your estranged grandmother left you exactly one thing in her will: a sprawling luxury apartment in the heart of seoul — the kind of place that could singlehandedly cover your entire college tuition if you ever decided to sell it. now you had a penthouse all to yourself, a pink-tiled kitchen you weirdly adored, and a hopeless, slow-burning crush on the absurdly attractive neighbor who barely looked your way.
✧ WARNINGS AND TAGS
soulmates!au ◦ vampire!au ◦ mentions of sex ◦ dark themes such as depression, melancholy, killing ◦ landlord!sunghoon x fem!reader ◦ vampire!sunghoon x collegestudent!reader ◦ vampire!enhypen ◦ gore, mentions of violence and blood ◦ graphic description of violence ◦ in this au, humans and vampires coexist and vampires are almost extinguished ◦ heavy angst ◦ family drama ◦ mommy issues ◦ reader's dad has cancer ◦ eventual smut ◦ description of blood ◦ HAPPY ENDING ◦ too much angst ◦ pls be mindful of what you're consuming for your mental health.
+2OO,OOO main masterlist STATUS ━━━━━ FINISHED
۶ৎ 𝓜 , live laugh love vamp!hoon >< reposting my favorite piece of creation i've ever done because this was life changing for 20-year-old mari and i owe it all to my enhablr lovely readers. this will eventually have smut, so mdni. layout credits to kiwiatoll, banner credits to hoonstrology and divider credits to uzmacchiato. i love you guys sm thank u for being awesome and talented <3 i lost my old blog and all the tsj posts under it, that's why i'm reposting this. for now, the links will only redirect to ao3 bc your girl doesn't have time yet to repost each chapter here on tumblr but dw because i'll eventually post everything here okie.
read on ao3 spotify playlist main masterlist
THE SEONGHYEON JAEGA ━━━━━ MASTERLIST
PROLOGUE ONE ━━━━━ pink tiles
꒰ 5.8k ꒱you didn’t expect the winter garden, or the hydrangeas blooming out of season. and you definitely didn’t expect sunghoon — quiet, unreadable, and watching you like he already knew how this would end.
PROLOGUE TWO ━━━━━ the seonghyeon jaega
꒰ 10.9k ꒱between printer boys, rooftop gardens, and the neighbor who looks at you like he’s trying not to set the world on fire, this is what happens when loneliness meets curiosity and accidentally kicks off something bigger than you’re ready for.
CHAPTER ONE ━━━━━ hydrangeas & homicide
꒰ 11.2k ꒱ park sunghoon has survived centuries by staying detached — until a new neighbor moves in and quietly unravels everything. caught between instinct and control, he senses a bond he thought was myth, as something human begins to feel dangerously inevitable.
CHAPTER TWO ━━━━━ six-hundred-and-thirty-three
꒰ 16k ꒱ your body thrums with a strange, residual ache — not pain, but presence. like something has settled beneath your skin, quiet and irreversible. you don't have the words for it yet, but whatever passed between you and sunghoon in that moment wasn’t just physical. it’s something older, deeper, and it’s already taken root.
CHAPTER THREE ━━━━━ eletromagnetic emo ghost
꒰ 21.6k ꒱ all day, he feels you — in the air, under his skin, in every pulse that isn't his own. he watches you stumble through the day, dazed and aching, and hates that he caused it. but more than that, he hates how badly he wants more.
CHAPTER FOUR ━━━━━ resist the urge to bite (or kiss)
꒰ 35.2k ꒱ you want answers, but you also don’t want to ask. when you finally see him again, your body reacts before your mind can. and when he speaks — low, careful, restrained — it only confirms what you’ve been afraid to admit.
CHAPTER FIVE ━━━━━ hanil women university
꒰ 18.2k ꒱ the tension between you builds — sharp, close, and unbearably restrained. and when you finally ask if he regrets it, sunghoon doesn’t answer with words. he just looks at you — and it’s enough to know the truth.
CHAPTER SIX ━━━━━ necklines & near-death experiences
꒰ 24.3k ꒱sunghoon is shaken. and now that the bond is forming between you two, it’s not just instinct — it’s blood memory. he’s caught in something ancient and irreversible. and for the first time, you’re not the one in danger — he is.
CHAPTER SEVEN ━━━━━ orange blood
you never knew. and now everything — your instincts, your reactions, the way your body answers sunghoon before you can think — starts to make sense. it’s not legacy. it’s inheritance by accident. buried. hidden. and now, waking up.
EPILOGUE ━━━━━ bad desire (unleash)
it’s not soft. it’s inevitable. after nights of denial and tension so thick it ached, this moment snaps like a pulled thread. it’s teeth, breath, hands, and truth.
ℒithium - vampire!park sunghoon x afab!reader ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆
based on this song: a young girl moves in with a stranger after responding to a post online advertising for a caretaker. she slowly erases herself until she is left with nothing but two primal, unevolved feelings: fear and desire.
⋮ word count: 8.5k
⋮ content warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. smut. dubcon. manipulation. reader hallucinates. stockholm syndrome??? dream manipulation and slight somnophilia too i guess? unprotected sex. blood. hard spanking. violent sex. horror. gothic themes. traditional vampirism. biblical themes. minor body horror. size kink. corruption. loss of virginity. allusions to death and dying. sadism/masochism. use of petnames. bittersweet.
⋮ notes: i already want to make a part two lol.
it had started with an advert online. then, an application. that is how he found you.
someone was advertising for a caretaker. nothing more. ‘kind of like a housemaid’, you had explained to your friends.
you came to sunghoon like an angel in a prophetic dream, haloed in light and soft around the edges.
the first time you met him was when you arrived at the house for your interview. he seemed peculiar to you, even back then, as he offered to take your coat and led you up the staircase to his father’s office.
he was the colour of sickness, lean and inhumanly tall. you hadn’t spent enough time looking at him then to notice that his eyes were completely hollow. his skin was immortal and textureless, unspoiled by age lines and uv rays from the sun, not a single pore or hair follicle in sight, even along the curve of his sturdy jaw where there should have been stubble.
he looked sickly, like some sort of apparition, eyebrows thick and black, canted and scowling softly.
it wasn’t until you brushed past him on the staircase, that he noticed it- that thick, pheromonal scent, like a perfume that clung to your neck and skimpy clothes. you smelled like a virgin, sweet and distinctly 20. he turned rigid on the stairs and looked at you with a hardened expression, but you were too busy looking at the paintings on the wall to notice.
his eyes bore into the back of your skull. he felt suddenly dizzy and held onto the banister to steady himself. the staircase slanted as his vision grew weak. he didn’t have a pulse, but if he did it would have been racing. he grew sick with the realisation that it had worked, you had trusted him enough to believe his advert, the house seemed real to you and you were there, stood before him in the flesh, trapped in perpetuity.
you don’t know what attracted you to the job in the first place. the free rent maybe? the house itself was not very welcoming at all. you assumed that is why they were advertising for a caretaker- someone to breathe a bit of life into the place. everything was dark. the furniture was outdated, most of it mahogany and covered in dust.
you spent the majority of the interview discussing meaningless things. you laughed with sunghoon’s father, the frequency rung in sunghoon’s ears and would become impossible for him to forget.
he watched you and committed you to memory: the nervous dip in your brow, the tremble in your laugh as you shook the hand of a hallucination, the cadence of your heart hammering in your ribcage when it asked you to move in.
“well, y/n, we look forward to you starting,” sunghoon’s father had smiled. he was a senile, but gentle, older man with a twinkle in his eyes. he was withered and strangely interesting. he could talk about anything and you would find yourself enchanted.
you glanced over at sunghoon who stood in the corner of the room watching you uneasily. he smiled too, with his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“it’s been a while since my son has had any company.” his father rasped.
sunghoon cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably, before leading you back out to your car.
you never saw sunghoon’s father again.
you should have never returned. but you did.
you moved into the house a week after that.
you managed alone, without the help of anyone, to pack up your belongings and place them into boxes in the boot of your car. sunghoon offered to help you carry your things up to your room when you arrived and you breathlessly accepted his offer.
“see that room over there?” he asked, setting the last box down on the landing. he pointed at the door opposite your bedroom. “that’s mine.”
you hummed in response.
“i would avoid cleaning in there if i were you.” he smiled with faux softness, running a hand through his hair.
“don’t use too much polish on the furniture, you’ll ruin the finish. and you only ever have to worry about cooking for yourself- don’t bother cooking meals for the two- three of us.” he corrected himself. his eyes fell on you immediately, he waited for you to realise what he’d just said, but you never did.
you took a step closer and looked up at him, holding your hands reverently in front of you. “anything else, sir?”
oh. sir.
sunghoon’s smile twitched.
“yes, one more thing,” his smile dropped and he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “stay away from me.”
the confused, slightly upset look on your face, struck sunghoon’s dead heart into metre. he caressed your jaw gently with his thumb, before turning on his heel and disappearing.
you learned very quickly after that that sunghoon preferred his own company. he kept to himself. you had explored almost every room in the house within your first week of living there, but not his bedroom.
you only ever saw him in passing and when you did, he rarely acknowledged you.
it was necessary. the less he grew fond of you, the easier it would be to destroy you.
he needed you worked up, curious and infatuated beyond your will, so that you would forget yourself, so that if anyone ever came looking for you, if anyone ever asked questions you had done it to yourself.
it eventually worked. he watched as you began to erase yourself slowly from the inside until you were left with nothing but your dreams of him and a map of the house in your mind’s eye.
you gave up everything.
he refused to greet you when you crossed him every morning on the stairs, but as soon as night fell you felt the draft of him behind you, the ghost of his talons hooked into the sides of you, pulling you apart slowly.
you never felt truly alone in the house, even when he wasn’t around you could feel sunghoon in the walls- watching you. he was under your skin, hiding in the hollow eyes of every portrait.
you swore the house was driving you crazy. you had convinced yourself it might’ve been vitamin d deficiency that was causing you to lose your mind because the house lacked in sufficient natural light. it’s floors would groan at you like they were alive, talk to you, as you tip-toed through the house in the early hours of the morning.
it was a peculiar house and yet you questioned nothing. you had no desire to understand, no desire to be found. you began to understand an innate truth about yourself, a dark truth: that darkness had become more attractive to you than the idea of freedom outside. you’d never been in love before, but you imagined it to feel something like this- crazy and lonely.
your senses soon acclimatized to the conditions of the house and you learned to recognise sunghoon by his smell and the sound of his footsteps. you found yourself following the scent of him through the halls at night, never managing to catch up.
you searched for him in the reaches of your dreams and you would find him sometimes, stood in the shadows of your bedroom. he would crawl on top of you and rip your pyjamas open. your buttons would scatter across the floor and he’d hush you and tell you “it’s okay to be afraid”. it was a sadistic and gradual kind of operant conditioning- you would eventually learn to expect hell when you felt him press his finger to your lips. he’d fuck you after that, so hard, so slow and so deep that you’d wake up cumming, shaking and crying and longing for death. the dream would eventually be snuffed out by your alarm and you’d sit up in bed against the headboard- dazed and twitching.
you longed for him viscerally, like a lover from a past-life. it was a feeling explained only by the french philosophy of “l’appel du vide”. you were morbidly fascinated with sunghoon and your curiosity would only be sated by knowing him, truly knowing him, and letting him have you.
you didn’t understand this in consciousness yet, but you understood this in your soul and the liminal spaces across your subconscious. you understood this in your bones, and it wasn’t to be questioned.
݁ᛪ༙
you were bored one evening. curious. it was a sunday evening in january and you hadn’t seen sunghoon since thursday.
you paced up and down the hallway, judging the distance between your room and his for at least 30 minutes before knocking, atlhough sunghoon had noticed you were outside long before that. the floorboards creaked beneath your bare feet as you pressed your ear against the door.
the scent of you crept beneath the door, your blood smelled so intoxicating that his hands developed a tremor, and he looked up from where he was sat at his desk.
“hoon”, you called softly, dragging your nails gently down the skeleton of the door.
he groaned.
you heard his chair scrape against the floor as he stood up and walked over to where he heard your voice. you felt his suffocating presence radiating through the door.
“what is it?” he asked, running his finger along a groove in the doorframe.
silence.
“i…” the words you’d been rehearsing ran dry in your mouth.
your frail hand lingered on the doorhandle.
the door clicked open softly and you gasped. you were confronted with your devil again for the first time since you’d met him.
“you have a death wish.” he remarked and your spine turned stiff.
then, he grabbed you by the wrists and pulled you inside, slamming you into his bedroom wall with enough force to knock the breath out of you. you gasped loudly as the back of your head bounced off of the wall behind you.
you tried to scream but sunghoon smothered your mouth shut with his hand. he looked at you- pained- like he wanted back the pieces you’d cut from him, free hand twitching at his side.
he looked…desperate.
you looked back up at sunghoon through your lashes and, for the first time, saw someone looking back at you. you were so used to seeing nothing behind his eyes, that it made you feel sick when you saw a monster staring back at you. his expression wasn’t one that you recognised. it was ugly. carnal. he stared back at you with what looked like rage, a desire so strong that you had nearly mistaken it for hate.
his nostrils flared.
he leaned down, grazing the shell of your ear with his teeth. his breath should have been warm but it felt cold. like ice.
your heart sunk into your stomach.
you glanced sideways at his adam’s apple as he leaned in closer. he smirked and let out a single breath of laughter as he watched realisation flit across your eyes, the horror of realising that he had you exactly where he wanted you- trapped- shrinking between him and the wall.
“i know. i know what you are.” you whispered.
he examined the details of your eyes- pupils blown and dilated with fear, irises glassy and scared. this is exactly how he wanted you.
this- this is what he’d been waiting for. you were terrified, he could smell the fear on you along with the notes of a woody perfume. one of the expensive ones he’d had anonymously delivered to the house on your birthday. your pulse was gushing; he could hear it. he could hear your heart thumping hard and steady, unspent breaths swelling in your chest.
sunghoons’s eyes rolled back into his head and he traced the path of your carotid with his nose, all the way down to your collarbone. your skin was so soft, you had done well to preserve it with age.
his free hand flew up to your hair and yanked your head to the side to make room for his mouth. he groaned at the scent of you and pressed his open mouth to your skin.
when he kissed your neck, his lips felt so cold that they burned- scalded you in a way that you weren’t used to. you’d been kissed by men before but never like this and it had always felt warm. you sighed and squeezed your eyes shut.
he kissed your neck slowly, languidly, and sucked a dark bruise onto your skin that had turned black by the time he’d stopped making out with it.
you were moaning into sunghoon’s hand, so he pressed it harder against your mouth, forcing you to swallow the noises back down into your stomach. you felt your knees buckle, but he pressed his hips forward into yours so hard that you wouldn’t- couldn’t- fall. you felt dizzy. you’d never needed someone more. your knuckles turned white as you held onto him by the collar of his shirt.
“you don’t understand…” he murmured into your collarbone, almost inaudibly, “fuck.”
he scowled up at you from beneath his thick eyebrows. you opened your eyes and looked down at him as he hid his nose in your jugular notch.
“fuck,” he spat, “you don’t understand what you do to me.”
he finally removed his hand from your mouth, entitling you to air, wiping your saliva off on his shirt briefly before straightening up. then, he gripped your jaw tight and pulled your chin up, forcing you to look at him, digging his fingers and thumb into your soft cheeks.
“y/n. you’ve got to understand that, unless you tell me to stop right fucking now, i’m gonna tear you apart,” he breathed. he felt crazy and the beat of his cold, dead heart hammered in his ears, deafening him to the voice of reason.
the game of cat and mouse he’d been playing with you was about to come to an abrupt end.
light creeped in from the hallway outside, through the door that was ajar beside you.
“hoon,” you whispered, searching his eyes for something- mercy or pity perhaps.
sunghoon lowered his gaze to your bottom lip and the way it wobbled nervously beneath his thumb. with a creased brow and a tight jaw, he ran his thumb along it slowly, tugging it down to reveal your pearly teeth. he imagined what they’d feel like nipping at the skin on his chest.
he rolled his eyes and muttered, “this is your last chance.”
your head was spinning, and in that moment, you couldn’t make out which of your instincts felt stronger: the instinct to surrender, or the instinct to run.
instinct. it was a tightrope that you walked above the path from desire to consequence. the gnawing sensation that you couldn’t ignore. a feeling but stronger, a preacher whose voice you followed blindly, bewitched and undeterred by logic.
you swallowed hard. you moved to hold onto sunghoon’s forearm, but he shook his head and took both of your wrists in his hands, pinning them at your sides. his grip on you was painfully tight.
“no, y/n.”
“wh- what do you mean ‘no’, sunghoon?” you smiled, confused.
and he felt sick. he felt sick for enjoying it: the way his cruelty perplexed you, the way you looked up at him and searched his eyes for humanity, the way your forlorn hands trembled either side of you, the way he wanted to scare you to death.
“i mean no,” he reiterated cooly.
the corner of your smile twitched.
“you are not to hold me like that. you don’t understand”, he began, “no softness. i don’t want to be gentle with you. i want to do things to you. things that’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.”
he was staring straight into you now. he really saw you.
“like what?” your voice cracked.
he ran a slender, pale finger down the side of your face, down your neck and the rest of your body until he reached your waist. you shivered as he dug his finger into the hem of your skirt and tugged you against his chest. you hadn’t realised before how much taller he was compared to you, until your forehead was a hair’s width apart from his neck as he towered over you, his cold breath tickling your scalp.
“i want to fuck you,” he purred, “hard.”
