound, dark and thick, in a way that was achingly human. His eyes, so often guarded and unreadable, now lay bare—soft and raw, stripped of all pretense.
“You’re stupid!” you choked out, your voice trembling as you pressed your hands against his wound, desperate to staunch the bleeding. “Why did you come back to the castle?”
“You’re the stupid one,” he rasped, a faint, ghostly smirk tugging at his cracked lips. “Why haven’t you run? I stalled long enough for you—”
“Shut up,” you snapped, panic lacing your words as you struggled to lift him again. His body was limp, heavier than you could manage alone, and he slumped back to his knees, his breathing shallow and laboured, each breath a fight.
He was worse off than the last time you’d patched him up—far worse—and the realization sent a jolt of fear through you. At this rate, neither of you would escape the flames. You’d both burn together in this crumbling castle.
“Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice barely audible now, “we’ve bantered long enough.”
His body pitched forward, and you caught him instinctively. His weight collapsed into your arms, his head coming to rest weakly in the nook of your shoulder. You felt the faint brush of his lips against your skin—soft, fleeting, and entirely unlike the possessive ferocity you’d known from him. His hand trembled as it moved to your back, curling with a weak insistence, a stark contrast to the vice-like grip he had on you just hours ago.
“I’m letting you go now, y/n,” he whispered, his words a quiet confession, laced with both sorrow and resolve. “This is the only way I could ever let you go.”
Your breath hitched. You knew what he meant, and you didn’t want that. Perhaps you never did.
“No,” you said, your voice trembling but firm, the weight of your conviction cutting through the chaos around you. Tears welled in your eyes, but they didn’t fall. Not yet.
Your hands moved with purpose, tearing the makeshift bandage from your arm. Blood pooled from the cut, rich and red, but you didn’t hesitate. “Take my blood, Sunghoon,” you demanded, thrusting your arm toward him. “Quickly. You need it—”
He shook his head weakly, his breaths shallow and uneven. “y/n, go,” he rasped, his voice barely audible above the roar of the flames. “We’re running out of time.”
“Damn it, Sunghoon!” you barked, desperation breaking through the cracks in your resolve. “You don’t get to tell me what to do—not now, not like this!”
His eyes, already losing focus, flickered with something—protest, perhaps, or regret. But you didn’t give him the chance. Before he could stop you, you brought your arm to your lips, the sharp metallic tang of blood filling your mouth. Without hesitation, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close, crushing your lips to his.
The transfer was immediate. You felt his body stiffen, his hand twitching weakly against your back in surprise. When you pulled away, his lips were stained crimson, his gaze dazed, unfocused.
“Is that enough?” you asked, your voice trembling. “it’s not right? take more.” You leaned closer, your breathing uneven as you tilted your head to the side. “Take it from my neck. That works best for you, doesn’t it?”
“y/n, stop—” he croaked, his voice fractured.
For a moment, you froze, your gaze locking onto his. The sight of him—so pale, so vulnerable, teetering on the edge of collapse—was unbearable, it was twisting your heart painfully. Frustration burned through you, hot and unrelenting.
“You’re making this hard,” you muttered under your breath, your voice shaking.
Before he could utter another word, you shifted upwards, wrapping your arms tightly over his shoulder, steadying him and angling yourself so that his face was close enough to your neck. “Bite me,” you whispered, your voice thick with both resolve and something far more raw. “I’ll let you.”
The hand he already had on your back shifted, his fingers curling faintly into the fabric of your gown, but it wasn’t a grip of possession, but one of desperation—as though he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his other hand began to move. Trembling, hesitant, it brushed against your shoulder, its path uncertain, as though he feared you might flinch or pull away.
The roughness of his palm met the curve of your neck, his touch both gentle and weighted. His fingers curled there, delicate yet unyielding, cradling the nape of your neck as though it was something fragile, irreplaceable. Each movement was deliberate, almost reverent, as if he was memorizing the feel of your skin beneath his hand.
It wasn’t the possessive grip you’d known before. This was something far more tender, far more devastating. It was as though his very existence hung by a thread, and you were the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.
“y/n. You don't understand. I’ve lost too much blood,” he murmured, his lips brushing featherlight against your neck. “I wouldn’t be able to stop—”
“I trust you,” you interrupted, your voice trembling but unyielding as you held him tighter. “I trust you, Sunghoon. I trust that you’ll take just enough to survive.”
His hold on you tightened as if trying to ground himself in the weight of your words. I trust you—the words hung between you, fragile yet immense. It was the very words he needed to hear all along; the very words you’ve fought so desperately not to feel, much less say.
Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, resolve. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the shadows of exhaustion etched into his features. The vulnerability in his gaze was a blade cutting both ways, and you knew it would haunt you long after this moment passed.
“I trust you,” you repeated softly, your voice unwavering this time.
Above you, debris crashed to the floor, the flames roaring louder. The heat was suffocating, the air thick with smoke, but you didn’t move. Neither did he. Time was slipping away, but in this moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.
His expression twisted, as though your words had broken something in him. Pain flickered across his face—not just physical, but something deeper, something that had been buried for far too long. His hand, trembling now, reached up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, gentle and deliberate, as if committing the feel of you to memory. Then his hand shifted, cradling the side of your neck. His thumb grazed your skin, reverent, unhurried, as though this was both a goodbye and a plea to stay.
“We’re always at odds, aren’t we?” he murmured softly, "I asked you to run but you stayed. I asked you to save yourself, but you're trying to save me instead."
You grinned bitterly, “always.”
For a moment, his gaze lingered, searching yours, before he dipped his head into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, almost hesitant. Then the sharp prickle of pain came—a fleeting sting as his fangs broke your skin—but it was eclipsed by the strange, disarming lull that followed.
His grip on you tightened, his body pressing closer, desperate and unyielding. You could feel the urgency in every movement, the hunger in every pull of his lips against your skin. It was overwhelming, the pull of his fangs relentless, like he was drawing not just blood but something far deeper—something he couldn’t bear to lose.
You should have been terrified. You should have fought back.
But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
Even as your vision blurred, as the edges of the world dissolved into the inferno raging around you, one truth anchored you to him:
You trusted him.

