ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴɪɴᴇ

PAIRING : Sasuke Uchiha x GN!Reader

GENRE : hurt / comfort

WORD COUNT : 4.7k

SUMMARY : Since childhood, you were Sasuke’s quiet confidant—the one who never chased him, yet never left. When he chose revenge over the village, you were left with only memories and a lingering hope. Now, years later, fate has reunited you. As old wounds heal and emotions resurface, Sasuke is torn between the life he once wanted and the connection he can’t ignore. Will he finally let someone in, or is his heart too hardened by the past?

CONTENT / WARNINGS : emotional themes, grief trauma, abandonment issues, mild angst, slow-burn, heartfelt apologies, character growth, confession, no "y/n” mentioned

SONG : Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood

Your friendship with Sasuke began in a way that was unspoken, almost inevitable. You both belonged to prominent families, but there was no pressure to “be close” or to constantly seek each other’s company. The bond felt natural—two kids who understood each other’s silence, especially after Sasuke’s life changed forever.

After the Uchiha massacre, Sasuke withdrew from almost everyone, but you kept your distance in a way that felt respectful. You didn’t try to force conversations with him the way others did, and he seemed to appreciate that. You’d sit beside him sometimes in the academy, both of you content to let the quiet settle around you. When you did speak, it was about small things, or questions that didn’t pressure him. Occasionally, you’d ask, “Are you doing okay?” or, “Anything on your mind?” He rarely answered with more than a nod or shrug, but there was a weight in his eyes, as if he wanted to say something he didn’t know how to.

Once in a while, after classes ended or during breaks, you’d train together. Sasuke’s determination was fierce, as if each session was a step toward avenging his clan. He hardly talked about his family, but you noticed the way his expression changed, focused and almost haunted. And when he sat beside you to catch his breath, you’d make an effort to bring some lightness, whether through a quiet observation or a small joke. Sometimes he’d respond with the faintest of smirks, a rare sight that only a handful of people had seen. You might not have broken down his walls, but he trusted you enough to let you be there. That, in itself, was something you cherished.

—

As time went on, and as other classmates like Sakura and Ino developed crushes on Sasuke, your bond with him stayed steady, untainted by infatuation. While others would compete for his attention, you shared a camaraderie that didn’t need grand gestures. It was in the small moments: the shared glances across the classroom, or the way he’d wait an extra second after a sparring match, silently making sure you were okay before nodding and walking away.

Sasuke, in his own way, came to cherish this friendship too, though he’d never say it. He appreciated that you didn’t press for answers, nor did you treat him like a prize. Instead, you were just there, steady and patient, giving him the respect he couldn’t find in others.

When he was placed in Team Seven, and you were assigned to another team, things changed. Yet, there was still that comfort in knowing you’d both be around the village, even if on separate missions. Occasionally, your teams would cross paths on joint assignments, and while he remained his usual reserved self, you noticed a small change in him when he spoke to you. Sasuke would look at you a bit longer, and his tone softened just slightly in a way that wasn’t there with Naruto or Sakura. He wouldn’t admit it, but your presence grounded him, giving him a fleeting sense of normalcy that no one else could provide.

On one particularly difficult mission, your teams had been caught in an ambush. You saw a rare flash of worry in his eyes when you were hit, even though he quickly masked it with his usual stoic demeanor. Later, as the teams rested and regrouped, he’d walked over to where you sat, silently offering a water canteen before looking out into the distance, as if pretending the exchange had never happened. But in that gesture, in that rare flicker of concern, you saw that he cared—even if he didn’t fully understand why.

The day he decided to leave, he sought you out—not under the cloak of night as he would with the others, but in broad daylight. Something about your friendship made him want to give you a proper farewell, even if he wasn’t sure what that farewell should look like. The two of you walked to a quiet part of the village, a place where you’d once trained together as kids.

There was a heaviness in the air, a feeling that you couldn’t quite place. Sasuke’s gaze was distant, but something in his expression seemed conflicted, almost vulnerable.

“Next time we see each other…if that ever happens…” he started, his voice trailing off. The words hung in the air, filling you with a sense of unease.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your heart sinking as you searched his face for answers.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked down, an almost guilty expression crossing his face before he straightened, hiding it with a mask of determination. “You’ve always been…someone I trust,” he said, his voice almost inaudible, as if admitting it to himself for the first time.

Before you could ask him what he meant, he reached out, his hand lingering near yours for a moment. His fingers brushed against your wrist, a gesture so small yet filled with a weight you couldn’t understand. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him to stay, but something stopped you. You knew that he had made up his mind. And so, instead, you simply nodded, swallowing the words you wanted to say. “Take care, Sasuke,” you replied, your voice barely holding steady.

He gave you one last look, something like regret flickering in his eyes, before he turned and walked away. You watched him go, realizing only after he’d disappeared from sight that this was his way of saying goodbye.

Later that night, as you replayed his words and his expression over and over, the truth sank in. Sasuke was leaving the village, leaving you—and it hurt. Yet, a small part of you felt honored to be the only one he’d said goodbye to. It was as if he’d left a piece of himself with you, a promise that, no matter how far he went, you’d always hold a place in his life.

You didn’t know how long it would take, or if he’d ever return, but you decided then and there that you’d wait. You’d wait for him, believing that, someday, he’d come back. And until that day, you’d carry his trust like a quiet vow, a reminder of the bond you shared that transcended words.

—

Three years had passed since that quiet farewell, and you’d held onto the memory of it. You didn’t know if you’d ever see him again, but a part of you had always kept hope alive, silently believing he’d return. Then, as fate would have it, during a mission with several of the Konoha 11 to locate Sasuke after his fight with Itachi, you saw him again.

It was a mere glimpse—Sasuke standing there, exhausted but resolute, his form silhouetted against the fading light. Your eyes locked, and time seemed to stop. There was no exchange of words, only a quiet, intense gaze that held unspoken emotions neither of you fully understood. The years of silence fell away, leaving only the remnants of an old, unbroken bond. Sasuke didn’t smile, didn’t offer any sign, but in that moment, something deep inside him stirred—a flicker of familiarity and comfort he hadn’t felt in years.

And as you met his gaze, you felt the same. You didn’t know why, but seeing him there, alive, felt like a missing piece of yourself had returned, even if only for a moment.

—

During the war, Sasuke had seen you again. And this time, he saw a different side of you. Where once you’d been quiet and patient, a steady presence in his life, you now carried a fierceness that impressed him deeply. He watched you fight with skill and determination, handling challenges with calm resilience that rivaled his own. There was something about your confidence, your unyielding spirit in the face of danger, that drew his attention more than he’d admit.

He’d thought of you as the person who’d always been there, waiting in silence, yet now he saw you as so much more. A subtle respect had grown within him, and while he’d never voice it aloud, a part of him admired your strength, your growth, and the way you’d found your own place in the world, even without him.

In his mind, he couldn’t help but acknowledge it: You’ve become incredible…in ways I never expected.

—

It was after the war, after everything had finally ended, that you saw him again. He’d just come from the hospital, signs of fatigue in his features, but his gaze was clearer than you’d ever seen it. The two of you met by chance outside, and there was a moment of silent recognition as he nodded toward the path beside you, a quiet invitation.

You walked together in the growing twilight, the orange hues of the sunset casting long shadows around you as the last light dipped below the horizon. It was a familiar quietness, like so many moments from years ago, but this time, the air was charged with something heavier, something unresolved.

Finally, Sasuke stopped, looking away as he took a slow, measured breath. “I…,” he began, his voice rough, uncertain. “I owe you an apology.” He looked down at his hands, almost as if searching for the right words, his expression unreadable but tense.

You stayed silent, letting him gather his thoughts. He was never one to speak easily, especially about matters so close to the heart, and you knew he needed the space to work through this on his own.

“I was…cold,” he continued after a moment. His voice softened slightly, as if the admission took him by surprise. “Back then, I never… I never tried to explain myself. To anyone. Especially not to you.”

There was a brief pause, and he looked away, frustration crossing his face. “I don’t know how to say this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. Then, after a moment, he turned his gaze toward you, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “But I knew you were different. I knew I could…count on you. And I still left.”

Your chest tightened, emotions flooding in at the sound of his words. “Sasuke,” you whispered, unsure if you wanted him to continue or stop altogether.

He held up a hand, his gaze intense as he looked at you fully. “Let me finish,” he said, his tone gentler but still firm. “I’ve been thinking…about all of it. About how much you put up with. All the times you tried to help me, tried to understand me, and I never gave you a real answer.”

You could see the faintest hint of guilt in his eyes, a weight he’d carried, even if he didn’t fully understand why. “When I left,” he continued slowly, “I told myself it was for revenge, that nothing else mattered. But that last day, when I saw you…” He trailed off, searching your face as if looking for understanding. “It felt…wrong. Leaving you behind. I couldn’t explain it, not then. But it bothered me.”

You swallowed, feeling the lump in your throat. “Then why did you leave without a real goodbye?” you asked softly, your voice wavering.

Sasuke’s gaze dropped, his expression unreadable. “I thought…if I said more, if I tried to explain myself, I’d be too weak to actually go,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “And I thought I had to be strong, to cut all ties. But it wasn’t that simple. You were the only one I said goodbye to. And even then, it…haunted me.”

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, filled with years of unspoken words. You could see the conflict in his expression, the way he struggled to put his emotions into words. “I didn’t realize how much I’d hurt you by leaving,” he continued, his voice almost a whisper. “And now, I know…I can’t change what I did. But I needed to say I’m sorry.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, at the raw honesty you’d never seen from him before. “I was hurt, yes,” you admitted, fighting back tears. “I didn’t understand why you had to go, or why you couldn’t trust me enough to tell me. But I knew you had reasons. And despite everything, I forgave you long ago.”

He looked at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. “You forgave me?”

You nodded, a small, bittersweet smile crossing your face. “I figured, if I kept holding onto the hurt, it would only make things worse. And…I believed in you, Sasuke. Even if you didn’t say it, I felt like you cared. That was enough.”