“until you break.” he spoke into your hair, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, his grip unrelenting. it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
“i want to wreck you, y/n, in a way that’d be considered…” he considered his words carefully and sighed, leaning back to get another look at you from beneath his dark bangs, “…inhumane.”
you caught a glimpse of his fangs as he smiled. he wasn’t really smiling at you, his eyes were empty and blank. they twinkled cruelly down at you, but only because they were reflecting the light from the hallway, not because there was anything light inside him.
“then wreck me,” you replied simply, shrugging. you tried to wrench your wrists free from his grip but it was no use.
his nostrils flared. must’ve been a habit of his, something he did when he was aroused. he studied the way you struggled in his grip- it turned him on.
he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and stepped in closer, locking you against the wall, that’s when you felt it. he was hard- he was hard as fuck. his hips brushed against yours and he clicked his tongue, watching you now with a dangerous look in his eyes. predatory, even.
“let me go.” you whined, trying to tug your arms into your chest out of his grip, but sunghoon squeezed your wrists tighter in retaliation.
“sunghoon. let me go.” you could hear your pulse rushing in your ears. you felt like you were going to faint. or die.
“do you really mean that?” he asked, tilting his head to one side wickedly. as though he were amused.
silence.
“that’s what i thought.” he grunted.
he was rocking into you slowly, barely refraining, his hard-on grazing your clothed clit. you squeezed your thighs together and he hissed, watching the tent in his slacks grow against you. he reached down and split your thighs open, positioning himself conveniently between them and you- you already looked fucked. you whined and tipped your head back against the wall with a thud harder than you were anticipating. sunghoon chuckled to himself and shook his head, before reaching under your skirt.
you flinched as he ran his cold hand along the inside of your thigh. his touch was tentative and patient, almost sceptical and- god- you felt so soft.
you felt him press his palm against your warm cunt. to begin with, all he did was apply a light pressure. you whined and tipped your head forwards, your forehead resting against sunghoon’s chest.
“god…fuck. please.” you breathed shakily.
“please what?” he asked into your hair. you reached out for him and ran your palms up his chest, scrunching his shirt up in your fists, pleading.
“please. just please.” you cooed, bucking your hips into his palm.
he shook his head and stifled a short laugh.
“ask me properly, doll.” he mumbled against your scalp and kissed the top of your head, soft enough that you hadn’t noticed.
you tugged at his shirt. it’s not that you couldn’t use your words- you were afraid to use them- afraid of the truth. the truth being that, despite everything and the rational decision being to run, you wanted him, you needed him. inhumanely.
“that feel good, doll?” he whispered, palming you slowly through your panties. you were damp with need. he cupped your heat, the heel of his hand rubbing your clit in harsh circles, his fingers poking your hole through the fabric of your underwear, caressing the wet patch that had formed. you whined into his chest, pleading for friction.
you felt his cock strain against the inside of your leg and you sobbed quietly, comprehending the idea of trying to fit all of him inside you. he felt thick and huge, you doubted you’d be able to take all of him. sunghoon wondered too but he didn’t care, he’d make it fit, he’d make you wet enough.
“i’m going to need you to use your words, angel.” he muttered, pausing to pat the inside of your thigh, signalling for you to part your legs. you gasped and glanced down at his hand. you hadn’t realised it, but you had absently-mindedly clamped your thighs shut around his wrist and it had become difficult for him to move.
you whined and shook your head slowly, avoiding his eyes.
“hm? you’re not going to use your words? are you too embarrassed?” he tutted.
yes, you were embarrassed. embarrassed to admit where you wanted him; the way you wanted him to touch you; the things you wanted him to do to you; the names you wanted him to call you. you were embarrassed, and he knew it all too well because none of your fantasies belonged to you anymore. sunghoon had deciphered you too easily.
“embarrassed about wanting me to touch you?” he pried, ghosting his fingers over your pussy again.
you managed the tiniest nod and he laughed.
“i’ve been thinking about you too, you know. fuck.” he cursed. “i’ve been obsessed with the idea of fucking you from behind, until you forget to how to breathe. except, when i command you to, you remember exactly how. you suck in a big, deep breath for me, and fight the urge to pass out on my dick. i’d train you to expect it, every time you feel my hand wrap around your throat from the back.”
“you’re sic-“ you began and he hushed you by placing his finger over your lips before you could finish your sentence.
his voice dropped suddenly to a grave tone. “you’ve dreamt of this moment. remember?”
you could remember waking up from dreams about sunghoon in a cold sweat, but it had never occurred to you that he might’ve been the one planting them in your subconscious. it made sense now that you recognised him- like an apparition from a past life. your throat ran dry. had any of your intentions ever truly been yours?
it was clear, he had always intended to have you like this.
“that was you…you meant for me to have those dreams.” you whispered. you recalled dreams, most of them violent. he had meant for them to frighten you. they had felt so real, that you likened them to memories. memories of flailing around on his dick as he forced you into submission, memories of arresting in his arms, of dying. however, there was one dream unlike the others. that night you had dreamt of a tender love, no blood. you wondered whether that dream had been meant for you at all?
he nodded and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, examining you.
“turn around.” he commanded.
you hesitated and he had just about lost his patience. he grabbed your shoulders and spun you around so that you were flush against the wall. unsure of what to do with your hands, you pressed them flat against the wall, staring at the space between them. sunghoon couldn’t see your face anymore and would have to rely solely on the cadence of your pulse to gauge your pleasure. right now, it was elevated, suggesting to him that you might have been scared. or aroused.
he cupped your waist with his cold hands, before pulling your skirt down. it pooled around your ankles, and he cleared his throat so that you would step out of it obediently. and you did, earning the praise of his kiss to the side of your head. you could have easily mistaken it for love.
the room was silent, save for the sound of sunghoon shifting behind you. that was, until he broke it with a loud crack as his hand came down against your ass and stung it with a smack.
you yelped and arched into the wall instinctively to escape him.
all of it- it was warranted. you had been driving him crazy for weeks, fascinating him with your short skirts and your sweet laugh. you were the picture of innocence begging to be defiled.
“fuck.” he groaned, watching your ass recoil. the concept of elasticity was one that he enjoyed outside of physics. your body was so soft and bouncy there was almost no risk of breaking you, he could toy with you to no end, and you would return to your original state. this, amongst other things, is what made you the perfect muse.
he chuckled darkly and hit you again, firm on the ass cheek, “that’s for forgetting to use your words. you’re gonna have to get used to using them for me, okay?”
your noises drove him crazy. helpless and weak. like prey tangled up in his barbed wire.
“and you’ll have to tell me if things get too much,” he whispered, lowering onto his knees behind you.
he hooked a finger into your panty line and peeled your thong out of your ass, pulling it down with him. he could smell your arousal already, but it was even stronger now, sweet like pear drops. he reached up and bunched your shirt up out of the way so that he could get a good view of your ass in the room’s sparse light.
“cold…” you grizzled, looking down at him over your shoulder,
sunghoon pouted in mock sympathy, and cooed, grabbing a handful of your ass. he rubbed his thumb in slow circles over the bruise he’d given you and sighed, blowing his bangs out of his eyes.
“what did you expect hm, baby?” he clicked his tongue and parted your ass cheeks, dragging a slender finger through the middle of your slit from behind. you shuddered. it felt so…foreign. so cold.
your pussy looked so neat and pretty from behind, he thought. better than he’d imagined- and he’d imagined it in just about every aspect and dimension, in every scenario- some of them had even been gentle.
he brought his finger to his mouth and licked it, savouring the taste of you.
“you’re a virgin. i can tell.” he remarked and looked up at you, holding your gaze unwaveringly. “you taste sweet.” he grunted and leaned in, pressing his nose to the back of your thigh, inhaling deeply.
his mouth was so close to your pussy, you were convinced he’d be able to feel you throbbing.
and you hated it. you hated the way he lingered there, the way he made you feel exposed and seen. vulnerable. he made you wait, with bated breath, and breathed against your pussy, holding you up by the back of your thighs, a grip that was sure to leave purple thumbprints behind in it’s wake.
“words.” he snapped. “you need to tell me what you want.”
you bit your finger and searched his eyes but the look he gave you was pitiless and apathetic.
“what is it?” he mumbled, “you want my mouth? is that it?”
silence.
“want me to lick you down here? no? my fingers?”
silence.
smack.
“tell me.” he growled, digging his nails into your thighs, hard enough to bruise them but not enough to draw any blood.
your eyes welled with tears.
“ah fuck—yes! your mouth…your mouth please, anything…” you choked, swaying your hips impatiently.
he said nothing. just stared.
then, he exhaled through his nostrils and pressed his open mouth to your mound from behind. your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you thought your legs might give way. your pussy was completely engulfed. you couldn’t make up your mind whether it felt hot. or cold. but you knew it felt good- too good- and wet.
your stomach churned with butterflies.
gravelly sounds from sunghoon’s chest vibrated through him and against your cunt. he groaned, swirling his tongue around and collecting your wetness on it, before swallowing it and retreating.
he pulled your slit apart from behind with his thumb, examining you, almost clinically- the way you fluttered and clenched around nothing in anticipation, the way you pulsated like you had a second heart.
he didn’t waste any time before leaning back in- with just his tongue this time. he licked a hot stripe along your slit. he held you in place, ensuring that you couldn’t squirm, couldn’t escape and lapped at your cunt, incessant in his efforts.
“pleasepleaseplease—please!”
you realised then that he’d made you face the wall on purpose, because he was concerned with matters of control. he wouldn’t- couldn’t- allow you to bury your hands in his hair and guide him. your pleasure would be on his terms.
he kissed your pussy from behind, hot, open-mouthed kisses, and you couldn’t get enough. you fought against the grip he had on you, desperate for more, grinding your cunt back on his face but it was no use. he edged you in intervals and would move back, leaving you hanging and needy for more.
“you’re making a mess on my face.” he purred in between sloppy kisses. he placed them on top of your pussy and down the backs of your thighs.
your sounds became strangled and needy as he edged you closer to the brink of an orgasm.
he was good at it- too good. good at riling you up, good at working you up.
“h-hoon…please…please. can’t…” you whined.
“can’t what?” he asked, although he knew what you meant. “hm, doll? can’t take it? that’s fine.” he chuckled and let go of your thighs, pulling his face out of your cunt, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand.
he watched you breathlessly, grinning, baring his teeth. he watched you- the pain etched into your delicate features, the way your eyes frowned and glistened down at him. you shook your head at him urgently, turning around to face him with your body but, as you reached out for a handful of his hair to claw him back to you, he captured your wrist swiftly and stood up.
“don’t be a brat.” he snapped, slapping your pussy with his hand and gripping it tight. you yelped and your thighs clamped shut around his forearm instinctively.
“wow. you’re so fucking wet.” he grinned evilly, stroking his long fingers up through the mess you’d made. he held his hand up in front of your face, stretching out a line of your wetness between his fingers.
it was humiliating to be confronted with your arousal like that. so blatantly. sticky and translucent. your cheeks burned with shame but there was nowhere left for you to hide, sunghoon had ensured it.
he felt like a freak for loving the way you looked up at him with your doll-black eyes- embarrassed. humiliated. he would cherish these innocent still frames of you in is memory forever, even as you aged and learned to forget him.
you glanced down at his parted lips and sniffled.
“wanna kiss you...” you pouted.
he shook his head and hushed you again. it was the only time that night he recalled how to be soft. your eyes fluttered closed as his minty breath tickled your face and kissed you in all the places his mouth couldn’t bear to. “you know i can’t do that, angel.” he mumbled against your temple.
because it was kinder to hurt you like this, than to hurt you with the promise of forever.
it made your chest ache but some masochistic part of you preferred it this way, and him being unattainable made it easier for you to get off.
“now, are you going to be good for me?” he asked, brushing your tears away with his thumb. you nodded gently.
“good girl.” he praised, stroking your clit with his fingers. “put your hands on my shoulders.” he demanded and you obeyed, holding onto him.
he grunted as he hoisted you up into his arms and wrapped your frail legs around his waist, carrying you over to the desk. he threw everything that was on the desk onto the floor with one sweep of his arm and planted you in the middle.
the desk was dark oak and sat beneath the window. the night outside was blue. the moonlight caught on sunghoon’s cheekbones, hollowing out the rest of his face. he looked like the grim reaper, and you would have let him lead you to your death.
you sat there, neat like a doll, with your hands in your lap, eyes watching him expectantly.
carefully, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of his slacks, before reaching down and binding your wrists together, so tight that you winced.
he didn’t bother to ask whether it was okay. he understood that you enjoyed it from the way you bit your lip and squeezed your thighs together.
you were driving him fucking crazy. he shook his head, knuckles turning white as he grabbed both of your knees and parted your legs.
he then held his forefingers up to your lips. something about the way you confusedly glanced down at them turned him on. he clenched his jaw and cleared his throat, instructing you sternly, “open your mouth for me, baby.”
his skin was translucent and you could make out all of the veins in his hand as he brought it closer and stuck his fingers in your mouth. he caressed your chin gently with the other hand as you suckled on his fingers, coating them in spit. you drooled messily, just the way he liked it.
sunghoon’s expression hardened as he stuck his fingers in deeper, down your throat, making your eyes water. he pulled his fingers out of your mouth before you could choke and reached down to spread your folds. after checking you were wet enough, he sunk his middle finger slowly into your tight cunt.
you were tight. seriously tight. virgin tight. you must have been dying, not even using your own fingers to get off. he had watched you at night, orgasming in your sleep without any stimulation. the thought of you waiting for him so patiently made his dick twitch.
he groaned as you clenched around him and watched your jaw turn slack as he began to move his finger slowly inside and out, loosening you up.
“say something, pretty girl.” he breathed into the space between your mouth and his.
he watched you with crazed eyes as your body arched instinctively into his. he towered above you like a god. you tried to tug your wrists apart, not because you wanted to be set free, but because the idea of feeling like prey was thrilling to you. it stirred something dormant inside sunghoon. he bared his teeth and hissed at you, frightening you into stillness.
“s-sunghoon...hoon…please…” you whined, throwing your head back. you were a hot mess, flushed in the face and the neck.
“you want another one?” he grinned, adding another finger. you nodded quickly.
“yesyesyes! yes! please.” you sobbed, grinding onto his fingers, rolling your hips around, fucking yourself on them pathetically.
he fucked your cunt with his fingers, his middle finger and his ring finger. he set a brutal pace, curling them up into your cervix, purring at each of your soft moans and cries. his pace winded you- you could hardly breathe, hardly get a word in edge ways.
you looked up at him, biting your lip to stifle your cries. you watched him through your bangs, balling your hands into fists. your ass began to ache against the hard desk but sunghoon didn’t care. instead, he glanced down at your pussy beneath him and spat onto it, using his free hand to rub your clit.
this feeling- it was new altogether, and the way he looked at you…you couldn’t describe it. you couldn’t describe the way he touched you, but you would know the feeling, even in death.
“that’s it, pretty. you gonna cum for me? all over my hand?” he breathed, half amazed that you hadn’t passed out yet.
your wrists began to chafe against the leather of his belt. they looked sore. you had been holding onto your orgasm, too shy to cum, until sunghoon leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your jaw.
you shrieked and leaned into sunghoon’s shoulder, biting down on it hard as you came.
“fuck—y/n.” he growled loudly, pumping his fingers into with unrelenting force.
you screamed around a mouthful of his linen shirt as your orgasm came crashing over you. it rippled through you in waves, and you convulsed below him, chasing an everlasting feeling.
“fuck! fuckfuckfuck—hoon—!” you cried.
“good girl.” he grunted as his bicep began to strain.
he slowed down and watched you, mesmerised, as you soaked his fingers. no one had ever made you feel like that before and sunghoon knew it because you looked at him like he’d just promised you the world.
it cut him- the fucked-out gaze in your eyes, the way they twinkled up at him and saw him as a person capable of keeping promises.
he felt sick.
he cradled you and allowed you to ride out the final waves of your orgasm on his fingers before pulling them out slowly and wiping them off on his trousers.
“hoon…” you sighed shakily. he clenched his jaw and unbound your wrists, letting his belt fall onto the floor. he took your wrists in his hands and brought them to his lips, kissing over the belt marks.
you were hiccupping and sniffling softly, lips and eyelids swollen from crying. his cock was so hard that he felt dizzy and he hated himself for it- hated himself for enjoying the way the light refracted in your tears when you cried. you looked so pretty. so torn.
you couldn’t fully understand why you were crying. because it felt so good, maybe. or because despite him telling you you should fear your life, he felt strangely safe.
“you wanna ride my dick, pretty baby?” he mumbled into the silence and you nodded, but not hard enough.
sunghoon’s expression darkened and he let go of your wrists.
“was that a yes?” he whispered against your neck as he leaned in and gripped your thighs, a reminder that he didn’t want to be gentle with you, and that if he had been gentle it was because he had been sparing you.
“mhm…y-yes…” you nodded again. your heart fluttered. you watched his fangs glint against your neck in the corner of your eye.
“tell me how you want it,” he croaked, caressing a lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger. he was unbuttoning his slacks with his free hand now, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side.
“mmm…” you hesitated.
something predatory flashed across his eyes and in one swift motion, he picked you up and bent you over the desk in front of him.
“words.” he commanded, combing his fingers through your hair, before gathering it all in his hand and yanking your head back- hard. you yelped loudly but refused to speak, even as he pulled your head back so far that you were staring up at the ceiling. he was painfully hard in his boxers, rocking against your ass impatiently.
you blushed, gulping audibly up at the ceiling, “i want feel you inside me. please.”
sunghoon thought you were finished and went to tug his boxers down but then- then you said something unthinkable. something that made his inside twist.
“hoon…can you-“ you paused, and he loosened his grip on your hair, allowing you to look back at him over the slope of your shoulder, “can you bite me?”