— xii
You woke with a jolt, a sharp gasp tearing through your chest as sterile, artificial air filled your lungs. The glaring white walls seemed to close in around you, their starkness more oppressive than calming. Fluorescent lights hummed faintly above, casting an antiseptic glow that made the space feel detached, clinical—eerily devoid of life.
Your gaze darted frantically across the room, your pulse racing with every detail that didn’t belong. There was no warmth here, no trace of familiarity. Just the suffocating stillness pressing down on you, as though the air itself had weight. For a terrifying moment, it felt like a void, a purgatory for fractured souls. Perhaps you were dead. After everything—the chaos, the blood, the flames—was this where it all ended?
A tremor passed through you, the memory of his voice, his face, flashing like a spark in the darkness. The desperation in his eyes. The warmth of his hand against yours, the fragile connection you clung to even as the world burned around you.
“Sunghoon?” The name slipped from your lips before you could stop it, trembling with hope and fear. It wasn’t just a question; it was a plea, a tether you threw into the void, praying it would hold. The sound of it shattered the oppressive silence, leaving a raw ache in its wake.
You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, and pain flared like lightning through your body. Every nerve screamed in protest—your ribs, your limbs, even the faintest breath. “Sunghoon?” you called again, louder this time, the desperation cracking through your voice.
You forced yourself upright, your bare feet meeting the icy bite of the tile floor. Your legs wobbled beneath you, your strength slipping like sand through your fingers. The IV pole clattered to the ground as you collapsed, clutching the bedframe in a desperate bid for balance.
The sound shattered the room’s oppressive quiet and almost immediately the door swung open with a sharp creak. Your heart leapt, relief surging through your veins. “Sungho—”
But it wasn’t him.
“y/n!” Anton’s voice cut through the tension as he hurried to your side, his face etched with concern. He dropped to his knees beside you, steadying your trembling frame. “What are you doing? You’re still too weak. Lie back down!”
“Anton,” you rasped, your hands gripping his shirt tightly. “Where’s Sunghoon?”
“Sunghoo—?” He frowned, confused, before realization dawned. “Ah, Mr. Park? y/n, he left weeks ago. Don’t you remember? He was called back to his headquarters. Some urgent matters in Prague.”
You shook your head vehemently, your grip on him tightening. “No, that’s not right. He was with me. He—”
“y/n,” Anton said gently but firmly, helping you back onto the bed. “you’ve been unconscious for 2 weeks—your mind is probably still foggy especially given all you had to endure. Don’t you remember? We held a farewell lunch for him? You were there, muttering spiteful things under your breath when he delivered his farewell speech.”
You froze, staring at him in disbelief. “We didn’t,” you whispered hoarsely. “He was—” The words died in your throat. You clung to the fragments of memory that felt more like splinters now. “What about the people then? and the- the castle?”
Anton’s sat beside you, voice gentle, “the castle is gone, razed to the ground. Some people were found scattered across the compound, but all of them had hazy memories—smoke inhalation and trauma-induced amnesia, according to the doctors. No signs of foul play though. Just a gas leak in an old building. The fire spread too fast.”
“How about casualties?” you asked, your mind flashing to the vampires that should be stuck in the hall.
Anton shook his head. “None. Just scattered jewelry and strange clothing pieces found in the halls—probably left behind by looters after the fire started. Authorities have investigated it thoroughly though and nothing indicates foul play. Even the castle’s owner isn’t pressing charges or requesting further inquiry.”
“But Sungh- someone – someone must have been with me,” you pressed on, the words stumbling out.
“y/n,” Anton repeated, his voice more serious now, “no one was. You were alone in the glasshouse. The only one unconscious, in fact. They theorised, given the proximity, you must have spent a lot of time inside compared to others which is why you were unconscious. But point is—investigations had been done and foul play is ruled out. Everyone is safe.”
“Every..." you echoed, “—no. I think there were some who didn’t— do you have a list? the guests? the survivo—" your words faltered as your head spun, a sharp pang cutting through the fog of your thoughts. You groaned, swaying unsteadily. Anton was quick to catch you, steadying your trembling form as he guided you to lean back against the bed.
"y/n, stop—" he said, his tone full of concern. "Look, you've been unconscious for almost 2 weeks. You're not in the right state of mind yet. Let me get the doctor first, okay? don’t move.”
You barely registered his words as you stared up at the sterile ceiling, your mind racing with fragmented memories. Sunghoon. The flames. The battle. His bloodied body against yours. The way he’d looked at you in those final moments—his eyes full of something unspoken, something that clung to you even now.
Instinctively, your hand rose to your neck, brushing against the skin there—and froze. Faint but undeniable, you felt it: a mark. His bite mark.
Your breath hitched as the weight of it sank in. It was the confirmation you needed. That he was real. That your memories weren’t muddled or fabricated. That he had been there.
For a moment, a spark of relief lit in your chest. He’d been there. You hadn’t imagined him. The connection you clung to wasn’t some fever dream born of smoke and fear.
But as your fingers lingered over the faint indentations, that spark dimmed, flickering under the weight of a new truth.
Anton had said you’d been unconscious for two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks is a long time for someone like him to stay away. Too long.
Suddenly, the silence felt unbearable—crushing in its emptiness, each second a reminder of all the truths his absence could mean. Each one as cruel as the next.

— xiii
A month had passed, and unlike before—when you could sense Sunghoon in the shadows, catch the faintest trace of his cologne lingering in the air, or swear you felt his touch as you brushed past strangers—he was utterly, completely gone.
His absence was deafening.
So you buried yourself in work, to drown out the silence that followed you everywhere and to lock the memories away. Perhaps if you don’t think about it, the ache would dull. Even better, fade entirely.
Until one night.
You were reaching for something from the shelves in your bedroom when your elbow knocked a box off the shelf. It crashed to the floor with a hollow thud, its contents spilling out in an unceremonious heap. You froze, your pulse quickening as you recognized it—the box of belongings you’d had with you when they took you to the hospital. You’d refused to unpack it then, shoving it out of sight to avoid reopening wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal. The castle. The flames. Him.