He seemed to struggle with your words, almost uncomfortable with the weight of your forgiveness. “You always were too understanding,” he murmured, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone.

“And you were always too stubborn,” you countered gently, a soft laugh breaking the tension. “But that’s who you are.”

A faint, almost reluctant smile tugged at his lips. He looked away, as if the emotions were too much to bear. “I never…expected you to wait. For me to come back,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped closer, looking up at him, catching the brief flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “It’s alright. You’re here now.”

Sasuke let out a quiet breath, his gaze softening. “Thank you,” he said, the words simple yet filled with meaning. It was as if, in that small phrase, he was saying everything he couldn’t put into words—the regret, the gratitude, the unspoken connection that had kept you tied to each other all these years.

As Sasuke turned to leave, the weight of his promise lingered in the air. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the village. You felt a renewed sense of hope, knowing that the bond you shared was stronger than ever, despite the trials you had both faced. And with that, a new beginning opened between you—a chance to rebuild not just your friendship but the trust and bond that had endured through years of silence and separation.

—

As the sun rose over Konoha, you found yourself at the training grounds, practicing your techniques. The rhythmic sound of your feet hitting the ground echoed through the quiet morning. You focused, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Sasuke. The lingering memory of his apology had stirred something within you, a warmth that urged you to hope for more.

“Focus,” a familiar voice called out, snapping you from your reverie. You turned to see Sasuke approaching, his brow furrowed in concentration as he watched you. “Your stance is off.”

You grinned, feeling a rush of happiness at the sight of him. “Thanks for the tip, Sensei,” you teased lightly, adjusting your stance. He rolled his eyes, but a hint of a smile ghosted across his lips, reminding you of the boy you had known long ago.

As you trained together, the air buzzed with unspoken comfort. Occasionally, he would offer you pointers, his tone serious yet softening with every exchange. Each shared glance held unspoken understanding, a reminder of the bond you were slowly rebuilding.

—

One evening, you found a quiet spot near the river, the gentle sound of flowing water providing a calming backdrop. You both sat on the grass, enjoying the peace that surrounded you. The sunset cast a golden hue across the landscape, and you couldn’t help but feel content.

“Do you remember the first time we came here?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. Sasuke glanced at you, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a faint smile.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice thoughtful. “You fell in the water trying to catch a frog.”

You laughed, the memory bringing warmth to your chest. “I was determined! But you helped me out,” you reminded him.

“Because you wouldn’t stop whining,” he shot back, but there was a hint of fondness in his tone. The two of you reminisced about old memories, the laughter bridging the gaps between the past and the present.

—

After a long day of training, you decided to share a meal. You prepared a simple dinner, and when Sasuke arrived, you laid out the food on a small table outside. The night air was cool, and fireflies danced around you as you both dug in.

“This isn’t bad,” he remarked after taking a bite, surprising you with his praise. You raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a smile.

“Just ‘not bad’? I thought I could impress you,” you teased, leaning back in your chair. Sasuke glanced at you, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Impressing me isn’t easy,” he replied, but there was a lightness to his words now, a softness that made your heart race.

As you both enjoyed the meal, the atmosphere was filled with easy conversation, laughter, and the comfort of companionship. It felt natural, as if the years apart had only strengthened the connection between you.

—

One night, after a particularly exhausting day, you both lay on the grass outside the village, gazing up at the stars. The sky was clear, and you pointed out constellations, your excitement palpable.

“Look, that’s the Big Dipper!” you exclaimed, tracing its outline with your finger. Sasuke turned his head slightly, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

“Do you really believe in that stuff?” he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

“Why not? It’s nice to think there’s something bigger out there,” you replied, glancing at him. He was silent for a moment, contemplating your words.

“Maybe,” he finally said, his tone thoughtful. “But I think…what’s important is right here.” He motioned between the two of you, and the weight of his words settled warmly in your chest. It was a small moment, yet it held the promise of something deeper.

—

As the day approached for Sasuke to leave on his next mission, the mood between you grew heavier. You both knew it was part of his duty, part of who he was, but the thought of him being away again made your heart ache.

“Be careful,” you urged, your voice softer than usual as you stood at the village gate. He met your gaze, the intensity of his dark eyes making you feel like he was searching for something.

“I will,” he promised, and for a moment, you felt a sense of peace.

“Just…don’t take too long this time,” you added, trying to keep your tone light despite the lump in your throat. Sasuke paused, and in that moment, you saw the flicker of a smile.

“Next time we meet,” he said slowly, his voice steady, “I’ll make sure to have a better goodbye.” And with that, he left, and you knew that this time, you would be waiting.

With each encounter, the distance that once defined your relationship faded, replaced by a deepening connection that felt both familiar and new. As time passed, you both embraced the changes, finding solace in each other’s presence, which slowly turned from friendship into something more.

The journey had been long, marked by pain and loss, but now, as you walked alongside Sasuke once again, the path ahead felt promising. The bond you shared was evolving, hinting at the possibility of love, quietly waiting to be acknowledged.

—

As the weeks turned into months and the months quickly into a year, the bond between you and Sasuke continued to deepen. The unspoken tension between you lingered like an electric current, and every shared laugh, every moment spent in each other’s company seemed to ignite something new in your hearts. Yet, while the connection felt undeniable, neither of you had taken the leap to acknowledge the shift. Sasuke, in particular, struggled with the burgeoning feelings that swirled within him.

Sitting outside on a warm summer evening, you both watched the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The air was still, and for a moment, it felt as though time had stopped. You turned to look at Sasuke, who was staring intently at the sky, his face illuminated by the fading light.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, breaking the silence. He shifted slightly, glancing at you with an expression that was both contemplative and guarded.

“Just… how everything has changed,” he replied, his voice low. “It feels different now.”

You nodded, your heart fluttering at the possibility of him meaning more than just the sunset. “Yeah, it really does. We’ve come a long way.”

He didn’t respond immediately, and you could sense that he was grappling with something deeper, something he wasn’t quite ready to voice. Sasuke had always been more comfortable with action than words, and you respected that, even as you wished he could share more of what was on his mind.

As the stars began to twinkle overhead, you lay back on the grass, watching the constellations appear one by one. “Do you remember the stories we used to tell each other about the stars?” you asked, your voice soft and reminiscent.

He chuckled softly, the sound warming your heart. “I remember you always had some elaborate story about them.”

“Of course! They were all very important,” you teased, sitting up to face him. “And you always pretended not to care, but I know you did.”

Sasuke looked at you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe I did,” he admitted, his gaze softening. “You just… have a way of making things seem more interesting.”

That comment made your heart skip. You smiled back, feeling a rush of warmth at the sincerity in his eyes. “Well, I’m glad I could entertain you.”

As the moments passed, you both fell into a comfortable silence. But the quiet between you was filled with an unspoken understanding, and that was when it struck Sasuke.

Days later, Sasuke found himself deep in thought as he trained alone in the woods outside Konoha. Each punch and kick felt more powerful, fueled by a growing sense of determination. But as the sweat dripped down his brow and he paused to catch his breath, it hit him like a jolt of electricity.

He loved you.

The realization was startling, yet it made perfect sense. You had always been there for him, through his darkness and his pain. You never pushed him to be someone he wasn’t; instead, you patiently allowed him to be himself, to feel the way he felt, and to heal at his own pace. While he had spent years isolating himself, you were the one person who saw through his walls and accepted him as he was.

And it wasn’t just about your patience; it was the way you challenged him. You made him think, you brought laughter into his life, and you shared your dreams and fears with him, fostering a connection that felt both intimate and genuine. You had never demanded anything from him, yet your presence was a light in the shadows that surrounded him.

As he stood there, a countless of emotions flooded him—fear, joy, and a fierce longing to express what he felt. But there was also anxiety; what if you didn’t feel the same way? The thought of losing the friendship that meant so much to him was almost unbearable.

A week passed since Sasuke’s revelation, and he knew he could no longer keep his feelings to himself. The next evening, he invited you to meet him by the river—the same spot where you had shared so many laughs and memories. He arrived early, his heart racing with anticipation and dread.

When you approached, the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow on the water’s surface. You smiled brightly at him, and for a moment, he forgot his nerves.

“Hey! You’re early!” you exclaimed, settling beside him on the bank.

“Yeah, I wanted to make sure I had some time to think,” he replied, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside.

“Thinking about what?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come. “About us,” he said, his tone serious.

Your eyes widened slightly, and he could see the intrigue mixed with concern in your expression. “Us?”

“Yes.” He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. About everything—about what we’ve been through and how much you mean to me.”

You shifted slightly closer, your heart racing at the intensity of his gaze. “Sasuke, what are you trying to say?”

He paused, gathering his thoughts, the weight of his feelings pressing down on him. “You’ve always been there for me. Even when I pushed everyone away, you never gave up on me. You let me be who I am, without judgment or expectation. And… I don’t think I ever truly expressed how much that means to me.”

His words hung in the air, and you watched him, your breath caught in your throat. The sincerity in his eyes was palpable, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. “I… I appreciate that, Sasuke. I really do.”

He swallowed hard, his resolve strengthening as he continued. “But it’s more than that. Being with you, talking with you, training together—it’s brought me a sense of peace I didn’t know I needed. And I’ve realized… I love you.”

Silence fell between you, the weight of his confession settling like a blanket over the two of you. Your heart raced, and you felt a mixture of shock and elation.

“You love me?” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sasuke nodded, his expression earnest. “I do. I’ve tried to ignore it, but it’s become impossible. I don’t want to hide how I feel anymore.”

Tears pricked your eyes, not out of sadness, but joy. “Sasuke, I love you too!” you exclaimed, unable to contain the happiness that bubbled inside you. “I’ve felt this way for so long, but I never knew if you felt the same.”

A rare smile broke across his face, and the tension that had been coiled in his shoulders eased. “You really do?”

“Of course!” You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “You’re my best friend. I’ve always cared for you, but it’s grown into something deeper, something beautiful.”

The moment felt surreal as you both sat there, fingers laced together, hearts racing in synchrony. Sasuke’s grip tightened around your hand, a warmth radiating from his touch that sent shivers down your spine.