“you don’t mean that.” he interjected immediately, cutting you off. his expression was unreadable. he looked like he’d seen a ghost.
a single beat passed and suddenly he was holding onto your waist, trying to steady himself. he felt dizzy. you had spoken directly to the voice inside him that persuaded him to hurt you, to bleed you dry.
“stupid girl.” he whispered.
he groaned gutturally and leaned in, sniffing up your carotid.
he shook himself out of it and tugged his boxers down, shoving you by the back of the head into the desk. you pressed your cheek against the cold surface and whimpered as you felt him line himself up against your pussy.
“don’t.” he grunted. “ever.” he emphasised, pushing your head harder into the desk. “ask me to do that again.”
then, he spat into his palm and stroked himself before leaning down into your ear again.
“your pussy looks so cute.” he laughed airily, nudging the tip of his cock into you. you whined quietly, bringing your hand up to your mouth but sunghoon was quick to notice. he pulled it away and held it behind your back. he wanted to hear everything- the whimpers, the sniffles, the screams shredding your throat.
he eased himself into you slowly and groaned, tipping his head back. he knew you were going to be tight- but not this tight.
“fuck.” he rasped under his breath, watching himself disappear inside you. you were so wet that it barely hurt, in fact he fit inside you perfectly. you were made to take him.
you felt as light as anything, weightless even, as he filled you up, stuffing you full of his cock. you swore you felt your soul leave your body and saw it floating above yourself, his huge hands were about the only thing left grounding you, anchoring you to reality. he felt up your sides and dug his thumbs into your waist as he pulled out and began to slide back in.
sunghoon was quick to set a brutal pace. he was merciless, barely allowing you time to adjust. it hurt– but you liked it and your body made it known to him. you were filthy-wet.
“you’re so cute like this,” he grunted, digging his nails into your skin, “you look so fucking tiny.”
he fucked you from behind, so hard that your entire body slid up and down against the desk. it creaked and knocked against the wall loudly- repeatedly. the room was thick with his grunts and the smell of sex.
“hoon…ah! hoon—please…” you pleaded.
he shook his head. he was struggling to maintain breathing through his nostrils. his mouth fell open and he groaned loudly, throwing his head back. his balls slapped loudly against your ass. it was wet. hot. filthy. you squelched around him- obscenely. he couldn’t get enough of you. you struggled beneath him and wrenched your arm free from his grip, holding onto the sides of the desk on your tip-toes.
“that feel good? hm, baby?” he asked breathlessly, smacking your mottled ass on top of the bruise he’d already left. he smiled at your blanched knuckles, combing his fingers through your ragged hair as you sobbed beneath him.
you nodded quickly, but you were unable to speak.
“god. fuck. come here.” he hissed and flipped you over. he sat himself up on the desk and pulled you into his lap so that he could see your face. you looked wrecked.
you climbed on top of him and sank back down onto his cock. you could feel more of him at this angle. he slid one hand beneath your armpit and the held your waist with the other. he held you bruisingly tight and kept you perfectly upright as he fucked up into your warm cunt, groaning with each of his thrusts.
“fuckfuckfuck! fuck—hoon!” you sobbed.
his hips snapped angrily up into you and he searched your face for signs of pain, not because he was worried, but because he liked it.
as you began to grow tired and idle in your movements, he pulled you up and down on his cock, doing most of the work for you. you felt delirious, drooling around the sides of your mouth as he fucked you senseless. not a single, coherent thought left in the space between your ears.
he knew that he should have gone easy on you because you were unable to form a coherent sentence, but the urge he had to ruin you was greater. he split you open on top of him, growling loudly as you bounced on his cock, over and over, watching your tummy swell.
“yeah? you like that?” he purred, punctuating each of his words with a thrust.
your head lolled to one side and he shook you in his lap, forcing you to sit up straight and watch him as he rocked you up and down on top of his cock.
sunghoon’s hands nearly fit completely around your waist- they were huge. he gripped you tight, rolling your hips backwards and forwards on his length, nostrils wide as he watched you take him.
your eyes looked shattered and mascara began to smudge beneath your water line.
he took your hands and held them in place behind your back, using his hips and his thighs to lift you up, before allowing you to sink back down on him.
“bounce on it.” he groaned, leaning back and watching you with hooded eyes.
you managed a miserable nod and obeyed, bouncing up and down in his lap carefully. too carefully. “harder, doll.” he groaned. you squeezed his hand in response and began to bounce harder, your ass smacking against his thighs.
“please, hoon,” you cried softly, but it did little to mellow him, “please…”
your thighs began to burn and you ached all over for release.
“please, what? want me to stop, huh? i told you i had no intention of being soft with you, baby. oh-“ he huffed out a laugh and smacked you firm on the ass, grabbing a handful of your flesh in his hand and bringing you in closer to his chest. he stilled you on his cock and cooed at you sarcastically, brushing your bangs gently out of your face. “you just look so pretty when you cry, i’m sorry.” he lied. he wasn’t sorry.
he growled and regained his pace before you could start babbling again, nails sinking deep into your flesh. you could barely think, let alone speak. the only word that your body recalled, from the placement of your tongue to the frequency of the vibrations as it ripped through your chest, was him. his name. singular.
“sunghoon, please…please—ah!” you cried and he slapped your ass raw again, leaning in to bury his face in your neck, to get a whiff of the fear on you as you squirmed around in his lap desperately.
he felt so big, so fat, inside of you that it would have hurt had you not been so horny, so wet. had you not needed him so badly.
“let’s see how you bleed for me.” he sighed.
he kissed your neck again and reached in between your body and his, drawing circles on your clit, distracting from his fangs. he grinned against your neck as you shook in his lap, and, once your guard had been lowered enough, sunk his teeth into your artery to draw blood.
you froze.
for a moment your breath hitched and caught in your chest but then- then you screamed like a banshee, and began flailing round in his arms.
you hit his chest in panic, over and over.
“sunghoon—sunghoon, what the fuc—“
he had sized you up like a predator and waited until you were at your most vulnerable before going in for the kill.
your screams died gradually as you grew weak and anaemic in his lap. it’s effect was similar to asphyxiation. you would lose so much blood that your body would enter a state of premature hypovolemic shock. not enough to kill you- the intention wasn’t to kill you- but enough to make you dizzy and cum so much harder.
he sucked you dry.
you gargled his name with spit and choked on it. you were cold and terrified. the edges of your vision turned black as he drained you of all your colour.
“hoon—sunghoon, please—“
he ignored your plea. blood trickled down your neck and stained the collar of your shirt- it was a sight for his sore eyes, the way you were barely able to support the weight of your own head as it sagged on your shoulder.
he stopped before you grew faint and threw his head back, gazing into you with blood smeared all over his chin. he pressed two fingers against the puncture marks in your neck and held them there, letting it coagulate as he continued to fuck you, slower now, edging you closer to your orgasm, almost tenderly.
“mmmmf…fuck. cum for me, pretty baby.” he breathed, licking the last of you off his lips, his breaths growing ragged now.
“be good and get yourself off for me.” he whispered and you just about managed, despite how much your body ached and flagged, threatening to crack like china between the pressure of his hands on your waist.
you cried loudly and clenched hard around his dick as you came for the second time that night, all over his cock this time, rubbing your clit with three fingers. he smirked as you came undone in his lap, pussy fluttering around him. he glanced down and watched your stomach bulge as he came too, rolling his hips up into your heat, stuffing you with every last drop of his cum.
his mouth fell open and he moaned as you rode out the aftershock waves of your orgasm on his cock before slumping lifelessly against his chest.
sunghoon was panting and you were only-just conscious.
“good girl.” he exhaled.
you felt like glass.
he was silent as he lifted you slowly off of his lap and carried you over to where the door stood ajar. he nudged it open fully with his foot and walked you down the hall, out of his room, into the bathroom, where he sat you on top of the counter.
he watched you twitch silently whilst he wetted a cloth and used it to soak up the blood on your neck.
the way the scene began to unfold was all too familiar to you- you’d done it a thousand times before, every night. the aftermath, the ache that grew in your stomach like a tumor, the reeling sensation in your head as you began to wonder what was wrong with you.
008. nananananananana still a monster — masterlist
main masterlist
summary: What happens when a five-century-old vampire accidentally becomes the landlord of three very broke, very human students? He gets migraines. He gets bullied for his wealth. He gets introduced to smartphones, thin TVs, and iMessage. And worst of all—he gets introduced to K-pop. Now, his immortal heart belongs to one idol. Or, Sunghoon is a painfully old-fashioned vampire whose bias is you.
pairing: vampire!sunghoon x idol!female reader
genres: SMAU, humour (i hope so), vampire x human au, supernatural age gap
warnings: snapshots + narration (there’ll be a cut), sunghoon’s biceps…, profanities, reader being horny and thirsting over sunghoon but are we even surprised!! it’s sunghoon!!!, sasaeng (not sunghoon), featuring vampire!heeseung, blood, blood-sucking, um it did turn a bit darker, possessive sunghoon, kidnapping (not between the mcs), that’s it i guess please let me know if i missed anything!
note: hey so i’m back…….ANYWAY! the title is dedicated to my fav enha song everrrr andddd i hope you enjoy this sorry it’s a bit shorter than usual :///
The abandoned warehouse is a perfect portrayal of a haunted house. Rust crawled along its metal walls, the once-white paint now stained with rainwater and age. Broken windows gaped open like hollow eyes, allowing the cold night wind to whistle through the empty building.
And standing at the center of it are two tall figures.
Sunghoon, draped in his favourite black trench coat, sewn by the most talented seamstress in France, doesn’t budge even as the cold night air breezes past him. His skin, unblemished and smooth, looks even paler under the thin stripe of the moonlight peaking through the window.
“It is such a shame that this is how we met after such a long century, dearest Heeseung.”
Beside him, Heeseung merely chuckles. The sweet timbre of his voice echoes in the darkness, radiating allure instead of creepiness. His eyes glint, both from amusement and thrill at the words of his friend and the sight in front of him.
“I wouldn’t call it a shame, Sunghoon, when I’m merely helping my dearest friend out.”
As if on cue, a groan is heard. In front of them, tied to a chair with tight rope and a grey tape to his mouth, is a human. A man that Heeseung unlawfully brought here, or in the simplest term, kidnapped for a favour Sunghoon had asked from him.
As he gains consciousness, he scans his surroundings and starts thrashing around when meets eyes with the two pale vampires looming over him.
“Urgh!”
“A great favour, indeed,” Sunghoon adds, eyes piercing into the man like a blade through a skin. The man is disheveled, with his shirt only half-buttoned and a belly that strains against the fabric.
The mere thought of you getting harmed by a man twice your size, who misused his strength against you is enough to make the long-cold vampire feel the heat again.
“Kim Bosoon, 34.” Heeseung drawls, voice dropping terrifyingly low that it could be felt in the man’s skin. “An unemployed human who spent his time harassing your princess day and night, if I may add.”
Sunghoon’s expression hardens a second. He assesses the stalker—Monsoon or Bosoon, he doesn’t care to remember—like a predator stalking its prey. There is a flicker of cold fury flashing in his eyes at the word ‘harassing’.
“Ah. So you’re that sasaeng.”
His shoe leaves a loud thud in the stillness when he steps forward. His mere presence is so tangible that even the mere decrease in distance could rattle the stalker down to his bones.
“Mnot—saeng!”
“You’re so loud and all you’re doing is kissing your own spit,” Sunghoon lazily says, but his eyes never stray away from the stalker.
The face of the man who inflicted such injury on his precious Y/N. The face of a man that turned a cold sanctuary into a haunted rink for his Y/N due to his own greed and selfishness.
He wants to commit this face to memory, to remind himself of the ugly world he’s living in. The ugly place he doesn’t mind facing, but couldn’t imagine putting you through it.
No. This man has to pay.
Sunghoon takes another step forward. Wordlessly, his perfectly trimmed nails graze the edge of the tape and in one swift movement, he rips it apart, not caring about the pain or the scream that he lets out.
The man, wide eyes teary and trembling, shakes his head. “I–I have stopped! I swear! I don’t stalk her anymore!!!”
“He’s lying to you,” Heeseung adds like fuel to fire, a ghost of a smirk lingering on the corner of his mouth. “There’s a recent picture of your princess pinned on a large board in his bedroom. Not published anywhere. Certainly taken illegally without her consent, among other pictures of the same nature.”
“I–I did not—”
But he doesn’t get the chane to finish his sentence when Sunghoon grabs his chin harshly, nails digging into his cheeks in a stabbing pain. Sunghoon lets his claws grow, deliberately piercing the skin until it draws blood, the scream sounding like music to his ears.
“I am a monster like you are,” Sunghoon whispers, eyes flashing red as he locks the gaze.
“Much, much worse than you are.”
In that split second, the stalker’s scream turns into a wailing, his head pounding like it’s being split open with a knife.
Sunghoon doesn’t break eye contact, his mind keeps chanting, ‘Hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt his head the way he did to her’, relentlessly and mercilessly, the red in his pupils turning crimson.
There is a growing hunger in his chest, one that he hasn’t felt for so long, one he thought had died and wilted in drought. It now blooms when the fury becomes its soil and cruelty takes its roots. Sunghoon knows, with a realisation he has embraced for so long, that the seed to his greed is none other than you.
The greed to kill for you. The greed to see you. The greed to have you.
Sunghoon is becoming greedy for you and this man is the first crack of his perfectly curated composure.
But he can’t do that. At least not yet. What would be your reaction if you found out that he’s no different from the cowardly man sitting in front of him?
Sunghoon isn’t scared of anything, but he fears your disregard and indifference towards him. A warm heart that is turning cold only to him—it’s a reality Sunghoon would avoid with all his immense power.
He doesn’t want to become the thing that you fear.
With a harsh shove, he lets go of his face and straightens up. Sunghoon fixes the collar of his coat, brushing invisible dust as his expression returns to its neutral calmness. Heeseung is right next to him within a second, crouching down to take a better look at the whimpering man.
“You may finish the job and clean up properly,” Sunghoon states, no longer sparing the man another glance as he looks at his friend.
“I am forever indebted to you, dearest Heeseung. Thank you.”
Heeseung stands up straight and flashes Sunghoon with a close-lipped smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You do not owe me anything, Sunghoon. A help for a friend has no track record.”
Sunghoon returns the smile with a nod of his head. The edge of the coat flutters at his ankles as he turns on his heel and walks away in slow, big strides. Behind him, the stalker screams again, his scratchy voice becoming background noise as the potent smell of blood slowly fills up the air.
His voice eventually dies down as his blood dries out, a big feast for a still-active vampire like Heeseung. A ringing silence follows suit, clinging to Sunghoon’s ears even as he steps out of the old warehouse.
He tilts his head up and closes his eyes, listening to every rustle of leaves and every cricket of the night. The moonlight caresses his skin in a soft, pale blue glow, and in that moment Sunghoon finally notices the way his fangs have sharpened and ache for something he should no longer crave.
The taste of fear and blood.
He’s never stopped being the creature people often painted him to be.
Sunghoon is still a monster.
i can never move on from aegiwon video and meme lmao he's so cute but annoying
Warnings: cold body, mention of assault (not happening), blood, blood drinking, vampire venom, biting during the act, fingering, oral f receiving, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, multiple rounds
A/N: i wanted to write a vampire fic so much since i've recently read a vampire!soul fic by @jiuchip and it was so good! (Go read it)
The rain fell in steady sheets over Seoul, turning the neon lights into blurred streaks of pink and blue against the wet pavement. You adjusted your apron, the fabric slightly damp from the occasional customer who shook off their umbrellas inside the café. Midnight Café wasn’t the most popular spot: tucked between a closed karaoke bar and an all-night convenience store, but it paid the bills and let you study for your university exams during the slow hours.
The clock on the wall read 1:47 am. Only two customers remained: an old man nursing his third Americano while scrolling on his phone, and the stranger in the corner booth.
He had been coming in for the past three weeks, always around the same time, always ordering the same thing: one black coffee, no sugar, no cream. He never drank more than a few sips. You’d noticed because you couldn’t stop noticing him.
Park Sunghoon, if that was even his real name, looked like he had stepped out of a high-fashion editorial. Tall, with broad shoulders that filled out his black coat perfectly, sharp jawline, and eyes so dark they seemed to swallow the light. His skin was unnaturally pale, almost luminous under the warm café lights and his hair, a deep raven black, fell across his forehead in a way that made your fingers itch to brush it back. He moved with a quiet grace that felt almost predatory, yet he never caused trouble. He simply sat, watched the rain and occasionally let his gaze drift to you.
Tonight, his eyes were on you more than usual.
You wiped down the counter for the third time, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened whenever his stare lingered. It wasn’t fear exactly, more like the thrill of standing too close to something dangerous and beautiful. You had always been the practical one: late shifts to pay rent, early classes, no time for dating. Yet here you were, stealing glances at a man who probably belonged on billboards rather than in a 24-hour café.
"Another refill?" you asked the old man as you passed his table.
He waved you off with a grunt. You nodded and headed toward the corner booth, coffee pot in hand.
"More coffee?" Your voice came out softer than intended.
Sunghoon looked up slowly. His lips curved into the faintest smile, revealing perfectly straight teeth. "No, thank you." His voice was low, smooth like velvet. "I’m fine."
You hesitated, the pot feeling heavy in your grip. "You’ve barely touched it. It must be cold by now."
His dark eyes flicked to the untouched cup, then back to you. Something flickered in them: amusement? Hunger? "I don’t mind cold things."
A shiver ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the draft from the door. You forced a small laugh. "Okay… well, we close in about an hour. Just so you know."
"I know." He leaned back slightly, the leather of the booth creaking under him. "I’ll wait."