But it had been a month. Surely, someone like you would have moved on by now.
“It’s just clothes,” you muttered to yourself, crouching to gather the scattered items. Your fingers brushed against the fabric of the dress you’d worn that night. It felt foreign and familiar all at once, its torn edges and scorched seams tangible remnants of that nightmare. As you bunched it up, you winced and drop the dress, a sharp sting prickling your fingertip.
“Ouch,” you muttered, seeing it draw blood. “What kind of dress would be this sha-"
It was a brooch.
No, not just any brooch. It was a brooch bearing his crest. Sunghoon’s crest.
The ruby gleamed faintly, tarnished by smoke and fire, but still unmistakable. Regal. Intricate. For a moment, you froze, your breath catching in your throat. It lay nestled in the folds of the dress, as if it had always been waiting for you to find it. Tentatively, your fingers closed around it, and as you pulled it free, the weight of it settled in your palm like a stone.
Your breath hitched as the dam burst. Memories flooded in—his voice, his touch, the way he’d looked at you in those final moments. The way he’d fought for you. The way he’d bled for you. The way he’d let you go.
The way he was gone.
Your chest tightened painfully as you stared at the brooch, its sharp edges pressing into your palm. This was all that remained. The only proof that he had existed, that any of it had been real.
The thought clawed at you, unrelenting, as a darker possibility crept into your mind. Vampires left no trace when they perished—no ashes, no remains. If he was gone, truly gone, you might never know. And that terrified you. In fact it terrified and pained you even more than if he was gone simply because he had walked away.
Your grip on the crest tightened, the sharp edges digging into your skin, grounding you in a pain that couldn’t compare to the ache tearing through your chest. You closed your eyes, clutching it to your heart, as though holding it closer might somehow bridge the impossible distance between you and him.
You closed your eyes, whispering his name into the stillness of the room, hoping—praying—that somehow, somewhere, he could hear you.
But the room offered no answer.
Only silence. Only absence.
And the ache—deep and unrelenting—remained.
(( just kidding 🤡 ))
Five years had passed.
Sunghoon never re-eappeared in your life.
You have by then made peace with the fact that perhaps he was never coming back. Perhaps he was gone. Forever.
Memories of him didn’t sting as sharply as they once did. The ache was still there, faint and distant, like a hole you cannot fill but it’s at least not a gaping hole anymore.
By then you could even convince yourself that perhaps, you have really gotten over him.
But then you’d be an outright liar.
Because you still wore his crest as a pendant, hidden beneath your shirt—a weight you carried, not just on your chest but deep within you. It was a quiet reminder, a silent wall you couldn’t breach.
And while memories of him no longer brought tears to your eyes, dreams of those nights—the chaos, the fire, the way his blood soaked through your hands—still jolted you awake, your face damp with tears you didn't remember shedding. They were the only testament to how deeply, how irreparably, the experience and memories had scarred you.
So you did what you did best: buried yourself in work. You numbed the ache, dulled the thoughts that haunted you, and clawed your way to higher pinnacles of success, reaching farther than you’d ever imagined. Even now, halfway across the world in Venice, Italy, you weren’t here for leisure—you were here for work.
It wasn’t until your final evening that Anton managed to drag you to the Carnevale di Venezia. “You need to live more,” he said, practically shoving you into the car. Begrudgingly, you agreed.
But the moment you stepped out of the car, you were greeted by men and women in elaborate period gowns and Venetian masks—and your stomach twisted.
The sight wasn’t just familiar—it was identical. Hauntingly so. To that of five years ago.
Sickening memories long buried clawed their way back to the surface—the blood, the shadows, the terror. It didn’t carry the ache it once had, but it brought something far worse: a creeping fear that wormed its way beneath your calm exterior, unraveling the composure you’d worked so hard to rebuild.
You swallowed hard, legs heavy, but Anton was too enamoured with the festivities to notice. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you through the crowd like an overexcited child.
When he stopped in front of an antique shop selling ornate masks and extravagant dresses, you could feel the air thinning. The shopkeeper offered you a delicate mask to try on, but as Anton reached toward your face to put one on, your body reacted faster than your mind did. Your hand shot up, gripping his wrist in an iron hold, your fingers digging into his skin, as if you were trying to fend him off. As if he was attacking you.
“y/n—” he froze, his voice laced with shock, his playful grin vanishing. His gaze flickered to your trembling hand, then back to your face, his concern deepening.
Your heart pounded, the masks and laughter around you blurring into dark suffocating shadows. For a moment, you weren’t in Venice. You were back there—in the castle, in the nightmare. You blinked rapidly, forcing yourself to breathe, “sorry,” you stammered, dropping his wrist as though it burned you, “I—uh—the breakfast I had this morning—it’s not sitting right.”
Anton rubbed his wrist, his brows furrowed in confusion and concern. “y/n, are you okay?”
You forced a smile, though it felt like it might crack under the weight of your panic. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, waving him off. “Just... go ahead and try something on. I’ll stick with you—just not with all this.” You gestured vaguely at the masks, hoping he wouldn’t press further.
Anton sighed, his concern still visible. “Fine. Promise me you'll stop brooding and actually try to have some fun after?”
“What are you? Five?” you teased halfheartedly, shoving him playfully toward a nearby fitting room to change.
When he emerged from the fitting room, the sheer absurdity of his appearance—a frock too large, a mask so elaborate it drowned his features—pulled a reluctant laugh from you. For a fleeting moment, the tension in your chest eased and you let yourself be dragged along as Anton paraded through the festivities, snapping pictures and weaving through the crowd with unabashed joy.
But then, a procession swept through.
Figures in hooded cloaks and plague doctor masks glided past, their movements deliberate and haunting. The crowd murmured in awe, parting to let them pass, but you froze. The sight slammed into you like a blow, the memories rising unbidden—shadows in corridors, masks that promised death, the chase that had nearly taken everything from you.
“Anton,” you called, your voice tight, panic edging in. “Let’s move on—”
But he was gone.