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” he said, his voice soft yet resolute. “I want to be with you—fully, completely.”

You nodded, a wide smile spreading across your face. “I want that too.”

He leaned closer, and you could see the uncertainty in his eyes, a vulnerability that was rare for him. “Can I… kiss you?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“Yes,” you breathed, your heart racing as he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, before deepening the kiss. It was sweet, filled with all the unspoken words and emotions that had built up between you over the years. Time seemed to stand still as you both melted into each other, the world around you fading away.

When you finally pulled apart, you felt breathless, a sense of joy flooding your heart. Sasuke smiled softly, and for the first time, you saw a glimpse of the warmth that lay beneath his typically stoic exterior.

“Wow,” he murmured, his cheeks slightly flushed. “That was… nice.”

You laughed, the sound light and full of happiness. “Nice? That’s all you’ve got?”

“I mean, it was more than nice,” he corrected himself, his gaze intense. “It was everything.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of purple and gold, you sat together, hands intertwined, feeling an overwhelming sense of contentment. The future felt bright, filled with possibilities and adventures yet to come.

Sasuke glanced at you, his expression softening. “I know I’m not great with words, but I want you to know I’m here for you. I’ll always protect you.”

You squeezed his hand, a smile dancing on your lips. “And I’ll be here for you too, no matter what. Together.”

The two of you shared another kiss, the warmth of your connection solidifying the bond that had been formed through trials and time. With every moment spent together, you knew you would navigate whatever came next, hand in hand.

note : If you liked it, I’d appreciate it if you could please leave a like and reblog. ᥫ᭡

BAE SMTH IS WRONG I CANT SEE U IN MY NOTIFS NO MORE 😭😭😭 I had to come and stalk your page to see if you were alive and saw you reblohged my post, like I was scared your account got deleted again 😭😭😭😭 BABY COME BACK YOU CAN BLAME IT ALL ON ME, I WAS WRONG AND I JUST CANT LIVE WITHOUT YOU 😭😭😭😭😭

TUMBLR JUST HATES ME ISTG I CANT EVEN COMMENT ANYMORE 💔

No bc watch my account get deleted again atp I’m so used to tumblr bs 🥰

IM BACK AND I WONT EVER LEAVE ML 💔 AS IF I CAN LIVE WITHOUT YOU, I NEED DIA CRAZINESS DAILY 🤪

THE GREATEST — TRUE BLUE

[ part one / masterlist / requests are open ]

☽｡⋆ part 2 of THE GREATEST. he tried to live without you, but how is one to survive with a broken heart? a story based on TRUE BLUE by billie eilish. — lando norris x fem!reader (could technically be read as a stand-alone)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 angst, hurt & comfort, hints of fluff (?) 𝄞 4.1k words

❝ Lights out, you’re not here holding me ❞

Lando had never before felt the way he did the day you left him. Seeing you walk through that door, intending to never come back to him ever again, it pained him. It took him too long to realize how much he hurt you, and now he had to suffer the consequences. He swore it wasn’t on purpose, but when his friends told him that also the third girl he had brought along since you broke up with him resembled you in a way, he stopped denying. There was no use. The guys knew, the internet knew, he knew that he wasn’t yet over you. And he thinks he never will be. You left an empty place in his heart, a place that would forever be reserved for you only and you only. No matter how hard he tried to find someone else, no one would ever be able to replace you.

The girl he brought to the first race after the summer break was long forgotten already.

At first, everyone around him believed him when he said he felt happier now without you. But the moment he went back to his old ways, the heartbreaker they’ve known for so long, they realized he wasn’t. The girls always looked like you. He only rarely smiled anymore and he couldn‘t care less about his friends‘ relationships, even going as far as faking a gag or simply not coming to hang out with them at all. He said it’s because he needs to focus on racing. They knew it was because of you. Lando was yet to tell them why the relationship ended. He’d rather crash his car and DNF in every race for the rest of his life than to ever have to talk about the night you left ever again. He felt embarrassed and bad and was so terribly regretful. Only his parents knew the whole truth. He told them with tears caressing his face just like you once did, and seeing the disappointment in their eyes, he felt his heart rip apart even more. They had loved you so much, only waiting for the day he would finally go down on one knee for you, and now he messed it all up.

If he could just go back and make it all alright. Make you feel unconditionally loved wherever you went, make you happy, keep you happy. He would change it all if he just had the chance, but he knew you deserved better. Maybe one day, he could be better again.

He is ready to give up the very thing for you that had made you leave him that night if you’d ask him to. Racing would never again mean as much to him as you, though broken up, still do to him.

He was currently seated in his McLaren, waiting for the lights to go out so he could try his very best to overtake max at the start already. He should have his mind on the track. He shouldn’t think about you, not here. But like always, he couldn’t help it. He hoped to see you in the stands once he was able to get out of the car again. He hoped to see you wave and smile at him, run into his arms and let him kiss you all over, do all the things he had failed to do so many months ago. He knew it wouldn’t happen. He believed anyway. The lights went out and the cars began moving. He tried his best, he always did, but he wasn‘t afraid to lose anymore; for what was it worth to win a race when he had faced the greatest loss of them all already?

❝ I count every tear down my cheek instead of sheep ❞

You couldn’t sleep. You could never sleep while he was racing. Especially when he was on the other side of the world, which is why you went with him last season, and also at the start of this one. Maybe you never should’ve. Long distance was hard, but you managed. He felt farther away when he was still sleeping next you every night. At least when he didn’t send you off to sleep on the couch.

You tossed and turned in your sleep, but you didn’t dare to turn on the TV. It’s been months, you should try to live without him. Without seeing him. Without feeling for him. His races had nothing to do with you, neither did the outcome. And god, if he wins and you have to watch him kiss someone else again you might as well just take his racing car and drive right into the nearest wall. He’s so far away and yet, it didn’t make you love him any less. You huffed, fear slowly building up inside of you. You knew you shouldn’t do this, you had to wake up early tomorrow and really, it wouldn’t be that bad to miss a race once or twice, but you couldn’t help it. Reaching for the remote, your eyes were flooded with tears and your heart stung like never before when you saw him driving out there. You were rooting for him nonetheless. Just months ago you had watched the races from inside the McLaren hospitality, but now? All alone in your bed, anxiously following his every move. You would never fall asleep like this.

❝ Sleepwalk, find myself on your street. Three knocks, ring the bell, then I leave ❞

And there you stood high up in the stands the next weekend, head hanging low as you didn‘t want any fans of him recognizing you, back in his territory. You tried to ignore him, you really did, but your eyes kept following him around the paddock and didn’t leave him even while he was doing the quick interviews he had to do on his way there. And honestly, it kinda felt like home. Attending the races. Being near him. Being with him. You missed it more than anything else in the world, and you felt pathetic for it. He hurt you every way he could, and still, he didn’t hurt you enough to make you hate him. And you really wanted to hate him.

You went to the race together with one of your friends from uni. You bonded over formula 1 and your shared passion for the sport and quickly became very good friends. However, she had to leave soon, moving to another city for a better starting point for her career. Hence, you decided to save some money and go to a race together for the last time; for now, at least. You still remember the way she looked at you when you told her you were with Lando. The way you swooned over him to her, and the way you cried your eyes out when it all ended. You really thought you‘d be able to spend the rest of your life with him, and now all you had left of him were memories. She‘s known you long enough to immediately notice your longing after him the moment your eyes locked onto his dark brown curls. Your heart fluttered and it made you nauseous. One day this would stop, right? Your feeling must fade at least sometime, or was this all just wishful thinking? Could you not just get over him like everyone else got over their exes and start dating someone new?

Your heart ached. He was so close, not out of reach anymore, not on the other side of the world anymore, but still, there was no way of getting back to him, the crash barriers and the grandstand keeping you away, and it felt like the end of your relationship all over again, with him on the track and you sitting and waiting patiently on the sidelines, always at least an arm length distance between you two. You shouldn’t even want to get him back. You left out a sigh as he walked into the McLaren hospitality, finally out of sight. But still not out of mind.

Your friend huffed next to you, and finally decided to try and convince you to talk to him after the race while you were still in the same place, to get closure at last. You knew it must annoy your friends and maybe even your family that it was so hard for you to just move on. They put effort into understanding, but still, Lando wasn‘t good to you, at least not in the end. Many would treat you better, but you didn‘t seem to care. You quickly shook your head no, telling her how he probably didn’t want to talk to you and that catching him after the race would be nearly impossible, with bodyguards and tons and tons of interviewers and cameras around him.

The conversation ended soon after, as the lights went out and the drivers hit the gas. You pondered for a second, reconsidering your friend‘s suggestion, a weird feeling building up in your stomach. Maybe you shouldn’t even be here, maybe you should *leave* after the race and never look back. But to your dismay, every sense in your body was telling you to stay.

❝ I try to live in black and white but I’m so blue ❞

The race went well, but he didn‘t really care. Of course he was happy, the whole team was euphoric for their two drivers who secured place 2 and 4, huge smiles plastered on their faces. Once he was done with the post-race interviews he left to go back and get some rest inside his apartment, at least until the others came around to drag him to the afterparty, slandering from one club into the next one.

Everything felt so lonely without you. His bed was cold even when he was hidden under his blanket, and the dining room was nothing more than a reminder that he wasn‘t spending his evenings with you. Watching TV got boring. Everything got boring. He didn’t even know why he lost you anymore, he didn’t know what the hell it was that made him believe you weren’t made for him, making him believe there was actually something more important than you in this lifetime. You haunted his every thought, and even though he truly only wanted the best for you, deep inside him, he wanted you to still need him as well.

He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, gently buttoning up his shirt like you used to do, always leaving the 3 highest ones unbuttoned. He missed your touch, your eyes looking up at him and your hands always reaching for his. His arms would be wrapped around your waist and his head would be leaning on your shoulder, sneaking a few, small kisses up your neck as you changed your earrings for the night, the imagine of it painted onto your fast beating heart as you stood in front of the full-body mirror in your apartment, finishing up your accessoires. You wore a blue dress that covered your thighs, not reaching your knees. It hugged you in all the right places, accentuating your features. It used to be Lando‘s favourite, but you had no other alternative, not having brought any other dresses. Your friend insisted on going clubbing anyway, desperately wanting to finally get him off your mind for one night at least.