Wait for what? You wanted to ask, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you nodded and returned to the counter, heart hammering a little too fast.
The next forty minutes dragged. The old man left with a tip that barely covered his bill. You busied yourself with closing duties: wiping tables, restocking sugar packets, counting the register. All the while, Sunghoon remained motionless in his booth, a silent shadow watching the rain trace patterns down the window.
At 2:45 am, you flipped the "Open" sign to "Closed" and locked the front door. The café felt smaller without the hum of potential customers. You gathered your bag, pulled on your coat and glanced toward the corner.
Sunghoon was already standing, coat draped over one arm.
"You don’t have to wait for me" you said, trying to sound casual. "I walk home every night. It’s not far."
"It’s raining" he replied simply, as if that explained everything. "And the alleys between here and your apartment aren’t safe at this hour."
You froze, keys halfway to your pocket. "How do you know where I live?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips again. "I’ve seen you walk that way before. I’m not a stalker, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just… observant."
You should have told him no. You should have called a cab or waited for the next bus, even if it meant standing in the rain for another thirty minutes. Instead, something in his calm, steady gaze made you nod. "Okay. Thanks."
He held the door open for you as you stepped out into the downpour. The rain was colder than you expected, soaking through your coat almost instantly. Sunghoon didn’t seem bothered by it. He walked beside you, close enough that his presence felt like a shield against the night.
The streets were mostly empty. A few late-night delivery scooters zipped by, splashing puddles. Neon signs reflected in the wet asphalt like broken rainbows. You walked in silence for the first block, the only sounds being your footsteps and the steady patter of rain.
"You’re not from around here, are you?" you asked finally, needing to fill the quiet.
Sunghoon glanced at you, his profile sharp against the glow of a streetlamp. "What makes you say that?"
"You have this… aura. Like you don’t quite belong in the everyday rush. And your Korean is too perfect, almost formal."
He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich. It sent another unwelcome flutter through your chest. "I’ve lived in many places. Seoul is just one more stop."
"Travel a lot for work?"
"Something like that." He paused, then added, "What about you? University student working nights?"
You nodded, surprised he’d guessed. "Yeah. Business major. The café pays better than most part-time gigs and the owner doesn’t mind if I study when it’s slow."
"Dedicated" he murmured. "That’s rare."
You felt your cheeks warm despite the cold rain. "Not really. Just trying to survive."
Another alley loomed ahead, the shortcut you usually took to shave five minutes off the walk. It was narrow, poorly lit and smelled faintly of garbage and wet concrete. Normally you hurried through it. Tonight, with Sunghoon beside you, it felt less threatening.
Until it didn’t. Two figures stepped out from behind a dumpster, blocking the path. One was tall and lanky with a tattoo snaking up his neck; the other shorter, stockier, holding a switchblade that glinted under the distant streetlight.
"Well, well" the lanky one drawled. "Look what the rain dragged in. Pretty girl and her rich boyfriend out for a stroll?"
Your stomach dropped. You instinctively stepped closer to Sunghoon.
"Hand over the bag and the wallet" the shorter one said, waving the knife. "Nice and easy."
Sunghoon’s hand brushed lightly against your arm, a silent signal to stay behind him. His voice remained calm, almost bored. "You should move along."
The lanky man laughed. "Big talk for someone outnumbered. Give us what we want or we’ll take it. Maybe have a little fun with your girl first."
Time seemed to slow. You fumbled for your phone, ready to call emergency services, but Sunghoon moved before you could.
In one fluid motion, he stepped forward. His movements were too fast, unnaturally fast. The taller man swung a fist; Sunghoon caught it mid-air, twisting just enough to make the attacker yelp. The shorter one lunged with the knife. Sunghoon sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing the man’s wrist and slamming him against the brick wall with a sickening thud. The knife clattered to the ground.
It was over in seconds.
Both men lay groaning on the wet pavement, clutching their arms. Sunghoon stood over them, breathing steady, not a hair out of place. His eyes, when he turned to you, held a dangerous glint that made your breath catch.
"Are you hurt?" he asked softly.
You shook your head, too stunned to speak. Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
He glanced back at the would-be muggers. "If I see you near her again, you won’t walk away next time."
The threat hung in the air, cold and final. The men scrambled up and fled down the alley without another word.
Sunghoon turned fully to you now, his expression softening. Rain dripped from his hair onto his coat. "I’m sorry you had to see that."
"You… you handled them so easily" you whispered. "How?"
"Self-defense training. Years of it." He offered his arm. "Come on. Let’s get you home before you catch a cold."
You took his arm without thinking. His skin felt cool through the fabric of his sleeve, colder than the rain should allow. But you were too shaken to question it.
The rest of the walk passed in a haze. When you reached your apartment building, an old five-story walk-up with flickering hallway lights, you stopped at the entrance.
"Thank you" you said, turning to face him. "Really. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there."
Sunghoon looked down at you, his dark eyes searching yours. Up close, he was even more striking: the sharp line of his nose, the subtle curve of his lips, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks. "I’m glad I was."
There was a beat of silence. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but neither of you moved.
"I should go inside" you murmured, but your feet stayed rooted.
He lifted a hand, hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently brushing a wet strand of hair from your cheek. His fingers were icy, yet the touch sent heat blooming across your skin.
"Be careful tomorrow night" he said quietly. "I’ll be at the café again."
You nodded, swallowing hard. "I’ll… see you then."
Sunghoon stepped back, giving you space. As you turned to enter the building, you glanced over your shoulder one last time. He was still standing there, watching you with that same intense gaze, the rain glistening on his pale skin like diamonds.
Inside your small studio apartment, you leaned against the door, heart still racing. You peeled off your soaked coat and shoes, mind replaying the night: the effortless way he had disarmed two armed men, the cool touch of his skin, the way his eyes seemed to see straight through you.
Who was Park Sunghoon?
You showered quickly, the hot water doing little to erase the memory of his touch. As you dried your hair, you caught your reflection in the foggy mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with something that felt dangerously like excitement.
He was dangerous. You knew it in your bones.
Yet as you climbed into bed, the image of his faint smile lingered behind your closed eyelids. The way he had protected you without hesitation. The quiet promise in his voice when he said he’d be back.
Sleep came slowly, filled with dreams of pale skin, dark eyes, and the faint metallic scent of rain mixed with something older, something primal.
The next evening, when you arrived for your shift at 8 pm, the corner booth was already occupied.
Sunghoon sat there, black coffee steaming untouched in front of him, his gaze finding yours the moment you walked through the door.
He smiled slow, knowing and impossibly beautiful.
The days blurred into a pattern you couldn’t escape.
Every night at precisely 11:47 pm, the bell above the café door chimed softly, and Sunghoon would walk in. Black coat, dark hair slightly tousled from the wind or rain, that same unnaturally graceful stride. He always chose the corner booth, the one farthest from the windows yet offering the clearest view of the counter. One black coffee. No sugar. No cream. Barely touched.
You told yourself it was coincidence. Seoul was full of night owls. But the way his eyes found yours the moment he sat down made your stomach twist with something far more electric than fear.
On the third night after the alley incident, you finally worked up the courage to approach him during a quiet moment.
"You’re becoming a regular" you said, refilling the sugar caddies at the next table. "Should I start calling you by name, or do you prefer Mysterious Corner Guy?"
Sunghoon’s lips curved into that faint, devastating smile. A small dimple appeared on his left cheek, softening the sharp lines of his face for just a second. "Sunghoon is fine. And you?"
You hesitated, then finally gave it to him "Nice to officially meet you, Sunghoon."
He repeated your name softly, as if tasting it. The low timbre of his voice sent a shiver across your skin even in the warm café. "It suits you."
From then on, the conversations grew longer. During your fifteen-minute breaks, you would slide into the seat across from him with a cup of tea. He never drank more than a sip or two of his coffee, but he listened,really listened, when you talked about your classes, the exhausting double major in business and marketing, the pressure of rent in Hongdae and the dream of opening your own small bookstore café one day.
In return, he shared fragments. He had lived in Seoul for a few years now, though he traveled often. When you asked what he did for work, he gave a quiet laugh and said "Investments. Nighttime is when the best opportunities appear."
You didn’t push. There was something about Sunghoon that made questions feel intrusive, like peeling back layers of ice that might crack and reveal something colder underneath.
Yet the attraction was undeniable.
It started with small things. The way his cold fingers brushed yours when you handed him a napkin. The way he waited every closing shift, walking you home through the narrow alleys behind the café without fail. The way he positioned himself between you and the shadows, as if the night itself answered to him.
One Thursday, a rowdy group of drunk college guys stumbled in around 1 am. They were loud, spilling soju-scented words and leering at you every time you passed their table. One of them grabbed your wrist when you tried to clear their empty bottles.
"Hey, cutie. You get off soon? We could show you a better time than this boring place."
Your heart jumped. Before you could pull away, Sunghoon was there. He didn’t raise his voice. He simply appeared beside you, tall frame casting a long shadow over the table. His hand closed gently but firmly around the man’s wrist, the same one gripping yours and pried it off with effortless strength.
"She’s working" Sunghoon said, voice low and calm. "Touch her again and you’ll regret it."
The group sobered instantly. Something in Sunghoon’s dark eyes: flat, ancient and utterly unafraid made them mutter apologies and leave within minutes, tipping far more than they had spent.
You rubbed your wrist, pulse racing. "You didn’t have to do that."
Sunghoon’s gaze softened when it landed on you. "I wanted to." He reached out, his cool fingertips grazing the faint red mark on your skin. The touch lingered a second longer than necessary. "Does it hurt?"
"No" you whispered. "Not anymore."
That night, after closing, he walked you home as usual. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets glistening under the streetlamps. Halfway through the familiar alley, you stopped walking.
"Sunghoon… why do you keep coming back?" you asked, turning to face him. "And why do you always wait for me?"
He stood still, hands in the pockets of his coat. The pale skin of his face seemed to glow faintly in the dim light. "Because I enjoy your company. And because I don’t like the idea of you walking these streets alone."
"That’s not an answer" you pressed, stepping closer. Your breath fogged in the cool night air; his didn’t. "There are plenty of girls who work night shifts. Why me?"
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he lifted one hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers were ice-cold, yet the contact burned.
"Because your scent is… different" he murmured, almost to himself. "It calls to me. And because when I’m near you, the hunger feels… manageable."
You blinked. "Hunger?"
Sunghoon’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. He stepped back, creating distance. "Forget I said that. It’s late. Let me walk you the rest of the way."
You didn’t forget.
The tension built like a storm gathering.
Late-night texts started appearing on your phone after he walked you home, simple messages checking if you’d locked your door, or asking what you were studying. You replied every time, even when exhaustion pulled at your eyelids. Conversations stretched into the early morning hours.
One night, you were sick with a bad cold. Feverish and coughing, you still dragged yourself to the café because rent was due. Sunghoon took one look at your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes and frowned.
"You should be in bed."
"I can’t afford to miss the shift" you rasped.
Without another word, he spoke quietly to your manager, an older woman who had a soft spot for him after weeks of generous tips. Ten minutes later, you were excused for the night with pay.
Sunghoon walked you home, then insisted on coming inside "just to make sure you have medicine." Your tiny studio felt even smaller with him in it. He moved around your kitchen with surprising familiarity, heating water for tea and locating the fever reducers in your cabinet as if he’d been there before.
You sat on the edge of your bed, wrapped in a blanket, watching him. "You’re too good at taking care of people for someone who claims he’s just passing through Seoul."
He handed you the mug, steam curling around his pale fingers. "I’ve had a lot of time to learn."
The words hung between you. You sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through your chest. Sunghoon sat on the only chair, elbows on his knees, watching you with that intense, unwavering gaze.
"Tell me something real" you said softly. "Not the investment story. Something true."
He was quiet for so long you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then "I don’t sleep much. The nights are long when you’ve seen as many as I have. But sitting here with you… it makes the hours feel shorter."
Your heart clenched. You set the mug aside and reached for his hand. It was freezing. "Your hands are always so cold."
Sunghoon didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned his palm up, letting your warmer fingers trace the lines there. "I run cold. It’s… a condition."
You leaned closer. The air between you thickened. "Sunghoon."
He looked up. His eyes had darkened, pupils blown wide. For a moment, you saw something primal flicker across his face: hunger, restraint, desire all tangled together.
Then he was standing, gently disentangling your hands. "You need rest. I’ll lock the door on my way out."
He left before you could protest, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet room.
The next evening, the pull became impossible to ignore. After closing, instead of heading straight home, Sunghoon suggested a walk along the quieter paths near a stream. The stream glowed with soft blue lights reflecting off the water. Few people were out at 3 am.
You walked side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing. The conversation flowed easily until it didn’t.
"I keep thinking about what you said" you admitted. "About my scent calling to you. What did you mean?"
Sunghoon stopped under a bridge, the lights casting dramatic shadows across his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. He looked like a sculpture come to life, beautiful and untouchable.
"I meant exactly that" he said quietly. "There are things about me you don’t know yet. Things that make being close to you… dangerous."
You stepped closer until only inches separated you. "Then why do you keep coming back?"
"Because I can’t stay away." His voice dropped lower. "Because every time I see you, I want to touch you. To taste-" He cut himself off, jaw tightening.
Your breath hitched. The word "taste" lingered in the cool night air like a promise and a warning. You reached up, cupping his face with both hands. His skin was like chilled marble beneath your palms.
"Sunghoon" you whispered. "Kiss me."
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then something in him snapped.
He pulled you against him with surprising strength, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head. His mouth met yours, cold at first, then warming with the heat of your own lips. The kiss started slow, exploratory, but quickly deepened into something hungry. His lips were soft yet demanding, moving against yours with a precision that made your knees weak.
You gasped softly when his tongue traced your lower lip and he took the opportunity to kiss you harder. One of his hands slid under your coat, fingers pressing into the small of your back through your shirt. The contrast of his cold touch against your heated skin sent sparks racing down your spine.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing unevenly, though you noticed his breath still didn’t fog the air.
His forehead rested against yours. "You have no idea what you do to me" he murmured, voice rough. "How hard it is to stop."
"Then don’t stop" you whispered, fingers curling into his coat.
He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring. His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, then down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. When his lips brushed the pulse point on your neck, you felt him tense. A low, almost pained sound escaped him.
"Sunghoon?" you breathed.
He pulled back sharply, eyes glowing faintly in the dark, like embers beneath black ice. "We should go. Before I do something I can’t take back."
The walk home was quieter, charged with unspoken words. At your door, he kissed you once more, gentle, almost reverent, before stepping back into the shadows.
"Tomorrow night" he said. "Same time."
You nodded, lips still tingling.
Inside your apartment, you leaned against the door, heart hammering. Your reflection in the small mirror showed flushed cheeks and bright eyes. You touched the spot on your neck where his mouth had lingered. It felt warmer than the rest of your skin.
Sunghoon was hiding something massive. The unnatural coldness, the impossible strength, the way he never seemed to eat or sleep, the way his eyes sometimes caught the light like an animal’s.
You should have been terrified. Instead, you fell asleep with the memory of his kiss and the dangerous thrill that you wanted more, whatever the cost.
The following nights blurred into stolen moments. He began appearing earlier, sometimes helping you close by wiping tables with graceful efficiency that made your manager tease you about your "handsome bodyguard". After shifts, the walks home grew longer, detours through quieter parks or along the river. Kisses became frequent: against alley walls, under streetlamps, in the shadowed entrance of your building.
Each one left you craving more. His hands explored with careful restraint, cold palms sliding under your clothes to map the warmth of your waist, your ribs, the curve of your hips. He never pushed further than you initiated, but the hunger in his gaze grew sharper every time.
One night, after a particularly intense kiss that left you dizzy and pressed against the brick wall of a quiet side street, you whispered against his mouth "Stay with me tonight. Just… stay."
Sunghoon’s eyes darkened. He rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in. "If I stay… I might not be able to control myself around you."
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his sharp cheekbones. "Maybe I don’t want you to."
He kissed you again, deeper, more desperate. His fangs, though you didn’t know that’s what they were yet, ached with the need to descend, but he held them back through sheer will.
When he finally pulled away, his voice was strained. "Soon. When you know everything. I won’t take what isn’t freely offered."
The tension between you and Sunghoon had become a living thing: thick, electric and impossible to ignore.
For two weeks after that charged kiss by the stream, the nights followed a new rhythm. He still arrived at the café like clockwork, but now his eyes tracked your every movement with open hunger. Your breaks were spent tucked in the corner booth, knees brushing under the table while you talked in low voices. After closing, the walks home turned into detours filled with stolen kisses that grew hotter, more desperate. His cold hands would slip beneath your coat, mapping the warm skin of your waist as he pressed you against walls or into shadowed doorways. Each time, he stopped just before things spiraled too far, pulling back with a low, frustrated sound that made your pulse race.
You were addicted to the feeling, the contrast of his icy touch against your heated body, the way his mouth claimed yours like he was starving. But the questions gnawed at you. The way he never ate. The way his skin never warmed no matter how long you touched him. The faint glow in his eyes when desire flared too brightly. The effortless strength that had dispatched those muggers in seconds.
You told yourself you could wait for him to open up. Until the night everything shattered.
It was a Thursday, just past 2 am. You had closed the café early because of a slow night. Sunghoon was waiting outside as usual, leaning against the wall with that effortless grace, coat collar turned up against the light drizzle. The moment you stepped out, he pulled you into a kiss that left you breathless, his body caging you gently against the door.
"Missed you" he murmured against your lips, even though you had seen him only hours earlier.
You smiled into the kiss, fingers threading through his damp hair. "Take me somewhere tonight. Not home. Somewhere private."