“Anton?” Your voice cracked as you turned in place, your eyes darting through the sea of masked strangers. The crowd swelled, pressing against you, their laughter sharp and hollow, the music twisting into a dissonant wail. “Anton!” you shouted, louder now, desperation threading through your words.
No response.
The world spun, the faces around you blurring into grotesque shapes. Each mask seemed to leer at you, each figure a spectre of the past. Your breaths came shallow and rapid, the air thick, suffocating.
You stumbled, muttering apologies to strangers who didn’t respond, their masked faces a wall of indifference.
Then suddenly ahead, you caught sight of a figure perched on a raised platform, dressed in elaborate silks that shimmered in the flickering light. But it wasn’t the outfit that made your stomach drop—it was the mask.
A jester mask.
The painted grin stretched unnaturally wide, its hollow eyes glinting as though they could see through you. Bells dangled from the cap, their faint chime cutting through the distant hum of laughter. The figure moved with a deliberate slowness, their head tilting at an unnatural angle as they raised their hand. A thorny rose appeared in their grasp, the gesture painfully deliberate, as though meant just for you.
And then, with a flick of their wrist, the rose ignited, flames curling up the stem until it disintegrated into ash. The sharp smell of burning filled the air, suffocating and bitter, clawing at your senses. The fire, the laughter, the castle, Jaeyun—it all came rushing back, vivid and unrelenting. You spun on your heel, desperate to escape, only to collide with someone else.
A man in a Bauta mask loomed over you, his breath audible through the thin slits. His towering frame bent closer, murmuring something low and indistinct. But you didn’t hear him. Couldn’t. The panic clawed at your chest, your vision tunneling as you shoved past him and broke into the crowd again.
The masks blurred together, grotesque and faceless, shadows from a nightmare that wouldn’t end. You moved blindly, each step unsteady, until—
You saw him.
An uncovered face, sharp and unmistakable in a sea of obscured ones.
The air seemed to leave your lungs. The noise of the carnival faded, the crowd melting into a haze of color and motion.
No mask. No cloak. Just him.
But it couldn’t be, you told yourself. It had to be a hallucination, your mind playing cruel tricks, dredging him up from memories you’d buried too deep. Then suddenly the crowd surged again, jostling you sideways. Your feet stumbled against the uneven pavement, your balance slipping.
You braced for the fall, but strong arms caught you.
“I’m sorry—” you began, your voice trembling as you tried to gather yourself. But then your gaze drop, and the words died in your throat. Right in your line of sight, pinned to the lapel of his suit, was a ruby crest, gleaming faintly under the dim, flickering light.
The very crest you wore as a pendant, tucked close to your heart like a secret you refused to let go of.
Your breath hitched, the roar of your pulse drowning out the world, the air turning electric as the ache in your chest returned with a vengeance. The carnival around you dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the man before you.
Your trembling eyes trailed upward, hesitation clawing at you with every inch. Fear mingled with hope, disbelief warred with yearning. And then you saw him.
Sunghoon.
It was really him. The sharp lines of his jaw, the darkness of his eyes, the way his presence seemed to draw the air from your lungs. He wasn’t wearing a mask, just like you. Amidst a sea of hidden faces, he stood barefaced, unapologetically himself.
Time seemed to still. Your heart clenched painfully as the flood of emotions you’d spent five years suppressing surged forward, overwhelming you.
You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.
His gaze was still so intense and all-consuming, yet it no longer had the same sharpness as it did before. It no longer aimed to paralyze you or probe the depths of your mind. Instead, it carried a softness, an ache, as though trying to express all the things that words had failed to capture. And just like that, in the silence, in the circle of each other's arms, the years of separation unraveled in the space between you. Every unspoken word, every lingering ache, every memory you’d fought to bury rose to the surface, raw and undeniable, contained in that one look.
Your lips parted, but no sound came. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to say. His name? An accusation? A plea?
Yet, as if avoidance and defensiveness were hardwired into you when it came to him, you started to pull yourself away—but, as always, he anticipated it and before you could even take a step back, his grip on you tightened.
“y/n, don’t,” he said, his grip strong yet his voice soft, almost pleading.
The sound of your name on his lips shattered something inside you. You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your ears. “You left,” you whispered, barely able to hear your own voice. “You never came back. I—” you stammered, “—I even thought you might have died.”
“I’m here now,” he murmured, his voice steady but laced with something heavier—guilt, perhaps, or regret. “I never wanted to leave you y/n. But I had to.”
You stiffened, the heat rising in your chest overtaking the trembling in your hands. “You had to?” the bitterness in your voice surprised even you. “That’s what you’re going with? You had to vanish, leave me with nothing but questions—nothing but ghosts—and then reappear like you’ve done nothing wrong? like some noble martyr?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “You think it was easy for me? That leaving you behind was some choice I wanted to make?”
“Then why?” your voice cracked, the words sharper than you intended. “Why did you leave? You could have left a trace, a sign, let me know that—” you caught yourself, shaking your head as your hands balled into fists, “—no. You know what, it doesn't matter anymore. You should have continued to stay away. I was doing just fine. Finally doing just fine and yet here you are. Must have been fun staying in the shadows and trailing me around—seeing me lose my mind in the past 5 years then coming back just when I've finally gotten over you?!"
The accusation lingered, heavy in the space between you.
But even as you spoke, the weight of your own words pressed against you. Wasn’t this exactly what you wanted—to see him again? To demand an answer for the questions that had haunted you in the dead of night? And yet, now that he was here, standing in front of you, the anger felt hollow. A shield, yes, but one that barely held back the ache threatening to flood through the cracks.
You glanced at his face, searching for something—anything—that would reignite the rage you clung to so desperately. But his eyes, dark and steady, reflected none of the sharp arrogance you once associated with him. Instead, they were quiet. Soft. Aching.
Damn him. Damn him for looking at you like that, as if you meant something to him. As if he was hurting just as much as it had hurt you.
His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “y/n I had no choice," he said softly, his voice steady despite the tremor beneath it. “The fire may have purged the deviants who deserved punishments but it sent shockwaves through my world. If I’d stayed, I would have brought danger to your door..." he sighed, "so I stayed away. And continued staying away especially after seeing you finally able to smile and laugh so freely over the recent years—as if you could finally breathe. I realised then that perhaps this was the sacrifice I needed to make, the debt I owed you—your peace."