The other drivers were loud and happy and drunk and Lando sat next to them, staring at his already empty glass. He knew how this would go. At some point, either the drivers or one of their girls would tap his shoulder, saying they have a friend they think he would really like, and if he would like to be introduced to her. He would agree so they would finally keep their mouths shut, he would talk to the girl. Maybe they would kiss if he drank enough. Maybe he would take her home. Maybe he would think about you the whole time, maybe he would accidentally call her your name. Maybe he would wake up in the morning and would be happy that she‘d left, content with it only being a one-time thing and not meaning anything.

Because, in the end, nothing meant anything without you.

He pretended to laugh at the jokes of his friends, but really, none of this was fun to him. These nights were nothing more than a constant reminder of how he used to have his fun while you were waiting for him at home, cold and sad and alone. How could he be so stupid and leave you alone all the time? He doesn’t even know why he did it anymore. He yawned, very obviously not enjoying the party. Yes, it was nice seeing his friends so happy, the mood wasn’t as tense as it was around and on the track and the people inside the night club were vivid, dancing and drinking, seemingly having the time of their life downing countless beverages, but still, the happiness didn’t reach him.

“Dude, I think your girl‘s here.“ Oscar pushed him slightly, two vodka bull in hand for himself and Lily. Lando didn’t pay him any mind and rolled his eyes, not really in the mood for talking to any girl that isn’t you at the moment. Couldn’t they just give up? He wasn’t ready yet for someone else, he didn’t even know if he wanted to be with someone that isn’t you at all. Ever. Instead of arguing with Oscar about how he didn’t want to hear from any other girl right now, he went to get another drink as well.

He pushed through the dense crowd of people, navigating through the cacophony of laughter and piercing yelling that seemed to echo from all directions. The deafening loud music blasting through his ears made it difficult to focus, and the harsh sound of glass clunking together only added to it. The colorful LED lights rapidly switched from green to red to purple to yellow in a matter of seconds, creating a dizzying light show that overwhelmed his vision. This sensory onslaught of sounds, sights, and sensations overstimulated his senses, making each step forward feel like an effort.

Finally at his destination, he waited for the waiter or waitress, he wasn’t quite sure, to get his order. He wasn’t certain what his plan was that night at all. Sleeping around or not, you wouldn’t stop haunting his mind anyway, so was it really worth it? Getting drunk and trying to make his nights feel less lonesome? Or should he just wait and really focus on his carrer again until maybe, one day, you’d come back?

He ignored the possibilty of you not coming back at all.

He let his eyes wander around the scene unfolding in front of him, occasionally making eye contact with random girls who winked at him and tried to get his attention, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Frustration started to bubble up inside of him as the wait for his drink seemed to go on for forever, until suddenly, his heart skipped a beat.

Lando was certain that in a room full of people, he would always be able to notice you first. He pondered if it was you whenever he‘d walk by a girl with the same hair colour as you, immediately dismissing the thought when he saw a face that didn’t match yours just a second later. But this time, it was different. The hair ressembled yours without a doubt, and of course he remembered the dress he had bought for you so long ago; never once had he been able to keep his hands to himself when you wore it. The height matched you perfectly as well. But it couldn’t be you, right?

Oscar‘s words replayed in his mind and he finally understood what he meant. Who he meant.

It was really you.

You tried to enjoy the party, but you really weren’t doing so well. Your friend had left you near the bar, thinking you’d be hitting it off with a guy you’ve been talking to for some time, but that wasn’t the case. he left just five minutes after to go home, asking if you’d like to come with him. You denied, but your friend was nowhere to be found, having found someone in this club herself. It was scary being alone in a club full of drunk, intoxicated people, even more so when you sensed someone staring at you from behind. You didn’t have to worry about things like that when you were still with Lando, with him always stuck to your side, a protective arm hanging around your shoulders. you shuddered at the thought, and dared to turn around to find the very person who was looking at you so steadily.

And then you locked eyes.

The world suddenly went quiet. All the chaos, the noise, it all faded into the background, no sound to be heard other than the synchronised, rapid beating of your heart. It seemed as if the only two people in that room were you and him, only the void surrounding the two of you. The LEDs turned blue, engulfing you and him, the light accentuating your features and he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, stuck in a trance of what this could mean for him in the future; what this could mean for you both. Time seemed to stand still. He wanted to run to you, to hold you, to tell you how much he missed you, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. His breath hitched and so did yours, all the yearning, all the longing hitting you and him at lightspeed.

You walked towards him, each step filled with electricity. The tension was palpable, his mouth agape as you stood in front of him, only centimeters away from closing the gap between you. There was so much he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to apologize, so many things he wanted to make right, but he didn‘t dare to say things first, afraid too scare you off. The last thing he wanted is for you to leave him again.

“I didn‘t know you‘d be here, thought I‘d seen Oscar but I wasn‘t sure,“ you started, stumbling over your own words, laughing awkwardly, then biting your lip right after. He noticed, because you always did that when you were nervous; you’d done it too when you broke up with him. You wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but that would be a lie, one he could look right through of. You just couldn‘t process actually being in his presence again.

“You still wear the dress?“

“It‘s, uhm, quite pretty, so yeah.“ You nodded along to your own words, gulping at the tense and awkward silence right after, looking down at your shoes, the sight of him in this light still not leaving your mind. Maybe he didn‘t even feel the same way, maybe he didn‘t even want to talk to you. Maybe you already made a fool of yourself when you made your way over to him, maybe you really should‘ve just stayed at home. But at the same time, this is what you‘d hoped for this whole time. To finally see him again.

“I‘m so sorry for what I did to you, y/n, please believe me. E-Ever since you left, I couldn‘t stop thinking about you. Not once. I tried to move on, y‘know, would probably be better for you as well, ‘cause you deserve better than how I‘ve treated you at the end and I don‘t want to have to put you through that again but I just- I miss you so much, I don‘t know what to do! And now you‘re here and I swear I‘ve been waiting for a moment like this and-,“ he stopped for a second, heavy and shaky breaths filling the silence, „If giving up racing means you‘ll let me come back to you, I‘ll do it.“

Your teary eyes widened and you looked up at him again, staring into his. One could take it as an empty promise. But you knew better than anyone else that Lando wasn’t one to joke about racing, ever. “Lando you can’t just- I- I mean, racing? It didn‘t work before Lan I just- don‘t give up your dreams for me, please? You shouldn‘t, you have so much ahead of you still,“ you sighed out, every single part of your body overwhelmed like never before.

But Lando was certain. He traced every yet so small feature of your face and body with his eyes, and he knew in that exact moment that, no matter what, he could never lose you again. Not this time. Not when fate hat somehow brought you together once again, giving him a second chance to make it all better. Question was now if you’d let him have that second chance too.

He lifted his hand to gently wipe away the tear running down your cheek, having you lean into his familiar touch. “I’ll do it for you”, he said, and that was when you broke apart, legs feeling numb and wobbly suddenly. Tears streamed down your face as you took another step forward and he wrapped his arms around your body out of reflex, gently placing soft kisses on top of your head, tearing up as well as your cried into his chest.

Maybe it was bad, maybe you shouldn’t feel like this again, but you’ve never once after the breakup felt as at peace with yourself and your as you did now, even if you were in a loud and busy club, surrounded by drunk and high people. You managed to push them to the back of your mind, the familiar scent of Lando’s perfume calming your senses. It felt like home. Maybe he really did owe you something, and though you once were anguished because of it, you wouldn’t ever deprive him of the joy of racing. There would be a way through it without having to abandon any of your or his dreams. There must be if you want it to work out, and you were sure that this time, it would. And so was he.

Lando took you home with him that night, not before you shot your friend a quick text message, afraid she might think you were kidnapped or whatnot. You knew that you’d have to fly home again in two days. He knew that too, but there was no need to rush things anyway. You were still his and he was still yours, and that’s all that mattered for now. It’s gonna be weird explaining this to your friends and your family, but neither of you minded it as long as it meant you could be with each other again. You would have to talk things through and see how you’d manage the race weekends and the events and the media - but not now. Now, with you calmly and lightly snoring in his arms, he didn’t care about any of that, simply content with having you again.

He promised you before you drifted off into your tranquil slumber that he will make it right this time. He will be there for you no matter what, he will defend you and take you with him and show you off and love you like already should have done all these months ago. This time, he will put in the work and the appreciation and the effort, and then, you will finally be able to be the greatest.

❝ I’d like to mean it when I say I’m over you, but that’s still not true. ❞

taglist for part 2 of the greatest : @mrs-saturday @tylerstacobell @angeltroian @acesbakery @directioner5life @malynn @escuellasceramicdollie @strangetoadroadbat @norrisdriver @aliceisnuts @carlando4 @f1fantasys @no-144444 @belivisa @callsignwidow @cruzgrecia @ifsoniacouldfly @wony6ung @hurtblossom @faeriepigeons @interlagos @xnatqq @fanficweasley @youreintheclubb @chaimaarouaine11 @idgasb @cruzgrecia @madstxo @trisharee (basically everyone who commented vv sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged!)

127 😝

𝓡𝗨𝗠𝗢𝗨𝗥, 𝕲𝗢𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗣 ❳ 𑁍 𓄹 𝙿𝚂𝙷 ; 𝙻𝙷𝚂

概括 › 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 ﹕─┈ AESPA has a collaboration with ENHYPEN… Only this time, it’s not with MiLA.

﹟ 𝘄𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝘀 ፡ ፡ lots of talk about shipping idols romantically, but take not that i don’t actually support the idea of it, nor is this supposed to reflect their actual relationships irl

part i. | part ii.

RUMOURS AND GOSSIP WERE A STAPLE OF THE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY. But more often than not, it left one wondering: What was a lie? What was the truth?