His eyes darkened. "My place?"
You nodded. You had never been to his apartment before, he always walked you to yours and left with visible reluctance. Tonight, the need to be truly alone with him overrode everything.
Sunghoon’s penthouse was in one of the sleek high-rises near Gangnam, the kind of building with private elevators and views that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime. The ride up was silent, charged. His hand rested possessively on your lower back, thumb tracing small circles through your coat.
When the doors opened directly into his apartment, you couldn’t hide your awe. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering Seoul skyline. The interior was minimalist: dark marble floors, sleek black furniture and subtle lighting that cast everything in cool tones. It smelled faintly of something crisp and clean, like winter air.
"It’s beautiful" you whispered, stepping inside.
Sunghoon watched you, hands in his pockets. "It’s just a place to wait out the nights."
You turned to him, heart pounding. The distance between you felt unbearable. You crossed the room and pulled him down into a kiss, pouring weeks of building frustration into it. He responded instantly, backing you toward the wide leather couch until your legs hit the edge and you both tumbled onto it.
His body covered yours, one knee settling between your thighs. The kisses grew deeper, messier. You tugged at his coat until he shrugged it off, then worked on the buttons of his shirt. When your hands finally met bare skin, you gasped. He was still so cold, colder than the rain outside.
"Sunghoon…" you breathed, palms sliding over the defined muscles of his chest. "You’re freezing."
He caught your wrists gently, pinning them above your head with one hand. His mouth trailed down your neck, lips brushing the frantic pulse there. "I know."
The way he lingered at your throat made something click in your mind. You had seen enough movies, read enough stories. The pieces were all there, but your brain refused to connect them until now.
You tugged your hands free and pushed lightly at his shoulders. He pulled back immediately, eyes glowing faintly amber in the low light.
"Tell me" you said, voice trembling but steady. "Tell me what you are."
Sunghoon went very still. For a long moment, only the distant hum of the city filled the silence. Then he sat up, running a hand through his hair. "You already know, don’t you?" His voice was quiet, almost resigned. "You’ve suspected for weeks."
"I need to hear it from you."
He stood and walked to the window, staring out at the glowing city. His silhouette was sharp against the night. When he spoke, his words were calm, measured, as if he had rehearsed them a thousand times over the centuries.
"I’m a vampire. I have been for one hundred and thirty seven years."
The confession landed like a stone in still water. You sat up slowly, heart hammering against your ribs. Even though part of you had guessed, hearing it aloud made the room tilt.
"Say something" he said without turning around.
"How?" you whispered. "How did it happen?"
He gave a soft, bitter laugh. "Wrong place, wrong time. A creature older than me decided I would make a fine companion. I woke up three days later with a burning throat and an eternity ahead of me." He finally faced you, eyes dark and vulnerable in a way you had never seen. "I don’t age. I don’t sleep the way humans do. I don’t eat food. And I drink blood to survive."
You swallowed hard. "Have you… killed people?"
"Never innocents. Not since the early years when I had no control." He took a step closer but stopped when you tensed. "I feed on those who deserve it: criminals, predators. Or from blood banks when I can manage it. But even then… it’s never enough when you’re near."
Your breath caught. "My scent. You said it calls to you."
Sunghoon’s gaze dropped to your neck, then back to your eyes. "Your blood sings. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve smelled in decades. Every night I sit in that café fighting the urge to pull you into the back room and sink my teeth into your throat. I’ve never wanted anyone, human or otherwise, the way I want you."
Fear and something darker, hotter, twisted in your stomach. You stood on shaky legs and walked toward him. "Then why haven’t you?"
"Because I don’t want to hurt you. Or worse, turn you without consent. I’ve watched too many humans lose themselves to this life." His voice cracked slightly. "And because… I care about you. More than I should."
The raw honesty in his words broke something inside you. You reached up, cupping his face with both hands. His skin was still ice-cold, but you no longer cared.
"Show me" you whispered.
His eyes widened. "You can't mean that..."
"I need to see. All of it. No more hiding."
For a moment, he looked torn. Then he opened his mouth slightly. You watched, mesmerized, as his canines elongated into sharp, elegant fangs. They gleamed in the low light, deadly and beautiful.
You traced one with a trembling finger. It was smooth, razor-sharp. "Does it hurt when they come out?"
"Only if I fight it." His voice had dropped to a husky whisper. "Right now, they ache because I want you so badly."
The confession sent heat flooding through you. You should have run. Instead, you tilted your head, exposing the column of your throat.
"Then take it" you said softly. "My wrist. Just… enough to show me."
Sunghoon’s entire body went rigid. "You don’t understand what you’re offering."
"I do." You took his hand and pressed your wrist to his lips. "I trust you."
A low, tortured sound escaped him. His free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. He pressed a reverent kiss to the inside of your wrist, right over the pulsing vein. Then, with agonizing slowness, his fangs pierced the skin.
The initial sting made you gasp, but it lasted only a second. What followed was pure sensation: warmth spreading from the bite, pleasure blooming like liquid fire in your veins. It wasn’t pain. It was ecstasy, intense and intimate, as if he was drinking not just blood but pieces of your soul.
Sunghoon groaned against your skin, eyes fluttering shut as he took careful, measured pulls. His free hand slid up your back, holding you steady as your knees weakened. The connection felt deeper than anything physical: raw, ancient, binding.
After only a few seconds, he forced himself to stop. He licked the puncture wounds closed with his tongue, the sensation sending another shiver through you. When he pulled back, his eyes were glowing brighter, lips stained faintly red.
"You taste like sunlight" he whispered, voice wrecked. "Like life itself."
Your head spun, not from blood loss but from the overwhelming rush. You clutched his shoulders, breathing hard. "I felt… everything."
He rested his forehead against yours. "That’s the venom. It makes the bite pleasurable for the donor. I took as little as possible."
You looked down at your wrist. The marks were already fading to faint pink points. "It didn’t hurt. Not really."
Sunghoon cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. "I could have taken more. I wanted to. But I won’t turn you unless you ask me to. And even then… I’d wait until you’re sure."
The room felt smaller, the air thicker. You pulled him down into a kiss, tasting the faint metallic tang of your own blood on his tongue. The kiss ignited instantly, weeks of restraint burning away in a blaze of need.
He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the wide bed in the adjoining room. When he laid you down, his body covered yours once more, but this time there was no hesitation in his touch.
You tilted your head to look at him. His eyes were no longer glowing, but the hunger in them had only deepened, tempered now by something softer: possession, reverence, and centuries of loneliness finally cracking open.
"I want more" you whispered, voice husky from the aftershocks. "All of you. No holding back tonight."
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened. His fingers traced the fading bite on your wrist, feather-light. "If we do this… I won’t be gentle the whole time. The craving for you, for your blood and your body, is stronger than anything I’ve felt in over a hundred years. I need you to tell me if it’s too much."
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his sharp cheekbones. "I trust you. I want the real you. The vampire and the man."
That was the last thread of restraint he possessed.
He rolled you beneath him in one smooth motion, his body covering yours completely. The kiss that followed was devouring: deep, possessive, his tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your toes curl. You could taste the faint copper of your own blood, and it only heightened the heat pooling low in your belly.
His hands roamed greedily now, no longer careful. Cool palms pushed your shirt up and over your head, discarding it somewhere on the floor. He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down your throat, lips brushing your pulse point before continuing lower. When he reached your breasts, he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder, fangs grazing the sensitive skin without breaking it. The contrast of cold mouth and sharp teeth sent sparks shooting straight to your core.
"Sunghoon..." you gasped, back arching off the bed.
He hummed against your skin, the vibration making you shiver. His free hand slid down your body, unbuttoning your jeans with practiced ease and tugging them down along with your underwear. You lifted your hips to help, suddenly desperate to feel all of him against you.
When you were bare beneath him, he sat back on his knees, drinking in the sight of you with dark, reverent eyes. "So beautiful" he murmured. "Warm. Alive. Mine."
He shed the rest of his own clothes quickly, revealing a body that looked carved from marble: pale, perfectly sculpted, every muscle defined from decades of movement and survival. His cock was already hard, thick and flushed at the tip, curving slightly upward. The sight made your mouth water.
Sunghoon leaned down again, kissing a slow path from your sternum to your navel, then lower. He spread your thighs with strong hands, cool fingers digging into soft flesh. When his mouth finally found your center, you cried out.
His tongue was cold at first, a shocking contrast to your heated folds, but it quickly warmed with your arousal. He licked broad stripes up your slit, savoring every drop like it was nectar, then circled your clit with precise, devastating flicks. Two fingers joined his mouth, sliding inside you easily, curling just right to stroke that sensitive spot within.
The pleasure built fast and relentless. You threaded your fingers through his dark hair, hips rocking against his face as he devoured you. The wet sounds of his mouth combined with your broken moans filled the penthouse bedroom.
"Close...Sunghoon, I’m...He sucked your clit between his lips and hummed, the vibration pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, thighs trembling around his head as waves of pleasure rippled outward. He didn’t stop, drawing it out until you were whimpering, oversensitive and gasping.
Only then did he crawl back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. His cock rested heavy and cold against your thigh, logical, given how cold the rest of him was.
"Please" you begged against his mouth. "I need you inside me."
Sunghoon positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging your slick folds. He looked into your eyes, searching for any hesitation. Finding none, he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open with a delicious burn.
The coolness of him inside your scorching heat drew a simultaneous groan from both of you. He bottomed out with a soft curse, forehead dropping to yours.
"Fuck… you feel perfect" he rasped. "So warm. So tight. Like you were made for me."
He gave you a moment to adjust before starting to move in long, deep thrusts that dragged against every sensitive nerve. The pace was controlled at first, savoring the slide, the way your walls clenched around his cool length. But as your nails dug into his shoulders and your moans grew louder, his restraint frayed.
His hips snapped harder, faster. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the room, mingling with your cries and his low growls. Every thrust pushed you higher, the cool drag of his cock contrasting perfectly with the building fire in your core.
Sunghoon shifted angles, hitting that spot inside you with precision. One hand slipped between your bodies, fingers circling your clit in tight, slick motions.
"Come for me again" he commanded, voice rough with need. "Let me feel you."
The combination of his words, his fingers, and the relentless thrust of his cock sent you spiraling. Your second orgasm hit even harder, walls fluttering and squeezing around him as pleasure tore through you. You cried out his name, body shaking beneath him.
He rode you through it, thrusts growing erratic. When your tremors began to subside, he slowed, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in deep and grinding against you.
"Not done yet" he whispered, lips brushing your ear. "I want to taste you while I’m inside you. Will you let me?"
Your heart raced. The memory of the wrist bite, the overwhelming pleasure, made heat flood your veins. You nodded, tilting your head to expose your neck fully. "Yes. Bite me. Please."
Sunghoon’s eyes flashed with raw hunger. He kissed the spot tenderly first, then let his fangs descend fully. The sharp points grazed your skin, sending anticipatory shivers down your spine.
When he struck, sinking his fangs deep into the curve where neck met shoulder, the pain was brief, instantly drowned by a flood of venom-laced ecstasy. The sensation was ten times stronger than the wrist bite. Pleasure exploded through your body, syncing perfectly with every thrust of his cock. It felt like every nerve ending was alight, like you were floating and burning at the same time.
He drank in deep, rhythmic pulls, matching the pace of his hips. The wet heat of his mouth on your neck, the cool slide of his cock pounding into you, the overwhelming fullness, it was too much and not enough all at once.
You came again with a broken scream, vision whiting out as the most intense orgasm of your life ripped through you. Your walls clamped down hard around him, pulsing rhythmically.
Sunghoon groaned against your throat, the sound vibrating through the bite. He thrust deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you, cool pulses that somehow heightened the pleasure even further. He drank just enough to keep you riding the high without weakening you dangerously, then carefully withdrew his fangs, licking the wounds closed with slow, soothing strokes of his tongue.
For several long minutes, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city far below.
Sunghoon carefully rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you lay draped across his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, occasionally brushing the fresh bite mark on your neck. It tingled pleasantly, already healing faster than it should thanks to his venom.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly, voice laced with concern despite the satisfaction evident in his tone. "I didn’t take too much?"
You smiled against his skin, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "I’m more than alright. That was… incredible. I’ve never felt anything like it."
He let out a relieved breath, arms tightening around you. "Good. Because I’m nowhere near done craving you tonight."
You laughed softly, the sound turning into a gasp when his hand slid down to cup your ass, pulling you closer so you could feel him already hardening again against your thigh.
"Vampire stamina?" you teased, nipping at his jaw.
"Centuries of it" he replied, voice dropping into that low, velvety register that made your stomach flip. "And all of it belongs to you now."
He flipped you onto your back once more, settling between your thighs with predatory grace. This round was slower, more sensual. He kissed every inch of your body, cool lips mapping your breasts, your stomach, the sensitive insides of your thighs before sliding into you again with one smooth thrust.
You lost track of time after that. The night became a haze of pleasure and connection.
He took you against the large window overlooking the city, your palms pressed to the cool glass as he thrust into you from behind, one hand wrapped around your throat possessively, not squeezing, just holding, while his fangs grazed your shoulder. The lights of Seoul blurred below as another orgasm tore through you.
Later, in the spacious shower, he pressed you against the tiled wall, water cascading over both of you. The contrast of hot water and his cold skin made every sensation sharper. He dropped to his knees, worshipping you with his mouth until your legs shook, then stood and lifted you effortlessly, sliding back inside you as you wrapped your legs around his waist.
Each time he bit you: wrist, inner thigh, the soft swell of your breast, the venom sent fresh waves of ecstasy crashing over you, prolonging the pleasure until you were sobbing his name, overstimulated and addicted to the feeling.
By the time the sky began to lighten beyond the windows, you had lost count of how many times he had brought you to release. Your body was marked with fading bite marks and love bites, thighs sticky with a mix of your arousal and his release. You felt claimed in the most primal way possible.
Sunghoon carried your exhausted form back to the bed, cleaning you gently with a warm cloth before pulling the silk sheets over both of you. He curled around you from behind, one arm draped possessively over your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
"You’re mine now" he whispered against your skin, voice soft with wonder. "My eternal craving. My mate."
You intertwined your fingers with his, bringing his hand to your lips for a tired kiss. "And you’re mine. Vampire or not."
in a dystopian society where vampires have taken over the world, cities are divided in two parts:
the bane zone, where human rebels and outcast vampires tear each other apart every night — and the high zone, where all the others vampires and humans peacefully coexist, or at least in appearance.
after losing everything that was dear to you, you’ve decided to become a vampire hunter, surviving in the deadly bane zone of seoul for many years.
but one fateful day, you’re forced to infiltrate the high zone, as your found family of hunters were caught and are now held captive by seven of the velite — the vampire elite.
as you venture into the elite circle of vampires to try to save them, you unfortunately meet sunghoon, a velite with an ethereal beauty but sadistic tendencies, who chooses you for his favorite hobby: a bloody cat-and-mouse game.
｡ warning: a lot of profanity , prostitution and human trafficking networks , slut-shaming (including a bit from y/n) , anxiety-inducing settings , mention of thinness and lack of nutrition , sexual harassment (by an external character) , vampire things , social class disparity , y/n says she's prefer to d*e than ... , y/n also mentions she wants to torture and kill vampires (lol) , mention of drug and alcohol , a bit of action. !MDNI, CONTENT AIMED TO INFORMED AUDIENCE!
｡ word count: 8672K 🗝
｡ playlist : 17, cursal ♰ aespa, hold on tight ♰ wednesday, paint it black (orchestral)
NOTES (1) chapter 2 is here, faster than i expected it! ig the few adorable reactions i got motivated me hihi. A LOT happens here and as promised, both jake and heeseung appear (well for jake, it's more like he's mentioned), and i might have lied about a certain person not appearing before the next part *evil laugh* read the warning (for real please) and enjoy the reading.
𐚁 MASTERLIST / PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART.
The surroundings are calm and soothing. A soul in a hypnagogic state is lulled by the velvety sound of flowing water. Eyes closed, gradually, the train of thought resumes its course; you can't remember the last time sleeping felt so numbing.
Opening your heavy eyelids is an ordeal in itself. But as soon as you do, your body rushes to cough, spitting out water from your now inflamed lungs.
You wake up with a start, your heart pounding in your chest with fear. You look around and immediately notice it's daylight. Relieved, you breathe deeply. Your body is half underwater, your clothes and hair soaked. A piece of your t-shirt is caught on barbed wire, which probably saved you from drowning.
From the abandoned appearance of the leftover structures, you realize you're still in the Bane Zone, but you've never ventured this far. For five years you were unaware that a river flowed along the edge of the area. You feel really stupid because it could have made showering so much easier for your hunters’ group.
But at the thought of your companions, your breath catches, recalling events. A torrent of scenes violently flashes through your mind: the way you ran and hid all night. Your dagger plunging savagely into the bane vampire's heart. Jay's terrifying grin and his velvety voice vibrating against your skin. His sinuous tongue reveling in your blood. His sharp fangs nearly piercing your flesh. And ultimately, your precious collar constricting around your throat before snapping between his fingers, causing you to plunge into the river.
Unconsciously, your hand wraps around your neck. The immediate pain upon contact makes you wince. To your misfortune, you vividly remember the sensation of Jay's cold, barbarous fingers tightening there. It sends shivers of terror down your spine.
And you hate the feeling of emptiness. The emptiness of the missing necklace, gifted by your mother, which accompanied you through all those nightmarish years, and the emptiness in your heart.
You're alone. Miserably alone. They're all gone. The hunters, your chosen family, have all been taken away from you. You're more than angry; you're furious. You finally allow the tears to well up and stream down your colorless cheeks. All those years of resistance, gone to dust in a single night.