His voice dropped, quieter now, as though the memory itself was unbearable. “But then tonight…” his hand flexed at his side, his grip on your wrist tightening briefly. “I saw the terror and dread suddenly return to your face—the very expressions I swore I’d never let you feel again." He paused, his jaw tightening as his gaze flickered to meet yours, “—and before I even knew what I was doing, it all broke. Every reason I had to stay away dissipated and all I wanted—all I want—is to protect you. To take it all away.”
He took a step closer, the space between you shrinking. His voice softened, steady but raw. “And when our eyes met. I thought there was something there—some sort of softness. For once, you didn't look at me with the usual armor in your eyes…" he faltered, his throat tightening, “—and that stripped away the last vestiges of my resolve; every lie I told myself. I realised then, I was never meant to be a saint nor be selfless. Not with you."
You froze, his vulnerability hitting you harder than it should have. But the simmering anger, the years of buried hurt, clawed its way back to the surface. “You’re always so good at that you know—vanishing, making me go nearly insane with guilt, and then coming back just when I thought I’d finally gotten over you.” You swallowed hard, the bitterness in your voice sharpening. “Exactly like 13 years ago, after I poisoned you.”
He stilled, his gaze flickering with something unreadable—regret, pain, guilt. But you didn’t give him a chance to speak.
"Back then, you should have come back, hunted me down and killed me—" you hissed, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "We'd have nipped it in the bud. Save ourselves. But instead, you dragged it on for so long. Perhaps this was your way of ruining me—from the inside out. The first time through guilt. The second time through loss."
He swallowed thickly, his mouth parting as though to sigh, but the sound never came. His jaw tensed, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of a confession dragged from the depths of him. "y/n. I stayed away the first time because I was afraid."
His gaze flickered down for a moment, as if grounding himself, before rising to meet yours again. "After you poisoned me, I was afraid that if I saw you again..." he paused, his jaw tightening as though the words physically hurt to say. "—I wouldn’t want to kill you. That instead—like some pathetic moth drawn to the flame, or worse, like a stupid dog that doesn’t see the cruelty of its master—I’d come running to you. I’d embrace you."
The words hung between you, the implication of every words filling the space—a confession that tore through you even as it laid him bare. That was when you realised, perhaps, just like how you've avoided him to prevent anything from growing between you, Sunghoon's scathing and predatory words were perhaps his way of masking his devotion—a way to convince himself that it was all simply powerplay and primal desires. And you take that bait too literally as it all fitted with your own defense mechanism—the logic and rationality that you always employ to stop yourself from becoming vulnerable. But knowing the truth didn’t soften the ache. If anything, it sharpened it—because it meant you had been fighting the same battle, just on opposite sides. Both of you circling the same truth but never daring to claim it.
"Then maybe all this proves is that we're never meant to be. Like fire feeding fire, we burn each other alive, pretending it's warmth, until there's nothing left of us but smoke and ruin," you said, your voice hollow but steady, as if the words had been carved out of you.
“Then let me be the ruin,” he closed the remaining distance between you, his presence towering but his movements slow, as though afraid to startle you. "Let it burn me down to nothing. Let it hollow me out, scorch every part of me. But don’t ask me to extinguish it—not when it’s the only thing keeping me alive."
"You've lived for so long," you murmured, your voice heavy with exhaustion. "you, of all people, should know better that being self-destructive like this doesn't ensure happiness."
“It’s exactly because I’ve lived for so long,” he said, his voice low and weighted with a quiet sorrow, “that I know ruin is the only thing that stays, where nothing else lasts.”
The silence that followed was thick, not suffocating but heavy, like something unspoken had finally settled between you. When he drew closer, you didn't back away this time. When his hand cupped your cheek—warm, steady, and lingering—you didn’t pull away either. It wasn’t forgiveness, and it wasn’t surrender. But for now, it was enough for it conveyed more than words ever could.

Two years had passed since you were reunited with Sunghoon. Seven years since the fire. And fifteen years, in total, since you met him—the man who had brought chaos, danger, and frustration into your life than you thought possible.
If someone had told you then that he would become a near-permanent fixture in your life—and your apartment—you might have laughed. Or rolled your eyes.
Or poisoned him again.
“Fuck,” you nearly dropped your groceries as you stepped into your apartment to find him lounging on the couch like he owned the place, dressed in pajama bottoms and a black robe. Its opening, casually loose and just revealing enough to hint at his chest, made the sight far too leisurely for your liking. In fact, he looked so at ease, so disgustingly domestic, like he belonged—but the sight only made his presence feel more invasive. “Why are you always here? Go back to your penthouse. It’s way bigger.”
“But there’s no you,” he said, far too smoothly, suddenly reappearing beside you. Before you could protest, he took the groceries from your hands, unpacking them into the fridge and shelves with alarming familiarity.
Perhaps it wasn’t alarming anymore. He’d been doing this for months—showing up whenever he had a moment to spare from whatever duties occupied a vampire’s time. He even bought the unit next to yours, offering excuses to drop by that were as ridiculous as they were transparent: needing eggs, faulty lighting, lost keys. All nonsense, of course, since he didn’t need nourishment, had no reason to fear the dark and can teleport just fine if he wanted to.
“Right, what’s your excuse tonight?” you asked, flopping onto the couch.
“The a/c is broken,” he replied smoothly.
“You used that excuse two weeks ago Sunghoon.”
“Did I?” he mused, unbothered. “Well, this time it’s the sprinklers. Got set off when I was trying to sear my steak. Now the place is flooded. Disgusting, really.”
You scoffed. “Sunghoon, cut the crap. What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. I just want to be with you,” he quipped with a shrug. “You always rejected my offer to ask you to move in with me—penthouse, townhouse, heck even the manor near that hiking spot you like—so here I am. Playing househusband. Or maid, depending on the day.”
“Right,” you said, raising a brow, “you definitely need to stop lounging around in that robe. It’s too casual. People might think you’re my husband or something.”