Mila would never know everything for sure. What she did know, however, was that something very interesting was going on with PR at SM and HYBE at the moment. Otherwise, there was no reason for them to pair the Aespa girls with anyone other Mila and Kiara for TikToks — that is, considering the influx of dating rumours that surfaced at the beginning of 2023.

And yet, here Mila was, standing on the side as she watched Karina and Winter film TikToks with Heeseung and Sunghoon for both respective groups’ new title tracks.

Mila titled her head as they filmed. Indeed, it was a very surreal image to look at…

Why pair Karina-eonnie with Heeseungie-oppa of all people? she thought.

It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with them filming a TikTok together. But after the shipping incident that blew up all over social media, Mila assumed the companies would have avoided pairing the two up for anything in order to avoid dating scandals. So why take the risk?

And why am I here?

Mila looked around, lips puckered. Everyone was occupied with filming the TikTok that she might as well not have been there at all. In fact, she herself didn’t even know why she was still standing there. After all, she had already greeted the older girls before the filming commenced — but for some strange reason, as soon as Winter and Karina were called to film the TikTok in a seperate location, Mila mindlessly said she would follow them.

“I’ll come and cheer you on,” Mila had said at the time.

To this, the older girls happily indulged her and allowed Mila to cling off their arms as they walked to the assigned venue together.

In Mila’s mind, it made sense for her to be there so she could be a bridge for the members of the two groups, lest it become awkward between them. But the more Mila stood there, the more she realised that she wasn’t needed at all.

There was a short break for the members as the prepared to film for ‘I’m the Drama’, allowing for the artists to chat among themselves briefly to fill in the gaps. And from Mila’s point of view, they were getting along pretty well without her.

Karina was nodding as she looked up at Heeseung, who was talking about something that was inaudible to Mila because of her distance. Heeseung’s back was facing Mila, so she didn’t get to read his lips. But what he said next must have been amusing, since Karina spared a pretty laugh to his comment, earning a smile from him in return. Mila had to physically fight the urge to get closer and get a better listen — as if there was a string pulling her back by the neck.

No, she internally scolded, You have to respect their privacy.

Mentally congratulating herself for resisting her curisoity, Mila turned her attention to the other pair.

Sunghoon and Winter were an even more curious duo than Heeseung and Karina. Sunghoon was speaking animatedly about something with Winter actively giving her own comments. His time as a Music Bank MC with Wonyoung did him good, seeing as his introverted self couldn’t hold a conversation with a female that wasn’t Mila, Kiara, or Wontoung on first try. Even when Mila and Sunghoon were first getting to know each other, he hadn’t been nearly so talkative. It struck a chord of pride in her heartstrings.

That’s good, Mila thought with a nod. He’s become more confident!

Neither pairs Mila observed were showing much of the awkwardness that Mila had been anticipating. Even though their first introductions were fairly uptight, they had loosened up a lot more. It seemed perhaps Mila was the only one who was worrying over nothing… It seemed the dating rumours weren’t much of a hindrance after all.

Of course, she thought. Why would they be? They’re not even true.

So why was she worrying so much about the possibility of dating rumours?

The cameramen had gotten ready to shoot again, indicating that the small break would be over soon. Mila scratched the top of her head before sighing. I’m overthinking again. Idiot.

Mila plastered a smile on her face as she turned to her manager beside her. “Eonnie, I’ll head off first.”

“Already?” Manager Kim asked, eyes widened in surprise. It was unusual for Mila to leave halfway through anything — especially when it concerned her beloved members. “Didn’t you say you wanted to wait here for them to finish so you could grab lunch together with Sunghoon and Heeseung?”

Mila shook her head and smiled weakly. “My shoes are starting to hurt my feet. I’ll wait for them in the changing rooms.”

Manager Kim hummed and nodded in understanding. “Okay. Get some rest, then. I’ll bring them over once they’re finished.”

Manager Kim patted Mila’s arm gently, exuding a maternal warmth. Mila smiled in return — this time, a little more genuine. She bowed before walking away, ensuring to give proper farewells to the staff who were working hard for the idols. With that, she started to walk off, slightly dragging her feet behind her.

Mila sighed. She felt defeated, and didn’t even know why. Perhaps it was true when people said one’s greatest enemy was the one inside their mind.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

MILA REGRETTED GOING TO THE BATHROOM AS SOON AS SHE GOT THERE. She had only opened the door just the slightest bit, ready to walk inside, when she suddenly heard two voices speaking inside. Mila recognised one of them immediately as one of the boys’ stylists. The other happened to be one of hers.

“Did you see Karina and Winter with Heeseung and Sunghoon earlier?” The boys’ stylist asked. “Their visuals are insane.”

“Right!” Mila’s stylist said. “Especially Karina — she looks like AI, seriously.”

There was immediate agreement from the boys’ stylist and the two continued to fawn over the beautiful members of Aespa. It was harmless, and Mila found herself smiling at the well-earned praise that her friends were receiving.

But of course, it didn’t stop there.

“You know, I was thinking,” the boys’ stylist began, “don’t you think Karina and Heeseung look really good together?”

Mila froze.

“Really?” Mila’s stylist asked. There was a small silence before she hummed in agreement. “Actually now that you think about it… They kinda do.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” The boys’ stylist exclaimed excitedly. “As soon as I saw them standing side by side I was like, ‘Wah, that’s a power couple right there.’”

Mila’s stylist made an uncertain noise. “I don’t know— Heeseung and Mila are so cute together, though.”

Mila didn’t cry, but she would admit she was touched by her stylist’s words. You’re my favourite from now on!

Unfortunately, the boys’ stylist didn’t seem to agree.

“I don’t know— they’re cute and all… But for some reason I feel like he would be into older girls? You know, someone more chic elegant. Karina would be perfect,” she reasoned.

As much as Mila hated to admit it, the boys’ stylist did have a point — Heeseung did seem a lot like someone to be into older females, considering the amount of Noona fans he had shamelessly flirted with… But still! Mila could be elegant and chic, too, if she wanted — it was just not the image that was commonly associated with her.

The boys stylist then hummed thoughtfully. “Do you think there’s a chance for something to happen between them? I mean, they didn’t know each other before, but now that they’re filming together…”

Mila let the bathroom door shut, not wanting to listen to any more of what they had to say.

These kind of speculative whispers weren’t new to Mila. The entertainment industry was full of it. Idols like her were often the talk of the town — for better or for worse. But while Mila had learnt to let baseless words remain exactly that, it was one thing to hear about herself, and another to hear about her men with someone else. And from staff who actually worked with her, nonetheless!

The Enhypen staff witnessed firsthand the level of intimacy between Mila and the boys — on a daily basis, at that. The makeup artists and stylists learnt to expect Mila sleeping soundly on one of their laps in the changing rooms. The cameramen had developed a sixth sense for when they needed to turn the camera away in order to avoid capturing her having her cheeks being pecked or caressed by one of them. And the managers had become professionals at damage control when the boys got too rowdy while bickering for Mila’s attention.

Mila sighed. Now she was not only feeling terrible for being wary of her own friends being involved in scandals with her men, she was also feeling like a complete ‘pick me’ for thinking of all the ways it made no sense for people to ship them with anyone but herself.

When did I become so petty? Mila thought bitterly. She practically stomped her way to the next closest bathroom. How annoying. I was having such a good day today, too...

It was like history was repeating itself. She was practically reliving the memory of the Aespa and Enhypen shipping incident earlier this year — only this time, it was in the flesh. And just like before, it was really bringing out the ugliest side of her.

Thankfully, by the time Mila returned to the girls’ changing room, she was glad to find that she managed to find her happy place again, thereby escaping all the negative thoughts that were plaguing her. (This was, in part, thanks to a Snickers bar she purchased from a vending machine on the way back. Truly, no one was themself when they were hungry.)

Kiara was sprawled out on one of the lounges when she walked inside, snacking on a sausage stick while scrolling mindlessly on her phone. Seeing the younger female, Kiara immediately asked about the TikTok filming.

“How was it?” Kiara asked after swallowing her mouthful of food.

Mila hummed absentmindedly. “Good,” she said. “They should be finishing up soon.”

Kiara raised her eyebrows as she took another bite of her sausage snack. “You didn’t wait for them?”

Mila shrugged and took a seat next to Kiara. “I didn’t need to be there.” Kiara looked at Mila sceptically, sensing that she wasn’t quite telling the entire story. Mila took a packet of chips from the middle of the table and changed the subject. “Where did all these come from?”

Kiara scratched her eyebrow. “Manager Seo brought them,” she said, “and he told me to tell you not to overdo it with the snacks, and eat a proper meal.”

Mila let out a little laugh. “Okay, okay…” Mila opened the packet and brought a chip to her mouth. “Tastes good.”

Mila smiled and pretended nothing was wrong. As such Kiara pretended it was true. It was for the best. After all, the people who would be able to comfort Mila the most in this situation wasn’t her. And so, both girls continued eating in silence — letting the younger believe in her own white lie.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

“WHERE DID MILA GO?”

Sunghoon and Heeseung had just bid goodbye to Karina and Winter after a successful filming, ready to be greeted by Mila’s warm smile and congratulations, after standing on the sideline waiting for them to finish. However, their dreams were cut short when they arrived at her previous spot only to find she was no longer there.

“She said her feet were hurting,” Manager Kim said, “so she went to wait inside the changing room.”

“She did?” Sunghoon asked. He whipped out his phone, trying to find a text from her that she was feeling ill. However, there was nothing there. He frowned.

“Did she look like she was in a lot of pain?” Heeseung’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern.

Manager Kim laughed and shook her head. “No, she just seemed really tired. Otherwise, she definitely would have stayed for the rest of the shoot — you know how she is.”

Indeed, Sunghoon and Heeseung knew exactly what kind of person she was. And she wasn’t the type to leave without a word. Call it their Mila senses, but they had a nagging suspicion that something was going on with their precious girlfriend.

“That’s okay,” Heeseung replied. “You said she was in the girls’ changing room, right? Me and Sunghoon can go pick her up — you should go get lunch. You worked hard today.”

Knowing how stubborn the boys could be, Manager Kim agreed to their suggestion. With that, the older woman left. As soon as she was out of sigh, the two young men looked at each other, before sharing the same exact goal.