You wonder why the heavens have spared you once again. The river water wasn't particularly deep; the chances of dying from the fall were greater than those of surviving it.
Yet here you are, alive, but at what cost? You try to move, but your body aches so much. Falling from that height has obviously left you badly injured, not to mention your left arm, which seems to be fractured.
But you bear your suffering and grit your teeth.
What's the point of going back to your hideout now that the vampires know it? How are you supposed to find a new one on your own? You chuckle silently at your misery. As if your existence wasn't horrible enough.
To tell the truth, you have nothing to retrieve. Nothing but a few old, tattered clothes. Years of survival have made you give up all your belongings. The weapons you had with you are either left behind on the battlefield or lost in the water current. The only and last thing you truly owned was your silver necklace, but now? It's in the hands of some Velite bastard.
So without thinking twice, you follow your instinct and decide to untie your t-shirt from the barbed wire. You allow your body to sink, swimming underneath as best you can despite your injuries. You cross to the other side for the first time and let yourself be swept along the flow of the tranquil river.
After a while, you see the end of the waterway, which seems to end in a sewer. So you don't wait and push your body against the shore. You crawl out of the water, groaning in pain. Luckily, your muscles are trained and your bones accustomed to pain; otherwise, you wouldn't be able to accomplish anything.
Noticing no change in the vicinity, you then ask yourself where you could be: still in the Bane Zone or at the far end of the High Zone? You don't see any surveillance posts or cameras nearby, yet you definitely crossed the barrier. But what if... this place was a crossing for the rebels? An unmonitored network, forgotten and unguarded?
At the thought, you slowly get up and start walking, disregarding the throbbing pain throughout your body and also your growling stomach.
You're not sure where you're going, or even what you're trying to do. Rescue your friends, retrieve your necklace, get revenge? All this with your body in this pitiful state, and your power pills also in Jay's possession? It's absolutely laughable.
Yet you can't think of anything else, because what else is there? So you keep moving forward into the unknown, with no particular destination in mind.
After what seems like thirty minutes, small gray houses appear in your field of vision. Far from luxurious and even quite shoddy, but nothing damaged, unlike everything in the Bane Zone. Something that confirms you're definitely in the High Zone. And somehow, you're a bit perplexed; you were expecting things to be more... fancy?
However, you notice cameras and immediately hide behind a wall section. But after a few seconds of watching them, you also realize they're… turned off? No red light, no movement, too strange.
The neighborhood is also unusually quiet; at this time of day, humans should be bustling about, coming and going, yet… these houses seem uninhabited. Even stranger.
Where the hell are you?
You don't know if it's a dream opportunity or a bloody trap, but anyway. You stop thinking further and head discreetly for the nearest house. Standing in front of the window, you check to see if you have anything left that you could use to open it. And that's when you feel it, hidden in your boot: a long, sharp silver hairpin.
You quickly grab it and try to force the window open. After struggling for a while, you finally hear a click: Open.
Hearing no alarm, you sneak inside as best you can, stifling your grimaces of pain; under normal circumstances, it would be easy, as you are used to breaking into places in the Bane Zone.
You're a little taken aback by the interior. The decor is very cold, nothing cozy; it looks more like the inside of a prison cell than a house. But it's been so long since you've been in a house in a normal state that it feels almost strange; you're even a little disconcerted.
Without waiting, driven by your hunger, you go straight to the kitchen and open the fridge, cupboards, or anywhere to find something to eat. You're quick to notice that there isn't much, just bottles of water and what looks like... prune juice? Some canned foods too, but they'll do. Like, really. You stopped being a picky eater when your life became hell to survive.
Now that you think about it, you have no idea how long you were unconscious in the water: it could have been one night, two, or even three. But judging by your state, you think it should be at least two. After that, the bane vampires would surely have tracked you down.
You open two cans, peas and white beans, which you devour quickly with a fork found in a drawer. You almost moan at the sensation of your warm stomach, full for once. After emptying them, you plan to throw the wrecks outside so as not to leave any evidence of your presence in this house.
Even if you don't think anyone will come back here, judging by the state of the food stock or simply the obvious lack of life within these gray walls—you can never be too prudent; You've learned your lesson well now, and the thought makes you snort bitterly. So you decide to hurry upstairs, stumbling on almost every step, to find the bathroom.
Once inside, you lock yourself in and quickly look around: the bathroom is small, but it has everything you need, including a working shower. You clumsily undress, your broken arm causing another wave of pain throughout your limbs, and rush naked between the glass walls of the shower.
And as soon as you turn on the tap, you're stunned: water at high pressure, which, a few seconds later, heats up? How long has it been since you've experienced such comfort? As soon as the warm water runs over your hair and then your skin, you catch other drops on your face—your tears. It feels so good that you actually cry with sheer delight.
You close your eyes and breathe calmly, immersing yourself in this rare and distant state of well-being. In this simple moment, you feel human again.
After showering, you observe your waxy complexion in the mirror, marring your features: pretty in a terrible way, giving your beauty a rugged quality.
Under the sink, to your relief, you find a medical kit to treat yourself. You had forgotten the smell of disinfectant. You do your best to treat your wounds and your injured arm, concluding with a good number of band-aids and a bandage.
But when it's time to treat the bruise around your neck, you get tense; every time the balm meets your skin at your fingertips, Jay's face pops into your mind, and you almost swear.
You set off to explore the equally modest bedroom. You took the liberty of stealing clothes to replace your own… which no longer look like anything, and to your great surprise, the wardrobe turned out to be women's? Not to be prejudiced, but it didn't look like a woman's house at all. Everything was so austere, with no personal touches.
Once again, the premises resembled more a place for a jailbird than a real place to live. But whatever, the clothes were new and of decent quality, so you picked up a T-shirt, sweatshirt, pants—all black, the color to blend into the darkness.
After you're done, you feel like crap once again. No matter how much you managed to loosen up in the hot water, concern always comes back in a flash. This place, this neighborhood—everything is shady; it's difficult to feel at ease.
You glance at the bed behind you; a night's sleep in a proper bed, free of dust and dirt, would do you a world of good, but nope, you know you can't stay here, much to your regret. It's too dangerous. Nevertheless, you won't lie: after not tasting comfort for so long, it's already hard to leave behind the little you've touched again.
You then close the door with a longing and exhausted expression and go back downstairs. On the way, you gather up the traces of yourself in your hands and flee the house through the window, just as you did on the way in.
Abandoning your humanity once again to become a ghost of the streets, the vampire huntress is out of the game for the time being.
You've been venturing for a long time—too long. You can feel the sores beneath your feet forming. And to your dismay, the sun just reached the end of its descent.
Your heart begins to race all over again—a cycle of pain and fear that you can never get used to. You know that Banes can't enter the High Zone, but nothing helps; you're on your guard like every other time: if you managed to infiltrate so effortlessly, a bane vampire must succeed from time to time.
At that moment, you notice in the distance, and even slightly hear, city lights, quite reddish in this area, and the easily recognizable noise of traffic.
Instinctively, you retrieve the silver hairpin from your boot to form a bun with it so that it will be easier to retrieve if necessary; it’s unfortunately your only remaining weapon of protection.
As you cautiously approach the red neon lights, you quickly notice the grime in the alleys and the smell of urine in the air. No fucking way this is the High Zone? You also realize that there are no CCTV cameras in this place.
You find it hard to believe that such a poor area could belong here. Then you pause in your tracks to hide behind a heavy iron door, from which raucous music blares out.
As you discreetly scan the scene, you see a woman exit the premises, stumbling in her heels, as the heavy door slams shut behind her. Her make-up is smudged, her hair is a tangled mess, and her slinky dress has slipped off her shoulders, revealing the shape of her chest. At first glance, you think she's drunk or maybe drugged, but then, looking more closely, you notice the blood tears dripping from several... bites? all over her body.
You gasp silently, finding it harder to cope with the situation than to understand it. Because your brain is too fast, already processing everything.
Then, you see her collapse to the ground, and your face creases with distress. You know you should stay hidden in your corner, but you can't help yourself. After several minutes with no one coming out of the place, you decide to go to her, your humanity still tugging at you in spite of everything.
The ghost isn’t really ghosting anything, you point out to yourself, as you kneel beside the unconscious young woman. Her entire skin is covered with bite marks, from the most recent ones gushing to the older ones pink or white.
You feel so terrible and decide to check her pulse, your eyebrows furrowed with worry: weak but alive. You wish you could do something for her, like actually help and rescue her, but you can't even do anything for yourself right now.
You hear the door creaking open and hurry to hide back. A second woman comes out of the place, dressed in the same manner, and crouches down where you were.
You don't know why, but her face is somehow familiar to you. You wander through the maze of your mind, and then when you realize, surprise strikes you, and her name comes out of your mouth, louder than you wanted, unable to hold it back.
“[Friend Name].” The name of your former best friend is uttered in an audible whisper, with as much shock as sorrow. Immediately, the young woman flinches and turns her attention towards the sound of the voice. When she notices and recognizes your features in the shadows of your hideout, her face twists in the same emotions as yours.
“Y/N, is it really you?” She calls your name too in a shaky voice, and tears well up in both your eyes as you rush out of your hiding place, falling to your knees uncontrollably to take her in your arms. She returns the hug, and you feel her sobbing into your shoulder.
“I can’t believe you’re alive.” You say in total disbelief in her ear, stroking the back of her head. Your closest friend is alive. Alive but... Without meaning to, your eyes cascade over her exposed skin, and you notice them as well: bite marks.
You stop moving, and she senses it, feeling her flinch. She hesitantly pulls away from your arms and doesn't dare look you in the eye anymore, assumably ashamed. You want to tell her, "Don't be," but the words get stuck in your mouth; you don't know the whole story, but you can already tell that she's a victim.
She then mutters, “Let's not stay here; it's not safe,” and turns to her unconscious colleague. A little embarrassed, she asks, “Do you think you could help?” Despite your aching body, you obviously agree, helping to carry the unconscious girl on your shoulder and following your friend to another door, in an adjacent alleyway.
The place is dark, lit only by a faint light from green neon lights. Stifling smoke fills the air, and judging by the smell, it's cigarettes mixed with other, much stronger substances... You hold your breath for a moment, not wanting any poison to permeate your airways, until you reach what appears to be a bedroom. The few beds are unmade, with clothes and makeup scattered everywhere. It reeks of cheap perfume, but it's already better than toxic substances.
Both of you out of breath, you finally release the unconscious woman onto one of the beds, and your friend closes the door behind you, locking it. Noticing how you don't move and your worried face, your old friend indicates, “Don't worry; after resting and drinking prune juice, she'll be fine.”
When she mentions prune juice, you immediately remember the bricks you found in the fridge earlier. And in a way, you hate how your brain is so fast at calculating bits of info: that house earlier was indeed like a jail, a jail for a woman who is (or was) in the clutches of a vampire.
Assessing where your friend lives compared to the house you previously infiltrated, you assume that they don't belong to the same categories, though: your friend's social status is likely very low in this vile, vampiric society.
All this disgusts you, but you nod to her words, as if what she just said is normal. However, your concern doesn't entirely go away and ends up shifting onto your friend. You're concerned about her current life, but you also don't want to pressure her into talking about it.
At a glance, and from the dark circles under her eyes, you know she is exhausted as she sits on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh. Then, she gently invites you to join her with a pat. After an awkward moment of silence, she breaks it and starts talking softly, avoiding your stare once more. “I can't believe you're alive and safe too. Where have you been all this time?”
Under her curious look, you explain clearly that after being separated from your loved ones, including her, you hid for a long time in what is now the Bane Zone. You tell her with a nervous laugh that you still don't know how you managed to stay alive, but that on your journey to survival you ended up meeting... other people like you, not mentioning the word rebels or worse, hunters, although she must already suspect it. You loathe yourself for doubting your old friend, but it's just too difficult to trust anyone these days.
After you're done talking, she clears her throat, knowing that it's her turn. You wish to tell her that she doesn't have to say anything if she isn't comfortable, but a selfish part of you also wants to confirm your suspicions, so you keep quiet and let her speak. “When everything had fallen apart, I was so stupid. So very stupid. I was also scared and a coward.” She lets out a sour chuckle as she continues, “I should have followed the bravest ones into the Bane Zone, but instead I decided to find someone. Or, to reach him, at least.”
She hesitates for a moment, as if what she is about to say weighs heavily on her chest. “Do you remember that young vampire on TV that I used to like and mention to you often back then?” You know right away who she's talking about; his handsome face and your friend's crazy words had both made an impression on you. “After I too lost my family, I was desperate and clung to his skewed image. In my eyes, at that moment, he was so radiant, I wanted to believe him, and it was the only thing that helped me carry on.”
You notice them, tears running down her cheeks covered in blush, without her even realizing. “I indeed found Jake here, in this shady place, because that's where I was told he was rumored to be hanging out. I was naive; I thought it was just a normal nightclub. And before I even had time to realize anything, I was manipulated into staying; I was coerced into joining this ring.” Her face contorts with pain and regret. “I'm sure you can already guess that the women and boys here are… hookers. Hookers for vampires, specifically. They love to call us blood-whores. We don't just give our bodies but also our blood. Many of us die every night, drained, but that's just a detail for them.”
Then, you see a weird, faint smile on her lips, twisted with an array of emotions you wouldn't be able to describe properly... Like hope and love being ripped away. “And I'm his, Jake's blood-whore. Among many other women, of course. And believe me, I have a dog leash around my neck. No one is allowed to touch me except him, and everyone knows it. According to the vampires who have us under their control, I should be honored that he even deigns to look in my direction since he's a Velite. Can you believe this fucking nonsense?” She then begins to sneer deliriously, and you understand her reaction. If you were in her place, you wouldn't be here anymore. LOL. Like, no fucking way you become some vampire's bitch; you might as well stab yourself with your silver hairpin.
“Anyway, let's stop talking about Jake and also our pathetic lives.” She calms down and asks you, a little confused, “If you managed to escape and survive in the Bane Zone, why did you come here?” After hearing how she feels about the Velites, you loosen up a little and decide to be more honest with her.
“Two nights ago, a Velite unexpectedly came to our hideout. My comrades were taken away by him and his henchmen. So now I'm alone, and I won't be able to survive very long in the Bane Zone without anyone.” You swallow hard since what comes next is still painful to recount. “I can still hear their screams in my head. I simply can't leave them in the hands of this monster. I also need to get back the necklace my mother gave me. It's the last thing that connects me to her and my family. And I'm sure that bastard is keeping it safe,” your jaw clenching at the last sentence.
You see your friend deep in thought. “The Velite you mentioned, do you know his name?” You snicker at her question; you wish you didn't know his name, but he made sure you knew it, and it'd be engraved in your memory, wouldn't it?
“Jay, it's Jay.” Uttering his name is pure torture.
“Oh,” she blurts out, taken aback. “I’ve heard Jake say his name several times,” she recalls. “They’re probably friends.”
You're not sure you understand where her thoughts are leading until she almost exclaims with joy before remembering where she is and leaning closer to you to whisper. “Your goal is to infiltrate the Velites, right?” Until now, you hadn't really thought about it, but you nod in agreement because, indeed, it's the only place where you can do what you want. “In three days, there will be a blood moon. And the vampires of the High Zone love to celebrate the milestone with a special... party.” You listen to her attentively: “To spice up their evening, they select a few people from our ring to go there, since Jake is... a VIP client,” something that makes you both shudder with disgust. But right after that, you pause, realizing what she's implying.
“Wait, wait, you want me to pretend to be a... blood-whore?” Words are hard to get out of your mouth and leave a bitter taste. Your old friend nods affirmatively, and her face wrinkles into a sorry expression. “Right now, I don't see any other way for you to get into their district. Security is really tight, and you'd get caught immediately.”
Then she adds, “I heard that this time the party is a masquerade ball, like in the old days for those devils,” and you realize that the opportunity is indeed perfect; Jay won't be able to recognize your face or track your scent among so many people.
The idea of being surrounded by so many bloodsuckers is already driving you crazy, though. Can you really do it? What's more, in this... role. No offense to your friend.
But just as you're in the middle of the intense discussion, you're interrupted by the sound of a loud knock on the door. “Hey [Name]-bitch, I know you're there. Get your ass over here; Jake just arrived.”
The brutality of the language startles you both, and you can see from your friend's face and the way her fingers grip the sheets that she's already panicking.
She gets up from the bed, and this time she looks at you in the eyes, crying out for help, and God, you want to get her out of there so bad. You want to promise your old friend that once you've completed your mission, you'll come back for her. But you know that the odds of it being an empty promise are high, and she doesn't deserve to live with false hope.
As she nervously adjusts her dress as low as possible on her thighs, she quietly says to you, “I-I’ll be back later. My... absence will give you time to think about my suggestion.” She leans in close to your ear, whispering as softly as possible. “If you decide to do it, know that you can hide here. I'll help you infiltrate the ring just before the selection process.”
You watch her reluctantly back away. She delicately takes your hand and squeezes it, more to give herself courage than to you. Then, after one last squeeze, she flees the room without looking back, as if if she were to look at you one last time, she wouldn't be able to go to Jake.
And without noticing, three days have passed. Too quickly for your liking. You didn't have to say your answer out loud to your former best friend; the fact that you're still here said it all.
It's with a throbbing heart of unease and anxiety that you watch your friend primp you. In a few hours, the selection process will take place, followed by the masquerade ball itself.