He grinned, the corner of his mouth tilting upward in that infuriating way. “That’s the goal.”
“You know normal humans and vampires can’t co-exist in that way right?”
“We’re anything but normal y/n,” he replied smoothly, making his way to the living room and plopping down to your left. His elbow propped lazily on the headrest, his posture screaming nonchalance, as if daring you to challenge him. “We can do whatever we please. Or however you please.”
You furrowed your brows, annoyed. If his teasing back then had been a game of one-upmanship—an endless, borderline competitive battle of wits—now it had shifted into something more dangerous. Flirtatious, deliberate, and entirely designed to fluster you. A different ball game—one you weren’t used to playing.
Leaning back, you crossed your arms. “Well, bad news. It’s time for me to do normal stuff and settle down, and the guy earlier—”
“Right, the one you had a date with—“ he cut in, “—or rather the one you were forced to meet up with—“
“—is the best candidate so far,” you continued, rolling your eyes at his interruption. You were used to it by now—used to him knowing too much about your life, like an ever-present fly on the wall, “—he is mature, understanding, and not clingy.”
“Sounds exactly like me but a pale imitiation because come on, I am way good looking in a way no human can replicate and most importantly,” his hand found your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His voice dropped, low and steady. “Only I understand you and your complexity y/n and only you understand mine. We are made for each other—we’re too dysfunctional for others, but perfect for each other. No one else could survive us.”
“Then what if one day I feel so suffocated and poison you again?” you shot back.
“I’ll let you,” he said quietly, his lips curving in a subtle, almost resigned way as his eyes bore into yours. This could have been lighthearted and playful but those voice and those gaze were anything but. “I've told you this before: I’ll let you ruin me in the end as long as you’ll have me.”
“Don’t you ever feel that you’ve given too much and I’ve not given enough—" you retorted. It wasn’t meant to hurt him. You just wanted to come clean with him.
“Oh, I know that very much. Better than anyone in fact—” he murmured, his fingers brushing your collar before slipping beneath it, catching the chain that lay hidden against your skin. “And this—” he lifted it gently, his thumb grazing the crest you wore as a pendant with a reverence that only he could feel, “—you wearing this—it says more than you ever could.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” you muttered, smacking his hand off. “Your crest has been very useful—it keeps other biters at bay.”
Then suddenly, his hand moved before you could react, sliding to the curve of your right waist with a deliberate slowness that sent a shiver racing up your spine. His fingers pressed lightly into your side, tracing the curve of your body as though memorizing the path. The motion was unhurried, grounding you in place while leaving no question of his intent. Then, he shifted closer, bracing one knee on the cushion beside you before the other followed suit in one fluid motion. The couch dipped under his weight, trapping you effortlessly. His hand found the headrest behind you, his presence closing in until all you could feel was him—the heat radiating from his body, the cadence of his breath, the way his fingers lingered just a second too long before trailing upward along your side.
“Then use me like you use the crest—” he murmured, his voice dipping to something quieter, almost reverent. His lips hovered inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours as his hand trailed up the curve of your spine, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, “—you know I’m completely at your mercy.”
“For someone who should be wise beyond his years, you don’t seem to learn your lesson,” you managed to say back, raising a hand to his chest in a feeble attempt to stop him.
The tension thickened, swallowing the space entirely as his right hand slid up the nape of your neck, warm and deliberate, sending a sharp jolt through your senses. Without warning, he tilted your head back sharply, making you look up at him in a strained way as he towered over you, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made the air around you feel heavier. "I never learn my lesson when it comes to you," he murmured as his face dipped closer. His voice was steady almost reverent—but the weight of control behind it was unmistakable.
His eyes moved slowly, tracing a path from your eyes to your lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply, the motion betraying the thin thread of restraint he clung to. It was as though swallowing was the only thing keeping him tethered, holding back something far more dangerous than words. When his gaze returned to yours, it was darker, sharper, and filled with a hunger barely leashed, “—and I don’t want to. Ever.”
His words hung in the air for only a moment before his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was anything but gentle—it was a brutal collision of yearning, years of pent-up emotions, frustration, and something far darker that had simmered between you for far too long. The force of his kiss drove you backward, your head pressing into the unyielding headrest as he claimed your lips. The angle left you no choice but to tilt your head farther in a strained way, a soft gasp escaping you—one he seized without hesitation, deepening the kiss, consuming you entirely.
He tasted of power and desire, a heady combination that made your head spin. Then, with a sharp, sudden motion, he pulled you towards him with startling strength, pressing your bodies together with a searing intensity—making you feel every inch of him: the hard, unyielding planes of his chest, the muscular ridges of his abdomen, even the tension in his body, the coiled power, the barely leashed restraint. His hand, splayed over your back, was like a steel band around your waist, forcing your body to arch unnaturally backwards as his kiss pursued you, driving you farther back, lips growing more demanding and insistent by the second.
Your body gradually grew pliant under his domineering, possessive, hold–overwhelmed by the ferocity and sheer possessiveness of his every kiss and touch. There was literally no room to think, no space to resist—not that you wanted to. He overwhelmed every sense, each touch unraveling the walls you’d so carefully built. You told yourself it was only physical, that the fire consuming you was nothing but desire. But deep down, you knew better. You weren’t just losing control—you were giving it to him.
Your hands flew to his biceps, clinging for balance, your fingers digging into his tense muscles for support, feeling the power and strength that lay beneath. His muscles flexed under your touch, a silent warning of the raw, untamed masculinity that simmered just below his skin. As you struggled to draw in air, your lips parted unwittingly, and Sunghoon was quick to take advantage. Before you could even gasp for breath, his thumb pressed down on your chin, forcing your lips apart, his tongue already breaching past to plunder your mouth with a fierce and primal intensity that left you breathless.
Emboldened, Sunghoon's hand slithered up your back like a serpent claiming its prey, his large hand nearly covering the entire width of your back. Then with a fluid motion, without breaking the kiss at all, he lifted you with surprising ease, his arm muscles flexing in a display of raw power and dominance, as he manoeuvered you sideways before forcefully pushing you down onto the cushions with controlled strength—enough to knock the air out of your lungs but not enough to suffocate. Yet.