When they arrived at the girls’ changing room, Mila was lying down on the couch, supporting her head with her outfit jacket. She was typing something away on her phone and didn’t notice the two’s arrival until Sunghoon walked up behind her and placed a gentle hand on top of her head. She looked up with a confused expression. But after seeing Heeseung’s and Sunghoon’s faces, she immediately broke out into smile and stood from her seat.

“You’re finished?” Mila asked cheerily. “How did it go?”

Heeseung nodded, sparing a small smile as he patted her head. “It went okay. Were you waiting long?”

Mila shook her head vigorously. “Not at all.” She then smiled up at Sunghoon and Heeseung, before linking their arms. “Should we get some food now?”

“Before that— How are your feet?” Sunghoon asked. “Manager Kim told us they were sore.”

“Huh?” Mila looked down at her feet, which were still in the same shoes that she claimed to hurt her. She had completely forgotten about the lie she had told her manager before now. Mila “oh”ed awkwardly. “Well… They’re not hurting at the moment?”

Mila blinked as Sunghoon and Heeseung gave her knowing stares. They didn’t buy her excuse at all, and it showed. Of course they knew something was wrong — they knew her better than anyone else. Even if Mila pretended to be fine, they had seen her pretend enough to be able to tell.

Sunghoon walked past Mila and took a seat on the couch. He leaned forward, with his elbows on his thighs and his fingers intertwined. “Sit down.”

Mila sighed and did as he said, taking a seat next to him, with Heeseung sitting down on her right. She looked down at the floor, her eyes trained on a random spot in the carpet beneath her feet, which she hadn’t even noticed until now. Heeseung sighed on her right.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, using the back of his hand to gently caressing her cheek. “What’s bothering you?”

“Was it about the TikTok?” Sunghoon asked. He placed a hand on her thigh and gave it a slight squeeze, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to read her expression.

Mila sighed. She supposed it was useless to try and run away from the problem, especially when the two of them were determined to get answers from her. She grabbed Sunghoon’s hand and fiddled with his fingers absent-mindedly.

“It wasn’t that— well, not entirely,” Mila replied, causing Sunghoon to frown. “I’m glad you guys were getting along with my friends… So it didn’t bother me you guys were filming a TikTok together. But as I was walking by the bathroom, I overheard some of our stylists talking about how good you guys would look as couples…”

Heeseung and Sunghoon exchanged glances. From what they knew, careless gossip like that in a public space by their staff shouldn’t have even been allowed: If their own staff were saying things like that, it would cause a huge problem. This time, they happened to be overheard by Mila — but imagine how much worse it would be if someone who didn’t know the truth were to use the stylist’s proximity to Enhypen to justify a dating rumour.

They would have to talk to the managers about this later. But for now, they focused entirely on their baby, and what was bothering her.

Mila sighed, subconsciously pouting her lips as she sulked. “I guess I was just jealous that after it gets posted, all I’ll be seeing and hearing for the next few months is people saying how good you guys look together. Or even worse, people thinking that you’re already together.”

Heeseung hummed in understanding. “That’s only natural, baby,” he said gently, bringing her closer to him so he could press a kiss to her temple. “I’d be upset too if I kept hearing people talking about how good you look dating someone that wasn’t us…”

Sunghoon could definitely agree to that. Mila had yet to have a dating speculation as major as the Enhypen boys and Aespa shipping incident — but she was still the Milana Bai, K-pop’s Princess. There was no shortage of romantic ships that she had become involved with for even sharing eye contact with someone. Those were already enough to strike a nerve in Sunghoon — he couldn’t imagine if she was involved in something like Heeseung was with Karina earlier in the year.

“But you do know we love you, right?” Heeseung asked.

Mila looked up at him and nodded fervently. “Of course! I know that.” She smiled brightly. “So don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. After all — I know the truth.”

Sunghoon smiled proudly, his vampire fang flashing. He placed a finger under Mila’s chin and turned her head to face him, before leaning in for a short but sweet kiss to her soft lips. Sunghoon hummed as he briefly swiped his tongue across her lips, tasting a bit of her peach-flavoured gloss. Mila giggled as she leant away, only for Sunghoon to bring her back using a grip to the back of her neck.

“One more,” he mumbled against her lips, his eyelids fluttering shut as he swiped his tongue out for another taste. “You taste so good…”

“Okay, okay. That’s enough.” Heeseung reached behind Mila and gently pushed Sunghoon’s shoulder away, before pulling Mila to his chest. “We were meant to get lunch, not eat her,” he joked while laughing.

Heeseung looked down at Mila and placed a kiss to her nose, giggling at the way it scrunched, making her look like a bunny when paired with her round, innocent eyes. He couldn’t resist the urge anymore and grabbed her face in his large, warm palms, before pecking every inch of skin available.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered. “Love you so much…”

Mila giggled at the affectionate attack. When Heeseung was done, Sunghoon nuzzled his face into her neck, placing a loving peck against her pulse. “I’m all yours. So don’t worry, okay?” He placed another lasting kiss to the corner her lips. “Love you,” he whispered. “My princess...”

Mila hummed pleasantly, resting her head against Sunghoon’s to rub her cheek against his. “Love you too. Both of you.”

After the two men showered Mila in enough affection and care to get her mind off what she heard earlier, they carefully questioned her about the exact words of the stylists she had overheard earlier. Needless to say, the next time the boys saw her, they went above and beyond to (not so) subtly show her just how wrong she had been about what she had said.

If anyone noticed the way Heeseung and Sunghoon suddenly dialled up their affection with Mila whenever the stylist was around — doting on Mila every second, with their honeyed gazes; talking in a sweet tone to her as they called her their “baby” and “princess”; and constantly spoiling her with warm hugs and pecks to the cheek and forehead — they didn’t say a word about it in front of them. But one day, when Mila went to the bathroom, she was happy to hear the same voice that claimed Karina and Heeseung to be a ‘power couple’ singing a completely different tune from before.

“When I think about it… Mila looks better with the two of them than anyone else I can think of,” the stylist said. “I ship it.”

TAGLiST ! @lanamoonroh @3amstarlight @nikitopia @one16core @onlyuyu @xinikons @clar-iii @shinrjj @nee-issaire @elizalabs3 @lol6sposts @cyberpunksunwoo @woonkies @alaezasmystery235 @haechansbbg @jiyeons-closet @wonsctz @euniceruiz11 @curly-fr13s

divider by v6que !

GOOD LUCK, BABE!

pairings: charles leclerc x reader (romantic/platonic).

summary: friendships don’t always survive, you and charles would know.

warnings: cheating towards the end. no smut but a makeout session. sorry alex 💔

author’s note: the brocedes au that me and anon wanted. i’m trying something new btw. let me know how u feel about it.

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you never imagined yourself in the same room as charles. not willingly anyways. yet, when you received the invitation with his handwritten note asking you to come. you knew you couldn’t say no. you had spent so much of your childhood discussing the future. he wanted a family. three kids, a dog and a gorgeous wife that loved him. you wanted a career. the glory, the accolades and the fans that loved you.

he made you promise one day that you’d be at his wedding. you were fifteen at the ice cream shop that he’d always drag you too. you had snuck out without arthur in order to have an extra scoop after charles’ dad had paid for the ice cream you’d had earlier. he looked over at you, eyes serious and asked you to be his best man — (“best woman, best girl. it doesn’t matter. i just want you next to me. i’m serious yn.” he took a lick of his ice cream and the seriousness melted away when he left a smudge on his nose.)

you didn’t break promises easily.

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however, when arthur came running up to you, asking you to follow him. when your relationship with charles disintegrated, you never lost touch with arthur. he was like a little brother to you. you would very rarely meet him for brunch in whatever city you happened to both be in. so when he asked you to follow him, you did willingly.

“where are we going?” you ask, as he pulls you along by your right hand. “usually, whenever you don’t give me context it means you’re doing something bad. is this something bad leclerc?”

“when am i ever doing something bad?” he looks over his shoulder and gives you a wink. you roll your eyes. he plants you in front of a room and nods at it. you stare at him blankly.

“okay? i’m not a mind reader arthur.”

“i need you to help me look for something.” he nods at the room. “in there.”

“you can do it yourself.” you turn to leave before he runs in front of you and stops you.

“listen. i don’t care if you had that weird breakup with my brother,” you start to protest that it wasn’t a breakup but he stops you. “but you didn’t need to cut me off too. you were a part of my life too. you abandoned me too.”

“i don’t ask you for anything yn but i need your help. i’m looking for my silver cufflinks. i need them.” he raised his cuffs to show you the distinct lack of cufflinks. “please. i’m begging you. i wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

you didn’t expect to come here to be blackmailed and guilt tripped but it was working. you avoided everything leclerc. even his family, especially his family if you were being honest. they went from being your second family to nothing at all.

“okay.” you nod. “i’ll get your cufflinks.”

arthur smiles and opens the door for you to walk in. it’s someone’s hotel room. either arthur’s or a friend’s. it’s messy and you sigh. it’ll be hard finding them in this mess but you start carding through clothes.

“yn?”

you know that voice anywhere. you turn around and it’s charles. he’s half dressed in his wedding suit, his crisp white shirt half unbuttoned. his hair is still messy as if he’s ran his hand through nervously multiple times. you smile with no teeth and move to open the door. it’s locked.

“arthur leclerc! open this fucking door!” you seethe. you bang against the door and hear his voice through the material.

“not until you fucking talk! i’ll be back in half an hour.” you hear his footsteps walk away. you turn to charles who smiles sheepishly at you.

“tea?”

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liked by messyass1, messyass2 and 1,737,883 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: it seems all the rumours are true. sworn enemies f1 drivers charles leclerc and yn yln have seemed to call a truce to celebrate his wedding to art historian alexandra saint mleux. she was seen wearing a dark green vivienne westwood gown as she celebrated the couple’s nuptials.

what do we think about the rekindling of this flame, ham1ltons?

view all 679,498 comments

user1: CHARLESYN IN THE SAME ROOM NO ARGUING NO FIGHTS WE CHEERED!!

user2: i wish we had pictures of her. she always eats her outfits.