It's been so long since you've worn makeup or had your hair styled other than in a loose ponytail with a worn hair tie. The smell of perfume makes you sick, but you put up with it. When she finishes your makeup, you can hardly recognize yourself in the dirty mirror; your hair has been neatly styled and arranged into an elegant bun, leaving two strands to fall delicately in front. Your eyes are like those of a fox, enhanced with smoky black eyeshadow and long eyeliner. Your skin is smooth, with a much healthier appearance. A few glitter particles linger on your thin features, and finally, your lips are accentuated by a light shiny gloss; this look is too much for you, but you know it's quite nothing for girls... around here.
“Perfect,” says your friend, admiring her work. Then she turns to the hot dresses and Venetian masks lying on the bed. “It's time.” She knows you're deliberately avoiding looking at your dress; all these years, you've been covering every morsel of skin with clothes for fear that a vampire might be tempted. So the idea of being so... exposed, under their hungry eyes, actually terrifies you. Unconsciously, your black clothes have always hidden everything about you, like armor.
But you know that for the plan to work, you have no choice. You take a deep, deep, deep breath and get up from the stool to head toward the bed. You take one last look at the nightmarish outfit and frown with displeasure as you begin to undress to put it on.
Your left arm isn't healed yet; it will definitely take more than a week, especially without the pills, so your friend helps you with the zipper. And it's demeaning that she has to assist you with something so simple. You cross your fingers that you won't have to fight before you're fully recovered. But at least, for tonight, the rest of your body hurts less, which is enough to run, you tell yourself bitterly.
To your relief, she picked a black dress, probably knowing that you wouldn't have been able to handle anything else. But in any case, as soon as she totally zips it, you can't breathe. It's so low-cut and tight-fitting. You don't dare look at yourself in the full-length mirror; although clearly lacking nourishment, years of hunting have shaped your body, refined your waist, and perfectly toned your legs… and your butt. Your body is likely attractive, and you want to pull the trigger straight to your head.
As you absentmindedly gaze at your silver Venetian mask, you hear your friend almost shriek behind you. You turn around in confusion and watch her compare the two of you. More precisely, she compares the condition of your skin: yours is tougher, covered with scratches and various cuts, while hers is softer but riddled with bite marks. Without waiting, she grabs your arm and drags you back to the stool. “That won't do, that won't do,” she murmurs to herself as she starts to draw bite marks on your skin with makeup, seemingly accustomed to doing this.
Your silver Venetian mask half-covers your face, and before leaving, you slipped your long, deadly hairpin into your bun, adding a little je ne sais quoi to your overall look even though it's meant to defend yourself... or kill some ageless beasts. Holding the arm of your former best friend, you leave the bedroom apprehensively and head together for the club. Your feet hurt; it's been too long since you last wore high heels, accustomed as you are to your old boots, which you already miss.
It was arranged this evening that you would take the spot of the unconscious colleague, who fortunately woke up but isn’t in a condition to participate. By the by, you're wearing her very own perfume, hoping that it will be sufficient and that the vampires won't notice the difference in the scent of your blood. But the fact that there were many, many people in this hellish place should help. Even so, you pray to the heavens.
After a few minutes, you finally arrive at the club, and a line of well-dressed people are already waiting. The fact that people are willing to go there is crazy to you; you know that many humans in the High Zone are traitors who have chosen an easy life here, but you didn't know that some enjoy being blood-whores for vampires.
Your best friend confided in you that if it weren't to make your charade more convincing, she would never have participated in such events. And your heart sank when she said that, to say she's ready to be chosen and possibly devoured by Jake again tonight just to help you. You really don't want to leave her now that you've finally found her.
Your sentimental train of thought comes to an end when a group of sickly-looking men enter the room. You can tell from the way they stand and observe each human being as if they were pieces of meat that they are the talked-about vampires who run the ring and will therefore select those who will go to the masked ball.
You swallow hard. You're not used to facing vampires like this... You've always fought against Banes, who are just monsters with no conscience. And in a way, they're much simpler to deal with.
It doesn't take long before they start picking out the chosen ones; you don't know what the criteria are, and suddenly, you're afraid you won't be selected. What if your plan goes down the drain?
They stop in front of each person, one after the other. They stare at their bodies like damn perverts, then sniff their perfumes. What the fuck? How horrible. You feel your best friend discreetly touch your fingertips as if to give you strength. It’ll be okay.
You mentally force yourself to calm down and pretend you're used to this shit, slackening your heartbeat before they arrive in front of you; years of experience hiding from monsters at night seems to pay off.
When the pale freaks come up to you, your eyes are indifferent and hussyish, and you almost want to look at them with contempt, but you hold back. You know you should stare at them with a slutty look instead, but it's the most you can do.
And to your surprise, one of them seems delighted. “Eve,” he begins, and you know that's your friend's roommate's name. “You seem a little different tonight, but I don't mind,” he says as he moves closer to breathe in your scent—fucking too close. “New perfume?” You need all the strength possible not to back away. But you don't move an inch, even though you're itching to take your hairpin and stab him in the stomach. At his question, you nod obediently, adding a little cheeky smile, not wanting to betray yourself with the sound of your voice.
He snickers at your reaction, making you want to puke, but he steps back and points at you with his finger. As he moves on to the next person—your best friend—you feel another vampire grab your arm roughly and drag you away.
You take one last look at the person who used to be the closest to you, and when you see the relief on her face, you know she hasn't been chosen. She gives you a small, encouraging smile, mixed with sadness, both of you realizing that this may be the last time you see each other. For good.
And you understand that it means you're alone. Again. You're going to have to face a hall full of vampires who are just waiting to drink as much expensive liqueur as fresh blood.
Fuck.
You've been riding for around forty minutes, and the further you drive from your former best friend, the more anxious you become. You realize that going back to her will be as difficult as escaping from the Velites district.
You’re travelling in a humble bus; fifteen people have been selected. Few look edgy like you, while most look eager—mad people. The curtains are drawn across the windows, and you understand that you’re not allowed to open them: the Velites’ address must stay a secret apparently, which makes you chuckle so wryly. These vampires are so pompous, and for what?
But your chucking stops as soon as the bus pulls up: you've arrived at the damn place, and your breath catches in your throat. Fuck, let’s stay calm and not faint now.
You try to regain your composure as you get off the bus, following the other humans. But as soon as you step outside, you slow down, gasping, unable to believe your eyes: modernity, modernity as you knew it before, which you haven't seen for five long years. And not just any: under the pitch-black sky, full of stars—and wow, it's been a long time—you’re surrounded by magnificent glass skyscrapers, and the cars driving on the perfect tarmac are all luxury sports models. As your group begins to move forward, you see, not far from the green, well-maintained parks, a splendid fountain spouting water.
The difference between the district where your friend lives and here is already striking, but when you think about where you live, the Bane Zone, it's simply crazy. You're no longer used to such a vision.
Then, when you arrive at the entrance to one of the buildings, a breathtaking white house with several floors, including an italic V made entirely of gold hanging above it, Velite. You immediately stop daydreaming: you’re in their place, it’s real.
Your fists clench nervously, and you notice that your hands are sweating. You swear that one day you'll die of a heart attack with all this non-stop stress that's eating you away every minute of every day.
Your group is queuing up, and one by one you see that someone is putting a crimson red wristband around your wrist, and you don't like it. You have a bad feeling that turns out to be true a bit too quickly.
After a few moments, you arrive in front of beautiful, large white doors that open for your group: the masquerade ball has begun.
You walk in, and lots of eyes are on you. Too many. Predatory eyes. You want so badly to race back out and never come back, but you can't.
In the ball hall, you rapidly notice white wristbands, then a blue wristband among the white ones. The distinction quickly becomes clear in your mind: humans have red wristbands, normal vampires have white wristbands, and those who are part of the elite have blue wristbands; at least you know who to avoid at all costs.
The other detail you notice is that your outfit is inappropriate for the event, because vampire women all wear loose-fitting, traditional dresses, which makes you feel more flustered than ever; the humans here really are a freak show.
And last but not least; the glass cups of blood that all vampires drink, as if it were a refined alcoholic beverage. Ew.
Your first instinct is to withdraw from the group and blend into the crowd, hiding your wrist behind your back as much as possible. You refuse to be mixed up with this group of humans any longer, like, sorry. Unlike them, you have no desire to get bitten and f*cked tonight, for God's sake.
You grab a glass of champagne from the tray of a waiter walking carefully past, and you notice from the redness on his cheeks that he is human and not wearing a bracelet. This instantly gives you ideas, but you still need to find a moment during the evening to slip away. For now, it's still too early; the party has only just started and you can feel that you’re being watched by the vampires who brought you here. You might be able to excuse yourself later to go to the bathroom or something like that.
With your sparkling glass cup in hand, you go to a corner of the room where there is no one and hope it stays that way. Like leave me fucking alone.
But there's no point. You have to move repeatedly every time you see yet another vampire heading towards you. You can tell that it's going to be trickier than you thought.
You end up heading to the buffet and knocking back glass after glass of champagne. You're doing the one thing you really shouldn't be doing: getting wasted, but damn it, you need it so badly.
Just when you manage to forget the horror movie all around you for a few minutes, you feel a chill on your skin. And before you even sense a presence behind you, a soft, masculine, almost honeyed voice whispers seductively in your ear: "Dulcinea, do you need real bites? Because they’re starting to fade away."
You almost do a somersault and roll back to the side, confronting the stranger. Fucking hell. You didn't manage to sense his presence, like, at all. This is the first time this has happened to you, especially after becoming an active huntress. A quick glance at his wrist reveals a bracelet... blue.
And you know you're in deep shit. A Velite noticed you have fake marks, likely because you're so stressed and your skin is now covered in a thin layer of sweat. Shit. You're completely panicked, not knowing what to do, but he smiles at you. Amused, but not twisted, and strangely, unlike Jay, he doesn't have a threatening aura at all. It’s actually quite the opposite... almost calming to the point of being enticing. Those damn vampires.
When his footsteps bring him closer to your silhouette, you can't move, almost mesmerized. He’s tall but as light as a ghost, seeming harmless even though he is not. Your bodies are only a few inches apart; his expensive woody perfume pervades your senses. The vampire wears a half-mask like yours, except for being golden, revealing a rounder lower face and a thin heart-shaped mouth. What strikes you most are his eyes, round like a doe's. But you can already guess that those doe eyes can easily morph into a different look, more… feral. You swallow discreetly, feeling the lure like a sweet melody.
Close to your face, he sings softly, “May I have a name?” And you're completely dazed, your lips parted. The effect he has on you is overwhelming, and you try to pull yourself together, but he notices too easily, letting a smirk appear. However, instead of being terrifying, this expression is enchanting. “Where are my manners?” unleashing a crystalline laugh. “I'll introduce myself first. My name is Heeseung.”
You’re about to respond or step back from him (you don’t even know), but the both of you are taken aback when the ambient music in the room disappears, giving way to the sound of instruments. The strings rise, accompanied by an organ piano, and as if it was told before, the guests move away from the center of the room, creating a dance floor, allowing you now to notice the sparkling diamond chandelier above, dominating everything.
While your head is in the air, focused on the ceiling, you feel the vampire in front of you take a step back. His movement draws your attention, and you refocus on him. At that very moment, he holds out his hand in front of you and asks politely, “May I?”
As your eyes once again plunge deeply into his, you tell yourself that this Heeseung is unsettling. His gentleness and politeness, which are obviously just bait, still manage to get to you. It's as if he can sense your tension (and he definitely can), coming to you at the chosen moment to soothe your soul—something questionable, but it's as if your warning signs are failing you. And you wonder for one second if that's what happened between your former best friend and Jake.
You look at his long, delicate fingers and want to slap yourself for wanting to put your hand right there. Especially when you see him waiting patiently, perfect in front of you.
Without realizing it, you slip your hand into his, alcohol disinhibiting you. And just like that, the wolf in sheep's clothing succeeded in getting its prey.
Although his skin feels cold against yours, the contact isn’t unpleasant, and you’re unable to apprehend what you’re thinking right now. Yet you let him lead you to the center of the room, where other couples are already standing, his eyes never leaving yours even as he turns you towards him again.
You panic immediately because the last time you danced must have been at the school prom. You haven't done it since then (and for obvious reasons). Although you know how to use your arms and legs to run away and kill a vampire, you don't know if that's enough to dance a damn masquerade with one. And why are you even doing this?
He clearly senses your emotions as he slides gently, but enough for you to hear, “Relax and let me guide you” punctuating his words by gently caressing the back of your hand with his thumb.
And the craziest thing about all of this is that your body betrays you and actually listens to him.
The music starts playing, adding to your nervousness, which makes him smile lovingly, layered with a mocking grin. You're almost certain you're going to waltz. No way.
With expertise, as if he had done this a thousand times before (and he certainly had), he steps back, letting go of your fingers, and bows politely first. Seeing everyone else doing the same, you imitate him awkwardly. He then extends his hand toward you once again, and this time you don't shy away, entrusting yourself to him, not wanting to stand out more from the crowd.
You're relieved that he's doing all this with your right arm; otherwise, he would've noticed your injury straight away, and he doesn't need to know about that too, right?
Your fingers bound together, the other hand on your back, you begin to dance; one step forward, one step back to the rhythm of the instruments. You repeat the movement three times, feeling your breath catch every time your bodies come closer, his thin smile unnerving you.
Then you feel a slight pull from his arm to draw you closer, and you can already anticipate the movement that is coming. He helps you spin, and as you see the women's dresses around you flying up in the air, you feel instead the champagne you drank going to your head, making you dizzy.
And that's when everything becomes confusing; after the spin, the vampire brings your bodies closer together, and you feel his hand naturally resting on your back; you refrain from displaying an unpleasant response, but from the pleased look in his eyes, you can tell that he knows exactly how you feel. Sweet, but a bastard vampire in all cases.
He motions for you to place your hand on his shoulder, and you hesitate for a second; your damn injured arm. But you know you have no choice, so you lift it up, the pain crucifying you on the spot, making you quiver. You thank the alcohol for slightly numbing it, though; you wouldn't be able to do any of that right now. Heeseung notices your trembling. You attempt to read his eyes, and you can guess he might think it's related to the new physical proximity and not an injury. So never mind, let him misunderstand.
As for your hands clasped together, they begin to reach out to the side. From there, the real waltz begins, and you feel yourself turning pale; “one, two, three,” you hear him whisper calmly, as you try to keep the pace without stepping on his feet or tripping over your own. So focused on his attentive words, his warm eyes, and the feeling of your heels already hurting, you only notice afterwards that you're constantly spinning together, moving among the other couples.
After minutes of repeating the routine, just when you were getting more comfortable, the vampire spins you around again, but this time you feel him let go of you.
Your face breaks with terror as you see Heeseung and his enticing smile slipping away from your grasp. In the momentum of the spin, you can't stop drifting away, then you feel a pair of arms catch you, and you gasp.
That's when you realize that Heeseung, despite his vampire-like coldness, is a little warmer than normal. The commanding hand that you feel sliding into the curve of your back, then intertwining with your fingers, is, however... glacial. Cold like ice. Vampire.
You've changed partners; everyone has, but you have the feeling that the new partner you got is far from being randomly chosen.
You feel your skin shiver, the touch as electrifying as terrifying. The man's aura is overpowering. Similar to Jay in some ways, but less rugged. More... calculated, disturbingly calm and still immensely crushing. And you know that the sudden reference to another Velite is no coincidence; your body's reactions already tell you that.
A fleeting glance at the hand in yours makes you see the bracelet around his wrist.
Blue.
Of course.
This damn Bambi vampire.
You've been collecting them, Velites, these past few days.
Fucking hell.
So close to you, too close. From the pain in your lungs, you've probably been holding your breath since the moment he touched you.
You don't even dare to look at his face, and it's certainly the first time you've ever felt so... small. The feeling is so terribly demeaning that you want to grab your silver hairpin to restore your pride. You focus on his Adam's apple, unable to let your gaze wander anywhere else, basking yourself in his frosty floral cologne.
You let him lead you in the waltz, hoping you either change partners again or that the music comes to an end altogether. And, something tells you that even if you didn't feel like dancing anymore, he wouldn't care, unlike Heeseung.
But in a dubious manner, you love playing with fire; like the huntress inside you can never be reined in after all.
You notice that your hand had instinctively clung to his shoulder. Beneath your fingers lie, in addition, firm muscles, making you clock his much more square build. You have a really foolish thought at that moment, wondering if his muscular frame makes him stronger than the other Velites.
So, you carefully lift your hand from his shoulder, trying to imperceptibly withdraw your body from his grip.
And you get immediate answers to your deadly queries.
His fingers, then, dig deeper into your skin. So deep that you feel his fingernails through your clothes, making you frown in surprise and eliciting a groan of pain that you keep carefully between your mouth; a bit deeper and you’d bleed.
Immediately, your hand goes back on his shoulder in obedience, and you continue to waltz with him, the place where he's holding you aching so badly.
You feel a brief, smooth movement: the Velite's face is now next to your ear. A very faint, chilly breath escapes from his lips and spreads to the back of your neck. Then a low, deep, husky voice rises threateningly, sending shivers down your spine.
“The dance isn't over until I say so.”
Taking your courage in both hands, you finally lift your eyes to him, meeting his icy, ominous gaze through his silver mask; same color.
Run silently, across your lips, the following line:
Dancing with the devil. And the most exquisite of all.
NOTES (2) SUNGHOON IS HERE I REPEAT SUNGHOON IS HERE FHBFHFB i don't think i could be more obvious with the whole icy thing, and yeah you get a glimpse of his nasty personality already :p also my other favorite is here... HEESEUNG, i might have worked on heeseeung personality more than any other, like i really love the contrast between him and sunghoon in this story, y/n is weak af for him FHBFHF she's like "im just tipsy" yeah sure girl!!!! also beloved JAKE was only mentioned but yeah i highly teased the sidestory with him and y/n's bestie (i didn't give her a name on purpose). i have a lot stored for the next part so fasten your belt !!! (for the jay lovers, yes he should be in the next part hehe), anyway i stop yapping, thank you a lot for reading my crap ♡ every feedback will be appreciated so don't hesitate to send all your thoughts!