The couch groaned under the weight of your entangled bodies, sinking further as Sunghoon hovered over you, his powerful legs bracketing your hips, his muscular frame dwarfing yours. He pushed you deeper into the cushions, his body a solid, warm weight pressing you down, his lips never breaking contact with yours, his kiss relentless. He angled your head to his liking, his free hand exploring your body with a gentle dominance, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, down to the swell of your hips, a teasing caress that made your heart race. It was as if he was trying to etch every curve into memory.
Finally he pulled back, but only so slightly to grant you reprieve from his lips, for his weight still anchored him firmly against you as he straddled your hips, creating a tantalizing gap between your bodies. His gaze had completely shifted then—smouldering in a way that authoritatively pinned you in place without having to physically restrain you. "This is your chance," he said, his voice gravelly with restrained desire, as he tore the robe from his shoulders with an impatient motion, letting it fall in a forgotten heap on the floor. Bare from the waist up, his muscular frame seemed even more commanding, each ridge of muscle sharp and unyielding without the confines of clothing.
This wasn’t the first time you’d seen his bare torso, but tonight, his physique felt too imposing—as if every ridge of muscle was sculpted exactly to intimidate and conquer. The air around him seemed to hum with power while the intensity of his gaze stole words right from your throat. He continued, "you can resist, push me away, or even slap me, but once I begin, I won't be able to stop".
You swallowed thickly, the weight of his piercing gaze pressing down on you, making you feel small beneath him. It wasn’t just his physical presence—towering, commanding—that made your breath hitch. It was the intensity in his eyes, the way they seemed to strip you bare, leaving no room for pretense or armor. You hated that he could do this to you, hated more that you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t lie to yourself: he was indeed intimidating at the moment. But was it fear that made your pulse race, or something darker, something you weren’t ready to name?
You could push him away, the words lingered in your mind like an invitation. But the truth was, you’d had a thousand chances to stop him before things went too far. And yet, here you were, under him. Because as much as you hated his power over you, you had already decided to let it in.
You propped yourself up on your elbows, the loose cardigan slipping from your shoulders, exposing your bare skin to his ravenous gaze. Sunghoon’s eyes darkened like a brewing storm, his chest rising and falling in sync with your own ragged breaths. Your lips still tingled from the searing kiss, the memory of his touch a constant reminder that you hadn’t stopped him. That you hadn’t wanted to.
"I wouldn’t have let you get this far if I wasn’t sure, Sungh—" you panted out, but before you could finish, he surged forward, recapturing your lips with a fierce and almost punishing force. The kiss was a tempest, a chaotic collision of passion and need, pulling you under and leaving you breathless, weightless, and utterly undone.
As his mouth consumed yours, his hands moved with purpose and urgency, stripping away your cardigan with a deft touch. The cool air against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, making you acutely aware of every inch of him. His other hand slipped under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curvature of your spine with a deliberate languor that made your breath hitch. Your body arched into his touch, your restraint crumbling under the weight of his passion. He responded by pressing you deeper into the plush couch, his body a heavy, welcome weight, pinning you beneath him, a captive to his desire.
The soft cushions molded to your form, offering a sensual contrast to the hard planes of his chest against your soft skin. "Sunghoon—" you gasped, struggling for air and begging him to slow down, but he showed no mercy. Instead, his lips descended upon yours with even greater ferocity, turning the kiss hungrier, messier and wetter as his mouth and tongue move with a frenzied passion that bordered on brutal, as if he was trying to consume you whole and leave nothing but ashes in his wake—the ferocity of which was mirrored by the rhythm of his hips as he ground against you, a tantalizing preview of what was to come.
You knew you were treading uncharted territories—felt it in the way his hands gripped you, relentless and commanding with a possessiveness that bordered on primal—every movement daring you to stop him and knowing you wouldn’t. But then again, this had always been the dynamic between you two: a dance on the knife’s edge—a battle masquerading as a game, where neither truly won. Every step only pulled you deeper into the other's orbit, not for the comfort peace or safety, but for the chaos only the other could create.
But somewhere along the way, the chaos had shifted. It was no longer about fighting against each other, about destruction for the sake of it. Instead, it had become something far more dangerous: a harmony within the chaos.
You had learned to move in sync, not because you sought peace, but because you understood each other too well. The storm hadn’t disappeared—it never would—but now, you weathered it together. No one else could bear the weight of your detachment—the walls you built, the silence you carried—but him. And no one else could bear his chaos—the storm within him, the fire that never died—the way you did.
You weren’t drawn to each other just for the fire, but because you were each other’s constant. You were his unshakable anchor: the force that rooted him in a reality he couldn’t manipulate, teaching him that respect—not domination—was the foundation of something enduring and real. And he was your constant storm: a chaotic force that blows through your carefully constructed walls, showing you that stability isn't always the answer. You let him destabilize your certainty; he lets you unravel his control.
You two were a mess and yet you two never sought to change nor fix the other. Because within one another was the only place where everything made sense, even as the world burned around you. It wasn’t peace, nor was it safety—but it was home. And it was inevitable, as it always had been.

A/N: DONE. DUSTED. GONE. PHEW. Now I can pack peacefully for my flight tomorrow. This is farthest and the most committed I've ever been in writing so please, show me some appreciation by leaving feedback. This is possibly my last writing after all. Also! just wanted to shed some light into the ending: I've created two very complex, messy as hell, multi-layered, characters who went through hell and back with a knife ((or fangs)) on each other's throat for most of the time, so you can’t expect a Hallmark-esque ending with elopement, three kids, and a cozy life baking sourdough in a quaint cottage deep in the woods. After everything they’ve been through—betrayals, obsession, bloodshed, and vulnerability—it would feel unrealistic to wrap their relationship in a neat bow. There’s too much baggage to simply ignore, and I am honoring those journey, their personality and their arcs by opting for such an ending in the epilogue. One that is unapologetically and messily theirs.