-> user3: wtf how does she digest them?

-> user2: figure of speech babe <3

user4: did she have a date??

-> user5: her longtime boyfriend!!

user6: they worked it out on the remix

-> user7: so FERRARI ❤️

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charles makes you the tea. he doesn’t finish buttoning his shirt as he pours it into a mug for you. he remembered how you liked it - two sugars and a splash of milk. you stay silent but nod gratefully.

it’s been so long since you’ve been alone with him. you’re not the same wide eyed kid but neither is he. he’s getting married and you’re giving him the silent treatment. he sits on the edge of his bed awkwardly. tapping his thigh with a single finger.

“thank you for coming,” he says. “i didn’t think you would.”

“the handwritten invitation was a nice choice,” you sip your tea. “personal. did everyone else like it?”

“only yours was,” he coughs into his elbow. “handwritten, i mean. only yours.”

that’s news to you but you don’t have time to ponder what that means before he speaks again.

“i’ve thought for the longest time on what i’d say to you if i got the chance. everything. how sorry i was, how sorry i am, how much i hated you and how much you meant to me. you were my best friend yn. my best friend. no one has even come close to what you were for me.” he chuckles as he presses his palms into his eyes. “who else could i talk to besides you?”

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(insert a tiktok edit of the two of you throughout your careers. the song playing over it is the song ‘chemtrails over the country club’ by lana del ray specifically the lyrics ‘nobody’s son/nobody’s daughter’. it gets 167k likes.)

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“do you still hate me?” charles looks at you under his lashes.

“of course i do. you hurt me.”

“you hurt me. but i don’t hate you.” charles fidgets in his seat. he stretches his hands to place them on his knees. you sip your tea. “do you remember when i asked you to be my best woman?”

you nod.

“i didn’t mean that. i wanted you to be my wife.”

you would choke on your tea if you didn’t know that information but charles wasn’t subtle. yet it was a case of missed opportunities. you didn’t like him then and he didn’t like you now.

“i couldn’t hate you yn. god knows i tried. it hurts me knowing that you hate me as i could never hate you. i said all that shit because i was hurt and angry. you said i was a shitty driver. that i wouldn’t have won without ferrari’s strategies which we both know are shit-“

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know you still cared about my opinion.” you interrupt. your voice still has a defensive edge to it. he just shrugs.

“i’ll always care about your opinion.”

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CHARLESYNNIES TWITTER GC (est.2017)

user1: editing yn to l’amour de ma vie by billie eilish (extended version) rn 😋

user2: what part?

user1: listen from 2:15 till 2:56!!

user3: THATS GONNA EATT OMGGGG

user4: wish we could edit the wedding appearance of the two of them omggg.

user5: when i get off my lazy ass and finish my edit of them to ‘the girl so confusing’ remix

user6: do y’all think they’re talking at the wedding?

user7: babe do you know yn? she’s probably at the very corner of the reception right now. she’ll take a pic with every other leclerc besides charles and probably leave before dinner is served.

user8: you’re so real. yn would NEVER talk to charles let alone be alone with him. i hate it but it’s the truth.

user9: plus charles is probably busy with the wedding.

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you never considered yourself to be a bad person but making out with your ex best friend/teammate literally a few hours before he’s about to get married? that’s a bitch move.

you try to think about his fiancée. she’s probably getting ready excitedly with her family and friends. thinking about being the future mrs leclerc while you’re two minutes away from committing adultery on both of your partners.

you pull apart from charles. he looks at you with wide eyes.

“we can’t fucking do this. we’re awful people,” you sit up. “my fucking lipgloss is all over your mouth.”

“i look good in pink. it’ll be fine.” he wipes it off.

“you have a fiancée. you’re getting married.”

“tell me the word and i’ll call it off. just for you.” he looks at you. “i’m quitting f1 after this year anyways. i’m not attempting to go for the second championship. i don’t want it.”

“how do you not want it?”

“we have different priorities but i won’t be a f1 driver anymore. you always said you couldn’t date a driver. i’ve grown now. i’m fine being in your shadow. i love it. i want it.”

he looks at you as serious as he did when he asked you to be his best woman all those years ago.

“what do you want yn?”

you bite your lip, and think.

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CHARLESYNNIES TWITTER GC (est.2017)

user7: i’m hoping we get at least a picture. just one.

user4: i would DIE!!! imagine!!!

user3: charlesynnies suffer every day and everyone else wins.

user2: i think yn is right there with charles. maybe dancing.

user1: he always said she’d be at his wedding. he was right. i think there is still love there.

user5: FINISHED MY FUCK ASS EDIT PLEASE LIKE AND COMMENT ON TIKTOK BESTIES

user6: okay i wrote a little fic for ao3. it’s called ‘wait until you like me again’!! it’s domestic charlesyn as they are forced to work everything out. kinda angsty but really smutty.

user1: spamming u both charlesynnies are the best idc <3

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liked by ham1ltonshaderoom, landonorris and 1,827,983 others.

charles_leclerc: say hello to mr and mrs leclerc 💍

tagged: alexandrasaintmleux

view all 287,929 comments

yourusername: happy for you 💕

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INTERVIEW WITH CHARLES LECLERC

interviewer — so is it true? you’re renewing your ferrari contract?

charles (laughing) — it is true. racing is my life. this is it for me. it’d take something big to take me away from it.

interviewer: you all heard it here first!

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @aliciaablueprint @lennnooshh @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @theblueblub @marshmummy @23victoria @ourlifeforchaos @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @tsireyasgf @landososcar @yongi-lee @maxlarens @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr (charles specific tags will be added to the comments!)

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Me too dia... me too

one of the girls in a nutshell

mila w/ enha: i just wanna be one of your girls tonight…

mila w/ this mf: lock me up and throw away the key, he knows how to get the best out of me….

►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.

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twenty seven.

warning; 💥💥😲💥💥 1.5k words. masterlist.

“so i assume you both made up last night from all the noise i was hearing next door.”

“oh my god- leo!”

“i’m kidding but your face screams fucking guilty,” the laughing man ruffles your hair, amused at your mortified face and sunghoon’s eye roll. only leo would dare act this way in front sunghoon in this world.

after spending the night in sunghoon’s room, the three of you took the boat back to shore without the others right after breakfast. the itinerary for today was just not your cup of tea. naked painting and golf? yeah you’ll pass.

what you’re surprised is about sunghoon leaving too, especially with his unexplained relationship with soojin.

“oh my go-” your clumsy self almost misses the bridge over to shore entirely, but thank god for sunghoon’s fast reflexes. he grabs onto your arm before you could face plant into the water and aids you over the little thing. in one piece.

“are you stupid?” the man’s tone is laced with bitterness, his furrowed brows telling you that he was definitely annoyed with you.

out of habit, and definitely to your own surprise, your lips pursue into a pout towards him.

“you’re so daring all of a sudden,” he leans closer to you, his lips slightly brushing the tip of your ear as he spoke, “don’t provoke me.”

“sungho-”

“oh look, it’s your lover boy.”

and true to leo's words, standing by the dock was none other than your fiancé who was supposed to be on an overseas business trip with his dad. the man looked noticeably tired, eyes heavy and hair slightly messy like he hadn’t slept in days.

“hi,” his tone is strangely different from the usual upbeat one, the absence of love at the end of his sentence something you picked up immediately. you can only assume it’s because he saw how quickly you suspiciously pulled away from sunghoon just a moment before.

“beomgyu i- i thought you were on a business trip?”

“i was but you didn’t pick up your phone all night so i got worried,” he says as he heads towards you, gently draping his jacket over your shoulders, “so i came here to pick you up first thing.”

“oh- it died,” you barely manage to lie but the way he’s looking right into your eyes tells you that perhaps he could already tell, that he knows you’re lying to his face.

there’s something that washes over his expression, as if he’s hurt. it made you instantly feel bad because the man truly cared for you more as of late.

you hold your breath when he suddenly leans in and embraces you, his arms circling comfortably around your frame.

“i’m just glad you’re okay,” he whispers, his finger softly threading through your hair, “i missed you.”

leo's random cough is what has beomgyu pulling away from you, the man now turning to face your step brother who had been quiet beside you the entire time.

“thanks for taking care of my fiancée,” beomgyu talks almost expressionlessly, his arm reaching for your suitcase from sunghoon. it’s a complete contrast of how he usually talks to sunghoon and you’re not sure if you preferred it. “lets head home, you must be tired.”

your eyes meets with your step brother’s for a second, seeing the rage in him appear as he watches beomgyu lead you away, none of the two saying a thing. it feels all too weird, the atmosphere heavy and suffocating even without words.

thankfully there’s no drama for the rest of the day or for the next two weeks for all that matters. it did worry you, but you spend your days all caught up in the wedding planning, so much so that you began to feel as though it really is your own wedding.

that you’re really getting married.

you try not to think too much about sunghoon, pushing him to the back of your mind but deep down you knew he was all you could think of. that’s why when his name finally appeared on your phone screen, you almost forgot how to breathe.

*ring ring ring*

[INCOMING CALL: park sunghoon]

“hello-”

“i’m ten minutes away. meet me at the front. we need to talk.”

“wait what-”

your words are cut off mid sentence, the man having hung up before you could even question him. typical.

you surprisingly find sound coming from the living room when you come out of your room, a sign that beomgyu was home even though you were so sure he had left earlier. the man is blankly gazing at the tv screen, his mind evidently elsewhere like it had been for the past few weeks.

“oh- hi,” he says with a gentle smile once he notices you, one that even you could tell was forced, “are you hungry? i was planning on getting your favourite for dinner.”

“i um- i actually need to head out for a sec gyu. you can eat without me.”

before you could even leave the living room, you feel a hand grab onto your arm, stopping you from going any further.

“don’t go,” his voice is soft, almost pleading as he wraps his arms around you from behind, bringing you back against his chest, “don’t go to him.”