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SYPNOSIS. In a forgotten northern tower rumored to house a vampire, a solitary painter finds more than silence.
Sunghoon—ancient, quiet, and convinced he is a monster—has never seen his own reflection, only the fear others project onto him.
As nights pass and companionship grows, he becomes her muse, though he believes himself unworthy of being seen.
When she paints his portrait, Sunghoon is finally forced to look—and discovers a truth the world denied him: that he is not a monster, but something achingly beautiful.
PAIRING. painter!reader x vampire!sunghoon
GENRES. fluff, vampire sunghoon, a lil bit angsty, unrequited love(?)
WORD COUNT. 2.7K
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ HEYYY, its been such a long time since i updated but im back. im so sorry first of all, ive just been so busy with uni and other things as well. BUT IM BACK CAUSE IM ON BREAK. this is just a short one-shot i wrote up a long time ago but never got the chance to post, sorry for any mistakes english isn't my first language. anyways hope everyone enjoys !
In the old stone city where the sun kissed rooftops but never lingered long enough to warm the shadows, Sunghoon lived like a rumor.
They said a vampire haunted the northern tower—one who walked only at dusk, cloaked in silence, eyes like roses. Some feared him. Some prayed he was only a story told to keep children indoors.
But in reality the northern tower had been empty for years.
No one wanted it—not with the lake that swallowed sound at dusk, not with the forest that loomed too close, roots clawing at the stone like it wanted the tower back. Mothers whispered warnings. Children told stories. They said a vampire lived there—one who hunted children who strayed too close to the forest or the lake. A monster with red eyes and bloodstained hands.
A cursed place.
A vampire’s home.
A story to scare children away from the forest.
You however rented the northern tower without hesitation, mainly for three reasons;
First – the view.
The tower overlooked a silver lake that caught the moon like a secret, and beyond it stretched a forest so deep and ancient it felt alive. In the mornings, mist curled through the trees like breath. In the evenings, the sky burned gold and violet over the water.
Second – solitude.
No neighbors. No gossip. No commissions knocking at your door. Just wind through stone corridors and the quiet scratch of your brush against canvas.
And third – the price
Laughably cheap, which was maybe (most definitely) the main reason you rented the tower. As a painter your wages were a comedy that made your stomach ache everyday and a cheap, probably-haunted tower was the only thing you could afford.
So you moved in without hesitation.
You however actually loved it there. You loved the way the tower felt untouched by time, the way the world seemed smaller and calmer from that height. You painted for hours by the open window, sunlight warming your back, birds calling from the trees below.
Your studio took up the highest room, where ivy crept through cracked stone and the sun lingered just long enough to kiss your canvases before disappearing behind the trees. You worked from dawn until your fingers ached, oil and pigment staining your hands, your skirts, the floor.
You were happy.
Until the stories stopped feeling like stories.
The first time you met him, it was nearly dusk.
You were washing brushes by the window when you felt it—that strange pressure, like the air itself had shifted. Not a sound, not a footstep. Just presence.
You turned.
He stood near the doorway.
Tall. Unmoving. Pale as moonstone.
Your breath caught in your throat.
That was your first thought, stupid and immediate and impossible to ignore:
He’s beautiful.
White skin stretched over sharp, elegant bones. Dark black hair fell around his face, framing eyes so deeply red they looked unreal, like garnets soaked in wine. He was elegant in a way that felt ancient, otherworldly.
An angel, your mind supplied, traitorous and awed.
Then fear crashed in.
Vampires weren’t real. They were stories—warnings whispered to children to keep them from wandering too far into the forest, from slipping beneath the lake’s dark surface. You had grown up laughing at them, rolling your eyes at old wives’ tales.
And yet—
Your fingers went numb.
The brush slipped from your hand and clattered against the stone floor, the sound deafening in the quiet tower. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He only watched you, head tilting slightly, as if you were something delicate—something that might break if handled too roughly.
“I—” Your throat tightened. “Who are you?”
For a heartbeat, you expected him to vanish. Or lunge. Or bare his fangs like the monsters in the stories.
Instead, he spoke, voice low and careful.
“You’re in my home.”
You swallowed hard. “I… rented it.”
That seemed to catch him off guard. His brows knit together faintly, as though the thought had never occurred to him.
Silence stretched between you—thick, heavy, suffocating.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he stepped back.
Not away in fear, but in courtesy. Giving you space. Letting you breathe.
“I didn’t know anyone still came here,” he said.
His red eyes traced your trembling hands, the fear written plainly across your face. Something unreadable flickered in his expression.
He hesitated. His gaze drifted to the window, to the moonlit lake beyond, to the forest swallowing the light whole.
“Sunghoon,” he said at last.
Nothing more.
That was all.
And that was the night you learned the stories were true.
He didn’t hunt children, you realized quickly. He hunted deer, boar, things that ran too close to the forest’s edge. The myth had grown teeth over centuries, twisted into something crueler than the truth.
Sunghoon had lived in the tower longer than the stones remembered. He didn’t threaten you. Didn’t ask you to leave.
He simply… stayed.
After that, he appeared often. At first, you were terrified of him. You were wary—of his sharp teeth, his unnatural stillness, the way he loomed without meaning to.
You flinched when he moved too close. You locked your door at night. You slept with a knife under your pillow, ridiculous as it was.
But Sunghoon never crossed your boundaries.
He kept his distance. He never touched you. Never raised his voice. He only watched.
Time softened fear into familiarity.
You eventually learned to expect him standing near the wall, leaning against shadow, watching as you painted.
You grew used to the way he watched your hands move, fascinated. Used to how he never interrupted. Used to the strange comfort of not being alone. Used to the cool air that followed him through the room.
Got used to the way he looked at your work like it mattered.
Sometimes, when you grew tired, you’d speak aloud without looking at him—complaining about the light, about commissions, about how the world beyond the tower felt too loud. He listened. Always.
Sometimes he answered.
Short sentences. Thoughtful ones.
In a weird, unspoken way, you became… something like friends.
You drew him once, when the tower was quiet and he hadn’t come that night. From memory. From absence. It was only a sketch in a notebook crowded with other drawings, but you closed it quickly afterward, unsettled by how easily he had found his way onto the page.
After that night, you told yourself the sketch had been an accident.
A trick of muscle memory. A habit of the hand. Artists drew what lingered in their minds; that was all. It didn’t mean anything.
But then you drew him again.
This time it was the line of his throat, remembered in charcoal while you waited for paint to dry. Another day, the fall of dark hair over pale skin, barely suggested in pencil. You never labeled the pages. Never let the drawings linger too long beneath your gaze.
Still, they multiplied.
Sunghoon began appearing in your work in ways you didn’t intend. A saint with eyes too red. A knight whose posture was unmistakably his. Even landscapes—shadows that curved like his silhouette, light breaking the way it did when he stood near the window.
You told yourself it was a coincidence.
But you started waiting for him.
You noticed the nights he didn’t come, how the tower felt emptier for it. Too quiet. Too still. The air warmer somehow, lacking that cool, calming presence that followed him like a second shadow.
When he did come, your chest loosened.
You didn’t look at him right away anymore. You let him be there. Let the quiet settle between you like something familiar.
Sometimes he stood closer now. Not near enough to touch—but nearer than before.
“You don’t fear me as much,” he said once, voice low, almost unsure.
You kept your eyes on the canvas. “I don’t think I ever feared you,” you admitted. “Just what you were supposed to be.”
That earned a pause.
You glanced at him then, catching the faint curve of something like a smile. It startled you—how rarely he let himself soften.
The more time you spent together, the more you noticed things the stories never mentioned.
How careful he was. How he never startled animals near the tower. How he turned his gaze away when sunlight brushed too close to your skin, as if respecting something sacred. How he listened—truly listened—when you spoke, like your words mattered more than the centuries behind his eyes.
You began to see him not as a creature of myth, but as someone terribly alone.
And that realization settled in your chest like a quiet ache.
You started drawing him openly after that.
Not full portraits—not yet—but studies. His hands, long and elegant, resting loosely at his sides. The way his lashes cast shadows against his cheeks when he looked down. The sharp line of his profile when he watched the lake, distant and thoughtful.
One evening, he noticed.
“You draw me,” he said, not accusing. Just observant.
Your heart jumped. “I—only sometimes.”
“Why?”
The question wasn’t suspicious. It was earnest. Curious.
You hesitated, then answered. “Because I can and you can’t stop me.”
He looked away, something tightening in his expression.
“I don’t know what I look like,” he went on. “Mirrors don’t answer me. But I know what children scream when they see my eyes. I know what priests paint when they warn others about me. I know the stories.”
Something in you broke, soft and sharp all at once.
“I know.”
“Then don’t waste your talent on me.”
You frowned. “It’s not a waste.”
He didn’t argue—but something in his posture closed off, as if the idea unsettled him.
Still, he kept coming.
And you kept drawing.
Slowly, without realizing it, he became your muse.
Your best work came from nights he lingered near your shoulder, watching the canvas like it held answers he was afraid to ask for. Your colors grew deeper. Your lines surer. Patrons praised your work more than ever, though they couldn’t name why your paintings felt so alive.
You could.
Sometimes, when your brush paused, you caught him watching you instead.
Not hungrily. Not like the stories said he would.
But like someone afraid to reach for something beautiful, lest it disappear.
One night, as you packed away your paints, you realized the truth with a kind of quiet terror:
You were falling for him.
Not suddenly. Not dramatically.
But the way ivy claimed the tower walls—slow, persistent, inevitable.
And you wondered, as you looked at him standing in the shadows, pale and timeless and convinced he was unworthy of being seen—
What would happen if you showed him the way you saw him?
To you, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
That truth followed you into your work.
You stopped trying not to draw him.
You drew him again and again—not as the stories described, but as he was. Noble. Quiet. Melancholy. You captured the gentleness in his hands, the sadness behind his gaze, the grace he seemed unaware of.
Each sketch felt like a small rebellion against centuries of fear.
Sometimes, he would hover near the doorway, glancing at the pages only when he thought you weren’t looking. Other times, he would turn away entirely, as if the idea of being seen unsettled him.
“You don’t have to pretend,” he said once. “I know I’m not… pleasant to look at.”
You laughed softly—not unkindly, not mockingly. “If you’re unpleasant,” you said, “then the world has no right to call anything beautiful.”
He looked at you then, startled.
And for a brief, fragile moment, you wondered if he almost believed you.
He refused the first time you insisted on painting a proper portrait of him.
“No,” Sunghoon said, almost immediately, eyes flicking away from you. “I won’t.”
You hadn’t expected the sharpness of it. “Why not?”
He stood near the window, moonlight breaking against his back, turning him into a silhouette. “Because I don’t need to see it.”
“That’s not true,” you said gently. “You deserve to know what you look like.”
A bitter smile ghosted across his lips. “I already do.”
You didn’t press him then.
You waited.
Days passed. Then weeks. You painted other things—commissioned saints, half-finished landscapes—but the largest canvas in your studio remained untouched, leaning against the wall like a secret waiting to be spoken aloud.
One night, when the wind rattled the ivy and the lake below was perfectly still, he noticed it.
“That one,” he said quietly. “What is it for?”
You swallowed. “You.”
He went still.
“You keep trying,” he murmured. “Why?”
You set your brush down, heart pounding. “Because every time you look away from your reflection—every time you talk about yourself like you’re something monstrous—it feels wrong. Like the world lied to you and you believed it.”
He turned to face you then, red eyes dark and unreadable. “And if you’re wrong?”
You stepped closer. Close enough to feel the cold of him, close enough that fear should have returned—but didn’t.
“I'm never wrong,” you said.
Silence stretched.
“You don’t understand,” he said finally. “If I see it—if I see what they saw—there’s no unseeing it.”
Your voice softened. “And if you see what I see?”
His breath hitched. You noticed it because it never did.
That night, he said nothing more. But when he returned the next evening, he didn’t stand in the shadows.
He sat.
On the stool by the window. In the light.
Your hands shook as you picked up your brush.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” you said.
“I won’t,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper.
You painted slowly. Reverently. You painted not just his face, but the quiet dignity in the way he held himself, the sadness that had softened him instead of hardening him. Candlelight warmed his pale skin; moonlight threaded silver through his hair.
Hours passed unnoticed.
When you finally stepped back, your throat felt tight.
“It’s done,” you said.
He didn’t move.
“Sunghoon?”
“Let me look,” he said.
You hesitated only a second before turning the canvas toward him.
Sunghoon didn’t step closer right away.
He stood where he was, rigid, as if his body hadn’t yet decided whether it was safe to move. His eyes fixed on the portrait—not darting, not searching—just locked, as though the world beyond it had gone quiet.
The candle beside you sputtered. The lake below remained still.
He took one slow step forward.
Then another.
When he stopped, he was close enough that his breath would have fogged the surface—if he still breathed that way.
His hand lifted.
It hovered, uncertain, fingers trembling just slightly before he seemed to notice and still them. He reached out, not to the eyes first, but to the cheekbone, tracing the painted line with reverent care. As if afraid the image might bruise beneath his touch.
His other hand rose, almost unconsciously, fingers pressing to his own face—mirroring the motion on the canvas.
Touch. Compare. Believe.
His brow furrowed faintly, not in anger, but confusion. His thumb brushed beneath his eye, testing the curve of his cheek, the slope of his jaw. He leaned closer, studying details no mirror had ever granted him.
The softness in the eyes made his throat tighten.
He swallowed.
For a long time, he said nothing.
The room filled with the sound of your heartbeat, the faint crackle of candle flame. You watched as centuries of stories unraveled quietly behind his gaze.
His hand fell to his chest.
Then, slowly, he exhaled—as if releasing a breath he’d been holding for a hundred years.
Only then did he look away from the portrait.
Not from shame.
From overwhelm.
His gaze dropped to the floor, lashes casting shadows across his cheeks. When he finally spoke, it was barely a sound.
“Thank you.”
You nodded with a soft smile, unable to trust your voice.
He looked back at the canvas once more—longer this time. His fingers lingered at the painted mouth, not smiling, just soft. Human.
When he turned to you, his eyes were wet—not with tears, but with something just as dangerous.
He simply reached out, hesitated, and then rested his hand against your head—as if grounding himself in something real.
And for the first time, he stood like someone who knew he existed.
AUTHORS NOTE. ── ★ Thank you for readingg!! hope u enjoyed, erm i wanna apologize though im sure u can tell by now im not a painter at all and dont know anything about painting but this seemed like a fun concept so please ignore any inaccuracies. i'll try to write more consistently and just write more in general but for now this will do <3
COMMENTS, FEEDBACKS, NOTES, AND REBLOGS ARE ALL APPRECIATED
What Vampire!Enhypen Would Do If They Caught Their Girlfriend Getting Her Neck Bitten by Another Vampire
🩸 Vampire!Enhypen Reaction to Seeing Their Lover Being Bitten by Another Vampire 🩸
— A dark and possessive take on their rage, jealousy, and thirst for revenge.
🦇 Heeseung – The air turns ice-cold as his fangs bare in a wicked snarl. He doesn’t give the other vampire a chance—within seconds, they’re nothing but a lifeless corpse at his feet. His hands grip your trembling body, his voice laced with both fury and concern. “You’re mine. No one else touches you.”
🩸 Jay – His eyes darken, lips curling in a silent, deadly promise. He doesn’t need to attack—the sheer force of his aura alone has the other vampire cowering in fear. But it’s not enough. Jay doesn’t stop until they’re suffering. Then, he turns to you, dragging a cold finger down the fresh wound. “You enjoyed this, didn’t you?”
🖤 Jake – He doesn’t think—just acts. In a flash, the other vampire is ripped away from you, their body crashing into the nearest wall. The way his voice trembles with rage is scarier than his violence. “Do you want to die? Because touching what’s mine is a death wish.” He pulls you into his arms, inhaling your scent to calm himself, but his fangs still ache to sink into your skin—to erase their mark and make you his again.
🌑 Sunghoon – He watches, silent and motionless, before speaking with eerie calm. “How bold of you.” That’s the only warning the other vampire gets before he attacks, swift and merciless. When it’s over, he turns to you, his fingers gripping your chin roughly. “You let them touch you? You let them drink from you?” His voice is soft, but his hunger is unmistakable as he leans in. “Then I guess I’ll have to remind you who you belong to.”
🔥 Sunoo – His usual warmth is gone—replaced by something terrifying. His eyes glow with a deadly gleam as he yanks the vampire away from you, his claws tearing into their skin. “How dare you.” The words are whispered, but they drip with venom. Once they’re dealt with, he pulls you against him, his fangs grazing your wounded neck. “You smell like them. I don’t like that.”
🕷️ Jungwon – His entire body stiffens before he lunges. He’s fast—too fast for the other vampire to react before they’re on their knees, barely clinging to life. “You’re still breathing? That’s disappointing.” Once he’s satisfied with their suffering, he finally turns to you. His grip on your wrist is punishing. “Explain. Now.” And if he doesn’t like your answer? You won’t be leaving his sight for a very, very long time.
🩶 Ni-ki – His lips curl into a wicked grin, but his eyes hold no humor. “You must have a death wish.” The next moment, the other vampire is writhing on the ground, begging for mercy they won’t get. But Ni-ki doesn’t stop there—he pulls you close, his lips brushing the bite wound. “Did you like it? Did it feel good?” His voice is mocking, but his grip is possessive. “Too bad. The only one who gets to bite you is me.”