Taglist: @axartia | @my5colours | @elinushka-ka | @nowjillsandwich | @leaderwon | @moniqueovermoney | @ashrocker123 | @seungkwan-s | @hydroyaksha | @ikayyyyyy | @capri-cuntz| @asyleums | @lovialy | @nikikookie | @lunateez | @reithecat | @hocestmundi | @shuichi-sama (( tagging those who have explicitly wanted to be tagged eheh apologies if I missed some out :( ))
#enhypen vampire#enhypen imagines#enhypen sunghoon#enhypen sunghoon imagines#park sunghoon#enhypen scenarios#enhypen#sunghoon imagines#sunghoon vampire#kpop imagines#sunghoon scenarios#enhypen sunghoon scenarios#kpop scenarios#enhypen x reader#enhypen x female reader#enhypen vampire au
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𝐈 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐈 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 !
p. jackson x child of demeter!reader
only want to fix it with a kiss on the lips,
but i think i might,
take a bite !
𝓦arnings: grammatical errors. ooc(?). my attempt in being poetic. talks ab leaving camp.
𝓝otes:
001. to that one random girl who let me borrow her dictionary earlier at the café while i was writing this, thank you😭😭 (i forgot to ask for her name or ANYTHING)
002. cherry cherry cherry cherry
003. def a guardian angel



sunlight passed through the leaves to cast dappled patterns across the picnic blanket spread between the roots. the cherry trees danced in the soft summer air, the branches weighted with juicy fruit.
you sat opposite percy, a bowl of newly picked cherries between you. he picked one up, rolling it in his fingers, investigating it as if it contained some deep secret.
"you know," he said, looking up at you with that crooked grin, "i think i like it here more than any other place in camp."
you raised an eyebrow. "more than the lake?"
percy paused, then nodded. "yeah. i mean, the lake is fine & all, but this," he waved his hand around at the cherry trees, the small square of green you'd cut out of nothing with your own two hands. "this is more.. okay."
you snorted at his statement.
it was. this wasn't just part of camp half-blood; it was part of you. a part of your soul that had been buried in the roots, in the flowers, in the fruit that grew sweeter each summer. you had sown it yourself, tended to it with the same patient reserve your mother, demeter, had taught you.
& somewhere, somehow along the way, it had grown into yours & percy's.
not formally. not in any manner you could speak. but it was in the way he seemed to always end up here, like a tide drawn in. in the way you reserved the reddest cherries for him, even when you swore you didn't. in the way he looked at you now, like there was nowhere else he'd prefer.(he sometimes jokes about making blue cherries)
you extracted a cherry from the basket, spinning the stem around your fingers. "why is this place so okay?" you asked, your voice teasing.
percy let out a soft snort of laughter. "what, you want me to go all sappy about some trees?"
you grinned. "perhaps."
he tossed his cherry pit into the grass & stretched out on the blanket, hands behind his head. “fine. it’s peaceful. it smells good. &…” he turned his head to look at you, something unreadable visible in his sea-green eyes. “you’re here.”
your breath hitched.
it wasn’t fair, really, the way he did that. said things like that so casually, like he didn’t know what they do to you.
you swallowed, eyes on the cherry in your hand. "do you. . . ever consider leaving?"
percy flinched. "camp?"
you nodded, still looking at the fruit. "yeah. just… escaping. no gods, no monsters. just… us."
the words felt dangerous, even as you said them. he knows you didn't want to leave permanently. he knows you don't want to abandon camp, your cherry trees, the strawberry patch, your half siblings, annabeth, clarisse, will, nico, grover, chiron.
a break? definitely. the half-bloods have experienced war, not once. lost many. you know percy is exhausted. with all the quests, the gods. he led wars. he mourned(you all did). you remembered the first time he came to camp. clueless of the half blood life, the sparks in his eyes, shined. he was like a fire that refuses to go out.
this is the price he's paying for simply existing. said the gods.
percy was silent for a long moment. when he finally spoke, his voice was gentler. softer. "yeah. i think about it all the time."
your heart tightened. "really?"
he looked away from the sky again. "yeah. but i don't think we'd ever really be able to get away from it, you know?"
you knew. gods, you despised that you knew.
demigods weren't cut out for peaceful lives. no matter how much you wanted to hope otherwise.
percy jerked up, grasping another cherry. but he didn't pop it into his mouth; he held it in front of you, an unspoken offering.
you hesitated, then leaned forward, biting into the fruit he held out to you. his fingers touched your lips▰only for an instant, hardly more than a suggestion▰but it made heat unfold in your chest nonetheless. you heart began hitting, punching, slapping your lungs & rib cage. beating so hard that it hurts.
percy grinned. "see? fleeing wouldn't be so terrible."
you swallowed, heart pounding. perhaps it was the angle of the sun on his face, or perhaps the way time seemed to be holding its breath, but something inside you burst. like a cherry when it gets squished.
before you had time to think twice, you leaned in, pressing your lips against his.
percy stopped in mid-motion for half a second. long enough for uncertainty to seep in▰but then his hand wrapped around your cheek, pulling you closer, deeper. the kiss was slow to start, tentative, like the manner in which the waves of the sea crash against the beach. but then he breathed against your lips, tilting his head to one side, & then it wasn't slow anymore.
your fingers went to his shoulders, curling into the collar of his shirt as he drew you onto his lap. the basket of cherries fell over, abandoned, fruit rolling across the blanket. his arms around your waist, holding you tight against him as his mouth worked against yours▰hungered, urgent, like he's been waiting as long as you had. like he's been craving your lips for decades as long as you had craved his'.
the flavor of cherries hung between you, sweet & intoxicating.
percy pulled back just far enough to press his forehead against yours, his breathing unsteady. "we're going to be late for dinner," he whispered, a lazy smile pulling at his mouth.
you laughed, fingers tangling in his dark hair. "perhaps we should simply run away, then."
his hold on your waist tightened ever so slightly. "tempting."
you kissed him again, slow & lingering, as the cherry blossoms above you continued dancing.
perhaps you would take a bite.
© minorlyatfault, 2025.
#vi's basket ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson#pjo x reader#percy jackon and the olympians#heroes of olympus#pjo#pjo hoo toa
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