“i-”

“just for tonight...” he seems to be having a hard time speaking, his words trembling and broken. just like the man himself. “stay with me.”

you’re not even given the time to think it over as your phone begins vibrating in your hold. now you’re more concerned as to what the man blowing up your phone might do if you don’t appear downstairs soon, like he told you to.

the last thing you wanted was a confrontation between sunghoon and beomgyu but it seems as though the situation had gotten a lot more complicated recently. perhaps you were delusional but you swore beomgyu had been treating you very differently as of late, like a couple, his real fiancée.

you know you shouldn’t, that you should be keeping a distance instead to prevent misunderstandings... but the way he’s holding you so tightly, like he was afraid you’d run away and the desperation in his tone makes it hard for you to say no.

“o- okay beomgyu...”

you’re not sure how long you both sat silently on the couch for, but the man ended up falling asleep on your lap, with your fingers gently threading through his hair for comfort.

even now that you were caught off guard by how handsome choi beomgyu truly was, a man whose face looked perfect from every angle it seemed. no wonder why he was so popular with the ladies, you can’t even blame him.

but there was an obvious change in beomgyu recently, you could see it the more you spent time with him. compared to the man you first met, this one was the complete opposite.

the man hardly went out after dark anymore, often enough spending that time with you at home instead. whether it was watching movies or cooking up random recipes, he always kept you company, making sure you never felt alone in his massive home.

this beomgyu had you sometimes questioning...

would it be so bad if you did marry him?

if it wasn’t for your messed up relationship on your step brother, you reckon you would’ve fallen for this beomgyu and lived out your own arrange marriage trope with him. but life is unexpected.

-

the faint sound of the new’s theme song playing was what woke you up hours later. several hours later you assumed from how bright it had gotten outside the windows.

what almost got you squealing though was the sight of beomgyu when you finally looked upwards, only to realise you were currently lying on his lap. a completely switch from your positions before you went to sleep.

“morning,” he smiles gently, this time seemingly more genuine compared to the one last night. it somewhat puts you at ease seeing him like that, even though he refused to tell you why there had been a shift in his mood lately.

*new’s theme song*

“and for today’s business related news, we have breaking news. it has been reported at 9am this morning that park sungjoon of park corp has taken a step back to let his only son, park sunghoon take over the CEO position. the abrupt change over has taken the business world by storm but with a surprise majority stockholder vote, park sunghoon is already a favourite and expected to do well after his father,” the reporter says as another appears on the screen, “it is also reported that sunghoon’s unexpected first move as the head was to sever ties with choi corp, ending their decade long partnership and the upcoming wedding been choi beomgyu and park-”

you were no longer listening, the news reporter’s mention of your own name becoming a blur in the background. you couldn’t believe it, sunghoon had kept his promise but this was definitely not how you expected him to do it... but judging by the look on beomgyu’s face, you’re almost certain that he already knew this was coming.

end.

-

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AITA for Not Telling My Girlfriend My Natural Hair Color?

Posted by u/blondinblacktie

I’m not entirely sure where to begin, but I’ll try to be as clear as possible.

I (20M) have been with my girlfriend (19F) for a little over two years. We met in high school. She’s the kindest person I know, and possibly the only person who’s ever made me feel genuinely understood. She's thoughtful, intelligent, funny, and—though this feels like an embarrassing word to use—ethereal. I consider myself extremely fortunate to be with her.

We both lean into a more goth aesthetic, though I don’t like calling it a “phase” or “a look.” It’s something I connected with on a level I couldn’t fully articulate at the time. It felt like finally dressing like how I’ve always felt inside. She wears black every day, sometimes does makeup, sometimes none at all. She's beautiful regardless.

Here’s the issue:

I’m naturally blond. Extremely blond. I mean platinum blond. The kind that borders on white. Think Scandinavian child raised in overcast conditions. I’ve been dyeing it black since I was 14. My hair has never once seen daylight in its natural color since then.

My girlfriend has never seen a photo of me from before that time, and I’ve never brought it up. She never asked, and I never lied. But I didn’t offer it either. And I think that omission is eating me alive.

A few days ago, we were having a quiet conversation—just the two of us—and she mentioned, offhandedly, how nice it would be if our future children inherited our black hair. I smiled. I nodded.

Another time(I remember now), she had said that she never found blond guys attractive. She said they always gave off the impression of being shallow or vain.

I haven’t slept properly since. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s been four days and I feel... off-balance. Like I’m walking around with a secret that’s slowly poisoning me.

I don’t want to lie to her. I don’t want to make this a bigger deal than it is. But I also don’t want to tell her and have her feel deceived. I’m scared she’ll see me differently. Not in the “she’ll leave me” sense—though yes, that fear is there—but in the way where someone you love tilts their head slightly and says, “Oh... I didn’t know that about you.” And suddenly you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

This feels stupid. I know it’s just hair. But it’s more than that. It’s identity. It’s vulnerability. It’s the person I used to be—the one I worked hard to change.

AITA for keeping this to myself?

⇧ 20k 🡇 💬8k ⮳Share

Top comments:

u/HairDyeIsMyTechnique:

bro. you’re not coming out as a war criminal. you’re blonde. just tell her. 💀

r/goth:

welcome to the Goth Guilt Club™. everyone here is secretly blonde or ginger and fighting for their life every root touch-up.

u/AskWomen:

I literally dye my hair black and my boyfriend is a natural redhead who goes full-black goth for me. If I found out he was hiding his red roots out of shame, I’d laugh and then kiss him. She probably will too.

u/GojosBlockedList:

“I’m scared she’ll look at me like a stranger in my own skin” — YOU DYED YOUR HAIR, NOT YOUR SOUL BRO 😭😭😭 just say "hey my natural hair color is actually blonde and I’ve been dyeing it for years." she’s not gonna exile you.

u/DomainOfDrama:

She: "I don't like blond guys."

You, with the most terminal case of guilt since Judas Iscariot: "I am a blond guy."

Buddy. Pal. King. She loves you.

u/urhairisvalid:

tell her before the guilt eats you alive and you start waking up at 3am whispering "I'm sorry... for being blonde." you're ok. you're still goth. and she's still gonna love you.

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UPDATE:

AITA for lying about my real hair color to my girlfriend? Posted by u/blondinblacktie 9 hours ago

First of all, THANK YOU to everyone who commented. You all roasted me to hell and back and it worked. So here’s the update. Yes, it is ridiculous. Yes, I am still dramatic. Yes, I have survived.

Last night, we went on a date. Nothing fancy—just the two of us in my car, late at night, eating fries and nuggets, listening to our playlist. It was a good vibe and she was in a good mood.

I wanted to tell her straight out. I really did. But every time I opened my mouth, I felt like I was about to confess to tax fraud.

So what did I do? I brought up the kid topic again like a coward. I asked her“What if our kid has light hair?”

She just shrugged and went,“I don’t care. I just want them cute.”

AND I PANICKED. SO I JUST BLURTED EVERYTHING OUT.

I went full monologue mode, Shakespearean tragedy-level delivery. I told her my whole blond origin story—how my mom thought it’d darken but it never did, how I started dyeing it black the second I turned 14 and never looked back, how I’ve been hiding it all this time like it was a cursed family secret. I even showed her a childhood photo—flash on, hair glowing like the surface of the sun. I looked like a Victorian porcelain doll someone left out in the snow. I wanted the ground to open.

AND SHE JUST STARED AT IT.

Then she started LAUGHING. Like not a cute giggle, I mean full-on wheezing. She said, “You’re lucky you’re pretty.” and then“You thought I’d leave you over being a Disney prince?”

She thinks it’s adorable. She said I looked like a cursed child from a horror movie, which she found “kinda iconic.” She even made it her lockscreen so yeah all is well.

She also said she kinda had a vague suspicion because my roots sometimes looked “too good to be true” but figured it wasn’t a big deal.

So yeah. She didn’t break up with me. She kissed me and told me to relax and that maybe we can grow our kid into a goth no matter what color their hair is.

⇧ 17k 🡇 💬6k ⮳Share

Top comments:

u/mychemicalreblondance:

you gave her a jump scare baby photo and she made it her lockscreen. if that’s not love idk what is. y’all are adorable.

u/HairDyeIsMyTechnique:

i’m crying this whole post is like “I’ve hidden who I really am… this is me… I’m blonde.” congrats king. you’re still goth. we forgive you. 🖤

u/SatoruOnMain:

This is the first time I’ve seen someone confess their natural hair color like it was a felony and come out more loved at the end. Good for you. Now go retouch your roots, drama king.

u/4EyedFeralPrince:

SHE MADE THE PHOTO HER LOCKSCREEN?? you’ve got a real one man. marry her and dye your future kid’s hair black at 3 months.

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AN: So I just got into American Horror Story and MY LORD??? Evan Peters??? Tate Langdon???? <bark bark>

Also… my first Nanami post?? Who would’ve thought???

LN4 + MERCEDES DRIVER!READER — the rivalry between you and lando is no secret. hell—there’s an entire drive to survive episode dedicated to exploring and exploiting that animosity that exists between the two of you. pointed remarks on the radio during races, snide comments during media interviews. “where do you think you lost the podium?” one of those grating journalists would ask. adrenaline high. sweat on your back. mercedes cap on your head. your hands would grip the railing, feeling members of your pr team eyeing you carefully. “gosh, i don’t know, maybe when lando tried to ram me into a wall at turn 6?” media interviews are promptly cut short after that. clip compilations of the two of you. camera lenses that seem to sharpen whenever you walk near each other. you’re representing mercedes and picking fights like this is unprofessional. you’ve had it drilled into your head by one too many people. you get it. formula one is not just about racing—it’s about public image. and so, the next time an interviewer tries to get you to make a comment about lando, you take them in stride. no unprofessional behavior, no rude reply, no swears aimed at the mclaren driver. because you’re professional. you can handle it. even if it makes you wanna tear your eyes out. and, well, if you must find a silver lining to it, you happen to enjoy just how much it seems to be throwing off lando. puzzled looks. furrowed brows. taking a moment too long to answer a question after you. and if any fans point out that you seem to grin at just how utterly thrown off lando looks… well, then they’re surely reading too much into it.